#and it’s sunday which is a day from hell at my hospital so i would feel guilty making my coworkers’ lives harder

[partynthem]

today is so horrible for me bc i have my usual 10 hour shift at work but i’m training someone. and i’m missing a derby scrimmage bc of that. and all things go is happening without me. literally god give me strength

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: From Party of Two, to Family of Three

Sunday Surprise takes place right before this, but not necessary for this part

notes: you guys already know this is my favorite little crackhead family. While we've been enjoying Sarah's adventures out of order for a while, lot of people have been asking when we'll meet Ellie. Which I didn't feel it was right until we actually see Sarah's birth! So here she is. Please enjoy!

warnings: childbirth (not too graphic), a shit ton of language, comedy and fuff

- - - -

They say childbirth is a miracle. It's the single greatest, most amazing, most heavenly, life giving, breath of fresh air day of any parent’s life.

What they don't say (almost as if conveniently forgetting to even mention it) is that the moments leading up to the birth are the single most excruciating, marathon through the worst hell of a nightmare.

"YOUUU. YOUUUUUU MOTHER FUCKING--FUUCCKKEERRRR!!" The banshee (his wife, you) next to him in the car screeches directly into his ear, a death grip on his forearm.

He’s one handing these turns, blowing more red lights than he's ever yelled at Tommy for, while ready to lose his right hand to your talons and his hearing to your incessant wails.

"fuck YOU!OOOOWWAHAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

You squeeze your eyes shut, head crouched down while another wave of contractions splinters your insides apart. Every muscle known and unknown in your body is engaged. 

"We're almost there, you’re gonna make it--"

"YouFUCKINGfuckSTICkofaFuCkFuckshitheadfuckingbastard mothershitstainfrigginFUCK!"

You'd bash his head against his window repeatedly if your other hand wasn't already occupied cupping your rupturing belly.

Joel’s never been simultaneously in control and losing it inside all at once. He’s got one goal right now: get you to the hospital in one piece.

 That goes for driver safety but also to ensure the baby does NOT come out prior that because lord help him he would not know what comes next.

The truck screeches to a halt at the parking lot in 3 spaces. Joel tumbles out of the seat, missing a step and stumbling clumsily to his hands and knees on the pavement. He doesn’t even brush off the bruises and dirt as he’s running to you. You’ve nearly thrown him over again by how fast you swing the door open.

Both his sturdy, reliable, big hands are there for you when you take them, hoisting yourself with an agonizing yelp.

“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, baby momma, you’re—“

“FUCK!!!!!”

You’re clutching your belly, now way lower than it ever has been. Each step feels like fire, with Joel cradling your back and trying to get you to the front door with quick steps.

“Baby! Baby now!” Joel shouts, pointing to you with wild and pleading eyes.

You let out a horrendous scream, stopping in your tracks. Your spine, your bones, your head, and especially your stomach, is all being hit by a truck right fucking now. And you’re crying, you’ve never cried like this. It’s not the fake shit he’s gotten so accustomed to when you want a cookie or milkshake or pussy eating. This is real.

They get you in a chair and wheel you off to the delivery unit, your hand squeezing the shit out of Joel’s but he’s never once let go. He’s gone so pale, running and running alongside you, trying to answer their questions about when it started, how long, what was due date, etc. 

He’s doing a million things at once, and you’re just fighting to stay alive.

Oh, you also would forget everything you were saying at this moment. But thankfully, Joel, and the entire fucking hospital, wouldn’t.

“YOU FUCKING, COCK—FUCKER—SHIT FUCKCUnt cunt CUNT! FUCK-OHM Y MOTHERFUCKING GOD FUCK.”

They manage to get you stripped to the papery gown, push your ass onto the bed, spread you wide so the doctor can take a look.

They’re all so calm, walking around and nodding, hooking you up like you’re just here for a checkup, like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

Joel feels the worst stabbing pain along his skull as your nails dig into his hair and yank him down to your face.

“MILLER,” you seethe, venom and sweat breaking through your clenched teeth and slitted eyes. 

“Y-yes?”

You force out harsh pants, groaning, but making sure he understands you clearly right fucking now. “Give me. A fucking. Epidural.”

“I-“

“NOW!!!!”

He looks around for some assistance. “Ep—is there an--”

“WHERES THE FUCKING EPIDURAL.”

Joel makes contact with the nurse, who checks below your legs again before resurfacing with the look Joel feared above all else. While you’re heaving and and moaning in pain, Joel receives the nonverbal confirmation she passes to him:

It’s too fucking late for an epidural.

Both Joel and the nurse also pass a clear, mutual understanding about how to pass that info on to you:

“ITS COMING!” He nods reassuringly to you, exceedingly over the top acting. “Right nurse? See she said it’s coming!”

“Any second now, we’ll get that epidural—“ she agrees, nodding and nodding with a thumbs up to you extra confidence.

“FUUUUCCCCKCKKKKKK,” you sink lower, back falling and head tossed as wave of new pain ripples through you.

“FUUCCKKING —Fuck J-Joel. Joel Miller—“

“yes baby, I’m here.”

“Im getting a fucking epidural.”

“Yes you fucking are.”

“You fuckers aren’t lying to me?”

Joel glances at the nurse again, who quickly shakes her head at you with her calm, straightforward, trusting voice of reason: “No ma’am we would never.”

Praise this woman, he thinks. “That’s right baby she’s telling ya, its coming—“

“I’ll FUCKING kill you, Joel Miller. Do you know that?”

“Yes-“

“I fucking HATE you right now.”

“Yes—“

“You shit—fuck bag motherfucker, I HATE you—you—you—“ and you start sobbing “—did this to me!”

“I did—“

“YOU!”

“ME.”

Back again to an angered, snarling beast, you growl, “I’ll rip your fucking cock off. I’m fucking you up so fucking bad when we get home, you can never FUCKIN’ do this fucking shit to me again. Balls in the fucking blender.”

“Balls in the blender,” he repeats with absolute conviction, not an ounce of protest in him.

“The FUCkING blender—you hear me fucker?”

“The fucking blender, for sure baby, anything you want right after this.”

“Ugh--oh dfuck Joel its coming!”

“Yeah?” He asks, and its the first time he hears his own voice waver. Holy fuck this is it. This is the moment for the last 9 months its actually here—

“Just another contraction,” the doctor confirms casually.

FUCK DOC HOW LONG DOES THIS TAKE I can’t feel my skull!

“CUNT SUCKER!” You scream, holding Joel’s head hostage as you chant through your breathing pants.

“Any where’s my MOTHERFUCKING epidural!”

“It’s coming! It’s coming!” Joel nods to his now best friend nurse, who’s also nodding dramatically to keep you distracted from the epidural that is absolutely not on its way.

“Miller,” you growl, shoving his nose right against yours. You stare into his very soul, like Death herself ripping his life choices out of his body and spilling them under your eyes. “I think that Bitch is lying to me. There’s no fucking epidural coming, is there.”

“There is, baby, she said it herself, I checked…”

“Are you fucking lying to me Miller?”

“Never baby, we’d never lie to you, right?” He gestures to the nurse again, who nods diligently again. “See baby, no lying, we’d never lie.”

He watches your jaw drop, voice disappear as another roar is ripped from your chest..

“I can’t do this.”

“You can, you can and will. I’ll give you anything you want, right after you do this.”

“I want you fucking DEAD.”

“Sure thing. Want a divorce too?”

“I’m CONSIDERING IT,” you bark a baritone lower like the devil. “FuuuUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!”

“I’ll get the papers printed right up. Favorite pen signed an’ all. But only after you have this baby tonight—“

The doctor checks the monitor again just as you let out a piercing scream. 

“Ma’am it’s time to push.”

“YOU PUSH!” You shout, waving your arm at him but unable to put a curse to the end of it. Your pains are coming through quicker, no longer waves but an unyielding rumbling as the baby kicks and punches and squirms and—

Joel is by your side, taking your hand in his. He’s prepped this speech in his head a million times, every night, every time he felt that baby kick or watched you struggle to tie your shoes, every single second, he’s perfected it:

“It’s here. Its happening. You’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this together, you and me, right now—“

“Nope.”

“We—what?”

Your voice is calm and face plain. “Changed my mind. Not having this baby.”

“Yes you for fucking sure are.”

“Nope no. I’m returning it. Got the receipt.”

“There—there IS NO RECEIPT.”

“Yes—I got it—90 day warranty—“ your face tightens, clenching out the last word as if you’re mentally willing this baby to not pop out right now. But by god this baby is not taking your bullshit any longer.

“We are way past the 90 day warranty, honey, you’re having this baby, TODAY, Right NOW!”

“Nope, nope I’m gonna suck it back in!” 

It seems all ability to ‘suck it back in’ has failed, as the nurse shouts clearly “I see a head!”

Your voice breaks in the most heart wrenching “I CAN’T—“ you sob, terror in your voice.

You scream again, and it’s the worst thing Joel’s ever heard. He feels like a kid again, for the first time in a long while, when his parents fought, and the sounds of their voices carried upstairs to his and Tommy’s bedroom. He wanted to run, hide in the closet, cover his ears, cradling himself and rock back and forth, shut his eyes and his mind out, drain everything away. Instead, he held Tommy, he watched Tommy, he calmed Tommy. He bared the brunt of it, and the fear, he learned to control it.

The control is gone. He’s fearing again. And it’s not his parents having an argument over watermelon seeds, but his wife experiencing the most unimaginable pain right now, and it’s because of him, it really is, just like you said. Worse than nails on a chalkboard, glass in his eyes, fire on his feet. He’s so scared, everything he had tried to train for, for you, for this moment, is collapsing before him, and he’s not gonna make it—

Every fiber in his body grips your hand more tightly than possible. “You can,” he says, sturdy yet trembling. He’s scared.

He’s always known what to do, what comes next, how to make your pain and sadness and tears go away. He’s perfected it, knowing what to get you or what to say to make it all better, but now?  He doesn’t know what comes next. Doesn’t know how to make it stop, help you through it, take your worries and griefs—you’re on your own and he’s just next to you, and its not enough, and he can’t help, and he doesn’t know what to do—He doesn’t know what to do-Hedoesntknowwhattodo!

“Hey.”

He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder; the nurse who’s holding all the pieces of his heart and sanity together. She looks at him, focused, locked in from the moment your wailing, miserable self was wheeled in here, and has been doing everything he can’t.

“We’re right there. I need you to ground her,” she says. “Can you do that?”

He nods, tightening his lips. He remembers your hand in his now, remembers where he is, in this moment, and its all the matters.

He’s here. And he wants—needs you to know he’s not going anywhere.

He calls your name. “It’s time, okay baby?” Steady. Reassuring. Level headed. Strong. Rock. Crutch. Love. Everything he’s good at. Everything you know him by. “I need you to push.”

You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenching hard. But he nods, because he’s gonna do the nodding, and the yes’ing, and he’s gonna take everything that’s ever caused you wrong or pain or sadness away because it’s what he does.

It’s what makes him keep going.

“FUCK! MOTHER———MOTHERFUCKER!!!!AHHHHHHHHH!!”

“Keep going!” The nurse encourages. “Dad, you’re doing great, keep getting her to focus—“

“I’M NOT GETTING MY FUCKING EPIDURAL!!!!!!!!!!!!” You sob in finality, the truth seeping into your bones. “YOU FUCKING—MOTHERFUCKING CUNNT SHIT STICK LITTLE BI—“ 

“For Christ’s sake, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” The nurse howls, and the entire room goes silent, even you. Joel stares at her dumbfounded. 

‘“The baby. Is HERE,” she huffs definitively. 

“Now fucking—PUSH!”

 - 

Joel’s heart has stopped. 

He doesn’t know where it is, but he knows it’s no longer in his body. 

Its not until he hears the first, most beautifully devastating croak of an angelic cry that he’s felt his heartbeat resume again, and its being cradled gently by the nurse as she pulls the tiniest, wrinkliest, most precious thing on this planet from between your legs.

“Congratulations, mom and dad. A healthy, happy baby girl.”

There’s no way this little—thing—this… bean—can be a baby. It’s the size of both his hands together, and so incredibly delicate, my god, weighing almost nothing and yet the sheer weight of who she is has him nearly capsizing at this very moment.

She’s wrapped delicately in cloth, face and nostrils wiped of fluids before landing gracefully in your outstretched arms. And it’s like the cosmos has realigned in harmony.

No amount of sweat, tears, crazy hair and braised skin, torn clothing and achy muscles could possibly deter the absolute love bursting from your chest as you hold the tiny baby in your grasp. “Hi,” you whimper with a big smile, eyes floating in a shiny haze pf exhaustion and happiness, looking down upon her. “Hi baby girl.” you laugh, tears falling freely as you shake your head and hold her closer, as close as possible, reabsorbing her into your bare chest, and you feel it. Her skin on yours. You’ve carried her this entire time, and yet it’s like you’re feeling her for the first time in your life.

Joel curls next to you, his big palm splayed over top her whole body, touching her. And it’s the first time, the first time he’s felt his daughter. He had been separated by the membrane of your belly, anxiously, excitedly waiting all this time to meet her, and now she’s here. She’s here. Neither one of you can believe it.

Your little baby wiggles, cooing noise stuck in her throat as she settles from her cries. she’s so wrinkly, skin still absorbing all that fresh air, working color into those cheeks and hands, fingers and toes. Her eyes are too swollen, not yet ready to say hi to this world. But that’s okay. Because her mom and dad are still going to be right here when she wakes up, the first people who will introduce her to the world around her. Because she is their world.

