#i've been agonizing over this for a few days and it hit me

[shikai-the-storyteller]

I adore hanging out with my little cousins no matter what we do (I spent a lot of time with the two youngest ones these past two weekends, and we played a lot of Pokerogue and Slay the Princess and I showed them some cool movies) but I especially love telling them stories because they're always so attentive and ask the best questions. 🥺💕

(There is also nothing more flattering than a tech-obsessed child with attention problems turning off their favorite YouTuber's video so they can sit down and listen to you tell a story. 🥹)

[angelisgonnastartchangingurls]

marie

this week, marie was beaming because although her brother was no longer staying with her, he had been texting her, including that it was "so boring" jerking off by himself, and that he missed hearing her having sex with her husband every night. "you're such a good wife," he told her. "always doing your duty."

of course this kind of compliment was calculated to hit marie directly in the clit. annie suggested she send her brother some "material assistance" for jerking off.

"like what?"

annie pretended to be spitballing. "photos of your and your husband? of you... doing your duty?"

marie immediately reasoned that there was nothing wrong with this, as she'd be with her husband in the photos. it was clear to annie that marie had considered sending nudes already but hadn't been able to justify it.

marie left with a mission and came back the next week with details. she'd begun "taking photos in bed every night," much to her husband's delight. when he'd asked her why she was suddenly so into photography she told him she wanted to think about their evening fuck all day until the next one. she told annie, stage-whispering, that this was in fact true, and she'd been using the photos to masturbate every afternoon.

she'd started with blowjobs for the first few days -- which was "kind of amusing, taking selfies of myself with my husband in my mouth." then she'd moved on to photos of herself in her husband's lap, him "fully inside" which was her idea of modesty --not showing much shaft in photos of penetration-- but had already moved past that. she told annie that she'd agonized last night over which photo to send of herself riding her husband that he'd taken, as her asshole was "slightly visible" in several of the best shots.

annie asked how her brother had reacted. "he sends me videos of every ejaculation," marie said proudly. "and he makes requests."

"what does he request?"

"he likes to see my bush. he's always asking for a better view of it. and he asked me to once to have sex with my panties pulled aside."

"did you do that?"

"yes, but i found it uncomfortable. took them off after the photo. i really prefer to be nude. it was the first time i've ever had sex not nude."

"wait really?" annie said. "never had a quickie with most of your clothes on?"

"my husband has kept his clothes on, which i was quite aroused by," she said. "but no, i always get completely naked. even for a quickie."

annie admired marie's dedication. sometimes, she longed for that kind of ability. when she was in college, it hadn't been a problem. she'd also been so focused on her studies that she'd rarely fucked her long-term boyfriends anyway. twice a week at most. now it was hard to imagine going 12 hours without sex, and maybe that was why monogamy felt difficult to manage.

she was currently regularly fucking tom, sean, robbie, and jim. she'd been on a date with roger, but it hadn't led to anything. she was wondering when he'd get the nerve to ask her again. they still met for therapy, and he kept talking about how fun it was to go out with her. she wondered if on some level, roger was the kind of man who could sense all the other men who were covering her in their cum. like, in some animal sense, he knew there was no room for him.

early that fall, robbie and casey found an apartment together, and so robbie moved out. it was a pretty painless move -- he only owned clothes. in the week leading up to his move, annie and robbie had constant, wild, dirty sex. he fucked her in the ass almost every day. they were getting it out of their system.

"you fuck me so good," annie told him one evening, as he was pounding her. "what am i gonna do without you here to fuck me any time i want?"

"i guess you'll have to jerk off," he said. and then he pulled out and covered her bush with his cum.

"is casey as good as me? is she as wet and tight as me?" she asked him another evening as she slammed herself against him on her hands and knees.

"yes," he said, teasingly, slapping her ass.

"will you cum on my face?" she asked.

"of course," he said.

in the days after he moved out, robbie sent annie videos of himself and casey fucking on every flat surface in their apartment. a few days later, they got engaged. instead of a ring, casey got robbie's initials tattooed above her pussy. casey told annie proudly that she'd worn white cotton panties when she went to tell her dad, and pulled them down to show him, and he'd looked at her bald pussy and told her she was a good girl.

by october, casey was pregnant. annie was thrilled for them, and also wildly jealous. she told carlos that when casey told her, her immediately instinct was to strangle her to death. "i hope you said congratulations instead," he deadpanned.

[suuuupernovaaa]

kxitx

kxitx [k’it’] n. death

Anonymous Request: Could you write a Neteyam fic where the reader and he are best friends, and she secretly loves him. As in the movie scene, he would be hit, but she jumps in front to save him and ends up getting hit instead. And then she thinks she's going to die, and confesses her feelings to him, so as a last wish, she asks him for a kiss. After all, it was just a scare, she survives and then wakes up and doesn't know what to do, because she's embarrassed that she did that whole scene in front of him and everyone else.

1,622 words

TW: blood

Everything up to this point has happened at the speed of light. Removing the tracker from the tulkun, running from the Sky People, rescuing Neteyam's siblings; it has all gone by with a snap of my fingers, due to the rush of adrenaline.

What happens next slows time, bringing it almost completely to a stop. The gun fires, one amongst many, but I know the bullet is heading for Neteyam. Right for his heard.

I can feel it, in the water. It must be Ewya, warning me. With only a second to spare, I shove Neteyam just a few inches to the right.

Just a few inches, and I take the bullet myself. It's in my shoulder, near my chest, and no one notices I've been hit.

Neteyam grabs my arm, pulling me into the sea, and the saltwater rushes into my wound. I scream into the ocean, but swim behind him, desperate and in blinding hot pain.

When we surface, Lo'ak is laughing triumphantly, but Neteyam can see the blood in the water.

"She's been shot!" Neteyam screams, and Lo'ak's smile fades. They pull me to a rock, hoisting me on as my right side begins to go numb, which is almost a relief. Every inch of this short journey has been agonizing.

I lay on the jagged rocks, watching the Sully children surround me.

"Is that why you shoved me? Y/N, you moron!" He presses his hand to the wound, and when he pulls them back for one second, I see they are covered in blood.

In my blood.

My vision is growing cloudy and I'm sure I'm dying. I think of my mother, and what she will do when she finds out. I think of my father, and how he will suffer in silence for the rest of my life.

I think of Neteyam, my dearest friend and closest companion, and how I have always loved him, but never told him.

"Kiss me," I say, placing my hands on top of his, feeling the wetness of the blood that is pouring out of me.

Neytiri and Jake have joined, and they hover above me too. Everyone is speaking. Someone is holding my hand. Neteyam's eyes are wild and wide.

He does not hesitate. As I fade away, I feel Neteyam's soft, warm lips on mine, and I hear Neytiri scream.

--

When my eyes open, it is not Ewya I see before me. I am not wrapped in her warm embrace, in a comfortable afterlife.

I am back home, resting on a soft bed in a mauri pod, and Ronal hovers over me.

"You're awake," she says softly. My eyes take a moment to adjust. The glow from outside is orange, the color of dusk, and the pain is at bay for just a few moments.

And then it hits me. My entire shoulder is white hot, pulsating, and I wince, closing my eyes again.

"The wound is cleaned and dressed, but you will need something for the pain now that you are awake." She reaches out for my hands, and I reluctantly reach back. "Come now. You must move, just a little. You have been asleep a long time."

"How long?" I ask through gritted teeth as she slowly helps me sit upright.

"Four days."

Footsteps approach rapidly, and I turn, looking over my shoulder to see some of the Sullys - Jake, Neytiri, and Neteyam.

"She's awake!" Neytiri gasps, and rushes forward first.

"Gently," Ronal advises, as Neytiri leans before me, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Y/N, my sweet girl." Tenderly, she pulls me into her arms, and something inside of me snaps to be held like this, by a mother.

I miss my own. I wish she was here. I was so sure I would never see her again, and it's overwhelming to simply be breathing. I close my eyes and rest my head on her shoulder, as tears fall down my cheeks. The sobbing shakes my body, which hurts my shoulder, and makes me cry harder.

"I know," Neytiri whispers. "You miss your mother."

Of course she knows. Neytiri is smarter than anyone else I have ever known, and has always treated me as an extension of her family. She knows me nearly as well as my own mother.

"Come, girl," she says, leaning back. "Let us go home, and you can rest."

Jake and Neteyam approach next, each grabbing an arm and helping me slowly to my feet. I let out a sharp exhale.

"Can you walk?" Jake asks, and before I can answer, I am swept off my feet by Neteyam. "Never mind," Jake replies, raising his eyebrows. He and Neytiri share a smile that I don't miss - and then I remember.

The kiss.

Oh shit, the kiss.

My dying wish was that Neteyam kiss me - surely he isn't going to let that go.

I am too tired, and in too much pain, to really worry about it now. But as Neteyam walks, cradling me in his arms, I want to bring it up.

"I'm so relieved," he tells me as we walk towards the beach, and our home. "You can't ever do that again. We all thought you were going to die. We thought we watched you die."

"Well, I didn't," I reply, a little bit annoyed but mostly touched by his speech.

The trust is, I would take a bullet for Neteyam again. I would do it every chance I could. He is that dear to me, and he has been since we were eight years old. I would move the sky and the earth to keep him safe, and there is no guarantee that this bullet would not have killed him. I know I did the right thing.

"You should have seen us all, Y/N," he says, his face grave. "I'm so glad you're alive."

We are silent the rest of the walk, and Neteyam takes me to the pod that he, Lo'ak and myself have been sharing. Lo'ak, Tuk and Kiri wait there. Neytiri lays down the supplies that Ronal sent, with instructions for Kiri on how to care for my wound, though I know she already knows how.

Tuk rushes into my arms, and her mother chides her to be careful, but I bend down anyway and pull her to me. I feel terrible that Tuk had to witness what she thought was someone dying, at such a young age.

Lo'ak and Kiri greet me similarly, before their parents usher them out, telling them I need rest. Neteyam lingers behind, and I reach for his hand.

"Stay. I don't want to be alone."

He nods. "Of course."

Tenderly, he helps me settle down, and without a word, lays next to me. I'm lying propped up on my back, and Neteyam lays on his side, his arm under his head, staring at me. Having him near me is relaxing, and after what I've been through, it makes me feel safe.

"Stop staring," I say with a smile.

"Never. I thought you died."

I turn to meet his eyes, to tease him some more, but I see his serious expression, the corners of his mouth turned down, his furrowed brow, and I decide not to.

"I didn't. And I don't regret what I did, Neteyam. I would do it every day, to keep you safe."

His frown deepens. "You don't need to keep me safe. I'm supposed to keep you safe."

I reach over, and take his hand in mine once again. "We keep each other safe. I'm safe. And so are you. So we're doing a good job."

A comfortable silence settles over us, and I close my eyes. I have never felt so tired. Neteyam holds my hand in his, tracing soft circles into my skin, and I sigh. I want to lay here forever, just like this.

"I know you're, uh, recovering from being shot and all but... are we going to talk about it?" he asks.

The corners of my mouth reluctantly turn up in a smile, but I don't open my eyes. "About what?"

"Y/N, you believed you were dying, and you asked me to kiss you. I think that makes your dying wish... a kiss. From me."

"Well, you were closest."

I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, "Lo'ak was holding your hand. You could have asked him. Kiri would have also kissed you."

Finally, I open my eyes, and turn to stare at him. "Fine. I didn't want to kiss anyone else. I wanted to kiss you, and I have always wanted to kiss you. I didn't want to die without you knowing that. But I lived, so you don't have any obligation. We can just pretend it never happened."

"Or, I could kiss you again," he replies immediately, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at me. "I could kiss you every day, for the rest of our lives. Which I promise you, will be long - very long lives."

Suddenly, I can't feel the burning pain in my shoulder anymore. My head doesn't feel so heavy. I am revived.

"Yes, that would be good too," is all I can come up with in response.

Neteyam leans down, slowly, and presses his lips to mine.

Our first kiss was marred by pain, panic and confusion; this is soft and slow, and I can feel the promise of tomorrow and every day after in it.

When he pulls away, we're both smiling.

"I'm glad I got shot," I tease, and he rolls his eyes.

"Go to sleep, Yawne."

So I do, within moments, feeling more safe and secure than I ever have, bullet wound be damned.

