#is enough to send me into one of my downward spirals of NEEDING to check my notes and inbox

[thevalleyoftriumph]

im beginning to think that i am mentally ill and the internet makes my mental illness Worse

[asianparenttrauma]

"You'll always be the ugliest!"

I think my mother started struggling with accepting the way I look when I got glasses as a kid.

My eyesight worsened rapidly and I had to get a new prescription every six months. Not only would my mother cry and yell about it because that was expensive (which I can understand to be hard), but also because it made me look ugly. Not even to mention my acne: that would send her down a spiral regularly, too.

So she put a lot of effort into trying to prevent my eysight from getting worse. This mostly involved her screaming at me whenever she saw me putting my face too close to the pages of the book I was reading or to the sheet of paper I was drawing on. In the end, it was my fault that my eyes just got worse and worse - I read too much, drew too much, in general I wasn't disciplined enough.

One night, I was reading under the covers with a flashlight on. It was already pretty late and I wanted to be able to pretend being asleep quickly whenever my mother would come in to check on me like she did every night.

But she saw what I was doing and immediately started screaming at me. I don't remember much of it, I think I felt numb to it, until she yelled that one sentence: "If you go on like this, you'll always be the ugliest!"

I don't wear glasses anymore. As much as my mother cried about how ugly glasses were, she also forbade me from trying out contacts when the ophthalmologist suggested it. So a few years after I moved out, I tried out different types of contacts, and eventually decided on having an operation.

I also don't have acne anymore.

There is nothing left for my mother to criticise about my appearance, right?

Wrong. There is always something. "Your skin looks strange. What is wrong with you?" - "Your friend looks pretty. You look tired." - "Your mouth is always turned downwards. You have to smile, look a bit happier." - "You gained weight. You got fat. You need to lose weight. Else your partner will go out to find something better." - "Why are your thighs so fat?" - and so much more.

So I carry this sentence with me: "You'll always be the ugliest!"

It sometimes intrudes my thoughts when I look in the mirror for too long or when I have a look at photos of me. When I see how asymmetrical my face is, I cringe. When I see my small belly pouch, I think about how to get rid of it. When I notice how big my thighs and upper arms have become, I start regretting working out so much. I start thinking about skipping meals again, about how little I can eat and still be able to perform at my job, to get through my daily life.

I have to remember that my face, my small belly pouch, my thick thighs are loved dearly by my partner, that the asymmetry in my face goes unnoticed by others, that my body has grown stronger in the past years... I have to remember that in the opinion of my friends, all that matters is that I'm finally happy (and that I don't look frail anymore). I have to remember that the way my body looks now is a result of being happy, taking care of myself and being taken care of; of not starving myself, becoming physically stronger through working out. I have to remember that I should'nt cherish my body only for the way it looks and how it's perceived by others, but more so because it carries me through life. It allows me to hug my friends, to kiss my partner, to talk to people, to experience the world around me with all my senses.

And with all that in mind, the weight of that sentence shrivels.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Secret's Out

Summary: Request! Reid and Y/N are secretly dating, but their business doesn't stay their business for long.

Warnings: Criminal Minds level violence

Word Count: 2974

a/n: Thank you for the request! I hope you like it :)

Sorry this took forever! It took me a while to think of case details that I liked and then I kept rewriting parts. I think I'm finally happy with it though!

Masterlist

"Spencer!" You pushed him away. "The doors could open at any moment! How are we supposed to keep this a secret if Morgan walks in on us kissing in the elevator?" You raised a brow at him.

"On average, elevators travel at a speed of 200 ft/min or about 4 seconds per floor. Being on the fifth floor means we have about 20 seconds to ourselves." He smiled triumphantly.

"Yeah, until someone surprises us on floor 3." You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the doors once they opened.

"I can't help it. I'm just... really happy with you." He whispered softly.

"I'm really happy too." You smiled at him. You were about to lean in when the elevator doors opened once again to reveal JJ and Emily.

"Hey guys, ready for another case?" Emily glanced between you suspiciously, but thankfully didn't ask any prying questions.

"Yep, let's go!" You turned quickly, walking into the round table room without so much as a glance back at the three agents by the elevator.

"What's with her?" JJ questioned.

"Said she didn't sleep well last night. Must be all the caffeine." He held his own cup off coffee up in solidarity before also walking to the round table room.

"Alright, we've got 3 dead in Billings, Montana. All three were law enforcement, and all three were found this morning around the city." You listened as Penelope introduced the details of the case.

"Could be someone who feels the police didn't do a good enough job protecting a loved one?" You threw out a theory.

"Or someone who feels wronged by the criminal justice system as a whole." Rossi added on.

"Either way, they likely won't stop until we catch them. Wheels up in 20." Hotch rose from his seat as he spoke, wasting no time in preparing for take off.

You all dispersed briefly to grab your go bags, meeting back at the SUVs to head to the jet.

Once boarded, it didn't take long for the conversation to start up again.

"When we land, L/N go to the morgue. Dave, Prentiss take the first and second crime scenes, they're only a mile apart. Morgan and Reid, check out the third scene. I'll head to the precinct with JJ."

With Hotch's instructions set, you took what little time you had left on the flight to go over the causes of death.

-

"Anything stand out to you on the bodies?" You asked the ME after going over the blunt force trauma and bullet wounds.

"There's tape residue and bruising on the wrists and ankles. Based on the state of bruising, they were likely held for about 3 days before they were killed."

"Thank you for your help." You shook hands, pulling out your phone to call Hotch.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, they were held for days before they were killed. How did nobody notice they were missing?" There was nothing in the reports that indicated the victims were reported missing prior to being found.

"We just found the same pattern. They all used vacation days for various reasons in the days leading up to their deaths. Meet us back at the precinct and Reid can explain the whole pattern."

"Okay, I'm leaving now." You hung up just as you reached the SUV. Throughout the drive, you couldn't stop thinking that something wasn't adding up.

The victims were taken in the same day. It didn't make sense for the unsub not to escalate. So, why aren't any officers unaccounted for?

Suddenly, a truck crashed into your SUV, sending you flying off the road. A figure dressed in black opened the door and dragged you from the car.

"Agent L/N, it's so good to see you again." A male voice spoke, but you couldn't place it.

He hit you over the head with a handgun before dragging you to his own vehicle.

-

"Where's L/N?" Emily questioned when her and Rossi returned from the second dumpsite.

"On her way back from the ME." Hotch answered. "Did you find anything useful?"

"They truly are dumpsites. Both bodies were found by dumpsters, sending a pretty clear message." Dave replied.

"Same for the third site." Derek added on.

"All three victims were single and took time off leading up to their death. Nobody would've notice that they were missing until it was too late." Reid supplied the final bit of information gathered.

Hotch's phone rang before anyone else could comment. The frantic sound of Garcia's nails clicking against her keyboard echoed through the phone. She was talking before anyone could greet her.

"You need to see this, check your tablets."

Confused glances were exchanged as everyone, barring Reid, opened their tablets. Reid glanced over Morgan's shoulder to observe as well.

A seemingly live video that Garcia received a link to was streaming to the tablets.

A single woman sitting in a chair could be seen in the frame. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair with thick, gray tape and a bag was over her head.

"Garcia, what is this?" Hotch asked almost immediately.

"I was emailed the link just now. It's not streaming anywhere else online." Her reply came quickly, the sound of typing still filling in the silence.

"Can you trace it?" Rossi questioned.

"I'm trying, but it's being routed through multiple proxy servers."

"Did the email say anything?" Emily chimed in.

"No, it was just the link- Wait. I just got another email." She paused as the new email loaded. "It's addressed to Reid."

Every set of eyes in the room turned to Reid.

"What does it say?" He felt the nerves beginning to grow waiting for Garcia to read the words aloud.

"Dr. Reid,

I hope you remember me. What am I saying, of course you do. I've got something of yours that you might want back. You see Dr. Reid, you and your team ruined me. My family, my career, all of it, just gone. I thought I'd return the favor. A person's phone can be so informative. Tell me, does your team know about your girlfriend? I've so enjoyed getting reacquainted with her.

Happy hunting."

Spencer's face went white as he looked at Morgan's tablet again. His thoughts were racing. How did he not recognize you before? Even with the bag over your head, he should've known it was you.

"It's her." His words were barely a whisper.

"This is your girlfriend?" Morgan gestured to the screen again. Spencer could only nod in reply, his mind unable to focus on anything except you.

"Reid, listen to me. You've got to tell us everything you know about her. We'll have to split up. You can go back to Quantico with Emily and Morgan, the rest of us will stay here to work on our current case." Hotch was already devising a strategy to work both cases.

"There's no need." His words made sense to him, but sounded cryptic to the rest of the team.

"Kid, of course there is. We'll help you get her back." Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively shocking him back to the present situation.

"There's no need to split up because she's here. She's in Montana." Before he could continue, everyone was asking questions.

"Give me a phone number and I'll get you a location." Garcia was already typing away again.

"Are you sure she's here?" JJ's brows furrowed. She did her best to hide the hurt of her best friend hiding his girlfriend from her, again.

"Why would she be here?" Rossi added.

"How did she get here? Maybe we can track the transportation and figure out means of abduction." Emily was the only one thinking about the case.

Like ripping off a bandaid, Spencer blurted out the truth.

"It's Y/N."

He was met with silence in the room as everyone absorbed the information.

Garcia caught up first, a sudden gasp sounding through the phone.

"So, then that's Y/N... in the video..." Her voice wavered.

As if a switch was flipped, the team was back on the case.

"Garcia, get me a list of anyone who would have a grievance with the team." Hotch ordered.

"Go through anyone who was falsely accused. Start with cases in or around Montana. He would want to keep this close to home." Rossi specified.

"We've only had one case in Montana since Y/N joined the team." Reid supplied the knowledge as it came to him. "A name, I need a name." He muttered to himself, pulling his hair as he roughly ran his hands through it and over his face. "Garcia, look into Jameson Braddock."

"Got it." She immediately began a background check, searching through case files and news articles for additional information. "i'll get back to you with locations." With that, she hung up.

"Fill us in, kid. Who is Jameson Braddock." Morgan lead Reid to a chair, gently easing him into it.

"Our last case in Montana, Emily and I went to interview a witness." Emily nodded, the memories slowly coming back to her.

"He wasn't very forthcoming, and then he tried to run." She added on.

"Exactly, except he didn't make it very fair. We arrested him, but it turned out he was only guilty of selling alcohol to minors. When word of his arrest got out, the whole town thought it was for the serial rapes and murders we were investigating even though it was never confirmed."

"By the time we corrected the media, it was too late." JJ supplied, also remembering the man.

"So, he killed three officers just to draw us out back out here?" Morgan refocused the conversation on the current case.

"It looks that way now. The media knew we were coming, so he must have as well." Emily theororized. "If he followed us from the airport, he would've seen Y/N leave by herself."

"He likely didn't know about your relationship until he abducted her and went through her phone." Hotch paced the room.

"He's flaunting his power over us." Rossi chimed in just as Hotch's phone rang again.

"Garcia, what've you got?"

"Three addresses in Billings, Montana. Jameson Braddock has been on a downward spiral since your last trip there. His entire life fell apart, like he said. Divorced, his wife moved to Nebraska with their two kids. He lost his job at the high school, and was evicted from his house when he could no longer pay the bills." She listed the information quickly.

"He has ties to three addresses. Nobody has moved into his previous house, so it's vacant. He's got a small apartment in the northern part of the city which he pays for through working odd hours at Taco Bell. Finally, he briefly worked security at a now abandoned warehouse."

"An apartment wouldn't be enough space to hold her without the chance of someone hearing. She's not there." Rossi eliminated the location as an option.

"We'll split up to cover the warehouse and the house-" Hotch began, but Reid cut him off.

"No, we shouldn't split up. She's got to be at the house. The warehouse has no connection to his previous life. He wants revenge for our perceived wrongdoing, he wouldn't make his last stand at a new location." Reid was already putting on a bullet proof vest. Despite how his mind was racing, he refused to show how afraid he was.

"You're sure?" Morgan asked, on the fence about committing to one location.

"Absolutely." With that, Reid was out the door heading for the SUVs.

-

"Rossi, Emily head around back. I'll take the front with Reid. JJ and Morgan, the side door." Hotch instructed the team to split up upon arrival at the house.

Reid wasted no time in approaching the house. He was confident you were inside, but he didn't know what was happening to you.

The main floor was cleared quickly. Again, the team split up to cover the upper level and the basement.

Knowing you were likely downstairs, Reid immediately started that direction, JJ and Hotch following him.

It wasn't hard for him to find you. You were still tied to the chair in the middle of the room, bag over your head.

Before anyone could stop him, Reid lowered his gun and ran to you. He gently maneuvered the bag off your head, stopping his movements only when he felt something press into his back.

"Dr. Reid. So kind of you to join us." Braddock spoke maniacally, pressing the gun against Reid's head.

"Drop your weapon." Hotch commanded, but the man only cackled in response.

'Y/N... Y/N." Reid gently shook you in an attempt to wake you up.

"She can't hear you." Braddock singsonged.

"What did you do?" Reid tried to turn to him only to feel the gun press further into his head.

"Like I said in my email, you people ruined my life. They took everything from me, so I thought I'd try to return the favor." During his short speech, Braddock shifted just enough for JJ to get a clean shot.

He fell to the ground, gun clattering across the floor.

Reid moved quickly to remove the tape binding you to the chair while Hotch called for a medic in the basement.

The entire team watched as you were wheeled into the ambulance, still unconscious, none more scared than Spencer.

-

"She's going to be fine, Spence." JJ tried to reassure him, nonetheless his pacing continued.

"You don't know that. We don't even know what he did to her." He had one hand anxiously running through his hair, the other pinching the bridge of his nose in distress.

Just then, a doctor emerged from behind closed doors.

"F/N L/N." She called into the waiting room, slightly taken aback when the group of agents rushed to her.

"It was touch and go for a while, but she got here just in time." It was visible to even the least qualified profiler how relieved the team felt. Their previously tense shoulders relaxed, frowns turned to small smiles, wide eyes and raised brows pinched together with joy.

"What happened?" Emily posed the question everyone was thinking.

"In short, she was drugged. It's not clear what exactly was used, but it was likely a mix of drugs that attempted to stop her heart."

"Can we see her?" Morgan spoke next, cautiously eyeing Reid.

"You may, follow me." The doctor lead them through a series of hallways to your room. "She should be waking up soon."

With that the doctor left, allowing the team to file into the room. You looked strangely peaceful for someone who almost died.

"So..." JJ glanced between you and Spencer. "Girlfriend, huh?"

His eyes went wide. Instinctively, he turned to you for help, but you were still asleep. He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out.

"Relax, kid." Morgan grinned. "We're happy as long as you two are happy."

Spencer smiled gratefully, looking at you with an adoring gaze. "We are happy."

"How long?' Emily gestured to your joined hands. Just before Spencer could answer, you groaned.

"I want to hear your guesses first." Your voice was raspy, but there was a clear smile on your face. "Also, what happened?"

The quickly explained the email Garcia received and the events that followed.

