#I been feeling burned out so this is the only thing I been able to make now after the new year

[bernardsbendystraws]

ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB.ᐟ Matt

ALTERNATE ENDING - You're finally ready to talk.

⚠︎ angst, unresolved ending, bitch i'm fucking crying idek what else to say

[ Can be standalone. Previous - P1 P2 P3 ] → au masterlist

The more you thought about it, the more you needed it to stop. All of it—everything, it’s all too fucking much. One moment you were in a drought of emotions, then Matt called you out—he triggered a flood. You’re drowning. 

You like him—you liked when he played the role of being your boyfriend for a brief moment, but it was more than that, it was far more atrocious than just a simple fond feeling. 

“Hey, can we talk now?” Matt asks, patting your knee as you sit side-by-side on your living room couch. 

You told him to come over, you said you were finally ready to talk. In all reality, you’re not ready, but you know you’ll never be ready—not for this type of conversation. 

“I don’t wanna do this anymore, Matt.” 

The words are choked coming out of your mouth. You try to hold your breath, trying not to cry as you feel the waves of emotions thrashing against every corner of your mind and heart. 

Oh god.

The look on his face is dreadful, defeat clouding his features as a stray tear falls down his cheek, quickly accompanied by more droplets that seem to get heavier in weight from how rapidly they scurry down his face. 

This is it. It’s really happening—it’s really over. 

“What?” he asks, his throat feeling unbearably tight as he tries to take in a deep breath. 

It hurts. No thought in your brain can agree, no throbbing in your chest is eased to feel relief, not like you hoped it would. 

This is supposed to be for the better. 

Honestly, the more you thought, the more you realized you did have feelings for him—feelings your brain wouldn’t let you concentrate on without pushing relentless words that made everything so confusing. 

You can’t be with him. Your heart has been bruised and battered to the point where you can barely care for yourself. He deserves better. 

The tears strolling down his face make all the second thoughts come rushing in before being mirrored back with affirmation—this is for the better. 

All you do is hurt him. You can’t even figure out how to be happy for yourself, you’d only drag him down. You can’t be that selfish. 

Matt is sweet, caring—he’s everything pure about the world with enough understanding to get into anyone’s heart. It’d be unfair for you to have him, hold him hostage from all the things he deserves—all the things you’ll never be able to give him.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, your chest binding with pressure as your breath halts in your chest. 

Matt’s bottom lip wobbles, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the right words. “Are…are you sure? I—just—why? I…I know this is scary, but we can—”

The shake of your head makes his lips smack shut, a desperate attempt at holding back a sob as he realizes the determination in your eyes. This is it—this is all he’ll ever have with you, and it’s over. 

“I can’t do this right now. My…my heads everywhere, I don’t—it’s gonna be okay, Matt,” you coo, your brows scrunches as you pat his shoulder.

Matt goes to put his hand on top of yours, stopping as he realizes it’ll be the last time he ever holds your hand. He can’t do it. 

His hand falls to his lap, a burning sensation crawling through his knuckles as he aches to reach up and intertwine your fingers—but he can’t. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to let go.

A moment of silence passes. Matt rubs his hands over his face, trying to gather himself as your hand drops from his shoulder while he stands up. His eyes stay trained on the floor. Shame makes your body freeze as he grabs his keys from his pocket. 

“I’ll…I’m just gonna…I’m gonna go,” he puffs, his throat squeezing as he says the painful words. 

You stay frozen, your heart aching. It’s like a heavy ice block in the middle of your chest as you watch him walk through the door, a cold so shocking that it burns.

Matt walks through the door, shutting it behind himself, refusing to take glance over his shoulder. He can’t. He knows his heart will try to convince him to stay—to beg on his knees and plead with his entire soul, but that’s not fair to you. 

The words left your lips after you said you were ready to talk, after you had time to think. It wouldn’t be fair for him to try and convince you. He cares too much to interfere with your decision, no matter how much it breaks him to understand that this is truly it—the end. 

A slight glimpse of how he walked into that door with a bouquet of flowers rings through your mind, a small smile pulling on your lips before you breathe in reality. It’s impossible to reminisce happily about the memory. Instead, you feel something shatter—like ice shards stabbing through your chest in a way that makes you too aware of how you’re breathing. 

He’s gone. 

He’s really fucking gone. 

All the good times, all the fun things…they’re all just memories. 

That’s all he’ll ever be now. 

He’s a memory. 

A/N: Someone hug me I'm fucking sobbing holy shit. Sorry in advance. Especially to @weirdothatwritess @chrisbratt333 @sturnsblogs @lovesturni0l0s and more 😭😭😭

ITS AN ALTERNATE ENDING DW. THE OG ENDING IS RESOLVED.

·˚ ༘ ʚ 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𖧧

꒰ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ꒱

[heartyluv]

I LOVE how you write the lads guys!!! May I please request taking advantage (in a kind way, of course) of zayne’s medical expertise and asking him silly medical questions? Just like really random stuff! lounging around with him at home or being out and about while asking those questions would be so funny and I’m sure he would kind of like it lol

Note: This idea is too cute, I love it. Thank you so much, luvly. I felt like this works best as headcanons, so I hope that’s okay. 😚 Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: Just a brief explicit headacanon after you and Zayne have been intimate.

Zayne/Reader

✴︎ Dating a doctor meant that you officially had a walking medical encyclopedia for a boyfriend and you had no shame in utilizing his knowledge. Thankfully for you, Zayne was always happy to deliver whenever you asked him all kinds of questions.

✴︎ I feel like when you start getting comfortable enough to ask him, it’s really simple things. Like it’s questions about your personal health at first. You’ve definitely asked him something like; “Babe, how do I make my headaches go away faster?” and “What do you think are the best vitamins I should take so I don’t have to keep taking gross ones that aren’t doing anything?”

✴︎ Not only does Zayne answer your questions, but he gives you some deeper insight so that you have your own knowledge about things. And you like learning from him—especially because of the way he looks at you as you stay hooked onto his every word.

✴︎ He loves the little text messages you send him. You ask him something almost everyday, sometimes even attaching a photo for reference LOL. I picture you at the supermarket, stumbling upon these new health beverages that you want to try out. But if your Dr. Zayne says that they’re simply drinks full of more sugar than actual benefits, you’ll have zero problem putting them back on the shelf. “Do any of these actually work for gut health? I sent you the nutrition label. What do you think?”

✴︎ I believe he always takes your questions seriously, but you have moments where you ask him something so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. “Zayne, babe… I ate like three apples and a pomegranate, and now my mouth feels weird. Am I dying?” Don’t catch him on a day where he’s feeling goofy either, because he might scare you a little bit.

✴︎ “You may have oral allergy syndrome, my love.” Just imagine his tone being dead serious and the silence that follows. And when you start losing it over the phone, he tries to calm you down, but he’s just smiling so hard at your theatrics. When you search it up and you start worrying if you’ll ever be able to eat another mango again in your life, he tries to suppress his laughter, all while attempting to soothe you at the same time.

✴︎ You’ll be walking around while you guys are on a date and will randomly ask him how many calories does he think you’ve burned, just to see how accurate he is compared to your walking app that tracks all of that for you. Not only does he get incredibly close, he’s also able to do the same with the amount of steps you’ve actually taken.

✴︎ “Quick, we’ve been walking thirty minutes, normal paced. How many calories? Go!”

✴︎ Just wait till you start watching one of those medical shows. You never watch an episode without him because you have to know how accurate the writing is. He’s gotten through three seasons with you and sometimes, he’d answer questions before you even asked because he just knows you so well. And you legitimately learn so much that even you start pointing out unrealistic things yourself.

✴︎ “That doesn’t even make sense. He was hit in a major artery, wasn’t he Zayne? He shouldn’t even be able to argue with a doctor right now.” He’s so proud of you, by the way. How information sticks with you. And honestly? He finds it sexy—particularly knowing that he’s the reason why you know the things that you do.

✴︎ Times when you try to eat healthier, you always ask him how many calories something will be if you take something out or off. Like you’d still eat junk food or foods that aren’t exactly healthy, but you wonder what the difference will be if you add a vegetable. LOLLL.

✴︎ “Zayne, if I put only mushrooms on the pizza, is that better?”

“Honey, I think it’s best to just discard the pizza entirely in order to properly fulfill the goal you intended to reach.”

“But Zayne…It’s Friday and it’s pizza.”

✴︎ Some more questions off the top of my head from you would be; “If I eat more carrots than usual, will the decrease my chances of having to wear those thick bifocals when we’re old?

“If I’m on top more often when we have sex, will that tone my thighs out more?”

“How is it possible to drink a gallon of water a day? There’s just not enough time to drink all that liquid.”

✴︎ Omg, you totally believe that ginger is like the cure all and you even make him eat a raw slice of it a day LOLLLL. He admits that it has its benefits, but when he tries to tell you that you have to do more than just eat ginger, you listen, but you’re still so insistent about it.

✴︎ “Despite the benefits and your complete belief in the sacred ginger, love, please make sure you continue to take your daily supplements. Add to your regimen so that you improve your health—don’t take from it believing that something is an optimal replacement.”

✴︎ This one is a little explicit. But, I imagine you and him finish having sex, he’s on top of you, both of you already came and feel good. And even when you’re breathless, even with the glorious man above you, you can’t help it when you ask: “Do you think we’ve met our quota on physical activity for the next few days?”

✴︎ Zayne can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss your neck. But he’s also filthy enough to move his hips just a little, hinting that he in fact could go again and says, “I think it’s best to try again… One more time, just to be safe. I’m sure the quota will be more than met once I’m finished with you.”

✴︎ Of course you’re going to let him fuck your brains out again. Why wouldn’t you let Dr. Zayne take care of you? What kind of patient would you be if you didn’t?

[gayasswitchbitch]

Searching for Warmth| Ace x F! reader.

Synopsis: It’s freezing ass cold and you can think of only one person that can help.

Warnings: none brah

It was a late night on the Moby Dick. You could hear the ship gently rocking through the waves, and a few snores coming from the room next door. The only thing lighting the room as you tried to doze off, was a candle on the night stand that had burned down to its end. It would be a peaceful night had it not been for the fact that it was absolutely freezing. Lying in bed, you’re tossing and turning, trying to find warmth in any way you can. Your eyes flicker to the candle. ‘Not much left. When it goes out I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it anymore. What will I do?’

As if the universe heard, and hated you, the candles flame gave out. Shivers run down your spine. There’s no way you’d make it through the night like this. It was just too cold. ‘Ace better be feeling real lucky right now.’ You think. ‘Must be nice to have fire powers.’ Suddenly, you get an idea. Is it a good idea? Probably not, but you’re desperate. You decide to ask Ace. ‘He’s so warm, just a hug will do.’ You roll yourself off the bed, wrapping the blanket around you. There’s no way you’d be leaving without it, and make your way to his room.

The hallway is dark and ambient. Not a soul in sight as you walk to Aces room. How the hell is everyone sleeping through this?’ You grumble to yourself.

Upon reaching Aces room, you can see he has a light on. ‘Thank gods hes awake!’ You think.

Knock, knock, knock.

Not but a second later you hear his voice calling from inside. “Come in!” He yells. He figured it would be Marco there to scold him for being up so late. Something about it being bad for your health. He didn’t expect to see you there when the door opened. He’s sprawled out on his bed. His hair disheveled, comic in hand. “Y/n?” He asked excitedly, throwing it to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He hopped off his bed and grabs your hand with one of his and uses the other to gently shut the door behind you both. In truth he just wanted to hold your hand, but he’ll say he was just helping you in.

You sigh. “Okay.. this might sound a little weird okay..”

Aces brows furrow. He’s intrigued. “Yeah? What’s up?” He’s standing across from you and it’s like his eyes are sparkling in the light. It makes your eyes wander to his buff arms down to his shirtless chest and how toned it is. How are you supposed to not make this weird when he looks so pretty? Ace thinks you look just as cute. Your hair is messed up as well, cheeks round and a little red from the cold. He thinks you’re the most adorable thing he’s seen.

“So.. it’s really freaking cold tonight and I can’t sleep because of it and I guess I was wondering if you could give me a hug for just like one second so I could warm up? Please?” He’s silent, like he’s thinking and suddenly you’re too nervous to be in his room anymore. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough and as you try to turn to the door to leave Ace suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you back.

“Wait! Of course I’ll warm you up but I don’t think just a hug is gonna do it.”