[yannights]

A Monster from the Depth

Pairing: Yandere Wriothesley x reader

Part 1 Part 2

A/n: this is my first time publishing a story so it may not be as good as future ones, there are many mistakes and problems with the tense. But I am still happy I was able to publish so enjoy!( I am not sure wether to do a part 2 or not)

Warning: Obsessive behaviour, forced imprisonment, intimation, angst, language, panic attack

"You know you can't keep this up forever, right?" he says with a cold expression which was uncharacteristic of him.

You just looked at the floor from the bed and just prayed he would leave you alone. A suffocation silence invaded the room, he was standing in front of you, arms crossed, staring down at your form. You on the other hand, were sitting on the edge of the bed, avoiding his gaze and just stared downward. The darkness contributed to the agonizing atmosphere, however, a small ray of light from outside his bedroom going through the slightly open door that he didn't close properly could be seen. You refused to give him any kind of attention he was longing for, you would not give him what he wanted, since he couldn't care less about what you wanted. Wriothesley was like the devil to you, and definitely had the looks that couldn't convince you otherwise. You were just an angel flying through Fontaine freely until this monster had the audacity to love you and poisoning you in the process. Now you're stuck down below in a place you like to call hell. It was a dark cold place, with you chained to a man you once thought as a gentleman, if only you could have known back then, maybe, just maybe you could have avoided this.

"I've been thinking, your behaviour and attitude have long past their limit. It's been a month and I think it's about time you drop the act. Sulking isn't going to get you anywhere, you are aware of that."

What a joke, is he really that delusional, he can't be serious! Is he really treating you like some kind of child, like this was a sort of tantrum, and an act! As much as you tried to hide your thoughts, your face couldn't stop but slightly change, brows furrowing and biting your lip. He takes notice of this, a small deep sigh escapes his mouth and his arms drop. His hand slowly approaches your face, it takes a moment to realise what he is trying to do, by the time you do notice his index finger already lifts your chin up to get a proper view of your face. This unsurprisingly makes sick, you cringe over the gesture and instantly move backwards and hit the headboard of the bed, quietly hissing at him in the process, like a cat. His eyebrows jolt upwards and his mouth slightly opens, surprised by your action. You could see in that moment his eyes darken

" I have been so nice to you, have I not ?" he says with a deep, cold voice. He starts moving forward around the bed, slowly approaching your cowering form.

"I have endured your little tantrums these past weeks, knowing that it would take time for you to settle in. I have given you what you needed to adapt to this because I am fully aware that this is far from what you want, I am not blind that fact. I have fed you, cleaned, made sure everything was comfortable for you. But you treat me like a monster.."

"That's because you are one!" You shout stepping off of the opposite side of the bed. His movement halts and his face goes back the surprised look he had a few seconds ago, taken aback by the sudden outburst. This was by far the biggest act of defiance yet.

" Do you not realise the torture I have to go through every day when I am with you. You stripped me of everything I possessed. You accused me of a crime I didn't commit, forcing me to go down to the fortress just to be confined in here, i don't even get to go out with the other inmates! What respect do I owe you when the man standing in front of me a selfish pathetic monster ruining my life. How do you expect me to ever love that! I want to go home, I want to be as far away from you you sick freak!"

As you stopped to get a breath, you notice Wriothesley face start to darken, eyebrows frowning and his teeth starting to clench, not to mention that his hands balling into fists. That is when you realised that you had made a big mistake...

"A monster you say? He chuckled with a small smirk appearing. "No, no you haven't seen a monster, sweetheart. But if that is how you perceive me, then I might as well give you a reason to, hm? If that is what you truly desire of course. Is this what you want, a monster?

His movement started slowly moving around the bed. You started to panic, fear englobing you. What was he going to do with you, had you really cross the line with this. You turn your head searching, looking for a way to get aways before he could trap you. That is when you see, the door is still open, if you are quick enough you can go to his office, his office door is usually unlocked when you are in here, maybe you can find someone out there that can help you. You jolt forward to the door, passing him in the process, he doesn't try and stop you but you were to caught up in the moment to care. You opened the bedroom door more and slammed it right behind you. You could feel your heart pounding, your breath turning into loud gasp as you run into his office, forcing your trembling legs to move. You went past his desk full of paperwork, knocking a few in the process. You reached the staircase, moving down and seeing the large door. You jumped three stairs and bolted into the door, taking the handle and forcing it down. But it didn't budge, it was stuck, blocked, as if it were locked.. No, no this can't happen to you. You started banging at the door as a pathetic attempt to have someone hear you from outside. You accumulated enough air to scream until.

"I must say, I am rather disappointed in you sweetheart"

You slowly turned your head, with wide eyes. He was on top of the staircase, one hand on the rail. Your heartbeat was two ounces away from ripping out of your chest, sweat developed and your body shaked against your will. You could here the echo from his steel coated boots hiting the metal stairs as he went down. And that is when you noticed the handcuffs twirling around his fingers. No not that...

" I am going to give you two options here. You either come back with me willingly, and we can discuss this properly. Or you make things difficult, and I force you myself, and I think that is something you would want to avoid since I'm such a scary monster, hm?" He says with a low but mocking tone. He was now standing in front, patiently awaiting your next move. You refused to submit yourself but was it really the smartest option. You could try and fight back or run the other way, but he was a professional boxer, who could easily body you, trap you, slam you against the wall, just the thought of it made you shiver. Wriothesley twirled the the handcuffs even faster, trying to provoque fear to 'help' you decide quicker. You were completely hopeless and weak, but surrendering yourself wasn't going to help you any better, you were still going to be stuck here, no matter what anwer you give, giving up is just going to let him obtain what he wants. You shouldn't let that happen. Your mind started pounding at the thoughts, racing to find a solution to save you.

"Well?" He asks while raising one eyebrow.

" Fuck you"

And that is when you figured it out, the answer he was long waiting for. You took a breath and stared into his eyes and said.

The twirling stopped and the world went silent

...

...

Wrong move...

[nurse-buckley]

Whumptober Day 6

Title:

Prompt: Written for anon "Eddie x reader. Reader is also with the 118. Eddie is training her on something so they trade places and then she gets injured, maybe hit by falling debris or something. And then while they’re at the hospital waiting to hear how she is he feels guilty because she was standing where he should have been."

Word Count: 1,489

Characters: Evan Buckley, Eddie Diaz, Bobby Nash, Hen Wilson and Chimney Han

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: mentions of injury (minor)

Summary: You and the team are called to an accident at a construction site when disaster strikes. Written for day six of @whumptober for the prompt "it should have been me."

Tags: @firemedicdiaz @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @hauntedmilkshakeghost @floralbuckleys @alexxavicry @cm1031sr​ 

Authors notes: unbeta'd but I've got a migraine and wanted to post it before midnight. All mistakes are my own - hoping to reupload a polished version soon.

You were sitting with Eddie and buck, chatting over your coffee when the call bell sounded, altering you to another rescue. You followed quickly behind your team as you grabbed your turnouts and piled onto the fire engine. The sirens blared as you raced down the streets of LA and Bobby relayed the information he was receiving from dispatch. There were reports of a disaster at a construction site with multiple victims involved. You looked out the window as you mentally prepared yourself for what you were about to encounter when you arrived on scene. 

When you finally arrived, chaos greeted you as you took in the full extent of the accident. There was debris scattered everywhere as well as workers with various injuries, some were walking wounded and others were on the floor, surrounded by their colleagues who were attempting to help them. 

Bobby gave you your assignments, putting you and Eddie on medical with Hen and Chim due to the amount of casualties involved. You and Eddie partnered up together and grabbed your equipment before assessing the scene to identify who needed your help most. 

Amidst the chaos, your eyes landed on a man with a severe leg injury, his colleagues were frantically attempting to stem the bleeding as he deteriorated. 

You took over from one of the men, holding pressure on the wound as Eddie began his assessment and secured the man’s c-spine. Eddie could see the extent of the injury and turned to you, his voice filled with urgency, “swap with me. I’ll take over.” 

Nodding, you easily swapped positions and took over the patient's airway while Eddie took charge of managing the patient’s leg wound, knowing he had more experience with these sorts of injuries. 

As you began to work, a loud crash echoed from above as a piece of debris fell from a higher level right where Eddie had been moments before. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Eddie could do nothing but watch in horror, his heart in his throat as the ceiling fell around you. The last thing you remember before your world faded to black was a large piece of debris coming down on top of you and knocking you unconscious. 

Eddie felt as if his heart had stopped as he watched your body slump to the ground motionless. Panic surged through Eddie as he helplessly watched from his position and desperately screamed for back up. He was surrounded by extra hands moments later, including those of his team. Hen and Chimney rushed to your side, Buck and Bobby joining only moments later. Medics took over looking after the patients allowing him to rush forward to your side. He frantically pressed his fingers into your neck and let out a choked sob as he felt the weak pulse beneath his touch. It was a tense and agonizing few minutes but eventually they were able to pull you free. 

Eddie climbed in the ambulance behind you, his face etched with worry for you and the guilt he couldn’t help feeling that it should have been him on that stretcher. The team loaded you onto the waiting ambulance and rushed towards the hospital. 

As the ambulance arrived at the hospital, the doctors and nurses practically tore the gurney away from your teammates, promising that they would do their best for you. Eddie just hoped their best would be enough. 

Chim stepped behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “y/n’s strong. We got them here in time. They’re going to pull through.” 

Eddie nodded, still not quite believing his friend as he sat in the uncomfortable and all too familiar chairs of the hospital waiting room and waited for news of your condition. 

A few hours later, with no updates on your condition, Eddie’s worry began to grow. Before he could think on it any longer, the surgeon who’d been working on you appeared followed by a nurse. He looked exhausted, but wore a hopeful expression as he approached the group. “Y/N’s made it through surgery. They’re in critical condition, but stable. The next few hours and days are critical but we’re hopeful.” 

“Once they’re out of recovery you can visit,” the nurse added. 

Eddie couldn’t help the overwhelming flood of relief that washed over him at the news. 

When the nurse came by again with another update and that you’d been moved out of recovery and into the ICU, Eddie was the first to rise. He promised himself that he’d watch out for you and be by your side until you woke up. 

Two days later, you still remained unconscious in the ICU while your body healed from the accident. The 118 had taken turns paying you visits, coming and going, but one person had remained by your side the entire time. Buck entered the room, coffee cup in hand, not expecting to see Eddie still there. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, the dark circles under his eyes showing he hadn’t gotten much rest. The room was eerily silent, the only sound the beeping of the heart monitor and soft buzz of medical equipment as he took the empty seat next to Eddie. Buck studied Eddie’s face and how his eyes never left you. 

“It should have been me,” Eddie muttered, so quietly Buck would have missed it if he weren’t sitting next to him. 

Buck’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Eddie, what?” 

“It should have been me who got hurt, not y/n. It should be me in that hospital bed.” He looked at Buck who was still just as confused. 

“Eddie, you know this isn’t your fault, right? Accidents happen and you couldn’t have stopped it.” 

“I put them here,” he choked out with tears in his eyes before continuing, “I asked them to swap places with me. If we hadn’t switched, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

Buck’s expression softened, “Eds, we’d still be in this situation if you hadn’t switched, only it would be you in that bed. You made a split second decision based on skill and what you thought was best for the patient. Accidents happen all the time in our line of work. This isn’t your fault and Y/N is strong, they pulled through surgery and they’re going to be okay, alright?” 

“I would have preferred it had been me.”

Buck sighed, he knew Eddie was tired and it wasn’t helping the situation. “We can’t change what happened, but what we can do is be here for y/n. They love you and they wouldn’t want you blaming yourself. When was the last time you got some rest or ate or drank anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Eds, you need rest or you will end up in the hospital bed next to them. Come on, I’ll call Bobby and he can sit with them. You’re going to go home and I’m going to get you some food, water and you’re going to rest.”

“But…” he tried but Buck was having none of it. 

“I’m not arguing Eds.”

Eddie’s gaze returned to you, his eyes still filled with guilt and regret. “I just want y/n to wake up.”

“They will, but we can’t do anything but wait right now and I know they’d want you to be looking after yourself too.” 

Reluctantly Eddie got up from his seat and gave your hand a gentle squeeze before he followed Buck out of the room. They passed Bobby in the hallway who’d come at Buck’s request so you wouldn’t be left alone and headed back to Eddie’s to get him a shower, food and some rest. 

