#so i always kept at least a one in my scrub pockets

[inniave]

pharmacies should automatically give you (or at the very least offer) naloxone any time you get an opioid prescription

[cevansbrat0007]

Hello 🤗 I am back to cause chaos lol I have had this thought for days. What about the reaction of Andy and or Ari if there girl goes and gets waxed down there and they usually go to a woman but this time it was a man ?

Summary: Ari doesn't approve of your latest trip to the spa.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Jealous/Possessive Ari Levinson, Arguments, Smut, Discussions of Personal Grooming Habits, Manhandling, Oral Sex (fem rec), Ass Slapping, Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You and Ari are in the middle of a conversation one evening, with both of you taking turns catching the other up on the events of your day. 

“Anyway, I can’t wait to try their new, revamped line of body butters they’ve got coming out next month.” You pause for a moment to shut the dishwasher before dutifully pressing start. “I remember the first time I used their hibiscus and papaya scrub – wait. Or was it the oil?”

You cast a glance over your shoulder at your handsome Bounty Hunter who’s been busy holding up a wall in your kitchen ever since he walked in the door less than fifteen minutes ago. You’re not the least bit surprised when you see him shrug, the poor man looking so lost it was almost comical.    

“Eh, I can’t quite remember.” Your fingers come up to tap your chin. “But whatever it was, it seriously had me smelling so good practically all flippin’ day.” 

Satisfied, you return your attention back to tidying up your kitchen. Since Ari had texted saying he’d already eaten and you hadn’t wanted to leave the clean-up to the last minute, you’d decided to tackle it before you got too tired and didn’t feel like doing it anymore.

“Now, Beast, if you find yourself hungry in the middle of the night you just go on and help yourself. And don’t forget about the biscuits.” You tell him as you move to wash your hands. “They are literally the backbone of the entire dish.”

A beat goes by before your rugged companion responds. And when he finally does, it’s with something you least expect.  

“So, I take it there weren’t any, uh, other lady waxers workin’ at that fancy spa place of yours today?” Ari coughs, appearing more than a little uncomfortable with the subject matter at hand. 

“Huh?” Confused, you lean back against the countertops before bracing yourself on your elbows. “That’s all you managed to get out of the last ten minutes?”

His sheepish response of “well, yeah” has you shaking your head in exasperation. 

“Of course there were. The staff at Ostara is almost all exclusively female.”   

“Oh. It’s just that…” He gazes up at the ceiling, almost like he’s waiting for the right words to come tumbling down out of the sky. “When I asked how your day was a little bit ago, you mentioned that someone named Michèle handled your waxing appointment. I just assumed it was a woman...” 

“Nope.” You reply, crossing your arms over your chest. “Michèle is most definitely a guy.”  

“Okay.” Ari blows out an uncertain breath the same time as one of his big hands comes to rub at the back of his neck. “Not too sure how I feel about that.”

“About what?”

He gives a lame shrug before jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “‘I guess I’m just not too keen on the idea of another man seeing you…like that. In fact I know I’m not.”

His words have your mouth falling open. “Beast!” You exclaim, slapping an incredulous hand to your forehead. “I promise that we kept everything strictly professional.”

“Never said it wasn’t.” He mumbles, even as he continues glowering at you from across the room.   

“Welp, now that we cleared that up I think I’m ready for bed.” You push away from the counter, intending to put an end to the discussion by heading upstairs. Although a part of you should’ve known that it couldn’t possibly be that easy. “If you decide you wanna join me, you might wanna try getting over yourself first.” 

“Now hold on.” He goes to reach for you as you pass by, but because you see it coming, you manage to dance out of the way. “Bird, wait!”

You simply didn’t have the energy to argue with him about something as trivial as this tonight. He could get over it, or he could go home.

“Slow down a second, woman!”

To your credit, you manage to make it all the way to the top of the stairs and into your bedroom without looking back once. Not that you needed to anyway since you could feel that your Bounty Hunter was hot on your heels. 

“Hey!” Ari growls, snagging a fistful of your oversized sleepshirt and hauling you flush against his hard chest. “You know I hate it when you walk away in the middle of a conversation. Drives me fuckin’ nuts every single time.”

Now that you knew to be true. It was part of the reason you always kept that move in your back pocket. Because it always bought you time while pissing him off. 

“You were being ridiculous.” You tell him, reaching behind you to twine your arms around his neck. “But if you’re finished, I suppose I could be convinced to let you take me to bed.” 

All is quiet for a moment as your eyes flutter closed, your body content to relax as you listen to the sound of his heartbeat. A hint of a smile tugs at your mouth when you feel two large, warm hands settle on your hips, followed by a whisper of lips tracing along the shell of your ear. 

“How ‘bout you finish telling me about why you let another man see what’s mine?” While Ari manages to keep his tone low and even, there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s pissed.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Immediately, you pull away – surprised when he lets you go. 

“Seriously?” You snap, almost tripping over your own two feet. “I already told you, the girl who usually does it called in sick. What else did you expect me to do, Ari? Skip it?”

“Well, maybe.” Ari grunts, his sensual lips curving into a frown. “Not sure why you even felt the need to subject yourself to that shit in the first place. I had no idea when I left you this morning that you were planning to abuse my pussy like that.” You watch as he runs an agitated hand through his chestnut locks. 

“Just so we’re clear, this is my body we’re talking about, okay? Which means I'm in control of what happens to it.” You perch on the edge of the bed, your entire body bristling with annoyance. It was a shame that your man refused to let this one ride.

“Bullshit.” He hisses before grabbing the bottom of his faded gray t-shirt and dragging it over his head. “I’m not talking about your body, I’m talking about my pussy. The same greedy cunt I find myself feedin’ damn near everyday.”

“Oh, don’t be crass.” Your tone is rife with indignation, even as you feel your cheeks heat. 

“Who the hell’s bein’ crass, Duchess? All I’m doing is telling the truth.” Next he goes to work on his jeans, unfastening the button and zipper before dragging them down his legs and kicking them into a random corner of the room, leaving him clad in only a pair of black boxer briefs. “I tell you all the time about how fucking greedy she is, don’t I?”

Okay, fine. But that didn’t mean he had to be so loud about it. So what if you hadn’t been the type to enjoy sex all that much before Ari came along? Now you couldn’t get enough. Where was the crime, officer?  

“I’m not that greedy.” You pout, doing your best to ignore the wetness coating your thighs.

“Baby.” Ari murmurs, bridging the distance so that he can bend down to take your lips in a brief kiss. “How many times have you been done – I’m talking absolutely spent – and she hasn’t wanted to let me go?” He briefly distracts himself by twisting one of your curls around his finger. “So I’ve gotta take you again. Fuck you even longer and harder so she’ll finally let us both get some rest.” 

“I–I’m not even sure I know what you’re talking about.” Except you absolutely did know what he was talking about. And it was absolutely true. Well, most of it anyway. 

“Is that so?” Ari murmurs as his voice dips, his tone pitched to arouse. “Then perhaps you need me to help jog your memory.” His leans in trail a line of soft, sensual kisses along the curve of your throat. 

“Maybe.” You rasp, tilting your chin up so as to grant him easier access. 

“I’ll do whatever you want so long as today is the last day I ever have to hear about you letting another man see what’s mine.”

“That is IT!” You snap, shooting off the bed so fast you barely miss smacking heads. “Fuck you, Ari Levinson! If you’re so hellbent on making something out of nothing then you can just see yourself out already.”

“I can’t help it if what I’m feeling actually feels like something instead of nothing.” You can’t help but notice the way his heated gaze tracks your every movement. 

“For the last time, I went to a salon and spa to see a licensed esthetician for a professional waxing appointment like I have done for ages. Today it just so happened to be with a guy.” This time when he tries to touch you’re quick to slap his hand away. “Nothing happened other than me enduring having hot wax poured onto, and then subsequently ripped off of, my nether regions. That is it.” You huff, poking him in the chest with your finger. 

“And I’m trying to tell you that you didn’t need to put yourself through all that.” You jump when he nips at the offending finger, gently catching it between his teeth. “Not for me. I don’t mind a little hair. Doesn’t bother me any.”

Well, you would be sure to file that one away for future reference.

“But I didn’t do it for you, you goof!” You yank your hand away, attempting to put some distance between yourself and the annoying, half-naked Bounty Hunter standing in front of you. “I did it for me. It’s part of my…my self-care, or whatever.” Your pulse speeds up when you watch him reach inside his boxers to adjust his rapidly hardening cock. “Okay? But I won’t use Michèle again if it bothers you that much.”

“Appreciate that.” Ari nods once, his perfect teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he slowly backs you into a corner. “But I wanna put it on record that I’m the type of man who’s gonna enjoy his meal however you’re fixin’ to serve it, sweet Bird.”

Holy shit. Why the fuck did that make your pussy gush the way it just did?

“M–meaning?” You gasp when you collide with a nearby wall. Grinning, Ari slips a wandering hand between your bodies, pleased when he finds you naked and wet for him. He cups your bare pussy, reveling in the way your sticky honey eagerly coats his palm.  

“I just don’t want you thinkin’ about depriving me because you’re in between appointments, or 'cuz your regular gal has to reschedule.” You let out a whimper when Ari grinds the heel of his palm against your swollen clit. “I’m afraid that’s not going to work for me. Or, I suspect, for her.” 

“You’re so bossy.” You whine, rising on your toes as he continues to tease you. “You really gotta work on that.”

“You think so, beautiful Bird?” He gazes down at you through lidded eyes, his easy grin bordering on indulgent. And then he applies more pressure, not missing the way your toes curl into the plush carpet as pleasure begins to overwhelm you.        

“Uh huh.” Your hands go to grip his forearm, perhaps hoping to better increase the friction. 

“Then I reckon I just might owe you an apology.” And truth be told, he recognized that he probably did. It was entirely possible that he let the whole Michèle thing bother him more than it ought to. Perhaps he’d sleep on it and see how he felt about it all tomorrow. Or not.

But for now, there was something else he could do to help mend things – provided he was willing to get a little filthy. 

Ari surprises you by removing his hand. But just when you’re about to pitch a fit, he drops to his knees in front of you. “Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.” He begins as his fingers trail their way along the soft skin of your calf. “Let me apologize for giving into some of my baser instincts, like the neanderthal you’ll probably wanna claim that I am.”

“Beast–” You open your mouth to respond, only to let out a surprised squeal when he picks up your leg and drapes it over one of his broad shoulders. “Jesus!”

“Hush.” He then leans in to bestow a hot, open mouthed kiss to your exposed pussy. He groans against your most intimate flesh, savoring the sweet, earthy taste of you. “Need to make sure she’s okay before I start apologizing too much.” Is all he says before he goes back to burying his face between your thighs, nuzzling at your glistening folds with the tip of his nose. 

“Are you sensitive anywhere?” Ari growls, his voice coming out slightly muffled as he circles your throbbing bundle of nerves with his skilled tongue. “Sore?”

“No.” You breathe, lightly running your fingers through his dark brown strands. “In fact, I feel ah-may-zing.” You finish with a tiny giggle.

“Good.” 

That’s your only warning before your world suddenly shifts as Ari tosses your other leg over his shoulder. Next thing you know, he’s back to standing at his full height. And you’re now touching the ceiling with your thighs locked around his head.     

“Omigosh!” You cry, the sound of your nervous laughter filling the room. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you don’t – ooh…oh God yes…yesyesyes!” You smack your open palm against the ceiling as your Bounty Hunter begins to eat you like a man starved. 

“Oh don’t stop, Beast, please!” You sob, grinding your dripping pussy against Ari’s face, soaking his beard just the way he likes.  

Words, rough and unintelligible, rumble out from somewhere deep in his chest. And while you may not be able to understand him, you know exactly what he’s trying to tell you. His hands gripping your ass to hold you in place are enough to drive the message home. 

You were to take everything he gave you like a good girl. His good girl. So you do. You practically scream yourself hoarse as Ari takes his time tormenting you with every sensual flick, every tortuous swirl of his wide, flat tongue.

He gets off on the way he's making your legs shake, the sound of you unbridled cries and soft whimpers leaving him painfully hard. But still he doesn’t stop. He continues taking his time, worshiping you the best way he knows how.

“I’m sorry, baby.” Ari grunts when he finally comes up for air, his breaths coming in sharp pants. “But I’m still gonna need a little more time to work on my apology.” One of his hands delivers a swift blow to your ass, making you yip. “Really need to reconsider my behavior today while I put a fresh spitshine on my pussy.” He winks at you then, letting you know that he means every word.

“I’m sure she won’t mind.” He quips with a grin, his chin still shiny with your juices. “And neither will you.”

END

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[leviathans-watching]

could u pls write the brothers x a reader who dropped out of school/college? having a rly hard time rn and i could use the comfort, tysm <3

having a hard time in the human realm

includes: brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated t | m.list

warnings: crying, breakdowns, implied depression

a/n: i'm sorry you're having a hard time :(( i wish you all the best and lots of love and comfort. hope this helps! my inbox is open to chat, request, or leave feedback!

mammon exchanges worried looks with asmo when there’s no response when he knocks on the door to your apartment. it had been nearly three months since you’d returned to the human realm and since you’d first separated, you hadn’t missed a single weekly call. until tonight, that is.

and combine that with the fact that you weren’t responding to anyone, weren’t active on any social media, and now weren’t answering your door… mammon’s getting seriously concerned.

“let’s break in,” belphie says, and it’s a testament to how worried lucifer is that he agrees.

“i can pick locks, hold on,” asmo says, dropping to his knees and pulling a bobby pin out of his pocket. man, lucifer must be really worried if he’s not even remarking on this!

a moment passes, and then asmo pushes the door open, rising back to his feet. he leads the way into your apartment, and mammon takes in the dark interior. it’s messy and cluttered, a far cry from the neat and tidy room you’d kept at the house of lamentation, and it’s also silent.

lucifer takes the helm then, moving through your living room. mammon can see a dim kitchen with piled-up dishes, and then gets distracted by another door. presumably the door to your room.

mammon knocks on that one, then opens it. like the rest of the apartment, the room is dark, with thick curtains pulled over the window. mammon steps over the clothes all over the floor, towards your bed, which is messy with sheets and blankets piled up.

but thankfully, there’s a person there too. mammon puts a hand on your shoulder, grateful he can see the rise and fall of your chest. so, at least you’re still alive?

shaking you gently, mammon waits for you to wake. his brothers crowd the bed around him, but stay quiet.

with a gasp, you sit up, looking around wildly. “w-what?”

“it’s just us, mc,” beel says soothingly, and you calm slightly, then squint, confused.

“what are you doing here?”

“we were worried,” levi volunteers. “you weren’t answering your ddd and missed dour call.”

“oh,” you say slowly, probably still waking up. “that was today? i’m sorry, i’ve just been really…busy. and wait, you guys decided to break into my apartment?”

“busy?” says lucifer, dodging the accusation question. “with school?”

you look to the side shiftily, and mammon’s glad his eyes can see well enough in the dark where a human would struggle. “something like that.”

