#literally this is making me sick of watching anything. knowing that it’ll inevitably be a punchline

[treepilgrim]

unsolicited tree thoughts:

If you’re going to watch a single voice drama for T2, watch Amane’s. Not only is it, in my opinion, the most intriguing and well written one, but it also gives you quite the insight into her cultish mindset and her reasons for her murder.

So!! Let me pinpoint some of her more questionable statements to demonstrate what I mean:

“It wasn’t murder. It was merely a punishment in line with our doctrine.”

I think the main takeaway from the MV that most people got (including me) was that Amane killed the guy as revenge for the mistreatment and abuse she endured. However, while personal reasons may certainly be a factor in the murder, these lines make it rather clear that the main motive is probably still religion. Does this mean that if we forgive her, we’re commending whatever screwed up cult she’s in?? Maybe, maybe not. But I thought it was rather interesting.

Although I say that, I’m not discounting the possibility that she’s simply using religion as a justification for a emotionally-motivated murder. But really, if you watch the voice drama, it really does feel otherwise.

“In light of our doctrine, your insult to us is more than enough to warrant a punishment!” (proceeds to attack Es with scissors)

goddamnit. I’m so sick of people telling me that Amane is a kid and can’t do any harm even it she’s voted innocent. She literally lunges at Es with scissors, screaming “I’LL KILL YOU” repeatedly. ANYONE can do a lot of harm given the right motivation. Amane’s motivation is obviously her religious doctrine, and clearly, she’s very committed to it. So that’s a nice peek into her mental state I guess. I think this section also further suggests that her religion still played a very big part in her murder.

Furthermore, if simple insults from Es can warrant this kind of violent reaction, consider this:

“Both pain and illness are trials. According to our teachings, those who run from them are the worst evil there is. That’s one of the four great principles. No matter who you are, that cannot be forgiven.”

“Oh, speaking of which, there is one among the prisoners right now. An evil existence that’s trying to steal people’s trials away from them.”

“I have given (shidou) a warning. If he continues, I suppose it will be inevitable for me to intervene.”

it’s shidou. By virtue of his profession, he is violating one of her ‘four great principles’. I’m harping on this like a broken recorder because if Es’ INSULT manages to incite mauling with scissors, what kind of grand punishment would Shidou’s violation of the FOUNDING PRINCIPLES of her religion buy him??? The previous interaction literally demonstrates that Amane’s is PERFECTLY capable of harm.

Additionally, to those saying Shidou can totally hold his own against a child, consider everything that I’ve said and also that:

1. Shidou killed people who are unconscious while Amane supposedly beat up a full-grown man. Shidou has no combat advantage here.

2. Have you ever had to wrestle a spoiled kid away from something once and they’re kicking and screaming and biting your forearms?? I have. It’s hurts like hell and very difficult to keep under control. Now replace this petulant kid with a child harboring pure vitriol and murderous intent. Rhetorical question here: Are you sure you will leave the situation completely fine? Just a thought.

3. While Shidou supposedly now has a new purpose to ‘extract that fang’, we don’t actually know just how much his resolve has strengthened. It doesn’t mean he’s still not feeling massive amounts of guilt. And I want to make this clear before y’all come at me, I’m not claiming anything, I am merely speculating. So what do I think will happen? @alabella puts it best: “If Amane ends up getting forgiven, it’s not that he’ll be unable to defend himself, it’ll be that he wouldn’t *want* to. This is the man that felt so guilty for being unable to save a child that he wanted the death penalty, he’s just gonna sit there and let it happen.”

whoops, looks I slipped up and accidentally started pushing my Shidou-favouritism agenda and we-might-want-to-consider-Amane-guilty agenda.

For the record, I’m not expecting anything out of this. It’s highly unlikely she’ll be guilty at the rate this is going. But if we make it out of T2 without any violence between her and Shidou, by Jove, will I be pleasantly surprised.

Also, while we’re on the topic of bad outcomes:

“Are the prisoners who weren’t forgiven feeling lost right now? Maybe they need our faith as well.”

(credit for noticing this point and being willing to share it with me: @alabella)

This was given as a one-off statement so it’s rather easy to miss the implications. But listen: Who could Amane be referring to? Who is the most ‘lost’ right now, of the guilty prisoners? Probably not Mikoto, definitely not Amane, so that leaves Fuuta and Mahiru.

Fuuta probably won’t buy it, let’s be real.

Mahiru, on the other hand… We’ve already established through other voice dramas that her psychological state is pretty down in the dumps right now. Furthermore, she’s confused about whether loving someone is bad, and actually our new innocent verdict might not necessarily help this, since it might make her even more confused and lost, if that makes sense. So, honestly? Mahiru is pretty susceptible to indoctrination if Amane ever decides to do missionary work. :/

And what does that spell? I have no idea, but probably not anything good. We also can’t discount the possibility that the prisoners voted guilty in T2 (Haruka especially) may also be indoctrinated. That’s probably a bad thing.

Conclusion: Bad things happened, bad things will happen.

So, yeah. There it is. Watch the voice drama. Cheerio.

[asterdeer]

i’ve been so excited to watch s2 of the witcher but then i saw the doesthedogdie page for midnight mass, i heard that stuff happens to cats in mindhunter AND the haunting of hill house, i also saw the doesthedogdie page for the wheel of time..... im literally so sick of animal violence in shows for no good fucking reason. and then i saw something about roach and im just. im completely burnt out. i don’t want to watch any of this. im so unfathomably tired of having to risk wading through animal cruelty just to watch anything speculative.

[braunbakery]

meet me at our spot (2)

☞ eren jaeger x reader [fem bodied] [chapter word count: 2k]

☞ sfw, fluff, mild angst, modern au, short fic, other characters present

fic plot: before high school, you and eren were best friends. after high school, you and eren are strangers still grasping at those same past threads.

inspired by meet me at our spot by the anxiety

prev. next

2. something’s got ahold of me

a once-off conversation is just that - once-off. so you try to convince yourself there’s no point in dwelling on seeing eren yesterday, or dwelling on how he helped you sit back up, or how he smiled at you before he left. there’s no point. it was just a coincidence, a fluke.

eren has an entire group of friends. armin and mikasa, who you’ve shared a couple classes with and known since they were young. jean kirstein, who’s guts eren swore he hated back in the first couple days of freshman year. connie and sasha, who you know of course because of the commotion that always seems to follow them. he sees them everyday, and he only said he’d see you around as a courtesy.

you repeat this as a mantra over and over in your head, trying to distract yourself from looking up every few seconds the wind causes the leaves outside the treehouse to rustle and the small voice in your head that hopes it’s eren.

you sit cross-legged on the floorboards, pulling out more weird trinkets and drawings from years ago and placing them in a plastic bag to the side. now you know there’s not really any chance of being interrupted by eren again, of being rendered speechless when you’re just trying to get your shit and go (so why does your chest keep sinking whenever you swear that you can hear someone come up the ladder only to be met with an empty doorway?)

at some point you start to get sick of yourself, keeping your head focused on the box in your lap and shoving whatever even seems remotely yours into the plastic bag. so when you hear what distantly sounds like footsteps again, you don’t look up.

“hey,” a voice speaks, and your head lurches up from your hunched over position. it’s eren, hand on the frame of the doorway and peering into the wooden room.

“hi,” you practically squeak out. eren steps in.

“you back again?”

“yeah,” you say, “i still have…some stuff.”

you wonder if knows that’s as soon as he left yesterday you got out of here.

eren leans down and picks up the photo album from yesterday off of the floor, “you want this?”

“oh, you can keep it if you want.”

eren walks closer to you and sits down next to you. he doesn’t seem to notice you watching him carefully, “nah, i remember it was your idea, right?”

“yeah,” you hesitantly confirm, “but theyre our photographs.”

you notice eren freeze and you regret saying that because now he’s looking at you in a way…in a way that makes you feel like he only ever looks at you like that.

“this is one weird custody battle,” eren jokes before putting the photo album back down and grabbing the box in your lap.

“hey!” you exclaim, shoving his arm, “i was literally looking through that.”

“yeah,” eren offers you a shit-eating grin, “and now i am.”

“how are you still so annoying?”

“and how are you still so easy to annoy?” eren moves his face closer to yours.

you feel blood rush to your face and mumble sheepishly, “shut up.”

and with that, eren seems satisfied enough to let you balance the box halfway on his lap and the other half on yours, both of you rummaging through clutter silently as an excuse to sit for a little longer.

you hear an engine rev after eren does and only when you look at him do you realise hes stood up and is practically hanging out of the treehouse in an attempt to peer down at his drive way.

“oh,” he says, and you wonder if it’s more so to himself than to you, “it’s reiner.” it seems dumb, but you only realise he’s speaking to you when he turns back to you like he’s waiting for a response. you’re not really used to all this talking with him. like…talking personally to you and not the you that walks past him every once in a while.

“right.”

“him and a few of the others are coming over to hangout.”

“right,” you start anticipating him bidding you goodbye and climbing back down the ladder, but the goodbye never comes and he still stands over you like he’s deep in thought.

“do you…wanna come?” eren sounds out, like he’s testing out how the syllables feel on his lips.

“…what?” what the hell is he talking about?

“to hang out,” eren says carefully, eyes flicking back and forth between yours, “with us.” he adds.

with eren’s friends? you don’t want to be possessive or weirdly resentful but the first thought you have is that he’s inviting you to sit with the people that he prefers. you have to mentally slap yourself to remember that drifting away is normal, and they’re all probably really nice. and it was four fucking years ago. and you don’t stay friends with the people you knew when you were 8.

“oh…are you sure?” you ask. eren shifts from one foot to the other before taking another step towards you. the box in your lap feels like it’s slipping from your grasp.

“yeah, why not?” he says, and he must notice how he doesn’t sound very convinced of himself either when he watches your eyes droop because he’s quickly interjecting before you can say anything back, “it’ll be fun. come on.”

his hand extends out to you. you want to slap his hand away and tease him, say you don’t need his help, that you’re not an old lady, but your palm is already meeting his and you can already feel calloused fingers over your skin and him pulling you up to stand in front of him.

the short journey between the treehouse to eren’s kitchen is a blur, and saying hi to reiner and who he brought with him (bertolt, you think. as well as connie and jean) is even blurrier, because all of a sudden you find yourself seated on one of the stools in eren’s kitchen and absentmindedly listening to whatever the hell they’re talking about.

you appreciate how eren spares you a glance every once in a while, offering you a close mouthed smile like you haven’t not been in this house since you were 14.

“hey, eren,” reiners voice bellows from the front of the house and you hear him unlock the front door. the look you and eren are sharing is cut short by reiner, “armin, mikasa and sasha are here.”

“‘kay,” eren responds even though the three new visitors are already waltzing into the living room. you’re still frozen in place. you don’t even remember the last thing you said.

“guys, this is my - sasha get out of the fridge - my neigh–” eren tries to start, but sasha is suddenly barreling towards your seat at the kitchen island.

“hi! you’re in my bio class, right?!” sasha excitedly asks you, practically jumping on the spot.

“you mean she was, sasha. we’re not in high school anymore,” connie calls out from behind her. sasha rolls her eyes.

“it’s so nice to see you!”

“thanks…it’s nice to see you too.”

“you’re scaring the girl, sasha,” jean comments before deciding to grab something from the fridge himself. sasha immediately follows after him. you lock eyes with eren again and you realise he had already been watching you.

“hi,” a soft voice greets you, and suddenly mikasa is standing by your seat, “nice to see you again.”

“yeah, it’s been forever,” armin adds from beside her.

“you guys know each other too?” reiner asks from across the room, leaning on one of the kitchen counters next to eren.

“from when we were kids,” you say, flitting your eyes to eren only to find that he’s looking at you again. you want him to stop so you don’t have to focus so hard on speaking anymore, but you want him to keep doing it because it’s nice to know that he’s still knows you’re here. which sounds pathetic but, eren’s got such a big group of friends that sometimes you think it was kind of inevitable that he slowly drifted away from you.

“we all kinda knew each other before high school, reiner,” armin explains, sparing you another smile.

“you and bertolt literally transferred in halfway through freshman year, how do you not know this?” jean calls over to reiner.

“just slipped my mind i guess.”

“he was too busy trying not to be mistaken for a senior,” connie jokes. the room laughs. you try to.

“don’t you mean a security guard?” jean adds. everyone laughs again. you didn’t really spend that much time looking at the two boys when they had transferred, so the joke is kind of lost on you, but you smile along anyways.

“ha-ha, very funny,” reiner sarcastically retorts, “don’t know why you’re laughing, bertolt. think someone mistook you for someone’s dad once.” another eruption of laughter.

you really don’t wanna start feeling out of place (well, more out of place than you did before) but when everyone starts shooting jokes and comments across the room at each other, it gets harder and harder to stretch out a smile over your face at each one. and it gets harder and harder to look up and eren, to watch him laugh along with everyone or have him lock eyes with you again, until you’re all together just staring at your lap.

you think…you think it’s time for you to go.

eren stands at the corner of his kitchen, still leaning against his counter, so you carefully slip out of the stool and make your way towards him, wanting to try your utmost best to make this exchange as short as possible before you go back home.

“i think i’m gonna go,” you say to him quietly, awkwardly staring anywhere other than his face.

“hm?” eren is cut out of the lively conversation with his friends and is looking back at you, lips parted momentarily as his tries to figure out what you said. he takes a step closer towards you and your heart skips a beat, “wait–“

you cut him off, trying to get out of there before you’re reminded even more of how you just faded away from eren’s life, “thanks for inviting me.”

you quickly whisk yourself away to the front door before eren can say anything more, not trying to deal with any more of what always seems like general politeness to you. just as you’re about to step out of the front door, a hand wraps around your wrist when you let go of the door handle and you turn around to be met with eren behind you, looking just as shocked with himself are you are.

“uh…” eren’s gaze shifts between your eyes repeatedly, “is everything okay?”

you look down at his hand around your wrist and back up at him, “yeah. just tired.” you feel his grip loosen but he still doesn’t let go, and a part of you isn’t ready for him to.

“see you around?” he echoes what seems to be his catchphrase. you nod your head in a way that you know isn’t as enthusiastic as what he might like to see. he’s just being polite. today was another coincidence, another fluke, and he isn’t actually going to want to make any effort to see you again. even if you’re just next door. he hasn’t for the past four years.

“yeah,” you quietly respond, slipping your wrist out of his grasp. you can still faintly hear chatter from inside the house. eren watches as you trod down the front steps to his house and make your way back over to your own, the back of your head never turning even just for a second to look back at him.

eren doesn’t like regrets. he doesn’t like wasting time on them, he doesn’t like how they make him feel like he should be in a rush to do something that he’s not even sure of (that he can’t even take back). but as he watches you leave his house, he thinks that if there’s one thing he’d let himself regret, it’d be not realizing he’d fallen away from you before it was too late.

taglist;

@saramelcky @chawyn @sashabrausbrainrot @xadist @dai-tsukki-desu @papiibuprofen @chiaradhea @unicornlover25 @queen-flower

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[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Injured Part 2

@canigetanamenforbritney here you go!

Part 1

Warnings: hospital setting, refusal of medical attention, pet names, surgery, negative discussions of someone, stitches, descriptions of medical care, painful wound tending, exhaustion, begging, mean caretakers

*not edited*

~

"He needs surgery."

"Yeah, yeah I get that. That's not the problem. The problem is, you won't perform it."

"We aren't about to waste supplies on a villain, Hero."

Villain fumbled with consciousness- played with, frolicked with it- until it because a drifting manner. Awake here and there, hearing bits and pieces of conversation. Then the blissful euphoria of sleep. Those moments of painfree unconsciousness were what he longed for, craved.

He didn't understand his situation. He knew that there were people around him, but they didn't seem to be doing much. Only periodically pinching his elbow, leaving him floating in serene waves.

Was this what care felt like? It didn't seem like much, maybe Villain just had an active imagination- dreaming about endless words of compassion, a light touch to his cheek... maybe those sensations were just fantasies.

The people... they seemed to speak above Villain in rumbling tunes. Never aimed at him and even in his foggy state he knew that they were strictly clinical.

It was, to say the least, disappointing.

Very disappointing.

Maybe he did just expect too much.

《~~》

Hero paced around the hospital bed as the nurses argued amongst themselves. Villain was stable, but not faraway from slipping. Why did she have to do this to him? A dagger in his side, concussion, broken ribs, dislocated shoulder... the injuries went on above this.

And then the fact that he was doomed to actually take care of himself in this state? The very idea that Hero expected him to jump back on his feet- it was disgusting.

How could she be a hero when she allowed someone to suffer?

She saw the trails of blood, the discarded bandages, the opened cupboards. He struggled. Struggle to stay alive.

"We could get fired if we operate on him. Honestly, just hand him over to the center."

"What is wrong with you!" Hero exclaimed when she heard that utterance. "A life for a job."

"You beat him up," that same nurse pointed out, crossing her arms. "Stop your hypocrisy, you are not better than us."

"Yeah if it wasn't for you, he wouldn't be here," another chimed in.

"Shut up! Shut up! All of you, shut up!" Hero growled. "I will pay for the surgery and take full responsibility. If he doesn't die, he will be permanently disabled."

"We know."

