#and i could be doing HORRIBLE DAMAGE TO MY BODY RIGHT NOW!!!!

[kerosene-saint]

hey guys (said with the most wobbly, I am going through hell voice you've ever heard)

[dreamlogic]

musing in the tags about the view two years out from my hysterectomy and the shifting nature of neuropathy. i asked my PT for recommendations/resources pertaining to pain science and that's been a very helpful lenses to have. i'm still not back to normal, will never be unmarked by this experience or return to my pre-op self, but my baseline has been gradually increasing over the last few months, and it feels good to look back on the last two years and say "i have no idea how i managed to function while living with that, but i did!"

[lymtw]

Aftercare with Toji, where after all the roughness and manhandling is over with, he can't take his eyes off of you. All he cares about is making sure that you're not in excruciating pain, yet he hasn't been able to say a word for the past five minutes. You've pressed so many tender kisses to his face and expressed that you're okay enough times to him, but he can't seem to drop the smallest, lingering coil of guilt he feels at the sight of your scuffed up body. You look like you fought off a bear and ripped octopus tentacles off your skin—simultaneously, with all the scratches, bruises, and hickeys that littered you from your jaw to your ankles.

"Quit staring," you say, bringing your knees up and crossing your arms, your hands gripping your biceps.

"Nah- baby..." he finally says, softly, like he's quickly trying to justify the gaze he had set on you. "Come here."

Toji makes quick work of crushing this wave of insecurity that threatens your peace. He knows what you just endured was not the softest experience, and that you practically let him—a man capable of showing the aggression of a pack of wolves, devour you. Really, he did not hold back at all.

You slide down the bed and pull the covers over your body, laying your head on his chest with an arm thrown over his midsection. He pulls you close with an arm wrapped around your shoulder, and kisses the top of your head. "You know I love you, right, mama?"

"Mhm," you hum. Minutes ago you would have thought those words were a cruel joke being played on you with the way he gripped onto you like he wanted it to hurt.

"Wasn't trying to hurt your feelings by staring at you like that. Just did a lot of damage, this time, and it looks like it hurts... a lot."

"I'm fine," you repeat, for the nth time. You look up at him, briefly, sparing a smile before resting your cheek on his chest again. "A hot shower will melt it all away, I promise," you mumble.

He brushes over one of the many stains he left on the side of your neck. "My little trooper," he sighs, very much relaxed by your side. "You know i'd be proud even if you told me you were hurting." He knows it'll take more than a shower to get all these new semipermanent tattoos off your pretty skin, but for the sake of not making you feel small, again, he shuts up about it.

"I know," you assure. "I just don't wanna burden you. You're probably just as tired, if not more."

"What do you need?"

You lift your head again and look at him, confusion filling out your features. "You heard me, didn't you? I can take care of myself."

"I know that, and I don't doubt it for a second, but you're really gonna reject me?" He hisses, dramatically clutching his chest. "Damn, mama, just like that?"

"Well, no. Of course not-"

"Right. Of course not," he says, with that horrible tendency he has of cutting you off when the situation benefits you. "Gonna ask you one more time, and if you don't answer, i'm just gonna do what I want for you. What do you need?"

You had to think about it for a minute, about how you wanted him to help you. Independence shone through your thoughts. Everything he could help you with, you could also do alone. You didn't want to be needy.

"Five..." He's timing you, now. "Four..." The countdown has your brain scrambling to pick something. Anything, but you're blanking, losing second by second the already little time you were gifted. "Three... it shouldn't be this hard," he teases, a smirk on his face.

"I don't know, um."

"Two... you're gonna lose the option of telling me what to do, doll."

"No- I don't know."

"One." The countdown ends. "Alright," he groans, pulling you up with him as he sits up. "Let's go."

–

Sure enough, once the lukewarm water hit your skin, you gained a burst of energy. You made the washing of your body an amusing, yet tedious task for Toji. With all your little excitement fueled dances and laughter, what should have been a ten minute session turned into a twenty minute one.

"Doll, turn around. Let me get your back," Toji says, holding back a grin at the sight of you trying to soothe the burning sensation you feel in your nose after inhaling water.

You turn your back to him, before jovially turning to face him again. "Joking, joking," you say, when you catch his lidded eyes. You quickly turn your back to him, again, with giggles slipping past your lips.

He sighs, unable to hold back the gentle curl of his lips any longer. "What am I gonna do with you?" He lathers you from the nape of your neck to your lower back, with soap. The contrast of the white foam and the darkened stains on your skin, were enough to have him thinking about what ended just a little over half an hour ago. There wasn't a spot on you that didn't have some mark of his on it. Your shoulder blades and spine were mottled with stains of his lips, and your hips had opaque fingerprints on them.

You winced and took a step forward, away from Toji's touch, successfully pulling him out of his zoned out state. "You're scrubbing the scratches too hard," you say, turning to him while running your hands over the tender skin.

"Shit," he gently pulls you back and turns your back to him again, "sorry, princess." A few soothing kisses are pressed into the strikes, enough of them to make you forget that it even stung in the first place. He makes sure his mind stays out of the gutter, at least until he's done washing you, so that he doesn't hurt you again.

After showering, you stayed in bed while Toji went to the kitchen to make some tea for you. He did this for you after every night of intimacy, to expedite the betterment of your exhausted throat. He also knows of the calming properties that ease you into slumber. He wants nothing more than for you to sleep off the soreness your body retains.

"There you go, baby. I know you don't like it, but it'll make your throat feel better, so you have to drink the whole thing." He settles down next to you, on his side of the bed and watches you sip on the steaming hot drink.

The familiar scrunch of your nose appears at the taste that hits your taste buds, a sight that Toji has started looking forward to. "I hate the flavor just a little more every time I drink it. Oh well," you say, taking another sip, ignoring the scalding heat that embraces your tongue.

"I know. It sucks," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Hopefully, next time we choose correctly and get something you'll like."

You set the mug down on the nightstand and turn to him. With warm hands, you cup his cheeks and tilt his head up slightly.

"What?" He asks, his eyes directed towards you.

Your smile evolves into a short giggle as you stare at one pinpointed spot on the side of his neck. "I got you, too. Right..." you drag a finger down his neck, gently pressing on the dark spot you left on him. "...here."

His hand tracks your touch and replaces it with his own, feeling the mark. "Damn right, you did. You got me, baby," he says through a grin. "My turn?"

You sigh, with faux irritation. "Fiiine."

"Let's see..." He cups your cheeks the way you did his. "I got this whole area here." His thumb brushes over your jawline, dragging beneath it to where the marks end. "Then there's this entire patch right here." He turns your head, exposing the reddish-purple splotches on the side of your neck to the light. His eyes trace the slope that leads to your shoulder, spotting the marks that remain visible beneath the collar of your shirt. He coordinates his touch with his sight, dragging his fingers over your delicate skin. "Right here," he says, after pulling the collar of your shirt down your shoulder, revealing more of his marks.

"Okay, okay. You win," you say fixing your shirt, covering up again.

"There's one right there," he continues, tapping the column of your neck. "Some more there," his finger glides over your left collarbone.

"Toji, I swear, if you point out one more, i'm gonna bite your finger off."

He stares at you silently, the corners of his lips twitching as you watch him, intently. After a few seconds, he slowly starts directing his finger towards a mark on your chest. Once he makes contact with your skin, he gently presses on the smear of color that marks it, still holding eye contact with you. "Here, too."

You swat his hand away from you, and huff. "Why did I even try to threaten you? You want me to bite your finger off, huh?"

"Not in the slightest. I just knew you weren't actually gonna do it, so I pushed it."

You cross your arms. "Whatever. I'm just gonna put a hoodie on so you can't look at them anymore."

"Woah, baby, put down the knife," he says, hands up in playful surrender. "No need to take drastic measures over this. Don't hide all my hard work."

"Hard work," you mutter, an incredulous scoff following.

Toji's gaze falls on your lips. "You're pouting like you wanna be kissed," he teases.

"And you're... you're being annoying," you say, covering your mouth with your hand, concealing the involuntary lift of your lips.

"Yeah, but you still want me to kiss you," he says, with a sly, knowing smirk on his face. "Look at you. Look at that blush. Even your knuckles are red, doll."

"Oh my god..." you groan with embarrassment. You use both hands to cover your entire face, now.

He chuckles, pulling you into his arms. "You're so pretty, ma. A total work of art." His hands have never gotten lost on you, but for now, in any way he holds you, he'll be able to see the trails his lips left behind.

"Stop..." you mumble, smiling softly at the sweetness poured into his words.

"You look mine, with all these marks," he says, pulling down the collar of your shirt a little, to see the blots of color that appear at the start of your spine.

"Shut up," you say, blushing furiously against his chest.

"Sounds like you still want that kiss, huh?"

"Not anymore," you say, lifting your gaze to meet his. The look in your eyes betrays every ounce of your denial. Toji can very clearly tell that you're lying.

"Those rosy cheeks are saying something else," he says, grinning. "Damn, look at those pretty lips. They're ready for me."

"If you want to kiss me, just say so," you chide, lightheartedly.

"I'm gonna kiss you so hard, doll," he says, cupping your cheeks again. "Your lips lack a little more of me."

[deadsetobsessions]

REVERSE TROPE WRITING PROMPT BY @out-of-jams

ACCIDENTALLY KIDNAPPING A MAFIA BOSS

In Tucker's defense, he thought he was doing someone a favor. A life saving favor, in fact.

"What the fuck-!” The red helmeted guy yelped as a deceptively strong Tucker yanked him onto the bike and sped away. Before Tucker could explain, the GIW agents behind them got in a lucky shot and hit the helmeted liminal with a strong blast to the head.

Clearly, his gear wasn’t equipped with anti-ecto protections, because the guy slumped over on Tucker’s arms. This was bad, because Tucker now had to maneuver about 230 pounds of Gotham muscle while speeding away from government agents. He flicked on the jammer so they couldn’t track his and red helmets’s ecto signature.

“STOP!”

“Ah, shit.” Tucker cursed as he somehow managed to gather up red-helmet’s body and stabilize the bike. “C’mon, Tuck, you can do this.”

Blasts of anti-ecto tech slammed into buildings around him. Luckily, Gotham was used to this kind of shit so people just moved out of the way before going back to their day. Tucker wove around traffic, trying to lure the agents into slamming face first into some signposts.

“Stop damaging the local infrastructure!” Tucker yelled back at them, speeding up.

“WELL REIMBURSE THE PEOPLE AND THE CITY LATER! TELL US WHERE PHANTOM IS!!”

“Over my dead body, you jerks!” Tucker took a sharp right, catching red helmet before the man could slip off. He sped up and took the ramp downwards, heart beating loudly in his ears as he strained his senses to figure out- ah, they took the ramp upwards. Good. Now, all he has to do is bring red helmet back to home base.

“Oh my god. I kidnapped him,” Tucker groaned, slapping at his face before quickly placing his hands back on the handle bar once the bike teetered over with red helmet’s weight. “I’m a criminal. Oh my god.”

Then, as he found his way back, “…Well, it’s not like I wasn’t a criminal before, with the whole resisting arrest thing.”

——

Tucker dumped the red helmet liminal onto the couch of their shared apartment and went to take a shower. When he got out ten minutes later, he found Danny and Sam staring at the helmet guy. Tucker pushed up his glasses (after letting them defog from the shower) and greeted them.

“Hey, guys! I found him while I was running away from Agent L and J.”

“You okay?” Danny asked, eyes immediately flicking over Tucker for injuries.

“Yeah, I’m good. They’re horrible shots.”

“I thought Danny was the one who brought home strays but you…?” Sam commented, arms crossed and a purple painted nail tapping at her arm. “Wait. Isn’t this… that crime lord? What was his name?”

“Red Hood?” Danny offered, turning back to look at the guy on their couch.

Tucker paled. “Oh, no.”

Guns? Check.

Red Helmet? Check.

Bat-Symbol? Check.

Shit.

They collectively stared at the guy in silence.

“…Tucker,” Sam slowly said. “Did you accidentally kidnap a crime lord?”

“Hey, I didn’t want him to get killed! He’s liminal! Even more than us, except for Danny.” Tucker grumbled. “Man, this is why I leave the hero-ing to Danny. I do one good thing and suddenly I have a crime lord on my couch.”

“My couch,” Sam corrected, as she was the one that furnished their apartment.

“What do we do now?”

“Eat dinner,” Tucker said. “I’m famished.”

Sam nodded. “Wait for him to wake up and hope he doesn’t shoot us the moment he wakes up. Then, we explain.”

Danny grabbed all the visible guns he could see. Tucker went to start dinner. Sam supervised, because her boys were idiots and now she had a crime lord in her apartment.

——

Jason groaned, head swimming in a sea of dull throbbing pain as his eyes fluttered open.

Then he remembered he was abducted, and bolted up right. He paused as a series of quick observations made its way to his consciousness.

One. He’s not tied up. Weird, because everyone knows that he’s a weapon even without his weapons.

Two. His weapons were right there, just in reach.

Three. He was surrounded by teenagers and/or young adults who were all scrolling along on their phones.

“Oh, hey, he’s awake! Hi!” The Wayne bait said, electric blue eyes fixing itself on Jason. “Were you aware you died?”

Jason went rigid, hundreds of way to-

“Danny!” A scolding tone cut of Jason’s immediate panic. Two couch pillows slammed into Danny’s face, courtesy of goth girl and nerdy but strong.

“Dude, why do you start with that? Why are you like this?” His… possible kidnapper? asked, exasperatedly flinging his hands into the air as he rolled his eyes.

Goth girl scowled. “Boys. Crime lord, couch, remember?”

“Hey, in my defense, I died too!”

And that- as Jason remained dumbfounded in this circle of tomfoolery- was what snapped Jason out of his daze.

“You what?” He rasped out.

And when he saw them open their mouths at the same time, Jason just knew his headache was going worse.

——

Tucker, effortlessly plucking the actual red hood from the streets: and I whoop-

Jason, whose type is strong, nerdy, and tall: *heart eyes* *but not really because he’s unconscious*

——

Sam: “this is my boyfriend Danny and our other boyfriend Tucker.”

Jason enters chat:

Sam: “this is my boyfriend Danny and our other boyfriend Tucker and his boyfriend, the Red Hood.”

——

[backinmyphase]

Not alone

Synopsis: After your horrible introduction to each other, Satoru and you have finally time to get to know each other on your honeymoon now. That's everything that is happening - surely right?

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 2800 words

Series Masterlist

I want to thank all of you for the support and the comments, I'm so happy other people like my writing <33 Anyway I hope you like it!

"I can't believe I really listened to you. What am I doing?"

Gojo grinned to himself and went on as if he didn't hear you.

"To the trainstation, please." He handed the cab driver the destination and sat next to you in the back instead of the front.

And suddenly his body was so close, his presence became impossible to not notice.

"I'm so happy to be able to convince you." He looked out of the window.

He sat so relaxed, legs stretched apart and his body lying comfortably in the seat. How could he be so relaxed?

"They'll freak out. Kill me. And then wipe out my clan. In that order."

Gojo laughed. "Sure they will."

"They really could." You shook your head and looked out the window on your side.

"No, they couldn't. They don't dare do anything to you." His voice was full of confidence.

'If only you knew what they dare to do.' You thought about the letters. 'If only you knew.

"Just forget about them, okay?" You felt his body turn towards you. "It's always just higher ups this, clan that. Just try to relax."

"Yeah, yeah." you whispered and look outside. You could see the pitiful look of the driver from the side mirror outside the car.

What were you thinking? This morning you somehow thought that it wouldn't be so bad to just leave. And Gojo looked at you so full of expectation that you didn't want to disappoint him.

But now?

The only thing you could see as you closed your eyes was the disapproving face of your mother. She wouldn't have done anything that would damage the clan's reputation.

And on top of that the panic began to settle.

You were on your honeymoon. Alone. With your husband. It the higher ups don't kill you, well, they will at least expect a child. Or expect you to expect a child. Doesn't matter.

You couldn't even breath near Gojo out of panic, how could you sleep with him?

He yawned loudly, breaking you away from your thoughts. His eyes half lidded open, he stretched his arms.

Maybe it wasn't just the panic.

You looked outside again to hide the on creeping redness on your face. It just wasn't fair. You weren't made for this, weren't made to be Gojo's wife. He just was so… Gojo and you were… Well you.

The two of you just don't make a good pair.

And surely not a good heir, which will be your doom.

