#and how lucky i am that i was able to get her

[shadesofjinx]

And to this day my therapist who literally specializes in DID doesn’t want to formally put DID in our med chart because people til this day don’t believe it exists. And because of needing treatment to be accepted by insurance… you get it.

It makes me want to scream because in my therapists experiences and approval by her supervisor yes I have DID but because the fuckfaces that do insurance might not accept DID as a genuine diagnosis it’s not on my chart.

Which yes it’s better for us it makes it safer for us in the future when seeking out other providers but it still makes me rage because how can insurance companies deny that their clients have xyz psychiatric/medical/neurological/etc condition when they a) don’t have an MD b) don’t have a psychiatrist or therapist license like it genuinely shouldn’t work that way and it makes me want to blow someone up

Also I don’t want to hear shit from anyone saying “well if it’s not officially in your chart you’re not actually diagnosed” well guess fucking what, pick up a dictionary and look up what diagnosis means, it means identifying the nature of a medical condition and says nothing about it being official or in your chart or none of that so can it. Identifying the nature of my symptoms is exactly what my therapist did and with several rounds of testing all the data and also her experience with this disorder all points towards me having DID.

Also yes I am aware I’m extremely privileged to even be able to see a specialist therapist, being believed and taken seriously, and let alone getting the testing done. I am extremely grateful and lucky and benefit directly from my privilege as a white person in a family that does very well for us financially and is able to meet my mental health needs when it comes to therapy.

DID IS NOT RARE DID IS NOT RARE DID IS NOT RARE DID IS NOT RARE DID IS NOT-

[rivalsispunk]

Beneath The Surface (Chapter 2 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter summary: Declan grapples with the risk of hiring you while you grapple with whether or not you're good enough. Once the verdict is in, you both realise you may have jumped in feet first a little too hastily.

A/N: Things are heating up in more ways than one and I am soooo ready for you guys to meet the silently unhinged Declan... Oh, and in this universe, Declan did end up interviewing Margaret Thatcher. Also not entirely proofread so may be some mistakes. Happy reading!

Chapter Two: Beneath The Surface

“A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.”

You’ve spent the last half hour reading, then rereading, the same page of Pride and Prejudice, your creature-comfort book since you were a young teenager. Normally, you’d be able to recite the passage from memory by now, but your mind has been elsewhere than focussed on the words in front of you. It’s been over a week since your interview with Declan and you’ve heard nothing. Zilch. Nada. For days, your brain has been stuck in a constant loop of questions you’ve no answers for.

Why hasn’t he called? 

Why haven’t you heard anything? 

Did he find someone better?

That last one has been the most burning question of them all, coupled with the memory of Declan’s gravelly voice telling you, I’d be lucky to have ya.

So, why hasn’t he called?

It’s not lost on you that you sound more like a needy girl hanging out for a guy after a date than someone waiting to hear back about a job you weren’t even sure you wanted until the moment you were sat in his office. But you do want it.

The job, that is.

Taggie was none the wiser, too. She’d told you her father had barely given her an inkling of where his head was at, and that he remained suspiciously mum on the outcome of the interviews he’d had in the days succeeding yours. “I think he’s just been busy,” she countered, mentioning that Declan had been on edge in the lead up and preparation for his televised interview with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. You were well aware, and knew how much the opportunity meant to him, so you’d made a conscious effort to stay away from The Priory, as not to overwhelm Declan or put any additional pressure on him to make a decision about the assistant position. Instead, you’d met Taggie in town for afternoon tea on the days she wasn’t preparing for an event, or a meal at Bar Sinister when time called for a catch up. But the Thatcher interview was days ago now — a roaring success with both viewers and ratings — and you were getting restless for news.

Slamming your worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice shut, you reach for the phone by your bedside and dial your best friend for what feels like the fiftieth time this week. You’ve called The Priory so often in recent days that she doesn’t even say hello when she answers.

“Still no word yet,” she sighs down the line. “He’s in an awful mood tonight, though. Went straight up to his office when he got home, refused dinner. I think Mummy being away is getting to him.”

You hum in agreement, not that you have any real insight on the matter. “I’m sure he’s fine, Tag. Probably tired of putting up with that Tony Baddingam’s shit. I told you what a right arse he was to your dad when I was there, didn’t you?”

“You did. Honestly, I didn’t think about anyone else at Corinium when I suggested you work for Daddy. It’s one thing for you to be under him, but to be at the beck and call of Lord Baddingham, too?” You practically hear Tag shudder down the line. “Makes me feel ill the way he treats the women who work for him.”

You push aside any runaway thoughts elicited by Taggie’s mention of you under Declan and shrug. “It’s fine, Tag. I’ve dealt with enough Baddinghams in my time to know to tread carefully.” You pull the phone cable taut and pluck it with your finger. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve got the job anyway. I should have heard by now.”

In the room above Taggie, Declan stubs out his cigarette, reclining in his office chair as he listens to his daughter’s voice reverberate through the house. One final plume of smoke emerges from the pile of ashes and butts that have accumulated in the tray over the last twenty-four hours. He ought to be prepping for his next TV interview, a fairly benign chat with a local farmer who has grand plans for the land on the outskirts of the Cotswolds. A piece of cake, he’d told Tony earlier today when he was asked how his preparation was coming. However, he’d flicked through his notes and research God knows how many times this evening, yet couldn’t recall one lick of fact about his upcoming subject. Instead, he’d spent hours — no, days — agonising over whether he should hire you. His producer, Cameron Cook, was breathing down his neck for him to hire someone so he was spread less thin, but it’s not an easy task. On paper, you’re the perfect choice. Hell, in reality, you’re the perfect choice. Still, he prayed that one of the interviewees after you would prove better candidates (and notably male), but no one measured up to you. Sure, they were intelligent. Passionate, somewhat. But then there was you; intelligent and passionate, and looking far too delectable in that bloody skirt that belongs to his fucking wife. Yes, his wife — that’s if she still even wants to be called that — who’s been gone for weeks without as much as a phone call or letter to the house. Their son, Patrick, had mentioned that she’d phoned a couple of weeks ago to inform him she was back in the city, but spared their university-bound child the details of her whereabouts. Declan loves Maud, despite her shortcomings — of which there are many — but he couldn’t help but resent his wife for her absence, and moreover, for the constant dull ache that had been burdening his cock since seeing her skirt on you. He rationalised that if Maud was here, he wouldn’t be up at night thinking obscene thoughts about his daughter’s best friend who had showed up to his office all smiles and curves in his wife’s long-forgotten hand-me-downs. Every time Declan closes his eyes he sees the shallow dimple that adorns your left cheek. He gets random flashbacks of that black lace bra he imagines holds perfect breasts, if he just allows his mind to wander.