"Yeah I know you know," Hero said, huffing and giving an awkward smile. "You know and yet you still don't do anything about it. What kind of sick doctor are you?"

"One that follows the law."

Hero was silent and thrusted her hands through her blonde hair.

"It's nothing against Villain-"

"Yes it is!" Hero roared and flung herself next to Villain's side. His eyes were halfway open. Hero sighed, "Should I give him another dose?"

"No," the head nurse said. "Let him wake up."

Hero waited and waited, foot tapping and teeth clenching in anger, as Villain became more and more accustomed to his surroundings.

"H-hero?" He croaked, nervous fear evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Mm care... caring f-for for me?"

"Trying to."

Villain groaned and threw his head back suddenly, pain gripping every one of his features. Tears formed in his eyes and as sudden as the outburst happened, he stilled and collapsed back onto the bed.

《~~》

Everything hurt.

The drugs must've worn off, inviting the pain to eat him whole. Villain groaned and tossed his head about, punching the mattress with clenched fists even though that hurt and...

Villain cried out. Even Hero stepped away from that primitive noise.

Why was he is pain? Why did he have to go through this?

Because I am a villain, he answered himself. Stupid stupid stupid! He shouldn't have delved into the evil side of the world, should've applied for the College of Heroics or be a normal civilian or anything other than villainy.

He cried, his chest shuddering. Small squeaks escaped his mouth. Even the boisterous nurses ceased their banter, looking in pity at the sobbing human on the hospital bed.

"We'll operate, but we won't give him anesthesia," the head nurse conceded.

《~~》

That was good.

Not ideal, but good.

Hero helped slide on a blue hair net over Villain's head. Wild eyes darted around, creasing at the edges every once in a while, as the pain flared up in many places all at once. His breathing hitched as well.

"What are they doing to me?" Villain wheezed, fingers tapping. Anticipation etched at his body.

"You'll be fine," the hero soothed, rubbing her fingers together. After the surgery...

"Cuff him," one of the nurses ordered, wrapping Villain's wrists and ankles with soft, padded bracelets of leather. He stiffened before instinctual motions kicked in and he struggled.

"Don't. Don't do that," Villain pleaded as he watched the nurses inhibit his only chance to fight and to escape. He gulped, pressing his head back into the hospital bed like his pain was forgotten. But the irregular heartbeat on the monitor betrayed his real sensations and emotions- pain and fear.

Hero frowned at the distressed face before looking up at the nurses.

"Should've we give him something? Like a muscle relaxant? Make the procedure easier?" Hero asked, but immediately wished she hadn't for the villain's face contorted into an expression of pure terror at the mention of "procedure".

"Maybe," one of the young nurses whispered, but the head nurse brushed the idea off with a firm "no".

"Let's begin," that same nurse said and approached the writhing villain. "Begin incision on his right side where we assumed a piece of residual metal is from the dagger."

"Let's not do this," Villain begged, pulling madly against the restraints, but the nurses did not pay attention.

Just as the sliver of metal was about to protrude into Villain's skin, Hero spoke up,

"Where is the doctor? You know, the one who actually does surgeries."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because you weren't trained for this."

"So?"

Hero was silent, but her gaping mouth spoke loads for her.

"Hero," the head nurse chuckled. "This is a villain. A half-eaten cheeseburger in the trashcan. Relax hon."

Hero bristled at the pet name, but didn't do anything rash. She just pulled up a chair and sat at Villain's side. He looked up at her with large, pleading eyes that broke Hero's heart.

"It'll be over soon," Hero promised. Villain's face relaxed slightly, but his muscles stayed tense in waiting for the inevitable pain.

"Begin incision."

Villain mewled as the thin knife slipped into his skin, right above the infected flesh. His toes and fingers curled in, then stretched out.

"Okay stop," Villain said in a hurried manner. His brow furrowed, nose twitching. "Stop."

Hero placed a hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to quiet his protests.

"Located the residual. Tweezers."

A tool made of two grated prongs took the place of the knife. Villain sighed as the knife marked its leave with a clatter, but his muscles immediately seized when the bloodied particle was removed.

"Staples."

Villain's eyes widened as a nurse pulled his skin together, shoddily and lazily stapling it. Villain screamed, jerking around each time the plunger cinched his tender flesh together.

Hero wrinkled her nose. The nurses weren't even bothering to use actual medical tools. Literally, the stapler was from the school section at the local Walmart.

The nurses topped their kindergarten artwork with a thin line of some numbing ointment, but that was all. A tiny gift, a mug saying "The Best Teacher Award" on teacher appreciation day.

The next injury the nurses fixed was the dislocated shoulder. Two nurses positioned themselves on both sides of the shoulder. Without warning, they pushed the joint back in.

Villain arched his back up in a desperate feat to escape the miserable pain. He clenched his teeth, holding in a scream that Hero knew just wanted to go.

Then he fell back into the bed, breaths full of pained whimpers.

"Okay. I think we tortured him long enough," Hero said, angling herself to give a more authoritive stance.

"We are taking care of him?" The head nurse replied, purposely making her statement an authentic question.

"Just give him something. At least something to take the edge off," Hero pleaded. "Can't you see? His world is nothing but pain."

"No."

Hero sighed, shook her head, and went back to Villain who now had tears streaming out of half-lidded eyes.

"Make them stop," Villain whispered, not even looking at Hero. "I'd rather be hurt. Rather be hurt at home."

Hero felt a twinge of pity, listening to Villain's requests. It was saddening to say the least, someone so hurt just wanting to go home if it meant that they could escape the extra pain of care.

Pain of care, now that didn't sound right.

Hero grabbed Villain's head and stroked it, but the tears and whimpers did not cease.

After a good few hours, the villain was throughly exhausted. He could barely stay awake, just dozing off even as caffeinated nurses shakily sewed the millions of cuts together.

Hero slowly stroked Villain's head, watching as his eyes drifted shut. She smiled. Sleep was his only escape from the pain.

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Some Kind of Love

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Summary: Aaron comes to work with a cold and you make it your mission to take care of him

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: some swearing but this is a fluffy sick fic 

A/N: i will probably write a part 2 to this because this one was so much fun. enjoy !!

Part Two: Here With Me

Masterlist

---

You know. As soon as he steps foot in the BAU bull pen, head down, and does everything but run to his office, you know. Aaron Hotchner has a cold and he wants none of you to notice. As if he could hide such a thing from the team. Your gaze isn’t the only one that follows him as he stifles a sneeze on his way up to his office doing everything he can to not look as terrible as he probably feels. When Aaron shuts his door, you turn to Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid who match your unimpressed look with their own.

“Does he seriously think he can hide from us all day?” Morgan’s the first to speak, eyebrows raised.

“Nope. He’s just prolonging the inevitable,” Emily replies with a smirk.

“Why would he even come in if he’s sick? Doesn’t he know that—” Spencer is cut off by Morgan.

“C’mon, kid, when has Hotch ever willingly taken a day off? You know he’ll try to push through and continue on like normal,”

You turn your gaze back to Hotch’s office, where you can see him rubbing at his temples through the blinds before shaking his head a little and looking back down at his paperwork.

With a sigh, you turn to the others, spotting JJ and Penelope walking over to where everyone is gathered by your desk.

“What’s going on here?” JJ asks once she’s close enough.

“Hotch is sick,” Reid answers.

“And he still came in to work today,” Emily says with a shake of her head.

“If he’s sick he shouldn’t be working!” Penelope exclaims, eyes wide.

“And he won’t,” you say with a hard look at his office. Aaron you stubborn motherfucker.


“Yeah right, Y/L/N. Good luck getting Boss Man to stop working,” Morgan shakes his head with a smile. “You might be dating, but I don’t think you’ll be enough to stop him from trying his best to work.”

You snort and roll your eyes. “As if he could say no to me,” you tease “If I get him to stop working, you owe me ten bucks, Morgan,” you say before turning directly to JJ.  “Can you look at his calendar and see if he has any meetings today? If he does, can you try to reschedule them or assign them to Rossi?”

She smiles at you with a mischievous glint in her eye before waving and turning to go back to her office.

“Now,” you say addressing the rest of the team. “Keep your phones on. I’ll take point on subduing Hotch and once I do, I’ll report back and we can go from there. Sound good?”

Not even waiting for an answer, you set your shoulders and head towards the stairs.

“Good luck!” Reid calls as you ascend.

Yeah, you’ll definitely need it.

You bypass Hotch’s office and go directly to Rossi; if anyone can help you with your plan, it’s Dave. Especially because you’re asking a lot from him with taking on Aaron’s meetings. You knock quickly on his door but open it before he can tell you to go away.

“Aaron’s got a cold and I need you to take his meetings while I try and make him go home,” you state before he can even open his mouth.

“Hi, Y/N, nice to see you too. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking,” Rossi says with a pointed smile.

“Yeah, hi Dave, so can you take the meetings or not?” you push on, purposely ignoring the way he rolls his eyes. “It shouldn’t be more than a few. I told JJ to reschedule all the ones she can and no, Aaron has no idea I’m doing this, and yes I’ll do your paperwork for a week.”

“Make it two weeks,” is all he replies with and you throw him a stunning smile as you sail out of his office.

Next stop: convincing Aaron to stop working. Easier said than done. You push your way into his office without knocking, catching him right as he sneezes three times in a row before blearily looking up at you as you lean in the doorway. You say nothing as you cross your arms and raise one of your eyebrows.

“I’m fine—” he tries before you cut him off with a short laugh.

“Aaron,” your tone leaves no room for him to argue. “You have a cold, maybe the flu, and there is no way you’re going to continue to work today.”

“I said I’m—” he cuts himself off this time, sneezing so loud you’re sure the rest of the team heard him. “I took some medicine before coming in today. I’m fine.”

Walking over to where he’s sat, looking completely miserable, you try again, softer this time. “Aaron,” you run your hand through his hair and he leans into it. “You need to take care of yourself, and if you don’t want to do that,” you continue as he opens his mouth to protest, “Please let me take care of you. It would make me feel a lot better to know you’re resting and getting the proper care you need to get better.”

“But I have meetings,” he tries half-heartedly.

“Already taken care of, Love,” you scratch at his scalp, knowing how much he enjoys it. “JJ is rescheduling them and if they can’t be moved, Dave will take them.”

That catches his attention.

“You got Dave to take my meetings?” he turns to look up at you, eyebrows raised.

“In exchange for doing his paperwork for two weeks,” you smile down at him. “So, don’t make me regret it.”

He looks down thoughtfully at the file in front of him before looking back up at you.

“What if I take a half-day?” he counters.

“Aaron Hotchner you will not argue with me about this,” you warn him. “Especially when your tie is backwards.”

He looks down so quickly you think he might hurt his neck, but his gaze finds yours again as he scowls up at you.

“No, it’s not,” he pouts as you laugh softly.

“But the fact that you even had to check isn’t reassuring,” you say with a pointed look.

With a grumble, he sighs and leans back in his chair, arms crossed and brow furrowed. So that’s where Jack gets it from.

“C’mon, Aaron,” you say, lightly resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me take care of you, since you obviously won’t do it.”

That earns you a glare and a frown, but it’s hard for him to be intimidating when his hair is a mess and he looks more tired than angry.

“Please, Love? It’ll make me feel better to know that you’re not stressing out over paperwork and meetings while you’re sick” you whine, hand moving to brush hair back off his face. “I won’t even make you leave your office.” Yeah, that’s not a battle you need to fight right now.

He thinks for a moment before nodding and closing the file in front of him with a sigh and looking skeptically back up at you. “Well, if it’ll make you feel better, I guess I can take a quick break.”

“Thank you,” you say with a smile before kissing his forehead. “How are you feeling? And don’t you even think about lying to me, Hotchner.”

“Headache, congestion, sneezing, tiredness, aches and pains,” he lists off, mechanically.

Taking a moment to assess him, you nod to yourself before straightening up.

“Come on,” you say as you gently tug Aaron to his feet. “You need fluids and rest.”

Guiding him to the couch in his office, you know he’s only doing this to appease you and will definitely go back to his desk and work as soon as you leave him alone. Which is why you won’t.

Once Aaron is seated—more like slouched—you move towards the door.

Looking out at the team, you give them a thumbs up before yelling “Morgan! You owe me ten dollars!” much to Emily and Reid’s amusement.

“I never agreed to that!” he calls back with a laugh and you flip him off before shutting the door, closing the blinds, and turning the lights off, returning your attention back to Aaron who is looking worse than he was thirty seconds ago now that he isn’t trying to pull himself together.

You sit next to him on the couch and he slowly turns his head to stare at you, eyes glassy.

And he thought he could work like nothing was wrong, stubborn man.

“C’mere, Love,” you almost whisper, and that’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s falling into your lap and curling his large body up on the couch. You get him to take off his tie and suit jacket, folding both items neatly and setting them on an adjacent chair.

Reaching into your pocket, you find your phone and set it on the arm of the couch next to you before propping your feet up on the table in front of you as Aaron adjusts and settles in, turning on his side away from you as you rub his back.

“—mmm not tired—” he protests sleepily.

“Yes, you are,” you say lightly, moving to run a hand through his hair as his eyes flutter shut of their own accord.

“Jus’ a short nap…” he whispers before snuggling into your lap more and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you continue playing with his hair until his breath evens out and you’re sure he’s asleep. So much for not being tired.

Reaching for your phone, you let the team know Aaron’s asleep and to not bother him with anything unless the building is literally on fire. Following that, you text them individually; thanking Dave for taking Aaron’s meetings, asking Penelope if she has a spare blanket in her lair she wouldn’t mind loaning you, reminding Morgan he owes you ten bucks, asking Emily if she can handle any calls or questions that may arrive at your desk, Reid if he can grab the stack of files from your bag, and JJ for a good place to order soup from when Aaron inevitably wakes up.

Leaning back, you look down to the sleeping man in your lap. You stop combing your hand through his hair and he stirs, brow furrowing and a small frown appearing on his face. You snort softly and gently continue to run your fingers through his hair, watching as the frown disappears and he sighs in contentment.

There’s a soft knock on the door before it opens, light streaming through as Reid pokes his head in, your files in hand and a small smile on his face.

“I didn’t know he slept,” he jokes quietly, depositing the files by your legs on the table.

“A miracle, I know,” you respond with a fond glance at Aaron.

“I took a few of the files from your stack,” Spencer says after a moment. “I figured you have your hands full wrangling Hotch,” he finishes with a shrug.

“Aww Spence, you didn’t have to do that,” you say softly, touched by his thoughtfulness. “But I definitely won’t say no,” you say with a grin.

Another knock on the door turns your head, and Reid slips out with a wave as Penelope hustles in, arms piled high with blankets of all kinds.

“I didn’t know which one to bring, so I brought them all,” she says in lieu of a greeting and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Have anything that will keep him warm? It gets cold in here,” you answer in a whisper and Penelope nods before sorting through the colorful pile talking to herself under her breath as she assesses each and every blanket.

“This one!” she announces a little too loudly before brandishing the chosen blanket and—

Oh yeah. It’s perfect.

Setting to work, you help as best you can while Penelope drapes, tucks, and smooths the fleece rainbow unicorn blanket over Hotch’s sleeping form. Pulling it further over his shoulder, you run a hand through his hair and admire your blanket-clad boyfriend. Penelope takes a step back to survey her handiwork and re-tucks the blanket under Aaron’s feet. Then, to your absolute delight, Aaron shifts, cuddles into you more, turning to face your midsection, and pulls the rainbow unicorn blanket up under his chin and sighs. A grin overtakes your face as Penelope stifles a squeal because he’s just so damn adorable like this. You hear her snap a picture with her phone and not a second later, your own dings with a text notification. Yeah that definitely went to the team group chat. Gathering the rest of the blankets back into her arms, Penelope smiles before leaving and shutting the door gently behind her.

With a long exhale, you eye the stack of files Reid left by your leg and decide to get to work. Careful not to wake Aaron, you reach for the first file and decide to gently balance it on Aaron’s shoulder as he continues to sleep. Settling in, you begin to read through the consult and make note of interesting pieces of information.

---

You don’t know how many hours pass as you make your way through the stack of consults and case reports. Aaron stirs a couple times, but you drag your hand through his hair for a few minutes and he settles again. You finish up the case report you’ve been working on for the past hour and a half and toss it lightly on the table in front of you. Rubbing your eyes, you take a deep breath before reaching for your phone to see if anyone on the team wants to grab you and Aaron some food. Maybe someone on the team has some cold meds you can force Aaron to take; you send out another text asking. Although you really don’t want to wake him, you know he needs to eat.

Half an hour later, Morgan and JJ appear at the door, food and medicine in hand.

“I got soup from a place not too far from here,” JJ whispers with a nod to the bag in her hand.

“And I had some meds from when Prentiss caught a cold during that case in Maine,” Morgan supplies, tossing you the small box of pills. “I also wanted to see Boss Man in a unicorn blanket for myself,” he smirks.

“I didn’t grab him a drink,” JJ says with a small frown. “Any idea what he’d want?”

You think for a moment before looking down at Aaron’s sleeping face.

“He’s probably dehydrated and needs electrolytes so a Gatorade from the vending machine would be good,” you reply.

“I can grab one,” Morgan says, moving towards the door. “Flavor?”

You think for a moment, but can’t seem to remember Aaron’s favorite.