"You look tired." his voice was since yesterday really soothing somehow. "When we are in the train you can sleep."

"Are you sure?" you looked at him as he smiled.

"Yeah, I will wake you up."

You smiled hesitantly back. "Thank you."

~

"What were you thinking? I mean-" your mother paced through the room of the arrangement. "Have I taught you nothing?"

Her voice was loud, piercing, ready to hurt you. As she stood before you, you made yourself ready. "You have to inform the higher ups! Is that to much for you stupid brain?"

"I know mother." your voice trying it's best to be steady as you looked at the ground. "But Gojo…"

She shook her head. "Don't come me with that, it is ridiculous! As if he would be soooo passionate about going with you to the honeymoon! Do you think I'm dumb?"

She looked you in the eyes. "You two are not that close. You prove that every time you talk about him."

"But he was really excited to see…"

"God, stop with your excuses! We are not mad you are on your honeymoon and you know that!" she raised a hand to shut you down. "We are mad because you didn't provide us with information like promised."

You hung your head a bit lower, the guilt pushing you down. You didn't feel guilty because messing up, you felt guilty because you seem to have disappoint her yet again. After she gave you all these chances.

"Yes, mother."

She sighed. Her voice becoming unsteady for a second. Suddenly you felt a cold hand creeping up your back making you shiver.

"You have to get yourself together."

The hand caressing your cheek while wind blew inside your ear. Was there someone beside you?

"All of Jujutsu Society is counting on you right now. A new heir is needed to keep the world balance right. And you are the one needed right now."

The cold fingers went down to your throat. First careful, then more forceful. You wanted to stand up and scream, kick around yourself, but you didn't want to seem that crazy in front of your mother.

"Do you understand?"

Carefully slow your head rose. The hand now pressing down and chocking you slowly.

"Yes, mother."

She smiled. But it wasn't sincere. No, it was her mask smile, the one she kept on when the arrangements occurred. Steady and stern, not revealing anything.

"Well then you can say it to them directly."

The room around you began to spin and transform. Dizziness flooded you, but you were unsure if it came from the sudden change or the deficit of air. Or both.

When you could see through the spinning, a room full of nothingness became clear. The only thing you could decipher was-

"Mrs. Gojo. We thought we were on the same page."

The presence of the higher ups.

You couldn't speak, no everything was blurry and dark and just… Just unbearable. Your body seemed like a prison that kept you there, your mind trying to push out of it.

"Didn't we make ourselves clear?"

You didn't get any air anymore, tears started to dwell up in your eyes. When was the last time you let yourself cry like that?

"Mrs. Gojo. We THOUGHT you knew now of what your importance your marriage to Gojo Satoru is. Why we have to know your decisions."

You hiccuped and almost choked on your tears.

"So WHY did you just LEA-"

A sudden push and pull of your body made you jump. Your eyes now blinking wide open, while the world seemed to keep spinning.

"Hey… Hey! What's wrong??"

You kept your eyes open and the only thing that didn't spin were the eyes in front of you. The sunglasses pulled down, Gojo's blue eyes were wide open. The world around you seemed to stop spinning and you started to feel his close presence.

"Nothing, I'm okay." you looked down and noticed his hands on your shoulders. His grip on you was steady yet still soft.

"Are you kidding me? You were crying in your sleep just now." He tried to look you in the eyes as you looked stubbornly onto the ground.

"I just had a nightmare." you winded yourself out of his soothing grip. "Are we there yet?"

You looked him in the face with your usual mask on, trying to hide the panic in your head. Gojo frowned and looked almost concerned.

"Next station. But are you sure you're okay-"

"Alright, perfect. Thank you." hastily you cut him off, not wanting to go deeper into the topic while you smiled your best 'everything is alright' smile at him.

He swallowed it. For now.

But his hand was still close to your shoulder. And he didn't pull it away. While looking outside he spoke again.

"We will sleep in the little hotel of Hinas Grandmother. It's not far from the train station."

You nodded while trying to calm down from the roller-coaster of emotions you were just on.

"Okay, then let's get our things now. We are almost there."

~

"Gojo, let me carry on thing please." you pleaded while following your husband as he shook his head.

His hand on your suitcases and an additional backpack on his back. "No chance. I'm not letting you carry anything. You are exhausted enough."

You looked around seeing the stares of other people in this small place. It must have been a really odd picture. A big man carrying two suitcases behind him while his wife was just following him. Oh god…

"Please Gojo, people are staring." you whispered to him but he just whistled with a smile on his face.

You sighed and embraced your fate. He was really something.

"There it is!" he nodded in direction of a small old, building. It had charm and you couldn't help but smile.

You opened the doors for your stubborn husband and adored the older structure of the house. And at the counter stood an elderly woman smiling at you. You couldn't help but smile back.

"Good day to you two. Sleeping here for the night?" she spoke calmly and slow. And still had that glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, we have reservations on the name Gojo." Gojo smiled and leaned onto the counter while holding his ID. The woman looked at it and gasped.

"Oh, you were the lovely couple Hina told me about! Of course we have a room for you two. Honeymoon, wasn't it?" she smiled at you.

You wanted to disagree but slowly it dawned to you. She thought you were married. Well, you were married, but she thought you were married because you wanted to.

"Yes, Honeymoon. Took awhile to convince her to go here." Gojo laughed while taking the key.

"Oh, really?" the woman looked at you surprised.

"Well, that's just not right." you gasped while taking your own suitcase before gojo could take it. "I didn't want to leave immediately, but he wanted to just go, go, go."

"Well, Darling, I just couldn't wait." He grinned at you with that sparkle in his eye. "Is that so bad?"

"You know it is-"

The woman laughed and shook her head. "Oh you two…" she swiped a tear away. "Young love is so refreshing."

You couldn't help the blush that was creeping up again, for the second time this day, and just wanted to hide your face forever before he saw you like that. You looked at the stairs.

And there stood Gojo ready to go upstairs. Smiling at you.

You cleared your throat, while hoping to get a grip on to yourself and pulled your things behind you. "Thank you for the lovely Hospitality."

"Oh, any time." she waved as you stood before the stairs. "Just make yourself at home. Just like Hina has a home at yours."

You waved back, while smiling, before pulling your things up. You forgot how heavy it was, since Gojo carried it till here. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of asking for his help and proving that you were just as exhausted as he thought.

As you stood before your room you raised an eyebrow at him. "Darling?"

He smiled and turned around to open the room with the key. "Oh, you know. Just slipped."

"Really?" you pulled your things into the room, while following him. He chuckled lightly.

"Yeah. And, well, we are here just a married couple. Not an arrangement for the future of the jujutsu society. So we should act like one."

"Suree." you looked around. And horror began to settle.

You were registered as a married couple. So you had only one big bed. And a normal married couple wouldn't have problems with that, would it?

"I will take the couch." your voice was much more quiet now. It was like they were here, chanting that they need a heir. And you shouldn't be so irrational.

"No way." he shook his head. "You look like you need days of sleep. I'm not letting you sleep on the uncomfortable couch."

"It's not a problem." you walked over to the couch and sat down. It wasn't comfortable, he was right. But who would hurt a little lie?

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. "Let's make a deal."

You looked him in the eyes, in those beautiful eyes. "I'm all ears."

He grinned. "You lie down in the bed for now and sleep till evening while I explore the town. You need the sleep. And later we can discuss who sleeps where."

"I don't have to sleep nooooo-" a yawn interrupted you. "hw. Forget it. Let's do it like you said."

He grinned even wider while handing you the backpack with water inside. "Then make yourself comfortable."

He stood up and took his things and the key. But while pulling the door handle down he stooped.

"Oh, and one thing." he took a book out of the backpack and handed it to you. "I read this before sleeping. Helps me. Even for nightmares. Just in case."

You looked at the title of the book and it said 'Before the coffee gets cold'. A black cat on the cover and you couldn't help but smile.

You looked up at him and chuckled to yourself.

"Thank you, Gojo."

~

You did have problems sleeping. It wasn't that the bed was uncomfortable.

But you couldn't help but think of the things that the higher ups expected you to do on it.

The covers laid heavy on you, while your hand reached for the book Gojo gave you. A chapter couldn't hurt. And maybe he was right and it really helped.

He was really nice to you. He seemed to make an effort right now. And you appreciated that he wanted to make this arrangement easier (since he was really making it hard in the beginning).

And he was so nice and open to you. And he helped you with the luggage and while sleeping. And his eyes were so-

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

No that wasn't happening right now. Not after you just had a couple of conversations. It couldn't be.

But as you read a couple of sentences and felt yourself relaxing to the story, you knew that it was. You couldn't fight the smile that made it's way onto your face.

God dammit.

~

Satoru was worried about you. You looked like you didn't sleep in weeks even though it could have only been last night. You were stressed.

And as much as he wanted you to relax, he couldn't force anything that would just stress you more.

But it was so nice to see you smile from time to time. After all the silence and hiding was it like fresh wind.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo already going out?" Hina's grandmother smiled at him while going through the oages of the visitor book.

"My wife is tired, and I wanted to explore the town." he made his way to the counter again. "Do you have any advice for good restaurants? Or cafés?"

"Oh, I do." she smiled at him. "Sato's kitchen down the street is lovely. And the atmosphere is perfect for a romantic dinner."

She sighed. "My husband and I went there a couple of times, when we were younger. It's a lovely place. Not cheap. But lovely."

He chuckled at that. "Thank you, that sounds like something we have to check out. And anything for take out? I don't want her to have to move again today."

She laughed. "Aren't you a gentleman! Well if you look for good take out, we have a good ramen shop in the main street."

"Then I have to check it out." He made a little dramatic bow. "Thank you for your wisdom Mrs. Sato."

She made sure it wasn't a problem as he left. And if he has any questions of what to do here with his wife he could just come to her.

And he wouldn't forget that.

~

Your body felt heavy as you heard a quiet creak. Your eyes were shut and your head felt a bit dizzy. You still held the book in your hands as you heard a couple of steps.

"You back, Gojo?" you mumbled, your eyes not wanting to open.

"Yeah, but it's not important just keep sleeping."

You wanted to sit up but your body felt heavy. You groaned as you realized what that meant.

"You tricked me…" you weren't sure he would even understand your mumbling. "I'm sleeping now in the bed, and I can't do anything about it…"

You heard a light chuckle that made your traitor of a heart jump.

"I didn't trick you, we had a deal. And now we decided that you sleep in the bed and I sleep on the couch."

"We didn't decide anything…" your voice became more of a whisper as you felt your consciousness drifting away.

"Well," his voice was suddenly really close. "You only have a say if you drop the last name."

Your eyes opened and looked into his. He sat at the end of the big bed, head on his hands as he looked at you.

"I'm Satoru. We are Gojo." He smiled.

"And as Mrs. Gojo you are not alone."

Your eyes fell shut after that. And maybe you were just imagining that. But it still made you feel traitorous warm inside.

Ongoing Taglist (If you wanna be added yous say so, I will add you to the main taglist on the master list) :

@zoeyflower @bubera974 @ssetsuka @lady-of-blossoms @peqch-pie

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[evilminji]

Okay... so it COULD be because, as a writer, I'm an ASSHOLE to my Characters...

BUT YOU KNOW WHAT'D BE FUNNY?

Danny, innocent, gets YEETED into DC. As ya do. And he's a bit messed up. But! He's a Baby Ancient in the making. Gonna be master of Spaaaaaace(~~~☆!) one day. Very exciting, only slightly relevant.

See, Ectoplasm? Dumb. That's why we need Cores and Brains etc. Never let Ectoplasm decide things. It WILL chose the "technically correct but now the buildings on fire" option EVERY SINGLE TIME. And you are running out of fire extinguishers.

Because it is dumb.

Very, VERY No Brain, Just Goo, Dumb.

And THIS Goo has a life to save. A Halfa too maintain in Peak Performance(tm). Because THIS Goo is VERY smart Goo(according only to itself) and TOTALLY knows what it's doing! Damaged meat bits? Oh that's EASY! You just FIX that! Replace with meat bits! See? It's BRILLIANT Goo. 10 out of 10 stars, me!

Small problem.

The instructions have been damaged.

PANIC.

Wait! No! We got this! We are Very Smart Goo(tm). And have Space Powers. This is FINE. We'll... we'll just FIX the instructions! Hand me a hammer! If we smash enough bits together, it'll sort? Of look right? Close ENOUGH? Yeeeeeah. We're GENIUS Goo~

Use THAT!

But where did they GET their ill begotten DNA? Well OBVIOUSLY the place all the OTHER DNA they had was stored, DUH? Keep up, says the Goo with literally no braincells making horrifying choices for an unconscious man. It's Earth.

As in... the planet.

It's not even HIS planet. It's AN Earth. A Planet CALLED "Earth" that dwells in the DC universe, not his, and is covered with ZERO(0) Fentons but plenty of superhumans and aliens. THAT planet.

The Goo grabbed the Very BESTEST Meat Instructions it could FIND! The Goo is also a collective and did not AGREE on what the "Best" WAS. But it's... okay, no, I can't lie to you, it is NOT fine.

But thankfully it IS stable.

Because Ectoplasm may be dumb and indiscriminate as super-bacteria with a flamethrower, but it is a MASTER at the jigsaw of Life. It can reanimate ANYTHING.

Including the now SINGLE MOST CHIMERAD MAN you've ever SEEN. Who is he related too? YES. His left knee is Kryptonian, the fingers on his right hand are Tameranian, his skin tone has shifted to the most ambiguously multi-ethnic tone imaginable (think that future of humanity mock up, where they combine every ethnicity on the premise that inter-racial marriage will becoming increasingly common up to the point where we all just kinda look averaged out thanks to the ease of travel) because it's trying to do all of them at once and none of them are willing to back down, because all of them got the instructions "Be Skin". He might have Slade Wilson's cheek bones and hair.

Danny wakes up and basicly is half Ectoplasmic Goo, half the extended Super Community.

AND CANT GET BACK HOME TO FIX IT.

Because of course this IS fixable. It's just medical shape-shifting. But without HIS template, undamaged. His body is REFUSING to change from what is OBVIOUSLY the CORRECT form. And he keeps getting clocked as "probably related to me".

With the Fenton Luck kicking in? The parts of him people manage to swab and/or get DNA from? Keep MATCHING them. Danny doesn't know WHO is behind this but-! *spots a giggle child with a cat* !!!!!!

You.

Klarion you little SHIT!

So now he's wearing a face that's BARELY his, running from very determined superhumans who want to parent him, trying to steal enough technology to build a portal. AND vowing to kick the witch boy's ASS.

This ISNT FUNNY, KLARION.

His body is Frankenstein's FEVER DREAM! Every time he gets hurt, it tries to "FIX" itself! He lost a chunk of his should back there and HIS ENTIRE BODY CHANGED SKIN TONES. He's pretty sure if he SITS funny, his teeth might fall out and regrow POINTY! He's handing you over to WALKER you horrible little gremlin child!

Just? Take the "Danny is related to X" and "Danny is sick" and turn them uuuuup. Make EVERYBODY concerned except Danny. This is just another fucked up adventure in a long string of fucked up adventures. Give him his DNA back. If he has to suffer the Fenton Luck then he should AT LEAST get to keep the Fenton "built like a tank"!

*gets hit again*

*is GREEN now for some reason* The fuck?

Garfield, aka Beast Boy: I HAVE A CLONE SON!?

Danny: Zone DAMN IT not another one!

@ailithnight @hdgnj @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[petew21-blog]

Poolverine

Spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

Deadpool and Wolverine aproached Cassandra while the others were battling her soldiers. Wolverine was suppressing his rage, Deadpool, on the other hand, was suppressing his words. He was still talking, just not as much as he would normally.

Cassandra Nova was ready for everything. After all, she was here for her whole life. She has seen everything. Even Loki escaping from the void. But now, these two basically immortal beings stood in front of her. One was a bigger paij in the ass than the other.

Deadpool:"Ok, Baldilocks slash wannabe Walter White in your kingdom. We know we had our ups and downs from the moment you killed Johnny, may he rest in peace. We loved him and will never forget him. But I gotta rain on your parade here, and I hope your bald head is not too sensitive for some cold rain drops, because now is the time to let us all go and end this drama show."

Wolverine:"You said you'll be holding back."

Deadpool:"Ohhh, this is holding back. I haven't even started."

Wolverine:"She has the power to kill you with a snap of her fingers, and you still think the best way to stop her is to insult her?"

Cassandra just stood in front of them, speechless.

