#Pain On Top Of Kneecap

[bucksangel]

my left knee fucking hurts so bad i’m trying not to cry

[science-hoes]

I neeeeeeed your prone bone thots on everyone

Prone bone thots for Charlie Reid, Pope Cody, Jack Abbot, and Michael Robinavitch. Here we gooooooo

Charlie is a fan of prone bone because it’s the best position for breath play. He’ll be buried deep inside you with a large hand around your throat. His thumb will compress against your trachea, and he can hear your staggered breaths until there aren’t any. He can perfectly time when you need to breathe again without hurting you. “Come on, baby girl, breathe for Daddy.” He’ll come in you that way, too, a hand gripping your hair and his fingers nearly leaving marks on your throat. “You want me to fill you up? Yeah? Think you deserve it?” You’ll come before he does, he makes sure of that, but the position leaves you feeling so full and cock drunk, leaving a drooling mess on the comforter of his bed.

Pope likes prone bone because it’s the closest he can be to you, closer than missionary. He keeps his forehead pressed against your temple, rutting viciously, making the bed rock with every snap of his hips. His sweet whimpers are right in your ear, and that gets you off more than anything. “I feel you. You’re almost there.” He’ll speed up, never slipping out too far, just enough to slam back into you with a bruising force. “Need to feel you come.” He needs to know he made you feel good, and of course you feel good. It’s apparent by how hard your walls convulse around his thick cock, springing him into his own release.

Jack actually prefers prone bone, especially after a long shift. He doesn’t wear his prosthesis any longer than he has to or else he could end up with chaffing, blisters, etc. But sometimes he still ends up with chaffing on his kneecap from the metal or prosthesis sleeve, so being on his knees is incredibly painful. Enter prone bone. He can lay on top of you and treat you like the queen you are. “So fucking good for me, baby doll.” He’ll kiss your neck, your shoulder blades, your ears, all while railing you into next week. The fat tip of his cock is slamming into that spongy spot inside you, and you can only see stars. “That’s right, give it to me.” You’ll come harder than any other position, especially as he continues to thrust until he reaches his own climax.

Robby loves prone bone. He’s so much taller than you that he has no issue keeping your back snug against his chest, his head tilted down so he can whisper sweet nothings into your ear while his hips piston into you, pressing wet kisses against your lips every now and then. “So good for me, kid.” With that height also comes length, and he has never slipped out of your pussy in that position, it would be nearly impossible. “Is it too much? Need a second?” He hits your G-spot over and over, and you’re a whimpering mess under him. Usually, you need clit stimulation to come, but not with him in this position. He gets you there, and he gets you there fast. It’s also the position that you conceive your first child in.

[animusrox]

MY LETTERBOXD

TOP 10

1.    Dune: Part Two 2.    The Substance 3.    Hundreds of Beavers 4.    Anora 5.    Dìdi 6.    Nosferatu 7.    Nickel Boys 8.    The First Omen 9.    Sing Sing 10.    Civil War

GRADE A 

11.    No Other Land 12.    Robot Dreams 13.    The Peasants 14.    Conclave 15.    Smile 2 16.    Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes 17.    We Grown Now 18.    Memoir of a Snail 19.    The Last Stop in Yuma County 20.    A Real Pain 21.    It’s What’s Inside 22.    Red Rooms 23.    Sometimes I Think About Dying 24.    A Different Man 25.    Better Man 26.    The Brutalist 27.    Heretic 28.    His Three Daughters 29.    Hard Truths 30.    Evil Does Not Exist 31.    Late Night with the Devil 32.    Alien: Romulus 33.    MadS 34.    Rebel Ridge 35.    Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person 36.    Challengers 37.    Strange Darling 38.    Flow 39.    All We Imagine as Light 40.    Longlegs 41.    Saturday Night 42.    The Apprentice 43.    Terrifier 3 44.    The Seed of the Sacred Fig 45.    A Complete Unknown 46.    A Quiet Place: Day One 47.    Juror #2 48.    Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl 49.    Oddity 50.    Kneecap 51.    Touch 52.    Mayhem! 53.    The Order 54.    In a Violent Nature 55.    Small Things Like These 56.    Twisters 57.    Hit Man 58.    Woman of the Hour 59.    Stopmotion 60.    The Wild Robot 61.    Deadpool & Wolverine

[Tap 'Keep Reading' For My Full Graded List]

GRADE B

62.    The Devil’s Bath 63.    The Bikeriders 64.    Sasquatch Sunset 65.    The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim 66.    Monkey Man 67.    Last Straw 68.    Abigail 69.    Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga 70.    Tiger Stripes 71.    The Book of Clarence 72.    The Instigators 73.    I’m Still Here 74.    The Coffee Table 75.    The Return 76.    Problemista 77.    Trap 78.    MaXXXine 79.    Love Lies Bleeding 80.    You’ll Never Find Me 81.    Between the Temples 82.    Marmalade 83.    Blitz 84.    Speak No Evil 85.    Asphalt City 86.    Piece By Piece 87.    Wicked Little Letters 88.    We Live in Time 89.    Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story 90.    V/H/S/Beyond 91.    The Dead Don’t Hurt 92.    Suncoast 93.    Maria 94.    My Old Ass 95.    Immaculate 96.    The Truth vs. Alex Jones 97.    Cuckoo 98.    Daddio 99.    We Were Dangerous 100.    The Outrun 101.    Infested 102.    Monolith 103.    Azrael 104.    The Last Showgirl 105.    Babes 106.    The Fire Inside 107.    Lisa Frankenstein 108.    Here 109.    Thelma 110.    Queer 111.    Out of Darkness 112.    Y2K 113.    Handling the Undead 114.    Bad Boys: Ride or Die 115.    I Saw the TV Glow 116.    Arcadian 117.    Transformers One 118.    Never Let Go 119.    The Piano Lesson 120.    Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F 121.    Wicked 122.    Gladiator II 123.    Carry-On 124.    Blink Twice 125.    Self Reliance 126.    Fly Me to the Moon 127.    Boy Kills World 128.    Kinds of Kindness 129.    Nutcrackers 130.    Skincare 131.    Ezra 132.    The Front Room 133.    Mothers’ Instinct 134.    Inside Out 2 135.    Omni Loop 136.    Girls State 137.    Beetlejuice Beetlejuice 138.    Your Monster 139.    Babygirl 140.    Mufasa: The Lion King 141.    The Greatest Hits 142.    Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 1 143.    Magpie

GRADE C 

144.    The People’s Joker 145.    Nightbitch 146.    Road House 147.    Young Woman and the Sea 148.    Am I OK? 149.    Music by John Williams 150.    The Killer’s Game 151.    Oh, Canada 152.    Wolfs 153.    Sting 154.    The Idea of You 155.    Don’t Move 156.    1992 157.    Werewolves 158.    The Killer 159.    The Shadow Strays 160.    Rez Ball 161.    MoviePass, MovieCrash 162.    The Fall Guy 163.    Lee 164.    The End 165.    Godzilla × Kong: The New Empire 166.    The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare 167.    Madame Web 168.    Caddo Lake 169.    Watchmen: Chapter II 170.    Watchmen: Chapter I 171.    Salem’s Lot 172.    The Exorcism 173.    The Watchers 174.    Kill 175.    Jackpot! 176.    Rumours 177.    Damsel 178.    My Spy: The Eternal City 179.    Drive-Away Dolls 180.    IF 181.    Spaceman 182.    Joy 183.    Joker: Folie à Deux 184.    Megalopolis 185.    Monster Summer 186.    Lovely, Dark, and Deep 187.    Bob Marley: One Love 188.    Kraven the Hunter 189.    Moana 2 190.    I Used to Be Funny 191.    Goodrich 192.    September 5 193.    Hold Your Breath 194.    Apartment 7A

GRADE F

195.    The Platform 2 196.    Arthur the King 197.    Shirley 198.    Back to Black 199.    Land of Bad 200.    Poolman 201.    Emilia Pérez 202.    The Room Next Door 203.    I.S.S. 204.    Brothers 205.    Knox Goes Away 206.    Mean Girls 207.    Krazy House 208.    Slingshot 209.    Mr. Crocket 210.    Argylle 211.    Sonic the Hedgehog 3 212.    Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey 2 213.    Afraid 214.    Tuesday 215.    Spellbound 216.    Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Three 217.    Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Two 218.    Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part One 219.    The American Society of Magical Negroes 220.    Subservience 221.    Time Cut 222.    Night Swim 223.    Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire 224.    Red One 225.    This Is Me…Now 226.    Despicable Me 4 227.    The Union 228.    Ricky Stanicky 229.    The Beekeeper 230.    Honeymoonish 231.    Hot Frosty 232.    The Deliverance 233.    The Garfield Movie 234.    Lift 235.    Atlas 236.    Trigger Warning 237.    House of Spoils 238.    Borderlands 239.    Tarot 240.    Venom: The Last Dance

Bottom 10

241.    Imaginary 242.    Unfrosted 243.    It Ends With Us 244.    Dear Santa 245.    The Crow 246.    The Strangers: Chapter 1 247.    Harold and the Purple Crayon 248.    Rebel Moon - Part Two: The Scargiver 249.    Dirty Angels 250.    Miller’s Girl

[skauni]

They Had The Wrong Traitor….

!!WARNINGS!!: Torture, Explicit Descriptions, Gained Trauma, No Happy Ending.

They didn’t know.

How were they SUPPOSED to know..?

Two months ago, Task Force 1-4-1 realized they had a traitor amongst themselves. Someone giving information about them to Shadow Company. They didn’t know who, until all signs started to point to you. Since then has been hell.

They tied you to a cold metal chair with ropes so tight they rubbed your ankles and wrists raw. You still remembered the day it started. Waking up with a splitting headache in the cold, dim lighted, concrete room. A table in front of you. On it you saw a hammer, pliers, a metal bat, sets of knives—even a damn corkscrew.

That first day was hell. You shrieked at the top of your lungs that you were innocent as your main tormentor, Ghost, broke your fingers slowly. Knuckle. By. Knuckle. When you still didn't confess he took the pliers and slowly ripped your nails from your broken and mangled fingers. Making you scream louder in agony.

The rest of the days blurred. Hardly any food or water; just barely enough to keep you alive. Every time a wound scarred they re-opened it. Soap held your jaw open today as Ghost slowly ripped out your teeth. Your voice long gone from hours of shrieking before this. No fight left in you when their radio's crackled to life. "Soap, Ghost, hall. Now." Price spoke. His voice sounded uneasy.

When they left you tilted your head forward. Letting the blood from your removed teeth drip slowly from your lips. It was painful to breathe. Bruised, cracked, and maybe even broken ribs and a broken nose they kept targeting so it never healed. A broken hand and forearm from three harsh strikes of the hammer. Several deep gashes from some of the knives Ghost used on you. A dislocated kneecap from being bashed in by the metal bat.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about out in the hall. But you knew it was something shocking based on the dead silence that came after Price’s muffled voice. In all honesty, over these two months, you started thinking it was your fault this happened to you. Thinking it was your fault you were framed; you just made yourself too easy a target to frame as the traitor.

