#and it's still. not getting acutely worse but so far from good.

[on-stolen-sunbeams]

.

[smileysuh]

forget him

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “What if… what if I helped you out a little?” His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs. “Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”

tw/cw. recent breakup, fingering, Hyuck walks in while y/n is masturbating, masturbation, assisted masturbation, toy/dildo use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, reader has multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, big dick Hyuck, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, talking about y/n's ex while they fuck, marking/claim kink, full/breeding kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.1k

🍭 aus. friends to lovers, roommates au, recent breakup, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. When I tell you I need to be demolished by this Hyuck-

Hyuck absolutely hates seeing you like this. 

He’d thought it had been hard seeing you in love with his best friend Mark Lee, but seeing you in the throws of depression after your recent breakup takes the cake for Hyuck when it comes to him having a straight up horrible time.

Obviously, you have it worse, and he’s not trying to contest that fact- he just hadn’t realized that when the thing he’d been hoping for actually came to pass- it would feel this bad. 

In the dark reaches of his mind, he wonders if he’d had something to do with the separation, although, in truth, he knows that’s ridiculous. He’d been as supportive as a friend and roommate could be about you and Mark. He’d forced smiles and words of encouragement when you’d gushed through the talking phase. He’d found ways to ditch the apartment when you and Mark started to get physical, doing his best to give you privacy while getting high as a kite at Lee Jeno’s place to distract himself from the fact that you were getting railed by someone other than him. And now, he supposes, he’s doing his due diligence in making you feel better when you’re at your worst.

Hyuck’s doing the best he can to make things easy for you. He’s set up movie days, and he’s made you ramen. He’s allowed you to shuffle closer to him on the couch, even resting your head on his shoulder any time you start to tear up. He’s paused films to listen to you explain things like “When Mark and I watched this, he would always get so excited when Totoro would show up” or “Mark hated No Face.” 

He wonders if doing a Ghibli marathon is the best idea, given how much you associate it with Mark, but when he’d asked you about it and you insisted you would feel better watching the films, he’d left it at that.

You’re your own person, and Hyuck’s always trusted you to make the best decisions for yourself… even when he doesn’t agree with them.

Cuddled next to you on your living room couch, Hyuck does his best just to be there for you. He ignores the boys’ group chat messages, where other friends are taking care of Mark. As far as Hyuck’s concerned, he’s team you, all the way, and he always has been.

He notices the way you start to shift next to him, pulling away from his shoulder to stretch your arms over your head.

“You good?” Hyuck asks, looking away from the movie to give you his complete and undivided attention.

“Yeah,” you sigh, frowning slightly. “Just tired.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” He studies your face, noticing all the signs of exhaustion- although, to be fair, you’ve been a sleepy wreck of a thing since your breakup two weeks ago.

“I probably should,” you concede, taking another deep breath. “Thanks for making me dinner and watching movies with me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hyuck says, flashing you a small smile as he straightens in his seat, reaching for the remote to stop the movie.

“You’ve been so nice since… since the whole Mark thing.” He can see you swallowing back tears, and you reach up to wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Hyuck assures you, although, his attention toward you has always far surpassed that of a friend. It’s a shame you’ve never realized that fact.

“Just… thanks,” you say again, holding open your arms for a hug that Hyuck is more than happy to give you. 

He adjusts on the couch, leaning forward to scoop you into his arms. Your cheek presses to his shoulder and he breathes in the smell of your fruity body wash. He tries his best not to hug you too hard- because if he did, you might actually realize that every time you hug him, he has no true intention of ever letting you go. 

“Sleep well, okay, gorgeous?” he prompts, stroking your hair and using the petname he’d given you far before you’d ever met Mark. “You really need your rest.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him, giving one last gentle squeeze before you pull away.

Hyuck watches you stand up, your hoodie skimming your mid thigh. He knows you’re wearing sleeping shorts under the oversized fabric, but he can’t help but swallow thickly, imagining what it would be like if you were just in panties.

He really has to get his mind out of the gutter, and Hyuck knows that- he’s been trying to, in all honesty he has- but it’s been four years of knowing you, one of living together, and he still can’t manage to keep his thoughts PG. 

With one last small smile, you turn and begin to shuffle to your room.

He misses your lively movements. The first night you’d moved in together, you’d had a small dance party together, and Hyuck’s always been adamant that no one’s hips move like yours do. 

He misses your joy. The way you sparkle when you’re happy. You used to smile like a kid in a candy shop anytime you watched your favourite movies or ate the ramen he’d made for you, but these days, the most you can muster is a small upquirk of the sides of your lips.

Hyuck wants to make you smile again. He’s just not sure how to do it. 

He knows you need time. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. He just wishes he could fast track your recovery.

Your bedroom door shuts and the spell of watching you is broken. Hyuck takes a deep breath, looking around the messy living room. There are blankets and pillows strewn all over, take out boxes from your day inside, tissues from when you’d cried. 

He’s not generally known to be the cleanest man around town, but Hyuck feels that in times like these, the least he can do is keep things tidy. He’s sure you’ll feel better to come out of your room every morning to a nice apartment, so he begins his work of collecting water cups and take away boxes. 

You’ve definitely lost your spark, and Hyuck thinks maybe he has too. He’s used to playing music loudly, using it as energy at all hours of the day, but tonight, while he cleans, he keeps things quiet. His head is full, and his ears are on edge, paying attention to the sounds coming from your room.

In those first days after the breakup, he’d heard you crying a lot, and he’s sure that barging into your room to give you a hug had cheered you up. He’s hoping it won’t be necessary today. 

As much as he loves hugging you, seeing you cry always makes him feel like someone is trying to tear open his chest and clench his heart. It’s an ache he doesn’t enjoy.

When you’d moved in together, he’d decided that as a girl - with monthly girl issues - you should have the bigger room with the connected bathroom, and he listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. 

You begin to hum something, and Hyuck realizes it’s the first time he’s heard you sing since your breakup. 

Maybe tonight will be a good night.

Hyuck has moved all the clutter to the kitchen, and he begins to put stuff in the garbage and dishwasher while he listens to you hum. He thinks about the day you met, at uni orientation. He’d never become friends with someone so fast in his life, and when you’d discovered you had three of five classes together- well, he’s never looked back, not for one second.

He wonders how things would be different if he’d ever manned up and told you how he felt- how he feels- how his affection for you has only been growing and growing- 

Hyuck finds himself heading to the fridge and taking out a beer. He hasn’t been drinking much since you and Mark broke up, hasn’t needed the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, so when he takes a large swig, he finds that it immediately takes the edge off. 

He can’t be thinking about wifing you up right now- no matter how much he might wish to.

Although… as he leans against the sink and downs the can, grabbing another, he begins to wonder if offering himself up to you as a distraction really would be the worst thing in the world. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be the way he’d want to start things with you- but maybe he could make you fall in love with him and forget all about Mark Lee. However, in all honesty, he’d probably be risking your friendship. 

He’s played this mind game with himself too many times before, and Hyuck always finds himself at a stalemate. Frustration bubbles up inside and he looks out at the living room, determined to set himself back on the task of cleaning.

Hyuck throws the pillows onto the couch, and he even begins to fold up a blanket, and that’s when he hears a familiar sound.

You’ve never been the type to seek much affection, especially when you’re in your room, so whenever he’s caught you crying, it’s always started with a whimper.

What Hyuck’s just heard was definitely a whimper, and his whole body surges with white-hot, electric energy, his eyes darting to your door. His breath catches, and he tosses the blanket down to the ground, frozen as he waits for another sound of distress. 

A small gasp can be heard under the crack of your door, and Hyuck’s body bolts into action. He’s moving so fast he stumbles a little over his own feet just as he reaches your room, and he wonders if drinking two beers was a good idea. His hand lands on your door, and he knocks aggressively.

“You okay in there, gorgeous?” he calls.

“I’m fine!” you respond, but there’s definitely an edge to your voice. 

He can tell something is wrong- can tell you’re lying to him, and in a split second, Hyuck is making a decision. 

“I’m coming in.”

You let out a small squeak of surprise, tearing your hand away from the toy still lodged inside of you so you can pull the blankets up around your shoulders, jaw dropping as your roommate barges into your room.

“Hyuck!”

He stands in the doorway, studying you, and you can see a look of confusion cross his face. “I thought I heard you crying.”

“I’m not crying!” you insist, core clenching around the dildo. “Get out!” 

Hyuck doesn’t move. “I definitely heard a whimper,” he insists.

Your heart is practically racing in your chest, and you’re very much aware of the pleasurable feeling still thrumming from your core. Cock warming was something you enjoyed doing with Mark, and the fact that you’re cock warming a toy while Hyuck stares at you is having a wholly unexpected effect on your entire body.

“People whimper for all sorts of reasons!” you say dumbly. “Leave!”

Hyuck tilts his head to the side, assessing you again. “You never speak to me like this.”

“You usually don’t just barge in here unannounced!” 

“Yes, I do,” Hyuck points out. “Why’s tonight different?”

“What do you mean-”

“Something is different,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze dips, taking in the blanket still wrapped tightly around your form. “Wait…” you see the exact moment he realizes what you’re up to, and even from a few feet away, you see the way his pupils dilate. “Are you…”

“Hyuck-” you groan, lifting the blankets to hide your face, hoping he can’t see the shame that’s beginning to consume you.

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Are what?” you ask, deciding to play dumb.

You can hear him scoff, and you peak from under the blanket just in time to see his signature eye roll. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s getting annoyed, and you can feel yourself dripping down your dildo. 

He meets your gaze again. “I didn’t hear a vibrator, so let me guess…” You watch him swallow thickly. “The toy’s still inside of you, isn’t it?”

Curse him for knowing you so well.

Curse him for having a dirty mind.

And maybe most of all, curse yourself for being so stupidly turned on that you can’t even deny what he’s just said. All you can do is groan loudly, hiding again. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“Yes!”

You hear him click his tongue. “Come on, gorgeous. We both know I can tell when you lie to me. We’ve been friends for years, you don’t have to be… ashamed about this.”

But shame is exactly what you’re feeling, and his words don’t help at all. 

“Please, just leave,” you sigh, so embarrassed you think you might actually die.

“What if… what if I helped you out a little?”

His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs.  

“Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.” 

“You’re being crazy.” You peak out at him. “We’re roommates- Mark is one of your best friends-”

“I’ve known you longer and I’m loyal to you,” Hyuck insists firmly. “And besides, stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah? Like what?” you can’t help but laugh a little, and the contraction of your stomach muscles pushes the toy slightly out of your core, making you groan at the loss.

From the look that crosses Hyuck’s face, he obviously notices your sound, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “For one, the fact that you even dated Mark was a little crazy.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“But nice doesn’t fill you up at night. Nice doesn’t make you cum so hard you feel it through your whole body.” Hyuck holds up a hand. “And before you try to tell me Mark was good in bed, remember that I have a room next to yours. Mark is a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean he can fuck. Not the way you deserve.” 

You shift in your bed, sitting up a little to address your roommate. “Yeah? And how do I deserve to be fucked?” 

“You deserve someone who’s going to worship every inch of you. Someone who’s going to make you cum over and over- make you gush so good you’re begging for it, begging to finally get dicked down so hard you can’t even walk after. Someone who makes you cry for all the right reasons.” 

You stare at Hyuck. 

You’re not even sure what to say. 

He’s never talked like this to you, ever- at least, not in your waking hours.

You’ve had dreams about his sharp tongue, his long fingers, and his big cock- but never gave credence to your lustful fantasies. Hyuck’s always just been a friend- 

“Why now?” you find yourself asking. “After all this time-”

“I’m tired of watching you hurt over something I might be able to help you fix.”

“So cock is the fix to a broken heart?” 

“Gorgeous, I think we both know that what I’m offering you is more than cock.”

“Right, I’m guessing tongue and fingers-”

Hyuck gives you an unimpressed look. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“That I’m super into you? That I’ve been into you since we met? That it killed me to watch you be with Mark when I knew you should have been with me?” 

“Hyuck-” you breathe, feeling even more whiplash from these words than his dirty talk.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything about that stupid feels shit, just… just let me take care of you tonight.”

“What if we regret it?” You press your thighs together, keeping the toy just inside of you while you begin to fidget with your blanket. “What if it ruins our friendship?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question for years,” Hyuck admits. “But… after looking at you now- I really don’t think that’s something we have to worry about.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m about to make you cum so hard you forget about every other man in your life.”

“Promise?”

He nods. “Promise.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Hyuck lets out a small laugh. “So… you going to lift those covers and let me see what I’m dealing with or…?”

“God,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I call you gorgeous for a reason, don’t I?” Hyuck grins. “Come on, I wanna see.”

You grab at the blankets, taking a deep breath. Then you start to move them off your body.

Your roommate watches your every movement, dipping his head to focus as you lift the fabric covering your feet, then your calves-

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you tell him.

“Yeah, me neither,” Hyuck admits. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.” 

His words make your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you feel the toy still half wedged in your core. “Should I… should I remove the dildo first?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanna see that too.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re so fucking hot, I’m already hard.”

He reaches a hand down to cup the front of his sweatpants, and you realize he’s not lying. You can see the impressive print of his cock pressing against the fabric, and it makes your mouth water. It also gives you the confidence to fully reveal yourself to his hungry eyes, and the moment he sees you, Hyuck lets out a deep groan.

“Shit, gorgeous,” Hyuck says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re even more perfect than I’ve imagined.”

His words make you feel shy, and you close your legs, only for Hyuck to press a knee to the bed, both hands reaching out to prompt your thighs back open. 

“Don’t hide from me,” he warns, and there’s an edge to his tone. He’s still being soft with you, his touch gentle, but there’s an obvious hunger rising inside of him. “Tell me about this toy.”

“Well, I uh…” you search for your words. “It’s one of the first ones I ever bought-”

“It’s small,” Hyuck notes, which is kind of funny considering it’s Mark sized. “Can I use it on you?”

“You want to fuck me with the toy?” You blink at your long term friend and roommate.

“Gotta stretch you out to take something bigger.” Hyuck smirks devilishly, and your pussy throbs- he’s definitely bigger than Mark and the toy still half lodged inside of you. You can’t wait to find out how much bigger. 

“You can-” you bite at your lip, “you can fuck me with it.”

“Good girl,” Hyuck praises you, and you can feel yourself practically dripping around the dildo now.

You hold your breath in anticipation while Hyuck gets settled on the foot of the bed. His warm palms smooth over your thighs, forcing you wider, and then his fingers grab the base of the toy. “Do you like it slow?”

“I think… to start off with?” You feel too hazy to be able to answer questions, and he hasn’t even started with you. “But… when you fuck me, can you go fast, please?”

“Of course, gorgeous. I can do anything you want,” he assures you, applying pressure to the toy so it begins to lodge deeper inside of you. You let out a small sigh and Hyuck looks up at you, grinning. “You’re so wet, babe, making this too fucking easy.”

“It’s not my fault-” you defend yourself, voice shaky. 

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Talking dirty gets you going, huh, gorgeous?”

You nod, resting your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him beginning to work the toy in and out of your pussy. 

“Bet Mark’s dirty talk game was weak,” Hyuck says under his breath.

You don’t have it in you to agree with him, although… he’s correct. Something tells you he knows it too, because he lets out a small chuckle. 

Hyuck’s using his right hand to fuck you with the toy, and his left moves from your thigh. A moment later, his thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your clit and your toes curl from the stimulation. A gentle gasp escapes you and you can practically hear Hyuck smile.

“Feels good?” he prompts.

“So good,” you nod. You need something to hold onto, so you grab at the one piece of clothing on your body, a night shirt, which you lift up your to your abdomen, giving Hyuck more room to work. 

He rubs your clit harder and you let out a whine, feeling the familiar build of tension in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyuck tells you, and you can feel his breath on your pussy which makes you twitch. “God, I could watch you squirm like this all night.”

“Please-”

“Please what?” 

You don’t even know. All you know is listening to the squelching sound of the toy going in and out of you while his thumb rubs your clit is driving you insane.

“I want to kiss you,” you decide, realizing Hyuck’s about to make you cum and you haven’t even really gotten a taste of him. 

Hyuck stops what he’s doing immediately, manuevering up the bed so he’s on top of you, one hand pressed to the pillow while he looks down at you.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.

Your hands explore his shoulders and one snakes into his hair, then you’re tugging his mouth down to your own. Hyuck’s gentle with you at first, but when you go to bite on his lower lip, he groans loudly. His tongue darts out to brush against your own, and the kiss deepens. 

You’re done with your toy. You want to feel him, and you reach between your bodies to remove the dildo, pulling it out and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.

Hyuck breaks your kiss to look at the wet toy on the ground, and he lets out a small laugh, gaze returning to your own. “Why’d you do that?”

“I want you.”

“Yeah?” His hand slips between your forms, and two digits stroke the length of your pussy, making you moan. “Want me to make you cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging his mouth back to yours while he buries himself into you knuckle deep.