Deadpool:"I think your X-men spoiled you with all the WE'RE-ALL-IN-THIS-TOGETHER attitude. Well, pal! This is my show, and here, we roast our enemies before we stab them after many unsuccessful attempts, moment of desperation and a collab with Madonna."

Cassandra:"I have no idea what he is on about, but the two of you look like a married couple after twenty years of hating each other's guts. And you know what couple therapists always say to the unfunctional couple?"

Deadpool:"Yep! They say, ‘You either learn to compromise… or one of you learns to hide the body really well.’ So, which one of us is digging tonight, Logan?!"

Cassandra:"I just... How do you put up with him?"

Logan:"I have known him for like 5 hours and killed him several times."

Deadpool:"And so did I! Cute, aren't we?"

Cassandra:"I can't... See each other's perspective and get out of my sight."

The two were now transported via portal back to one of the worlds to empty Xavier mansion.

Deadpool, now in Wolverine's body, stood up and looked down. "Ohhhhh, baby, yesss. Look at these!!!" Wade now popping his new claws. "Snikt! Yeaaaah. Oh, I could get used to this."

Deadpool turned his head to the audience and said:"Hey folks. Not to alarm you. Deadpool is still here, just a slightly broody and hairier version. Only now I got! Claaaaaws!!!" Wade sliced through a nearby painting that immediatelyfell down, destroying a statue on the table. "Whoopsie. Just normal Wolverine collateral damage, am I right?"

Logan:"What the hell is this? Why am I suddenly feeling... chatty? I need to get of this tight red spandex and this horrible mask."

Deadpool is now doing ridiculous poses in the reflection of a mirror. Screaming and scratching the air. "Look at me, I'm like a Canadian action figure." Wink at the audience.

Logan:"Stop this Wilson. We need to get Charles."

Deadpool:"Oh I don't know, I got this sudden urge to sing and get a circus. We shouldn't waste time."

They both search the house, but all the X-men are gone.

Now in the privacy of a small bathroom. Deadpool, stands in front o the mirror, shirtless, flexing. "Ohhhh look at that". He pops out his claws again. "If only I had these babies during my last taco truck robbery .- I mena, purchase."

Deadpool grabs a comb on the sink. "The hair! What an untamed mane. I look like a mix between a badger and a bad scripted shampoo comercial." Then he leans closer to the mirror. "And check out this jawline. Ladies and gents, feast your eyes."

"One, two, three, four, five...six! Finally jackpot. It's really like a washboard for all my dirty clothes. I could do laundry on these bad boys, If I ever did laundry."

"And what do we have here." Deadpool raises his furry eyebrows, following the hairy trail under, leading to the massive buldge. "Oh Logan, I knew you've been hiding some serious adamantium down here, but damn. No wonder all the X-men want to sleep with you. Pun intended. I mean... If I knew that you had this much heat packed in here, I would have switched with you sooner."

Wade strikes a final pose and blows a kiss to his reflection:"Wolvie, you beautiful, hairy beast, I may never give this body back to you."

Logan enters the bathroom with a scowl, freezing in horror at the sight before him.

Deadpool in Logan's body, completely naked and a little too pleased with his new situation.

"What the hell are you doing, Wade!!!"

"Hey, Wolvie. Just getting acquainted with the goods. Man, you've been holding out for me. Honestly, If there was a claw shooting out of this thing, I wouldn't even be surprised anymore." Wade said with a smile, gripping his hard dick in Logan's face

"Get your filthy hands off my...!" Logan fighting the urge to kill his own body

"Logan, it's your hands, don't forget that. So that means I did nothing wrong. Your body that touched yourself. I haven't touched anything, if you think about it." Towards the audience:"It's like flashbacks from puberty."

"Besides, I only wanted to take your body for a test drive, Logan. You know, making sure that all the gears work before returning the keys. Quality control!"

"If you don't stop now, I'll claw off that smug off your... your real face when we get back" Logan gets closer to his old body, now feeling a strange urge to want him to get closer. Both of the bodies pulling towards each other

Deadpool:"Logan? Did you pay Magneto to get us closer? Cause I feel a strange force pulling me to you and I have to say i don't mind it"

Logan:"I'm not doing anything. I... No way. I'm trying to go away from you"

Deadpool:"Oh yeah, it's happening, baby. My body can't resist this beautiful, hairy pile of muscles, and your body is controlled by one of the most perverted minds alive."

"YOU SICK BASTARD. This is all your twisted head. If you'll be enjoying even a second of this." Logan shouted

Deadpool:"Oh, come on. It's just chemistry. You can't fight it"

Logan:"Gotta get control of this."

Deadpool:"No need for that. Your body's got the hots for me. I'm a walking talking thirst trap now. Give in, big guy. Let's make it weird."

Logan now with his new hands still in spandex, touching his old body. "Wade... When this is over... I'm going to make you regret all of this."

Deadpool:"I'm counting on it. But until then, you're mine"

Wade pulls of his old mask down from Logan's head:"Ohhh there is that crispy chipsy face I haven't seen for a while". Logan:"Please just shut up"

Their hands our now all over each other. Logan's burly figure standing above Deadpool's figure. Logan's body under Wade's control now pushes his old body towards the wall. Breaking it. They get to Cyclops and Jean's bedroom, now vacant, ready for their action. Dadpool starts making out with his body still on the ground from the collision. Logan wants to fight back, but gives up and makes out with his bearded face. It feels kind of nice, but he can't ever admit that to Wade.

Wade picks up Logan from the ground using his claws, and with their help, he rips of the spandex off of Logan. Scratching him in the process. Logan now moaning in pain, looking deeply into his old eyes. He now understands why many people called him a "beast." He did look like one. But sexy one at that.

Wade threw Logan on the bed. Turning him around. Logan was ready for immediate penetration, but suddenly he felt a moist thing pushing its way between Deadpool's hairy ass. Was he now experiencing rimming? "Wade, no...!"

Deadpool:"Don't worry, sweetpie. I know what my body likes. Just relax, enjoy and don't fart in my face"

Logan has never felt this feeling in such an intimate place. And it wasn't even his body.

Wade now turned Logan to his back. He positioned himself. "Ready? I know you're used to pain, but this might be a bit... unsettling."

Logan:"I can take a bit of pain... AHHHHHHH"

Deadpool."Sorry, boo. Haven't stretched out that thing for quite a while."

He started pushing more and more. At that moment, Logan tried to get up and leave. But something in Logan's body overtook Wade. He took both of his claws and pushed them through Deadpool's body's forearms, securing him in place. Logan screamed in pain. "Why???"

Deadpool:"Don't want you to give up during the best part when it stops hurting"

Sweat was dripping from Logan's body all over Deadpool's. All of Logan's hair were now glistening in sweat.

"Ohhhh moth.... This is so amazing. I feel like a Republican during the Fourth of July" Deadpool screamed out while his claws were still in place.

He picked up the pace, and when he saw that Logan was now moaning in pleasure and not in pain, he took out his claws and just enjoyed the ride.

"Oh Wolvie. I think I'm gonna get you pregnant now."

"Just fuck me!!!"

Now very close to the finish, Deadpool took out his dick and pointed it at his old face, cumming all over his old chest and hitting his body's eye. Logan came too, but on his stomach. He was still mesnerized. How come, through all these years, he never even thought about stimulating his prostate?

Both now watching each other, sweaty, out of breath.

Logan:"You won't tell a soul."

Deadpool looking at the audience, smirking:"Promise"

And at the corner of the room a quiet girly voice spoke out:"Promise". Kitty sunk into the wall leaving embarassed to the next room

Message from Inbox :)

Yo, i love your writing. And with your last story with Hugh and Ryan....What about their characters?, Wolverine and Deadpool swapping bodies thanks to Cassandra Nova powers that also made them aroused for each other in order to distract them from stopping her. Wade can't help but to give into Logan's body urges to dominate, and Logan just want the voices gone.

[callsign-rogueone]

rest

Brennan Sorrengail x chronically ill reader words: 2.5k 🏷: gender neutral reader, use of nicknames sweetheart and honey, implied past FWB-type relationship between reader and Bren. descriptions of pain and sickness (congrats, u now have my symptoms), downward-spiral of self-deprecating thoughts, reader shaming themself for being weak / ill, one (1) suggestion that reader wants to die but they don’t mean it, confessions of love, cuddles.  this may be the most self-serving thing I’ve ever written. I wrote it to process my grief and anger about my current situation, but I figured I’d post it for the Brennan girlies and anyone who feels like I do right now and could use a handsome mender boyfriend to make it all better.

The gentle movement of the mattress and the smell of smoke and soap and leather wakes you from your nap — Brennan is back. You roll over to face him, every muscle in your body protesting the movement. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispers, brushing the hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Same old,” you murmur. 

He lays a hand on your forearm, and the pain dulls. You know better now than to let him block it off completely — he’d done that once before, but when he let go, it was unbearable. 

Better to sit with it, not get used to any relief — it’ll only hurt you further when it all comes back, knock the breath right from your lungs and leave you in a heap on the floor, a mess of knots for him to untangle.

He’s done enough for you already. He does enough for everyone. Never anything for himself. Or if he does, you never see it.

“Was worried about you,” he says softly, still stroking your hair.

The idea of him worrying about you makes you feel sicker than you already are, but a different kind of sick. Guilty, maybe. Disgusted — not with him, but with yourself, for being so fucking weak and needy and such a crybaby. You’re a dragon rider, for gods’ sakes. 

Or you used to be. You haven’t acted like one in months, and haven’t felt like one for longer than that. 

You’d accepted that you’d never fly again, or told yourself that you accepted it, three months ago.

“I can keep fixing the damage, but I don’t know if I can fix what’s causing it,” Brennan had told you in a whisper late one night in this same room, holding you as if he was afraid to let go, that you’d crack and splinter even further if he wasn’t pressing the pieces of you together. 

You used to be able to hold yourself together. You used to be able to do a lot of things. To spar with him, to run with your squad and mount a dragon, swim in the ice-cold streams of Tyrrendor with your friends on days off, to spend hours tangled up in bed with him after lights-out, exerting yourselves in other ways.

But then something came and ruined it all.  You still don’t know what it was — is. It didn’t come quickly — not one big wave that drowned you, not an assailant that shattered bone and sliced through tissue, but a gradual decline that you didn’t notice until it was too late. 

No, you definitely noticed. You just didn’t want to believe it. You made up excuses for everything— reassurances, placating remarks, designed to convince yourself and those around you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you.

You couldn’t sleep through the night, but that was because of the awful things you’d seen that day. But then they started happening even if you hadn’t left the barracks, even if you hadn’t witnessed any horrible sights in weeks.

You couldn’t hold on to your daggers tightly enough, struggled to grip a pen, but that was because you’d injured your hand — but that was only one hand, and months ago. Brennan had mended it for you within minutes of the injury.

Your entire body was aching, all the time, but that was normal with how much riders were required to exert themselves. You just can’t move like you did when you were younger. You aren’t a kid anymore.

But no amount of rest days, no ice or heat or elevation seemed to be enough to recover. That’s the worst of it, really. Being stuck in bed, not by doctor’s orders, not because you physically can’t get up, but because you can’t do anything outside of this room.

Not without pain, anyway, and not without pitying looks and whispered questions about what happened to you — the very same Captain that had rescued an entire squad from certain doom just last year, the most powerful air-wielder in two generations — and concerned words from your colleagues, who miss you, and tell them if you need anything, okay? They’re here for you.

But are they really your colleagues anymore? Is Deòir really your dragon anymore? He hardly speaks to you these days. He’s just too kind to admit that he’s just waiting for you to die, so he can move on, and find a new rider.

Maybe kind isn’t the right word, but you can’t think of a better one right now. It’s hard to think of anything other than how tired and uncomfortable you are.

You used to be top of the class, and now you’re struggling to form complete sentences.

“Talk to me,” Brennan coaxes, still gazing down at you, softness in his eyes.

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you whisper. 

“What?”

“I know we were… involved for a while,” you say carefully, “but you don’t need to do this for me anymore. You can’t keep worrying about me. It takes up too much time that you just don’t have. You’re running a revolution; you have more important shit to do than to play nurse.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks softly. “What happened while I was away?”

“Nothing happened, Brennan. Nothing ever happens in my life anymore, because I spend my entire day, every day, laying here, wishing I was dead.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The words are out in the air, and he’s heard them. “I didn’t mean…” you whisper, “I don’t want to die, I just…”

Tears fill your already-blurred vision, but you can see him in front of you, the mass of his chest and shoulders, the slow movement of his arms reaching out to wrap around you and hold you close, to guide you up into his lap.

“I’m just so tired,” you sob, too-long fingernails digging into the black leather of his jacket, your hands too weak to hold on to him properly. “I’m so tired of being tired, and in pain, and feeling useless.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes. “I’ll keep looking. We can look together. We’ll figure out what this is, and how to fix it.”

“We’ve read every book in the library,” you sniff. “We’ve talked to every healer we know.”

“There are other libraries, and other healers,” he replies, as if it’s that simple, that easy. You suppose to him, it is that easy. To him, everything is easy. He’s not the one wasting away here, you are.

Wasting away. Crumbling. Deteriorating.  

Decaying.

“Why aren’t you giving up?” you ask quietly. “I’ve given up. Deò has, too. He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

You know the answer, and it makes you feel sick, but you need to hear it.

Maybe that’s selfish of you, to make him declare it out loud to you, to your face, when you very well might not be alive this time next year to celebrate an anniversary — not that you’d be able to do much celebrating if you were. But that little part of you, the only part that’s left of the old you, from the reality where this could work, needs it — needs him. 

“Deò hasn’t given up on you. He went with us, as backup — that’s why he wasn’t responding. And I haven’t given up, either. I’ll never give up, because I love you,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll keep loving you as long as I live, and well into whatever afterlife I earn, if such a thing exists.”

You loose another sob, your nails scraping the leather as you cling to him tighter, your anchor in this storm, your lifeline, hiding your face in his neck and letting three months worth of tears continue to fall. 

“I’m not going to let go,” he soothes, laying a hand over yours, that’s still feebly clutching at the sleeve of his jacket. “Not until you ask me to.”

You release your grip, the ache lessening as you do, but your knuckles still throb with every beat of your heart; another reminder that even just existing is painful, that your body can’t even move blood around without complaint.

“There you go. Just breathe with me, honey. Nice and slow.”

You don’t know how long you spend there, trying to steady your breathing. Time has seemed to run together lately, somehow both fast and slow — that happens when you lose your routine, and spend half of a normal person’s waking hours asleep, and normal sleeping hours lying awake, enveloped in pain. He continues to murmur praises to you all the while; sweet, reassuring words that you don’t really process. 

“Do you want to lay down?” he asks after a while, his voice soft and gentle. 

He’s always so gentle with you. Endlessly patient, and endlessly caring.

You nod, thoroughly exhausted— the crying had zapped any energy you’d had left. You feel like a little kid again, soft and confused and small. 

Fragile. 

You’re still in your pajamas, anyway, still in bed. You’d only gotten out of it once today, to use the bathroom, but you’d forced yourself to brush your teeth while you were in there, leaning on the counter for stability all the while. That’s your idea of success and productivity these days.

“Okay. Let me take my boots off, hm?” — You nod, pulling back to let him get up. — “Alright. Can I get you anything? Water?”

You shake your head. “Just you,” you whisper. 

“I can do that.” Jacket, boots, and pants off, he settles in with you, letting you cozy up to him in a position that feels the most comfortable— or the least uncomfortable, really. He starts stroking your hair again in soft, slow motions, the weight and warmth of his scarred palm soothing your headache.

It occurs to you that you’d never responded to his declaration — the one you’d needed so badly that you’d nearly asked for it outright — you’d just clung to him and cried, and he’d held you, even though you hadn’t said it back. He’d stroked your hair and calmed you down from your grief over the life you no longer have and can never return to.

He’s still holding you, still dulling the pain in your body and in your soul.

“I love you, Bren,” you murmur. “M’sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve known for a long time.”

“Really?”

He hums softly. “Oh, yeah. Years and years. Since you nearly broke my jaw in challenges and then insisted on personally escorting me to the infirmary.”

You laugh at the memory. “I felt so guilty about that. I didn’t want to hurt you at all. I was pulling my punches.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “It certainly didn’t feel like it.”

There’s a soft pause before he speaks again, hesitant, like he doesn’t want to bring it up again now that your tears have dried, but he knows you haven’t forgotten the pain. You’ll never forget this pain for the rest of your life, even if it goes away.

