#Smart Clinic near by me

[sellmerger-1]

Smart Clinic Franchise Opportunity | अपना Smart Clinic खोले

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Smart Clinic Franchise Opportunity | अपना Smart Clinic खोले

[desert-fern]

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 1 - The Seal in the Bar

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*the GIF belongs to @unicornships , but I found it on Pinterest for some reason*

A/N: So here we are! I am absolutely blown away by the response that my teaser generated, holy shit! And because you all seem to love Bear as much as I do, and because you crazy people have brought me to over 100 followers in 2 days, I figured that I would release Part 1 sooner than I planned!

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death (kill count and maybe a few other things), Jake being a flirt (which is it’s own warning)

Word Count: 2.5k

Read on Wattpad or AO3

Teaser >> Part 2

===

It was a miserable day when Jake walked into the Hard Deck. Training had been canceled due to shit weather and no matter how much of a workout he had had earlier, he was still as nervous as a scared cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The weather wasn’t helping either. It had been raining nearly all day, letting up for maybe 20 minutes at a time before it came pouring down again. Climate change was a serious concept, but right now it was fucking with his plans and his job and Jake very much wanted it to stop. Taking a quick glance around, he saw that there were a few patrons in the bar, mostly older men just sitting and drinking in near silence, the jukebox playing some classic rock song just loud enough to be heard. He had promised to meet Coyote here around 5 and seeing as he was early, Jake went ahead to order a drink. “Hey Penny.”

“Hangman,” Penny replied with a smile. “Your usual?”

“Nah, not drinking tonight. Too antsy. Just a water and Javy’s usual, thanks.” The blond glanced around the room as Penny went to grab his drinks and his eyes fell on a woman sitting quietly in the corner of the room, silently watching each and every person in the bar with an almost clinical gaze. His curiosity got the better of him and Jake grabbed his order before making his way over to the corner table. “That seat taken?” He asked with his usual sly grin on his face.

The woman glanced up at him, eyes flicking over him quickly before quirking a brow. “And what if it was?” she replied coolly, a narrow gaze pinning him to the spot. She took a sip of the drink in front of her, eyes never leaving his face.

“Well I’d like to think that I’d be better company than your imaginary friend here,” Jake said, trying to regain his footing. The woman was intimidating; sharp eyes that seemed to never miss a thing and a face that he recognized as one he made when the weariness hit on occasion.

“Is that painful for you, Flyboy? The thinking?”

Jake was taken aback by her snark. Normally he’d respond, fire an insult of two back, but he kept his mouth shut for once, watching for even just a flicker of emotion on the woman’s face. But there wasn’t any. She just looked bored. So Jake did something that he would almost never do, he walked away, set his drinks down on a table near the door and waved Javy down when his friend walked in.

A few drinks later and the bar had begun to fill with people. Other Daggers had popped up, joining Jake and Coyote and Jake was relieved to fall back into his cocky pilot facade he used in public. It was only when he went back up to the bar some hours later to grab another round for the group that he saw her again. “Grab another round, Penny?”

“Give me just a minute, Hangman.” Penny gave him a nod and a smile before adding ice to a cup for someone else and handing it off.

“Hangman huh?” A voice near him spoke up. A quick turn and there stood the woman from earlier. This time however, she was standing up, and he admired the tone and definition of her arm under the tight black shirt she wore. “Must be military then.”

“What gave it away?” He asked, glancing over at his friends before looking back at her.

A sharp grin. “Maybe the fact that you hang out with guys named ‘Coyote’ and ‘Payback’. That, and you just have the look about you,” she finished, taking a swig of her drink.

“You got it right, sweetheart,” Jake flirted, leaning his forearms on the bar and turning to look at her. “One of the best in the room.”

Bear knew that there was a gleam in her eye. God, she loved shooting cocky men down and watching them run back to their friends, tails tucked between their legs. But something about this Hangman made her curious and she didn’t yet know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. “Is that so? So what makes a fly-boy like you better than most people in the room?” she asked, giving him a teasing look.

A grin crossed Jake’s face and he was so sure that he was in. “Attended Top Gun twice, two confirmed air-to-air kills, plus my good looks and endless amounts of good ole-fashioned Southern charm, sweetheart.”

“Wow. Two whole kills all by yourself? That’s pretty impressive,” Bear nodded, schooling her face so as to not burst out laughing. “Little ole me only has about 60 confirmed kills, but I’m sure it’s much more difficult in a plane.”

Jake, who had been grabbing the beer bottles from Penny, froze. “I’m sorry, 60?”

“Yup, all by myself too.” The mocking slipped free and the smirk on her face was wide and dangerous.

“Who are you?” He asked, concern flooding over his face. Jake knew that the look on his face was one of pure shock, and holy shit was he both terrified and turned on at the thought of this woman being far more dangerous than he was.

Bear grinned, finishing her drink and pulling her wallet out to pay. “Take a guess,” she replied.

“Well I was going to say one hell of a pilot, but I would have heard of you if you were a Navy pilot.”

“Maybe I’m Air Force,” she teased as she watched the conflicting emotions cross Hangman’s face.

“Nuh uh. No way.” Jake shook his head immediately in disgust. “There’s no way you’re Chair Force, not a chance.”

“Like you Navy boys don’t also sit in chairs,” came the retort. “But you are right, I’m not, as you put it, Chair Force.”

“So who are you?” He asked, ignoring the barb thrown his way and pausing to look at her. “You aren’t a pilot, that’s for damn sure, so who and what are you?”

“Bagman! What the hell is taking so long?” A shout came from over by the pool tables.

Rolling his eyes, Jake turned and yelled back “Jus’ wait a damn minute!” Looking back at the woman beside him, Jake nodded for her to tell him.

“Seals,” she replied. “Navy Seal Team Three.”

His green eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know that there were women in the Seals.”

“Not many. Less than 3% to be exact.” There was pride in her voice and Bear knew that. She had worked incredibly hard to be taken seriously during training and even now as the Commander of Seal Team Three, working in the Middle East and Southwest Asia. Her skills were necessary for the survival of her team and herself. Plus putting damn near three years into the US Navy Sniper School made it very clear just how dangerous she was and could be.

“Okay…umm…wow. I jus’…wow.” Jake was in awe, right here in front of him was a woman who was both badass and hot as hell, and the best part? She didn’t back down and made him work for every step. “That’s seriously badass. Why haven’t I heard about you or any of the others?”

“Cause we’re usually kept secret. If enemy states know that there are women on the teams, then we have targets on our backs. But I can tell you, because no one will believe you,” Bear smirked before continuing, “And yeah, I know it’s pretty badass. I worked hard for it. Just like you did for your two kills.” And with a wink, she walked off, disappearing into the crowd near the bar, leaving Jake speechless.

He made his way back to the pool tables, beers in hand and a shocked look on his face. Once he set the bottles down, Jake looked up and began to glance around for any sign of the Seal he had been speaking to. “Who you lookin’ for?” Coyote asked, stepping up next to him.

“A Navy Seal.”

Coyote did a double take. Swallowing his drink, he asked “Did you just say a Navy Seal? Where the hell did you find one of those?”

“Up at the bar not even five minutes ago.”

“The fuck you doin’ chattin’ up a Navy Seal?” Coyote was looking at him like he was crazy. “Don’t they like have three dozen ways to murder you with a rusty spoon?”

“Probably. But she was hot. And seemed to be interested, so who knows if I’ll be a rusty spoon victim,” Jake replied. Not so deep down he was hoping that he’d get the chance to see her again, but stumbled over the sudden realization that he didn’t know her name. Well, that would be a problem for the next time. Turning back to the group, Jake found them watching him with curious looks. “What?”

“Next time that Seal comes back,” Phoenix told him, “Make sure she says hi. I want to know whose ass to protect when you wind up dead in a back alley.”

“Et tu, Nix?” Jake gaped at her, mimicking a pearl-clutching older woman before his face fell back into its usual cocky grin. “You’ll meet her, and you’ll regret saying that.”

Phoenix laughed. “I’ve got the power of being a woman on my side. Bet she doesn’t often get the chance to chat about her experience as a woman in the Navy with someone who understands,” she replied with a shrug. “Now are we playing or what?”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Keep your shirt on,” Jake drawled, setting his drink down and grabbing the pool cue from her outstretched hand. “Ready?”

“Fuck yeah.” A sharp grin from Phoenix had him smirking and if he spent the night trying to beat her, that was no one’s business but his own.

===

Training the next day was brutal. Maverick was clearly playing catch up from missing a day of training and he was making everyone hurt. “Come on Hangman, you’ll have to do better than that!” Phoenix had teased over the headset. “Gotta improve your skills or the hot Seal lady won’t be impressed!”

Jake rolled his eyes, knowing that everyone on the ground listening would hear him if he replied. So he stayed quiet, pulling the throttle up allowing him to go up and over Phoenix and Bob to try and lock on, but failed when Phoenix rolled out of the way. She led them in a chase across the sky, neither plane being ‘hit’, but neither pilot lost.

“What the hell was that?” Bob asked when they landed. “Where did you guys find a Navy Seal?”

Phoenix chuckled, “Bagman found her at the bar last night. He’s smitten.” Having landed back on the airstrip and taxiing it back towards its storing bay with the other Dagger aircraft, she unclipped herself from the harness and jumped down only to be met by Hangman standing right behind her. “Jesus fuck!” She yelled, right as Bob shouted “What the shit man?”

“Nothin’. Jus’ creepin’. Wanted to freak you out a bit,” he said with a shrug and a mischievous grin crossing his face.

“Asshole.”

“That’s me Nix, that’s me.” And Jake wandered off in the direction of the classroom to hear what Mav had to say.

Bob hopped down and watched him walk off. “You think he’s aware that a Navy Seal has standards?”

Phoenix snorted. “Unlikely. But maybe that’s why he’s trying to sneak around here so he can impress her. I won’t tell him that sneaking up on a Seal is a death sentence.” She pulled her helmet off, tucking it under her arm. “C’mon Bobert, let's get ripped into by Mav.”

“If you’re not telling, I’m not telling,” Bob replied with his own grin. “And do we have to? I’d much rather stay here where it’s somewhat safe with my ego intact, thank you.”

“Right? I would too if Mav wouldn’t send out a search party to find us,” she quipped. “Come on, better late than never.”

“I think the Seal would disagree with you.” But he followed Natasha anyway, trying not to drag his heels to avoid what he was sure would be the telling off of his life.

===

Unsurprisingly, Bear was also on base. After all, this was the only Navy base on Coronado Island, so it made sense that all Navy personnel would be stationed together. What she wasn’t expecting was to run into a pair of Navy pilots as she walked back to her car. “Watch it,” she grumbled, shouldering her way past the man and woman.

“There are Seals on this base?”

“Might want to get your eyes checked there, cause I’m not in-fucking-visible,” she retorted.

“Hold up, sorry. Are you the Seal that Bagman spent half of last night talking about?” The man asked in a quiet voice.

Softening her approach just a smidge, Bear turned and nodded. “I am. Something you wanted to ask?”

“No, not at all. Just curious as to who got our precious Bagman all shook up,” the woman replied, before extending a hand to shake. “I’m Phoenix, this is Bob.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Bear.”

“Bear?” The woman known now as Phoenix asked, confusion crossing her face. “How’d you get that?”

Bear grinned. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine?” She offered, eyes flicking to the tall quiet man who stood awkwardly off to the side. “I don’t bite, Bob. Not unless you want me to,” she added with a wink.

Bob flushed, and shook his head. “Pretty sure I’d get punched.”

Bear gave him a look. “We’ll revisit that later, but continuing on. You were saying Phoenix?”

With a reluctant sigh, Phoenix explained how she’d had to make an emergency landing when her engines caught fire, resulting in a fiery tail across the sky. “Bird on fire, Phoenix. Same difference.”

The other woman chuckled to herself. “That’s a good one. Bear is because I’m cranky as fuck when I get up in the morning,” she told them.

Bob grinned at her explanation. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but that is great.”

“I should be heading off. Lots of meetings tomorrow and all, but it was good to meet you both. Maybe I’ll see you around.” With a wave, Bear headed back to her car. “Oh, and one last thing, if it ever gets out to Hangman you met me, don’t tell him my name. He has to work for that one,” she said loudly, turning to walk backwards.

“Sounds like a plan,” Phoenix called back, giving her a quick wave. Quietly to Bob, she whispered “Bagman is in for an uphill climb if he wants to even have a chance with her.”

“I know,” Bob whispered back. “It’s going to be great.”

===

A/N: So many thanks to @startrekfangirl2233, @dakotakazansky, and @sarahsmi13s for being the most incredible beta readers ever! I love you all so much!

And to all my beautiful readers: my inbox is open so come and scream at me in reblogs, comments, or DMs, I promise I will get to you all!

Taglist:

@startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @dakotakazansky @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @bradleybeachbabe @fandomxpreferences @fighterpilothoe @dempy @gizmodear @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @javden @snubug @indigomaegrimm @twsssmlmaa @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @waywardhunter95 @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @melss24 @heli991113 @thegoddessc @sgt-barnesveins Sorry if I missed anyone!

[justagalwhowrites]

Shelter

IT'S FINALLY DONE!

A request from MONTHS ago from the lovely, the talented, the supreme Lavender fan @dundienominee who wanted some QZ era Joel angst that included a few specifics. I thought you'd sent an ask but I think it was just one of the millions of DMs lol

So here it is! A NON-CANON Lavender one shot, where Joel and Doc are stuck together when FEDRA puts the QZ on lockdown.

I hope this is what you're looking for, love!!

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender (can be read independently with the understanding that Joel and Reader are exes and Reader also dated Tommy in the QZ.)

Warnings: SMUT!, Results of canon-typical violence, infidelity (not on each other). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 8.4k

August, 2017

Joel had been right. 

That wasn’t a fact he particularly appreciated in that moment. He’d rather have been right and not shot. He’d rather have been wrong, for that matter, even if you’d be bound and fucking determined to hold it over him for the next who knows how fucking long. 

But no, he had to be right and shot. 

Still, better than another alternative. 

You shot. You hurt. That was the worst possible outcome. 

Well, maybe not the worst. That would be you dead.

Joel couldn’t think about that. 

“Shit,” you swore, the sound of FEDRA around the next corner. 

“There,” Joel said through gritted teeth, nodding toward a pile of junk. 

“Right,” you said, pulling him along toward it, your shoulder tucked into his underarm. You pulled him down to the ground just as a dozen or so FEDRA guards ran past, armed to the teeth, guns drawn. Joel fought to keep quiet, breathe silently through the pain, until he couldn’t hear them anymore. You looked at him. There was blood on your cheek. “Should we wait? Or do you think we’re good to move?” 

“So now you want to listen to me?” He asked sarcastically. You glared at him. He ignored it. “Should be alright now, doubt more troops will be headin’ that way from here.” 

You helped him to his feet and he leaned against you again, trying to ignore the way his body seemed to be hyperaware of everywhere you touched him. You started walking. 

“I’m really sorry, Joel,” you said, sounding a little breathless, as you started getting close to his apartment. “I really thought it would be alright…” 

“Maybe fuckin’ listen to me next time,” he managed through the pain. “Might not be a damn doctor but I do know about shit like this…” 

“I know,” you said quietly. 

Joel let the subject drop. 

The two of you had gone to the absolute shittiest part of the QZ to run medication to a boy there who had been in the clinic just a few days earlier. You’d gone on a special trip outside the QZ for it. You had explained it all to Joel and Tess, of course, but he didn’t really get it. All he knew was there was a four-year-old boy who needed some drug urgently. 

You just hadn’t bothered to explain where that drug needed to be taken until you, Joel and Tess made it back to the QZ. 

“No,” Joel had shaken his head. “No fuckin’ way…” 

“He’s going to die,” you said. “He has the flu, he’s already showing signs of complications, if he doesn’t get help it will kill him, I need…” 

“No.” 

