#self insert whump

[whumpback-wail]

"I like male whumpees"

"I like lady whumpees"

Okay but self insert whumpees? Anyone?

[angels-of-horror]

Writing what you think other people want to read over what you want to write will slowly kill your creativity.

Write those self indulgent fics! Write those self-inserts. Write what you find joy in creating—not what you think is an objectively “good” story. If you have fun writing it, it is good. I promise there’s someone out there who will enjoy reading your stories as much as you enjoy writing them.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Off Day Or Day Off

Summary: Reader has a bad day due to a chronic illness they struggle with (POTS). Luckily Lizzie and Scarlett look after her.

Tw: headache, mild pots, exhaustion / fatigue, pain medicine, mentions of passing out

Words: 2129

A/n sorry for such a long absence I got diagnosed with POTS so I have been in and out of the hospital for appointments for the past few weeks. So, this fic is kinda just me projecting. Also, POTS stands for Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (for those who don’t know). Let me know if you want a part 2.

You knew today was going to be hard when you opened your eyes to see your alarm had already been going off for a good half hour.

Whilst not something that was unusual for you, it did pose some insight into how the rest of the day may go. Taking a deep breath, you gathered the strength to sit up, still feeling exhausted to your bones and wanting nothing more than to lay back down and keep sleeping.

Reaching out to smack the alarm in order to finally get it to shut up, it took a few tries to finally hit the button.

You were tired despite having slept over the recommended eight hours. You were tired when you woke up and you had no doubt you would be tired when you went to sleep.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed you braced yourself to stand up. Once on your feet you stayed upright for a good half a second before sitting back down hard.

Yep, today was an off day.

Trying again you managed to stick the landing this time, but still had to pause to wait for the patches in your vision to clear up first before doing anything.

You were vaguely aware of a dull ache in your temples and a general feeling of malaise and fatigue across your whole body.

You leant against the wall of your bedroom while pulling on some fresh pant and swapping out your pyjama shirt for a clean and presentable top.

You fought to stay upright while hopping around to stick the socks over your cold feet.

Throwing your notebook and pencil case into your backpack before pulling your laptop off the charge you added it to your bag and slung it over your shoulder, not bothering to do up the zip just yet.

Scanning the room your eyes caught on the small medical pouch were you had left it the day before. Groaning you circled back to grab it and triple check it was stocked with extra electrolyte packets before tossing it into your already full bag.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs as you plodded down to the kitchen, the voices of your little sister and mother only seeming to aggravate your growing headache.

You gripped the railing as you descended the stairs just in case your fatigue flared anymore than it already had.

As you shuffled into the kitchen you distantly listened to your mum wish you a good morning. Feeling tired and slightly annoyed at the whole situation you mumbled something incoherent back to her.

Scarlett had been your mother for almost ten years now after the adoption had gone through. You had met on the set for one of her earlier marvel films and due to your less-than-ideal situation and close bond with the actress she had adopted you.

It hadn’t been until a few months into living with her that she begun to take notice of your fatigue and various other issues. She had been with you every step of the process to get diagnosed and despite your fears she had stayed by your side.

You had been managing your tachycardia for a long time now and the symptoms of POTS weren’t as intense as they once were. However, from time to time you still had flare up which caused you a lot of heart ache and suffering.

As you slid into your place at the kitchen table Scarlett set down a plate of bacon and toast for you whilst she continued listening to the constant chatter stemming from your younger sister.

Scarlett nodded along with Rose’s story as she observed you closely. She had noted something was off almost straight away and knew you were doing your best to keep up a front.

It was Scarlett’s day off and as such she was tasked with taking Rose to school as Colin had headed into work early for a meeting with the writers.

You weren’t too interested in the food your mother had given you. Despite loving bacon and usually chomping it down with gusto you felt gross and tired.

Scarlett took note of your slow pace and droopy eyes as she took roses dishes back to the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher.

Scarlett had been trying to help you get better at advocating for yourself by simply making you ask for her help. She hoped it would help you speak up for yourself more now that you had more recognised needs. However, she also knew when to step in and simply help if you didn’t ask first.

She frowned at the sight of your backpack slung over the back of the chair knowing full well she didn’t want you going to uni if you were unwell.

As you continued to poke at your food with a fork and a bored expression that barely masked the exhaustion Scarlett sent rose to get dressed.

“Alright munchkin, what’s going on?” Scarlett said sitting down next to you.

“‘M fine mum. Just tired, I didn’t sleep well.” You grumbled still mining away at the edge of the slightly burnt toast with your fork.

Scarlett frowned as she knew you had been asleep before ten after she had poked her head in at around nine fifty to see if you were up.

“In that case maybe you should stay home today and get some rest sweetheart.” Scarlett said softly.

“No. No, I’m ok.” You said shaking your head which wasn’t a great idea as the patches reappeared in your vision.

“Alright.” Scarlett said admitting defeat for now. “I have to take rose to school; do you need a lift to uni?” She asked and you nodded pushing away the full plate of food. “Ok then come get your shoes on.”

You nodded again and stood. Just as she had expected Scarlett watched as you swayed on your feet slightly, blinking rapidly to try and clear your vision as your hand blindly reached for the table to provide the support you needed dot stay upright.

“Alright. No.” Scarlett said. “Definitely not. You’re staying here sweet girl.”

“But i’m-“ you begun only to be cut off.

“If the next words out of your mouth are “I’m fine.” I’ll make you take the whole week off.” Scarlett said and your lips snapped shut. “Go make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’ll have lizzie come stay with you while I’m out. She has the day off too and before you start, I’m sure she would like to spend the time with you.” Scarlett said before you could protest hindering the younger actresses schedule with your change of plans.

Before you could protest Scarlett gave you a look that kept the words in your throat from leaving.

“You’re not a problem y/n. Lizzie loves to spend time with you, and it makes her feel better to be able to help you out. Plus, I don’t want to leave you here alone in case you need something or pass out.” She said sternly but kindly.

“But I haven’t passed out before.” You grumbled.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Scarlett said. “Now go get comfy while I call Lizzie.” She said pressing a kiss to your head and giving you a light shove in the direction of the living room.

As you settled into a small nest on the couch you begun scrolling through Disney plus before settling on something to watch. You heard Scarlett talking on the phone in the kitchen before she appeared and handed you a water bottle which no doubt was filled with electrolytes. She spoke to Lizzie for a bit longer before coming back once the call was done.

“Drink.” She instructed, nodding to the bottle in your lap. “Lizzie will be over soon. I have to take rose in and then we can have a movie day and see if Lizzie wants to join us.”

“Ok.” You mumbled feeling bad for ruining everyone’s plans.

“None of that. We love you and we would rather spend the day making you feel better than knowing you’re not ok and doing what we planned.” Scarlett said as she picked up roses backpack and grabbed her trainers from the doorway.

Rose came and hugged you goodbye before continuing her endless chatter about something or other as she and Scarlett disappeared out the doorway. Scarlett blowing you a kiss as she left.

Snuggling down into the blankets you felt your eyelids droop as the show played on in the background.

What couldn’t have been more than five minutes later the doorbell rang before the door opened. You knew Lizzie had a a key, but she always rung the doorbell before she let herself in just to let you know it was her.

You heard the door shut and the sound of her taking off her shoes before she came upstairs.

“Y/n?” She called out as she walked down the hallway.

“In here.” You said barely shouting.

A moment later Lizzie entered the room, her face looking a little sad at the sight of you all bundled up and sleepy, your arms wrapped around your water bottle as your eyes drifted shut.

“Hiii.” You mumbled quietly.

“Hi sweet girl. Oh, look at you, it’s not a good day, is it?” She asked as she took the seat beside you on the couch.

“No.” You huffed as you shuffled over into her side.