“When I was in Poromiel, I talked to a healer there who‘s seen something like this before. She wrote down as much as she could before I left, and she promised to ask around and send more information through the boys when they do their next drop-off.”

You cuddle into him closer, ignoring the ache in your back as you do. “Thank you, Bren. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I guess… I’m just still not used to being taken care of. I know it’s dumb, but it makes me feel worse sometimes, even though it’s helping.”

“That’s how I felt,” he says quietly. You both know what he’s talking about— his recovery from being shot in the battle of Aretia, from dying and being brought back to life. “It was always me taking care of the girls when we were young. I was never the one who needed taking care of. It felt wrong, and I felt guilty, and mad at myself for needing the help. But you wouldn’t take no for an answer. You made an excellent nurse, if a little scary.”

“I was scared myself. Seeing you like that…” You swallow. “That’s when I knew that I loved you — you don’t know what you have ‘til it’s gone, I guess.”

“I am very much not gone,” he scoffs, offended. 

“Fine. Slipping away from you,” you correct. 

“Not doing that either. I’m staying right here.” He lays a kiss on the top of your head. “And we are going to have a nice long nap, and then I’m going to draw you a warm bath and make us some dinner, because I like taking care of you, because I love you, and because you deserve it. Okay?”

“Okay.” Another pause while you work up the courage. “Bren?” you ask softly.

“Yes, my love?”

The sweet name is enough encouragement to say it. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He holds you in place with a gentle hand on your back, leaning his head down to meet you. You tilt your chin up, your noses brushing.

“This feels familiar,” he muses. “Very familiar.”

You roll your eyes lazily. “If you’re going to be all smug about it, then you don’t get a kiss.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

You rest a hand on his jaw, guiding him closer. Your fingers twitch and shake, but he holds them steady, his hand pressing yours against the stubbled skin gently — a silent statement that he’s not going anywhere, and he’s ready when you are.

Endlessly patient.

The kiss isn’t desperate and hungry like they had been before your affliction had started, when surges of need and emotion had led you into each other’s beds two nights a week — you aren’t taking from each other now, you’re giving. It’s gentle. Sweet, loving, reassuring.

Each soft movement is a promise, a whispered oath — he’s here, and he isn’t leaving. He’s determined to figure this out and fix it, with you.

You don’t need anything more than that.

He takes your hand, moving it from his jaw to his mouth — kissing your palm. “I love you,” he repeats, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “You’re important to me,” again, to the back of your hand, “and we will get you the help you need. But for now we both just need to rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Always,” he responds, helping you tuck yourself back into his arms, and pulling the blanket up over you both. 

“Goodnight, child,” Deò says softly. “I love you. We will get through this together.”

You’re a little surprised by the declaration — he’s never told you anything like this before — but you return it nonetheless. “Love y’too,” you murmur.

Sleep comes to you easily, and this time, you have a good dream.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part three - true blue

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ [4.1k] warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

You didn’t want to – really you didn’t. The idea of you and Rafe being alone at a spot – your spot – a place, the place, that you hadn’t shared in close to two years was suffocating to say the least. You have continuously pressed replay on all the world’s worst scenarios; all the things that could go horribly wrong, that would surely break your heart into a million pieces all over again. Your feet feel clucky as they trudge through the sand and like the water that meets the land on the other side, you feel rushed into you; like the waves of a tsunami are crashing against the wall you’ve placed around your heart, the barriers are so close to breaking and they do as soon as you see him. He’s sitting, just past a sand dune, his shirt has been discarded and his hair is wet. 

“Hey, hot shot – you've been swimming without me?” 

You ask with a forced cheek. He only responds with his signature smirk. It was quiet, awkward for a moment. You couldn’t help but feel like you were being punked as you sat down beside him, his feet digging holes in the sand. You couldn’t remember the last time the notion of him being this close had crossed your mind or even seemed within reach. Which probed your next question to the boy sitting next to you. 

“Rafe.”

“Yeah?”

He questioned, with a smile on his face. 

“Can you tell me now?” 

You asked anxiously, ready for the blow of what you knew was coming – he was going to tell you why he left and you were sure that it was because of you after all. That’s the only thing that made sense in your brain. You watch him anxiously, intently as he shuffles, bringing his hand up to his hair to swoop his long locks out of his face and behind his ears. 

“Yeah, I guess I owe you that don’t I, pretty girl?” 

You’re on edge as you hear your old namesake leave his lips. He moves his hands behind him, leaning back into the sand. His skin feels hot against it, he notes. He swallows thickly and opens his mouth to speak. 

“You know I was different after my mom died, right?” 

You’re taken aback by his question – of course you know. She was the fucking sun and he’s just fucking like her; his cheeks and eyes – they belong to her. He belonged to her and it physically pains you to see him lose it after she’s passed away. You remember it all but mostly the way the bright left the blue hue of his eyes in the same moment the breath left her body. It makes your bones hurt to think about it still. 

“Yeah – how could I forget? I was too, we all were.” 

You said quickly. 

“I kept it well hidden then – until I couldn’t anymore, until I didn’t have a choice.” 

He’d replayed how he was going to tell you in his head over and over, over the last two years and finally came to the conclusion that he never ever would. But, now – at the prospect of having you within his reach again, he’s sure he’s going to spill his guts any moment. 

“Can you spit it out, drama queen?” 

You said with annoyance. So he blurted it out – rather frantically. 

“I was on drugs, okay!” 

He shouted. There was silence for a moment, you – too shell shocked to reply. 

“Look – I know you’re perfect and you’ve never done anything wrong in your life, okay? I’m sorry.” 

His eyes go dull as he braces himself for your judgemental glare. 

“What?” 

You ask in a too small voice. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet for a moment. 

“I was on drugs. Nobody knew. Then, I owed Barry a massive amount of money and he knew I loved you more than anyone, alright? So I had to cut ties.” 

He said very matter-of-factly. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You whispered and the ocean breeze made him suddenly cold, or maybe your tone of voice sent a chill up his spine. He’s truly not sure which. 

“What do you have to be sorry about, y/n?” 

He asked confusedly. 

“Not being enough – not being good enough for you to come to me and tell me the truth, that you didn’t feel like you could come to me.” 

The crack in your voice as you finished talking cut him straight to his core.     

“Pretty girl, it’s not like that, okay? I was trying to protect you.” 

Again, there was silence for a little while before either of you spoke. Rafe was trying to find the words; the ones to make you understand that you weren’t to blame. 

“You’re not messing with me, right?”

You asked suddenly. 

“What do you mean?” 

He questioned, confusedly. 

“I mean, you actually want to be near me again? You’re not messing with me?” 

You asked innocently, feeling far too insecure for his answer to be anything other than yes. 

“Of course, I want to be near you. I never wanted to stop being near you. It was just easier to cut everyone out than to explain my pain to someone else. I didn’t want to face all the disappointment either.” 

You swallowed thickly and he noticed. 

“I’m sorry. I always just assumed it was me, that I had done something.” 

You whispered, almost inaudibly. But, he heard you, loud and clear. 

“What? What could you possibly have done?” 

He asked incredulously. 

“I-I don’t know.” 

You looked down at your feet, afraid of what he was going to say next, not wanting this intimacy with him to become foreign and far off again. He gently lifted your chin so your eyes could meet his. 

“You never did anything wrong and this is not a game. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He reassured you gently. 

“I appreciate you reassuring me, but it’s going to take a lot more than words for me to trust you again and I think you know that.” 

You replied, giving him the kindest smile you could muster up. It wasn’t your intention to be rude or mean to him, you just needed him to know where you stood. 

“I know. I’m sorry that I broke your trust, but I hope you know I’m going to spend every day trying to make things right between us.” 

“Okay, Cameron.”

You smiled nudging his shoulder. You made your way back to the parking lot with Rafe, not long after the conversation fizzled out. 

“Well, I think I’m gonna head home. This was fun.” 

You said with a sweet smile. 

“Let me drive you, I know you walked, you always walk here.”  

Rafe spoke, excitement in his voice. 

“Okay.” 

You agreed to his idea, smiling kindly his way, following him to the truck you had made your home ever since he had gotten his license. He was the first of the two of you to be able to drive and you had taken full advantage of that, waiting for him after football practices and in the early morning so he could cart you everywhere you needed to go. That was the first thing you missed when he had left you - the intimate car rides, where you experienced a version of Rafe that no one else got to. He opened the door for you, ushering you into the passenger seat and closing it once he made sure you were inside and comfortable. Making his way around to the driver’s side, he took his keys out of his pocket and climbed in, starting the truck. The engine roared, sending vibrations through your spine. It felt euphoric to be here, alone with him. Which was something you had dreamed about for so long. He pulled out of the beach parking lot, hands steady on the wheel, and began the trek to his neighborhood. Tannyhill had become your second home over the years, whether it was play dates with Rafe when you were six or trying on clothes with Sarah when you were fifteen, the Camerons were your family and you were thankful that your favorite one was seated next to you, a backward baseball cap sitting on his head and strong arms fixed on the wheel. You’d never get over the view. 

“Y/N?”

He spoke your name with a question in mind. 

“Yeah?”

You smiled in his direction. 

“Would you wanna come to dinner tomorrow at Tannyhill?”

He asked gently. 

“Sure, you know I never pass up Rose’s cooking! What’s the occasion?” 

You questioned with a giggle, it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Just having you back, I guess.” 

He smiled sheepishly. 

“That’s sweet, Rafe.” 

You spoke softly, the blush coating your freckled cheeks. 

“Your parents are going to be there, so I figured you could just join them and we can have a big family dinner.” 

“Why are my parents going to be there?”

You questioned, confused at his comment. 

“Uh, Ward said he and your dad are working on some big business project or something.” 

He replied, not really knowing the answer to what you were asking. He had no idea what the two men were up to. 

“Ah, okay. Sure, Rafe, I’d love to come. How fancy do I have to dress, 1-10 on the fancy scale?” 

The laugh that escaped his lungs was boisterous. You and Rafe had created the fancy scale after you got bitched out by your dad’s for not dressing appropriately for Midsummer’s in the eighth grade and ever since you always warned each other of the fancy level parties or dinners would be. 

“A solid 5.” 

He retorted a laugh ever-present on his lips. He forgot how much you made him laugh and how good it felt. He was brought out of his thoughts as he pulled into the driveway, spotting your car sitting right next to your dad’s. 

“This has been fun! I missed you.” 

You spoke softly and a smile danced across Rafe’s features. 

“I missed you too, Y/N.” 

Your eyes studied his face, looking for any inkling of deception. There were none, at least not that you could see. His eyes met yours, locking in on your face and not looking away. You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do. Having his full attention was not something you were used to anymore. 

“Thank you, Rafe. I seriously had a really good time tonight. We will do a movie night soon.” 

“Of course, you’re still my favorite girl.” 

He smiled kindly, ushering you over to your front door, lingering for moments longer than he should have, but not wanting to let you out of your sight. 

- 

Your phone rang early the next morning and as you groaned loudly, willing whoever was making your phone ring at 7 am to die, you read the contact. It was Topper. Your sluggish fingers slowly but surely slid across the screen to see what in God’s name your best friend wanted this early. 

“H-hello?”

You grumbled. 

“Wake your ass up!” 

Topper yelled into the phone. 

“T-top. I’m about three seconds from killing you. Why are you screaming into my phone so early?” 

You questioned with annoyance. 

“Get up and get dressed. We’re outside your house.” 

He said plainly. 

“Who’s we? And for what? It’s fucking 7 am?!” 

“Don’t be grumpy, princess. We just want to spend the day with your sexy little self.” 

Kelce interjected. 

“Kelce, please shut up. I’m not awake enough for your bullshit attempts at flirting with me.” 

You grumbled with a sneer behind that phone that he couldn’t see. 

“Damn, you’re a spitfire today!” 

Topper exclaimed, laughing. 

“I was up late, okay? Jesus Christ.” 

You couldn’t believe he was being so mean to you this early in the day. 

“Okay, well get up, get dressed and pack insulin and some snacks. We’re going to be gone all day.” 

He replied. 

“Top, I can’t. I have this dinner with Rafe tonight, I can’t be gone all day.” 

You were nervous to be saying anything to Topper about it at all, he knew your history with Rafe better than anyone. But, you knew you had to tell him the truth. 

“Listen, idiot, Rafe is with us. So, come on. We’ll have you both back at Tannyhill in time for your dinner, so either pack a dress or wear one. You’re not missing this.” 

You rolled your eyes, but your heart leapt at hearing you were going to spend the day with Rafe by your side whether it was in a group setting or not. 

“Fine, I’m coming, Topper! Jesus.” 

You said, feigning annoyance. 

“Told you she’s not a morning person.”

Rafe interjected, giggling. 

You grinned to yourself, realizing you were going to get to spend an entire day and night with Rafe. Scurrying out of bed, you searched through your closet in a hurry and settled on wearing a baby blue sundress with white polka dots that Rafe got you for your birthday the summer before you started high school. He always said that baby blue was your color. You slid it on quickly, pairing it with white platform sneakers and some dainty gold jewelry. You fluffed your hair and quickly packed your insulin after changing your insulin pump site and choosing a new area of your stomach to plunge the needle into. You ran through the kitchen, grabbing a few snacks and some juice to throw in your bag. Before walking out the door to Topper’s jeep, you stopped, took a breath, and smoothed your dress and hair before stepping out of the house and opening the back passenger door, hopping in, to be met with a very tired Rafe Cameron. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks! Are you done being an asshole? I need my morning kiss.” 

Kelce gave you a sly smirk and Rafe chuckled to himself, knowing pushing your buttons this early was not a good idea. 

“Kelceo, Fuck off!” 

You exclaimed with a growl, letting him know you weren’t in the mood. 

“Fine, I’ll chill. Can you blame me? Look at that dress.” 

He continued his train of putting his foot in his mouth. 

“Kelce, cool it, man.” 

Rafe spoke, his tone laced with warning. His protective nature made you smile. 

“So, what’s so important that you drug me out of bed at 7 am on a Saturday?” 

You questioned Topper. 

“My mom set us up on a tour of UNC like months ago and I forgot to tell you until this morning.” 

He replied nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t absolutely unhinged to let you know the morning of – in a way that only Topper knows how. 

“Topper, I’m going to kill you.” 

You muttered. You truly couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday, your three favorite boys, and a four-hour-long road trip. Truthfully, what could go wrong? 

You were brought out of your thoughts by Rafe’s hand touching your elbow. 

“Y/N?”

He was saying your name in question again. 

“Sorry, I was zoned out. What’s up?” 

You asked. 

“Have you eaten yet?” 

He asked in a gentle, hushed tone not wanting to draw everyone's attention to the two of you. 

“No.” 

You replied just as quietly. 

“Go ahead and eat, okay? I read that being up on your feet all day can be hard on your body.” 

You were shell shocked for just a second – he cared enough to read about what your life is like?

“You’ve been reading about diabetes?”

You questioned. 

“Of course I have, you’re my favorite girl.” 

He said it again. 

“Thanks, Rafe. That’s so sweet.” 

He smiled in response and watched as you took the banana out of your bag and began to eat it. When you finished, Topper was pulling into a gas station and asked you to come in with him to pick out some snacks while Rafe and Kelce pumped gas. As you made your way inside, rummaging through the aisles of various snacks, Topper began the inevitable best friend questioning that you knew was bound to happen eventually. 

“So, you and Cameron, huh?”

He teased, knowing your history of being in love with him since you were six. 

“I don’t think he feels that way. I’m just happy to have him back.” 

You gave Topper a kind smile. 

“So, what happened? I mean was there a conversation? Did he at least apologize?” 

“Yeah, Top. He did.” 

You said, matter-of-factly. 

“Y/N, if you don’t tell me everything right now, I’m going to fucking combust.” 

He said with urgency as he giggled. 

“Okay, okay. Jesus! So, we met up at our spot the day after the party and he told me the truth. I have a feeling that it’s not all of it, but he seemed genuine and i’m assuming it’ll all come out in layers over time.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

He questioned with curiosity. 

“Because it seemed like there was more to the story, more to tell. I got a very shrunken down version.” 

You replied.

“Well, if you need me to beat his ass I will. You just let me know.” 

He spoke with a devilish smirk that you knew meant he was both serious and joking. 

“Thanks, Top.” 

You laughed. 

“Of course, you know I always have your back.” 

