#and her condition just slowly got worse and worse over the years

[ckret2]

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them." 

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk. 

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly." 

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

[stardust-and-snickerdoodles]

tired and i'm awake

fandom: Chicago Med

pairing: Connor Rhodes x Reader

summary: You've kept your chronic pain a secret from Connor since you started dating. But fate has other plans for you, and an untimely accident leads to him finding out about your condition.

tags/warnings: angst, injury, burns, hurt/comfort, chronic pain/illness

word count: 3024

a/n: this one's for all my EDS/POTS combo girlies

When you were young, the doctors said it was “growing pains.” That eventually it would go away, that it was only temporary, take an Advil.

Then you got older, and it was your period. Even though the pain was constant and all over, somehow every doctor put it down to your cycle. Sure, it was worse when you were menstruating, but it didn’t disappear when you weren’t.

Sometimes, you were “making it up” or “drug seeking.” ER visits, annual physicals, all proved fruitless. Eventually, it was all just too much to handle. The constant doctors’ visits, the unending questions with no answers. You’re tired.

Even when you lay on the bathroom floor, curled around yourself and sobbing, you refuse to go to the doctor. You know it won’t amount to anything, just another bill and insurance paperwork. You manage on your own with 3 extra strength Tylenol or a heating pad or just laying in bed until it mostly subsides. Then you can get up and pretend to be okay again.

So, it was a bit of a surprise to everyone who knows of your issues when you started dating a surgeon. Hell, you even surprised yourself. But Connor is… different. He’s kind and understanding and patient. Still, your previous negative experiences prevent you from telling him about the chronic pain you experience, or any of the other problems that come along with it.

You’ve been dating now for about six months and you couldn’t be happier. Connor’s hours are busy and long, but you look forward to the end of every day when you can see him. Even if it means putting on a brave face when your joints ache. You moved in together about a month ago, and it’s a little harder to hide the pain now, but you manage. You don’t want to be just another patient for him to deal with.

Today, you have a feeling it’s going to be a little more difficult to put on your façade. Your knees and hips have been acting up lately. Everything feels… a bit looser than usual, like the tissues between your joints are made of thin string, ready to break at any movement. Each movement feels as though you’re going to rip yourself apart, limb from limb. It’s all you can do not to cry out when you finally pry yourself out of bed in the morning. Connor is already gone, having left sometime in the middle of the night, off to work his shift at the ED. You hope beyond hope that the pain will have subsided by the time he gets home tonight.

You hope that maybe a warm bath with some Epsom salts will help, and take short, shuffling steps to the bathroom, walking near the wall just in case. Each footfall sends shooting pain up your legs. You grit your teeth and manage to make it to the toilet, sitting down and reaching to turn the tap on the bath. Breathing in and out slowly, you remind yourself that you have this under control. You will survive this, it’s just pain. It’s just pain.

You stare as the tub fills with water, trying your best to compartmentalize and clear the pain away. Mind over matter, that’s what your mother always says. Easy for her, when she’s not the one in pain.

Feeling as though you might break with any sudden moves, you lower yourself into the warm bath, closing your eyes as the water surrounds you. It’s calming and smells like eucalyptus.

You linger until the water is cooled and your joints begin to protest from staying in one position too long. You wrap a fluffy robe around yourself, a gift from Connor after he saw the old ratty one you’d been using for years. It’s luxurious and soft, and probably cost him the equivalent of an entire week’s salary for you. Perks of dating a surgeon, you suppose.

Just standing has you feeling lightheaded, and you can feel your heart beating in your ears. For a moment the room darkens as spots fill your vision, but you just breathe in deeply until it subsides. Then you continue to take small steps back out to the bedroom, before placing yourself gingerly on the comforter.

Once you’re still and laying down, the pain begins to creep back in with force. It just reminds you that as much as you want to, you can’t ignore it. You can compartmentalize and convince yourself all you want, but you’re stuck with this.

Now, along with your hips and knees, your back and neck have begun to ache from sitting upright in the tub. You sigh and curl onto your side, your wet hair clinging to your neck. Five minutes, you tell yourself. Then I’ll get up and get dressed and dry my hair and… God, it’s all so much. How are you ever supposed to get all of that done when you feel like this? Still, you reprimand yourself and promise only five minutes of rest. Just until the aching diminishes somewhat.

You wake to the sound of the door unlocking. Night has fallen outside the window, leaving the apartment bathed in darkness.

So much for five minutes.

Connor walks in, looking tired and worn out, but still wearing a smile when he spots you curled up on the bed. You smile back, still groggy from your extended nap.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, setting his bag down before taking a seat next to you. “How was your day?”

“Good,” you lie easily. “How was work?”

Connor smooths some errant hairs away from your forehead before placing a soft kiss there. “Busy. But good. Did you shower? Your hair’s still wet.”

A fierce blush makes its way up your cheeks as you avoid his eyes. “Took a bath. I guess I just passed out after. Baths always take it out of me,” you half-joke.

Connor’s brow furrows and you can immediately sense the switch into “doctor mode.” He places the back of his hand on your forehead again. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure, pulling his hand down to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Do you want dinner? I can make something.” The ache in your joints begins to make itself known again, but you want to do something nice for Connor. You know how tired he is after his shifts.

“Sure,” Connor replies, but he’s still looking at you with concern.

You slowly sit up, trying to school your expression as something pinches in your hip. “Spaghetti? I think we have some noodles leftover from the other night; I can just make a quick sauce.”

Connor nods and stands with you. “I’m gonna go shower,” he states while pulling you into a loose hug. “Do you need anything before I go?”

You shake your head and breathe him in. He smells like the hospital, but underneath that is the gentle scent of his cologne that always relaxes you. “No, you go. I can handle it.”

Connor releases you and makes his way to the bathroom while you head to the kitchen. You feel incrementally better than this morning, the pain in your back and neck thankfully lessened. Your hips are the worst now, and the right one especially feels tenuous. Each step is shaky, but you push through it.

You’re grateful for the distraction of cooking as you work on dinner, but it’s not enough to totally take away the pain. As you stand over the stove you can still feel the pulsing in your knees, the unsteadiness in your hips, and the ache in your back is returning. You barely suppress a groan as your right hip nearly gives out.

Seconds later, the door to the bathroom opens, and Connor exits with just a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. For a moment you’re tempted to stop cooking altogether and take him right back to bed. But then your right hip protests yet again, and the thought quickly flees. You shoot Connor a smile as he comes up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder and you tense imperceptibly. Illogical as it may seem, you’re worried maybe he’ll… feel your pain or something, if he gets too close.

“Smells good,” Connor murmurs, kissing the side of your neck.

“Grab some plates,” you reply, stirring the spaghetti sauce one more time before turning off the heat.

Connor’s arms leave you and you let out a breath. You grab some potholders from a nearby cabinet and pull the sauce off the stove.

As you make your way over to the table, your hip begins to feel even more unsteady than before. Each step is agony as you grip the saucepot, praying that your leg doesn’t give out now. Connor’s back is to you when suddenly you step wrong. Instantly, you feel a popping sensation in your hip and you stumble.

The pot goes flying, splattering sauce all over you and the kitchen. You crumble to the floor, a short cry leaving your lips. The sauce burns your thighs, uncovered thanks to the robe you still wear, but all you can feel is the burning pain in your hip. It feels… wrong.

It’s not exactly a new experience. A few years ago – with no help from your doctors – you finally realized that this type of pain means something is dislocated. In this case, your hip. It’s one of the worst to dislocate, since you have trouble getting it back in place on your own.

Connor immediately rushes toward you, calling your name in panic. “Are you okay? Oh god, what happened?”

You grit your teeth to stop from crying out again as you right yourself with your leg out in front of you. Your hand grips your right thigh, the pain from your dislocated hip shooting down your leg and making your toes numb.

Connor’s already pulling out his phone to call 911, obviously only seeing the burns on your legs from the hot sauce.

You reach out to grab his wrist to stop him from dialing. “I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes.

Connor levels you with a glare that would make anyone give in. “You just spilled scalding sauce all over yourself. You’re at least getting checked out at the ED.”

“Okay, okay, but… Can’t you just drive me?”

He must hear the pleading tone in your voice because he sets his phone down with a sigh. “Fine,” he surrenders. “Let’s get you cleaned up first so I can take a look.”

You nod as he stands to retrieve towels. Once his back is turned, you take mental stock of your hip. It doesn’t feel too badly dislocated, but it certainly needs to be put back sooner rather than later. Before you get a chance to do it yourself, Connor returns with wet towels. He immediately gets to work gingerly cleaning your skin. You can tell that you’ve at least got first-degree burns, maybe even second in some places. But you can’t get past the pain in your hip. If you could just get a moment alone so you could reset it…

You notice that Connor’s movements have stopped and you look to see what he’s doing. His brows are furrowed as he looks at your right leg, now clean of the sauce. “Doesn’t look too bad, but I still want to go to Med just to be sure. And…” Suddenly his eyes widen and his hands rest delicately on either side of your leg. You can’t help but flinch at the touch. “It looks like your hip is dislocated… God, that must hurt. Did you hit it on the ground when you fell?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “It’s nothing,” you insist.

“Y/N,” Connor’s voice is firm. “We need to get this reduced. I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone once more.

“No!” you cry. “I can take care of it!” Before he can stop you, you bend your knee outward, making a half-butterfly shape with your legs, then push down on it with your hands. Your hip pops back into place with an audible click and the relief is instant.

Connor is silent for a long moment as he stares at you, mouth agape.

You speak before he can, blabbering without much sense. “It’s fine, it happens a lot. I’m okay, I promise.”

Your boyfriend’s eyes are wide with concern and empathy. “What do you mean?” he whispers.

You shrug and take the wet towel from his hand, continuing to wipe off the sauce from your other thigh. This one’s not as bad as your right, but it’s still painful. “Nothing, Connor. I just… It happens sometimes, okay? Dislocating things, it’s not new to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor’s voice is so full of hurt that you immediately regret keeping this from him.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, meeting his eyes. The tears in your own begin to fall down your cheeks. “I just… I’ve always dealt with it on my own. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it too. And I didn’t know if you’d believe me, no one ever believes me, and I didn’t want to lose you because of my broken body…” You’re rambling now, the adrenaline and pain making your words come out jumbled.

Connor scoots over to sit next to you, uncaring of the sauce that’s getting on his jeans. His arm wraps around you gently, and already you can feel that he’s treating you differently. Touching you like you’re… fragile. “Y/N… I would never not believe you about something like this. Have you gone to the doctor about it?”

A sob leaves your lips and you smile sarcastically. “Of course, I have, Connor. I’ve been to so many doctors and none of them have any answers. It’s always growing pains, or my period, or I’m faking it. Eventually I just gave up because, like I said, I can deal with it on my own.”

Connor is silent for a long while. Finally, he lifts your chin with his finger so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to deal with it on your own now. We’re together, and that means we tell each other these things. I won’t leave you because of something you can’t control, sweetheart. And I want you to find answers. We can find them together. Okay?”

You nod and Connor goes to dial 911 again. As he’s on the phone with the operator, you let the tears fall. The pain of the burns is finally hitting you, only adding to the existing pain you already feel. Connor’s words mean everything to you, but right now that’s all they are – words. How can you know he’ll stay with you after he finds out what this really is like? The constant pain, the days spent in bed, the agony of it all? How could anyone – how could Connor – ever want someone like you?

You don’t realize that Connor is done on the phone until his hand lands on your shoulder. “Babe?” his voice is a little louder than necessary, which tells you that he’s been trying to get your attention for a while.

“Sorry,” you mutter, using the back of your hand to wipe away errant tears.

Connor takes a deep breath, and you worry about what he’s going to say. “You can talk to me, you know?”

You nod, avoiding his eyes. “I know. But this… I don’t want to be just another person you have to take care of.” The sound of sirens grows loud outside the apartment building.

“Honey. Look at me,” Connor urges, lifting your chin again. “You are not just another patient to me. You never will be. Okay?”

“You don’t know,” you whisper, your voice suddenly hoarse. “Once you know what it’s like, how much help I’ll need… I don’t know what my life will be like in 10 years, hell, even in a year. I’m in pain all the time, and I don’t know if it will get worse, and I don’t want you to be burdened with that.”

Before Connor can answer, the intercom buzzes as the paramedics request entrance. Connor stands to let them in, and you bring your sore legs up so you can bury your head in your knees. The embarrassment of it all is starting to hit you as you realize that soon you’ll be at Med, surrounded by Connor’s colleagues. No doubt he’ll want to run a myriad of tests to figure out your underlying condition, and you’re not sure you have the energy for that right now.

You hear the door opening, followed by a couple pairs of footsteps and Connor’s voice getting closer. “Female, 27, post-fall and contact with hot liquid. Superficial partial thickness burns on the thighs. Right hip dislocated but already reduced.” You hold in a snort at his medical jargon describing your silly accident.

The paramedics aren’t anyone you know, but they’re nice enough as they examine the burns and apply saline-soaked gauze. You’re embarrassed by your lack of proper clothing, but they don’t seem to mind. You’re sure they’ve seen worse than a nearly-naked woman anyway.

They ask various questions while Connor watches nearby, eyes slightly narrowed as if to make sure they don’t hurt you further. Once you’re finally loaded up onto a stretcher, he returns to your side and holds your hand in a crushing grip.

“This is really unnecessary,” you mutter at him, squeezing his hand.

Connor looks down at you with a soft smile. “Doctor knows best, sweetheart.” He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay if you don’t want. As long as you get that hip x-rayed and those burns checked, I’ll be satisfied. We can figure out the rest later.”

You smile back, tears pricking your eyes again. “Thank you, Connor. For being here.”

He snorts out a laugh. “You really have to raise your standards, baby.”