You heard rushing feet and the sound of vomiting in the trash can down the hall. You guessed Gaz since you heard Soap ask Price something, you heard Price’s gruff grunt and Ghost’s Manchester accent as he swore under his breath. Your eyes fluttered in exhaustion but snapped open on instinct as you heard the door open again. They’d caught the real traitor, a newer recruit who had everyone wrapped around her finger.

Price had entered the room.

“I didn’t do it…” You whispered hoarsely. Your captain nodded. “I know, Y/N… I know…” he whispered softly. You flinched as he unsheathed his knife from its holster, he moved slowly as he cut your hands and legs free. He tried to pick you up but you cried out. He carefully set you back down and radioed for a few medics. They arrived a short while later as Price kept you awake to be sure you couldn’t slip away before everyone could apologize at the very least.

The medics came soon enough and moved you carefully onto a gurney so as to avoid shattering any bones further. They moved you to the med bay as fast as possible to get your wounds tended to and disinfected. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sat outside of the med bay as they listened to your agonized shrieks and whales of pain from the medics setting your already healing knuckles back in place.

It took a few hours after your corrective knee surgery for the boys to be allowed to finally see you. The medics said you’d be out for a few days so your body could regain a small bit of strength. None of the team wanted to leave your side. They all had set themselves up so they could sleep by the cot the medics placed you on. In and out, they would individually go on missions or go in pairs so two of them could still keep their eyes on you incase you woke up.

A few days turned into a few weeks. And you finally woke up. But not as easily as the team would have wished. A cold sweat soaking your forehead as you groaned in agony in your sleep until you woke up shrieking and tried to curl into yourself for comfort, only causing yourself more pain. The boys had to pin you down so the medic could inject the pain killer.

Through the times you were awake, you refused to let any of them remotely try to touch you. They could see it. The distance you put between yourself and them. The distrust in your eyes. The anger and hurt in your furrowed brow. You had trusted them with your life. And now you were beginning to think you should have never let your guard down. Not for one damn second. But a small part of you thought it was somehow your own fault…

Gaz spent the most time with you. No touching, just trying to get you to talk. Even if in anger. He was slowly piecing your trust in him back together bit by bit. When physical therapy came around you asked him to help you because your knee hurt too much to do it alone and the medic seemed busy with another soldier. The rest of the team saw this, beginning to hope they had a chance at forgiveness as well. They weren’t aware that you never forgave Gaz. You just trusted him enough to count him as a person you will let help you. Not a friend. And not a teammate. Not anymore.

Soap was the second to earn the right to help you, then Price not too long after that. Ghost… was a different story. All he did was glare at you, as if he still thought you were the traitor. To which you returned the hostility. He hadn’t let it show, but he was devastated. He wished he’d have never believed that false evidence. He couldn’t even look at you because all he saw was his work etched into your body. That was why he glared. It wasn’t meant for you, it was directed at his work that scarred your body.

When you could walk on your own without crutches, you went to Price in the break room where everyone was. Expression cold and dead serious as you handed him resignation papers. He froze. “You can’t… we need you on this team Y/N—“ he started but you cut him off. “Need? Or want me here because you loathe yourselves so much you need me to reassure you that you’re forgiven with my presence?” He staggered back. “I never forgave any of you.” You added.

“There isn’t a day we’ve woken up without regretting—“ he tried again. “You don’t get to play that card! Do you know how many times I woke up crying in agony from wounds that are already healed because of you four!? Oh, or how about the fact I can’t stand to be touched by ANYONE anymore!” You snapped back. “Y/N…” Price started to beg. “No. I hate you. All of you. For what you did to me. Don’t even contact me. If you have something to tell me, keep it to yourselves.”

The team was silent. You walked to your barracks and packed. Booked a flight back to your hometown. And walked out the doors of the base. Giving none of them the time of day to apologize or try to fix things between you and them. You hadn’t even told them you neglected to sleep most nights out of fear someone would come out of the shadows and beat you half to death again…

[igotanidea]

Kidnapped: Jason Todd x reader

Aka: the one when when Jason finds out his girlfriend is in a "life-threatening" situation.

“Kidnapped?! What the hell do you mean, she’s been kidnapped?! Who would dare?! And how would they know she’s connected to me!? I mean – to the Red Hood!?”

"Jason-"

“Don’t fucking Jason me right now! Why are you standing here?! Why am I standing here?!”

Jason’s screams were echoing through the Batcave since the very moment Dick acclaimed that Y/N has been taken hostage.

“We should be doing something! Fuck!” Red Hood tried to run fingers through his hair only to figure out he had his helmet on. Thank god for that, cause otherwise he’d probably pull and pull at his black mop, going completely bald.

“Jason – “

“Shut up or I’ll fucking kill you! How are you so calm about it?!”

“I – “

“They took Y/N!!! They took my Y/N and I don’t even know who “they” are. You know what, forget it – I’ll burn this entire city down if it means getting to her!”

Without waiting for any more input on his brother’s part, he took off running, ager in his eyes obscured by a layer of red metal.

Anger and concern combined.

Because – after all – she was in danger because of him.

***

“Where the hell is she?!” half an hour later, he was holding Black Mask’s goon by the collar, up in the air, man’s legs dangling dangerously as he was falling in and out of consciousness.

“I don’t know who Y/N-“

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to say her name with your fucking dirty mouth!”

“I don’t know her!”

“You’re fucking lying!” the gun barrel held to the thug’s head did nothing to refresh his memory. “Where are you keeping her?!”

“We’re not- AAAAHGH!”

Jason hardly hesitated before shooting the man’s arm and the man did nothing to try and hide the pain coming from the action.

“Talk or next thing I’ll aim at will be your kneecap. Much more painful and much more permanent if you ask me about it.”

“I don’t know – “ much to Jason’s disgust his victim for the night started crying. “I swear I don’t know - “

“Freaking minnow.” Red Hood hissed, feeling the passing time hot on his heels. Every second counted, cause it meant one more less breath for Y/N or one more punch or other type of injury inflicted upon her.

With a very dissatisfied groan, he tossed the man aside, pleased by the sound of something snapping, hoping it was at least a leg.

***

“Hmmm… Do you have any aces?”

“Nice try.”

“So you don’t?”

“Nope. Do you have any clubs?”

“Ah! God! How are you doing this!? Seriously, every time!?”

“You’re exceptionally bad at this game.”

“In my defense, there’s something else gnawing at me at the moment, so sorry if I can’t exactly fucking concentrate!”

“Are you having the moment of conscience calling?” third voice came into the discussion, a hint of sarcasm in it. “You feel like you’ve done something wrong by crossing the lines of being a lawful citizen?”

“Stop messing with my head! It was your idea!”

“I didn’t exactly see you object to it.”

“You dragged me into it!”

“Again – you weren’t pulling your punches.”

“My god!” the first person stood up abruptly, tossing the cards away “this is fucking ridiculous. We’re sitting on top of the roof, playing poker while Red Hood is out there hunting. You do realize he’ll find us sooner or later, right?” Just a thought of such possibility coming through sent a shiver down the person spine.

“Yes.” The two other people said in unison, completely unbothered by the fact that Gotham had a killer on the loose.

“And then what?!”

A shrug of arms and annoyed scoff followed by eye rolling had to do as a response.

“Are you insane?!”

“Stop showing you are new to this job and sit back down.”

“Your yelling at the top of your lungs into the city is not really helping with not dragging attention to ourselves, did you know? Now, do you have any deuces?”

“HA! I don’t have any deuces and – “

“AAAH! He’s coming! He’s coming--!” fourth dramatis persona busted through the door, though the exclamation was rather a show of excitement rather than fear. “And let me tell you, he is SOOOOO angry.”

“You three are freaking mental-“

“WHERE IS SHE-----?!” Red hood did indeed found them, but sure as hell it was not what he was expecting to see. “Wait… what—what – Y/N?!”

“Hey… Hey, Jason…” she sighed, rubbing her forehead putting on a grin that was both wide and fake.

“What are you – WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?” Jason took in the surrounding. Blanket on the floor, a set of cards on it, a basket with snacks and most importantly – HIS THREE “BROTHERS” CASUALLY PLAYING POKER WITH HIS ALLEGEDLY KIDNAPPED GIRLFRIEND. A second later his helmet landed on the ground with a loud thud, only miraculously not blowing up from the explosive inside it.

Damian rolled his eyes, Dick chuckled, Tim was completely unbothered and Y/N just sighed in exasperation.

“What—What--?”

“Jason, I need you to breathe-“

“But why –“

“In and out, ok--?” she stepped closer, gently placing a hand on his shoulder in something that aimed to be a reassuring gesture.

“Y/N….?” he stuttered and everyone on the roof were getting ready for a rage attack.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m here.”

“You’re okay?” Jason whispered like a kid, his eyes growing a little bigger, almost innocent reflecting every feeling he held for her.

“I’m okay, baby…”

“Y/N…” he stuttered and fell onto his knees, grabbing her calves making his poor girlfriend freeze at the spot. “I was so worried, I was so fucking worried, I thought something happened to you-“ his face ended up pressing into her stomach, grip on her hips tightening along with the way her heart clenched, almost painfully.

God, what had she done?

She was a terrible girlfriend.

Terrible human, terrible everything, putting Jason through another weight of trauma and pain, only trying to pull an innocent April Fool’s Joke.

“Jay…” she shook in his bruising embrace.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, you hear me, princess?”

“Jay….” A wave of guilt rolled through her body, turning into spasming and muffled sobs “Jay, I am so sorry-“

“Shh… Shhh, it’s okay, love. You’re safe, you’re safe with me.”

Jason and Y/N were now – respectively – breaking down and being eaten alive by remorse, a picture as pitiful and heartbreaking as well as touching and highly emotional.

“Ekhem… we’re still here!” Damian cleared his throat, not liking the display of affection. And it was enough to invite Red Hood back in.

“GRAYSON!”

“oh-oh….”

“YOU SAID SHE WAS KIDNAPPED!”

“I didn’t say she was kidnapped, I said she was kid-napped! And here she is, unharmed, with two kids, almost napping and – “

“AAAAAH!”

“Jason put the gun down!”

“Todd!”

“Stop it!”

 Five people, four guys and a girl were struggling on the rooftop in poor attempt to finish the situation with the same amount of people alive as in the beginning.

***

“Shouldn’t you stop them, Sir?” Afred’s voice came through the Batman’s com.

“It’s not the first time they are fighting.” Bruce responded, observing the entire commotion from the other building’s rooftop.

“It seems different this time though.”

“they should have known better not to tease Jason like this. “

“Do you think they told him, that it was all orchestrated because Miss Y/N could not get Master Jason attention and time any other way, sir?”

“I think some things are between keeping private, Alfred. Wouldn’t like to be in Y/N’s shoes is that came out—”

“Tsk. Father, you are using the general com line.”

 It seemed like Y/N was indeed in a very deep shit.

