#4 days of fog and it just cleared like nothing

[mechanical-sunchild]

Posting this for The Creatures

[skrunksthatwunk]

really fun letting all of my favorite shows take turns being the "i can't think about it i can't think about it i can't think about it!!" bingewatch during finals season/associated crunch times. they're being inducted into a society

[yandereshingeki]

The Antithesis of Decay

made for @ficsforgaza’s Kinktober!

⬑ please check them out! ⬏

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x afab!reader

Content Warnings: Stuckage, fingering, dub/noncon, no gendered pronouns, but reader is described to have bigger hips than their waist (no big specifications though). meant to take place between s3 & 4

Summary: An escape through the alleyway ends in a terrifying run-in with a wanted villain.

Managed to write this entirely in a single day 😵‍💫 it gave me a headache doing it that fast but thank god i got it done! It was a lot longer than I intended (stuckage is hard to keep short akhsheja & i originally wanted to go full smut but then wrote too much) and was a little bit difficult to navigate cause I don’t think about shiggy in a sexual way BUT !! I DID IT!

This is also the first time I'm posting something I've written in present tense, I'm just trying to experiment and figure out how I like to write lol

Shiggy lovers i hope this is adequate!!

Another crash. Another roar. Another Nomu.

You're in the thick of it, beside a building, half-destroyed, and another one completely toppled to the ground. There's screaming and panic, citizens running in every which way to escape the crossfire. Another building is about to collapse, and the monsters take no hesitation in using it as leverage to fight.

There are other heroes here, maybe three, or even more now if there were any on patrol nearby; it isn't clear through the fog of dirt and smoke. It isn't enough though. None of you had the strength or stamina to fight against the group of Nomus that appeared. Especially not by yourselves, even if you barely outnumbered them. The rubble is building. The ground is practically shaking under their destructive hands. They have the absolute advantage.

  Your quirk isn't built for such a fight, even as a pro, and your combat skills would prove useless against those monsters. You're meant to be more of a support hero than anything, someone usually waiting on the sidelines to rush in and heal the defending heroes in fights. The limits of your restorative quirk meant it was wise to steer clear from the heart of the battle and avoid being hurt, so the best course of action would be to run. Run and find backup. That's the most you can do for now; the most you can try to save what remains of that small city sector.

You choose your path quickly, remaining observant of the chaos around you. Cracked asphalt and concrete, dust flying everywhere from the destruction, debris from the second half-collapsed building scattered everywhere. The Nomus remain distracted by the other heroes, so despite the obstacles, there's a clear path to the closest alleyway. From there, if you can just reach the other side of the buildings and escape harm's way, you'll be safe to make the call.

You can make it, you believe — as long as you're fast. Confident, you take off, bound for the crack between two untouched office buildings nearby, the spring in your costume's boots allowing you to move more efficiently. With such quick speed, you nearly run face-first into the wall, entering it at an angle that's easy to correct with a simple push off against the brick. From there, the path is a straight shot to the other side, only separated by a feeble chain link fence. There's a hole that looks just big enough for you to crawl through at the bottom of it, the wire pried upward to create a gap. You can make it, you repeat in your head. The coast is clear, you can make it.

  Stumbling to a stop in front of the mesh barrier, you drop to your knees as quickly as your body will allow, planting yourself onto your stomach afterward. The opening is much smaller up close, but it's nothing you can't army-crawl your way through. Your costume was made to be dirtied and protect you in the heat of conflict, so having it scrape across the rocky ground while you drag your way under the fence isn't an issue. Its durability was the least of your problems — until now, that is..

  The elastic fabric snags on the wire once you squeeze your head and arms through the hole. Time is sensitive, you don’t have any to waste on something trivial like this. You try to reach back to untangle it, only to find the wire completely stabbed through. 

  With a heavy sigh and adrenaline crawling in your veins at the delay, you manage to move back a sizable distance before you try again, but it’s useless. The ends of the wires are sharp and stab into your suit with ease, holding you back. You needed to try something else, you needed to be fast.

  Before you can attempt to force your way through the hole, a voice arises behind you. Raspy and hoarse, you don’t even realize he's there until he speaks.

  “Oh, look at what we have here. A hero, is it?”

  His approach is slow, and you only hear his footsteps once he's standing over you. Your entire body goes stiff, your blood running cold as you curve your spine back to look at him.

  "Shigaraki," you whisper, terrified, under your breath. 

  "Oh, you know me already? How nice, I suppose we can skip the introductions then." 

  You can hear your breath hitch in your throat when he speaks and feel his presence as he looms right behind you, bending at the knees to crouch down over your legs.

  "I've seen you on TV," he starts, and you hold back a scream when you feel four rough fingers gently touch the back of your thigh, "You've got quite the impressive quirk, you know. Restoration quirks are hard to come by. And yours…"

  He pauses again, glides them up to where your hip and femur jointed together, and relishes in the way you shiver before he continues, "It's the exact opposite of mine. I guess you can only restore organic things, sure, but — it does make me wonder."

  You're hardly listening to his little ramble, your heartbeat drumming too loud in your ears to process anything — but then, your head goes blank when you feel all five of his fingers cup around your hip. Panic sets in fast, and you find yourself writhing before you can think, trying to force your way through the fence. The metal wires only dig into your skin, causing even more pain as you realize you're hips are too big to fit, and you wouldn't have made it anyway.

  Tomura only chuckles lightly at your reaction, watching the bottom half of your hero suit disintegrate into dust. You don't even realize it until you're already crying, and a cold breeze hits your face and bottom half. His hand is on you. Touching you. Feeling you, and yet.

  You don't feel any pain. His touch is simply normal against your skin. His palm is surprisingly warm, but dry. And you don't disintegrate. You don't disintegrate.

  Tomura laughs again at wide eyes and gaping mouth as if you should have expected his quirk to cancel out with yours. He slides his palm across your bottom, down to the back of your thigh again to caress it up and down slowly. Carefully. His touch lingers far longer than you're comfortable with.

  "Your quirk activates automatically when it's your own body, right? I wonder how long I can keep doing this for, then." He speaks so casually, acting like you weren't trapped and half-bare under him.

  "I've always wanted to be able to touch someone like this again. No gloves, no barriers. Just skin. When I saw you on the news and heard about your quirk, I thought you were perfect. Aside from that pesky hero stuff, that is," he frowned slightly behind the hand on his face, moving his own to grip at the fat of your ass, "You have no idea how frustrating it is to be unable to touch something without it falling apart."

  You let out a loud squeak, feeling his weight on the back of your knees when he sits on them, squeezing and kneading your flesh in his hand. There are tears in your eyes, and you struggle to twist around to look back at him, where he sits proudly like a king on his throne. Seeing such a widely known villain — being face to face, but being stuck and having him touch you like this. It felt humiliating. Humiliating to who you were as a person and a hero. You felt sick to your stomach.

  He frowns a little at the pathetic look you give him, only tightening his hold more, "Come on, don't look like that. I haven't done anything yet."

  As he speaks, he slides another hand underneath you and pulls your hips up slightly, your spine beginning to ache at how it was strained. You can only shake as you watch him, the hand that was gripping your ass moving to slide a single finger down the center of your underwear, sending a large jolt up your spine.

  In an instant, you look forward again, covering your mouth to hold back any noise you'd almost let out. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of making a sound, let it be cries or anything. So you force yourself to silence, even as tears roll down your face.

  Tomura only grins, running the finger up and down the fabric a few more times just to feel you jolt before hooking around the lining to pull it off to the side, stuffing it between your thigh and outer labia to keep you exposed. You clench up at the cold air, another shudder roving through your body as Tomura holds back a chuckle.

  Without another thought or word, he immediately dives in, his two fingers sliding between your folds, feeling whatever you can offer him before moving down to the bud below. You shiver, but are otherwise completely frozen as he does this, not even knowing half of what to do to retaliate.

  "Not too wet yet, I see. That's ok, I can fix that." He says, beginning to prod around for that extra sensitive spot he knew you wouldn't resist. A lightbulb goes off in his head when you jolt suddenly, your hips shaking extra whenever he squishes or pokes at it. With a grin plastered under that embalmed hand, he starts to move his fingers around in slow, gentle circles.

  The coarseness of his fingers doesn't help the sensation they bring on, that feeling of soft ecstasy pulsing through your body slowly like a drum. You hold back your sounds, at least, only your breathing growing heavy as he watches you clench around nothing. 

  It isn't enough for him. He needs more than this, he needs you prepared, and that wouldn’t come from just a few measly touches. 

  His fingers move faster, gaining enough friction that he has you audibly gasping, slick already building up just below. It doesn't take as long as expected, like your body is reacting on primal need. It almost makes him wonder — maybe you're getting off to the position he has you in, even if you don't realize it.

  He gives you a few more minutes of soft touching, allowing a good amount of wetness to accumulate between your shaking thighs before moving his fingers up. He gathers your natural lube on his digits, humming as he slathers it all over your pussy to make it nice and glossy before dipping them back in, finally allowing them to take the plunge.

  As if you weren't already amply humiliated, the way his fingers toy with you before pressing in is distracting enough that he manages to draw a squeak out of you the second he dives in.

  "Ohh, give me more of that. Don't be shy." He says, sliding his digits out slowly, licking his lips at how slick they are before shoving them back in.

  His fingers are so long, soaking knuckle-deep inside of you and reaching parts that your own couldn't. You would rather die at his hands now than ever admit it to anyone, but god, it feels good.

  He's already moving them so fast, curling them all around like he's searching for something. It felt too good to be touched by someone like that. You haven't slept with another person for over a year, so it's like a new foreign feeling and an old friend all at once. You can't stop yourself. Your brain grows foggier with each drag of his fingers, like he's scratching an itch you couldn’t by yourself. You couldn't hold it back anymore.

  You let out a quiet, croaked moan, covering your face with your hands to hide how embarrassing it is to indulge in something so crude with someone like him.

  A wretched smile immediately dawns on Tomura's face, and he moves his hand even faster, trying to milk more sounds out of you before he moves on. He wants you to make more noise, to hear how good a disgusting villain like him is making a great hero like you feel.

  From there, the sounds just spilled out. He’s surprisingly quick to find the smooth spot inside of you, pumping over it repeatedly until you’re a wriggling, gasping mess. The coil inside of you is winding up tight, growing ready to burst at almost any second. 

  It's so degrading, being face down in the concrete while a villain is digging his fingers so deep into you. But you weren’t thinking about that anymore. Your mind is too focused on how good it feels rubbing against your walls, the friction driving you crazy with how fast it builds up.

  Then, like electricity in your veins, it comes crashing through your body all at once. The pleasure, the ecstasy. Your body practically vibrates against his hand, an unforgiving orgasm ripping through your entire system until you’re panting like a dog, still pulsing around him as he slowly removes his fingers and wipes them on your thigh.

  As you return from your high, the quiet chuckling unnerves you. And then you feel sick to your stomach again. You’re still recovering, but you’ve come to your senses enough to look behind you.

  The sight you see has bile rising in your throat. He’s already grabbed onto you again, unzipping his pants with one hand while he speaks.

  “So, what do you think your little hero friends would think if you had sex with a villain?”

[covid-safer-hotties]

also preserved on our archive

by Rowan Walrath

Public and private funding is lacking, scrambling opportunities to develop treatments

In brief Long COVID is a difficult therapeutic area to work in. It’s a scientifically challenging condition, but perhaps more critically, few want to fund new treatments. Private investors, Big Pharma, and government agencies alike see long COVID as too risky as long as its underlying mechanisms are so poorly understood. This dynamic has hampered the few biotechnology and pharmaceutical companies trying to develop new medicines. The lack of funding has frustrated people with long COVID, who have few options available to them. And crucially, it has snarled research and development, cutting drug development short.

When COVID-19 hit, the biotechnology company Aim ImmunoTech was developing a drug for myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome, better known as ME/CFS. As more people came down with COVID-19, some began to describe lingering problems that sounded a lot like ME/CFS. In many cases, people who got sick simply never seemed to get better. In others, they recovered completely—or thought they had—only to be waylaid by new problems: fatigue that wouldn’t go away with any amount of rest, brain fog that got in the way of normal conversations, a sudden tendency toward dizziness and fainting, or all the above.

There was a clear overlap between the condition, which patients began calling long COVID, and ME/CFS. People with ME/CFS have a deep, debilitating fatigue. They cannot tolerate much, if any, exercise; walking up a slight incline can mean days of recovery. Those with the most severe cases are bedbound.

Aim’s leaders set out to test whether the company’s drug, Ampligen, which is approved for ME/CFS in Argentina but not yet in the US, might be a good fit for treating long COVID. They started with a tiny study, just 4 people. When most of those participants responded well, they scaled up to 80. While initial data were mixed, people taking Ampligen were generally able to walk farther in a 6 min walk test than those who took a placebo, indicating improvement in baseline fatigue. The company is now making plans for a follow-on study in long COVID.

Aim’s motivation for testing Ampligen in long COVID was twofold. Executives believed they could help people with the condition, given the significant overlap in symptoms with ME/CFS. But they also, plainly, thought there’d be money. They were wrong.

“When we first went out to do this study in long COVID, there was money from . . . RECOVER,” Aim scientific officer Chris McAleer says, referring to Researching COVID to Enhance Recovery (RECOVER), the National Institutes of Health’s $1.7 billion initiative to fund projects investigating causes of, and potential treatments for, long COVID. McAleer says Aim attempted to get RECOVER funds, “believing that we had a therapeutic for these individuals, and we get nothing.”

Instead of funding novel medicines like Ampligen, the NIH has directed most of its RECOVER resources to observational studies designed to learn more about the condition, not treat it. Only last year did the agency begin to fund clinical trials for long COVID treatments, and those investigate the repurposing of approved drugs. What RECOVER is not doing is funding new compounds.

RECOVER is the only federal funding mechanism aimed at long COVID research. Other initiatives, like the $5 billion Project NextGen and the $577 million Antiviral Drug Discovery (AViDD) Centers for Pathogens of Pandemic Concern, put grant money toward next-generation vaccines, monoclonal antibodies, and antivirals for COVID-19. They stop short of testing those compounds as long COVID treatments.

Private funding is even harder to come by. Large pharmaceutical companies have mostly stayed away from the condition. (Some RECOVER trials are testing Pfizer’s COVID-19 antiviral Paxlovid, but a Pfizer spokesperson confirms that Pfizer is not sponsoring those studies.) Most investors have also avoided long COVID: a senior analyst on PitchBook’s biotech team, which tracks industry financing closely, says he isn’t aware of any investment in the space.

