#also I wasn’t asking for xanax

[focsle]

More sleep bitching but it’s…insane to me when I’m like ‘this is an effective medication I have consistently taken for this situation when the circumstance arises with no side effects, I’m hyper aware of the addiction risk, and I have taken only 16 pills in over a year, and the last time I asked for this was two years ago’ and I have to FIIIIIGHT the doctor over it. She gave it to me at least but as soon I MENTIONED the name she started shaking her head and I was like ‘okay here comes my big defense preamble’.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 28: lucky charm

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You were sitting, waiting, next to your companion Spencer. It was a small waiting room with stiff chairs and flickering lights, creating a tense and cold atmosphere. Spencer was beside you, his leg bouncing up and down without rest. You could hear the rhythmic sound of his shoe hitting the floor, something that would undoubtedly earn him a few curious looks from those nearby. However, he seemed completely oblivious, focused on his own nervousness.

Every so often, his hand would move up to his mouth to nibble at his nails, a habit you knew he hated, which made you suspect he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. The slight tremor in his fingers and the tension in his jaw confirmed what was dominating his mind.

"Reid, it looks like you're about to have an anxiety attack. Are you okay?" you asked in a gentle whisper, trying to make him feel understood and not judged.

"Nervous," he replied, sounding exactly that way. Although he tried to sound relaxed, the truth slipped out with each word, as if he were trying to contain a sea of thoughts that only continued to grow.

You had both traveled to Chicago to give a lecture—or rather, for him to give a lecture—about your work. It was an important opportunity, and it was understandable that he was anxious. The pressure of speaking before an audience, representing both your work, and answering complex questions, rested entirely on his shoulders.

"You’ll do great; you always do," you said confidently, wanting to offer him the reassurance he couldn’t give himself.

"That’s not true. I know a lot of things, but when I try to verbalize them in front of an audience, everything seems to evaporate around me. I need to avoid eye contact, and that's not socially acceptable. I'll just look like a freak..." he said, lowering his gaze. His tone was one of complete frustration.

"Come on, calm down. No one is going to see you that way. You’re the expert on the topic," you insisted, trying to instill a bit of self-confidence in him. You moved a little closer, watching his expression shift between fear and concentration.

"But I get so nervous! And then I start to stammer and... ugh, it’s a disaster," he exclaimed, bringing both hands up to cover his face, embarrassed and frustrated. His fingers covered his cheeks as he closed his eyes, as if trying to shield himself from the world.

You laughed softly and reached out your hands toward his, gently moving them away from his face to reveal his features bit by bit. When you managed to see his face again, you noticed the blush spreading across his cheeks, perhaps due to the contact. It was a sweet expression, so natural in him, and you were surprised by the vulnerability he let you see in those moments.

"Do you want me to do it? You know I don’t mind. But I’m afraid people won’t get specific data or intellectual answers from me."

"I can do it," he assured you with a slight smile, though he didn’t sound the least bit convinced. "I just need to calm down, breathe..."

"Want a Xanax? I have a quarter tablet in my purse," you said jokingly, though you knew you actually had one. His laugh was immediate, and for a moment, his tension seemed to dissolve.

You both sat in silence for a while, and although he didn’t say so, you knew he was still worried. You wanted to do something for him, to lighten his load a little. In an attempt to make him feel better, you suggested he practice his speech with you, and he seemed agreeable to the idea.

When he started to speak, his gaze locked onto yours, but he soon realized his mistake. He had to look you in the eyes, and that only made him more nervous. The softness in your expression, the way you watched him so attentively... anyone in his place would have had a hard time, too.

You were very pretty; anyone could notice that, and he, of all people, couldn’t ignore it. However, the effort to speak in front of you also served as an exercise in resilience. If he could present his points to you, he could do so to any audience.

Despite his efforts, he failed. The words seemed to tangle in his throat, and in the end, he let out a defeated sigh.

"I’ll do it however I can. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m just here to present data, not to be pleasing to the eye," he muttered, lowering his head.

"Listen," you said, in a final attempt to make him feel better. "I have this; I always carry it with me because it relaxes me to touch the crystals. Use it."

You held out a bracelet full of purple quartz, adorned with a few artificial pink and gold stones. The piece had a warm touch, and you had carried it with you for years.

"Did you know that, according to esoteric beliefs, amethysts provide mental and emotional calm? They’re thought to help promote inner peace and emotional balance, relieving anxiety and stress."

"You see? It’s perfect for you. It’s like my lucky charm. It’ll help you feel secure; I promise," you told him, and the affectionate tone in your words made him blush as you took his hand to leave the item with him. You noticed how his fingers trembled slightly under your touch.

Spencer felt each part of the bracelet, lingering on the softness of each stone, almost as if hoping the luck and calm you mentioned would somehow transfer to him. Then, gently, he placed it on his wrist, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye and smiling in gratitude.

"Are you going to be here in the back? Or out front?" he asked, a bit more relaxed.

"Right next to you," you murmured with a smile. "Hotch sent me as eye candy for the old perverts. Remember?"

"That’s not true," he objected, with an offended expression. "You’re coming with me because you’re an exemplary agent."

"Oh, don’t think it only applies to me. Women will also pay attention just because a handsome man is speaking."

He looked at you with narrowed eyes and shook his head gently, as if scolding you for your comments, though you knew they amused him.

Someone from the staff called for you both to go on, and that was the end of it. Spencer walked the entire way clutching the amethyst hanging from his wrist, and after taking a deep breath, he seemed to transform completely once he appeared on stage. His gaze took on a new determination, and although you still noticed a slight stiffness in his shoulders, it was clear that the bracelet had given him some of the confidence he needed.

That bracelet never returned to your hands; you preferred him to keep it, as he seemed to have found in it a source of calm. Spencer kept it close, and whenever there was an important event, he made sure to wear it. Although, in reality, without knowing it, his true lucky charm had always been you.

[rentumblsstuff]

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

[4channerguy]

HI HI HI HI! I just wanted to ask if you could do a Nagumo fic where he falls in love with reader after they took down someone twice their size with their ridiculous strength. And literally just punched the guy out of fear, they were in a mission with Sakamoto and Rion too but reader got ambushed if that makes sense😪 BASICALLY THAT MITSURI SCENE WHERE SHE'S FIGHTING THAT UPPER MOON AND SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF THE DRAGON TREE THING if you can't do it it's ok thank you for your time :33

scaredy-cat / nagumo

ngl i never expected anyone to actually put smthing in my inbox but thank you!! dear anon!! not the proudest of this fic but i think its a little goofy. sakadays is a fandom where i dont think about a lot but i love nagumo my baby girl!!! also there's not a lot of romantic things in here? i kind of rushed this fic TT also the reader's personality is more like kobeni than mitsuris because i never had really watched demon slayer that much lel i hope you enjoy it :3 xoxo (。・∀・)ノ

wc: 1036

warnings: gender neutral reader, fluff-ish, not much romantic intent but use ur imagination ^_^ xanax mentioned.

you were about to piss your pants. 

your palms were sweaty as you cradled the sheathed sword between your hands. your head was down as you looked at the ground. 

you were in a car with rion, nagumo, and taro. rion was bickering with nagumo in the front seat while taro was sitting quietly in the back with you. taro, being more observant than everyone else, sensed that you were nervous. well, you were always nervous…but he could tell it was more than being nervous. extreme anxiety perhaps. 

“...is everything okay on your end?” he asks. you nod, not being able to form a sentence properly. you were scared out of your wits. 

you were dragged by rion to join her and her crew (nagumo and taro) to a mission that you really, really, REALLY, didn’t want to go on. she bribed you with a pizza bun. out of everything. this trip was not worth a convenience store pizza bun. but you went because rion liked you and was very much your only friend. the other two however, you didn’t know that much except for rumors and whatnot floating around them. taro, was a man of few words. he wasn’t as emotionally interactive but he was kind to you so you didn’t mind. nagumo was an undoubtedly attractive tall man with dark hair and eyes. you only recognize him because he’s a classmate in one of your classes that he only shows up once a month in. you always let him borrow a pen or any weapon on you, and he was very talkative towards you. you had a feeling that he was observing you in class but you didn’t really pay mind to it. he was an assassin–a great assassin, so maybe that feeling was normal. if he weren’t an assassin, he’d make a great model or even an idol. you’d definitely be one of his fans. you were a sucker for pretty men. 

the car swerves to a stop while everyone goes silent (well, taro was always silent anyway). 

“we’re being followed,” rion quietly announces. 

you look cautiously behind you. you could sense a presence even though you didn’t visibly see anyone. you grip your sword even harder, you could feel a pool of sweat forming. rion sighs and pulls out a hidden pistol under her shirt. nagumo pulls out an swiss knife while taro face hardens as he looks behind him. 

“exit slowly,” taro says to no one in particular.

the four of you exit slowly, before any of you could react in time a gust of wind was felt. everyone turned around too late and everyone was thrown in different directions. except for you. for some reason. you were about to seriously throw up. 

“you fell into my trap,” the perpetrator sneers.

you turn around to see…the convenience store man?! you recall the time seeing this huge burly man as you were clumsily knocking everything over before ruining his display of various snacks on the counter. to be fair you were high on caffeine from an all-nighter. you also remember his face when you knocked them down, he looked astonished and angry that you almost wanted to become his employee to pay him back. but you fled out of fear that you would piss him off even more.

yeah, you were going to piss your pants.

luckily, rion swoops you out of the way before the convenience store man striked you.

“i’m really sorry about this, i never knew that this guy had a grudge on you,” she grimaces while pulling you up as she thrown both of you into the tunnel wall. “um…i’ll treat you, again, sorry.” you felt bad but before you could even accept her apology, she grins mischievously. “at least i got you out of your dorm for billions of years!” you retract your acceptance to her apology.

the man charges toward both of you before nagumo and taro block his way pulling out their respective weapons while rion pulls out her gun and shoots. as the three of them were distracted, another perpetrator behind you grabs you by the throat. 

“watch out!” nagumo yells, noticing you while the others swivel back in time with his voice. 

“sorry about this,” the monotone voice says. you turn just in time to see who was doing this to you, a woman with yellow eyes stares at you back. the janitor??? from the convenience store??? you were so, so, so, SO confused at this point. you didn’t inconvenience her (no pun intended) at all. possibly. who knows. it didn’t matter anymore anyway because you pulled out your sword and slashed her face because you were terrified. an automatic reflex that you had ever since you became an assassin.

the woman falls back in surprise and in shock as she looks up at you. a large gash on her face appears.

you were surprised too because you totally forgot you did that.

rion, nagumo, and taro were surprised (well only taro was because nagumo had a weird smile on his face while rion’s face was a mix between taro’s and nagumo’s expression).

the convince store man charges at you as the others were gawking at you, you even more terrified punch the shit out of the man with closed eyes. 

he crashes upon the tunnel wall as the others look at him in amazement and amusement. nagumo was really staring at you now, intensely trying to make eye contact with you as you looked away from this whole thing while walking briskly to the car. you needed xanax.

the car ride back to the school was quiet, but you could tell that they were somehow telepathically talking about you. you shrink into the car seat. when the car is pulled to a stop and everyone gets out, you’re stopped by nagumo as the other two walk ahead of you. he smiles with closed eyes practically copying the “^_^” emote. 