“Only one way to find out,” you say before gently shaking Aaron’s shoulder until he stirs. “Hey, Love, time for some food.”

He makes a disgruntled noise before opening his eyes and squinting up at you with a pout.

“I know,” you say softly, brushing his hair off of his forehead. “What kind of Gatorade do you want?”

Hotch sighs and his eyebrows come together as he thinks. “Can I have the red one?” he asks, voice scratchy.

“Of course, my love,” you say with a smile, nodding at Morgan as he slips out the door.

JJ sets the bag of food down on the table, careful to avoid your stack of files, before she sneaks out as Aaron wakes up and slowly rights himself.

To your amusement, Aaron looks down at the blanket, smiles to himself, and then pulls it around his shoulders like a cape as he settles in to the couch. Who knew Aaron Hotchner liked rainbow unicorns. You busy yourself with unpacking the food from JJ and hand Aaron his container of soup.

Morgan returns, red Gatorade in hand, and sets it on the table before reminding you about the cold meds and turning to leave, shutting the door behind him as you and Aaron begin to eat.

“How long did I sleep for?” Aaron asks glancing at you.

“A few hours, I think. I wasn’t really keeping track,” you respond with a shrug. “You need the rest so…”

Aaron huffs. And then sneezes. “You still have work to do and I’m getting in the way of that, Y/N,” he says with a frown.

“You aren’t,” you say with a pointed look to the stacks of files on the table. “I’ve gotten through a consult and some case reports while you slept, Aaron. And besides, I offered to take care of you; I knew what I was getting into.”

You smile to yourself as Aaron turns back to his soup looking mildly surprised. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by Aaron sneezing and sniffling.

Once he sets his empty container down, you hand him the cold meds and watch as he takes the prescribed amount. Pulling the blanket around himself, Aaron sits back and turns to look at you.

“…Thank you,” he mumbles, slouching and moving so his head can rest on your shoulder.

Automatically, one of your hands comes up to scratch his head and play with his hair. “Of course, my love.” You say softly as his eyes slide shut.

“Love you,” he murmurs, and your chest fills with warmth.

“I love you more,” you say, ceasing your hand’s movement through his hair in favor of holding one of his hands.

With the lights off and the familiar weight of Aaron leaning against you, your own eyes flutter shut. Just a short nap and then more consults. You quickly give in to sleep.

---

A few hours later, Emily sticks her head in the office and finds you and Hotch asleep on the couch, hands intertwined. She snaps a photo and sends it to the group chat.

When you wake a couple hours later, you’ve gained your own unicorn blanket and the stack of files is mysteriously gone from where you had left it on the table; the only proof it was ever there is a green sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it.

Two days later, you wake up congested as hell with a raging headache. Damn you, Aaron Hotchner.

[shinichirosbabymama]

Can you do headcannons for Levi x reader where he finds out his s/o is pregnant and how he is finding out, and during the pregnancy and birth? Thank you!

Ugh yes!! I think I'm getting old because thinking about Levi as a dad makes me simp even more than I already do for him 😩💞 like pls be my baby daddy

**********************************************

Finding Out

- There's two very different ways this could go depending on whether the pregnancy is planned or unplanned.

- Planned: As Levi is super organised and would likely be planning the optimum times for you to have sex from the moment you start trying, he would probably be able to predict that you might be pregnant quicker than you can.

- He would badger you with questions constantly. 'Do you feel sick? Does this smell bad to you? Do your boobs hurt?'

- It would get on your nerves a bit but you would keep your mouth shut, not wanting to get his hopes up until you had a positive test. You would be so happy to tell him once the test was confirmed, knowing that you can give him what he wants so badly.

- You'd sit him down and tell him calmly over a cup of tea. He would be stunned to silence for a few seconds.

- 'Are you sure?' 'I'm sure, Levi.'

- You'd be blessed with one of those (rare) smiles. I think he would be quite self-conscious about his own reaction - don't expect tears and jumping for joy - but you know inside he's processing a complicated mix of joy and fear so you give him the space he needs. He's quiet for a few hours but when you fall asleep that night, he keeps an arm firmly wrapped around your lower abdomen, Ackerman instinct already in overdrive for the life inside you.

- Unplanned: Telling Levi you've unexpectedly fallen pregnant would be terrifying. You love him dearly and this will inevitably change your relationship - you have no idea if for better or worse.

- You would agonize over the right way to tell him for ages. Eventually you realise there's not truly any right way and it just comes out when he's probing you about your 'off' behaviour.

- Levi would absolutely be caught off guard by the revelation. He's not stupid but it's genuinely the last thing he would have considered when trying to work out why you've been acting so weird. He's got a great wit but this leaves him absolutely speechless.

- 'Look, I'm pregnant.' Cue silence for like a whole ass minute before you get frustrated.

- 'Can you please just say something?' 'What do you want me to say?' And like damn, that makes you so angry because you rehearsed this conversation in your head so many times and he's not sticking to the script.

- It's way too hard for you to deal with in your vulnerable state and you bail out of there to cool off. I think realistically Levi would need a few days to get his head together and you would probably be panicking that he's ghosted you.

- Eventually he would come to find you. He's told himself not to be too business-like about this because he feels very strongly for you but he still wants to be firm about what he wants.

- You let him speak and he lays it all out on the table. 'I want to raise this child with you.' 'I want us to live together.' 'I want us to be a...family.' that last one is the hardest part to say and it makes his chest hurt to say it - he thinks about how hard it must have been for his own mom doing it all alone and how his family was taken from him.

- You're pretty shocked by it all. You didn't expect him to be callous or anything but you thought he would be less accepting and would want you to 'handle it' somehow.

- At the end of his plan, he asks you if you accept and you just nod at him. Then he suddenly leans in and you wonder wtf he's about to do because it's very out of character for him to initiate a kiss outside of anything sexual but he needs a big gesture to show he's serious about all this. So he kisses you and it's tender and warm and you think things might not be so terrible after all.

During Pregnancy

- Hormones are evil and are one snarky bitch throughout the whole thing and Levi learns new levels of patience (probably a good thing since he's about to have a kid)

- Pregnancy fucks with his Ackerman instinct majorly too and he's even more protective than usual. Most of the time you appreciate it but it gets old when he won't let you out of his sight for anything. You can't even lift a plate without him darting to your side and trying to snatch it from your hands.

- 'Idiot. You're pregnant - let me do that.' He scolds you only for you to respond 'Pregnancy is not a disability moron and don't call me an idiot.'

- Despite being his usual but over protective self around others, he's surprisingly soft when it's just the two of you. He gently massages and kneads your back when it aches and rubs your feet when they swell up.

- He's happy to talk to your bump - he agrees that the baby needs to get used to his voice but he absolutely refuses to use cute baby speak.

- 'Let mom sleep little brat.' He grumbles in the middle of the night as he strokes your stomach.

- Levi is very OTT when it comes to baby proofing your house. You've still got a month left and there is not a corner, plug socket, or sharp object in the house.

- 'They won't even be crawling for six months you are so extra.' You roll your eyes one day watching him testing the bookcase against the wall. 'We need to get into the habit now.' He argues back and you think dork.

- Levi Ackerman says fuck toxic masculinity. Preparing for this baby is 50/50 every step of the way. Well in reality more like 30/70 - you learn that he's insanely bossy when it comes to picking out their clothes, toys, prams.

- 'Disgusting.' He scowls one day at a tiny hat you show him. 'Levi it's a baby it won't know the concept of disgusting.' 'No child of mine will be seen in that.'

- You decide to wait on the baby's sex until it's born. You prefer to have a surprise whereas Levi literally does not care about whether it's a boy or a girl. For now, it's just known affectionately as the brat.

During Birth

- You try to it but goddam you are terrified - of the pain, the gore, the huge amount of change your lives are about to go through.

- Levi is calm and collected as always. He knows the risks. He's researched and sourced the best medical team he can access and is confident it'll go to plan.

- He's surprisingly sympathetic during the birth - the pain that you feel is reflected in the grimace on his face as you squeeze the life out of his hand. He keeps himself occupied, mopping your sweaty brow as you thrash around. It kills him to see you like this but he focuses on the end goal and how much joy it's about to bring you.

- No matter how people try to sell it to you - the pain is bad, possibly the worse ever. You swear bloody murder at everyone, Levi included, the whole time and he just takes it.

- 'I hate you for making me go through this you bastard. We are never doing this again.' 'Yes love.' He responds, stroking your hand as you grit your teeth.

- The only time you see his resolve start to crack is right at the end. He's even paler than usual as he watches the baby being delivered. You're slightly concerned that he might vomit/pass out/start screaming but he keeps it together enough to take the bundle passed to him. Not even complaining that the tiny life in his hands is covered in blood and mucus.

- Levi passes him (a boy!!) to you almost immediately, not trusting him not to drop the poor thing as he feels dizzy. You take him on your chest, letting a few tears fall as you stroke the mop of jet black hair on his head.

- 'He's beautiful.' You cry, looking at his tiny fingernails as the baby whimpers quietly at his new harsh environment. 'He is.' Levi mumbles in response and presses a kiss to your head. You know he's hiding his face on purpose - eyes misty and trembling. You get it, he's at his most vulnerable, and the two of you enjoy a quiet moment together just observing the life you've created.

[allfandomxreader]

A Eulogy for Billy Hargrove

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It’s one week after Billy’s death and Max asked you to speak at his funeral.

Warnings: Definitely cussing but I think that’s it

A/N: Hi I’m back from the dead and have been thinking about Billy a lot lately and thought of this :) let me know what you think! Not my gif!

Masterlist

In the first flashback you were the one talking to Billy, not El whenever he died. 

Billy’s weight presses against you. His hands no longer feel soft and gentle, the way they felt in the months prior. His body no longer belongs to him. His eyes see right through you, almost as if you aren’t beneath him. You still see him as the man you loved --love.

Your body aches. Your head reels from the impact it made against the tile. Your limbs sore from running, your throat still burning from where Billy grabbed you. But none of this matters. You want to reach Billy, you want him to come back to you, for everything to be over and life to carry on.

“Seven feet,” You blurt. His eyes lock with yours for the first time, his body jolting at your words. “You told her the wave was seven feet.” His breathing deepens, his grip relaxes. “You ran to her on the beach. There were seagulls,” Tears escape your eyes as Billy begins to slowly come back. “She wore a hat with a blue ribbon. A long dress with a blue and red flower.”

Billy looks away, his eyes scanning something you can’t see. Something he always does when he’s concentrating. “Yellow sandals, covered in sand.” You choke, “She was pretty,” Billy’s lips curl into something like a smile, the closest he could get in a time like this. “She was really pretty.” You nod and he follows your actions, curls bouncing beside him. “And you, you were happy.”

Tears cascade down his cheeks. You reach for him, slowly, as if asking permission to touch. “Do you remember telling me this?” He nods again, eyes fluttering closed. “Do you know who I am?” Another nod. “I love you,” You sob, “I love you so much.” You want to hold him, to feel his skin against yours.

The sound of the Mind Flayer’s screeches pull Billy away. Just when you finally had him back, he was taken once more. He stands slowly, squaring his shoulders like he does to seem threatening.

The Mind Flayer screams but Billy doesn’t flinch. From where you lie, you can see the terror spreading through Billy’s eyes. You already know what’s coming, the monster will reach for you. There will be pain. You don’t want to die, you’re not ready. But Billy came back, and right now, to you, that’s all that matters.

Instinctively, you kick yourself back. Using the last bit of your strength to scoot away from the Mind Flayer, but there’s no use. You can already see the hand shooting from his mouth. You raise your arms to block your sight, accepting pain, accepting death.

And then nothing.

When your eyes open you only see Billy. His hands push against the Mind Flayer, running at it, trying to save you. He’s screaming, you can almost feel his agony through his cries.

You see the other hands too late. It’s too late to scream, too late to warn Billy. The Mind Flayer tears into Billy’s side. Billy doesn’t stop screaming. Another hand into his body. Billy’s grip weakens, his limbs fall back to his sides but the hands don’t stop coming.

With one final scream from the Mind Flayer. Dark liquid leaks from Billy’s mouth, you can’t tell if it’s blood or whatever’s left from the Mind Flayer’s possession, maybe both. He hasn’t stopped screaming.

The Mind Flayer shoots one last hand, this time into Billy’s chest. Billy falls silent, his body limp in the monster’s many hands. The monster retracts, Billy’s body dropping to the floor.

It was your turn to scream, a sudden burst of strength pulsing through your body, just enough for you to reach him. He’s gasping, choking on the darkness that’s pooling in his mouth. “Billy?” You sob, hovering over him. Your hands brace his shoulders that are slick with sweat. “Billy, Billy please.” You shake him, trying your best to keep him awake, to keep him alive.

“I love--” Another choke, “You too.” His voice is hoarse, but nevertheless, it’s him. You can tell by the twitches in his lips that he wants to smile, he wants to speak, to say how everything will be okay like he normally does when life gets shitty. You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, careful to not add to the pain he’s already in. He squeezes back.

The blue in his eyes fade, his lips in a line, his body perfectly still. Just like that, in a span of a few agonizing moments, the Mind Flayer took everything from you.

Billy Hargrove died six days ago.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, the young woman staring back is almost unrecognizable. Your eyes swollen, the circles beneath them so dark even makeup couldn’t hide them.

You should be getting ready for college, packing up last minute things for your dorm, bidding goodbye to your parents, eager to get the hell out of Hawkins. Instead, you’re preparing to say goodbye to a man that was taken too soon.

You clutch the crinkled eulogy in your hands, folding it gently and tucking it into your pocket. With a final deep breath, you carry yourself through the house and out the door and into your car.

The four doors and cushioned seats used to be comforting, but now it just reminds you of Billy. Even his scent still lingers, or maybe you’re just imagining it.

“I hate when you drive, you know? You always take turns too fast and hit every single pot hole on the road.” Billy scoffs, dipping some fries into ketchup that’s smeared onto a napkin.

“Oh, so suddenly I’m the bad driver?” You laugh, “That’s rich coming from you Mr. 60 miles per hour in a 35” as if on cue, your tires glide over broken pavement jolting you and the complaining passenger.

“You just proved my point!” Billy laughs, flailing his hands dramatically. His outburst sends the napkin from the console and onto the seat and his jeans. “Shit.” He grumbles, peeling back the flimsy paper and rubbing it with clean napkins.

“Don’t rub it, shithead! That’ll make it worse!” You screech, trying to stay focused on the winding stretch of road ahead of you.

“How else am I supposed to clean this shit off then?” He only rubs the condiment into the seat’s fabric further.

“You blot it... I think?” You chuckle, watching your boyfriend struggle beside you with ketchup covering his fingers. “I swear to god if that stains my seat you’re never going to hear the end of it, Hargrove.”

You stare at the dark, lopsided stain that still adorns the passenger seat. You can faintly make out his sincere apologies through his laughter. You almost laugh at the amount of chemicals the two of you scrubbed the seat with. You’ll never wash it off, or even try to. Not now.

Billy’s burial is tucked away near the edge of the cemetery. Knowing Neil, it was probably the cheapest plot of land he could find. Even in death, he couldn’t honor his son. It makes you sick.

Today, the air is warm, the sky is clear, not a single cloud in sight. The sun beats down on your black clothes, you feel as if you’re being burned alive. As if you haven’t endured enough pain to last you a lifetime.

You walk leisurely along the path not ready to face the closed casket. You weren’t ready to face a lot of things that this day will bring. The looks of solemn faces, the look of concern. Your mother has worn that look every single day. People will ask the inevitable: “Are you okay?” and of course, you’d have to say yes.

You aren’t okay. You don’t know if you ever will be. Billy left a gaping hole that will never be filled. He was your other half. Everyone will tell you “It’ll get better with time.” but it won’t. You could live seven lifetimes and the pain of Billy’s death will never get any easier.

You hear voices behind you. The annoying shrill of Carol and Tommy’s voice linger behind you. “Should we say something?” Carol says in an attempt to whisper, she’s never been very good at it.

“Be my guest.” Tommy hisses. They fall silent as they approach, their footsteps even slow. Carol doesn’t say a word, neither does Tommy, and soon they pass. You meet Carol’s eye, the look of sympathy written across her features. You can’t tell if she’s faking it or not, either way it disgusts you.

Carol’s claws for nails drag along Billy’s bicep, he doesn’t bat it away. “Billy,” She sings, bringing the red cup to her lips, staining the plastic with expensive lipstick. “Come on, just this once. Forget about the little bitch for just tonight. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” She purrs.

Billy rolls his eyes but looks at her nevertheless. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut short when locking eyes with you.

Your hands shake, rage pulsing through your veins more than the alcohol. You throw the half empty cup against the wall, trudging out of Tina’s grand house and into the cold autumn air.

“Y/N!” He calls after you, pushing through the crowd of teenagers. “Hey! Would you just stop walking for two fucking seconds?”

“Fuck off, Hargrove.” Your feet don’t stop moving. You don’t know where you’re going or even where the sidewalk leads, but anywhere is better than that house.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He jogs to catch up.

“Exactly. You didn’t do anything. You could’ve told her to piss off or push her hand away but you did nothing!” Billy watches your arms move in wild motions as your anger got the best of you. “For fucks sake, is everything you said a lie? Everything that we’ve done and talked about, was it all just some sick game to you?”