“Joel,” you whisper softly. He hears you. He’s here. He hasn’t left your side once. You know he’s here, you’re grateful. He’s here. He loves you. 

“Joel,” you hum again. “She’s beautiful.”

You tremble against him. Shaken from love and joy, more than your entire achy body can contain as you bring her little head to your lips and press the most fulfilling kiss to her.

Joel cups her little head. He wants to hold her, but he’s gotta wait. Fuck after all this time, he’s gotta wait. And it’s enough. He can handle it because he’s so fucking overwhelmed that she’s finally here.

“She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasps into your hair, kissing you tenderly.

Joel steps outside the room, softly closing the door behind him. He watches from the glass window pane, with you perfectly framed in the center as its only subject. Just the way he’s seen the world every day since he met you. 

Only this time, you hold another part of you, and him, in your arms.  The two of you, together. Like the only things that will ever matter to him.

And suddenly, Joel lets himself feel it all.

He clutches his mouth with the entirety of his palm, his yelp buzzing in his hoarse throat. He feels his knees give way, tumbling to the ground, one hand holding the wall while the other grips his face to keep the cries at bay. And he cries. He cries harder than he’s ever cried, and they’re wonderful. They hurt like kisses, burn like candy, ache like love. 

He wants to go back in there.

Quickly wiping his face clean, he stands up, straightening himself.

“Hey.”

The nurse who had delivered his baby stands next to him.

“She did fantastic. You both did.”

Joel tries to clear his throat, but his face is so obviously still red, swollen and barely holding it together. She doesn’t question nor judge the tough guy facade, yet completely speaks to his soul, telling him everything he didn’t know he needed to hear. “She’s 7 pounds, 2 ounces. Ten fingers and toes. Brown eyes. Hearing is great, so is—“

“Thank you,” he interrupts.

She goes quiet but offers a gentle smile. 

As he stares at her, the literal saint that got you and his baby through this, from point A to B, he realizes  nothing is coming to his head.

“I’m sorry, I … I don’t even know your name.”

She laughs. “I would not expect you to. You had way more to worry about.”

“Well, I just … really, really wanted to say…. Thank you…”

“Sarah,” she responds.

“Sarah,” he repeats. He repeats it over and over again in his mind, as if its going to stick, and he doesn’t quite know why yet.

“I’ll give you two—three, some time together,” she says, gathering the checkerboard hanging by the wall. “Then I’ll be back to help get her ready to take home, and let your wife sleep some more.”

He nods, looking down then back up, just as she’s patting his shoulder reassuringly and turning away to attend her other duties.

-

When he steps back inside, you look up to him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he whispers back. Now that the dust has settled, he can finally see just how exhausted you are. The absolute train wreck that has battered your body this last hour really settling in, and it makes his chest sore to see you like that. Your gown pulled halfway down to your ribcage, tousled hair sticking awkwardly to your forehead and back from all the dried sweat. And yet none of it, absolutely nothing, is getting in the way of that smile that hasn’t left your cheeks since the moment you heard her cry.

“She’s sleeping,” you hum, looking back down at your daughter, who’s coddled up in a wrap and little cap.

“You thinking about putting the baby down, getting some sleep too?”

“Never.”

He smirks, looking down at her again.

“You think about any names yet?” You ask, stroking over her little forehead.

The two of you had thought about it. A lot. You didn’t want it to be random, but you didn’t want it to be weird. It had to have meaning, but not so closely related to a family member that you’d always mess them up at thanksgiving. It had to remind you of someone strong, unique, purposeful but distant enough that she could to grow and make it her own. 

And this was a girl, after all, so it had to be someone that could put momma AND papa in their place whenever shit got too crazy. 

“I’ve got…one.”

-

Joel helps dress the baby from her swaddled blanket into clothes.

“They’re gonna be a little bit big at first—“ you say, giggling as the two of you realize that the smallest clothes in the world are still a little too baggy on your little—so fucking little—girl.

Joel doesn’t waver, helping put her bitty legs through the loose pant legs…

You see him wipe his lips quickly, swallowing a lump to clear his throat.

“Joel, are you crying?”

“No,” he rasps like a whimper. “M’just sweatin’ through my eyes.”

You let out a chuckle, and Joel tries to do the same, but then he looks down at his little angel again, who’s stretching herself out in the new cloth that’s practically a giant coat on her. Joel starts to tremble. “She’s so perfect,” he weeps, and the shine in his eyes are clear as day.

“Oh baby, it’s okay to cry! I’m gonna cry too—“ you bawl, and now the two of you cry over this little girl who’s just trying to figure out why this blanket is stuck to her.

Not a great first impression from mom and dad but she’ll just have to deal with it.

And just like that, the Miller family went from party of two, to family of three.

-

6 weeks later…

The baby monitor crackles to life, and Joel is already tossing the blanket aside before the baby utters her first cry. He’s already up, kissing your forehead with “I’ll get her," almost excitedly through the heavy lull of sleep. You barely get a noise out of your throat, already snoring away into the pillow. He’s exhausted too, but his feet carry him onward with droopy eyes as if on their own.

He’s still not happy about the pink paint color of her bedroom, but that hardly matters right now. Terribly dramatic cries echo from the crib ahead. He scoops his little bean—since that’s what she looks like all curly in her onesie—supporting her head carefully and tucking her into one elbow. 

He rocks her squirming, agitated body back and forth in one arm as he shakes the now warmed bottle in his other hand. Joel tries to get her screaming mouth to take the cap, but she shakes her head, avoiding him at all costs to her own detriment.

 "Oh you’re such a squiggly girly for daddy. I got ya bubbas right here, quick ya cryin’. You’re gonna wake up mommy." 

As if she understands how she wouldn’t want to cause YOU any problems, his baby stops crying and accepts the bottle between her lips. Once she finally has her snacking, she peacefully looks back up to him, studies him. 

"There she is.  Told ya." He grins, swaying back and forth as she stares back at him with those big beautiful brown eyes. You definitely got one of your wishes: Joel’s eyes. The rest of her, is yours.

He’s hypnotized, so in love with her he didn’t think it was possible to love something as much as you. He already knows he’s gonna get her the dog, the kitty, the pony, the car, credit card, dress, house, anything she points to really; he’s never going to be able to say no to those enchanting eyes.

All of her bitty fingers fist around Joel’s pointer, as if to anchor her, and she doesn't let go as she drinks safely.  

She’s only 10 pounds now, but he feels like Atlas, carrying the entire weight of the world all curled up in his arms right now. Ans he'd carry this weight forever if he could, would pump iron and concrete slabs and oceans just to stay in shape and keep his girl in his arms for eternity, never to tire.

“My babygirl,” he whispers with a grin, pursing his lips close to her. “My little baby Sarah.”

- - - -

taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @jeewrites

[love-minor-poltergeist]

A/N: I saw the positive reception that my Barbi hcs and I wanted to say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you kindly!! I always find myself feeling apprehensive on deviating from the fandoms I usually write for, so the fact that you all seemed to liked my Barbi content means a lot! (〃＾▽＾〃)

In the spirit of things, I decided to try my hand at baking a batch of hcs for our lovely, awful Police Sergeant Coyle! I will admit that his character was a little bit more difficult to write for since there's a lot uncomfortable themes and ideals related to his character. However! I welcome the challenge and hope that these turned out okay. Lemme know what y'all think!!

!Content Warning!: There's a passing mention of CSA/Childhood Sexual Abuse since the comics implied that it happened, and while it's only mentioned very briefly, it's better to play it safe

General Leland Coyle Headcanons:

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

Ever since his father served in the military briefly in WWII, which subsequently left the older man an invalid– having lost a foot and permanently unable to walk normally– Leland was left to carry out most of the physical labor around him and his family’s cattle farm. Pa would still insist on bossin’ him around, though, and Leland usually had to be the one to help him walk the fields while dealing with the cattle. Of course, once he joined the local police force, most of those duties fell upon his ma. 

Granted, in his ever charming views, he always thought Ma did a crap job of the physical work, so he’d usually take over anyway. All the while he and Ma argued back and forth on the fields.

An average day, if he wasn’t off dealing with police duties, he’d watch the cattle and make sure they’ve eaten and prod any escapees back into the fields. He was none too gentle, either, and he’s earned his fair share of bruises and narrowly avoided a few nasty kicks. Leland’s even got a particularly nasty scar on his lower abdomen from getting gored by a rowdy heifer. It luckily wasn’t deep enough to get him sent to the hospital, but boy did his parents ridicule him for being dumb enough to let it happen in the first place. 

Cannot cook for the life of him. Pa drilled it into his head that cooking was a woman's job, so he never really bothered to learn. All of the housework was handled by his wives, and god forbid if they wanted a break from it… During the brief stints between each marriage, Leland’s survived off diner food, cigarettes, coffee, and the occasional frozen tv dinner. 

On the other hand, however, he’s completely fine with a man cooking if it’s to handle a grill. Hell, Pa was the one to teach him how to prepare meat after they’ve sent their cattle off to the slaughterhouse, and goddamn can he cook a mean steak. Now that he thinks about it, Leland sometimes wished he paid more attention on how to make fried chicken when his Ma tried to show him… 

The Coyle family were devout Christians and attended Sunday mass each week. Of course, Leland doesn’t practice the religion much as he grew older, but much of the values taught to him remained; most of them perverted to fit his ideals. 

Thanks to his chronic smoking habit, Leland’s appetite is close to nonexistent. He does it so much that the other officers of the Blackwell Police Department often joked about how Sergeant Coyle’s office may as well have been an oven with how much smoke emanated from his office. However, given how he’s the one to handle most of the paperwork until the asscrack of dawn, and with only a cigarette and numerous cups of coffee littering his desk to keep him going, no one really complained. 

Usually shaves his head during the summer time. Sure, he’s a vain man, but it’s become a habit after his time in the military. Not to mention that it usually helped him keep cool during the days where he toiled in the fields with the sun beating down on he and Ma. The habit followed him into the Sinyala facility, where staff usually had to shear him down since, though he’s a Prime Asset and thus has special privileges, he’s still not to be trusted with anything sharp. 

Has extensive firearm training. Pa first showed him how to handle a rifle whenever the farm had to deal with coyotes and stray dogs that harassed the livestock. On the offtime there wasn’t anything to shoot, young Leland was usually spotted by the fence posts in the outer perimeter of the farm, practicing his aim with a few cans and empty bottles. Which eventually graduated to shooting at any unlucky birds or cats that wandered too close to the property. He was also put in charge of putting down any sickly cattle, too, after Pa was left crippled.

His aim only got better thanks to his time in Okinawa. He’s got more experience in rifles and pistols, but he has a natural knack for machinery, and he’s a quick learner. Not to mention that he follows gun safety to a fuckin’ T…. Which only made him even more offended when he learned that some deformed, baby-talkin’ runt got a gun before he did in Sinyala. 

Usually has a sore back after trials. Sure, he can handle lugging around that pontiac car battery on his back for hours if he needed to, but goddamn is that thing heavy. First thing he does after a trial is stretch until he hears his back pop. 

Suffers from really nasty night terrors. Going back to his comic and how it briefly touched on how Leland’s exhibited signs of CSA, it’s highly possible that much of the abuse occurred behind closed doors and at night, where everyone else was asleep. He’s avoided sleep like the plague since then. Both as a means of trying to protect himself and not have to deal with constantly reliving the incident. He’s never talked to anyone about it, and refuses to do so. 

He’s also coped with it via hypersexualising himself and inflicting pain on others. It gives him a sense of control and a rush of power that was stripped away from him. Silently vowed to never let himself be that vulnerable again.

╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝

[onwednesdayswewrite]

this hell is better with you {tara carpenter}

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder, blood, smoking weed, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 3.5k

hey y’all, I had a ton of fun writing this, and have a few more ideas in this little universe so let me know if you would be interested in seeing more!

chapter 2: you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the fall of your senior year at Blackmore University when you first realized you loved Tara Carpenter. Your heated debates over Geoffrey Chaucer and Jane Austen had drawn you closer to her. Being the overachiever she was, Tara was taking English Lit as a freshman; while you barely scraped by to get a passing grade. Though your time together was usually cut short, you couldn’t miss the way even the overly bright fluorescent lecture hall lights made her eyes sparkle. Or the way the memory of summer days danced across her cheeks in the form of freckles. Or the way that little scar by her eye crinkled whenever she smiled. 

 Of course you knew of the Woodsboro native’s past, everyone did. It didn’t terrify you like it did most, it only excited you. 

Your encounters had been limited to a few study sessions and passing each other on campus. You wanted more, but her friend group always lingered. Mindy was sweet, a bit of a geek but you found it appealing. And Mindy’s girlfriend, Anika was nice too but you didn't know her well. And Quinn, you liked Quinn. Of course then there was Chad. You didn’t like Chad one bit. Chad rubbed you the wrong way. He always walked around acting like he owned everything. Including Tara.

And Sam? Well Sam was a whole different monster entirely. 

The day started like most did these days. A double at the hospital meant the twelve block trek back to your off-campus apartment would be hell. The caffeine pumping through your veins did little to ease the exhaustion. It was a Sunday which meant you only had a few hours of peace before you had to begin studying for morning classes. You wanted nothing more than to fill those hours with sleep but the constant honking of horns and the wailing of sirens made it seem unlikely. It was days like this where you wished New York City wasn’t the city that never slept, even if it was the middle of the day. 