“that was amazing, i knew there was something more to you!” he pats your arm as you slightly flush. “see you around, [reader].”

you could feel your heart beat even faster than the time where you punched the shit out of that guy. 

⋆｡𖦹 °✩ 02.24.24 , do not repost or translate my content :^)

[drabbles-mc]

It'll Get Done (Pt. 2)

Richie Jerimovich & F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto & F!Reader

Find Part 1 Here

Warnings: 18+, language, alcohol, canon-typical vibes

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: My writer's block has been brutal lately because of lift things, which is deeply unfortunate because I wanted to NaNo this month. But! I did write this for these guys. I just want to put them in rooms and let them talk to each other forever.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @darqchilddaydreamz @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, plesae let me know!)

Richie didn’t make it back before the end of the day. You only noticed because the kitchen was a little quieter. Not quiet, of course, but quieter. There was one less person that Carmy was yelling at and arguing with. It was amazing how much it cut down on the noise level.

Every now and then as Carmy raced back and forth between the front and the back of the house, you could feel him lingering behind you. The kid exuded stress in a way that you didn’t know was possible. You understood why, because most people if they were thrown into his position would’ve jumped off the sinking ship rather than trying to scoop the water out with a soup ladle, but sometimes you still felt like you should strap him to the chair in the office and force-feed him some of Richie’s Xanax.

You empathized with him. Or you empathized with him at least more than Richie did, which was a low bar these days. But despite the compassion you were dredging up to give him, there were still plenty of times when you felt him standing behind him and all you wanted to do was spin back around to him and ask him what his fucking deal was. It was easier to refrain from doing that on days when Richie was there because he would say it for you.

Carmy came all but skidding back through the kitchen towards the register, going back and forth between muttering and shouting, “Behind,” as he made his way through.

“Calm down, Jeff,” Tina said with a laugh as she went to take her pot off the stove.

You felt your jaw clench on Carmy’s behalf. Tina was knowledgeable about a lot of things and one of those things was, most definitely, how to get under Carmy’s skin. It wasn’t a difficult code to crack but there were so few people in the world who could do it with such expert precision. Her and Richie were two peas in a pod that way.

“It’d be easier for me to calm down, Tina,” Carmy snapped as he kept walking, “if we were able to pay our goddamn vendors!”

She was shaking her head at him—you caught it out of the corner of your eye. But you also noticed that she didn’t say anything more about it. Content to go back and lie in wait for something else to pop up that she could nettle him about. The end of the day might’ve been approaching quickly but you had the feeling in the pit of your stomach that she would be able to find something else before she clocked out without having to work too hard.

When Carmy came back into the kitchen a little while later, he was walking at a much slower pace than he had been before. You were sure that some of that had to do with the fact that the last of the customers had left, and presumably whatever vendor that had showed up looking for money had also left.

He looked on as everyone slowly but surely worked through their cleanup processes. He wasn’t looking at you, but you still asked him, “All good?”

His head snapped in your direction. “What?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of you. It wasn’t funny per se, but if you didn’t laugh about it you’d end up crying. “What can I help you with, Carmen?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. N-nothing. No one can help me with,” he let out a huff, raking his hands through his hair, “fuckin’ anything.”

“Little dramatic,” you replied honestly, sarcastic but kind, “but alright.”

It got a weak chuckle out of him. “You know what the fuck was going on in Mikey’s head with all that shit?” he asked as he gestured to the office.

You didn’t have to turn and look where he was pointing to know how bad the mess was. You’d seen it while Mikey was making the mess. You’d been seeing it as Carmy made almost no headway in cleaning any of it up. You didn’t blame him for that. If you’d been in his position, you wouldn’t have any idea where to start either.

“Thank fuckin’ god no,” you finally answered him.

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a second as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah that seems to be…yeah.”

“You should—”

“You can head out, Chef,” Carmy cut you off, and you didn’t know if he even realized that he’d done it. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

You shook your head. “I can clean up my shit.”

He motioned for you to leave. “It’s fine. I got it.”

“Carm…”

“Seriously,” he reiterated. “Go.”

You looked at him for a moment, and that’s when you could see it in his eyes, the silent plea to just let him have some time to himself. You knew that feeling—it was the whole reason you’d shown up as early as you had that morning in the first place anyway. You knew better than to tell him that he should leave. He wasn’t going to and all it was going to do was turn into an argument. You didn’t need another one of those.

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You ditched your apron and switched back into your casual shoes, stuffing everything else into your locker while you grabbed your bag and your jacket. Neither you nor Carmy spared each other another goodbye, or any other words in general as you headed out.

There was no point in getting your car keys out of your bag, not when the bar you went to with Richie all the time was within walking distance. The couple blocks felt way longer when it was cold out, but it wasn’t that bad yet.

The bartender recognized you when you walked in, giving you a smile and a nod as he moved to start pulling your drink together before you even sat down. He waited for you to get situated before asking, “Flying solo tonight?”

You laughed as you pulled your phone out of your bag. “That’s an excellent question. Let me call—” The rest of the sentence died on your tongue when the door to the bar flung open and Richie strode through. You instantly let it drop right back into your bag, eyes fixed on Richie even though you were talking to the bartender. “I’m not flying solo tonight, no.”

“Can’t believe you came over here without me!” Richie said as he walked over to you.

“Yeah, well,” you looked up at him from the stool you were sitting on as he clapped his hands down on your shoulders, “least I ordered you a drink.”

He laughed, leaning more onto you. His tone shifted completely as he spoke. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can always tell me again.”

He kissed the side of your head. “I love you.”

“Damn right,” you said with a nod as Richie plopped down on the seat next to you. You waited until he was comfortable in his seat, leaning forward with his arms braced against the edge of the bar with his breathing evened out, before you tried to have anything resembling a real conversation. “Where the hell did you go all day?”

“What do you mean?”

“You expect me to believe that it was guys and places all day?” You were only bringing it up because, much to Carmy’s dismay, Richie usually was at the restaurant all day every day the place was open. He’d pop in and out briefly for whatever errands he assigned himself, but other than that he was present and accounted for. Being gone all day was noticeable, at least to you if no one else.

It was written all over his face that he was thinking about not elaborating. You saw the shifts in his expression as he tried to come up with a joke, or a lie, or anything besides getting into the reality of it all. But then when he looked you in the eyes again, all he could do was be honest with you. “Tiff called. Had to go pick Eva up from school.”

You nodded. “Got it.” You paused. “Wanna talk about it or—”

“No, no,” he laughed, shifting back into his usual demeanor. “We’re not doing that. You don’t get to do that.”

You let out a confused laugh. “I don’t get to do what?”

“You don’t get to try and use Eva to get out of telling me what the fuck your dumbass boyfriend did!” He paused as the bartender set both your drinks down, taking a moment to thank him before shifting his attention right back to you. “You first.”

You huffed, wishing that you could get out of it again. Even with things that were much lower-stakes, there was only so long that you could dodge Richie and his endless line of questions. You took a long sip of your drink as you tried to figure out what you wanted to say, how you wanted to try and say it. There was no way that you could tell the story that would end with him being anything but pissed off about the entire situation. You couldn’t blame him for that, either. After all, you were still pretty pissed off about it yourself.

“It’s nothing new,” you said, a cop-out you knew that he wasn’t going to accept.

He shook his head, looking down at the glass in his hands before looking at you again. “Tell me the old news, then.”

“I’m done being angry about it, Richie.”

“I’m not,” he replied with no hesitation.

It got you to laugh, at least. “That’s because you’re never done being angry about anything.”

He waited for you to look at him. “You’re really not gonna tell me what he did?” He paused, and when you didn’t say anything, he added on, “That bad?”

You shook your head, drumming your fingers on the outside of your glass. “That pointless.”

“Ah,” he waved you off with that same smirk you’d seen from him so often over the years, “another drink or two and I won’t be able to get you to stop talking shit about him.” He missed the look on your face as he looked back down at his drink and shook his head. “Fuckin’ jagoff.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Yeah—that we can agree on at least.”

“Speaking of which,” he gestured towards the door of the bar, “how was the fuckin’ executive toddler chef the rest of the day?”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “An absolute gem once you walked out the door.”

For a split second you could see it on his face that he almost believed you. Then he smartened up and gave you a playful bump against your shoulder with his own. “Fuck you.”

[karinadele]

Budget Walmart Medic

Ratchet x reader

ch7.

Prev (AO3)

Tumblr

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of incorrect medical procedures, Character on the verge of death, Bad writing, Drugs, Mentions of suicidal ideation, PTSD, its 4am and im not proofreading or reformatting, saving that for when i post on ao3

“Fuck this shit.” You utter to yourself as you slam the door of your apartment closed. Sliding your back down the door to fall to the ground as you clutch your hair. Is it really too much to ask people to respect your decisions? Besides, it was just a metaphor for what you were feeling. Everyone says ‘Oh I’m gonna fucking kill myself!’ but most don’t mean it. Are all Cybertronians this stubborn? Sighing as you push yourself off the door and tossing your keys to the kitchen counter. Fine, sure, you’re a little suicidal, but just passively. It’s been years since you’ve visited grippy sock jail anyways.

But you’re just so mad. Respect is always something to be valued. You didn’t choose to be in this world, and you’d be damned if others don’t respect the choices you do. Even if it means death. Slamming your head against the fridge as you reach to the cupboard and grab a pill bottle. You haven’t been this pissed since your ex. The little white bar with the letters XANAX engraved twirls in your finger before you decide to pop it down. Not even bothering with a glass of water as you just dip your head into the sink and drink it straight from the tap.

Why are you so pissed? It’s just a passing comment that you’ve heard a million times before, yet something boils in you. Is it because your past few days have been nothing but chaos? Have you even had a chance to take a breather and process it? –And no, a cigarette break does not count.

No. There’s something more to it. Is it because Ratchet said it?

Giving up, you decide to end this shit before it gets even more complicated. Classic too scared and scarred to be involved in anything, so you cut off everyone before anything happens. But in this situation, it’s completely acceptable. Alien robots telling you want to do?! If you weren’t being locked up for trying to hurt yourself, you’d be locked up for psychosis at this rate.

One more all-nighter. You tell yourself. Contact Raf and ship the damn guy off and be done with your problems. Poor Raf. Being such a young age and already wrapped in otherworldly business. Either he has a will of steel or just doesn’t know any better. Or maybe it’s not actually that bad. Refusing to entertain that thought, you slide your computer chair back and flop into it.