[joyful-soul-collector]

Writing Femoral Anteversion

From someone who has it! I figured people who're writing Viktor (or anyone else you'd like to bestow this condition onto) might find this helpful.

For anyone who doesn't know, Viktor is theorized to have severe Femoral Anteversion in his right leg. Mine is not quite as severe as his is, but it's enough to cause problems. Currently my condition has me considering buying a cane at the ripe old age of 22, which is a few years younger than Viktor was in Season 1 Act 1.

Femoral Anteversion looks like this:

This can happen in one or both legs. I have it in both, but it's far worse in my left leg. Viktor's seems to be mainly in his right leg. To be clear, this is NOT the same thing as his lung disease, though it likely exacerbates that disease a bit. The anteversion very likely worsens the problems with his back, but isn't necessarily the cause. Now, lets get into it!

What is Femoral Anteversion?

A wonderful post by @ihavea-natural-curiosity explained that all here, so I'll leave it to that person to explain what it is.

What is it like to have Femoral Anteversion?

Depending on the severity/treatments done for it, it can range from barely noticeable to a constant pain. If we put that on a scale, I'd say my right leg is at a 2-3, and my left is at around a 7-8. Viktor is likely at a 9-10 on his right leg. 8 on a good day.

General Pain Sites: mainly are in the knee, the hip, and lower back. Pain is worsened by long periods of standing, or long periods of sitting. Basically if its in one position for too long, it hurts. For me, it's difficult in school when I have to sit for a long time, and at work, where I stand a long time. Viktor may have more flexibility as he can stand or sit at his job whenever he wants, though if he's low energy that day, sitting for a long time may be his only option.

If standing for too long: (for me that's more than half and hour to an hour, for Viktor it may be more like 15 minutes), pain will start in the lower back, typically on the side of the bad leg, and with each step that spot on the lower back will pop. It's rather uncomfortable, doesn't relieve much pain the way popping a joint normally does. Pain from standing too long tends to be in the lower back, below the kneecap, and on the side of the hip, in the center between the front and back half of the body

If sitting for too long: typically the pain sites change slightly depending on the position, but often it's in the back of the hip, the lower back, and above the kneecap. Sometimes there may also be awkward positions sitting when trying to keep weight off that leg, which ends up hurting your upper back or shoulders too.

Painless: The only position I've found to be completely painless when in it for a long time is laying down on my back, with a pillow under the knees. Takes ALL the strain and weight off of those joints so it doesn't hurt. Only annoying bit is sometimes the REST of my body gets tired of being in that position anyways. I really only do this if it's hurting pretty bad that day because I can't really do anything while laying down like this. Even being on your phone is annoying cuz your arms get tired eventually.

Treating Femoral Anteversion

There's a bunch of treatments for it, the main ones are physical therapy, a brace, and a surgery. Typically none of these are needed because this usually happens in children, most of whom grow out of it. In the people who don't, physical therapy, a brace, and/or surgery may be needed.

The Brace

They usually hug the thigh as the problem is in the femur, the thigh bone. The reason Viktor likely doesn't have one of the top two may be either:

1. Pain, the braces can be rather painful, and with anteversion as severe as his it may have been too much

and/or

2. It may have interfered with his back brace. The bottom brace doesn't work as well, but it is certainly far better than nothing.

To be clear, the most comfortable position for someone with femoral anteversion to be in is with their toes pointed inward. So the brace is not necessarily actually for comfort, it is for overall health. They're rather painful as it forces you're muscles, tendons, and literally bones, to be in a different position than they are naturally. Braces for adults would also have to be worn most hours of the day, and likely forever. In children the brace is taken off after they have grown enough that the anteversion is corrected, but in adults they are done growing, so it must be worn as much as possible.

Generally a brace is not actually the go-to form of treatment for adults, as physical therapy works better and is less uncomfortable for the patient.

Physical Therapy

Physical therapy for femoral anteversion will look like a lot of leg exercises to strengthen the outer leg muscles that will help correct the direction of the femur. It's very possible Viktor does these, or did them when he had the strength. When his disease got worse he may not have had the energy, but if he ever saw a PT in Piltover to help with his leg then they likely had him do exercises every day, possibly in the morning and at night with how severe his case was.

Stopping the exercises would likely mean the leg returns to its previous condition, as the muscles would no longer be maintained and would grow weaker again with time. In which case, the brace would help, and is possibly why Viktor has a brace in act 2 of season 1, but not in act 1.

Surgery

This surgery is called Femoral Osteotomy, and is a rather invasive one as it will change the direction of your whole femur, thus the direction of your whole leg. People often need walkers after this surgery, and can definitely come with complications. The reason Viktor didn't get this done is almost certainly because of his disease. A lung disease increases the risk of complications exponentially, especially with something as invasive as this surgery.

Disclaimer: I personally haven't actually had any of these treatments because I cannot afford them at the moment, though I'm hoping to go into physical therapy soon. The treatment order tends to go PT, brace, and surgery as a last resort.

Daily Life with Femoral Anteversion

Honestly, for most people with this, there's not much difference. They may not even feel any pain. My right leg technically also has femoral anteversion, but rarely hurts. But for people with a more intense case, like my left leg, or Viktor's right leg, there's a few things that can be different, so here's a list of some things that I do because of my femoral anteversion, that might be interesting to include in your writing:

Constantly correcting the direction of the foot. It becomes an unconscious correction after months of practicing, but occasionally it will still happen that you have to consciously move and correct it

Some days hurt worse than others! It can be just how you wake up that morning, or it can be due to activities done that day

Constantly cracking the bad knee. Especially when sitting or standing for too long. I crack my knee probably every few minutes or so when I'm standing for more than 5 minutes

Leaning elbows on a table, crossing the legs at the ankle, and leaning the torso side to side to get a stretch in the hip and potentially pop the lower back. Even deeper stretch by letting the elbows go below the table top and balancing by holding onto the table with just the fingertips.

When turning around, forgetting to move the bad leg too so it ends up turning almost completely backwards. This doesn't hurt, but as soon as I do it I often think "Aw fuck I'm not supposed to do that". Sometimes this makes you trip too.

Tripping over the bad foot when it gets in the way

Massaging or gently hitting the bad knee and hip to help the pain

Preemptively taking painkillers when anticipating a lot of walking or standing. May also do this for sitting, like on a plane or long train ride

It's hard to pop the hip but when it does happen it's both rather painful and instant pain relief. Very similar to popping a shoulder that's been annoying all day

Getting something warm to put on the knee and hip to help with pain. My favorite thing is the Warmies stuffed animals, the added weight feels good too

If without a cane/crutch, or somewhere to sit, then leaning heavily on tables, walls, and railings when in pain. Limping when you can't do that

Pushing the bad leg out to the side to get a good stretch in the hip (In the sexual sense, having the knees spread far apart for a long time would end up painful. Shorter sessions will be fine, but the best positions for something lasting a long time would be ones where the bad leg can be resting on something at a 90° angle or wider at both the hip and knee. A pillow under the knee works perfect. If on top, the person would likely end up leaning on the good leg, and leaning on the bed/a pillow/the other person with their arms to take the weight off the bad leg)

Constantly changing sitting position, generally every 5 minutes, give or take depending on how bad the pain is that day

Sleeping on the side with a pillow or blanket between the knees

Would secretly really really love for someone else to massage your leg because it's so difficult to get the right spots by yourself, especially in your hip.

Aaaaand that's about it! Feel free to ask any questions!

[godricgryffinsnore]

Here to add to your pile:

Period Comfort.

Harry Potter/YN

Chocolate, Cramps, and Clueless Chosen Ones ♡ | Harry Potter ⋆˙⟡

“She had cramps. He had no idea what he was doing. But love? Yeah… he had that part handled.”

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : Harry tries to comfort his girlfriend during her period—with zero clue and all heart. Chaos, cuddles, and chocolate ensue.

warnings : Mentions of menstruation and period symptoms (cramps, mood swings, etc.), Light swearing (mostly from Ron), Comedic cluelessness about female anatomy, Physical touch (comfort massage, cuddling), Ridiculous levels of fluff and Harry being hopelessly in love, Hermione being everyone’s mother, Ron being traumatized by tampons offscreen (implied). Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Thanks for requesting lovie!!! It was amazing to write a fiction for Harry and his clueless yet loving ass!! Love you <3

word count : 0.8k

navigation <3

banners : @/roseschoices and @/cafekitsune and @/omi-resources

You were dying.

At least, that’s how it felt. One hand clutched your abdomen like you were trying to physically remove your uterus. The other was flung dramatically over your face as you groaned on the Gryffindor common room couch.

Harry walked in, saw you writhing in flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks, and froze like he’d witnessed a murder.

“Is she—did someone hex her?” he whispered to Ron.

Ron’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell, is she dying?”

“I’m fine!” you snapped, voice muffled by the pillow. “It’s just my period.”

Harry blinked. “...your what?”

Ron paled. “Oh no.”

Cue the sound of an exasperated sigh and the swish of a bushy-haired goddess entering the room.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Hermione groaned, slamming her book shut. “Both of you—out. Go fly a broom or stick your heads in a bucket. Just stop acting like she’s been cursed.”

“But she’s groaning!” Harry protested. “She looked like she was in pain!”

“She is in pain,” Hermione said. “Because her uterus is trying to kill her. Now, go. Before I hex your kneecaps.”

Ron fled. Harry didn’t.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed and the fire had dimmed, you were still curled up on the couch like a croissant of misery. And you heard soft, uncertain footsteps.

“Hey,” Harry whispered. “I brought… I don’t know. A hot water bottle and some chocolate frogs? Hermione said those help.”

You blinked at him, teary-eyed. “You brought me a froggy and a bottle?”

“I mean—yeah? Is that right? Did I mess up?”

You smiled, laughing weakly. “No. It’s stupidly sweet.”

He awkwardly shifted, then cleared his throat. “Do you… want a massage? Like. On your back. I—I read in a book that it helps with pain sometimes. I swear it wasn’t a weird book.”

You rolled over, raising an eyebrow. “You read a book?”

“I panicked, alright?” he mumbled. “I goog—I mean, I researched cramps.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, Harry. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He sat behind you, gentle as ever, hands on your lower back. His fingers were a little clumsy at first, but gods, they were warm. So warm and careful. You sighed, melting into him.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Mhm.”

Harry brushed your hair back from your shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your spine. “You’re magic, you know,” he whispered.

You smiled lazily. “You’re not so bad for someone who thought I was cursed.”

He scoffed. “I still think you’re cursed. Just—beautifully.”

You turned to face him, eyes soft. “Thank you.”

He grinned, a little pink. “Anything for my girl. Even… weird uterus warfare.”

You burst into laughter.

The next morning, Harry was sitting in the corner of the common room, furiously scribbling notes on a bit of parchment. His brows were furrowed, his quill tapping against his lip, his expression one of grave concentration.

Ron leaned over, peeked at his paper, and recoiled like it had bit him.

“Mate,” he whispered. “Are you... studying periods?”