He strokes your walls, and the feeling is absolutely delightful, especially when he angles his hand, palm pressing to your clit while he seeks out your gspot. 

His lips are hot against your own, and they don’t muffle the sound of pleasure escaping you. 

Hyuck’s a bit of a gamer, but you never really realized his fingers could feel this good- 

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groans, breaking the kiss to move his mouth to your throat, where he lets out deep breaths. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m so close-” you confess, gripping his shoulders tighter while he finger fucks you even harder, chasing your release.

“You’ll be a good girl and cum for me, right?” Hyuck prompts, which makes you mewl. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good girl, gonna be good and cum all over my fingers-”

His words make you throb, and he applies more pressure to your clit with his palm. His lips press kisses to your neck and he finds your sweetspot, making everything feel all the more intense.

You’re on the edge, and you let out a loud gasp, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Come on, I wanna feel you.”

His words make the cord in your stomach snap, and your body is flooded with the pleasure of your release. You feel it everywhere, and it makes you cry out while holding onto him tighter. His hand continues between your thighs, fingers unrelenting, palm heavy on your clit. 

Hyuck works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and pushing at his shoulders, and then he straightens a little, motions stopping while he looks down at you. “Did you enjoy that?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes a little. “You know I did.”

“Yeah, but you could still stroke my ego a little.”

“Stroke your ego?” You reach for his cock, gripping him through his sweats. “Like this?”

Hyuck lets out a low groan, thrusting forward to meet your hand. “As much as I’d love to watch you jack me off- tonight I’m here to make you feel better, and I’m not anywhere near being done with you yet.”

You’d never realized Hyuck had any self control, and you watch in shock as he gently moves your hand away.

“I’m going to eat you out now,” he tells you, slipping down the bed so he’s on his stomach between your legs. Hyuck spreads you open, gently kissing your inner thigh before looking up at you. “You good with this?”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as you prepare yourself for his tongue. “I’m still sensitive though.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyuck promises, pressing a very soft kiss to your clit. “I can be gentle, contrary to popular belief.” 

You can’t help but let out a giggle, but the sound is cut short when Hyuck unexpectedly buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses into your hole and the feeling has your legs quaking as he adjusts them over his shoulders, trying to dive even deeper.

“Shit, Hyuck-” you whimper, grabbing at his hair.

He’s always been a bit of a liar- maybe you shouldn’t have believed him when he said he’d go easy on you. But… at the same time, the way his nose repeatedly bumps your clit has a fire building in your abdomen again, and you really aren’t even that mad about it.

You can feel Hyuck smile against you, and it’s such a turn on to know he’s enjoying himself while providing you with pleasure. Mark had always been somewhat rigid in your sexual interactions, much more serious than the grinning cheshire cat between your legs now. 

Where Mark had been slow and tentative, Hyuck’s eager and passionate. He switches between lapping at your hole, sucking your clit, and pushing his tongue into you as deep as it can go, licking at your walls and working you up way faster than anyone else ever has in your entire life.

Then he begins to groan, and you realize he’s grinding against the bed-

Is eating you out really that sexy for him? 

You feel another gush of wetness from the thought and your pussy throbs, warning you both that you’re close again. Hyuck responds by adjusting ever so slightly, lips wrapping around your clit while he pushes a hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers inside.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you gasp, back arching off the bed while the cord in your stomach is pulled unbelievably tight. 

Hyuck’s fingers twist in and out of your hole, and he licks at your clit in the most sloppy manner- it’s enough to have you exploding, a cry of pleasure escaping you while your core clamps down on your roommate. 

He groans loudly, sinfully, and the vibration against your clit has your legs shaking around his head, orgasm pulsing deep through your entire being. 

You’re practically crying at this point, and you can feel tears even while you clench your eyes shut, taking everything Hyuck’s giving you while moaning like a whore- you’ve never sounded this way, and there’s something almost addicting about the noises being torn out of you.

You know he feels it too, because Hyuck is completely unrelenting. If anything, he’s even more sloppy with the way he worships your pussy, fingers crooking up expertly-

You’re literally gushing around him, and you can feel it, can feel that your bed is going to be ruined after this. But you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is grab at your sheets, crying to the ceiling while your best friend makes you feel pleasure so intense that you can’t even think. 

He’s fulfilled his promise about making you cry for good reasons… and he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet.

You’ve never been this needy in your entire life, and when he pulls away from your core, allowing you to catch your breath, you peak out at him from under wet lashes. 

“You’re literally perfect,” he tells you, voice deep. His pupils are completely blown now and he’s breathing as heavily as you are.

You watch him bring glistening fingers up to his lips, slowly sucking them clean and moaning loudly at the taste of you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck, and you’re already crying-” Hyuck sits up, leaning over you and reaching out to brush some of your tears away. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” 

“Hyuck-” you whimper, shocked that you’re choking up.

Your body is still being flooded with emotion and sensations. Your nipples are hard under your shirt and the fabric is becoming uncomfortable, making you more sensitive-

“Going to let me take care of you now, right, gorgeous?” he asks, pinching at your chin and leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Please-” You grab at your shirt and Hyuck follows through by helping you take it off.

You’re now fully revealed to him, and your best friend sits back to appreciate you, letting out a deep breath. 

“Mark’s so fucking stupid for letting you go,” Hyuck says.

His words are bitter sweet, and in your overstimulated state, you find your lower lip wobbling as you hold back a choked sob. 

“Shh,” Hyuck whispers, reaching out to cup your cheek. “It’s better to be with someone who knows your worth, like I do. I’d never fucking treat you the way he did- I promise.”

The look on his face is so intense, and you know he’s telling you the truth.

Your body relaxes a little- Hyuck really is such a good guy, and what he’s doing for you helps more than he’ll probably ever know. He’s making you feel sexy again, making you feel needed and wanted and maybe even loved. 

“Besides,” Hyuck clears his throat, taking off his own shirt, “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that asshole.”

You can’t help but laugh sadly, wiping at your own face to get rid of the last tears while you watch Hyuck move to work on his sweats. 

When he pushes the waistband down, revealing his cock, you think you might actually faint.

You’ve always thought Hyuck was a pretty guy, sexy of course, but pretty too- and his cock? It’s as stupidly pretty as the rest of him.

He must be a little over seven inches, and he’s girthy too-

You can feel yourself practically drooling as you look at him, and Hyuck smirks at your reaction. “Sure you’re ready for this, gorgeous?”

“If you don’t fuck me I think I might die.”

He laughs at your words. “Then I guess I better fuck you.”

“Should we…” you bite at your lip. “Do we need condoms?”

“Babe,” Hyuck scoffs. “Babe- we’re both clean, right? And I know you’re on birth control… do you want me to wear a condom? I always kind of imagined you’d be the kind of girl who wants to be full.”

How many times has he imagined this, you wonder. 

But he’s right. You want him to fill you up like no one else has.

“Come here,” you say, holding open your arms while he kicks his sweats off.

Hyuck’s hands find the pillows by your head and he slots himself between your legs, lips pressing against your own.

You thread your fingers through his soft brown hair, kissing him eagerly. You want to get lost in him, and it’s easy to do that when he begins to rut his cock against your pussy, bumping your clit and making your thighs shake around his hips.

“Just fuck me,” you groan, already feeling so unbelievably needy.

Hyuck smirks against your lips, pulling away to look down at you with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot it’s insane.”

“Then why aren’t you inside me yet?”

He moans a little, dipping his head to look between your bodies while he reaches for the base of his cock, lining himself up with your hole. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”

You’re about to scoff and tell him he’s not that big when he pushes his head into your entrance and a gasp leaves your lips. The stretch is very real, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your body to relax.

You can practically feel your pussy struggling to make room for him, and even though you’re as wet as a fucking slip and slide, it’s still a little difficult for him to push in inch after inch-

“Fuck,” you whimper, and Hyuck rewards you by burying his face in your throat, peppering your skin in kisses. The soft feeling of his lips is enough to distract you from the intrusion opening up your pussy, and soon his hips are flush against your own, making you both release groans of pleasure.

“You ready for this?” Hyuck asks.

“God, yes-” 

He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the pillow and threading your fingers. Then he kisses you softly-

When he begins to rut into you, it’s anything but soft.

Hyuck’s motions are calculated and rough, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you that has you squeezing his hand. You’d be cussing if it weren’t for his hot lips against your own, lips that have gotten increasingly demanding, his tongue stroking yours while you gasp.

It feels amazing- like, truly. You’ve never been fucked like this, and he’s only just started.

He stops kissing you, breathing heavily while he fucks you even harder. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You’re literally balls deep inside of me,” you nearly laugh. “You can ask me anything.”

“I’m just,” Hyuck groans, squeezing your hand. “Did you ever think about me when you were fucking Mark?”

Your pussy clenches at the question, from shock or hornyness, you’re not sure. 

“I-”

“You did, didn’t you?” Hyuck grins. “Don’t think I didn’t just feel you get super fucking tight around me- God, you are dirty like me, aren’t you, gorgeous? I thought… thought that when you started dating soft boy Mark, maybe you were more vanilla, but that’s not you, is it?”

“No-”

“You like to get fucked, properly, don’t you, babe?” Hyuck continues.

“Fuck, yes-”

“And Mark didn’t know how to do that for you, did he? Mark didn’t know how to make you wet like this, didn’t know how to make you cry or scream or beg-”

You can’t bring yourself to verbally slander Mark while Hyuck’s fucking you like a wild man, so instead you just shake your head. Your confirmation makes Hyuck grin, and he fucks you even harder, the whole bed rocking while the sound of skin on skin fills the room. 

“You know what? Enough about Mark. Forget him. You don’t need him anymore.” Hyuck’s mouth is hot on your neck and his words make you shiver as he moves to suck your earlobe. “You only need me. You only need me, I promise.” 

Hyuck lets go of your hand and you’re about to argue with him about it when he shoves his fingers between your bodies, rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.

“Hyuck!” you whimper, writhing beneath him.

“That’s it gorgeous. I wanna ruin you for anyone else. After this, no one’s going to make you cum like I can.” He’s groaning now, voice all breathy and super sexy- “If I make you cum three times the first time I fuck you, that means you’re mine right?”

You moan loudly at the idea, grabbing his shoulders while he works you closer and closer to yet another orgasm that you have no doubt will be as mind blowing as the first two. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Hyuck says, voice gruffer now. “Fuck, gorgeous, I want you so badly- just say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp when he applies more pressure to your clit.

“That’s my girl,” Hyuck smiles against your neck. “You’ll let me mark you right? Let me suck some pretty bruises into your skin so every time you look in the mirror you know your roommate fucks you right-”

His tongue darts out, licking a stripe of your throat before his lips press to your sweet spot. He suctions his mouth onto you, teeth grazing your skin and causing you to cry out while you move your hands to tug on his hair.

Hyuck lets out a sinful groan when you pull gently on his soft brown strands, but he doesn’t let up. He’s entirely focused on you and your pleasure, cock continuing to rearrange your insides while his fingers abuse your nearly overstimulated clit-

“I’m so close-” you whimper, eyes closed as your body once again approaches the edge with startling speed. 

“Yeah?” Hyuck moves away from your neck and you get the sense that he’s looking down at you. “Gonna cum on this cock and let me fill you up? Gonna let me breed you like the good girl you are? Make you so stupidly full that you’re fucking dripping?”

“Yes, fuck, Hyuck, please-” You’re on the verge of tears again, whole body thrumming with energy-

“Then cum for me. Let me fucking feel you.” 

You twitch from his words, and then you’re falling over the edge, gasping and clawing at him while you’re overcome with ecstasy. You’re not sure if it’s because this is your third orgasm, or if it’s because his cock is balls deep inside of you, but this orgasm is the most intense of them all.

You’re reduced to a completely primal side of yourself, brain short circuiting while your body takes over. There are no thoughts, only the attempt to process all the pleasure that’s flowing through you like a river that’s broken through a dam. 

The sounds escaping you are unlike anything that has ever come from your vocal cords, and Hyuck is also cumming, groaning loudly as he presses his lips to yours. His tongue is hot as it licks at your bottom lip, and his thrusts are erratic. 

He takes his hand away from your clit in favour of finding yours again, fingers locking while he squeezes you. You can feel the passion radiating off of him, can feel that this won’t be a one time thing and you both know it.

Hyuck takes care of you through your orgasms until you’re both finished, and his motions begin to slow until he’s simply half laying on top of you, his kisses much more gentle as you gasp into each others mouths. 

His hips are flush against your own, keeping his cum inside of you while you make out. His body is warm and it almost feels like a security blanket draped across your own. Hyuck’s fingers are still tangled with yours, and it feels nice just to be holding someone’s hand again.

“Fuck, gorgeous,” Hyuck groans, pulling away from your lips, “if we keep kissing I might have to fuck you again, and I don’t think you could take another orgasm.”

“Not tonight,” you agree, blinking up at your roommate. 

It’s like you’re seeing him in a new light, and you assess the soft details of his features. He really is a beautiful man.

“And we ruined your bed,” Hyuck says with a grin. “You were squirting earlier and your sheets are too wet to sleep in, so I guess that means you’re coming to my room tonight.”

“You want me to sleep with you?” you nearly laugh.

“I’d honestly be offended if you didn’t.” He lets go of your hand, pushing himself off of you. “I didn’t get to touch your tits at all, and I’d like to have something to grab onto when we sleep.”

“God, you’re such a menace,” you giggle, pushing at his chest.

“You love it,” Hyuck insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, we should shower.”

“So we’re showering together now too? Weren’t you the guy who said Mark was being clingy by wanting to see me every day when we started dating?”

“It’s clingy when Mark does it,” Hyuck notes. “When I do it, it’s endearing and charming and sexy-”

“Sure it is,” you say sarcastically, shaking your head at him.

“What happened to my good girl?” Hyuck teases. “If you keep talking back, I might be tempted to ruin you in the shower.”

Now that you’re thinking about it, that doesn’t actually sound like the worst thing in the world.

“Fine, let’s go,” you concede, letting out a sigh.

There’s so much you could say about what has just taken place, but one thing you can state with confidence is that you do feel better. Hyuck had made you forget about Mark, if only for a short while before he started shit talking his friend- but, his words of slander hadn’t actually made you mad or sad or upset- they’d actually kind of had the opposite effect.

Life will go on after Mark Lee, and Hyuck’s made you realize that.

In fact, maybe your life after Mark will go on with Hyuck. 

Maybe it was always meant to be this way. 

You’re too tired to think about these big ideas in detail tonight, not after everything that’s just happened. Instead, you allow yourself to live in the moment, allow your roommate to take care of you the way he always has.

For now, this is more than enough. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm back in my Hyuck feels again

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “So perfect,” Hyuck tells you, reaching his hands up to cup your breasts.  Before he can dive in, however, you press the ice pack to his face again and he winces below you. A scowl forms, and he glares into your eyes. “Maybe I don’t like it when you take care of me.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, thigh riding, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, claim kink, boob worship, big dick Hyuck, sex in on the living room couch, physical altercation between new boy and ex, overstim, holding off an orgasm, cumming together, light spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe .

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader

bonus

“Dude,” Jeno sighs, staring at the man sitting on his couch. “You did not-”

“Except that I did,” Hyuck smirks. “You should be happy for me.”

“Is that what you’re going to say to Mark after you tell him you fucked his ex?” Renjun asks, narrowing his eyes at their naughtiest friend. 

“Actually,” Hyuck sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I think we shouldn’t tell Mark, not yet at least.”

“So now you’re making us all culpable in your bullshit,” Renjun groans loudly, rolling his eyes. 

Hyuck gaze shifts from the angry aries to Jaemin, who’s yet to say anything since Hyuck’s big reveal. “You’re cool with this, aren’t you?”

“I mean…” Jaemin cocks his head to the side, “you have wanted to be with her for years-” 

“See, Jaemin gets it!” Hyuck grins, eyes turning to his part time gym buddy next. “And Jeno? You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”

“Mark is not going to be happy about this,” Jeno frowns.

“And I wasn’t happy when he started dating my roommate crush,” Hyuck states, “or when he broke up with her unexpectedly.”

“Don’t lie,” Renjun scoffs, “we all know you probably celebrated when they ended things.”

“Only a little,” Hyuck confesses, grinning again. “Okay but for real,” his expression turns serious, “guys, I think I love her.”

☀️to read the full 3.9k bonus, subscribe to my Patreon - then - click here

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[hazelfoureyes]

Loss of decorum (part two)

I’m feeling too angsty to finish up part nine of ADIF (they’re so in love I can’t make them feel angsty in this moment) or write the very smutty Radioapple so… we’re here! 🫠 better than not writing ig

Part 1

How Alastor ended up dry humping a hotel resident in a hallway.

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x GN!Reader, pillow humping, reader humping, violence against bedding, angsty little shit」

MINORS DNI 🍷 🛏️

What could he do? What power did he have when your existence collided so mercilessly into his?

You had started out as another thing in his peripheral.

He wasn’t sure when his perception of you shifted from the American Common Squirrel energy wielding sinner to a black hole of his focus.