A few hours later Buck got a call from the hospital. He sat down on the table and gave Eddie a gentle shake to wake him, his phone still clutched in his hand. Eddie’s heart was in his throat as he thought the worst before Buck told him the words he’d been hoping to hear since the accident. You were awake. 

The pair rushed into your room, seeing you awake and talking to Bobby. A small smile crossed your lips as you saw Eddie waiting at the door. Buck and Bobby exchanged a knowing glance as they quietly left the room to give the two of you some privacy. 

You held out your hand for him as he walked into the room and he took the seat by your side. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze in return, his eyes filling with tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he began. 

“Eddie,” you interrupted, “I don’t blame you. You didn’t do anything wrong, accidents happen and I’m glad it wasn’t you.” 

“You heard?” 

“I know you blame yourself and think it should have been you, but I’m glad it wasn’t.” 

A tear rolled down his cheek as he leaned in close and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, relieved to finally know that you were going to be okay. 

[according2thelore]

Need me some more of your LS!Sam jealousy if you have any ideas. But also just overall want more of your specific brand of hurt/comfort. It always hits just right, which is to say it stabs me in the heart every single time. Bless us with your ideas please😩

(Or smut of course we'd never say no to smut👀)

i'm back baby!!! i never forgot about this one bestie don't you WORRY--and i've come to deliver 😌 (2.7k words...this is just a ficlet good lord)

sammy looks down at his phone for the seventh time. his screensaver--dean asleep on his chair in the TV room with a blanket pulled up to his chin and hand in a bowl of popcorn--glows up at him. no new notifications.

sammy shifts in his chair. he looks around the empty library. he checks his phone. no new notifications. he swipes up and types in his code 3-3-2-6 (and he'll never fucking tell dean what it stands for, ever, good lord, he'll take it to his grave), but his last message still sits in an unread blue

Sam: Hey, I've got to stop by the store later to get some stuff for dinner. Come with?

Dean: Sorry man. Busy. Text later. 20 min?

20 minutes later, Sam: Hey, I'm ready.

and nothing. not a peep. it's been over an hour since dean said he'd be ready in twenty, and dean hasn't even poked his head in.

the act of sammy asking was performance. he and dean have been going to the store together every friday since they damn moved into the bunker. they only miss a day when they're pissed at each other, and sammy starts to worry. is dean mad at him?

things have definitely been a little...tense...since the younger version of themselves showed up. conversations have to be stilted, and they have to talk around things more than they can actually talk about them.

they've had to get more careful about sharing a bed. they haven't had sex in a week, and the only time they got to actually share a bed was after younger sam had gotten a sprained wrist on a hunt and younger dean had been practically sleeping on top of him a few months ago.

sammy knows that his younger self has been having a rough go of it. especially after he found the voicemail last week, he's completely shut sammy out, like he can avoid the future by ignoring it. and sammy represents all the messy, ugly parts that sam dreads.

sam also knows that his younger self has been clinging to dean--both deans, really--like a child clings to their mother. sammy thinks that a reminder of how close they can come to losing dean in a near-permanent way has shaken him.

this version of sam has never had to stare down the barrel of the gun of dean's death. sammy almost pities him, if he didn't also harbor his own resentments.

it's not surprising--therefore--to find sam with older dean. it is surprising, however, to find them in the room their younger selves' share. sam doesn't know where younger dean has gone, but sam is almost glad he found them first.

because if his younger self had stumbled across it, it would've ended badly.

sammy freezes in the doorway, horror-stricken. there's no other word for the dread that sinks into his bones, the i knew it, i knew it.

they're sitting on one of the beds, sam tilted forward into dean's space. but--and sam inhales are staggered as realization hits--dean's hand on the back of sam's head directs him to a shoulder.

sam's younger self mutters something that sammy can't hear. it's quiet, agonized, and dean claps him on the back of the neck a few times, gentle.

dean hasn't noticed sammy in the doorway yet, all of his attention at the boy almost melted into his arms, even though they're positioned too awkwardly for a full embrace.

"i know, sammy." dean murmurs, his neck pat on sam's head almost a caress. his brow is pulled together, and he looks uncomfortable. "c'mon, cut it out with all that."

sam's going to be sick. he's never seen such naked affection or care on dean's face before. not directed at anyone else. the glimpses he's gotten directed at himself have been snapshots of fear, moments in which he lets the mask slip. he's gotten anger, and fear, and worry, but not this.

dean, in this moment, thinks he is unobserved. and it's love. naked, on his face.

sam's chest is tight. he feels like something has reached inside of him and squeezes his stomach in its fist. he knows what that feels like. he's going to be sick, he's going to scream, he's going to kill someone.

jealousy, hard and ugly and roaring, claws at the inside of sam's ribs.

he has never been on the outside of a look like this. not from dean, and not to someone else.

that's mine. he's giving away what's mine.

"i don't want to hurt him. please tell me i don't hurt you." young sam begs, and sam watches as his fist curls into a ball on his lap. it's quiet, harsh, like sam is hissing it between clenched teeth.

dean adjusts them both, but sam sees it for what it is--dean's head tilts to the side, a fleeting nose nuzzled in sam's hair.

sam feels it like he feels the barrel of a gun in his mouth. 'burning' is too kind of a word for what he does. his body feels like a wick, his only job to be destroyed.

"you know we can't talk about it." dean says, softly.

"fuck." sam tilts his head so the thin skin of his forehead scrapes against dean's stubble. "i don't even know why i'm telling you this. i'd never say this out loud."

sam sounds miserable, trapped. it doesn't make older sam feel better. it makes him angry.

what does sam have to be miserable for? he hasn't lived through any of it yet. he hasn't been forced to live through it.

he hasn't earned the look on dean's face. he hasn't spent two decades trying to earn it.

he doesn't know anything about loving dean.

"shh. look at me." dean murmurs, and he pushes sam away by the shoulders. sam stubbornly keeps his eyes on dean's shirt, and dean taps him on the shoulder. "c'mon baby boy. look at me."

baby boy. baby boy. c'mon baby boy.

sam--because of course he fucking would, any version of sam is bred to respond to that, is created to--looks up. he meets dean's eyes.

that's sammy's. 'baby boy' is sammy's.

hearing it come from dean's mouth, seeing it land on foreign ears. ears covered by scruff that find truth in other things, still.

dean smiles--indulgently, proud, with a twist of sarcasm that makes it so dean that sammy has to catch himself against the doorjamb--at younger sam.

"good. there he is. it's because it's me. and it's because you're you. i always look out for you, don't i?" he nudges sam's chin up with a scarred knuckle, and drops his hand against sam's shoulder, a stiff clap. "you're mine, and i look out for what's mine, isn't that right?"

"dean--" "dean--" sam, in concert.

younger sam, in front of dean, awed. older sam, in the doorway, grief-stricken. angry.

how the fuck could dean sling that around like it's nothing? how the fuck could he say that, take ownership of something--someone--other than sam?

even if it's a younger version of him, dean has sworn his fealty, proclaimed his complete devotion to a facsimile of sam--an improved version of him. the version of him that he wanted first, that has all the fire and none of the nightmares.

i'm me. and you're you. i always look out for you don't i? i look out for what's mine.

words that sam has fallen asleep to, words that--at some points in his life--were the only things keeping him sane.

sam feels--absurdly--like he just heard dean say their wedding vows to someone else, like a jilted bride watching someone else on the altar. later, he'll unpack that, but now it's--

"sammy." dean's eyes on him, finally. sam slumps in the doorway, so fucking relieved to have broken the intense, devoted spell of the room. younger sam turns to look at him, face frozen in a scowl. intruder, it says. this is mine, it says. sam's about to ask dean to speak with him in the hallway, when dean says, "i'll be with you in a second, okay?"

i'll be with you in a second. dismissed. sam's been dismissed. priority has been established. and it's someone else. sam doesn't move.

he wants to press his fingertips into every inch of dean's skin until they bruise. he wants his name carved in dean's skin. they share so much--the sigils burned into their ribcages, their tattoos, their history--but it's not enough, anymore. he wants to rip into dean's carotid and drink.

mine. mine. mine. his blood sings. dean seems to have forgotten.

"chin up, kid. i'm still here, aren't i? with sammy." dean's chin tips towards sam in the doorway, seemingly knowing sam wouldn't move an inch. he gives younger sam one last pat on the arm, a gentle nod. "always been yours, baby. couldn't hurt me if you tried."

a nail in sam's coffin. yours.

not fucking likely.

~~~

"what the fuck was that?" sam shoves dean, hard, and dean slams back into the closed door.

they're in dean's room--the room that they shared until a few months ago when these parasites swooped in and tried to take what sam had fought for, had earned, fair and square.

he's sunk his claws into dean's being, and he will be damned and fucked if he gives even an inch up. he won't.

"woah, sammy, what--" dean starts with anger, but when sam turns around, dean's entire body shifts. his shoulders slump, and his hands come up, placating. "woah hey hey hey. come on, now. what happened?"

sam dodges dean's hand that reaches for his arm, and dean still follows through with the movement, confused, like he's adrift without the contact.

good, sam thinks viciously.

"he's your 'baby,' now?" sam spits, but dean only blinks. he's not reacting at all with anger, like sam was hoping, and sam has to work to keep his fury, has to throw logs on the fire.

"sam, what are you talking about?" dean asks, and his voice is only raised a little. not enough.

"we said we weren't going to start shit. that we weren't going to take any firsts. did you just decide to change that without telling me?" sam jabs dean in the chest again, once. dean shoves his hand off of him, and good. good good good--sam wants a fight--he wants dean to hurt--

"well, why didn't you tell me you had a suicide plan, huh? when you were twenty three?" dean says, and now his voice is raised. he shoves sam back, and sam takes the step back.

"it wasn't like that." sam rolls his eyes. and it wasn't. and damn that little fucker for trying to tell dean anything.

dean shoves him again, but sam doesn't move this time, and dean gets in his face.

"that's what he told me. that you'd been thinking about ways to kill yourself if you turned darkside." dean's close, so close that sam can see the colour changes in his eyes, and he shoulders past dean, just to get some fucking air.

incredulity and hurt and anger broil over in sam.

"so you're going to take his word for things now? over me?" his voice cracks. there it is. weak spot targeted.

dean deflates like a balloon. sam's still puffing, still heaving for breath, but it feels pathetic now, not righteous. he looks away from dean's sharp gaze.

"sam." dean says. even. "sammy."

sam won't look at him. dean stomps forward, and before sam can protest, dean is pulling him down into a vicious kiss. it feels like a punch, all teeth and punishment and tongue. sam takes to it like a starving man, matching dean blow for blow and trying to press himself into dean's body, tongue first.

dean has to put a hand on sam's neck to push him away.

"i don't--" sam pants, chest heaving.

"you're mine." dean snaps. and his hand tightens a little at the base of sam's throat. "say it."

sam can't. his throat closes. all that fire, all that fury, for nothing. sam's throat burns. he swallows.

why would he say it, if it's not true? if dean can say those things to someone else, what was the true veracity of them to begin with?

dean's hand drops from sam's throat, and sam feels actual tears building now.

a hand on his chin, and unlike the one younger sam got, this one sticks.

"you and me." dean says, firm, eyes on sam's. sam looks down into the face of the man he loves, the man that raised him, the man that is him, almost, and quails. he hopes. "yours." dean says, hard, and it doesn't sound like deference, or submission. it's an assertion. i am yours.

sam's insides quaver. he's still so angry. his hands shake. he doesn't touch dean back, and dean winds his hand into sam's collar like he's going to wind up for a punch.

but sam knows him. it's to keep him close.

sam doesn't know what for. even if dean has shiny new toys, sam has no where else to go. it would take dean's younger self all but a week to get sick of him. to get confused and tired of the things sam can't do.

"don't make it sound like i don't need you to breathe, sammy." dean says, and something slips into his voice. a tone that sits wrong. desperation. "it's not the same with him. you know it isn't."

dean's eyes are wide, like he's realizing the depth here. he stepped out onto a pool float and realized he's over a trench, thousands of feet of water and hurt and disappointment and anger.

"i hate that he's me." sam says, but he doesn't mean to. "that he has things and can give you things that i will never get back--"

dean shakes him, hard, like a dog with something in its mouth. it knocks something loose in sam, the part of him that wants to fight, the part of him that's gotten buried under years and years and years of torture, the immediate instinct to submit to make it hurt less.

this is the part of me that he loves, the part of me i don't have anymore.

sam tries to stoke it, to make that rage, that possessiveness, the innate entitlement to dean bloom and blossom. it rises. it rises. it rises.

sam wants it back. he wants dean.

"shut up. shut the hell up." dean says, suddenly goddamn furious at the slight sam has lain against himself. dean shoves him away, chest heaving. then, like a switch has been flipped, he goes still. calm. eyes hard. "get on your knees."

sam has a split second where he questions it, where the animal under his breastbone tries to reconcile submission and possessiveness. dean is mine, it howls. and sam is starting to realize, that dean needs this too.

that the answer, is a simple yes.

sam knows this game. it's not one they play often. one they haven't played in over a year, now. the request is not a command. it's asking: do you forgive me? are we okay? do you trust me? will you give me a chance to prove i mean it?

sam gets on his knees.

dean's exhale is shaky, mouth trembling. he didn't think sam would, did he?

"sammy." dean says, relief. he pads forward, and fits a hand under sam's chin, gentle. soft. sam closes his eyes, leans against dean's thigh. the denim of his jeans is soft against sam's cheek. it smells like dean and detergent and home.

sam just wants to go home.

"he hasn't earned this." sam says. it's as much as question as it is a statement. his younger self isn't dean's in the way that sam is. he hasn't loved him as long, or as hard, or as deeply.

he hasn't forgiven and fought and held grudges and hated. he hasn't felt this deeply, yet.

he doesn't know dean like sam does. sam knows him better than anyone. even if he tried, he couldn't give older dean what sam can. what sam wants to.

when he looks up, though, dean looks...upset. frightened, almost. unhappy.

"never had to earn it, sweetheart." dean swears, and he tilts sam's chin up. dean bends so he can press a kiss to sam's lips. apologetic. it tastes like love, this time. open and naked and vulnerable. dean pulls up on sam's shoulders, urging him to stand up. "come here."

so sam does. and he makes sure dean knows who he belongs to.