“I’m preparing, Ron,” Harry whispered back, like it was a war strategy. “She looked like she’d been Cruciatus’d last night. I’m not going in unarmed next time.”

Ron looked traumatized. “Why are there diagrams?”

“Just in case.”

Hermione chose that exact moment to come down the stairs and nearly face-planted at the sight of the parchment Harry was so reverently flipping through.

“Harry James Potter,” she said slowly, “is that… a color-coded period pain management chart?”

Harry jumped. “It’s not weird! It’s strategic care, Hermione! Look—see? ‘Phase One: Hot water bottle. Phase Two: Chocolate. Phase Three: Gentle massage and compliments.’ I even included emergency phrases like ‘You are strong’ and ‘The uterus is no match for you.’”

Hermione stared. Then sighed. Then walked over and patted his head.

“You’re a mess,” she said.

“I’m in love,” he corrected proudly.

Ron muttered from behind a cushion, “You’ve changed, mate. You used to be cool.”

“I was never cool,” Harry deadpanned. “But I am a boyfriend now. That comes with responsibilities.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the fond smile as she sat beside him.

“You’re lucky she’s not the type to be freaked out by this.”

“She called me her ‘little uterus warrior’ last night.”

“She’s definitely the right girl for you,” Hermione said, absolutely done.

That night, you found the parchment folded on your pillow.

Your name was written at the top in loopy, clumsy handwriting: Operation Period Peace Treaty.

Inside, Harry had written:

Phase One: Cuddle until further notice. Phase Two: I will smuggle chocolate from the kitchens. Phase Three: Tell you I love you at least three times per hour. Additional notes:

You melted.

You marched straight to the boys’ dormitory, kissed him breathless, and said, “You absolute dork.”

He just smiled, wide-eyed and flushed. “Did it help?”

You threw your arms around him. “Harry, it’s better than a healing spell."

And he held you like you were the center of his universe.

(Spoiler: you were.)

[adarkandmagicalforest]

blood lust

benjicot blackwood/ofc bracken (elma bracken)

warnings: fight kink, smut, rough oral sex (female receiving), short and sweet

2nd installment: once again, 3rd installment: hunted/hunter

Blackwoods were savages.

That was snarled into her ear from every person in her household, Mother, Father, brothers and even the cooks and maids.

And even if knocked on the back of her head, forcing her to lose all memory of any advice, thought and history: Elma Bracken would've immediately agreed with them when presented with Ben Blackwood.

He was a savage. From every spark of maddening delight every time she clanged the sword she'd stolen at him. His teeth were on display, a horrible display as he met her every swing, his grin broaddening each time she pushed him backward, barking a laugh when she shrilly screamed with frustration, which of course infuriated her all the more. 

She stepped right.

He stepped left. But then, she finally moved unexpectedlyand then his face wavered. The flat edge of her blade rang against his kneecap, causing a painful shout to erupt out of his mouth, much to her deep pleasure. 

Of course then, without any sort of warning, the fucking barbaric, horrible boy had snatched her sword by the blade! Minding naught the cut of the steel, he merely grunted and yanked it out of her hands, throwing it a yard off to the side of their disheveling argument before he rushed forward and tackled her to the ground.

The ground hurt from the force he's used, but she could never bare to hear that she'd lost to a Blackwood.

So Elma hit him. Then, she bit him.

But Ben Blackwood was on top of her, his body lodged between her legs while he attempted to grab her flailing arms that were trying to more solidly sock him on the nose. And that was about when she'd felt it - after her 5th blow against his cheek, when her gold ring had just sliced at his cheek. His cock, very evidently thick ans hard inside of his trousers while he bled on her.

They both knew that she knew. But she didn't care. How could she? What did that matter when there was the priority of winning? Success over a mortal enemy was surely more important than his heavy cock or the damp heat that was increasing between her legs.

So they kept fighting.

Soon, the fucking Blackwood bit her back, right upon her neck, making her hips jerk and a snarl (surely not a moan) come from her parted lips. Then, worse off, he rose his lips up in that snarling smile, she could feel it so, before he opened his mouth and slowly pressed his hot tongue along her throat and up to her ear, tasting her sweat and slightly dirty flesh and making her shiver beneath his body. So she shoved him away, freeing her arm so she might slap him again, hard across the face. The slap was loud, painful, and left a pink imprint of her hand against his cheek. But this only seemed to please him, as his cock was now positively throbbing against her.

Her riding breeches were yanked down in his attempt to wrestle her. They dropped down her milky thighs, baring her flesh to the cool afternoon.

And then Benjicot grinned wildly, devils twirling in his eyes as he suddenly released her wrists and dropped himself lower.

He dodged her kicks, catching one of her dainty ankles in hand before it hit his face. All at once, cool air hit against her cunt for just a single shocking moment - before it was gone just as fast. Her opponent had just shoved his face between her legs, his cackle of success lasting only until he'd pressed his mouth against her and began to hungrily devour her. There was no plan, rhythm or deciding motion, he simply did everything to her. Licking at her wildly, sucking at her cunt as he pleased. He'd even shoved his tongue inside her, she could feel it delving there as if to test her flavor... He'd even risen back up to disgustingly dribble his own spit over her cunt before he forcibly began to grind his flat tongue and face against her mound, then shaking his head like a filthy dog with his tongue grinding so fiercely against her cunt that she was surely sopping wet.

Elma's hands on their own had found their way to his dark hair, gripping it punishingly tight as her choked out cries escaped from her throat at the Blackwood's motion. And then he'd shoved his fingers inside her - thrusting them with reckless abandon once he'd found the angle that forced her to wriggle and squirm - and so he'd stolen her peak, the lurid, dreadfully wet sound still coming from her cunt while his fingers fucked her through the bodywrecking pleasure becoming so loud that Benji's body shook with pleased, cruel laughter. He didn't even stop when it was over, even though she'd just soaked his face. He just kept on, enjoying the sound and taste of her, especially when she yanked on his hair and hit him again, attempting to pull him away from her sensitive cunt. That he seemed to like more than anything, her swats and the pain from her pulling on his hair.

But he built her up again - doing so fast so he could insure that the second peak hurt, just enough so that the pleasure was sharp enough to force the shivers over her body and make her toes curl within her boots, her cries as he swept over her desperate for him to stop and yet desperate for him to continue.

When he finally pulled away, his lower face was shiny and wet, and his eyes were blown out just the way they'd been when they fought with swords.

"Again." The Blackwood son dared.

Elma narrowed her eyes. And then she kicked him, her heel hitting him square in the belly, before she showed him how Brackens rode.

[burningembers91]

War-Torn Love - Baek Kang-Hyuk x Fem!Reader

Please note this storyline will deal with issues of PTSD, and negative body image issues.

Synopsis: Two years ago, Dr Baek Kang-Hyuk saved your life. Separated by war, you've searched for each other since that fateful day. But the war changed you, physically and mentally, and you're no longer sure you're good enough for the man you fell in love with.

A/N: I binged four episodes of The Trauma Code last night am I am OBSESSED!!! Give it a watch on Netflix, it's so, so good.

Some nights, the pain still kept you awake. The searing, burning, tearing agony that ripped its way from your left hip, down across your thigh to the top of your kneecap. The scar was ugly and red, a twisted, knotted mass of tissue that ached when you were too cold, burned when you were too hot, and stretched your skin to almost breaking point every single day. You never wore skirts or dresses anymore, too ashamed and embarrassed for anyone to see the disfigured flesh. You hadn’t had a boyfriend, or even a date in two years. No one would want to be with someone as mangled and broken as you. Some days the stiffness in your leg was so bad that you limped, your figure hunched over like a frail pensioner. You didn’t feel like you anymore. When you looked in the mirror, you saw a woman in the prime of her life, but you felt well past your best.

Even if you did have the courage to date, no one would ever live up to your expectations. You’d had those met and exceeded by the man who had saved your life. You were still walking the earth thanks to one man who had so selflessly put his life on the line to save yours. Two years ago, tired of the mundanity of the everyday and looking to give something back, you decided to volunteer with a small charity, providing assistance to countries ravaged by war. It was your job to help distribute food, clothing and sleeping bags to families escaping conflict. You’d been based in Afghanistan, and that was where you’d met Dr Baek Kang-Hyuk. The man was unstoppable, a force of nature that not even God himself could bring down. He never seemed to stop, never seem to tire. He’d helped countless people, working round the clock to save the lives of men, women, and children.

You’d worked together for six months, a friendship blossoming somewhere between the derelict buildings and war-torn agony. He was quite a reserved man, but during the long, lonely nights, you’d sit and talk while he kept an eye on his patients. You learned he was originally from Seoul, that he’d trained to be a trauma surgeon because he wanted to be just like his dad. He’d spent time in the army and could hit a target point blank with his eyes closed. He was kind, if a little cocky, and he made you feel safe. Somewhere along the line, you felt your friendship change. It was small at first, a little crackle of electricity in the dark night, barely noticeable, but then it slowly burned into something more. Stolen kisses in the corridor of the makeshift hospital, a comforting hug when the world seem a little too heavy. You never took it further than that; you couldn’t afford to be away from the patients for long enough, but you both longed to spend the night together.

You only had a week left of your volunteer work when disaster struck. You’d been heading back to the hospital with a supply of food and water when the car bomb went off only meters from where you stood. You were thrown backwards, your body ravaged by shrapnel and rubble. You don’t remember much about that day; you only remember it was the last time you saw Kang-Hyuk’s face. It had been him who had saved you, him who had stopped the massive arterial bleed, who had given you his own blood in an emergency transfusion on the side of the road. You’d been airlifted to safety shortly after, and that was the last time you saw him.

You had no other information on your saviour, other than his name and the fact he lived in Seoul. He had no social media presence, no Internet presence at all. Once you were out of hospital, you searched desperately for him, phoning all your charity contacts to see if anyone could find him. But you had no luck. You were even desperate enough to travel to Seoul to see if you could find him. For two years you never gave up, setting down roots in the city he called home. You didn’t even know if still lived here, didn’t even know if he was still alive. But you couldn’t give up, not when he’d fought so hard to keep you alive.

You’d taken a job at Hankuk University Hospital in the administration department, slowly building yourself a life, but never really allowing yourself to fully live it. you felt empty without Kang-Hyuk, felt so lost and alone. Those six months you’d spent with him had been the best months of your life, and he’d been ripped away from you so callously.

But fate was a funny thing; and she knew you’d you waited long enough. A new attending trauma surgeon was due to start at the hospital. You weren’t privy to any more information, you administration position making you one of the lowest in the hospital ranks. But as you strolled through the corridors, your left leg dragging ever so slightly behind your right, you saw him. He’d bulked up a little more, his broad chest and shoulders filling out his designer suit. He strode through the hospital with such purpose, his very presence commanding authority. He always had been a cocky bastard, but in the best way possible. He didn’t notice you as he walked, too focused on getting to his destination. But you’d waited so long to see him, and you couldn’t let him slip through your fingers again.

