#i don’t think i have double pointed needles in the size i need for this specific pattern so i bought some just in case magic loop confounds

[fingertipsmp3]

Gotta love seeing a cute knitting pattern that is free for Valentine’s day only, being excited at the prospect of saving money, and then immediately spending almost £30 on materials to make the damn thing 🤦🏻‍♀️

[locallyloathed]

Think Broken Thoughts

AKA my take on an eyepocalypse domain of the Lonely from TMA that doubles as a vent post about schizoid personality disorder

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I’m not sure I even know how I got here. This house, this street, this suburb… none of it is familiar. It should be familiar. I’ve been here long enough. Have I? How long is long enough? Weeks? Months? I don’t remember moving, so it’s had to have been a while. But if I’ve been here that long, surely I’d have decorated more. The walls are barren, a dusty looking shade of blue seeping through unhindered. I don’t remember painting them. I think I hate those walls. I think I hate this place.

I shouldn’t say that. It’s, by all accounts, a lovely place. Not extravagant by any means, but it’s comfortable. The house is nice. The grass is neat. The streets are clean. At least, I think they’re clean. It’s foggy today. It’s foggy most days. After two houses, I see nothing but a wall of cool, misty white. Occasionally a neighbor might wander past my home, drifting through the haze like a specter. I don’t know them. I don’t care to know them. There’s little point in knowing them.

I am on the couch. When did I sit? How long have I been sat staring at those dull, lifeless walls? There is a book on the end table. I recognize the cover. I like that book. It’s one of my favorites. Why am I not reading it? Even a subpar book would be preferable to getting lost in a monochromatic sea of blue paint. And this is a good one. I want to read it. Yes, I think I will read it. That’s better. This will be nice.

I stare at the page. The page stares back. The words are there, same as always, but… they’re not working. That’s ridiculous, words don’t just stop working, and yet here I am looking at my favorite book and it does nothing. Whatever tale of heroism or mystery or romance it might have once contained is gone. I am not looking at it. I am looking at ink meticulously, pointlessly scrawled across paper. It’s legible, but hollow. There’s nothing there anymore. No story. No plot. No emotion. I don’t like it. This book is broken. I look back up at the wall. Looking at it makes me queasy. I need to find a distraction, but it will not come in these pages. Another book, perhaps?

I get up. Pins and needles fill my legs. I must have been sat for a while. Had I missed lunch? Or was it time for dinner? When had I last eaten? I’m not feeling hungry, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Nothing sounds good anyway. All I want is a book. A real book. A functional book. I walk to the bookshelf. The movement is familiar, rehearsed. I do this a lot. The shelf appears messy, many books sitting atop it. They shouldn’t be there. They should be lined up on the shelves. The pile is tedious. These books were thrown here haphazardly. Why didn’t I put them away? There’s a lot of books up there. Let’s not add to it. I carefully slide the meaningless trite I’d been holding into an open slot. It fits well enough.

I peruse the remaining books on the shelf. Familiar titles and authors, familiar covers, familiar stories. I feel myself smile. At last, I can take comfort in something. All the greats here on my bookshelf. Everything I could ever want to read. Some I recognize as old, beloved classics. Others, more recent. I’d already read all of these, but that was good, right? I knew I liked them. There was no doubt. The perfect collection, made just for me. One caught my eye. A thicker tome, bound in black and green. A thriller. I got it at a used bookstore. Where was that store? I hadn’t been in… well, in a while, to be sure. Best not to dwell on it. I pull it out and appreciate the cover.

Where to read it? I shudder at the thought of the living room, that damned huestill stuck behind my eyelids. It’s a good sized house, plenty of other rooms to choose. There’s my room. It’s cold in there, but there’s a blanket. Strains my neck to read in bed for too long, though. Best not to do it there. There’s the kitchen. The chairs are nice enough. But, the windows… there are more windows in there than anywhere else, giving me a clear view of the fog. I don’t want to see the fog. Not in the kitchen. Where else is there? The closet is silly. The bathroom moreso. Which leaves the guest bedroom.

I always forget that room. I don’t go in there. I have no reason to go in there. It’s unused, as far as I can remember. No one’s slept in that bed or dressed in front of that mirror. No one but me has ever lived in this house. No one else eating in my kitchen or reading in the living room or showering in the bathroom. It’s always just me. I don’t think I like that. The peace is nice, but the quiet… I should invite someone to stay. Yes, maybe just for a day or two. Just to say someone’s been here. Who to invite? Friends? Family? They didn’t live close to me. They wouldn’t make the commute, either. Not for me. A neighbor then.

No. No, I hate the neighbors. I can’t stand them. They stare at me from their windows. They judge. They think there’s something wrong with me. They wish I was gone. Have they ever done properly wronged me? No, but that hardly matters. Who gets to tell me who I do and don’t like other than myself? I don’t have to invite them in if I don’t want them. And I don’t want them. I don’t think so. Better off alone.

I’ve returned to the couch. No where else to read. I keep my gaze away from the walls. The thriller is in my hands. It’s heavy. I take comfort in its weight. I crack it open, flipping the pages until I see big letters reading CHAPTER ONE. I look down. The words are there. They’re right there. I know this book by heart. That’s why I grabbed it. It was familiar. I liked it. I know I liked it. I know the words are written correctly. The lines are the same as always. So why aren’t they working? They’re supposed to work. I flip more pages. I feel angry. Betrayed. Why won’t they just work? They’ve never failed me before. Have they? Maybe I’m remembering wrong. Maybe I don’t like this book. Yeah, I don’t like it. The characters are flat. Their lines are forced. The plot is contrived. Who could like this book?

I did. I liked this book.

No, I clearly didn’t because I don’t. I slam it closed and rise to my feet. I throw it atop the heap of books on the shelf as I pass. Whatever. I’ll tidy up later. None of those books are good anyway. I need something new. The bookstore. I’ll go to that bookstore. They’ll have something. Something that works. Where is it again? I’ve walked there before. I think. It couldn’t be far. I’ll figure it out. I just need to get out of this house. I need to get away from those broken words. I need to get away from these walls.

My shoes are in the foyer. They are clean and almost look unused. That’s ridiculous. I only own the one pair. I wear them every time I go out. And I go out often. Don’t I? I did. Did I stop? Doesn’t matter, I’m going out now, that’s what matters. I sit on the cushioned bench and begin to lace them. There is a mirror in front of me. I should check my appearance before heading outside. Lord knows the last time I showered. I probably look a mess. I look up.

I don’t know the person looking back at me.

I don’t like the mirror. I look away. It must be broken, too. Everything in this godforsaken place is broken.

I’m broken.

My house keys are icy cold. So cold they almost seem to burn me as I slip them into my pocket. I open the door. The fog seems lighter. That’s nice. Must be clearing up. Good a day as any for a walk. I step onto the porch. It’s chilly. I’m underdressed. Maybe I should change. No, that’s too much energy. It’s not that bad out here. I’ll survive a quick walk to the bookstore. The door closes behind me. I make my way along the paved path towards the sidewalk in slow, measured steps. I take a deep breath. The air hurts my nose. I let it out. The mist of warm breath drifts away, getting lost in the mist around me. I reach the sidewalk. Left or right? Clearer as it was, I still couldn’t see far. Where was I going again? The bookstore. Yes, where was that?

The neighbors are watching. They aren’t in the streets, but I know they’re looking at me from their windows. I look out of place just standing here. I need to move. I go left. Good a guess as any. My gait is slow and meandering. It really is too cold to walk without a jacket. I’ve already left my house. It’s too exhausting to go back for a coat. I’ll survive. I keep going. Save for the chill, it’s lovely outside. Peaceful. A good change of pace. The sky is gray, the grass is green, the houses are white, and there’s no sign of that dusty blue that has burned itself into my mind. I’m glad I did this. I needed it. I should do it more often.

People are passing now. One at a time, minutes apart, they walk down the sidewalk. A large man shivering in his thin t-shirt. A frail woman whose long skirt is heavy with condensation. A scrawny teenager fruitlessly wiping their glasses clean of the mist. None of them make eye contact. No one stops to talk. They pass in a solemn procession, strangers one and all. No cars pass. The street is empty. It’s always empty. Does no one drive? How do they go to work? School?

How do I?

I don’t like these thoughts. I want a distraction. Distraction… right. That’s what I’m looking for, isn’t it? Books. Bookstore. I don’t think it’s this way. I’ve been walking a while. Haven’t I? My feet aren’t tired, but my lungs feel heavy with the mist. My throat is coated in a layer of frosty water. Breathing comes hard. There’s no sign of a bookstore. Just more houses. On and on and on. The lights are all off. The cold light of a cloudy day shines just bright enough to warrant lamps unnecessary. I can’t see inside the darkened windows. What are these people doing? Are they having fun? Are they happy? Fulfilled? Do their books work? A sense of injustice joins the water pressing in on my chest. They have it so easy. They think they’re better than me. Less broken. They don’t care about me. They don’t care that everything is broken. They laugh at me as I pass. There’s never been a bookstore here. I’m wasting my time.

I’m pathetic.

I don’t deserve to be out in public.

I don’t belong among people.

There’s one place I belong. Yes, my house. I’m coming up on it now. Had I turned around? I must have. Must have taken a few turns out there in the mist. It’s thickening up again. My view is limited. I don’t need to see far. There’s no point going onward. I’m too tired, my lungs too full. I want to rest. I want to read. I have plenty of books already. One must work. I’ll find one. I step along the path to my door. I ignore the judging looks of the neighbors. Who needs them? I don’t. I go inside.

I sit on the bench and take off my shoes. They’re a bit damp, but still clean. I set them aside and move to the shelf. I don’t look at the pile. I don’t want to think about how many times I’ve tried. I grab a book from the shelves at random. I think it’s a horror book. That seems funny somehow. I don’t know why. I don’t laugh. I walk back into the living room. Still blue. Still that lovely, calming, nauseating shade of pale blue. I sit on the couch. I stare at the book in my hand. I don’t have the heart to read it. I don’t want to see the broken words. I don’t want them to break me. I set it aside and lean back. My eyes lose focus as I stare at a random wall. I stare and I stare and I stare.

I don’t know how long I stare.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

I don’t know how long I can go on like this.

[saintshigaraki]

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI 

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt: 

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji​​ said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited 

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’ 

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart. 

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that. 

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face. 

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer. 

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose. 

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction. 

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression. 

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library. 

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking. 

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.” 

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down. 

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him. 

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day. 

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it. 

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side. 

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.” 

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes. 

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.” 

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously. 

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold. 

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally. 

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold. 

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about. 

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front. 

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place. 

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache. 

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye. 

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank. 

He’s so stupidly pretty. 

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life. 

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why. 

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his. 

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours. 

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue. 

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air. 

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him. 

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now. 

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even. 

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss. 

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

[lexa-lives-in-us]

Saving Tips for Hard Times

I found this old document where I collected a series of tips to save money. This is all part of my experience of when I was near homeless, and some work depending on where you live, some don’t. Here we go.

BILLS:

1. The optimum temperature for refrigerator operation is 5°C, and -18°C for freezer operation. As a rule of thumb, for each additional degree of refrigeration output about six percent more electricity is used.

2. Unplug your appliances. Lamps, microwave, tv, computers etc. They don't need to be plugged until you use them, and it saves energy to keep them unplugged. Therefore, money.

3. Do homework for phone companies and internet plans. Call them! Often they are toll free and if you mentioned that you were already with them or thinking of going with them and then found out another company had a better deal, they could offer you deals for lower prices. I had to do it all the time for my phone, until they couldn't really offer anything better.

4. BIKE. Invest in a used bike if you can, especially for the warmer months. It offsets the transit costs and better your health.

5. WALK. That's the same as the bike, honestly.

6. Pay your bills on time, you will avoid late fees which can up to HUNDREDS of dollars wasted over the course of a year. If you can, set up automatic payments so you don’t forget.

FRIDGE:

1. Every time the refrigerator door is opened, cold air escapes and warm ambient air enters. To compensate for the temperature increase in its interior, the refrigerator must then use energy to bring the temperature back down. Always avoid opening the door unnecessarily and for too long.

2. When defrosting frozen food place it in the refrigerator. Not only does this ensure that the food is carefully defrosted, its presence cools down the refrigerator interior, reducing the amount of work that the compressor has to do, and therefore lowering energy consumption.

3. Never put warm food in the refrigerator as this will heat up the interior, as well as other stored foods. Hot food should always be allowed to cool to room temperature before placing it in the refrigerator

MONEY:

1. Keep all the containers like glass bottles, juice bottles, jars, cans etc. Look for your Return-It depot and have trips to return them. They give back coins for laundry, small expenses etc

2. Use that junk mail. Go through it, find coupons for food, for essentials like toilet paper or shampoo.

3. CHECK. THAT. DOLLARSTORE. They often have things like pasta, ketchup, toilet paper, batteries etc for literally 1 dollar.  Pasta is pasta, toilet paper is toilet paper. Seriously. Don't need to spend 5$ on a shampoo bottle when you can have it for 1/5 of the price.

4. Do homework and check with different banks for which one offers a better plan. Some of them are willing to help out. Sit down with their advisors, find the best solution!

5. Use the envelope system! For example, one envelope with a label “food” the other with “entertainment” the other with “bills”. Then set the right amount of cash for each. That’s what you’re allowed to spend each month. If you realize you need more for food, grab it from the entertainment envelope. Adapt and arrange as needed.

6. If you can, set up an automatic saving (example 50$ every paycheck) for both regular saving AND an emergency fund.

7. Use the 24-Hour Rule. Avoid purchasing expensive or unnecessary items on impulse with a self-imposed 24-hour rule. For any non-essential item, wait 24 hours before purchasing. It’s perfect for online shopping where your items can simply be added to your cart to purchase later.

8. Make a grocery list BEFORE going to the grocery store and STICK to it. You’re going to avoid buying things you don’t really need.

9. DO. NOT. SHOP. WHILE. YOU. ARE. HUNGRY. Or you’ll end up buying food that you actually don’t need just because you feel snacky!

10. Only use ATMs from your bank, or you get charged small fees.

11. Set a “No Spend Day” per week, where you consciously DO NOT spend any money for that day.

12. Ditch the paper: Cutting out paper towels and using cloths and napkins that you can simply wash and reuse is a simple way to save.

13. After you wear clothes, hang them outside your wardrobe, on a door or something. You can air them out a bit, then stick them in the closet without washing. You can basically reuse the same clothes two or three times without having to wash them, sometimes they just need a bit of air and they won’t smell AT ALL.

14. If you don’t own or want to spend money on an iron, hang whatever blouse you need to iron in the bathroom while you shower. The steam will humidify the fabric and straighten it up.

15. Hang stuff to dry. Really don’t need to spend money on the dryer.

16. Sign up to the library. They have so many books and DVDs nowadays. You can also just go, sit at the library and stay warm for a while, so that you don’t have to sit at home and either suffer the cold or use money on your own heat.

17. Budget, budget, budget. Get a lil notebook, write down the monthly expenses, cut what you don’t need. It gets easier with time.

 FOOD:

1.       Make a meal plan. Write 10-14 days worth of dishes that you can do (lunch, dinner, everything you need). You can then toss them around as you go on with your week, but that way you have a pretty clear idea of what you use and the food you go through for how long. It also reduces the risks of getting take out since you already have plans for what to eat.

2.       Cook double! Seriously. Make that dinner and double it up. Leftovers can be frozen or put in the fridge for the day after.

3.       Meal prep. Once a week, prep a bunch of different recipes. Let them cool down, stick them in the freezer. At that point you’ll already have all these meals at the ready to just thaw/microwave or oven up.

4.       You don’t need pop. You don’t need alcohol. You most likely don’t need milk, but go for it if you wanna. Just remember dairy products go bad WAY more quickly than non dairies, so consider getting food and drinks with no dairy in them. Mainly, though. Water. Just drink water. Lots of it too! Sometimes our brain can’t tell the difference between hunger and thirst. You think you’re snacky? Drink some water instead! It’ll quell your hunger.

5.       Freeze fruit! If you think you’re not gonna be able to eat fruit in time, put it in a Tupperware or a ziplock and slap it in the freezer. You’ll be able to then use it for smoothies.

6.       Use the Italian saying “Colazione da re, pranzo da nobili, cena da poveri.” Which quite literally means “Breakfast as a king, lunch as a noble, dinner as a poor.” Breakfast should be very filling, carbs, protein, vitamins. It carries you for the whole day. Lunch should be quite filling too! But supper doesn’t really need a lot of it, and if you REALLY have to skip a meal, skip supper. Your body doesn’t need that much sustenance while sleeping.

7.       This is for the desperate times but I’ve done it, and I would do it again if I ever had to. Go to markets that have like… Fruits and veggies. Talk to them. Ask them “HEY, can I have the fruit/veggie that you have to throw away?” Ask them if you can have the ugly produce, the one that doesn’t look pretty enough to be put out. Or ask them to have whatever extra they have to dump because is past the expiry date. EXPIRY DATE IS USUALLY MUCH LONGER THAN WHAT THE LABEL SAYS. I wouldn’t risk it with dairy stuff or with things that are VERY expired, but one or two days? Totally fine, I promise. And if you have to? Dumpster Dive. Especially at markets with fruit and veggies that have to be sold on the same day (because it’s not considered “fresh” past that day.) Or behind pizza places like Dominos or Panago or whatever chain. They get pizza orders wrong all the time. Just give a peak behind these buildings and look inside their boxes. You have no idea how many times I found perfectly fine pizzas. For free! IF YOU DUMPSTER DIVE, MAKE SURE YOU HAVE GLOVES, A MASK AND PLASTIC BAGS TO PUT YOUR STUFF IN. ONCE AT HOME, DISCARD GLOVES AND WASH PRODUCE THROUGHLY. Also check tumblr for your divers community, they usually know the best spots.

 CLOTHES:

1.       Thrift shop! So many GOOD used clothes are out there! Honestly! My whole wardrobe is thrifted and everything looks brand new. It takes a bit of research and maybe that shirt you liked is not in your size, but you can find EVERYTHING, from socks to bras, at a thrift store. Don’t thrift underwear though. You want to go new with those.

2.       Invest in some needle and thread, then open youtube. There are SO MANY tutorials that teach you how to mend holes in socks and underwear. And really, no one will really notice if a mend is perfectly done or not. After a week, you’ll forget it too! But that prevents you from throwing away clothes that could just be mended a little.

3.       Something doesn’t fit you? Too small, too big? YouTube, homie. They have tutorials on how to fix these kinda things! All you need, again, is needle and thread.

4.       Organize clothes swaps with friends and/or neighbors. Everyone brings clothes they don’t need, put them in a pile. Go through the pile and grab whatever there is. There’s no money exchange, one could go home with 1 item and one could go home with 50 items. Who cares? The extra stuff… DONATE IT TO A SHELTER.

Feel free to add more, and stay safe!

[kaylaxwrites]

Bar Fight

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader Words: 2.1k Request: “Idk if you are up for it but if you are, a request: Frank Castle x reader where he has to stitch her up after she gets into a fight with a guy at the bar who was hitting on her and touched her inappropriately, Frank being both mad at her for putting herself in danger and fighting a bigger guy and also being impressed at how baddass she is because he didnt expect her to get into a fight” (anon) A/N: god I wish I could write smut bc this got real close folks. and this accidentally skipped the two requests above this, but I’m finishing up Punisher season 2, so I have a little bit more inspo for Frank

Warnings: reader gets groped nonconsensually by a stranger, reader gets called a bitch (but I don’t think I used anything worse), lots of cursing, but I mean, it’s a punisher fic

You sipped at your drink as you sat at the bar, fiddling idly with the straw your drink was served with, waiting for Frank to show up. It was your weekly date—between your job and Frank’s…whatever he did, it was hard to find the time to spend with one another. But Frank was running late. And you were getting annoyed.

