#Even when Needles rarely compliments people

[simm-mouse]

Take another art dump, but I'm actually trying to be more active on here, I'm sorry I disappeared. July was weird for real life

Some Tymo(Emo Tycho)

Some green beans👽👽✨✨✨

And some very late pride month art👀👀

I didn't do all of them like I wanted to, but I did have personal canon sexual and gender identities for Atom Beaker, and Needles

[briarberrythornedhart]

Well... That’s Settled

Cw: none. Just fluff and eventual romance

It’s Saturday. A rare Saturday where you and your co-worker Eddie both aren’t working.

You knock on Eddie’s front door. Waiting a bit and hearing nothing. You knock again.

You hear “Coming. Shit! Fuck! Coming!! shit shit… Hold your gaddam horses” from Eddie— kinda muffled.

He opens the door with a scowl … and a glint catches your eye. A sewing needle in his mouth. He pulls the needle from between his teeth, it is trailing black thread. His scowl is softening into mild surprise.

“Oh it’s you??” He says

“It’s me. You…are... sewing ?? something?”

“Got a new patch for my vest at the show last weekend.” He holds up a black patch that says ‘Sloppy Seconds’ on it. “What’s up?”

“You said you were off today, and you could help me??? But your phone was busy… and probably I should have waited but it’s nearly eleven…”

“Nono, it’s cool, c’mon in.” He holds the screen door for you with his palm, fingers spread wide. “You are always welcome at Casa Munson. Didn’t think you’d take me up on my offer s’all.”

“But, Eddie Munson, you’re my only hope.” You did your best Leia Organa and Eddie grinned at you in acknowledgement of your effort.

“So you’re saying I’m a space wizard??” He fished for the compliment with typical cocky swagger.

“I’ve seen you use the Force on people with weak minds.” You wiggled your fingers in the air.

“When?? When have I ever done that?” He laughed.

You imitated Eddie’s midwestern accent that had that Munson Family brand Tennessee honey drizzled on it. “Golly, Officer, I didn’t think I was speeding. Oh - Keith, you said you didn’t want me to close on Tuesday, you personally want to walk the deposit to the bank, remember. Nah, you don’t need to roll to detect cursed objects right now after picking up that innocent looking pendant ...?”

“Well.. my magic doesn’t work on you, anyway.” He wryly pursed his lips.

It does though. It always does.

You watch him put the needle into a pin cushion that looked like a tomato and he laid his project aside.

He bends over the couch arm to do this and you can see the bit of un-inked skin above his gray boxers where his shirt rides up and his jeans ride low.

You can see the nice curve of his butt where one of the pockets is torn and his boxers show there too and you wish to hell he wanted you back.

You sigh. That would be so nice.

He stands and looks at you with his eyebrows raised in query. “What??”

So you change the subject. “Why don’t you put patches on your jeans? They are rapidly becoming more hole than fabric. Denim isn’t supposed to be... lace.”

He grins again. “That’s just air conditioning for my knees. S’very practical.”

“Including the hole on your left ass cheek - that’s for air circulation too, is it?”

His eyes widened. He runs his hand down his butt, fingers dipping into the hole. “Shiiiiit, why didn’t anyone tell me??”

“Presumably because we were all enjoying it?” You suggested playfully.

His eyes snap to yours. “Enjoying what? Me, looking like a total dork??”

“It’s called deshibile - it’s very fashionable.”

“What are you even talking about?? You're so... aggravating sometimes, I swear to gawd!” Eddie jogs down the hallway and you follow. He tries to get a good look in the mirror by his custom Warlock - she’s so pretty - but he calls her ‘Sweetheart’ - lucky tart. “ How long were these jeans ripped to hell on my ass??!! I only have two pairs - so - you saw!! You totally saw this yesterday and you didn’t even say....”

“Your boxers are keeping you decent - you just have a ripped pocket. It’s fine - You look fine. Why do you care? Keith doesn’t care about ripped pants - like - you wear shoes to work... so you are one up on Argyle with the flip flops. Now if you went commando, that might be a problem.”

He is running his hands through his hair. “I can’t afford more jeans right now... fuuuuuuck.”

“You have sewing supplies right here - You just need another patch, Eddie - from older jeans or an old t-shirt... it would barely show - until our next pay day and then we could go thrifting together? If you want?”

“Yeah.... yeah... sorry - just went to that concert and I shouldn’t have because we needed a plumber last week and money’s tight.”

You nodded. Money is always tight. The job pays you both very little. You know why you stay (to see Eddie) - but you don’t know why Eddie doesn’t get a better job.

“Hey - I’m sorry, I said you were ‘aggravating’, man, I-I didn't mean it - I mean, you do Drive Me Insane, but I guess I kinda like it... how we joke around.” Eddie leaned his forehead into the mirror - closed his eyes. “You’re a good friend, you know?? And... and I promised to help you out. But, I kinda forget what with??”

“Because I didn’t say. Because it’s a secret.”

“Oh! Covert mission, huh?” Eddie turned with - well it wasn’t elegance but it was beautiful just the same. He clapped his large hands together and rubbed them up and down with glee. “What are we up to?”

“I’m making a mix tape. For a guy I like. And I know you have the perfect set up to record on.”

“For a guy??”

“Yeah - I’m into them - dudes - in general.” you snarked. “Girls aren’t out of the question , but I do tend to go for...”

“I know-ah. I mean. You wanna use my equipment - and my music, I assume??”

“Some of it.” You nodded at Eddie. Eddie has a great music collection.

“My stuff... To court some loser...”

“He’s not a loser. He’s perfect.”

“No guy is perfect, I guarantee you.”

“He’s handsome. He’s kind and generous. He’s funny... on purpose. He has these lips...”

“Stop - I do not want to hear about his lips. Where’d you even meet him? At...”

“You know - around Hawkins...” You cut him off before he can ask ‘at work?’ and you’d have to come up with some crazy lie.

“You sure he’s single?? Maybe he’s dating half of Hawkins?? Maybe he’s gay?” Eddie is not looking at you - he’s flipping through records in a milk crate.

“Maybe he is all of those things - or he’s not into me at all - or maybe he’s not into anyone - that’s why I’m making the mix. I can tell him I like him in the j-card and in the musical subtext - if he’s not into me and can never be - we can just be friends. I’ll die a little, but that’s okay - every day we die a little more, right?”

“Morbid. But, accurate.” Eddie turned back to you. “Okay - I said I’d help you and I’ll help you - but we are making two mix tapes. One to express your interest in this guy - who probably doesn’t deserve you by the way. And one for you. Just for you. Deal?” He asks this like he’s the one convincing you of this project. Your idea - your excuse to spend time with Eddie - as much as you can finagle.

“Deal.” You go to shake on it and Eddie stops and spits in his right palm first. He checks you to see if you are grossed out. By his saliva?? No. Opposite really. “So - not a blood pact?” You kid and spit as delicately as you can into your palm - hold it out for him as brave as you can be. He grins, shakes it. You try not to think about your spit combined on your hands. Fail utterly at that.

“Okay... tell me about this Paragon of ‘Manly’ Virtue...” Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You said you didn’t want to hear about his kissable lips, his pretty eyes, his nice ass...”

“God! Stop - I didn’t know you were so fucking horny!! I meant his musical tastes.”

“He’s beautiful and I am an appreciator of his physical attributes. He’s not just a piece of meat though... he’s also got a great voice... and he’s very clever...”

“And you’re what - gonna only put really horned up slutty music on this tape and probably sleep with him immediately - you Can’t!! I mean, don’t - he might have crabs or something. You gotta be more careful.”

“He’s probably not going to like me back, but if he asks me on a date I’ll be sure to ask him point blank if he has crabs, first thing.”

“I’m just sayin’ maybe get to know him a bit before you offer your... body.”

“Okay - noted - Hmmm - ‘Horned up Slut Music’ What’s that filed under in your milk crates system ‘H’ or “S’?? Wait - did you just mean SKA?”

Eddie pushed into your shoulder with his, playfully, and was unusually quiet for a while. Picking up records and tapes and showing you song titles. Gently steering you away from anything that sounded like a Direct proposition for sex with the ‘mystery guy’.

Finally stopping you. “Now you’ve got 97 minutes of music, you’ve got to edit.”

“I thought we were making two mix tapes?’

“I’m making the second one. You have enough on your mind with mr. wonderful. When he breaks your heart you can listen to my mix and cry on my shoulder, and I’ll go kick his ass sideways.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” You looked down in your lap.

Eddie put two fingers under your chin and lifted your eyes to meet his. “Is he...like... is he so much better than me?” His voice broke a bit on the end.

You couldn’t speak - why wouldn’t words come out??

Eddie sounded put out but his eyes weren’t mad. “Like, other than the lips and the ass... or whatever - what’s he got that I don’t?”

You kinda... launched into his lap. You absolutely kissed him with tongue right off.

Eddie scootched like a crab into his bed - pulling you with him. Kissing you back.

“Am I a close second? You could settle for me, I’m kinda okay with that, considering the kiss you just laid on me didn’t feel like second prize.” Eddie looked so sweetly befuddled. “I do not have crabs and I’m not secretly dating anyone and I’ve been into you since day one.”

“Eddie, you are the guy.”

He blinked.

“You made me a mix?” Eddie’s pretty eyes got a twinkle in them. “But the messaging is so vague - how will I know if you are really attracted to me when you didn’t use any music to indicate a deep lust for my person.”

“You’ll just have to read the j-card.” You teased back.

[thaisibir]

SEES members react to getting anesthesia: headcanons from a real anesthetist

(Go here for post on Phantom Thieves react to getting anesthesia)

Makoto: the guy who secretly smokes weed, chews through roc every 15 minutes, needs over 1.5 MAC maintenance sevo. (Laymans terms translation: smokes weed so he burns through a ton of muscle paralytic agent (rocuronium) and anesthetic gas (sevoflurane) needed to keep him relaxed and deeply asleep)

Yukari: had her hair and nails done the day before surgery, wakes up from anesthesia asking if she said anything dumb and apologizing if she did. (Complimenting patients on their nice nails is part of my small talk to attempt calming nerves when they're rolled into the OR)

Junpei: would try to fight anesthesia and count past 10 seconds, tries to cheat by counting fast (he loses anyway) (It's so amusing when patients try to challenge anesthesia. Some put up a good fight, but in the end, anesthesia always wins.)

Mitsuru: takes 300 mg of propofol on anesthetic induction, scares the shit out of OR staff when she still reaches for the airway device as the anesthetist tries to insert it. (Redheads tend to need more anesthetic than average. For context, the induction/knock-you-out dose for propofol is about 2 mg/kg. For frail old people, I halve that dose. Most people don't need more than a single 20 ml syringe/200 mg of propofol. I push 200 mg for big tall football/basketball guys. I've seen redheads take at least 2, even 3 syringes. Mitsuru would be a tough one to knock out.)

Akihiko: the extremely athletic ASA 1 guy with baseline bradycardia bordering on need for anticholinergics. Will most definitely wake up swinging fists and knocking out teeth and trying to jump out of the bed if he didn't get enough sedative on board beforehand. (Healthy athletic young patients (HAY patients, I call them) tend to wake up violently and delirious from anesthetic gas. To mitigate this, there's a sedative called precedex that helps smooth out emergence from anesthesia. Good to give for little kids, teenage girls, and big strong-looking guys. As soon as I see I'll be getting an Akihiko/HAY type patient for an upcoming case, I already know to draw up and dilute precedex to have at the ready.)

Fuuka: actually a very pleasant and compliant patient, but has family history of malignant hyperthermia and allergies to practically everything, apologizes for all the trouble. (Malignant hyperthermia is a very rare, but very deadly anesthetic complication if not treated promptly. Many anesthesia providers go through their entire careers without ever seeing MH, but we're trained to know what to do if it ever happens. Anesthetic gases and a muscle paralytic agent called succinylcholine are MH triggers. The anesthesia machine must be completely removed of the gas canisters and flushed through with high flow oxygen for an hour or so, to really make sure none of that stuff is exposed to an MH patient. I like the idea of Fuuka turning out to be a patient requiring an extensive anesthetic plan when she totally wouldn't mean to)

Ken: the rare kid who's cool with getting an IV in preop. (Pediatric patients typically do not get an IV placed before being rolled back to the OR, as most kids are terrified of needles. Induction of anesthesia in the OR must instead be achieved by delivering high flow anesthetic gas through a mask. Once the kid is unconscious from the gas, then an IV can be placed to give medications throughout a case intravenously. Amada seems like the type to be fine with getting an IV placed when he's awake because that's what adults have to do.)

Aigis: is a robot, physically can't process anesthesia. (Probably goes without saying)

Koromaru: Mitsuru or Akihiko, as the oldest members of SEES, act as guardians to sign anesthesia consent forms. Holds out his front leg and rolls over to offer his chest so staff can put on the blood pressure cuff and EKG stickers. Adored by the vet and vet techs for being so smart and adorable.