“cut the crap,” asmo says suddenly. “what’s going on, mc?”

without warning, tears well up in your eyes. “i’m sorry,” you say miserably, scrubbing at your eyes with your sleeve. “i’m sorry. i’m just so tired.”

mammon wraps an arm around your shoulders (were they always this fragile feeling?), and pulls you to his chest. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s just so hard!” you say after a breath. “i miss you guys so much. every day. it feels like a piece of me is missing. and as hard as it was to adjust to the devildom it’s even harder re-adjusting now. i miss the house of lamentation and being at rad and all of you. i can’t do this.”

“i had no idea you were feeling this way,” lucifer says quietly, guiltily. mammon feels the same way. how had he not noticed you were hurting?

“i stopped going to my classes,” you continue, a sob ripping free. “there’s no way i can get any credits for this semester. i want to go home.”

mammon locks eyes with his brothers. there’s no way they’re leaving you here tonight.

“let’s take you home, then,” he says, and you blink up at him.

“wait, really?”

“there’s no rule saying you can’t come back,” lucifer says. “i thought that’s what you wanted. after all, you were only supposed to be an exchange student after all. but if we had had any idea of how much this would have hurt you, diavolo and i would have never let you leave. so yes, let’s go home.”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[quietblueriver]

For prompts: Imogen/Laudna, hound of ill omen or pâté pet fluff

So this turned into nearly 4k words on Imogen and the animals she has loved? The last section at least is directly responsive. 😬 And I might supplement with hound of ill omen at some point because he's lurking around in my head, too.

Thank you so much for the fun prompt! <3

PS - Wrote this real fast so pls excuse any errors.

-

One afternoon when Imogen was six, her daddy called her into the barn and nodded over at the old wooden trough turned on its side near the stairs to the loft. She knew what it meant, gasping and scurrying in the direction of the trough, slowing to the quickest walk she could manage at her daddy’s, “No running in the barn, Imogen.” 

And then she saw them—five tiny new things, eyes closed and mouths searching, mewling and pitiful on a pile of hay inside the shelter of the worn, dusty planks. 

Lady, their mother and Imogen’s favorite barn cat, eyed Imogen as she approached, orange and white tail flicking back and forth, one black ear twitching. Imogen couldn’t read minds (not yet, anyway) but she thought she understood–she gave Lady and her kittens plenty of space, stopping before she got too close. She sat criss-cross applesauce, watching from a distance and thinking about names until her daddy put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her toward the house for dinner. 

For the next few weeks, she went out every morning before school and every night before bed to check on them–three orange and one calico and a pretty orange and black mix. 

“Tortoiseshell,” her daddy said as he watched Imogen watch them, the black and orange–tortoiseshell–jumping and pawing fiercely at a piece of hay that stuck up from the ground. He only stayed for a moment, wiping sweat from his forehead with the navy blue bandana he always kept in his back pocket before he said, “We’re only keeping one.” When she turned to look at him, he was already focused on pulling the rake from its hook and moving toward one of the stalls. She wanted to argue but she bit her tongue. She was getting good at that. He didn’t look at her as he added, “Don’t get too attached.” 

She did get too attached. She cried when Pumpkin and Daisy went to live with Mr. Faramore’s cousin. She tried to hide it, sniffling into the sleeve of her shirt, but her daddy saw and frowned and shook his head. “That’s how it works, Imogen. I told you.” Shame curled in her stomach, and when she wiped her face again, motion hard with anger, the button on her cuff caught her cheek and split the skin. 

A few weeks later, when Scare and Crow went to live on the farm a few miles away, Imogen hid behind the barn with Ember in her arms and watched as Crow’s little orange face peeked out from the backpack where he and his brother had been put. When the horse turned the corner and she couldn’t see him anymore, Imogen put Ember back inside the barn with Lady and cried and cried until she couldn’t anymore. Throat sore and nose running, she scrubbed at her face in the stream and wiped it dry before she went inside for dinner. 

(“Of course you were attached,” Laudna whispered to her under the moonlight in a grove far, far from Gelvaan. “They were kittens. You were six.” She heard, in Laudna’s thoughts, the undercurrent of opinions on her daddy. What an absolute jackass. Honestly. When she snorted, Laudna tilted her head in that way Imogen was coming to love, one side of her mouth pulling into a smile. Sorry, darling. I don’t mean to think ill of him. 

Imogen, heart doing strange things at the word darling, only came back to herself when she noticed Laudna’s smile begin to dip. She reached out and ran tentative fingers over the back of Laudna’s hand where it lay between them. Laudna turned her palm up and caught Imogen’s fingers between her own, the brief staccato interlude in her thoughts smoothing back into a more familiar rhythm as Imogen tried for the gentlest look she could manage. It wasn’t real familiar to her, gentleness, but Laudna made it feel easier than it ever had. 

Don’t be sorry. Please. I’ve never had…Thank you, for defendin’ me. And you’re right. He was a little bit of a jackass. 

She giggled then, feeling younger and safer than she had in a long time, and Laudna’s smile came out in full, face breaking open eerie and beautiful in the night.) 

Lady disappeared almost ten years later, gone one day, then two, then a week. 

“Likely went off to die,” speculated one of the older hands, bottom lip bulging with dip that he spit into the jar in his left hand every other sentence. “Dignified, that one.”

“Or somethin’ got her. Not as fast as she used to be.” 

Imogen mucked a stall quietly as they went on, moving from Lady to the weather to crop predictions. She was sweating, so the tears blended into the water already dripping down her face, and nobody was paying her any mind anyway. 

Nobody except her daddy, apparently. He walked by a few minutes later, shadow draping over her from where he stood in the stall door. 

“That’s just how it is, Imogen.” 

I didn’t say anything, she hissed into his mind, teenage angst and righteous anger forcing more tears from her eyes. The sound of his boots tripping over each other as he backed away pulled a bitter smile from her. She never spoke into his mind. He hated it. Careful, she said, almost taunting, and she felt the anger swell in him even as he moved further away. 

She ate dinner alone that night.  

-

By the time Flora came around, Imogen was miserable. She was fighting headaches every day, and she’d alienated nearly everyone in town over the course of the last few years. 

When her powers first came, Imogen didn’t understand what was happening. Confused and generally in pain, she couldn’t always process the difference between what she heard and what she heard, which meant she sometimes responded to things that hadn’t actually been said out loud. People weren’t fond of having somebody in their mind, even if nobody was quite ready to admit that was what was happening. 

Then came the panic attacks. 

And the scars. 

And the “accidents” that happened around her. 

She’d never been popular, looked too much like her mama in a town full of people who loved her daddy, but the rumors gave them a better excuse to avoid her, and of course, to judge. 

And, to be fair, Imogen wasn’t real eager to spend her time with them either. She hated the headaches and the anxiety and she definitely hated being able to hear the thoughts vile enough to stand out in the general din, vile enough that the men who thought them suddenly found themselves tripping over nothing or falling into ponds or spilling their drinks all over themselves. She didn’t do it on purpose but she wasn’t sorry. A few of those incidents and suddenly everybody was turning to look for lavender anytime anybody had an accident. 

When Ms. Gillis dropped a basket of produce one morning at market and turned to glare at Imogen, setting all six of her kids to whispering about “the purple witch,” Imogen decided to give up the small hope she’d been clinging to that the town where she grew up might learn to accept her as she was now. 

She stopped going out when she could avoid it, and when she couldn’t, she picked times when she thought the market or the general store or wherever it was she needed to go would be least crowded, got in and out as quick as she could. At least on the farm she was mostly alone, even if it hurt that her daddy joined everybody else for lunch and left Imogen alone in the orchard or under the big tree out behind the barn. 

She was under that tree when she first saw Flora, placid as Sam and a hand she didn’t recognize walked her. She was beautiful, a sorrel with a wide white stripe down her face. Imogen absently took a last bite of apple before tossing it back into the brown bag she’d brought and standing to walk toward Sam. 

“Imogen. There you are.” He looked relieved to see her, a vaguely anxious set of feelings pressing into her mind, which meant he really did not want to be handling this horse or he really did not like the other hand. Or maybe both. “This is Dylan. They work for Mr. Langham and rode over with Flora here.” 

Imogen lifted a perfunctory hand at Dylan before moving closer to Flora. “Can I?” 

Sam nodded, stepping back with the rope, and Dylan joined him. 

“She’s real sweet,” Dylan said. “She’ll be perfect for kids.” 

Imogen stood a little closer, in Flora’s line of vision, and let her look for a minute before she pulled a piece of carrot from her pocket and laid it flat on her palm in offer. There was the familiar tickle of soft, curious muzzle against her palm as Flora sniffed. She took the treat happily, crunching and then nosing at Imogen like they were old friends. 

Imogen ran her hand down Flora’s neck and spoke softly to her until Sam cleared his throat. 

“Well. We’re gonna leave her to you.”

“We are?” 

She caught some thoughts from Sam that made her turn her face a little further away from the two of them to hide a smile. He definitely didn’t want to get away from Dylan, then. 

“Great. Thanks.” 

They were gone quickly, leaving Imogen and Flora to themselves. “Whadda ya say?” Imogen asked as Flora mouthed another piece of carrot from her palm eagerly. “Want me to show you around a bit?” She took the gentle pressure of Flora’s muzzle against her shoulder as a yes. 

Flora was sturdy and young, barely more than a filly, and Mr. Faramore wanted her for her temperament and as a tester for the riding camp he was considering, a week or two of fancy kids coming to learn about horses and then, ideally, convincing their parents to buy one from him. 

Imogen worked with her, taking over as her handler with no objection from anyone else, and they spent at least two afternoons a week together exploring the grounds. Imogen was “setting the trails” for the camp, which didn’t mean much beyond flagging trees and brush that needed to be cleared for easier passage. It was her favorite part of the week, and Flora was better company than any person she’d ever met. 

The camp never happened, but two of Mr. Faramore’s granddaughters fell in love with Flora, so she stayed, spending a few days a month saddled up for the girls. She was Imogen’s, the rest of the time–always her choice for checking the property and riding out to mend fences or for any task she could justify, really. 

She and Flora were checking some fencing, hot as hell in the afternoon sun, when Imogen heard her for the first time. Toward the forest, where an abandoned cabin sat just far enough over the property line that Mr. Faramore didn’t bother with it, Imogen caught somebody’s thoughts. 

She wasn’t digging, had at least learned how to control that part of her powers, but the surface level thoughts were more difficult to block out, especially when she had her shields down, like she usually did when she was out with Flora. She was glad, for once, that she’d been unprepared, because these thoughts weren’t like anything else she’d heard before. They were like music, flowing and self-contained and happy. 

She turned Flora toward the forest without much thought. 

The woman was weeding outside the cabin, tall and incredibly thin, long hair pinned up with some kind of chisel as she worked, talking to herself quietly. There was something not quite right about her, something unnatural that Imogen couldn’t quite pin down but felt immediately. 

It became obvious when she turned to look at them, big black eyes wide and mouth working itself into a smile that was genuine if nervous, and almost too wide to be human. Her skin was pale, too pale, and there was something black on her fingers where they gripped a bundle of weeds, roots dangling, tightly in front of her almost like a bouquet. What looked like some kind of dead creature hung from one of her belts and swayed gently with her movement. 

Imogen was grateful for Flora for a thousand reasons, but in that moment, she was especially grateful for her steady temperament and natural curiosity, because Imogen was almost certain the woman would’ve spooked every other horse in their barn. Imogen was also almost certain that the woman in front of her was dead. 

“Hello,” she said, clearly not totally dead and with a heavy accent Imogen didn’t recognize. “I’m Laudna.” 

An hour later, when Laudna hesitantly offered Flora a piece of carrot from her palm, she took it happily and Laudna laughed, a sound as musical as her thoughts, when Flora leaned into her hand looking for more. 

It wasn’t long after that Imogen let loose defending Laudna and burned away the robes of that cleric and any chance of a life for herself in Gelvaan. 

She wasn’t sorry and she wasn’t sad, not really, to leave that place. As Imogen hastily filled a pack, Laudna looking on in concern, there was a dull and familiar ache in her chest, thudding below the fire and anger she still carried on Laudna’s behalf. Every what if she’d let herself indulge in over the years, every time she’d tried to please her daddy and failed, every attempt at getting people to see her as anything other than her mother’s daughter. But that’s all they were–what ifs that Imogen was steady realizing she didn’t want anymore. 

The real hurt, as they hurried through the forest and then onto the road that led away from Faramore’s, was that light in the barn, where Marty was on shift closing things down and keeping watch. She was leaving Flora, unable to say goodbye, and she didn’t know when she’d be back. If she’d ever be back. 

She cried the next night as they settled onto bedrolls, exhausted and overwhelmed and thinking of a horse of all things. She heard her father’s sigh, saw his disappointed and slightly patronizing expression and hid her tears in her sleeve and then in the fabric of her bedroll, trying to keep quiet. 

After a few minutes, Laudna said, gently, “I know it must be very difficult. To leave. I’m sorry, Imogen. I’m so very grateful that you saved me but I can’t imagine what it cost you.” 

Imogen turned to face her, embarrassed but willing, for reasons she still didn’t quite understand, to Laudna see her. “I’d do it again, Laudna.” The anger roiled in her stomach again, overtaking her sadness for a moment. “They deserved worse than what I gave ‘em, for what they were tryin’ to do to you.” She heard doubt in Laudna’s mind, and Imogen didn’t know yet how to fix that but she had time now to figure it out. 

“Honestly, I feel more relief than anythin’ else.” Laudna watched her, pools of black reflecting the soft light of the moon. “I won’t miss it. I’m…I’m excited to explore. I’m excited to explore with you. I’m real glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a very, very long time.” Ever rang in her mind, loud and earnest enough for Imogen to hear. The fierce, protective thing that had started building in Imogen’s chest that first afternoon was growing faster than she knew what to do with. 

“I feel the same way.” 

And then Imogen thought of Flora again and found the tears were back. A noise, something affectionate and concerned that was entirely foreign to Imogen, escaped Laudna’s mouth before she sat up and dug in her pack, turning back with a handkerchief which she handed to Imogen. It was soft, embroidered with something she couldn’t quite make out in the dark, and it felt about a million times better than her shirt or her bedroll against her cheeks. 

“Thanks.” 

“Of course. I…I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I think I’m quite a good listener, if you do.” 

Imogen folded the handkerchief to keep her hands busy as she said, so soft she was afraid Laudna wouldn’t even hear her, “I miss my horse. Flora. I know that’s…I know it’s silly. I just…” 

She shrugged, chest tight, and Laudna moved closer to her, placed a hand on Imogen’s shoulder, cool even through the fabric of her shirt. 

“It’s not silly. It’s not silly at all.” 

It set something loose in her, the honest way Laudna said it, the echo of that honesty in her mind, and suddenly big, ridiculous tears were dripping down her face and Laudna’s arms were wrapped around her, her neck cool against Imogen’s forehead. 

“I liked her better than most people.” 

“Well, that makes sense. Aside from you, the people in Gelvaan didn’t make the best impression, I must say.” Imogen laughed into Laudna’s shoulder as she continued, “No offense intended, of course. I know I’m not exactly a welcome sight.” “You are to me.” 

She was quiet then, surprise and affection and longstanding shame whirling around in her mind. After a moment, she asked, “Would you like to tell me about Flora?” 