As the hustle began to ease closer to your apartment, the sounds of sirens continued to fill the air. You didn’t live in the best part of town, but this was unusual. Your phone buzzed in the leg of your scrub pocket. It was a notification from the News app that came pre-installed on your phone. The heading read ‘police release names of Blackmore students murdered to be that of Anika Kayoko and Quinn Bailey’. You felt lighter now, that takes care of two of Tara's friends. Poor Mindy though, she seemed to really like Anika. Your bitten-down fingertips hit the notification, and scanned the article. ‘Kayoko and Bailey were in Bailey's midtown apartment when the attacks took place.’

Your blood ran cold and you felt your heart plummet to your feet, Quinn was Tara’s roommate. Was Tara okay? Your mind ran through every possibility, before you took a moment to settle. Think rationally, y/n. You had been floated to the surgical floor, if anything too bad had happened, you would have known.  

It was when you were about half a block from your apartment and the sirens only got louder and louder you grew concerned. You didn’t live that close to the Carpenter’s and there shouldn’t still be police activity.

When you turned the ally onto your street you knew something was very wrong. The entire block filled with every first responder in the area. New York’s finest. The fire department. Paramedics and emergency medical technicians. The coroner. 

‘They found you y/n. I told you that you should have hidden the body better’ the bottle of pills shook in the pocket of your thrift store jacket. Maybe an extra one wouldn’t hurt, they would kick you from the nursing program if they knew about the voices. The bottle rolled between your fingers when you pulled it from your pocket. Only 13 pills left, you couldn’t risk what would happen if you ran out. You slid the bottle back into the pocket and zipped it shut. 

You quickly realized things were not as they seemed when you spotted none other than Samantha Carpenter amongst the crowd. Her body was covered in blood. It didn’t seem to be her blood, but where the hell was Tara? You knew Sam never let her far from sight, so Tara had been with her? Sam didn’t seem overly upset given the situation. 

Your worries dissipated into the air when Tara hopped down from the back of an ambulance. Your heart settled in your chest. She was walking, talking with Sam and another blonde woman and seemed fairly unharmed. And she looked even more beautiful now than you swore she had before. The way the red and blue lights of the ambulance reflected against her chocolate eyes. And being soaked in blood that wasn’t her own was a good look. Though her arm was in a sling, the white fabric tightened around her neck. A rather shitty job, you could have done better yourself. 

You observed them as they spoke for a few moments. They were just a little too far to hear the conversation, but you certainly saw when Tara’s face crumbled. Oh. Oh. She was crying now, tears driving her mascara stains farther down her cheeks. You had never seen her cry before, and the deep pit forming in your stomach told you that you would never let it happen again. Now if you could only get your hands on whoever did this you would rip-

“Hey, we got another one here” a grimace of pain flashed across her face from the movement, but it didn’t stop Tara from rushing to greet the second paramedic squad rolling a gurney from within the theater. 

“Chad, Chad” Tara’s voice cracked when she called out to him, nothing but joy laced in her words. 

“How are you alive?” Sam joined Tara at the side of the stretcher. A stupid boyish smile found its way to Chad’s face under the oxygen mask as he held up four shaky, bloodied fingers. 

“Core fucking four” Tara let out a watery giggle, and a smile followed. A wide smile. One that made dimples crinkle up the skin on her blood stained cheeks. Normally it would have settled the fire in your stomach, but not this time. Not when Chad was the reason for it. Not when Tara was clinging to him, tightly gripping his arm, scared that he would leave her.  

‘They should have just let him die, he’s too close to Tara’ the voice echoed through your head. The pill bottle felt heavy in your pocket now. You untightened the safety cap and dry swallowed the pill. 12 pills would have to be enough. You would make it be enough.

“Oh my god are you guys okay?” Mindy stubbled past the line of police officers. An IV port in the back of her hand, and a hospital bracelet hanging from her wrist. She practically crashed into the group. Tara’s hands only leaving Chad’s arm to steady Mindy’s gait. 

“Ma’am this is an active crime scene, you can’t be here” the officer was much larger than you, and it was no use fighting against him as he backed you down the street, pushing you farther from Tara. 

You took one final glance back at Tara as she clung to her sister’s side, both watching as they loaded Chad into the second ambulance. With a deep breath, you turned your shoulders and headed down the street. I’ll be back for you, Tara Carpenter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I recovered, I got mad. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of monsters. I wanted the monsters to be afraid of me. Kirby’s words echoed through Tara’s head as she entered Sam’s mandatory trauma group therapy. Tara was tired of it. Tired of always being afraid and running. Tired of being small and tired of being stabbed. Tired of being on the shit end of kill or be killed. Ever since the moment Tara drove that knife into Ethan, something changed in her. It came as a gnawing, aching feeling, a deep desire to feel the warm blood pump over her hands again. 

The therapy did little to ease the continued obsessive thoughts. Sam’s new therapist freaked her out and she hated the sterile environment of private therapy so Sam suggested group therapy. 

Tara felt sick to her stomach as she listened to the others talk about their feelings. She reached for her now lukewarm Starbucks coffee, but it did little to push the bile back down her throat. How could they feel this way when she felt so different? 

“Tara, do you have anything you would like to share?” Every pair of eyes in the room shot to Tara when the older lady running the session spoke to her. Curious eyes, just waiting to hear her sob story. All judging her as if they didn’t have their own fucked up shit going on. 

“Hi…I’m Tara, and about 3 weeks ago my friends and I were attacked and I…” Tara voiced trailed off. She hated the way they all looked at her now. The pity laced in their eyes. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t deserve it. 

“I just keep...I keep having these, um…these thoughts in my head, and I don’t…” Tara’s voice shook as she spoke. What the hell was she even supposed to say? The truth would no doubtably get her locked up. 

“Now die a Fucking virgin” it felt good under Tara’s hands as Ethan choked on his own blood. His chest heaved as he tried to get oxygen past the blood rapidly filling his throat and lungs. Fear floated into his eyes as he realized he was dying, and it was so so sweet. Tara twisted the knife a little more. He gargled for air one last time. Tara let him fall at her feet. Fuck Ethan. And fuck his whole family for what they had done to her. 

“I don’t know if I can control them...and I’m just...afraid of what’s gonna happen” Don’t say it Tara. Don’t say you’ve been longing to take another life since that moment. Don’t tell them it's the only thing you can think about, day and night. Make something up Tara, think fast. Her eyes rapidly scanned the room looking for an answer. All eyes were still on her, wide and scared, just waiting for her to lose it. Her chest felt heavy, how was she going to get out of this one?

Until her eyes found yours across the room. And for once someone was finally looking at her like she wasn’t crazy. Like they weren’t going to lock her up and force pills down her throat. Like someone who finally understood her. Her heart was racing now. It was all too much. 

“I’m sorry, I need a second.” Tara pushed herself up from the chair and darted for the door without a second thought. 

The stale air of the meeting hall had been suffocating her, and now with the cool evening air rushing into her lungs, she felt like she could breathe again. She took another deep breath and settled down against the brick wall of the building. It felt nice on her spine after half an hour of sitting in those cheap plastic chairs. Tara checked her phone again, had it really only been 30 minutes? 

“Want a hit?” Tara almost didn’t notice you settle down next to her, offering a small vape in her direction. “Or may I offer a stale doughnut and coffee that tastes like it was brewed with sewer water?” You offered up your other hand which contained a white paper coffee cup with a black lid with a chocolate sprinkle doughnut balanced on top.

Tara took your offering of the doughnut, maybe the sugar would stop her hands from shaking so much. She picked a few sprinkles from the icing before tearing off a chunk of the doughnut. She was right, the chocolate did settle her nerves a little. 

“What are you doing here, y/n? Therapy I mean” Tara ripped off another piece of the doughnut, and then set the rest down on her thigh. 

“That’s a bit of a personal question, don’t you think?” Your eyes followed a fallen leaf as it tumbled through the parking lot. Tara knew it wasn’t that interesting, you were just avoiding making eye contact. 

“We almost kissed, I think I’m allowed to ask you personal questions” Tara chuckled out, the autumn breeze cooling the fire blooming on her cheeks. 

“And that shows the complex relationship between- y/n, are you even listening to me?” Tara paused her rant about Paradise Lost when she noticed your eyes had been focusing on her and not the book in front of you. You clearly hadn’t been paying attention, you didn’t even notice her lift her head up to look at you. Tara grabbed a paper clip from the nearby stack of papers, and tossed it in your direction. It hit you square in the side of the nose and you jumped. Caught red handed. 

“What? Yeah of course I am” your eyes shot down to the book beneath your fingertips, clearly trying to figure out what the hell she had been going on about. 

“Focus, our midterm is next week” Tara tapped her pastel blue pen down on the paragraph she had been talking about.  “And stop staring, it’s creepy” Tara didn’t really think it was creepy, but she knew if she let you look at her for too much longer then you might notice the pink tint that was finding its way to her cheeks from you being so close. 

“I’m not a creep! I just think you have a pretty voice” you pretended to act shocked, but you knew Tara didn’t take any of your shit. Not when it came to classes. Not with your graduation looming in the distance. Tara wasn’t sure what your plans were after college, but she hoped you were planning on staying close. Would you stay working at the same hospital? 

“That’s something a creep would say” Tara teased, rolling onto her stomach to copy you. She didn’t want to think about you graduating, and leaving just yet. It made her feel like lightning struck her heart. She didn’t like that feeling. “This is important, can we please focus?” As much as Tara wanted you to stay, she didn’t like the idea of you failing being the only reason for staying. 

“I’m already focusing on something important to me” Tara looked up to see you already looking at her. Your hand pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen out of her messy bun. Fuck. Tara felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. Their soft wings tickled the sides, spreading the warmth they left through her body. Tara watched as your eyes shifted down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. Please kiss me. Tara felt the heat between the two of you, something seemingly pulling you closer and closer. 

Your copy of Paradise Lost disregarded somewhere on the bed between the two of you, and for once Tara didn’t care. All she could think about was why the hell you couldn’t put on your big kid pants for once in your life and kiss her. Did she really have to do all the work? Just when she thought she was gonna explode, you leaned forward on your elbows. Your breath tickled her nose. Please just kiss me, you idiot. 

“Tara” Quinn shoved open the door to Tara’s room without a care. You quickly jumped away from each other, the notebooks in front of you suddenly becoming very interesting. That's it, Tara had decided you really were an idiot. She wasn’t even sure she could save you anymore. 

“Did I cockblock you?” it didn’t take a fool to read the situation, and Quinn certainly wasn’t a fool. Definitely not when it came to this. 

“What did you just say?” Tara squeezed her eyes shut. This is not happening right now. 

“Cockblocked you, I cockblocked you, didn’t I?” Quinn waved her finger between the two of you. 

“Immediate no” Tara jumped up from her spot on the bed, shaking her head. Quinn had just ruined this for her, and now she was only making it worse. 

“Please stop saying the word cock” your voice was muffled from where you had your face pressed into your notebook. Tara wondered if your cheeks looked as red as hers felt. 

“What’d…what’d you need?” Tara’s voice stuttered. 

“Sam just texted me asking if I needed anything, so she's on her way home” Quinn waved her phone at them as evidence. Tara hated it. She wasn’t ready to handle Sam just yet. You sent her a sad smile; you knew that meant your night was over. Tara took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. She really hated it. 

“Don’t ever enter a room like that again” Tara let out a sigh of frustration and sat back down on the bed. 

“I won’t” Quinn nodded her head, feeling just as awkward now. 

“Nice to see you, Quinn” you waved her direction and she offered an apologetic smile, turning and leaving the room. “But I'm gonna get out of here before your sister kills me” You smiled down at Tara. Tara could feel her cheeks burn even hotter now as you packed up your books. 

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Carpenter” you sent a wink in her direction before slipping out the window and down the fire escape. Tara let herself fall back on the bed. Fuck. The butterflies in her stomach felt bigger now, like a bird had taken over and was starting to flap its wings. 

“I changed my mind, give me that” Tara snatched the vape from your hand, and began to take a hit. The fire had begun to light up in her chest just from being close to you again. And she definitely wouldn’t have the courage to follow through with her plan if she was sober. 

“It’s weed Tara, don’t green out on me” you tried to pull the vape from her lips, but she swatted you away. It burned her throat, and her lungs felt heavy. 

“I know what I’m doing, I’m not some amateur” Tara took another long hit from it just to prove her point. When she exhaled she instantly felt the tickle in her throat. She felt her face start to turn red as she resisted the urge to cough. She wouldn’t let you think you were even a little right. 

“Not an amateur?” Your eyebrow cocked up, and a smirk played on your lips. After a few more seconds of watching her struggle, you offered her the cheap therapy coffee. And Tara took it gratefully, anything to soothe her throat. 

The second the coffee hit her tongue she knew it was a mistake. You had been right about one thing; that coffee HAD been made with sewer water. Tara felt humiliated as she sat coughing and spitting up trash coffee as the people of New York City passed by. Judging her. As if they even had a clue what she had been through. 

“Easy sweetheart, they haven’t given me my nursing license yet” your hand felt warm on her back, rubbing soothing circles. And even when the coughing settled and she sat back upright, you didn’t stop. You pulled her closer even. Tara didn’t mind though, she honestly hoped you wouldn’t ever stop. 

You were so close together now, the scent of coffee and weed still lingering on both of your breaths. Tara watched as you scanned her face for any sign of discomfort. Your face visibly settled when you found none. Tara wasn’t messed up by any means, but she definitely felt the high easing her nerves. She felt lighter now, like the weight of the world wasn't completely on her shoulders for once. And by the look on your face, she was sure you would take that weight if she had asked you to. 