“What? No! I--”

“Because it looks like you’re still the same power hungry horn dog that you were when you first stepped into town. Fuck, I should’ve listened to Nancy or Steve, or literally anybody with a working brain to not get involved with you.”

“What are you talking about? Carol means nothing to me.” He’s frantic, you can tell he’s being truthful. You almost feel bad for making a scene. You stand silent for a moment, crossing your arms over your chest to keep warm.

“Then why didn’t you defend me?” Your voice is almost lost in the wind but Billy catches every word.

“You stormed out before I could even say anything.” He sighs, taking slow steps towards you. “I’ve never lied to you, everything has been nothing but the truth. I’m sorry I was a piece of shit when we met but I promise I’m not that guy anymore.” He folds you into his chest, the scent of tobacco and alcohol invades your senses.

“You promise?” You whisper. He pulls away, taking his warmth with him.

“Fuck Carol, or any other girl. I want you, I love you. I’ll love you until my heart stops. I’m going to be yours forever.”

“Jesus Christ,” You chuckle, “Are you proposing to me right now?”

“No, but one day, I’d like to.”

There was a lot of truth in what Billy said that night at Tina’s party. He loved you until the very last second of his life. But you didn’t think forever would just be memories and old ketchup stains. You thought forever would entail a marriage, maybe kids, if not at least a dog. Forever should’ve ended sixty years from now, not six days ago.

A sea of black greets you when you finally make it to the burial. People are milling around, some talking to one another, other’s munching on refreshments you’re surprised Neil even arranged. People stop talking as you pass them.

You see Max, her tear stained cheeks, tissue balled in her hand. Lucas holds her free one, El rubs soothing circles along her shoulders. The rest of the teenagers are beside her, nobody says anything, each of them staring at the closed mahogany casket just a few feet in front of them.

The funeral begins, a minister takes the podium and rambles about the afterlife. Neil even talks, he says bullshit about being a proud father and how Billy meant the world to him. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Susan blots her tears and gives Max a soothing pat on the leg as her daughter emerges, brushing past Neil as she messes with the microphone.

“Billy--” She begins, words caught in her throat. “Billy was my brother,” She opens her mouth to say more but her voice fails. Her sobs are amplified from being so close to the mic. Through blurry vision, her eyes meet yours, a silent plea to help her.

You stand, gaining attention and murmurs from the audience. When you reach Max, you pull her into a hug, stroking her hair as she cries into your shoulder. “It’s okay, I got you.” You rock her back and forth, ignoring the uncomfortable shifts from people in their chairs.

Max finally stands, still sniffling. She squeezes your hand before taking her seat between Lucas and El.

You lean close to the microphone, shifting it slightly so you could stand straight. “Um, a few days ago, Max asked me to speak today,” You start to pull the wrinkled paper from your pocket, ignoring the smeared ink and tear stains before balling it up and tossing it to the side. He didn’t deserve something rehearsed, that’s not how either of you did things. You refuse to start today.

“Billy Hargrove was a lot of things. He was a student, an athlete, a brother,” You pause, giving a weak smile towards Max that she attempts to return, “A friend, and probably the love of my life. I know a lot about Billy, I know him better than anyone sitting here today. So, I thought I’d share with you who the real Billy Hargove is.” You breathe, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“If Billy ever told you that his favorite color was red, you shouldn’t have believed him. It’s actually blue. More specifically, he told me it was the color of the sky on a clear day.” You look towards the sky, the sun blinding you only for a moment. “Billy would’ve loved today. He’d look up at the sky, he’d close his eyes, and stand in silence. After a few moments he’d beckon for me, and I too would face the sky with my eyes closed. He’d ask if I could hear it, the waves, the seagulls. Truthbetold, I’d never be able to. I’ve never heard the ocean. But I’d always say yes.” You smile fondly at the numerous occasions where that exact scenario occurred.

“Billy was smart, he was one A away from a 4.0. He always took pride in having a higher GPA than me. Billy was also strong, and not just because he worked out everyday. No, Billy was strong because he had to be.” You glare at Neil for a brief moment, making him move awkwardly in his seat.

“Billy deserved so much more than what was given to him. I wish he could’ve seen California one last time. I wish he had the chance to leave this town, to start over, to never look back. He deserved that more than anyone else I know.” You take another breath, mind racing for something else to say, something to make people know Billy wasn’t the monster they believed him to be.

“California was his happy place. He told me many times that wherever I was, he was happy. But I always knew his happy was in California. Billy would tell me all kinds of stories about him and his mom. There was this one story where he caught a wave that was seven feet. He ran and told his mom who was on the shore. He never forgot to emphasize how pretty she was. How happy she was, how happy he was.” Tears prick your eyes, threatening to spill as you retell the story for the second time this week. This time, Billy wasn’t your audience. “He always talked about how one day he’d see her again. I wish he got that chance.”

“Billy died a hero, in many ways most of you could never understand. He died a hero to me,” Your eyes travel to find Nancy, Steve, and Johnathon. Each of them give a knowing, proud smile. You look at the young teens in the front row, the boys stare at their shoes, kicking their toe into the earth below. El wipes away tears, Max grins at you through hers, clinging to every word you speak. “To all of us. Even if you don’t know it.” With a final deep breath, you open your mouth one last time to finish your speech.

“Billy didn’t know peace for most of his life. I hope that he does now. And I hope wherever he is, the sky is forever clear, that he can see the ocean waves and hear the seagulls.”

Most people have left by now. Nancy and Johnathon made sure to give you hugs, Nancy reminded never hesitate to call. You said you would, but both of you know you’d probably never pick up the phone.

You sit alone staring ahead at the grey tombstone. “In loving memory of William Hargove. A loved brother and son.” You trace the words with your eyes over and over, unable to look away.

“I’m sorry,” You say quietly, “I know you would’ve wanted it this way. But it should’ve been me.” You stand, taking a final look at the empty cemetery. “I’ll love you until my heart stops, Billy Hargrove. I’m going to be yours forever, I promise.”

Forever Tags: @superfrankie111 // @rueinn // @lemonadeorange73 // @simplechicwithacrazedheart // @youshutthefuckupville // @captainpeggy40​ 

[luvrpop]

advil in the bathroom

source: homestuck pairing: n/a requested: yes tws: over the counter drugs (advil) word count: 1498 synopsis: dave gets an eyestrain headache, and goes on an epic quest for advil extra: shoutout to my discord server buddies for lending me some help with their master rap lyricism

There are some days where things suck.

Those are the days where you stay in your room and no one sees you until dinner, or until you decide that boredom will kill you faster than just sucking it up and hanging out in the presence of other people. You say that you make your best music on those days, although your brothers would probably disagree. To that you would respond that creativity comes from necessity or some shit, and Dirk would tell you that the saying is “necessity is the mother of invention” while Hal explains why that doesn’t apply to your situation at all. They’ll still listen to your demo at 3 AM that night, and they’ll still tell you that they like it. You know they might be lying just a teensy bit, but it’ll still boost your ego. 

But not every day is like that.

Your name is Dave Strider, and today actually hasn’t been that bad. 

You’ve been playing Minecraft with your friends all morning, which is one of your favorite things to do. You finally proposed to your best friend June, who doubles as your minecraft-gf-now-fiance, and the realm has been busy with wedding preparations. It’s been the ultimate will they won’t they of the century, and Roxy had been bothering you non stop about “putting a ring on it” for forever. Rose is going to be your best man, naturally, and Jade is going to be June’s. Dirk’s going to be the officiary. Hal spawned 64 diamond hoes as a wedding gift. It’s going to be fuckin’ awesome. 

For now, you turn off your computer and push away from your desk. You rub the bridge of your nose, hoping to stave away a headache from staring at your computer for so long that you know is inevitable. Rose has offered to buy you blue light tint shit for your shades, but you’re not interested in fucking up the lenses like that. Plus, you’re no bitch. You suck it up and head out to the kitchen like always, to rummage through the junk cabinet for an Advil or something. Hal is already seated at the island, reading something. He looks up when you enter the room, and you both nod in greeting.

June asked you once if it’s weird for you to have a robot for a brother. You had replied that you already had a robot for a brother so it’s no big deal, but you both knew that you weren’t serious. On top of it being sick as fuck to be able to say that your big brother is a super genius who built a super genius AI and then a fully functioning body for said AI, you just really like the guy. Plus, he helps keep things organized. Without him, you’d never know where anything is. Dirk isn’t messy, really the opposite. He’s very particular about where things go. The problem is that his idea of where welding supplies go is in the cabinet next to the fridge, where you adamantly believe dishes should be. And so on.

After a minute or two of fruitlessly searching for pain relief, Hal finally speaks.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, not looking up from his book. 

“Advil,” you say, shoving receipts and a neti pot back into the cabinet.

“I see. Check the bathroom.”

“Why?” The fuckin’ cabinet won’t close. “It’s always been in here.”

“Dirk was on a reorganization campaign this morning. You really missed out, dude.” He responds, watching in a bemused fashion as you do mad mental gymnastics to figure out how to stack empty inhaler boxes in a way that will let the cabinet door close.

“Yeah, okay, cool, but like-” You have to pause to catch the bottle of Pepto Bismol that you should have known wouldn't fare well on top of a bunch of empty boxes. “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it or whatever. Now I’m gonna die of eye strain, man, and Dirk’s gonna laugh at my funeral.”

“You know that saying doesn’t apply to him.” Hal says, and you know he’s right. Dirk’s more of an “if it ain’t broke, fix it weekly as to assure it remains unbroken” sort of guy. You snort, and finally get the door closed. Hal pats your shoulder (awkwardly, because the guy doesn’t understand physical affection for the life of him. You appreciate the gesture anyway.) as you walk by, and you begrudgingly make your way to the bathroom. The door is locked when you get there, and you jiggle the handle, just to be obnoxious 

“Dave, I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop jiggling the doorknob,” Dirk snaps from the other side of the door. 

You snort, and jiggle more aggressively.

“Dave.” “I have a headache.”

Dirk makes a sound that is halfway between exasperated and confused. “I- Okay?” 

“A big dumbass moved the Advil into the shitter, and I have a headache. So hurry up or unlock the door,” 

“Dude.”

“Unless you’re taking a shit. Are you taking a shit, Dirk?”

Silence.

“Dude, el mayo.” You can see Dirk’s face scrunch up at that. He hates you and Roxy’s incessant need to say acronyms out loud in stupid ways in your head. “Why’d you even move it? Did you just wake up randomly thinking: 'Hey, I know what I'll do! I'm just gonna obliterate Dave’s afternoon by holding his salvation hostage and then shitting near it? That’s really fucked up, man,”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but the cabinet in the bathroom is literally called a medicine cabinet. This was inevitable.”

You kick the door half heartedly before stalking back into your room. You know he’ll bring you the medicine when he’s done, but you feel the tingles of a fire track coming on.

Fifteen minutes later, after turning down the Advil and locking yourself in your room, you’re convinced you’ve got the hottest shit since the meteor shower that killed the dinosaurs, headache long forgotten. You usher Dirk and Hal into the cramped bathroom (it takes a while to get them to comply, but you assure them that this shit will be legendarily mind blowing. And really, who could resist that?), and Hal calls sitting on the toilet lid. You’re obviously standing in the shower, so that leaves Dirk to sit on the floor. 

“Couldn’t we have done this in the living room?” Dirk complains, interrupting you as you go to start the backing track (it’s the Minecraft opening theme, with some shitty bass over it.).

“It’s atmospheric, Dirk.” Hal replies, shaking his head.

“Yeah, duh,” You agree. “Now shut the fuck up, I’m about to take you to school.

Check it. Yo, I’m chillin’ on the comp but my head starts splittin’ Messin’ with my game, and fuckin’ up my sittin’ It’s bad, it’s mad, like an angry dad But it ain’t nothin’ compared to the rhymes that I’m spittin’

So I log out, get up, and leave my room My head’s killin’ me, I’m dyin’, y’know I gotta zoom Roll up into the kitchen, I’m cryin’, tearin’ out my hair So imagine my surprise when that shit ain’t there

Who the fuck locked my Advil up in the shitter? The fuck is your problem, I’ll vague you on Twitter I got a hundred followers, you forgot that I’m famous, They’re willing and ready to tear you a new anus.”

You’re about to continue creaming these suckers, but Dirk cuts you off before you can.

“Okay kiddo, I hear you, good god, sit down Is this bathroom a circus? Cause you’re actin’ a clown

I’m so sorry to tell you- Even Hal can attest- I’m so sorry for shitting This bitch has got IBS

I’ll spare you the details- My shit’s soaking wet- But may I remind you?  That’s a medicine cabinet

So before you go cryin’ ‘I’m dying, I’m dying!’ Just study my flow,  Cause that shit’s inspiring”

Oh, hell no. Not in your bathroom. Time to go fucking crazy.

“Eyes wildin’, I’m freestylin’ I’m crushin’ cube bitches, I’ll minecraft you some stitches Relief should be accessible, Otherwise that shit is unethical,

So you better say you’re sorry For puttin’ my drugs above the potty,”

This time, it’s Hal interrupting Dirk.

“Firstly, Dave, shawty, That don’t rhyme with potty To pay for these lessons? You’ll need a scholly 

Your flow is vile, shit’s juvenile I think I’ve heard better from Terezi’s reptile

You’re frying my circuits, This shit is trash If I was organic, you’d give me a rash

I’ve got something to say,  I’ll say it concisely: Shut the fuck up! I’m not asking nicely,”

Well shit. Hal’s got it on lock. You and Dirk groan, and the song ends. Hal always gets the last word. 

The three of you will argue for the rest of the night over who wons (you did, obviously), and you’ll have a shitty microwaved dinner.

Today wasn’t so bad at all.

[severalspoons]

Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 20

Surprise, this blog series continues! I have no intention of letting it end at episode 19. (I mean, that’s not even a nice round number!) While these aren’t liveblogs any more, they still give me an opportunity to discuss meta. 

Life lesson learned: once you start a series of anything, do not stop until it’s finished--no matter what other projects come up, no matter how shiny they are, and no matter how much you’re dreading watching episode 23. Since I do my best work when feeling inspired, I hate to wait and let my enthusiasm for the new project cool, but jumping ship only ends in two unfinished projects instead of one.

This is going to be arranged by theme, not so much chronologically. Also, it ended up being more about Wolfwood than originally intended.  Including a spoiler, so be careful.

Millie’s Transmitter

Millie reports that the Chief of Bernadelli gave her a transmitter/tracking device, which must be a rare, valuable piece of technology -- to prevent anyone from outwitting her. Meryl replies that this is nothing to brag about. I disagree.

First of all, the chief cares about her enough to entrust her with this bragworthy technology. She must have earned his trust and good opinion, also an achievement. He could easily punish or fire her, but instead gives her a tool to perform better. Countless people with learning disabilities dream of bosses like this. 

People tend to take a harmful all-or-nothing attitude towards disabilities. Either PWD are incapable of doing things and nothing can be done about it, or they are capable of doing things, and shouldn’t need help. Since people with disabilities themselves live in society, they end up indoctrinated and taking the same attitudes towards themselves. Shame and self-hatred often result. People strive for years, often with therapy, to get to the matter of fact acceptance Millie shows here.

***

Vash in Hell

Everything is red, from the beginning. The sand, himself and his clothes, the sky. Knives comes into view, blurry and mostly in shadow, only one eye visible.  What looks like meteors, probably chunks from the ships, fall through the sky like rain. We’re seeing from Vash’s point of view.

When waking Vash, Knives’ voice is normal, sounding like a real child. It doesn’t change to his growly evil voice until Vash accuses him of being a murderer. Then, his eye loses its pupil, and he suddenly appears to have fangs. He looks like he’s become some sort of monster. Not human, as Vash says.

Knives beats him up for even daring to compare him to a human. What hurts the most about this is you know it’ll be a long time, and probably many more such beatings, before Vash leaves.

Was it ever possible to take care of Knives? Was Rem’s last request reasonable?

Vash announces he’s finally ready to face Knives. What impresses me most: he’s finally making a significant decision for himself.

***

Meet the Folks

How is Vash more attractive in normal clothes than his signature coat, even in scenes showing only his face? Speaking of which, this episode is full of beautiful shots of Vash’s face. Wolfwood’s, too. 

How the hell did Wolfwood get here? He said he was concerned about Vash crying then jumping off a cliff, and followed him. However, he seems to have climbed up from below. How would he have found a floating platform? Certainly, none is visible below him. And since he seems to know nothing about the flying ship, he can’t have taken Vash’s strategy and jumped onto a platform at just the right time. 

“Come meet the folks!” Yes, they actually do have a summer cottage in the sky. Ever wonder why Vash’s head is always in the clouds? ;) 

Wolfwood actually says “I’m getting sick of your lies.” Hypocritical much?

Wolfwood is the first guest Vash has brought “home” in over 20 years (in other words, since he became The Stampede)! 

Does that mean that the whole time Vash has been on the run, he hasn’t visited the SEEDS ship (probably to prevent anyone tracking him from discovering it)? Vash could have simply hid out for the last 20 years in the SEEDS ship; it’s his home, after all. Instead, he chose to go out and protect people from Knives, and each other. (How many of us would have made the same choice?)