You were always moving, be it your body or your mouth. Depending on if the topic fell under one of your litany of obsessions, you could go on for far too long. Your voice became background noise. Ambient sound he didn’t notice anymore until you left the room and suddenly— ah, the uncomfortable silence.

The shape shifting from small, inferior creature in his orbit to something substantially worse was too subtle for Alastor to clock it.

Was he finding a space to settle while he read the paper? Well where were you mindlessly mumbling to yourself…. That’d be a good spot.

Everyone gathered in the common area to waste time discussing the future? He’d find himself waiting for your arrival before zoning out.

Distance soon became irksome. He’d approach the bar inches behind you in hopes you’d jump and shriek with surprise. But you’d be so focused on whatever nonsense task you were busy with (like cleaning or bonding with Husk) to notice him, moving away from his bubble before registering any shock.

The audacity.

It only got worse from there.

Your scent lingering faintly in the air where you had just been. The warmth of your hand still seeping from the wood of the bar top.

Absence was suddenly something he became acutely aware of now. The void left behind from you in every room, and soon, on every piece of him.

He was taken by surprise himself when one day you forgot yourself and placed a hand on his lower back. Just trying to get his attention so you could walk behind him safely, Alastor spun around and gave you the dirtiest look.

“Excuse you.” He hissed, and to his dismay you smiled back and moved on. But the feeling lingered on his back. And when he removed his coat and waist coat before bed he could still feel the pressure of that hand. Small compared to his own, he noted, as he let his larger palm settle over your ghostly one to try and replace the sensation. It was of no use. You’d marked him somehow.

A slap to his arm when he said something you thought was hilarious did it too. Then the time your leg brushed against his for a moment when you took a seat beside him. He moved to a nearby chair but it had been too late. Before long he was covered in your absence. It spread, a piece of thigh now the knee up. He could feel it. All the places you no longer were.

Alastor was quite sure he had blacked out. The first night he lost some battle he wasn’t aware was waging in himself, he left his body entirely. The beginning of the trouble. He remembered undressing and checking his skin for any signs of you. And then….

Somehow, at some point, he’d pulled his pants down enough to free the uncomfortable tightness there. Unsure of when, he grabbed hold of a pillow. He was sure it was the whiskey… he told himself as much as he thrust down into the long and soft tube of down-feathers. His head was heavy, antlers looming and forcing him to rest his forehead against the mattress.

What exactly he was thinking about he couldn’t say for sure. It was all a blur of sweat and fuzzy images and errant feathers as his claws tore into the pillow accidentally. He’d been too rough, hands shredding the fabric and hips thrusting the poor stuffing from its casing.

Humid breath primed the sheets for the drool that left his panting, open mouth. While your name could only be pieced together across butchered syllables intermingled with gasps and groans, you were there. He focused on the sound of you, the nape of your neck, the warmth of your skin, the softness he was sure you had for him.

And then the pillow was utterly ruined, messy in ways not entirely dissimilar to his earthside victims. Different fluids, different innards, same principle, he thought. A moment of passion he struggled to control.

A moment that became a pattern. A routine.

Alcohol didn’t help, as he often found himself destroying more bedding when he imbibed… no, it didn’t help. Until it helped too much.

Until you followed him down an empty hallway late at night. Stumbling and slurring, having gone drink-to-drink with him, you reached out and hugged his arm against your chest and said his name in a way he could only perceive as intimate.

Once again, his memory was full of holes about the details. But soon you were on the wall, his hands at your chin and hip, one of your legs around his thigh as he pressed his growing erection into you. He pulled back nearly as quickly as he pressed in, but when you moaned he flinched.

“Do you like this?” Barely understandable as it was diced by the static sharpness of his radio tones.

You nodded, sliding both hands up his wide chest and holding onto his shoulders. He wished he could stop, his face pure frustration as his body took the reins. He watched somewhat helplessly as he humped into you like a hapless teenager. His muscles knew the motions now by heart, memory driving the feeling of his cock up and down your core. Through the discomfort of the friction you found the pleasure of the circumstance.

His hands pulled your legs up by the thighs and you wrapped your body around him instinctively. So tight and determined was your hold on him that he could let his hands roam elsewhere. Tenderly and clumsily he tried to not tear you like your pillow counterparts. His hands roamed and flexed as if telegraphing his thoughts of calm down, gentle.

Drunk or not, you were aware it was a public space so you bit your lip to keep the louder sounds down. Alastor felt his cock jump with every whine you made; his body lit up by just your stifled moans into his chest.

You felt it too, the twitching of something large and solid rubbing against you. Your body tried to roll back against his thrusts, chasing the pleasure available there, but Alastor held you firm in response. “Don’t move, I’m already at my limit.”

For some reason he had thought he could pull away before cumming, but he couldn’t. It was impossible to stop himself, not with you so eagerly clinging to him. His body grew stiff against you, breath held in his lungs as you looked down to see the smallest sheen forming just to the side of his pants zipper.

You wanted to touch it, to feel the sticky proof of his want for you, but found yourself landing ass first as your support disappeared with no warning. He heard your yelp as your tailbone hit the hard floor but he was already gone in every sense that mattered.

He went about the following day glaring menacingly at you; an unspoken warning.

You took the hint.

But when Alastor found himself again rubbing his clothed erection into yet another pillow, he suddenly regretted the cold attitude he gave you. The pillow was now utterly useless.

It lacked the scent of you that rose off your neck, heated blood rushing through your veins. It was too soft, no true form to accept his cock and give him the sensation of closeness to something so tantalizingly unknown. The room was too quiet, your satisfied sounds so loud in his memory. The bunch of feathers and fabric wasn’t capable of wrapping trembling arms around his body to remind him this was something both parties wanted. No twitches. No warmth. No sighs.

No accident that night when he tore the pillow in half. He’d fucked himself by not quite fucking you. Nothing in his bed would be able to satisfy him any longer. Before, he could ignore the occasional physical arousal easily enough as he had nothing to compare that option against. He’d nearly always powered through it, and when it was just unbearable his fist was enough.

Then, somehow, for some reason, he needed to act out the way you made him feel. His thighs and core throbbing to move. The pillow was fine, if not embarrassing in new and horrifying ways.

And now, his hand and cushions were all moot. He’d had a glimpse of what he didn’t know he was missing. Ignorant bliss torn from him like it had been from Adam in his garden.

He simply couldn’t go back. Alastor wondered how long he could keep himself from you. Worried if your hands would snake up his shoulders again or push him away.

Panic turned his blood cold and cock soft. What if you denied him? What if the damage had already been done to you both?

He knew the only way to find out was to try again.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[cinnamonest]

Thinking about very well-endowed boys, perhaps endowed a little too much for their own good — with no idea how to properly use the thing.

No self-awareness, no experience. The moment you give a green light, this man just shoves his way in like a battering ram. You were at least expecting some degree of foreplay or buildup, but you don't get that. He has the audacity to tilt his head and hm?when you jolt and hiss.

Oh. It hurts you? You probably just didn't relax enough. That's okay. You'll feel better soon. You don't even get time to tell him that it's because he has no self-awareness of his size before you're tensing up and gasping again when it just slides out and slams back in. You see stars, and not in a good way.

You stutter out something about being too big. But big is good, right? That's what he's always heard. So it's just a matter of you getting to adjust. That'll definitely happen as he goes. No worries.

You're pretty sure your cervix hates you for making the decision to sleep with this boy, a choice you're sort of coming to regret as you find yourself pulled close to him with a harsh grip on your waist — that, too, is something he seems lacking self-awareness of, the fact that he's probably literally going to leave little bruises all along your waist.

It does feel a bit better as he moves and your body adjusts, insides expanding to allow more room… but no matter how much you do, it's not fully enough. You can still acutely feel him inside, the way it bulges and pushes against your walls, the friction as it drags back and forth, the way even at the peak of your own arousal, the tip keeps slamming into that so painfully sensitive spot. Even your toys never touched that part, you weren't even aware until now that you possessed the capacity to feel it so acutely.

At least when you tell him, he apologizes, says it won't happen again… but he seems far more pleased by the ego boost of this, apparently new to him, information. You get the sense that it will, in fact, happen again.

And it does. You blame yourself, honestly, for finding yourself in this situation again, but he's just so cute… only this time, you quickly find that being on your stomach makes it infinitely worse, and his hand on the back of your head, unintentionally shoving your face into the pillow and muffling your attempts to tell him to slow down, does not help.

God, why did you let it come to this… your thoughts are barely coherent from the sheer overwhelming sensation, your brain practically short-circuiting, unable to do anything but process the feeling.

But it stretches you out so good and presses against the good spot too, so unfortunately, you end up with admittedly one of the strongest orgasms of your life, spasming and squirting and making the lewdest of sounds. So, it clearly was good, this is reassuring for him, positive reinforcement. He's too occupied with basking in pride with this accomplishment to notice your groaning at first — but don't worry, once he does notice, he'll dote on you, of course. He cares about you very deeply, you know.

And later, you're still feeling the involuntarily spasms as your poor abused hole tries to adjust to the slight gape left behind, and here he is passed out beside you so blissfully. The bastard gets to just pretend like he didn't try to impale you from the inside.

He really does try. He cares about you, you know. He doesn't want it to hurt. It's just, you know, he doesn't really do a lot of thinking in that moment, and unfortunately, his brain just commands him to breed and he can't think about anything else, so, it's his brain's fault, not his fault. Yes of course those are two different things. Besides, you're the one that enticed him, so, realistically, you must take responsibility as well.

But no matter how many times you say it, he seems to simply get lost in the ego boost and then he... forgets. And admittedly, you too seem to consistently keep coming back, against your better judgement.

He forgets when he has both hands locked into your hair, wrapped around your head, so lost in the wet, warm feeling that he's jerking your head like it's some kind of toy — your jaw hurts, every thrust feels like it's going to tear your throat apart, and it goes so far down that you're fighting your gag reflex every single second. And worst of all, you can't tell him to stop, can't get a word out when his cock is relentlessly pounding your skull.

He just forgot. He forgets when he flips you onto your front side and pulls your hips up, forgets that you said that position is the absolute worst because of how deep it goes — but see, from his perspective, it feels best because he gets to fully bottom out inside, and it’s just so good, you wouldn't understand.

He forgets when he's got his arms wrapped around you, laying on your sides as you're railed like his life depends on it, far too harshly and with far too little warning, but you can't pause the lewd nosies and squeals long enough, and your only attempts to tell him to slow down and not go so deep are so slurred you can't even blame him for not understanding.

He forgets you said how sore you are, how you need one day off at least. You just look so nice, and you didn't say anything (you retort that you didn't get the time, dammit) when he started, so he wasn't thinking, and besides, he was very gentle this time, aren't you proud of him for learning how to not go so hard?

He really does try. When you're walking all funny and clutching your lower stomach and grimacing in pain, he's got this heating pad and bottle of painkillers he bought just for you, and he's quick to pull it out. He really cares about you! Besides, the faster you recover, the sooner you'll stop being mad and glaring at him (it hurts his feelings, this is important), and the sooner you'll get to have sex again (he depends on it now, this is in large part due to your actions, so you have some responsibility to take).

He's even learned how to roll his hips so smoothly, thanks to you, and now it shouldn't hurt so much… now it's less of an earth-shattering jolt of pain, and more of a gentle pain, you know, like poking a bruise. But hey, that's improvement.

[covid-safer-hotties]

"You Have to Live Your Life:" Responses to Common COVID Minimizing Phrases - Published Aug 6, 2024

If you're still COVIDing, you've likely heard phrases, like "it's mild now," or "you have to live your life," repeated over and over. You might be wondering, "what do I even say here? How do I respond to this?" I've listed some of the most common minimizing phrases and some potential responses to them. Feel free to adapt these and make them your own. I've included a variety of responses with different tones, depending on how much you want to be #saltingthevibes.

I want to recognize you might not always have the time or emotional energy to get into these discussions. Some people unfortunately aren't engaging in good faith, so it's important to be able to discern for yourself when you want to have these conversations. You don't always have to educate people, it can be exhausting! For those times when you want to respond but are at a loss for words in the moment, here are some ideas to get you started.

Starting off with one of my (least) favorites:

"You have to live your life!"

"I am living my life. Wearing a mask doesn't stop me from living my life, it makes it possible for me to do the things I love more safely."

"I'd love to be able to get out and do more things, but unfortunately that's not safe for me because so few people are masking."

"I would be a lot harder to live my life if COVID disabled me."

"Living my life means protecting my health, in the short and long term."

"I've adapted how I live my life based on the research about all of the long term health effects of a COVID infection."

"How long are you going to keep doing this for?"

"I'll probably always wear a mask in public spaces, when you know better you do better!"

"There's no expiration date on keeping myself safe and protecting my health."

"When we've widely implemented clean air standards and there's a sterilizing vaccine for COVID, then I might update my current precautions."

"I really wish I didn't have to do this either! But given what I know about COVID and Long COVID, this is the best choice for me."

"How long are you going to keep doing this for? It seems like you're sick all the time now, it sounds really unpleasant."

"We have to live with COVID."

"I'm glad you agree the government has done a terrible job trying to mitigate the spread!"

"To me, living with COVID means doing what we can to protect ourselves, not just giving up entirely."

"We also have to live with car accidents, that's why I wear my seatbelt to protect myself."

"What if we didn't have to? What if we collectively did more to clean the air and create safer living conditions for all of us?"

"Unfortunately you're right, that's why I'll continue to mask to keep myself and my community safer."

"It's mild now/it's just a cold/flu."

"Many illnesses seem like 'just a cold/flu' when you're first infected, but can still have long term health consequences, like mono or HIV."

"You can develop Long COVID even if your initial symptoms are mild or asymptomatic."

"I'm not as worried about the initial symptoms of the acute infection, I'm more concerned about the significant risk of Long COVID."

"You're lucky your symptoms weren't very severe initially. For me, COVID was a lot worse than a cold."

"I don't want to get sick with a cold either."

"I got it X times and I'm fine!"

"I'm sorry to hear you've had so many infections. COVID can cause silent damage throughout our bodies, it might be a good idea to go in for a check up with your doctor."

"I'm glad you're feeling fine so far, but my experience has been different."

"Your risk of Long COVID increases with each infection, so I'm doing what I can to avoid getting it."

"I hear that in your experience, a COVID infection hasn't been a big deal. Unfortunately not everyone is so lucky and many are dealing with significant Long COVID symptoms."

"You're young and healthy, you'll be fine/ only the vulnerable need to worry."

"I used to think the same thing! It turns out I have some underlying risk factors that mean an infection could be very harmful to me."

"Everyone is at risk of Long COVID, and your risk increases with each infection."

"You cannot know someone's health status by looking at them. A lot of young people are high risk as well."

"I don't appreciate you making assumptions about my health status."

"Did you know more than 75% of Americans have at least one risk factor? More than 40% have two or more, and almost 20% have three or more! Being high risk is more common than you think."

"There are actually a lot of factors that can make someone high risk, like a history of smoking, depression, asthma, ADHD, and more!"

"Kids don't get COVID/it's mild for kids."

"Unfortunately many studies show that rates of Long COVID in kids is similar to the rates in adults."

"COVID is the 8th leading cause of death in children in the US."

"Kids can be high risk for COVID, like if they have asthma, ADHD, autism, diabetes, or other common health issues."

"Kids don't deserve to be repeatedly infected with an illness that we know causes long term damage."

"I'd encourage you to read some of the stories about kids with Long COVID, it's heartbreaking for them and their families."

"Long COVID is rare."

"I'm curious where you learned that, because that doesn't fit into my understanding of Long COVID."

"Studies show rates around 20% of adults infected will go on to develop Long COVID, and many studies show higher rates. Your risk increases with each infection."

"Even if you're right, I'm not willing to risk it."

"Have you noticed an increase in weird symptoms or health issues in your circle? Fatigue, headaches, GI issues, stroke, heart attack, blood clots and a ton of other issues can all be caused by a COVID infection."

"It's more common than you might think, there are over 200+ possible symptoms and it can look different in everyone."

"My doctor doesn't wear a mask."

"Yikes! How unfortunate your doctor isn't up to date on the science and isn't doing more to protect their patients."

"It's too bad how many doctors don't stay up to date with important health information."

"Doctors also used to smoke cigarettes in healthcare facilities and recommend them to patients. Just goes to show you doctors aren't always right."

"The medical field scorned the doctor who recommended they start washing their hands... I'm seeing a lot of parallels here."

"Unfortunately it can take many years for practices like these to become more mainstream."

[matchavellichor]

Just This Once Pt. 2

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.4k words

Tags: !!Non-con!!, Pining, Obsession, Drugged Sex, Somnophilia, Cunnilingus

Part 1, Part 3 ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

“You alright, Ominis?” 

“Fine,” Ominis forces a tight-lipped smile. He’s been nursing the same glass of firewhiskey for most of the evening, barely able to get it down. “Just tired.”

