#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.”

[copperboom82]

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Katrina), mentions of Dean/Lisa

Word Count: 4,035

Title Credit: Nothing Else Matters by Metallica

Summary: Dean's forced to confront his fear of flying to help a friend, but this time Katrina might be able to help... and maybe along the way her and Dean might find a way to stop their nonstop bickering.

Set in season 6, during Weekend at Bobby's, and part of the Long Winding Roads collection (masterlist here), but can be read on its own.

A/N: This is my sixth submission for @jacklesversebingo using the prompt There's only one thing in the world they're afraid of. It is also a submission for @alphabetquest using the nicknames prompt!

Thank you @justwhisperingfantasies for being my beta and for all your support! ❤️

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of alcohol. Prescription medication. Implied Soulless Sam. Vague mentions of past trauma... if I missed any, please let me know

**********************

“Okay, what is wrong with your brother?”

At the question, Sam followed Katrina’s gaze from where they stood in line for food to where Dean was still sitting in the terminal. There was little over an hour to go before boarding, but Dean looked like he was going to be sick, and he hadn’t stopped fidgeting since they’d gotten to the damn airport. Katrina may not have known the older Winchester particularly well, but even she could notice how uncharacteristically anxious and… on edge… he seemed to be.

“Oh,” Sam chuckled. “Dean’s terrified of flying. Only thing in the world he’s afraid of… if you ask him, anyway.”

“Really?” Katrina couldn’t help but ask, her eyes widening in surprise. Sam smirked but nodded. He had one of those weird expressions on his face again… almost like he was amused but somehow… disconnected.

“Oh yeah,” he told her. “Few years back we had to work a case where we had this demon taking down planes. You should have seen him, I don’t think he’s ever been so flipped out.”

Katrina frowned, but before they could continue talking, Sam got called up to the counter and she was left to stand on her own.

It was a little funny, Dean being so freaked out. And there was part of her that felt like Mr. Cocky-Pain-in-Her-Ass had it coming - Dean had been insufferable since he’d shown back up, and really from that first time he’d come round Bobby’s with his girlfriend and the kid.

But it was almost a 10 hour flight to Scotland. And there was no mistaking the genuine terror in his eyes, or the way he was wound so tightly he looked like he was ready to snap. That he was willing to put himself through what was clearly some version of self-inflicted torture for Bobby tugged at heartstrings Katrina liked to pretend she didn’t have.

With a sigh, she ducked out of line and rerouted to the duty free store a few yards down from where they’d camped out.

A few minutes later, Katrina wordlessly dropped into the seat next to Dean. Sam was no where to be seen, but she wasn’t about to complain. In fact, the fewer witnesses to see that she actually had a heart, the better as far as she was concerned.

Dean ignored her at first, but when she tossed one of the little vodka bottles in his direction, he turned to her in surprise, even as he caught it in his hand. When she followed up by tossing him a prescription bottle, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Pick your poison,” she said, already digging in her bag for her earbuds. “I don’t recommend both, but to each his own.”

Katrina tried not to let her heart beat too fast at the thought of what she was potentially revealing about herself with the offering. She couldn’t afford brand name anyway, so it wasn’t like she expected him to immediately place what the pills were. Even if he did, Xanax was a pretty common medication.

And it wasn’t like she was actually taking them. She was fine. Everything was fine.

“Wha -“

“We’ve got at least 10 hours ahead of us. You shouldn’t have to white knuckle it the whole time, that’s ridiculous. Even if you are a jackass.”

“Gee, how sweet,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can really feel the love.” Katrina fought the urge to flip him off. From the corner of her eye she noticed Dean bringing the pill bottle closer to his face, his eyes scrunching as he scrutinized it.

“Katrina Black, DOB 4/22/84, take 1 tablet orally four times a day… Jesus, Kat, they’ve got you on 8mg of this stuff a day? The hell are you doing hunting?”

Of fucking course, she thought. And that fucking nickname again, to boot.

Katrina glared and reached back for the pill bottle but Dean quickly pulled it out of reach, holding it up and to his other side while pushing her back.

“If you’re gonna give me shit, you can give them back,” she snapped.

“I wasn’t giving you shit,” he complained. “Just surprised. Besides, it’s a valid concern, considering Sam and I seem to keep getting stuck working with you, which mean’s you’re supposed to have our backs.”

“Hey, no one’s making you hang around. Or Sam for that matter. I could have handled this one just fine on my own.”