***

Inside Legato’s Lair

What does this informant know about Chapel’s duties? From the way Legato dismisses his concerns, it seems like Knives’ followers aren’t given much information about each other.

Wolfwood is now doomed. “You’re such a fool. Had you behaved, you might have lived to see Doomsday. But I’m pleased, for I now have the opportunity to carry out another of my master’s wishes.” 

A surprisingly restrained evil chuckle from Legato. Thank you for sparing us a full-on villain laugh.

How does Legato get shoulder padding that sticks out that far? Each shoulder is almost twice as big as his head.

***

A Series of Awkward Events

The ship has a whole observation team. No one should be able to get up here without the SEEDS leaders knowing, right? Right? ...

The old man tells Brad Vash has changed over the years. How? 

After all this buildup, Brad opens the door, letting in blinding light, and this is what he sees:

The legend acting like an idiot and getting his butt kicked. Very dignified. 

This is Brad’s reaction:

“Is that your great legend?! Huh?!” “What a relief! He hasn’t changed at all.” (A relief? What were they afraid would have happened to him?)

Brad is not amused by Wolfwood’s touchy-feely ways.

“Who’s he?” Vash, looking embarrassed: “I’m not sure.” Fair enough, but not very helpful, and Wolfwood doesn’t elaborate. We already know and love Vash’s embarrassed grin, but I can’t get over Wolfwood’s almost sinister smile in the mirror. 

A cute moment where Vash looks back like, “isn’t my place great?” and Wolfwood just gapes like an idiot. (Close your mouth, my dude. Flies are gonna get in). 

Vash last visited about 20 years ago, and Jessica was a small child then, so she should be about 23 or 24. However, she looks and acts like a teenager. Vash inadvertently becomes part of an unwanted love triangle.

To his credit, Vash tries to put her off, in a joking way (”I have a reputation for being easy but even I need a bit of advance warning”). Wolfwood makes the whole situation worse by teasing Vash about his “girlfriend” in front of a fuming Brad. It’s as if he were going out of his way to antagonize the people on the ship.

When Vash actually has a chance to look at Jessica’s face, he remembers her. Think about that. He may only have met her once, it’s been 20 years, and he still recognizes her and remembers her name. How many other people does he remember from the past ~130 years? This is how he uses his powerful plant brain--Knives would view it as a waste.

Jessica cooks a feast for Vash, which, tragically, he won’t get to enjoy. How did she cook all this food so fast? It’s enough to feed the whole ship.

***

Wolfwood is mistrusted for the wrong reasons

Wolfwood actually takes off his shades and armor of acting like a jerk while introducing himself to Jessica. This is unusually open and vulnerable of him. He actually is trying to behave. But Brad, worried about “a bunch of outsiders” bringing war to their flying paradise, hits him where it hurts.  

...Did I mention Wolfwood has beautiful eyes?

Anyway, everyone gathers around staring at Wolfwood from a distance, while he drops cigarettes on the ground. There’s an entire pile lying at his feet. The whole scene is the definition of passive aggressive. 

What seems to anger Wolfwood is not so much how they treat him personally, but their denial combined with moral superiority. Not to push a metaphor too far, but these folks are able to take the moral high horse because their literal high position keeps them safe. Yet, they use this immense privilege not to help the world below, or to prepare for the ship’s inevitable fall, but to hide in their castle in the sky. It clicks for me that Wolfwood probably feels about running away the way Vash does about suicide (think back to episode 11). 

The SEEDS dwellers do not seem to understand that Wolfwood is both trying to help them and a little resentful of what they have. To them, he is everything they’ve been taught to fear and hate, up here poisoning Paradise for them with his unpleasant ideas. Of course this sort of dynamic never happens in real life.

Also, keep in mind that none of them know anything about the people below directly, only from hearsay. They’re not wrong about Gunsmoke as a whole, but they treat Wolfwood like a monster rather than a person.  That also never happens in real life.

Then he gets to the scene of a crime too late--but just in time to look like the one responsible. Although the ship dwellers would love to see him dead, he leaps to defend them against his own colleague. Knowing, perhaps, that doing this would confirm he switched sides, and his own days might be numbered. He doesn’t even pause to think, he just goes, the same way he did when the child went missing in episode 9.

***

Vash Will Save The Day

“Like you care. Five years is probably like a blink of the eye to you anyway.” Vash denies it, but the second part is probably true. He looks so surprised to hear it’s been five years.

It can’t be easy for Vash to admit that he was responsible for the “Fifth Moon Incident,” and is probably more dangerous than Knives. Once again, his only argument is “please.” But there’s no buffoonery or melodrama here. He’s dead serious, and that’s more convincing. 

Wolfwood tries to stop Leonoff from saying his name. No one who would understand the significance or matters to him is present, just Brad and Jessica. Is he merely afraid others will hear? Does he still consider himself to be Chapel?

Even facing Leonoff, Wolfwood still hasn’t put his shades back on.

Now imagine if Vash managed to find ways out of no-win situations and save the day without all the whining and crying.

Wolfwood can pause and wait for once, having faith that Vash will show up. He knows there’s always a third option for Vash. He does not yet see any for himself. Still, progress nonetheless.

***

Unfortunately for me, Vash is back with his red coat in Vash the Stampede mode, yellow glasses hiding his face.

OK, I can see how Leonoff’s puppets get into the ship without being noticed, but how on Earth did the big guy even get here?

[spnjediavenger]

Snow Day

A/N: had this one for a little while but converted it into my first x reader (excluding ‘dating would include...’s). Please take a sec to give feedback if you can! xx

Disclaimer: i do not own maze runner or any of its characters

Snow Day (Newt x reader)

             “Y/n, love, can you help me cover the plants? It’s getting a bit too cold out and I’m worried what’ll happen to them overnight if we leave them be,” a thick British accent said from behind you.

           “But, the partyyy,” you whined, leaning your head back to pout at Newt. Today was the day the box came up and that meant a party for the new greenie. Everyone always loved the parties because it was the only time they ever got to have real fun in the Glade.

           Newt chuckled at your pouting face. “It’ll be here when you get back, now come help me.”

           “Nooo,” you groaned, dropping to the ground.

           “All right, you asked for it,” he teased. He left for a moment and the next, a pair of big arms picked you up and threw you over the shoulder of the person they belonged to.

           “Gally! Put me down!” you yelled; though you couldn’t be too convincing because of the laughing you couldn’t hold in.

           “You asked for it princess,” he said simply. “Now quit being lazy and help your boyfriend,” he continued as he set you down. You playfully punched him in the arm as he walked back to the party to throw more Gladers to the ground.

           A hand laced its way through yours from behind and pulled you along. “Come on,” Newt spoke up. “The quicker we do this, the quicker you can go back.”

           “Fineeee.”

             It was maybe and hour or two later, at the first audible screech of a Griever, that the party ended. Yourself, along with about half of the other Gladers, were shivering because of the unusual drop in temperature.

           “Alright, shanks,” Gally called out. “Use all the layers you have tonight; we don’t need any of you dumb shucks getting hypothermia and trying to get out of working tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes. Way to be caring, Gally.

           “AKA,” you butted in. “Try to keep warm – we don’t want anyone getting sick.” Everyone smiled a bit before heading to their hammocks.

           “Hey,” Gally stopped, pointing an accusing finger at you. “No sugar-coating. We don’t have room for lazy shanks using the cold as an excuse to not work around here.”

           You tried so hard to hide the smile from your face. “You know you care about them, Gally. You just don’t want to admit it.”

           He rolled his eyes, put his arm around you in a light headlock, and pulled you towards the Keepers’ sleeping hut with Newt at your other side.

                         ~                                                          ~                                                          ~

             You woke up to a commotion going on outside of the hut.

           “What the bloody hell is going on?” Newt asked groggily from beside you.

           “Guys! Guys!” Chuck pounded on the door excitedly. Gladers aside from the Keepers (and yourself) generally weren’t allowed into the Keepers’ Hut and Chuck knew that. “Guys, you have to get out here! Hurry up!”

           “Alright, alright. Calm down, Chuckie,” Newt murmured, literally rolling out of bed.

           The Keepers and you all got ready, putting on extra layers as you felt the chill from outside coming in. As bundled up as you could get, you all walked out of the hut together and your jaws dropped at the sight.

           “OH MY GOSH, IT’S SNOWING!!!” you yelled. From your very limited memory, you’ve never experienced snow; or at least not that you remember. You remembered that it feels cold, and you recalled, very faintly, making snowmen and snow angels. And of course the granddaddy of them all – snowball fights.

           Some people, however, were not as excited as you.

           “This is the hottest shucking place in the world – how is it snowing?!” Gally said, looking around in disbelief.

           “Come on, Gally, this is amazing!!!” you exclaimed, twirling around to get a full view of the winter wonderland that use to be the Glade.

           “How does this not concern you? It’s normally 90 degrees out here and all of a sudden it snows,” he says with his arms crossed, trying to level with you.

           “Yes,” you said. “It’s usually 90 degrees. And now we have a break from the heat. Be happy!”

           “I’m never happy,” he deadpanned, though you caught the small smirk on his face.

           Alby appeared behind us and called out to everyone in the Glade. “Alright, shanks. Breakfast then work. This snow doesn’t change anything.”

           “Unless you’re a track-hoe,” you smirked. Since the weather was like this, there was nothing that could be done with the plants today.

           “Oh no,” Gally said. “You’re not getting out of work, she-shank. You can help out somewhere else today.”

           “You can help brush the snow out of the builders’ way with me,” Newt said, eliciting a groan out of you. He and Gally smiled and dragged you to the kitchen to eat before you would get the day started.

           “Newt.”

           Silence.

           “Newttt.”

           Silence.

           “Newtttt,” you whined.

           “Y/n,” he sighed. “Quit complaining and just get to work already.”

           “I am working. That’s the problem.”

           “Look, we just had lunch. There’s not much time left in the day.”

           You groaned rather loudly at his response.

           He chuckled a bit. “Just keep working, you lazy shank,” he said, going back to shoveling a path of snow for the builders.

           Your jaw dropped. “What did you just call me?” you said accusingly. You were use to Gally calling you a shank, but Newt never did.

           He simply laughed as he kept shoveling.

           “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” you said deviously. You smirked as you leaned over, scooped up a handful of snow, packed it into a ball, and threw it right at the back of Newt’s head.

           All of the builders stopped what they were doing, trying their best not to laugh (only a few of them succeeded). A handful of “oohs” went around, waiting for Newt’s reaction.

           Newt slowly turned around, jaw dropped, and stared at me.

           “Are you crazy?” he asked, shocked. You just smiled. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now, love.”

           He smirked as he made his own snowball and pelted you with it, laughing hard when it hit you square in the face. You were quick to wipe the freezing snow from your face and prepared to throw another snowball at Newt when Gally’s impatient voice interrupted.

           “Would you two slintheads stop messing around and get to work? Quit distracting everyone!”

           You looked at Newt with a mischievous glint in your eyes, making his own widen in fear.

           “Don’t do it,” he mouthed.

           And guess what.

           You did it.

           The whole entire glade fell silent when your snowball hit Gally straight in the face. Everyone watched in horror at what you had just dared to do, waiting for your inevitable death.

           After what seemed like forever, something strange and practically unknown appeared on Gally’s face.

           A smile.

           “Oh, you’re gonna regret that, princess,” he said. You took that as your cue to run as Gally ran after you with countless snowballs in his arms. Everyone dropped what they were doing and joined in, initiating a glade-wide snowball fight.

           Everyone ran around in a mad scramble, ducking for cover or chasing others in glee, snowballs at the ready. Alby came out and started yelling for everyone to get back to work until an anonymous snowball hit him in the face, too. He pursed his lips together then grabbed his own snowball and ran out into the chaos with the other Gladers.

           You laughed as you hid behind a tree, looking for your next victim. Then a not-so-mysterious person put you in a headlock again and pulled you from behind the tree.

           “Newt, I got her!!” Gally called out.

           He took a snowball and smashed it into your head while Newt ran over to the two of you. He did the same, then started poking your sides as you were still trapped under Gally’s arm. You screeched and jerked the other way.

           “I think we got a ticklish one, Gally,” Newt smirked, stopping his attack for a moment.

           Gally smirked back, but quickly released his grip on me when he got pelted with snow. He turned and ran, yelling, “I’m gonna get you, Winston!!!”

           You felt another poke at your side, jerked away, and ran behind a tree, giving yourself enough time to make some ammo, and nail Newt when he came after you. He chased you and eventually caught you, pulling you both to the ground in a laughing mess.

           He looked up at your face from underneath you and smiled. You smiled back and you two shared a kiss as the snowflakes fell down around you. Even the sound of the other Gladers was forgotten as you lay there.

           Who knew some snow could make the Glade seem like a good place?

                         ~                                                          ~                                                          ~

Epilogue

 “I told you to bundle up, you shank!”

           Needless to say Gally isn’t the most sympathetic person in the world.

           “It’s not my fault you and Newt were shoving snow on my head!” you countered, blowing your nose for what must have been the millionth time that day.

           “Yeah and it’s not my fault you and Newt decided to make out in the klunk stuff.”

           Your cheeks grew red at that. As did Newt’s, who sat beside you.

           “You guys really need to get a room,” came Alby’s voice from the hallway.

           Gally, Clint, and Jeff burst out laughing then, and you hid your face in Newt’s shirt. It was worth it, though.

           And you couldn’t wait until the next snow storm.

[sunsetsover]

Thoughts on recent ballum? Haven't seen any of your long analytical posts in a while and I really enjoy reading them x

i haven’t been getting any anons! i think people finally got sick of my rambling lmao plus there generally isn’t really a lot of stuff to sink your teeth into when things are going well (which they are, which is a good thing!) and i’ve been a little bit busier recently but! i’m really glad you enjoy the posts i make and i hope i can deliver again in the future !!!

tbh i really am enjoying everything that’s been happening recently!! i know some people think things are going a bit too smoothly and want more angst and drama but for me personally it’s like.... haven’t they both had enough for now? with everything that happened with whitney and callum coming out like??? both the audience and the storyline needs a little bit of a breather before we get more angst or drama (at least as a couple, because they do separately both still have drama going on as individual characters which i love!!! like i know not everyone likes the ben/martin stuff but i love it). to be perfectly honest it’s a bit of a miracle that they’re both still even on screen this much - both separately and together - and that they haven’t been put on the back burner for a while, so i’m really not gonna complain that they don’t really have anything big going on as a couple atm. plus they’ve both been through so much they deserve 5 minutes of peace and happiness :-(

and i think it’s important that they’re establishing them as a couple without any drama surrounding it right now. like this is a soap so ofc drama is inevitable but atm they’re setting up a solid foundation for their relationship so when angst and drama does come, it’ll make more sense in terms of narrative for there to be even more angst and drama because they were so happy and calm, you know? plus it’s just nice to see these cute lil domestic normal moments between them in like a very superficial ‘i’m a soft bitch’ way but also they’re letting the audience know that right now they’re getting closer and that their relationship is good! it’s working! they’re happy! everything is going well! so that when something does go wrong, the audience who might not be paying attention to ben and callum specifically won’t be like ‘well hang on, when did those two get too close’ bc they’ve been showing us little glimpses of their relationship progressing. (and i’ve already made a separate post abt it, but it is so nice to see a same sex couple being SO casually affectionate!! esp in soap!!! and consistently too!!! like it makes me so emo bc so many people are watching eastenders and are seeing this and it’s normalising that kind of affection between men, u know? and they’re not overdoing, it just feels normal and natural and good. and i so, so hope that when ash becomes a more permanent character we’ll get to see the same kind of casual affection between her and iqra bc we’ve seen glimpses of it w them too even tho they haven’t been on screen much and it just makes me SO happy like honestly i love it sm it’s such a nice change of pace!!!)

and i know some people wish we were getting to see more on screen but i do think we’re getting the perfect amount. at the end of the day eastenders only get 2 hours a week for all these characters and stories and ben and callum are consistently taking up a decent chunk of that. and they’re not gonna show us things that aren’t progressing a storyline, no matter how much we might want to see them. like the only reason we got to see the e20 date was to progress the whitney/leo/callum storyline, not to serve the ben/callum storyline, u know? i think rn we’re at the perfect balance. and i also know some people think they’re not really addressing the big issues like ben’s crime and callum living in paul’s old flat etc but i do think that will come in time. like they’ve only been dating for a month, let’s not forget that!! they have time for these issues to come up!! esp w pam coming back soon and the panesars coming to the square like!! u KNOW something is bound to blow up in their faces eventually and they will have to confront these big issues and it won’t be all happy domestic bfs forever but for now i’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth..... like it will happen and it will be v angsty and sad but for now i’m just enjoying a little bit of peace from the relationship drama (bc lbr they both still have personal drama going on, esp ben lmao)

the only thing i haven’t liked recently is the whole video of callum thing. like i get they’re trying to step up this rivalry between leo and callum, but i feel like that was just such a weird and quite a dark thing to go with. it’s almost too real, if that makes sense. bc that happens to girls all the fucking time, and even the nicest men are complacent in that. which is perhaps what they were going for? shock value? raise awareness? trying to show the audience that callum isn’t squeaky clean either? idk but it was a bit yikes for me, not necessarily at callum for having a past, but mostly at the writers who made the choice to go in that direction with it. but considering that’s like the only thing in months i haven’t liked we’re not doing too badly lmao!!! and tbh i did love seeing callum lay into leo in friday’s ep so u know.....

yeah idk! i really like everything that’s been going on atm!! and i’m really excited to see what’s coming next with the callum/leo stuff and pam coming back and ben’s ‘big gesture’ and then christmas etc like i’m just looking forward for what’s to come!! tbh i keep expecting this good streak to end and for me to not like the direction this story goes in but so far it hasn’t happened which is really surprising for a soap lmao so like i’m literally just taking it for what it is!!

but yh if you ever want me to talk about my thoughts on something specifically just come yell @ me in my inbox!! don’t be shy!! it might take me a few days to get around to replying, but i always do eventually!!!!!

and thank u for asking and enjoying my rambling anon ily 💖💖💖

[justkpopjokes]

Nice to Meet You, Angel. || Demon!Joshua

Ft. Joshua/Jisoo(s Chri—actually no, the complete opposite)

Anon: Demon Joshua😏

A/N: This AU has gone through 4 whole plot rewrites rip. kinda inspired by Good Omens!! (also 2 aus in a week?? whaaaaaat)

!! This is a gender neutral!reader fluff with 1945 words~ !!