He replied, snaking an arm around your shoulders. 

“Anyways, so we talked about the drugs and why he felt like he couldn’t talk to me, and then he told me he was sorry and he wanted to be friends again. He drove me home and asked me to come to dinner tonight at Tannyhill. I said, yes, so here we are. Oh, and I told him about me being sick at the party-”

“You did what?!” 

You were cut off with an incredulous question and raised eyebrows from Topper. 

“Yeah, I told him a little about getting sick when we ended things and he didn’t even run like I thought he would.” 

You said with a soft, sweet smile. Topper couldn’t remember the last time he had seen you smile like that. 

“I told you he wouldn’t. He loves you.” 

He replied easily, the truth of the words flew out of his mouth so effortlessly. 

“Yeah, we’ll see. I’m not 100% on board yet. I don’t want to get my hopes up and then he runs away again.” 

Topper shrugged, he couldn’t disagree with your reservations after the last couple years you’d had. You’d been through so much. All he wanted was to see you happy and he knew if the timing was right Rafe would treat you so well. He’d truly changed. 

“That’s understandable and valid. Just don’t write him off yet. He might surprise you.” 

He said with an easy smile. 

“Thanks, Top.” 

The two of you shared a hug after exiting the convenience store, with snacks in hand. As you made your way back to the jeep, Rafe admired your form, watching the wind raking through the skirt of your dress. 

“Welcome back, pretty girl. Are you ready for our morning kiss, yet?” 

Kelce asked again, sweetly this time. He was starting to get on your nerves. 

“Kelceo, cool it.” 

Topper stated, climbing into the driver's seat. Kelce was annoying everyone today, kidding or not. 

You climbed into the backseat again, plopping down next to Rafe. His sparkling blue eyes took in your smiling form as you tore into a bag of popcorn. 

“How are you feeling, sweet girl?” 

Rafe questioned, studying your form with his piercing blue eyes. Sweet girl. You hadn’t heard that in a long time and it felt warm against your ears.

“I’m feeling pretty good right now. But, my sugar is low.” 

You smiled in his direction. 

“How do you know it’s low?” 

He asked with genuine curiosity. 

“I have this app on my phone, see.” 

You turned your phone screen around, which displayed your glucose monitor’s readings. Your blood sugar was low, reading 76 mg/dL. Which was not low enough to warrant panic, but also not high enough to be considered normal.  

“So, if 76 is low, what’s considered normal?” 

Rafe probed in a genuinely curious fashion.

“Generally, the goal is to keep the daytime blood sugar levels before meals between 80 and 130 mg. But, after-meal numbers are a little bit higher but shouldn’t be more than 180 mg.” 

You explained simply. 

“Oh, okay. That makes sense. Will you tell me if you start to feel bad?” 

He questioned. It made you smile that you seemed to be falling back into your rhythm so easily. 

“I won’t have to. You’ll know. But, I promise I will.” 

You gave him a reassuring smile and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. The touch, though short-lived, was electric and you wondered if he felt it too. The music topper was playing lulled you to sleep all of thirty minutes into the road trip and you were beginning to stir as soon as he pulled into the UNC visitor’s parking lot.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” 

Rafe ran his fingers through your hair, scratching it in a circular motion. Your favorite way to wake up. When you opened your eyes, you jolted up, embarrassed, realizing your head was on Rafe’s shoulder and drool was pooling at the corner of your mouth, dripping onto the gray t-shirt he was wearing. You turned your head towards him with apologetic eyes as you took in his face, the sweet disposition oozing out of him, as his eyes smiled at you before his mouth did. 

“I’m sorry I drooled on you.”

You spoke sheepishly. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Not the first time, definitely won’t be the last.” 

He chuckled, giving you his classic Rafe Cameron smile before getting out of Topper’s jeep and making his way to the passenger side to open yours for you. As you began to climb out of the car, he picked up your bag, carrying it for you. 

“Thanks, Rafe. You don’t have to carry it, though.”

You said, beaming up at him. 

“You look so pretty today, I think I’d do anything you asked of me.” 

He blurted out without thinking and your eyes went wide as your cheeks filled with a blush. 

“You are so sweet, Rafe. Thank you.” 

He nodded and smiled your way, yet again. 

“I’ll carry it. It will make me feel better if you have a glucose emergency if I know where it is.” 

He stated, matter-of-factly, as he placed the brown leather backpack on his shoulder. His words created a flutter in your stomach. 

“Okay, losers! Come on, we gotta check-in at the visitor’s center.” 

Topper remarked. You and Rafe began following him and Kelce to the front of the building. Topper quickly went inside and left the three of you waiting on the steps as he went to collect your program information, campus maps, and name tags. When he came back out of the door, he handed each of you your designated packets of information and began explaining what the game plan was. 

“Okay, so in each of these packets is information specific to your major. Y/N and Rafe, you’re in a group and then me and Kelce are in a group because our majors and buildings are on the same sides of campus. Go through the packet, it’s got a scavenger hunt and then instructions for meeting the bigger tour group after lunch. We will see you guys then.” 

He finished what he was saying and Rafe was already moving, ready to get away from Topper and Kelce and celebrate his alone time with you. 

“Okay, sounds good.” 

Rafe spoke, taking the packet of information from Topper’s hands, and turning to you with a smile. 

“You ready?” 

He questioned with a smile. 

“As I'll ever be, lead the way, Cameron.” 

You gestured to the sidewalk in front of you, beaming up at his tall form, opting to go the opposite direction of Kelce and Topper. 

Topper and Kelce quickly scurried off, putting you and Rafe alone again, finally. You love the other two stooges with every fiber of your being, but you’d always loved Rafe more. If soulmates were a thing, he was yours in a platonic way of course, because there’s no way he felt about you the way you felt about him. You were okay with that. Rafe in any way, shape, or form was enough for you, as long as you had him in some way, you’d be okay. As Rafe began talking to you, you were brought out of your daydream. 

“So, what do you want to hit first, the football field?” 

He asked sarcasm present in his tone, though playful and innocent. 

“Sure, if you’re gonna be playing here, we should check it out first.” 

You gave him a small smile. 

“Are you thinking about coming here in all seriousness?” 

“Yeah, I was offered a full scholarship for cheer and academics pending my final grades next year.” 

“What?! That’s amazing, Y/N!” 

“Thanks, Rafe. I wish my brother thought so.” 

“What do you mean? Hasn’t he wanted you to go to UNC like forever?” 

He asked, confusion ever-present in his voice. 

“I mean, yeah. He’s just been different ever since I got sick.” 

“What do you mean?”

He questioned. 

“It’s like most of the time, I’m a bug he’s trying to swat away.” 

You replied with nonchalance, though Rafe could register the pain in your voice. 

“Maybe he just worries about you?” 

He asked, suggestively. 

“Maybe. I don’t know. You’ll see tonight what I mean.” 

You muttered. 

“Well if it makes you feel any better, we’ll be here together. At UNC, I mean.” 

He said with a sweet smile. 

“Really?!” 

The joy that riddled your face made Rafe smile. 

“Yeah, I’ve got some scouts coming to see me play in the fall and I’m excited. UNC is my dream school, though. So even if I have to be a walk-on or not play at all, I’ll still be coming here. They’ve already given me a scholarship.” 

“As they should, Mr. Valedictorian.” 

You smiled brightly at him. 

“Hey, how do you know I’m valedictorian?!” 

He chuckled but was surprised. He had never talked to anyone about his class standing. 

“Well, I did some digging after realizing I was second in our class, and to my surprise, my favorite Cameron was the one that beat me out.” 

You gave him a sly smile. 

“Since when am I your favorite Cameron?” 

He asked jokingly, though the notion made his heart soar. 

“Since always.” 

“Oh, come on! You and Sarah have been thick as thieves for the last two years.” 

“Maybe. Sarah’s always been a good friend to me. Topper and Kelce too. But, you’ve always been number one in my heart, I hope you know that.” 

The kindness exuded from your eyes. You meant every word. 

“You’re something else, you know that.” 

He chuckled, but you suddenly felt like you had said the wrong thing, swallowing thickly. He observed your form, realizing where your mind had gone. 

“No, no, I mean that in a good way. There’s just no one like you. You’ve always been just so perfect. It’s hard to measure up.” 

“It’s a facade, trust me.” 

You spoke, rolling your eyes at the notion that anything that had anything to do with you was in the same category as perfect. You were brought out of your thoughts as the two of you made your way to the entrance of the football field, following other students into the gates. Rafe looked on in awe at what would be his stomping grounds in just a few short years, his eyes sparkled as he daydreamed about the baby blue uniform he’d get to wear with his name and number sewn into the back. He’d get to matter here. He’d get to be somebody other than Ward Cameron’s son. He’d hope to make you his girl, here. But, quickly pushed that thought down as you began speaking to him. 

“What? Are you imagining all of your fans screaming your name? All the girls throwing themselves at you?”

You chuckled. 

“Nope. Just one.” 

“Shutup! Who is it, Cameron? You have to tell me!” 

“You’ll know soon enough, you know how bad I am with secrets.” 

You giggled and its music to his ears. 

“Boy do I! Remember that time in second grade when we brought that puppy to my house from the street and we were only able to hide it from my mom for three hours before you blabbered?!” 

“Not my best secret-keeping moment.”

He chuckled, remembering that day with you. Your soft curls that too often fell on your face and the look of pure fear in your eyes when your mom found out about the puppy. 

“That was a good day.” 

You spoke softly. 

“Yeah, it was.” 

The two of you stood side by side, Rafe’s shoulders towering over you, as you both looked onto the field that would be your home for four years. Excitement stirred in your gut at the chance to get out of the Outer Banks, out of Kildare fucking county with your best friends in the entire world and you simply, couldn’t wait. You hoped the next two years would fly by so you could get out of your hometown, finally fall in love, and forget that Kooks and Pogues even existed. 

“Okay, Cameron. Let’s go check out the buildings where our classes will be.” 

“Sounds good, pretty girl.” 

He smiled at you and placed his hand on the small of your back as he led you out of the stadium and back to the quad. Once you made it away from the large crowd inhabiting the stadium, you probed Rafe with another question. 

“So, what are you majoring in, big guy?” 

“I haven’t fully decided. Dad wants me to be a business and marketing major, but I am really into the idea of English lit. What about you?” 

“I’m English Literature with a concentration in creative writing and a minor in entrepreneurship.” 

“Nice! What do you want to do with that?” 

He probed, curious about your career path. 

“I’m not sure, yet. Maybe teach English or become a writer. All I know is that writing and reading makes me feel alive and I’d like to chase that high as long as I can.” 

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”

You instantly recognized the words he was stringing together into a sentence. 

“Rafe Cameron, are you quoting Dead Poets Society to me?” 

You smiled so widely at him. This version of Rafe was different. It was one you had seen glimpses of over the years, but this one, he was your person. You were sure of it. 

“Don’t all the guys you talk to do that?” 

“What? Do you mean the ever-so-educated JJ Maybank who cares about feelings and reading? Yeah, no. I can’t say that they do.” 

You scoffed into a laugh at Rafe’s joke slash question. 

“Okay, that’s fair.” 

He said, letting out a boisterous belly laugh. 

“Let’s go look at the Business Administration building first.” 

You suggested and Rafe agreed with your idea. Since you both would have classes in both buildings, it truly didn’t matter which you explored first. As you made your way to the building across the quad, your phone started dinging. Your stupid blood sugar, ruining things again. 

“What’s that noise?” 

Rafe questioned. 

“It’s my glucose monitor on my phone. It’s low again.” 

You looked on at him, defeated. He gently lifted your bag off of his shoulders and took your phone out and looked down at the readings. 76 mg, way too low for his comfort and probably for yours too. 

“It’s 76 mg, Y/N. What do I need to do?” 

“Look for anything in my bag with carbs and I'll check again in 15 minutes.” 

You reply without the urgency that Rafe is feeling. 

“Okay, let’s sit down for the time being. You don’t look like you feel great.” 

He motioned to the bench, just off the sidewalk, close to the arboretum. He knew you wanted to see it before you left campus today, so this was the perfect spot. 

“I’m okay, just sluggish. I thought I was just tired from last night.” 

You let Rafe lead you to sit, his hand on the small of your back. You took his hand as he motioned you down onto the bench and he felt you shaking. Rafe looked through the bag, examining its contents, quickly. 

“Okay, there’s bread and a banana. Which is better?” 

“Give me the bread. It’s this banana nut bread I make every week.” 

“You amaze me you know that?” 

He gave you a soft smile and unwrapped the bread from the Ziploc bag it sat in, handing it to you. 

“Thank you, Rafe, really, it means the world to have you here and to have your help.” 

“Anything for you, I mean that. Are you thirsty?” 

“Yeah, there’s water in there, too.” 

He nodded, reaching back into the bag to retrieve the water bottle and handing it to you. 

“After we get your levels back up, let’s go into the arboretum, and then we will grab some lunch.” 

“Sure, thanks, Rafe. I love the Arboretum here, it’s so beautiful!” 

“Yeah, I know. You’ve only been talking about visiting it since we were ten.” 

“You remember that?” 

“I remember everything you tell me.” 

You blushed at his confession. You sat there, just chatting back and forth for the fifteen minutes it took for the food to settle before you checked your blood sugar again. Rafe pulled your phone back out of your bag and looked at the screen. 100 mg. We’re back in business baby!

“88 mg, back to normal, pretty girl.” 

He spoke, blush coating your cheeks and you watched the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. 

“Thanks, Rafe. You’ve been so good about all of this. It scares most people.” 

You thank him sheepishly. 

“I’m not most people, you know that.” 

He stood up from the bench, placing your backpack on his shoulders once more, and gently took your hand in his, lifting you to your feet. He led you to the sidewalk and you began your trek to the arboretum, his hand on the small of your back once again. You tried not to read too much into his hands constantly being close to you, you and Rafe had always had an intimate relationship that was very hands-on. As you made your way toward the greenhouse, you felt a raindrop hit your nose and before your brain could process what your orbs had just taken in, the bottom of the sky fell out and rain poured from the sky. The same way your eyes leaked when you and Rafe had stopped speaking. As the rain-drenched your clothes, you and Rafe shared a mischievous look, before he grabbed your hand and you both took off running toward your destination. It seemed like you had been running forever when you made it inside the doors of the greenhouse. Once you finally shook the water off of your bodies, reminiscent of a wet dog shaking his fur violently, you had a minute to take Rafe in. The light from the lightning lit up his drenched features. He took his baseball cap off, shaking it out and ringing out the water from his shirt. As he turned to look at you, you moved into him, eyes locking with his, his tall muscular form standing over you. You’re not sure what’s come over you, maybe it’s the care he’s shown you or how different he is now. But, you couldn’t take too much time to process what you were feeling or what you were thinking. The next few moments felt like a scene from a movie, as you placed your hands on his cheeks and kissed his lips, deeply, a moan escaping your lips. He was quick to pull away, bewilderment in his eyes. 

“I-I’m sorry, Rafe. I read the signals wrong.” 

“I’m not sorry because you didn’t misread anything.” 

And just like that, Rafe Cameron was kissing you, gently, deeply, madly, clothes drenched in rainwater and with ecstasy-filled eyes. Rafe Goddamn Cameron was kissing you and you fucking loved it. 

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Mother I'm on my knees and begging for a SPICY fallen angel villain × cursed by the devil hero. May thy pen shine and glamor 🙏🏻

The villain let out a relieved moan.

As they could feel it inside them, hard and hateful, they allowed themselves to close their eyes and enjoy the moment. They took in slow breaths, concentrating, preparing.

Eventually, they looked at the hero and a smile tugged at the corners of their mouth.

“Are you flirting with me?” they asked. One of their hands followed the hero’s collarbone.

“You tell me.” The hero pushed further and caught by surprise, the villain laughed breathlessly. They took the hero’s hand.

Back when they’d been an angel, they’d never felt anything like this. It was a new and exciting feeling. Something only a human body could experience like this.

“I swear,” they whispered. “One day, you’ll find yourself on your knees for me.”

“Is that so?” Another push. Another desperate gasp for air. The hero’s fingers dug into their biceps and the villain’s heart raged in its cage. It was cruel, very cruel.

They looked down at the knife in their chest, at the dark blood that ran down their body. By now, the hero’s hand was covered in it. A “mortal” had complete control over them and they weren’t even hiding it.

“You foul creature,” the villain said. The problem was that it hurt. It was an indescribable pain. The villain had been through all kinds of things like this throughout the centuries. Hell, they’d been tortured for the majority of them.