Tara’s fingertips traced the scar above your eyebrow. It ran down the side of your face, and ended abruptly at your cheekbone. How had you gotten it? It didn’t look overly fresh, but was that why you had come to counseling? 

You abruptly grabbed her hand. Tara’s eyes flew to yours, and your skin warmed hers. The warmth burned hotter in her chest too. Tara liked having you this close. 

“I will not be held responsible for my actions if you don’t stop touching me” Your eyes were serious. 

Tara swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. She had been holding back from you long enough that even the idea of giving in made her hands shake. Tara held your gaze for a moment, contemplating her next move, then shifted onto her knees and pressed her lips against yours. 

“Good girl” you whispered when she finally pulled away. She shivered under you. 

“You like that, don’t you? You want everyone to think you're so sweet and innocent. And good.” your breath tickled her ear “but you like the darkness. You need it, crave it. And I'm going to give it to you, Tara Carpenter”. 

And you were right. Tara needed it. She craved it. She craved you. 

chapter 2: you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

[w2soneshots]

Accident -KSI

words: 0.7k+

warnings: angst, skiing accident, hospitals, recovery.

summary: when abroad skiing for a sidemen video you have an accident and everyone’s worried about you.

notes: I love this request and I feel like JJ is such a cutie so he would definitely react like this💞. I hope you enjoy my loves!!😊🫶🏼

Liked by tobjizzle, taliamar and 521,870 others

y/username: how it started vs how it's going😭

-comments-

ksi: ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

freyanightingale: my poor girl🥺

y/nfanpage21: omfg what happened? Are you ok?

user31083649: isn't she filming for a sidemen vid?

-> user29736105: yea. I'm not sure if they'll post it now tho🤷‍♂️

"Shit! Babe, are you okay?!" JJ shouted, racing over to me. I could barely hear him. My ears were ringing and my head hurt. "y/n? y/n can you hear me? Answer me!" He scrambled as I began to come back into consciousness. "I'm ok." I croaked. My voice coming out much more quiet than I thought it would. "Fucking hell! You scared the shit out of me." I tried to sit up, a sharp pain spread through my leg. I hissed. JJ started to panic for a second time. "Don't move! What is it? Your leg?" I nodded. "Ok I'm gonna call an ambulance."

It felt a little bit like a blur after that. I was rushed to the nearby hospital where they completely checked me over. Almost an hour after we arrived the doctor came back with the results of their tests. "So, you have a concussion which is most likely from the impact of the fall and is the reason you blacked out. Your leg is severely bruised since that was what you landed on but nothing is broken. You are very lucky." She explained sweetly. A weight lifted from my shoulders. JJ let out a relived breath. "Thank you." I smiled. "You'll need to rest and take it easy for the next few weeks but you should be just fine."

We flew home the next day and I was treated like a complete princess. JJ cancelled everything in order to take care of me. I slept, watched reality tv, cuddled with our little dog and ate the food JJ brought to me, which mostly consisted of uber eats since I'm usually the cook. Yinka (JJ's mum) came round to bring me some home cooked food and to make sure that I was okay, which was really sweet. I got many texts from all of my friends along with the boys who were really concerned when they saw I'd had an accident.

I wasn't initially supposed to be going on the trip but Vik became Ill so they asked if I could step in last minute, since every time I go on there channel the video does really well. I agreed and we left for the airport the next day.

I spent the first day on the bad team with Simon and Harry which they both felt bad about but I'm really close with Simon since I've known him for so many years so I wasn't that bothered. I had to spend the night in a tiny room with them, me on the top bunk. Then JJ and Harry swapped so I ended up remaining on the bad team with Simon and JJ, I wasn't really mad though because I can't ski and I'd rather have the funny experience with JJ.

Then only one hour in I lost control and practically rolled off of a small snowy cliff. I landed in the snow after only falling about three metres but I was going full speed, doing something I wasn't familiar with. They asked if I wanted the video to be cancelled and I told them that was ridiculous. I fell on the last day and wasn't injured that badly plus the whole thing was caught on camera so it was great content.

"I'm seriously so glad you're ok. I was really worried for a second." JJ said quietly as he gently ran his hand through my hair. I yawned as we were about to go to sleep. "Could you imagine if I had died? I can see the headlines now, 'KSI's girlfriend dies while filming sidemen Sunday'" I played it out with my hands. He chuckled. "I love you. Good night." He kissed my forehead. I nuzzled closer into his shoulder. "I love you too." I whispered as I drifted off to sleep.

Liked by ksi, faithloisak and 410,732 others

y/username: thank you for your lovely messages but I'm ok, just realised I'm shit at skiing😘

-comments-

miniminter: committed to the content

-> y/username: a little too committed😂

taliamar: side note: you look stunning!

y/nfanpage21: I'm glad she's alive x

user71209374: the puppy🥹💕

[alavestineneas]

Alive

pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader

summary: Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

warnings: mentions of ptsd, trauma, panic attacks

District 7 slowly was coming alive—people returned to their work, children started roaming the streets again, and even the forest gradually became green. It seemed like the only one to stay grieving was Johanna. She never thought she was going to get better; the wounds were deeply engraved in her mind. But time passed, and they turned into annoying scratches—almost healed but still bleeding.

She had a new house now—the one the government gave her. Its bricked walls weren't overly hospitable, but Johanna had seen far worse than that. The house wasn't big, but it was close to the market and, more importantly, the hospital, so Johanna was fine with it. Here, her cherished isolation was disrupted by only one human being.

Mac was the loudest child Johanna had ever met. The boy, who was not older than ten, lived two houses away. On a mostly calm street, he raised hell every day with his old red bike. Sure, the little devil helped the old Ms. Lane get the milk from the market or get the letter to the post office quickly, but something about his loud laughter in the evening annoyed Johanna to no end.

Not Y/N, though. Johanna wondered how such vastly different people could live under the same roof. Ms. Lane called her ''Lovely Y/N'' and Johanna had to agree with the old lady for once. Y/N worked as a nurse; Johanna often saw her in the white halls of the hospital. She was just what Johanna loved about her District the most: someone with a big heart and working hands.

This type of people sang old songs in pubs after a day in the sawmill or chatted with their neighbours over a cup of tea on Sunday afternoons. The people Johanna remembered from her childhood, the people her parents and brothers once were. Y/N was just the type—she smiled more often than she frowned and laughed more than she argued.

It seemed distant to Johanna, like a tune she'd heard before but couldn't recall the words of. She doesn't belong among those people anymore. Not after all she went through. And every time Y/N appeared on the porch of Johanna's house with a warm smile, Johanna was reminded of that.

"Good evening, Miss Mason."

Y/N stands in front of her once again. She came right after work, a worn bag over her shoulder, a deep blue coat a size larger, hurriedly buttoned up. The little devil is also here; now, the boy shyly hides behind the woman, hiding his gaze.

''My name is Johanna.'' she clears. Johanna hates that she can't hold a civil conversation for once; her words definitely didn't sound polite.

''Yes, sorry. Johanna, I am so sorry about your flowerpot. Mac?"

''I'm sorry, Miss Johanna. It won't happen again.'' the boy mumbles, his head bowed in deep shame.

Oh, yes. This dumbass broke a flowerpot with his annoying ball this afternoon. To be fair, Johanna couldn't care less about that thing; it was empty anyway. Besides, she had a stupid habit of breaking everything in her house when angry, so sooner or later, the flowerpot would meet its fate.

''Don't worry about it,'' she mumbles, almost embarrassed to see Y/N's warm smile appear on her tired face once again.

''I thought we should buy you a new one, but I didn't know which one to choose. How about we go to the market on Sunday together, and I'll buy the one you want?''

Johanna freezes. The idea of going to the market on Sunday terrifies her. Then, most of the District gathers there. But if she doesn't agree, Y/N will think she hates her. Johanna can't allow it—the nurse is the only thing close to a friend that she has. Mason can't help but think how damn stupid it is not to be able to buy herself a pot. So, the choice is obvious.

''Sounds good!'' Johanna squeezes out. Her voice is harsh, but Y/N still nods.

''Great! At the corner at ten then.''

-

Y/N is already there when Johanna comes, and Mason feels at ease, distracted from anxious thoughts by a pleasant conversation. That is until they enter the square. It is noisy and too fast for her to keep up, and Johanna almost thinks of running away, but Y/N places a hand on her back.

''First, let's look at Greg's. They changed the aisle; it is closer to vegetables now.''

Johanna might feel like throwing up, but she still got her stupid pot and made Y/N laugh a couple of times, so, in her book, it is a win. Y/N seems to think so too. She takes two pieces of candy out of the bag.

''Would you like some? I stole it from Mac.''

''Do I look like a kid to you?'' Johanna resents.

She still takes it, of course. It's chocolate, for God's sake.

-

It is Friday; Y/N's shift ends fifteen minutes after Johanna's appointment with the doctor, so they walk home together. Y/N says she doesn't like walking alone, and Johanna almost believes her; after each session with a doctor, Mason leaves the room with bloodshot eyes. Of course, Y/N notices them too.

Johanna waits for her near a small shop on the corner, as she usually does. What is unusual are a few wet patches on the pavement. Johanna feels her heart drop. Its racing beat rings loud in her ears. Suddenly, the air doesn't want to enter her lungs anymore; Johanna grasps it again and again, feeling her knees weaken. Water drops had already found her head and shoulders, each one burning her skin.

That's how she is going to die, she thinks. The water slowly covers small holes in the road; Johanna's hands begin to tremble, chills covering them. She already can't feel her legs. Water, then electricity. Snow fucking got her. She can't escape him.

A pair of colorful shoes blocks the view of the road. Then, concerned eyes appeared in front of Johanna's. It's Y/N, Mason thinks; her figure is a slight blur. She says something, but it is quite hard to understand—the water is pouring down her face.

Johanna shakes her head. "I don't," she stutters, "I can't."

She loses Y/N's face again but feels her presence near. The woman places something cold in Johanna's hands, her voice ringing loudly in Mason's head.

"Breathe.''

And she does. In and out, in and out, until her vision isn't so clouded anymore and she can finally feel her sore legs. The rain doesn't stop, but it doesn't hit her anymore. Y/N is sitting beside her, holding an umbrella.

''Can you walk?'' she asks, her hair and clothes soaked.

Johanna only nods, feeling the usual sleepiness returning.

''Let's get you out of here then.''

-

Johanna sits on the old chair in the smallest kitchen she has ever seen. They are at Y/N's house. She is in a horrendous dress that Y/N made her change into; she can't remember the last time she wore one.

The owner of the house, if you could call it that, was nowhere to be found. Y/N claimed to go searching for the blanket, but it was highly suspicious—the house was too small for anything to get lost. Johanna wonders if she is calling the doctors now, or hiding in the bathroom with a knife in her trembling hands—the thought brings a smile to her face.

Still, she is not alone in the room—a pair of curious eyes watch her very carefully.

''Are you going to hide there all day?" she asks, annoyed.

The little devil leaves his not-so-well-thought-out hiding spot with a loud sigh. ''Y/N told me to leave you alone,'' he reveals. ''But you are at my house, so...''

The boy looks very confident in himself. He grabs a pear from the nearest bowl and slides onto the chair next to her. ''Why are you here?''

Johanna eyes him up and down. ''Your mom dragged me here, and I didn't have the heart to argue with such a beauty'', she shrugs.

''Mum?'' he exclaims, making a disgusted face. ''Ew! Y/N is my sister, you moron!''

''MAC!'' Y/N roars, returning to the room with a spare blanket. ''What did I say just two minutes ago?''

The boy rolls his eyes. ''Don't bother the guest.''

''And?'' Y/N looks at him sternly.

"And don't you fucking swear." Mac grins, stealing one more pear from the bowl before dodging the rag thrown at him.

Johanna snorts. "A lovely kid you have here."

Y/N sighs. ''He's a pain in the ass sometimes. But I can't really blame him. ''

Mason watches the woman place a kettle on the stove. She changed her wet clothes, but her hair is still damp. Y/N looks relaxed like this, even with a near maniac in her kitchen.

''Why are you raising him?'' Johanna looks at her curiously.

''Well, my parents were executed for supporting the rebellion. So there was not much of a choice.''

''I'm sorry.'' Johanna frowns.

She never thought about how much the revolution affected the people around her. Sure, the District was burned and bombed, but how many people lost their families as Y/N did? Like she did years ago?

''I like to think they were happy to die fighting.'' Y/N watches the droplet of water hit the window. ''You can stay for the night. I am leaving early, but Mac will be home.''

Johanna wants to argue, but frankly, Y/N is right. She can't even bring herself to look at the rain, let alone set foot outside.

''Thank you.''

Y/N nods. She doesn't talk anymore, deep in her thoughts. Johanna wonders what she has also missed.

''I had brothers too, you know. Two. Snow killed them after I won.'' Johanna bites her cheek, feeling her eyes water.

She had never told anyone before. None of the survivors

know where her family is, except for the doctor, but it wasn't really her choice to tell him.

''I miss them.''

''I do too.'' Y/N's eyes mirror hers - something in them makes Johanna's heart squeeze. ''Sometimes I think it should've been me. Mac would've been much happier without a sister than without parents.''

''Don't say that.'' Johanna scowls. ''You help a lot of people.''

Y/N chuckles. ''I don't do much. I am not a doctor.''

It's not what she meant, Johanna thinks but keeps her mouth shut. What did she mean by that anyway?

