#I also thought I’d hate how my body looked post recovery

[pitofpurple]

TW: eating disorder, boobies

Me in the 7th grade: I don’t have an eating disorder because my lack of eating isn’t effecting my physical health

also me in recovery having to replace all my bras: Did I skip a letter?

[transmascissues]

I cannot thank you enough for your posts about top surgery. I'm hoping to get mine in a couple years. Your updates are really comforting to me, even (maybe especially) the bad stuff because it makes me feel more prepared. I hope your recovery keeps going well!

On another note, how did you decide whether to keep your nipples or not? I like how chests look with and without them, so it's hard to choose

for me there were a few factors that led me to go nipless:

the biggest thing was that when i imagined my body post-op, i naturally always saw it without nipples. that was just what felt right when i thought about how it would look — i didn’t even have to think about it, that’s just what came to mind. i figured, if i’m automatically picturing myself like that, that’s probably a good indication of what i would be happiest with.

i’ve also always had sensory issues related to my nipples. i basically wore a sports bra constantly, including when i slept, because i hated the feeling of loose fabric touching them and moving against them. so if i had kept my nipples, i would’ve ended up with either no sensation or more discomfort, not anything positive.

i really didn’t want to deal with the healing process for nipple grafts. my skin is super sensitive and finicky, so if anyone would be almost guaranteed to have problems with graft healing, god only knows it would be me. i also know i’m more prone to infection than most people, so avoiding the part of the surgery that has the highest chance of infection seemed like a good plan. on top of all that, i’m also a huge baby about having to touch any sort of injury on my body (just putting moisturizer on my mostly healed incisions was something i had to work up to), so i knew doing the graft care would be difficult for me too.

i know that i can be super picky about the way things look, especially when it comes to things like spacing and symmetry. so if i had gotten nipple grafts, i think it’s super likely that i would’ve ended up feeling like they were put in the wrong place or being bothered by any asymmetry in how they healed. obviously i wanted to pick the kind of surgery that was the most likely to give me results i would be fully satisfied with, so getting grafts despite knowing i’d probably end up nitpicking them for years to come just seemed silly.

i honestly really love the idea of having a chest that’s visibly different from a typical cis man’s chest. the goal of my transition has never been to look cis and i take a lot of pride in being recognizably trans, so having a kind of surgery that isn’t just trying to imitate what i would look like if i were cis was really appealing to me.

going without grafts is just cheaper, so given all of the other reasons i didn’t want grafts, there was just no reason for me to spend extra money on them. i want a few extra hundred dollars in my bank account way more than i want nipples.

and in hindsight, i genuinely couldn’t be happier with my decision. when i look at my chest, even now while it’s still not fully healed, it looks just like how i always imagined i would look with a flat chest and feels like the most natural thing in the world.

if you’re having trouble deciding which you like better, i would try just closing your eyes and imagining both on your body. this was one thing i did if i saw someone with grafts whose results i really liked and felt uncertain in my decision, because what i always ended up realizing was that no matter how good they looked on other people, it felt super weird imagining them on myself. in fact, most of the time i struggled to really even picture it at all.

you could also try gathering a bunch of pictures of both types of results and seeing how you feel about all of them. maybe when you look at the results with grafts, there’s only a few that you feel like you would be dissatisfied with, but when you look at results without grafts, there are a lot more that you probably wouldn’t want. or maybe it’s the other way around. like i said, you’re going to want to go with the kind of surgery you’re mostly likely to be happy with, so if you seem to be more critical of one kind of surgery’s results than the other, that can help guide your choice.

and if you really don’t feel any differently about them, consider the other factors: how do you feel about the healing process? is sensation in your nipples something you find pleasure in and would consider trying to preserve? what does the difference in cost look like for you and how important is that to you? how important is it to be able to pass as cis if necessary? and so on. your decision might end up being made based on something other than pure aesthetics and that’s totally okay.

[lucysweatslove]

I’m in a weird kind of mood… and I don’t really know what it is.

Last night my back was hurting for some reason. Probably sitting too long, but it never went full on spasm mode, just some standard annoying pain that wasn’t enough to be concerning but enough to keep me awake. So I was scrolling through Reddit, maybe the medicalschool sub. I can’t really contribute much. But anyway, I saw this eval somebody posted where an intern (first year resident) gave feedback that was essentially:

Lower than average situational awareness affected interactions with team and patients. Usually needed to be told or instructed in simple tasks 2-3 more times than the average student. It’s his first rotation but general disorganization, clear lack of interest in learning technical skills, nervous energy, and inappropriately timed questions made it difficult to trust him as a reliable team members

If reading this you thought “holy fuck that sounds like he might be autistic” then we are on the same page.

Obvs I’m not diagnosing, and the eval could be projections etc. But there were no specific instances cited and the general complaints are both normal when a) somebody is super anxious because it’s their first ever time doing medicine and it’s GENERAL SURGERY one of the top most difficult clerkships, and b) somebody is autistic??

What’s the student supposed to do? Especially over the subjective things. “Clear lack of interest” could have been an introvert being quiet and unsure how to insert themselves. Maybe last time they inserted themselves, they got a weird vibe- maybe it was inappropriate timing but they couldn’t piece together when it would’ve been more appropriate because, idk, autism? Or general lack of communication because how tf are you supposed to know??

Or maybe the “lack of interest” was a blank facial expression when they’re focusing on learning those “simple” technical skills. And then getting annoyed when they ask for help on these skills so they don’t fuck it up? What the fuck?

ANYWAY obvs I’m annoyed and the eval is non-actionable, (2/5, has mastery of English as a language but does not appear to know how to apply this mastery in a constructive, actionable manner. Does not give any specifics when asked for specifics). But, that isn’t really the point. Not is the point anything to do with the annoying details about how med Ed can be toxic and generally unsupportive.

Nah this morning I was scrolling through YouTube shorts and Jessie Paege came up. Idk much about her as a person tbh but the one off videos I see here and there make them seem like a person I’d probably like to be around. She’s recovered from anorexia (fuck yeah), and the video I saw of them was basically a before and after which I think was mostly about showing off their confidence and happiness etc. And they do look more confident and happier both after recovery and coming out / living more authentically herself.

I like her aesthetics and see a lot of myself in her in many ways. Which makes seeing those videos more difficult for me. When I see enough of my own traits in somebody who has had a similar experience, I start to compare myself to them a little more- and not really them but the presented version of them.

And I really don’t know how I feel because I can’t find words that adequately describe it. But it’s like, little things like how obvious my autism is to most people but I didn’t really didn’t pick it up (over a few short videos??) from her. Or like, comparing “recovered” bodies wondering why, even before I recovered into my size, my overall shape is just. Not socially the norm. Whereas their overall shape is pretty normative for the current social climate (which is also kind of fucked up because why is there a normative body anyway? Obviously fatphobia and the like but like why a normative shape??)

And that often spirals a little. I’m not saying she doesn’t get any hate (if you’re an online personality you’re getting hate; if you’re even a little bit fem at least some of that hate will be about your body). But I am saying that if somebody with MY body size and shape, even if posted the same kind of body-focused stuff, there would be far fewer positive comments.It just is.

And I wouldn’t take any of the positivity away from Jessie, not at all. Again I don’t really follow her or know her super well, idk if she’s ever done anything problematic, and I don’t know her heart. But they seems genuinely to be a good person who deserves love and kindness and to be celebrated for their achievements and resiliency. Just gotta be VERY clear on that.

I don’t really know what it is, but to be these two things - comparing myself / how I experience divergency to somebody else’s divergent experiences AND seeing how divergences are treated in medical education - seem linked to me. Maybe it’s because any form of *showing* divergence is pretty harshly judged in med ed, and then in main culture you can be divergent and show the divergence, but only in specific ways.

Dunno if I’m marking any sense at all.

[aminiatureworld]

Injury

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,657

Warnings: Blood, injury, slight violence, minor villain death 

 Premise: Sometimes the pain of others can hurt even more than one’s own. In which the reader is injured. 

Author’s Note: Week 3 of keeping up my writing schedule let’s go! This week is a bit angsty, my forte (I think?) As usual part one – with Albedo, Childe, and Diluc – will be posted tonight and part two – Kaeya, Xiao and Zhongli – tomorrow.

At first this was going to be both your injury and your recovery but then the first character hit over 1.5k words so I guess this is going to be a pseudo-series. I really don’t know the definition of concise lol.

In the first part of my last fic I realize I gendered a word. I’m super sorry about that, and I promise to fix it and tag properly next time. Childe gets to go into the stone forest cause I say he can. I’m not sure if waypoints are diegetic or nondiegetic. I decided to make them so. Also the first hospital in China was opened in the early 1800s, and I know hospitals aren’t very “fantasy” but Teyvat has good medical science in my book.

Albedo

Throughout his life the one thing that Albedo never truly understood was peoples’ obsession with modesty, even when it was false.

There was a lot that Albedo was proud of in regards to himself; his intellect for one, his curiosity, his abilities as an alchemist, the fact that he feared little in the world. Above all perhaps was the pride he held in carrying himself without falling into hysteria, his grip on his emotions was impeccable and whenever he was unfortunate enough to see others gripped with a heavy emotion he was always left with a sour feeling in his mouth – a disgust for someone who had so little sense they couldn’t even control themselves.

This was a pride that left him quickly enough upon seeing you injured.

It wasn’t meant to be a dangerous expedition. It’d merely been a check of the vast network of caves and tunnels that could be found in Dragonspine. A route affair, mundane even in how simple it supposedly was. There was nothing to be afraid of. Albedo had told you that back at home and you’d smiled in agreement. Yes, there was nothing to be worried of, a few hilichurls at most and a temperature that could be easily kept in check with the right preparation. You’d be there and back in less than a day, no problem.

Everything, however, had gone horribly wrong. The cave that you two intended to explore turned out to be a vast network, full of tight tunnels and half submerged under freezing water. You two had managed that well enough, although once Albedo had almost slipped and fallen into the underground river, the whole outlook of the expedition was looking drearier and drearier.

Eventually you’d reached what had seemed to be the heart of the cave, floor after floor of ice with a hole in the middle, all lit up by crystal and scarlet quartz. It was an impressive sight to be sure and you’d stood a little ways away from the edge, observing the way the light refracted off the ice coated walls, waiting for Albedo to be finished with his sampling, enjoying the awesome sight in front of you.

Albedo had just finished when you’d let out a yelp. Whirling around he saw what had captured your attention – a wild snowboar who’d managed to wander in. The two of you watched the very confused creature in awe, only staring as it stomped the ground and charged right into the wall.

That was a mistake.

All of the sudden the cavern started shaking violently. Cursing the boar for its terrible – or maybe impeccable – aim the two of you sprinted towards the exit. You’d managed to gain the lead, not bogged down by Albedo’s extensive equipment, and had turned around near the beginning of the tunnel in order to help him. Just as you were heading back one of the many icicles that lined the roof of the cave came undone, landing with a sickening thud right where your collarbone met your spine.

You’d dropped like a rock, and Albedo felt his stomach to turn water and his mind turn to static, as suddenly all logic seemed to leave him, instead replaced by dread so overpowering he seemed to lose track of his surroundings, chained to the ground by something greater than himself.

You groaned and time seemed to unfreeze itself, instead accelerating at a breakneck pace. Leaping into action Albedo immediately dropped all of his equipment, the sound of glass vials shattering muffled by the cases that held them and the panic that was gripping him. Hauling you over his back he ran through the tunnels, wincing every time you made a sound and biting his tongue every time he shimmied through a particularly tight spot and it seemed it might not let the two of you pass as you were.

He could feel the blood seeping through his gloves. Your blood. Only a few minutes ago he wasn’t even sure that icicles could make one bleed. Now he wished he’d never found out, wished that he’d never asked to explore the caves of Dragonspine, wished that you’d never agreed to it. How could he have been so foolish, so blind to the dangers that waited in vast caverns of ice and snow, where the slightest wrong movement could spell your death.

Albedo could’ve cried when he sighted the camp. Indeed he might’ve, realizing that there were frozen tears on his cheeks only after you’d been taking to the medical tent. He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t noticed anything really in those terrifying moments between when you’d gotten hurt and when he’d made it to the camp. It all seemed not to exist in his mind, washed away by the emotions that had wracked his mind and body. Even now he couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the tide of emotions that was crashing into him like a wave, utterly helpless as he was thrown this way and that.

The pride that he’d clung to was in tatters, and Albedo looked upon it now in disgust. He’d been so innocent, so foolish, perhaps mercifully so. But all that was gone, and his certainty had gone with it. There was nothing left of him almost; nothing except fear and anger and worry, and Albedo wondered when he might ever feel sure of everything again.

It was cloudy when you were released, arm in a sling, brace around your shoulders. Albedo wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it had seemed like an eternity. The urge to run up to you and wrap you in the tightest hug imaginable was intense, but the sight of the brace held him back. Instead he brought you hand up to his face, kissing your palm before holding it against his cheek. You smiled at that, but there was fatigue in your eyes and you said nothing. Albedo couldn’t blame you. He moved to let go and turn towards the path, somehow feeling unworthy of holding your hand after being the cause of your predicament, but you quickly grasped his hand once more. He smiled a slightly shocked smile, but made no move to let go.

As you two walked back to Mondstadt Albedo felt himself once more flooded by negative thoughts. Lowering his gaze so he was looking at the ground he paused for a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

Albedo found his voice cracking, tears welling his eyes even as he chastised himself for how stupid he must’ve looked. You were safe, you were going to be alright, the head of the clinic had said so himself. Why then did he still feel like he might crumble any minute? Shaking his head he moved to cover his face with his hand.

“Hey.” There was still fatigue in your voice, but there was also an urgency in it. You squeezed the hand you were holding, moving so you were facing him. “Hey, is it okay if you look at me?”

Albedo moved his head up slowly. He was truly crying by now, having given up all efforts to do so otherwise. You smiled softly as his eyes met yours.

“I’m alright, okay? And you shouldn’t blame yourself for this. I doubt that even the drunkest man in Monstadt could’ve guessed a wild boar would wander in a cavern and start a cave in. You can’t control fate you know.”

“I know.” Albedo forced the words out, although more and more it seemed impossible, his throat was too constricted to be anything more than barely coherent. “Still. I should’ve known. And I should’ve kept it together. I, why am I crying? Why wasn’t I in control? Why, why am I still not in control?”

“Because you’re human Albedo.” You replied, shaking your head slightly. “You’re the most wonderful human alive, but you’re still human. You mustn’t beat yourself up for what you are. I’d rather you cry anyways. There’s nothing noble in hiding your emotions, they must come out one way or another. So please, please cry all you want, long and hard. And tomorrow you can start your penance, alright?”

“Penance?” Albedo mumbled, still crying. You nodded, smile still nothing but fondness and understanding.

“Well someone’s going to have to help me for the next two months. And I know you’re too much a gentleman to make me stumble along myself.”

“Of course.” Albedo’s answer came fast and sure. He paused then, realizing that, by distracting him with the weeks to come, you’d managed to give him a pocket of time to calm himself, to feel himself once more firmly planted on the ground. Love mixed with anger and sadness in his mind, and for a moment he could only marvel at you.

Albedo leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. He’d do whatever he could to help you, this he promised himself. And this too he promised himself; you’d never ever be hurt on his watch again.

Childe

If there was anything that Childe hated it was a lack of control. The feeling of everything slipping through his fingers was something he’d felt often as a child, and that feeling had haunted him. When he’d signed up as a member of the Fatui he’d promised himself that he’d never feel that way again. He’d protect those he loved and he’d keep his life from falling apart. It was a promise he was determined to keep, no matter what.

You two had decided to go hiking. Or rather it was less of a hike and more of a rock climb. Childe had long bragged that the Huaguang Stone Forest was the most beautiful place to watch the sunset, and you’d finally gotten a free weekend. Waypointing your way there initially, your partner had taken an almost childlike joy from choosing which mountain was the highest.

“Childe have you decided yet? The sun is almost at the horizon.” You called out at the Harbinger. Childe was, much to your dismay, the stronger climber, and had taken to scouting ahead of time to see if the spot you were climbing to was any good. Now he glanced down at you, mischief written all over his face, his smirk flashier than usual. He put his hand on his chin and looked outward once more.