“Fine,” you snapped. “I’ll go on my own.” 

You turned to leave. 

“No the fuck you won’t,” Joel grabbed your wrist, yanking you harshly alongside him. “Gonna just get yourself fuckin’ killed…” 

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

You pulled yourself from his grip and stalked off, leaving him no choice but to follow you. For someone as damn smart as you were, you made stupid fucking decisions. 

Decisions that led to the two of you getting caught in the crossfire between two rival groups that left Joel with a bullet in his stomach near his hip. 

“Almost there,” you said, your fingers holding tight to his side. 

“Know where the fuck we are,” he muttered. He didn’t need to look at you to know that you rolled your eyes in response. 

He managed to make it up the stairs and into the apartment, Tess pacing the living room. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes going wide. 

“Jesus Christ,” she ran to him, taking his other side. 

“Let’s get him to the table,” you said. “Trying to avoid doing this on the floor again…” 

Joel had all but forgotten that you’d saved his life here, in this room, once before. He had almost no memory of it, what little he did remember was more like a dream. You, next to him, your hands soft, voice gentle, something warm in him that was tied to you. You didn’t seem real, you seemed like something he’d lost, something that was in a place that was too far and too good for him to reach. But you were there. And you were taking care of him. 

“Fucking told you, Doc,” Tess snapped, helping to haul Joel’s broken body to the table. She cleared the papers and trash from it, dropping shit into a chair. “Fucking told you not to go to that side of the goddamn QZ…” 

“Yeah, I get it,” you snapped back. “I’m a fucking idiot, alright? Just help me.” 

You and Tess got Joel up on the table and he groaned, his muscle tensing and pulling around the wound in his stomach. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, helping him lay back on the wood with a grunt. 

“Don’t know why I let you talk us into this shit,” Tess said, still pissed, as she unbuttoned his shirt. “I should really fucking know better by now, you’re the dumbest smart person I know…” 

“Tess,” Joel growled. 

“She’s going to get you fucking killed,” she snapped. “She’s going to get us both fucking killed…” 

“Tess,” his voice was sharper. 

He knew that Tess was far from a fan of yours. She’d been growing tenser and tenser around you for a while now. He was never sure why, if it really was what she said and it was because she felt like you took stupid risks, if it was because he’d never been able to care about her the same way he cared about you in spite of how much he loathed it, if it was because she was tired of trying to keep the peace when you were so clearly done with him. For a while, it had seemed like the two of you were friends. Almost friends. But not anymore. 

“Someone has to give a shit if you live or die, Joel, and we both know that it’s not going to be you and it’s not going to be her, either,” she unbuttoned his jeans next. “So that leaves me.” 

“You think I don’t give a shit?” You asked, dropping your pack on a chair and yanking it open. “You think I keep you and him alive for fun?” 

“No, I think you do it so you can keep trying to save a place that can’t be fucking saved,” she was yelling now. 

“Tess.” 

“Shut up, Joel,” she barely glanced at him before rounding on you again. “I’m tired of being some tool in her goddamn stupid crusade…” 

“Tess.” 

“I didn’t fucking make him come with me!” You yelled back at her. “I would have gone on my own, he’s the one…” 

“You really think he’s the one who makes the decisions when it comes to you?” Tess shoved you. “You really think he’d let you run off to get yourself fucking killed? You’re an idiot sometimes, Doc, but you’re not that fucking stupid.” 

“Tess!” Joel was trying to sit up but she wasn’t paying attention. You were. You looked at him, frowning. 

“No,” she yelled, shoving you again. “No, I’m done with this shit, I’m done pretending that we’re doing fucking anything besides risking our fucking lives for some pointless…” 

“Tess!” He managed to sit up, grabbing her arm before she could shove you again. Her head spun, hair whirling, eyes narrowed. “She’s right, don’t fuckin’ blame her…” 

“She’s…” Tess shook her head. “You are so fucking stuck on her, on her bullshit, on…” 

“Get out.” 

You pulled gauze out of your pack and pressed it to the wound at his hip. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She gaped at him, her brows raised. 

“You can figure out how to fuckin’ respect her or you can go,” Joel said through gritted teeth. “Not gonna just let you talk about her…” 

“Her is right here,” you cut him off. “Stop talking about me like I’m not fucking here. And Joel you need to lie down before you fuck something else up, Jesus…” 

Tess looked between him and you before she shook her head and stepped back from the table. 

“Good fucking luck,” Tess snapped before stalking out and slamming the door behind her. 

You looked where she had been for a moment before nudging Joel back down onto the table. 

“You done?” You asked, brows raised. “Because I don’t need you to defend me from your girlfriend, Joel. I’m still going to keep you alive even if you both hate me.” 

“I don’t…”

“Stay still.”

He gritted his teeth and stared daggers at the ceiling while you worked on him for a moment, pressing gauze into his skin for a bit before pulling it away. 

“Don’t think you’ve hit anything major,” you said, more to yourself than to him. He still grunted in response. “Stay put, I still need to get that bullet out and get you cleaned up.” 

He followed you with his eyes as you went about collecting tools, cleaning yourself up, putting on sterile gloves. He tried to focus on you without it raising his blood pressure which, he figured, wouldn’t be the best thing to do when there was an open wound on his torso. 

But it was hard. 

It had been years with you like this. More than a decade. Thinking about you too much made his chest tight, his stomach clench. Thinking about you too much made him worry he might be having a fucking heart attack, that you just might be the death of him.

But you were still who he thought about when he needed comfort. Still where his mind went when he was in pain and he needed to remember why he should try to live through it. Still what he pictured when alone at night and he thought the loss and the emptiness of his life would swallow him whole. Still where his thoughts found when he wanted to come because nothing had ever felt as good as you. 

“Think you can sit still while I get this sucker out of you?” You asked. “Because I don’t exactly have someone here to hold you still at the moment.” 

“Just do it,” Joel squared his jaw and stared at the ceiling again. 

You were quiet for a moment before you touched his bared skin with the lightest, gloved touch. 

“I really am sorry,” you said softly. “I know… We have our issues but… I really hate seeing you hurt. I really hate getting you hurt.” 

Joel looked at you, your face drawn into a frown, your eyes sad. Even now, he thought you might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I know,” he said, looking back at the ceiling. 

You were quiet and he could feel your eyes on him before he felt you slip some kind of instrument into the wound. He hissed through the pain of it but kept still. 

“I know,” you said, voice gentle and soothing. “You’re OK, it’ll be OK.” 

He remembered you using that voice with Sarah. He came home from work once and his daughter was perched on the counter, sniffling, her face streaked with tears. You were talking to her in that voice, a wad of paper towel held against her knee. 

“You’re OK. It’ll be OK.” 

“You with me, Miller?” You asked after what felt like an eternity but knew it must have only been a few minutes. “Need a break?” 

“Just finish it,” he managed through gritted teeth. 

You found the bullet and planted your hand firmly on the softness of his stomach. 

“Hold still,” you said. “This is going to have to be kind of slow, there’s relatively little damage, nothing major hit and I’d like to keep it that way.” 

You pulled on it and he could feel you moving through him, through the gaping wound him, pulling the pain out into the open air. 

When you finished, you held the bullet up, glistening with blood. 

“The cause of all this trouble,” you said, turning it in the light. “Let me patch some of this up and make sure you don’t bleed out. I don’t think you’ll need a blood transfusion this time at least…” 

Joel frowned, lifting his head slightly as you set to work. 

“What do you mean ‘this time?’” 

You froze for half a second before you tried to brush it off. 

“Just, you know,” you said. “In general.” 

He watched you work for a moment. 

“Hey.” 

You glanced at him before looking back at his wound. 

“What?” 

“You had to give me a blood transfusion last time?” He asked, trying not to groan at the pain. 

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” you said eventually, tucking gauze into the wound. “But… yeah, you were down a lot of blood and… Look, I did what I had to do to keep you alive.” 

You cleaned up the skin around his injury. 

“Whose blood?” 

“What?” You asked, focused on the task. 

“Whose blood did you use?” He asked. “Don’t imagine you went down to the clinic so whose blood.” 

You were quiet and Joel was about to ask again when you spoke. 

“We didn’t know your blood type,” you said quietly. “So Tommy would have been the best option…” your voice trailed off but he knew that wasn’t the end. He kept watching you and you sighed before you kept going. “But I’m O- so…” 

He just blinked for a moment. 

“It was yours.” 

Your eyes darted to his for half a second. 

“Yeah. It was mine.” 

He was quiet as you pulled off your gloves with a sharp snap. 

You’d saved him. Bled for him, poured yourself into him so he would keep breathing. He’d walked around for who knows how long with you pulsing through his body and he hadn’t known. 

“You should have told me,” he said eventually. 

“Yeah, well.” 

You started packing up. 

“You should have…” 

“I couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t fucking slit your wrists if you knew, alright?” You snapped. “You hated me. You still hate me but it was worse then, you’ve figured out how to tolerate me in the last decade which is great and all but Jesus, Joel, don’t act like telling you was the easy thing to do.” 

You threw your pack over your shoulder and he sat up, ignoring the pain at his hip. 

“I need to get home,” you said. “Try not to wreck all my work…” 

There was a pounding at the door that made you jump. Joel shoved himself off the table and quickly buttoned his shirt as he limped for the door. 

“Bag down,” he said quietly. “Stay back.” 

You nodded, obeying him for once in your damn life. 

He opened the door slowly, cautiously. A FEDRA officer stood at his door. 

“Can I help you?” Joel tried not to growl, tried not to do anything that would incite suspicion. Not that he could help that he had on a bloody shirt with a fucking bullet hole in it. 

“There’s been increase violence in a nearby quadrant of the QZ,” the man said, barely looking at Joel. “We’re requiring all residents to shelter in place until further notice. Is everyone here a member of your household or does someone need an escort home?” 

Joel saw you step toward the door, opening your mouth like you were about to speak, but he held his hand out behind him, silencing you. 

“Same household,” he said. “We’re all set here.” 

“We’ll let you know when it’s safe to leave,” the guard said. “Lock your door.” 

He left before Joel had a chance to respond and he shut the door quickly before slumping against it. 

“Joel!” You hissed, going to his side and looping an arm around his waist. He leaned against you and you helped him to the couch. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You really want to get a fuckin’ FEDRA escort home?” He grimaced. 

“No,” you snapped, setting him on the couch. “But do you remember how long they locked us down for last time?” 

“No.” 

“A week,” you said, sitting on the threadbare arm chair. “And I’d rather get a FEDRA escort than have you kill me out of frustration in three days because that’s how long we’ll last before you get that fed up with me.” 

“Jesus, you really think we can’t manage to not kill each other for a few fuckin’ days?” He settled into the couch. “You n’me have survived a lot worse than that.” 

You scoffed. 

“Have we?” You asked, brows raised. “Besides, aren’t you worried about Tess?” 

He shrugged. 

“She can handle herself better than you can,” he said and you rolled your eyes. “You that worried about gettin’ back to Derek?” 

“Worried about FEDRA showing up at my door to look for relief for the clinic and not finding me,” you snapped. “Should have just let them…” 

“Not gonna let you go out there with those fucking assholes if people are out there shooting at each other!” Joel cut you off. “Don’t trust ‘em with shit let alone with you! I can keep you safe here so you’re staying here, it ain’t up for discussion!” 

You just blinked at Joel for a moment, a shocked look on your face. 

“Think we can handle not strangling each other for a few damn days,” he muttered, looking away from you. He couldn’t really handle looking at you. You didn’t say anything. You just got up, grabbing your pack and stalking further into the apartment. He frowned. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” 

“Don’t want to be around you any more than you want to be around me,” you said. “So I’m going to Tommy’s room…” 

“Always liked his bed,” Joel muttered, grinding his teeth. 

You flipped him off, not bothering to even look at him before slamming Tommy’s door behind you. 

***

Day 1

Tommy needed better hobbies. 

It was clear Joel had barely used Tommy’s room since he’d left. There were some boxes for storage - things you weren’t about to go searching through since you were pretty sure it was full of black market things from smuggling runs - but otherwise it was exactly how you remembered it. Not that you’d ever spent much time here. You liked to avoid Joel and Tommy seemed to like to avoid him even more than you did when you were around. You’d slept here a few times, when Joel was outside the QZ but Tommy had stayed behind, but he was much more likely to be at your place than his. 

But this room was all but a shrine to him. Or maybe more of a mausoleum, something left in memory of someone who was gone and would never be back. You hadn’t really realized how much you’d missed your friend until you were back in his space, surrounded by his things. 

You also realized that, in reality, you didn’t have a ton in common. Tommy’s book collection was… lacking. He had a few tattered Tom Clancy novels and you settled on one that you were pretty sure he’d brought over to your place once or twice. 

It wasn’t really your thing, though, and you were desperately bored. You were going to have to emerge from the room eventually to do more than pee and refill your water bottle in the bathroom sink. You were almost out of the jerky you’d packed for your trip outside the QZ and you’d never been very good at sitting still with nothing to occupy your mind. 

But you’d need to check on Joel’s injury at some point, anyway. Because looking at the ex who seemed to mostly hate you but apparently flew off the handle at the thought of you getting shot. 

Which you didn’t fully understand. If anyone asked you, you’d have sworn up and down that Joel would shoot you in the street if it wouldn’t make his life harder. You were surprised he hadn’t all but tossed you to an infected in the years you’d been going outside the QZ but the fact that you did things like pull bullets out of him and stitch Tess’ knife wounds closed was apparently a good enough reason to keep you alive. 

You didn’t see how that was a good enough reason to keep you from leaving his apartment when the two of you were about to be locked down for who the fuck knows how long. What were you supposed to do with… well, any of it? 

Your head dangled over the edge of the bed when you spotted a ratty tennis ball in the corner. You tumbled off the bed and picked it up, oddly grateful to have something to function as a distraction and started bouncing it off the wall, catching it out of the air when it bounced back at you. 

“The fuck you doing?” Joel called at you from the other side of the wall. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Keeping myself from being so bored that I jump out a window.” 

He was quiet for a minute. 

You threw the ball again. 

“It’s annoying.” 

You caught the ball and then threw it. 

“Should’ve sent me off with FEDRA then.” 

For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it. And then the door opened. 

He’d gotten changed, at least, his new shirt as clean and intact as you could really find in the QZ and he looked a little pale. You looked him in he eye and you threw the ball again. 

“You tryin’ to piss me off?” He asked, one arm propped against the door frame. 

You shrugged and caught the ball. 

“You just make it so fun…” 

You threw the ball again and he came and snatched it out of the air. You glared at him. 

“Are you trying to make me miserable?” You asked. “Because it’s getting really old…” 

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He snapped. “Think I decided to come find you in my brother’s bed because it’s fun…” 

“Oh will you stop fucking harping on that?” You shoved off the bed and stalked over to him in the doorway. “It’s ancient history! Think it’s time to get over the fact that your brother decided to pick up your broken toy…” 

“You think that’s why I’m pissed?” He asked, brows raised. 

You ignored him, dropping to your knees and yanking his shirt up. He stopped breathing and you checked his wound before getting to your feet. 

“In a few hours I’ll change your dressing,” you said, looking up at him as you stood almost shockingly close to him. You could see the pulse in his throat. “Leave me alone until then.” 

He clenched his jaw, looking you up and down, before storming off, yanking the door shut behind him. 

Day 2 

You waited until you heard the bathroom door close before you emerged. You were officially out of jerky and sitting in a room full of Tommy’s things while being sharply aware that he was thousands of miles away from you was wearing on you fast. You needed something - anything - to distract you. 

So you darted to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of jerky, and paused on your way past Joel’s room, his door cracked open. If you were quick…

You opened the, the hinges creaking, and ducked inside. 