A child wouldn’t be awake at this time anyways. Typing away as you let your thoughts wander. He’s on the run too right? You feel a pang in your chest as you realize a child can’t even enjoy a good night’s sleep. Probably with that sleek muscle car napping in the back. How you wish you could offer him a hug and a good night’s rest.

Wait.

So why don’t you?

You’re not affiliated with any governments, the Decepticons don’t know you, and you have a spare bed. Besides, you were already on your way to contact him.

Hastily typing out a message as you feel the effects of the Xanax kicking in. Another day saved by drugs. Lord have mercy you probably need rehab after all this. Locating Raf’s number wasn’t that hard, everyone has a social media account these days. Even kids. The real kicker is getting it through without detection. Opening up Scapy as you slog away encrypting each packet.

By the time you’ve hit send, It was already dawn. Another successful all nighter. You take a moment to lean back and relax, knowing it’s now done. Sluggishly dragging yourself over to the fridge as you nibble on a block of cheese –hey protein right? And flop back into your chair, pulling up your music to relax.

You were so engrossed in your music and just catching up with your breath that you didn’t even notice there was a little figure outside your window. Being on the ground floor meant not only bugs, but apparently also creeps.

What the fuck.

Carefully, you pulled back the curtains. If it was any other day, you would have ran into the bathroom and locked yourself up. But viva la drugs! What you find… Is Raf. Along with the black muscle car fully transformed standing on the lawn. Your landlord is gonna be pissed. She spends hours planting those flowers and now..? Yikes.

Hurriedly, you grab your keys and head on out to meet Raf. They sure got here quick? How even? Has it been that long since you sent the message, or can that car just drive insane speeds? Under the dark, you don’t notice much, but the moment you let Raf in, –and told the autobot to lay low and get off the lawn, you realized a surprising problem. Raf is hurt. Barely holding it together.

Scrambling as you pick him up and lay him on your bed, you check for his vitals, the ABCs. Airway seems to be intact, breathing is there, if a little bit shallow. And circulation.. well you don't know. but he’s bleeding with wounds everywhere and you feel your blood boiling. He’s only 10! (he’s 12) how can anyone do this to a child?! You wanted to offer him solace and a good night of rest, not like this!

Flying out your door once you made sure Raf is breathing, as you head to his car companion to find some answers. Only to be replies with bleeps and bloops. Great. An autistic boy with an autistic car. And Raf is in no shape to translate, so the next best is… ah shit. Ratchet. The same one that’s got you all stressed out. Shoving your emotions aside for the nth time of the day, as a life is more important, adrenaline pumping through you, you bolt downstairs into the garage.

“RATCHET! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” You yell out at him, huffing and panting from running.

Ratchet, still in his little world, under stasis, does not budge. You don’t have time for this! For fuck’s sake! Not another near death’s door! Completely pumped on adrenaline, you smack him, kicking his wheels, banging on his windows and eventually climbing into his hood to smack the windshield. Gosh you wish you brought a crowbar.

Just as you were about to pick his lock and just drive him out, when the medic stirs.

“WHAT IN PRIMUS’ NAME ARE YOU DOING?!” He shouts back. Clearly not liking being forcibly woken from stasis, or appreciating some human crawling all over him causing damage to him.

“We have a situation, Ratchet.” You try to explain to him as calmly as you can. But underneath that, there’s a tinge of stress and panic. “Raf’s not doing good. He’s here.”

For the second time of the night, Ratchet nearly forgot he’s underground and smacks the ceiling trying to transform. Pieces of concrete fall down between the two of you.

“IS HE INJURED??” Optics widened, half transformed, half kneeling down. Raf. He’s been through so much. Dark Energon, and now this! FRAG! And he can’t even contact June or anyone without endangering everyone. He feels so helpless again. Panic also waves through him. realizing just how useless he is again. Again.

Your voice snapped him out of it. “He’s in my apartment right now. His breathing is shallow, airways are clear, he’s losing blood as we speak… ah! But that Camero is here too. I can’t make out left or right about what he’s saying though! Ratchet! Lets go!”

Still grounded in fear, his processors disconnecting as he’s reliving his trauma of how he couldn't do anything for Raf the first time, and how Bumblebee is here too –Another reminder of how he’s failed everyone. Optics widened as he shakes in place.

“RATCHET! FUCK! PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!”

You call out again, as you kick his leg.

“OW! YOU FRAGGING-”

He caught himself before he did anything, realizing you just snapped him out of it. Transforming fully back into his vehicle mode, as you scramble in and direct him over to the main streets, where the other Autobot is.

You let the boys figure out what happened, as much as you’d like to stay back and have a full recount on what happened, Raf is your priority. Running fast as you can back into your building, with how stressed and uncoordinated you are, slamming into the door before you even turned the doorknob like an idiot. When you finally make it in, you’re greeted with a child that’s half your side barely hanging on a thread.

You want to just break down and cry. You don’t know him, but this is not it. Everyone deserves to enjoy life. With the last of the Xanax countering you adrenaline, you get to work. “Sorry Raf. Sis is gonna have to take a look at you. Or try anyways.”

Ratchet and Bee are busy arguing about what happened. That a decepticon managed to trace his alt mode– even with the new paint job. Particular because they noticed Raf. Gunning for the child, relentlessly firing one after another to him. Bumblebee did everything he could to protect Raf, but it was not enough. Both of them sustained severe damage. Ratchet nearly wanted to scream and shout at Bee for being so reckless to have gotten Raf into this situation, but Bee interjected that after they managed to get into hiding, Raf’s phone got a notification. With whatever strength the kid had, he relayed that contact with you was established. And instantly they peeled off, going way above traffic limits, speeding off on the highway in the night to meet you. After all, Ratchet is with you.

Ratchet’s energon lines were nearly boiling. He snapped at Bee. He can’t do anything for humans! And he can’t even contact June! He couldn’t even fix Bumblebee’s voice box! He feels like a failure! And Raf! The one child he’s gotten close to, is now utterly helpless!

As the two boys argue outside, you’ve already started to work on Raf. Context to what happened would be nice, but a critical situation does not afford time for it. Raf is drifting in and out of consciousness, but with whatever words he can explain, he’s pointed out he’s gotten shot, as well as several metal shrapnel had embedded into him.

You’re full of rage. But thankfully for you, stress fuels you. Instantly snapping into work mode, you bring out your medkit. A kit that’s more of a duffel bag littered with supplies that’s probably half expired. Regardless, it’s the best we can work with. You don’t even noticed the two autobots staring outside your window as you work away on Raf.

Do they send him to a human hospital? They certainly can, but will human doctors know what to do when these are energon infused weapons? Would Raf’s family be contacted? Will that endanger the whole hiding in secrecy more? Ratchet is losing it, kicking away plants and punching trees, while Bee is desperately trying to calm him down, despite being hurt himself.

You hear the commotions outside, but are completely tunnel focused, locked into working on Raf. Raf explains he’s struggling to breath, and you noticed one of his lungs is working over time, and the other is very shallow, rather than breathing together, they’re alternating. Considering he was hit with a chest, its not uncommon for it to have developed into tension pneumothorax. You really hope it isn’t, as that’s not a procedure that should be performed in some drug addict’s apartment, but shortly after, his breathing stops. This is not good. There wouldn't be enough time to call for emergency services. Technically you have an emergency vehicle already, but said vehicle is not versed in human medicine. The good Samaritan law right? Either you do something now and hope it brings him back, or he’ll die. or die trying. There’s only one logical option.

Hurriedly cutting his clothes off, as you feel around on his collapsed lung. A child should be two ribs down. Digging on your bottom shelf for vinyl gloves, shoving it on and praying Raf isn’t allergic to anything, you grab your box cutter and quickly swap out the current blade with a new blade. Snatching the vodka on the coffee table and pour it all over your hands, the blade, and a plastic tube you’ve managed to fish out.

Following along the collapsed lung, tracing along his ribs till you’ve counted two, as you press the tip of the blade into the skin, slowly with accuracy, cutting in inches deep before making the cut horizontal across his ribs. If you had more supplies and time, you would have done this with a needle for safety, but fuck! You're convinced you've used up the last of the needles shooting up morphine! Coming back to reality as you work swiftly inserting the tube into his lung, and instant 'pppssshh' hisses out from it.

Ratchet and Bee at this point, have basically glued their faceplate and optics by your window, zooming in into what’s going on. Ratchet recalled that you said you were not a medic, but yet you’re performing with accurate precision. This may be illegal in both Earth and Cybertronian terms, but he can't help but be in awe with how steady your hands and focus on Raf is. Bumblebee however, noticed that you’re completely stressed. Vibrating like a leaf as he points it out to Ratchet. He takes notice as he pulls his optics away from your work, to realize just how scared you are. Clenching your teeth until it’s sore, then swapping to biting your lips until the blood is cut off, moving back to gritting your teeth. He can sense your breathing is all over the place, mostly forgetting to breath as you hold your breath until tears are welling up.

With a gasp, Rafael manages to suck in a breath.

“Easy there Raf. don’t breath too hard. You have a collapsed lung. It probably hurts right now." You tell him.

Subconsciously, Ratch runs a scan on both you and Rafael. You were correct. He did in fact, had tension pneumothorax. And he now is breathing. Still gravely wounded with blood leaking, but able to breath. You on the other hand, physically are safe, but the amount of adrenaline is sky high, and he can see your blood pressure and heart rate reaching the unhealthy range. Powerless to help you two, he wanted to beat himself up. Thankfully, Bumblebee bleeps a few beeps reassuring that you know what you’re doing, and Raf is in safe hands. (Little did Bee know, you in fact, do not know what you’re doing.)

The poor barely conscious boy gives you a nod and you can feel your adrenaline wearing off. Not yet. We still have things to do. He still has bleeding wounds to stop before he’s stabilized. Poor kid is bleeding all over your bed. Fishing in the first aid kit as you grab an EpiPen (totally expired) and stab it into yourself, followed by popping a few pills of Ativan to help sedate the effects.

Ratchet does not understand what is going on, but detected the adrenaline wearing off, cortisol levels rising, only to instantly be replaced with another wave of adrenaline. Is that what you injected?! Why would you purposefully do that?! He was caught in these thoughts when suddenly, a flashback came to him. When he was so desperate to figure out the Synthetic Energon that he tried it on himself… You weren’t testing drugs on yourself… you were desperately doing it to make sure you can continue to save Raf’s life…

Last push you tell yourself. Stop the bleeding and you can have a break. Fueled with too much adrenaline, you instantly start working. Raf will be in such pain you thought. Digging your hands back down the bag for the last vial of morphine you have, -graciously stole from the hospital during your last visit. You mentally calculate how much you need, for a boy this age. You have his age and estimate of height… but his weight? You’re terrible at guessing weights. With no time to think, you suddenly realized something. If Ratchet was able to scan out that you had energon in you, can he scan Raf’s weight? Last thing you want to do is accidentally overdose the poor boy into death. Spinning your head back as you nearly get jumpscared by two bots glued to the window, you slide open the glass.