"Now that that's cleared up, do tell us how long you think we've been together. I know you've got a bet going." You narrowed your eyes, playfully glaring at each team member.

"4 months." Hotch begrudgingly admitted. JJ followed with 3 months, Derek and Rossi both betting 10 weeks, and Emily going with 6 weeks.

"Ha, you're all wrong." You smiled triumphantly, leaning closer to Spencer.

"Wait, we haven't heard from Garcia." Derek smirked as he rung her on speaker phone.

"Oh, my beautiful crime fighters. Y/N, are you okay?" Your smile widened at the concern in her voice.

"I am indeed, but I have a very important question for you." You glanced as Spencer briefly before continuing. "How long do you think Spence and I have been together?"

"Oh, I know this one!" Her excitement caught everyone but you off guard. "7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days."

Spencer's jaw dropped as he stuttered out, "that's exactly right..."

"How'd you figure it out?" The group of profilers wore matching expressions of surprise as Penelope explained.

"Well, we had just finished testifying in the Bigelow trial. The whole team went out for drinks, and I could just see it in Y/N's eyes the next day that something wonderful happened. At first I just thought that she got some, but then I saw her and the good doctor in the kitchen getting coffee and I knew." Penelope's voice held a mixture of smugness and pure excitement.

"Babygirl, you didn't tell me?" Derek sounded genuinely offended.

"Y/N asked me not to." Even though you couldn't see her, you knew she punctuated the statement with a shrug.

"You knew, she knew?" Spencer turned to you in shock.

You nodded. "I could see it on her face the second I walked out of the kitchen. But she promised not to tell, so I didn't either."

"The two of you, thick as thieves." Rossi lamented.

"I love you so much." Spencer whispered into your ear as he pulled you in for a hug.

"I love you too." You whispered right back.

"Honestly, I'm glad the secret's out." You smiled at Spencer before looking at the rest of the team. "Although, I wish I didn't have to be kidnapped to tell you."

You spent a few more hours in the hospital before being cleared to go back to the hotel.

The next morning, you smiled to yourself as you were finally able to cuddle with Spencer during the flight home.

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@strawberryspence

@sebastnstn

Criminal Minds taglist:

@mac99martin

@goldeng1rl8

@measure-in-pain

[doctenwho]

Gestures and Evasion

Hello! Welcome to a new DT fic! My deepest apologies that it’s been so long, and thank you so much for waiting so patiently! Life’s been a bit of a rollercoaster recently, and I’ve needed a bit to recuperate, but I’m back again!

This prompt didn’t have a specific character mentioned, but luckily, since it wasn’t anonymous, I was able to shoot pistachoz a DM and they’ve confirmed it’s a Tenth Doctor request! :D

Warning: None, I don’t think?

Word Count: 3,514

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the creator! :D)

The Doctor doesn’t really remember the first small act he’d committed to try and get his companion to notice him. To notice him on a... well, on a more personal level?

It’s a general memory, nothing pinpointed, but he knows it happened long ago.

It was something small—mundane. (Y/N) had more or less brushed the gesture off with a light laugh and a smile that made his hearts hammer away in his chest, but (Y/N) had really seen if for what it had been.

It wasn’t very often that the Doctor had these sort of feeling about anything, but there was just something special about (Y/N). Something he couldn’t put his finger on.  

He’d been trying for just about as long as the companion had been travelling with him to send little messages, or gestures in hopes that maybe (Y/N) would see what he was doing for what it was instead of brushing it off like she tended to do.

If he’s honest, he’s never really had this kind of problem before. He’s had many companions, and more often than not, those companions tend to want more from him than he’s willing to allow himself to give. Rose, and Martha—Jack, even—they were all looking for more from him, and being what he is, and what he does, it’s not that simple to reciprocate feelings.  

They’ll all age and eventually die, whereas he’ll just move on to his next bout of regeneration with a broken heart he’ll have to try his hardest to keep under wraps.  

The Doctor knows that maybe (Y/N) showing such little interest in him is almost a good thing. Less heartbreak down the road when (Y/N) decides not to accompany him any longer, or, worse, when old age takes (Y/N) away like every other human before her. It’s inevitable, and he really should have a stronger hold on human life compared to TimeLord life, but the loss always knocks him down for a while.

It should be a good thing, but he just can’t seem to bring himself around to believing that it’s a good thing. Not when every time (Y/N) brushes off a gesture he’s thought over, and put time and effort into, it fills his hearts with an unfamiliar pain he hasn’t felt since losing his family and Gallifrey alike.  

It had taken him a while to notice he was even trying to win (Y/N) in a sort of courtship way. And it had taken even longer to realize he’d been doing it for about as long as he’d known (Y/N). It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, but looking back now, he can see how all the little comments and gestures were more than just friendly.  

But she’d been brushing his attempts off since early in their travels. Shooting him a smile, but turning away when anything too even the slightest romantic turn. Avoiding his eyes when he stared fondly, or laughing it off when a compliment slipped past his lips.

He really didn’t understand it.  

He could see the Gallifreyan romantic gestures confusing (Y/N), but the few earth gestures he’d picked up barely stirred anymore of a reaction than the Gallifreyan ones. He didn’t know where he was going wrong—how it was all being perceived the way it was. The wrong way. He wasn’t getting the reactions he wanted and... well, it hurt.  

Both his pride, and his hearts.  

It had started small with flowers—or, a flower. They were on a foreign planet, but he knew giving small gifts like a flower was one of the human gestures. So, he’d searched around while his companion was busy exploring, and located the loveliest flower he could find. It was mixtures of blues and purples; native to the planet but incredibly rare considering they only bloomed twice a year, for no longer that three days at a time.  

The flower had a sweet smell; one similar to those of sweets from earth. For a while, before he’d remembered Earth didn’t have this specific species of flower, nor were they advanced enough in space travel to find one, he’d assumed they’d used the attractive scent of the flower as a marketing technique to sell their sweets.  

The sugary smell Earth sweets had would always come second to the scent of this specific flower.  

The exchange had been short, and less than pleasurable if the Doctor’s honest. He’d found (Y/N) sitting on the ground, just taking the calming atmosphere of the planet. His heart stuttered in his chest before he finally took those last few steps towards her, where he settled at her side and cleared his throat to gain her attention.  

He’d held the flower out, rambling out facts as (Y/N) took the flower into her hands. She gave it a sniff, and fiddled with the stem and petals for a second before smiling down at it. She stared down at it, before looking back at him with an appreciative smile. He’d thought he’d won her over, but instead, she settled the flower on the ground beside her.  

His hearts had cracked as his companion’s hand fell away from the flower, leaving it on the ground as she returned her attention to the world around her. He’d swallowed thickly before sitting himself beside her, not bothering to mention the fact his gesture had gone unnoticed.

It was the same ordeal when he’d ordered (Y/N) a space delicacy from one of his favorite planets, where his companion had taken the treat into her hands and tasted it without a second thought. Smiling down at the treat, before shooting him light smile as she licked her lips.

He didn’t know why he’d been expecting—hoping for—anything more than the usual ‘Thank you’ he always received when he did something out of the ordinary for his companion, but the mumbled words had filled his with a sense of sadness.  

It was silly.  

But he kept trying.

The gestures just kept coming. It was barely a forethought anymore. An unconscious effort to try and win over his companion—seeking this relationship (Y/N) quite obviously didn’t want. It was a sad downward spiral, but he really couldn’t imagine not trying to woo her. He’d been at it for so long, not trying sounded foreign.

He tried just about anything he could to get any sort of reaction. Any hint that his companion knew what he was trying to do. Any acknowledgment that she understood that he was trying. He’d prefer blatant rejection to this... whatever this evasive attitude (Y/N) was expressing.  

Dinner in the stars.

Unique gifts from distant planets.

Various treats and snacks from wherever they happened to be.

He even tried to learn more about human things on earth. How humans went about stuff like this, and how it all differed from his Gallifreyan roots. Human courting was quite the oddity.  

He didn’t talk to many humans who weren’t his companions, or people he’d saved in some way or another, but the man who ran one of the shops had taken some time to educate him, but the Doctor had come out of that conversation more confused than he’d gone in.  

But on the bright side, (Y/N) had enjoyed the bag of sweets he’d awkwardly bought to stand at the register and chat with the friendly shopkeeper.  

He was still at a loss. Nothing seemed to be working. Nothing wooed his companion. He didn’t understand—couldn't see how not one single thing he’d tried had gotten (Y/N)’s attention.

But he still had one more thing up his sleeve.  

“Where are we going?” (Y/N) asked cautiously from the seat in the console room. The Doctor was doing his usual laps around the TARDIS console to what should be six TimeLord’s jobs simultaneously. He’d gotten good at it over the years, but there was still, occasionally, some rough kickbacks when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“It’s a surprise,” the man shot his companion a grin, pulling a lever. At this point, (Y/N) should be used to the surprises. He never got the kinds of reactions he was looking for, but he was still hoping that... maybe sometime he would. That something he planned would be the special one that could win his companion over.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, but continued to watch the Doctor how around the TARDIS like a madman.  

They weren’t far from the next greatest surprise the man had planned. They’d been travelling a little under an hour, and (Y/N) had only joined him in the console room ten-ish minutes prior, but he’d still refused to tell her where they were heading.  

(Y/N) was still quiet when the Doctor stabilized his space and time machine, checking everything twice before finally tugging his companion up by the hand and leading her towards the doors.  

He threw the doors open, grinning widely as he gazed around. Just as promised.  

It was a phenomenon really. A collection of heart shaped carbon monoxide ice chunks. No one was quite sure how they’d been formed, or whether someone had carved the hearts and left them to float in this tiny orbital pull in the middle of nowhere.  

It was a sight few saw—the Doctor had only heard of this place from chatter on a nearby planet, but he had to admit it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined. The ice glistened as the light casted from the TARDIS hit it, making them twinkle just as brightly as the stars in the background.

It was about as romantic as you could get.  

“Woah,” (Y/N) gaped at his side, and the Doctor turned to look, smile slowly lighting up his face as he watched his companion’s eyes travel from heart to heart. “What... what is this?”

“It’s carbon monoxide ice,” the Doctor informed softly, the smile on his face widening as his hearts thrummed in his chest. His companion had an astonished look on her face, eyes wide with childlike curiosity. “Like that of Mars in your solar system. No one’s really sure how they take shape but... well, they’re quite the sight.”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed out, almost like her breath was taken away by the sight.  

The Doctor had been told by many, had seen for himself as beauty takes away people’s breath. He’d been there too, once or twice with his current companion.  

He barely even caught his words as they left his mouth—his heart speaking before his brain had a chance to filter his words, “Like you.”

That was his moment of error, the Doctor noticed.

He frowned to himself as his companion slowly pulled themself away, shying away from his side and retreating back into the TARDIS with one last lingering glance at the ice. The Doctor’s hearts froze within his chest, as he watched uncertainly—unsure just how he’d managed to mess this one up as well.  

“It’s late,” (Y/N) muttered softly before leaving the Doctor alone in the TARDIS doorway, the man’s gaze locked on one lone heart with a barely noticeable crack down the center. It wouldn’t be long before the orbit around them pulled the frail pieces apart, severing the heart into two.  

The TimeLord forced a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as he resided completely with the cracked heart.

He didn’t understand.  

The clumps of frozen carbon monoxide made his hearts hurt the longer he stared, so he was quick to follow on his companion’s footsteps, spinning on his heels and shuffling back inside, making sure to shut the doors behind him.

He wanted to flee this place, this failed attempt, but he couldn’t bring himself around to flying the TARDIS at the moment. He didn’t have the energy too. Like expected, (Y/N) had disappeared into the TARDIS, so the Doctor plopped heavily down on the seat.  

Maybe it was time to accept the fact that his companion did not reciprocate his feelings. That he was barking up the wrong tree. He’d thought that they were... but maybe he was wrong.  

The Doctor stared up at the TARDIS ceiling, his space and time machine giving a little hum as if she could feel his worries and mood. His hand patted the back of his seat halfheartedly as a promise that he was okay.  

It had never been this hard with any other companion. There was just something so special about (Y/N). Something he wanted to get closer too, even though he knew he’d end up hurt in the end. Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get now.  

Maybe it was time to settle this once and for all. His gestures were overlooked, or, maybe even ignored. As much as it hurt to admit, (Y/N) didn’t seem very enthused with anything he’d done. Maybe it was the human not understanding what he was trying to do—but humans tended to like words.

--

The Doctor from (Y/N) in her room, perched on the edge of her bed. (Y/N)’s attention raised when the Doctor announced his arrival with a sturdy knock on the slivered-open door. The knock pushed the door in enough for the Doctor to poke his head in.  

“Do you, uh, have a moment?” He asked cautiously, almost ready for the rejection he’d been living with for the better part of travelling with (Y/N). He’d grown used to it, but it still tugged at his heart strings. She’d never deny him conversation, but he could still see and feel her pulling away from him.  

“Of course,” (Y/N) sat up a little more, giving the Doctor her full attention. “What’s the matter?”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead, the Doctor realizes as he shifts from foot to foot in (Y/N)’s doorway, mind vacant of any thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head at the Doctor’s odd silence, studying him from her spot, “Doctor...? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the man cleared his throat. Then did so a second time before continuing, “I wanted to, uhm, know what you thought about the, uh,” he gestured broadly behind him, hoping his companion could piece his question together.

“The ice hearts?”

It was a good thing his companion was so clever.

“Yes, the hearts.” The Doctor nods, fingers tapping awkwardly against his side. “Did you... did you like them?”

“They were beautiful,” (Y/N) repeated once again, fidgeting with her own fingers, “it was a bit unexpected, but... yeah, I did. Thanks for showing me them.”

The man gave a nod, but didn’t voice anything. If he thought his voice would’ve come out naturally instead of the anxious waver he was sure would be there, he definitely would’ve replied with a soft ‘My pleasure,’ because it really was his pleasure to introduce (Y/N) to the beauty of the galaxy.  

There was an unsettling moment of silence where neither really knew what to say.  

It was the Doctor who broke it, staring at his shoes as he finally allowed the words he’d been stewing over out, “do you... not like me, (Y/N)?”

“What?” the surprise was prominent. The word rang out for a second before the Doctor lifted his gaze to settled on (Y/N)’s shocked, tense frame. Her muscles were stiff, body sitting up straighter and more alert than she had been when he’d first asked to talk. “I like you plenty,” (Y/N) assured quickly, “what gave you the idea I didn’t?”

There was a list, really. He could count things off on his fingers, but he wasn't here to be petty. The man bit his lip, leaning against the doorframe to support his weight. He honestly just wanted to know why (Y/N) was so evasive every time he so much as tried to woo her.  

“You... well, uh, you never seem to care,” he made sure to word it carefully, “I... I’m not sure if you even notice, or ignore it, or what. I just, I need you to be honest with me. Why haven’t you... reciprocated any feelings?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Doctor,” (Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and one ankle crossed over the other as she leaned forwards in interest.

“Since I met you,” the Doctor swallowed, “I’ve been... I don’t know how to say it but, trying to court you, I suppose? That’s not really something humans do, but it is something TimeLords do. It’s just that... every attempt I’ve made... every try I’ve made to do something cute, or romantic, you brush it off. You’re evasive, and... I’d just like to know if that’s because you don’t reciprocate my feelings. If you don’t feel the same, we can just put this all behind us.”