It was neat, orderly. Like you remembered it being years ago when you were together. There were little signs of him everywhere, enough that you’d have recognized the room as his even if you’d walked into it in a strange place a thousand miles away. Little carvings on the window sill, the watch you’d helped Sarah picked for his birthday gift on the nightstand, a cracked Springsteen CD case sitting next to a worn boom box. You resisted the urge to touch the booklet and see if it fell open to a specific page, if you could tell what he’d been looking for when picking that album. 

Instead, you went to the bookshelf that was collapsing, worn boards sagging between cinderblocks. You recognized Joel’s taste in books, a little more in line with your own. You found a Cormac McCarthy book you hadn’t read with a spine that looked comfortably warn and pulled it, almost reverently, off the shelf. 

“The hell you doin’?” 

You jumped, almost dropping the book and the bag of jerky. 

“Sorry…” 

“I say you could come in here?” 

He was standing in the doorway in pajamas, his pants slung low on his hips, t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. 

“I am bored out of my mind,” you said, squaring your jaw even though you knew you shouldn’t be in his room. “I got desperate.” 

“You think that’s a reason to just waltz in…” 

“No, but…” 

“Sure acting like it!” 

“Is hating me fun for you?” You snapped. “Because it sure seems like it is! I don’t know why you’d work this hard at it if it wasn’t.” 

He looked you up and down for a moment. 

“Just get the fuck out of here,” he stepped to the side and you ducked around him, all but running back to the room you’d claimed as your own. 

You settled in on the bed with your new book, resting it on your knees and trying to forget how mad Joel had been just because you dared set foot in his room, as though you didn’t live together once in another life. It had been so easy for him to forget. You’d been so easy for him to forget. 

You opened the book and tried to get absorbed in the story but were having a hard time focusing, shifting around on the bed and hoping that a more comfortable position might make it so you could let yourself fall into it. You were changing positions for the third time when something fell out of the book and flitted like a leaf down to the worn quilt. You frowned, picking it up and turning it over in your hands. 

It was a picture. A picture of you. 

“What?” You whispered to yourself, eyebrows knitting together. 

It was a photo you recognized. Derek had it in his bedroom and he’d taken it without you knowing. You were folded into an armchair in his living room, a book in your hands, hair wild with a ribbon in to keep it out of your face. When he’d developed the photo, you remembered the day he’d taken it. One of the few that you had off from both jobs in the QZ. It had been warm that day, you hadn’t bothered to put on a bra or even pants, sitting around Derek’s place in a pair of his boxers and a tank top. He’d fucked you that morning, before it got too hot, and the two of you spent the day not moving much otherwise, not wanting to spend hours sticky with sweat and miserable. 

The day stuck out to you, though, not because of the heat or because you got to spend it somewhere besides the clinic or the school. Instead, it was because it reminded you of summer days in Austin with Joel. Trying not to run the AC too much, you sat far apart on the couch wearing as little as possible with Sarah coming and going from the house with friends. He would bring you glasses of ice water or lemonade almost every time he got up, his lips finding your forehead when he pressed the cold glass into your palm, his large hand finding your ankle because he had to be touching you in some way without making both of you miserable in the heat. 

And now Joel had a picture from that day, the one where he’d been on your mind the whole time, so much that you’d given up on trying not to think of him. 

You weren’t sure how he’d gotten it. Derek may have given him a copy if he’d asked but you didn’t know how he knew it existed. And why would he want a copy in the first place? 

You looked a little closer at it, the corners curling, edges peeling. Like it had been held a lot. There was a discolored almost halo around the edges of you, like someone had been tracing over the outline of you over and over again. 

There was a sharp knock on your door and you stuffed the photo into the book again. 

“What?” You asked, tone softer than it had been when speaking to Joel in years. 

“Mind checkin’ this damn wound?” He asked through the door, his voice oddly gentle. “Since you’re here and all. Make yourself useful.” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, of course. No problem.” 

You made sure the photo was tucked away and set the book on the nightstand, keeping your fingers crossed that Joel didn’t realize which book you’d taken. 

***

Joel didn’t like that you’d taken to hiding in Tommy’s old room. 

He didn’t like that you were still here. Or so he tried to tell himself. Really, he didn’t like that you were still here without being here, like you were the ghost in his house in the same way it seemed you’d spent most of the last decade. You were just more corporeal now. 

He was used to you crossing his mind all the time. Used to the feeling that, any second now, you’d come around the corner as you finished braiding your hair or with a little bottle of nail polish in your hand or a book in fucking French tucked below your arm. He knew what to do with that. 

He didn’t know what to do with you actually here, in such close quarters. Especially not when you seemed to find such comfort in just the memory of his fucking brother - his brother who had damn near gotten you killed - and not Joel, who was actually here. 

Joel stared down the hall at Tommy’s - your - door. His wound ached. You’d checked it earlier, said there was no sign of infection and that things were coming along well. You refreshed his bandages and he’d try not to think about the way the soft skin of your arm felt when you brushed against his exposed flesh. 

That had been hours ago. He hadn’t heard a word from you since, not even the squeak of the mattress as you shifted and moved in ways he knew so well but couldn’t see. 

He shoved himself to his feet with a pained grunt and went to the door, the one that seemed to fucking haunt him now. He knocked once. 

“Yeah?” 

Your voice sounded thick. 

“Want a drink?” He asked. You were quiet. He pressed on. “Figured it was better than drinkin’ alone.” 

He gave you a minute and was about to give up on you responding when he heard small creaks on the other side of the door before it opened. 

“Whatcha got?” 

It took a few whiskeys before you stopped being quite so stiff at his kitchen table and Joel pulled out a deck of cards that had to have been old before the world fell apart but had somehow managed to stay complete. 

“Game’s Gin,” he said, dealing. “Remember how to play?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not a total idiot, Miller.”

It was strange, drinking around you. Spending time with you in ways that weren’t required, being able to look at you in ways beyond brief, desperate glances driven by the subconscious need to never, ever forget just how you looked. The precise way your eyes were shaped or your brow arched or lips curved, the exact shade of your skin and your hair and your eyes. Because as much as he didn’t want to need these things, he did. He needed to know these parts of you the way a scholar needed to know his subject, with this obsessive, aching drive for more. 

It had never been enough before, the little pieces he was able to collect when you and Tess were distracted with other things and he could take in the new way your skin creased around your eyes, and it somehow wasn’t enough now, memorizing the way you pursed your lips as you organized your hand and the way your hair had fallen out of the braid that was tight against your skull. 

“Need somethin’ to change into?” Joel asked eventually. 

“Hm?” You looked at him over your cards. 

“Just…” he nodded to you. “Still wearin’ what you were when we came back from the run. Need somethin’ to change into?” 

“Oh,” you looked down at yourself and then shrugged. “I mean, I won’t argue with it but I don’t want to put you out. It’s not like anyone’s getting close enough to smell me. Oh God, please tell me you can’t smell me from across the table…” 

“No, Kid,” he laughed a little and took a sip of whiskey. “Can’t… can’t smell you.” 

He wondered if, below the grime of the world outside, you still smelled like lavender. 

“If you’ve got some stuff I can borrow then,” you shrugged before grabbing a card. Your face lit up a bit and you set a card down before fanning out your cards in front of you. “Gin.” 

“Well shit,” he said, looking over your cards. “You win.” 

Day 3 

He left you something to wear outside your door. 

Joel stared at the wall most of the night, telling himself it was because the fucking bullet hole was hurting more than it had been but that was bullshit. It had faded to a dull pain, one that was easily tolerable and certainly not enough to keep him up at night. 

No, instead he stared at the wall that he knew you were just beyond. His mind went over and over your face again and again, logging every single facet so he’d know the next time he was away from you for a while. But that wasn’t enough, either. He wanted to hear you breathing as you slept, wanted to salt away that information, too. He needed it, needed to add it to his collection of you. 

But you were out of reach. Asleep in his brother’s bed, the place where you’d chosen to be all those years ago and now left Joel wondering if you’d ever really left. If you’d ever have chosen Joel at all or if he’d just been a stop gap, a thing keeping you from Tommy all this time. 

It would have made sense, when he considered it. You were always softer and more open than Joel, always more like Tommy in that way. Maybe all he’d ever been was a placeholder. 

He was still awake when he heard you get up in the morning, heard you pause at the door before going to the bathroom and starting the shower. 

He hoped he’d find your hair in his shower later. 

Your hair was down and wet when you emerged, cautiously coming into the kitchen where Joel was making the shittiest excuse for coffee with instant packets that had expired so long ago it seemed like a miracle there was anything usable at all. You were in one of his flannels and sweatpants, the legs cuffed so you wouldn’t trip, your arms crossed tight over yourself. 

“Morning,” you said, glancing at him like he was a predator and you were prey. 

“Morning,” he said. “Feelin’ better?” 

“Yes, actually,” you said. He held a mug out to you and you took it with a slight frown. “Thank you.” 

He just nodded stiffly. 

“If you want to lie down,” you nodded toward the couch. “I can check your dressings again. The good news is, this might be the last time I really need to do it so…” 

Joel shrugged and obeyed, trying not to think about the sense of panic that flared in his chest at the thought of you not touching him anymore. 

It was something Joel had found almost impossible to hold within himself. There was this constant yearning, a pull towards you that was as persistent as gravity and twice as strong. He needed to be close enough to touch you, hold you, protect you. He needed to be close enough to love you. 

But standing in sharp contrast was the cold threat of you. The painful grip of it always there at the edges when he lived too long in the memory of loving you. It was a cruel and constant thing - one of the few constants Joel had found in his life in the QZ. He could let his mind wander to the memory of you asleep in his arms but, linger there too long, and the memory shifted to you pale and bleeding and nearly dead as he ran with your broken body to the clinic. The thought of you laughing all full and free with your hand on his chest would twist into you reaching for him and screaming as you were dragged away by raiders. Hell, spend too long trying to savor the memory of being deep inside you, the look on your face as you came undone under his touch, and his mind pulled him down into what McCarthy had described doing to you years ago. 

All it took was a second, a moment of Joel not protecting you when he should and you could wind up there again. He didn’t know how to live with that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever figured out how to live with loving you at a distance, either. Something that had become harsh and clear in the days the two of you had been locked down in his apartment. 

“This is looking good,” you said, nodding to yourself. Your hands were on his stomach.  “Think I can trust you not to fuck it up from here, don’t need me messing around with it anymore…” 

You got up and held your hand out, helping Joel sit up without pulling too much at his wound. 

“Thanks,” he said. “For making sure I don’t drop dead.” 

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged. “It’s what I do.” 

You gave him a tight smile and went back down the hall, Joel frowning after you for a moment before following. He knocked on the door and he heard you sigh before opening it a few seconds later. 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t…” Joel realized he didn’t really have a good reason to be standing at your door. “Don’t have to keep hidin’ in here. Sure you’re going stir crazy… Just come out here and…” 

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” You asked, brows raised. “We’ve managed to not kill each other so far, I don’t know that we want to push it.” 

“You really think being in the same room is gonna be pushing it?” 

You laughed a little and crossed your arms protectively over yourself. 

“Honestly? Yeah, kind of. I mean, Joel, come on. This is the most time we’ve spent together just the two of us since my first trip outside the QZ and we both know how that ended…” 

“Yeah,” Joel scoffed, his blood getting hot as he saw you standing there, in his brother’s room, next to his brother’s bed. “Ended with you hating me and jumping into bed with my fuckin’ brother…” 

“Jesus Christ, you cannot be serious,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Joel…” 

“What?” He propped an arm against the door frame, holding himself back from stalking into Tommy’s old room like he wanted to. “That not what fuckin’ happened? You all but disappear for months and the next thing I know you’re with him. What was it, hm? Was I just who you settled for because you thought he wasn’t interested? That it?” 

“No!” 

“You just waitin’ for a chance to…” 

“I was only with him because you left!” 

You yelled it at him. You so rarely yelled, usually so measured and soft and kind in damn near everything you did. He went quiet, the silence hanging heavy between you. 

“Do you think I was interested in him before?” You asked, quieter this time. “It was always you, Joel. From the day I met you, it was always you and you’re the one who left me. You’re the one who made me live without you after you made me love you and you don’t get to judge me for what I did to survive you hating me. Yeah, I probably fucked up with Tommy, by having him be anything more than a friend but I was so alone because you made me be so alone! You left me, Joel! I’m sorry I didn’t sit there and wait for you to decide you gave a shit again, I’m sorry I tried to find some semblance of a life without you because losing you was going fucking kill me if I didn’t! So stop holding Tommy against me, stop blaming me for what I had to do to survive losing you, what I’m still doing to survive losing you, because out of all the shitty things that have happened in my life that might just be the worst one!” 

Your eyes were shiny with tears and you were standing closer to him than he’d really realized until that moment and his hands were on your skin before he fully understood what he was doing. All he knew was he needed to touch you, feel you, taste you. 

His lips were on yours and swallowed the small, surprised squeak that slipped from you as he kissed you, mouth hot and needy against you. 

He’d expected you to push him back, to be mad or hurt. Instead, you threw your arms around his neck, body curving and arching into his. Your fingers tangled and knotted in his hair and you pressed yourself so tightly against him that he could feel every line of you through his clothes. 

“Joel,” you pulled away from him ever so slightly, sounding needy and breathless. “We shouldn’t do this…” 

“Why.” 

“We don’t work,” you tugged him closer but kept your lips from him. “We just hurt each other. And you have Tess, I have Derek, it’s not…” 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he cut you off, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

For half a moment, Joel thought you were going to. But you didn’t. Instead, you kissed him again, a sense of urgency on your lips, like you were trying to devour him and he longed for you to swallow him up until there was nothing left. 

He pulled you into the hall, pressing you back against the wall and ignoring the pain at his hip when he did. In that moment, he didn’t care if it killed him. He needed to be inside you, to feel you close and tight around him. Being without you now would be a more painful end than ripping himself open inside, what difference did a bullet hole make? 

Joel pushed his leg from his uninjured side between your knees, shoving them apart and pulling your hips down on his thigh. You ground down against him and moaned into his mouth as you worked your core on his leg. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, pulling ever so slightly away from him, your pupils blown and lips swollen. “Joel, you’re hurt, we shouldn’t…” 

“Don’t care,” he pressed his mouth to your throat, earning him a delicious moan that hung in his ears like syrup on the tongue. “Need you, Baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad…” 

You clutched yourself closer to him, rocking your hips on him as he pulled you back from the wall and maneuvered you to his room, his bed, the place he woke up every day and looked for you, some part of his subconscious knowing that he belonged next to you. 

Your fingers pulled at his shirt, tugging it up and over his head before casting it aside and he nudged you onto the bed, taking his shirt off your body, too. 

“Joel…” you were sitting back on your elbows, the soft fullness of your chest bared to him as he crawled between your legs. “I can’t… I can’t do this and go back to being nothing to you, Joel, I can’t…” 

He looked in your eyes, a pain in them that he found sadly familiar now but it was harsher than he was used to, like you couldn’t keep it contained now so it was laid bare. 

“Oh, Baby,” he breathed, his hands finding your waist. You closed your eyes at his touch, breath catching in your throat. “You’re everything to me, everything. Always have been.” 

His lips moved to your throat, kissing and biting at the tender skin there as he pulled your pants down and off, you lifting your hips to help before putting your hand down his front to take hold of his cock with a moan. Joel moaned, too. He couldn’t help it, your touch was burned into his memory, what he longed for more than anything else and you were touching him. Your thumb grazed the head of his cock and he shuddered at the contact, whole body on fire with aching and desperate want. 

“Need you,” he panted into your lips. “Fuck, need inside you…” 

“Good,” you pressed your body against his and he felt his head graze your soft mound. “Because I need you, too. Never stopped…” 

He kissed you and pushed you into the bed before pressing his cock into your wet heat. You moaned as you took him into yourself, your back arching. You were so warm and tight around him, Joel had to focus to not come from just the feel of your body clutching onto him. 