Lizzie’s hands went straight to your hair as she brushed her fingers through it. She guided your head to her lap and gently began braining locks of your hair. The feeling of her fingers on your scalp relaxed you as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Have some more to drink first baby, then you can have a nap, okay?” She said helping you sit up and sip some of the electrolyte drink before guiding you back to her lap as her hands took their place back in your hair.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep again.

The next time you woke up Lizzie’s hand was still gently massaging your head which was helping with the now whopping headache you had. You shifted slightly prompting Lizzie to look down from the show she had put on and see you were awake.

“Hi sweetheart, how are we feeling love?” She asked softly.

“Headache, tired and lousy.” You mumbled turning your face into her stomach making her chuckle softly at your cuteness.

“That’s no good.” She said frowning now she registered your words. “Want me to get your mum to bring some Panadol and a snack?” She asked and you nodded into her stomach.

Lizzie gently reached down and placed her hands over your ears to shield you from the noise as she began calling out to Scarlett who you hadn’t noticed return.

“Scar car you bring y/n/n some Panadol and a snack!” She called and you faintly heard your mum’s response before Lizzie was prompting you to drink some more of the electrolyte drink in your water bottle.

“Sorry I know this wasn’t what you two wanted to do on ur day off” you said to both actresses when Scarlett came in with some cupcakes, she and rose had baked the day before and a strip of Panadol.

“Honey…” Lizzie said looking sad. “I’ll always be here when you need me.” She said softly.

“Yeah, I can’t get rid of you.” Scarlett joked making all three of you laugh.

When you winced at the noise Scarlett went straight to mum mode as she popped out two of the tablets and put them in your hand before nodding to the water bottle.

“Alright, what are we watching?” Scarlett asked situating herself on your other side and pulling your legs into her lap, so you were laid across the two of them.

“Whatever y/n/n wants.” Lizzie said chucking the remote to you.

“I’m thinking marvel.” You grinned making both women groan in protest.

You put on age of ultron and barely twenty minutes in Lizzie’s gentle head scratches had lulled you back into the arms of sleep.

POTS was hard to live with but with all the people in your life supporting you it was bearable.

Part 2

@barbarasstar @charlie56

[sillymaxing]

Platonic Yandere Bill Cipher

This is set in Weirdmageddon. You can imagine Bill as a human or his triangle form, either works!

CW: Descriptions of torture, character death, body horror, general yandere stuff.

Affection: How do they show their affection for their darling? How often do they show it?

A lot of the affection Bill shows is really just to mock you. He’ll hug you, call you adorable, pet your hair. But it’s all in the same tone of how an owner would love a dog.


Blood: How messy are they willing to get for their darling? Why?

Bill himself is pretty sadistic. He’ll get messy and he’ll enjoy it! Often times he’ll get his “friends” to carry out dirty work for him. But occasionally he’ll partake in tearing someone apart.

Cruelty or Care: How would they treat their darling when they kidnap them? Would they mock them?

He will absolutely mock you. I feel like this goes without saying. He’s an bully through and through.

Delusion: How delusional are they when it comes to their darling? Do they believe their darling loves them?

Bill knows everything about you. He knows that you don’t even like him. But that won’t stop him. He simply doesn’t care. It’s all a game to him.

Expose: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? How much time will it take to trust them?

What heart? LMAO. Bill Cipher is NEVER getting vulnerable with you. He is NEVER going to open up.

Fight: How would they react if their darling fought back?

He honestly thinks it’s adorable and fun. He’ll let you plan, try to attack him, do anything really. It’s not like you’ll ever be able to really hurt him in any way. Or escape for that matter.

Guilt: What would it take for them to feel guilty about their actions? Or do they feel guilty from the start?

Bill doesn’t feel ANY guilt. AT ALL.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You actually came close to hurting him at some point. Back when he was restricted to Gravity Falls, you were a part of the crew that tried to take him down. Ultimately, your plan failed. But he was furious that it almost worked. He killed everyone in that crew except you. He made you watch as they suffered slow and agonizing deaths. And then he turned your blood into hot tar and watched as you writhed in pain while he kept your heart pumping and your lungs breathing and your brain functional.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Pet. LMAO. But he does love a game of cat and mouse. You are eternally his plaything.

Jealousy: How easily do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Surprisingly he DOES get jealous when you talk to anyone but him. He normally lashes out and kills whoever you spoke to. Normally punishes you too.

Kidnap: How would they go about kidnapping their darling? How much do they plan it out?

He plans it out pretty intensely. But it doesn’t take him long at ALL to thoroughly plan out your new life. It was easy to kidnap you, considering he essentially rules the universe.



Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He really doesn’t approach you or court you. Before the apocalypse, he does try to urge you to help him, saying things will be easier on you if you do. But you say no.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they acted before?

Nope! Consistently a maniac.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He likes to get creative with it! Psychological torture is one of his favorite ways to fuck with you. He likes to give you vivid nightmares. He does have a BUNCH of different physical torture methods stored up in his mind though. If you can think of it, he’s probably used it.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? What rights can be earned with time and trust?

Every single right. You don’t have privacy, you can’t even have your own thoughts. He can get into your mind any time he wants.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He’s surprisingly patient. It takes a LOT to get on his nerves.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you somehow, some way, escaped, or died, which would never happen in the first place, Bill would mourn you like anyone mourns a pet. But he would replace you. Find a new one eventually.

Rage: How do they act when angry? How do they calm down?

He becomes extremely controlling when he’s angry. Controls EVERYTHING around you. Controls YOU. He gets insanely violent also.

Soulmate: What made them fall in love with their darling? How did they first meet? When did they realize they loved their darling?

He honestly doesn’t even understand why he’s so infatuated with you. You’re smart and defiant, and he likes that.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Bill can be cruel, but if he senses you’re starting to break, he’ll give you plenty of kind words, affection. Hell, he might just snap his fingers and you’ll be on a fancy couch and he’s have a clipboard in hand, ready to listen.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

I guess ruling the universe?


Visit: Would they allow anyone else to visit their darling? Do they trust their darling to talk to their loved ones (in person, on the phone, etc.) or not at all?

If you get too lonely and sad to stand, he’ll get you a friend. He’ll always hold them above your head though. Other than that, there are only a select few abominations that can speak with you, under his watch of course.



Weakness: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Literally nothing.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

No worship for you. If anything, he wants you to worship HIM.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He didn’t pine long at all before he snapped. He saw you, wanted you, pretty much snapped his fingers and you were his.

Zero Tolerance: What is the thing that always makes them snap? What things will they not allow their darling to do under any circumstances?

Talking to other humans (Unless it’s the previously mentioned friend he gave you.)

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Stuck

~1.5k words || rating: teen || cws: dissociation; unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illnesses

He’s never quite sure how it happens, seeming to always sneak up on him. One minute he’s up and moving around, usually cleaning, organizing, or just meandering around the house. The next, he’s lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He tries to move but can’t. Not because he’s physically restrained, like when the rope from the Russians cut into his wrists or how the vines constricted his neck. 

No, Steve’s just lying here on the floor, trapped in his own mind. His eyes are raw, stinging with dryness. Painful tingles pop throughout his right arm from where his head rests heavy on his bicep. His hip and shoulder ache. He can’t move or talk or blink. Can barely think. He’s not in his body. 

He’s lost. Stuck.

Getting stuck means losing time, chunks of days lost to a void. It means missing meals and unanswered phone calls. Growing up, it felt like an escape. A safe way to pass the time between eating and sleeping. He’d come back to himself, sometimes hours later, sore and hungry, mustering up energy he didn’t have. Once, his parents discovered him frozen on the ground. Mom’s yelling and Dad’s foot shoving his side brought him jolting back into his body. Like waking from a nightmare, rising from the dead chased by panic. 