You look at him confused. What did he mean? A hug should be enough. His body is scalding all the time so it should be enough to hold you over until morning.

“Come here.” He says pulling you to him. Your face is right in his chest and he smells of bourbon. Ace starts to unravel the blanket. The cold air is hits you like a train.

“Ace! What are you doing?” You yelp. He answers by walking to the edge of the bed and flopping himself down, simultaneously bringing you with him. He lays on his side and without thinking you scoot yourself closer to cuddle to his chest again. He then warps the blanket around the both of you and squeezes himself closer while holding you.

He lets out a sigh of relief, like he had been the cold one. “Is that better?” He asks.

It’s a good thing he’s holding you so close. He can’t see the way your face is bright red, and it’s not due to the sudden heat. “Yes, but I only wanted a hug you didn’t need to do this.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t want you to be cold all night.” He chuckles and you notice his heart beating faster and his breathing is heavier.

“Your heart is pounding…”

He laughs. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice that. Seeing you looking so cute, like a sad little penguin waddling in here all bundled up, it drove him mad.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He laughs. “There’s a pretty girl in my bed and I’m nervous.”

You scoff at his words. You didn’t even want to be in his bed! (Liar) you only wanted a hug. “You’re the one that practically threw me on here!”

“Yeah yeah. I don’t see you complaining.”

[bittertasteofhoney]

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 1

Seems Like Years Since Its Been Here

Summary: You’re fully immersed in your sunny life in Jackson when a certain Miller brother’s harsh nature cracks your bright demeanor.

|| angst, jackson!joel, jackson!tommy, this will be a slooooooowwww burn, joel being a bit of a butthole ||

notes: My first time ever posting on tumblr so please be kind! Also if this isn’t your thing, feel free to keep exploring. :) I had to put my brain rot somewhere. This idea would not leave me alone. 

The sun burns your back in a way that translates to a hard day’s work. Your knees ache and you are elbow-deep in soil, but your cheeks also hurt from grinning with your co-workers. Being a part of the gardening crew in Jackson wasn’t an easy task but in your opinion, it was one of the most gratifying. 

Everyone had their talents. Some were good with their hands in the way that saw wood transformed into reinforced gates for the town or furniture to welcome a newbie home. Others were the brains behind the operation, making sure the cogs in the great machine that was Jackson were well-oiled and plentiful, to not only make sure everyone was safe but they had room to thrive and help the town in turn. 

Within the garden, you got to witness the beauty of the deep soil nurturing the seeds and growing the food that kept the town going. In tandem with the farmers, you made sure each citizen of Jackson went to bed with a stomach filled with wholesome food. 

It was life complete with such harmony that it was easy to forget what lurked beyond the gates. You rarely ever ventured out thanks to your steady position in the rows of produce. There were times where you wished you could be of more help but the days of prowling through the woods with a gun clutched in your hand were thankfully behind you. 

Life existed before Jackson but you were only interested in keeping your sights on your future here. 

You stand, bracing your hands on your hips as you stretch out your legs and back from hours spent knelt over weeding and clipping. 

“You goin’ to check the inventory?” Your head snaps to your coworker, Roberta, who was also standing for a stretch break. Her bright, red hair shining under the midday sun and her clothes equally speckled with dirt. You flash her one of your well-known smiles and give her a small shake of the head. 

“No. Actually, I'm going to check to see if that welcome box got picked up before I grab lunch for everyone.” She gives you a nod of her head and continues twisting from side to side to stretch out her joints. You lean down to grab the mason jar you keep near you during the day to stay hydrated and head to the greenhouse. 

You pass by rows of your other coworkers working through their to-do list under the Wyoming sun, waving and smiling as you pass. 

Your nickname, Sunshine, was well-earned throughout town. You didn’t realize it but after a year or two living here, you became known not by your overall appearance or bright personality but the thousand-watt smile you always flashed towards people, friends or strangers. Like everyone in Jackson knew, life past the gates was harsh beyond words. In your mind, a smile could go a long way if someone was struggling with memories from life before or if they were still recovering from those monstrous memories.

However, your smile never seemed to work on a certain Miller brother, recently returned from an seemingly impromptu trip outside Jackson. He left just as fast as he came and the most you were able to see of him was a glimpse of a tense conversation between him and his brother Tommy, Maria and the little girl Ellie in the mess hall before he and Ellie were gone again the next day.

When the pair returned, they kept close to one another, leaving little for any outside introductions. Eventually, Ellie befriended one of the local girls and in turn, settled into the younger Jackson population. Meanwhile, Joel kept close to Tommy and Maria. You occasionally bumped into him around town, while walking to work or at the Tipsy Bison. Like clockwork, you always flashed him a smile but in turn rarely got anything more than a grimace and if you were lucky, a grunt. Those always turned out to be good days. 

Despite how many smiles you flashed at him, knocks on his front door and reminders to Tommy, neither Joel nor Ellie ever came to pick up their welcome produce box. To make the transition into Jackson life simpler, your team always curated a box filled with the season’s fresh veggies and fruits, a selection of canned spreads, a baked good or two and coffee. 

Jackson’s citizens picked up their weekly rations like clockwork and ate a majority of their meals at the mess hall. These boxes and weekly rations made it easy to make breakfast at home, have nutritious snacks on hand and host the occasional gathering at one’s own home. Joel however, took it upon himself to not even bother with stocking up the home and instead make the mess hall his and Ellie’s only food destination.

You couldn’t blame them really. It was convenient and there was always friendly conversation to be had but all the same. Their welcome box was starting to wilt.

You step into the greenhouse and spot the cardboard box sitting next to the inventory station. Dropping your mason jar in the communal sink, you pick up the box and head up the road towards the direction of the Miller house. The walk was on the long side but you welcome the feeling of the breeze and a chance to move more than from one row of tomatoes to the next. You spot a patch of wildflowers and decide to pluck them to add a little life to the box.

You spot their crooked mailbox and walk up the path, dropping the box on their stoop before knocking on the door. After a few minutes of polite tapping, you realize no one is home. You could drop the box on the stoop and head to the mess hall but you want to make sure they knew how the town’s ration system worked and you couldn’t trust Tommy to explain it truthfully. That man will flash a wink and smile any day of the week if it means he can snag a little extra of anything to surprise Maria with. It usually worked too. It was hard saying no to the town’s resident hero and handyman. 

You shake your head to yourself and lift the box again to head into the main part of town to hit up the mess hall for sandwiches for your crew. A few minutes of smiles and neighborly waves later, you enter the bustling building filled to the brim thanks to the lunchtime hour. 

You step inside almost tripping over a gaggle of your neighbor Lisa’s kids playing near the entrance. You smile off the almost misstep and continue inside, spotting the serving station. You weave around a few tables almost reaching the counter when you hear a familiar booming laugh. You smirk, knowing that goofing cadence anywhere. Tommy Miller. 

Your eyes scan the room until you see the mop of curly, black waves and next to him, a shorter set of grayer waves. Bingo. Smiling to yourself, you redirect your path up to their table, slowing down when you catch a piece of their conversation. Joel’s back was to you and Tommy was too busy frowning at his brother to notice your slow approach. Both were clothed in dusty plaids and denim, matching the overall town population.

“Oh, c’mon Joel. Stop being so hard. All you gotta do is pick up the damn box and get on with your day. Stop making work for everyone else.” You see the back of Joel’s head snap up, previously fixated on the plate in front of him.

“I ain’t making work. It’s plenty easy grabbin’ food here throughout the day and plus it saves me from Little Miss Sunshine.” You freeze about a table’s length away from them. 

Jesse, one of the town's younger patrolmen notices you pause next to him and he half turns to you, cracking a crooked smile. You don’t notice him until you feel a slight tug on your work shorts. You frown down at him, still listening.

Tommy groans in annoyance. “Really? Of course you’d have a problem with the sweetest girl in town.”

“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t feel like wastin’ my time on idle small talk is all. There’s no point.”

“She’s just bein’ nice, Joel. Can’t really blame her.” You can almost feel Joel’s eyes narrowing at his brother.

“I ain’t got time to spend losing brain cells to listen to some airhead talk. Don’t worry. I’ll send Ellie to pick it up.” You see Tommy scrunch his eyebrows at Joel, half incredulous and half pissed.

“Really? And she’ll pick up your weekly rations too? Scared Sunshine’ll flash you a smile and you’ll fall-” 

You don’t wait to hear the rest. You take a deep breath and finally turn towards Jesse and hold out the box to him. “Mind handing that over to Joel for me?” You give him a weak, watery smile. “I gotta grab food for the crew and he seems a bit tied up.” 

Jesse nods at you confused and replies, “‘Course.”

You scurry off to the counter to quickly grab a set of sandwiches before beelining for the exit, counting to twenty in your head to keep the tears at bay. Airhead. You shake your head to propel the thought momentarily away while you walk outside. 

Meanwhile, Jesse walks up to the table and deposits the produce box in front of Joel. The older Miller peers down at the arrangement of goods in confusion and looks up at Tommy who passes the look to Jesse. The younger boy shrugs and motions to your hurrying form. “She asked me to drop it. Said y’all looked busy.”

Tommy’s eyes catch a glimpse of you and he’s quick to notice your rushed steps.“Shit. She hear anythin’?” The only response the two brothers get to Tommy’s question is the narrowed look Jesse gives Joel. 

Joel hangs his head muttering under his breath before swinging his leg over the bench, abandoning the harsh look his brother was pointing towards him and the box of good intentions. He takes quick strides to the exit, hoping to catch you before you get too far down the street but when he steps back into the sunlight, you’re long gone down a side street he has yet to discover.  

[slytherin-pen]

Heartbreak Anniversary

pairing: Bodhi Durran x Reader

word count 1.8k

warnings: canon typical violence, injury, cursing

tags: no use of y/n, gn!reader, marked one!reader, set during FW, angst then hurt/comfort, hea

summary: It’s you and Bodhi’s anniversary but unfortunately the upcoming rebellion takes precedent over such trivial things. You’re heartbroken and furious…until Bodhi comes back injured.

a/n: written for day 1 of Bodhi Week @empyreanevents

Bodhi Masterlist

You’d been counting down the days. Not because you needed the reminder—it had practically been carved into your heart—but because you were so excited. One year. One full year of surviving war and everything else life throws at the two of you side by side.

Today was your anniversary, and you had plans to make today extra special. Starting with breakfast in bed, courtesy of Violet using her breakfast duties to sneak you two trays of food before other cadets rummaged through it all.

Next would be a picnic for lunch, accompanied by your dragons. Then finishing the evening with a candlelit dinner on the roof where’d you give him the gift you bought. It wasn’t perfect. Ideally, the two of you would be able to take the day off and spend the whole day together, but when attending a war college you had to take what you could get.

You were adjusting the stray hairs that fell out of your braid when there was a light knock on your door, and it opened to reveal Bodhi. You smiled at him through your reflection in the mirror, but it quickly fell when you noticed his somber expression.

You turned around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” he said, his face tight with urgency.

You felt your heart sink. “But it’s our anniversary.”

“I know, baby,” he said, approaching you and grabbing your hands. “But Xaden needs me. Garrick can’t sneak away today and Xaden needs backup when he meets with the fliers.”

“What about Imogen? Or Heaton, or Emery? Anyone but you.”

Bodhi grimaced. “They went last night and the night before. They need a break, and it would be suspicious if the same three riders—marked ones—are gone at the same time two days in a row.”

“But, Bodhi.” You want to throttle yourself for the whiny tone of your voice, but you can’t help it. You’re desperate. You’re watching all of your plans burn to ash in front of your eyes. “Why can’t it be rescheduled? It’s our anniversary. We somehow survived one whole year, not just our relationship but us.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he sighed. “You know how impatient fliers can be. We can’t wait. I’ll try to come home as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, and let him give you a quick kiss before he’s out the door chasing after his cousin.

You sat on your bed staring at the cracks in the paint, the emptiness of the room feeling like a wide open chasm now that he’s gone.

The sadness slowly turned to rage. With each passing hour, every moment that your eyes darted to the door only to find it empty, it built.

You snapped at a cadet who bumped into you as you walked into the dining hall, causing Violet to side-eye you from her spot next to you. Later, when another cadet in Battle Brief made a joke about you missing your boyfriend, Ridoc of all people shot him a deadly look and slashed his hand across his neck. A silent warning. Shut up. Not today.