[probably-writing-x]

Hotter and Hotter

Summary: hi 👋🏼 I don’t know if you take any request now but I will still ask.. Can you write about the scene of the grocery when Conrad just lean on and take a sip (he was soo f hot ) and make it like more flirty and it can go like you want between Conrad x yn? thanks u ❣️

Warnings: Sexual references (Minors DNI)

Author’s Note: I’m not taking requests atm but this came through and I was inspired so maybe I am taking requests, we’ll never know xoxo

“This is the hottest it’s ever been I swear to God,” Conrad grumbles from the couch, hand resting on his chest.

“Well you try and fix the air con then, because it’s doing fucking nothing when we try,” Steven shrugs his shoulders, his head resting back against the seats of the couch from where he sat on the floor.

“You’re an engineer Steven, isn’t this like your job?” Belly points out, dragging her hair away from her face.

The air conditioning in the house had been out all morning and the temperature had been slowly rising with the sun. Now, it was stifling hot inside the house and just as bad outside too. And, clearly, the group were at their wit’s end.

“Okay, can we please stop talking about it? Like, can we talk about anything else?” You roll your eyes, your back against the couch where Conrad was laying, your head mere inches from his.

The two of you had been friends for years, ever since Belly and Steven had started coming to the summer house, you had too. The group of you were always inseparable whenever you were all in Cousins. But, before this summer, you and Conrad had realised your feelings for each other. He’d started calling you every night, texting you more and more often, and eventually the two of you spoke to each other more than anyone else. You’d both agreed, however, that is was not worth the drama for the rest of the group to know that anything was going on. You’d kept things completely private and, so far, it worked.

You’d turned up to the summer house this year terrified to see him again, and when you had done, it was like there was a weird tension that you’d never known before. There were sparks whenever he looked at you, electricity coursing through you whenever you briefly touched. You hadn’t even kissed the boy and yet all you could think about was doing so. It was driving you insane.

“Well, what else do you want to talk about, (y/l/n)?” He turns his head so that it is facing you but you keep your gaze averted away, worried he’ll make you blush.

“Anything,” You groan, “Like, seriously, it’s making it worse if all we talk about is how hot we are.”

He smirks, “You think you’re hot, (y/n)?”

You whip your head around to face him and roll your eyes, “Grow up, Con.”

His smirk remains, eyes trailing over your face as the conversation grows behind you. Jere and Belly were agreeing on getting into the pool and Steven was refusing to join them under the premise that he couldn’t find any swimming shorts in his suitcase.

“How about we head to the store?” Conrad suggests, pushing himself up to sit on the couch, “We can get some cold drinks, some ice cream, anything remotely cold.”

The group all sound into chorus of agreement and you nod too.

“Yeah, just get anything they’ve got,” You encourage, watching as he swings his legs over the side of the couch so that he’s sat next to you now, his knee bumping your shoulder.

“Oh, you’re coming with me,” He nudges you, “I need someone to help me push the cart.”

Conrad stretches out a hand to you and waits for you to take it.

“Right because that’s definitely a two person job,” You roll your eyes, taking the grip of his hand and pushing yourself up from the floor.

“Oh, absolutely it is,” Conrad shrugs his shoulders, walking out of the lounge towards the front door, grabbing his car keys on the way.

———

You sit in the passenger seat and he sets his hand behind your chair as he reverses, the air con in his car blasting enough for you to both cool down.

“Why didn’t we think of coming in your car earlier?” You question, glancing out of the window at the changing street beside you.

Conrad turns his head in your direction, “Because then they’d all want to come.”

You nod in agreement and fall silent, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“So, has anyone said anything about…”

“What? Me and you?” You finish the sentence for him, “Why? Do you think they know?”

Conrad smirks a little, “Jere told me that sometimes you talk in your sleep and he can hear you through his wall.”

You frown just slightly, cogs turning in the expectation of what he was about to say.

“Apparently he heard you call my name,” Conrad fully grins then, turning the car into another corner as he approaches the store.

You feel your face heat up more than the sun was capable of, your heart sinking a little, “I did… I mean he heard… what?”

Conrad chuckles gently and his hand moves from the wheel to squeeze your leg, “Oh come on, (y/l/n), I already knew you were obsessed with me.”

You clench your jaw and look away from him, the embarrassment seeping through you. He squeezes your bare leg again and keeps his hand there as he pulls into a space in the parking lot.

“Okay I’ll get a cart and I’ll meet you at the checkout,” You nod, taking a deep breath to relatively compose yourself as you get out of the car.

Conrad follows behind you, fighting back the smile on his face. He walks up behind you as you go to get a cart, his arms dropping to either side of your hands on the handle, thumbs brushing your pinky fingers.

“See, Ive just got so many questions,” He mumbles the words into your ear as his chin drops to your shoulder.

You feel a tingle go over your spine and quickly step out from underneath his arm, “And I won’t be answering them.”

Conrad persists, of course, pushing the cart into the store and following your every move.

You both take a silent sigh of relief at the feeling of the air con in the store, walking a little slower as if to revel in it for as long as possible.

“Okay, so what was this dream about?” Conrad asks, stopping the cart as you throw in a few items from the produce section.

You make brief eye contact with him in the coldest glare you can muster, “Con, I said we’re not talking about this.”

“I mean, it must’ve been pretty good for you to be calling my name,” He points out nonchalantly, throwing a few bags into the cart, “So, tell me what it was about?”

You spin on your heel and grip the end of the cart, squeezing down on the plastic as you look at him, “Conrad, I don’t remember, okay? Now can we please drop this because you’re being an asshole.”

He raises his hands as if in a gesture of surrender before placing them back on the cart and following you still in your slow steps around the aisles.

Conrad didn’t need to know to boost his ego, or to use it against you. He needed to know because the thought of you thinking of him like that made him feel like a kid with his first crush. He was infatuated, and his curiosity was getting the better of him.

Things were awkward between the two of you now, and neither was willing to break the tension with any form of conversation.

You were embarrassed, of course you were. The chemistry between the pair of you had been sky high since you’d arrived back in Cousins - all of the awaited feelings of seeing each other again had come bubbling to the surface. And yet neither of you could do anything about it. So there it stayed - bubbling wildly on a surface that would not release. Of course you were thinking about him, how could you not be?

“Okay, you get the ice and pay for this, I’ll meet you at the car,” You nod, holding your shoulders a little more sure of themselves.

“Oh, so I’m paying?” Conrad raises his brows, stopping in his tracks with a bag of ice in his hands.

“Your daddy’s credit card will,” You taunt in response, disappearing around the corner of another aisle to leave him to his own devices.

Minutes later, Conrad appears through the sliding doors of the store, the fully loaded cart bumping in the parking lot in front of him. You’re stood by the car, waiting for him, two large drink cups in your hands.

“And what’s this?” He nods his head a little towards the drinks, eyes returning back to yours.

“A peace offering,” You shrug your shoulders, “I’m sorry I got annoyed about you asking about… I just, I was embarrassed and I didn’t want you to think I was some weird stalker that was obsessed with you or something.”

Conrad laughs gently, the kind of laugh that always manages to ease your worry. He steps out from around the cart so that he’s mere inches from you.

“You know,” He lowers his torso down to take a slow sip from the drink, darkened eyes staring up at you as he does, “If you wanted to be screaming my name in the night, you should’ve just asked.”

Your mouth falls agape slightly as all words seem to escape you.

“Come on, I’ll load this up before the ice cream starts melting,” He clears his throat, as if nothing had happened, “Get in the car.”

You oblige and sit in the passenger seat waiting for him as he piles the bags into the trunk, climbing into the driver’s seat shortly after.

He reaches over to take his cup from your hand and his fingers brush yours - still electric as you repeat over the words he’d just said.

“So, home?”

You hum in agreement and keep your eyes focused on the road ahead of you as he reverses out of the spot, unable to hide the smile tearing at your face.

———

“We’re back!” Conrad calls out as the two of you head inside, arms full of brown paper bags.

“Thank god!” Jere exclaims, grabbing a couple of the bags from you to alleviate the weight, “Successful trip?”

You and Conrad exchange a quiet glance before looking back and both saying at the same time, “Yeah.”

Jeremiah frowns at you and his brother, “You two are weird.”

He helps to unpack the shopping before turning back to both of you.

“Hey, Con, did you ask (y/n) about her dre-“

“Grow up Jere,” Conrad snaps quickly, throwing the last bag of ice into the freezer.

You look at him and smile a little to yourself, averting your eyes back to the drink in your hand.

Jeremiah rolls his eyes at his brother and disappears out of the kitchen, leaving just the two of you once more.

“Here, they’ve not melted yet,” Conrad pulls an ice pop from one of the boxes and unwraps it, handing it to you.

You set down your drink and take hold of the wooden stick. Now was your chance to get him back. You make sure you’re stood as close as you can get to him, your eyes gazing upwards to focus on his. And you stick out your tongue, drawing it from the bottom to the top of the cold ice, not once breaking eye contact with Conrad as you pop the top in between your lips and suck gently before pulling away.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows the lump in his throat, and find yourself hiding back a grin at your obvious effect on him.

“What’s wrong Connie?” You ask him through batted eyelashes, “You look all… flustered.”

It’s almost as if you see the second that the cogs turn in his brain as his hands stretch out to grip your waist, both tightening to lift you up and onto the kitchen counter behind you.

And then, without a second thought, his hand grips your face and he pulls you in to kiss him. It’s rushed at first and overly fueled by passion but you don’t care. He can taste the sweetness on your lips and it only seems to encourage him more, kissing you like he’d been waiting to do so for years. His hand tightens once more on your waist, pulling you into him as closely as he can as your hands grip onto his shoulders.

Conrad pulls away then, only breaking contact at your lips to catch his breath as his forehead rests against yours.

“Don’t tease me,” He grumbles quietly, his lips plump in the absence of you.

You chuckle a little, nudging his head a little more, “From what just happened there, maybe I should be teasing you more often.”

Conrad smirks and pulls away, standing up straight as both of his hands settle on either side of you on the counter. He glances behind you at where the large glass doors lead out to the garden, “You know, nobody’s actually in the house.”

You turn over your shoulder to catch a glimpse, “Yeah, looks like it’s just us.”

He takes the opportunity as you’re turned away to kiss at the exposed skin of your neck, his touch hotter than any weather was capable of.

You let out a quiet moan and grip the back of his head. Damn, he was good at this.

“Connie-“ You hum, pushing into him as closely as you can.

He smirks against you and pulls away, eyes widening slightly at the mark left on your skin from his lips.

“We should probably join the rest,” You comment, dragging your fingers through his hair.

He flutters his eyes closed at the contact and sighs, “Five more minutes.”

Conrad leans in to kiss you again but stops as he hears;

“Conrad! Can you bring the ice pops out?” It’s Stephen yelling to the pair of you.

You look at Conrad and laugh a little, hopping down from the countertop, “Come on, before they suspect anything.”

“I think that mark on your neck will make them suspect enough.”

You bend down to take the ice pop box from the freezer and reach one hand behind your head to untie your hair, letting it fall around your shoulders.

“There we go, it’s like it never happened,” You wiggle your eyebrows and saunter outside towards the garden.

Conrad watches as you go, a smile on his face before his eyes drop to the barely-touched ice pop you’d both discarded onto the counter.

Thank god for hot weather.

[audiovideodisco]

One for me, two for you.

Where you are a doctor in House’s diagnostic team in the early seasons, and

are having a bad pain day.

CW: drug use/ opioids/ chronic pain and conditions/ self medicating (if you squint)/ could this be angst? i have no idea/ mild suggestive joke/ cancer talk & medical jargon

word count: 921

requested?: no

sfw?: yes

ship: n/a

characteristics: n/a

You trudge into Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with a face that would make anyone with a brain run for the hills.

It had been a rough night for you. The pain in your body being worse than usual, and your meds weren’t helping, so you barely slept.

You suppress your winces and ignore the pain as you usually do, hiding it from others, but that doesn’t stop it from making you radiate an energy that makes everyone around you know you were not to be messed with. You normally radiated this energy anyway, but not just due to pain, also due to your ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude you had developed over the years.

You walk into the DDX office, dumping your stuff down next to you and putting your extraordinarily caffeinated drink down on the table a little harder than you’d like. Cameron, Chase and Foreman glance between themselves, Cameron going to ask something, when House opens the door connecting his office to the DDX office. He walks in with his three point tap bouncing unpleasantly around your head. You feel his eyes analysing you as he walks to the other end of the table, but hide your surprise when he doesn’t say anything.

“Wilson’s got a cancer patient in remission with all her symptoms back. But no cancer. I’ve already considered the fact that he could have been an idiot and missed it, but she’s definitely cancer free. Differential Diagnosis for hair loss, stomach pain, low white count and vomiting that’s not cancer. Go.”

The other doctors look at each other again before offering suggestions.

“Alcohol withdrawals?” Chase says, as Foreman immediately shuts him down,

“No, doesn’t explain the hair loss or low white count.”

“That- and the facts she’s 14.” House says with a smug look on his face, causing you to scowl at him a bit. He catches it, but ignores it.

Cameron rolls her eyes,

“How about Pancreatitis?”

You pipe up before House can make another shitty comment, your voice sharp,

“No fever. It’s late onset radiation side effects.”

House’s eyes squint as he considers what you said, then you see his look change to one with a flicker of something you couldn’t place. Was he impressed? Nah, probably just scheming again.

“Go, Foreman and Chase go talk to Wilson to see when her last radiation was and the details. Cameron, get a better medical history.” House says, turning to go back to his office.

“What about me?” You ask, unable to hide the confusion in your face, brows furrowed slightly.

“You should be following me. Thought that was obvious.”

“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t have asked.”

The other three fellows walk out the DDX office slowly, worried looks on their features as they have a silent conversation with looks between them. They disperse as you go into House’s office, leaving you standing by the door, looking at your boss who was sat at his desk, throwing his giant tennis ball between his hands.

“Sit. Or are you a masochist? Didn’t take you for someone that’s-“

“What the hell is this, House?” you stop him, biting back with much less effort to keep your words palatable.