He started to puff up the way he usually did when they got into their verbal sparring matches, but before any words actually came out he seemed to deflate, running a hand down his mouth - a habit she’d begun noticing of his when he was frustrated or trying to pull his thoughts together - before looking at her with an expression she hadn’t seen before.

“You’re right,” he finally said, though it looked like it pained him to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Dean gave her a look, dropping the hand holding the prescription bottle back into his lap now that he seemed to deem the danger of her trying to take it back had passed.

“Don’t be a smartass, Black. I said I’m sorry.”

“My bad,” Katrina quipped, “I didn’t know you knew how.”

She clocked the way he started to narrow his eyes. But when he noticed the smirk on her own face and eased up, she let out a silent breath of relief. It was only another second before even Dean let out half a laugh and shook his head.

“Y’know, you’re a real pain in the ass, sometimes.”

Katrina shrugged and went digging in her bag again. “Yeah,” she agreed over her shoulder, “but ‘s not like you or brother are exactly a walk in the park either, so maybe glass houses and all that.”

“Touché,” he agreed. And then after a moment, much quieter, he followed up with a thanks.

The genuine tone of his voice was what caught her attention, and Katrina looked over to find him watching her, a soft, almost pensive expression on his face. It struck her the way the sunlight filtering in through the big, glass windows fell across him in that moment, illuminating the natural highlights and low lights in his short brown hair and giving extra life to his already vibrant green eyes. The jacket he was wearing over his usual flannel attire stretched across his shoulders, and even she wasn’t blind to his chiseled features.

She’d have thought he was attractive, if he weren’t such an asshole. Katrina could see what other women saw in him, though… what Lisa probably saw in him. Even in the limited amount of time the three of them had been by Bobby’s, it’d been impossible not to miss the way he fit there, how good he was with the kid… Ben, she thought his name might have been.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” she dismissed. Dean nodded and looked towards his hands - one holding the pill bottle and the other still hanging onto the vodka. He looked unsure, hesitant, and Katrina rolled her eyes. The tension was already back in his shoulders, and his knee was bouncing in a very un-Dean Winchester like way. “You should probably take one of the pills, but do something, dude. You look like you’re about about five seconds from a meltdown.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to hand her back both bottles, which Katrina resolutely ignored.

“You are not fine, Winchester*.* You’re not even in the neighborhood of fine.”

The narrowed eyes came back. This time, though, she recognized the uneasiness in his expression, saw the same self-consciousness she’d been feeling just moments before reflected back at her. “Yes, I am. Just had too much caffeine trying to stay awake on the drive here, that’s all.”

Fucking asshole, she mentally cursed. Leave it to Dean Winchester to accidentally find a way to tap into the sympathetic part of her brain.

“Sam already ratted you out, said you’re terrified of flying,” she informed him. He became visibly uncomfortable but she hurried on. “It’s not a big deal, really. We’ve all got our… things.”

Dean seemed to study her for a moment, almost as if he were looking for her to go in for the kill at any second, and when she didn’t, he pulled a face and turned the pill bottle over in his hand again.

“Yeah? Is that what these are?”

Katrina snorted, though it was the humorless type, and shook her head.

“No. Those are… I’m not taking those anymore. But those were something else.”

Those were the doctor’s answer to the thin line she’d been walking after last year. Their brilliant solution to keep her from totally spiraling out. As if some pills would have magically changed what had happened with her mom, or the mess she’d been left to cleanup in the aftermath.

Dean seemed to sense there was a story, but to his credit didn’t push. Instead he nodded and turned the bottle over in his hand again, discreetly observing it from the corner of his eye. She could tell his pride was warring with his desire for some relief, but she decided not to pick at it… yet.

“So then what’s your thing, Miss. Black? Since apparently we’re caring and sharing.”

Katrina sighed, fiddling with her nail as she glanced down towards her lap, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Heights,” she mumbled, but when Dean raised an eyebrow, indicating he hadn’t been able to understand her, she huffed again, forcing herself to raise her voice. “Heights. I’m afraid of heights.”

She had fully expected him to laugh and give her some kind of crap for it, despite the fact that she’d been trying to make him feel better. Maybe that said as much about her as it did about him, she wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. Dean surprised her, though, by doing neither of those things, and only nodding instead. Katrina thought he might have even let himself settle just a bit further into his seat, as if something about her confession had eased something just enough that he didn’t feel the need to hold himself quite so straight.

“Alright,” he said. And without another word, he uncapped the pill bottle and dropped one of the tablets into the palm of his hand. She was about to offer him water when he tossed it into his mouth and swallowed dry, recapping the bottle as he did, and then handing it back. The vodka, she noticed, stayed where he’d dropped it into his lap.

