#and then he's a biohazard ALL the time <3

[bravevolunteer]

i just know michael is simultaneously so annoying and Incredibly Dismissive whenever he's sick

[hyper-cryptic]

An on model Vendetta Leon warm up doodle and a sketchpage I made a long time ago I forgot to post 💔😭

Close ups under the cut!

[toxicanonymity]

Non con sex pollen fic where Joel and the reader are waken up in a random room together and he recognizes who you are because he used to be friends with ur dad , he starts begging the people who took them to let him out because the reader isn’t the only person that’s ended up in this situation with him, and then there’s smoke that enters the room but it only has an effect on Joel, if you even decide to turn this into anything can you add oral f receiving pls and do the smut however you want! I’ll love it either way <3 IM SO SORRY ITS ALOT

Lazaretto (sex pollen)

2.6k ONE SHOT / joel x afab!reader / master

Part 2 HERE

WARNINGS: non-con, sex pollen, manhandling, oral f receiving, unsafe P in V sex, anal, reader menstruates. poorly edited. Horror elements apparently lol idk how sex pollen is normally written. 18+

You wake up in a heavy-duty four-wall tent with a burly stranger, both of you in hospital gowns.  You were sedated and you're still groggy when a man in a biohazard suit explains you’re being quarantined in a makeshift lazaretto outside the overcrowded army hospital.  Neither of you were bitten in the chaos earlier, but it’s a precaution.  You'll be monitored for 24 hours, treated with an antifungal fog, then monitored for another 24 hours before they release you.  You sign a release about potential side effects which include psychological and sexual disturbances. 

He doesn’t elaborate, but Joel is clearly disturbed as if it’s not his first time.  

“No,” he says.  “No!" He screams, then begs, "Let me out, or let her out, I don’t care.”

“I’m not authorized to let anyone out.”

“Then put me in my own tent!" 

“I’m afraid we’re far past capacity.  Most units have three.” 

“Can you at least tie me up or somethin’?” 

“I’m afraid not.” 

"Then get me away from her!" 

You're offended and confused.  The quarantine man leaves.  For a while, neither of you talk except to say some variation of, “this is bullshit.”  Joel seems genuinely distressed.  You have your own problems to worry about.  You’re at the tail end of your period and don’t have any provisions, not even any underwear. You want to check and see if you’re still bleeding, but not with this stranger in the tent. 

You ask him, “What are you so worried about?” 

He starts to say something but stops himself and says, “I’ll tell you later.” 

"What did I do?" You ask and your temples feel weak. 

He recognizes how mean he must have sounded.  "Nothing at all, sugar.  It's me. I had. . . a bad reaction in the past."  

He changes the subject and tells you he recognizes you.  It hits you - Joel Miller - he used to run a smuggling route with your dad.  Life has hardened Joel into a much stronger, more attractive man since then.  He’s not a big talker, but he occasionally indulges your questions about pre-outbreak life.  You start to really enjoy his company.  For a minute at a time, you manage to forget about the scary circumstances. 

-

There’s one old cot and a blanket.  He says you can have them because he won’t be able to sleep anyway.  You’re not comfortable but you manage to fall asleep.  You wake up shivering and ask if he’ll join you.  He hesitantly agrees, then settles in behind you.  You grab his hand and hold it tight.  You’re gushing between the legs.  You expect a nice red spot on both your gowns in the morning, but that should be the least of your worries.

“Do you think we’re okay?” you whisper. 

“Yeah, we’re okay,” he replies softly in your ear. 

You start sniffling.  “I’m scared.” 

He tightens his arm over you. “I know, sugar. You’re gonna be alright. We’re alright.”  You can hear his heart beating faster.  

As you drift off to sleep, it’s impossible not to notice through your gowns when his dick hardens against you.  He backs off a little but you push your ass back into him and tighten your grip on his hand.  His chest swells against your back and you feel him inhale your hair, but he doesn't make a move and neither do you. 

-

When you wake up, he’s lying on his stomach on the floor using his massive bicep as a pillow.  Before he notices you’re awake, you subtly dip your finger into youreslf to check for your period, and it’s not there.  You were just wet.  You sit up and look at the back of your gown.  Nothing.  When he sees you’re awake and sits up, the fear returns to his eyes.   He says, “I reckon the fog will come soon, now.”  There’s no clock, but he senses it.  He moves his jaw side to side anxiously and his eyes dart around the tent. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He opens his mouth several times then stops before he manages to say it.  “Look, if. . . If I do anything after they fog us. . .  it’s not me, okay?"

"Okay. . .do anything like what?" 

"It . . . The fog has an effect on certain people."  He swallows and looks away.  "Like a sexual effect. It can make you . . . Aggressive."

"Oh. . ."

"Listen.  You can fight me off, do whatever you have to do, okay?" 

"Okay."

Your heart beats faster wondering what's in store.  You can’t imagine it’s that bad. 

-

Finally, one side of the tent ripples as a small, circular portal is opened and something clicks into it.  The tent begins to fill with fog.  The fog smells faintly like a thunderstorm and settles toward the ground before it slowly rises.  Joel backs away from it, sitting in the very corner of the tent as it spreads across the floor.  As the fog continues to pour in, he stands up and turns his face toward the ceiling.  But it reaches him. He tries not to breathe it, with his mouth in his gown, but it’s no use. He squats down, facing away from you.  

He swallows.  “I’m sorry.”  His voice is shaky.  He looks back at you one last time apologetically, then pinches his eyes shut and takes deep breaths. The fog valve is shut.  For a few minutes, you can hardly see him. 

-

You hear the sticky footsteps of his bare feet on the floor, then he gets close enough to see him through the fog, just a few feet away from you.  His whole face has darkened.  And it further darkens as he looks at you in a trance.  He wets his lips like you’re something to eat.  His chest rises and falls with heaving breaths.  

Minutes ago, it was hard to imagine being afraid of him,  but he’s a whole different man now.   You get up from the cot,  walk backwards to the opposite side of the tent, and sit in the corner. 

He crosses the tent in two long, swift strides.  As he looms over you, it’s impossible to ignore the massive tent in his gown or his muscular thighs. 

“Get up,” he demands through the fading fog.  You look down and stay where you are, pulling your gown over your knees, shrinking into yourself.  

“GET UP NOW!” he yells with his mouth wide open, face red, hair bouncing.  

You still don’t.  

"I’m sorry,” he says, then darkens again.  “But you're askin' for it.”  He squats down and gently cups your face.  “Get up.”

You don’t. “You don’t want to do this.”  A last ditch effort:  “I have my period!”   But it only makes him more feral.  You see it in his face right after you say it. 

-

Joel grabs you roughly by both elbows and manhandles you to your feet, then pushes you over to the cot.   He tears your gown off and throws you down on the cot face-up.  He scans you head to toe.  You futilely try to cover yourself with your arms and hands.  You’d feel even more naked without the fog though, which still hangs in the air.  You start to sit up and he forces you back down, pinning you with an arm across your chest.  "Starving,” he growls in your ear, giving you butterflies.  He grabs your hand off your pussy then shoves his own between your legs and the butterflies swarm to your core.  You try and fail to keep your legs shut tight but the pressure of your thighs around his hand feels far too good between your legs.

“Joel, stop,” you plead. “You’re not yourself.”  You beg him to stop, but you're getting wetter by the minute.  His intensity turns you on. 

“No use, darlin’.”  He inserts his middle finger and breathes heavily.  “Nothin’s stoppin’ this." 

You still try, though.  You thrash and kick, then he grabs you by the arms so hard his fingers dig deep into your muscles, practically to the bone. “Sit still, damnit.”  He softens only for a moment.  “Don't wanna have to hurt you.” Then he darkens again.

Your face gets  cold and you swallow.  He kneels at the foot of the cot and uses your thighs to violently yank you toward him so your ass is at the end.  He pries your legs open and holds them that way with his massive hands.  His mouth latches onto your pussy and you’re flooded with a rush of arousal as the hook of his nose begins to massage your clit.  He really digs in, pressing his lips hard into you, thrusting his tongue inside you.  A ball of tension gathers in your traitorous core and you twitch.  

He’s grunting “Mm” as he sucks and laps.  You squirm and he forces you still again and continues, ravenous to consume you.  He looks up with black eyes, and the animal between your legs terrifies you.  He intensifies his eating and you feel it coming.  The next time he thrusts his tongue inside you, his nose drags up your clit.  You moan and your spine arches as you see stars. He stops and watches you unravel with his head still firmly planted between your legs.  Your eyes water with your pulsations as you stare up at the ceiling of the tent. He lifts his head and a lighter patch of his beard is just barely tinged with your period.  He dug it out of you.  He inserts his fingers and you clench around him with the aftershocks.  You close your eyes and catch your breath.

-

He must stand up, because before you know it, you feel his tip at your entrance.   Your body wants him inside you. You could make it easy on him, but you don’t want him to fuck you and regret it.  It’s not just your body – you’re realizing you want him, too.  You may be getting ahead of yourself, but it’s the product of a near-death experience, of being sealed in a tent with him for 24 hours, and of getting head within an inch of your life. The perfect storm. If you’re going to have him, it has to be under different circumstances or he may never want to do it again.

He begins to push in. 

“Joel, no!” You squirm and thrash.  

He sighs.  “You're just gonna tucker yourself out like that.” 

You still give it your best try, but he’s right.   You’re no match for his strength. He overpowers you, pins you down with his weight, then shoves his thick cock into you with a grunt.  Your wet little hole can hardly take him.  You yelp as his unforgiving girth splits you open and fills you up.  When his length retreats, you try to push him off, but you can’t.  “You’re takin' it one way or another, darlin’.” 

He bottoms out with a guttural roar like he’s charging into battle. He pounds you brutally, slamming to the hilt each time.  It hurts but it isn’t long before it starts to feel okay, then good, and then, the delicious stretch of his girth feels like something you never knew you needed.  After a minute or two, you stop squirming and thrashing. It's happening, and you might as well enjoy it. 

When you stop fighting, he takes his weight off you and stands at the foot of the cot, your thighs in his hands, pulling you back on his dick as his hips snap into you. His hair is messy and his face and neck are splotched red.  His big arms bulge out from under the gown.  You’ve never seen such intensity on anyone’s face before.  

After a few minutes of him pistoning into you, you feel another climax building.  You whimper and he rails you even harder, sweating, grunting, growling.  When you come, it’s a burst unlike anything you've ever felt. You hear yourself wailing as he fucks you through it.  Your walls are still contracting around his cock when he grabs onto your hips for dear life and plunges into you with more force than ever.  

You realize he’s going to come inside and yell, “No!”  You try to get away.  You try to fight back, but he’s too strong and determined.  Rage falls across his face.  A groan rips out of his throat as his cock erupts into you, pulsing massively, extending your climax longer than you thought possible.  It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before.  

Your whole body is spent.  When he’s finished coming, he slides out of you and you lie there limp with your eyes closed. It’s quiet for a minute. The fog has settled more. 

He groans softly. Then, "I'm sorry. . ."  You open your eyes and sit up. You reach for him  at the foot of the cot, but he backs away.  It seems like he can't look at you. His eyes are tearful.  

"It's okay.  Look at me, Joel. It's okay."

It's quiet for a minute.

-

"God damnit,” he whispers. He covers himself and when your eyes follow his hand, it’s clear he’s hard again or it never went away.   The fog has faded enough that it seems he at least has the wherewithal to jack off instead.  "Close your eyes," he says as he turns away and wraps his hand around his cock.  You study his eyes and they’re dark, but not as dark as they were. You lie down with your eyes shut and listen to his breath and the squish of his hand around his cock, wet with your slick.

The  rhythmic squish gets closer and closer.   You open your eyes to the darkest look on his face.  He’s standing there at the foot of the cot, gown pushed up out of the way again as he strokes his stiff, imposing cock. 

“Flip over,” he demands but gives you no time to comply.  He grabs you under the arms.

“Okay, okay,” you comply and he forces you down on your stomach.  

He wedges the tip of his cock between your cheeks, aligning himself at your asshole.  You’re terrified.  You beg, "no, wait," but he's not there anymore.  It's not really him. 

He plunges into your tight, virgin hole and you yelp in shock. His hands on your hips lift your ass in the air and you bury your head in your arm, biting your own skin as he yanks you back into him, making your ass flush with his pelvis.  You’re stuffed full of him, fuller than you’ve ever felt, even fuller than when he was in your pussy.  

He pummels you with abandon and your eyes well up in tears.  You're mortified, you've never done this before, and you have so many fears – is he going to ruin you?  Is there going to be a mess?  But each time he buries his length in your ass, it feels better and your fears fade into pleasure. The longer he pounds you, the better it feels.  It feels surprisingly good, much better than you ever thought it would.  The tent seems to echo with his grunts and the slap of skin.  

Another orgasm is brewing as he pounds your guts.  It builds faster this time.  He grunts louder, then your whole body is seized by the deepest, most powerful climax.  You whimper, then your whimper turns into a groan as your ass spasms and your pussy clenches around nothing.  

And then he pulses inside you, filling up another hole.  By the time he's through with you, you're filled to the brim with him.  He slides out and you turn around. 

He stumbles backwards in horror at what he's done. 

“I’m sorry, sugar.  I’m so sorry."

-

Part 2 HERE

Thank you for reading and engaging! Might wanna follow me if you like this because my posts are getting reported and might not show up in the tags.

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339  @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro

[smile-files]

object show dashboard simulator

2 notes

🛒shop-png Follow

i swear to cart if one more object tries to use me to buy their groceries i will explode

✂️ i-beat-paper Follow

um well maybe if you stop hanging out in the grocery store 24/7 folks won't use you like you're a regular shopping cart???

🛒shop-png Follow

dude i work at the grocery store. go outside and cut some grass

46 notes

🧩 fuzzypuzzle Follow

this week was soooo fun!!!

sunday: sat in a field

monday: sat in a field

tuesday: smiled at a bug

wednesday: sat in a field

thursday: sat in a field

friday: died :P

saturday: sat in a field

i hope all of you had a good week too <33

🪀 yay-for-yo-yo Follow

OMY same!!!! but i smiled at 2 bugs, not 1.

soooo happy to see you happy, puzzle piece!!!!!! :D

🪵 logrot23 Follow

hey sorry is this a mutuals only thing? or can i also talk about my week

🧩 fuzzypuzzle Follow

oh no worries, go ahead!!! :)

🪵 logrot23 Follow

i killed 17 people

21 notes

🍰 cake-at-stake Follow

lol you bfdi lovers WISH you had my url

🔥 fireyfan1 Follow

UGH

137 notes

❄️ fragile-snowflake Follow

what the flake is wrong with you people making thirst posts about fan. you know he's on here right?? he can see that

🥨 pretzelboy2008 Follow

who said i don't want him to see it? ;)

❄️ fragile-snowflake Follow

i will eat you

2,395 notes

🧍‍♂️theguy9348 Follow

Hey guys, I hope you're ready for my face reveal...

What do you think? I hope I don't look too ugly...

⚙️ machines-in-love Follow

EWWWW what's this thing doing on the object website???? for cog's sake, sending this guy to the TLC right now

💀 flamingskull Follow

haha op isn't it so funny that i'm a sentient version of your bones

202 notes

☢️ rad-positivity Follow

friends, remember that it's always okay to ask for a hug when you need one. you are valid and you are seen <3

🪥 toothteller Follow

okay maybe for me but if anyone gave you a hug they'd die. you're literally a biohazard

☢️ rad-positivity Follow

there's always recovery centers :) i'm just prioritizing my mental health <3

🪥 toothteller Follow

what is wrong with you? can we make out?

97 notes

🪭 inanimateinsanityfan Follow

now i know what it feels like to have... obsessive fans...

for totally unrelated reasons i won't be active on this blog for an unspecified amount of time :D

🌡fantubeshipper4life Follow

omga i bet it's cuz he's getting married!!!!!

🪭 inanimateinsanityfan Follow

kill yourself

5,873 notes

🧲 pozitive Follow

is it just me, or am i always drawn to pessimists?

[other positive charges DNI. i will block you]

13 notes

🍀 ii3clover Follow

tee hee :)

9,865 notes

🙂 smile-files Follow

💧bfb-teardrop Follow

:) ?

🙂 smile-files Follow

oh my goodness

[ussgallifrey]

Home for the Holiday | Part 3

✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, arguments, fake dating, hurt/comfort, Jake’s family being fake and generally awful towards him, mentions of divorce, mentions of past abuse, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 9.9k

✦ Author’s Note: Hi, has it been over a year since I posted anything for this story? It must be a Christmas miracle! Anyway, this one has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, slowly getting added to every few months. And here we come to the end of Jake's annoying family. The next two chapters will be decidedly happier, I promise.

[Master List]

You’re woken neither by your own internal clock nor the backup alarm on your phone but by the irritated slamming of something across the hotel room. It takes you a second to properly assess the sound as being of the non-dream variety. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you push up onto your elbow to stare into the unsettled darkness.

The golden light from the bathroom spills out into the entryway where a shirtless Hangman seems to be fighting a losing battle with the foldup ironing board.

“You good?” you call out, voice still hoarse with sleep.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, mustering out an almost guilty, “Shit, sorry Pits.”

You wave him off, sitting up properly - the white sheets spilling over your thighs.

The bedside clock informs you that it’s still early in the morning, though not unreasonably so. He had told you the drive to his father’s place would take a while, so it made sense for him to be up at this hour but less so for whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish across the room.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the back of your neck as you pad your way over to find out.

“What’s with the iron?”

There’s a seafoam green shirt on the board with a plugged-in iron on its end, that much you can see.

“Damn thing won’t turn on,” he flicks the buttons on the iron up and down, on and off.

Quirking your brow, “You know it takes time to heat up, yeah?”

He pauses, fixing you with an exasperated look, “Fifteen minutes enough for you?”

Throwing your hands up in a defensive hold, you take a step back.

“Shit. Look, I’m not trying to be a total ass here. Just, I didn’t exactly go packing a lot of options and I can’t go wearing what I did yesterday because Josh saw it already - ”

“Got it.”

He sighs in defeat, grabbing hold of the shirt. Giving it a good flap, you can see the clear wrinkles on the front.

For a lazy day in, the shirt would be fine. But this was a family get-together and Jake Seresin was a naval officer. His closet was likely similar to your own when it came to precision-pressed and properly hung items. Wearing this shirt, the way it was, would not fly.

“Well, before you go complain to the front desk - give it here, and let me try something.”

His own brow rises but he ultimately hands it over by the scruff of the collar. Swiping up your toiletry bag, you head into the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.

“Let’s see if the magic of steam can’t work a miracle on this.”

His features drop in a way that says he hadn’t even considered that as an option before he grins, “Here’s hoping.”

After hanging the shirt on the towel bar, you take an extra long and heated shower. Letting the water massage your back and shoulders with its pressure. You certainly missed the little things like this when you were aboard the carrier. Uninterrupted, hot, lengthy showers where you didn’t feel like it might be a biohazard to touch any surface.

No, this was nice.

And when you step out of the tub and wrap a towel around your middle, you crack the door open to inform Jake that his shirt is just about good to go.

“But I can hit it with the hair dryer still. We got time, right?”

He hums in reply from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him.

Turning on the exhaust fan, you wipe down the steam-covered mirror with a hand towel and go about finishing your routine. Making sure your feet are actually dry, you step back into the room - walking over to your bag in search of another outfit.

Jake had pushed aside the blackout curtains in your absence, filling the room with natural light. He’s sat on the edge of his bed again, but now he has a plain white tank on to go with his jeans. You can hear the faintest clearing of his throat, making you look back at him.

His gaze drifts down your back for a second before he seems to busy himself with his phone again.

“I’m guessing this one is a little more casual?” you ask, pulling out three different shirts.

“Mmm, yeah,” he clears his throat again with a cough, glancing over towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your shirt out in a minute. I’m just letting the steam work its last bit of magic on it.”

His eyes finally meet yours and he frowns slightly, “I wasn’t - y-yeah… okay.”

And then it seems to dawn on you: you were only wearing a towel.

And while it might be common for the guys of your squadron to walk around shirtless in the gym, or when they were changing out of sweaty flight gear, it wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for you to be seen in anything but your usual navy-issued tank and shorts. And while Hangman himself had been in nothing more than a towel yesterday morning, during the rush to get ready, that seemed like an entirely different situation to your own.

Your heart races as you become aware of just how exposed you are right now.

Grabbing hold of your entire bag and muttering out an embarrassed: “Sorry, I’ll just - ” as you hurriedly flee back into the bathroom.

Hangman, for his part, seems too stunned to even form a reply and you can’t exactly blame him.

Jesus, what were you thinking? You might be comfortable around your squadron but nothing over the past two days had elicited that level of comfort between the two of you.

Taking far longer than necessary to choose an outfit and get dressed, you’re slow and methodical about your hair and makeup this time too. Only when your nerves have settled down from the encounter, do you finally grab his shirt and return to the room.

“Well, what do you think?”

You hold the shirt up for him to examine. He nods, standing from his spot on the bed to take hold of it by the shoulders.

“Thank you.”

You just nod, tight-lipped, as you go about putting your bag away in its rightful spot. Jake tugs his arms through the sleeves before heading over to the full-length mirror by the front door. You watch as he methodically rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, creasing the cuff perfectly each time. When he’s done, he twists his watch around - back and forth, a few times.

And then he clears his throat, looking over towards you as you slip on your boots.

“You look good, by the way.”

Slowly, your eyes meet his and you offer him a gentle smile.

“Not too shabby yourself, Bagman.”

He ducks his head down for a second, grinning all the same. But then he’s glancing down at his watch and frowning again, patting his front and back pockets as he checks his EDC.

“You ready to go?”

Rising from the desk chair, you fix him with a questioning look, “Are you?”

With a smirk, he shakes his head. Offering an honest, “No.”

Jake holds the door open for you as you leave the room, heading down to the stairwell. You make an off-hand comment about it not being the way to the free dine-in breakfast. But he just keeps walking and eventually, you're in the parking lot. Slipping into the passenger side of the rental car, you watch as he adjusts the rearview mirror and his own seat.

Before he even starts the ignition, he looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let us go down to the lobby for breakfast.”

“Ha,” he chuckles. “Come on, I know a better place.”

Raising your brow as you buckle your seatbelt you say, “I’m intrigued.”

Hangman just grins, grabbing hold of the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking spot.

You're not sure what you expected, but when Jake pulls into a busy Sunoco gas station ten minutes later, you can't help but raise your brow skeptically at him.

“Trust me,” he grins - all teeth - as he snags his aviators from his shirt collar.

“Tell me they have the best donuts around at least,” you call, following him out of the car.

He had parked off to the side, away from the entrance of the food mart. Digging his hands into his jean pockets, he waits for you to meet him on the sidewalk in front of the hood of the rental car.

Grinning with all the smugness of a higher power, he nudges your arm with his elbow and leads the way. Avoiding the building entirely, which makes you even more curious. The two of you round the other side of the gas station where the smell of smoked meat and spice fills the air.

There are two food trucks, a yellow tear-drop-shaped repurposed camper, and a smaller red build. Each has its own canvas tent with tables and chairs set up underneath. Fancy chalkboard signs bring the promise of amazing food as do the long-stretched lines outside of them both.

“Okay,” you admit, “You had me concerned for a second there.”

He chuckles, getting into the yellow truck's line, “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart. Anyway, I wanted to give you the chance of having an Austin staple.”

Well, if the menu wasn't enticing enough for you, then the smell certainly was. You find yourself nearly floating along the line with Jake. After ordering, you grab an empty picnic table to yourselves and proceed to dig into the absolutely massive breakfast burritos.

“Have you eaten here before?” you ask after swallowing another absolutely sinful bite.

“No, actually,” he wipes his mouth with another napkin. “This place didn't exist until two years back. Found it online when you were, uh, getting ready.”

Your chest aches as you recall the awkward encounter from this morning. Slowing your chewing, you manage out a pinched, "Well, god bless online reviews. This is incredible."

After another bite, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, glancing across to meet his gaze - his sunglasses remain folded on the table now, so you're able to see the green of his eyes once again.

“I mean it,” you swallow. “This might be the best breakfast I've ever had.”

He stares for a moment, swallowing his own bite before a slow smile graces his lips.

“Better not let your momma hear you talking like that.”

You laugh, “I'm sure she'd understand.”

Jake gives a warm chuckle, shaking his head, “Hell, think you know more about my family than I do about yours at this point. Not even sure I can remember you ever talking about them.”

Setting the burrito down carefully in the foil wrapper, you contemplate his small accusation. While you had certainly heard your fill of just about everyone else’s families while on deployment, you can’t recall if you really ever dove into talking about your own.

Obviously, you had heard all about Jake’s very extended family at this point. But even you knew about Freud and his weird association with his mom’s current husband - her fifth husband if you were remembering things correctly. Cosmo had a close relationship with his sister Cecilia but not his sister Lucia. Slab had a complicated connection with his adoptive parents but got on okay with his older brother. And so on.

“They’re not very interesting,” you finally settle on.

He raises a single eyebrow, “I highly doubt that.”

“Compared to yours?”

That makes him smirk, “Fair point.”

From there, it takes you a little longer to realize that you’re both eating at a leisurely pace and that Jake isn’t constantly checking his watch or telling you to speed it up. It’s a strange occurrence, given his usual attentiveness for being timely. Jake Seresin lived by the motto that if you’re early, you’re on time and if you’re on time, you’re late.

So, as nearly a full hour of the two of you sitting there and shooting the shit passes, you start to grow the slightest bit concerned. Going on to ask:

“How far did you say your dad’s place was?”

His lips immediately fall into a sort of scowl as you pull him away from a very amusing story about his time in officer’s school.

“Two hours,” comes the almost robotic reply.

“Does that mean we should start, you know, heading out?”

Your breakfast had long since been finished and the wrappers thrown away. Your drinks were little more than melted ice and semi-chewed straws at this point.

After ruffling his hair and twisting his watch around a few times, he finally sighs.

“Yeah, probably.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you slap his shoulder as you finally stand up from the picnic table.

“Come on, Seresin. You got me as your wingman for a second round today. No time like the present.”

Grabbing hold of both of your near-empty drinks, he too lifts his leg over the side of the bench and stands up with a playfully annoyed, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now, Pits.”

The ride to his dad’s house is filled with Christmas music played by two different country radio stations. As the odometer slowly creeps up mile by mile, you can see the difference in your companion’s composure. He started out relaxed, almost lounging in his seat. And then it grows more rigid; with his hands clutching the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.

Last night, the two of you had talked about the upcoming shitstorm of a holiday get-together.

You knew Josh would be there again. But you would also be meeting his other brother, Justin, and his wife and kids of course. And then there was his sister, Jess, and her brood - as he had put it.

Just from the way he talked about his siblings, it was clear that Jake did not get on with - nor keep in close contact with - any of them. He seemed particularly hung up on his sister more so than his older brothers. And while you were sure there was a story - or two - there, you didn’t feel it was the time, or place,to pry.

And then, of course, there was the infamous Mr. Seresin himself. Of him, you knew the least amount of information. Only being told that you should keep your conversations limited if not just nonexistent. You weren’t sure how well that idea would apply in reality, but for your friend’s sake, you promised to keep things to his plan.

As the radio DJ announces yet another Thomas Rhett song, Jake finally hops onto an exit ramp, signaling that you were close to the inevitable get-together.

In almost two hours, you had covered a variety of topics pertaining to work. But seeing the great amount of tension currently attacking your wingman, you finally relent with a different story.

“I got my pilot’s license at seventeen.”

Only because you’re at a stoplight does Jake look over at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar as the beginnings of a smirk curl into place.

“Do tell.”

You chuckle as he turns the wheel.

“Whole line of aviators, actually. Great-grandpa was a paratrooper during Korea and I guess he just missed the adrenaline when he came back to the States. His son took up commercial flying and my dad got his license just because it seemed like everyone else in the family was doing it.”

“And you?” his sage green eyes meet yours for a quick second before he focuses back on the road ahead of you.

With a shrug, you draw your knee up on the seat and stare out the passenger window. Swatches of dusty farmland and wooden fences pass you by.

“Guess I was always just growing up around them. My grandpa took me flying all the time when my dad was busy working. Did my first solo ride at fifteen in a glider and got my license two years later.”

You can see his grin from out of your peripheral and count it as a victory.

“Any other incredible talents you’ve kept hidden under that smartass exterior?”

“Hey!” you gently slap his arm, pulling a fake pout. “If there was, I’m not telling you now.”

“Alright, alright,” he bites his lip, tapping the steering wheel as a sense of ease washes over him. “I’ll play nice.”

With a roll of your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Fat fucking chance.”

There’s a seemingly dramatic sigh from him which is immediately followed by a hand being jabbed into your flank and a screech of laughter erupting from your lips as Jake proceeds to tickle your side.

“G-god fuckin- STOP, y-you asshole,” you try to squirm away from his touch, but his fingers seem to know your exact weak points and there’s only so far you can scramble away.

“Give it up, Pita,” he croons sweetly, still somehow managing to drive the car steadily down the road with his left hand.

“Mercy! Mer-cy, you jackass!”

You shove at his hand until he finally relents. Absolutely beaming as he looks over at you, unable to stop his own chuckle from seeing the state of you. He sighs, the bubble of laughter on his lips as he turns down a dirt road.

“Sure know how to distract a guy.”

With a huff of indignation, you say, “I’m sure there’s more alluring ways to do that.”

Only when Jake chokes on his own spit do you throw your head back in a howl of laughter.

“Christ, the look on your face, Seresin.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, catching your gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Cause we’re almost there.”

That does seem to sober you both up almost instantly.

The radio sways in and out between bits of static break-up. As the houses fall further and further back from the road, it seems like you’re looking at nothing but straight-up copper-dusted fields.

Hangman leans forward on the wheel as he peers out at the stretch of dirt road, checking the numbers on the mailboxes that pop up every mile. And then, at last, he finally slows the car down to a steady roll.

And while Lady A is singing about it being an absolutely Wonderful Christmastime, you watch as all signs of joy seem to drain from your friend’s face as he turns onto the long-winding drive of his father’s ranch. The tires kick up dirt and pebbles, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’re jostled in your seat from the rough terrain of the unpaved driveway.

“Can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he murmurs, staring up ahead at the trucks already parked next to the white barn.

The house itself is a massive ranch-style home, with wood siding that almost makes it look like an older cabin. But the windows are clearly modern and sleek. It was no question at all that Jake’s father had some serious money to his name here. If the accompanying acres of farmland weren’t already a dead giveaway.

You wait for him to park, killing the ignition and resting his arms on the steering wheel with a resigned look in place of his usually bright eyes.

“When, uh, when was the last time you were here?”

With a sigh, his chin resting on the wheel now too as he stares up at the sprawling house.

“All the time as a kid. It was my granddad’s. Went on to my uncle until he ran himself straight into debt from all the gambling and drinking. Then this one - ” he jerks his head in the general direction of the house once again, “ - got it passed onto him. Haven’t been back since my granddad passed. So maybe… fourteen years?”

With a singular blink, you mutter an equally pressed, “Jesus, Seresin.”

“Yeah, well…” he just shakes his head, having already given you the gist of everything last night. No point in rehashing old news.

“Looks like everyone is here,” you comment after glancing around at the other numerous vehicles in the drive.

He nods, finally pulling the keys from the ignition and swinging the chain into his hand.

You follow him up the path to the front porch – a once beautiful piece of craftsmanship now deteriorating and stained. The floorboards of the deck squeak under your shoes and a handful of the railings seem to be either broken-off or missing entirely. A black bear carved out of wood greets you both with a simple welcome sign held in its fur-textured paws.

Jake gives a solid rap to the door before he grabs hold of the handle and shoves it open. More of a courtesy knock than anything.

With a little squeeze to his bicep, you give him your best encouraging nod and follow after him as he slides through the entryway where a massive pile of boots and shoes has been deposited.

You’re only afforded a sliver of a proper view into the main living space, but the noise level is already on par with an F18 ready to take off from the flight deck.

As you kick off your shoes into the sprawling mess of footwear, you’re assaulted by the sound of screaming children, raucous cheers, a football announcer blasting through surround-sound speakers, and the faint twang of Christmas music radiating out from a speaker somewhere in the middle of it all.

Mixed with the pungent smell of sweat-soaked shoes and rosemary-scented turkey roasting in an oven, you reach out to grab hold of Jake’s arm – simply from the overwhelming amount of things happening all around you before you even see a single person.

“You good?” he murmurs, a shocking amount of concern etched onto his usually playful features.

“Mhmm,” you manage.

A warm hand eases its way onto the small of your back and you feel the madness fall into a pinpoint tunnel where it’s easily manageable and not so disconcerting.

“Never better,” said through a set of clenched teeth is all you can work up for him.

With another squeeze to his arm, you allow Jake to guide you – by the hand still on your lower back – down the front hall to the large open-plan living space. To your left, several women lean against the russet-colored cabinets, with glasses of dark red wine in hand and ringing laughs as short blonde-haired children weave their way through the space.

To the right, near the stone fireplace sits the majority of the men on overstuffed leather couches and recliners as they stare up, with rapt attention, at the game currently projected on the large flat screen mounted above the mantel.

“Uncle Jake!”

Your eyes lock onto the blur of yellow and red that comes charging toward you both. Stepping out of the fray, you watch as your companion drops to his knees to scoop up the girl with the maroon ribbons laced through her platinum hair.

“Kenna Kenna Kenna,” he grins, grabbing hold of the young girl around her waist as he hefts her up and swings her back and forth in his embrace.

A smile that you can’t seem to control graces your lips as you watch the scene play out.

Oh, the guys back on the carrier would kill to see this side of Hangman right now. What a privilege it was for you to bear witness to.

From over his shoulder, you’re presented with the curious brown eyes of the girl who then jabs her hand against Jake’s chest and demands:

“Who’s that?”

You watch as your companion’s grin slips down for just a brief second before he forces a tight smile.

“That,” comes the familiar voice of the older Seresin brother, who rises from one of the leather recliners with a beer in hand, and a too-smug smile on his face. “Is Uncle Jackie’s girlfriend.”

The girl gasps, staring up at Jake with a pure look of wonderment, “You have a girlfriend?”

Out of instinct alone, you wrap a hand around his right arm – encouraging the act from him.

“I do,” he nods at last, glancing over at you with those piercing green eyes. And then he’s laughing, dropping the girl back down onto her feet as he says, “God, when’d you get so big?”

“Probably sometime between your last visit and now.”

Your gaze snaps over to the woman in a denim blouse in the kitchen area, swirling her wine before she finishes it off.

If you had to take a guess...

“Jess,” he greets, short and to the point with a curt nod of his head.

Bingo.

As the girl, Kenna, skirts off to join the other kids currently hanging back by the patio doors near the massive Christmas tree, another man wanders over. Similar to Josh and Jake, he’s got dimpled cheeks, darker blonde hair, and a distinctive swagger to his walk.

“Hey man,” he claps Hangman on the shoulder, presenting him with a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Long time no fucking see. Look good though.”

Jake takes hold of the drink before he slinks his arm back around your waist, guiding you forward and into his side.

“Justin,” he nods, half in greeting, and half in explanation for your current confusion.

Ah, brother number two.

“And you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” his eyes slip past his brother to land firmly upon your face.

You offer your hand in return, along with your name.

“Never thought we’d see the day,” he grins in return. And then he’s backing away, gesturing toward the fridge, “Something to drink? Beer, wine, Coke?”

Surrounded by so many people who all seem to be particularly interested in scrutinizing your every move, you merely shake your head, “Think I’m good for now, thanks.”

Jake squeezes your side and you look to your left to see him already staring down at you with a soft smile. Emboldened by his apparent approval, you begin to make your rounds with him never far from reach.

You’re introduced, quickly, to Gwen. His bubbly stepmother with dark roots and straw-colored hair who hands you a glass of wine without taking no for an answer. She’s brightness personified and the definition of a doting host. Beside her stands a rather quiet fixture in the kitchen.

Marissa is the curly-haired young wife of Justin Seresin. She watches on with a bottle held between her chipped-red nails as Jess hollers at Kenna from across the room when she tries to drop a handful of slime on her uncle’s head.

The woman remains silent, though she holds an amused smile, as she watches the madness of her inlaws take place. There’s a brood of children that moves and weaves through the adults who remain largely indifferent to their antics.

From the countertop, where an array of appetizers are laid out, you watch as the two seven-year-old twins – Dawson and Dixon – gulf down scoops and scoops of bean dip. While their sister - Brynlee, as Jake’s stepmother manages to tell you over the noise of the get-together – seems content to cling to Marissa’s pant leg as she stares up at the towering adults overhead.

Your nerves begin to ease as a sort of familiar feeling washes over you. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could almost pretend this was one of your mom’s extended family reunions.

Sure, you weren’t well-acquainted with everyone yet. But if you forced a good smile and made an effort to be courteous, you were sure you could get through the ordeal without tarnishing your wingman’s reputation.

Slowly, Jake guides you through the room, until, at last, you’re sat on the armrest of one of the leather recliners, watching with distant interest as the announcers recount the last play in the game before halftime.

“So, you gonna introduce us properly?”

Your eyes shift toward the couch where you spot the gray-haired tresses and stern sun-baked face of Daniel Seresin. Your companion, who had been standing off to the side of the living room speaking in quiet conversation with his eldest brother, seems to straighten up to full attention as if an admiral had just entered the room.

With a twinge of discomfort, your gaze tracks Jake as he strides over to you, a hand resting on your shoulder when he finally comes to a stop. You can feel his breath on your neck, the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

In a rigid tone bordering on inspection-line worthy, he introduces you by name and rank to his father.

A smile flits across the older man’s face as he beams up at you, rising from his lounged position on the couch to properly shake your hand. He looks the part of a typical rancher with his light-washed jeans and buttoned-down shirt tucked in with a flashy belt buckle.

“Real pleasure to meet you,” he grins. His hand is large, calloused by years of work. “I can’t tell you the last time Jake mentioned a girl catching his interest. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

You feel rather than hear the clipped mhmm that Jake gives in return. His gaze remains largely focused on the wall behind his father where an array of framed family photos resides. Never affording the man with the respect of holding his gaze.

Daniel claps your shoulder warmly and invites you to sit down with promises of their dinner being a real feast.

“She’s a saint, Gwen,” he tells you as you resume your position on the side of the armrest.

Jake, pointedly, slouches down in the actual recliner, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle as he stares – unseeing – at the TV.

“Hell, damn near blew myself up last year with the fryer. Don’t think she’ll let me in the kitchen, will ya, honey?”

He shouts the last part, to be heard over the crowd. Followed by a ringing you bet your ass I won’t coming from the vicinity of the stove.

You watch as Josh shakes his head in amusement, cradling a wriggly toddler in his arms. But your attention ultimately falls to the man seated to the side of you. Lost in his thoughts, trapped in his own head.

Reaching down with a tentative hand, you squeeze his fingers with your own.

It takes a minute, but then those welcomed meadow-green eyes meet your gaze and you can almost see the momentary relief that crosses his face as he squeezes your hand in return.

Dinner at the Seresin house is a decidedly casual affair in comparison to the meal you had shared with Patricia the day before. Gwen dishes out the seasonal fixings onto Christmas-themed heavy-duty disposable plates. Accompanied by wrapped bundles of plastic cutlery in Santa Claus paper napkins.

Balancing your plate on your lap is a true feat of talent as you’re the main entry and exit point to the kitchen, still settled on the armrest beside Jake.

The nieces and nephews, all eight of them, are situated on the floor on a big fleece blanket that quickly becomes an absorbent towel for their stray food bits more than anything else. Your hostess has the foresight to turn the game down to a more reasonable level, though the noise in the living room is still on par with a jet engine firing.

You find yourself shouting to be heard whenever anyone graces you with a question, which isn’t many... at first.

“ - anyway, after he pulled them over,” Jess continues her story about her husband, Nick: the Statetrooper. “He told them that he – god damnit! MacKenna Jaymes, are you or are you not watching your sister?”

Your attention, involuntary, falls to the oldest grandchild who has a mouth full of food as she stares helplessly at her younger sister who’s let her plate slip and spill all over the blanket.

“Fucking Christ,” Jake scoffs in heated breath, too quiet for anyone besides you to hear. His anger isn’t directed at his niece, of course, but at his sister.

Shoving his plate onto the other armrest, he peels himself up from the chair and crouches down to the oblivious toddler who has orange cheese sauce all around her lips – which he wipes clean with a napkin.

Jess, for her part, rolls her eyes and continues on with a biting tone about children needing to take care of their own messes. But Jake merely scoops up the girl’s food and settles the plate back down on the floor in front of her with a gentle ruffle of her sweet blonde locks.

You hold his plate for him when he returns to the chair, running a hand through his own hair.

“Thanks, honey,” he says in a cadence so natural it almost makes you drop his plate.

When he’s settled, you chance a look at him before you find your gaze trailing over to the far too smug brother seated on the chair adjacent to yours.

“See? This is the shit I was talking about last night,” he waggles a finger between the two of you as an example.

“Dad, do you remember when he brought over that girl? God, Jackie, what was her fuckin’ name?” Josh perks up, sitting on the edge of the cushion as he grabs his father’s attention, and, inadvertently, Jake’s as well.

“Oh, gosh,” Daniel starts, slapping his knee in thought as he stares up at the ceiling for the answer.

After a beat, you hear the soft utterance of, “Sarah.”

You glance down at Jake who keeps his head bowed under the weight of old memories.

Josh snaps his fingers, “That’s it! Fucking head cheerleader wrapped around his damn finger and did he even spare the girl a glance? I swear to God, he - ”

“Christ, can you knock it off with the swearing already?” Jess snaps.

The mischievous brother merely grins at you in a way that seems to say you see what I’m dealing with here?

“Must be all that growing up that’s got you so enamored.”

Settling your hand on Jake’s left shoulder, you give him a reasurring squeeze. You’d already dealt with his brother’s annoying antics and personality last night, what was a few more hours of unending torture under a familial microscope?

He lets out a long ragged breath, but you can feel his shoulders loosen marginally.

You almost miss the biting sound of the Seresin sister when she mutters, “Doubt it.”

But Jake doesn’t.

And he latches on to it like an enemy target on his radar system.

“Something you wanna say?”

The room falls to a stifling silence like the distant whistle of a falling shell about to make impact. You fear for the fallout from the impending crater.

She has the audacity to look aghast, a hand held to her heart in surprise as she manages to finish off her potato salad in one quick bite.

“Jacob. If you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.”

“And yet you always manage,” comes his lightning-quick response.

“Well,” she drawls. “On a holy day like Christmas, I think you can find a way to keep your opinions sealed up.”

The other occupants watch the sparring of words like a tennis volley. But someone seems to have had enough.

“Oh, bless your heart dear!” Gwen says, standing quickly from her position on the couch beside her husband as she makes her way over to you. “You’re all out of casserole. Come on, now. Let’s get you fixed back up.”

Your chest tightens as you’re literally pulled to your feet by the determined woman, who quickly leads you into the depths of the kitchen. The words from the two siblings are still just as biting, but slowly the trickle of grandchildren also make their way into the kitchen.

Just another Christmas get-together for them as the grown-ups row.

As Gwen tops your plate to the point of sagging with more food, you watch MacKenna as she settles her younger sister on her hip while holding a hand on top of the toddler’s head.

“You’ve got your hands full,” you manage to say, hoping the smile you offer her isn’t tight with worry as the noise in the living room continues to grow.

The girl shrugs, as much as she can with a one-year-old in her arms. She tracks her siblings as they settle onto the hightop stools and begin to rummage through the lower cabinets.

Josh has his hands out as he tries to delegate between the bickering siblings, but Justin and Marissa just have the peace of mind to leave the scene altogether – also journeying over to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” the eldest brother says to you, leaning on the counter as he carefully pushes his twin sons away from the bowl of Chex mix. “They always get into it when they’re together. Has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can say in return.

“Here, hun,” his wife says to the nine-year-old struggling to hold onto her baby sister any longer. “Give your arms a break.”

With a handful of chips in his mouth, Justin points at his wife, “We’re not having another one.”

She nods congenially, patting the baby’s back with her hand, “I know that.”

Jess is on her feet now, pointing a dangerous finger at Jake, but you feel rooted to the spot because this was never a discussed topic of possible scenarios between the two of you back at the hotel.

“Abandoning your fucking family because you have goddamn daddy issues. Get the fuck over yourself, Jacob!”

For all the hostility his sister throws his way, your companion remains level and coolheaded as always.

He stares up at her with a perfectly blank face, “Can’t go one damn holiday without throwing a tantrum can you?”

Gwen coughs, pulling your attention away for just a moment as she all but shoves a platter of cookies in your face.

“Want one? Got more than the two of us can eat here. I made peanut butter, peppermint, pecan – ”

“ - and you think you can just show up here like it’s all water under the bridge and everything’s fine and dandy just because you have a girl on your arm? That doesn’t make up for the last decade of your shit.”

You take a step toward the living room, where even Josh has shrunken down onto the couch with his head between his hands. Daniel remains completely stock still as he watches the seemingly one-sided fight drag on.

“Just ‘cause you found the first broad to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and – ”

Before you can even register the words, Jake is on his feet.

Staring down at his sister with a heaving chest and balled fists.

You break away from the cluster of family members as you make your way to his side. Tentatively, you reach for his hand – easing his fingers away until you can entwine your hands together. His nostrils flare as words that have been building up since childhood begin to battle their way up to his lips, but it all comes to a halt when you murmur a gentle:

“Baby?”

With a slow turn of his head, he looks down at you – fight dissipating from his eyes as you squeeze his hand. Giving a gentle tug, Jake follows you over to the sliding doors of the back deck.

Behind you, you can hear Josh give an admonishing, “Never known when to close your massive fucking trap, do you?”

But you push aside the door and lead your wingman into the fresh afternoon air before you can hear her likely cutting response.

Having no real idea of the lay of the land, you pull him down the back steps and find yourself traversing a small pebble path around the back of the house. Jake, still in a state of silence, allows you to guide him forward without so much as a peep.

Near the back wooden cattle fence dividing the backyard from the actual farm property, you stop under the shade of a large tree. The billowing branches bring not only cool shade but a sense of privacy away from the prying eyes of the bickering family inside.

Releasing your grip on his hand, Jack takes a few unsteady steps forward before he drops down onto a faded old wooden porch swing. It creaks under his weight but seems sturdy enough as he eases his heels into the ground and pushes back and forth.

You stand there, staring out at the vast fields for a long long moment before you hear your name whispered into the breeze.

Turning back to your wingman, you take a seat beside him, your knees brushing as he continues to make the old swing sway.

Out here, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re in the cockpit on a smooth return flight. The only noise comes from the gentle breeze drooping over the tall grass that bends like ripples in the water.

But your attention ultimately falls to your friend. With his knuckles gripped white on his knees, his head bowed down with his shoulders hunched high to protect him.

This version of Hangman would never be seen by your squadron, nor would it ever be mentioned.

With a steadying breath, your voice cracking as you force out the words, you say, “I have a soft spot for disco music.”

It takes a second for the words to register, but Jake slowly lifts his head and stares at you with pure confusion.

“What?”

“Disco. It’s my... thing? And I’m swearing you to fucking secrecy, Bagman. But... I belt out ABBA songs when I’m alone. Donna Summers too.”

The making of a grin begins to form on the corner of his lips.

“I’ve got it bad for the Bee Gees.”

His brow raises ever so slightly.

“Do those private serenades also include a dance number?”

With a bark of laughter, you tuck your hands between your knees as he rocks you further back on the wide swing.

“Oh, absolutely.”

When you look up, you find his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. But not in a harsh way. More like you were a puzzle he was just only now figuring out the missing pieces of.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Giving a shrug, you say, “Because I wanted to. Also, no one will ever believe you.”

There’s a beat of silence before his lips tug up into a radiant smile that has him shaking his head.

“God damnit, you’re right.”

You let your left shoulder bump into his right as his laughter slowly ebbs away to silence once again.

He spares the house a furrowed expression before he lets out a slow exhale of breath.

“This thing,” he starts, twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist. “Between me and Jess, it goes back years.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” you assure him with a soft utterance.

But he presses forward despite it.

“Josh and Justin were already out by the time things got bad. Just me and her in the house. Not that she paid much mind. She was ‘bout to graduate and I was just some snot-nosed ten-year-old.”

He eases into the swing, dipping his head back over the headrest to stare up at the swaying green leaves above the two of you. You find yourself turning to face him, pulling your left knee up onto the seat.

“Mom started drinking ‘round then after she found out he was fucking his bowling buddy. Had been, for the last two years or so. But Jess didn’t know that shit, just saw Mom passed out on the couch with an empty bottle on the floor.”

Jake shakes his head, pushing away the memory.

“They never said it to my face, but I know. I was the save the marriage baby.”

“Jake...”

Offering you a tight grimace, he continues.

“Spoiled as hell, got whatever I wanted and then some. Private school, the works. Brothers didn’t care much, but Jess...” he trails off.

Your hand settles onto his forearm, offering a squeeze of comfort when your own words fail you. He dips his chin in return, welcoming the touch of familiarity.

“That’s what I meant by it the other day. They sided with him and I went along with her because I found out what was really happening. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen’s a good lady and the two of them are better off divorced. But... put a wedge between me and the three of them.”

Clearing your throat, you ask, “Is that why you left to join up?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Couldn’t fucking stand to be around either of them by the time I graduated. Just wanted to start over, do something for myself on my own terms.”

And then he scrubs his palm over his face, wincing as he does so.

“Christ, I don’t know why I’m fucking telling you any of this.”

“I said you didn’t have to, you know,” you nudge him with a teasing tone.

With a look of pure exasperation, he holds his hands out like a confession, “Got me bleeding my heart out here like I’m Freeze or something, Pits.”

“Eh,” you sigh, twisting your body to pull up both of your legs onto the bench – only to deposit them both right across Jake’s lap with little fanfare. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”

Something funny flits over his features for a moment before he places his hand over your calf and resumes his gentle rocking of the swing.

Eventually, you both manage to peel yourselves off the swing and wander back into the house. Jake says something about being completely okay with ditching the whole thing and heading back to the rental car. But you have to remind him that your shoes are still currently lost in the massive pile in the front entryway.

He then tries to convince you to leave them, going so far as to say he’ll buy you a new pair before your flight.

But, reluctant as he is, you walk hand-in-hand back into the house. You get lost in the excitement of the kids who want to open up all their presents right this very second and it seems like, for the moment at least, the fight has been put on hold to allow the true joy of Christmas to take place.

Though Jake and his sister remain on opposite sides of the room for the entire duration of the madness that is eight kids scrambling to unwrap their numerous presents the fastest.

While Justin plays the role of gift hander-outer, Jess lounges on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the mess play out with a stink eye. Jake, for all his hold-ups on the day, also drops to his knees to help the younger nieces unwrap their gifts.

Which leaves you, surprisingly, with a small bundle of drooling baby in your arms since her own mother would rather watch from afar than interact with her own children.

June is happy to suck on the left foot of her new stuffed buddy, lounging out in your lap as you rock the recliner back and forth. Jake shoots you several amused glances before he gets tugged into the decidedly un-fun realm of opening up all the plastic-wrapped toys for the kids.

The living room floor is heaped with wrapping paper and ribbons, loose twist ties, and chunks of cardboard and plastic molds by the time he returns to your side. This time, he’s the one resting on the armrest as he gently taps the snoozing baby’s foot with his fingers.

“Out like a light.”

“No better way to celebrate the day,” you agree.

The sleeping babe must be used to the chaos that is the Seresin family, as her siblings and cousins run amok with their new toys that beep and jingle. Tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floors as they zoom up and down the long hallway separating the living area from the rest of the house.

“Now that’s a picture if I’ve ever seen one.”

You lift your gaze to Gwen as she rounds the corner, a wine glass in hand as she settles in next to Daniel on the couch across from the three of you.

“Think you two will ever settle down stateside?” he asks with a true glimmer of hope in his graveled voice.

Jake winces, hand falling to your inner thigh for support.

“I, uhm, I could never ask Jake to put his career on hold for that,” you find yourself saying.

“Same for you,” he adds a second later.

Gwen, for her part, gives an understanding nod – settling a hand on her husband’s arm to stifle the topic down.

“How long have you two been flying together?”

Your wingman seeks out your gaze as the two of you mentally run through the tangle of memories.

“Three, almost four years now?”

“Mhmm.”

“And what set this all off, if you don’t mind me prying?”

Jake clears his throat, and you have to turn your head to hide the beginnings of laughter that bubble up to the surface. He shifts his weight, draping his right arm over the back of the chair, a finger playfully tugs at the fabric of your shirt.

“It was after a mission debrief. Fourteen hours, dead on our feet,” the story, completely fabricated, comes to him with a true sense of ease.

“And, I dunno. Everyone was shuffling outta the room and I just looked over and saw Pita and thought...”

At the pause, you turn your face to look up at him only to find his softened eyes seeking you out.

“Wow. I can’t have this girl out of my life.”

That piercing expression nearly takes your breath away and you want to applaud Jake for his terrific acting on the fly.

Pulling your gaze back to the seated couple, you add, in jest, “I’m sure my greasy hair and flight suit was what did it for him.”

“Hundred percent!” he grins, tugging a strand of your hair.

At some point, the others filter back into the room and Marissa kindly takes the snoozing June from you. You have to shake out your arms just to return the blood circulation. Who knew kids that little could be that heavy?

And while you get lost in the rushed conversation of two seven-year-olds trying to tell you all about the mechanical workings of their new RC cars, Daniel pushes up from the couch and weaves his way over to Jake, before saying something in his ear. You can feel the way he goes rigid as he slips his arm away from you and slowly stands and follows after his father.

You watch as the two men disappear down the hall, toward one of the bedrooms or office from the looks of it. A cold dredge of worry washes over you, cooling your insides and twisting your stomach into another uncomfortable slosh of concern. He had just started smiling again.

“He’s really got you bad, doesn’t he?”

Pulling your gaze away from the empty hall, you find the piercing eyes of Josh inspecting your face as he leans across his chair to speak to you.

“You. You’re worried about him.”

“Comes with the job,” you say.

A smirk tugs his lips into a twisted look as he too glances down the hallway.

“He’ll be fine. Little testy with whatever Dad’s about to try pulling. Won’t be too surprised if that’s the end of our little visit.”

Your brows pinch, “That bad?”

He chuckles, easing back into his recliner, “Always.”

You try to focus on the happy children occupied with their new toys and the soft lull of the TV sportscaster, but you find your primary focus pulled toward the long empty hallway.

He had told you all about the history between him and his old man, both in the backyard confessional an hour prior and the day you arrived in Austin. Yet now your mind was conjuring up worse and worse scenarios of what was happening in a closed-door room several feet away.

Another few minutes pass where you try your best to ignore what could be transpiring a few yards away, but the sound of a door opening followed by a pleading voice saying:

“Jacob, come on now. Jake. Jake.”

You crane your head just in time to see your companion striding down the hallway, directly toward you – pushing both Justin and Gwen gently out of his way. You’re on your feet by the time he reaches you and before you can even ask are you okay, he’s grabbing hold of your arm.

“Think we’re done here, sweetheart.”

Trying to get a read from his expression alone is useless, so you merely nod in return.

“Okay.”

As Jake directs you toward the entryway once again, with a trail of family members walking a few steps behind you both in silent anticipation, Daniel Seresin finally makes a reappearance.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he just shakes his head in return to his wife’s questioning look.

Hangman can’t seem to move fast enough, even as the nieces creep past you to get to him.

“Are you leaving now, Uncle Jake?”

“When am I gonna see you again?”

He’s halfway between tying his left boot when he looks up at the little faces curled with worry and childhood innocence. Frozen, unable to find the right words to explain his hasty escape as he peers up and over their heads at his father standing silently at the end of the hall.

“Oh, that’s my fault, I’m afraid,” you say, leaning down to grab your own boots as three braided-blonde heads turn to look up at you.

“We need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight, don’t we, honey?”

A flash of gratitude in his eyes and a slow exhale has Jake nodding, quick to play along to your tune.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We have to go see Pita’s family now. Wouldn’t be fair to keep her away on Christmas, yeah?”

Shelby clings to his leg, her face squished into his thigh as she murmurs, “But I’ll miss you.”

Jake shoots you a clear help me look, but your rescue comes in the shape of Josh Seresin who swoops in and collects the five-year-old up into his arms.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from Uncle Jackie soon. Won’t you?”

Your companion gives a fast nod, “That’s right, kiddo. Soon as we’re back on the carrier, I’m gonna call you right up.”

The little girl peers over her uncle’s shoulder and you meet her soft gaze.

“And Pita too?”

Jake almost laughs, but he curves it into a smile instead.

“Yeah, her too, honey.”

Oh, your breakup in a few weeks was gonna be fun to talk through with a kindergartner.

Pushing that thought from your head, you righten your boot into place and fall back into Jake’s easy embrace, his hand finding a too-familiar spot on your waist.

The drive back to the city is shared in silence with only the familiar Christmas tunes from the radio there to fill the void between you both. And even then, the holiday spirit has already seeped out of the vehicle and into the vast countryside. No amount of classic jingles could fix that at this point.

When you arrive back at the hotel, it’s as though you’re waiting for the missile to hit. That weapon of course being Jake himself.

But the man in question is as silent as ever as he drops down onto the edge of his bed. Too tired to even remove his boots as you carefully tread around him to take care of your own shoes.

His silence makes you even more cautious in your moves, tiptoeing across the carpet to your bag and back again. Afraid to make any noise that could set him off. Oh, you could handle the fallout, of course. You’re just not sure if he could at this point.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed in your sleepwear, Jake is lying flat on his back with his legs hanging over the edge. His eyes open and staring, almost unseeing, at the popcorn ceiling.

After spending a moment to assess your situation, you unceremoniously flop down on the bed beside him, a hand plopping down on his right knee.

And there you sit, in the stillness of the hotel room for a series of long-passing minutes. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, curling your fingers tighter and then looser on his jean-clad knee. Until, at last, he speaks.

“Should have never did this to you.”

You wait until his eyes land on you before you respond.

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.”

It takes a second, but he eases up onto his elbows.

“I’m serious. Yesterday with my mom was one thing. But this shit? Today? God,” he drags a hand down his face in annoyance.

Releasing a breath, you lay down beside him on the bed. He stares down at you for a long moment before he falls back down next to you.

“I told you, I don’t care. I agreed to this entire insane endeavor and I told you I was gonna see it through no matter what. So, lose the bullshit grief, and don’t worry about me.”

Tugging on the loose fabric of his seafoam-colored button-down, you give him the space to respond or not. Hell, you were gonna be the last person to try and press the man for anything right now.

“I just...” he exhales, resting a hand on his chest. “I dragged you across the country, away from your own damn family, just to do this.”

Rising up slightly so you can stare down at him, you retort, “Which I agreed to. If I didn’t want to do this for you, do you honestly think you could force me to do any of this? Honestly?”

Jake glances back at the ceiling before a smile graces his lips.

“Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you reply, dropping back down.

“Well... at least it’s over.”

You hum in response.

Come morning, you would take the rental car back to the airport and board separate flights. You up to Michigan and Jake back to California. You would enjoy a family-filled holiday and he would be...

Your stomach turns at the thought.

Alone.

After everything that had transpired over the past forty-eight hours, after all that he was dragged through. Jake would be alone come Christmas day. Alone with his own damn thoughts and whatever reemerged trauma that came with this particular visit produced.

Maybe that’s why, after several more minutes have passed you both by, that you turn toward him and say:

“Do you... I don’t – well, that is to say, uhm...”

You can feel the look he gives you but you have to crane your neck back to properly look him in the eyes. There’s something there in the meadow green of his irises that emboldens you – allowing the words to come easily.

“Jake, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings.

Additionally, I've been getting a lot of (understandable) messages concerned about the wellbeing of our lovely reader and Law, so I made a helpful little graph just to document the overall progression of the story and where you are so far as of this chapter :)

Do with this what you will <3

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 8

[Prev] [Next]

Law’s entire world was curled up on a hospital bed, an IV fluid drip in her hand and her eyes closed tightly shut, afraid that if they opened they’d have to relive the reality of the situation all over again.

You had continued bleeding throughout the car ride to the hospital, rendering the impromptu toilet paper pad completely ineffective.  Both what was left of that and your underwear were placed in a biohazard container, and you were placed in a fresh pair of hospital garments with a maxi pad that really operated similar to a diaper.  The bleeding also made you incredibly weak and lightheaded, leaving Law to sprint into the emergency room, grab a wheelchair, and bring you inside that way.

When he woke up this morning, he never would’ve guessed he would be seeing you in a hospital bed in the small emergency patient room.  You had showered and eaten breakfast, kissed him and pet Bepo.  Now you were actively expelling what was most definitely a miscarriage.

A gentle knock resounded outside the shut door.  You didn’t even move in reaction, staying inhumanly still with your eyes closed.  The door opened regardless however, and Law was met with the friendly, yet somber, face of your gynecologist.  Robin entered the room with a clipboard in her hand.  Law recognized her instantly, not as his wife’s gynecologist, but as a former classmate in medical school.  He never thought that she’d be the one taking care of this entire situation, and part of him was regretful that she had to see this side of him.

“Small world, huh?” Law asked, though his voice lacked any enthusiasm.

“Indeed it is, I was just reading the latest paper you published.  I was wondering how you were doing after residency,” the woman responded.

Law huffed with a minimal bounce of his shoulders.  “You could probably guess how I’m doing.  But, thank you for taking the time to drive here from downtown.”

“Of course, it was oddly good timing.  I have no patients at the clinic for the rest of the day.”  Robin’s lips pursed all of a sudden however, as she got down to business.  “I would like to talk to you privately, if that’s alright with you.”

The man’s eyes narrowed in concern.  “Why privately?”

Her voice lowered to a whisper.  “I’m not sure your wife is in a stable emotional state to hear what I have to say.”

With the way you hadn’t moved since you arrived, your IV drip slowly administering your fluids and a clip on your finger monitoring your pulse and oxygen levels, Law was starting to wonder if you had stressed yourself into a deep sleep.  He didn’t want to wake you to find out.  Instead, he quietly followed Robin out into the hallway, asking a nurse at the front desk to monitor your room for him.  He followed his former colleague into a small meeting room, where she shut the door behind the two of them for complete privacy.

“Law, I know you can handle the more… gritty side of things, so I’m going to be completely blunt with you,” she began, covering her clipboard of papers with her hands.  “I’m sure you’re already very aware, but your wife is currently undergoing an eight week miscarriage.  Her follow-up appointment from last week was supposed to be in two days, but clearly, we were correct in the possibility that she was seven weeks along when we couldn’t detect a heartbeat.”  It was then that she moved her hands, shuffling through the papers in her clipboard before producing a copy of your patient assessment and a small, enclosed envelope.  “Before I begin, I would like to ask you a few questions.  I was informed that you had blood work and a semen analysis done to confirm your fertility, correct?”

The non-professional side of Law felt slightly uncomfortable discussing the results of his semen analysis with his former residency colleague, but he knew this was crucial information.  He nodded, folding his tattooed hands above the table.  “Yes I did.  My hormone panel from the blood test came back completely normal without any anomalies, and the semen analysis showed a completely normal sperm count.”

Robin nodded, opening the envelope as she listened to him speak.  “Understood, so it’s safe to say you are fertile.”

“I would assume so,” he confirmed.

The black-haired woman produced a small set of photographs from the envelope.  “With that confirmed for me, I would like to show you these photos from your wife’s ultrasound last week.”  She laid out the small assortment of photographs, but held one down with her hand and used her pen to point out the barely-identifiable contents of the image.  (Which Law was grateful for, as he admittedly had no idea what he was looking at.  His brief rotation in gynecology did very little to cement the process of a uterine ultrasound.)

“This large black space is the amniotic fluid surrounding the embryo,” she described, moving the capped end of her pen around the space.  “This white blotch here is the embryo at around six weeks gestation, which I theorize is when it ceased development.  As you can see, it’s still attached to the wall of her uterus.”  Two taps of the pen against the image punctuated her statement.  “This area surrounding the amniotic fluid is the uterine tissue.”  Robin looked up at Law.  “Understood?”

It took a brief moment, but Law finally nodded his head.  “Yes.”

Silently, she moved the first image out of the way and replaced it with another one.  “Now I would like to draw your attention to this one.”

Law leaned forward in his seat, assessing the new image.  It looked completely different than the first, and he quietly waited for Robin to begin to describe what exactly he was supposed to be focusing on.

“This was taken at the beginning of the ultrasound.  My technician placed the transmitter on the left side of her abdomen before moving it toward the approximate location of the uterus to detect the fetus.  We were able to see a glimpse of her left ovary during this time.”  Once again, the pen tapped a specific area of the image.

Law’s heart rate increased.  “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me.”

Robin shook her head.  “Not cancer,” she confirmed.  “However, do you see this patch of tissue right here?”  She circled the area.

He didn’t, really, but he nodded his head to urge her to continue.  

“It can’t be confirmed without surgery, but I have a strong suspicion that this is endometrial tissue.  I reviewed some of her patient notes and recalled certain appointments where she would inform me of abnormally heavy periods, but she never mentioned anything more specific, such as intense pain during menstruation, so it never seemed to affect her life outside of that.  But looking at her ultrasound images, I’m highly suspicious that she may have endometriosis, which can greatly negatively impact fertility.”

Law clenched his jaw.  “What kind of surgery is done to diagnose that?”

“We would confirm the diagnosis with a laparoscopy.  A small cut is made in the naval, and a thin instrument, similar to a camera, is inserted into the incision to scope out potential endometrial tissue.  In many circumstances, a similar laparoscopic method is used to surgically remove this endometrial tissue, however we would need a definitive diagnosis in order to perform this with confidence.”  Robin was stone-faced as she explained.

Law had a million questions racing through his mind.  He wished he could sit and ask all of them, but the most pressing one forced its way out of his mouth first.  “Will she ever be able to have children?”

“After a successful recovery from this miscarriage, and a successful recovery from laparoscopic surgery to remove endometrial tissue, if that is the case, then yes, her chances of becoming pregnant will remain.  However, women who experience at least one miscarriage have a higher likelihood of experiencing more, so you must take this into account if you decide to try for conception again.”

He nodded.  “I understand.”

Robin collected her paperwork, reviewing your patient chart once more.  “Other than the potential for endometriosis, her physical health is perfect.  There would be no other reason to me why she wouldn’t be able to have children, other than this one big issue.”

Law stayed silent as she explained.  He stood up as she did and followed her to the door, blindly keeping pace behind her as he was led back to your room.  The door was pushed open slowly so as to not potentially disturb you.  The nurse from prior stood from her seat, entering the hallway and quietly whispering to Law.

“She fell asleep, her vitals are good, however she should remain on fluids for a while longer.  Her blood pressure was lower than normal and her iron levels were reduced,” explained the nurse, who’s own eyes were creased with a sympathetic concern.

Law gave a curt nod.  “Thank you very much for staying there.”

“Of course, it’s my pleasure.  Come back to our desk if you need anything,” she replied before leaving to continue her work.

Robin held her clipboard under her arm.  “I’m going to return to my office and write a referral for a diagnostic laparoscopy, but I won’t make the official call until she gives me her full permission.  Does that sound good?”

Law nodded, rendered completely mute.

“Call my clinic if you need anything at all.  Tell them who you are, and I’ll make sure your calls get sent right to me.”  Robin was about to turn on her heel, but she looked back once more at the forlorn man.  “I don’t usually do that for my patients, but I know you, Law.  I know how genuine you are.  I can see how much you love your wife and how the both of you are eager for a successful pregnancy.  I want to do everything in my power to help you achieve that.”

Law inhaled a shuddering breath.  “Thank you, Robin, I… I appreciate that.”

She nodded her head, finally turning and pacing down the hallway.  Law entered your room once more and closed the door behind him.  He stood at the foot of your bed, following the hose from the IV bag down to where it was connected into the skin of your hand, taped in place to prevent its movement.  Your face was tucked into your arms, shielding your grief from the world.  The pulse monitor was moved from your index finger to your middle finger, constantly giving readings of your blood oxygen and iron count.

Law took his seat again, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands.  He only picked his head up to look at the digital clock on the wall.  It was already almost 5:00 PM.  He shoved his hand in his pants pocket and took out his phone, opening his text messages.

Hey, Shachi, can you or Penguin go to my apartment and feed Bepo?  If you could take him for a walk, too, that’d be really appreciated.

It didn’t take long for his phone to buzz with a response.

Dumb Orca

Yea of course. everything good????

Law sighed.

I’ll explain everything later, but we won’t be home for a little while.

Dumb Orca

Ight, bet. hope youre good

Law did really not want to explain the events of the day over text.  He placed his phone back in his pocket before eyeing your bag that was laying against the leg of his chair.  He reached down and fumbled quietly for your own phone, lifting it from your bag and illuminating your screen.  He input your passcode and glanced through your own texts.

Ika-chan

Hey girlie is everything alright???  Law came in to grab your bag

Ika-chan

Text me back as soon as you get this, i’m really worried!!!!!

Ika-chan

I love you boo xoxo

Nami Swan

Hey babes u left ur lunch in the kitchen fridge

Nami Swan

Where did u go???

Nami Swan

I’ll protect ur tupperware for 2day, but if u dont come back by 5 im letting usopp eat ur lunch

Nami Swan

U know how sanji feels abt wasting food

God Usopp

Hey can i have ur lunch

Boss-y

(2 Missed Calls)

Boss-y

(1 Voicemail)

Boss-y

Hey, your husband came in and picked up your bag.  He informed reception that he was taking you home, I hope everything’s alright.  Please call me back when you can, just so I know you’re alright.  If you need some time off, just feel free to let me know that as well so we can work around the project.  Don’t stress yourself out about coming back in too quickly, if something happened I want you to recover first and foremost.  Best wishes.

Law pressed the button on the side of your phone to set it to sleep mode before slipping it back into your bag.  He leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at your backside, curled away from him.

[salternateunreality2]

AGSZC Deep Cleaning the Biohazard that is Zack’s Apartment

From the @strayheartless vault <3

—

Zack: It’s not a biohazard, that would mean nothing’s living there, and look, my pets are fine! *opens a drawer with a new litter of mice in it*

Genesis: AAAAAAA! Ahem. I mean to say: Zachariah McKinley Fair, a biohazard means it is unsafe for humans, and often involves dangerous non-human organisms. SUCH AS WILD MICE.

Zack: They’re not wild, they’re my fri-

Genesis: Zachariah. If you finish that word, I will firaga them immediately.

Zack: NO! *Hides the mice with his body*

—-

After Genesis’ 5th childish scream, Angeal’s 3rd round of dry-heaving, and Sephiroth and Cloud being found twitching near the entrance, Zack concedes that maybe he has some work to do.

—

Cloud decides to body-double for Zack by riding him like a backpack.

Zack: Maybe this sock is salvageable!

Koala Cloud: Nope, put it in the bag.

Zack: But I wanna- 

Cloud: IN THE BAG, FAIR.

—

Sephiroth is in full-coverage PPE to protect his hair and senses, and is excavating the fridge with gloves. 

Zack: But my pasta is in that tub of whipped cream! 

Angeal, working at the sink and dry-heaving: I MADE THAT FOR YOU LAST MONTH.

—

They have to set up a rotating schedule of visiting Zack's apartment so he's motivated to clean everything at least weekly, but Zack is really grateful.

He never means for it to get this bad, it’s just…he makes friends with the critters! And, well, sometimes he forgets things. And…and sometimes he just gets overwhelmed. He looks at the pile of dishes and knows he can’t do them all today, so he doesn’t do any.

Or he tries. He starts by picking up the dishes in his bedroom, but trips over a shirt along the way. He sets the dishes down to take the shirt to the laundry, but his eyes catch on the dusty blinds, so obviously he has to clean them, but then he looks up and it’s 3 hours later and he’s dismantled the whole window dressing and is cleaning the grooves with a q-tip and everything is worse than when he started.

Zack breaks down trying to explain it, and Genesis is the first to tell him he understands. Genesis and Angeal sandwich him between themselves while Sephiroth puts a hand on Zack’s shoulder and Cloud starts worming his way into Zack’s arms.

—

Zack cleans for each of them all the time, but for some reason, he can’t understand why they’d help him too.

It surprises him when Angeal comes over and just. Does all his dishes. Or when Genesis comes over and "purifies this hellhole of a bathroom" (gives it a decent clean and fills it with good soaps/battery operated candles/fresh towels). Or when Cloud obsessively sorts and folds his laundry, or when Sephiroth puts everything through the wash when he's working from home one day.

Zack doesn't GET that he's done the exact same things for them, like the time he scoured Angeal's pots for half a day, or polished every metallic surface in Sephiroth's apartment, or dusted Genesis' place so thoroughly it gleamed, or put fresh sheets on Cloud's bed, bundled him up, and did all his laundry while he was dissociating.

He doesn't realize the insurmountable task of addressing The Chair is easy for Angeal (it all goes in the wash. It's all dirty enough.), but the same man finds throwing out socks with holes hard (but acceptable when Zack does it for him).

Zack forgets that he folded all of Gen's towels into swans when Gen’s parents were coming into town and is blown away when Gen leaves a simply folded towel on the rack.

He thinks the work he puts into adding color to Sephiroth’s spartan apartment is nothing, not realizing Sephiroth’s heart is warmed by each and every little splash Zack sneaks in.

Zack doesn’t realize that Cloud would rather do all of Zack’s mopping than address the sensory hell that is washing monster gunk off his own boots, which Zack does for him often.

[comfortless]

may i please ask for your thoughts on each könig skin ^^

sure thing!

default: beautiful, 10000/10, the only one that i ever really use (if i feel like suffering through this awful game). rare for cod to come out with an operator that does not look like a lazily stitched version of three other characters but König…. there is so much detail from the makeshift hood right down to the intentionally missed belt loop. the abundance of gear and the fact that none of the colors clash in a way that isn’t appealing! the hood is such a nice touch, too… obviously stitched together by his own hands.

i can only imagine the frustration he must have felt trying to hand-stitch around the eye holes when every needle probably seemed far too small for him to use. ;; did he even think to use a thimble? probably not…

anonymous, blood soaked, and praetorian are more or less the same apart from a few small details. i love the camos on him and how praetorian just lacks the tear-streaks entirely. also, that name? insinuating that he’s a commander of some sort… <3

tricks & violator: where are the scare actor König thoughts for these specifically. he was born to be shoved in a corn maze or a house decked out in fake blood and limbs. they are not scary but… give him some credit for making the hood for the first himself! what did he use..? an old halloween t-shirt? fabric paint? it’s perfect.

grouping antibody and biohazard together, because my thoughts are the same: underwhelming… but it’s him..! they both get a pass.

expedition: this is the cutest skin in the entirety of the game. including everyone else’s. the silly bucket hat. the hood still on beneath the net. the gloves? he looks like he can not decide whether he’s planning for a trip to find some long-forgotten temple in the jungle, a solo fishing trip, or tending to a pretty garden.

desidia: every time i see this one i am reminded of @wordsbyvani’s moss person König thoughts. some benevolent higher power will one day bless you all with the lovely secret knowledge that she bestows me with.

arachnid: barking pawing howling whining sulking shaking like 🥛 that is all.

deep lord: see above. but also… you know marine horror is such a lovely genre to explore. coupled with the additions to this skin i think someone could put something perfect together with this in mind!

the wolf: the company of wolves… red riding hood… any werewolf movie ever… constantly associating him with anything big and canine after seeing this one. it is SO silly but i like to think that maybe… there are further hints about him/his personality in the little details of each skin (i am on the floor begging for crumbs).

ghillie monster: i have to be honest with you all this one is just not… for syl. most of his skins at least still resemble him in some capacity, but his gear makes even his body look different here! shelved for eternity i will never touch this.

sinister: i think you all can probably already guess my thoughts!! if not… sorry. i will not share them here.

vapor: i do not play cod mobile and this one is not enough to bring me to that level of suffering.

also!! i both love and hate this ask because i had to stop myself at each one to not… fall into writing some silly blurb or adding several things to my ever growing wip list… BUT i do think it would be fun to toy around with using his other skins in mind when writing him! ^^ much to think about….

[bad268]

Yes hi hello, do you write smut because you have Bernard the elf in what you want to write and nobody writes smut of him I swear.

Also, if not then I'd like fluff of any kind, say reader cuts their hand and Bernard patches them up!

Preferably a female reader, but if you want to do nb or male that is fine too 💞

New Rules (Bernard X Elf! Reader)

Fandom: The Santa Clause

Requested: Clearly (Sorry I don’t write smut, but I loved this request! Also, sorry, I may have taken the injury a little far as it was something I actually did at work but...I hope you like it <3)

Warnings:  Injury depictions, lots of blood mentioned

Pronouns: She/her

W.C. 1301

Summary: The reader gets injured on the job, and Bernard helps her out.

As always, my requests and ships are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Google/Bustle)

There was not enough time. There was so much to do, and so little time to do it. Christmas was fast approaching, Santa was visiting the Millers, and Bernard was running like a chicken with its head cut off. Everyone was frantically trying to meet the deadlines, and everything was just so hectic! I was sitting at my station, screwing wheels onto trucks as quickly as possible. I must have been going too fast because before I knew it, my grip slipped.

Even with the blood dripping onto the table, I did not realize that I cut my hand until Curtis came up to me.

“Did you know that it is a biohazard and violation of rule 1627 to knowingly bleed at your station, and possibly, contaminate presents? I’m gonna have to report this to Santa,” He chastised as he opened the book to rule 1627. He started talking more, but I was not listening. I was focused on the growing pool of blood in my palm. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Why are you lecturing her, Curtis?” Bernard sighed with a roll of his eyes as he walked over to the station, immediately moving to take the book away from Curtis. “Just let them work. You are wasting her time.”

“I am not!” Curtis exclaimed, pulling the book back. “I am here to enforce the rules, and their injury is breaking rule 1627!”

“What injury?” It is then that Bernard notices the puddle of blood in my hand that has begun to overflow onto the table. I followed his eye line, finally actually looking at my injury, and I felt lightheaded immediately. In response, Bernard rushed forward to apply pressure on my hand, and he pulled a cloth from his pocket to clean up some of the blood to see the wound. Once he got a clear view of the injury, he came around the bench to help me stand, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

“But I need to finish these before Santa gets back,” I tried to argue, but my thoughts were getting jumbled. I leaned more into Bernard’s side, suddenly not feeling strong enough to stand on my own.

“No, you are coming with me to the infirmary, now,” He said, pushing past Curtis, who was still going off about rule 1627 and deadlines. “Curtis, no offense, but shut up.”

“And that right there is a violation of rule 2256,” Curtis replied, smugly, “The head elf must treat all other elves with respect, regardless of personal feelings.”

“And you are breaking the only rule I remember,” Bernard said, pointedly, trying to move past Curtis. “Rule number 9, an elf's mental and physical health prioritizes deadlines and even Christmas.” Curtis was, for once, speechless. Bernard knew he finally won an argument against Curtis, but he suddenly became aware of the bloody cloth in his hand. “That being said, Curtis, do not stand in my way.”

In the infirmary, Bernard made quick work of cleaning and wrapping my hand. Thankfully, the wound was not too deep to require stitches since Bernard had no idea how to do stitches, but it was still pretty deep. He cleaned it up, apologizing after seeing me wince, and wrapped in it gauze. “Should stay put for the rest of the day, but don’t take my word for it. There’s a reason I’m not a medical elf,” he laughed.

“It’s better than I could do,” I joked back. “Thanks, Bernard. I really appreciate it.”

“Now, I don’t want you going back to your station today,” he started. I began to object, but he made a motion for me to stop. “You are going to go in the kitchens, eat something, and chill for the rest of the day. No exceptions.”

“Was that a pun?” I laughed, moving to stand up and adjust the gauze. I lost my balance for a second to which Bernard grabbed my shoulders to steady me.

“That’s all you go from that?” He replied with a weary smile. “And stop doing things so fast. You lost a lot of blood.”

“Sorry, didn’t think standing would be so strenuous,” I replied sarcastically. He gave me a pointed look before I changed my tone. “Fine, but I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“Go eat, drink some hot cocoa, sleep, I don’t know! Just don’t do work,” He responded. “Simple.”

“Well, if it’s so simple,” I started, and I could see the gears turning in Bernard’s head along with what I was saying, “you’d have no problem with joining me?” I could not tell if it was the blood loss making me delirious or not, but I thought now, 4 weeks out from Christmas, was the best time to shoot my shot with the ever-so-busy head elf.

“There’s not enough time for me to take a break,” he sighed. “You know that.”

“Well, when was the last time you took a break?” I pressed. He hesitated, and immediately, I knew he could not remember the last time he took a break. “Maybe you need to take a page out of the rule book. Rule 9, what was that rule again?” I asked rhetorically, tilting my head in a joking manner.

“An elf's mental and physical health prioritizes deadlines and even Christmas,” he exhaled, knowing exactly where I was going with this. “Please, I don’t have time for this.”

“Not with that mentality,” I relented, grabbing his hand with my good hand, as I pulled him towards the kitchens. “If there’s one thing I learned from Carol, it is if you can’t remember the last time you took a break, it’s been too long. Now, you are going to chill with me before you work yourself to death.”

“Y’know, I didn’t think you would be this assertive when injured,” he laughed as he let me drag him around the square. Some of the other elves looked at us funny, and a couple of the yonder elves giggled at our antics but continued on with their activities.

“Oh trust me,” I chucked, pulling him into a little shop that did not have loads of elves inside. I pulled him into a booth beside me. I leaned into his shoulder and whispered, “I’ve always liked you, but maybe I just needed a push.”

“Well, you know what?” He whispered back, leaning closer to me as well. “I’ve always thought about you, but there are rules for that.” “So many rules, Bernard!” I exclaimed, throwing my head back. “Don’t you wanna live a little? What is Santa gonna do? Fire you?”

“I don’t know?” He responded sincerely. “I don’t really want to find out either.”

“I’ll handle Santa if he tries anything,” A new voice responded from behind us. Our heads snapped around to face the one and only Mrs. Claus. “You two deserve to be happy. Forget about the rules for once.”

“Look at that, you’ve got someone in your corner,” I laughed. “Are you going to take the chance?”

“If that’s your way of saying that today’s events are considered a date,” he paused. I was giving him the side-eye as he pretended to contemplate his choices. “I accept, but I need to tell-”

“No worries! I will take over your responsibilities for the day,” Carol offered. “You two enjoy your day.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Claus,” I responded. She headed out of the shop, and it was just the two of us again. “So, no more working, no more deadlines, no more stressing, no more Curtis, and no more rules for today.”

“Well, there are still rules! We can’t have disorder everywhere!” He interjected.

“Well, I’ve got some new rules for you,” I replied quietly, “and none of which relate to work.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2022. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[jack-enbyfold]

TSS Swap Au Moodboards: The Dark Sides

your honour, they suck <3

Roman- Deceit

has a little Phantom mask to cover dragon scales bc I think it’s funky

comes of really not great at first bc he's very "brutally honest when he wants to be"

plays into the actor aesthetic

really is just trying his best to help Thomas reach his goals

logo is the comedy tragedy masks

Janus- Intrusive Thoughts

fuck society, they did nothing for us, amirte?

no but seriously he's big on the anarchy

yellow as in radioactive. yellow as in poisonous. yellow as in biohazard

catty as hell

logo is a snake curled around an apple

Logan- Anxiety

please, sir, coffee and cigarettes do not substitute a meal, please sit down for like 5 seconds and eat

always dialed a little too high

talks very fast about everything and nothing at the same time

"Space is so cool. Here's all the ways it can kill you!"

logo is a stylized electrical hazard sign

[alexanderlightweight]

@faejilly so @saeths and I were talking about how Magnus has a reputation in the mundane underworld because sometimes he has to get involved when magical drugs and etc move over. Plus business deals.

And Alec has like no mundane identity and at first they (mundane ppl) think he’s muscle/bodyguard but Alec gets huffy the first and only time they try to send ‘entertainment’ to him and Magnus and Magnus has a very quiet and intimidating word.

So Alec becomes known through mundane circles as Magnus’ mob wife (cause it’s a position not a gender) and everyone tries to avoid saying it around alec ‘cause he’s scary and stereotypes’

And when alec ‘finds out’ —he’s actually knows for ages— He’s 100% okay with it because 1) it’s a mundane title and he could care less what mundanes think of him unless it could hurt Magnus’ rep 2) he’d rather be called Magnus’ wife than his bodyguard 3) it means he doesn’t have to bother the clave or magnus for a mundane identity

Alec keeps getting chatted up by trophy wife’s and arm pieces and is So Confused™️ because on one hand, he totally gets these really weird mundane women who aggressively Support their husbands, but also they all start crying when he mentions that he and Magnus had to get new rugs because he tracked too much blood in the house and brain matter is apparently a biohazard

Alec with all these super jeweled up women flipping out three throwing knives: Magnus wanted to put diamonds on them, but it would have thrown off the weight

An actual mob wife later to her mob boss husband: honey look, the girls and I can’t take much more of this. Just let Magnus bring his boy in with him

Mob husband: magnus talks about him like he’s crystallized honey. No way trophy wife like him can handle our convos

Mob wife the next event chugging Chardonnay and long islands

Alec: Magnus got me this new poison, apparently it can’t be tasted once it’s added to water and turned to ice.

Mob wife to waiter: another Long Island. On the rocks. Double rocks. No make it triple. (Yes this is in response to Alec mentioning deadly ice. She has Hope).

This has only been like, four meetings btw. Alec was trying So Hard™️ to blend in with mundanes.

Alec also hates Long Islands ice teas and Chardonnay. And Pinot noir. If you offer him an old fashion (he hates Lorenzo) he’ll pour it on your shoes.

He also fits in very well because he talks about how Magnus sometimes helps picks his clothes and takes him shopping. And how he makes breakfast. And is constantly picking up whatever Magnus tosses (a few spell books and always Alec’s work phone). Magnus normally orders drinks for him to try (he has more experience and knows Alec’s palette) and Alec is generally just very quiet for the most part because he 1) has no interest in talking with mundanes and is only doing this because he knows it’s important to Magnus and he didn’t like Magnus being offered entertainment (he trusts Magnus 100% it’s just irritates him). 2) is naturally quiet and likes to observe 3) it takes the women two times to notice he’s there and two times for them to beg for him to never come again 4) Alec has no understanding of mundane gender roles, mundane underworld roles, mundane life, crime life or etc so he doesn’t make sense and no one makes sense to him.

Magnus just loves Alec and likes him being involved in all aspects of his life and Magnus and Cat are both are giant trolls. They dish over brunch every month that these meetings happen. Magnus has surveillance spells so she and cat can watch Alec and mob wives talk. Alec knows that Magnus has spells.

They are all awful trolls of mundanes and it’s 100% amazing.

Alec when he’s ‘allowed’ in the ‘important’ meeting and he doesn’t give a single solitary fuck and just snuggles up to magnus and reads his book because he’s bored af.

Magnus: he won’t be pulled away from his book for anything less that a natural disaster, you mentioned there was a chemical explosion?

[starwrighter]

I am not a baby!! (Yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(Chapter thirteen)

Gone with one issue on to the next, post haste! It was like this year was pelting him with problem after problem. Of course, a quantum destination would be the next space on his bingo card of disasters! Why wouldn’t it be?! If there’s one thing the universe would never give him it was a break. That nap was a curse! He made up for too much of the sleep he’d lost back home. Now, there was karma to pay for those extra few hours of sleep. 

Granted, he felt better than yesterday, but was it worth the quantum detonation? Temptation says yes but logical thinking says no. Logical thinking also said nothing he could’ve done would’ve prevented the damage to the drive core. It would have already started to degrade from seawater pouring in before he even got there. It was nice to know this one thing wasn’t his fault, but it wouldn’t soothe the anxiety of knowing the Aurora was going to explode.

The damage a drive core from a ship the Aurora’s size could cause would be catastrophic. The radiation alone was a planet-ending event. Could he prevent this with his limited access to his powers? There were no blueprints for a radiation suit in his PDA and he doubts he could make one himself. Building what was essentially a hazmat divesuit strong enough to protect him from the lethal doses of radiation the aurora was dishing out wasn’t the same as building a table. Did he still have any kind of immunity to radiation? 

Regardless, he’s a Fenton! He got irradiated for breakfast! 

Swimming back to his base, Danny began pilfering through his storage. If he’s even going to try attempting to stop a quantum detonation, a seamoth would be helpful. Not only did it sound cool as hell, it’d make traversing through the waters a piece of cake! Only… The blueprints wasn’t there and data corruption was to blame. Cursing, Danny collapsed to the floor, scrolling desperately through all the blueprints over and over again. He’d regained the blueprint for the mobile vehicle bay, but there was no amount of tampering that’d give him the Seamoth. The mobile vehicle bay was useless without a vehicle! 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Danny decided this was the perfect time to check the radio. Any information concerning the rendevuos would be a life saver!

Swimming back to his pod, a cloud of rot spilled into the ocean. The foul odor of the remaining goo assaulted his nostrils. Nausea bubbled in his stomach, bile crawling up his throat. He crawled back into the pod. They say the smell of human decomposition was one the human body was hardwired to recognize and Danny could now say with confidence that rotting halfa was the same. Even if he’d been completely unaware of the lifepod’s contents the smell alone sent a shiver down his spine. It was easier to dissociate the pile of goo on the floor before it’d decomposed to this extent. Dried blood stained the floor any green that’d been there was gone without a trace.

This…This would be a gruesome site for whoever was going to collect the life pods after this was over. It’s a difficult scene for him to see for ancient's sake! It was funny to think that despite the horrid smell and blood, he’d rather have found something like this in Lifepod 3. Bodies, or at least more than a PDA entry to prove someone was here! He’d perfer finding blood and rot than have the dead be forgotten so easily. They’d died within the meager three hours Danny had been unconscious, and been torn into by local wildlife until nothing remained before anyone could respond to their distress signal.

Tearing his eyes away from the puddle, Danny sucked in a deep breath, regretting it instantly as putrid air filled his lungs. His PDA screamed, biohazard warnings taking over the screen, begging him to leave. With a shake of his head, Danny covered his nose with his hand toddling towards the radio. The device was flashing and Danny couldn’t hit a play button harder than he had today. 

“Playing pre-recorded distress call…” Waiting on his tippy toes Danny stared at the device with hope-filled eyes as a human voice sounded through the pod.

“This is Ozzy from the cafeteria. What the hell guys?! They didn’t warn us this might happen!” Danny’s heart sank as the message continued.

“Our pod was almost crushed by the seamoth bay on the way down, now we’re hanging on the edge of a cave system and this grim-looking snake thing’s trying to eat through the hull! Come get us already!” 

Saying that didn’t sound good would’ve been an understatement. How many hours had it been since this message was sent? A grim-looking snake thing? He has someone like that outside. Chances were they weren’t talking about the same snake thing.

 Dami has a snake-like body, but he resembles more of a dragon or a sea serpent…Dami hadn’t even made an attempt to hurt Danny or his little base. Sure, he scratched the glass but Danny had a feeling those claws were capable of much worse. Trust was a strong word to use when talking about a giant sea monster but Danny was confident Dami wouldn’t freak out and try to kill him for no reason.

All he’d done since seeing him was give reason after reason to kill him! Honestly, Dami just seems confused by his existence, but to be fair Danny is too. Logically he should be permanently dead, erased from every plane of existence but something gave him a third chance at life. Now he’s everyone’s problem!

Updating the signal to his PDA Danny crawled back out the lifepod, a signal to follow and materials to gather.

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim @dragongoblet @noxcheshire

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[theghostkingisdead]

so i have this au where danny is basically raised by ghosts. even before the portal opened, his parents' constant work with ectoplasm thinned the veil around their house, meaning shades could pass over. And these shades basically take a look at this neglected child and say is anyone else gonna raise this kid and then don't wait for an answer

In this au danny becomes a halfa through constant exposure to ectoplasm, which literally burns through his humanity but doesn't kill him. I haven't decided whether or not he still goes through the portal in this one, so lmk what y'all think.

A potential scene from this AU:

Danny sat at his desk, trying to focus on his homework over the growling in his stomach. It was easy work, really. Just a review worksheet for the upcoming math test. Long division. With fractions. And decimals.

Ok, so if Sally has two thousand dollars, spends 4/5 and puts 3/4 of it in the bank, she’ll have about…how much remaining?

Danny groaned, slamming his head onto the table. His stomach groaned with him. The ache was dull, for the most part, and would have been easy to ignore if not for the sharp way it bit at him whenever he moved.

It had been two and a half, maybe three full days since he’d eaten anything. It wasn’t his parents’ fault, that they forgot to feed him over the weekend. They had their own minifridge in the basement, and rarely remembered to come upstairs except to sleep.

Once upon a time, Jazz had made sure he at least ate something, back when his parents stocked the fridge with non-biohazards. But she was in fourteen and old enough to work, now, and he barely saw her except in the mornings.

Danny frowned back at his page. So, one quarter of two thousand is five hundred, and that leaves 4/5 of one thousand five hundred… no, that’s not right.

Thunk. Something heavy landed next to his head.

Danny flinched back violently, almost tipping over his chair. He flailed his arms, trying to find his balance.

He looked back up. There, sitting on his desk, dripping green juices all over his worksheet, was a piece of what might have once been steak.

It was the right shape, he was sure, but where steak was normally pink, this piece of meat was light green, with nearly-black veins threaded throughout. He leaned forward, face screwing up at the smell; like dead iron and cleaning supplies.

It was gross. It was foul. It was getting raw-meat juices all over his half-finished paper.

It had been three days since he’d last eaten.

Against his will, Danny felt his mouth beginning to water.

He looked towards his door; still closed and locked. The only clue as to where the steak had come from was the room’s dropping temperature, and a shadow in the corner of his room. it disappeared when he looked at it head on, but from the corner of his eye, he could make out a human-like figure with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

It gestured at him, and Danny knew what it was asking.

The steak was gross. Danny was hungry.

Wouldn’t he get sick from eating raw meat?

A memory tickled at the back of his head, of a steak so rare it was barely cooked, of a night out with Aunt Alicia.

So maybe he’d be fine?

Danny grabbed the steak, grimacing at the way it squished between his fingers. He brought it up to his face, and almost threw up directly on it; the smell was way worse up close.

But Danny was hungry, and he had never been one to waste food. Steeling himself, taking a large breath of blissfully clean air, he leaned forward and bit down.

It tasted worse than it smelled. In his mouth, the sharp iron scent turned bitter, sucking the moisture from his mouth like an underripe persimmon. The meat was chewy, and tough, and somehow still spicy. It burned his throat going down.

It was by far, the worst thing he’d ever eaten. Not that he had much to compare it too.

And besides; Danny was hungry.

The steak went down in quick, desperate bites. The bone was licked clean.