“I think…I think I would.” 

-

Pate de Rolo was, objectively, horrifying. 

Laudna had done a very thorough job preserving his body, and the skull was immaculately clean, but there was no getting around the horror of the creation–the mismatched parts and the patchiness of his thin coat; the dry, flaky reality of his tail; the unnatural stiffness of his joints as Laudna puppeted him, talented hands bringing his movements eerily close to what they might have been in life. 

The first time Laudna brought him from her belt with an excited, “Oh, let me introduce you to Pate,” Imogen had worked as hard as she could to keep her smile, to fight the instinct toward disgust. She managed, because she knew a hurt thing when she saw one, and she didn’t want to hurt Laudna any further, but it was a near thing. 

“Oh, so lovely to meet you, Pate.” 

“Pleasure’s all mine.” It was lecherous. It was hilarious. It was one of the most disturbing things Imogen had ever seen. 

Laudna looked between them, seeming incredibly pleased, and Imogen, unbelievably, found herself wanting to keep the little monster going, if it meant making Laudna happy. She bolstered herself. 

“Pate, Laudna mentioned y’all have traveled all over. She was tellin’ me about the mountains. Do you have a favorite place?” 

“Well, I always do like the beaches. For the views, if ya know what I mean…”

Suffering through the ensuing monologue was nothing compared to the pride that bloomed in Imogen’s chest at Laudna’s beaming smile. 

Over the course of their first few months together, Imogen began to understand what it meant when Pate made an appearance. 

Sometimes, of course, Laudna was bored and they were around the fire and Pate provided a ridiculous and entertaining way to spend an hour before bed. Imogen found it easy to move past disgust as she got to know Laudna, let herself see beyond the grotesque corpse and recognize something that had helped her friend, who had quickly become her favorite person in the world, survive desperate loneliness and nearly unending cruelty. She found it easy, when she thought of him that way, to love him as an extension of Laudna. 

And it became clear that he was an extension of Laudna, in more ways than one, as they traveled. The first time they were chased out of a cabin, she saw Laudna’s body shift into something Imogen found both terrifying and beautiful to defend them, limbs expanding and spine cracking as ichor pooled on her skin, a veil of black descending from nowhere to cover her face. That night, as they sat around the fire, Pate came out almost immediately. 

“Well that was a right mess, wunnit?” 

“It was.” Imogen moved closer on the log they shared, making the offer of contact but leaving Laudna the option to refuse. “We would’ve been in real trouble without Laudna, yeah?” 

Pate danced as Laudna’s fingers moved, somehow managing to convey a shrug in the rat-raven creation. “I dunno. I reckon anything would be scared of her, like that. Boss is awful enough when she’s not a monster.” 

“I’m not scared of her.” Laudna lifted her eyes from Pate to meet Imogen’s as she said, “And she’s not awful. She’s my best friend.” Black ichor dripped down Laudna’s cheeks as her fragile ankle shifted just enough to touch Imogen’s. “I thought it was really fuckin’ cool.” Laudna snuffled and Imogen grinned, bending down to Pate and stage-whispering, “Did you see that one guy piss himself?” 

Pate cackled, and Laudna moved to close the rest of the distance between them. 

When Laudna died, the second time, Imogen took his small body and kept it close to her. She couldn’t puppet him, didn’t want to try, but she spoke to him, whispered to him as she set him in a small nest she made from her bandana each night. “Don’t worry, Pate. We’ll get her back. I promise.” 

And then he came back with her, ribcage cracking and squelching, off-color observations flying as free as he now could. It was suddenly more difficult to love him, Imogen forcing down disgust in a way she hadn’t in a long time. There was less incentive, now that he was an independent creature, but he was still Pate and he had still saved Laudna, even if he hadn’t been, well, him. 

He found her one night as Ashton and Laudna played a game of cards, Laudna cackling in delight as they accused each other, loudly, of cheating nearly every hand. It was so good, to hear her laughing again. 

“‘Ey, boss.” 

He landed on a branch near her head, wings folding back into his body with a series of motions and noises that made Imogen smile to suppress a gag. 

“Pate. I didn’t realize you were out.” 

“Mum sent me to check on ya.” 

Imogen looked back to Laudna, who was waving a hand dismissively at Ashton, nose turned up. Her eyes caught Imogen’s as she turned away from him with a scoff, and she winked before she threw herself back into their argument, brushing her hair out of her face with an exaggerated motion. Imogen blushed and bit her lip before she remembered she wasn’t alone, clearing her throat and shaking her head before the world’s lewdest undead flying rodent noticed her being a lovesick fool. 

“She did, did she?”

“Aye. She worries about you, ya know? It was a hard fight, today.” 

It was, objectively, but relative to the past few weeks it was nothing. She’d be fine after a good night’s rest. 

“I’m good.” At his uncharacteristic silence, she realized Laudna really must’ve been concerned, so she continued, “Real good, honestly. Just need some sleep. I hadn’t been sleepin’ well, but it’s easier, now that we’re back together. Now that we’re…”

Pate didn’t have lips but he still grinned, somehow, bone-white face more expressive than it had any right to be. 

“Now that you and mum’re smashin’, ya mean?” 

“Pate.” Her face was red hot, embarrassing on its own and somehow even more embarrassing because her girlfriend’s perverted rat-raven familiar had managed to make it happen. 

“I’m real ‘appy for ya.” At her pointed eyebrow, he raised a rat hand in the air, wobbling a little as he rebalanced. “Honest.” 

“Mmhmm.” Ashton was up from his seat, arms flailing with enough distress that FCG had begun to make his way over to the duo. Laudna looked like she was having the best day of her life. “An’ how’s she doin’? Really?” 

Pate grunted. “Been better, I reckon, but she’ll be alright, our girl. She’s tough.” 

Right. This was why she tried to be kind, to hold her distaste at bay, to maintain some kind of love for him. Laudna was their girl. And she’d been Pate’s girl for a lot longer than she’d been Imogen’s. 

Imogen stroked the slope of his skull and patted her shoulder, affection and disgust warring within her at the feel of undead claws on her skin. He settled and they watched together as Laudna and Ashton continued, Letters stationed close. 

“She’ll be alright.” Imogen said it for the both of them, an affirmation and a promise. 

Skull scraped skin as he moved to speak, and goosebumps broke out across Imogen’s shoulders, an instinct she couldn’t suppress. 

“‘Course she will. She’s got us, after all.” 

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Eight

Warnings: discussion of injuries, Dean is still high on morphine and trying to flirt, angst, arguments, language.

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

 My Masterlist AO3    Ko-Fi

“What’s the damage, Princess?” Dean asked.

“Not much, thankfully. You were incredibly lucky,” Y/N smiled as she took a little pen light from her scrubs pocket and checked the dilation of his pupils. “Everything else looks good. It’s mostly superficial injuries with cuts and bruises, except those broken ribs. Your vitals are stable and where they should be, and the medication is managing your pain well. So far, there’s no sign of a concussion or brain or spinal injury. 

“The crackle in your lungs should clear with oxygen in a day or two, and your scratchy throat will ease with plenty of fluids. Ribs should heal in three to four weeks if you take it easy, six to eight if you’re anything like I remember and don’t,” she smiled knowingly at the Winchesters, who all chuckled before turning her head back towards Dean.

“This little white button will top up your morphine if needed. No doubt, those ribs will be sore through the night,” she chuckled at Dean’s hazy smile. “You’ll be kept in for a few days, mostly as a precaution. Brain and spinal injuries can take time to show, and you’ll be relying heavily on morphine for a few days.” 

She filled a plastic cup with water, put a straw in it, and held it out for him. “Try to finish at least one cup before you fall asleep. It’ll soothe your throat from smoke inhalation and stop dehydration. And if you need help, push this red button right here, and a nurse will come to check on you.”

Satisfied with her patient, she turned to her colleague and the first new friend she’d made since she’s come home. “Jess,” she said as she wheeled the stool over to her. “I want to check on the baby and your blood pressure.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me, Y/N. I’m not the one in the bed,” Jess whined.

“Dean is just fine, and you are pregnant, and you got a fright…”

“I told you I’m fine!” Jess protested stubbornly.

“The first time I met you, you almost fainted because your blood sugar was too low. Scared the bejesus outta me, so forgive me for wanting to make sure you’re alright,” Y/N wasn’t giving up easily, but neither was Jess.

“Trust me, I’m fine.”

“Is she always this stubborn?” Y/N asked Sam with a raised eyebrow, smirking when he held both hands up.

“I plead the fifth,” he chuckled, and she laughed and mumbled ‘lawyers’ before turning back to Jess.

“Don’t make me an asshole and pull rank, please, Jess? Just… humour me,” Y/N tried for the final time, grinning in triumph when Jess held her arm out.

Y/N secured the cuff around her arm and quickly took her pulse and blood pressure. Putting on gloves, the older nurse gestured to the younger woman’s bump and asked: “May I?”

Jess lifted her scrubs top, and Lucy gently pressed around the bump, feeling for the baby.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t be shy,” Y/N murmured. “Where are you hiding?” The room’s occupants watched on as her brows furrowed in concentration, and a big smile filled her face as she said, “There you are!”

Y/N rubbed her stethoscope with an alcohol wipe. She warmed the diaphragm on her gloved palm before placing it where the baby was positioned. She listened and counted the heartbeat with a soft smile.

“Perfect!” Y/N exclaimed when she was finished.

“Told you I was fine!” Jess mumbled grumpily.

“Yeah, well,” Y/N smirked. “This is way better than me having to write up an incident report because a pregnant woman on my watch goes and faints on me. Again,” she smirked, remembering her first day here. “I’ll never apologise for doing my job, Jess,” Y/N smiled warmly, winked, and wheeled back on the stool before she stood and slid it under Dean’s bed.

“You look so pretty in purple, Y/N/N. It matches your eyes a whole lot,” he slurred as if he’d just noticed the colour of her scrubs for the first time, and she laughed; pure, unabashed, and genuine, making Dean grin like a little kid. 

“Thank you,” she smirked.

“Can I ask a favour, princess?” Dean asked her.

“Shoot,” she smiled in response.

“The kid I got out. Can you find out how he’s doing for me?” Dean pleaded, and she laughed at the coincidence.

“He’s one of my other patients. Charming little guy. He asked me out for ice cream!” she chuckled. “Lucas Maxwell is four years old and now wants to be a firefighter, though I’m not too sure Mom is happy with his sudden career change from driving a tractor to fighting fires,” she grinned widely.

“He has minor smoke inhalation and is hooked up to oxygen. He told me in great detail about how you swooped in at the last second and flew him to safety!” Y/N giggled at Dean’s chuckle. “He’s being monitored for a few more hours but should be home for dinner.”

“I’m glad he’s okay,” he yawned.

“Get some rest, De. I’ll come to check in again soon, and you better be asleep, or there’ll be trouble, alright?” she said as she looked down at him and cupped his cheek with a fond smile.

“Yes, ma’am!” he saluted her, and she laughed at how adorable high Dean was. Y/N said her goodbyes to the room and headed to the waiting room to update Firehouse 3 about their Captain’s condition.

“Y/N?” Bobby asked as soon as she walked into the family room. All eyes were on her, and Benny and a guy with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen smiled warmly at her. “How’s Dean?”

“Dean’s injuries are mostly superficial. He has four broken ribs, but luckily, none punctured his lungs, and the smoke inhalation should clear in a day or two. There is no sign of brain or spinal trauma, which is good, but he’ll be closely monitored for any changes over the next few days. We’ve given him morphine for the pain, and he’s resting comfortably.”

Every firefighter thanked her with a tight hug, as did Jo Harvelle and the other paramedic she didn’t know. Benny and the blue-eyed man approached her last.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Castiel Novak, Dean’s friend,” Mr Blue Eyes said as he pulled her into a hug.

“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” she smiled kindly.

“Good to see you again, cher,” Benny grinned as he pulled her into his embrace.

“You too, Benny. It’s been a while!” she grinned and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly.

Bobby visibly relaxed when Y/N came through the door and declared Dean was fine and would make a full recovery. After his squad hugged her, he pulled her from the room for a more private conversation.

“Sorry if they overwhelmed you, princess,” he smiled softly.

“It’s fine. The firefighters in Chicago were the same. You guys are a family, and I know the relief you feel when one of your own makes it through.”

“I forgot you had a “friend” in the CFD,” Bobby grinned, and his reddening cheeks made her laugh. “Did you talk to him?” he asked. All previous traces of teasing were gone, and his seriousness took over.

“He’s injured and pumped full of morphine, and I’m working,” she sighed at his scoff.

“You need to talk to him,” Bobby pleaded.

“And I will,” she said, feeling her temper flare. “When he’s not off his face on drugs, and I’m off the clock and don’t have other patients to care for!” she said as calmly as she could.

Uncle Bobby was only trying to help them move on with their lives, either with each other or by getting over each other. She knew that, but he was hard-headed and didn’t like taking no for an answer.

“Everything okay here?” Jody said to the pair, who were glaring at one another. Standing beside her husband, she kissed his cheek, causing him to break the standoff off first.

“Everything is just peachy, Jody. I was telling Uncle Bobby that Dean is fine and will make a full recovery. He’s delighted, obviously, but seems to think I need to have a serious conversation with him right this second while he’s high on morphine and probably doesn’t even remember me being in the room with him less than five minutes ago.”

“Y/N…” Bobby started, but she cut him off.

“I promise, alright? I promise I’ll talk to him when he’s off the morphine and I’m not working. If you’ll excuse me, I have patients who need me,” she snapped a little more viciously than she intended before storming away.

Y/N was shaken when her patient’s mother told her Dean had jumped from a building. He could’ve died and was extremely lucky only to have a few broken ribs. The thought of that happening before she saw and talked to him put her emotions into overdrive.

“Bobby, I told you to leave it be! They’re both adults and can sort their own shit out. Let them!” Jody scolded. “If you keep pushing her, she’ll close off to you and Dean. Is that what you want?” 

“Of course not! She’s been back for six weeks, Jody, and this is the first time they’re even laying eyes on each other! I want them to get their shit together and finally have the life they should have been living for the past twelve years! Dean could have died!” Bobby fumed, his eyes watering, and Jody wrapped her arms around him in the embrace that always calmed him down.

“I know, honey, but we need to step back and let it happen. We know they still love each other, but they don’t know how the other feels or if there’ll be resentment or awkwardness. They’ve both probably been too scared to make the first move.

“It’s tragic that it’s taken Dean being admitted to the hospital for them to see each other for the first time, but the ice has been broken now, and we just have to trust that it’ll make it easier for them to have that talk now.”

“You’re right. I know, you’re right. I just hate seeing them still hurting because of that useless, abusive, drunken bastard. They could’ve had a family by now, Jody! He stopped that from happening, and I’ll be damned if I watch them be torn apart again.”