“Hmm… I don’t know…”

“Childe!” You exclaimed, your arms slightly killing you. You really wish that you’d convinced Childe to bring a roped and belay. Unfortunately that request had been met with a whine and an accusation of “that’s cheating!” You’d laughed it off at the time, but now you were starting to regret your partner’s recklessness. As much as you were enjoying your time – being alone with Childe always felt intensely special and you cherished every moment of it – you were also impatient to actually watch the sunset, and in your hurry you wondered if it might not be faster to climb back down and watch from the bridge.

“I do believe that we’ve found the tallest one!”

“Thank the Seven.” You groaned, hurrying to get to the top. Childe chuckled, watching you scale up the mountain.

“Oh come now, I had to make sure it was perfect! Besides you looked so comfortable perched there, it almost hurt to disrupt you.”

“When I get up there I’m killing you.” You shot back, reaching towards the ledge. Still laughing Childe stuck out his hand and you moved to grab it, pushing off with your feet as much as possible, determined to make it up the mountain in the next move.

The laughter died from Childe’s lips the moment your hand missed. Instead it was replaced by fear, cold and sharp as a knife, plunging straight through his heart. Time seemed to slow down, but you were falling so fast, falling, falling, falling. Catapulting himself off the top of the mountain Childe reached out for you. In his mind he was screaming. Glide. Oh please, for the love of the Seven glide. Please, don’t fall, it’s so high up. I couldn’t bear it. Please.

Still the words were stuck in his mouth, and his throat only constricted more when you hit the bridge with a sickening thud. Releasing his own wings at the last moment he landed on the bridge too, only a few meters away from where you were now crumpled up. Running over he scooped you up. You’d managed to right yourself at the last moment in the air so that you were landing feet first, but though you’d managed to protect your head your legs dragged limply, and one was bent at an awkward angle. Looking at your mangled form, listening to you as you screamed and whimpered in pain, Child felt overwhelmed by his vast helplessness. There was nothing he could do. Burying his head in your neck he sobbed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

The journey to Liyue was excruciating, both for you and for Childe. Although there was no external bleeding the initial adrenaline of falling had no worn off and you felt every jolt and movement as Childe slung you on his back, wrapping his arms around your thighs and carrying you to the nearest waypoint and then to the Liyue doctor. Even when Childe was standing still you thought you might die from the sheer pain. So intense it was that sometimes you gave up, blacking out only to wake up feeling like you were drowning, the burning air around you almost too hot and too heavy to breathe.

Childe willed himself to numbness throughout the journey, only allowing him to collapse once you’d reached the hospital, practically ramming into the nearest chair in the waiting room, the situation washing over him.

How could he have let this happen? Hadn’t he made a promise? A promise that he’d protect those he’d love, that he’d never lose control of a situation again, that he’d never let those he cared about suffer? Where was that promise now? His whole world seemed to collapse in on itself now. He hadn’t been able to protect you. Despite his training, his reflexes, his vision, his everything. You’d still fallen. And as powerful as Childe liked to think he was, he still couldn’t turn back time and stop your suffering.

Finally the doctor opened the door and Childe was let in to see you. After informing him that you were on painkillers the doctor left you two alone. Faced with you laying on the hospital bed Childe sank into the nearest chair. Lacing his fingers through yours he drew circles on your hand over and over. For a moment you two said nothing, then Childe let his head rest on your hands. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, voice raw.

“I know.” You replied, mind a bit hazy from the painkillers, the magic infused herbs luring you to sleep. Still you pushed forward, needing to say something before Childe let himself be carried away. “I know, but it’s not your fault. And it’s not irreversible. The doctor says in 8 weeks I’ll be fine. Until then, we’ll just have to improvise.”

“But what about your adventuring? Your commissions? How can you do those if you can’t –”

“I’ll figure it out. Adventuring isn’t just monster slaying you know. And there’s no catastrophe in being in a wheelchair or on crutches.” You shook your head. Childe was still crying, and you could feel his tears running down your linked hands.

“Ajax.” Childe’s head shot up, surprised. He loved when you called him by his true name, it always seemed like a song falling from your lips. And now that song was filled with understanding, if not a bit of sadness. “I want you to not blame yourself.” You continued. “I know it’ll be hard, I know that these feelings won’t go away. And I’m not blaming you for them. I’m not happy about this either, of course I’m not, I just went through a world of pain. But I won’t be able to stand watching you beat yourself up for 8 weeks, I won’t be able to stand that look in your eyes every time you look at me. So please, please stop. If not for yourself then for me.”

Childe stared at your for a while. You waited, not wanting to rush his thought process. Eventually though he shook his head, a small smile finally breaking his expression.

“You’re too good for me you know. Alright. I promise to try. It’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you.” You smiled. Childe smiled back. He didn’t know how you managed to do it, how you managed to take his fears and look them in the face. All he knew at that moment was that he loved you. And for now, that was enough.

 Diluc

Diluc stared in horror as the Fatui Bracer aimed a Geo projectile right at you, his horror multiplying into rage and terror as the concentrated energy flew through the air and landed right at the base of your ribcage. You crumpled at the impact, wheezing heavily, apparently stunned from the power and speed of the attack.

How could this have happened? Diluc knew that the Fatui were gathering in Mondstadt, something that the winery owner turned Darknight Hero couldn’t stand. But never did he think to see Fatui skirmishers right outside the walls of Monstadt, strolling along the beach of Cider Lake as if it were Snezhnaya. Never did he think he’d have to see another loved one felled by a member of the Fatui, and never did he think that he could bear the emotions coursing through him now.

He made quick work of the Bracer, hacking and swinging without rhyme or reason, barely able to comprehend what was going on. Everything felt oddly separated from him, as if he were watching through someone else’s eyes, watching as he burned through the Bracer’s shields as easily as if it were made of wax, leaving the man groaning and screaming in pain before silencing him altogether.

The feeling of separation only grew more powerful as he ran over to you. You seemed to be conscious, but your breathing was shallow and ragged, and the place where the Fatui’s attack had hit seemed mangled, one of your ribs having seemingly been broken. You were screaming, though it was hoarse and low and tired. Still if you were screaming you were alive, and at least Diluc could hold onto that.

Carrying you in his arms Diluc winced as you let out another shriek of pain. You two weren’t far from the gates of Monstadt, but every step seemed to be a thousand steps and what was surely only a few hundred meters instead felt like tens of thousands of miles.

You were going to be alright. At least the doctor had said you were going to be alright. Surely Diluc could be grateful for that? But he didn’t feel grateful, instead he felt anger and hatred welling up inside of him. He’d told himself it was no good to be an angry or hateful person, that doing so would only push you away, would only destroy the fragile bonds he’d managed to build between you and a selection of others. But still the anger and the hatred lingered, refusing to be quelled or stuffed away.

He wanted revenge. Revenge on the Fatui, on the Tsaritsa, on the uncaring world that let him be so tormented, and that so tormented the ones he loved. How could this have happened to you? You who were made of goodness, more goodness than he’d found in the world beforehand. How was this a fitting reward?

It was decided that you could stay at the Winery during the 6 grueling weeks that was to be your convalescence. Diluc said nothing on the way there. He was afraid what would happened if he opened his mouth. Already he knew his face was betraying the feelings welling within him. He didn’t need to make it worse, not now.

Arriving at the Winery Diluc carried you to his room, the nicest room there was. Up to this point you’d said nothing, and Diluc wondered if you weren’t too groggy to do so. However when you spoke up there was an urgency in your voice, one he simply couldn’t ignore.

“You’re angry. You’re trying to hide it but I know it.”

“I’m not the one in pain right now.” Came a curt reply. Diluc was looking at you with what others might’ve mistaken as a glare. Perhaps it was even that, but there was something beneath it, and you knew it ultimately wasn’t directed at you.

“I am. And I’m upset too. But I’ve accepted it. You need to accept that you’re angry too. Burying it won’t help, it’ll only make it worse you know. You have to acknowledge your emotions. You don’t have to hide them. At least not in front of me.”

The expression on Diluc’s face finally broke. The anger there was raw and palapable, but there was also something else, something he’d also buried.

“I was… terrified.” Diluc finally let out. “I was so terrified it frightened me. I… I thought I was going to lose you.”

“And you shouldn’t have to hide that either.” You prodded softly. “But I’ll be alright, I promise. So please, just be open with me and then we’ll go from there.”

Diluc nodded, finding himself unable to speak. Walking over to where you were laying down he peppered kisses all over your face, light and ethereal as butterflies.

He’d do right by you. That’s what he promised himself, after all the hiding and the pain. He’d do right by you. But he’d also not forgive the Fatui for what they’d done, and tonight when Monstadt was asleep the Darknight would be watching. And for any Snezhnayan roaming the streets and lurking in the shadows, there’d be no forgiveness.

[diazbuckleys]

always looking for ways to love you

post 4.13, comfort and confessions

wc: 1800

Eddie can tell he's lying in a hospital cot before he even opens his eyes. He knows the scent of it by heart; that stark smell of Purell, body odor, and death, so strong it burns his nostrils. And then, the feel of starched sheets against his fingers. That terrible, burning pain, ripping through his right shoulder.

"Edmundo," a soft voice says, and Eddie opens his eyes.

It's Ana. Of course it is. No one else ever calls him by his birth name. There's something comforting in the way she says it, but it's also painfully familiar. He can still hear his father's voice ringing in his ears when he had told his parents about his plan to leave their hometown with Chris in tow. Edmundo, don't do this. You're making a terrible mistake.

He opens his eyes, and he really looks at her. And he feels that sharp, shameful stab of disappointment. She really is very beautiful.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she says, and Eddie realizes she's been crying. "God-I really wondered for a moment whether you were going to wake up."

“Yeah," Eddie manages, his voice coming out in a weak croak that he's too exhausted to care about. "Yeah, I'm still here."

She squeezes his hand, where her thin fingers are threaded through his.

He sits up suddenly, blinking away the sleep and the heavy pain in his shoulder. "Is Chris...?"

"Asleep. Carla took him home a few hours ago. He wanted to stay, but, you know. It's getting late."

"Oh. Thank you." He looks around the room. It's sparse and dreary like they always are, with only a pair of plastic cushioned chairs in the corner and one large window with the blinds drawn. He wonders what time it is, how long it's been since the accident.

Slowly, inevitably, Eddie's mind starts drifting to Buck. He remembers pieces of the attack; Buck being tackled by Captain Mehta, as people screamed and ducked for cover all around them. In retrospect, Buck had probably laid on the ground across from him for only a few minutes. But in the moment it had felt like time had slowed. It had felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Ana seems to notice his distraction, and squeezes his hand again. "I let a nurse know you were awake. She should be over in a few minutes."

He smiles at her, feeling another piece of that piercing guilt. A part of Eddie wishes he could love her in the way he should. But he can't; he knows that now.

"Thank you, Ana. I'm glad you're here."

She looks at him questioningly. Despite everything, she has always been good at telling when something is wrong. "But?"

Eddie thinks about Buck on the ground, staring at Eddie soundlessly as blood dripped from his face and onto his clean white shirt. Eddie thinks about reaching out to him in the final moments before his eyes slipped shut, thinking I'm going to die, and he'll never know how I feel, or about any of it. But Eddie's alive, and so is Buck.

"But-I can't do this. I think you know that."

Ana, sweet Ana Flores, lets go of his hand with a sad smile. She sighs, like she's coming to terms with something she had tried to forget.

Finally, she says; "Yes, Edmundo. I know."

Eddie reaches for her hand again, soft and warm, and holds onto it tightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want-I didn't mean for it to happen this way.

Ana gives him that sad smile again. "Oh, Eddie. You can't choose where your heart goes. It hurts, but I'm just sorry I didn't realize it sooner."

Eddie frowns. His head is still pounding, and every part of him wants to fall back into the comforts of sleep. Instead, he props himself up on his elbows and blinks his eyes open. "Realize what?"

"That you already have a family. You have Chris. You have Buck."

It's the first time either of them have acknowledged it out loud, and Eddie swallows a lump in his throat.

"A family?

She lets go of his hand, carefully. “Do me a favor, Eddie? Don't mess it up. For my sake."

"I won't," Eddie says, throat stuck with emotion. But there's one more thing he has to ask. "And, um. Is he here?"

Ana frowns. "I'm sorry. They're all still trying to track down whoever it was that attacked you."

Eddie's face falls, and he lets himself collapse back into the sheets. If Buck is out there with the shooter- even the thought makes Eddie's chest constrict.

"Edmundo," Ana says, tone surprisingly firm, "he's going to be okay."

Eddie nods. Of course he is. It's Buck. He has to be.

"I'm really glad you're here," he says again, grateful.

"Good luck, Eddie Diaz," she says in lieu of a response, and smiles at him before she goes, like she really, really means it.

*******

At some point after a smiling nurse enters the room, checks his vitals, and declares him "in recovery", Eddie falls asleep again. He dreams about blood spilling on the open road, the St. Christopher pendant clattering against the pavement as he fell. Buck's blue eyes, wide with terror, staring, staring, staring.

*******

And then, some indeterminable number of hours later, he's awake again. This time, the sound that drags him to the surface of consciousness isn't a voice, but the steady beat of the hospital machinery. A sign that he's still here, breathing, despite everything.

Someone else is holding his hand. Eddie feels the strong, calloused fingers gripping him tightly, and he almost wants to sob. He's okay. He came back to me.

"Hey there," Buck says, and a thousand pounds of grief and worry lift from Eddie's shoulders.

"Hi," Eddie says, and cracks a sleepy smile up at Buck. Evan Buckley, Firefighter, friend, the fucking love of Eddie's life.

Eddie blinks a little in the harsh light. “What time is it? What day is it?"

Buck leans down to check his watch, and Eddie wonders distantly where it came from, or if he had just never noticed it before. He thinks that maybe becoming more observant is something he should work on. "11:27 PM, Tuesday. Three days since you were shot."

"And the shooter?" Eddie presses. "Did you find him?"

Buck shakes his head, still clutching tightly to Eddie's hand. "Nope, still on the lookout. But Cap thought it was more important that I be here."

Eddie feels a little lightheaded and dizzy at the words. Buck's here, real and breathing in front of him. Holding his hand.

He looks terrible, Eddie notices. His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles resting underneath them. His hair is a blond, tangled mess, and his tee shirt has a coffee stain around the collar. Eddie thinks suddenly about how truly awful the shooting must have been for Buck. He wonders if he was able to get all of the blood out of his shirt.

"I brought Christopher with me," Buck says when Eddie doesn't speak. "He and Carla are both passed out in the hallway."

Eddie sighs. "Thanks, Buck. I hate for him to see me like this."

Buck nods, and strokes his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm. He looks like he's trying to gather the courage to say something.

"Look, man," Buck starts abruptly, "I'm sorry. I should have done better."

It takes everything within Eddie not to take hold of Buck by the shoulders and shake him.

"Buck. Stop it, seriously. You did everything right."

"No, Eddie. Let me just-"

Fuck. Buck's voice is breaking. Eddie can't even remember the last time he saw him cry.

"I'm fucking sorry, man. I saw you get shot, and I just couldn't move. It was like I was frozen, watching the bullet hit you, watching you fall. And later I kept thinking about Chris, and how terrible it would have been if we-if he had lost you. Telling him what happened, after you got hurt, when we didn't know if you were going to make it-that was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. He kept on just looking at me, and fuck. I had to tell him that-and I didn't know-"

Buck's crying. Full on crying, and all Eddie can do is stare.

"Um." Buck says a moment later, clearing his throat with an embarrassed flush, and wiping furiously at his eyes. "Anyway. Sorry. You deserve better, and I just-"

"Evan Buckley," Eddie says with conviction, and that shuts Buck up.

"I don't know what it will take for me to get this through your head, but you are not a disappointment. You didn't do anything wrong. I have no fucking idea what I'd do without you, actually. So please, don't try to tell me you're not good enough for me, or that you should have done better. Because you are good enough. You are. Okay?"

"Okay," Buck says, and then they're quiet. The clock over the doorway ticks slowly. Outside, the overcast sky has started to rain.