Shinjiro: the guy you think would smoke weed and drink a lot but actually has a history of post-operative nausea and vomiting (PONV) and prolonged emergence from general anesthesia. (Somehow I like the idea of Shinjiro turning out to be a delicate flower when it comes to anesthetic requirements)

[dressed2k1ll]

Did you watch the Barbie movie when it came out? What were your feelings on it, if so?

I found it was basic and disappointing, and it’s depressing that so many people seem to think it’s deep. I can understand that it was an entertaining movie and it gets props for that, but anything else is like :-| at least for me.

Thanks for having your blog up, it validates my feelings a lot abt gender and society. I lean much more into radical feminism personally

Thank you so much for the compliment and the question!!! Gosh if it weren’t for Tumblr I might go bananas! I need to know there are more out there like me!

So Barbie. First let me start by saying I’m a 43 year old woman. This movie was basically made exactly for my demographic in many ways: features many of my era of dolls and contained enough nostalgia to melt my brain.

I remember when I saw the first teaser, despite any logic or feminism I’ve grown to internalize, the teaser trailer (when she stepped out of her shoe) touched something very nostalgic and formative and pre-logical in my mind. I truly loved my Barbies, I ADORED the fashion and clothing changing (still do for myself lol), and the way that she did allow me and my childhood friend to navigate or play out or experiment with social dynamics, even though we couldn’t appreciate it in that way.

Having said that: ken also was the “object doll” of the Barbie world 😆 and so the promise of demonstrating. the banality of Ken as an inversion of what most people felt was as the banality of BARBIE became something truly new to me. It is a uniquely childhood-barbie-lover feeling.

Also for context: the last “Barbie” spinoff I knew was from the Simpsons Malibu Stacy doll episode, wherein they tried to use Lisa to critique the expectations Barbie seemed to place on girls (although sheesh - compared to social media, looks tame). It didn’t really succeed in moving the needle on trying to make Barbie a “feminist” icon.

Going in, I felt “okay, I realize they’re going to do something feminist with Barbie - it’s gonna go good, or it’s gonna go bad.”

For me? As a Barbie loving girl who grew into a feminist: it was fun, silly, very entertaining, unsubtle, and pretty basic politically.

I cried at the “what was I made for” song - I think this is a really great question every girl and woman should ask. Because 1. It brings attention to girl socialization and 2. It gives me that feeling I had when my feminism “kicked in” - like “what the fuck: I guess this was a lie”

My sense is if the movie DOES this for other women who aren’t as far along their feminist journey, holy shit: worth it.

My niece, who was 3 when she saw it, instinctively got upset when the men tried to put “the real” (she calls it) Barbie in the box. It touches something so unarticulated, so unexpressed - and it’s not sexualized, and it’s not women in captivity for men to be aroused by: it’s transcends that somehow.

And the line that Rhea Pearlman said stood out to me as important too: “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back and see how far they’ve come” - that CHOKED me. Because my mom WAS a struggling “free spirited” feminist that burned her bra but still wound up being a trad wife for my dad.

I didn’t see anything in the movie that made me ashamed to show it to young girls, which is rare.

So TL:DR, despite its basicness, it is a rare example of a successful feminist film for young girls. And it (I dare say) rehabilitated the doll from a more “sex ideal” image. If fans understand America Ferreras speech and it strikes them as new (and there are many) it’s worth it. It’s pushing the needle forward.

A couple more points (omg can you tell this is something I think about?)

1. Compare it with the other “women is made and not born” companion movie that came out: Poor Things, which was so clearly a male centered fantasy.

2. It’s an example of showing a world where women are empowered. What other movie or show has shown this as a viable alternative to patriarchy?

Thank you again for the question!!!!!

[willedeservesbetter]

Get to know me tag game

I was tagged by @sflow-er , actually started answering a few days ago but run out of time. So now I have some time to kill, so let's try another time.

Do you make your bed?

Yes, it is an attempt I am actually allowed to call myself a functioning adult 😂.

What's your favourite number?

I don't have one, but my parents love the number 9, so I basically decided this is a family tradition now.

What is your job?

Nope, for one my job is actually not that easy to explain, even in person. Second, I don't share personal information on my public Tumblr account. My two Tumblr friends (you know who you are) can ask me though, in case they are interested.

If you could go back to school, would you?

Fun fact, ppl always assume I was an amazing student. I was not... sadly I am lazy AF, surprised I actually have a Master degree and I always hated studying. I am very much a learning -by-doing person.

Can you parallel park?

I mean, I have a driver license, so at one point I could 😝. Serious answer, I sold my car a couple of years ago, so I very rarely drive a car. Ask me again in September, as I have a road trip ahead of me then.

A job you had that would surprise people?

Mmh, nothing really comes to mind tbh. In terms of work I don't think I did anything particularly exciting.

Do you think aliens are real?

Are we alone in the universe? No, absolutely not. However what kind of life exists and how advanced they are, that is a totally different conversation. I don't believe we are getting visited or abducted.

What's your guilty pleasure?

If it brings me joy, I don't define it as a guilty pleasure, as long as it doesn't interfere with life, friends or family. Maybe I am abusing way too much time at work to write comments for my fav fics or writing novels back to friends.

Tattoos?

No, because I know myself and I will get tired of anything I could get. But I understand why ppl love them because there are some very cool and amazing tattoos (but also gotta say, I find most tattoos very underwhelming or even ugly and I am surprised why ppl get them in the first.place. But those opinions I always, always keep to myself).

Favourite colour?

Blue was always my colour since I was a little girl and it also looks best on me. I love green and altrosa too though.

Favourite type of music?

I suck when it comes to music. I always listen to some random Spotify lists and generally have no idea what is happening in the world of music or particularly care.

Do you like puzzles?

I don't remember the last time I did one... guess that is answer enough.

Any phobias?

I HATE needles. I needed to get a lot of vaccinations last year, I survived, but it really was not my favorite past time. At least the employees at the doctor all complimented me for still being mature enough to take my health seriously 😂.

Favourite childhood sport?

I was the WORST cheerleader in existence, but I loved it 🤷🏼‍♀️.

Do you talk to yourself?

Lol, i am a very chatty person (IF I like you. ironically I can also be very quiet), of course I talk to myself.

What movies do you adore?

Edit: Can you drive a manual car?

The Lord of the Rings trilogy has such a special place in my heart and they better never remake it.

Coffee or tea?

Both, at home and work it is coffee. when I am visiting my parents, I am always drinking tea. but I like both a lot.

What was the first thing you wanted to be growing up?

Lol, a FARMER. The idea is from beginning to end HILARIOUS.

Edit: Can you drive a manual car?

I am German, it is in my DNA 😂. ask me driving the first time an automatic car though. Now that was an experience.

[cassynite]

B and Y for sparrow and daeran please?

:D Thank you so much for the ask!!!

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Physically, Daeran's natural beauty is so obvious to Sparrow she'd probably get a little annoyed if someone asked her what she thought was beautiful about him, because she'd interpret it either as fishing for a compliment (Daeran, especially early on in their relationship) or as an attempt to needle her on what she perceives as her very obvious attraction to him (everyone else). He's like a painting come to life, a storybook prince stepping out of the pages of a fanciful romance book if you transplanted the pettiness and meanness of a twelve-year-old who was never told no. But it's also that personality that makes Sparrow admire him most, what draws her to him--he's deeply and unapologetically himself, and does not blunt his edges or hide the uglier parts of his personality. He refuses to make himself smaller--the tragedy of his childhood won't take away his color, the disapproval of his righteous peers won't make him shrink. For Sparrow, who spent the majority of her life learning to crush herself into the roles that other people have placed her in, his commitment to himself is seen as a kind of bravery that she is deeply envious of and something she eventually strives for herself. When they start their relationship and she learns more about him, and how that aspect of himself is in its own way a kind of persona, she learns to love and appreciate the softer, more vulnerable side of him as well, the one that he begins to show with her once they become committed to each other. It's his honesty, in all forms, that she admires the most. For Daeran's part, I imagine it took a minute for him to be attracted to Sparrow--besides their initial bombastic meeting, the image Sparrow presents isn't one that Daeran woudl necessarily be drawn to. Daeran is drawn to personality, passion, and drive--all things Sparrow works very hard to pretend she doesn't have. The flashes of emotion are what drew Daeran in at first, and the first time he truly becomes attracted to her is when he's able to draw her into an argument for the first time. When she truly cares about something she is deeply passionate about it and can even become aggressive with it, and it immediately fascinates Daeran. Through their courtship and post-canon one of this favorite things is drawing that spark out of her and seeing emotion replace her mask of neutrality. He loves that passion most, and how dedicated and devoted she becomes to the things she cares deeply about, and how completely she throws herself into the things and the people that she devotes herself to. Whether that be creating and implementing social and educational programs in Drezen, fighting with Galfrey in Nerosyan about Mendevian policies she disagrees with, picking up new skills and hobbies that catch her interest, or her relationship to her husband, Sparrow always puts in her all, and Daeran loves how alive Sparrow becomes with her passion.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Sparrow and Daeran are very rarely apart for long periods of time; they ensure that whatever duties or desires they have, they can make time in each other's schedules to do it together. On the rare occasions that circumstances take them away from each other, they tend to lean on their more public personas harder than usual. Sparrow becomes more withdrawn and serious without Daeran, smiling or taking noticeable enjoyment in things even less than usual. She also tends to get a harder head about her own strategies and will get impatient and short with others, especially if they end up delaying her departure for home. However, an easy way to get into her good graces when she's alone is just to bring up Daeran in a positive or even neutral way and then endure the subsequent monologue about her husband. If she's very far abroad she will also try to make time to find a gift to bring home as well.

Daeran, for his part, tends to deal with Sparrow's absence through distraction--he'll throw large parties wherever he's at, or set up some kind of game or event. He's hosted banquets, tournaments, soirees...onlookers might comment that the Count likes to let loose without his wife around to harangue him, but they make sure not to say it within earshot for fear of his reprisal. Anyone who pays attention will also note that, as outrageous and off-the-wall the things he does when he's alone happen to be, he always somehow schedules the events so that they are never finished before Sparrow joins him, and she always ends up enjoying the tail end of things, where there's always some kind of grand finale. It almost acts as a celebration for their reunion.

[promethea-silk]

Coven

Lacquered nails shifted over the piece that hung from the choker at her neck. Another evening, another meeting but one that had not been on the agenda. A white-haired woman had stood before her only hours ago expressing that she had been summoned to an unknown location, and unknown manor by an unknown person.

Weeks prior and levied some sense of anxiety in her due to her more recent outting from Ul’dah to Thavnair – however, Vahalia was stubborn and if anything, extremely curious. Not many people sought out an audience with her unless it meant business. Most other chatter happened in the wings at hosted events and soirees, big and small. Women kept in houses and overworked through traditional roles merely gibbering about gossip involving her; rarely did any approach her. Only men with bolstered audacity.

Honey pools of spite regarded the room she had been brought to, a silver of reverence pitted itself in her core as she silently took note of the decor and the dimly lit parts of the manor – much like her own.

The crackling of the fireplace in the large room joined with the metronome ticking of a large grandfather clock, the quiet symphony only overshadowed by a quiet violin playing through the horn of an elegant gramophone sitting on a nearby table. It was a macabre somber tune, though beautiful all the same and it captured Vahalia’s attention for some time. “The Lady will be with you momentarily, Ma’am.” Offered the young woman, a voice of nearly a child though her features told the story of her mature age. She curtsied and quietly exited the room, the sound of the door closing behind her confirming her retreat.

The woman swathed in black lace and green and waltzed to the metronome with uninvited intent, touching upon something that wasn’t hers, fingertip coming up to cease the motion of the sway if only to disrupt the constant. After a few seconds, she released her hold and tipped the needle to watch the piece resume its count.

Mere moments would pass after the handmaiden took her leave when the click of the door opening called for Vahalia’s attention as Cordelia passed through the threshold to enter the room. She was a vision of morbidity and darkness and yet still somehow shone upon her entrance. A way of carrying herself, perhaps, feeling a bit drunk with the freedom to command a room now that her place no longer remained behind a man. “Lady Cress, I was pleased to be informed of your acceptance to my invitation. I must admit I have not had the enjoyment of entertaining company of my own for quite some time so I do hope the accommodations are to your liking.” A hand swept out around her, gesturing to the large yet cozy sitting room. The walls lined with dark portraits of unnamed men and women, preserved insects of the most beautiful kind, hues of mauve and silver accented the linens and curtains. 

The witch-woman turned a little more, curiously. The decor was something she had a few moments to take in but she certainly wasn’t expecting Cordelia to look the way she did – somehow she envisioned a blonde woman, blue eyes and slathered in crimson silk; a color to catch just about any eye. What a pleasant surprise this was.

