#and that's what like. 75% of the pain is. it's not the injury it's the muscles trying to compensate for it

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

it's amazing how a few nightly stretches can diminish my pain significantly and yet i do not do them

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate - (5) Heated Discussions (M)

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 5 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 3,354 (sorry it is so short)

Work count for Story: 20,717

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter has injury, anxiety, arguments, comfort, Alpha Space, forced close proximity, and scenting.

This chapter has a slightly mature scene at the end. At the start of the mature scene, the following banner will be displayed:

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

Keep Safe.

Keep Safe.

First, it was Taehyung, and now it's Yoongi. Alpha Space seems to be no joke. Derek was not lying when he said this mindset helps them protect. Let’s hope this doesn’t mean they will treat you like a child or someone incompetent.

Walking out of the elevator, you cannot help but smile softly at the rest of the Bangtan pack. While still in pain and minorly intimidated by the bodyguards, you felt safe around them. 

“Excuse me, Miss Y/n. I have a few things that I would like to discuss with you before we get going. Allow me to walk you to your van,” Manager Sejin directs you off to the side with a nod from Namjoon. 

Yoongi closely follows you as you go with Manager Sejin. “Miss Y/n, thank you for your care and consideration in this situation. I can promise you that it will not be easy for the eight of you, but it will be worth it.”

As he speaks, you feel a tail wrap around your waist, and a hand touches your back. Looking over your shoulder, you see that Yoongi has his hand on your upper back but keeps looking away from you towards his packmates. 

You notice that the group has gathered in a circle as if something significant is being discussed. Not wanting to keep Yoongi from doing something important, you look back at the manager, asking, “Manager Sejin, I do not feel so well. Can you please take me to the van? I would like to sit down and process things.”

He nods, moves towards the van in front, and opens the sliding door.

“Mr. Min,” you smile softly at the jaguar as he looks at you, keeping an ear tuned in to his mates. “I am going to go sit in the van. I am sure that I will be fine there while I wait for you and your packmates.”

Adding a bit of a pout to your smile, you ask, “Can you go and make sure everything is okay so that we can go? My hand is really starting to hurt?”

“Yes. Van safe. Manager Safe. Go packhouse now.” Yoongi responds.

After exiting the elevator, Taehyung makes to stay with you, Yoongi, and the manager but is stopped by Jungkook. The younger one knows Taehyung would want to be a part of the discussion that is soon to come, even if he is still in Alpha Space.

After you had gone far enough away with Yoongi and their manager, the remaining packmates circled up at the youngest's request. Automatically, the mates seek comfort in one another. It’s one thing to find your mate but another to find a human mate.

Jungkook hugs Taehyung from behind, while Jimin hugs Hoseok around the waist as he leans against Seokjin.

Most of the pack had been through finding mates since there were six of them before you came along. Jungkook was the only one who understood the concept of what to do with a new mate but had never been on this side of the situation. 

“There are two vans. Obviously, Yoongi will be going in the van with Y/n, but who is going with them?” asks Jungkook, looking around as it dawns on them that the vans only fit five people in the back. Each mate immediately started proposing why they had to be in the same van as you, all at once. 

Seokjin said he only got to speak to you before the observation room and needed to see if his Alpha would react like everyone else has so far.

Hoseok tops everyone, saying that he has only ever gotten to look at you and that it's high time he was able to speak to the newest mate.

Jimin agrees with Hoseok and thinks he can help get Yoongi out of Alpha Space on the trip to the packhouse.

Taehyung keeps quiet, his Alpha Space pulling at him to be near you again soon. However, Taehyung’s Alpha was much calmer and understood that being the second youngest meant he would most likely not be allowed to go. 

Jungkook argues that he was the one who got you to calm down in the break room, and your instincts are already reacting to him. Therefore, he is the best person to keep you calm from here on out.

Rubbing his temples, Namjoon lets out a sigh. He said you were ‘no trouble,’ but you really are gonna be trouble for them, but not in a way he is worried about. It's just going to be a change in dynamic.

“Guys, we all want to spend time with our new mate, but we must remember that she is human and doesn’t understand. Right now, all she knows is that Yoongi is deep in Alpha Space, and we, as a pack, must help her situation,” explains Namjoon.

“How are we going to tell her, Hyung? If her family member's statement is true, she won’t believe us,” Jimin says, looking your way, ears flat in concern.

“That is a good question. I don’t have an answer right now,” laments the wolf hybrid.

“We may not have much time to come up with something. She needs to know. She needs to understand,” Hoseok voices with watery eyes. If what that man upstairs said truly is the kind of person you are, they must help you grow to recognize yourself. 

Moving to hug Hoseok with the others, Jungkook adds, “She may know about hybrids, but she doesn’t know enough about the Alpha-side of the culture, and what’s even worse is that she doesn’t know how precious she is.”

“That’s it! I go in van. Show mate real!” Taehyung finally speaks up.

He turns to walk toward you with a puffed tail and determination, only to be stopped by Seokjin saying, “No, you have spent time with her. She knows you care, but she still thinks I am looking at one of the playmates they introduced us to. I am going to go with her.”

Within seconds, they are back to all talking over each other. Each of them demanded the other stay behind with justifications. This time, Namjoon joins in the fray. None of them notice that you have entered the van, and Yoongi is standing just outside the circle, watching the hushed chaos. 

With a stern voice that is just a bit louder than everyone else, Yoongi declares, “Packhouse, go now. Mate in pain.”

Silence takes over the group as they all look in your direction. Though you are inside the van, they can still see you. Taking in your appearance, they notice your wrist keeps swelling more, your face is paler, and you are bouncing your leg with nerves.

"Yoongi-hyung is right. We need to go. Yoongi, Hoseok, Jungkook, and I will go with Y/n. The rest of you will go in the other van,” Pack Alpha says with a hint of his Alpha voice, trying his best to get everyone going. 

“No,” Seokjin counters. “I pull the eldest card. Kookie, I am sorry, but you should go with the others and help with Tae. I want to talk with her.”

“Hyuuunnnnggg,” whined the youngest, “fine, I will sit in the reject van.” Jungkook stomps off to the second van. His ears droopy, and his shoulders rounded like a scolded child.

“We got our bun,” Jimin says as he follows, pulling the still crystal-eyed Taehyung along, muttering promises of scenting, nesting, and various kinds of cuddles if the Alpha joins him and the bunny in the second van.

Approaching the front van, Manager Sejin opened it for you, helping you inside. You noticed that the driver was already inside as well.

“Oh, hello. My name is Y/n, sorry for any delay to the schedule,” you smile and nod apologetically to the man at the steering wheel.

Shaking his head, the man turned to you and said, “Not a problem Miss Y/n, Mr. Park always runs late anyways. My name is James, I will be your driver for today. Do you have a music preference?”

“The boys will want to talk with her, Mr. Green,” interrupts Manager Sejin.

Nodding, James smiles, “Well then how about some soft jazz instrumentals for some background noise?”

“Oh, do you have any Miles Davis?” you ask.

Pulling up the satellite radio, James searches for your request, and several options pop up. Leaning forward, you find one called Cozy Fall Jazz Vibes, and you point it out to him, “What about that one?”

“Oh, I have listened to that one before. Nice choice, most people around your age don’t know enough about jazz even to know who Miles Davis or any of the others listed, Miss Y/n,” complements James.

“Music is the gateway to the soul and an escape route for emotions, Mr. James,” you say with a far-off look in your eye. “Besides, I think we are closer in age than you realize.”

“You have to be like 24, maybe 26,” comments James, which causes you to laugh.

“Add about a decade. I am 35, Mr. Green,” you say light-heartedly. You had lost count of the times people guessed you to be the wrong age.

Both James and Manager Sejin’s eyes go round with shock. It’s Manager Sejin who speaks up first, “You’re an 80 what… 85-liner?”

“No, unless her birthday hasn’t hit yet, she is a 1986 baby like me,” smiles the driver. “What do you do? Bathe in the blood a virgin or something?”

Snickering, you shake your head, answering, “Nope, I rarely do anything because it feels like acid on my skin but when I do its just some basic face wash, sometimes lotion, and I hardly wear sunblock.”

“Lucky, I look like someone ran me over with a car and backed up again,” teases James.

“No, you don’t!” You scoff and then say, “Since we are so close in age, why don’t you drop the Miss, and I will drop the Mr.? We can speak comfortably.”

“Sure thing!” A beep on his cell phone from a text pulls his attention for a moment before he excuses himself from the van to make a call while you all wait for whatever the pack is discussing.

Taking a seat in the van, you notice two captain chairs and a bench seat. Not knowing where everyone else sat, you figured Yoongi’s Alpha would practically require him to sit near you, which meant the bench seat would be the best. 

Sitting in the middle of the bench but on the edge of the seat, you bounce your leg while you wait because your anxiety is still bugging you. Your wrist is throbbing now as you cradle it like Yoongi did, but it just didn’t have the same pain-relieving effect. 

You wish you had something to drink as you eye the bottles of water sitting in the different cup holders. Wishing they had something more potent or painkillers, you keep quiet, and your eyes return to watching the group talk.

Noticing where your line of sight was, Manager Sejin grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler built into the center console in the front of the van, opened it, and held it out to you, asking, “Would you like something to drink? We only have water.”

Taking the bottle of water with a shy smile, you mumble, “Oh, thank you, Sir. I didn’t want to take something that belonged to the pack.”

Shaking his head, Manager Sejin can smell your nervousness as his eyes flit over your form. Then he takes a quick look at the pack. They are still deep in discussion. Finally, he looks you in the eye with a sigh. He says, “Miss y/n, may I give you some advice?”

Swallowing your water quickly, you give him your full attention and nod.

“You are a person. A person that has needs, wants, and desires. Don’t be afraid to speak up. Ask for things. Demand things. I know they can be a bit much, trust me, but they are each a person just like you. Idol or not,” Manager Sejin says with a fond but honest smile.

At the sound of footsteps, both of you look to see some of them approaching. Before he moves to the front seat, he says, “They will be there for you.” 

You are not sure what was more surprising.

The fact that the two captain's chairs could turn to face the backseat or that Yoongi allowed you to be sandwiched between his older packmates.

Seokjin entered first. He sat on the bench to your left, and you hurried over to give him room. This was short-lived because next came Hoseok.

Hoseok gracefully wiggled his way to your right side on the bench. No wonder he was a dance god, you thought to yourself as you dropped your eyes to the floor to avoid watching his chest and hips pass your face.

This puts you in the middle and makes you unable to keep any respectful distance between yourself and them. Feeling a blush creep up your neck and face as the two men’s bodies pressed against your larger form, you move to sit on one of the other chairs. 

“Sit. Safe. Hyungs…hmmm…” Yoongi starts to explain, but his Alpha Space limits his words since he and his Alpha don’t want to give too much information about you being their mate just yet.

“Sit, please, doll. Yoongi-hyung will want to sit near the door to be your first line of defense. I guess you could say,” Hoseok speaks up gently, pulling at your elbow and guiding you back to your seat.

“Yes. Keep Safe. Guard.” Yoongi says with the look of a drill sergeant on his face as he takes the chair near the door. Namjoon, having already taken his seat in the other chair, spun it to face you after a short conversation with the driver and their manager.

“Guarding the door, got it but I could sit in the chair and Mr. Prime Alpha could sit with you. I am sure it would be more comfortable with him here than with me,” you say, pointing to the man you are talking about.

Next thing you know, you are face-to-face with Seokjin as he leans his chest across your body to buckle you in. You hold your breath as you make eye contact with his deep, intelligent eyes.  

“I do hope you are not implying what I think you are,” Seokjin comments while handing Hoseok your seatbelt.

His eyes are searching yours for something. As your blush deepens, a smirk grows on his face before he says, “You are much cozier to sit with than Joon, Miss Y/n.”

You are dizzy at the thought of making yourself ‘cozy’ with Seokjin. Blinking rapidly, you try to return to this reality and out of the gutter as you chuckle a response, “Ah, cozy, ha ha, I don’t think Gabriel Iglesias uses that in his levels.”

A mixture of hissing and growls fills the van. Your eyes snap up to see that Seokjin is the one hissing as he sits back correctly in his seat. Looking over, you see Namjoon’s jaw is set, and Yoongi’s eyes have narrowed as they growl. 

Instinctually, you lean away from the dangerous noise makers, which causes you to press against Hoseok. Placing a hand on your elbow, he leans forward, whispering in your right ear, “Doll, I think you have had some rather mean and disrespectful people around you in your past, but you are with us now.”

Hoseok glances around at his bonded mates as he smirks, saying, “We do not allow for anyone to be self-deprecating. From the look on Yoongi’s face this isn’t the first time you have done this.”

Not taking your eyes off the three men whom you seemed to piss off yet again, “It’s not self-deprecation. It’s pointing out the truth, which helps me stay grounded.”

A soft hiss is heard in your ear, causing you to jolt forward, only to be stopped by an arm that has appeared now around your waist. Hoseok chuckles as he pulls you back against his chest. His warm breath only adds warmth to your already heated skin. 

Whispering in your other ear, “While it is nice that you are so instinctually responsive to us, Doll. You must learn to listen when you are told something. In time you will believe what we tell you as well.”

While time in the van seemingly stops and sound becomes non-existent, the focus is on you as you battle your various reactions. 

Your body responds in a mix of ways. The lean but fit body pressed against your back warms you, causing your heart rate to race. However, the deep chuckles, hot breath on your neck, and primal eyes watching you cause heat to start pooling lower on your body.

Your mind is back in your damn nightmare because you cannot seem to go more than five minutes without causing some adverse reaction from the world’s most famous male All-Alphen K-pop band.

To top it off, you are internally scolding yourself for losing your professionalism when all you want to do is figure out how to make them stop being upset at you and hide before they notice that you are getting riled up over basically nothing.

Your gutter of a mind now takes the nightmare of being hunted by the pack of Alphas in a much different direction. 

“Kookie! Kookie! Come on, bun. You know Jin-hyung is only trying to find ways to help,” Jimin coos at the upset bunny hybrid. Shaking his head, Jimin wonders why it is his job to always to calm down these two lovebirds. Guess it’s the price to pay for being the Hyung of the Maknea line.

Realizing Jungkook is a lost cause, Jimin undoes his seatbelt and sits in Taehyung’s lap, gaining his attention. Jimin asks, “Alpha, is this, okay? We really need Tae Tae back to help with Kookie and our newest mate. If I scent you well, can you let go?”

The crystal blue eyes look over his slightly older mate, “Scent then help mates.”

Smiling sweetly at the Alpha, Jimin noses at his jaw, causing the tiger to tilt his head to grant more space. Scooting forward and resting fully on Taehyung’s thighs, Jimin rubs his cheek along the taller Alpha’s jawline. Soft puffs of warm air blow across the Tiger’s neck, causing the Alpha’s breath to hitch. 

Continuing his scenting journey, Jimin sniffs down the tip of his ear, down his neck to the bend where the scent of ebony wood is most robust. Pressing a soft kiss to the gland, the scent of ebony wood, oranges, and vanilla mixes.

It is not long before the pouting bunny hybrid starts to watch his hyungs. Long forgotten is the reason why he is upset as he slowly releases his own calming cinnamon-like scent into the mix. 

Realizing that he has successfully got one of the two mates into a better mood, Jimin ups the ante. Shifting his weight forward, he lays his body flush against Taehyung. Within moments, Taehyung’s hand gripped Jimin’s tiny waist, pulling him in tighter.

Chirping happily at the response, Jimin kisses up and down Taehyung’s neck. When Taehyung starts to scent Jimin back, Jimin nips over the scent gland and laves it with his tongue, mixing their scents deeper.

Soon, the youngest joined them on the bench, sniffing the air and whining. Shifting closer, his bunny tail wiggled, and his ears stood as tall as they could inside the van.

“Tae-hyung, Minnie-hyung, can I join? Please?” Jungkook asks as he softly places a hand on Jimin’s thigh. 

Nodding, Jimin moves to the other side of Taehyung’s neck, and Jungkook takes his place. Drowning the spaced-out Alpha in the loving scents of his two mates.

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The extended scenting scene for this chapter featuring the BTS Maknae Line can be found on Patreon with a membership if you follow this link. If you would like to read the extension teaser, please follow this link.

Taglist - CLOSED

@braveangel777 @bethanysnow @smileykiddie08 @kayways @danielle143 @nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie @seoullove96 @reallysparklychaos @tired7o7 @channiespup @cryingpages

[mirensiart]

Okay but Ravio already being connected to Legend in the pain sharing au is a little bit funny.

He's minding his own business while Legend is away dealing with black bloods, both of them used to being connected and doing their best to reduce injuries for each other's sakes. It's their new normal. Everything is fine and completely average.

Then he feels a slap to the face.

