#and there may be some truth in that in real life

[reversedpineapple]

∘•····· 𝕐𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖: 𝔻𝕒𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕟𝕘 ·····•∘

꒷꒦ Yan!Dan Heng x Nameless!Reader ꒦꒷

TWs: obsession, stalking, slight spoiler for Penacony (maybe, not really), talk about death, wounds, self-harm (not reader), unhealthy relationship, imprisonment, isolation

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. :D

ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ Word count: 2.3k ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬

By continuing to read beyond this point, you have agreed to the trigger warnings and to be at least of the age of 18. The author does not hold any responsibility whatsoever for your actions.

It’s impressive how secretive the Vidyadhara would fall for you

The fact that Dan Heng is someone with a cool exterior but with a lot of warmth to give to those he considers dear to him is no secret. As such, one could expect for him to just fall in love with someone along the way but the truth is everything but that. Things like relationships are dear treasures to him and as such, something like romantic affection is put on such a high pedestal by him that most can not even fathom how they could ever reach it. It’s not unattainable. It just takes a lot of time, more than most would like to give if the end result is the possibility of him considering them as a romantic partner.

As such, someone who is part of the Nameless could consider themselves lucky to be so close to the ravenette. The Astral Express is not as big as it once was, not by a long shot, and as such running into each other at least thrice a day is only natural. Something like that is of course not enough for him to see someone as more than just a friend but by the love of the Eons, please do not force yourself onto him. Dan Heng the patience of a saint but some things are just too much. At some point he would just turn around and leave the room, fed up with your constant pestering and consider yourself as that neighbour. It’s not a status you would want, trust me.

You could join the Experts before or after everything on the Xianzhou Loufu but one thing is essential of slowly climbing over the high walls he build around himself; helping him work through all the confusion and also (partially hidden) pain the place brought him. He was confined and raised in its prison so there is guarantee of him having downright night terrors for him. If you are already part of the team during that time and help him with, uh, everything he would be more than just thankful. Dan Heng may act as if the Loufu doesn’t make him feel more than slight unease but inside he is ready to just turn around and return to the Archive. Just be there for him. He doesn’t even care if you can fight, the Vidyadhara is called the guard of the Express for a reason after all. Should you join after all of that then there is still more than enough he would need help with. Traumatic memories don’t just disappear over night. Dan Heng may be known as the Expresses recluse but he is not someone who shuts the metaphorical door in someone’s face should they offer help. The only thing you need to do is just wait and befriend him more and more. Like already said, the whole process takes longer than most are willing to give and subconsciously it might also be a test from him. If you can stand him for that long perhaps you could even… All you really need to do is hold his hand from time to time, sometime in a less literal sense.

When Dan Heng slowly realises this feeling as more than just the friendship you build and the trust he feels toward every Nameless, he honestly does not know how to approach them. The biggest horse in the room, not a real one of course, is the cultural difference between the two of you. The Vidyadhara are native to the Xianzhou and as such spend most of their time among members of the Long-Life species and as such, changes among customs usually happen slowly to barely. The ship is of course open to outside influences but beings living that long like to hold onto old customs so as not to feel like the entire world is slipping from their grasp. Despite being raised in a place described as a lightless abyss, he was exposed to at least some of the places culture and since romance was not really part of his expectations for the future, has not really changed much of his view on it despite visiting many different planets.

Please have mercy on this man. He is not someone who cares much about exposed skin but the second he sees a bit more than usual from you, as an example your trouser leg accidentally riding up or your shirt slipping off your shoulder, he will act like a Victorian man seeing an ankle. He will not shame you, by Lan no, but don’t be surprised when he drapes his coat over you, claiming that you looked cold whilst discretely fixing your appearance. He also simply likes to take care of you so that is another reason for his behavior. There is just a /very/ long pining stage so buckle up because once it starts it will take some time before he is comfortable enough to consider confessing to you. A negative is though, that he sometimes gets so uncomfortably overprotective. Problems he would have solved before with a few words of reasons are now more likely met with him being a lot more trigger happy should you be somehow involved. Once, another person talked behind your back about you and he had walked over to them to give them the verbal dressing down of the century. Another time an enemy got close to spotting you and he absolutely pulverised it. It would be a lie to say that the look he wears every single time does not unsettle you.

When he finally comes around to tell you how he feels, he almost expects a rejection. Dan Heng has just played for so long your trusted friend that he himself doubted that there could be more. At the same time, he also wants you to know how he feels. He will not be angry should you turn him down but he will also not back down with his overprotectiveness. He would much rather stay as your friend than leave your life entirely by acting bitter. When you accept though, he does not really know what to do at that point. The Vidyadhara didn’t really expect to even get this far so… yay? It does not matter if you had many relationships before or if this would be your first one, either way you would know more about relationships than him. Dan Heng does not concern himself with things he deems unnecessary, perhaps a passed down trait from Dan Feng, so he did not really delve much into the subject of romance before you. He is by no means completely oblivious, just a bit, you know, dare I say awkward?

Once that part is over though, you might question if you had just dreamed up that scenario. Were you still in Penacony or was this some other weird influx of Memoria? Changes will happen slowly (like everything to be honest). At first, it was him simply asking more often how you are doing. You looked a bit tired this morning, are you all right? If you want he can recommend some calming herbal teas. Then it’s /tiny/ bits of physical contact. Whenever he runs into you in the hallways of the Express he brushes the fingertips of one of his hands along your knuckles. It started when you had to fight one day outside of the express and punched someone so hard your knuckles bled. Those wounds, despite being small, were a sign of failure to him. No one other than him knows but he got so angry at himself for letting something like that happen to you that he himself wounded the knuckles of his right hand, the self-inflicted scabs hidden by his glove.

But for a while, that’s it. The biggest problem is him simply being too flustered to do more. So, either you wait once more or, and in this case it is alright to, just cross that boundary yourself. Just… don’t be too extreme. Dan Heng really wants to get closer to you in a way only partners are but he also does not want you falling over him like a starved hyena. Not only would he be embarrassed, since he has no idea how to reciprocate, but also think he failed as your significant other. You don’t need to break the ice with some grand gesture. Approach him slowly and gently like someone would with a wounded street cat and hold his hand or, if you are in a really calm situation, give him a hug. I would highly recommend taking his hand since you can see this way how his face turns redder than a tomato. He doesn’t hate it. In fact, he loves it but he also does not know how you would respond to hearing something akin to purring (?) coming from him so he just turns his head in a fake cough. The tips of his ears are still very visibly red.

Despite still feeling shy in the beginning, he would start to approach you more with intimate acts and, if you can believe it, actually acts fast. The Vidyadhara is afraid he would feel too uncertain if he waited too long so he just goes for it. But be aware, once he visits you in your room (get your mind out of the gutter), he feels absolutely safe to a ridiculous level with you. You could tell him to leave his spear in the party cart and he would comply as long as he is allowed to stay with you. Sometimes, your pillow smells like his shampoo as well. Dan Heng would never tell you but whenever he is alone in your room, sometimes you know, sometimes you don’t, he would bury his head in your pillow and… well… relax? Not in a weird way but he just enjoys your smell. There is only one place more heavenly than your bed and that is your lap. At first he would always ask for permission but after a while he just lays down with his head on it. It’s not rare that he falls asleep and from time to time, his less human traits slip out. The first time it happened you were combing through his hair with your fingers whilst playing on your phone only to suddenly feel something other than hair. To your surprise your lover had turned into his Vidyadhara form and started to let out hums which vibrated through the entire room.

Please tell him you saw his not-so-human self and that you didn’t mind. He wants so badly to be his true self around you or rather, as true as he can be without scaring you away. Dan Heng knows that Vidyadhara have an elegant charm to themselves most humans can’t help but wonder at but he doubts you would stay if you knew everything that entails. Now, even he knows that his infatuation is not considered normal amongst his own kind. Those rings he got for the two of you are more than just symbols of your relationship. Of course he also treasures them as those but in that small blue-greenish stone is a tiny piece of electronics always telling him where you are. He could never tell you. You would be freaked out and who knows, even depart the Express out of fear. There is also that worry inside of him that you could leave. Not because of him but simply because you wanted to settle down for a calmer life and as such, he makes sure you don’t grow /too/ fond of one of the places you visit, especially the Xianzhou Loufu. Everywhere else he might be able to convince himself to follow you but not that place. Huh, been a while since you visited…

What you don’t know can’t hurt you and as such, the ravenette holds that principle holy. Sometimes though, his grip along your waist is a bit too tight when he pulls you in, his sharp teeth grazing just the slightest bit too much against your lips for you not to notice that this is not just like any other kiss. There is fear in his eyes. On one particular night when he decided to stay over, old nightmares haunting him once more, he told you how he sometimes feared that the Express crew would turn out like the friends of his past life. He doesn’t know much about them anymore, any memory of them washed away during his time in his egg, but what if? In comparison to everyone else (other than your gray haired companion, you never knew with them) he was considerably stronger than most, although you eyed Welt sometimes suspiciously. What if he was left as the only one standing. Vidyadhara don’t fall to the Mara by natural means. They usually go through the circle of rebirth before that can happen but should you depart the world before that happens, Dan Heng doubts he could stay with a sound mind and as such, he pulls you close whenever he has the chance. For all he cares Nanook could go ballistic but as long as you are safe and sound, he does not care one bit. At this point, you are his main motivator to continue on as usual.