But this knife in their chest and this person in front of them were for some reason much more effective.

The hero was — in their own way — admirable. For a human, they were very brave. Their voice was sweeter than forbidden fruit.

Something about them excited the villain. They awoke something inside them. Something very ancient.

“I didn’t know your blood is red. So human,” the hero said. They dug their fingers close to the wound into the villain’s skin and there was nothing else for the villain to do but to grunt pathetically.

“You are full of surprises.” Their lips brushed the villain’s cheekbones until the hero let go of the blade and stared at its place there in the villain’s chest. “My immortality doesn’t look this pretty.”

“You can’t kill me like this,” the villain whispered. “You’re not the only one who’s cursed. Not the only one who’s been punished.”

They pulled out the blade and let it fall to the ground, eyes wide. It was a horrible feeling, something they hopefully could forget some day. But the hero didn’t seem surprised.

The blood dropped to the ground and formed a little lake.

Clearly, the wound wasn’t closing right away. The villain knew it would take over an hour for them to see the scar. Usually, the bones would take much longer. Blood wasn’t a problem. They had bled for hours, years, centuries before.

“I would have killed you a long time ago,” the villain said. They put their head on the hero’s shoulder, almost embracing them in a strange hug. “I didn’t know your patience back then. I didn’t know your dedication.”

The hero pulled them closer and the blood dropped down the hero’s stomach as well.

“Do you like it? Do you like the way I am?”

“I do,” the villain said. “You are delightful, even though you try to kill me all the time.”

I want to kiss you. What does it feel like? What does it feel like to kiss someone?

“You know I cannot stop.”

“I don’t want you to. I hated you for that as well. I didn’t see you. But now I do,” the villain said. They could barely breathe. Their damaged lungs were filling up with blood but their self-healing body sew them back together. They were on the edge of drowning the entire time. “And I will keep haunting you.”

It was quite clear to the villain now. For the first time in their life, they had a real desire.

“Then I will keep killing you to lift the curse,” the hero whispered. “I look forward to the next centuries.”

[destinyisastar]

Static Death

Summary: In Static Heart you died in your sleep but how? How did you die if it wasn't from sickness? What lead to your death?

This could be read as a prequel from Static Heart, this won't be a series, but I'll go back to it every now and then. (Read Static Remains for part 3.)

Alastor x Wife Reader

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Alastor died three days ago. He was shot in the head with his body ripped apart by the hunter’s dogs. He was supposedly found next to a corpse of a local man. There was a shovel and an open grave nearby.

You had no idea what was going on when you awoke from the sounds of knocking. Two police men were at the door.

“Are you the Wife of Alastor Hartfelt?” The taller of two said.

“Yes, did something happen? Is my Husband okay?” you asked worriedly.

 The two men looked at each other, “Its better if you come with us Mrs. Hartfelt.”

Once you arrived at the police station you were immediately questioned.

“Where were you two hours ago?”

“At home getting ready for bed.”

“Where was your husband?”

“He told me he would be working late at the radio station.”

“Are you sure about his whereabouts?”

“Yes, I’m sure, what are you implying?”

“I’m saying can you confidently tell me you knew where he was?”

“Yes, I’m positive! Where’s my husband?”

“Your husband was found dead alongside another man!”

Your eyes widen, your breath is knocked out of you.

“What…..?”

“We have reason to believe that your husband was the Bayou Butcher, we have people over there right now searching for more bodies, along with your property!”

“NO! No there’s no way that he…he’s that serial killer, my husband is a sweet gentleman. He would never do such a thing!”

“You say whatever you need to make yourself feel better! We know the truth and we’ll have the proof soon enough!”

The police searched the area where Alastor was found and located over 50 bodies.

While you were being questioned, the police searched your house. In the basement of your humble adobe, the home you shared with your loving husband, were blooded knives and a long sleeve tainted with dried blood.

The police kept you at the station till they finally figured out that you had no idea of your husband’s evil deeds.

Now its three days after his death.

You wanted a funeral for him but of the two funeral homes in your area neither of them wanted to host a ceremony for a serial killer.

Serial killer.

Your husband is, no… was a serial killer.

You begged and begged, shoved money in their faces until one of them looked at you with pity.

It was just you and the priest. No one else showed up. He was buried near a tree across the bayou from your home. Away from anyone that could damage the grave

After the priest left, you stayed near the grave. Kneeling down resting your head on the cold stone, placing a final kiss you stood up walking away from your dear husband, your dead and buried husband.

Making it home you went straight to your bedroom, collapsing on his side of the bed. You immediately began sobbing.

“How could you do this?!”

“Why did you do this?!”

“Alastor!!”

You eventually cry yourself to sleep.

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In another part of town, a woman was cleaning her shotgun.

“Disgusting, horrible man. He deserves more than death, hell… I hope he’s in hell forever.”

The woman grabs a photo on her nightstand.

“Don’t worry my love,” she caresses the man’s face in the photo, “I won’t let that filthy broad walk on this earth.”

She presses a kiss on the photo. “Neither of them deserves to live!” she places the photo back on the nightstand. “That filthy woman knew what that killer was doing!”

“I’ll make her pay.”

“I’ll make sure they’re both in hell”

The woman stands up with her shotgun in hand and looks into the mirror.

“I’ll kill that bitch.”

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The woman stands at the door of the Hartfelt household. She reaches for the knob and finds that it opens easily.

She maneuvers through the halls quietly and finds a door ajar.

Pushing the door lightly, the woman steps into the bedroom. On the bed lays a disheveled broad clutching on to a pillow, her face dried with tears.

“I hate you.”

The woman loads her gun.

“You are filled with the same evil as that husband of yours.”

The woman raises her gun, pointing it at the figure on the bed.

“Burn in hell!”

A blast is shot through your head, blood splatters across the room.

Your life among the living is no more.

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Hope you all enjoyed!

destinyisastar 2024

Word Count: 737

(no one asked for this, but I just wanted to make it :D)

[heartofmortis]

✶ Lionheart

Prologue

Robb Stark x (Baratheon/Lannister!) Reader

warnings: none!

note: so this is also an oc fic on wp, but i wanted to try out something new! in rewriting to second person, some edits have been made. there will be no y/n, and there are other ocs in this fic (since that’s what i usually write) and reader does have some physical descriptions. // there is minor canon divergence regarding hotd/f&b here, which links to my other asoiaf fics and there are a couple of ocs mentioned in the chapter (hopefully that won’t be annoying lol).

word count: 2k

tag list: @houseofamidala @madeofstaardust @tojisrealwifey @justmymindandstuff (lmk if you want to be added of removed!)

You were four when blood first touched your innocent skin. Your skin was no longer pure, neither was your heart. All children learn the fragility of life in time, you learned of it through the sacrifice of a tiny bird.

The creatures always circled King’s Landing as vultures searched for the dead. “The little birds are always looking for trouble,” came Cersei Lannister’s warning in the castle gardens with you nestled close in your mother’s arms. “Watch your step or they’ll be waiting in your shadows all your life.”

When you were set down, your feet steady on the ground, you raced on ahead. Your long skirts clung to your little legs, blonde curls bounding behind you. The air was thick with sweet pollen and fruit, signs of a happy summer. Moss grew between the bricks on the cobbled ground, pushing the stone in uneven directions — you skipped over them easily, pausing to gaze at the bumblebees nestling inside tight flowerheads and the ladybirds crawling across bright green leaves. You wished it could be only you and your mother in the gardens forever. You slipped out of your mother’s line of sight to steal berries and press as many as possible into your mouth, licking sweet juice from your fingers to keep your dainty snack a secret.

Then you came to a sudden halt, almost tripping forwards in your haste, when you found your path blocked by a tiny bird — a bundle of brown feathers dappled with grey and white and red. Its body was horribly twisted, but it was still moving. You took the bird in your hands, scarlet smeared across your fingers. You did not want the poor creature to be damaged further. The bird squeaked desperately and tried to flap its broken wings.

You brought the bird against your chest, cupped with both of your delicate hands, and ran back across the path you had come down. You took the bird to your mother, who was quick to scold you for touching a dying animal. “But can’t the maesters help?” Your eyes were wide and glassy, mouth warped into a mournful frown. (Your mother always had the right answers — she was the smartest person in King’s Landing.)

Cersei laughed. It was not a cold sound, more of a marvel at her daughter’s naivety. “The Maesters can only help us, sweet girl. They cannot help a little bird.” They always look for trouble.

You huffed, deeming your mother’s response to be an unacceptable response. “Why?”

The Queen motioned for one of their guards to come over and take the bird’s frail body from your hands, which became a struggle with your reluctance. “We’re all built very differently. A dove is not a wolf, and a stag is not a lion.”

“But it will die!”

“All things do, eventually.” Cersei ushered forth two handmaidens that walked behind the two of you. “Now you have blood all over you — go and get cleaned up. There is no use in helping the dying while the living are still here.”

You walked with heavy steps back to the Red Keep, muttering about the unfairness of the bird’s fate — it was a baby, why could it not be saved? If all things die, why is life not more precious? Any day could be the last.

“Where are you scurrying away to, little doe?” Your father’s voice was a formidable boom when he caught you in the corridors, flanked by handmaidens, wandering towards your rooms.

You showed your father the specs of blood across your dress. “Mother says I have to clean up.”

Robert Baratheon laughed. He shooed away your company and picked his daughter up with one strong arm. “A little blood never hurts anyone. You’re a Baratheon, my stormbird. You’ll get used to blood in no time”

The King took you to the throne room. You liked it here: the tall ceiling, the ivy-strewn pillars, the warm glow of sunlight, and the Iron Throne. Robert took his seat and rested you on his knee. You stared around the room, you had never seen it from this angle before. Between the tower of swords from the first Dragon King, still sharp enough to tear you in half, it felt powerful to sit here. You could imagine hundreds of people knelt before them and understood why men spent their lives chasing power. (You felt like a true Princess.)

“This would have been your’s one day if your mother had not had that damn brother of yours.”

Your father’s voice was rough with bitterness. His words pulled you out of her daydream. Only a year younger than you, your brother, Joffrey, was a terror. Your mother doted on her children equally, but you knew your father had his favourite. You were secretly happy with it — the less time you spent with Joffrey pulling heads off flowers and doing worse, vicious things, the better.

“One day,” your King father continued, “you will marry a great lord, a good lord. But you should always have a place here, my daughter.”

/✿✿✿/

Robb Stark was eight when he learned what real summer felt like. In the aftermath of a rebellion in the Iron Islands led by his father and the King, Robb and his twin sister, Alys, travelled to King’s Landing with their father to attend Robert Baratheon’s Name Day celebration. Spring had passed and the snows around Winterfell were low. Robb spent half the journey complaining about how he wanted to ride his horse next to his father while their septa told him to pay attention to their lessons. Watching the country change shape along the Kingsroad did keep Robb moderately interested — glimpsing the lands outside of the North was rather novel. Alys shared Robb’s adventurous instinct and they ran amok, hiding between trees and tents of their father’s company every time they stopped for a meal. But there were only so many games two eight year olds could play.

For all Ned Stark had told his children about King’s Landing and the Red Keep, Robb found it all rather underwhelming. There was no grand welcome for the Starks when they arrived. The city streets were too busy and the air was too hot.

Robb and Alys were brought before the Iron Throne — the hideous, towering King’s Seat made with a thousand melted swords — to be presented to King Robert Baratheon, their father’s oldest friend. Robb was aware he had been named after the King (just as his half-brother Jon had been named after Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King). Perhaps Robb’s father saw greatness in his son’s future, a boy worth naming after a king. Robert Baratheon was not the formidable giant Robb had expected to meet. Robb could imagine the warrior king that had won the throne and broke the Greyjoy Rebellion and hoped he would never fight in a war.

The Starks were escorted to their guest rooms for the duration of their stay. Alys and Robb’s rooms lay next to each other. Before Robb could finish unpacking his chest, Alys snuck into her brother’s room. She laid back on his bed, Robb made a fuss when his sister got her boots on the sheets.

“I want to explore. Will you come with me?”

Robb did not hesitate before he nodded, a grin spread across his face. Unpacking was boring anyway.

The twins barrelled through red corridors, ducking under maids and Kingsguards. The castle was theirs for the taking.

The Red Keep was bigger than any of the Northern castles the twins had visited before, full of labyrinthine corridors. A maze without a centre for Robb — but Alys seemed to know where she wanted to be.

Robb and Alys were stopped in their tracks when Robb almost tumbled into a girl. She was their age, if younger by a few moons, dressed in pink and gold with dark blonde curls. A huge black cat with a grumpy expression was clasped in her arms. Alys recognised the girl first. Robb felt a winter chill blow through him, tethering him frozen in place. The girl was pretty like a colourful bloom in the snow. She looked at the twins, wide-eyed and curious. She held the kind of warmth the North only felt during fleeting spring days. Alys punched her twin brother in the stomach and Robb mimicked her bow.

You smiled, a pink glow on her freckle-dappled cheeks. “You must be the Stark twins. Father told me about you.”

“Can you take us to see the dragons?” Alys asked quickly, eagerly rocking on the balls of her feet. “I thought I knew the way but…”

You paused, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. The cat in your arms jumped free — he rounded the twins, giving judgemental looks, and brushed against Alys’s legs before darting away. “They’re all underground now,” you explained. “We aren’t supposed to visit them, but I know the way.”

It was evening by the time you and the Stark twins entered the cellar room beneath the castle. Golden hour light faded, leaving the underground room in growing shadows. Robb had not been as enthusiastic as Alys and Jon about House Targaryen in all their lessons, but his heart thundered in his chest, mouth agape when he saw the nineteen dragon skulls.

The smallest dragon skulls were even smaller than direwolves, tiny dog-sized creatures but their teeth were still dagger-sharp. As the three children ventured down the room, the dragons grew bigger. You explained that many of them were unknown. Robb wondered how magical it must have been to live centuries ago and see dragons patrolling the sky. The largest dragon skulls were those of Meraxes, ridden by Queen Rhaenys, Vhagar, ridden by Queen Visenya, and Balerion the Black Dread, ridden by Aegon the Conqueror. Most dragons have more than one rider, but later riders paled in comparison to the conquerors.

“This one is Vermax,” you told Robb, pointing to another dragon skull halfway down the room. “Ridden by King Jacaerys, First of his Name. He married a Stark. An Arya, I think.”

Robb turned to his sister to tell her that one of their ancestors had married a dragonrider, but Alys had stepped away. She was distracted by another dragon.

“That’s Syrax,” you said quietly to Robb. “She was ridden by Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Alys touched Syrax’s skull and smiled wistfully. “She was yellow.”

You tensed. “I don’t think we’re allowed to touch them. I’m not supposed to come down here after dark.”

Robb approached his sister, whose stormy eyes still gazed wistfully at the dragons, and touched her arm. “Let’s go to the kitchens. See if they have lemon cakes.”

Finally, Alys looked away and nodded. She cracked a smile. “But don’t tell Sansa — she would be upset if we had cake without her.”

Together, the children left the cellar room. Robb stared at the dragon skulls for as long as possible as you closed the door. To see a dragon fly over Winterfell… He sighed sadly and wished there was more magic left in the world.

You showed them to the kitchens. Alys skipped on ahead, wondering out loud about how wonderful it must be to live in the Red Keep and you were happy to fuel her daydreams. The three of you scurried up a spiral staircase, for once Robb did not challenge his sister to a race. Which was probably a good thing as Alys was ahead and she did not see him trip up the stairs. Robb threw his hands out, scraping his skin against the rough stone to catch himself. You looked at him and Robb turned red, embarrassed to make a fool of himself in front of the princess.

You helped him up. Blood from a small cut on Robb’s palm smeared onto your hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s only a little blood. Here–” You sat Robb down on the step and took the hem of your dress to dab away the blood.

Robb clenched his fist and moved away. “You’ll ruin your dress.”

You took his hand back, gently uncurling his fingers. “That doesn’t matter.”

You dabbed at the thin beads of blood, holding for a few seconds. You both waited as the blood stopped spilling. “I’ll ask one of the cooks to help you.” You stood and reached out to take Robb’s other hand. He took your hand gratefully and stood. “Don’t worry,” you added, “everything will be alright.”