“Goddamn,” he looked down to where he was buried in you to the root, your fingers sinking into his bicep as you panted for breath. He could feel you breathing, feel your heartbeat from inside you. Why had he wasted so much of his life fighting this when he could have been with you instead? In that moment - when he was buried deep inside of you and he could feel you everywhere, in everything - the fear he’d been so desperately fighting against faded to nothing. There was just you and everything you held, the whole of all his wanting looking up at him in quiet desperation. “Forgot… forgot just how good you feel, holy fuck.” 

“Need you to move,” your nails dug into his arm. “Fuck, please Joel, need you to move, please…” 

He wasn’t about to say no, even as your already tight walls clenched around him. He dropped his head to your chest and pulled out of you almost entirely, until just his head was left within you, before thrusting back in hard and deep. He kissed you again as he did, swallowing your needy sounds. 

Joel tried to hold back, the echo of some pain in his body and his mind, but he was too overwhelmed by you for it to last long. You met his every thrust, working your hips back up against his own as he fucked into you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you wrapped one arm around his shoulders, digging your fingertips into his skin as he felt you getting so tight around him it almost hurt. “Fuck, I’m gonna… Joel, I’m gonna come, I can’t…” 

“Do it,” he slid an arm below your waist and pulled you tight and flush to his body, needing to feel as much of your skin as he possibly could. “Come for me, come for me, Baby, need to feel you, have to feel you, fuck Baby…” 

You whimpered and keened as your tight channel pulsed around his thick cock, squeezing him so tight it was like your body was pulling his own orgasm out of him. 

“I’m comin’ Baby,” he pressed into you deep and hard and you clung to him as he came undone, emptying himself into you. “I’m comin’, fuck, I’m comin’ so fucking hard, Goddamn…” 

He collapsed on top of you, his cock still twitching inside you. He couldn’t remember the last time he came that hard, felt quite that drained when he was done. His head rested on your chest, your heartbeat heavy against his cheek as your fingers trailed through his hair and his cock softened inside you. 

“Fuck,” he was still panting for breath when he pressed a kiss to your breast bone and slid from your body, the pain at his hip suddenly back with a vengeance, as he collapsed beside you. 

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, turning your head to look at him. 

“Baby…” 

“We shouldn’t,” you said, your voice thick. “You’re hurt…” 

“Good think you’re a doctor.” 

You glared at him. 

“We just blew up our entire lives, Joel,” you said quietly, eyes wet. “I’m with Derek and I just fucked you because, what, you loved me once and felt bad letting me get shot in the QZ? This was stupid, this was so…” 

“No,” he shook his head. 

“No?” You raised your eyebrows at him. “No what?” 

“No to all of it,” he said. “I didn’t blow up a damn thing. I just finally was able to admit to myself that there isn’t anything to blow up without you, don’t want any of it without you.” 

“Joel…” 

“Been too scared of it all to admit that,” he pressed on. “But I can’t keep living like that, Baby. I can’t. And I don’t think you can, either.

“We’ve already wasted too much damn time,” he continued. “But I’m not wasting another minute of it, not when I could be with you. Not sayin’ there’s not shit to figure out - pretty sure we got a decade’s worth of it - but don’t ask me to waste more time. Please. Not when it comes to you.” 

Your eyes held his as you reached a hand forward and carefully, delicately, cupped his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone. He brushed his lips against the inside of your wrist, feeling the flutter of your pulse against his mouth. 

“Think we can figure it out?” You asked. You sounded so uncertain, so afraid. 

Joel’s large hand covered your own, holding you against his chin. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “With you, think we can figure anything out.” 

[copperbadge]

Hi! I suspect this question may sound sarcastic or asshole-ish, but I promise it's sincere. And I realize that you're not a doctor, so feel free to ignore or tell me to DMOR, but you seem to have looked into this pretty extensively, so I thought you might have some thoughts. If you take ADHD meds and they work (that is, you don't feel any different but you can actually Do Things, which maybe gives you really positive feelings, which is not how you usually feel about yourself), how do you know that it's actually ADHD and not that normally you're just lazy, but now you took meth and you're hyper and euphoric or whatever it is that it does to non-ADHD people? Asking for a friend.

I...hm, layers to this one. First, thank you for offering a tone note because on the one hand, without it I definitely would have felt a bit hostile, but on the other hand it's very difficult to ask a question like this without sounding like you're trying to get a rise, when you really are just trying to get information. I'd struggle with that too. So thank you! I believe you are in earnest :)

I'm going to try to dig through this by levels rather than go through the question chronologically, that might cause the least amount of confusion and crosstalk. This is going to get long and quite rough and I’m going to address a lot of tender subjects including drug use, addiction, and self-esteem issues, so please read with care for yourselves. 

(I’ve tried to add in bolded topic headers so if you have ADHD and get bored of reading about one thing you can skip to the next!) 

So to start with -- and this isn’t particularly satisfying as an answer, but well...I know I have ADHD because I’ve been evaluated for it, twice now, and the doctors said I did. 

I fit a lot of the classic symptoms on the usual checklists, and while I’m smart enough to game those checklists, I tried to answer as honestly as I could. I wasn’t especially interested in getting Adderall for its intoxicant properties, since I’ve got plenty of access to other, arguably much easier to obtain intoxicants. I also, because I know myself to be someone who enjoys gaming tests for the game’s sake, made sure that at least one of the evaluations had cognitive tests that were harder to fuck with, like tangrams and memory tests and such. On the very top level, I know I’m medicating my ADHD because the tests say I have ADHD. 

But say we don’t trust the tests, or say I’m not as honest as I claim. On the next level down, but still quite near the surface, let's talk about "how do you know you're medicated and not high?" 

I've been in several kinds of altered state -- concussed, runner's high, stoned on weed or opiates, drunk -- and very occasionally I’ve been around people on coke or meth, though I’ve never done those myself. It's usually not difficult to tell that you are not functional on a normal level. It's difficult to describe how to someone who hasn’t experienced it, but for me being in an altered state like that is very evident. The first time I got a runner's high I was absolutely terrified because I knew something was wrong with me cognitively, but not why it had happened. When I woke up concussed, I knew immediately that something was wrong, but it was all I could do to get dressed and go across the street to a clinic, I was so fucked up. If you’re in an altered state and suddenly need to do something complicated, you're aware you would very much like not to be in that state anymore.

I've described Adderall as being like the most functional high you've ever had, but there are differences. If I've had, say, a weed edible, I feel calmer and happier and I'm also aware I'm stupid. I'm impaired and I can tell that. If I've taken an Adderall, I feel calmer and happier but not nearly to the same level, and there's no impairment to my intellect. Part of the calm is that if I think of something I need to do, I can immediately get up and do it, competently -- or I can decide not to. I control my impulses and actions. With street meth -- which I should note is much, much more potent than a low-dose Adderall -- compulsive behavior and lack of control are much more evident. Even if you are getting a lot done while on meth, you’re not necessarily in control of what, or how many times you have to do it to get it right. I'm told this is also often how people who don't have ADHD react to Adderall -- they’re not efficient as much as they are manic, particularly at stronger doses, which is why a) a good test of “do I have ADHD” is “How do I react to Adderall” and b) they start you on a super low dose.

When my psychiatrist and I meet to discuss how the medication is going, he asks me stuff like, do you feel you're in control of yourself? Are you having hallucinations? Do you find yourself craving a dose even when you know it would be detrimental? Do you feel your performance at work has improved, remained the same, or fallen? Do you find yourself able to focus but not able to control what you focus on?

On Adderall I do feel like I'm in control of myself, I do better work, and while I'm still learning to aim that focus, I am capable of doing so. I don't take it after 1pm because I know that'll fuck up my sleep schedule, and truthfully I don't want to. The one time I’ve taken Adderall after 3pm was because I was going to an art museum and I wanted to see how that would alter my experience, being able to focus more fully on the art and the person I was going with. And while I did have a great time, I wouldn’t make a habit of either taking the drug late in the day or taking it purely so I could have An Experience while on it. It’s fine, it’s fun, but it’s not so much fun I’m willing to mess with my sleep over it. 

I also have zero desire to drink (for the best, given alcohol and stimulants are a no-no) and a much decreased desire to get high. I don't need to self-medicate because I am actually medicated. I wasn't doing a shitload of self-medication before, but I was undoubtedly doing some, and more during the pandemic, and I can see how it would have become unhealthy had I continued. Do I still occasionally take an edible in the evening to unwind? Yes. Do I do it at the level I was doing it earlier this year? Fuck no. And I take half the amount I used to when I do, making sure I’m doing it well after any Adderall has worn off.

The question of "medicated or high" can still be a little difficult. What I said above is also what a lot of addicts say. They believe they are in control, they are better when they're on their intoxicant of choice, etc etc. "I can stop anytime I want" is like, the number one way to quietly tell someone that you, in fact, can't. Addiction's simplest definition is "loss of control over behavior" and addicts will do a lot to convince you that they haven't lost control over their behavior. (For more on this, Caustic Soda has a great episode about addiction in which Dr. Rob discusses how addiction and physical dependence differ.) All I can really say in response to this is that Adderall improves my quality of life in ways external to my emotional state -- yes, it helps emotionally, but that’s small potatoes compared to say, weed or opioids (opioids -- now there’s a drug I could get into trouble over) and weed’s way easier to get these days than Adderall. Weed does not, however, help me cook healthful meals and clean the bathroom. Adderall does.

So let's talk about the deepest part of this -- "How do you know you're not just lazy?"

Increasingly we are coming to an understanding of human behavior that informs us that laziness doesn't exist. What we think of as laziness can be caused by a number of factors: failure of executive function, fear of failure, exhaustion, avoidance of the unpleasant. Humans want to experience pleasure, it's a fairly strong primal drive, and we do not experience pleasure purely through inaction. If you should be doing something but aren't, that's not pleasurable, it’s stressful and boring. Lots of people will tell you “I fucking love to sleep, sleep is the best thing” and I’m sure they truly feel that way, but it’s not because they’re lazy, it’s because they have a sleep debt they’re banking against or paying back. There’s a lot of debate about laziness right now, but even as I refer to myself as one of the laziest people on the planet, I know laziness doesn’t exist in the way we conceive of it. When I call myself lazy, I’m using it as shorthand to say “I will find the most low-energy way to achieve something.” Because I am tired, because I have ADHD. (And also because I’m not twenty anymore.)

With exquisite timing, @thebibliosphere has very recently written an essay on this situation called “But You’re So Successful Without It”. Joy can’t take any of the medications available for ADHD, and the essay talks about what it feels like to have ADHD and to burn out because of it, which is where I was about to hit earlier this year. There is no way to call Joy lazy and absolutely no way to hear what she has to say and think that she would choose to go through what she has if she had an alternative. Nobody with any compassion would force her to. 

And here’s how I know I am not actually lazy: like Joy, I want to be doing the thing. If I need to do dishes and laundry so I’m not eating with my hands and wearing smelly clothing, but I’m not doing them, that’s not laziness. I know that my life is less pleasurable, indeed very unpleasant, if I don’t do those things. If I’m still incapable of doing them, it’s not because I Don’t Wanna. It’s because I am too tired, because I don’t feel like I can deal with unpleasant sensations on top of forcing myself to do something, or because my executive function isn’t functioning. If you aren’t doing something you should be doing, there’s usually a reason beyond “I’m just lazy” and it’s helpful, in breaking out of the mindset of “I’m a lazy (and therefore bad) person”, to ask yourself why. 

If there’s a reason you’re not doing it, even if that reason is simply “I’m so tired”, then you’re not lazy. You’re tired. If it’s because it’s unpleasant, then you’re not lazy, you’re avoiding pain. If you want to and just simply can’t, you’re dealing with a loss of executive function. 

Sometimes there are nonmedical workarounds. I wear gloves to do the dishes, I bought a cordless stick vac so my back wouldn’t hurt because I was constantly holding the vacuum cord in one hand, I blast podcasts when I’m doing something boring so my mind is elsewhere. I used to run at 3am because at any other time I was too fucking tired and I hate being out in public around strangers.

But, well, the best workaround for wonky executive function for me is Adderall. It’s not for everyone, it’s not an option for some, but for me it is one more tool -- admittedly a pretty spectacular one -- to manage a difficult life. 

All that said, the idea of being a Bad Person for Not Doing A Thing is a knot that it takes a long time to unpick. It is very freeing, and certainly less stressful, to both acknowledge that some things are beyond us, and receive help that brings them back into the realm of our ability to do. But it’s a process, and nobody can hustle anyone down that path faster than they are capable of going. So, all I can do is offer my personal experience. 

Even if this shit does kill me eventually, I’d rather have thirty more years where I am the person I’ve been in the last two months, than have fifty more years where I am the person I was in 2021. And even if I eventually have to go off it, what I’ve learned will help me not to hurt myself for something beyond my control. 

[rozyowo]

One bed trope w sampo koski ❓❗❗❗

Fem!reader

"...I think i made a mistake while booking a room for both of us." You said awkwardly while looking at the bed. "Are you sure it was a 'mistake'? i feel like you did this on purpose..~" Sampo immediately responded. And well, soon earned a slap to the back of his head. "Oh for God's sake Sampo! Stop trying to make everything seem romantic, are you really that bad at trying to find a partner that you would rather make embarrassing statements and jokes?" You started pinching the bridge of your nose due to annoyance. Out of everyone, this situation really had to happen with Sampo. I swear to the aeons he's literally a curse for me.

"Ouch r/n... That hurts! You've shattered Sampo's fragile heart.." He said dramatically, putting on a sad face to try and make r/n feel guilty. But she wasn't having it. "And i hope that fragile little heart of yours stay shattered for the rest of your life." Was the last thing r/n said before leaving the room to book another room for both of them THAT actually has two beds instead of one.

But Sampo, the usual pest and nuisance he is decided to pull r/n back into the room, just great. "Wait..! Im sure the receptionist is busy taking care of other matters. For now, why dont you just relax yourself— or do anything that doesn't make you destroy everything near you..?" Sampo put on an awkward smile, trying to convince her. His tone was so rushed that she barely understood some part, but you get his point. "Whatever, and if you dare to try anything funny... I'll tell Natasha about your behavior, not only that— you'll also be taking a trip to her clinic." Sampo slightly shivered when you mentioned Natasha. The last thing he want is getting another long lecture from the nurse. "Alright— alright pal..."

....

..

.

"Sampo, any ideas on who'll sleep on the bed and the floor....?"

"You get the bed, i wouldn't want my dear friend catching a cold because of the floor now do i?"

"...Weird but thanks."

After minutes of silence, you decided to lay down on the left side of the bed, tired from what happened earlier, before earlier, AND now. While trying to adjust comfortably, the bed sinked even more and you opened your eyes, immediately looking to your right. "Sampo what the hell?! I THOUGHT we agreed on me sleeping on the bed!" You tried to move away from him but you ended up falling off the bed. Making Sampo laugh. After ten seconds of struggling, you managed to stand up. "You didn't say where i would sleep though.. So i figured out that i could choose on where." He said, trying to sound smart. "Oh, and before you tell me to get off the bed.. It's too late for that my dear friend! So you either sleep on the floor... Or beside me if you prefer to be warm and not freeze to death.." Sampo grinned at the poor frustrated woman before turning around to sleep, leaving you frustrated. "fine. But remember what i said earlier, do anything funny and—" "Alright! Alright.. I already know." Sampo really cut you off.. But you let it slide since you're too tired to even respond. when you had the courage to finally lay down the bed, sampo mumbled something under his breathe. But you didn't dare to bother asking him anymore because you're already drifting to sleep.