It happens less now, but still catches up to him when he’s exhausted. He thinks today it was the kids– they were particularly obnoxious. Yelling excitedly about Eddie’s new campaign ideas, trucking in snow from outside after building a demo-snowman. Cooking for them, cleaning after them, getting them home safe.

Yeah, he gets how he maybe overdid it a bit. 

But with Eddie here, it’s easier. His sweetheart always knows how to help, usually checking up on him after stressful days. Hopefully he comes to check on him soon.

Because Steve can’t move. Or talk. Or even blink.

The sun is starting to set.

~~~

The Party were extra chaotic today, pushing him to the fringes of patience. He’s thrilled they’re excited about his newest campaign ideas, but god, did they have to be so unbearably loud about it? Dustin’s screeches are still rattling between his ears. Not to mention the soreness he feels from helping the kids build a snowman demo-thing and the ensuing snowball fight. 

The idea of an occult campaign has been percolating in Eddie’s brain for weeks, and after the day he’s had, he’s lost to the research. Perched on a chair upstairs in their bedroom, books are scattered across the desk and onto their bed next to him. Typically, creative deep-dives restore his energy after a long day. But when he’s well and truly exhausted, he’ll lose hours at a time to the work. Getting stuck, according to Steve. And yeah, Eddie can see how that fits.

Growing up, Eddie would lose hours throwing himself into his latest and greatest project, whether it be drawing, playing guitar, writing campaigns, reading or even the time he tried juggling. Entranced by his newest obsession, his surroundings would fade into the background. He’d forget to do his homework, to eat or drink. Hell, sometimes he’d forget to pee. Wayne’d drop a gentle hand to his shoulder– pulling him back to reality– and he’d take off like a shot to the bathroom. Every sensation hitting all at once: bladder about to burst, stomach rumbling, dry mouth, headache, body stiff and achy. 

As he gets older, it’s still a frequent occurrence. So Robin had given him the idea of setting alarms, saying it helps her remember to take breaks while studying. And he’s thankful, because it works like a charm when he actually remembers. But when he forgets, his Stevie takes care of him. 

He’ll find Eddie crouched awkwardly by the desk, eyes manic, only seeing what’s in front of him. Eddie will eat or drink anything Steve gives him, barely tasting whatever it is, just as long as he can see it. And Steve lets him be for at least a few hours so he can burn energy into whatever project he's lost himself in. All Steve cares is that he’s fed and hydrated. Usually, Eddie comes to slowly, with Steve’s fingers gently carding through his hair, or soft strokes up and down his spine.

Now Eddie breaks his own musings, eyes strained, hungry, and needing to stretch. He can’t help but wonder why his sweetheart hasn’t checked on him. 

Moonlight is shining through the window.

~~~

It’s eerily quiet as Eddie makes his way down the stairs. He half expects to find Steve stress-baking, but the kitchen is dark. 

So he checks the garage– the car is still here. And the backyard– he never sits by the pool alone. Then the front porch– maybe he went out for a smoke.

Guilt eats at Eddie as he finds his beautiful boy on the living room floor, curled into himself.

Stuck. 

He hates finding Steve like this– stuck and lost like Eddie’s engrossed fantasies. Yet so, so different. 

The first time Eddie found him, unresponsive and immovable, he spiraled into a panic so strong Steve had broken free of his own melancholy, finding Eddie hyperventilating and sobbing in the midst of a flashback. Too much like Chrissy. Like Patrick and Nancy. 

They'd talked about it. And Eddie had appreciated afterwards how Steve struggled to describe what being stuck feels like, why it happens, what to do about it. It'd helped. 

So on grey days, long nights, the holidays, or when the kids are extra rowdy, Eddie looks for the signs. He's been good about getting Steve to slow down before it's too late. 

But on rare occasions, there will be a day like today. When it’s too much for both of them.

Eddie doesn't know how long his baby’s been lying here. Doesn't know when he ate or drank or even blinked. Because he’d holed himself up, desperate for time alone to just think. To be with himself after spending all day surrounded by people. But he forgot to set an alarm, assuming Steve would be there.

He focuses on his sweetheart, slowly kneeling down next to him so as not to startle him. Remembers all of the tips and tricks Steve needs. 

"Hey honey," Eddie whispers, close enough to be present but not overwhelming. "Don't worry baby we'll get you unstuck I promise. I'm going to reach out and grab your hand now ok?" 

He continues to whisper gentle praises and reassurances as he holds Steve's hand. It's limp for a time, and Eddie is hungry, but he doesn't stop. Time is lost to them both again, until he feels a slight squeeze on his fingers. Steve finally blinks, slow and hard. 

"Hey big boy, love to see those pretty, long eyelashes.” He smiles down at his baby, honeyed hazel eyes slowly refocusing. “Alright, once for no and two for yes: do you want me to help you onto the couch?" 

A full minute passes before Eddie feels two gentle squeezes to his fingers. 

"That's great sweetheart. I'm gonna tilt you to sit up and we'll get you settled. Then I'm going to ask if you want anything. Ready?" Two squeezes.

They finally get to the couch, and Eddie can already feel a strong sense of relief at just seeing his baby move off the floor. He hears Steve's back pop as they stand, decides he'll give him a massage later. 

It goes on. And on and on. Eddie follows the process of squeezes until Steve is unstuck and back in his body. 

"Water?" Two squeezes.

"Food?" One squeeze.

"Blanket?" Two squeezes. 