~~~

so i took the steering wheel on this one and jerked us off the road, lol. i hope you were wearing your seatbelt, @animangalover15 <3

this got a little bit more dom/subby than i usually write, but i took at look at my last NSFT ES/LS ficlet and LS!Dean do be domming a little...as a treat...

anyways, i hope you liked!!!! i hope it makes up for the embarrassing time it took me to respond. just know i've been plotting and planning behind the scenes!

mwah mwah!

-lizzy

AN: we've gained quite a few followers, so hello new followers! the ES/LS verse is a little thing i've written on here. it's a time travel AU of sorts where the ES!SeasonBoys (early season) get transported to the LS!BunkerEraBoys (late season). the tag is below if you're interested in seeing more :)

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫

part four of do you feel my hand? it is there. | part one | part two | part three | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. the guys have a party for the next few parts. drinking alcohol and getting drunk/tipsy is mentioned. humor/fluff placed throughout. also, smut is coming very soon. :))

word count: 3.8k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

a/n: decided to upload this today because i'm going to be having a busy weekend lol 😂 the last three parts of this are in the works, and i'm really excited to see how this little series of mine ends~ 🥸 i am honestly SO shocked by the response that i've gotten for this series... reading your guys' comments and feedback literally always makes my day and it makes me feel so happy to hear that my readers are enjoying the stuff i'm writing. so thanks so much for the support!! ❤️ also- STREAM 5 STAR CONCEPT TRAILER!!! 🌟

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

The entire week leading up to the anniversary party, you agonized over what to wear. You didn’t think it’d be right to show up in something formal, but you didn’t want to reveal yourself to all of the guys after such a long time in your usual attire of baggy jeans and a simple t-shirt/hoodie. 

 It wasn’t until Friday evening, exactly two hours before you had to leave for the party, that you found the outfit. After rummaging inside your closet all week long, you happened to stumble upon a dress that had been shoved down at the bottom of a box of your old clothes. As you pulled the thing out, you were hit with a wave of memories - of when you’d wear the same dress while out clubbing with your friends during your university days. 

 The mini-dress was a light mint color and complimented your skin tone quite well. The scoop neckline hung low and exposed a good amount of cleavage, but not too much that it was deemed completely unsavory. There were long, sheer sleeves that covered your arms, and the thin fabric of the dress ruched just at your hips, defining your curves and adding depth to the otherwise short dress, with its hemline that stopped mid-thigh. 

 You felt that it was appropriate enough to wear to the party, since after all - it was a party, and there were sure to be drinks there. And drinks always called for a cute and flirty outfit. You matched the dress with some silver studs - things you hadn’t worn in a long time and only saved for very special occasions - and the only pair of heels that you owned, which were metallic in color and had a height of 3 inches. Small rhinestones lined the edges of the shoes, and they were one of your most expensive possessions, having been gifted them as a graduation gift by one of your fellow roommates in university who happened to be a good friend of yours. 

 Keeping the makeup on the lighter side of things, with your hair curled in soft ringlets around your face, you opted to grab the matching shawl that you always wore with the dress- the light mint color complimenting the ensemble perfectly. You took one final look at yourself in your bedroom’s floor-length mirror before leaving your place. 

 And to be honest, even you were shocked. 

 By how good you looked- 

 How hot. 

 If you were being entirely honest with yourself, it had somewhat been your plan. To reveal your inner sexiness subtly. But then all at once, the sensuality that you always tried to hide unexpectedly showed through in every aspect of your outfit. 

 You weren’t trying to seduce Dr. Lee. 

 No, surely not. 

 But… a little mini-dress never hurt anymore, right? 

During the commute that you took to Dr. Lee’s place via subway, you came to terms with the fact that things were going to be awkward at first. Especially since you had practically run away from him the week before. And you hadn’t seen the others who worked at the clinic in a long time, so it was only reasonable for you to assume that the talking would be stagnant at first. Surely, though, the alcohol running through everyone’s systems would promptly help to quell all of that.

 When you finally stepped off the train, you realized where you were- 

 Gangnam. 

 Perhaps one of the most expensive districts in Seoul. 

 And of course, he had to live here. 

 It was to be expected since he was a rich and successful businessman. 

 At least Gangnam wasn’t too far from your district… 

 As soon as that thought entered your mind, you had to do a double-take and retract it back to the very depths of your being. Because what was your heart trying to insinuate? That him living close to you was a good thing? That something would come out of your broken client-doctor relationship? 

 Yeah, fucking, right. 

With that depressing thought clouding your mind, you made your way through the many side alleyways of the area. It seemed like the further into the district you got, the grander the places were, with extravagant high rises lining either side of you.

 Finally, your phone’s GPS dinged in completion when you stood in front of a rather large apartment complex. The four separate buildings towered over you in well over twenty stories, forcing you to crane your neck upwards as you tried to take in their size. The grounds were well kept, flourishing with spring flowers and green grasses. 

 The nearby park was bustling with activity - little kids playing together and young moms conversing at the benches while sipping on coffees. It was nine on a Friday night, and at this point in the night, your district usually wasn’t very busy. However, Gangnam seemed to be on a whole other level. 

 And as you made your way through the complexes, soon finding Dr. Lee’s building, you understood just how out of your league he was. If the nice outfits at work weren’t enough and the literal fucking sports car didn’t cut it for you, then the sparkling, sprawling apartment complex with humungous units on each floor worked to suffice his position over you. 

 You took the sparkly-silver elevator up to the twenty-fifth floor, registering that the building reached up to forty. As you filed out of the doors, you noticed the cute decorations outside of Dr. Lee’s place. A small rug was placed just underneath the door, in the shape of a pink-colored cat that read ‘Hello, Peasants.’ That forced a small giggle out of you at the peek of humor in his personal life. There was also a small wreath hanging at the center of the door, with three miniature figurines of cats nestled into its green leaves. You supposed they were his since they looked similar to the pictures he had shown you in the past. 

 Taking a deep breath to calm your rising nerves, you reached over and rang the doorbell. As you stood there, you would hear the distinct sound of a loud bass playing over speakers. So, the party must’ve already started, then. 

 It took a moment, but finally, someone answered the door. 

 You were greeted by a smiling Jeongin, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he registered your presence. “Holy fuck- Y/N, hi!” He exclaimed, leaning over the threshold of the door and enveloping you in a warm hug. “I thought for sure that Minho had lied about you coming tonight!” 

 That detail caused a flush to bloom across your cheeks, “Yeah, well- it sounded like fun, so I thought I’d join in the celebrations… how are you?” You asked, taking in his appearance. He looked a little more mature than the last time you had seen time over a year before, with his jawline slightly more chiseled and a distinct kind of glimmer in his eyes. His hair was dyed a snow-white color, painting his deep olive skin tone in a milky glow. 

 “Doing good,” Jeongin began, as he stepped aside to let you into the apartment. Immediately upon entering, the distinct smell of him took over your entire being. It seemed to flood all of you, drowning you in thoughts of only Dr. Lee and nothing else. “Been so busy at the clinic lately, business has picked up in the last few months.” 

 You gave him a soft smile, “I bet… you guys work your assess off over there, you deserve every client.” 

 He frowned at you then, watching in silence as you yanked your shawl a little tighter around your shoulders and slipped off your heels. You weren't entirely comfortable showing off so much skin so early into the evening. “We all miss you at the clinic… the days aren’t the same without seeing you walk in through the front doors holding your adorable kitties-” 

 “Hey, Innie, don’t bore her with shit about the clinic,” an exasperated voice called out to your left. You turned and caught a glimpse of Seungmin, as he leaned against a nearby wall. He was clutching onto a brown and white cat - which you assumed was Dr. Lee's cat, Dori - in one of his arms. He was dressed in an oversized matching set of joggers and a hoodie. Comfy clothes. Perhaps you had overdressed for the occasion. But then when you studied Jeongin, you noticed the particular detail that he had put into his outfit… from the necklace of pearls hanging around his neck to the simple baby blue t-shirt he had tucked into light-washed jeans. 

 “I was just telling her how much things have changed since she stopped coming around…” Jeongin’s voice trailed off, as they both stared at you then. The fucking elephant in the room was that you left because of Nyx’s passing. 

 They both knew it. 

 You knew it. 

Everyone knew it. 

 Seungmin waved off his words, slinking an arm around the younger’s shoulders and motioning with a tilt of his head to the hallway behind him. Meanwhile, Dori was a squirming mess in his hold, as he tried to escape his hands. “Anyways, the party’s already started. Some of the guys haven’t arrived yet, but we’re all hanging out in the living room, so c’mon…” 

 You said nothing more to that, choosing to follow behind the two men as they led the way through the apartment. And it was so grand and beautiful. Multiple doors lined either side of the hallway’s walls, but they were all closed. You wondered what lay behind them. Then, there was the spacious kitchen off to the left, which had a magnificent marble island counter at the center of it. 

 And finally, you stopped in the living room. The biggest tv you had ever seen was mounted on the farthest wall, quickly flashing with bright lights as some of the guys played Mario Party. There was an L-shaped couch that was pushed against the wall closest to you, with room to fit at least six grown adults. And two armchairs were positioned on either side of the grand coffee table that was in the middle of the room. In the corner of the room, you caught sight of a cat tree, where an orange-and-white tabby - Soonie - was busy dozy off amongst the chaos. Dr. Lee's third cat, Doongie, was nowhere to be found apparently.  

 Throughout the area, small hints of Dr. Lee’s personality were hidden - from the many sprawling-green potted plants that lined the large bay windowsill, to the tiny cat figurines sitting just underneath the tv, to the large portrait of him and his three cats that hung above the couch. It looked to be in a unique style, with distinct brushstrokes and a cool colour palette. Immediately, you recognized it as Hyunjin’s work. After all, he had told you on multiple occasions that besides working with animals, he had a true passion for art. He had shown you some of his pieces in passing, and you were always blown away by the technical details of it all. 

 Your eyes slid past the two hunched-over figures - Yongbok and Jisung - who were enraptured by the game on the tv screen and landed on the men lounging on the couch. Chan was swishing an ice-cold glass of soju in one hand, as he chattered away with a listening Dr. Lee. None of them had noticed your presence yet. 

 “You guys- Y/N’s here!” Jeongin announced loudly over the rap music that was blasting throughout the room and somewhat masking the guy's voices. 