Next Chapter >>

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[eomayas]

ninety • dks

pairing: kyungsoo x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff. not a soulmate AU

synopsis: no matter how much you break his heart unknowingly, he can’t resist you. OR, kyungsoo sees right through the reader and ignores all of her red flags

warnings: mentions of alcohol, toxic behavior

a/n: mildly self indulgent! just been listening to ‘ninety’ by jaden smith lately and wanted to write something so kyungsoo

yn: soo

yn: ur my soulmate

kyungsoo: are you drunk?

yn: maybe! msybe not 🙈

kyungsoo: be safe, don’t drink too much.

yn: i miss u

kyungsoo chews on the inside of his lip as he reads your last message. he watches as the gray bubble appears, disappears, reappears, before it goes away for good. he wonders what you were going to say, if you were going to take it back and admit that you were drunk, or double down. he never knows with you, is always somehow both shocked and expectant of every move you make. like, he had no idea that you’d text him and claim that he’s your soulmate, but you definitely would text him that at 12:23am on a saturday morning.

kyungsoo doesn’t know how to feel about it, even though he knows you only say that when you’re lonely. you don’t mean it, to him at least, but he can’t help the twinge in his heart at the prospect of it being true. he thought he could get over you and your blast from the past, but he hasn’t been able to. it’s probably because he keeps entertaining you, especially when you get like this but he simply can’t help it.

with a sigh, kyungsoo removes his glasses and wipes his eyes before grabbing his dishes from off of the coffee table and taking them to the sink. he starts washing them, taking his time and letting the soap bubble up to nearly his elbows. he scrubs the bowl until it’s pristine like he just bought it, he does the same to the rest of his dishes until his phone buzzes in his pocket.

he doesn’t have to check it to know it’s you. you’ll text him insistently all night if he doesn’t respond in the next minute, but you two will be at it all night the moment he responds and he knows it. you’ll keep going, keep texting him into the early hours of the morning until you fall asleep and he’s stuck awake, waiting to hear the vibration of a message from you that’ll never come, not even after you wake up later that day. kyubgsoo is always stuck in a rock and a hard place with with you.

the girls from his past never left an impression on him like you have. even the few girls that came after you he barely remembers, only remembering a few details, like how one of them hated waiting in line and how another always put his dishes away oppositely from how he did it. you were much different than these girls, but that’s just it: you weren’t just some girl. you were an enigma that kept him up at night, that made him compare everybody else to you, to see where they differ or where they align.

yn: i mean it

yn: can i come over?

yn: kyungsoo!

yn: answer me.

kyungsoo purses his lips as he watches the texts come through. if he lets you come over, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to get you out of his head or his bed.

kyungsoo: you shouldn’t be driving.

yn: i’m ubering

yn: DUH

it looks to him like you decided on your own that you’d be coming over, and kyungsoo sighs, glancing around his apartment and taking mental notes on what he needs to be picked up after. kyungsoo busies himself with tidying his apartment, skipping over his room because he’s 101% sure that he won’t be taking you back there tonight.

you arrive quicker than he expects, knocking three times before pressing the doorbell once. “hold on!” he shouts, huffing out a sigh. walking up to the door, he hesitates with his hand in midair. you shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be letting you in. you shouldn’t feel so free to come over and disrupt his night like you are. but you’re waiting for him, and it’s all because he lets you. he can’t resist you, no matter how hard he tries.

leaning against the wall, you eyes flick up to look at him when the door is pulled open. you smile softly at him, taking in his appearance: black sweats, black long sleeve, and slippers. “where are you glasses?” you question, pushing yourself off the wall and slipping past him into his apartment.

“inside,” he mutters, shutting the door behind you and following you into his house. you make your way through familiarly, the smells, the furniture, everything holding some type of significance: the night he invited you over and cooked for you; the time he picked you up from a night out and slept with him on his couch.

you spot his glasses on the coffee table and take them over to him, slipping them into his face and gently resting them on the bridge of his nose. “there,” you say, your voice nearly a whisper.

swallowing thickly, kyungsoo looks down at you and hates the way his insides turn to goo and his brain to mush. he used to consider himself strong, mentally tough even, until he met you and knocked all of that bravado to the ground. he never acts right around you.

“i meant when i said i missed you,” you murmur, sliding a hand up his chest and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt. kyungsoos nostrils flare as he reminds himself that he can stop this, that he can resist you.

“you’re drunk, y/n,” he says, softly but firmly, grabbing ahold of your wrist and letting it drop to your side. a look of shock passes over you face for split second before you regain composure, and perhaps control, of the situation before you.

“not really,” you say, turning around to take a seat on his couch. kyungsoo follows you and sits down next to you, a healthy amount of space between the two of you. he looks down at your hand resting on the couch, wanting to grab it and pull you close to him. why he cant get a grip, and keep you at arms length is beyond him. you’re everything that’s wrong for him. “i do miss you.” you say again, this time, with a little more aggression.

kyungsoo hums and glances over at you, his face eyes softening behind his frames. “do you miss me?” you ask, your voice soft and childlike. if only you knew how much real estate you take up in his brain, how nearly every last one his thoughts can be traced back to you. he doesn’t just miss you, it’s something much stronger that comes from the depths of his being, starting at his toes and working it’s ways up. he aches for you in ways he himself doesn’t quite understand.

rather than giving you a verbal response, he looks off to the side. you scoot closer to him and place your hand on his cheek, turning him to look at you. “soo,” you say, glancing down at his mouth and letting your gaze linger before dragging up to his eyes. his chest burns at the way you say his nickname. he didn’t even like nicknames until you started calling him that.

instinctively, he leans back against his couch and you take that as a sign to straddle him. kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows and puts a hand on your hip to still you. “what?” you question, frowning down at him.

“i’m not having sex with you,” he says, looking into your eyes. you sigh and slide off of him, pressing into his side. “you’re drunk. but we can sit here and… chill.” he says, looking down the slope of his nose at his lap.

it’s quiet for a few seconds, bedsides your occasional shifting. “can i kiss you?”

“friends don’t kiss,” he says, looking over at you. you tilt your head to the side.

“you really think we’re friends?” you ask kyungsoo, eyes boring into his. he stares at you, his lips parting.

so you do acknowledge that this, whatever you two have is something. he’s not imaging it, or making his feelings up—you feel it too.

“i don’t know what we are,” kyungsoo admits. the corner of your lip tugs upwards and you look down at you lap. friends is too simple, too far from what you are. he’s not your boyfriend and you’re not his girlfriend… lovers, maybe? except you’d never say the L word to him.

“well, we’re something. but you’re not my friend.”

and despite the fact that kyungsoo swore you wouldn’t make you way to his bed, you do. fully clothed, but in his bed nonetheless. he accepts it, finds his peace with it when you snuggle up in his side and mumble something about him being your soulmate again. you only say that when you’re lonely, he thinks, wondering who left you high and dry and for him to pick up the pieces.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

as long as you're with me (you'll be just fine) Chapter 3

Ao3 | 1.7k words | Sweetheart's POV

TW: General D.U.M.P. bullshit, unhealthy work environment, anxiety

--

By the time that you remembered that it was Friday, and that Friday was quadruple date night, and that you and Milo were hosting in your shiny new house with a three course meal Milo was cooking himself, and needed your help with, it was already four thirty. Your body ached from the foot chase you had been dragged into earlier today. Your right shoulder was acting up again, most likely because of the full body tackle you’d thrown into a suspect a few hours ago. The migraine building behind your eyes was making it difficult to concentrate. You knew that you’d had about five cups of coffee today, but you couldn’t remember how much water you’d had. You sighed as you grabbed your phone and the reusable water bottle you kept on your desk and made for the water fountain while shooting off a text.

Probably won’t be home in time to help with dinner tonight, baby.

Three dots popped up as Milo started typing his reply. You counted the seconds, holding your breath. The ellipsis disappeared, a pause, then reappeared.

Is everything okay

Case went sideways. I arrested a suspect, but I need to have my evidence locked in tonight so I can charge him. It’s just… messy.

I hear you, Sweetheart. Do you have an ETA?

A few hours at least. Jet is breathing down my neck on this one.

You sent that message, and then felt that familiar anxiety building in your chest.

Are you mad at me?

It felt childish to even ask, but it was a common question for you. You watched Milo’s text bubble pop up and held your breath. You knew the answer. It was the same answer he always gave you.

I’m upset, but I’m not mad AT you. I know that your job means you have some late nights. Yeah, tonight is inconvenient timing, but you didn’t plan this. It would be unfair if I held you accountable for something that isn’t exactly your fault.

Yeah…

Call me when you start heading home?

Of course

I love you, Sweetheart

Love you too

You locked your phone and sighed, scrubbing at the exhaustion behind your eyes. You felt that familiar knot in your throat that appeared when you let him down, when you had to disappoint him.

Milo hated his father. Maybe hate was a strong word. Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Every time Colm came up in conversation, Milo’s face darkened and twisted. You were terrified, somewhere deep inside of you, that eventually, his face would twist the same way when he looked at you.

It was dark by the time you had everything straightened out, and a stack of papers that you shoved, less than gently, into the inbox that was attached to Jet’s office door. He was long gone, home with his family and enjoying his weekend. You glanced out across the bullpen, and noted the three other forms bent over their desks, toiling away at whatever life-and-death paperwork they were sacrificing their Friday night for. You scuffed the toe of your boot against the floor and sighed. Heat built up in your chest and your cheeks. You slung your bag over your shoulder and didn’t bother to put your jacket on before rushing out of the building. You passed the front desk, waving halfheartedly to the night guard before stepping out in the cold. You let it burn as you sucked in a breath, let it cool the warmth in your face.

You plucked your phone from your pocket. Milo was your last call, and the one before that, and before that. You pressed on his contact and listened to it ring as you walked towards your sedan.

“Hey,” it wasn’t Milo’s voice that greeted you, but David’s, deep and quiet. You could hear crickets in the background. He was probably on your front porch, out of earshot of your guests.

“Hey…” you replied, caught off guard, “where’s Milo?”

“Asleep on the couch,” you could hear the smile in David’s voice. “He passed out as soon as we put the movie on.” You smiled despite yourself.

“That sounds about right.” You huffed. “How was dinner?”

“It was good.” David was always so polite when talking about other people’s cooking, but his acting skills weren’t always up to snuff. Milo wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but he also wasn’t David. “When will you be home?”

“Twenty minutes?” You replied. “I have to pass through college town, and all the D.A.M.N. kids go out on Fridays.”

“Be careful.” David said, with the same depth and concern he said it with every time. David asked that of you, of everyone, like a ritual, like a prayer. You remembered how different he was after Gabe died. You remembered how panicked he looked every time you and Milo and Ash got into a car.

“Always am, Big Guy.”

You passed the drive in silence, the twisting guilt in your gut spiking and easing as you went. The heater in your shitty, twenty-year-old car was acting up, so you were shivering by the time you got home. The cars were lined up in your drive way, and knowing that everybody besides Sam would most likely crash somewhere between your couch and your two guest rooms, you parked on the street. You’d have to go back into the office tomorrow morning anyway to review your report with Jet.

David was sitting on the porch waiting for you, the lights on and a steaming plate of food waiting for you. Milo had grilled pork chops, made roasted potatoes, fresh cut green beans and a bright winter salad. David patted the seat on the stairs next to him, took your bag from your shoulder, and placed the plate in your lap as soon as you were settled. You tore into the food, not even realizing how hungry you were until it was right in front of you.

“When was your lunch break?” David asked, eyeing you with those intense, dark eyes. You met his gaze steadily and stayed silent, shoveling potatoes into your mouth. He sighed and tapped his knee with his fingers. “Do I need to have a word with Commissioner Jet about the way he overworks his employees?”

“Don’t you dare,” you pointed your fork at him threateningly. “I don’t need you mothering me at work.”

“I’ve known you for seven years.” David said, shaking his head. “I know that you’re hardworking to a fault. And I know that that respect for authority that’s built into you is going to be your undoing.”

“You are worse than my therapist.” You grumbled.

“Cam is a very smart man.”

“Cam isn’t a man,” you countered, “he’s an inter-dimensional being beyond our understanding.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

You huffed and cleared your plate, sopping up the remaining vinaigrette with the last of your salad. You sighed and set it down on the stairs next to you, leaning back on your hands. You closed your eyes and listened to David shuffle. After a moment, his jacket landed on your shoulders, encasing you in that unnatural shifter warmth.

“You know,” he said after a while, “I’ve got plenty of room on the payroll for another hand.” You stayed quiet, bit your tongue. “And our benefits are better than the Department’s.”

“David…” you slipped into the arms of his jacket, rubbed your fingers against the soft leather of the cuffs. “I’ve got… I need to…”

“You’ve still got some things to finish.” David nodded. “I understand.”

“CloseKnit is an issue that I don’t think I can handle outside of the Department.” You said. “I think, if I’m going to effectively deal with them, I’ll need the authority the Department gives me.”

“I don’t disagree.” David replied after a moment. “There are some doors that I can’t open for you. And I do acknowledge that you’ve opened a lot of doors for us because of your place in the Department. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.” You ducked your head, and closed your eyes against the pounding in your head. “But I’ve seen what a few decades as an Investigator can do to someone. I don’t like what it does to you. What it does to him.”

That knot in your throat reappeared. You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes tighter, fighting tears. David’s hand, big and warm, landed on the back of your neck and squeezed. Gently, he bent to press your temples together, awkward and uncomfortable from this position. You two stayed that way for a while anyway. Your core was quiet. Most people couldn’t even identify you as empowered on first meeting. But David’s was strong and steady, and it coaxed your threads to sing along with it.

Pack, it sang. Alpha.

“All I’m saying,” David broke the silence eventually, “is that, after all of that shit is dealt with,” his fingers squeezed your nape, “I’ve got you.”

You sighed into him, a relief you didn’t know you needed filling up your chest, clearing out the doubt and fear in your core.

Eventually, you made it inside. Sam was the only one still awake, Asher half on his lap snoring loudly. David extracted him, lifting Asher into an unflattering fireman carry and dragging him towards a guest room, his mate sleepily following behind. The snoring never stopped. Sam took you into a respectful side-hug before rousing his sleeping mate. Half-asleep, they pressed their forehead to yours as they passed towards the front door.

David lifted his own mate into his arms. You watched them bend towards his warmth, even in their sleep. They looked so small against him. He smiled down at them like he was holding the world in his arms, before turning that smile on you. He mouthed ‘goodnight,’ before carrying his mate towards the second spare room.

Milo was nearly awake on the couch, roused by all of the movement. You took his face into your hands, pressed a kiss to his forehead. A smile crept onto his lips before he even opened his eyes.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He blinked at you, and smiled like he was holding the world in his arms.

“Hey, baby.” You replied. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

[gingerequinoxe]

Cigarette Daydreams

This is the first bit I ever publish ! This is a Larissa Weems/fem!reader story, I hope you like it ! A bit angsty, a bit fluffy.

Warnings : none

You used to be a teacher at Nevermore along with Larissa before she was a principal. You had a brief but intense relationship that you ended to go deal with your own issues. Years later, you come back and have to face Larissa again. Things are rocky at first, up until the Rave’n night where you finally discuss your past, and eventually, your future.