“Just like that?” she questioned, and he nodded again.

“Yeah, just like that. Your loss if you were trying to poison me or something, though, because if something happens to me you’re stuck with gigantor over there.”

Katrina’s eyes traveled in the direction he’d tilted his head and saw that Sam had reappeared but was chatting up a woman a few banks of seats away from where they’d camped out. She looked back at Dean skeptically and he shrugged. After all, she was pretty sure it had been her less-than-warm opinion of his brother that had started them off on such a sour note.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m used to working with him. You’re still an unproven entity,” she joked, dropping the pill bottle back into her bag. Dean scoffed at that, both of them knowing full well that even if they hadn’t been getting along, they’d both proven more than capable since Dean had taken up hunting again.

They were quiet for a moment, and Katrina was about to finally pull her earbuds on when Dean opened his mouth, a contemplative and an unusually serious expression on his face.

“This past year, while he’s been… back… how often did you two work together?”

There was something about the way he asked the question that told Katrina there was more to it than what it seemed at face value. She dropped the headphones back to her lap and frowned, thinking.

“Often enough…” she answered carefully. “I was starting to hunt more than I had been, and Bobby wasn’t a fan of me working jobs by myself. So when Sam showed up and insisted on leaving you out of things, Bobby seemed to think it was a good opportunity to push us to partner up.”

“And the Campbells?” Dean asked after mulling what she’d said. Her mouth twitched into a frown of its own accord. He caught it immediately, the curiosity on his own face deepening, and Katrina shook her head.

“They’re fine, just… I don’t know, I get a vibe, but I don’t have anything backing me up. Anyway, they just kinda showed up one day. Sam, I guess, had worked a few jobs without me? And then when we hooked back up they were just part of the deal - not all the time but a lot of the time.”

“You get a vibe?” Dean’s voice was incredulous, but Katrina shrugged.

“Yeah, I don’t know, man. They're just… Samuel’s a little too unbothered with the whole don’t-know-how-I’m-alive-again thing - your brother too, but whatever. And then they’re all just… close? And, look, I get it - hunters aren’t exactly the most trusting or welcoming bunch. But there’s something going on there. Whenever I’m around I get the sense they just want me out of the way - even more than you do, which is saying a lot.”

Something flashed on Dean’s face - guilt, she’d say, if she didn’t know any better - but it was gone before she could really give it much thought.

“I don’t - I never… that’s not -“ he stuttered but when Katrina raised an eyebrow, Dean sighed. “Saying I want you out of the way ‘s a little harsh,” he finished weakly. Katrina snorted.

“Oh yeah? What are we, best buddies then, Winchester? You wanna make friendship bracelets and braid my hair?”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm, but it broke him out of the weirdly awkward demeanor he’d been settling into and it drew out a short laugh, even if he did try to suppress it.

“Let’s not go that far… but maybe you don’t totally suck.”

“High praise,” she quipped, and Dean actually laughed, a rare smile breaking across his face. “I mean, really - sweet talker like that, Lisa’s a lucky woman.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, okay?” he admitted, mirth still coloring his voice, though she could still tell he was being genuine. “I didn’t mean to be -“

“Such a dick?” she supplied helpfully. Dean went to defend himself but immediately deflated.

“Yeah.”

Katrina smirked. “It’s fine.” Then settling back down, she added on a more serious note, “I’m sorry too. I probably could have started things off on a better foot.”

It was an understatement, not that she’d ever admit that, but Dean seemed to read it for what it was anyway and chuckled.

“Just maybe.”

They were quiet for a moment, though it was a little more comfortable now, and after a bit Katrina noticed that contemplative look sliding back onto Dean’s face. She followed his eyes back to Sam and waited, sensing there was still more on his mind. Sure enough, not more than thirty seconds later, Dean was opening his mouth again.

“So why did you say he’s a dick?” Registering the surprise on her face, Dean continued on. “I mean, you two seem to get along okay. You’ve been working together. What was the deal?”

There was more to that question too, and Katrina was done humoring him.

“Why do you wanna know?”

After all, Dean hadn’t brought it up since that initial argument they’d had in Bobby’s kitchen. In fact, they’d pretty much avoided any and all conversation about Sam since.

Dean’s gaze returned to her, and she could see him mentally weighing his desire to keep his cards close to his chest against her proven stubbornness. She didn’t flinch and eventually the debate seemed to play out in her favor.