Eddie's patience always pays off. He's got Steve set up on the couch, hydrated and relaxed, with his favorite movie playing softly. He’s managed to grab a bowl of cereal for himself. They're cuddled and warm with Steve’s head in his lap. Eddie glides his fingers up and down the sore side of Steve’s body, gently squeezing as he goes.

~~~

Steve comes back to himself surrounded by love. 

His eyes sting and his mouth is dry. He doesn't know what time it is, but notices the sun has long set, moonlight shining through the curtains. The bones in his neck crack and his joints pop as he stretches.

But he's warm under the blankets, tucked into his boyfriend's chest as they watch the teddy bear Star Wars. Eddie's loosely twirling the hairs at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging and sending tingles down his spine. There's a glass of water and crackers on the table in front of him. 

Getting stuck inside his head terrifies him, something he dreads as much as the night terrors. 

But with Eddie, it's easier, happens less often. And when it does, he always wakes up to love.

~~

This was a pure self-indulgence fic. An exact recreation of my relationship with my partner. It fits my headcanon for the boys perfectly (though I'm obviously biased haha)

[kiwisandpearls]

I’m sure this point has already been made to death, but I think a major reason as to why more…darker “x reader” fics are so prevalent and popular in certain spaces is because simply put… “x reader” fics, and by extension fanfiction and just general fiction, are probably one of the more healthy and safer ways for many irl readers and writers to navigate through their fantasies and/or traumas. Many of us recognize that our fantasies would be harmful to do irl, so we project it (?) through fiction.

[spagheddiesquash]

fizz pre + post infection (and some lore!!)

obviously since hes a plague walker i wanted to make another ref including what he looked like pre infection!! and also i wanna spill some lore about him because in MY opinion i cooked.

so basically his deal is that his whole entire life hes only been seen as this scrawny little thing that wont amount to anything. and one day he gets so tired of this that he just snaps and is like “fuck it i guess ill do plague walking”

the thing is he has this drive to prove himself. to be like i CAN do something. i can BE someone. im not some little pathetic creature like you think i am. (the fact that he grows taller as a result of infection does not help this btw)

also he wears his goggles because he thinks (KNOWS…) nobody will take him seriously if he doesnt. and that would be bad. because hes found much success in plague walking!!

i keep seeing ppl be like “omg hes so cute!!” and im like YES THATS MY INTENTION. YESSS PLAY INTO HIS TURMOIL PLEASE.

i figured since im so good with cute things that i can ONLY draw cute things, i was like. what if i made a guy who was small and cute. so much so to the point nobody thought highly of him. so he spends the REST of his life chasing some sort of approval by trying his DAMNDEST to change the only part of him that anyone has ever known him by. and even HE knows he can never truly get past the fact that he will always be cutesy to some degree. so he tries to prove himself BEYOND his appearance…

which he ALSO knows that he can NEVER DO BECAUSE THE STANDARD HES LOOKING FOR IS UNATTAINABLE. GOOD ENOUGH IS NOT TRULY GOOD ENOUGH IF YOU DONT ATTEMPT TO BE BETTER.. IF YOU DONT MAKE IT PAST BETTER WERE YOU EVEN GOOD AT ALL? that line of thinking is basically him at his core.

this is me rn:

oh yeah i dont think i mentioned before but i DID make him to ship him with jawbone. and yes i will still be doing that.. why do u think i made him a plague walker.. will i post the eventual art? maybe. big maybe. but thats all thank u for reading

[punctatum]

Leave all Your Lovin’ Behind

Javier Escuella x ftm!reader

Notes: Back with a shameless self insert reader!

Warnings: Whump, time accurate transphobia (no slurs), reference to sex, reader gets outed

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64507810

PROLOGUE

The gang was sitting around the campfire when the sun set, Javier playing a gentle melody on his guitar. You were doing some chores, cutting up some meat for Pearson. Dutch called you over, and Pearson grumbled to himself, rolling his eyes as he resumed your work.

Wiping the blood from your hands, you made your way over to Dutch. “Yeah?” You voiced, curious as to why he was calling you over. “I don’t think… that we have room for somebody like you in the gang anymore.” Dutch’s words were regretful, but they pierced you like a freshly sharpened knife. “What do you mean?” Your voice cracked. “I mean… people who aren’t what their body tells them they are.” Dutch explained, not being able to meet your eyes.

You had not told Dutch that you were transgender. “How did you-“ You cut off your words when you saw Micah lingering in the background, and shot him a glare. “Fucking rat!” You yelled, lunging for him. “Crazy! This… thing is crazy!” Micah countered. Standing up, Javier made his way to the scene. “What’s going on?” He grabbed your shoulders, and pulled you away from Micah.

“It attacked me!” Micah accused dramatically. “Y/n’s not an it.” Javier shot back, but Dutch shook his head. “Javier, there’s too many mouths to feed and…” Dutch paused his words when Javier glared at him. “The weight of having somebody like y/n in our camp will make things more difficult.” He crossed his arms when he finished his explanation.

Desperately looking at Javier, you became more and more nervous. Were they really going to kick you out? “Micah, I trusted you!” Javier growled. Now you were plain confused. “What do you mean, Javi?” You murmured. “I… Well, he’s my friend, you know? I told him…” Your mouth dropped open at Javier’s confession. You knew that he didn’t mean anything bad by it, but he didn’t understand the severity of somebody knowing your secret.

“Javier, don’t fucking tell people that!” Your voice raised in volume. Javier knew he was in deep shit now, you only ever called him Javi. “You realise what could happen? My life is on the line if people know!” Micah chuckled at your scared words. “Poor Javi’s life is on the line… if he associates with one of you.” He reminded you. “He’s better off with us.”

Javier hesitated before shaking his head. He couldn’t disagree with Dutch, let alone Micah. “You dipshit! You!” You shoved Javier back. The night previous, the two of you were in bed together, bodies pressed against each other, lips exploring each other’s skin. That was thrown away, all because Micah’s good at convincing people. “I thought…” You held back tears, you couldn’t look more pathetic. “Don’t.” Javier mumbled. You shoved him back again, making him fall to the ground. The others had stood now, wondering what the commotion was.

“YOU PRICK!” You shouted, shoving Javier back down onto the ground as he tried to rise again. “See this violent thing?” Micah announcedL to the rest of the camp. “We can’t have it messing up our… community. Can we?”

The last thing you remember was being shouted at by the gang, and stumbling out of the camping spot, stealing a horse, and galloping away.

[whumpback-wail]

When whumpee went missing and was presumed dead. Everyone was sure whumpee was dead after weeks of searching with no results, not even a body. Their friends and family grieved for them, held a funeral, and eventually they all moved on. All except lover.

Lover would still search for whumpee because no body means a chance that whumpee might still be alive, even if the chances seem to dwindle with each day that passed.

One day whumper came to meet up with lover. Their respective higher ups were thinking of a truce between the opposing sides. Whumper had a masked bodyguard come along, while lover was there on their own, confident in their combat capabilities. Negotiations did not go smoothly and lover tried to attack whumper, only to have the bodyguard step in.

Lover felt like they knew this fighting style. It was familiar as if it was a person he fought or sparred with previously. Lover managed to unmask the bodyguard only to find themself face to face with whumpee.

But whumpee didn't seem to recognize lover.

[auradaparanormal]

Whilst explaining their evil plan through song to the captured caretaker(s), the Whumper rips the whumpee, broken-spirited and bruised, from their cell and forces them to dance with the Whumper, perhaps stepping on their feet, bending a limb too far, or bashing the whumpee's head into a wall as the caretaker(s) are/is forced to watch. Maybe the Whumpee has been taught this dance already, or they're dragged along on a whim and trying not to slip up in fear of punishment?

[jewels-writes]

Surviving the Crash (Captain Price x injured! reader)

Fandom: Call of Duty Word count: 3,001 Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, near death experiences, very poorly proofread Background information: Your callsign is Crow. Part 2 Part 3 — — — —

You’d found yourself in Price’s office for the third time this week, a result of your bad behavior. You heard him sigh, shuffling through the multiple reports he’d taken out of a manilla folder. As he read them, he’d occasionally look up at you and your bruised face. You knew better than to speak first. It was not something you did, especially not while he was reading. Sighing, he set the papers down on his desk before giving you his undivided attention.