Sebastian gives a sigh as he stands, only wobbling slightly. He knows that look on his friend’s face, the familiar I don’t want to be here, but I’m too polite to leave. 

“Why don’t you help her back to Slytherin then? I’m gonna stay a while and she’s clearly had enough.” He nods to where their friend is warring against a black-out, slumped against the garrish scarlet cushions of one of the common room couches.

Sebastian chuckles as he helps her from her seat, stilling her wrists when she playfully swats at him and insists she’s fine. She’s deposited in Ominis’ arms before he can get a word in.

She stops her grumbling when she realizes who’s holding her up, blinking up at him for a moment before her lips curl into a pleased smile. “You’re still here, Omi?”

“Still here,” he murmurs, trying to keep his breathing even when she loops her arm with his to steady herself.

He meanders the both of them through the noisy Gryffindor common room, out into the cool, dimly-lit hallway. She hums one of the old tavern tunes the Gryffindors have been belting the entire night, slurring all the words the entire journey towards the dungeons. He bites the inside of his cheek, pretending he isn’t amused.

She leans on him, her fingers curling around his bicep for support, as she stumbles through the coiling serpent door, and that familiar ache manifests itself in his gut. 

He ignores it. He’s done a good job of ignoring it so far, hasn’t laid a finger on her—just like he promised. He isn’t a bad person, after all. He won’t do what he did to her again. It was a one-time thing, just to scratch an itch, and he’s more than capable of suffering in silence from now on, the same way he always has. 

By the time they finally cut through the Slytherin common room, he’s practically carrying her. She’s dozing off with her head on his shoulder, soft and pliant in his arms, and he feels this strange sort of tightening feeling in his chest.

He’s felt that dull, longing pain for a while. This is exponentially worse, as if his pining has finally culminated into something unbearable. He grinds his teeth and holds his breath and pretends he doesn’t feel tempted to bury his nose in her hair, to inhale until his inhibitions melt away and he does something stupid.

He sets her down on her feet when he reaches the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but has to hold her up to keep her from falling over. Her words are stumbled over, soft and broken by yawns. “D’you think…you could bring me up?”

“You know I can’t,” he sighs. “Wards.”

She frowns, looking up at him. “Then…bring me to yours?” 

He immediately shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea—”

“Oh, come on,” her fingers curl into the front of his shirt and he’s suddenly acutely aware of just how close she is. It’s suffocating, in a dreadfully pleasant way. He never thought he could find asphyxiation appealing, but he’s learned by now to not put anything past her. “Please?” 

She pleads so pretty. He thinks of how she sounded back in the Undercroft, when he had her body pinned underneath his. Heat pools in that spot just below his navel and he suppresses a shudder. He runs a hand down his face to disperse the memory, nodding jerkily. “Yeah, al-alright. Fine.”

He shouldn’t give in so easily. He finds himself in possession of very little faculties to refuse her absolutely anything.

//

Ominis mutters a few locking charms as soon as he carries her into the quiet of his empty dorm. For her privacy, he tells himself, and ignores that contrite little voice in his head that knows it’s for something more. He pretends he doesn’t feel some sick satisfaction in knowing he has her all to himself.

It’d be easy to do it all again, he thinks. Perhaps even easier than the first time, with her state.

The thought leaves his head as quickly as it comes. He won’t. He has control over this. He has control over himself, most importantly. However, the longer he’s around her, the more she presses her body into his, the less convinced he is of the fact.

He takes a sharp breath and sits her down on the edge of his bed to unlace her boots for her. Her calves are small in his hands, delicate. There’s something appealing about that realization that he doesn’t stop to dwell on. 

When he’s done, he helps her brush her teeth and comb her hair. It’s strangely domestic. Once again, he tries not to think about the warm, fuzzy feeling it gives him. He knows by now he has no right to crave such things. Wholesomeness isn’t for people who imperius and molest their friends.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth when she flops down onto his bed, tangling herself in silky emerald sheets. “Smells nice,” she murmurs, voice muffled with her face buried in his pillow.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash those sheets again.

He hovers near the foot of the bed, hands tucked chastely in his pockets, posture awkwardly stiff. He clears his throat. “You—uh, you should probably take a sober-up.”

She props herself up on her elbows to look at him, tilting her head with a pout. “That’s no fun.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

She falls back onto the pillows with a groan. “Fine.”

He kneels in front of the bedside table he shares with Sebastian, rummaging through the drawers in search of a sober-up he’s sure the brunette certainly keeps in store.

His hand brushes a familiar vial, and for a brief moment he forgets about the potion he’s supposed to be looking for, in favor of thumbing over the worn label he knows too well.

He used to take it whenever his anxiety got too bad, when sleep was scarce because of nightmares. He’s more than familiar with the side-effects—only a bit more potent than a calming draught, really. Makes him drowsy, helps him sleep.

A thought passes through his head, but this time it lingers.

He closes the drawer with his knee and hovers over where she’s still curled on his bed, the dull edges of the vial biting into his skin where he’s tightened his fist around it.

It isn’t like he’s drugging her. He takes the potion himself. He’s just helping her relax a bit, that’s all.

“Here,” he brushes a hand over her shoulder to get her attention, her warmth seeping through the linen of her blouse to his palm. He resists the urge to dip his hand under the hem of her collar, skin-to-skin. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

He pretends he doesn’t feel the little flicker of heat that manifests in his stomach when she obeys, parted lips brushing his fingertips, looking up at him through her lashes. 

He uncorks the dropper from the vial and drips a few more drops than the recommended dose on her tongue, and then a couple more. Her nose wrinkles from the bitter taste, but she swallows nonetheless. “Gross.”

He huffs a laugh, helping her lay back down. “A bit.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, eyes half-lidded. He finds he likes the dazed quality of her voice a bit too much. “You’re a savior, Omi.”

He forces a smile and swallows down the guilt he feels burrowed in his chest. His mouth tastes bitter. “It’s no problem, really.” 

He goes to tug the comforter over her body but she protests, limbs feeling too heavy to use properly. He gets a strange sort of thrill when he feels how weakly she pushes at his wrists. 

“Need—need to take this off first,” she murmurs, voice already softened.

She tugs at the laces of her bodice, but her fingers are languid and clumsy, lacking too much dexterity to untie them. The potion is fast-acting, he notes with a disgusting amount of satisfaction. She looks up at him for help, guiding his hands to the front of her blouse. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Right—uh, sure.”

He tries to still the trembling in his fingers as he unworks the latticework of ribbons, but he supposes she’s too bleary now to even notice. He helps her shrug off the garment, her arms limp when he holds them up to pull the fabric over her head. That little flickering heat in his gut is stoked higher when he notes how perfectly her two wrists fit in just one of his hands. 

He likes her like this, maybe to an alarming degree. Weak and pliant. It reminds him of her state under the Imperius, trance-like, bending to his will because she lacks the capacity to do much else.

He helps her shimmy out of her skirt as well, even though she never asks him to. She doesn’t protest. Just lets his hands adjust her as he sees fit. He doesn’t linger on the fact that she’s only letting him because she doesn’t have the power to voice any objections, much less stop him.

That tiny, wanton flame inside him has been fed into an all-consuming fire, far too zealous to allow even a shadow of guilt to hinder his actions. 

The chemise she wears underneath her clothes is sheer, barely reaching the tops of her knees. Easy to tear, he thinks as he smooths his hand down her hip, only briefly. She lets out a soft sigh and he pulls back. Still too lucid.

Temptation is a pretty thing tangled in his sheets, donned in thin, satiny fabrics.

It’d be so easy to take. The thought comes and sticks, even as he tries to rid himself of it. It’s tacky, enticing, gluing itself to the walls of his brain.

He wouldn’t even need to use an Unforgivable again, not like last time. No breaking any promises—though he notes that the thought of doing so is less nausea-inducing now than the first time. The idea more digestible. He doesn’t dwell on the implications behind that.

He unclasps the first few buttons of his shirt as he waits for her breathing to finally steady out. It isn’t long before she’s out like a light.

He sits on the adjacent bed, but only for a moment before his anxiety makes him pace the room. His thoughts are a mess, alternating between staying as far away from her as possible and sinking into her very skin. He chews on his nails while the latter begins to take dominance, until he ultimately finds himself hovering over the side of his bed.

It’s not like he hasn’t touched her before while she’s sleeping. He’s traced her features a couple times, gently, just to get an idea of what she looks like. This isn’t any different. He won’t do anything terrible.

He knows with certainty that Sebastian and their other dorm mate won’t be in until dawn breaks, he’s more than accustomed with their party habits by now. The situation is almost too perfect. When will he ever have her like this again? Drowsy and willing, all to himself, in his bed.

The mattress creaks as he sits himself on the edge. She doesn’t move an inch. His heart hammers in his chest, but he reaches a hand out anyway, tentatively running his hand down the soft outline of her figure, bathed in silk. He wants to feel her, though, so he brushes his fingertips, feather-light, where her shoulder is peeking out from under the covers.

It’s easy to not feel guilty when this is something familiar. 

Tentatively, he pulls the covers down to her waist. When she doesn’t stir, he pulls them back the rest of the way, exposing her to him. Gooseflesh prickles over her skin as it comes in contact with the cool air of the room and he runs his hands down her arms to soothe it. She’s somehow softer than he remembers, sensitive and sleep-warm.

She shifts in her sleep, but he isn’t deterred like he usually is. He knows that with the effects of the potion she won’t wake, at least not fully. That familiar course of adrenaline courses through his veins at the thought of not having to be as cautious as he usually is. Being able to touch at will. It’s exhilarating, in the most terrible way possible. 

He bunches her chemise over her waist in one pull. The material glides over her skin with ease, and she gives little protest, nothing more in the way of a soft exhale, a gentle murmur. The sound courses through his very core, all the way south. He’s sick with curiosity about what other sounds he can coax from her, fingers hovering over the bare expanse of her midriff.

He’s filled with the urge to know her in all the ways he hasn’t yet, having kept all his prior explorations strictly above-belt. The unknown beckons to him, every inch of her he hasn’t touched or tasted, teeming under his skin until it aches. 

He runs a thumb across the hem of her knickers, gentle, patient—even if at the moment it’s like he hasn’t the faintest idea of the definition of the world. It doesn’t take very long for him to exhaust the small amount of hesitation he does possess.

He shifts over her on the bed, climbing down her body, hands trailing adoration on her skin with exploratory curiosity. He digs his fingers a little too hard into her hips and she lets out a whimper, soft and barely audible. He finds he quite likes the sound.

She squirms in place, hips shying away from him in her sleep and he hushes her, soothing the skin with soft, little circles stroked by his thumb.

He presses his lips right above her navel, trailing kisses down her stomach, and she keens under the sensation, stretching like a purring kitten. He smirks against her skin. So receptive, even unconscious. 

As he trails down to his destination, he noses softly at every curve and bow he can reach, slow and appreciative. She’s gorgeous, all soft features and gentle silhouettes. He finds himself wanting to run his tongue over every contour until he memorizes her with his mouth.

He treats her as if he’s at an altar, kneeled in not only solemn adoration, but grave penitence for what he knows he plans to do with her. He supposes it’s always best to pray for forgiveness, then ask for permission. 

When he gets to the hem of her knickers, he plies her legs wider to accommodate him, pinning one of her thighs to the mattress. She obliges so easily, limbs loose and limp, so he tugs the other over his shoulder. 

His breath hovers over her clothed core and that familiar contrite little voice murmurs a flurry in his head. He finds it’s so much easier to tune it out now, especially as he presses his mouth to the gusset of her knickers for the first time and his brain whites out in bliss.

He wouldn’t be able to suppress the groan he lets out if he had all the willpower in the world.

It isn’t long before he’s hastily pulling the thin cotton down her thighs, any sort of barrier between them a personal affront to his sanity. Something tears but he finds himself in no capacity to care. She does little to stop him, only shifting futilely in her sleep, but he has his arm anchored across her thigh to still her squirming.

He licks a stripe with the flat of his tongue, just to finally taste her, to acquiesce the pounding in his ears and that familiar rush of blood south. She tastes like heaven, and he knows that after all he’s done it’s the closest he’ll ever get.

His fingers dig into tender flesh so hard he’s sure he’ll leave marks as he starts to lap at her in earnest, unable to stop himself. Breathy little sighs hitch in her throat, turning into soft moans as he takes his time, exploring every millimeter his tongue can reach.

“S’gorgeous,” he slurs, lips sticky against her cunt. “Gods, you taste so good.”

He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, and the noise she lets out is almost enough to make him finish in his pants. He can tell her brain’s struggling to breach consciousness, hips rocking languidly against his mouth, the softest murmurs escaping her lips. He pays little mind to them, continuing to devote himself to tasting her fully.

He takes one of her hands that are pawing weakly at the sheet beneath her, placing it on top of his head. Her fingers immediately find purchase in his hair, eliciting a groan from him as he circles her clit with his tongue in tight little circles.

Her breathing is stuttered, uneven. “Om–Omin–”

“That’s it, angel, say my name,” he hums, her voice making him throb in his pants where he’s been rutting mindlessly against the mattress. “You sound so pretty. Fuck, my sweet, sweet girl.”

Her fingers tighten in his hair, a bit too softly for his tastes due to her semi-lucid state, but enough to earn a moan from him nonetheless. He feels the muscles in her abdomen tighten when he braces a forearm across her middle to pin her to the bed, stilling her helpless writhing, and he knows she’s close. He doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s coming on his tongue, no matter how much she begs.

Feeling her try to resist him makes him ache in his trousers, her hands pushing weakly at his head. He latches his mouth to her clit and sucks until he feels her heels dig into his back and a sob is torn from her throat as she’s pushed over the edge. 

He grinds his hips into the mattress as he rides her through her climax, grunting expletives against her skin. Her chest heaves, arms loose at her sides as she hiccups through tears, coming down from her high.

Her legs tremble around his head and he kisses the insides of her thighs, listening to her breathless, incoherent little murmurs that he can’t quite make out. He can’t help the blissed satisfaction he feels, thumbs rubbing soft circles on her hip bones. 

He climbs over her, chin sticky as he leaves kisses in his ascent. “I know, baby, I know,” he hushes when she squirms, voice hoarse. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

He wipes the wetness from her cheeks, damp lashes fluttering in her attempts to gain some viable form of consciousness. He smiles to himself knowing the effects of the potion will keep her perfectly limp and drowsy for him.

He noses at her temple, stroking her hair while he waits for her breathing to steady out again. “Was that good, angel? Did I make you feel good?”

She doesn’t respond, and he knows her brain is too addled with sleep and endorphins to even hear him. He rambles praises anyway, lips pressed to her forehead, his heart so full in his chest it might burst.

“I love you,” he whispers, collecting her in his arms and tucking her into his side, even if the rational part of his brain advises against it. He can’t help but want her close. “I love you so much, it hurts.”

The inside of his trousers is sticky with the evidence of his own climax, but he can’t be bothered to feel the shame he normally feels, too caught up in the feeling of her body against his. He plants kisses to the crown of her head and pretends he’s holding her because she wants to be held.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs sometime after into the stillness of her soft breathing, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. He isn’t, not really. Being sorry implies he won’t do it again. Something he’s able to admit by now he knows isn’t true. “I’m so sorry.” 

He closes his eyes and pretends he is. 

[the-kittylorian-writes]

"What To Find In Lost Places"

Rating: General Audiences Fandom: Star Wars: Andor Type: One-shot Word count: 2k+ Summary: Brasso is the glue that holds everyone together ever since their escape to Gangi Moon. It’s been four months with no sign of Cassian. Gangi Moon seems an unlikely place to hole up in until the coast is clear, but until then… Brasso is the glue that holds everyone together. Following the @ailesswhumptober prompt - Trauma Thursday; Shared trauma, survivor's guilt, "It's not your fault.”

Read on AO3 or here:

"What To Find In Lost Places"

This was the third time Brasso reminded Bix that her porridge was getting cold.

“Eat up, Bixie,” he said gently, using the old nickname from when they were so much younger. He was already a young man when Bix was but a little girl, but she and Cassian would bother him every now and then. Brasso was one to keep Cassian out of trouble, and much to no avail. They still had each other as children, and Brasso had called her “Bixie.”

She loved it when she was eight. Many years had passed; Bix had scoffed at that name even when Brasso sparingly used it to give her a bit of brotherly affection. But now… now, Bix seemed to delight over it. Her eyes would beam up when Brasso called her “Bixie.” Little Bixie at eight years old.

The Bix now, however…

She was so much transformed.

Brasso had to hold all the rage inside. He was very good in doing that. He was not to quick to anger, as if his large frame absorbed all the vitriol of the galaxy and transmuted them into the work of his hands, the preoccupation of his spirit.

Bix was huddled in a corner, wrapped in a comfortable shawl Jezzi had saved credits for; it was as if the large, motherly woman couldn’t stand the sight of Biz’s body gone frail, shivering even at the humid climes of the Gangi Moon.

Gangi Moon… Had it been four months already since they escaped the Imperial onslaught on their dearest homeworld, Ferrix?