 All at once, they turned in unison to get a glimpse of you, Dr. Lee’s head snapping so quickly you were afraid his neck would break by the sheer force of the movement. He was dressed in black, oversized cargo pants, his midnight-toned locks a little mussed at the ends. But perhaps the worst part about the outfit was what he was wearing on top. It was a tight, black, muscle t-shirt that clung to every ripple of his sinewy flesh. The silver zipper that lay at the front of the garment was pulled down slightly, flashing bits and pieces of milky-smooth skin. (a/n: I'M SORRY- BUT YOU KNOW THAT I HAD TO DO IT!! I'M STILL NOT OVER ZIPPER MIN!!). And the choker… fuck, the black-chained choker that he wore around his thick fucking neck… he was surely going to be the death of you. 

 “Y/N- hey, you made it!” Jisung called out, while Yongbok waved excitedly before the two of them delved back into their game. 

 Chan stood up from his place on the sofa, passing you with a light squeeze of the shoulder, “Nice to see you,” he said in that deep, rumbly voice of his. You flashed him a smile, already feeling comforted by the way that they were acting like no time had passed between the lot of you. Like this was something normal… to be invited into Dr. Lee’s house for a private gathering of friends. 

 Seungmin and Jeongin hastily picked up two extra controllers and were soon sitting beside Jisung and Yongbok, joining in on the fun of the video game. That left just… you and Dr. Lee, since evidently, Hyunjin and Changbin hadn’t arrived yet. 

 He continued to watch you in silence for a few more beats from his seat on the couch. You could practically feel his eyes roving down the length of you, witnessing you in all of your party-goer glory. But then his focus caught on the shawl hanging around your shoulders, and you offered him a tiny, meek smile. 

 “Don’t be shy and come sit down.” He finally said in a voice that was so low, it was hard to hear over the vibrating music around you. He gently patted the space just beside him on the couch, his lips spreading into a warm grin.

 You swallowed around the solid lump that was forming in your throat. Sitting next to him. In such a revealing dress. With him in such a drool-inducing outfit. 

 Surely, the night wasn’t going to end well - surely, it was going to result in irrevocable heartbreak and pain. 

 But perhaps, you could bear such a thing if it meant getting to see him so up close and personal. 

“Thanks for the invite,” you began once you were seated an appropriate distance next to him - at least a pillow’s length. “Seriously, this place is insane.” 

 He laughed awkwardly, running a few fingers through his hair, “It’s no problem… thought you might enjoy a change of scenery. Your district can be quite- bleak at times.” 

 “No shit- you’re telling me.” 

 “Is it that bad?” 

 He was staring at you again, his body turned to the side, back leaning into one of the corners of the sofa so that he could get a full look at you. You could tell all of this from your peripheral vision. 

 But you couldn’t look at him… 

 His outfit, 

 His closeness, 

 The intimacy of the entire night, 

 It was swoon-worthy and vomit-inducing all at once. 

 So instead, you decided to curl up with a fluffy throw pillow, keeping your focus straight ahead, on the tv screen, as Jisung’s character fell off of a platform which resulted in his team losing. 

 “Most of the time the shops in the area close around nine, so there’s nothing to do after dark. It sucks if you ever want to have a life outside of work because as soon as you’re off, everyone is closing up for the day. I have no idea why you decided to start a clinic in my district, to be honest… like, Gangnam is a much better option.” 

 “True…” His voice trailed off. And you felt him shift so that now his focus was on the tv. This gave you enough time to peek a glance at him again. He looked ethereal under the soft glow of the living room lights - the teasing skin of his chest glistening in a warm hue, his cheekbones washed in a distant kind of shadow, his perfect, red lips pursed slightly and- “But then, I’d never have met you if I set up shop here in Gangnam.” 

 You didn’t have any time to react, as he whipped his head back towards you, catching your perusal of his otherworldly beauty. Because truly, how can any man be so hot and yet beautiful at the same time? His face looked like it was chiseled by the Gods themselves, the picture-perfect example of a Hellenistic sculpture from Greece… all soft lines, flowing movement, and a focus that was wholly on his soft and genuine personality. 

 A sparkle filled his chocolate-brown irises then, as they lit up with the fact that you had blatantly been checking him out. Surely, he didn’t know about your feelings. Surely, he didn’t… 

 You spluttered in embarrassment at his words, as they finally registered in your mind. “I hardly doubt that I’ve made any difference in your career, Dr. Lee-”

 “I wish you’d stop calling me that.” 

 And just like that, he pulled the breath right out of your lungs again. 

 Like it was just a flimsy green leaf, that he had happened to pluck out of the sky and catch hold of. 

 Dragging the air up your throat and out between your lips. 

“W-What?” You managed to say in a strangled kind of way, the words tickling the tip of your tongue. They burrowed down into the pit of your heart, lighting something dim and unchecked inside of you. 

 “Addressing me so formally. That title, Dr. Lee… only my clients use it.” 

 “B-But I am your-”

 He leveled you with a swarthy regard then, dark brows pulling together, mouth pressing into a firm line of displeasure. “No, you’re not- not anymore. So I honestly don’t see the point in keeping up with all of the formalities.” 

 The anxiety balled up into an unruly knot at the speed of light. And soon, you found it jumbling around in your stomach. Was he mad? By his tone, which held a slight edge to it, he seemed upset… 

 But why? You thought he’d appreciate the honorifics, and welcome them, even, since the two of you were from such opposites sides of life. 

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that it was such an issue for you.” You said, but as soon as the words left your lips, you realized the bitterness that hung between them. The slight anger was laced there, from the fact that he was trying to break the one rule that you had set for yourself long ago. 

 Because okay- yes, he was really fucking hot. And fucking nice all of the time. But that didn’t give you the right to jump his bones just because you were attracted to him. And besides, he’d never stoop so low for a woman like you.

He threw his hands up in the air then, sighing in defeat. “I mean, I really don’t know what I have to do- I invite you over to my place, I fucking call-”

 Just then, he was interrupted by a loud shout flooding in from down the hallway. And suddenly, Changbin appeared in the living room, a goofy smile plastered on his face, as he held up a huge case of beer and a jumbo-sized bag of potato chips. “What’s up, dweebs?” He hollered, throwing his head back and cackling maniacally. 

 “What did I tell you about using such a word?” Yongbok groaned out in despair, throwing his controller down onto the ground and stomping over to the older man. “It’s like- so nineteen-nineties.” He plucked the bag of chips out of his hand before scurrying back to the others. 

 Hyunjin filed into the living room, interrupting the scene with his show-stopping looks, even though he was dressed like a literal hobo, in ripped sweatpants and a stretched-out hoodie. “Give it up, Bokkie- his uneducated ass could never grasp such a concept.” He rolled his eyes at the dark-haired muscly man who was silently fuming with rage in the corner. 

 “Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m a fucking vet assistant-”

 “Yeah only because you failed your placement test to get into tech school.” Seungmin threw back, earning a few shrill cackles from the younger men sitting around him. 

 “I swear to all things holy if you don’t stop bringing up-” Changbin began, storming over to the brown-haired boy in apparent rage when suddenly he was intervened by a shouting Chan. 

 “Food just arrived- come eat you little shits, before I take it all for myself!” He called from the nearby kitchen. 

 And just like that, the playfully-tense atmosphere in the living room dissipated, as Changbin was immediately soothed by the prospect of food. 

 “I call first dibs on the Hawaiian pizza!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting up from his spot on the floor and rushing for the kitchen. 

 “No one’s going to fight you on that one, Ji, you literally have the worst taste in cuisine,” Jeongin said under his breath, shaking his head in distaste as he followed right behind him. 

 As all of the guys left the living room, you were thrown into the uneasy silence between you and… and Minho. Your heart was beating wildly against your chest, as you tried to process what had just gone wrong between you. 

 Maybe coming to the party was a mistake after all. 

 Maybe, you should’ve just stayed holed up in your small, dingy apartment, like you usually did every Friday night. 

But then Minho was sighing heavily, and from his proximity, you could practically feel his hot breath hit your neck. It seemed like he had grown closer to you in the last few minutes. “Fuck- just forget I said anything.” 

 And before you could say - or do - anything else, he was shuffling out of the living room, in search of some piping hot food. 

 Getting some alcohol into your system would surely help the pain that suddenly coursed through your veins.

 Surely, drowning your mind in liquor would help to quell the rising hurt that was beginning to squeeze at your heart. 

 Because just like that, without you even having to confess your feelings to him, he was dismissing you. 

 He was ignoring your feelings. 

 Just from the way that he told you to ‘forget about it.’ 

 When no- 

 You couldn’t just erase it from your mind. 

 You couldn’t simply snap a finger and ‘forget about it.’ 

 Forget the history the two of you had together? 

 The attraction that was seemingly only one-sided?

 The realization that he had only called you over to his party to fill the space of a friend? 

 Nah- fuck that shit. 

 So you weren’t going to forget any of it, just to spite him. 

 And you decided that for the rest of the night, you’d think about nothing but him. 

 Be consumed by nothing but him. 

 Again and again, you’d allow your mind to wander to the fantasies you had of him. 

 Because then, maybe you’d be able to get back at him - for all of the hurt that he was putting you through without even realizing it, for so very long.

To be continued...

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[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

SOME THOUGHTS ON JON IX, ASOS

I've read the battle at the Wall a couple of times but this is the first time it hit me how much tiresome was for all the black brothers who participated in it.

Jon's point of view gives us a realistic perspective inside the mind of a soldier. He barely even has time to sleep and even when he does, the fighting haunts his dreams. And how could it not? When the fighting is so loud that even the rare moments a soldier has to relax, they can still hear it:

Day and night the axes rang.

Jon could not remember the last time he had slept. When he closed his eyes he dreamt of fighting; when he woke he fought. Even in the King's Tower he could hear the ceaseless thunk of bronze and flint and stolen steel biting into wood, at it was louder when he tried to rest in the warming shed at top of the Wall. Mance had sledgehammers at work as well, and long saws with teeth of bone and flint. Once, as he was drifting off into an exhausted sleep, there came a great cracking from the haunted forest, and a sentinel tree came crashing down in a cloud of dirt and needles.

Most of them are simply sleeping on the Wall as it would take them too much time to travel from Castle Black to the top of the Wall everytime they desperately need to relax. Of course, this fact makes their sleeping breaks less relaxing as they take place in the middle of the potential battlefield.

Few of them ever left the Wall these days. It took too long to ride up and down in the cage. Castle Black had been abandoned to Maester Aemon, Ser Wynton Stout, and a few others too old or ill to fight.

Taking into consideration what I've discussed so far it makes sense for Jon to mention that all these black brothers are too exhausted to even have conversations between them:

No one spoke. They were all too tired to talk.

I feel the need mention here and during these agonizing moments for all Black Brothers, Jon is still injured and using a crutch to walk around. What is more, he's their de facto leader so he has to put a brave face and be someone who can inspire and reassure the rest of his brothers.

He's insightful enough to realise that some unorthodox jokes of some of the brothers make ( mostly Pyp) let the rest of them feel better. While such japes would be considered unacceptable and offensive by other previous leaders ; Jon's allows them. Because what matters the most is to elevate the spirit of his soldiers, even if that means using unusual methods.

To give you the context here these japes and how they affect the soldiers:

"Here come our breakfast arrows" Pyp announced cheerfully, as he did every morning. It's good that he can make a jape of it, Jon thought. Someone has to. [...] Jon had to think that it was better for them to smile at Pyp's jest than brood over Alyn's corpse.

The brothers had even started wagering as to which of the straw sentinels would collect more arrows before they were done.[...] It was Pyp who'd started naming the scarecrows after their missing brothers, too. "It makes us it seem as if there's more of us," he said.

" More of us with arrows in our bellies," Grenn complained, but the custom did seem to give his brothers heart, so Jon let the names stand and the wagering continue".

Jon also makes sure that his men are all well rest ( or at least as well rest as they can be under these conditions). That's why he urges Grenn to go to sleep when the latter admit that he hasn't rested. And how the tables have turned! Because in the past it was Jon's superiors who had to force him to take care of himself. And now he's doing the same thing for someone else. ( it's small bits like this ones that show the growth of a character).

Speaking of a character's growth, Jon on this chapter also tries to take care of himself too. He forces himself to eat his meals because he knows that he needs his strength in order to be able to lead the men he's responsible for. His survival is no longer sorely personal matter, his survival also guarantees a better chance of survival for the men who follow his orders.

As himself notes the other brothers are waiting for him to give them orders:

Satin, Horse and the others were looking for him, Jon knew, waiting for his orders. He was too tired, he hardly knew anymore. The Wall is mine, he reminded himself.