“This is the third report I’ve gotten this week, Crow.” His words weren’t angry, not even disappointed. Just.. tired. He was tired of dealing with adults who acted like children, and as far as he was concerned, you were just another one. “Let me guess; you want to explain this one too?” he asked, adjusting his position so he leaned on one of his chair’s arm rests, his head resting on his chin. “Go on then. Give me your sob story.”

Your jaw clenched as you heard him insult your situation. You hadn’t intended to get into a fight. In fact, you hadn’t even thrown a punch; your words were enough to send the other recruit climbing over the cafeteria table at you. If someone hadn’t pulled him off of you, you were sure you’d be in a bag right now, with a letter being sent to your parents with the date for your funeral service. The way he’d grabbed your neck, there was no way he wasn’t trying to kill you.

“You read the reports, sir. You tell me what happened.” You were half curious about what the recruit said. Had he lied? Probably. Were they going to believe him? Probably. As the words left your mouth, you heard Price chuckle a few times. He wasn’t interested in scolding you; no, that wasn’t his style. 

“Tell me what bloody happened.” His words were a bit colder this time. “Explain to me why this report said you hit first when that boy doesn’t have a single mark on him, yet you were moments from a ticket to the medical wing. Tell the truth, rookie.” It almost sounded like he was concerned about you. It was in the way his eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if scanning your expression for any involuntary changes in reaction to his words. He leaned forward for effect, his head tilting to the side, waiting for your input. 

In your time here, you’d learned that this captain wasn’t like the others you’d encountered. He genuinely cared for justice and didn’t much care for people who wanted to kiss his ass. Either you told him how it was or he wanted nothing to do with you. 

“I provoked him.” You muttered, fully intending to take the entire blame for the beating. You recalled your exact words, though; you didn’t think it was appropriate to recite them, not to Price. Instead, you opted to summarize. “Something to the effect of how his parents should get a refund for the money they paid for his training.” 

You watched how Price chuckled again at your words, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. What about this situation was remotely funny? You moved your eyes down to his name plate on his desk, avoiding eye contact when he eventually leveled his gaze back at you. 

“And you didn’t fight back? Why’s that?” He inquired, intrigued by your answer. You were an enigma to him, always doing something unexpected. “Or were you restrained?” His voice dipped an octave lower in a way that made your heart flutter. You could hear the danger and power in his tone. In your hesitation to respond, he got his answer.

He sat back in his chair, tucking the papers back into the manilla folder before handing them to you. You hesitated before taking the folder from him, clearly confused. “Sir-?”

“Shred those on the way to medical.” He muttered, reaching for his pack of cigars in his top left desk drawer. “I’ll see to it that this issue is wiped from your record and that recruit is sent home.” As you stood there, unsure if he was serious, he continued. “I’ll have you transfer to my team. It seems you can’t coexist with everyone else; why not run with the big boys, yeah?” There was clear authority in his tone, leaving no room for your own opinion. But then again, you didn’t really mind the change of pace. “You’re dismissed.”

— — — —

By the end of the day, you had your things packed from your old bunker and were hauling your bag over to the other side of the base to stay with Price and his group. When you got there, you were greeted by blank, unamused stares. 

“And who the hell’re you?” The man with the skull mask asked, his British accent heavy as he walked over, his frame towering over you. “Can’t you fuckin’ read, eh? Sign says, Taskforce 141, fuckin’ muppet.”

“Easy, Ghost.” Price emerged from behind you, a hand resting on your shoulder. “They’re our new transfer.” You watched as Ghost looked between you and Price before muttering curses under his breath and taking a step back, retreating to his bunk. As you gathered yourself again, Price moved to your front, offering you a onesided smile. “That’s Ghost, a bit of a grumpy one. Don’t expect an apology from him. You’ll never get one. Follow me; I’ll show you your bed.” He made a motion with his arm before walking deeper into the tent. 

Your bed was above his. You were going to be sleeping above your captain. He muttered a quiet apology as he cleared the top bunk from some of his things, shoving them under his bed awkwardly. 

“Go on, settle in.” He offered a smile, placing a hand on the ladder, assuring you it would stay in place.

You didn’t get much sleep that night. Not because of your injuries from being someone’s punching bag, but rather because of how fast things had changed. Mere hours before, you were sitting in Price’s office, certain you were going to be dishonorably discharged, and now you shared a bunk with him.

— — — —

In the morning, you woke to a friendly banter between your teammates. There was some Scottish man who had been throwing articles of clothing at Ghost, giggling when a shirt stayed on Ghost’s head even as he tried to yank it off.

“MacTavish, you’re on thin ice.” The Brit grumbled through the cloth of the shirt. With a final tug, it came off. In a swift movement, he balled the shirt up before launching it at the other man, chuckling lightly to himself when it hit him square in the chest.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you continued to watch, a small smile growing on the edges of your lips. You heard a smothered laughter coming from below you and peaking down. You saw Price sitting up, his elbows propped on his knees, as he too watched the two men mess around. He didn’t mind letting them get a little rowdy; he knew moments like this were essential for their morale. 

Stepping down the ladder, you offered a soft ‘hello’ to Price, who simply nodded back at you, his attention on his teammates. Just as you were about to start your morning routine, Price stopped you.

“Let’s introduce you to everyone, yeah?” He offered, standing up from his bed and stretching slightly, rocking back and forth on his feet as he did so. Leaning down to your level, he put an arm around your shoulder as he pointed to everyone in the tent, naming them and calling out to them so they’d wave. “Everyone, this is our newest member, Crow. Treat them like you would treat me, or they get your provisions for a week.” He warned them. It wasn’t necessary; he knew he ran with good men, but after reading your reports, he knew the safety net would put your mind at ease.

— — — —

As you rushed over to the meeting room, your hair still wet from your shower and your uniform hastily thrown on, you were met with annoyed looks from nearly everyone sitting around the table. A woman, you recognized as Laswell, stood by a large TV, clearing her throat before motioning for you to sit. Doing so, you sat between Price and Gaz, muttering a soft apology to your captain who nudged your shoulder. You gave him a small smile in return, grateful that he wasn’t upset. 

As the meeting went on, you were briefed about an upcoming mission. You didn’t expect to be assigned as Laswell went over the mission, but your eyes widened when you heard your callsign among the names of the 141. Price noticed how your head snapped up, confusion clear in your features and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

“You’re ready.” He mouthed with a knowing smile. The way his hand squeezed your shoulder slightly before retracting it and placing it back in his lap made your stomach flip. 

After the meeting, you stood around with your team, your hands nervously fiddling with a strap on your vest. Millions of thoughts raced through your head. Were you ready? What if Price was wrong? What if you were a liability? What if-

Price’s hand clapped you on the back, jolting you out of your frantic mind. Seeing him, you instincutally straightened up, a sign of respect. 

“At ease, Crow.” He murmured, though your shoulders stayed taught with tension. He stepped in front of you to make eye contact. “You’ll do fine. I selected you myself. Your delinquency reports weren’t the only ones I read about you.” He chucked. “You’re a valuable asset, one my team needs. Try not to stress too much.” 

“Are you sure?” Was all you could manage to say. You couldn’t fathom why he’d had such a change of heart about you. 

“More than sure, love.” His voice held a note of parental authority that you couldn’t quite understand. “You’ve got a few hours before we deploy. Get something to eat, fuel up.”

— — — —

“..come in! Crow, what’s your status? God dammit..!” Your radio jolted you back to the present as you blinked your eyes open. Immediately you felt the pain from the explosion that had caused you to go unconscious in the first place. Of-fucking-course the helicopter transporting you and your team had to get shot down by an RPG. You didn’t even want to know how far you fell.

The world around you was littered in debris and fire. Forcing yourself to sit up, you grunted with the effort, trying to scoot away from the wreckage. You could see the pilot’s burning body in the cockpit and your stomach churned. He was gone. 

“Crow, come in!” Price’s voice harped through the radio again, a hint of desperation in his tone. Groaning, you reached over to turn on your communications line. Taking a swift breath, you responded.