Buck rubs one hand over his tired eyes. "I just care about you, so much, Eddie. And the fact that there was even a possibility I wasn't going to get to see you again, and laugh at your stupid jokes and eat your terrible dinners-I couldn't take it."

And, goddamnit, Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone like he loves Buck.

"I'm sorry too, that I made you worry. But I'm still here."

Buck smiles. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"Shut up," Eddie retorts, laughing, "you love me."

Buck stills at that, fidgeting with Eddie's hand, but refuses to meet him in the eye.

"You know," Eddie says slowly, suddenly feeling brave, "Carla said something to me the other day, about following my heart. And then Ana was in here earlier, and I, uh. Ended things."

Buck sits up straight at that. "You broke up with her? Why?"

"Because," Eddie says. "Because-"

Buck kisses him. They're only sitting inches away from each other, but it feels like Buck's bridged a gap. Reached across a mountainous valley and pulled Eddie over to the other side.

Buck's lips taste like salt, and Eddie realizes one of them must be crying but he isn't sure who. They're both smiling, even if there are tears, too. It's sort of the most perfect thing Eddie has ever experienced.

Buck kisses him, and it feels like everything has fallen into place.

Eddie doesn't want to pull away, but he does anyway. He was just shot, after all, and already he’s feeling dizzy. He imagines there will be plenty more kisses in their future, ones that don't take place in stiff hospital beds. He hopes so, anyway.

"I love you, you know," Eddie says when he catches his breath. He feels like he's fifteen and he's just kissed a girl outside of their school gymnasium. He already wants to kiss Buck again.

Buck grins. "God, I love you too. But, Eds, please do me a favor."

"Yeah?”

"Try not to get shot again."

[kitten-gutz]

TW// EATING DISORDERS, TRAUMA

hey so uh ive seen a lot of discourse about eating disorders being fatphobic, so uh here’s my opinion

“Restrictive eating disorders are fatphobic.”

eating disorders vary a lot person to person, this is a HUGE generalization. For some people it may be internalized fatphobia, but for others its about the control. or about punishing yourself. for me its about being undesirable. my trauma has influenced my eating disorder, and it makes me want to be scary and ugly and sick looking, so that no one can ever see me the way that my abuser did. its also about looking on the outside as sick as i feel on the inside.

“You’re talking about how everybody’s bodies are beautiful while not eating. That doesn’t make sense.”

its a mental illness of course it doesnt make sense???? the way i think about it i have my logic brain and my eating disorder brain. logic brain loves and cares about everyone and knows that a persons worth is not based on their body, knows that all bodies are unique and beautiful. eating disorder brain doesnt give a shit, no matter what logic brain says, i will never be able to accept my body the way i accept everyone else’s.

“You need to address your fatphobia to recover”

i agree! for some people with eds there’s a lot of INTERNALIZED fatphobia they need to work on to heal! internalized. i emphasize this because i feel like the vibe is just off with this discussion. why are you talking about fatphobia in eating disorders? if it’s to help people recover, great! but you need to be careful with your wording. lemme emphasize this real quick PEOPLE WITH EATING DISORDERS ARE OFTEN VICTIMS OF FATPHOBIA. if your ed is rooted in fatphobia 99% of the time it’s not because YOU are a hateful person, it’s because your family, society, etc has hammered this idea of fatphobia into your brain. and though you don’t view other fat people negatively, you have internalized this fatphobia, and you become terrified of being fat. i think this is the point a lot of ppl are trying to make, but they’re just,,, coming off wrong. eating disorders are not something you can cancel, theyre mental illnesses. help people heal, don’t make them feel worse over something they can’t control.

In summary:

- eating disorders are complicated and everyone has their own experiences. for SOME people their eating disorder is rooted in fatphobia. for those people, unlearning fatphobia is very important in recovery

- unless someone with an eating disorder is BEING fatphobic towards you, it’s not about you. ITS NOT ABOUT YOU! it’s about DEEPLY INGRAINED SELF HATRED

- getting angry at ppl with eds for saying “i feel fat” is counterproductive. most people with eating disorders KNOW that there’s nothing wrong with being fat. if someone with an ed says “i feel fat”, it’s them expressing their disordered thoughts. it’s not an attack on you. it’s not what they believe, it’s how their eating disorder is making them feel.

- attacking people is counterproductive. a lot of people with restrictive eating disorders feel like they don’t deserve to eat. or they feel guilty about their eating disorder, which pushes them further away from recovery. making those people feel MORE guilty about their literal mental illness is NOT HELPING. please think about how you word things.

- i’d also like to add that there are people with eds that are blatantly fatphobic. like any group, there are always the bad seeds. body shaming, “fatspo”, and general shittyness is inexcusable. yes, it may be because you hate yourself, but PLEASE stop projecting your self hatred onto others. get help. and if you are targeted by these people, block and report. that’s all you can do. you will not be able to educate them, they need to get help on their own.

anyways i probably will think of more things to say but PLEASE PLEASE don’t start shit in the comments, that’s not what this post is for. this is not a black and white issue, and my opinion is not set in stone. please just be respectful of others while voicing your own perspectives.

stay safe, stay hydrated, take care of yourself.

[djemsostylist]

Of Queens and Trash

Here’s the thing. SCK has been on a downward trend since 13. The breakup was long, getting together again was tiring, the amnesia plot was poorly handled and the mess that came following his recovery was, well, a mess. The necessary break for covid gave us a chance for a fresh start for Edser. All the bad stuff in the past, and a focus in the last episodes of them being able to finally fulfill all the promises they had not been able to. After all, this was a story that, at its core, was about two people who met and fell in love and who, no matter what, chose to be together. Invisible handcuffs. And with the return of the OG writer, it seemed we might finally get that. After 39 episodes of angst and only 7(?) of real togetherness, surely it was time? Forget the pain of the past, and start with Edser navigating their world together.

And then the trailer dropped. And all of a sudden, all the people who had spent months eviscerating Serkan for behaving badly in the 30s were celebrating this new plot, the “great angst��� and Eda “being a Queen.”

For me, I can’t get over the hiding of the child. It's a hardline deal breaker. I don’t think it matters who writes it, I think it's an awful plotline. No matter how "good" the trailer looks or moments seem, I will remember that I was watching a show about two people who loved each other and never wanted to be apart, about a man who learned how to open his heart, and this ruined it all.

Now, I think it's worth noting that my hard line, in this particular case, is in response to Edser, if that makes sense. I’m not hardline, “if this is in a story I’m not watching”. If it works for the characters and story because that is the type of story being told, then fine.

I don't subscribe to the woke feminism brand of "all women are Queens and all men are Trash" which seems to be a trend of late (and not just in fandom). I think people are people and people are generally imperfect but also trying. I don’t think women, simply by virtue of carrying a child, get full say in what happens to the child, regardless of the father’s wishes. I'm not fond of a “hiding a kid storyline”, and while I get the whole "my body my choice" style of arguing, it took two people to make the baby. Two people get a say in what happens. I get you are growing the kid, but you didn't spontaneously conceive.

For me, Edser being apart and/or hiding a kid is a hardline. It doesn't fit with the characters as I know them and it doesn't fit with the storyline. And look--I hated the amnesia plot. I thought there were a literal million ways this could have been done better, but it's what we got. So for everyone suddenly defending this new plot, despite it making about as much sense as Eda getting married to make Serkan remember her, then that means everything goes. No blaming writers or ignoring canon...everything has context and meaning now. And since “it's realistic” is also a common refrain, then fine. Let’s go realistic.

Imagine being in a plane crash. You wake up, you have clear physical/mental blocks. For someone who likes to be in control, that's terrifying. You have a ring on your finger with a woman's name you don't know, and an entire year missing. You call the one person you know will come (since your parents and friends are useless) and she comes and tells you a story that jives. You can't remember shit and you keep getting flashes and your hands won't work, so you take what she tells you, because why would you have any reason to doubt? It’s not like you can remember anyway, and trying to remember hurts.

You finally go back home, and you recognize nothing about your own life. Friends, family...everything is different. Your mom is out, your dad is gone, your best friends are married. You don't even live in the same house, you have people working in your company you don’t know--even your dog is gone. And then you have a hysterical woman throwing pictures in your face of a man you don't recognize and your brain is still foggy and all your friends and family seem to be shrugging their shoulders at you.

You're terrified and alone and all you get is some vagueness about an epic love story and too much emotion and all you want to do is hide. From everything. Plus your heart is doing this thing every time the girl is near and you think you might be dying maybe and remember how your brother died?

So, the girl kisses you, you literally feel like you might be dying, and it's like naw. Fuck this. I'm getting back an ounce of control. So you propose to Selin. I mean you don’t love her and you barely want her but at least she is the same. At least she hasn’t changed, and at least she doesn’t stare at you with the weight of a million expectations that everyone else does. At least she doesn’t look at you and hope to see a man you can’t ever remember being.

But then the girl everyone claims is your soulmate is suddenly engaged to another man, and spends every moment after that claiming she hates you, she is over you, she is better off/happier without you, doesn't need you.

So it's like, okay, what is the truth. Your brain isn't helping, your friends aren't helping, she isn't helping. So you lash out, you close off, because really, what else is left. Your life isn’t your life, your mind isn’t your mind, you can’t even figure out what’s real and what isn’t. And she’s getting married and you want to die but she’s getting married and surely if she loved you she wouldn’t be doing this?

And then you get your memories back. Finally. Everything comes flooding back ,and it's a lot. You cope in shitty ways, you don't respond well, etc. You’ve returned from the dead twice, and everything feels just slightly off, but maybe you can make this work. At least you have her. After a few days, you’re feeling like your old self. You've got your memories, your girl, the possibility of the future you had snatched twice, and then BOOM. She rejects you, out of nowhere.

Won't talk, won't communicate, you have no idea what the fuck is happening. She’s crying and sad but also not leaving but also not staying and your brain can’t quite work things out but all you can do is promise that you love her, only her, always her, forever. Surely she must know that by now, right?

And then she tells you about the baby. You can't remember the sex of course, but then you find out it probably happened while your brain was fucked, and you barely have time to process this before oh yeah the love of your life is leaving you bc she would rather you raise a baby with your rapist. And suddenly you might be dying, again.

But you stop her. You stop her and even though she says she didn’t come back for you, why else would she have stayed? So, you finally get her back, she tattoos you on her finger and maybe just maybe everything will be fine when BOOM. Cancer. You aren't even over the other shit, and you have a fucking tumor. You are 30 years old, you've survived a plane crash, amnesia, and now you have a tumor. How many times can a person die?

And so you don’t cope well. You withdraw, you back away. Your brother died when he was young, you know what that does to a person. You know what it did to your family. You have this fear that curls around your heart that says “but what if she becomes my mother.” And she goes. She leaves and she takes your heart and your child (that you don’t even know about) and it’s like...fuck. Again. Because everyone leaves you, eventually. And somehow, it’s always your fault.

So, what I'm saying is, Eda endured a lot, sure. She was hurt. Their breakup in 14 was hard and I’m not denying that (although there is another post I could write about how since Eda never actually uses her words to tell him how she feels he can, perhaps, be understood in assuming that breaking up after barely being together would hurt but also that she would move on and live her life happily without him. Which I guess season 2 proves…) Losing Serkan to an accident/amnesia was hard, looking at the body of the man she loves but not seeing the man she loves must have been agony. But Serkan was fucking wrecked. So instead of choosing to write a plot where they both get to heal, where they both get to explore their pain and work through it together, we get Serkan who reverted to being a robot to cope with massive trauma and PTSD, and essentially is abandoned by everyone, again.

I guess what I'm saying is, if staying with him and supporting him when he was dealing with trauma was too much for her, then fine.That is very true for some people, and it’s certainly realistic. But I don't really think that jives with Eda and her character, and while it isn't a trauma competition, I'd still think Serkan comes out a winner here. Eda lost her parents, which was awful. She lost him, but she got him back. Twice. His trauma is losing his brother, being abandoned by his parents, a plane crash, amnesia, emotional manipulation/abuse and cancer. And then he gets punished by having his daughter taken away from him because he was having a hard time coping. Keeping a kid a secret isn't "protecting the child" it's punishing the father.

Tl;dr The direction they have taken the characters is gross for both mains, but if people are trying to justify Eda keeping his child from him because “he deserves it” or “she did what was best for her” then I think we maybe haven’t been watching the same show. Even if he said “I don’t want kids,” saying that to a hypothetical child is very different then being told “a baby is very much our reality.” Because that's the crux right? It's not that he decided he just didn't want to be a father ever, he's scared of having a family and losing them or of them losing him. And then she made that very fear be realized. Which is tragic and quite the opposite of what his life partner needed to do in that situation.

Bitte.

Thanks to @lolo-deli for the proofread and the final lines, you are the best. And for putting up with my uncontrollable ranting about this for days.

[vonn13]

Andrew and happiness/laughing

this is going to be a long one, so buckle up...

Some people get really confused/frustrated at the idea of Andrew never truly being happy or ever laughing. I think it was somewhat mentioned in Nora's extra content as well that he kind of stays the same emotion wise as he grows older. I used to be one of those frustrated people, so no judgement there. But something discussed in therapy last week really got me thinking, because my therapist told me the darnest thing ever, which I will try explaining in this post. 

We all know Andrew isn’t emotionless, he feels things at a more muted level likely and some feelings like anger are a bit easier to reach due to his unstable upbringing. He certainly isn't emotionless, but you could say he’s emotionally limited. This doesn't make him a bad person or non-sympathetic nor does this mean he can’t love, it's just the way he is as a result of the life he's lived. He feels things less intense, but it doesn’t mean his feelings have no impact on him.

Here's the thing when regarding happiness, the importance of being happy is simply overrated no matter your mental state. Happiness is a ‘high’ if you may that you’ll always come down from, it’s a peak in your mood. Just like sadness is a dip in your mood. 

What Andrew feels later on in his life, I’d like to imagine it is contentment. It’s a stable mood without too many lows. Any psychiatrist will tell you that contentment is more important than happiness. It means not missing anything significant in your life and feeling an all encompassing calm. It is also a lack of fear and anger that we see so often in him, which should be really stressed upon. Chasing a constant high of emotions isn't feasible as well. 

Andrew's lack of happiness doesn't mean much in terms of his quality of life. He feels content with his life with Neil which is all I really need content wise. If he doesn't ever learn to feel happiness that is fine by me, if he feels safe and has ambitions than he can simply live.

The lack of laughter from Andrew is also a sign of his shitty life. It seems to me that Andrew's lack of laughter is a form of maintaining control over himself at times. We saw how he couldn't stop laughing on his meds which was a period where he lacked control over his body. Laughter could also be seen as a vulnerability by Andrew due to past experiences with abuse and the like he experienced. 

Andrew never being able to laugh or smile doesn’t mean he’s missing out on anything in life really. There are also plenty of people who don’t smile at all or a lot, which comes back to my point on him being content in life which is all that matters. Sure it would be nice if he could smile, but it just isn’t necessary. 

As a fighter rather than a survivor this is more than I could have ever asked from Andrew as a fictional character. (fuck do I hate the term survivor) Content and stable in his life. 

And if someone says it’s a sign of him not healing then you haven’t looked at it from enough angles. Him sharing a bed with Neil and life in general is a sign of healing. Not everyone will heal 100%, amazing for people who can, but not everyone is capable of a full recovery (which should be normalized and not frowned upon as long as it doesn’t hinder your quality in life too much). 

It’s like walking around with a remaining scar, it doesn’t always bother you, but some people will always have it even if it does fade quite a bit. Seeing the scar might bother some people, but the scar really doesn’t bother the person bearing it on their body. The scar in this case being the lack of laughter/happiness.

Once again, Andrew not laughing or not being happy doesn’t mean he’s broken and it isn’t shitty writing or downright depressing. It is learning to recognize that he can be comfortable in life, content enough to heal in different ways and not the ways the audience might want this character to heal.  