Four months, and yet Bix remained more or less the same. She didn’t get worse—that was the light at the end of the momentary tunnel. More and more tunnels bled through one after another, and Brasso had promised Bix as well as Jezzi and Beemo, who helped oversaw the girl’s recovery, that it would be one step at a time. One little step… and Bix would one day be her old self.

However, Bix’s “old self” may have regressed too far.

She seemed content, in a way. She hadn’t fallen into fits and spells of acute disassociation and weeping, or sat there in prolonged catatonic states, as was her way a few days after their stealth arrival and settling in.

Bix was huddled in a corner now, but she was smiling a smile so sweet, Brasso felt tenderness lance through his heart; and yet he knew that this was not Bix restored to her full faculty.

She smiled and giggled as she talked at the scurriers on her lap, small rodent-like creatures that hopped on two legs. She cooed as she let the tiny beasts eat from her fingers. Their noses wiggled, and every wiggle drew out a bout of laughter from her.

“What is it?” Bix happily addressed the three scurriers as they sniffed at her hands. “You want more? I can get you more!”

Bix effortlessly shifted out of her crouched position as a hand reached out to the bowl of hot oatmeal and berries on a low table beside her.

Brasso sighed. He quickly reached out himself to still the bowl, preventing Bix from taking it.

The girl looked up at him, upset. She frowned like a small child.

“They’re hungry, Brasso,” she insisted in a thin, weak voice.

“And you’re not?” Brasso countered. “The oatmeal’s for you, Bixie. Been telling you that for the past ten minutes.”

His timbre remained robust with compassion despite the reprimand.

“Not hungry,” Bixie argued, petulant. “But they are! Let go of my food. It’s my food to give, Brasso.”

Bixie reasoned as though she were eight. She acted as though she were eight. She argued like a little child, again and again whenever she could. She was usually pleasant when left to her devices, but this was an instance when she showed some resistance.

Brasso didn’t want to bring out the big blasters. “If you skip this meal again, I’ll have to tell Beemo. You wouldn’t want Bee to be sad, would you, Bixie?”

Brasso was nineteen again, arguing with eight-year-old Bix. The large man even expected Bix of today to stick out her tongue at him and stomp her way back into the corner.

“Fine, I’ll eat,” Bix relented. Her eyes were so full of entreaty; Brasso had to relent. He sighed again, let go of the bowl, and the girl snatched it up quickly.

Then, like a defiant toddler, she dumped most of the contents on the floor for the scurriers to feast on as she picked on the berries at the side.

“See? I ate!” Bix was looking half-querulously and half-triumphantly at the bigger man.

“That’s very funny,” Brasso challenged the girl good-naturedly. “Half the bargain, then!”

Bix was protesting as Brasso took out a tiny comlink used to contact Beemo or anyone within close range of the premises. “Bee, please get over here. It’s your turn to watch over Bix, all right?”

“Wh-what's the m-m-matter?” came the worried stutter of the droid from the device. “I-is Bix o-okay?”

Brasso could hear Jezzi argue with Wilmon in the background over rusty ship parts. It seemed that Beemo was there to help facilitate on those matters as well.

The man smiled wanly yet fondly. He could almost hear B2Emo’s circuits rattle in confusion as Brasso dropped the comms as the droid wheeled his way through a door, swishing open with a creak.

“I hate you, Brasso,” Bix mumbled—again, like a small child. The weight on those words had whimsy. Had it been said by a fully-grown Bix… Brasso willed not to lose thought over it.

“I-I’m here to help,” announced the droid eagerly. “D-do your shift of the chores, B-Brasso.”

“Thank you, Bee,” said Brasso as he brushed his hand over the droid’s head in passing.

~~~

“Brasso—I need a hand. Can you pick up those balance turbine components from Langerly’s? Shop’s about seven blocks down. Couldn’t get Beemo to do it, bless him. And Wilmon here’s helping me keep inventory…”

Jezzi was frazzled. She had shared a trade temporarily with Maarva Andor when they were young girls, and that was scavenging ship parts and determining the useful ones from the real junk. The Breon Drayvan starship transport had finally taken its last sputter as they landed on Gangi Moon, four months prior, until it was cold and dead.

Since then, Jezzi had been getting the parts on the sly by disguising her business with that of any ordinary scavengers’. There were plenty on Gangi Moon, and while it had taken them to assess trustworthy neighbors from the tricksters, most of its citizens couldn’t care less.

It was as if this world had deliberately numbed themselves from the rest of the galaxy—has no one heard about the Ferrix insurrection? There had been a planet-wide lockdown for months. They could still be on lockdown…

Or, Brasso decided, Gangi Moon was genuinely oblivious and were simply carrying on. He hadn’t spotted any Imperial outposts or guards stationed, and he wondered how long had it been this way, if it ever had become Imperial-infested at all.

“I got you, Jezzi,” Brasso acknowledged the poor woman’s request. Before he stepped out, he managed to catch a glimpse of Wilmon not doing inventories as Jezzi supposed, but the boy was wrapped in his own work, his ear trained very close to an improvised transceiver. As far as Brasso knew, Wilmon had been picking up nothing but static, when the youth wished to catch a stray wave of news coming from Ferrix.

Or even… from Cassian, if that was possible, after all the trouble.

The boy’s face showed otherwise. It was a neutral mask, his eyes glassy with glimmers of exhaustion not of the body, but of the mind.

The man knew better than to interrupt Wilmon in his work, so he stepped out into the warm, bustling streets of the district.

Gangi Moon wasn’t a place where one can afford true isolation, if they were to go into hiding. Rather, it was too congested for such a small place—there would be chunks of city, then chunks of barren lands in between where anyone risked exposure to the moon’s natural predators. One advantage in this scenario was that it was always busy—busier than Ferrix, Brasso realized, on its busiest day—that everyone blended into one vortex of constant activity. Faces blurred, voices cackled all the same. Many eyes were bare but many also kept their secrets and remained so.

Brasso felt wandering hostility every now and then, and was on high alert on most days. He and Jezzi would take shifts in watching their rundown, temporary abode at night. All the residences on this district were built from mixed of durasteel and other cheap metals, interspersed with a local clay-like material.

Wilmon could have been as good help as any with the shifts, but the boy seemed no better than Bix, in a manner. He was distant when he wasn’t obstinate over finding a way to clandestinely scoop up news from Ferrix. The youth was astute and knew his way around circuits unknown to Brasso, so he let Wilmon be.

“Wil—are you gonna be alright?”

“Bixie… try to get some fresh air, please? Do it for Beemo and me.”

“I know, Jezzi, it’s just a little fire. The house wouldn’t burn down in a jiffy.”

“Bee, help me keep an eye on Wil.”

“Bee, help me keep an eye on Bix.”

“Bee, Jezzi’s gonna need you to hold up the clamps so she can fix your charging port, okay?”

Brasso stumbled as he walked; he grew a little faint at those words he’d repeated towards the ones he cared about deeply in their small space on Gangi Moon. He’d never figuratively stopped to think of what he could possibly feel, if his health was the matter, if he himself had slept or eaten or breathed in fresh air.

Midway his trip on the chaotic streets, Brasso took a moment to sit down. There were stray benches on the sidewalks, smokey and grimy from continuous industry. It was like being on the shipyards day in and day out with but a tiny gleam of clean water and clothing when it can happen.

He breathed deep, let himself calm down.

When he reached Langerly’s shop, the old Mon Calamari was transactional but did inquire about Jezzi with a twinkle in his eye. This lent humor to Brasso. Ever since Brasso begrudgingly admitted that he and Jezzi weren’t a married couple, Langerly had become a bit more pleasant towards Brasso, and more so towards Jezzi.

There were still the usual things happening in unusual times.

~~~

The night was thick with the customary quietude.

Brasso was upon the table, drinking a steaming cup of caf, his eyes distant. Jezzi was finishing some cake by the kitchen, still annoyed (but blushing) that Langerly forgot three more components, which would encourage Jezzi to fetch them herself the next day.

Bix was still in her little corner, the scurriers asleep on her lap, their bellies full.

Bee was snoozing restlessly on his makeshift charging port, rattling idly in droid-dreams.

Wilmon was still by the rickety transceiver, except he’d moved his work openly upon the table where Brasso sat on for anyone to scrutinize.

The boy’s face remained determined—that expression had practically stamped itself on him. His ear was close to the device again, picking up the tiniest spark of sound.

“Nothing,” Wilmon suddenly spoke enough for Brasso to abruptly finish his empty ruminations. “Four months.” Wilmon hid his disappointment in vain as he tossed a chunk of wire on the table. The youth’s expression changed, for once. It looked so lost.

It only took Brasso a second to glimpse Wilmon’s changed mood before he trailed his eyes to the distance again.

“Then they could still be on lockdown,” whispered the man, somberly, ponderously.

“Nothing on Cassian, either,” Wilmon admitted. “I know you and Bix and Beemo have been waiting… I… I don’t want to let you down… after all that… I was…” The youth stumbled quiveringly in his words.

“Stop right there,” Brasso scolded the young man in his gentle, low voice. His eyes looked hard this time. He leaned close to Wilmon. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, or being so damn apologetic all the time. It’s not your fault. Your old man would’ve said the same thing. You did what you thought was right back on Ferrix.” Brasso’s voice nearly broke. “Maarva would’ve been proud, don’t you know that, Wil?”

All that Wilmon could do was stare at the useless transceiver. The boy looked so helpless. Brasso was about to lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder when Bix had the mind to share her cares…

“It’s my fault, Brasso,” she said remorsefully. Brasso reddened as he turned to her upon the cot on a corner, wrapped in Jezzi’s shawl. His small outburst must have wakened her, but then again, Bix may have already been aware of the conversation and listened in.

“What is, Bixie?” Brasso had approached her slowly. He was by her cot-side.

“Cassian,” she whispered. “Cassian. He went back for Maarva, but he also went back for me. I-I didn’t tell them anything, I promise! Swear on my brick—I didn’t tell them anything!”

Swear on my brick was an expression, similar to how off-worlders say swear on my grave. To have Bix say that had monumental gravity to it. The girl, after all this time in her journey to heal, kept that weight tightly upon her shoulders. The scurriers which piggy-backed on Beemo one day had brought her distraction and joy. It took her out of her dark rut for a while, but tonight it seemed to resurface.

“I know you didn’t. No one ever believes you did, Bixie,” Brasso soothed. He’d taken Bix into his beefy arms and the girl lay her head on his chest. “It’s not your fault, either. Maybe Maarva would’ve thought different—she said we’ve been asleep for years. Ferrix has been asleep for years. Do you know what that meant, Bixie?”

The girl held onto him but didn’t respond.

“What you did, what Wilmon did—it was a long time coming. Cause and effect, Bixie. Like in your old lessons in school. The Empire had been stepping on our backs for too long. What sacrifice you did for Cassian was worth coming back for, if ever you were left behind.”

He felt hot tears seep through his thick shirt. He patted Bix’s back as she sobbed ever so quietly.

It’s not your fault.

It was the same thing he’d told Cassian when they quickly met at the tunnels on Ferrix. He had wrapped Cassian in his arms just as he held Bix.

Brasso leaned against the wall where Bix’s cot lay. He sat there for long moments until the girl ceased her weeping, until Wilmon quietly returned to the workshop, until Jezzi announced her shift for the night as she made herself more caf.

Brasso had always understood, but he’d kept the reasons at arm’s length. He’d lost himself in the struggle, but as the night wore on and the bustle outside lessened a fraction, Brasso found a moment’s peace.

After four long months, he’d fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.

*****

[toxifoxx]

What is your William's relationship with his kids like

OKAY SO!!!

the gist of it: william very much loves and cares for his children, however he is a shitty parent and often ends up emotionally neglecting them. he's also overprotective and controlling, hence the cameras all over the place. he has an idealized version of them in his head and whenever they inevitably do not live up to that standard, william is disappointed. if he is Perfect, his family must be Perfect too.

now, into the specifics… (long as fuck so its under the cut)

michael: their relationship is rocky. michael was an accident, william didn't intend to have him and wasn't quite prepared. his arrival pressured william into marrying clara, to keep up appearances and what not. worse yet, william suffered from postpartum depression after giving birth to michael, so for the first year or so michael was continually dumped onto clara or sometimes henry. once michael became a toddler, though, william finally started bonding with him, and through his childhood years they had a pretty good relationship (michael liked to watch him make the animatronics). but when elizabeth and evan were born, michael got less and less attention since his siblings were favored over him (and despite william loving him, he still held a bit of resentment deep down). and so michael starts acting out for william's attention. and it works, but it creates a sort of feedback loop, because while he does get the attention, acting out also makes william neglect him more, because michael isn't living up to his ideals. and then after the bite, well. he just entirely gets the cold shoulder from william, the two of them barely ever interacting (at least if william can help it). things start to mellow out over time, but william refuses to take any part of the blame himself, so michael is always acutely aware his dad blames and resents him for what he did, even when he's trying to be outwardly loving.

elizabeth: the favorite of the bunch, probably because she's partially henry's :3c despite her ALSO being an accident, william is much fonder of her because she's henry's and also because he was actually ready to have kids/wanted more at that point in time. she is very typically spoiled by william, he gets her whatever she wants. and whenever he's actually paying attention to his children, she tends to get the most attention out of the three of them. she also starts taking after william in some ways, which makes him quite happy as she's the closest to matching his ideals. she's probably most willing(?) to fit into the mold of perfection and admires william a lot. looking at her, william can imagine a world where he and henry actually got to start a family together.

evan (CC): things are kinda complex with him. he was actually intentional so william is perfectly happy with his birth, no objections there. in his baby to toddler years he is incredibly favored and adored, with william spending a lot of time with him, even despite elizabeth. once he hits childhood though, william's perspective kind of shifts. because evan reminds him far too much of himself as a child. too timid, too weak, and crying far too much. the reminder of william's past is incredibly uncomfortable to him, which leads to him distancing himself a bit (though he still loves him... when he's not crying). and so the whole reason michael's bullying gets to go unchecked for so long is because william simply believes evan needs to toughen up, like will did when he was younger. william turned out completely fine (lie), so surely it should work for evan too, right? (spoiler alert. ummm)

(bonus, something subject to change (i need to bounce it around in my head a bit more): i like the idea of william potentially having a child before michael in his college years, but losing it due to a miscarriage. thus leading to the dislike for having michael so soon afterwards, and to his devastation at losing his other children. and also the fact the springlock incident renders him essentially infertile (or at least can't get pregnant without danger), alongside his age - he can't have any more children, and there is no replacing what he lost.)

[buttercupfiction]

first impressions - the Companion

hey y'all! sorry for the radio silence, i've just been awfully busy lately, but i did promise you the ro povs, so here's the second one! hope you enjoy~

-

Shoot, shoot, shoot.

He's running late.

He was supposed to be back at the Guild half an hour ago, to greet Bellamy's sibling, but the woman he was helping out was just so chatty, and he didn't have the heart to tell her he needed to be somewhere else. She's just so alone in that big old house, her children and grandchildren having moved to the capital, and she insisted he stayed for tea; what else could he do but accept?

And if that means he'll keep some people waiting, then sue him. He knows how bad loneliness can be.

Though thankfully, this isn't anything official, and he had planned it so they meet some time before Kait's available, so there's still a margin for error.

He slows his pace when he reaches the Guild's compound, trying to appear less winded than he is; first impressions are important, and he doesn't want it to look like he just ran here. ...Even though he kind of did.

Passing next to the entrance, he can see Cal and Selene chatting inside, but there's no sign of the person he's expecting. Only when he goes a bit farther down the street can he see them standing under the awning of a building nearby, looking at their reflection in one of the windows.

Okay. Now don't screw this up.

He casually approaches them, stopping a polite distance away, and calls them out by their name.

They turn around, and–

'Oh wow, they're stunning,' the thought comes unbidden to his mind, and he seems to experience a momentary lapse of motor functions, as he just stands there, blinking at them.

Thankfully, they've interpreted his blatant staring as confusion, so they answer him with a "Yeah, that's me."

Shaking off the strange feeling that took over for a moment there, he smiles at them, doing his best to be friendly and put them at ease.

Perhaps he could try a joke?

"Oh good! It'd be awkward if it turned out I just jumped a random stranger on the street, haha..."

Ookay, no, that's worse, that makes him sound like some maniac who assaults people on the street. Ugh, he should just skip to introducing himself and welcoming them to the city.

He acutely aware of their eyes on him as he does just that, scrutinizing him, and he can feel the anxiety creeping up on him. Even more so once they ask if he's actually a member of the Guild.

"Uh, yeah?" Was that not...clear?

Did he give them a reason to doubt him?

...Or does he just seem that pathetic?

His hand goes to the badge on his belt instinctually, almost worried it's not going to be there and he'll look like a fool trying to explain himself. Luckily, he finds it exactly where it's supposed to be, and while that's reassuring, they're still looking at him in confusion.

Should he elaborate? Or would that come across as condescending..?