He flexes his hand in an attempt to rid it of the itch that’s been daring him to relieve himself ever since you left his Corinium office. There have been countless instances over the last week where he wondered if he just gave in — just a little, just a stroke, something, anything — that the ache will go away. But there’s a bigger part of him that’s afraid that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and then how will he ever be able to face you again? Face Taggie again, knowing the pure filth that’s taken him over in the moments when he’s alone?

Cameron had demanded that afternoon that he chooses someone to pick up his slack by the weekend so help her God or she’ll stick him with an intern with more boobs for brains, and he knows — he knows — he can’t be stuck with someone with the same level IQ as a stale loaf of bread. He’d combust. So, against his better judgement, he decides as he lights yet another cigarette, that he’ll offer you the job as his assistant.

So help him God.

The phone rang just after half seven as you took your first bite of marmite toast. “Do you want the good news or the best news first?” You wince at Taggie’s chirpiness so early in the morning.

“Umm, best ‘til last,” you option. “Good news first.”

“Well, I’m making shepherd’s pie for dinner and you’re coming over.”

“Alright,” you giggle. “And the other news?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating you making shepherd’s pie?”

“No, you nitwit! We’re celebrating you! You got the job! Daddy just told me on his way out this morning.”

Your chair whines against the floorboards of your flat as you shoot to your feet. “I got the job?”

“You got the job!” Taggie shrieks down the line. “Daddy said he was going to phone you when he gets to the office but I couldn’t wait to tell you myself. I know you’ve been anxious waiting to hear back.”

“Oh, Tag, I can’t believe it! I really thought he’d found someone more suited,” you express, cheeks pinching with a grin.

“He said he was very impressed with you,” your friend continues, voice laced with pride. “He also suggested we go shopping for some new officewear.”

“So, he hated my outfit, is what you’re saying.” Him and everybody else at that bloody station.

“No, it’s not that. I think him seeing you in Mummy’s clothes freaked him out a little, is all,” Taggie confesses. “He’s been a bit all over the shop since she’s been gone and I suppose when it comes to her, out of sight, out of mind is best.”

You think back to Declan spluttering his tea everywhere during your interview, and his little explosion afterwards. It makes sense that he doesn’t wanted be reminded of the woman who stepped out on him. You were just glad his reaction wasn’t to something you had done.

You and Taggie chat for a few minutes more about potential shopping destinations and your plans for the day before she rushes through a goodbye, eager to get to the market to pick up groceries for your celebratory meal. An hour later, Declan calls.

“Morning, it’s Declan,” he says, words stifled by the cigarette between his lips. “Declan O’Hara.”

You bite down a smile at the unnecessary clarification. You do the same to thwart your enthusiasm at finally receiving his call. “Hiya. It’s nice to hear from you. How’re you this morning, Declan?”

“Yeah, good, good. Tony’s riding my arse as per usual but other than that, good.” Silence reigns as you wait for Declan to relay the good news. After a moment, he clears his throat like he just remembered you’re on the other end of the line. “Look, I don’t have long, but I wanted to give you a bell to let you know the assistant job is yours. If you want it.”

Although you were already aware of the job offer, you do a happy jig in your kitchen. “Yes, thank you! Of course, I accept.”

“Great. Does Monday work as a start date?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there. Thank you, Declan.”

“Welcome. Chat soon.”

The line goes dead not second later, and while you’re still overcome with excitement about the new job, your chat with your new boss seemed off. Declan seemed off. Far removed from the chatty, friendly man you sat across from at Corinium just days ago. But like he said, Tony was on his back. He’s probably just… tense.

It becomes clear to Declan as he watches you and Taggie move seamlessly around the kitchen while clearing up after dinner that you’re effervescent. Far more than he’s ever noticed, in all the times you’ve visited his daughter over the recent months, and it bothers him. He hated how his pulse quickened at the sight of you on his doorstep two hours earlier, David Bowie T-shirt peeking out from beneath your checkered coat. If you were at least the tiniest bit irksome or slow-witted or just plain dull, he’d be able to reckon with the fact that his reaction to you was purely chemical. Just another man taken by a young woman’s good looks. But then again, if he found you any of those things, he wouldn’t dare allow you anywhere near his work, near his research. Nor would he be impressed with his daughter adopting a friend as such, either. 

Your laughter trills, egged on by the celebratory champagne Taggie had provided, and Declan catches the tailend of his daughter flinging a handful of dishsoap suds in your direction. You were a good girl, a good friend, being there for Taggie in the last few months. Always willing to lend a hand, or an ear, certainly a shoulder to cry on more than Declan liked to think about or admit. But you were just that: a girl. A girl who was now his assistant. He’ll be damned if he were to become another man at Corinium taking advantage of that power imbalance, which is why he replaces his glass of bubbles with a whiskey and retires to his office after supper, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead as he goes.

You decide to sleepover at The Priory after consuming a few too many glasses of champagne for it be considered safe to drive home. Although, sleepover may be too generous of a word because you’ve barely slept a wink since sinking into bed beside Taggie over an hour ago. Your friend, however, had no trouble drifting off, only to start snoring so loudly the whole bed vibrates. You’ve already tried covering your head with a pillow and the counting backwards from one hundred trick to coax yourself to sleep, but it’s no use. You slide out from under the poppy-printed covers and tip-toe downstairs in a sweater hanging on the back of Taggie’s bedroom door. You’re swimming in the woollen brown garment. It falls to mid-thigh and is sleeves are at least half an arm-length too long, but it keeps the chill at bay when you swing open The Priory’s back door. You slide on a pair of Wellington boots that sit on the doormat and step out into the biting air. In it, the inches of skin between the hem of the sweater and your long socks prickle with goosebumps, and your breath forms a fog under the soft glow of fairy lights leftover from a garden party the O’Hara’s hosted in the summer. Somewhere in the distance, a owl twoos and foxes rustle through shrubbery. When you lived in the city, the nights were overrun with sirens and drunken hooligans singing football chants down the alleyways and other racket that made it very difficult to hear yourself think. Meanwhile, out here, in the countryside, you could just be.