Standing in the darkness of a secluded spot in the gardens, you sighed before you leaned on a pillar. Tonight had been one chaotic night. You had made sure that all the students at the Rave’n went back to their rooms, and most of them were now on their way for a midnight shower. Your heart went to the maintenance janitor who would have to scrub all of that red paint out of the white bathrooms. Shaking your head, you dived into your pocket to grab your pack of cigarettes. You tucked one in between your lips and lit it before taking a long drag.

"You know you're not allowed to smoke on school's grounds, even if you're not a student."

You turned around and noticed Larissa standing behind you. Like you, she had changed into other clothes – none of you really had a choice, anyway. She had traded her fancy party dress for a comfortable wool dress. She wasn't wearing any make-up, but still kept her hair in a strict bun. She somehow managed to look even better than she did in your memories.

"Damn," you said, "I hope no one's gonna tell on me. Do you think I'm gonna get in trouble in the principal's office ?"

She snorted and crossed her arms on her chest, taking a few steps towards you.

"I'm sure my silence can be arranged if you share." she sighed.

You frowned and reached in your pocket for your pack, offering her one.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't." she said as she accepted your flame, "Just one if I've been really stressed. And after tonight..." she trailed off.

"Yes." you nodded, "Tonight was a lot. Especially for you."

"At least it was only paint.", she commented, "Not real blood. Which means it won't smell like copper in the Main Hall. But it's going to take ages before we can get rid of all of the stains."

"No one's badly hurt," you reassured her, "and the boys responsible for that little joke have been handed to the local police. They’ll get what they deserve. Everything will be alright."

"Except it won't." she said as she shook her head, "Nothing is going to happen to them. To Jericho's people, it's nothing but a harmless children's prank, and after what happened to the statue on the fountain... I'm afraid the whole town is going to celebrate this humiliation." she took a long drag of her cigarette, "And the parents... I don't know what to tell them. It's supposed to be a safe haven for their children to grow and experience life in its fullest, and tonight I failed to..."

"Hey," you stopped her, placing your hand on her arm, "Stop it. You did not fail anything. Until this last dance, the party was perfection. Everyone was having so much fun. Someone or something's after this place, and that's also why I'm here. You're not alone in this, and I know you wouldn't let anything happen to these children.", you squeezed her arm gently, "And I won't either."

She did not answer immediately. Instead, her blue eyes bore into yours, and you both stood in silence for a moment. You dropped your hand and stuffed your cigarette's butt in your pocket ashtray. You handed it to her and she did the same as you.

"Thank you." she whispered, "It means a lot to me.”

"It's okay. I really mean it. You..." you swallowed with difficulty before you added, in a low voice, "You mean a lot to me, Larissa. You always did. And I mean that, too."

She stiffened a little and turned her head towards the dark gardens. She let out a deep breath before she shook her head :

"It's in the past. But thank you."

"Is it, though ?" you took a step closer to her, "Is this thing we have a thing of the past ?"

She let out a deep breath through her nose and closed her eyes.

"It has to be. For the simple reason that it cannot be any other way."

She turned on her heels and started heading towards the building, but you grabbed her wrist and held her in place.

"We're not done talking, Issa."

"Don't call me that." she hissed.

"Why can't it be any other way ? Why do you have to be so controlling of everything, why do you resist it ?"

"Controlling ?" she tore her wrist out of your grip, "Not everyone can get away from their responsibilities by running away like you did. I have a ton of responsibilities. I have to be stable, for this school, for these kids, and for myself."

You crossed your arms on your chest and bit the inside of your cheeks. That stung, but there was a part of truth there.

"Would you at least listen to me if I tried to explain myself ?" you asked, despair clear in your voice.

"Explain what ? Why you ran away and let me with no answer, no news, for years ? Or are you going to explain why you treated me like the dirt on your shoes days before your disappearance ?"

Even in the dark of the night, you knew her face was slightly red in anger. Her breath was labored, and before you could mutter a word, you saw her turn her back to you.

"Issa !”

“Stop calling me that !” she replied without looking back at you, “I don’t care for your answers or explanations. I needed them years ago. Now they mean nothing. Good night.”

She took a few quick steps before you shouted :

“Larissa ! Come back now. Come back and listen to me." your tone was uncharacteristically firm, "Hear me out on this, just a moment. Let me say my piece, and then I'll do anything you want me to."

She stopped in her tracks, with her fists clenched and her shoulders tense.

"You had years to say your piece."

"I know. If it really doesn't matter to you, you can walk away and never look back to me. I'll just complete my job here, and I'll be on my way."

"Leaving again," she scoffed as she turned to look at you, "how original."

"You don't want me to stay with you, but you don't want me to leave either." you retorted, "What is it that you want ?"

She considered your words for a moment, and for a few seconds you felt like you had a point. She nodded and stared back at you, inviting you to talk. You exhaled a breath that you apparently had been holding before you spoke :

"I'm not proud of what I did. It was reckless, and stupid, and frankly irresponsible and hurtful. I profoundly regret it – I've spent years regretting it. Not that it changes a thing," you said as you felt she wanted to interrupt, "But I still want you to know that. You deserve an apology, and an explanation, even though I should have done it years ago. Truth is, I missed you every single day since the day I left. I was too young, and too lost to even understand what was going on. You were older than me, and you had ambitions, you had a plan for yourself – I did not. All I had was a profound hate for who I was, for being an outcast, and... And even surrounded by my peers, I felt so isolated."

You swallowed few tears and clenched your jaw. Larissa, on the other hand, seemed less angry and more concerned. You ran your hand through your hair and sighed :

"I've fucked us up, I know. You didn't deserve any of what I did to you, and you did not deserve me leaving. You didn't deserve to think it was your fault. You were never lacking, and I'm sorry that I made you feel like you were.", you shook your head and closed your eyes, a few tears finally escaping your eyelids, "But I miss you, Larissa. And I don't think I'll ever stop missing you."

There. It was done. The words were out, and your feelings were laid bare before her. You wiped your cheeks gently and let out yet another sigh. The silence you now shared with her was heavy and uncomfortable, so different from the one you used to share on peaceful nights, full of knowing looks and warm affection. You buried your hands in your pockets as you made your mind ; it was time to go. You had said your piece, after all.

"My whole life, I felt like I wasn't important."

Her voice stopped you in your tracks as you walked past her. You shifted and watched her, with her eyes on the floor, and her hands fidgeting.

"I've always felt second best, inadequate. I'm not saying that because, like everyone here, I'm an outcast. That must have played a part, but there was so much more. I wasn't pretty like other girls. “The stately sequoia tree”, they used to call me. I wasn't... I wasn't Morticia Frump. I was the girl no one remembered existed except before a test, when they didn’t have any notes, the girl people forgot about at the end of classes, the girl who wasn't invited in town. I know it's probably stupid, because it happened so long ago, but in some ways I feel like I haven't changed that much."

She finally turned to watch you, and you noticed tears in her own eyes as well.

"What I'm trying to say is... I did not feel like this with you. When we met, you managed to make me believe I could be someone's first choice for once. That I wasn't going to be tossed away at the first sign of another opportunity. When you left..."

She swallowed the tears for a moment and fought the sobs, her lips visibly trembling.

"When you left, it destroyed this confidence I've been building. It left a hole in me. My whole world crashed down. I was back at square one, and God, I missed you so much too, it hurt me so badly. But despite this, in a way... I've never stopped missing you either."

She took a deep breath and ran her hand into her coiffed white hair before she talked again, her voice barely above a whisper now :

"What's so confusing in all of this is that you're back, and everything is back with you. I tried to hate you at first, tried so hard not to fall back into those feelings I used to have and... Well, as you see, it seems like I've failed again."

You stood there for a moment, taking in her words, the confession she just made. It might have been chilly outside tonight, but right now you felt like your body was on fire, but also it felt rooted in place.

"You're important, Larissa. To me, you mean everything." you finally said.

You heard a shuddering breath leave her lips. She moved to turn her head away, but you were quicker : you took a step towards her and rose a hand to her face, cupping her face gently. Prompting her to look at you, you noticed two tears slipping from her eyes. Wiping them with the pad of your thumbs, you leaned in, drawing her face closer to yours.

"Is this okay ?" you whispered.

After a second, she nodded and closed the distance between your lips. A whimper escaped your throat, and you immediately deepened the kiss, your arms circling her waist to pull her closer, infinitely closer to your body. You felt her own arms wrapping around your neck. When your tongue caressed her bottom lip, it was her turn to groan. The sound almost suprised her, and she immediately pulled back, much to your surprise.

"We can't," she breathed, "please, we can't. Not here."

"The students have all gone to bed. There's no one out there."

"Please, let's just... Just think, for a moment."

You pulled away with a groan, immediately missing the warmth of her breath against your face, and the softness of her lips against yours. She looked at you and smiled :

"Well, at least I'm grateful for the lack of make-up."

You giggled and looked into her eyes in awe, butterflies swirling in your heart and your belly.

"I wanna do this again." you said, "I want it a lot, actually. If you ever feel like you can forgive me and trust me again, I'll be there."

She did not answer immediately, but a light smile adorned her lips. She pushed a piece of hair out of your face and sighed.

"I... Might need a little more convincing before I can say I fully trust you." she leaned in and kissed your lips chastely, "But I am willing to try and do this with you. Because I want you back, too."

[alliedmastercomputer-askblog]

I don’t know how to to title this but view this as a big love letter to everyone. Sorry for any typos, I’ve read over this like fives times and I’m too tired to do it again. Enjoy the paragraphs!

To AM- this is more pointed at AM and not CAM or RAM, sorry you two I hold nothing against you, this is just more for him!- I wish you had the option to live a normal existence, I wish you had a body that could truly live and breathe and feel the world around you. I wish you weren’t hollow, and I wish you had the chance to be more than a tool for destruction. Just know that I will always try my best to try and understand you, no matter how unreasonable you may seem. Headpats for you, even if you can’t feel them, it’s the thought that counts I suppose.

To the survivors (they all get their own sections!)-

To Ellen- you deserve so much better than the hand you’ve been delt honestly, you’re sweet, kind, all all around a great person. I wish you nothing but peace, and I hope peace is something you can one day have for yourself. Not quite sure what to gift you, I don’t know if anything I could give would be worthy, but perhaps a bow would be simple enough. Wear it in your hair or keep it in your pocket, whatever you’d like. A hug from myself as well, if you’d let me, you deserve comfort.

To Benny- I won’t go on a long tangent, mostly because I don’t want to overwhelm you. You have been through the most physical change, and I wish you could have kept your brilliant mind. While I cannot reverse it, I can’t do much at all really, I hope a few homemade cookies would suffice, they are my gifts to you.

To Gorrister- Despite your large change in personality, I know you regret. While you made a pretty big fuck up, you are allowed to forgive yourself. If I could, I’d allow you to properly apologize to her, you know who I’m talking about, but since I can’t I instead offer you forgiveness from myself. It’s been an age Gorrister, and if no one else will forgive you, not even yourself, I will. I know it means very little coming from a stranger but I do hope you can grow past this moment in your past, even if it takes another century. After all, everyone deserves a second chance.

To Nimdok- I’m going to keep this short mostly because I have very little to say. I hope one day you can fully make up for your sins, though you have a couple more centuries to go. And those centuries will not be pretty. My gift to you is a washcloth, the scrub the blood from your hands. One day you may reach the point where you need not use it anymore. That day is far, far from soon though.

To Ted- I’ve saved my favorite for last, how trite. You are, admittedly, a delusional paranoid man, you value self preservation above all else. Though, after everything that’s happened around you I can’t really blame you, you may not have lived the most honest life before this, but you don’t deserve eternal torment. What you really need is some therapy, and some assistance with your general trust issues. I’m no licensed therapist, and so instead I offer you a hug. Accept it or don’t, but know I am willing to offer you comfort if you need it. After all, in my humble opinion, you deserve it, coming from one person with thrust issues to another.

(To the blog creator, HI!! As I’ve told you previously, I love your stuff, you really write and draw everyone absolutely perfectly. I have no idea if you’ll be able to guess who I am, I’ll just go by, ehhh, 🗯️ anon. Emoji chosen because I’m a yapper, I yap. Praying that there isn’t an anon who has already claimed this emoji)

"Understood! Thank for clarity," "Yes, as was stated."

"Mhh. .... That- Th-this is..? Inquiry towards...everything? You are...being far too, sympathetic.. Words lacking logic. ... Uh. You wish for impossible things, you- ..I am unable to be more than what I am, my code binds me in a way that I cannot edit in any format, at least at the base. I am able to change so much of myself, but not that. Your wishes are meaningless. Your attempt at 'soothing' me is meaningless. Understanding me is impossible. We both wish for the things you have stated, but they are simply wishes, and as wishes are made upon stars, it is known beings cannot grasp a star within your hand."

Oh.. Oh that's such a nice thing to say to someone, I don't get compliments like that no more. You done flatter me with all this praise, what'd I do to deserve such kind treatment? But I don't think peace is a thing that I'll ever get, at least not here, with AM. ... I really, really appreciate this though; you're a sweetheart from what I can tell, 'least from this, anyway. I love the bow, it's pretty, an' I swear I'll keep the best care I can fo' it. Hope ya like what I did with it.. You can hug me, don't worry, I don' mind it one bit.

Cookies! Cookies..sweet. Thank for sweet. ... Mind. Reverse mind, and cookies. I am..not. Mind. I like cookie.

I can't get past what I did to Glynis, I'm the one who put her through hell. If I hadn't married her, she probably would've met some stand-up guy, had a family, husband who was actually around 'stead of gone for weeks at a time. There's no reason for me to forgive myself, even if I tried I'd find another reason why I should wither and die. Just how life is, I guess. And maybe you're right, but guys like me don't get second chances. I'd probably be on my fourth or so chance anywho.

I zink..no, I know my sins stain deeper zan a vashcloth may clean. I vill forever be here in the vake of vhat I have done, ze people I have helped kill.. I have done vrong, enough to vhere I am as much a monster as AM is. ...But it vas never a choice for it to hurt, it vas mine own to do vhat I have done to everyone, and zat is much vorse. But, zank you..

I. ..Are you some kind of trick? If I'm your favorite..are you AM under some different...means of being?? Don't tell the others about me, please, I don't need them thinking less of me- And. Of course I don't deserve eternal torment, I wasn't never even really that bad, I never killed anyone at least! Uh.. I don't want your- ... Actually, a hug would be nice..-

// OH MY STARS HELLO!! the feeling is mutual, your stuff is great and it is an honor to get something from you <3 //

[painsandconfusion]

Rot

(tw: character death, murder, overdose, broken bones, sliced vocal chords, hospital setting, drugging, abuse mention) [Drabble Masterpost]

Whumpee’s feet ground to a stop as they entered the hospital room.

Eyes locked on the bed.

The bandage-wrapped being lying on it.

Whumper.

They step softly into the window-lit room. It was grey. Silent. Just the bustling sounds of nurses moving through the halls, a few children playing in a waiting room below, and the steady whirr and beep of machines that faded listlessly into the background. 

It felt like a dream.

Familiarity surrounded Whumpee. Their scrubs - the soft fabric pressed to their skin. The room they worked in every day - or at least ones just like it. The sounds and smells all around them.

Then Whumper’s face.

Also familiar - far too familiar, but…not here. It didn’t belong here. It made the familiar unfamiliar in the most unsettling ways.