“He’s, uh… something’s different about him, since he’s been back,” he admitted, lowering his voice. Katrina looked back, unimpressed at the lackluster answer.

“Well, he did go to Hell. Which is something I hear you have some experience with. You telling me that didn’t change you at all?”

“Smart ass,” he grumbled. Katrina only smiled back, waiting for Dean to gather his thoughts and continue. “Yeah, I do. But, this is… not that. I can’t put my finger on it, but he ain’t right. And I’m worried.”

It would have been easy to keep teasing him, and part of Katrina felt like he deserved it for how he’d been the last few weeks… but she sensed this opening up he was doing wasn’t a normal thing for him. And that was something she could relate to. Painfully so.

“Look, I didn’t know him before,” Katrina admitted, “but you can pick my brain on whatever you want. He’s definitely not the Sam I had in my head from what I’d heard from Bobby. I don’t know if that helps or not, but…” she trailed off, but Dean seemed appreciative anyway.

“You got any more for me as to why? Besides you thinking he’s kind of a dick, I mean.”

Katrina smirked, but took a moment to reflect on the past year. It was a gut feeling more than anything, but if she tried, she could articulate it a bit.

“He’s just… I mean, all I heard was how he’s this great hunter, and he’s got this heart of gold, and how you guys grew up doing this, right? And, I don’t know, I gotta tell you… dude’s got no instinct. I mean, there’s sometimes where he’s scary perceptive, like when we’re interviewing someone or dealing with the local badges, but a lot of the time? Especially when it’s not case related? I’ve seen him start to make some real miscalculations reading people. And then that heart of gold I heard so much about? I don’t think I’ve met anyone colder, and I work in emergency services. He’s… he’s tried to make some seriously fucked up calls too, and… it doesn’t exactly leave me with a warm, fuzzy feeling thinking about what he might do when he’s working solo. And, look, it’s not like I don’t have my issues, so I’m the last person to judge here, but dude, the women. He’s got no bounds.”

Even though he’d asked to hear, Katrina had anticipated some type of pushback… maybe even a defensive sort of reaction - it wouldn’t have been the first time. But Dean listened, his frown deepening and eyes drifting back to Sam as she spoke. Until finally he turned back to her, skepticism and concern fighting for dominance on his face.

“What kind of seriously fucked up calls are we talking about here?” His voice had grown hard, serious, and Katrina shifted uncomfortably.

“You sure you really want me to answer that?” In the seconds that followed her question, it felt like they were in an unofficial staring contest until Dean exhaled and ran a hand down his mouth.

“I’m sure I really don’t, but I’m just as sure I need you to.”

It was as honest an answer he could have given, and Katrina felt a pang of sympathy.

“Using innocent people as bait, for one,” she said quietly, uneasy despite the truth of what she was saying. “Letting them get hurt or worse when it’s been inconvenient to stop it. I can tell you we’ve been working together for over a year now, and I’ve got zero confidence the guy has my back. I don’t think he’d do anything to intentionally screw me, but I don’t think he’d go out of his way to help me either. Not unless it was a benefit to him. It’s just… like I said, I didn’t know him before… but I don’t see the guy you and Bobby talk about.”

Dean seemed lost in thought, but he nodded. Then when she caught his eye he looked almost surprised, but snapped out of it fast, a practiced poker-face taking over his features. He shifted in his seat, trying to look casual, but she noticed that some of the tension had returned to his body… a different kind than before that she suspected had a lot more to do with an unease that went deeper than his fear of flying.

“Well,” he said lowly, “’least I know it’s not just me I guess. Thanks, for telling me, Kat. I appreciate it.” Katrina thought it was the end of the conversation, but then he winced, shooting her an apologetic look. It was an expression Katrina had yet to see, at least not pointed in her direction, and she froze, her interest piqued.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know you don’t, I didn’t mean to… Thanks, Trina.”

Literally everyone called her Trina. Or even Treen. Katrina on rare occasions. But ninety-nine percent of the time? Trina.

She hated that he called her Kat. It was the entire reason he’d started using the name - to piss her off when he realized it got under her skin.

But sitting there now, him looking at her with that earnest expression on his face, she cringed at the use of her actual name. It felt fundamentally wrong coming out of Dean’s mouth for reasons she couldn’t explain. Dean, of course, seemed to notice this, and the corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement.

“Did you just call me Trina?” she asked, and Dean snorted.

“Yeah. Thought that’s what I was supposed to call you.”