As you debated sending Frank a text, a man slid against the bar next to you, despite the numerous empty seats on either side of you. You rolled your eyes. You didn’t feel like dealing with whatever bullshit this was about to bring. You tried your best to ignore him, but looks like he was going to make that impossible.

“Hey there,” he said, ducking his head down to try and get in your line of sight.

“Hi,” you deadpanned. You glanced around the room, hoping Frank had arrived without you noticing.

“What’s your name, gorgeous? I’m Aaron.”

You finished the last of your drink in one quick gulp. “Does it matter?”

“Just making conversation, baby, what’s the big deal?”

You swiveled in your chair to face him. “The deal is I’m clearly not interested. Now fuck off and go bother someone else.”

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he said as he slid his hand down your back to grope at your ass and hip. You ducked your head down and grimaced. Looks like it was gonna take more than a verbal no to get rid of this guy. Fuck. You rolled your head back up to look at the man, a fake smile plastered on your face. From his answering smirk, he fell for it.

You slid down from your seat and swung your jacket over your shoulders, tossing a handful of dollar bills on the counter to cover your tab. “Let’s take this outside, handsome,” you said, brushing past him and heading for the door. The instant your face was out of his sight, your smiled dropped and you rolled your eyes as he trailed after you. You could practically feel his gaze on the swing of your hips as you walked.

Pushing the door open, you breathed in the crisp fall air as you stepped outside, thankful for the easy breeze that cooled your skin and settled your mind. You were already wound up from the workday you just had and this definitely wasn’t how you wanted to finish out your evening. You just wanted to be with Frank and not have to worry about anything other than you and him.

As you walked around the corner of the building to the alleyway, you briefly went over the self-defense moves Frank had taught you in the past year or so you’d known him. With the practice from all the drills he made you run, you were confident you could take this guy—at least enough to shake some decency into his head and to send him running with his tail tucked between his legs.

You allowed the man to cage you in against the wall, a hand on either side of your head. You fought down your gag reflex as his smoke-coated breath fanned over your face. “You gave in pretty quick,” he said. “The chase is half the fun.” He leaned in closer to you, widening his stance. You grinned to yourself at the opportunity the movement presented.

“Harass all your girls like that?” you asked. A confused raise of an eyebrow was all he had time for before you were moving.

In one quick exhale, you brought your knee up into the man’s groin. As he doubled over, you slammed your elbow into the side of his head. You took a few steps away to give yourself distance and prepare for you next move, but he recovered faster than you thought he would. Within a few seconds, he was on you, wrapping you in a bear hug from behind. This was the most recent move you learned from Frank, but you had no time to hesitate. You dropped your center of gravity and rolled forward, flipping the taller man over your shoulder. You scrambled to your feet, but a sharp pain at your calf nearly brought you to your knees. You glanced down and the deep red on your pant leg nearly made you nauseous.

The fucker had a knife and he sliced your leg open. And these were your favorite pair of pants!

Before you could let your anger and adrenaline consume you and make you attempt to beat the man within an inch of his life (keyword: attempt), he let out a squeal. You glanced over. A boot was pressed none-too-gently into his wrist—you could almost hear the bone snap. You followed the leg up until you met Frank’s eyes.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Frank slid his attention back to the man at his feet. Aaron was frantically trying to pry Frank’s boot off of his arm, but Frank was immovable. “The hell is going on here?” he asked, looking to you for answers.

Before you could answer, Aaron started stammering out an answer. “She—she started it, man! I was just—I was just defending myself!”

“That right?” Frank’s eyes turned to yours once more.

“More or less,” you shrugged, more focused on the gash on your leg. Maybe you had started the altercation, but… “Asshole groped me at the bar. Thought I knew enough to teach him some manners.”

“Yeah? We’ll talk about that later,” he said, pointing to you before returning his attention to the man at his feet. “You out here assaulting women?”

“It’s not like that, man! C’mon, get off me!” Aaron cried, struggling to pull his arm free.

Frank knelt to get closer to the man’s face, never easing the pressure on his wrist. “Calling my girl a liar, then?”

“Goddamn bitch led me on!” Aaron shouted.

“I was minding my own goddamn business!” you shouted back, plopping yourself onto the ground and pressing your hand against your still-bleeding wound.

“See?” Frank said, leaning even closer to the man pinned on the ground. “I think I believe her over you.” He pressed harder into the man’s arm, pressing until you could hear it snap from several feet away. You almost winced in sympathy.

“I didn’t know she was yours!” Aaron screamed as his forearm snapped clean in two.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.”

The next few moments were a blur. You kept your eyes on your leg, trying to ignore the constant sound of Frank’s fist pounding into flesh. Sure, maybe you started the fight, but you hated watching Frank finish them. After several minutes, you called out his name.

“Frank,” you said, softly at first. Then louder. “Frank. Frank!” On the third call of his name, he paused. He didn’t look at you, but you knew he was listening. “Piece of shit’s not worth it.” He moved to swing another punch, but you called out again, “He’s not worth it. Frank, please. I just want to go home.”

With a huff, Frank rose from his knees. He gave one last kick to Aaron’s ribs before turning to you. You took his outstretched hands and he pulled you to your feet. You wobbled for a moment, but Frank was there to steady you. He pulled your arm over his shoulder and grabbed you around the waist. Half carrying you, he helped you limp home.

The stairs to your apartment turned out to be one hurdle you couldn’t clear. After gasping and whimpering your way up a handful of stairs, Frank had had enough and pulled you into his arms, carrying you up the remaining flights.

Once in your apartment, Frank sat you gently on the bathroom counter before ducking down to grab the first aid kit from the cabinet underneath you. He sat on the closed toilet seat and pulled your injured leg across his lap. You winced as he pulled your pant leg up and over your wound. He poured medical-grade alcohol onto a gauze pad and began cleaning the skin around the gash. “What, no scotch to pour over my open wound dramatically?” you tried to joke. You’d seen Frank stitch himself up dozens of times now and not once did he ever use the actual alcohol meant for cleaning wounds.

Frank just glanced up at you before returning to the task at hand. “It’s gonna need stitches,” he said.

“Shit, really?” You leaned down to take a closer look. Surely it couldn’t be that bad, right? But the sight nearly turned your stomach and you leaned back, closing your eyes. “Yeah, okay.” You tried to psych yourself up. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Frank did it all the time without flinching, you could handle it, right?

Frank gave no warning before sliding the needle through your skin. “Fucking shit,” you cried out, clutching the edge of the sink so hard you thought it might break. The other seven stitches were a similar stream of curses. At one point, Frank had to hook his elbow around your ankle to keep you from kicking out. He scolded you for squirming, but you didn’t really register the words.

You breathed heavily when it was over, panting against the wall. Frank carefully wrapped gauze around your calf and tapped your knee when he was finished. He slid you to the edge of the counter to make enough room for him to wash his hands in the sink. “How…do you do that?” you asked him.

“Years of practice,” he deadpanned.

He packed up the first aid kit wordlessly, not once looking at you. When he was finished, he just stared blankly into the sink, thoughts churning in his head. His anger radiated off him in waves. You were the first to break under the oppressive silence. “Frank?” you asked hesitantly.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he exploded after a heavy inhale. “Huh, Y/N? What made you think you could go up against a man twice your size?”

“I was thinking I had a great teacher—”

“For self-defense! Not to go after the first guy you see!”

“He fucking groped me, Frank! What, I’m supposed to let that slide by? Ignore him until he finds some other girl to harass, to assault?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

You let out a dry laugh. “Then what are you saying, huh?”

“You call me. You call me and I handle it.”

“I don’t need some knight in shining armor to come and rescue me!” you shouted, leaning into his personal space.

Just as quick, he was right back in your face, pushing himself between your thighs to be that much closer. “And I don’t need you throwing yourself into harm’s way!”

You stared into each other’s eyes, chests heaving. Like a coil snapping back into place, his lips were on yours. Your head ricocheted off the mirror behind you, but you barely felt it. Your arms were looping around his neck, ankles hooking over his hips, pulling him closer, closer. But it wasn’t close enough.

His hands roamed over every inch of skin he could touch. Starting by rubbing his thumbs softly over your cheekbones, sliding down your neck, palms brushing over your collarbones. Easing over your shoulders and down your arms next, gripping protectively at your waist, massaging at your hips. Grazing over your thighs, down your calf—one misplaced press against your newly stitched wound had you gasping and pulling away.

Frank instinctually moved to step away from you, but you grasped at the collar of his shirt to keep him in place. You leaned your forehead against his, using the time to catch your breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Frank started quietly.

“I’m fine,” you whispered in response. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Frank settled back between your thighs, leaning his weight against the bathroom counter you were still sat upon. He took a minute to let his eyes roam over your face before you spoke. “You’re pretty great, you know that?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Watching you toss that man over your shoulder like he was nothin’… Sexiest goddamn thing I’ve seen.”

You laughed, throwing your head back. “Well, I did learn from the sexiest man alive. Think if I petitioned to get you on the cover of People’s Magazine it would blow your cover?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Just a bit?”

“Let’s get you to bed,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“So you can ravage me, Mr. Castle?”

Frank pulled you to the edge of the bathroom counter and wrapped an arm under your thighs, lifting you and carrying you to your bedroom. “We’ll see about that.”

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Five of Pentacles

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | one

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Still reeling from the attack on Jortho, you begin your journey to scower the systems for galactic aid. The Mandalorian takes you aboard his ship temporarily, agreeing to shuttle you to your next destination. You both figure your tenure on the Razor Crest will be short lived... But you've been wrong before.

Word count: 3.8k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood/gore, minor character death (mentioning), mature themes/language, vomiting

Notes: Hi friends. Here we go. Chapter 2... The last paragraph is marked with ///|||///, denoting a change to Mando's POV— his pov will be cropping up now and again, and I have a tendency to play with the timeline/tenses when it does. Enjoy x

You have to think about it. Genuinely.

It takes longer than you’d like to admit, with the Mandalorian looking down at you expectantly, a gloved hand slotted against his belt—postured and waiting.

‘Do you have a way off this skug hole?’

You open your mouth, but no words come out. It snaps closed. You swallow, but the action provides no relief. Your tongue feels too big for the small space it’s trapped in; too swollen, too dust logged— like you could choke on it, if you really tried. Finally, a single syllable frees itself, the weight of it plummeting through your ribs, ricocheting off the bones until it lands in your stomach with a dull, sinking splash.

“No.”

He doesn’t move.

“Do you need to get anything?”

You shake your head, small at first, phantom movements, before stringing together a sentence. “N-No. It’s all gone. Everything I had- it all went up on the shuttle-“

Oh gods, the shuttles.

Your heart seizes, a cold hand like a vice, gripping the bloody organ. You feel green; sickly chartreuse slithering it’s way up your esophagus, poisoning your soft palate. There were pilots on board when the ships blew. Two on each one. That’s four— four people. You knew their names. Knew their home planets. Knew about their families. One had a kid. Fuck. That’s four dead, and you didn’t even think of them— Maker, how could you not have thought about them?— No, fuck, fuck fuck-

It didn’t before but it’s hitting you now, stabbing you right between the eyes, the image of their bodies disintegrating in the blast wave, charring up like coal and carbon. You breathed them in, you realize. Their corpses coat your lungs.

The thought is all it takes.

Your feet move on instinct, scrambling to the side of his gunship where you vomit, bracing yourself against the riveted siding as you hack and sputter, wretching bile and what little broth you’d had for supper to splatter onto the cracked earth. Mercifully you’re hidden enough around the corner that you don’t think the bounty hunter sees, and if he does, he has the curtesy not to say anything.

What a gentleman, you think dryly, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.

You pant, body beyond spent, chest heaving as you press your scratched palm into the durasteel, the cool metal soothing it’s sting. Moments stretch like this— you doubled over, catching your breath— before you stumble back into view, graceless and encumbered, as if you didn’t just casually throw up down the front of yourself. You stand below him at the bottom of the ramp. He’s still there, a fixed point. Steel boots welded into the steel ramp.

“Uhm, are you-“

You cough, and it’s an ugly, hoarse sound; your throat burns, roughened and raw around the edges, and your nerves are too strung out for polite colloquialisms. You don’t have the energy to play coy and tip toe around the question. You’re fucking tired.

You try again.

“Are you offering me a ride?”

And now it’s his turn to hesitate, almost like he didn’t fully think the proposition through— as if it’s all just dawning on him now.

The Mandalorian didn’t strike you as someone who familiarized himself with answering to anyone— or picking up hitchhikers, for that matter— even if the offer was his to begin with... That was what he was doing, wasn’t it? Those words in that order? He meant to give you transport off planet? He wasn’t just… making conversation? Did Mandalorians even do that? Maker, if you’ve read this whole situation wrong, no small thanks to a laser-brain full of mush, you reckon you’d die from embarrassment on the spot where you stood, splotched with soot and puke and blood.

You think he’s going to tell you to shove off— you see his hand balling into a fist at his side— and close the ramp right then and there. Be rid of you. Sluffed, like a flea from a dog.

But he doesn’t. He surprises you both.

“Yes.”

Oh. Oh. Kriff, okay. Think think think-

Your mind reels and you’re rambling now, words ending and beginning in the same breath— steamrolling over yourself.

“Okay, I-I need to go back in to town, just for a—I cant let them think I’m just leaving them like this... Is that okay? I’m sorry, I won’t take long, I promise, I just— they need to know I’m getting help. Is that- uhm, can you wait? Can you wait for me?”

There’s another unreadable pause that makes you want to bury your head in the cold, fallow soil.

The man is looking at you like you’ve grown another kriffing leg, but eventually he grumbles out a noise that sounds like an affirmative, turning on his heel, and disappears into the belly of the ship— leaving you there alone.

Alone.

Pin pricks needle at the nape of your neck and the hair down your arm stands on end.

Alone.

You’re alone for the first time since the attack and suddenly you feel half your size and shrinking smaller still, like atoms collapsing and folding in on themselves until they dematerialize completely—and you along with them. You tell yourself to breath. To fight the bubbles of panic as they burst and pop, dimpling you from the inside out. Breath. Focus, he said. Focus.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

The Mandalorian never reemerges.

Well… you guess that was your cue.

///

Staggering back into Jortho is like sleepwalking through a nightmare.

The smoke from the bombing has completely engulfed the lower atmosphere, doming the town in a thick canopy; the sky is blackened, starless, and the moons hover noncommittally like mere suggestions in the dark canvas.

Half the town had been decimated to rubble, and the other half was covered in the shockwave of it’s explosion— caked in grime, windows knocked out, doors splintered open. You almost expected the pieces to have reversed themselves back up, like you’ve seen in holovid special effects—homes rebuilding, fires dousing themselves, air purifying itself from the smog… but they don’t. They remain in shambles.

Time has granted you the unforgiving gift of clarity, and it’s one you’d rather not have been given. You don’t want to see the aftermath without the saccharine filter of shock to cushion you. The town is just as you left it, but somehow worse— worse because you can hear the crying, now. The wailing. You didn’t before with the blood pumping in your ears, deafening you, but you do now. The woeful noises that reverberate over the crackling embers still smoldering, the muffled sobs being choked down behind fractured walls.

Tripping over stray debris, you find Hareem close to where you’d left her, her fuse short hair grey with ash. The blood you smeared from her cheek still clouds her skin there, staining it as it does your fingers that wiped it. She wobbles to her feet and meets you in the middle of the road.

Neither of you speak, not at first. You hold onto her shoulders, and like a pillar of salt, you quake.

You try explaining to her that the communication’s system on your transport freighter had been blown up alongside the town, that you’ve accepted a ride from the bounty hunter and that you’re getting off world to contact the RRM headquarters, that you’d stay if you could but you can’t and you need to call for assistance, for help. You try to tell her that you’d do anything— travel through dimensions, if you could, to undo all of this chaos— if the laws of time allowed it.

You want to go back and pretend today never happened. To unlearn the tremor in your hands as they grip her frame. To unlearn all of this. To unknow. But,

you can’t.

All you can do is move forward. Do the next right thing. Take the next right step.

You’ve explained yourself in circles but it still doesn’t feel like enough. The words feel shallow, like slapping some bacta on a severed limb, and guilt rips through you— your voice torn with it.

“But how can I leave now?” you ask helplessly, eyes skittering around you. “After all- all of this?”

Hareem finds your hands, her spindled fingers encasing your own. A crease engraves her forehead, little lines clustering around her eyes. “You’ve done enough, hm? You go now. Go with that Mandalorian. You can’t shoulder this alone.”

“Har-“

She doesn’t let you say it. The older woman soothes a thumb into the web between your knuckles.

“Make contact. Comm for aid. It will come, but it won’t if you stay here.”

Your shoulders release with a defeated sigh. You know the Balosar’s right— you’re the one who’s told her as much. That’s RRM protocol. In case of emergency, you were to comm in and reconvene with the closest branch to your system to send additional supplies and volunteers to the camp. You know this better than anyone here, and yet this woman, this refugee, was the one aping your mission back to you.

She’s firm. Kind. “You’re just one person.”

Briefly, you wonder if she’s a parent. You think her child would be lucky to have her as their mother-- all of her somber strength. You think you would have been lucky, too.

Maybe things would be different—maybe you’d be different.

You gather yourself, piece by piece, and give her knobby hand a squeeze. You bore into her, determined and unwavering. You need her to understand. “I’m not abandoning you—any of you. I need you to know that, okay? I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

She smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I know, my friend,” Hareem says plainly, a sad sort of resolve quieting her tone. She has no fight left, nothing left to give— as empty as her pockets, lint lined and turned out. Barren. “I know.”

///

You weave your way back to the ship, feet padding across the arid landscape. You don’t blink, not even once, eyes crusted open and gaping. You barely remember the trek but somehow you’ve managed it, treading up the ramp, the thuds sounding hollow and foreign to your ear.

“I’m not a taxi service.”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

“Maker almighty,” you gasp, hand coming up to clutch your canary heart, beating fast and frantic. He’s just standing there, waiting, the dimmed lights of the hull glinting off his beskar. It’d only been a few hours, but you had already somehow forgotten how kriffing imposing he was, how ominous. A vacuum in space.

“O-Okay,” you stutter, a twitch in your brow.

“I’ll get you as far as you need to go, but on my terms. I’m not making a special trip— can’t promise you when.”

You nod. You’re not sure what to say. Lamed, all you can do is repeat yourself.

“… Okay.”

“What sector?”

“Bajic,” you start, fiddling with a loose thread poking from your sleeve. “We- uhm, the RRM, we have a branch there, but then—” your throat bobs as you swallow your words, and he gives you an exacting look, tilting his helm subtly. There was no getting around it.

You’re pinned.

“Coruscant. I’ll need to get to Coruscant,” you finish quietly.

Did you just hear him ‘tsk’ under that metal bucket?

“It’ll take a while to get to the Core. Longer than you’d like.”

And here you go, babbling again before you can stop yourself, throwing up defenses, excuses— back pedaling. You’re earnest, and it’s dripping from you. “Listen, if this is too much, I get it. You don’t owe me anything. Really— you don’t have to take me anywhere you don’t want. I-I, honestly, I’m just grateful you even considered it.”

Silence. An endless sea of silence.