Ravio is just trying to use the injuries to figure out what the heck is happening to Legend but they're all so different and varied and it doesn't feel like Legend's usual aches and pains and what is happening. Because somewhere out there Legend is apparently having the worst week of his life??

He's just about ready to pack up his things and track down Legend himself when he gets a letter from a particularly determined postman explaining what's happening and apologizing for it.

Ravio, suddenly feeling twilight’s intense pain (bones breaking and rearranging) when he transforms into wolfie: DID MR HERO JUST DIE ?!

but yeah u get it anon! it’s also why legend would wear the red tunic + the blue cap, since in albw the blue tunic+cap brings damage down to 50% while the red tunic+cap if u have the blue one already cuts it down to 75%, he prob got into the habit of using them cause that way it cuts off the damage/pain inflicted to ravio too

ravio is used to random pains cause it’s part of the hero trade and he knows legend is careful , but as u said, while the pain sharing curse is active, he’s all alone in the shop worrying his ass off cause what the hell is Mr hero doing that causing him ALL THIS PAIN?! I bet he’s imagining legend like, alone in a cave barely alive and covered in wounds, when in reality twilight forgot the curse is active yet again and transformed into wolfie for the 4th time that week lmao

Legend is probably a nervous wreck over the whole thing too cause he knows ravio is probably feeling everything but doesn’t know what’s going on and he’s anxiously looking for that damn postman just so ravio knows he’s not dead lol

[schrodinger-swriter]

Can I Ask for Husks fluff alphabet?

A, C, I, J, K, N, P, Z preatty please?🥺

(I'm sorry I almost hit the limit. I'm obsessed with him😭)

A, C, I, J, K, N, P, and Z for Husk

No need to apologize! If I wanted a smaller limit I would have said so in the original post! Nothing wrong in wanting to get the most out of something C:

I hope you enjoy this, Anon, it was fun playing with Husk's personality in this! He reminds me of a grumpy grandfather.

Confession, I thought for the longest time Husk was a.. well dog. I.. Don't know why I thought that, perhaps it's the face markings and his name being "Husk" (Like Husky) that caused my confusion. For two years after the pilot I was... rather dumb..

What do you mean Husk is 75.

ATTRACTION:

He enjoys those who are more honest with themselves and aren't pushovers. He can hardly stand those in denial. He calls it as he sees it when he's pushed to do so. This is less of an attraction thing, but I feel he would be most compatible with someone he can be real with and can be able to deal with his bluntness. In a way, you keep each other in check.

CUDDLES:

Small and soft, warm too. He's a cat, so it feels like snuggling into a large cat! I don't think he would be too deep into PDA, the most he would be comfortable with doing is quick kisses when someone else is passing by.. usually... more on that later. Though, now that it's mentioned, I don't think he would be too big on physical affection all that much.. now don't get me wrong he loves a good back massage every now and then, but it's going to take him a while to curl up next to you for cuddling. Little spoon.

INJURY:

Would ask you what the hell happened while wrapping your wound.. Goes from scolding you for being a jackass if you just. Threw yourself into danger, but will go on to say you have some guts. Stern when it comes to you taking it easy so you can heal properly... is not phased by any false play ups of your pain, though depending on his mood he might let it pass. For a bit..

If he's the one injured he's stubborn, insisting that it's not that big of a deal. Dresses and cleans it appropriately, all while nursing a bottle of booze. Dismissive when talking about what led to the injury. Might be a little standoffish if you try to take care of him, especially if you come off as trying to baby him.

JEALOUSY:

He deals with his jealousy the same way he deals with all of his other problems. Alcohol. He sees another man chatting you up? Alcohol. Sees you laughing a little too much at some chumps joke? Alcohol. Someone talks brings up how you seem so lively around another person? Alcohol. I think you get the point. However, if it's a case of you being pushed into a situation you don't want to be in, he's going to pick up on your discomfort and drag you away... does not make it seem like you have somewhere else to be, no, he just tells the other person to fuck off as he takes you away. His fur sometimes fluffs up in annoyance. Pulling that pin from the C section, in regards to PDA, he will tug you to his side to further push the effect that you're taken.

KISSES:

Bunny kisses. You know, you two touch noses and nuzzle a bit. He doesn't allow it often, but it is something you two do every now and again. He defaults to kissing you on the mouth, quick pecks usually aren't for him, though... Sometimes leans over the counter of his bar to steal a kiss when no one else is around. This goes for both giving and receiving!

NO:

He can't be with someone who heavily relies on physical touch, it's simply not for him and he can only compromise so much. That's not to say he wouldn't try, because he would. However you can only sacrifice your comfort so much before it becomes a problem, you know? I don't think he would do well with people who complain.. not vent, more so whine about everything. He seems far too irritable to be able to deal with that in his day to day, outside of the bar.

As for actual deal breakers within an established relationship... I think it would have to be a stubborn person. Funny, coming from him since he's stubborn. But Husk appears to still go with the flow of everything, even eventually befriending the rest of the cast. No, when I say stubborn I mean people who can't take their heads out of their asses to see that there's other things to worry about and shit like that. He can only give you so many reality checks before throwing in the towel. Bonus negative points if combined with the complaining thing.

PETNAMES:

Do not call him "Kitten" he might actually be upset by that. On top of that, it's so... basic... predictable. It's not special. No, something that basic wouldn't work on him... and that's not considering the fact he himself isn't too big on petnames. Though.. seeing that he died in the 70s, I enjoy that the thought that he defaults to names from that decade. I believe he would call you "Dollface" or even just "Doll"

It'd take him a while to grow used to the idea of being called anything other than his.. name.. but he looks like a "Pumpkin" or a "Lovey"

.. just don't call him that around Angel, he won't hear the end of it..

ZZZ:

Tends to sleep either sprawled out of curled into a ball. Really it depends, though more often than not he sleeps sprawled out. Doesn't like being held while he sleeps, so cuddling while you guys doze off is off the table. Though, he wouldn't mind you scratching between his ears or shoulder blades sometimes... maybe you'll even hear him purr. Will take a decent amount of time before you get to the "sleeping in the same bed" stage. Old man snores, so good luck with that.

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

Games PB5 and AF35 played together in but also their injuries to really put in perspective how little they have truly played.

I bolded the games I thought were their best together and realized they never have played their best together truly. Like the one time Azzi was healthy and going off, Paige was recovering from knee injuries. Between the two of them, they probably had one healthy leg in those 17 games.

For rewatch purposes: https://www.youtube.com/@mjl2434

2021-2022

Paige coming back from right ankle surgery after being NPOY as a freshman.

Azzi came in with a foot injury from the World Cup after winning her third gold medal and it never really healed the entire season. She said later it was all about pain management but she was never really free. It really affected her movement and shooting.

11/14/2021 Arkansas: PB scored 34 at 78.9% and AF scored 7 at 42.9%

11/20/2021 Minnesota: PB scored 8 at 42.9% and AF scored 5 at 33.3%

11/21/2021 South Florida: PB scored 21 at 50% and AF scored 18 at 60% (the presser after is iconic haha)

11/22/2021 South Carolina: PB scored 19 at 42.1%. AF only played 10 minutes and didn't score.

12/1/21 - Azzi suffered a foot injury forced her out of the lineup for 11 games.

12/7/21 - Paige injured her left knee - tibial plateau fracture against Notre Dame and it kept her out of 19 games.

During that time while PB was on the bench (and all her fun reactions), Azzi played three games that I absolutely love rewatching and rank in her top 10: 2/6/22 Tennessee (her first start); 2/9/22 Villanova (note that UConn ended up losing this but I honestly rank this one of her best performances ever); 2/13/22 Marquette.

2/25/2022 St. John's (NY): PB scored 8 at 80% and AF scored 19 at 77.8% (there was so much joy because PB was back and this has a great presser afterwards)

2/27/2022 Providence: PB scored 2 FT but still made a big impact in limited time and AF scored 14 at 62.5%

3/5/2022 Georgetown: PB scored 16 at 66.7% and AF scored 11 at 30.8%

3/6/2022 Marquette: PB scored 2 at 25% and AF scored 4 at 11.1%

3/7/2022 Villanova: PB scored 2 at 25% but didn't play much in this game and AF scored 9 at 80%

3/19/2022 Mercer: PB scored 12 at 71.4% and AF scored 9 at 75%. Statistically great game for both but also early round of March Madness where they play like 20 minutes. So I suppose you can watch it for feels.

3/21/2022 UCF: PB scored 9 at 44.4% and AF scored 16 at 30.8%

3/26/2022 Indiana: PB scored 15 at 41.2% and AF scored 13 at 27.3%

3/28/2022 NC State: PB scored 27 at 66.7% and AF scored 19 at 43.8% --- AF helped get it to OT before PB finally took off. Probably their best game together but I don't know if their best overlapped completely during that game.

4/1/2022 Stanford: PB scored 14 at 53.8% and AF scored 8 at 25%. This game was not fun from what I can remember. I don't think I enjoyed it at all.

4/3/2022 South Carolina: PB scored 14 at 46.2% and AF scored 3 and 33.3% ---- Azzi had the stomach flu and only played 16 minutes. Between this and Dorka getting injured against NC State, I don't think this team really recovered.

2022-2023

Paige tore her left knee ACL on August 1, 2022.

After having a NPOY level November 2022, Azzi injured her knee on December 4, 2022 against Notre Dame  and was out of 9 games. She made her return in January 2023, only to reinjure the same knee on Jan. 15 and miss an additional 13 games. She never really recovered that level she had during November 2022.

I highly recommend watching the games in that month of November 2022 if you want to see Azzi Fudd play lights out basketball. And truthfully, I don't even think that was half her full potential. She was warming up to it in the first month of basketball.

2023-2024

11/8/2023 Dayton: PB scored 8 at 33.3% and AF scored 13 at 33.3%

11/12/2023 NC State: PB scored 27 at 61.1% and AF scored 9 at 30.8%

Azzi tore her ACL and meniscal tear in her right knee - second ACL tear for her. I actually think Azzi never really recovered her knee from the previous season and in the same way Paige came back too soon, Azzi did as well.

So now as we approach 2024-25, may the basketball gods bless us with potentially the best backcourt duo in the nation, because truthfully, we have never actually seen it at the college level. One thing I know is Azzi is a second half assassin (like statistically speaking). Looking forward to that the most. - 🔎

It was really interesting and a great read, but depressing af 💔.

We deserve to see them play for a full season, and more importantly, THEY deserve to play together for a complete season.

[lilliths-httyd-blog]

Fuck it. Earthquake Drill/PSA time.

If you see this post, AND:

A: You are in a setting in which it is socially acceptable for you to do so without reason, i.e. you are alone in private (pretty much the only acceptable setting actually XD)

B: You are capable of doing so without causing yourself pain, discomfort, ailment or inconvenience due to a disability, injury etc.

Drop, Cover and Hold

Move no more than a few steps - the fewer, the better. Move away from any tall objects like bookshelves or TVs which could hypothetically fall on you.

Immediately drop to the floor, onto your knees. This controlled fall will prevent you from being knocked to the ground by an actual earthquake and gives you more control over your movements as well as faster reaction time. You want to avoid being knocked down by an earthquake where at all possible.

If there is a sturdy desk near you, crawl and get under it. If not, stay where you are, so long as it is a safe place.

Cover the back of your head and neck with your hands and form the turtle position, like you'd do in a tornado or if a nuclear bomb went off.

If you are under a sturdy table, keep your neck covered with one hand and use the other to hold onto one of the legs of the table if you can. This is a critical in an actual earthquake, as in a strong earthquake the table will most likely move (esp if it has wheels on it). You have to be prepared to move with your table when it does so. If it is jolted to the left by shaking, you crawl to the left with it.

If you are NOT under a sturdy table, keep turtle-ing.

Stay in this position for 20-30 seconds if you are practicing, or until you are sure that the shaking has stopped in a real earthquake. Check that your surroundings are safe before standing up again and for the love of fuck be careful not to hit your head on the table on the way out.

If there's just been an actual earthquake, turn on the radio for further instruction. If you're just practicing, find out what station you should tune into in the event of an actual emergency. If your area doesn't utilise the radio as a means of post-disaster instruction, what the fuck??

Congrats! You just practiced what you should do in an earthquake. These steps should come to you automatically, you should know them by heart and be able to immediately leap into action when the ground starts to shake. If you don't, practice every now and then until you're do.

ALTERNATIVE STEPS:

If you have a disability, you should have your own set of personalised earthquake safety steps that you can take. These steps will be unique to you and your needs.

If you are driving, slow down, pull over and stop until the shaking stops. Stay in your car. After the shaking has stopped, you need to assess your own situation. How bad was that earthquake? Is it safe to continue driving? Are the roads damaged? Will emergency services need the roads to be clear? Before an earthquake hits, you should think about what you'd do in these types of situations.

If you're in bed, use your pillow as a shield for your head and your blankets to shield your body from flying glass, etc.

If you're on the beach, Drop, Cover and Hold until the shaking stops and then fucking run (DO NOT PANIC) as tsunami may be imminent. If the earthquake was light, you should be fine as the risk of tsunami is low, but get out of there anyway just in case. If the shaking made it hard to stand up or lasted longer than twenty seconds, get the fuck out of there as fast as you can because those are tsunami conditions, motherfucker. You need to reach high ground or be as far inland as possible. If you can reach high ground (at least 75-100 meters above sea level) within five minutes of running/walking, then go on foot. If there will be traffic congestion, go on foot. Only go in your car if it will get you to higher ground faster than running would AND if it will not cause congestion (e.g. your beach is in an area with a low population). Unsure? Go on foot. Do not enter alleyways or narrow streets unless it is absolutely critical to your survival and you can exit them again with haste. Best to stick to wide-open areas such as paddocks, fields and wide streets.

Your school, workplace and other facilities that you use will have their own specialised earthquake safety protocols. Follow the instructions of the authority figures in these settings. If you are in a supermarket or a similar retail setting, leave your trolley behind when you evacuate the building, I beg of you. You'd be surprised how many people (boomers) will throw hissy fits at having to leave their groceries behind in events such as fire drills and building evacuations. Please don't be one of these people.

Assess other setting you may be in and determine what you would do if an earthquake hits. As I live in earthquake-prone New Zealand, I've made it a habit of mine to assess the settings and locations that I frequent and determine the best course of action.

DO NOT:

Run outside. Running outside in an earthquake is your cheat code to immediate death. Falling signage, building facades, chimneys, scaffolding and other hazards could, and do kill people. Stay where you are. If you are walking outside a shop with a facade above the street and an earthquake hits, step away from the facade immediately.

Panic. Earthquakes are not the end of the world, they're just the ground having a bit of a rave. If you can react calmly and efficiently to take the appropriate steps, you'll be fine.

Seek shelter in your doorway UNLESS you are absolutely certain that it really is safer than the rest of the structure of your house. In all likelyhood, your doorway will be no safer than the rest of your house, and then there's the combined hazard of swinging doors to worry about as well. You'll probably be safer to just Drop, Cover and Hold. It really does depend on your house, and this is something that you will need to assess for yourself.

Go anywhere near fallen, exposed or otherwise sketchy powerlines, or just powerlines in general. Treat all wires as live at all times, even if there's a power outage.

Go near the beach shortly after an earthquake. Wait until you've received an all-clear from your local authorities before going near the beach.

Light candles. If your house uses gas for a stove, heating, etc, do not light candles, matches, lighters or anything which can produce a spark or open flame. Turn off the gas at the mains after any strong earthquake. You won't know if there's a gas leak in some instances. Best to get out of your house if a gas leak seems likely, or if you start to suffer the side effects of gas inhalation. And if you smell gas, turn it off at the mains if you can and/or get the fuck out. Only light candles when it's absolutely necessary (ALWAYS DEFAULT TO TORCHES/FLASHLIGHTS AND HEADLAMPS) AND only if you live in a house like mine where there is no gas usage, AND only if you are capable of extinguishing the candles at a moments notice. Best to only use tealights or candles with sturdy bases, and never leave a candle out of arms reach (never leave a candle unattended, earthquake or not). In general, avoid needing to use candles at all: have enough spare batteries for your torches to last until power can be turned on again (could be days or weeks).

Walk in floodwater, drink floodwater, drive in floodwater, etc. After an earthquake, you may experience flooding from ruptured water pipes, etc. I will be frank: This water may contain shit and piss in it. Also glass, metal, other harmful chemicals, a bunch of stuff. You can't see through floodwater due to its murky properties. There could be gators in there and you wouldn't know it. Don't touch it.

Open your fridge or freezer door. Food in there can keep for hours when the power goes out, so long as you keep the doors shut.

Go barefoot after a strong earthquake or if there's glass/debris etc. Find shoes, put the shoes on. Wear the shoes.