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this :) and if something is confusing just ask

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

More Than Allies

Prompt: If you ever consider writing for the Sweetheart AU again (it's completely ok if not) I'd love love love to see a time where Frisk was the one to comfort Sans by being their pure, adorable self; there's just something lovely to me about the thought of Frisk realising Sans is sad and knowing exactly how to help him - anon

DISCLAIMER: This is part of a Flowerfell!AU I've got on my Ao3. I'm not posting the rest of them on here because that would take too much time and I ain't about to clog up y'all's dashes with that shit. SO imma link to this work AND the series on Ao3 so y'all know where this fits

Read THIS on Ao3

Sweetheart series

Warnings: this is a flowerfell!au, where Frisk has flowers growing out of them, so slight warning for body horror but nothing graphic

Pairings: all gen

Word Count: 1650

Patching up wounds is one thing. So is keeping someone alive.

But making them happy?

Whoever invented the concept of snow seriously needed their head dunked in a bucket of the stuff. For at least a day. When they could deal with having cold shit shoved into places it shouldn’t be shoved for hours on end, then they could say that they made a good decision.

Sans continues to grumble to himself as he trudges back through Snowdin. Grillby’s place isn’t inconspicuous enough right now, seeing as he just spent most of the night there looking after the child.

“…you better be keeping ‘em alive in there,” Sans mutters, turning the corner to make it to the edge of the town, “or else i swear, grillbz…”

He doesn’t bother finishing the threat. He knows the fire monster would burn the entire fucking town to the ground before letting harm come to someone under his protection. Hell, Sans has seen that explosive rage once or twice. He’s not very keen on seeing it again, especially not if he’s on the wrong side of it.

As he walks, his hand finds its way into his pocket, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the bandaid wrappers.

Shit.

He swerves around one of the icebergs—flipping off the wolf as he did so, he received a threatening snarl for his troubles—and hustles down the path in the bottom of Waterfall. The mushrooms blink innocently as he tromps down the path, finally making it to Temmie Village.

One of the Temmies looks up at him and snarls.

“yeah, yeah,” Sans grumbles, “i just got business with the shop. keep your temmie flakes in order.”

Luckily the Temmies still seem to hate the red glow of his eye. The rest of them part easily as he strides into the shop. The cardboard box hiding the real shop front is still soggy and mold-eaten, much like the Temmie behind it. It glowers at him as he pulls out the payment.

“wouldn’t kill you to keep it a little less decrepit.” He glances around at the artfully arranged trophies on the walls. “though it might make it harder to excuse not cleaning your shit.”

The Temmie just glares at him. Sans shrugs, the absence of the child cold at his side.

“just sayin’.”

The Temmie grumbles something Sans doesn’t understand as it puts the package on the counter. Sans nods and turns to go, thanks forgone. He’d paid. And the Temmies tended to get word after dark anyway, so he’s better off just hurrying back to the child.

‘Child.’ Yeesh, he sounds so fucking formal.

Well, Sans thinks as he scrambles into the cave and restocks the first-aid kit, death does have a way of making things sound really fucking formal.

The kid could’ve died.

Yeah, yeah, he fucking knows, they’ve died too many fucking times already. The flowers aren’t going away any time soon and they’re hurting. But that’s different. It’s different watching them die.

Sans growls as he forces one of the long gauze strips into the plastic box. The hinges wheeze and groan in protest as he finally jams the thing shut again and stuffs it under his coat. He’s been away too long. He’s out of practice.

Not at killing motherfuckers, no, he’s got that down pat. But caring.

Shit, is he even doing this right? The kid’s practically glued to his side day in and day out, partially at his bidding but mostly because the kid just decided his hoodie is perfect to cling to. It’s no different than that damn stick they won’t fucking leave behind. It’s like another limb or something.

…and he would be lying if he said the kid didn’t feel like another limb too.

Sans grits his teeth as he makes it to the shortcut chamber. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps out a quick message.

me: package in tow

hothead: Too many customers wait for 22h00

Sans sighs and slumps back down. There are just not enough hours in the goddamn day, apparently. He’s got a bone to pick with whoever invented time keeping the way it is too. Seriously. Sometimes it really got under his non-existent skin.

“time is fake,” he grumbles to himself, hand going to his pocket again, “so fake.”

He has to stifle a wince when the expected tug on his sleeve doesn’t come.

When did he get so fucking attached?

…okay, listen, when a kid growing fucking flowers out of them decides they’re your friend now, they’re your friend now. Sans doesn’t make the fucking rules, he just follows them.

That doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing.

The kid seems to remember what happens when they die. They always come back looking a little different—more flowers—but they seem to know what’s going on. Of course, that doesn’t mean Sans always knows what’s going on, but he knows enough to recognize the way they seem a little more sure of themselves. Which is good; that means they won’t be walking defenseless into any big shit storm, but that also means that if he fucks up, they’ll remember.

That’s the part he’s worried about.

He’s been doing okay…hasn’t he? He remembers they like Echo Flowers, they like the quiet burble of Waterfall, he always keeps an extra blanket at his Sentry stations, he keeps them the fuck away from his brother, and they…they like his voice.

He talks to them when he can. They seem to like being able to hold onto him—which, okay, he gets. He can’t imagine not being able to see anything, much less be a kid and have to rely completely on someone who might just kill you.

Unbidden, a bone forms in his hand. He growls and puts it away.

No. Never.

A buzz from his pocket startles him out of his thoughts. Grillby informs him he’s good to come over and he doesn’t waste another second before teleporting straight to the fire monster’s backdoor.

“Good,” Grillby mutters, already striding upstairs, “they’re almost awake.”

“any changes in their condition?”

“They’re almost healed. They’ll make a full recovery. Well…” Grillby trails off as he sits back down in the chair. “Except for…”

Grillby doesn’t need to finish. Sans’s SOUL clenches as he looks at the kid lying on the couch. They look so…so…

…fragile.

The flowers haven’t grown anymore, at least not that he can see. As he watches, a few of the petals catch the very edge of Grillby’s flames and the purple light makes them look almost white.

“how long’ve they been asleep now,” he mutters, “twelve hours?”

“Nearly.”

Sans mutters a curse and scratches the back of his skull. If they don’t wake up soon…

No sooner does the thought cross his mind—and get swatted away with the force of a blaster—the kid starts to shift on the couch.

“easy, sweetheart,” he says, worry growing in the pit of his chest as he watches them shift, “hey, kid. kid.”

“They’re having a nightmare?”

Sans bites back another curse and rushes forward. “hey, hey, sweetheart, it’s alright, i’m here.”

As soon as he gets closer, his chest starts to glow a soft white. Grillby stifles a noise of surprise as the kid reaches up for him, wrapping their hands around the lapels of his hoodie and pulling. Sans eases himself down onto the floor next to the couch and lets them bury their face in the fluffy lining of the hood.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” he rumbles, his hand coming up to steady them, “it’s okay, nothing’s gonna hurt you, ’s just me and grillbz here, we ain’t going anywhere.”

There’s a soft sigh against his clavicle and then clumsy signs appear in front of his sockets.

“you want me to talk to you, sweetheart?” A little nod. “uh, okay. there’s a, uh, a new cave in waterfall we should check out.”

Their little hands settle in his hoodie as he murmurs to them, their head starting to loll against his shoulder. He hears Grillby stand up and come over as well, hushing the kid’s confusion with a quick explanation that it’s okay, they won’t be hurt, Grillby just needs to check their wound.

The kid just tugs on their sleeve. They butt their head lightly against Sans’s and slowly reach out.

“what, you wanna hold my hand, kid?” Fingers twine with his. “okay, then.”

Grillby chuckles over his shoulder only for it to choke off when the kid grabs for his hand too.

Sans laughs. “guess you’re stuck now too.”

“…worse fates I can imagine.”

There’s another little tug on his SOUL. He frowns, looking back at the kid’s face, only to see their head aimed at the spot on his chest where his SOUL would appear. Then they lean forward and—

“Wow,” Grillby chuckles again, “you’re in this bad.”

Sans, cheeks still warm and bright red from the kiss pressed to his forehead, just stares. The kid seems to be satisfied with the light mortification they’ve just caused. Nodding proudly to themselves, they settle back on the couch. One hand firmly in Sans’s, one hand in Grillby’s. Without being prompted, Sans cards his free hand through their hair, smiling as they let out a hushed sigh, head flopping back onto the pillow.

“They trust you,” Grillby says, something like awe in his voice, “they really trust you.”

“…seems so.”

And yet, even though Sans will readily admit he has no idea what he’s doing still, he wouldn’t give it up for all the hot dogs in the multiverse.

[thenextchapter22]

Hell is not the best place to have a fever

Description: Mika is sick, and then Lucifer looks after her, and then Asmo does only he also makes her feel good in other ways. (Basically: Sickfic turned Smut)

Warnings: NSFW, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering 

Pairing(s): Asmodeus/OFC, Slight Lucifer/OFC

Word Count: 6,720

Link to my AO3:  Click Here

Author’s Notes: So I decided to post all my works from AO3 here just because I am a needy little bitch so I hope you enjoy reading :D

_+_

It was too bright and too hot. She felt like she was dying.

Mika groaned as she woke up, licking her chalky chapped lips. Her body was on fire and still her body shook as if freezing. Instantly Mika knew she was sick.

Usually that meant she would call out of her job in the human world and take some time off to rest. But here in the Devildom she had school, and calling out would mean speaking to Lucifer, and speaking to Lucifer meant explaining she why she wasn’t going, and then it would lead to a whole thing that would end up with her being smothered by all the brothers for comfort and which, yes, she loved to be cuddled when she was sick, and she was a bit whiny and needy too. So really it wasn’t a problem, but she didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

Mika groaned, coughing a bit as she did. It was only going to get worse. She had a fever, she could tell, and her stomach was starting to cramp up. She took deep breathes that were thick and hot and came from a clogged phlegmy throat.

“Mika?”

She froze, nerves tingly with icy fear. Oh no. It was Lucifer at her door. She felt her heart pounding. Please don’t come in, I don’t want you to see me like this. Because she must have looked a total disaster, her face flushed and lips chapped, and no doubt the room stank. Her hair was probably a rat’s nest, and she felt it and, yeah, it was run-down and sticky with her sweat.

There were three firm knocks. “You’re going to be late to class. I let the missed breakfast slide, but I will not tolerate any classes to be skipped.”

She cleared her throat before answering. “I’ll be there soon!” She winced. That fucking hurt.

There was silence. Then, another knock. Softer. “May I come in.” The tone suggested it was not a question.

Again, freaking out, and her stomach lurched along with her fear. Lucifer could not see her this way. She admired him too much for all he had done for his brothers and herself, and he would not want to look after a sick human. No matter how much she wanted him to hold her close and make her feel better.

“I’ll be out soon. Give me a few minutes please.”

It seemed speaking alone exhausted her, because she started panting. It was too hot, and her chest ached. Panic settled in when her stomach burned, and she held her mouth with her hand, and her stomach with her other pressing it roughly in punishment. Begging it not to do what it was trying to. But it was harder than she thought and her body was weak. She got up fast when the burning came to her throat in seconds and ran to the bathroom where she tossed open the toilet seat and let out pure stomach acid. It burned hot in her mouth and esophagus. Her knees throbbed from when she all but fell down onto them, and her hair was falling in the way about to get vomit all over it. She really hated throwing up. Misery built up inside her like a burning flame.

Two black gloved hands suddenly appeared, helping pull strands away from her face. Lucifer’s presence behind her was quick to make her feel better and she almost relaxed back against him. But then she remembered she did not want him to see her this way. It was disgusting human stuff and just private stuff she should be dealing with on her own.

He spoke sweetly to her. “Let it out, my dear. It’s almost over.” He knelt, yes, Lucifer knelt beside her, one hand keeping her hair back, the other gently stroking across her forehead. She saw out of the corner of her eye as she spit out the last of her vomit that he was frowning, and his eyes were… sad? But she was too focused on the pain in her throat, head, and, hell, her whole body, to really think too attentively on it.

He flushed the toilet as she moved away. Her nose was leaking and her eyes watered. Her limbs were jelly. She sighed, closed her eyes, and a head rush came on quick, lights burning behind her eyes. If it wasn’t for a gentle hand at her neck she would’ve fallen back.

“I have you.”

Lucifer turned the faucet on from his position with his long arms, and Mika watched with bleary stingy eyes as he wet a cloth, and then wiped over her forehead first. The cool wet sensation was nice and she hummed at the good feeling. A shinning spot in her pain. He smiled at the corner of his mouth, lifting the damp cloth across her mouth to wet away anything left. Her lips tingled. He gently pat under her nose, and she wiggled it, his eyes crinkled as she did.

“Thanks,” Mika whispered. It sounded awful to her own ears and hurt just as much. Embarrassed at having Lucifer, a Lord of the Devildom, wipe at her puke and snot. But it was nice, too.

“Hush, you can barely speak. No more talking, do you understand me?” Lucifer spoke firmly,

She pressed her lips together, and nodded slowly. Honestly, not talking was okay with her.

“Good girl.” He reached down to her, grabbed and lifted her up in his arms with quick grace, and she gasped, clinging to his back with one arm, lightheaded. “Your bed is filthy. Come, we are going to my room so you can rest.”

She sniffed, and buried her face in his chest. The sway in his arms of her body made her sleepy, like a baby being rocked, and she felt herself dozing off.

“Oh no, is Mika unwell?”

She turned her face, and saw Asmodeus walking their way. She blinked blearily at him. She waved with her hand on her lap and saw the Avatar of Lust grin for a split second.

Lucifer nodded. “She is. I expect you to take notes in classes for her. Pass the word on to the others as well.”

“Of course!” Asmo peered down at you, and pouted his lips. “Poor deary. I wish you the quickest recovery.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, Lucifer growling low in his throat. She smiled softly because she knew how protective Lucifer was.

“Asmodeus…” Lucifer warned.

Asmo winked at her. “Bye-bye, little Mika, make sure Lucifer takes good care of you. If he doesn’t, you know where I am.” He strolled away, humming to himself as he did.

Mika was brought into Lucifer’s room. It was dimly light, and soft music played from a record player. Classical music, she thought, but it was different. The Devildom’s version perhaps? She sighed, and lolled her head back. Thinking was too hard, she was exhausted.

Lucifer chuckled. “Don’t sleep yet, pet. First I want to get you comfortable. Here we are.” He sat her down on his bed before he walked away, and wow was it soft and squishy. She pressed her hands down, and knew she’d want to stay in this room forever just lying on the bed. She felt like she was turning into Belphegor.

“I’d prefer you to eat before you sleep, but I think you may just vomit again so we will avoid that mess. Here’s some water instead.”

She happily drank the cup of cold water that was handed to her. It was nice on her throat. Sighing in relief, she lay back against the soft sheets and pillows behind her head with his help.

“Thank you,” she said.

His form hovered over her head, and he tutted at her, one finger over her lips. She noticed his gloves were gone, and his fingers were cool to the warm chapped feeling of her mouth. “No speaking, remember? Heal that poor throat.”

She blushed. He was right, though. All she wanted to do was sleep. Which was odd, as it was morning, not night. But her body and mind was ready to rest for a while.

He sat at her side, then. Lucifer’s fingers softly stroked her hair and he did this for a few minutes. The feeling was rhythmic, hypnotizing her into dreaming. She listened to the music he had on, feeling his presence beside her. Just knowing he was there made her feel comfortable, safe. He was the strongest of all the brothers. He was taking care of her. His soft fingers combing her hair, nails occasionally scratching her scalp soothingly, she had never felt so relaxed when ill before.

“Sleep now, my darling Mika,” he whispered.

And she did.

__

Mika woke up slowly, groggily. Body aching, and worst of all sticky. The sheets beneath her she could feel were cool with her own sweat that soaked in an imprint which she immediately moved away from. Vaguely she recalled waking up before, delirious and too hot, and feeling soft cool touches to her face and neck, hearing sweet words from a kind voice. It had to have been a high fever and the outcome was this incredibly sore feeling all over.

“Good morning,” a soft deep voice said at her side, making her flinch. “I’m glad to see you awake and lucid… somewhat.” The voice chucked.

Glancing over, and getting her bleary eyes to focus, it was Lucifer. He carried a tray with glasses and other items. He wore a small smile on his handsome face, and if she looked deeply she could see some dark smudges under his eyes indicating he did not sleep well (no doubt remnants of caring for her fevered self the night before).

He set the tray at the stand beside the bed, and held out a glass of ice water to her. “Drink, you must be very thirsty.”