“It’s not like that,” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet, a near whisper, “please don’t think it’s because I don’t like you. I do, Doctor. I just... I wasn’t sure.”

“Weren’t sure?” The man furrowed his eyebrows, “sure about what?”

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I noticed everything, the flower you gave me, the sweets. All the dinners, and the... the dates. Today with the ice hearts even. I didn’t know how to admit I liked you when there was a chance you didn’t like me back the same way. I don’t know what I’d do if I ruined this.”

“But the gestures and dates?” the Doctor frowned, finally stepping into (Y/N)’s room and sitting on the edge of her bed beside her. He’d thought he was being obvious.

“Very obvious,” his companion let out a little laugh, “and I should’ve known, but I was scared. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. This adventure is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I didn’t want to compromise that by admitting my feelings.”

He could understand that, a bit. “So... you do like me too?”

“Of course,” (Y/N)’s smile was soft, “a lot, Doctor. I just... didn’t know how to reciprocate it without there being a possibility that everything could fall through, and we’d ruin our relationship in the process. I know you were offering it, but I was nervous. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the Doctor chastised quietly. He paused for a second before speaking again, “I’m having a hard time believing this is real,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “you really acknowledged it all? I... never noticed.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) smiled softly, “and I have proof it wasn’t all in vain, Doctor.” (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the bed, and moved towards her book shelf. It housed a few books, and some trinkets she’d found on their travels and liked. She continued speaking as she searched through the books, “I really enjoyed everything you put together for me since I met you. I wasn’t sure you were really doing it all to be romantic at first but... the hearts today really summed that up for me.”

The man watched as she tugged on one of the book’s spines, pulling it from the shelve and holding it in her hands for a second before she waving to retake her seat. She started flipping through the pages, so the Doctor leaned over her shoulder to watch.  

“Here,” she stopped on a page towards the middle of the book. The Doctor refrained from gaping as his companion carefully pulled that singular flower he’d given her all that time ago from the book. The room was instantly filled with that sweet, alluring scent and his hand shook as he took the pressed flower into his fingers by the delicate stem.

“I thought you left this,” he admitted softly, studying the vibrant colours that had stayed even after being pressed into the book. He hadn’t noticed her bringing the flower back. Had really thought she’d left it on that planet and ignored the gesture entirely.  

“I couldn’t,” his companion sighed, “it was selfish, even if I didn’t want to ruin what we had, I wanted to keep it to remember the moment. To remember you, even if we did at some point part ways.”

“You’re brilliant,” the Doctor breathed out, finally passing the flower back like it was as precious as a crown jewel or something. “So incredibly brilliant, (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head away from his gaze, but it was different than the usual brushing away of his gestures. Something was different now.  

They hadn’t cleared it all up, that was for sure. He still had questions, and she still had doubts. They didn’t quite understand each other yet, but it hadn’t all been in vain like he’d thought. She’d seen it all. Acknowledged it, even if not to him. His hearts swelled as he smiled lightly.

There was still a lot they needed to discuss, but for right now, the Doctor just wanted to spend a bit of time with his companion—without all the hassle of their rightful doubts and insecurities.

“Do you think we could... spend a little while longer looking out at the frozen carbon monoxide outside before we leave? It really is quite pretty, and... maybe we can talk about this more later?”

“I’d... love that, Doctor.”

“Good. Uh, great,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His companion giggled at him, but he didn’t mind in the slightest, “allons-y, (Y/N).”

<><><><>

Once again, sorry this took so long! I’m hoping to keep this momentum going and keep getting out the requests in waiting! I hope you all liked this fic, it was a bunch of fun to write! I thoroughly enjoyed creating the frozen carbon monoxide hearts, so I hope you all liked that as well!

As always, feel free to prompt me again if this wasn’t what you were looking for (though it might take a while to get around to it if you do!) and thanks once more for requesting. Hoping everyone had a good morning/day/night!

[ruby-whistler]

You've probably talked about this kinda thing before (I'm willing to hunt down the post if so), but I'm pretty new to your blog and I'm curious; what makes you like c!Dream so much? Other than, like, his potential - or the skill that went into writing him - I mean specifically as a character, what causes you to sympathize with him as opposed to others like Wilbur or Quackity?

If it's personal you obviously don't have to answer! I've just read tons of posts like that from c!Tommy apologists and I realized I'd never read one from the other side of things (so to speak) and I think you present your ideas and stuff rly well :p

Alright, I’ve made a couple of replies like this, but this one is going in the masterpost to later link it to people - thank you for your interest, and I hope you don’t mind this one being a bit detailed.

Initially, on more of an emotional level, the answer to that question would be Dr3. It was how I got into Dream apologism, it justified my compassion for the character, and made me feel more comfortable where the rest of the fandom was overwhelmingly negative.

The c!Dream that people portray seems unsympathetic, and pretty fitting on the surface - a relentless manipulative villain with an insatiate thirst for power who threw away his friends in order to gain control over others for the sake of being on top.

Until you actually look into canon, and do some analysis, and realize that's,,, rather far from the truth.

See, the thing about c!Dream is, that he's a person much like anyone else in the story. He's not a "villain" or some morally black character only because of his actions. It's all about context, which doesn't excuse actions, but it might explain them and make an impact on the way we view the character himself.

In this fandom, people usually look at him, and then throw both accurate characterization and any of that context out the window.

Because power, and hurting people, and chaos isn't his goal or his motive. It's a means to an end. Everything is a means to the end to this character, including himself, which I find fascinating.

Is it wrong to do? Yes. Will it get him closer to his goals? Yes? Then he's going to do it, no matter who gets hurt in the process. No matter if he gets hurt in the process.

And this ruthlessness is not inspired by cruelty, this efficiency isn't out of enjoyment. It's out of genuine attachment and perhaps even desperation, but that's difficult to get into.

He's had such a downward spiral into doing continuously worse things - and for what? For control? For power? No, he never cared about that in the first place, why would he start now?

Do you know what he did care about?

His friends. The server. The people he feels responsible for.

c!Dream's goals have never been selfish at all, no matter how much people try to paint it that way. His ends were always for others - considering how likely the theory that he got himself locked up on purpose is, that enforces the sentiment even more.

If he didn't care about the server, why would he fight against L'Manberg and then list his reasons for it always as reasons "we" had? He pretty much never used "I" when talking about it, I know because I counted it.

If he didn't care about the people, why would he stand against Schlatt - despite understandably still despising L'Manberg - and actively support them in getting their country back when he could've just left them alone? Schlatt wasn't hurting him. Wilbur taking a tiny piece of land wasn't threatening him.

Manberg was threatening the server's peace, which is why he fought against it. L'Manberg threatened (and ruined) the server's relative peace and unity, which is why he fought against it.

It was never him fighting to control the server, it was him fighting for the server and the people in it, even if he ended up hurting them in the process, and that's pretty clear from analysing his motives before the second season.

And yeah, his thinking is flawed, I noticed - but cc!Dream has confirmed his goal in the end is for everyone to get along and, well, stop hurting each other, as well as him having an "ends justify the means" mentality.

And I guess that silent realization of - hell, he cares - was what drew me to have such a strong attachment towards the character.

So thinking about him forcing himself to do all this terrible stuff - about him being stuck powerless inside a cell, hurt over and over again - about just how desperate he must've been, alternatively, how ready to sacrifice himself he must've been back at the Finale.

If you recontextualize the story from c!Dream's perspective, it all falls into this picture of someone who wanted to protect people more than anything, and who cared more than anyone, and ended up losing everything, not entirely by his own fault, but because of the cycle of violence he was actively trying to stop.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Dream is incredibly selfless both in his overarching goals, and in his smaller more immediate ones. He will, more often than not, put himself in a disadvantageous situation if it means his friends or allies aren’t caught in the crossfire or harmed.

His relationship with his friends - Punz, George and Sapnap specifically - is incredibly tragic. He wanted to protect Punz, he showed genuine concern about him, he was willing to have one less person on his side just so that people wouldn't target him.

He wanted to protect George, but he hurt him in the process, because he was too caught up in being in the right, and Sapnap was distraught thanks to Tommy telling him that Dream doesn't care about him, and Quackity who despised Dream was there to fan the flames, so they fell apart rather easily.

He wanted to protect the cat, and he failed.

He wanted to protect Techno, stand up to Quackity, and he failed.

If you think about it, he failed to protect everyone miserably.

Alright before I break down sobbing incoherently - as you can probably see, my sympathy towards c!Dream doesn't come from him being a good person to any degree, more from just incredible amounts of sadness.

You see, c!Dream is a very reserved character, and he puts up the "cruel scary villain" front on purpose, and he doesn't talk about his emotions on purpose. However what we see of him is pretty much enough to classify him as a rather tragic character.

Most of his actions, with enough context, shift the way I think about the character in a more positive direction only because if I like the way a character is written, it's going to bleed into my feelings for the character himself. Ruthless villains are my jam. A character being fun to analyse and too complex to complicate further is pretty much the only thing I need to become attached.

Did I mention the prison arc yet? I cannot see a character suffering and not be sympathetic, I don't think that's a thing with me. Healing arc potential, isn't it?

A lot of people also relate to the character on a deeply personal level! Trauma responses such as cutting people off and emotionally isolating yourself, trying to regain control of your environment or to get back the past, some people even relate to,, what's being done to him during the prison arc. There's definitely some amount of projection going on, but I'd say I only do it to a degree where when I'm depressed I'll start relentlessly posting about a healing arc.

It's just hard to see a villain with good intentions hurt and alone, even if he's done terrible things, and not feel some amount of empathy. Most people don't care to see him that way, but my blog's mostly a place for those who do.

Anyways, here are some essays to check out perhaps if you've read this far that elaborate on some of the points further-

[ x ] [ x ] [ x ] [ x ] [ x ] [ x ]

- and here's an explanation like this from a fellow Dream apologist. Might be useful to get multiple perspectives on the subject. Feel free to also send asks if you have any questions! That's what I'm here for.

[hellotvshowtrash]

Life of Crime

Crime Boss!Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

TW: Mikaelson Crime Family AU, drug trafficking, the beginnings of human trafficking, murder, deceit, major character death, Elijah’s downward spiral.

Word count: 1.7k

This is my entry for the March 2021 prompt challenge!!! Reblog/like if you enjoyed!

Prompt: “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in.”

Huge thank you to @dumble-daddy for being my beta for this. I really appreciate you ❤️

Thank you to @mikaelson-emma for letting me use your beautiful moodboard!!! It fits this fic perfectly imo ❤️

She sat nervously across from Elijah as he sipped his bourbon, his dark eyes boring through her as she agonized over the silence.

“That’s your plan?” He finally asked.

“Simple as that,” Y/N replied, shrugging. Her leg bounced as he processed the plan she’d given him, his eyes traveling to the window at the side of the room. She eyed the newspaper on his desk, headlined “Four More Girls Missing From The New Orleans Area”. Her stomach dropped.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘simple’ by any means. Dangerous, maybe.” His face was stoic as he thought it over. She moved her gaze to him and let it wander down his form, past the scar on his chin and down to the bruised knuckles that grasped his glass, the ring he wore on his middle finger shone as it caught the light. She recognized the Mikaelson Family crest engraved onto the silver as he set the glass down, distracting her from her thoughts about just what those hands could do and what they have done. “The Crescent Gang is small, but has proved to be a nuisance.”

Her eyes moved back up to him, skimming over his lips, back up to the dark umber of his eyes. He was watching her again, and she inhaled sharply as she realized he’d watched her scan him. The ghost of a smile passed over his lips before he sighed and pushed himself out of his chair, standing before her. She rose quickly out of respect for her employer.

“You’re my most trusted employee.” He began to walk around the desk and she turned her body to continue facing him. She stood with her hands at her sides, her face professionally blank as she nodded. He moved in front of her, the side of his leg pressing against the front of the desk. “And I trust you,” he traced his fingers up her arm, sending electrifying chills through her.

She swallowed roughly at the proximity—he was just in front of her now, and she could feel his breath on her face. He reached his hand up and cupped her cheek in his palm, gently pulling her in to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut and the rigidity in her spine fled as she melted into him, her arm stretched so she could intertwine her fingers in the hair on the nape of his neck. The other gripped onto his suit sleeve tightly.

He chuckled and pulled away. “This plan of yours is going to get us killed. Of course I’m in. But more importantly, we’ll be rid of the Crescent Gang after this.” He took a step backward, pulling himself away from his lover.

She gulped and nodded, suddenly hesitant about the whole ordeal. “I’ll get prepared,” she said, turning to exit his office. He watched her walk away, taking a swig of his bourbon as she exited.

Once she was far enough down the hall from him, she checked over her shoulder and pulled out her phone. She dialed a number and held the ringer to her ear. She waited to hear the female voice answer with a “Did he agree?”.

“The plan is a go,” she muttered into the phone as tears stung in her eyes. She hung up and made her way to the rendezvous point.

—

Elijah waltzed into the docking area, his fingers toying with the ring occupying his middle finger. He whistled lightly as his footsteps echoed through the chambers. He thought of the plan Y/N had told him, exhausted every option that could go wrong and he could think of no holes in her precariously prepared idea. He had all the confidence in the world in her. He shook his head as his thoughts drifted to her, her eyes, her hair, her body - no, he had more important things to think about right now. He turned past the next shipping container and found two figures standing, waiting for his arrival.

“Finally you show up,” the woman quipped. She stood tall and proud, fists at her side. She had prominent cheekbones, dark hair and her fierce eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner. She wore a leather jacket and dark jeans, with boots rising to her mid-calf. Quite the looker, Elijah thought. Beside her stood a taller man, with tousled dark hair and a matching beard, wearing a green flannel shirt, jeans and steel-toed boots.

“Hayley and Jackson, I presume?” Elijah asked, nonchalantly. He let his hands fall to his sides, tucking them into his pockets. His pristine suit and hair threw them off, he presented himself so well, they never would have guessed the mess that lay inside.

“Obviously,” the woman rolled her eyes and the man looked at her and put his hand out.

“Calm down, Hayley. Elijah, we just want to talk.” Jackson said, taking a step toward Elijah.

Elijah smiled stiffly. “Fine. Let’s talk,” he said, “You’ve been interfering with my business,” he pursed his lips.

“We just want in. You’re taking over the entire trade.” Jackson said.

“Drug smuggling is not a joint operation,” Elijah snapped. “If you want ‘in’ as you say, you come in under my employ, not by trying to compete,” he chuckled dryly.

“We don’t want to be employed by you, we’ve seen how quickly you’re willing to turn on your employees, your own family,” Hayley interjected, “You didn’t want to compete for head of household, so you got rid of your older brother Finn.”

Elijah glared at her, “He had no idea what he was getting into, the business was rightfully mine anyway,” he snarled. Elijah was losing his carefully crafted composure, quickly. How could they have known about Finn? “It’s not like my father was doing us any favours, either, leaving the company to him.” He was running his mouth and this would not end well for him.

Hayley looked at him in horror, “Did you kill your own father, as well?” she asked.