Also many other 'don't do's' but this post is getting too long so please go read up on these yourselves. What you should and shouldn't do depends on where you live. Go research it for yourself, it may save your life. Also put together both an emergency kit and an evacuation kit: you'll find plenty of guides online for how to construct these.

Earthquake safety is fucking important, and you should know how to react in an earthquake even if you are not living in an earthquake prone area - you never know when you're gonna be caught out, as fault lines can often remain completely unknown and invisible until they strike. I've met immigrants who have come to New Zealand from non-earthquakey countries and haven't known what to do (babe how do you come to the shaky isles and not know what to do if the ground starts to shake omg). Plate tectonics, volcanoes, explosions, meteor atmospheric entries (lol shockwaves), mine bumps, shitty ground infrastructure etc can all cause minor to severe earthquakes (or similar shaking effects). If nothing else, keep in mind Drop, Cover and Hold. That shit's lifesaving.

And yes I have a hyperfixation on these things, don't judge me. Kid-me grew up during/post Canterbury Earthquake Sequence, no wonder my ADHD ass started obsessing over these things.

[urlocaldesertdweller]

Gym Buddies ;)

You and Sloan are very close friends, who would've thought that you two wouldn't be.? But any whooo with being best friends you two love to work out and train together!

Working out alone getting sweaty and hot, and working out the negatives from your mind is already great but doing it with your best friend sounds like one of the best things ever!! The idea would be suggested by Sloan considering they would love to see you try to get more into weight lifting and upper body strength, and in your simple mind gave no thought and a little too quickly said yes.

Mind you, your "friendship" with Sloan since the start was always of passionate bro-friendship with a small hint of competitiveness but that's only because you each want to see the other constantly at their peak! Where the two of you always seemed to be hyping each other up even with the simplest of things.

Even taking in playfighting, arm wrestling, and sparring in the training grounds are very common between the two of you which always raises most of your comrades watching you basically hype each other up while still holding a extremely tense staring contest while trying to pin each other down.

"Come on Y/N! Do you really what you lose to me?!"

They heave gripping hard into your shoulders, their golden skin glistening with sweat, their current clothing choice doesn't help.

"Not even in my nightmares!"

You'll gain an advantage by throwing your head back then quickly throwing your skull towards theirs in a hard headbutt making them yelp staggering back while holding their forehead.

"Fuck... You got me good!"

"Hell yeah! Dont mess with me."

You beam with pride as your friend compliments you which leaves you crossing your arms in confidence leaving you unable to sense them sprinting up to you sweeping under your feet with their strong legs. With an oof you fall on your tailbone making you yelp, god you want to cry with the pain but you bite your lip hard not wanting to cry from something so minor of an injury.

"...Ouch."

But their scarred hand comes into your lowered gaze making you look up leading up their arm to their smiling face. The overhanging lights from above along with you being beneath them literally make them look like an angel. You take a short second to admire their pure beauty even amidst simple sparring, with a visible gulp you take their hand as they help pull you up...which also reminds you of your tailbone breaking your fall making you place a hand around your butt which makes Sloan giggle.

"I'd say sorry... but I can't really control how you fall buddy!"

"Nah, I'd say that we are now even with that headbutt I gave ya."

And of course, with such kind of playfighting would gain a small audience mainly painfully watching the two of you and betting on will they or won't they kind of thing with your complicated relationship to your team.

"Ugh, this is borderline painful to watch! More painful than whatever Baptiste is going through with his ex."

"Pipe down D.va! You are so loud they almost heard you..."

After warm-up up and when you really mean straight-up play fighting you finally hit the weights and small courses. With the two of you being so close you make a simple pattern of either one of you lifting your limits while the other both encourages and basically trash talks you, basically both becoming each other's gym trainer!

You heave, mouth dry desperate for water eyeing it it on the bench to which Sloan comes back into your view snapping their fingers with a clear whistle. They remind you that you are currently holding 75 pounds over your shoulders in a bowing position which is starting to make your legs shake from holding this pose. They be lying if they said that they were also sneaking some peaks of you looking all breathless and sweaty in front of them.

"Ah ah ah!!! No water for you until you prove to me that you can lift more than me. Power through this you...um dirtbag!!!"

You mumble something feeling your face become tingly and cold from the small gust of wind hitting your slick body with sweat. This makes Sloan get on their knees to meet your gaze which stops the cool breeze, you groan as you now see Sloan blocking your wind they huff slapping your face gently. Making you snap out of your trance, their words minutes ago finally hit your brain making you finish and pump through one more set making you scream your vocal cords out through the straining.

"WHOO!!! ...BEAT...that!!!"

"That's the spirit! And promise...I got this in the bag..."

They crack their knuckles and lay onto the rest prepping themselves as you hum and give a nod with an awful smirk which you know is going to fire them up! In the first few sets, they power through easily which makes you bite down your pride a little until you watch them start to slow down at a steady pace making you ready for anything to happen.

"Lets go Sloan lets go! ...You're one of the strongest people I know...!"

That was a partial lie considering the many literal beasts of people who have joined in overwatch but that's why you say it in a sarcastic tone which makes their face tighten, you watch their muscles flex once more to pump through, their number of sets is starting to get eerily closer to yours but at this point you don't care anymore since you know that your buddy has an awful asthma history. You make a mental note as you drag their duffle bag closer with the tip of your foot.

"Hey, Sloan...do you want me to step in.?"

"..."

They groan their eyes glued to the ceiling from above clearly thinking if they can manage just once more push. You don't leave your eyes on Sloan making any certain sort of distress. It takes them a short minute to groan and yell with one last pump in their arms doing one last lift as they manage to let it rest on the handles which makes you relieved as you toss them a bottle of water when they sit up breathless at a normal rate, you still can't help but watch their chest rise and fall stretching the damn near skin tight shirt they chose to wear...

"Oh god...I think we are even..."

Of course, the only thing on their mind is still the track of meaningless numbers that are only to stroke your egos between you and them. You give them a look to which makes them giggle.

"...God what did I do now.?"

"Maybe DONT scare me like that! I was worried that you were going to have an asthma attack stupid!"

You huff turning away in a clear pout which you hide a growing smile when you hear their giggles burst into laughs with your childish acting.

"Awe! Were you actually worried about me.? How flattering..."

They bat their lashes dramatically before chugging the water bottle you tossed. You watch them spill some onto their white tank top dripping from their lips down to their chin and neck then on their shirt... Geez get your mind out of the gutter this is your best friend!

"You bet your ass! I always will give a damn, especially about you."

Sloan only falls into a snickering fit as they stand from the bench to which you cross your arms looking away with huff and then a smile.

"Alright alright! I get it. You might as well love and kiss me buddy with all of that!"

"Heh, nice joke! ...wait what did you say.?"

They say in a playful tone as they grab your hand interlocking their fingers with yours as they drag you away into the showers. Anyone paying attention would have an overall idea of what was going to happen in the showers between the two of you.

[transgymbro]

Do you have any advice for overcoming the insecurities about not being able to lift as much as my cis gym partner? I just started taking weights class in my school for PE credit, and I've never really lifted before so I can't lift very much. We got put in groups of 2-3 because there's a limited number of equipment and so we can have a spotter, so I work out with the same guy every day. He's also new to this, but he can do way more than I can. My max for squats is 85, his is 95. For bench, he can do 85, but I can only do 55 and when I tried 65 I almost dropped the bar and he had to save me. I know everyone is different and my masculinity is not dependent on what I can physically do, but I still feel insecure. I keep trying to lift weights that are heavier than I probably should, and I think my form is suffering because of it and I'm worried I'm going to hurt myself. I also get injured pretty often from skating so I'm not always able to do all the exercises because I twisted my ankle or whatever, which means I'm not getting all the benefits I could be. I really want to both get stronger physically and have more visible muscles, especially in the arms and chest area because I think it will help me pass better. I recently started testosterone and I'm hoping that will help, but I don't know how long it will take. I hope this isn't too personal, and you don't have to answer unless you're comfortable with it, but are you on T and if so did it help? Sorry for the long rambly ask, I just feel like you might understand better than the people I know in real life

Rest assured, friend, just because you can't lift those numbers right now doesn't mean you won't catch up in the future.

What might help your insecurity is reminding yourself that you will catch up, and that injuring yourself by doing too much now is only going to slow your progress.

Yes I am on T, and have been for over 2 years now, but I had already been lifting a year by the time I started T and had some pretty decent numbers too (75 lb goblet squat, 120 lb leg press, wasn't really doing too much in the way of squats or bench press at this point due to wanting to be super careful).

The thing is with T is that it takes about 6 months of consistent doses for the muscle growth to kick in. And that's after you and your doctor find the dose that works for you.

Was T helpful when it finally did kick in? Yeah. But I also don't know how much of my progress came from T and how much came from long term consistency and hard work.

If you want to increase your strength, I've heard it's best to go for higher weight, less reps, but without sacrificing form too much. Make sure you're listening to your body and knowing the difference between good pain (muscle strain of the targeted muscles) and bad pain (really painful, doesn't feel right, etc). Increase your protein intake too. If you need to, you can modify an exercise or do a different one that hits the same muscles to make it easier on any injuries you might have.

Feel free to reach out if you have any further questions, and good luck!

[xxavengingangelxx]

A Brighter Side of Grey 1/?

This is for my lovie @bellgraves. :) This is a continuation of my fic As the Rush Comes.

Summary: A female mercenary got a lot closer to killing Graves than anyone else had. So Graves put her in her place. After leaving her for dead, he was almost certain she was gone. So what happens when he catches her making another attempt on his life?

Warnings: Violence, drugging, kidnapping, all the things that come with writing about dueling mercenaries. If I need to add anything, let me know. Eventual smut, possibly enemies to lovers, I haven't decided :)

I have no idea where this fic could end up so let's all of us take a ride and see where it takes us! I didn't get a chance to proofread so please excuse any mistakes.

--

The first thing you remember…no the first thing you feel is pain.

Horrible pain.

Not being able to breathe like you should be able to. Instinctively you reach up to what’s blocking your airway.

Tubes.

Tubes that were making you gag.

Your right arm appeared useless so you used your left arm to try and pull the tubes out of your throat.

Someone tried to stop you from doing it but you shoved them away and finally yanked the tube out of your throat.

And you gagged, dry heaved over your hospital bed.

And when you did, you felt fire across your ribs.

More people came into your room and were shoved down, strapped down like a mental patient…

You gasped awake.

Another night, another nightmare.

All thanks to Phillip Graves.

You sat up in bed and grabbed your phone, seeing it was 2 in the morning. These nightmares had been going on every night sometimes multiple times a night since you’d regained consciousness.

You were almost ambidextrous before but now your right arm was at 75-80% mobility thanks to the spiral fracture Graves had inflicted when he broke your arm.

So you used your left arm to toss the covers off. Life had been pure hell since Graves had almost killed you. You might have been medically fragile when you got discharged from the hospital but that didn’t stop your boss from beating the shit out of you for the failed mission.

A year, your boss had said,  you have a year to stop faking this injury shit, find Graves, and kill him. Bring me his dog tags with his blood on ‘em.

You were almost certain that beatdown had take away mobility from your right arm too. You ran your fingers along the scars where the hospital had to cut your arm open and add screws and metal plates.

You had gotten an apartment with a garage because you were told it was going to take you months to recover. You dressed in shorts and a tank top before heading to the garage as you normally slept naked.

You got into your garage and looked upon the masterpiece you had been putting together in the last year. The entire wall of the garage was Phillip Graves. You’d been obsessed with tracking him down so for the last year that was all you had done, track Graves as much as you could.

You’d used string and thumbtacks to track his movements with as much detail as you could but you were still missing some pieces. Luckily paying a highly ranked military officer overlooking PMC contracts was finally able to pin Graves down to your home country.

As far as you knew, he was back in the States which would make killing him easier. You wouldn’t have to worry about a third-world enemy capturing you or a fake passport so you could focus all on Graves.

The map on your garage wall was taller than you, making you need to get a stepladder.

Graves was supposedly taking an R&R with his company in Houston, TX which was perfect because no matter where Graves went in Houston, there were sure to either be empty buildings or some other way your could hide high up and snipe Graves.

Sniping would be the lowest risk but the lowest reward. You wouldn’t get to see him die.

The highest risk highest reward would be to allow yourself to be captured, pray Graves didn’t kill you outright, and lay low, get information, gain his trust, then kill him before leaving with dead Graves’s dog tags and interior information about Shadow company.

I don’t care how you fucking do it, you recall your boss telling you after you reeled and almost whimpered from the pain the beatdown he’d given you for failing your mission. Get it done. Be his fuckin’ whore for a year and then kill him. Snipe him. Get it done or go ahead and pick out your headstone.

You’d be able to prove yourself and provide information on Shadow Company. Your boss wouldn’t see you as a failure anymore and you’d get to live.

Weeks of trying to make a decision was interrupted by a text from you boss, simply saying, Two months left.

You’d tracked Graves down to Houston but it was proving difficult to find him in a vulnerable position enough to take him out with a sniper rifle.  He was too heavily guarded to simply approach him and attempt the hit.

That night you fell asleep and finally slept for more than 5 hours straight because you finally had a plan. You’d make a pathetic attempt to hurt Graves and you were certain his boys would jump all over you…but they wouldn’t kill you…not until Graves gave the order.

And if Graves did give them the order at least you’d die quick rather than slowly and painfully at your boss’s hand.

***

Today was Graves’s last day in Houston or so you’d been told from intel. So you needed to move quick.

It hadn’t been too hard to find the fancy hotel where Graves and his Shadows had been staying. So to make sure you wore a cloth mask similar to the one you wore when COVID had been rampant. You’d died and cut your hair. The only part of you left unchanged by a large margin was your height.

You walked into the lobby and eyed some of his men, each carrying heavy military backpacks or duffels as they loaded their Tahoes and Suburbans in the back parking lot of the hotel.

You were walking down a hallway as you tried to find a way up to the roof when you saw him.

Graves himself. The Shadow himself. Shadow-01. A legendary mercenary and the CEO of his own private military.

Before you new what was happening your breath caught in your throat. Were you panicking? Afraid? He was leaving his own hotel room, military backpack securely on his shoulders. You thought he was alone when you saw what you’d describe as a dumb bimbo whore walking out of his hotel room after him.

And then fear turned into…jealousy?  Why the hell did you care who Graves slept with?

But it was definitely jealousy burning in your chest.

So when she walked away while Graves was getting the last of his belongings from his hotel room, she brushed your side and that was all you needed to shove a knife right into her ribs.

She started to cry out but you delivered a sharp karate shop to her throat to where she couldn’t speak. Next you delivered a blow to her solar plexus, so she’d be quiet for at least the next minute while she gasped for air. You used your gloved hands to shove the knife in her hand, making it seem like she had either done it herself or done it accidentally.

You turned the corner when Graves closed his hotel room door, keycard in his hand.

“You trip, darlin’?” He drawled as he walked closer to his female friend. When he tried to help her up, he noticed she was bleeding heavily from her side. And that she was gasping for air.

“Holy shit,” Graves actually sounded surprised. “What…what happened?”

And you smiled for the first time in a year because you were proud of yourself that you’d managed to startle Graves.

After finding a stairway that led to the roof, you busted the lock on that door and made your way to the top of the building.

It was cold, windy up on the roof and you were glad you’d worn layers. Layers were mandatory anyway because you needed to change the clothes you’d entered that hotel in. But first…

An attempt on Graves’s life. Not a real attempt but you certainly had to make it look real.

It didn’t take long for you to build the short-range sniper rifle you’d brought with you.

You had to wait longer than your would have liked as the police and an ambulance showed up. Then the coroner. Whoops, you thought. You hadn’t meant to kill her.

Good riddance, bitch. He’s mine. And you had no idea where that thought came from.

Graves finally exited the hotel towards the back parking lot.

Through the scope you saw he looked…shaken, unsure of what had just happened.

And that made you smile a second time.

You had counted the number of men Graves had with him as they loaded up in the parking lot.

Three were missing.

You frowned into the scope, trying to see if they were already in the vehicles.

Nope. No one was in the vehicles yet.

So where were they?

Maybe in the hotel?

You were about to take another look through the scope when it suddenly darkened around you. You thought it was nothing. It was a cloudy day so maybe the sun had slipped behind the clouds.

But you were suddenly dragged backwards, away from your rifle and across the rough material of the roof.

You reached for a knife down your shirt and sliced into that motherfucker’s hand hard enough that he hissed and released you.

Shadows. They probably swept every location for threats before their boss made himself visible outside.

You knew another thing that might shock this Shadow enough to where you had more time to react was to remove your mask. You were certain Graves had warned his men about you.

And you were right.

Once you lowered the mask, you saw the Shadows's eyes widen. “You’re dead,” he gasped.

You were about to tell him, Tell your boss to finish the job next time when you heard a footstep behind you. You turned and had no time to react as a Shadow used his rifle to strike you across the left side of your head.