“Lady Gray.” she pointedly addressed though respectfully, “I cannot say I know more than your name and now where your abode resides. I must have walked by here several times in my travels. Never once recognizing it as the Gray household – nor you.” Vahalia genuinely smiled.

The two women complimented one another in a way that was unexpected, the atmosphere and energy around them feeling of the same nature in some sense. Cordelia had already begun crossing the room toward the seating area and gesturing for Vahalia to follow when she replied with a huffing chuckle. “That is life when you marry into a suffocating family that prefers to keep to themselves. I do not fault you for not knowing much of me, I personally only just learned of you and yours, myself.” Finding a comfortable seat, she smiled to Vahalia though it was not of the typical nature in which one would smile, there was a veil of mystery around it but it was kind enough. “Surely I am not taking up too much of your attention away from far pressing matters?” 

“Not at all. I’m thankful you’ve summoned me, it means I spend less time sorting the pockets of men or playing guessing games with their emotions. Seems you’re a bit of a savior.” Vahalia found some measure of comfort in the seat across from Cordelia, a hand gracefully tucking her dress just behind her calf, “To hear of your hiding is a disappointment. I imagine running into you at one of the soirees would have been welcoming – atleast I’d suspect a rather curious and interesting person to run into.” her hand lifted to indicate, “-- your decor and such.” honey hues remained pinned to the hostess.

Her grin met her eyes as she glanced around the room, proud of her choices in every manner of decoration. “Mm, I would not be disappointed…I may have been hidden but I was simply lying in wait.” The words were dripping with enthusiasm in the way that she might have been filled with venom and prepared to strike, though it wasn’t menacing toward her guest but rather her would be ‘prison guards’. “While the place was never bright and colorful before my husband’s death, I certainly have seen to it being what it has become since then even further. Most would find it drab and morbid… it is refreshing to find another who enjoys it.” 

A casual tilt was afforded to Vahalia’s body, adjusting in the seat to find purchase along one of the armrests, placing weight on forearm, “I grew up in a house that had pretty dim candles. My mother….she was a sickly lady for the last few years of her life up to her death. It all grew on me I suppose. I’ve always found there to be more comfortable in the darkest recesses and shadows.” a ruby smirk flashed across to the Lady of the House, “Tell me Cordelia, do you enjoy reading?”

There was a slight twitch in her eyes, the lids narrowing just a bit as she listened to the explanation the other woman gave in her decorating preferences and why. “Hm… interesting as it was from my mother where I inherited my designing eye. Of course, not in the same fashion - which, I am sorry to hear of your mother’s final days- but she was a bit dark and macabre in her own right.” Dark brows perked at the closing question, her head tilting ever so slightly. “I do, but not of fantasy and adventure. More of… knowledge. And you?”

"Avid reader of much of the same. Research, tomes,languages and more. Folklore is all well and good when there is an element of truth in there somewhere." Honey-pools glinted, "I think I have a copy of a book you might enjoy. Well, a tome of sorts. My sister squandered her chance to learn from it and has taken to dallying in the kitchens rather than broadening her mind."

This piqued Cordelia’s interest pretty quickly, a brow raising curiously. She was somewhat surprised that Vahalia was seemingly comfortable with her right away, then again, something told Cordelia that the two were going to get along fairly well, also. “Color me intrigued…I was never one to fully commit to being stuck doing wifely duties, despite playing the part for most of my life. Tell me about this tome and its contents?” 

“You and I both.” Vahalia mused outwardly. Casually her nail tapped along the end of the armrest and she hummed across to her hostess, “It’s a little taboo. Can’t say I’ve read too much into it myself. My sister had shown little interest in wanting to learn anything within. It's a tome I picked up after making a deal with a…Thaumaturge.” Vahalia gently lied, eyes cutting sharply to the Lady Gray.

“A Thaumaturge, you say?” Cordelia regarded in question, her tongue slowly running over her lips just slightly simply as a habit when she concentrated. Grey eyes washed over Vahalia in thought before she continued further with a smirk and a bit of a darkened playfulness to her tone. “And considering you are the one offering its contents to be available to me I have no qualms in expressing that I’ve never shied away from the taboo. It is a shame that your sister has turned from it, though, I’d imagine it would be enjoyable to have kept it within the family. Pardon for having done some digging, but I hear she is to be married soon, yes?” 

A nod confirmed it, “She is and not too much longer now, before winter’s end. One step forward in making some steps to broaden some horizons. She was much more suited for that role than I could ever be anyways; though it will be an eventuality I have no intention on letting someone else handle the household for me..” Vahalia turned her wrist, hand ceasing to indicate as she spoke. A hum loosed and she regarded Cordelia intensely, “And you, condolences are in order. How long has it been?”

As Vahalia spoke, the other woman leaned her elbow to the left armrest of her chair, hands clasping together and resting just at her lips height. Cordelia had never much interest in marrying off either but it seemed that they both understood that sometimes sacrifices must be made in order to attain the favorable end result, and with no intentions on remaining in the marriage her parents had arranged for her, a few years as arm candy to the vile man was worth the position she was now in. With that, she gave Vahalia a knowing look, lips just faintly in a smirk as her brows flicked upward quickly in a sharp motion. “A little over a week… and between you and I, I’d much prefer congratulations.” 

“Ah, freedom once again then. Congratulations indeed. Be it far from me to judge, I typically prefer my freedom as well so I try not to take advantage of it or for granted.” she tapped the underside of her bottom lip twice, Vahalia reading the air between them as it was presented, “Do you have goals going forward?”

There was a gentle shrug as she lowered her hands to now simply rest in her lap. “Mm, continue to solidify this House as mine. There are a few more things that need to be taken care of to do so and hope perhaps you might aid in being a part of that. I have heard that you’ve recently come to establish a new tradeship. While my late husband had his connections, I would prefer to begin making my own and seeking to further extend our reach beyond Ishgard more than he had.” “Fair. You would also be correct.” Vahalia tipped her head and loosed another hum, thinking on the weight of their conversation further, “I have a ship, The Sirensong. It is seafaring so I can completely negate the need for ceruleum. The slower option of course when it comes to transport but much more cost-effective. Eventually, I hope to purchase another to get a small trade company underway. People can pay me to bring their goods all over without so much as lifting a finger – the middle man, essentially. Given that I work with a company already situated to assist in that as well, its a bit of a win/win.” Vahalia’s tongue passed over her lips and rested to the corner of her mouth before speaking again, “Are you interested in having a hand in the transport part of trade or having something transported?”

Cordelia allowed a few simple nods as she listened to Vahalia. She knew that the company mentioned was the Ashen Wolves thanks to Wren having gathered the details on her prior, though she felt no need to let on that she knew. “Mm, currently I am looking at having goods transported. Our lines of finance come through textiles and jewels or jewelry, though I am in the works of procuring even more freedom with the Gray coffers than what I have been allowed and once that is handled, then I am planning to extend my reach to other ventures and see that it goes within and beyond Ishgard.” 

"I see. Coffers can be tricky business, I work as an accountant for a company. What is more I think jewelry and textiles is good trade. Best to extend to places that have the least competitive outreach. Thavnair for example would be a little harder to compare your good to theirs but I suspect jewelry and textiles here in Ishgard is another matter or even in Ul'dah. Plenty to consider, of course." Vahalia smirked gently.

“Yes well, none of it will matter until I have a situation handled which is being taken care of presently.” Cordelia paused as she mulled over a further explanation of her situation. Her foot bounced just slightly as the one leg rested over the other. “Quite frankly he had everything set up to see that I was anything but free if he should…have an accident. But as I said, it’s being taken care of. Once it is, perhaps we can discuss this further and if there are opportunities for building a working relationship.” 

“I think I would enjoy that quite a bit.” Vahalia smirked across to Cordelia and offered a firm nod, “I’m sure I’ll have more interesting information to share with you at that time and given how you’ve found me I’m sure you needn’t direction on how to contact me should you feel you need to.”

A dim chiming chuckle escaped Cordelia as she shrugged lightly. “What can I say, My girl does her job well.” She waved a hand toward Vahalia with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from the more pressing matters I’m sure you have to tend to…Despite that no doubt my company is likely much more entertaining. Though…feel free to come by at any time.”

The company rose, smoothing out parts of her attire, “No rest for the wicked, they say. Make good choices, dear.” Vahalia practically purred and she made for the door pausing briefly to continue, “Oh and Cordelia? Light your candles.” she left her hostess with only to open the door to the sitting area herself, the Lady Cress seeing herself out as it was something she didn’t seem too bothered by. If caught, the Lady Gray might have spotted a small wink sent her way during the departure.

Still sitting, Cordelia simply grinned to herself at her guest’s departure. She watched as Vahalia left before she turned to settle back in her chair to gaze into the fireplace allowing that grin to linger a moment. A voice inside told her this was the simple beginning to something deeper, something great. 

[ Collab with @umbral-flare-ffxiv​ !!]

[dearestones]

Hetalia Matchup: England

Warnings: Fluff. 

@oneofmanyinterests Request: Hello! If you're doing match ups, I'd love to be matched romantically with a Hetalia guy~

As I believe personality and interests matter much more than looks, I'll omit them, if that's alright.

Thank you~

I enjoy being artistic very much. My skills include drawing, painting, embroidery, crochet, cooking and baking, and even some sewing. I love traditional and historical Chinese clothing and art; it's one of my very favourite. When I cook, I feel like I'm in my own world, and I enjoy making food from multiple cultures. I can even fold wontons and braid dough for bread.

I've been referred to as a "little old lady" since forever. My family says I've been more mature than my age would suggest, and my friends came to me for advice and wisdom.

I'm a loner who enjoys listening to music from all over the world. Rain is my favourite weather, and tea and my cats are perfect companions for such days. I love the colours and the cool, crisp air of autumn. Much peace and tranquility is found within the moon for me. Night is the best time.

I rarely ever get angry and I can be very patient. Many have told me that they feel comfortable and calm when I'm around. Irritation does come around, but that's mainly due to loud people or not feeling well.

This isn't related to my personality, but I've dealt with depression and anxiety for many years, along with often crippling migraines.

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After reviewing the information given, I think that you best pair well with England!

First of all, England appreciates that you believe that personality and interests matter more than looks. He takes pride in his appearances and often dresses and styles himself as the perfect gentleman. He won’t mention it, but he knows that there are certain qualities to his features that may hinder others from pursuing him romantically. That said, he also appreciates how you look and tells you that no matter what, you are as lovely and as radiant as a freshly plucked rose.

England is instantly enamored when he realizes that you are very artistic. He may not be as inclined as art as other Nations like the Italy brothers, Austria, or Japan, but he knows his way around needles and thread, thank you very much. 

Whenever it rains or the both of you don’t have plans that are set in stone, England would love to sit with you, knitting together. Seeking out domesticity had always been at the back of his mind, but now that he has you in his life, he’ll make sure that these weekly embroidery/crocheting sessions always happen. 

England will show off his skills, give you tips on how to create life in your projects, and he’ll give you some of his pieces for you to wear or show off. Please compliment him! He may not show it all the time, but it would absolutely melt his heart if you acknowledge his hard work. 

Once the both of you get to know each other better and if England spills the beans about his existence as the immortal representation of his homeland, he might take you on work trips around the world! You’ll get the chance to get private cooking lessons with various Nations and try out the local cuisines. Furthermore, once he realizes that you’re enamored with Chinese traditions and culture, in regards to their clothing and art, he’ll even make an appointment with China himself. (Please don’t look too enthused about this, though. England can get a little jealous and will feel inadequate when compared to a cultural behemoth and mainstay like China). 

Please cook for England! He loves international cuisine and knowing that he can get such high quality food in the comfort of his home because of your talent makes him all the more likely to savor your cooking. He has his own skills and spins on the foods that he enjoys, so be sure to indulge him!

England might tease you a little for being such a little old lady, but he means well at the end of the day. If you object to such a name, he will immediately stop and apologize. If you happen to adore this little nickname, he’ll tease you over and over again because he finds it ironic that he’s centuries older than you, but he’s seemingly younger than what he seems to be. He’ll encourage you to live life to the fullest and that you should remember that your youth is something that must be treasured. Do enjoy yourself won’t you? He doesn’t want you to waste your life not having fun. 

Rain is your favorite type of weather? Well, what do you know, you’re in England! His weather has always been a sore spot, especially when Nations from warmer climates come to his country for international conferences. It’s not always rainy! However, when he sees you look so content and at ease with his weather, he finds himself relaxing. He’ll brew a fresh pot of tea (always your favorite flavor during times such as these), and he’ll make sure that his cat is nestled close to you in case you want the warmth. Again, there’s the air of domesticity that he craves and he’s thankful to whatever god is out there that you’re in his life.