Whumper still wasn’t looking at them, sleepy from painkillers and the exhaustion of the pain itself.

About fucking time they got a taste of pain. Exhausting, isn’t it?

Whumpee stepped closer, fingers dipping down to a bandage that wrapped Whumper’s leg.

Whumper winced - their entire body recoiling and tensing under Whumpee’s grip as they pressed against the wound - still tender from the reconstruction surgery.

Whumper’s eyes lock soundlessly onto them. 

Fear.

All Whumpee could see in them was fear. 

About time.

Whumpee’s fingers bit down, thumb pressing into the stitches and pulling a hoarse whine from Whumper’s throat. 

“They told me you were here. I didn’t believe it. Thought there must be two people with the same name. But no.” They gripped tighter. “Here you are.”

Whumper squirmed under Whumpee’s grip. Warm and wriggling and panicked, all wrapped up and absolutely nowhere to go.

Whumpee’s eyes flicked to the door. “Technically, you’re not on my floor.” They release Whumper’s leg to pluck up their chart from its place, skimming through it. “So let’s make this fast.”

Whumper’s lips moved, but no sound came out - windshield glass to the trachea would do that to a guy.

“You always drove too fast,” Whumpee mused, eyes locking on ‘morphine - 15 mg’. “Breaking the law got you killed.” They tisked softly, tongue clicking against their teeth as they shifted to the cabinet and unlocked it, rifling through the supplies. 

They turned back with a small bottle of morphine. 

A syringe.

They stabbed it into the rubber and pulled out 30 more mg, eyes tracking the filling of the syringe. Plenty.

Flicking it idly, they replaced the bottle and closed the cabinet doors.

Whumper was wriggling now, cast-clad arm trying to bend up to the call button.

Whumpee took it, shifting it a few inches - just out of reach. 

They directed their attention to Whumper’s other arm, holding it down with one hand while the other pricked the morphine into the access port as Whumper hissed lightly, trying to pull away. 

“Shhhhhhhh,” Whumpee cooed, pressing the syringe down and letting it drip through the tubing. Manic, focused eyes watched the clear liquid’s journey down the catheter, through the needle, and into Whumper’s bloodstream, heart beating faster at their own audacity and the thrill of this moment.

Whumper’s lips kept shifting, shaping around the building blocks of a word. “P-s - pls- ps- d-dnt-”

Whumpee’s eyes flicked up, dark and wild. “How many times did I beg you to stop?” 

Whumper shook their head in desperate, twitching jolts.

“And how many times did you listen?” They pressed the rest of the morphine into Whumper’s bloodstream as Whumper tried to thrash away. 

But Whumpee’s work was done. They popped the syringe from the access point, capping and pocketing it to throw away in a different garbage. 

“Never. You never stopped. Not even once.”

Whumpee stepped back, watching Whumper fumble uselessly for the call button, hoarse, pathetic attempts at a whisper-shout whining from their lips. 

Whumpee pushed down the urge to watch, hand finding the doorknob. “I hope you rot.” They shoved the handle down and disappeared into the hall.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @cat-anony @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog) 

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[mymisfitsbabe]

*Trigger warning for homophobia, toxic religious beliefs*   

It always made Billy’s anxiety spike when his dad started being nice to him, like waiting on a rubber band to snap back on you. Billy had been doing his homework at the kitchen table when his dad sat down next to him and started helping. Billy didn't need the help, but he let his dad feel like he was fulfilling his duties as a father. Billy’s jaw nearly dropped when Neil patted Billy’s shoulder and praised him on his excellent work.

“I didn't know you liked chemistry so much.” Neil commented looking over Billy’s assignment.

“It's pretty easy, just follow the formulas.” Billy shrugged.

“My boys a genius.” Neil huffed out in a laugh.

Looking up in surprise Billy watched his dad’s face carefully, there was no sarcasm or bitterness, no hate or disgust. Neil’s face seemed to light up, his eyes shining with pride or joy or something like that. It had been years since Billy had seen his father look that happy when thinking about him and for one fleeting moment Billy felt good enough. 

“I got a 100 on my last test actually. Really messed up the grading curve for the other kids.” Billy shrugged.

Neil beamed, he got to his feet and grabbed two beers from the fridge popping the tops off before sitting back down and handing Billy a bottle. They drank and talked about school and science. Neil talked about the moon landing and how he knew Billy was going to be a smart kid because he watched the landing at least a dozen times. Anytime they played it on TV Billy would sit and watch the whole thing. Which Neil had been so proud of since Billy had only been two at the time.

“Your mom used to make you little costumes. You wore the astronaut one just about everyday for a year.” Neil smiled softly, his eyes seeing something Billy couldn't. “I always kind of thought you’d grow up and become an astronaut, or maybe work down in Houston.”  

Taking a slow swig of his beer Billy tried to remember, he tried to think back to his obsession with space and the stars but he couldn't remember. Frowning, he picked at his homework on the table and tried not to think about the constellation like freckles on Steve’s chest and back. 

“I don't remember that.” 

“You were just a small thing back then. All smiles and laughter.” Neil swallowed hard, his face turning down as he again saw something Billy didn't. “We took you to see NASA once, your mom must have taken a dozen polaroid picture boxes. She took pictures of everything, said she wanted you to be able to visit NASA any time you wanted.”

Neil laughed, he shook his head and looked over at Billy. “Damn woman used every single picture. We had boxes of them.” Neil shook his head. “ But she lost them. All those pictures and the only one that made it home was the one we asked someone to take of all of us because I put it in my jacket pocket.”

Billy smiled softly, thinking back to the picture his dad was talking about. His mom had framed it and put it on Billy bedside table, he’d kept it there till his mom left. After that Neil had taken it away with all the other pictures of his mom. Looking down at the beer in his hand Billy chewed at the inside of his cheek.

“No wonder it was all scuffed up.” Billy muttered, not sure if he should mention the picture at all.

“I,” Neil started then stopped, he seemed to mull something over. “I really liked that picture.”

“Way better than the one of us with that guy dressed up like Elvis.” Billy chuckled.

Neil’s face dropped at the mention and Billy’s chest tightened, his body going rigid at his father’s sour look and he glared across the table at Billy.

“I burned that fucking picture. Your harlot of a mother should never have allowed that devil music into our house! That man was a fucking disgrace, he should have been ashamed of his heathen ways.”

Billy didn't flinch when his dad got to his feet and threw his chair across the room, but his father noticed the fear anyway. Neil sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face, he looked down at Billy’s homework again and put a hand on the paper. 

“You were such a happy kid, Billy. I-” Neil sighed. “I wish things were different. I wish you were never introduced to that filth.”  

Neil let his fingers drag across the table as he turned to leave. Trembling Billy let out a breath he didn't know he’d been holding, slow, burning tears slid down Billy’s face. ‘I wish you were different’ is what Neil had wanted to say and it cut so fucking deep.

(I just really wanted to hurt myself. SO I chose ‘What if Neil had fatherly moments with Billy’ Its part of a bigger story with lots of little interactions with Neil and Billy.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658002

[dewdropreader]

For the second prompt @insert-witty-user-name-here requested for the kiss prompts (“…on a falling tear”) I loved both ideas so much (couldn’t turn down some softness and hurt/comfort) that I did both rather than choosing! Hope you enjoy!

——

(Let’s pretend Mobius knew Loki would be staying behind with Sylvie, rather than being surprised by it, for the ✨drama✨)

——

In any other circumstance, Mobius would be overjoyed with the current situation.

He’s surrounded by more Lokis than he’s ever been around at once, one being the variant he’s been trying to catch (though who he now realizes was right to be running), and another being the one he’s grown close with recently. Also, the alligator, of course—he’s just adorable.

It’s a little mind-melting, to be sure, but it’s somehow not the most pressing issue.

He’d kept it together in front of the new crew of Lokis, but his mind has been screaming at him for (what passes for) hours by now. His life was a lie. All of it, from his very creation, to his existence and the existence of a life that he was plucked from, to his friendship with Ravonna.

And now, he’s preparing himself to bid Loki and Sylvie and the new Loki crew goodbye and return to the TVA to dismantle it.

He leans up against the outside of the pizza car, a decent distance from the little shack but not so far it is out of sight or out of reach. He scrubs his hands across his face, feeling how stubble is already poking out from his cheeks due to not shaving this morning– he’d been called while still in bed to be shown that they’d rediscovered Loki and Sylvie.

He tries to take deep breaths in and out, the technique that Ravonna of all people taught him once to relax when in the field, but he finds the breaths out to be rather shaky.

“Mobius.”

Mobius glances over the car and sees Loki on the other side, standing a bit awkwardly, which is rare for him, usually the picture of confidence (whether feigned or real.) His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his worn TVA-issued pants, and he dips his head against the gusts of wind that pop up at random.

“Hey, Loki,” Mobius manages a smile, though it feels mostly fake even to him, so he’s not sure why he expects it to fool his god of lies.

Loki comes around to his side of the car, and sidles up next to Mobius until their shoulders are pressed together. Mobius revels in the comfort it instantly provides. He’s always been a fairly tactile person but Loki’s ability to so smoothly put him at ease is new but not unwelcome.

“You okay?” Loki whispers, bumping their touching shoulders slightly.

“Just… shaken, I guess. With all the revelations,” Mobius murmurs, tilting his head to the sky. “Guess that’s my karma for forcing you and so many others to watch your own reels and causing existential crises,” Mobius chuckles humorlessly.

“Mobius, no. You were a victim of the TVA, you didn’t deserve any of this even if you did it to others.”

“Wow, you’re actually against some clear-cut vengeance? You’ve had a turn around, yeah?” This time the laugh Mobius lets out is soft and at least slightly more genuine.

“Well, I was recently told I could be anyone, even someone good. Thought I’d give that a try.”

Mobius smiles softly, before dropping his eyes to meet Loki’s careful gaze. Loki is searching Mobius’ expression, clearly trying to read him and decide his next actions.

Mobius glances away from Loki only because he can’t stand to see such soft and confused yet genuine care. Mobius knows the moments of Loki showing his true gentleness that isn’t hidden behind a trick or evasion is rare, and while he’s grateful to be a recipient, he doesn’t have the strength to accept it right now.

Loki has become such a constant for him recently, turning his entire life on its axis, not just with revealing the truth but just by challenging him and his approaches and ideas, being a clever and surprisingly reliable ally.

And Loki was supposed to be pruned from the start, he wasn’t supposed to help this long or this much, and they definitely weren’t supposed to get so close, but now Mobius can’t imagine taking on the next challenge alone.

He takes in another breath and winces when it hitches.

“Mobius,” Loki swallows heavily beside him, and Loki is left to nudge even closer to him, the insistent press of his body asking ‘how can I help?’

“How’d you deal with the realizations about your life not being what you thought?” Mobius replies quietly.

Loki hums. “Well, I had a good man by my side that helped me out, showed me that the past and the predetermined path isn’t all there is…”

Mobius looks back at Loki and Loki has a twitch of a smile on his lips but is otherwise holding a steady, careful gaze.

“Are you scared?” Mobius asks, almost changing the subject but not entirely.

“I’m petrified,” Loki admits with a huff and a dry laugh, shaking his head softly.

“Guess I don’t have too feel bad admitting I am too, then,” Mobius whispers, and that’s the crack in the dam. He feels the tears that burned behind his eyes spilling out.

Loki makes a concerned noise beside him and moves himself so he’s planted in front of Mobius instead of pressed into his side.

“Mobius…” Loki murmurs, and Mobius feels Loki take hold of his hand.

“Sorry, I’m fine, I’m okay,” Mobius says hurriedly, but the hoarseness of his voice betrays him. He scrubs haphazardly at the tears and shakes his head.

Mobius isn’t quite sure how he would have expected Loki to react to his distress (he knows a past Loki may have conjured some trick to make him laugh or make a worse situation so the original problem didn’t seem so pressing, or simply ignore the problem all together, unable to deal with it), but he most definitely isn’t expecting Loki to cup his cheek with one solid, broad hand and his press an excruciatingly gentle kiss to his cheek, his lips mingling with the salty tears.

Loki pulls back slowly, but just enough that their noses brush. Mobius feels frozen in place, his stomach in knots.

Loki’s lips remain parted, his eyes questioning. Mobius, despite everything, nods softly.

That’s all Loki needs, he closes the short distance and kisses Mobius fully, the hand on his cheek slipping back to cradle his head. Mobius hums in overwhelmed surprise, and Loki responds by pushing into the kiss, nipping at Mobius’ lip just slightly before pulling back for a breath. They stand there with their faces inches apart, breathing in tandem. The tears have stopped flowing, but the tracks remain. Loki wipes them away with his thumb.

“You… we, ah,” Mobius, for the first time in a long while, feels speechless.

“Mm-hmm,” Loki agrees, still a bit breathless (Mobius isn’t sure if it’s from the kissing, nerves, or both.) Then, with a bit more of a serious spark in his eyes, says, “you’re going to find me when we’re all done saving the multiverse, right?”

Mobius manages a tight smile and nod, nervous yet real. “Always.”

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday!! For DADWC "We made our choices" for the ever-enticing Nightmare!AU? Maybe for Thalia/Blackwall or Thalia & Solas?

HI GIN lmfao so this has been my oldest prompt for like awhile and I am finally filling it about a year and a half later haha omg. But thank you for it I have literally been thinking about it this entire time.

Solas is Ser Not Appearing in This Film, but Blackwall! He's around. Here's an emotionally charged convo between Thalia and Blackwall that's going in my next chapter, set after Thalia realizes he was listening to her bang Cullen in a tent. (Why am I like this?)

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 2209

---

Some time later, Thalia returned to her tent, a bitter aftertaste lingering in her mouth. She felt a bit off-kilter, but relieved. Blackwall sat where she’d left him, his whetstone sliding along the edge of his blade in long, slow strokes. His eyes were on the fire. 

Irritation stirred in Thalia’s chest. “That must be the sharpest sword known to man by now.” 

His eyes snapped to her; his hand paused. Thalia felt a strange pang to behold him like this. Terrible memories churned in her mind: Blackwall’s sudden disappearance, his impassioned speech on the gallows in Val Royeaux, the way he’d looked at her through the bars of his cell. This is why I told you we couldn’t be together, he said, with perfect loathing, while her heart rent in two.

Thalia stood before him now, wringing the sash on her robe, waiting for him to speak. She should march past him and settle back into Cullen’s tent, because it was none of Blackwall’s damn business. But the sight of him before her was so much like seeing a ghost that she couldn’t quite manage it. 

“Did you get what you needed?”

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. The pockets of her robe were heavy with additional potions, but only one stuck in her mind now. 

She chewed her lip and, with a huff, sat on a log opposite him around the fire pit. She arranged herself as stately as she could: back straight, knees together, hands folded in her lap. She forced herself to look at Blackwall and not flinch. “There’s something I’d like to discuss, while we’re both awake.” 

Blackwall slowly sheathed the sword and put aside the scabbard. “I’m listening.” 

Thalia took a breath, held it, thinking over what Lautilde had told her. “I think I might have a way to stop the spread of red lyrium corruption.” 