And then…

A sharp, stinging pain followed by falling deeper and deeper into a black hole.

***

You woke up when the vehicle you were in hit a sharp bump in the dirt road. You tried to take a breath but it was difficult. Your mouth was duct-taped shut and your hands being bound behind you didn’t help.

You felt someone tear the long sleeve of your right arm followed by a muffled, “It’s her,” you guessed they were identifying you based on the scars Graves knew he left on your body.

Then you heard Graves’s familiar drawl say, “Drug ‘her. She can’t know where she’s going,”

You tried to move but your body felt heavy and wasn’t responding to your brain’s commands. The sensation reminded you of how you felt coming out of another surgery to repair your arm. Whatever they were using to drug you was strong. And no matter how hard you fought it, you lost consciousness faster than you would have liked.

***

You woke up on a cement floor. The duct tape had been removed from your face but your hands were still bound behind you. It was causing significant pain in your right arm.

“What’d I say would happen to you if I got ahold of you?”

And when you opened your eyes you saw him standing in front of you, larger than life, in the same uniform and vest he’d had on the night he almost killed you.

Phillip Graves.

And that was when your breath caught in your throat again and your heart started skipping beats.

[idolatrybarbie]

the world tipped on its side

chapter two - mouthful of diamonds

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

rating & summary: mature | nightmares plague you. frankie drops off his contract.

warnings: allusions/reference to physical injury, (very) mild and brief body horror, mentions of death, severe levels of emotional constipation omfg. reader has a disability.

notes: thanks for all of the love on the first chapter of this thing, it's really been so sweet.

There’s this story that your English teacher had you read, right before winter break of your senior year. He’d said it was a good mirror tale to Macbeth, the Shakespearean title that your class was absolutely slogging through. The Monkey’s Paw by W. W. Jacobs, published about a hundred years before you were reading it.

At the time, you didn’t think too deeply about it. This story was like any other of the number of poems, journals, and creative whittlings that they threw at you for the sake of expanding your critical thinking capabilities. Lately, years since you’ve even set foot in your hometown, the story has haunted you. Your dreams, specifically.

Recalling the details of the story—the White family, their wealth and existence all glossy with a vague European sheen. Herbert White, crushed inside a factory machine as a consequence for his father’s greedy wish. You imagine the son’s corpse, mangled and battered beyond recognition, standing over you in bed. You’re unable to move, monstrous animal hands holding you down against the mattress. Herbert looms, staring, mouth lolling open because it has no choice. Then suddenly it’s you, a rotting corpse, staring down at yourself.

Today, you wake up at quarter past one. The sky is dark, the sun certainly not out. You are tempted to call Mia, reach for the phone to do so, then remember Sam. You hang up before it even has a chance to ring. Scrolling through your contacts, you hover over your father’s number for a moment, then shut off your phone. Everyone in here is a work contact or a landmine.

There’s finally food in your fridge, but none of it meets your appetite. Checking the cupboards, you push past boxes of Kraft Dinner, searching to no avail. What you’re looking for isn’t here. You don’t need a snack to tide you over and occupy the wait until you fall asleep again. That’s not happening. What you need is a good, cheap drink.

You put on clothes that match—dark colours and sneakers. Something socially acceptable that still, if unintentionally, indicates that a bar is not the venue you’d had in mind for the night. Thirty five minutes from home is a dive at the center of the city, the name irrelevant compared to the need the services inside will satisfy. The time has you antsy, practically dumping yourself into the driver’s seat as your car rumbles to life on the quiet street.

The I-75 is deserted, spare a few stragglers that glide past you, headed the way you’re coming from. No one is driving from the suburbs to the city at this time of night. No one but you.

If it were September, this would be different; all the college kids with rented bedrooms in laminate-floored McMansions built after the recession would be headed to the bars, just as you are. But it’s summertime, and all of those kids are at home in different states, surely as bored out of their minds as you were in your tiny apartment. Maybe not as lonely, though.

You pay the fourteen dollar parking fee, and that’s just for an hour, because you don’t feel like slowly trolling the block for some sketchy corner to leave the car. Instead, you’re parked right out front under the direct glow of a street lamp. No more horror movies for you tonight.

They don’t card you at the door, something you’re coming to appreciate as it happens more and more often now. Before it was a pain, digging your license out of whatever tacky pleather clutch was out for a spin that night; now you like the silent nod that bouncers give you, noting the tired look of age that’s replaced the bright wariness that used to be there. Soon enough, you’re sure, this event will start to feel bad. Everything does eventually.

The establishment you walk into is a true dive, but not quite a shit hole. It has the ever-present hum of low conversation and drinks clinking. A rack of billiards balls crack against each other as a game is started in the far corner of the room. The leather stool you take a seat on is plush beneath you. You already know you won’t be able to sit here very long. Hopefully the bartender doesn’t think it’s weird when you leave your seat to wander a couple antisocial laps.

At the thought, he materializes, throwing a rag over his shoulder. He asks what he can get started for you, leaning hard against the wood of the bar.

“Can I just get a gimlet?” you ask. The bartender nods, pushing himself off and away again. He returns minutes later with your drink, a pale greenish-yellow in the crystal tumbler he serves it to you in.

You barely get a sip down before someone slithers up to your side.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to the standing figure. “Look buddy—”

Frankie Morales, stunt pilot, smiles down at you.

“Oh,” you stop yourself. “Francisco. Hi.”

“Hey,” he says. “And it’s just Frankie.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“May I?” he asks, nodding to the stool beside you.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

You start to ask if Frankie got those contract papers from Mia at the same time as he asks, “So, what brings you out tonight?”

You shake your head. “Sorry. You go first.” Second apology of the night. This is going well.

“I got ‘em. Was gonna bring them back today, actually,” he says. That’s a relief. “So?”

“So, what?” you ask.

“You’re sitting in a bar, about…” He glances at the clock beside the clear bottles of liquor across from the two of you. “Six hours before you’re supposed to be on set. If I had to guess.”

“Four and a half,” you say. “But close enough.”

“D’you just enjoy a good dive bar?” Frankie asks.

“No,” you sigh, “I prefer titty bars. More glitter, less…vomit. Much more my speed.”

Frankie stares at you, face severe.

“I’m joking,” you clarify.

“Oh!” He breaks into awkward, relieved laughter. “Sorry.” One point for Francisco on the apology board.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. I’m a little dry in my humour.”

“You’re funny. More than most people got going for them,” Frankie says.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve got more than most people,” you smile. “What brings you here tonight? I figured titty bars were more your thing too.”

“You know, maybe for a special occasion. Tonight’s any other night, so I made my way down here. Lucky I caught you, huh?”

“I don’t know if I would call it luck. Coincidence? Have you pissed anyone off lately?” you ask.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m grateful. We didn’t get to finish our conversation,” Frankie says.

“You wanted to finish our conversation?” You feel that guilt from the other day, hot and foamy in your stomach, and take another sip of your drink.

“I like to get to know the people I’m working with,” he says. “You mentioned that you were a stuntperson.”

“Yep, I did,” you say. If only there was such thing as a time machine, so you could travel back to three days ago and slap yourself before the words could come out of your mouth.

“What’s the story there?” Frankie asks.

“Oh, nothing. It’s a long one.”

“I’ve got time,” he says.

“Longer than I’m willing to tell,” you say. Another sip of the gimlet, the tang of lime overtaking the sugar on your tongue.

“Okay,” Frankie says. You look at him, and there’s that twinkle again. “You can keep your secrets for now.”

“You’re asking about me when I barely know anything about you,” you say.

“Fine, what do you want to know? Favourite colour? Green. Favourite season? A toss up between summer and fall. My first dog’s name was Ruby, and we grew up on Yosemite Street.”

“All I need is your mother’s maiden name and you’ve become the perfect candidate for social security theft,” you say.

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t do it,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s this general goodness that reverberates from you. Plus, Mia likes you,” Frankie says.

He catches your attention with that comment. What does that mean? “Have you known her longer than just the email exchange?” you ask.

“Eh. A little,” Frankie says.

“How?”

Frankie shakes his head, tutting lightly. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

He puts both of his hands on the bar, and only now do you notice he’s lacking a drink in either of them. Like Frankie the other day at the studio, you notice, but don’t comment.

“Fine. I’ll give you one,” you say.

“One what?”

“One secret. In exchange for yours.”

“I didn’t know you were a bartering man,” Frankie says.

“Neither did I,” you say. “Here’s my offer: I’ll tell you why I’m here, and you tell me how you know Mia.”

“Hmmm.” He makes a show of mulling it over in his head. “Deal.”

“I had a nightmare. It was pretty stupid,” you say. Frankie remains silent, waiting. “There was this story that I read in high school. Some early twentieth century horror fiction, about the whole monkey’s paw curls thing. I haven’t thought about it since high school but…I guess it’s been waiting for an opportunity to terrorize me.”

You finish the rest of the gimlet, waiting for Frankie to say something. When he doesn’t, you turn to see him watching you.

“What?”

“Nightmares. I get ‘em too,” he says. “Not Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark, but…” Right. War. “My solution is usually a good hot toddy and those twelve hour rain sounds videos online. Next thing I know, I’m out like a light. Hot toddy sans whiskey, though.” You raise an eyebrow, a silent question. “I’m sober.”

“Oh. But you’re here?”

“Jack serves me water and peanuts and I listen to him bitch about his mother,” he says, nodding at the bartender who’s currently talking to another customer.

The words come out before you can stop them. “You’re a little odd, aren’t you?”

Frankie chuckles, the sound never quite leaving his throat. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

You roll with it, shoving down the embarrassment spreading warmth all over your body. “Okay, now tell me your secret. How do you know Mia?” you ask.

“I flew some of the planes she dove out of a couple times,” Frankie says. “There was this teen show? It’s been off the air for a few seasons, I think it was—”

“I remember,” you nod. “Well, hey. Small world.”

“Your turn again,” Frankie says.

“What? No, we had a deal.”

“And I gave you an extra secret. Two, if we’re really counting here. My top tier hot toddy trick, and my epic sober journey. But I’ll let you off with just the one.”

“Of the two of us, you are definitely the bartering man here.”

You think hard, trying to source a topic that won’t wedge loose anything you’d rather keep away from the charmingly persistent pilot to your right. Your childhood. Landmine. Your parents. Landmine. Your past with Mia, your career, the entirety of your personal life. Landmine, landmine, landmine.

“If you’re having trouble, I could help,” Frankie offers from beside you.

“Why, you have a burning question for me?” you ask.

“Not so much burning, more so just curious.” You don’t like the way the word sounds in his mouth. Laced with implication. “After our initial meeting, I was wondering why you were dressed like a paralegal when everyone else looks like they’re at the gym or watching Saturday morning cartoons.”

Ah. That’s a question you can answer easily. “Well, I don’t do the stunts, so that’s one part. The other…I don’t know. When I first started working, I was a PA. My supervisor told me that the best way to get noticed, to stick out in the good way, was to dress up a little. Show the powers that be that you’re taking things seriously.”

“But you’re not a PA anymore,” Frankie says.

“This is true, but,” you say, because there is always a but. “I can’t afford to not be noticed. In the good way, anyway. It’s how I got this job. I’m sure it’ll be how I get the next.” If. If you get the next. “When I can afford to not put the effort in, you’ll know. I just won’t be there.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Frankie says, repeating your own words from set back to you. It’s your turn to watch him now. From where you sit, he looks like a puzzle; you can’t figure out what exactly he’s supposed to be showing you right now, what game he’s set. You hate to admit that despite that, you’re having fun playing.

“And I’ll throw another one in for you, because why not,” you say, gimlet loosening your tongue just a bit. “Ashton Marilyn? My boss, your soon-to-be boss? The most pretentious douchebag I have ever met in my life. And that’s high praise. I lived in L.A..”

Frankie bows his head, seemingly relieved. “So it’s not just me then.”

“It’s not just you at all. The man makes my skin crawl.”

“After that little meet and greet, I was going to tell Mia that I couldn’t take the job,” Frankie admits.

“That would’ve sucked for me very specifically.”

“Be glad that I changed my mind then.”

“And what brought about this charitable change of heart?” you ask. “The money? I’d spend it all on dames and horses if I were you.”

“Nah. Air shows are light this year, but it wasn’t that,” Frankie says.

You take a hard turn, curiosity killing the proverbial cat that is your joking mood. “What was it then?”

Frankie raps his knuckles against the hard wood of the bar, looking out at those liquor bottles again. “I guess that’s for me to know and you to find out,” he says. Suddenly he’s standing, taking off his baseball cap to nod at you politely as he says your name. “I’ll see you around. Have a good night.”

Before you can ask another question, before you can stop him, Frankie is across the room and out the door.

-

You’re seated behind the wobbling desk that production has allowed you to call your own for the duration of filming. Underneath you is a gel seat cushion, supporting you in the swivel chair that Andy rescued from a Dumpster. Lunch is best spent up here with your yogurt cup, where no one can bother you. Ashton’s been up your ass all morning; he doesn’t like to talk to the stunt cast without your overseeing presence. He’s absolutely terrified of being reported for belittling behaviour, like he was on the last set he directed on. You both love and hate that the man’s biggest fear is being cancelled on social media.

At last, the gracious break for lunch had arrived, and now you are here. Blissfully alone with your breakfast parfait, watching the southern sun filter in through dusty windows in front of you. Watching the thousands of specks float through the air reminds you of stars. In college, Friday night was dedicated to Neil deGrasse Tyson. You forced Mia to watch all nine seasons of The Universe docuseries in eight months.

Aside from British literature, the cosmos features heavily in your dreams. The idea of zero gravity, specifically, since the accident. Nothing to keep you grounded to the surface beneath you; no force weighing on your spine. Floating in paradise.

A knocking at the doorway pulls your thoughts away from space, turning slowly to face the front of the office. It’s nothing special, with its puke green walls and the pendant lamp overhead, covered in grime. A time capsule of a bygone era.

Frankie leans in the room’s threshold, a neat stack of papers in his hand as he says hello.

“I was wondering when you’d make your way over here,” you say, plunking your spoon into your cup.

“I’m surprised you’re here at all,” he says, referencing this morning.

“When I have a job to do, I like to get it done.”

“You and that yogurt look hard at work.” He eyes your food, then asks, “Is that raspberry?”

“Boysenberry.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Frankie says.

You look at the reddish-brown fruit sitting atop a pile of granola. “Catering, you know. They get a little weird with it. Wanna keep your business.”

“Makes sense,” is all he says about that. “Anyway, these are for you.”

Frankie hands you the signed contract. You stick the spoon in your mouth, flipping through the pages to double check anything.

“What, you think I can’t read?” Frankie asks.

“Making sure I didn’t fuck up the wording of anything,” you mumble absently.

When everything looks about right, you stop flipping, turning over the stapled package to put your signature down next to Frankie’s. Your eyes linger over the fancy scribble of your name, watching the ink bleed into the paper. Then you look at Frankie’s signature. The F is harsh and bold, a stark contrast to the cutesy cursive letters that spell out the rest of his first name. A small circle sits overtop the line meant to be i in Francisco, like a cartoon cyclops.

“Great!” you say. “Thanks for this by the way. Don’t know if I’ll be able to say that enough in the time that we work together.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Frankie says. “Although I was wondering when I could see ‘er.”

Okay, now you’re confused. “Sorry, what?”

“You know, the helicopter. I’d like to get acquainted before we start rehearsal.”

You do not know the helicopter, mostly because there isn’t one. Another layer of seething rage towards Ashton settles over you, even if it’s a little misplaced. He’s the one who so gracefully sprung this on you with no plan in place.

You glance up at Frankie. You can’t tell him that there is no helicopter, not when he’s just signed this contract and locked himself into this wholly incompetent production.

So you say, “Let’s go see if production has anything for us,” with a slight smile, like everything’s fine, because everything will be.

Even though you can’t see him, you feel Frankie’s presence at your back. Leading him down the hall, you start to wonder why this needed to be a real helicopter. Why did Ashton need the real thing, with a real pilot? Half of this movie is made of scenes chopped up and filmed in front of a green screen. Why couldn’t this be the same?

Of course, that takes working with Frankie out of the equation, which if the way your stomach sours at the thought indicates anything, that’s would be bad . But now you have to choreograph a stunt with the very big, very dangerous obstacle of a helicopter in the mix. On the bright side, there’s a first time for everything…?

Moby is staring at a computer older than you when you brush into the production office, Frankie right behind you. A bagel spread with liver paté sits on a paper plate beside the keyboard, his glasses catching the reflection of the screen. You clear your throat, giving him a chance to minimize the tab of softcore porn he’s watching on mute.

“Oh! Hey,” he says, acknowledging you. “And…” Moby looks to Frankie, still standing behind you.

“Frankie Morales,” he introduces himself.

“What can I do ya’ for?” Moby asks.