“Quick Ratchet. What’s Raf’s weight?”

Caught off guard as he was completely focused on your wellbeing, he quickly resets his vocalizer and take a look at Raf’s weight, Giving you an estimate.

Wanting to be on the safe side, you decide 1mg should be enough, not enough to knock him out, but at least subdude the pain. Not like you have local anesthesia or have time for lidocaine creams to work. Realizing you in fact, did have one last sterile needle that you saved from safe needles exchange clinics. Never did you think this was what it was going to be used for. Drawing out what you feel is about 1mg as you tie a tourniquet around Raf’s arms, slapping it a couple times until you can see the vein. Children have small veins, and you’ve opted for a butterfly needle. Thankfully he seems to have better veins than you, and you push the morphine into him. Telling him he’s okay, he’ll feel better soon.

In a moment’s time, Raf is peaceful sleeping, no doubt from the stress and his body finally giving up. But also a symptom that the drug has kicked in. It’s showtime. Making an effort to clean his open wounds with rubbing alcohol as that vodka is totally gone. You work as swiftly as you can, with nothing but a fucking sewing needle and nylon fishing wire, you zone in and start his sutures. It’s been a while since you’ve ever sewn up anything, but once you got into the groove, it was surprisingly relaxing.

Half an hour later, you find yourself done with the major bleeds, finishing off the smaller cuts with a mix of butterfly bandaids and normal one, you proceed to apply medicated gauze over the larger more likely to be infected wounds. Mentally drifting off to how expensive these were, but instantly pulling back to the problem at hand. Finishing up as you bandage him up with rolls of gauze and securing it with medical tape.

Ratchet at this point, could not believe what he was seeing. You, who claimed to not have been a medic, just went through with a complicated surgery, as well as sutures. He wondered if the day he met you was also a life saved by you.

By now, the adrenaline has started to subsided. The parasympathetic nervous system is now starting to take over. Making your way over to the bots as you tell them, Raf is out of critical condition, but he still needs to be in a hospital.

Ratchet is in a turmoil, he know Raf needs to be seen by a proper medic, yet he also know they not only need to lay low, but humans would not know how to even begin diagnosing Raf with energon blasts. “If only we could contact June…” He mumbled.

“June? Who’s that?”

“Jack’s mother, a nurse. Someone who’s aware of our presence.” He curtly replied.

Who is even Jack??

“So– We just need to contact her right?” You already know where this is going, seems like the day is far from over.

“Without detection of course.” Ratchet tagged on. “I have her number if you need it.”

That’s all you needed to hear. Giving him a nod as you flop back into your computer chair and once again, send an sos signal –fully encrypted to this said “June”. You’re fighting your body to stay awake now. The cortisol and benzodiazepines are practically taking over. With the message sent, you slice a little of your windscreen open, and shove the spare keys into Ratchet’s servos.

“I sent her a message. You let her in when she gets here, okay?” As you look out the window. Ah shit. They’ve ruined the whole front yard now. Is that a broken tree?

Ratchet, still having a hard time processing what in Primus’s aft just happened, and Bee just as lost. Without a second thought, you pass out right at your computer desk. You could just hope the bots don’t get in any trouble until June arrives…

[frozenjokes]

CuteGuy Would Prefer Greatly If HotGuy Never Ever Had Any Nice Things, But Especially Not His Good Friend And Roommate Cubfan135 (1/3)

I absolutely refuse to go through an add italics to the tumblr versions of my fics but grian is so angry all of the time it was necessary in this case

next

“So let me get this straight.” Grian, well, CuteGuy stood over HotGuy, the hero’s head pinned under his own boot. It was times like these that Grian considered ditching the boots altogether; wrapping his talons around any hero’s face like this would be an absolute sight, but alas, he wasn’t trying to get painful calluses all over his feet. Grian was sure HotGuy could escape this if he wanted to; he’d just have to roll to knock Grian off, but he stayed still, staring up at Grian with those big, pathetic eyes. “You want my help with your romantic endeavors. You want to pretend fight so you can pretend win, yeah? Impress that special someone?”

Grian knew who it was, of course. Not because HotGuy announced it or because it was on the news, no, but because this certified idiot had set his sights on Cub. Cub! His roommate Cub. What could HotGuy even want from a guy like Cub- just a guy! A human, not even a conventionally attractive human, who hardly knew anything about heroes and villains other than their names! Cub, who worked a shitty job with a shitty manager, who basically did nothing but go on little walks and hang out at home- there was nothing about Cub that stood out, so why in the fuck was HotGuy so- Grian hissed, pressing a little harder on HotGuy’s head, who grunted. HotGuy didn’t get to have Cub. Cub wasn’t- HotGuy didn’t even know him! He didn’t get to take Cub- his Cub- and turn him into some kind of hero worshiper!

“Stop looking at me like that!” Grian’s anger reached its boiling point, though HotGuy didn’t flinch, looking more disappointed than anything.

To his credit, he did look away, pursing his lips, “So I take it you’re not a fan of the idea.” The infuriating amicable lilt to his voice stayed even despite his face being crushed against the pavement, and Grian wanted nothing more than to choke it out of him.

“What gave you that idea?” Grian snarled, and HotGuy shrugged.

“When you’re really pissed off you start drooling, and honestly, it’s quite gross. Are you stressed? Have you considered Xanax? Does wonders for me on bad days.”

“My insurance won’t renew my prescription and my doctor fucking sucks.”

“Ah, I feel you buddy. I mean, I basically live in a hospital, but sometimes I need some more benign stuff and it just feels like the whole system is out to get you! Don’t even get me started on before I got into the hero business, gosh. Well, if it makes you feel any better, you were far from my first choice. I asked The Goat, but he told me that would be a monumental waste of his time, Mumbo told me he wouldn’t be convincing enough and also to stop calling him he’s retired, I haven’t seen Worm Man for years but I’m still looking-“

“How many people did you ask before me?” Grian tried not to be offended, but honestly, he was very offended- HotGuy has the gall to ask favors then admit Grian wasn’t his first choice? Why not? He knew why. But why not???

“Anyone I could find, really. I mean, heroes are easy enough to track down, but a lot of them are busy and also don’t give a fuck, but villains kinda just wander around and cause problems wherever. Though, I figured if I stood here long enough you’d jump me like you did last time. Hey, by the way, if you see Poultry Man, will you tell him I’d like to talk?”

Grian seethed; he had seen HotGuy up on the apartment complex where they had fought last and assumed he was looking for Cub- was Grian really that predictable?

“The last thing Poultry Man would want to do is help you impress some guy you don’t even know- what’s the deal anyway? Don’t answer that, I don’t care.”

“Hey! I know Cub plenty! We had such a nice walk the night you broke my visor and then a lovely lunch date the next day! Well- maybe not a date. I don’t know, I never asked what he thought. I kind of don’t want to know, though. And I wasn’t going to ask Poultry Man to help me do anything, I just wanted to talk to him about all the chickens he released into the poor woman’s home- it’s not important-“

“Poor woman? She’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s not important,” Scar strained, and Grian felt the tiniest bit vindicated, “All I meant to say is that I would feel bad beating the shit out of Poultry Man, even if it was just pretend. He’s just a misguided guy in a chicken costume.

“Misguided?” Grian’s hiss cracked into a higher pitch, “Poultry Man is EVIL. Poultry Man could CRUSH YOU. What makes you think you’re any match against him, huh? Really.”

“I mean, his costume looks a bit bulky, not great for maneuvering. I doubt he can see very well out of the mask, too. I don’t know, maybe he’s like, secretly ripped or something, but I still don’t think he could do much damage.”

“You’ll regret underestimating him when you’re taking your last breaths under his claws.”

“Oh, I hope not! I just wanted to chat about where he got those chickens, but you’re nice for standing up for him! You’re a good friend, CuteGuy.”

“I-“ Grian felt his body short circuit for a moment, everything replaced with the type of fury that can only be released by picking someone up and violently shaking them. HotGuy was perfectly polite about it, enduring Grian’s fit of rage before hanging somewhat limply in his arms, not even using his own legs to stand after Grian was done. HotGuy stared. Grian stared back.

“You’re strong.”

“Fuck you.” Grian dropped HotGuy, who just collapsed, wholly unready to support his own weight. Fine. Good. With a few strong beats of his wings, Grian took off, leaving HotGuy firmly in the dust. Flying was good and the evening breeze was good and if shaking someone annoying wasn’t enough to make them stop being annoying, then it was time to let it go. Something Grian was famously bad at.

When he looked back HotGuy was still just laying there, INFURIATINGLY, just staring at the sky! He wasn’t even looking at Grian, he was just completely zoned out-! What was his damn problem?

Grian’s boots cracked against the cement on either side of HotGuy’s waist, and HotGuy screamed, so genuinely frightened, Grian was pretty sure the noise would color his memory for the rest of his life. “Where are you meeting him?”

“What?” HotGuy squeaked, and the sound was just as beautiful.

“Where do you want me to be for your stunt?”

“I-I was going to meet Cub at the City Park-“

“Are you crazy? Are you trying to get me arrested? You’ll meet here, in the parking lot across the street at 9:00. And I don’t do play fights, but if you shoot me I’ll rip you a new one. And I want $500.”

“That’s- a lot of money-“

“You won’t miss it. You and your piece of shit rich friends spend that kind of change like it’s nothing on designer clothes and cocaine. And I want to see your sorry face when you’re forced to cough it up after I flatten your ass then steal your man.”

“You- why are you so mean to me? Hey- you are not allowed to-“ Grian didn’t let him finish, beating his wings hard enough to batter HotGuy’s face before taking off, definitively this time.

Perfect. This was going to be fun.

[lean-mean-demon-genevieve]

So Gen’s answer to the question of “something I’ve never said before” came after Jared’s very mature response re: his mental health and the host’s outpouring of appreciation.

As I’ve said, she was visibly uncomfortable throughout.

If you were thinking, “there’s no possible way she tries to overshadow his answer with a wholly unbelievable story about how she got locked out of their hotel room whilst bare assed” then you would be wrong.

She won’t say what hotel or in what city, but in summary, she says that after she and Jared “did what couples do” one night (you’ve already lost me lol), she wakes up in the hallway outside their room as the door is closing behind her at 2am. She’s naked, the door is now locked, and Jared is asleep. She goes on to say that she had to go down several flights of stairs and find the lobby in order to get someone to let her back in the room as Jared wasn’t waking up to her knocking.