And so, the teenage injured boy who still walks with a crutch and hasn't participated in previous battles continues to lead his black brothers.

If we take into consideration his lack of experiences and the fact that they were outnumbered by far then the resistance black brothers showed under his command was impressive. Jon Snow was born to lead men as this chapter ( among a couple of others) proves!

[fairytales-and-folklore]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @marimbles! ♥️ No pressure tags: @litfeathers @lollytea @ashanimus @greyhavenisback @princecharmingwinks @tails89 @nutellarghh @ash-mcj @childlikegoblinqueen @daydreams-and-honeybees @avatarmerida @asarcasticwitch @sailahina @secretly-of-course @sapphic--kiwi @haystarlight @zyrafowe-sny @peachytea04 @slightecho

1. How many works do you have on AO3? just hit 100 last month!

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 479,814

3. What fandoms do you write for? I've dabbled in quite a few over the years, but the ones I've written the most fics for are doctor who (eleven/amy) teen wolf (sterek) and the owl house (huntlow)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Error 404: Brain Cell Not Found (teen wolf | sterek) You Always Want What You're Running From (sleepy hollow | ichabbie) What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide (teen wolf | sterek) Gold Rush (the owl house | huntlow) Lovesick (the owl house | huntlow) 5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do! Every kind comment means so much to me, so I always take the time to respond to all of them (though I'm not always great at getting to them on time.)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm probably The Courtesan and the Writer (doctor who | eleven/amy) I used to dabble in angst a bit more when I first started writing fic, but these days all my fics are pretty much guaranteed to have a happy ending, because real life is hard enough lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Pretty much all my fics have happy endings, but one of the happiest I wrote would probably be my huntlow college AU Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I wouldn't call it outright hate, but I have gotten a handful of rude comments over the years (complaining that I don't post often enough, telling me my headcanons are wrong, telling me how they think my story should have ended — one time someone yelled at me in all caps because I said that a character chilled red wine lol that one was wild)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! Smut is fun. Mine is typically more focused on the emotional aspect than the physical, is usually the result of a long tension-fueled slow burn buildup, and is usually tooth-rottingly fluffy, soft, and sweet.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have! Back in the days where superwholock plagued tumblr, I wrote one of the silliest cross-overs imaginable, combining doctor who, torchwood, bbc sherlock, supernatural, the avengers, and sleepy hollow: Lords, Gods, and Madmen

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup 🙃

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But most of them never saw the light of day 😂 one that did is called An Eggcellent Morning For Cooking Lessons co-written with @ash-mcj @tails89 and @nutellarghh

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I think my top three ships are reflected in who I've written the most fic for: huntlow, sterek, and the eleventh doctor/amy pond

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Luckily, everything that's posted to AO3 is finished, but at this point I'm thinking I'll probably never get around to writing the little nightmares, reylo, and captain swan WIPs I've had sitting in my drafts since 2019

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I capture the characters really well, which means a lot to me. I've also been told that my writing is cozy and comforting and fills people with warm fuzzy feelings, which is always nice to hear 🥰

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I will sit there and agonize over the same paragraph trying to make it sound perfect instead of just letting the writing flow, so sometimes a fic will be in the works for a very long time until it's finally ready to be posted (by which time I'm probably sick of it and never want to look at it again 😂)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've dabbled in this a little bit, but it's usually been plot-relevant, like a character learning to speak the language (i.e. when Hunter tried to learn Spanish in Being Human.) When I do write in another language, I always do my best to research and try to get the translations as accurate as possible, and I always include the English translation either in the fic itself or as an author's note so readers don't have to break away from my fic to google anything. (And also so that they know what my intention was, on the off-chance I translated something wrong and accidentally wrote something offensive.) 19. First fandom you wrote for?

Does anyone remember that vampire show that came out back in like 2009? Moonlight? Yeah, that one lol

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? God, that's like asking me to pick my favorite child. Okay fine, it's Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

[whump-about-it]

It Will Hurt Like Hell

@febuwhump Day 3: “Bite down on this.”

CW: cave in, begging, description of injuries, field surgery, implied amputation

Medic ran their hand through their hair as they took in the nightmare in front of them. The whole team had known there was a risk of cave ins in these old mines, but none of them ever expected it to actually happen. That sort of never actually happened. Right?

Medic let out a groan at their collective stupidity. The injuries were numerous. Even Medic was sporting a gash on their head that was leaving their ears fuzzy. But they didn’t have time for that now. Not to be injured. Not to be angry. Right now they had work to do.

Most of the injuries didn't seem life threatening. Lots of nasty cuts and bruises. One or two broken bones. Team Leader had also been hit on the head and it was already clear they were nursing a bad concussion. For the most part, all of the injuries were things the rest of the team could help each other muddle through. All except Whumpee that is.

Whumpee had been standing right under the support when it had given out. By some miracle, the broken beam had protected their head from any of the proceeding rockfall. Unfortunately however, most of the larger boulders had instead landed on their arm, leaving them pinned to the ground and screaming in pain.

"Doc! Help me! Please Doc. Oh my God, it hurts! It hurts so much!"

Medic knelt down next to Whumpee and shoo'd a team member away who was trying to move some of the rocks off. It only took a cursory glance to know Whumpee's arm couldn't be saved. It was completely crushed under massive rock debris all the way up passed the elbow. The bones would be pulp underneath it, and Whumpee was bleeding profusely.

Medic continued to tune out Whumpee's cries and began to pull off their backpack. They took out their medical kit and proceeded to tie a tourniquet around their arm.

"Okay Whumpee, I know it hurts. We're going to get it taken care of in a moment. I need you to take some deep breathes for me and drink this, as much as you can swallow."

Whumpee nodded and swallowed the last of their screams before taking some deep breathes and letting Medic tip the contents of their flask into their mouth. A few seconds later Whumpee was coughing, the agonizing pain of their arm seemingly forgotten for the moment.

"God Doc! Tequila?"

"Gin. And it's all I've got for painkillers right now. Do you want more?"

After a pause Whumpee nodded and Medic gave them another large swallow. While Whumpee was coughing again Medic sat up and and removed their belt.

"At least buy me dinner first."

"Glad to know the gin is working. Now, bite down on this."

Medic folded their belt in half twice and held it in front of Whumpee, who's eyes grew wide.

"W-why?"

"Whumpee I need you to do it quickly. You're loosing blood fast and I'd rather not wait until you go into shock."

Whumpee's face drained of what was left of it's color as they realized what was about to happen.

"Doc... Medic, please. Please don't do this. Please don't cut off my arm. You can save it. I know you can. You're a good doctor. Please don't take my arm."

Medic sighed and leaned close to Whumpee.

“Whumpee. I understand this is hard for you, and I won’t expect you to take this well. But you are loosing a lot of blood, and you’re going into shock. I’m a good doctor, but not a miracle worker. I can’t save your arm. We’re going to have to take it off eventually. And I’d rather it be when you’re properly sedated too, but there is no way we are going to be do that. Some of these boulders are too big to move even with all of us trying. Now, I'm about to do surgery on you with only alcohol as an anesthetic. It's going to hurt like hell, and you're going to bite something, unless you want it to be your tongue, bite down on this."

Whumpee looked at Medic with large eyes that were slowly glazing over. They appeared to falter a bit as though their conscious was wavering, but after a few seconds they leaned their head forward and bit down on the belt.

"Thank you." Medic whispered. "I promise I'll make this as quick as possible."

[iraprince]

hi idk if this is a weird question but like. how do u Make Art with adhd? you mentioned in your comic that you struggled w various other creative hobbies, but like drawing feels to me always like the Big Bad Thing I Cannot Ever do. even tho i want to make it my career LOL

how'd you get past that?

not a weird question at all! this is actually a question i ask myself pretty much every day, bc generally my answer to "how do i make art with adhd" has always been: With Great Difficulty, lmfao.

it's hard! i am not always good at it! i made art my job bc i realistically couldn't imagine being truly happy with anything else; if that wasn't the case, i'm not sure i would be doing this. like, that ends up being a big divide between the hobbies mentioned in that comic vs art, which is something that it seems (according to viewing my online activity) i do "Consistently;" it is my career, so there's a level of like, urgency and necessity there that my hobbies don't have. which, like, obviously my advice is not "make it your job so that you HAVE to OR ELSE :)" because it doesn't work like that. i am spending an amount of time OR-ELSE-ing that i think might surprise ppl, and i am frankly very lucky that my wife is the primary provider for our family, because it gives me a safety net for when my brain makes a loud grinding noise and then belches a big cloud of smoke and i have to spend a week hitting it with a wrench.

ANYWAY. this is going to get long bc i have a lot of thoughts abt it. there's really no one answer to getting past it, and i am not "past it," i don't know if i think anyone ever can be! we can just try really hard to keep going in ways that won't burn us out. if i had to pull out the absolute #1 most important thing i've learned over the past few years, it is -- and i know this sounds like dumb corny bullshit but you really have to stay with me here -- being kind and patient with yourself.

i'm being so dead serious. if beating yourself up and freaking out and constantly agonizing over how much more you Could be drawing worked, you would be drawing right now. if beating ourselves up over our output worked, EVERYONE would be drawing ALL the time. it doesn't fucking work! it does not! do literally anything other than yelling at yourself. it's bullshit. it's fuckery. it does not work.

on the other hand, cultivating as much kindness and patience and compassion as i can muster -- saying, "well, it looks like i just don't have it today. that's okay, let's try again tomorrow," even if i'm saying it through clenched teeth and i don't really believe it -- THAT works, because it chips away at the idea of drawing being life or death. it's probably a very similar feeling to you describing art as The Big Bad Thing. of course if you hang all your self worth on it and let it become immense and dominating, it's going to be hard to interact with it! it's scary! it becomes easier to avoid it than to try to tackle it and then feel disappointed in yourself in a more active way (vs. just disappointed in yet another day where u didn't try). but every time i sigh and say "okay" when my brain is screaming and crying bc art just is not working, and i decide to rest and try again tomorrow, 1. it is easier to do a little bit of work the next day when i'm rested than it is to do ANY work when i chain myself to my desk for 9 hours and demand results, and 2. i learn that it is not the end of the world. it just isn't. and so art gets smaller, and less frightening, and it can just be my job (something i have to wrangle my adhd around just like anything else, like grocery shopping and keeping the house clean and keeping up with my friends) instead of some huge destructive boss battle with my identity hanging in the balance.

sometimes you have to talk to yourself like a little kid. if a little kid came to you upset and was like "i wanna draw but i just can't. i don't know why." you would (hopefully) not be like, "whatever, i guess you're just not cut out for it then!" or whatever other mean shit we say to ourselves when we can't draw. you would be like, "well, okay. do you want me to sit with you? how do we start? where's some stuff we can draw with? hm, i can't really think of what to draw either. did you see anything pretty or cool today? let's just draw some shapes." etc etc. and if the kid got frustrated and it still wasn't working you'd be like, you know what, that was a good try. let's have some lunch and try again later. and you deserve that same level of patience, and that level of CURIOUS problem-solving ("what can we try? what might be easier?") instead of, like, adversarial/blame-assigning problem solving ("what the fuck is the matter with you? why can't you just do it?")

also, shaking things up!! one of the most frustrating things abt adhd for me is i'll find a new strategy that Works, but it only works for like, two weeks or whatever, and then it stops working and i have to do something else. i have had a way better time just accepting that that's how things work vs thinking of these cycles as "failures."

if i start dreading working at my desk, i throw a block of printer paper onto a clip board and work on the couch for a few weeks. when that stops working, i get back on drawpile and do all my warmup sketches on an interactive canvas, with strangers around me (virtual coffeeshop lol?). when i get tired of that, then maybe i'm ready to be alone with clip studio again. nope, still not working? okay, let's stream while i'm working for a while then. let's start drawing differently. let's change the background color i draw on. just, like, i keep shaking things up to see if maybe i can trick my brain into feeling like we're doing something totally new for a while, and a lot of the times it works, and when it does not work i am not an asshole to myself, which is, as i keep reiterating, super vital.

when i make the most art is when i get super excited about something and i let myself go apeshit. (there's a reason my guild wars 2 stuff is corralled on a sideblog lmao.) when commissions start grinding to a halt for me, a lot of times it's bc i've let them become Tasks on a to-do list instead of remembering that each piece is a DRAWING; it can help for me to sit down and go through each piece in my queue and really look at it, and remind myself that these are DRAWINGS and i LOVE drawing, and to point out to myself stuff in the wip that i like, and stuff i'm excited to draw the next time i work on it. it's very easy to flatten stuff into just An Obligation if you stress too much about it, but it's very helpful to slow down and step back and remind yourself WHY you care that much. it's not just bc you have to.

i don't really want this to get much longer than it already is, especially when i don't really have concrete tips so much as rambling opinions and examples of stuff that Kind Of works for me Sometimes. i think the tldr is: relax, be nice, keep it fresh. i hope at least some of this is helpful!