Elijah was beginning to crumble as his mind circled back to Y/N’s plan. She must be waiting for just the right time. He tried to bring his composure back, running a hand through his finely gelled hair, causing strands to fall loose. He plastered a pleasant smile on his face. “Why would you think that? My father died of natural causes. Not that I need to prove anything to you,” he said calmly. Hayley’s face remained horrified, while Jackson shook his head slightly.

“You’re an even bigger monster than I took you for,” Jackson said. The words echoed through the docking area, bouncing off of the walls of giant storage containers. Y/N listened from behind a container, hidden from sight. A tear fell down her cheek. The man she loved was surely using her to expand his own empire—nothing and no one would get in his way. She peered around the container, seeing Elijah’s back to her. Hayley and Jackson were starting to falter, they hadn’t expected such a revelation.

Elijah’s eyes and grin widened, quite frankly scaring Hayley. “You don’t even know half of it,” Elijah said quietly. He seethed at the two before him. They didn’t know him, they didn’t know the extent of what he would do, what he had done for his family, for his business. “The Mikaelson business is only just beginning.”

Jackson took another step toward Elijah, holding his hand up to try to calm him down. Elijah chuckled at the attempt. “Don’t try me, Mr. Kenner.” Jackson stopped in his tracks at the use of his surname. His eyes darkened as he looked at Elijah. “Don’t think I don’t know all about your daughter, Hope, is it?” Elijah snickered at their scared faces, his threat lingering underneath his words. Y/N shook her head, she couldn’t bear to let this continue any longer.

She stepped out from behind the shipping container, raising her pistol to Elijah’s back and firing a shot into his left shoulder, causing him to grunt and pivot, turning to face her. Shock covered his face as he saw her, his eyebrows furrowing. Before he had time to ask any questions, she fired another shot into his abdomen.

A sob broke free from her lips as the red stain blossomed on his white undershirt, his hands cradling the wound as he fell backward. He gasped for air as pain engulfed him and he wondered if this is how Finn felt. Hurt. Betrayed. Confused. Y/N lowered her weapon and rushed toward him, tears staining her cheeks as she watched him pale.

“Why?” he croaked, his voice already fading. She lowered herself to her knees next to him as she sobbed.

“Those girls. They’re missing because of you. Trafficked and for what? More money? As if you need it,” she growled through her tears. The man before her was different, horrible and inhuman, changed from the man she knew. He smiled humourlessly and she gulped, wiping her face as she looked down at him. “You were right. My plan was to get you killed.”

His body shook as he exhaled his last breath, his eyes glossing over. She clenched her jaw and stood from him turning to look at Hayley and Jackson. They nodded at her. She turned and walked away from the body of her lover.

—

The Mikaelson Family business came crashing down as all of the siblings died mysterious deaths. Elijah was murdered in a warehouse by the riverbanks of the Mississippi. Klaus was unlucky and ‘choked’ on his dinner while out entertaining business partners. Kol was involved in a mugging gone wrong and Rebekah mysteriously died in her sleep. Freya’s body was found hanging in the attic of the Mikaelson Estate.

Law enforcement wasn’t asking questions about these deaths, though. Police Chief Gerard saw this as a great favour to the city of New Orleans as the missing girls began to come home to their families. Jackson and Hayley hugged Hope a bit tighter that night. Y/N drank herself into a stupor at Rousseau’s, which she assumed would also be closing up shop for good as it was a known point of contact for the Mikaelson drug trade. The ‘gang’ known as the Crescent Wolves were revealed to be a movement for trafficking survivors, helping free those in need across the country, holding fundraisers and rides for awareness.

Y/N attended the funerals for all the Mikaelson siblings, not in mourning but in closure. The family that unleashed hell on her city got what they deserved.

-

Taglist: @elijahs-wife @dumble-daddy @alwaysfangirlingish @akshi8278 @nikmikaelsonswife @njeancastro316 @mikaelson-emma

Elijah, Kol and Klaus only: @malfoys-demigod

Send me an ask to let me know if you want to be taken off/added onto my taglist!

[marvelmadam08]

Baby Blues 17/?

Summary: Alex and Chris have their first scare as parents.

Warnings: Blood, emergency hospital visits, slight angst. Fluff.