“What you need is innovation on this front that’s not driven by profit motive, but impact on global human health,” says Sumit Chanda, an immunologist and microbiologist at Scripps Research who coleads one of the AViDD centers. “We could have been filling in the gaps for things like long COVID, where pharma doesn’t see that there’s a billion-dollar market.”

The few biotech companies that are developing potential treatments for long COVID, including Aim, are usually funding those efforts out of their own balance sheets. Experts warn that such a pattern is not sustainable. At least four companies that were developing long COVID treatments have shut down because of an apparent lack of finances. Others are evaluating a shift away from long COVID.

“It is seen by the industry and by investors as a shot in the dark,” says Radu Pislariu, cofounder and CEO of Laurent Pharmaceuticals, a start-up that’s developing an antiviral and anti-inflammatory for long COVID. “What I know is that nobody wants to hear about COVID. When you say the name COVID, it’s bad . . ., but long COVID is not going anywhere, because COVID-19 is endemic. It will stay. At some point, everyone will realize that we have to do more for it.”

‘Time and patience and money’ Much of the hesitancy to make new medicines stems from the evasive nature of long COVID itself. The condition is multisystemic, affecting the brain, heart, endocrine network, immune system, reproductive organs, and gastrointestinal tract. While researchers are finding increasing evidence for some of the disease’s mechanisms, like viral persistence, immune dysregulation, and mitochondrial dysfunction, they might not uncover a one-size-fits-all treatment.

“Until we have a better understanding of the underlying mechanisms of long COVID, I think physicians are doing the best they can with the information they have and the guidance that is available to them,” says Ian Simon, director of the US Department of Health and Human Services’ Office of Long COVID Research and Practice. The research taking place now will eventually guide new therapeutic development, he says.

Meanwhile, time marches on.

By the end of 2023, more than 409 million people worldwide had long COVID, according to a recent review coauthored by two cofounders of the Patient-Led Research Collaborative (PLRC) and several prominent long COVID researchers (Nat. Med. 2024; DOI: 10.1038/s41591-024-03173-6). Most of those 409 million contracted COVID-19 and then long COVID after vaccines and antivirals became available. That fact undercuts the notion that the condition results only from severe cases of COVID-19 contracted before those interventions existed. (Vaccination and treatment with antivirals do correlate with a lower incidence of long COVID but don’t prevent it outright.)

“There is that narrative that long COVID is over,” says Hannah Davis, cofounder of the PLRC and a coauthor of the review, who has had long COVID since 2020. “I think that’s fairly obviously not true.”

The few biotech companies that have taken matters into their own hands, like Aim, are often reduced to small study sizes with limited time frames because they can’t get outside funding.

InflammX Therapeutics, a Florida-based ophthalmology firm headed by former Bausch & Lomb executive Brian Levy, started testing an anti-inflammatory drug candidate called Xiflam after Levy’s daughter came down with long COVID. Xiflam is designed to close connexin 43 (Cx43) hemichannels when they become pathological. The hemichannels, which form in cell membranes, would otherwise allow intracellular adenosine triphosphate (ATP) to escape and signal the NLRP3 inflammasome to crank up its activity, causing pain and inflammation.

InflammX originally conceived of Xiflam as a treatment for inflammation in various eye disorders, but after Levy familiarized himself with the literature on long COVID, he figured the compound might be useful for people like his daughter.

InflammX set up a small Phase 2a study at a site just outside Boston. The trial will enroll just 20 participants, including Levy’s daughter and InflammX’s chief operating and financial officer, David Pool, who also has long COVID. The study is set up such that participants don’t know if they’re taking Xiflam or a placebo.

Levy says the company tried to communicate with NIH RECOVER staff multiple times but never heard back. “We couldn’t wait,” he says.

Larger firms are similarly disconnected from US federal efforts. COVID-19 vaccine maker Moderna appointed a vice president of long COVID last year. Bishoy Rizkalla now oversees a small team studying how the company’s messenger RNA shots could mitigate problems caused by new and latent viruses, including SARS-CoV-2. But Rizkalla says Moderna has no federally funded projects in long COVID.

Federal bureaucracy has slowed down research in other ways. When long COVID appeared, Tonix Pharmaceuticals was developing a possible drug called TNX-102 SL to treat fibromyalgia. The two conditions look similar: they’re painful, fatiguing, and multisystemic, and fibromyalgia can crop up after a viral infection.

But it wasn’t easy to design a study to test the compound in long COVID. Among other issues, the US Food and Drug Administration initially insisted that participants have a positive COVID-19 test confirmed by a laboratory, like a polymerase chain reaction test, to be included in the study. At-home diagnostics wouldn’t count.

“We spent a huge amount of money, and we couldn’t enroll people who had lab-confirmed COVID because no one was going to labs to confirm their COVID,” cofounder and CEO Seth Lederman says. “We just ran out of time and patience and money, frankly.”

Tonix had planned to enroll 450 participants. The company ultimately enrolled only 63. The study failed to meet its primary end point of reducing pain intensity, a result Lederman attributes to the smaller-than-expected sample size.

TNX-102 SL trended toward improvements in fatigue and other areas, like sleep quality and cognitive function, but Tonix is moving away from developing the compound as a long COVID treatment and focusing on developing it for fibromyalgia. If it’s approved, Lederman hopes that physicians will prescribe it to people who meet the clinical criteria for fibromyalgia regardless of whether their condition stems from COVID-19.

“I’m not saying we’re not going to do another study in long COVID, but for the short term, it’s deemphasized,” Lederman says.

Abandoned attempts Without more public or private investment, it’s unclear how research can proceed. The small corner of the private sector that has endeavored to take on long COVID is slowly becoming a graveyard.

Axcella Therapeutics made a big gamble in late 2022. The company pivoted from trying to treat nonalcoholic steatohepatitis, a liver disease, to addressing chronic fatigue in people with long COVID. In doing so, Axcella reoriented itself exclusively around long COVID, laying off most of its staff and abandoning other research activities. People in a 41-person Phase 2a trial of the drug candidate, AXA1125, showed improvement in fatigue scores based on a clinical questionnaire (eClinicalMedicine 2023, DOI: 10.1016/j.eclinm.2023.101946), but Axcella shut down before it could get its planned 300-person follow-on study up and running.

The fate of AXA1125 may be to gather dust. Axcella’s former executives have moved on to other pursuits. Erstwhile chief medical officer Margaret Koziel, once a champion of AXA1125, says by email that she is “not up to date on current research on long COVID.” Staff at the University of Oxford, which ran the Phase 2a study, were not able to procure information about the planned Phase 2b/3 trial. A spokesperson for Flagship Pioneering, the venture firm that founded Axcella in 2011, declined to comment to C&EN.

Other firms have met similar ends. Ampio Pharmaceuticals dissolved in August after completing only a Phase 1 study to evaluate an inhaled medication called Ampion in people with long COVID who have breathing issues. Biotech firm SolAeroMed shut down before even starting a trial of its bronchodilating medicine for people with long COVID. “Unfortunately we were unable to attract funding to support our clinical work for COVID,” CEO John Dennis says by email.

Another biotech company, Aerium Therapeutics, did manage to get just enough of its monoclonal antibody AER002 manufactured and in the hands of researchers at the University of California, San Francisco, before it ended operations. The researchers are now testing AER002 in a Phase 2 trial with people with long COVID. Michael Peluso, an infectious disease clinician and researcher at UCSF and principal investigator of the trial, says that while AER002 may not advance without a company behind it, the study could be valuable for validating long COVID’s mechanisms of disease and providing a proof of concept for monoclonal antibody treatment more generally.

“[Aerium] put a lot of effort into making sure that the study would not be impacted,” Peluso says. “Regardless of the results of this study, doing a follow-up study now that we’ve kind of learned the mechanics of it with modern monoclonals would be really, really interesting.”

‘A squandered opportunity’ In 2022, the NIH’s National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID) put about $577 million toward nine research centers that would discover and develop antivirals for various pathogens. Called the Antiviral Drug Discovery (AViDD) Centers for Pathogens of Pandemic Concern, the centers were initially imagined as 5-year projects, enough time to ready multiple candidates for preclinical development. The NIH allocated money for the first 3 years and promised more funds to come later.

The prospect excited John Chodera, a computational chemist at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center and a principal investigator at an AViDD center called the AI-Driven Structure-Enabled Antiviral Platform. Chodera figured that if his team were able to develop a potent antiviral for SARS-CoV-2, it could potentially be used to treat long COVID as well. A predominant theory is that reservoirs of hidden virus in the body cause ongoing symptoms.

But Chodera says NIAID told him and other AViDD investigators that establishing long COVID models was out of scope. And last year, Congress clawed back unspent COVID-19 pandemic relief funds, including the pool of money intended for the AViDD centers’ last 2 years. Lawmakers were supposed to come through with additional funding, Chodera says, but it never materialized. All nine AViDD centers will run out of money come May 2025.

“When we do start to understand what the molecular targets for long COVID are going to be, it’d be very easy to pivot and train our fire on those targets,” says Chanda from Scripps’s AViDD center. “The problem is that it took us probably 2 years to get everything up and going. If you cut the funding after 3 years, we basically have to dismantle it. We don’t have an opportunity to say, ‘Hey, look, this is what we’ve done. We can now take this and train our fire on X, Y, and Z.’ ”

Researchers at multiple AViDD centers confirm that the NIH has offered a 1-year, no-cost extension, but it doesn’t come with additional funds. They now find themselves in the same position as many academic labs: seeking grant money to keep their projects going.

Worse, they say, is that applying for other grants will likely mean splitting up research teams, thus undoing the network effect that these centers were supposed to provide.

“Now what we’ve got is a bunch of half bridges with nowhere to fund the continuation of that work,” says Nathaniel Moorman, cofounder and scientific adviser of the Rapidly Emerging Antiviral Drug Development Initiative, which houses an AViDD center at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

“This was a squandered opportunity, not just for pandemic preparedness but to tackle these unmet needs that are being neglected by biotech and pharma,” Chanda says.

Viral persistence Ann Kwong has been here before. The virologist was among the first industry scientists trying to develop antivirals for hepatitis C virus (HCV) back in the 1990s. Kwong led an antiviral discovery team at the Schering-Plough Research Institute for 6 years. In 1997, Vertex Pharmaceuticals recruited her to lead its new virology group.

Kwong and her team at Vertex developed a number of antivirals for HCV, HIV, and influenza viruses; one was the HCV protease inhibitor telaprevir. She recalls that a major challenge for the HCV antivirals was that scientists didn’t know where in the body the virus was hiding. Kwong says she had to fight to develop an antiviral that targeted the liver since it hadn’t yet been confirmed that HCV primarily resides there. People with chronic hepatitis C would in many cases eventually develop liver failure or cancer, but they presented with other issues too, like brain fog, fatigue, and inflammation.

She sees the same dynamic playing out in long COVID.

“This reminds me of HIV days and HCV days,” Kwong says. “This idea that pharma doesn’t want to work on this because we don’t know things about SARS-CoV-2 and long COVID is bullshit.”

Since January, Kwong has been cooking up something new. She’s approaching long COVID the way she did chronic hepatitis C: treating it as a chronic infection, through a start-up called Persistence Bio. Persistence is still in stealth; its name reflects its mission to create antivirals that can reach hidden reservoirs of persistent SARS-CoV-2, which many researchers believe to be a cause of long COVID.

“Long COVID is really interesting because there’s so many different symptoms,” Kwong says. “As a virologist, I am not surprised, because it’s an amazing virus. It infects every tissue in your body. . . . All the autopsy studies show that it’s in your brain. It’s in your gut. It’s in your lungs. It’s in your heart. To me, all the different symptoms are indicative of where the virus has gone when it infected you.”

Kwong has experienced some of these symptoms firsthand. She contracted COVID-19 while flying home to Massachusetts from Germany in 2020. For about a year afterward, she’d get caught off guard by sudden bouts of fatigue, bending over to catch her breath as she walked around the horse farm where she lives, her legs aching. Those symptoms went away with time and luck, but another round of symptoms roared to life this spring, including what Kwong describes as “partial blackouts.”

Kwong hasn’t been formally diagnosed with long COVID, but she says she “strongly suspects” she has it. Others among Persistence’s team of about 25 also have the condition.

“Long COVID patients have been involved with the founding of our company, and we work closely with them and know how awful the condition can be,” Kwong says. “It is a big motivator for our team.”

Persistence is in the process of fundraising. Kwong says she’s in conversations with private investors, but she and her cofounders are hoping to get public funding too.

On Sept. 23, the NIH is convening a 3-day workshop to review what RECOVER has accomplished and plan the next phase of the initiative. Crucially, that phase will include additional clinical trials. RECOVER’s $1.7 billion in funding includes a recent award of $515 million over the next 4 years. It’s not out of the question that this time, industry players might be invited to the table. Tonix Pharmaceuticals’ Lederman and Aim ImmunoTech’s McAleer will both speak during the workshop.

The US Senate Committee on Appropriations explicitly directed the NIH during an Aug. 1 meeting to prioritize research to understand, diagnose, and treat long COVID. It also recommended that Congress put $1.5 billion toward the Advanced Research Projects Agency for Health (ARPA-H), which often partners with industry players. The committee instructed ARPA-H to invest in “high-risk, high-reward research . . . focused on drug trials, development of biomarkers, and research that includes long COVID associated conditions.” Also last month, Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-VT) introduced the Long COVID Research Moonshot Act, which would give the NIH $1 billion a year for a decade to treat and monitor patients.

It’s these kinds of mechanisms that might make a difference for long COVID drug development.

“What I’ve seen a lot is pharma being hesitant to get involved,” says Lisa McCorkell, a cofounder of the PLRC and a coauthor of the recent long COVID review. “Maybe they’ll invest if NIH also matches their investment or something like that. Having those public-private partnerships is really, at this stage, what will propel us forward.”

Chemical & Engineering News ISSN 0009-2347 Copyright © 2024 American Chemical Society

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 5 - Domestic Life

Synopsis: Gwyn finds comfort in the arms of Azriel after she has a nightmare.

Word Count: 800

Read on Ao3

Deep breath in through the nose. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Now out through the mouth. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Deep breath in through the nose. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Out through the mouth. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

The fog in her mind slowly dissipated. Gwyn heard the faint echoes of Azriel’s voice rising above the pounding of her heart.

Deep breath in. And out. Deep breath in. And out.

She registered his voice guiding her through it before she felt him close to her. She reached out a hand towards where she knew his was waiting, hesitant to touch her lest he made things worse. Azriel knew where her mind had brought her to. There was only one nightmare that could cause Gwyn to scream and beg the way she had been doing a few minutes ago. Her cries had been loud enough to travel through the walls that separated their respective bedrooms in the House of Wind.

Gwyn turned on her side and, with her eyes still closed, grabbed Azriel’s hand with both of hers. The familiar ridges of his scars and his voice reminding her to breathe slowly cleared her head until the phantom touch of rough hands on her body was completely gone.

“You are safe Gwyn,” his deep voice wrapped her and warmed her better than the thin blanket that half covered her.

Azriel brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped her bun and stuck to her sweaty forehead with his free hand before lowering it to her face to wipe away her tears.

“You are in the Night Court, in your bedroom in the House of Wind. You are safe.”

He was right. She wasn’t in that wretched kitchen nor with those monsters anymore. But it wasn’t so much the reminder of the place that she was currently in that reassured her the most. Gwyn couldn’t care less at this moment in what court or what house she was at. What meant the most to her was the person who was now with her. It was those scarred and infinitely gentle hands in hers and caressing her face. It was that voice that had pulled her out of her nightmare. It was his shadows that she knew, even with her eyes still closed, were swirling around her like a shield of darkness. It was that steady and comforting presence that had helped her then, and which was still here for her now.

“Azriel?”

He immediately moved closer at the sound of his name hesitantly coming out of her lips. It pained him to hear the remnants of fear in her voice.

“Can you hold me?” she asked even as she started gliding closer to him.

Azriel would do anything to help her and he obviously would gladly start with that. He pulled his hands away and wrapped his arms around her as he lied down and pulled her closer. Gwyn placed both of her hands on his chest, delighted for the fact that he was shirtless so that she could soak in the warmth radiating from his bare skin.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

She did not need anything else but him holding her. Nothing could make her feel better. Except maybe one thing.

“Hold me tighter,” she said, rubbing her nose on his skin and inhaling his unique scent.

Azriel tightened his arms around her and pulled her even closer.

“Tighter.”

He repeated the gesture. He didn’t stop, squeezing her tighter and tighter until the sound of her giggle pierced a hole in the heaviness that had been hovering in the air.

“Not too tight, Az. I don’t want to run out of air,” she said, her voice slightly muffled from her face being pressed against his chest.

Some of his shadows left the cocoon they had made around them to dance across her neck and shoulder. Azriel chuckled as he loosened a little of his strong hold on her.

The lingering fear from Gwyn’s nightmare vanished with the heavy sigh that she let out once Azriel figured out the perfect way to hold her.

“Just like that. Can you hold me a for moment?”

Azriel kissed the top of her head before resting his own there. “I will hold you for as long as you want me to.”

Gwyn smiled. Her nightmare might have shaken her but it did not matter. She was safe and she was not alone. Nothing could break her. And when she was in the arms of the Shadowsinger, nothing could scare her either.

[nephilimbrute]

ur agents in particular FASCINATE me so so much i love your interpretations of them. could u tell us more about them and their stories? particularly 8, theyre so interesting!!! why do they hate marina? what happened between them and 3? what’s their relationship like with 4? anything you wanna say abt them, i’d love the infodump

omgosh....😇

a few days ago i wrote a thing that like. detailed stuff about major events with 8. i'll paste them here

agent 8 during the entire course of Octo Expansion was extremely shaken up. they couldn't think straight at all, leaving them vulnerable. sanitized cap3 wasn't much different too, she still had some control over herself and she never wanted to fight 8, making the battle between them long and confusing. eventually 8 gave up and walked up to her, ripping the sanitized goop right off her head (which, to cap3, felt like shoving a screwdriver into her eye)

during the inner agent 3 fight, was unconscious, so this was more like a a made-up battle. this 3 (dubbed enigma3) was formed out of cap3's repressed traits of herself and how 8 sees her, rather than being the 3 that 8 saw fight octavio. she's quiet, cold, confusing, and only wants to play mind games with 8. she never really left 8's conscience, but only appears when agent 8 is deathly worried about cap3

after the events of Octo Expansion, 8 absolutely adored marina. they were still a little shy though, so when marina wanted to talk to them they would kind of freak out. marina didn't mind though, and they were able to get to know each other somewhat, with 8 adapting some of marina's traits and behaviors. 8 had nowhere else to go other than sleeping behind crusty sean's food truck and park benches, so pearl let them stay with him and marina for 2 months. after those two months, pearl got in touch with agent 4 via marie (making him fawn all over meeting off the hook) and asked 4 if he could let 8 stay over (since pearl felt like they were watching him in his sleep) and fortunately, 4 said yes

after 8's mind finally clears up they start to question what's wrong with them and feel the weight of overthinking, which sends them spiraling down for the years to come (presumably the effects of tartar messing with their brain). 8 relentlessly questions cap3, rarely leaving her alone, and in turn it affects their relationship with cap3 in a negative way. when asked why they're so curious, 8 goes silent and refuses to answer

(small bit about cap3) cap3 feels like she's at fault for how 8 turned out since they started breaking after OE. she tries to make it up for them but she thinks she's only ruining them. her expectations for herself are set higher and higher, yet nothing she does is good enough. she won't give herself a break, beating herself up over every little detail and being highly critical to the point where she's stuck in a loop of self-destruction and loathing

8 slowly loses their trust in things and those they love, becoming scared and paranoid. it wasn't until side order that this was more prevalent.

in side order (AU), 8 has lost most of their memories, and the moments with the other agents and idols still remain but just barely. 8 is afraid of marina and has a deep dislike for her, but this was due to them not thinking for themself, instead listening to their gut. their brain fog is back more than ever, and whenever they try to walk for prolonged amounts of time they end up stumbling to their knees.

they can no longer tell the difference between reality and fiction. it's all a blur to them. they can feel marina's eyes everywhere. they can barely remember if who or what meant something, anything, to them. though having a deep dislike for marina, they want to be held by her. to be loved like a child. they never ask her of anything, instead just letting it burn into their brain until it breaks them completely. they want attention but they fear they'll be seen as needy and annoying. they want to apologize for everything and be forgiven. 8 doesn't know who is who, they've been copied so much they're just deemed a blank slate to be imprinted on. they watch everything disappear from their hands, unable to do anything about it. from being excited about what's to come in the near future, to being scared about losing the present and wanting to go back to the past

and then here's another little bit about 8 in side order: represents a crumbling mental state, begging for reassurance, desperately trying to hold on to fleeting memories. their trust is lost in everything but they want it all to return to normal, struggling to accept the fact that it never will

then about marina: represents a mother figure somewhat, but even she still fails to live up to that role fully. she distances herself from 8 who is always going after her just to be comforted, yet she denies it for them. she has the same goals as 8, clinging on to the present and never embracing change, but doing so only harms her and others and this behavior continues on and on

+ marina doesn't want to interact with 8 because she sees her younger self in them, she refuses to go back to that era of her life and 8 keeps promising her they'll be what she wanted to be. anything for them to be accepted, to be held in loving arms again. the lack of communication between them makes their relationship even more strained. but clearly marina still cares about 8, they were the only one to be let out of her mind control. she wanted to check on them and make sure they're okay, but what she got in return was someone that hated her

^^ their relationship is basically like this. constantly wanting to communicate with the other but being pushed away, they never fill each other's voids

onto agent 4 and 8... they have a relatively healthy relationship. 4 is 8 (and cap3)'s shoulder to cry on, he always tries his best to help them with whatever. since him and 8 both like off the hook, they'd talk about them non stop. 8 likes to give 4 details about how oth are off-stage since 8 frequently hangs out with them and stuff

4 appears as parallel canon in side order, but instead of other copies of himself, the other robots resemble agent 8 and cap3. they all circle 8 and mock them for forgetting everything about themself and their significant others, much like inner agent 3

nd i don't think i got anything else to say about those 3......that's all^_^ i'm soooo normal i'm normal

[arlathavellan-acotar]

Phantom Pains | II

Fandom: ACOTAR

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Reader: she/her, (3/4-High Fae, 1/4-Tartera), Y/N used

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2.8k

Something is... wrong. Time missing, memories missing, thoughts missing. Wondering where things both big and small disappeared to, like the dress you were working on or even the past seventeen hours of your day. Something is very wrong, and the thought seems to slip your mind as soon as it comes. || Azriel has been a part of your life for years now, and has been courting you since the fall of Hybern. Only, things don't seem to be as simple as you'd both assumed they'd be. It seems someone thought you were the weak link-- the easy ticket to infiltrating the inner circle through its spymaster. And maybe you are.

|| Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist ||

While there hadn’t been a repeat incident, you never could remember what happened during that near hour you had been standing in the street. The next few weeks passed by like a fog, and Azriel was more dutiful than ever when walking you home, even when you assured him you were fine.

Though, of course, he had his responsibilities. Inevitably, he was going to be called in for a mission that would pull him away from you. Which was how you found yourself in this situation.

"Morrigan," you greet, dipping your head slightly.

She takes the basket from your arms just as easily as your Illyrian, a lighthearted laugh lighting up the street. "Please, it's just Mor. Especially since you're going to be seeing a lot more of me."

That piqued your interest. "Oh? Is Azriel alright?"

"He's alright, it's just work. Duty calls." Her expression gives away nothing to the contrary.

The walk is filled with small talk, mostly carried by Mor. You'd only met her twice before, but she carried herself as if the two of you had been friends for years. It was reassuring in a way, keeping your mind off the melancholy that followed you when Azriel was absent. Even your shadows seemed in a good mood, dancing at your feet and twirling around your legs as you walked.

The conversation drifted into stories about the three Illyrians, mildly embarrassing stories you were certain you'd never get from the shadowsinger himself.

"Of course, Cassian would deny everything if you were to ask," Mor jokes, "though Az might come clean if you bat your eyes at him."

You can't stop the giggle from bubbling in your throat, bringing your hand up instead to cover your mouth. "And the High Lord just… let that happen?" You ask, finding your voice.

She sends you a near-conspiratorial look. "Let? Rhys planned it."

This time she joins you in your laughter, and you can't help but wonder the last time you'd felt such a lightness in your chest. As your shop door comes into view, you clear your throat to calm yourself.

"Well, here I am," you say.

Mor adjusts the basket in her arms, motioning for you to lead the way. You weren't too sure what to expect from the woman, but she slipped in easily as you held the door open for her, making her way to the back to set the basket down on your work table.

"Would you like some tea before you leave?" You can see her perk up, sending you a smile over her shoulder.

"I'd like that very much."

-----

The High Lord's cousin is easy company. She seems accustomed to carrying a conversation, and handles any lapses of silence with a careful grace. The look in her eyes, however, occasionally pricks the hairs on the back of your neck.

She's looking for something.

It makes sense, of course. You hadn't had many interactions with Azriel's family, and this was a casual enough situation to try and understand who you are. Even then, there was a nagging at the back of your mind, a feeling of something lurking in the shadows, trying to hide from her gaze.

Whatever her goal, she gives you a warm smile when her cup runs empty.

"I'll let you get some rest," she says, standing smoothly from her spot on your couch.

You rise as well to walk her to the door. "Thank you, for walking me home and keeping me company."

Mor's eyes soften, and her warm hands rest gently on your upper arms. "I do hope you can talk Azriel into bringing you around for dinner. I know everyone would love to officially meet you."

Heat rises to your face, and your shadows react in a swirl at your waist. The cold skin of the back of your hand is all the more apparent as you press it against your cheek, and she smiles at the gesture.

"Please, don't be afraid to let me know if you need anything." She finally lets go with a reassuring squeeze, making her way to the door.

Something in the back of your mind stirs, like a desperate hand reaching out for her from the darkness. But you simply smile with a hand raised in goodbye as she turns around, and it drops as the door shuts.

You find yourself very, very tired.

-----

The next day follows your usual routine as always. Amaria joining you shifted your schedule slightly, but every day still felt the same as the next.

"You know," you joke one evening as the two of you work on mending, "pretty soon I might have enough money to take a vacation. I should have hired another pair of hands sooner."

Amaria laughs, her hands ever steady despite the slight shake of her shoulders. "You wouldn't take a vacation even if you could. You'd miss working too much."

The smile that splits across your face is almost painful as you laugh with her. "I'm serious, Amaria. I'm going to pack a bag and pick a court. Maybe I'll go to Adriata and spend some time by the sea."

"And pick up some new fabrics while you're at it?" She asks. You look up in time to see your friend and co-worker roll her eyes with a slight smile, and a warmth blooms in your chest as she reads you like a book.

"Summer doesn't trade with us like they used to," you defend yourself. "They have beautiful fabric that you can layer easily—"

"—without bunching or overheating," she recites.

After less than a month, it was as if Amaria had been there forever. Her light and airy laughter echoes in your mind, and you wonder how you managed to do this all on your own the past decades.

She carefully folds the shirt she was working on before stacking it in the basket. "Are we doing deliveries tonight?"

Narrowly avoiding pricking yourself as you push your needle through the breeches you're mending, you nod in response. "We'll be closing earlier than usual, I promised Az I would be careful while he's gone."

"Oh?" Amaria says. "Is he away?"

A smile tugs at your lips as you think about him, your shadows twisting around your legs. "For the next few days, yes. Unfortunately, I can't keep him all to myself."

"I don't mind going home on my own if you'd like to be back before dark," she offers.

You shake your head as you tie off your thread. "Nonsense. He's a little overprotective, but I still know the city better than you. The last thing I need is to send you off into the night on your own."

Amaria laughs as she grabs her coat from its hanger on the wall. "Oh, of course not. How will you ever afford your vacation in Summer without your star employee."

Eyes shining in mirth, you shoot her a playfully scathing look. "Exactly! So you'd better keep yourself out of trouble and make us good money."

The two of you laugh, and she picks up her basket as you prepare your own.

The walk around Velaris is calming, especially as you go from the more populated areas to the more residential ones. Conversation with Amaria is light as ever, and you find yourself quietly appreciating the atmosphere of Velaris for most of the walk. You'd lived in Velaris most of your life, and you hoped she would come to love it as much as you did.

Though, of course, you couldn't fault her for the occasional melancholy that fell over her face when she was deep enough in thought. The Night Court was a very long way from Spring, and you couldn't imagine a shift like that. You wondered just how long she had been away from wherever she considered home.

As the two of you come up on her apartment complex, the light of the setting sun breaks through the buildings you're walking past and lights up her pristine braid like strands of copper wire. Her hair is long, the tail of her braid swinging at her hips, and you find yourself captivated by the motion.

You wait under the tree in the courtyard as she bids you good night at her door, and take a deep, steadying breath before adjusting the baskets on your arm and making your way home. For hundreds of years you lived in Velaris on your own, but Azriel seemed to sweep you off your feet in no time. It was like a crucial part of your day was missing if you didn't get to speak with him, as if he'd always been there.

Instead, you find yourself walking home alone.

The setting sun keeps you company, its dwindling warmth settling on your shoulder like a comforting hand. Knowing it won't be gone for some time, you let yourself walk slowly.

When you come up on the shop, a familiar face is waiting for you. She perks up as she notices you, raising a hand in greeting.

"Morrigan," you greet, dipping your head slightly.

Something flickers across her face as she lowers her hand, but it's quickly replaced with a smile. "Are you just coming back from deliveries?"

You raise your baskets slightly with a nod. "I wanted to walk Amaria home, so we left earlier than usual. Would you like to come in for tea?"

Mor seems to relax at the offer, readily agreeing and following you into the shop. Setting your baskets down on the table, you head into the kitchen to make some tea for you both.

"Azriel is due to be back tomorrow," Mor says, making herself comfortable on the stool beside your island counter. "It's almost a shame, one more day and it would have been Cassian's turn to keep an eye on you—he was really looking forward to it."

"I never would have considered that the Inner Circle of our great Court had so much time on their hands," you say lightheartedly, filling your kettle with water. "As much as I appreciate it, I haven't had another episode like that night."

Her voice is soft when she responds next, like she can sense the approach of a sensitive subject as you set the kettle on the burner. "If anything, it gives Azriel some peace of mind and the rest of us the chance to get to know you."

You falter as you open your tea cupboard. Gaze scanning each box, you lift and read labels looking for the container of your favorite evening tea. "That's odd…" you mumble to yourself.

Mor made an inquisitive hum, but you shook your head and grabbed a box of a similar blend to brew instead. "You say Azriel’s returning tomorrow; I assume his mission went well? He’s alright?"

“It did, and he is,” she responds happily, as vague as you expected. “I don’t know much he tells you about what he does—”

“Not much,” you interrupt before she can say more that she should. “I suppose he prefers it that way, and I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Mor laughs lightly, before leaning over the counter to continue. “I hope you don’t take it personally. It’s for your own safety more than anything.”

A heavy fog weighs down on your mind as she continues to reassure you. You’d never doubted Azriel’s intentions in keeping his work secret from you, but for some reason hearing it now has a nagging feeling stirring in the back of your mind. He doesn’t trust you, the voice insists. You need to know. You need to know. The overwhelming sensation nearly drowns you, cut only by the whistling of the kettle. You take a few steadying breaths, blinking to clear your hazy sight as you prepare the tea.

“Are you alright?” Mor asks, concerned.

“Yes, of course. Just a bit tired.” A reassuring smile over your shoulder ends your response.

Though she doesn’t seem too convinced, she doesn’t press the issue. Instead, she redirects the conversation to something lighter. Court politics have never been your thing, but you can easily see how she was the third-in-command of your High Lord. Her presence is comforting, like a tether to the docks keeping you from being swept out into the waves.

As the night dwindles and you try to gather your thoughts, its as if you find one long-lost, shoved under a dusty shelf in your mind. “Oh, your dress!”

She startles at the outburst, but recovers smoothly. “My dress?”

"The dress you commissioned for Starfall! I should have it done by tomorrow night if you wouldn't mind staying for a fitting."

Her brows pinch as she examines your face, and you feel something dark stirring at the back of your mind. "My dress. For Starfall."

Your head tilts slightly as confusion settles in. "Yes, the one you asked for last month? It's felt like I haven't been making any progress on it, but it's nearly done now. Do you still want it?"

Anxiety builds in your chest, squeezing your heart tightly as you try and decipher the expression she's wearing. Suddenly, she's smiling again with her hands clasped in front of her. "Oh, of course! Do you think I could see it now?"

"Absolutely!" The shift in demeanor almost throws you off balance, but you manage to regain your professionalism and return a smile. You lead her back into your workshop, head spinning like you just got off a swing. The backs of your cold fingers press against your forehead as you try to ground yourself, counting the steps to the dress form.

"I wanted to get your input on how the bodice hangs," you start, lifting up the sheet covering the dress. "I know you mentioned you wanted a draping that was loose and flowy, but I was worried the fa—"

"—fabric might snag on my jewelry," she says, breathless.

You perk up as she finishes your concern. "Exactly!" As you turn to see her, however, the harrowed look on her face stops you in your tracks.

Her eyes trail the near-finished dress, and you feel a creeping dread as you clasp your hands together in front of your chest. "Do you… not like it?"

The silence that stretches between you has alarms sounding in your head, as if something horrible is about to happen. A voice in the back of your mind is screaming, cursing the dress, telling you to send her away, get her out now, it’s just a damn dress. Morrigan's gaze meets yours, and it feels as if you're made of stone. "Y/N, how long have you been working on this dress?"

"I… off and on since you ordered it. It isn't finished yet, I know it's—" her hands clasp onto your upper arms gently yet firmly, cutting off your rambling.

Her next question only serves to worsen the cacophony in your mind, your teeth gnashing as you sway on your feet. "How long ago did I order this dress?"

"About a month ago, I think?" Her hands tighten their grip, enough to keep you steady but not enough to hurt. Something about her expression is scaring you, something soft and scared that tells you something is very, very wrong.

“Y/N,” she says, quiet and gentle like talking to a spooked horse. “I need you to come with me. Right now.”

This isn’t working. We’ll try something else, you useless girl.

The pain hits you at once. Jaw clenching, knees buckling, eyes rolling back into your head as you slam your palms into your temples. Just barely, you can hear the sounds of her shouting something incoherent over the tidal wave of screeching in your head. It’s all encompassing, as if you were submerged in it. Something cold and hard supports your body, and you can vaguely make out the grey stone floor pressed into your cheek.

Dark shapes rush towards you, wrapped in a suffocating power you’d never experienced before. You can feel that tell-tale twist in your gut that came from the rare occasion Azriel would winnow with you in tow, and realize Mor had taken you away from the shop. One of the figures stoops down, though you're unable to focus your erratic gaze enough to see their face. A hand covers your eyes, and everything goes quiet. Nothing but your ragged breathing and heart pounding in your head. Then, the feeling of something requesting entry to the forefront of your mind.

Don’t be afraid, Y/N.

Fear grips you regardless as the same manner of voice fills your head as before. But instead of whispering from some dark corner, this one spoke plainly, as though it had no reason to hide. Your chest tightens, and all you can think of is Azriel. He had been so worried that something more had happened to you, but you had brushed off his concerns like always. What had you done?

“Please,” you manage, barely more than an exhale.

I can get them out, if you let me in.

The weight of consciousness leaves you as you succumb to the encroaching darkness.

I will be quick. Rest, Y/N. Azriel will be here when you wake.

----------

Am I just going to pretend it hasn't been about half a year since I posted part one? Yes, because this is about my fifth rewrite of the overarching plot. Thank you for your patience <3

TAGLIST (comment or message to be added/removed)

@pellucid-constellations @horneybeach1 @hyemishii

[albertasunrise]

Back to Reality - Oops Baby

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy 😘)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

You gawked at Ben as the piece of information he'd given you set in. Frankie. Your Frankie thought you were dead. Ben watched you closely as a myriad of emotions flitted across your face. His arms gently bounced Esme as she settled against his firm chest and fell asleep once more. He knew this was a difficult idea to process but he also knew that you had to understand that Frank was delicate right now and needed time to assimilate this world instead of the one he'd been trapped in for weeks.

"Titch?" He piped up after you had been silent a while, his eyes searching your face for any sort of understanding.

"He thinks I'm dead?" You asked and he nodded grimly "What?… How?… What do you mean?"

"When he woke the first time, he was sobbing about how he was going to see 'her' again. Initially, I had thought he meant Mel but it soon became clear it was you he was talking about." Ben answered as he rested his cheek against the crown of Emse's head "The doctor believes that when he was in a coma he was dreaming but aspects of reality trickled in." He continued "So those days we sat by his bedside and you asked him to come back to you, he could hear you. Or I suppose the ghost of you."

You couldn't hold back the sob that fell from your lips. Your heart shattered completely and you sank to the floor as you processed what Ben had said.

"So all that time he's been living in a world where I died and he's had to raise little Esme all alone." It wasn't a question. It was just you stating a simple fact and Ben could do nothing but watch as you fell apart on the clinical hospital floor.

"Titch, I know this is a lot to take in and I know your first instinct is probably to run back in there and try a convince him that this world is real and that you are too but…"

"I know what you're going to say, Ben." You interrupted "He's fragile and we need to be careful with him. I get it!" You snapped "I will stay away."

"That's not what I am saying." Ben groaned as he carefully lowered himself onto the ground beside you, his large hand cradling Esme's head as he slid down the lino-covered wall "He just needs a few days to adjust. He's been in a coma for close to two months. He's confused and it's going to take a few days for the fog to clear. So perhaps we ease him into this gently."

You nodded, knocking a few tears loose with the action and Ben smiled as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"He's back with us Titch and he's getting better." Ben stated as he nuzzled the downy hair on Esme's head "You and him and Esme are going to be a family but he's still got a road ahead of him."

You nodded, taking Ben's free hand in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"We just need to help him walk it. At whatever pace he can manage."

The next few days were torture. You avoided the hospital like the plague, handing Emse off to Ben each day so that he could take her to see Frankie. You knew he was going to try and get Frankie to come around to the fact that you are real. That this isn't a dream but Frank was out of it during his visits. They had kept him mildly sedated in order to keep him calm as he got used to being awake. Ben and Will watched as his awareness slowly but surely ebbed its way through. Fish became a little more coherent with each visit.

"You think you feel up to holding her today?" Asked Ben as he took the bottle of water Frankie had been sipping from off of the man and placed it on the table "She seems smaller than I remember." The man said and Ben shared a look with Will.

"Remember what we talked about yesterday Catfish?" Will asked as he perched on the bed "You've been sleeping for a while and what you remember of Esme was a dream."

Frank's brows drew together as he tried to remember the conversation in question. Things were still so fuzzy. Memories felt heavy but he tried to figure out which ones were real and which ones were just a coma-induced fantasy.

"Who's been taking care of Esme whilst I've been gone?" He asked, his voice quiet and uncertain as his eyes flitted between the two Miller brothers.

"Titch has been." Ben stated "She woke up a few days after you had your heart attack." He continued as he placed his hand on his friend's and squeezed in in a reassuring gesture "She really wants to see you… She's missed you like crazy."

Frank just closed his eyes and shook his head as a few silent tears slipped down his flushed cheeks "Why would you say that to me." He choked "Why give me hope when there isn't any."

"Fish I am telling you the god's honest truth." Ben urged "Titch didn't die. It was all a dream."

"Ben." Will piped up, giving his younger brother a look that silently said 'That's enough.'

"I would like to hold my daughter now." Frankie stated plainly and Benny nodded, smiling down at little Esme as he scooped her up and placed her into her father's waiting arms.

The pilot beamed as he looked down at his daughter and it was the first time in days that either Miller brother had witnessed genuine joy from the older man.

"Hello, princessa." He cooed as he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose "You are so pretty." He resumed as he stroked her plump cheek with the tip of his pointer finger "Just like your mumma."

"Titch is such a natural with her man." Ben beamed as he watched the scene unfold "Seems to know what Esme wants before she even cries. It's mad." He chuckled but Frankie didn't look at him. Didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken.

Ben's shoulders visibly shrank at that.

Will motioned for Ben to follow him as he stood from where he had perched on the bed and made his way out into the hall, letting the pilot know they'd be back in a moment before stepping far enough away that they were out of earshot.

"I think we need to bring Titch to visit." Will stated plainly.

"But he still doesn't believe she's alive." Ben argued, glancing at the man through the glass wall of his cubical before returning his attention to Will.

"He's stable. The doctor said today that his vitals are strong and he's confident that the worst is behind." Will stated as he scraped a hand over his short blonde hair "I think it's time we bring her here. So that he can see for himself that she's alive and well."

"I don't know Will." Ben replied, shaking his head as he thought about it "You remember how he was last time he saw her."

"He had just woken up from a 7-week coma and he was confused." Wil growled "He is now awake, lucid and talking so I think now is the time to rip that bandaid off. We're gonna need to eventually"

Ben nodded. He knew his brother was right. Frankie was going to have to see you at some point and he had promised you that it was a few days that Fish needed to get himself used to this reality. Well, those 'few days' had long passed.

"Fine." Ben conceded "I will bring her with me tomorrow when I come to see him with Titchy." He replied "You're right."

"I know." Will teased as he gave his bother a friendly pat on the arm "Happens more often than you think."

"Shut up." Ben grumbled before they returned to the pilot's room.

"Are you sure about this Ben?" You asked as he led the way to Frankie's room.

When he had said it was time you visited with him and Esme you had been sceptical. You didn't want to go through another ordeal like the one you had experienced before. In just over a week you had witnessed him go into cardiac arrest and then wake up and beg you to leave him alone.

You weren't sure how much more your heart could take.

"Will said that it's time we rip that bandaid off and I agree." He stated simply as they came to the ICU "He's stable and getting stronger every day so I think it's time he starts to get used to the idea that you are very much alive and kicking."

"Your arse if this doesn't go well." You added and he chuckled.

"Fair enough."

You stopped outside Frankie's cubicle and noted he was sleeping and you felt yourself grow more and more nervous by the second. Ben didn't need to look at you to see this.

"I will go in, and let him know he has a visitor. Give me a few minutes okay?" He said softly as he placed a comforting hand on your arm "I'll wave at you to come in when he's ready okay?"

You simply nodded and watched as Ben stepped inside the glass room, his smile growing wide as Frankie's eyes cracked open and fixed on him.

…

"How are you feeling this morning brother?" He asked as he sat himself down beside his friend.

"Little stronger today." The pilot answered and Ben grinned at his reply.

"That's good Fishcakes." He chucked when the pilot groaned at the nickname "Feeling up to a visitor?" He asked and Frankie gave him a perplexed look "Titch is here." Ben stated and Frankie's eyes widened "She really wants to see you." He finished as he looked over his shoulder at you stood in the ward as you fidgetted with your hands.

Frankie's eyes followed Ben's and his eyes widened further as he saw you standing there.

"You can see her?" He asked Ben and the younger man chuckled.

"Course I can."

"She's really there?" He asked and Ben just smiled at him sweetly and nodded before motioning to you to come in.

You nervously stepped inside. Esme's carrier in one hand and the other pushing the glass door open. Your eyes never left Franks. Not even when you placed the carrier down on the floor beside you. The two of you just stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Ben finally spoke up.

"I'll leave you two to catch up." He said as he picked up Esme "We're gonna go say hi to Esme's fans… Aren't with Titchy." He said as his voice adopted that high-pitched tone that was only for her.

Neither of you looked away as he left. You just continued to stare like it had been years rather than weeks without seeing or speaking to each other. When you couldn't take the silence anymore you spoke up whilst taking a seat at his bedside.

"How are you doing?" You asked, your voice quiet and timid as you searched his face for something.

"Stronger." He replied simply and you nodded "Still confused."

"I bet." You replied, trying to lighten the mood that had settled over the room "I'm so happy you're awake."

"Am I?" He asked and it was your turn to look confused "What if this is some sort of coma-induced dream?"

"Frankie-"

"How do I know that this isn't just my dying brain showing me what it is I want to see?"

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks as you and him just continued to stare at each other.

"I want to believe this is real." He hicupped as his own tears started to fall "I want to believe that the woman I love is alive and sitting right in front of me but I can't."

"I am real." You urged as you grabbed his hand and brought it to your face "Does this feel real to you?"

"Everything there felt real too!" He stated as he snatched his hand away "The pain… The heartbreak… All of that felt so real."

You sobbed loudly then as he continued.

"The pain I felt when that car struck me… it was so real. The pain of not being able to breathe as I lay there dying felt so real and I…" He trailed off but you knew what he was going to say.

He had been ready to die.

"What can I do to convince you that this is real?" You sobbed as you hugged yourself.

"I don't know." Frankie answered honestly "I don't want to accept this, that you are here right now, alive and well only for me to wake up one day in a different hospital bed and realise that it wasn't real. I can't lose you again."

"That's not going to happen!" You pleaded but he just shook his head.

"I wish I could believe that."

You were saved by the Ben.

The younger Miller strolled in with a grinning Esme in his arms and you quickly wiped away your tears and schooled your features.

"Titchy here is quick the chick magnet." Ben chuckled as he bounced her and she smiled widely as she shyly shoved her head in his chest "Awe… You weren't all shy a minute ago."

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to willingly babysit when I go back to work?" You chuckled and the man just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Because I'm an amazing uncle?"

"That you are." You said fondly as you took Esme from him "Time for someone's lunch you said as you sat down again and pulled down your tank top. Smiling as Esme eagerly latched to your breast and started to suckle.

Ben watched a moment in fondness before his eyes travelled over to Frankie who was watching in awe. His eyes were red and teary. From what, Ben wasn't sure but he did wonder if it was partly due to the beautiful spectacle of you breastfeeding Titchy.

He had been able to sense as soon as he walked in that your reunion hadn't been what you had hoped. So instead of prying, he tried to bring some joy and Titchy was nothing but pure joy in his eyes. He knew that both you and Frankie would talk about what had happened when you were ready. He wasn't going to push the subject. He knew this was going to take time and he was there for the ride.

So in the following weeks, You visited with Ben, hoping that each visit would bring him around to the idea that you were alive and that this wasn't some fever dream.

Then when the doctor announced that Frankie was well enough to go home, Ben helped you move into the pilot's house. You had figured he would be more comfortable in his own environment but he still needed help. He was getting stronger every day but he still had days where he felt rough and bone tired.

"Can I get you anything else?" You asked as you walked into the lounge and placed the freshly brewed coffee you'd made for him down on the table beside him.

Today was one of Frank's worse days. But he hadn't wanted to stay cooped up in bed. So you had helped him to the couch that you had set up with pillows and soft blankets. Esme was now napping on his bare chest, skin-on-skin time being something he had demanded the moment he had gotten home. You couldn't help but glance at the large scar between his pectorals. It was healing well but still looked pink and slightly angry. It was a clean cut. Almost a perfect straight line, right down the centre of his chest. The surgeon had said he was sure that with time, the scar would fade to the point that he almost wouldn't notice it but Frankie hadn't really cared all that much.

He was littered with scars from battle after all.

"No, thank you." Frankie replied as he glanced up at you and smiled before returning his attention to the drooling baby on his chest "She's so perfect." He stated as you sat down on the armchair across from him "I still can't believe that you and me made her."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." You chuckled "I still have to pinch myself on the daily because I can't believe she's real." You flinched at your statement, internally scorning yourself for your choice of words but Frank didn't appear to be phased.

"I hope she is." Was all he said as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, smiling sweetly at his precious angel.

You watched him for a while. Admiring how much of a natural he was with her. Since getting him back home you had started to express, allowing him to do some of the feeds whilst you cooked or cleaned, whatever needed doing.

Frankie did what he could on the days he felt well enough but on the days that he didn't you know he was torturing himself. He hated how weak he felt. This was a man who had never been afforded the opportunity to be weak. He was expected to be strong every day of his life. To walk away from battle even if he'd taken a bullet to the leg.

"I never told you how wonderful Esme Nursery is!" You said after a little while "You didn't such a wonderful job. Especially as you were squeezing it in between caring for her and visiting me in the hospital."

This made Frankie pause and he blinked up at you as he studied you closely.

"Ben told me that if you weren't with me at the hospital or caring for Esme, you were spending every waking moment getting that nursery finished."

"I had to keep myself distracted." He replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he remembered how every time he'd closed his eyes, he pictured you as your face paled and your eyes had drooped. The alarms had rung in his ears for days.

"I know it must have been really hard for you, Fish." You said softly as you gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Not as hard as it's been for you." You didn't react to this.

This was the first time he'd acknowledged you and what you had likely been through whilst he'd been in a coma. He had still been weary of believing you were real. The odd comment here or there making it clear to you that he still didn't believe this was real.

But you could see that he wanted to.

"I don't want this to end." He whispered, so quietly that you almost missed it but you didn't.

"It won't." You replied with a smile.

Frankie glanced at you and noted a new expression you'd not seen before. Something that almost looked like hope so you hoped that your next statement would give him that.

"We're here to stay."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[rowenasdarling]

Day 4: Fog.

another fic using the “fog” prompt for day 4 selfshiptober. this one is set in my witch’s familiar au!

The call had been strong, insistent; impossible to ignore both for its magnitude and for the curiosity such magnitude is wont to evoke. I pad through the night, barely visible amongst shadows, sleek black in entirety except for the glinting green of my eyes which reflect a ghostly yellow through the fog. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know it’s the right way. I hope I’m the first one there. I hope whoever I find deems me worthy of the bond.

A woman with red hair sits at a table on her porch, one leg crossed over the other, sipping from an ornate teacup. Waiting. There’s an almost tangible ripple of energy around her. She’s the one I seek. And with no other hopefuls in sight, it seems I do have a chance to claim my prize, should she find me fit for purpose.

I sit at the bottom of the porch steps, tail curled around paws, looking up at her patiently. Patience is important; no witch wants a demanding familiar. Obedience, good temperament, willingness to serve. She notices me a moment later and a slow smile grows on her face.

“Felt the call, did you, dear?”

My head tilts slightly and I blink once, slowly. I don’t move from where I sit. If this goes well, I’ll be doing a lot of waiting for her to command me, so I might as well get a head start.

“Aye, thought so,” she continues, taking my obedience as confirmation. “Come here, then. Let me see you.”

As bidden, I trot up the steps and make my way towards her, then jump up onto the spare chair - she can get a proper look at me without hunching down this way. Her brows quirk in something like amusement and she gives me a once over. She reaches out, offering her hand, which I bunt gently; something about her touch feels right as she rewards me with a quick scratch behind the ear, but I withhold a purr. I don’t want to come on too strong.

“Well, you certainly look up to snuff this way,” she says, and I sit up a little straighter at the praise. “Show me the other.”

A light mist semi-obscures my form from vision as it twists, contorts, grows into something else. When it clears, dissipating into the evening fog, I sit opposite her passably human rather than passably feline, though I'm truly neither.

The witch’s gaze gives nothing away, but I'm careful not to squirm under her scrutiny. It’s a test, the whole thing. And she won’t have me if I don’t meet her standards.

“Have you had a witch before?” she asks.

“Never,” I reply, concise and to the point.

“But you’re willing?”

“I am. I will accept the bond if you offer it.”

I cringe internally at my eagerness, which could easily translate as desperation. Which it is, in a way; I'm verging towards the latter end of the acceptable age for a familiar to remain unclaimed and I'm keen to remedy it. Be that as it may, some witches don’t want desperate.

This witch, though, doesn’t seem put off. In fact, it almost looks like there’s something akin to triumph behind her eyes, but it could just be a trick of the light.

“My name is Rowena.”

“Rowena...” I repeat it back to her and notice how easily the syllables fall from my mouth.

“Mm,” she hums in approval, “and yours?”

The final test. Rowena doesn’t seem like some infant witch having her first dabble in the arts. She must know a familiar is nameless until its witch bestows upon it a designation.

“You tell me,” I reply.

The right answer, if her pleased smile is anything to go by.

“Hm. I think you’ll do nicely.”

tag list: @astral-express-family @dykenastasyafilippovna @bladedragonslayer @skyliv @hermitkisser @remedy-ships-it @tinplanets @cowsuponcows @lipsticklens @tothemoon-ships @winters-witch24

pls DNI if you post inc3st in any form whether fictional or not !!!

[vallanoux]

𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚. - 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝟒

ps: chapter 4! it's nearly 12 pages <3

The very next day, (name) walks out of her room, feeling groggy, but well-rested enough for another day. Similar to the night prior, she doesn’t let herself think too much about her situation, and rather focuses on the present. What she wished to be nothing more than just a made up dream was real. (name) (surname) really did get transmigrated into Hazbin Hotel after being killed by an insane fan. 

A shiver crawls down her spine. (name) wraps her hands around herself and squeezes her forearms tight, “you can do this… just like always. You’re known to make the best improvisations when things go wrong on stage. This is- This is nothing different from a stage gone wrong, yeah?” 

(name) forces herself to believe in what little confidence she has left, and knocks on Lucifer’s bedroom door. It takes him a while to respond. 

“(name), is that you?” He calls, then, in a more hushed voice meant for only him to hear, he continues, “of course it would be… Who else would it be, you idiot?” 

After turning into a.. bat human? Bat demon? Eh, not too sure, and not that it matters.. But.. all of (name)’s senses had improved far beyond that of an average human. What she normally wouldn’t have heard as a human, she could hear as clear as day. 

“Yes, it’s me! You promised that you’d teach me more about my powers? Is it too early? I’ll go if you still want to be alone.”

“Teaching..? Powers..?” He confusedly mutters to himself. It takes him a while to realize what (name) was talking about. The brain fog that clogged his mind constantly deteriorated his memories, barely ever letting anything sit right and firm in his mind. 

Then, the door bursts open, revealing the King of Hell bearing a bright grin on his face, “I remember!” 

It broke (name)’s heart to see him happy over such a small thing as remembering. Under the stress of mental fatigue, day-to-day tasks that should have come by easily no longer did. The body, because of the mind, loses its innate ability to care for itself. With a hopeless overseer, what would push its dependents to work? Nothing. Nonetheless, she musters up an encouraging expression for Lucifer, “yes, you remembered. Thank you, Lucifer.” 

Pleasantly surprised that (name) hadn’t questioned his poor memory, he excitedly grabs her hand and pulls her close. He uses his powers to teleport the both of them to the rooftop of his castle. 

And, there it was again. Pressed up against him and so close to the crook of his neck, she smells it. The deliciously sweet scent of musk and cinnamon apple pie that would make anyone ravenous. Heat prods at the shell of her ears, painting them rosy in color. 

When they arrived, the Broadway talent hurriedly got out of Lucifer’s grasp, “and here we are!” 

“That must've been too close, sorry. I got a little too excited.” He dorkily rubs the back of his head. “It’s just been a while since I’ve gone flying––or taken anyone flying!” 

“It happens.” (name) stares at the vast expanse of nothingness that stretches endlessly right outside of pentagram city. There was nothing but hard, sharp, rocky stones. “Is there really nothing out there?” 

“Save for a few demons who try to find peace and quiet out there, not really. It’s not livable.” Lucifer explains. “Why, you want to go there?” 

“Just curious, and... would you mind using some more of your magic? I’m only wearing a nightgown and it’s very, very chilly up here.” She shivers as a gust of wind blows past her. “And not to mention, a nightgown is very unideal for flight. I might flash people.”  

Lucifer looked so disappointed in himself when (name) pointed both things out. He slumps and waves his apple scepter to change her outfit into something much more comfortable. “How could I forget again? There you go.” 

“What matters is that you’ve actually done it when I asked,” she tilts her head and gives Lucifer a concerned expression. “You're giving yourself standards you’re bound to fail, and that’s healthy for no one. Not everyone can notice everything.” 

“You’re right. It’s just that I used to be a lot more observant, is all.” He allows himself to remain downcast for a couple more seconds, then he lets himself brighten up if only just a bit. “It's because you're that much of an important guest to me. The first guest I’ve had in ages.” 

“You’re already plenty good to me.” (name) lets her wings stretch out in the wind, enjoying the feeling of air slipping and gliding across her outstretched wings. “I’m satisfied, so you don’t have to worry about it in the future.” 

The Broadway talent turns around and offers him a hand, “for now, teach me how to fly!” 

Eagerly, he takes her hand and brings her right to the very edge of the castle’s pointed roof––it’s highest point. “The winds are a bit strong today. Maybe we shouldn’t learn this now? We can wait until the wind is steadier. What about we learn about your other powers instead?” 

(name) lifts a hand and feels the strong breeze, “I’m new to this, so I have no clue what you’re talking about. But don’t they say it’s best to learn from difficulty? Pressure either makes or breaks you, and so far, I'd say it's made me.” 

“You... have a point, but still, I'm worried. Though, you sound confident in yourself, so I'll trust you. You don’t mind if I touch your wings, right?” Lucifer maneuvers to her back.

“Nope, go ahead.” (name) shrugged. 

“Well, these things tend to be very sensitive. Especially on the base.” His hands glide to the tips of (name)’s wings. He pats them down, keeping them neatly folded.  “Don’t leave them open when you’re walking around, you’ll bump into things easily, and air resistance will make them feel heavier.” 

She shivers at the sensation of his cool fingers tracing across her wings, fixing her posture. A purr rises up her throat, but she stops it right where it starts. She wouldn't allow herself to put on such an embarrassing display.  I shouldn’t let anyone touch them freely in the future. That’s dangerous. 

Unaware of the Broadway talent’s inner struggles, Lucifer continues on. “There are two ways to take off depending on where you need to fly from. Ground take offs require more effort, which is why we’ll learn them later. Taking off from higher grounds is easier since the winds are stronger. Stronger winds means you can catch them easily, and glide with them. It's common to start by jumping with your wings tucked, then when you feel enough wind pushing against you, you spread your wings wide to catch the wind. Since my wings are different from yours, I don’t know much about what happens after in the air. According to the texture of your wings, I'm sure to keep yourself flying, you'll have to flap them a lot more than me. My wings are good for gliding and long flights while yours are very agile and good for sharp turns."

“Woah, Professor Lucifer~” (name) teased him. “Getting into the zone, aren’t you? You're certainly very knowledgeable.” 

Lucifer’s cheeks flush at her teasing. He giggles softly and averts his gaze, “well.. I used to teach the young ones how to fly way back when. They were very cute and fuzzy little things, like ducklings!” 

“That’s very sweet of you,” (name) compliments. “Now I’m very confident that you won’t let anything bad happen to me. I’m in good hands.”

For some reason, at (name)'s bold statement, Lucifer’s disposition straightens, and his lighthearted tone irons to firmness, “trust me. Nothing will happen to you when I’m here.” 

He falls into silence, so she takes the time to earnestly look into his eyes, and she sees that there’s something terribly wrong. A spark of a storm whirling in his eyes, that shined and for a brief moment, looked past (name) and everything behind her. 

Before she could speak up on her concerns, he broke out of his inward dilemma and held out both hands for her to take, “take my hands, (name). I’ll show you how to fly.” 

She takes his hands and looks at him, waiting for more instructions, “and?” 

Lucifer lets his wings show, spreading from their furled state. “I’m going to create a gust of wind for you, and you try to catch it, okay?” 

He flaps his wings and a strong gust of wind blows past her. (name) stretches her wings out, attempting to catch the wind as he said she would. It came by naturally to her, as if it was second nature. A bright grin breaks onto her lips, curling up and wide onto her features. Her eyes glinted with light, the brightest Lucifer had ever seen from her–– and dear, oh dear was it an addicting expression he wishes to see more often. Wishes to be the reason of. 

“I’m doing it! I’m really doing it!” She cheers brightly, her now rounded, almost childlike (e/c) eyes held at attention with Lucifer's own yellow ones. 

“Yes, yes you are.” He says with such tender endearment it makes (name) freeze. 

She knew well enough to know that the endearment in his voice wasn’t directly addressed to her. Rather, to someone else he used to hold so dearly. Yet, to know that she made him feel such a glimpse of such a strong, positive emotion was enough to cause the small twinge of guilt in her chest to eat her alive. 

As her focus was averted away from her wings, they were left open wide, blowing her back onto the roof and pulling Lucifer down along with her. Lucifer reacts quickly. He uses his wings and wraps them around (name) and himself tightly, securing her in a protective embrace. He also places his hand behind her head and presses her head to his chest to prevent any whiplash. Lucifer, bless his sweet soul, had secured her so well as that when impact hit, it felt completely painless to (name).  

Still, from all the movement and spinning, her head spun in circles and made it so that it was hard to respond properly to Lucifer, whom immediately hoisted her up and began fussing over her, checking for injuries. He looked so frightened when he was checking her, as if he’d done something terribly, criminally wrong. 

His eyes shift to the Broadway talent’s. His worry dies down, replaced by a little hint of anger and a lot of exasperation. He reaches to pinch her cheek and scolds her,  “(name)? Why did you stop? That was a very dangerous thing for you to do! You don’t get distracted when you’re flying unless you want to fall and die, or at least experienced enough to recover from a nasty incident.” 

He locks her gaze. (name), to her own regret, quips back before she could stop herself, “well, I wasn’t the only one who was distracted.” 

Her eyes widen and she immediately apologizes, “sorry, I didn’t mean that at all.” 

Rather than the angered response she was expecting, Lucifer looks downcast and forlorn. “You’re right. I was stuck reliving some memories I should’ve let go by now. You’re not––you’re not who I wished you were, and it’s wrong for me to treat you like someone else just because you’re similar. It must’ve been off-putting to have someone you hardly know stare at you like that.” 

His gaze meets (name)’s again, “but that still doesn’t change that you almost hurt yourself, you know?” 

“I know, Lucifer. I let it get to me a bit too much.” (name) admits. “I”m sorry, for the person you lost.. Whoever it was.” 

Although I already know who and why... Heaven, Lilith, Eve... how could you do this to him?

“Thank you,” he mutters. “I appreciate it. More than you know.” 

“Are you this nice to me because I remind you of that person? Because if that’s the case... It’d be hard accepting what isn’t mine.” Although (name) knew her words could completely stop all the good will she would be receiving from Lucifer, it was the right thing to do. She couldn’t bear the guilt of fooling someone so extraordinarily kind like Lucifer. Like I did before… 

“No, I genuinely care for you, (name).” He shakes his head. “I care for you since you’re my… first friend in decades. We’re friends, right..?” 

(name) couldn’t deny the hopeful shine in his eyes, “yes, my very first friend in Hell.” 

Lucifer, at that point, was nothing but sparkles and rainbows. He gives a cheer and squishes her in a very, very tight hug whilst rubbing his cheek against (name)’s. So soft.. And so very squishy. 

Taking her chance, she whispered into Lucifer’s ear, "as someone with issues letting go of the past, I get you. But don’t let it eat you alive. Don’t make that mistake. Because that's what.. Landed me here. At least, I’d assume so.” 

For the first time in years, (name) lets the mask fall if only for a moment; the thin veil gone, and the performance was put on break. (name) never wanted to admit it, but her career as one of the most prestigious Broadway talents had devoured her whole. Took her heart, ate it on a silver platter, shit it out and forced it right back into her mouth for her to swallow and choke on in one endless, insufferable cycle. Most her life had been nothing but a comfortable lie. 

The very next second, she finds herself laughing, because really, how ironic was it that the first time she chose to be honest wasn’t when she was alive, but rather dead in Hell, and to the King of Hell himself? Who, like her, was burdened far more by his past than he would ever show. 

“I’m not laughing because it’s funny. More so that I haven’t been this honest in ages.” (name)'s laugh mellows down. “It’s a nice feeling.” 

“I’m glad you feel as if I’m someone you can be honest around,” Lucifer mumbles gently as he pats her back. “I try not to think about it, but it ends up being a double-edged sword since I hardly remember anything.” 

“I’m sorry,” (name) whispers back. There was nothing she herself could do to change the situation, or make it any better. All she can give is a well-natured, earnest wish. “I hope it gets better.” 

“It just might,” he pulls away and steals a glance at (name). “Why don’t we move on and try flying practice again? Or are you feeling unwell after the fall?” 

“No, you’re right. Let’s not sour the mood.” (name) tries to get up, but right before she does lift herself, she realizes that she was in a rather precarious position with Lucifer. “Um.. Lucifer?” 

She steals a glance at his wings that were still tightly wrapped around her to give him a hint. It takes a while for Lucifer to realize, but once he does... the poor man combusts. His entire face was now a similar color to his natural red circular accents on his cheek. In (name)’s fair opinion, it was absolutely adorable to see him turn all red and blushy. Really, the cutest, most adorable sight. 

(name) laughs at Lucifer, who looks like he’s on the verge of fainting from embarrassment. Her laughter probes him to unwrap his wings and scramble off of her. However, still a true gentleman by nature, he offers her a hand with his gaze turned away, too flustered to look directly at into her eyes. 

She takes his hand with a grin as he helps her up, “let’s practice flying, shall we?”

She only holds his hand for a brief moment before letting go. She then rushes to the top of the roof, leaving Lucifer behind, and before he could stop her, she jumps off with a large, taunting grin on her face. 

“Catch me if you can!” The Broadway talent calls as she dives off the tallest point of the castle, with her wings tucked in to increase the speed of her fall. 

“(name)!” Lucifer was quick on his feet, immediatley rushing off the tower and jumping after her. 

His wings furl around him, and he holds an outstretched hand to catch her. His eyes narrowed, brows knitted together and his smile pressed into a thin, almost downward line, solely focussed on saving (name). And, right before she would be pierced by a large, pointed rock that would have definitely made a skewer out of her, Lucifer swoops her into his arms. 

“You’re seriously the most reckless person I know! Why would you do that?” Lucifer was reasonably extremely angered. 

“Because no matter what, I knew you’d catch me.” She holds his gaze with more certainty and confidence than she’s ever worn her entire life. 

What looked to Lucifer as a purely reckless decision on (name)’s part was instead a purely calculated move performed by the Broadway talent meant to create this very scene––meant to reinvigorate Lucifer’s faith in himself that he could indeed protect what was important. 

Struggling to find it in himself to stay angry, the corners of his lips twitch upward, “I’ll catch you, always. No matter how many times you fall.” 

The fruits of both Lucifer and (name)’s labor proved to be fruitful. After (name)’s “reckless” trust fall, as Lucifer called it, she was able to properly learn how to fly. 

“I’m so proud of you! You’re a natural flier for sure,” Lucifer had a cute, dopey smile on his face that egged (name)’s urges to pinch his cheeks. She looks away to refrain herself from doing as such. 

“What can I say? It must be my bat instincts kicking in.” She bites into the food plated right in front of her. 

The pair, noticing that it had gotten quite late, returned to the castle for dinner. That day, from morning until late, had been filled with nothing but flying, obviously tiring out (name). On the other hand, Lucifer claimed to be completely full and surprisingly, energized. 

“Demons don’t need to eat. I’m curious why you’re hungry, actually.” He gazes at her plate with interest. “But what you cooked definitely looks delicious.” 

“Because it is delicious.” (name) proudly grins. “A recipe my friend shared with me back from Earth.” 

“Ah, how wonderful,” he rests his chin on his hands, keeping his attention on me. “Do you also want to learn about your other powers today? Or another?” 

“No, today is good. It’d be nice to get everything out of the way first. But.. How are we going to do that? Aren’t my powers just something I figure out along the way? I heard experiencing mentally stressful situations would urge someone to figure out their powers. That’s what the book said in the library!” 

“The book isn’t wrong,” Lucifer nervously chuckles. “But it is oddly a very scary way to find out your own powers. Instead, I can just do it for you with my magic.” 

“Wait, really? You can do that?” She looks at Lucifer with big eyes.

“(name), you seem to forget that it’s the King of Hell you’re talking to. Of course I can do it!” He crosses his arms and puffs his chest proudly. 

You literally can’t blame me. You’re so dorky, so cute, so squishy, so mushy, so AAAA- (name) takes a deep breath to stop her inner dialogue and to mask her rather questionable thoughts, she stuffs her face with more of her own cooking. 

“Well, you don’t exactly radiate that energy, do you? You’re very cute.” 

“M- Me? I’m cute?” 

“Totally.” 

Lucifer takes off his hat and buries his face in it, letting out muffled whines, “you can’t say that to me!” 

“But I can.” (name) leans in closer. “Cause you’re my friend now.” 

“I regret it already.” He groans. 

“Aww, no you love me.” She coos in return, which causes Lucifer to bury his head further into his hat. The poor snake that was wrapped around his hat slithered off, questioningly booping Lucifer to see if he was alright. “See? My point stands both here and in court.” 

“Aghhh!” Lucifer slumps and completely goes still. 

(name) looked at him with a raised brow, “you good?” 

“Fine..” He manages to get out. He straightens his back and wears his hat again, finished recollecting himself. “Just give me your hand and I can already tell what type of magic you have.” 

Thinking nothing of it, the Broadway talent reaches her hand over the table. What she least expected to happen, happened. Lucifer takes her hand and intertwined his fingers in between hers, pressed his palm against her own and gently squeezed her hand. He proceeds to pull her closer to himself. 

“Two can play at this game.” He looks at me with a half lidded gaze, the edges of his lips curled up into a devious, taunting smirk. 

“Oh, you devil.” (name) lifts up her other hand to hide her face and casts her glance aside. 

“I quite literally am, amicus meus,” he giggles and he gives my hand another squeeze, which he proceeds to let go seconds after. “Okay, I know your powers now.” 

“Really? You weren’t.. completely messing around?” (name) lifts her gaze cautiously, afraid she’d be duped again. 

“Really. And by the looks of it, you have interesting powers! Much like that of a demon.. So it almost makes me wonder more than anything else how you even have divinity in you in the first place. And it’s even more curious that you don’t know the answer-” 

(name) finds Lucifer’s tendency to ramble extremely endearing. She waits until he finishes before she says her piece, “I know, it’s a little weird. Though, could you tell me about my powers, please? I’m curious” 

“Oh, right! That! So, to sum it up, you should have all the powers of a bat. Like echo-location, night vision and the like. I’m also quite surprised to see this since most demons don’t have magic, but you do. Get well acquainted with shadows, (name). I’m certain you won’t regret it.” 

“Shadows?” (name) curiously tilts her head. 

“It seems to me that you can hide in them and communicate? I’m not quite sure how the latter half works since shadows aren’t sentient, but I’m sure you’ll figure that bit out by yourself. You’re a smart person.” Lucifer gives an expectant smile. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. Thanks Lucifer.” (name) nods her head in understanding. 

She finishes the last bits of food and takes the emptied plate. Lucifer gives her a questioning look, “what are you doing?” 

“Cleaning the plate..?” 

“I can just do that with magic.” 

“Oh.” She sets the place down. “Then could you please..?” 

“Sure thing.” With a wave of his adorable apple scepter, the plate is now out of sight. He taps the table and he straightens up as a new thought pops up in his head, “we should get you some clothes, (name)! Let’s go shopping tomorrow?” 

“And with what money?” The Broadway talent raises a brow, giving Lucifer an odd look. 

“My money! Again, being friends with the King of Hell has its benefits~” he says in a sing-song tone of voice as he flashes me another charming smirk. “I have wealth and connections.” 

“If you say so,” (name) returns an exasperated but grateful glance. “I’ll go test out my powers now, so I’ll see you next thing in the morning?” 

“Yep, I’ll just jot it down so I remember.” Lucifer approaches her and looks at her expectantly.

“Yes?” (name) raises a brow. 

“A goodnight hug.” Lucifer goes on his tiptoes and pulls (name) into a tight, warm hug. “From a friend, to a friend.” 

She buries her face in the crook of his neck and gives him a quick tight squeeze before pulling away. I could never get used to your warmth, Lucifer. But it means more to me than you’ll ever know.

“Yes, from a friend to a friend.” 

11.7 pages

4,094 words

status: edited

Notes:

i don't know why, but i sort of headcannon luci speaking latin? also GUYSSS LUCI KNOWS HE'S HOTTTT!!! LOOK AT THIS SHOT FROM EP. 8!!!

next chapter is luci's pov

[writingquestionsanswered]

Any advice for writing with brain fog? I get it from some of the meds I take and when I try to write there's just... nothing there.

Writing Through Meds-Related Brain Fog

A few ideas you can try...

1 - Find Your Clearest Time and Write Then - With a little time and tracking, you may be able to figure out the time/s of day when your head is the clearest and make that your typical writing time. For example, if you typically have a few hours in the afternoon available for writing, try writing at different points during that span on different days and see if you can determine whether you're clearer-headed at the beginning, middle, or end of that span. Or, if your schedule varies, try writing at a different available time each day and see what time/s work best. That way, when you have that span of time available on a given day, you know that's when you should be writing.

2 - Try a Little Exercise Before Writing - Physical activity can help to clear brain fog, so try taking a walk or doing a workout before you sit down to write.

3 - Step Away from the Screen for a While Before Writing - Some people find that screen time (looking at your phone, watching TV or movies, doing things on your computer, playing video games, etc.) exacerbates their brain fog, so try stepping away from your screens for an hour or so before writing. Find other activities--preferably ones that are low-key for the brain--you can do instead, like a puzzle, an easy craft or art project, sitting outside, yoga, taking a laid back walk, etc.

4 - Exercise Your Brain - In much the same way as physical activity can reduce brain fog, sometimes mental activity can as well. Doing things that get your brain going like reading, crossword puzzles, playing a trivia game, and doing brain puzzles are some good options.

5 - Talk to Your Doctor - If nothing else seems to work, try talking to your doctor about other things you can try. Dietary changes, medication changes, and other things the doctor can help you with might be the best solution.

I hope something here works for you!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[collectorofsoulss]

Exile! Mammon xF!Reader Pt 4

Rain. Blood collected with the rainwater, mixing as it trailed into the sewer. MJ’s eyes casually followed it until they landed on your staggered form against the wall for support while Papa held your sides as you retched. It was not too long ago he arrived; him being the demon he was, it easy to trace your scent. Mammon sought after you in an attempt to win you back. He was not one to wait or let things ‘cool off’ he could not bear the fact you were upset with him.

Mammon had instructed MJ and Maximus to go inside the car and wait. Head laid against the window, MJ exhaled, his breath fogging the window before clearing, there he noticed his reflection, studying the reality of his image until he spotted Maximus staring with curiosity.

“Am I going to get horns too?” he touched the top of his hair, feeling for signs.

MJ said nothing, ignoring him he stared at his bloodstained hands. The image of your expression flickered in his mind, he felt…ashamed although you said nothing. The ambiguity of your face made him scared. Did you not love him anymore? He soon felt a tug on his wing, Maximus pulling at the appendage.

"Can you fly?"

“Stop it,” he mumbled, casually nudging him with it. “Leave me alone.”

“Why you get to have them and I don’t?” Maxi whined.

“Mama said it’s a curse, I’m not supposed to have these,” he whispered. 

The sudden loudness of your voice drew their attention away from each other and to their parents. Climbing into the passenger seat, Maximus gazed out the window for a better view. It was a slight distance, and the rainfall muffled your voice, however, MJ's ears were sharp. He heard everything.

The clothes were glued to your skin, teeth chattering from the coldness of the rain. The breath your body chased was never caught, between the puking and the adrenaline, it left you breathless. Heavily your chest rose and fell in attempts to grasp reality. 

“Babe,” Mammon reasoned. “It’s rainin’ let get outta ‘ere and talk at home.”

“No,” you kept your distance, “You didn’t see what I saw! I need you to reverse it right now, whoever the hell you pissed off caused our son to do that!” you pointed to the dismembered bodies sprawled across the alleyway.

Mammon set a hand on the nape of his neck as he faced away from your intense gaze, he began to pace. He shifted his weight, one foot to the other as he built up the courage.

“I’ll…I’ll explain everythin’ to ya,” he breathed. “Just not here.”

The rain coated your face, dripping from your brows and quivering lips. At this point you could hardly feel your toes, regardless you remained unmoving. 

“It’s hurting my baby,” you gritted. “I don’t want it to get worse.”

“No one ain’t do nothin’ to ‘em,” he confessed. “It ain’t a curse.”

Mammon slowly found the courage to face you. In the depths of your eyes twirled with disbelief, confusion and the searing pain of betrayal. Unconsciously, your body curled inward. The words tripped on your tongue, barely escaping as a whisper, “T-then what?”

Mammon’s heart clenched at your vulnerability, he never intended to keep this secret for so long. He was going to tell you! Not on the first date – or third! Not on the day he proposed or the night of his wedding! Everything was going well, telling you would have ruined everything he’s worked hard for.

He was truly afraid. Afraid you’d see him just like his brothers, that you too will gaze at him with eyes of disappointment and scorn. Mammon desperately ran from his greed, the past and who he was destined to be. He thought it eventually would fade with time. The single thought of you hating him, distrusting him – he simply couldn’t handle it. It’ll break him, like how your look alone is breaking him right now. 

“I’m a…” he struggled to get it passed his throat, “…a –”

The woman’s words decided to echo in your mind. “…a demon,” you finished for him.

He looked into your tear-filled eyes. “All these years…” you murmured, “a-all these years,” you repeated. The outside closed in around you, the space was suffocating from the weight of his confession. Every piece of furniture, the photos, they all mocked you for the life you had built with this man, this demon. Everything you’ve once known about him was lies!

“Were you even an orphan?”

“…no.”

Spinning around, you could not bear to look at his face! “You knew…all this time?”

He did not have to speak for you to know his answer. Immediately you began to walk towards your car where your children were waiting.

“Baby please!” he clutched your arm, delaying your departure. “I was just scared,” he stammered, his eyes plea for understanding. He hoped you’d be able to see beyond the label and had grown to love the layers of his character. “Afraid if you knew, you’d see me as a –”

“What! A monster?” you interrupted, finishing with bitterness. Wrenching your arm from his touch, “Are you!”

The tears eventually cascaded down your cheeks. The weight of your accusation filled him with disgust. Mammon knew his previous actions could mark him as that but every day he found against his instincts, suppressing the desire. Temptation was everywhere, wealth, power and the humans displayed it well; it was partially oozing from their pores. There were moments of weakness but each time he chose you and his children over his selfishness. Mammon was fighting his demons but he couldn’t fight them if the demon was him.

Mammon tried to touch you again, “Babe, c’mon you’d know I’d never –” you raised your hands in defense, flinching. Not once you look at him like that before – ever. It scared him. Mammon stared at his palms, eyes shaking with terror. “I’d never h-hurt you,” his voice was a whisper, however, his words were swallowed by an abyss of mistrust. The way you stood there, staring with foreign eyes. Internally Mammon crumbled to pieces.

           “No,” you breathed, “I don’t know. Do you expect me to believe anything from you?” Little by little you stepped backward, “I never asked for any of this! You never gave me a choice!” you shouted. “And that’s the most selfish thing a demon could ever do!” Mammon was speechless; he watched you slip from his grasp and out of his life.

Maximus saw your figure appearing closer, and quickly he went into the back, throwing himself in his car seat. The second the door opened, you made sure he was fastened. He saw how your hands trembled, you barely buckled him on the first try. Soon after, MJ saw you were going to do the same for him but noticed your hesitation once you saw the blood coating his figure. Regardless, you fastened him anyway. MJ saw Papa was still outside, standing in the same spot you left him in once you got into the car. He said nothing. Maximus strained his head to see where Papa was, eventually speaking,

“Is Papa com –”

Adjusting your rearview mirror, you interrupted. “Not now, mama needs quiet time.”

Mammon's spirit sank into the lowest pits of hell, returning to where he rightfully belonged. There he was in the dimly lit confines of his bedroom. Across his couch, he laid, pillow hugged against his chest, gazed fixed at the picture of his family within his worn wallet. The weight of your absence - was this what it meant to feel soulless? Desperately he desired to see you, to hold you once again, to kiss his children but he could not bring himself to face another rejection. Did he deserve you? Did he deserve them? He closed his eyes, a single tear escaping. His brothers were right. He was scum.

[sil-writes-fiction-too]

Skull Cavern

Harvey x OC/Self-insert!Farmer

Genre: hurt/comfort, a touch of angst with a fluffy ending

CW: bodily harm, injury, blood, gore

A/N: Here's a very late entry for June of Doom, Day 4! This time with the "Does that hurt?" prompt paired with the "Fracture" prompt. This is the very first Stardew Valley one-shot I've ever written so I am quite excited about this. I wrote this with my farmer in mind. She is a mix between a "farmersona" and an OC, and I think I'll write more about her and her life in the Valley in the future. This one-shot is set somewhere between Harvey's four and six heart events. Sil is already more than aware of her feelings for him and Harvey has just recently realized he has a crush on her. She fell first and he fell harder, so to speak. Hope you like it! @juneofdoom

The intense smell of disinfectant is the first thing she feels as she comes back to her senses. She lets out a groan as she slowly tries to open her eyes. The task is made rather difficult by the brightness of the room, which makes her already dry eyes burn even more.

“You're finally awake.” That's enough to finally get her to open her eyes, and when her vision eventually clears she manages to find the source of the tense voice that startled her. “...Doc...?” She asks groggily as she focuses her gaze on the man leaning against the doorway.

Doctor Harvey looks at her seriously, with his hands shoved in the pockets of his white coat as he assesses her general conditions with a quick glance. Sil, the local farmer, is looking rather rough... but it is nothing compared to what she looked like last night, when she was brought into his clinic. It was nothing short of chilling.

She was brought in by Pam somewhere around midnight, the older woman slamming the door open and yelling for him to rush over and help her hold the girl upright. The sight of Sil, bruised and barely hanging onto Pam's shoulder as she winced and grunted in pain, was enough to make his heart sink to the floor. Still, he acted quickly and soon she was laying on one of the beds. Her long, black coat was in tatters and the rest of her clothes had a number of rips and stains onto them. Her pants seemed to have had the worst of it, and the reason became immediately apparent to the doctor. The black fabric was soaked in blood and the skin underneath had clear bite marks into it, like an animal had chomped down on her leg and thrashed around. Moreover... her leg was clearly broken. He knew that to save his mental sanity he should've avoided inquiring, but against his better judgment he asked her what had happened and it took him all he had not to yell at her when she groaned something about “Skull Cavern”.

He could tell she was trying to put on a brave face for him, but he also knew that all that would fly out the window as soon as he reset her bone. And it did. She let out a blood-curdling scream as soon as the bone went back into place... and then it was lights out.

Thinking back on it now still fills him with dread... and it re-stokes his anger. His jaw tightens slightly as he looks at the farmer in silence while she tries to get the fog to finally lift from her mind. It's all still a haze, but as the seconds pass she grows more and more conscious of her surroundings and of what happened last night. Her first instinct when she finally manages to sit up is to reach for her hat, but a disgruntled noise comes out of her as soon as she finds out it's not sitting atop her head as it usually is. A quick glance to the side reveals the cowboy hat is hanging onto a nearby chair like her ruined coat.

“Damn, I'm gonna have to buy a new coat huh...?” She says with a small huff of a chuckle before bringing her gaze back to the doctor, but when she does, her smile drops almost instantly. He is looking at her with anger swirling in his green eyes. “That's what you are worried about? Your coat?” He asks in disbelief before removing his glasses and running a hand over his face as if to try and rub the irritation away, in vain of course. “Your leg is broken, for Yoba's sake! And all of this because you went in those mines again! Did I not tell you to be careful?! Do you have any idea how bad the situation looked last night?! Since you refuse to put a stop to your explorations, the least you could do is to be cautious when you head into those places!”

The farmer doesn't flinch, but she raises her eyebrows in surprise, before slouching her back slightly in what could only be described as shame. Harvey's never raised his voice at her like this before. She suddenly feels like a child that is being scolded by her father for doing something stupid, but this is not her only reason to feel ashamed. It is also because, even though doctor Harvey is yelling at her, she can see the hurt in his eyes. She clearly worried him a great deal, to the point where his patience obviously ran out.

Harvey has been nothing but kind to her since the day she moved to Stardew Valley, even though he was clearly terrified of her when they first met. She couldn't really blame him, given her rather... unapproachable appearance. At first she was definitely not thrilled to make the doctor's acquaintance, considering her rather rocky relationship with medical personnel up until that point, but by the end of her first week in her new home he had already started to grow on her. He was simply so kind and friendly, despite his initial uncertainty and shyness... She couldn't help but be drawn to him, and that sentiment grew rather fast... and kept growing, and growing, until it became clear to her that her simple, innocent infatuation with the town doctor had turned into a full-blown crush. A rather surprising turn of events, considering she had sworn off dating shortly before she left the city to reclaim her grandfather's land... but she still welcomed it. She is certain Harvey must know of her feelings by now, as she made no attempt to hide them, and she is rather confident they are reciprocated, judging by his behavior towards her over the last couple of months. So... knowing she is the reason for his distress right now weighs gravely on her heart. She feels like a moron.

“I'm sorry, you're right... I was way too careless this time around. I... don't know what I was thinking”. A strained smile pulls at her lips as she meets the doctor's eyes again. “I had no intention of scaring ya like that, truly... I just thought I could handle it, ya know? I've gotta do everything by myself up in that farm and... well, damn, things ain't going as smoothly as I hoped”. She lets out a humorless chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. Harvey doesn't say anything as he looks at her, but he can feel his anger slowly boiling down to a simmer when he notices the sadness in her demeanor. Now that he thinks about it, she did seem a bit weary lately. Paler than usual and always in a rush to get a myriad of jobs done.

Seeing that he has no intention of saying anything, she keeps talking, recognizing that he is leaving her the space to explain herself... unburden herself.

“It's just... a lot. I gave up everything to move here and, granted, life in the city sucked but... I knew what to expect, ya know? Everything had its own place and all I had to do was keep up the routine. I had very little, but it was more than enough to keep me afloat. Here? Hell, every time I earn some money I immediately have to spend it to make sure my farm stays standin', and somehow my duties extend far beyond takin' care of Wysteria Hill! I had no idea that movin' would mean takin' care of the whole town one way or another. The farm business, the requests, the community center... I mean, don't get me wrong! I am more than happy to help! But... keepin' on top of everything has been... hard. I have to put in a lot of extra work to make sure I can keep things runnin' smoothly. I guess my whole focus has been on getting my work done, lately, and it made me... kinda lose track of other things? Like...”

“Like your own health and safety?” Harvey finishes her sentence for her, his voice now far calmer than before. She nods after a moment, not trusting her increasingly quivery voice to answer his question, and he sighs, dropping his shoulders slightly as he steps closer to her bed. “I knew that being the local farmer couldn't be an easy job, but I didn't realize it was weighing down on you this much. I can't imagine the burden it has put on your shoulders, leaving everything behind to start anew here... But still, I must stress the importance of taking care of yourself. A million things could've gone wrong last night and... Gosh, I don't even want to think about it...” he mutters as he shakes his head, averting his gaze from her in his attempt to disperse those haunting thoughts.