-

Johanna cleans for the first time in forever. It's refreshing, although she will never admit it. The weather is pleasant enough to keep the windows open, and Johanna thinks the sky is finally starting to clear. That's when she hears loud bangs on the door. There is only one person who knocks this loudly.

''What do you want, Mac?'' she asks, opening the door only to find a boy completely out of breath.

''Miss Mason, Y/N wondered if you could help us chop the wood?''

Johanna frowns. ''Is this why you were running here?''

''Yes.'' the boy nods.

Something doesn't add up, but Johanna has absolutely no wish to dig deeper; it's easier to say when Mac doesn't have something going on.

''Well, let me grab my axe.''

Johanna doesn't understand why the little devil keeps rushing her. Their house seems fine, with no fire or explosion in sight. When they approach, however, Johanna hears a familiar voice speak louder than usual.

''Mister Pitforest, I'm afraid I can't. I am working at that hour.''

''Oh, Y/N. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of your company? You know, my darling, it gets lonely these days without someone by my side.''

''I am very sorry to hear that, but I have to put food on the table.''

''Sweetheart, you don't have to worry about that. I will take good care of you and your brother—that's what old friends are for, right? So, what do you say?''

Johanna watches Mac's hands turn into fists when the man touches Y/N's shoulder. He is at least twice her age, if not older, and she is clearly uneasy.

''I believe she said no.''

Y/N turns to her, surprised. Johanna knows she probably looks like a mad woman with an axe in her hand and Mac hiding behind her. The axe feels natural in her grip - she still remembers how to use it properly.

''Y/N, don't tell me you know '', he motions toward Johanna, "her.''

''I do. Is there a problem?'' Y/N's face is stone cold, and Johanna can't help but think it was much more intimidating than a weapon in her hands.

''A problem? Y/N, she is a child killer! What would your poor father say to that?''

''And what would my father say to his friend trying to sleep with his daughter?"

The man's face grows red. ''I was trying to help you, ungrateful bitch.''

''One more word,'' Johanna warns.

The man throws a glance at her axe before quickly getting into the car. He is rich, Johanna thinks—not a lot of people can afford cars here. She watches the auto disappear in the next turn before turning to Y/N.

''You should've told me he was bothering you sooner.''

''He was a family friend.'' She shrugs. ''And a dick, apparently.''

Johanna chuckles. ''So, where's the wood?''

Y/N looks at her, confused. ''In the forest, I assume?''

''Mac told me you need help cutting it.''

Y/N laughs. ''That little shit.''

Johanna can't help but notice how pretty she looks like that.

''You don't look bad yourself, with an axe and everything. It suits you.''

Mason feels her legs take a step closer to Y/N, their eyes meeting.

''Can I?'' she asks, but Y/N is quicker; she presses her lips to hers.

It's calm. For the first time in years, Johanna feels calm. They pull away after a few moments, Y/N's arms still intertwined with hers—the one without an axe, of course.

''I haven't been hugged in years,'' Johanna admits.

''Well, that should feel nice then.''

They stay like this, just holding each other - as much as Johanna doesn't want to admit it, it does feel nice.

''Are you finished eating each other's faces?'' Mac asks, his eyes purposefully shut.

Johanna feels Y/N giggle in her chest. ''Tell him he has five seconds to run as far as he can.''

She smiles too, watching the boy vanish into the house. Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

[chxrryhxrtreplies]

I managed to lose the request for this fic so hopefully the person that requested it ends up seeing this! This will be a two part story and I’m going to get started on part two tomorrow <3

Draw stars around my scars - Remus Lupin x Female Reader 

Synopsis: It is a few days after a full moon, a bad one. You haven’t seen Remus since and you are beginning to get worried, so you sneak into the infirmary. How will Remus react to your surprise visit?

Warnings: Angst, swearing, mentions of blood and injuries.

1.2k words

It’s Sunday, four days since the full moon. Sirius and James were still adamant that you could not visit Remus, claiming various things such as, “They gave him the wrong medicine and now his head’s twice its usual size” or that “If you step even one foot into the hospital wing, you’ll catch the most recent strand of wizards’ flu – and that stuff is deadly!”

At first, you were sure that they had Remus’ best interests at heart when they were spouting this nonsense at you, but in all honesty, you were beginning to doubt it. You had always visited him after previous full moons – hell, you had even helped carry him to the hospital wing after some particularly bad nights, so why could you not see him now?

This line of thought is how you found yourself padding along the hallways under the thick cover of night, moonlight pouring through the vast windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, where chandeliers hung down. Paintings lined the walls too, and you could hear murmurs of their complaints behind you as you carried on walking, your wand serving to illuminate your path.

You rounded the final corner to the hospital wing, tentatively approaching the entrance as a shiver ran its way up your spine – you were beginning to wish you had worn a little more than just your pyjamas and cloak, a pair of shoes probably would have made the journey less chilling, but you left in such a rush to see Remus that you did not even consider that.

Lifting your wand up, you held it steadily in front of the lock and whispered, “Alohomora.”

After hearing the tell-tale clink of the door unlocking, you stepped forwards, wrapping your hand around the doorknob, but your thoughts stopped you for a moment. Normally, breaking into the infirmary would be something you frowned down upon and if Madame Pomfrey caught you, or if anyone caught you for that matter, there would undoubtedly be consequences, even if you were just trying to check that Remus was okay. You weighed out the pros and cons, fingers still gripping the handle, before making your decision. You missed Remus and seeing him was worth any punishment you could be given. And so, you twisted your wrist, wincing as the doorknob whined.

Following a slight struggle, you resorted to shoving the door open with the brute force of your shoulder, which you found made the entire ordeal a lot easier, but also a whole lot louder. You finally stumbled into the infirmary, the scraping sound ceasing as the door slowly clicked back shut behind you.

Your eyes flitted around, taking in the numerous empty beds and lit sconces that brightened the room, the shadows of the flames flickering and dancing across the walls. As you wove between the rows of beds you noticed that none of the students were first years, let alone suffering from the black plague, like Sirius had told you – though it was not as if you would believe him, he was an absolutely terrible liar.

Once you had finally reached the far end of the hospital wing, you located Remus’ bed, which was not a massive feat. The curtains were drawn around it, obscuring your view so that all you could see was his silhouette, curled into itself as he laid there.

You assumed that he was sleeping and turned to leave him alone to rest, but before you snuck back out again, you heard his sheets rustling and a particularly pained groan slipped out from his throat.

Concerned, you shuffled back towards the curtains, reaching forward and carefully pulling them back, trying to create as little noise as possible.

As you revealed him, even under the dim lighting, you took notice of the many bandages wrapped around his head; more than were usually there and you frowned, it must have been another bad full moon, the first one in a while.

“Remus?” you questioned, eyebrows knitting together in slight worry when he did not respond. “Remus, are you alright?”

“No.”

You wanted to kick yourself for that one – he had just been locked away in the Shrieking Shack to deal with a full moon alone, what sort of answer were you expecting?

“Well,” you replied cautiously, picking up the copy of The Daily Prophet that laid atop his bedside table and unfolding the pages to reveal today’s headline, “How would you feel if I read you the paper? It says there’s more information on the national goblin strikes – I remember you mentioned being interested in that, Rem.”

“Already read that one,” he grumbled, rolling over so that his back was facing you.

“Okay, how about,” you offered, wandering around to the foot of his bed, taking a seat on it, springs squeaking as you got comfortable, “once you get better and the strikes stop, we can go down to Gringotts, get some money out, and then we can buy some new books together.”

In response to this, Remus said nothing, but instead buried his head further into his pillow, hardly even acknowledging you.

“Remus please, just speak to me alright? I’m here for you,” you pleaded him, your eyes lighting up slightly as he began to sit up, looking at you for the first time since you had arrived. This close, you could really see how torn up he was, with fresh scratches across his face, crossing over the faded scars of older wounds, almost looking like reflections of each other. He still had some blood on his skin around his cuts, though it was dried now, and you assumed that the nurses had not been able to clean it off without worsening his pain.

He seemed to notice your eyes roving across his face and body because he began to pull down the sleeves of his sweater, covering his forearms as an almost ashamed look took over his features.

“Please just leave me alone,” he pleaded, his eyes shut, and brows knitted together – a melancholic sight, and you wished you knew how to help him.

“Rem…” you whispered, leaning in to him, your arm lifting up to cradle his face, “you don’t have to talk to me yet, okay?” Your palm was on his cheek now, you could feel the ridges of his scars under your fingers, the heat of his skin warming yours up, the left-over blood sticking you to him – like some sort of blood bond, you thought, a small smile raising the corners of your lips.

You stayed like this for a moment, a peaceful moment, before you brought your other hand up to rest against the column of his throat, atop the layer of bandages wrapped around his neck and you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“I love you, Remus,” you mumbled, as if it were a promise, something to be shared between you two and no one else, a secret.

You found yourself tipping your head forward, foreheads kissing as your palms held his face, his skin feeling damp… with tears? You pulled back and his soft brown eyes stared into yours, unblinking, something changing behind them as he grabbed your wrists and yanked them away from his cheeks, holding them tightly in front of him.

“I told you-” he spat, roughly shoving your hands away- “just piss off.”

[katy-books]

Remembrance Sunday

When I was a kid, hearing about world wars and hearing the numbers of people killed, on Remembrance Day I'd always console myself by thinking "nobody would be stupid enough to cause WW3."

I knew there were wars, and it was obviously terrible, but I was so sure that no one would tempt a 3rd war which would engulf half the world. It would do just as much damage to the country which started it as the ones they were attacking, right? So what would be the point?

Come 2022 and Russia attacks a country with half it's number of military personnel and far less equipment, because that country wanted full independence. Russia seemed to think that they could just wash over Ukraine like a tsunami. I'm sad to say many people around the world felt the same, which truly proved the strength of propaganda. We all fell for it. Two years later and Russia has proved one thing, that numbers aren't as important as skill and efficiency. That's not to say the last two and a half years haven't been hell for Ukraine. They have, but most of us can say that this isn't exactly the way we expected this to go when it hit the news that a full scale invasion had taken place.

It feels as though Russia as a country has felt very few consequences. A lot of Russians have been killed attacking Ukraine, but the civilians are just going about their day. Either they eat up the frankly ridiculous propaganda or they don't care. I've seen screenshots of comments from Russians on social media calling Ukrainians Nazis. Even if that was true, which it obviously isn't, babies and children can't be Nazis. Maternity and children's hospitals have been bombed. Nazi beliefs are formed by broken or evil adults who are at least vaguely aware of the consequences of those beliefs. Children and babies can't do that. Do the Russian people not know, or are they that deluded, or do they just not care?

The phrase used around Remembrance Day my entire life has been 'Never Again.' In February 2022, I remember thinking "'Never Again' didn't last very long did it?" And sure enough, I haven't seen or heard that phrase as much the last couple of years.

It's not WW3 yet, because Ukraine has become one of the most capable militaries in the world. They've taken on the duty of defending, not just their own country, but the rest of the world too. The duty of 'the allies' should, at the very least, be to give as much equipment and training as possible to the Ukrainian armed forces. And sign off on Ukraine targeting Russian airfields on Russian soil. Instead of trying to destroy the missiles as they're falling on Ukrainian soil, they need to be able to destroy where the missiles are coming from.

I don't know what Trump is planning (he's like a six year old he's probably planning nothing and just comes out with worlds that sound right 🙄) but, given that he's previously said he loves Putin and thinks he's a great man (and once tried to blackmail Zelenksy), I'm terrified.

The photos were taken of displays in Patrington, East Yorkshire. They put on a great show every year, would thoroughly recommend visiting in early November.

[stonerskinny]

y’all think i can get to 240 before next saturday without exploding my heart?

it’s insanely ambitious even without the cardiac concerns but i’ve done 15 in two weeks before way earlier on in this relapse so i feel like i could pull off 9.5 in one if i locked in. i mean, when i did my 80 hour fast my weight dropped 9.9lbs, so. anything’s possible.

at the end of the day i will be content enough as long as i get to, or preferably below, 247.8 before i admit anywhere. because that’s 50 pounds. and 50 is decent. it’s not enough but everyone says there is no such thing as enough and i have to trust them on that because if i don’t i’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if i could have been happy if i had just lost all of the weight i need to.

i don’t know. i’ll assume that i won’t be able to lock in but you bet your asses if i get the opportunity to, i am going to seize it. hell, i have to be fasting for my bloodwork on monday morning which means i will be starting one on sunday night anyway, so maybe ill just see how long i can go before i fall over or admit, whichever comes first. and residential can send me inpatient the day after i admit for all i care. as long as i get to residential first. i have to go to residential first.

and maybe some sick twisted part of that desperate need is attention seeking. it probably is. because plenty of people go inpatient before going to res, and less people get sent to inpatient from res, but even less people get sent inpatient before they ever even get to meet their team at res. and that would be kind of an iconic entrance if i’m being so honest with y’all. imagine me rocking up to res for the third time in a fucking year, already knowing 90% of the staff and having three friends who are patients there, and getting shipped off in an ambulance within a day of getting there. they would know i was sick. actually sick. plenty of people in those places don’t get that with me because im fat but they’d know if i got sent. and i like that.

there is a level of silent respect in treatment centers for those who are The Sickest, whatever that means. the ones who get supplemented at every meal and refuse to drink them. the ones who get sent to the hospital for medical complications. the ones who have been there the longest. the frequent flyers. these are the ones who get their vitals done every single day, and who get prescribed electrolytes, and who cry at meals. they are the ones who get extra sessions with their therapists and who’s team meets about them all the time. the ones who know that every nurse is watching their every move, ready to send them to a hospital at the drop of a hat, and in the face of that still manage to “stay strong”. i think because i never got validated for any of my mental illnesses growing up, i crave that validation now. and both times i have been to res, i have been among that group. the first time it was for mental health reasons alone, and the second time it was mostly mental but almost medical. this time it could be medical for real. and i guess the validation i would feel from that is enough of a bonus for my fucked up brain that i don’t even feel scared about any of it anymore.

as long as i get to res first everything is going to be fine. it’s the chance that i might not get to do that that’s freaking me the fuck out.