For the sake of the universe, please live for a long, long time and preferably beyond the lifespan of Dan Heng. Memories wash away but only as long as he repeats the usual circle. Should you not, the universe would have to deal with the former high elder using the Abundance once more only this time, he would inflict it on himself as well. After all, there would be no sense in doing this if he would forget all about you after his next reincarnation.

Do not copy, translate or use my work without my permission. All rights belong to the author.

[focusontheheart]

Under the cut, please find the complete ending guide to reach the romantic ending in Talanah's route, including descriptions from route writers behind the decision. Please note that during gameplay, answers may appear in a different order than indicated.

This is an important initial callback for these two. Even if Aloy’s response after the selection seems harsh, it’s the correct one! While they have somewhat of an awkward reunion, this aspect of their bond is still a meaningful touchpoint and an important reminder for them both.

Banter time! We see some of Aloy’s most enthusiastic and truly carefree moments whenever she’s hunting machines with Talanah. Talanah matches her energy effortlessly, leading to the comfort and familiarity of fighting together. This is how they relate, and this is what has opened the door for more.

The reasoning behind this selection is multifaceted. First, it involves Aloy articulating her emotional experience with Seyka to someone other than Varl—and, in doing so, evaluating in real-time how she feels about it now. Second, Talanah would value her candor about the situation—even if it might not be what she herself wanted to hear. Aloy’s response here leaves nothing to doubt and nothing hidden or minimized.

Another exercise in vulnerability. It would be one thing for Aloy to speak of the physical pain of her injury, as in the neutral response. It’s another thing entirely to speak of the lingering mental anguish. Talanah, at her core, cares. Deeply. And Aloy trusting her with her fears, giving them a new emotional ground on which to connect, marks a monumental step in their relationship.

While Talanah’s self-chastisement prior to this checkpoint isn’t exactly unwarranted, it’s not all the way correct, either. Aloy hearing her genuine remorse and responding based on the whole no-nonsense truth—that actions and inactions and doubts from both of them led to their parting of ways in the Forbidden West—would mean more to her than platitudes or righteous anger.

Breaking into new domains of vulnerability is a theme here, isn’t it? There’s something to be said about telling someone the story of your life. At this point, Aloy hasn’t had to actually do that for anyone. Choosing to tell Talanah everything in her own words is an endeavor in both openness and terrifying freedom. It means trust and it means being seen wholly, bare. And Talanah has always only wanted to see.

Referencing Talanah’s gift was pretty much a shoe-in for this path. Particularly the line about it being displayed directly outside of Aloy’s bedroom door at the Base. (It’s true. Go check!)

It’s all about the tension. It’s all about the yearning. It’s all about Aloy allowing herself to simply be in a moment, for once, and welcome the comfort the sight of Talanah brings after the dream from which she just woke. (It’s definitely all about the yearning. And almost, almost kissing. We considered going for it. In some other world, that version exists. Director’s cut.)

This might have been the one that tricked you. Probably thought about the inherent intimacy of tandem riding—the close contact, hands on hips, chin on shoulder, the tight grip—and you’re certainly far from incorrect! But the Sunhawk deserves to fly her own Sunwing and would take the challenge head-on. It’s another mark of Aloy’s trust in her abilities.

Points for being nice to Milu. Talanah cares a lot for that little sprout.

Letting Milu take the last shot on the Stormbird lends evidence to Aloy’s growing patience with others and her willingness to encourage them for encouragement’s sake alone—something Talanah would absolutely notice and appreciate as a teacher herself.

We hope you enjoyed your journey through the romantic Talanah route! Now that you know how to best get a smooch, try the other options to get different endings as well! If you reached the romantic epilogue, we encourage you to give it another look, and really… Focus.

[descendedgaia]

𝕭𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 11

phainon x gn!reader wc: 3.27k tw: angst, death, martyrdom, apocalypse, hope v despair, trauma Story Elements taken from Punishing: Gray Raven, The Surviving Lucem Masterlist ☲IN which you are not a Chrysos Heir or a Titan, but a human being who struggles and shall bring the story of the Flame Chasers the grand and spectacular ending it deserves. Previous Chapter

── .✦·········────

With breath imbued with a coppery tang and limbs laden with exhaustion, you collapse and press your back against the mountainside, sliding down for just a moment of rest. In this brief break, you pull on the metal tablet stuffed in your pack and press its screen before it glows into life.

A 3D hologram elevates itself from the screen, highlighting your destination in red and your current whereabouts in green. It won’t take long before you reach it, since you’re about half-an-hour’s hike away from the mountain’s peak.

But why is it that you are making this journey without the rest of the refugees?

“This tablet is the thing that Iris gave you?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, placing it down on the table. After leaving the precarious winding trail beset by the Black Tide on both sides, the refugees from Ladon set up a temporary camp to catch their breath and rest. “I don’t know what it was, but it was important enough for her to have protected it in her last moments.” 

Silence falls down on the three of you as Helena and Priam gaze down at this nondescript tablet. 

“But what is it?” Priam asks as he reaches out. He fiddles with it, turning it about in his hands as he tries to ascertain its functions. His fingers pass by some sort of groove on the edges and the tablet flares, shining into life. 

Surprised, he drops it quickly, the tablet clattering on the table before its light comes together to create a hologram of some sort of person hovering above it. 

“We hope that the recipient of this message is her Majesty Cerydra of Okhema,” the woman speaks. “However, knowing the current situation of Amphoreus, this message is for anyone who is able.” 

“Cerydra?” Helena repeats in confusion. “The Monarch of Okhema hasn’t been seen in centuries. How old is this message?” 

“We are researchers…or heretics you may say that have been banished from the Grove of Epiphany,” the woman continues her introduction. “We have sealed ourselves in Astraeus in the wake of the Black Tide’s advent and hope this message can be received soon and bring supplies to us. Dire as the situation may be we wish to express, that we found a viable solution to purify the Black Tide .” 

The three of you are astonished by this bold claim.  

“However, as limited as our supplies are, we believe that we may not reach this project’s completion and hope that you will be able to bring both more researchers and more supplies so that we may complete this project and reclaim Amphoreus from the Black Tide. This tablet has coordinates to where we are and shall act as a key to unlock and enter Astraeus.” 

With that, this hologram fizzles out and the tablet lets out a small hum as it forms a new 3D hologram mapping out the precarious terrain and highlighting Astraeus at the very edge of the Hesperides Mountain Range. 

“Astraeus?” you repeat in confusion and look to Priam. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. 

“I didn’t think it was actually real,” Priam shakes his head. “Astraeus, the Stargazers’ Abode. Apparently, it’s been a place where people who are branded heretics for committing blasphemy against the Titans go to continuing pursuing their truths, no matter what that may be.” 

“Considering this message was originally intended for Cerydra,” Helena continues. “This must’ve happened centuries ago. We can only assume they never got the supplies they needed because if they truly had the ability to purify the Black Tide…” 

She needn’t say anymore. If this “solution to purify the Black Tide” had reached Okhema, then the world would’ve been a vastly different place.  

“What should we do?” Priam asks. “Isn’t this at least worth checking out?” 

“Who knows?” Helena shrugs. “But this is not a detour we can afford. Plenty of people are still counting on us to get to Okhema. At best, we’ll probably just have to leave this be—” 

“I’ll go,” you cut in. 

Priam and Helena stare at you in confusion before you clarify yourself. “Priam and Helena…both of you are the unofficial leaders out of all of us. Helena can also look after the sick and wounded. This is not an opportunity we can’t pass up, so it makes sense for me to go.” 

“Alone?” 

“We’d be wasting too many supplies if we sent too many people to check out a possibility.” 

And so here you are. But the truth is, what truly drove you to this decision isn’t entirely the possibility of being able to purify the Black Tide. Rather, it’s because you’re exhausted: tired of life and it’s continuous suffering. 