“Baek Kang-Hyuk!” You shouted his name, passersby stopping to stare at you. He turned, a look of annoyance on his chiselled features. But then he saw you, the girl he’d given his own blood to in order to save. The girl he’d spent the last two years trying to find was standing right in front of him. “It’s you,” he choked, closing the gap between you. You didn’t care if people were watching, tears streaming down your face as Kang-Hyuk pulled you into his chest. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, holding your face between his hands as he took you in. You’d changed since he’d last seen you, the stress and anxiety that had plagued you since that awful day had made their mark on your face, but you were still so beautiful. “I looked for you,” you told him, “I never stopped.” “Neither did I,” he smiled. He wanted to kiss you, wanted to wrap his arms around you and never let go.

“Dr Baek to trauma bay 12,” a voice over the intercom broke through your happy reunion, tearing you apart once again. “Take my number,” he said, thrusting his business card into your hand. “Text me. I can’t lose you again.”

As he hurried down the corridor to the next emergency that awaited him, you looked down at his card. You weren’t the same person you’d been two years ago. You’d change, and not for the better. You were bitter, scared of your own shadow, and ashamed of the body that had been wrecked by the car bomb. You wondered if he’d still want you when he realised your scars hadn’t healed. You wondered if he’d want you when he found out you still woke up at night screaming, your body and sheets soaked in sweat as you relived your fractured memories.

You wrote and rewrote your text to him a dozen times that day, your head and heart battling against one another. Every time you went to press send, the image of your scar-ridden body stopped you. You were damaged goods, and now you’d be working together it was probably best to keep things professional. You didn’t want to risk falling in too deep and getting your heart broken again. I look forward to working with you, Dr Baek. You kept it nice and simple, and wholly professional. Two years you’d been searching for the man you’d fallen in love with. But now that you’d found him again you realised, you’d never stopped to think whether he’d still want you. You were the girl with a broken body and a damaged mind. You’d never seen Kang-Hyuk so much as flinch, but the slightest noise sent you running with your tail between your legs. He was brave, and you were just a scared little mouse.

As much as it broke your heart, you’d keep the man who saved your life at arm’s length and save you both the heartache when you no longer lived up to his expectations.

[blushstories]

you hide an injury from joel after your patrol shift | hurt/comfort, slight angst

i had two versions for this and they will be split with a —— so please enjoy either or both!

five runners. five bullets. the run down store’s only light came from broken windows and missing roof tiles, and you’ve backed yourself into a corner so that nothing can sneak up on you. your torch casts shadows behind them and they approach in a line. you send a bullet through a head, a kneecap and its head, a neck. you duck one clawing at you and shoot up once from the floor. the screeching doesn’t end, and you pull the trigger again to hear an empty click. your heart stutters, your breath hitches, and you kick at the runner’s leg to send it to the floor, and aim another at its head as you scramble to your feet. you holster your gun and reach for your flipknife. but your pocket is empty. you dig into it a bit more, stepping backwards as the runner recovers, but it’s not there.

you want to scream. not in fear, in fury. a glint catches your eye and your torch has caught the blade of your knife on the floor. the runner charges, and you launch yourself next to your knife, slamming into the floor at full force. you grab it, roll onto your back and catch the incoming infected as it jumps on top of you. gripping it at its shoulder, you stab the knife into its chest, its neck, its temple, until it ceases its movements. its blood seeps through your fingers, dripping onto your chest. with a cry of relief you shove it off of you and wipe your knife on your jeans before pocketing it. its only when you try to sit up that you feel it. a sharp, hot pain in your side, forcing you to lie back again. you glance at the lifeless runner next to you, a distant pang entering your heart at the person they used to be.

you wince as you try to sit up again, inhaling sharply as you peel your shirt away from your side. and there it was, a neat shard of glass wedged into your skin.

—————— track 1 starts here ———————

“oh, fuck.” you sniff, blinking up at the sky. deep breath. removing it might make you bleed out, and you know maria could help you. not tommy; he’d blab to joel, who’s already not keen about you going on patrol on your own. but he has things to do in jackson, you couldn’t let him risk his life out here. it only takes one wrong move.

you lie back, and gently roll over until you’re on your knees, trying to keep your torso as straight as possible. using a nearby shelf, you pull yourself up. it’s fine. it’s not bleeding too much, just leaking here and there. you check again and swipe it up with your thumb. you’re not too far from jackson, you think as you reach your horse. riding on horseback would definitely fuck up your insides, so you decided on a gentle walk. you don’t have much daylight left though, so you try to get a move on.

the sun is kissing the horizon by the time you see jackson again, and the doors open as you approach, as if they had been waiting for you. your feet feel numb, and you’re trying to stand up as straight as you can without wincing. the intruder in your side causing a deep, aching throb. you let go of the reins and let your horse run off towards the stables, right before you hear your name echoing across the courtyard. tommy slips down the ladder from the watchtower like it’s slick with grease, his boots barely touching one rung before it’s met the other.

he bounds towards you, forehead glistening, and slams into your good side with his arms around you. you bite your tongue at the force, feeling the glass slicing into you more. but you mustve let some sound out, becaus tommy pulls away and holds you at arms length.

he breathes your name, eyes assessing you. “jesus. you look— joel’s been about to send a search party for you.”

“it’s not my blood,” you lie. then you sniff, briefly breaking eye contact. “not all of it. where’s maria?”

tommy freezes for a nanosecond, eyes boring into yours. he knows, but he doesn’t ask, using two fingers against your forearm to nudge you into following him. he doesn’t pay any extra attention, as you walk past jesse, dina, and ellie, he probably doesn’t want any sort of rumour to find its way back to joel. and for that, you’re grateful. you smile at ellie on your way past, hand hovering over your wound to hide the bloodstain that was yours. she smiles back, you think. you’ve turned the corner before you and tommy are alone.

“you can’t tell joel.” you say. just then, your foot lands in a hole of land a lot deeper than you’re expecting, sending a painful jolt through your right side, exploding into the wound. you catch yourself on a nearby porch as your knees respond poorly to the shockwave through your body.

“woah,” tommy grips your arms carefully, avoiding your wound. “you’re kidding. he’ll find out when you tell him.” he helps you walk the little bit further to his house.

“no way. he’ll never let me patrol solo again!” tommy looks at you, eyebrows raised.

“is that such a bad thing?” he pushes the door open and shouts for maria to clear the table for an emergency. you hear a clattering and tommy shifts beside you. “sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, swooping beneath your knees to pick you up and place you on the table. you wince and swallow your cries of pain, hearing his whispers of “i know, i know. shh.” in your ear.

you feel a soft towel beneath you and maria’s supplies are spread on a small table nearby. she’s quick to business, slowly pulling up your shirt just enough to reveal the glass, which to your horror has dug itself deeper into you.

“it’s not that big, right?” you breathe lightly. but you eye tommy in the doorway, whose hand is covering his mouth, raking through his scruff.

“christ.” he says into his palm.

“i need your shirt off,” maria says calmly, and with that tommy spins on his heel and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him. you hold your arms up and allow maria to pull your bloodsoaked shirt off of you, before you hear a flannel being wrung into a bowl of water. it’s warm against your skin, the blood and dirt disappearing. but she’s delaying the inevitable.

she has a pillow under your head, and passes you a dry flannel.

“put it in your mouth,” she says. “i don’t have painkillers.” you do as she says as she readies two pairs of medium tweezers, a lot of gauze and some thread. you feel sick at the sight of it and prefer not to look. so you watch the ceiling as maria counts down, and on two, your skin feels as if it’s being ripped through by a chainsaw. you have to bite your scream into the cloth in your mouth, slapping a hand on top to muffle the sound even more. you’re gripping your own face with such force that you know you’ve left marks behind when maria pauses. she wipes at your forehead with the wet flannel and says she’s giving you a break. you shake your head as a tear slides down your temple and dissolves into your hairline.

“just do it, don’t care. hurts enough,” you mumble, head feeling as if it’s floating away.

“you could pass out. i am not having joel at my ankles for that,” she says, with care. she strokes your head lovingly, and purses her lips. she asks you if you’re ready and you nod.

“the whole thing,” you say, not daring to glance down. maria doesn’t reply, but she readies the tweezers. she takes a breath. and the pain returns. your body shakes as maria tries her best to steadily extract the glass, and you feel something dislodge. maria swears, and somewhere far away, you hear an argument.

the door slams open. the jolt in the room sends a searing pain through to your head, and your throat feels shredded.

“shit, joel!” maria shouts. he’d heard your screams due to the open kitchen window, and fought tommy while he was standing guard at the door.

“what the fuck happened?” joel shouts, stalking towards the table. tommy slips in front of him, hands on his chest shoving him back.

“wait; let her finish. you don’t want this to be worse. trust me.” there’s something serious in his tone that would even make you shut up. joel freezes, and watches maria dump the shard onto the table before starting on plugging the gushing of blood that’s just left your body.

with a deep throbbing ache remaining, you’re too tired to keep your arm up, dropping the cloth away from your mouth as you try to catch your breath. you consciousness is floating away, your eyes unfocused, breaths fractured. joel bats tommy’s arm away and he’s on his knees next to your head, smoothing the hairs away from your sticky forehead. you hold your breath as maria increases pressure on your wound, and joel takes your hand in his.

“that’s it, sweetheart, take it out on me,” joel mumbles into your temple. you squeeze his hand and groan in pain, feeling nausea creep into your throat.

maria’s recruited tommy. he opens a bottle of alcohol and douses a clean rag in it, muttering an apology as he sets your wound alight. joel watches in horror as your body convulses, sees the oozing wound and hoping the blood is only making it seem worse. your forehead is slick with sweat, and you’re only half conscious, murmuring his name while existing on a different planet.

“oh, baby,” he whispers, shoulders hitched high. you’ve started breathing heavily, and he doesn’t relax until maria begins stitching, then eventually wrapping your body. joel helps to hold you up enough, cradling your head and keeping your shoulders up. when maria cleans you up as much as she can, joel whisks you from the table to the couch, pulling up a blanket to your chin to protect your dignity.

when you come to, he’s on the floor, back to the coffee table. he’s kept his head up with his arm braced on his knees as he dozes. you stir, and he snaps to attention. your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t stop yourself blabbing, “joel, it was an accident, ‘m fine, please don’t worry.”

he wants to be mad, he really does. he wants to hit you with a “what were you thinkin’?” but you’re so tired, and your voice is all pebbly, and he doesn’t have it in him. he’s soft on you.

so all he says is, “i know. but i will. and we gotta talk about this soon.” you swallow the rocks in your throat, but you nod. maybe it’s time to stop being a lone wolf. an extra gun could save your life, after all.

———————— track 2 starts here ————————

you stare at it for a few moments in disbelief. heat pools behind your eyes and you take a sharp inhale. the runner twitches next to you and your heart flies into your mouth. you think your wound isn’t hurting as much as it should do, but you’re putting it down to adrenaline.