“So you remember that helicopter?” you ask, cutting right to the chase.

“Uh, vaguely? I know the studio wanted it,” Moby says. This does not sound promising.

“Well this is the guy who’s supposed to fly it,” you say, nodding back at Frankie. He’s still lingering halfway between Moby’s office door and the hall, like he’s wary of entering. You try not to touch anything as you move to stand across from the sitting producer.

“That’s great,” is all Moby says.

“And he’d like to see the helicopter,” you say.

“Now, preferably,” Frankie adds.

Moby hisses on an inhale, a cat that’s been disturbed. “About that…”

“Moby Elias Clark, you are not about to tell me you don’t have a helicopter,” you say.

“Jesus. What are you, my SAG card?” he asks, hands up in defense. “It’s not like I’m sourcing aircraft every day here.”

“But that’s your job,” you say.

Moby lets out a hum of slight disagreement, the noise dying in his throat as you narrow a stare at him. “Look, I’ll talk to Ashton. Get something for you in a couple days,” he says.

“Today,” you say. “And you aren’t going to get something. We need to see them. He does.”

“I do,” Frankie agrees.

“What, you want to go helicopter shopping or something?” 

You think about it for a moment, then say, “Yes. We want to go helicopter shopping. It’s eleven-thirty, we’ll be on set for another eleven hours. Make it happen. Today.”

“Geez, alright. I’ll make some phone calls, just—get the fuck out of my office, will you?” Moby asks.

Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and do as he asks, closing the door behind you. You can feel the come down from your sudden burst of adrenaline, brain coming back to yourself. Frankie looks at you, eyes bright with a smile across his lips.

“Remind me to stay off your bad side,” he says.

“So the goal isn’t to stay on my good side?”

“I like to set reasonable expectations for myself,” Frankie says.

Lunch ends, and it’s another hour before Moby gets back to you. He’s got a guy out in Athens with a fleet of helicopters for you two to look at. You immediately offer to take your car. As much as you don’t want to spend an hour in your own vehicle, filled to the brim with personal items and with them questions and stories, you can’t imagine the feel of the drive with Frankie’s truck’s suspension.

“Lead the way,” he says.

Moby meets you outside at your car, which Frankie seems surprised by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. Moby’s already settling into the back seat.

“I didn’t know he was tagging along,” Frankie says.

“Well, his contact and all. It’s stunt budget but…it’d be best if he’s there, you know?” you ask. Frankie simply nods, pulling open the door to get into the front passenger seat.

The drive is an uneventful sixty-eight minutes, spent mostly listening to the quiet radio or Moby’s phone call with Ashton as he tries to placate him about both of your absences on set.

“Listen, it’ll be fine. We got the stunts we needed done before nine-thirty,” Moby says. A brief pause as Ashton surely bitches over the line. “I know. I know, it’s difficult, but Marie’s there.” Another producer on this heaping shitstorm of a movie. “I’m sure Gwen can help you with the continuity of the shots.” She should anyway, considering that’s her job and all. As you drive up the road towards the massive airplane hangar that Moby’s sourced address belongs to, he ends the call with a hasty goodbye.

Frankie hasn’t said anything about the cushion on your seat in the car, identical to the one on your office chair. He didn’t ask about the Hawaiian Breeze air freshener hanging from your mirror, or the chunky ring hanging on a thin silver chain that sways beside it. He’s been nothing but silent this past hour, picking at a tiny hole in the pocket of his jeans. For some reason, it bothers you.

As the three of you get out of the car, the sun hits you. Burning and relentless, you shield the top of your forehead from the rays as you walk towards the wide mouth of the hangar. The walls tower over you, concrete beneath your shoes turning to bright grey resin floors. Moby takes the lead on the interaction, shaking hands with a man that looks more like a mechanic than a business man in his blue cotton coveralls.

Moby introduces you and Frankie to the man. “John Whittaker. Nice to meet you both.” His handshake is firm, palms calloused. An orange shammy cloth is slung over his shoulder casually, the knees of his work suit stained with grease.

“So do you take care of these, then?” you ask.

“What? Oh, no. I own ‘em.” John looks over his shoulder at the half dozen helicopters grounded in the hangar.

“I think I’ve seen that one on Law and Order,” Frankie says, pointing to the skinniest craft of the bunch.

“You’ve probably seen them all over the place. I do a lot of business in the entertainment sector,” John says.

“That’s great. I know this was kind of last minute, but our studio put us in a bit of a time crunch,” you say.

“It’s no problem at all,” he shakes his head. “What kind of ‘copter were you thinking you’d need?”

You’re blanking, fumbling the words in your mouth when Frankie steps in.

“Nothing too complicated. It has to look military, but y’know, your average civilian isn’t going to know the difference. Ideally something that handles nicely. Give myself a break, you know?” he asks with a laugh.

John and Frankie seem to understand each other immediately, minds interlocking and delving into aviation talk that you can’t understand. You hang back a bit as Whittaker leads you between each helicopter. Moby trails behind you, typing away on his phone, wholly uninterested.

You should be looking at the helicopters and their large, would-be spinning blades, noting the glossy varnish on some of them and the grainy-finished camouflage on others. Instead you watch Frankie, observing how his brow scrunches together when John poses him a question you can’t quite hear.

He turns to ask you something in turn, catching you in the act. Immediately, you look away, eyes darting to the glowing floor.

“We’d definitely need it for a few weeks,” Frankie says to John, then back to you. “Right?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “About seven or eight rehearsals across a couple weeks, and then a day or two for the actual shoot. That part depends on our director.”

John hums, nodding. “That should work for me. This one,” he says, pointing to the helicopter just off to your right, “isn’t available in that timeframe, but otherwise you’ve got your pick of the litter.”

“You think we could hop inside? Not take her out, but just get a feel for the thing,” Frankie asks.

“Sure.”

You watch as Frankie walks along the row of helicopters, stopping at the one at the very end of the hangar. Its body shines a deep black under the fluorescent lights. Frankie steps up to it, pulling the door open and getting in. You follow him over to the metal creature, standing next to the landing skids. He’s left the door open, sitting in the cockpit by himself.

“You coming?” Frankie asks.

“Me?” you return. He nods. “Inside? Is that safe?”

“Of course it’s safe. Come on.” He stands from the pilot’s seat, leaning out to help you up. You take his hand, firm and warm over your own, feeling him pull you up by your arm as you step into the helicopter. He takes a seat on the other side of the cabin, leaving you to the seat in front of the main controls.

The leather seat beneath you is dense, warmed only a little by Frankie’s back. Dials and buttons you have no idea the purpose of lay on the dashboard before you, the lights unblinking as the machine remains powered down. Being in here strikes a chord with you. What could it be like when this thing was actually in the air?

“Okay, this is kind of cool,” you admit. “You do this for a living? I got into the wrong damn profession.”

Frankie smiles, holding his tongue between his teeth as he looks everything over. “I could definitely see you flying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. You’ve got the same intensity of everyone I went to flight school with,” Frankie says.

“You’re not too intense,” you say.

“We’re still on each other’s good sides.”

“I see,” you nod sagely. “I’ll have to play nice in case you decide to land this thing on me.”

You spend another hour getting in and out of the other five helicopters, even the one you know you can’t use, letting Frankie explain everything about them. The first one you sat in is a coaxial helicopter, which is why it has two giant rotors overhead; it eliminates the need for a tail rotor and simplifies the aircraft’s design. The one beside it—a Kaman K-MAX, Frankie tells you—looks squished, like it’s been pinched at the nose. He calls it an intermeshing rotor chopper, and you simply call it what it is: ugly.

“We used synchropters a lot in the military,” Frankie says. “Standard operations, search and rescue. They’re good for dense terrain. Forests, jungles, that type of thing.”

You are sure that if it were anybody else telling this to you, you would be bored out of your mind. Helicopters, rotors, terrain, who cares? But with the way Frankie explains it, you can’t help but listen. A special liveliness highlights his features as he tells you about each chopper, he keeps saying that, and you want him to keep talking. 

When you finally leave the hangar, dragging yourself away from their hard polished bodies and all that Frankie has to say about them, it’s almost five. You promise to send John an email by tomorrow at the latest, ironing out all of the finer details. The drive back to Atlanta is less starkly silent, Frankie throwing out a helicopter anecdote every few minutes as he stares out at the horizon. It reminds you of a little boy who’s just discovered something, immediately fascinated.

When you reach the studio, Moby ambles out of the car without much more than a quick and impersonal goodbye, leaving just the two of you.

“That was fun,” you say. You can’t remember the last time the sentiment has rang true about anything work related. About anything at all really.

“I’m glad I could teach you something,” Frankie says.

“Something? I think I’m ready to fly one of those things all on my own now.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says, shaking his head. “I think I like you better grounded.”

“Why? Scared I’d take off and never come back?” you ask.

“Would you?” he asks, playful and light. Still, it pulls at something in your gut. Would you?

Instead, you ask, “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

Frankie looks at you, then at the studio. “Don’t you have a job to get back to?”

“My next call time is at seven.” It’s six-something. That leaves you with about an hour to kill.

“I guess. If you’ve got time.”

You don’t tell him where you’re going until you get there, driving two miles from the studio to park beside a 7-Eleven.

“This is where you want to eat?” Frankie asks.

“I never promised you a steakhouse,” you say.

Walking through the aisles of the store with Frankie feels oddly close. Like you’ve skipped all the small talk and jumped right to the good stuff; the come-easy moments of connection without the awkward easing in, a newly-built house already settled on the foundation. You stick to the packaged and processed goods—Doritos and bottled water—staring at Frankie with your mouth half open as you watch him buy a corn dog.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

“You’re disgusting,” you mumble, holding the door open for him as you stroll back into the night air. The sun’s beginning to set behind your car.

“You bring me to the convenience store for dinner and expect me to not eat the convenience store food?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“So you want me to starve,” Frankie states. He sits on the curb, out of the way of the neon flash of the open sign.

“If it meant you not eating that, then sure.” You gently crouch down next to him. He makes direct eye contact as he takes the first bite. You feign a shudder.

“So we got the chopper,” Frankie says, mouth still half full, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the word. “And you’ve got me.” He swallows. “Now all we need to do is do the thing.” He means the scene.

“Practice doing the thing,” you say, “and then do the thing. And then we’re done.” Summing up the next month of work in terms like this makes your stomach lurch. You’re beginning to think you’ve found another Mia. Another friend. You say, “I can’t believe we haven’t worked together before.”

“By proxy,” Frankie replies. “I knew who you were. A little.”

“I’m flattered,” you say, coming out like a question.

“Nothing but good things,” he assures you. “Not much, period.”

He continues to eat his corn dog as you slowly sip at your water. Just spit it out already.

“So I’m not good at this anymore,” you say. “But… Oh god.” You sigh, then look at Frankie. “How do you ask people to be friends once you aren’t seventeen anymore?”

“That’s a great question. I don’t know the answer,” Frankie says.

“I want us to be friends.” The words feel strange, too solid coming out of your mouth.

“I’d like that. It would be nice to have someone to talk to that doesn’t know what the inside of a basic training camp looks like.”

“So all of your other friends, they’re just military guys?”

“Well when you say it like that.”

“Not just. You know what I mean,” you say. “I’m glad to bring a different…tone to your life, I guess.”

“Perspective,” Frankie supplies, “Experience. Never went to college myself.”

“You’re not missing out,” you shrug. The Doritos bag opens with a slight pop. “The best parts of college were all the moments outside of class, if that tells you anything. That’s where I met Mia.”

Frankie hums, tossing the wooden stick that remains of his corn dog down onto the ground. “That figures. You two’ve got that bond.”

“What bond?”

“You and her seem to be interconnected,” he says.

“You mean codependent,” you say.

“No, not like that. I guess it’s something like what I have with my buddies from spec ops. Sticking with someone long enough, you start to grow under their skin. I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

You pull a chip from the bag and put it in your mouth. “Alright Topgun,” you say.

“Actually, they call me Catfish. Fish, really,” Frankie says.

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?” you ask, mouth still full. “Like the animal that swims?” He nods. “Is that because—”

“It’s a long story,” he says.

“I thought you liked those,” you say.

“This one, you gotta earn,” Frankie counters.

“Touché.” And then, “So you know about all of my friends. The one. What about yours?”

“Well, there’s Santiago. He’s the only one still doing action hero shit these days. Private contracts, y’know, the works. He’s a bit of an asshole. You two probably wouldn’t get along,” Frankie says. “Benny and Will Miller are brothers, but Ben’s more of a pain in the ass. Will’s always been sort of on the straight and narrow.”

“Sounds like an interesting bunch.”

“This is the part where I tell you I have a kid,” Frankie says, looking halfway between you and his boot. You don’t know what kind of reaction he’s looking for, what he’s expecting, but you don’t give it.

You’re waiting for him to continue when you finally say, “Alright.”

“I’m waiting for the shock and awe,” he says.

“Why would that be either shocking or aweful?” you ask. Under different circumstances, you could’ve had kids by now, and Frankie’s older than you.

“People don’t usually expect it.”

“Well you aren’t exactly carrying around a sign, but we are adults. People have kids, I know that. What’s yours like?”

“She’s the sweetest bundle of joy I’ve been blessed to receive in my life,” Frankie says. “When she first got here, I couldn’t even believe it. This tiny human being that I am somehow apart of."

You figure this is how Mia will feel soon, what she’ll be thinking about once she and Sam tie the knot. Maybe she’s even thinking it now. Something that even you could wonder about, with a few major life tweaks. But no, you don’t want kids. Your body has been changed enough beyond your control for a lifetime.

“I’m happy for you,” you say, because it’s polite and showing him the apathy that coats your insides when it comes to this topic probably isn’t the best move in the name of friendship.

“Thanks. So how about you?” Frankie steers the conversation back around.

“Kids? You’re funny,” you say.

“Well, anything. Boyfriend, girlfriend, spouse…?”

“Certainly not. Me, all by myself. I have a house plant if that counts?”

“No dice,” he shakes his head. You feel like you’re under constant surveillance in moments like this, Frankie’s eyes a camera pointed right at your soul. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” you ask, biting down on another chip.

“You freeze up and get all quiet whenever I ask about yourself.”

If he’s noticed that, you are worse at pretending than you thought. Now you have to wonder what Mia can see, what she doesn’t mention. “There’s not much to tell,” you say.

“Oh, come on. People love talking about themselves. It’s a scientific fact.”

“Well Bill Nye, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t.” Everything about your delivery is meaner than intended, each word harshly paved and scraping as they fly out at Frankie. “Sorry. That was—that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” Frankie says.

“To answer your question… My work is my life. I eat, sleep, and breathe what I do. It’s to the point where I used to stay up at my old place and draw out choreo for scenes. This was months before production, and I had sketchbooks filled with five, six different ways a scene could play out. And before that, actually doing the stunts? It’s the only thing that made me realize what makes me happy. The rush, that pure adrenaline after you do something that could kill you and you don’t die? It didn’t matter where I was. As long as I was doing it, my favourite place was myself.”

You clear your throat, scrubbing a palm over the side of your jaw. “Is that your favourite part of the job?”

“Nah, not really,” Frankie says.

“What, then?”

“In our line of work, you meet some pretty cool people along the way.”

“You think I’m cool?” you ask.

“Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about you.” But as he says it, Frankie smiles, mustache curling above his lip.

He thinks you’re cool. He’d like to be friends. They call him Fish. When you’re with him, you feel your bones start to settle. You can already feel Frankie growing under your skin.

[clatterbane]

My first real appointment through orthopedics to finally try and get set up with an aftermarket leg is coming up on Monday.

The previous referral last year just didn't work out, for multiple reasons, and I was a bit bummed over that. I think part of the problem was it falling through the cracks because nobody really seems to be sure what to do with somebody showing up from completely outside their system already minus a leg.

But, we thought to ask that new endo for a fresh referral. So, I did get an intake appointment set up through ortho, with no schedule collisions this time.

In one way, I'm excited to hopefully get moving toward with the process of getting set up with a prosthetic. I would really like to be able to get around better again! And, you know, be able to take my sorry ass off paved surfaces and up steps and stuff again!

OTOH, due to the person I am? I am trying not to borrow too much trouble and drive myself crazy worrying in the meantime. Especially the closer that draws.

Frankly, not least that somebody is gonna just say, "Oops, it's been so long and this entire situation does not fit into any familiar procedures. We just can't/won't help you!”

Yeah, I know there is going to be an awful lot of PT ahead, likely before I even get to the point of any fitting. I have some other concerns about that, after some sufficiently unpleasant experiences as a troublesome-bendy individual, with rehab-focused PT after injuries/knee surgeries (directly coming from the probably-EDS) in the past. My knees are also pretty damned terrible, and also kinda further destabilized by said surgical tinkering.