[scotianostra]

25th of April each year marks ANZAC Day.

Anzac Day is always marked on 25 April because it is the anniversary of the Gallipoli landings during the First World War.

On 25th April 1915, Anzacs joined the Allied Forces and entered the First World War, launching an expedition to the Gallipoli peninsula. Among the battalions of the British 29th Division that took heavy casualties were 1st King's Own Scottish Borderers, a regular battalion, and 1/5th Royal Scots, a Territorial unit

The plan was to capture the land and gain access to the Dardanelles, a thin strip of water between Gallipoli and mainland Turkey.

It was a key location, as capturing it would have meant Allied ships would be able to get through to the Black Sea, and also Constantinople (now Istanbul, Turkey), the then capital of the Ottoman Empire, which was fighting alongside the Germans.

But while the attack was supposed to be a surprise and victory achieved quickly, the fighting continued for eight months and finished in a stalemate, with huge losses on both sides. Of the 56,000 Allied troops who died, 8,709 were from Australia, and 2,721 from New Zealand.

Australia marks Anzac Day with marches by veterans, as well as serving members of the Australian Defence Force and Reserves, allied veterans, Australian Defence Force Cadets and Australian Air League.

New Zealand marks the day in a similar way, with marches attended by the New Zealand Defence Force, the New Zealand Cadet Forces, members of the New Zealand Police, New Zealand Fire Service and Order of St John Ambulance Service.

Paper poppies are worn as symbols of remembrance, as they are on Remembrance Sunday in the UK and other Commonwealth countries.

Australians gathered for dawn services on Monday morning, the return to full-scale commemorations for the first time since 2019 due to the covid pandemic.

Eric Bogle is a Scottish folk singer-songwriter. Born and raised in Scotland, he emigrated to Australia at the age of 25, he wrote this song in 1971....

AND THE BAND PLAYED WALTZING MATILDA

Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack And I lived the free life of the rover From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over Then in 1915, my country said "son It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done" So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun And they marched me away to the war

And the band played Waltzing Matilda As the ship pulled away from the quay And amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears We sailed off for Gallipoli

And how well I remember that terrible day How our blood stained the sand and the water And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter Johnny Turk, he was waiting, he'd primed himself well He showered us with bullets and he rained us with shell And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell Nearly blew us right back to Australia

But the band played Waltzing Matilda When we stopped to bury our slain We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs Then we started all over again

And those that were left, well we tried to survive In that mad world of blood, death and fire And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive Though around me the corpses piled higher Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head And when I woke up in me hospital bed And saw what it had done, well I wished I was dead Never knew there was worse things than dyin'

For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda All around the green bush far and free To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed And they shipped us back home to Australia The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay I looked at the place where me legs used to be And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me To grieve, to mourn, and to pity

But the band played Waltzing Matilda As they carried us down the gangway But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared Then they turned all their faces away

And so now every April, I sit on me porch And I watch the parades pass before me And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march Reviving old dreams of past glories And the old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war And the young people ask, "what are they marching for?" And I ask myself the same question

But the band plays Waltzing Matilda And the old men still answer the call But as year follows year, more old men disappear Someday no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me? And their ghosts may be heard As they march by that billabong Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?

[newwritergirl]

On the brink | Part 4

Masterlist

When a case hits too close to home, is Jay able to keep it together or is he going to lose everything.

Summary: With Lily in the hospital because of Jay, the team has to wrap up the case without the two partners. But the most important question is, are they able to overcome this disaster?

Trigger Warnings: OCC, OC Lilian Grace Harper, asthma, past child abuse, protective Intelligence, Jay fucks up his friendship, canon divergence!

Word Count: 2.4k +

A/N: Here is the next chapter of my first Chicago PD fic, thanks for reading. This is more on the slower side but don't be afraid there's some more drama on the way :) thanks for reading

Will has to keep his rage in check after Ruzek told him what had happened earlier. He can't believe that his brother hurt the only woman who was always by his side, no matter what. She caught him after his bad heartbreak with Erin, she helped him during some bad episode of PTSD, she's his best friend and she could have been so much more, but he fucked up, royally. He has to help his brother to fix the broken pieces of this friendship but when he enters the treatment room and looks at Lily, shaking and absolutely broken in the hospital bed he doesn't know if they will be able to fix this ever.

With cautious steps to not startle the strawberry blonde further he draws closer until he takes a seat beside the bed.

"Hey, Lils. You're okay. Everything is going to be okay." Will grabs her hands and gives her a gentle squeeze.

"Will…" A heartbreaking sob is leaving her mouth. "I couldn't help him. I- I should've have tried harder…"

But the red haired doctor interrupts his friend immediately. "Lily, look at me, please. There's nothing you could've done. We both know Jay. He's a stubborn asshole. HE should be the one apologizing to you. He hurt you physically and I'm probably right when I assume that he also hurt you mentally the last weeks."

"But…" Lily tries to intervene.

Will stands up from his position on the uncomfortable hospital chair to sit down beside the shaking woman on the bed, gathering her smaller frame into his chest.

"No buts, Lily. He's to blame. I know he's your best friend and you would do everything to protect him, but this is on him. But we will fix this, HE will fix this. You're going to be okay."

---

The car ride to the young woman's house was quiet. With her raging headache and aching lungs she tries to concentrate on her breathing. Adam on the other hand occasionally casts worried glances in her direction. He doesn't want to leave her alone after being injured, with a concussion and after her bad asthma attack but he's needed at the precinct, with her and Jay down, cause Voight sent him home.

"Sunshine? Please stop worrying. We got the prick, it's over." Adam reassures her. At least they can close the case, the Jay-problem is the only thing they have to work out and Adam will move heaven and hell to get the two back on track. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see her nodding tiredly.

"I talked to Voight, you're off for the next days. Will is going to check on you later or tomorrow. But please call one of us if you're getting worse. Our doc wasn't too keen to discharge you that early."

A nod is all he gets from the woman beside him. Lily is clearly under shock. Not that she got injured in the line of work, she misses her partner. She needs Jay's closeness and she can't help it, she blames herself for the outcome of this whole dilemma. That's what she is, always protective of the people she is close with, blaming herself for their mistakes. She's the best cop in their unit, Adam thinks and softly strokes her left hand which limply laying in her lap.

"We gonna be okay, sunshine!"

---

The silence in her house is so loud with all the thoughts running in her concussed head. Memories of her childhood, insults of the guys in her old unit, happy moments with Intelligence, cuddly Sundays with Jay, everything is morphing into a painful chaos raging inside her brain.

Curled into a small ball on her couch she's staring into space when a loud knock is bringing her out of her thoughts. She doesn't want to open the door. She doesn't want to see anyone. Why can't they just leave her alone like everyone did in her past? She closes her eyes to shut the world out. But another round of knocks now louder are echoing through her silent living room. Lily pulls the blanket over her face, not ready to face another human being.

---

What has he done? He destroyed everything. The only person on this earth despite his brother who is family for him is hurt because of him. Lily is hurt and he doesn't even know how she is doing. How severe her injuries are. Is she still at the hospital? Is she alone at home or is Adam still with her? Jay fists his light brown hair into his hands when he hears keys jiggling in the lock and his front door slowly being opened. He looks up from his bent forward position on his couch. There are only two people who have a spare key to his apartment and one of the two is probably still in the ER because of him.

"Thought you wouldn't open the door if I would've knocked. Got something to eat for us." Will announces as he enters his brother's living room, taking off his thick coat and boots before making his way over to the brunette detective. Jay doesn't answer the red haired man, he sure as hell knows what happened today. Maybe even treated his partner in the ER.

"Cat got your tongue?" Will says as he lets himself plop down beside his brother.

"What do you want, Will? I got a shitty day and want to be alone" Jay replies annoyed not in the mood for the shit his brother is probably going to give him.

After Will finished his shift at Med he thought about going straight to Lilian but he wanted to talk to his brother first, after all Adam messaged him that the young female detective is safe and sound at home and resting, so he wanted to give her a bit more time to let the whole situation sink in and maybe sleep off her shock.

On the way to Jay's house he had to downscale his rage against his brother. He understands that this case hit too close to home for him. Ruzek told him a bit about the last days and that today was just the sad peak. He needs to talk some sense into him, Jay needs to fix this and that fast.

"Yes I know. That's why I'm here. Lily has a minor concussion, had to glue a laceration on the back of her head. She had a bad asthma attack but Ruzek was able to help her administer her spray at the scene before bringing her to Med."

Will saying his partner's name makes Jay immediately looking up. She has a concussion because of him? She even had an asthma attack because of his previous actions. Despite the huge tension in the last days he noticed that she looked sick. He knows the signs and under normal circumstances he would've forced her to take a break, but he was in his own head for too long. The dead veterans were more important than his partner, his best friend, the woman he loves.

"Is she still at Med?" The brunette man asks with a shaky breath.

"No. She wanted to go home. I was not happy to let her go, her lungs didn't sound as clear as I like them to be, but she insisted. Adam took her home, texted me a while ago that she's resting." Will tells Jay while showing him the message of the other detective.

"Jay, Ruzek told me. Are you fucking out of your mind? Lily is the best that ever happened to you. I thought…" But the redhead can't continue his speech when the man beside him suddenly jumps up and starts to pace in front of the coffee table.

"You think I don't know that?" Jay shouts at the older man who's patiently sitting on the couch. He knows what he did and he hates himself for that and not only for what happened today. His behavior the last days is disgusting him now. When Lily only wanted to help, to cheer him up and be there for him, what did he do? He pushed her away both figuratively and literally.

"Jay, stop it. JAY!" Now it is Will’s turn to shout at his brother. As much as he is pissed at the other man he is also there to calm him down and help him to face his demons. Jay stops pacing and for the first time since Will's unannounced arrival he looks at his brother, a tear slipping down his cheek.

The red haired doctor pulls the detective into a tight hug. "It's gonna be okay, man. You'll fix this. WE are going to fix this. But first of all, let us eat, before the take out gets even colder. Then we gonna talk about a plan how to fix this mess."

"IF I can fix this." Jay breathes in defeat.

"Look at me." Will grabs his brother's shoulders in a tight but not painful grip. "Lily loves you, you know that. She blames herself more than she blames you. She needs you just as much as you need her."

Jay needs some seconds to respond. After he dropped his gaze he now looks his older brother deep into his warm brown eyes. "That's the problem, Will. She is way too good to be true…"

---

"I know that you're at home, Lilian. Open the door or I will kick it down." The raspy voice of her sergeant can't be ignored that easily and Lily knows he will keep his threat and destroy her front door if she won't open it in the next seconds.

On shaky legs and a heavy head she makes her way to her front door. The cool air hitting her when she's greeted by a worried looking Hank Voight. In an attempt to make him some room she takes a step back but a wave of dizziness is hitting her hard. Two strong hands immediately grab her forearms to steady her swaying body.

"You good, kid?" Voight rasps in a soothing voice. After shutting her door with a thud he leads his youngest detective to her couch where she camped out the last hour.

"Lilian, you good?" He repeats his question clearly growing more worried each passing second the woman in front of him is not talking to him.

"Hank… Yeah, sorry. Just a bit dizzy. Got a tiny little concussion. Nothing too serious." She looks up at the older man crouching in front of her still holding her steady with her arms in his gentle grasp.

"I should've killed Halstead…" He mumbles as he makes his way over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for Lily.

She didn't know how thirsty she was until the cool liquid hit her tongue.

"Why did they discharge you when you're clearly not fit?" Voight asks rather annoyed as he takes a place beside Lily on the couch.

"I insisted, I wanted to be home, Hank. Will - Dr. Halstead is going to check on me." The strawberry blonde answers in great hope she can convince the older man that she's not as bad injured as he might think.

"Halstead? So now we're trusting that other Halstead guy when his brother is the reason for you being at Med in the first place?" Hank said in an annoyed slightly aggressive tone.

"No, no, no. It's my fault…" But her attempt to defend her partner is interrupted by a violent coughing fit. The urge to cough takes her by surprise causing her to bend over slightly in her seated place on the couch. She can feel her sergeant's worried eyes glaring into her hunched over form.

"Easy, kiddo. Do you need your spray?" The Intelligence Sergeant asks ready to jump up into action.

Lily shakes her head no and tries to calm down her painfully fast breaths. When she's calm enough to form a coherent sentence the young woman looks up at her boss beside her in an attempt to get the elephant out of the room. "How's Jay? You need my statement, don't you?"

Of course his first reason to drive to the house of his female detective was to check on her and see for himself that she's doing okay after being discharged. But he also needs her statement of the incident. He needs to know how he should handle the whole situation. He could suspend Halstead for his stunt, have his badge, let him go on patrol for the next weeks. But he wants to talk to Harper first.

"It - it was an accident. I slipped, that’s what will stand in the report." Lily looks up from her trembling hands in her lap. "I don't want Jay to get into trouble. I guess you already had his ass, back at the station."