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Year In Review: Favorite Lines/Snippets!

Hello, my lovelies! Many thanks to @anincompletelist for not only creating this tag game, but for including me in it! I have ALWAYS loved a good quote that can hit someone right in the heart, and this year, I've been incredibly lucky to write a few such segments myself (that hit ME in my own heart!). Words that I stepped back from the keyboard after writing and thought "did I actually write this?"

Additional thanks to @kiwiana-writes and @firenati0n for the tags on their years in review as well!

What If I Do?

“Fuck,” is all that he can say, but even that tastes of Alex, of top shelf whiskey and the cinnamon he always adds to his coffee. Alex had spoken the word into Henry’s mouth on countless occasions, so he was all-too-familiar with the way it slipped off of his tongue so smoothly, as if the letters themselves were forged together just for him by some foul-mouthed god who knew the damage such a word might wreak in the possession of someone as fearless as Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

Gravity

But though fire may burn through carefully worded commands parading as suggestions on a pretty page, it stands no chance against the might of a golden crown. He only wishes he could fan the flames high enough to reach that blessed melting point. Watch it all soften and liquefy until it’s no longer a gilded cage but a puddle at his feet. He thinks, bitterly, that even then he wouldn’t have the time to escape before it would congeal and stiffen and trap him once more, forever frozen as a statue rather than a prisoner. And perhaps they’d prefer it that way. Statues can’t fight back.

The Rope

This is not supposed to be his life. He was always supposed to love Alex from the other side of a wall, never daring to climb over. So instead, he’d punched a hole in that fragile wall under the winter moonlight in the White House Garden, the taste of Alex on his tongue. And again and again he’d punched new holes in the weakening structure, reaching through and grabbing and clawing at whatever pieces of Alex he could grip, knowing that he’d never be able to grasp his heart. Except when, somewhere along the bloody way, he had. But Alex was never supposed to let him.

Ghosts

His first attempts to contact Henry are a flood. Incessant, desperate, confused. All paragraphs and punctuation. And then a storm. Intense in the moment but eventually losing its power. Streams of single sentences sent in quick succession. Then a trickle. Droplets of isolated words over the course of agonizing days. Until finally, they dry up completely, and Henry’s thread of communication falls lower and lower down his inbox. Alex tries not to actively seek it out.

The Maldives

“I love you. I don’t have your extensive vocabulary to say it, but the truth is that I’m absolutely crazy, head-over-heels, desperately in love with you, and I’ve spent so much time not saying it that I want to spend the rest of my life saying it as much as I can. I want to wake up beside you each morning and say it before we start the day. I want to text it to you from across any distance between us, whether it’s an ocean or the couch. I want to gasp it at the ceiling when you do that thing with your tongue. And I want it to be the last thing you hear before you fall asleep each night. I love you, and I want you to hear it so many times that it heals the pain of thinking you’d never hear it in the way you always dreamt.”

You can’t escape this drying ink

He knows, as they approach the door just down the hall from the main ballroom, what awaits him on the other side. He knows it as certainly as he knows what a terrible mistake he made on these very grounds to start the new year. A blank page already gushing bright red ink before he’d ever had the chance to write a single word other than “Alex.” He’d dripped his bleeding pen across the map as he fled, red ink footsteps trailing behind him in the snow, a smear across the map over the 3,700 miles separating them. He’d trailed it from the plane to the car, from the car through the palace, staining the perfect ancient path walked by kings and queens as he retreated back into the cage of his own making, a cage he never should have left, for now he knows what damage he wreaks when he allows his heart to guide him.

Save a horse Alex is a book that Henry has read countless times. He knows the placement of every punctuation mark, from the freckle above his hip to the smallest of scars on his knee, sustained while thoughts of Henry plagued his every waking moment, Alex admitted to him once. He’s familiar with every piece of dialogue from “motherfucker” to “sweetheart” and his personal favorite, “baby.” He’s bookmarked all of his favorite pages and even added his own annotations, like the way Alex always wants to look Henry in the eyes after they make love, regardless of what positions they may have ended up in, or the soft snores that come only when Alex is completely and utterly spent, nothing left to give but the sound of his breathing that never fails in lulling Henry to a deep sleep after him. But in the constant reading of the book of Alex, Henry is never bored. There is always something new to parse from between the lines. Words that aren’t explicitly stated. Details that can only be found by diving deeper than the surface. And Henry is happy to spend the rest of his life sinking to the depths of it, turning the pages again and again.

Heart enough

“Well, normally with a royal guest staying here, I’d roam the halls in a white sheet moaning about taxation without representation, but the joke would be wasted on someone as dull as Henry, so here I am…”

Alex has never seen Henry like this. So raw and vulnerable. Someone who needs. Frankly, he didn’t think it was even possible for a prince as polished as Henry to ever falter. Never thought a spine as rigid and straight could ever hunch, that a heart as walled off and locked away could ever break. How very wrong he was.

The taste of the whiskey from Alex’s flask and the champagne Henry drank earlier in the evening mixes with the rainwater that continues to pelt them from above, falling in their mouths and baptizing their tongues in the memories of this night that Alex knows he will never, could never, forget.

Wind me up, fill your cup like a river, drunk on watching me drown

He’d almost be impressed that a statue sculpted out of unforgiving, unchanging marble could affect anything but a strong-jawed, tight-lipped expression of utter disdain, were it not for that very first meeting of the prince and the president’s son. But nothing Henry could ever hope to do in his meticulously scheduled life of cutting ceremonial ribbons and haunting the corners of ballrooms is capable of wrenching and scraping the clock hands backwards, turning back the years of disappointment Alex has felt for ever pressing his fingers to a photo in a magazine and allowing himself to dream of someone just like him. Someone who understood.

Alex quickly realizes, though, that he’s never stood this close to the prince before. Never made out the freckles hiding beneath the carefully applied makeup. To the dungeons with a blemish on a royal face! Never noticed the halo of hazel around his pupils, a tiny island in eyes as blue as the ocean. He wonders, briefly, if Henry would choose to embrace these perceived imperfections if given the chance. Would the open, grinning young man from the magazine sign his looping script on an agreement of a royal portrait painter dotting a canvas with physical proof of being kissed by the sun, or mix up a bit of color other than the most stunning cerulean for his eyes? Or does he relish in the mask that he wears, locked as perfectly into place as every strand of his golden hair?

The injury of finally knowing you

He listens to the quiet sound of snow drifting to the ground around him and thickening the blanket of white. He listens to the distant thump of music and the explosion of fireworks across the city, of liquor-soaked laughter and raucous cheers. He listens and listens, his ears straining as if some part of him hopes to hear his father’s voice break through the clouds as brightly and certainly as he knows Orion shines somewhere above the earth upon which he stands on trembling limbs. What he doesn’t expect when he listens is the lilt of another voice from behind him, an all-too-familiar sound that never fails to color his dreams in flashes of vivid molten gold, fiery scarlet, and radiant orange, lighting his very imagination aflame. Every word spoken by that voice now grows a fraction louder with each soft, crunching step through the snow.

Unsure who's done this so far, but wanting to throw out some tags for @indestructibleheart @thinkof-england @whimsymanaged @sparklepocalypse @duchessdepolignaca03 @ships-to-sail @magicandarchery @suseagull04 @rockyroadkylers @inexplicablymine @littlemisskittentoes @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @lizzie-bennetdarcy @songliili @priincebutt @daisymae-12 @happiness-of-the-pursuit @leaves-of-laurelin @roseharpermaxwell @adreamareads @indomitable-love @cricketnationrise @clottedcreamfudge @ninzied

[lunart-06]

Good day, I have a request to make regarding your current ao3 that you wrote.

Ok imma stop with the fancy English. I read your ao3 titled "there was nothing left for me" and absolutely adored it so I want to ask if you could write a good ending.

Like when izuru was outside talking about how unpredictable the ocean is and no amount of luck will ever bring makoto back, immediately he said that, up in the sky, is it a bird? Is it a plane? No! Its a heavily damaged helicopter hurdling towards him at mach 4. The helicopter crashes right next to him with rubble from the helicopter flying everywhere without hitting him. His curiosity gets the best of him and you'll never guess what he finds inside. A very beaten up and bloody scars makoto who looks like his on the brink of death.

That was the idea I've been brainstorming ever since I finished ur fic. So thanks for reading and incase u actually take this into consideration (I'll be very glad if u do) please take your time I don't mind waiting

(Ur fic has done crazy stuff to me like once in every 10 scenario sessions I have it's based on this fanfic Thank you so much for writing it)

ARCK TY SM!!!! That fic was the only thing that made me feel like I can't possibly write anything close to that quality anymore and needed to get more deeply into my zone but I'm glad you liked it!!!

And for the ending, it was extremely inte ded for me to make a very open-like kinda ending to ensure something like these! You can imagine ANY scenarios regarding of what happened and with the kind of ending I go for COULD lead to tons of possibilities!

It could be Kamukura destroying the foundation and still feeling empty inside, or who knows maybe he find Makoto's coffin while at it? Or maybe Makoto is *still* alive yet just wandering aimlessly after escaping and tricking everyone of his death? Who knows who knows, that's what fun about them!

And to indulged in your one of many scenarios of ending for this fic.

Kamukura wouldn't pay attention to anything else, as said, the agonizing turmoil crashing on everything he had build up for. But he *does* aware of the sound above him, and just like that his ultimate talents switched without command and stood aside a few good feet away, in a certain spot, as a vehicle crash down next to him.

I don't believe Makoto could even still be standing after surviving an execution from *Munakata* of all things, that man won't let him breath. So in this case, some of his other friends and sister had helped him out of the dire situation. Judging from Byakuya's scowl towards Hagakure it seems that it was the teller's responsibility in controlling the helicopter, but knowing Byakuya's distrust over something so life-threatening to someone like Hagakure, it seem he was suppose to be temporarily held control over it until some *bad luck* happened.

Toko was there, Komaru was there, Byakuya left his knot tying rushed to go over to Hagakure, leaving the body—

The body that was still moving. *breathing*. Though shallow and slow, definitely in pain, slightly trembles perhaps from the large injuries and the shock from literally falling from the sky. The sight of it managed to make Kamujura's skin pricked, muscles tightening, and eyes frozen to one sight of one subject. Komaru calling onto the body she held is when Kamukura can feel the freezing water washed over him and wiped the toxins in every parts of his molecules.

"Makoto please hang on—"

Makoto. He can see it clearly now, the messy hair of brown with strands sticking out in multiple places, damped with sweat, paler than necessary to be consider healthy, the while shirt soaked with red, his whole figure is writhing as if cold and taking shallow breath as if drowning, he couldn't see the calming olive eyes when the lids clenched shut, eyebrows pinching together closely that the skin wrinkles, his teeth grits and released from pain and to breath, holding onto the major blow of the injuriy that could have really taken his life dearly.

"Kamukura?" The sister called out, and for once, he paid attention, "please— please, help him– help my brother please, h-he's—"

He doesn't let her finished before his whole body moved in instinct, swiftly picking the deathly cold body that's far more than Kamukura's own, and as he made contact with Makoto, he can feel multiple talents surge through him all at once; ultimate hunter checking any possible threat on his surroundings, ultimate bodybuilder to properly hold Makoto without shaking too much of his injuries, ultimate medic to check anymore major wound aside from the one Makoto covered.

And when Makoto finally squint an eye opened to stare directly on Kamukura's clouded crimson ones, smiling in a shaky manner with a relief undertone (for once, Kamukura *understood* that. Instead of *knowing*), he spoke, in an exhale, his voice whispered; "I..... tol' you.. that I'll–.... be......back..—"

And ultimate runner to quickly take Makoto back to the base of the island.