Even the smallest change and help can make a difference, although they may not seem so for the time being.

Those are words that operate as the lifeline and the force that drives your heart to beat. For this amount of grief and suffering is too much for a single human heart to bear, and left unchecked it can lead any human being to the brink of sanity: and topple from the cliff to embrace their own oblivion.

Perhaps Astraeus may hold the key to purify the Black Tide. That you may not know and have a hard time believing with all the things that happened until now.

But if Astraeus does not have this solution…then you have already decided that the Stargazers’ Abode will be your grave.

You sigh quietly and dig out the small bowl of dried porridge. One last gift from Theo and Katherine back at Ladon.

At this reminder you can feel your heart ache and eyes tingle with a burning itchiness that trails down over your cheeks. However, you ignore all of this and dig at the dried and clumpy rice and chew through it even if your jaw hurts.

The desolation that had haunted your heart when burying all of your companions is amplified now with you taking this lonely path. It is an emotional agony that feels physical, tugging at your nerves as this chasm widens with an aching emptiness. And like Pandora’s Box, it lets loose the anguished yearning for simpler times back in Aedes Elysiae: back with Cyrene, back with that annoying little boy, back at those golden fields, back under the stars.

And with this desire that seems to tear your very being at the seams, you lean against the jagged earth and close your eyes to rest.

“Happy Name Day!” 

“All of this for me?” 

Cyrene giggles as that boy affixes three flower crowns over her head. She adjusts them so that sit more comfortably and more securely and beams at the two of you. “Who made all of these?” 

“I taught him how to make them,” you say and the boy nods in pride. However, just to be petty and cut his ego at the knees you add another tidbit. “He messed up dozens of times before making those three.” 

“I didn’t mess up that much!” the boy yells at you indignantly. “I messed up like…once or twice.” 

“Right…,” you drawl sarcastically. You turn back to Cyrene and hold out your gift. “Here, this is for you.” 

Cyrene smiles at you before gratefully taking your present. She gingerly unwraps it to reveal a small book bound in smooth leather. Pressed on the cover is a simple depiction of an Empyros Lily. 

“This is…?” 

“It’s a blank book,” you tell her, feeling sheepishness creep up on you. “A place where you can write the romantic story that you want to see.” 

“Oh…,” Cyrene looks down at this book, eyes curving into a gentle smile that gives her an impression of being on the cusp of crying. 

“Cyrene?” 

“Thank you,” Cyrene shakes her head and beams. She reaches out and brings you and the boy to an embrace to express the depth of her love. “Thank you both for everything. I’ll always remember this name day.” 

And you awaken, left reeling for more of that warmth. But the air is cold and stale, and the warmth left to comfort you is your own body heat. You take a moment just to sit there, to keep yourself from shattering into a billion fine bits of sand. And once you’ve gathered yourself into some semblance of strength, you continue this arduous journey up the mountain.

── .✦·········────

A long time ago, before the apocalypse, like everyone else visiting this mountain-residing city for the first time, Hesione is trying to view it and soak in its entirety.

If Amphoreus’s Golden Age is likened to a crown, then this city would be one of the brightest jewels on it.

Its towers glitter under the sunlight, pearl-white and holy. Its windows line up over its buildings, casting its reflections over the cityscapes like rows of stars falling upon the earth. It looks opulent, as if belonging from another time.

While not as populous as the Eternal Holy City, its civilian population could be seen by naked eye even from Hesione’s distance. To and fro these people move from their homes and to the central towers. But sacred as its appearance may be, it is the destination for where those exiled by the disciples of the Titans shall go. 

But as dark excommunication and exile may be, this city illuminates its possibility. Free from the edicts of Titans and the worship of their disciples, it stands as a lighthouse beckoning the ushering of humanity’s truth and future.

No matter how awe-inspiring this city’s visage may be, Hesione is relatively unmoved by it. Hesione thinks herself someone who is unmoved by “wonders.” She has always been rational, so much so that she has been called cold by others. 

But the moment she sets foot beyond its gates and immerses herself in the perspective of one of its occupants, she finds herself reconsidering her stance. 

Astraeus, the Stargazers’ Abode, is quite the apt name for it.

She takes a look upon the sun setting in the sky, casting its waning radiance on the city of starlight.

Others have given the sun many epithets: earth gracing, life giving…more or less. But it’s nothing new to Hesione. To her, it is simply a ball of energy. Inside, nuclear fission is always happening. The energy it generates every second is enough to sustain the entirety of Amphoreus’s civilization for hundreds and thousands of years. 

It is much less inspiring than the Core Flames that breathe life to the Twelve Titans.

The distance between the sun and humanity is quite large, and they will not be able to easily conquer it. However, Hesione pursues a more daring path. 

For the sun is simply nuclear fission and requires a fuel source at the end of the day. What she pursues is neither sun or moon, but the very heart of the Gods themselves. For if one could recreate the phenomenon of the Core Flames, if one could extract energy from them, then it would revolutionize humanity’s understanding of the world around them and march toward that uncertain future with confidence.

For if humanity conquers the divine, then there is no need to worry about the sun.

Hesione retracts her gaze from the setting sun and keeps her eyes ahead toward the future. A path that she will forge with her own two hands, away from the people who decree her ambitions heresy.

── .✦·········────

Now hundreds of years later, you step foot at the abandoned gateway to Astraeus. The city walls are stained with blots of the Black Tide, and its once tall buildings lay in heaps of depraved ruin.

The Stargazers’ Abode, once dazzling light the starlit night, is nothing but a whimpering facsimile of its former self. Even high above in the mountaintop, it cannot escape the same fate that befell the many other city states of Amphoreus. 

You step up to the gates shut close, pressing a hand against the wide doors that will not budge under your singular strength. However, undaunted by this turn of events, you hold up your tablet to the doors. The screen flickers with some sort of light and you can hear some mechanism unlocking.

With a shuddering heave, cogs and wheels that were left untouched and unmoving since time immemorial are finally brought back from the dead. The heavy doors open with each turn of it machinery before fully opening with a final thud! 

There are no people to greet you, except for the countless remains of skeletons strewn haphazard across the streets. There is not a single living being, much less a human soul, in sight.

Taking a deep breath, you set your sights on the Astraeus’s citadel and walk forth.

── .✦·········────

“Dr. Hesione, congratulations on becoming research director.”

Hesione merely inclines her head to the other researcher who expressed their congrats. Then she refocuses her attention to the large machine in front of her. It is laid against the wall with electrical wire and cooling tubes connected to its body. 

Sparks fly as machinery whirr to temper the body of this entirely man-made Titan.

“How is research on the Core Flame going?” Hesione asks. 

“We are still having trouble on the stabilization period,” the researcher shakes her head and hands Hesione a tablet. “While we have managed igniting energy sources similar to the Core Flame phenomena, we are still have trouble in crystallizing this ignition to shape it into an actual extractable energy source.”

Hesione merely hums as she looks over the data and the dozens of words that encapsulate the decades of research put into this. 

“So it seems cold fusion is also a failure,” Hesione remarks mildly. “Are there any other energy sources available to us or…energy sources that have been observed?”

The researcher nods. “We were observing a sort of fluctuation on the atomic, perhaps the quantum level, of particles in the closest temperature to absolute zero. When extracting it, we were met with tools suddenly failing and program entirely being terminated.”

“Oh?” Hesione tilts her head in interest. “Have we made any breakthroughs in that front?”

“We’ve managed to extract just a bit,” the researcher nods. “And that energy has been able to fuel things that roughly three cold fusion reactors have fueled. Only with rigorous shielding to protect from its…terminating effects have we managed to utilize it.”

“Have you all decided on a name for it?”

“Yes…the researchers have decided to name it ‘Finality’.”

But all of a sudden, the world is plunged into darkness. Researchers and civilians alike cast their gaze up and watch as the very life-giving sun of Amphoreus is eclipsed without rhyme or reason. The sky bleeds as the celestial atlas is razed of its stars and comets, and it is not crimson blood that seeps through those gashes, but stygian sludge that encroaches like an infection.

The apocalypse has arrived.

── .✦·········────

With a shove, you push open the doors to reveal a corridor leading to the heart of the citadel. Fumbling with your pockets, you rip a part of your cloak loose and wrap it around a stick. Once procuring a matchbox, you strike a flame and feed it to your makeshift torch.

Raising this flame above your head, you walk down the dim corridors, letting the warm light cast your long shadow across the walls and floors. You stop at the first door you see, holding your tablet against it. There is a electronic chime as it accepts the presence of your tablet and opens up with a quiet hiss. 