House raises an eyebrow and stops throwing the ball around, turning to sit forward and lean his elbows on the table. He looks at you, pondering for a minute, and then gestures at the chair, which you sit in after a moment. He considers you again, watching as your brow furrows a little tighter as he does, holding up the facade so well. House was almost impressed, it’s a shame I can see right through that mask you’re putting up, he thought to himself. He pulls his vicodin from his pocket, pouring two into his palm, and you watch him, expecting him to swallow them dry in front of you, but instead, he holds them out to you. You look at the pills in his hand, and then at him, and back again.

“Take them.” He says, his voice a little softer than usual, but not much.

“What- why are you giving me-?”

“You’re having a bad pain day. Probably the worst one you’ve had in a while.”

“How do you even-“ You knew you were more irritable today, which you cursed yourself for not being able to mask, but you hadn’t told anyone about your pain, let alone that it was chronic.

“Pain recognises pain. The vicodin will help.”

You take the pills tentatively, swallowing them with your drink.

“Uh… thanks… I-“ You start, not knowing what to say, but he cuts you off,

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone- I mean, I have discussed it with Wilson, he helped me figure out that you were in pain in the first place. He pays more attention.” You smile a little, nodding.

“Don’t suffer unnecessarily. I might be an ass, but I know what it’s like, being in pain all the time. I’m not a talker, but I am a drinker; if you want to forget or just- look, you can come to me anytime. Less lonely that way.” House mumble out, his last sentence being almost inaudible.

You nod and he passes you a piece of paper. It’s a scrip for vicodin.

“Go take blood from our patient. Want to make sure nothing has been missed in her blood.” You do as you’re asked, walking out his office and shoving the scrip in your pocket, feeling a little better as the vicodin begins to work, and a little less alone.

[dsybouquet]

ceo! ellie - 3

what if a broke uni student met the ceo of one of the most impactful companies right now? without her even knowing?

lowercase is intentional

read part 1 aaaand part 2 right here ! xx

"good to see you, ellie."

"hey dina."

ellie lightly said, giving her lawyer a hug. she in fact was relived to see the silghtly older woman sitting in her office chair, smiling ever so lightly.

"what's the news?"

the ceo asked, lighting herself a cigarette before loosening the hair tie that hold her bun together. she looked at the slightly older woman with confused eyes.

"good or bad news first?"

"good i guess?"

she sat down besides dina to have a look at the lawyers screen, like she would understand all the paragraphs and lawyer language she had all over her desktop.

it‘s been a while since ellie and dina had so much to discuss. when ellie became ceo, they would talk every day, also about non business topics. sometimes they both wonder how they grew apart like this.

"good news is, we will not get sued!"

dina exclaimed, clapping her hands slightly. she threw an encouraging smile at ellie.

"the client is mad, however.. they have a different way for you to make up for it. so the bad news is-"

"let me guess, our yearly charity event should be in honor to them instead of joel?“

the blackhaired woman raised an eyebrow.

"i mean, yeah kinda. they want to be more represented.“

ellie got up from her seat and walked around the office. the smoke of her cigarette hugging her face every time she blew it out.

„did i ever mention how i despise abby sometimes?“

„like every other day.“

dina just laughed it off, she knew how much of an temper ellie could have - and over the years it got just worse.

„no like, seriously. ever since joel died in that car crash i have to deal with her bullshit and i can‘t do anything because they are the biggest client we have!“

and here it goes. ellie threw her cigarette in the ashtray before slumping on her office chair again.

joels death resulted in her taking his place - being the ceo of miller enterprises. and as much as she loved the money and the big cars and the responsibility, she also hated it. none of this is her‘s, it‘s joels. he did all the work, she just had to be next in line.

he had adopted her years after his daughter has passed away due to an medical condition. to say the least, ellie was a rough child and teen. she was loud, sarcastic and had her own will. of course she would listen to joel, after all he wad the only parental figure she had ever have.

„it‘s almost five years now.“

she mumbled, looking at her desk.

ellie hated christmas season and winter. she hated the snow and the beautiful lights. she hated it because it reminded her of him. of the call from dina, the hours in the hospital, the beeping sound of the machine that so desperately tried to keep him alive.

„i know.“

dina added, leaning against ellie’s table. she gave her a encouraging smile.

„how about we start the planning tomorrow? go home and have a good nights rest.“

and so ellie left the office with a small goodbye to dina and went back to her car. she sat down in the drivers seat. as much she loved her car, she didn’t want to drive.

tears slowly build up in her eyes, but she quickly swallowed it when she saw an unfamiliar book on the passenger seat. a book about.. the human psyche ?

you must have forgotten it when ellie dropped you off at home.

„damn it.“

she said under her breath and whipped out her phone, calling your number immediately. and to her surprise you picked up very fast.

„hey ellie! are you okay ?“

your voice was so gentle, ellie was about to die from it’s sweetness.

„hey dear. yeah don’t worry. uh- you forgot your book in my car. need me to drop it off ?“

there was some noise on the background, sounding like you fumbling around in your bag to find it.

„that would be great, ellie. i‘ll make up for it.“

she smiled, starting her engine and looking up your adress from her recent routes.

„i will be there in 20! see ya, ______!“

and off she went, excitement now building up.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

„hey, thank you so much.“

you smiled, waiting on your doorstep, still in the same hoodie, but with pyjamas pants below now.

„no worries.”

“are you free? i can cook you some dinner. you know, to make up for you having to drive here again?“

now ellie smiled but shook her head.

„no, it‘s fine. don‘t worry.“

„ellie, c‘mon. let me do something for you as well!“

and how could she say no to some with a pretty face like yours?

so she agreed, and you lead her up the stairs to your apartment. it was small but lovely and well decorated. scented candles burned in the hallway and the living room was dimly lit with a lap and the led strips behind your running tv.

„it‘s not much but it‘s affordable - for an uni student at least.“

you smiled before going to your kitchen counted which was connected to your living room.

„what do you mean? it‘s pretty!“

ellie eyes the nerdy figurines on your shelves and the pictures on your walls while you grabbed two wine glasses from your shelf.

„are you fine with a cheap rose?“

you asked her as you opened your fridge. ellie looked at you and just felt all the weight of her work falling off her shoulders. she felt.. normal. like you. oh, how she wished to be an uni student, living her best life in an small apartment instead of leading people and having responsibilities beyond imagination.

of course, she did not have to worry about bills or anything. but money and power doesn’t buy happiness. this does.

„absolutely!“

she sat down on one of your kitchen chairs and watched you pour in the wine with a smile.

„thank you dear.“

she said so softly your knees got weak. and you smiled, letting your glass softly hit hers before taking a sip, not breaking eye contact.

„so, i can offer you: noodles with green pesto, noodles with red pesto, or i can try my luck with a mushroom risotto. additionally, i can also make a side salad.“

you smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter. ellie hadn’t felt this carelessness and even happiness in a while. after all, she never had this.

„risotto sounds amazing.“

she smiled, watching you sigh in despair.

„of course you choose the hardest dish. will not guarantee that it will be good!“

you reached for a pan and put out all ingredients; mushrooms that would have to leave your fridge soon anyways, risotto rice, onion and garlic. the simplicity as so beautiful to ellie.

„let me help.“

and so she cut the mushrooms and washed the rice while you took care of the onions and garlic. the two of you laughed and made fun of each other’s cutting skills while emptying your wine glasses and watching the risotto take form.

„that‘d actually pretty bomb!“

you exclaimed while taking the first bite, already half way down on the second wine glass.

„ellie, we are a great team in the kitchen!“

ellie smiled, agreeing with you.

„like hell, we are!“

you spend your dinner laughing and talking about all sorts of things. friends, memories, drunk accidents that were embarrassing. it felt so light to finally not have business talks with people she couldn’t care less about.

after washing the dishes, and pouring a third glass of wine, you took the conversation to your small but comfortable couch.

and it got late, waaaay too late. and the snow kept falling, causing the streets to be white.

„you shouldn’t be driving home tonight.“

you said, looking at the streets while ellie smoked a cigarette on your balcony.

„nah, i will be fine. i don’t want to take up your space.“

„no ellie, i mean it. we drank, it‘s snowy. it would be better for you to sleep here.“

after a while of convincing, she finally agreed, snapping her cigarette off your balcony.

„and you get to spend more time with me. feel honoured!“

you joked, not knowing that it was exactly what she wanted. to spend more time with you, in this carefree environment. where she can be herself, where she can be just ellie and doesn‘t have to be ellie williams - ceo of miller enterprises.

after finishing the last glass of wine, you decided to call it a night. you gave ellie a hoodie from your closet and a pair of pyjama pants before brushing your teeth in the bathroom and doing your daily skincare. when you returned, you laughed a little. she looked so cute in your huge uni hoodie and the fluffy pj pants.

„why are you laughing?!“

„im just used to seeing you in business clothing. but this is adorable!“

she rolled her eyes and took the spare toothbrush you held in her direction.

„fuck off !“

one more laughter left your throat before you prepared the bed for two. luckily it was big enough. although your couch was comfortable, it was small and most likely would break either your or ellies back when sleeping a night on it.

so you shared a bed. after all, thats nothing to worry about, right?

both of you kind of awkward tugged in before facing each other. the wine did make all of this less awkward. once again you noticed how pretty ellie was. the freckles and little eyebrow scar.. her long lashes that made her green eyes even prettier, her auburn hair that hugger her face perfectly.. she was perfect.

and she thought the same about you. her hand reached out to your face and tugged a piece of your hair behind your ear. oh how she wanted to kiss you - yet she didn’t, not knowing you wanted it too.

“good night, ellie.”

“night, ______.”

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

THERE WE GOOOOO. different from what i wanted, but i hope you enjoy ✧*:.｡.

part 4 is here ! ! bye bye xx

taglist: @harrysslutsstuff @vwonnie @mikaaj @elliewilliamsgf69 @weridcattty @feelsoseencantdream @honeymoonbbie @katymae12344 @aouiaa @bbglmfao

[himluv]

I agree with you on the Solavellan ending. I love the angst and tragedy and I'm eating the idea of Solas and Lavellan having a lot to unpack once in the fade. Dramatic confrontations, tears, breakdowns and a slow road to forgiveness,. Delicious food. But I'm really annoyed with a portion of the fandom that seems to just gloss over the fact that Solas killed Varric, someone who was always kind to Lavellan and was even her friend. And even if you don't like Varric personally he is in canon a relatively decent person who tried to reach out to Solas on a compassionate level. Then he used a blood magic puppet of him to manipulate Rook... IDK the way that seems to mean little to nothing to a lot of Solavellans kind of bothers me. I'm not here to tell anyone how they can or can't play but the takes have been so bad. The infantilization, excuses and woobification of our boy are so egregious. Solas is complex and morally gray. Why would we be going through the effort of redeeming him if he wasn't doing things that would require redemption in the first place? I've felt really disconnected from the rest of the fandom because of all of the softening of his character people have been doing and it's refreshing to hear a take from someone who loves Solas but doesn't want to defang him.

Thanks for this thoughtful reply to this post! Sorry this took awhile, but I've been thinking of what I wanted to say. Long and spoiler-riddled reply below, and I don't even know how relevant it is to your reply, Nonny. Sorry!

I think A Lot of folks have spent the last 10 years rotating him in their heads like one throws a clay pot, molding him into something he could be based on what we knew about him. But, we didn't necessarily account for the other forms he could take. And some folks are very resistant to who he's canonically become by Veilguard. Because it's not a good form, he got Worse™ in his decade away from friends and love (shocker!), and it's hard to reconcile this version of him with the ones we may have made.

I get all of that. But I also LOVE that. It means he could still surprise me, and I got to experience this weird duality of love/hate I didn't expect to feel toward him. I got to see his lies in real time, know he was lying because I KNOW HIM, and go, "oh, you little shit (affectionate)". Like, that's just FUN! Which, last time I checked was in fact the point of video games.

I love that he is unpredictable and dangerous in this game. That we finally see him go all out, and use every skill and trick he has. That is THRILLING, especially because he's more dangerous and lethal and ruthless than I personally expected. Which... Is my fault. I should have expected it, because look what he did to Felassan. Look how he so easily killed all those Qunari in Trespasser. Look what he did with those spirits of chaos and disruption. Look what he did to the Titans! I should have known better, the games and books showed me time and again what he was capable of. I just didn't want to believe it.

I've seen some posts talking about how Lavellan approaches Solas at the very last confrontation. How carefully she goes up the stairs towards him. I've seen several interpretations of it, but there's one I haven't seen (which could be because I'm not hanging out in the Solavellan tag much these days).

She takes those stairs slowly, as if approaching a spooked horse, because the last time someone climbed a set of stairs to talk him down from his ritual, he killed them. And I don't think for one second Lavellan believes, if she handles this poorly, he won't do the same to her.

And I think she is 100% right. He would, perhaps on "accident" as he claims to Neve was the case with Varric (debatable - seemed pretty intentional if maybe a bit impulsive from here). But I firmly believe there is a world where Solas would stab his vhenan if he had to and certain conditions hadn't been met (and yes that would utterly destroy him).

She walks up those stairs to him, her vhenan, knowing this is it. Their final stand. She will save him from himself, whatever it takes, and she is prepared to die at his hands if it comes to that. And it so easily COULD HAVE.

I don't know. I just think that Veilguard gave us SO MUCH more insight into Solas and there's so much there to chew on. I think we're going to be able to go back through all the games and codices and so many little details are going to fit together and complete a puzzle we didn't even know we were making.

After all of this, I still have so much to think on 😂. I'm going to be living in Thedas for another decade at this rate!

Good. I don't ever want to leave.

[romanoffsbish]

Don’t Worry, I’ve Got You

GN!OC (Rio) x F!R

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request | Natasha had planned to sweep you off your feet when she returned from her mission. But it seemed someone else had beat her to the punch… | WC: 5,144

Warning: Domestic Violence - Abusive OC | Mentions of Sexual Coercion | Petrified R | Violence - Blood - Gory OC Death | Happy Ending 😀

Smut: Somno (Consented)-Oral (R) | Tribbing | Overstimulation | Sweet/Soft | Mommy (N)

When Natasha exited the Quinjet she was in a state of disbelief to find Yelena stood there. It'd been a year since she'd been home, and it wasn't the compound she looked to, it was you. Not only was it strange that you were missing, but Yelena being there was truly worrisome.