But, I am much older and more confident now--and not nearly as eager to take any "no pain, no gain!" bullshit seriously. Much less push in ill-advised ways until I do my bendy self an injury.

But yeah, even right now? I would place good money if I had it on the likelihood that I am currently in better shape than 75% of the new patients they see much sooner than this after surgery. Who are statistically much older and otherwise in pretty damned bad health. Probably I've been staying more physically active over the past few years than a lot of that demographic have been able to, even under the current circumstances

Mean age at the time of the first registered amputation in our sample was 74 years (SD 14); women were older (78, SD 14, CI 77–79) than men (72, SD 14, CI 72–73). 43% of the patients were 80 years or older by the time of the primary amputation (Figure 3). The mortality rate of the registered patients was 19% within 6 months and 24% within the 1st year after the last registered amputation. The 1-year mortality rate after TFA was 40%, after KD 38%, and after TTA 24%.

("Lucky" transtibial/TTA here. Those figures are from the Swedish national database, BTW. Because there is one. You see dire mortality rates after this sort of surgery come up? That's a lot of why. Those demographics and the occasional nasty accident requiring amputation seriously skew things.)

There were reasons they kept going on about how young and healthy my middle-aged ass that had just barely cheated death was when I was stuck in the hospital in Romford. And therefore considered a candidate for prosthetics at all under that system. Not going off on that rant right now.

Still, the majority of those elderly patients in otherwise not great shape DO get successfully set up on replacement legs here. Which is encouraging, that they are likely not looking hard for excuses to avoid spending the money. (We're talking the equivalent of a new not-cheap car, back in the US. Region Skåne is still set to lay out a fair chunk of change here. We are thankfully not directly.)

I do rationally doubt that I would get turned away just because I have been off that leg for several years now, and my knees were terrible even before that. And I fucking suck at trying to use forearm crutches, which I am not at all used to and have a very different feel than the type I do have too much experience on.

But yeah, my brain just won't leave things alone as usual. That's just one of the crappiest possibilities it's seized onto right now.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

CKB (crookedkryptonitebeliever) DATING SIM

[ACTUALLY THIS SERVES MORE LIKE CHARACTER DESCRIPTIONS FOR MY OCS]

Tw: yandere, infantilization, , incest, noncon, sexual content, foot injury

So you got transmigrated into an otome game. Cool.

To your surprise, you're not the villain or villainess! But instead, the main character. That should be fun and easy, right? Main characters always get their happy endings with hot anime boys.

Right?

I'll let you be the judge of that.

This game is created by crookedkryptonitebeliever on Tumblr, if it helps.

The anime boys are not boys. Nor girls. Nor non binary, nor anime but a scarier firth thing. Da Creator's OCs.

We got,

2718 the aloof, magical Venusian cowboy who doesn't speak English, easiest way to get to his heart is through his stomach

Unnamed androgynous entity carrying an Abacus, the freak in the sheets and freak in the Venusian streets who also doesn't speak English, loves french kissing a little too much

Your unnamed big brother who would rather take care of you than do anything else. No, he doesn't give a shit that you're 18, 25, 52 or 75 or a millennia old, you are still baby to him. Now what would you like for dinner? Big brother will cook you up something yummy

Your unnamed best friend turned fiance then husband who seems the sanest of the bunch. I would personally go for this guy because he pays for all your bills and supports you, and gives you enough freedom and cooks good and he would-

Leveret, brunch lover and destroyer of bottomless mimosas, the least developed of the bunch, he's fuckin weird but rich though. Lovely elegant fingers, elegant posture and gait, nothing like a bunny despite popular belief. More like a snake

An unnamed hitman who only has the hots for you and eats your pussy like groceries, camps under your bed to spawn kill that kitty

Da Translator, she's not even a love interest nor does she have any interest in love. Da Creator just shoehorned her in to make communication between 2718 and Abacus easier. Faulty nanobots in her bloodstream and corrupt intergalactic governments strike again. She just wants to go home.

And many more that have yet to crawl out of the deepest crevices of my drafts and make their grandiose (or creepy) appearance.

In this series, or oneshot, or waffle, or whole nothing burger, everyone is slightly altered from canon to fit with the setting.

Let's begin.

You were just dropped here. Literally. From the fucking sky and you broke your fucking foot as a result.

You, a modern day salary person, or student, or surgeon, or sturgeon, or whatever with almost tangible question marks around your head, is clutching your pained foot. The last thing you remembered was sneakily sleeping on your job after giving up on your task at hand. You were rudely awakened by the ticklish feeling of your organs floating inside you, a rushing gust of wind against your face and ultimately a bone fracture.

Howling and sobbing from the excruciating pain, you caught the attention of more than enough citizens in the town square you were dropped in. Of course, a person manifesting from thin air and falling from the sky already had their interests piqued.

This sucks, you thought. Usually transmigrants wake up in bed, as someone else-in someone else's body, mild to severe confusion is to be expected. But generally, initially unharmed. You didn't expect to be flung down from the fucking sky with no plot armor.

Da creator argues that you do have some plot armor, you're still alive, aren't you? You would become a flattened reader patty by falling at that height if this was in real life.

Back to the plot at hand. You're suffering with a broken foot, everyone around you dress Amish, no tech in sight- still using oil lanterns to light up the place. They seem human enough for you to realize that they're frowning, gaping, gasping, murmuring and knitting their eyebrows in concern.

The more you look away from your horrifyingly twisted foot, the more you notice that... there is modern technology around! There are people wearing casual hawaiian shirts, baseball caps and a DSLR camera hung around their neck. Must be tourists from the city.

Now there are 7 ways this can go. Each path you choose will have... probably another 3 more ways. Then each will branch off again to another three more ways and so on. Da creator is not doing this game on Tumblr cause it will be a nightmare to masterlist and keep track.

I was planning to be like Degrees of Lewdity inspired, text based and using twine to do it but I know squat shit about coding. So this may probably be an empty promise, but I want to make like a visual novel out of it.

Maybe not... visual. I don't know how those talented VN artists do it, but I simply CANNOT draw all of that.

I'll probably start off strong and fall off the face of Earth doing this, my motivation is never consistent. So don't expect much, I'm just throwing this out here in case maybe in a couple months I decided to reread my crap and see this and go "hey why not" and pick it back up.

Then disappear for a couple weeks, abandon the project, reread my stuff, rinse and repeat. Keep in mind I haven't have a slightest idea how to code or any of its' jargons.

Anyways, you get to choose how to meet one of the 7 OCs.

You could either:

Have 2718 swoop in and save you from some bad guys, true to the first installment of Language Barrier. But he is not going to treat you like a mature, self critical adult, if that's what you were expecting. You're injured and he is not letting you do anything for yourself. But you find it strange that your pain is gone whenever he's touching you. You can see that he's upset over your injury, but he does whatever he can to soothe you. He's awfully quiet, don't you think?

Abacus guy comes in and act like a caretaker of yours, since you can't understand what most of them are saying due to your limited... unevolved biological hardware. And poor you, howling in pain with your ankle shattered like that, of course you're not going to notice that some of the tourists are speaking in English. Abacus guy is going to gently pick you up, coo at you and turn you into putty in their arms. They pressed their lips against the crook of your neck, suckling on a very sensitive spot. It feels good...

Oh no! His baby! Your big brother will sob, taking you into his strong arms, burying his face in your hair, muttering soft, sweet nothings to soothe you. Quickly but carefully, he zipped through the curious crowd and loaded you in his car, making sure you're comfortable with your favorite plushies and blankies. Are you thirsty? Big brother has some refreshing drinks he keep in his cooler. Hungry? There are packets of healthy snacks he neatly arranged in his car organizer. Big brother will open the packets for you if you ask, but please... please eat your painkillers first. It's going to be a long ride to the hospital and you're going to suffer. And that breaks his heart.

You noticed a shadow looming over you. You looked up to see the worried face of your beloved best friend, tears from his puffy eyes streaking down his sunken cheeks. There were dark bags under his eyes from the stress. Presumably from work and the worrying he endured while you're away. He scooped you up carefully and hastily placed you down on the stretcher prepared by the best medical team in the... galaxy? They placed a complicated looking helmet over your head before pressing a button on a metallic device. You heard muffled glass shatters after that. Each of the members held on tight to the stretcher, your best friend held onto you, hugging you tightly as he whimpers, rubbing your arm up and down. You don't know what happened, but you can't describe what you're seeing through the glass. It's like watching the world's most indescribable movie, it's not giving you any feelings of pain or fear or nausea.

Leveret is too green and unripe now, I can't exactly write for him until I write a part 2, will get back to this later

Same goes for our pussy devourer hitman, too incomplete, will get back to this later as well

You were momentarily distracted from your pain when you heard a scream looming in the distance... From above. It's getting louder and louder until you hear a devastating thud and crunch against the ground, silvery specks flew past your eyes. Accompanied by multiple gasps. Sobbing, groaning and cussing soon followed. You craned your neck to see a woman, dressed in office attire, howling loudly in pain. Looks like she shattered both legs and an arm. Strange metallic liquid ooze out of her wounds. The two of you remained on the ground, injured and exhausted while everyone else just stared. All the while, feeling that something big and bad is about to come.

When all of them have their names already, I'll change the fic accordingly. But for now, this is all I can provide. Lackluster in everything <3

Actually no, no choosing. The game chooses for you and it's all up to chance. Probably have an introduction where you get up on your own and girlboss your way out. But eventually have one of my OCs catch you.

Yeah I don't know where I'm going with this.

[drcharadreemurr]

Delivering justice

"How? How is that possible, you shouldn't have survived that. You should be dead." Frisk shouts as the anger on their face grows. Undyne doesn't respond and instead impales Frisk with a spear.

You feel the pain as it pierces their chest. But for once, you are glad to feel this pain, to know that Frisk is suffering. You have wanted this since they killed her.

Frisk was in such shock that they didn't notice the other spears being shot toward them. They pierced into their body causing them to collapse to their knees and cough up blood. They tried to get back up, to continue to fight, but a final spear through their skull put an end to that.

You wake up next to the save point before the bridge. "What the hell was that?" Frisk asks. "How was that even possible, how can she be that strong, dammit." They punch the wall next to them, your hand feels sore. "Whatever, I'll still kill her just like everyone else."

The proceed onto the bridge and into the fight with the true heroine.

The second time around, Frisk doesn't give Undyne the chance to strike first. Once the battle starts, Frisk dashes toward Undyne, hoping to finish the fight in one attack. The attack lands but Undyne just grabs Frisk by the throat and throws them back.

"So, you're a lot tougher now, that's fine. I'll still kill you, you over grown tuna."

Frisk's words don't seem to affect Undyne as she fires a barrage of spears toward Frisk. They manage to dodge a few but takes a few hits on the way.

Undyne turns Frisks soul green, halting their movement as she fires a storm of spears at them. Frisk manages to fend off a few but is impaled and killed.

You are starting to feel a bit of hope rising within you. Could she do it, could she put an end to this madness?

Frisk continues to fight, over and over, dying each time while landing few hits on Undyne. You hold out hope that Frisk is losing motivation, but one look at their face says otherwise.

They are enjoying this.

Something is finally giving them a challenge, something is finally exciting them. Your feeling of hope is beginning to fade.

With each attempt Frisk makes more progress, landing more hits on Undyne, while dodging more of her attacks. 20 deaths, 40 deaths, 75, 100. You aren't sure why you are keeping count but you are. Maybe it's a way to honor Undyne's battle, maybe it's a way to keep yourself sane through all the pain.

There is that as well, Frisk may seemed to have grown numb to the feeling of spear piercing them but you haven't. You still feel every death, every injury. But you face it however you can because that pain means that Undyne is winning.

And her victory is all that matters.

Attempt 137 was Frisk's best showing yet, they had barely taken any hits and had landed a few crushing blows on Undyne. Why are you narrating it like this, you aren't on Frisk's side? What are they doing to you?

Your thoughts are interrupted by one final swing of the knife.

"So, even that power wasn't enough. Dammit."

Frisk is breathing heavy, "Finally. Got you."

"I guess you did, but if you think I'm going to give up hope, you're dead wrong. Alphys- Alphys told me that she would watch me fight. No doubt she has already told Asgore about you. He is sure to absorb the human souls and become stronger than you."

Her body begins to melt and a massive smile crosses her face.

"Because of that, I know that this world will live on. It doesn't matter what you do, you wont win in the end. We will beat you. You can count on it."

Undyne crumbles into dust.

[popcornforone]

Teasing & Tweezing

Part of the Attending Mr York Fan Fic Series

Master list

This is all your fault.

You voted for back to back Dave York. I really didn’t think he would win. So here I am. Posting another Chapter to our Dave York universe on a Saturday… you’d better have your pancakes or grapes ready peoples. This is very intense.

Synopsis:- After asking a rhetorical questions, you find out Dave isn’t as squeaky clean & normal as you think. But your loyalty is put to the test a few days after finding out his secret when he arrives at your apartment at 3am.

This chapter is referenced as moments & memories in one week with Dave York. (Defiantly the Thursday & Saturday afternoon chapters).

Word count:8100

Warnings: EVERY WARNING UNDER THE SUN DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18! DAVE YORK COMES WITH HIS OWN WARNING…& I MEAN IT!!!! Cheating, adultery, boss employee relationships, controlling at points but not at others, fingering, anal sex, sex toys, bath sex, oral sex, blood, injury detail, repairs, swearing, angst, anger, alcohol, pain killers (in real life please don’t mix then) This gets grim at points for both injury & intimacy, secrets, assassin work.

Yea you have been warned

Thank you all so much for reading this, it’s always a pleasure writing Dave & thank you all for reading last weeks one off. All feedback is welcome in anyway shape or form. Enjoy peoples.

“Mr York?” You pop your head around the office door on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s not unusual for him to ask to see you on a Wednesday, before you do the grocery shop before getting the girls from school, especially as he likes to cook on a Wednesday night. You’ve never found out why, he just likes to do it. It also means you get more time to paint & curate your art portfolio, your eventual out from being a house keeper one day. Although this is much better than the 9to5 grind you used to have. It pays better too.

“Ahhh perfect timing, quick close the door this won’t take long” he spins round in his chair to face you, man spreading for you to see. He’s not hard but you know you could do certain things to make the man who 75% of the time ignores you in this house, to then turn him into the 25% which wants to plunder & pleasure you.

You notice he’s got shredding going on & lots of printing & a building plan laid out across his sofa, lots of post its notes & red crosses covering it. You grab a pen from his desk & tease it in your teeth waiting for him to tell you what he needs so you can jot it onto a post it note. You tease doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What can I help you with today sir…”

“shopping!”’he abruptly interrupts to make you slightly startled as to how quick his response was “I need the following items please & if they don’t have them in the store please can you go to different stores tomorrow to get them, they are all essential items”

“okay Mr York I understand, I…” he interrupts again.

“I would say today but I know it’s Wednesday & your art time. our deal is still the same, that you can work on whatever it is you make, I don’t want to make my house keeper unhappy, unless it’s tears of pleasure” he smirks facing back to his screen & you dampen your knickers instantly. He has very quickly worked out some of your kinks & weaknesses as to how he can make you feel good. He knows certain words get you going & he can also see your an open book when it comes to him & how he makes you scream. Your ex must have been atrocious, but that is Daves gain. It’s only been a few months of sex, but he’s really enjoying getting his frustrations out on your body & how you respond. Carol doesn’t even put in any effort anymore.

Dave lists off the most random shopping list. 2 fishing lines, sand, bleach, 3 bags of sugar, nail scissors, typex, a towel, hand sanitiser, a pack of metal coat hangers & as many packs of pain killers as you can find.

“Is there anything you think I need?” He asks when he’s done.

“Well that’s quite an extensive list mr York, I mean why fishing lines why not…”

“oooh & cable ties & condoms” he interrupts back to facing you & pointing. You blush. You were now on the pill, so you could feel Dave bare filling his seed inside you. No more rushing to the pharmacy to get the morning after pill or him withdrawing, which was rare of him to do. So who else was he having sex with other than you & Carol? Your face can clearly show your thinking this as he then answers without asking“… this is all for work, your my only discretion” he’s not lying you can tell that, you’ve worked out when Dave lies.

“wow that will be interesting for you to put down as expenses” you chuckle as you read the list back to yourself “I mean unless you plan on killing your boss, that’s the only way you could get away with it” you catch Daves eyes which are darting around the room desperate to check he’s not left anything in evidence out. He then looks at you sternly & you realise your hypothetical question might have some truth in it.

“David?” You ask concerned. You hardly ever call him David unless he really hits the spot inside you & you forget your manners. This breaks him out of his worried trance. He likes it when you say his name. If he wasn’t so controlling he’d let you say his name more often but you calling him Mr York for all situations makes his cock throb with anticipation. “Do… do you…” your voice is trailing. you want to ask but you also don’t incase knowing this will put you in danger, but you need to know. Daves business trips usually are on weird days & a pick up at a weird time. Dave sighs deeply shaking his head before his eyes meet yours.