You left the lecture hall, your chair nearly falling over as you shot out of it, boots echoing down the corridor. It was better this way. Your friends didn’t deserve your second-hand anger. You’d do what was expected of you and keep interactions to a minimum, and hopefully, Bodhi would be back before you lashed out at someone else.

The rest of the day was a blur of classes and sparring matches. Every little grievance acted as kindling to your fury. During a challenge, your opponent had tapped out, but in your adrenaline-induced haze, he looked a little like Xaden. You didn’t get off of him. Instead, you pushed down on him harder, fighting the urge to bash his skull into the mat.

It wasn’t until Garrick walked onto the mat and started pulling you up by your armpits that you finally let the cadet go.

You stormed out of the gym, Garrick on your heels.

He called your name. “Would you—just wait up!”

“What?” you snapped, turning around to face him. You were breathing heavily, not just from exertion but from the rage in your chest, consuming your every thought and breath.

“You’re upset, I get it. But you can’t do shit like that. You know better than to draw attention to yourself, especially when two of our own are trying to get away with something that’s considered treason,” he said, pointedly looking at the rebellion relic peeking out from under your long sleeve.

He was right. Damn it, you knew he was right. But the ugly beast inside you did not care. It wanted to curse him out, curse this whole rebellion, and everything else that takes Bodhi away from you.

You swallowed it down as best you could. “I’m sorry, Gare. It won’t happen again,” you said, your voice coming out a little harsher than intended, but Garrick took it in stride, dipping his chin in acceptance before turning around and walking back toward the gym.

By the time you reached your room that night, you were vibrating with the need to break something. You scrubbed your face, ripped off your jacket, and pulled on your softest nightgown. You were debating whether or not to scream into your pillow when the knock came—hard and frantic.

You wrenched the door open to find a breathless Garrick. “Come with me. Now.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Is it—?” you whispered, heart already sprinting ahead.

“Infirmary. It’s bad.”

You threw on a robe and your slippers before bolting out the door behind Garrick.

You didn’t feel your feet hit the ground as you ran.

Down stairwells, around corridors, past startled cadets and confused officers.

Your eyes found him as soon as you breached the doorway. He was stretched across a cot, unmoving, pale, and though you couldn’t see the color of the blood seeping out him, his leathers were shining with it.

An anguished cry escaped your throat.

You surged forward.

“No—wait!” Garrick caught you around the waist just in time. “You’ll be in the way—let the healers work—let them save him!”

You’d barely noticed them hovering and flitting around Bodhi. You still fought Garrick. Kicked and clawed and thrashed, desperate to be close to your boyfriend. But the healers were hunched over his torso, their hands moving rapidly with gauze to staunch the bleeding, sweat pouring down their faces.

Your blood thundered in your ears, your body trembling with helplessness. And then your gaze landed on him.

Xaden.

Standing silent in the corner, arms crossed, jaw like stone. No blood on him. Not a scratch.

You snapped.

You crossed the room in a blur, grabbing fistfuls of his flight leathers and shoving him against the stone wall so hard his head thunked against it.

“What the fuck happened!” you screamed, teeth bared. “You dragged him out on our anniversary and now he’s dying—what the hell did you do?!”

Xaden didn’t flinch. He didn’t shove you off, though you both know he could if he wanted to. He didn’t defend himself verbally either. He let you shove him again. Let his head smack the wall twice more, as if he welcomed the pain. His face was cold, unreadable, but his silence only fueled your rage.

“I hope it was fucking worth it,” you hissed. “I knew this would happen. He fucking worships you while you treat him like some spare dagger in your belt, you piece of—”

You barely hear your name being croaked from across the room, but your ears are attuned to the sound of his voice, no matter how weak it may be.

You spun around so fast your neck cracked.

“Bodhi?” you gasped.

The healers had moved aside, packing up their supplies. He was blessedly stitched up and bandaged now. He was so pale, with cracked lips and bloodshot eyes that you could tell were taking tremendous effort to keep open.

“Hi,” he rasped, “mo ghràdh.”

You stumbled toward him and fell to your knees beside the cot, grabbing his hand with both of yours.

“I hate you,” you whispered, tears spilling freely now. “I hate you and Xaden and every god who let this happen.”

He smiled. The bastard smiled. “You’re so dramatic,” he said, his voice gravely with dryness.

You cursed him in rapid Tyrrish, words that made the nearest healer blink in shock. Then you squeezed his hand hard enough to make him wince before you accepted the cup of water from Garrick and brought it to Bodhi’s lips.

“Don’t stress yourself out, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” you said fiercely. “But when you are, you better run for the fucking hills because I’m kicking your ass for scaring me like this.”

“Looking forward to it,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, your head resting on the edge of the cot, your hand tangled in his. The room slowly emptied around you until it was just the two of you in the quiet.

“Come here,” he said softly.

You blinked. “Bodhi, no—”

“Please,” he whispered. “Just… please.”

With a sigh of surrender, you climbed up beside him, moving slowly. He hissed at the movement but pulled you closer, his arm weakly slung around your waist.

You both exhaled at the same time, your bodies finally in sync again.

“What happened?” you murmured.

He grunted. “Met with some fliers. Wasn’t expecting trouble. They brought friends. Not the friendly kind.”

You stiffened. “Fucking hell,” you growled. “How dare they? I get things are stressful for them but have they never heard the phrase ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’? I swear to the gods, I’m going on the next run and I’ll teach them a lesson about hurting my boyfriend.”

“Hey,” he said, brushing a finger along your cheek.

You weren’t done. “I mean seriously, I’ll ask Dìon to char them to dust or—”

“Love.”

You blinked.

“Let’s save the revenge plot for tomorrow,” he said gently. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be, for many reasons. But right now, I just want to lay here with you while the pain tonics kick in.”

You bit your lip, your fury dimming.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “But tomorrow I want names.”

He chuckled—then winced. “Deal. I’ll even have Garrick get you a lineup of cadets to pummel to quench your thirst for blood.”

You sighed dreamily, resting your head carefully against his chest. “You know me so well.”

“Of course I do. You’re the love of my life.”

“Don’t think sweet talking and bribing me is going to help you get away with this. You still have a reckoning coming once you heal,” you admonished.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he teased.

He kissed your temple, slow and tired, and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

You could feel the beat of his heart beneath your cheek—uneven, slow, but there. And that was enough. For now.

[alvestial]

Alpha!Rafe & omega!reader

Synopsis ⋆♱✮♱⋆ nothing much other than introductions and a lil bi of smut ♡

AN ⋆♱✮♱⋆ I saw like one post for this on the tags and was obsessed!! Can’t remember their user tho :(( need more alpha Rafe so here we go

It’s not necessarily that you moved to outer banks looking for an alpha. You’d perhaps heard many great things about the guys there, through friends who’d had first hand experiences with them- but no. You’d moved for a fresh start.

Or at least that’s what you’d tell people. Being your age and not having a mate yet had cast you into the black sheep of your family, most of them turning their noses up at you and casting you out. Even your own parents. So really, you’d moved because of that.

But also because the last time you were here, visiting your friends, you’d met him. Rafe Cameron. The big bad alpha of outer banks who no one wanted to fuck with and no omegas had been able to persuade him to stay with. Yet.

The first time he saw you he looked at you like you were a disease. A repulsive look, almost. But you knew. Knew it was something else, something else behind those eyes that he felt he had to stay away from you.

It intrigued you. You’d asked about, when you first moved, and you’d heard the same story each time.

‘Don’t bother. He fucks and moves on,’ one girl had said, manicured nails stirring her straw in her drink, eyeing you over her sunglasses. Envy was heavy in the air as she spouted on about how he’d fucked her into the night and she’d begged him to mate her, only for him to kick her out then and there at the very implication.

Interesting. When you’d heard about a party being thrown for his birthday, you’d managed to pull a few strings to get yourself in, dressed in a tight black dress and high heels that left next to nothing to the imagination.

You’d met his eyes across the room a few times before he disappeared into the crowd. He seemed livid, something burning in his eyes as he observed you- he remembered you, obviously, from your last encounter. It was joyful. You were truly under his skin.

“You smell absolutely ravishing,” another man, hands grasping up your arm to your shoulder, almost snarled from behind you. Although eye candy, with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, he was not the one you wanted.

“M’ not interested.” You’d replied, trying to pull away. His fingers latch into your skin, grin creeping up on his features.

“I wasn’t asking if you were. I could have you right here, right now.” His voice sends shivers up your spine, eyes darting around for any signs of help.

“She said she’s not interested.” Another voice. Cold. Calculated. Belonging to him. Rafe. He stands to the side of you, arms crossed against his chest, broad shoulders blocking the light. You’re nothing compared to his height and it almost makes you drool.

The other guy almost cowers, his hand slipping from your shoulder as he apologises and slips into the crowd. Now you’re here, stood in front of Rafe as everyone watches on. He quirks an eyebrow, blonde hair falling down on his face in such a delicious way.

“You have my attention. What now?”

It feels like a fever dream with the way he’s pushing into you. You’re on all fours, dress long gone and discarded on the floor of his bedroom as his hands wrap into your hair, pulling you back.

“Been smelling you all goddamn night. Driving me fucking insane, aren’t you?” You’re so far gone that you can’t even mumble out a reply, gasping when his thumb comes down to your clit to draw tight circles.

“Thought about this since I first saw you. So sweet, so fucking sweet.” His voice is almost gone, coming out in rasps and his cock kisses your cervix, working in tandem with his thumb.

“So good Rafe, so good,” you finally manage, hands scrambling for purchase in the bedsheets. He pulls you up to his front, bicep wrapping around your neck to keep you in place.

“Yeah? Let me fuck you like this? You think about it too, huh?” He squeezes his bicep more, cutting off the oxygen that sends you fully dumb. You nod as best you can, frantically, wishing this would never end.

“Gonna cum, oh god.” Your voice is hoarse, white spots lining your vision that makes Rafe smirk, bicep squeezing that little tighter that makes you cream all over his cock, struggling against him.

“That’s it, good fucking girl. Smell so fucking good, yeah? All for me?” His words send you into orbit, crying out as another wave of an orgasm hits you, arousal squelching out past his thick cock and the knot that’s begun to form.

His teeth graze your neck, bicep leaving your throat to wrap around your waist.

“Sweetest omega I’ve ever smelled. Prettiest too. Gotta have you all to myself, yeah?” You’re nodding again, cunt clenching around him as he swells inside you. He flips you over, back on the bedsheets, his hands coming down either side of you as he fucks his last few pumps into you before stilling, teeth biting down into your neck as he cums.

“Fuck, all mine. All mine, yeah. Forever.” You collapse back fully, nodding, legs shaking as he slowly pulls out from you.

Forever.

AN ⋆♱✮♱⋆ let me know if we want more!! Also if we can find the other account that did this before me pls let me know I’d love to tag for inspiration <3

[peanutheaddd]

After possessing dm is Petey afraid to leave his body and see the damage that possessing him has caused? (For a physical cost maybe burns on dm’s back that matches the placement of Petey’s wings on his?)

Ur art is absolutely amazing btw! (Runs away with a suspicious art shaped lump in my mouth)

i actually think petey would leave the instant hes able to . the longer he stays in there the more dms soul degrades .

i thot more abt the phyiscal tax on dms body and i think one immediate effect is like . a temporary comatose state thats proportional to the amt of time his soul was dormant . so the sooner he leaves the shorter that comatose state is . i reckon once he realizes that dms soul has gone dormant hed get kinda frantic trynna wrap up the possession so he can haul ass outta his body .