The sisters loved each other endlessly, but they never wanted to seem vulnerable enough to the others by showing their concern outwardly. For you and Kate though, they'd always be there, and in turn the two of you'd always show too.

"Where's Y/N?" Natasha couldn't hide the fear in her voice, but her face remained neutral.

——

Yelena cringed at the mention of you, it didn't take a rocket science to know what happened.

The blonde wanted to help you the first time she saw you with a busted lip, and a bloodshot eye that wasn't simply from crying. Then you flashed her a nervous smile, and she knew that she would only make it worse. You were oddly attached to this asshole—she understood.

Not to say she didn't help in her own ways, she was fond of you, not the same way as her sister, but enough to want to protect you. There was a very specific reason Rio was sent on an influx of lengthy missions this year by his CO, Yelena, (and it wasn't the hopeful rank bumping).

As a former widow she knew that being under another's control is something you become conditioned to respect over time. Sometimes you're even to the point of defending your abuser, for her they doubled as her captors, she reasons it's the same for you in this case, but regardless the reaction all worked the same.

You wouldn't leave unless you felt safe, and you wouldn't feel that way until Natasha returned.

Which is why Yelena is here now. "Natasha, we need to talk yesterday, fuck the reports." The blonde knew the walls had eyes and ears so she pulled her confused sister off to her bike, then drove her fifty miles out to a quaint diner just far enough from the city that Natasha wouldn't sprint back to immediately avenge you.

It was the right thing to do, she didn't want you to see just how scary Natasha could be. The last thing you needed was to be startled into seeing any part of them inside of your Natasha.

"I'm going to kill them!" Yelena smirked over her stolen coffee mug as they'd moved to the dead fields just to the left of the rest top. The circumstances weren't amusing, but seeing that her sister shared her sentiments elated her.

"This is funny to you?" Natasha questioned, her fist shot out at the blonde with the quick reflexes, landing in her open hand. "Why didn't you help her Yelena? Sh-she was my..."

"Lyubov'," Yelena quietly finished for her, she dropped her fist and wrapped her arms around her trembling body. "I never got to tell her what it meant, she always asked, but just as I was about to tell her I had to go. I never..."

"No!" Yelena reprimanded her, "You are not to blame here Natalia. Neither am I. If I helped her alone it would have been worse. Doveryat'."

(Trust)

Natasha nodded, and for a few minutes they stood there, Yelena thinking over what weapon she will use on Rio, and Natasha mourning through sobs the loss of your perfect start.

Everything in both of your lives had been deeply rooted in pain, and now this would be too. Natasha dreamed of more, she wanted the silly first date where she fumbled over her words, that came with the reward of a kiss.

She wanted to enter into a relationship with that period where you dressed up for each other to go out on the town that slowly faded into lazy nights in wearing matching pajamas.

Natasha adored you wholly, and wanted to make every little thing as special as she could. Up until she left she had already been doing so, but still she feels like she failed you. Maybe if she had just staked her claim more outwardly then Rio would've never taken you as theirs.

They would have never been able to hurt you...

Deep down she knew all was not lost, and she could make it right with you. Natasha also knew Yelena was right, it wasn't her fault, but that didn't mean she didn't carry the burden.

All she ever wanted was to keep you safe, and this failed instance will forever haunt her.

"Go pay the bill, I need to make a call." Natasha handed over her card, and as Yelena walked away she dialed in a favor, "Afternoon Hill."

With an urgent need for reaching you the redhead had swiped her sister's keys, and drove them back with a practiced elegance in her every illegal swerve. Yelena grumbled about the likely wear and tear, but there was no genuine anger with her concern, and the redhead couldn't hear her over the racing of her nervous heart, or the harsh wind anyways.

Every second counted, she couldn't risk letting Rio do anything further to you, and she worried that her return might've sparked something in the devious agents voided chest.

"Meet me at the underground cells in an hour," she coldly said to her sister as she tossed her the keys to her bike before she sprinted off. The rooms were spinning when she ran through the compound doors, and it continued to do so until she finally managed to spot you.

You were sitting with your back to the entrance of the communal kitchen, your frame hunched over and your body was lightly shaking. It was clear as day to her that you were sobbing, even if you tried to muffle the sound with your hand.

Natasha wasted no time approaching you, and in her hurry she failed to announce herself. It broke her heart when you jumped away from her touch and skidded across the kitchen.

"I-I'm sorry, I promise I will never mention her again, but please don't —," you cut your shaky pleas off the moment you looked up to see it was a frowning Natasha and not a seething Rio.

Natasha saw the exhaustion in your cloudy eyes, and the rest was painted on your face. Your worry lines were more prominent from when she last saw you, and you looked small. You were once a strong, well built agent at the top of her game, with a ranking higher than her own, but now you looked like a weak prisoner.

There was a scabbed over gash of sorts on the apple of your right cheek, and scratches and bruises all over your upper arms that you tried to conceal with your sleeves but she saw them. The eyes of a spy were a curse just as much as they were a skill to the woman. Because seeing your skin marred broke down her resolve.

"D-don't cry Natty," you yourself said over a sniffle, she smiled sadly as she approached to give you the comfort you were trying to offer.

You whimpered as her strong arms wrapped around your tense shoulders, but your entire body couldn't help but to relax as you smelled the familiar floral scents of her cologne. It was like the world returned to normal for just a moment. All you needed was her touch and suddenly the tears were flowing unendingly.

"It's okay moya lyubov'," she coo'd, and you whimpered once more hearing the familiar words that always brought you comfort. You held onto her shirt beneath her leather jacket for dear life, and she gently swayed your form as you freely sobbed. "You're safe now."

Natasha grinned over your shoulder as her eyes met those of your sleazy partners. Rio's fists were clenched as they stood outside the room, their gaze held contempt as they scowled. They hadn't a chance to interrupt your moment as Maria stopped them in their tracks, and swept them away—if only they'd known of their fate...

"I am here," she whispered, "They are not."

It didn't matter that you knew what her words meant, the meaning was clear; Rio was gone, and you were nothing short of relieved.

Natasha watched as you removed the ring on your finger and dropped it onto the counter in a hurry as if touching the metal harmed you. It was self motivated, but it still left her hopeful to see you denounce them before her own eyes.

The redhead wordlessly pulled you out of the kitchen and you ignored the smell of Rio's musty cologne as Natasha took you straight to her bedroom, a place where you always found yourself sneaking off to when they were out.

While you sat on her bed silently pondering the fact that you were free from this last years terror she ran you a soothing bubble bath. It helped to ease the remaining tension in your body, the warmth of the lavender water helped to soothe the marks atop of your battered body.

Natasha did her best to respect your privacy, giving you her room as she stood outside of the door until you came to collect her. The redhead beamed as you cracked the door and beckoned her inside, seeing you wearing her clothes filled her with a sense of pride, it made her want to remember the way you looked in this moment.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" You smiled softly, and silently nodded towards the bed, she nodded her understanding and laid down with her arms wide open for you to crawl into like you'd always done in the before times.

"I missed you," you croaked, and she pressed her chapped lips against your temple, leaving a firm kiss against the skin and for a moment the persistent ache in your head from the earlier scuffle with your spouse seemed to fade away under the soft affection of your desired lover.

"I missed you too Y/N/N," she sighed, her arms gently tightened around you in emphasis. "Every day I found it harder and harder to stay away. I'm so sorry I was gone for so long, and.."

You shook your head and kissed the side of her neck as your lips were rested there. "Don't."

The redhead sighed, and relented on pushing you beyond your limits. Even if she felt sorry, she still should keep that to herself. It's unfair to ask of your forgiveness, when you were the one who had to endure the cruelty of another. All she was meant to do now was hold you close, and never let this ever happen again.

Once you'd slipped into a state of unconscious that had you snoring the redhead cautiously shimmied out from beneath you. She hated taking the comfort of her embrace away from you, but she had somewhere to be in ten. So with a final kiss to your cheek she left the room, securely locking her door as she did.

"Sestra, welcome to the party!!!" Yelena greeted her sister, "You are just in time."

Natasha took the brass knuckles from her sister's extended hand with a smirk, but before using them she decided to punch Rio square in the nose with nothing but her bare hand. A reminder to the crooked agent that she didn't need anything more to harm them efficiently.

Blood gushed from the asshole's nose and the sisters rejoiced when the pitiful excuse for an agent began to cry. "Seriously? Already crying? What a joke." Natasha snorted at her little sisters taunting, then she turned her malicious attention back to your sobbing ex. "Too bad you're not the funny kind. Just the pathetic."

Rio knew better than to plead for their life. Maria escorted them here and handcuffed them to a chair. Yelena menacingly stood watch over them before Natasha entered. It was clear to the criminal of the hour that their fate was sealed the moment they took your hand in theirs and abused your loving nature.

"Snyat' s nikh naruchniki," Natasha dryly said as she slid the brass knuckles over her fingers.

(Uncuff them)

Yelena obliged her sister, and with unnecessary but warranted strength she shoved them from the chair. "Wh-what's happening? Can I go?"

Natasha chuckled darkly, "Oh please, you are simply being granted a chance to try and throw one of your little punches at me. Show me the inexcusable power you used against her."

Rio smirked, then lunged at the redhead with a confidence they were sure to lose in seconds. Natasha cackled as they punched her nose just as she did theirs with literally no damage done.

"God damnit you're fucking weak!" She cackled as they stumbled back in shock, looking at their fist in confusion as if it betrayed them. "You're going to regret ever laying a hand on her!!"

A taunting smile adorned their face as they challenged Natasha with a tilt of their head. If they were going to die anyways, they decided it would be best to torment her back. "Not only did I smack her around, but I gave her my —."

Natasha socked them in the jaw, cutting their disgusting words off at the source. Only cries of pain left them as the bronze over her knuckles had effectively broken their jaw into sections. Blood mixed with their drool and dripped down their chin along with a chunk of their tongue, and that made Natasha smile wickedly.

Yelena watched with a glint in her eyes as her sister tossed the buff excuse for a human being around as if they were a weightless rag doll.

"Pozvol' mne povernut'!" Yelena eventually whined, and Natasha scoffed, "Imet' eto."

(Let me have a turn / Have at it)

While the blonde tormented Rio with her sharpened knife Natasha chose to discard her weapon and stared at the blood on her hands. Observing as it dripped onto the cold cement of the cell floor, staining it red; her ledger gushed. 

"Natalia!" Natasha shook her head free of the distraction of her dark, self destructive thoughts, and looked up to see a bloodied Rio on their knees, body swaying as they fought to keep their loose grip on consciousness. It was time to deliver the final metaphorical blow.

"Y/N's mine," Natasha growled while holding their disfigured jaw in her hands, her nails dug into their raw skin and they hardly winced as the life force left within them was dwindling. "She was never going to be yours, because she loved me, and she was far too good for you."

"Fut yuh," they spat incoherently, and Natasha grimaced as their blood spluttered onto her face. "I'd bless you, but we both know you're not going to make it to heaven," she teased, smile mocking as her hand lowered to wrap around their neck. Her stony glare of the black widow was the last thing the abuser saw before their lights officially went out. Yelena looked at her, and Natasha smiled weakly at her sister.

"Ready for cleanup," she muttered tiredly into the speaker of her phone, then left the room as fast as she could. The weight of the situation had finally gotten to her, the realization that she could have lost you to that weak fool had her crying the whole way back to her room.

She heard shuffling, so she stood with her head pressed against her door until her breathing regulated, and the tears had come to a stop. Only then did she enter her room, and headed straight for the bathroom to take a shower.

You were flat on your back now, your midriff exposed as the shirt you wore rose up and the plush blanket she left was kicked off the bed. Natasha admired you fondly as she walked out with her towel wrapped around her nude form.

When you finally awoke she was drying her hair in front of her body length mirror, she now wore a pair of biker shorts, and a sports bra. The sight of her flexed abs, and swell of her perfect breasts through the mirror made your mouth even dryer than the amazing sleep had.

The redhead turned around with a soft smirk on her lips, the teasing gesture was however overwhelmed by the distant look in her eyes. She watched guiltily as your eyes filled with recognition when you saw her purple hands.

"Natty?" The redhead sighed softly, "Don't." You nodded in understanding, and patted the bed besides you, and she stalled briefly as she walked into the closet to grab her shirt, as well as her favorite leather jacket for extra layers.

She didn't want to seem like a temptation, even if she only had to exist before your eyes to be.

You honestly couldn't restrain yourself, seeing the physical proof that she'd used her assassin skills to defend you turned you on. It was odd, the way that her violence didn't turn you off. It was perfectly understandable though, knowing that she loved you enough to chose to defend you was the most attractive characteristic.

You were down bad, and Natasha gulped as she saw the way your eyes bloomed with swirls of palpable lust. It took all of her not to pounce on the moment that presented itself to her, but she stood no real chance at abstaining here. In a matter of seconds you were straddling her lap and lifting her bruised knuckles to your lips.

"Y/N," she gasped, a subtle warning in the way her hand trembled in yours, but you cupped her cheeks and smiled warmly before saying: "I want to feel your love Nat, please show me."

Both of your hearts beat out of rhythm, but the jumbled thumps were however in sync. She surveyed your eyes for a brief moment, then she kissed you breathless as she lifted you both up off the mattress. Setting you down on shaky legs she smiled at the way your eyes took time fluttering back open. Her hands settled on the hem of your shirt, "May I?" You nodded, a bit emotional as she sought your permission out.

Natasha was incredibly gentle as she disrobed you, a muffled sob left you as you cherished the unfamiliarly soft touch. It had been such a long time since someone regarded your body this way. Every partner you'd been with since you moved into adulthood had been callous; rough around all your edges and cruel to your curves.

Your parents were just the same, the redhead had given you hope for a brighter future. Then she was gone, no longer present to keep that shadowed figure from exposing themselves.

