#<-block this tag if you don’t want to hear about it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy comes up the stairs and you back up. Your adrenaline continues to pound in your skull. You inhale sharply and cough. He slows as he gets to the top. 

“How are you doing?” He asks cautiously. 

You nod and gulp, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

He closes his eyes and nods. When he opens them again, the intensity behind his blue irises makes you wince. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“It’s okay,” you grasp the handle of the oxygen tank with both hands, keeping it in front of you like a shield. 

“It’s not okay. Your mom is wrong, you know that, right?” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “she’s--” 

“I know she’s your mom and you love her, because you’re a good girl, but I don’t want to hear excuses for her.” 

You frown and flicks away a shell of tears with your lashes. “Sorry, Andy.” 

“Don’t apologise to me, okay?” He sighs and pushes his head back as he grips his hips. “Look,” he looks down the hallway. “We’re gonna figure this out, together. Alright, sweetheart?” 

You lower your gaze. You still can’t accept that your mom is just gone. That you’re here with just Andy. 

“She won’t stay mad--” 

“You can’t be serious? You can’t go back to her. Sweetheart, you’re sick and she’s not making it any better.” 

“It wasn’t that hard,” you murmur. 

His face flashes with concern and hurt, “that doesn’t matter.” His jaw ticks, “let me see your arm.” 

“What?” 

“Where she hit you, let me see it.” 

You pull your arm back and put it behind you, “it’s not--” 

He shakes his head, “I know it hurts. Even if you don’t show me, it doesn’t undo what she did or what I saw.” He sniffs and rubs his nose, “besides, I’m a lawyer, I kind of have to report that sort of thing.” 

“Report? Oh,” you whimper. “Please, don’t.” 

“Sweetheart,” he exhales. 

“Please, Andy. I won’t go back but I don’t her to be in trouble.” 

You look at him, the irritation stitched into his forehead. He purses his lips and drops his hand form his hip. He lets out a resigned breath. 

“Alright, for now. We’ll just do one thing at a time,” he girds. “Let’s go pick up that mess.” 

He steps past you and heads down the hall. You follow him, the wheels on the tank squeaking. He enters the guest room and kneels to gather the mess spilled from the belt bag. You near and bend to help. He glances up. 

“Sweetie, please, you should sit down,” he says. 

“I can help,” you insist as you grab your lip balm. At the same time, he reaches for it and clutches your hand by accident. You flinch away and recoil.  

He doesn’t say a word as he continues to gather everything. He checks a pill bottle before he tucks it away. You peek at his face and notice the red blemish deepening on his cheekbone. The slap was loud, it sounded painful. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he assures as he keeps his head down. 

“No, uh, that,” you point at his cheek. "Does it hurt?"

He stops, cradling the belt bag in one hand as he touches his cheek with the other. “Not really,” he says. 

You reach out, “here, I’ll take it.” 

He hands over the bag and you snap it around your waist, careful to keep it from tangling with your oxygen tube. He stands and clears his throat. 

“This room works for you?” He asks. 

You peer around then back at him. 

“You’ll be here for a while so... I could grab you more blankets. A fan?” 

You shake your head, “this is fine.” 

He clicks his tongue and looks past you to the window, “I’m going to make some calls.” 

“To the police? You said--” 

“Not right now,” he shows his palms. “I’m just... I got work, still, and a few other things. Sweetheart,” he steps closer, “you just relax, okay? It’s been a long morning. And if you need anything, my office door will be open, alright?” 

You scrunch up your lips and nod. It’s all you can do. You teeter around and sit on the side of the bed. You brace the oxygen tank to keep yourself upright. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“This is... normal for me,” you croak. “My mom’s right. I’m a burden. I’m too sick...” 

“She’s not right,” he insists. “Lay down, sweetheart. Take it easy. I’ll be about an hour and then we can chat a bit more. There’s a lot to go through.” 