ALSO THE BURNS ARE SUCH A GOOD IDEA ANON. LOVE U SO BAD. CANONIZED!!!!!! i think maybe the demonic parts of him get burning hot when hes adrenaline pumped hm hm……..

also peteys actually never possessed anyone before bc he just . has never seen a reason to . hes been able to commit all of his acts of tomfoolery without possession and most potential vessels disgusted him LOL . its funny bc for petey any vessel thats willing automatically makes him Not wanna possess them . like “oh… this vessel is weak to temptation /: i dont think this shitty vessel deserves my awesome demon powers” its like BECAUSE petey is such a powerful demon his offers of possession are more tempting. so most people accept his offer which in turn makes him not wanna possess them anymore LOLLLLLL

dm is the first vessel hes actually been interested in and he keeps proving his holiness bc he keeps rejecting his offers of possession even in situations where he could benefit which makes pt wanna possess him more and more (#yaoi)

all that to say idt hed fully Know the consequences of possession well enough to be scared of leaving . he knows that possession is physically taxing on the vessel but he mostly knows that bc he was told by other demons and thats abt it. he knows abt the comatose state and the soul degradation bc those are just classic parts of possession . but bc his wings being burning hot are a more petey specific thing idt he Realizes that his wings would burn dm .

when hes actively possessing him its all petey in there . theres a certain disconnect betwen the demons soul and the hosts body so the demon usually cant rlly feel what the hosts body is phyiscally feeling . its like piloting a mecha ina way? the mecha can take damage but the pilot woukdnt feel anythjng. similar to that

not to mention dms last words before going dormant were to not hold back and to use his body to its limit if it means lp would be safe . so he went all out which is proportional to the amt of damage taken by dms body . also there were probs js some physical costs during the fight itself like broken bones and skin cuts that petey doesnt feel.

i reckon he only realizes the sheer Extent of the physical tax on dms body Post possession and he feels guilty as hell abt it LOL 😭😭😭 the typical human body does Not fare well having been burned broken and cut all within the span of a few hours and be can See that . pts only unaware of it during possession bc hes Inside dms body. but once he ends the possession he sees him in 2nd/3rd person pov so he can actually see all the physical damage his body took . and i reckon that makes him a litle sixk to his stomach . so yeah .

i did NYATT mean for this post to be this long but i js keps thinking of ideas . THANK UFOR ASKS MY GOATS I LOVE RAMBLING ABT AND DEVELOPING MY AUS YAAAYYYYYYY

[new-age-cassandra]

Apologies for how long this is about to be

I am currently in college getting a dual minor in History and Gender and Women’s studies, and that future degree is calling to me telling me I need to talk about the historical context of Malevolent and how the time period plays a bigger role in the story than most people think about specifically when it comes to diversity in minority characters (Will not be talking about season 5 because that is whole other can of Cassandra’s history brain worms). 

Real quick, this is honestly just word vomit, truly just me rambling, I don’t want to start shit these are just my observations as someone who is currently studying related topics. Sorry for the hot takes ig. 

adding cut here before I get into it lol

A thing I love about Malevolent is that Harlan Guthrie made an effort to do research and be as historically accurate as he could while telling a supernatural story. One of the things anyone will quickly learn when researching any history, is that most of the time life was not fun unless you were a straight, white, upper class, cisgender man. Even by the 1930's America was extremely segregated, women had the right to vote but not much else, not to mention homosexuality and gender transition was criminalized until around 1964. 

I have been seeing a lot of talk about Faroeverse and people saying it’s just the same story but yuri and guys… Malevolent would not be the same story at all if Arthur was a woman. As I said before, women barely had rights, they also had completely different lives. Women in the 1930’s were still working incredibly hard for their rights.  Not to mention that the female experience in any time period is just so much different from that of the male, I could write a whole other rant just about the differences there but we’ll save that for another day. Swapping Arthur’s gender and trying to keep Malevolent historically accurate changes e v e r y t h i n g. Faroe/Bella/whatever you wanna call her, would not be able to be a PI, she would not be able to buy a gun and a new identity, she would not be able to hitchhike with the confidence Arthur did, she would not be able to enter the freemason’s building,  and so much more. If Malevolent is about a woman in the 1930’s it is a very different story. 

Only going to briefly touch on race because anyone can picture Arthur however they want and tbh this is the internet, anything I say someone will have a problem with… Just like don’t complain that majority of people see Arthur as a white man, because unfortunatly…  historically speaking  if he wasn’t a white man he would almost certainly not have made it out of Arkham. Also I don’t think that Harlan (you know a white man from Canada) wants to write about racism in 1930’s America, and honestly I think he’s not in the wrong for that.

My final thing is I feel it is unfair to point at Malevolent and say it’s “queerbait” or be mad that there are not “canonically queer characters”. The 1930’s were not safe for queer people like at all. A character will not just go up to another and say “I am gay and in love with you” because if someone in the 1930’s did that there would be a non-zero possibility of them being beaten, lynched, or even burned alive for it. Malevolent is not queerbaiting, because also it was not intentionally written to be queer. Does it have like an insane amount of subtext and queer coding similar to media from the time? Absolutely.  But it is just not queerbait guys, Harlan is not teasing us with a “Will they won’t they” he has gone on record to say they won’t, but that we all are free to enjoy it however we want. 

If you read all of this… I’m sorry. Hope you enjoyed. Again I say I am not here to start shit, these are just my thoughts. Gonna go write an essay about Malevolent for fun now, if I publish that one it will be much more refined and professional than this mess lol.

[mintsparrow]

I love how McBride & Co represent the relationship to masculinity and anger in The Righteous Gemstones. Eli's anger is felt in his presence and the way people around him react to him. His sons flinch when he raises a hand. His voice booms across Sunday Lunch and everyone quiets. He knows he has a reputation for strength, so when he is taunted for being old and losing his grip, he doubles down on pain and punishment. His anger is the only tool he knows how to use when he feels like he's losing control. Jesse's anger is explosive and clumsy; it's the first emotion he turns to when he's hurt and vulnerable, and it overflows and bubbles over destructively. He puffs his chest, struts in front of his friends, degrades others, exudes a desire for violence... but it's interesting to me that he uses others to get what he wants. He sends his friends after his rivals, teaches BJ how to box... but he doesn't step in himself. Jesse's anger is a weapon, but he's not able to wield it in the same way his father wields it. Kelvin's anger is caustic and piercing; he lashes out verbally, roots out insecurities and needles at them. He tells Keefe that he doesn't need him, he constantly reminds Jesse that his kids don't respect him, and he writes Judy off as unimportant - all things that they fear the most. His anger is a shield, the thing he puts up every time he feels fear or insecurity.

BJ's anger is often ignored or lampooned, by both Judy and her brothers, even though he's usually angry on her behalf. He's written off as a joke; but when he has to confront Stephen, his anger is recognized and validated. I think it's interesting that BJ fights his own battles where Jesse won't. I also think it's interesting that his quiet "I hope you like me now" to Judy hits so much harder than the bloody brawl that precedes it. And his anger in S4 feels like such a big shift for him: he refuses to be sidelined, and allows himself to be selfish. He's going through pain that he's never felt before; he doesn't have a "normal" while he's injured, so his feelings manifest as anger.

Baby Billy's anger feels... fermented. Soured. He's been holding onto a grudge ever since Eli took away Aimee-Leigh, and he seems bitter about how much he's lost, ruined, or burned in his attempt to get somewhere close to Eli's success. His anger feels like an old wound that he won't stop nursing. His anger turns him into a villain.

Gideon's anger is big and then almost entirely vanishes. S1 hangs on the actions of his anger; the disappointment in his dad and the frustration that comes from a family that doesn't support his dreams. His response is easily the most destructive to the entire family. But in subsequent seasons it feels like Gideon is constantly holding back; he deflects insults from his family rather than lashing back. When we do see his anger it's when his family is in danger - when the cycle ninjas go after Eli, or Peter & his militia kidnap the siblings. Unlike Jesse, Gideon's able to follow through on his threats. Unlike BJ, Gideon's taken seriously. Unlike Eli, his anger isn't his only tool; it's often his last resort.

And then there's Keefe.

Keefe feels unique to me, because of his lack of anger. I think we only see Keefe get angry once; when he walks in on Kelvin and Taryn. Unlike a lot of the other characters on the show, Keefe is more likely to feel fear or sadness, and he's not afraid to show any of those feelings. He's visibly crying when he's driving away from Kelvin's house in S1, and he's the only one at the lake house who's willing to admit that he was the one who made a mistake. (I'm still not over Kelvin's face when Keefe says he overstepped his bounds).

The one time Keefe is angry, he's reacting out of surprise and jealousy, and Kelvin seems to clock it pretty quickly. Keefe's not loud, he doesn't threaten, not even when Kelvin calls his rocking chair stupid. He sulks, does a cartwheel, and removes himself from the situation. It's interesting to me that when Keefe shows anger, it's in response to an emotion that he's not allowed to show - love.

All of the different ways the show uses anger feels like different facets of how a man's anger is usually the only way he is allowed to show emotion, and I think it's really interesting that Danny McBride & co were able to use all of these different men to showcase how their anger was actually jealousy, fear, sadness, and other vulnerabilities.

[veebeeboo109]

The Sanctuary

{The high fantasy prequel to "Cleaning Up the Timeline" Combining all limited myths. Polycule. Reader-centric.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence, War, Blood

Chapter One: Orphans

Many years ago, the temple of Eirene was a beautiful place. Erected near the center of the village surrounded by the sharp curve of a river. One could hear the symphony of the people working and traveling just above the soft rush of water. 

The white marble was tarnished and covered in dust. The mosaics floors had been plundered for their shiniest tiles and lie half-ruined, uneven beneath your feet. The rooms which once house priestesses and pilgrims now held children and infants– uprooted from their family trees by this endless, mindless war. 

Funny how that’s one of the first things you remember. War. Fighting. Running. You are aware that the world is dangerous before even knowing your own name, before knowing how to read, write, or even sing you know how to run. How to hide. How to hold your breath long enough to go completely unnoticed. 

You’re not sure how you came to be in the refuge of this temple, only that you are. Another orphan being cared for by what feels like the last compassionate place on this planet. They feed you as much as they are able to, and cloth you in whatever they can find. 

At the age of five, you have seen more than you should, and the world feels small and dark. 

Your only light lies in the eyes of a boy, who crawls in through the window near dawn. A bag he fashioned out of burlap strung across one shoulder that he drops to the floor in front of you, revealing his spoils. 

“Look!” He says quietly, kneeling down to draw out a bruised apple, “I found a barrel of them!”

Your eyes widen, stunned by the beautiful red color of the fruit he offers, but your excitement quickly dims. “Did you steal this?”

Caleb’s brow furrows, “I only took a few. No one will even notice!”

The two of you have been glued to each other’s side for more than a year now. Stuck in this orphanage with little hope of leaving. He’s scrawny for his age, even at seven he’s small. He grew tired of the measly meals the priestesses made and took matters into his own hands, scavenging at night and coming home each morning with whatever he could grab. 

“Someone could see you.” You argue, but bring the apple to your lips anyway. Stomach growling in hunger, you’re not about to refuse fresh fruit like this. Especially not when Caleb’s eyes light up like that when you take a bite. 

“No one will see me.” Caleb replies as he pulls out another apple for himself. He takes a large bite and speaks while he chews, “One day, I’ll be big enough to get a job. Fishing or something. They always have food, and I can bring back the biggest fish for you!”

You giggle, excited by the prospect, “I can fish too! We can go together and fish the big, rainbow fish!”

Caleb nods enthusiastically, plans for the future crafted so easily in the minds of children, “I’ll get us a big boat! We can live on it and I’ll make lots of money, and I can buy those fancy leather shoes I saw.”

In the cool light of dawn, you and Caleb continue building this fantasy. A house boat that floats along the rivers, untouched by raiders and battles. Caleb makes more coin than he can count selling his fish, and you get to collect the beautiful scales. 

It’s easy to laugh when no one but the sun is awake to hear you.

A mere month later, you wake to the smell of smoke. Lifting your head from the few blankets you’ve made into a bed, you sniff at the air. It’s not odd for the sister’s of the temple to burn incense through the night, or even start cooking early in the morning, but this…this doesn’t smell right. 

A crack comes from outside a moment later, a rush of sound that confuses you more than anything. Rising to your feet, you go to the window– nothing more than a square opening in the wall as the glass was pillaged ages ago. 

You have to blink a few times as the bright light nearly blinds you, and when your eyes adjust you feel the floor drop out from under you. 

Fire. The village is on fire. The thatch roofs ablaze with flames reaching high into the sky. The air is thick with smoke, dark and black as it blots out the rising sun. 

Fear lashes through your heart, sending your body into a feeling of freefall. You stumble back away from the window and turn to where Caleb usually slept– but it’s empty. His blankets are pulled back and his bag is gone. 

A high pitched wail escapes you, tears rising to your eyes before you can stop them. You’re terrified and can’t seem to get your feet to move. Even when the thundering sound of hoofbeats crashes by your window. 

You turn, seeing a pair of armored men on horses gallop by. Torches held high in one hand while they held the reins with the other. There are no banners or colors to signify who they might be in liege to, but that hardly matters. Whether by a king’s decree or by a raider’s greed, your village won’t last the night. 