Rio was never someone you regarded as a threat until the day when they introduced themselves, cocky grin on their face as they asked you out on the date you'd be at later.

It was never a question, it was a veiled prison sentence that you would fall into the trap of.

You were naive enough to believe it friendly, everyone knew you were unspoken for, but the whispers echoed that you were Natasha's girl.

Which you were wholeheartedly aligned with.

Rio disregarded the claim, showing you the empty finger that they shoved a ring onto a month into your assigned arrangement. It devastated you being with anyone that wasn't her, they never physically forced you down, but they used their venomous words to coerce you.

"Moya lyubov, are you sure?" You felt this wave of warmth tingle beneath your skin, and felt as her calloused thumb wiped away your tears. "We don't have to do this yet detka, or ever if-."

"Natasha no," you whimpered, nails dug into the nape of her neck as you feared being left sexually frustrated. You needed her more than you ever thought humanly possible, "Please."

Natasha's arm wrapped around your bare waist, she guided you back towards the bed and kissed your lips the entire time she spent cautiously lowering you onto the mattress. It was like she was in a trance as she took her time kissing away the pain of your scars.

It was her intention to make this moment one full of love, her lips gently kissed over the skin of your stomach and she felt the way your entire body tensed in anticipation. Yet she didn't take the bait, she instead continued to lick the salty sweat from every bit of exposed skin she could, and her kisses continued to drop all over, like into the crook of your knees and elbows, and the apex of your thighs.

You whimpered in need for nearly an hour, but she never heard you as she was determined to feel every last bit of your skin beneath her now numbed lips. Soft snores finally pulled her from her trance, she gazed up at you, her lips stalled on the skin beneath your belly button.

She grinned against your pelvis as she caught a whiff of your abundance, her eyes closed as she felt her mouth salivate in an instant. Her body shuffled until she could eye your cunt, it oozed like a waterfall and seeped into the grey sheets.

With the tip of her nose she nudged your lips apart, then slid up to bump at your clit as her tongue followed the trail with a firm lick. Natasha groaned against your sensitive nub as she truly tasted you for the first time. Her face was absolutely coated in arousal in seconds as she ate your pussy like it was her last meal.

If she goes down for her crimes today she would actually request you as her final meal.

Muffled whimpers left through the part in your lips instantaneously, your hips shifted, then all of a sudden your upper torso arched off the bed and you moaned yourself into consciousness.

You were enthusiastic as your hand wove into her hair and you loudly vocalized her praise: "O-oh my god, don't stop—fuck, never stop!"

Natasha purred against your pulsating clit, a clear indication that she shared your thoughts. Dangerously so honestly, because she made you release on her swirling tongue alone four mind blowing times before she took a break.

While you grappled hazily with the functions of time and space the woman merely watched you in amusement. You were adorable as you came down from your repetitive sequence of highs, yawning obviously and smiling contentedly.

Moments later you finally stared down at the woman whose body was pressed into yours. Natasha smiled up at you lazily, with her slick cheek smushed into your thigh, you returned the gesture and her heart skipped a million beats. You took her breath away every time she saw you, but this time was different, it was even better than she dreamed. She finally had you in every sense of the word, before she left you were already hers in totality, but it was never the right time to take that leap together.

Or at least you'd both thought that you needed the time to be right, but now you knew to stake your claims and to never let each other go.

The redhead needed to be closer to you, so she left the oh so comforting heat radiating from between your thighs behind and began to kiss up the center of your body, a snail trail left in her lips wake with each sloppy press of them to your sweaty skin. She relished in the way you'd shiver as the breeze from the window solidified your essence and had your heated skin chilled.

She smirked once her lips pressed into your cheek as you tugged at her clothes and whined.

"What is it moya lyubov'?" She chuckled, then prohibited your response as she pecked away your pout. Her tongue licked at your bottom lip and you allowed her the moment of distraction. Savoring the taste of you on her tongue as she kissed you breathless, your body pushed back into a needy state as your arousal soaked into her shirt, and she was reminded of your prior whining as you had just tried to undress her.

Natasha shook her leather jacket off of her arm, keeping her body raised on the other like it took no strength at all. She never once broke the kiss, managing to suck your soul from you, she even kept her balance as she threw it off. For her remaining clothes she had to pull away, but you didn't feel her absence for long as she moved rather speedily, almost like a cheetah.

"What does it mean?" You shakily asked as she lowered her cunt atop of yours, a carnal groan then left you, "Fuck, Natasha you are so wet."

She hummed teasingly as she began to rub her aroused cunt against yours, her plump lips hovered your ear as she whispered her secret words: "My love." You felt the warmth of her sigh tickle the skin of your collarbones, and it spurred on a flurry of goosebumps across your body and burrowed deep into your heart. "I'm only ever wet because of you Y/N, every time you'd kiss my cheek goodnight I'd be drooling."

"Oh god," you moaned as her lewd confession was huskily spoken just as her clit brushed over yours, the stimulating touch caused Natasha's arms to nearly give out as she was overrun with pleasure, but her impressive strength won out.

"You've always been mine Y/N," she murmured the truth you both vehemently aligned with as she kept up a breathtaking pace with her hips, it wasn't rushed though which was new to you.

The painstakingly raw jut of her hips left you feeling dizzy, her teeth grazed across the skin of your jaw before her lips latched onto the bob of your throat as your body arched into hers.

It was made worse when she pulled away from your neck and hovered you once more, her lovesick gaze locked on your hazy one, and you were surely a goner as the words as sweet as honey left her saccharine lips: "I promise to cherish your body for a lifetime if you'll let me," her pace sped up just as fast as your heartbeat had, and your eyes brimmed with tears of pure joy as you came in sync with your soulmate.

Whispers of yes and please left your lips in between the moans of her name, and the world stopped when you hoarsely cried out mommy.

Natasha collapsed into you, her arms giving out as her warm arousal gushed from her already dripping cunt onto your thighs as she came again from she's sure your words alone.

"You did such a good job for mommy," she pecked your cheek then pressed her lips to yours and satisfied your needs to kiss her luscious lips as you basked in the aftershocks of your highs in a bubble of undeniable passion.

"Get some rest now detka," Natasha rolled off of you and pulled your limp body into hers. "You're safe with me Y/N, I promise you this."

"I know Natty," you mumbled over a yawn while burrowing your face in between her soft, rounded breasts. The redhead smiled and happily admired your relaxed face, she wore a proud grin as you drifted off, trusting her to keep you safe with the same hands she'd used to wring the neck of your spouse this evening.

You knew deep down that Natasha didn't let them go like you’d thought when she said they were not here. Apparently she was foreshadowing their looming demise. You didn't question her for a meaning when it came to the bruises on her hands, you just accepted it because she loved you enough to bloody her ledger. Though they surely deserved it, she still had to consciously take a life, and even though they were wretched, she still felt the loss.

Good or bad, her heart still cared too deeply.

The world was a safer place, you'd pointlessly reminded yourself of her humanity, as if she would ever lay a harsh hand on you. She who hummed softly, and ran a gentle hand up and down your back even after you'd slipped off into a middle ground. Your mind was still aware but your body was slumped into hers, but you heard her whisper clear as day as her lips faintly kissed your hairline. "I love you Y/N Romanoff, I promise I'll put a ring on your finger soon, I just have to unpack the little box from my suitcase and threaten a judge is all."

You involuntarily giggled softly and her hands teasingly tickled at yours sides, "You sneaky minx," you could hear the smirk in her voice, and you knew then she'd known all along that you were still conscious on some plane. "So, tell me Y/N, will you be my runaway bride?"

"It depends," you yawned out exaggeratedly, "Where will we be running off to Natty-kins?"

"Wherever you want sweet girl, I can make a home anywhere in the world if you're there."

"So romantic," you giggled, your lips brushed over her racing pulse and you left a tender kiss there to try and calm her, but it only made it beat out of sync as it sped up then slowed back down. "Of course I will marry you, just as soon as I can get this crock of fibbery annulled."

"Fibbery?" Natasha chuckled and you whined a little too honestly, "Don't make fun of me, I'm tired, and have a lingering minor concussion."

The redheads breath stalled, her body tensed but you tiredly lifted your head and kissed her chin before you whispered, "It's okay, I'm safe now in my favorite persons arms. Like you said, nothing can hurt me if you're around."

"Damn straight," she said as her grip on you tightened, and you sighed. Natasha's hold was expectantly possessive, which briefly felt too familiar to another's, but the way Natasha kissed the skin beneath your hairline, and continued her prior humming soothed you.

This wasn't the start she dreamed of, but she also couldn't prevent the smile that adorned her sleepy face as you nuzzled even further into her embrace, your clear trust in her meant the world to her and even eased some of her guilt.

You both knew it would be a long while before you were truly yourself again, and you knew from experience that her patience would never waver, and that alone would be enough. One thing was rather clear as you slipped off to sleep—you were safe, and loved just as you'd always deserved to be in your home's arms.

——

[piratestent]

big post. i rant. about the suckening. but. in terms of changeling the dreaming which is another system within the world that vampire the masquerade is. read it . maybe.

i got bored and begun ranking the suckening characters with banality.

quick intro to banality,

keywords: Kithain - faeries Changeling - Faeries Glamour - like blood points in the way that it is magical kinda but in form of creativity and happiness and rainbows and dreams instead of murder Mist - hides chimerical stuff Chimera - imagination items that can become real kinda idk hwo to explain this shit Dreaming - a place that kithain go to like. explore and shit. and like. be imaginative. gives glamour.

The source book says:

"Banality is a terrible enough foe for mortals, draining the joy from their lives, sometimes even turning them into walking beacons of the stuff that lashes out at the Dreaming wherever it may sniff it out. For changelings, Banality is 1,000 times worse, a creeping poison that slowly, over the course of a bright and brilliant life, steals that light away, locking it behind the Mists until, at last, the Kithain are left with no more than we remember of our own dreams when we rise each morning. Others, unaware of the Dreaming, pity them, thinking them senile or mad, but even this pity is no salve for the true tragedy this poor soul has suffered.

Banality touches virtually everything in the World of Darkness, and therefore everything has a Banality rating. This rating represents, on a scale of 1 to 10 dots, just how much Banality has been invested into the subject. The higher the number, the more apathetic and unimaginative the person or thing in question is, generally speaking. It also measures how dangerous those individuals or objects might be to changelings, and how destructive to their Glamour they will be. A high Banality rating means that a changeling’s Arts might slide right off that person, for example. Mechanically, this means a subject with high Banality (8–10) adds +1 difficulty to cantrip rolls targeting them. The Storyteller should think about a character’s backstory when deciding on her Banality rating. Was her creativity encouraged when she was growing up? Does she work in a field where thinking outside of the box is rewarded? How many books does she read in a year? Try to get a sense of the character’s mindset, because ultimately that is the greatest determining factor in how high her Banality rating is.

While it is true that individuals with very low Banality are more likely to be diagnosed with a mental health condition or disorder simply for being different, Banality has no effect on mental health. There are people with mental health conditions at every level of Banality, and those conditions have little to no influence on their Banality ratings — they are no more or less Banal regardless of whether their condition is being treated or not."

tl;dr: low banality mean creative. high banality mean not creative. it can change based off environment growing up.

before we begin, a normal fae has a banality rating of two or three. a normal vampire has a banality rating of 8-9, save for the malkavian, the insane, and for some fucking reason, the ravnos, who have a banality of 5-6. humans vary, but most commonly its 6-7, BUT if theyre drunk, its 4. Children have very little banality.

People with banality of 1-3 are called Dreamers, and they make fae around them gain glamour and fellas with 9-10 banality hurt fae to be around because grr uncreative gavuyrvyeaguhvbiavg RARARA

Magnus has a banality of 8 solely because of the wooden bullets scene.

viv and vex get an automatic 4. these fuckers make shit out of people for the fun of it.

Edward has a 9. You understand.

I feel like Arthur hurts fae to be around, ugly or not, but i dont think hes a 10 on banality, so 9.

Emizel varies. some days hes a 4, other days he's an 8. i know this isnt technically allowed but he also shouldnt be technically allowed to live this long so.....

Daybringer Soloman is an 8. yes i know hes a guy that makes people explode with faith alone, but most churches in general have a high banality rating. way she goes.

Shilo has a banality of 3! He's a dreamer!

Grefgore ... i dont know. he. i. he constantly conflicts his low banality with high banality thoughts and his high banality with low banality thoughts so. uh. 5 or 6. hes in the middle.

i feel like pickles is a dreamer animal. 1.

uncle lazarus is, unfortunately, a 8. im sorry to the uncle lazzie lovers out there xx

deacon. uh. hes a vampire cowboy sheriff of L.A. he sounds like he was made by a 4 year old boy that really liked toy story and couldnt decide on a character idea when playing with the babysitter so he became it all. 5.

SODA!!!!!!!!!!! 2. Dreamer. love this guy.

Gabriel has a rating of 7, hes so silly <3

RENWICKKKKKKK! MY FAVOURITE NOSFERATU THAT MIGHT BE THIN BLOOD BECAUSE CHARLIE SLIMECICLE THAT IS NOT HOW NOSFERATUS WORK THEYRE NOT JUST A LITTLE FUCKED UP THEURE HIDEOUS. sorry to all the people who thought he was ravnos because he calls himself renwick the ravenous. hes not. anywasy solely because the name, 5.

mary !! she works with imagination, sorta. so probbaly a 6!

Jerome has a banality of 8. no comment.

The midnight circle, as a whole, have a banality of 5. They also probably kidnap fae because, well, theyre the tremere....

Anya is a 10! grgrgrr

Jeffery tucker is also a 10.

Taylor lautner has a banality of 6, which is ONE below the normal werewolf rating. congrats taylor. ur better than alot of people.

uhhmmm ill probably rate other characters someday. maybe not. i dunno. no promises.

