#and then the specialist i needed left so i had to go to a way more inconvenient (by bus) location

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[loveloveguilty]

Finally got to go to a doctor's appointment that got cancelled and rescheduled like 5 times (due to forces outside of my control) today

[kunaigirl]

Happy Disability Pride and awareness month! Let's talk about Epilepsy!

Hi there! I got tired of seeing my condition (that impacts my literal every day life) being left out or forgotten about during discussions about disabilities, so I made my own post about it! Let's go!

First Off! What the heck is epilepsy? Epilepsy is the fourth most common neurological disorder in the world, and it's a chronic medical condition. Epilepsy is a brain disorder that causes recurring, frequent, triggered, and unprovoked seizures to occur.

The official Epilepsy Foundation describes seizures as follows: "Seizures are sudden surges of abnormal and excessive electrical activity in your brain, and can affect how you appear or act. Where and how the seizure presents itself can have profound effects...Seizures involve sudden, temporary, bursts of electrical activity in the brain that change or disrupt the way messages are sent between brain cells. These electrical bursts can cause involuntary changes in body movement or function, sensation, behavior or awareness." (Source link)

Sounds like a lot of fun right? This is our life. Even with medication, we can be VERY limited to what can be safe for us. Seizure medications are NOT a cure, they only exist (at least as of now) as a tool to help have your seizures less often, or be triggered less intensely. Even on medication, seizures can still happen.

If you have epilepsy as a child like I did, it impacts your entire growing and developing experience. I spent MANY times as a child in and out of hospitals, neurologist and specialist offices, an getting so many EEG tests done. The pain of scrubbing the glue out of your hair for DAYS is horrible.

At a young age my seizures were so frequent and serious, it impacted my brain's ability to retain information. I had to re-learn the names of things at age 8 and 9. I had to re-learn HOW TO READ at age 10. I had to be home schooled because the public school system of my state at the time refused to work with me. I have VERY distinct and vivid memories of crying over my little baby ABC's book that I needed as a 4th and 5th grader. I knew I should've known this by this age. I knew that at one point I already did, and it was TAKEN FROM ME.

As an adult, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO DRIVE A CAR. And I can NEVER go to see a movie in theaters or go to see concerts or live music. There are entire TV shows I don't get to see. I can't go to clubs, arcades, dances, or raves. I miss out on A LOT of fun things. I always do, and I'm WELL AWARE of the fun I'm missing out on. The social, casual, and fun life experiences I'll never get to have. That WE'LL never get to have. And oh yeah! Seizures can KILL SOME OF US. Yep.

And the list goes on, and every person with epilepsy experiences it differently. There are multiple different types of seizures you can have, they're NOT always convulsing on the floor. For example, I have complex-partial-myoclonic-seizures. Meaning my muscles DO twitch when I have seizures, but I'm not always completely unconscious and sometimes I'm even able to stay sitting up. However, I'm still very "off" and can't focus or remember much for a good while after the fact. I can't talk or communicate during one, even with my slight bit of consciousness.

My experiences are not universal, I just wanted to talk about it and bring it up. It helps to talk about it even a little bit. Here's more about different kinds of seizures. Here's more about common seizure triggers. Here's more about CORRECT seizure first aid. And here's more general information/resources.

Please stop leaving us out of disability awareness. Please stop ignoring us or saying we're "not really disabled" or anything else like that. Please. Why does it always feel like the only people who care about epilepsy, are people WITH epilepsy? We're so tired of being ignored by others who don't have our condition.

If you're an epileptic person reading this, I see you. I love you. You're so strong, we all are. I believe in you, I believe in us. We're so much stronger than we get credit for, and it's going to be ok. Your anger and frustration are valid. Your emotions and struggles are real. You're valid, and I see you. Hang in there, we got this.

[nicksbestie]

Migraines - M. Sturniolo

Summary : Matt struggles with chronic migraines, and some days there isn't much that you can do, but that never means you don't try,

Warnings : mentions of vomiting and nausea, a small bit of crying

Word Count : 1313

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : i got inspo from this photo of matt <3

Living an entire two decades of life with chronic migraines was an absolutely miserable thing.

Matt was nearing his twenty-first birthday, and he was desperate to find something in his life that would help with these migraines. He had gone through prescription after prescription, doctor appointment after doctor appointment, specialist after specialist, and nothing had helped the splitting pain. He had a migraine tracker on his phone so that he could tell the percentage of how often he had migraines, and it was well over sixty percent of every month. It was quite depressing to look at, and even more depressing to live. It really affected Matt’s happiness and day to day life. 

All of their YouTube videos were filmed on Matt’s good days. They would change outfits so that they could film five to six videos in one day, gathering a lot of topics so that they would have tons to post when it came time to put them all up. Both of his brothers were incredibly caring and didn’t mind the way that they had to do things, and both wanted to do everything possible to make it easier for their middle sibling. They rode with Matt in an Uber every time his migraine was too bad for him to drive, so that he wouldn’t have to be alone, especially at a doctor’s office, a place he was already generally hesitant to be at. They truly were always by his side, arguing with doctors that told him it was anxiety based, or that he was exaggerating, when he didn’t have the energy to argue for himself.

Today was a bad day for him. Chris and Nick had left before Matt had woken up, so they had no idea that he was struggling, because the light from his phone, even at the lowest setting, wasn’t low enough to not send stabbing pains through his head, so he hadn’t texted. He hadn’t had the energy to call and speak to them either. All he had done was gotten up and shut the blinds, covering them up with blackout screens that he had bought a couple years back, because he needed all of the light out. They worked incredibly well, and he had cut off the dim lighting in his room that he’d slept with, needing complete darkness.

He had no idea how long he had laid there, he just knew he was in pain. Unbeknownst to him, when you noticed that he didn’t reply to your text, you were immediately concerned, and already on your way over. You’d seen that he’d read it, so you knew he was awake, and he hadn’t replied. He never left you on read, unless he couldn’t bear to look at his phone screen any longer, which meant he had a terrible migraine. You’d wasted no time getting ready, and due to the fact that Matt didn’t wake up until almost two in the afternoon, you didn’t get over there until almost four. You had your own key, both because of instances like these, and because of the fact that you had been together for almost two years now. Letting yourself in, you texted Chris and Nick, telling them that you were there as well.

You wasted no time in going upstairs, gently opening Matt’s door, and immediately closing it behind you, because while the light in the hallway wasn’t on, the daylight would filter in, and you knew it would aggravate his head. Seeing him face down on the bed, under covers and pillows, you gently whispered your greeting, telling him so he wouldn’t freak out, though you doubted he had the energy to freak out on you. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, rubbing his back and laying down next to him. He curled into your chest, and you could see the remnants of tear tracks on his face. You laid a kiss to his forehead, gently running your hand over it and through his hair. Your hands were a cooler temperature, and you could tell that it felt good and soothed his pain for a few seconds. You laid a palm on his forehead, wanting to help him feel better any way that you could. 

You laid with him for about an hour, helping hold the trash can at the side of his bed when the pain got to be so bad that it caused him to throw up, helping wipe his face off and get him laid back down, before realizing he hadn’t eaten anything all day, so it probably wouldn’t get much better. You laid there for a little while longer, thinking about what to do to help him, when you remembered a trick that had helped you when you had a terrible migraine one day. You softly untangled yourself from him, whispering that he could stay right there and you would be right back.

You went into the bathroom, turning a small, very dim, light on in the corner so you could see what was going on around you. You began running a warm bath, letting it run while you went to get Matt a small snack. You set it down on the edge of the bathtub, on the side touching the wall, and went to go get your boyfriend. You picked out some clean clothes for him, grabbed him the water bottle from his nightstand as well, and led him to the bathroom. He knew where it was, of course, but the thought of opening his eyes for the chance of any light just made the pain intensify, so he trusted you to guide him.

By this point, the tub was about three quarters of the way full, and you helped him get in. You knew he hadn’t showered that day, and the warm water on your legs and feet helped with your migraines, so you hoped it would help him as well. Judging by the way his face began to relax once he was in the tub, his back against your chest, you were glad it took away a little bit of his pain. You kept the temperature of the bathroom cooler so that he wouldn’t overheat, but not enough for him to get cold. His eyes stayed closed, but they were a calm closed, not a scrunched, wincing in pain, closed. He didn’t speak much, but he took the water and food that he was offered, and a gentle smile crossed his face the longer he sat in the tub.

The longer you stayed there with him, gently running your hands through his hair, the more his breathing evened out, and the deeper it got, and eventually, you realized he had fallen asleep. He had been so tired from being in pain, even though he had only been up for about four hours, that when the pain had lessened dramatically, his body was so exhausted that he just fell asleep in comfortable arms. You stayed there with him until the water went cold, and even longer after that, because you couldn’t bear to disturb him. After about half an hour, you softly shook him awake, gently helping him stand. By this point, you had both basically air dried, and Matt only pulled on boxers and loose shorts to sleep in. You tugged on one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers as well, going back to bed with him. 

As soon as he hit the bed, he was about to fall asleep again, and you pulled him back into your arms. You never minded taking care of him, knowing that he loved you more than words could say, and as he whispered a soft “I love you” into your chest, you knew you could do this for him for the rest of your life, and you could die happy.

“I love you more.”

taglist : @blahbel668 @mattsgirlfrieeend @69isabella69 @mayhem-72 @iculdstealurgf @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturnioloslife @heartsforkarina @nervousrebelglitter @sturniclo @elliegrace-7 @mattsturnioloisbae @strnilo @dazsha19 @patscorner @hailee22sstuff @tworosesblackthorn @sturniolo-fann

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~ my inbox is open, come chat!!

[girlgenius1111]

wavin' from the shore

screaming underwater part 2 r struggles under the weight of it all. her teammates try to help. the circumstances seem hellbent on making it impossible for her, though. tw for allusions to mistreatment from coaches / trainers. nothing specific and nothing graphic. wrote most of this while i was sad. angst ahead 🫡 [some fluff]

------

Your teammates were patient people. They sat with you until you stopped crying and collected your thoughts, which took a while. They didn’t rush you, or ask you questions. They just sat with you, squeezing your hands and murmuring comforting words. 

When you did speak, finally, your voice was scratchy from all the crying. “I don’t know where to start.” 

“Wherever you want, nena. You do not need to tell us anything you do not want to.” Mapi promised, hoping to settle your nerves. She was sitting next to you, but gripped your hand tight in hers, almost as if she needed the stability, too, but she didn’t look at you. Almost as if the look on your face would be too familiar, too painful. Alexia, on the other hand, looked determined, her eyes blazing with anger when she looked at you, though you knew you were not the cause of it. 

“What happened to your face?” Alexia asked after a minute, when it was clear you were still unsure where to begin. 

Every word that left your mouth was difficult. You had to force every syllable, keep yourself talking, remind yourself that you were safe. That you trusted your teammates. “After the article came out? The coaches were really mad, and they didn’t know who’d talked. So they punished everyone. We had to run the bleachers until we couldn’t go any farther. It was really hot, and I collapsed after 45 minutes. Hit my face on a bench on the way down.” 

You told it so emotionlessly, like you were completely detached from the situation. Alexia and Mapi knew it was just you trying to protect yourself, but it was still concerning to see the way you forced your emotions off. 

Alexia thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to ask you more without pushing too hard. “Did that happen a lot? Pushing you guys past a healthy level?” 

You were silent for too long, and when you finally spoke, it was quietly, shame clear in your tone. “What is a healthy level?” 

You weren’t proud to admit that you didn’t know. When you were with the national team, it didn’t seem like there were any boundaries, or the ability to create one. There wasn’t any opportunity to ask for a break. It wasn’t allowed. When you were with Barça, things were obviously different. You took breaks when everyone else did, and occasionally when one of your teammates told you to. 

You didn’t know what your limits were, though. All you knew was that you had to keep going, until someone told you to stop. Both girls looked struck at this confession. 

Mapi took a deep breath, before she answered you as calmly as she could. “You shouldn’t be collapsing. You shouldn’t be throwing up. I… It’s really important to know your limits, nena. Really important. You have to know, so you know when to stop, when to not push yourself too hard.” 

“I didn’t know I was allowed to do that.” You whispered. Mapi’s hands clenched into tight fists, her knuckles turning white. On your other side, Alexia inhaled a deep, shaky breath. 

“We can work on that, pequeña.” Alexia paused. “The article said something about one of the recovery specialists…” she trailed off, allowing you to respond if you wanted. 

“He was fired.” You told her stiffly. 

“Do you want to talk about that?” She asked softly. 

“No.” Your answer was firm, and both girls nodded immediately. You’d taken a big step already, calling and asking them to come over. You’d exceeded their expectations when you actually talked to them, even if it was just a little bit. 

“That is perfectly fine. Mapi and I will see what we can do, okay? Try not to worry about it. I know that is hard, but we are not going to let you near that camp again unless we know it is safe.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled, sending them each a half smile.

The conversation ended there. You were done talking, clearly. You just weren’t sure what came next, now that you’d admitted there was a problem, and shown your teammates how fragile you were. It wasn’t clear to you where you went from here.

------

The answer was, apparently, Mapi’s house. She and Alexia had decided without a single word exchanged between them that you needed supervision. Mapi had offered, and privately, you thought it must be because she missed Ingrid, and was tired of spending her days talking to her cat. 

There was no use arguing, the decision had been made, so within an hour, your bag was packed, and you’d been driven to Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment. After you’d been force fed a meal and sent to lay on the couch with an ice pack on your face, Mapi called her girlfriend. She was in the kitchen, and all you could hear were muffled voices, but you were pretty sure they were discussing you. 

Sure enough, a couple minutes later, Mapi entered the room, holding out the phone to you. 

“Ingrid wants to say hi.” She threw herself down on the couch next to you, shoving her face close to yours so that both you and her were in view of the screen. 

“Hi elskling,” Ingrid greeted softly. You’d always been close with Ingrid. Mapi and Alexia were like your sisters, but neither of them were… great with emotions. Ingrid was a sensitive person, as were you, and you’d talked to her about a lot more in your life than anyone else. The minute she spoke, the minute you saw her looking at you through the screen, you were choking back tears. You wanted a hug from her, absolutely desperately, all of a sudden. Ingrid, though, was in Norway. The international break didn’t seem to care what it took from you, you thought sarcastically. 

“Hey.” You said finally, clearing your throat in a way that accidentally told both girls you were upset. 

“Oh, honey.” Ingrid sighed, her eyes flitting over you through the camera, lingering on your wounds, before flicking nervously to Mapi. “María caught me up. How are you doing?” 

“I’m okay.” You lied. 

“Yeah you seem okay.” Mapi grumbled, shrugging when her girlfriend shot her a look. 

“No one expects you to be okay. I know you don’t want to talk, but just remember that I’m here whenever you need me okay? I’ll be back soon, and until then, María’s got you, yeah?” You nodded, but shifted somewhat uncomfortably. “No, I know what you think. María wouldn’t have offered to let you stay if she didn’t really want you there. I know she seems like she’s allergic to feelings sometimes, but she gives really good hugs.” Ingrid reminded you, bringing a slight smile to your face. 

“Really, nena, I want you here. I’m so bored without Ingrid, I called her 5 times yesterday. Tell her, amor.” 

“It’s true. One of the times she only put Bagheera on the screen, and pretended to be the cat for a full 15 minutes.” Ingrid laughed. 

Mapi blushed heavily when you sent her a smirk. “Amor, that was private.” She grumbled. 

“I know.” Ingrid said gleefully. 