The door to your room crashes open, and you whirl, hoping to see Caleb, but instead see one of the sisters. Her robes of cream and emerald are comforting, but her expression is stricken with fear. Without a word, she grabs ahold of your arm and pulls you with her. Another older child being dragged by her opposite hand. 

You’re a child. A young child at that, and so you cling to her when she drags you to the base of the statue of Eirene– the goddess of peace. The other priestesses have brought all the other children here as well, in varying states of weeping and wailing. 

“Is that all of them?” One of the older women asks. Her face covered by a cloth that she coughs into. “Where are the older ones?”

“They weren’t in their beds.” A younger priestess replies, “They probably fled when they saw the flames.”

One of the more hysterical sister’s cries out, “They won’t come in here, right? They won’t hurt us?”

“If they have any decency.” The eldest replies. “Now children, calm yourselves. The goddess shall protect us. This temple has stood a thousand years, and will stand a thousand more.”

You look around the room, trying desperately to find a familiar mop of dark hair and plum colored eyes. Only, he isn’t there. If he was, he would have found you by now. He would have come to sit by you and made fun of you for crying. 

The sound of the chaos just outside the doors makes you flinch, and you cover your ears. The smell of smoke is so thick it stings the back of your throat, and too vividly can you imagine Caleb out there. Stuck in the carnage. 

It’s easy to sneak away. To slide between the cowering bodies of the other children and hide behind the statue of the goddess supposed to protect you. Your limbs tremble as you walk and you feel every moment closer to collapsing but you can’t stop. 

Caleb’s taken care of you for so long; you can’t just leave him out there. You have to find him. You have to.  

So you crawl out one of the windows. From the darkness of the temple into the orange glow of a village ablaze. 

You’re not sure what direction to take so you just start running. Towards the river and the docks you had dreamed of reaching one day. One day you would have a fancy houseboat and fish fancy rainbow fish. 

You’re nearly trampled by a horse, but quickly hide behind barrels in an alleyway. 

You reach the docks and find them nearly empty. Those with boats have fled down river to escape the raiders, and you whirl around. The bottom of your feet ache. These simple cloth shoes do little to protect you from the cobbled streets. 

“ Caleb !” You cry out desperately. Screaming at the top of your lungs for him, barely audible of the roar of flames. 

It’s hard to see with soot stinging your eyes, and harder still to call out for Caleb as it scorches your throat. You keep moving, down the riverside and hastily past more empty docks. A mill house has just started to catch fire, and the door is open and swinging with the wind. 

You go inside, desperate to be able to catch your breath. You hear more horses outside, and listen to the riders shout at each other. They plan to round up the rest of the people, drag them out of the village. After that…you’re not sure. 

Panic grips you, no– that’s a hand. A leather clad hand that grabs you violently around the upper arm and too easily drags you out of your hiding spot just behind the door. 

The face of the raider who grabs you is violent. Blood splattered across his skin and his eyes filled with rage. Though, when he sees the prey he’s caught, his expression slackens.

“It’s just a child.” He growls out, throwing you down onto the cobbled road in front of you. You crumble into a heap, sobbing hysterically as your body refuses to listen to you. You head cracks against the stone and you see stars, your stomach turns as the world begins to spin.

“Captain said all of them.” One of the other raiders says darkly, but there’s hesitation there.

“I don’t care what the damn captain says,” Your captor snarls, “I’m not killing little girls.”

The brute whose handprint is now bruised to your skin kneels down in front of you. He points towards the forests just beyond the millhouse, “Run, little girl. Don’t stop until you collapse. Run that way and keep going.”

The other raider barks out a name you don’t hear, because you’re already scrambling to your feet. Clawing at the ground in a wretched attempt to save your life. Your mind is nothing but prey-instinct at the moment. Thoughts of Caleb shoved to the side as your heart pounds in your ears. 

The ground beneath your feet turns from stone to mud to grass. Brush and branches from the forest whips at your arms and legs, scratching at you like claws. That final command from the man who could have been your death rings in your head. You don’t stop running. You can’t stop running. 

It was dawn when you woke, and it’s sunset when you collapse. 

Caleb has never tasted blood before now. 

First, it was his own. Biting his own tongue in shock when the hands of raiders grabbed him. They found him running back to the temple. His burlap bag was filled with some hard tack he snatched from one of the boats at the dock, but he’d thrown it to the ground when he’d seen the flames at one edge of the village. 

Most nights, he tells you before he heads out. So, why…tonight of all nights did he not? Why hadn’t he woken you? 

The second time he tastes blood is when he bites down onto the hand of his captor, digging his little teeth as far as they could go. Jerking his head like a dog to do the most amount of damage. 

The man he’s bitten howls in pain, and lands a hard punch to the back of Caleb’s head. The young boy cries out and falls limp, bludgeoned into near unconsciousness by the harsh blow. 

Soft sobs leave Caleb’s limp lips. Sorrow at his predicament and your unknown status making his young body too full to handle such emotions and spilling over. He weeps as he’s dragged out of the village, forced to his knees before a man in fancy armor.

The captain of the raiders talks of putting him out of his misery, and Caleb still can’t find the strength to move. 

It’s not until they mention the temple. 

“The priestesses wailed, like they thought that statue might come to life and smite us.” One of the raiders hollers in laughter. “We let the hounds have at them. Not much left to take in there. Even the windows were gone.”

Caleb sees red. Something in his mind snapping like a silken thread. A string of sanity that prevents someone from doing horrible things. Mortality, perhaps? Or perhaps it was just you. Perhaps you being alive was all that kept Caleb from hurting people, was that it?

Was that why it was so easy to lunge forward? Short and small as he was, they could hardly stop him. From the villain's belt who said such things about the temple, Caleb draws a dagger. Just his size. 

He slides the short blade into the flesh of the raider’s thigh. Sending him careening to the ground, and when they’re nearly the same height, Caleb yanks back and drives it back in– this time through the neck. 

Die. This man deserves to die. It’s easy to find the gaps between his armor, and Caleb isn’t sure how many times he drives that blade into the man– only that he doesn’t stop until the bastard stops moving. 

Caleb tastes blood again, and it’s warm against his face. 

The captain of this band laughs heartily, amused by the display and approaches Caleb. He easily grabs Caleb’s wrist when the young boy tries to stab him too. The captain plucks the dagger from Caleb’s hands and throws it to the side.

“I like this one.” The captain says with a chuckle, squeezing Caleb’s shoulder. “He’s got some promise! Don’t you think?”

A few of the other raiders chime in with their half-hearted agreement, and the captain laughs again. Patting the boy’s head almost paternally, “Impress me some more boy, and you’ll have whatever you desire.”

You don’t find another home. Not for years. 

When you’d hit your head, you hadn’t realized how long it would take to heal. You’d spent days scrounging through the forest, confused and delirious. You’d found a dirt road at some point, and fallen asleep in the ditch beside it. 

Fate must have taken pity on you, because a small group of merchants happened to pass by. One of the women insisted they stop and help you. She was a kind woman– a mother with two children of her own that had been lost to her by the war.

She held you in the back of one of the carts, feeding you stale bread and little sips of water. Traveling miles and miles before you were lucid enough to even look at her. 

Indebted to them, you followed the merchants. When your body was capable of it, you helped tend to the donkeys and keep track of their wares. You learned how to navigate the roads and how to know which areas were safe to travel and which were likely guarded by bandits. 

The woman who took you in, Jenna, taught you how to wield a little knife, and showed you the places on a man that would make him fall. Life started to hurt a little less, and the hole in your heart felt less like a chasm. 

Only, ever since you awoke in the back of the cart, you can’t remember why you ache so. Like you’ve forgotten something so important yet no matter how hard you try, the image of what you desire won’t come. 

You’re a young adult before life starts to hurt again. 

Your group had taken refuge in a small village. Really an inn and a few houses just off the side of the road. Your caretakers sold some salt they’d acquired in exchange for rooms and boarding. 

It had been too easy to fall asleep that night, so you should have known something bad would happen. 

Raiders are like vultures. Finding anything with some meat on their bones and picking them clean. They don’t seem to care about the little peace a village might have, or the fact that they destroy lives with their torches and swords. 

They burned the stables first, and set free the horses and donkeys. Leaving little to no escape for your party. 

You find Jenna too late. A wound to her ribs that bleeds no matter how much you try to keep your hands pressed to it. The sound of hoofbeats behind you is the most frightening thing, and the last thing Jenna finds the strength to do is shove your hands off of her and tell you to run. 

You obey, if only to honor her request. You find some other members of your nomadics group and sprint towards the treeline. The blood on your hands has grown cold and sticky, and you’re so very tired of running. 

Hoofbeats follow behind you, and you try to run harder. But you’re nothing compared to the steed, and the dark chestnut rounds around you, halting your path and making you fall backwards. 

The rider holds a blade in one hand, and you scramble back– though you notice the steel is clean. No blood.

“It’s you.” The rider says softly, barely audible. 

You struggle to your feet and slowly back away, frozen like a rabbit waiting for the opportunity to bolt. 

The man’s face is covered, and he seems to remember this fact as he sheaths his sword and tears the fabric away. 

“Come with me.” The young man urges. He holds out a hand, having to lean down from his horse to reach you. Peering around, you notice the other women you’d escaped with have disappeared.

“I can’t–” You rasp. The smoke from the burning hut you’d been sleeping in has made your voice hoarse, and it takes effort to push words out. “I don’t know you! You’re with them! Those raiders!”

He looks through the trees and back towards where the glow of the village shines with flames. The rest of his band is scavenging the rubble and finishing off any sorry soul who didn’t manage to escape.

Climbing down from his horse, he takes off his helmet, “Please,” He says your name and you startle at the sound of it. “I know you probably don’t remember me, but please…”

There’s something in his quiet plea that rings familiar. Perhaps a look in his eyes that makes him look younger because suddenly you do recognize him. 

You recognize the violet in his eyes. The soft lavender and mauve that you remember in a boy much smaller than this. The man who stands before you is a far cry from that little boy you knew. Huddled together on the dusty mud floor of the convent, avoiding lashing from the priestesses and hoping someday to escape to the river. 

“No…” You whisper, “I do.”

You hadn’t known him for long, and it was so long ago now. An ache in your skull that reminds you of the harsh crack it had taken just after losing him. But you remember him– for his beautiful eyes if nothing else. 

“I can keep you safe.” He says earnestly, taking both of your hands into his. And standing before you clad in the roughened armor of a raider. The cloak at his back is a mustard yellow and trimmed with black. “Come with me. Stay by my side, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You don’t have to keep running like this.”

The whoops and cheers of the raiders echo through the woods, and a flurry of ash and embers explodes into the night sky as one of the houses from the village collapses.

You squeeze his hands. He seems so earnest, and you trust that he means his words– but you doubt he can follow through.

“Look at this place,” You whisper, “Do you really think you can protect me from them? From the band you swore loyalty to?”

Caleb freezes. You remember his name now. When his eyes widen into that childlike fear, you recognize him more. His hands slowly relax and release you, and you let your touch linger as you slowly draw away. 

“In another life.” You whisper, “I would go with you.”

You don’t regret leaving Caleb behind, at least at first. It’s a full day before your heart aches and you wish you’d chosen to take his hand. It’s getting colder, and you’d lost that last bit of solace you’d found among the merchants. 

The next few months of your life are spent in wretched conditions. Your shoes fall apart and have to be left behind. You scavenge for food and beg for money on the side of the road as you travel aimlessly. 

An icy rain pelts down onto you, but you don’t bother trying to find shelter. You’re in a mountainous region now, and the wind is harsher here. It feels pointless at this point– fighting to survive. 

You’ve long since lost feeling in your feet and toes. The clothing you wear is threadbare, and you know that with winter only a few weeks away, you’d only be staving off the inevitable by struggling. 

A small group passes you by, their heads hanging low and little to nothing held within their single cart. Even their mule looks downtrodden, saddened by the cold, bleak conditions. 

Refugees. 

One of the young men that holds a heavy pack over his shoulder pauses to ask you if you’re alright, but you can’t find the strength to answer. He looks at you pitifully and motions with his head to the rest of their group, “We’re heading to somewhere safe. We heard there’s a place to hide here in the mountains– come with us.”

You do, because you’re not sure what else to do. 

You follow them off the beaten path and through the forest, following a crumpled map that you begin to think might be a trick. It couldn’t be true. A safe place? In this awful world? Impossible. 