[yanderefoeyay]

Yandere Lucifer evil caretaker Au

After the battle he takes Adams almost dead corpse back into the hotel and keeps him his hotel wing, telling Charlie he’s going to nurse him back to health as an act of goodwill, but as she leaves he’s ecstatic that he’s finally got his human back with him after all his years hiding in heaven, soft and weak and who needs him if he wants to recover

He intended to actually let him heal at first, but as Charlie praises him for doing such a good job as his caretaker he realises he can kill two birds with one stone, he can keep Adam sick and reliant on him and continuously be admired by his daughter, his wonderful little family together at last

He coos at adam and holds him gently while he’s delirious, hand feeding him soup laces with small amounts of poison, none lethal but will keep him bed ridden, keeps him subdued and hazy with pain killers as he bathes him and dresses him, soft hands running through his hair fondly as adams bleary eyes look at him, fear in his veins

At some point Adam manages to recover just enough to move while Lucifers away for a moment, sluggish limbs trying desperately to crawl to the door, he tries to reach for the handle, but as his fingers graze it the door swings opens and he freezes as lucifers looks down on him with a cold twisted look in his eyes and a weird smile on his face “now where do you think you’re going? You really shouldn’t be out of bed, I know what’s best for you silly” voice seemingly playful and mock kindness but with a very clear threat underneath

He’s forcefully picked up, tears running down his face as he tries to yell, a loud gurgle of gibberish falling out, begging silently for anyone to hear him, the door slams shut and they’re alone

He’s placed on his back on the bed, being watched like prey “why would you want to leave in your condition sweetie? You’re not in your right mind right now, and I’m honestly hurt you would try to undo all the progress I’ve made and even worse try to run away from me when I’ve only been loving and kind to you”

“I’ll have to teach you not try to leave me ever again, it’s what’s best for you, what’s best for us” his hand running softly down Adams face, ignoring the cold sweat and his wide terror filled eyes, knowing he’s just afraid of hurting his feelings, that he’s been bad, but he forgives him

His hand takes Adams left arm and runs his fingers over it before quickly snapping it, adams let’s out a broken scream and he shushes him softly and repeats the same process with his other arm, he wouldn’t be able to grab anything including the door handle again anytime soon if at all, he didn’t need his hands anyway lucifer would happily do anything he needs for him

Adams shaking and in so much pain, deeps sobs coming from his dry mouth after the screaming

Charlie comes running through the door as lucifer is saying soothing words and rubbing circles on his chest to calm him down

“DAD WHAT HAPPENED WHY IS THERE SCREAMING?!”

Adams looks at her his eyes pleading for help, for her to understand, to save him but lucifers quick to stand in between them and with the most convincing lying voice tell her “it’s ok sweetie Adam just had a accident, he somehow got out of bed when I was gone and something fell on him, he didn’t know what he was doing, but I’m here now and he’s going to be fine I promise” a reassuring smile masked on his face

Adam watched, hope draining from his face as she breathed a sigh of relief “oh thank goodness I hope he’s going to be ok” lucifer hugged his daughter, her not seeing the sick smile on his face “he’s going to be absolutely fine he’s got me” and Adam watched as she left and they were alone, he felt nothing but dread

Lucifer turned to look at him and slowly walked over, the smile back, he flinches as he felt two hands on his cheeks, cradling his face as lucifer leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead “don’t worry Adam I’ll always be by your side don’t worry, we’ll never be apart again” and that’s exactly what Adam feared most, “now let me take your pain away” he saw a needle appear in lucifers hand, and then just a small sting in his neck, the light started to fade and the last thing he saw was that face looking at him and a whisper of I love you

[bookshelf-in-progress]

This is going to be a deep cut, but I was thinking about the story of the six siblings who get scattered across time in the fantasy world of Athelor, that I introduced in "Honors from the King", and I've got some more ideas about the hypothetical sixth book in the imaginary series, which follows Claire, the sibling who got sent to the latest period in the world's history (and whose story I knew very little about).

Claire and Ben both get sent to a point fairly late in the world's history. Athelor was once a great kingdom that has fallen into ruin. Huge parts are covered with wild forests. They wind up in one of these forests.

Pretty soon after arriving in Athelor, Ben disappears. He comes back a few minutes later, looking much worse for the wear, and he can't seem to remember things they were talking about minutes ago.

Claire learns he was whisked back to some dramatic moment in Athelor's history and lived through a whole adventure--what was moments for her was weeks for him.

Through him, she learns that their other siblings are also scattered across this world's history.

They continue to make their way through the forest as best they can, but Ben never manages to stay longer than a few hours before getting whisked away.

This is intensely frustrating for Claire. First off, because it's terrifying to be left alone. Second, because Ben can never remember what's going on--he always needs to be reminded of what was going on before he left. Third, because he keeps showing up out of order--he assumes Claire is further along in her journey than she is, or assumes she already knows certain things, because he told them to her future self.

Eventually, Claire is found by some soldiers and brought before their queen. The queen is very kind, recognizes Claire as a member of this great family that has had a huge impact on Athelorian history, and tells Claire that she's the only one who can save Athelor.

Centuries ago, the last great queen of Athelor fell into an enchanted sleep, and the kingdom was overrun by invaders and destroyed by other disasters. The kingdom has slowly rebuilt after the apocalypse, but there are prophecies that indicate only the sleeping queen can fully restore Athelor to her former glory. These same prophecies indicate that only a member of this family can find and wake the queen without being caught in the sleeping curse.

Claire has been hearing stories of her siblings' adventures from Ben, so this rings true, and makes her want her own heroic adventure. She is sent on a quest into the forest along with a band of loyal knights.

On the journey, Ben periodically pops in and joins them. The other soldiers hold him in awe as some legendary figure. Ben usually has some information from history that helps Claire to better understand what's going on.

Only when they are very near the end of the journey does Ben help Claire figure out the whole truth--the sleeping queen is her younger sister Mia, who reigned over the last years of the last golden age, and the current queen wants to kill her to eliminate the prophesied threat to her rule.

So in true magi-vs.-Herod fashion, Claire and Ben have to find a way to evade the very skilled, heavily-armed soldiers of the evil queen and wake Mia before the guards can find her.

The place where Mia "sleeps" is actually a place where (thanks to the timey-wimey elements of this world) time has stopped. Mia is not really sleeping, just frozen in a single moment, which explains why she can survive without dying of starvation or old age.

Ben's timey-wimey existence means he knows how to navigate this without getting frozen in time as well. (I suspect that Claire's traveling-from-another-world bit makes her immune as well. Which suggests that Mia went in on purpose, and the my-siblings-can-get-in-to-wake-me thing was a necessary condition before she agreed to this plan.)

They're able to wake Mia (who's now in her thirties, which disconcerts Claire and is just another Tuesday for Ben), and then have to figure out how to evade the soldiers and then find a way to depose the evil queen and reclaim Athelor.

[zombieefish]

oc info dump because im sane and normal.. except it's categorised into my two main ideas

[ 💌🏫 ] Heartlake High

A world that follows the life of highschool students, as they face various struggles of everyday life – making friends, making enemies and learning to adjust to the real world when it's all over.

Nyx Beckett, They/Them – One of the main characters, in the student council and also runs the gardening club. They're quite often spotted in the schools library studying, but if not, they'll be patrolling down the halls for anyone who dares to skip class.

It's their last year here. As much as they say they'll miss it, they know that it's a blatant lie – who would miss a place like this?

Ciel Hawksley, He/Him — Another main character – he's NOT in the student council, but is in the book club. He's closed off, and if anything, never really seen around the school – he's there, just.. not in sight of others.

Nyx is one of his friends. Well, they're the only person he considers a friend from what we know – since he's leaving just like Nyx, maybe they'll do something together.

Who knows?

ill add to this later, because i scrapped some characters..

[ 🧟‍♂️🥀 ] no name yet.. i think

The infected are slowly taking over this small city, and soon, there's bound to be no escape. All because of one lousy scientist who messed up an experiment – but it couldn't get any worse from here, could it?

It could.

Dr. Lava Lamp, He/She — The scientist who started this whole saga – a mishap in one of her experiments caused her assistant to be the first person affected, and soon, it spread from there.

Does he admit that it was his fault? Absolutely not. But now, she stays put in her lab, and refuses to leave due to the conditions out in the wild.

Perfume, She/Her — She's a strong woman with no time to waste – someone who means business, and will always find her way around a problem.

She will use whatever she has on hand as a weapon. Doesn't matter if it means using her sidekick as a hammer, she WILL do it.

Stop Sign, any pronouns — He just works at a grocery store and got dragged along for the ride. Is it too late to leave?

to be continued.. eventually

[it-was-too-cold-always]

Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky gets stitched up, the reader struggles to keep her thoughts in check, and the happy couple moves into their new home.

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, eventual smut, lots of angst, violence, PTSD/nightmares, panic attacks

Bucky led you up the porch steps to the front door. He opened it slowly, stepping aside to let you in first. He was watching you carefully. The inside of the house was just as charming as the outside. The house was old, from the 50s if you had to guess. It had a lot of character. The entryway had one of those little cutouts in the wall for knickknacks, and you smiled - you love old houses and their little quirks. You were praying the bathroom had a pink tub.

Bucky was pleased with your reaction to the house and decided to show you around. "The bedrooms are all upstairs. The master is to the left. There's only one bathroom up there, so we'll have to share with our little shadows," he said, gesturing to the two black SUVs sitting in the driveway. “They moved all your stuff from the hotel into our bedroom. Get settled while I talk to the guys outside,” he instructed. A shiver went down your spine. Our bedroom. Holy shit. And the way he kept telling you what to do? Bucky Barnes was turning you into a little puddle.

You did as you were told and went upstairs. Everything was pretty basic – a plain beige comforter, nothing hanging on the walls, very bare bones. Just wait until I hit up HomeGoods, you thought. You went into the bathroom to put away your toothbrush, and sure enough, a pink tub. “Oh HELL yes!” you said to yourself. Little did you know Bucky was watching you from the top of the staircase, smiling at your excitement over a bathroom. He spoke before you could notice him watching you. “Dinner’s here. I hope you like pizza.”

You followed him downstairs to see two agents eating on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, watching a football game on the TV. You and Bucky shared a look – your new roommates were going to test your patience. He put a couple slices on your plate and sat down next to you at the kitchen table. The two of you ate in silence. Well, as silent as it could be with two goons cheering at the TV. You felt at ease, almost like you were just enjoying each other’s company. Stop making things more romantic than they are, you’re just eating pizza, you told yourself. Just because you were practically in love with him doesn’t mean that he feels the same. Besides, you don’t really know him. And he definitely doesn’t know you.

Despite what you thought, Bucky did know a little about you. SHIELD made a report of all the intel they could gather about you, and he got his very own copy. It was a very extensive file, everything from your work performance evals to personality tests to purchasing habits. Each night, he would read over your file and learn as much as he could. He gathered you really loved Target and planned on taking you there once your belly gets too big for your clothes. The thought of you with round with his child gave him butterflies. Besides the initial rage he feels about this study, he felt nervous. He wasn’t sure he was ready or deserved to be a father. Pregnancy scared the shit out of him, but he knew he’d have to man up and be there for you.

Wanting to stay away from the noise of the agents watching football, you decided to head up to the bedroom. It was barely 7:00, but you were ready for sleep. Bucky said he’d be up in a couple minutes, he had a phone call to make. You were about to crawl into bed when you remembered you needed to charge your phone. You looked all over the room, but no luck. You thought you’d check Bucky’s nightstand – maybe he put yours in there without thinking. Sliding the drawer open, you see a copy of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” You laughed quietly. Bucky was actually preparing himself for this. Your laugh turned into a frown when you remembered the reason you’re in this house to begin with. The entire situation was against your will. And his.

You closed the drawer and decided you’d ask Bucky if he had a spare charger once he got to the room. You didn’t last long after crawling into bed. Bucky walked in and saw that you were asleep, so he moved as quietly as possible. He noticed you were still wearing your glasses, so he reached down gently to take them off. You fluttered your eyes open as he was setting them down.

“Do you have an extra phone charger?” you mumbled, still half asleep. He chuckled. “Yeah, gimme a second,” he said as he started rummaging through his bag. He pulled one out, walked over to your side of the bed, and plugged in the cord. “Where’s your phone?” he asked. You patted your hands around until you found it wrapped in the sheets. Bucky gestured for you to give it to him. He plugged your phone in and set it on the nightstand, then walked over to his side of the bed.

You were waiting to feel the bed shift under his weight, but it never came. You turned around. His pillow was gone. Sitting up on your heels to get a better view, you see him on the floor at the foot of the bed, laying down with his pillow and a blanket.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Going to bed, like I thought you were doing,” he answers.

“I didn’t think you were being serious about sleeping on the floor. We can share the bed, Bucky. It’s not a big deal.” You were kind of looking forward to sleeping next to him.

“Nah, I’m fine here. Just go to bed, Y/N.”

You settled back into bed with a frown. It seemed wrong to sleep on this comfy bed while he slept on the hardwood floor. But you were too tired to argue. You kept to your side of the bed in case he changes his mind in the middle of the night.

You woke up to the sound of Bucky in distress. It took you a minute to figure out what was going on – you were a little disoriented. You shot out of bed to see him clearly in the middle of a nightmare. He was clutching his metal arm, knuckles turning white. “Bucky?” you whispered. You didn’t want to wake up the agents sleeping in the rooms down the hall. “Bucky, wake up,” you pleaded as you knelt next to him.

Not wanting to frighten him, you rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone. “Bucky?” He still wasn’t waking up, so you decided it was time for a little nudge. Being gentle yet assertive, you gave him a solid poke in the ribs, being careful not to bother the fresh wound in his shoulder. Bucky’s eyes shot open, seeing a figure looming over him.

Before you could process what was happening, Bucky was on top of you with his metal hand wrapped around your throat. “Bucky, it’s me! Bucky please it’s just me!” you wheezed out, already seeing stars. You saw confusion on his face, which quickly turned to horror. He shot up and scrambled off you, backing into the far corner of the room.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he muttered over and over. You were coughing violently, trying to get the air back in your lungs. Once you caught your breath, you looked over at him. He was staring at you with complete devastation.