She just hummed, licking her lips that tasted awful, sour and dry. Water sounded amazing. She reached for the water glass, hand shaking. He simply took her hand, guided it back down, and after helping her sit up amongst a mound of comfy pillows thankfully not sweat-ridden, he helped her drink the ice cool liquid. Immediately her throat felt soothed, and she swished it in her mouth to get rid of the nasty flavor.

Lucifer gently wiped away stuck hair from her cheeks, and Mika sighed at his touch. No matter how many times he put his hands on her, she would never tire of it, gentle or not.

He kept a hand over her cheek, thumb soothingly stroking her skin with his cool glove. He looked at her like she was the most fragile thing he’d ever seen. “I’ve brought you some medicine from the human world and some potions as well. Satan and I made sure that none of these medicines combined would negatively affect you. Take this,” he said, setting a glass of purple thick stuff in her hand, the glass shaking just a bit in her grip.

She turned her lip up at it, and begged him with her eyes. The smell was terrible, bitter and like it was burnt. “I hate medicine. I hate potions even more. I really don’t want this, Luci.”

He chuckled, darkly, and it was terrifying. “Always so stubborn even when ill. But this is not up for debate, my dear.”

She eyed the tray, where some tablets lay as well as a cloth and thermometer. But the worst thing of all was in her hands. Who would ever want to drink this stuff? She’d rather suffer through another session of vomiting up her own insides. “I’ll take the advil or whatever that is, but not the… gloopy stuff.”

He shook his head. “Your fever isn’t as high as it was last night, but you must take this to prevent it from returning and,” he titled his head, then said, “willingly would be best.”

She glared at him, albeit weakly, and they had about a minute of a stare down. Her eyes watered a bit, she did blink but having to focus on one thing was hard. Lucifer’s eyes glowed red the entire time, his arms folded casually, his stance as still as could be, and she realized she could not beat the firstborn demon brother when she was so weak in a staring contest (she could activate the pact, but honestly it wouldn’t have much strength right now most likely).

Mika’s shoulder’s fell, and she internally groaned. “Fine.”

He grinned devilishly. He really loved winning, she thought. “Thank you, Mika.”

After taking the awful medicine and gagging, Lucifer cooing at her to which she glared, she sat back with a yawn.

“Now I unfortunately have some business with Diavolo today that I simply cannot delay in, so I asked Asmodeus to watch over you. If you’d like to stay here, you’re more than welcome. But I think he said he wanted to give you a soothing bath for your aching body if you’d like me to take you to his room?”

She sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”

Asmodeus’s bathroom was extravagant and everything you would expect him to have. It was the size of her bedroom. She had been there with him a few times before going to The Fall as he had a vanity mirror with many beauty products lined up that any girl would dream of having. She also had been in there to have bath sex for the first time, and it was absolutely glorious. 10 out of 10, would do it again in a heartbeat.

Lucifer helped her change into some more comfortable clothes, sweatshirt and pants with underwear but no bra—bras were not to be worn when ill, she told him. The walk to his room was long even with Lucifer helping her walk and eventually she got lightheaded so he lifted her into his arms halfway through. She let him this time, but really it was only because she knew she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while and the close contact was nice. Diavolo usually took him away for at least half the day when he needed him and getting any attention from Lucifer made Mika happy.

Just as they got to their destination, Asmo opened the door before they could knock. He looked up and down at them, and raised his brows with a large shining smile. “Well, this is the second time I’ve seen you in Lucifer’s arms, Mika! How lucky you are.”

Mika couldn’t help but grin. Asmo’s teasing always made her smile. “I really am the luckiest girl.”

Lucifer sighed. “Here.” And he had the audacity to pass her into Asmo’s arms like a doll. She huffed, but allowed it. Only because Asmo was wearing a soft pink robe and it felt nice to cuddle into it. Also, she felt tingly inside being passed from one man to another when both were so damn hot.

“I’ve given her a few potions, but she will need more in a few hours. I’ll send a little D with them when the times comes.” Lucifer leaned down to her face, and kissed her cheek. As usual, his gaze softened when looking at just her. He was so close she could smell his cologne, her senses heightened. “Rest well, my darling.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Luci,” she whispered.

“Aahh, so cute,” Asmo cooed. “Don’t worry, big brother, I’ll make sure our precious petal is taken care of!”

“I know you will not let me down.”

_+_

Entering Asmodeus’s room was like entering a different world. From the dark colors outside in the House of Lamentation, to the bright pinks and orange hues in his room, and all the expensive and shiny looking things laid about. It was a drastic change from, say, Lucifer’s room which was more gothic, or Levi’s which was aquatic. She only hated Satan’s room as there was never any room to sit, but the smell of books always comforted her though.

“I’ve got a wonderful bath running for you with only the best oils and bath bombs I had,” Asmo said after shutting the door. He carried her to the lavish bathroom adjoined to his room, the only one that was so large, and set her on the cushioned bench on one wall. The room was steaming and felt warm and homey, and the dim yellow and pink lights dancing overhead made her feel sleepy and soft.

He crouched down at her, and smiled at the adorable sight she made. Her cheeks were flushed. “Lavender with milk and honey, it’ll make your skin soft and take away all those aches. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Mika had to admit, it really did. “Thanks so much, Asmo. You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

He pouted, long fingers dancing over her cheekbones and forehead, and gently under her eyes which she closed as he did. “You look so tired, petal. Come, let’s get you undressed and into the tub now.” He stood up, and held out his hands, clenching and un-clenching them. “Arms up.”

Nudity in front of any of them at the beginning of her stay was scary, but she trusted Asmo not to do anything without her consent. Plus, she had the pact as a backup if she could really harness her strength into a command. And after having sex with most of the demon brothers, she came to appreciate her body more and realize that to them she was beautiful no matter what so she wasn’t all that shy.

And she really didn’t think she could do it herself without getting super tired, and a bath in Asmo’s tub was pure luxury. No way was she not going to take one.

So she did as he said, albeit shakily. He hummed and carefully pulled the sweater off her. “My, my, no bra, my sweet? What are you trying to tell me,” he giggled.

She rolled her eyes (which hurt as she did) and laughed softly. “You know me. Always ready for anything.”

He bopped her nose once, and she twitched it in response. “I know you are.”

Getting her pants and underwear off was harder, but eventually they did. Then he helped her step into the large tub which really was more like a small pool. She sighed, or practically moaned honestly, and sank until her nose and eyes were all that was above water.

“Don’t go drowning on me now, dear Mika. Lucifer will have my head on a silver platter if anything were to happen to you under my care.”

She turned to him, and blinked slowly. She felt heavy with all the steam getting to her. He was stepping into the water beside her, sitting on the steps. He wore swim trunks that were glittery pink and outlined his physique wonderfully, plus is showed his dick off in it well. She assumed he would be wearing a thong or speedo.

“I won’t sink,” she murmured.

She let out a sigh and felt her muscles loosening. Her body felt lighter than it had in a long time.

“Ah, I forgot to mention I added a little something extra to the waters. It’s supposed to help relax all the muscles and create a sense of calm. Perhaps I put too much?” He grinned wickedly.

She made a sound in the back of her throat, and leaned back against the tub. Uh oh, maybe he did put too much as she felt herself falling backwards.

Until, there was a warm body behind her instead, protecting her head with soft hands. “I’ve got you, love.”

She kept her eyes shut, smothering her cheek into his abs. “’anks.” He smelt so good, she couldn’t help but nuzzle him a bit.

He laughed, fingers running through her wet locks. “Let’s get you all washed up now that you're less tense.”

And he started scrubbing her hair with his wonderful fingers. She felt like she was in heaven. “Fuck, that’s nice. ‘s like ‘m at a massage parlor.”

“Mmm. I am fantastic with my fingers, as you well know.”

She blushed. She did know.

“Do you want mint and rosemary shampoo, or I have vanilla milk and papaya?”

She shrugged, feeling warm and sleepy with him behind her, and the hot oiled water surrounding her. She really did not care much, but saying that would hurt Asmo’s feelings.

She liked mint shampoo at the salons when she got her hair done. “First one?”

He scratched her scalp in thought, again causing Mika to sigh in happiness at the attention. “Hm. We’ll do the mint shampoo, and then the strawberry and rose conditioner. Oh, you’re gonna smell so sweet I just won’t be able to let you leave my sight~”

She laughed softly. Then he did his magic and Mika almost passed out from pure pleasure of soapy mint fingers scratching over her head. She felt her insides melting into goo, and literally slipping under almost like she was in a trance. The mint smelled good, and it perked her up a bit from the lethargy the water was giving her momentarily. She could have sworn he was using his powers, but she did not feel aroused, more like she felt sated but wanting more.

He hummed as he worked through her hair, untangling and scrubbing. Warm water was poured with his hands over her hair, and he ran his fingers through it to get all the minty soap out. But it was hard to do because Asmo had to pull her body up twice as she sunk down deeper, feeling relaxed and almost like dead weight.

As he then started to apply the strawberry conditioner to her newly washed hair, he said with some frustration in his tone, “Darling, you’re really making it difficult to pamper you.”

He sighed in frustration and guided her between his legs, clamping his own against her thighs. She felt the push against her legs, but it wasn’t hard, just enough to keep her there.

And suddenly she felt overwhelmed. With all the smells assaulting her senses and her sensitive body being caressed over and over, it was no wonder. His words certainly did not help her feel good inside. She felt bad, he was being so nice and she was ruining it. So she wasn’t surprised when she felt herself crying silently.

He stopped massaging the conditioner into her hair, the atmosphere tense. He dunked his hands under the water to wash away the soap, and gently pulled her face to turn to his with a light pinch of her chin with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes glowed in concern at her tears. “Petal, please don’t cry. I'm sorry for what I said, you cannot help it and that's okay, I'm right here to help. We’ll be done in a few minutes, then we can cuddle in bed and I’ll braid your hair. Sounds good, yeah?” He spoke softly.

She sniffed, and nodded once. “’mkay.”

“Oh, sweet Mika. Are you feeling poorly again, or just sleepy?” he crooned, the thumb on her chin rubbing soothingly.

Honestly, her head was a bit fuzzy, but her body wasn’t aching and her stomach was fine. She shrugged. “Both?” Then, as if knowing what she just said, she held her stomach as it rumbled, the sensation running through her entire midsection.

Asmo laughed, and it sounded like chimes. “You must be starving to make such sounds. That was almost as loud as Beel’s in the morning.”

She pursed her lips, and shook out of his hold on her face. She wiped at her eyes, her arms tired from the small action. “Mean.” She faced the water below, and looked at the suds and bubbles. She was actually starting to get an appetite back, and food sounded good.

“I’ll have some light food for you once we finish here.”

She murmured her thanks, and he finished with the conditioner in her hair. It was nice smelling, reminding her of summer breezes in the human world in flower fields, with a hint of sweetness from the strawberries.

He abruptly stood up and took her with him, taking her out of the trance she was about to drop into. She grunted at the sudden movement of arms under her own, somewhat dragging her up as she was such dead weight.

The shock of air hit her body and she winced, and felt herself turning sluggish. “Next time,” she nearly slurred, leaning her nude body against his, “don’t add that stuff.”

He smiled small. And she got the feeling it was not an accident to make her this way.

_+_

There was nothing like laying down on Asmo’s plush bed with too many pillows after a luxurious soak in his amazing bathtub. Mika wore his soft light purple robe he had her borrow (because “you are not wearing those hideous sweatpants in my presence anymore deary”) and his silky black boxers. Her muscles had never felt so loose before, she couldn’t stand upright for long when she initially got out of the bathtub. Was she on drugs? Did Asmodeus drug her? Is this what being on drugs was like? She wondered. But no, he wouldn’t do that. Not without asking first at least.

Asmodeus was sitting off the side of the bed next to her, humming as he arranged some food on a plate for her that a little D brought in. He wore a similar robe and boxer set, but his were silky and nearly see through.

She reclined back against the fluffy mound of pillows even deeper on the canopy bed, and said with a sigh, “I’m glad we don’t have school and that it’s the weekend. I would feel bad for missing anymore.”

Asmo turned his head and gave her a stern look, which, to be frank, on him was absolutely adorable. “Mika, you’re ill. And you missed one day. There’s no way Lucifer would let you go to RAD when you’re sick, darling. He cares for you too much. Don’t feel that way either, you’ll always have us to help you catch up on missed work. Well, all of us except Mammon.” He winked, and she giggled.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.” She stared up at the canopy top, and noticed it had little flecks of sparkles in it that began glimmering in the light. It was really pretty, like anything of Asmo’s wouldn’t be pretty to look at, though.

“I know I am. Here Mika, say ah~”

Mika turned, and there was a piece of fruit shoved at her lips. She bit it and hummed, it tasted good. “What is it?”

“It’s a melon of some sort… not sure!” He shrugged, grabbing another in his delicate hand. This one was yellow with small orange spots, the size of a small sugar cube. She opened her mouth and took the whole piece. “Is it good?”

She licked her lips from the juices. “Mhhm, yeah it is.”

His eyes gleamed as he watched her lips. As he basically eyed her, she eyed the small plate, curious of other fruits, and then pursed her lips when she saw a small vial. It had purple liquid and she knew exactly what it was.

Nope. Mika was not taking it.

She attempted to reach for a piece of fruit herself, really intending on sneaking the vial and hiding it, but Asmo slapped her hand lightly and she drew it back with a small hiss. Her plan was ruined.

“Don’t be naughty now.” He waged his finger. She gaped, wondering if he knew what she was going to do. “Eat some more fruit and then rest a bit. Taking that nasty potion without food is not ideal, I know from experience.”

Feeding her a few more pieces of cut up fruit of all different shades, Mika was feeling good, and it was like she was being treated like royalty. Her body was relaxed, and Asmo’s aura was even more so. She bit at his fingers jokingly once and laughed when he took revenge by smearing purple juice on her nose. She went crossed eyed as he did it.

Asmodeus laughed at her, crying out, “So cute!” and kissed her nose, then he preceded to lick it like a kitten would.

She turned beet red. His eyes alone caused a reaction in her, but his tongue on her body? That was a whole different feeling together.

But it seemed he was just teasing (like usual) because suddenly his fingers were combing through her still wet locks, twirling them around. “Can I braid your hair, petal? If I braid it now it’ll be curly when it fully dries and you’ll look so gorgeous all my brothers will eat you up.”

Chuckling, Mika nodded. “Sure. As long as I don’t actually get eaten.”

“Mmm, well, I can’t guarantee Beel won’t. Now turn around for me, dear.”

She was turned around at his direction, back to Asmo’s chest in his spread legs, her own crisscross style. Having his elegant fingers in her hair again was nice, and she shut her eyes, feeling the tugs and pulls. It was like a sick spa day.

Her body was leaning back more and more, and she couldn’t tell if it was still from the bath or from her sickness taking its toll again. Or even just Asmo’s aura, even though his powers didn’t technically have any effect on her, he still did. But he had to readjust her a few times with his hands taking turns from her braid, to instead press her against him right so he could do her hair.

And she couldn’t help it, she felt bad for making him pull her all over the place. “Sorry,” she murmured. “M just really… relaxed…”

He laughed breathlessly in her ear, the heat making her head spin a bit. “It’s all right.” He grabbed her waist with one hand and pulled her body back to where he wanted. With just one hand on her bare skin beneath the robe, warm and soft. She made a “omf” sound as he did it so fast, but he quickly put his fingers back into her hair, and was done in no time at all.

“There! You look like a princess, so beautiful. Not like you didn’t before.” He tugged on the single braid playfully.

“Are you my prince, then?” she asked breathlessly. Having his hands all over her so much the past hour or so was getting to her. Being pressed close to him again made her skin tingle, and she might have just felt the boxers she wore get wet from her pussy dripping. Although, usually when she was close with most of the brothers she got at least a little bit wet. Especially with a certain eldest brother.

“Of course! Have I not always been your prince, darling?”

She smiled softly, and turned her head to kiss his cheek. “You are.” Do orgasms help when sick? She hoped so.

He encompassed his legs around her a bit more once he turned her around in his lap to face one another. “My sweet Mika.” He smiled with no teeth, and then sighed like he regretted what he was about to say next. “Now, I know you hate the stuff, and I do, too. I remember when I got sick from eating too much of that chocolate Beel got from the human realm and I had to take something similar. Lucifer is pretty adamant with this. Just try not to breath and it’ll be better.”