(Podcast link, at about 52:10)

When I tell you this idiot is HYSTERICALLY telling this story. She sounds manic. And that display of anxiety might lead you to believe that it was a true story, but there’s a few problems here:

1.) She says that she doesn’t sleepwalk and she doesn’t have night terrors. So how in the Great Blue Fuck did she dissociate so hard that she landed in the hallway? The host wants you to think that she was dickmatized by the Padacock. He says there must have been some “magical shit” happening in that bed.

Reference for funsies 👇🏼

(Remember the rumor that he basically had to learn how to tuck to keep it PG on Spn? Anywaysssss…)

It feels more likely that this whole story is a lie or she stole it from someone who was drunk or high as giraffe balls. Because this just ain’t plausible at all.

Gen says that she doesn’t even want to know what happened for her to wind up out in the hall. This is yet again inconsistent with her health anxiety that we have seen over and over again. If this really happened, she would scour all available resources to find the supplement to prevent it…She knows she was high af.

2.) So she’s locked out of the room, goes through a door that she doesn’t recognize (nor is marked as a stairwell, apparently) and then gets locked in said stairwell. The fact it’s not very clearly marked as a stairway exit seems like a fire hazard. But also, how well can you read when you’re inebriated? *side eye*

Down the stairs, to the pool area, through the bar, and finally to the lobby she goes.

3.) Being bare assed, she has no ID on her. But she introduces herself with her full name to the woman at the front desk and is escorted back to the elevator and back to her room. The whole time, presumably still mostly naked save for a scrap of “insulation” she foraged in the stairwell.

So you’re telling me that a naked woman who the attendant doesn’t recognize is not offered so much as a towel to cover her bits while she explains the situation? A high end hotel (because, duh) and no one is concerned about taking care of the naked, confused lady who could be a patron? And who now has that pink fiberglass insulation in her crevices??

And then, per her report, without calling upstairs, she is taken up to the room of a celeb who is presumably in one of the nicest rooms in the building? No questions asked??

She says that once back in the hotel room she points to Jared and says, “see that’s my husband” and the hotel staff is just like “oh well this explains everything…carry on, naked lady.” The whole time Jared is just knocked the fuck out?? Girl…be careful mixing y’all’s Xanax with alcohol. That shit is dangerous.

In conclusion: This. Did. Not. Happen.

What really gets me is the intent behind this performance. Some fans/stans may tell you that Gen regaled us with this hilarious tale to balance the gravity of what Jared had shared. She was trying to make him laugh or feel better, right? I don’t really think so. Jared isn’t uncomfortable talking about his mental health. He wasn’t needing to be cheered up here either. This was a selfish way to let the tension out of the room in order to ease her own discomfort. (It happens in group and couples therapy all the time.) It then also comes across as an attempt to one-up him and end the interview on a wildly memorable note for her. The Mental Health Card is that epic Uno Draw 4 Card that connects Jared to so many and makes him so relatable…and Gen resents him for it.

If you’re skeptical about Gen having a pattern of responding to serious circumstances with immaturity, just listen to her tell it on a previous podcast from 2021:

Translation: Gen’s mom really fucked her up in the emotional intelligence department and she’s never been able to tolerate grave situations without laughter. So I believe that she was and remains Jared’s main support about as much as I believe that she sober-floated into a hotel hallway in her birthday suit.

[makos-hotbox]

Hello! Saw that ur taking requests soooo may I request a coffee shop au where the MW2 characters are the baristas? Pairing would be König with a male reader (he/him)... So basically reader is a regular and König has a crush and the others are just teasing him so much about it that reader eventually heard them? Just fluff all around!! ❤❤❤ (You can just ignore this if you don't want to write it btw!💓)

LARGE FONT VER. (coming soon)

… 𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐗

`⌁ ◜ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞? ◞

Relaxing music was heard throughout the building. The dining area was empty as König leaned against the counter with his eyes closed. Trying to focus on the lyrics of the song rather than the customer who had just left with an even worse attitude than they came in with. His anxiety was at peak right now, the confrontation could’ve been avoided.

A lady had come in to get her “usual”. Causing König to let her know that he didn’t know her, let alone if she had a usual. He had expected her to just tell him her normal order, but instead she freaked out on him. It went on for about ten minutes. Even Ghost and Soap stepped in to try and calm her down to no avail. Once she was done with her temper tantrum, the woman left. No coffee in hand.

All of the yelling easily made König’s heart race, not the best thing to start his morning shift with. “You okay, König?” He heard Ghost ask. Opening his eyes to see his concerned coworker, König nodded his head slowly.

“Ja, I’m fine. Just not the thing I was expecting this early.” He nervously chuckled, getting back to work and refilling the coffee beans. Simon nodded his head in understanding, just wanting the Austrian to be feeling okay. He also went back to doing his chores.

A few minutes later, Soap came to the front from the kitchen. “Try these.” He handed König a couple of differently flavored cookies, the taller man immediately taking a bite out of one. Soap was the shop’s baker. Constantly coming up with new fucked-up flavors for König and Ghost to test and approve or deny.

Soap stood in front of König patiently, arms crossed over his chest as he awaited his answer. He watched König’s facial expressions closely. “Wow… these taste great, Soap! And they look just as good as they are. These are gonna sell out so fast— oh gott.” König interrupted his own rambling by shoving the remainder of the cookies into his mouth, completely whipped by the flavors.

A large cocky grin was plastered on Soap’s face. Laughing at König’s love for his treats, it made the Scot feel proud of himself. “Good to know they passed the test. I have tons o’ batches ready to go on display.” Soap looked around the shop, noticing it was empty. An idea sparking into his head to tease his coworker. “Aye, where’s y/n? ‘E hasn’t shown up yet. Usually would have been here by now.”

König’s eyes widened at the mention of your name, but he also was confused. Soap was right, normally you would have already come into the shop. But it’s way past the time they always see you. “Huh… I don’t know. Maybe he was busy today?” König pondered, a slight drop in his mood at the realization he didn’t get to see you today.

Yes, König was crushing. He knew it, and so did everyone else who worked in the shop with him. König couldn’t spend a single shift without being teased by one of his coworkers. He didn’t mind though, because all the teasing was just the truth. There wasn’t a single ounce of shame or embarrassment in König’s mind; you're a great person!

Every time you came to the shop, you would ask König to pick a drink for you to have. And while he makes his favorite drink for you to have, the two of you will talk about whatever is going on at the moment. Whether it be about your job, life, or something stupid, König was all ears. Gott, he loved hearing you talk. He felt natural around you, not shy and filled with anxiety. Soap joked that you were his Xanax.

“König? Earth to König?” Ghost snapped his fingers in front of the Austrian’s eyes, knocking him out of whatever trance he was in. “Stuck in La La Land?”

“Nope, Simon he’s stuck in Y/n Land. He hasn’t shown up yet today.” Soap interrupted, nudging König, causing him to roll his eyes. He grumbled some German curses under his breath as Soap kept his teasing going. The Scot seemed to annoy Ghost more than his actual victim.

Ghost clamped his hand over Soap’s mouth. “Johnny shut it.” He turned his attention back to König, “so when are you asking him out?”

The question alone caused König’s face to flush red. “Uh…” he fiddled with his hands, suddenly nervous under the eyes of his two closest friends who were waiting eagerly for an answer. “I don’t know! I like him a lot, but what if he’s not even into guys? What if he laughs at me for even asking that?” This was the first time König had ever felt anxiety about you. Mind spinning with the endless possibilities of what could happen and a majority of them were negative. He couldn’t help but worry.

“Okay and? What if he doesn’t laugh at you and instead accepts? Ever think about that one?” Ghost interrupted, trying to put König’s anxiety at ease. König couldn’t think of a comeback, Ghost was right. There was an equal chance you would accept or deny— but why was he so worried?

“Come on König! It’s bad ‘nough watching you become mush all because he-“ Soap was interrupted.

“Why’s König becoming mush?” Your voice hit the three workers’ ears, sending an adrenaline rush of quick panic.

König spun around quickly, facing you with a nervous grin on his face. “Y/n!” Behind him, Soap grabbed Ghost by the apron and dragged him into the kitchen to leave König with you; great. “You snuck in!” The Austrian awkwardly laughed, hoping you didn’t hear any of the conversation from before. How long have you been here? How did no one hear the bell?

“I sure as hell did. Come on, don’t be surprised. I come here almost every day.” You commented, noticing the slight redness on his face. König moved over to the register to order your drink; it was the beginning of the week, meaning he had a new favorite drink that he wanted you to try.

He tried to keep up a conversation with you. “I thought I wouldn’t see you today, working late?” You shrugged your shoulders, a small grumble leaving your lips.

“Not really, I’m actually looking for work. Had to quit my last job.” You explained, König frowned. But an idea popped in his head.

“Why don’t you put in an application here? The hours and pay are good. And I think you would like it!” He smiled, a genuine sign that he wanted to help you. Hell, he would help you with anything if it meant he could be around you.

You nodded your head, thinking it would be a good idea. “Maybe I will. Oh! By the way, what was all that talk about you turning into mush?” You leaned against the counter, a cheeky smirk on your face. “You like someone König?” Wiggling your brows at him, he cowered under your gaze. He was nervous, but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of this opportunity. You can do it, König.

He’s never been good at flirting, let alone conversing with people he likes. But gott, he was going to try. “…maybe I do.” König mumbled, watching your surprised expression. He finished your drink and handed it to you over the counter.

Taking the drink, you continued your interrogation. “Who’s the lucky guy? What’s he like?” You took a sip, waiting for his answer. König swallowed nervously, now suddenly debating on telling you or not— wait.

“Well- wait. Lucky guy?” König’s heart dropped. How did you know?

“Yeah! I heard you worrying about whether or not to ask him out when I got here. Plus I kind of already thought you liked guys, sorry for assuming.” You replied, a smile appearing once again. König avoided your apology, it was well known he wasn't good at masking as straight, so he didn't mind the assumption. “Personally, I think you should ask him. The worst that could happen is getting rejected and never seeing him again. But if you don’t, you completely lose a chance of any sort of date happening.”

König nodded, half of his mind was trying to pay attention to you and seem normal. The other half was trying to muster up the courage to go with your advice right then and there. You were genuinely trying to help him through this, and that only made him fall further into the pit of attraction he had for you. “So, would you rather take the opportunity and face the possibility of rejection? Or just completely avoid it all and receive absolutely nothing?” You awaited his answer, the Austrian looking away from you as he sorted through the hurricane of thoughts going through his head.

“I don’t think I want to miss this chance…” He said quietly, barely heard over the music coming from the speakers. Your head cocked to the side, not hearing what König said. “Okay. Y/n, i'm sorry that it took me so long to ask out of nowhere– but i like you a lot and i was wondering if maybe.. You would like to go on a date with me?”