“Bucky? Are you okay?” you asked quietly.

“I hurt you,” he whispered.

“No, I’m okay, I promise. It was just a nightmare. We’re okay,” you reassured.

Your heart was breaking at the sight of him in such despair. He shook his head and fought back tears. The one good thing he had in his life and he almost killed her. “Hey, come on, let’s crawl into bed,” you said. You grabbed his arm and helped him up. He flinched at your touch; you tried to not let that bother you. You guided him to his side of the bed. He wouldn’t lay down, but he sat on the edge and looked out the window. You sat next to him and started rubbing circles in his back. “I promise it’s okay,” you whispered, “we’re going to be okay.” You hoped to god you were right.

Chapter 6

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom @learisa @pono-pura-vida @smile1318 @stinkerbelle007 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @wonderland2425

[chimuelo2005-blog]

Teddy Lupin is 50% werewolf for better or worse.

Teddy Lupin always knew he wasn’t exactly normal, but as a kid, it didn’t bother him much. Sure, he could smell things most people couldn’t, hear conversations from way down the hall, and was stronger than his friends without even trying. Weird, but manageable. It wasn’t until he hit his teenage years that things started to get really strange.

At first, it was just a restless feeling, like something was crawling under his skin. He’d snap at people more often, little growls slipping out when he was annoyed, and then there were these instincts he couldn’t shake. He started rearranging his room, piling up blankets, pillows, anything soft, and building these little dens in the corners. He didn’t even realize why he was doing it at first, it just felt... right. Then there was the hunger, it started with rare meat, but soon that wasn’t cutting it. He wanted it raw, blood still fresh. He didn’t tell anyone, not at first. How could he? It sounded insane, but the cravings got stronger, and it got harder to ignore.

One night, it all became too much. Andromeda, his grandmother, had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t unusual for her to be up late, wandering to the kitchen for a glass of water. That night, though, when she stepped into the kitchen, she froze. There was Teddy, standing at the counter, hunched over with something in his hands. It wasn’t until she got closer that she realized what it was—raw steak. Blood smeared across his lips and dripped from his fingers. He didn’t notice her at first, too focused on tearing into the meat. “Teddy?” she called out, her voice quiet but laced with concern. He jerked back, dropping the steak like it burned him. His eyes were wide, wild, and there were tears in them. Teddy never cried—he was always the one who kept it together—but right now, he was shaking. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, smearing the blood even more. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”Andromeda slowly approached, her heart breaking at the sight of him so scared and ashamed. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”Teddy’s voice cracked as he explained. “I’ve had these... cravings. Ever since I turned thirteen, it’s been getting worse. I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. I need raw meat. The taste of blood, it—it makes it stop. Just for a while. But I hate it.”He slid down to the floor, burying his face in his hands. “It’s like there’s something inside me, and I can’t control it.”

Andromeda sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Teddy stiffened, then let himself lean into her. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she whispered. “You’re just... different.” Teddy looked up at her, his eyes bright, almost glowing in the dark kitchen. “But I’m not normal, Gran. Not even close. I’m half-werewolf, and I can feel it. It’s like there’s this animal inside me, and sometimes I think it’s gonna take over. I’ve started growling in my sleep, and there are nights when I wake up, and I’ve been... howling.” His voice was barely a whisper now. “I don’t even know I’m doing it until it’s too late.”He wiped at his eyes, frustrated with himself. “And then there’s the nesting thing. I keep building these... dens, I guess? Like I need to be somewhere safe and enclosed all the time. I don’t even know why I’m doing it, I just... I can’t stop.”

Andromeda listened, her heart heavy. She hadn’t realized just how deeply his father’s condition was affecting him. Teddy may not have been bitten by Greyback, like his father, but that didn’t mean the wolf wasn’t part of him. “Your dad had instincts, too,” she said quietly. “He didn’t talk about them much, but I know he struggled with it. But he learned how to deal with it, and so will you. We’ll figure it out together.” Teddy nodded, but the fear was still there, plain as the bright moon that loomed around, peeking from behind the window.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Turning isn't fun for me. I don't know if it's my particular strain of lycanthropy or if it's just me, but it hurts... a lot. It's really inconvenient.

I can feel the full moon deep in my bones. I've heard others describe it like a buzzing energy, a pinch in your center, or ah, I don't know a restlessness, maybe? It's annoying and a pain to deal with, but ultimately, nothing completely life altering. It's not like that for me.

For me, the moon is a constant ache that grows worse as the month advances. I can feel my bones grinding, twisting, and shuffling around. I've had to make a chart on what times of the month certain foods are dangerous for me to eat because the closer I get to the full, the more canine my insides are.

Now, my pack is incredibly supportive in all this. We've gone to doctors, witches, the fae, you name it, to try and find a way to cope. So far, we can't pin what's wrong, but we've found a way to manage my pain to be somewhat tolerable. My pack is not the problem. My problem is Debbie.

Debbie is a wolf shifter. While her change is influenced by the moon, she has conscious control over when she can shift, and by her own admission, it's virtually painless. She is also my only coworker connected to the community.

It was fine for a while. I thought we'd hit it off. As the only two people of the night, we could support each other like no one else in the job could. We'd trade jokes, cover each other's shifts at work when we weren't scheduled the same day, or just talk. I considered her a friend, or maybe more than, and even talked about introducing my pack to her.

The thing is, due to the nature of my condition, I have to take three days off a month. For years, this set up as been fine. Sure, I get a little less time off than everyone, but I love my job, and it's not like i can really go anywhere, so I don't consider it much of a loss.

But last month, my time off was denied. They wouldn't accept it. I asked if there was anything I could do to get it off, another sick note or something, but they said that they had "investigated" my condition and confirmed with someone else in the community that I was overexaggerating my symptoms. They told me they would let me off with a warning because of my track record, but not to make it a habit.

I was crushed. One of the reasons I love my job is because of their leniency. Without it, I would get burnt out and possibly aggravate my condition.

I told Debbie what happened. It was partly to see if she could cover my shift, but also to warn her to be vigilant and protect herself in case something similar happened to her. It turns out, SHE was the one that claimed my symptoms were overexaggerated! This whole time, she thought I was making out my condition as worse than it is. Her packmates don't have my problems, so clearly I'm just trying weasel in some paid time off.

I was so, so angry. I shouldn't have yelled, but my pain, both mind and body, was excruciating, and I couldn't take it anymore. I think I got the point across, though. By the time one of my packmates came to pick me up, she looked absolutely wrecked.

It's been a month and we haven't spoken outside of work related things. I'm currently looking for a new job because even with paid time off, my condition is slowly eating into it. Plus, I have a life outside of my job and would like to spend time with my pack.

But I don't want to leave Debbie on a sour note. I might not trust her like I used to, but she was a friend. With me leaving, She'll be the only person of the night in the job. I feel guilty leaving her by herself.

So, how do I approach this? She broke my trust, but we have too much history for me to feel comfortable leaving without saying anything.

How can I talk to her without getting hurt? Is that even possible anymore?

I'll get to the final part of your question in just a moment, reader. First, I want to address some of the issues you've raised about your workplace.

You say that, because you take three sick days a month, you get less holiday than your co-workers. From this, I am inferring that you are taking these days off as holiday rather than sick leave. Which raises a great many questions about their refusal to grant you leave on the grounds of this so-called “investigation” of your condition.

Your employer is entitled to refuse you leave, but they can only turn down those requests on reasonable grounds, and they cannot refuse to give you your leave entirely. This refusal does not seem to be made on the grounds of any clear business grounds – they haven't cited understaffing as the reason, for example.

In fact, any business concerns they might cite are clearly unsubstantiated. You've been working there for years, with no evidence at all that this time off has affected the business. And if they have no business grounds on which to refuse you, you're entitled to take that time off as you wish.

Instead, your employers have refused you on the grounds of their so-called “investigation” of your health condition, thereby treating your holiday leave as sick leave. If this time off is sick leave, they need to do far more than asking the opinion of some random person of the night. To deny you sick leave, they must conduct a proper investigation into your condition and take the actual medical evidence into account.

There is a wealth of medical evidence that somatic transformation is a radically varied phenomenon, and chronic, painful transformations are well-documented as a real medical concern. This is not to mention the evidence you've accrued over the years of your own efforts to find treatment for your condition.

In short, they have no grounds to refuse you this time off. If you really don't want to leave that place of work, you need to stand your ground and push for the leave you're entitled to. Speak to your manager, and make it clear that you know your rights and are willing to escalate the matter as necessary to see that those rights are respected.

I also strongly recommend you speak to this manager about the obvious lack of professionalism shown by discussing your private medical issues with another employee. As well as being a violation of your privacy, it's also demonstrates an appalling lack of respect for liminal identities and the diversity of experiences within the community.

In short, reader, put the fear of God into them. With any luck, you'll be able to keep your job and your time off, and find the balance you need to manage your condition in a healthy, sustainable way.

As for Debbie, that's really up to you. You say you don't know how to speak to her without getting hurt, but that's not something you can control. There is nothing you can do to ensure she won't say something at best thoughtless, and at worst, actively hurtful. All you can do is brace yourself for the possibility, and plan for how you can look after yourself if she does end up hurting you.

To be frank, however, I'm not sure she deserves it. She's undermined your trust and forsaken any right to your time and energy. Talk to her if you really want to, but I think you'd be well within your rights to draw a line under that relationship and concentrate on relationships that centre respect and mutual care – or at the very least, a modicum of solidarity.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[sweetiesshortstories]

Excerpt from wolf story:

NSFW

This is a wolf concept I've been working on over the years in my spare time. Indiana has been using tranquilizers for several years to suppress her wolf urges. Her parents died suddenly, urging her sudden return to her hometown located in "Wolf Country". She is now out of tranquilizers and her wolf instincts are hitting her hard, starting with a pre-heat.

Pre-heat: the mini heat that comes a week before the full heat.

For hours Indiana crawled on the floor of her home in agonizing pain, tears wet her flushed cheeks, her puffed lips were parted as she whined and whimpered.

Her body was on fire and waves of heat ripped through her like lightening, forcing Indiana to dig her nails into the floor. It was as if she were being cooked alive. She wore nothing but the oversized T-shirt she had slept in and normal cotton underwear yet she felt as if she were wrapped in blankets and comforters. She felt suffocated. She couldn’t get enough air and her body couldn’t capture a breeze of relief.

I need…I need….

She curled into fetal position, moaning and groaning. What did she need? Why was this happening? Why had she let her supply run out? She knew it was low, she knew running out was dangerous, if only she had been more careful. If she had just counted better, looked more closely.

“Indy?” A voice echoed out to her, but it sounded far away, like a dream. Indiana curled into a tighter ball on the floor, pressing her eye sockets into her knees.

“Oh, spirits! Indiana!” Sabrina dropped to her knees at the sight of Indiana trembling on the floor, skin flushed, dark maroon splotches appearing and scattering on her mist covered flesh.

Sabrina placed the back of her hand against Indiana’s forehead, but Indiana whimpered.

“You’re in pre-heat but your body is out of control!” Sabrina felt panic rising in her chest as she took in her friend’s delicate condition. She had called Indiana several times to check on her and only showed up at her home when she was certain something was wrong.

“B-Bri?” Indiana panted weakly. Her friend moved closer across the carpet and placed her face close.

“Yes! It’s me. Oh, goddess, Indy. How did it get so bad?” Sabrina brushed damp hair from Indiana’s forehead.

“Tran-I need my t-tranquilizers. Ah!” A wave rushed through Indiana making her writhe in pain, her mouth opened in a silent scream and her face contorted in agony. Sabrina sat in a stunned silence as Indiana's words slowly began to make sense in her mind.

"Indy, you've been using tranquilizers? You've been suppressing your wolf? For how long?" Indiana tucked her head away as if she were hiding her face in shame. "This is bad. Tranquilizers make everything so much worse. Oh, spirits! We need to call someone." She moved away from her friend but not before Indiana could grab her.

Indiana's claws were extended and her fangs protruding ever so slightly, but Sabrina paid it no mind. She patted Indiana's hand.

"It's okay, don't worry. I'm only calling Dia. She's the best healer around, she'll know what to do."

"But...you're a priestess." Indiana argued.

"I am, but this isn't a spiritual issue between your wolf side and human side, Indy. This is a physical one. I can't save you this time. Not alone." Sabrina walked away, her copper hair faded from Indiana's view, leaving her on the floor to writhe alone and cry into the carpet.

After what felt like hours, Sabrina returned with Dia on her heels.

"Bondye!" Dia gasped as she took in Indiana's state. She looked at Sabrina with wide eyes. "How long has she been like this?"

"I got here maybe 45 minutes ago?" Sabrina answered. Dia lowered to the carpet and traced her hands above Indiana's form.

"Her pheromones are suffocating. We won't be able to keep this secret for much longer." Dia murmured as she continued reading Indiana's body. She could see the ball of heat in Indiana's abdomen, it was spreading through her veins like lava, and making her heart glow a dangerous orange.

"I already put scent blockers on all of the doors." Sabrina said as she lowered herself down next to Dia.

"That is good but this," Dia shook her head and sucked her teeth. "She's gonna stroke. The heat has reached her heart, she could seize at any moment. If she doesn't get a male soon, it'll reach her brain. I've never seen a pre-heat like this."

"Clay!" Sabrina gasped. "What if I bring you Clay, Indy?" Sabrina didn't care that Clay was her mate, he was safe and he wouldn't lose control with Indiana. She knew if anyone would keep Indiana safe it would be him. But she curled into an even tighter ball at the mention of his name as began shaking her head.

Her body was warming up again, preparing to send a new wave of agony through her. Indiana clenched her teeth so hard she heard them cracking and straining against the pressure. Tears burned in her eyes and her breathing became rapid.

"It won't work if she rejects him, her body won't accept them. Does she have a mate? A wolf she used to run with, maybe?" Dia asked Sabrina, but Sabrina shook her head.

With great effort, Indiana lifted her torso from the carpet on shaky arms, her breathing rapid.