Before we begin the plot, lemme quickly go through the basics of the universe

yayy lin’s doing world building again

there are angels and demons in the universe, simply just the optional jobs of people’s souls once they die

if they choose this job, they don't remember much of their life on Earth, but they do remember events they associate w/strong emotions bc it helps them

for ex. an angel could remember how sad a death made them feel so they know to prevent it

and a demon can remember how angry a bully made them felt so they can make people that level angry

both angels & demons take the form of their bodies when they were alive and roam on Earth

they can also return to Heaven/Hell and observe Earth from their respective realms

also yes demons can be summoned, but lmao you can also just give em a phone call via incantation

the angel equivalent to this phone call is praying

demons can pretty much do anything as long as it relates somehow to the Seven Deadly Sins (pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth)

angel powers are more holy/good, and they can grant things in prayers if they choose, etc

Anyway, YOU KNOW THIS BOI??

THiS bOi sHUa

he's chill af for a demon ok

one of the first demons so like no one really knows how he’s a demon bc he’s so polite

there’s some speculation that he was one of the first to fall but like

what the hell did he do???

But also some say he became a demon out of spite bc he saw a demon commit a “sin” that actually helped someone

so he became a demon just to help people in a more… unholy way

and then he was upset angels hated him just because he was a demon

like wow spirit discrimination

NOW YOU—

you are an angel (literally)

you’re the angel that protects like. atheists/"non-believers" bc c'mon just because they don’t believe in God/gods doesn’t mean they shouldn't have access to that protection service

(yes hello you’re calling APS, the Angel Protection Service sponsored by God, how may I help you?)

so yeah you’re pretty chill yourself since you have to constantly deal with people who don't believe in you lol

One fine day, you were listening to a prayer from a sick college student

ok it wasn't really a prayer but they were like "oh please, my god, let me get some sleep tonight"

you gladly put them to sleep and they slept soundly at night

when you checked on them the next morning, you noticed—

A dEmON?!?

…lying right next to the student (but above the covers, he has boundaries), who isn't stirring at all

if the leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't tip you off, he had some horns on his head to confirm ur suspicions

You: "Hey what in the world are you doing here?!"

???: "What? If they get up rn they won't be able to pay attention in class. I'm letting them rest first"

You: "Wha—who—okay, okay okay… who are you?"

"I’m Joshua, nice to meet you, angel"

Shua knows he has the name of an angel so afterwards he's like. Don't get it confused bish.

you ask him what he's doing, and basically, he's using the sin sloth on this sicko student so they stay in bed and recover instead of going to class

Even tho you feel iffy abt letting a demon affect a human right in front of you, an angel, you are a bit intrigued

you haven't seen a demon use their powers for good before…

who is this guy??

anyway he disappears, presumably to Hell, once the student needs to wake up

which is when u miracle them some bread to get

But don't worry, you're destined to meet again~

which you did, on several occasions

and ok maybe you were glad to talk to someone who was actually interesting

so, yknow,,, if another angel was like "hey y/n uhh there's a demon… bothering? someone? idk but it's a non-believer, that's ur jurisdiction right"

you had a guess on who this demon was…

…and you were right

Joshua: "Oh hey angel"

You: "Ew, you make it sound like a pet name"

JS: "Well I don't know your name, do I?"

You: "Oh. Right. It's Y/N."

he still calls you angel tho, smh that flirt

y'all just bicker and/or chat for a bit whenever u go help the same person

Like one time when he insisted that you let him use gluttony on a teen so they'd eat a lot of ice cream that day

they had just been through a bad break up so u let it slide

Or another time he used wrath on a timid kid so they could stand up to a bully

all of these ended w/you two bickering while walking away

There was this little girl you were watching from heaven who was writing a letter to "Whoever Can Do This"

little girl started listing a bunch of things, which you assumed were toys

but then you realized it was actually stuff like food, friends, a puppy, a loving dad who will go out to the park with her—

so u go down there to check on this lil child

…and that's when you see a familiar leather jacket watching over her and suggesting other things to write

you can’t see him from heaven so ur like gosh darn it I should’ve known

"Joshua?? I should've known it was—"

*cue both shua and the child turning around*

JS: "Oh hey, nice to see you, angel"

Lil' Nugget: *GASP* "Mr. Josh is this ur s/o???"

JS: "Hm? Oh, I mean, no, but um…"

You: "Josh what have u been putting into this one's head…"

Shua's all like "greed! Her dad's been ignoring her since her mom died so we're writing a list of things she wants"

then the smol girl smiles so wide and is like "Mr. Josh is helping me! He's my new friend!!"

ur like awww dangit ok I'll let it slide if u let me help

Once she finishes it, Josh hands the girl's list over to you

he explains quietly he wants you to miracle her dad to pay attention+love his daughter again so they can have/do all the other things on the list

you read it over again and do just that

The little girl gives the list to her father, your miracle allowing them to have a fun afternoon eating ice cream and playing with her toys

And you and Josh have a nice time too~

once y'all left that girl's room, he invited you for some soda

"Coke? I hope you mean Coca Cola"

"Yeah, uh, there's a place with a vending machine not too far from here. We can walk"

You don't spend time on Earth often, but you learn as you walk w/Josh that he "prefers the air up here"

mainly bc he doesn't fit in with the other demons, but he also just likes spending time with humans

(obviously tho he needs to go down to hell occasionally for like conferences and such)

you don't remember if you've ever been on a date before lol

Josh doesn't either, but he does remember how jumbled up ur emotions get, which he is not ready for

then again of course he has, I mean look at that charm

however, you can't remember if the feeling you get when going on ur little date with Shua is love :/

it isn’t really, but just bc this is ur first “date,” so it makes sense

But Josh makes sure to take you out again… for dinner!!!

you were investigating the use of lust and pride at the same time

of course, it was just Josh helping a guy find someone to hook up with

you were kinda disgusted and wanted to leave, so shua gladly took your arm and pulled you away to a restaurant!

y’all had a nice dinner, paying with some money Josh had collected

and then you went to walk together and chat some more

he’s breathtaking, and he actually wants to spend time with you despite y’all being on opposite sides of an inevitable war

You don’t care, going on more dates just to talk and not have to care about ur jobs and other stuff

Shua hears you yell “what the hell” at some point and he’s like woAH you can say that???

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not really polite, but I can. Can you say ‘Thank God?’”

“‘Thank God?’ Well look at that, I can. Good point”

you love him because he’s so chill and doesn’t give a f*** abt anything

except you and humans, apparently

like he could’ve burned or smth by saying “Thank God” or be confined to the basement of Hell for helping people/talking with you, but he doesn’t care lmao

However, no one really knows you’ve been talking with a demon tho so uhhh

when they do you get in a little bit of trouble w/the archangels

ur boss was essentially like “y/n what the HECK are you doing?!? you’re on thin ice rn”

you get mad at him, trying to defend Joshua

and you’re right in doing so, since he just wants to help people with a different set of powers

ur archangel boss sends you back down to Earth, saying you can’t return to Heaven until they work smth out

(they probably want to burn you with Hell fire)

You warn Josh, knowing they might burn you

he’s adamant on keeping you with him, so y’all try to hide or smth

which won’t work of course, but you can try, right?

right?

Shua and you sit together on a bench, with you leaning on his shoulder

“Joshua… I’m scared, I don’t want to be burned!”

“Don’t worry y/n, it’ll be okay. I love you, angel, nothing bad will happen”

and just like that, you remember what it feels like to love

“You’re right. I love you too. Help the non-believers for me if I go, alright?”

“I’ll help them just for you.”

Your archangel boss is smart, knowing the worst punishment for you is to be reincarnated without memories

you wouldn’t remember Joshua at all

and when he drags u back up to Heaven, you want to cry

do angels cry holy water? anyway

you’re sent back to Earth as a baby that can’t fend for itself

You remember nothing.

You’ve recently graduated from college and are out looking for a job

you’ve gotten rejected and fired so many times

for ex. just now, after you were arguing with someone who spoke another language that you didn’t know and there was no translator available

the customer wasn’t willing to cooperate either, ignoring your attempts to use an online translator smh

it’s late and you’re tired, so you leave, angry, and start coughing frantically when you inhale too much smoke coming from the alley next to you

naturally, you’re like “What the hell?! Dude, you’re not supposed to be smoking this close to an entrance!”

“Why do you care? You don’t work here anymore”

you take a better look at the stranger once he steps into the light of a nearby lamppost

it’s a dude in a leather jacket and ripped jeans who drops his cigarette

“Need help getting a job, y/n?”

“how do you—what—who are you?”

he extends a hand out to you, which you shake reluctantly

“I’m Joshua. Nice to meet you, angel.”

[luckyspike]

Eleventh Hour Admission - A Good Omens fanfiction

Hey guys remember when I talked about writing a hospital AU

i did it but no one is a doctor they’re all nurses

title refers to literally getting an admission during the eleventh hour of your shift, possibly a fate worse than death

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, automobile accidents, the joint commission

this will never be continued (probably) or posted to AO3, so enjoy it

--

Ari Fell liked it his job. That wasn’t sarcasm. He really, truly liked his job: he liked helping other people, he liked watching the sickest of the sick get well again and, when he couldn’t do that, he liked being there for them, trying to help them peacefully and painlessly move on. He liked meeting the families of his patients, he liked getting to know his patients when they could talk, and he liked that every day was a new day, something different and unknown and rife with opportunity to learn something new, or to help someone.

He liked his job, but he didn’t like 6am admissions.

Which, he had a feeling, was precisely why his ASCOM phone was going off at 5:55am. The caller ID informed him that it was Gabriel, the charge for tonight. He winced and the other nurse working the east pod with him tonight, Tracy, nodded sympathetically. He picked up the phone, and answered the call.

“Ari!” Yes. Yes, that was Gabriel. By the sound of it, he was in the cafeteria, likely having coffee with the other charges during their morning “bed meeting”. Ari had long since suspected that “bed meeting” was an excuse to get coffee and kvetch for the last hour of their shift, but he’d never really had the opportunity to find out, after he’d refused the offered charge position last year. 

“Gabe.” He stared gloomily at the empty room before him. It had been empty all night, after he’d packed the last patient off to IMC to make room for a possible admit. He had known it was too good to be true, known with a sort of icy certainty that a quiet night would never last, and soon enough there would be some kind of admit rolling up. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be an hour before shift change but, well … 

Maybe it would be an intubated pneumonia. Sedated, even. That would be nice.

“Got an ED trainwreck coming up. You heard them call that level 1 trauma, yeah?”

His heart dropped into his stomach, which dropped all the way to his Danskos. “Yes.”

“MVA, lady was flying and ran off the road into the orchard. Hit like three of the apple trees, Bee told me. Anyway, she’s a hot mess. I told them they could call report and bring her up any time.”

“I’ll need to stock the room -” 

Gabriel ignored him. “I’d love to help get her settled but we’re gonna be in bed meeting until 6:30 and then I have to do the board for day shift, but I’m sure you and Tracy’ll have it in hand. Holler if you need anything!” The line went dead.

“What do you need?” Tracy asked, already half out of the pod, aimed toward the supply room. The supply room, Ari knew, where the housekeeper usually hung around this time of the morning, surreptitiously drinking instant-brew coffee behind the Pyxis. 

Ari sighed. “A whole set-up. I don’t have report yet, but it’s a trauma. Probably need suction and the whole nine yards.” The ASCOM chirped again. “That’ll be report.”

“I’ll get some culture bottles and extra red tops as well.” He nodded to her as she vanished around the corner, and picked up the phone. “Ari Fell, ICU 4 East.”

“Ari!” He might have groaned. “It’s AJ!”

“Great. You’re calling report, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, but also I was just thinking I’m off for two days after this, and I don’t have any plans after my shift, was thinking about kegs and eggs at the place across the street. Care to join?”

“Somehow,” Ari said with rather more chill to his tone than usual, “I think I’ll be getting off my shift late.”

AJ laughed. “Oh, yeah. I’m bringing up the hot mess express.”

“Oh, boy.” He half-sighed, half-groaned. “I’m ready.”

“Right, patient’s still a Jane Doe but ID in her purse said Eve Smith, 22 years old, just waiting on family to confirm. Chaplain called her parents but no answer yet. Anyway, adult female, unrestrained driver in car-versus-tree MVA, GCS of 3 at the scene, flown here, went into SVT on the way but we’ve got her on amio now at 0.5mg/hr, pan-scan showed a left-sided pneumo -”

He rattled on, Ari jotting down notes as AJ moved through the systems. At least there was that: report from AJ was, usually, good, although he did like to linger on the gory details a little longer than necessary sometimes. If he was going to get a 6am admit, at least he’d have a good report to hand off to the next shift when he inevitably presented them with this hot disaster.

Tracy was back from the supply room, a suspicious damp spot on her scrub top. The navy blue shade hid the color of the spot, but if Ari had to guess, it would be the color of Svanka instant coffee. “Enough?” she asked, holding up two bags of supplies and a handful of lab tubes. He cupped a hand over the phone.

“Two straight poles and an IV pole,” he whispered. “And an EVD hookup for the monitor.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway,” AJ was saying, “she’s got a Foley, so you don’t have to worry about that, and, ah … Hm. Multiple lacerations and abrasions spread out all over, but no pressure wounds or anything otherwise. Right. Anything else you need?”

“Ah …” He looked at the report sheet, the notes about infusions and lines and testing left un-done, and shrugged. “You’re coming up with her, right?”

“Oh, yeah. It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t crump on the way up. I’ll probably be bagging her when we get there.”

He grimaced. “Wonderful. I’ll have RT ready. Otherwise, uh … no, I think I should be alright. Whenever you’re ready, we’ve got the room stocked.”

“Okay.” A little distantly, as if he’d moved away from the receiver somewhat, he heard AJ call, “Hey, you ready Erica? Time to move!” And then, back into the phone. “See you in ten.”

Ari ended the call, placed a quick SOS to respiratory for a vent delivery, and tossed the ASCOM onto the desk. One last chance to check his other patient - a post-op heart cath they’d sent for access site observation overnight before planned discharge in the morning - and then he headed into the empty room, fussing around with the lines and waiting. The vent was there, already pre-programmed with the settings, blue screen glowing in the dark room as it waited. Tracy returned with the required equipment, and rolled a pole across the room, around the end of the bed, toward Ari.

“Disaster?”

“Complete train wreck.”

She patted his shoulder. “My two are primped and propped and ready for seven. I can help all you like, dear.” She was always nice like that, calling him ‘dear’. He supposed it made sense, given that Tracy was old enough to be his mother, but he had noticed she never used the term for anybody else. He’d never asked her about it, though, mostly because he was sort of afraid that if he pointed it out, she would stop. 

“I think we just wait, now.”

“Fresh meat coming?” The gruff voice of the custodian drew their attention to the doorway. “I’m off duty at 6:30, so if you think I’ll be coming in here to clean up whatever mess you and those hideous interns make -”

“I’m sure your relief will have it well in-hand, Mr. S.” Tracy fluttered her eyelashes, and leaned across the bedside table, the front of her V-neck scrub top gaping open just enough to draw the housekeeper’s eyes. “You know, I was thinking of getting breakfast and coffee at The Pantry across the street after shift … been craving their waffles.” It was a statement, but it hung open like a question. Mr. S blushed a little.

“I … I’m a little hungry myself. Could go for a nice thick pat of scrapple.” He cleared his throat. At the far corner of the ICU, Ari heard the elevator - the direct-from-the-ED elevator - ding open, and the distant sound of alarms suffused through the early-morning bustle of the unit. 

“Think they might have two seats at the breakfast bar?”

“Maybe.” He smiled a little, and then remembered himself and glowered. “If an educated woman’ll deign to eat with me, that is.”

“Mm, I think I might be able to bring myself to slum it this morning.” She waved a hand. “Here she comes, move over, there’s a love.”

And come she did, in a wail of alarms and machines and, Ari was both relieved and exasperated to see, AJ, who had, as long as Ari had known him, struggled with the concept of ‘reserved’. “Heyo, told you so!” AJ was, as promised, bagging the patient, his arm snaked between various lines and tubes, the critically-ill human attached to them almost so covered as to be invisible. “Ari.”