With your entrance part of the room lights up from electrical lights, but from centuries of disuse, it only flickers on and off as you walk through the room and inspect what’s there. 

You let out a quiet exhale when you walk up to a large glass wall. The isolation chamber is cold to the touch, and with the light cast from both your torch and the flickering lights, you see a skeleton half-corroded next to a puddle of the Black Tide.

You walk toward the largest desk in this dilapidated office and graze your fingers over the letters of the nameplate situated on it.

Research Director: Hesione 

You circle around the desk, inspecting it for anything that might give you clues or leads to this “purification” solution that was alluded to. Accidentally, your hand smacks against a button and a projector screen lights up. 

The image is fuzzy and the sound is grainy, but the projection isn’t corrupted to the point where you can’t make out what this projector is saying or who is being projected.

It’s the same woman who was projected from your tablet, and you can only assume that this person is the Research Director: Hesione.

“We’ve sent out five different squads out to see what is going on,” Hesione says in the recording. “Out of the five, only one has returned with a fraction of its numbers. All the people who have returned have all said the same thing: the end of the world is here.”

You sigh at the confirmation of Helena’s theory that all of this was from centuries ago. 

“We managed to intercept a messenger who was running on foot,” Hesione continues her report. “They said that they were tasked from Okhema to send out a warning about the Black Tide. They claimed that it was some sort of substance that originated from the sky and spread out in a very short time. If it were not the fact that we observed that phenomenon here at Astraeus, we would not have believed it.”

“We have received reports that exposure to this Black Tide has adverse effects on the human body and has driven even the Titans insane. There have been claims that there have also been two other Titans born alongside with its emergence: Nikador and Zagreus.”

“Thus, I have ordered Astraeus to close its borders. We held a meeting with the Board of Directors on where we should go from here. Some suggested broadcasting to other areas and taking in refugees. I turned it down as they already have a stigma against many of us as heretics and will likely commit genocide. Others have suggested leaving Astraeus immediately to join the rest of Amphoreus to join the effort to safeguard humanity. I also turned it down as a few drops of water will not stop a raging wildfire. Our researchers research, we don’t save lives.”

“...How cold,” you can’t help but whisper softly at this Hesione rattling off her report with pragmatic rationale.

“Instead I have made my stance clear. If the Titans are falling to the Black Tide, then our research here is all the more valuable to make sure that humanity has something else to fall back on. If we can recreate the Core Flames of the Titans, then this will give humanity a better fighting chance than any heroic sacrifice.”

You blink at the shocking ambition of “recreating” the Core Flames of the Titans, but Hesione continues to speak without batting an eye.

“As we are researchers unafraid of blasphemy, that places us in the best possible position to look into the intricacies of the Black Tide and find viable ways to deal with it. I want humanity to survive, thus Astraeus must not fall.”

Hesione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to center herself. “I have adjusted our research direction to understanding the intricacies of the Black Tide and placed it on the same priority on our original goal of recreating the Core Flames. We have thus agreed to name this initiative…”

Project Prometheus.

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

[atreeinthemoonlight]

Just saying. You and a few others that appeared this year need more recognition. Like there are details I've never noticed and no one talked about. At least not so clear. I used to think Rhaegar was an ass but he was a victim of patriarchy and the fandom is just full hypocrites but really some things are clearer now. Also all the talk about George I wonder how I didn't notice this. He truly is trapped. I don't think he thought Rhaegar's character in regards of Elia enough. And yes. Million times yes. It does feel like he doesn't know what to do anymore about E-R-L. I really hope he doesn't try to patch it up with Arthur as Elia's secret courty love to escape Rhaegar’s truth. Honestly if he does it will only serve Elia in a bad way.

Maybe I’ve just seen through it too clearly,that’s probably why Rhaelya stans come after me. They accuse me of only sympathizing with Elia and not with Rhaegar, mock me as some bitter, cheated-on spouse projecting all my anger onto poor tragic Rhaegar.What’s so wrong about criticizing a relic of authoritarian privilege who’s long been left behind by the times anyway? Am I supposed to get my tongue ripped out just because I refuse to offer sympathy to a top-of-the-food-chain predator? But then again,some people did say Daenerys was too cruel for burning slavers. Because, hey, what if some of them were “innocent slavers,” right? Such a niche take. Suddenly, it makes total sense why some Rhaelya stans can still muster sympathy for Rhaegar. I hope Lyanna stans don’t accuse me of only blaming the woman and not the man,I’ve absolutely criticized Rhaegar more. And when I critique Lyanna, it’s specifically the version of her within the ship, not her as an individual or outside of that context.

And given the Rhaegar–Lyanna–Elia love triangle, I have a theory — one that parallels the case of a well-known author from my own country. Some writers will take an unfulfilled crush from their youth, write it into their stories, and then split up the real-life golden couple,just to gift their self-insert character the perfect partner. But when they grow old and look back, all that remains is a sigh. That youthful crush has aged — or perhaps even died — and so have they. So what’s the point in holding on to it anymore? So, more often than not, they eventually pick up the pen again and quietly return the crush to the partner they were meant to be with in the first place.

I believe Martin is going through that very same journey. In his younger years, he may have projected unfulfilled feelings and idealized notions of love onto the story of Rhaegar and Lyanna, dressing it up with grand themes like “destiny,” “true love,” and “sacrifice.” At the time, he probably truly believed it was a powerful, transcendent romance, something his characters deserved, something he himself had perhaps longed for but never lived.But people grow older. And with age comes perspective. When he looks back on those plots and characters he once thought so profound, maybe all he sees now is a hollow sigh. The “Lyanna” who once dazzled him becomes just a faded illusion. The “Rhaegar” no longer a tragic prince, but a narcissistic fantasy. And he himself is no longer the young man so enchanted by rebellion and romantic fatalism.

And let’s not forget that readers aren’t fools. Most readers are just ordinary people,common folk. Who wants to see their fellow commoners, even nameless background characters in a book, being toyed with by nobles until they’re trapped between life and death, with no agency, no justice, and no dignity? That kind of storytelling doesn’t feel tragic or romantic,it feels cruel, detached, and eerily familiar. Because deep down, people recognize when a story stops being fantasy and starts echoing the injustice they already live with. More and more people have begun to question: “Would this character really do that?” “Is this romance truly worth glorifying?” Sympathy has started shifting toward Elia, the woman who was cast aside. The so-called “love” between Rhaegar and Lyanna is being reevaluated for what it actually brought: chaos, pain, and death. Martin can’t be deaf to those voices.

So perhaps, just perhaps,like many authors eventually do, he’ll pick up his pen and quietly restore things to their rightful place. He’ll let other characters speak the truth outright,exposing them for what they really are, instead of dressing their choices up as fate. He won’t try to convince us it was all part of some grand design anymore. Instead, he might begin to acknowledge that it was all just a beautiful, childish dream,one written by a much younger man.

It’s also possible he’ll do what many other authors do,offer no interpretation at all when it comes to those three, leaving their story unresolved and open-ended, with no judgment, no closure. That’s the safest, most inoffensive route: say nothing, and quietly step back.

[drratiosstudent]

On the Kremnoan language, its reflection of Kremnoan culture, and the way Mydei expresses himself with the language of action, not words

I know it’s a running gag that the Kremnoan language lacks a lot of words for some of the more emotional, ‘heartfelt’ or ‘vulnerable’ things such as ‘romance’ or ‘fear’ or ‘weakness’ or ‘chickening out’ (I forgot how many words they’ve mentioned, or if I actually quoted the right words) etc. + Taking into consideration all the jokes between Phainon and Mydei on the words that aren’t in the Kremoan language/dictionary.

But if you think about it, even in real life, language reflects a culture; it is deeply intertwined with society, impacted by its own culture and values, and in turn, influences society again, like a cyclical influence. Perhaps to the Kremoans, the most important language (a form of expression) is not through words but through actions.

Why do they need a word to express their love, their fear, their anger, their hatred, their pain, their sorrows - when they can show it through action or through battle? Of course, considering how their main values are strife, strength and dominion, it is inevitable that action/battle takes precedence before all else. But think about it: Fight for glory, for love of their nation, for protection, for pride, for honour, for fear; Sacrifice for something greater than themselves, for family, for friends, for the future.