“Crow to Price, I hear you.” You strained, taking a few breaths before you spoke again. “I’m by the crash site. Pilot’s down. Everything bloody hurts.” You reported in, trying to hide the pain from your voice.

“You broken?” Price asked. You could hear him running in the background of his radio, seemingly toward you. “Christ, I see you. Stay where you are.”

In moments, you heard his footfalls getting louder as he approached your location. He knelt down beside you, his blue eyes assessing your condition. You hadn’t had the time to look for yourself, but you could tell something on your thigh made him freeze. You could see how he hesitated, how he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

Hearing more footsteps, you saw the rest of 141 jog over. They surrounded you, their eyes looking down at you like you were a lost cause. 

“Fuckin’ hell..” Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. Taking a step back, he angled his head down to his radio, muttering. “We need medevac, helo’s down.” Your stomach dropped when you heard him, knowing he purposely tried to be quiet about it so you wouldn’t hear. Not quiet enough.

“The hell you mean? I’m fine-” Looking down at your body, your words caught in your throat. A piece of the helicopter’s propeller was lodged deep into your right thigh. “Oh fuck.” Your voice came out as a shaky whisper, your panic rising. 

“Don’t look- dammit, Crow. Relax. Don’t move.” Price urged, waving Soap and Gaz over. “Keep them still.” He ordered to them as they kneeled around you, their hands free and ready. Redirecting his attention to you he asked, “How much can you feel?”

You took a moment to respond, the hesitation from the dread in realizing your entire right leg seemed to not register in your mind. Worst case scenarios rushed through your head. Looking down at your body again, you felt your pulse roaring in your ears. In the split second before Soap pressed your shoulders back to the ground, you could see the propeller plate had cut through bone, something you’d overlooked before. You saw the way it had almost entirely ripped your leg off, how the blood spurted out of the gap it created.

“Oh my god.. Oh my fucking god..” Your breathing was erratic and Price muttered a curse under his breath.

“Hey, none of that. You need to slow your breathing.” His tone was more urgent this time, one of his gloved hands reaching up to your cheek, holding your head in place. “Look at me. Shh, look. You’re going to be okay. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth. He didn’t like doing it, but he knew calming you held priority. 

“No.. no, no..” Your sobs came out like desperate pleas. “I don’t wanna die. Oh my god..” Price’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked over to Gaz, signaling for him to search the wreckage for any usable medical supplies. As he left, Price looked back down to your thigh, wincing as he looked at it again.

“You’re not gonna die, you’re gonna be fine. Just.. dammit, stay with me, Crow.” Price’s hold on your face stiffenened as he saw your eyes unfocus and your expression beginning to relax. “No, no. Stay with me, dammit.” He tapped your face with his fingers, keeping you present. “You stay awake, you hear me? Fight through it, love.” He’d hoped with the fact that the plate was still in your leg that it would stem the bloodflow, but apparently he was wrong. 

Gaz jogged back, a slightly burnt medical bag in his arms. He hurridly set it next to Price, opening it for him, sifting through it’s contents. Their dread grew when there was nothing that could soothe your pain. Nothing that could fix you. Gaz’s actions became more tense, his hands roughly digging through the bag, pushing the useless supplies around. 

“Ghost, what’s the eta on that damn medevac?” Price barked at his teammate, needing some form of good news. Despite his desperate tone, his hand held firm on your cheek, providing a steady sense of his presence. 

“They’re on their way. Five minutes out.” Ghost replied, his mask giving nothing away from his expression. Price’s heart dropped. Five minutes was too long.

“Crow?” Soap spoke in the pause, his voice nervous. At the mention of your callsign, Price’s eyes darted back down at you. Your eyes were closed, and your expression was relaxed. If he didn’t know any better, he could have thought you were asleep.

“No, no! Wake up!” Price shook you, his hands on both of your shoulders. Your body didn’t respond, not as he shook you, not as he called your name, nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice broke in his desperation. At the same time Gaz reached for your wrist, placing his fingers to it, praying he’d feel a pulse. 

“They’re alive.” Gaz breathed. Your pulse was weak, but there. “Not for long, we need that chopper here. Now. Keep trying to wake them.” He urged, taking out a roll of bandages from the bag. 

It was then that they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. On edge, Ghost’s hands tightened around his gun, aiming it at the sky. His radio buzzed in, confirming they were friendlies.

The next few minutes were controlled chaos, with the medical team coordinatingly lifting you onto a gurney before rushing back to the helicopter. Price and his team followed right behind them, giving them the space they needed to work on you. Before the doors could even close, Price was ordering that they take off, shouting at the pilot.

Returning to your side as they took off, he rested his hand on your forehead, turning your head toward him.

“Pull through, dammit..”

— — — —

The hours dragged on. You’d been visited by doctor after doctor, each time, checking on your vitals. The beeping of your heart on the monitor seemed to mock Price as he sat beside your bed, his hand resting over yours. The surgery was done hours ago, and yet you hadn’t woken up yet. 

He’d watched as they reconnected your leg, tying the tendons, muscles, and skin back together. You wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, at least while your body healed, but it was better than amputation, right?

“How are they?” Gaz asked as he stepped into your quiet hospital room, worried like hell for you. Sure, you two had just met yesterday, but he still cared about you. He’d have to have zero empathy to not. 

“Still out. Haven’t woken up yet.” Price sighed, lines of worry mixed with his own exhaustion. “Vitals are steady; it’s only a matter of time.” 

The guilt ate at Price. If he hadn’t recruited you to his team, if he hadn’t recommended you for the mission, this entire thing wouldn’t have happened. With his other hand, he rubbed his tired eyes, feeling like he’d let you down.  Maybe he did. — — — — Note: I will not be continuing this unless requested. I hate hospital scenes/tropes. You're lucky I didn't kill Crow outright.

[strxnged]

1k. (suggestive) misunderstandings, platonic. gn!reader.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Of all the questions you expected Kaveh the Architect to ask you on what you had supposed to be a first date, this was not among them. Indeed, being the juxtaposing type of question you’d expect any sane suitor to ask, it was flabbergasting, and you could hardly think of a reply to combat this. Your jaw dropped and you peered into his ruby eyes, searching the jewels for a saving clue.

“You can be honest,” he continued bewilderingly. “That’s why I wanted to properly meet you for coffee. So that we could talk like adults.”

No, of all the questions you anticipated coming from someone who had asked you to meet for coffee “as soon as possible,” bringing “just yourself,” this was not among them. But maybe it should have been. The urgent nature of it all may have been a clear enough indicator, had you paid attention. A bit awkwardly you realized how far off your assumptions about this all had been. To think that you’d thought he was trying to get into your pants. Taking you on a date first like an adult. Not asking you to coffee just to talk like one.

Finding no answers in his eyes, you settled your gaze on your joe and pondered. Then at last, with much less certainty than you had intended, you responded, “I… don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

You met his eyes. “I don’t hate you, moron.”

Kaveh visibly bristled. This was how you had expected him to look after you’d turned down his supposed sexual interest as planned. “I don’t buy it. After the way that you talk to me, how you’ve turned down my project ideas, how you talk about me to other people…”

There was much for you to unpack here, but the last point caught your own sense of urgency. Your mug came down onto the table harder than you meant. “I don’t talk about you to other people. What do you mean, how I talk about you to other people?”

“You know.”

“I don’t. Where is this coming from? Kaveh, what the hell?”

He swallowed and spoke with seemingly great effort. “Alhaitham said… that you said… you can’t bear to be around me.”

“Kaveh.”

“Yes?”

“Alhaitham isn’t people. Alhaitham is person. A person who has been known to enjoy messing with you.”

He hesitated, and then declared, “A lot of the stuff he says is true. Even if it’s utterly uncalled for.” Kaveh looked anywhere but at you. “Sorry. I just…”

You looked him up and down. Here, you’d thought he was all of the things he wasn’t. And here he thought you were all of the things that you were not. You let a short laugh slip, and then quickly covered your smile with your knuckle.