[helloalycia]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

two / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when you break your arm in the plane crash, Jackie seems to be helping you out more than usual and you're left wondering why.

warning/s: mentions of a plane crash, amputation, broken bones.. the usual warnings that come with Yellowjackets lol.

author's note: this has been ready for a while now, as have a few other things whilst i work on some old requests. sorry for the delay with everything - i’ve been very busy, but i hope you like this two part jackie imagine :)

I could hear screaming and shouting, there was smoke everywhere and, despite my confusion, I knew I needed to get out of here before the smoke suffocated me.

Clipping off my seatbelt, I scrambled out of the aisle and briefly looked around, unable to make sense of anything, and then my head was spinning and I couldn't stay here any longer. Fresh air. I needed to breathe and then I could work out what was what.

Following the sound of screaming seemed counterproductive, but that was the way out, so I dragged my body – which felt like it had been thrown around in a blender – out the back of the plane and to... the middle of the forest?

The team. Some of them were running around, doing all sorts I couldn't seem to focus on, whilst others were bent over, catching their breath, appearing dazed and confused like me. I didn't get long to think about how I'd ended up here when, suddenly, someone shoved into me from behind and I fell forward, landing right on my outstretched arm.

A scream escaped my lips at the pain that struck, it breaking through the fog of confusion. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pricking them instinctively, and tried to breathe through the pain. Pushing myself up with my other hand, I grimaced at the slight movement of my left arm, which had to be broken considering I couldn't do anything with it.

It wasn't until after all the chaos, after everybody had stopped screaming and vomiting and crying, that the realisation that our plane had crashed hit us. And by then, I was too preoccupied with my broken arm. Imagine coming out of a plane crash unscathed, only to get pushed down and left with a broken arm. Very stupid, indeed.

Surprisingly, Misty was the only one who could work under pressure, barely fazed by everything happening and instead tending to everyone's injuries as quickly as she could. Upon realising I'd broken my arm, she immediately made me her best attempt at a splint using some sticks and an old ripped shirt, as well as helping me into a makeshift sling using the same ripped shirt. Given the circumstances, it was as good as a cast, but she didn't know the extent of the damage and I couldn't do anything more.

The first two days were a struggle, mainly because nobody knew what to do nor where to go. That was when the horrible acceptance of losing several members of our team, including one of our coaches, hit everyone hard. We all pitched in to bury them, though I wasn't able to do much with my arm, and held a funeral for them.

After the funeral ended, everybody stuck together in the vicinity of the crash. A few lingered away, probably trying to figure out where the hell we were, but I just wanted a sense of familiarity and stayed to open my suitcase which I'd luckily found. Unfortunately for me, the zipper required two hands, and only one of mine seemed to be available right now.

"Hey."

I sighed, looking up to see Jackie Taylor, the soccer team captain, standing there with her arms hugging herself. I hadn't spoken to her properly since before we set off, she'd mostly just stuck with Shauna, her best friend.

"Hey," I greeted, unsure what she wanted.

She nodded to my terrible sling. "How's your arm?"

"Very painful," I admitted, "but coach literally lost his leg, so I can't complain."

She frowned at my words, but it wasn't exactly an exaggeration. Misty had quite literally chopped Coach Scott's leg off when he got it trapped under the wing of the plane, and it wasn't an easy thing to deal with physically or mentally. A broken arm was nothing compared to an amputation.

"How are you?" I asked. She didn't look hurt, just tired and scared like the rest of us.

She shrugged helplessly, and I didn't need any elaboration. I nodded, acknowledging her, and then she said, "Do you need help with whatever you're doing?"

I looked down, remembering the dumb suitcase I couldn't open. "That would be great actually, yes. Can you hold it whilst I unzip it?"

She nodded and kneeled down, acting as my other hand whilst I unzipped my suitcase. It was a relief to finally open it, seeing everything was as I'd left it before we boarded the plane. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

"If you need help with anything else, just ask," Jackie said, making me look up to see her watching me.

Grateful, I offered her a small smile. "Thanks, Jackie."

She returned the smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She'd been the first to offer her help in the first place, since everyone was preoccupied by their own trauma, so I appreciated it. Truthfully, the last person I expected to offer help was Jackie, since she usually thought of herself first.

"You should get some medication off Misty," she added. "It'll help with the pain."

I swallowed hard, smile fading. "Right. Thanks."

She nodded and left, glancing at me once more as she did. I didn't really question it as I looked back at my suitcase, distracting myself from the pain.

Later that day, Misty found me instead, immediately pouring out the medication she'd collated from everyone's suitcases in front of me.

"Misty, what are you–?"

"I've got some pills for you," she said nonchalantly.

"Oh, my arm doesn't hurt that much," I lied. "Coach needs–"

"There's enough for Ben, silly," she said with a laugh, making me quirk a brow. "Besides, it's not for your pain, though it will help with that, it's for the inflammation. Without surgery, that's gonna take a while to heal and anything we have can help."

I sighed, nodding. "Alright. Thanks."

"I'll give you them every dose," she said, before holding out two pills. "Here you go."

I silently accepted them, knowing they'd help but feeling bad that I'd be taking them when Coach Scott needed them more.

—

Finding the lake and the cabin was a lifesaver, literally. We needed water and somewhere to sleep that wasn't so out in the open, and I was already struggling to sleep as it was so at least being inside made it a little easier.

Oddly enough, over the next few days since moving into the cabin, I'd noticed Jackie staring at me. If I ever caught her eye, she'd look the other way or flash me a smile before awkwardly doing something else. I wasn't sure what was up, and it only became more questionable when she'd help me out if I needed it.

There was one time when I was trying to pull my shoes on, but struggling to tie the laces with my one good arm.

"Here, I got it," she said, coming out of nowhere to lean down in front of me and take over.

I watched her with curiosity, letting her tie my laces. She must've caught me staring as she looked up, eyes bright as they met mine.

"What?" she asked, standing back up.

I shook my head. "Nothing... thanks."

She nodded, smiling a little before leaving me be. And that wasn't it. Other times I'd be trying to carry something and she'd take it from me without a word, or I'd be pulling on a shirt and she'd quite literally help me into it. It was odd, because she'd never paid me any mind before, and wasn't very helpful to others. The other girls aided me when they occasionally saw me struggling, but not as much as Jackie.

Another time, I was struggling to sleep in my makeshift bed on the floor of the cabin. Everybody had fallen asleep hours ago, but my movement was restricted because of my arm and the shuffling I was doing was only bothering me more.

"You move a lot," a voice said in the firelight, startling me.

I looked over the room, past my sleeping team members, and saw it was Jackie laying on her side next to Shauna but facing me.

"Sorry," I mumbled guiltily. "Did I wake you?"

She shrugged, not answering my question, before saying, "Try elevating your arm."

"What?"

"That's why you can't sleep, right?" she asked.

I blinked, surprised she'd even noticed. "Yeah."

She sat up slowly, stretching, before crossing the room to grab what looked like a jacket. My eyes followed her as she moved, then she rolled it up before kneeling down beside me and placing it underneath my bad arm. I winced as she did so carefully, glancing at me apologetically, but then I relaxed my arm on top of the jacket and breathed out slowly.

"Is that better?" she asked quietly. "Won't be touching the ground now."

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Jackie."

"No problem," she said, before returning to her bed. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I replied, very tired and very confused.

That was when I knew I needed to ask her why she was being so considerate, so out of character, at least to me anyway. The next morning, after I'd done the one thing I could do with my arm which was collecting water from the lake when we needed it, I was bringing it to Akilah who was boiling it over the fire. Unfortunately, I tripped over a stone on the way, almost dropping the bucket. Jackie came out of nowhere, taking it from my hand and leaving it with Akilah before returning to me.

"You okay?" she asked with a raised brow, hand wavering over my arm.

I tilted my head curiously. "I– yeah. I just..."

She smiled with confusion, shaking her head. "What is it?"

I stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Why do you keep helping me? Checking on me?"

She scoffed playfully, looking away before saying, "I'm still your captain. Gotta make sure the team's okay, right?"

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, but I didn't have anything else to believe, so I gave in with a nod. "Yeah..."

"Take it easy," she said, eyes flickering to my arm before she left me.

—

Since we'd been stranded here, I'd only rinsed off in the lake once. That was a week ago when we found it, but I knew I needed to bathe properly and, after taking my shower gel, shampoo and conditioner, I headed for the lake. Washing my body was a struggle because of my arm, which had swollen so much to the point that even accidentally grazing my body with it sent a shot of pain in me.

I managed to wash my body the best I could, getting my tee-shirt sling wet but unable to do much else, then struggled to wash my hair. It was stupid, the fact that I couldn't even open a bottle of shampoo with one hand and squeeze it out. So much that I got overwhelmed with how useless I'd been feeling lately and threw it behind me onto the shore. Sulking, I stayed sitting in the water, submerged up to my legs in my bra and underwear.

I missed home. I missed my mum and my dad and my sister. I missed playing soccer. I even missed school. But most importantly, I missed having two working arms and not constantly being in pain. The longer we stayed out here, the more we established a routine, the less likely it felt we would be rescued. It was all piling on top of me, my uselessness being the cherry on top.

Staring out into the horizon, I frowned. Ten more minutes must have passed with me giving up on washing my hair when I heard footsteps not far behind me. I didn't bother turning around, but then whoever it was called me.

"Hey!"

Sighing deeply, I glanced over my shoulder, so fed up with everything that even my usual surprise at Jackie's presence didn't affect me.

"You not coming out?" she asked, stood at the edge of the water, hands on her hips.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and ignored her, looking forward again. Maybe she'd get the hint and leave me alone. Of course, she didn't.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, hugging them.

"Nothing," I said, voice muffled.

I heard her sigh from behind me before her footsteps approached me, her feet splashing in the water.

"I'm bathing," I told her knowingly. "A little privacy would be nice."

She snorted with amusement before I heard her shuffling. Confused, I turned around and saw her pulling off her shorts before throwing them onto the rocky shore with her slippers, leaving her in her underwear and tee shirt.

"What are you doing?" I asked, puzzled.

She ignored me, instead grabbing the shampoo bottle I'd thrown back. Glancing at it and to me, she quirked a brow sarcastically. "This yours?"

I rolled my eyes and faced forward again, not bothering to acknowledge her presence as she seemed to be approaching me again. Only when she stood in front of me, blocking my view, and kneeled down to look at me was I forced to meet her gaze.

"D'you need help?" she asked softly, considerately.

Embarrassed, I looked down to my knees. Was it that obvious that I was struggling? Why was she the only one to check on me? The only one to notice? Why did she even care?

"Will you let me help you?" she asked when I didn't speak, and I finally looked up.

"Why?" I asked helplessly. "What's the point?"

She sat down cross-legged, unbothered by the water that was lapping against the bottom of her shirt. "For one, the smell in the cabin would go down significantly."

Realising she was joking, humour sparkling in her earth-coloured eyes, I scoffed and looked the other way. She began to laugh before patting my knee.

"Come on," she pleaded, laughter fading into a hopeful smile. "Please."

I didn't want anybody's help, especially not hers. But I needed it, and if she was being so kind as to come out here just to make sure I was okay, maybe it wasn't all so bad.

With a reluctant nod, I let her wash my hair for me, glad I wouldn't have to cause an ache in my other arm trying to do it. It was quiet as she did it, other than when she instructed me to dip my head in the water to wash out the shampoo and conditioner. Her fingers were delicate when she worked, massaging my head and putting me at ease instantly. I was still surprised at her aid, considering she'd always been preoccupied by herself or Shauna.

After I was done, she moved back in front of me, about to speak, but then her eyes caught sight of my swollen arm in my cast and widened.

"Woah, that looks painful," she noticed.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically.

"Are you taking the medicine Misty is giving you?" she asked with concern.

I tried not to hesitate as I nodded, lying. Truthfully, I hadn't been taking the medicine since a few days ago, as I knew Coach Scott's leg was at risk of infection if he didn't have enough. Besides, I'd taken some and the swelling had been going down. This was a bad day is all. Kind of.

"Okay, well...," she started, eyes lingering on my arm with an unreadable expression, before she stood up and held out her hand. "You're done. Come on."

I accepted her hand and she led me back to the shore, kindly helping me back into my clothes. After pulling her shorts and shoes on, I instantly hugged her with my good arm, certainly surprising her.

"Thanks, Jackie," I said sincerely, pulling back and seeing her raised eyebrows. "You don't know how good you're being."

She smiled, preoccupied. "Don't. I'm just helping."

I begged to differ, but she wasn't in the mood to hear it and I wasn't going to fight her on it. Instead, I just offered her a small smile before we both headed back to the cabin together.

Later that day, I was sat in the woods for some alone time, perched on a log and reading my book, when suddenly something was thrown right at me, startling me.

"What the hell?!" Jackie shouted, and I looked up to see she'd found me and was furious.

Confused, I looked to see what she'd thrown at me, only to realise it was the medication I hadn't been taking. Oh, no.

"You aren't taking it!" she shouted with exasperation.

I looked up to her, still baffled. "How did you even–”

"I'm not stupid," she snapped, before taking a deep breath to contain herself.

"It doesn't matter," I said calmly. "Coach needs them more. He's literally lost his leg and–"

"Why do you keep belittling your injury?!" she asked in a broken voice. "Nobody needs a hero, Y/N, just take the damn meds!"

The patronising tone she was using was it for me, and I suddenly stood up, unable to let her make me feel bad anymore.

"Why the hell do you even care, Jackie?" I retorted.

Taken aback, she raised her eyebrows before crossing her arms and avoiding my eyes. "I'm the cap–"

"Nobody gives a shit about that anymore!" I cut her off, before glaring at her. "You never paid me any mind before, so what gives now, huh? Did Jackie fucking Taylor suddenly grow a heart?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Seriously, why the hell do you care all of a sudden?" I continued. "Why do you–?"

"Because it's my damn fault!" she said, and my anger was momentarily replaced by further confusion. She continued to ramble, "I didn't mean to, but the plane was on fire and Shauna was going to get hurt and I just rushed out of there without thinking and I didn't mean to push you and then you broke your arm and I feel guilty, okay?!"

Furrowing my brows, I studied her as she took a deep breath. Though she was stressed by her admission of guilt, I was oddly calm.

"That was just an accident," I said, unsure why it mattered to her so much. "If that's why you've been helping me, why you've been keeping an eye on me... you can stop. I'm not dying."

"Yeah, now," she said knowingly, guilt-laden eyes meeting mine, "but when a fucking bear comes out of nowhere and tries to eat you, what are you gonna do with one arm?"

It took me a second to realise she was dead serious, and I tried very hard not to smile.

"If a bear tried to eat me and I had my arm, I'd still get eaten," I said matter-of-factly. "You think I can take on a bear?"

She groaned with discontent. "You don't get it!"

I covered my mouth, struggling not to smile in front of her and piss her off more. She only fixed me with a classic Jackie glare.

"Just take the fucking meds," she said threateningly, in a way that was reminiscent of a cute dog barking, before storming off.

Admittedly, I had to pause and think about what the hell just happened, still a little lost. All this time, she'd been helping me out of guilt? She blamed herself for my broken arm? It was an accident and she couldn't have known what would happen. Tensions were high, it was chaos! I couldn't blame her even if I tried. It was almost laughable how she'd reacted, though at least it explained her sudden interest in my welfare.

When I returned to the cabin after her outburst, she glanced at me once but didn't bother speaking to me. And when I thought it would be a temporary thing, she began to ignore me over the next few days, actively avoiding me. If it weren't to share the cabin to sleep, she'd either completely leave the space I was in or go as far away from me as she possibly could. Could've been guilt, anger or embarrassment, I wasn't sure, but I knew it was extremely childish.

I was filling up a bottle of water from our basin when she rounded the corner and saw me, clearly wanting to do the same judging from her own bottle in hand. One glance my way and she was ready to leave, but I decided to make the first move after a week of not speaking.

"I'm not gonna bite," I pointed out.

She clenched her jaw with indifference. "I know."

A smile ghosted my lips as I focused on filling my bottle, and she surprisingly approached the basin and did the same. It was silent, the sound of our movement filling the air, but she was still tense beside me. It felt all wrong, especially after how supportive she'd been since we got here.

"I'm taking my medicine by the way," I said casually, but I wanted her to know that she hadn't wasted her breath. I'd listened.

"That's good," she spoke after a moment, trying not to sound too bothered.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to, but then this angry soccer player who was crushing under the immense guilt from foreshadowing my improbable yet supposedly imminent death by bear made me feel bad," I continued calmly.

She paused her action, glancing at me with a look of disbelief, and I couldn't hold in my laughter any longer. Her expression was priceless.