“Well, when I walked in the house, Mapi greeted me as Bagheera, and for some reason the cat speaks bad English and has a thick accent.” You commented, a real smile stretching across your face. There really was no better way to cheer you up than to tease Mapi. 

“Fine. Bagheera won’t speak to EITHER of you anymore.” Mapi grunted, crossing her arms and pointedly looking away from the camera. 

You and Ingrid laughed, and Mapi pouted even more. It took a lot of stifled laughs and ridiculous compliments before she turned back towards the phone, although the teasing didn’t end there. 

It was a short phone call, only 20 minutes, but it did wonders in getting your mind off of everything, and by the time Ingrid had to hang up, you were grinning at Mapi, and she was smiling back at you. It didn’t take long for reality to hit again, though, and Mapi watched as your face fell, and you took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“It’s all gonna be okay, nena. I promise.” Mapi murmured, pulling you into her side. You wanted to believe her, more than anything. You feared that this problem, though, wasn’t something she or Alexia could solve. 

------

It was pure chance that Mapi caught you when she did. She’d twisted her knee a bit in the sheets, and a jolt of pain had roused her. Her clock told her that it was the middle of the night, and she was content to go back to sleep, when she heard noise coming from where you were supposed to be sleeping in the guest room. Something in her told her to check on you, and she quickly got out of bed and headed down the hall. 

You were wide awake, fully dressed in running shorts and a shirt, hurriedly throwing your hair up into a ponytail when Mapi walked in. You were still crying, hands still shaking from the nightmare you’d had, and Mapi approached you like a wild animal, her steps slow and measured. 

“Hey, nena?” She said softly. Your head snapped up, and when your eyes met hers, Mapi suppressed a shudder at how absolutely terrified you looked. “What is going on?” 

“Gonna go for a run.” You said in a monotone, reaching for your shoes to slip them on. Mapi got there first, though, pulling them away before you could reach them, and guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“It’s the middle of the night and you have a concussion, you cannot run right now.” She said firmly. 

“Mapi, I can’t,” you whispered, very suddenly seeming to come back into yourself, hands reaching out to grip tightly onto Mapi’s top. 

“Hey, shh.” She soothed, pulling you into a tight hug. “Did you have a nightmare?” 

“Yeah.” You mumbled, whole body trembling against your teammates. 

“What happened in it?” She asked casually, clearly giving you the option of ignoring the question. 

You answered before you could convince yourself not to. “Barça hired that one recovery guy the national team fired. He came here. Everyone liked him, and no one would listen to me. No one believed me when I told them what he was like when he was with us, before.” 

It was vague, and yet Mapi got the gist. She understood, and it made every cell within her flame with rage. 

“That would never happen. We would never hire him, or anyone that treated you wrong. Never. And we will believe whatever you decide to tell us.” Mapi assured you sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you, and taking your hand. 

“Will it ever stop?” You asked after a minute. 

“Will what ever stop?” 

“This feeling. I’m scared all the time. I don’t feel safe anymore, and nothing I do is ever enough, Mapi. They ruined me. I don’t think I can fix it.” 

It was a horrible thing to hear, something that made Mapi understandably sad. But what really broke her was that she’d had all the same thoughts before. She didn’t really remember how she survived them. Ingrid, she supposed. You didn’t have an Ingrid, not like she did, but you had her, and you had the team. You weren’t alone, no matter how it felt. 

“It stops. It takes some time, but you will feel okay again. You will feel safe again. Whatever you give is enough, pequeña, I promise you that. You are not ruined, just a little broken right now, yes? And maybe you cannot fix it by yourself, but you do not have to. You have every single one of us, and we are not going to stop until you are okay again.” 

You couldn’t put into words how much that meant, how much comfort that brought you. You would have tattooed the statement into your skin at that moment, if you could. Just so you could read the words over and over again. Stop blaming yourself, stop hating yourself. For the moment, though, you settled on leaning against Mapi, and running through the words in your head, over and over. Over and over. 

-------

Mapi kept herself together until you fell asleep, and until she made it out of the guest room. Her phone was in her hand the second she was walking back into her own room though, instantly beginning to pace as she pressed call, and hoped to god that Ingrid had left her ringer on, no matter how selfish it was. 

“Ing?” Mapi asked softly, as soon as the phone was picked up. She almost never called Ingrid that, only when she was really upset, so her girlfriend was instantly on high alert, despite the late hour. 

“Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” 

All Mapi could do was try to stifle her cries in response. 

“María, my love, tell me what’s happening.” Ingrid pressed, starting to pace in her hotel room. 

“I was talking to-to pequeña, and it just-just reminded me of everything, and I do not know why I am crying, I just can’t, Ingrid, I can’t, I can’t.” 

Ingrid forced herself to remain calm, knowing that panicking wouldn’t help her girlfriend at all. 

“María, sit down.” She instructed, hearing some shuffling and assuming Mapi had done as she asked. “Where are you right now?” It was a familiar routine that Ingrid began taking Mapi through, but it worked all the same. She asked Mapi question after question, knowing just how to bring her girl back to her. Where she was, what she was wearing. What lights were on in the room. What she’d had for dinner. Mapi told her that Bagheera was sitting next to her, watching closely, and that you were safely asleep in the room next door. Eventually, when Mapi was calm, Ingrid told her exactly what she needed to hear. 

“She’s got you, love. She’s safe, and you’re safe. You’re not going to let anything happen to pequeña, and I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise you, María, anyone who wants to hurt either of you is going to have to go through me first.”

Mapi let her girlfriend’s words sink in. “Jeg elsker deg,” she said finally, and Ingrid smiled to herself at Mapi’s use of Norwegian. 

“Te amo, cariño.” Ingrid whispered back. “Go to sleep. Take care of nena. I’ll be home before you know it.”

And if Ingrid would always protect Mapi, then Mapi would always protect you. 

-------

The next day was better, though that was a low bar. The few remaining team members not away on international duty didn’t have training, and your teammates decided their tactic for the day was to keep you inside, keep an eye on your concussion, and distract you. Mapi and Alexia kept you busy watching nations league matches, and playing fifa. Mapi showed you a few sketches she was working on for a new tattoo for Alexia, and Alexia put on her guilty pleasure show, which was, amusingly, below deck. You wouldn’t have picked your captain as one for reality TV, but that assumption was clearly wrong.

They did limit your screen time, though, and they made you take a nap. It was during this nap that you got a phone call. From a reporter.

From the same reporter who had written the article. 

He wanted to talk to you about the conditions you’d endured with the national team. What it had been like after the first article had come out, and why you left camp early with a mysterious injury. He wanted to know everything. And he wanted your name on it. Anonymous witnesses could be ignored. Named ones could not, he said. 

You hung up pretty quickly, informing him that you needed some time to think. It was a testament to how much you trusted both Mapi and Alexia that you walked back into the living room right after, and told them about the phone call. 

They were careful not to tell you what they thought you should do, though you were pretty sure they didn’t agree with each other. Instead, they stuck to a neutral message. 

“You need to decide what to do, pequeña, for you and not for anyone else.” 

“Ale is right. Your healing needs to be your priority, and you need to figure out how this interview would fit into that.” 

You could talk. The team would know exactly who it was. Your teammates and your coaches. Everyone from that team that you hated and everyone that you loved. You could tell the truth. You could be brave. You weren’t sure you could survive the shit storm that would follow, though. You were barely surviving now. Maybe, though, your survival wasn’t the priority. Maybe the wellbeing of your teammates was. 

You could be selfless, or selfish. Put yourself first. Treat yourself the way your teammates were convinced you deserved to be treated. You could forfeit your wellbeing for that of your teammates, practically invite a media invasion into your life. You could do the objective right thing, or you could do the right thing for yourself. 

You could be selfless or selfish. You weren’t sure which option was better. You weren’t sure which option wouldn’t suffocate you. 

--------

hehe. 

theres a lot of ways i could take a part 3. do you even want a part 3? do you have ideas? let me know :)

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au p aring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> abuse, mention of sex / pregnancies, etc. words -> 2.3K

abstract -> Never owe people favors it could one day cost you your life...

y/n’s perspective

“Taeyong, you can’t be serious,” I said as I was now in the office of the devil himself. And he's called to get his end in a favor. “You owe me,” he said and I scoffed. 

“You’re literally chasing in a favor from when I was in college,” I said and he only grinned. “You still owe me. Besides, it shouldn't be dangerous” and I scoffed at his reassurance. 

“It's just an interview. You’ll wear a wire, and all I need is evidence” he asked and I sighed. “Fine. But I won't risk my life for this, Taeyong” I said and he nodded. 

“I would never put you in a dangerous situation. This won’t hurt you”

“Do you have to do this? Or at least take one of us with you?” Yeosang asked and I shook my head. “I have to repay him. He helped me a lot in college… besides he's trying to do a good thing” I explained and they sighed. “You’ll be okay right?” Wooyoung asked as he hugged me tightly. 

“Of course, he explained that I'll be going in for an interview and he’ll be listening in case. He will only interfere once he's gotten information though, so I won't be in danger. This won't affect us” I assured them and they nodded. 

“Be careful, circus hybrids are some of the most deprived and abused hybrids” San warned and I nodded. Over the years people stopped performing with animals and advanced to hybrids because of their ability to be trained and have a human way of thinking

Even though many people thought it was better it's not too well known that it's abusive to them just repeating history. “Be careful” they said as I was now on the elevator waving bye to the boys. 

They've really grown. 

I’ve officially had San and Wooyoung for five months. Whilst Yeosang joined us two months ago. It's actually been seven months since I originally adopted Son. I couldn’t be happier to have them by my side. 

Now I had to pay my debt to the devil named Taeyong. He truly does hold grudges… 

I walked into the VIP line where I showed my journalist ticket. I would be able to take pictures, and even conduct an interview. As I walked in I noticed the hybrids on display. 

There were two specifically at the entrance. They had bold big letters ‘MATZ’. They were meant to sit there in a glass box… it didn’t even have enough room to walk one step. In a smaller print were their names. 

Seinghwa was the one smiling and bowing, whilst Hongjoong only stared. He would be too far down, he could probably be dangerous. The ones around me started flashing lights at them… it clearly bothered them. I made sure to ask Taeyong to give me a camera without a flash. I took a photo of the surroundings. Another reason why he had me do this job and not Mark was because I have a hybrid specialist license to see and even handle red-coded hybrids with supervision. 

I knew how to analyze their behaviors. So when I saw Hongjoong, he had the potential to be a black code hybrid. 

“Hello! Welcome, it's an honor to see such esteemed guests !! I hope you may enjoy the show !--” as he spoke I saw his ringmaster look. He had jesters and clown costumed people handle hybrids. A few were assigned to cuff and ensure ‘MATZ’ did not act out.

They were tigers and therefore dangerous. 

“-- Of course, if you need help please ask one of my staff. I look forward to the interviews I’m scheduled for” he said as he left. As the staff looked at our tickets I was led to the back. I was given a pre / post-interview. 

“Hello, I’m going to be conducting an interview?” I said as I now saw the ringleader with the two tigers. They had chains connecting to their collar which looked like ones that were for black code hybrids. 

“Ah yes, may I ask which firm it is under?” he asked and I nodded. “It would be under the N.E.O. Firm” I stated and he nodded. 

“I see. How is Moon Taeil?” he asked and I smiled. “He’s actually on vacation at the moment. Last I heard he was in China visiting a few friends. '' I answered and he chuckled. 

“I know, your firm isn’t too keen on me,” he said and I noticed the curious eyes of the tigers. “Well, the firm has hybrid rights associated. It has been for years now” I answered and he nodded with calculating eyes. 

“That it is. Though I can assure you, our hybrids are treated like family” he said and I smiled softly as I wrote down notes of the two hybrids behind him. They were clearly agitated by his words, almost like he was lying.

“Well then. What are your questions?” he asked politely. “How many hybrids currently do you have registered?” I asked and he nodded. “Around fifty dear,” he said and I nodded. “And all are vaccinated with the current hybrid regulations, health up-to-date, VISA’s registered?” I asked and he answered yes. 

So he denied hybrid trafficking, and hybrid health neglect.

“May I ask you to talk about MATZ?'' I asked and he nodded. “These two were born into the circus. Their parents are a mix from our circus and a breeder which I know personally” he explained and I saw how Seonghwa kept on staring at my coat. His ears were twitching and I noticed Hongjoong’s glare at me….

“These two are such close friends we thought that a show would be most beneficial and fun for them,” he said while lifting his hands to pet their heads making them both clearly uncomfortable. Seonghwa stared wearily whilst Hongjoong looked like he could bite any minute.

“May I ask if I own hybrids?” He asked and I contemplated. “Decline anything in your personal life” I heard on the headpiece Taeyong gave me.

“No, I do not,” I said and he nodded. “Are you against the ownership?” He asked and I shook my head. “Not necessarily… it would take a lot of circumstances for me to adopt a hybrid,” I said and the ringmaster only nodded. 

“I can assure you every hybrid here is taken care of, and we’ll look after it, '' he said and I noticed Seonghwa's gaze. It wasn’t like Hongjoong’s glare; it was almost like he was pleading for help. 

“What’s the situation with heats?” I asked and he chuckled… “I don’t believe in heat suppressants. I let them go on with it with the other gender hybrid” he explained. 

Meaning it's how he has so many hybrids… he’s illegally breeding them. “Are you not worried about pregnancies?” I asked.

“No… some of our female hybrids are sterile so they can’t reproduce either way” he explained.

It wasn’t abuse per se to sterilize a hybrid… but it was being argued for hybrid rights.

“How long have you had this duo?” I asked curious. “Hmm, these two rascals? Well, they were born in 1998 and they’ve been with me since then.” He said and I nodded.

Would they speak out against their master? They would’ve seen everything… been through… everything.

“Sir?” I heard a clown asking for the attention of his boss. “Ah give me a moment my dear, why not have an exclusive interview with a MATZ performer. Hongjoong needs some touching up so Seonghwa treats her nicely '' be said and I knew the reason why they took the orange tiger away was because of his behavior.

“Be careful, an abuse hybrid can be triggered at any mention of abuse. Ask simple questions.” Taeyong said and before I could start I looked at him.

He stared at me with soft eyes and a smile... it shocked me how gentle his expression looked.

“I’m not fragile for you not to ask me,” he said and I felt my eyes widen. “The moment you walked in I heard that radio of yours… it kinda hurt at first” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” I said but I couldn’t turn it off for my safety.

“It’s alright… you're not the first person to come here to infiltrate this place,” he said with his ears flattening on his head. He was losing hope for himself.

“How many hybrids are there?” I asked and he sighed. “I’ve lost count… it is over a hundred by now and more to come” he explained. “Oh, and he doesn’t register hybrids in case they die. It’s a miracle to even survive birth here… let alone survive being a baby here. We aren’t checked for until we’re cubs… after that, we’re never looked after again. The only thing he’ll ask to do is hygiene for his top performers” he explained.

“I’ve heard of your firm from the clowns… they hate you,” he said and I chuckled. “They said something about a girl writing about hybrid rights. Since then they’ve shut down several enterprises” he said and I smiled.

My reputation follows me.

“They might know who you are, be careful,” Taeyong said and Seonghwa only stared at me with twitching ears.

“You must have really good hearing to catch it,” I said and he smiled softly with his tail swishing behind him.

“Thanks… but it comes in handy with the staff,” he said and I sighed. 

“Do you have anything you want to tell me?” I asked and he swallowed down saliva showing how nervous he was.