A/N: So sorry for the delay in posting. I’ve been in a serious downward spiral for a while lately, along with some family drama (I’ll spare the details) but I’m back and will do my best to keep posting regularly.

~~~~~~

11 Weeks ( and 5 Days) Old

Chris was stressed. He was going back and forth between home and work, and when he was home he'd work some more. He would wake up early and drag himself to bed long after both Alex and Ace went to sleep, not that it would make much of a difference. Ace would still cry when Chris would try to hold him or go anywhere near Alex. Now he knew how Dodger felt for the last three months.

Chris quietly shut the front door behind him, knowing that Ace would be in the middle of another nap right about now. He stopped in the doorway of the nursery, it was cooler than usual; the window next to the crib opened just enough to let some fresh air breeze through. Ace was soundly asleep, his tiny fist was halfway in his mouth covered in drool. He made his way down the hall to his own room. Alex was on the bed, Dodger curled up by her side, her focus on the laptop in front of her while she typed away. He took in how she looked, her freshly washed curls were out, which he loved; and she was wearing her ‘lucky’ writing shirt and a pair of shorts.

“Hey babe.” Alex grinned. Chris climbed up on the other side of Alex, draping his arm over her lap and sighing deeply “Rough day?”

“Something like that.” He turned to look at the laptop screen “What are you writing?”

Alex covered his eyes “Nothing.”

“Is it about me?” Chris tickled her side, Alex half shrieked, trying to push his hands away

“Chris, cut it out- you know I don’t show you my chapters until I’m ready.”

“C’mon, I just wanna make sure you’re writing me accurately, as a loving supportive, sexy husband- ‘with eyes that rivaled the bluest of oceans’-”

Alex cringed at the memory of her slurring those words to Chris after an eventful Girls Night Out she had with her old college friends. They were engaged at the time, drunk Alex thought sending Chris a 'sexy' voice message would be the best way to rile him up for when she got home. When she woke up the next morning, with a massive hangover and no solid memory of the rest of the night, Chris was there with aspirin and let her listen to the voice message and watch the video of her trying to sneak back in the house without being caught.

“I told you that in a drunken state!” Alex pulled the pillow from behind her and smacked her laughing husband in the face. “You’re such a jerk.”

"Now you're in trouble." Chris sat up, pushing the laptop off her lap and tickling Alex's sides

"Chris, I didn’t mean it." She said between giggles “Get him Dodge.”

Dodger sat up, ears twitching slightly, before he bounced off the bed and ran out the room all together. 

“Traitor.” Alex pouts

Chris pushed himself up on his knees, his hands grabbing Alex by her legs and pulling her closer. His eyes roamed over her body, one hand rested on her thigh while the other cradled the back of her head; playing with the tiny coils there.

“Chris, you’re gonna mess up my hair.” Alex smirked

“Then put the bonnet on and let me do what I need to do.” he whispered, now leaning in closer to press his lips to hers.

Dodger ran back into the room, whining loudly before barking. 

“Shh, Dodge you’re gonna wake the baby!” Chris shushed. Dodger barked again, with more fervor, Ace cries shortly followed, he ran out once more; still barking and growling. “Dodger, enough!”

Alex huffed before pulling away from Chris. “I’ll get Ace.”

“I can do it.” Chris offered

“No, it’s fine, but do me a favor and grab my bonnet.” she winked slipping out of his grasp in time to keep him from smacking her ass. Chris jumped up from his spot on the bed to rummage through the dresser for the silk bonnet.

"Chris!" Alex shrieked

"Al?" He ran for the nursery, Alex was practically halfway in the crib scrambling to get Ace, Dodger was doing his best to climb inside the crib too "What’s wrong? What happened?"

Something jumped out the crib, Dodger took off after it, giving Chris room to see what was happening. Ace was nearly red in the face, crying and scared; a small series of scratches covered his face and arms.

"There was a squirrel in the crib, it must’ve gotten in through the window." Alex picked Ace up holding onto him closely "Mama's here, it's okay I got you."

"We gotta take him to the hospital." Chris was already grabbing the carrier and nearby baby bag. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Alex gently laid Ace in the carrier and strapped him in, he continued to cry and squirm

***

Ace's cries carried on the whole ride to the hospital. Alex and Chris were talking over each other when the nurse asked what was wrong, thankfully she was able to understand and rushed a doctor over.

They both watched the nurse apply a soothing aloe lotion to the scratches, while they sat on the other side of the room. Ace rested in the incubator, staring back at the nurse, from time to time he would turn his head in the direction of Alex’s voice.

“It’s all my fault, I’m so fucking stupid.” Alex sniffled, rubbing her legs, partly to comfort herself but also because she was cold, not thinking to grab longer pants before leaving the house. 

"No, Al it is not your fault, and you are not stupid." Chris shrugged off his long sleeve flannel, draping it over Alex's legs then wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“I left the window open.”

“You made a mistake, mistakes happens all the time with first time parents.”

“How many first time parents let a wild, rabid squirrel into their newborns room?” Alex huffed “He hasn’t even gotten his second round of shots yet. He could get rabies or typhus, maybe ringworm.”

“He’s going to be fine, the doctor said the cuts weren’t that deep and we got him here in time to catch anything.” Chris kissed the top of her head “He’s gonna be fine, Al. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, we’re all done.” the nurse cooed at Ace, placing mittens on both of his hands to keep him from scratching “The doctor should be back in just a moment to let you know how the tests went.”

“Thank you.” Alex was the first one up, hurrying over to the incubator “Hi baby. Mommy is so sorry for letting that mean old squirrel scratch you up.”

Chris walked over to the other side, smiling down at his son. “Hey bud.” he smirked slightly watching Ace rub his face with the mittens “You know we owe Dodger something special, for scaring that squirrel off.”

“He probably mauled that thing.” Alex stated, then poked out her bottom lip at Ace “Didn’t he, didn’t Dodger attack that nasty little squirrel that scratched up your face.”

“We should get him a treat on the way back.” Chris stuck a hand inside the incubator, stroking Ace’s cheek gently. “And we should probably move Ace’s crib from by the window.”

“Agreed.” Alex looked up when the room door opened again, seeing the doctor walk in “Good news?” 

“Luckily majority of the scratches weren’t that deep, and the ones that were didn’t show signs of any other infections. No traces of rabies or any other diseases in his blood, which is extremely lucky considering he still hasn’t had his second round of vaccines yet.” he doubled checked the clipboard, “I will recommend that if any of the scars start oozing or he shows signs of swelling, that you come back to see me. As well as changing his soaps to ones with Aloe, to keep him from scratching.”

“Of course, thank you.” Chris shook the doctor’s hand “Are we all set to take him home?”

“Absolutely. As soon as you sign the release papers.”

***

Dodger was at the door as soon as it opened, he sniffed at Alex and Chris, looking for Ace; whining softly.

“Ace is alright, Dodge.” Alex assured, Dodger followed after her to the bedroom. She laid Ace down in his bassinet, currently still asleep from the car ride home. 

Dodger padded over to the bassinet, curling up next to it. Alex knelt down to pet him, giving him well deserved belly rubs and ear scratches. "Good boy Bubs."

"Very good boy." Chris came up behind Alex with a hefty bone for Dodger that they picked up on the way home. His ears perked up at the sight and he sat up waiting for Chris to hand it over "Proud of you, Bubba."

Dodger wasted no time gnawing on the bone, remaining in the protective spot next to the bassinet.

“I think this was a quickest he’s gone to sleep.” Chris stated in reference to Ace, a small smirk on his face hearing his son’s soft nasally snores. 

“The aloe lotion and the drive put him right to sleep.” Alex secured the mittens on Ace’s hands. Chris wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer and rested his chin on her shoulder. “He looked so helpless today, so scared. And it was my fault I never have him nap in a different room and the one time I do- this happens.”

“It wasn’t your fault Al, you couldn’t have known.” Chris spoke softly “Do you know how many times my brother and I have sent each other to the hospital?”

“I heard the stories Chris, you practically tortured your poor brother.” Alex sighed “Are you saying that, this is gonna be the first in a long roster of hospital visits?”

“I’m saying, look at him. He’s here, he’s healthy, and he’s going to be okay.” Chris kissed Alex’s cheek “Let’s get to bed.”

Alex half pouts, but allowed Chris to pull her over to the bed. “But I’m not tired.”

“Then you can keep me company, because I’m exhausted.”

They both settled on to their respected sides of the bed, but still drifted to the middle; Alex curled into Chris's side, letting her head rest on his chest and his arm wrapped protectively around her.

“When did you become the voice of reason in this relationship?”

“After all these years, I’m still full of surprises.” Chris kissed her on the forehead “Now go to sleep.”

“You’re bossy.” Alex yawned

Chris woke up again around four in the morning, not that he truly went to sleep, each time he closed his eyes he kept hearing Alex screaming, Ace crying, and something even more rabid or dangerous than a squirrel was in the crib next to him. He acted a lot braver than he let on today, giving Alex positive assurance while his own thoughts were just as frightful for the outcome. 

He slipped out from under Alex without waking her, walking up to the side of the bassinet. Ace stared back at him with sleepy eyes, rubbing his face with his mitten covered hands.

"Hey bud, you're supposed to be sleeping." He whispered, gently picking Ace up in his arms. There was no fussing and no crying this time, Chris held Ace to his chest bouncing from foot to foot to lull him back to sleep. “I’m gonna tell you a little secret, just don’t tell Momma, but I was really scared today, seeing you all scratched up and hurt. It felt like my heart stopped, it probably did a few times.” he kissed the top of Ace’s head “I’m not gonna let anything hurt you again, I promise.”

Alex stirred, feeling the empty space next to her "Chris?" She focused her eyes on her husband standing over the bassinet "What's wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong, we just couldn't sleep."

“Bring him over here.” Alex patted his empty space. Chris laid back in bed, still cradling Ace against his chest, Alex returned to Chris’ side. Dodger hopped up next, pawing at the bed for permission. “You too, let’s go.”

He hopped up, nestling himself between their legs, curling up at the foot of the bed.

“Better?” he asked her

“Much better.”

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

Taglist: @madbaddic7ed @sweetie20 @kidkool90 @maleekabenjamin @sophiayoongi-hyung @lovelokiqueen @loki8484 @buckysforeverprincess @dezdechild @marantha @lydslikestyds @wakandabiitch2 @across-the-starss @hbh6064th @jaydeee86 @alexabrown7 

[pagingevilspawn]

you’re name, forever the name on my lips

ts x jolex week 21

day 2: last kiss- speak now

wc: 919

pairing: Jo Wilson/Alex Karev

summary: she never did think that they'd have a last kiss. but they did

rating: gen.

category: angst.

warnings" angst. no happy ending

AN: this is technically in before midnight where im from haha. go me! also, we’re going to ignore the fact that all of this was written today… 

____

It had been long and beautiful, she remembers that much.

Standing in the gate twenty-three’s terminal, she stood in an oversized sweatshirt that normally clung to Alex’s frame, but hung loosely on hers, and a pair of old, ripped skinny jeans that she’d had longer than she or anyone else could deem rational.

Her hair was up and out of her face, tied into a loose ponytail on the top of her head. Her eyes had bags underneath them from working a twenty-four hour shift, but instead of going home to the warm and cozy sheets of their bed, she had insisted that she see him off before his flight.

When they hear his group being called, she pulls away from her place in his arms, blinking sleep out of her eyes and looking up at him dreamily, the exhaustion from the day hitting her full force. “You gotta go,” she whispers softly, and he brushes a strand of hair away from her face.

“You need to go to sleep,” he chuckles, amused with how tired she looks under the bright fluorescent lights of the airport. When she gazes back up and him and gives him a sleepy smile, he can’t help but be thankful that’s she’s too tired to see that his heart is breaking inside his chest at the fact that he’s lying to her while she looks at him like this,—lying to her because in reality his flight leaves in another hour, and he wasn’t going to visit his mom in Iowa, he was getting on a plane to see his ex-wife and two kids in Kansas.

She sighs, reaching on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, humming into his chest. “I know. Give your mom my best for me.”

He swallows the words on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill over and tell her the truth. But he holds them back, because they would cause her pain, and that’s the absolute last thing he wants to do.

She nuzzles into him, feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and security, taking in the scent that she had gotten to know all too well the past seven years, a scent she can only describe as purely ‘Alex’. She places a peck on his lips, leaving some of her chapstick on the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind, as he leans in for another one; short and sweet, just like the one before it.

“I love you,” she murmurs to his lips, leaning her forehead against his.

He feels a deep pain hit him, and he knows it’s the guilt eating at him. He wants to tell her, more than anything. But it was too much; too much for him to handle, and it would certainly be too much for her as well. She was fragile —and as much as he hated that word and would always be the last thing he would use to describe his wife— at this moment in time, it was true. A revelation like this could send her in a downward spiral, and he didn’t want to ever see her so broken again. Even if she could take it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to see the woman he loved more than anything struggle to get out of bed every morning, and he was scared news like this would cause her to do just that.

“I love you too Jo, so much,” when his lips meet hers that time, it’s filled with love and adoration, passion and heartache —all the things he wished he could say he communicated through his lips. He just hopes that she understands it all.

They don’t pull away completely, their lips still barely brushing up against one another, but enough to feel the fire that coursed through their veins, “I love you Alex,” she says into his lips, one more time for good measure. They eventually break their hold, and before they know it, he’s waving goodbye tp her as he prepares to ‘board the plane’, and she’s turning away, off to find the nearest coffee shop to wake her up before the drive home.

On the floor of their loft, she sat in an old sweatshirt of his, faded and worn from years of use, but his scent still permanently etched in the seams. She lifts the fabric up to her nose, breathing in the scent of him that had left everywhere in her home except for there.

She catches a glance on the photo perched on her bedside table —one from their wedding, the same one he’d always thought he kept secretly tucked in the back of his wallet.

All she hoped was that in Kansas, the sun shined, and it was a beautiful day. And when he pulled out his wallet, looking for a dollar to give the kids for ice cream, he finds their picture, and it makes him wish he had stayed. Because she had planned for a lot of things in life, but never once had she planned on him changing her mind.

She crawls into the covers of her bed, casting a glance at the clock. 1:58. And she closes her eyes, and goes to sleep.

She’s thankful that she doesn’t pull out her phone to check the time once her and Alex were apart, otherwise she would’ve seen that it was 1:58 am. The time of their last kiss, with his name forever the name on her lips.

____

@thejolexgroupchat

[mochibrokenheart]

SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort. 

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself. 

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death. 

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.  

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position. 

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

[willowfield15]

So, this idea came to me while I was in a discord and then I ended up just writing a story with it :D

TW. Violence, Swearing

-------------------------

Tommy was about to get caught.

He was going to be taken back by Dream to logsted. He was going to have go through everything again. Dream was going to go through with his plan and throw Tommy in with the explosion.

His last life was going to be stolen and no one will even care or notice..

He started to hyperventilate within the box.

Claustrophobia set in as Tommy went down a deep dark downward spiral as he checked how long left til his invis ran out.

His heart plummets just as the wooden floorboard stopped creaking.

5 seconds.

He had no more potions left and Dream had found him. He gripped him around the throat and forcefully pulled him out of his hiding spot. In an act of desperation, Tommy thrashed around, kicking and kneeing at anything that his legs came in contact with. Strangling was a personal way of killing. Dream usually knew everything that he was doing, but if he had paid attention, he would have heard a villager noticing someone within the house. If Dream hadn't let his anger get ahead of him, he would of noticed that things were amiss back at L'manburg. If he took one second to focus on something other then his control, he would have realised that people that weren't as naive as Tubbo would know that asphyxiation would've been a odd way to die, since Tommy was supposed to be alone in exile. But he hadn't. And that was gonna lead to his downfall.

The inhuman cry of the enderman starting to fade as Tommy's hearing started to fade, his thrashing started to lessen as well.

The worst part.. His neck was starting to turn into a ugly blue bruise.

Damn it, was this how he was gonna die?

No. It can't be..

Someone.. Please.. Save me..

----

Just as Tommy's breathing started to reach it's last few embers. Chaos happened. Tommy barely registering everything.

An ender pearl shattered. Dream getting punched square in the face. His mask shattering straight down the middle. Tommy did barely manage to immediately register two things however, first.. Dream got punched off of him and Tommy could now breathe.

He immediately began to splutter and cough out up into the air, barely having enough energy to even move onto his side. Though he didn't need to as.. The second thing he realised was that he was being within an embrace.

First he panicked and tried to thrash within it. However... It was so familiar, the texture was familiar.. He was being hugged by wings..?

That was when he relaxed into the embrace, listening to the soft murmurings of the person as he held him within the warm protective embrace.

"Dad.."

Tommy blacked out.

-----

Techno knew that something was wrong. He sensed it as soon as he had noticed Tommy tensing up and breathing harshly when he was about to leave him to do something with Phil. So when he came back to the house to hear thrashing around and a thud rang out, he knew that he had been right in his assumption.

It didn't stop the flare of red hot anger pulsing through his bloodstream as he saw his little brother pinned against the floor with Dream's hands around his throat.

Techno didn't even stop the voices from taking over his mind.

Blood for the blood god

So he did, he punched Dream square in the face, sending him into the wall as it was hard enough to both break his mask in half and have a nosebleed. It trickling down and staining his lime hoodie.

He tore his eyes away from the sight and instead glanced to Tommy because even though he was blood thirsty, he still had enough of a conscience to check on his younger brother.

Puffed up black feathers blocked his vision but he knew Tommy was okay and that was enough for him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Techno?"

He turned his gaze back to Dream and glared icily, no words exchanged but there was a silent challenge within them. Asking, daring Dream to challenge him in his own house.

"I'm cashing in my wish now Techno. Give me him now."

"Get over yourself Dream. He is not in your jurisdiction anymore. Besides focus on someone other than Tommy for once in your life."