Although you didn't know that sampo was still wide awake... Playing with your hair while giggling quietly as if they just got accepted by their crush, which is you. <3

i didn't proofread so don't make fun of me if there's grammar or spelling error >:(

+i wrote this while it was 3am

( please this is so old get out)

[symphonic-scream]

Okay hear me out

Persona 5 Stardew Valley au

So we've got the animal seller, Haru, who's parents divorced when she was young. She spent her teen years in the city with her father, but once an adult she decided to live with her mom, and has fallen in love with country life

Makoto has lived in town her whole life. Her older sister left to have a fancy city job, and thinks Makoto is wasting her talents and smarts by staying to keep up the family tradition. Makoto knows someone has to protect the town, and gladly draws her sword to do so. She trains by cutting down trees for the local artist and for town projects

Ryuji is a former golden child. He was going to be a star athlete, but an accident took it from him. He's not really doing anything at the moment, just working on loving life again. His Ma is the bus driver

Shiho moved to town after a similar incident to Ryuji, only she puts all she is into work, to have a place so when they're adults, her girlfriend can leave her family behind so they can be together. She only recently took over the carpentry business from her mentor, and her girlfriend Ann helped expand the business to include furniture and house decor, with design input

The pub in town in Leblanc. While the owner, Sojiro, specializes in coffee, he'll accept local foods to make dishes by request of the townspeople. His daughter Futaba is a recovering shut in, and his wife Wakaba runs the town clinic, with her med student Tae

Yusuke appeared one day, having sold all he had to find a font of inspiration. He fell for the valley, and at first lived in a tent near the mountain. Makoto, who nearly mistook him for a monster, invited him to stay on her family's property. He mostly paints, but does sculptures for order from the nearby city to pay his share of living costs

The town blacksmith is named Munehisa Iwai. He's the broody type, but cares for his son a whole lot. He's just, not good at showing it. He often requests things his kid would like

The town store used to belong to an older man, but he passed it on to a wayward boy and his younger brother, both whom he met by chance. The boys, then in foster care, lived with him until he became too old and ill go run the store. Akira and young Morgana still keep the Velvet Room running, even if old man Igor is living in Hospice

And, the mayor, Lavenza. She's very new to the position, which used to be Igor's. She's hoping to improve the town a lot, and is caring for her younger twin sisters

A strange man lives on the beach, with a strange talent for fishing. Goro doesn't talk about who he was before he moved there. It's behind him.

The library is run by Hifumi, who wants to reopen the museum portion after her parents sold the artifacts to keep it from closing. Hifumi thinks a museum would inspire tourists to donate,

And, finally, our farmer.

Sumire feels lost. Her sister died, her parents can't speak to her without crying, and she feels, trapped, so she impulsively quits her profession. She finds a letter from her grandfather, with the deed to a farm. Needing a reset, she leaves the city and life behind to live in a small town in the valley, where no one knows her, or her sister.

To clear things up, Makoto and Ryuji both grew up in town, have been friends the whole time. Futaba has been in town since she was 6, Hifumi was born there, and Akira and Morgana have been there since they were 14 and 6, now about 21 and 13. Shiho and Ann were in Ryuji's class at school, since they had to travel to a nearby city for school. Haru moved there when she was 18, Yusuke and Goro appeared around 19-20.

Anyways. Talk to me about this

(I'm open to any ships for it pretty much, but I will say I have Okujima in it.)

[theflyindutchwoman]

How do you think the writers will take Chenford moving forward? I know exploring long-term UC for Lucy and how that will impact Chenford's relationship is a possibility, but what do you think about other things like proposal, marriage and kids? Especially kids, since that is something Tim and Lucy have talked about numerous times.

I have this thought that pregnancy storyline was always written mainly due to logistics instead of what the writers wanted in originally. This mainly stems from the fact that the few times they have pregnancy in the show were because the actresses that played Angela Lopez and Nyla Harper were pregnant themselves and thus pregnancy was written in the storyline, so it kinda makes me think Tim and Lucy having kids may not be something we will see in the series. What do you think?

Ooh speculation time… This might be an unpopular opinion, but I agree, I don't see Lucy and Tim having a baby in the near future, at least not if the writers have a say in it.

As you mentioned, these storylines have been written to accommodate the actresses' real life pregnancies (not sure for Angela's second baby). They didn't get to properly prepare in advance, hence the three unplanned pregnancies plotlines. And I think that's partially the reason why Tim and Lucy have been speaking about kids so much : the writers want to do with them what they didn't get to do with the other couples. We didn't see the conversation, the planning… None of that. They have this opportunity here. Even better, Lucy and Tim had both already their own arc about this topic : her with the fertility clinic and him with having his dream of being a father being dashed repeatedly. And it's something they've discussed together in the past, so it makes sense that they would bring it up from time to time. But I don't think that means they are planning babies just yet. Ideally, Lucy would first get settled in her career - same with Tim for that matter. Otherwise, it would simply be a repeat of Angela's struggles when she got pregnant just as she was becoming a detective. I also wonder whether they're going to reopen the fertility clinic arc or not… In the meantime, having them coach Little League or spend a day with their Make-A-Dream kid is actually a smart way to give us some insights on what kind of parents they could be, without having to introduce a child just quite yet. We may get to see them as parents one day, I'm not ruling it out completely, but it will depend on how many more seasons we get.

If I had to venture a guess, I'd say that the first order of business would be to resolve the undercover/promotion storyline for Lucy. The writers have been teasing this arc all season long, so it's time to move forward. I don't mean that Lucy necessarily has to take a final decision regarding undercover, just that she needs to get to the next stage of her career. Undercover aside, Tim already mentioned that their scheduling hours could present an issue once she makes detective, that they might spend less time together. So it would be interesting to delve a little into that, see how they make it work… which could, in turn, lead to a conversation about moving in together and/or buying a house. After all, that's the discussion that set the wheels in motion and brought Tim and Lucy together. So that could be a full-circle moment. And it could pave the way for the next step : proposal.

Now, I don't think we will see one next season : with S6 shortened, it might be tricky. I know it might also seem too soon, but these two are already serious and committed, they know what they want and they know the other very well. Besides, so far, all the main couples got engaged relatively fast : Wesley proposed to Angela after 6-9 months of dating, Nyla and James got married after a few months (though in all fairness, it was precipitated by the pregnancy) and Nolan was ready to ask Bailey after dating her for like 8 episodes?! There's clearly a pattern here. But again, with a shorter season and a wedding already planned, the writers might want to keep that for later… All in all, it will really depend on how short this season will be (we stand with WGA/SAG-AFTRA in this house) and whether they can get a renewal for s7.

[moorishflower]

If you have anything more to share, I'd love to hear more about Veterinarian! Hob treating lord of cats Dream! :)

I can't START this now not for real for real because there's other stuff I want to finish first BUT...

"Are you going to do the morning huddle?"

Hob doesn't lift his head from his desk. He ought to. He knows. It's smart to go over the surgeries every morning -- not least because Cori gets testy if they don't -- and there are doubtless a few pets checking in for admits today, he's fairly certain that one of them needs a glucose curve, and the last time the owner hadn't brought the dog's bloody insulin...

"I'm coming," Hob says, and proceeds not to move at all, his head pounding miserably. Lucienne lingers in the door to his office as the lights of The New Vet are turned on, one by one. He can see the cars pulling into the lot through his window, and feels, to his horror, a weak pulse of anger, followed near immediately by shame. Not allowed, he scolds himself. You aren't allowed to get burnout. Everyone else is tired, too, and look at how hard they're working. They've all got problems, you just need to hike up your pants and deal.

"Guenevere broke up with me," he says, and Lucienne exhales sharply. "Yesterday."

"At the..."

"Yeah, at the bloody Ren Faire."

"Oh, Hob," she says, and Hob raises a hand to forestall the tide of comforting words that are no doubt coming.

"It's fine," he says, even though it really, really isn't. The fucking Ren Faire. When he'd told her how much he hated the things, how inaccurate they are, how if she wanted a real experience she ought to come with him to an SCA meeting, and really, the people of the Shire of Thamesreach are good, do their own weaving and dying and metallurgy, and then Guen had...

Had dumped him. Right there in front of the jousting ring. And Hob's old enough and wise enough to recognize when he's had a hand in his own destruction, but still.

It's been sixteen years since Eleanor passed. Thirteen since Robyn followed her. And he'd been hoping...he'd been hoping that some part of him might be healed enough for some kind of love. Some kind of closeness. But apparently not. The pit in him, where his heart used to be, is still blackened and smoldering as ever. You're just a lot, Guen had told him, her hands fluttering like startled birds. You've got a lot on your mind, all the time, and you've got a lot going on at work, and you've got a lot to worry about, and it just doesn't end, does it? You being a lot? Well, it's too much for me to deal with, Robbie. I can't fix you, and you won't fix yourself, and I'm done being second in someone's life.

And then she'd walked away, and Hob had gone to the Ye Olde Meadehall tent and proceeded to drink nearly his body weight in surprisingly good-quality mead, so much that he'd needed to call a cab home. His car is still parked at the lot. He needs to go and get it today, unless he wants to add a ticket onto the stack of things gone wrong in his life.

Out in the lobby, Thessaly calls out, "Door's open!" And nearly as soon as she speaks, the reception phone begins to trill. Monday at The New Vet. Everyone clamoring to get in on account of the crises that happened over the weekend. Hob gingerly heaves himself off his desk, rubbing the ribbed marks of pens that have pressed into his cheek.

"It's fine," he says again, and Lucienne smiles hesitantly at him. He tries to smile back, and thinks he manages to fall somewhere around 'wan, but willing.' "Really. We weren't...compatible. Anyways. You're assigned to me today, I think?" Lucienne nods, and Hob picks himself up, and cracks his back, and tries to shake away that brief little flash of anger. That horrifically tempting darkness, like a worm nestled tight and cozy in the brain.

It'd be easy to let it eat him alive, he thinks, as he follows his tech into the back of the clinic. It'd be easy to think of this as a job instead of a calling. He's known vets like that, who get into things like ortho surgery for the money and little else. He's not one of them. He won't be one of them. He can't move on from his dead wife and child, and he can't perform surgery without his hands shaking and his heart crawling out of his throat, and he can't stomach the sight of HBCs anymore, but he's. Managing. He's healing. It's taking longer than he'd like, but that's just the way life is. And life is glorious. He's got staff who appreciate him and support him, he's got his own clinic that's bearing its own weight and not sinking him into debt with each passing year, he'd found a competent surgeon to take his place in the OR, and life is grand.

And you're alone, that awful worm in him whispers. Because something in you broke when Eleanor died, and then it broke again when you failed Robyn, and now it can't ever be fixed. You're not worth the time and effort of fixing.

Hob shakes his head. He's alone. So what. He has the clinic. He has his techs. There's always going to be work to do. No shortage of pets in London, and everyone needing their shots, their checkups, their emergency visits.

Life is rich and varied and ever-changing, and if sometimes the only thing keeping him going is thinking about what will happen to The New Vet if he's gone, well. That's not depression, that's just the truth.

"Who's first?" he asks, and lets the chaotic rhythm of the clinic settle into him, and wipe all other thoughts of broken hearts and dead loves from his mind.

[void-writing]

really enjoying episode 4 of Scarlet Hollow and i want to put together some miscellaneous thoughts about my experiences so far

Spoilers to follow, so I’ll put it under a cut :)

Sybil and the Cat

As much as it pains me, I do not trust Sybil. She was setting off so many alarms for me this chapter during the tea meeting. Like, she has fucking castor beans in her tea room--which if you picked the Book Smart trait are revealed to be full of ricin aka: one of the deadliest poisons ever that was used by KGB to carry out stealth assassinations because you only need a tiny dose for it to be lethal and there is no antidote. And when we see it again in the clinic’s medicine room, we recognize it but somehow we can’t remember where we saw it even though we were just at Sybil’s tea room and when we ask Dr. Kelly how she settled on using ricin to subdue Reese’s...condition...we mysteriously don’t hear who Dr. Kelly went to for it. I 100% believe that Kelly got it from Sybil because she claimed she had an “errand” to run on Main Street (aka, where the General Store is) when Reese distracted her.

Also, Sybil is definitely doing something to Kaneeka. There is something in that tea that makes her more subjective to Sybil’s influence because when we came into the General Store, Kaneeka went to her room way too easily, and there’s a scene where we manage to get Kaneeka out of her room to come with us to the clinic, but Sybil stops us and insists Kaneeka isn’t well despite her momentary insistence to the contrary. And then...she just changes her mind and we have to go alone. And if you picked the Mystical trait, you specifically note that something is encroaching on your mind and trying to make you agree with Sybil that Kaneeka should rest.

And I haven’t even touched on the tea reading itself because something I find highly suspicious is the notion of the “cat” figure, the “hidden enemy.” There’s an option to pose the question that Sybil is the cat but it’s immediately shot down. You don’t even voice it. It just tells you “there’s no way Sybil is the cat. She’s helping you. Why would she warn you about the cat if she’s the cat. Pick someone else.” Also, the time I picked Tabitha as my suspect, Sybil was strangely insistent on encouraging that conjecture. It’s like she’s trying to subtly drive a wedge between us and Tabitha, which makes me concerned because Tabitha at least seems to value Sybil’s council and got some mysterious “tea” from her in episode 3 (which I think is either for the Scarlet’s mysterious prisoner or for us, and I’m fairly sure that it’s meant to subdue whoever drinks it somehow). Plus, I think it would be a classic fake out if Sybil is this hidden enemy because even without the tea forcing us to not suspect Sybil, it’s a lot like how in murder mystery shows, sometimes the one who reports the crime is the one who committed it in order to throw suspicion off them. Because why would they raise the alarm if they were the culprit?

And honestly, her tea reading itself is kind of sus too. If you have Mystical as a trait, you can ask to see the tea leaves yourself and...it’s just kind of a mess of leaf shreds. Sybil claims that tea reading is something that takes years to learn, but I’d think that with the Mystical trait, we’d be able to pick up something. But nothing flags and we hand it back. Plus, the reading doesn’t...tell us anything new aside from this “hidden enemy.” It’s supposedly just a mess of omens of ill fortune and doom. Which we already know from the Ditchlings. And it doesn’t point us to any useful direction. Other than the clinic and seeking out more of the carvings. She says it’s to arm yourself with knowledge (and honestly, I do find that to be a kernel of sound advice) but we don’t know much about the carvings aside from 1) only Scarlets feel the pull and see visions from them, usually of some dark secret truth, 2) people keep dying near or even on them, 3) a Witch told Charles Shaw Junior to seek them out for currently unknown reasons, only to get whammied by Eddie--who seemingly was in some kind of involuntary trance--as soon as he finds it, 4) we keep passing out and having seizures when we see them for the first time, and 5) something bad happens whenever we see them the first time (the mine collapsed, Charles Junior’s whole puppet show, Reese...). It feels like we’re being...primed for something. Prepared. And it feels like we’re being prepared as a sacrificial offering somehow to strengthen whatever curse/mystic whatever that has its hold on the town.

We get some backstory from Sybil about both herself and our mother, but Sybil was vague about herself. She only mentioned that her family has been in the Holler for as long--if not longer--than the Scarlets. So, maybe she’s a descendant of The Witch from Charlie’s haunting. The one that likely has “ulterior motives” according to the Mystic Trait. Sybil also seems quite insistent on downplaying the extent of her power and knowledge and denying being a witch when asked. All in all, Sybil seems very insistent on pushing the “innocent old lady” image. She also dropped some Scarlet lore too. Apparently our maternal grandmother died in childbirth due to being too young to be giving birth, let alone birthing twins. All the husbands after Edwardine’s time are still unknown, Sybil writing them off as flings or just not being terribly remarkable. I’ll talk more on my thoughts about this later.

In summary, Sybil is sus. I think she knows more than she’s letting on. She’s doing something to Kaneeka (Miles also looked pissed for some reason during the scene where Sybil stops us from taking Kaneeka with us to the clinic. Whether his rage is on Kaneeka’s behalf or directed at Kaneeka, I don’t know) and was almost certainly the one supplying Dr. Kelly with castor beans. There was something in that tea that we drank that makes us less suspicious of Sybil (maybe it’s part of the “preparation” I’m theorizing is going on. After all, we were given the same tea when we first arrived in Scarlet Hollow...). I think she’s trying to throw suspicion off of herself by warning us about the “hidden enemy” herself. Tabitha trusts her but tried to subtly drive us to suspect Tabitha of being an enemy.