They shared a look, but then Katrina scrunched her nose, and in an extremely rare moment of synchronicity, they both chuckled.

“No,” she corrected him, “it’s weird.” Dean laughed again.

“Yeah, felt pretty weird saying it,” he admitted. There was a beat of silence, only slightly awkward. She recognized what the olive branch had been, him trying to call her by her preferred name, and hoped he didn’t think she’d been trying to reject that. Luckily, seconds later, he flashed her a seemingly warm smile as he settled back into his seat. “So, Kat?” he asked, “or is there something else we should be trying here?”

She still hated the name Kat, but there was something about the way he said it that made her shake her head, forgoing the opportunity to get rid of it forever.

“Kat’s fine,” she agreed. “Wouldn’t wanna change things up on you too much now, would we?”

Dean rolled his eyes, but the fond smile he was still wearing gave away the fact that he wasn’t actually annoyed. Katrina reached for the earbuds again. This time, she got one halfway to her ear when Dean gave the iPod they were attached to a pointed look, making her pause.

“What’re you listening to?” he asked, and she realized he must have noticed her listening to it earlier in the car. Katrina felt her cheeks flush, wondering if she were about to get the same rash of shit she usually did - especially from Jenna - for her taste in music.

“Metallica,” she admitted. “Got a playlist I’ll probably switch to after that’s a mix of stuff, but I’m about halfway through the album.” When his eyes lit up in interest she hesitated, then held out one of the strings. “You wanna listen?” she offered tentatively.

The surprise was clear on Dean’s face, but he covered it up fast enough, reaching out a hand for the offered bud. He seemed to recognize the gesture for what it was, as her own attempt to bridge the gap between them.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Katrina hummed and dropped the earbud into his palm, a slight shock flashing across her skin when their fingers brushed.

Neither commented on it, instead just settling back into their seats as she reached down to the device and hit play. And maybe it wasn’t the grandest gesture, but Katrina thought to herself that maybe Dean Winchester wasn’t such a total asshole after all.

Maybe.

**********************

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added): @mrsjenniferwinchester @0ccvltism

[strippedtights]

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 :^)

[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…

[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.”

[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.

[kick-the-moonlight]

The schizo walk of shame

It’s something we have to do at the end of each episode after we’ve settled down. We have to go back to those we interacted will while we were crazy and explain our behavior. They may have thought you were on drugs or maybe they just thought that that was the type of person you are. Either way, it must be done.

My worst walk of shame was when hallucinations caused me to run up and down my street asking people to grab my dog that wasn’t there. I tried to enter cars and houses because I saw my friends waving me inside. I ate one of my neighbors' flowers because I saw two guys sitting next to the bush saying “try them. They’re Xanax flowers”. This all got the cops called on me.

When the time came, I was too embarrassed to do this walk on my own. Also, I don’t speak Spanish unlike half of my neighbors. So, with my friend-neighbor as a translator, we went to each house on my street explaining that I’m not a bad guy. I’m just schizophrenic. My whole street knows now.

The landlord of the house next door asked why I was allowed to live outside of a hospital. I feel a little bit better when I found out that that guy was universally regarded as a jerk.

Th schizo walk of shame sucks

[writerz-unite]

CAN YOU WRITE AN ANGSTY JD FIC??? SOMETHING WHERE THE READER HAS TO COMFORT HIM

Thorns - Jonathan Davis x Reader

A/N: Please ignore the fact this is so short I wrote this at midnight with no motivation. :/ ALSO SORRY FOR ANSWERING YOUR ASK SOOO LATE :(

Word count: 563

Warnings: Angst at the start, Drug and alcohol addiction.

April 1996, when your friend's band, Korn, started recording their second album, "Life is Peachy". You were really happy for him and his band, though something you weren’t happy about though was his growing alcohol and drug addiction.

You would used to always call him weekly making sure he was okay, and sometimes you would go and visit him in person just because you wanted to make sure. You always knew he struggled with this kind of stuff but it had never gotten THIS bad.

After you learned how bad the addiction has gotten in the past few months you started checking up on him way more often, daily, whenever you got the chance to text him. He hated this though, you being so protective over him.

He thought it was stupid, he could take care of himself, he wasn’t a child. You two would often have arguments about this, about how much he just wanted you to leave him alone, but you wouldn't stop.

You were now at his apartment, trying to talk to him about this. "God, would you just shut up?! I don't need your stupid help..." He spat out at you angrily.

"Yes you do! Don't you see what you're doing to yourself!?" You yelled back in attempt to brink him back to reality. You opened your mouth to yell something else but he cut you off.