Techno didn't bother hiding the rage within his tone any longer, standing protectively in front of Philza and Tommy, blocking them from his view. Though there was a small hint of something going on behind the scenes.

"What's his name? Ah. That's right... George."

Techno hadn't originally been looking for reactions out of Dream. But he still saw it as soon as it came. Dream froze.

"You see Dream. You know how prey can sprint and still run out of energy, so that the hunters always start to slowly catch up?"

He stalked over to the green hooded man, standing in front of him as his hand grabbed his hoodie in a fist and picked him slightly off the ground.

"Cash your wish on George why don't you? I'm sure you know that me and Philza will not hesitate for one second to take that boy's life over and over again."

He whispered before dropping him outside in the snow.

"If you've gotten that into your head then leave us Dream and don't come back. If you threaten Tommy ever again, we will take your George's lives until you can't EVER have him back in your arms AGAIN!"

-----

Phil didn't expect this to happen all he wanted was to go out with Techno and get there present for Tommy. All they wanted was to get back home and give it to him.

His heart broke when he saw the young boy bruised up and held down by the older teen. His instincts immediately kicked in and he held him close to his chest, gently rubbing his head and back while his wings acted as a safety blanket for the two. He only relaxed enough when Tommy relaxed within his hold and it only got better when he called him dad, his heart warming up as he lightly chuckled in fondness over his son.

----

Tommy was still blacked out but could still feel ghostly sensations. His father's hands on his back and head. His feathered wings supporting Tommy's weight as well as.. Another hand on the top of his head, ruffling his hair. A rough calloused but gentle hand on him.

This type of comfort was always gonna be enough for Tommy.

[yan-purgatory]

Netflix and Kill

request: CHANGKYUN possessive yandere! Where he's your quite neighbor who slowly opens up to you but you have a house Netflix date with another member, he can't handle that, time skip you go to your kitchen to get some midnight snacks(same night after the date) and find kyun in the kitchen sitting in the dark etc etc👀

pairing: changkyun x reader

word count: 1.8k

admin: ღ

The first time (Y/N) had “met” their neighbour was the day after they moved in. There was a knock at the door, leading (Y/N) to abandon the assembly of their IKEA wardrobe and greet her visitor. By the time they were at the door however, there was no person but rather a box of fresh cookies, and there was a young man walking away. (Y/N) stepped out to try to talk to him and thank him, but he just walked straight back into his apartment and locked the door.

(Y/N) picked up the box with a smile on their face, the smell bringing a rush of happiness and peace to their exhausted body after days of heavy labour. Meanwhile, her neighbour was just watching through his peephole to see their reaction, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in in seeing the delighted smile of his new neighbour.

Changkyun collapsed on the sofa. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast when he hadn’t even interacted with them, when most of the people he saw on a day-to-day basis disgusted him and he had to put on the facade of kindness in order to advance in society. Yet, he was secretly yearning to speak to his new neighbour, a completely foreign feeling to his cold heart. Even if he’d put in the bare minimum effort by buying some simple cookies from the bakery, they seemed to treasure his gift and he liked that feeling.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was writing an email to his landlord to ask for the new resident’s name. There was a pit of worry when he hit send that his request would not be received and he would never be able to learn enough about the person who was occupying his brain.

Luckily, by that evening he had his reply, and his night was spent scouring the internet, fascinated by the enigma (L/N) (Y/N).

~ ღ ~

The next time that (Y/N) encountered their quiet neighbour face-to-face was a week later, when checking their mail in the morning. He was already there, a few envelopes in his hand and ready to leave only to stop in place when he saw (Y/N).

“Hi.” (Y/N) smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think I’ve had the chance to introduce myself.”

He nodded, not saying a word with his eyes trained on them.

“My name is (Y/N), and I’m the new chef at the Traveller.” They said, stretching out their hand for him.

Of course, Changkyun knew that but he didn’t dare tell them that. (Y/N) didn’t need to know how he’d spent long nights pouring over the social media of them, their friends, their family, just shooting any form of the drug that was (L/N) (Y/N). Nonetheless he took their hand in his own and gave it a firm shake, enjoying the soft feeling of their skin against his. It was better than anything he’d absorbed from the computer screen.

“Changkyun.” He replied shortly.

“Your cookies were delicious, by the way.” (Y/N) offered him a grin as they withdrew their hand from the slightly too long handshake.

“Thank you.” A ghost of a smile ran over his lips. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook otherwise.”

“Well maybe I can teach you. It is my job after all.” His neighbour said cheerily. He nodded and pushed past them to leave the mailroom, hoping they couldn’t hear his racing heart.

By God, Changkyun had never been so infatuated with anyone in his life. There was something about them, about the way that they smiled at him that made him feel alive.

~ ღ ~

In the passing months, (Y/N) found themselves establishing a closer bond with Changkyun. Teaching him how to cook their favorite dishes, helping him decorate his drab apartment for Christmas, listening to the playlist he made for them on spotify. All the while, his obsession with his neighbour was spiralling downwards - when (Y/N) stood a bit too close to him, the desire to bury his nose in his hair and breathe in their gorgeous scent was almost uncontrollable. When (Y/N) would stagger up the stairs drenched because they forgot an umbrella, his hands twitched to remove their wet clothes and run his hands down their naked body. (Y/N) had become his night and day, and they didn’t even know it.

He’d taken to walking around the block at 8PM on Thursdays, since usually (Y/N)’s shift was over and they would be walking back only to coincidentally run into Changkyun and have him accompany them home. However, when he engaged in his daily ritual on that night, he saw no sign of his neighbour. Clearly, their work was taking over their life - he was considering phoning their boss as their boyfriend to ask that she doesn’t work any more overtime, since it was depriving them of time together. A little white lie never hurt anybody, no?

However, just as he was arriving home and unlocking his door, he heard the familiar soothing sound of (Y/N)’s voice.

“No way! I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” Their laughter was medicine to his ears, but he froze in place when he heard another voice accompanying it.

“You’d never do that, you love me far too much.” The words sent shivers down Changkyun’s spine. Was there a secret boyfriend behind the scenes that he didn’t know about? Had he spent all this time chasing after someone who had already been taken?

(Y/N) didn’t even pay any attention to Changkyun, rooted to the spot in front of his door - as they dragged their partner over to their flat and continued to babble on.

He felt himself shaking with rage, at himself and at her. How could she seek out the company of someone else when he was always there for her?

All ideas of going to bed were now abandoned, as Changkyun abandoned his home to sit outside of (Y/N)’s door and listen in on the interaction.

He heard the ‘Ba-Boom’ of Netflix turning on, the sound of popping corn, and then relative silence whilst (Y/N) and their vermin watched some film together bar the occasional snarky comment.

It was practically torture, knowing that (Y/N) was with another man, possibly even cuddling with him. Changkyun wanted nothing more than to rip the bastard into shreds, but he had to be patient.

As the hours trickled by, he felt his eyelids starting to droop. Surely a coffee wouldn’t hurt, he posed to himself. If he had the caffeine, he could stay up and talk to (Y/N) long after that vermin had scampered. It was when he was on his way out of the apartment holding the steaming cup of joe that he ran into the man who had been plaguing (Y/N). And like that, an idea popped into Changkyun’s head.

“You’re (Y/N)’s newest victim then?” He spoke in a low voice, hoping that regardless of what state (Y/N) was in they wouldn’t hear him.

Kihyun gazed at him quizzically.

“What do you mean?”

“I see men like you in there most nights of the week. They’re practically the village bicycle.” Changkyun scoffed, taking a sip of coffee.

“We just watched a few movies, we didn’t fuck?” His rival retorted, but Changkyun just laughed coldly.

“They’re buttering you up. I wouldn’t expect them to be ‘friends’ with you for much longer.”

“Why are you- never mind.” The man sighed, turning on his heel to leave the building.

“Have a nice night!” Changkyun called after him, barely able to contain his shit-eating grin. Yes, it was satisfying to indulge in (Y/N), to admire them like anyone else. But it was way more fun to see the ones once enamoured with the ethereal being scamper away with their tail between their legs.

With the nuisance gone, Changkyun decided to enter (Y/N)’s apartment. The door was left slightly ajar, practically inviting him into the warm haven.

His angel was passed out of the sofa, having been tucked up nice and warm in a cozy blanket. He stopped to admire their perfect face, barely lit by the dim light of the television screen.

He found himself a seat in the kitchen to indulge in his lukewarm coffee as he waited for (Y/N) to awaken, so they could have a nice little chat.

~ ღ ~

When (Y/N) woke up, their apartment was dark and Kihyun was long gone. Brushing off the disappointment that came with no longer having his pleasant company, they sat up,

their stomach was screaming at them. The only food they’d eaten that night was the popcorn with Kihyun - they’d planned to cook a meal for the two of them, but exhaustion had won over them and they embarrassingly fell asleep in front of the movie before they even had the chance to offer.

Even if they regretted being an awful host to Kihyun, their hunger was a more pressing concern as they plodded into the kitchen to find something. Their mind was so occupied by their stomach in fact, they didn’t even notice Changkyun’s presence.

They found a packet of instant ramen shamefully hidden at the back of their cupboard, and were just about to heat up some water when a familiar chilling voice spoke up.

“Did you have a nice evening?”

They turned to finally notice Changkyun, leaning back in one of her chairs like he owned the place.

“Changkyun…? What are you doing in my kitchen?” (Y/N) rubbed at their eyes to make sure they weren’t dreaming.

“I thought it would be nice to pay you a little visit. It seems I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.”

He stood up and approached them, his aura more intimidating than they’d ever seen before.

“Who was he?” Changkyun snarled, his hand shooting out and gripping so tightly into (Y/N)’s neck that the nails were digging into their skin. “That son of a bitch you spent the entire evening with, leaving me out in the cold?”

“He’s just my colleague! Nothing more!” (Y/N) insisted, tears welling up in their eyes.

“Is that so?” (Y/N) was shoved onto a chair, with Changkyun standing over them. “Because I think some boundaries were overstepped. You don’t quite understand that you should belong to me, and me alone. You’ve severely betrayed my trust, and you should have to beg for my forgiveness.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You’re going to phone them tomorrow and resign. Do you understand?” He breathed out, ignoring their scathing remark. “Your workplace doesn’t deserve a worker who will whore around with whoever pays them attention.”

He seated himself on their lap, his face getting dangerously close to them. It was then they felt cool steel pressing against their neck and realised he was brandishing one of their chef’s knives.

“You don’t need your job. You don’t need anyone else. You just need me.”

[calif0rnia-lovers]

here is a random thought I’m sharing on here because none of my friends watch Mayans.

Coco Cruz is to Mayans MC, what Juice Ortiz was to Sons of Anarchy.

If you’re interested in my late-night revelation, check below the cut, and let me know if I’m paranoid.

I know some people have not seen Sons, so I added comparison points on Juice’s character so that it makes sense for them as well

- as you may know, coco and juice are two drastically different characters

- however, their desire for self-preservation and their inability to achieve it due to their downward spirals are not too different.

- granted, Juice’s spiral was stretched out over nearly 3 seasons

- but, both characters were initially portrayed as being hopeful in their own right.

- juice provided comedic relief appeared younger than the club and was lighthearted when on-screen

- coco, yes had gone thru shit, but spoke of how to always move forward despite what you’ve been dealt

- juice’s downward spiral was not related to drugs. his initial kickoff was his secret about his dad. for those who need to know, Juice’s dad was black, and Potter used that to blackmail him, by telling Juice the club would kick him out for being “black”

- To hide his secret, Juice did an array of out-of-character things.

- Letty didn’t give up on Coco when she found out his secret

- Chibs didn’t give up on Juice when he found out Juice was part black. I’m pretty sure he said...as far as I’m concerned your birth certificate says Hispanic and the club goes off of that

- but just like Coco, the writers showed how even though a character tried to make him hopeful, Juice continued with a downward spiral

- They both questioned their personal decisions and actions.

- They both knew what they were doing was wrong, but continued anyway.

- Juice told Gemma, his ultimate fear was being alone.

- Juice continued his actions holding onto the promise Jax and the club would reaccept him (I.E. Jax told him this is your way back “in”).

- Coco shares the same fear of being alone

- Coco’s attachment to Hope is fueled by drugs, yes. But it’s also the idea that even though he’s going thru shit he has her by his side.

- Coco has spent the past two seasons trying to distance himself from his mother (I.e. her drug problem, parenting skills)

- And although he’s promised to give Leticia a better life

- He destroys the relationship that meant the most to him (I.E. Leticia)

- Juice destroyed his relationship with Chibs who always seemed like a mentor to him

- In the last three seasons of Sons, you as the viewer were fearful EVERY SECOND of Juice’s screen time

- In season 3 of Mayans, we’re fearful every second of Coco’s screen time

- Although Juice was hopeful he might get reaccepted by the club, the writers did their job of making you realize he wouldn’t be

- As bad as you wanted Juice to be saved, viewers couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that despite his efforts, Juice wasn’t meant to be saved (not that he doesn’t deserve to be saved, but the writers don’t plan on it)

- Why?

- Because each action Juice did to save himself was never enough. The moment he finished one task, the writers stacked something twice as dangerous against him to make him fight for his survival

- Juice stole a kilo from the club, then had to kill a fellow Son to cover it up, he betrayed Clay by helping Jax frame and send send him to Stockton, he even kills an innocent woman for Jax to protect the club’s gun trade

- for those who never saw the show. the list of what Juice was forced to do goes on, getting worse each time (it’s heartbreaking really)

- Coco started at the beginning of the season saying he needed just “a little bit” to take away his pain.

- But, just like for Juice, as the season progressed it was never enough.

- Coco sold his car, he stole multiple times from Letty, he robbed the Farm, and stole a kilo from the club (to make up his debt for robbing the Farm) which led to Zeke getting shot and the rift between the Sons/Mayans with Santo Padre getting deeper

- But worst of all, viewers reach a point where they know Juice is too far gone

- When he frames Clay, Jax says...do this and you’re back in.

- Juice does it, and yeah he’s back “in” with the Sons (I.e he actually gets to stay in Charming bc he was sent away to another charter at one point), but he and the viewers realize Juice is not the same man anymore

- The part of him he tried to preserve is lost — Same with Coco

- Because even though Juice was “in” with the club, he was no longer trusted

- That’s why they call on Juice to do the fucked up shit they do in the last few seasons and Juice agrees because what does he have to lose at this point?

- When he’s killed, Juice wanted to die. He put up no resistance

- Coco’s conversation with Hope, where he’s rambling about how when he’s high, he can hear/see her through the darkness...is when Coco reaches the point of no return. We realize Hope is going to be what makes it impossible for Coco to leave the Farm. That he might choose her and the drugs over himself, Letty and the Club

- Both Juice and Coco have a person who anchors and prevents them from “escaping” that downward spiral

- You find hope that Coco’s going to get clean, but he tells Leticia he’s doing it for him, and Hope. Not himself, he can’t do it alone (without Hope)

- Which is why he runs back to the farm to save Hope, even though she’s truly a lost cause

- Hope is Coco’s crutch, just like Jax was the crutch for Juice

- Every time Juice could break his chain of actions you had Jackson say, “you need to do this for the Club”

- So, ultimately, if you watched Sons you know that starting in season 4 Juice wasn’t going to be alive in the series finale

- The moment Coco left his house in episode 9, viewers knew that he wasn’t returning from the Farm in a few hours.

- Letty knew it too.

- She literally begged him to pick her over Hope because of this, and he didn’t.

- I’m not saying Coco’s going to die, but I’m just saying his story reminds me entirely too much of Juice Ortiz

- And writer’s don’t do shit like this by coincidence

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[kdramachitchat]

Yumi's Cells Episode 3 Recap - First impressions always count. Yumi and Woong heads out to a homecooked meal restaurant & a frog festival on their first date.

Episode 3 of Yumi’s Cells begins with Yu-mi forcing herself to laugh through Gu-Woong’s awful jokes. Thankfully their coffee is ready and Emotion Cell as livid, with Gu-Woong keeping the conversation flowing by discussing what he’s working on back home. Gu-Woong is a game maker and showed the game about puppies and looks like Yumi is interested.

In Cell Land Hunger strikes. And just in time too given Emotion and the other cells are so tired. Hilariously, Hunger plays the belly pipe which is what causes her stomach to grumble.

Gu-Woong hears this but pretends he doesn’t, tells her it's already dinner time and invites  Yu-Mi to join him at a restaurant of his choice. In fact, she absolutely loves the food there too, downing the dishes. He even let her take the first bite too, he's polite and it seems that Yu-Mi is totally impressed with the food enjoying everything.

This is enough to win over a lot of the cells – except Emotion and Anxious Cell. She keeps her guard up despite Gu-Woong hitting all the right notes. On the otherhand, Anxious Cell is worried about Yu-Mi's blouse getting ruined with the boiling dish that may splatter on her. Before she even took the first bite, Woong is fast enough and gave her a apron. He's a total gentleman. The Cells are impressed that he's considerate, Emotions still dont like him and Anxious does. He has good manners. They both enjoy home-cooked restaurants too which both of them appreciate. Even Fashion Cell likes what he wore its elaborately calculated as a perfect effortless look. Hahaha. Fashion Cell instantly likes him so does the rest of the Cells cept for Emotion.

Well i think first impressions are always the most important. With my second impression of Woong, i love how he ignored the grumble of her stomach to try not to embarrass her he politely solved the situation which is considered a plus point for me. 

After the meal, Woong caught Yu-Mi who's about to pay for their meal but Woong stopped her and tells her that she'll pay, while accidentally holding her hand. The Cells started floating on air like they're on cloud 9.

Woong suggests they go to the park and check out the frogs. The date went so well and she's totally not into the frog festival. Though the Cells are having fun and wants to go but not Emotion. Woong pays for the entrance tickets and the ticket lady mentions that they get a discount if they're a couple. Woong says no and Yu-Mi says they are. Woong ended up surprised. The ticketlady gave them headbands to upload on social media and they'll get even more discounts if they take the headband.