Just like how Gorgo sacrificed herself for her son, how Mydei’s parents understood each other through battle, how Mydei himself shows his care and love for his people through his choices and actions -

Although Mydei is a man of few words, anybody can tell that he has one of the warmest, gentle and kindest nature. He doesn’t need words to show people that he cares for them, he doesn’t need words to express his fears, he doesn’t need words to convey his anger and values. Anybody can tell who he is just by looking at the choices and actions he has made. In my opinion, he is one of the most authentic and genuine person we’ve seen so far. Many characters we’ve seen so far have their own secrets, masks, agendas - but with Mydei? He may speak less than the others, he may not easily say words that are ‘emotional’ or ‘weak’, and he may seem harsh on the outside, but you can definitely feel his warmth, concern, and care without his words.

There may be no words for expressing certain emotions or vulnerabilities in the Kremoan language, but that’s likely because the Kremnoans are people who speak the language of action. That’s also what makes Mydei himself + his relationship with all the other Chrysos Heirs, his people and companions so compelling. You can read into his relationship and feelings for others well beyond his words, and you can read into his true values and principles. You can see what he fights for, what he’s scared of, when he’s willing to seek help and guidance, when he respects others - with Mydei, you don’t need words to know he trusts you.

For Mydei, he has shown his love for the people and Amphoreus by fighting the black tide, protecting the citizens, giving advice to others, supporting the children, cooking his food, supporting his companions, trusting his friends -

To Mydei, words aren’t required to express himself, and perhaps, words aren’t enough to express just how much he cares.

Yes, the Kremnoan culture has its distinct flaws, and its people have done some horrendous things in the past all for strife, honour and strength. But I think Mydei represents the virtues of his culture, when things aren’t taken too far - when you fight to protect instead of for ‘dominion’, ‘strife’, and so called ‘honour’, when you train hard to become strong so that you can support others, when you learn to face your fears, all so you can help others; when you learn to persevere, to be resilient, to fight for your life, because that will help you survive and live the life you wish to live with your companions.

[seaquestions]

big dog little dog energy. uh anyway.

[id: two drawings of conor garland & nikita zadorov as furries (a russel terrier & a great dane) referencing the video of them shoving each other at practice. text reads "lil' push!" & "BIG SHOVE!" end id.]

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Beginning to really wonder how much of my financial concern is manufactured and handed to me as opposed to something I'm genuinely concerned by

[trial3]

funnily enough i think moreso than distasteful jokes or willful misinterpretations what really bothers me when it comes to representations of Her are people not picking up on the fact that shes a freak alt girl

[kikitata2]

If there is one thing I have taken away from much of fictional media:

DO NOT FUCKING TRUST HOT SEXY MEN!

Because 9 times out of 10, that dude is an insane-ass motherfucker who will do some scary shit!!!

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[shradsmanifestt]

I promise you, This is the only loa post you'll ever need.

I promised and I will deliver.

Law of assumption basically means - what you assume to be true is true in your reality. That's it. That's all there is to it. But you guys just wanna overcomplicate this so much when all you got to do is assume in your favour and move on with that. Assume that your desire is already yours and persist on that.

Manifestation is INSTANT. The minute you decided you wanted it, the minute you decided that it is yours - It was done. That was it. It's already done. That is your new assumption, that is your story. As long as you persist in this there is nothing on Earth that could stop you from having it. BUT, there is one thing that can stop you from having it.

YOU, IT'S YOU. YOU ARE THE REASON. What other answer did you expect it to be?

The only thing to know here is this : The 3D is not what we change when manifesting, we change the 4D. The 3D simply reflects it. That is all.

You guys are so obsessed with changing the 3d, "trying" to manifest something, clicking on every clickbait video that says this is the technique you need to manifest your desire in 24 hours and all sorts of shit.

GUYS, GUYS GUYS PLEASEEEEE, Stop it. You are only telling yourself how you don't have it. You have got to realise that by now atleast! I mean c'mon. This is your reality, ok? You create every single part of it. If you can create it unconsciously, you sure as hell can do it consciously. You have to realise now and now that you are the creator of your reality. Don't let anything or anyone convince you otherwise.

Ok now I understand that some of you may be struggling so I am gonna be real straight with you. You are the one going back to the old story again and again. You're the one who is just overconsuming information instead of actually applying what you know. Stop this cycle. Look every single question you ask me again and again is an affirmation. An affirmation that tells everyone how you don't have what you want.

I've been persisting for two years but I didn't manifest it - Affirmation It feels impossible - Affirmation. Why aren't my affirmations working - Affirmation. Am I even doing this right? - Affirmation.

You are doing this to yourself. You get that??!

If you want it, you have to be willing to change yourself, to change your thoughts, to stay discplined in the story that you want. There's no other magical way to it. This is it. If you want it bad enough, OWN IT. FUCKING OWN IT AND PERSIST ON WHAT YOU WANT.

You know why you don't have it yet?? CAUSE YOU'RE SO FUCKING RELIANT ON THE 3D. Stop it. You aren't trying to change the 3d. Your only job is to change your 4d - your thoughts , your attention and awareness. The 3d has no other choice but to reflect it. 3d has no power and yk why? Cause it's so malleable and all it can ever do is reflect your 4d, your imagination. But your imagination - NOW that is in your hands, You can choose to think what you want, You can choose to accept what you want as true and just let your sc mind do it's magic. Thats all you need to know.

Now I get it, circumstances may same really really bad like almost impossible for you to believe that the opposite of what is actually there is actually the real reality. But you're just gonna have to do it anyway. Imagination - IS THE REAL REALITY. And there is nothing you can do to change it. SO accept that and change your thoughts.

DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU'RE HERE RN? CAUSE YOU DID IT, YOU FOUND OUT THE ULTIMATE TRUTH OF LIFE. HOW YOU HAVE ALL THE POWER, HOW YOU ARE THE CREATOR OF YOUR REALITY.

Now if you don't believe in all this and sees this as some manifestation crap then I'm respectfully asking you to get the fuck off my blog, I don't need you here if you don't need me.

But if you know that this is it, this is true then I want you to read very carefully what I am gonna say next because THIS IS IT -

is loa real for YOU? (yes) is manifestation real for YOU? (yes) so is your imagination the real reality in your life? (yes) - so obviously what you assume has to be real too right? So it is real and it is yours. You have it and you have it now. That's it. That's all there is to it. If you believe in this, If you can know this, You have to know that this is it, what you assume is true, IS true in your reality.

All you gotta do is persist. Persist in your new story. It doesn't matter what technique you guys use. Just know that it is done. Stop treating it like a process - MANIFESTATION IS NOT A PROCESS, IT IS INSTANT, IT WAS YOURS THE MINUTE YOU DECIDED SO. CREATION IS FINISHED, IT IS YOURS.

Just know that it's done. You're not waiting for something to happen in the 3D - NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

YOU ARE THE VALIDATION. WHY ASK YOURSELF WHERE IT IS - WHEN YOU ALREADY HAVE IT.

Guys this is it, this is all you need, read it and reread it as many times you want to just get it in your head but trust me this is it.

You've got this!

Love, Shrads

[quickestgold]

Dr. Abbot / The Pitt

Resident!reader has a crush on Dr. Abbot, but never acts on it because they work so well together and he's never given her any firm indication that he likes more than as his favourite resident. But every so often the praise he'll give is just on the edge of being unprofessional without crossing that line...so she decides to go for it and he rejects her. Before they can speak again she's in a car accident and is brought into the pitt and he goes *feral*. Bonus points if he breaks down and admits his feelings when he thinks she can't hear him because she's so out of it, but she remembers everything. Extra bonus points if he thinks she's going to die at any point. ALL the bonus points if there's a spicy ending....or spicy anything.

Say It First: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: Jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. But when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren’t fought on the field or in the chaos of the ER, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, rejection, mentions of drunk driving, death, car accidents, reader is injured

Word count: 3.6k

A/n: Thanks for sending this in!! I got so many requests and I’ll try to work through them, but a) this was the first and b) this may or may not be inspired by real events (minus the accident) lmfaooo yikes good times…. Also, no spicy ending, because of, well, where I've ended it, but a bit of flavor sprinkled in... this is soo long / slow burn sorry, pls lmk what you think <3

Thirty-six years old. A mother of two. Only trying to get home. Gone. In the blink of an eye. All because one man chose to get behind the wheel after a night out.

You spent the last hour coding the woman, the air thick and heavy with grief. After taking a minute to honor her life, your feet carry you instinctively towards the roof.

The first rays of the morning sun gently kiss your face and the weight on your chest begins to lift, if only slightly. Your shoulders drop slowly with each cleansing breath, as you release the night’s tragedy into the vastness of the world below.

Your eyes meet a familiar silhouette standing behind the railing. As always, a little too close to the edge.

"What are you doing here?" Jack turns around, his features softening at the sight of you.

"Can a girl not enjoy a beautiful sunrise in peace?" you counter playfully.

That's a lie. You were looking for him. You always find him here.