He spoke feebly and towards the cafe aisle instead of you. “I’m taking this seriously. I don’t want you to hate me. Can’t we talk about it?”

Oh, it was sweet, and ironic, and delightful, and hilarious.

“Yes, Kaveh. Let’s talk about it.”

He glanced at you and quickly away again, nodding. His avoidance of eye contact made you feel a bit bad, but for only a second. You wanted to get the truth out before you made any attempt at comforting the poor soul.

“I don’t hate you,” you continued. “I don’t even dislike you. I like your company and I think you’re marvelous and creative. I think—and this is what I told Alhaitham—I think that if I spent too much time with you, I’d become more engaged myself, and I’m just not ready for that change in my life. Or I wasn’t. I was too comfortable with the status quo.” You paused to sip your bitter coffee, trying to figure out the words for the rest of it.

“But my projects,” he said, “my project ideas, the ones you refused to help with.”

“You wouldn’t want to do those with little old me,” you replied, simply and honestly.  

“I really would.”

“No, Kaveh. You don’t understand. I’m not brilliant like you. I’m a materialist, a realist, a square-cut function-obsessed gadgeter. I don’t do pretty designs. I can’t contribute to—” You gestured as if his mind was splayed out as a galaxy of ideas before you. “—All that.”

He tilted his head, looking again keen and reactionary. 

“And I’m sorry,” you finally said, “for how… for how blunt I can be. And I know I can be mean. I swear it’s just the way I talk, it’s not—”

He cut you off. “So I’m not the one you hate?”

“What do you…” It was your turn to cock your head. 

“I mean…” He raised an eyebrow, not mockingly. “You’re just unhappy, aren’t you?”

You set your mug down and leaned your elbows onto the table. He looked intently back at you now. Like a friend. Like someone who cared about being hated by you, and someone who cared about you hating yourself.

You cleared your throat, grasping at the straws of a changed subject. “I thought this was gonna be a date, nitwit. Not a therapy session.”

“A date?” He looked horrified.

You laughed at his expression, feeling all sorts of relieved. “Good to know neither of us were looking for that.”

“Tell me: Why would I ask you on a date if I thought you hated me?”

“Oh, Kaveh.”

“That doesn’t make an inch of sense.”

“Speaking of inches. Are you sure you want those columns in that desert library design to be that thick? Why not just have a few more columns among the shelves?”

And as quickly as that, the fear and sensitivity in his face faded and was replaced by glowing defense of his idea. 

The supposed date turned into a shrewd planning convention and you watched the remaining tension leak from his fingertips as he gestured at his invisible designs in the air. You thought, yes, this is why I can’t bear to be around him. He’s so bright and alive. It burns my eyes.

But you were alive too, thanks to the warm late-night caffeine. And thanks also, perhaps, to the feeling that the conversation you had avoided earlier might come around again, and that you didn’t mind that. You didn’t mind the idea of more conversations with Kaveh.

author's note. i don't know, guys, i think i'm obsessed with being this guy's friend. and... yeah, this is sort of a vomit of words about how easily social signals are misinterpreted, especially when you're ANTISOCIAL like me. i'm fine though. do not worry.

consider reblogging or leaving a reply if you enjoyed.

➳ GENSHIN MASTERLIST

[echo-goes-mmm]

Juno in "Pet Shelter"

My Writing Masterpost

Juno Collection Masterpost

Warnings: lightly BBU adjacent 

“And that’s about it,” finished Jack, leading the new volunteer back to the front desk. “Any questions?”

Daniel shrugged. “It seems simple enough. Feed the pets, give out meds, play time is two hours a day,” he rattled off.

Jack smiled. “Just about, yeah. Although some pets have dietary restrictions, so be careful with that. It’s all in their charts.”

“Right. Oh, do employees get to adopt from the shelter? Just curious.”

“Yup! There’s a waiting period of six months, though. In fact, I'll have officially adopted a kitty tomorrow. I’m really excited.” Jack beamed, proud.

“Kitty?”

“Oh,” waved off Jack, “it’s a term we use to describe personalities. ‘Kitties’ are shyer, quiet, more independent. ‘Pups’ are more energetic, playful, outgoing. You know the type.”

“Makes sense,” said Daniel. “I guess I’m more of a dog person, but, like, real dogs.”

“Fair,” nodded Jack. “Most people don’t want human pets, hence their rarity. I think there’s only one store in the county, and we’re the only shelter. Hey, since we have a couple hours, you want to meet my kitty?”

Jack pulled out a set of keys from the front desk drawer. “I’m thinking of calling him Juno. He’s really great, and I already love him.”

“Sure, why not?”

The two men turned back down the hall, passed the ‘employee only’ doors. 

“So how come Juno didn’t get adopted yet? I hear pets get adopted really quickly here.”

“Well… he’s got some medical stuff a lot of people don’t want to deal with.”

“Like what?”

Jack swung the keys around his finger.

“For one thing, he’s trans.”

Daniel shot him a look. 

“I know, I know,” Jack said, “but the reality is, that turns a lot of people off, in a manner of speaking. I don’t think it should matter, but it does. And although lots of pets like having sex, Juno has a severe aversion to anyone or anything near his vulva that isn’t himself and his menstrual cup.”

They reached another door at the end of the hall, and Jack flipped through the keys trying to find the right one.

“Usually that isn’t an issue; most people don’t care. Unfortunately, Juno also has an expensive diet. It’s either buy the pricey pet food, or cook for him. I don’t mind the cooking- I like cooking- but the combination of everything makes him pretty unlucky in the adoption department.”

Jack fit a key into the lock of a second door, which opened into a smaller hall with fewer stalls. 

An acidic smell hit them as soon as the door opened.

“Shit,” muttered Jack.

“That can’t be good,” agreed Daniel.

Jack jogged through the hall, and came to stop at a stall. A whine sounded from the poor pet inside.

“Hey, buddy,” cooed Jack, crouching down.

Daniel peered over his shoulder.

A pet was curled up in a far corner, stale vomit in a puddle on the opposite side. 

The pet had dark brown hair, and his eyes were screwed shut. He looked feverish, and he was trembling. His breathing was quick and shallow, and he had top surgery scars on his chest.

Daniel glanced at the sign on the wall.

Juno, it read. Owner: Pending.

“Did somebody give you the wrong food, honey?” Jack asked quietly as he unlocked the stall.

Juno whined again.

“Okay buddy, don’t worry.” Jack pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the stall, pet and vomit and all. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Jack approached the shivering pet. “Take a look in his food bowl, would you?” he called over his shoulder.

Daniel looked inside. “It’s halfway empty.”

“Fuck,” muttered Jack. The pet whimpered. “Not you, sweetheart. You’re doing so good; making sure you didn’t get messy. There’s a good boy. You didn’t eat it all cause you figured it out, yeah? Such a smart kitty.” Jack pet the boy’s hair, and Juno leaned into his hand.

“Can you sit up for me?”

Jack helped the pet lean against the wall, his face tacky with tear tracks. “I know your tummy hurts, sweetheart, but just stay right there, okay?”

Jack pulled away and turned to Daniel. “Dump out the food in the trash,” he ordered. “Get a new bowl from storage, and fill it with the gluten-free bag. Make sure it’s a new bowl, or he’ll get sick again.”

“What about the water? Won’t that be contaminated?”

“Go ahead and take that to the sink. I’ll take care of getting him some liquid,” Jack said. “I need to brush his teeth anyway.”

They left the stall. “Not going to lock it?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Jack said with a grim face. “He can’t move much when he has a reaction.”

Jack pulled out his phone, dialing a number as he went to the med cabinet.

He opened the cabinet, looking for the stock paste he kept on hand and the shelter-supplied disposable toothbrushes as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey boss, it’s Jack. One of the pets got fed an allergen again. Sent you some photos.”

“Dammit. Which one?”

Jack found the brushes. They were on the wrong shelf.

“Guess.”

His boss sighed. “And you’re sure it’s Ethan doing it?”

Jack switched his phone to the other shoulder as he filled a bottle with hot water.

“He hates me,” he complained, scooping a tablespoon of the stock paste into the bottle. “And he really wanted Juno. He was on food duty earlier. He’s trying to sabotage the adoption. You know, make him sick so he has to do a round of isolation.”

His boss sighed. “I’ll check the tapes.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Jack shook the bottle until it was a dark brown and the paste had dissolved.

“Hey, Juno,” he said quietly, pulling open the door. “I’m back.”

Juno looked up at him with teary blue eyes. Poor thing.

“I got you a toothbrush, and that soup you like.�� Jack set the bottle off the side, kneeling in front of him.

Juno opened his mouth, still weak and miserable, and Jack scrubbed the stomach acid off his teeth.

“You get to come home with me tomorrow,” he said, cupping the back of Juno’s head for support. “Won’t that be nice?”

Juno made an ‘mhm’ as soon as Jack was finished. 

Jack picked up the bottle. “Do you think you can hold it for me?”