Ari looked at the lines, horrified, and then to AJ. “What happened?”

“Huh? Oh. She came back from radiology like this. Didn’t have time to untangle everything.”

“Nothing’s even labeled!” He waved his hands at the mess. “You’ve got fluids and pressors and is that blood? What’s going where?”

“Ah. All in the subclavian, I’d imagine.” The redhead added, with scathing sarcasm, “Pretty sure I didn’t hook anything up to the EVD. Got a slide board?”

Tracy had, and she and Ari tucked it under the unconscious young woman as AJ and Erica rolled her to the side. “Hang on, let me check her back while she’s there.” There were abrasions, and lacerations, too many to count or list as part of a specific area, and then, between her shoulder blades, was an apple blossom. He plucked it off. “Really, you couldn’t clean that off?”

“Had bigger fish to fry. You done?” AJ raised an eyebrow at him, visible of the rims of his dark-tinted glasses, and Ari nodded. AJ and Erica let the woman down. “On three -” She was light enough, and with four of them they had her slid into the ICU bed in one smooth motion, still piled with a tangled mess of lines and tubes. 

“You really had to bring this mess up,” Ari griped, trying to decide where to start first. His eyes widened. “You left the EVD lying under her pillow!”

“It’s clamped!” AJ replied with an exasperated groan, gratefully flicking on the vent and plugging it into the ET tube.

Erica rolled her eyes. “You done here? I’ve got to get back to the department.”

“Be right behind you,” AJ said, waving the other nurse off. “I’m gonna help whiny here get organized.” He pulled the EVD from under the pillow, carefully threading the buritrol back through the other lines until the tubing lay neatly over the rest of the tangled mess. Carefully, he hung it on the straight pole, leveled it, and opened the clamp. Pink-tinged spinal fluid started to drip out. “Come on, hand me the cable, I’ll even hook it up for you.”

“How charitable,” Ari grumbled, tossing the cable behind the headboard and bouncing it off AJ’s shoulder. “Bastard.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy admonished from the foot of the bed, where she was busying herself with untangling the Foley and the SCDs*. “Let’s not argue.”

[* Are SCDs really that important in a fragile immediately post-trauma patient, you may ask. To which the answer is: only if the Joint Commission is there.]

“Oh, we’re just having a good time.” AJ was tracing the IV tubing containing the fluids down through the sheets. “Alright, so this is going to the peripheral, just untangle this -”

“You know,” Ari said, as he fiddled with the monitor and the arterial line, trying to check for level in spite of the level being, as always, conspicuously absent. “I’m sure you have patients back down in the department. You don’t have to help. I was just giving you a hard time.” He ended up seizing a length of blood pressure cuff tubing and eyeballing the line between the transducer and the phlebostatic axis.

“Well, what if I want to?” He snorted. “My only other patient down there is a kid with a head lac, and he’s on ice until the LET kicks in and we can do staples anyway. Which will be, fortunately, after shift change. He looks like a screamer.” He smirked at Ari, and passed the IV pump with all of the various central line tubing across the bed to him. “Never let it be said I’m not occasionally nice.”

“You’re not.” 

“Hey.”

At the foot of the bed, Tracy shook her head, tapping in the vital signs as she did. “Did anyone page the fellow to let them know she’s arrived?”

“Not yet,” they replied, in unison. And then exchanged a look, very briefly, before Ari looked away to busy himself with setting the monitor alarm parameters and AJ became absorbed in scribbling labels for the IV tubing. 

“I’ll do it, then.”

It was quiet for a minute while they worked, but after a time, Ari realized the white sheet atop the woman was clear, the lines were meticulously untangled and laid properly, with messily-written but legible labels. It would have done the Joint Commission proud. 

“Think she still needed cultures,” AJ muttered, grabbing the bottles off of the counter. “Where do you keep the tourniquets up here?”

“Here.” He set to checking orders, with the black-clad invader from the ED pulled the first set of cultures on the first stick. Ari frowned, impressed. “Nice one.”

“Eh, you get good at ‘em when you have to get a line in anything.”

“Seriously,” Ari said, more quietly now, noting that for the most part, all of the ED orders had been cleaned up, taken care of, and signed off before the patient had arrived, “you can go. Really, I’m grateful, but I can handle it and you don’t have to -”

“I know. But this is really selfish for me.” He tore the tip of the index finger off the fresh pair of gloves he’d donned, the better to palpate a vein in the opposite arm, where the splint would allow. “Don’t wanna eat breakfast alone.”

Ari stared at him for a minute. Blinked. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” AJ replied, tone flippant. “I think it counts as alcoholism if you drink alone too much. Have to keep up the facade of being a normal, healthy, functional adult.” He winked at Ari over the rim of his glasses. “You know how it goes, choir-boy.”

“I -” he glanced into the hallway, where Tracy and Mr. S were chatting. Mr. S had clocked out - was it past 6:30 already? And Tracy had her ASCOM in hand, although by the looks of it she hadn’t yet called. If she waited much longer, the fellow wouldn’t arrive with new orders until after shift change. He could have laughed. What an angel. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You want to get a pitcher?”

Aj laughed, although he was watching intently as the second bottle filled. “You know, I have two days off coming up - what the hell? Let’s do it.”

[sagemoderocklee]

12 and 21 for the angst prompts (gaalee)

im going to do prompt 12 another day, i swear, but this was... a lot to write and it’s taken me literally all night and i just wanted to post this now

21 i don’t want to lose youpart 4/5 of if wanting were enough i’d take you by the handTW: suicide attempt (seriously this one is not an easy one to read and if you cannot read it, if you think it’ll be too triggering, please do not push yourself. this is a very personal exploration of my own mental health, but i do not want anyone putting themselves in a bad place. im placing this under a cut so proceed with extreme caution) 

[kofi]

He jumps.

He falls.

He flies. 

The morning air rushes past him as he plummets, his weights pulling him down faster. His heart is in his throat and tears blur his vision as he falls towards the earth. The morning sun is a blur of soft golden hues, a kaleidoscope of light refracting within the salt water of his eyes.

He feels free for the first time in far too long. 

He feels weightless.

He feels wonderful. 

He laughs, the sound swallowed by the wind rushing around him, but it turns into a sob. He is flying to his death, falling towards the inevitable moment of impact. He has jumped towards the unknown, allowed gravity to pull him down, down, down... And when he finally stop--

A memory comes to him, unbidden. It is the memory of a dream, but it makes his heart ache to be on solid ground, not plummeting towards it.

Regret burns through him, like lava pouring from a long dormant volcano. It sears through him, smokes in his veins until he is consumed with it; with longing; with want. 

He wants, for the first time, to live. 

He punches a hand into the solid wall of rock that hides Suna within, dragging himself painfully. He has too much momentum though, his weights too heavy and the pull of gravity even stronger than he is. He pushes chakra into his arm and flings the other one towards the wall, digging his fingers into stone. 

He feels the snap of bone as several fingers break against the stone, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t stop trying to hold on. He closes his eyes tight, pushes poorly manipulated chakra into his arms with as much force as he can until he feels himself slow. 

It isn’t enough and the ground crashes into him, shattering his weak right leg and sending an explosive wave of sand into the air. His world goes black before he can pray to the gods of the desert that someone finds him. 

---

Pain has always been a sign of growth--he becomes stronger, faster, harder, better. In the wake of pain, he is one step closer to being splendid. Pain has always been firmly categorized in his mind as “good”, as “progress”, as “someday I will be good enough.” 

He pushes himself to the point of pain because it has always been the only way to measure his worth.  

But when Lee wakes to pain, to agony, to suffering it is beyond the pain of “good” or “progress” or “enough”. His body has known pain like this only once before, and even that pain does not come close to what this feels like. A blury memory, choppy and incomplete, hits him with the force the ground had. 

With the memory comes shame, comes regret. He wishes that he could take it back, wishes that the past could be altered somehow, wishes that he’d known any other way besides pain. 

It takes him a lifetime, an age, an eon to adjust to the pain. 

At the edge of his senses, as he finally acclimates to a body he’d rather not be in, he senses someone familiar. He becomes aware, too, of a dull beeping somewhere in the room and voices outside. His nose stings with the smell of herbs and antiseptic. 

He swallows, thickly. His mouth feels like sand and tastes like ash, his throat feels stuff full of cotton. He coughs, and the presence beside him moves closer, an intensity closing in on him. 

“Lee?” 

Fingertips touch his temple, gentle and unsure, awkward and stiff. 

He sighs, peeling his eyes open to look up into Gaara’s face. He looks sick, exhausted in ways Lee had never thought possible; his eyes are heavy and bloodshot, and his skin looks dull and lifeless. Lee shies away from that word as he looks away from Gaara to survey his hospital room. 

“Where--” He coughs on the question, his throat too dry for speech, and almost immediately there is a glass of water in front of him. He hesitates to meet Gaara’s gaze past the glass, but eventually he does. 

There are tears in his eyes, threatening to fall--and that’s another word Lee shies away from all too quickly. 

He sips the water carefully, and some dribbles down the side of his mouth. It’s room temperature and tastes a little stale, as though it’s been sitting for just a little too long in the warmth of his room. 

“How--why--” Lee wants to ask a million questions once his throat does not feel as though a drought has occurred within him, but he doesn’t know where to begin. Gaara looks stricken, as though Lee’s voice is that of a ghost speaking. 

He swallows again, steeling himself for what he’s about to say. 

“You saved me.” 

The tears in Gaara’s eyes roll down his face. His eyes are crystalline, reflecting the artificial light of the hospital in a way that makes the green of them look unnatural. 

“Did I?” he asks, voice gruff around the words and his tears. 

“I am alive,” Lee says. 

Gaara’s lip trembles. “Are you...? Or are you a ghost?” 

Lee knows what Gaara is asking, what he’s saying with that question. Tears of his own fall, but he has to fight not to sob openly because he can feel how it will hurt, how it will subsume his body with pain; pain he deserves--

He stops himself from that line of thinking, meeting Gaara’s tear-filled eyes with his own. “I do not want to be a ghost anymore.” 

Lee doesn’t know exactly what he’d thought Gaara would say or do at this, but he does not expect Gaara to collapse in on himself, face crumpling and eyes brimming with so many tears that they have become sea foam. He leans heavily against Lee’s bed, hovering over Lee as though he wants to crawl onto him, into him, bury himself within Lee and hold him tight enough so he can never leave. 

It takes Gaara long moments to collect himself. He cries quietly, his face scrunched up in ways Lee has never seen as tears run amuck across his face, down his nose, beneath his chin. They fall to the bedsheets, like rain, darkening the plain white like a scattered spring shower. 

Lee washes Gaara cry in silence. He doesn’t want to see this, but he feels he owes it to Gaara to witness this--to witness the devastation he’s caused. 

“Y-you should have died,” Gaara says. The words hurt more than his body, but Gaara keeps talking before Lee can runaway with the horrible truth that Gaara had wanted him dead all along. “I thought--when I found you--I was so sure. You should have died on impact, there was so much blood and you were unconscious, and--” He breaks off, looking away from Lee as though looking at him is a reminder of that very day, as though Gaara is not looking at a healing Lee but a dying Lee. 

Lee’s voice trembles when he speaks, weak and fragile like delicate glass. “I w-wish I could--I could take it back. All of it. Everything that has happened since I came here, everything.” 

Gaara looks at him with wide, glassy eyes, something flickering behind them that Lee cannot name. “Everything?” 

Lee nods. His memory is like wisps of smoke that he cannot hold onto, but he would never forget their kiss. “Everything,” he confirms.

“No.” Gaara is seething, the word slips from him like some sort of magic, a binding curse that Lee cannot free himself from. “You can’t. Don’t you dare take that back.” 

Lee frowns up at Gaara, confusion heavy on his brow. “But... you pushed me away.” 

“I was scared.” 

Lee comes up short. He doesn’t know what to think of this admission, doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with it. He is stuck now on the fact that Gaara does not want him to take back the kiss, hung up on the fact that Gaara won’t let him take it back. 

“When you first came here, I thought I could help,” Gaara says quietly. “I thought... It was self-important to think that because I’d been through trauma and loss, that I could somehow fix you. But I wanted to see you smile again.

“Sometimes you seemed to be getting better, but then you’d slip away again. We were all scared of what you’d do to yourself, but I thought if I just kept an eye on you it would be okay. You would be okay. Eventually. But you weren’t. And I yelled at you, and then you didn’t come home. I’d thought you had done something, I’d thought you’d hurt yourself but you were there, just sitting on the edge of the plateau, watching the sun rise.” 

He sucks in a breath, practically gasps as though the memory itself has winded him. 

“Do you love me?” 

The question startles Lee so much he flinches. It hurts to move, and the hurting of movement causes his body to seize up in protest. It hurts all the more of this. 

“I should get a medic.” 

“N-no, wait. Please.” Lee shifts, but he cannot push himself up--his left hand is in a cast and his right arm so heavily bandaged he cannot see his skin beneath, but he can feel the pull of his skin and knows it is not a sight worth seeing. 

Gaara moves closer, hesitating at the edge of the bed before he takes a seat. 

Lee wants to hold his hand, he wants to touch him so that he knows Gaara will not run away again. And maybe because he hopes it will offer Gaara some semblance of comfort too. 

After a moment of fighting with tendons and ligaments he knows he damaged, Lee manages to move his bandaged hand enough that it gently presses against Gaara’s thigh. The pressure hurts, however gentle it may be, but he doesn’t care. He knows he should care, knows he needs to stop thinking of pain as unquestioningly positive, but he wants to be a little selfish for just a little bit longer; he wants to feel Gaara as he pours his heart out to him. 

“I do not want to give you an answer that is anything less than the truth,” he manages to say, though the words are not as steady and strong as he would have liked them to be. “For a long time, I have thought about you. And maybe that is...” He pauses, his head beginning to ache. The lights are too bright and he is sure he has some head trauma, but he needs to get this out before he forgets. “In truth, I do not think I know what love means anymore.” 

Gaara is watching him, still as a statue save for the subtle movement of his eyes as they flit across Lee’s face. He doesn’t speak, and Lee is grateful for that if only because he is afraid of what Gaara will say. 

“And I do not think I know how to be as I was anymore, and I know that as I am now, it would be unfair to say I do. I might not. I may just... love that you are here when I need someone.” 

Gaara lets out a shaky breath, lips parting fractionally to let the breath escape. Tears glisten in his eyes, and Lee wants so badly to reach up and wipe them away. He can’t--physically limited as he is--and he shouldn’t. Before Gaara can think to say anything in response, Lee continues. 

“I have hurt you. I have been selfish in my grief. I have thought of only myself--and perhaps that is understandable, perhaps to a point it is even reasonable. But it has been almost a year, and I have not allowed myself to heal. I have wallowed, and any chance at healing I have rebuffed. I was so determined not to go on without my sensei that I pushed everyone away, pushed myself away. And because of that, I have hurt you.

“I never meant to,” he adds, tears coming to his eyes unbidden. “I truly never meant to. I just... I wanted it to stop. I wanted to...” He presses his lips together, fighting tears and the agony that comes with his words. “I do not know anymore. I just--every day it felt as though someone had come and carved a hole in my chest. I did not know who I was anymore--I do not know who I am. 

“And after what happened, I do not know what it will take to get better, but I want to get better. I do. And maybe if I can, maybe if I do then I can tell you without a doubt that I do love you.” He wants so badly to tell Gaara he loves him, wants so badly for something beautiful to come from all the ugliness he’s felt, but he wants it to be real; he doesn’t want to give Gaara false promises and false love. 

His head is throbbing fiercely now, along with the rest of his body. Exhaustion runs through his veins, and it is suddenly difficult to think of all the important things he’d realised as he’d fallen towards his death. He opens his mouth, but only manages to slur on words his mind is too sleepy to remember. 

Gaara reaches out for him, touching his cheek with those same unsure fingertips. He trails them across his face, wiping at tears, then moves to touch his lips. 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Gaara tells him. 

Lee wants to promise him that he won’t, wants to promise “never again”, but he can’t. He doesn’t know who he is or who he will become, and he doesn’t want to promise that Gaara won’t lose the person Lee used to be. 

“I will get better,” he says, because he thinks he can at least promise that. “When I do, if I know my feelings for you to be true, I will come back.” 

“You’re going?”

“I think it is for the best.” His eyes droop, but he fights against it. “You have done everything you can--too much, in fact. It is time I get better on my own, Kazekage-sama.” 

Gaara’s nod is a tiny, imperceptible thing, barely a motion at all. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.” 

Lee manages to smile, a proper smile, for what feels like the first time. “Thank you.”

[calleo-bricriu]

Do you ever play any Muggle games that involve magic? Not real magic obviously but like the kind of stuff they write about in fiction.

I do!

Not as often as I used to, but there’s a little group of them that I still occasionally play with.

I’ve done a few different characters for different side games, but in the main one, I’ve had the same one for years now as the person running them is pretty good about not killing off characters for effect.

Not that it matters much, as there is a Cleric in the group as well as NPC spots to stop and hand over gold in exchange for resurrection–if you’ve dragged the body along with you. The Cleric doesn’t charge though, so we usually just make her do it.

There are a few different spell casting classes, all of which are tied to talent points that you assign and earn along the way. Some require high wisdom or high charisma and some just require high intelligence.