“fuck me, i guess,” you mutter to yourself shakily, pulling yourself onto your knees and hauling yourself up. should you pull it out? maybe it will fall out itself, it doesn’t seem lodged too deep. you wince with each step you take, and consider using your walkie talkie to call for backup. but you want to deal with this yourself.

the route back has a noticeable lack of infected, which you’re grateful for. your horse, gale, nudges at your shoulder when you seem to slow down, but the pins and needles in your feet can’t be reasoned with.

“‘s fine, gale. we’re almost there,” you say blearily, watching jackson appear dead ahead.

your feet drag against the ground, and your hand is slick holding onto gale’s reins. there’s a strange smell in your nose. pain. it’s metallic and stale, and your eyes feel too heavy for midday.

you don’t know how you find the strength to shout for the gate to open, but you do, and you slide in — they only open it a crack for patrols. you jolt slightly, thinking you’ve nicked the shard on the side of the gate, and with your next step you realise you have. your smile turns wonky, and instead of greeting tommy as usual, you settle on a wave.

you leave gale with the rest of the horses and stumble towards your house, where joel is working in the front yard. his muscles flex underneath his flannel as he moves a bucket of something to one side. he catches a glimpse of you approaching as he sets it down, and you try straightening up. heat rushes from the wound to your face, and you sniff away any cry of pain.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with honey. he pulls off some heavy gloves and turns around with a smile, wiping his forearm across his forehead. it drops as soon as he sees you. his eyebrows set and his eyes narrow.

“what happened?” he asks, the words stale. you shuffle forwards, aming to dodge him.

“a successful patrol, if you must know. ganked a bunch of infected. i want a shower though,” you say, a little too fast. joel chucks the gloves to one side and doesn’t break eye contact.

“you’re standin’ funny,” he says. you try to play it off.

“you think i stand funny?” you feign hurt.

“knock it off. are you hurt? i need to know, baby,” his mask cracks. there’s a stab in your heart, and your side.

“i’ll get back to you on that,” you begin, sliding past him and climbing the stairs of the porch, using your arm more than your legs to pull you up. but you’ve crunched your side too hard, and you feel the shard begin to pop out. you’re glad you’re facing away from joel as your face crumples in agony, the electric hot wound sending prickles through your entire body. “but right now—“ you wince halfway, “i need a shower.”

the toe of your shoe catches the tip of the last step and you fly forwards, onto your hands and knees. you hear your name behind you and then you feel him. hands. on your shoulders, on your hips. you’ve frozen as the pain rockets through you, stealing your breath and your composure.

“fuck. jesus, fuck.” he’s turned you over and has spotted an angry red patch on your shirt. and it’s growing. he’s so mad. but your eyes are drooping and your eyebrows are all creased. so he bites the inside of his cheek in panic. he taps your cheek with his fingers. “stay with me, now. hold on sweetheart,” he says. you’re whimpering because you need to bite your tongue in case you scream. “you gotta—“ he sniffs harshly through his nose, “you gotta let me help you.”

his hand grasps your shirt and pulls it up. with wide eyes, he whips his head around to scan the immediate area, spotting ellie and jesse emerging nearby. he shouts for help even though his tongue feels numb. he can’t put pressure on the wound — for obvious reasons — but blood’s pooling onto the porch and he feels sick because if you don’t pull through, and the wood is stained forever…

footsteps thunder through your head, and there’s a murmuring that buzzes through your consciousness and you’re falling from joel, further and further.

you wake up in your bed. the sheets are soft and you feel clean. even though joel sleeps next to you routinely, he’s now slumped in a chair, arms folded tightly across his chest and chin falling into his neck. you lift up the sheet covering your body and eye the neat bandage around you, with only a faint patch of red seeping through. your throat is dry, and you feel so tired; a dry crackling at the back of your throat sends you into a coughing fit. the action jerks your wound which in turn remixes your coughs into cries of pain.

joel stirs, then, and his head snaps up. his eyes are bleary until he realises that you’re awake, so he reaches for a glass of water on the side and stumbles over to you. he slowly tips it into your mouth and the cool liquid tastes like gold. you tap his wrist twice so that he doesn’t accidentally waterboard you, and he listens. your coughs die down and you put pressure on your wound in case it makes it hurt less. and then he settles next to you.

“how’re ya feeling?” he says. you nod.

“‘M alive.” you aren’t sure what to say. there’s an elephant in the room, and you’re too scared to address it. joel isn’t, though.

“i don’t know why you’re so reckless. why you try to hide it from me.” he averts his gaze, but it’s clearly planets away. “i’m not putting you on patrol again,” he says. your jaw falls.

“what? but it’s the only job i’m good at!” you insist. “i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d say that.”

joel runs his hand down his scruff. “you could’ve died. hell, you almost did and it wasn’t even a fuckin’ infected.” you know he’s reliving something that you can’t remember.

“exactly, it was an accident. c’mon joel. next time—“

“there won’t be a next time. don’t you get it? next time, a clicker eats your throat. next time, runners take you down. next time, a bloater rips your jaw open—“

“joel, stop—“ you cringe at his graphic monologue.

“no, i won’t stop. you’re a smart girl; why aren’t you acting like it? i’m not letting you out of my sight,” his voice cracks imperceptibly, “m not gonna lose you.”

oh. that’s why he’s lashing out.

“you won’t. okay? you won’t. can we please work this out later? i’m very good at compromising,” you say, your hand finding his jaw and pushing him to look at you. he does, and there’s care in his eyes. he squeezes your hand and inhales steadily, blinking back something.

“okay, fine,” he says. “do you need anything?”

you shake your head, biting back a smile, “just you.” you pat the bed next to you and wait patiently for joel — now suppressing a smile — to stalk around the bed, toe of his boots, and lie next to you. you lean up against him as much as possible, already drifting again into sleep. there’s a soft kiss to your head, and you’re smiling in your sleep.

[jam3sacaster]

May I please request something on a shag rug with either one of our hunks of spunk 🥵

I can’t take that image out of my head now it’s so 80s but also so bloody hot

you know for you, my darling, i have to present you with some declan filth🥰💋 gorgeous idea my heart 🫶🏽 (ps, hunks of spunk… brilliant x)

“Time for a new one.”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

18+ FANFIC / SMUT. Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy 🩷

“Et voila.” Declan grins joyously, whilst on his hands and knees wielding a small fluffing brush. Rising to his feet, you both take a moment to admire his new addition to the sitting room. Well, he was admiring. You were more.. tolerating. He had taken the liberty of purchasing a new shag rug — rust orange and seemingly vast enough to carpet a small football pitch and have some left over. “Don’t you think it’s a bit…?” You begin, tilting your head in unconvincing deep thought. “Ya’ don’t like it? I t’ink it’s fuckin’ marvellous.” The Irishman beams, genuine happiness spouting from his lips. “Yeah, no, of course. Love it. Love the size, love the colour. I… love it.” You fib, crossing your arms over your chest and internally telling yourself that you don’t use the sitting room much anyway.

“Ahh, come on! Don’t be like that.” Declan tutted, sinking slowly onto his rug until he was starfished on his back. “What on Earth are you doing?” You couldn’t help but snigger at his idiocy. “Come on. Just feel it once n’ if ya’ still hate it, we’ll get rid of it.” He pleaded, tugging at your ankle until you relented and lay beside him. Admittedly, you were rather comfortable as your body sunk into the mellow fibres of the rug. “Let’s say… we christen it?” You suggest, propping yourself up on an elbow and wiggling your hazelnut eyebrows towards him suggestively. “Oh, it’s like that, is it? I t’ink it needs christening too.” Your lover agreed, kneeling above you and removing his belt before you had time to convince him further.

Shuffling out of his way, you allowed for him to lie down. It was undeniable that he adored you being on top — so it would be cruel to not ride him atop his new purchase. Once your constrictive clothes had been peeled from your body, Declan could only watch in awe as you positioned yourself just above him, slowly sinking his thick cock into your dripping cunt. “Oh fuck.” He hissed, gripping firmly onto your waist. The sight of Declan’s bear-like chest hair was enough to induce an orgasm then and there — he was the personification of sultry masculinity.

“Show me how you ride it.” Declan commands, and you waste no time in obliging. Steadying yourself with your hands on his sculpted chest, you began to bounce on his cock, eyes closed in an amalgamation of glorious pain and unbridled pleasure. “Declan, you’re so fucking deep.” You purr and scan his face, his brows were furrowed and his mouth ajar in astonishment. Seeing him reach for a fistful of fibres from the rusted rug, you smirked to yourself and increased your tempo, fighting forcibly through throbbing kneecaps. “Am I making you feel good?” You ask through stifled breathing, and, much to his delight, beginning to spell out his name through meticulous hip gyrations. “Yes, ya’ fucking are.” Declan spat in response, hands reaching up to paw at your perky breasts.

When Declan was nearing orgasm, his animalistic desire overcame his body. He pounded into you at a frightening speed, motivated by your irresistible moans. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He panted, and watched as you pulled yourself off of him, laying next to him on the rug and wagging your tongue desperately. “Oh, thirsty girl, are ‘ya?” Declan questioned, thighs bucking as he knelt over you, hammering his cock with a closed fist and grunting at the sight of you glaring at him with wide, pure eyes. “Please.” You begged awkwardly through outstretched tongue.

With a glorious melody of earthy moans, Declan’s hardened dick spurted ropes of cum over your tongue, with some flying astray onto the rug. With a devious grin, you swallow his cum and greedily lick your lips for the last remnants. Cackling at the sight of his cum coagulating on his previously pristine rug, Declan rose to his feet and tutted, “Time for a new one.”

[hyperfixiation-station]

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Information Pt.3

TW: Blood, Torture, Violence

Summary: You get rescued(finally)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Silent. From the moment Price had found you in that dingy cell, broken and bleeding, that was all you had been. You were silent when they moved you, though it had to have hurt with how many broken bones and lacerations you had. You were silent when the medics asked you where you were injured, how you had been hurt. You were silent through the debriefings, through the desperate attempts to find out what you had been through, what secrets you had spilled. You were silent through all of it. 

It wasn’t your fault, not really. A mental barrier you had constructed during months of torture to keep secrets from spilling, a dam built with a mantra of DON’T TALK to keep your thoughts at bay as your captors repeatedly tried to draw them out of you. 

Even now, when the rational part of your brain knew you were safe, knew that these men, the men you served with, the men who had tracked you down and saved you, were to be trusted, the barrier would not fall. 

Every ‘what did they want from you, what did you see, did you recognize them, how many of them were there’ was met with silence. Anytime you opened your mouth you were hit with a wave of fear so strong it sent you into a panic attack. 

They understood, in part. They had seen recordings, seen the rooms, seen your broken body at the time of rescue. 

It took them 2 days to get to you after figuring out your location. They went in guns blazing, and tore the place to the ground. They split up, Price and Gaz taking the left with Soap and Ghost taking the right. They shot at anything that moved in their quest for vengeance, breaking down doors and checking every nook and cranny for where you might be locked up. 

Price found you about a quarter of the way into the camp. He took the bottom floor and Gaz took the top as they cleared the building. He had stopped before a door that was different, metal and welded shut with a small little flap in the middle, instead of solid and wooden like the others. It took him and Gaz some prying and metalwork, but they got the door open. 