England would like to think that he’s calm and rational thinking, but that is far from the case. He’s a firebrand at best and an absolute petty menace at worst. When you come into his life, he finds himself soothing his anger more often than not and dulling the acidity of his irritation so that he isn’t as much of a prat as usual. (Don’t worry, he’s still a prat when it comes to his coworkers, but when it comes to you, he’s a perfect gentleman). 

Whenever he’s feeling particularly incensed, he’ll seek you out. If the both of you are comfortable with it, England will either drape himself over your shoulders, nuzzle into your stomach while you’re seated, or hug you close to him. He can’t stop himself, your very presence is so soothing and it chases most of his worries away!

Finally, England has had bouts with depression and anxiety. He’s always felt like he had to measure and compete with other Nations, especially since he used to be the black sheep of Europe. Nowadays, he isn’t as inclined to feel as inadequate (he has long since been comfortable with his position once he was no longer the world’s greatest empire), but he still has tips from way back when that can help you. He’ll brew you the most calming of teas, teach you breathing exercises, and hold you close if the world ever becomes too much for you. 

All in all, you’re in good hands with England! The romance between the two of you is filled with sweet and tender love, one that is always subtle, but warm and comforting to feel. 

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If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

HETALIA AXIS POWERS/WORLD SERIES MASTERLIST

[bmaxwell]

The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe

I’m a big fan of the late Terry Pratchett of Discworld fame. Underneath the silly stories about elves, a bumbling city watch force, a would-be wizzard, a trio of country witches and so much more, there is wisdom. And anger. Anger at a world that treats people as things, anger at a world that puts people in boxes, and anger at those who “think that serious is the opposite of funny.”

That last one stuck with me. Some of my favorite works manage to be funny while being rooted in decency and heart. It’s a tough needle to thread, and The Stanley Parable manages to do this in a rare way. To say it breaks the fourth wall would be a gross understatement. It’s a game about breaking the fourth wall. It is all the way up its own ass 100% of the time. It’s constantly huffing its own farts, then asking you how you feel about that, writing down your response, then laughing and throwing it away, then fishing it out of the garbage and crying because the writer doesn’t know how to make a great game and no one loves him, then writing that all into the game. 

Do you laugh? Cry? Get a little uncomfortable and wonder if the writer needs help, wonder whether they are actually, really happy or actually as tortured as this all seems to be? HA HA HA HA...?

If you played writer/developer Davey Wreden’s The Beginner’s Guide which you didn’t, you’ll know exactly what I mean. Mostly because if you’ve played The Beginner’s Guide then you’ve definitely played The Stanley Parable. TBG is a gut punch of an experience, about fraud complex and the torture that some creative types go through. 

The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe gets into this same territory. There are screenshots of actual, real negative reviews from Steam planted in the game. The narrator talks about trying to reach those people and make them happy too, but it’s impossible. Those negative views of his game reinforce the nagging voice inside that says “You can’t do this, you somehow tricked people into liking your last game but now they’re onto you, and your fraud will be exposed to the world.” Every compliment is out of pity, every criticism is deserved and justified. This is relatable to me. 

Look I made a thing, but I don’t want approval but please pay attention to me even though I don’t care about that, and I know that praise is all just pity, and silence is indifference or disgust. Please look at the thing I made and don’t compliment me, criticize me, or ignore me. Please?

I’ve managed to ramble on quite a bit about the game without actually describing it in any way. Well done, me. It’s a game about an office worker drone suddenly finding himself alone in the office, and a funny British narrator describing his every action. And every inaction. Someone took BioShock’s Would you kindly? and made a game out of it. It’s a raw, overshared earnestness thrown in a blender with funny writing.

And it is smart, and incredibly funny. I’ve largely misrepresented the game here as I’ve been playing the new content in The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe Edition™. There’s a lot of self doubt and conflicted feelings front and center in the writing. Even when it’s uncomfortable and sad, it’s still got a satchel full of dark humor slung over its shoulder. 

Comedy is hard to pull off in gaming, and The Stanley Parable does it better than any game I’ve ever played, and it isn’t close. If I’m being vague, it’s because the humor works in the context of the game in a way that typing it out would do a disservice to. WORDS. The narrator is constantly, uh, narrating. You enter a room with 2 doors in front of you and the narrator immediately says “Stanley walked through the door on the left” and you can do that, or not. You can linger in a supply closet for far longer than any human ever should, just to hear the narrator get increasingly exasperated with you. 

It subverts your expectations over and over again. It also has some great achievements, for those of you who celebrate:

It’s a unique experience, one that wouldn’t work in any other medium. Those are few and far between. 

[yandere-sins]

hello! ive never requested before so i apologise if this is vague or doesn’t really work as a prompt, but how about a yan doctor or nurse and a darling in hospital? like, the yan using check ups as an excuse to touch their darling and switching drugs n meds so they can’t be discharged and stuff like that. thank you! :) take care, yeah?

Ah, the dependency ~ Delicious. Thanks for requesting, I hope you enjoy it! Take care as well ^-^

Rated Lime + Warning for medical things like syringes, injections, amputations mentioned, drugging, etc.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

"Is it... going to hurt?"

Even though you didn't want to hear the answer if you were right, you still asked, your voice filled with hesitations. There had been so many injections, so many needles, pills, and ointments. Some helped, some hurt, some your body rejected outright. Everything was an experiment when you had a mysterious illness these days, something rarely heard of. But you had signed off these experiments in hopes to get better someday, with the little chances you had. If it was going to hurt you again, you at least wanted to be prepared, even if it was still scary after so many times.

Your nurse gave you a slight nod, her fox-red hair dancing around her face as she moved it. She only recently styled it this way, and you liked it on her. She brought change into your room when it never seemed to come for you. Forcing a brave smile to your lips, you thanked her for her sincerity. She had never been someone to mask the truth, no matter how harsh it was, and though it was the reason you cried yourself to sleep at night, you felt thankful that she had never lied to you.

The staff, but especially your nurse and doctor, had become something like a second family to you. Specifically, when your actual family couldn't be with you, you could always count on at least one of them visiting you before or after work, having lunch with you, or sitting by your bedside when you cried hopelessly from frustration and pain, holding your hand.

You three had long gone from a patient/healthcare worker relationship to something more akin to friendship, the two telling you about their lives as if you had known each other for years. You laughed with them, cried with them, and gave them your opinions on matters way beyond a professional relationship. You wouldn't have wanted it any other way. In this chaos, they kept you sane and grounded with so much kindness that you'd never be able to repay.

Lately, Nurse had confided in you about her crush, who seemed to be oblivious to her feelings. She confessed to you how much she wished they'd notice all the care and effort she put into their relationship, how deeply she felt for them, and the extra hours she worked to make them happy. You weren't sure if she did it for money or because her crush worked in the hospital too, but either way, you suggested she didn't overwork herself for their sake and straight out told them how she felt. With that, you boosted her confidence, telling her she was amazing, kind, pretty, and fun to be around. You think it helped to hear, though you weren't sure if she was working less now, seeing her almost double as much.

"The new haircut looks good on you, by the way," you complimented her, seeing how she must have gone to the hairdresser. Her nails, too, seemed professionally made, and she had started wearing make-up. Hopefully, she did it for herself, making her feel more comfortable. However, you still noticed since you saw her every day without fail. A soft blush crept over her cheeks as she pushed some strands behind her ear, brilliant earrings shining forth from her earlobe. You never had something as expensive as that, but you felt happy for her more than you were jealous.

She chuckled as she came closer, helping you sit up slowly to prepare you for your next treatment. Even though you had long lost your shyness around the people here, her gentle touch and soft voice brought you great comfort, making it easy to come to terms with her opening your hospital gown, exposing your back as she let you lean against her for support. Ultimately, you were too weak to sit upright for a long time on your own, so you gladly took advantage of all the help you could get.

"Compliments won't spare you the needle, I'm afraid," she joked encouragingly, and you let out a soft laugh, trying not to trigger a coughing fit.

"Really? Worth the try," you played along, a knock on the door interrupting you two.

When you tried to lean back a little to greet the person looking less sick than you were, she kept you in her arms, patting your back reassuringly, whispering, "It's okay. You can always rely on me."

You nodded against her shoulder, and she called out, "Come inside! We're all dressed!"

Doctor entered the room with a chuckle falling from his lips as he heard what the nurse said, and you couldn't help but smile as you saw him healthy and happy. Even though he told you he'd be gone for just a few days to secure some investments for his recent projects - which you knew more about than you ever thought you'd hear from medicine - you had already started missing him since the day he left.

The two of them embodied very different things for you. Your nurse was warm and caring, both in how she acted and looked at you, making you feel right at home and cared for. But the doctor had always been cool and composed, standing by your side when even the hardest news had to be announced about your condition, assuring you he'd do anything to cure you like a bastion of calm.

Walking around your bed, he sat down next to you on the opposite edge, and you looked at him from the corner of your eyes, smiling. "It's good to see you again, Doc," you mumbled, hoping that your exhaustion wasn't covering the genuine happiness you felt. He leaned a bit further back, lips curling into one of his brilliant smiles - you always thought if not doctor, he'd have made a great salesperson - before replying, "I am so happy to be back with you, [Name]!"

Your name falling off his lips was sweeter than the chocolates the two snuck into your room after their shifts to lift your mood after a long day of treatments. If there were any people you trusted the most in your life, it was those two, a perfect team, always looking out for you. You hoped that anyone terrible ill like you had such caring friends in this profession. Nothing could be better than the care of two devoted specialists.

You had to admit, after all this time, you had developed a little bit of a crush. But really, how could you not?

Doctor gave your file a quick look through, though it seemed he was mostly familiar with the treatment of the last few days. Little sparks of happiness went through you, knowing he cared enough to check up on you even when he wasn't here. All the while Nurse kept cleaning your back and sanitizing it, presumably for another injection.

Just as you expected, once Doc was finished, he got up, grabbing the already prepared utensils from a tray, and you saw him press out the air of the syringe after filling it with a dark-colored serum. "I had a chance to talk to some outside doctors about your condition, and they suggested this treatment. I'm afraid it might burn a little once inside your body."

"Whatever you have to do, Doc," you mumbled, turning your head to bury it in the nurse's shoulder. She wrapped her arms under yours, stabilizing you while also patting your head comfortingly. You heard the doctor's steps behind you before feeling his usually cold hand against your back, patting down your spine before taking a deep breath. You did the same, as had you three practiced a hundred times by now. "I trust you," you whispered after letting out your breath, a little mantra they made you say every time before a new injection or medication. It had already become a part of your routine, something you'd probably do for the rest of your life whenever you had to get an injection or rely on someone else to do the best for you.

The sting was passable, even though you were sure you arched your back a little as an instinctive reaction. However, Nurse holding you, the smell of her peach soap filling your nose, she corrected your position as necessary. You had nothing to do but rely on the two of them as they worked, but you also felt grateful when it was over.

Cringing a little, you tried to pull yourself away from Nurse so you could lay down, but she kept you in place, hushing you softly. Admittedly, your strength left you immediately after the shot. As expected, your back began to flame up, the serum creeping through your veins like lit gasoline. All the more relief you felt as the Doctor's cold hands returned, slowly rubbing your back and massaging the new medication into it. But it helped that his big, strong hands were doing it, finding every little burning vein and soothing it with skillful touches.

They worked to get your clothes back on properly before settling you back in your premium bed. Luckily, with how severe your condition was, you had been granted a private room with all the amenities you needed. However, your family had once told you the secret that it had been the doctor who paid for all of this out of his pocket. It was a debt no one would ever be able to repay, and you would be eternally grateful, as you told them many, many times while high on pain medication.

Now that you felt the new medicine take over your body, your exhaustion became overwhelming, pulling you back to sleep. You truly were endlessly grateful for all their help. The way they caressed your cheeks as you slowly drifted off, exhausted and fighting against your illness with the new medication you got. You were much too hazy to feel their hands all over you, making sure you were comfortable while they touched and examined you. Light, fluttering touches all over your face like fleeting kisses and cold fingers caressing your body, leaving a prickling sensation everywhere they could reach. But you trusted them, knowing they cared for you so much.

»»———————— ♡

"You think that was too much?" Doctor asked as Nurse helped him out of his shirt, the two changing their clothes before going back to bid you goodnight and go home. Throwing the shirt across the room, she leaned forward, catching his lips with hers, your taste lingering on them and him lapping it up eagerly. It was her way of soothing his anxiety, telling him to be confident, and he couldn't help but eat right out of her hands—or this time, mouth.

"It's for their best. We can't risk them getting close to being healed again. The last virus was too weak for the treatment, and the medication had an easy job working. We almost lost them."