“What I’m about to tell you is highly classified.” He groans . His eyes are deep. Dave is worried he’s about to lose his nanny, house keeper & fuck toy in the next 3minutes. How will he explain that to Carol. He stands up & heads to the family picture on the wall which has a safe behind it “I need to record exactly what i am about to talk to you about & I need you to consent to everything I am about to say” as the safe pops open he pauses & notices you’ve sat on the edge of his desk. “If you want you can leave now, I will pay you a years salary on the spot & you can go” he says & your eyes meet. A years salary is more than generous & could change your life. He is giving you an out. You can pack up your bags & never see the Yorks again, but could you do that to the 2 little girls who finally get you & are happy you play with them, no. Could you then also sit at home if you did leave even with that money in one go & think about the family if the worst happened to Dave, no.

“Tell me David, tell me everything”

“please don’t call me David…” oh fuck you think “… if your going to call me anything other than Mr York, call me Dave” & he hands over a secrets act file for you to read & sign as he hit records on the tape in his hand, all of which has come from the safe, to start telling you what you can know & what he actually does do. David Christopher York is a hired killer & assassin.

10 days later

You stumble into your studio apartment at 11:30pm. You know you’re needed at the Yorks for lots of morning rushes this week so today & tomorrow is your real chance to stay in your bed. They have given you Saturday night & part of Sunday off as a thank you. You’ve been out for a movie, dinner & drinks with your friends. You’re pretty sure that one of thems brother Steve was trying to flirt with you, but he was so wasted by the end of the night that you decided not to go back to his place. Your own bed & your own pleasure would be enough for tonight, especially if when you get to the Yorks, Dave has been on a successful business trip & will want to have sex with you. You slide out of your dress & put on your jammys. It’s summer so very short sleep shorts & a floaty vest are all that’s needed. Make up removed & teeth cleaned, you glide onto your bed & put on your pleasure playlist as you grab your 5inch toy & lube it up. The tip as it vibrates makes you shudder & moan as you carefully edge it inside you. You’re still getting used to having a vibrator which you purchased on impulse after your ex broke up with you. “Dave!” You moan. It’s the first time you have moaned Dave out loud when you’ve been alone & you really really like the way it rolls off your tongue. He’s having that much of an effect on you at the moment. You gasp at saying it & inch it in further turning up the vibrations wondering when Dave will next be on top of you, pounding inside your core.

THUD THUD THUD

You leap up & hear this pounding noise. It’s not a hangover throbbing in your mind or the next door neighbours having an orgy, they like to do that sometimes & you try to stay at the Yorks when you know it’s going to happen. But there’s a banging noise going on. As the thudding happens again you click your bedside light on & see the clock says 3am as you head to the door a few feet away. Being a studio apartment everything is close together. You look though the keyhole & see Daves face in anger on the other side.

“Let me in sweetheart please!?” He says with pain in his voice. You don’t even hesitate to undo the latch, the second your hand twists the lock he barges in, flinging the door almost directly into your face & almost collapses on the floor. There is blood oozing from his shoulder & is seeping down his arm. He throws his back pack across the room & it hits your bed bouncing back towards you both.

“VODKA” he screams as you lock the door shut but are frozen to the spot in a panic. “DONT MAKE ME ASK AGAIN!” He is enraged. The second shout means you run over to your dresser, which has clothes stationary & alcohol in it. You find the bottle of vodka & head to the kitchen area to get a glass. “IM IN FUCKING PAIN. I HAVE NO TIME FOR A GLASS!” You almost drop the bottle at his growl. It’s scaring & arousing you. The idea of Dave being really dominant to you during sex was not one that had crossed your mind, or be it with anyone actually, but he has those traits. You would submit to him so well. You kneel next to him & hand him the bottle, cap already off & he has 2 large gulps almost spluttering out the second. You’ve still not said a word since you woke up 2mins ago. He eventually calms down a little as your hand soothes his back, tracing across his spine & he reaches for his bag but his agony stops him “Bag! pain killers” he musters & you lean & bring it across to the two of you but when you see what’s in there your drop in it shock, scattering part of its contents across the floor, including the small pistol inside it.

Imagine if Dave hadn’t told you 10 days ago what he did for a living. This is still pretty intense & your mind is racing that he’s come to you for help. You are in as much shock as he is pain. But seeing various items you had purchased him sitting it that bag from the other week & a gun & a knife, that made you flinch a little too much.

“Mr York…” you mumble “i… I… im not qualified…”

“you have health & saftey & cpr to work for us, this is just the next 4 steps up” he interject, as he grabs the tablets to take. They, luckily for you, dropped right in front of him. “You said you’d do anything for me & the Yorks & I need this one time favour please please?” He pleads as he drinks more vodka to take the tablets which you both know is highly irresponsible, but he’s suffering badly. You pace a little while he tries to stand wondering what to do. No way are you or your apartment equipped to deal with whatever has happened to Dave.

“A one off? “ you reply “I never have to sort you out again”

“yes I promise, you can quit afterwards for all I care, I just need this to look a little bit cleaner before I go to the emergency room” his breathing is almost calm, & back to what it would be if he had just orgasmed.

“Why can’t you go there & first” you ask.

“That’s a story for another day but right now I need you to try & stop this bleeding please?” His frown tells you he isn’t joking, he has come to you for help. Maybe this is a loyalty test to prove what you would do for the Yorks.

You take a deep breath before the word “okay” stutters out of your mouth, your head trying not to think of what you’re about to face. You walk back over to Dave & offer him your hand to help him up, which he takes. He’s always so strong but this grip isn’t want you’re expecting he’s unsteady & needs support.

“bed” he groans as he realised his legs are going to give up from beneath him, so you grab the shoulder that isn’t bleeding to help him turn & then lower him on the edge of the bed. He winces. Then you can see what’s happening to the shirt. You can see that the pool of blood is still growing, but there is a pattern to it that it is starting to seep out from underneath his T-shirt & trickle down his arm over the elbow, an elbow you want to ride until you can’t think straight anymore as it pushes against your pussy.

“Dave” you say realising it’s the first time you’ve really said that to him “I need you to help me with this, it’s not a cut knee or a bruised foot, your bleeding heavily” & you can see it start to drip onto your bed sheets, which you know no amount of stain remover will get this fully out.

Dave glance at your face as he picks up the bottle of vodka to swig again, & sees the concern in your eyes. “You’ve got this sweetheart, did you every play operation as a kid?” He asks & you nod. Dave can feel his shirt getting wetter from the blood trickling out of his collar, so he removes it straight over the top of his head screaming slightly from the pain it causes, but not loud enough for the rest of the building are hear, but enough if your neighbours were in they would’ve heard that. He can feel your eyes train on every single inch of his abs. His muscular stomach, his broad shoulders & his chest, gleaming with sweat & the blood that has slid down the side from where he has been shot. it is only now that you can see that his wound is more than just of flesh one. He has been shot & you can see as you stroke his back up & down from behind, that it’s not come out the other side. Your face drops. You know you’ve got to help him try & get this bullet out or at least stop the bleeding to make it look like it’s okay before he goes to the emergency room later. He catches the look of concern in your face which is now one of complete paralysis. “It’s not come out has it?” Dave asks. Silence fills the room as your eyes meet. Yours which are filled with concern now, turn into ones which are soft. His glint back at you to say it’s okay & he will be okay. His hand takes yours & the bloodied hand rolls across your knuckles. You take his ruined shirt & apply pressure to the wound.

Dave so far has always been in charge of making the first move or kiss, but right now you can’t control yourself & your urge. He might be bleeding still, but his lips are parted. You hold onto his chin keeping his face looking at you as you crash your lips into his. It smooth & succulent. Two wet plump mounds taking over the other. He’s shocked at first that you’ve done this, it’s always been his decision when this is instigated, but he can’t help himself. He goes with it as his hand leaves your to caress your face before going into your hair. He is now panting but he’s relaxed a little & you can feel the stress leave his body slightly. He softly moans your name as you part, & both your eyes open. “Sorry” you say “but I needed you to be calmer for me to have any attempt at this” he raises an eyebrow.

“That’s the best excuse for a kiss I’ve ever heard” & as he says this you hear a ripping sound of your bed sheets. He’s got at least a quarter of it as he straps a small amount around the lower part of his arm to tighten it. Clearly this isn’t his first injury.

He gestures at the bag & points. “You need to find nail scissors, tweezers, the condoms, lighter & hand sanitizer” he says before realising half of the bag is now scattered across the floor. He laughs at this before yelping as the next part of your bed sheet he’s torn away makes a connection

“a laugh wow didn’t think I’d hear that when you arrived a few mins ago”

“well your studio now looks like someone’s burgled it after you dropped my bag. Also do you have a stronger light that this bed side lamp? You’ll need as much light as you can get to help me.” Dave groans as he leans down to grab the pain killers as well but he stops half way as pain shoots through his body.

“Let me have you in the Bath” you blurt out.

“what!” Dave replies shocked “I don’t think…”

“oh not like that Mr York, my bathrooms got mirror lights & spotlights & white walls, so it’s bright. also it’s easy to clean afterwards & stops you from ruining my bed.” You snarl back. He likes you being in command, it makes his groin twitch at the idea of what else he can one day make that mouth say.

“Oops sorry, force of habit to take whatever is near me to repair something, I’ll replace them. I like your thinking though” & with that he leans his intact shoulder across yours. “Help get me to your Bath then” & the two of you tentatively stand up & you help him hobble to the bathroom. However he’s distracted. He’s looking down at to your almost bare back & a neck free for kisses, which he starts to peck at. His lips igniting your core with each smooch down your radiating skin. Radiating for him alone. You gasp as he licks up your neck behind your ear. You can’t really stop him due to having to carry his weight with you to the bathroom. It may only be a few feet away but it still takes a while. Also you don’t want needy Dave to stop.

Your bathroom has the bare minimum in it. A shower at the end of the bath, sink, toilet & a clothes basket for laundry. But it will do for now. “Mind the ledge Mr York” you say as he plants his first foot in the tub. When both feet are in steady ground you help him lower in & he also takes off his trousers, so he’s just in his boxers. Maybe he did just have sex on his mind.

“I’ve got spare clothes in the bag I can change into, but can you bring back the booze & pain killers before the rest of that list first” he says as he hands his jeans across to you. They are as black as the night sky. So if there was blood in them it would be hard to notice, unless you knew. Once he’s happy in the bath, you’ve given him a spare bath Mat to kneel on & an old cushion to lean on the edge of the bath, you go get the rest of the items as he takes one more pain killer. All but 2 items were still in the bag, those 2 were that hand sanitiser & condoms. As you head back into the bathroom with the rest of your bed sheet to mop up the blood, which he had torn already you ask.

“why condoms for a repair?” You notice these were the ones you picked up last week.

“Evidence bag” he states as his lips detach from the bottle of vodka “especially these ones, good choice by the way. They are sturdy don’t break & leave all finger prints on what’s inside, nothing ever escapes this unless it’s really rigorous “ & you blush. You can imagine Dave has tried that out before, but inside your mind wonders to think with whom & would he pound you that hard?

You go to step in the bath with him but he shout “no I need you outside, if you slip & fall, were done for”

“Dave it’s my Bath I should no how to bal…”

“not if you make a mess of this, but I have faith. You got this sweetheart” you take a few deep breaths & stand right in front of him, you thin sleep shorts separate his mouth from your mound. You liked it last time when he performed oral sex on you. His tongue lapping away at you, humming as he tasted each drop. His fingers felt fantastic too, so long & fat, curling away rubbing against your walls as his thumb danced across your clit, sending you spiralling out of control. Dave sniffs as he can smell your arousal. If he wasn’t in a so much pain & this wasn’t so urgent your shorts would be off & he would be fucking you, but that would be too much of a distraction. He needs you coherent.

“So what first Mr York?” You ask with everything you need on the side.

“Hand sanitizer for your fingers & my wound, we need you clean & the hole slightly numbing it cos you’re going to have to cut it a little bigger than it already is”

“what?” You screech as you open the bottle, “what if I hit…”

“it’s ok it’s okay…” Dave says as he sees you go into panic mode “ there is nothing you can butcher too much up here, oooh you’ve got your phone right? because I need to see where the bullet is when you get inside?” This is all now becoming a little bit too much. You’ve seen this on tv shows & always thinks they make it look so simple & easy to heal a bullet wound or stab. But now you are faced with this as a first repair job for Dave you feel physically sick.

You go to grab the vodka but Dave holds it away from you “I know you’re nervous, but this won’t help you, trust me” he can see your pale & freaking out inside. “Breathe with me sweetheart come on” & you do 3 lots of 5 in & out & as he starts the 4th you sigh & drip the sanitisers across his injury. His yelp is small & you use half the bottle, “quick 4cms towards my neck go in through the existing hole” he cry’s putting a dry part of the bed sheet in his mouth. Even if this was a pro doing this he knows he would scream at this. You slowly & carefully start to snip at his flesh opening the hole wider, blood trickling out to start with. You go to mop it up but Dave moans as he shakes his head. “Clean up when we are done” he muffles biting into the bedding for all his life. Considering you’re new to this he’s impressed you’ve not put him in more pain. You slowly snip away, amazed at how calm you are & amazed at how the human shoulder & collar are constructed. So much so that it only when Dave shouts yet it’s still muffled “no more snipping” that you stop.

“Sorry Dave, I was…” you feel a bit embarrassed by saying this “I… I was admiring the way you were constructed.”

“If I come out of this in one piece sweetheart, you can admire all you want” You look into Daves eyes, he’s not playing games or teasing he’s being serious.

Dave then gestures his eyes at the tweezers which you grab. He keeps your hand in place over his shoulder. But it’s not just for pressure on his oozing wound, it’s for reassurance for the two of you. He wants to feel your touch & he want to make you aware that he needs you. You face him again.

“It’s going to be okay Dave trust me” your calming words actually fool you both. You’d said it to make Dave feel at ease but it was also you tel yourself you could do this.

“You need to use the tweezers to open the cut up a little bit & then I need you to take a few photos so I can see how bad it is.” Daves slowly getting calmer in his tone, but he’s sweating a lot. Clearly his adrenaline has now warn off too. Maybe his shallow breathing & loss of blood is having an effect on him.

He winces as you carefully open up your fresh cut, & try not to turn your head away, as the seeping continues.

“Sweetheart you’ve got this, I trust you, look at me” your eyes meet Daves in solitude. “You never have to do this again I promise” you click a few photos, the flash almost blinding Dave in his eye, it’s so bright he will see that little outline in his eyes for a few minutes for sure. You hand him your phone. His blood soaked thumb zooms in on the screen. “I can see 3 obvious bits but you see this bit” he turns the phone around & points at a piece that’s hanging onto something inside his shoulder & collar. “That’s causing the bleeding”

“Okay Dave is it as simple as me just using the tweezers or…”

“Ha” he cackles “I wish it was” he sighs deeply “if you do this half as well as I think you can sweetheart , I might have to train you up as a medic.” You raise an eyebrow at Dave. “Jokes are getting me through this sweetheart, that & the fact that you’re right cunt at points has been inches away from my face, desperate for me to lick it. A taste of that would make all the pain go away” Daves breathing has ramped up casising his blood to pump more.

“Calm Dave” you say as you go to clean the tweezers with hand sanitizer but Dave grabs you hand.

“Stop!” He shouts.

“Why Dave? I thought…”

“The lighter, you need to heat the tweezers up”

“What?!”

“He hand sanitizer is alcoholic, it will be a blaze in seconds” his eyes are worried at what you were going to do “what are you an amateur?”

“Yes Dave I am” you snap back at him “you could easily be in the emergency room right now, but no here I am helping you out at good knows what time I’m the morning” your half tempted to walk away but a dead assassin in your bath tub wouldn’t be the best idea either. You’re in too deep. “Sorry Dave, I shouldn’t have snapped” you say calming yourself down. Trying desperately not to look in his eyes that you know will be raging because you answered back. “I know you know what’s best, & I’m trying my best, this is all so much to take in”

“I’m sorry to sweetheart” you make eye contact this time. Dave never apologises to anyone, for anything, even when he knows he’s wrong. His face is pleading for forgiveness too. “I mustn’t treat you like medics who stitch me up or help. As much as I employ you, you’re not trained for this. I’m sorry but this is the only way” he grips your shoulder with his clean hand, he’s been very deliberate to make sure one hand stays clean throughout this, with no blood contamination. He strokes you to sooth both your sets of anger away & it works almost instantly.