While there, one of the workers asks if they’re a couple. While a bit awkward to begin with, Finance kicks in for Yu-Mi and focuses on how much money she can save if she says yes. Well, one thing leads to another and the pair snap a couple photo together, which Yu-Mi decides to put up on social media.

This act attracts the attention of Ru-Bi, who immediately rings Gu-Woong and asks what’s going on. Woong ends their conversation quickly and keeps his focus on Yu-Mi. Nosy Ruby needs to get her thoughts away from Yu-Mi like she's obsessed with who she dates. Woong tells her that Ru-Bi is weird because she talks to him in 3rd-person and Yu-Mi laughed at his comment. She laughed for real this time, finally. Emotion is pissed and wants to go home, Anxious is worried about Ru-Bi. Woong tells her that he can't really lie and says it like he means it. I like him. The Cells does too, he's honest, polite, considerate. All good factors. Emotion Cell is now impressed and decides not to use the robot doll cell.

With the date going so well and Yu-Mi impressed by Woong's compliments she decided to treat him and buy popcorn. Woong tells her that she doesn't have to be grateful when he told her she's cute its because he's honest. The Cells like him too as long as he doesn't do those awkward jokes and they all approve. Hysterius Cell shows up in Cell land and presses the mood lever down, sending Yu-Mi into a depressive downward spiral. Because of this, she suddenly skips out and decides to go home. This is just terrible. The date was doing so and its all Hysteriuis Cell's fault. For once i'm actually mad at a Cell, i don't think i'm going to like him very much.

Things all got very awkward when they both head home. Woong tried to make her laugh with his dad jokes but Yu-Mi wasn't feeling well and head up to the bus. She wants to save herself from heartache like her past relationships. After the date, Woong sees Saeyi heading home and tells her that he likes Yu-Mi. Once he got back, this terrible parting effected Woong too and he's worried that she's not replying to his messages. Meanwhile, in Woong's Cell land a imaginary Yu-Mi has taken over. Like she's all he's thinking about. Woong waits for her texts and looks like he was about to tear up. He immediately heads online to search reasons for her not replying during their first date. With Hysteria still attacking Cell land, Emotion, Fashion and Anxious Cells reach out to Reason Cell. Reason Cells tell them that Hysteria Cell is afraid that Yu-Mi may struggle and will hurt again. They all find a solution and it's Hunger Cell they can rely on. Yu-Mi looses her appetite, lays down and didn't bother replying to Woong. They don't want to think that Woong was rejected by her.

Jumps to conclusions finding reasons as to why she's not replying. Goes on forums to find comments, he thinks about what he has done during their blind date. He believes it’s his beard.  Even asked advice from Louis and he tells Woong that her not replying means he's dumped. On her way to work, she misses her bus and sits down on the bench seeing the candy that Woong gives her on her back. The lights went back on Cells land after she ate the candy. Yu-Mi eventually messages to let him know she’s okay and had fun. Sigh of relief. So it's definitely a misunderstanding on his part because Yu-Mi fell asleep. Woong decided to shave his beard that morning! Sae-Yi is surprised that Woong shaved his beard with the reason being it's a sign of a man's pride but he didn't give a exact reason for him to do so. It just shows that Woong likes her alot.

Yu-Mi messages Woong and tells him to get to work safetly and Woong is happy. Woong messages back and lets her know that he’s shaved his beard. Hilariously, Yu-Mi ended up confused but really didn't care if he did, thinking it's probably one of his jokes.  Even the Cells are confused thinking it's probably slang or something bad. Fashion Cells takes it literally and is impressed once again.

While on the way to work after the bus, Ru-Bi annoys her once again asks about her date. She needs to stop with her nosy attitude. Yu-Mi is stressed and wants to ignore Ru-Bi, so she skipped the elevator and went up the stairs. The office found out about her blind date and her office mates are being nosy. She's stressed about the situation and so are the cells who are wanting for Ru-Bi to shut her mouth. It's a headache and the cells village is about to blow up. The whole day Yu-Mi hasn't eaten and Hunger Cell isn't doing well.

Woong texting Yumi asking her if she has any plans. After Yu-Mi telling him that she doesn't have plans after work. Woong replies back and asks her out on a dinner date. Before she can even reply, a staff who's in a hurry bumped into Yu-Mi, which led Yu-Mi’s phone to break. Urgh. Can the day get any worst? 2nd date please and poor Woong. Yu-Mi is contemplating on pursuing with him and is letting out her feelings to a co-worker. She's afraid to feel hurt, tells her co-worker that her phone broke because it's a sign of the universe for her to not see him anymore.

Woong seeks council from Sae-Yi and Louis, who checks out the text messages and believes that Yu-Mi wanted to end the conversation because of her sentence structures but he didn’t get the hint, making him look clingy and uncomfortable. As the trio about to head out, Woong stays in and tells Sae-Yi that he doesn't condemn to people telling him what to do and that he's slow-witted. That's just the way he is. He knows himself well.

At work, Yu-Mi feels ill she excuses herself to her boss and decides to go home. It's raining outside and she didn't bring an umbrella.  Ru-Bi follows her out of the building and suggests she ring Woong using her number and let him know. After all her pent up frustration, she let it out on Ru-Bi and tells her it's enough. Ru-Bi says that she's just trying to help because she supports them both. Hysteria Cell on the other hand is enjoying this and wants her to release all her negative emotions.

Yu-Mi admitted that she’s always been alone – and will continue to be alone because that's what makes her comfortable. Can someone give Yu-Mi a hug? As they talk, Woong suddenly shows up with an umbrella. Yu-Mi turns and looks at him with amazement. Her knight and shining armor.

[malucy31]

Time in On Our Side

Here's chapter 2 a day earlier 😊

cw: nothing too heavy, but this version of Magnus isn't the happiest version of Magnus...

Chapter 2/3 - Times of joy, times of sadness

Read on ao3: chapter 1 - chapter 2

They talk and the weight of the centuries separating them evaporates.

Magnus tells Alec stories he has already heard, minus some details that make him wonder if his warlock husband didn’t invent them. He hopes he will remember everything so he can tease him a little when he gets home.

A twinge of sadness takes hold of Alec whenever he realizes that Magnus isn’t trying to find out more about him. His Magnus would. Danger be damned, he would try. He would have a lot of reasons to after all. Curiosity, suspicion, or simple intuition. Magnus’s magic never lies, and Alec knows he felt something. It must be gnawing at him.

But this Magnus doesn’t even bring up the subject. It would be fine if Alec couldn’t detect resignation underneath it. Now that he feels awake and perfectly healed, he can see it as brightly as the Sun on a clear blue sky. This Magnus is sad. The spark of joy and life that Alec is so used to seeing in him has been smothered. It sparkles every now and then, when he brings up the kinds of subjects and anecdotes he knows Magnus loves. But the moment the conversation dies down, a heaviness falls on the small kitchen like a lid. The only times his Magnus was like that are times Alec would rather not think about.

He takes a sip of wine, wincing at the sour taste a bit more than he normally would. It makes Magnus huff a laugh and the lid vanishes. Small victories and all…

It’s when Magnus gets up to check on his sandalwood blend that Alec looks around and notices something that makes his stomach drop. There are no windows in the living room. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen any window outside the small room adjacent to the apothecary and the kitchen.

This is very unlike Magnus. Magnus loves natural light. Their loft has floor to ceiling windows everywhere. On a whim, Magnus sometimes redecorates the whole place and replaces walls with windows just because the light is incredible. Alec has seen Magnus lie in the sun for hours when he is having a bad day, or when he has exhausted himself with a spell.

Having no windows makes no sense. Why would he want to avoid the Sun?

Magnus’s voice snaps Alec from his thoughts. “I’m still missing an ingredient.”

He watches him sit down across the table again, taking his napkin back on his lap and reaching for his glass of wine.

“I swear, I will find it.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Alec sends him back his smile, adding something about how much he loves the scent of sandalwood, but Magnus must feel that something has shifted in Alec’s stare because he sets down his glass with caution, scrutinizing Alec the way he must be doing too.

“What is it?” Magnus eventually asks.

Alec is about to say something about the windows when something else catches his attention. He would slap himself for not seeing it earlier, but he is so used to seeing his Magnus underneath any kind of armor the warlock owns that he doesn’t always pay attention to what lies on the surface. Even today, Alec still reads between the lines, still sees Magnus’s kindred soul and open heart, the tenderness in his gaze. He still sees the most generous and beautiful man he has ever met.

But how could he not notice the obvious thicker black eyeliner? The way it enhances the dark hazelnut brown of Magnus’s eyes a little more than usual? A little differently? There isn’t a single round edge about him. His hair is spiked and even his jewelry seems to be part of a shield. I dare you to come close and find any weakness, it says. Even if there is something a little different about it today, the basic lines remain. Show them what they expect. Don’t be too much.

Alec is suddenly overcome by the need to protect him, to be the shield between him and people who can’t fathom that there’s no such thing as too much when it comes to Magnus. He just is, plain and simple.

If they were home, Alec would run a hot bath for his tired husband and kiss words of reassurance and love on his skin, remove his makeup with careful gestures until it’s just them. No armor, no one else. Only them and the walls they built around their life.

But he isn’t home, and neither is Magnus.

Alec’s chest tightens when he puts two and two together. He doesn’t know everything about Magnus’s life, but he knows enough to understand what is happening. Magnus needs protection for the same reason he has no windows outside from the rooms where he spends his time, his safe haven.

He is entering a battle that will last a few centuries, and he probably already knows it.

This battle has a name that, to this very day, makes Alec’s muscles stiffen, calls out his soldier reflexes.

Camille.

Alec doesn’t ask about the windows. He doesn’t need to.

Magnus will never open up to a stranger about this anyway, no matter how easy the conversation is. Even if he did, Alec will be gone in a few days and what good will it have done? The thought sends him into a downward spiral. He knows what is ahead of Magnus. Centuries of abuse, of loneliness, self-hatred, and despair.

This Magnus doesn’t need to be forced to open up by someone who will disappear from his life. He needs something strong enough that he can hold on to. He needs hope.

And Alec has an idea.

“I was thinking of a way to repay you for healing me and welcoming me into your home, but I don’t have any money… So, what about a small clue about who I am? Something harmless.”

“Please, do tell!”

Magnus’s eyes sparkle, and Alec is almost certain he can see his golden irises flickering for a second. There, trapped in the brown glamor that is supposed to make him presentable, a hint of gold. A hint of his aching soul searching for an escape, looking to this stranger for an answer to a question Magnus has been asking for centuries.

A pang in Alec’s stomach echoes that ache, the want and need to give Magnus everything he has ever wished. In times of joy as well as sadness, said their wedding vows. No matter the version of them, Alec will always give Magnus all his love.

“What you felt in me, what made my body accept your magic and kept you out at the same time. It’s magic.” Alec pauses for a second, considering exactly how much he can say without raising any suspicion in Magnus’s mind. His idea sounds too bold now. He could lie, invent something about being some kind of warlock, but he can’t. Not when Magnus’s eyes are begging for something, anything, as long as it’s different. The words are out before his brain has time to process them.

“It’s my husband’s magic.”

Magnus’s eyes widen and Alec is glad he didn’t backpaddle.

“Your… Your husband?” He pronounces the word with such delicacy that Alec’s heart breaks.

“Yeah, my husband.”

“H… How?” His voice is almost a whisper, his smile full of centuries-old, dried tears and smothered dreams.

Alec fights hard against the reflex to sit closer to him, take him in his arms, never let go.

“Where are you from?” Magnus asks.

“Far away.”

“You don’t say… You seem…suspended in time, like you… I couldn’t even find the words.” Magnus lowers his gaze, shaking his head and quickly trying to erase all trace of emotion on his face. But it doesn’t fool Alec. Longing is already coloring his tone. “I won’t know more, will I?”

Alec is about to apologize again when Magnus raises a hand between them. “You know what? It’s okay. Like I said, there is clearly something unique about you, and I wouldn’t want to put you or your husband in danger by knowing too much. But thank you for trusting me with this.”

Alec doesn’t know how to respond to that. There are too many things he could say and none of them would make sense to Magnus, so he nods, smiling.

“There’s one more thing I would like to know about you, though.”

“What is it?”

“Your name. You haven’t told me.”

“Oh, Gideon. I’m Gideon.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Gideon. I’m Magnus.”

Alec can feel giddiness forming on his lips. How many people get to relive a first introduction?

When the conversation resumes, Alec can’t help noticing a difference in the way Magnus holds himself and speaks. Less guarded, more himself. It sparks something in Alec’s stomach, a need to be home already, an urge stronger than he has felt in the past month and a half. He can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to hold his husband in his arms and have living proof that Magnus did overcome everything, that Camille is a long-forgotten nightmare.

Neither of them realizes how late it is until Magnus has to conjure up some light in the form of tiny bulbs floating above them. The light they cast reminds Alec of home again, of improvised date nights in the middle of nowhere, of late dinners when they refuse to go to bed before the other one has returned. It makes it even harder to pronounce his next words.

“It’s late, I should… I should get back,” Alec says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Where are you staying? Let me walk you back. The streets aren’t safe at night.”

Alec is about to decline when he realizes that he has no idea how to go back, no cell phone to help, and that Magnus hasn’t invented portals yet.

“If that’s not too much trouble, I’d like that.”

“No trouble at all, but before you go, let me give you something in return of this lovely night.”

“Magnus, you don’t—”

He snaps his fingers, and a small pouch appears in his hand, the scent already tickling the corners of Alec’s mouth. Sandalwood. “Since you liked the scent… It’s not exactly what I want it to be yet, but maybe you and your husband will find the missing ingredient. You’ll have to let me know if you do.”

Magnus adds a wink as he hands the pouch to Alec in a way that reminds him of his own Magnus. It feels so good that Alec lets his grin grow wider than he has in a month and a half.

“Thank you. I’ll… I’ll let you know if we find something, but I’m sure you have the solution around here.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, but he can’t help it. He knows what ingredient is missing, it’s actually right there on the table, and he doesn’t always get the chance to tease Magnus.

For the first time since Alec woke up, he recognizes Magnus’s smile. It’s a smile that ends in a very soft laugh, the one that modifies his voice a little and makes him sound like a young man with no burden on his shoulders, no heaviness on his heart. It’s beautiful. He is beautiful.

Alec misses him so much.

*

He knows he can’t bring Magnus to the Shadowhunters’ lair, so when he recognizes the streets, he comes to a halt and stops in front of an inn.

“This is it… Thank you for everything. I… I really wish I could give you more to thank you.”

The moonlight accentuates Magnus’s soft features, but it also accentuates the ache in his eyes. Alec didn’t know he could want to take him in his arms even more than he has for the last month.

“You already did, Gideon.” He smiles, but sadness lingers at the edges of his lips. “Hope is a rare and valuable thing. It’s usually fleeting, but yours… There’s something about you, you radiate joy, hope and freedom. You let me have a glimpse and dare I say, a taste of it. It was an honor to meet you. I wish I could meet your husband too. Maybe someday?”

“Maybe, yeah…”

“In the meantime, tell him Magnus Bane sends him his best regards, will you?”

“I will.” Alec knows he has been reduced to monosyllabic words, but he can’t do more in this instant. His voice is choking with emotions.

“Thank you. I needed this, I needed to meet you, more than you know… Good-bye, Gideon. Travel safely, and I hope we’ll meet again sometime.”

There’s a lot Alec would like to reply, but no words could ever convey the depth and extent of all his feelings, not in this time or place. There is no space here for their love. There can’t be. Magnus doesn’t give him the time to say anything. He is already walking backwards, and that’s probably for the best.

“I hope so too. Good-bye…” Magnus stays trapped in his throat as he watches him walk away. He can’t shake the feeling that he didn’t give him enough. He shouldn’t have let him go before there was only joy on his face, in his eyes… Alec almost calls him back, but he can’t. Not for another two or three centuries at least. This had to be enough.

[skullrock]

casanova - Steve x Reader

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: You try to save Steve from himself when he gets a little too drunk at a party. 

word count: 2.3k

warnings: angst!!!, self doubt, alcohol, drugs, party scenes

a/n: yes I know y'all want fluff and I keep feeding you angst I am so sorry 

===

You watched Steve from afar once you filled a red plastic cup with water, passing it off as straight vodka.

You’d never drink straight vodka, but it worked.

Steve had begged you to come with him to a party, to get fucked up, to let loose. It had been three weeks since Nancy left him for Jonathan, and three weeks since Bob Newby died, and the Gate was closed. Steve was spiraling, and fast. He was always one to want to be the center of attention, but he had become even more desperate for any kind he could get. You were just thankful Billy kept a large distance between them – or you were pretty sure Steve would beat the shit out of him. Steve’s face had only just healed, and his memory was failing him, but he refused to get checked out – he just wanted to get as shitfaced as humanly possible.

And as you stand across the room and watch him, talking to a group of people loudly, you can’t help but feel like you failed him. You should have forced him to stay home. You feel nauseous just looking at him – how his shoulders sag with the weight of the world on him. How he can’t stand upright because of the alcohol. How his eyes are just slits from the pot. You are counting down the seconds until you intervene, but your nerves keep you against the wall.

Steve makes eye contact with you from where he’s standing, and his eyes squint even more as a large smile spreads on his face. It makes you sick. It’s genuine, but it’s not genuine. If he were sober, he wouldn’t be smiling that fucking big.

He meanders over to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “Hey!”

“Steve,” you say, knees buckling under the weight of his arm. “You okay?”

“No,” he says. “’Cause you’re not drinkin’.”

“I am,” you reply, holding up the cup.

Steve snorts. “That’s water.” He points to his head. “I’m not stupid.”

You nod. “Okay, buddy.”

“’m gonna get more,” he says, but you pull on the back of his sweater.

“No,” you say. “You’ve had enough. Just relax, alright?”

“Alright, dad,” he says, laughs loudly, and then stalks away.

You want to drink. You want to drink so bad. The headache that’s building gnaws on your brain, and you know it’s only going to get worse. The music makes your head pound, too, so you head off to a bathroom to calm down.