What I have started out as a Wizard class, which is one of the high intelligence classes, and I thought it’d be a bit fun to not only throw all the available points into intelligence but also take away from wisdom and charisma just to boost it.

What that resulted in was a person who was incredibly skilled with a whole hell of a lot of general offensive magic–at the expense of common sense and people skills.

Early on, half of the interactions with the NPCs were other party members just trying to keep him from talking to people or doing something incredibly dim and making life difficult. He was good in combat, however, and that’s a good chunk of the game, so they were happy to keep him around and just distract him to keep him from making life difficult when interacting with people outside the party.

The thing with Wizard is that it’s a base class; after a certain level, you can either stay that way or you can split off at any time into specific schools of magic.Specifically, any of the following: Artifacter, Bladesinger, Lore Mastery, Abjuration, Conjuration, Divination, Enchantment, Evocation, Illusion, Invention, Necromancy, Transmutation, Technomancy, Theurgy, or War Magic.

Go ahead and guess which one I went with. I’ll give you a hint, it starts with an N.

And the thing about Necromancy is that, to use a few of the more prominent skills, such as Command Undead, the undead creature in question just has to win out over how charismatic the Necromancer is.

He wasn’t. At all. So, more often than not, he’d go to do a Command Undead and essentially get a rude gesture in return. Didn’t stop him from trying, but it almost never worked and eventually he was convinced by the others to just stop trying and raise bones or corpses or something that someone else hadn’t already raised once because those were bound to obey.

At certain high levels, you can take a few talents that result in one arm becoming skeletal and having what amounts to an instant death spell on them. That means, if you get close enough and physically touch someone, they will more than likely just drop over dead.

There are also spells that have an area instant death effect but those have to be specifically cast.

So, again, he was incredibly useful in combat, especially if they just wanted it over with quickly or needed to literally answer a, “You and what army?” type of situation. Nobody ever said the army was required to be comprised of the living, after all.

However, that low Wisdom stat meant that he often forgot that touching people with that hand, which was his dominant hand, would more than likely kill them.

They were run out of several towns after he’d shake hands with, say, someone in charge, a guard, a shopkeeper, any random person, and they’d instantly die.

At first, the Cleric would take over, calm things down, resurrect whoever had died free of charge (which isn’t a horrible thing for that particular class, it’s essentially a favour they get from whatever deity they worship, so the resurrected person isn’t considered undead and is fully alive), and they would at least all be able to leave without being chased out by an angry mob.

After awhile, however, the person leading the game decided that rumours had spread about my absolute idiot of a Necromancer and people started denying the entire group access to their towns specifically because of him.

And the Cleric’s deity started denying resurrection requests because the deity was sick of dealing with my idiot Necromancer.

The first time that happened, he stepped in with, “No big deal, I can resurrect things too!” and raised someone–which created what was, more or less, a very ‘alive’ and aware corpse that nobody would really want to be around on account of them being a walking corpse.

When you raise them quickly enough, which you’re not supposed to do, you’re supposed to wait a specified amount of time so you don’t bind the spirit back to the corpse and get an undead thing that knows it’s undead, knows that’s not right at all, and you’ve essentially made an abomination by binding a living soul to a dead body and forcing it to exist that way.

The Cleric just about lost her mind screaming at him about that and all he responded with was, “I don’t see the issue; he was dead, now he’s not, problem solved.”

There was a back and forth of what amounted to, “Oh, it’s exactly the same! Resurrection is resurrection!” vs. “IT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO THE SAME THING , YOU HORRID LITTLE GREMLIN!” and the Cleric ended up obliterating the new abomination with a blast of divine energy while still arguing with him about it.

There are certain things that are not advisable to say to a Cleric, especially in an argument.

Among those:

“Yes, well, at least I don’t have to beg to a god and ask permission to raise the dead!” That–was strike two.

Anything that amounts to, “What are you going to do? Smite me?” because that’ll spiral off into an argument about how it’s not that she can’t smite me, it’s that she doesn’t want to, oh great excuse to explain why “your god” didn’t answer at least I don’t have to draw power from a deity because I can do it myself, keep talking and I will blast you into oblivion with holy fire and no I do not care that we’ve known each other for decades I will end you right here, you and what army because I can raise an army literally any time, you wouldn’t dare (he would and did, but it wasn’t terribly impressive as the only dead things or bones around were of various woodland creatures–the, uh, Druid was not happy about that), WATCH ME!, I swear to my and every other god I will dispatch you to whatever hell awaits your sort with righteous fire, just try it you wouldn’t dare!

At that point, the rest of the party just…walked away. Didn’t want any part of this argument and she actually did try it and caused a good deal of damage on the first hit because she caught him unaware.

Holy fire does a good deal of rather painful damage to things that deal with the Not Holy side of things and while a smarter person might have just stopped there and apologised, his reaction was more along the lines of, “You absolute bitch! You deserve everything I’m about to do to you for that!”

…and an actual fight broke out.

The best part is, in these games, at least with the group I play with, you speak as your character, so the other three in the group got to sit there and watch me and the person playing the Cleric argue about this in character for a good half hour, and through the actual fight that broke out in the game itself.

Trouble there is both of them were pretty evenly matched in terms of magical skill and, after that 20 minutes, when it was clear there was either not going to be a winner or someone was going to require a paid resurrection at the end, the other three came back and just–kind of pulled them apart and gave them a, “We have BETTER THINGS TO DO you two! Grow up!” lecture.

So, that was about the sixth town he’d managed to get them barred from and this time the Cleric wouldn’t let it go. Everyone else was just, “…this is not worth the fight, let it go, we’ll go somewhere else,” and the Cleric was absolutely done with my Necromancer but they weren’t allowed to fight anymore so it never went beyond verbal back and forth after that.

At one point she threatened to rip that arm off of him and beat him to death with it and he was just, “HA! Whatever, I’m basically immune to the entire school of magic by this point so it’s not going to bother me one bit.” You–become more or less immune to Necromancy, by the rules, if you stay in that school long enough.

Out of frustration, her solution ended up being tying an oversized, bright purple oven mitt over that hand so when the inevitable happened and he did try to touch someone, it wouldn’t kill them.

He ended up agreeing to it because, fine, whatever, if it’ll stop you screeching at me.

It worked out pretty well, he stopped accidentally killing people when meeting them, no more being run out of or barred from towns, yay!

Except now, he’d forget to take it off in combat and had several instance of walking up to someone all dramatic to deliver the deathblow and get interrupted by the NPC with, “Sorry, I know this is serious and all, but…are you wearing an oven mitt?”

“Oh! Right! Sorry about that!” Mitten comes off, touch-and-kill the NPC, mitten goes back on. He was always very, very good about remembering to put it back on because if he didn’t, the Cleric started yelling at him again until he did.

That got so bad that everyone in the party would repeatedly remind him, prior to engaging in combat, to take the fucking mitten off for the love of everything holy on account of the game leader deciding that, while the mitten was on, his abilities in general were greatly reduced as they were being blocked by the protective holy spells the Cleric had put on it.

So, with the mitten on, he was, more or less, completely useless in combat.

After a few months of that, new rumours spread about this idiot and his big mitten, and NPCs started conversations with, “I’m not talking to you until he puts his mitten back on.”

The Cleric somehow became the unofficial “keep our Necromancer from ruining everything, please” keeper and more than once he’s told her, “If I wanted someone to hover over me like an overprotective mother, I’d dig her up and raise her!”That never went over well and usually got a, “DO. NOT.”

Before games would start, if it was that group of characters, there would be bets around the table as to how he’d manage to completely drive things off the rails.

After a few years in that game, they started being a bit more strategic and dragging fights to areas where they knew he’d have a lot of things to resurrect and throw at whatever was attacking them; there were a lot of fights in or near graveyards.

The others I have are completely normal, all things considered.

[masterturner]

long drawn out personal post

this is a bit stream of consciousness, so if you’re reading this and trying to make sense of it, im sorry. its okay if youd rather not. its a lot and its emotional labour to even read it probably. it’s been almost a year since the breakup now. every day closer to the anniversary of it, i feel a little more broken. i’ve had two suicide attempts since then, a prolonged IOP thing, and i no longer see a therapist (though i really should start again). im not crying about borderline personality disorder though. this is all breakup shit. still.  im still holding together somehow. i dont really know how, some days. ive gone through the whole cycle of grieving multiple times now, cycling again and again through denial and bargaining and all that, ‘til i reach acceptance and think the hurricane is at its end. then i find i’m just in the eye of the storm, and it’ll soon pass as i get caught up in the winds again. then i do the whole cycle over and over again. thats what the therapists in the IOP said it was. a grieving process. you can grieve the terminus of a relationship the same way you grieve a dead person. it sounds so silly when i make that comparison. they also said that progress and healing are nonlinear and that it’s not really necessarily going to be as simple as passing through the grieving process a single time.  i said it sounds silly. its not silly though. its real, and i have to remind myself of that from time to time. i dont usually talk about anything personal on here, and its a little weird that im doing it now. but i guess im doing it because i dont know where else to do it. i could do it on facebook, but it feels attention-grabby, needy in a way i always feel weird being. doing it here under a little ‘read more’ thing feels less obtrusive and private, but not so private that im completely trapped in my own skull again. i hate feeling trapped in my own skull.  the anxiety bubbled up and got bad again pretty constantly. it got that way tonight. i felt my heart race while i tried to sleep. usually the worst points stemmed from me looking my ex up and seeing how their life was progressing along without me. unlike me, my ex has a drive and interest in the performance of social media that i generally lack. my social media experience begins and ends in shallow ways: i look at cute butts on tumblr, reblog dumb memes and get vague impressions of things going on in the world and such through the sometimes nonsensical things other people reblog. thats about it. my ex, though, shes the kind of person that does things like update her facebook profile picture at least once in a 6 month period, unlike yours truly.  i dont even follow her or have her friended anymore on facebook. heaven forbid i had an instagram to see what kind of stuff was going on there. it always got the worst when i saw her with her new SO. now i get to look at that every time i get the nerve to message her. its literally painful to even look to the extent i have to archive or delete every stray line of text we send to one another afterward.  i was seriously in denial - i talked myself into believing the SO wasnt an obstacle, wasnt a big deal, he was just a rebound and it didnt invalidate me. it didnt make me lesser, and it didnt mean that i was being replaced. after all, what stranger can replace 5 years of memories and experiences together? but i was a rebound too, and that led to a deep and intense relationship. why couldnt it this time too?  i was naive, i think. hopeful and naive, and i really wanted to believe this and that. ‘i know her’ i’d tell myself. ‘i know her, and i know she wouldn’t think this’ or ‘she wouldn’t do this’. but it’s wishful thinking.  maybe a part of me always did know better. maybe i stopped listening to that part of my own psyche because i started to recognize how harmful it was.  it’s kind of messed up how that works though? like... you can be happy with someone, but also be terrified of that day when they realize they can do better. and then it becomes a sort of twisted, fucked-up self-fulfilling prophecy because that thought sucks the life and passion out of you. it’s insidious and slow.  and it’s tempting to look at it like ‘i was right all along, everyone will leave me’, but that’s not really how it necessarily is. thats just the trauma talking, the fear, the part of my mind that’s lazy and resigned to suffering and collapse. it was that fear that made it real. maybe if i’d learned to manage that fear, though, things could have been different. would have been different.  it’s pointless to speculate on that though. the reason i say it isnt to speculate though, it’s because im trying to remind myself that it can apply to right now. the friendships and relationships i have now - few and far between as they may be, stretched thin as they may be, damaged and in dire need of repair as they may be - aren’t doomed to failure just because i’m afraid of loss and abandonment. the collapse doesnt have to be inevitable.  maybe talking like i’ve learned and figured something out from all this will make me feel better. maybe believing it all had a purpose will make it feel like it was worth it. eventually. right now, though, it doesnt.  i’m still so upset. i’m still miserable and i still long for things i can’t have. i miss affection. i miss being touched, even in a plain and nonsexual way. i miss being kissed and i miss being hugged. i miss being wanted, and every day i wonder if ill ever feel that again. and then i get to thinking, would it be enough to feel that from just anyone again? why do i feel so starved for... any kind of affection at all? why do i feel so desperate for something - anything like this? could anyone ever love me the way my ex did? i guess the cynical and plain answer to that is no, but thats okay. and maybe someone else can love me better. and maybe that desperate longing to be loved, cherished, cared about, touched, anything is just a symptom of an addiction that’s yet to pass. kind of a cold and clinical way to put it though, and i dont know if thats really me. yet i dont want someone else because its not enough to just have anyone. my ex left me, and now i still have that feeling of being invalidated, devalued, abandoned, and ultimately replaced. even if someone else came along and professed undying love for me, no matter how i welcomed it, that feeling of being tossed aside would remain. and i dont know how to come back from it.  i hate how much my mind... fixates on it. like... everything makes me think of it. i cant make a status on facebook without wondering if my ex will see it, what she might think. i cant leave my house and go somewhere without wondering, what if my ex sees me? what would she think of what im doing? would she approve, or be proud of me? would it impress her? or would it disappoint her? it saps the joy out of almost everything i do. i cant watch an old show without feeling bad im watching it without her. i cant help but wonder if she feels the same, or if shes gotten over it. and a part of me doesnt want to know the answer to that wonder. does she still listen to mili? coheed? does she listen to ‘old flames’ on repeat like i do? when ‘sweater weather’ comes on, does she think of me or someone else?  even now as i write this, i wonder if my ex still stops to peer at my dumb blog from time to time for a hint of how im doing and what im thinking. and i dont even know if id want to know, because seeing this message in that light casts a pall over it that makes me feel sick. i didnt want my ex to see how not okay i am. i didnt want her to see the part of me that feels so sick still. and i dont want to know that she doesn’t look at this either. so here i am at an impasse, writing words and tossing them into the void of the internet, hoping for and expecting only silence, while also hating and fearing the very same. id like to think that maybe this is a sign i dont care anymore, but i think i know better than to really believe that.  i force myself every day to just... not reach out. not say anything to her thats real or vulnerable - the few times ive talked to her it feels forced and fake. and it feels like ive cut off a limb, because im so used to leaning and relying on her. but i feel like i have to, because expecting that level of emotional labour from someone that has cut those ties with me seems silly and foolish... not to mention selfish.  why? maybe a part of me thinks that by hiding it, i’d win her back someday. or maybe im just afraid of being burdensome and difficult. or maybe i just... genuinely do want her to be happy without me. i wish it was that last one. i wish i could just back off and be happy that shes with someone else that maybe will treat her good in a way that i couldnt, or didnt.  i dont know what i want, though. i know what i dont want though. i know i hate feeling like this and i wish i could make it stop, but i cant. its not really getting easier. i had the borderline shit before this, and i could end up meeting the criteria my whole life for all i know. the breakup is just a massive complication in that whole mess, but i dont know if id even know what was wrong with me if i didnt have that relationship in the first place.  there was a day a few days ago, or maybe a week or two ago (i dont remember) where i wanted to hurt myself (not physically though for whatever reason), and in order to do it, i made myself do something i was starting to break the habit of doing. i browsed her facebook profile and scoured it for anything that’d make it sting again. i succeeded - it didnt take much. a few pictures, a relationship status change, that was pretty much it. my mind filled in the blanks after that because of course it did. it snowballed into full blown catastrophizing. they’re probably madly in love. they’re probably moving in together, if they havent’ already done so. they’re probably making plans to get married. they’re probably this and that and this and that - like it matters. like it affects me somehow.  but it doesnt. not really, not physically anyway. i dont have to look, and its like i hope not looking will make it hurt less. but not looking makes me hope, and hope has bred more hurt than anything else in the past year.  since i last looked her up in that fog of need to hurt myself emotionally, a lot of that dreadful hope i had that i could win her back drained away, and i want to believe that the pain will go away now. i havent talked to her since then. i still think about her. i still dream. i still fear and i still wonder and reflect. but i havent talked to her. is that good? is it bad? is it anything other than what it is? does it matter? maybe someday ill be over this. a part of me yearns for that. and a part of me is afraid to ever let go, because what if love wins in the end and all the time we had together meant something after all?  did it not mean anything if it didnt end up taking the shape i wanted it to take? no, it still meant something, but does that matter now?  i dont know. all i know is that to this day it hurts and... that’s all. thats all i know.  eleven months later and it still hurts. but i guess expecting it to be all better after 5 years of dating is a little unrealistic. i thought we were gonna be together forever. forever is a long time, though, i guess.  she makes it look easy, but maybe it isnt for her either, even if she’s better at making it look a certain way. i have no way of knowing and thats maddening in its own way. if i had the ability to close that distance... hear her out, be there for her, could i do it? could i get over my own fear and hurt to build a connection again? id love to find out. but i cant seem to get that far.  it doesnt matter though. its her life, and she has every right to move on without me. its easy to say ‘poor me’, but theres two sides to every story. a lot of pain that led up to the end. questions i still have that will never go answered, and closure i might not ever obtain.  ctrl+a, delete, backspace. that’s all it’ll take, tyler. then maybe you can sleep.  but no, instead you’re going to post this. for what? why? is it a cry for help? complaining for the sake of complaining?  i dont know. i cant leave it all in my own head though.  but the silence that i get back in response is liable to be deafening all the same