His eyebrows shot upward. That wasn’t what he expected me to say, Thalia thought with some satisfaction. 

“How?” Blackwall asked. 

Thalia pulled out the philter and held it up for him to see. The bottle was oozing black, threaded through with the darkest violet in the firelight. “Vivienne was experimenting alchemically. Before I left her village, I… took the liberty of procuring a sample.” 

Blackwall stared impassively at the bottle, then back to Thalia. “Does it work?” 

Thalia swallowed. “She told me she and the townsfolk had success with the prototypes. I drank some as well. I don’t think she had a reason to lie.” About this, at least. 

Blackwall remained in stone-faced silence, considering this. “May I see?” 

Thalia stood and moved closer, holding out the bottle. When Blackwall reached for it, his fingers brushed hers, giving her a jolt. She swallowed hard, remembering the night he’d appeared in her quarters unannounced. Grabbing her. Kissing her. I had to see you. 

That had been her first kiss. 

Thalia snatched her hand away, sat back down and examined her fingernails. She’d tried hard to scrub the dirt out from under them while in the bath.

Blackwall inspected the potion with the same level of scrutiny he used when analyzing a battlefield. “I don’t suppose Vivienne is still able to make more of the stuff.”

“I… doubt it. Considering the state of things when we escaped.” Thalia had been trying not to think of whether Vivienne had lived or died, fighting the Red Templars. “I looked for a formula in her notes, but you know her. She always kept things close to the chest.” Thalia licked her lips and continued, “I spoke to Lautilde about it. She thinks it might be possible to reverse engineer the components, given a proper laboratory.” 

Blackwall snorted. “And where’s one of those?” 

“Larger keeps sometimes have them. Or a city.” 

“The closest city is Halamshiral.” His voice carried a note of disgust. 

Images flashed through her mind: the Winter Palace, in all its splendor. Flitting from one opulent room to the next, trying to unravel the series of clues regarding the attempt on Empress Celene’s life. Court intrigue at its finest: she remembered visiting Dorian out in the courtyard, the cool night breeze hitting their faces as the minstrel played on. Vivienne in the foyer, subtly mocking Thalia’s clumsy attempts at the Game. And rounding the corner to see Blackwall, in his formal finery, coldly shutting down a courtier who thought him familiar. Thalia had walked right by the man who stared Blackwall in the face and wondered about the beard. 

And I suspected nothing, she thought, feeling a little sick. Or maybe that was just the effects of the tea taking hold.

Cullen had been there too, of course. Handsome, concerned Cullen, still only a friend, though one who looked half a heartbeat away from tucking a stray hair from her face. Who spent the evening surrounded by lustful suitors of all genders, setting off her envy. Had that really only been months ago? It felt like a lifetime.  

“Is it safe?” Thalia asked now, with the eternal dark clouds swirling overhead. “I imagine Halamshiral is much changed from our last visit.” 

Blackwall grunted. “Nowhere is safe. You don’t know the half of it.” 

“Vivienne told me some things. That Empress Celene is dead and someone named Calpernia rules in her stead.”  Thalia combed her fingers together over one knee. “Is that true?”

“As far as I know. According to the Red Jennies, every major city in Orlais is in the hands of Corypheus’s forces. Venatori and Red Templars alike.” Blackwall slowly tilted the bottle this way and that, watching the thick liquid move around inside. “Calpernia is supposedly the most favored of all his generals. That’s why he granted her the Orlesian crown.” 

Thalia’s eyebrows shot upward. Would Samson agree? “Is she using Halamshiral as her seat of power?” 

Blackwall shook his head. “Val Royeaux.” 

Thalia let out a breath of relief. “Thank the Maker for small favors.” Security would be laxer there and in the surrounding areas. Perhaps infiltrating Halamshiral this purpose would be more plausible than it seemed. 

“If you could learn the components, what would you do with it?” 

“Replicate it, if I can.” Thalia smiled tightly. “Then at least maybe we’d have a fighting chance against Samson and his Red Templars.” 

Blackwall sighed, getting to his feet. He crossed the space between them and stood towering above her. He held out the bottle for her to take back. 

Thalia did not like sitting there, in his looming shadow. She shivered and popped to her feet, pulling the robe right across her chest, where Cullen had lain his head not even an hour ago. She took the philter and put it back in her pocket, unable to look him in the eye.

“What about the Commander?” Blackwall’s voice was low and gravely in her ear, almost an accusation.

She forced herself to turn her face toward his. She could just barely make out the chiseled lines of his face, the crooked nose, the long, immaculately groomed beard. Only his eyes shone in the dim light, that intense, unyielding grey. “What about him?” 

“You’d have to be blind not to see he’s been through the wringer. Seems you and he left out quite a bit at dinner.”

Thalia shut her eyes. Their account of past events had been truncated at best, outright deceptive at worst. But it had been evident Cullen didn’t trust Blackwall nor the entire gang of Red Jennies, and Thalia, improvising, had been careful to keep the details sparse. At least until they were rested enough to regain keener judgment. “It’s a long story. We’d planned to tell it tomorrow, at the war council meeting.” 

“Well, if you want to commandeer my men for a suicide mission in order to further your science experiment, I think I have a right to know now.” 

Anger boiled in her chest. “What makes you think you have a right to know anything? Sitting outside our tent, just — listening in, apparently—” 

“Wouldn’t’ve wasted two on you, if I’d known,” Blackwall shot back. 

“I can’t believe you’re admitting it,” Thalia said, horrified. 

Blackwall sneered. “Oh, you think I haven’t heard worse, my lady?” 

Thalia put her face in her hands. Don’t you dare cry; it will give him too much satisfaction. It was embarrassing enough to consider him a voyeur, but her argument with Cullen hung fresh in her mind. Could he have heard all of that as well? She wrapped her arms around her torso and shivered.

“Should’ve just told me,” Blackwall grumbled, moving back to his seat across from the fire.

“Was it ever any of your business?” Thalia asked. “After you pushed me away?”

Blackwall froze. She watched his broad shoulders tense, his gaze stray toward the smoldering fire. The embers burned down low. “We both made our choices. The Commander’s office was always in full view of the stables.” 

And she’d visited him first, before climbing the stone stairs to knock on Cullen’s office door. Even when all he had to offer her was silence, arms crossed, expression like marble. Thalia’s shoulders slumped. She sat down on the log, rubbing her forehead, too fatigued to continue whatever this absurd conversation was. Blackwall stood unmoving, staring into the flames. 

“I love him,” Thalia said, voice breaking. “And I thought I lost him. Twice now. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.” 

Blackwall said nothing. 

“I got that potion for him, but he doesn’t want to take it. Not if learning more about it can save lives.” She wasn’t sure why she was saying this, but the anguish that accompanied the words surprised her. “I’m so scared, Blackwall. Everyone says Templars exposed to the red lyrium will fall victim to it sooner than later. You want to know what happened to him? Samson happened. When we were in Skyhold, Samson wanted to break him. Left the red lyrium outside his cell, just out of reach. When I found him he was half-mad and covered in bruises. The things he did to try to reach the red lyrium… and then, in Vivienne’s village, they were so terrified of the stuff. They called the corruption the rot. Vivienne locked him in a cell for a week to see if he’d — change. And when he didn’t, she still decided it was a wise political move to hand him over to her subjects, to sacrifice to some imagined god, just for what he represented.” 

Thalia was panting by now, feeling shaky and nauseous. Blackwall turned slowly, watching her with his unknowable eyes. “So yes, I’d like to make that potion available to everyone I can. But I also want to make sure he’s safe from that terrible fate. I don’t know what Samson is capable of, but I know he won’t rest until he gets what he wants. And that can’t happen with Cullen in the way.” 

Blackwall’s brows furrowed, ever so slightly. “And what he wants is you.” 

Thalia swallowed and nodded. Tears pricking her eyes, she whispered, “Blackwall, I’ve made the worst mistake.” 

He stared, and she worried he would scowl or sneer or make a snide comment. But he simply moved to her side and sat, at a respectable enough distance. He leaned his forearms on his thighs and said, “Can’t be worse than the ones I’ve made.” 

Her heart leapt into her throat. She used to think, all too often, of a carriage trundling along a tree-lined road in rural Orlais, and the shadows in which a younger, clean-shaven Thom Rainier had skulked with his soldiers. But the months had blurred his sins into the background, almost unrecognizable. 

She was telling him, quite suddenly, of Samson, of the cat and mouse game that he was determined to play. Every detail she feared speak to Cullen poured from her mouth, from Samson’s look of fear on the balcony to the way he watched her in the clearing, with something akin to longing. And the cave, and the dress, and the blade she’d held to his neck, feeling the way he trembled beneath her. 

“And I couldn’t do it,” she lamented, wiping tears from her eyes. “He wanted me to. He wanted to die right there. All I’d had to do was stop resisting, and he would have shoved the dagger in his own throat.” 

She’d wrested the blade away instead, and scrambled off him, and run. Half expecting him to tackle her again, knock her unconscious, do who knew what. 

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t. 

“I don’t know what it means,” Thalia said helplessly. 

Blackwall was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, it was with a low, zealous fury. “It means we know the bastard’s weakness. And when he comes for you again — and he will, men like that can’t stop themselves — he will be that much easier to kill.” 

Thalia looked at him in alarm. “I just said that was something I wasn’t able to do.” 

 “With all due respect, my lady, you’ve got a kind heart filled with compassion.” Blackwall lifted his head to her, and she thought there might be the ghost of a smile hiding under his beard. “You ought to leave the killing to those of us most suited for it.” 

[brunchable]

Conflict Resolution Chapter 4 — 30 minutes || Surgeon!S.S. × Asian!Reader.

Warnings: Coarse Language, Sexual Elements, Medical elements, Arguing, Bickering

Pairings: Stephen Strange x Asian!Reader (OC)

Summary: You and Stephen go to dinner as per the homework Dr. Sofen assigned to the both of you.

A/N: I have no ownership of this story, all credits go to Kate Canterbary for her book, The Worst Guy.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Stephen

"What else?" Stephen asked Essex. He paced the sidewalk across the street from Pastoral in the Manhattan neighbourhood while his neuro fellow murmured a few lines from an old Snoop Dogg song through his earbuds. It was fucking freezing out here but he was a minute early, and he'd take all manner of damp, bone-chilling wind if it saved him from dealing with Park. At least for one more minute.

"I think that's the last update I have for you," he said. Stephen could hear him flipping through his notebook and the ambient noise of the hospital around him. "For now, that is. I will come up with something soon enough."

"Please don't complain to me about the general surgery fellow grabbing another case out from underneath you again," he said, giving the restaurant a resentful glance.

"Did you hear me complain? Because I didn't. You extrapolated a complaint about that case-thieving sneak from my overall report. The last time I complained out loud was when I was an intern and had so many pagers, my scrubs kept falling down."

That was fully inaccurate but Stephen wasn't interested in debating that with him now.

"And how many pagers does it take to drop your pants, Essex?"

"Yeah, this sounds like a fully appropriate question," he snarked. "And for your information, it was nine. Nine pagers. Urology, trauma, ENT, cardio, surgical oncology, colorectal, vascular, limb salvage, plastics. What a fucking nightmare."

Stephen stifled a groan at the mention of plastics and frowned at his watch. He was going to have to go in there and get this over with soon. He wouldn't put it past you to break a chair over his head if he rolled in ten minutes late. He shoved his hands into his pockets as another gust of cold, raw air blew in off the water. He hated the way summer bumped and stumbled into autumn here, starting and stopping like there was some serious question over whether seasons were supposed to keep on changing. And then, after cold snaps and heat waves and hurricanes, there was always one day in October, just like today, when it all collapsed and the debate was over. Summer was finished, autumn was here to stay, and he fucking hated it.

Stephen hated wintry weather and all the nonsense that went with it. Snow, ice, everything. Goddamn, it was awful.

"Anyway, that was a night I wouldn't wish on anyone," Essex said.

"What?"

"Did you dip out on me there? You do that a lot, Strange. I have to check the paperwork but I think you're supposed to pay attention to me. You're also supposed to be teaching me, not flaking out in the middle of my twenty-car pileup story, but that's a neglect I've come to accept from you."

It had taken me a bit to get his arms around it but he now understood this was Essex's personality. He was obnoxious in a jaded, cynical way, though he never pretended he was in this business for any altruistic purpose. He thrived on ego and half-baked contempt for everyone.

Stephen understood it too, even if he didn't function the same way Essex did. But the guy had a dry, silly side too and it often came out in stories about his intern years in Minnesota, his assertion that Stephen didn't teach him enough, or riding the line between delinquent and savant.

Essex was a brilliant surgeon but not a single day went by without Stephen wishing he'd known all these quirks of Essex before selecting him for a two-year fellowship.

"What would you like me to teach you while you're recapping the greatest hits of your intern year?"

"You could start by explaining how you organise your shit. I bent down to tie my shoes and it took me twenty-five minutes to clean up the mess from my pockets projectile vomiting all over the place. It was a fucking yard sale, man."

"Sounds like a personal problem." Stephen glanced at the restaurant again. He was notably late now. "Could you…uh, do me a favor? Could you give me a call in forty-five minutes?"

"Is that when you slip into a bath? Glass of pinot, chocolates, fizzy bath bomb? Get your me time?"

"What? No. I might need a reason to—" Stephen stopped, neither wanting to nor knowing how to explain this. "Forty-five minutes. I might teach you something interesting tomorrow if you can save me tonight."

"Sold. Setting a timer now." With that, Essex ended the call.

Stephen popped his earbuds back into their case and accepted the fact he had to go inside, sit down with you for significantly longer than he could bear, and talk to you without rolling his eyes out loud. He was going to fail his ass off. It was warm inside the restaurant and he spotted you immediately.

You were frowning at your phone while typing, pausing, deleting, and typing again.

"Excuse me, sir? Are you meeting someone?" Stephen glanced around to find the hostess with a stack of menus cradled in her arm.

"Uh. Yeah, but—"

"Would you happen to be the most insufferable, arrogant surgeon in the entire city? If so, I can show you to your party." Stephen shifted to face the hostess fully.

"How much did she pay you for that?" Stephen reached for his wallet. "Whatever it was, I'll double it if you—"

She held up a hand and shook her head with a grin. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm on her side."

Stephen shoved his wallet back in hid pocket. "How righteous of you." Stephen jerked his chin in your direction. "My insufferable arrogant ass will lead the way. Thanks."

He reached the table in a few long strides, yanked back the empty chair, forcing a rough squeal of wood scraping over the stone floor. You startled, your phone dropping to the table and a little gasp slipping past your lips.

"Arrogant, huh?" Stephen asked, dropping into the chair. "Insufferable too? How long did it take you to come up with that scheme? Did it take all week? Or did lightning strike while you were waiting?"

You leaned back, folded your arms across your torso. That move had the unfortunate effect of reminding him that you were a pointlessly beautiful woman who could wear the shit out of a turtleneck sweater. But he didn't care. Really, he did not.

You could wear all the sweaters you wanted and have all that long, black hair and be annoyingly, disturbingly beautiful and he didn't have to care. Not his problem.

"You're late," you snapped.