Steve knows he’s gone too far tonight, but he decides to lean into it instead of sobering up. The dizziness in his head feels good. Making people laugh feels good. He feels wanted and loved for the first time since Billy stepped foot in Hawkins, and it’s intoxicating. He loves the fame, the attention, he loves feeling the smile on his face. He throws back drink after drink, smokes puff after puff, and soon, he can hardly stand.

He sits on the couch, watching the room wave around him. He hears someone talking beside him, and he turns. It’s a girl he doesn’t know – or maybe doesn’t remember – and he blinks hard. “Hello.”

Soon, her hand is resting on his knee, and his is on hers, and they’re leaning in too close. He loves it. She’s not Nancy – he knows that, he knows that – but he can pretend. He can pretend someone wants him and loves him. It doesn’t hurt him. Not when he’s this fucked up, at least.

But you’ve come to his rescue, pulling him up from under the arms, dragging him as he loudly protests out to your car. He stumbles, he slurs, he shouts, but you keep pulling him.

Seeing him with that girl nearly made you throw up. And not because of your own feelings for the guy - but because Steve was about to be taken advantage of, and you could have prevented that from simply not letting him get this fucked up in the first place. You know he will hate you for “ruining his shot”, but you weren’t about to let him get hurt like that. He’s been through enough.

You get Steve into the car and buckle him up. He’s gone silent and you know it’s because he’s filling with rage. You know there will be a tantrum coming, and you mentally prepare yourself for whatever insults King Steve can find within him.

Halfway to his house, he finally speaks. “You’re an asshole.”

You wince but remain unfazed. “Okay.”

“Can’t believe… trying to ruin my life.”

You sigh heavily. “I’m not ruining your life.”

“You are.” He squeezes his eyes shut.

You stay silent, not wanting to fuel it further.

Steve seems to forget that he’s mad at you for a moment when you’re pulling him out of the car. Actually, he acts like he doesn’t remember being in the car with you at all, giving you a surprised, “Hey!” when you sling his arm over your shoulder. You grab the spare key under his welcome mat and stumble inside, Steve making no effort to walk for himself.

You finally get him into his room, gently sitting him on the bed. He grabs your hands and pulls you towards him, but you push off quickly, blushing profusely. It’s then that Steve realizes you’re not the girl he was flirting with on the couch, and his eyes read betrayal. He stands and falls back down on his ass, huffing. “The fuck is your problem?”

Here we go, you think. “Steve –“

“Why can’t you let me be happy?”

“I’m not the one getting in the way of your happiness, Steve.”

“’s that supposed to mean?”

You rummage through his desk to find his ibuprofen. You bite your tongue, although you want to tell him off so badly.

Your silence only fuels Steve. “’s your problem? Why can’t you have… have fun? With me?”

You slam a drawer shut and turn to him. “What’s so fucking fun about getting shitfaced at any available chance?”

Steve looks surprised, but his eyes narrow. “You’re just as bad as her.”

You laugh. “I’m just as bad as Nancy? For saving you from yourself?”

“I didn’t ask you to save me.”

You roll your eyes and open another drawer, finding the ibuprofen. You take out a few and shove them towards Steve with a water bottle from his nightstand, but he just slaps your hand so that the pills fly everywhere.

Steve, when angry, acts like a four-year-old, and he’s even worse when he’s drunk.

“Fine,” you say, sitting the bottle and the water on his nightstand. “You can suffer in the morning. I did my part.”

“You have no right,” he says, voice surprisingly clear, “to tell me what to do with my life. I wanted to be with that girl.”

“No, Steve, you didn’t. You wanted to feel special.”

“Is that so bad?”

You shake your head and turn to go towards his wardrobe to get him new clothes. He reeks of cheap beer and pot. “You need to start taking care of yourself.”

He stands then, striding over to where you are and pushing you to the side to grab his own pajamas. You roll your eyes at him and step aside, letting him clumsily search through his things. He pulls out a white t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that definitely don’t fit him anymore. He throws his clothes off aggressively, stumbling as he puts the shorts on, and then looks at you like he’s just done something incredible.

You’re pretty impressed, because he usually wears his party clothes to sleep.

You walk him back to his bed, gently sitting him down again. His fists are clenched, and his jaw is tight – it’s heartbreaking to see him like this. Tears well in his eyes and he whispers, “I hate you.”

“You hate me for taking care of you more than anyone has in a year?” you ask, kneeling in front of him. You grab his hands and force him to lace his fingers through yours. His grip is still tight, but he’s not at risk of breaking his fingers on his palms. “You hate me for caring about you?”

“I don’t need your help,” he slurs. “I’m not a kid.”

“You do need help, Steve. I’m not letting you get like this every week. I’m –“

“You’re worse than her, do you know that?”

It hurts, but you were prepared for that low blow. “You’ll get over it, Steve.”

He ungrips your hands, pushing you away weakly. “I want you to go.”

“Fine,” you say. You stand, but then kneel back down again. You gently grab his wrists and try to catch his eyes. “Steve… there’s more to life than stupid Nancy Wheeler.”

“You think this is just about Nancy?” His voice cracks and a tear falls onto his cheek. “You think – you think it’s just because the love of my life left me?”

You’re silent.

“It’s because Billy Hargrove beat my head in so fucking bad that I – I can’t even remember my locker combination. It’s because everyone looks at me like I’m dirt. It’s because girls treat me like I’m a temple, or whatever – I don’t remember the saying. God, I don’t remember anything.” He takes a shaky breath. “My head hurts, all the time. It races. I can’t fall asleep until four in the morning. I worry about the kids on an hourly basis. Bob Newby died, and I couldn’t do a god damn thing to save him.”

Your eyes shoot downwards, guilt coiling around your gut, hot and tight.

“And to take the cake – the girl I loved, more than anything in the world, left me for the same guy she told me not to worry about. She told me I was bullshit. She told me I killed Barb.” You hear him sniffle and your heart aches. “Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

“No,” you whisper – because you truly don’t.

It’s quiet for a long time. Your eyes are locked on the floor, and Steve’s are locked on his comforter. Finally, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs out of the grip of your hands on his wrists. “I want you to go.”

“Okay.”

You make your way towards the door before he calls out, “Can you tuck me in?”

His voice is so small and weak. Steve hates it more than anything. He feels like a kid again – he feels just like he did when he had nightmares and his parents didn’t do anything but send him back to bed. But he wants that safety – needs it – and so he needs you to tuck him in.

You walk back. Steve lays down, wrapping his arms around a pillow and tucking his knees up to his chest. You tuck the sheets in tightly around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. You can see tears running down his cheeks, and you again whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he says. He sounds worn and exhausted.

“Steve,” you say quietly. “I care about you so much.”

“I know.”

“I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” You’re about to walk away when Steve’s hand emerges from the covers, grabbing yours. He pulls and you trip, falling onto the bed, and Steve opens the blankets up for you to crawl under.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

You take a deep breath and contemplate – is it really okay to crawl in with him? But he looks so lost and sad, and you don’t want to leave him on his own tonight. So you crawl in, wrapping your arms around Steve tightly.

You can feel his tears on the cold sheets. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry I fucked it all up.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” you explain, holding him tighter. “I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you. I don’t want you to feel like you need to prove yourself.” Your throat starts to burn as tears creep in. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be someone you’re not.”

“I don’t want to feel like that, either.”

It’s quiet for a bit more, and you think maybe Steve’s fallen asleep. But then he whispers, “You’re not like her. I don’t hate you.” He pauses. “And I don’t hate her.”

“I know,” you say. You reach for one of his hands and stroke his thumb with yours. “It’s alright, Steve.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he says. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

“I want to get better, Y/N.”

You press your forehead into his shoulder. “I want to help you get better.”

Steve picks up your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. Your stomach flips and jumps and twists, the breath knocked out of you. You love him.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispers. “You’ve been here for me through everything. And you never ran away. You never left.”

“How could I?” you ask. “You’re the best thing in my life.”

“I love you,” he says. It’s weak and faint, but there’s a truth behind it, whatever that truth may be.

“I love you, too.”

Soon, his breaths become shallow, and his chest rises and falls softly. You press yourself tighter against him and squeeze the arm circling his torso. He might forget it in the morning – he almost certainly will – but you love him, too, and you’re going to help him get better.

===

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[icasttourniquet]

Can Your Character Survive... Avalanches?

Alternative title: why your character who lives in the mountains should be more scared of avalanches than they currently are.

What's an avalanche?

Avalanches are large masses of snow that speed down mountainsides, carrying humans with them. There are a number of different types of avalanches, depending on who you ask. Let's look at a few:

Wet Snow Avalanche

These avalanches are relatively safe, as far as avalanches go. They travel slower than their dry counterparts (10 to 20 miles per hour) and are harder to trigger. However, wet snow is often a good deal heavier than dry snow, so getting buried in it is still inadvisable. 

Sluffs

Sluffs are dry avalanches composed of the top layer of powder moving downwards. They occur when the weak layer of snow is on top as opposed to underneath, and they are far less dangerous than the opposite, a slab avalanche.

Slab Avalanche

(Or, as I cannot help but say in my head every time I read about them: Slabalanches.)

A slab avalanche occurs when the weak layer of snow is on the bottom. When an avalanche is triggered, the weak layer separates from the slope and carries with it the stronger, more cohesive snow on top of it in a slab. 

Slabs are typically about the size of a football field and more than a foot deep. They can reach speeds of 20 miles per hour within three seconds, 80 miles per hour within six seconds, and max speeds in excess of 150 miles per hour. 

Hidden by more compact snow, the weak layer can lie in wait for days or months until something heavy (say, a human) triggers it loose. To make them even deadlier, the break often occurs above whatever triggers it, meaning the victim is already on the slab when it starts to speed down the slope.

How do avalanches kill you?

In the words of Shakespeare, let me count the ways. (spoiler: there are two).

Asphyxiation

In a study in Utah, 85% of avalanche fatalities died of asphyxiation alone. This is likely because humans cannot breathe snow [citation needed].

Once an avalanche gets going, the snow behaves sort of like water, and any humans trapped in it sink. However, unlike water, when the avalanche stops moving, it hardens, leaving the sunken human entombed in concrete-hard snow—this snow sometimes also hardens in the victim's lungs, with predictable consequences. It is essentially impossible for a fully buried human to dig themselves out of an avalanche—most victims won't even be able to move their limbs. It is now a race against time: can rescuers dig them out before they run out of air?

To make matters worse, human breath is hotter than snow. As the trapped human exhales, they melt a small pocket of snow around their face, which then refreezes as far-less-permeable ice. Any chance of breathing through the snow pack has now disappeared.

Source: A concept for optimizing avalanche rescue strategies using a Monte Carlo simulation. (And you know a paper is good when they're whipping out the Monte Carlo simulations).

After only about 20 minutes, a buried victim has less than a 50% chance of survival. Avalanche rescues are all about time time time. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Blunt force trauma

In the remaining 15% of cases, that same Utah study found that blunt force trauma was involved in the death. This hopefully makes sense, given how fast, heavy, and large avalanches are.

In some terrains, avalanches can take helpless victims through a "sieve." Let's say you had to be dragged down a slope at 150 miles per hour. In the picture below, which slope would you prefer: A? Or B?

Hopefully, you said B. While being dragged anywhere at high speeds is undesirable, at least B is empty. A is a sieve, and anyone swept through those trees would be lucky not to hit at least a couple of them.

Avalanche Likelihood

According to Bruce Temper's Staying Alive in Avalanche Terrain, 9 out of 10 avalanche victims trigger the avalanche that kills them. That means your character has a lot to do with whether or not they die.

Since we are are all authors here, let's design the scenario most likely to kill a character.

Avalanche-friendly conditions

There has been a recent, dramatic change in weather (storm to no storm, hot to cold, cold to hot, etc.).

The slope is between 30 and 45 degrees steep (contrary to popular belief, steeper does not automatically make an avalanche more likely). Side note: humans are rubbish at judging slope, so a modern-day experienced backcountry explorer will likely have her clinometer on her.

The slope faces north. These slopes get less sunlight in the winter (in the Northern Hemisphere), which makes the slow less 'sticky' and more unstable.

The slope is wind-loaded or beneath a cornice. If a cornice falls, it can trigger an avalanche above you, which is the worst place for an avalanche to be.

It has recently snowed (or is currently snowing!).

It's been windy recently.

Risky character traits

Your character doesn't know the area well.

Your character is a man (assuming the story takes place on Earth, where 92% of avalanche fatalities are men).

Your character is in a group that wants to press forwards.

Your character is overcommitted—they need to get to their destination, fast.

They are convinced they are an expert, or that someone in their group is.

Other people have gone down that slope already, which makes your character sloppy. Unfortunately, avalanches don't always trigger when the first person touches them.

Ironically, a slope that no one has gone down is also dangerous due to "powder fever," or the delight some skiers feel when they see an untouched slope and stop doing risk assessments.

High consequence locales

In the sections above, I discussed risk, or the likelihood that a bad thing (avalanche) occurs. Potential consequences also matter—it is safer to engage in high risk activities in places where the consequences are low, like rock climbing without ropes one foot off the ground.

How to make your avalanche as high consequence as possible?

Your character is alone. Recall that at 2 hours, the likelihood of surviving an avalanche has fallen to 20%. If your character is alone, what is the chance anyone notices they're missing within 2 hours, let alone they get to the exact slope where they're buried in that time?

The landscape has a lot of rocks or trees, making blunt force trauma likely.

The bottom of the slope is a crevasse or river bed or narrows as it goes down. This is because it takes time to dig someone out of an avalanche, even after you find them, so the deeper your character is buried, the more likely they are to die.

Avalanche Rescue

The worst has happened: one of your characters has been swept away in an avalanche and buried. Now what?

If we want a 50% chance of survival we have 20 minutes to 1) find the victim and 2) dig them out.

Immediately, your character's friends, who are, of course, avalanche rescue experts, leap into action. Having determined the slope is safe, they get to wherever the avalanche ended as fast as possible and commence a search.

Before launching into a search pattern, bystanders probe areas there friend has a high likelihood of being in. This means probing around any equipment they see sticking out of the snow (ski, glove, hat, etc.) and especially around any limbs (if the buried person is sticking a hand above ground and waving, start there). They also check around protruding objects like rocks, where their friend may have gotten stuck.

Source.

Probing means sticking a ski pole or some other long object into the ground at a 90 degree angle in the hopes that you poke the buried person. 

Source. *poke* "Ouch!"

A note on pole length: six feet should be adequate. It is both rare to be buried deeper than six feet and essentially impossible to rescue someone six feet under before they die.

Let's say your characters probe all the likely areas and find nothing. Now what?

Beacon search

What is an avalanche beacon? Basically, beacons are small devices you can carry into avalanche country that help you find your friend, or your friends find you, if one of you gets caught.

Example of an avalanche beacon. Source.

Avalanche beacons have two modes: "send," which sends out a signal, and "search," which looks for a signal. The idea is, everyone on your team has what is essentially a GPS tracker on them. If one gets buried, the others can use their beacons to triangulate the position fast enough to, hopefully, do a fine search in the correct area before the buried person is dead.

If the bystanders in your plot have beacons, they switch them to "search" mode. (It is tragically common for people who carry beacons, but don't practice with them often, to commence an excellent search pattern while their beacons are still projecting their location instead of searching for the location of their friend.)

The video above shows an example of a search pattern with one rescuer. The more rescuers, the faster the search, and the more likely the buried victim is to survive. The picture below shows some multi-rescuer search patterns.

Search patterns based on the number of searchers. Source.

Beacon-less search

What if your characters don't have beacons? First of all, they had better be in a world without beacons, because there isn't really a good excuse to be caught in an avalanche without one. Even if you are skiing alone, because beacons are interoperable, you might as well carry one to help out any potential rescuers.

But let's say your character lives in pre-industrial avalanche country so we can't judge their decisions too hard. Now what?

Assuming the victim's hand isn't sticking out of the ground and waving for help, your rescuers are stuck doing a probe search everywhere. This involves sticking a long pole in the ground every 1.5 feet or so in a spiral or grid pattern and hoping you poke your friend before they die.

Source

A spiral search may be easier with only one rescuer.

Source

If there are a ton of bystanders ready to rescue the buried victim, they can get regimented about it, setting up lines and moving in interlocking grid patterns to search the largest area possible in the shortest amount of time.

DIG

The rescuers have successfully poked the buried victim. The next step is simple: DIG.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJbnc4MjylI (no more embedded videos allowed :sad face:)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGQg9o3vAkM

Medical Care

Ideally, your bystanders dig the head out first, since this is the body part with all the important bits in it. My WFR instructor recommended starting Positive Pressure Ventilation (PPV—the thing you see in movies with the plastic mask and bag that EMTs squeeze to help someone breathe) immediately after rescue unless the victim protests loudly. This can clear snow out of the lungs and in general help them maintain oxygenation.

As other body parts get uncovered, treat what you see.

How to Show Your Character is a Pro

They dig a trench before going out too far. This allows you to see the layers of snow and judge how likely an avalanche is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcXogVHecFQ

They test snow density by trying to poke through it with a knee, hand, finger, and knife.

They might also intentionally knock a cornice over to see if it triggers an avalanche (this is done from a safe distance).

And finally, they consider walking above someone on a dangerous slope attempted murder.

Conclusion

The best way to survive an avalanche is to avoid being caught in one. Barring that...

We at ICT recommend your character carry a beacon, be in relatively safe territory, and have a flock of friends available for rescue purposes.