"Heard you had a rough one", his tone full of sympathy, or just understanding.

A flicker of pain flashes across your face and without missing a beat, Jack steps back, moving to stand beside you, just behind the railing. His hand rests on your shoulder, warm and reassuring, the lightest of squeezes grounding you.

Your jaw tightens. "She had groceries and toys in the back of her car." With a deep sigh, "Her kids... are still waiting for her to come home."

He lets your words hang there, giving you time to process the loss. "You want me to talk to them with you?"

You wonder when Jack started being so soft with you. You think back to your early days in residency. Your first impression of him was that of a broken, stone-cold man. A soldier, hardened by years of seeing too much, too many lives lost. He used to move through the halls like a ghost, never letting anyone get too close.

But somehow, at some point, he let you in. At least you think so.

You shake your head, desperate to change the subject. "What are you doing up here?

A hint of a smile creeps in. It's faint, but it's there. "Just thinking..."

"...About?"

"Nosy as ever..." Jack's smile grows a little. "Life. Death. Everything in between..."

You press on, "Well, if you're ready to rejoin the living, a few of us are heading to the new pub down the road. The owner was a patient of mine. So, free drinks for me and my friends!"

"I don't have friends here."

You roll your eyes. Hard.

"What am I then?"

"One of my best residents?"

You lean in, whispering, “I'm your favorite though, right?”

Jack huffs a quiet laugh, a small shake of his head. He’s aware of the irony, of course.

He hasn't really been playing favorites, not consciously anyway. But lately, you've been getting extra attention from Dr. Abbot. More lessons. More opportunities. More praise.

But between the nepo babies and the kid geniuses in this hospital, you figure you deserve a little favoritism.

And you are grateful. Jack is a great teacher. He knows when to step back and he takes the time to teach when you're out of your depth. Believes in you, even when you don't.

The bar is buzzing with noise. You stand there, waiting for the free drinks, watching the crowd. Jack is sat on a stool in the corner, like he's part of the furniture, his eyes scanning the exits. Always on guard, even here.

Most of the team is clustered together, laughter and chatter in the air like a cocktail of relief and friendship. Glasses clink with a sound of shared thanks.

Robby and Heather slip to the other side of the room, their conversation low and intense, the tension between them palpable.

You wonder if people notice a similar air between you and Jack. Your shifts have somehow magically aligned lately.

Princess and Perlah, no doubt, have been talking. The boys, likely betting on who’s going to admit it first.

Dana steps closer, voice barely above a whisper, "Can't believe you've managed to get our sad boy to come."

Your eyes widen, but she doesn't let you object "He never does. Believe me, we've all tried. Nothing. Not even for Robby. And they're... friends."

You can’t help but laugh, "He doesn't have friends."

Dana shoots you a look. "So I've heard."

The bartender hands you two beers, a welcome interruption. You flash Dana a warm smile, before slipping away towards your table, feeling the weight of her gaze still on you.

You hand Jack one of the bottles, without looking, it's almost automatic. Natural. If people saw you on the street, they'd probably assume you were more than just colleagues.

You slide onto your stool, leaning in closer to Jack. "Dana's a little hurt that you've never gone out with them before. Not even for Robby!" You laugh, taking a big gulp of your beer.

Jack smirks, "I told you, I don't do favorites." He's satisfied by the loud laugh he gets from you.

The hours pass by, the noise of the bar blending into the background as you and Jack stay in your own quiet bubble.

Your stools have shifted closer, your knees just barely brushing. You glance down, surprised to find Jack’s hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your jeans. It’s almost too gentle, too careful, like he’s testing a line neither of you wants to cross but can’t help but feel drawn to.

Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes glazed, laughter still filling the air. You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way Jack’s presence calms you, but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this alive.

Have the rest of the team even noticed? Are they still here?

You’ve had a bit to drink, maybe more than a bit and as you push yourself up from the stool to head towards the restroom, a dizzy spell hits you.

For a split second, you’re sure you’re about to face-plant into the cold wall next to you, but then Jack’s there. His hand steadies you, pulling you against him with a surprising gentleness.

You remain in his grip, your body melting at the contact. His breath is uneven, but it’s probably from the shock of almost seeing you fall. Unless...?

You look up into his eyes and for a fleeting second, there’s something there.

A spark.

Something electric that makes your heart skip. And before you can stop yourself, you want to close the distance between you, feel his lips against yours.

But Jack pulls away, his movements soft and almost apologetic as he helps you stand with a shy smile.

You return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes as you step away, heading towards the restroom.

Once you're out of sight, he turns to see Dana glancing at him across the room. Before he can protest, you’re back, gathering both your jackets, moving with the same confidence you always have. "Wanna walk me home?"

Jack's eyes widen at the bluntness. He freezes for just a moment, hesitation flickering in his eyes before he nods.

"Yeah. I’ll walk you home."

You both head for the door, only to find that the team are, in fact, all still there. And now they're staring.

Watching you leave with Dr. Jack Abbot.

The ER buzzes with its usual chaos, patients rolling in, monitors beeping and the staff moving in sync. But today, there's something else in the air that you can't quite put your finger on.

You’ve just finished treating a patient, now sitting at a computer at the nurses' station, neatly typing up your notes.

You feel everyone's eyes on you.

Today, they are definitely talking.

You glance up and spot Jack across the room. He’s looking at you already, his expression unreadable. Something about his gaze feels different. A little too focused. A little too intense.

He walks over, reaching across you to grab a chart. His hand briefly brushes against yours as he leans in slightly, too close for a colleague, but not quite crossing the line.

You blink, trying to focus on the patient notes in front of you, but the words suddenly feel distant.

It’s impossible not to notice the way the team is starting to gather in their little huddles, whispering, eyes darting in your direction.

He stands close enough now that you feel his warmth. The line between professional and personal blurs and for a brief, dangerous moment, you’re not sure where the boundaries lie.

"You’re a natural," he says, his eyes meet yours and the intensity is enough to make your heart stutter. "Well done."

Jack continues, his voice lower now, just loud enough for you to hear, but not to be overheard by anyone else "You should be proud."

Before you can reply, a sudden voice cuts through the moment. It’s Robby, walking past with a glance over his shoulder, a knowing look in his eyes. “Hey, Jack,” he calls out casually. “Save some of the praise for the rest of us, yeah?”

Jack’s gaze flicks toward Robby, "You know, I don’t do favorites."

But something has changed and it’s too late to pretend otherwise.

You suddenly stand, confidently grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him to one side. He is surprised, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he follows you without a word.

You look up at him, “Listen, I know we’re not exactly friends.” You pause, your eyes meeting his, willing him to understand what you’re trying to say. “But you’ve been working a hell of a lot of shifts lately. And… I thought maybe we could grab dinner sometime?”

You watch Jack's lips twitch ever so slightly, but he composes himself quickly.

He doesn't say anything for a long beat.

Did you cross a line?

“I mean”, you add, “You know, to talk about cases or whatever. You don’t always have to eat in the break room. And I’m sure you’re tired of hospital food.” You give him a smile, warm and genuine.

For a second, you think he might decline. You feel your pulse race just a little faster.

But then he returns your smile, "Sure. Dinner sounds good."

You sit across from Jack in a dimly lit restaurant, the glow of the candlelight casting soft shadows on his face. The flicker of the flame reflects warmth onto his dimples.

It feels intimate, like you’re seeing a side of him that’s been hidden for too long, even from himself.

"Fuck me", you mutter, sinking into your chair, hiding from someone across the room.

"Excuse me?" Jack's voice is surprised, with a hint of something else.

If you weren't so uncomfortable, the shocked look on Jack's face would have made you laugh.

“Don’t look,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “But the guy over there… he broke my heart in med school.”

Jack’s gaze flicks to the man in question, but it's so obvious that it makes you flush.

He turns back to you, leaning in, "Want me to rough him up? Just a bit?"

You giggle, "Please don't, we weren't that serious anyway. But he did cheat on me. And at the time, it hurt."

Something dark flickers in his eyes.

"He's a prick", he spews, voice low and sharp.

"Why do I always get the assholes? I think I'll just give up", you laugh.

He hesitates for a moment, but the words leave his lips before he can stop himself.

"Why are you single?" His voice holds genuine surprise.

"Since when are you interested in my love life, Dr. Abbot?"

Or lack thereof.

He doesn't respond. You contemplate for a moment. Is he really this clueless?

"Why do you think?" You question, like a challenge.

"I don't know", his brows furrow. "I think - you like being independent. You're not looking for a man to complete you." He ponders, "And I also think you find dating distracting."