You follow Daves carful instructions. Heating up the tweezers for 30 seconds on a low heat to nudge the bullet away before then scorching the surrounding are & then attempting to fish it out, putting it straight into a condom, so he can have it analysed. He screamed 3 times as you did this, his face wincing in pain when a few nerves were hit, but he then asked you to try & get the second & third piece out using the same technique. It’s as you’re getting the 3rd piece out Dave screams the most. It’s high pitched & straight in your ear.

“Fuck, what are you tugging on I need to see” He screams & you while leaving the tweezers in place so the hole is open take a photo. Daves face drops. “Put that back where you found it right now. It’s stuck in a nerve. If it’s too far lodged it can’t come out, or I might lose some feelings in my fingers. I then can’t do my job.”

“Okay Dave” you slowly place in back into his shoulder, as well as you can but then he scream again & you almost nip at a vein as you drop the tweezers. “What did I do wrong?” Your voice is panicked.

“Lighter on tweezers for 10 seconds then push them against where you’ve just been, keep doing this until I tell you to stop.” His face is contorted as he growls this.

“But Dave what if…”

“This isn’t operation anymore sweetheart, just do it” he viciously interrupts & you start doing what he said with the tweezers. Fresh blood is now coming out of him.

Every 10 seconds you push the heated metal against him & each time he’s moans & gasps for air. Then you remove it & do it again & again. But it’s not helping. & then you see the hand sanitiser on the floor.

“Do you trust me Dave?” You ask in a hurry as you plunge the tweezers into the liquid.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No” you click the lighter on & the tweezer start to blaze.

“Are you fucking crazy woman? What the…” but you thrust the molten tweezers into his wound. “FUCKKKKKK!!!!!” You know that people asleep on your floor have probably just been work up due to Dave’s cry. “FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK!!!! YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!” Daves eyes are tightly scrunched together in pain. He’s engulfed by heat too. But you don’t care. You’ve worked out this might be the only way of heeling him. To stop the bleeding. He might always have part of a bullet inside him but it will save his job & life if you fuse it to his nerves. So that’s what you do.

You’ve notices it’s working. His fingers & hand that are covered in blood are still twitching. He has some control or maybe it is second nature, to check that he can still move & work everything. A smile spreads across your face as you then reheat the tweezers with the lighters & hand sanitiser & do it again. Daves scream less in shock this time. The blood slowing down, his breathing calming. In your own panic you accidentally came up with an idea that is actually working better than his.

“I gotta say I thought you were gonna kill me doing that,” Dave eventually says when he’s back in the here & now, eyes no longer stinging.

“Well I wasn’t sure it would work Dave, I just had to try something, I couldn’t let you bleed out.” He hisses as you apply pressure on where has been scorched to make sure it’s sealed.

“You’re a fucking crazy bitch you know that?” He says still in pain drinking a bit more vodka before then picking up the condom with the pieces of the bullet inside it to seal it off.

“I will take that as a thank you” you calmly say, As you remove the tweezers & rush to your first aid kit that you brought in with the other bits earlier. His eyes rolling at your sarcastic comment but he knows you’ve done well. You grab a needle & thread & start to get it ready to stich Dave up.

“I’ve seen you learning to sew so this should be fun, you drop stitches all the time” he cackles before taking another painkiller with some more vodka.

“Well Dave if you swivel your shoulder this way slightly I can lean over the top of you & make sure that this holds until you get to an emergency room, that’s all I can promise. I can’t even promise it won’t hurt.” You mumble & then get him in the right spot. “Sorry Dave you’re in a bit of a tight spot here just bear with me. Keep drinking that vodka” he sees the genuine smile on your face & he starts to smile back at you, before he whimpers as you dig the needle in him.

“Fuck, why does this never get easy”

“Sorry Dave but I need the extra light, don’t want to make to much more of a mess” You can hear Dave moaning as you try to do the best job you can.But then your body jitters forward. A sensation you’ve not felt for a while as he slips his fingers inside your pussy ,as he starts saying “you’re not the only one who is working with a tight space”. His fat finger on his clean entering you easily, having their way with you, making you clamp around them instantly. You hadn’t even realised he was near your entrance or in a teasing mood until he was inside you.

“Dave stop Dave stop” you moan as the two fingers start to curl inside you,

“Beg” he cries as you accidentally dig the needle in further.

“I’m gonna make a mess if you continue” you moan griping into his other shoulder trying to concentrate as he works your pleasure. You’re trying not to moan or gasp but when Dave brings you pleasure it’s always hard to concentrate on anything else. Especially as He strokes his thumb across your clit.

“That’s the point sweetheart” he growls & looks you dead in the eye “it’s distracting us from the actual mess your doing to my shoulder & collar,” his breathing becomes enraged as his hand becomes slicker from your arousal. His pace picking up. Making you want more than just his fingers. Making you bite your bottom lip as your hips start to roll.

“Don’t blame me if I stab you” each word is panted amour of your mouth. He’s watching intently as your eyes become filled with desire.

You both scream in different tones, one of pain & one of pleasure when the third finger joins the party. His thumb Stimulation around your clit just making you want to grind onto him. It feels divine. Daves more concerned as he keeps his rhythm up about what your own hands are doing.

“That will do sweetheart” he says as he pulls you closer. His fingers are pulsing away making you want his fat cock buried inside you. The squelching & your moans now the sounds track to your bathroom.

“Fuck dave, oh fuck yes, oh god, I need this, I fucking need more” your almost growling as Dave sometimes does, as you drench his hand, spilling out & you hold the side of the Bath for balance as your legs turn to jelly from the intensity of your orgasm. “I knew you were good but I didn’t know your hands were that good baby” you whimper.

“Well it’s better than that pathetic excuse of a toy you have on your bed side table sweetheart.” You blush. Even in pained state bleeding out earlier, he had clocked your vibrator you had used earlier. you try to gather the words before Dave cackles. “What you’ve purchased might be okay for a one off but what you need is something more pleasurable” Daves smooth silky words in his seductive tone make you want his fingers back inside you at a minimum.

“Well you weren’t here to satisfy my needs.” You say as you edge to the basin to get a cloth for yourself as Dave dampens the last part of the bed sheet to mop up his dried blood.

“I promise you, that you will never need to look for satisfaction anywhere else when we’re done sweetheart.”

“Are you teasing me Dave?” your ask as you take his hand & help him out of the Bath. He’s in your personal space & his lips are just begging to be taken by yours.

“Well you’ll just have to wait & find out”

12 hours later you are in a hotel lobby, waiting for Dave. After you finished stitching him up, he told you to sleep on the sofa & that he would sort everything out, before a tender thank you kiss before he left to go to the emergency room. You got 5hs sleep before there was more knocking at your door. Clean up had arrived & by clean up, it means part of Daves team who had spent most of the night sorting out the place where Dave had been shot. Your flat was spotlessly cleaned, new sets of bedding were out on your bed along with 3 other new sets, more expensive that youve ever owned & replacement vodka also put in your cupboard. You had to sign NDA forms once it was all done, to never speak of last tonight to anyone other than Dave or the people in the room with you who were cleaning.

The thing that freaked you out the most though was the call from Carol at 11am saying she was sorry you had a sickness bug & would call someone else for the next 2 days to help. You went to protest & she said that you had called Dave who’s still away on business earlier to tell him. As you’re speaking to her you see Daves messages appear on your tablet to say that this is all okay & to meet him at a designated hotel later for a real thank you. So here you are at 5pm at the Drove hotel waiting for Dave, wondering what or how he is going to say thank you.

“Sweetheart?” You turn around & see Dave who extends his hand & pulls you up inches away from his face.

“Mr Yo…” he’s hungrily kissing you before you can finish the word York. His embrace & his lips only leave your mouth to kiss your neck for the entire journey through the lobby, into the lift & into the suite he’s hired. It’s the honeymoon suite & it’s so romantic in there & grand, not that Dave is the romance type at all.

“I told them I was here for 2 days & hadn’t seen my girlfriend in 6months, being persuasive does sometimes get you exactly what you want” Dave is seducing you with his own words, no persuasion is needed here, your already under this man’s spell.

“I didn’t have you down…”

“I’m not romantic in the slightest, but as this was already here when i arrived I thought I’d keep it. Make you feel like the bride. Make you feel romantic. So that then when you beg me to keep fucking you, you remember how sweet a girl you are. That you’re not my fuck toy.” Daves demeanour changes, his eyes dark & dilated & he gestures to the bed. “I do want to thank you though for what you did & not telling Carol earlier, she doesn’t need to know.” You sit on the bed & take your shoes off.

“I did promise to obey & attend your needs Dave,I just never expected that to be what was needed” you coyly look up at him. “We did it as a team”

“You did an amazing job sweetheart in everything & I am still giving you the opportunity to quit tomorrow, However…” the devilish smile that arouses you creeps over his face. “… you need a proper thank you & an eduction” Dave then dumps a black bag on the bed & unzips it. Your face turns red & blushes.

“Dave what the actual fuck” you hold the first box up & then the second. His bag is filled with unboxed sex toys.

“Sweetheart, I saw your toy, it might give you a few moments, but it’s never going to match me. So allow me to pleasure you, so you know what you like. You will then know what gets you off, so I know how to make you cum so hard. I like sliding into you, your arousal hardly ever needs me to lube up” Daves words embarrass you but also make you feel good. He wants to take you on a sexual adventure. & you’re here for it.

After looking at the various boxes you pick a very small stimulator to start with.

“Ooh starting small & working up are” says Dave mischievously. “I’m sure there would be some girls who run away after being presented all of this, but no you sweetheart, you are a slut. You present as the helpful house keeper so well & I bet you were loyal to that ex of yours but damn you want your fill don’t you. You want to feel my fat cock, in your cunt, pounding away don’t you.” You’re speechless & just nod. Dave, since you’ve started having sex has been dirty in his talk, but never like this. Your knickers are already damp. You bite your bottom lip which makes Daves cock twitch. That’s his sign for she’s all mine, so he pounces, turning you around on the bed so you’re lying on your stomach.

You’re stripped in seconds except for your knickers, your tights shredded & thrown across the room. The dress & bra flung somewhere for you to find eventually. Your mind is now on the fact that you can hear Daves belt hit the floor behind you too.

“Dave please”

You groan as he he kisses both your arse cheeks & then slowly rolls your knickers off your arse. You’re dripping for him already & he sees it pooled in your material as he removes them.

“Is my little slut already gagging for me?” He groans. You hadn’t heard his trousers or boxers come off, but your arse suddenly feels his bare penis rubbing against it. “I can use this” he say smirking rubbing his erect penis through the slick which has gathered, leisurely pumping himself. You then see a bottle of lube lying next to you on the bed, before it is gone in a blur. You moan & go to ask before he speaks. “I need to work you open first or…”he says smacking your arse cheek making you yelp, “maybe your arsehole is already puckering for me” he’s going to have sex in your arse. You have never done this before & you instantly tense up.

He takes the bottle of lube & covers your other enterance for him & you instinctively rock your arse back towards him, making his cock edge nearer your arse. No man has claimed it before, but this is Dave York & you are all his. He can fuck any hole he wants.

“Dave no one no, oooh baby” your words are interrupted, you didn’t realise he had the stimulator in his had that had been on your clit for the last few minutes, but your body shudders as the vibrations ignite your desire. Dave was right you did need educating to be his fuck toy & you can already feel your climax approaching.

“Ooh your cunt loves anything baby, that’s it rock, let me watch you enjoy yourself,” Daves desperate to start ramming you. But his eyes are hypnotised as to how quickly you settle into a rhythm. He ups the setting to make you moan more, almost losing his grip from the slick gathering.

“I know your nervous sweetheart” he whispers into your ear, you own hand now taking the toy to pleasure yourself with, as he reads himself”… but I promise to stop if you find it uncomfortable at any point okay, im going to take this slow & we will build up to more” you nod through your moans silently, unable to speak through pleasure. Dave then grabs your jaw firmly”consent sweetheart” it’s a snarl.

“Yes Mr York”

His penis covered in your slick & your arse covered in lube, he makes his slow approach seem like it takes forever. But the sting as it slips inside you, has you panting & gasping desperately.

“Dave oooh fuck” he stops & pulls out & then you say “again”. Each time he gets a little further inside you. Your cheeks parting, waiting to receive him. The stimulator was actually a brilliant idea as you move it to get more pleasure it’s distracting you from what Dave is doing to your arse.

“God everyone else has missed out on this delight” Dave states as he edges deeper inside you. “I’m the first, I’m taking your arse virginity, everyone else might have had that tight little cunt, the most gushing of pussys but this…oooh fuck” Dave can feel every inch on you as he’s half way to being fully inside your area & he stops. “I’ll properly destroy this another day, I’m sure there will be more occasions I need to thank you for.” & so Dave starts, his penis taking your arse, & you are having a pleasure over ride. “Say red of you want me to stop” he says as he gets going.

You lie in the big bath tub the next morning after having sex with Dave all night. A nap here & there interrupted by the sudden feeling of his lips sucking your breasts or his hands wandering to pleasure you. Dave has all the stamina in the world & he’s proving that right now as you swallow every last drop of his cum after his morning blow job. His face a delight watching you gulp him down.

“You are a cum hungry little slut sweetheart aren’t you.” He rubs your face & then lowers himself behind you in the Bath.

“I only get to taste the saltiest though Dave” you giggle as your wash yourself. You both reek of sex, but it intoxicates you both.

“So what we did last night, was that okay? You’re not to sore this morning?” Daves voice is one of genuine concern “if you don’t want to do anal again I understand, but”

“I ache Dave I’m not going to lie but” Dave is initially upset when you interrupt him you go to apologise but then you see his face nod to say keep going “…I am here to attend to your needs, & if that pleases you, we can work up to it & do it from time to time”

“So that’s not a no?” Dave smirks, he’s stoking his length in the Bath ready to give you another filling. “I mean no one else has fucked that glorious arsehole before, so it’s officially mine, I own it. No other bastard has fucked all your holes. Just me, just you assassin fuck buddy.” He lifts you up ready to place you on his lap.

“Only you Dave only you,” he slowly lowers you onto his penis as it effortlessly slides all the way into your arse. Your moan is deep & it’s stings but you feel invigorated. “Dave oooh Dave” he starts to bounce you in the tub.

“Stay sweetheart, let’s me keep thanking you,” he says as the water slashes as you start to get moving & into it & even enjoying it. “I promise you will never have a boring life looking after me & attending our needs”

[clementiens]

i got some nice binoculars for hannukah last year and a binocular harness which helps soo much but it can still be a pain / spasm problem for my back. i've been flipflopping for months on getting a monocular that's half the weight or less but i couldn't justify spending $75 with only SSI income for something i don't NEED need / already have binoculars. but sometimes i'm either hurting myself or missing out on birds because i left them at home. and with the limitations on my life from pain and injury etc going outside to look at birds is a really big part of my day to day quality of life and enjoyment of life so this matters a lot to me. and i'm trying really hard right now to make my life as ergonomic and pain-minimal as possible, since i've had to accept that there just isn't going to be any one individual doctor who can tell me what to do and fix my life and i need to do it myself, and it's practically always some small physical / habitual change that ends up making a really big difference for my body. i was flipflopping again and found one on sale at REI because the color is discontinued, i asked my mom for her account so i could get free shipping, and she was like yeah sure and you can use any credit that's on there

ANYWAY my monocular that i ended up getting for half the original price is getting here today :) my back hurts but i'll be able to look at some birds :)

[askvashthetyphoon]

WW Plant AU: Symptoms

When Wolfwood wakes up the next morning, things seem different almost immediately.(lol)

(He's photosynthesizing, just like Vash. But neither of them know that yet).

I always imagined it'd feel pretty good, especially in the desert. Sort of like that stage of a sunburn where you're slightly warm on a cold evening: the perfect balance of tingling leftover heat, and a cool breeze. Info Dump for the WolfWood Plant! AU below

Independent Plants do photosynthesize like Dependent Plants. However, what portion of their diet is photosynthesized only, varies between plants. For example: Knives, and Dependents: 95% photosynthesis-based. Occasionally Knives does need mineral supplements to keep himself at full health( such as nitrogen, phosphorus, etc). Vash: 55% photosynthesis-based diet. Vash's Core creates a need for him to exchange materials in order to keep the balance of his existence. (Conrad theorized that Vash's ability to bring Independents into the world created a vacuum that needs to be balanced by exchanging raw materials from No-Man's Land, in order to keep the balance between the different planes). Still, Vash can go months without food or water. Wolfwood: 75%. Because WolfWood was created artificially by Vash's Core, his body is still wired to need some amount of food to prevent injury to his internal organs. However, he needs even less food than Vash to function normally. Fun Fact!: Vash ( and Wolfwood) both have a sweet tooth because their 'plant' cells enjoy the extra glucose(it helps growth). It also helps ease the expression of their 'plant' qualities; the roots, wings, any semi-transformations, etc. Without it their transformations would be incredibly painful and probably destroy their bodies from shock.