"Asshole," she muttered, but she was clearly trying not to smile.

I capped my bottle before saying, "This is awkward. Stop avoiding me, please. I don't hate you or anything. And you don't need to keep checking on me out of guilt. We can just... go back to normal, whatever that was."

She gave me a disapproving glance. "It wasn't just out of guilt."

I raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"Believe it or not, Y/N, I do care about you," she said, surprising me. And then she added quickly, "I care about everyone here."

Heart warming at her words, I began to feel bad for what I'd said to her when we argued. "Thanks," I said quietly. "And I'm sorry for what I said, about you suddenly growing a heart. Wasn't nice at all. Or true."

She shrugged awkwardly, looking down. "It's okay. I've been a bit selfish lately. I know the girls say it. Even Shauna thinks it.”

I looked over at her, noticing the conflicted expression she wore. Underneath her confident, cool girl demeanour was just a normal teenager like everyone else, and right now, she looked more and more like that.

"Not always," I reminded her, hoping she knew that I was still grateful for what she'd done for me since the crash, guilt or no guilt.

She exhaled softly, an appreciative smile on her lips, and I was beginning to question if breaking my arm was worth giving me a reason to get to know Jackie Taylor in a different way.

—

When there wasn't the threat of survival creeping up on us, or the fear of being stranded away from our lives back home forever, there was complete and utter boredom. There was only so many times you could play the same card games or read the same books without wanting to smack your head against a wall.

I realised soon enough that I missed playing soccer and one  day when I was having a wander near the cabin, I began to subconsciously kick around an acorn. That was where acorn soccer began. Now, whenever I was fed up doing the same thing all the time, I'd go into a little clearing near the cabin and start kicking around an acorn to have a sense of normalcy.

This time, as I was dribbling the acorn around some sticks, I heard someone approaching and glanced up to see it was Jackie.

"What are you doing?" she asked with both amusement and curiosity.

"Playing soccer," I said like it was obvious, before kicking the acorn in the air towards her. Instinctively, she caught it with her foot, stabilising it and letting it hit the ground gently. I cracked a smile, saying, "Someone's not lost their touch."

She rolled her eyes, a smile threatening to break out on her lips. "So this is where you disappear to?"

I quirked a brow. "Why? You keeping tabs?"

"You wish you were that interesting," she retorted, kicking around the acorn.

"Interesting enough for you to track down, clearly," I teased.

She glanced at me with a glint of humour in her eyes. "Maybe I just needed to make sure the bear didn't get you."

I grinned. "Aw, you do care! Nice to know you have my back."

At this, she finally let out a laugh, teeth showing and eyes sparkling and in such a way that I couldn't help but admire how pretty she looked right now.

"Okay, where's the goal?" she asked after a moment, pausing from kicking around the acorn.

"What?"

She gave me a look. "I'm bored too, now c'mon."

I chuckled and began to explain to her the unimpressive yet fulfilling setup I had, which consisted of me kicking the acorn between two trees as a 'net'. Once she was caught up, we found a bigger acorn together and began to play.

It was almost like we were back at soccer practice, playing and having fun and not having to worry about any impending doom. I'd forgotten how good it could feel to just be, and I'd especially forgotten how good Jackie was at soccer, making for the perfect opponent.

She scored for the third time and raised her hands in the air as she cheered for herself. "Hell yeah!"

"You see, this is why we got to nationals," I reminded her, making her laugh.

"God, I forgot how fun soccer was," she said with a sigh. "Clever idea with the acorn."

I shrugged. "Boredom struck. Creativity thrived."

She snickered, hands on her hips, before nodding at my arm. "Should you even be playing with your arm like that?"

I quirked a brow. "What you gonna do? Rat me out to Misty?"

She snorted with amusement. "She's too busy with Coach Scott to care."

I tried not to laugh, knowing Misty had been enjoying herself a little too much with looking after Coach Scott and his leg. It was clear she liked him, and though he was aware of how inappropriate it was, he had no choice but to accept her help. Yeah, the last thing on Misty's mind was if I was playing acorn soccer or not.

"Okay, you ready for the next one?" Jackie asked, already kicking the acorn into the centre to start again. "I might just take it easy on you this time. Y'know, because you're at a disadvantage."

I glared at her playfully, ignoring the way her cocky grin made me feel. "Game on, Taylor."

—

Since that point, I'd found myself looking out for Jackie a little more than usual. I guess you could say she'd piqued my interest more than she ever had. Back home, she was my team captain and that was it. We never really hung out outside of practice or soccer parties because our circles never crossed over. Now though, with her looking out for me and hanging out with me more, I was beginning to develop a little crush on her.

I would've been insane not to. She was funny, flirty, smart and she always knew what she wanted. And it was probably silly of me to crush on the one girl I could never get, but it certainly made my current situation a bit more manageable. Nothing like a teenage crush to get your mind off reality.

I liked to think I was subtle with it, the whole checking out Jackie every now and then. It was only when she was a fair distance away and there was no chance she would spot me. But one morning, as I was helping Akilah boil some more water from the lake, I spotted Jackie walking out of the cabin with Shauna. It was nothing different, but for some reason, she just looked extra stunning this morning. I wasn't sure what it was – possibly my own delusion – but I couldn't stop stealing looks at her.

And then she glanced my way, catching my eye, and before I could even react, embarrassed I'd been caught out, a knowing smile appeared on her lips and she winked playfully before paying her attention back to Shauna. I swallowed, flustered, and didn't look at her again for the rest of the day. Stupid crush.

[star-anise]

reading supercut: disability, body image, and trauma

A glimpse into the clothes thrashing around in the washing machine of my mind, with apologies that it is still a wet lump and not an actual synthesis of ideas.

From Easy Beauty: A Memoir by Chloé Cooper Jones:

[This event] embedded a damaging idea in me, one I’d recognize deeply when I read Scarry years later: beauty was a matter of particulars aligning correctly. My body put me in a bracketed, undercredited sense of beauty. But if I could get the particulars lined up just right, I could be re-seen, discovered like the palm tree is discovered. To be deserving of the whole range of human desires, I had to be extraordinary in all other aspects. In this new light, I started to see my work, my intellect, my skills, my moments of humor or goodness, not as valuable in themselves, but as ways of easing the impact of my ugliness. If only I could pile up enough good qualities, they could obscure my unacceptable body. [...] accepting the argument that beauty was malleable came, for me, with a cost. The Platonian view rejected me cleanly, but Hume and Scarry left a door ajar and I’ve spent a lifetime trying to contort my form to see if I could pass through it.

From Til We Have Faces: A Myth Retold by CS Lewis:

I now determined that I would go always veiled. I have kept this rule, within doors and without, ever since. It is a sort of treaty made with my ugliness. There had been a time in childhood when I didn't yet know I was ugly. Then there was a time (for in this book I must hide none of my shames or follies) when I believed, as girls do — and as Batta was always telling me — that I could make it more tolerable by this or that done to my clothes or my hair. Now, I chose to be veiled.

From Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy of Borderline Personality Disorder by Marsha Linehan:

Inhibited grieving is understandable among borderline patients. People can only stay with a very painful process or experience if they are confident that it will end some day, some time—that they can "work through it," so to speak. It is not uncommon to hear borderline patients say they feel that if they ever do cry, they will never stop Indeed, that is their common experience—the experience of not being able to control or modulate their own emotional experiences. [...] In the face of such helplessness and lack of control, inhibition and avoidance of cues associated with grieving are not only understandable, bur perhaps wise at times. Inhibition, however, has its costs. [...] Volkan (1983) describes an interesting phenomenon, "established pathological mourning", which is similar to the pattern I am describing. In established pathological mourning, the individual wishes to complete mourning, but at the same time persistently attempts to undo the reality of the loss.

From How to Respond to Criticism by Danny Lavery:

Apologize, but don’t really mean it, and plant a seed of secret resentment so deep in your own heart that years later you can’t even remember that you’re the one who nurtured it and made it grow, it seems that much like a native part of you.

From Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed:

[After learning that state child protective services had made a budgetary decision to only intervene with children under 12, to one of the teenagers that regularly shared stories of abuse at home] I told her it was not okay, that it was unacceptable, that it was illegal and that I would call and report this latest, horrible thing. But I did not tell her it would stop. I did not promise that anyone would intervene. I told her it would likely go on and she’d have to survive it. That she’d have to find a way within herself to not only escape the shit, but to transcend it [...] I told her that escaping the shit would be hard, but that if she wanted to not make her mother’s life her destiny, she had to be the one to make it happen. She had to do more than hold on. She had to reach. She had to want it more than she’d ever wanted anything. She had to grab like a drowning girl for every good thing that came her way and she had to swim like fuck away from every bad thing. She had to count the years and let them roll by, to grow up and then run as far as she could in the direction of her best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by her own desire to heal.

From Essays in Aesthetics by Jean-Paul Sartre:

Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.

From "I Know What You Think of Me" by Tim Kreider:

if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

[counterintuitivecomics]

Some colorized bits from my recent free printable zine WHY WE MASK: It's Not "Just A Cold"! I purposefully made the whole thing b&w to make printing as cheap as possible, but it's fun to add color especially to the snot-splosions.

HEY COMICS FRIENDS going to SPX or other cons this weekend - MASK UP, EAT OUTDOORS, and REST if you start feeling run down. COVID-19 levels are BAD bad right now (it's currently the worst September out of the whole pandemic) and the government does not have our backs. This virus causes YEARS worth of horrible vascular, neurological, and immune system damage, and each infection raises your chances of gaining fun new disabilities that could prevent you ever making comics again.

I strongly advice cancelling festivals, cons, indoor dining, anything involving crowds indoors OR outdoors, etc. But I know people depend on income from cons, so: PACK MASKS, NASAL SPRAY, and CPC MOUTHWASH and actually use them! If you develop any COVID-19 symptoms (headaches, dizziness, nausea, stomach pain, diarrhea, sore throat, sore joints, etc) don't assume it's "just a cold". Stay in your dang hotel room and REST! You can TRY to "push through" to keep tabling but you are NOT gonna like the long-term results (aka Long COVID).

I care about all you comics people and I want you to enjoy many more decades of making and sharing and reading comics with each other. If you're feeling sick at a show this weekend and don't know what to do, drop me a line! No judgements. Take care of yourself and each other out there and remember, no one can rest your body for you but you.

(Image Descriptions are in the Alt Text. Also please feel free to print my zine and hand it out if you do go)co

[chemerr2]

i’m not sure if you’re taking requests but…. if you are comfy with it, could you please supply the thirsty jeff sluts with a smut? :,)

plot could be something where y/n and jeff don’t get along at all and constantly fight but one night they just say fuck it and give in to each other and😏😏😏 but like hateful maybe.. but still passionate🤭

hi sorry anon i’ve been MIA lol but i haven’t given up writing tho.

a/n: i like this request and hateful sex with jeff is indefinitely sexy 🙈

warnings: rough sex like..very rough sex, degrading, reader cries, cumshot and a bunch of swearing.

god you hated the way his eyes pierced into the back of your head after you walk pass him or how he purposely tried to trip you up but you caught yourself in time before falling face first on the hard dirty floor. He picks with everyone, but you’re his favorite victim to terrorize when you try to enjoy your evening;minding your business.

It wasn’t too long before you got fed up and started to yell at him for how he treats you: the rude and offhandedly comments he makes about you for literally just existing. But you expressing your discomfort didn’t cause any realization to what he was doing..it just went one ear out the other. He’d continue to fuck with you all day by saying mean things, taking or moving your things around and doing something reall petty. It’s only fair that you start to mirror his actions and attitude, right? when you did: oh boy jeff was far from pissed, he wanted to paint his bedroom wall red with your brains after you start doing the same shit he does to you; to him.

you push him around, nudge him, make fun of him, purposely take the last of everything so he sits there like a angry pup watching you eat the last of his food. How you break his things and call him names 10x hurtful than the ones he’s called you beforehand. He HATED this treatment, he hated the way his own medicine tasted so he decided to spit it out by busting into your room: head full of shit to do and say to you.

as your sitting on your bed doing nothing, he barges in your room, looking down at you. “what the fuck? get out my room.” you say annoyed, beyond pissed he had the audacity to even touch your doorknob. “you’re stinking up my laundry” you chuckle to yourself but when he slams your bedroom door you look over at him and he’s still peering down at you. No matter how pale and damaged his skin is: in the face you can see him turn red out of anger and the way his brows are practically connected from being furrowed. Now you’re beyond nervous and angry, because: One. what are his intentions? Two. You don’t want him in your room!! but jeff doesn’t know what a no is anyways, he rejects the rejection. Looking back at him— he starts to speak— and to no avail, straight bullshit comes out his dirty trap “i’m tired of you talking to me crazy and saying the fucked up ass shit” he inches closer “sometimes you just need to shut the fuck up, y/n” he got close to where his abdomen was touching yours from the way his posture is horribly constructed but he was still close enough for you to feel his hot breath washing over your mixed face of emotions.

in a whiff: he grabs your backside, squeezing your fat, spongy ass in his large, coarse hands; dirty nails digging deep into your skin. — pulling you close to him. You can’t lie to yourself anymore.. you had to admit: his deep and raspy voice turned you on. Especially when he yelled at you and laughed in your face. His voice was alluring in a way; definitely when he hurt your feelings. So you didn’t fight back when he slipped one of his hands underneath your shirt. With no bra on: he began fondling your tits and rubbing over your nipples with his thumb. No words were said as he began helping himself to your body: licking your tits, sucking them, biting your nipples, pinching them, slapping your tits around, grabbing your ass cheeks and spreading them while your still in your pajama pants. Finally, he’s done playing around! your shirt is barely off all the way; only being partially off to get a view of your tits. your chest is wet with his spit and you swear your pussy juice is sliding down your leg from how wet you are.

you lay yourself down on the bed, being submissive. Jeff unbuckles his belt: letting his pants hit the floor on its on and you were stunned at his..length. For someone who talks a lot of shit like jeff— you weren’t expecting him to carry a vast pack of dick around in those horrid skinny jeans he wears. He looks at you through his lengthy black locks before aggressively stripping your pajama pants off your body. He sees your full, meaty pussy soaping and slobbering for his dick. “no bra..no panties, you really are fucking nasty.” his words meant nothing before so why are they making you horny now? positioning himself between your legs, he began slapping his tip between the wet substance that covered your pussy. He wanted to tease you..knowing you were loving this and needing it— needing his cock in your tight pussy so it can hug him and grip his brick hard cock. Jeff relentlessly teased you by slowly slipping his tip in and out your pussy, barely putting an inch of his cock inside your. Seeing how impatient and annoyed you were getting by the expressions on your face nd the look your giving him, made his cock throb and his balls wiggle with excitement. He bent down to your ear and grabbed both your wrist with his hands “you really want this dick then you better beg for it.” jeff gruffly whispered before kissing your neck with his tongue— putting himself back upright while looking down at your body, exposed and just for him. You were stubborn, especially when it came to demands but you couldn’t help yourself when he dragged his cock along your clit and used his thumb to rub harsh circles on it.

“please..” your moan dragged your word out like saliva. “please what?” jeff bantered with you while you were in a submissive state. “fuck me, please” jeff laughs at your eagerness before he rammed his dock deep into your pit. You cry out loud as the stretch of his cock was greater than your last— dick was fat and an inch bigger than average. 20 minutes hadn’t pass and he’s already kissing your cervix with his red tip. Your wailing moans and cries— he was reaching far back into your pussy, touching depths of it you never knew would be there. In desperate attempts: you try and push him off you,, hands on his abdomen as he’s drilling you in like a nail. “FUCK! jeff” your cunt was so tightly packed with his girth that it felt like he got stuck at times “you givin up? s’too much for ya? hm?” he said through clenched teeth.

“i hate you..bastard” you moaned out trying to keep what little of morality you have left inside you. Grabbing on his hair and pulling him close as he fucks you into the mattress with each thrust resulting in you hitting your head against the hard wall. His dick ramming into you and slipping out became a routine in the last 30 minutes before he grabbed your throat and started mate fucking you against your bedroom wall and on your bed; foreheads against one another and he’s looking into your eyes but you can’t see nothing but hate and lust. A sadistic smile on his face as he pulls his cock and cums all over your belly and pussy— leaving it gasping and clenching for air. Pulling back he let’s go of your neck and stays on the edge of the bed catching his breath..mumbling something before putting his pants on and leaving out your room.