Price almost cried when his eyes adjusted to the change in light. You lay curled in the corner, back to the wall as you shied away from the light. Your hair was tangled and matted with dried blood, your clothes were torn and dirty and your skin was crusted with so much blood and grime that he couldn’t even see you underneath it. 

“Y/n?” He had called, but there was no response. He crept slowly toward you, keeping his movements as open and relaxed as possible. He crouched in front of you, taking note of your dilated pupils, sunken eyes, obviously malnourished form. He winced at the weird bulges in your skin, indicative of broken bones. 

“Sorry love.” He whispered to you, taking a steadying breath as he slid his arms under you and lifted. Hise expected you to cry out, the action no doubt causing unspeakable pain, but you didn’t. In fact, you didn’t react at all. He didn’t dwell on it then, opting to get you somewhere safe and secure. 

“9 broken ribs, a broken left femur, both shoulders dislocated, pneumonia, dehydration and severe malnutrition, multiple lacerations that required stitches, broken wrists, all 10 fingers broken, right kneecap dislocated, multiple concussions, and a hairline fracture on their skull.” The doctor had said. It hurt all of them to hear how badly wounded you were. 

They gave you two weeks to recover before asking any questions. The first week you were unconscious, in a coma as your body tried to heal you. The second week you spent in worrying silence, saying nothing to anyone, not to your doctors, not to your teammates, not to your friends.

Price sent Ghost in first. He had had similar experiences and Price figured he would be able to relate. However when Ghost came storming out an hour later, slamming the door behind him, he came to regret that decision. 

“I got over it.” He had said, “Why can’t they?” Price reminded him that not everyone responds to trauma the same way and sent him away.

Soap tried next, and came out near tears after sending you into a panic attack after calling you ‘Little Bird’. He was confused until Ghost not-so-gently reminded him of the video they had seen, of the words ‘Pretty Bird’ being used over and over. Ghost pretended not to hear him throwing up in the toilet later. 

Gaz tried, to no avail. He ended up just sitting in silence with you, showing you videos of his cats. He counted it a victory when your busted lips twitched into a tiny grin for a few seconds.

And on and on it went, with refusing to speak to anyone. They were losing hope until the psychiatrist finally spoke with you. 

“GIve them time.” She said gently, “You trying to force a response will just make this worse.” 

So they do. The higher-ups still want answers, of course, but Price manages to dissuade them from asking until you are out of the hospital. They spend the weeks treating you as normal as possible, stopping by to give you updates on missions, show you a video of Soap absolutely biffing it in training, tell you the latest gossip of which recruit is sleeping with who. But even though they are trying, they still handle you with kiddie gloves, afraid that the wrong word or look will make you shatter irreversibly. 

Which brings you to now. It’s nearly 2 A.M, and visiting hours are long over as you stand unsteadily in the bathroom, staring at your pale, pathetic form in the mirror. You open and close your mouth, trying and failing to get words out, the barrier cemented in your mind by blood and tears too strong to break down.  

‘Speak, you stupid fucking bitch!’ You scream mentally at yourself, ‘You have to speak! If you don’t you'll be discharged and you'll never be able to serve again! They already think you’re broken, and if you can’t tell them different they’ll never treat you the same. Stop. being. So. Fucking. Pathetic.’

Tears streak your cheeks as you slide down the wall. You draw your knees up, hiding your face in them as your shoulders shake with silent sobs. Rationally, you know you are safe. Rationally, you know that if you were to speak, nothing would happen. But it’s not the rational part of your brain that is keeping you from speaking. 

Going dark in that hellhole you were trapped in had saved your life, and you couldn’t seem to get past it. Sure, not responding had almost killed you right at first, as Kravchenko became more and more ruthless in his attempts to get you to speak again, but eventually he grew bored. His little plaything had lost its sparkle, and he locked you in a cell and threw away the key as soon as he lost interest. But starving to death was still a better alternative to the all-consuming agony that had been your day-to-day. 

And now, the subconscious, irrational part of your brain was convinced that if you spoke you’d be dragged right back and strapped to a table, that you’d wake up to find that your rescue had all been a dream. That you-

“-/n! Y/N! Y/N!” You flinch, startled out of your reverie. You look down to see rivulets of blood running down your arms, your nails having gouged holes into your skin. You look up to see the eyes of a worried nurse, holding your hands in hers. 

“There you are. We lost you for a minute. Do you mind letting me bandage you up here?” Her voice is soft and gentle and you find yourself nodding, letting her lead you back to your bed where she cleans and bandages your upper arms. 

“What are you doing up so late sweetie?” Her voice is calming, almost hypnotic, “I mean, I’m awake cause I get paid to be, but you should be sleeping all your injuries away, shouldn’t you dearie? If I was you, I’d of been cryin’ too, being awake at 2 A.M. for free.” She laughs, the sound echoing through the room, “Course, I suppose you probably think I’m crazy for agreeing to work this shift anyways. Did you know I was supposed to have this shift off? But Roberta’s kids have the flu and so I agreed-” She keeps talking, her voice soothing your fears and helping you relax. YOu can’t help but mentally thank Roberta’s kids for being sick, for sending this wonderful lady who does not treat you like you're going to break at any moment to you tonight. 

“And that should about do it dearie. Just press that little call button if you need any more help, alright?” She says cheerfully. She squeezes your hand and heads to the door before pausing. 

“Make sure to get some sleep.” She leaves, gently closing the door behind her. Something about her makes you feel safer than you have since falling off that helicopter. Maybe it was her motherly demeanor, maybe it was the fact that she treated you like a normal human being, maybe it was the fact that she could have put you on a psych hold an ddin;t, but whatever it was, you loved her for it. 

And as the door closes and the room stills, you whisper a quiet “thanks.” 

Part 4?

~tags~

@louthedino @scarletdfox @dangerkitten1705 @warenai @spineless-spino @rainy-darling

[pl0tty]

✍️ wip snip 💭

i was tagged by @edieblakewrites and @soliblomst to share an excerpt from something i've been working on :') thank you for tagging me bbs!!! <3

this started out as an entry for a fest but is now just a regular ol' wip i sometimes fantasize about finishing heh.

junior auror potter gets saddled with draco malfoy's parole visit one sunny day and has to check out his potions laboratory while he's there:

There was a furious flush on Malfoy’s face. Harry was clutching his throbbing kneecap when Malfoy swiftly levitated the book into the air and, with a flick of his wand, produced several sheets of paper next to it. He flicked his wand again and the book shot across the room, slamming into an open cabinet, its wooden doors shutting and locking in its wake. The papers fell on top of Harry’s head, then scattered around the floor. “Oops. Sorry,” Malfoy said, sounding extremely unsorry. “Well, those are your copies of the ledger.” Harry glared at him. He pointed his wand at the papers, and they promptly gathered into his outstretched hand. “I wasn’t going to duplicate your weird porn sketches, Malfoy.” “They’re not—!” Malfoy looked pained now. “They’re scientific illustrations, Potter. It’s research. You wouldn’t understand, of course, anything more cerebral than Quidditch Through the Ages goes straight over your head—”  “What kind of scientific purpose requires you to analyse the anatomy of an arsehole?” Harry pressed, completely forgetting himself. It was like Hogwarts all over again, the scarlet colour of his robes at the edge of his vision barely tethering him to his painstakingly cultivated adult persona. “It’s not just the—! It’s also the surrounding…!” Malfoy paused, took a few sharp breaths while looking as if he’d really like to be stomping his foot. “It’s for my formula, alright! For my lubrication potion!” He did stomp his foot then. Harry frowned. “Your what?” “I don’t expect you to understand, of course. Hetero Hero of Our Hearts, Protector of the Straight and Narrow—” “What are you even—” “However,” Malfoy went on, looking bored all of a sudden, his annoyance devolving into his usual, devastating drawl. “Some of us are a little bent, Potter. Some of us are very bent, actually, and keen on exploring ways in which we can bring pleasure to our bodies beyond what we get from the very utilitarian Lubrico.” Harry felt the fight leak out of him. “You’re…bent?” “Yes,” Malfoy said, raising his chin. “Are you going to write that down in your little form?” Heat rushed to Harry’s face. “Er, no. That’s. Not necessary.” “Whatever,” Malfoy said. “You can. I don’t care. Write it all down, see if I stop you.” “Of course I’m not going to—” “Please,” pressed Malfoy, voice coming out kind of reedy now. “I can help. The parolee has been spending his time on house arrest renovating his mansion and perfecting his formula for homemade lube. How’s that sound?”

tagging @appleslightning @fluxweeed @itsphantasmagoria @fastbrother @fanarthasmyheart if u wanna share ur lovely sketches/words 💕

[taergalive]

Even More Incorrect Radioapple Quotes to Fill the Void in My Heart

Lucifer: Can you please be serious for five minutes Alastor: My record is four, but I think I can do it -- Lucifer: I made tea. Alastor: I don’t want tea. Lucifer: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea. Alastor: Then why are you telling me? Lucifer: It is a conversation starter. Alastor: That’s a lousy conversation starter. Lucifer: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate. -- Lucifer, tending to Alastor's wounds from his fight with Adam: How would you rate your pain? Alastor: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend. -- Lucifer: I want to wake up with you every day for the rest of our lives Alastor: I wake up at 4:30 AM Lucifer: Lucifer: I want to see you at some point every day for the rest of our lives -- Lucifer: If there's going to be a big dramatic scene, wait until I get back. Alastor: Of course. I can't flip this table by myself. -- Lucifer: I turned out perfectly fine! Alastor: Lucifer, this morning you thought a ghost made your toast Lucifer: I DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN! YOU DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN!!! -- Lucifer: Can you keep a secret? Alastor: Do you know anything about my life? Lucifer: No I do not. Good point. -- Alastor: Look. I may not be a saint, but it's not like I’ve killed anybody important. I’m not an arsonist. I’ve never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground. Lucifer: Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you definitely did do that. -- Lucifer: Hey Alastor, have you seen the reporter? Alastor: Nope. Have you seen the meat tenderizer? Lucifer, confused: What? Alastor, grabbing the meat tenderizer out of the drawer: No reason, cute girl things! -- Lucifer: Alastor and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us Charlie: * Sighing * What did Alastor do? Lucifer: He chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and... Alastor: Who wants a steering wheel? -- Lucifer: What time is it? Alastor: I don't know; pass me that saxophone and we'll find out Alastor: * Plays sax extremely loudly* Husk: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXOPHONE AT TWO IN THE MORNING?! Alastor: It's 2 am - Lucifer: I told Alastor his ears twitch when he lies. Charlie: Why? Lucifer: Look. Lucifer: Hey Alastor! Do you love us? Alastor, covering his ears: No! Charlie: -- Lucifer: Why are your tongues purple? Angel: We had slushies.I had a blue one. Husk: I had a red one. Lucifer: oh Lucifer: Lucifer: OH Alastor: Alastor: You drank each other's slushies? -- Alastor: Imagine being under 5’4’’ and thinking you have rights hahaha couldn’t be me. Lucifer: You wanna keep those kneecaps you better shut the fuck up! Alastor: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you from all the way down there, can you repeat that? Lucifer: I SAID FUCK YOU BITCH -- Lucifer: When are we gonna fuck? Alastor: What? Lucifer: Oh sorry autocorrect. When are we gonna hang out? Alastor: First of all, those two words aren't even close to each other. And second of all, this is a verbal conversation... -- Lucifer: As top in this relationship, I think we should- Alastor: I can't believe you're pulling rank on me. -- Lucifer: You have to apologize to them Alastor. Alastor: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

[seokminfilm]

field of hopes and dreams | lee seokmin

🪄 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🪄 warnings, non-idol au, fluff, kissing, newly-established relationship, tiny tiny mention of blood, (literal) hurt/comfort, reader teases seokmin, both use pet names for each other (seokmin uses babe and reader uses nicknames)

🪄 warning, in which you learn to admire your sweet soccer boyfriend's over-the-top celebrations and sometimes annoying resilience.