She frowned. What a twist, from being aroused to being forced to take awful medicine. “But—can I just have the human medicine now? I don’t have a fever anymore.”

He hummed, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t know, you feel a bit hot to me.”

She shuddered. Even though his powers did not affect her, she still felt attraction and she was sensitive right now. Plus, his lips were right there, and he was the best kisser.

“Mhh, you smell so sweet. But before things escalate, take your medicine first.”

She huffed, and pouted profusely. He stared at her, his gaze lingering on her mouth, and lifted his hand and pressed his single index finger to her bottom lip, pulled it down, watching it pop back. She felt herself exhale shakily, and just stopped a groan from leaving her lips.

Asmo let his hand drop, a smile on his face and his eyes practically neon with power. He took the vile from the plate discarded to the side of the bed, bare of the fruit. He popped the cork and tipped it to her lips. “Drink up.”

She again opened her mouth for him again, as she would most likely always do, and swallowed the disgusting potion. It would be the last time she took it, and not even Lucifer could tell her any different. “Blegh!”

He smirked at her then, and gave her some water from his nightstand to help. “Sorry, my darling. How about I make you forget about that nasty taste, yeah? Would my tongue help?”

She tilted her head up, braid falling back. “Please,” she begged.

“Please what?”

He leaned closer. Mika’s body leaned closer in return, her chest to his. The air felt hot, static-y. All that separated them from being bare against once another was the two thin robes. “Please kiss me?”

His mouth was soft on her own, and a bit wet from him licking them in anticipation. He pressed her down to the bed, using his tongue to pull her lips apart gently as he positioned her. She let him lick in her mouth for a moment, just lying there, pliant.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured on her mouth.

She cried as he bit her lower lip too hard, hips raising off the bed to meet his. “Ah! Asmo…”

“Hmm. I’ll be gentle, darling, I promise.”

And then he was kissing her cheeks, sliding down and down until he was at her lower half, on his knees. She realized her legs spread far apart automatically, and glancing down at him she really wanted his mouth on her.

He read her mind, because he asked, “Can I taste you here?” He parted the robe, and smiled seductively up at her. His fingers ran over her clothed clit, circling.

She cried at the touch, her body hot. Her head flew back, hands clawing bedsheets. “Please please, yes!”

“So reactive, I love what I do to you. I barely even touched your little clit, and look at you.”

Mika felt her bottom half raising off the bed, searching for his mouth, or something. His words made her burn even more, it was like a fire struck inside of her, and she was needing relief

“Let’s get you out of these now.” He tore through his own clothes she wore, and her lower half was in open air. She was totally nude. “How wet you are, glistening really.”

He kissed at her hipbone, suckling a small hickey there. His hand massaged her other hip, fingers sly and dancing over her thigh. Teasing, and making her leak more. Kissing a pathway down to the inside of her thigh, he used his other hand to pull her leg up, and then hot air blew on her folds.

She threw her hands down to grab his hair when he pressed his tongue flat on her and licked up. It was a rough pressure and she felt it down through her legs, making her tense up even with the way her body felt like goo. “Asmo, yes, ng!”

“My sweet petal, you taste divine,” he whispered against her pussy lips. His tongue pointed and flicked at her clitoris then, a rapid movement. She pulled on his hair, and shoved her hips up to meet his mouth better, which was difficult with the fact that he held on of her legs. “Ah, yes, use my face.”

“Inside, please, want your tongue in me,” she begged. Her eyes shut tight, and she tossed her head to the side, biting her own lip.

He bit her clit then, and she cried loudly, gripping his hair very hard. She let go and moved her grip to the bed sheets instead. One hand still holding her leg up by her thigh stayed, warm on her goosebumps skin and the grip wasn’t too hard. His other was on her hip, fingers circling her hipbone with softness, nails barely scraping but enough to make her gasp a little bit here and there. She felt open and bare and so wet and hot.

And that was when he really got into it. His tongue roamed outside her vagina, poking in just so, and then it was fully inside, and he flattened it and his lips sucked on her. Mika couldn’t breathe. The sensation was incredible, she felt full and wet. Her body was trembling, her core so heated. She wanted more, she wanted a bigger sensation.

He pressed his finger to her clit, and rubbed back and forth and he tongued in and out of her pussy. It was good, so so good, but she wanted something else.

She shook her head, and said, “please, I want… tongue… on my clit…”

Asmo hummed in acknowledgment and slurped away from her vagina, his hands on her leaving as well. She felt cold suddenly, but when he looked at her again she did not, she felt turned on more with his gaze so focused. “Ah, I love how straightforward you are in bed. You look so delectable, my sweet.”

She looked at him then, his face wet with her own juices, as he licked it up, fingers popping in his mouth for a quick moment to swirl and he hummed in delight. His body was lean, and on display in front of her, dark boxers with an obvious bulge. He was so gorgeous, could have anyone, and he was eating her out.

Her stomach clenched. She needed more. More from the Avatar of Lust. “Please…”

“Begging will get you everywhere, darling.” He laughed, and he never looked as bright as he did then. He went back down on her, and lifted both her legs up abruptly, and Mika gasped. He really went for it then, and the tongue on her clit was fast, so fast it was almost vibrating. She was climbing quick, and hard, her body shaking.

“Asmo,” she chanted over and over.

Her chest rose and fell. The noises were sloppy sounding, and it turned her on even more. Then his fingers, two, entered her and fucked in and out as he nibbled and suckled her clit vigorously.

“Come, gonna come now!” she said breathlessly.

Seconds later, with a rough pump of his fingers and a hard suckle of his lips around her swollen bundle of nerves, she was coming, pulsating around his fingers. Lights danced over her shut eyes, and her legs shook a bit. She moaned softly, riding it out with some small thrusts of her hips, Asmo letting her, and then her body dropped down from where it was pressed up to his face.

“Ah, my dear, there’s nothing quite like a good orgasm to make you feel better.”

She laughed, and pulled him down. Well, she reached for him by clenching her fingers in the air for a moment with eyes shut, and he complied, lying beside her.

“Cuddle time I’m guessing?” he teased, pinching her side.

She gasped. “Yes. ‘M tired now.”

“Ah, so I don’t get anything in return?” he asked sadly.

She frowned, and opened her eyes. “I can, I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me.”

He smiled, and bopped her nose again. “My sweet Mika. Hush though, I was only joking. You close those pretty eyes and rest now.”

She hummed, snuggling close to his chest. Thankfully he really meant that, she would know otherwise, because she could not do much else right then. “Thanks, Asmo. You’re the best.”

“Hm, yes, we all know this, but please keep saying it.” He kissed her cheek, and said softer, with pure affection in his tone, “Sweet dreams, my petal.”

[detectivedreameater]

Cut To The Chase || Cutler and Marley

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @clarkesconvenience and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Cutler’s name keeps popping up in Marley’s files, so she decides to pay him a visit.

Marley hated paperwork, and that was all her job had been lately. Paperwork. Case file after case file. She’d gotten to interrogate a few suspects, but nothing that exciting happened in the precinct. This wasn't a place of mass murderers and drug lords-- it was a place of mystery and intrigue! And supernaturals working underground, hiding behind prying eyes! She wanted to be out in the field, she needed to be out there. But they would never let her. Queenie would never let her. And she knew, somewhere deep inside, she knew they were right. It was dangerous for her to be out there, not just for herself, but others. But she still craved it, like another part of herself. It had just been another piece of her being that Roy had taken away from her, and she was still fighting to reclaim that.

And that was when a file came across her desk and for the third time the same name had popped up. Cutler Clarke. Several people had seemed to visit his shop just before the incidents had happened, and some of them had been carrying strange objects with them, now sitting in evidence lockers. One man had even had a wad of cash in an envelope with Clarke’s name on it, scrawled in shitty handwriting. People were so stupid sometimes. 

After digging back through the evidence files, Marley had a decision to make. Something was going on here, something shady. All of the files that had Clarke’s name referenced in them were “cold”, with no clue as to what happened next or what the suspects were. It was clear to Marley though, that these were supernatural incidents. Which meant this was something she needed to take care of. She was the only one that could, after all.

It was with that that the decision was made. She grabbed her jacket and her glasses, and tucked the files away in her desk, before heading out, the thrill of a chase already exciting her. 

The shop was closed by now, but that was no problem for someone who could turn invisible. Though her abilities were still faltering every now and then, Marley had enough focus to change herself and slip through the doors, past the alarms and towards the back of the store, where she noticed a light on. There seemed to be another door in the back, and she’d bet it was locked. Again, no problem for someone like her. She stepped through the door, peering around, and found herself in what looked like a makeshift hospital room. And in the middle, the man himself. Marley grinned wickedly before deciding it was a good time to reappear, standing next to the “exam table”. She tapped her fingernails loudly on it, and when the man turned, she tilted her head. “You know, I’m pretty sure once your license is taken away, you’re not supposed to keep practicing,” she said, brushing her jacket back to expose her badge as she put a hand on her hip. “In fact, I think that’s illegal.”

Cutler peeled the surgical gown from his body like he was shedding a second skin, deep grimace set into stone features. This had been a hard one, touch and go for a little while. Even after he had practically begged his patient - no, client - to take it easy in their recovery, they had insisted on walking out of there and driving themselves home. The envelope of cash sat heavy in his back pocket, dragging his spine into a guilty slouch. He dropped the gown into the wastepaper basket at his feet, where it drifted to meet the plasticky refuse of the operation. 

The tapping of fingernails on the table behind him snapped his posture back upward, feet leaving the ground in a terrified jump for a split second. He was absolutely sure he had locked the door behind him, and yet, there was a woman standing in front of him with a predatory look on her face. I guess that makes me the prey. As she spoke, the bare fluorescents above them flashed off her police badge and his heart sunk even lower, resting in the acid pit of his stomach. 

“Officer.” Sour fear lingered at the back of this throat and he swallowed it back down, vocal chords scraping together dryly. “I didn’t see you come in.” He nudged the basket away from him with the toe of his work boot, metal scraping against the unfurnished cement. Each action was slow and practiced, an illusion of ease. As he turned to face her head-on, he busied himself with the methodical rolling of his sleeves up his forearms. “I also didn’t see a warrant. Or catch your name.” 

A wicked smile spread on her face as fear pulsed through the air. Marley couldn’t help it. At her core, this was who she was. She fed on fear, she needed it, she craved it. It satisfied her like nothing else. Taking in the gulp of fear, she ran her hands along the cool table as she began her saunter over towards the man. “You wouldn’t have,” she said, shrugging, “but that’s not the point.” Ah, so he knew his rights. Too bad those didn’t always exist in the supernatural world. Her fingers clicked against the table again. “It’s a good thing I’m not here for an arrest, then, isn’t it?” She took a moment to look around the space, confirming her previous thoughts when she’d first found it. “I really just wanna talk. Because, you see…” she lifted her hand from the table and pointed at him, “your name has come up in quite a few of my files. And I thought, well, isn’t that strange?” Arms folded across her chest. “So, why don’t you tell me yourself, why exactly that is. And what, exactly…” she gestured around her, “this is. And we'll go from there.”

There was something unnerving about the grin on the face of his impromptu guest. It didn’t fit here. She was much too relaxed for the situation at hand. Her expression was light - joyful, almost - but something else slithered underneath, flashing behind dark eyes. Hunger. “If you’re not here for an arrest, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Cutler busied himself with the familiar motions of post-op cleanup, hoping the rote repetitions would mask the rising fear in his chest. She looked around the room, and he looked at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“This is exactly what it looks like.” He felt her pointed finger like a laser beam, drilling past his friendly facade with ease. This was her job, after all, if she was to be believed. “A store room, modified for my needs.” A hand raised to his chest, distractedly scratching away the discomfort. Bugs under a microscope were less exposed. “I-I’m sorry, what-?” He blinked away the stutter, tight tongue betraying him. “ What are you hoping to get out of this? You want money? I have money.” The envelope of money landed on the operating table with a dull thud as he threw it toward her. “Yours, if you want it.” 

“But, you see,” Marley said with a slick tongue, sliding around the side of the table and stepping ever closer to him, “I don’t want to leave. And, well, can you imagine how tragic it would be if someone left an anonymous tip at the station? About some backdoor surgical center with an unlicensed doctor working out of it?” She watched the envelope flop onto the table with disinterest, frowning. They always tried this. Still, she picked it up, looked inside, then dropped it back on the table. “I don’t need your money, nor do I want it. I’m not here for that. I’m here to determine whether or not you’re a problem. So, tell me,” her voice was getting more harsh now, lower. She was done playing around. His fear was egging her on, it was so palpable, so enticing. It wasn't enough to fill her up yet, she wanted more. “What do you do here, and why have you shown up in so many of my files?” Her hand curled tightly around the envelope of cash, tearing the outer paper with sharp nails and grip. “And if I were you, I’d choose my words carefully.”

Cold sweat prickled at Cutler’s temple as he watched the money drop back to the table. He could feel it pooling at the dip in his collarbone and sticking his shirt to the curves of his back. The only thing more terrifying than knowing what she wanted was not knowing. He had paid off a cop or two since he started the operation, but she seemed utterly disinterested in bribery. “Tragic.” He echoed her flatly, stalling for time. Running through his options in his mind. There weren’t many. When he spoke again, the slight crack of his voice betrayed him. “I feel like we might have, ah, gotten off on the wrong foot.” 

He took a half step backward, desperate to put space between them. Her fingers tore through the envelope in a decidedly inhuman manner, setting his teeth against each other. “Officer. You’ve got the upper hand here, clearly. But I’d like to at least know who I’m speaking to before I incriminate myself. It sounds like you��ve already got some idea of my operations.” His eyes flicked between hers, looking for some semblance of empathy, and finding none. “I’m Cutler, obviously. Maybe we can help each other out, somehow. This isn’t what it looks like.” 

Marley inhaled the fear wafting off the man, running her tongue along her lips. This had turned out to be a lot more satisfying than she’d thought it would, but his refusal to answer her questions was beginning to grate on her. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about what I want here, Cutler,” she said, arms folding tightly across her chest. Long nails drummed against the leather of her jacket and she wondered if she would be the center of his fears if she gazed at him right now. “I’d hate to burst your bubble so early on, but there’s nothing you can help me with that I need from you right now,” she pointed out, “now answer my question, or I’m going to have to expedite this whole…” she waved her hand around, gesturing between the two of them, “process.” She wasn’t going to kill him, no-- his fear was already proving to be of more use than anything else. Maybe she’d finally found a steady meal source outside of Miriam, it certainly seemed like he was a prime candidate. She didn’t want to play her hand so soon, in case he happened to know about the supernatural, but her glowing red eyes were glaring at him through her glasses, and she was so close to showing him her true nature. Here was to hoping her head stayed straight long enough for it.

Cutler felt the tapping against her jacket in the back of his own skull, skittering any rational thought back into the corners of his mind. He had rarely heard his name delivered with such contempt, and the fluorescents reflected in her glasses were giving her eyes an unnerving reddish tone. At least he thought it was the fluorescents. 

“Alright, alright.” His eyes followed her hand as it moved in the space between them. “I help people.” The lie was sour on his tongue, flipping his stomach. “People who need medical attention and can’t seek it through more conventional means. So, that’s, uh, sometimes that’s people who don’t have insurance or-or, you know, people who you might have come across in your files. Who don’t have a great relationship with law enforcement. A lot of gunshot wounds, stabbings, that sort of thing.” He chewed at the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to continue running his mouth. He was well aware that she would love nothing more than for him to release the anxious words behind his clenched teeth. Against his better judgement, he added, “It’s not technically legal. But it’s not hurting anyone.” 

Marley had to balk at that. “Not technically illegal?” She’d have been a hypocrite had she really chastised him for that, but the pure audacity of the statement in front of someone who was technically an officer of the law made her laugh, loud and hollow. “An illegal clinic, operating in the back of a convenience store. I feel like I’ve just walked in on a Breaking Bad spin off,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “Wait, no, that one was about drugs. Which show was the one about the doctor’s doing illegal things? Sorry, I don’t watch a lot of TV.” 