“I’ll tell you everything if you manage to burn this place down,” he said and I sighed. “How about we make a promise?” I asked and he looked at me confused.

“I’ll shut this place down… but that’ll be the easy part. I’ll still need some more evidence after to concrete it” I asked and he nodded.

“Good luck”

The show was like any other hybrid show. 

You could see the fear in hybrid's eyes when they made a mistake and had to cover it. Clowns and performers have the upper hand. 

MATZ had the opening… they did dangerous stunts. There were a few times they stumbled but otherwise did the best they could. The crowd loved them… I saw the contrast of the two… fear and anger.

Once the show was over I did a closing statement with the ringmaster and some staff who showed me around.

“And our opening act. Did you enjoy it?” they asked and I smiled when I saw Seonghwa and Hongjoong in a tiny cage. It had enough room for the both of them but it must've made them feel trapped.

The staff were talking to other reporters when I noticed the heavy glare Hingjoong was giving me.

Seonghwa got his attention and looked to be scolding him only for him to scoff. He looked over at me and bowed in an apology in which I shook my head. 

“I hope you enjoyed the show” 

seonghwa’s pov

As the reporters left with the staff, Hongjoong glared at me. “Quit acting that way” I scolded and he scoffed

“She’s not the first person to come here asking for questions with a wire,” he said and I sighed.

“You heard what they said about that firm though—“ “She also said how she didn’t own any hybrids but owned three,” he said and I was confused. 

“She has hybrid scents reading out of her. You shouldn’t trust humans so easily… one day it’ll be you they’re disposing of” he said and I looked down.

“I… sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out that way. I’m just sick of this Seonghwa but this is our life and it’ll never change” he said and I chose not to believe that. 

I had hoped that she’d complete her promise.

“Hongjoong…. Sometimes you just have to have faith that people are still good. We don’t know how it is outside… maybe it’s different” I said and he sighed.

“But is it any better?” He asked and before I could respond I heard yelling.

“Woah!? What are you doing?!” I heard as I saw the ringmaster following… policemen? 

“This place is being temporarily shut down for inspection and so are the hybrids in this vicinity. If we find anyone trying to smuggle or hide evidence you’ll be under arrest for tampering with a crime scene” he said and I also noticed people with white lab coats. 

“Start arresting staff members and performers. Contain all the hybrids as well” he ordered and the last thing I saw was Hongjoong defying them whilst I felt a sharp pain in my neck.

Everything could only get better… right?

Waking up in a white and cold room was not what I expected…

“White tiger hybrid seems to be malnourished, untreated second-degree burns, underweight, untreated cuts, and dehydrated. Seems to be approximately 25 years old and unclassified code due to tranquilizer” I heard… Was that a doctor?

I tried sitting up but my wrists were bound. 

“You’re awake? Are you going to comply?” he asked me and I noticed how close he was. He seemed to purposely try to annoy me… “Classified as yellow. He’s one of the tame ones” he said into the radio. Classifications? I knew very little of that… but yellow wasn’t bad?

“The orange tiger is awake, and is showing a lot of aggression” I heard on his radio… Hongjoong? “Tranquilize him,” the doctor said and I struggled against the constraints. “He’s your partner, right? They won’t hurt him, but he will hurt us… he’s in good hands'' he said and I scoffed. Like I’d trust humans now after… 

“What happened to the reporter?” I asked and he looked at me confused. “She promised to help me… what did she do?” I asked and he hummed. “She’ll be conducting interviews this following week. So be on your best behavior or you’ll end up in a higher code” he said as he left the room. 

She actually… helped us?

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[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor. 

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile. 

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.   

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time). 

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.   

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea. 

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up. 

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.” 

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable. 

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth. 

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful. 

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out. 

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed. 

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense. 

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said. 

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.  

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him. 

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[spacebarbarianweird]

Oooh! Chronic depression Tav sounds right up your alley! I'm also chronically depressed and I have a similar living condition (messy room, not the horrific torture) to Astarion. Maybe a Tav who can empathize with his messy tent and his depression?

Oh yes, this hits my alley! I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder and depression a while ago plus it seems like I had a severe depression when I was 12-19 years old (but I wasn't taken to any specialists back then).

TW: Anxiety and depression come in different forms, my therapists always told me that I have a weird skill to look absolutely normal meanwhile tests show signs of severe depression. I've based this headcanon on my own experience.

TW 2: A suicide attempt, depression.

Astarion x Depressed!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

You feel off.

Something was utterly wrong with you for the last few years.

You barely eat, sleep too much

Decision-making is difficult as fuck, and you just do what you are told to.

The time is slipping through your fingers and you sometimes realize it's already winter when it was summer a day ago.

You feel like drowning in the dark void.

Maybe you should just end everything? Because life will never get better.

The tadpole suppresses your condition.

You suddenly feel good. You feel strong. You feel alive.

And the Emperor is particularly adamant that you embrace the tadpole potential.ccepting the tadpole potential.

"Remember how bad you felt before? It will get worse if you deny the tadpole. Once it's gone, your mind will drown in darkness again. But accept my offer, and you will never suffer again."

You recognize familiar patterns in Astarion's behavior.

His inability to make decisions.

The mess he made of his tent.

The way he sometimes sits and stares in the distance not moving at all.

That he doesn't really read, staring at the papers with mindless eyes.

Or quickly turning pages without understanding what is written there.

Or an extreme degree of anhedonia. He cannot taste wine or food, his senses are dulled, and nothing brings him joy except blood and sex (both of which have been unavailable to him for centuries).

You want to accept the tadpole. You don't want to go back to where you were. He doesn't want to either.

But when you take the astral tadpole, Astarion knocks it out of your hands and smashes it.

"You're in no condition to make decisions like that, dear," he says, grabbing your arm.

Neither is he.

You fear to have the tadpole removed.

When it is gone, it's worse than you expected.

You can't move. Can't think. The void is killing you.

You don't want to talk to anyone. You can't do anything. The only thing you are capable of is to crawl into the inn and lie there like in a coffin.

It will never get better.

Maybe, you should just off yourself?

And Astarion's absence only proves your thoughts. He isn't there, he's left. He doesn't need a burden like you.

The relapse is so bad you decide to find a way to end things.

You choose a lonely place and takes a dagger out.

You greet death like an old friend.

Only to wake up under a starry night sky.

With a familiar skeleton-like figure close to you.

Withers brought you back. But why? And how did he…

Before you manage to say anything coherent, you feel strong hands around your waist and a familiar scent.

Astarion cries holding you.

"I shouldn't have left you, I shouldn't have... I am so sorry..."

He was ashamed of himself. Of his own relapse.

But he could never thought you would kill yourself.

These six monthes were difficult for him.

Yes, he was free. He could do whatever he wanted.

But he was lonely. He had nightmares. Breakdowns.

He started looking for you only to realize you were dead.

Finding Withers was his only hope.

And you are back. Back to him.

Astarion takes you away from Baldur's Gate to the places you've never been before.

Basically making you run faster than your darkness.

Together you learn how to enjoy things.

You basically ask each other "What can we do rn to make ourselves feel better?"

A swim in the lake? A bath in the inn? A new piece of garment? Just staying together in the tent?

You hold each other from slipping into the void.

Eventually, you are advised to start taking some medicine made by clerics.

You take it once a day and you feel better, almost the same way you felt with the tadpole.

You take the double shot because Astairon drinks your blood to get this medicine for himself.

You both don't feel yourself that miserable anymore. You both cry less.

You sleep better, Astarion doesn't have nightmares.

You are good. Both of you.

It doesn't mean the darkness won't come back - but you are both ready to meet it.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[houpss]

SKZ's reaction to your death ver. maknae line

hyung line (please pay attention to this work, I tried 😿)

It pains me to write this work, my heart breaks and I begin to believe in this nonsense... BUT REMEMBER THAT ONLY PERSONALITIES ARE TAKEN FROM THE REAL SKZ, EVERYTHING REST IS FICTION!

Mentions of explosions, drugs, addictions, fatal diseases, a lot of tears, fatal diseases . ANGST.

Han Jisung

He begged you not to go, because he had a nightmare where you died.

You just laughed it off and kissed Jisung on the cheek, what could have happened?

He literally knew this would happen.

He calls Changbin: “The company building Y/N was in was blown up.”

He knew.

He felt nothing, complete emptiness.

His hands were shaking madly, he wanted to disappear.

Your body was not found, perhaps it was torn to pieces.

An empty coffin was buried, it's so scary.

The feeling of your morning kiss is still on his cheek. You promised him to come in the evening and watch new episodes of anime.

But you'll never come back again.

He dreams about you, but he wants more.

Yes, he will start taking drugs to prolong the effect of your presence.

Members will notice this only over time.

Minho and Hyunjin dragged Jisung to psychotherapist and addiction specialists while the other members cleared out Jisung's room.

You are no longer in his room, there is nothing connected with you there anymore.

“Jisung, Y/N wouldn’t like it that you became a drug addict.”

"There is no more Y/N, which means I don’t care about myself."

His eyes are full of pain, he hasn’t cried since your death, the tears just won’t come.

"It's like I died with her"

"Bro, you need to move on with your life for her sake, she would want that."

"What's the point if it doesn't exist?"

"You're destroying yourself"

Jisung doesn't care.

He walks a lot, he doesn't eat and he writes a lot, he wrote so many lyrics.

Felix spoon feeding Jisung is so wrong.

He needs to learn to take care of himself.

No one else will be as caring as you.

Han Jisung will never cry, because he sees you regularly, he practically doesn’t miss you anymore.

After a while he will return to drugs again, it just hurts him. he misses.

And again he will go to a narcologist and psychotherapist.

And again, again, again. It's a vicious circle.

He doesn’t want you to leave, stay with him some more. He can't handle it.

Lee Felix

"You are very beautiful today, Y/n"

"Lixie, I feel worse every day... don't say that."

"But you are so beautiful..we will get out together"

He lied, you won't get out. He lied to you and himself.

He forbade the doctors to tell you about your condition. Everything was handed over to him personally.

He knew you didn't have much time left.

On your last day, he baked you your favorite cookies, as if he felt that you would leave him.

He wasn't ready.

Late in the evening, he fed you cookies and read your favorite book, you squeezed his hand tightly.

"Felix, I love you very much...you are my happiness, freckle"

Your last words. The sun has gone out, the world is falling apart.

Changbin and Minho led him out of the room; other participants were already waiting in the corridor.

It was so painful and empty, as if happiness had disappeared. You disappeared.

He returned to the dorm, his request to return to your apartment was refused.

You refused to be hospitalized until the very end, but Felix still managed to drag you to the hospital. You even felt better.

He was lying on his back in a cold bed, it was cold without you.

This will be his first birthday without you.

He doesn't want to celebrate it.

Your stuffed animal was lying on his bed, he held it tightly in his hands.

It hurt, he was all alone now.

This will go on for several weeks. Felix doesn't remember anything, like stills from a movie.

Members constantly come to see him.

He pretends to live, and is even happy that it’s his birthday. His first birthday without your presence.

He doesn't want it that way.

"Felix, let's go, you need to take a walk."

Chan lifted Felix out of bed, washed him, changed him and fed him. Felix is so grateful to Chan.

Chan drove Felix to your apartment, he said he would pick Felix up later.

Everywhere there was the smell of you and your love, on the table there was food for Felix and the usual note. The bed is rumpled.

He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. it absolutely hurt, he felt nothing but pain.

For some reason, for the first time he felt so painful and sad. In general, Felix is very vulnerable, but...

He never imagined how he would cry over the loss of someone.

He couldn't even contact your family.

You had no family or friends; you were abandoned as a child. Felix and SKZ were the only people close to you.

You never really wanted to tell Felix about your family, it was too painful to remember.

He so wanted to hug you, stroke your pretty cheeks and tell you that everything is good in this world. you have nothing to fear.

You loved it when he hugged you and smiled brightly.

He always lied.

He always lied and said that your condition was improving.

Did he regret that he lied? No

He was delaying the moment of death for you.

He put on your huge sweater, your bright smell is on it. He loves this smell so much.

He loves you so much.

Loving people don't leave. stupid lie.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it hurt so much to love someone?

Then Chan took him, Felix might feel better for a few days.

Felix will even appear at a fashion event.

But...

You will have to bury two coffins, he will die after you.

Felix realized that it was so stupid... it was stupid to live without you.

You will find him in the afterlife, right?

" Lee Felix 15.09.2000–08.10.202*"—"Lee Y/N 01.01.2000–08.09.202*"

Kim Seungmin

You were strangled in an alley while returning home.

Kim didn't have time to meet you.

He blamed himself and only himself.

Your body was found only in the morning.

Pale suits you, dear.

Seungmin looked at you as usual, like you were the eighth wonder of the world...why did you go to that alley?

No, Seungmin never cries.

He did not ask for the support of his members or the support of his family, he will cope on his own, as always.

He will become closed and taciturn. The company won't even release a statement about his rest.

He will throw himself into his work, he will work day and night.

The members are too worried about his condition.

Seungmin doesn't feel anything anymore, he doesn't feel joy, sadness, or pain.

As if the body exists separately from him. Inside he is nobody.

He returns to your shared apartment only a few weeks later, his lips frozen: “Y/N, I’m home.”

But there was no one at home except him.

The apartment is dark and cold, it was so empty without you.

On the dresser he will find an envelope with a letter, you left him one every time when he returned late.

It said: “I love you very much, Kim Seungmin. Come to me in my dreams.”

This was not as usual, you had never written to him like this.

Everything that had accumulated over several weeks came out.

Seungmin hates crying, he never cries.

Tears flow limply down his face as he presses the paper to his chest.

You won't come back anymore, it's time to get used to it.

He will find your album with photos, he is so in love with you.

Then he will fall asleep and see you in his dreams for the first time. Thank you for coming.

then you told him to move on... but how to live without you?

For the first time, he felt unbearable pain and despair.

He will write songs about you, breathing you and living in the past.

Why does Kim Seungmin continue to live?

Yang Jeongin

Baby, he killed you himself.

How did it happen?

"I could be a better boyfriend than him"

He was always very jealous of you, but to the point of killing you?

This is a terrible case.

Jeongin has no regrets, you're mine or nobody's

No one will know about this, it is disguised as an accident. What a pity.

Perhaps he will be bored.

He's so bored without you

A few times he will come to your grave, it's quite rude.

He keeps all your things with him, he will never be missed, you are nearby.

tell me why did you kill her?

“Jeongin, why don’t you miss her?”

"She is forever in my heart"

It's like he's lying.

"I killed her simply because I was so jealous." Pure confession

He might even cry to show that he misses you.

You don't want to look for it in the next life, a very cruel death at the hands of a loved one.

And Jeongin won’t look for anyone else, because he loves YOU.

Sometimes his conscience torments him, but he did it for the good.