“Nice sweater.”

“Fuck!” The sudden verbiage shocks your shoulders to your ears. There’s no mistaking that voice, yet you have to scan the area to see where the Irish lilt is stemming from. It’s not until you hear the swish of water that you realise he’s in the hot tub that’s tucked away from the courtyard, his silhouette barely visible against the night. “Declan. You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” he croaks. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “Taggie’s snoring like a freight train.”

As your eyes adjust to the dark, you just catch Declan’s moustache quirk with a lazy smile. “Just like her mother.”

The comment coaxes you closer to the tub, waiting for Declan to elaborate, but whatever story he might’ve spieled evaporates with the steam from the water. The heated pool was just another of Maud’s extravagant buys, and Declan hated the addition when it showed up in a delivery van, during summer, of all seasons, because he knew it would be forgotten about in a matter of days once she’d found something new to obsess over. There was always something with Maud. If it wasn’t an extravagant purchase to distract herself with, it was a lover, and if it wasn’t a lover, it was a trip far, far away from the Cotswolds. Her recent truancy being case in point.

There’s hardly any light in this corner of the yard, aside from a small golden glimmer beneath the hot tub surface, but it’s enough for you to take in Declan’s form. He’s lax, whiskey in hand, with his head reclined against the lip of the pool. You notice the thick smattering of chest hair across the breadth of his torso, dark and unruly. The few men you’ve ever been with have been around your age, either trimmed or unable to grow body hair where its desired. But then again, they were just boys in the scheme of things. Declan has always been so fucking manly. His already dark hair black with water, pushed away from his face like he’s slicked it back with his hands. It hasn’t stopped miniscule curls frizzing to fruition at his temples. Declan takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass.

“If I’m being honest, I thought you’d be a tad more excited when I spoke to you this morning.” The subject change surprises you.

“Oh, trust me, I was! But–“

“But Taggie had already broken the news to you by then, hadn’t she?”

You look down at your feet, not wanting to give your friend away, but Declan knows his daughter has a hard time keeping a lid on her excitement. “It’s alright,” he chuckles. “She means well.”

“She’s a good friend. They’re hard to come by.”

You’re telling me, Declan thinks, taking a one-handed inventory of his own close companions.

The frosty air hugs you and your toes seize under its bite, even through your socks and boots. “Do you mind?” You point to the hot tub. It takes a moment for it to click in Declan’s brain that you’re asking if you can join him. It would be rude for him to say no. Stupid for him to say yes. Instead, he gives a non-commital shrug and whispers Lord, help me into his glass. Over its rim, he watches you perch on the edge of the tub to while you toe off your wellies. They land with a thud on the pavement and you giggle to yourself, oops, when one ricochets into a nearby shrub. Muscles zip up the back of your leg when you peel off your socks, and Declan has to force himself to look away when the hem of your sweater — no, his sweater, one of many Taggie had stolen away — rides dangerously high on your thighs as you swing your legs over the lip of the heated pool. He’s thankful that only one of the lights below the surface is in working order because his prick rouses when a satisfied hum seeps from you as your feet kiss the warm surface. Declan’s jaw ticks. The devil on his shoulder probes that you’re purposely torturing him and his conscious bites back that he’s a sleazy bastard for thinking as much. You’re not doing anything. You’re just here.

Get a grip on yourself, O’Hara, he scolds, and chases it with a swig of whiskey he only hopes will burn away the filthy thoughts you manage to conjure for him.

“You got another one of them?” When he faces you again, you’re pointing at the glass that’s fogged up in his sweaty palm.

“The champagne not enough for ya?”

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t want to share, just say so.”

“You can’t handle this.”

“Are you really going to sit there and tell a girl what she can and can’t handle?” you press, eyes locked in on his. “You’d be surprised what I can handle, Declan.” You don’t mean for it to sound so provocative, but challenging him has set your whole body ablaze. For good measure, you quirk an eyebrow at Declan, and the subtle move has his cock doing the same in the confines of his striped swim shorts. Without another word, Declan floats across the hot tub to where you’re seated and presses his glass into your hand. You offer a thank you in the form of a gentle smile before pressing your full, blush lips to the rim. Tilting the glass to the sky, you can feel Declan’s heavy gaze on you, watching. Waiting. You allow your eyes to fall shut as the bitter prickle of the whiskey waves over your tongue, so you don’t see him slide a hand to the back of his neck. His nails dig crecsents into the skin there, both as punishment for and distraction from the fact his mind is trekking to dark places where your lips are pressed somewhere far more sinister. He can’t keep his eyes off you while you drain what’s left of the whiskey, your eyes fluttering open when you realise there’s nothing left.

“I told you I could handle it,” you tell Declan, ignoring the slight burn that stings at the back of your throat. You both reach your hand into the small space between you, fingers grazing as you pass the glass back to Declan. 

The air between the two of you is charged. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone lit a match and the whole world went up in flames taking the pair of you with it. That same pained look that took Declan’s expression over during your interview rears its head again. Before you get the opportunity to put a name to it, a door creaks in the distance and your name echoes into the night.

“Are you out there?”

Taggie.

Taggie.

There’s a flurry of movement as Declan slides to the opposite side of the hot tub again and you all but catapult yourself onto the pavement as if you’d been caught redhanded. Doing what, you weren’t entirely sure, but you were certain it wasn’t a good look. You yank your socks over your damp feet, followed by the wellies and make a start for where the kitchen light illuminates your friend in the doorway.

“There you are!” she sighs, almost relieved, when you meet her at the step. “You alright? I thought you might’ve driven home after all.” “God, no. I’m fine! Just…” you glance over your shoulder to where the blaze of a cigarette burns in the darkness. “Just getting some air.”

Loved writing this chapter, and things are just getting started!! Reblog, share, comment: it all means the world to me!! <3

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview

[lillaydee]

Matchmade Part 2

Millionaire! Joel Miller / Reader

Having experienced traumatic, life altering events, a freshly divorced Joel worked to repay his debt to the person he owed his life to.

WARNINGS:

Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Character Death, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 1

---

***So many possibly inaccurate medical jargons and conditions ahead. I don't know why i keep writing about medical conditions - I am nowhere near the Doctor spectrum occupation-wise. Just a shit ton of Grey's Anatomy and House. So, sorry about that.***

What? No, that’s impossible. She was there. She must be hiding. He had only known her for a day, but she seemed like the type. He had to make sure she was safe.