His nerves were filling up the room, almost stiflingly so. Marley didn’t want his nerves, she wanted his fear. And while she didn’t disagree with his little operation, she wasn’t happy about it, either. “What about those who can’t see a real doctor? Do you treat them? Those with...special afflictions.” Like her blue blood, or someone else’s lack of iron. Was this a supernatural doctor operating behind closed doors, or a human getting in over their heads? Either way, this man thought himself above the law, and Marley had made her decision-- he needed to be punished, and she knew just how.

Cutler responded before he had a chance to think. “House? Or Rush-” He cut himself off, teeth grinding slightly against each other as she kept speaking. She doesn’t really want to know the name of the show, Cut. If she was going to arrest him, he would rather she just got it over with. And if she was going to carry out some kind of vigilante justice, well… I guess karma is real after all, he thought to himself miserably, trying against all hope to remain focused on what was being said to him.

“Special afflictions?” His tone was light, unburdened by the implications she was throwing at him. As the words hung in the air, he thought briefly of Chloe and her mysterious illnesses, of the unnatural bone structure and brutal fang marks of some of his regulars. Strange scar tissue and injuries with no logical explanation, disturbingly inhuman-looking substances in place of bodily fluids. “I help anyone who comes to me for help. I don’t ask questions. There’s a surprising amount of medical anomalies for a-” The word doctor stayed on his lips, unspoken for fear of invoking further wrath. “-person with my skill set. Things regular doctors wouldn’t treat, or wouldn’t understand. I offer a solution that doesn’t involve being treated like a test subject.” 

It all sounded a little too good to be true. Whatever this Cutler really did behind closed doors, Marley was hard pressed to believe for a second that someone would treat the supernatural without having some sort of fallback in place. Especially someone so human. He had to have been doing something to them, threatening them, using them, exploiting them-- something. But if he didn’t want to tell her, that was fine. She had other ways of figuring these things out. Her lips twitched as she tried to fight back the anger building in her stomach, licking her lips and moving away from the desk again. “Right,” she slid her finger along the top of the table, as if to check to make sure it was clean, “out of the goodness of your heart.” Rubbed her fingers together, making sure they came up clean. “I’m curious,” she said, though her voice showed no sign of the feeling, “how’d you get started with all this? What was that spark that pushed you into pursuing this?”

Cutler felt steely guilt settling in his stomach. Strangely, the thought of being arrested was almost as stress inducing as airing his dirty laundry for a stranger. This woman was the first person to see through his facade. To understand that his job wasn’t out of some misguided sense altruism. It was penance. “Not the “goodness of my heart”, exactly. I make money from this. The store doesn’t see nearly enough business to stay afloat.” He watched her fingers, anxious to see the result. He knew he had sanitized all the surfaces, but he had also just performed a procedure. What if she found something he had missed? “You know I don’t have a license. So I’m assuming your background research told you why.” 

His voice was cold and detached, the weight of his unspoken misdeeds dragging it down into a lower register. “I have the skills, that’s never been questioned. There’s a need, I fill it.” He breathed deeply, digging deep for some level of courage he didn’t possess. “I’m about to finish up here, and then I’m going to go to bed. I’m tired. Are you going to stop me?” 

“Ah,” Marley said, smiling satisfactorily to herself, “there it is.” And really, that was all the proof she needed. She certainly didn’t owe this man an explanation, even if she knew he wanted one. “I do, you’re right,” she tacked on, “I know a lot more about you than you’d ever know about me.” And it was a threat, and her sharp gaze told him that, even if she was staring from behind blacked out frames. She wanted so bad to taste his real fear, but patience was a virtue. Instead of a small dose now, she’d wait until later, when she could get a full meal out of him. He was already looking worn and exhausted, and his suggestion to go to bed only made her smile. It curled up her lips like broken tree branches. “You know what?” she said, strutting by him, giving him a stiff pat on the shoulder, “I don’t think I will.” Headed for the door, turning her head to look back at him when she got there. “Sleep well, Mister Clarke. I heard guilt can be a real...nightmare.”

[summahsunlight]

Worth the Risk, Part 1

Rating: T

Word Count: 1350

Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)

Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe.  After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.

100 followers celebration is here! Taglist is open! Send an ask, comment, message to be added. I didn’t really get to proof read this like I normally would like, just excited to share it with you! Like reading this? Please feel free to leave a comment on the post, in an ask, or even a reblog. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU❤️

It was true what they said, when faced with imminent death, your life flashed before your eyes. He saw his mother hanging freshly cleaned linens on the clothes line in their back yard; he saw his father riding his favorite stallion while herding their cattle; he saw the first girl he kissed, the first plane he ever flew--he saw the California town he’d grown up in--all before his body crashed into the icy depths of the English Channel.

Poe Dameron was an exceptional pilot, one of the best the United States Army had, but not even the best was going to stop that plane from going down. The best he could do was give his crew a chance to parachute from their downed bomber. Of course, now they just had to survive the frigid water while they either waited for rescue or death. 

Waiting had never been easy for him. Poe was known for being incredibly impatient at times. So the irony of this situation was not lost on him that at the time of his death he was just waiting for it to happen. 

He wondered if his father would get his last letter before the uniformed officers showed up at his door, solemnly bearing the bad news that Kes Dameron’s only son--his only child--had sacrificed for his country. Would his last letter give his grieving father any comfort? Or would it only cause him more grief, knowing that he would never hear Poe’s voice ever again? His father had not begged him to re-enlist, his father had supported his decision to continue his service with the Army, especially with the looming war... but now, Poe could only imagine his father cursing the very military he had once proudly served himself. 

Papa, he thought as he felt his body start to succumb to the elements, his injuries, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could have come home... I wish I didn’t cause you so much pain.

Cold wrapped around him and Poe felt the darkness coming.  He lost the will to fight it, it was just easier to close his eyes and sleep.  

His dreams were haunted with happier times--times with his mother before her death, times with his buddies at the pubs in England, laughing with them. But they were also haunted by the war.  He saw those same buddies, the ones he’d go out drinking with and joke with, dying.   Their planes torn apart by enemy fire, the empty flag draped caskets that were sent home to their families--the pain of watching the men he regarded as brothers have their life snatched away from them much too soon.

Ironically, now he was going to join them.  Poe wondered who would be the first person to greet him in heaven. Would it be his mother? Would it be one of his men that he had failed to protect? As he thought this, he became aware of the warmth enveloping his body and slowly he opened his eyes.

Sunshine spilled through open windows, curtains fluttering in the spring breeze.  Poe could smell fresh flowers, mixed in with the smell of antiseptic, and he found he was quite confused that heaven looked an awful lot like a field hospital. The scent of sweet perfume turned his head in the other direction and he saw a nurse standing near his bed, opening the window to let the fresh air in.  One hand was braced against his mattress, while the other worked the window open.  Poe cautiously reached out and touched her wrist.  

It startled her; she turned eyes wide looking down on him before before spinning about, and calling out, “Lieutenant! Lieutenant Y/L/N!” 

Poe tried to stop her, but the slightest little movement cause a great deal of pain.  He hissed and laid back against the soft pillows. This was definitely not heaven if he was in this much pain. 

“Captain, you shouldn’t move,” a soft, angelic voice chided him.  

“Where...where am I?” Poe asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“England.”

“H-how?”

“Fishermen saw your plane go down--they pulled you onto their boat.”

“My crew?”

It was then that your face came into his view; you had a face to match your angelic voice, your eyes softened, your perfect lips turned down into a frown as you gently regarded him.  “I’m sorry, Captain, your crew didn’t survive. By the time the fishermen pulled them from the water they had already died from hyperthermia.”

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his features.  Poe felt like someone had reached inside of him and was squeezing his heart.  He had failed his crew.  He had not gotten his men home--and in a cruel twist of fate he had been the lone survivor. “I failed them,” Poe murmured, fresh tears forming in his eyes and falling.

Your soft fingers carefully caressed his hair before wiping the tears away. Poe was sure that was not standard procedure but he appreciated the comforting gesture. “I’m sure you did everything you could, Captain. It is not your fault they did not survive. You were pretty banged up from your crash, not to mention being exposed to the frigid water... quite frankly, it’s amazing you’re still alive.”

Poe managed a weak smile for you, noticing that you smiled in return, and it made his heart flutter. It was such a beautiful smile in such an ugly place that was filled with so much carnage.  “Well,” he said, still smiling, enthralled by you, “thanks for patching me up, Doc.”

“I’m a nurse, Captain; not your doctor.”

“Ah, should have known--you’re too pretty to be a doctor.”

“Do you always flirt with your nurses after just waking up in the hospital?”

“No, just the pretty ones, ma’am.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of here faster, Captain Dameron.”

Poe threw you a bashful smile, attempting to turn on the charm. “I had to try.  Hospitals really aren’t my thing, sweetheart.”

You titled your head, gazing at him incredulously. “I’d be nervous if hospitals were your thing.  Once you’re strong enough to return to duty--I’d hate to see you back here because you actually like being here.”

He suddenly thought of his crew, of the men that didn’t make it here to the hospital--Poe wished he would take their place, even if he’d woken up to your smiling, pretty face.  Sighing, Poe leaned back and gazed up at the drab ceiling of the field hospital.  Not much of a view. 

“Are you hungry, Captain?”you asked, sensing his mood shift.

“I guess...” Poe replied with a shrug.

“I’ll have the orderly bring you something.”

“Thanks.”

Turning to go, you fixed your eyes towards the door that would lead back to the mess, but Poe’s hand, strong yet gentle, gripped your wrist.  You turned once again to look down at his handsome face, his features distressed by physical and emotional pain. 

Poe took a deep breath. “Lieutenant Y/L/N... I don’t know your name.”

Smiling, you replied, “It’s Y/N.”

He closed his eyes, whispering your name, as if he was whispering a prayer to heaven.  You stood there for a moment, watching as he drifted back to sleep. You had a lot of soldiers underneath your care, but there was something about Poe... something that was different... 

Don’t! You told yourself, don’t do this.  We’re at war, it’s not the right time for romance... and it’s definitely not the right place to feel attracted to a man. But you were attracted to him--ever since he had arrived at the field hospital all the nurses had been talking about him and how handsome he was.  You did your best to ignore their gossip and kept them on track with their work.  If you didn’t, Doctor Hux would probably have a fit.

Quickly turning, you headed off to find Poe the meal he sort of requested. Even if you couldn’t fall in love with him you could at least ensure that he made a full recovery from his injuries.

[thequeenxofhearts]

Jason Todd x Reader | Meeting with the Joker 3/3

Summary: In the final chapter of this three part story, Jason and the Reader go to the GCPD, where Reader meets the Joker to find out why he killed her father.

WARNINGS: Reader’s meeting with the Joker is dark, mentions of reader’s death.

WORD COUNT: 1579

Part1: https://thequeenxofhearts.tumblr.com/post/620167346577965057/hospital-jason-todd-x-reader-13

Part2: https://thequeenxofhearts.tumblr.com/post/620711832975540224/jason-todd-x-reader-recovery-23

Jason pulled into a parking space outside the GCPD.

You and he climbed up the stone steps, hand in hand.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Jason, I need to.” You replied, and he nodded. You knew he didn’t like this idea, but you needed to do this, you needed to see the Joker and ask why he did what he did. You knew he probably would not give a straight answer, but it made you feel at easy just to ask him, ‘Why did you kill my father?’

 Commissioner Gordon was waiting for you inside the building, and you saw he was standing with Dick Grayson.

“Dick?” Jason asked. “Jason, Y/N!” Dick exclaimed, you could tell he was relieved to see you.

“Where did you find him?” You asked.

“Batman came for the plans for the chemical plant yesterday, we went over them together. I put a team together and went with Batman and Robin to the plant, sure enough the Joker was hiding in a bunker. Many of the workers were unaware of the bunker.”

“Where is now? The Joker?” You asked.

“In the interrogation room.” Commissioner Gordon said.

You looked at Jason, and he sighed. “Can we see him?” He asked.

Commissioner Gordon nodded, and he led you, Jason, and Dick through the station and into a room.

Bruce was stood in there. “Y/N? I wasn’t expecting you to come here.”

“I need to Bruce.” You replied. Bruce looked at Jason, and then at Dick, before he looked back at you, and then he nodded.

You noticed a large window in the room, and as you stepped closer to it, you saw the Joker.

 You could tell he had put up a fight with Batman and Robin; his purple blazer was torn, his green hair dishevelled, and his bleached skin was dirty.

But he was staring at you, it was a two-way mirror, you didn’t know how he was doing it, but you were sure he was looking at you. The others noticed it too.

You could feel the tension coming from Jason, and the room was completely silent, until the Commissioner cleared his throat, “We’re waiting for Doctor Bartholomew to arrive, then he’ll be taken back to Arkham.”

“Can I speak to him?” You asked, staring at the Joker.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.” Dick replied.

“I agree.” Commissioner Gordon added.

You looked at Bruce, and he looked at you, “You think you’ll get answers from him?” He asked.

“It might help.” Jason suggested.

You heard Dick sigh, and he exchanged glances with the Commissioner.

“It’s not my decision.” Bruce replied.

“I can let you speak to him, but I can’t let you go in there alone.” Commissioner Gordon said, you nodded, “Ok.”

 Commissioner Gordon unlocked the interrogation room, and you followed him in. He quickly closed the door behind him. Two police officers stood on the other side and were prepared for the Joker if he somehow managed to free himself of the handcuffs and ankle cuffs.

“Well, well, well.” The Joker smiled, “Looks like someone made a speedy recovery!” He laughed.

Jason, Dick, and Bruce stood remained in the other room, watching the meeting take place. Jason’s clenched his fists as he listened to the Joker’s laugh.

Bruce put his hand firmly on Jason’s shoulder.

 “Guess you came to ask me why?” He asked, leaning back in the chair.

You nodded, “What did you have against my father?”

The Joker shrugged, “Nothing. It was just fortunate that he would answer the door instead of you.”

Goosebumps covered your body, and your heart almost stopped, “The bomb wasn’t intended for my father, was it?”

The Joker chuckled, “No it was not.” He threw his head back and laughed, manically. You took a shaky breath.

 “Bastard!” Jason growled, clenching his fists again.

 “Why?” You asked.

The Joker leaned in closer to you, the Commissioner cleared his throat, almost as if to warn him.

“Because of lover boy.” He winked, you narrowed your eyes at him. You hoped he did not know Jason was the Red Hood, but he probably did.

“Oh, Y/N, stop pretending. I know Jason is the Red Hood!” He exclaimed.

Commissioner Gordon raised an eyebrow, “What? That’s ridiculous, clown!”

The Joker laughed again, “Oh it’s true, Bruce Wayne is Batman.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” The Commissioner exclaimed, “You left a bomb on the doorstep of Mr Y/L/N’s house, because you followed Y/N from the city, and you hoped to kill her, not her father. You know she is dating Jason Todd, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, that’s how you know who she is!”

“Wow, that’s a story I’d pay to read!” The Joker exclaimed, “But I hate t’break it t’ya, Commish, Jason Todd is the Red Hood. I should know, I killed him.”

The Commissioner tutted, “You’re wasting our time now. Doctor Bartholomew will be here shortly, and you’ll be taken back to Arkham.”

The Commissioner stood up from the table, and you quickly followed him out of the interrogation room, and then he locked the door behind him.

 Jason ran around the corner and pulled you into his arms, “It’s ok.” He whispered into your ear.

“He wanted to kill me.” You whimpered.

“I won’t let him.” Jason replied, holding you tighter.

“Take her home, Jason.” Bruce spoke.

Jason turned to Bruce, the two held eye contact for a few seconds.

“Let’s go.” Jason whispered.

 The journey home was a blur.

The entire journey, you kept thinking about what the Joker had said; that the bomb was intended for you, because he knew your death would have a huge impact on Jason and Bruce, and the other members of the Bat-family.

You kept thinking if you had not gone to the bathroom you would be dead now. But maybe your dad would still be alive.

“Hey.” Jason interrupted your thoughts; he was holding a steaming mug of hot chocolate for you.

You smiled as he sat next to you.

“Try not to think about what he said, Y/N.”

“I can’t.” You replied, Jason wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him.