No current, no breeze. It feels like you’re stranded in dead water, drowning in it. Again, you hang there on bated breath, just waiting for the man to chuck you from his ship. Not worth the effort. Not worth the fuel.

And again, he surprises you.

He tips his chin, gesturing to the side. “Fresher’s that way. We’ll be up in five.”

You exhale, visibly relieved, and mumble a thank you before shuffling off in the direction he motioned towards. You get one foot through the door before you hear him.

“Dala,”

Your attention snaps to the Mandalorian. There’s that word again—you think he’s called you that before—but there’s something different in his voice now, a lilt you’d not yet heard from him. What is that? Nerves?

“There is… one more thing.”

You cock your head just as a gargled coo comes from somewhere behind him.

///

You look like bantha shit.

Which, considering the events of your evening, should probably go without saying— and yet, the woman staring back at you in the small refresher mirror still manages to startle you.

You’re covered in dirt and cinders and contusions you hadn’t had the luxury to notice before. With the adrenaline retreated from your veins, you finally feel the full scope of your injuries and Maker do they hurt. Your tunic is torn at the collar and the fabric is discolored, pants and boots scuffed and ashen. Your bottom lip is swollen, a split running down the side of it, the seam of which is cracked with dry blood. Your palms are scratched— knuckles, too. There are narrow licks from shrapnel bites nicking your forearm. Twisting your body, you discover a dark bruise already blooming on your shoulder from the initial impact of the blast. You’re stiff and achy all over, and you can practically hear your bones creak and groan with each strained movement.

You turn on the faucet and begin to bend forward before you wince, a sharp pain gripping your skull. Ginger fingers come up to touch the back of your head, patting around tentatively until you find a raised bump and something viscous wetting the strands of your hair. You pull your hand back, inspecting it— more blood, glistening black under the low light.

Your eyes flit back up to your reflection.

You should be scared at this point, you guess. Worried, at the very least, by all of this—by the gore of it, the cuts and marks. But it’s your eyes that frighten you most— they’re hard. Devoid. You don’t recognize them. You’re a stranger.

You blink. She blinks back.

Rust red water eddies in the basin of the sink as you scrub yourself clean. You let out a hiss as the cold stream hits your skin. You count your breaths.

///

Being anywhere on board his ship without the Mandalorian feels wrong. Unnatural. Like you’re a tourist, out of place.

Unsure of where else to go, you find yourself in the cockpit with the bounty hunter, sitting in the seat beside him. Glancing over the knobs and dials and pulsing displays, your focus drifts in and out, posture slumping, lids growing heavy, darkening around the edges of your vision, blurring—

“Try to stay awake.”

With a sharp inhale, your eyes snap open, blinking wildly, and you scoot your hips up higher into the seat. You shoot the back of his helmet an inquisitive look you’re not sure he sees, but he responds to it all the same.

“Could have a concussion.”

“Didn’t know you were a doctor,” you reply, tone low and rolling. Maker above, apparently the final stage of shock was sarcasm. The fact that you thought it wise to damn near sass a Mandalorian on his own ship after he saved your kriffing life...

Stars, maybe it really was a concussion. Brain damage. Had to be.

He doesn’t acknowledge the quip, which you can’t readily blame him for. A quiet beat, red buttons flickering against the dark of the cockpit, and then—

“There’s bacta in the medpack. Might not be much left.”

You’re wide awake now.

Your rebuttal is immediate, bristled even, words escaping before you have a chance to even consider his suggestion. “No— no, thank you, but I’m not taking the last of your supplies. I’ll be fine, you’re- you’re doing enough for me already.” He graces you with another of his grunts, a hush following closely behind it.

Your gaze wanders—it wanders onto him, and you watch him.

Watch as the stars dance across his armor, incandescent and shimmering. Hypnotic, even. Something you hadn’t noticed before catches your eye, and you have to crane your neck to get a good look at it. It’s hard to make out, but you think there’s a symbol on the pauldron adorning his shoulder. You can’t imagine it’s completely cosmetic, seeing as the hem of his cape is frayed and worn (and the fact that being a lethal hunter didn’t really scream ‘needless decoration’), but maybe, if you work up the courage somewhere between here and Coruscant, you’ll ask him about it.

His posture is carved out of stone and he sits like a statue, spine rigid under all that beskar. Fleetingly, you wonder if it’s heavy, if it’s uncomfortable—to carry it with him wherever he goes. But you suppose he’s grown accustom to the weight, wearing it like a second skin.

He’s broad too, you note. Of course he is, you recognized that straight off, but inside the confines of the ship, without the towering Lothal sky as his backdrop, it truly strikes you just how large the Mandalorian is. He engulfs the space around him. Devours it.

You stay like this, entranced, studying the man properly for the first time, allowing the muscles behind your tired eyes to relax on him— until his visor notches up quickly and meets your line of sight in the mirrored pane of the window, catching you in the act.

Kriff.

You avert your eyes, an embarrassed warmth crawling up your neck, suddenly finding a particular panel soldered to the wall incredibly interesting— looking anywhere else but at the faceless stranger you’re saddled with.

The kid gurgles, interrupting the awkwardness, and you’ve never been more grateful for a three pronged toddler in your life.

He’s sitting in the copilot’s seat opposite you, as if the tiny thing is navigating for the Mandalorian, and he’s completely dwarfed by the massive chair. Everything about him juxtaposes the other man. He’s all brown robes and wispy peach fuzz, and he looks almost comically out of place against the interior of the gunship. He’s playing with a shiny metal ball in his lap, and with one small arm, he extends it to you like a gift.

Out of the two of them, the child was a one man welcoming party.

“Is this for me?”

He gives a soft patuu, and your heart nearly bursts. You take it from him gently, and the little guy coos through a babbling grin, cheeks round and impish. “Thank you,” you tell him, all serious-like, and you have to actively suppress the squeal that threatens to break free from you. He glances to the Mandalorian with such a look in those big eyes; its hard to make out, but you think its something close to pride or satisfaction, maybe: Look dad, I shared my toy.

Kriff, this kid is cute. Like, dangerously cute.

You both take each other in like this; your micro expressions, his pruned little forehead, your fleshy form, all soft lines and angles. You’re sure you look just as strange to him and he does to you, especially given the only other lifeform on board he has as reference is coated from head to toe in metal. The child’s gaze snags on a lock of your hair, little teeth peeking through his mouth, eyes glued to it like a metronome as it dangles. You give your head a little shake, strands waving, and he giggles. You skip the ball over the hills of your knuckles, dazzling him momentarily.

“Does he have a name?” You ask, his eyes like black saucers peering curiously at you, and you give him back his toy— an offer he eagerly accepts.

“No.”

“So what do you call him then?”

“Just ‘kid’.”

A beat. “... Do you have a name?”

“Mando.”

“Just ‘Mando’?”

“This is the Way.”

You nod, worrying your cheek absentmindedly as you stare out the transparisteel. This is the Way. You’re not entirely sure what the phrase meant, but you know respect when you hear it— how reverent it sits on his vocal chords— and by the manner of which the man, this Mando, spoke, you can tell there’s more to those words than you know.

And you can appreciate his desire for anonymity; it doesn’t bother you much—you figure you won't be around long enough for it to matter anyways. You don’t know a lot about the Mandalorian people, but you have heard rumors. Everyone had. That’s all they were anymore: rumors and stories. Legends. Just seeing one was rare, and talking to one even rarer. But flying with one and his adorable, green baby? It was… definitely unique, to say the least.

You share more dulled quiet. And although the silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable now—you’re settling in to it— it’s not exactly desirable either, but it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t last.

Mando clears his throat, breaking the white noise that’s blanketed the three of them. He doesn’t turn his helmet. He keeps his focus straight ahead. You watch his reflection in the ship’s window and you can’t know for certain, but you think you feel your eyes brush against his, if only for a moment. A unintelligible noise filters through his modulator.

“Do you?”

You grin, a slow smile tugging at your lips.

“Last I checked.”

It’s the first smile he draws from you. The first of many.

///

Despite Mando’s warnings and better judgement, sleeping is exactly what you end up doing. You pass out, hard, stirring only once when an errant beep sounds through the cockpit. You’d fallen asleep right there in the chair, chin tucked into your chest, hair fanned across your cheek, arms wrapped around your waist in a measly attempt to trap your body heat to you. You’ve woken to find the cockpit empty— the ship must be on autopilot, you think— and by the illuminating glow of hyperspace, you spot his medkit, sitting open on the seat across from you and in it, nestled among old wrappings and gauze, a single patch of bacta.

///|||///

That smile.

Din remembers this moment, much later, holding it like a photo in a locket. Private. Secret. He keeps you there, gold plated on a chain, to loop around his memory.

Encircling him. Strangling him.

[kirindensetsu]

The Making of Fubuki

((Reposting from Den of Angels workshop thread because I wanted my friends to be able to see~))

After years of pining after dolls I couldn't afford as a broke teenager, my first BJD was a Bobobie Sprite I purchased for my 18th birthday. Unfortunately, she didn't live up to my expectations and I never really bonded with her. Her face was cute enough, but the Bobobie body lacked the grace and posing ability I imagined for the Unseelie faerie I'd been daydreaming of for years. Sueding and wiring didn't help, blushing and tattooing highlighted her blockiness, it was a mess. I packed her away and tried not to think about my disappointment for 12 years. In the meantime I learned to build and paint resin garage kits, inherited one of my sister's dolls, bought some others, took anatomy & physiology in college, and did a couple extensive restorations and full-body modifications. I was sure I had thrown her away at some point as a failed project, but last weekend I found her tucked away in a doll bag I thought was empty. Having just finished substantial mods on a Dollshe body, and awaiting an unfinished Unoa kit for my birthday in September, I decided that I owed it to her to try again. Doll nudity below the cut, looooong post--

My Sprite was originally going to be a pooka with golden eyes and extensive woad tattoos. The golden eyes are incredible, so those are staying, but she's now going to be a blue oni to fit in with the rest of my collection. My plan is to do extensive additive epoxy work, and then to use Krylon Fusion to give everything a unified finish. The goal of the project is to reduce the... idk, STRAIGHTNESS of the old Bobobie body. I was never going to be happy with it, the lines were all far too rigid.

Head: Modified mouth for a wider, smirking smile. Magnets added to headcap (old Bobobie used an S-hook iirc; I did this part back in 2008). Forehead drilled for 3mm brass rod armature, and epoxy used to sculpt horns over rod. Bust: Substantial subtractive modifications to breasts, which involved removal and readdition of nipples. Addition of epoxy clay to back and shoulders to give a more curved body line in profile. Deepening of shoulder sockets with 18mm eye bevel, followed by sanding to make shoulders narrower. Waist: Reshaping of upper torso joint into sphere for smoother range of motion. Subtraction of resin in back and addition of epoxy in front to enhance lumbar curve. Hips: Substantial reshaping of lower waist seam to more naturally follow the pelvic girdle. It reminded me of granny panties before  Added epoxy to butt, again for lumbar curve. Thighs: Suwariko joint mod (cut the thigh and added a PVC insert to enable swivelling at the hip). Added epoxy to make her thighs look less straight. Calves: Removed 1cm of length at the ankles and rebevelled the socket. Removed resin at the ankles to bring them in, and added epoxy at the calves to make them curvier. Feet: Sculpted little claws, which were cute, and then decided the feet needed to be 5mm longer. Cut across, drilled and pinned with brass rod for structural strength, gap filled with epoxy clay. I also modded her feet to have defined arches and balls back when I first got her. Alas, spitting into the ocean. I added S-hooks, but did so by drilling the ankle and inserting brass rod to form the axle for the hook. Arms: The proportions on her upper arms BOTHERED me! they were so SHORT! and I only just figured out that's what I hated about them last week! I added 5mm to the upper arms by cutting them in the middle and using SteelStik to make a structural repair (plumber's epoxy putty has a shorter open time but far greater structural strength than artist's epoxy clay). Sanded the heck out of the wrists to give them a more delicate taper. Hands: Beyond salvage. The hands were my least-favorite part of this sculpt. I tried to bulk them up to look less spidery but it was just too difficult... I've ordered a different pair of MSD hands which will have claws added, and then when everything is painted it'll all match. Thanks for reading this far! Here's a preview of what her golden eyes look like next to Krylon Fusion in Antique Blue.

((first progress post)) I think I'm mostly done adding epoxy clay (at least where it'll show; presumably the wrist sockets will require tweaks to fit the new hands), so now it's time for finish sanding. I start with 60 grit for shaping, then switch to a 120 grit sanding sponge. To check for scratches, pinholes, and inadequately feathered edges, I apply a wash of diluted acrylic paint. Once the paint has dried, I scrub the piece with a nylon scouring pad. Paint remains in the surface irregularities.

All sanded with 220 grit. I don't think I'll be going higher than 400 because I want there to be some tooth for the paint.

Any pitting in the epoxy clay that can't be sanded out is marked with a Sharpie and will be patched with Tamiya spot putty.

I did a test spray of the Krylon Fusion on the headcap and it's fantastic! Holy cow is it *poisonous* tho, I'm used to working with volatile chemicals but this was something else. Get OUT OF THE AREA between coats and leave it outside until it stops outgassing, not just until it's ready to handle.

This test piece is four light coats sprayed 1 minute apart, allowed to cure for 4 hours, and then wetsanded to remove the spray texture. It's pretty sturdy but I will wait several more days to see how it continues to cure before experimenting with matte sealants. ((progress update 2))

Haven't done much but sand-and-fill-and-sand-and-fill, but my 14mm beveller came in today so I can start deepening her elbow and ankle sockets. Added some epoxy clay to the insides of the eyewells so 14mm eyes will fit with no gap. I need a needle file to clean up the corners of her mouth... Monster feets! Nails on the right came out better than the left, still need to feather-sand everything.

Elbows progress. The early Bobobie elbows are I guess /technically/ double-jointed because the joint is a sphere with two slots, but I thought I could do better than that. You can see epoxy clay spliced in to make the sphere into a peanut: this isn't a structurally sound repair unless you pop it apart and drill/pin/glue-epoxy it back together.

View from the back. By keeping the joint heads spherical with no elbow-shaped detailing, there's some rotation as well as flexion, which I like.

Touching her face with one of her old hands. I hope the new ones come soon!

((progress update 4))

In good news, these parts are all ready for paint! It's really hard to do prepwork with no filler primer, hope I didn't miss any spots...

In less good news, her new hands arrived and they are... very smol ;u; I forgot that the new trend for slim minis means that everyone has TINY LITTLE HANDS.

They are, however, beautifully sculpted and a good 3D reference for what needs fixing and how. Bobobie palm is very short relative to fingers: I made a transverse cut behind the knuckles and added epoxy to lengthen More curved volume across the back of the hand: Not necessarily realistic, but looks a little cuter, plus it makes the transition into the cylinder of the wrist look less stylistically jarring. More defined joint angles: Some of these I did via cut-and-thermoform repositioning, mostly I'm aiming to fake it by building up and carving away at the weird smooth curves. The fingers are just TOO SKINNY: But obviously I'm not going to squish rice-grain-sized blobs of epoxy to the fingers, right? It's too fiddly, it doesn't want to stick. What's the solution? Brace for a truly hideous WIP image--

"AAAAAAGH WHAT IS THAT DARK GRAY MESS" it's JB Weld epoxy! It's like load-bearing, slow-curing modeller's putty! Slathering putty onto an armature and then carving it away to refine the shape is how anime figure artists make hands and detailed hair.  I was thinking about it from a polymer clay technique/perspective so I missed the obvious solution. Hand in the foreground has more layers than the hand in the background, every layer gets the shape a lil closer. ((progress post 5)) Parts set up on sticks so I can handle them without touching...

... and after 4 light coats!

Closeup of the head, lil' glossy because it's still drying. For the deeper areas like the joint slots, mouth, and the crannies of the ears, I'm going to have to decant some of the paint into a jar and apply it with a sacrificial brush.

((progress post 6)) I return from Depression! I finally finished sanding-and-spraying the Krylon Fusion coats, gave her a last polish with microfine to even out the texture, and have started blushing her. I'm using a mixture of Tamiya X-series acrylics applied via airbrush for basic contouring, then I'll go back in with pastel to add warm tones and details.

Fun discovery: in an attempt to cover some accidental overspray, I tried spraying the Fusion directly into the paint cup of the airbrush and using it to "erase" back to the base color. I'm NEVER using this product straight from the can again, it goes on so smooth and gorgeous from the airbrush! No orange peel or bubbles to sand away. I'm seriously tempted to get a can of pink and try blushing with it.

((progress post 7)) Doing a faceup over a spray-painted substrate is HARD I want to CRY. I talked about sanding out the spray texture to get an untextured surface, right? Welp, didn't/couldn't sand well enough in the corners of the mouth and the folds of the eyelids, so it's crusty-looking with pastels over it and now there's nothing I can do about it that doesn't involve stripping down to resin and starting again.

((final post)) Sueded and strung!

I didn't take pictures of the sueding process because I was using Barge Cement and it is messy and time-sensitive. I used masking tape to make templates of her joints, transferred to some thin gray lamb suede I found on eBay, and glued it fuzzy side out. The suede was thicker than real pliver, more like the thickness of silicone KIPS discs, but I think it worked out without too many fit issues. The trim store had 3.5mm elastic in a beautiful slate-blue color that I thought would look nicer in the joint slots, so she's strung throughout with thicker elastic. Some more poses to show off the functional mods~ Suwariko joints let her sit crosslegged, and more mobile wrists let her put her hands into the pose.

A more ball-and-socked shaped contact surface at her waist lets her slouch at a full range of angles instead of being locked into two.

With longer upper arms, she can reach the ground in this pose! You can also see how the modded waist joint lets her cock her hips.

She could always stand with locked knees. I think she needs some wire in her legs to let the suwariko joints hold their rotation against gravity, but I'll see how the elastic tension settles in first.

A parting shot out the snowy window. We've been having a hard time picking between a few names for her, but I think this settles it. Welcome back, Fubuki~

[legends-live-in-memories]

Cut You Down to Size

AYO its Day 1 of the MGI Trope Tussle! I’m representing Team Enemies-to-Lovers! Lets Get It!

Fics Masterlist

Damigami 5.5K words Oneshot, no warnings apply

Summary:

Alfred signs Damian up for his school's fencing club. There he meets a red clad demon with a sabre.

Day 1 prompt: My name is unimportant— you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.

without further ado:

This was stupid. Damian could not understand Pennyworth’s logic behind signing him up for his school’s fencing club. He was a trained assassin, studying under the world’s greatest swordsmen, and no one at his school would be able to keep up with him. He was miles ahead in terms of technique and experience. So why on earth would he subject himself to this asinine, idle waste of time on a Saturday?

“Remember, young master, it is important to your father that you enjoy hobbies more suitable for others your age. All your other siblings have activities to distract them from the eccentricities of their nighttime activities.” Right, that’s why. Pennyworth spoke as if he were reminding an imbecile how to not walk into oncoming traffic and his tone grated on Damian’s nerves. “Don’t pout, Master Damian, it is unbecoming. Besides, it would make your father proud if you were able to blend in with other teens.”

He most definitely was not pouting but he could agree that making his father proud and not compromising their identities were important. His weary sigh was the only answer he gave to Pennyworth before stepping out of the car and entering the school gym. He squared his shoulders and adjusted the gym bag before striding to the gathering of other students on the mats. They were all in varying degrees of proper white fencing gear, a sharp contrast to Damian’s black uniform. He stood off the side, waiting for the instructor and pointedly ignoring the stares of the other students. Their attention was meaningless and Damian hoped they wouldn’t turn his presence into some spectacle.