Ugh, he'll just leave the explanations to Kait.

But before they go see her, he should apologize for making them wait this long. Really, as far as first impressions go, he's making a bad one.

(the rest is up on patreon~)

[cryptidsofwakemoor]

Chapter 2 - Burger Burglar

After escaping the lab, Matchstick runs into a new challenge: trying to find enough food to sustain his furnace of a stomach.

~*~

Mystic

...

...…

Something was tickling his face. It was persistent, and poking through the muddy dreams he'd been wafting on.

Oof. And that pain in his gut had come back, mildly nagging at his insides. What was that? It wouldn't go away, either.

Fluttering his eyes open, he was greeted by the sight of the earthy den he'd fallen asleep in. Sunlight was starting to trickle down through the entrance, teasing at his cheek.

Or- maybe that was the red and black bug he saw, poking up at the edge of his vision. It was small and round, and shiny in the morning light.

Spooky

...Buh.

Had he fallen asleep...?

And- damn it, what the fuck was touching his face? He blinked, and caught the movement of the small creature out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he breathed in a dry gasp and brushed it off, scooting his butt away from where he'd been seated. Shit, what the fuck was that thing?! He couldn't see it now, because it had gone flying somewhere, so he was left sitting still for a few moments with a feeling of unease.

Grrrghghlllll...

...And what the fuck was THAT? The sunlight shining in through the entrance lit the burrow just barely enough that he could see nothing else was in here with him, save for whatever that tiny thing was, but he was pretty sure that thing couldn't growl like that...

He waited and listened carefully until he heard it again, a low gurgling growl coming from- from... himself??

The fuck?

Was he dying or something? He felt like shit... His stomach especially, and now it was making worrying sounds... This hole in the ground was safe, but that wasn't gonna do him any good if he fucking died in it!

His mind raced as he tried to think of something he could do about this. His stomach had felt like this the night before, too, but it did seem at least a little less pressing before he'd slept... His thoughts wandered back to him eating those loaves of bread, it seemed to have helped a bit... In fact, he kinda wished he'd grabbed some when he escaped, but he hadn't thought to do that at the time...

His glowing tongue slid out and licked at his dry lips. Yeah... He wished he had more... But damn it, that human was gonna chase him if he went back for the rest of it.

His eyes slowly wandered back towards the light filtering in through the entrance. There had to have been more food out there, right...?

He found himself torn, not wanting to leave and expose himself to danger again, but there was also nothing in here to help distract him from the nagging feeling in his stomach... He huffed out a breath, and reluctantly began his crawl back up to the surface. He poked his head up from the soil, squinting at his surroundings as his eyes had to readjust to the light. The coast seemed clear enough...

Okay. If he could find some food close enough, he could just come back here whenever he needed to hide again. Maybe that'd work...

Mystic

...It didn't take long before something that smelled delicious tempted at his senses. What was that heavenly aroma? Mmm... he didn't have the adjectives to describe it, and it made his stomach complain worse than ever.

It was definitely harder to keep hidden in the daylight. He was very acutely aware of the fact that he had no camouflage, now that the cover of night was gone. Whatever the scientists had done to him to give him this lava blood and charcoal flesh, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Don't be seen. Don't get caught.

Getting to the edge of the treeline again was easy. Figuring out where the smell came from, even easier- he could see an establishment not too far away that had some sort of fire box visible through a window, with patties and slices of red and brown material sizzling away. The rich smell had to be coming from that.

But actually getting over to it... that wouldn't be so simple. It was across one of those strips of black ground, where metal boxes with lights had zipped along and almost hit him. Those had to be vehicles of some sort, right? He'd overheard conversations among the scientists talking about something called 'trucks', used to move things around. Including him, on rare occasions.

Stomach growled again, demanding.

Spooky

He swallowed, staring at that building with an intensity that felt like it should've been able to bore holes through it, had that been one of his abilities.

It had given him such tunnel vision that it was only after he started to step out from behind the tree that he noticed how busy it was around the building. A 'truck' rolled past, breaking his line of sight, and he noticed some people walking around and talking to each other- some human and some not. There were more 'trucks' too, some sitting still and others moving around. His breath hissed through his teeth at the close call, and he ducked back behind the tree before any of them could see him.

Shit.

How the fuck was he supposed to get over there?!

And... thinkin' about it, there were probably more people in the building too. Even if there were no people outside, he couldn't just walk in... His previously hopeful expression soured in jealousy as he saw people walking out with food in their hands. Like it was so fucking easy.

The worst part was knowing he was strong enough that he could just as easily take it from them, but that would draw way too much attention. And apparently, going off what happened the night before, there were guards out here, too...

...About that, though... If he couldn't walk in through the front of the building, what if there were more of those food boxes out back behind it...? If he ran as fast as he could, maybe he could make it behind there before anyone could get a good look at him.

Fuck it, worth a shot.

Waiting for another 'truck' to pass, he crouched low and sprinted across, ducking into the shadows behind the building. Aw, fuck... There weren't any big boxes, just some metal cans... Nobody else back here though, at least...

Since he had the chance, he decided to see if there was at least something in the cans, so he pried the lid off one of them and tore open the bag inside. It wasn't food, just various crumpled paper-like materials tumbling out, although some were soaked in grease, or some kind of yellow and red stuff. It certainly didn't smell as good as whatever was in the building...

Though given the insistence of his stomach, he was still tempted to see if these could be eaten...

Mystic

Hm... they had something similar in smell to what was coming through that front door. Not quite the same, but close.

Maybe...

Grabbing one of the waxy papers and inserting it into his mouth didn't yield the best results. Some of that savory smell was on the paper in the form of taste, but... above all, he was tasting the waxy outer coating on the paper, which melted in his iron-hot mouth. Ugh, it was gumming up his teeth! Didn't feel very good to swallow, either- he had to cough out a small cloud of smoky embers, as the paper went down as dry ash. Not very appetizing, in the end.

click-click

Shit-

He had to duck back into hiding to avoid being seen, as a door on the side of the establishment opened outwards.

Another daytime stranger in a stained white apron- not a lab coat, thank god- stepped out into the alleyway. Some sort of tall bug-like person? In their clawlike arms they had a plastic bag, similar to the ones found in the box last night. They stopped at the trash can, with the lid still dropped to the ground. Scratching at their head, the bug person grumbles and kneels down to pick it up.

"Damn raccoons," they grumble, holding the lid aside as they drop the bag inside. Once the lid is replaced on top, they take some sort of tethers from their pocket, and strap the lid down to the trash can with the camping rope. Dusting their hands, they go back inside, shutting the door with a click.

Spooky

They kept saying that word. The hell was a 'raccoon'?

Despite the first thing he tried in that can not being the most appetizing thing he'd ever put in his mouth, he still felt a sinking feeling as he watched the stranger tie the top down. Damn it... So much for trying anything else in there.

His eyes followed the strange man back to the door, which closed. He waited for a bit before coming back out, half tempted to try and go in there too despite the danger. Maybe if he was quiet, or fast enough, he could slip in and grab something, then slip back out...

He tentatively reached out and grabbed the handle he'd seen moving on the door, and tried to slowly turn it, but it wouldn't budge. Hm. Maybe he needed to turn it a little harder…

He kept trying to turn it until the lock busted with a loud enough POP that he backed off with a grimace, knowing someone probably heard that and walking in would be a mistake. Unfortunately, with the lock part broken, the door slowly swung open anyway. There was one guy who didn't seem to notice him at all- he had some weird device over his ears and was making humming sounds as he scrubbed some metal thing next to some running water. There was one other guy though- the bug guy from before was standing next to a surface covered in sizzling patties, and the door slowly swung open juuuust enough for them to make eye contact.

.....

Fuck it, guy already saw him.

The famished bioweapon darted inside and made a grab for some patties, completely unaffected by the heat of the grill. He managed to snag two and stuffed one in his mouth like a frenzied animal before making a break for it back out the door, not stopping even as he heard shouting behind him and a flat ended instrument of some kind was thrown after him, bouncing off his back.

His back was still wounded and it stung like hell, but whatever the fuck that food was tasted so much better than anything he'd ever had in his life that he didn't even care! Fucking worth it.

Mystic

The yelling and flailing of the bug person got the attention of not only the man wearing the strange device on his head, but also the passerby and customers of this establishment.

"What the hell was that?!"

"I don't know! Was that a kid, or-?"

"No, it was like a shadow! What the fuck!!"

The outcries of the people follow the kid even as he bolts away from the storefront, swallowing the second patty of brown stuff with wild abandon. God, it was so good! Nothing had ever tasted this delicious in his life! He'd eaten meals only rarely, as rewards for 'good performance'. This made those meals taste like utter garbage by comparison. Steam puffed out of his mouth, the sound of sizzling emanating from his own throat as his inner fire burned up the material. Was this what made that delicious smell? Setting fire to food?

It satisfied the rumble in his stomach, for now. The gurgle in his gut had receded.

Back across the black stone path, he was under cover again. Safe.

And right on time, too. The familiar whine of electronics passes by overhead. Camera drones. He dodged a bullet, there.

Spooky

He ducked back into the cover of the woods and headed back towards the burrow to lay low. One drone was too much for his liking, but all bunched together like that, it was too dangerous to blow any one of them up without alerting the others. He'd caused enough alarm for now, and now that his stomach was feeling better, he didn't wanna push his luck any further than he already had.

Hopefully those people would calm down once they hadn't seen him for a while...

Once he made it back to the burrow entrance, though, he crouched with a bit of hesitation, licking the remaining patty grease off of his hands in thought as he tried to savor whatever left of that taste he could.

Yeah, he could go back down there and hide, but... then what? He wasn't tired, and he'd just be sitting in a hole in the dark for hours and hours, probably until his stomach hurt again and he'd have to come back out anyway.

Maybe it'd be better to explore a little bit first? Get familiar with the area. That way if he got chased again he could have some kind of an advantage... Or heck, maybe he could find some food out here. Animals had to eat too, right? People food was risky, but it was so good... The thought of going back to eating what he'd been used to before kind of sucked after experiencing something that nice, but fuel was fuel.

Standing back up, he started to wander again, though was sure to steer clear of the direction he'd just fled from.

~*~

Previous | Chapter Index | Next

[laurfilijames]

Fallout

Pairing: Jay Mills x female reader

Words: 2,955

Warnings: Stab wound on hand. Bandaging and dressing of wound. Description of injection of antibiotics by needle. Swearing.

Summary: New to Bear Lake as a nurse working at the local clinic, you have the pleasure of taking on Jay Mills as one of your patients, taking it upon yourself to see that his hand heals properly following the aftermath of the destruction left behind by Liza and Addison, hoping to gain the trust of the boxer trying to get his head and heart in order.

A/N: This will be a series and will include smut in the upcoming chapters (yay!) I've fallen head over heels for this character and he deserves so much better than the shit he got in that slightly disturbing film so, here we go!

---

The town was described as small, welcoming and charming. It was definitely all of those things, but also hinted at being stuffy, dead, and incredibly boring. Most of the people you met were friendly and genuinely kind; having carried on their small town morals for generations and truly wouldn't say a bad thing about anyone, but there were still a majority who looked at you like your presence would strip their quaint and familiar hometown of all it was good for and taint it with your 'big city' bullshit.

You promised yourself again that you would make the most of it and see what would come of your move, trying to embrace such a change in your life and take a step back to simply breathe and let be; to allow time and the peace and quiet of the North heal your heart and mind.

"Deb, it says this Jay Mills has missed his appointment twice in a row," you questioned the older receptionist, watching her through a squint as she tilted her head to see through her thick glasses better as you passed her the missing man's chart.

"Oh, yeah," she said with a roll of her eyes, pressing the paperwork back into your hand before she sighed and looked back at her computer. "I don't think we'll be seeing Mr. Mills again at this point. He's gone nomad, turned into a hermit after the incident at his parent's farm."

When you didn't react to her answer, she swiveled in her chair and looked up at you, folding her hands in her lap as if you were the cause of this and her frustration.

"You know, the crazy brother and sister who robbed the casino and killed off nearly half of our troopers? Jay was mixed up in it. That crazy girl had a hold on him… poor boy had so much potential..." With a wave of her hand she turned her back to you, leaving you with more questions than you started with as you tucked his chart behind the stack of other ones in your hand and went back to your station.

The clinic was small, far different than the hospital you were used to on the outskirts of Detroit, but after having been run ragged as a critical care nurse for a few years, you decided it was best to lean into the change and find enjoyment over seeing to the minor ailments of the folks who inhabited this small town. After going through the rest of the charts in your pile and completing all your notes for the patients you had seen that day, all that was left was Jay Mills, and rereading the notes scribbled by the last nurse who saw him five days ago, his absence didn't sit well with you.

"Acute, localized infection between the index and middle finger on left hand…" you mumbled to yourself, speaking to no one as you wondered why he wouldn't come back if his hand was in such a bad state.

They had prescribed him antibiotics from the get-go for the knife injury, but if the wound itself wasn't being properly cleaned and dressed, it would only get worse and would risk sepsis, not to mention if he was off alone and over-using the hand. You lifted up the page with the exam notes to glance at the personal information listed on the one below: his age, height, weight and brief history all there, along with his last known address and phone number. He was two years older than you, and the previous physical examinations he had done were a requirement for professional boxing with everything coming back that he was a healthy, well fit man.

A note indicating that he had since moved to Detroit not long after his last visit was jotted down in red, making you wonder just how far apart you had been in the south of the state and how interesting it was to find yourself in close proximity again without even knowing who he was.

You picked up the receiver of the phone and held it against your cheek with your shoulder, punching in the numbers until the call went through and started ringing. You tapped your pen on the edge of your desk as you waited, hoping to get a hold of the rogue patient who was now assigned to you.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered.

"Hi there, would I be able to speak with Jay, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, he's not here," she began to explain. "May I ask who's calling?"

"I'm a nurse reaching out from the Bear Lake Medical Clinic, apparently Jay has been missing his appointments…"

The woman sighed, and you immediately were able to assume this was his mother.

"Yes, I’m so sorry, he's gone out to the cottage and I'm afraid he isn't planning on coming back into town any time soon. I know his hand wasn't in good shape…"

The worry in her voice made your heart ache for her, and looking again at his age, you sighed at wondering when sons would ever stop causing their mothers grief and what really happened to this man to make him become a recluse.

She happily gave you his cell number and address of the cottage and wished you luck in getting a hold and getting through to him, the plea in her words as she thanked you making you silently vow to try your hardest to make sure he was okay.

After a night of tossing and turning, you thought over your options while brewing your coffee, your yawns interrupting your thoughts just as your thoughts had interrupted your sleep. You wouldn't know the guy if you tripped over him, and yet something about his situation and lack of regard for his health nagged at you unlike any case had before, and you knew you either needed to let it go or see to it yourself in order to ease your persistent mind.

Taking your last sip of coffee that was brewed too strong and too bitter, you decided if you weren't able to get a hold of Jay or if he didn't miraculously turn up at the clinic, that you would drive out to his cottage with the necessary supplies, knowing you would be unable to ease your mind otherwise.

As you continued on with your rushed morning routine, you kept glancing at your phone, half tempted to simply Google every article about the now-infamous incident that disrupted the quiet of Bear Lake, but ultimately let it be, having come this far without having the media taint your views on things here, always preferring to make your judgements and learn about things from your patients and neighbours.

Hours into your shift and just as you had thought, his phone either rang until it went to voicemail or was cut off after the first ring, and although you were sure by now he would have blocked the number, at least you knew he wasn't dead. You even tried calling from your personal phone, hoping he would pick up from an unknown number, but he proved his determination to ignore the outside world to be resilient and neglected that attempt as well.

"Hey, Deb? I'm planning to head off early this afternoon, I have a house call that's a bit of a ways away and I don't want to be driving in the dark with all these bloody deer around and some snow on the way."

She turned her head, cocking an eyebrow at you before her expression turned more suspicious.

"Are you heading out to see the Mills boy?"

"Yes, I really feel it needs to be addressed and this wound could-"

Deb cut you off by holding up her hand, her eyes casting back down to the files on her desk as she started sorting through them again. "I wasn't asking, just be careful."

You smiled before turning and heading to the supply room to gather everything you would need, beginning to think how the personalities of these small town dwellers were starting to grow on you.

You disliked winter on a good day, and cursed it for being even more unbearable this far up north, your drive down the lesser traveled back roads suitable for anything other than your car.

It was beautiful, you would give it that, the snow clinging heavily onto the branches of the pines that had seen more sun rises and moons than you ever would, and you started to accept why someone going through hard times would escape to somewhere so remote and untouched.

The sun was starting to hug the tops of the trees, and with the light quickly fading and still forty minutes left in your drive, you turned the dial up on the volume of your stereo and began singing along to your favourite songs to help calm you.

Finally, and with no deer sightings, you were on the narrow, winding road that led you straight to the Mills’ cottage, the trees thickening the closer you got, but still able to catch a glimpse of where they opened up for the frozen lake sitting beside it.