"You're right," he sighed, a pang of slight guilt residing in both stomaches. "I just wish it didn't have to be another virus. They are getting weaker and weaker with every injection."

For a moment, the two focused somewhere in the room, thinking of how they had almost lost you to a tricky lung inflammation just a little while ago. But his fingers around her waist tightened, pulling them both out of their thoughts. Staring at each other, they leaned in once again, uniting in a softer kiss this time, both imagining it was you against their lips.

After pouring so much care and love into you, they couldn't risk losing you. Neither to illness nor to anything nor anyone on this planet. You were the only reason that made their lives worth living. You pulled them from their stressful, monotonous everyday into a happy, exciting one. One, where they thought about the future and how they'd shape it with you by their side forever. Until death did you part, just like they swore on their wedding day. Vows they'd love to repeat with you in front of the altar some day.

"They won't. I'll check up even more on them, and you stay ready to have surgery at any point if something happens."

Embracing each other, their foreheads touched, hopefulness overshadowing the madness of their actions. "You know," Nurse mused, lips curling into a grin. "It would have been easier to let one of their legs die off—or both."

"Mhm," Doctor hummed in agreement. "Then you could stay home with them, take care of them, and greet me at the door every day."

"I could take them out for walks and cook together," Nurse added happily.

"Oh, I am sure our darling can do much more than that. We'd go on vacations together, to the theater--"

"--watch soccer on the weekends," Nurse finished his sentence, and they once again joined in a kiss, this time much more passionate as they each thought about the future that awaited them with you. Doctor's lips trailed down her jaw to her neck until he found her collarbones, wishing it was your body that reacted to him with ragged breaths and pushing itself closer to him. Just like you did whenever he touched you since you enjoyed his cool hands against your always feverish skin.

"We could warm your bed while you shower," she added, thinking of all the cute outfits she'd dress you in, nicknames she'd teach you to call her. All the kisses you two would have, breathing only each other while Doctor wasn't home.

He chuckled into her shoulder. "And more," Doc muttered, thinking of all the times he'd take you out to dinner and feed you from his plate before taking you to a nice hotel. Showing you a very special view while he got to admire you just by himself.

"So much more."

Finally, the two pulled away with a longing sigh, Doctor's fingers brushing over her cheek. "Soon, my love. Soon we'll be perfect. Just you, our sweet darling, and me."

"I can't wait," she whispered, excited for the future he promised her. "Let's hurry and check up on them."

With a quick smooch, they got dressed and packed their things, walking back to your room hurriedly to give you one last check for the day. Nurse made sure you had enough drugged candies to get through the night while Doctor adjusted the secret cameras he had installed so they could watch you from the comfort of their - your future - home. Kissing a corner of your mouth each, they left the room quietly while you were still in a daze, barely able to open your eyes, much less form a coherent thought in your brain.

Hand in hand, they left, happy everything from getting the virus to administering it to their darling went smoothly. Their future with you was close enough to grab. And if the crippling debt they'd put on your family wasn't enough to become their housepet, then maybe they'd have to get rid of one of your beautiful legs after all.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

About the praise thing. I have a head canon.

The first time Cat called Ned “handsome” he was confused and started blushing and stammering because no one ever thinks he’s handsome. Cat doesn’t understand why people think that because she thinks he’s very cute even though he’s not extremely hot like Brandon. So she likes to randomly call him handsome to get that reaction out of him.

I just love the thought of Catelyn being absolutely delighted by Ned’s reactions when she compliments him. Sooooo have a super short drabble

Catelyn looked up as Ned entered her chamber. She had not seen him since the previous night, and was quite surprised about his spontaneous visit. He rarely came to her during the days unless they had business they needed to conduct together.

“Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?” she asked.

She once more turned her eyes down to the dress in her hands. It was not quite finished, but she imagined she would be happy with the result. Sansa would be so pretty in it. There was nothing Catelyn liked more than making her daughter clothes. Robb had never been interested in it, but Sansa was always so sweet.

“I was told you had Sansa with you” he answered. “I wanted to see her.”

“It was time for her to rest, so she’s in the nursery.”

“Alright.”

She expected him to leave after that. Not that she wished for him to leave, though he had no reason to stay. She enjoyed his company, she liked when he was with her. The more she grew to know him the more she wanted to be around him, he was a good man. And a good husband.

“What are you doing, my lady?” he asked, coming further into the room.

Catelyn could not help the smile that graced her face at his question. She held up the little dress for him to see.

“I am making a dress for Sansa” she told him.

“It’s very pretty, I’m sure she will be happy with it.”

“She likes pretty things, our daughter.”

“Well, she takes after her mother in beauty.”

“She also has a handsome father.”

Catelyn had lowered the dress and picked up her needle again, continuing to sew. It took her a few moments to notice her husband had gone quiet.

He had turned his face downwards, and avoided her gaze when she attempted to look him in the eye.

A knot tied in her stomach and she felt herself go cold. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Had she somehow offended him? What had she even said? She couldn’t remember it. She had not put much thought behind it. And oh how she regretted that.

“My lord, do forgive me” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“No, my lady– I… I don’t know. There’s nothing to forgive.”

He looked up at her for a very short moment and she caught notion of that his cheeks had flushed red under his beard.

“Clearly I have somehow offended you” she pointed out.

She wished to know what it was she had said so that she would not repeat it.

“You have not offended me, Catelyn” he sighed, and his gaze flickered all over the room.

“Then what did I do?”

“You called me handsome.”

His voice was almost as low as a whisper, as if he was ashamed of saying it.

“You are handsome” she found herself responding.

She tried to keep the smile off her face, it felt inappropriate. Once she realised she was failing she had to raise a hand to cover her mouth.

So that was what had flustered him so. The cold feeling had been replaced by a flutter in her heart she only associated with her youth, when a handsome boy would kiss her hand and tell her she was beautiful. No handsome boy had kissed her hand, she had just told her husband he was handsome. And he was so thrown off by it that he could barely get out words.

It was with wonder she discovered just how much she liked that. He was so sweet.

“You need not try to appease me with flattery, my lady, that is unnecessary” he said.

“I’m not saying that to appease you, I’m saying that because I believe you are handsome.”

She had not thought so first time she laid eyes on him, but it had grown on her. She wondered how she had not seen it before when it was so obvious then. Perhaps not handsome in the traditional way, but in his own way. And she certainly liked that way. She would have to tell him much more often.

Slowly Catelyn put aside what she had in her hands and pushed herself up from the chair she had been sitting in. As she approached him he looked up at her somewhat sheepishly.

“You are handsome, Eddard Stark” she whispered, laying her arms around him.

She did not know where she had found the confidence and courage to do that, but there was something with it all that made her unable to keep herself away from him. She wanted more of that wonderful feeling.

“You may not see it yourself, but I see it” she continued, delighted by the smile that was tugging at the corners of his lips.

She would be able to stay alive for hundreds of years purely on that feeling. No food was necessary, no drink was necessary, she never had to pray again. Seeing him blush as she called him handsome was all she needed. Where had that come from? Since when did she gain such happiness from it?

“You are much too kind” he said, still avoiding her gaze.

“No, it is only what you deserve.”

She would have to do that much more often.

[ewitsren]

Dating hakkai headcanons 🥺💗

@#! HAKKAI AS YOUR BOYFRIEND

pairings: shiba hakkai x reader

cw/tws ⚠️: fluff, mentions of touching

requested: yes

barrista's note ☕: this is a little late i'm so sorry my love :( i really hope you'll like it!

#HAKKAI

friends to lovers

so,, hakkai is definitely that type of boyfriend who follows you around like a puppy and never wants to be away from you <3

he looked so casual while asking you out for the first time but he was literally dying inside, it actually took a long time for him to gather his confidence and ask you out yuzuha kinda forced him into it

hakkai always makes sure you're comfortable around him, since you two were friends for a while before dating he knows what to and what not to do/say around you. he's so careful not to hurt your feelings in any ways <3

whisper him words of affirmation and touch him somehow while cuddling, hakkai often needs emotional support + comfort and he craves for your touch

he loves hugging you! randomly wraps his arms around your waist and lays you on his chest, hugs you from behind, picks you up, spoons you... he lives to give you any kind of an hug

coming to meet his family, yuzuha is really welcoming towards you; at the very first time you visited the shiba house she made tea + snacks for you and sat you down to talk so you two could get to know each other

you'd think meeting taiju would be hard but i can't say taiju really gave a shit, sorry :( although he managed to give you a kind pat on the shoulder somehow

hakkai is your boyfriend and best friend at the same time, isn't that the best? you two gossip about the people you both don't like for hours like old ladies, you do everything together and you have an amazing bound <3

shower him with kisses and affection! he might seem all tough and cool but we all know hakkai is actually just a giant baby so he wants your attention

needles to say, hakkai also has a vulnerable, sensitive side and you'll see this clearly in your relationship. he doesn't just come to you and rant about his problems but you can feel it in the way he acts. he lets himself to be openly vulnerable around you because he knows that you'd never judge him in any way. comfort him and tell him it's gonna be okay :( sometimes he really needs to hear you're there for him

he fiddles with your fingers whenever he's stressed/anxious about something. the feeling of your hand fitting perfectly into his helps him to calm his mind

he's the type to send you a new song every night before going to sleep <3 he also has a few playlists for you

hakkai has all the love in the world when he looks at you... he adores you, he loves you in a way that no one else can, he thinks every single detail about you is beautiful

he never forgets to compliment you! he notices the slightest change right away since he's extra observant when it comes to you

would 100% do your nails <3

arguements with hakkai would rarely happen and they wouldn't be bad. he knows every relationship has its' ups and downs, he's determined to handle them smoothly

shares his earphones with you when you take the bus together <3

like i said, hakkai is extra observant when it comes to you so he notices even the smallest change in your mood. he's not the best at comforting people through words so he cuddles with you all day and puts on a sitcom on tv just to make some noise whenever you're feeling down. the way his fingers run through your hair, the way he squeezes your shoulder, the way his hands wander around on your face so gently is enough to make you feel like everything's gonna be okay

he's always so gentle, patient and considerate towards you <3 you're one of the few people he cherishes the most and hakkai's willing to do anything to protect you, keep you safe.

dates with hakkai are all fun and romantic <3 aside from his tasks in toman he doesn't have much to do so as soon as he's done with school he picks you up to do something. hakkai absolutely loves driving you around the busy city full of people and everything on his bike, he'd drive you across the city even for the smallest thing. anyways, going back to the dates; you wanna eat? he probably knows all the good places. you wanna go shopping? you're getting matching clothes. you wanna chill at home? he has a list of movies he wants to watch with you. he's willing to do anything that would make you happy <3

he's 10/10 to go shopping with, he picked up a good fashion sense from mitsuya and he loves picking outfits for you <3 also he carries all the bags. what an angel he is, right?

in a nutshell, he's nothing but the sweetest and the kindest boyfriend you can ever have so you better not break his heart :3

@ewitsren 's work, do not translate/repost on other apps or platforms.

[ncssian]

“Dress” for the elucien drabble

(If you’ve gotten a lot of these you don’t have to do mine!)

im going to set these in the same world as A Favor so readers can consider them peeks into elucien’s relationship before they broke up. these can also be read as standalones so you don’t need to have read AF to understand them!

***

It’s not so much that Lucien invites his girlfriend to the Vanserras’ annual Christmas party but that Elain invites herself. She loves all the things he despises: old rich white people, stuffy formal gatherings, and opportunities to dress up. So when the gilded invitation from the Vanserra manor reaches Lucien’s doorstep, Elain is the first to insist they both go.

Nevermind that Lucien can’t stand to be in the same room as his father and older brothers without feeling nauseated.

Meanwhile, Elain is having the time of her life. Lush green silk drapes over her pale skin and clings to each of her slight curves, and every single person in the room is aware of it—of her. No one has yet to compliment her or her gown out loud, but Lucien has been with Elain long enough to know why: when you’re easily the prettiest person in the room, most people find it redundant to compliment you.

She reminds him of Demeter covered in ivy, or Aphrodite wearing nothing but her shell. So when he accidentally steps on the train of her gown and hears the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing, it seems like the entire hall falls silent.

Elain gasps, twisting around to find a new slit trailing up the back of her legs. Her eyes move from the rip in her dress to Lucien in horror, and beneath the horror, growing rage.

Lucien is quick to set his champagne glass aside, hurrying to cover Elain’s backside and to usher her out of the room. He hears low muttering rise from the nearby guests as he tries to do damage control, grabbing Elain by the waist and nearly shoving her into the abandoned hallway.

“I’m going to kill you,” Elain hisses to him once they’re out of sight from the rest of the party. “And then I’m going to kill myself out of humiliation.”

“Sure thing, dove,” Lucien answers. He tugs her into a guest half-bathroom and locks the door behind them. Taking Elain’s clutch out of her hand, he digs around for the mini sewing kit he knows she carries everywhere.