Scheiße, das war lahm. König slapped himself mentally for such a lame question. And another one for asking that right after you had given him advice. Seeing your shocked expression on your face sent waves of embarrassment and guilt down his stomach. Who asks their friend out after just receiving important advice from them? Was it weird? König opened his mouth to apologize and accept the rejection he was expecting, but the grin on your face stopped him.

“I honestly didn’t think you would do it.” König’s brows furrowed, what did you mean? “Your face gets a little more red every time I come here, I noticed. And Soap has told me how you wait for me to walk through the door every day.” You leaned over the counter to get closer to him, placing your free hand over his. His eyes, expressive as always, widened as he stared at you. A red tint on his cheeks that only got worse as he realized how close you were. Scheiße, König’s heart was beating so fast and loud he was positive you could hear it. What the hell was happening right now?

“And i think all of that– and you– is fucking attractive as hell. So, yes König, I would love to go on a date with you.” König felt like his lungs were going to explode and his heart would fail. You accepted? He couldn’t contain the wide grin from forming, a loud breath of relief leaving his lips. His euphoric thought train was interrupted by the sound of your laughter, you were laughing at him. But not because he was funny.

It's because he looked starstruck. Like a teenage boy who just got his first girlfriend and first kiss on the same day. He felt like it too. König waited for you to calm down before offering, “I’ll pick you up at seven?” You grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down your phone number and address, handing it to him.

“Sounds perfekt.”

»»»

Soap and Ghost stared through the crack in the door, watching König shuffle his feet and lose himself as he finally asked you out. Ghost had to hit his friend multiple times to get him to keep quiet. Soap only got louder from all of the hitting. “Johnny, shut up. If you get us caught, we can’t take on the angry Austrian.” Ghost hissed at the Scot, earning an annoyed side-eye instead.

“I don’t listen to people who hit.”

Smack!

REQUESTS:: OPEN

» 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 / 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 … 𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫

[teeth-n-ambitions]

Second Bite

Lila gets to see her new room

TW: vampire whump, lady whump, pet whump, dehumanization, biting, mild sexual content

@deluxewhump @whumpyourdamnpears

They were all vampires, Lila concluded. Each servant so far had an impossible strength, cold touch, and fangs rooted in their mouths. In all fairness, that’d only been about four or five at this point, but Lila wasn’t inclined to ask any of them about it. She was being quiet. Just nodding and shaking her head. Partially—well, mostly, to spite Katherine, but also to take in everything around her.

Getting her metaphorical “collar” carved into her back meant she needed to change tactics. If Cassara could control her body at any moment, who’s to say the rest of them couldn’t as well? And even if they couldn’t, they could snap her in half if they wanted. Meaning brute-forcing her way out wasn’t going to work. She had to gather as much information as possible to figure out what would, even if it took time, even if she had to play along. That wouldn’t be so hard. She’d done it before.

So she kept her thoughts to herself as she was fed an overcooked steak, tape measure wrapped around her waist, and given underwear and a nightgown (both a few sizes two big) to throw on. She noted the windows in the hallway, scanned each ceiling for cameras. But most of all she watched the way the vampires interacted with each other.

There wasn’t a hierarchy as far as Lila could tell, but Katherine definitely had some power over the others. She never had to ask twice. Whether they were afraid of her or something else, Lila couldn’t tell. Marion’s body language hadn’t changed a bit when Katherine appeared, but Madeline’s eye twitched a few times as Lila ate, and the one who took her measurements—Andy? Ally?—her eyes kept darting over to Katherine in the corner. The air was charged with…something that Lila couldn’t place. It was weird.

She was tempted to ask about that, but Katherine stopped walking before Lila had the chance. They’d stopped in front of a door upstairs, just across the bathroom from earlier. Katherine faced her, searched her face for a moment.

“What’s the Xanax for?” she asked flatly.

Lila’s stomach dropped. “What? How did—?”

“Why was it prescribed to you?” Katherine pressed.

Lila had to fight herself to keep her hands from turning to fists. Playing along, that’s what she was doing. She couldn’t blow up every time someone cut her off. Instead, she folded her arms. “I get overwhelmed sometimes and it calms me down. That’s it.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know.” Lila shifted her gaze to the wall, gripped her arms. “A few times a month, every other week…It’s not consistent.” When met with silence, she added, “It just happens sometimes, okay? And it doesn’t even matter because I won’t be getting it anymore since I’m here so I’ll just have to figure something else out. It’s whatever.”

Lila felt her face flushing. Her nails bit into her skin.

Katherine lowered her voice some. “Don’t do that.” She reached out and unfolded Lila’s arms, inspected where she’d dug her nails in. The touch was firm, but not as rough as before. “She’ll have my head if you’re damaged on my watch.”

Lila risked a glance back at Katherine, who immediately met her gaze.

“You’re fine,” Katherine said. She dropped Lila’s arms unceremoniously and stepped back. “Now get over yourself. You can have a pity party later.” Before Lila could snipe back, Katherine knocked on the door. Cassara’s voice called them in.

The first thing Lila spotted were the floor-length curtains drawn at the end of the room. They took up about half of the wall, boxed in by tall, near-empty bookshelves on each end.

“It’s a balcony,” said Cassara. She lounged atop the queen bed that stood against the west wall, hands resting on her stomach like a corpse in an open casket.

A touch of nausea spiked in Lila’s stomach. She is a corpse.

“You can use it whenever you want,” Cassara continued. “I only ask that you close the curtains behind you during the day.” She nodded to Katherine. “Thank you for bringing her. You may go.”

With the slightest bow, Katherine made her leave, closing the door behind her.

“What do you think?”

“Of what?” Lila asked.

“Your room.” Cassara sat up and gestured to the east wall, where a large wooden desk stood beside a wire wastebasket. “I already filled one of the drawers with pencils and such, but there’s room for you to add more. And your closet is here.” She pointed to the south wall that extended past the door. It was a decent walk-in, though empty besides some extra blankets and pillows. “We’ll fill it up once your clothes arrive.”

“It’s…” Lila looked about the room, avoiding Cassara’s gaze. “It’s nice. Thank you.”

“You’re disappointed,” Cassara said.

“No.” Lila met her eyes. “I’m just surprised. I thought you were going to, like, make me sleep in a dog bed in your room…or something.”

Cassara laughed, a haunting sound that reminded Lila of an echo in a cavern. “Oh, definitely not.” She patted the bed. “Come.”

Lila seated herself on the opposite end of the bed, carefully tucking her legs beneath her.

“Closer than that, darling. Here.”

Lila suppressed a gasp at the grip on her waist as Cassara simply lifted her up and placed her just in front of her, making their knees touch.

“I told you before, I’ll treat you well as long as you know your place. And while I will have you in my bed sometimes, you need a space of your own.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Lila’s ear. “Somewhere you feel safe.”

Lila instinctively pulled back from that vicious hand, the irony of it all coiling around her lungs. But just as quickly, the hand was at the back of her head, yanking her forward.

“First rule,” Cassara said, tone even. “Never pull away from me. You’re mine to touch however I like. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Lila repeated quietly.

Immediately Cassara’s hold loosened. “Good girl.”

Something Lila couldn’t quite place swirled in her stomach, a slight blush creeping up her neck. She swallowed. “Starting training right away, then?” At least the shame on her tongue was familiar.

“It will be more formal tomorrow,” Cassara answered. “I actually wanted to take this time to get to know each other a little better. Since you were too busy mouthing off when I tried to talk to you earlier.” Her fingers fell from Lila’s head in favor of gliding through her hair. “Speaking of, how are you feeling? Does your back hurt?”

Of course it fucking does, Lila nearly said. Instead she replied, “When I—”

“Look at me when you answer.”

Lila’s fingers curled reflexively in her lap. She returned her gaze to Cassara’s face. “When I move or touch it, yeah. But mostly it itches.”

“And I trust Marion cleansed it well?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

Cassara hummed as she continued running her fingers through Lila’s hair. “I’ll have to go back over it at a later date to make sure it scars evenly. But I’ll bite you first so it won’t hurt as much.”

The spot on Lila’s neck throbbed as memories of last night (or two nights ago?) flashed in her mind again. Fangs brutally tearing into her flesh, her senses dissipating within an instant. The pain.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Cassara moved her hand to Lila’s cheek. “I’ll be gentle.” She laid the other over Lila’s hands fisted into her nightgown. “Relax for me.”

“Gentle how?” Lila asked, flat as she could manage. “It hurt like a bitch last time.”

“Of course it did,” Cassara chuckled. Fucking chuckled. “I was killing you. But I can make it tolerable. Pleasurable, even. Here, let me show you.” She pulled back from Lila and patted one of the pillows. “Come lie down.”

Lila began shaking her head. “I don’t—”

“Do not make me ask again.”

Lila quickly laid her head on the pillow, biting her lip at the ache in her back as she situated herself. She nearly broke skin when Cassara moved to straddle her, a hand on either side of her head.

“Good girl,” Cassara repeated. She leaned down and deposited a frozen kiss to Lila’s forehead. “Now relax. I don’t want to hit a muscle and make you sore. Breathe.”

Lila’s heart slammed against her ribcage, each breath pitifully shaky. Yet, looking up at her captor’s face, parted lips and violet, inhuman eyes, that feeling in her stomach swirled into a vague heat. She swallowed, acutely aware of every twitch of Cassara’s fingers, of each strand of raven hair tickling her cheek.

“Deep breath in…”

She did as commanded, a hand snaking up to the right side of her face while the other pushed her hair from her neck. She felt Cassara descend further and move her head to the side. A shiver wracked through her when their chests pressed against each other, nearly making her gasp.

Another kiss to the side of her jaw. “And out.”

Shutting her eyes, Lila exhaled.

There was a pinch as Cassara’s viciously sharp fangs plunged into Lila’s neck, cold needles easing their way through her flesh until the vampire’s lips closed around it. Cassara gave her a moment to adjust before biting down in earnest, making Lila hiss as the rest of her teeth dug into her.

She could feel the venom flow through the curve of the fangs and release into her neck, could feel exactly where it spread out beneath her skin. It carried a light warmth with it, a pleasant tingling trailing behind. She sighed, all of the tension in her muscles melting away as it flooded her body.

It was so different from before. Where previously the puncture was swift and violent and the venom overwhelming, here, everything was soft, gradual, almost tender. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so…so calm. She barely even noticed the fangs leaving her neck, the tongue sealing the wound, or the lips gingerly kissing the area around it.

“You did so good, my pet,” Cassara cooed between kisses. “So good for me.”

Cassara’s thumb idly rubbed her cheek, and in any other moment Lila would have liked to slap it away, to push her off and race into the hall. But in this moment? This minute decimal of time along the stretch of eternity?

She felt pretty fucking good.