[lains-reality]

hi :) i hope you’re having a wonderful day

you’re literally the only blogger i trust when it comes to non-duality, and your advice has been the one i’ve been most easily able to apply/understand. I hope this doesn’t come off as a vent, but it probably will just because this question is so complicated and problem riddled, and tbh idek if you’re actually going to respond, but yea. it’s like star wars you’re my obi wan kenobi! my last hope lol

basically i’ve put my life on hold and procrastinated everything i’ve needed to do. (TW: death?? health problems/sa?) I went through a really bad year, last year. the human character i identify with (non-dualistic terms, bc ik this character isn’t me?) was sa’d in the beginning of the year. really traumatic. i dropped out of school, i couldn’t go out of the house because i feared for my life. i became super paranoid. i reported it and filed charges, but the justice system is fucked so.

anyways, after because the amount of stress i was experiencing, i became very ill. my biological father wished death on me, and i believed it at the time, because my sibling wished for me to get raped, and then it happened. i can see now, how my belief may or may not have been the cause of what happened. i then got cancer. the doctors couldn’t figure it out for months, and even ridiculed me- saying how i relied on google.

i finally went to a specialist who was immediately concerned, and then confirmed my suspicions. i was sort of friends with a blogger on here who got into the void and manifested their dream life. they went into the void for me and affirmed that i no longer had cancer, and that i could tap/wake up in the void. the next day, the huge lump/tumor on my neck was gone. all of my ailments- trouble breathing, patchy and rough skin ceased. i literally told my mother what happened which made her start believing in the power of “manifestation”.

because of the paranoia, and then cancer- i didn’t go to school my last 2 years of school. i switched to online, but never felt the need to complete my classes because i knew i would get into the void. i’ve gotten into the void, both by waking up/tapping into it but i haven’t been able to change my awareness, or “manifest” bc i was just mumbo jumbing words or poetry. i didn’t apply to university, because i thought i’d enter the void before then and revise my school grades + make it so i got into the university of my choice.

now, i have a week left before i have to finish my classes- which i have 7 of them, and so many assignments. i have to move out in the middle of august because i lied to my parents and said i got into university, because i thought i would’ve already changed things with the void by now. my life was fucked, then i fucked my life. after discovering non-duality i gained hope that i would be able to turn things around by now, yet i haven’t. i don’t know what i’m doing wrong, because i was able to show myself the truth of reality (as lester levinson said).

i am really stressing because now everything is falling down on itself. i try to forget my problems, and don’t give them life by letting go, yet it’s so hard when teachers are bombarding me with messages how i have to finish the classes, or how i have to move out soon. i know this is probably ego driven, but i feel as if i can’t see a way through because of how attached i am to this. my health has also been abnormal, which makes me fear that the cancer has returned. what should i do?? im kinda freaking out.

anyways, i am so sorry if this came across trauma dumping/venting. i am just at a point where i do not even know where to begin to conceptualize this into understanding. this took a lot of courage to type, as im a bit afraid still- that people who hurt me from last year will see this (even though i know they won’t, but still). i totally understand if you wish not to post this or answer it, as it is very long and limiting. thank you though! i hope you have a wonderful week:)

this was quite difficult to answer as i've never been through so much turmoil all at once. i hope this answer helps and you'll continue taking care of yourself! (i'm sorry i linked way too much lol just don't read it all at once!)

firstly i want you to rest.

you've been through a lot and you've also been putting off a lot to get into the void. stopping life for manifestation is common it seems, its not healthy either. so much pressure is coming from time. you put all your expectations on a method, and i'm gonna guess that you also put so much onto your mind to get you into the void.

practically: your biological father sounds abusive and so does your sibling, i would be more careful around him. idk if your not around him anymore, it sounds like it? but you need to plan accordingly for your lie. are you gonna tell your parents or ?

theres a massive chance you'll just go crazy trying to figure out all these moving parts, so i suggest do what you can and leave the rest. do the minimum to keep you safe, then figure out the rest as it comes. do whatever you need to do, just remember to not take on too much at once.

ask for breaks on work at school for medical reasons, maybe think about jobs, etc. you see how much more could come into the picture? but this is all the body-mind can do. its easy to treat it as god, but its not god.

"but i feel as if i can’t see a way through"

You fail to do the works of God, because you take the body to be God. - Ada B. [4dbarbie]

take a look at these meditations:

butter meditation

peace meditation

surrender meditation

un-identification exercise

crying meditation

i'd like you pick one of these exercises:

feel all the shit. feel bad. just do it. let all the bad feelings out. put on sad music and fucking cry. cry it all out.

let yourself rest, with no problems. if a thought or feeling comes in just let it, because its not a problem remember? :) just put on some calming music or visualise a calming place. and let yourself have some time with nothing. no conditions. no perfection. no obligations. no 'have to' 'should' 'must'. let that go for this time

feel as if you've died. feel as if you've been completely forgiven, feel as if there was a powerful white light that washed you away of all the crap. really feel as if the divine came down, hugged you and said 'i love you and forgive you'. its all over. finally its all done. you can rest. (i suggest kickstarting this with imagery or music, its hard to generate feeling such grace on you own. i saw a jesus holding a baby lamb picture that made me burst out in tears and realised that all i wanted was just to be, no obligations. i imagined waking up in a heaven, in a gaint flowerfield. do what you want)

one time i did the 1st and 3rd exercises (i made it up on the spot) and it was worth it. the next few days felt much better. its like an exercise in rebirth. let yourself be reborn.

some days you'll just do one or all 3. pick what ever feels right in what ever order. but i suggest that 'feel as if you've died' or 'no problems' comes last! the whole point is to let the painful emotion pass through and settle in a neutral or grateful place.

"after discovering non-duality i gained hope that i would be able to turn things around by now"

here's the problem, you went into a philosophy intending to manifest. yes,, (1) you can do that (2) its okay, AS LONG AS YOU DONT MISS THE POINT. the point being that there is no person! the character is a character, not you. manifestation is just another concept, you can use it as long as you understand that its not real. thats why i shared the BOOKS, you need to READ.

"i try to forget my problems, and don’t give them life by letting go"

don't force yourself to forget (don't say you're not forcing it, otherwise you never would of wrote "TRY"). just let them be. deal with it when it comes up. the mind'll want to make a bazillion plans and stress. if you can make plans without spiriling, then do it. if you can't, don't. there will probably be some things you need to plan and thats okay. but everything else, leave it.

you haven't actually let it go, you're here in my inbox. you do not need to force letting it go. you naturally let it go by realising who you are in relation to it all. if you think you're the body-mind then its impossible to let go, because its your life and it involves you and if you let it go to shit, you might die!! - says the mind. but if you're Self, then this is not you. all those stories mean nothing compared to Infinity, Absolute Perfection and Love!

the Self is who you truly are. Self is still underneath it all, it is all. its imagining itself being a human. the character is the wave, YOU are the ocean. ultimately this is about realising all the identities, images and roles that "you've" taken on and used as reference are not you. how can a story be you? how can the past be you? are you the past? are you currently living in the past? you can be if you keep bringing it into the now.

when you stop using the past as a reference point, how much more posibilities come up now?

this is because the mind only knows what it knows. it cannot know anything more than what it knows right now. it can't access infinite intelligence. that's why it'll try to project into the future, and make plans. but it doesn't truly know. all it does is give suggestions based off the past. it is a combination of identity based off feelings, thoughts and memories that is collected and turned into a habit.

the past, memories, feelings, thoughts, identifies, roles etc all pass through you. they all come up like waves and then leave on THEIR OWN. if you hold onto these (which the character wants to do, it thinks thats all it is) it'll be painful when they are threatened in some way. a simple remark of "oh you look xxx" can be so painful for some characters because they based their whole life on a singular identity that WILL go.

Most of you can't change because you are so desperate TO change... but there is nothing to want to change. Things just are. Don't work with changing self, just realize who self actually is. [4dbarbie]

this is not a forcing thing, its just a rememberance. its done out of love, passion, a desire to just be free! with no ties to whatever identity! its takes courage, not convincing or denial.

Disbelieving you are Vanessa and denial are not the same thing. Denial is when you deny reality to something you're already giving reality to. Disbelieving was meant as an experiment, you never thought yourselves to be anything but this body, what will happen if you did? What are changes in your psyche, do you feel more confident, do you feel like you could take on the world? Don't you love Vanessa now that you know that she always was a choice? Even if she wasn't the greatest, what's so wrong with her? She is just somebody, she just lives a life. Things are only so serious when you're identified with her, you get scared, you get hurt, you feel stuck. But when you know that she can't hinder you? That she was never you? Don't you just want to laugh and hug her? [4dbarbie]

are you sure you're reading books and posts? a lot of this is already answered. your case is just more to deal with, but the point is still the same: you are not the body and mind, see what would happen if you questioned them.

just KEEP IT SIMPLE!

i'd like to leave you with this.

Once a young woman came to Hafiz and said, “What is the sign of someone knowing God?” And Hafiz became very quiet and stood in silence for nearly a minute. Lovingly looking deep into the young woman's eyes, he then softly spoke: “My dear, they have dropped the knife. The person who knows God has dropped the cruel knife so often used upon their tender self and others.” [source]

some extra resources

eft - health fear

eft - afraid to feel

we cannot practice letting go

heart of an emotion

i want to wake up with everything

hafiz - love's victory (PLEASE WATCH IT)

trust yourself

"You think you're doing it all for nothing, that's why you don't do it. But is freedom from pain really nothing? At least you are, for once in your life, sighing from relief from all this never-ending sense of doing."

health anon

apply

"All the process requires is letting go of thinking you are Vanessa."

behaviour

letting thoughts and emotions pass

challenge yourself

stories

everything brings you back to your Self

you've been through a lot and i'm glad you still are full of love! otherwise you never would've tried in the first place to change anything. use that love, take any anger and turn it into love for freedom! for Self! i know you can do it!!

also: the feeling of bad health coming back is a sign to me. you've put so much on hold: your healing from the sa, the healing from your family, the lying, LIFE in general. you can't keep doing that. turn inwards. the fear won't consume you.

[tkwrites]

I'll Be Proud For You - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest via Bauer Hockey

Title: I’ll Be Proud For You - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (OFC) 

Summary: When an opportunity for Quinn to meet her uncle arrives, Sarah jumps at the chance, and they attend a St. Patrick's Day party at her uncle's house on Salt Spring Island. On the ferry ride back home, Sarah finally explains why she had to be close to family after her mothers death, necessitating her move to Vancouver. 

Warnings: Mentions of depression, grief, and meeting new family. Talks of suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation. No attempts or methods are described or discussed. 

Word Count: 5,600

Comments: I’ve been working on this fic for a long time. In many ways, it's extremely self-indulgent. I loved writing the banter between Sarah and her uncle Travis, and it was very healing for me to write about Sarah’s experiences after her mothers death. 

Sarah’s experiences are very similar to the experiences I had after losing my father. My dad died three years ago in September, and I have not experienced any kind of suicidal ideation for over a year and a half. While I was in the thick of it, it felt like I was always going to be stuck in that darkness. The other side of that chasm is so beautiful and so worth the work it took to get here. 

I was very lucky that I already had a therapist who could refer me to a specialist and friends and family who cared very deeply about me and my mental well-being. Seeing a psychiatrist to get on medication was one of the best decisions I ever made.

If you are having or have thoughts like these in the future, please, please talk to a friend and a professional to get help. The world is such a better place with you in it. xx

I’ll Be Proud For You 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Sarah grabbed Quinn's wrist as he walked toward the kitchen. “Do you have plans for St. Patrick's Day?” 

“I think Garly's having a party. Why?” 

“My uncle Travis always hosts a dinner party since we’re Irish, and I wondered if you wanted to come with me.” 

“Sure.” 

A smile took over her whole face, and he was instantly glad he agreed. 

Internally, though, his heart was racing. Her uncle was the closest family she had nearby. When she first moved to the city, she'd lived with him for a year. She still went to his house at least two Sundays a month. Quinn knew they were close.

At least he had three days to mentally prepare. 

“It’s a bit of a drive - they live on Saltspring, so we have to take the ferry.”

“Just means I get to spend more time with you,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, I like it over there.”

Her smile got bigger, and he swore his knees got a little weak. God, what wouldn’t he do for that smile?

“Is there anything I should do to prepare?” he asked, sitting next to her.

“Just wear something green. And don't wear anything that says 'Kiss me, I'm Irish' unless you actually want to be kissed.”

“Wouldn't mind being kissed by you,” he said with a wink. 

Laughing, she leaned over and obliged. 

He instantly wished they weren't at the dining room table so he could lay her out and kiss her like he meant it. 

A few minutes later, the nagging feeling of neglecting her studying won out, and Sarah pulled away. “I'm sorry,” she said, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, “I really need to finish this. Give me thirty minutes?” 

“Then you're mine for the night?” 

She nodded. 

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and wandered to the kitchen to make dinner. 

As she left school for the aquarium the next day, Sarah called her uncle Travis.

“Hey, Sar, how are you doing?” 

“Good. How are you, Trav?” 

“Great. Samson started crawling on Tuesday.”

“What? No.”

“Yep.” 

“I refuse to believe he’s crawling already.” 

“I know. It’s the worst. What’s up?” 

“I just wanted to let you know I'm bringing someone with me on Sunday.”

“One of your roommates?”

“No, someone I'm seeing.”

He actually seemed to choke on whatever he was drinking and coughed a few times before asking, “I'm sorry, what?”

“We've been going out for a while, and I want him to meet everyone.”

“How long is a while?” 

“Two and a half months.” 

“And you were going to tell us when?”

“I was waiting to see how serious it would be.”

“And it's serious?”

“I think it’s headed that way. I want to see what you think of him.” 

“What's his name?”

“Quinn.” 

“How did you meet?”

“At the aquarium,” she said,  “he asked me out to lunch, and we've been dating ever since.” 

“He lives in the city?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is there anything I should know about him?” 

“Just that I really like him. Please promise you won't embarrass me.”

“No can do. That's what uncles are for, but I can promise I won't pull out your baby pictures.”

“You don't even have my baby pictures.”

“Precisely. Otherwise, I probably would.”

Rolling her eyes, she asked what she could bring to dinner. After deciding she would bring the soda bread and butter, they hung up, and she sent the plan to Quinn.  

Great. When should I pick you up?

I'm driving, so I'll come get you. 

You have a car? 

Technically, it's my uncles, but I haven't driven in forever, so I’m calling transportation on this one.

He laughed. Tocc canceled practice tomorrow so we can leave whenever. 

I'll pick you up at 1 then? 

What time is dinner? 

5, but the drive over is 2 and a half hours, and I like to be there a little early to help out. 

“Why does your uncle keep a car here?” Quinn asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

“I have parking included with my apartment, so it just made sense. I drop it off at the Ferry terminal once or twice a month for Trev when he has to come to the mainland for work.” 

“I didn’t know that. Let me know next time and I’ll give you a ride home.” 

She shot a grateful smile at him before looking back to the road.

It was a strange thing for Quinn to be a passenger. He was usually the one driving, and rarely got the chance to watch her for such a long period of time uninterrupted.

He was taken with her. With the constellation of freckles on her cheeks and the button of her nose, and the round swell of her bottom lip. He wondered if anyone would notice if they just made out on the ferry ride over. She didn’t have tinted windows. Probably not the best idea.

She was wearing the same green dress she’d worn when Brady came to town. It still looked beautiful and soft, and he still couldn’t stop the fantasies of stripping it off her from clouding his mind. 

“How was your morning?”

“Fine.” he scrubbed his hands over his face, “It’s nice to have a day off.” 

“I bet,” she said, reaching over to entwine her fingers with his. 

They held hands until they hit traffic and she had to get back to the gear shift.

He’d never driven a manual transmission, and he was impressed by her seamless shifting, despite the fact that she was a bit of a terrifying driver. He found himself reaching for the door handle more than once as she weaved in and out of traffic and went a little too fast for his liking.

“How was your day?” he asked to distract himself.

“Good. I did some reading and finished up some assignments I’d put off from earlier in the week.” 

“I didn’t know you were capable of putting things off,” he teased. 

She snorted and threw him a sarcastic look. 

“You’re so organized, I didn’t think you could.”

Quinn had seen her planner once. It was the size of a college notebook with a column for every day of the week. Each of her classes was assigned a different color, and every day was an organized riot: hours blocked for class, work, assignments, tests, and readings to be completed. He didn’t know how she got it all done. He was exhausted just reading it. Then, he’d smiled when he realized he was there. She had all his games and their plans and dates written in sparkly blue ink. 

“I still miss things. Sunday is my catchup day,” she explained. “Usually, I sleep in and do my homework on the ferry over and back, but I wanted to have it done early so I could spend the time with you.”

“It would have been okay,” he said. 

The smile she gave him made his heart patter against his lungs. That, along with a stop so sudden, the seatbelt engaged to snap him back, made it a little hard to breathe. 

“Thank you, but I would rather spend this time with you.” 

His heart warmed at the gesture, and her willingness to give up her one morning to sleep in to spend time with him.

Once on the ferry, they stayed in the car and talked instead of going up on deck. He told her about practice and trying to push aside his nerves about making the playoffs, “Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s a guarantee.” 

“Well, you are second in the league.”

“Yeah, but so much could change. I don’t want to get my hopes up, and the media asks about it practically every day. I’m getting so tired of telling them, ‘that’s what we’re aiming for, and we have a group that can get there.’” He threw his voice into a self-depricating, exaggerated version of itself. 

Despite her attempt to stifle it down, a giggle spilled out of her mouth. “I think they’re probably asking because it’s going to happen.” 

“We don’t know that. Demmer’s out, and we haven’t been doing great…” he trailed off. 

“You’re still first in the Pacific by almost 10 points, Quinn. Can’t you celebrate that for a minute?” 

He sighed, “it’s just… so much can change in a month, and I don’t want to be the guy who talks about how good it will be to play in the playoffs only to have his team not make it. I’d be a laughing stock on the internet for the rest of time and a lesson to all other captains to not jinx it.”

“I’d never considered it that way.” 

He made a noise of ascent in his throat. 

“You can celebrate it with me, though, right?” she asked, lacing their fingers together.

Quinn wanted to agree, he really did, but the superstitious part of his mind went to war against it. The result was a kind of half-hearted grimace.

Laughter burst from her. “Fine, fine. You don’t have to talk about it. I’ll just be proud for you,” she said, bringing his hand to her mouth so she could kiss his knuckles. 

His stomach did a jerking little jig, and a real smile spread over his face. 

Eventually, their conversation turned to her uncle. 

“Trav is a sound engineer, and he toured with Brooks & Dunn for a long time. He moved to Vancouver because he said it’s the most beautiful city he’s been to.” 

“I would agree with that,” Quinn said. 

“Now he stays at home with their kids. Trevor is a copyright lawyer.”

“Oh, your uncle’s gay,” he said with a spark of understanding. 

“Is that a problem?” Sarah asked, raising her brows. 

“No, of course not. I was just confused. You mentioned Trav and Trev, and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing his name wrong or what.” 

When they pulled off the ferry, Sarah turned onto a small two lane road, running away from town. It didn’t look like anything was out here except forest and pebble beaches. 

Sarah had an incredible inherent sense of direction - the kind he had to rely on his phone GPS for - so he knew they weren’t lost, but he couldn’t see anything that looked remotely like civilization.

When they turned onto a small driveway tucked right into the woods, drove up a hill, and pulled in front of a home that looked more like a cabin than a house, Quinn wasn’t too shocked. 

“What a view,” he said as they got out of the car. 

Despite the drizzly weather, the horizon was still stunning. The gray blue water of the Salish Sea seemed to melt into the rolling, gray clouds, making them indistinguishable except where pine covered islands rose out of the water, vibrantly green against all the neutral colors. The city skyline cut a dark, jagged edge across the water. If the commute wasn’t so long, he would live out here, too.

“I know, right?” she said, picking up a tote bag and taking his hand to lead him up to the front door.

“Hey Trav,” she said, embracing him as soon as the door was opened. “Trav, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is my uncle Travis,” she introduced when they broke apart

Other than the fact that he had her same bright blue eyes, her uncle didn’t look anything like he’d expected. Quinn had braced himself to meet a middle-aged man who was around his dads age. Instead, Travis looked no more than ten years older than Sarah. The oldest looking thing about him was his gray hair, which was casually swept back in that effortless way Quinn’s hair could never quite manage. He wore jeans and a green band t-shirt without socks or shoes. His toenails and fingernails were painted various shades of green. 

 “It's nice to meet you, sir,” Quinn said as they shook hands. If he wasn’t so used to seeing it, he would have missed the way Travis’s eyes widened slightly in recognition.

“Just call me Travis,” he said with a snort, trying to cover his shock. “No one has ever called me, sir in my life. Come on in.”

Trying to catch her eye as they passed, Travis wondered how, when he’d asked if there was anything he should know about this guy she was bringing, Sarah didn’t think the fact that he was Quinn Hughes was something he ought to know. She didn’t notice, and he dropped it before Quinn did.

“Beara!” a little girl yelled as she ran toward them. “Beara! Beara!”  She had curly pigtails, each tied with a green bow that flopped as she ran. 

“Sawyer!” Sarah caught her before they collided, picking her up and swinging her around. “I missed you,” she said, pulling the little girl against her chest. 

Putting her hands on Sarah’s cheeks, she said, “missed you more.” 

When she noticed Quinn, she turned her face away from him and put her thumb in her mouth, suddenly shy.

“Sawyer, this is my friend, Quinn,” she said, turning so they could make eye contact. 

“Hi, Sawyer,” he said. “I like your ribbons.” 

She smiled around her thumb at him. She had those same bright blue eyes, though they were slightly wider than Travis or Sarah’s. 

“What do you say to that?” her father coached gently.

“Thank you.” she didn’t take her thumb out of her mouth when she said it, so it was a little garbled, but he got the idea.

Sarah set her down, and she ran back to the kitchen, squealing when Travis chased her down the hallway. 

“Beara?” Quinn asked, humor in his eyes as she took his hand, following after them.

“My whole life, my nickname has been Sar Bear. When she was younger, Sawyer had a hard time saying her S’s, so she started calling me Beara instead of Sarah, and it just kind of stuck.” 

He snorted, “oh god, the guys are going to have a heyday with that.” 

“With what?” 

“You know how they call me Huggy Bear sometimes?”

She nodded. 

“Huggy Bear and Sar Bear?” He snorted, “I mean, come on.” 

The house, while rustic on the outside, was homey on the inside. Neutral gray walls and a modern, light kitchen. It seemed the whole back half of the house was made of glass, giving a perfect view into the misty forest. It was beautiful, but Quinn wasn’t sure he’d want to be here at night to see what came out of those woods.

Sarah was laughing as she entered the kitchen, hand in hand with Quinn. The shock of Quinn Hughes being in his house, of Quinn Hughes dating his niece, who had always been more of a little sister to him, still had him reeling. 

Even through that startling revelation, Travis wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her so relaxed and happy since her parents died. The protective part of him held himself back from reading too much into it. The last thing Sarah needed in her life was more heartache.

“Quinn, this is my uncle Trevor.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little busy,” he said, gesturing to the meat he was fishing out of a marinade. “I hope you like beef stew.” 

“Sounds great.” 

“And this,” Sarah picked a pudgy little boy up from his high chair, “is Samson.” 

Quinn held a hand out to the little boy, who wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Quinn’s as he smiled and babbled. Samson looked more like Trevor. He had dark curly hair, dark eyes, and smooth olive skin. Quinn wondered if each of them had fathered an embryo for a surrogate. 

“Can I get you a beer?” Travis asked. 

“Sure.” 

“We only have Guinness today.” 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. It’s the Irish way, right?” 

Laughing, he handed the can off to Quinn before turning to Sarah. “Hey, can you help me find the barley?” 

He knew he was being obvious as he pulled her into the pantry, but he hoped this was a little less obvious than pulling her back into the living room would be. At least he had an excuse for her help this way. 

As he shut the door behind them, he heard Quinn ask, “is there anything I can help with?” 

Travis clicked the light on. They were standing nearly chest to chest in the tiny room, baby Samson squished between them. He didn’t seem to mind as he continued to babble, reaching out for the brightly colored packages. 

“You didn’t tell me you were dating Quinn Hughes!” he hissed. 

“You know who he is?”

“Everyone in this entire province knows who Quinn Hughes is, Sarah.” 

“I didn’t when we met.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“Why not?” If she didn’t have a baby in her arms, she would have folded them over her chest. 

“You’re too busy learning stuff to pay attention to things like that. He was all over the news for three weeks when they put him in as Captain this fall. Plus, you only care about football.” 

“I do not. Well, not anymore, at least,” she said, catching Samson’s hand before he could pull a box of pasta off the shelf. “Anyway, why does it matter that he’s Quinn Hughes?” 

“He’s - I mean,” Travis blew a harsh breath out of his nose. “When you said you met at the aquarium, I thought he was some guy who works there, not the captain of the fucking Vancouver Canucks!”

“He's just a guy, Trav. He just happens to play hockey for a living.” 

His mouth opened and closed as he seemed to realize he couldn't argue against that point. “He’s a pro athlete, Sarah.” 

“So?”

“So, they’re gone all the time, and the money fucks with their heads and pretty soon they’re all cheating on their partners.”

One of her eyebrows arched up, “do you only watch reality TV, or do you sometimes deviate to Lifetime?” 

Despite himself, he laughed. “I just mean,” he paused, glancing down at his green fingernails. Sawyer had insisted on painting them and pulled out every shade of green polish in the house, determined to use them all. “I don’t want you to get hurt. He treats you well?” 

“Yes. Very well. I wouldn’t keep dating him or bring him to meet you if he didn’t. He's actually the best guy I've ever dated,” she added. 

Travis's eyebrows shot into his gray hairline. 

“Just spend some time with him. You'll see. He’s really thoughtful and nice.” 

“Okay, but I’m having a talk with him by the end of the night.” 

“No.”

“Listen, I just need to make sure he’s good enough for you.” 

“Don’t you think that’s something I can decide for myself?” 

“I’m just going to have a chat with him, man to man. You’re the one that wanted to know what I think of him,” he said. “It's happening whether you like it or not. I'm just letting you know.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but don’t embarrass me. And none of that asking for permission bullshit. I'm not a possession.”

“Dont insult me,” Travis chided, smiling, loving seeing pieces of his oldest sister in Sarah. He was glad Becky had instilled those same, strong feminist values in her children. “Of course he doesn't need permission. I just care about you.”

“Thanks, Trav,” she said, touched. 

He pulled her into a hug, smooshing Samson between them more. He let out a tiny grunt.

“Here, take your baby,” she said, handing him off and grabbing a box of cookies as an alibi as she left. 

If Quinn thought anything was suspicious, he didn't let on, continuing to chop the lettuce Trevor had set him to preparing. 

“Teddy Graham?” Sarah asked, offering the box as she stood next to him at the long island.

“Sure.”

“Hey Sar, we were thinking about coming into the city for your birthday. I have to be in that day for a few meetings, so Trav was going to bring the kids on the ferry. Do you think that would work? We thought we could take you to dinner.” Trevor said, looking up from braising the beef. 

“Yeah, I would like that,” she said with a big smile.

As he walked back into the kitchen, Travis caught Quinn’s wide-eyed expression. 

“When’s your birthday?” he asked, tipping the lettuce into a bowl.

“On April third.” 

He gulped. It was a gesture Travis immediately recognized as a man grappling for a purchase with new information.

 Quinn pulled out his phone and quietly breathed, “we’re in Arizona that day.”

“I know,” Sarah said with a smile that tried but didn’t totally succeed in covering her disappointment. 

Something about it made Travis’ hackles rise. Quinn wasn't actively hurting her, but his lifestyle was.

Quinn saved her birthday in her contact card and put his phone back in his pocket. “I guess we’ll celebrate when I get back.” 

“That would be nice,” she said with a smile that was genuine this time.

Travis got her a can of Guiness, and she wrinkled her nose. “Can I have whiskey?”

“You hate whiskey.” 

“I’d rather it than this tar,” she said, pushing the can back to him. “At least whiskey can be mixed into something palatable.”

“Here here,” Trevor said, laughing. 

Travis mimed pulling a knife out of his chest. “You’ve insulted our ancestors, Sarah.” 

“Listen, the Irish invented a lot of really great things: boycotts, modern chemistry, the stethoscope, the submarine,” she said, counting them off on her fingers.

Quinn gave her a surprised look. 

“I did a presentation on Irish inventions in high school,” she explained, flipping her hands, “the point is, is that their alcohol is not one of them.” 

Travis laughed, taking the can for himself. “You want a ginger highball then?” 

She beamed, “I think you know the answer to that.”

“What is that?” Quinn asked. 

“It’s whiskey and ginger ale. It’s delicious.” 

 

Before other guests arrived, Travis asked Quinn if he'd like to see the vintage shelby Mustang he was restoring.

Quinn agreed and gulped when Trevor asked if Sarah could help him find Sawyer. This was one of those talks. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed her uncle out to the garage. 

“Listen,” Travis said after they admired the beautiful white car, “Sarah isn't my daughter, but she means a hell of a lot to me, and I want to make sure she’s not going to get hurt. She’s gone through enough heartache already.” 

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Quinn licked his lips before responding, “the last thing I want is to cause her more pain. I know she’s been through too much. I don’t know that I can guarantee she’ll never get hurt, but I can say that I would never hurt her intentionally.” 

“Do you think your job will get in the way?” 

“The travel definitely takes a toll. But I really like Sarah, and I think we have a lot of potential.” Times like these, he was glad for all of his media training. Not that this was anything like a press conference, but they did get him used to thinking fast and answering hard questions.

“She’s not really a model NHL girlfriend.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn demanded, barely keeping a glare off of his features. 

“Just that most of your lot date models that don’t have normal jobs and aren’t in school,” Travis said, fighting to keep a smile off of his face. That defensiveness answered a lot of his questions. 

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed, biting down the urge to correct him. Most of his teammates were married to their high school or college sweethearts. “I like that Sarah has her own stuff and that she’s so independent. Before I met her, I dated a girl like you described, and I was always a little worried about what she was doing while I was on the road. I don't ever get that with Sarah.” 

“What do you do on the road?”

“Mostly, I sleep or hang out with the guys. We don't have as much free time as people think.” 

Travis was still looking at him appraisingly over the hood of the car. Had he not been exposed to Sarah’s blue, blue eyes, he would have found her uncles stare incredibly intimidating. 

“Look, Sir - Travis,” he corrected quickly, “I really -” he stopped himself, not wanting to say that to her uncle first. “I really like Sarah, and we really get along. I know it’s not an ideal thing for me to be on the road during the season, but it seems to be working well so far. I want to be with her, and if she’ll let me, I’d like to be in her life for a long time. I just want to make her happy.” 

Travis nodded. “What’s your favorite thing about her?” It was a question his mother-in-law asked him when he met her. It wasn’t until this moment that he realized what a telling question it was. 

“She treats me like a normal person,” Quinn admitted. Even though he knew it made him sound conceited, it was his favorite thing about her. She’d never treated him like anything else than a normal guy. “And she’s interesting and easy to talk to and really respectful to people around her.” 

“Okay,” Travis said, nodding, glad to see Quinn saw the same things he did. “Okay.” His face split into the natural smile he’d given Sarah when he first opened the door. “I can see why she likes you.” 

Despite his attempt to stay cool and collected, Quinn felt a blush splash onto his cheeks as relief relaxed his shoulders.

“I'm not going to say I'll kill you if you hurt her, but just know she has me and Trevor in her corner.” 

Quinn smiled, “I get it. I would want to hurt anyone who hurt her, too.” 

The dinner party was small - no more than 10 people, and only one of them, their friend’s teenage son, Jace, gawked when he walked in to see Quinn in the kitchen. Quinn took it in stride and talked shop with Jace for a while before dinner was served and he took his seat next to Sarah, who had been watching him with a secret, proud kind of smile on her lips.

Halfway through the night, Travis looked over at them to find Quinn watching her as she talked with someone, with this quiet, infatuated look on his face. A few more of his fears were put to rest.

As he stood at the kitchen sink with his niece, drying the pots and pans she was washing by hand, he leaned closer to her, “I can see what you see in him,” he said, conspiratorially. 

“See,” she said, nudging her shoulder into his as she handed him a knife, “I told you.” 

“How did you manage going to school from here for a year?” Quinn asked as they pulled onto the ferry for the ride home. 

“When I lived with them, they lived in the city. They needed to move into a bigger house when Samson was born. By that time, Trevor was working from home most of the time, and I was okay to live with roommates. So, I moved into the apartment I'm in now, and they moved onto the island.”

He waited until the car was parked before asking, “what do you mean you were okay to live with roommates?” 

She pulled in a heavy breath. It was bound to come out eventually. May as well tell him while they had a solid hour and a half boat ride to talk about it. 

“After my mom died, I really struggled.” 

“Wouldn’t anyone?” Quinn asked. 

Sarah pushed the seat back to give her enough room to turn and face him. Her right knee pressed up against the center console. She needed to be looking at him when she said this.

“I mean… I really,” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I remember I flew back to Hawaii a week after the funeral, thinking it was going to be so nice to get back into my routine, but I had this massive gulf in front of me and a literal ocean between me and my family. My roommates were kind of party animals, and they had no idea how to support me, and I had broken up with Kaleo, my boyfriend, before I left because he didn't want anything to do with her funeral or my grief. It felt like no matter where I was, I was just so…alone.” 

It felt like someone was reaching down Quinn's throat and wringing his heart. 

“I called my sister one day - I think I woke her up, which was really shitty because she had a six month old who was teething.” She laughed a little, but there was too much sadness in it for it to be convincing.

“Anyway, I called her crying because I…I started having these really intense thoughts about killing myself.” 

A steep breath stuck in his lungs. He wasn’t totally sure what he thought she would say, but he hadn’t expected that.

“She flew out to be with me, and I moved home two days later. Just packed everything up and left. I didn’t even tell my boss - I was still on FMLA for the funeral, and she had to call me when I didn't show up to work the next Monday.” 

 “Did you ever…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Attempt?”

He nodded, and Sarah shook her head, “no, but the thought of it was really terrifying. Like, I saw for the first time how someone could get into that headspace where they might take their own life. I just remember ruminating on those thoughts and thinking, ‘I don’t wanna die.’” She pressed the heel of her hand under her eye to catch some of the tears that slipped.

“How did you get out of it?” Perhaps she was just really good at hiding it, but she didn’t seem that depressed in all the time he’d known her. 

“I stayed with my sister for the next nine months. I got on some meds and started seeing a therapist and a psychiatrist, and we talked through what was bringing those thoughts up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d already gone through the grief process with my dad, so I knew how awful it was. I never expected to have to go through another big death while I was still single. I thought by the time my mom died, I would have a consistent partner in my life - maybe even a family - and I just kept thinking, ‘I don’t want to do this again.’” 

Quinn wanted to go back in time and make it better. Somehow make sure they met before she was in the city so he could be there for her when it all happened. 

“Anyway, my psychiatrist told me our brains are basically just big problem solvers. You give it a problem, it wants to fix it. So when I kept telling myself, ‘I don’t want to do this again,’ my brain was just coming up with the swiftest solution for me to not have to do it again. When I changed the way I was thinking about it and started giving myself some more grace, those thoughts lessened a lot.” 

God, she was even stronger than he thought. 

“Even with all that stuff, I still really wanted to go to grad school, and my therapist and my psychiatrist agreed that it was best for me to have a goal to work toward, even if it meant moving away from home. I was really scared that if I moved out totally on my own, those feelings would come up again, and no one would be around for me to talk to about them, and I might hurt myself. But I couldn't study the ocean in Nevada. My brother actually suggested UBC and living with Travis. I called him to see what he thought. I hadn't even applied, but I didn't want to if I didn't have a plan for when I got in. I pitched that I could be a nanny of sorts when I wasn't in school. They told me they’d love to have me stay with them. I applied and by some miracle was accepted on the first try, and the rest is history,” she said, shrugging.

“Do you…” he paused, not totally sure how best to ask this. “Do you still think about it?” 

She shook her head, “not much anymore. Every once in a while, it comes back when a big grief marker comes up, or I get really, really stressed or anxious, but the thoughts are always  really fleeting.”

Even though it meant the console was pressing into his stomach, and she was pitched back slightly, Quinn leaned over to gather her against him. “I can’t believe how strong you are.” 

“It’s not like I had any other choice.” 

“Clearly you did,” he said, reluctantly settling back into his seat. 

“I didn’t,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “There was no way I was going to put my family through another death, and like I said, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to not be in pain anymore, and those are very different things.” 

“I just think you should be proud of yourself, that’s all.” 

“I mean, I am proud that I got out of it, and proud that I know how to ask for what I need now, but being strong in the face of death is just something you have to do. There’s no way out but through.”

“Fine,” he said, repeating her action from earlier and bringing her knuckles to his lips, “I’ll be proud for you.” 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out my Fanfiction Masterlist

[nanomooselet]

Stampede Plant Talk

#if you want to add the rest of your points please do!

Do you realise what you've unleashed.

Not to ruin the magic, but when I write my analyses it's often inspired by visuals. So I figured the best place to start would be with this visual. Like... that's simple, isn't it?

I thought, obviously blue is Knives's colour while Vash's is red. Healthy Plants glow blue, dying ones dim to red. It would seem blue is for Plants and red is for humans. And so clearly Knives is aligned with the Plants, and embracing his Plantness, while Vash is more human and thus aligned with humanity… right?

Yeah, no.

Truthfully if there's a definitive visual motif for the twins, it's not expressed in terms of something that dualistic. But that's a little outside the scope of this post.

A dependent, Vash says needs a human to take care of it, or the Plant just uses its energy up all at once and dies. I'm guessing that means: what they produce, when and in what quantity is in the hands of the technician programming it. Being Independent means a Plant has all that under personal control. They all produce different kinds of energy and matter (which are, in a complicated scientific way, the same thing in different states). They are essentially living generators - machines.

They're still made out of meat, though. For some reason. (They do look like sea creatures, and the higher plane is very oceanic in appearance.)

Having the Plant produce more than its Gate can withstand producing, means it's left only with the energy reserves of its body to sustain it. The Last Run harvests that energy. Resembles very very rapidly developing dehydration - eyes bulging, skin blackening, skin tightening. It's a very ugly way to die. Their bulbs go red, and then go dark, because the fluid they're in is clouded with blood. The same is true of when they're cut off from the higher plane because they're been overworked.

Dr. Conrad said to Knives that these Plants couldn't be healed in the way Knives demanded of him. Because Vash also didn't heal the Plant at Jeneora Rock.

In the pictures above, they're at the "terminal stage"; using them any more would push it into a Last Run. Note the colour. Red as blood.

These are the ones Vash does heal. More pink than red, lighter - brighter.

Vash isn't donating energy to a Plant when he heals it; the ones aboard Ship 3 weren't dying because they were overworked or injured. The SEEDS fleet didn't make use of the Last Run, nor did they have to rely on a dwindling number of Plants to survive. They were in deep space on a journey taking hundreds of years, with all those people whose cryosleep had to be maintained. They weren't in crisis. They were planning for a long journey to build a better world at their destination, not a crash. Plants that glow blue/white are healthy. It was paradise; no one had to struggle to survive.

Luida says the problem with these Plants is that they aren't compatible with the environment they're in, and she is a geo-Plant specialist. I believe her.

Vash's super special healing power? The job only he can do? Vash is not being made to act like a battery, giving up his lifeforce to keep everyone else alive. He's not sacrificing himself. That's what Knives assumed, because that's all he sees humans do. (A whole one time before he started killing people.)

Plants do communicate with sound, but not in a frequency humans seem capable of hearing and I... kind of feel like it's because they use their Gates. Dependent Plants - and Knives - can only produce a sound. Their Gates are one-way.

Vash's Gate is two-way. He can both produce and receive. He can exchange.

He can have a dialogue.

He's hearing the Plants when they cry out for help then just... going to talk with them. Understanding them. Helping them feel more comfortable. Keeping them company. When Luida asked him so kindly to be a counsellor for the Plants, she said what she meant and she meant what she said.

Vash is a Plant therapist. And he's a good one! He travelled everywhere accompanied by his stepdad just… being kind to humans and Plants, looking after them, teaching them how to take care of each other. And he loves doing it. It's the happiest he looks after the Fall. Brad even tells him, in a very Brad kind of way, that he's done a great job; travelling with this brat beats what it was like just after the crash. And then he gives Vash water and Vash tells him he's a nice guy (and Brad gets offended lmao).

The one who assumes the humans were hurting or using him was as per fucking usual Millions Knives! Because that gives him an excuse to take bloody revenge! And everybody fell for his bullshit! Man, I'm beginning to think when Studio Orange directed Austin Tindle to make Knives sound villainous, they made the right decision.

Now, if you want to be sad?

Vash is doing so much good. He loves doing it. He's the only one who can.

But Rem wanted to see Plants and humans understand each other and… she's gone. Vash is fulfilling her dream, but he's doing it alone.

Now compare the colour of his coat to the colour of the Plants. Which matches more closely? The ones who are forced to work beyond their capacity, their bodies gruesomely and horribly used without their consent for the benefit of humans?

Or the ones in emotional distress?

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Postpartum

Amelia Shepherd x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI (NSFW), sex, oral sex, hella eating out, fingering, etc., mentions of anatomy/body parts, some explicit language, post-pregnancy times (please let me know if I've left anything out!) Word Count: 2.0k

Summary: You're six weeks postpartum, and your doctor has cleared you for sex, but you're worried that it might not be the same anymore. Amelia assuages all of your worries. 😉

Request Info: This was requested by an anonymous user, but the request itself accidentally got deleted! The user also requested that the reader be an ortho surgeon and a third twisted sister. Whoever you are, I hope you find this, and I'm so sorry to have lost your original request!

“You’re good to go,” your OBGYN declared, finishing up your 6-weeks postpartum checkup.

You raised your eyebrows at her. “As in, good to go?”

She laughed. “Good to go, as in cleared to resume any and all sexual activity as you feel ready for it.”

You nodded and repeated it to yourself. “Good to go…”

But as you left Grey-Sloan, making a quick stop at the ortho unit to say hello to the nurses and the other attendings, you couldn’t help but wonder if you really were good to go. Sure, you missed sex with Amelia. You missed her body, missed connecting with her in that way, but you were also so self-conscious. You hadn’t had any major tears or anything, but you had shoved a human head out of your vagina less than two months ago. It was bound to be different down there. It felt different. What if sex didn’t feel good anymore? What if it never did? Or, even worse, what if it looked or felt different for Amelia, and she didn’t like sleeping with you anymore?

You decided to text Meredith and Cristina about it, as you so often did about any and everything.

Y/N: You guys I’ve been cleared for sex

M: Yay!

C: Good for you bitch

Y/N: I’m kinda scared tho…

M: Aw, why?

Y/N: Does it hurt after? Or like idk was Derek weirded out?

C: It feels like I could have been left out of this conversation

M: Shut up Cristina we’re being supportive! And no Y/N it didn’t hurt. You just have to take it slow and do what feels good at the time. And stop if it doesn’t feel good.

C: You don’t have a dick to deal with so you should be okay

M: CRISTINA

Y/N: I mean tbh we have several

M: Ew she’s my sister I didn’t need to know that…

C: I need to know more…

You shook your head and smiled. You decided that you might as well try, if Amelia was up for it. And there was no question that Amelia was up for it. She’d powered through like a champ, but before this, the longest you’d gone without having sex was two weeks and that was only because you’d been brought in as a specialist on a case at another hospital.

When you walked into the apartment, everything was quiet–a rarity at your house these days. You crept through the rooms, looking for Amelia and Pippa, and finally found them in the nursery. Amelia held Pippa to her chest, bouncing her softly as she slept, little chubby cheeks pressing out like she was blowing bubbles.

You placed a hand on Amelia’s back and kissed her on the cheek. You nodded toward Pippa, eyebrows scrunched.

“I just can’t bring myself to put her down,” Amelia whispered. “How was your appointment?”

“Good.”

Amelia stared pointedly at you. “Good good?”

You nodded, smirking.

If Pippa had not been tiny and fragile, Amelia would have tossed her into the crib like a football.

She placed the baby gently on her back in the crib, then crashed into you with the force of a tidal wave–or six weeks of no sex.

She pushed you into the hallway wall, shutting Pippa’s door behind her, and pressed into you, her mouth and hands desperate. She ran her tongue up and down your neck and back to your mouth and yanked your shirt over your head. God, you’d missed this. You’d missed her. Even though she’d been right here next to you the whole time. She groaned as she pushed herself into you, and you smiled into her kiss.

At this rate, Amelia would be finished before you even had a chance to make it to the bed.

“No, no!” she whined as you pulled away, her blue eyes pleading desperately with you.

“Come to bed, Amy,” you teased, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bedroom.

You gently removed her clothes and pushed her onto the bed. “You first,” you said.

She grabbed at your face hungrily as you leaned over her, kissing you with all the fervor of someone who’s love has been lost at sea for several years. She gasped and arched her back as your hand grazed over her clit.

You couldn’t help but smile at how needy she was, her hips bucking into your hand as you held it still, cupping her heat.

“Y/N, don’t fucking tease me,” she scolded, her voice stuttering. “It’s been way too long for that.”

“Oh, you don’t like that?” you said, smug. It was not often that Amelia was this powerless in bed. Usually it was the other way around, so you were enjoying this moment.

She grabbed your face, rough, and then soft as she ran her hand through your hair. “Just finish me already so I can get inside you.” She pulled your face closer, her breath hot in your ear as she whispered. “I’ve missed the taste of you.”

You’d never switched gears faster. No more power trips, just getting Amelia off as quickly as possible.

You kissed and licked your way down her body, intoxicated by the way she pushed into you and pulled you closer. By the time you reached her center, she was panting and glistening and you knew it'd only be a matter of minutes before she was absolute putty.

You pressed soft kisses into her inner thighs, then closer and closer until she was nearly bursting with the want of you, so that when you finally, finally, wrapped your mouth around her clit, she nearly lost her mind. You held her hips in place as she moaned, licking your way through her, around her, inside of her until she was shaking in your arms, hips rolling to meet your tongue. And for the final touch, you slipped two of your fingers inside of her, curling down and around, just how you knew she liked it. Her hands were gripping your hair so hard you thought might pull it out. “Y/N!” she gasped, her breath coming out in short, sharp moans as she came on your fingers. You smiled as you buried your face in her, guiding her through her high and back down again.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, her chest still heaving.

“Good?” you asked, already knowing the answer, as you wiped your mouth.

She nodded, still struggling to catch her breath. “Give me a second.”

You lay down next to her, feeling wildly pleased with yourself, especially when Amelia rolled over on top of you and pressed her mouth into yours, moaning as she tasted herself on your lips.

But as she worked her way down your body, anxiety shot through you.

You grabbed her hand. “Amy, wait…”

She looked up at you, concerned.

“You don’t have to,” you said, avoiding her eyes.

“I know I don’t,” she replied, still looking at you curiously. “I want to. I’ve wanted to for months.”

“I think…” you stuttered. “I think I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Amelia’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hey,” she said, laying down next to you and propping herself up on her elbow so she could see your face. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just not ready.”

“That’s fine, but you seemed super ready about two minutes ago.”

You didn’t respond, fiddling with an edge of your comforter.

“Y/N,” she said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head please.”

She took your hand and you played with her fingers for a moment before answering.

“I’m scared you won't like it.”

Amelia looked genuinely shocked. “You’re what now?”

“I got messed up down there,” you mumbled. “What if it’s not like normal for you?”

“Oh, babe,” she said, caressing your face. “You’re not messed up. You could never be messed up. You’re you and I love you. I love all of you.”

You stayed quiet.

“Honey,” she continued, more emphatic now. “Your body made a whole human. A human that is sleeping in the bedroom down the hallway. A beautiful, precious human that I love with all my heart and hope with all my heart stays asleep for a while so that I can get in there. She had her time. It's my fucking turn."

You couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

“Listen,” she ranted, excited that your mood was brightening and trying to make you laugh more. “I’m like the Lewis and Clark of vaginas, okay? The wilderness must be explored. I gotta get in there and get the lay of the land. And it might be new, right?”

You nodded, grinning and blushing.

“But new doesn’t mean bad. Lots of times new means better. So just… let me do my exploring, okay?”

“Okay,” you acquiesced.

Amelia was gentler with this attempt, slow and steady and worshipful as she moved down your body, taking her time especially at the place where your uterus still bulged, where new stretch marks had drawn their way across your abdomen. And when she got to your center, she was gentle there, too, mindful of your anxiety, mindful that it might take your body more time than usual to warm up.

She was loving and slow and obsessive, sighing with pleasure as she placed kisses along the inside of your thighs, on your clit, all over you. Amelia’s careful touch had washed away most of your anxiety, leaving behind your flushed face, the shuddering of your body each time her skin met yours.

And when finally, finally, she had you wet and whimpering, she dove in like a woman starved.

“Amy,” you breathed, lightly holding her head in your hands as you threw your own head back, your hips rising to meet her. You could feel her smile against you.

“You want more?” she asked, and you knew she meant, Do you want fingers or a strap or a toy or anything like that?

You shook your head. “No, just–” Your breath caught in your throat, replaced by a moan as the knot in your lower abdomen tightened.  “Just keep going.”

If there was one thing about Amelia, it was that she could eat you out forever. You’d been afraid that would change, but clearly your fears had been unfounded. She was insatiable.

“Amy–” you exclaimed, arching your back as your body approached the edge. You couldn’t even get the words out, just “Amy” over and over.

She reached up to grasp one of your hands in hers as you fell apart around her, Amelia lapping up every last bit of you.

You breathed heavily, watching as Amelia emerged from between your thighs, grinning like an idiot, her face an absolute mess.

You laughed as she wiped her face. “I take it your expedition went well?”

“God!” she exclaimed, flopping down beside you. “I missed you.”

“We literally have not been apart for weeks.”

“Okay, well, then I missed your vagina.”

You giggled, rolling over a bit to kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” Amelia retorted, pulling you in for another heated kiss.

You were interrupted then by a loud, crinkly wail through the baby monitor.

Amelia groaned, but you could see a smile creeping in. She stood and stretched. “I’ll go get her.”

“Amelia!” you hissed, throwing a pillow at her. “You can't bring her in here! We’re naked, and it smells like sex!”

“She’s six weeks old! She won’t remember!” Amelia nodded at you. “Go take a shower. Relax. Then we can switch. It's almost time to feed her anyway.”

You lay in bed a moment longer, waiting to hear Amelia on the baby monitor.

“Hello!” she cooed, her voice crackling through the speaker as Pippa continued to cry. “Hi, pretty girl! Oh, I know. I know. You want Mama? Let’s go see her. Oh, you love your mama, don’t you? Mommy does, too.”

You smiled, your heart full as you listened.

“We loooooove Mama, don’t we? Yes, we do. We love her so much.”

[to-eat-laugh-love-in-peace]

You know what drives me absolutely insane about Tristamp, something that is specifically emphasized in ep 8, it’s the existence of different accounts about someone or something surviving even in the wake of the most devastating of disasters, this being the Big Fall, as seen with Brad having brought back to Ship 3 the black box, and Rem’s belongings, which include a few photos of her, Vash, and Nai, and A JOURNAL, something I desperately wish that we get to see the contents of in S2, maybe in a flashback by Luida and/or Brad, or maybe in present day by Meryl, like I wonder if she wrote in code or in a different language to make it a little harder to decipher if anyone else got their hands on it, if the accounts in her journal start before she joined the SEEDS Projects and boarded Ship 5, like when her boyfriend Alex was still alive, or if they start after she boarded Ship 5 to chronicle her journey alongside what remains of humanity across the stars in search of a new planet to inhabit, or maybe if they even started when she discovered Tesla and Conrad and the rest of his group of Plant specialists began to tear her body apart in the name of science not long after that, since she was one of, or maybe the only one in Tristamp, the few who protested against the group’s treatment of Tesla only for her to be ignored, so it could have been a way for her to express and process her thoughts, feelings, and experiences throughout the whole ordeal.

(I STILL like to think that this recording pad she used to film Vash and Nai's first birthday somehow survived the Big Fall even if it wasn't shown along with the rest of her belongings that Brad recovered from Ship 5, if only because there's quite a bit of emphasis put into it with the framing of the scene and all, though who knows maybe it was just a way for Studio Orange to make a smooth and believable transition between a flashback and present day but I still have hope.) And then there’s Vash who’s also shown writing on a journal of his own, another thing that I also desperately wish to see the contents of in S2, in his room prior to Luida coming in to give him his red coat. With Luida going off to bring Vash back to Ship 3, leaving Brad to do some much needed self-reflection on the choices he’s made and the actions he’s taken, I wonder if, since he was looking through his things in hopes of finding some sort of clue he left behind about the other Independent, he actually took a look at it, and on the off chance that Vash hadn’t written his accounts in code or in another language, maybe he would have been able to read Vash’s own thoughts, feelings, and experiences throughout his time on Ship 3, the Big Fall, his time with Rem and Nai on Ship 5, maybe even his discovery of Tesla, and everything that had gone down with Rem right after that.

Back on the topic Ship 5’s black box Brad had recovered from the ruins, and repaired 5 years after the Big Fall, I noticed that when he and Luida were listening to the audio recording, HE MUTES THE RECORDING RIGHT AFTER NAI SAYS THAT VASH WAS HIS ACCOMPLICE SINCE HE WAS THE ONE WHO GAVE HIM THE ACCESS CODES. With how people have pointed out how Studio Orange likes to play with unreliable narrators like Vash omitting the fact that he was the one who gave Nai the access code which made Nai’s claim that he was his accomplice in the Big Fall in episode 1 more plausible for example, this has to imply that there was more to be said in that audio recording and if Brad hadn’t muted it to fixate on the fact that Vash lied to them about the other Independent being alive and come to the conclusion that he had been lying to them this entire time, that he was never on the side of humanity to begin with, then things might have gone as badly as they did, maybe Vash wouldn’t have ran away from Ship 3 to find Nai on his own, maybe he wouldn’t have had to lose his arm to keep him and the everyone else in the scene from being swallowed by his gate. @tristampparty

[girlgenius1111]

screaming underwater

barça x teen reader. r is dealing with mistreatment on her national team. the barça girls find out. warnings: descriptions of aforementioned mistreatment by national team.

------

The news came out of nowhere. One minute, Alexia, Pina, Patri, and Mapi were at a restaurant eating lunch, and the next, Pina was staring at her phone in horror, all the color drained out of her face. 

“Clau? What’s up?” Patri asked, catching the look on her best friend’s face. This halted the conversation between the other 2 girls, and Alexia and Mapi both turned to their younger teammate in concern. 

Claudia shook her head, remaining silent as she handed her phone to Patri, standing up and leaving the table. 

“I need some air,” she said shakily. Alexia and Mapi exchanged looks, focusing their attention back on Patri for the moment. Patri had a rather similar reaction to Pina’s, practically shoving the phone into Mapi’s hand, and taking off towards the door her best friend had left through. 

“My god. Mapi, let me see.” Alexia complained, moving over so she could read over Mapi’s shoulder. 

She read the whole article, finishing just after Mapi did. The defender was looking up at her captain, distraught. 

“Fuck.” Alexia said. “Shit. Okay. We’ll go find Clau and Patri, and then we’ll call pequeña.” 

Alexia was always a voice of reason, and Mapi nodded gratefully, rising to her feet, throwing some cash on the table, and heading out of the restaurant. 

There was no longer any question of why her teammates had reacted the way they did. The contents of that article felt eerily similar. And if they were true, they had a lot to be worried about. 

-----

You’d finished your morning training session, pulling out your phone the minute you returned to your hotel room, and saw the article. First, though, you had to scroll through the messages upon messages from your teammates expressing their concern. You didn’t spend too long reading those, knowing it would likely be too much for you right now. 

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been; there were a lot of details omitted, some of the more worrying details. Still, it was more than the people in charge would want leaked to the media, especially when it painted them as the villains. 

In short, the article detailed, via anonymous interviews with some of your teammates, the conditions that your u23 national team was under. Your coach was vile, the training staff always following his lead. There were recovery specialists that many of you guys refused to work with. The personnel themselves were an issue. More than that, though, what they did was the biggest problem. The team hadn’t been performing very well, and as a consequence, you and your teammates were being worked half to death. Running until you dropped, scrimmaging until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore. You were woken early in the morning for extra workouts, and kept up late to go over film. It was constant, exhausting, and completely demoralizing. The way you were spoken too was no better than what your body was being put through. Your coach had apparently decided that the right way to motivate the team was to rip everyone to shreds. He hurled cruel insults at you and your teammates. He didn’t just go after your playing abilities; he went after your fitness, your weight, your personal life, your personality, your appearance, your relationships within the team. There were no boundaries. There was no way to say no, no way to make it stop. 

You were determined to handle it. You didn’t know any different when it came to your national team. Granted, it had never been this bad before, not in all your time with the team. You wanted it handled internally. You saw what your Spanish teammates went through when they tried to make a change, and their suffering wasn’t something you were willing to bring upon yourself and your teammates. You guys were all young, under the age of 23. If your Spanish teammates that were full adults couldn’t do it without winning a world cup, what chance did a bunch of kids have? No one would listen, it would only make it worse. Although, somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were suffering far more than you would be if you refused your call up. You didn’t give up, and you didn't ask for help. You’d never had the ability to do so, always wanting to be independent. International breaks became something you dreaded deeply, and something you attended all the same. It was a stagnant, constant torture, constant weight on your shoulders. Nothing really seemed like it would cause a change. 

Until the article was published. 

You didn’t know who’d spoken to the journalist, but you didn’t fault them. Though you’d never admit it, you were secretly glad that someone had been braver than you. Still, the verbal lashing you and your teammates got later that day was borderline abusive. The following punishment was worse. Your coach led the team to the stadium, into the stands, and instructed you all to begin running the stadium steps, until he felt you’d “learned your lesson.” 

No one spoke up, no one argued. Everyone just set off with a resigned sigh. You all ran for a while. What must have been at least an hour, in the hot sun. Up and down and back up again. Until the world was spinning around you, and even though everyone asked for a water break, one was not given. You all kept going. 

You went until you dropped, literally. Until you missed a step, fell forward, and smashed your head on the seat next to you. The pain in your whole body ceased, briefly, before it erupted again in your head, and then everything went black. 

-----

At least you could leave early without seeming like a coward. No one could argue against the decision the team doctors had come to; you had a large gash on your forehead that needed stitches, a black eye, and a mild concussion. Your coach sneered at you, but dismissed you all the same, leaving you with a warning to remember to keep the team’s best interest in mind. You knew this meant that he expected you to remain silent, as you had been until this point. You planned to. What you didn’t necessarily plan for was your club teammates. You should have considered them, but you didn’t. That was your second mistake. The first was barely responding to anyone’s texts and calls after the article was published. You didn’t even tell anyone you were going home. Deciding the medical announcement from the team would be enough, you boarded your flight to Barcelona, completely ignoring the flood of messages you were receiving. 

You just wanted to go home. Lay in your bed where you were safe, and far from the people that seemed hell bent on making your life a living hell several weeks out of the year. You didn’t want to talk, you didn’t want to see anyone. You ignored the multitude of texts from Pina, Patri, Mapi, Alexia, and Marta, asking you if you needed a ride home from the airport. You Ubered home from the airport instead, barely making it through your door before you tossed your bag aside and collapsed into your bed. 

In order to avoid a break in from your teammates, you pulled your phone out before you fell asleep, opening your text thread with Alexia. 

Nena, I saw the article. Call me.

Are you okay?

Please respond, nena, we’re really worried about you.

Jona called, I heard about your injury. Are you okay?

When are you coming home?

When does your flight land?

Nena, please. Just message something to let me know you got home okay. 

You sighed. You didn’t want to talk. Talking would only make it worse, you were sure. It hadn’t been that bad, not really. It was normal, a little harsh, but the team had been playing so poorly, what did you all expect? Rationalizing it was all you could do, really. 

Hola Capi. I’m okay, I’m home now. Everything is fine, really. Don’t worry. 

Alexia responded barely a minute after you’d hit send. 

Okay, nena. If you need to talk, we’re all around for you, okay? Please, please call me if you need me, for anything. We can talk more tomorrow when you come for your medical eval. It’s at 9am and Mapi and I have media stuff then, but Pina and Patri are going to pick you up. Rest a lot, I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Even though you were comfortably curled up in bed, incredibly sleep deprived, and concussed, you couldn’t fall asleep right away. You were rather busy trying to figure out how to act tomorrow. You felt so… weighed down from everything that had happened. You looked in the mirror barely recognizing yourself, and it had nothing to do with your injuries. You didn’t feel like you. You felt like the empty version of yourself that always returned from national duty, but 10x worse. You didn’t think you could smile if you tried. Convincing your teammates that you were okay was going to take a lot of energy that you simply didn’t have. You couldn’t do it, you were too exhausted, in the very core of your being. You fell into a fitful sleep, setting your alarm for the next morning even though it was only early evening and you hadn’t eaten anything. You weren’t sure how to act, or how to play this. All you knew was that letting anyone see how badly you were hurting was not an option. 

-----

Your car ride to the Barça training grounds was painfully quiet. Pina and Patri had given up all attempts at making conversation; you’d made it clear that you didn’t want to talk. Neither of them were sure what to make of you right now. Your voice was steady, your body language rigid. You had a pair of huge sunglasses on, though, and a hood tugged up over your head. Neither of them could get a good glimpse at your face, to check on your injuries, or to see how you were really feeling. They supposed this was the point. Their worry only grew when you caught Patri’s arm before heading to the medical center. Her and Pina were headed for the locker room, but they both stopped in their tracks, looking back at you. 

You wanted to thank them. Not just for picking you up, but for bringing you coffee and a granola bar, and the comforting way they both squeezed your hand when they saw you. 

“Thanks for driving me. I really appreciate it.” You said softly. You never spoke quietly; you were incapable of doing so, normally. Today, however, both girls had to lean in to hear what you were saying. 