Finding the kit and some safety pins, Lucien drops to one knee before Elain and flashes her a quick grin. “See? Easy fix.”

Elain gapes in disbelief as Lucien turns her around so the back of her dress faces him. “You’re not actually trying to stitch together a foot long tear. The thread doesn’t even match! Do you even know how to use a needle?”

“Is having breakdowns at the slightest inconvenience another cute quirk of yours I haven’t discovered yet?” Lucien says in a flat tone that implies Shut the fuck up. He unravels a length of black thread and bites it off with his teeth.

Elain falls quiet to watch him pull the thread through a needle. Or maybe she’s just watching his mouth as he holds two safety pins between his lips.

The thought amuses Lucien but he doesn’t show it. He hones in on the tear in Elain’s dress, using skilled hands and a sharp focus to mend the fabric as best as he can.

Elain keeps staring at him over her shoulder as he works. “Where did you learn this?” she asks once a good few inches have been stitched back together. It’s a big tear though, and keeping the whole thing unnoticeable will be difficult.

Running out of thread, Lucien ties off the final stitch and takes a pin from his mouth instead. In answer to Elain’s question, he smirks and nods at the hundred thousand dollar bathroom they’re standing in. “I grew up like this.” His education accounts for shit tons of seemingly useless knowledge—the very opposite of Elain, who rarely speaks of her past but once used the words “trailer trash” to describe it.

As Lucien handily pins together the rest of the slit (really, why is her dress fabric so thin in December of all months?), Elain sighs quietly to herself. “You were supposed to rip the dress off at the end of the night, you fool.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lucien hums to her. “I still can.”

[consumeconstantly]

Lady Cross (first aid)

Summary: Somehow, Marinette always ends up biting off more than she can chew. It started off with a kid and a nasty gash on their knee. The sudden escalation to treating the new head of Gotham’s underworld? It can only be explained by the fact that she’s catnip for trouble. 

_____________________________________________

Marinette supposed she should have expected something like this to happen eventually.

Really, she patches up a few street kids and offers a meal and some resources and suddenly she's made a name for herself in the slums of Gotham. It’s not like she’s doing anything revolutionary. Well, okay, maybe she does cheat a little bit and uses her healing powers on a few of the tougher cases that really should have been out of her realm of expertise, but she’s living near the slums of Gotham for a reason. That reason being Marinette is just a little broke and can’t really afford to send everyone she comes across to the hospital, and the people who are injured certainly can’t. It’s not like she can leave them to die. That would be heartless.

When she stopped treating scrapes and cuts for kids on the streets as she came across them and instead found her apartment balcony frequented by families who needed her help, she couldn’t just say no. And so, more and more serious wounds started coming in. Kids brought their parents and friends. The parents and friends brought... well, if the police stopped by her apartment any time soon, she’s fairly certain they’d have a field day.

But again, it’s not like she’s going to turn these people into the police when they’ve come to her for help and have a small army of people who swear up and down that they’re good people and only doing what they have to do in order to get by.

Morality comes in such a variety of shades, who was she to judge? Ladybug and Marinette have both certainly had their fair share of mistakes that they’d gladly go back in time to rectify, and her hands weren’t clean of blood either. Sure, the Miraculous Cure may have brought people back, but their deaths were still on her. And Hawkmoth? Yeah, he’s alive now, but she hammered him into the pavement after dropping him from the top of the Eiffel tower, and she’s not going to pretend that she didn’t take a bit of morbid joy in that moment.

But back to the matter at hand. Which was, the notorious Red Hood—responsible for a coup amongst Gotham’s drug dealers and responsible for taking down a man whose morality truly vanished with the wind, Black Mask himself— was currently bleeding out on her second floor balcony, smoking a cigarette and lounging against the rail like he owned the place. 

“Lady Cross,” he inclined his head.

“Red Hood,” Marinette returned his greeting.

God, she really didn’t want to get involved with Red Hood. She wasn’t opposed to helping out street thugs and criminals, but Red Hood was a different league. He seemed to be a fairly decent guy, ensuring that kids weren’t dealt drugs and tried to keep them out of the circuit as much as possible. He took down plenty of worse criminals while he was at it. In fact, Marinette would go so far to say the Red Hood as one the good guys.

But the issue was, once she started treating people of a certain level, she’d be open game. And that didn’t seem very enticing to her. Not at all. Everyone knew that Red Hood had beef with the Bat Family for some reason or other, and also made enemies with almost every single rogue in Gotham, and a good number of enemies outside of it as well. Basically, Red Hood was a universal enemy of both the vigilantes and rogues. Someone she shouldn’t get involved with while she was trying to investigate the darkness surrounding Gotham whole running her online boutique and going to college at Gotham University.

Unfortunately, Tom and Sabine and her own stint as Ladybug taught her that she could never ignore someone in need. Marinette sighed and slid the mesh open, leading Red Hood to her living room. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Real nice place you got here,” he said.

With the mask covering the whole of his face, Marinette had no facial expressions to figure out whether he was poking fun at her current living situation or not. His voice sounded genuine, but vocal emotions were easy to fake.

The apartment she was living in was not on the nice side of town. There were three bullet holes in the wall between her living room and bedroom that she just didn’t have time to patch up, some pretty nasty looking stains on the ceiling near her kitchen, and a huge, spray painted red cross on one of her walls, which was where her street name derived from. Her floor and coffee table were also in states of disarray; she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to clean up after working on two commissions and the last guest whose wounds were heavy enough to warrant several rolls of gauze, which was now half stuffed into a garbage can sitting next to rolls of fabric. Perhaps not the neatest or most sanitary situation, but she didn’t have time to clean up before every single one of her unexpected guests came in.

Look, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have time to fix things up real nice and neat. She’d only been living in the apartment for a month and a half, and most times, she barely spent any time in it other than to sleep, cram last minute projects for her design course, or to help heal people. Her living situation wasn’t the biggest of worries.

“Sit,” Marinette gestured to the one of the few pieces of furniture that she specifically bought for the apartment. She didn’t mind the stained, half broken, and extremely creaky couch the last owners left behind for the first week, but after she started bringing back her first… visitors, it seemed important that the couch was comfortable, sturdy, and most crucially, cleanable.

Rummaging through a cabinet, she pulled out a tattered briefcase she thrifted a while back to keep all of her medical supplies in. Not the prettiest of things, but she tried not to keep expensive looking items in her apartment because she wasn’t a fan of getting mugged. The medicine she kept was already expensive enough, she didn’t need to attract everyone’s attention by owning one of those metal containers used in hospitals. Even though most of the people who dropped by her apartment were thankful to be treated, she had a few instances where people tried to steal things from her.

“What’s the damage, doc?” Red Hood’s voice came through rather tinny through his helmet. 

Marinette grimaced. The helmet must have awful air circulation. It looked like some sort of metal, and wet and metal never smelled good together. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Thought you were supposed to be some mystic healer who came from the far east.”

She paused and looked at the man, trying to judge whether he was racist as well as rude. “That’s rather insulting.” 

Red Hood shrugged. Marinette applauded the man for showing no outward sign of pain at that, even though there was a bullet embedded in his shoulder, and shrugging had to bite. “That’s what the word on the street is, though you sound French to me. Thought I’d come and check out who’s healing Gotham’s criminals. What’re you planning?”

“Sorry to foil your plans, but I’m not planning anything other than getting my college degree and not pissing off the people I live near.” She paused, flipping the lock on the briefcase upwards. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use me as your go to healer from now on. You’re going to bring trouble my way.”

“Trouble? Me? Perish the thought.” His hand rested comfortably on the holister of his gun, ready to shoot if the girl pulled out a weapon from the briefcase. “We’ll talk about repeat appearances after I see how you do today.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Any wounds other than the obvious?”

“Just need the bullet out, and some stitches on the gash.” His shoulder and his abdomen, respectively. The gash looked nastier than the bullet; no shrapnel, but the cut on his stomach was jagged and wide. Not a normal, sharp blade. Probably needed a good cleaning.

She grabbed the tweezers, a sterilized needle, and medical thread. “That’s fine. Now are you going to undress, or am I going to have to cut your… costume… up?”

“Getting me naked already? We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Very funny, little Red Riding Hood. Now hop to it. I have class at 9 tomorrow and projects to finish tonight.” Somehow, trouble always seemed to find her when she least wanted it to. Not that she wanted to have trouble find her at all, but luck was a two way street, and for all that being Ladybug granted her good luck, she attracted criminals like catnip. 

“And here my informants had me thinking you were a regular Florence Nightingale.”

Marinette snorted. “They wish. I’ve got to ask who told you, because everybody should know the rules. You know, the ones where they don’t speak of my existence to their higher ups?”

“I’m not a rat,” Red Hood said, taking the top part of his outfit off. “And it’s not like you would have gone unnoticed anyways. You might be treating small timers now, but people catch on to healers pretty easy.”

“Because some gauze and sewing skills make me such a prime target.”

“No, your magic does.”

Shit. Marinette never told anyone she was using magic, and she rarely used it unless it was a dire situation. If she could patch them up using regular skills, she did. 

“Yeah right, if I had magic healing powers, do you think I’d be shoving my fingers into your shoulder to get a bullet out?”

“Not a very good liar, Lady Cross. You have this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about you.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I’m also the deer that tramples through your windshield and takes a dump on the driver’s seat.” She maneuvered the tweezers a little rougher, hoping to make Red Hood hiss in pain. He just chuckled, amused. His high pain tolerance was getting rather annoying. She had half a mind to pour hydrogen peroxide over the wound just to see if that would make him show he was in pain, but thought better of it. Even though she didn’t like the man, she also didn’t want to piss him off. Or worse, have him come back and make her fix him up again. 

Threading the needle, she made quick, small stitches on his shoulder, sewing the bullet hole up, then put some petroleum jelly to speed up the healing process and reduce scarring. At least the wound was in a position that didn’t require a lot of gauze. She needed to go out and buy some more soon. She barely had enough to wrap around Red Hood’s waist.

“So, the magic,” Red Hood started. “Is it a conditional thing? Can you not use it all the time?”

“Again, I don’t have magic.” Marinette did have to use some antibacterial on the knife wound. He would need to take good care of that one to make sure it didn’t get infected. 

“So a meta, then. What are you doing in Gotham? Everybody knows Batman hates metas.”

“Not a meta, either, sorry to disappoint.” She tied off the gauze, then stood to wash her hands. “Make sure to clean the stomach wound well. Hope you have your tetanus shot, otherwise you should look into getting one.”

“Surprisingly, I’m inclined to believe you on the not-a-meta thing. Back to the first thing, then. Magic. Why don’t you show me the old razzle dazzle? Do you have to say one of those weird spells like the godmother in Cinderella? Bibbity bobbity boo?”

“You’re hilarious,” Marinette dead panned. 

“How’s this for magic? Bibbity bobbity boo, kindly leave. Shoo.” She followed his suggestion, made a show of jazz hands as well. “Pity I don’t use magic otherwise you’d be gone now. Anyways, it’s time for you to make your exit. It would be great if you didn't visit me again. Ever. Thanks.”

She ushered him out onto her patio, then slammed the sliding door. He saluted her before dropping off the side of the building. She could imagine the man under the helmet smirking.

Marinette ran a hand through her loose hair. “He’s going to come back, isn’t he.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Her Matching Pair of Socks - George Weasley

Title: Her Matching Pair of Socks Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader (ish, not really) Summary: George will always protect Y/N, even if it means confronting his true feelings . A/N: for the anon who wanted George being overprotective of the reader who was being teased!! The house of the reader is unspecified b/c it truly doesn’t matter but I pictured her as a Hufflepuff as I wrote, please do with that what you will haha. Feedback is always welcome!!! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​ @thefifthweasley 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“George? George?” Y/N asks, waving her hand in front of his face. She giggles as his eyes seem to refocus on the world and he smiles at her. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

George nods as he searches his brain, trying to see if any part of it retained any of the things Y/N had been talking about just a second ago while he’d been daydreaming. Y/N is magnetic. She has warm eyes, a kind smile and the biggest heart George has ever seen. She draws people in with one look, and once she’s captured them they have no chance of getting away; not that they’d want to. Unfortunately for George this means he rarely gets a moment alone with her, which is something he so desperately craves. Y/N has been the star of George’s thoughts since the first moment they met when she had quite literally saved his ass.

He and Fred had just pulled a prank on a few Slytherins and were running away from Snape. They had split up at some point, and as George ran away he could hear Snape gaining on him. George was sure he was about to be caught when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him into an empty classroom. Y/N had simply placed her finger over her mouth and winked at him, and as soon as Snape ran by their hiding spot she’d burst out in a fit of giggles. George had never heard anything so beautiful, and he sat there with her for hours, sometimes talking, but mostly just watching her knit. Y/N is sunshine encapsulated, and George could have sat there for days, basking in her rays of light and warmth.