The way he reads you, so honestly, so accurately, hits you in ways you weren’t prepared for. You drop your mouth slightly.

How can he be so spot on and so wrong at the same time?

"What do I know. Maybe you just haven't met the right guy", he adds, trying to ease the awkward tension that’s settled between you.

Or maybe the right guy just doesn't know how to connect the dots!

"What about you then?" You try to shift the conversation.

"What about me?" He laughs.

You shoot him a look.

"Why am I single?", he asks most innocently. "What if I'm not?" You roll your eyes.

"We'll then what are you doing here with me and not making love to your gorgeous girlfriend... or boyfriend?" You add the last part with a smirk that feels more daring than you expected. He can't place it, but this new energy awakens something inside him.

His eyes flicker to your lips, but there’s a hesitation. The air is electric, you can almost feel the wall between you crumbling.

But his face grows serious. "It's just easier like this."

"Since when are you one to take the easy road?" You counter, your voice sharp.

It's now or never.

You search his eyes, willing him to say it first.

Anything.

But he doesn't. You break eye contact and he feels like he just lost something he didn't know he could have. Didn't know he deserved.

You exhale deeply, the words finally escaping you, "You know I have feelings for you, right?".

The confession slips out, barely louder than a whisper, as if you’re terrified of hearing it yourself.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

A flicker of vulnerability crosses his face, but it disappears just as quickly. His stoic exterior is intact, but something has cracked. His gaze remains unreadable, like his brain can't comprehend what you just said.

You wonder if you should take it back, pretend it never happened. Maybe you're lucky and he really didn't hear you.

You're not.

Before you can retreat, Jack beats you to it. "Y/N..."

Oh no.

"I'm so flattered...I- Thank you." His words are slow, measured, as if he's trying to find the right ones. "I- I didn't know you felt this way."

What, the excessive flirting and the obsessive need to be near him didn't give it away?

"Ouch. I suppose you don't feel the same", you laugh nervously.

There's that look again. Like he sees right through you. Like he's already seen every part of you. Touched every inch of your body, without ever having seen you naked.

"What do you want with an old man like me anyway?" His voice thick with uncertainty.

Hello? Is that a no?

It stings, but you fight to keep your composure. “You’re not that old", you tease, but the effort feels hollow in the face of his hesitance.

"It wouldn't end well...", his voice quieter now. "I don't want to hurt you."

"God, if you don't have feelings for me just say so. We're adults. This will they/won't they game is really messing with my head!"

"I'm sorry" he says, the words soft but final. "I can't."

You have your answer.

You've been through too much uncertainty. Always hoping for more. Always confused. It's too much hurt. Too much heartbreak. So you accept his decision.

And know you'll move on.

Your evening has come to an unexpected end. He slips your jacket over your shoulders with that same careful attention, the way he’s always done, because, of course, he’s the perfect gentleman, even after this brutal rejection.

You know it'll take some time to heal, which feels silly, because nothing really happened!

But in your mind, you're already preparing to switch shifts, changing your routine, so your schedules will no longer align.

Jack insists on walking you to your bus stop, his steps matching yours in a slow, rhythmic silence. And in that moment, a wave of sadness overcomes you. You feel like you're not just losing a friend, but also your mentor. Your eyes well up, praying he doesn't see. But he does, of course.

He always does.

You're ready to say goodbye, to the night, but also to what could have been.

When you reach the stop, he unexpectedly pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. One of his hands presses gently against your back, while the other holds your head against his heart, each beat a reminder of what it feels like to be alive, to be loved.

For a brief moment, as you breathe in his familiar scent, you only exist in the present.

In his arms.

The weight of your future and present not threatening to pull you under.

But then reality hits you.

You step back, slowly, as if leaving a piece of yourself behind in the safety of his embrace.

You turn around and walk away. You know he's watching, but you don't look back.

Jack has barely seen you this week, your shifts conveniently ending when his start and vice versa.

He can't help but feel like he's lost something good, not even giving it a chance to become something great.

He's on his way to the hospital for yet another shift without you, his mind wandering back to the moment he watched you walk away.

When he let you go.

When all he really wanted was to let you in. To have his lips touch yours. To interlock your fingers with his. To take you on a real date. To take you bake to his place...

To watch the bus drive off without you.

But you said it first. And he said nothing at all.

The air is different today, charged, the nurses a little quieter, the doctors a little more tense.

Jack looks around, he realises something isn’t right. The staff are huddled in groups, whispering.

Is the hospital finally closing down?

He has a bad feeling about this.

He notices Dana first. She's standing by the nurses' station. When she catches his gaze, her eyes flicker with something Jack can’t quite place. Concern? Worry? He’s about to walk over to her when Robby appears out of nowhere, stepping right into his path.

“Jack”, Robby says, his voice low. There’s a weight in his tone, a hesitation that only deepens Jack’s unease.

“What's going on?” Jack asks, his brow furrowing, but Robby doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, Robby pulls him aside, out of earshot of the others.

The words “drunk driver” and “Y/N” are enough to send a cold shiver down Jack's spine.

Jack's hands tremble as he heads straight for your room, but everything feels distant, muffled.

He’s flooded with guilt for not being there, for not having checked on you, for all the unsaid words between you.

Christ, he's a doctor and he wasn't there to help you.

More importantly, he was your friend and he let you believe that he wasn't.

Maybe, deep down, he knew he wanted to be more than that.

Now, there you are, lying still, tubes and wires everywhere.

He takes a shaky step forward, his hand hovering near yours. The thought of touching you, of being this close and you not being aware, makes his chest tighten. But he can’t help it. His fingers brush against your skin, a fragile connection.

“I didn’t- God, I was an idiot. I should’ve… said it. Should’ve been… with you. But I didn’t. I’m sorry. I-” His voice breaks and he curses under his breath.

He doesn’t know if you can hear him.

If you’ll ever hear him again.

Jack takes a seat next to your bed, drowning in fear for you. Broken. Guilty. Devastated. Alone.

“I’m so sorry", a quiet sob escapes his lips. "I've grown so used to the emptiness in my heart, I didn't know how to let you in..." It's in this moment, he realizes he’s terrified of losing you without ever having truly had you.

For the next couple of days Jack watches your chest rise and fall in a steady, artificial rhythm, but you don't move.

He loses a fraction of hope with every day that passes, waiting for you to wake up, for you to roll your eyes and tell him to stop being an idiot.

Your friends and colleagues check in on you as much as they do on him.

But the silence stretches on.

Robby often lingers in the doorway, exchanging quiet, knowing glances with Jack before he leaves, like there’s nothing else to say or do.

On the seventh day, Jack finds himself sitting beside your bed long after his shift has ended. His hand rests on the edge of your mattress, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, but still too far away.

"I’m sorry”, he mutters, knowing you can’t hear him. His eyes flicker to the machines keeping you tethered to this world, his heart feeling too heavy to bear.

His body stiffens when he suddenly sees your fingers twitching ever so slightly. Then, a shallow inhale, before your eyes flutter open.

Jack watches you look up at the ceiling, disoriented. Then, slowly, your gaze moves to him.

"Jack?" Your voice is hoarse.

He leans forward, the weight of the last few days catching up with him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m here Y/N."

You blink a few times, before the corners of your mouth turn into a smile. Though it’s small and fragile. “I thought you didn’t have favorites?”

For a second, he isn’t sure he heard you right.

His heart aches, raw and exposed and he knows he can't hide his feelings anymore.

You know. And he knows you know.

You lift a hand, weak but determined and place it over his.

Omg, this turned out way longer than expected!! Hope you liked it anyway. Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[nadvs]

the power play (part two)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

“There’s no way I just heard you right,” Lyla says. You look at your best friend through your phone screen, her mouth agape.

A moment ago, she called to invite you to her dorm room to watch movies. That sounds much better than the nerve-wracking plans you’ve already set for tonight.

“You did,” you laugh.

“You’re going to party,” she repeats, “with Rafe.”

“Yup,” you say. You set your phone down on your bed as you rifle through your closet. You’re already dressed, but you need to do something to expel your nervous energy.

You agreed to put on this farce yesterday. Now that you said it out loud, it’s setting in that you’re really going through with this.

“Back up,” she says over the phone behind you. “How did this happen?”

“We’ve gotten to know each other over tutoring. He asked me out. I said yes.”

“You actually like him like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” she replies.

You try to ignore the guilt that’s sitting on your shoulders. You’ve never lied to her, to anyone, like this.

But while she is your best friend, the bond she has with her twin brother is untouchable. You doubt she’d keep the truth of what you’re doing from Beck.

You settle back on your bed, picking up your phone.