"Beige," she panted. "I need to find Beige." The wave was subsiding giving her a momentary reprieve. She wanted to collapse and bask in the temporary calm but she forced herself to stay upright and look at the women aiding her.

"Okay, Beige. I'll get him. Where is he?" Sabrina asked, standing to her feet. Indiana shook her head weakly.

"I have to go to him. He's...rogue."

"Senye!" Dia hissed. "We can't take her anywhere! We'd be mauled halfway down the street."

Sabrina was chewing her thumb nail in thought, pacing back and forth.

"Well, what are our options?" She asked, facing Dia. "You said it yourself, she's gonna seize or stroke, this isn't a normal pre-heat. This is every pre-heat and full heat that Indiana has avoided, and we don't know how many that's been! I'm not going to let her die. If she wants a rogue, I'll take her myself."

Dia shot up from the floor with wide eyes and flared nostrils, her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

"That's a death wish! Priestess or not, one whiff of her and those males would tear you apart to get her. Make no mistake Sabrina, males are not like us, they will always be more wolf than man. You know this."

"Yes, I know," Sabrina shook her head and held her hands before her as if she were physically holding her idea. "But if I shift and release pheromones, that should give me enough time to get her over the border. I mean, Dia, look at her." Sabrina gestured towards a now panting Indiana. Her eyes were beginning to turn red.

Dia sighed and bent back down, adjusting her jupe so her knees could bend. Her thick bracelets rattled as she touched Indiana's chin and lifted her face.

"Finding Beige will be dangerous, your scent will attract other males. Other rogues, once we cross the border. We might not be able to protect you. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Indiana?"

She did. Too well. And Dia knew she did. They shared a knowing look as Indiana's eyes filled with fresh tears. With a trembling hand, Indiana touched Dia's wrist and nodded.

"I know, but I-I'm not ready to die, Dia. Not like this." After a moment Dia nodded and stood up to face Sabrina.

"Your wolf is bigger than mine, you carry Indiana and I'll stay at your rear. If we both release pheromones that should cover her scent even more and deter the males." Sabrina nodded eagerly. The women bent down and lifted Indiana to her feet.

Once down the hall Sabrina opened the front door and looked back at Dia who gave her a nod. Sabrina shifted, her long pale limbs extended, copper fur sprouted from her flesh, her face elongated into a snout until she stood on four massive paws. Dia rushed to her side and lifted Indiana onto Sabrina's back. Once the three women were outside, Dia shut the front door and shifted. Her sand colored wolf released a shot of pheromones as she moved quickly to keep pace with Sabrina. She wanted to conceal the scent immediately, leaving no trace of Indiana's scent trailing to the forest.

Indiana was slumped over Sabrina's back, her vision blurry, her hands weak. She gripped onto the thick fur and buried her face in Sabrina's neck as another wave of agony prepared to roll over her. She could tell her two friends caught the scent, Dia whimpered at their back and Sabrina huffed loudly.

"Don't let go!" Sabrina's voice screamed in Indiana's head, and she tightened her grip.

Indiana groaned against the movement, her body was aching and screaming, her thoughts were going mad. Maybe she should let a random male mount her, it would take the pain away. Maybe she should let herself die, that way she'd never go through this again. She held onto Sabrina tighter and closed her eyes.

Oh, my love. Where is my love? Why won't he come to me...

The thought confused Indiana. She never believed in the mate concept, and not just because she was raised human. A lot of wolves didn't believe in the mate concept. It was rare, practically unheard of. Crying out for a mate made no sense, but neither did the amount of pain she was in. She had never felt something so agonizing in her life, something so awful she would do almost anything to make it stop.

Around them, deep in the forest, howls could be heard. Dia's ears twitched and she saw Sabrina's do the same.

"Just keep going towards the border, I have your back." Dia called to her. Sabrina pushed forward, panting, digging her claws into the soft earth.

Another howl sounded, this one cut through Indiana. She winced, a loud whine sang from her throat. It was as if something inside of her wanted to answer back, a phantom arm reaching out from inside of her. She felt Sabrina move even faster, and faster. Sabrina's shoulder blades were slamming against Indiana's chest and the air was drying her eyes, she struggled to keep her grip.

Her body was rebelling against her, sending wave after wave of burning agony through her very bones. Even her fingers felt like they were on fire, burning off of her body. Just when she was certain she would lose her grip, Sabrina slid to a stop. Indiana's body immediately went limp, her breathing ragged and heavy as she fought spasms.

Her ears were ringing, but slowly, another sound made its way into her head. A low, deep, rumble. With a grunt Indiana lifted her head and slowly pushed herself upright.

A wolf.

Indiana's breath caught as she took in the massive black beast with bared fangs. Her snarled at the women, making Sabrina duck her head.

"Julaeus," Indiana panted. She scrambled from Sabrina's back and fell to the ground, her legs weak from hours of sheer pain. Julaeus snapped and growled, forcing Sabrina and Dia to step further back with their tails tucked. Indiana reached out towards him, her heart swelling in a way she didn't understand. He nuzzled her palm, a low whine sounding in his chest.

"Indy..." Sabrina's voice sounded weak in her mind, before Indiana could respond Julaeus snarled at the two female wolves. As much as they wanted to stay for Indiana, they couldn't challenge the alpha and his stance was clear. He wanted them gone. With heads low and tails tucked the female wolves begrudgingly left.

Indiana had her arms wrapped around Julaeus's neck and her face buried in his fur. He always smelled good, but his scent was almost intoxicating for her in that moment. That sweet cold spring water scent flooded her nostrils and tongue, with a hint of lemon grass and summer sunshine.

"Julaeus, I'm hurting so much." She mumbled into his fur. "I can't make it stop." Indiana felt him release pheromones, a wave of alpha will rolled from him. He was creating a barrier to keep every wolf, male and female alike, far, far away.

Indiana felt her body warming, her muscles tensing, she was so tired. She slumped against Julaeus as a whimper slipped from her lips and trembles wracked her body.

God just make it stop....

Julaeus whined and lowered his body to the earth, nuzzling her ribcage. Her skin was burning, and her scent was thick, heavy, hanging in the air like a humid summer day. He had to wait for the tremor to pass in order to help her, her body was too tight, rigid. Moving her would only cause her pain.

When the tremor finally released Indiana, she was breathless. She released her hold on Julaeus and slumped to the ground, gasping for air, staring at the sky with glassy red eyes. Julaeus rested his head on her abdomen, listening to the frantic thrumming of her heart. Slowly, he shifted.

Indiana felt the weight on top of her change, her body was humming. Gradually Julaeus's face came into focus, he rested between her thighs, his arms caged around her, he brushed his knuckled against her flushed cheeks. He was angry, livid.

Why hadn't she called him? Why hadn't Sabrina? Or Dia? Why had they taken her out into the forest when she was like this? As desperately as he wanted to demand answers, it wasn't the time. Indiana was weak, and nearing a stroke.

"I'm going to move you, I need to get you somewhere safe." But Indiana shook her head rapidly, eyes closed tightly.

"No, no, there isn't time. I need you to s-stop it. I feel it, another one." She was speaking through clenched teeth, her breathing was turning into airy pants as her nails dug into his sides and her body rippled beneath him.

Julaeus was feeling primal, her pheromones were fogging his mind, begging his wolf to come out but he couldn't. Not there. He released a shaky breath and pressed his lips on her cheek and along her jaw.

"Okay, okay, my love. I'll take the edge off before I move you." He spoke against her skin. Indiana was arching into him, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as his mouth fluttered over her neck, promising to take care of her.

Her body was buzzing with life and awareness, she felt flames trail his lips and when his fingers grazed her thigh she almost cried out. Yes, yes, please touch me there...

Julaeus had to hold back a moan of his own as his fingers brushed her soaked undergarments. Her heat was dripping from her, down her thighs, soaking through her thin underwear, and the scent of her musk was making him salivate.

Gods! How can she do this? No one should smell this good. No one should sound this good...

He slipped his finger through the elastic band of her underwear and immediately plunged into her wet folds. Indiana whined, panted, and lifted her hips to meet his touch.

"Please, please, I'm so close just a little more." She begged. One hand gripped his forearm while her other held onto his shoulder. Finally, the agony she felt ripping through her entire body had turned into something else. As Julaeus pushed a finger inside of her she felt all the heat and pressure crushing her muscle and bones move to meet his strokes.

The air she gasped no longer felt empty, it was rushing her lungs and filling her head with light. She felt Julaeus move his thumb against her swollen clit and she spasmed as she dug her nails into his flesh. It was building up inside of her, she could feel it, getting higher and higher.

"Let it out, Evie." He murmured into her neck, and it broke her. That childhood nickname from times much simpler. That name along with the curl of his finger and the tender touch of his thumb on her clit sent her into a spiral. The heat rushed from her body in a gush, coating Julaeus's hand and stealing the air from her chest.

He wanted to taste it, to lap up every drop but he couldn't. He needed to get her somewhere safe, at least closer to his private domain. Her scent was enough to make a wolf go mad. He himself was barely hanging onto his sanity. Reluctantly he withdrew his hand from between her thighs and began pulling her upright. She whined in protest, her brows crinkling together.

"I know, I know, but it's too open here." He cupped her face and brushed his thumb under her eye. Indiana's gaze slowly trailed down his chiseled form, until her eyes landed on his full erection, precum coating the head. Her insides contracted painfully, and a wave of heat rushed her. She winced, crossing her arms over her abdomen.

"I'm flattered, but you need to stop looking at me before you close the window of opportunity I opened." Julaeus lightly chastised. "Let's go, Indy-Eve." He took her forearm as he turned his back to her and pulled her against him. Indiana wrapped her other arm over his shoulder and held onto his back as he began a steady pace. He shifted gradually, and his speed increased accordingly to a smooth gallop.

He was releasing a smog of pheromones along his way, coating the air with his musk, a lethal threat to anyone that dared to follow Indiana's scent. It was having an effect on her too, though, making her light headed and warm.

Her mind trailed back to when she lay on the ground with Julaeus's weight on top of her, his hand coaxing the most desperate orgasm from her. She swallowed a groan and tightened her thighs around Julaeus as he continued to navigate them through the forest. But the sensation was getting to her and urging another heat wave inside of her body. The steady up and down of the run, rocking her back and forth. She bit her lip, gazing at Julaeus's shoulder blades, she thought about how they felt under her hands earlier. The way his skin rippled under her fingers, how soft his skin felt, even his scars.

Her breast felt swollen and impossibly heavy. Her nipples were hard and they burned against the cotton of her T-shirt with each movement. Before she could talk herself out of it she removed one hand from Julaeus's mane and slid it down his spine. She rested her hand where the back of palm came into contact with her still soaking underwear, it was flush with her skin, barely a layer anymore. She felt herself vividly as each motion rocked her against her hand. Her lips swollen with need, and clit was slick and throbbing.

She bit back her moans for as long as she could, but eventually she didn't care. She needed the release, desperately. She felt the wave coming for her, flooding her body with fever, attempting to rattle her bones, but she tightened her thighs around Julaeus and rode her hand harder, gripping his mane fiercely with her other hand. The heat was dropping down, where it was meant to be but the release was pitiful, garnering a measly sigh followed by a whimper of need.

Her body was still trembling, her breath coming in short bursts. She felt the air change around her and slowly sat upright, they were heading towards a watering hole. Indiana could hear the cascading of waves as they neared, it drowned out the sounds of the forest like a hush. Julaeus didn't slow his pace, he continued pushing forward until they were mere feet from the watering hole, and Indiana stiffened. Julaeus leapt, a small jump for a wolf his size, and pushed through the waterfall.

They landed in a cave behind the water, with the rocky surface coated in moss and the light of the moon glinting from off of the water. Indiana slid from his back as she stared in amazement, and Julaeus shook the water from his fur.

He shifted quickly and threw his ink black hair from his eyes.

"Indiana Eve Collette, I've never in my life had a wolfess masturbate to completion on my back." Julaeus's voice startled Indiana into facing him, her teeth tucking her bottom lip into her mouth. She felt her cheeks flush, but not with pre-heat, with shame.

"I'm so sorry, I have no idea what came over me. I would-" Julaeus closed the distance between them and grabbed her jaw before crashing his lips onto hers. She melted, her body wanted to go limp and fall into him, to wrap around every part of him.

"New kink unlocked." Julaeus murmured against her lips. "But first," he hooked his finger through the elastic band of her underwear. "These need to go. You're still in a heat wave. I can fix that."

[remembertheplunge]

The Screaming Room

October 22, 1986

I began reading “Thee Screaming Room”. Intriguing  and terrifying. Life in torment is beautiful.

October 23, 1986

Happy 4 year wedding anniversary! I feel a dull, throbbing feeling about it—like moths flitting off old musty clothes—hung in the closet of eternity which deserves a final shut and lock.—click—there-it’s over.

October 25, 1986 Saturday 11pm

I just finished reading “The Screaming Room”. When I ordered it, I thought “I’ll try to read a page a day until I get through it. I’ll force it down. But, after beginning to read it, I couldn’t stop. I read voraciously Every word.

It’s a touching story of undying human hope in light of hopelessness of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and grand mothers. Binding love. AIDs is certainly the most horrible human condition I have ever heard of. It’s worse than the Nazi domination of the Jews somehow. Can I help in this war mess? I’ll be there for them if I can. At any rate, I’m glad that I lived the book. It brought me even closer to what this thing called being human really is. It’s always more exposed at the edge. Interesting, too, when Peter died, just prior, he began ever so slowly to let go, just as we do before sleep. Really got to me, too, because Peter and I were about the same age.

End of entries.

Note: 7/31/2024

“The Screaming Room: A Mother’s Journal of Her Son’s struggle with AIDS, a true story by Barbara Peabody 1986.  Peter was the name of the author’s son who died of AIDS in the book

In the fall of 1986, I began volunteering with Hand to Hand, an organization that provided care and support to people with AIDS.

I married a woman in 1982 and left her after coming out as gay in 1984.