Joel’s thoughts were suddenly lost. He had lost consciousness, his energy completely depleted, he had lost too much blood. Tommy radioed the main boat, and they called for help. His heart had stopped by the time they got to the main boat, and he had to be shocked several times to get it going again. Soon after, he was flown into the nearest hospital, Tommy going with him, praying to God his brother would make it.

He was severely injured. Aside from the many, many, many lacerations and sunburn that he had, he was also severely concussed, his stomach wound had festered, nearing sepsis, he had a fever, his lungs were partly filled with seawater and debris, his main organs affected by it all, not to mention, a few bruised and cracked ribs, and hairline fractures on his arm and leg bones. The doctors were shocked when Tommy told them he was mobile when first spotted, one wouldn’t be able to tell from the extent of his injuries.  

When he finally woke up from his surgery, his first question was about Sarah. She’s at home, with Tess, Tommy told him. She was far too young to see him like that. He asked what happened. They received a distress call from the boat, fire in the engine room. It blew up. So far, he was the only one found. How long had it been? Five days, Tommy said. Joel only remembered being on the island for a night. He must have been unconscious for three days before he woke up.

The doctor said he was extremely lucky. If the boat hadn’t spotted him when it did, he would be dead that very night from the bleeding. He was lucky he was unconscious; the wood plugged his wound from bleeding too much until he pulled it out. The water and food he consumed definitely helped, too. He would’ve just slipped in his sleep from dehydration of he hadn’t had a drink.

Joel asked about Allison. Allie. The doctor looked a little apprehensive before answering – he was concussed, it was mostly delirium. He was seeing things. The rescue team went and scoured that island. No one was there.

Joel couldn’t understand. She was there. He wouldn’t have been alive and rescued if not for her. She woke him up when it rained, made him drink and clean his wound, made him plant the makeshift flag, made him go get the crackers, which he wouldn’t have found on his own, weak as he was. She woke him up when the boat was sighted. She made him draw their attention.

He would be long dead if not for her.

But as they had told him, there was no one else there. Maybe he did imagine her. maybe his mind was trying to save him?

Tommy stayed with him at the hospital, not wanting to leave his brother for a second. Maria and Tess came to visit when his parents got back to look after Sarah. Joel hadn’t wanted to speak to her on FaceTime, his face was almost unrecognizable. There were cuts and bruises all over, his skin was peeling, he didn’t want to scare her.

Tess and Maria told him that Tommy left as soon as the distress call was made, and didn’t come back until he was found, refusing to believe he was dead. Liz came to the office, demanding to see his will, and for Joel to be declared dead. She made a scene when she found out that Joel had instructed that all his money and other possessions to be given to Sarah, with Tommy as the executor until she turned 21. Joel was only going to give her the house in the event of his death. She was also still the sole beneficiary of his considerable life insurance. It’s not a wonder she was antsy for him to kick the bucket.

He was suddenly exhausted again, his head hurt from all the information that was given to him. His body was hurting from his injuries. After dinner, a nurse came in and gave him some painkillers, and before long, he was asleep again.

---

“Joel! Joel! Wake up! You have to wake up! You need to get help!”

He opened his eyes slightly; Tommy was sound asleep in the chair right next to his bed.

“Joel! Look alive, old man! She’s doing something!”

He glanced to his left, a nurse was standing next to his IV, checking something. He didn’t move, unsure if he was awake or dreaming.

“Joel! Wake your brother up! Do something!”

Who was speaking? The voice sounded familiar.

The nurse glanced at him and Tommy. He closed his eyes, not wanting to make a scene if nothing was going on. He couldn’t see her face from the angle. From her clothing, she was a nurse. Maybe she was just there to administer some medications. She took something from her pocket, and produced a syringe, still in its package. Joel placed his fingers around the call button, ready to press it if necessary, careful not to move, his eyes only slightly open to watch her. She removed the syringe from the package and pulled the plunger all the way back.  She placed a needle on it and inserted it into the IV line and began to quickly push.

Joel pushed the button as many times as he could, while shouting as loudly as he could for Tommy, who jumped upright and yelled for help, despite his grogginess. Something about his brother’s voice set off an alarm in his head. The nurse, unable to complete her task, tried to run, but Tommy managed to grab her, screaming for help.

The alarms were going off. Joel had gone into cardiac arrest.

“SOMEBODY HELP!!!”

---

Joel opened his eyes, feeling as if his chest had collapsed. Tommy was sitting at his bedside, his hands rested on the bed, his chin on them, his eyes red from sleep deprivation, exhaustion and possibly emotion.

“What happened?”

Tommy heaved a sigh of relief, calling for the doctor instead of answering him.

The doctor came rushing in and gave him a quick check-up. Once satisfied, the doctor left, instructing Joel to rest as much as he could. Joel’s eyes followed the doctor out, realizing that there were police officers outside his room.

Tommy took a cup and filled it with water, and asked Joel to drink.

“Tommy, what happened?”

He looked at Joel hesitantly.

“Liz tried to kill you. She injected air into your IV line. You had a heart attack. You flatlined. It took them forever to get you back.”

Tommy began to cry.

“The only reason you didn’t die was because she didn’t manage to finish the job. You woke me up before she could. If she did… Joel, if you… I can’t…”

He sobbed. His face buried on Joel’s side, his hand clutching at his brother’s arm. 

Joel rubbed his little brother’s head, telling him he was alright. It took a while for Tommy to calm down. By then, Tess had come in, trying hard to get Tommy to go home and rest. He hadn’t left Joel’s side at all. She was starting to worry for him. He refused. Terrified to even sleep, now that Liz had done what she had done. Maria came in a while later, bringing Tommy some clothes to change into, and food for the three of them. She told him not to worry. Liz wasn’t coming back anytime soon. She was charged with attempted murder. Caught red handed. Tommy looked relieved. He was terrified she was going to get off scott free.

“Hey, Joel? How did you know she was here? How did you know to ask for help? You were on painkillers,” Tommy wondered.

Joel tried to get up. They helped him adjust the bed, so he was more comfortable.

“Someone woke me up. Screamed at me asking me to get up. Wake you up.”

“Who? There was no one in the room.”

“I know. I didn’t see her either.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“That girl I told you about. Allie.”

The room got really quiet.

“But Joel…”

“Look, I know what you said. But I didn’t imagine her. She helped me on that island. If it weren’t for her, I would be dead. Maybe she’s in my head, but she was real to me. And it was her last night. I didn’t see her, but it was her. She was screaming at me to wake up, just like she did when it rained on the island, she told me to drink. Clean my wound. She told me there was some food washed up. I couldn’t move. She forced me to. She told me to make the flags. She woke me up when she saw your boat. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have seen me. It was all her. I swear, I’m not crazy. Maybe I imagined her, but it was all her. Allison. Allie. With an A, but she wishes it was spelled with an E instead. Because her teacher kept calling her first in class.”

He laid his head back down, exhausted from trying to explain this. He knew what concussions could do, and he was concussed. Maybe she was in his head. But that didn’t make her unreal. She was there, and she saved his life. Twice.

Tess let out a deep breath.

“Well, if that’s the case, then thank you Allie.”

“Thank you Allie,” Maria said, raising her soda.

“Thank you Allie,” Tommy said, “here’s to you, Allie,” raising his soda before drinking the whole thing in one go, earning himself a brain freeze.

Tommy decided to stay with Joel, promising that he would rest. Joel requested a cot for him, the man looked as if he was about to fall over. The police officers had left, Liz being in custody, sure that he was not in anymore danger. They did move him to the room right in front of the nurse’s station though, at Tommy’s insistence, just for his peace of mind.

As much as Joel rolled his eyes at his brother’s overprotectiveness, Joel was secretly glad. He was having trouble sleeping that night, despite his exhaustion. Since he had arrived at the hospital, his sleep had been aided by medication. Now, he was terrified of falling asleep, worried that Liz was coming back, or that he would wake up on the island again, that all this had been a dream. He watched something on TV while Tommy slept, his eyes closing every now and again, only to be jolted awake again, too nervous to properly sleep.

But eventually, sleep took him.

---

When he woke, someone was sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed. He glanced at the clock, three am.

“Allie.”

“Hey old man. Glad to see you made it.”

“Where did you come from?”

“What are you reading from a script? Have some originality, old man. Is that all you could ever think to ask me?”

“Quit calling me old man.”

“You are old, old man.”

“I’m in my 30s, thank you.”

“Ooh… that’s not old at all…” she said, waving her hands around.

“How did you get off the island?”

“You know, you are far too interested in how I got here and there.”

“Okay, what are you doing here?”

“Visiting you.”

“It’s three am.”

“So? Maybe I’m not just visiting you.”

“Who else would you be visiting?”

“A friend, she’s on the 4th floor.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

She shrugged, averting his eyes.

Tommy stirred. Joel turned to look at him.

When he turned back, Allie was gone.

When Joel woke up the next day, he was sure he’d dreamt it all.

Really, if he really thought about it.

First of all, she disappeared when he looked away, in a split second. He didn’t feel her move or hear her run off. He might have been severely injured, and according to her, old, but to his knowledge, he could still feel his legs, and his hearing was intact, for now.

Second of all, she was what, maybe thirteen? Fourteen? It was three in the morning. Who in their right mind let their teen daughter visit someone at the hospital at three in the morning?

And finally, when he asked the nurses about it, they informed him the main door to the ward was locked at eleven at night. Someone had to buzz her in, and no one came in at that time.

Yeah, he must have been dreaming.

---

Joel had been healthy all his life. He was a strong man, made stronger by his size, his occupation, and his youth. Big, strong, imposing, deep sea fisherman. But right now, he was quite the opposite. He couldn’t talk for long without going out of breath. He couldn’t walk properly without help. He needed help showering. He needed help getting dressed.

It's so easy to give up when you went to bed a strong, horse of a man, and woke up as he did. He honestly had no idea how he had managed to walk at all on the island. His legs were severely chafed, cut, bruised, the soles of his feet practically robbed off the skin. All the bandages, the casts, the sutures were only making things worse. He had lost so much weight in the five days he was lost at sea; you would think he was a different man altogether.

He missed Sarah so badly he felt as if he was losing his mind. He talked to her on the phone, but he still didn’t look his best, and the last thing he wanted was for his little girl to think he was weak and couldn’t protect her anymore. So he waited. but it was killing him.

That first week he spent at the hospital was not necessarily bad, save for the attempted murder scenario, but other than that, he was sleeping most of the time. Whenever he was awake, Tommy was there, so that helped with the boredom. But once the doctors declared him stable, he persuaded Tommy to go home. The man had a life, a wife, a job to take care of. He couldn’t bogart him like that. But the very first day he was gone, Joel felt it. He was never an idle man, and laying on a hospital bed alone, not having company, hardly able to move, was annoying, to say the least.

He started taking short walks as soon as he could manage standing without getting dizzy. He had to use a walker, but he was walking. Just around his room at first, and then to the nurse station, before eventually making his way around the ward.

He was still not sleeping through the night. He kept waking up every couple of hours but managed to sleep longer and longer each day. He was sure he saw Allie sitting in one of the chairs one night, but when he turned the lights on she was gone. He couldn’t get her out of his head. Why did he keep seeing her? She was always in the same clothing. That should’ve been a clue that she wasn’t real, but he had a hard time accepting it.

After two weeks, he was improving, by a lot. He no longer needed the walker but could only manage walks around the ward. Tommy helped him walk beyond the ward, following him with a wheelchair just in case. He went outside for the first time after three weeks, breathing in fresh air, having been too cooped up these last twenty days. His parents brought Sarah to visit him that day. He held her tight for so long she started squealing, missing the weight of her little body in his arms, the smell of her hair. I missed you BabyGirl, you got so big. His head magically cleared up after that, finding himself able to sleep longer – he had seen his BabyGirl, he felt more like himself.

The next day, he was taken for a final scan. He fell asleep during the scan, waking up as they were wheeling him back to his room. In his groggy state of mind, he saw Allie get into the elevator. He tried to call her, but the doors closed.

As soon as Tommy and Maria got there that evening, he asked them to accompany him to the fourth floor. This whole ‘Allie is not real’ thing was really bothering him. This girl saved his life – twice. He needed to know.

They accompanied him to the fourth floor – the pediatric unit. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, she said she was visiting a friend. He scanned the faces of the children in the ward, their parents/guardians in the open floor ward, looking for anything that could help him find her.

He found nothing.

Until the sound of a door closing caught his attention – a corridor with private rooms laid before him. He walked in and began reading the names on the door – most were open, their occupants resting, or talking to their guardians. Right at the end of the corridor, was an open door, sounds of machines beeping inside. He glanced at the name on the door – Williams, A.

The three of them peeked inside. Joel’s insides turned cold.

There, lying unconscious on the bed, covered in tubes and wires, was Allie.

“Tommy, this is her. This is Allie.”

The three of them stared at her unconscious body, her eyes taped shut, a breathing tube down her throat.

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I swear I saw her walking around this morning.”

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

Joel turned around, and saw you standing by the open door, a cup of coffee in your hands.

---

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m here to visit Allie.”

“You know my sister?”

“Yeah, she, well, she saved my life.”

Joel told you everything. The island, the ward, everything.

You listened and asked him when this happened. Three weeks ago, he told you.

You stared at him and pressed the call button.

“You need to leave.”

“Wait, why?”

A nurse came in.

“Can you please escort these people out?”

“Look, I’m sorry, I just wanted to thank her, I mean no harm,” Joel was pleading with you, as the nurse began to escort him out.

“My sister couldn’t have helped you. She’s been in a coma for four months.”

---

Part 3

[phagodyke]

in a hilarious turn of events my flatmate didn't even know I use any pronouns....

[bloodycrxwnn]

Jaehaerys shook his head. "I am only being honest, I truly feel quite lucky that I may now call you my wife." He did not think he would be feeling like this now, a few days ago when he first learned of this betrothal. Jaehaerys didn't think any of them would enjoy this, seeing that they were not very familiar with one another. But the time they spent together before the wedding certainly helped, getting to know each other better and have a better understanding of each other. "Thank you, my dear wife." He said with a small smile.

He nodded his head as she reassured him before continuing their walk down the corridors, towards his chambers. It was a strange feeling, whatever it was inside of him now but it was a good one. Something he did not think he would ever be able to feel towards another person. Jaehaerys never thought of himself as a lovable person, he didn't know how to love another either, unless they were his family, but that came almost as a default, he couldn't change it.

As they walked into his chambers, Jaehaerys allowed her to get in first. "They are quite spacious so we'll have plenty of space for you to store your things." He said. "And of course, you may decorate however you please, as you can see, I did not spend much time worrying about decorations." A small chuckle escaped his lips.

telessa nods her head along with what he says. that makes sense to her. the vows of westeros is only spoken words, while a valyrian wedding includes real action. they have bled for one another, there is no going back on that. "i-- well, you are too kind," she looks away for a moment, blushing. "you are also very handsome, my prince."

"no, i want to," she reassures him with a gentle smile. telessa leans on him a little more as they walk, basking in the glow that is post-marital bliss. she never thought just a short time ago that she would actually be this happy in this marriage. neither of them knows what the future holds, but for now she is definitely enjoying herself.

"that sounds wonderful." with that, they reach his chambers and the doors are pushed open for them. they are much bigger than her old chambers, much more extravagantly decorated as well. then again, that is fitting for a prince.

[peachznscream]

genunely sometimes do not know how to cope with the world being so cold and bureacratic and people who withold care and essential rights to people over arbitrary rules and money and

[itsalwaysdark]

eeppp i cant wait til i get to buy my very own mattress

[caffeinatedopossum]

I keep crying really easily

[aropride]

like what the fuck am i supposed to do

[merspots]

Another reason not to let your cats free roam

TW: Animal injury (but hopefully the cat will be okay)

Well, I just had to rescue one of my neighbors' cats from dangling from a fence by her back leg :/ I don't know how long she had been stuck there, but hopefully not too long, and she's with her owners now so will be getting checked by a vet.

She was lucky that I seem to have an ear for crying cats, though, because no one else was out looking for her, not even the people in the houses on either side of the fence she was stuck in. I fear what would have happened if I wasn't one to go looking and she was stuck there until who knows when.

Just remember this when you let your cats free roam - it is very easy for them to get injured and for no one to find them until it's too late. So please don't let them if you can.

[milf-harrington]

i will never be mad at or blame my sister for the situation she has been forced into, but i will forever be frustrated with our family for the responsibility thats been shoved onto me

"he'll have a village" my ass, he's got two mentally ill siblings and a FIFO worker who are all in their 20's

[inkskinned]

which is fine, because love is love, and you're getting gay-married, so it would be kind of ironic if love was only sometimes love.

except The King Of Demons (his is Edmund) is always late, to everything, always. which is fair, because time doesn't work in hell, and it's not like he can just catch a bus. except that you specifically asked him not to do this, didn't you, because he's always doing things like this.

He splays out his hands, the light catching on long, ivory claw tips. god, doesn't he know not to wear white to a wedding?

so many people are screaming right now.

it's not that he's the golden child. you guys had normal parents, middle-class. your mom was kind of an "almond mom," according to your fiancée, who pursed their lips when they found out about how your mom used to wrinkle her nose any time you asked for an extra snack in your lunchbox.

you close your eyes for a moment. think of your beautiful almost-spouse. ashe. their name like a bloom inside you. how the dress looks on ashe's body, their shy little smile. how they'd walked down the aisle, and you'd both been half-laughing, half-crying. your hands had trembled when you saw them. like the whole world was pouring down your throat, golden. like you were catching a moment and casting it in amber.

ashe'd been the one to help you when your parents were pushing for you to invite edmund. god, the amount of fights you'd gotten in with your parents - the same six sentiments, over and over again.

you'd been sitting on your bed, biting your lip, your fingers hovering over the little button send. ashe'd nuzzled your neck. you used to be close, and i think that's important. but you know your relationship to him the most. i'm willing to make the effort, and i love you no matter what you choose, they'd said. we don't have to if you don't want to, though, no matter what your parents say about him.

you'd thrown yourself down, supine, arm over the eyes. he's just... we are just.... you tried to phrase that-which-is-love-and-rage.

you're the normal twin. your "big thing" was only "being a lesbian." in high school, edmund started being able to make birds die by looking at them. you came home, trying to tell your parents i kissed a girl. i think i'm - and they just kind of nodded at you. edmund was eating the bible in front of them, like a goat.

on the bed, you'd held your hands out vaguely to ashe. edmund is a just always a lot.

ashe had shrugged. don't invite him then. and it was that - that they were okay with either of your decisions - that is why he even got an invite, in the end.

and now here he is, like how you wanted (?), and your hands are red, clenched hard around your bouquet. the officiant is crying. some people are on their knees, praying. some are trying to touch your brother, like he could impart a blessing.

"i made it!" he's triumphant. "i know i'm late, i'm sorry, there was - do you know anything about right-wing politicians?"

"i'm going to fucking kill him," you say, although you're not actually sure who you're talking to, or if he can be killed.

ashe is blinking, their face in a tiny oh of surprise. you take their hand, drop their hand, take their hand again. they blink at your brother. their voice is low but steady. "there's, um. is there a dark halo around him?"

you duck your head to meet their eyes. "fuck, ashe. i'm sorry. he wasn't supposed to -"

"did i miss it?" Edmund is swinging his head around far-too-wide. his 2 sets of horns leave little red mist any time they scour through the air. "I didn't miss the kiss, right?"

the town clerk is in the audience, and she's frowning. you send her an apologetic look. she shakes her head. "as we've discussed," she manages to throw her gentle voice over the din, "the wedding isn't official if someone objects. that is the legal statute. which people tend to be understanding of." she sends a dirty look to edmund, and that makes you love her. she seems completely calm, which makes sense, because she works in the town hall, and this probably isn't even her first demon-showing-up-at-a-wedding.

he somehow hears her, holds his hands up. "i'm not objecting!" the back of the event hall catches on fire. of-fucking-course. "i'm not - don't mind me, uh, please continue." edmund sends a look to the back-of-the-room fire and it whimpers and gutters out. he flashes you a winning smile, and then puts his hand to his king's-garb chest and mouths sorry! and then cartwheels his glittering talons to say go ahead.

"i think i'm going to throw up." the officiant's voice is barely a whisper.

you watch in horror as edmund tries to awkwardly slide into a waiting line of chairs. the sound of begging follows him, people on their knees at hell's king. he pats a few of them on the head, holding up his finger in a sheepish shh! while his touch leaves a bleeding rune on their skin. his hooves click, and his footprints leave ruby-bright fireroses in his wake.

he tries to sit down, but the wooden chairs are made for people and not the lord king of demons, so he has to span his furred hindquarters over two seats. he smiles again, offers you a little wave.

the room is dead silent, minus the weeping. you look back to ashe. you ruined this. you shouldn't have invited him. you spent so much money on this event, and ashe looks so fucking handsome, and you haven't even gotten to kiss them. to make it official.

ashe looks up at you, manages a little smile. "could be worse?"

you feel yourself start to smile too, but then edmund's chairs give out, and he falls directly on the floor, and with his startled yelp, everything around him bursts into the cold whip-crease of hellflame, disintegrating everything that isn't-a-person, including the flowers and the decorations and the cake and the tables. everything you saved for months to be able to afford. the venue that you both agonized over choosing. you picked this place because it was significant to both of you and was equidistant from both your parents and had a deal with the local hotel for people coming out of town. two years of planning, literally burning down around your ears.

edmund manages to stop the fire pretty much immediately, but it's too late. the officiant faints clear away. the town clerk gives you a sympathetic look and mouths see you soon and steps neatly out of the room, taking ashe's parents with her, chatting gently. an arched flower frame collapses into dust with a loud whoomp. pretty much nobody is left in the building, and you're standing at the top of the steps, at the fucking hour of your marriage, and there is nothing left but blue-cold embers, the lights blown out in favor of the eerie hellfire glow.

you sit down, hard. after a few seconds, you feel ashe sit down next to you. you put your head between your knees so you don't puke with rage, which would be somehow more humiliating than everything else happening at the moment.

"okay, it's definitely too soon," they whisper in your ear, "but i have to admit there is something that's going to be so funny later about my name being ashe and my wedding going up in flames." they wrap their hand in yours. "i can't believe we worried about candles. we should have just gone with them instead of worrying about safety. are you okay?"

you send them a look. "am i - am i okay? this absolute bitch -" you gesture with your free hand out to where edmund is trying to piece together the cinders of his chair, "ruined my fucking wedding."

your mom is standing awkwardly in what used to be the "family" row of chairs. your father is absent, of course. she makes a noise at you. "don't call your brother a bitch."

"oh my fucking god." you have to put your head between your knees again, fighting that stupid fucking rage-puke urge. your blood pressure has obviously reached "skyrocket".

"he's here, isn't he? you're not being particularly grateful," your mother says, because of course she does.

"oh my god! ohmygod. ohmygod." you feel yourself hyperventilating, and then you start laughing, and you hate the hyena hysteria of it, the way it pitches dangerously close to a sob. "this is just - this is just like you! this is the fucking - you blow out the candles on the birthday cake! you curse the kids i'm trying to babysit! you get straight-A's on every test without studying, and get all the friends, and everyone is obsessed with you! and then when i graduate from art school, do i fucking get a party? nope! but hey, let's throw edmund a party for his 300,000th tortured soul! and his 300,001st! and fucking everything else. and fuck me, i guess! edmund gets hurt on the playground, let's burn down the playground. i got fucking bullied, and our parents don't even notice. i am fucking struggling, but we need to pay attention to edmund. he gets fucking everything. while we're at it, why don't we let him fucking ruin my wedding!"

you are dimly aware of ashe wrapping one arm around you and then the other, and then you are sobbing into their shoulder.

"oh, come on. stop with the hysterics," your mother chides you. "you had a perfectly fine childhood. all kids fight. you should have gotten the ceremony done faster. and you know i didn't approve of you spending all this money when you have student loans to -"

"respectfully," ashe's voice is cold and cutting while they rub circles on your shaking back, "and i know you're about to be my mother-in-law, but -" you hear them force a smile, "maybe you could choose this moment to leave your daughter the fuck alone?"

you are so fucking in love with ashe at that moment that it stops your weeping like you got hit by a truck. you look up at them, and want to go back to crying, just overwhelmed by the sheer fucking amount you care about them, but then you look over at your mother, and her shocked expression, and you burst out laughing.

your mother makes a few almost fish-like motions with her mouth, and then turns on her heel, stomping over cinders on her way out. and then it is just you and ashe and edmund and how you are half-crying half-laughing quietly to yourself, like a tap that won't stop dripping.

edmund has put the chair down. he is staring at his hands. he is at least 500 pounds and over 7 feet tall (he doesn't use metric, he's the devil). and somehow, right now, he just looks... small. crestfallen.