An older extended cab Ford pickup sat in front of the cozy looking cabin, the gray, two-toned paint covered in a decent layer of snow.

You grabbed your bag out of the back seat and steeled yourself with a deep breath that was sharp on your lungs from how cold the air was, your boots crunching in the unshoveled snow as you made your way to the door of the seemingly well-kept cottage.

Knocking on the door, you inhaled again, this time capturing the comforting smell of a wood-burning fire as you readied yourself for a possibly-irate and unwelcoming patient, but it was nothing you hadn't dealt with before.

The wood door opened a crack, enough to reveal a gorgeous, but wearied and suspicious face on the other side. Piercing blue eyes, closely shaved, blond hair and some growing wheat coloured scruff around his mouth made up the leery looking man before you.

With no time for you to speak first, he nodded, "Who the hell are you?"

You gave your name and explained your intentions as quickly as you could in fear he would shut the door in your face, holding up your bag of supplies while flashing your badge on your lanyard with your other hand.

"I'm fine," he said pointedly, looking past you like he was checking no one else was with you. "This is harassment and a breach of your duties," he explained roughly, his defenses already up. "I'll call the cops."

"Will you?" you asked boldly, assuming he wouldn't and not at all put off by his threats.

His lips thinned as he tucked them between his teeth and looked at the ground before looking back up at you with annoyance.

"Jay, I really think you should just let me take a look at your hand."

You tried to remain as neutral as possible, happy your thrumming pulse was hidden beneath your scarf as you assessed his size and stature, your cheeks flushing and not because of the cold.

He opened the door roughly with his good hand, allowing you to pass through despite the look on his face expressing his displeasure at the situation, "I swear if you called me one more fucking time…"

"What? What would you do?" you asked, maintaining eye contact with him and his eyes that were impossibly beautiful despite the hurt that showed in them while you set your bag on the kitchen table and started to unpack everything.

The cottage was warm, but not warm enough to warrant the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his skin an ashy tone, and you reached for your thermometer, having already noted his shallow breathing and quick heart rate hammering in his neck.

"How long has it been since you finished the antibiotics?" you asked, aware he should be through the prescribed dosage if he bothered taking them all.

"Three days," he said, but with uncertainty, his words more a guess than a definitive answer.

You drew up a dose in a syringe, using your foot to push out a chair for him to sit.

He hesitated a moment before huffing out a sigh and walking over, and you could feel his gaze burn you when he sat.

"Are you a doctor?"

"Nurse," you simply stated, glancing down at him as you tapped bubbles out of the syringe by flicking your nail against it. Placing it on the table, you reached for your thermometer, holding it up to his mouth where he gave you another reluctant stare.

"I have other places I can put it instead."

His mouth opened, giving you a glimpse of a full set of nice, white teeth and a smooth tongue that made you swallow and feel like your own was too big, his eye contact making your confident disposition break away ever so slightly.

You did your best to look at anything but him and his full lips pressed around the thermometer, but you couldn't help but trace the outline of them with your eyes, transfixed with their shape and alluring shade of pink.

Clearing your throat as the thermometer beeped, you pulled it from his mouth and frowned at the number displayed on the small screen.

As you had assumed, he was running a low-grade fever, and just from your glimpses around the place, you knew he wasn't taking it easy and resting. The fire in the stove was freshly stoked with a whole pile of chopped wood beside it, making you wonder just how much time and energy was spent doing it with only one good hand.

"Pull your arm out, please," you instructed, nodding at his upper arm clad in a hoodie and another long-sleeve shirt underneath.

He did as he was told, still without looking away from you, while you did your best not to take notice of his muscular upper body that was now exposed to you.

You took an alcohol swab and wiped the injection site on his bicep, seeing his cheek flinch out of the corner of your eye as he clenched his teeth. As gently as possible with knowing how much discomfort he was already in, you eased the needle into his skin and slowly pressed down on the plunger with your thumb.

He breathed out, seeming to relax slightly at your careful hand as he likely expected you to jab it in unceremoniously, his eyes casting down to his hands sitting in his lap.

"Let's take a look at that hand," you said, to yourself more than him.

Without a word he placed his left hand on the table, palm side up, and allowed you to unwrap the soiled bandage.

You frowned at the state of it, but sparing him the lecture, you set to work on cleaning and treating it.

"What do you do for work?" you asked, always appreciating idle talk while you focused.

"I was a boxer."

You hummed and felt your eyebrows raise on your forehead, thinking how he wouldn't likely be boxing anytime soon - if ever again - after this injury.

"Was?"

"I stopped before this happened," he explained. "Not by choice."

You looked up at him, pausing your hands for a moment.

"I was in jail."

You frowned and shrugged your shoulders slightly, not fazed by his admission, having dealt with your fair share of all sorts of people from all different walks of life, the injuries you often treated caused by something illegal.

You finished your job and began to pack up, instructing him how to properly care for things and that it would need to be checked again in a few days at the most.

"You're driving back tonight?" he asked, his expression finally switching to concern from being constantly defensive and untrusting.

“Well I'm not staying here,” you smiled, trying to make light while pointing out his icy hosting skills.

One side of his mouth turned upward ever so slightly, bringing out creases on his cheek that flanked it, and he looked up at you after turning over his hand to check out the fresh bandages wrapped around it.

“No, I guess not.”

"Start taking these tomorrow," you said through a sigh, slamming a pill bottle on the table in front of him. "With food, three times a day." You pulled out another container and set it with equal force down beside the other one, "And these if you need them for pain. Don't be a hero."

He breathed out deeply, leaning his bare torso back against his chair and you gathered he wasn't too keen about your comment and assumption that someone like him was too tough for even a mild pain medication.

“I'll be back around 7:00 on Thursday after my shift. Try to keep from using it and please call me at the clinic if anything gets worse.”

You slugged the strap of your bag over your shoulder and started to walk toward the door, pausing and turning back to him to add another thought, having changed your mind.

“Actually, just call my cell if you need anything,” you blurted out casually, as if you were telling your friend to hit you up if they needed you, still feeling worried he would do something to hinder the healing. “Since you have the number in your history of missed calls…”

"Yeah, okay," he reluctantly agreed, remaining seated as you opened the door and saw yourself out with one final look back at him before you closed it behind you, a faint smile tugging at both of your lips.

---

Part 2

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered @ourlonelymountain @stealfromthedevil

I've gone ahead and tagged who I have listed for my general Charlie fics, so if you'd like to not be tagged in this series please just let me know!

[covid-safer-hotties]

"You Have to Live Your Life:" Responses to Common COVID Minimizing Phrases - Published Aug 6, 2024 By: Olivia Belknap

If you're still COVIDing, you've likely heard phrases, like "it's mild now," or "you have to live your life," repeated over and over. You might be wondering, "what do I even say here? How do I respond to this?" I've listed some of the most common minimizing phrases and some potential responses to them. Feel free to adapt these and make them your own. I've included a variety of responses with different tones, depending on how much you want to be #saltingthevibes.

I want to recognize you might not always have the time or emotional energy to get into these discussions. Some people unfortunately aren't engaging in good faith, so it's important to be able to discern for yourself when you want to have these conversations. You don't always have to educate people, it can be exhausting! For those times when you want to respond but are at a loss for words in the moment, here are some ideas to get you started.

Starting off with one of my (least) favorites:

"You have to live your life!"

"I am living my life. Wearing a mask doesn't stop me from living my life, it makes it possible for me to do the things I love more safely." "I'd love to be able to get out and do more things, but unfortunately that's not safe for me because so few people are masking." "I would be a lot harder to live my life if COVID disabled me." "Living my life means protecting my health, in the short and long term." "I've adapted how I live my life based on the research about all of the long term health effects of a COVID infection."

"How long are you going to keep doing this for?"

"I'll probably always wear a mask in public spaces, when you know better you do better!" "There's no expiration date on keeping myself safe and protecting my health." "When we've widely implemented clean air standards and there's a sterilizing vaccine for COVID, then I might update my current precautions." "I really wish I didn't have to do this either! But given what I know about COVID and Long COVID, this is the best choice for me." "How long are you going to keep doing this for? It seems like you're sick all the time now, it sounds really unpleasant."

"We have to live with COVID."

"I'm glad you agree the government has done a terrible job trying to mitigate the spread!" "To me, living with COVID means doing what we can to protect ourselves, not just giving up entirely." "We also have to live with car accidents, that's why I wear my seatbelt to protect myself." "What if we didn't have to? What if we collectively did more to clean the air and create safer living conditions for all of us?" "Unfortunately you're right, that's why I'll continue to mask to keep myself and my community safer."

"It's mild now/it's just a cold/flu."

"Many illnesses seem like 'just a cold/flu' when you're first infected, but can still have long term health consequences, like mono or HIV." "You can develop Long COVID even if your initial symptoms are mild or asymptomatic." "I'm not as worried about the initial symptoms of the acute infection, I'm more concerned about the significant risk of Long COVID." "You're lucky your symptoms weren't very severe initially. For me, COVID was a lot worse than a cold." "I don't want to get sick with a cold either."

"I got it X times and I'm fine!"

"I'm sorry to hear you've had so many infections. COVID can cause silent damage throughout our bodies, it might be a good idea to go in for a check up with your doctor." "I'm glad you're feeling fine so far, but my experience has been different." "Your risk of Long COVID increases with each infection, so I'm doing what I can to avoid getting it." "I hear that in your experience, a COVID infection hasn't been a big deal. Unfortunately not everyone is so lucky and many are dealing with significant Long COVID symptoms."

"You're young and healthy, you'll be fine/ only the vulnerable need to worry."

"I used to think the same thing! It turns out I have some underlying risk factors that mean an infection could be very harmful to me." "Everyone is at risk of Long COVID, and your risk increases with each infection." "You cannot know someone's health status by looking at them. A lot of young people are high risk as well." "I don't appreciate you making assumptions about my health status." "Did you know more than 75% of Americans have at least one risk factor? More than 40% have two or more, and almost 20% have three or more! Being high risk is more common than you think." "There are actually a lot of factors that can make someone high risk, like a history of smoking, depression, asthma, ADHD, and more!"

"Kids don't get COVID/it's mild for kids."

"Unfortunately many studies show that rates of Long COVID in kids is similar to the rates in adults." "COVID is the 8th leading cause of death in children in the US." "Kids can be high risk for COVID, like if they have asthma, ADHD, autism, diabetes, or other common health issues." "Kids don't deserve to be repeatedly infected with an illness that we know causes long term damage." "I'd encourage you to read some of the stories about kids with Long COVID, it's heartbreaking for them and their families."

"Long COVID is rare."

"I'm curious where you learned that, because that doesn't fit into my understanding of Long COVID." "Studies show rates around 20% of adults infected will go on to develop Long COVID, and many studies show higher rates. Your risk increases with each infection." "Even if you're right, I'm not willing to risk it." "Have you noticed an increase in weird symptoms or health issues in your circle? Fatigue, headaches, GI issues, stroke, heart attack, blood clots and a ton of other issues can all be caused by a COVID infection." "It's more common than you might think, there are over 200+ possible symptoms and it can look different in everyone."

"My doctor doesn't wear a mask."

"Yikes! How unfortunate your doctor isn't up to date on the science and isn't doing more to protect their patients." "It's too bad how many doctors don't stay up to date with important health information." "Doctors also used to smoke cigarettes in healthcare facilities and recommend them to patients. Just goes to show you doctors aren't always right." "The medical field scorned the doctor who recommended they start washing their hands... I'm seeing a lot of parallels here." "Unfortunately it can take many years for practices like these to become more mainstream."

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 58 – The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin

I originally put a hold on this at the library back in the spring, so by the time I actually got my hands on it I’d entirely forgotten why I’d asked for it specifically. Still, in general I’d been meaning to read more Le Guin (and more classic sci fi/stuff written in previous generations, generally), so it isn’t too mysterious. It’s definitely a meaty read as far as cultural artifacts go, but I must admit that as a reading experience it left me a bit cold.

The story takes place in the distant and futuristic year of 2003, in a Portland that’s rather worse for the wear – overpopulation, widespread and crippling malnutrition even in American cities, a war in the Middle East threatening to spiral out into nuclear Armageddon, climate change has led to mass resettlement away from the coasts, and also its always raining. Into this comes Gregory Orr, a man whose dreams can retroactively change reality. Horrified by this, he almost overdoses on stimulants to avoid sleep – and is basically given court-ordered ‘voluntary’ therapy. Dr. William Haber, after taking a bit to believe him, starts using the magic of hynpotherapy and also Orr being kind of a pushover to trigger, manipulate, and direct his magic dreams and start trying to retroactively fix the world. Because it turns out hypnosis-induced dreams have a lot in common with asshole genies, side effects include a pandemic killing the majority of humanity, an alien invasion, everyone having identically coloured grey skin, and eventually the execution of anyone discovered to have a inheritable medical condition for eugenics reasons. Eventually Haber believes he’s discovered a way to induce the same dreams in himself, and when he tries just kind of breaks reality and himself at the seams. Before he does, he finally cures Orr of the dreams, and amid the ruins he gets a girlfriend (who had in other versions of reality been his lawyer and then dead and then his girlfriend) and settles down to a good life working with his hands.

The overall feel of the book is, like, Seeing Like A State as Twilight Zone episode. There’s a distaste for capital-P Progress – for top-down utopias, technocratic utilitarianism, psychiatry and eugenics and public health initiatives, tolerance through the erasure of differences, bureaucratic work, lives without strife and struggle, and just generally measuring the marigolds – that absolutely pervades the work. It is good and virtuous, the book seems to (or outright does) say, to help people you know and directly around you, and in the face of an apocalypse you do whatever you can. But otherwise, in the course of normal life, thinking you can really improve the world is the height of hubris, and thinking you have any duty to is just disguised megomania – anti-overpopulation efforts lead naturally to democidal plagues, trying to cure cancer to brutal eugenics regimes. The good life is a grounded one, where you have a job where you work with your hands and do something constructive, and don’t mess around with dangerous dreams – the only alternative is playing a cruel god over the masses.

The aesthetic and political revulsion towards 20th century modernism is of a piece with what else I’ve read of Le Guin, but the sort of conservative, struggle-idolizing quietism it puts forward as the positive alternative kind of took me by surprise.

Speaking of overpopulation – as an artifact of anxieties about the future and science, the book is just fascinating. Written in 1970, it really does take it as almost a given that in thirty years overpopulation would be an acute crisis. The numbers actually aren’t far off – a global population of 7 billion is mentioned – but this is taken to mean a world where childhood malnutrition is a fact of life for the average American in the Pacific Northwest, and there’s so much demand for grain-as-foodstuff that a psychiatrist can’t afford brandy. Hypnosis is also treated with a level of seriousness and gravitas that these days its only shown in self-conscious pulp and fetish porn. On the other hand, the fact that a book written in 1970 is talking about ‘the greenhouse effect’ and how climate change is going to cause ruinous natural disasters is, well, deeply depressing.

Completely tangential from everything else – so the only female character in the book is Heather Lelache, a lawyer Orr goes to for help and then a couple reality iterations later starts falling in love with. Or properly speaking after he accidentally dreams her out of existing in the process of abolishing racism, he dreams her back and it’s functionally an entirely different and much meeker and milder person (like, she gets POV chapters, the change in internal monologue is striking) and also goes from ‘lawyer’ to ‘legal secretary’, and he continues falling in love with and marries her. This is never really called out or commented upon but it did strike me enough that I wanted to bring it up as interesting.

Anyway, don’t regret reading this, but probably the Le Guin I’ve gotten the least out of, overall.

[mirasmirages]

Scars (part 3)

first previous masterlist next

Has: mentions of past trauma

James and his family belongs to @starliight-whump

~

Julia carried James's cup of coffee on the table for him. "I'll pick you up in twenty minutes, okay?"

James nodded. "Yeah."

"And if you need me, you can call. I won't be far."

She put the coffee on the table outside the small café, and James sat down across from Nadir, his high school boyfriend.

"Hey," Nadir said when Julia left.

"Hi."

For a moment, neither of them knew what to say. They hadn't stayed in touch after Nadir left for college, sixteen years ago. James was struck by how long it had been. Sixteen years since they dated. Half his life. He put his hands around his cup, but didn't lift it.

"So," Nadir said, hesitating to break the silence. "How are your parents doing?"

"They're good," James said. That wasn't entirely true. He had heard them talk when they thought he wasn't listening. He knew his mother would go down to the basement to cry so she could be strong in front of him. Not the best topic for catching up with a friend. James didn't know how much Nadir knew about what had happened to him, and didn't want to ruin this by bringing anything up. "Um. Julia says you're a fireman now?"

"I am!" Nadir said, smiling. Trying too hard to act normal, or just hard enough. Or maybe he was just being normal. Maybe James was overthinking it. "I really love it, helping people when they need it most. I never have to doubt if I'm doing something important, you know?"

James nodded. He had felt like that too, when he was in surgery. It was hard to argue he wasn't doing something important when he was fixing someone's heart after an acute heart failure.