“Of course.” Patri replied. Your eyes fell back to the floor underneath you, and you headed off without another word, leaving two very concerned teammates in your wake. 

Patri stopped Pina just before walking into the locker room, very suddenly pulling the younger girl into a tight hug and not letting go. 

“Patri. Why are you suffocating me?” Claudia asked after a minute. 

The midfielder didn’t let up. “She’s acting like you did. After the last international break. I really don’t like it.” She explained. 

Claudia pulled away, shaking her head. She didn’t like to think about that. “I’m fine, Patri. She’ll be fine too, yeah?” 

“Hope so.” Patri said, giving her best friend a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

-----

Alexia and Mapi knew it was just as bad as they were expecting when they saw the looks on their younger teammates' faces. They’d finished media up as fast as they could, practically running to the gym where Pina and Patri were working out. 

It only took a shake of Patri’s head for both girls to whirl around, and set off for the medical center. 

You finished your eval at around the same time. The team doctors hadn’t asked too many questions. Jona had been there when you arrived, and had asked if there was anything you’d like to talk to him about. You’d shook your head, and he’d sighed, but left the room. The doctors had received the report from your national team’s staff. They knew that you’d fallen, but that was it. Nothing that accounted for the deep exhaustion that was clear across your face, or the way you barely spoke to them. They told you the same things that your national team had, giving you a rough timeline of your return. Finally, they very obviously reminded you of the club psychologist, before telling you that you were free to go. 

You were planning on waiting around somewhere secluded until Pina and Patri were done with their workout, stopping briefly to fill your water up. Your sunglasses were back on, hood pulled back up, depriving you of your peripheral vision, not to mention your rather swollen shut eye. 

When you turned, you jumped slightly, finding Mapi and Alexia standing directly behind you, arms crossed over their chests like a pair of bodyguards. If this was their goal, they had arrived late. The damage to you was already done. You weren’t sure the scars would ever fade.

Alexia stepped closer to you slowly , as if you would startle and run away from her if she moved too fast, pulling your hood down, and reaching for your sunglasses very carefully. 

“Ay dios mio” She murmured, taking your sunglasses off your face and carefully inspecting your wounds. “How did this happen?” 

Her voice was uncharacteristically shaky and full of fear, and her eyes bore into your own, a dangerous glint to them. Mapi didn’t look any different, standing next to her captain and eyeing you very carefully. 

“Fell.” You said simply. Not completely collapsing into their arms and telling them everything was much harder than you anticipated, so you stuck to one word answers for now. 

“You fell? What, off a cliff?” Mapi asked, ignoring the elbow to the ribs she received from the blonde next to her. 

You only shrugged in response, causing both girls to exchange a look. 

“Amiga, did someone do this to you? You can tell us, I promise. We will keep you safe.” Alexia promised, words she’d been rehearsing all morning. 

“No one did anything to me, I just fell.” You reiterated, and it wasn’t technically a lie. You were getting annoyed, uncharacteristically so. You didn’t want to answer these questions, and even though it was completely unfair, you were angry at Alexia. Promising to protect you now did nothing. Nothing at all. It was too late for that. You weren’t sure you’d ever feel safe again. 

“I do not believe you. You are not clumsy, you do not fall.” Mapi cut in, her words wildly more aggressive than her tone. You didn’t respond, back to staring at your feet. “The article that came out,” 

“It’s an exaggeration. Everything is fine. Nothing is wrong, everything is fine, and I just want to go home, okay?” You spit back, showing the most emotion you had all day. 

And though everything you’d said was clearly a lie, it was also clear you weren’t ready to talk. Mapi and Alexia had already decided to back off if you didn’t want to talk right now. It could wait until later, until you were somewhere you felt safe, and somewhere much more private than the hall outside Barcelona’s gym. This wasn’t the place. 

The older girls let you go with Patri and Pina, even though all of their instincts were telling them not to let you out of their sight. You were so jumpy, so obviously terrified, they couldn’t justify making you do something you didn’t want to right now.

Alexia watched you walk away with your teammates, startling slightly when she felt Mapi wrap her arms securely around the blonde. Mapi was holding tight to her best friend, and it was no secret as to why. Alexia hugged her back, just as tight. 

“She’s acting just like all the younger girls did after the Euros. It’s happening again, to her this time, and we can’t do anything to stop it.” Mapi mumbled. 

Alexia wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t. She wanted to promise Mapi that they’d fix it, but she wasn’t sure they had the power to. Watching someone you love suffer is always hard, and this was no different.  It seemed so out of their control, and it was excruciating to watch the effects of whatever happened at that national camp wreak havoc on you, and know they couldn’t stop it. 

------

The ride home was just as quiet as the ride there had been. This time, though, the girls didn’t let you go without speaking. The tension in the car had been different this time, and you knew one of them was planning to say something. You thought it would be Patri; she was one of the captains, she was older, you were closer with her. To your surprise, it was Pina that spoke up. 

Patri had just pulled into your driveway when Pina turned around, looking hesitantly at you. Maybe it was her clear anxiety that made you listen, really listen to what she had to say. 

“I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I can tell you aren’t okay. I just wanted to say that talking about it is way less painful than keeping it all inside. Everyone wants to help you, and I know you might feel embarrassed, or like you can handle it yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. We’re all here for you, whether you want to talk, or you just need some company. Okay?” 

You could tell it had taken a lot for Pina to say all that. She didn’t talk about her experience, ever, unless it was to Mapi or Patri, and even then, she preferred to pretend it hadn’t happened. She was putting that aside for you, though, and you couldn’t ignore the significance of that. 

“Thanks Clau. Really, thank you.” You said, reaching out to squeeze her arm, before stepping out of the car. It was all you could manage right now, but you hoped it got your point across. 

It did. And even though tears welled in Claudia’s eyes on the way home, and she clung to Patri’s hand rather tightly, she was glad she’d spoken up. It was what she’d needed to hear all those months ago, and she hoped that it would make things easier for you. 

-----

You were curled up on the floor near your couch when you made the decision. Tremors were wracking your whole body, and you had been crying for so long that your chest hurt. It seemed that everything had caught up with you, but the breaking point had been the message from your national team coach, reminding you, again, to think of the team, and to stay out of the public eye until your visible injuries healed. There was no please, no thank you. It was just assumed that you’d do it. That really got you; that you’d been pliant for them for so long that they didn’t doubt that you’d go along with whatever they told you to. 

You just felt so alone, and so scared. So incredibly scared. It was this fear that had you reaching for your phone. You couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t keep it all in. You couldn’t tell another lie, and you didn’t want to. You just wanted someone to come and tell you that everything was going to be okay. You wanted someone to protect you, in the way you should have been protected this whole time. 

There were people that you trusted to do this for you, and you’d lost all the strength to deny yourself the comfort and the care you ached for. 

The phone had barely rung once before it was picked up. 

“Nena? Are you okay?” Alexia asked softly. 

“No,” you replied, your voice barely more than a sob. 

“Oh, cariño. What can I do?” 

“Come over, please. I can’t do this alone anymore.” You gasped out, wiping harshly at the tears streaming down your face. 

“I am on my way, pequeña, okay? Just sit tight, Mapi and I will be there in a few minutes.” 

“Okay,” you said miserably. You hung up the phone, curling up against the side of the couch once again, muffling your cries in the cushions next to you. It felt like you might never stop crying. 

-----

The sight that Alexia and Mapi were met with when they walked through your front door wasn’t one they ever wanted to see again. 

You were curled in on yourself on the floor, gasping and clawing at your chest as you cried, looking so panicked, and so terrified, neither of them were very confident that they’d be able to help you. Alexia was at your side in an instant, physically pushing your coffee table out of the way so she could crouch down next to you, and pull you into her arms. 

“Okay, okay. It’s alright. You are safe, nena, I promise you.” She murmured, allowing you to hide your face in her neck. You were still trembling, still sobbing, when Mapi sat down next to the two of you, looking helplessly at her captain. 

You couldn’t speak, even though you kind of wanted to. You were so overwhelmed and so exhausted, the only thing keeping you from really dissolving into an irreversible state of panic being Alexia’s arms around you, and her and Mapi’s voices in your ear. 

They promised, over and over, that you’d be safe, that they’d keep you safe. You supposed the only way they’d be able to do this was if you told them everything. And even though it terrified you to do so, the thought of going back to camp next break like nothing had happened was paralyzing. 

You had to trust Alexia and Mapi. You didn’t think you’d be able to keep going if you didn’t trust them, if you didn’t let them in. You resolved to talk, to be honest, as soon as you were able. As soon as you stopped crying. You weren’t sure when that would be, honestly, because it didn’t seem like you were calming down at all. For now, you gripped Mapi’s hand, focused on the feeling of Alexia’s hand on your back, and willed yourself to be calm. They had you. They’d keep you safe. 

----- 

[grxmreaperx]

MARK HOFFMAN LITERALLY ANYTHING PLS

You literally have no idea how happy I am that my first request is for Hoffman!! I’ve been rewatching the Saw series and I’m SO obsessed with this man

Untested

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: not many, slight angst. Mentions of blood and a couple of the traps. mentions of sex, but nothing explicit (this time

Summary: you and Mark are the only two Jigsaws left standing. John and Amanda were killed in Jeff’s game and Mark has made it clear that Jill is no longer welcome. You and the detective have grown close, working together to set up John’s so-called games and making sure Hoffman’s name stays out of the FBI’s mouths. You always warned him that Jigsaw lets no one go untested. He didn’t believe you until Jill received a box.

Takes place around Saw V/Saw VI. This might end up being a part of a longer piece, I’ve had a story in my head for a while, so if you guys like this I’ll start working on the longer work!!

“When’s your test, Detective?”

“I don’t need one.”

○

“You know John is going to test you at some point, right?”

Hoffman smirks. “And what makes you think that?”

You toss the screwdriver on the table, admiring, as John has coined it, “The Rack.”

“Amanda is right, John doesn’t let anyone go untested. She’s been tested. I’ve been tested. That leaves you, Detective.” You don’t allow yourself to look at him, instead admiring your handiwork in front of you.

He pulls his gloves off, shoving them into his pockets as he watches you. He knows you’re right. He hasn’t taken his life for granted, but neither had you. But here you were, a survivor of the game and one of the few people John trusts with his work.

“I just wish you’d let me help you. I can help you prepare, for whatever your test will be.” You finally look over, staring at him, examining his face for any sort of confirmation, confirmation that he’ll give in and let you do something for him.

He scoffs. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. What, you worried about me or something?”

You cross your arms and stay silent. Normally you’re fine with the teasing, the back and forth, but not when his life could be at stake. Even if neither of you would say it aloud, but you cared for one another. You both had given into the tension months ago, developing a relationship that you both agreed, at the time, was nothing more than sex. But with every broken nose snapped back into place, every cut bandaged, and every casual touch, you both became more and more aware that this wasn’t true.

Your silence stabs at his chest. Softening ever so slightly, he says “Don’t worry, I can handle whatever the old man throws at me. I’ll be okay. I’ve set up enough of these things to know what I’m doing.”

Your sigh fills the room. “Whatever you say, Hoffman.”

○

“I’ll be right there.” He shuts his phone, jaw tense.

“Everything alright?” you ask from your seat in front of the monitors. You had both been watching as William Easton made his way through his game, blood in his wake.

“Yeah. Erikson says they have the Seth Baxter tape. Some specialist is analyzing the thing and they want me there.”

You feel your shoulders tense. After a moment of silence, all you can ask is “You need any backup?”

He smiles. “No, no. You stay here and run the game. Make sure everything goes smoothly. I’ll be alright. Be back as soon as I can.”

“Alright.”

He run a hand over your arm as he makes his way towards the door. You fix your eyes on the screen, steadying your breathing.

“Mark,” you say, as he steps over the threshold.

He looks back at you, eyes still on the screen.

“Be careful.”

You see his reflection on the screen nod, before closing the door behind him.

○

The third shot on the carousel went off when one of your security cameras went black. You sit up in the desk chair, poking at the keyboard, trying to get the feed back. Groaning, you hoist yourself up, grabbing a tool kit and your gun, and heading to the broken camera on the back of the building.

Your phone rings as you tinker with the faulty camera.

Hoffman.

Preparing yourself for the worst, you answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you? I’m back.”

“I’m out back, one of the cameras cut. All good?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll tell you about it when you get back in. But I’m fine. You good?”

A weight is lifted off of you. “Yeah, all good. Be in soon.”

○

He didn’t notice the note on the keyboard until his phone was flipped shut, trying to slow his heart rate. You didn’t put this here, did you? Where would you have gotten it? You knew about it, of course, but why would you put it here? You didn’t even know when he was coming back. You had been there when he had written it.

“Are you sure about this? Amanda is good at what she does, even if she is a bit hot headed. Just like someone else.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. This is our game, not hers. Once she’s out of the picture, it’ll just be you and me.”

His eyes darted around, trying to think of some explanation. He’d have to ask you when you came back in. He thought about going out to “help” you, even if he knew you didn’t need it, just to calm his nerves. He hated the idea of you out there by yourself, focused so intently on what you were doing that you wouldn’t notice someone coming up behind you through the darkness. Even though he would never admit it, he couldn’t wait for you to get back inside. His nerves were fried after the fire, and he needed to see you.

He was so lost in thought that, before he could react, he felt an electric shock pulse through his body.

○

As soon as you got the red light on the camera blinking again, your phone buzzes.

Hoffman.

Impatient, you thought, flipping the phone open.

“Hello, Detective.”

Nothing. Dial tone.

Your eyebrows furrow and you feel your breath hitch. You quickly dial him back, pressing the phone to your ear.

No answer.

Fuck. You leave the toolbox on the concrete, pulling your gun from the holster around your waist, and slowly make your way back inside.

You slink through the hallways back to the command center, listening for anything that tells you where he is, that he’s okay. That he’s alive.

Then you hear glass shatter.

You could’ve sworn you heard a car door slam shut outside, an engine starting, but you don’t care. You quickly make your way to the room, the window in the door shattered and –

The bear trap falling from the bars.

You throw the door open, and you suddenly forget how to breathe. Mark is one the floor, alive and bleeding, the side of his face torn to shreds.

You holster your gun, rushing over to him.

“What the fuck happened? Stay here, I have a kit in my car. Don’t move, and that’s not a suggestion.”

He nods slightly, breathing heavily through his nose.

You rush outside, hands fumbling with your car keys, pulling the door open and searching the glove box for your first aid kit.

When you get back inside, Mark has moved against the wall, head leaning back against the stone. You crouch down beside him, pulling out a clean needle and thread.

“I can do it,” he says through gritted teeth, reaching for the supplies.

You slap his hand away. “Shut up. You’re not doing this.” He sees your tense jaw, your eyes wide, and decides to listen.

Once you’ve stopped the bleeding and have at least half of his cheek sewn back up, your heart has stopped trying to escape from your chest and your hands have gotten steady again.

“Who did this?” you ask him, his face finally whole again.

“Jill Tuck.”

“What? Are you serious?”

The rage in his eyes gives you you’re answer. All you can do is nod. Jill motherfucking Tuck.

You start applying an antiseptic to his face, ignoring his insistence that he’s fine.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence. “Do you want me to say it now or later?”

His eyes meet yours, and he lets out an annoyed laugh. “Later, thank you.”

You can’t help but laugh, relieved and angry and fearful all at once.

I told you so, Hoffman.

“Cmon,” you say, grabbing his hand as he forces himself to stand. “Let’s get you home.”