His rest that night was fitful, and Danny awoke with a fever high enough that even his parents took notice, calling him out of school for the next two days.

But the meat stayed down. And Danny was full.

[tmnt-obsessed-ace]

Having thoughts about Timothy so...

I kinda wanna make an au where Timothy gets fixed.

Getting turned human again is out of the question. I headcanon that he got turned into...that because the mutagen was expired, which makes it borderline unusable. It creates the most unstable mutations and is considered a biohazard in Dimension X.

So the Kraang decided to give some to the Shredder before their alliance was strengthened.

As Timothy was mutated with expired mutagen he can't be turned human again, his flesh was turned into acidic slime, leaving only his organs behind.

No matter how much Donnie tried he couldn't reverse the mutation, and the few imes he got close Timothy almost flatlined.

(And with all the insanity of seasons 3-4 there wasn't any time to focus on finding a cure, Timothy just kept getting pushed further and further on the back burner.)

However eventually Donnie found a solution, he couldn't turn Timothy into a human but he could turn him into a different mutant.

It took months of carefully performing mutagen transfusions for Timothy to mutate into something else, something he could actually live as.

You see Donnie used his own DNA to help stabilize the mutation.

Timothy turned into a mutant turtle.

Not a normal mutant turtle. He is about thirty percent transparent, his organs are visible through his plastron. His shell and plastron are much softer than the other turtles (even a little bit gooey) He has five fingers instead of three (but he does have the turtle feet) his eyes are glowing teal from the mutagen.

Point is he is a mutant turtle, just like he originally wanted.

Just like his idols.

When he wakes up, the first time not in a weird haze since mutation (he became less and less lucid as time went on) the first person he sees is Donnie.

A much different, much more worn Donnie. A bit taller, heavily scarred, near permanant bags under his eyes.

They have so much to discuss.

Timothy missed so much.

[dp-marvel94]

An Unconventional Way to Get a Cat- Part 2

Summary: It turns out, Danny's bough of nausea after the portal accident was not just the stomach bug going around school. This must be the most horrifying, disgusting way to find himself a new pet owner.

Part 1 here -> Part 3

Word Count: 1,983

Also on AO3

For @wastefulreverie and @silentambiance

Based on wastefulreverie's prompt: Portal AU. Instead of gaining powers in the accident, the portal is fused inside Danny, making him the gateway between worlds and leaving him with the unfortunate ordeal of vomiting up ghosts. Maybe someone catches him in the act. And Chaotic_french_fries's prompt: danny gets a ghost cat Chapter 2 incoming! The warnings for angst, body horror, and vomiting remain, though enjoy the introduction of more kitty adorableness. Happy reading!

For a long moment, Danny stared at the cat. 

“There’s a cat in the bathroom….” The animal, just as glowing as it had been since it …appeared…., blinked up at him in kind. “A green cat.” Like the ectoplasm, like in his parents’ lab, like in the defunct portal, like…”A ghost. You’re a ghost.”

Said ghost yawned, flashing needle sharp teeth. The inside of its mouth was completely green too.

“A ghost cat… that I threw up.” He shook his head, wide eyes drifting away in disbelief. “This can’t be happening.” It had to be a dream, some kind of sickness induced hallucination. 

Again, he furiously shook his head. Nose wrinkling, he turned back to the toilet. The sour-smelling vomit floated menacingly in the bowl. Eyeing the content suspiciously, he flushed. The disgusting biohazard swirled down the drain and disappeared. 

Danny let out a breath, his stomach churning in an oddly cold dread. Tensing, he turned his head back to the floor and… blinked. The ghost cat was gone.

Shakedly, the boy pulled himself to his feet. He rinsed his mouth out, washed his face, and took a long drink of water. All the while, his eyes flickered, on alert for the bathroom’s other recent resident. But there was no sign. No fluffy tail, no quivering whiskers, no sharp toe beans.  

Maybe it really was a hallucination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny mindlessly scrolled through his phone. He’d gone downstairs, picked at a sandwich, and sipped a cup of water. Now, he was sat on his bed, trying to distract himself. 

His stomach churned, icy unease growing…. No. Nope. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Oh, that’s cool. They were making another Nightmarica Movie. Maybe he could-

He burped and an acidic taste welled in his mouth. “Oh no.” Danny swallowed painfully, sticking out his tongue at the taste.  “Not go-”

A popping noise startled him. “Ah!” 

“Meow!”

The boy’s head jerked to the side. He blinked, then scowled. The cat, the green ghost cat, sat on the floor beside his bed, tail swishing gently. 

“Great.” Danny rolled his eyes. “You ag-”

A gag cut off his words and the boy lunged for the trash can. He scrambled, reaching for the plastic bin and bringing it up to his mouth just in time.

Ectoplasm surged up his throat, thick and slimy as a slug. Something inside squirmed and Danny shivered violently.

He coughed, pounding at his clogged chest. Something wet plotted into the trash can.

Instantly, the nausea ebbed. Danny just sat, panting for a while. His eyes closed, he felt the bed shift with the movement of tiny feet. A fuzzy head brushed his arm. Then the thump of a paw batting at the trash can.

Nose wrinkling, Danny opened his eyes and peered inside. A green blob-shaped mass sat there and the boy let out a breath of relief. At least it was just ectoplasm this time.

Then the ectoplasm blinked. The cat sprang, batting at it. 

Danny blinked, stomach churning with dread, while the ghost cat grabbed the blob in its mouth, darted literally through the trash can, and then under his bed.

“What did Mom and Dad’s portal do to me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually, Danny managed to stir himself out of his existential dread. Still eyeing the trash can suspiciously, he placed it on the ground. There was no sign of the blob now, no stain of green. But it had been there, just like the throw up in the toilet earlier. Just like the cat. Thinking of the cat…

The boy lowered himself to the floor, kneeling to look under the bed. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see but…

Rapid movement. The cat laid on its side, the blob held between its paws. The animal flailed wildly, back legs kicking at its prey. Then the ghost cat froze. Eyes wide, ears back, it startled, practically leaping to the other end of the bed, and throwing the blob toward Danny. The blob smacked the boy in the face.

“Ew.” Danny flinched, wiping at the spot. 

Meanwhile the blob let out a sad whoosh, like a balloon deflating. The boy blinked, looking between it and his hand. There… was no residue on his face, none on his hand. It had been cool but… not wet. 

Tentatively, he reached, poking at the green mass. It gave under his finger, the surface solid but the inside malleable. Like a balloon filled with cornstarch slime. 

Danny muttered. “Weird….”

A flicker of movement, something neon green, grabbed his attention. His eyes snapped up meeting… round, green eyes. The ghost cat.

The animal froze, one paw lifted in mid-step. It tentatively lowered the leg and stretched its neck towards him. 

What was it doing?

Ears up and alert, the cat sniffed. Its whiskers quivered, cautiously curious. Slowly, the ear swiveled forward.

Tentatively, Danny put a hand forward. More eagerly, the cat sniffed. Then the furry head bumped his hand. 

“Nice kitty.” The boy grimaced, unsure.

It head-butted his hand again, then looked up, fixing wide begging eyes on him.

“Alright?” Carefully, Danny patted the head. 

A rumble started up and the boy petted the cat, first cautious and slow. “Nice… ghost cat?”

It was just… acting like a normal cat.

Another head-butt to his hand. “Good kitty boy? Girl?” He had no idea…

No answer came, of course. The cat just rubbed against his hand and purred, like any living cat.

Gaining confidence, the boy scratched behind the ears. “Good… Fluffy?.... That’s stupid.”

The purr deepened, rumbling up through his fingers and Danny found himself smiling. “You like that, huh?” He rubbed the back of the head, down the side of the neck. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

A green paw suddenly batted at his hand. “Alright. Alright.” Danny whipped his hand back. “That’s enough for now.” 

The cat stood up, stretching its front paws. It yawned, flashing its teeth. Then its ears twitched. Its head turned, fixed on something Danny couldn’t see. It leapt away and ran, taking a lap around Danny’s room.

The boy just sat there on the floor, perplexed as the cat started attacking one of his dirty socks on the floor. 

“Alright. You’re a ghost but you’re just a normal cat….”

Said animal batted at the dirty fabric, attacking with its teeth. It jerked its head up, nose wrinkled, mouth slightly open and lips curled in, as if in disgust. Then it went back to playing with the sock. 

“How is this my life?”

The cat abandoned the dirty laundry, flopping onto its side. 

“Well… I guess you’re a girl cat.” Danny eyed the visible dark spots running down the cat’s belly; he’d seen similar when Sam’s cat had been nursing her babies. He frowned, a stab of sadness pricking at him. “What happened to you?” A mama cat, without her kittens…

The cat kneaded at the air, paws reaching towards him. Despite his somber thought, the corner of the boy’s lip turned up. “Oh no, I’m not putting my hand down there.” He waggled a finger. “I know that’s a trap, missy.”

A knock sounded at the door. “Danny! Dinner!”

The cat jumped up, form turning misty and then disappearing. Invisible…. That’s how she had appeared out of nowhere before and vanished just as fast. But now… the air in front of him swirled, just the slightest bit different from its surroundings. A cool spot lingered at the edge of his consciousness, a clear sign of the ghost’s presence…

Huh. That was new.

“Danny!” Another knock.

The boy shook his head. He’d have to figure all this out later.

“Coming!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So… Danny had a ghost cat now. 

When he came back from picking at his dinner, the animal was still there. The cat laid on his bed, half curled into a circle and paws folded against her chest. 

“I have to admit that’s cute.” He muttered. 

This past day had been so weird, what with throwing up ghosts…. Danny shivered at the thought… the ghost cat still being there was almost normal.

With a shrug, the boy plopped back into his desk chair. He turned his attention to his computer, determined to not think about ghosts or portals or vomit, and losing himself in video games. 

And yet, the cat’s soft snores echoed softly. A chill lingered in the back of his mind, swirling softly in his lungs. And the nausea….

The cat jolted awake with a loud meow just before Danny’s stomach lurched. He lunged for his trashcan and threw up again. In the can, something chirped and clicked. He peered in, eyes narrowed. Some kind of bird. 

The cat sat up, eyes narrowed into slits and ears twitching. Danny eyed the animal suspiciously, gaze flitting between it and the bird thing. But, before the cat could act, the other ghost flapped panickedly. It half-ran, half flew out of the container and across his room, phasing through the wall. 

The cat turned tail, silently following after and disappearing into the night.

Danny sighed, head in his hands. Three times was a pattern. This was really happening. And… it would keep happening. 

The dread hit him, tears welling in his eyes. What was he going to do?

He sat, legs pulled to his chest. Despair clawed, questions circling. His parents’ invention… the portal did something to him. It must have. But what? How? How was this even possible?

What was he going to do? He… he had to tell someone, right? But… Sam and Tucker were out of town for summer trips. How would he even…. 

“Yeah, Tucker, how’s tech camp? You blowing everyone’s minds? And Sam, how’s your trip? You haven’t killed your parents yet, right? Oh me…” He laughed almost hysterically. “I just walked into my parents’ broken portal, like an idiot. And now…” He giggled. “Now I’m throwing up ghosts. Yeah, yeah. Those ghost’s that Jazz always said didn’t exist.” 

Yeah, that conversation would go so well. Danny rolled his eyes. Jazz would think he was crazy… or having some kind of trauma induced hallucination. And his parents… 

His eyes widened, hope suddenly flickering. His parents… his parents’ work did this to him. If anyone knew what was happening, how to stop it, it would be them. He could tell them and-

The cold in his belly flipped, rushing to his chest. His skin tingled and he fell through his chair. 

The boy landed on the floor with a thud. He stared, eyes wide and terrified. His body shimmered, bluish tinted and immaterial, with the chair sticking through him. He scrambled away, as if burned.

“No. No.” His insides churned, a queasiness that had nothing to do with vomit. 

Cold rushed out and he fought back a scream, his body flickering in and out of visibility like a dying light bulb. Like a…

“No. I’m… I’m not…” The tears let go, turning into quiet sobs. “I’m not a ghost.” 

Except… all that pain, electricity… how could he not be dead? No one could survive that. He… he couldn’t have. He couldn’t.

“I’m… I’m dead.” His chest heaved, paradoxically straining for breath.

He… he was a ghost. That was the only explanation. That… that stupid “portal” killed him. And… now he was like it. An un-living portal, letting ghosts into the world. 

His stomach lurched suddenly and he gagged. Ectoplasm rushed up, dripping down his lips. He spit, mind begging it to stop. Please. No.

“Mrow.”

Paws on his knees. His eyes snapped to round green eyes. The cat stretched his neck forward, rubbing up against his leg. The creature rumbled softly. 

Danny panted, trying to catch his breath. His stomach settled. 

After a long moment, he whipped his mouth. Tear tracks still stained his face. “Thanks… thanks…. I guess I should think of a name for you.” 

The cat just purred, the boy rubbing her head. “Good girl.”

Note: Unsurprisingly, despite planning for 2 chapters, I am still not done. My goal is to wrap this up in to a satisfying conclusion before the month is over and I dive back into my Invisobang story! Wish me luck!

[silvercap]

:3

Summary:

Rewriting the Maria fight scene from Death Island, because c'mon. There's no way Leon survived all that unharmed. -~- "And that was for my father."

Leon feels her lift him up slightly, head pulled back and throat exposed, and then his body goes weightless as Maria throws him violently across the room. Every ounce of air in his body is lost as he crashes to the floor, instinctively curling up into the fetal position even as his head bounces a couple more times off of the tile. Agony explodes in his skull and Leon can’t hold back a moan, his surroundings warping as his concussed brain tries to make sense of everything he’s feeling.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Concussions, Vomiting, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Chris/Leon

Words: 3,284

[ecoamerica]

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