🪄 author's note, dedicated to @seokmn because i saw her post and had to come to her rescue (soccer seokmin ftw)!! also dedicated to @noircheols cause she reminded me i had to write this!! i hope you enjoy soccer seokmin 🥰

🪄 now playing, oncle jazz, men i trust

The sun beams down on your skin as you sit on the bright green grass, letting the breeze cool you down as your shades keep the worst of the blazing sun from your eyes.

It was a nice day today: the sky was a vividly bright blue, fluffy clouds like clumps of cotton balls as they wafted through the atmosphere. The sound of happy children could be heard dancing through the air, and the smell of street food made the whole scene come alive.

Seokmin, your boyfriend of just a few weeks, had invited you to come to watch him and his old college friends reconnect over a quick game of soccer. You didn't mind one bit, happy to finally be going out as a couple for the first time. He introduced you to all of his friends, and they were very polite (for the most part, as they kept clowning on Seokmin in front of you.)

"Cheer me on, okay?" Seokmin presses a quick kiss to your cheek as he gets up from the blanket on the soil, causing you to hum as you blush. The simple act of kissing flusters you in this stage of dating, and you touch your cheek like a teenager in love as you watch Seokmin jog over to his friends.

He had poured out to you on the way here, exclaiming how excited he was to play soccer with his old friends and to reconnect with them. He looked so elated, lips in a permanent smile as he talked so eagerly about them.

Even now, he looked like he was having the time of his life, sprinting to and fro on the field like a middle schooler, smiling and laughing as he cheered when he made a goal. You'd clap from the sidelines, eating the snacks Seokmin had bought you as you watched them play.

After you spent your time snacking and reading a bit more, Seokmin came jogging back to your blanket. He had a pained smile on his face, and a tiny limp to the way he walked. Quickly, worry etched on your features, and you closed your book, standing up to meet him halfway.

"Oh, Seok!" You exclaim, hand slinging around Seokmin's side to help him. He tries his hardest not to lean on you, and you can tell, noticing how much more he struggles. "Hey, you can lean on me. It's okay."

Seokmin's eyes meet yours, and he smiles shakily, giving up as he puts a bit of his weight on you. Together, the two of you work your way to the blanket; you help him sit down on the soft quilt, taking a look at the limping leg. It has a light gash right on the kneecap, currently spilling blood like crazy.

"Oh, what did you do?" You ask, digging in your tote bag for your first aid kit as Seokmin grimaces, sighing.

"I'm sorry, babe, I didn't mean to." Seokmin's voice is pained, and you look at him, shaking your head. "I know you didn't, Min. I just─I just want to know how it happened." Your voice is soft, and Seokmin sighs again, letting out a little huff as you touch an alcohol wipe to his bare knee.

"I tripped over my shoelaces," Seokmin says, and you look up from the situation, pausing to see Seokmin holding back a laugh. Before you know it, you're holding back a laugh too, and then, both of you are laughing, giggles mixing together.

Finally striking the bandage on the scratch, you make a bold move and kiss his kneecap, causing Seokmin to blush. "There. All better," You smile, and Seokmin gives you a quick kiss, smiling as you match his blooming pink tone.

"Try to tie your shoelaces well this time, Seokkie." You say as he starts to limp back to the field, and he laughs, nodding as his cheeks turn a darker pink.

"I will! Watch me score ten more goals to make up for my idiocy, yeah?" Seokmin's voice is hyped up, and before you know it, he's spriting back to his friends, acting as if he didn't just get a gash in his leg moments before.

Smiling, you nod to yourself, eyes trained on his back as he gets back into position. The next few minutes are filled with sprinting and yelling, and Seokmin comes out victorious: his cheer is loud as his fists meet the air, and he calls out to you, winking as he smiles proudly.

"See babe! One out of ten goals done!" It makes you giggle at his silliness, and you stand up, jumping up and down as you squeal.

"That's my Seokmin!" You cheer, and Seokmin laughs, pink dust on his cheeks as his friends start to tease him. Smiling, you watch him recover from the teasing, standing tall as he gives you another glance.

Giggling, you return back to your seated position, happy with watching your adorable soccer boyfriend from the comfort of the blanket below you.

[nyxthejinx]

0 | 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔩𝔪 𝔅𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪

You spotted trouble, its colour was ginger.

« 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 » Childe x Ragnvindr!GN!Reader

« ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 » Explicit depiction of violence (Childe kicks ass in a duel), Fatui agents training shirtless and freezing their asses off lol, Russian petnames (Solnishko = Little Sun/Deda = Grandpa)

« 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 » 1071

« 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰 » I made some research before using Russian words. I did my best to understand their meaning and use instead of copypasting from google translate, I apologise if I still made mistakes. If you know the language, feel free to correct me! Also, let me know if you want me to create a taglist!

𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Do not translate/rewrite/repost/feed to AI ©2025 nyxthejinx

“𝐒𝐨… 𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞…?”

A deep shout cut through the icy air.

The bulky man in the arena crumbled as the wooden rod bashed his kneecap. His muscles rippled under the skin of his chest, his veins throbbing and his sweat pouring into more and more layers with each heave of his chest.

He balanced his weight with his own stick, but the second it seemed like he had gathered himself, another hit landed on his battered body. It resonated against his ribcage with a wet crack, probably breaking at least two bones before the blunt end of the weapon met his sternum.

The man tumbled backwards. Another attack flew his way, one that he managed to parry thanks to luck more than skill, but the next swing drew an unavoidable line from above— just like that his collarbone was doomed.

He clutched his shoulder with a pained grimace, and that moment of distraction earned him the final blow.

The rod collided with his jaw and Bulky Man was sent against the rocky, snow-sprinkled ground.

Pulcinella twirled his moustache without a care in the world, as if the two of you hadn’t assisted to such pathetic, gruesome show. He tugged his fur closer to his neck and his glasses briefly fogged up from his breath.

“Why are we here, you ask? I thought you might be interested, Solnishko.” He mused, mirth in his small, wrinkled stare. “Anyone caught your attention?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and leaning against the railing of the mezzanine that overlooked the training grounds. Snowflakes danced placidly in the air, obfuscating the midday sun and falling over the crowd below.

The arena was emptier than usual and the few people who had come to train were scattered all over the area, making it appear even more hollow and depressing. Some busied themselves with archery practice, others stretched and lifted weights, a few perfected their moves against training dummies while a group of rookies — who had been caught slacking, most likely — kept running desperate laps.

All of them were shirtless, clad in a simple pair of slacks and shoes as per regulation. It was an ancient Snezhnayan technique meant to train the body to withstand harsh conditions on top of physical effort, but the toll was harsher for some agents. Teens had it worse, usually. Like that one. His lips had turned a light shade of purple already.

You scanned the people with clear lack of interest, barely lingering for more than a moment on each figure.

Around 27, has a postural problem, he struggles to keep his back straight when shooting. Somewhere between 20 and 22, she’s still recovering from a deep injury, her shoulder sports a suture. One 17, one 19, they met in secret, possibly the night before; they avoid eye contact and keep their necks well covered.

And then there were them.

Bulky Guy and Prodigy Boy in the duelling circle. A few agents there had scurried to help the injured man, carefully lifting him on a stretcher while his opponent — as unscathed as the day he was born — wiped the sweat off his face with a towel.

Bruises had already formed over the defeated man's skin, especially in the area around his ribs and on his knee. He was haemorrhaging internally from the looks of it, but he would survive. He now needed a support for his injured leg though, and he would suffer from chronic pain for the first few months of physio.

“That man will need more than a couple weeks of recovery.” You hummed. “But the other agents seem in perfect health.”

“Seem is the right word, Solnishko.” Pulcinella fixed the glasses on his nose. “You see, an acquaintance of mine could use your expertise.”

“Delusion poisoning?”

“Precisely.”

You raised a brow. “And I assume they have special needs, since they haven’t contacted my assistant to make an appointment like every other patient?”

Pulcinella chuckled once more, his white moustache moving along. “Now, now. Consider it your old, tired deda asking for a favour.” He smiled. “But you are right. His condition is… Anomalous.”

The old man sauntered closer to the railing and — trying and failing to be discreet with it — stood on his tiptoes to get a better look over the area. He pointed to the boy who had crushed the other agent no more than a few minutes ago, as he effortlessly did pull-ups by himself.

You noticed that his colleagues eyed him warily, their glares nasty and bitter as they hauled the injured Bulky Man away. Maybe that was the reason why the grounds were emptier than usual.

You analysed Prodigy Boy with furrowed brows. Aside from the scars on his skin, some faded, some fresh, he seemed in great health; the fact he had started training more after an easy, though still tiring fight only made him look healthier.

But if years of treating people had taught you something, it was that nothing was what it seemed.

“He owns a vision and a delusion, and as you might have noticed he doesn’t lack prowess.” Pulcinella sighed, almost disappointed. “Yet, he somehow manages to overexert his body and neglect his health. One would almost imagine he fights against gods daily, with how much he uses that delusion of his.”

Your face crumpled in annoyance at the notion. Those were the worst type of people, the ones that made your job harder than it needed to be. Was it so difficult to stay in bed and rest for a while instead of running around like careless masochists? You hoped this guy would not fit the description.

“I can see him, but taking care of himself is up to him, eventually.” You responded drily. “He better not waste my time.”

“Oh, well, about that…” The old man cleared his throat awkwardly. He would definitely waste your time. “I will leave that to you two! Let me introduce you—”

“Send him to my studio, tomorrow night. I’ll see him once I’m done with my shift.”

You turned on your heels without sparing a second glance at either Pulcinella or his “acquaintance”, it was just noon and your head had already started aching at the thought of dealing with this boy tomorrow.

“Do you not wish to get to know him beforehand?”

“I’ve learned more than enough.”

You ventured further down the mezzanine, silently pondering your options as you headed to the door that lead inside the palace.

Pulcinella shook his head. “Ah, the youth…”

OMGGGG I DID THIS