Only, you finally come to the craggy side of the mountain, a steep cliff that rises high into the gray clouds. The green of the forest encroaches onto it, hiding away an opening. It’s hard to spot at first, but when the first of your group enters, you blink and it appears. 

The air in the cavern is cold, but still. The wind from outside howls loudly but grows quieter the further you traverse inside. Darker and darker it becomes, until you’re walking with one hand outstretched to prevent bumping into something. 

The narrow passage suddenly opens up into a vast cavern, illuminated with beams of light streaming in through openings in the cave ceiling. The cold rain drips in through those holes, shimmering like little stars. The light is cast onto massive crystal formations, bigger than houses in some cases, and refracts it.

Moss and short stubby grass covers the majority of the cave floor and around a dozen tents are set up near the center. With one little cottage sitting on a ledge overlooking the rest. 

“Oh you bunch look a mess!” A dark haired woman cries as she rushes towards the front of your group. She wears the garb of a healer, and ushers the ten of you inside. “Come, come! There is food and warmth here. You’re safe now.”

A few short hours later and you’re wrapped in a large fur next to a fire. Your toes poking out to better feel the heat. A wooden bowl of stew sits in your now warm palms, and you sigh in relief as you continue to sip at it. 

A small commotion draws your attention away from the blessed warmth of the fire. A tall man walks through the main path of this little settlement of tents. His robes are a deep blue and he nearly blends in with the dim light of this cave.

“Were there any injuries?” The man asks the members of your temporary traveling group. “Make sure all frostbite is treated promptly, and if there’s anything you need please let me know. I will try my best to help.”

Another healer ? Your mind wonders. He walks through this place with such grace. His dark onyx hair and pale skin is striking, and he has an air of wisdom about him that is odd for such a young man. 

You’re staring as he walks by, seeming more elven than man. He must feel your gaze because he pauses, assessing you. 

“Where are your shoes?” He asks, looking to where your toes peek out from beneath the fur. You quickly tuck them back in, and curl up slightly. 

“Don’t have any.” You say shamefully, turning your gaze back to the fire. 

The man doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t leave. He lingers like a heavy shadow at your side, and you’re not sure whether the intensity in his eyes is anger or pity. 

“I will find you some.” Is what he says, firmly before walking away. 

You watch his back as he goes, and see as the few people he greets look at him with admiration and respect. Is he the owner of this place? Or just a popular man?

For this first time since arriving, you look around. Let your gaze wander around the little gathering of people. They look at ease, smiling with abandon in relief for finally finding sanctuary. The stalactites above your head sparkle like stars and the soft sound of rain is soothing. 

It’s hard to let yourself relax, but your body is keen to do it anyway. A tension in your shoulders dissolves, melting from the warmth of the stew so freely offered. You resolve that when you can feel your toes again, you’ll make an effort to repay all the debts of kindness you’d racked up over the years. To make a place here for yourself that you have earned instead of given. 

It’s not home yet, but it will be.

[riddlesdove]

mattheo gets his revenge for you teasing him at work (a continuation of this drabble)

c/w: 18+, dom!mattheo, dirty talk, edging, orgasm denial, piv,

Mattheo’s words are a consuming beat in your head, a mantra of sorts, winding you up tighter and tighter like a coiled spring as you attempt to prepare yourself for his payback.

“I’m going to ruin you tonight for being such a little fucking tease, gonna keep you on my cock for hours. Stuff that desperate little pussy full until you’re a sobbing mess."

You breathe deep.

Force yourself to push down the nervous excitement bubbling up in your chest like a soda can that’s been shaken too hard. It’s only making you twitchier the closer it gets to the time Mattheo is normally home and if you don't find some kind of way to fucking chill out, he’ll know.

He’ll be smug and merciless with the knowledge that he’s had you so strung out for hours and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so easily. It's enough that you already know that you'll break for him, you always do, the least you can do is make it a challenge.

But then you startle when the door slams shut behind you, too lost in your thoughts to hear the rhythmic thud of his footsteps echoing in the hallway, and rather than saying anything or coming towards you he just stays silent.

Mattheo doesn’t take another step at first. He doesn't attempt to round the couch to stand before you, he just waits.

Waits for you to slowly turn your body and meet his scorched gaze, your own eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights, and when they do catch his it’s like looking at the devil who’s come to take your soul.

"Bedroom. Now.”

Any thought about challenging him disintegrates. It's clear you don’t stand a chance of winning this battle, not when he’s sworn to ruin you before the night is over and seems to be possessed with the idea of seeing through.

You lurch to your feet, unsteady as a newborn foal as arousal pulses through you whilst you're all but scrambling to do as he says.

And then you can sense him behind you, hot on your heels, breath burning the back of your neck. He doesn’t touch you, just lets you feel the weight of his presence, the dizzying heat emanating from his body in waves.

“Matty…” You whisper.

“Strip, angel.” He commands. “Get on the bed and show me how you touched yourself."

You shiver. There’s a new intensity behind his words making you drip and choke down another needy mewl of his name.

He seats himself on the chair in the corner of the room as you drape your naked body across the bed, legs spread wide enough to give him a show and you flush as he tears his jacket from his body before leaning his elbows on his knees to watch closer.

"Look how fucking drenched you are already.” He muses. “Pretty pussy all swollen and needy.”

If he keeps talking you think you’ll combust, your fingers sinking as deep as they can reach into your slick walls when he nods at you, curling and scissoring with each rock of your hips and the grind of the heel of your hand against your aching clit.

This is a new experience for you. It feels dirty, filthier than when Mattheo watches his own fingers fuck you open but you like it. You feel powerful. His entire focus, ravenous and unyielding, concentrated on your fingers dipping in and out of your soaked pussy.

“I can hear how just how bad you want me, filthy little thing.” He murmurs, eyes blackened with want and glinting in the dim light of the room.

Maybe if you weren’t so delirious with pleasure you’d be able to recognise the teasing lilt to his expression, the light mockery in his voice.

“Oh god, Matty– please.” Your voice goes thin, a telltale sign you’re creeping closer to euphoria and Mattheo’s smirk splits to a wide grin.

“Stop.”

Wait.

What.

Your hand immediately follows the demand despite the noise of protest clawing up your throat as your impending release begins to fade. Your body feels sluggish, confused, and you fix Mattheo with a questioning glare when he chuckles and slips to his knees on the floor, prowling closer until he’s leaning against the edge of the bed between your ankles.

“Just wanted a closer look, that's all.” He says innocently. “Go ahead, baby."

He waits until you’re writhing into your hand, breath coming in sharp pants and his name whispered in jagged please. Waits until you’re cresting the wave, climbing higher, higher, ready for the crash and then he flattens it out from beneath you.

"Stop.” He commands and you throw your head back with a frustrated scream.

“Mattheo, what the fuck!"

But he doesn’t meet your angry gaze, too busy staring at the desperate way your aching pussy flutters around nothing but air, the way slick is pooling out of you and spilling onto the bedsheet below.

"Not fun being teased is it, pretty girl?” He laughs softly but it’s so taunting and smug that you’re tempted to kick that beautiful smile of his right off his handsome face.

You don’t though, forcing yourself to breathe and keep calm otherwise he’ll probably make you endure this torture forever.

“Matty, please, you’ve made your point. I’m sorry for teasing you at work, I won't do it again, I swear, please can I cum?” You ask, sweet as sugar and smiling gently when he quirks an eyebrow at your performance.

He doesn’t say anything but you take it as a green light anyway, slowly working yourself back up to that ledge once again only for Mattheo to stop you painfully at the last second once again. You could sob but you hold back, twitching as he lifts himself to slide between your legs, his hot breath hitting the sensitive flesh of your pussy.

“Keep trying all you want but the only way you’re gonna cum tonight is by my hands, my tongue or my cock.” He tells you, cheek nuzzling the tender skin of your thigh.

“Then fucking get on with it.” You spit.

He bites harshly into the meat of your thigh in warning. You’re getting bratty in your frustrated state and it makes him feral for your submission, to see the fire in your eyes sweeten into something soft as you cry for him. He surges over you, hand coming up to grip your chin as he brings his face inches from yours, eyes hungry and blow wide.

“If you want it, you can be a good girl and beg for it.” He snarls. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

You blink up at him and just for just a moment he’s worried it’s too much, a little too mean but then your eyes are fluttering, lips parting on a filthy moan and hips lifting up to rub against his clothed cock. He tries to press you into the mattress to still you but it only makes you rock against him harder and he nearly chokes on the sensation.

"Come on baby, I know you need it.” He urges, letting go of your chin to pin both wrists either side of your head and dropping his hips to drag the weight of his cock, heavy and coarse in his pants, across your soaked pussy. You cry out, high pitched and desperate and he knows you won’t need much more persuading.

“Just give in. Beg and I’ll give you everything you want, sweet girl.” He soothes.

You clench around nothing at the raw promise in his voice and it snaps the little restraint you have left inside you, your body goes pliant, wrapping itself so tightly around his there’s no telling where one of you starts and the other ends.

“Please Matty, give it to me.” You whine, words a little slurred, laced heavy with the lust that’s making your head swim. “I need it, baby, please, I want you so bad it hurts."

"There we go.” He smirks. “That wasn't so hard, was it.”

And if you weren’t so absolutely gone with need for the man you’d probably curse him out, but you’re too busy ripping the shirt from his chest whilst he frantically yanks at his zip and tears the pants down his thighs.

He all but throws you back down against the mattress and you gladly take the warm weight of him as lunges after you, crying out when he rubs his cock against your pussy, coating himself in your arousal before roughly sliding into you.

There’s no time for soft touches and gentle words, you’re both unhinged. Starved for the frantic roll of his hips, the bruising force of grasping hands and the sweet sting of nails raked across flushed skin.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight." He pants, the rasping sound of his voice foreign in his own ears. He’s never known hunger to devour him like it does with you and he can feel it now.

The heat of it searing you both as he fucks you hard and messy. Your arousal drenching his cock and smearing against his stomach the tops of his thighs, and he fucking loves it. Presses your legs further apart so he can sink in closer and feel more of it on his skin.

You’re a writhing mess beneath him, reduced to a puddle of molten lust and thin gasps of ‘Mattheo–fuck–right there–don't stop.’

You can do nothing but desperately cling to the sweat slicked muscles of his back and slam your hips up to meet his punishing thrusts, the thick head of his cock hammering against something cataclysmic.

It makes you scream. You’re body trembling with each hiccuping cry of exquisite, soul shattering pleasure that he wrenches from you.

He drags his face out from where it’s buried in the crook of your neck, lips slipping over your cheek until they’re moulding fiercely against your own to swallow every noise you make like a divine offering.

His tongue slides into your mouth to taste your desperation, the way you kiss him back just as hungrily before wrenching away with a pitiful whine when he grinds his hips harshly and catches your clit.

He repeats the action over and over and over until you’re sobbing garbled pleas, half mad with the overwhelming need for release.

And this time Mattheo doesn’t tell you to stop.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?” He growls, low and ragged. “Gonna scream for me and soak my cock, let everyone in the building know who's fucking you this good?"

You nod desperately and he rolls his hips harder, faster. Brutal in his desire to see you unravelled.

”Then fucking do it. Cum now.”

It feels like you’re suspended for a moment, everything stops and then your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave. Currents of pleasure dragging you under until you can't breathe before it finally ebbs and allows you to float back to consciousness, shaken and exhausted.

You barely register pulling Mattheo into his own release, his pace stuttering and his body going tensing over yours as he pulses and spills into you with a hoarse groan pressed into your chest.

After some ragged breaths, he mouths lazy kisses wherever he can reach, spending a little longer at your lips when you sigh happily and loosely wind your arms around his neck. He doesn’t linger as long as you’d like though, ignoring your pout as he slips further down your body, trailing feather light presses of his lips and teasing nips of his teeth.

"Matty, what are you doing?” You mumble, growing restless under the light caresses and mouth dropping open in shock when he settles himself between your legs.

His gaze is both satisfaction and greed, flickering back and forth between your pretty, pleasure drunk face and the swollen, tender mess of your pussy that’s dripping with your joint release.

“Did you think I was done with you, baby? I promised you hours, remember?” He purrs wickedly. “And right now, I want to see if your ruin tastes as good as it looks."