"yeah, i mean." his voice cracks. there's no boom of thunder or hellhound echo. he sounds like he did as a kid, before the strange powers and the levitating and the souls of the damned. he sounds like he did the night he accidentally melted most of the pieces in your first glass art show. he sounds - like your brother. he puts the heel of his palm against his eye. "i ruined my sister's wedding."

ashe offers him a little half-grin. "i do just want to say i love the aesthetic, by the way. but you did very much ruin my wedding too."

he points at them, finger-guns. "....ruined their wedding too." something in the attempt at humor - how his voice breaks on the words, how lonely he sounds. it makes you have to close your eyes against the sound. "....you seem cool," he says. "it's... it was nice to meet you."

you hear him come over, his hooves clacking slowly on the floor. when you open your eyes, he's sitting closer to you.

he opens his hand. inside are two little ceramic figures. wedding cake toppers. "i... i made them for you two. i figured i would try - how you make art, without magic. i... i took a class, and i made - i made them." he looks down at the little white-dressed people in his wide, calloused palm. "it's... i wanted to be ... good. i..." he looks at you, and then at ashe. "i tried, you know?"

ashe reaches up, lets him roll the figures into their palm.

he stands up. folds his hands in front of himself. "i don't. know how to be good. i know it doesn't come naturally to you, either. i saw you... choose. to be kind. you could have treated me different, too. like everybody? i was weird, and everyone knew. if you'd been ... mean? it would have been okay. but you." he shrugs. "one time you tried to kill me in the bathroom."

you don't know why you're crying. you look up at him through the cracks between your fingers. "twice," you croak. "but the second time i had a knife." you tuck your hair behind your ears. "but that was only after you pushed me down the stairs at grandma's and i broke my leg before a dance performance. you fuckin' deserved that one."

"i pushed you because you were being a wretched bitch."

"hey now," ashe says, a little edge to their voice, "that's my wife."

you squeeze their hand. "no, he's right. i had deleted his pokemon gold save file right before the elite four."

ashe drops your hand like you scalded them, showing the only horror you've seen this whole time. "you - girl, what the fuck?"

you shrug a little. "i was being a wretched bitch. and he did break my leg about it."

edmund shifts a little. "i just - you are...." his voice dies.

in your family, you don't say i love you. in your family, you don't touch each other or show affection. in your family, you just show up for each other, quietly. neither of you knows how to speak or process what needs to be said. you can see that lacking flashing over his face, literally playing out in shades of crimson. you get that weird twin-sense of something unsaid.

ashe sets the little ceramic people to the side. "she treated you like a person when everyone else treated you like a prophet."

you cut your eyes to them, and then edmund, who gives you one very short, sharp nod. "i, uh. i can. never try." he clears his throat. "i can never try hard enough. for that. i can - what you gave me. by. doing that. by ... just. i made. one thousand. wedding toppers. so it could be perfect. because - i ... it needed to be perfect." he appears to be dying of embarrassment, which does imply he might be capable of dying. oh good. in case i need to try to kill him a third time.

the thought makes a weird, wet laugh bubble out of you. "remember that one time i failed my math test and you set mr. fog's car on fire about it?"

edmund looks shyly at you, and a very small grin spreads across his face. not the dark lord - just a 30-something year old man who has just upset his one-and-only twin.

"you're throwing us the most ostentatious, egregiously expensive wedding," you tell him. "above land."

he frowns a little. "okay, but i'm not doing anything in miami. the vibes there give me the heebie jeebies."

ashe holds up their hand. "and you'll be repaying the deposit on literally everything. oh, and replacing the cake."

you kiss their cheek and then point to him. "and you'll be on time for it."

he shrugs a little. "okay, i literally can't perform miracles, so like. set the bar lower. i can't promise i'll-"

you look down at your feet. "i'd like you to be my man of honor this time. like. by my side. so. you can't be late this time. okay? we do it the right way. finally."

"huh," ashe says, looking between the two of you. "you guys have the same smile."

edmund's grin becomes a little wider, a little easier. he raises an eyebrow at them. "okay, i get that you're cool, but you're like, very cool about this whole thing."

ashe lifts a shoulder. "used to work for the monster under the bed."

"oh shit, simon? fuck." he points to them. "remind me not to mess around with you."

you want to tell edmund i love you and i missed you, but you can't. instead, you pick up the figurines. they're not perfect, but you can tell hours of his life went into each. his hands are so big - it must have taken him so much work to make these things so small. you picture him with his back bent over a workbench, trying to get a face into a tiny clay figure. the ceramic version of you is smiling. he's given you little fangs and a unibrow. he gave ashe a tiny yellow crown. you make the two figures kiss.

snow is falling indoors, little icicles of hellfire. ashe reaches out and take edmund's hand, and then, very awkwardly, he reaches out and takes yours too.

for a moment, it's just the three of you, and the beautiful quiet of the room.

You’re standing at the altar, about to get married to your beautiful fiancée. When suddenly the king of demons bursts through the door of the room, which naturally causes panic. You tried to warn everyone that inviting your sibling to the wedding would mean trouble, but they kept insisting.

[icedteaandoldlace]

Wow, I really am the biggest animal lover in this family. Not that that's anything new, but you'd think someone would be interested in trying harder to keep these kittens alive.

[birthofvcnus]

okay so this happened last week and today the lady came back and i’m so happy about it because i got to check on her (she’s doing better! she had issues moving around for a couple of days because her body was stiff and it ached but she’s okay now) and we hugged and it makes me warm inside to know what despite us being complete strangers this lady and i love each other deeply and i’ll always carry a little part of her with me in my heart

[phagodyke]

wellll everything could be worse.. at least we're not stranded in the arctic for years on end with lead poisoning and a Beast out to get us 😌

[unluckiestmember]

YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!

Coming right up!

Arcane x Cuddle Bug! Reader

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Ekko, Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Mel Medarda, Sevika and Ran.

Warning: None really. SFW.

A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.

Powder/Jinx

“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”

Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.

Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.

Violet “Vi”

“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”

Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.

Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.

Ekko

“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”

Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.

Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night… 

Caitlyn Kiramman

“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”

Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.

She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.

Viktor

“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”

At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.

He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.

Jayce Talis

“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”

Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.

Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.

Mel Medarda

“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”

Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.

Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.

Sevika

“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”

Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…

But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.

If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!

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