Sil swallow thickly, feeling another pang of guilt skewer her heart when she finds herself hoping, wanting for his concern to go beyond a doctor's duty, to stem from something deeper... not knowing that somehow her pining doesn't even come close to comparing to his. She leans towards Harvey and gently reaches for his hand, ignoring the shock of pain shooting up her leg when she doesn't move carefully enough. “I'm sorry Harv. I promise I won't be as careless as last night ever again. I don't want ya to be sad because of me. Never. I can't tell ya I'll never go down there again... but I promise I'll always do so with the goal of comin' back out safe and sound, rather than with my pack full of extra materials.” She smiles at him as reassuringly as possible, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb.

The tender gesture is uncharacteristic of her, and he knows it very well. Friendly as she is, she still very much doesn't appreciate people being in her personal space, so for her to initiate physical touch like this... it must mean something, right? It's his turn to gulp now, as he feels his face growing embarrassingly warm at that thought. He wanted to scold her again for refusing to give up on her excursions once more, but all he can do now, after noticing her little wince of pain when she leaned in to grab his hand, is sigh in acceptance and let his face soften once more as he gently squeezes her smaller hand. “Does that hurt?” He asks kindly while glancing at her leg. The wound was frightening when he first saw it, but he is more than confident in her ability to heal now that it's all patched up and that her bone is properly set.

She smiles at him, visibly relaxing when she realizes he is no longer angry at her. “Ah, it ain't nothing I can't handle, doc. You really worked your magic on me, as usual. I barely feel a thing.” She reassures him with a grin, winking at him jokingly as she adds “You're like my very own guardian angel.”

Harvey almost scoffs at her, more out of embarrassment rather than full-blown dissent. He can't deny that hearing her say something like that feels... very good. “Okay, now you are just trying to butter me up.” He mutters as he raises an eyebrow at her, making her grin widen even more and her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Well... is it working?” The flirtatious tone in her voice almost makes him choke as he stumbles over his own words. “You - you are far too pleased for somebody who is supposed to be feeling sorry right now!” He manages to exclaim with a huff, before pouting at her. Despite his embarrassment, the sound of her laughter makes his heart jump in his chest.

“I'm sorry doc, I can't help it when ya look at me like that...” She chuckles softly, her eyes crinkling in a way that simply makes him melt. Yoba... he is so glad she is here with him.

[wh3nturtlesfly]

heyyy, so i know that u just continued the this story not that long ago but can maayybe make another part to the story abt villain kidnapping hero while their bleeding out in the rain, no pressure ofc!

Of course, thank you so much for the ask! :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

They were weak. Whatever flowed through their veins had reduced Hero’s mind to pudding. They couldn’t think like this, much less move under the solution’s influence. Villain savored it, seeing them so helpless, the Hero was sure of it.

Through half-lidded eyes they watched Villain step through the doors of their room; their cell to be more accurate. The plush bed and soft covers did nothing to change that they were still trapped. The IV had been running on a constant ever since Hero had tried to fight back. It left their limbs nothing more than useless skin and bone, heavy against the weight of the medicine- if it could even be called that. Poison served a more accurate comparison.

It was late that evening, much too late for Villain to be visiting. Villain only ever came twice a day, first with new bandages and ointments, and second with a meal of some kind. Hero had tried to refuse the food. Better to starve than live through such a mess, though the more persistent they proved to be, the harsher Villain shoved the metal spoon down their throat.

Now they carried something different altogether in their hands. It shone under the lights and trailed behind Villain in translucent whisps. What was gathered in their arms had been folded into a neat bundle to which Villain set on the foot of the bed before strolling up to Hero with a devious smile. A touch of victory chimed in Hero’s mind as they observed the red mark that coiled around Villain’s neck. They caught Villain laying a hand upon it gently, rubbing away the pain Hero had caused- their sliver of revenge.

“You’re looking much better my dear,” Hero’s eyes could only drift lazily to where Villain laid a finger upon their cheek. Their touch was numb, the medicine had made sure that Hero wouldn’t feel it, though they still wished to pull away. “Your coloring has returned indeed. You’re no longer the pale apparition I found in the alley.”

“And you want me to thank you for it?” Hero struggled to get the words out. They were strung together in a slurred mess, but it was considered progress. Villain must have reduced their dosage if they were able to speak clearly.

“I would appreciate it if you were a little more understanding,” Villain’s grip became harsh and the cold prick of their fingers dug into Hero’s skin. “After all, I have a surprise for you.”

“My freedom?” The mere suggestion was a joke itself, but that didn’t stop Hero from asking.

Villain smiled sweetly. Somehow it couldn’t distract from the greedy look in their eyes. “Better than that,” they said, and retrieved a slim remote from their pocket. As they clicked one of the buttons Hero felt the pressure lessen on their arm. Already their mind had cleared some of its fog.

It was as if a weight had lifted, though the Villain would never be so kind without reason. Hero caught onto their yearning gaze, eager as it trailed over Hero’s form. “Now that you are well enough, I can truly display you.”

The garment at the edge of the bed made sense then. Villain’s hands found the silk-like fabric and ran over it with an eager grace. “You’ll make quite the conversation piece, and you know how I do love our talks.”

“You don’t own me,” Hero pulled their gaze away from the outfit. Despite its revealing nature, it was incredibly well made. Clearly hours upon hours had been dedicated to its manufacturing, from the embroidery that shimmered to the stitching that drew attention to just the right places. Wearing such a thing -much less with the Villain- would be a humiliation like no other. “I won’t go with you.”

Villain frowned, “And would you rather be a slug, left in this bed to rot with no one left to love you?” They held the remote tightly in their fingers, “You’re mine whether or not you deny it. It was not your precious agency that pulled you bleeding, dying from that alley. I saved you.”

Hero flinched as Villain’s hand gripped their wrist tightly. They still didn’t have the strength yet to squirm away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Your screams were plea enough.” Something shifted in the Villain’s expression. Their eyes softened, movements slowed as they leaned closer to the Hero, “So desperate, you would have given anything to live.”

Their hand found Hero’s bandages to which they carefully unwrapped. The gash across their chest met the cold air and a gasp escaped Hero’s lips. Without the IV, things were much more sudden. They could feel the dull sting arising from the wound with each passing second, accentuated as Villain traced a finger around the edges.

They grinned as Hero winced, “Without me, no one will help you. Like it or not, you have fallen into my hands and now it is time for the rest of the world to see.” Villain’s eyes trailed over Hero’s form dangerously, “Either that, or I have other ways of making you listen.” Their finger hovered over the button that controlled the IV. One push, and the Hero would be helpless again, unable to move, much less think of an escape.

Hero sighed, and the pressure made their ribs ache. From its place on the bed, the garment sparkled. At least at an event they could be away from the solution's influence. Villain’s touch was sickening, though not enough to leave them subdued.

“I cannot stand well on my own. I’ll need assistance until the drug has left my system.” The words were clipped as they fell from Hero’s mouth. They didn’t look, they were well aware the Villain was smiling.

“Such a smart choice darling,” Villain stood, and lingered at the door frame. They left the IV untouched, a sliver of freedom as the liquid poison already began its leave from Hero’s veins “My servants will dress you. Behave for them.” Then, just before they slipped away, Villain offered a devilish grin, “Don’t be late.”

Hero started planning their escape the moment the door clicked shut.

[vickyvicarious]

The Captain's final entry has finally arrived, and it has a fair bit in common with Jonathan's final entry/more generally several of his earlier entries. I've just been having fun kind of mentally collecting them, so here's what I have specifically noticed...

First off, I already wrote a post about a couple earlier similarities in how they both write to keep a clear record when strange things are happening, and how they both indulge the superstition of others (only to later realize the truth of it). So there's that. But then there's a bunch more recent stuff as well.

I am beginning to feel this nocturnal existence tell on me. It is destroying my nerve. Jonathan, 12 May Still fog, which the sunrise cannot pierce. I know there is sunrise because I am a sailor, why else I know not. Captain, 4 August

One of the first things Dracula does with Jonathan is keep him up all night to get him on a nocturnal schedule. While Jonathan eventually spends more time awake during the day when he knows Dracula is weakest, it seems like Dracula kept up their late-night talks until almost the end, meaning that every time he did so it came at the cost of losing some sleep. Even when he does get to sleep, there are some hints that he often has nightmares. (I'm not adding any sleeping quotes here because the points go together, and there would be so many to collect.)

With the Captain, one of Dracula's earliest/most persistent methods of torment is to deprive the crew of their sleep. The storms, if you believe he summoned them, start pretty early. Even if you don't buy that though, their fear leading to double watch even as more and more of them disappear leads to less rest. And then when the Captain is able to rest well he's awakened to find even more death. Eventually, Dracula deprives him of sunlight too, by surrounding the ship in a fog so thick that it's hard to even tell when it is day or night.

I am alone in the castle with those awful women. Jonathan, 30 June

While the Captain doesn't have any such clear quote, it is very much a major detail that he is entirely alone with Dracula at the end. In a sense, this is a contrast, because Dracula being gone is what makes Jonathan talk about being alone with such fear, but the essentials of the situation are the same: they're trapped in a place they cannot leave, with only vampire(s) for company who want to kill them - there's even an extra parallel if you add in the person they both feared/relied on has recently left (not that the first mate and Dracula fill the same role, but in this specific way it's kind of an echo).

I have placed the crucifix over the head of my bed—I imagine that my rest is thus freer from dreams; and there it shall remain. Jonathan, 12 May I shall tie my hands to the wheel when my strength begins to fail, and along with them I shall tie that which He—It!—dare not touch; and then, come good wind or foul, I shall save my soul, and my honour as a captain. Captain, 4 August

They both rely on a crucifix to protect them from Dracula... at least in a limited capacity. Jonathan has seen its efficacy proven, while the Captain more just has faith in it driving off demonic beings like Dracula must be. There's kind of a neat contrast in their opinion of the crucifix itself in that way, with Jonathan initially dismissing it as idolatrous but somewhat reevaluating his own faith once seeing that it affects Dracula, while the Captain at one point fears that he's been abandoned by God but later finds refuge in holding on to his own faith, with the crucifix itself serving as a physical manifestation of that.

And then away for home! away to the quickest and nearest train! away from this cursed spot, from this cursed land, where the devil and his children still walk with earthly feet! Jonathan, 30 June

Jonathan finally decides to risk it all to flee for home, finishing his original round trip. The Captain lashes himself to the helm so that nothing can stop him from completing his journey to the best of his ability. Both their final acts of defiance are in an effort to try and reach other people, to defy being trapped alone with these monsters.

If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Jonathan, 4 May At least God's mercy is better than that of these monsters, and the precipice is steep and high. At its foot a man may sleep—as a man. Good-bye, all! Mina! Jonathan, 30 June If we are wrecked, mayhap this bottle may be found, and those who find it may understand; Captain, 4 August

Both Jonathan and the Captain realize that there is every chance they will not survive their journey/live beyond their final entry. Jonathan verbalizes the possibility of his death much earlier and more often, but in the end both of them write their final lines with the hope of an outside audience who can learn from their experience and understand why they did what they did. They also both choose to face a likely death. (Jonathan's choice to flee at all costs is maybe closer to the mate's choice to escape into the sea than the captain's decision to stay, but in both cases they hope to preserve their words even after their own death.)

This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless. The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. Jonathan, 30 June But I am captain, and I must not leave my ship. [...] ... well, then all men shall know that I have been true to my trust. God and the Blessed Virgin and the saints help a poor ignorant soul trying to do his duty.... Captain, 4 August

Both Jonathan and the Captain act at least partially out of a sense of duty. Jonathan early on is determined to do his duty by Mr. Hawkins; on his final day in the castle, he feels a responsibility to try and stop Dracula from going to London. Sure, it's mixed in with his own hatred and (wild) desire for revenge, but at least part of the reason he attacks Dracula with a shovel is because he doesn't want to be a part of getting him what he wants. He doesn't want to help transfer him to London.

The Captain, ironically, chooses to hold fast to try and transfer his cargo to England. Or at least, he feels loyal to his responsibilities and duties as a captain. He's failed in protecting his crew, and he will probably fail in completing his journey/protecting his ship as well, but he is determined to try his best until the very end. And I think part of this determination is the same kind of refusal to capitulate to Dracula that Jonathan shows on Shovel Day. As readers, we know it would be better if the Captain intentionally scuttled his ship... but from the Captain's perspective, everything that has happened so far has been detrimental to him completing his trip. The storms, the crew being picked off, the fog getting him lost when he nears shore... as far as he knows, it may well seem like the monster on board doesn't want him to reach land. And so his effort to do just that is just as much in stubborn defiance of Dracula's will (as he perceives it) as Jonathan's attempted attack was.

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 4

Swaying

@whumpril

Tw: sickness and unconsciousness

Whumpee felt like shit, but he still made it to work. What else would he have done? There was no one at home to take care of him, so he joked to himself, that at least someone would notice, if he passed out at work.

Little did he know, that his prior joke was becoming more and more a real possibility.

His vision was becoming blurry now and again as he tried to focus on his work to spray paint onto the rear bumper of the Chevy with the air brush pistole. At first he thought it was his mask fogging from the inside, but it wasn't. This fact became obviously clear, when the headache, that already was a constant reminder for the last 2 days spiked to a vicious pounding all of a sudden. Additionally he had an upset stomach for the same amount of time. The bitter taste of bile slowly started to creep up his gullet, while the focus on his work swam away.

Whumpee had been working on his hunches, moving around the carpart bend over. He needed to get up and get out of the seemingly shrinking booth right now. As he straigthened his body, the world spun around him, his knees unsteady all of a sudden. The pistole slipped out of his hand and ceased it's own work spraying any paint.

A gloved hand reached for the wall. Fresh sprayed painted, that was hanging in the air and settled on the walls, smeared under his fingertips, leaving a trail to the door and fresh stains on the door handle.

He squeezed himself outside, while already ripping the mask from his face. The left filter got dented, when it also slipped out of his hand and fell to the concrete floor. His knees were about to buckle, but he managed to shuffle forward. Whumpee needed to get out of the warehouse and he needed to get some real fresh air. He was swaying dangerously, as he passed his blurry colleague. His footsteps were unsteady, but the urge was pushing him forward.

Alarmed by the thud, the mask made, when it hit the ground, caretaker came out of the office and could see whumpee just rounding the corner and leaving the warehouse through the open garage door.

His movements seemed wobbly. "Your buddy breathed in too much fumes again." Colleague laught at him.

Caretaker followed anyway. "Whumpee? You okay?"

The undeniable sounds of someone throwing up was echoning back from the metal walls of the big room. A gasp, a whimper inbetween the sounds of a revolting stomach, were getting louder as he approached the garage door.

Then nothing.

When caretaker stepped out of the garage, he was shocked for a moment, seeing whumpees slack form laying motionsless in the grass beside the building.

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