Juno didn’t look very sure.

“Alright, that’s fine.” Jack unscrewed the cap, and held the soup to Juno’s mouth.

Juno took a couple of sips, and turned his head away. His stomach probably couldn’t handle much more.

“That’s okay. You're doing great.” He brushed Juno’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He wanted to give him a bath, get all that sweat off, but Juno probably wouldn’t appreciate that right now. “You wanna go to sleep?” 

The pet nodded, clearly exhausted. He must have been vomiting for hours.

Jack helped him lay down on his cot as Daniel came back.

“What's that?” he nodded towards the bottle.

“Stock,” Jack explained. “The salt and fluid is good for nausea and he needs the calories.”

Jack stroked Juno’s hair.

“He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah. He just needs to rest.”

___________________

Jack stirred the fried rice in the pan. It smelled great, and it was a new recipe. His aunt had recommended it, and she had Celiac disease just like Juno. 

Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to switch everything over to be gluten free. And it was worth it to keep his pet healthy.

Juno pressed himself against Jack’s back, his arms wrapping around Jack’s waist. He laid his head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud. Ready to eat?”

“Mhm.”

Jack spooned two portions into bowls, and sat on the couch to eat.

Juno ate from his bowl with gusto, and Jack smiled as he watched. His kitty had put on a lot more weight, and the doctor was really pleased with his progress. 

Juno finished before he did, and got up onto the couch, shoving his head onto Jack’s lap.

Jack absent-mindedly carded a hand through his hair. It was so soft and wavy now that he had proper conditioner. 

He focused on the nape of Juno’s neck, just where he liked it, and Juno nuzzled into his thigh.

If Juno could purr like real cats, Jack knew he would.

He looked so much better: well-rested, well-fed, and with a handsome leather collar.

Adopting him was the best decision Jack had ever made.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[reiderwriter]

Unlovable

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reider Warnings: angst, canon death, cheating, implied infidelity, whump, angst, spoilers for Season 8 of Criminal Minds, mentions of shooting/ murder/ suicide/ general case facts. Summary: A stalking case brings back some bad memories for the BAU, but as the newbie, you're not sure why until you start recalling past case files you've read through. A/N: I wrote this as part of @tobias-hankel 's Pre-Whumptober Challenge, so it's short and sweet because I'm not great at angst, but it was a great challenge! I think this will probably be my last fic that mentions Maeve for at least a while because I'm getting a bit bored of writing around her lol, but let me know what you think with a like, comment, reblog, or message in my inbox!

It had been a few months since you’d joined the team, and you’d really thought you’d settled in well. After all, you’d worked on enough of their paperwork in your prior desk job to think you had a good grasp of everyone on the team’s working styles.

Until this case. They’d all been tense since the stalking case was called in, and you couldn’t figure out why. A girl had been taken captive by her stalker, whose identity had been so far unknown to the police department. As you sat talking through the possible suspects, you’d realized suddenly that you were the newcomer, an outsider in the team.

“Why is everyone so tense, we’ve worked cases like this one before, we can do this and save her.” You were hopeful of course, looking around the room to see if anyone else would agree.

“Each case is different, Y/N, you know that.” Morgan was the only one to reply, the others shooting careful glances around the room.

“But everyone is so tense for this one specifically, and I just don’t get it.”

“You read our case files, right?” Reid spoke up from the other side of the room. He’d been particularly tense on this one, and it was really his attitude that was worrying you the most. You’d become fast friends with him when you joined the team, and he was always happy and engaging with you. But there was something about this case that made him cold and distant and it was really rubbing you the wrong way.

“Yeah, I read all of them, but I don’t have an eidetic memory, so please, catch me up.”

“Maeve Donovan, does that ring a bell?” He almost spat the words out, but you were so thankful that he was even talking to you that you responded enthusiastically.

“Oh, of course, I read that case file. She was killed by her stalker, right? But we can’t base every case off our bad experiences, especially since that case had unforeseen circumstances.”

“Y/N,” Morgan gently warned you, but you were deaf to him as your eyes locked on Reid.

“Unforeseen circumstances?”

“She engaged in a relationship with an FBI Agent to help prioritize her case despite the fiance she had, which made her hard to track down to help. And her stalker was experiencing some serious delusions so you couldn’t stop her from killing both of them, but that’s a single case, and you’ve all worked at least ten other stalking cases in the past.

The air was sucked out of the room as Spencer stormed out, not bothering to tell you where you’d gone wrong. JJ trailed behind after him, going to pick up the pieces as the rest of them stared at you pityingly.

“Did I- Did I say something wrong?” You asked, but most of them just shook their heads and walked out.

“The agent she was dating was Reid. He offered to die instead of her, but that set her stalker off and that’s why she killed the both of them.” With each of Morgan’s words, you felt your heart drop.

“I didn’t-” You started but he cut you off with a pat on your shoulder.

“None of us were the greatest fans of Maeve after our investigation, but you weren’t here after she died. The kid was in pieces, and he still can’t really talk about it without some of those emotions creeping back in. Just… be a bit more understanding.”

You spend the rest of the case trying to apologize to Reid, but he avoids you like the plague, frustrating you to no end. You corner him one night on the way to his room, but he snaps at you with such violence you have to turn and run away before you let yourself cry in front of him.

Your resentment for Maeve grows as you watch him work though, seeing him become an empty shell of a man as he gets lost in his memory trying to save the new victim. You’re angry that she died, angry that she put him in that position, angry that no one forced him off the case, that no one foresaw the negative effect that this would have on him when it ended badly. You’re angry that she loved him first because your heart aches without his company.

Thankfully, the case ends well, and you manage to save the girl who has been abducted. You don’t even want to think about what that would mean for Reid, having to see the dead body of another girl knowing he couldn’t save them either. He practically runs off the jet when you land back at Quantico as you try, once again, to apologize.

Penelope comforts you at your desk as you cry, desperate to make things right. She’s the one who slips you his address, and not even an hour later, you feel like a shell of a person driving directly there, not stopping to worry about whether he’ll even see you.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t look surprised to see you. He doesn’t look anything at all, emotionally drained from the last week. You thought you would apologize right then and there, and leave, but he turns back into his apartment and you have to follow him in, saying nothing as he sets himself beside a chessboard again.

“Spencer…” you start, but you have to stop to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I didn’t know you were the agent. I wouldn’t have said what I did had I known.”

“Would you still think it?” He asked sharply, and you can feel the anger in his voice. He’s trying to control it, but he’s never been the best at masking his emotions with his team members.

“Spencer, please, I’m trying to apologize.”

“Would you have looked at me with pitying eyes? The FBI Agent who couldn’t even save his girlfriend from a stalker. The girlfriend who probably didn’t even love him either because what is there to love about-”

“Spencer! Stop putting words in my mouth.” Your tone is harsh but it gets him to finally look up at you. His tone was angry, but his eyes were all despair, shining with tears as he tried, so hard, to pull himself together. He’s failing.

“Why am I so unlovable? What about me is so difficult to love?” Your heart breaks at his words. The way he says it sounds like he is genuinely searching for an answer, his eyes darting between your own as his body sinks in on itself, and you sink with him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into you.

“Nothing. Nothing, Spencer, you are so loved. You need to know that I love you, that we all love you, Spencer.” Your voice breaks a little at your confession, as you suddenly realize how true those words are.

“But she still died. I had to have done something wrong, but I play it back again in my head, every conversation and-” he breaks down in sobs then, his entire body shaking with the weight of his grief. The wound isn’t new but it runs deep, and you quietly sob beside him, knowing no matter how much you love him it won’t be enough to replace the love he lost with her.

[sillymaxing]

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