You stay as you are. You wait. He lingers before he finally strides out of the room. He leaves the door open as you sniffle at your lap. What does he mean? A lot to go through? 

Oh, this is bad. You’re so lost. What do you do? You’re not Andy’s responsibility. If you do go back to your mom, she’s going to be so mad. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You wipe your nose and gulp. Why do you have to be so worthless? 

🩶

You can’t remember when you slumped onto your side. It doesn’t really matter. Most days you spend like that; dizzy, tired, and sick to your stomach. That day is worse.  

You want to be home. Not with your mother, just in your room, with your figurines and your books. With the familiar. You stare at the wall as you listen to the airiness of the strange house. Cars pass with soft swishing noises and a few voices come from the suburban scene outside. 

Andy’s footsteps precede him up the stairs. You see his shadow as he approaches the guest room and you make yourself sit up. What you don’t expect, is the other set of steps or another figure. You bounce slightly, expecting your mother, but finding only a stranger. A man. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Andy asks. 

You stare at the man then grimace at Andy. He stands just inside the door as the other man lingers at his shoulder. 

“You said you wouldn’t call the cops,” you squeak. 

“Oh,” Andy looks at the other man who gives a grin. “He’s not--” 

“Hi,” the man says your name. “I’m Dr. Kemp. A friend of Andy’s.” 

Your eyes flick between them. “It’s just a bruise.” You cover your forearm where the tenderness thrums. 

“A bruise?” He repeats. “I can look at that too, but I’m just here for a check-up.” 

“A check-up? I have a doctor. I have doctors,” you argue. 

“He’s just making sure everything is normal, sweetheart,” Andy says. 

“I could’ve called Dr. Hawes.” 

“You could but I don’t think he’d be able to see you at short notice, this is just a precaution.” Andy explains. 

“I’ll be quick, okay?” Dr. Kemp says as he nears and puts his leather bag next to you. “We’ll do the standard run through, alright?” 

You pout and shrug, “okay. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“It’s okay.” He assures you, “now, I don’t have your records so just a few questions.” 

You nod and your eyes drift to the wall. Questions. There's always questions. You answer the same ones over and over. It’s just like when you had to sit in court. 

“So, I see you’re on oxygen,” he begins, “is that something you need all the time or is it just now and then?” 

“Always,” you answer. 

“Alright, and have you been diagnosed with a specific condition that requires it?” 

“Several. Cystic fibrosis, asthma, other things...” 

“Hm, okay, you’re doing good. I know the questions can get annoying,” he says. “Do you have dizziness?” You nod. “Nausea?” Another nod. “Muscle spasms? Chest pains?” Yes and yes. 

“Even with the tank?” He prompts. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply bluntly. 

“Right, let’s listen to your heart.” 

He unzips the bag and takes out a stethoscope. You stand up stiffly as he comes closer. He points to the bottom of your shirt. “You mind?” You shake your head and he tugs it up, slipping his arm beneath. You blanch as your eyes meet Andy. You almost forgot about him. 

Kemp puts the cold stethoscope on your chest. He moves it around. Across the top, then beneath, closer to your lungs. He listens intently. He hums and removes it, fixing your shirt for you. 

He then starts with the other tests; temperature, blood pressure, eye response. He gives a thoughtful look then crosses his arms. He considers you for a moment. 

“I want you to try something for me, okay?” 

You nod once more. 

“I need you to take off your oxygen.” 

“What?” You yelp. 

“Just for a few minutes, alright? I’m a doctor, right? You’ll be okay.” 

You bat your lashes and glance at Andy again. He dips his chin. He watches intently. You look at the floor and unhook the tub from around your ears. You drag it off your nose and let it hang. 

“Alright, how are you feeling?” Kemp asks. 

You shrug. He just stands there. You do too. You sway slightly, confused. 

“You having any issues?” He intones. 

You shake your head. 

“Alright, just a small test. Hold your breath for me,” he bends his arm and looks at his wrist watch, “we’re going to see how long you can do it. Tell me when you stop.” He pinches the small golden face, “three, two, one.” 