[vmures]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I got tagged by the delightful @mirrorthoughts 💜💜💜 Thank you for the tag!

How many works do you have on ao3?

13 at the moment

What's your total ao3 word count?

218,148 words (mostly thanks to one very long fic, lol)

What fandoms do you write for?

Currently Teen Wolf and 9-1-1. I am noodling a few ideas for Stranger Things. I've also written Buffy the Vampire Slayer stuff, mostly crossovers in the past, but haven't gotten around to importing them to ao3. They can be found on Twisting the Hellmouth under the same user name as ao3 (vMures)

Top five fics by kudos:

Hanging On (You're All That's Left to Hold On To)

A Hallowed Pack

A Change of Luck

A Merry War

Finding Home

All Teen Wolf fics, mostly Steter with one Sterek fic in the mix. 😄

Do you respond to comments?

I certainly always try to.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm a happily ever after sort of writer generally, so none of my fics have very angsty endings. Just not the sort of thing I tend to write.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have happy endings so far. Not sure I could pick which one has the happiest ending.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not usually, at least not on ao3. Worst comments I've gotten have been on fanfiction.net and I have been ignoring those for decades at this point. I think I don't get much hate on ao3 in large part because I don't allow anonymous comments on my work and people are less likely to leave hate comments when they have to do it with their official account. I've gotten a few odd comments, some weird nitpicky ones, and some demanding ones from time to time. I always try to respond politely to those, but sometimes get a bit snarky.

Do you write smut?

Not as of yet. But I may some day try my hand at it. No promises though. lol

Craziest crossover:

I once wrote a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, and X-Men (it can be found on Twisting the Hellmouth).

On ao3, my only crossover so far is a Teen Wolf/Harry Potter crossover: A Hallowed Pack

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone just asked if they could translate Midnight Rain into Russian, so that will be my first fic translated into another language.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really

All time favourite ship?

Cannot pick favorites for the life of me. In Teen Wolf, I love Steter, Sterek, Stetopher, Stargent, Steterek, Dargent, Detergent (Derek/Chris/Peter), and so many more combinations of my favorite characters. lol Stranger Things I read mostly Steddie and Ronance, but am open to quite a few other pairings.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Yep, my one unfinished WIP Buffy/Stargate crossover, The Road Not Taken. After a decade of agonizing over whether or not to mark it abandoned and give myself grace for not finishing it, I finally did so. Part of me still would love to finish it, but I lost the notes I had on it and doubt I'll ever find the desire to rebuild the story and figure out where I had wanted it to go.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm pretty good at writing natural sounding dialogue and proud of that fact.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I have been called a wordy bitch or told my writing is very dense. So that could be considered a weakness. Otherwise, I'd say writing action scenes and making sure the actions make sense and flow properly.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

As long as there's a translation somewhere, I don't mind. Sometimes it is effective to include.

First fandom you wrote in?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Favorite fic you've written?

Oh man, this is a particularly hard question. I love A Merry War a lot, but ultimately my absolute favorite so far is Hanging On (You're All That's Left to Hold On To). That fic is my baby. Took me two years to finish and I poured a lot of my heart and soul into it.

Once again I've hit the tagging portion of the tag game and drawn an absolute blank on who to tag. So consider yourself tagged if you want to play along! 💜💜💜

[sincerely-sofie]

The finishing of this fanfic has left me with some pretty mixed emotions. On the one hand, I dont want it to end. It's such an incredible piece of work and even though I finally committed to reading it a few weeks ago, it already feels like such a significant part of my life. On the other hand, I'm a little glad that it's over. FAR from the sense it was bad (I'll steal your liver if thats how you interpret it) but moreso in the sense that it was like a good crying session. It's something that a lot of us (or I assume a lot of us) typically want to avoid even though we know its good for us, and satisfying after the fact. It's like catharsis in a way. Endings aren't always a great feeling in the moment, but it's something that we can look back on with a fondness.

I'm so glad I found this work. I'm being completely serious when I say that this fanfic, and the other content you make, has changed my life for the better. Its helped me reconnect with that love I have for creativity after nearly a decade of not making anything even though I wanted to. It's helped pulled me out of a few ruts of depression. It's helped me realize that I'm not actually emotionally stunted (per my own conclusions) and be more willing to cry instead of burying those feelings. In the past I would just, kill these kinda thoughts before they got far because of how much I wanted to avoid crying. Much less actually writing them down, or express them to someone else. But now, I've been crying the whole time I write this, and for the first time in, I think ever, I'm okay with that. I know we don't actually know each other, but you've genuinely helped me become a better person with the things you make. Thank you so much for everything you've done Sofie. hey look! I got your name right!

But enough about me. I feel like it's getting indulgent at this point. (I've gotten dehydrated with how much ive cried writing this and from what I can tell, you cry a lot more than I do. So go drink some water first, and then) I wanna hear your thoughts. What are your thoughts and feelings about your work being finished? Do you have plans to take a break from creative endevors for a while, or are you gonna keep going? Are you going to be expanding more on this and other au's, different fanworks or move into something completely your own? Whatever the case may be, I'm excited to see what more you are going to come up with!

From the bottom of my heart, and on behalf of everyone else, Thank you for everything.

It's so surreal to have posted that final chapter. I finished the first draft almost 100 days ago exactly, and I spent a number of days after completing it kind of adrift. I'd go to my computer every morning like I had during the month prior and sit down, ready to write, only to remember that I was actually supposed to be taking a break before I made the final edits.  It didn't click in my head that I had actually done it… until a couple weeks later when it hit me like a truck that I had an entire completed manuscript sitting in my Google Docs. I think I was making myself lunch at that moment, and I had to bolt to lie down on the floor and put my legs up against the wall because I was ready to pass out at the realization. 

This feels pretty similar. For me, The Present is a Gift— the main fanfic, at least— was finished in mid-January. But the process of uploading it and agonizing over what people thought of every passing update wouldn't be formally done until about 3 months later. It still hasn't clicked in my head that I won't be posting a new update once Tuesday rolls around. 

On the subject of taking a break— I've actually been taking a break, at least partway! I've barely written anything after I finished TPiaG's first draft, and I haven't drawn much “serious” art, for lack of a better word, since I started my blog. I've still been making things, yes, but scattered oneshots and sketchy pieces without solid lineart are not my typical fare. I'm usually a lot more “exact” with what I make— words fail me here— I hope I'm not being too vague! I might take a brief break as I finish up the winter semester, but that would be less a break from creating and more of an “OH MY WORD I NEED TO FOCUS ON NOTHING BUT PASSING THESE COURSES” kinda thing. 

TPiaG (along with its derivative AUs) is still very much a living project to me— there's a lot more stories the characters have in them, even if I struggle to envision a full-on sequel. I'm absolutely going to answer the asks relating to it that I've received over the months along with any I continue to receive, and if I get any ideas for comics or oneshots here and there, I'll make them. As for what's officially next up on the Sincerely Sofie menu, I'm planning to make a visual novel that's a lot more meaty than the last one I made. I'm not sure if it will be original or based on TPiaG— but a visual novel is the medium I'm planning on! 

I'm so overwhelmed by your kindness. I truly don't have any words. This project started off as something private to help distract me from a depressive episode and to process trauma, and it's become so much more. I'm so glad it was able to help you. Catharsis was the keyword for TPiaG— I wanted it to uproot difficult emotions and help people start to heal from them, but I never dreamed it would really help anyone but myself. So to hear it was able to provide you with that is unbelievably meaningful to me. 

I gave myself the goal somewhat recently to let myself cry whenever the urge strikes me. I used to go months without crying, and whenever I did shed tears, it was alone in my room while muffling the few sounds I accidentally let slip. I'm a natural crybaby, but I had schooled myself into thinking for a number of reasons that it was bad to cry— that it was selfish, or attention-seeking, or weak— so I've been trying to reclaim my teary-eyed identity. It's been difficult, but it's so freeing to let myself feel things fully. All of this is to say: let the tears fall. I've helped more people by crying than my stoicism ever did. 

Thanks again. I can't properly word my gratitude, but know that it's overwhelming :,>

[aerodaltonimperial]

Bestie Prompt

You have to tell me why we are committing a felony before we do it

No it’s not going to stop us but at least I’ll have all the facts

(canon divergent, since i've altered the course of the FTW belt lol)

In the end, it's a surprise. It wasn't Lee Moriarty, or Swerve Strickland, or even one of the former holders, like Brian Cage. No, in the end, it was a surprise when the person to finally peel the FTW belt off Hook is Wheeler Yuta. Maybe it shouldn't have been. After all, the BCC has declared themselves the top of the roster, the best of the best. They're the ones out there attacking whoever they see as a potential shadow over their reign. And that meant that Hook, with his undefeated record and his steady rise, ended up flying too close to the sun.

Yuta is a real bastard about it, too; grabs Hook by the hair after the bell has rung, after Hook has already lost, after he's spitting out blood that's run down his nose and between his lips. He pulls Hook's head up and sneers in his face. It's an awful shot, right in front of the cameras: all it does is plaster Hook's loss, the belt, all over every single television tuned in.

"You thought you were untouchable," Yuta hisses in Hook's ear. "But we were forged in combat."

Mox and Claudio and Danielson, they're all ringside. They move in a pack, because the numbers game plays into their favor. Jack watches them from the opposite side, not because he's scared, but because starting anything now will only make things worse for Hook.

Yuta drops Hook's head back to the ring, and his forehead bounces on the mat, leaving a smear of red behind. Shit.

The others come out, as they always do, just to get their hits in. They kick his ribs, scream at his face. Jack launches himself through the ropes, and it's 1 versus 4. Mox ends up shoving him against the post and laughing about it. Jack never believe he'd scare them off, just that he'd take the heat. With his head ringing, he slides down onto all fours.

The belt is gone. Hook's legacy—stolen. As the BCC makes their way up the ramp to the thunderous boo of the crowd, and thank goodness for small favors, really, Jack touches Hook's shoulder. The muscles beneath his fingertips shudder.

"You gotta get up," Jack whispers, hair obscuring the shot of his face. "Get up and walk out, Hook. Don't let them take this, too."

Hook's hand shoots out, grappling, finally finding Jack's wrist and curling tight. He's hurting. Every inch he pushes himself up must be agonizing, but he fucking does it, and Jack helps him with a fierce rush of pride. He remembers this sensation: peeling himself up off the mats and knowing it's his own blood that's covering the square. He remembers feeling like the smallest piece of shit ever, snubbed beneath the heel of his opponent's boot.

They make their way backstage, one step at a time.

People are nice about it. Of course they are; Hook is beloved. He gets a few pats, and Chuck Taylor brings a wet towel to help him wash up, and Jack sits with him as Hook runs the terrycloth over his face. The fabric comes away pink.

"Can we go?" Hook asks, low. There's a tremor in his tone.

"Already got the keys," Jack replies.

When they get in the car, parked in the garage at the back of the arena, Jack pauses. From the passenger seat, Hook gives him a questioning look. Jack points up at the corners. "These cameras down here? They aren't actually turned on."

"What?"

Jack shrugs. "I passed by the security office a few times. Wondered if they were. Turns out, they aren't even connected. Just for show."

"O-kay," Hook says, slowly.

"And this side of the garage, this east side, see, it comes around the back of the assigned locker rooms."

Hook's forehead furrows. His tongue slips out, running across the lip that will be swollen for days. "The walls aren't brick."

"Naw," Jack says. "Just drywall and plywood. A few load bearing columns. This whole side was a later addition, and it was done kinda fast. Cut a few corners."

Hook scans the interior of the car. "You requested the Suburban?"

"Weirdly enough, nobody else had it reserved."

Hook looks at Jack, a cut over one eye and his hair plastered to his forehead. He looks like he went through hell, but you know what? He came out the other side still in one piece. And Jack is ready to burn the entire fucking arena down in vengeance for what Yuta and the BCC clawed into his skin.

"Thanks for telling me we're committing a felony before we do it," Hook says. "Won't stop us, but I appreciate the heads up."

"Yeah?" Jack asks.

"Yeah." Hook's expression goes a little watery. "Hey. Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me," Jack tells him. "I'd murder those assholes for you."

"This SUV is pretty big," Hook says, but he's smiling, and that's really all that matters, "so, you really might."

Jack throws the Suburban in reverse and steps on the gas. And boy does he hope the entire BCC is in that locker room celebrating when they fly through the wall in an explosion of debris and insulation.