The minutes ticked by, and his patience withering away with it, before the gym’s double doors were booming open. In walked the club’s instructor followed by what looked like another school’s club and instructor trailing behind her. Damian counted at least ten students, white uniforms perfectly in place with their array of masks tucked under their arms. However, one of those students caught his eye. The striking red uniform stood out against everyone else’s and the square to their shoulders spoke of confidence not unlike his own. A small part of Damian wonders if any of that confidence was well earned but the larger part of him knew that regardless of how good they thought they were, they were still no match for him.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” The crisp voice of his instructor echoed in the now silent gym as she commanded everyone’s attention. She looked rather pleased with herself and continued to speak, addressing the Gotham students. “As you can see here, I have a visiting school’s club with me, so please join me in welcoming Francois Dupont’s fencing club, who have come all the way from Paris to practice with us.”

A half hearted applause was all the reaction she got and it was at that point that Damian tuned out the rest of her introduction. His mind had wandered to less menial things, waiting for his time to show his more than impressive skills.

He was brought out of his musings by the shrill of a whistle and was staring face to face to a rather short girl from the French club. She was looking up at him with wide blue eyes before darting away to look over the other students pairing up. Her eyes had focused on a tall blond and his Gotham partner and Damian swore he saw her swoon. Great, a scatter-brained lovesick fool was his first partner. Clearly the universe was punishing him for transgressions he was not privy to. Before he could pass further judgment on his partner, she peered back to him and spoke in soft English.

“Hi, my name is Marinette. Nice to meet you!” She tried to sound confident but her awkwardness betrayed her and the hunch in her shoulders were telling. Alfred had taught him some manners, however, so rather than ignore her as he was wont to do, he greeted her with his name and ended the conversation there. She looked ready to speak again but was cut off by another harsh blow from the whistle.

“Alright, everyone. This is just a warm-up match. Nothing too fancy and remember the rules.” The French instructor’s accent was thick and he spoke with equal robustness to match the Gotham instructor. The two made quite the pair.

He faced his partner again and put enough space between them. They both put on their masks and were poised at the ready. Her pose was amateurish but definitely better than the others he’s caught in his periphery. The cry of ‘en garde’ sounded and Damian did not hesitate to try and score a point. Emphasis on ‘try.’ While if this were a real duel Damian would have won with no hesitation, he found that he didn’t need to hold back as much as he would if she were some of his classmates. Her technique was still sloppy but at least she showed potential.

The warm-up ended with Damian scoring three points in succession but there were, admittedly, some close calls. Next, they were rotating partners and Damian was partnered off with the blond from earlier. This close, Damian faintly recognized his face and verbalized as such. The sheepish scratch behind the blond’s neck was unexpected as was the declaration that he was a fashion model back in Paris. Adrien Agreste the boy had said. Damian then chalked up his previous partner’s behaviour to nothing more than to a silly celebrity crush. No further thought was put into their dynamics as the call for positions was announced.

This duel went slightly differently than Damian had expected. Like his previous partner, Agreste was much better than first impressions would suggest. While his previous partner had poor technique with intuition to back her up, Agreste had acceptable technique with his own personal twist. Agreste backed each strike with an edge that spoke of more roguish practice. It was almost entertaining but still no match for Damian superior skills. Perhaps he could convince his father to send him to Paris for the summer if this was the kind of students the city produced. This duel ended in three points in Damian’s favour as well but he conceded a point to Agreste who got a lucky strike in. Both boys took off their masks and shook hands as a five minute break was called. As Damian turned to reach for his water bottle on the bench, Agreste approached him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I saw your match with Marinette,” he spoke with nothing short of excitement and slight wonder. “She’s new to the club but she’s a quick learner. I’m glad she joined and she seemed to enjoy warming up with you! What do you think?”

Huh.

Maybe Agreste was the adoring fan in their dynamic. Any more brightly, and the boy’s green eyes would be sparkling like fireworks as he continued to wax poetics about the short girl. That of which got annoying pretty quickly.

Another whistle, that French coach was rather annoying with the damn thing, was blown and the students made their way back to the mats. A new rotation was called and Damian was finally paired with the red fencer who caught his eye earlier. In contrast to his previous partners, this one stared at him with poorly hidden, yet unprovoked, contempt. The furrow in her brows and slight downturn in her lips was a mirror to Damian’s own expression. The air between them was charged as they both assessed each other. Neither spoke but neither was paying detailed attention to the instructors. Issuing a silent challenge, Damian tilted his head back to stare the shorter girl down by the tip of his nose, smirking at her increasingly furrowed expression. He scoffed at her as the call for putting on their masks was issued.

“Damian,” he said at last, getting into the starting position.

“My name is unimportant— you, tyrant, will die today by my blade.”

Not even Damian’s brothers were that theatrical; his sister? Maybe. And perhaps Todd, but that’s irrelevant. Was she for real or was this a taunt that got lost in translation? Just who was she? From an outsider’s perspective, the two of them painted quite an interesting picture, posed in their black and red uniforms, a vision against the whites of their clubmates. The air was rich with their slowly growing disdain for each other. The instructor’s voice of ‘en garde’ was drowned out by their hurried movements.

It didn’t take long for Damian to deduce that his opponent was undoubtedly the best of the French group. Her moves were punctuated with needle-like precision and each attack was laced with slowly growing malice at the challenge. Damian didn’t have to hold back nearly as much as he had, once again, underestimated his opponent. There’s a lesson to be learned here but he would never give Pennyworth that satisfaction. The butler’s smug grin and echoed voice of ‘you are not nearly as infallible as you believe, Master Damian’ arose in his mind and the irritation at the notion was channelled directly into his current duel. He struck out with more aggression than he initially had intended to but, as it had put his opponent on the defensive, he wasn’t going to rear his anger in. Instead, he let it fuel his movements more, pushing his opponent off the mat as they danced across the floor.

This only spurred his nameless opponent on more as she matched him strike for strike in equal aggression. Damian wasn’t sure if it was due to his sudden tunnel vision but he could have sworn that the world narrowed to only the two of them, the clash of their weapons being the only sound he could hear. Time faded into nothing and all his focus was on parrying and attacking and lunging and parrying again in a vicious cycle. Points were earned back and forth but no time was called in between to award either of them. This wasn’t a match for points. This was war. A battle to the death issued by the red demon before him. She was no longer just a practice partner or an aggravating opponent. This was his enemy now. Damian would not fail. Damian Wayne doesn’t lose after all.

The shrill of a whistle had the two freezing in place. Giving himself a few seconds to collect himself, Damian felt as if he was coming out of a haze. He watched as the red fencer before him relaxed her posture and turned to face the French coach. Taking off his mask and catching his breath, he noticed that the two of them held the collective attention of the two clubs.

“Now THAT is fencing!” The French coach’s boisterous voice echoed in the gym and was accompanied by his harsh clapping. His two previous practice partners were equally as enthusiastic but subdued in their applause, sporting matching grins at the red fencer. Damian could only glare at the students, refusing to acknowledge his opponent.

The rest of practice went on as such for the next hour but none of the other French fencers captivated him like the first three. They must have had private tutors as they were obviously a cut above the rest. Practice ended without much fanfare and Damian found himself waiting for Pennyworth outside the school gates as the French class were loading their bus. He only caught the tail end of the slight murmurs of conversation but Damian caught the Agreste boy referring to the red fencer as Kagami. Hmm.

Pennyworth pulled up shortly after and once he was inside the vehicle, Pennyworth didn’t hesitate to question him about the experience.

“There was a visiting French club. They were lackluster and struggled to keep up with me even with me holding back.” He refused to look the old man in the eye, glancing a knowing smirk on his aged face. “Three of them showed promise. But I was still superior in every way.”

“Well then, I hope they didn’t tire you out completely. I believe we are expecting some of those same French students over for dinner this afternoon.”

“Pardon?” Damian could not be bothered to compose his irritation at Pennyworth’s brazen declaration. Why was he just learning about this now? “Any idea who exactly will be joining us?”

“I believe Madame Dupain-Cheng, Madame Tsurugi and Mister Agreste all agreed.” Agreste? The model boy. Damian was willing to bet that Dupain-Cheng was the short girl from the warm-up as the two seemed fond of each other. That would probably make Tsurugi his red opponent, Kagami. But that begs the question why they were invited to dinner. Schooling his expression and gaining some more composure, Damian addressed the butler again.

“Any reason why those students in particular?” Aiming for an aura of nonchalance, he continued. “It’s quite the coincidence as those were the three French students I mentioned showing promise. Why were they invited?”

Pennyworth saw right through him and casted a humoured glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, I would say that Madame Tsurugi shows more than just promise, Master Damian. She is an Olympic hopeful after all.” That… That makes sense Damian supposes. It would definitely explain her confidence and skill. But she still irritated him.

“And what of the other two?”

“Those two would be Madame Tsurugi’s closest friends. Their club is here on a Wayne Foundation sponsorship and your father personally invited Madame Tsurugi to dinner.” Pennyworth paused as he turned into the manor gates. “She and her mother agreed to the invitation on the condition that the young lady’s friends be invited as well. I see they have left quite the impression on you.”

“They require further judgement,” and the conversation died there.

Ignoring the crowd of his siblings upon entering the manor, Damian went straight for his room to research more on his new rival and company.

After two hours of constant research, he was reluctant to admit that the three were rather accomplished in their own rights, and that he had completely misjudged them. Dupain-Cheng was a talented baker and designer and was indeed a fast learner, only officially being in the fencing club for two months. She was also in a new relationship with Agreste. That explains the sappiness and nauseating shower of compliments. Agreste himself was a budding pianist on top of his modelling and fencing prowess. He even featured in some gigs by a local popular band. Tsurugi was more than just an Olympic hopeful, coming from a famous line of fencers and kendo masters back in Japan. She has a roster of competitions won and is currently holding three world titles for her age group. He supposes that that’s quite impressive. But it still doesn’t supersede his training. Would it be improper to challenge her to another duel when she arrives? Probably.

Checking the time, he realized there was forty minutes until dinner and only ten until the three guests arrived. He freshened up his appearance and changed out of his fencing gear into more appropriate attire. He headed down to the foyer to wait with his siblings in greeting their guests. Cain stood next to him and gave him a quick once-over glance. She didn’t say anything but her giggles did not bode well for Damian.

The door was being held open as their three guests walked in and they all wore matching expressions of surprise as their gaze landed on Damian. They greeted his father and each of his siblings, exchanging quick hello’s before the Agreste boy regarded Damian.

“Hey! You’re that guy from the fencing club.” All eyes were on Damian in an instant, his siblings wearing various ranges of delight.

“Yes, he is that guy from the fencing club. Tell us everything,” Todd interjected. He swung a casual arm around Agreste and began herding them further into the manor towards the drawing room. Before Damian can begin to preserve his reputation, Todd and Agreste were already in deep conversation with random input from Dupain-Cheng and Grayson. Tsurugi hung back from the herd and was thanking his father for the invitation. Her calm, withdrawn voice was very different from the scorn she was showering him with during their duel. She caught him staring at her and just ignored him, brushing past him to follow quickly behind the others. He caught his father’s eye and regarded the man silently. Even when maintaining public appearances, his father never did anything without reason. So what was the value in inviting some French kids his company was sponsoring? Olympic grade or not, it was still uncharacteristically more involved than other other company sponsorships in the past.

What was his father’s angle here?

He hoped it didn’t involve playing nice with Tsurugi because her frigid disposition is more trouble than it’s worth. The karma is not lost on him.

Entering the drawing room, he walks into the middle of Agreste illustrating the nature of his duel against Tsurugi. He added unnecessary flourish, making the match seem more grandiose than it really was. He would deny any and all effort exerted as that was a sign of weakness. Damian was not weak.

“I’ll have you know,” he began, collecting their undivided attention, again. “The match with Tsurugi was child’s play. I only entertained her for so long because I thought she could provide some real competition. Clearly, I was mistaken,” he said, like a liar.

“I am more than just competition.” Tsurugi had stood from her place on the sofa to try and face him on even ground. She was still shorter than him but the intimidation was rolling off her in waves. “I will prove to you that I am a worthy opponent.”

That was an invitation for a rematch if Damian’s ever heard one. As he was about to accept the challenge, Pennyworth entered with an announcement of dinner, guiding everyone into the appropriate dining room. His siblings rushed for various seats, splitting up their guests and mixing them in with their chaos. The seating arrangement his siblings had orchestrated had him sitting directly across from the current bane of his existence. The two regarded each other silently, trapped in their own quiet bubble separate from the ruckus of the table.

The dinner was wonderful, as usual, and conversation was as normal as this family was capable of. Except for the intense staring contest he was engaged in with his enemy. She was civil, cordial even, with the rest of the family, sharing jokes with Cain and Thomas with no issue and handled Todd’s annoyance with grace but she couldn’t get a reign on her disdain for Damian. He faintly noticed her two friends exchange curious glances with each other. He paid them no mind; his attention lying elsewhere.

“So, Kagami,” Drake’s voice cut through the loud atmosphere, silencing the table. “You mentioned earlier that you will prove to Damian that you’re a worthy opponent. How do you plan to go about that?” He tried to go for casual but he failed and Damian knew he was doing it just to get a reaction out of him.

“A battle to the death of course,” she was quick with her reply and her tone had no hints of humor. She means every word of that statement. Equal expressions of shock were on his family’s faces, no one knowing what to say. A distasteful snort from the blond cut through the air.

“Kagami,” her friend, Dupain-Cheng, had cut in with a slight chuckle, “I don’t think they know you’re joking.”

“My apologies, then.” Her lips were curled in a faint smirk and then she said, “While I initially had all intentions to contest his false assessment, over the course of the dinner, I have concluded that he is someone not worth the effort.” She took a sip of her drink, completely ignoring the uproar of taunts and jeers his siblings threw his way.

Damian was not going to take that insult sitting down.

“That’s it, Tsurugi,” he rose from his seat, the scrape of the chair on the hardwood floors hushing the peanut gallery. “You wanted a duel, I’ll give you a duel. A clash of swords seems fitting, don’t you think?” He felt quite satisfied with himself, so much so he was completely ignorant to the whispers of his siblings with their guests. His attention was solely on the red demon.

“While I can’t persuade you both from not doing this,” his father’s tired voice was firm and imposing; he looked like he’s aged a few years since the start of the evening, “I must insist on using only the wooden practice swords you have. No real blades allowed. Am I understood?”

It wasn’t really a question as there was no room for refutation but Damian was grateful his father didn’t try to put a stop to the entire thing anyways. A challenge was issued and Damian was going to see it through.

After Pennyworth cleared the table and set about doing other chores, they made their way to the manor’s gym with the exclusion of his father. A mat was already laid out and he went to retrieve the practice swords. They were fashioned to mimic his katana and the familiar weight was comfortable in his grip. Tsurugi was surveying the wooden blade and assessing the balance of the handle before setting into a comfortable starting stance. They weren’t bound by fencing rules this time and he felt the lack of restrictions to be freeing. Grayson had declared himself ring master and was counting down to start them off. Drake was holding a camera, most likely recording, and Todd was conspiring with Dupain-Cheng and Thomas in the corner. Agreste and Cain were observing like normal people—Damian failed to see them silently exchange some cash— and he ignored them all to focus on the foe before him.

Grayson’s call for ‘go’ set them off like steam engines, their swords crashing into each other in heavy strikes. Using his advantageous size, Damian pushed back and swiped for her legs. She blocked the attack, sword intercepting his, swinging her back leg behind her to kick at his chest. He recoiled at the contact and the pressure of her boots before aiming a broad sweep over head, bringing his arms down in a wide arc. She blocks that as well, but was brought down to a knee, all her focus in holding her blade across the palm of hand. She pushes against his force and rolls under his blade, tucking herself into a ball before uncurling behind him. Her next strike is aimed for his back but Damian is quick on the defensive and knocks her blade away before stepping into her space. His shoulder clips her chin and he takes the opportunity to elbow her below her chest. He swings around to strike her down but she ducks and swipes at his legs. He jumps over the arc of her blade but isn’t prepared for the kick in his chest as he lands.

He steps back a couple paces to get air back in his lungs as Tsurugi gains her own bearings. They’re both breathing heavily and the gym is silent save for Todd’s inappropriate wolf-whistle. Ignoring him, as usual, he focuses back on his opponent. On the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, her lean but firm arms holding the sword out pointing at him. Her short bob is in disarray and her brown eyes burn into him like molten lava. Her stare is intense and almost freezes him completely in place.

A second ticks by. Then another. The entire room feels like a stifled exhale, cautious not to disturb the fragile atmosphere. The energy is broken by a charge from Tsurugi as she strikes across his chest, colliding with his blade. Their swords are crossed and they both lean into the push, faces mere inches apart as they try to get the upper hand. Neither was budging, willing to submit to the other.

Damian found himself revelling in the intense focus of her gaze. Even growing up in the League, his mentors always held back, not wanting to accidentally kill their master’s heir. His siblings were no better, always underestimating him, never taking his challenges seriously. But Tsurugi? She matched him blow for blow without hesitation. Without fear and without judgement. The lack of threat of death hanging over him made the fight that much more enjoyable. If he were anymore focused on his own expression, he would have found a smile, not a smirk or a half-hearted grimace, but an honest-to-god smile. A grin even.

Tipping the fight in his favour, he aims a kick to Tsurugi’s knee, and turns out of their lock of swords. Feeling emboldened, he takes to taunting his opponent.

“You know, you are a lot better than I thought you would be,” he swings his sword around aimlessly, waiting for her to get up again. “But you’re still no match for me.”

Rather than respond, Tsurugi swipes up at him, both hands on her sword hilt, in a broad arc. Her body follows through with the motion, with her back leg sweeping the floor gently, her back to him by the end. Damian sees the opportunity and lunges to attack her now open back. He’s almost flushed against her with his sword about to press into the curve of her spine except his swing is intercepted by his opponent's block. She had anticipated his move and swung her arms over her head, carrying the blade behind her to protect her. Damian’s blood runs white hot with the shame of falling for her feint. Still held in this position, Tsurugi casts a smirk over her shoulder, head tilted back towards his chest. The position, with the exception of their swords, has them appearing to be in a dance, with his partner—no, opponent— ready to be spun out in a graceful turn.

“Are you sure?” her voice was rough with exertion and tainted with glee, “You seem to have failed to gain any substantial upperhand.” She kicks back into his shin and then steps out of his space, spinning under her arms, keeping her sword against his. Now facing him directly, Damian can see the fire shining in her brown eyes, ablaze with excitement and ferocity.

“Don’t think yourself so high and mighty,” he started to step to his right, trying to prepare for another attack but she matched him in moves and now they were slowly circling each other.

“Ironic coming from you, I’m sure.” Her tone was flat but her eyes glimmered with amusement. Her blade shifted ever so subtly, pointing further down Damian’s body, aimed directly for his stomach. Damian takes a chance and steps into her space, left arm gradually inching towards her sword hilt. Using his longer legs, he sweeps one under her stance, hooking his ankle around hers.

It happens in slow motion. Or at least, it felt like it did. He’s bringing his leg back towards himself, knocking her off center, balancing on an unsteady leg. He’s grabbed her sword hilt and is pushing her arms and the sword above her head while his own sword slides to place against her throat. He pushes further into her space, leaning over her and bending her back, almost chest to chest, nose to nose with his sword in the breath between them. Their precarious position cants them completely off balance and she’s fallen with him on top of her. Her arms are pinned firmly above her now, her grip on her sword long forgotten, and Damian’s weight is balanced on his knees, preserving any dignity he has left. They’re still so close to each other, the weight of his blade gingerly pressing into the lines of her neck. Her head is tilting back, a futile attempt to escape him and once she acknowledges that, Damian can feel the muscles in her arms relax beneath his vice-like grip. They’re staring at each other, and Damian finds himself not wanting to look away.