"Or, at least, most of the time," Nadir continued, when James didn't say anything. "A few days ago, a kid called in for help, because his cat was stuck in a tree. It was a quiet day, so we went to save it. And the cat was furious, hissing and clawing at me, but I got it down, right? Handed it to the kid, and the cat twisted free and went straight back up the tree." He laughed. "At least I got a story out of it."

James laughed too, small but real. "I didn't know firefighters actually did that. I thought it was only on TV."

"Well, it's not exactly part of the job description," Nadir said. "But if we have the time for it, why not?"

James was looking for something else to say, to keep up the flow of the conversation, when Nadir looked at something behind him. He tensed instinctively, and turned to see Henry, the librarian, walking toward them, a hand lifted in greeting.

It was a coincidence, it had to be. There was no way Henry would know where James would be. There was no reason for him to care. And yet, James had that jolt of fear that screamed "DANGER!"

"Hey," Henry said, looking at Nadir.

"Hey," Nadir said, and glanced at James, which made Henry look at James, which made Henry recognize James, which left James completely unable to find his voice.

"Oh, hey," Henry said, still looking at James. Then he turned to Nadir and said, "I'm interrupting something, aren't I? I'll leave. See you Tuesday."

"Yeah, see you," Nadir said as Henry left, and then he turned a serious gaze on James. "Are you okay?"

James wanted to brush it off and pretend it was nothing, he really did, but the way he was shaking, there was no way Nadir would believe him. He buried his face in his hands.

"It just keeps getting worse!" he said, and slid his hands up to grip at his hair. Numb prickling radiated through his fingers, and he could barely put any force into the movement. "It's been two months, and I'm scared all the time, and it's not getting better, and I'm never gonna work again, and for some reason, every time I see that man, I think he's going to take me away and make me go through everything again!"

It felt good to say it, even if it ruined any chance of this being a normal conversation. James was exhausted with normalcy. He kept trying for it, and it never fucking worked. The best he could do was to hope the people around him believed it while he kept feeling as awful as always. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, so Nadir wouldn't have to see him cry.

"Hey," Nadir said in a careful voice. "Can I take your hand?"

James sniffled and gave a nod, but didn't look up at him. Nadir took James's left hand, the one that could still mostly feel, in both of his.

"All of this is a normal reaction to what you went through," Nadir said. "It's only been two months. That's nothing. You're going to get better, you just have to give it time."

"You don't even know what I went through," James mumbled.

"Not the details of it, no," Nadir agreed. "But I know it was bad. I know you spent two weeks in the hospital after they found you. I know how scared Julia was when you stopped picking up the phone. I know about the trial."

James swallowed. The trial was one of many things he tried not to think about. In just a few months, he would have to testify, and he would have to see him again.

Nadir squeezed his hand. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said. "I'm just saying, if you do want to, it's okay."

James shook his head. Talking about it would be a bad idea. Especially in public.

"Um," he said, looking for something else to steer the conversation toward. "How do you know Henry?"

"We were roommates in college," Nadir said. "How do you know Henry?"

"He's Oliver's favorite librarian. And, um." James hesitated. "And he kind of tried to flirt with me at a bar and I had a panic attack."

Nadir's eyebrows rose. "You went to a bar?"

James nodded. "Julia went with me. I wanted to see if I could do it, but it didn't go well."

"And when you said you think 'that man' is going to take you away … you meant Henry?"

"Yeah." James swallowed. "He took me outside when I panicked. I think he was trying to help, but at the time … it didn't feel that way."

"I'm sorry." Nadir's eyes softened. "If it helps, I don't think he would ever hurt you."

"I know that," James sighed. "I know most people are just normal people and aren't out to get me, I just- I just feel things, before I have time to think about it."

"You could ask him to keep his distance," Nadir suggested. "He would, if you asked."

James pulled his hand back so he could bury his face in his hands again. "That's not the point," he said in frustration. "If it's not him, it's someone else. It's walking in the woods and it's rooms with brick walls and it's men in suits and it's rain. It's not about him, it's about everything!"

Nadir was silent for a moment, giving James time to stew in his own thoughts.

"Do you want to meet him?"

The question surprised James into looking at Nadir.

"If you don't want him to stay away, maybe it would help to meet him in a safe environment. Maybe it will help you be less afraid."

"Maybe," James mumbled. He wasn't sure how he felt about his frustration being met with solutions. He wasn't sure he was ready for solutions. "Do you think he would do that?"

"I don't see why not," Nadir said. "I bet it would help him too, to know it's not his fault you're scared of him."

James nodded slowly. He hadn't thought about how Henry would feel about his panic attacks. He already knew he was making things harder for his family, but now he was doing it to strangers, too. That wasn't who he wanted to be.

"I'll try," James decided. "If he wants to."

next

[whump-about-it]

Aftershock

@whumpril Day 4: Swaying

CW: I don't know how to tag the content on this one. It's set inside an emergency medical tent following an earthquake so use caution with that as needed. There are no graphic injury descriptions, but there are mentions of death and grieving. Also, general disregard for personal health, implied acute stress disorder, and very briefly reference strangulation.

It had taken them two days to find Whumpee after the earthquake hit. Medic had been called in immediately after the initial quake, meaning that they couldn't help Caretaker look for their friend. Something Caretaker had yelled at them about for what felt like hours before marching out of the medical tent in a huff.

That was okay. Caretaker was just concerned for Whumpee's safety. Lots of people had been yelling at Medic in the past couple of days for less reasonable things. A few going so far to blame the quake on Medic, and even lay their hands on them in a few instances. Caretaker had at least apologized once Whumpee was found.

In the end it had turned out to be the best possible situation as far as Whumpee was concerned. Rubble had fallen on them in the initial quake and they'd been trapped for those two days they were unaccounted for. But none of their injuries were outright life threatening, and by some miracle they had had both food and water within reach the whole time. One of the after shocks had loosened their rubble prison and Whumpee had actually managed to free themselves and stumble to the medical tent on their own, where Medic was in fact the one to "find" them despite Caretaker's frantic searching.

Now, a little over an hour after their reunion, Whumpee and Caretaker were sitting together on a cot situated closest to Medic's station, sipping apple juice and nibbling on the peanut butter sandwich Medic hadn't had time to eat themselves. One of Whumpee's arms was in a sling and their other was so heavily bandaged Medic was actually somewhat surprised they were able to grip the sandwich. They were still worryingly pale. Medic had had to put stitches in their stomach and back, and would have liked to have given them a blood transfusion. But with the need so great right now, the blood bank had determined they wouldn't be a priority as long as they didn't pass out.

"Do you think you can stand?" Medic asked Whumpee from where they were kneeling in front of them. It was a gentle hint that Whumpee should give up their bed (and their doctor) to some of the more grievously injured people still flowing in. No one had said anything to Medic about prioritizing their friends over other patients, and Medic had seen plenty of their cohorts do the same over the past two days, but they could still feel the judgmental eyes at the back of their head, and the hypocritic oath poking them from the back of their mind.

In the first twelve hours after the quake the medical tent had been bursting with people, most of whom were in about Whumpee's condition at worst (though Medic had lost their first patient within the first hour). The number of people flowing in was much less now. Though most of the cots were still full, and the injuries were starting to get worse. Fewer people were walking out of the rubble of their own accord, and those being brought in on wheelchairs and stretchers had their injuries aggravated by time. The calls were getting closer, and the situations more dire. Medic couldn't count the amount of emergency surgeries they had called for in the past twelve hours alone. A few of them so badly needed that Medic had been forced to preform them themselves right there in the tent. Two of those patients hadn't made it.

Considering the setting, and the fact that Medic, though talented, did not specialize in surgery, that was, in a technical sense, a good statistic. It didn't feel good though when the screams of the first patient's mother were still echoing in their head louder than any of the other screams current of remembered over the past few days, and the bruises around their throat left by the second patient's husband were making swallowing a chore. Medic did what they could though, and they had to continue.

Caretaker glared at Medic halfheartedly at the obvious nudge, but the look disappeared from their face when Whumpee nodded, and abruptly tried to stand.

"Hang on." Medic clapped their hand on Whumpee's knee a little harder than they had intended to and forced them back down.

"You're going to want to be careful of your ankle. We haven't got any available wheelchairs and you can't use crutches with your arms like that, so Caretaker, you're going to have to help them."

Caretaker nodded earnestly before wrapping their arms around Whumpee and helping them up gingerly. Medic followed, gripping onto the cot heavily as they got themselves off the ground and tried to ignore the exhaustion washing over them.

The simple act of standing up had made Whumpee go paler somehow and they swayed on their one good foot, leaning on Caretaker as the two wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders.

"That's it, take it slow." Medic instructed as the two hopped in a small circle together to get used to the human-crutch situation. They turned to the tiny table they had been given for their stuff as soon as they were sure Whumpee wasn't going to pass out.

"Here" They handed Caretaker their keys. "My car is parked just behind the generators and unless something happened in the aftershocks, my place wasn't damaged. You two should go there and get some rest. Make sure Whumpee keeps eating and drinking fluids. Call me if they pass out or the stitches tear or something."

Caretaker frowned for some reason, but took the keys.

"When are they going to let you out of here?" Caretaker asked a little tightly. Medic shrugged.

"I don't know. Can't be long, there's already a volunteer coalition on it's way to help out, but it could still be a day or so."

Whumpee was frowning now too.

"I'll doing fine." Medic reassured them, ignoring the way their head was pounding, and muscles aching, and stomach grumbling, and the remembered screams reverberated around their head. "They wouldn't let me work if I wasn't. Now go."

"Call me if you need anything." Caretaker insisted. And Medic was just opening their mouth to promise they would when the ground, and the tent, and everything around them began to sway.

Aftershock!

Medic pushed Whumpee and Caretaker back down onto the cot before the shaking could make them loose balance and get more hurt. Both let out twin cries of surprise at Medic's actions as the swaying intensified and a ringing noise thundered in their ears. Their throat went dry for some reason as the light in the tent began to fade. Something must have been happening to the generator. Despite all that was happening around them though, both kept their eyes on Medic.

"Medic!" Caretaker stood back up again and grabbed Medic by the shoulders just as the swaying made them loose balance. "Are you okay?"

"The after shock!" Medic tried to tell them, though the words seemed to be coming out funny.

The last they they remembered before everything went dark was Caretaker's concerned retort.

"What aftershock? Nothing is shaking right now!"

[blackjackkent]

Rakha gropes her way back to her bedroll, feverish, half-blind. The limited confidence with which she convinced Lae'zel not to kill her seems to be bleeding out, moment by moment. She is more acutely aware with each passing second that the worm is, in fact, taking control.

She is no stranger to restless nights, but for once tonight it is not the dreams of blood that have her twitching in her bedroll, but something far worse and more immediate. She drifts into delirious half-sleep, sweating and anxious and lost and infuriatingly helpless.

And she wakes... elsewhere.

She is conscious first of the chill. The air in camp was humid and warm, with a gentle breeze blowing between the tents, but here (wherever here is), there is no wind at all, and the temperature is at least twenty degrees cooler. The half-moon light around the goblin camp has been replaced by a suffusing pale blue glow that presses through Rakha's closed eyelids.

A voice, unfamiliar and soft, speaks almost next to her ear.

"I came just in time. You are transforming."

Rakha jumps, her eyes flashing open. She snaps her head to the side with all of her remaining strength, and looks up into the gentle gaze of a woman she has never seen before.

(A/N: One of the little joys of this game, I have found, is that this scene comes just late enough in Act 1 for you to have likely forgotten exactly what you did with the guardian's face during character creation. XD So then it gets to be a fun surprise! In this case, good job, past Roz. She's pretty!)

She's slender and pale. Pointed ears like Shadowheart's poke from under waves of thick auburn hair. Her face bears tattoos similar to the ones Rakha herself carries on her own face. And she is glowing all over with a power Rakha has never seen before. The air around her is thick with it.

She reaches out and rests the tips of her fingers against Rakha's cheek. And with that touch, the power flows down along her arm and into Rakha's skin, through her face and into her skull. And where the power passes... the pain eases.

Rakha groans softly. For a moment she focuses inward, feeling the fever ebb away, the ache in her hands and her chest starting to fade. The worm, as if lulled by some unheard sound, rests dormant in her temple. The beast, worn by the last few hours' torment, sits quiescent as well.

The sense of unexpected peace is absolute. She is still. She is calm.

She sits up slowly, turning her attention back to the stranger who has - it seems - saved her.

This is a dream, she decides after a moment's thought. The calm is real, but this place is not. It is the first dream she has had that did not smell of blood. The first to bring her face to face with someone living.

Is it possible that this woman is the source of those dreams? The face of the dark urge that has already driven her so many times?

No. The beast still sleeps. This is something else, someone else, a new touch inside her head.

The thought makes her shiver uncomfortably. "Back off," she mutters gruffly. "I have enough crawling around in my head already."

The woman draws back at once; her touch on Rakha's arm pulls away and she stands up. "Combative," she says, with a slow smile and a hint of amusement. "Good. You'll need to be."

She extends a hand. "Don't worry. You will not become a mind flayer. Not while I'm around. I'll protect you."

Rakha feels the dark urge stir drowsily in her head, the automatic instinct to lash out.

Imagine hacking the grabby paw off.

Narrator: Though the thought crosses your mind, it doesn't hold you, doesn't devour you, as your thoughts too often can.

Somehow that realization is more unnerving even than the close brush with ceremorphosis. The beast's everpresent background growl has been a constant since the moment she awoke. Everywhere except here...

The woman looks at her with a slight, sad smile - as if she knows exactly where Rakha's thoughts have gone. "Your compulsions will doom us all, if you do not work to stop them," she says gently. It is the softest, warmest voice Rakha has ever heard. "I can help."

Rakha reaches up cautiously and takes the woman's hand, lets herself be guided up onto her feet.

For the first time she properly looks around and registers the dreamscape she is inhabiting. At first glance, it appears to be some sort of garden courtyard, a stone circle surrounded by tall, grand columns and lined with grass and plants of all sorts.

And beyond it... is an infinite space. They are floating in a sea of stars, among many other smaller floating rocks and some much larger ones. And the Weave...

Gods... it's beautiful...

In her waking life, she sees the fabric of magic everywhere, a prismatic ripple underlaying the very skin of the world. But here... it is much stronger, a heavy, undulating texture of hues beyond naming, so thick she could reach out and bury herself within it even in the blank and empty parts of the air. It presses on her skin, not quite solid and not quite liquid, a comforting warmth like a blanket wrapped around her.

"We haven't much time," the strange visitor says, bringing Rakha sharply back to herself. "So listen closely. There is great potential within you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you - but for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it."

Rakha listens quietly. Her mind feels sharper, clearer than it has been in days, pulling together all the threads of this strange new development and weaving them together.

The visitor is here for the parasite. She knows about the beast, but that is not her primary concern - the tadpole and its transformation is.

The visitor does not want the worm to consume her - but she agrees that the powers it offers, of control and domination, are valuable.

She knows Rakha, too. That much is clear. She would not know about the compulsions, otherwise. And the tattoos... something connects them. Something reaching back into the abyss of her memory. That much is obvious.

A million questions surge to the forefront of her mind, every answer she has craved since the moment she woke up. But the visitor is not finished.

She gestures out into the starscape, and as Rakha follows the gesture her gaze comes to focus on an even more baffling sight - an enormous, skull-like form drifting among the other stones of that infinite sea. Around it, small forms of different-colored light weave and twist, striking out against each other with bursts of energy.

Gods. What is that?

"A fight for the fate of Faerun," the visitor says calmly, answering the question Rakha did not speak aloud. "A fight we are losing - for now. You can change that, but only if you embrace your potential."

Rakha's eyes narrow. We? She opens her mouth to ask a question - and then is cut off again by a low hum of energy that can be nothing other than a rising explosion.

The woman's face twists in something like a wordless curse. "I have to go," she mutters. "The enemy is closing in." A pause; her hand rests just for a moment on Rakha's shoulder. "I will be back."

Back where? Rakha wants to demand. Where are we? WHO ARE YOU?

But the blast surges up around them, and the woman's hands flash out, shielding them both and knocking Rakha backwards as her vision fades to white.

Wake now. You'll feel better. I promise...

-----

Rakha wakes, sitting bolt upright in her bunk. Her fingers press involuntarily to her face-- there are no tentacles, no changes at all. The fever has broken and her skin is cool. The threat has passed.

It was a dream, certainly - but it was also real. The visitor saved them - for despite her assertions to Lae'zel, they were surely on the edge of transforming. And if the visitor spoke true, she is also fighting some greater war. And she knows something about Rakha, about the compulsions of the dark urge.

"Fuck," she says with deep feeling, leaning her elbows on her knees and groaning. This was hard enough already without another new face in the mix.

And already, back in the waking world, she can feel the beast stirring again in her mind. We should have killed her. Should have ripped her apart when she offered her hand. We do not need her help or her touch or her war.

But she has answers... she must, she reminds herself firmly. We need to know what they are.