[moomine]

MORE DAISUKE PLEASSEEEEE

i literally love how you write him omg. if i could kiss you i would.

maybe a med intern reader perhaps????

it can me sfw or nsfw whatever you want just go crazy

thank you babygirl <3

-🍒

patchin things up | daisuke

author's note: hey... so uh, long time no see? sorry i died. not my best work, but this is my apology x (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x gn!reader) You're Anya's intern. While she's taking a break one day, Daisuke comes to you with a minor medical emergency.

word count: 871

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: LSD and the Search for God - "Starting Over"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Medbay was the coldest room in the Tulpar. While stinking of sterile equipment and antiseptic, you always seemed to make the otherwise depressing room quite homey. Warm. At least, that’s how Daisuke saw it. One of the perks of Anya having her own intern this haul was actually being able to take a break. You had a natural understanding of medicine, a fantastic work ethic, and a real desire to help people. It only made sense she felt comfortable leaving you alone for a while to eat or rest up a bit. 

Daisuke was in luck. You were equipped enough to handle minor emergencies in her absence. Approaching the door to medical, he took a deep breath and twisted the handle. He had already been chewed out by Swansea for touching live wires unknowingly, and he knew you’d likely give him an earful as well.

“Oh my god,” you said as the automatic door wheezed open, eyes blown wide with surprise. “What happened?”

Before Daisuke had the chance to respond, to explain why he was clutching his arm close to his chest, you were already by his side. One hand was wrapped around the wrist of his other, which hung limply in front of him, pointer and middle fingers bright red. 

Daisuke couldn’t help but admire the small crease between your brows as you gingerly took his injured hand in your own, observing the electrical burn that was already blistering on his skin. The way they were slightly furrowed with concern, your expression both pained and focused all at once. Your breath hitched at the sight, a sound that seemed to bubble out of your throat before you could surprise it. Not out of fear or discomfort, but innocent worry. Worry for the boy you loved.

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax, ‘kay? It’s just a little burn, I’ve had worse,” Daisuke explained, but the waver in his voice betrayed the pain he was in.

“Little burn?” You echoed. “This looks second degree, Dai. How did this even happen?” You ushered him toward the sink, turned on the cold water, and instructed him to hold his fingers under the stream.

Cool water washed over his inflamed skin, causing him to wince at the contact. His gaze flickered away from yours bashfully, like a puppy caught misbehaving. Daisuke absolutely hated worrying you. You had enough on your plate as it was; you didn’t need to waste your time worrying about what clumsy slip-up he managed this week.

“Oh, you know…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I might have touched some cut wires without thinking… Maybe…”

“What?”

“I know, I know. Swansea said I was lucky it had such a low voltage, otherwise I’d probably be toast. But hey, I’m okay!” There was an air of humor in his tone, almost like he was trying to soften the blow with his typical optimism. It didn’t quite work, and he knew the second his eyes met your face once more. You weren’t looking at him, eyes fixed to his swollen fingers under the faucet’s stream. A small frown curled your lips downward, although the rest of your features had softened. Daisuke swallowed thickly before placing his other hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m okay, yeah? I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.”

The feeling of touch grabbed your attention  —the comforting warmth of his palm seeping through the cool denim of your jumpsuit. “You better be,” you murmured, turning off the water. “Take a seat. I need to clean and dress your burn.”

Daisuke obeyed quickly and walked to the cot in the middle of the room. As he took a seat atop the rough sheets, he shifted nervously, staring down at his injured hand in his lap. Just like before, you were in front of him at a moment's notice. You dragged a small rolling cart with you, equipped with bandages, antiseptic wipes, and burn cream.

“This might sting a little,” you said as you carefully took his hand in your own again.

“It can’t be that ba-” Daisuke started, but he quickly cut himself off with a hiss.

You did your best to stifle a laugh as you wiped the pads of his fingers. “Told you so.”

Once his burn was clean, you applied a generous layer of burn cream, and wrapped his fingers in a clean bandage. As you moved about the room with purpose, cleaning up your supplies and disposing of the used materials, Daisuke looked at his hand. The seared flesh beneath the bandage still stung, but it was soothed by the cooling ointment and your gentle touch.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile. “You forgot something though.”

You stopped what you were doing and looked back at him, raising a brow in questioning amusement. “Oh really? What is that?”

“Aren’t you gonna kiss it better?”

Daisuke outstretched his hand toward you, bandaged fingers in the cold air. Rolling your eyes, you moved in front of him once more and leaned down, then pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers.

“Better?” you asked.

“Much better.” A wide, infectious smile spread across Daisuke's face, stretching from ear to ear.

[anadrym]

Extended Author's Notes for Left Behind Ch18.

Spoilers!

Chapter title is from "They'll Never Find Us" by Aviators. (Aviators, my beloved.)

At 7140 words, this is the longest chapter yet. Also, we're on the third document in my notes app. Holy shit.

SHE'S AWAKE!!! I was tempted to keep her unconscious (by writing about the two days between this chapter and the previous), partially to emphasize the agony of waiting and really push y'all into empathizing with Caitlyn. But I couldn't do it. I missed her too much. (Also, I made you guys wait an extra week anyway.)

So apparently, you're not supposed to lie down with broken ribs? Which is the only reason I've downgraded Caitlyn's injury (again). Basically, her ribs were badly bruised but she'll be fine in a few days. I did this explicitly so she and Vi can cuddle because they fucking deserve it at this point.

With most of the serum flushed out, Vi also can remember things a little more easily. So, of course, she gets to remember quiet mornings with Caitlyn. :)

AAAHHH, the bit where Caitlyn wakes up! I really wanted to make this an intimate little moment - honestly, how many people get to see the indents in your skin when you sleep too heavily? - that only Vi gets to witness. The messy hair. The rumpled clothes. The crusty eyes. Those are things that Caitlyn hasn't let anyone else see in five years.

Notice that Vi doesn't say 'I love you' out loud. They're both trying to feel each other out a bit; there's gonna be a little miscommunication and mutual pining in the next few chapters. (Caitlyn thinks Vi was repeatedly sexually abused by the Baroness and Vi doesn't know if Caitlyn has moved on in the time since the Purge.)

I'm really liking the imagery of Caitlyn's eyes being like the sky, and Vi associating that with freedom. Because we see the way she stands and breathes after Cait gets her out of Stillwater. And in this fic, we've established that she didn't get to leave the Baroness's mansion often and didn't see the sky much. So of course, Caitlyn is that freedom.

I actually wasn't sure about having Vi smile again this soon after the escape. (She last saw the Baroness... only three days ago?) But after that moment of seeing Caitlyn waking up... there's a feeling of comfort and safety that I think lets her finally smile again, even if only a little.

And of course, Caitlyn tears up. Because even after all of this, she wasn't sure she'd ever see Vi's smile again. :')

I also debated drawing out Vi's being able to understand speech, but I really wanted her back. I kinda figured that, if the serum was causing that inability to interpret words, then flushing it from her system would let her regain that ability. Caitlyn and Petra theorized the same thing, but they really weren't sure the blood transfusions would actually work. (That's what Cait means by 'it worked.')

I keep coming back to the idea that Caitlyn touches Vi so lightly because she doesn't want to hurt her or startle her or anything like that. And every time, Vi presses more firmly into the touch because she desperately needs to reassure herself that it's real. This wasn't intentional at first, but once I noticed it, I really leaned into it because I think it really fits.

UGH, GOD, just like. Imagine. Being imprisoned and tortured and forced to do terrible things against your will. And you can't remember who you are, you don't know how long it's been, you don't know if there's anybody out there who knows you and cares about you. And the only thing that keeps you from just giving up entirely is a ring that doesn't fit and a few vague memories. Imagine how overwhelming it would be to suddenly be free and safe and yourself again.

Caitlyn was a detective and was good at it. She wants answers, she wants to know what's going on. But she refuses to push Vi into talking when she's not ready. That's love, bitch.

The paragraph about hope not burning out, and standing among rubble and embers? I absolutely love that bit. I don't even know why. I'm just really proud of it.

Oh yeah, a few of you pointed it out in the comments, but Caitlyn absolutely doesn't want to tell Vi how long it's been since the Purge. She will, of course. But she desperately doesn't want to. I think part of it is that she doesn't want to admit how long she left Vi there. (It's not her fault, of course, but guilt doesn't work like that.)

The 'in and out of consciousness' does not include the time spent in the drainage pipe and on Nasir's ship. The two days is just the amount of time since the last chapter.

"The blunt edges of Vi's nails"??? They were jagged and overgrown last time we saw. That will come up again soon. :)

The only reason Petra doesn't wait for a response after knocking is because she strongly suspects that Caitlyn is asleep and won't answer. Normally, she wouldn't come in without permission.

When Vi shoves Caitlyn behind her, Cait makes a sharp sound. Vi bumped her bruised ribs. :(

VI, MY BELOVED DUMBASS. Shielding Caitlyn with her own body when she doesn't even have enough strength to sit up (that's pure adrenaline). I love her so much. Caitlyn is so startled that she doesn't react for a few seconds.

I always have to envision how the characters are physically positioned to write about them, even when it doesn't get described in detail. Vi is on her left side, propped up on left arm. Cait is behind her, leans forward to press her face into curve of Vi's neck and right shoulder. Cait's right arm comes around Vi's waist from above, and she splays her hand over the left (under)side of Vi's ribcage. Hugging AND holding up at same time.

Poor Petra. She has to deal with Caitlyn neglecting her health while worrying about Vi, and now Vi's proving to be just as self-sacrificing as Caitlyn. Just walks into the room and realizes, 'Oh, they're both stupid.'

Petra is also trying very hard to be what both of our girls need. For Caitlyn, it's familiarity, normalcy, a distraction from fretting over Vi, a reminder that things will be okay. For Vi, it's comfort, safety, autonomy, the balance between letting her make her own decisions and not overwhelming her with choices when she's already overwhelmed. That's why she asks for permission to come in (an important boundary to be respected) but directs the question about how she's doing to Caitlyn (addressing Vi as a person but not expecting her to answer a pretty complicated question).

It was so important to me that Petra ask permission to come in and later to touch Vi, because Vi hasn't been given that choice in so long. Petra has a history of dealing with abuse victims, which is why she thinks of things like this while Caitlyn didn't.

Vi is self-aware enough to know that she's not in a great mindset to be deciding who to trust and what's a threat. She knows that Caitlyn will keep her safe, which helps her calm down enough to decide to give Petra a chance.

Vi keeps wondering why she's so tired. It's because she's healing (which takes a lot out of you) and she has a fever (and the resulting fatigue).

Caitlyn is not going to take care of the clean sheets later. :)

There's just... so much that can trigger Vi right now. We're gonna be dealing with that for quite a bit. Meds, transfusions, IVs, touching her head/pulling her hair, certain words, etc.

The people Vi remembers when Cait bumps her thumb while she's panicking are, in order: Powder, Vander, Ekko, Tobias, and - of course - Caitlyn.

"Anything foreign in her veins" - girl, most of your blood isn't even your own at this point.

As soon as Vi manages to calm down, Petra redirects the conversation to Caitlyn, knowing that it'll distract Vi enough to keep her from panicking again. And it works; as soon as Vi realizes Caitlyn is hurt, she completely stops worrying about the meds.

"Barely sleeping" - Caitlyn, you were completely knocked out. It was the deepest sleep you've had in weeks.

I don't know, I just think it's very sweet that Caitlyn reassures Vi about her ribs not by brushing it off, but by guiding her hand there to check it herself. The nonverbal communication continues!

So, I have absolutely no idea what it would be like to try drinking and eating again after years of only getting nutrients and fluids through an IV. I'm just guessing. We've established that Vi can swallow, but only a little bit (blood, saliva, etc.). So, in theory, she can drink, but not a lot because her stomach can't handle it yet. She needs to be eased back onto food (refeeding syndrome) to let her body adjust. Water → clear liquids (broth, juice) → thicker liquids (milk, richer broth) → mashed food (applesauce) → easy-to-digest solids (toast, rice, bananas) → more complex solids. Vomitting is especially bad here because it can dehydrate her faster.

"Her body, broken and skinny and useless" - Vi is absolutely going to deal with body-image issues in the coming chapters. In a way, this is kind of 'non-consensual body modification' and I'm planning to treat it with the trauma that comes with that.

It's a good thing Vi decided to trust Petra because Caitlyn absolutely would not be able to get her upright without help.