Oh.

Oh.

In his seven years of living with his father’s family, he never understood how his father could casually welcome thieves and assassins into his bed. How his brothers surrounded themselves with people equally dangerous. How his sister would challenge an opponent she knew she couldn’t beat. How they could all flirt with danger and not even question it. Now he understood. It was a heady rush, like a freefall without certainty of a parachute or a net. It was an addictive type of excitement to come face to face with someone who doesn’t look at him with fear but with equal competition. He could get used to this.

A click of a camera shutter and Pennyworth’s attention-grabbing ‘ahem’ brought him out of his own head. He saw Tsurugi blink herself out of a similar daze and look towards her friends. Finally registering their compromising position, Damian began to extract himself from her. Now standing, and trying to tidy his appearance, he tossed his wooden sword to the side and extended a hand out to the still lying girl.

“I win,” he says, and the taunt falls flat even to his own ears. He clears his throat and tries again. “You are a decent opponent. It was an honor to go against someone of your caliber.”

She accepts his offered hand and as he’s pulling her up, she takes the opportunity to pull him in closer.

“I admit defeat,” her eyes are still intense but softens as she continues speaking, “and there is clearly more I can learn from you. The club is in Gotham for two more weeks for the competition next week. I am willing to have you as my teacher if you accept.”

A pretty pink blush colours her cheeks and Damian can feel his face match hers in intensity. Before he could answer her, her blond friend interrupts them, cutting into their little bubble.

“That means she’s asking you on a date.” His hands are cupping his mouth like a megaphone and he stage whispers for all their captive audience to hear. “Say yes.”

His siblings are eyeing between him and the French teens like they’re spectating an interesting tennis match. Not given the chance to answer, again, Cain replies for him.

“He says yes. Next Friday, after school.” Her reply is curt but the curl of her lips illustrates her delight in the entire situation. His cheeks are even warmer now and he still hasn’t stepped out of Tsurugi’s space and were they always standing this close?

Looking back to Tsurugi he sees that her attention is still on the others and her face is graced with a gentle smile.

“I accept your offer,” her head swivels back to him as he speaks, and there is a slight glimmer to her eyes, hope dancing in pools of warm chocolate. “If your friend was right about your true intentions, then I accept that offer. There is a lot I could learn from you as well.”

“Yes, and I am also available on Friday if your sister is to be believed.” Her hushed voice is drowned out by the uproar of his siblings and he catches a glimpse of Dupain-Cheng jumping in place.

“I can’t believe he actually said yes.” Thomas.

“I can’t believe she’s actually into him,” Drake.

“I had good money on him making a fool of himself, shame.” Todd, who then gets elbowed by Grayson. He ignores them all, staring down at the increasingly embarrassed girl before him.

He goes to speak but a pink blur is knocking Tsurugi on the ground in a heap of limbs. They’re giggling and babbles about double dates filter through so he doesn’t worry too much and then a weight settles on his shoulder, surprising him. Agreste had somehow snuck up on him and was patting him in a false sense of comradery.

“Well that was an interesting turn of events. They grow up so fast,” he fake sniffles, wiping nonexistent tears from his eyes. Damian is not fond of the familiar theatrics. “I agree with your siblings, I didn't think you would agree. Especially with the looks of bloody murder you were giving us during practice today.”

He scoffs and lets the subtle accusation roll off his back. Agreste continues as if he weren’t interrupted.

“Clearly you two flirt the same way. Violently.” He’s cut off from speaking as Tsurugi had hit him with one of the discarded swords from her place on the floor.

“At least I don’t hesitate or dance around my intended target like a fool, like you two,” she was pouting but her voice held traces of humour and inside jokes that had Dupain-Cheng whining like a child and Agreste acting all sheepish.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair but can you blame us?” Agreste went ignored as everyone devolved into laughter at their antics.

Damian chanced a glance at Tsurugi to see her very comfortable with Dupain-Cheng’s weight on top of her, laughing at Agreste’s expense. She must have felt his eyes on her and glance at him shyly, laughter dying to a small smile on her lips.

Damian thought to himself that Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

[slightlycrunchy]

letters to all might au pt.5

|| pt.1 || pt.2 || pt.3 || pt.4 || pt.5 || pt.6 ||

The timeline is kind of fuzzy right now since I’m just vibing but…I think it’s mostly coherent. Btw, Izuku is 27 in this au.

a year and eight months

Today was not a good day, Dad. I’m shaking a bit, and my penmanship is horrendous--ha, reminds me of the early days in UA after my hands were first injured. Why is that where my mind is going? Those are not pleasant memories to think of right now.

Right, sorry. Got off track. God this entry is a mess, kind of like my old hero analysis notebooks. Ugh! You’re probably wondering what the hell this could possibly be about by this point and it’s absurdly minimal, I assure you, though it doesn’t feel like it at the moment. Sometimes it feels like the smaller the reminder, the more it hits me; like it’s a needle, just the right size to get under my skin, between my ribs, get right at my heart--

I made number one today, Dad. I did it. I finally got here. And this is supposed to be one of the best days of my life, yet I could hardly get through it all without crying. Everyone was so kind and the smiles were blinding...you would have loved it.

Now, ‘that’s a big thing’ I hear you saying; something I’ve worked toward ever since you gave me One for All, and you would be right it is a big

(I feel like I’ve done this day a major disservice already by starting off saying it was a bad day when really it wasn’t there were just bits—just pieces of it that were excruciating)

It is a big thing! It was a good day! Damn it, it was a good day…I will remember it as a good day…

I regret starting this, I think I should have waited a bit until I calmed down. Oh well, one thing I’ve always been good at is doubling down on hastily made decisions.

I thought about you from the moment I woke, Dad. I thought about you when they talked up my achievements and throughout my speech that I barely managed not to ruin. I thought about you when my name was shown on that billboard in lights, with a sparkling number one right next to it.

I did it. I’ve done it. And I was fine.

And then I was walking home, and…honestly it’s the smell that did me in. That sticky, cloying grease smell that you only get from a good burger joint, all fried potatoes and burnt cheese. Did I ever tell you I’d never had a real ‘American’ burger until I met you? You probably knew, with how enamored I was with the whole experience. I could tell I made you happy when my eyes lit up at that themed restaurant you first took me to all those years ago now, and also by the way you made it a regular thing to take me there again.

And now it makes me think of you.

There are a lot of small things that do this, Dad. I can’t look at red, white and blue quite the same. I can’t look at red sports cars without hearing your voice pitch in excitement about ‘me and David used to scour the streets in one of those, did ya know?’. Yea, I knew Dad, since you couldn’t ever not tell me, and even when I would roll my eyes, I need you to know that it was only ever to poke fun. I could have listened to those stories forever, I’m not sure it would have ever been enough.

Sometimes I lie awake and wonder just what I will never know about you, and those nights run long. Who you are were, lost to me now except for what I can keep inside of my imperfect memories. They’ll never capture you right, All Might. Not even close.

I missed you today, and god it aches something awful.

I just don’t know how I made it here, to this moment we spoke about so often and you’re not...with me. Is this a dream? Sometimes I think it is and I’ll wake up into reality at some point, but then the notion just leaves me feeling colder than ever. You were so warm, Dad. Your very presence was like a flame, and I can’t even describe what I mean by that. It was your demeanor, your voice, the words you chose. Every piece of you from your deepest insides to the top most hairs on your head was warmth.

God, I need it. I need you. I think it’s going to be another night on the couch in front of the tv for me. Been too many of those lately. But don’t worry! I’ll be alright. ‘This too shall pass’ or whatever they say…

Whatever they all say, all the time…

I don’t know how to end this one, Dad.

Goodnight.

Love, your Izuku

[iggy-sins]

Taka's gluttonous punishment (Danganronpa WG fic)

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

Kiyotaka didn't eat, he didn't bite, he didn't chew, he didn't swallow. It's not like he didn't want to, he was just seemingly never hungry. This tended to be an issue at mealtimes at Hope's Peak, normally he'd have a few token bites and the slip his plate over to someone else sitting near him. Today seemed different as the students of the prestigious academy sat down for breakfast, he didn't feel hungry as usual and only had a cup or two of orange juice but instead of giving his plate to someone else, he waited until everyone else was gone and just, scraped basically a full meal into the trash.

He was pacing one of the halls, doing his duties as the head hall monitor and future student council president when the oh so familiar announcement chime sounded over the P.A system

"can Kiyotaka Ishimaru please report to the auditorium"

He was taken aback, he hadn't broken any rules right? Maybe it was for something positive, like he's received an award of some kind. Only one way to find out...

As soon as Taka pushed open the auditorium doors he was immediately smacked in the face with some of the most delicious smells he'd ever been near, in the centre of the auditorium there was a feast fit for almost the entire school

"Ok" he thought "I must have been sent down to help set up some kind of celebratory lunch" that's when he too notice of the single chair at the head of the table. Before he had time to even guess what his job might be, he felt himself being pushed to the chair and forcibly sat down. A certain black and white bear appeared beside him

"So, you think you can waste perfectly good food and get away with it?" They said, a sneer to their tone

"Huh? Waste food?!" He scrambled to figure out what Monokuma was talking about, this morning's breakfast!

"Don't act dumb! You know what you did, there are starving children in the world who would do anything to have a garenteed meal like that Mr. Ishimaru and if you recall, school rules state that you must clear your plate and since you've blatantly disobeyed that rule multiple times by trading plates. iiiiit's punishment time!"

Miss Monomi came hurrying over, wearing a nurses uniform and carrying a syringe

"It's ok dear, this should only hurt a little" she said, sticking the needle into his arm and injecting the contents

"There, that little cocktail should increase your appetite and slow your metabolism to a crawl!" Monokuma announced, grabbing a turkey leg and holding it to his mouth

Taka tried to struggle but the drugs had taken effect, all he could think about was food, food, FOOD! He tore off a hunk of the turkey leg like he was a wild animal, he swallowed it down greedily, grabbing it from Monokuma and chowing down. The bear smirked, placing more food closer to the boy.

Taka ate like there was no tomorrow, reducing the turkey to a skeleton in minutes, chomping his way through mounds of mashed potatoes and chugging the gravy, stuffing more bread rolls and stuffing down his gullet than should be humanly possible but, all these excess calories began to take their toll as a basketball sized belly pushed against his uniform, his face had begun to get rounder, his lower body straining against his trousers as he continued to stuff himself.

After a while of non-stop feasting, roughly half of the food that'd been laid out had made a home in Kiyotaka's seemingly bottomless pit of a stomach. He was creeping up to having packed on almost 50 pounds of pure lard, he whimpered, pausing to fumble with the button on his pants, he let out a heave and it just, popped off his pants, he breathed a sigh of relief and resumed eating, clawing chunks out of a triple teired cake and cramming them into his greedy maw.

As he neared the end, he leaned over the table to reach his final leg of the meal, he'd grown enormous by this point, double the size he was when he'd entered the auditorium, as he lunged for a pie that was sitting on the far end of the table, his shirt tore across the hills and valleys of his back fat, he grumbled something about cheap material before tossing the shredded remains to the side, he retrieved his pie (which Monomi had already sliced up for him) and shoved the first piece into his mouth, the sweet but still slightly tart flavour of raspberries oozed over his tongue causing him to make a quiet noise of pleasure as he finished his feast.

"Pupupu, now Ishimaru, here, take a gander" the small bear presented him with a full length mirror, allowing Kiyotaka to see himself with an unclouded mind for the first time since this all started.

He gasped in horror as he saw his new bloated form, first off, he was almost completely naked besides a set of rather ill fitting underwear, his face was almost completely round, his cheeks were puffed out like a frog and he had a prominent double chin, his shoulders were soft, he had tits even Junko would envy, his limbs were like albino logs, hell, even his hands had gotten chubby, his ass filled the chair but the main event was his belly that flowed into his lap with rolls cascading down the sides, stretchmarks covered almost every part of his body giving him more stripes than a zebra.

He couldn't help but think of one of the kids in the year below him, imposter they called him, widely regarded as the fattest pupil at Hope's Peak, he wonder if they were of a similar size when he was handed a much larger version of his old uniform, he slipped it on hurriedly, appalled when it fit like a glove

"Ok, you're free to go!" Monokuma yelled after him "I hope you learnt your lesson about wasting food! If not I'll just keep bringing you back until we need a forklift just to get you out again!"

Kiyotaka waddled away solemnly, dreading people's reaction to his new appearance.

[dismalzelenka]

If you're wanting DADWC prompts, from the prompt list 30 ways to say I love you, "Pulling all-nighters with them when they’re feeling unwell, either mentally or physically." MHanders.

Fluff? In this establishment? More likely than you think. For @dadrunkwriting 🥂

m!handers. modern AU domesticity.

He has no idea what he's doing.

Garrett takes a moment to reflect on his relative ineptitude as he hovers in Anders’ doorway with his bag of assorted items he'd picked up at the pharmacy. He'd checked and double checked his texts — cold medicine, tissues, a pack of peanut butter cups — but of course the bastard had just assumed he knew which of the ten different brands and dosages he was supposed to get and then didn't answer the phone when he called for clarification.

Granted, he had a cold and was likely sleeping, but still.

The bag rustles when he dumps the contents out on the kitchen counter. There was a bottle of something called ‘Cold and Flu’ that looked promising, and it had even had an ‘Extra Strength’ and a ‘Maximum Strength’ version, so of course he'd bought all three. He hadn't been sure of which tissues to buy either, so now there are four different varieties stacked precariously in front of him. There's something in there called a ‘Feel Better Bear,’ which had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he's beginning to wonder what he was thinking, because now that he's pulled it out of the box it's really rather creepy looking.

He lifts it and eyes it suspiciously. It's the most unpleasant orange color he's ever seen. The fabric texture is almost soft, as though whoever designed it was going for velvet and then gave up halfway. It's full of what feels like beans, but there's an ominous warning on the box that says ‘DO NOT CRUSH OR INGEST’ that leads him to believe it's definitely not beans in there.

He can't remember the last time he was sick, but he doesn't think something that cursed would have helped him much. He gives it an experimental shake, squints at it some more, and promptly sticks it in the freezer.

Anders is definitely fast asleep when he nudges the door open with his foot, arms piled with the tissue box tower, three boxes of cold medicine, and a family sized pack of peanut butter cups. He almost trips over a phone charger. The boxes wobble — he almost drops them, and wouldn't that have been a bitch — but he catches himself clumsily with his elbow against the wall and inches over to the bed.

Maker's balls, the man looks awful. Garrett feels a flash of exasperation. For all of his lectures about healthy habits, Anders is remarkably terrible about keeping up with them himself, and the constant lack of sleep probably did not help the onset of whatever this is. He makes a mental note to order some soup tomorrow.

“You could always make it yourself,” Anders mumbles sleepily. “You're talking to yourself again, by the way.” He rolls over and takes the comforter with him until it's wrapped entirely around his body, hair falling messily against the pillow where it's come loose from his hair tie. “What took you so long?”

Garrett looks at the stack of tissue boxes in his arms and grins sheepishly. “Quality control?” he ventures.

Anders rolls back over, opens one eye, and squints at him suspiciously. “Why are you holding four tissue boxes?”

The top box picks that moment to topple to the floor, all on its own. Garrett instinctively leans forward to catch it, and the rest of the contents of his arms scatter onto the bed. Anders sits up and wheezes the phlegmiest, most pitiful sounding laugh Garrett's ever heard in his life as he picks up the Extra Strength and the Maximum Strength boxes and holds them up side by side.

“You know,” he says finally, “these are the exact same thing, right?” He thrusts the boxes forward and gestures to the dosage information.

Well. That's a bit embarrassing. Garrett offers the peanut butter cups sheepishly. “Did I get these right at least?”

Anders’ face lights up at the sight. “I could kiss you right now,” he says dreamily. “Or, well. I would if I weren't — you know.”

“You still could,” Garrett points out. He doesn't ever get sick, really, and he says as much to Anders’ mutter of protest.

“Absolutely not,” Anders repeats when he puts on his best pout. “You should wash your hands and go home.”

Now it's Garrett's turn to be affronted. “And leave you alone to die?”

Anders rolls his eyes as he pulls open the bag of peanut butter cups. “Don't be so dramatic. It's just a cold.”

“Then why shouldn't I stay with you?” Garrett argues. “What if you need help with — I don't know. Something.”

“Quite the imagination you've got there, love.” How does he manage to look like the Void warmed over and still manage to pull off that smirk? It really isn't fair. Garrett climbs onto the mattress anyway and sits at the foot of it, stubborn and cross-legged and full of determination. “That cannot be comfortable.”

“Yes, it is, and I am remaining right here until the sun comes up,” he says flatly.

It's not comfortable at all. He's far too tall for the way he's managed to pretzel his legs beneath himself, and he can already feel the pins and needles sensation creeping through his feet.

Anders sighs, breaking into another fit of coughs as he opens one of the tissue boxes and blows his nose. “I suppose there's no changing your mind, is there?”

“Nope!” Garrett says cheerfully. He moves a single toe and immediately regrets every decision he's ever made as the unpleasant TV static sensation travels straight through his shin and into his kneecap.

“Fine,” Anders relents. “But it's on your head if you get sick too.”

“An acceptable compromise,” Garrett says, grinning when Anders mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘I don't think that word means what you think it means.’ And maybe he offers another absurd pout, maybe he finally caves and stretches out his legs with a grimace and his knees betray him with a conspicuous pop, but the laughter that falls from Anders’ lips is worth every discomfort.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Fish

For @whump-advent-calendar‘s day 4-6, Burn/Candles

CW: Referenced medical whump and dehumanization, light burn (accidental), captivity, muzzling, drugging reference, reluctant whumper turned caretaker

Introduction | Siren Song | Cries | Here | Not Sure | Draw Blood | Fish | Signs

---

BAHRAM’S NOTES NOTE TO SELF - SAVE IN EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE. DO NOT LET DR. L SEE.

October 22nd, 20XX 3:45 am Mer in Residence: 19 Days

It’s time to admit I’m more or less keeping a diary at this point as I get to understanding him. So far I’ve written separate notes to myself… for ten or so straight days of the nineteen we’ve had him here, and it’s getting harder to write the official transcriptions the way Dr. L wants me to.

Dr. Lachlan insists I call the mer ‘it’, that it’s to help me distance myself emotionally since it’s such a good mimic of humanity, but I don’t think it’s a damn mimic, I think it’s just… human.

I mean, obviously it’s not HUMAN, but… Miah spelled it out for me, we had an argument about this when he first got here. She gets so angry that he’s getting hurt and you know, I guess I believed Dr. L - mer aren’t my specialty field, I’m a snake man really, I don’t know the first bloody thing about fucking cetaceans. 

Anyway, I said to her at the time, “It’s not human.”

She told me, “Maybe not H-U-M-A-N, but P-E-R-S-O-N,” just like jabbing me in the chest afterward. Also, Miah can fingerspell in a way that really makes you feel like a six year old getting yelled at by your mother, for the record. I can’t describe it any other way. I was ready to just melt away from personal embarrassment before she even finished signing “person.”

That’s not the point of this. 

I didn’t start a diary just to tell myself how right Miah is about all of this, but hey, here we are.

I need some days off so badly.