"Get out." He said in a cold tone, which made you raise your eyebrows in shock and look at him wide-eyed.

"What..?"

"Get the fuck out of my apartment." You really didn't wanna push him any further so you just grabbed your bag and left casually, even though you were extremely worried for him.

For the next few days he hadn't been answering your calls, texts, and he would let you come over. You tried telling yourself that this was just some dumb phase and he would get over it soon, but he never did.

Days had become weeks, weeks became months, at this point you couldn't take it anymore. You needed to make sure he was okay. You had got in contact with James, one of his friends from his band. In his words he said, "I don't know, dude. He's been pretty distant lately and he keeps fighting with us when we're at band practice."

That was it. You walked to his apartment and knocked on the door. When he didn't answer you put your ear against the door and you heard... Crying? Now you were REALLY starting to worry.. You looked down at the door handle and realized it was unlocked.

You then slowly opened the door to see him sobbing on the floor, Xanax and a bottle of Jack Daniels on his coffee table. You then quickly went by his side to provide comfort. After a few minutes of talking to him in a gentle tone and comforting him you got up and threw away both the Xanax and the Alcohol.

"I'm sorry..." You mumbled sitting next to him. "...For pestering you I guess. I shouldn't have done that, I was just worried-" He then proceeded to cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

"No- No I'm sorry... I shouldn't have yelled at you like that." He said sniffling slightly. You two then proceeded to spend the whole day hanging out or talking to each other.

————

A/N: Sorry this was kinda cringyyy and short 😞 I hope this is good enough and I'll try to get back into writing more requests since there's a lot 😭

[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.

[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.

[g-kat423]

25, 27, 38 and 41 for the questions!

Thanks for asking!

25. What’s your favorite decade? 

If I had to pick, probably the 00’s specifically, not the 2010’s. That’s where most of my memorable childhood and early teenage years were spent since I was 6 as of January 1st 2000 and 16 when the decade ended on January 1st of 2010. Everything felt much simpler and carefree, partly because I was a literal child and wasn’t aware of all the bad things in the world, but aside from that the vibes were just so much more chill. I loved how innovative everything was. Yeah, the makeup and fashion got a little wacky, but it was so fun and I feel like there wasn’t cringe culture if someone wanted to layer tank tops with a puka shell necklace and wear glittery, cream eyeshadow with lipstick that basically blended into your skin tone. That and the spike ponytails??? Omg I was constantly wearing those accessories form Claire’s. You can’t tell me this isn’t cool. I’d wear mine all the time literally until it got all matted and beyond saving.

Anyway, I’m sure other decades would be cool to experience, but that period of time was so fun to be a kid and young teen. Social media didn’t have its claws in everyone, if people had phones they were bricks or at most a flip phone with a camera and people weren’t constantly in their phones because of needing to save their minutes, there were cool technological leaps with games and toys. Ahhh. I could ramble on and on haha.

27. What’s your favorite book? Or just one you’ve read a few times? 

I’ll be a total cliche and say Carmilla. I’ve read it several times and I really hope that we get a decent film adaptation someday, but if not, I have my imagination. Other than that, this is gonna sound really cringe considering all the toxic dudes who love this, but Fight Club was one of my favorite books in high school. Then again, those dudebros probably don’t even know it was a book first because they can’t read and also don’t understand satire💔

38. Do you have any phobias?

Me have phobias? What phobias don’t I have? But fr, I’d say I have cardiophobia because I’m always worried about what my heart is doing. It’s gotten better now that I know I have dysautonomia (specifically POTS) rather than doctors shrugging their shoulders and saying it’s anxiety. That and I also have a family history of heart disease and heart attacks. My other major one is agoraphobia which I am actually diagnosed with. Kind of hard not to be terrified all the time when the threat of a mass shooting going anywhere is very real. I give props to the people who can go out every day and not have panic attacks. I’ve gotten a little better, but there’s still long periods of time where I don’t leave the house at all and when I do go out, there’s certain places I won’t go at all. I also always need to carry my Xanax and have a safe person with me. That and I can’t really stay out long at all before I start getting that dread that I need to leave or something terrible will happen.

41. What’s your favorite cartoon? 

SpongeBob. No contest. Specifically the peak years before the movie. I did continue to watch a little after that, but I lost interest after I was like 14-15 so like 2007-8ish?? Even now I tried to give the newer seasons a chance and it’s just not the same humor or writing. I can quote classic SpongeBob daily and it’ll always make me laugh.

[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

[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.