Reese and Doctor Kelly

First of all, Dr. Kelly definitely likes kids better than...most people. If you don’t have the Keen Eye trait, Rosalina loses a leg and when we go to visit Oscar to check in and see if he’s seen Stella, Dr. Kelly is there giving Rosalina shots and checking up on her. During this, Dr. Kelly is downright kind and gentle until she notices us and she turns into the Ice Queen Doc that we saw last episode. Oscar told Dr. Kelly everything that happened the night before and she...seems to believe him, but if we try to warn her about the carving in the clinic and ask to see it, she gets defensive rather than dismissive.

Reese might be an Anti-Christ. I mean...the biggest reason I think that is that Dr. Kelly was having “romantic” sleep paralysis dreams for months and suddenly got pregnant despite not seeing anyone romantically. There’s also the fact that Reese has a downright supernatural healing factor, which is definitely how he’s survived consuming regular doses of one of the most deadly poisons on Earth (and also getting shot by Tabitha if you call her) and why he seems...strangely fixated and enthused by the idea of human suffering and cosmic horror. Like...those on their own are fine. I get it. It’s fascinating to explore in art and media, but...Reese seemed to be talking about people experiencing it in real life during the build up to his transformation. Idk. During that, it didn��t feel like he was talking about the horror movie that was on.

Reese has encountered Wayne before. He didn’t know his name, so he didn’t make the connection to Wayne as our stalker until we name him. Wayne knows that Reese is something other and dangerous, but didn’t know what until the fight broke out. I want to talk more about Wayne, but I’ll leave that for later. Also, Reese was absolutely convinced that Wayne hated him and meant to hurt him (I mean...I don’t think he was necessarily wrong in that tbh).

Dr. Kelly has been prepping for the eventuality that Reese will no longer listen to her and take his “medicine.” There’s an outcome where Reese gets locked away in Dr. Kelly’s safe room (which is the outcome I favored most since I don’t want to kill Reese but I also don’t want to let him kill Dr. Kelly). And the ricin was actually Dr. Kelly’s second option. She switched to it when she had to stop ordering official meds because what she was ordering was poisonous and people would get suspicious. Also, what she was giving Reese wasn’t working anymore anyway. His body adapted. So I think the poison was meant to keep Reese’s powers busy. If they’re focused on healing the damage the ricin does, then he won’t have enough to spare to Hulk out. And even the ricin seemed to be losing effect too because it only took a couple hours for Reese’s powers to rebound (he did carry us from the carving, up and down several flights of stairs despite being a walking skeleton, which is sus on its own but extra sus if you have the Powerful Build trait, which makes you even heavier. I think).

Reese can turn his paintings into minions. With the Mystical Trait, you’re able to sense in episode 3 that something dark lingers in those paintings in a much more literal sense and Reese talks about feelings building up within him that he releaves by putting them into the paintings. Guess it was a lot more literal than we thought.

Reese also got...strangely defensive of us when Wayne shows up. I haven’t done anything to support or oppose him yet, but I do find it a bit odd. I mean, he’d only met us for like an hour tops the day before. Maybe it was just because we were there and depending on how the medicine room goes (and what traits you picked), we alerted him to the Doc’s “true” intentions with him and his “medicine.” But he doesn’t seem to exhibit the same feelings towards his life-long friends. Not that they came up during the whole *gestures vaguely* but I’d think that if he was feeling so under threat that he’d mention, even off-handedly, staying with Kaneeka or Stella. I don’t quite know what to make of it yet, but it felt odd to me.

Dr. Kelly was also looking over death records of Scarlets in her office. We have the option to snoop at them (which I’ve always taken so far because I love me some lore) and we get some...interesting bits of info. That, I’ll talk more on later, but I find it interesting that she’s looking at those especially since in episode 3, Dr. Kelly mentioned that Scarlets seem to be...averse to hospital and doctor visits. I wonder what she was looking for in those.

The Carvings

There’s a chance of being able to examine the second carving (which I will be calling the Goat carving for simplicity’s sake) if Rosalina didn’t lose a leg and we placate Charlie’s spirit. If you have Book Smart, you notice that the carving’s style is Greeco-Roman, the weathering points to it being from a temple, and that the carving from the mine (which will henceforth be called the Chain carving) were made by the same artist and likely came from the same place.

They seem to lose their magnetism on us after we encounter them the first time.

The carvings also seem to be in sites of death. The Chain carving was in the depths of the condemned Shaw Mine where miner’s died due to rotted beams (and if you have the Mystic trait, you get extra scenes from these carvings. In the Chain carving, you see an argument between Charles Shaw Senior and Enoch Scarlet, where Charles Senior confronts Enoch about using subpar wood in the mines and Enoch writes him off. I don’t remember if you get an extra scene in the Goat carving, but the third one also gives us a vision of Enoch doing something dubious. So it seems that whatever’s going on in the Holler might have started with him). Charles Shaw Junior freaking died on one, murdered by a Scarlet. And the third one was in a “clean air” clinic that was turned into a proper doctor’s office after the mine collapse to treat the survivors. And I doubt all of them survived.

And the third one...I’m calling it the Chimera carving because there was...a lot going on visually in that one, we see an injured man in a hospital bed, presumably Theodore Scarlet, Enoch’s brother and our great uncle who supposedly died in the Shaw mine collapse. Enoch assures Theodore(?), who says the doctors told him he’ll never walk again, that he’s sorted this out by talking to The Witch. Theodore doesn’t seem to know who Enoch is talking about, responding with “A...witch?” rather than “The Witch” like Enoch. I’m guessing she’s the same Witch from Charles Junior’s memories, but Enoch claims that Theodore doesn’t have to worry about his legs or anything again and that he’ll be taking him home by the end of the week. If you have the Mystic trait, you get an extra scene of Enoch in the doctor’s office, telling the doctor that the man claiming to be Theodore isn’t his brother and insisting that he died in the mine collapse. I’m not sure who Enoch was lying to, but I think it was most likely that Enoch lied to the doctor and declared Theodore dead when he wasn’t and then hiding him in the estate. Though, I think it would have been just as likely that Enoch killed this guy.

The symbolism of the carvings to me points to the themes of cycles and sacrifice. The arms circled in chains, each swinging some kind of improvised chain flail(?). The goat’s head, surrounded by three wolves (and the fact that the Shaws had a lot of goat symbolism during Charlie’s haunting. Possibly pointing to how the Shaws were scapegoats for the Scarlets and potentially a sacrificial goat as well). The Chimera carving involves seven (mostly) alternating figures or humanoids and animals, all bound together by a long, tangled snake. The animals are a lion, a goat, a sheep, and possibly either a cow or a pig (I can’t tell). The humanoids all have something fantastical about them. One man has a crown and long ears (kind of gives me Midas vibes with his scepter and almost donkey-like ears), the man opposite to him has horns and similarly pointed ears, and the last figure is fairly ambiguous gender-wise and has no visible ears (they actually look fairly normal, but something about their appearance feels fae-like to me for some reason) but the snake’s head is hovering over their shoulder, its tongue flicking out. The goat and pig or cow remind me of a Roman suovetaurila, a very important type of sacrifice, usually made to Mars (one of their gods of war) to bless and purify land. There’s two types, but the biggest and most important involves a goat, which we’ve seen three times in the story so far, so I’m more keen on referencing that one (...though now that I think of it, “ram” also could mean a male sheep, which is more likely considering the word “suovetaurilia is literally the Latin words for pig, sheep, and bull smushed together). I don’t know, this one is less clear symbolically, but we might not have enough info yet.

Scarlet Lore

So, we get a fairly hefty amount of Scarlet lore this chapter. And Alexandra’s doll moves! Of course, if you picked Keen Eye, you pick up on a bloody, pussy residue that we’ve come to associate with Wayne, so someone’s been rooting through the closet in our absence. Creepy.

Tabitha brought a goat into the greenhouse for some reason. Again, I’m thinking for sacrificial purposes, but even with Talk with Animals, the goat (creatively named “Goat”) doesn’t know much either. So, a mystery for another day, I guess.

Our mother, Vivian apparently was terrified over being pregnant according to Sybil (who I am still sus of and will be taking everything see says with a Dead Sea’s worth of salt from now on). Understandable fear given that we were apparently conceived out of wedlock with a still unknown father and Vivian’s mother--our grandmother--died in childbirth. But I don’t know. There’s definitely more to this. Maybe Vivian knew that we’d be destined for something horrible and left the Holler with us to try and prevent it? Not enough info yet, but I’m definitely keeping that in the back of my mind. God. What if Vivian got pregnant the same way Dr. Kelly did? I mean, we have the option to have some legit magic powers (the Talk with Animals and Mystic traits), and since Edwardine, the paternal lineage of the Scarlets has been strangely obscured and surprisingly matriarchal. If I’m remembering right, every descendant of the Scarlets since Edwardine--Enoch’s daughter--has been female, which is an interesting coincidence that--for me, at least--would be quite innocent in any other setting. Fuck. What if this is a Hell Bride situation? Like, Enoch promised a female Scarlet to some otherworldly force through the Witch in exchange for bettering Theodore’s condition (if Enoch actually cared for his brother) or to ensure that the Scarlet family continues to hold power over the Holler and everyone in it (and maybe that’s why no one seems to be able to leave. At least...not for long anyway).

We have an opportunity during our journey into the clinic’s morgue to see Pearlanne herself and...uh...she’s definitely a dead body. Though, I don’t think she’s been embalmed. I’m not an expert in funerary practices and I know embalming isn’t everyone’s preference but it does seem to be the standard and I find it...odd that it doesn’t seem like her body’s been embalmed at all with her funeral in three days. I don’t know. I’m just highly suspicious of literally everything right now.

We get to see some death records and they have some interesting tidbits in them.

Enoch and Alexandra (Edwardine’s first daughter) both died on the exact same day. Well. Enoch died for sure. Due to a supposed “hiking accident” where he fell off a cliff. Alexandra, meanwhile, just straight up vanished and was declared dead by Edwardine. While I have no idea what could have been up with Alexandra disappearing, I definitely think Edwardine murdered Enoch as retribution for whatever mystic forces he tampered with that compelled her to murder Charlie. After all, Charlie did specifically mention that whatever was going on with those carvings, Enoch was responsible.

Edwardine’s child with Charlie was supposedly stillborn. A boy, named Andrew Charles (kind of sweet of Edwardine to give the boy his father’s name for a middle name). There was no doctor and it was a home birth, so we only have Edwardine’s word to go on. I definitely think there was more to this. What, I don’t know yet.

Theodore, our great uncle who died in the Shaw mine (supposedly), was declared dead by Enoch, his younger brother, who fully took over the mines after he died. Supposedly. Is it possible Enoch murdered his brother to take the mine and estate and town for himself? I wouldn’t rule it out yet, but Enoch is hella sus.

Edwardine had two brothers who died in Normandy during WWII, each within a day of each other. We kind of already knew that from episode 3, but the confirmation of death records is interesting.

Edwardine is probably the longest living Scarlet in...a long time, and possibly ever. She lived to be almost 90. Pearlanne was second longest-living and both seem to have passed from old people illnesses (sleep apnea and heart disease).

Edwardine raised Pearlanne and Vivian in place of her daughter, Mary-Belle (the woman who’s portrait hangs in our room. Actually, I think we’re in her room, so she has her missing, probably dead sister’s doll in her closet...). And according to Sybil, our mother was something of an emotional punching bag for the rest of the family.

As far as I remember right now, only Edwardine and Pearlanne lived past thirty.

Enoch made some kind of deal, either for his own benefit or for the sake of his brother. Don’t know which yet, if these are even the only two options. Enoch seems like a very two-faced, self-serving bastard to me so far, but we’ll see.

Wayne

Oh boy...if I didn’t think he was something supernatural before, I do now. Not even counting that Wayne knew Reese was something eldritch and other, he fought Reese and managed to repeatedly find his way into places taken over by entities trying to keep him out. Also, there’s something about his yellow pus-goo that harmed Reese on contact. I want to know so badly what Wayne is. My current tentative theory is that if Reese is something demonic, what if Wayne is something angelic? If Wayne’s the one that pulls everyone out of Charlie’s haunting, Sybil hints that us bending to Charlie’s demands would “go against everything he is.” A curious phrase, for sure. Sybil seems to be convinced that Wayne is harmless, though again, I’m suspicious of Sybil, but Wayne seems to be acting as like...a musty, spooky guardian angel. So far, he’s been nothing but helpful to us, if not blatantly protective.

We actually saw quite a bit of Wayne this episode. He followed us to the Church and I saw him lurking by the clinic as we approached it. To my knowledge, this is the first time we see Wayne watching us from afar since episode 2 if we stayed at the Estate following the events of episode 1.

Most importantly, if we don’t decide to pursue the romantic subplot with Stella, Wayne walks us back to the estate and we get the opportunity to ask him some questions. Naturally, he’s vague about a lot of things, but he’s following us specifically because “[we’re] special” and when we ask why he answers “you just are.” Annoying, but mildly informative in the sense that there is something inherent to us specifically that is unique, even amongst our kin, limited though they are. Wayne also says that we’re bonded to him in some way. He doesn’t elaborate, but he does imply that he will stand by us for...whatever’s coming.

This mysterious “bond” is a bit suspect to me and I’m curious about what that exactly means (personally, I hope it’s not romantic...).

He also encourages us to snoop around the estate when Tabitha is out and busy with the strike. He might want us to find something there. Perhaps the mysterious imprisoned entity? Perhaps something else.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Between Narcissism and Altruism

Stephen Jay Morris

3/28/2024

©Scientific Morality

            The voices in my head clutter up the canyons of my mind. “Don’t be a victim!” “Man up!” “Do it yourself!” “Get off my lawn!” “What are you looking at?” “Be a man!” “Ring, ring on the telephone!” “Monday is the deadline!” “Don’t be so selfish!” “You’ve got to think about yourself sometimes!” “Oh! My Bob!” Shut the fuck up! SHUT UP!

            I do care. I really do. When women and children are starving to death, being maimed, and killed by weapons of war, and you express that emotion, most conservatives say, “Why don’t you adopt them and have them sleep in your garage!” Most conservatives are narcissists. Certain political ideologies attract those with personality disorders. Sociopaths make personal liberty into malignant selfishness. That sentiment ranges from libertarians to Paleo-conservatives: Me first, my family second, and my country on third base.

            Oh, those on the left, on the other hand, are neurotic, clinically depressed, anal retentive, and emotionally wrecked. At one point, some smart-ass yells out, “The whole world is fucked up!” To which I reply, “No. Just you.”

            You know what is acceptable? To hate people and despise the world. But if you declare, “I hate the Irish!”—Watch out! You’re a bigot! If you hate the world, you are seen as a prophet from God. Is it acceptable to hate all except for one group of people? If you hate all countries, then you are an Anarchist terrorist. However, if you love America, but hate all other countries, you are a Patriot!

So, let’s review: Collective hatred is just fine. Specific hatred for a particular race is unacceptable. Why is that? I’ll tell you, boobie: On the left, there is the belief of international solidarity. On the right, it’s tribalism. Stick to your own kind.

            Now the main problem with the right is this gigantic contradiction: Individualism versus National pride. You remember that lunatic, Ayn Rand? Not only was she an atheist, but she believed that the rights of the individual triumphed over loyalty to their country. AKA: dying for your country is a sucker’s game. So, do you put your personal liberty over loyalty to your country? According to Ayn Rand, you put yourself over the state.