Miah wasn’t around today, it’s really just been me and the mer - I’m off for four days coming up here, after 20 days of work, and she’s going to come in and do 24-hour watch until I’m back. It’s not so bad - I don’t really know anyone here, and the bed’s comfortable enough. Dr. L’s paying rent on my apartment so I won’t lose it while I’m working, anyway.

I still feel like some low-level henchman, though. Like any moment some asshole in a tank top is going to show up with guns and I’ll just be a faceless evil stepping stone before the boss fight with Dr. L. 

I mean, we all know that Dr. L’s going to be the boss fight, right? Anders would just like lay down or throw Miah in front of himself or something.

No, that’s not fair, he really does love her.

Bahram this is all hypotheticals about a video game. Get back on track, man.

So Miah must have gone shopping or something. She came back with a bag full of these candles from this bookstore she really likes. I mean she came back with an insane amount of books, too, but she had this candle she pulled out and put down on my desk.

She set down the candle - it’s this really nice deep blue and has some kind of like ocean scene painted on the label, like, isn’t that thematic - and smiled at me. “This one reminded me of what we’re doing,” She told me, and her signs were… softer. Her expressions were softer alongside them.

Does that mean… anything? I don’t know. She just put it on my desk and then wandered off. I thanked her but I had to take her shoulder and get her to look at me, first. Maybe her face was a little red.

Maybe not. 

We keep the tank room pretty warm, I’m sort of cold-natured and the mer seems more active when we keep the lights really warm, so… 

I don’t get why she bought me a candle and why she looked away before I could thank her for it. I don’t get it, and I feel like I should, but I don’t. Is she not looking because it wasn’t a big deal, or because it was a big deal, or… what?

I really WOULD sink into the floor if Dr. L or Miah ever saw that I wrote this. Get it together, Bahram. You are not writing a diary about Miah fucking Kirsse. 

It’s been just me and the mer, all day. Dr. L was gone, too, meeting with whoever’s funding this whole thing. She’ll be gone until next week, so there’s no real work getting done, for now. Just blood draws.

She’s showing them its claws she took off. I don’t know why. Honestly, I have such a bad feeling about this, but I needed the cash and nowhere else was hiring for a job that would give me room and board and still time to work on my own research. Not that I’ve done a bit of THAT in a week.

I get too distracted by the mer.

He swims in circles. He stares at nothing, or pokes the plastic coral and ferns we got him, or hides in his cave. I can switch the screens over to watch the camera feed from inside the cave, but he doesn’t do much in there, either. I caught him picking at his scales, and I need to ask Dr. L about that. She took three scales off his tail, which for the record I had nothing to do with (whose record? I’m writing this to myself, and what the fuck does it matter about scales when I’m the one sticking the damn needle in his elbow twice a week), and I caught him sort of whistling sadly and picking at the empty spaces. 

They’ll grow back, Dr. L says. She’s not worried.

I am.

A little.

I’m starting to think Dr. L is lying about a lot of things, and I’m not sure what to do about that. If anything. This is a job, and I get paid better than I’ve ever been paid in my life. So… what do I do?

I could call the hotline and report him. It’s anonymous. 

She’d know I did it.

I don’t know why, but… I don’t want her to know it was me. Cowardice, I guess. Pure bloody cowardice.

But Miah hasn’t emailed the hotline, either. We can’t both be cowards, right?

Anyway.

Tonight was tank cleaning, which is a bloody fucking chore. Anders was around long enough to help me get the mer tranq’d and into the lift and then the rolling tank where he can just sit until I get my work done. Poor thing just lolls around when he’s tranq’d up. Barely blinks. 

Doesn’t stop its fucking crying, though.

We took a lot of blood from him today, too, so he was very weak. Barely moved, just curled himself up small so he was totally in the water and watched me work after Anders left. We’ve got a scrubber machine that does the hard work, I just have to hose some things down and then make sure its filter is still operating correctly. Watch the scrubber. Whole process takes about three hours from start to tank totally refilled, as long as I do it weekly. It’ll take much longer if I let it slide.

Double-checked the camera in the cave, and when I walked out of it I saw the mer’s head was up, watching everything I was doing. He dropped right back down under the water when he saw me looking at him. The muzzle looks so monstrous on him, but more than that, it makes him look like a monster.

Maybe Dr. L doesn’t muzzle him to keep us safe, but to keep me from seeing his expressions while I’m here with him all day.

No, that’s stupid. She doesn’t even think he’s sentient, right?

I finished up, and when I came to roll him back to the lift, I saw he’d popped his head up out of the rolling tank and was looking around the room itself. He hasn’t really looked around at all before this, and he was still tranq’d but maybe I fucked up the dosage? Because he was pretty alert, kind of whistling to himself and giving little chirps and clicks. He sounds like some weird mix of killer whale and fucking otters or something. When he saw me, he flinched back down under the water, but I had this idea.

Dr. L took his claws, and he’s still muzzled except when he’s on the table or when he eats, so like, it’s not like he can hurt me, right?

His eyes had gone to my desk, looking at… I guess all my books and papers and my laptop and everything. Maybe the candle. I waved my hand around until I saw that he was watching me again. With those big eyes it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s looking at, but when I clapped my hands he blinked at me, so I know he can hear it, can see me.

Then - and I swear I’m not lying - he moved himself up out of the water, and put his palms together. His earfins twitched out and back against his scalp, and his white hair dripped water all down his shoulders. 

He cocked his head at me. Then he put his hands together, harder this time. He clapped, and then… he clicked.

I KNEW it. I KNEW clicks were questions. Dr. L said their brains don’t work that way, but I bet they do. Who’s even considered how their brains work? Maybe they’re just like us. All the studying I’ve been doing shows that the scans we’ve done of dead ones are pretty similar in overall size and placement of their center of language. They’ve shown that mer populations have their own dialects if they don’t interact with each other, like the Atlantic transients sound totally different than the Pacific transients, which sound different than the residents that stick close to the coastlines up by Alaska...

Making my own head hurt. I don’t even care about fucking mammals, but I guess I do now. 

“That’s right,” I said when he clapped, not like he can understand but still. I said it, and I clapped again, and he clapped back. “Can you give me your head? I’ll take your muzzle off, yeah? If you don’t bite.”

Dumbest fucking idea ever, but hey. 

I think maybe he knows the word muzzle, because he whistled and shrunk down again, lowering his hands. His ear flaps flattened again. I saw the deep red marks around his neck, from how we have to use the catch-pole to get him out, and I just. I just felt like shit, you know?

I’m shit, that’s what I am, we’re torturing a child, more or less, who hasn’t done a thing to anyone but be by himself because he lost his bloody fucking family. I can’t keep telling myself I’m not the bad guy, you know? 

I’m going to jail if I report him, aren’t I? I helped bring him in, after all. There’s my whole career down the drain.

Is this how it felt when everyone was being shit to monkeys in the 70′s and calling it psychology? Did some of them just go along with it because they thought they had to?

This is not helpful, Bahram.

I sat down at my desk and tried to figure it out. His eyes were on me the whole time. I looked over at Miah’s candle, and looked at the label. Like I said, ocean scene. Fronds and ferns and…

I turned the label to face the mer, and tapped on the image with my finger. “Fish,” I said, feeling dumb as hell. I told myself, it’s a bloody animal, Dr. L would roll around laughing at you for this.

But he came back up out of the water. There was a long moment, and I heard him click, and then a soft, “Sssshhhhhh,” sound came from behind his muzzle. They have lips like ours, although their way of communicating is basically whalesong and relies heavily on underwater acoustics. He’s louder in the tank than out of it, although I guess fear might make him quiet, too.

The recordings I found on youtube they get in the ocean are deafening loud. Their voices travel so well underwater, it’s amazing. People sell fucking CDs with mersong over piano to fall asleep to. 

I poked at the ocean scene on the label again. “Fish,” I said firmly. “Do you want fish?”

He knows fish. 

I KNOW he knows fish because he sat up, held out his right arm, and tapped his elbow with a blunt-edged, broken-off claw before he looked back at me, trembling with fear. He clicked again, twice.

I can’t even tell you how shit I feel, realizing he was asking if I was going to take his blood first. That’s what he meant, it has to be. He poked at the exact spot where he’s bruised up from the needle. 

But it makes sense, right? 

He’s been here twenty days, more or less. Every couple of days, when he’s hungry enough, we bribe him with fish to get the pole on him, take blood or whatever else, and then he eats. 

No, WE don’t take his blood. I take his blood.

He thinks - and he’s fucking thinking, I know he is - that he only eats if we stick a needle in him.

I’m hurting a child.

I’m teaching a child to be hurt.

I’m not religious but this feels like the sort of thing you ask for forgiveness for, doesn’t it? I should call Maman and ask her who I could talk to. I’m going to call Maman or Baba tomorrow.

No I’m not.

What would I tell them I need to speak to someone about?

What if whoever I speak to calls and reports him, and Dr. L knows it was because of me?

I need to stop thinking about this. 

“No, NOT draw blood,” I said, and he whimpered again, held out his arm further, closer to me, tapped his elbow again. I knew he could still hurt me - their strength is prodigious, the first time we got him out of the tank he nearly pulled Dr. L down into the water with him - but I decided it was worth the risk. 

I kept thinking, he’s more scared of me than I am of him, but you know, of course he is. He’s the one with bruises.

I stretched my own arm out and showed it to him. He flinched back a little, and then leaned forward again, sitting in the little rolling tank that’s barely big enough to hold him. His blunt claws touched my arm, delicate as a feather, clicking as he poked at the sleeve of my sweater. 

“No draw blood,” I said. “Just fish. Eat.” I mimed chewing.

He looked at me and clicked twice, cocking his head, then looked at my candle from Miah, pointing at the ocean scene. “Ffff-sshhhh,” he said, muffled. 

“No, that’s a candle, it just has fish painted on it. Candle. Fire. Yes?”

Blank stare. 

Then, repeated, “Ffff-sssshhh.”

I sighed and pulled out my little lighter. I don’t smoke or anything, but I hate the way matches smell, so I have a lighter on me basically all the time. Plus, having lighters was a pretty good way to make friends back in undergrad when I gave a fuck about that. 

I flicked on the lighter, and the mer chirped, curiously. 

Has it never seen fire before?

Why would it, it lives in the ocean. Don’t be a dumbshit, Bahram.

“Fire,” I said, and held it out a little for a closer look. “Fire.” I tilted it and lit the candle, and the mer leaned forward, rapt, as the wick sparked up to flame and I blew the smaller flame on the lighter out. 

“FFfffff,” The mer said, barely audible. It clicked and held out its hand, and I wasn’t fast enough.

“No, wait stop-”

The mer’s fingertips touched the flame and it let out a deafening loud cry of pain and jerked its hand back down into the water, whimpering at the new kind of hurt, looking at me like it was MY fault, and maybe it was. Eyebrows furrowed, little crease in its forehead, big sad eyes. 

The big sad eyes are wrecking me.

“Well, don’t touch fire and you won’t burn,” I said, shaking my head. “No touch fire. Fire bad. Fire burn.”

He held out his hand to show me. “Ffff-rrrrr.” It was a plaintive little breath of air, not quite a real sound. 

The ends of two fingers were a little dark, that’s all. I could explain that by saying he’d hurt himself in the tank, maybe. I shook my head and pointed at the water, and it put its hand back in there, huffing a little breath of relief, I think. The water probably helped with the sting. 

“Right. Fire bad. No fire.”

“Ffff-rrr... buh-ddd.” 

“Right. Fire bad.” I stood up and walked over behind him, and he tried to turn and watch me but I shook my head and pointed back at the candle and he sort of huffed again and looked away. I felt him tense when my fingers touched the back of his head, but he sat still.

Probably because if he struggles when she goes to take the muzzle off or gets her fingers near his mouth, Dr. L has this electricity stick thing… 

I’m not supposed to mention that in the transcripts.

I’m not supposed to mention how he screams, and he doesn’t sound like a whale or an otter, then. He doesn’t sound like an animal.

He sounds like a child.

He IS a child

He’s just

I’m a fucking

No. I need to focus. This is stuff I can’t tell Dr. L, I need to write it down here where it’s safe.

The muzzle is easy to get off, you just need to be looking right at it, and I unbuckled and pulled it free, feeling a little resistance from how well it stuck to his face. Without it on, there are deep red lines along his cheeks and jaw, not open or bleeding, just irritated. 

He didn't grab at me, or bite. Just watched me with his big eyes as I laid it down on my desk. For a second we were both just quiet, looking at each other. 

Then he pointed at the candle again. “Ffff-sssshh.”

“No,” I said. “Candle. Fire.”

The mer’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head, echoing what I did earlier. His hair slapped around. His teeth look like shark’s teeth up close, only there’s a lot less of them. “Nnnn-nnnuh,” He tried, shaking his head again.” Nnn-uh. Ffff-sssshhh.” Then he pointed at his mouth, opening wide, showing me the tongue behind his teeth. “Fffff-sssshhh. Ffff-ssshhh.”

I laughed, covering my mouth - he seems to be scared when we show too much teeth, probably in the ocean it’s a threat and they don’t smile like we do. Which, why would they? 

But, see, I realized that he wasn’t pointing at the candle at all, but at the fish painted on it. Then he moved to look at the bucket of fish he gets as a reward for obedience, and pointed at that, then looked back at me to see if I was paying attention.

Of course I was. I was barely fucking breathing. This is signs of abstract thought process, recognizing that the image of a thing isn’t the thing itself. That he can point at it to represent what he wants. “You want fish? Is that it? You’re hungry? Want to eat some fish?”

The mer blinked and made a sound like a chirp, clapped his hands together. “Rrrrr. Fff-sssshhh.” He pointed at his mouth again. “Ffff-ssshhh. Buh-rrrrmm. Ffffsshh.”

“What did you say?” I whispered. My heart went cold. I can’t describe it any other way.

“Buh-rrrrmmmm. Ffff-sssshh, Buh-rrrmm.”

The bloody thing knows my fucking name. 

He knows we have names and he knows mine and that means-... that means he has one, doesn’t it? If he has a name, if he has

I’m his fucking nightmare aren’t I 

I’m the worst fucking thing that could happen to him, me and Miah and Dr. L and Anders and this is a job but it’s the worst thing that’s happened to him and it’s only

It’s going to get worse for him.

He’s going to die here and he’ll know all our names when he does.

Anyway, so... you know... I brought him a bucket of fish.

What else was I supposed to do? 

He knows my name!

He let me put the muzzle on him again without fighting after he finished, and I got him back in the tank once the water was refreshed, and he’s sleeping off his meal now. I can see him on the feed, curled up inside the cave.

But I’m wide awake, so I thought I’d write this, because…

Because what the hell do I do now?

I can’t tell Miah.

Can I?

 ---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumper

[secretsniper2]

Just a “Touch up”

You always wanted to do something outlandish, all the other girls had gotten something done and bragged about it non stop, it was driving you crazy! So you decided to get something done yourself, nothing major, just a touch up. So now you sit in the doctors office talking with the man who would be operating on you, you explain that your only looking for a light touch up to your face so your friends will notice instantly. The doctor explained that at 19 years of age “there wouldn't really be much they could do” but you were adamant that you get it done. Date set for 2 weeks away you cant wait!

Time flew past with more of the same, your friends bragging and you roll your eyes every time, your certain they will envy your face when your job is done. The date finally arrives and you head to the clinic to get started. Sitting in the waiting room your not alone, there is a creepy guy with a green hat, sitting in the corner, every time you look over at him he is staring at you. “can i help you?” you ask and he stands and walks to the counter, asks for something and is given a grey folder and a pen, taking both to his seat he begins to fill out a form. “bit late to fill that out” you think to yourself, oh well. A Nurse walks into the waiting room with a piece of paper, “Layla!” she calls and you stand and follow her into the room.

Walking through the single door you notice the main table in the middle of the room, and a few covered tables to the side, at the other end of the room is a wide double door your unsure why they need 2 doors for 1 side and a single door on this side.. “ehhh” you think to yourself as the Nurse gives you your gown to change into and as your the only 2 in here you strip down and put your light blue hospital gown on. it barely goes past your pussy! Tying it on securely your just in time for the surgeon to walk in with 2 folders, 1 blue and the other grey like the man in the waiting room. Flicking through both folders he leads you to the table to begin your surgery.

Laying down on the table it feels weird, like the table itself can be pulled apart due to how it shifts beneath you, its certainly not all in 1 piece. The surgeon begins drawing lines on your face where he will be doing his work, as you had discussed. Looking up to the ceiling you see a camera pointed right at you, clearly for medical reasons you feel more lines get drawn on you.  Taking a needle from a shelf he explains “this shot will feel weird and you may get confused, its to ensure you don't feel pain”. Holding out your arm your given the shot, it feels warm as you lower your arm back onto the table, the warmth spreading through your body, its pleasant at least, the warmth flowing up to your head and your hit with the confusion he mentioned. If you were standing you would fall over instantly, but your laying down so your head just rolls to a side, completely relaxed. As the warmth continues to roll down your body it hits your tight pussy and you start to feel a little aroused, at least your legs are closed but with this gowns length its only a matter of time before your lips start showing your arousal.

Continuing down your legs your toes go numb as the warmth hits them, it tickled at first but now you notice you cant move your arms either, you begin to breathe faster as you learn just how little you can move, its just your head! everything under your neck is completely still. Acting as if nothing is wrong the surgeon walks up and puts a headpiece on your face, bit weird as that's where your getting work done, and all you can see is darkness, nothing else. your body tingling all over from the shot earlier and with your vision limited your sense of touch has increased, your now acutely aware of the hairs on your arms standing up, it is cold in here though but your beginning to panic a little.

A sudden burst of light floods your eyes and after a few blinks you see yourself, from the camera hanging over your body, you see everything, almost the whole room! Worse still you see what the lines on your forehead are, he wasn't tracing out lines, he was writing “Fuckslut” on your forehead! examining your body from this perspective you can see your bald pussy peeking out of the gown, raising your arm for the shot must have pulled the gown up! your pussy is exposed! you can see the glistening from your arousal which has only gotten worse since it started, a hand reaches out and grabs your thigh. the surgeons unwanted touching makes you sick, but your pussy just cries out for more touches and you hate that your body is reacting positively.

Walking up beside your body he reaches out and grabs your breast “what the fuck” you think angrily! who does this guy think he is?! as he squeezes your perky C cup breast, moving to the other and repeating after a minute, leaving both your breasts a little sore but your nipples have reacted to the abuse and you can already see them poking against the gown. your head flooding with shame as you see them get harder and harder as his hand snakes its way up to your smooth neck and holds your throat. caressing your skin he loops his hand under the neck of the gown and to your horror, pulls hard and you feel the tight knots you did earlier come undone as the gown soars off your now completely naked body!

You cant believe what your seeing, your 19 year old body laying flat on the table with nothing covering you, your nipples reacting even more as they get even harder than they were seconds before, and your pussy is drooling with need, your humiliation has only begun and you know it. Watching in horror as the hand moves from your neck, sliding down your smooth skin to once again grasp your breast, your nipple being pinched hard this time, you hear him say “this size wont do, ill have to fill them out a bit” and worse still, you hear another unseen man say “you have the chart, make it happen” your eyes scanning the room as much as you can see, but you cant find the source of the second voice! Movement draws your eyes back to the hand as it slides easily over your smooth, flawless skin and glides over your pussy and fingers dip between your lips. Fluid now flowing out as he probes your most private area with his fingers, expertly drawing more and more fluid from you, clearly knowing what he is doing as he brushes across your clit forcing sharp sensations to stab your mind.