You hold your breath as your eyes widen. Your lungs are full but not horribly so. You search the room in a panic. What if you pass out? Your panic rises and makes you itch but you keep your breath in. He waits and waits and waits. 

You let it out suddenly, “I can’t--” you gasp. “See, I can’t.” 

“A minute forty-seven,” he taps his watch, “pretty standard. Definitely pretty good for someone with bad lungs.” 

“A minute... no, it wasn’t that long. Was it?” 

Andy shifts as his jaw squares. His brows furrow. He looks angry. Kemp peeks back at him and turns back to you. 

“I’m going to review your records. I’ll put a call in to Hawes.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Just to make sure I’m getting a full picture. Right now, you’re doing just fine. I’d say you’re doing rather well,” he squeezes your shoulder. “What I want you to do is to take it easy on this.” He touches the oxygen tube. “If you feel out of breath, by all means, put it on, five to ten minutes, but not 24/7.” 

“But I need it,” you whimper. 

“I know you feel like you do, but I’m the doctor, right? I understand you have a lot going on but your lungs aren’t bad enough to warrant constant oxygen. I’ll be back tomorrow once I get the chart,” he says. “Andy has my number.” 

Your lip quivers. You don’t understand. You need the air. That’s what mom says. And when you forget to put it back on, she gets so mad. 

“You having trouble right now?” He asks. 

You stare at him and take a breath, and another, and another. “No,” you answer. 

“There ya go. You got Andy. He'll keep an eye on you,” he packs away his bag. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Andy says as he holds out his hand. 

“We’re even,” Kemp shakes his hand then looks back at you, “see ya tomorrow.” 

“Oh, okay, sir,” you eke out. 

He leaves and Andy gives you a nod before he follows. You listen as they go downstairs. You sit on the bed and clasp your oxygen tube in your hands. You look at the tank and frown. 

It doesn’t make sense. You don’t feel like you’re struggling. You feel like you’re breathing better, actually. It’s strange. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. 

Andy returns and you push your shoulders back. He enters tentatively, “well?” 

“I won’t...” you reach over and turn the dial to cut the supply. “It’s off.” 

“Maybe he can help. More than the other doctors,” Andy says. “Er, you know, you don’t have to hide up here. I’m done for the day so I’m free and uh, if you’re hungry, we can order?” 

“Not right now,” you say and hang your head. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s a lot,” he says. “You got time, sweetheart. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here, okay?” 

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Right under the wire! Thanks for the tag @heniareth!

It is statistically unlikely to still be Wednesday for most of you, but tagging back @dreadfutures @dungeons-and-dragon-age @elfroot-and-laurels @pinayelf @inquisimer in case you have anything you want to share (no pressure, as always!)

Here's a bit from a WIP set immediately after the not-a-kiss scene with Lucanis, ft. Lenore being Totally Normal:

(Lucanis/Rook Ingellvar |486 words | vague romance progression spoilers)