“You can, just try and think about something else.” He muttered, “Everything is going to be ok; I’ll make sure of it.”

You looked up at him, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes narrowed.

“What are you going to do?” You asked.

Jason’s face softened when you spoke, and he smiled down at you. “Don’t worry about it.”

  A little while later, you fell asleep, and Jason carried you to the bedroom and laid you on the bed.

Quickly and quietly, he changed into his Red Hood outfit, and climbed out the window.

He had left a detector by the window and by the front door so if anyone were to come into the apartment, he would know about it, and he could race home to you.

He also left a note on the bedside cabinet, in case you were to wake up whilst he was gone, but that was unlikely; the paracetamol the doctor had given you would put you into an undisturbed sleep for hours. Jason requested it from your doctor when the burns made it unbearable to sleep at night.

 Red Hood arrived at the top of Wayne Enterprises, and Batman was waiting for him.

“I think I can guess why you wanted to meet me here tonight.” Batman spoke, and he turned his head to the dark city below him. “Uh-hu.” Red Hood replied.

“I won’t let you kill the Joker.”

“I’m not going to, but I can’t let him stay in Arkham. You know he’s escaped many times before.”

“The Joker needs help, and Doctor Bartholomew and the other doctors at Arkham can give him that help.” Batman replied sternly. “They haven’t done a very good job, have they?” Red Hood replied.

Batman didn’t respond to that; he knew Red Hood was right. But he did not know what else he could do to protect the city from the Joker, other than killing him.

“If he gets out of Arkham again, which he will, you and I both know Y/N will be the first person he’ll look for, and I can’t let him do that, because then I will kill him.”

“What do you have in mind?” Batman asked. “Take him out of Arkham and have him transferred to a more secure facility.” Red Hood answered.

“I’m listening.”

“Black Gate, Iron Heights, or Belle Reve. Either one of them has got to take him. Get him out of Gotham. It’ll protect the city, and my Y/N.”

“Hmm…”

“You’re not going to argue against that?” Red Hood asked.

“No.” Batman replied, “I would like him out from Gotham, as much as you. After what he did to Barbara, you and now Y/N and her father. All those civilians he has killed, homes he has destroyed, and doctors he has killed and injured as he escaped from Arkham. I will say Belle Reve is probably the best option for him.”

“But?”

“But Doctor Bartholomew must agree with it, and the Mayor and the head of Belle Reve. I will arrange a meeting between the Mayor, Bartholomew and Belle Reve.”

“I want him gone from this city, Batman.”

Batman nodded. He pulled out his grapple gun and flew into the dark night.

Red Hood returned home, maybe Gotham will finally be safe from the Joker.

[getfit182]

Happy New Years my friends! The lovely @always-the-2nd created a wonderful idea of making a list of the top nine moments/realizations/achievements/feelings of 2020, and I’d love to participate in that. I’d like to start off and say that 2020 was a very intense year for all of us, and my household was no exception. From my partner getting COVID to wondering how I’ll ever complete my degree, there’s been a lot of stress on everyone’s mind; I thank any higher power and the universe for still providing energy and will to allow my partner to get up and go to work and I am so thankful that I still have my job too.

This is probably going to be a very lengthy post, but I think it’s important for me to spend some time writing here before I call it a night.

1. This year, I lost 15 pounds and gained 12 pounds back. I know that’s a weird thing to be appreciative of, but I want to start here because this has always been a fitness/health blog, and I want to be as honest as possible. In May, I started logging my food again and taking daily walks, and really making sure I was taking care of myself. I was a lot more carefree back then haha. I didn’t have the weight of teaching and writing on me. I was stress free in most aspects of my life. Hence, slowly but surely, the weight sort of came off. It took about six months to lose 15 pounds, but then, school and life hit, and I gained 12 of those pounds back over the course of one and a half months (yay PCOS!) But, strangely, I don’t see this as failure. To me, failure would be absolutely giving up, and perhaps, I did that during November when my parents were causing me to cry every night and my finals were coming up. But, I recognize that to lose 15 pounds is an achievement and if I did it once, I can certainly do it again, and do my best to keep at it.

2. I started to better understand my PCOS and my family’s history of diabetes, and started to take some more preventative and wholistic measures. I started taking the right vitamins and gradually, I found that some of my symptoms have calmed down. It took a very very long time to figure that out, and I sort of hate taking so many supplements, but I am grateful that I do take them.

3. I submitted my first chapter of my thesis! LIKE WHOA! I’m not exactly writing about very happy things (I’m writing on torture). But turning to my work and writing has always been my coping mechanism and I’m glad I pushed out a viable chapter and that I have something set up for the next one. Also: 3A would be my lovely thesis advisor. Bless her for putting up with my emo ass xD.

4. I bought a ring, proposed to my partner, and he said yes! Granted, literally only my irl best friends, his parents, and you guys know, because my own family would absolutely lose their shit, but I am grateful to have his hand to hold through all of this.

5. My partner’s experience with COVID. It was so terrifying. So so scary. To have him be sick for so long was something we’ve never experienced. I can’t believe we endured that for so long and made it out relatively okay. 

6. Spending time alone. As much as I love my job and cohort, I’ve really enjoyed taking some of this time to myself. There are some days I don’t even talk out loud. It’s amazing. It’s relaxing. It’s so important to spend time alone, and I’m glad I’ve come to appreciate that more and more.

7. I’ve gotten relatively good at baking? I don’t always share my food stuff here, but I made a collection of Christmas cookies this year for my partner’s coworkers, and they gobbled them up. I’ve made several pies and tarts from scratch, more breads than ever, and cakes as well, all while experimenting with low sugar recipes. So I’m really glad I got the chance to share some treats with people as well as trying new recipes that are more rigorous and difficult.

8. I’m really glad I got back into gaming, and gave World of Warcraft a good shot because it’s an amazing game with amazing lore and it really takes the edge off of a long day. I can’t wait to work my way up to Shadowlands, and even though I have to stop playing at the end of January, I’m really glad I found another outlet for my emotions and that I can discipline myself with playing only a certain amount of time a day/month.

9. TW: SELFHARM: I don’t talk about this part of my life here, but here’s to making it through another year without hurting myself intentionally. It’s only been two years since I’ve really focused on recovery and my depression, and even though those thoughts come back all the time, I’m really really emotional but happy that it’s been two years without resorting to that. While I can’t change how certain parts of my body look, I can do everything in my power to heal the rest of me, my soul, and my body. And, most importantly, if any of you are struggling with this problem, please reach out to me or let me help you contact a hotline or medical help. You are not alone, and I am not alone.

This is incredibly long and personal, so I won’t be tagging anyone, but this was a very very nice way to remind myself that I did not waste 2020 and neither did any of you. If you need reminding of that, I urge you to follow my footsteps (and always-the-2nd’s!) and create this list. All the little things are worth living for. 

[falling-stars-and-open-scars]

03/01/2021: About Me

Hey. So, I’ve kind of already done something like this before, but figured I’d update. This isn’t your traditional “get to know me”/ “about me” post so if you want to make one yourself, feel free to copy. While I do not intend on going into any graphic detail, I will put a Trigger Warning/Content Warning here.

 Who are you? Tell me about yourself

I go by Star

32 yr old, cis female, United States

Straight

Currently a veterinary assistant at a spay and neuter clinic

Currently going to school for Health Information Management so I can eventually become a medical biller/coder

In a relationship; boyfriend of 7 years [and yet it is complicated]

I have two orange male tabby cats that, while they can be little kitty brats, do give me a sense of joy in life.

 No, really…tell me about yourself

292 pounds at 5 foot 6 inches tall (this is the heaviest I have ever been in my entire life. It is not a good feeling)

Harmer of self since the age of 15, with periods of recovery/non-injury

Hating my body/self since I was extremely young [maybe 7 years old; I remember writing in my diary “I need to go on a diet” or “On Monday, I start my diet”; without any realization of what it means. But always felt like the ugly duckling and was always about 20 pounds heavier than the other girls in my class/age-range] 

Wasn’t really allowed to date while living with my parents [I lived with them until I was 24 so you can do the math there….didn’t have my first kiss until I was like 22, didn’t have an actual intimate relationship until I was 23/24] 

Never been officially diagnosed with anything; despite an episode of harm which landed me into the emergency room and then to a mental health facility (you’d think they’d diagnose me with some kind of *something* while I was there but…nah. It was basically, show up to group and be nice/quiet and if you want to leave you can since you voluntarily came here. I stayed for a day and a half, expecting to get help but didn’t really get it other than “you need to learn to communicate with people and people need to take the time to hear you speak”. And that day and a half cost me almost $5,000 and I don’t have insurance so ofc I’m not going to stay longer. I was lucky that they had a financial aid type thing and that I qualified; they basically wrote off the debt and all I was responsible for was the ER visit and paying the doctor to patch me up). Still, it would be nice to know EXACTLY what’s going on with me mentally [Am I bi-polar? Do I have an anxiety disorder? Am I on the spectrum? Do I have BPD?]

What’s your trauma?:

Emotionally neglected child who grew up into an angry and depressed teenager

Essentially forced to become a third parent/default babysitter to my siblings [one older sister, two younger Autistic brothers] at the age of 8, as my parents didn’t feel they could trust my sister to care for us, but trusted me.

Harmer of self since the age of 15.

Ideation of disordered eating between ages of 13-16 [again, I remember looking into Ana and Mia and writing in a diary that my goal was to “become Ana”]. 

Sought approval from father by being a “good kid” and never getting into trouble and trying to get nothing less than perfect straight As in all my classes from 10th grade [sophomore year in high school] onward. 

Sought attention from older men, since boys my age didn’t like me and were terrified of how intimidating my father was (like I would be 16-18 and chatting with guys 20-28 years old; one guy coerced me into phone s3x at the age of 16, he was 26 and a member of my church who has had a reputation for doing this to young girls but nothing was ever done about him). 

Currently an unhappy, socially awkward, adult who is trying very hard to make a 7 year relationship with an alcoholic work but am also talking with another man who lives over 1,000 miles away [it started off as very “mature”/”adult” talking and has now regressed back to “get to know you”/”being friends first”; he has stated that he is not interested in pursuing women or a relationship because of his own hurt and break ups but also is not opposed to the possibility of a relationship at some point – seems very indecisive about what he wants or is trying to appear guarded but it’s starting to weaken the more often we talk]

I’m basically chasing after external love and approval that I’ve never properly received while also not loving myself.

 Why are you here on Tumblr?

To vent, like most people here. To express my thoughts and feelings that no one else really cares to listen to. To get better. To get worse (it’s kind of weird, like….I want to write down my thoughts and feelings so that I don’t keep it bottled up and end up hurting myself again and yet….I seek out triggering things; maybe because deep down I think that maybe if I get really really bad someone will notice….someone will finally care about me…..) To maybe help someone so they don’t end up like me. To be a “big sister” or other type of support to those who need it.

 What do you want to say to the people reading this/following you?

You deserve better and I’m so incredibly sorry that the people in your life have let you down so much. You deserve to have the hurt in your heart and in your mind fully healed. You deserve a chance at life. You all are so young and you do have potential to live a good and interesting life. I know it’s hard to believe, I know it’s hard to see your self-worth or to even think you have any worth beyond what people can take from you; but you ARE worth it. If you want to recover and heal, I hope you’re able to do so and offer my support and wish you the absolute best. If you’re not ready to recover (I’m sure as f not), then I can at least sit with you as we slowly work on bettering ourselves. I know I’m just some old random bish on here, but I do worry about you guys – especially if you go offline for days/weeks/months or if your account is no longer active. I want you guys to be safe and happy. I want that for myself too. And we will have it….one day…..someday.

 And just so we’re absolutely crystal clear: I will NOT be your coach. I will NOT encourage you to get worse [and any and all negative content or “meanspo” is directed towards me and ONLY me]. If you’re looking at my blog and thinking that you can ask that of me, I’m very sorry but you are wrong. I like to live by a certain motto: “Do no unnecessary harm unto others, be it Man or Beast.” And if you can’t get on board with that, then maybe it’s best you move on past my blog here. Don’t get me wrong, I offer you much love and support and hope you take the chance to get better and live a good life; but I will not enable you. I will not degrade you nor encourage you to get worse. I will not look at your young life and think “Hm, ya know, I had to suffer with some unnecessary bullsh*t; time to spread it around! Let’s toughen these kids up! If I had to suffer, so do you!” Seriously, F that mindset. That’s not my deal, that’s not the vibes I’m trying to send out into the world.

 If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I hope that I can be an ally and source of support for you. If you’ve read this far and feel like maybe my blog isn’t for you/it’s triggering or upsetting or whatever, you’re absolutely allowed to unfollow. I want you to do what is best for you. I’m not about that “tumblr fame” or whatever bullsh*t.

 I’m just a broken person trying to make a broken world a little less broken.

 Thank you for reading.

[borderlineteacher]

Can you talk about your weight loss journey? How’d you do it? How’s you maintain the motivation?

Hi friend.

*possible TW for weight and numbers and ED mention*

For whoever has followed me for a long time, I’ve always had weight issues. I was always overweight, even if I didn’t “look fat” (which I totally did but whatever). My physical health has been an issue since I was in middle school. My bloodwork has always been out of whack, my heart rate way too high and my blood pressure at a dangerous level. And it wasn’t “white coat syndrome” or because I was nervous. I was just flat out physically unhealthy.

Obviously it also had an impact on my mental health. I never felt good about myself, always knew I looked different than everyone else. I got teased for it, and it hurt even if people said they were joking.

I never developed an eating disorder although I did go through some periods of making myself throw up. They never lasted long, maybe a week at most. I just wanted to be skinny, and not just because of how I looked. I was unhealthy. High blood pressure is known as the silent killer. I just wanted to be okay. Im not gonna say that vanity didn’t play a role. Of COURSE it did. It was a mix of the two.

I’ve tried losing weight. Hell, in 2015 I finally said okay when my mom bugged me about Weight Watchers. But I never succeeded. I never kept it up. I’d lose like 8 lbs in a few months, give up then gain it all back and then some. No one believes me when I tell them I weighed 207lbs in 2018 (my highest weight). Did I like being called fat? No. But I also kinda felt invalidated when I’d express my frustration with losing weight and people would just downplay it and say “shhh you look fine”. I wasn’t fine.

Last January (2020), my health really went downhill. It was a combination of my insane work/school schedule, my ankle surgery recovery (or lack thereof), my mental health, and my physical health. I was in pain every single day, in every sense of the word. My whole body hurt, I felt like a shell of a human, I couldn’t walk up the subway stairs without huffing and puffing. I couldn’t walk home from the train most nights because I was in agony. My mom had to come pick me up even though it’s a 7 minute walk. At one point she even had my sister who has type 1 diabetes check my blood sugar.

Primary care doctor. Hematologist. Back to PCP. So many abnormal numbers. Did I need blood thinners? What was wrong? At one point I thought I had leukemia. I went through my days wishing for death honestly. Anything was better than how I was living.

At the end of February I made the decision to recommit to WW. I knew I was miserable and I knew I hated it. Nothing was gonna get better if I didn’t DO something. And I didn’t actually want to die.

The pandemic hit two weeks later. Everything could’ve gone wayyyy downhill for me. I took that as a challenge. Kinda like...obstacle? I’ll show you!! I’m making it sound so simple but it wasn’t. I did fall down a lot, I still do. But healthier choices are just now my go-to. I don’t really have to think about it, it’s second nature to me. Are there days I overeat? You bet. Are there days I beat myself up for it? Hell yeah. But then I get up the next day and force myself to get back to where I need to be. I’ve worked too hard just to lose it all.

Changing your mindset plays a huge role in long term weight loss. That’s a whole different post I can write but it can’t all be about the scale. Obviously that makes an impact but it’s the positive changes you make that count more, and the way you think about and respond to challenging situations. Funny that my zoom WW meeting is right before my Thursday AM therapy session. Everything is intertwined.

I’m not perfect. My life isn’t perfect. My progress is not linear, in fact no one’s is. But something in my brain has changed and it’s telling me that no matter what, I need to get back up when I fall. I have way too much to lose. I am finally living and actually being present in what I do. Why would I give that up?

(I realize this probably isn’t the kinda response you were looking for — sorry!!)