"Lilian, he crossed a boarder. In my unit, we look out for each other. He didn't have your back. He hurt you…" The older man knew beforehand how Lily wants to handle this. Her protectiveness over people she's close with is nearly indestructible.

"Yes, he hurt me. But he's my partner, my friend. The closest thing I have, had to a family. Even if this is not going to work out anymore, I don't want to destroy his career. Please Hank." Her eyes are filled with unshed tears, the whole situation slowly sinking in. Will they fix their work and private relationship? A long time ago she vowed to herself that she will never be a victim of abuse again. But it was just the difficult case they had, Jay would never hurt her.

She feels Voight's hands on her shoulder squeezing slightly giving a bit comfort in that confusing situation. Her head starts to pound painfully and her glazed over eyes are the last straw for the sergeant to know that he needs to leave his young detective.

"Rest, kiddo. We can talk in the next days. Call if you need anything."

When she's finally alone again the adrenaline wore off, her whole body starts to ache and the cold is back in her bones. Too weak to make her way to her bedroom she lays down on her couch, snuggling into the soft cushions and into the thick blanket her partner gave her for her birthday last year.              

[ghost-proofbaby]

Congrats on 1k!! 🖤 Absolutely adore your writing!

Request: 💚 Eddie Munson and

I almost picked catastrophic blues but then I remember the heartbreak that was Maroon and I chickened out. 😂

thank you so much!!! <3 my apologies for maroon because that one... whew. also, my apologies because this one did turn out just a little angsty! but it's more of a brief glimpse of hurt/comfort!! i swear!!!! i just wanna hold eddie munson real tight after all the shit he went through.

warnings: mention of eddie's time in the upside down/events of season 4, and vague description his ptsd from it all.

1k celebration - come party with me!

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

He promised to always be by your side, and he had meant it. 

It had been a week from Hell. A whirlwind of emotions, of rumors, of terrifying monsters and of grand sacrifice. And when it all came to a head, when he was gripping that make-shift rope of sheets and staring up at a bouncing Dustin Henderson, screaming for him to come on, all he could think about was you.

For a moment, he almost let go of the sheets. He almost made the most damning decision of his life. It would have surely gotten him killed, to have tried to buy more time that, as it turns out, they didn’t need. He probably would have been torn apart, limb by limb, and left to die the unsung hero. 

But then he thought about you. 

He thought about you, the best damn thing to ever happen to him. The person he swore to always come home to. His Sunday mornings, his Tuesday afternoons. His summer fling and winter love. The one person he promised to always be there for. 

He couldn’t do that to you. He just couldn’t. His knuckles had turned white enough to match the filthy sheets, and one brutal tug at a time, he’d lurched himself through the gate, tumbling back into the normal world, a world that had you. 

He’d come home to you. A soldier half his weight now, mind muddled with trauma and memories of monsters he can’t seem to erase, but he’d done it – he’d come home to you. 

The nights were always the worst, when it was all said and done. Terrors would tear him from his sleep. Dreams in which he didn’t climb the rope, in which he’d tried to be a hero despite Harrington’s warning and it had backfired upon him. He saw the haunting image of Chrissy’s face, he saw Patrick’s body floating over the lake. He saw Max, barely hanging on by a thread in her hospital bed, having gotten out of the mess alive by the skin of her teeth. But then he’d wake up, and your face was always the first one he saw in his sudden consciousness. You were always there, ready to hold him and console him for as long as it would take before the sobs trailed off and the trembling finally reduced to a small shake in his hands. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” he mumbles one night in particular, after a fairly bad nightmare. He felt guilty these days, waking you up in his sweat and panic. He’d tried to convince you to go home, to maybe even let him sleep on the couch whenever Wayne was off at work (because, as it turns out, the world nearly ending doesn’t call for the plant shutting down). 

You would never allow it. Each night, you dragged him to his bed, and you curled up beside him, a glowing warmth against his side that served as a reminder that it’s okay. He survived, the evil was defeated, and he came back to you. 

“Don’t apologize,” you murmur, letting his head rest against your chest, fingertips scratching against his scalp in soothing motions, “I don’t mind. I’ve got you, I’ll keep you safe here with me.” 

The day he had found you after the dreadful events, explaining it all in overwhelming detail as every word spilled from his mouth before he could stop it, you’d clung to him tightly. You’d held him so tightly that for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. 

He’d never needed a hug like that more. He would have let you suffocate him if you wanted to. It would have been worth it, to survive and not die the unsung hero only to go out as a whisper wrapped in your arms. 

The world is quiet outside his bedroom window as you continue to soothe him. Soft traces across his cheeks, lingering kisses pressed into the crown of his head, steady breathing patterns syncing up. The weight of him presses heavy between your legs as he relaxes, and you find your palm smoothing out over his spine, shirt still a bit damp with sweat. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the darkness. For the first time in a long time, it doesn’t strike fear in him. 

“For what?” 

“For being here. For loving me.” 

He doesn’t see the soft smile that tugs at your lips, curling gently with gratefulness. But he feels the way you hold him a bit closer. 

“Always. I’ll always be here, and I’ll always love you.” 

He may have been the one to make the decision to come home to you, but you were the one to make the decision to stand at his side, sturdy and unmoving as you braved the stormy weather with him. 

A promise to always be by his side, and you meant it.

[sn4pozu]

how Richard Trager uses Instagram (yes, he would use Instagram):

this is Pre-Engine Rick because realistically post-engine Rick would have other things to worry about besides instagram

30 stories a day, from dawn till dawn again this man is addicted to the layout

doesn't use stickers because hes a grown man BUT HE DOES HAVE A BITMOJI THAT HE USES RELIGIOUSLY

its half office reels, half food pics, and a quarter just rants

overuses tags to hell, even randomly mid sentence , example: "#Amazing day today at @MurkoffOfficial ! this #Work ain't doin itself 📋💻👍🏻 #Workday #Monday #Officeday #ADayInMyLife #Job"

sometimes thinks that Murkoff should totally have a social media account, he knows its dumb but he cant help wanting more followers 😔

"Suns out guns out! #Sunday with my bud @JeremyBlaireOfficial" and its a picture of them in a golf cart holding champagne (not gay, just besties)

Not to sneak in my RickJer agenda but in my minds eye they signed eachothers golf clubs

tags the location if he could he would

username is something obnoxious like 'RichardTragerOfficial' like nobody know u lil bro 😭😭😭

buys likes and followers to feed his ego

4k followers thats like 85% bots

" @McDonaldsOffical Never fails 😂😂😂 #hangovermeal #NoRegrets" and its a fish fillet with the most inhuman bite you've ever seen taken out of it

WOULD POST A SWEATY GYM MAT AND TAG THE GYM AND IT'D HAVE A DUMB CAPTION LIKE "Workout Wednesdays! 🏋🏼‍♂️💪#Wednesday #Gym #Exercise #GymPic #Muscles" HE LACKS SELF AWARENESS DONT LAUGH

would 'ironically' comment "Hot! 🔥🔥🔥" on a mans gym pic and would slutshame a womans gym butt pic

"he hurts every woman hes ever met because his true soulmate is a man" - Sock-rates

he would unironically use hashtags in a sentence for fun, also urges Jer to be more active on Instagram

imagine the most white grown man, now add curly blonde hair, uhuh now give him a gay sweater, now make him homophobic & gay, yep .thats him officer

HAS gotten scammed on instagram, he threathened legal action and got his money back and deleted their account after a week tho

weekday streaks exist to him, no hes not a middle schooler hes actually 30

look at me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't make fun of feminism in the comments section of those LibzDunked accounts

his Close Friends stories are just aftermaths after nights out, its either him drunk posting or filming himself talking to the camera about his hangover

its just Jer and a few other friends but it has the same intimacy of homosexuality

theres one video where hes drunk and actually tripped and fell so comically its been 7 months and Jer still makes fun of him for it (laughs along but actually hates it like viscerally)

he has 3 phones, both iphones and one is a samsung flip (he wanted the hype), a work phone, home phone, and his normal phone, why does he need so much? why is he not robbed yet? we will never know....

replies to those awareness posts about war in the middle east and goes like "damn.. thats unfortunate 💔 hearts goes out to them 🙏 @Chriswalker89"

most menacing instagram white man, cyberbullies as a past time and has 5 alts just focused on Harrassment+ Stalking people

he'd doxx which hospital your mother is staying in with no shame

"If you don't take that back I'm injecting your mothers spine with brain eating parasites" and he means that for real

would post corny atheist memes & misinformation

induces paranoia as a hobby "Yes ma'am i am a licensed doctor vaccines Do cause autism" as a treat

he fucks around too much one day his main gets suspended and he calls Instagram customer services

if you wouldn't think he'd try to hook up with an instagram influencer you are a liar

weekly self-help book recommendations that he doesn't read and actually just gets payed 7$ per link

im not saying he would make an alt to just hype up his own photos but he would.....do that.....

also gets blackmailed his own dick pic but whatever that was in the past

on a side note Jeremy does have a year old instagram account that only has 2 pictures (both just bar pics of him posing with a glass of wine like an idiot) and his entire Tagged section is just RICHARD TAGGING HIM IN ANYTHING

[youkaigakkou-tl]

Chapter 100 translator's notes thoughts

Would be pretty bold of me to call this tl notes considering how long and rambly it got lol

First off, some news: JP volume 15 will release on June 27! It’ll likely contain ch 94 to 100 (based on pagecount). Vol 2 of yoseito also releases the same day, probably containing ch 16 to 32 (and i’ll finally be able to tl ch 16)

Also, vol 13 in english comes out July 18

Chapter Name

Honestly I could have translated it as “Hundred Demons’ Night Parade of Hyakki Academy Island” but that’s really long and doesn’t have the double “hyakki”s and also everyone knows what “hyakki yakou” is right? Right?

Anyway, the part I’m pointing out is the way it’s numbered. In Chinese and Japanese, there’s an alternate system for numbering things in a set if there’s only 2 or 3: 上-中-下 or 前-中-完结 (or 后)

上-中-下 means literally “upper - middle - lower”, 前-中-完结 means “start - middle - end” (if there’s only 2, it skips the middle)

So the fact that this is used tells that this is a 2 or 3 part arc, instead of simply “part 1” which tells you nothing about how many parts there are total. Unfortunately, simply “part 1” is also the most natural way to number things in English so it is what it is. Also I don’t know if it’s 2 or 3 parts so it’s not like I can confidently put “part 1 of 2”.

While we’re on the color spread, did you notice Seimei in the back? (With the JP he’s way more covered by the text)

At first I thought it was “gods / teachers etc / class 2-3 / family” but then I realised Principal was on the left so its actually “senior citizens / teachers etc (relative youngsters) / class 2-3 / family” (and then later noticed Seimei and karasutengu troupe behind Ranmaru)

Also Ame on the color page again!! Ame nation (population: me) being fed this year amen

Autumn Festival

The autumn festival, or aki matsuri. As the name sounds, it’s kinda vague, and from what I could find, while a lot of shrines and temples celebrate it, there’s not one nationwide date, and it happens anytime from early October to late November, most commonly around late October to early November.

(Really? Is canada really focusing on dates again? For real? Again?)

Late October/early November is probably right, given the most recent confirmed date we have (ch97, October 18th), and it’s still within 2 weeks of ch95. (And also because time travel stuff hasn’t happened yet, which also has to be within these 2 weeks where he has bandaged arms. its me, ceo of time travel truthing)

What Is Sensei Cooking

First of all, the bandaged arms, Hatanaka time travel etc etc I’ve said this a million times.

The mystery of why Ibara likes Hatanaka in the first place gets brought up again! It’s GOTTA happen it HAS TO.

That aside, this is the second time it’s brought up that the baby may be a shutendouji (the other time is ch 81) and I’m starting to think this is going to be like… real plot or something…? Eyebrow raise?

If we do the maths, ch11 (the first senseis’ sunday chapter, where we learn Ibara is pregnant) happens on May 26th (assuming my timeline is right), and it’s currently October/November, so she’s at least 5 months pregnant. It also mentions she was feeling ill, which was why Hatanaka took her to the hospital, so she may have already been a few months pregnant at that point (assuming the pregnancy is a similar length to humans’)

Well. This doesn’t really mean anything but I like putting things into perspective.

Also, I’m just realising that both senseis’ sunday chapters (11 and 81), besides being “the teachers hang out on a sunday”, are actually caused by Ibara being pregnant. What the hell why is this manga so smart (I may just be stupid)

Random misc TL notes

Late Edo period would be around 1850s/60s. For reference, Takahashi was in school 120 to 130 years ago, and the main story takes place sometime in the 2010s, so that would have been the 1890s, plus minus 10 years.

I’ve mentioned this before and it’s not really an important detail, but “temple” is for Buddhism and “shrine” is for Shinto.

“Shintai”, literally translated, means “god’s body”, is the object of worship at shrines that stands in for the god itself. It could be something small and held in the shrine like this mirror, or like the whole of Mount Fuji. The tree at the shrine Genbu recommends in ch 94 is also a shintai. I could have translated it more but if they’re going to talk about it a whole lot may as well keep it as it is.