[yeonkimintakecare]

Cheap Vacations

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader; Angsty Fluff

Summary: You've been in recovery for awhile now, and you're so tired of the people around you coddling you. You ask your boyfriend to come with you on a spontaneous trip, but will he end up disappointing you?

Author's Note: This is based of the song Cheap Vacations by Tobi Lou. He's my second favorite artist after BTS, and I was really depressed in 2020 and I was listening to a lot of sad music. But the song is really good!!! So I suggest listening to the before, during, or after.

Warnings: reader in recovery for a prescription addiction, lot of talk about recovery and mental illness, pretty angsty.

You sit at the window looking at the planes. You look down at your phone to check the time. Your plane to Greece was leaving in 30 minutes. You booked it a week ago when you got home for you and your boyfriend. But he still wasn’t here.

Where is he?! You think to yourself. You told him to be early to the airport but he still wasn’t here. If he’s late you don’t know what you’ll do. Your hands start to shake while you think about getting onto the plane alone. What I would do for a Xanax right now.

You check the time again, just as you pick up your phone it starts to ring. You immediately pick up.

“Namjoon, where are you?” You whisper scream into your phone.

“Baby, I’m not coming.” He said calmly.

“What do you mean? I can’t get onto the plane alone. I need you here with me.” You say starting to tear up and your voice starts to break. Your body starts to shake and you feel the knot in your stomach turn into a rock. You feel weighted down and you feel as though you are about to start sinking into the ground.

“Baby you didn’t ask me if I even wanted to go.” You could hear the guilt in his voice.

“It was supposed to be romantic.” You say weakly. You didn’t understand why he didn’t want to do this with you. To be honest, the break was much needed. Everything in life was always so overwhelming and you just needed some time to take a breath with the love of your life. You needed something new in your life.

“I also don’t think that you should go on this trip. ____, you just got out of rehab. I don’t think that going on a plane, which you find extremely stressful, in a country that doesn’t speak your native language, is a good idea. I missed you so much, can’t we just take a trip here?”

You understood where he was coming from. You had a really rough eight months in rehab to get better. And you were, better that is.

“I just need to get away. I need to get away from everybody treating me like a baby. I need something new for awhile. I want to find a new high. A different high that healthy for me. I just wanted to get a breath of fresh air with you, and when I saw the tickets to Greece I thought it would be good for us. I didn’t get to have alone time with you for eight months and I just wanted to go on this trip. I got a window seat for you and I needed you. I feel like absolute shit all the time and like I'm disappointing everybody all the time. I just wanted to be in a new place with people that don't know me or what I've done.” You sob into the phone. You hated flying alone, your anxiety made it impossible to not have a panic attack on the plane.

“Baby-“ Namjoon begins to speak, but is cut off by the speaker announcing the boarding for your flight.

“I don’t care whether you come or not. I’m going. I need this, and I had hoped you would’ve been here with me, but you weren’t. So I’ll do it on my own. My therapist taught me to be independent, so that’s what I’m going to do.” You say trying to convince him, as well as yourself. “I love you and I’ll contact you when I land. We can talk about how we are going to continue when I get home.”

You end the call and grab your bag and get into the line. You feel yourself starting to shake but you begin to breathe in and out. You didn’t need the Xanax or the Kolonopin. You didn’t do that anymore. You think back to Dr. Rall’s advice and instead of dwelling on all the bad thing, you distract yourself with the good things. While it didn’t cure your state of being, it helped you feel a little more comfortable. You board the plane and sit in your seat, looking at the empty seat next you and you feel the tears welling in your eyes.

Your sadness is interrupted when by a familiar voice.

“I believe that is my seat.”

You look up to see Namjoon with his bag. You smile but tears are still falling. He takes his seat next to you and grabs your hand.

“I thought you weren’t coming…” you say quietly.

“I was already through the check in, but I was hesitant. I wasn’t sure if you were doing this for the right reasons. I had to make sure it wasn’t manic decision. But what you said on the phone. It broke my heart. I’m sorry you feel over crowded, it’s the last thing you need right now.” He said while he grabbed your hand. You see his eyes tear up a bit as well.

You feel comforted while he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “I love you and if you need me, I’ll always be there.” He rests his forehead against yours. You stay there for a bit until you are told you have to buckle up and you both are pulled from your little world.

You both take out your own book to read and you share headphones. At first it was rough, but he held your hand again and eventually, using your breathing exercises and stress techniques to calm yourself down. Eventually the eventful morning catches up with you and you feel your eyes become heavy.

You fall asleep at peace with your head on Namjoon’s shoulder. He smiles when he sees the smile on your face. It reminded him of what you were like before the addiction and stress. He loved you then, and he loves you now.

No matter what struggles you went through, he would always be there for you.

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

Begin Again | Saga Anderson/Daughter's Teacher!F!Reader Teaser

Hey, guys! This is going to be my first F/F fic I've ever written and I'm honestly really excited about the direction it's heading. This story is gonna be fluffy and sweet at parts and also smutty, but there's a lot of angst and hurt/comfort too because I can't stop myself lol. Hope you like this opening teaser of what I have so far! I think I should also add this is an AU somewhat inspired by what was in the Return manuscript, and I wanted to explore grief, addiction, and family dynamics.

Masterlist

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

When Saga awoke to the blare of her alarm clock, she was hungover.

It was a common occurrence these days, and she felt around her nightstand in the dark of the early morning for her aspirin bottle, the pain splitting her head like an axe into wood.

Great, she thought, she had forgotten to pick some up yesterday. Just like how she forgot to get groceries for dinner. She and Logan had just eaten the leftover pizza from two days ago instead.

That was also a common occurrence. Forgetting things.

Saga had always been a sharp tack, but since her divorce with David—hell, well before that if she was being honest—her mind felt like it was buzzing so loud, that it was fuzzy around the edges, not unlike the static of an old TV. The only thing that seemed to numb it was inebriation, something Saga never thought she would succumb to in all her years on earth.

To her credit, it wasn’t an immediate jump. It started with the pills her psychiatrist had prescribed her, the very same psychiatrist her assistant director had lauded as “the best”. Well, if shoving Xanax into her hands the moment she listened to her tale of woe could be considered the best… then perhaps he was right.

And then came the alcohol. It started with a couple drinks in the evening, just to settle her nerves. But two drinks turned into four and she was half-gone by the time she needed to go to bed almost every night.

A few weeks after the “incident” (god, she hated the way everyone just tip-toed around it), it was clear her superiors didn’t think she was capable of handling any more cases. They put her on leave to “clear her head”, and it only served to make it worse.

All that time alone to sit and stew in her own misery… that’s when things between her and David really started to shift. She didn’t blame him for any of it, of course. He did the best he could to be her lifeline when she felt like she was drowning, but it just wasn’t enough. She got distant. She got mean. And even when she went back to work… it was obvious there was something so fundamentally broken inside of her she wasn’t sure anything could repair it.

David tried, but he just couldn’t handle it anymore. He asked for a divorce.

Then, after spending a few months in a shithole apartment, wondering how she could crawl her way out of this ditch she’d dug herself into… she got a letter in the mail.

It was from a man named Tor Anderson, claiming to be her long lost grandfather, asking her to come visit him in Bright Falls, Washington. She almost thought it was a mistake, that he had the wrong person, but then she noticed a photograph had fallen out of the envelope onto her tiny kitchen table. It jarred her to her core to see this strange old man, her mother, and who she assumed was the infant version of herself staring back at her.

She called the number he had written down with shaky hands, and soon she was in full contact with her estranged grandfather. Hearing his voice… it felt like a balm to her aching soul. It felt familiar. It felt like home, one she didn’t even know she was missing. 

Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was coincidence. Whatever it was, she knew that this was her chance to start over. To begin again.

The divorce settled, and David reluctantly agreed to let Saga have full custody of Logan, who would visit him over holidays and school breaks. A small town, safe, surrounded by nature, getting to reconnect with family… it would be good for her, she had told him.

He gave her this gentle look in return—one she knew well, though it made her heart hurt more than flutter this time—and he replied, “I hope it’s good for you too.”

Soon after, she had rented a trailer in Watery—an even smaller town near Bright Falls—quit her job, and moved across the country with her teenage daughter in tow.

Logan was angry. Saga knew she would be. Her whole life was turned upside down in the course of a year, and she was moving to a new location where she didn’t know anyone. Saga hoped that after they settled in, she would understand that it was better this way.

But maybe Saga was reassuring herself more than Logan.

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

Masterlist

[kitwalker02]

In Tyler We Trust

A/N: This is a little Fight Club thingy I wrote and posted on ao3 but wanted to share here also! Enjoy! There’s really no warnings other than mentions of suicide and stuff.

Six months later… and I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't sleep.

No one was asking me if I knew Tyler Durden. Why Tyler’s not here. For all they knew, he had a mental breakdown and retreated back into his repetitive, copy of a copy of a copy, perfect little Ikea world. A safe and secure job behind a computer and hidden away from the world within the blank walls of a cubicle.

Six pairs of black pants. Six perfectly ironed white dress shirts.

At the very least, Tyler Durden could have ended up in an asylum. Wrapped up in a straitjacket. Going crazy looking at the same four white walls day in and day out until he finally loses the last of that weak, pointless grip on reality, or maybe he gets lobotomized like in the movies, or simply takes one too many Xanax and goes out Marla Singer-style… even getting his balls cut off back at the police station would have been a better ending than the one he got.

Instead, Tyler Durden was a button-down, oxford cloth Ikea boy.

He lay in bed with his tumor, Marla Singer, who now had a tumor of her own, one they'd name within the next few months. It could be Tyler, reincarnated from one too many drug-induced, erotic nights, or another Marla. Now, that would be just perfect.

At least there's still the option of getting my penis cut off.

Underground fight clubs and rubbing one off to a bowl of clam chowder were things of the past. Tyler Durden is just an idea now.

The ankle Tyler broke, had long since healed. The gash in my cheek closed up. It would never be gone entirely, but the doctors said it was healing nicely. Every bruise and scar I got from fight club faded and paled, but the chemical burn on my hand remained.

The scar was as prominent and brutal as the night I got it. The lye kiss. Tyler's kiss.

I swear it still burned every time I washed my hands, but then again, I tend to have a pretty active imagination.

After all the destruction, chaos, and pain… why did I miss Tyler Durden? I was perfectly happy in my monotonous, predictable life, wasn’t I? Every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, cry at my support groups, and go to sleep.

But I couldn't sleep.

Because I missed Tyler Durden.

I dreamt about Tyler Durden. He was mad at me. Pissed that I killed him. He said it was my own fault that my life was miserable again. I had a chance to accomplish something, become something, and I blew it all up. Then he'd hit me. Hard. Like the night we met. I'd wake up to Marla above me, shaking me back to consciousness; the following day, my face would have a new bruise.

But then Marla left.

My tumor was removed. My cancer cured. She said all my thrashing around at night made me dangerous to the baby. Our baby. She was scared I was going to lash out. Apparently, I had been becoming violent.

"Go get that fucking abortion like you wanted, Marla."

A bit winded, but that was the last thing I ever said to her.

Now I was alone. I couldn't cry. I couldn't sleep.

That night, when I wasn’t really awake and I wasn’t really asleep, it was just me and Tyler; no one else existed in my unconscious consciousness. Not Marla Singer. Not a tumor on a tumor. But best of all, not a Fight Club around. Just empty parking lots and back doors to bars. No, it was just me and Tyler now, as it used to be. The way it was supposed to be.

Tonight, we were in the rickety old bathroom in the house on Paper Street. The same bathroom where we talked about our fathers…or father. About the great fights we had and will have. The bathroom was filled with so much desire to be different, to fight against the enslavement we call society. And now I was lying fully clothed in a tub filled with murky water. My white button-down was soaked through, my suit jacket weighed me down and Tyler Durden crouched beside me, pressing a sharpened pocket knife into my hands.

"This is freedom. Losing all hope is freedom."

My words coming out of Tyler's mouth. How the tables turn. "This world doesn't need you anymore." His fingers brushed over my burn, over his permanent kiss.

I nodded my head to his words. In Tyler we trusted. "Forget what you think you know about life, about death and especially what you think it means to hit bottom." My whole life was one big letdown. I could only hope death would give my pathetic existence some sort of meaning. And if that meant finally hitting bottom the way Tyler saw fit, then so be it.

"I want you to do me a favor."

Anything for you, Tyler, anything. Just don't let me wake up again. I don’t want you to go.

He tapped his fingers against my fist. The one that held the knife. Our knife.

You want me to slit my wrists. Don't you?

"Wrists are for pussies."

Of course Tyler would think that.

"I want you to slit your throat."

Now how does one go about slitting their own throat?

What did you say? It’s not that I was questioning him; I was just scared that if he stopped talking, I would be shaken awake again, Tyler Durden turning into Marla Singer. Me and Marla alone in our dark room, her lies reflecting my lies. We weren't happy. We were never happy. Not alone and definitely not together.

But she was gone, and by tomorrow morning, so would I.

"Listen to me. This is the sacrifice. Your whole life is fucked. You need to wipe the slate clean. Start over, man."

I wouldn't be waking up this time, would I?

Tyler Durden smiled. When Tyler Durden smiled, the rest of the world got its volume turned down.

Everything else was so far away. Bruises fade, and people go, but not Tyler Durden. He is the only sure thing in this entire fucked up world. I know that now. My eyes are open.

"Have I ever let us down?"

I couldn't argue with that. Not again, never again.

“Everything's going to be fine.”

I met Tyler Durden at a very strange time in my life.

"Hey. It's you and me."

Who I was with Tyler Durden is not who I was with the rest of the world.

And in Tyler I trusted.

[jankwritten]

Who worries more about Nico and/or Jason? Jack, Snowy, Parse or Percy? Also Who’s the mom friend in this AU

HMMMMM THIS IS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION. They all care and worry in their own special ways.

Snowy worries about Nico but not a whole whole lot anymore. He trusts Nico more than he lets on nowadays, and generally he’s overbearing as a way of getting teasing Nico rather than because he’s actually concerned. He worries more like a dad than anything, if that makes sense. He’s like if a responsible frat bro became a dad - he worried to a point but he also treats his kid like a bro.

Percy is like the big brother. He worries about Nico if Nico is doing something he finds concerning, and he has more of a penchant to panic if something is going on (like when Nico wasn’t answering his phone in chapter 4) than Snowy, but otherwise he’s down to push Nico around and shit, treat him like another one of the bros. I think of the four of them, Percy is the quickest to panic and the one who’s constantly looking out for Nico (we’ll learn later that Percy’s wrist injury was over Nico :D). But also Percy would never admit that he’s worried about Nico to that extent.

Parse is 100% the worst of them, over both Nico and Jason once Jason convinces Parse that Nico isn’t an asshole. Parse had a lot of unresolved fear over what happened with Jack, and he sees a lot of himself and Jack in both Nico and Jason, so he’s always worried, always checking in, always making sure Jason is okay and not panicking or drinking too much or doing drugs etc etc. with Nico he’s a little more distant about it but he’s always asking Jason for updates or if Nico is okay with the NHL pressure and all that. Especially because Parse realizes Nico is Weird around him specifically and he wants to make sure it’s not for any bad reasons.

Jack is worried about Nico and Jason in a more distant but similar way to Parse. He sees a lot of himself in Nico in all ways - big talent with a big shot dad, a weird relationship with his family, definitely something Different about his brain (*cough* autism *cough*) etc etc. He views Nico as a younger version of himself that he can coach and wants to help but doesn’t really know how. He’s awkward and his care usually comes across the weirdest to Nico.

They all want the best for Nico in the end. They all care!

OH AND THE MOME FRIEND hm I think Parse would be the mom friend. Asking if everyone is fed and well rested and bringing extra Xanax etc etc.

[inhersepulchrebythesea]

Evelyn 10/7/23

Evelyn and I got dinner together last night to try to help me take my mind off of what's going on in my apartment. She asked me about my program, and I told her I’ve always been really interested in books. How they’re written, the exact choice of words authors use, the hidden meanings you can get to if you keep digging. I think it’s beautiful when people die but live on in their writing.

“Why are you in the pharmacy program?” I asked her. 

“I was a biochem student,” she said. “I wasn’t all that certain what to do with that, and my family told me to go into pharmaceuticals.”

“Is that what you want to do, though?”

“It’s not all that awful. I just keep thinking that in a few years, I’ll be making pretty decent money at some CVS.”

“Why not open your own pharmacy? Like the apothecary down the road?”

“Do you know how hard it is to have your own apothecary shop? Big retail stores are driving them all out of business. The only way that that old man is staying in business is because he has natural remedies, and there’s enough broke college students around him that’ll take that over $40 prescriptions for anti-anxiety meds. But once those college students graduate and start making money and move to big cities—they no longer want the snail serums and the crystals. They want Xanax and Prozac.” 

“I heard snail serum is good for your skin. They do it in Korea, apparently.”

“Yeah. It is. Really good.”

“There have to be some people who want natural remedies.”

“Well, there are. There’s all the crunchy mommy bloggers who won’t vaccinate their kids.”

“Yikes.”

“And they’re not the type to go to an apothecary shop anyway. An apothecary shop is, like, three degrees too weird for them. They don’t want the frog oil or the fermented worms. They want to rub crystals on their armpits and put an onion on their kid’s foot when they get measles.”

“And you wouldn’t want to serve them anyway.”

“I don’t want their home schooled kids messing up my shop!”

We started walking back to my apartment (I still pay rent and really have nowhere else to stay, so I'm still living there despite the horrors. And at least with Evelyn there, I feel safer). Evelyn held half of a burrito bowl that she was going to save for breakfast the next morning. I was thinking about buying an aloe plant and how much an aloe plant costs and how hard it is to keep an aloe plant alive.

“I also would have no idea how to start a business like that. And apparently if you want to open an apothecary shop, you have to, like, file all this specific paperwork and get rated every year. And if you’re violating these specific laws, you get fined and the fines are big enough to bankrupt your business.”

“That’s balls,” I said.

“It’s so balls! And then there’s so much politics in the independent apothecary game. Best to leave it alone.”

“Damn. Tell me more.”

And she did. We went back to my apartment, and we talked all night. She told me about her older brothers. I told her about my mother. She told me she’s thinking about shaving her head. I told her I’ve wanted to try going vegetarian if I have the money to support the lifestyle. 

We went out in the middle of the night to get ice cream from the gas station around the corner, and we ended up buying armfuls of junk food to go with it. 

When we got back, she strung up more crystals around my bed. Midterms are soon, she said. Some good crystals help with mental clarity which makes studying much easier. I asked how she knows so much about crystals and candles and stuff, and she didn’t really give an answer. Her mother had a Wiccan phase when she was a kid.

By two in the morning, we were half-asleep and watching Bob’s Burgers. Again on the couch. Again under the same blanket. She rested a fuzzy-socked foot on my leg. I pressed my thigh against hers. 

And that’s it. That’s the update this time. No cats or ghosts or weird clawing at my walls. Just Evelyn.

[headlessbutnothopeless]

OOC:

idk, maybe it's just me

(this is mostly just me putting my feelings to figurative paper and screaming into the void, so you can absolutely scroll past)

Me: Hey, you deeply hurt me. Here's a calm explanation of how/why it hurt, vetted by a third party to make sure the explanation was civil. You did this before and promised not to do it again. But you did and it hurts really bad. Her: omg I'm so sorry I'll apologize right away Me: I would prefer if it was in front of the same people you deeply hurt me in front of, because they're all talking about how I'm a horrible person for having a panic attack. Her: That sounds reasonable, sure! Me: ... and without the victim blaming and threatening to hurt yourself, like your last "apology" Her: ... okay That apology? "Hey guys Aech has every right to their feelings. I hurt them and sent them spiraling into a PTSD episode. I'm a horrible person. I want to kill myself. I deserve to (incredibly graphic description of desired death)." So... I message her saying that's very not okay, and she promised not to say she's the victim. her exact response "am am I not allowed to be hurt?" yeah, because “Aech told me I hurt them. How dare they, I want to kill myself!” is the logical conclusion

Also it took 30+ hours for anyone to go "Hey is Aech okay?" Two people I'd said "hi" to a handful of times, one person I thought was chill and wanted to be friends with, one person I enjoyed friendly banter with - those are the ones who checked on me. None of my actual friends in that server. Also one of the mods told me I wasn't welcome because I'd "harassed" the person who hurt me. An actual friend did message me 40+ hours later, after seeing the one who hurt me threaten to kill herself. Ironically, this was apparently a good friend of the person who hurt me, as well. The mod who said I was her first friend? 44 hours later, I asked why she didn't do anything, when she knew this person had hurt me before, and had promised to have my back if it happened again. She says she didn't want to say anything to make me feel worse. Better if I think everyone hated me, apparently (because they were ripping me to pieces in the server). Because she says I wasn't polite enough in the middle of my panic attack where I'm flashing back to the worst moments of my life, yet still trying to remain calm enough to explain why this thing hurt so bad (something I'd posted about before and the entire server agreed wasn't okay and promised to support me).

ANYWAY that was my weekend :) I just have to get this off my chest. cause like holy fucking shit am I delusional or was this very not okay? There’s more, but it’s either not possible to be objective, I’d dox either of us, or it requires literal years of backstory fortunately I have a shitton of Xanax because of that one crackpot mental health doctor (dw I’m only taking it as prescribed)