Mmm, the intimacy of helping someone drink, of holding a glass to their lips and supporting their head. The need for both trust and carefulness. Also, the grief that your loved one was denied even being allowed to drink water (treated more like a machine than even an animal) and the guilt of having to deny them from drinking too much, even if it is for their own good. Especially when they're practically begging for just a little bit more.

And then Vi saying she's okay after nearly choking on water. They're so stupid and Petra's so tired.

Mad at myself that Caitlyn can't lie down and cuddle. >:(

When Caitlyn confesses about the blood transfusions, I want you to imagine the same nervous expression and tone that she used in the show, when she told Vi that she was seeing Maddie while they were separated. She can't go into this without telling Vi the truth.

"I refuse to lose you again" - God, they mean so much to me. But also, the idea that Caitlyn will do anything to not lose Vi. I love exploring the whole 'Yes, this is a good person. But, at some point, they become a selfish person. What do they have to lose to reach that point? When do they decide, "fuck everything else, I will not lose this one. Not now, not ever."?'

And Vi's trust in Caitlyn overcomes her terror of being injected with something without her knowledge and permission. :(

"She will never hurt you again" - maybe Caitlyn's right. But that doesn't mean the Baroness can't hurt someone else. >:)

(I'm eventually going to give a few more details about what Petra looks like, but I'm really curious to hear how y'all imagine her appearance? Please tell me?)

Teaser for next week:

Vi jerks back again, shaking her head in rapid refusal. "No. No, I - No IV."

The doctor heaves a weary sigh. "Vi, it's necessary. You're just being reintroduced to eating, to drinking. You need fluids and nutrients and, right now, antibiotics."

Vi shakes her head again, turning to Caitlyn. Her eyes are wide and frantic and terrified. "Cait," she chokes, "please, I - I can't --"

"Vi," Caitlyn breathes, quiet but desperate. "Darling, please."

[cozzzynook]

Hurt/Comfort for the Momatron au (Hopefully Tumbler won't eat this one lol)

Between the mix of busy mining shifts and keeping the little sparkling out of sight of supervisors to say D had his servos full would be the same as wishing for flying turbo foxes. But all this extra stress was worth it in the end as in just under a month Hot Rod had grown rather quickly, from a chirping bittie who could barely keep his sleepy optics open to being able to sit upright and starting to explore on his own.

Stepping into the barracks D would be greeted by the sight of Orion sitting on the floor with a row Prime trading cards with Hot Rod sitting and watching from the other side. The grey mech couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping his intake as he approached his amica and sparkling. "Pax, he's still too young to play this game. Besides when did you start collecting trading cards?"

Orion rolled his optics as he turned to face D "I know that, but he likes looking at the pictures so I thought I might show him a few" The mech then smiled softly as he patted a free spot on the floor. "And for where I got these trading cards Jazz let me borrow them for the day"

D hummed as he sat down scanning the deck of cards before turning his attention back to his sparkling. "What do you think tiny spark? Anyone your favourite yet?" A part of D's spark hoped that Hot Rod inherited his love for Megatronus.

Letting out a puzzled beep Hot Rod turned his gaze back to the deck of cards tilting his helm in thought. After a few klicks the red sparkling reached out grabbing a card that had a picture of Onyx prime before shoving said card into his mouth with a chirp.

"Hey! No, no don't eat that!" Orion gasped as he reached out to pick up the wiggly sparkling.

"Spit it out, now..." D grumbled as he began reaching for Hot Rod only to suddenly recoil when a flash of something bright forced him to shut his optics.

The sound of a mix of pained yelping and fear coming from Orion forced D to re open his optics. The grey mech let out a gasp as in his amica's arms was Hot Rod surrounded by bright golden flames. Not wasting another nano-klick D reached out snatching his sparkling from Orion's servos while ignoring the searing pain the flames caused as he held his bittie close. Hot Rod gazed up at his carrier with wide confused optics, seemly unaware that his flames were hurting his carrier.

With a confused hiccup Hot Rod's flames quickly extinguished as the bittie continued to look on with worry. Tiny servos quickly found themselves on D's face while soft chirping followed shortly after as Hot Rod waited for an reaction.

A sigh quickly escaped D's intake as he scanned the red sparkling. There wasn't a single mark on him, D would have convinced himself he was just seeing things if it wasn't for the visible burns on his arms and Orion's servos. "Its okay little one" D quickly nuzzled Hot Rod's helm hoping to reassure his bittie. "That must have been scary but it's over now"

Hot Rod's spoiler did little wiggles as a smile quickly returned to his face. However a quick hiccup cut the sparkling off only to be replaced by a 'bleh' noise as the now slobbery trading card was spat out onto D's lap.

D grimaced a little before sighing. "No more trading cards for you, young mech"

Orion hissed as he looked over both his and D's burns before speaking. "I'll have to apologize to Jazz later. What was all that about?" The red and blue mech seemed just as puzzled as D was.

"I'm not sure" D shook his helm as he pulled Hot Rod closer. "Whatever it is, no one can find out about it. I have a bad feeling that we aren't supposed to know..."

(Love making these flashbacks and this Au! -💕)

Awww they find out he has an outlier super young. So painful but cute!!

[calinaannehart]

Love all writing! Can we get a snippet from any of your WIPs?

Thank you! I have this from a 'bleeding through the bandages' prompt I've been working on

He should have taken the medevac shift.

Sanchez had offered it to him but Tommy has been hogging all the flight time for weeks now, it’s only fair to let someone else go up. He’s not the only pilot at harbour and he doesn’t have a monopoly over the birds, as much as we wishes he did. When he’s flying it’s the only time his thoughts aren’t completely occupied with Evan. They can’t be, not when he’s at the controls and someone else’s life is literally in his hands.

Besides, Sanchez is a good pilot and a good man. A devoted husband, a loving father, a loyal son who calls his parents at least three times a week. Sanchez matters to a lot of people. It’s right that they swapped.

It’s right that he’s not here and Tommy is, buried under a mound of rubble and impaled on a length of rebar.

Sanchez would be missed. Who’s going to miss Tommy?

Sure, Lucy might miss having someone to snark at, and Mrs. Gregson next door might miss having someone to help her with the odd jobs her late husband used to do. But there’s no one else. Tommy has burned every bridge he had left.

Which is fine he concludes, watching as his blood continues to stream from the torn flesh around where the rebar has, for lack of a better word, skewered him. He’s fine with it. Really.

He doesn’t know how long he’s already been there, trapped in his concrete tomb. He was unconscious for a while he thinks, judging by the pool of blood that had managed to puddle beneath him.

It should have been a textbook evacuation. There had hardly been anyone left in the building but Tommy and two others had gone in to clear the last of them out. All he can do is hope that everyone else made it out safely. There’s an irony that it would be a methane leak. The same thing that had nearly killed him all those years ago, before Howie had saved his life and Tommy had gotten himself together.

Karma, he supposes. For the shitty things he’s said and done. For the shitty existence he’s led for forty-one years.

At least he’s not claustrophobic. Although, with the way the ceiling has only partially collapsed it’s not that smallest of a spaces. The pocket he’s in is maybe five foot long but only a few feet wide, enough room for a rescue team to be able to manoeuvre around him. If the structure continues to hold he won’t be crushed to death by the debris, it’ll be the blood loss that gets him.

He’s already feeling cold.

“Might want to do something about that.”

Tommy starts, the jerking of his body tugging at the wound around the rebar and ripping a pained cry from his throat.

“Wh…hello?” Fuck. There was someone else trapped with him. “Jimmy? That you?” Tommy hisses, squinting into the dusty, dimness of his surroundings. His helmet lies just out of reach, the broken remains of office furniture scattered all around him, but the flashlight is miraculously still on meaning he isn’t bleeding out in total darkness.

“Didn’t think you’d have forgotten my voice that quickly,” A figure shifts in the shadows, the reflective tape of his turnouts catching in the beam of the flashlight. “It’s only been six weeks.”

“Six…” Tommy’s brain is moving too slow. Not a good sign. Concussion, probably given that he lost his helmet in the explosion, but also blood loss. But he does know that voice, he just…he can’t…

“Although, I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised that you moved on before I did. You’re looking for your last, right?”

The figure clambers gracefully over a splintered desk and squats down next to him, shards of glass crunching under the heavy fire boots as the flashlight finally reveals his face.

“Evan?” Tommy’s breathes. God, he’s still as handsome as the last time Tommy saw him, although his features are hard and cold.

“Oh, so it’s Evan now. I thought it was Buck?” Evan scoffs, eyes dark as he glares at Tommy. “I mean, that’s what you called me before you walked out after breaking my heart.”

“I’m s—” A creak and rumble above them cuts his apology off, not that it would have been anywhere near enough for what Tommy had done to him. “Evan, you have to—you have to go. Get out—while you still can.”

It hurts to talk, every movement of muscle pulling and burning and he’s still bleeding heavily. There’s no hope for Tommy, but Even, he can still save himself. He shouldn’t be risking his life for the man that destroyed everything.

Evan seems to be in no hurry, he just shrugs and casts his eyes over where the rebar protrudes from Tommy’s abdomen, as though he’s trying to work out which organs it might have taken out on its way through. “I’m good.”

“What…no, go. Please, you—you need to go. I can’t—I can’t be the reason you get—hurt, too,” Tommy releases one hand from where he has them both pressed around the wound, shoving weakly at Evan’s arm in an attempt to get him to move.

Buck stays firm, doesn’t even shift under the feeble push. “You should do something about that,” He repeats, jerking his chin at the rebar.

“Like—like what?” There’s nothing. Tommy has nothing on him. All he has in his turnout pockets is some webbing, his gloves, a multitool, a tourniquet, and a granola bar which is probably long since out of date. No medical supplies, no bandages. The tourniquet is useless unless we wants to cut off the circulation to his entire lower body, even if it would fit around his torso. Tommy’s going to die down here. But that doesn’t mean Evan has to.

Tommy’s about the plead with him, beg him to leave and save himself, but he gives himself a second to take in Evan’s profile one last time. The face he fell in love with, the one he still dreams of.

God, he’s so handsome, fair skin and stubble that Tommy wishes he could touch. But his hands are covered in blood and Evan is clean and tidy and—

“You’re not hurt,” Tommy rasps, confusion tugging at him. His body feels like one big bruise, and he knows there’s a decent sized gash on his temple, can feel the dried blood on the side of his face. But Evan doesn’t have a scratch on him. “How did you—you weren’t in here. When the—the explosion hap—happened. How’d you get in?”

Evan turns to him finally, face still cold in a way Tommy never would have imagined would be directed at him, never would have even dreamed he was capable of.

“I didn’t. You’ll find something in there,” Evan points to what remains of a cabinet by Tommy’s left shoulder, office storage of some sort. The rolldown shutter is dented in places, enough so that the lock has been busted, and there’s a gap at the bottom with enough room to get a hand in to prise it open. “I’d help but…”

Evan doesn’t finish the sentence, just stands and heads for the furthest wall, running his hands over it and inspecting the beams that are still standing. Tommy assumes he’s looking for a potential exit, a way to get out should help not come. Evan isn’t a small man, but if he sheds his turnouts he should be able to squeeze through a gap in the rubble.

It stings that he’d rather inspect their surroundings than help Tommy rummage the cabinet for anything to stem the bleeding, but it’s no less than Tommy deserves. Besides, if it means that Evan does get out unharmed then that’s all that matters.

[ducktracy]

AND YET ANOTHER PERSONAL POST even though i still need to respond to all the others i've made! but i just again wanna say THANK YOU YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME I LOVE YOU I'M HAPPY YOU'RE HERE. this has been such a very fun and gratifying few weeks of spreading the gospel of the pig 'n duck, getting to hear everyone's reactions and spread the dominos... i'm still overwhelmed and answering some birthday wishes that is INCREDIBLY SWEET WHAT ON EARTH!!!!!! and i've got some very exciting news that just reminds me like, hey, life is worth living and i do have friends and people like and appreciate me and want me around and people are not going to murder me because i'm not working on a review or haven't immediately been able to respond to a DM. my posting's definitely been more erratic lately with the pig and duck hype and i'm having to force myself back down into civilization a bit and pick up routine, but as someone who doesn't often let myself deviate from that routine i just wanted to say thank you!!! i still have a lot of asks and DMs and testimonies to catch up on, but thank you for the support and for being awesome 🙏 i genuinely have not felt this worry-free and able to just unabashedly post about my interests in years and years and years. yinz are awesome thank youuuu