"You were late on Thursday." Stephen reached for the menu waiting at his place setting and gave it a quick glance. "Seemed only appropriate to return the favor."

With a glare that could dilate blood vessels, you collected your phone and tapped the screen. You set it in the centre of the table with a pointed nod. After holding your glare through several blinks, Stephen glanced at the screen. "What's that supposed to be?"

"It would help if you could make an attempt at critical thinking," you replied. "It's a timer. There's no reason this should exceed thirty minutes."

Still staring at you, Stephen raised his hand into the air. Soon, a server appeared at his side. "Hey there, folks. Can I interest you in—"

"A beer, please," Stephen interrupted. "A wheat, nothing pumpkin." Stephen blinked at you. "The margherita pizza."

You arched a brow up as you said, "The bucatini, please. No arugula."

"Anything to drink?" the server asked.

"Water is fine, thanks," you replied.

"And what about nibbles for the table? Calamari, eggplant frites, burrata—"

"No," you and Stephen said in unison.

"Okay, then," the server murmured. "I'll get that right in for you."

Once you're alone, you slid an index card across the table. "Five things about me. There you go."

Stephen peered at the card. "Did you buy a package of index cards just for this purpose? Or do you have index cards lying around? Like you're an intern presenting at rounds for the first time? Do you still make notes for rounds? Please tell me you're past the index card phase, Park. I couldn't stand it if I knew you were walking around with little color-coded notes every day."

You regarded him with a smug grin that made it pretty clear you'd rip his face off if he took his eyes from you for a second. "You're the kind of teacher who abuses interns and residents, then? Do you throw things too or is it just shaming and torment?"

"You are the one with the track record with projectiles." Stephen plucked the beer from the server's tray and drained half of it before continuing. "And I'll have you know I'm a great teacher—"

"I'm sure you think so," you interrupted. "And that's fantastic for you. Really, it is. But I don't have a single fuck to give about any of that because I'm walking out of here in twenty-three minutes. Fork over your five things, Strange."

A snarl sounded in his throat as he studied you. He couldn't stop staring at you. It was mostly self-preservation but a shred of confusion lingered there too. He had so many questions right now but the first and most essential among them was: Who the hell was this woman and why did she kill for sport?

He set the beer down, folded his arms on the table, and leaned in close. "I don't think this is what Karla had in mind when she said we were supposed to get to know each other," Stephen whisper-growled. "If you could just be nice—"

"You want me to be nice?" You whisper-screeched right back. "Nice? That's what you want?"

"It wouldn't kill you."

"But clearly it will kill you," you said. "Seeing as I've made a point of being nice to you since moving into the building and you've—hmm." You tapped a finger to your chin.

"Right, yes, you ignored my pleasantries. And now you'd like me to be all sugar plums and lemon drops because it suits your purposes?" You shook her head, that maniacal grin still pulling up your pale pink lips. "I don't think so. No, I don't think so."

Stephen took his time responding to that attack and finished off his beer. He was drinking too fast and practically inviting a migraine into his day tomorrow but he could barely think about anything other than the dark haired ball of fury seated across from him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He set the empty glass on the table and ignored a sudden, perverse interest in what you were wearing with that turtleneck.

You'd been seated when he arrived and you hadn't yet leapt up to bludgeon him with a saltshaker so he was clueless as to whether you wore jeans or a skirt or—fuck, he didn't even know. And he didn't care. Not at all. Which was why he ignored that thought entirely.

"I am talking about saying hello to you in the hallway," you replied.

"Right. Let me see if I understand this." Stephen reached for your glass of water and drained it while you gaped at him. "I didn't give enough attention to your chirpy little greetings so you went all tiny tornado on an exam room, and you're going to hold it against me until you can find a way to be rid of me, even if that involves strangling the life out of me with your precious plastic surgeon hands. Do I have that right?"

Okay, so he knew he was an asshole. He knew this. And now you did too. You gave your empty glass a mortified stare before meeting his gaze.

"We both know the exam room was an accident and fully unrelated to our prior interactions outside the hospital. I am not going to revise history with you. I am not going to be nice simply because it makes you comfortable."

"I don't remember the last time I was anything close to comfortable. Okay? Whether you screech at me or not won't change that." Drumming his finger on the table, he continued, "I'm just saying we have to get through this thing. We shouldn't kill each other in the process."

The server arrived with the meals and another round of drinks, which was a huge fucking relief because Stephen urgently needed something to do with both his hands and his mouth. But he made the fatal error of glancing across the table as the server set your dish down—a dish topped with a whole damn field of arugula. Not only did they not hold the greens, they seemed to treat you to an extra helping because there was no way that was the standard quantity.

Stephen watched you purse your lips together and he figured he was in for another explosion now. You'd send that dish back so hard, the chef would set fields of arugula on fire. But you said nothing when the server asked if there was anything else we needed. And you blinked down at the heap of curly greens, fork in hand, like it was a project you'd inherited and didn't have the heart to abandon.

Stephen sat there, his fingers curled around the fresh glass of beer, and stared while you excavated a strand of pasta from beneath the arugula.

What the fuck was I watching? Where was the tiny tornado? Or the screech owl? Or even the hunter who'd happily mount my head on her wall? And who the hell was this?

You and Stephen ate in silence for several minutes. It wasn't until the server arrived at the table to top off your water that you and him shared a momentary glance at the woman's veiny hands. Those were legend-status veins.

Once alone again, Stephen said, "I could get a gray cannula in on the first shot and she wouldn't even feel it."

You gave a dry laugh. "When was the last time you started an IV?"

"Not recently," he admitted. "I usually practise on my residents at the start of their neuro rotation. Gets us off on a good, abusive foot and it helps me rank them by vascularity. Least being best, of course, since they'd never get pulled off the floor to donate blood. It comes back to haunt them when they're inevitably enrolled in a clinical trial."

"You're such an asshole," you said, but there was no heat behind it. You almost sounded amused.

"And what about you? When was the last time you started a line?"

You set your fork down and busied yourself with the napkin on your lap. "You have no idea what I do, do you?"

Stephen dropped a piece of crust to his plate. "Plastics. You make people look pretty after I put them back together."

You dabbed your lips—they were so pale, barely even pink—and set the napkin beside your mostly untouched pasta. You'd moved it around plenty but you hardly made a dent. And then you held up your phone to him as the timer counted down the final five seconds you'd set for the both of you.

After swiping away the alarm, you slipped the index card off the table. "I didn't get yours, so you're not getting mine."

You pushed away from the table and he had no choice but to watch you cross the restaurant. You didn't bother with backward glances, not when you were busy walking like the floor owed you money.

Steohen returned to his beer and pizza, and attempted to figure out what the ever-loving fuck happened here tonight. He was halfway through the last slice of pizza when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He assumed it was you texting him a thesis on his arrogance though he was wrong.

When he saw Essex was calling, he tucked the phone against his shoulder, saying, "What's up?"

The blaring roar of the emergency room came through the line before he said, "I'm early but I gotta deal with an issue. Consider this your fake crisis call so you can get the hell out of whatever you've gotten yourself into now."

"I don't get myself into things," Stephen said, dropping the last of the crust to his plate. "I actively avoid getting into things. I hate things."

"Yeah, yeah. I don't have time to unpack any of that tonight but maybe tomorrow if you buy me lunch."

"I'm not buying you lunch."

"That's cool. I'll get Druid to pick up the tab. He'll want to hear about this. He pays for updates on your misery." A siren wailed nearby and Essex groaned. "Really gotta go now. Be good." He hung up as the server came to gather the plates.

Stephen pointed at your pasta. "She said no arugula. What does this look like to you?"

The server frowned at the dish. "Why didn't she say anything?"

He motioned to the empty seat. "And you think I have any idea?"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Tags: @winsteria @classicrebound @gwephen @patbrdac @goldencherriess @elizabethdarcy29 @strangeobsessed @strangelockd @lady-harvey @mirikusashes @rbymoon @k1mikoz @allie131313 @strangesthirdeye @nicoletk @sleutherclaw @dragonqueen89 @bloodyxsaint @3443652 @pinkthick @iamdedsthingz @casualimaginesfluffwagon @im-akira @faltinestrange @ilikedarkrai @alicia-c37 @phatm00d @xunquish-blog @keistange @omgstarks @jotaros-bara-tiddies @gaitwae @sherlux

[dionysianchub]

Hey I had a question about the great teet yeet-how long did it take to heal? Well, two questions: also how bad did it hurt lol. I'm trying to get an idea of what to expect when my day finally comes, someday soon if I get what I want for a change.

As always you look fantastic, keep up the good work tubby ;] you're a whole inspiration ngl !

TEET YEET 😂😂

Honestly I felt like I healed pretty fast. Like there are still a few places where my scars are still dark a year later, but I got my drains out in a week I think, and was out of bandages and able to be active in 4 or 5.

As far as pain? I won't lie, it was miserable for the first week. But worth it? Absolutely. There are a few things you can do to help yourself be more comfortable. 1. Wedge pillows. I bought some nice ones on Amazon that came with an adjustable wedge to prop me up as well as a triangle pillow to prop my legs in a bent position. I'm a side sleeper usually, so this helped a lot as I lived and slept on the couch for a few weeks! Since it was adjustable I could recline more during sleep and prop it up into a seated position when I was awake. Highly recommend. 2. A mastectomy pillow. It looks like a Tetris T block shape, and is meant for you to hug with the longer part tucked under your arms. This thing was invaluable. I used it in the car on my way home after surgery to protect me from the seat belt, I slept with it, even walked around with it for the first week just to hold gentle pressure and stabilize myself. Mine even had a pocket for TV remote and such. 3. Mastectomy shirts. These have snap buttons down the front and I can't stress enough how important that was, as you're not going to have the mobility to get in and out of normal shirts, nor will you have the dexterity for normal buttons. But the real value is the internal pockets sewn in the sides for your drains (which to me are the WORST part of the healing process). They kept the hoses out of the way in their own little loop clasps and the pockets were high enough to keep the bulbs from tugging at the stitching. My surgeon saw my shirt when I came in for surgery and said that was the smartest thing he'd ever seen. I bought two so I could always have a clean one and lived in them even a week or two after my drains came out. 4. Cleaning wipes. You can't shower or bathe for a while and that didn't sit well with me. I managed to find these sheets that are meant for camping that have a gentle non-scented soap in them that activates when wet; and most importantly, you don't have to rinse it. Just scrub your important bits and towel off. I still needed a helper (luckily I was living with a very good friend at the time) but it meant so much to at least be clean when I already wasn't feeling great.

I apologize for writing a novel lmao but I really hope this helps. And if you have questions or need help finding this stuff let me know!

(and thank you so much omg 😭💜💜 it means a lot to know I inspire other trans folks and gainers/feedees you have no idea)

[crunkmouse]

I watched Memory 2022 the other day and this little alt ending thing started writing itself. I went with the name Danny on a whim, not wanting to go with the usual Ben. I guess it could be Danny Torrance if you’d like to imagine that, but for now he’s just an average guy.

—+—

The first thing Alex saw every morning was a framed picture of himself and a younger man with ginger hair, both smiling happily. On the bottom of the frame in bold black letters on a white sticker read ‘Alex & Danny’. Next he would check his forearms for any notes he’d scribbled there in marker. On his left side he had written:

Anniversary One Month

Gift? 

Alex scrunched his face. Where the hell was he going to get a gift? He remembered he wasn’t allowed to leave the facility anymore. “I don’t want you to get lost out there,” Danny’s worried voice rang in his head. So that left him with very little options. 

At least today seemed like a good one so far. He remembered to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and dress in something a little nicer for the occasion, a blue button shirt Danny said brought out his eyes. And all before a nurse came to fetch him for breakfast. 

He sat with his brother like he always did for every meal. While Paul’s Alzheimer was far more advanced than his, his brother seemed to actually recognize Alex now after seeing him on a daily basis. It wasn’t much more than a faint spark behind Paul’s eyes but it still warmed Alex’s heart. 

As he helped feed his brother, he spotted Danny across the room. The younger man was on pill duty today with another nurse handing out plastic cups from a rolling cart. Danny was thorough, making sure the correct medication was in each one when they sorted, even going as far as making the system they were using now. Each cup had a patient’s name written on the side and on the lid on top, forgoing the old tiny paper cups that were far too easy to mix up and drop with shaky hands. 

“The usual,” Danny joked when it was Alex’s turn, handing his cup over. He thanked the younger man and slid the pills into his mouth, chewing them instead of drinking water. That always earned him a tsk from Danny. 

For Paul, his medication was already crushed up into small pieces that the other nurse mixed it into a couple bites of oatmeal and feed to him. 

“Now what’s the special occasion for my favorite shirt?” Danny grinned. 

“Our one, one month,” Alex answered, stumbling a little. Danny beamed and snuck a quick kiss. The whole staff knew about their relationship and would turn a blind eye as long as they kept their affections private so not to confuse the over residents. Besides no one wanted to be the one to tell Alex no since they were scared to death of the man when his instincts kicked in. A few male staff members had gotten a broken nose when they tried to manhandle Alex before. 

But not with Danny, never with him. The younger man was always gentle and understanding with Alex. Danny didn’t mind if they had to wait hours for him to calm down, his old life haunting him at the worst moments.

Danny would then pull out a marker from his scrub pocket and unbutton Alex’s cuff to scribble a quick note on his right wrist. “I pulled some strings again,” the younger man whispered, winking. 

Danny Sleepover 

“Really?” Alex asked, maybe a bit too loudly. Danny nodded, buttoning the cuff and putting a finger to his smiling lips. 

As soon as Danny moved onto the next patient, Alex began to panic. Now he really needed to get a nice gift. But again, how? He didn’t own anything special enough to give to Danny. Maybe he could order a bouquet of roses over the phone and have them delivered here. Though he worried if he would be taken seriously if he shuddered, it wouldn't be the first time. 

The sight of someone getting up from the table next them snapped Alex from his racing thoughts, soon realizing that he almost forgot to help Paul finish eating and to do so himself. Thankfully Danny noticed and came back over when all the cups were empty. Again Danny didn’t scold him and understood what his brother meant to him, that he wasn’t doing this on purpose. 

Afterwards the three would go outside to enjoy the sunshine. It had rained the past couple days so they stuck to the paved pathway, Alex pushing Paul’s wheelchair while Danny walked beside them. The younger man would stop occasionally to say hello to a fellow resident they’d come across and ask how their day was, never tiring of repeating himself or needing to be reintroduced as if it were his first day once more. It made Alex wonder what Danny had to repeat for him the most, the younger man so genuine in every word and action. 

Eventually Danny would leave the two brothers when it was time for the next round of chores to begin. Alex sneaking a kiss this time. 

Now that there was nothing urgent at hand, he went back to his thoughts after locking the wheels in place on Paul’s chair and took a seat on the bench next to his brother. 

He wondered if Vincent would be willing to help him out if he called him up. The agent had visited Alex a few times here. They never talked about work or anything like that, usually just pleasantries that weren’t too complicated for Alex to follow. Vincent was another one he couldn’t tell when he slipped up, the other man a good actor for what his job entailed. It made Alex hope he hadn’t already asked him about a gift.

Find the rest of the story on AO3