            Where do I stand politically? Does it matter? I realized, over the years, that I am not special. I try my best to be a good person. Now, in America, selfish people outnumber the good. You need a magnifying glass to find them. Morality does not come from a compass; it comes from the conjunction of your left brain and your right brain. Once you fine tune it, then you are in business.

            When I was young, my priority was to save the Vietnamese people from the American bombers destroying their homeland. Every night, the news gave up the death tolls while we ate our T.V. dinners. So, we protested and got arrested. It was better than going to the high school football game! I think and feel that we did the right thing.

            Now, Israel’s Likud Party is running a near six-month campaign of committing genocide on innocent Palestinian men, women, and children in Gaza. What can I do? Protest? Write a letter to my congressman? Bomb a building? I don’t care if you think this is a major copout, but I am tired, I suffer from comorbidity ailments, and I have chronic pain in various parts of my body. As such, I do nothing. The young people are managing just fine without me.

If I knew I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself. I am 70.

[adoristsposts]

unfathomably x pg10

authors note; Lowkey I was going to make it Lewis Hamiltonbut that man is 37??? I don't know what his skin care routine is but I need him to drop it asap. summary; Pierre Gasly always wondered what was so special about George Russells girlfriend; a completely normal girl. Especially compared to the models that Formula 1 drivers usually dated. And then he met her, and suddenly it all made sense. word count; 2.8K characters; Reader x George Russell, Reader x Pierre Gasly warnings; Jealous! Pierre, reader is dating George, pining, one sided.

Pierre had always considered himself a smart man when it came to dating. A kind girlfriend was always more important than a pretty one. A loyal one more important than a popular one, so on and so on. But he couldn't wrap his mind around George's infatuation with you when you were first brought up. "George is whipped, mate." Lewis had joked, patting his teammate gleefully on the back. "Head over heels." George flushed a light pink, smiling and shaking his head. "What can I say? I like her, mate." He replied simply. Pierre laughed. "Is she a model?" He asked. The F1 girlfriends usually were. They were the best match for the lifestyle, pretty and nice while also needing the same amount of independency the drivers needed. George literally laughed out loud at the mere question. "No, definitely not." He answered, "She works at an animal clinic." "Ahhh." Pierre said as a simple response. He felt a little embarrassed for making the assumption. If anyone was going to date outside of the model pool, it would be George. The unwavering gentleman. "And when can we meet the lucky girl?" Daniel teased. "Uhh." George trailed off as he tried to remember, a light smile on his lips. "She's coming to watch Silverstone. You can all meet her then." "You guys will love her." Lewis said. "She's too good for old Russell here." "Hey!"

Pierre was late, as usual. He was rushing to pull his suit on, fiddling with some of the velcro when he walked straight into a woman. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed, stopping his desperate fumble to hover his hands near you. "Are you alright?" "I'm fine!" You reassured him, "Are you?" "Yes. Just can't get this stupid thing to stick." "May I?" You asked, gesturing vaguely to his suit. He nodded, turning to give you access. You did it with ease, your slender fingers feeling gentle even through his suit. He couldn't hide his growing smile as you practically felt up his back and sides. "There you go." You said, stepping away. "How did you know how to do that? Are you some kind of angel sent to help me with my suit?" You laughed at his flirting jest. You shook her head. "No, no. Just have experience helping people with it." Pierre quirked an eyebrow, a suggestive "Oh?" falling from his lips. You immediately turned bright red, laughing out a loud "Not like that!" When you finished giggling he stuck a hand out for you to shake. "Pierre." You placed your hand in his "Well hello, Pierre, I'm-" "Y/N!" An english voice called. George Russell was jogging over to the two of you. Pierre wanted to roll his eyes. He wanted to throw up when George threw an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your temple. "I see you've met my competition" George joked. Pierre swallowed his embarrassment. He had been flirting with George's girlfriend? "Mmhmm!" You hummed simply, caving into George's touch as you slotted into his chest. You two looked perfect together, both staring at Pierre as if to say 'What, you actually thought you had a chance?' He felt stupid. One small interaction and he was jealous enough to cry out in frustration. He would get over it easily, he knew that. But still, the harsh slap from reality sucked. "I should head to the motorhome. Take care of her?" George said to him. She lightly hit his chest. "I don't need to be taken care of!" She said, but her tone made it clear she didn't mind much. George just smiled down at her, kissing her and mumbling a goodbye against her lips before departing. If Pierre was her boyfriend he'd be dragging her to the motorhome with him. Begging her to be in every meeting and watch every session, free practice, testing, qualifying, whatever meant she would be in his space.

The two of you were eating food in the lowest floor of the Alpha Tauri motorhome. "So you like.. do surgery on animals?" He asked. "Pretty much." You nodded. "I specialise in exotic animals, actually." "How did you decide on that?" "Bindi Irwin." You said honestly. "I grew up watching the Irwins. My parents are very Australian." Pierre laughed at that, raising the coffee he was nursing to his lips. "And how did you and George meet?" "Oh god. It's so embarrassing." You said, dropping your head into your hands. "I was making fun of his car." "What?" Pierre said loudly before chuckling. The way you said things made him laugh. Your humour was perfect. "I just- I was with my friend, you know! And I think sports cars are dumb. I was making fun of a car and then all of a sudden this almost 2 meter man is standing behind me! I was scared shitless, if I'm being honest. Then he opened his mouth and started talking in the poshest accent- and then he agreed with me. Said he was looking for another car and that he and I were on the same page. I started apologising and he was like 'Just give me your number and we'll call it even.'" Your attempt at mocking George's voice earned yet another laugh from Pierre. Pierre shook his head at you. "You should probably keep that sports car thing to yourself around here. Might bruise a couple egos." "Oh trust me, I know." You agreed, widening your eyes like it was the worst possible thing in the world. Then you straightened up at the speed of light, grabbing his arm. "Pierre, you're supposed to be getting ready for free practice!" You exclaimed. He followed your gaze, "What? Oh merde!" he said when he saw the time on the clock. "I have to go. Are you okay by yourself?" He asked, already hurrying out of his chair. You nodded, "Yes, yes. You better hurry." "I know, I know. I'll see you later?" "Definitely."

You and Pierre had become fast friends. Almost perfectly matched. George had voiced that opinion frequently, saying that he was glad you had a friend in one of his fellow drivers. A friend, Pierre would always repeat in his head mockingly. A friend that was absolutely, hands down crazy for his girlfriend. You were the highlight of any race. It had started with exchanging numbers after Silverstone. You had wasted no time on awkward pleasantries, texting him the next week to let him know you were devastated watching his DNF and asking him to tell you all about how he felt. Since then you had been a constant presence in his life. He would text you in boring team meetings he knew he should be paying attention to. You'd text each other updates about your life. Simple, mundane things like grocery shopping or a funny ad on Instagram. Your lives slotted together so perfectly, he sometimes forgot you weren't his. He'd be reminded in a way that hurt worse every time. Like a cold wave crashing against him, sending him tumbling as he had to hold the little breath he had. And then when the wave would subside he'd still come up with a pounding headache. It hurt to not have you in that way, but he swore it would hurt more not to have you at all. Just a month, and you had him feeling this way. He could understand why George was so infatuated with you after being yours for much longer. He was in a sour mood. Qualifying had gone horribly. He was sitting in the paddock, arms resting against his spread legs as he stared blankly into his distance. He could have been better, faster. "Pierre!" Interrupted his thoughts. At the sight of you a wide smile spread across his face. "Hey!" He said happily, standing up to greet you with a hug. He took a deep breath the second you were in his arms. You were so warm, and you smelt like warm vanilla with a little bit of cinnamon. "I missed you." You told him when you pulled away. He laughed, "I texted you like, two hours ago." You huffed. "Don't care. Missed you."

He'd had his best race of the season. Pierre was sweating and breathing erratically as excited adrenaline pumped through his veins. Despite the cheering crowd and his team in his comms telling him he'd done a great job, all he cared about was you. He hoped you'd been paying attention. Watching each moment on the edge of your seat. Had your heart jumped when he nearly crashed? Did you care? Were you just as ecstatic as he was? When he had gotten through the media, watched the podium ceremony, and congratulated everyone else on their standings, he rushed towards the Mercedes drivers rooms. Technically he was allowed to be there. There was no rule saying he wasn't. But it still felt weird, walking through all the people in blue. He spotted you and immediately his heart started beating faster than he ever thought it could. You were standing in the doorway of a driver room. George was stood across from you, his expression distant. Gently, you reached a hand up and stroked his cheek. He leant into you, eyes fluttering shut as he found comfort in such a simple touch. Comfort among the disappointment of George's DNF. You had never touched Pierre like that. With that much tenderness. That much love. He just wasn't George. He could see it in your eyes. George was the man you loved, the man you craved for the way Pierre craved for you. And it was the most devastating realization he had ever come to.

"Pierre?" You asked softly, fingers rapping against his door. "Are you there?" "Y/N?" He mumbled sleepily, opening his drivers room door. He hadn't spoken to you in at least two weeks, too caught up in self pitying and actual meetings to talk. He had just wanted to take a nap, but here you were. "Hi." You said simply when he opened the door. "Hi." He said back, suddenly breathless. "You uh- You hadn't been responding to your messages. I just wanted to let you know I'm watching the race. And uh- rooting for you." You told him. There was a slight awkward tension in the air. He looked you up and down, in your baggy mercedes shirt that you had paired with jeans that fit you perfectly. "Really?" He said mockingly. You blushed, holding up your wrist. Hanging from it was a simple black string bracelet with a flimsy metal 10 hanging from it. Pierre's lips parted in shock, gently grabbing your wrist to examine it. His eyes fluttered up to meet yours through his eyelashes. "For me?" "Of course. You're one of my best friends, I gotta rep. You know?" You joked. Any strain on your relationship was suddenly gone. Pierre let go of your wrist to stretch, then threw an arm around you shoulder. "Food?" "Food." You agreed.

The afterparty was insane. The amount of alcohol was practically uncountable. Mercedes had spared no expense in celebrating their drivers. Pierre stood with Charles, talking in slurred French about the recent race. The last race of the season. He was completely invested. Until he noticed you wobbling in your heels past Charles' shoulder. He interrupted Charles with a pat to the shoulder and a quick, "One second, mate." "Pierre! Bonjour!" You exclaimed when you saw him. You straightened up in happiness before immediately almost toppling over again. He reached out in time to steady you, chuckling at your state. "How much have you had to drink?" "Not that much!" "And to eat?" "...Even less." You admitted, a cheeky smile worming its way onto your face. He shook his head at you disapprovingly, but you knew it wasn't serious. "Let's sit down somewhere, yeah?" He recommended. Without waiting for a response he wrapped his pointer finger around your own and pulled you along to the outside balcony. The cold air was a sobering shock to him, but obviously not to you. The two of you settled down on some benches placed there. "God." You groaned. "I am such a lightweight." "Hey, be happy. You don't have to pay as much to get drunk." Pierre pointed out. "True" You mused. "You know I've been learning French?" Pierre was taken aback by your sudden confession. "Really?" "Oui. Pour toi." You replied, your French messy and missing the accent it needed. He smiled nonetheless, "C'est incroyable! Je suis tellement heureux." "Uhh.. Okay I'm not that far along in my duolingo course." You admitted, giggling. He smiled at the sheepish grin on your face. There was a moment of comfortable silence. "I love you, Pierre." You told him. "You're my best friend. You know we've known each other for almost 7 months?" "I love you too." He said. His heart ached as he tried not to show how much he really meant it. You looked around to make sure no one was there, before leaning close and whispering to him. "George is going to propose." You told him, quiet but not as quiet as you thought you were being as you pulled away and covered your mouth. "I saw the ring in his bedside drawer. I wanted you to be the first person to know." His heart shattered, right there and then, on that stupid balcony sitting on that stupid bench with that stupid lovesick grin on your lovely face. "Oh." He replied simply, his voice breaking as he choked back tears. "Oh, Pierre." You cooed, "What's wrong?" The tears started, light ones. He laughed, "I'm just so happy, you know? You're going to be living the Formula 1 life forever." "Hopefully not forever. I want him to retire at some point." You teased. Pierre just smiled sadly. "He'll always be a driver, you know?" "And hopefully you'll always be my best friend." You told him, slipping your hand in his own to give it a squeeze. "I'm so nervous." You admitted. "I have no idea when he's going to do it." "Shhh, let's not talk about this. It's George's responsibility to worry about all that. All you have to do is say yes- You are going to say yes, aren't you?" You let out a loud sigh that had Pierre's heart soaring in a guilty sort of hope. "I- We're young. So, so young. But I love him, he and I want the same sort of future. I think.. I'm going to say yes." You confirmed. Pierre swallowed, his adams apple bobbing when he did. "Okay, uh. Well I expect photos." Was all he could manage. "I love you." "I love you too. Let's get back to the party." He went to stand up but you grabbed his wrist. "No," You said, pulling him back down. "Let's just sit here for a moment."

Almost an hour of talking later, George stepped out on the balcony, head swivelling until he spotted the two of you. His grin widened when he did. Pierre was so unfamiliar with the lack of jealousy on his face. He had felt it himself, thrumming beneath his veins every moment you spent in George's arms. He could forget it sometimes, when the two of you got so wrapped up in each other you forget anyone else existed. But it always had to end. George was by your side almost immediately. "Hey, honey. You ready to head home?" You pouted at him, which made him chuckle. "But Pieeeere." You whined, stretching out the mans name. Pierre just smiled at you. "Go home, call me in the morning, yeah?" "Definitely. And you will be the first to know." You reiterated, winking at him as George gave the two of you a confused look. He shook his head, "I don't even want to know." You giggled and stood up, stepping into his inviting arm as he wrapped it around your waist. You took two steps towards the door, when you suddenly whipped around. "Oh! Pierre, don't forget to remind me, I have a girl I want you to meet." You wiggled your eyebrows at him and he smiled bashfully, looking away. Usually he'd turn it down. What business did he have stringing another woman along when he was undeniably, unfathomably in love with you? "Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll let you play match maker." You smiled at him. "Good" You said, before turning to George. "Take me home, loverboy." "Gladly." He replied, kissing your forehead and waving a goodbye to Pierre before leading the two of you away. And for once the pang in his chest was something he could deal with. Something that was becoming easier to live with.

[a-gal-with-taste]

Vanity (NSFW)

Summary: Everyone is, but no one likes to display their vanity. Cataloging and admiting every aspect of their features in a mirror - the narcissism is just a bit much. When there's someone else in the view, however, it's understandable to want to admire it.

Warnings: NSFW|MDNI. Sinday oneshot, GN!Reader, mirror sex, fingering, rough sex, one-night-stand, consensual but rough choking, dirty-talk, spit as lube, sub/dom elements

You walked into the bar, and believed that no eyes were on you.

Understandable, given the late-hour. Couples are deep in slow make-out mode, bar's slowed down to a trickle of patrons, and even the music is a deep, sensual bass than a tune that gets the blood raising.

There's no need for the music to get you heated and excited - a glance up to the second-floor balcony, and the single pair of eyes gazing down at you, and your body feels ready to melt in place.

You manage, and take a seat near the staircases, waving down for a drink instead of getting your own. A smart move... only about five minutes passed, before there's a hand tracing the back of your seat. It's gloved, and you shiver at the cold-leather that brushes along your the nape of your neck. Hair stands on end as it seems to slow, like his touch savoring the bit of contact, and more importantly, savoring your reaction to his touch.

You imagine he's quite pleased, when you let out a quick breath as his fingers loosely curl over your shoulder.

A sort of interrogation begins, nothing like that time Enforcers came knocking in your neighborhood, but there's a dangerous-edge to the conversation regardless, and you decide to make truth your new best-friend.

"You're new."

"Lived here all my life."

"You've yet to introduce yourself."

You give him your name, and you can almost hear his smile as he repeats it underbreath, almost bemused.

"And you chose tonight to come to The Last Drop, because...?"

Truth, your best-friend. You shrug, "Wanted some new sights. Same old bars, same old shit... needed something new to look at."