Shouldn’t be watching him like this. It’d been days since they’d almost kissed. She’d been strong. Focused. Had kept things aboveboard and friendly, no matter how much she wanted to ask him… What? What could she say, really? How’s your head feeling these days? Pretty clear? No, that was silly. There was too much else to be worrying about to worry about whatever was between—whatever she’d imagined was between them.  “Well, I did remember it was Lace’s turn to cook,” she told him, focusing on the cutting board with far more attention than was warranted, “and Davrin may have mentioned something about an alarming amount of cheese earlier…” “It was for a cheese soup, I believe,” Lucanis agreed, and his hands moved in her periphery. Taking another sip of coffee, presumably. She suspected it was a proportionately significant component of his blood content at this point. She wasn’t going to watch the way his lips moved when he pressed them to the rim of the cup. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said, though she knew he was. Lace had been most of the way through grating a block of cheese when Rook had walked in.  “You don’t think she would?”  Rook laughed at that, settled the lid on the pot, and turned away again. There was half a block of grated cheese to do something with now—a troubling thought, since none of the rest of them were Fereldan and thus did not share the scout’s love of cheese.  “Well, in any case,” she went on. “The letter came in earlier. I may have waited until she’d started cooking to let her know.” “Devious.” “You wouldn’t be the first to say so.” She tapped her hips, surveying the available ingredients before selecting a likely-looking loaf of bread. Lucanis shifted in her periphery. Despite herself, she looked at him. He’d pressed a hand to his head, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. “Spite?” she asked, and he nodded. “He want to say anything in particular or is he just hungry, too?”  The muscle in his jaw twitched. Slowly, deliberately, he set his mug on the table beside him.  “It is nothing worth sharing. I will make more coffee. Would you like some?”  What could she say? Pity would shame him and sympathy was hardly better. She sometimes wished she had Emmrich’s talent for hearing spirits. Perhaps if she could address both of them at once…but no. Maybe letting him do something for her would help.  “If you’re making it.” “Sweet, with cream,” he said.  The soft sounds of metal and glass to her left told her he’d already begun. Could he see her smiling? Surely not. She’d turned her head enough that she wouldn’t be caught.  “You remembered.” “How could I forget?” he said.  She laughed. He didn’t, but distracted as she was by the absence of the bread knife Rook hardly noticed.

[queer-talmid]

I have taken the bait, I am going to try out this terrible looking dating Sim that keeps on getting advertised to me

to make it interesting, I’m going to play as a serial killer

[iero]

Hey, if you leave comments like this under my or anyone’s gifs or have thought of leaving comments like this under my or anyone’s gifs, please know we don’t like you. <3

[oobbbear]

I saw an AI art tutorial and its first step is to throw SOMEONE ELSE’S ARTWORK into the machine and tell it to generate similar image like are you okay you’re not even hiding anymore

[jakekazansky]

What’s the point of scheduling a delivery for later if you’re going to make it and deliver it now???????

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[largishcat]

you know i just had the wildest, most unlikely seeming experience trying to get medical care. i went into the doctor and described some weird symptoms i was having, was taken seriously immediately, the doctor made an educated guess as to what the issue was and sent me in for some scans to confirm, and it turns out her guess was exactly right and there IS something weird going on right where she thought it was. and now i have many follow up tests to schedule, but it’s all like. weirdly chill. zero delays. wild

[euphorial-docx]

louis killing that racist was so satisfying. he should do that to all of them.

[phannamime]

Playing through the city elf origin and what if the warden and their betrothed exchanged letters before the wedding day-and going back to the alienage and finding them in your room and reading through them

Seeing how everything went and how everything went horribly wrong (bonus points for the female version because Nelaros died). The angst potential of the dragon age protagonists are off the charts

[aforeffortenjolras]

feeling like such a hot girl doing my workout i’m so strong

[edge-oftheworld]

I kid you not the number of times I wind up thinking about different artists and where they’re from, just to wind up on any 5sos member and ask myself in my head ‘and where are they from?’ only to remember sydney!!! and then it’s like woah I’M from sydney too no way do musicians come from there!

[fumifooms]

shut up, straight

I dared to say "hey let’s not shit on m/f couples it alienates queer people in the community too" on my blog and didn’t even put it in any tags and here we are ✌️ You are a tar pit.

[elementary-my-dear-daddy]

Ugh I can’t sleep I need Virgil sanders in a vampire outfit to do vile things to me to tire me out

[isthatafuckinggayangel]

Who in the fuck.

“People from the south” is not something to put a trigger warning for, you dumb fucks. If you mean racism/homophobia, fucking say that.

The south is not a monolith of cishet christian white men with every type of bigotry in the book.

Minorities live in the south as well.

If you use tags like this, go fuck yourself.

(Edit to include image ID in Alt text)

[emily-mooon]

I feel mad >:(