Fred had found him eventually and dragged him back to the Gryffindor common room, and George worried that he’d never see her again. But the next morning at breakfast the hat she had been knitting was sitting in his usual spot waiting for him, and when his eyes met hers across the Hall she winked. From that moment on George has been caught in Y/N’s magnetic field, constantly swirling around her but never quite connecting the way he wants.

“Were you? Then what did I say?” she questions with a grin, one of her eyebrows raising.

George’s heart melts and he leans in closer to her, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t giving you the attention you deserve. Tell me again.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully and puts her knitting needles down so she can ruffle George’s hair. “That’s okay, Georgie. It wasn’t that important anyway. What’s on your mind?”

“Just this Transfiguration assignment,” he lies. George isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t shared his true feelings with Y/N, and it’s not as if he hasn’t tried either. There have been quite a few times when his confession was resting on the tip of his tongue, but each time someone ended up being drawn to Y/N and stole her attention away. “McGonagall’s really giving it to us this term.”

“Maybe your assignments would be easier to handle if you didn’t wait until the last minute to do them?” Y/N suggests with a wink.

George’s heart flutters in his chest and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down. “Ah yes, but if I didn’t leave my homework until the day before it was due then who would sit here with you and keep you company while everyone else is outside soaking up the last of the weekend?” George is sure that anyone Y/N asked for companionship would drop everything to sit with her, and he feels honored that she always chooses him.

“Now how can I argue with that?” she teases, picking her needles up once again.

Watching Y/N knit is one of George’s favorite pastimes. She’s tried to teach him a few times, but he always ends up just creating a big knot of yarn and using the needles as drumsticks. The way her fingers move mesmerizes George to no end and he loves watching whatever she’s making start to take form before his eyes. More often than not whatever she’s making somehow always ends up in George’s possession, not that he’s complaining. So far this school year he’s added two new jumpers, three hats, a scarf and half a dozen pairs of socks to his wardrobe. Every item radiates the same warmth Y/N does, and on days where he can’t have her to himself he puts something on and when he closes his eyes it’s as if she’s right there with him.

“Whatcha makin?” George asks, completely abandoning any attempt at finishing his homework. McGonagall will probably be shocked that he did any of it at all, and he doesn’t want to put her into an early grave by actually finishing it.

“A sweater,” she responds sweetly, not looking up from her work. “And before you ask, no it’s not for you,” she chuckles and gestures towards the skein of yarn she’s using. “Though you may recognize the yarn.”

The yarn Y/N is using is a soft lilac color with glitter interwoven throughout the soft strands and George recognizes it because he’s the one who bought it. He and Fred had ventured into Diagon Alley a few days before Christmas to check out the space they were thinking about opening their joke shop in, and the yarn had caught George’s attention from a window display. He spent quite a bit of money buying every skein the store had, but it was all worth it to him. Lilac is Y/N’s favorite color, and George would do just about anything to see her smile. He gave it to her on the first day back from break a few weeks ago, and he can practically still feel how tightly she had hugged him.

“Does look kinda familiar, I bet a world class bloke gave that to you,” he jokes. Y/N laughs, and it makes George’s stomach feel queasy.

“Best bloke I know anyway,” she compliments with a wink.

George can feel his cheeks heating up, and he’s thankful for the distraction when students start to pour into the Great Hall for dinner. He sighs heavily and starts to pack his homework up, disappointed that his time with Y/N is already coming to an end. “See you in class tomorrow?”

Y/N nods as she stands up, gathering her latest project into her arms. “Most definitely, Georgie.” She leans over and boops him on the nose, before turning away and heading towards her house table.

“Hello lover boy,” Fred greets suddenly.

George jumps, having been too focused on Y/N to notice his brother’s sudden presence. He glares at Fred as he plops into the seat next to George, and he smacks him on the chest. “Screw off.” Suddenly the tables in the Great Hall fill with everything needed for dinner, and George starts piling his plate with food. “You get everything we need?”

Fred nods as he does the same as his brother. “Oh yeah. We’ve got enough Chinese gun powder to level all of England. It’ll be delivered to the store next weekend. We can apperate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade to meet the delivery person.”

“Wicked,” George responds, a glint of mischief in his eye. Fred had used the secret passageway into Honeydukes basement to meet a guy who deals with explosives at the Hogshead Inn. They’re starting to put their plans together for their joke shop, and the first step has been to find decent suppliers so they can start producing some stock. “You take care of the other stuff I asked?”

Fred rolls his eyes and hands George a bag from Honeydukes. “Yes, you big softie. I got everything on the list, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, prat.” George takes the bag from Fred and peers inside to make sure he actually did pick up everything George requested. Y/N’s sweet tooth is one of George’s favorite things about her and he’s always sure to have a stash of her favorites on hand at all times. “Where’s my change?”

Fred grins and pats his pocket. “Consider it my fee so you could spend the day staring at Y/N inside the warm castle, while I tread through a dark underground tunnel.”

“Whatever, drama queen,” George huffs with an eyeroll. He puts the bag down and starts to eat, turning his attention to Y/N. She’s sitting with her friends talking happily, and George can feel his heart rate increase as a smile spreads across his face. But just as quickly as it appears it vanishes, when Adrian Pucey comes up behind Y/N and taps her on the shoulder. He watches her nod as they talk, and when Adrian walks away he looks way too smug with himself.

“That didn’t look good,” Fred comments, nudging George with his elbow.

George shrugs, trying to seem like his stomach isn’t churning with dread. “You know how Y/N is. People like talking to her. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

-

“What did Adrian want yesterday?” George asks Y/N the following evening, trying to sound casual. They’re sitting in the library working on a Potions assignment, and it seems like there has been a never ending stream of people approaching them to speak with Y/N. He’s been dying to ask her about Adrian, but he wanted to wait until they were alone.

Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George. “He asked me on a date, actually. To Hogsmeade next weekend.”

“Oh,” George says softly. His stomach has dropped into the floor and it feels like he was punched in the chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him that I would think about it.” Y/N gives George a look and there’s an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you think I should say yes?”

The tips of George’s ears feel like they’re on fire, and he has to put his quill down so he can wipe his sweaty palms off on his school trousers. What he wants to say is no, that she should go with him to Hogsmeade instead, and then lean forward and kiss her. But instead he shrugs and says, “If you want to, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N responds quietly, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Thanks, I guess.”

George refocuses his attention on his homework for once, hoping that the sound of his heart pounding in his chest isn’t audible.

-

The next day by lunch time word has gotten to George that Y/N agreed to go on a date with Adrian. It makes his chest feel hollow, and he avoids her gaze at all costs. He avoids her in the hallways and when she asks to study with him in the library George brushes her off, claiming that he already has plans with Fred. He can tell that she’s upset, and it breaks George’s heart as he walks away.

He’s never been jealous over Y/N before. Even though he craves her presence and would give anything to spend every moment of every day with her, George has never minded sharing her with others. He’s spent countless hours with Y/N where they never even speak because her attention is captured by other people. Whether it’s people catching her in a casual conversation, or someone who takes a seat with them for a deeper interaction. George has always been content to just sit there and watch her face light up as she talks about whatever topic is at hand. Even if he’s not around Y/N, he loves to watch her from across the room as she talks to people. He finds everything she does absolutely adorable, and Fred often teases him for how hard he swoons.

But the thought of Y/N being alone with Adrian fills his chest with so much jealousy it feels like he’s drowning in it. He knows he has no right to be jealous, he’s never shared his romantic feelings with Y/N, and she isn’t his girlfriend or even a girl he’s casually dated. She’d even asked his opinion on whether she should accept. And instead of doing the smart thing and just telling her how he feels, he’d basically brushed her off.

As much as George wants to avoid Y/N, he’s still stuck in her orbit, so on Wednesday afternoon during break he parts ways with Fred and heads over to Y/N. “Got room for one more?” he asks, grinning down at her. Y/N moves over but doesn’t say anything. George frowns as he sits down. “What’s got you down, clown?”

Y/N cracks the faintest smile before she lets it fall from her features. “Just wasn’t sure you were talking to me is all. You haven’t been around lately.”

“I’m around now,” George points out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve just been a bit busy with Fred is all. You’re still my number one girl.” George’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest as he raises up one of his pantlegs. “I wouldn’t be rockin’ these bad boys if you weren’t.”

Y/N giggles as she looks at George’s sock, shoving him playfully. It’s neon pink and is truly the most offensive piece of clothing she’s ever seen. The yarn had been left over from a Christmas present she made for a young cousin a few years ago, and Y/N needed to use it up somehow. She originally planned on leaving them in her sock drawer for a few months before donating them to a charity, but the second George saw them he nabbed them from her, and he’s worn them quite a few times sense.

“They look wonderful, Georgie. Though I think it’s best you keep them hidden, they clash terribly with your Gryffindor tie and your fiery hair.” Y/N reaches up and tugs on a strand of George’s hair and he can feel his blood pressure spike.

“Well in that case.” George leans down and rolls up the cuff of both his pant legs, so a few inches of the socks are visible. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Y/N says with a laugh.

It’s the most beautiful sound George has ever heard, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you wished you kept these for yourself now, don’t ya?”

Before Y/N can respond, one of her other friends swoops in to talk to her about her upcoming date with Adrian, and George sneaks away to avoid the heart break.

-

“Are you excited for your date?” Y/N’s friend Emily asks as they head towards the entrance to the castle.

Y/N nods happily, letting her eyes scan the crowd of people heading out of the castle. She gets her hopes up when she spots a shock of ginger hair bobbing above the crowd, but they evaporate when the person turns around and it turns out to be Fred. Y/N hasn’t seen George in three days, and his absence has been driving her crazy. She’s friendly with everyone but only has a few true friends, and she considers George to be one of them. She would even consider George to be her best friend, and it feels weird to not have spoken to him in a few days.

“What are you guys going to do?” Emily asks, pulling Y/N’s attention back to the present.

“Just have some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, hang out, talk. Nothing too super crazy. I don’t really know Adrian that well, so I think it’ll give us a nice chance to get to know each other.”

Y/N had agreed to meet Adrian there, so when her and Emily reach Hogsmeade a few minutes later, she parts from her with a wave and heads right into the pub. She grabs a drink at the bar before settling in at a table in the back corner. When Adrian is 5 minutes late Y/N brushes it off, figuring that he got caught up leaving the castle or lost track of time. When he’s 30 minutes late, Y/N has already ordered another drink, figuring that he’ll be there any minute. And when he doesn’t show up after an hour Y/N decides to throw the towel in and head back to the castle.

Y/N feels emotionally drained as she makes her way back up towards Hogwarts, and she blinks back a few tears. Even though she’s not particularly interested in Adrian romantically, it had felt nice to be asked out and she truly was looking forward to getting to know him more. She always gives anyone who wants it a piece of her day, and Adrian not showing up make her feel as if she’s been taken advantage of. Her plan is to try and forget this ever happened until dinner that evening.

Y/N turns around when she feels something hit her in the back of the head, and when she turns around she can see Adrian, Marcus Flint and Theodore Knott laughing amongst themselves. There’s a piece of balled up parchment on the ground, and Y/N tries to ignore their stares as she leans down to pick it up.

How was the butterbeer? Lonely?

Y/N’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and she quickly turns back into her seat, shoving the piece of parchment into her pocket. She forces her tears away as she tries to get back into the conversation going on around her, unable to stop herself from searching George out in the crowd.

-

For the next week it seems everywhere she goes Adrian, Marcus and Theo are following a few paces behind. They never directly talk to her, but they talk about her loud enough for her to hear.

“Can’t believe she actually thought I wanted to go out with her!”

“How pathetic. I can’t believe it took her over an hour to realize you weren’t going to show up! What a moron.”

“She’s such a weirdo, no wonder she has no actual friends.”

It doesn’t help that George seems to be avoiding her as well. He doesn’t pass her stupid little notes in class anymore and when their eyes lock across the Great Hall he immediately looks away instead of giving her a cheeky grin. Every time she tries to ask him to come sit with her in the library he turns the other way in the hall before she catches him, and when she catches a peak of him and Fred outside pelting snowballs at Ron, he’s wearing his Gryffindor beanie, instead of one of her knit caps.

She misses George like crazy. He’s one of the only people who doesn’t want something from her. Most people only spend time with Y/N when they need to vent or ask her a question. George is the only person who is content with just sitting there with her in silence while they do their homework, or she knits. She could sit in silence with George for hours and just exist, so having him gone while also being tormented by Adrian and his gang has left Y/N with a deep ache in her chest and a pit of loneliness in her stomach.