Pulling your legs open you see a separation in the table and sure enough the surgeon separates them, putting a brace on the inside section he opens them wider, catching your ankles in the process, and as the table continues to widen, so do your legs. Pussy now completely accessible now to even the most aimless of people, the surgeon brings a covered cart over to you and upon removing the cloth your witness to needles and a scalpel among other tools. Your terror reaching new heights as a needle is taken, full of a pink liquid it is moved straight for your clit, eyes almost bulging out of your head as the tip sinks into your precious bulb, but no pain, at least he was honest about that. Pushing the tip in further you see him injecting the fluid inside your clit and it actually begins to bulge, blood flooding to your nub forcing it to grow out, pushing its hood aside it now sitting out, you cant stop looking at it, its 3 times bigger than what it was!

A flash of steel and your eyes dart to the cause, the surgeon holding the scalpel now moves in on your engorged clit, slicing from the base and moving to the tip you see blood and you have no idea what he is doing to you.. placing a cup over your clit you see him attach a pump to the end, its a suction cup! you feel him pumping away your sensitive clit moving further away from your body, so sensitive the pumping continues will its 8cm out of your hood, then its bandaged to keep it out and exposed, “if she messes up you can grab her by her clit now and lead her anywhere you want” you look at your once adorable clit, you think “i could give my clit a fucking handjob now!” and its almost big enough too. pumped full of blood the sensitivity is through the roof, and because of the fluid he injected your clit with its completely rigid and standing straight out, not bending at all..

Taking 2 more needles from the cart he aims them for your exposed labia, penetrating them your injected with a blue liquid this time, and you feel a instant burning in your pussy as he injects you multiple times around your pussy and even your inner lips get 4 injections. Heat burning away as your arousal forced your pussy to clench and fresh juice squirts out, not a orgasm but it may as well have been, your so desperately horny now and there's nothing you can do! Watching in terror as he gets more needles and walks over to your breasts, 1 needle in the tip of your nipple and the orange fluid is injected followed by the burning sensation in your breasts, “experimental drugs are illegal but im sure you dont mind right” “not at all” the 2 men agree. both your breasts are burning from the inside as you feel them growing! you can almost see it happening right in front of your eyes, your C’s are growing to D’s!

Whatever the injections were they work fast and your not liking this at all! Taking a device from the table your pussy is opened up as he looks inside. “not a virgin” your surgeon says then a very long needle is inserted in your pussy. reaching far inside he hits the entrance to your womb and injects another drug, “what's going to happen to my poor womb?!” you think “there we go” he says, “she should be hypersensitive to touch now” not waiting for a invitation he touches your clit and you orgasm on the spot, from a simple touch! “now for her ass!” you hear him say as you come back down from the orgasm, a brown liquid filled needle is jabbed into your asshole and your filled once again with a burning sensation, likely being made hypersensitive like the rest of you. Looking to your breasts for a moment your stunned at the DD set your now carrying! your breasts are huge!

“Care to sample the goods?” your asshole of a surgeon says and you see him, a green hat moves into your sight, its that guy from the waiting room! You watch as he pulls his cock out and stands between your open legs and pushes into your soaked pussy! forcing 3 orgasms simultaneously from you as he thrusts in, pushing straight into your womb pulling a further 5 orgasms out of you! your mind is going numb already! you have never cum so many times so fast! your sure no woman has in history and yet here you are, a slave to the orgasmic hell these men have forced on you.. The man in the hat pulls out to your entrance again and thrusts once again straight to your womb, so many orgasms you only thought it “kill meee..” as even your voice in your head trails off in the pleasure. As he slams his length into you your clit gets rammed hard by his body and your rewarded with another 6 orgasms! “its not possiblee-ohmyfuckinggod!” you think as your mind melts through your gushing pussy!

After what seemed like a eternity of orgasmic hell, having well over 50 orgasms the man in the hat moves to your chest, hopping on you he slides his cock in between your DD breasts and begins thrusting hard, you have given a titjob before but it never feels this good! your already cumming just from having him fuck your tits! and he clearly enjoys his time as you feel a splash on your face and mouth as he cums on you. “can we make that more fun for the slave too?” he says, your mind stopping at the word “slave” what did he mean by that? your name is Layla for gods sake! you came in here for a touch up and your being transformed into a cum crazy slave?! you watch as a clear liquid filled needle is brought over to your face, your mouth is opened with no resistance, and your tongue is jabbed and filled with the fluid. “this will ensure the she enjoys giving you head as much as you enjoy receiving it” he said with a laugh!

Your mouth burning as the surgeon returns you your pussy and grabs your clit hard and begins playing with it, forcing you to cum instantly with each stroke, having a further 12 orgasms pulled from you in seconds and he is still going! your eyes roll back into your head as you cum wildly! your mouth still open from the injection some of the mans cum drips into your now open mouth and lands on your tongue, you never did like the taste of cum but this was different.. though you cant move it the cum just slides over your sensitive tongue and you can taste it, somehow you love it! it tastes amazing!, hearing something click your head drops backwards as your eyes look down at your body through the camera once more, the green hat man is lining up your throat for some fucking. Nothing you can do but watch this man fuck your throat, as his cock enters your mouth it pushes your tongue to the floor of your mouth, and you can taste his cock in detail. “s-so tasty!!” your mind screams as he begins pumping down your throat!

“i think were almost done here!” the surgeon says loudly and you hear a grunt of agreement from the man as you feel his hot load pump into your throat as he pulls out, raising your head back up and locking the table back in position, the surgeon stops pulling orgasms from you as he releases your hypersensitive and overstimulated clit, you couldn't count how many times you came if you wanted to.. Watching as the man in the green hat beings a bag over, he pulls some small devices out and places them beside you, “how long will she be paralyzed?” he asks as he does, “5 hours at least.” the surgeon replies, “5 hours of immobile hell?! fuck!” you think. Watching as the man places 2 devices on either side of your nipples and tapes them there you recognise them as vibrators.. “the sick fuck is going to keep making me cum?” you scream mentally.. a thick dildo is placed between your tits and turned on, it feels amazing already!

Watching in fear as a series of vibrators are stuck to your solid clit, covering it completely. A long dildo is pushed right into your pussy and into your womb, pulling more orgasms from you, and finally a scary long dildo is pushed inside your virgin ass, the sensation is incredible for your first time, you can feel it as it moves further and deeper inside you. a foot of rubber cock now fills your tight ass! you can see your pussy gaping open as the dildo doesn't even stick out a little, the man pulls a pair of panties from the bag. black and shiny you realize its a latex lined chastity belt. pushing your clit through the large hole in the front, the panties push completely against you, orgasming immediately as the latex hits your pussy, form fitting almost as it hugs your hips perfectly, metal on the outside you see him lock them on and lower a weird ring around the base of your clit and snapping it shut locking your clit in the belt. At the push of a button your whole body cums instantly as every vibrator activates at seemingly max power!

8, 20, 36, 53.. orgasms every few seconds as your clit visibly shakes as each vibration quakes your mind and body, your pussy and ass vibrating furiously as the tip of the cock in your womb wrenches more orgasms out of you. in the first 10 seconds you have already lost count of not only how many times you came, but also where you are! “my name……. is.. Laylaaaaaaahhhhhhh” your mind dribbles out, “fuuuck-ohmygodnooo!!” you would be screaming if you could. Your mask is removed and your eyes dart around looking at the man in the face clearly. you burn his face into your mind as the man who stole your life, but with his large beard you cant make out much! “FUCK! im cuuuuuuhhh..“ your mind trails off. countless orgasms pulled out of your body as the wheels on your table are unlocked and you learn why there are 2 doors on 1 side of the room, its to fit the table.. wheeled through the doors you see a carpark, and your new ride.. a car boot. Your body is folded up with the surgeons help and your bound into a doll almost, still cumming furiously as your placed in the boot of this mans car and locked inside.

Its dark inside, your body still cumming and you cant move even if you wanted to.. a life of sexual slavery at the hands of this man.. You wanted a Touch up, and now this man is going to touch you up any time he wants..

[fromiftowhen]

fic: i want your midnights (an Upstead secret santa one shot)

A little New Year’s Eve Upstead fic for the @chicagopd-secretsanta Secret Santa exchange! I got to write for @bleedinghearthalstead who prompted “New Year’s Eve in the emergency room.” I hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season! 

Rated T | 3300 words | Title from New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift

“Hailey, I swear, this is a waste of time,” he groans. “I’m good.”

“Yeah, you look really good. Your knee is three times the size it’s supposed to be, Jay,” she says, gesturing to the ice pack barely covering his right knee.

“You don’t think I look good?” He lifts the corner of his mouth in a smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

“Shut up. Obviously, I think you look good, that’s why we’re in this situation.”

“Oh, I remember,” he grins, letting his eyes roam down her body and back up slowly. “But we’re gonna miss Kim’s New Year party.”

She nods. “She’ll have one next year. Maybe you’ll learn to keep your hands to yourself by then and we won’t end up sitting in the ER waiting for the ball to drop.”

“Excuse me, I'll learn to keep my hands to myself? Pretty sure you started it.”

She just rolls her eyes and adjusts the ice pack on his knee.

He watches her for a moment until she glances up and narrows her eyes at him. “What?”

He shakes his head, grinning. “You want to spend next New Year’s Eve with me,” he says, fighting to keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Shut up,” she says again, but there’s a tiny hint of a blush creeping across her cheeks. It’s the first New Year’s Eve they’ve spent together as a couple and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking forward to Kim’s annual party, where he’d spent the last few years ringing in midnight with Hailey beside him.

This year, though, wouldn’t find him awkwardly swigging his beer to keep from reaching over and kissing her as the clock struck midnight. He’s not one for tradition or resolutions, doesn’t believe things magically change because the calendar flips over again.

This year, though. Well, her cheeks are still a little pink, and he’s finally gonna kiss her at midnight, hospital room and bad lighting and knee pain aside.

He just grins, and of course, she rolls her eyes again. “Try not to get any more stupid injuries this next year, and we’ll see about spending another New Year together.”

He finally lets himself laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says, incredulous. “Stupid injuries? You were a willing, enthusiastic participant.”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit there, pal,” she mutters. “You can shower by yourself next New Year’s Eve.”

“I was trying to,” he laughs, cringing a little as he shifts, and his knee protests with sharp pain.

She frowns. “See, it does hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he insists, but he lets her reach behind him and adjust his pillow so he doesn’t have to shift back too far in the bed.

Jay watches her pace the small hospital room, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s worried, and it’s honestly pretty damn cute.

“I’m sure you are,” she says, but it sounds like she’s just placating him. “I’m just saying, you made a very weird noise when you fell.”

“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “That’s because I was about to--”

The automatic whir of the sliding door sounds and Will’s voice interrupts him.

“I’m all for a full medical history, but please, god, don’t finish that sentence,” he says, hugging a chart to his chest. He looks gleeful and Jay wants to punch him.

“Isn’t there some rule about not treating family members?” He asks, eyeing Will suspiciously.

Will rolls his eyes, and beside him, he watches Hailey try to hide a smirk.

“Hey, I don’t need you two ganging up on me right now. I’m injured here.” He’ll never admit it sounds like a whine.

“Sure,” Hailey says. “The doctor comes in and suddenly you’re injured. You were fine two seconds ago.”

“Don’t call him the doctor, please,” he groans. “He’s already gonna be insufferable.”

“They worry we might become too emotionally invested,” Will says, shrugging like it’s another rule he’s about to disregard. “Pretty sure that’s not gonna be a problem.” He grins, flipping open the chart.

“Any chance you can get us out of here by midnight?” Jay asks, watching Will’s smirk grow a little as he reads over the chart.

“Bro,” he groans, glancing back up. “I already pulled the only strings I have to get you back here without a long wait. No promises.”

“We’re good, Will,” Hailey says. “We can wait.” Her voice sounds pointed but her fingers on his shoulder are gentle.

“Thank you, Hailey,” Will says. “Seriously, Jay, the right knee. Again?”

He shrugs, but Hailey lets out a little choking noise next to him, and he turns to her.

“Again? This has happened before?”

He starts to shake his head, but Will cuts in. “Oh, yeah. What, you were 13 the first time? And then high school, and your first year on patrol?”

Hailey looks like she's going to lose her mind, and Jay tosses Will a look, silently begging him to shut up.

“Baseball, Hailey,” Jay tells her, trying not to laugh. “Rounding the bases the first time and sliding into home the second. And chasing an offender on patrol.”

She nods slowly. “Okay. That makes more sense.”

Jay watches Will glance between them and then down at the chart. “This just says you fell. What did it this time?”

He doesn't say anything, but he can see pink flares dance across Hailey's cheeks. His brother is an idiot, but he's not an idiot, and Jay watches him put the pieces together.

“Ah,” he nods, smirking, and Jay can hear the laughter trying to fight its way through. “Well, sounds like you were at least rounding the bases this time too.”

“Oh, my god,” Hailey whispers, running a hand down her face.

Will sets the chart down and lifts the ice pack on his knee, pressing lightly around the swelling. “One to ten?” He asks, glancing up as Jay tries and fails not to hiss.

“Two,” he says.

“And if your girlfriend wasn't two feet away?”

“I hate you,” he whispers. “Four. Maybe five,” he admits.

Will steps back, grinning. “You worship me. You're gonna be fine. Doesn't seem like anything's torn, but I want a scan to double-check.”

“You can't just--”

“No,” Will sighs. “I can't just wrap it or let you leave or whatever other malpractice you were about to suggest.”

Jay rolls his eyes, but nods. “Fine. But no--”

“No needles, we know,” Hailey and Will say together, and honestly, he's not sure when his idiot brother and his sarcastic girlfriend became BFFs, but he's not into it.

He grumbles out a thanks but smiles when Hailey's fingers tangle with his on the edge of the mattress.

“I'm gonna go order your scan. How's the pain, really? Need anything for it?” It's Will's concerned doctor voice, but it sounds a lot like his protective brother voice and something in him tugs with appreciation.

“I’m good, but thanks.”

Will smiles. “Okay. But don't be a hero, doofus,” he says, picking up the chart and heading for the door. “Someone will come to get you soon.”

He nods.

“Oh, and Jay?” Will’s caring brother voice is gone, and Jay steels himself.

“Next time, let the girl shower alone.” Jay shoots him a look because they hadn't said anything, but Will just grins.

“I see this way too often. Plus, both of you have wet hair and I'm pretty sure your shirt is on backward.”

“Jesus christ,” Hailey whispers.

“You good, Hailey? I don't see any visible injuries. Escaped unscathed?”

She nods, but Jay's pretty sure she might murder both of them if given the slightest chance.

Will laughs. “Good. Oh, to be young and stupid and in love.”

He rolls his eyes. “For the record, I was in the shower first. By myself. This is barely my fault,” he says, but Will just gives a sarcastic little wave as the door closes behind him.

The room quiets as Hailey's fingers tug at his collar, little sparks of heat lingering where she touches.

“He was right,” she groans. Her fingers trail down his arm and he smiles.

“Well, don't ever tell him that,” he says, leaning forward and reaching for his collar to tug the shirt over his head. He glances at her, her eyes tracking his movements as he's turning it around, and smirks.

“Yeah, you probably shouldn't look at me like that right now. That look is the reason we're sitting here,” he grins, pulling the shirt slowly back down his chest.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, smoothing back her ponytail. When she glances up, her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I was joking.”

She nods. “I know.”

“C’mere,” he says, reaching out an arm for her and pulling her up onto the narrow mattress with him. “It was an accident, babe.”

She nods again, reaching up to thread their fingers together where his arm rests over her shoulder. “I am sorry, though.”

“I’m gonna need you to stop apologizing for surprising me in the shower,” he laughs, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Not ever gonna be mad about that.”

She laughs against his chest, and things feel like they're righting themselves again. He barely feels his knee.

“I'm not apologizing for that. That was fun,” she says. “Just. You know, the part where you fell.”

“Yeah, that wasn't the ending I was hoping for, but I'll survive. And still, not your fault.”

“Still,” she says. “I feel bad.”

“Gonna need that to stop, too. And I'm gonna be really mad if this keeps you from joining me in the shower in the future, just so we're clear.”

She rolls her eyes. “We'll see. Let's give you some time to heal first.”

He shrugs. “Not necessary.”

“Right, I forgot, you're fine,” she says. “I'll get you one of those shower chairs, maybe a handrail installed?

He wrinkles his nose slightly, shaking his head as he leans in to kiss her. “I mean, you can get me a shower chair if you're planning to--”

A knock sounds on the glass and he groans slightly when she pulls away as the door opens and a transporter with a wheelchair comes in.

“You must know someone,” he says. “Dr. Halstead had me skip you to the front of the line.”

“Aww,” Hailey says. “That’s a good brother.”

Jay laughs, shifting himself off the mattress and into the chair quickly. “That’s an annoyed brother,” he tells her. “He wants me out of here before I remind him how much I hate hospitals.”

She shifts so she’s more comfortable on the mattress where he was stretched out. “Yeah, I want you out of here too, I’m gonna stretch out for a bit.”

“What, too much exercise earlier?” He smirks as he’s wheeled out of the room.

“Bye, Jay,” she calls, and he watches her until she’s out of sight.

——————————

By the time he’s wheeled back in the room, it’s a little after 11PM, and Hailey is stretched out on the mattress on her phone.

“Go okay?” She asks, sitting up as he slides onto the mattress beside her, shifting to put his knee back up.

“‘Bout as good as anything in a hospital can,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Think we’ll be out of here by midnight?”

She bites her lip. “I saw Will and April run by for a trauma a little while ago, so…”

“Probably not,” he fills in. “Oh well, good company at least,” he says, knocking his shoulder with hers.

“Mhmm,” she murmurs.

“You gonna make it to midnight, pal?” He asks quietly, watching her yawn.

She nods. “‘Course. I just didn't plan on being in bed before midnight. Got a little too relaxed.”

He winks. “I didn't plan on it either. Or, at least, not a hospital bed,” he grins, leaning over to press his lips to her cheek.

She lifts her lips in a small, easy smile and reaches for her phone when it lights up a moment later.

“Kim says hi,” she says. “And also, that you're an idiot.”

“Ouch,” he laughs. “Does she… know why I'm an idiot?”

She gives him a please look, raising her eyebrows. “Does anybody?”

“You're mean in the hospital,” he teases. “I like shower Hailey better, injuries and all.”

She rolls her eyes, holding out her phone to show him a picture of Kim, Kevin, and Adam, a ridiculously large box of fireworks in the frame.

“Oh, they are very drunk, that's a horrible idea,” he laughs. “Might wanna warn Will to look out for them later.”

“Warn Will about who?” Will asks, sneaking in through the still-open door.

“Our very drunk coworkers,” Hailey says. “Everything going okay out there?”

Will glances over his shoulder and Jay watches him closely as he turns back. It's not, he can see it on his face. But Will just smiles.

“It's New Year’s Eve, and it's still early, really. But look,” he sighs. “Radiology is backed up, it's gonna be a while before I can see your scans. Sorry, man.”

He shrugs. “I figured. Could be worse.”

Will nods, glancing at his watch. “Hey, we have a little tradition here at midnight. Give me like, half an hour and I'll come to get you.”

Jay nods. “Okay,” he says, a little unsure.

“Trust me, bro. And in the meantime, don't do anything stupid to injure yourself further. Hospital sex isn't that cool.”

“Okay, that's my limit of hearing the wrong Halstead brother discuss my sex life,” Hailey sighs.