There's a pause, and it's filled with your breathing and his, and his thoughts, loud and clear as he silently mulls over your words. That glove-hands leaves shivers as it travels, moving from your shoulder, passing your collar, fingers curling around your neck.

His touch is gently, as he subtly presses against your swallowing-throat. Lips parting to try and suck in another gulp of air, when it's suddenly become so difficult to breathe, you follow the silent instruction and begin to tip your head back.

Back, until your head touches the backboard of your seat. Back, until you're staring straight up.

Back, until your eyes meet two others - one seagreen, the other a hypnotic swirl of shadow and blood-reds.

It makes you shiver, moreso when the owner of those eyes taps the pads of his fingers in an almost absent beat against your pulse.

"If you're looking for something new," He murmurs, his other gloved-hand coming down, and gently tugging the untouched drink from your grasp. "I think I can provide."

And provide, he does. By Janna, does he provide.

It's almost too much. He knows it, and knows you know it, by the breathy snarl of a chuckle he breathes against your neck.

And you know, because you can see it. You can see your bare-chest heaving, every muscle simultaneously wired, and on the verge of melting as your knuckles ache with how tightly you grip for support. Eyes flutter as you groan - muffled, with three gloved fingers stuffing your mouth, pressing down on your tongue as you struggle not to drool.

Any other time, the urge to gag would be urgent as leather fills your senses, not to mention the slow, almost clinically methodical motion as coaxed his digits, in then out, in and out...

"Your mouth takes me so well," He murmurs into the shell of your ear, where his teeth have slowly scrapped against the lobe, earning another muffled whimper, and he laughs. "Difficult to speak? I'm being gracious... you're still able to slobber. And breathe."

The hand that had been wrapped around your front, pinning you in-placw against him with a specifically-place palm splayed on your uppermost of your inner-thigh, snakes up, and you honest-to-Gods whimper as fingers close tight around your throat. The man keeps his promise, and leaves just enough for you to breathe.

You raise your hooded eyes, gazing into your reflection in front of you.

He certainly wasn't lying about seeing something new... you've never seen yourself like this, and you're intent to drink in every detail.

"Look at you," He breathes, dragging his fingers ever-so-slowly from your mouth - there's no release on your neck. In fact, his grip tightens minutely on a inhale, leaving you to wheeze against his fingers. "You took these so well in your mouth... other places will surely be just as agreeable."

Agreeable, indeed.

As his hand snakes down and around, your body jerks with a choked whine coiling from your mouth, soaked digits and inhumanly-smooth fingers pressing and massaging you as he tips his head, finding a leverage point on your neck to bite down on when he presses in, and you jerk again.

Desperation shines in your eyes with your tears. Overwhelmed and pleasure, your throat aches both inside and out from relentless ministrations. And they are indeed relentless - your eyes are damn-near on the verge of rolling as a first knuckle passes, easing smoothing into a second.

"That's it," He growls into your skin, pleased eyes meeting yours in the reflection before you as your hips jerk backwards when he spreads his fingers, just-enough leave you seeking more. "Use it. Take it and use what I'm giving you... you're soon to recieve even more."

Gods, you hope so.

You're more than willing to take, and this is shown in the way you flatten your palms on the surface of the mirror, pressing back into his fingers in time with his knuckles tensing around your neck. Red-marks already splotches your skin in the shape of his digits... or are they dotted black? Oxygen is becoming more stranger than constant-companion, and the world seems to close in around you from the darkness. Importance is dwindling, save for what you're watching in front of your eyes: fingers beginning to set a pushing pace between your legs, seagreen and hellish-red watching as you grow unwound from pleasure, and the world's edges grow darker, darker, darker...

The world comes back in a wheeze and a burst, and you all but fall-forward, nearly crashing against the mirror. You're held up, not by your neck, but by a hand around your hip, while the other makes quick work behind you...

Unable to see, but his intent becomes clear when you hear the frantic snapping of buttons being undone.

"Fuck..." You croak as the head of his cock presses close to you, and gloved digits almost pet at the skin of your hip. In comfort, or in easing what you're already ready, and more than just wanting for? You're not sure of the motive either way, and don't find it in you to care, as fingers once more curl at your throat, and the head of his cock begins pushing into you.

"Watch."

Yes, please.

Your eyes strain with how you widen them, mouth falling open and... he laughs, low and somewhat choked into your ear when he sees you trying not to salivate at the sight. Rocking into you with slow, but sharp movement that have your hips jerking, and nails biting into the frame of the mirror, he speaks breathlessly against the akin beneath your ear, "Here I... I thought nothing could top having myself in your mouth. I do so enjoy sometimes being proven wrong."

You couldn't agree more. Because you thought nothing could top the feel of his gloved fingers, in you, and around your jugular, but the twitch of his cock inside you as you clench at the sensitive of him gliding in, leaves you to whimper and pant mutely, fogging the mirror before you.

There's a dull thud when your forehead drops against the fogged-up surface, and he pushes in full-hilt, pelvis to backside, with his own forehead dropped between your shoulderblades.

Fingers flex, enough for you to suck in a full-breath - and you immediately use it to utter one, desperate word as you rock your hips, failing to by the steel-like grip on your hip, "Please."

There's a rasp, not quite a laugh, but he raises his head, tilting to catch your pleasure-hooded gaze in the mirror. "Watch," He commands, before pulling back, and rocking roughly into you, dragging an unholy sound straight from the bottom of your lungs

And you do.

Vain as it might be, you can't look away. From the absolute mess you've become, and the mess he's turning you into... you can't even look away from him. Grey-streaks strands, falling over his face in a haphazard pattern, something feral beginning to build in his eyes as he tilts his head, suckling and nipping everywhere on your skin that isn't covered by his massive hand...

The world fluctuates between bright spots and dark ones, in time with the periodic tensing and clenching of his fingers around you. The lightness you feel from it, is juxtaposed by the harsh, heavy thrusts that send you forward against the reflection with each movement.

Is it vain, to want to watch this? To watch yourself come undone, and the undoing of the one leading you there by a hand around your neck?

Your mind is buzzing too much, nerves lighting too much, probably in response to restricted oxygen to the brain to care to answer those questions

Instead, you only answer Silco's, huffed between growing pants and stifled groans.

"P... prettiest sight you've ever seen, I-i... I imagine?"

You answer in time with your climax, and you only answer with a scream of his name.

By the way he groans out your name in time with his own, you imagine that's the sound of him agreeing.

[desert-fern]

A Gun Amongst Daggers Summary + Teaser

So my people, you loved my Jake one shot back in February, so hopefully you all will love this multi part just as much! Welcome to A Gun Amongst Daggers, my newest piece that is also Hangman X Fem!Reader. Meet Hangman and Bear, my latest in a long line of Top Gun Maverick OCs but she is just a placeholder for the reader!

So this will get spicy towards the end because I’m a sucker for slow burn (and I am apologizing in advance, I am taking it to the extreme). That being said: ALL BLANK BLOGS OR ONES WITHOUT AN AGE WILL BE BLOCKED. I AM NOT LOOKING TO GET REPORTED BECAUSE YOU READ SOMETHING YOU DIDN’T EXPECT OR SOMETHING THAT MADE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. SO 18+ ONLY. THIS STORY ALSO DEALS WITH SOME SERIOUS SHIT, SO THIS IS YOUR WARNING.

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

And because I’m nice, here’s a bit of part one below the cut:

It was a miserable day when Jake walked into the Hard Deck. Training had been cancelled due to shit weather and no matter how much of a workout he had had earlier, he was still as twitchy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The weather wasn’t helping either. It had been raining nearly all day, letting up for maybe 20 minutes at a time before it came pouring down again. Climate change was a serious concept, but right now it was fucking with his plans and his job and Jake very much wanted it to stop. Taking a quick glance around, he saw that there were a few patrons in the bar, mostly older men just sitting and drinking in near silence, the jukebox playing some classic rock song just loud enough to be heard. He had promised to meet Coyote here around 5 and seeing as he was early, Jake went ahead to order a drink. “Hey Penny.”

“Hangman,” Penny replied with a smile. “Your usual?”

“Nah, not drinking tonight. Too antsy. Just a water and Javy’s usual, thanks.” The blond glanced around the room as Penny went to grab his drinks and his eyes fell on a woman sitting quietly in the corner of the room, silently watching each and every one in the bar with a clinical gaze. His curiosity got the better of him and Jake grabbed his order before making his way over to the corner table. “That seat taken?” He asked with his usual sly grin on his face.

The woman glanced up at him, eyes flicking over him quickly before quirking a brow. “And what if it was?” she replied coolly, a narrow gaze pinning him to the spot. She took a sip of the drink in front of her, eyes never leaving his face.

“Well I’d like to think that I’d be better company than your imaginary friend here,” Jake said, trying to regain his footing. The woman was intimidating; sharp eyes that seemed to never miss a thing and a face that he recognized as one he made when the weariness hit on occasion.

“Is that painful for you, Flyboy? The thinking?”

Jake was taken aback by her snark. Normally he’d respond, fire an insult of two back, but he kept his mouth shut for once, watching for even just a flicker of emotion on the woman’s face. But there wasn’t any. She just looked bored. So Jake did something that he would almost never do, he walked away, set his drinks down on a table near the door and waved Javy down when his friend walked in.

===

A/N: If this is something that intrigues you, and you want to be updated, please let me know in the comments, via reblogs, or just send me a message. I know how easy it is to be reading 6 series all at once and sometimes if you aren't tagged, you might not find it again.

But all together, I'm looking at a total of 22 parts. So yeah! Hope you enjoyed, please do me a solid and spread this around and have yourselves a good day!

I am tagging those who initially expressed interest waaay back in February plus those in the Controlled Chaos Squad. Giving so many thanks to @mayhemmanaged @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky for proofreading and being my biggest supporters! I love you all!

Taglist:

@fandomxpreferences

@dempy

@gizmodear

@fighterpilothoe

@dakotakazansky

@startrekfangirl2233

@sarahsmi13s

@horseshoegirl

@roosters-girl

@lovinglyeternal

@lavenderbradshaw

@roosterforme

@bobby-r2d2-floyd

@bradleybeachbabe

[sollattes]

90s love

non idol!takahide suzuki x hockey player!reader

The loud uproar of cheering filling up the arena almost made takahide go deaf, he looked around the crowd charged arena and took a sit in the side of your team, far from the glass but still near enough for you to find him in the crowd.

Takahide watched as your team was still huddled, planning, on your side of the bench, he never really got comfortable with the idea of you playing a sport you would need to constantly rough house your opponent though seeing you so happy while playing made it all worth it.

He watched as jersey no.3, you, skated off the bench as your finally finished up with the huddle and went to your starting position, takahide felt a sudden sense of pride when he looked more at your jersey number, which was his birthday, you promised him that you'll always have 3 as your Jersey no. so takahide can feel as if he was playing in the arena with you.

Takahide observed intensely as he saw the player guarding you was a bigger guy, a guy who seemed arrogant, it ticked takahide off when the guy tsked and snigger when he saw that he was guarding a player, much smaller than him.

As soon as the buzzer signaled that the game has started, takahide watched at the edge of his seat, his anxiety slowly eating him as blades were skating off the ice in the arena echoing loudly in his ear.

You knew that this match was not gonna be pretty at all. With all the rough housing you're already receiving this early in the game, this team was taking offensive side immediately.

While handling the puck you suddenly felt a strong push to your side causing you to loose the puck and being slammed against the barriers, you took off your helmet, catching your breathe for a minute, and waited for the referee to signal that foul, but the ref continued the game as if nothing happened.

The scene just made takahide jump up from his seat. The game not being stopped made it hard for takahide to check on you.

Having no choice but to continue the game, you played smart since playing physical was no use against this team.

You were aiming to score from behind the goal, but as soon as the puck was passed to you, you were immediately crushed between the opposing team's two biggest guys, since you were aiming to score your wrist were positioned to strike and that put your wrist into a dangerous place in the impact.

Just when you screamed in pain, did the referee whistled, and the guys were escorted out of the game, Your coach and your captain assisted you back into the bench where you checked by the team's medic.

They quickly removed your glove to examine your injured wrist. It was swollen and turning red. You tried turning it, but it just caused you to hiss in pain.

Once Takahide heard you scream, he instantly made his way through the crowd to your bench to check on you. Your team knew who takahide was to they allowed him inside. He and the medic assisted you to the clinic for further inspection then treatment. He handled you as if you were the most fragile person in the world.

Inside the clinic, the medic left you alone for a few minutes to get some things, takahide was quiet but the worry was evident on him, the way he was biting his lip with his eye brows furrowed, his right knee rapidly bouncing up and down, non stop fidgeting his hands.

Noticing this, you grabbed his hands with your non injured one and just held them in comfort.

"I'm okay, you know," you affirmed him softly, "this isn't my first time having my wrist sprained." You continued.

"But that still doesn't stop me from worrying," takahide turned to you with worried eyes, "I know that you can take care of yourself and youre tough but still that does not make me less worried, I'm not saying that you need to quit hockey what im saying is that just because youve already experience it doesnt mean its okay, I care for you too much." He finished.

You looked at takahide with a slight suprise look in your face.

"No... No guy has ever said that to me... they always tell me to quit hockey or were breaking up." You said quietly and looked down to your lap.

Takahide softened his gaze with your reaction, even if he worries about you daily because of hockey he can never tell you to quit because he knows how happy you are when you're playing, he finds you the prettiest when you're smiling all widely after scoring a point, he feels a surge of pride and joy when he hears you scream after winning a hard match, he finds you in the echoing noise that he pucks and sticks make, he finds your eyes the brightest when they're looking at the cheering crowd, in hockey takahide finds the best you and who was he to take that away?

"No, never, I will never tell you to quit hockey, I know how much it means to you and how much it makes you happy." Takahide kneeled down in front of you to meet your tear shined eyes.

When the medic came back, takahide stayed by your side, just like he always had, just he always will.

Tags: @simpforchuchu

[the-library-alcove]

you're supposedly an adult, lmao. If you actually think reporting and getting my blogs banned will keep me from using my social media of choice, you're even more stunted then the little gen z tranny homophobes who think they can ban people for understanding biological reality

You do realize that you NOT encouraging your retarded follower drones to report me or make hilarious posts about me that of course my moots keep me appraised of would keep my one current blog blocked right? You wouldnt need to go through your authoritarian-minded song and dance thinking you or other morons dictate whose opinions can stay posted every six months. But you're not actually smart so I doubt you'll get it so. See ya in six months you self hater 😘

I honestly wish I could study you in a clinical setting. You're an interesting deviation from the usual formula of the Dark Triad. You're nowhere near Machiavellian enough, although I suppose that you think that you are, but your Narcissism and Psychopathy are textbook examples. It's fairly clear that you have an extremely fragile self-image as a cismale, so you attempt to buttress it by externalizing the conflict with anyone you perceive as contradicting it. Your authoritarian tendencies (by citing children's level biology and refusing to accept anything deeper, plus your strident antitheism, dependency on personal insults as a way of delegitimizing someone, and assuming that everyone else is a mirror of yourself and your motivations) also support that, but there are other contradictions that fascinate me, to be honest.

For example, most born-Jewish individuals who are so stridently and vocally antisemitic cut all ties with the Jewish community, but you insist on trying to establish (one-way) ties with the online community here, despite them overwhelmingly rejecting you. If you were anywhere near as smart as you claim to be, you would have recognized this as being a failing proposition months ago, but you continue to try to follow people who have made it clear that they want nothing to do with you. So either A) you're not as intelligent as you claim, or B), there is some other psychological need that this pattern of repeated rejection fulfills as part of your self-image.

You're a puzzle, certainly, but given how cruel and immature you are, it's a puzzle made of glass shards, and while I will admit to occasionally musing on what makes you tick, I do have better things to do.

So, again, blocked and reported.