-

Avoiding Y/N has to be the hardest thing George has ever done, and he once spent a week with his Great Aunt Tessie when he was 8. He craves her presence, but the thought of hearing about Adrian endlessly makes his stomach churn. Watching Y/N’s face fall every time he dodged her absolutely broke George’s heart, but he can’t stand to see someone else make her happy.

“You think she’s going to cry?”

George grimaces when he’s brought from his thoughts of Y/N and notices that Adrian and his goons are a few feet in front of him. Most of the school is in the Great Hall having dinner, but George didn’t feel like eating. Y/N had spent most of Transfiguration trying to get George’s attention, and ignoring her has left his stomach queasy.

“Reckon she might with how soft she is. Bet she’s cried herself to sleep every night this week.”

He has no idea who they’re talking about and he figures they’re tormenting some first year who is walking ahead of them. George is a little too far behind them to see who it is, but he decides to follow them anyway, in case he needs to intervene.

“What a stupid girl.”

Adrian’s words cut George deep. How could Y/N be interested in someone like him? George clenches his fist and starts to walk faster to catch up with them. He’s been wanting to smack Adrian and his smug face since the day he asked Y/N out, and this seems like a perfect excuse.

“Will you leave me alone!” Y/N shouts, and George’s blood runs cold. Her voice is shaky, and George knows that if she’s not already crying she will be soon.

Adrian, Marcus and Theodore stop in their tracks and cackle, and the sound makes George even angrier.

“Aw, poor pathetic Y/N has finally managed to stand up for herself. How cute,” Adrian taunts.

Y/N sniffles, and George can feel anger swell up in his chest. “Standing me up wasn’t enough for you, was it? Now you have to torment me about it too? Is that why you asked me out? So you could be mean to me?”

“Why else would someone ask you out? You’re not worth anyone’s time.”

George reaches them then, and he grips is wand tightly in one hand while the other grips the collar of Adrian’s shirt. He pulls him back sharply, causing Marcus and Theodore to take a few steps back as well. George takes one look at Y/N’s tear stained face and lets the anger in his chest consume him completely. “Leave her the fuck alone,” he spits, turning to face Adrian.

“Shove off, Weasley. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something,” Adrian seethes, squaring up against George.

“Not anymore you prick.” George can hear Y/N crying, and he moves slightly to shield her behind his back. “Now get lost before I make you.” Adrian takes a step forward and George raises his wand, pressing the tip of it to Adrian’s throat. “Unless you want to end up in the Hospital Wing for the next three weeks I suggest you move along.” George’s jaw is clenched, and his voice is deep and dark. George doesn’t move until they disappear down the hall. Only then does he drop his wand and turn around to hug Y/N.

Y/N presses her face into George’s chest and lets out a few more tears. “Thank you, George,” she mumbles.

“Of course, love. I will always be there for you, you know that.” George squeezes her tighter and resists his urge to kiss the top of her head. Instead he rests his chin there, and his eyes flutter closed as he soaks in her warmth. “How long have they been bothering you?” George asks quietly when he starts to feel like himself again.

“Since last Saturday, after Adrian stood me up.” Y/N pulls away from George’s chest so she can look up at him. “How come you’ve been ignoring me, Georgie? I’ve missed you so much.”

George’s heart breaks, and he brings a hand up to wipe away the last few tears from her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too, Y/N. I was being an idiot, like usual.” He takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “I’ve liked you Y/N, for as long as I’ve known you. And after Adrian asked you out I got so unbelievably jealous that I couldn’t be around you, I couldn’t hear you talk about your date with him and how excited you were because just the thought of him being alone with you made me want to throw up.”

Y/N bites her lip as she considers what to say next. “You’d do anything for me George, right?”

“Of course, Y/N. Anything,” George confirms, cupping her cheek gently.

“Kiss me,” she breathes.

George hesitates for a second before he leans down and presses their mouths together softly. Their lips move together slowly, and George can feel his head spinning. His knees shake when they pull apart, and when George looks into Y/N’s eyes they shine brighter than the sun.

-

“Nice sweater,” George compliments as Y/N joins him in that Great Hall that Sunday. She giggles and does a little twirl for him and George feels like he’s soaring through the air.

“Thank you, my boyfriend gave me the yarn I used to make it.” Y/N leans over the table to press a kiss to George’s cheek before taking the seat across from him. She digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out a pair of socks, knit from the same lilac material as her sweater.

“For me?” George asks, giving her a bright smile. He takes them from her excitedly and kicks off his shoes so he can pull them on.

Y/N laughs as George bring one of his feet up to show off the lilac sock, letting the glitter in the yarn shine. “Of course. What’s a sweater without a pair of matching socks?”

George leans over and kisses Y/N gently. “I’m always down to be your matching pair of socks.”

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Can you write Poly!Lost Boys x s/o x Michael? The lost boys let s/o seduce Michael into the dark side?

Oh hO HO- Okay, here you go. Making this an everyone loves Michael fic, and not including Star/Laddie.

Good Job, Michael (Poly!Lost Boys x S/O x Michael)

Word Count: 1725

Warnings: cursing, descriptions of blood/violence/gore

David's hand itched for a cigarette while he and his boys sat on their bikes. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, all of them complicated and muddled by the blondes own emotions. He knew what he had to do. Max wanted Lucy, and he thought her sons were the best way to get her. They turn Michael and Sam, and then Lucy turns. Ta-da, happy ending. But things weren't always that easy.

They sat on their bikes, knowing that somewhere, probably right at this moment, you were getting hit on. And that you were entertaining it. The thought didn't settle easy among the group, and instead it held over them like a persistent fog. Some members were more outspoken than others with their disapproval of the tactic, with Marko having been bitching about it since they woke up. He'd hesitated when letting you go, his gloved hand resting on your hip for a just a moment too long. All it did was pause you from saying goodbye to the others and you gave him a look, but he settled to just huff and wait to truly start complaining for when you left.

Paul was usually a chatterbox, but one of the least confrontational of all the boys. He preferred "peace and love, man", even if he tore into surf-nazis each night. But the way he was tapping on his bike handle and looking around gave him away. He didn't like this either, and finally he uttered out a whine of,

"Where are they?" They weren't used to letting you stray far. They rarely left eachothers sides, and their instincts were practically begging them to find you. Surprisingly, it was Dwayne that answered.

"Be patient." He said, his voice deep and bristly. He didn't like this as much as the others, that was clear by the permanent scowl on his face. His hands were gripping his handlebars, his knuckles tightening and threatening to snap the metal underneath his fingers. So much for patience.

While they all agreed that none of them liked this, David couldn't deny that another wave of emotion was clouding his mind. One that he'd carefully avoided, but resurfaced the second they saw you emerge from the crowd. Blue eyed, curly haired brunette in tow. The same feeling, the edging, burning interest of a new crush, edged his mind. One that he'd decided to keep to himself, even if the way he chose to stare at the brunette betrayed him to the others. The second the boys caught the way he was looking at the brunette, there was a sigh, small tittering, and a roll of hazel-green eyes. It didn't help that you were giving Michael the same exact goo-goo eyes.

---

You hadn't expected to actually like the brunette. You knew what David wanted, what Max planned. This was supposed to just be a simple trick, something to keep Max happy and off your back. A simple necessity, like drinking blood each night. Sure, having another boy around wasn't completely unwelcome, but, again, you hadn't expected to like him.

You found him after he donned a new, obviously new, leather jacket. He had seen the boardwalk, and the teens that owned it, and was trying desperately to fit in. It made you smile, a small feeling of pity flitting through you. The poor boy was even considering getting his ear pierced. You stepped forward, offering a quick,

"It's a rip-off." To catch his attention. He turned, and his eyes found you. He was quick to follow, asking,

"What?" And you smiled. A real smile. He was clueless. It was almost cute.

"It's a rip-off. Get a sewing needle and some ice, it'll do the job." You said, and he smiled for a moment, doing his best to follow you through the crowd.

"What's your name?" He asked, and you offered it freely. He repeated it, and was quick to chirp back. "I'm Michael." He said, and you nodded. You knew. You repeated his name back, catching his eye as you did so.

You looked him over now that you were closer, and, for the shadow of a moment, you saw exactly what he could become. The faint image of a Lost Boy was hidden behind his face, and you didn't doubt that in a few weeks, if not a few nights, he would grow into that image nicely. You couldn't help but say,

"You new to Santa Carla?" You asked, and he rubbed the back of his neck before he replied,

"That obvious, huh?" He asked, and you chuckled. He was oddly charming. He was like a puppy, filled with naivety and the need to be accepted. Liked.

"Just a little bit." You said, making a pinching gesture with your fingers. "But I like the jacket." You said, and you saw how that brought a smile to his face. He touched it, like he'd almost forgot that he was wearing it. You had to stifle a laugh when he said,

"This old thing?" And you reached out. He watched your hand come towards his, and he seemed excited for a moment. Excited from the idea that you were going to take his hand. You did, but only to pull a price tag from his wrist. You held it up, and, in a moment, he flushed. You couldn't stop your laugh then, and you had to tease him.

"Old thing, huh?" You said, but you were quick to wave your own comment away. "It's nice, though. It suits you." You said, and you watched him rub his neck again. You couldn't tell if his embarrassment was from having been caught in his lie or from being complimented by you. Still, he had enough confidence to ask,

"Wanna get something to eat?" As his bike came nearer. You nodded, and you could practically feel the stare from your boys on your back.

---

That was exactly what you asked him as you lead him into the dunes, the rest of your boys hooting and hollering behind you. Dwayne had thrown his arm around Marko, with Paul raising his hands teasingly at David. When you stopped near a tree, just above a partying group of teens, the laughter died. The tension had become suddenly thick, and Michael uncomfortably asked,

"I thought you said we were getting food?" He asked, and the boys snickered as they climbed into the tree. They'd been hazing him for days, even as their own feelings grew. But none of them were willing to do anything that would halt his progress, even if the tension was growing thicker between him and David. He would turn, and then they could pursue him.

You and Michael hung back for a moment, and you gave his arm a gentle squeeze. You looked at him. He had grown exactly into the image you had pictured. His cheeks were dusted with stubble, his sunglasses hanging from his white shirt. An earring hanging from his left ear. He was staring at you the same way he always did. So full of trust, naivety, and a willingness to please. Again, you found that you nearly pitied him. It's why you couldn't let him go into this completely blind, even if that had been David's plan.

"You've been having a weird pain lately, right?" You asked him, and his brows furrowed with confusion. You knew the thirst had hit him already, even if he hadn't acted on it. "And your hand." You reached for it. He'd told you about how Nanook had bitten him, but he'd skipped the detail about the mirror. His hand was now healed, as if he hadn't been bitten at all. While he wasn't the brightest, he was smart enough to realize that wasn't normal. You and the boys had succeeded in distracting him the night before, but now he had to know. "These are bad people, Michael. You don't need to feel guilty." You whispered, but he looked more confused than anything. He held your hand, giving it a squeeze. Before he could ask, you interruped, "Here, I'll show you." You said, guiding him towards the tree and then leaving him there while the boys watched you. While you'd given him just the slightest of hints, now it was time to set the plan into motion. Michael nearly followed you, only to be caught by Paul and Marko after a quick look from David. David trusted you, as did the others, as you stepped down towards the firelight.

Michael watched how the boys jeered at you, how one quickly took to your side. He was drunk, and it looked as if he planned on messing with you. The others quickly noticed you, and they circled you like a pack of wolves. The boys watched as Michael's- well, they couldn't tell if it was jealousy or protectiveness- flared, his eyes turning yellow. David smirked, and he leaned towards the brunette. Setting a hand on his shoulder, he said,

"You gonna let them do that, Michael?" And he nodded at the two blondes. They let him go, and just then one of the boys gave you a nudge. One that seemingly nearly knocked you to the ground. It was a bit of pretending on your part, but that was all it took.

His face had shifted completely, becoming almost lionesque as his fangs descended. Without the boys to grab him, he flew. You watched as they ripped and tore into the man's shoulder, knocking him flat onto his face. You watched as your boys laughed, joining him and pouncing as the surf-nazis began to try to run away. You snatched one for yourself, the blood hitting the back of your throat in a hot gush. The six of you were having a frenzy, and you tossed the limp body into the fire as the adrenaline filled your veins. You looked over at the curly haired brunette, his eyes still shining yellow instead of blue. He was panting, with blood drenched down his chin, neck, and the front of his shirt. He looked beautiful, not just to you but to the boys you had been with for- well, you couldn't remember exactly how long. He was truly one of you now, and you didn't hesitate to pull him in for a kiss. He moaned and licked at your mouth, whether to deepen it or catch the blood decorating it you couldn't tell.

When you pulled away, you caressed his stubbly cheek. His eyes had faded back to blue, but the completion of the transformation numbed any expected remorse. He simply ducked down again, capturing your lips once more, before the both of you giggled and you said,

"Good job, Michael."