Will points to himself, cocky grin in place, and Jay prepares to have to leverage himself up onto his bad knee to punch him.

“Wrong Halstead? I'm the right Halstead. Best Halstead,” he says, grinning.

“You know what, you both suck,” she says, and Will laughs as he leaves the room, which feels like a little bit of a win.

Jay leans into her when they're alone again, his chin on her shoulder. “I'm the best Halstead, right?”

“Ehhh,” she says, shrugging.

“Mean,” he whispers. She laughs, her shoulders shaking under his chin.

“Fine,” she laughs. “You’re the best Halstead for me.”

He presses his lips to her jaw slowly. “That feels like a cop-out, but I’m gonna take it.”

“Good,” she says. Her phone vibrates next to them again and she picks it up, stifling a laugh as she swipes it open.

“Five bucks one of them is missing an eyebrow on Monday,” she says, showing him a video Kim sent, fireworks blasting in the background, and a voice that sounds suspiciously like Adam yelling over the music.

“If by one of them you mean Adam, that's a sucker's bet.”

“True,” she laughs. “How's the knee feel?”

He shifts back on the mattress, guiding his arm around her waist and bringing her back with him. “Once you've been shot, everything else is like an annoying paper cut,” he downplays, and her look tells him she knows he's full of it.

But she doesn't say anything, just settles in against him, yawning again.

“Sorry we're spending our first New Year’s Eve at the ER,” he whispers.

She shrugs. “Best New Year’s Eve I've spent in the ER.”

Something inside him clenches because it probably should have occurred to him. It's been years, but he knows she still carries the Booth stuff around with her, and he can still picture her face from that whole week so clearly, the anger and fear and determination.

He presses his lips to her temple and breathes slowly against her, in and out. He searches for something to say that won't be pointless or trite, but by the time he thinks he's found the words, her breathing has evened out against him and a quick glance down tells him she's dozed off.

His good knee is cramping a little where her thigh is resting over his, but he just smiles and lets her doze, letting her relaxed features ease him too.

——————————

He distracts himself with his phone and Hailey's quiet breathing in and out against him until a light knock sounds on the glass and Will sticks his head in the door.

“You annoy her to death finally?”

He rolls his eyes, but Will just smirks.

“Wanna wake her up?”

He pauses for a moment, considering. She looks relaxed and comfortable, and really, that's all he ever wants for her on the nights when sleep is hard to find.

And he wants to kiss her at midnight more than he'll admit, in the cheesiest way he can imagine, fireworks between them if not in the sky. But he knows he can kiss her whenever, and it'll be just as good then.

But a loud crash sounds in the hallway before he can make up his mind, and as Will turns to check on it, Hailey shifts against him, waking up.

“Hey,” he whispers quietly.

“Hey.” She runs a hand across her eyes, stretching her back slowly. “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“You're good. Wanna get up and go with Will?”

She nods as Will turns back to them.

“And she's alive,” he says. “Maybe you're less annoying than I thought, Jay.”

“Doubtful,” Hailey says, sitting up. “Where are we going?”

“That's a surprise,” Will says, turning to wheel in a wheelchair.

“Dude, come on. At least get me some crutches.”

“Nope,” he says, Hailey's voice echoing right behind his. “Come on.”

——————————

“The roof, bro? This isn't gonna be like when I was seven and you tried to push me off, right?”

Will rolls his eyes, easing the wheelchair to a stop near the edge of the roof. “For the thousandth time, you slipped, Jay. Plus, Hailey would probably stop me.”

“Depends on the day.” Her voice is quiet and her fingers are pinpoints of heat against the back of his neck in the cold. “This is really nice, Will.”

And it is. There are lights strung and it's as quiet as the city gets on a night like this, traffic down below painting the night in red and gold moving lights.

“Figured if you have to be here, you may as well get the good view. Usually, there’s a little crowd, so you lucked out.”

They chat for a couple of minutes until Will's pager goes off and he groans quietly, glancing down at it.

Jay glances at his watch. 11:57.

“Gotta run. I'll call you when I see your scans,” he says, clapping Jay on the shoulder, shaking him a little. “Don't freeze to death up here please.”

“Happy New Year, man.”

Will grins, leaning in to give Hailey a quick hug. “You guys too. Seriously, though, no dying, this is probably against all kinds of rules. I don’t need that hassle.”

“Go, dude,” Jay says, laughing.

Will waves and heads back toward the roof access door and Hailey turns to him.

“I dunno, your brother might be my favorite Halstead right now.”

Jay just shakes his head. “Absolutely unacceptable,” he says, holding out his hand to bring her closer, pulling her down to sit on his good knee.

“Okay?” She asks quietly, settling in.

“Think I'll survive,” he whispers, his hands coming to rest on her waist. “You know, they say how you ring in the new year is how you spend the rest of the year.”

She bites her lip. “So, on a hospital roof, injured? Gotta say, not all that promising.”

He rolls his eyes. “Or, you know, together with me could work too. Maybe minus the injuries.”

She scrunches up her nose but grins. “That might be okay.”

He glances at his watch behind her back. “Yeah?”

“Could be better, probably,” she whispers, already leaning in.

His lips meet hers and he kisses her slowly, mentally counting down until he hears fireworks and cars honking below on the street.

When she pulls back, she’s smiling, and yeah, he could definitely spend the year exactly like this.

He thinks about pulling away, looking for fireworks in the night sky, but she leans back in and he closes his eyes, and he doesn’t need to look anywhere else to find them.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Unexpected Delivery | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  You are 37 weeks pregnant when Tom books a vacation to a secluded cabin in the mountains of Scotland. You are assured you won't go into labor while gone but after an intimate moment with Tom, your water breaks. You are snowed in and the ambulance won't get there in time. Tom must now deliver the baby.

Warnings: implied smut, labor and giving birth

-

“Honey, we could have just stayed at a nice posh hotel in London,” you grumbled as you attempted to get out of the car, “You know in civilization.”

Tom hustled around to help you out. At 37 weeks pregnant, you weren’t as spry as normal.

“Come on, darling. Where is your sense of adventure?” He threw you one of his lady killer smiles.

“Being sat on by your child along with my bladder, that’s were. I swear she is all limbs just like her father.”

Tom chuckled and helped you across the short path and up the stairs to the cabin. He leaned over so his head was next to your swollen stomach.

“Listen in there, be nice to your mother. She is working hard to keep you safe. And she has had to do it without your dad.”

This trip had been all Tom’s idea. For most of the pregnancy, Tom had been away filming in Thailand. This was not the first time Tom had been away for big events. Your sister’s wedding. Graduations and important work events. But having to attend ultrasounds and midwife appointments on your own hit you hard. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. You spent many nights crying into the phone to Tom and him reassuring you everything was fine and he would be there when it mattered.

It had been near Christmas when shooting finally wrapped. Tom had insisted on a baby moon before your due date. By then flying was off the table, so you two needed to pick somewhere within driving distance. You had suggested a posh hotel in London with a spa where you could be pampered. Tom, afraid of paparazzi, invading this precious time, chose a secluded cabin in Scotland.

“Are you sure we won’t get stuck up here?” you worried as a light dusting of snow started to cover the landscape. The doctor assured both of you at the last visit this baby wasn’t coming for at least two weeks, with your family’s history of overdue babies. But it did not make you worry any less. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. You did not want to have this baby in the mountains.

Tom kissed your forehead as he opened the front door.

“I checked the forecast, and only light snow. You have nothing to fear.”

You gave a weak smile, not convinced as you looked back and saw the snow beginning to cover the car.

About an hour later, Tom got a fire burning and a kettle going on the stove. The cabin was cozy. You shed your layers as you got inside. You were your own portable space heater these days. Tom brought over hot chocolate for you and hot tea for himself as the two of you settled underneath a thick quilt on the couch. You let out a sigh.

“It is cozy.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s not enough to make up for these past nine months, but now that filming is over, I intend to focus all my attention on you and this precious cargo.”

Tom rubbed his hand over your belly. You smiled and then winced as your stomach tightened.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

You rubbed the back of Tom’s hand.

“Just Braxton Hicks. They have getting worse over the last few weeks.”

Tom moved his hands to your shoulders and began to massage your tight shoulders. You let your head sink to your chest.

“That feels fantastic.”

Tom continued to work on the knots and move his hands to your back, kneading the space between your shoulder blades. You let a groan out.

“Darling, if you kept making such obscene noises, I will not be able to keep my hands to myself.”

Tom’s hands wandered to the front of your shirt, where he cupped your ample breasts. You let a chuckle go.

“Isn’t that what got us in this mess in the first place?”

Tom laughed as he turned you to take you into a deep embrace. His lips were soft but urgent. Both of your hands flew to his neck and hair, pulling him closer and deeper. God, you had missed him! Tom lowered you to the couch with a gentle hand, placing you on your side. However, you sat up and grabbed Tom’s arm.

“What?” he questioned as you tugged on him to follow.

“Honey, I am too big to have sex with you on a sofa. I saw a nice, big, and cozy king sized bed. Let’s do this right.”

Tom’s face lit up, and he grabbed both of your hands and dragged you to the bedroom. He had missed you as well! And his libido felt it too! The two of you didn’t even bother to shut the door before getting down to business.

***

After your lovemaking, the two of you fell asleep. You woke first and headed to the kitchen. The Braxton Hicks continued, and you winced with each contraction. Grabbing a coffee mug, you doubled over in pain, the mug crashing to the floor shattering.

“Tom!”

Your husband ran at the tone of your voice. He was panting as he found you on the floor. It was only then you noticed the wetness between your legs.

“Tom! My water broke. This baby is coming!” you panicked.

Tom’s eyes widened as he ran his hands through his hair. Still groggy from his slumber, he was trying to process everything happening. Shirtless, he rushed to the front door to start the car. The bitter cold hit his skin like needles and it dismayed him to see several feet of snow buried the car. There was no way he could dig it out in time!

“Tom!” you screamed as the contractions became more painful. “What is going on?”

“We’re snowed in!”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m sorry, darling. I will call an ambulance.” Tom replied, a shake in his voice.

By some miracle, he had reception. He dialed emergency and explained the situation. He gave them the address of the cabin. They told him to stay on the line until the paramedics could get there. Tom ran over to where you still lying on the ground. He helped you up to the armchair in the living area. You started to scream.

“Tom, I don’t think the baby can wait for an ambulance. She is ready to make her appearance sooner rather than later.”

You began to breathe like you learned in your birthing classes. Tom started yelling at the person on the phone in a panic.

“What do I do?!”

Tom listened intently to the voice on the line with a stern look on his face, nodding along with the instructions. He put the phone down and began to gather supplies: towels and blankets. He put the kettle on the stove and began boiling some water.

“Done. Now what?”

The color drained from Tom’s face as the operator told him the next step. He gulped and headed towards you.

He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. Sweat beaded across your forehead and the pain kept you from saying too much. Another contraction hit and you screamed.

“AAAHHHH!” you squeezed Tom’s hand hard and his knees buckled for a moment.

As the contraction subsided, Tom attempted to extract his hand from your grip but you just held on tighter. He placed his other hand on top of yours.

“I have to check your progress,” you looked at him in disbelief as you released his hand, “But not to worry, I’m a doctor.”

“That was for a movie, you idiot! I don’t want Dr. Laing to deliver this baby.”

His joke fell flat, and he refrained telling anymore for the rest of your labor. He pulled up your skirt and checked on your dilation. When his face came back into view, he looked ashen. He picked up the phone.

“The baby is crowning.”

You panicked.

“What?!” You felt a new sensation, “Tom! I want to push!”

Tom threw the phone down and returned to you.

“Not yet darling. No jokes. You are having this baby now. I will coach you through it. But you have to wait until I tell you push.”

You nodded your head. Tom placed a towel underneath your legs and grabbed some blankets to put beside him. You felt a contraction coming.

“All right, Y/N, Push!!”

You bore down and grunted.

“Three… Four…. doing great… Eight… Nine…”

At ten, you relaxed.

“Doing wonderfully,” Tom reassured as he massaged your knee. You felt another contraction coming on, “Here we go again. Push!”

You began to push again. Tom continued to encourage you. This continued for about three contractions. Tom looked up at you.

“All right, love. This last one should do it. I need to you push as hard as you can. You know you are tired, but you.. can.. do.. this.”

He looked up with his blue eyes filled with tears, pleading you to be strong for not just him but for your daughter you were about to meet. You nodded your head as you felt the contraction begin.

“PUSH!”

You pushed with all your might and before long you felt a release and moments later, you heard the cries of a baby. Tom worked to wrap the baby and placed her on your chest. The tears pricking his eyes.

“You did it! She is here. Meet our daughter.”

You started crying as you stared down at the tiny being you just gave birth to.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered as you kissed Tom softly on the lips.

“Just like her mother.” Tom beamed, “And I believe her name is going be…”

“Evelyn Rose.”

Tom seemed shocked.

“I thought you didn’t like the name Evelyn.”

“I changed my mind. Pregnant woman’s prerogative.”

Tom chuckled.

“Very well. Little Miss Evelyn Rose Hiddleston, welcome to the world.”

The two of you cooed over the baby until the paramedics showed up about twenty minutes later. They rushed to take care of you and the baby as they shuffled Tom to the perimeter. They transported all three of you to the hospital. Once you settled into a room, Tom joined you. You smiled at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey. This has been some day.”

You smiled.

“Now come on, where is your sense of adventure?”

Tom laughed.

“On the floor of that cabin when I delivered my daughter.”

“Oh, but think of the story.”

Tom winced. The papers would have a field day.

“True, but I was worried about you and Little Miss Evelyn here.”

He pointed to bassinet beside your bed where your child was sleeping for the moment.

“Well next time, let me pick where we stay and I will forgive you.”

The two of you laughed and Tom climbed into your bed to embrace you. Just as he settled Evelyn stirred and began to cry.

“Welcome to parenthood,” you said to Tom as you handed him a bottle, “Dad.”

Tom couldn’t argue that.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Old Bones Aflame (Part 5)

Warning for descriptions of treating an infection/lancing a wound.

This image has been brought to you by: guess who had an infection that was left to fester for a week!? Let me tell you, I put Azula through a thing. It is a bad thing.

“Sit down.” Hama points to a little stool. Azula cringes. Lately the former princess has been looking like a kicked rabaroo. “Go on, girl! Sit!” She wags her bony finger. For a change, the girl doesn’t protest. Hama shuffles over to her. “I must admit, your stubbornness is impressive.” She tugs on a pair of gloves. “Let me see…all of that.” 

This time there is no hesitation, the girl practically thrusts her leaky, blistered arms at her. Hama cringes, it is much worse up close. Both of her arms are entirely red and raw. There is less space of un-blistered skin than there are afflicted portions.

And the infection, the catalyst for her strife, is nearly double the size it had been. It is so swollen that Hama is surprised that the girl isn’t weeping as openly as the welts. Not that her eyes aren’t teary. 

For the first time in ages, Hama’s tummy tickles with sympathy and perhaps a touch of regret. Perhaps it was over the top to leave the infection to fester for days. Perhaps it was a rather cruel lesson to let the ivy spread to her face. 

Granted she thinks that the girl will never forget to avoid scratching at ivy rashes. And she imagines that the girl won’t be so careless about which plants she touches. 

But the infection…

Hama sighs as she mashes the herbs and berries into a fine paste. 

Decidedly, she has been harsh in letting that get so bad. Harsh enough that she has decided that she won’t make the girl mash the herbs herself. It isn’t as though she can anyhow with her hands the way they are. 

“I’m going to need to gather more herbs. There are different ones required to treat poison ivy.” Hama speaks to her the first time since their squabble. “There’s also a lot more area that needs to be treated.”

Azula only nods. She mostly just bites her cheek, likely trying to keep from crying out or losing her composure completely. Hama finds herself sighing again; those firebenders and their need to repress ‘weakness’. She doesn’t understand it.

“Don’t worry I’ll gather them. If you’d like to come along, I can show you…”

Azula shakes her head. “I want to stay here.” She says quietly. 

Hama can’t say that she blames her. She probably wouldn’t retain any information anyhow, not when she is preoccupied with her arms. “I’ll lance the infection, cleanse the area, bandage it up, and then head out.” Hama informs. “When you are better we will take some time to learn about plants, and I’ll show you exactly which one is responsible for that.” 

.oOo.

Hama dabs a cloth at the infection and the areas around it. She winces when the cloth finds the infected area. Before finding the needle, Azula watches the old woman barricade portions of her rash closest to the infection.

“This should keep the infection out of the blisters.” She mentions. 

‘Should’ isn’t a mighty reassuring word but it is the best she has. 

“Now, I don’t have anything to numb this with so it’s going to…”

“It already hurts plenty.” Azula swallows. She grimaces at the sight of the needle as it comes closer. 

“You don’t have to watch.”

But her eyes are fixed on the angry, throbbing infection. And she has to make sure that the woman is doing what she is supposed to. The needle pierces her skin and she grits her teeth. And then Hama begins to squeeze. 

Her stomach flops and a nausea overtakes her. She thinks that she may very well throw up. She really ought to turn away. And yet her eyes are fixed on the mess that is her arm. Hama wipes it away and then resumes once more. 

She feels as though her arm is searing. She clutches the edge of her chair. This time there is blood in the mix.

Her head spins and her stomach lurches a second time. 

And her skin itches. 

She feels faint and woozy. 

“The worst of it is done.” Hama mentions as she cleans the area more fully. 

Azula nods. 

“Awfully quiet today, are we?”

Azula answers with more silence. 

Hama fixes a bandage in place to cover the ugly circle of newly drained infection. She presses her lips together. She really ought to stop staring at it. All around it, her skin twitches and tingles. It induces a desire to get up and pace. Somehow it feels better to pace, it helps her fend off the urges to scratch at her arms. 

“I will be back with the herbs as soon as I can be.”

.oOo.

The girl twiddles with her gemstone as Hama applies the paste. As soon as it touches her skin, cool and lumpy, her nose crinkles. She is still completely untalkative and Hama isn’t sure if it is a symptom of stress and pain or resentment. 

She seems to be wholly invested in the glimmer and glint of that geode. Hama paints the paste over her arms. “This should soothe the itching as well as help clear the rash.” 

“Okay.” It is the first thing that she has said since the morning. She closes her fist around the gemstone and eyes her arms.

“Tilt your head up so I can apply it to your cheek.”

The former princess holds her head high but without a hint of haughty. Hama switches out her gloves before cupping Azula’s chin and smearing the herbal mixture across her cheek. She releases the girl’s face and for the longest time the firebender sits there staring at the swollen hands she has clasped in her lap. 

“Next time when someone tries to help you, you take that help with gratitude and you help them help you. I didn’t have to do any of this.” She gestures to the mortar and pestle and to the bandages on her arms. “I could have left you to whatever infection had in store for you.” 

Azula shifts in her chair with a perfect grimace pinching her facial features. 

“You’re not a kind girl but the jungle is less so. I’m an embittered old woman but the jungle has a fury older than these bones. You ought to respect it.”

Azula’s fingers bunch around the fabric of her pants. “I haven’t…”

“Maybe not purposely.” Hama, although she doesn’t exactly believe it, grants leeway. “You’re careless with the jungle and believe me, it doesn’t care about you.”

Azula shrugs, “not many things do.” And Hama can no longer find that innocence in her eyes. It has been driven out by something more haunted. Something hollow. 

It is a familiar sort of vacancy. A guarded sort of emptiness. 

And there is another thing there. A thing that is the very opposite of innocence; a thing that, in some sense, ages her to Hama’s own years. 

A thing that can only be created by the war.