Now “shinsen” is evidently such a rare word that sensei had to put that note there, and also my phone couldn’t type the “sen” kanji. If it weren’t for that note I totally would have just gone with “food offering” and been done with it!! (shakes fist)

The stuff on the shelf is probably what clued Principal in that Ranmaru didn’t have prizes other than candy (besides knowing what he’s like ofc). There is no way this guy owns A5 wagyu. Or onsen trip tickets. Also irrelevant but that game console says “sailor” lmao

This thing… well… the screenshots speak for themselves

Marodo Shrine

Marodo shrine has actually been shown before, in chapter 27. It wasn’t even brought up by name in any dialogue but it stuck out to me because I remember finding it weird there’s a shrine on the island and googling it to get no real answers. The name itself is pretty vague, “客人 marodo” just means guest, in this case “guest deity” (so it's not the name of any god).

But looking at it now with the knowledge of, yknow, turtle island, it’s fairly interesting.

There are a few shrines called “Marodo shrine”  but the common trend seems to be an association with Itsukushima island (also known as Miyajima) or the sea. The most famous one probably being the one in Itsukushima shrine (the shrine with the giant torii on the ocean), and the island itself is said to be the god and the object of worship. There’s a pond called “Kagamiike” (mirror pond) in the shrine, and the Marodo shrine itself worships the 5 sons of Amaterasu, which tangentially connects it to the Yata no Kagami mirror of the three sacred treasures of Japan. None of this really means anything it’s probably just happenstance. For one, Itsukushima is in Hiroshima, nowhere near the location off the coast of Tokyo that the manga shows multiple times.

But it’s not like I’m pointing this out because it’s a 1 to 1 comparison, rather it’s an interesting coincidence (probably). By the way, I think this is where the shrine is on the island (since it’s on the mountain and has steps leading up to it)

Turtle Island

Anyway. Speaking of turtle island. Wow turtle island am I right. I still have not recovered from turtle island this page is insane. I’m pretty sure this is also the first time we get a good look at the island from above. You can see the train station they’re at in ch 58 at the bottom there.

Like how principal face reveal recontextualizes every previous time we see him, this is the same thing to me.

It specifically points out that it's from Chinese mythology, which is interesting, and I wonder if there's anything more to that than just being trivia. In Chinese mythology, the spirit turtle, or just turtles in general, are a part of a set of 4 sacred/illuminated/intelligent beasts, being: dragon, phoenix, kirin and turtle. This is distinct from the other set of 4 animals that are Seiryuu (dragon), Suzaku (bird), Byakko (tiger) and Genbu (turtle + snake). But these two share a lot of concepts because they’re the sort of animals that show up everywhere in Chinese mythology anyway.

Mount Penglai (Horai in JP) is said to be an island where immortals reside and is carried on the back of a spirit turtle in the ocean to the east of China. (This will be relevant?)

Turtle Tangent

A commenter on Bilibili (the chinese tl site) pointed out, and I’ve noticed personally, that the spirit turtle of China is typically a land tortoise or freshwater softshell turtle, and almost never depicted as a sea turtle, even in the context of “carrying an island in the ocean”.

This is very irrelevant, but I haven’t seen anyone make the connection, so my hypothesis is that “sea turtles” just weren’t a known thing in ancient China. There are 5 species of sea turtles native to the seas around China, but all known nesting locations are far in the south, whereas most of the population centers throughout history have been in the north, and most importantly, inland. On the other hand, tortoise shells have been used for writing and divination since writing developed, and softshell turtles are used in chinese medicine.

Of course, that wouldn’t be the reason in the modern day, but perhaps that specific image of the “spirit turtle” has become encoded into the mythology and become a fictional creature as much as dragons or kirin.

Honestly I’ve Just Been Chasing Tangents For This Part

Another story that comes to mind when hearing “turtle” and “mythology” is probably Urashima Taro, a fisherman who saves a turtle and is carried on its back to the dragon’s underwater palace, but when he returns to land he finds that hundreds of years have passed. In an older version of the story, instead of the dragon’s palace, he is taken to Horai (aka Mount Penglai).

There’s some kind of connection here with Itsukushima shrine I think, which is said to be built on the ocean in the image of the dragon’s palace, located on and worshipping an island mountain.

None of this means anything, probably. I just want to see what sensei cooks up really

One last thing though, about Ranmaru. We get 2 pieces of somewhat-conflicting info directly from him: “this god owes me a favor so they gave me this island” and “this island IS the god, and they’ve been asleep in a mirror this whole time”. You see how this doesn’t sound good for Ranmaru right. I don’t necessarily think he’s lying about any of it since he looks too serious for that, but he’s definitely leaving out some important details on purpose.

Thing is, if the mirror has to stay in the shrine to keep the god asleep, telling the principal to make offerings to it every 3 years a pretty good way to make sure the shrine is maintained and the mirror isn’t lost to time, as well as sidestepping the problem of curiosity if he outright said “the condition is you keep that mirror in that shrine”. Actually, did the shrine and mirror already exist on the island before Ranmaru gave it to the principal? And if it didn’t, how was Reiki being kept asleep before, and who made the mirror?

In any case. Ranmaru I love you but you are going to have to explain everything. Anyway this has been 1800 words and I need to end it so I can close the 50 wikipedia tabs I have open.

[churchkey]

i know webgott isn't exactly the ship you primarily write for but GOD i love the way you write modern david webster in maximum volume (and i love his raport with nix it reminds me so much of my own queer friend group in ways i've yet to articulate properly) and i was wondering if you have any headcanons about their coupling and/or their interactions with their friend group (as a couple or individually)?

Haha oh my god, thank you! That's so nice of you to say! I based them loosely on my cousin and his boyfriend, who used to have epic Halloween parties before they got old and decided it was too much work, and if everyone loved it so much, they could damn well volunteer to host it themselves. Alas, no one did.

But David and Joe are still young and fun so let's talk about them. I feel like you should win a prize or something because this is officially the FIRST Webgott ask I've ever received. I do have a few headcanons about them, which did not make it into the fic because I mean, for christ's sake, the thing is already way too long. Anyway, if you'll just follow me...

Even though they knew and liked each other in high school, I don't think they got together until later. Like one time in college they bumped into each other on campus and it was like "I always had a crush on you" - "same" and then they were inseparable. They got married kinda young, around 24 or 25 (I imagined them right around 30 in the fic) and their families were like "... are you SURE you don't want to wait a little longer?" But they don't listen to anyone else, naturally, because what the hell do they know?

I also envisioned them as having gone on some long bike-camping trip up the coast on a tandem bike just before they decided to get married, and something very profound happened on this trip, maybe it just challenged them in ways they'd never been tested before, and they met and overcame those obstacles together and it sort of cemented their bond as a couple. Because if you can successfully ride a tandem with your partner, you can probably weather any storm.

They used to have threesomes with George back in the day but they don't anymore. David and George are good buddies (I've always felt strongly about this, based solely on how George was kind of nice to Webster in that episode when he comes back from the hospital and is just being such a clueless dick). They go see bands together and to see midnight showings of cult movies and stuff like that. Joe actually thinks that if David weren't with him, he and George would be a good couple.

David still has a little teeny tiny crush on Mr. Winters. He wished he knew he was gay when he actually had him as a teacher, but he totally understands why he wasn't out at work.

As mentioned in Ch. 1, they're both journalists. Joe is a sports writer for the major metro daily, David writes for a local news/arts/culture blog. This means they're always out somewhere covering a game or event or whatever, which works for them because the true secret to their success as a couple is their own selfish pursuits of what makes them happy as individuals. They're good at giving each other space to do whatever the fuck they want, knowing that at the end of the day, they don't want anything else as much as they want each other.

Everyone assumes they're about one big blow up away from divorce, but they're actually surprisingly stable. They truly enjoy each other's company and are just as content tending to their flower beds together as they are going to a party or out to the bars with their friends. They worship their cats. They have a Sunday ritual (h/t @anthrobrat) of reading the entire Sunday paper, section by section, David reading the gossip page out loud and being appalled at the list prices of houses in the Real Estate section and saving the Food section because they might actually try one of the recipes this week (they never do). At their core, they're basically just a couple of old queens sliding comfortably into middle age, though their friends would be shocked to see this side of them.

Idk... this is honestly the most I've ever thought about them so I hope it fits with what you were thinking, or at least makes sense with their little cameos in the story. Thanks for the ask, it's always fun to explore and imagine. And thank you so much for reading my stuff! I appreciate you and everyone else who takes the time to read my work so very much. Take care 😍❤️

[nysocboy]

Gemstones Episode 2.7: Holding hands among the yurts, and eating pizza for dessert

When you get tired of discussing sex: Whew, Eli's not dead after all, but he's in a coma. Jesse/Amber and Judy/BJ hug and cry at his bedside.  Kelvin is noticeably absent.  Then the siblings go out into the parking lot and throw up multiple times. followed by the partners.   Is this a common response to grief, or did they all have bad sushi for dinner?

Ok, we're not tired of discussing sex yet:  We cut to Keefe trapped in the God Squad's tiger cage.  There are several openings to look through, but he prefers the glory hole.This time, Sky (Joel Rush, top photo) pushes through, hitting him in the eye!  

Keefe collapses, screaming in pain, and starts to cry.  He has died and gone to hell, being punished for Kelvin's sins -- a veritable Christ figure.  Note that Keefe undergoes a symbolic death and resurrection in every season.

When the God Squad guys leave, Kelvin appears with food and toiletries.  Interestingly, Keefe calls him by the formal "Brother Kelvin."  He isn't sure that he wants a romantic relationship with this guy who lets him suffer in a tiger cage instead of saying "Game's over! Let Keefe out!" and calling security if the God Squad resists.  But Christ-Keefe doesn't even suggest release; instead, he advises Kelvin that he's as powerful as Eli, just as Jesus was as powerful as his Father.  

Beauty and the Beast:  In church, Jesse announces that Eli was gunned down while driving on Long Point Road. Trivia note: This is a real road in a suburb of Charleston.  It leads past the Seacoast Church, a megachurch that closely resembles the Salvation Center.

Afterwards, the family is at their post-church dinner at Jason's Steakhouse, when Kelvin arrives, wearing a dark purple robe, carefully holding his glass of orange drink. 

They yell at him for not being around late;y, but he isn't ready to show himself in public yet. "I am a beast!"  Jesse quips that the robe makes him look like the beauty from Beauty and the Beast.

Next they argue over who will fill the power vacuum left by Eli's absence, until Martin has had enough: "Can't you just be kind to each other? Self-absorbed, loud, arrogant fucking assholes."  That's about the size of it.

Kelvin agrees:"Y'all are a bunch of a-holes."  Jesse points out that he was talking about "you, too, dick-lips."  The term refers to lips that would be especially nice to have sex with: a call-back to the glory hole scene earlier, and yet another reference to Kelvin being gay.  

Jesse's Plan:  After discussing the possibility of blowing up Junior's house and having a heart-to-heart with Martin, Jesse reveals to the siblings his new plan: he'll tell the congregation and the news media that Eli is recovering, and give them his hospital and room number, so the listening Cycle Ninjas will know to where to strike again.  Except Eli won't be there: Jesse will clear the hospital and lay in wait, ready to gun them down. Can you really clear an entire hospital? The siblings think that it's a crazy idea, but he talks them into it: "Let's lie to the church like a fucking family." 

Cut to the ambulances and army jeeps moving Eli to the safe house. Which happens to be his own mansion; is that wise?  Judy, Amber, and the kids join him.

On the third day he rose from the dead:  Meanwhile, Keefe sneaks back to the God Squad compound and tells Keefe: "I'm busting you out of here."  

Wait. When Eli visited, Keefe was already in the tiger cage.  Then he was shot, and they announced that he was in a coma in the Sunday service.  IT'S SUNDAY AGAIN!  Has Keefe been in that cage for over a week?  That would be inconceivably brutal.  Besides it wouldn't fit with the Christ motif: Keefe has to descend "into hell" on Friday, and get resurrected on Sunday.   I think there is a problem with the show's continuity. 

"Are we taking back the house?" Keefe  asks.  I'd be asking a lot more than that, just before I called the police and my lawyer.

"We are ejecting," Kelvin answers. "We'll move in with the rest of the family in the safe house." They run hand-in-hand through the yard to freedom.

This is a significant scene: Kelvin admits that Keefe is a member of the family, and invites a public display of affection that establishes them as a romantic couple.  A scene ago he yelled at Keefe for trying to hold his hand.  Now he initiates it.  

Question: Keefe is wearing only a jockstrap.  Where do they intend to find clothes? Kelvin had to move their stuff out of the master bedroom suite,  but it would still be in the house, right? 

Pizza and Cycle Ninjas:  At the safe house, Keefe goes to work on embedding himself into the family.  First he advises Kelvin to visit his father (and calls him Brother instead of the formal Brother Kelvin).  Then he tries to distract Jesse's kids from the crisis with what he thinks are funny stories.  While they are eating pizza, he notes that as a young boy, he often had pizza for every meal, even for dessert. That's not funny, it's sad.  Where were your parents? 

They are not impressed. 

We cut to Kelvin visiting the comatose Eli.  He admits that the God Squad was kind of dumb, but he just started it to make Eli proud. And invite a lot of musclemen to the steam showers.  He prays, promising to "never succumb to hubris again" if  God heals Eli.  And Eli speaks!  A miracle! The end.

Oh, right, we still have 15 minutes to go.  Jesse, the men in the family, and the mercenaries waiting in the cleared hospital.   Four Cycle Ninjas appear, armed with rifles. One is shot, and the others flee.  Jesse follows, knocks a second off his motorcycle, and shoves a taser up his butt, enacting an anal rape. Gideon chases and subdues the others.  The end.

The full review, with nude photos and explicit sexual discussions, is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends