#Quasi-Slow Burn

[viking-raider]

Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter II

Summary-> You've brought the unconscious and injured man into your home. Now, you and Edmund attempt to get him medical attention, while figuring out who he is, and what side he's on.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.8k

Chapters-> I

Warnings-> PG: Blood, Language, Infidelity, Fluff, Medical Treatment

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“What are we going to tell Papa, Edmund?” You whispered, looking at him suddenly.

Edmund pushed his jaw forward and rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “You just leave that to me, Peanut.” He replied, hitting the village round-a-bout. “I'll talk to him. What we need to worry about is how we're going to get his bullet wound treated.”

“Oh, no!” You gasped, feeling ridiculous for forgetting that.

“Relax.” Edmund cooed, turning onto your street. “I might have someone in mind, who could help us and keep their mouth shut.” He said, parking against your curb, instead of his.

“Who?” You frowned, blinking at him.

“Old man Tremblay.” He said, killing the engine. “He used to be the village's doctor, before his son-in-law, Thomas, took over for him. They both hate the Germans. So, I might be able to talk to Dr. Tremblay about coming over to the house. I'll say we need him to look at Pops. No offense to Thomas, but he's more comfortable with the old man, which is true. Once he's here, I'll explain the situation to him.”

“If he doesn't help us?” You asked, chewing on your lip, worried.

“Then, we'll wing it.” He huffed, shoving his door open and getting out.

“Wing it.” You sighed, your hands trembling. “Right. Wing it.” You gulped, getting out and meeting your brother at the tailgate. “What end are we picking up first?” You asked, quietly.

“I'll grab his top end.” Edmund replied, casually. “No need for you to drop the poor bastard on his head. He's got enough issues.” He sighed, climbing into the truck. “We all do.” He mumbled under his breath. “Go, open the front door.” He said, jerking his head towards your modest cottage.

“Fair.” You replied, scurrying over and pushing the door open. “Papa, me and Edmund are bringing something in! Don't close the door, please!” You called inside, before rushing back to the truck, helping Edmund with your load.

You slide him half off the truck, enabling you to wrap your arms around his knees and calves, before Edmund managed the rest. Shuffling across the sidewalk and turning, so Edmund went in first, you stepped over the threshold into the cottage, feeling the heat of the fire your father had roaring in the grate.

“What in God's sake are you two bringing in!” Your father griped from the sitting room, where he occupied his favorite armchair.

“I'll explain in a minute, Pops!” Edmund wheezed back, kicking open the door to the cellar. “You go down first.” He bid you with a jerk of his chin. “Your side vision is better than mine, so you hopefully won't stubble down the stairs, while looking over your shoulder.”

“That's fine.” You nodded, turning so you could carefully go down the narrow steps into the dark basement below.

It was slow and cumbersome, but you and Edmund made it to the bottom. You sat your package down and unwrapped him. There were no windows into the basement, so there wasn't a need to hide or conceal him anymore.

“We can't lay him on the floor, Edmund.” You hissed at him, quietly.

“We're not, silly!” He growled back, shaking his head. “Pops has a camp bed up in the attic. Go, get it and bring it down here. We'll set it up in the cellar, he can lay on it.”

Nodding, you went back upstairs, peeking at your father as you came up, but found, to your relief, he had dozed off. Going upstairs and down the hallway, you reached up for a cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, revealing a hidden, folded ladder, leading up to the half attic. It took a few minutes for you to finally find the folded up, military green and canvas, camp bed. Once you were back in the basement with it, Edmund had the cellar door open and was waiting for you. He put the bed together like an expert, having gone on countless camping trips with it over his life.

“That should do it.” He sighed, wiping his face. “Let's get him in it, then I'll go talk to Dr. Tremblay.”

“All right.” You sighed back. “He doesn't seem to be bleeding as much.” You commented, once he was resting in the bed.

“Seems so.” Edmund agreed, narrowing his eyes at the wound in the dim lighting. “Whether or not it's a good or bad sign is yet to be determined.”

“Then, you should hurry and get the doctor.” You urged him, brow creasing gently as you looked up at him.

“I'm going. I'm going.” He defended, holding his hands up. “Can't a man take a breather?” He asked, wide eyed.

You reached out and took Edmund's hand. “I'm sorry. I'm just-”

“I know, Peanut.” Edmund interrupted, shaking his head at you. “You have a heart worth more than gold, itself.” He said softly, bending to kiss the top of your head. “With luck, I'll be back soon with Dr. Tremblay.” He called, heading out.

“You hear that?” You said, looking at the man. “We're going to get you looked after. You'll be right as rain again soon.” You smiled at him, though you weren't sure why. “How about I grab you a blanket?” You continued to babble at him. “You might get blood on it though.” You frowned, biting the corner of your lip, but scurried upstairs for a blanket and pillow anyway.

“What's that for, Peanut?” Your father asked, still half dozing.

“Oh, I just thought the basement spirit would like something comfortable to nap with.” You answered, pausing at the basement door, smirking over at him, knowing he wasn't listening.

“That's nice of you, love.” He slurred, head lolling forward.

You chuckled, continuing on. “Well, my father now thinks the basement is haunted.” You quipped, lightly spreading the blanket over your new housemate, then gently tucked the pillow under his head, noticing how sweaty his unruly, but short, curls were. “You've caught a fever.” You cooed, turning your hand to delicately rest it on his damp forehead. “Thankfully, it's cool down here.” You said, using the cuff of your blouse to dab at his sweaty brow.

“I'll be right back.” You hurried back upstairs, to the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a dish towel from its hanger. Tossing the towel over your shoulder, you filled the bowl halfway with water and turned to the ice box and chipped ice from it, dropping some into the bowl. You made two trips between the upstairs and the cellar, taking a chair down there, before taking down the chilled water, so you had something to sit on as you gingerly dabbed his flushed forehead and face.

“Well, whoever you are.” You said, balancing the bowl in your lap. “It's a right mess this is.” You chuckled, before introducing yourself, feeling silly just sitting there in the silence. “I hope you're on our side or Edmund is going to have us both shot.”

Some of the heat in his skin cooled as you lightly draped the folded dish towel over his forehead, making you relieved to see him not so flushed.

You heard the door upstairs creak open and the floorboards overhead groan as heavy feet strode and shuffled over them. “That must be Edmund with Dr. Tremblay.” You commented, looking up at the dusty ceiling. “I should go up and check on them.” You said, standing up, setting the now warm bowl of water in your place on the chair.

“Edmund?” You called softly, appearing in the kitchen, where he was standing with a short, gray haired man, dressed in a wrinkled, brown three piece suit.

“Sshh.” He hushed you, casting an eye towards the sitting room and waved you closer. “As I was saying, Dr. Tremblay, I've brought you here not for my father, but for another matter entirely.” He continued, his voice low so as not to disturb your father.

Dr. Tremblay's bushy brows drew closer together, reminding you of a caterpillar. “Is that so?” He hummed, bringing his arthritic hand up to his chin. “Then, what was it you summoned me here for?”

Edmund's eyes twitched to yours for a moment, you nodded at him and he looked back to the good doctor. “I know you have no love for our occupiers, Dr. Tremblay, like I, myself, don't.”

“Ha!” He laughed, his head tipping back as he grinned. “Fripouilles!” He spat, with no small amount of venom.

“I agree, sir.” Edmund chuckled, smirking. “But, to the heart of the matter. My dear sister here, on her daily morning walk along the beach found something—someone, washed ashore.” He explained, his voice calm and steady, revealing no emotion or opinion. “We're sure he's of our morals. But he's been injured.”

“Injured?” Dr. Tremblay frowned, narrowing his ordinarily kind, but currently and understandably suspicious, brown eyes at him. “Injured how? Show me.”

“I would rather tell you.” Edmund answered, biting his lip. “In case, you wish not to have any further dealings in this matter.”

“Nonsense!” Tremblay huffed, waving his hand dismissively at the two of you. “Let me see this man.”

Edmund didn't move for a moment, before nodding and leading him down the basement stairs. “He was shot in the side.” He explained, entering the cellar, where your guest laid.

“I discovered he'd developed a fever.” You spoke up from the door. “So, I applied a cool compress to his skin.”

“That was a good thing.” Dr. Tremblay answered, distractedly, folding back the blanket and resting his hands on the man's injured side. “Has he regained consciousness at any time?”

“No.” Edmund replied, shaking his head and looking at you.

“He hasn't.” You confirmed, nervously.

Dr. Tremblay pulled a pair of wired spectacles out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before untucking the shirt from the unconscious man's trousers, for a clearer view, and began fussing around the wound. “Help me turn him on his side, Edmund.” He bid, waving your brother over. “Yes, good. Very good.” He nodded, examining his back. “The bullet went clean through to the other side.” He said, indicating the exit area, just above his hip.

“Then, why is he still comatose?” You asked, concerned.

“He may have struck his head on something, while in the water.” He answered, allowing Edmund to rest him on his back, before moving up to his head and gently working his fingers through his curls, feeling for any bumps or soft spots on his scalp. “Ah, just here.” He smiled, finding a faint knot at the back, just behind his left ear.

“Well, get my bag from upstairs. I'll treat him.” Tremblay sighed at Edmund. “Are you squeamish, young lady?” He asked, while he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

You thought of the Patrol Officer for a split second, before answering him. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Very good.” He said, crooking a finger at you. “You'll be taking care of this, when I'm not here to check on him.” He informed you, bluntly.

“That's fine.” You gulped, biting your lip and moving to stand beside him. “What will I need to do?”

“The dressing on both the entry and exit wounds will need to be changed.” He explained to you, calmly. “You'll make sure there's no sign of infection or the stitches I need to put in place have not come untied. As well as keep them clean.”

You nodded your head, somewhat apprehensive at the thought of doing all of this, but knew there was no other option, if you wanted to keep this man alive.

“You were correct in assuming he has a fever.” Dr. Tremblay said, lifting the damp towel and laying his hand on the man's forehead, feeling the heat there. “It's possible there's an infection in his wound from his time in the water.” He replaced the towel and looked up at Edmund as he rejoined the two of you, holding Tremblay's black, large and leather doctor's bag.

“I will show you how to give him penicillin shots.” He told you, taking his bag and setting it down between his feet.

“You mean with a needle?” You squeaked, startled, looking over at Edmund.

“Certainly not with a glass, mon chéri.” Tremblay chuckled, grinning at the contents of his bag.

The seasoned doctor removed an emerald, glass bottle of liquid antiseptic, a small package of silk sutures with a wickedly sharp needle, a tiny vial of a clear substance and a glass syringe. He laid them out on a small space on the bed, turning his attention back to the angry looking entry wound.

“Do you have any hand towels you could part with?” He asked, looking up at you. “It will help me clean these wounds.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, darting back upstairs and grabbing a couple of the dish towels you had that were in sad condition, bringing them back down as Edmund was wrestling an old nightstand into the room.

“Give him something to put his instruments on.” He explained to your expression.

“Ah.” You nodded, understanding.

Everything set up, you watched closely as Dr. Tremblay drew the milky antibiotic through into the syringe, pushing up the plunger slightly to remove any air, then set it aside and studied his patient for a moment, before letting out a sigh that sounded as if he was inconvenienced.

“We must remove his trousers.” He said, tapping his foot.

“Why?” Edmund blurted out, brows going up with surprised shock.

“So I may administer the shot to him.” Tremblay replied, with an air of impatience.

“Well!” Edmund started to protest.

“Men!” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped at you, watching as you moved around the good doctor and removed the blanket you had laid over the injured man, but you ignored him.

First, untying his boots and dropping them at the foot of the bed, then reached up and unbuttoned his suspenders, followed by the button of his trousers.

“What if he's not wearing an undergarment?” Your brother protested further.

“Then, we will be finding out presently, brother.” You replied, shooting him a look as you tugged the zipper down, much to your relief finding the hint of white and blue striped shorts. “See, you're fretting for nothing.” You said, tugging the rough wool pants down off his surprisingly thick thighs.

“Possibly of questionable allegiance, but properly dressed.” You quipped, folding them.

“Watch closely, mon chéri.” Tremblay hummed and picked the syringe back up, with a practiced hand, squeezed the muscle at the top of his thigh and injected him, slowly pushing down the plunger. “That is how it is done.” He said, looking up at you.

“It seems simple enough.” You answered, attempting to appear confident in your ability to replicate it.

“Very good.” He nodded, turning his bespeckled eyes to the bullet wound on the man's abdomen.

Grabbing one of the hand towels you set on the table, he poured antiseptic on it and pressed it to the wound, eliciting one of the first major reactions out of your beached stranger with the stinging liquid to the open and bleeding puncture. He whined, brows drawing together as he shook his head, sluggishly lifting his hand. You moved back around to the head of the bed, hushing him gently and picking up the now wilted towel as it slipped from his forehead. You caressed his damp curls off his forehead and temple, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort as Dr. Tremblay continued to disinfect his wound and the area around it.

“You're all right.” You whispered to him, quietly. “We're just trying to help you.” You tried to explain to him, not sure if he could hear you or not. “You're safe here with us.” You mumbled, watching Tremblay set the cloth aside to pick up the needle and thread, you unconsciously took the man's limp hand in yours and hugged it to your chest.

“Is there no more light to be had in this room, Edmund!” Tremblay asked, leaning forward to stare at the wound in the dusky light of the single, naked bulb overhead.

“I may be able to find you a lantern.” Edmund replied, turning back into the basement and rummaged around the items, until he found an oil lamp. He shook it gently, hearing what oil that was left inside slosh about. “I found it!” He called out, before going upstairs, setting that lamp on the kitchen counter and crossing into the sitting room, where the once roaring fire was, but now only flickered.

He took one of the fire sticks from the holder bolted to the brick that made up the fireplace and lit it with one of the remaining flames. Carefully carrying it back to the lamp, Edmund lit its soaked wick and blew the fire stick out, before tossing it into the sink.

“Here.” Edmund sighed, setting the lamp down on the table. “I hope it's enough.”

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded, satisfied.

With all he needed, Tremblay squinted and made the first pick of the needle. The patient huffed, his stomach muscles flexing in response, but it didn't deter Dr. Tremblay in the slightest as he continued. You stroked his forearm and squeezed his hand, watching with an uneasy stomach as the old doctor made smooth sutures. Those sutures placed, Edmund helped roll him onto his side, so the wound on his lower back could be likewise treated with antiseptic and stitched closed.

“I will come back in a day or two, to check on his wound and ensure the fever has broken. Give him the next shot in the morning.” Tremblay said, arranging his bag and closing it. “Should he grow worse in that time, send for me.”

“We will.” You answered, staring down at him, concerned with the flush to his face.

Edmund showed the kind doctor back upstairs, while you gently tended to your sick house guest. Carefully pulling down his shirt and covering him back up, as not to leave him only laying in the camp bed in a long sleeved shirt and his boxers. Picking up the basin of water, you carried it back upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, refilling it with fresh water and a little ice, before taking it back to the cellar, resting it on the table. Dipping the folded cloth in the chilled water and ringing it out, then gently pressing it to his flushed and bearded cheeks wiping away the droplets of blossoming sweat at his brow.

“He's going to need some nursing.” You said, hearing your brother coming back.

“I can see that.” Edmund replied, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“Is there any prospect of finding him a more comfortable bed?” You asked Edmund, looking the camp bed over, how it dipped under his weight, the only support were the ties that kept the canvas middle secure to the frame.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Between both houses, while Willa and I have a guest bed, that he's not welcome to, for obvious reasons. We don't have a bed to spare.” He told you, but saw the glint in your eye. “I could piece something for him.” He continued, stopping you from asking the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Topping it with the mattress from my spare bed.”

“That would be better for him, I think.” You said, worried about the safety of the sutures on his back.

“Well, for now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.” Edmund sighed, scratching the underside of his jaw. “It's your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.” He reminded you, watching you fuss with the stranger as if he was someone you knew.

“I remember, brother.” You replied, catching the edge in his voice. “I got a good bit of minced beef from Remi last afternoon, with some Swedes.” You told him, dipping the cloth in the cool basin, then lightly laid it over the resting man's forehead. “Juliette told me a recipe yesterday as well. It's called Beef Loaf.” You stood, planting your hands on your hips and massaging the small of your back, sore from so much bending.

“I thought we would try it tonight.” You said, turning towards him, with a lifted brow.

“Sounds interesting.” He answered, cocking a brow back at you. “You should get to it.” He added, looking at his watch. “Supper starts in two hours. You know how the Major is, when dinner isn't prompt.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, I do.” You replied, casting your eyes down to your soiled skirt. “But, I should change first. If he sees me like this, he'll likely ask questions.”

“Very true.” Edmund nodded, squinting at your skirt and just making out the stains. “Off you trot, then. I'll stay with our friend for a little while, in case he wakes.” He sighed, pushing off the door frame towards the chair. “You mind popping over to my place and grabbing my sketch pad, after you're finished freshening up? I need to make some figures on the shelves I'm putting down here.”

“Of course.” You nodded, picking the basin. “Do you have another lantern or oil? So you have more light to work by?”

“I believe so.” He frowned, slouching in the chair. “Willa can find them.”

Nodding again, you left back upstairs, setting the bowl in the sink and headed up to your bedroom. Sighing, you unbuttoned your skirt and let it slip in a puddle around your ankles, before stepping out of it and opened your little closet. Reaching blindly in for a fresh skirt, pulling out a wool, black and green, plaid skirt and slipped it on. Smoothing your hands over the garment, you hurried outside and to Edmund and Willa's home across the street, knocking lightly as you pushed the door open.

“Willa!” You called out for your sister-in-law, looking about for the slight brunette. “Lila!” You shouted, crossing to the back of the house, where they had a small garden, finding your sister-in-law there. She sat at a small table, slightly sideways in her chair, as she held one of her Debs Rose-Tips between her slender fingers, her eyes staring off over the garden wall.

“Willa.” You hailed, stepping out onto the patio.

Head jerking as she startled and taking a deep breath, Willa blinked several times and looked around at you. “Oh, it's you.” She sighed, rolling her hazel eyes. “What do you want?”

“I came for Edmund's sketch book. I also wanted to know if you had a lantern or lantern oil?” You explained to her, ignoring her look of annoyance at being bothered in whatever she was doing.

“Fine.” Willa huffed, standing up and heading inside, you following after her.

Willa opened a closet in the living room, removing a lantern and a bottle of oil, handing them over to you, before finding Edmund's sketch pad and his graphite pencil in the kitchen, motioning to them. “Will my husband need anything else?” She asked, with an air of almost callousness.

“I should think not.” You answered, taking the book and pencil up. “I'll have dinner ready soon.” You informed her, juggling all of your items. “If you're going to grace us with your presence.” You added, with an edge of your own.

“I'll think about it.” She answered, lifting an arched brow at you.

“Right, I'll have Edmund get you, when it's finished.” You said, turning for the door. “If not, I'll make you a plate.”

You were gently turning out the mixture of mince meat, dry breadcrumbs, fine onion, an egg, a pinch of salt and a can of cream of mushroom into your four by eight loaf pan, when your brother came tromping up the basement stairs.

“You'll wake the dead with all that noise, Captain.” You quipped, lightly patting the meat concoction into shape in the pan.

“That I will.” Edmund chuckled, moving to stand beside you, peeking over your shoulder to see in the baking pan. “Is that the beef loaf?” He asked, giving it a questionable brow lift.

“It is.” You nodded, sighing at it, praying you had mixed it all properly. “Now, it's supposed to cook for an hour.”

“Well, hopefully it'll look prettier by then.” Edmund chuckled, smirking at you, then brought up his sketch pad. “I finished up the drawing for the shelves down there. What do you think?” He asked, cocking his head at the dark lines.

Opening the blazing oven and grabbing the pan in a thick towel, you paused for a moment to give your brother's picture a look. “They look good, Eddie.” You told him, smiling encouragingly, bending to slide the pan onto the middle rack and shut the door. “How are we to open and close the secret door you've made there?” You asked, pointing it out, careful not to touch it so you didn't smudge the graphite.

“The lock is magnetic.” He replied, pointing it out in the sketch. “We'll put something on the shelf that'll connect to it, so when it's moved, the mechanism is tripped and the door swings up.”

“That's pretty incredible.” You grinned, enchanted by the whole thing.

“It shouldn't take me more than two days to build.” Edmund said, sounding as confident as he could as he examined the drawing a bit more, slowly turning away to head over to the kitchen table, seating himself to refine it a bit more.

“What are we building?” Your father's voice asked as he made careful steps coming down stairs.

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance at each other and you turned away to mind the violet and dusky yellow Swedes that sat boiling in a pot of salted water top of the stove. There was a lump in your throat, waiting to hear what excuse Edmund was going to give your father for the changes downstairs in the basement. Neither of you really worried about him going down there, he struggled with stairs because of his advancing arthritis, choosing to sleep in his armchair in the sitting room most nights and only making the arduous journey upstairs to his bedroom when he needed to change his clothes or shower.

However any change to the house, seen or unseen, would draw his attention.

“I'm going to build some shelves against the cellar wall, in the basement, for her.” Edmund replied, calmly, making an adjustment to his plans. “So she can tidy things up a bit down there.”

“And what of the cellar?” Mael asked, shuffling over to his chair.

“We haven't used it once for anything since we lived here, Pops.” He chuckled, smirking at the old man's back. “Might as well close it up.”

Mael made a sound as he lowered himself into his chair, something between a dismissive grunt and a stiff groan. “Very well.” He sighed, settling himself and tossing his knitted blanket over his lap. “If it makes Peanut happy.”

You chucked, smiling. “It does, Papa.” You assured him, draining the water out of the Swedes pot and looking over your shoulder at Edmund, who winked at you.

Mashing the Swedes and getting them nice and creamy, you set them aside and checked the Beef Loaf. Opening the oven door and filling the space with a rather mouthwatering aroma, but the dish still needed a few more minutes to cook, so you shut door and started pulling down plates, setting them on the stove to warm up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” You announced to Edmund and your father. “Do you want to see if Willa is joining us?” You asked Edmund, biting the corner of your lip.

Edmund took a deep breath, setting his pencil down and rubbed at the smudged graphite dust on his fingers for a moment. “I think we both know the answer to that, sister.” He mumbled, a hardness coming to his eyes.

“I suppose.” You whispered back, heart sore for him. “I'll make a plate for her.”

“Best bet.” He sighed, pushing his chair back and standing, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

[larcenywrites]

All About Fur!

Nightcrawler HCs

I have lots of thoughts about lots of things, and Nightcrawler’s fur is one of them! So I had to get a few things out of my brain 💙 Some x reader stuff in here too ;)

Warnings: a few sexual references | a few fluffy (no pun intended) references | no pronouns or specifications on reader obvi

⚜️Unfortunately, he doesn’t get any fluffier, much to your dismay 😔 a fluffy winter coat would have been cute, after all!

⚜️But even that short fur does get thicker and longer in certain places on the daily 😏 you may notice his jawline is a bit shaggy by the end of a lazy weekend 🤭 that there’s more fur on his chest when you run your fingers through it 🥺 his belly and a line above and below is belly button gets fluffy and curly if he lets it 🥺🥺

⚜️Even if you’ve typically preferred your past partners more… clean-shaven or well-trimmed down there, you surely can’t have any issues with his fluffier crotch and thighs 🥰 the saving grace here is that all of his fur is velvety soft 😌

⚜️Now, while it doesn’t grow any longer outside of those places, he is naturally shaggier in some other areas!

⚜️His forearms are a bit more furry than his upper arms

⚜️The backs of his thighs and his little booty have longer, curled fur 🥰🥰🥰

⚜️Rub a balloon on him and watch it stick :)

⚜️Bathing with him is fun because you get to play with his fur! Run your fingers through it! This is a feature, not a bug!!

⚜️Except now he’s more like a soggy kitten 🥺 a happy one at least!

⚜️The tail is surprisingly not just, like, skin! It is fuzzy! The fur there is very very short and fine, but still soft and fuzzy! It kinda feels like one of those lamb’s ear plants! Or peach fuzz!!

⚜️But the tip isn’t covered in fur 😔 just like the bottoms of his hands and feet!

⚜️He says belly rubs are degrading, but he likes them 😘 especially when that fur on his chest and belly hasn’t been trimmed in a while, he’ll absolutely stretch out and let you run your fingers through it during late morning cuddles 🥰

⚜️Don’t be afraid to pay extra attention to his quasi-beard, too 😉 it’s not the same as pubic hair on a human! It’s just as soft as the rest of him!

⚜️And for better or for worse, you won’t have to worry very much about beard burn, at least!

⚜️He really doesn’t mind being petted anywhere and everywhere— so long as you do, in fact, have a close and/or (preferably) more intimate relationship!

⚜️Though, if all your past partners have been more on the human-presenting side, you’ll have to get used to always getting a mouthful of fur whenever you want to kiss his cheek or affectionately bite his arm 😅

⚜️This also makes it a little more difficult to do body shots tbh 😔 not to mention trying to get any sticky wine out of that fur later 🤧

⚜️Among other sticky things 🤭

⚜️And when you’re trying to be sexy and trying to lick him down from neck to abs 😔

⚜️But!! At least he’s all soft and cuddly :)

⚜️You’ll probably literally be rubbing your cheek against his like some kind of cartoon couple! You can’t help it that he’s so snuggly 🥰

⚜️But it’s gonna get very warm under the covers— and not just because he’s getting frisky 🥲 sorry if you get hot easily!

⚜️Also sorry if you're ticklish 🥺 he’s probably trying to be very sexy and romantic by kissing down your stomach all slow and teasingly 😏 but those fuzzy cheeks are probably going to have you giggling and squirming away from him instead 😅 it’s okay, he’ll work with it 😘

⚜️His tail is also a major offender of this! Sometimes, he does it on purpose, but other times, he’s genuinely trying to be sexy when he wraps his tail around your thigh or waist, but it’s so fuzzy! It tickles!

⚜️And that’s okay, too :) he does love making you laugh 🥰

⚜️But there’s another disadvantage… sweat and fur don’t mix— there’s a reason dogs and cats don’t sweat!

⚜️Bandaids and fur also don’t mix 😬 but hey, it’s a lot more intimate wrapping medical tape around his arm or whatever 😏

⚜️And no! He won’t get fleas 😤

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

Fox Mulder doesn't have the "I Want To Believe" poster there because he's crazy. He doesn't have it there to broadcast his beliefs or as a mantra or to remind him to always look for aliens.

Fox Mulder keeps that "I Want To Believe" sign above his desk to remind him of his own internal biases.

That sign hangs above Mulder's desk to remind him of his own shortcomings and flaws. He's aware that he's a hack with dangerous beliefs and prone to flights of fancy and maybe even delusions. He's aware that he's desperately searching for aliens and monsters where there are only men doing bad things. And he has to remind himself of that, constantly.

That's why he's thrilled when he meets Scully and she challenges his beliefs, says that logically aliens don't exist. He's thrilled when she tells him to cut the crap in the pilot episode. He needs someone to challenge him. He needs someone who won't take his shit and put up with his flights of fancy. And he knows it. He's been dealing with himself for years and he feels relief and joy when Scully comes in and says enough of your bullshit. We're doing this my way. With science and logic. He isn't smiling and teasing her because he thinks he's smarter and better than her. He's smiling because she's exactly the person he needs in his life.

That's why he tells her right away that he's a UFO freak with trauma about his sister and a true believer. Not because he's trying to convince her to believe, but because he needs her to understand where he's coming from and what's wrong with him. So she can understand that either he's a dangerous lunatic himself, or he's delving into a dangerous conspiracy and either way she could be collateral damage if she stays with him. He spends the pilot episode reckoning with the idea that either he's a maniac or he's pulling this young fresh detective into danger. When she starts agreeing with him he gets upset, talks her out of it.

Mulder keeps that sign above his desk to remind himself to look into the "reasonable logical" explanations. He keeps that sign on his desk because he knows he's flawed and biased and frankly, dangerous.

He tells Scully exactly what he thinks is happening and about all the crazy stuff he believes not because he's trying to convince her to believe too, but so she can be his sounding board. So she can throw his illogical bullshit back in his face and remind him to look past his own biases and paranoia and quasi-religious zealotry. Because he knows he needs that. He knows he's in a conspiracy brained echo chamber of his own making and having a slow-burn mental breakdown. And he sees Scully as salvation from himself. As another figure in his quasi-religious belief system. The savior.

As the series develops he relies on her more and more to reality check him. Literally reality check him and manage what he worries might all be a delusion.

Mulder pretends he's confident and all the constant criticism and sidelong glances don't get to him and that might be true because he doesn't respect those people but he respects Scully. And he needs someone he respects to tell him when he's wrong, when he's being biased or actively delusional. Scully is his salvation. She's compassionate about his trauma and the reasoning behind his beliefs, but confident and logical enough to tell him when it's all bullshit. She's his savior, his rock, and often his only real connection to material reality.

[sky-kiss]

Hi! This might be weird, but it's been with me for quite a while and been meaning to share this with you/prompt you with it/get your take/whatever 😁. What about Raphael failing with his coup and having to live on the material plane without his powers? What about Tav/Durge OR Jaheira offering his sorry ass a place and then getting the joy of watching him struggle with common human ailments, like needing reading glasses, throwing out his back, indigestion,... ? 😅

Not weird at all! I'm unfortunately in like work/school hell right now, so I don't have a lot of writing time. But I love this idea. It'd be really fun to develop as like. A slow burn quasi humor ficlet.

God. I don't have a ton of ideas for a generic Tav/Durge (I don't enjoy writing them), but will try and come up with a few.

As for Jaheira:

Offers Raphael a room in Astarion's mansion. Neither of the lads question this.

Ends up staying in her basement.

Rion wants to know why mother-dearest is smuggling men into their home. Then she meets the man. She understands why he should never be seen.

Harper Recruit Raphael. It takes him a few days to get truly charismatic in the way mortals appreciate and not just "veiled threats, but charming."

Replaces the contents of Jaheira's wine cellar with "wine less suited to a vulgar, and altogether common, palette."

Is grateful for the silence of her study.

Cannot keep a plant alive to save his mortal life.

Offers to make a deal with the daughter that wants to be queen---has to bunk with Astarion for a month as punishment.

Actually, gets genuinely good at the Harper business, enjoys the political aspect of it (he's just softening up the city for when he returns to his true form, dear)

Takes a copious amount of naps in the sun.

Furious whenever he has to sleep outdoors. He's a noble devil, not some peasant boy.

Near-sighted. He refuses to wear glasses until the half-elf says they look "learned. dashing. whatever you need to hear, little prince---so long as you can see."

Tav/Durge:

More contentious. Tav/Durge is younger and prone to more zany antics. Raphael's mortal body gets tired more easily.

Their penchant for chaos is less endearing when he's consistently thrown into the warpath.

Enlists them to try and get his powers backs.

Enemies to lovers.

Still near-sighted. Tav does not think to recommend glasses. Raphael refuses to adjust.

It's a lot more of a learning curve for both of them? Tav/Durge is like a wind. Raphael is very constant.

You can determine if they work it out. :D

Apologies for this not being something more. I love the idea. I'd love to steal it later. Always feel free to drop byyyyy.

[laura1633]

omg I've been UNABLE to stop thinking about this lestappen abo fic idea. and now that I'm officially done with school and passed my boards, this bitch (maybe, probably) is getting WRITTEN

basically, an omega x omega fic where max and charles are friends and roommates, kinda slow burn-y in which charles has been harboring a crush and max slowly comes around because of, um..extenuating circumstances. i.e.:

max: is a full-time sim racer who casually dumps on charles one evening that he'd like to have a baby despite being unmated and achieves such through a quasi abo-style "in vitro" like fertilization

charles: is an architect with a big ass crush on max who *obviously* agrees to help him through this and slowly becomes more and more consumed by said crush until it all comes to a head with max finally realizing he reciprocates those feelings as well..

..JUST in time for them to have a little baby together and become mates :)

Ahh I love Lestappen omega x omega fics 🥰

and omega x omega with a little baby involved is even better.

This sounds so much fun and its so exciting that you have time to write it now. It's so annoying when you have an idea and just no time to actually get it written out!! Good luck with the writing 😀

[misscrawfords]

So I'm on S02 of Fringe now and I'm having some thoughts about JJ Abrams. I know that JJ Abrams has done a lot so I'm not trying to come to any full hypothesis about him or probably say anything new about him because I know people have written a lot about him and his love of mystery boxes and ability to set up mysteries and not follow through on them. I'm no expert. And I along with many others feel real betrayal and frustration at him over The Rise of Skywalker. But the thing is, I absolutely love Fringe and Alias. They are two of my favourite shows ever and I'm currently finding rewatching Fringe massively comforting in ways I'm just starting to unpick. (I think it's something to with the fact that it's very much pre-social media, pre-conspiracy theories actually impacting real world politics to the extent they do now. It feels like a more innocent time.)

Alias and Fringe are really similar in many ways and it makes me wonder what the SW sequel trilogy might have looked like if JJ Abrams could have produced it as a TV show instead of a movie trilogy. I'm willing to bet it would have worked a lot better.

Things Alias and Fringe have in common:

Genuinely strong, well-developed, fun, intelligent, three-dimensional heroine who carries the story - Sydney Bristow and Olivia Dunham are really awesome protagonists and I struggle to name more modern heroines in TV who are a more successful blend of interesting, human and aspirational (they're both way more special and exciting and skinny and conventionally attractive than me!). They're descendants of Buffy Summers and genuinely such good characters. It's so refreshing to have sci-fi and mystery and spy thriller series with female protagonists, even now.

Said female protagonist is Special. Yes, they're good at their job but over the course of the series it becomes increasingly clear that they have actual supernatural special powers and their very existence is linked to the overarching mystery. They really are chosen ones.

Father figures are essential and the father/child relationship is arguably the central relationship in the show. Jack Bristow as Sydney's father, Arvin Sloane as her pseudo-father/mentor in Alias, Walter Bishop as Peter's father being the very centre of the plot in Fringe and his quasi-paternal relationship to Olivia as well.

Speaking of fathers, these shows really are about one specific very weird and messed up family creating problems for everyone else. The Bristows really punch above their weight in the Alias universe and the Bishop family, specially Walter's love for his son and his consequent actions, are responsible for the literal plot of Fringe. The number of people working with family members or investigating them when really these are all kinds of an HR nightmare seem to be normal in JJ Abrams' world. Nothing is random but all connected and family and blood is everything.

He seems to really like a plot involving shape-shifers where someone kills the heroine's loved one and steals their face as a way of infiltrating their organisation. Francie in Alias, Charlie in Fringe.

Secret organisations with fanatical beliefs and people with too much power and knowledge committing to them in a way that is understandable but also horrifying and leads to terrible, terroristic consequences are the central villains.

Against the odds, the heroines have happy endings with their long-time love interest and a child.

Judging from the above, JJ Abrams should have been perfect to take on Star Wars, a dysfunctional family saga about fathers and sons in which the adherents to a strange set of mystical beliefs cause insurmountable problems, especially one where the heroine is a skinny plucky girl who develops super powers.

I wonder how JJ Abrams' SW show might have gone if he could have developed all his ideas in slow burn over 5 seasons with 20 episodes each, and the racist, misogynist, backward looking fandom weren't a thing. I'm not trying to excuse the mess that was TROS at all, but I just think he has a history of executing these kinds of stories so much better!

For example, of course JJ Abrams would make Rey a Palpatine. This is giving her a heritage and making family and blood the central theme just as it is in both of the above shows. But instead of the ludicrous "Somehow Palpatine returned", this is the sort of plot that could have been built up and revealed so much more effectively over a season of a TV show. It could in fact have worked really well, as could Rey's reaction and sense of betrayal. Something this massive is really hard to pull off in one movie. And if that had been the plan all along then it should have been sign-posted clearly from TFA. A TV show would also allow more scope to flesh out Rey and Ben's dyad in the Force thing and develop their special abilities.

I wonder whether in the context of a longer running TV show that could have developed Ben's redemption further he would have given Rey and Ben a happy ending. To have her alone without her love interest and without a child is the anomaly here. The ending many Reylos actually wanted where Rey and Ben were free of the war and living in some kind of peaceful exile with their family actually would fit Abrams' MO more based off these two shows.

I'm curious to know how he'd do the shape-shifting and betrayal thing. Maybe the other way round with Finn returning to the First Order as a Stormtrooper to lead a rebellion? Or would one of the Rebellion be proved to be working for Palpatine? Who knows.

Would Snoke and Palpatine be given more time to flesh out their motivations? While I love that Snoke was ultimately not that important and Palpatine was ridiculous, it could have been interesting to give one of the old-man-villains the treatment of an Arvin Sloane who is such a completely fascinating and compelling villain. Arvin Sloane in space playing Snoke's role and showing more of his relationship with Ben/Kylo would be really fascinating. Ditto Ben's relationships with Luke and Han. (SO MANY FATHER FIGURES!) And Rey's relationships to both of them too.

Anyway, this is all just meandering thoughts and speculation based off a tiny amount of JJ Abrams' work but I find it interesting and a little sad to imagine what the ST could have been like with more time to breathe and none of the Culture Wars.

[baldursdrabbles]

My headcanon is that after Wyll decides to spare Karlach, he slowly starts to fall for her.

My headcanon is that after Wyll decides to spare Karlach, he slowly starts to fall for her.

When he adopted wine as his best friend after Mizora turned him into a quasi-devil, Karlach was there every step of the way to reassure him. She made him feel handsome again, made him see his newfound horns as a source of rebellion and conviction. She convinced him that he was still the fierce and ever powerful blade of frontiers Faerun knew him as.

As for Wyll, he made Karlach feel seen. She often joked around and put a smile on her face in the toughest of situations, but Wyll saw right through it. At night, when the rest of their gang of misfits were asleep, Wyll would pull Karlach aside to go on walks. With him, she didn’t feel the need to pretend that everything was okay. She poured her heart out for Wyll without any shame because he was the only one in the group that could really understand all she’d been through. To be able to talk to someone that has been to hell and back, that had personal dealings with devils and demons – that, that was special.

So when Wyll asked her to dance with him one night, she couldn’t refuse. They couldn’t touch, but they both took this as a challenge. Wyll led her, his hand hovering as close as possible to her waist. While it was hard for him to keep up with Karlach’s puppy-like enthusiasm, and while it was hard for Karlach to keep up with Wyll’s poise and ponce, they made the best of the situation. The conversation flowed between them easily. The slow tension building between the both simmered. In a moment of weakness, Wyll grazed his hand over Karlach’s lower back. Karlach whispered something mildly romantic, and if you squinted, slightly perverse, in Wyll’s ear, causing him to bust out laughing, a rare feat in their often glum days. Their first kiss that night burned, but Wyll was used to burning. He ignored the pain on the first slow kiss and the second. He ignored the belittling voice in his head that condemned him for having this moment to himself.

When Gale had asked him why he kept coming to him in the upcoming weeks with burns for him to heal, with burns in places neither of them wanted to acknowledge, Wyll had simply smiled and claimed that he had formed a new contract with someone special.

[elguritch-art]

Durarath Deities - Primal Forms

A bit of a deviation from our previous Elden Ring content, some design work for a personal worldbuilding project!

In Order of Images:

Eyaer, the Sky (He/Him) Hague, the Earth (He/Him) Vágr, the Sea (He/Him)

More info + closeups below:

The Deities of Durarath are beings of the world elements themselves given physical form, Sky, Earth, and Ocean.

For the most part, they maintain a smaller, humanoid form for engaging with mortals or daily affairs, but in their nature is the raw, untamed, fury of the elements in its' purest forms.

When emotions run rampant, or they are forced into a position of war, they may unconsciously, or consciously, enter what is known as their "Primal Form", this being their unbridled power of their element unleashed.

These forms as depicted above are mere approximations of their features, as their true Primal Forms nature becomes something bordering on unfathomable.

Eyaer, the Sky, for example, becomes the wind around one's body, the clouds overhead, the lightning in the distance, the voice of thunder, every bird and wing-beat, the breath in one's lungs, all at once, but separate. Both wielding six wings that reach across the horizon and can be perceived by mortal eyes, but at the same time melding into the clouds and air.

The Primal Forms are not meant to be beheld by Mortals, often causing extreme emotional and mental duress when seen from their quasi-manifestations of their nature.

Mortals can often recall elements of these forms, Hague's burning hair, Eyaer's beaked helmeted face, Vágr's black serpent body, but often their recreations in art and tales pale in compare to truly existing in the presence of a Primal deity.

For Eyaer and Vágr, these forms were used during the God's War, against each other, but upon reaching a resolution, both swore never to embody their forms again for the destruction it would cause the Mortals. Hague himself has never entered his Primal form, slow to anger, the most placid of the deities, his emotions have never ran high enough to invoke it.

[lurkingshan]

Step by Step Episode 11 (OF DOOM)

Warning: I really, really did not like this episode. If you’re trying to keep positive vibes you should scroll on by, friends! 

Welp. I told a few friends last week that my biggest disappointment would be if, after missing the mark on the emotional payoff of the slow burn and speed running the relationship, the show chose to break them up and do a time jump rather than staying with them in the present time and working through the conflicts they set up. And here we are! I wish I’d been wrong about where this was heading. Shouts to @waitmyturtles and @neuroticbookworm for holding me down while this show fell apart on me, I’ve been all in a tizzy about it, because I really loved it for awhile there.

This episode, yet again, felt like a disjointed mess. After last week’s cliffhanger, the idea of Pat resigning to get away from the predatory office gossip fell away within a few quick scenes. Instead the tension disappeared as the plot brought them into a bubble with only their most supportive colleagues and we swerved into a retread of the Put nonsense and a new plot about Jeng and Pat fighting to save the digital marketing team via the power of Put’s quasi-celebrity and Instagram likes. Or something. I honestly couldn’t tell you the details of what they were trying to accomplish, I was too distracted by my incredulity to pay close attention to this very sudden fake problem that they were obviously going to conquer (that, my friends, is what we call conflict with no stakes). Meanwhile, the show suddenly wants me to care about Jaab and Jen again - enough to devote a big portion of the penultimate episode’s runtime to them, what a choice - after doing fuck all with that plot for six weeks. It’s a no from me. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, because soon enough we’re time skipping again! After resolving the work challenge subplot we speed past another three months of Pat and Jeng’s relationship without addressing any of their issues, and I guess I’m supposed to be at peace with being a full nine months into their relationship with no onscreen emotional advancement? But I gotta be honest, y’all. I am not. You just don’t do this with a slow burn romance narrative. You can’t spend 80% of your runtime building to something that you have no intention of paying off, and no amount of thinking about what else this show is trying to say is going to convince me they did proper justice to the relationship. I already broke down why I didn’t think the episode 10 culmination got us there, and nothing that happened in this episode changed my opinion.

And all of this is leading to yet another time jump - two entire years this time - after the big reveal that Jeng doesn’t believe in Pat at all and literally bought his success, Evil Daddy knew it all along and waited for a choice moment to deploy the info for maximum damage while twirling his villain mustache, and Pat is finally quitting for real and dumping Jeng for good measure.

And ya know what? GOOD FOR PAT. I was completely on his side in this decision. If there’s one bright spot in this episode (other than Chot, always Chot) it’s Pat getting himself together enough to realize he deserves better than the bullshit he’s been getting from Put and Jeng and walking on out. So Jeng and Pat are now broken up, but I never got invested in their relationship in the first place, because we barely saw it, let alone got the chance to live in and feel it. I wasn’t even upset while watching this breakup scene - it left me emotionally indifferent. Which is maybe the worst thing I can say about a dramatic climax in a story.

I guess next week we’ll meet Jeng and Pat again two years in the future and get some kind of happy ending. I’m gonna stick around for the finale and cross my fingers that we get all the epilogue fluff we have definitely earned, but sadly, this show has lost me.

[theunapolegeticshipper]

It’s wild to me that there isn’t more discourse about the complex relationship between Jessica Pearson and Nick D’Amato on Suits spin off Pearson. They inadvertently cover so many tropes, and Gina Torres and Simon Kassianiades have fantastic on screen chemistry. It was giving:

Bodyguard (potential) romance

Enemies to friends to (should have been) lovers/frenemies to lovers

BWWM

Boss/employee (kind of)

Older woman/younger man

Slow burn

and about 15 other things that are complex and spoiler-y but the way he was protecting her even before she hired him was giving “I care about this woman even though I hate to admit it, and I will cut anyone who looks at her sideways, even though we make each other crazy and want to cuss each other out sometimes)

I dare anyone to tell me that conversation in Ep 5 when they are on the stairs quasi-arguing about having walls up and not letting each other in and not knowing anything about each other is about work and professionalism and the investigation. It’s so romance-coded, it’s insane: softer yellow lighting, out of the way location after office hours, requests for transparency and communication- watching it is like listening to two separate conversations, but only one is happening out loud. Urgh, we deserved more, and we deserved better.

[unscharf-an-den-raendern]

Was mir auch aufgefallen ist in den letzten Staffeln: Charaktere werden neu eingeführt, man erfährt aber nur ein bisschen oder auch mal nichts über sie, außer ihre Hobbys oder Mermale und dann werden sie erst nächste Staffel ausgebaut. Und währendessen kommen in dieser nächsten Staffel wieder neue Charaktere rein bei denen man dann auch erst auf nächste Staffel warten muss bis sie Tiefe kriegen.

Siehe leider z.b Joshua wegen der Schatzsuche. Oder auch Noah in der ersten Staffel, wo wir quasi nichts von seiner Gefühlswelt mitgekriegt haben (da kann man jetzt vielleicht noch sagen, dass sie den Slow Burn wollten), aber auch Leon bestand in der ersten Staffel nur aus Diabetes, Share Space und Io

Und dann ist es natürlich doppelt blöd, wenn die nur eine/zwei Staffeln bleiben.

[viking-raider]

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT > PART TWO

Summary-> It's a lovely first morning for Alexa and Henry, as they continue to learn about one another, and filming their new marriage gets serious.

Pairing-> Henry Cavill/OFC (Alexa)

Word Count-> 3k

Parts-> I

Warnings-> PG: Arranged Marriage, Language, Banter

Inspiration-> Nick and Vanessa Lachey’s Love is Blind on Netflix.

Author’s Note-> My apologies if any of the information on Alexa's T1 is incorrect. I'm willing to take advice. But there’s not many to do. I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

– The Honeymoon –

Stirring, Alexa no longer felt the engulfing warmth of Henry's body against her back and rolled onto hers. Looking to his side of the bed, she found it empty. Casting her eyes out of the mountain of blankets, she discovered her husband's silhouette against the sparkling sun, standing on the veranda and enjoying a cup of coffee. A sleepy smirk pulled across her lips, sitting up and brushing the loose strands of snow-white hair out of her face.

“Morning.” Henry said with a low rumble, coming to stand in the open door.

“Good morning.” Alexa greeted him back, stretching and sighing, feeling a bit jet-lagged from their flight, but nothing that would affect their day. “How long have you been up?” She asked, glancing at the clock on her nightstand, reading it was almost noon.

“An hour or two.” He answered, taking a deep swallow of his coffee. “I've just been enjoying the nice weather, until you woke up, so we could have breakfast.”

“You've been waiting for my lazy tush to get out of bed, to eat breakfast?” Alexa gasped, looking at him with surprise.

“I have.” Henry smirked, amused. “I don't mind. Besides, Riah called not long after I woke up, to tell me they'll be here at two, to start filming us.”

“Lovely.” She gulped, looking down at the blankets pooled around her waist, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Well, I'll get up and dress, while you order us breakfast!” She said, sliding to the edge of the bed.

“Do you want anything specific?” He asked, cocking his head at her, sensing an odd energy from her.

“Um, if they have oatmeal and whole-grain toast, definitely bananas, and a fruit smoothie, soy-milk.” She rambled off, heading into the closet for her clothing.

Henry smiled, amused at her appetite. “Will do, love.”

“Oh!” Alexa gasped, popping back out of the closet, stopping Henry on his way out of the bedroom. “No strawberries! I'm super allergic to them. Like, we'll spend our honeymoon in the hospital with anaphylactic shock.”

“Definitely no strawberries.” Henry shook his head, blue eyes big with concern.

Alexa nodded at him, then disappeared back into the closet. Henry came back a short time later, to find her sitting cross legged on the closet floor, a kit unfolded before her.

“What are you doing?” He asked, frowning down at her.

“I'm reapplying my insulin pump and glucose sensor.” She replied, frowning up at him, before recalling Henry hadn't been in the room nor awake, when she checked her levels. “I have Type One diabetes. I was diagnosed when I was eight years old, after getting sick. I'm sorry, I didn't tell you. I should have, but it's such a part of my life, wearing my pump and sensor, or pricking my finger and using my insulin pens, that sometimes I don't think to tell new people in my life I have it.” She explained to him, gulping.

“Unless it's someone that needs to know.” Alexa added, quietly.

“And your new husband isn't one of those people?” Henry asked, moving to squat in front of her, looking over everything she had laid out. “What if your sugars dropped and you got sick or something? I'd have no idea what was wrong with you. I'd have no clue how to take care of you. What dose to give you. What to tell the emergency doctors, when I rushed you to the hospital.”

The look of terrified worry on Henry's face formed a small, nauseous lump in Alexa's throat.

“Well, I can show you, if you want?” She said, smiling softly at him. “I just started this.” She told him, motioning to the equipment.

“I'd like that.” He replied, nodding and sitting down with her.

“All right.” Alexa grinned, wiggling in her spot. “So, I use this-” She held up an applicator between her fingers. “This is my Dexcom G-Six, glucose sensor and applicator, it pairs to my phone via Bluetooth.” She picked up her phone with her other hand, showing Henry the screen. “And an app I have on it. Through that, it checks my levels every five minutes. It tells me what my levels are, where they were and are heading.”

Henry nodded his head, listening intently. “All right. Where does it go?”

“It goes right here on my arm.” Alexa answered, using the corner of her phone to tap the back of her arm, before setting it down to pick up a single-use alcohol swab. “I need to clean the spot I'm going to put the sensor in, obviously.” She explained, ripping open the swab and cleaning the meaty area at the back of her arm. “While I do that, you want to do something for me?” She asked, cocking a brow at him.

“Of course, what do you need?” Henry asked, perking up.

“In that little pocket of my kit, there are over-patches—they'll help keep my sensor on my arm, they're different patterns.” She told him, with an amused smirk. “Why don't you pick one for me to put on it.”

Henry smirked back at her. “I can do that.” He nodded, pulling the five or six sealed patches out and filed through them, looking at the designs. “This one seems appropriate.” He decided, holding up a patch with cartoon-ish, blue, gray and black whales.

“Excellent choice!” Alexa agreed, picking up the applicator and pressing it to the sterilized area of her arm, hissing softly. “It's as simple as that really.” She said, setting the applicator aside, rubbing her finger around the edge of the initial adhesive. “Other than holding down on the button for a few seconds, to make sure the sensor and my phone pair.” She added, pressing down on it for a moment, then held her hand out for the over-patch, taking it from Henry and removing the clear film, to carefully seal it around the sensor.

“That one is done!” She giggled, wiggling her brows at him.

“I'm guessing you also have dietary needs.” Henry said, watching her fiddle with another device.

“I do have several things on my do not eat list, yes.” Alexa nodded, eyes on her task.

“Strawberries being one of them.”

“That's one of them, on the longer list.” She chuckled, looking up at him. “I'm generally on a low-carbs diet. A lot of sugary items and fried foods. Fruits, veggies, whole-grain, etc are great for me.” She listed off for him, watching the wheels of his brain turn through the blue of his eyes. “So, this is my insulin pump, Omnipod. It's a tubeless insulin pump that gives me three days worth of insulin, before I have to change it. My Dexcom and Omnipod talk to each other, so it knows how much insulin I need, without me having to do much of anything, besides making sure I'm eating and drinking right, and staying active.”

“That's great.” Henry nodded, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth as he watched her.

“So, this is a bit of a process.” She told him, opening a fresh Omnipod package. “I need to fill this syringe with about a hundred and thirty units of my insulin for the next three days.” She instructed him, opening the box with her Humalog insulin vial.

“You need to draw it straight out of the bottle?” He frowned, watching her use a alcohol swab and clean the top of the vial, before taking a syringe that was provided with her Omnipod out.

“Yes, unfortunately things like this aren't customizable.” Alexa answered, carefully twisting on the needle part of the syringe, drawing the plunger back, inserting the needle into the vial, then proceeding to draw the amount of insulin she needed into it. “Maybe, someday in the future.” She said, looking up at him, a small glitter of hope in her eyes. “Now that I have the insulin in the syringe, I just insert it here, into this little hole, and push it in, filling the pod for the next seventy-three hours and we wait for it to prime.”

“Where do you put this one?”

“I can put it on my arms, like my Dexcom, but on the opposite arm it's on. My thighs or my stomach. I usually prefer to have them both on the backs of my arms. But since we're on our honeymoon, I'm just going to pop it on my stomach.” She told him, tapping the screen of the Omnipod's control screen, recording where she was placing it, then stood up.

“It's easy standing.” She told Henry's expression, cleaning the spot on her stomach and securing the pod over it.

“Is that it?” Henry asked, as she sat down again, but leaning back slightly.

“No, now I need to let the Pod know it's in place, so it can insert the little tub that'll deliver my insulin.” She answered, tapping the control screen again, causing a couple soft clicks to fill the space between them, before a sharper one and her small jolt. “Now, it's done.” She smiled at him, taking an over-patch and securing it around the pump.

“That is quite the process.” He commented, shaking his head. “And you've been doing this since you were eight.”

“Mmhm.” She nodded, sighing softly. “Just second nature now. It's gotten easier over the years. Especially, with the new medications that have come out and the technology. So, who knows what science will come up with next!”

“A cure, hopefully.”

“That would be lovely.” Alexa nodded, a dreamy look on her face. “But I don't see that in my lifetime.”

“You never know.” Henry cooed, winking at her.

“True, I never thought I'd get married, and here I am.” She giggled, tucking away her equipment and zipping up her kit, before picking up the rubbish.

“What about your pens?” Henry asked, looking up at her.

“Oh, I don't need those, unless I'm not using my pump or my levels drop too low for it.” She answered, moving around him to exit the closet.

“But,” Henry climbed to his feet, following after her. “Why didn't you wear them yesterday, when we married?”

Alexa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I didn't want them to be seen through my dress.” She confessed, biting her lip and looking at him over her shoulder. “So, I took them off and just monitored my levels though finger pricks and my pens.”

“And our flight home?”

“I was too tired to go through the process of putting them on.”

Henry sighed, cocking his head at her, a tender expression on his face. “I wish you had said something. I would have helped.”

“I know.” Alexa whispered, smiling at him. “I'm learning you're quite the attentive person, Henry Cavill.”

“I love taking care of those around me.” He replied, reaching out to touch her cheek with his index finger. “Especially my wife.”

“Mmm.” She blushed, nose wrinkling cutely.

The doorbell sounded, reminding them that breakfast had arrived for them. Henry opened the door for the room service butler, while Alexa headed out onto the veranda off the kitchen, making herself comfortable at the table there. Facing towards the glittering strip of beach and ocean, the call of seabirds as they swooped down for their own breakfasts.

“Isn't it lovely out?” Henry asked, coming out to join her.

“It really is.” She nodded, reclining in her seat and casting an eye over the trolley the butler was bringing out. “You picked quite the spread.” She commented, feeling her stomach rumble, looking over the plates of food.

Henry blushed slightly, taking a seat across from her. “Yeah, I get a bit of an appetite after jet-lag.” He admitted, nodding appreciatively at the butler, who stopped the trolley beside the table and excused himself. “That's a Mango and Banana smoothie from their menu, that I ordered for you, with your request of soy-milk.” Henry explained, motioning to the glass on the cart.

“I hope that's all right?”

“That's more than fine.” She assured him, grabbing her toast and oatmeal with a couple of banana slices in it. “They're both good for me.” She commented, picking up the cool and sweaty glass, taking a sip of the soy-milk smoothie and hummed with approval. “I don't remember the last time I had a mango, but that is delicious!” She smiled, setting the glass beside her bowl, then fixed her arctic-blue eyes on Henry.

“So, Husband, what do you want to do today?” She asked, picking up her spoon to dig into her oatmeal.

“I'm not sure.” Henry hummed, pausing in eating his fork full of his ham and cheese omelet. “We could just go about and check out the island.” He suggested, taking the bite and chewing, before sitting back for a moment. “You mentioned yesterday there's a lot of good walking trails and sites to see. Like, waterfalls.”

“Yeah.” Alexa nodded, mulling it over, nursing her smoothie. “We will have the film crew following us around, like lost puppies as well.” She reminded him, biting the corner of her lip. “Give us the moment to get used to them practically stalking us.”

Henry heaved a sigh, picking up the coffee pot and poured himself a fresh cup. “That's also true.” He replied, dumping a single sugar into it. “I'm used to a camera only following me around in a studio or a specific location. Not all day, every day. For every moment of my life.”

“For any entire year of our life.” She added, cocking a brow at him.

“Mmhm.” He nodded, sipping his steaming coffee. “Let's find a trail.” He said, digging his phone out of his pocket and pulling up Google.

Alexa slid her chair over closer to Henry and cocked her head over his shoulder to see his screen, watching him scroll through, best hiking trails in Tamarindo. “Oh, that one has a waterfall and a hot spring we could swim in.” She commented, pointing one of them out. “Be a good place to relax for a short bit, before we head back.” She suggested, looking up at Henry.

“I mean, I have to make sure my husband's old bones can make it back.” She teased, an impish smirk curling up the corners of her mouth as her blue eyes sparkled.

Looking at her, Henry pressed his lips together, his eyes both roguish and cool. “Ha-ha.” He replied, carefully knocking her with his shoulder, but grinned as Alexa giggled at him, resting her chin on his shoulder and hugging her arms around his torso.

Henry stared into her eyes, feeling his throat tighten with her body pressed against his, her smiling face close to his. Licking his lips, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, cutting off her giggle with soft and surprised gasp. Alexa's eyes flared, staring into Henry's, that were still open and looking at her, measuring her reaction to him kissing her. But she had done the same thing as she did on the altar the day before. Alexa returned his kiss, her hand twisting up the fabric at the back of his tank top and tugging him closer to her; her eyes fluttering shut.

Sighing softly, Henry's hand lifted to grip the back of Alexa's neck, pulling her against his body and holding her there as they deepened the kiss, lips moving slow and gentle. But it didn't last, as Henry got a creeping feeling of being watched and cracked an eye open, finding Riah stepping out onto the veranda with them, a broad grin on her face.

“The doorbell broken?” He asked, moving away from Alexa, feeling a protective bubble form in the pit of his stomach, resting a hand on her back, seeing Alexa's face flush bright red, hiding away from them, until she got control of herself.

“No.” Riah answered, unperturbed. “I used it. I just guess the two of you were too distracted to hear it, so I let myself in.” She explained, holding up a spare key to their villa. “Nice to see the two of you are getting comfortable with one another.”

“You can say that.” Alexa rasped, turning back towards the conversation, licking her lips. “So,” She looked down at her watch, then cocked her brow at the other woman. “You're early.”

“Yeah, we figured we'd come over and start setting up. Go over a few things.” Riah told her, unbothered as the cameraman from yesterday appeared from behind her. “This is Jesse, he'll be the cameraman following you around for a majority of your year together, unless something should come up.” She explained to Alexa and Henry, motioning to Jesse, who gave them a small wave and nod. “A large portion of the time, it'll just be Jesse filming you. Wherever you go, he'll be with you. Until you get home, that is.”

“Then, we get privacy, I hope.” Alexa commented, under her breath, picking up her smoothie to finish off what was left.

“Not completely.” Riah retorted, arching a brow at her. “We'll have at least one camera in all the rooms, but the bathroom, for obvious reasons. They'll roll until a certain point, then will be shut off and the footage will be edited for your privacy and the show's content.”

Henry glanced over at Alexa, hearing her quiet groan. “I suppose, it's what we signed up for.” He said, trying to sound confident.

“It's exactly what you both signed up for.” Riah reminded them, looking between him and Alexa. “So, what are the two of you doing today?” She asked, folding her arms. “Other than sucking face.” She added with a quip.

“We decided,” Henry replied, clearing his throat. “to go on a hike. There's a nice trail with a waterfall and hot spring we want to check out and enjoy.”

“Marvelous.” Riah grinned, excited to film the two of them on an outing. “Jesse will get set up and the two of you can just go about as if he's not even here.”

“Right.” Alexa nodded, staring into the bottom of her glass, before looking up at Henry, finding him gazing at her.

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Obituary: The son who soared: Jeff Buckley

Date: June 6, 1997

From: The Guardian (London, England)

Publisher: Guardian News & Media

Document Type: Obituary

Byline: ADAM SWEETING

FEW ROCK business careers began more tantalisingly than that of Jeff Buckley, who has drowned in the Mississippi river, aged 30 (his body was found on Wednesday this week). In 1991, record producer Hal Willner, known for assembling imaginative, star-studded tributes to Charles Mingus and Kurt Weill, put together a tribute concert for Jeff's father, Tim Buckley, at St Ann's Church, Brooklyn, New York. Tim had died of a heroin overdose in 1975, aged 28, but his early death ignited a slow-burning musical legend. It was founded on his recorded legacy in which soul, blues and jazz influences mingled freely, the process stirred by his arrestingly elastic vocal style.

His son Jeff, born in California during Tim's brief marriage to Panama-born Mary Guibert, had always been ambivalent about his father. Tim left Mary when Jeff was six months old, and his son was brought up by his mother and stepfather during a peripatetic childhood. 'We moved so often I had to put all my stuff in paper bags,' Jeff recalled. 'My childhood was pretty much marijuana and rock 'n' roll.'His decision to participate in Willner's tribute event launched Buckley Junior as a new phenomenon on the New York music scene, and simultaneously affirmed his quasi-mythic credentials, particularly when he performed his father's song Once I Was. 'It bothered me that I hadn't been to his funeral, that I've never been able to tell him anything,' said Jeff. 'I used that show to pay my last respects.'

Thus launched in public, Buckley was rescued from a string of odd jobs by joining the avant-garde combo Gods & Monsters, which featured Pere Ubu's ex-bassist Tony Maimone and Captain Beefheart's erstwhile guitarist Gary Lucas. But it was more a loose group of individuals than a real band and Buckley quit in early 1992 to pursue a solo career.

He began performing at small Manhattan clubs, particularly the Cafe Sin-e, where record company executives and A&R men were soon arriving by the limo-full, waving chequebooks. 'I went into those cafes because I really felt I had to go to an impossibly intimate setting where there's no escape, where there's no hiding yourself,' he explained.

Buckley's remarkable voice (his most obvious inheritance from his father) and movie-star looks left nobody in doubt that he was a star in the making, though the eclecticism of his shows confused some listeners. Buckley would pluck songs out of the air as the mood took him. It might be something by Van Morrison, the Hollies or Big Star, or a tune made famous by Nina Simone or Mahalia Jackson.

With a hippie-esque suspicion of large corporations, he turned down several deals before signing with Columbia at the end of 1992, apparently because he knew and trusted the label's A&R man Steve Berkowitz. The company previewed their new acquisition with a live EP, Live At Sin-e, following which Buckley travelled upstate to Bearsville to start work on his debut album, Grace.

The disc was released in 1994 to instant critical adulation. The sleeve pictured Buckley clutching a microphone and looking poetically dishevelled, while the music inside was a cornucopia of rockers, ballads, hymns and even a bold rendition of Benjamin Britten's Corpus Christi Carol, by no means standard rock 'n' roll fare. His voice was wild, passionate and sensual. If his music was hard to describe in a soundbite, it was bursting with hidden depths and infinite potential. Grace won Buckley the Best New Artist award from Rolling Stone magazine in 1995.

Buckley's inquisitiveness and musical ambition earned him acceptance across a broad spectrum of fellow performers. Elvis Costello brought him over in 1995 to perform at London's Meltdown Festival, where he easily held his own among string quartets and jazz ensembles, and last year he featured on Patti Smith's comeback album, Gone Again. He was also a fan of Eastern music, particularly the Islamic devotional Qawwali songs of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

Buckley had been in Memphis since February, recording new material. He decided to go swimming in the Mississippi, fully clothed and carrying his guitar, but was apparently pulled under by the wash from a passing tug.

Jeff Buckley, rock singer, born August 1, 1966; died May 29, 1997

[greenerteacups]

do you have recs for urban fantasies!!

Oh, depends what you're into. American Gods, by Neil Gaiman (and its spinoff, Anansi Boys) is generally my gold standard for good urban fantasy. Delicious worldbuilding, good plot, good character. Good Omens is also technically urban fantasy, mostly because of the witch stuff, but I'd sooner classify it as Bible fanfiction. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is urban fantasy for a Napoleonic-Wars-era definition of "urban," and is also excellent, but also a slow-burn book and it's not your average adventure story. Discworld is fucking immaculate.

Holly Black is a good author if you're segueing between Y/A and N/A or fantasy, because she starts writing solidly in the realm of paranormal romance (human world with fantasy LI) and ends up writing a really cool "urban fantasy" that takes place entirely in the fae realm, which is a straight-up high fantasy feudal system, except it coexists with the mundane world so the MC knows what an iPhone is. Great. Love that. The textbook "medieval fantasy" world is horrendously ahistorical anyway, so why not set it in the present? Drop your anachronistic quasi-British fantasy smorgasbord right in the middle of 2010's America.

I think everyone into urban fantasy has read or tried the Mortal Instruments series, which is a great starter drug if you like to read Y/A. In a similar vein, Artemis Fowl is an urban fantasy children's book series that fucks supremely hard, and growing up I adored it with the passion of one thousand suns.

[artisticcallycaffeinated]

S355 steel, commonly employed in bridges, experiences significant mechanical strength degradation under quasi-static conditions (meaning a slow application of force, allowing the material to adapt) at temperatures ranging from 500 to 600 degrees, as illustrated in the documents below

Thermates, a brother of thermite. Often used for military purposes as incendiary compound, consists of

70ish% thermite (iron lll as example), 30% barium nitrat, 1ish% sulfur and pinch (>0.5%) binder wich can be whatever thr fuck you want (Polymers or just epoxy will prolly work fine)

(US pattent US6766744)

Thermate is hard as fuck to ignite and thus will require you making a little bit of copper thermite, a blowtorch and a few hundred grams of iron 3o thrermite.

Notable use of thermate is it's much higher burning point and much quicker reaction. It's useful to melt a lot of steel quickly. Such as rank armor or perhaps something else,,,

The krimean bridge, that is vital to the supply infrastructure of the southern front. Various attempts have been made to destroy it. Some better some worse.

Thank you Ukrainian intelligence for leaking this document containing structural, functional and technical information of the kerch bridge.

Using the provided documents you can approximate that you will have to use 70 kilograms of thermate to collapse the steel bridge span.

However you don't need to collapse it to render it obsolete. All you need is weaken it enough that it is dangerous to use it at all. But not to easy to repair.

That thing there,

By applying approximately 10-20 kilogram of thermate at the seam of the core of the pillars, and concrete surrodung it. As well after drilling a few holes 15-20 degrees facing down. and stuffing it with thermate in the base. It will significantly degrade the material properties of the concrete and the steel. This is useful because fixing the bridge itself is easy, attach a metal plate basically to the concrete pillars. But I'd the concrete pillars is not there or unusable. It will have to be replaced. And if the concrete is cracked (it will be trust me, because of the high moisture content traped in it), the entire plillar will have to be removed and rebuilt.

Now about how to get there, the security around the krimea bridge is pretty tough (meh).

Easiest possible way is just like by car. However the car traffic doesn't concern us. For it is the train bridge that we need. Infiltration via watter is possible, but it's also not that hard to disguise as some repairmen and get to the bridge. Getting there isn't that hard.

Now I'm NOT saying you should do this, this will put you at high risk. But it will help to win the war.

I am not a terrorist, I'm a amature professional.

Damn. Bro a menace. I wouldnt want to be a bridge anywhere near you. I also didn't know that Australian cousine was this dangerous.

[therealvinelle]

Apparently Lionsgate is making a new Twilight TV series. Remain to be seen what's it about, whether it'll be a remake of the movies or something new. Say they went with something new, and they somehow choose an idea that you've already done in a fic. Which fic idea do you: a) just really want to see adapted on screen? And b) thinks that they will do justice the most?

(Muffin can also answer this if they want and if their answer's different than yours)

Well, the trouble is I don't really have any particular fics I want to see on screen. More importantly, I don't imagine they would appeal much to any studios. You want something you can sell to producers, but "The romantic male lead commits cold blooded murder because his quasi-brother was too weak. His quasi-brother killed his wife back in the day, the romantic lead is fine with that and the quasi-brother recruits the murdered man's parents into his harem. Then half the cast goes to Egypt without really accomplishing anything. Please give me millions of dollars so I can make this." would not fly.

(The above, for the record, is The Less Than Immaculate Conception by myself and @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin.

Painting Red Madonnas by Muffin wouldn't fare much better, "No the male and female lead don't get together. The loveable goof is really homophobic, and the closest thing we have to a love interest murders a toddler and his own son in front of his horrified wife. Help me get in touch with investors.")

The Bleach in the Brain (by me) miniseries and its sequel miniseries, Leech in the Rain (by @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin and me) would require somebody saying, not only "I want to focus on child abuse and grooming where the white girl protagonist is attacked by a Native American man and disabled at the end", but "I want to depict a bisexual male character whose male former lover, a gay man, is falsely accused of rape, and then he gets sexually assaulted by his son" as well. Also the really hot chick protagonist who looks twenty-five is actually six years old so she can't be marketed as a sexy female character. And then getting funding for all of this.

(They might decide to make a show inspired by Jessica Stanley in those fics, but... god they'd change everything.)

And Then There Were None, same problem. "Please give us money to produce Bella Swan murdering her family for no reason."

Dark Fantasies/Writhing Coils, maybe if I got Guillermo del Toro extremely drunk and called him a coward. Except it would still need funding, so no.

The Invitation, only if the ending is completely changed. Too much of a downer otherwise.

Nebuchadnezzar's Dream would have the producers nodding along until I get to the part where the big battle happens entirely off screen, instead the audience gets to see a gay sex scene. "Full penetration," I say, tapping my powerpoint slide with a stick for emphasis.

"Let's limit her involvement," they whisper to one another, and then I don't sell them the rights so Nebuchadnezzar's Dream is condemned to development hell.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London is too out there, and How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bacchanals even more so.

The Man Who Would Be King bonus, since Muffin and I got talking about it: might fly, if briefly. It's more viable than the Twilight ideas (we've got an attractive, young, and sympathetic protagonist, an enemies-to-lovers slow burn, and our male romantic lead hasn't actually murdered anybody on screen so viewers can pull a Damon Salvatore and insist he's alright), trouble is it's not going to stay that way. For now, it's shockingly viable and gets my nomination.

My vote for Twilight fic to be televised, however, assuming I win a billion dollar and nobody can stop me...

For the Love of a Woman.

Everybody loses.