“Well, I hope you have fun,” Lyla says with a chuckle, clearly surprised by your behavior. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“Thanks,” you say meekly. You’ve never been on a real date. You’re not sure how convincing you’ll be on a pretend one.

A text notification appears, making your stomach turn with nerves.

It’s Rafe.

There in ten minutes.

════════

You haven’t stopped talking since you got in his car.

Rafe glances over at you when he stops at a red light, a minute away from the student house at the edge of campus.

“We have to be believable, right?” you ramble on, growing uneasier the more you think about it. “Wait, will this look bad if anyone in the tutoring program finds out I’m dating you? It’s not like they ever said we can’t see the people we tutor, but if–”

“We can call this off,” Rafe interrupts. If you’re going to be a nervous mess, he’d rather not do this at all.

You cross your arms, staring ahead at the traffic light. It turns green.

“No. I just want to be prepared,” you say. “You’re sure he won’t be there?”

Rafe drives forward. He’d told you that most of the guys on the hockey team show up to these parties, but Beck usually skips out.

You’re hopeful he attends, but it may be better to ease into this before having to worry about convincing Beck just yet. Rafe is certain his ex will be there and you feel less pressure at the thought of having to trick one person instead of two.

“Pretty sure,” Rafe replies.

He doesn’t get why some athletes are so high-strung about partying. He parties every weekend and his game is just as solid.

It worked so well with Emma. He liked that she chased fun and had a careless approach to life that made him feel like if he spent enough time with her, he could, too.

“Okay,” you heavily sigh. “We’ll only have one person to fool, then.”

“Don’t take it so seriously, alright?” he says. “It’s just a party. We’ll show up, look like a couple, and leave.”

You nod, trying to picture how you should act tonight. You’ll hold Rafe’s hand. You’ll hug him. You’ll pretend like he’s charming, like he’s someone you can’t stop thinking about, instead of the cold person you know him to be.

“No kissing,” you say hurriedly. You’re not about to waste your first kiss on Rafe Cameron.

He snorts a laugh.

“Not a problem,” he says.

════════

The house is humid and crowded and loud. The bass is so heavy that you can’t make out the lyrics.

You’d thought touching Rafe would only be for show, but as he pushes through the foyer, you cup the inside of his elbow, using him as an anchor.

He greets a few guys once he gets to the living room. Some are familiar, hockey players you’ve seen before.

Rafe introduces you. By the way you’re clinging onto him as you greet his friends, he can tell you’re still on edge, but hiding it behind a big smile.

He leans down to speak close to your ear, and you realize since you’d only ever sat together before, you’d never noticed just how much he towers over you.

“I’m getting a beer,” Rafe says. “Do you drink?”

“Not usually,” you reply. “But I’ll take one.”

════════

On Rafe’s way back to you, he sees her. Emma’s in the crowd, smiling and dancing.

He still doesn’t get how she could throw it all away. They had so much fun together. He forgot about all the bad shit when he was with her. And then, all of a sudden, it was over.

He returns to find you chatting with Isaac, the team’s goalie. You thank Rafe for the drink, taking a sip and doing an awful job at hiding how much you hate the taste, and pull him into the conversation.

“Did you know he’s a music major?” you say, pointing to Isaac.

“Yeah,” Rafe says stiffly, still reeling from seeing his ex. “We’ve known each other for two years.”

“It’s so cool,” you say, unbothered by Rafe’s prickliness. “What kind of music are you most interested in?”

You continue to chat with Isaac, who’s clearly happy to be on the subject. Your nerves are stable now that you’re distracted by a genuine conversation.

Once there’s a lull, you turn to Rafe, clinking your beer against his, feeling like yourself again.

“Kind of late to cheers you now, but cheers,” you say.

“Do you talk everyone’s ear off?” he asks.

“I try to,” you reply with a grin, handing him your drink. “And now I need to go to the bathroom.”

════════

As you walk through the hallway to head back downstairs, a shelf crammed with books catches your eye. Unable to curb your curiosity, you wander into the bedroom to inspect the colorful spines.

You realize you lost track of time when a harsh voice interrupts your reading of a book’s back cover.

“You serious?” you hear behind you.

You turn to see Rafe at the door, two beers in his hands. You must have been gone so long that he had to come look for you.

“Oops,” you giggle. You cross the room, taking your drink back. “Thanks. I just wanted to check out the collection.”

“I didn’t bring you here to read,” he says sharply.

“Jeez,” you say, brows furrowing. Emma had said he was mean. She wasn’t kidding. “Why are you being grumpier than usual?”

Rafe exhales a sigh, but it’s not frustrated like usual. It’s wobbly. Almost sad.

“She’s here,” he murmurs.

Your heart sinks. She’s here. And you left him alone.

You beckon him into the room, shutting the door to avoid anyone overhearing. The music is muffled now, your senses mildly blurred from the alcohol.

“I didn’t mean to get distracted,” you say softly.

You gaze up at him to see that the hard, angry exterior you’ve grown accustomed to is gone. Right now, there’s a glimpse of softness, of genuine heartbreak.

You realize you only really heard Emma’s perspective on the relationship. You hardly know Rafe’s.

“She really did a number on you, huh?” you ask.

He only looks to the side, quiet and tense. You point to the desk by the window.

“Let’s sit,” you say.

“We don’t have to get into it,” he groans.

You settle on the desk’s surface.

“I should have some background information, don’t you think?” you say. “Humor me. I’m a decent listener. Way better at talking, but...”

You smile. Rafe is sure he’ll never understand how someone can be this damn perky.

Once he can tell you’re not letting it go, he shifts to sit on the chair, looking up at you through slitted eyes.

“How long were you together?” you ask.

“Few months.”

It's a little less impossible to picture Rafe as a boyfriend now that you see his guard down by half an inch. He must not open up all that much. You assume that’s why the breakup is hitting him so hard.

“Did you meet here at school?”

“Yeah.” He thinks back to when he’d sparked a conversation with Emma the first weekend of his sophomore year. “Things were good, but then she…”

He stops talking. He’s being pathetic. The night she ended things has been on a loop in his head. They were both drunk, at a party just like this one, arguing like they always did, when she said she was done with it, with everything.

That was a month and a half ago and he’s still a wreck.

He can’t help it. He’s always felt like a bottomless pit of a person, and Emma helped fill the void, made him feel like he was worth something.

Now that what she gave him is gone, he’s back to emptiness. To the constant reminders of how unlovable he is.

You stare at him. It’s obvious in the pain behind his stare, the tightness of clenched fists, that she broke his heart.

“Was it unexpected?” you ask.

He nods.

“Did you talk to her downstairs?”

“No,” he says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, pain radiating in his core. “This whole thing is stupid.”

“It’s not,” you say. “And as your tutor, I have to tell you that stupid is a bad word.”

He flashes you an unimpressed glare. The tables have turned between you, dropping you into the role of the one who needs to be confident and reassuring.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, your tone lighthearted. “You just have to look like you’re having fun with your new girlfriend, who you’re completely infatuated with and who you would never yell at for innocently reading the back cover of a book.”

Rafe looks towards the bookshelf he found you standing next to, guilt pinching his chest. He’s always hated it about himself, how he snaps first and thinks later.

“Any chance you saw Beck?” you ask.

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. You chug the rest of your beer and wince once the bottle is empty. “That was gross. Let’s go.”

════════

It takes a few minutes to catch Emma’s eye from across the noisy, inebriated crowd.

You’re standing in the corner of the living room facing Rafe, your arms on his shoulders like he instructed you to do. Once her gaze is on you, you cock your head.

“She’s looking,” you say.

The combination of witnessing Rafe’s heartbreak and drinking the bitter alcohol has loosened up your nerves. The man standing across from you may be rough around the edges, but he has a heart. And he gave it to someone who shattered it.

While you might not know much about their failed relationship, seeing his pain up close is enough to make you want to help.

You step a little closer, the room’s heat pressing on your skin.

“Did you start Pride and Prejudice yet?” you ask.

Rafe’s eyes sweep over your face, his big hands settling on your hips.

“Don’t tutor me right now.”

“We’re supposed to be flirting, so we have to talk about something,” you reply. “It’s a really good book. A love story if you’re into that.”

He grimaces.

“Well, it explores other themes, too.”

You notice Emma’s still looking right at you, and this time, Gabby is standing beside her and staring daggers, too.

“Hey, is it possible to get drunk off of one beer?” you ramble. “Or is it just placebo?”

“Get closer,” he tells you impatiently.

“Right.”

You slide your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down into a hug, his cheek pressed on yours, the aroma of crisp aftershave drifting over you.

“I should limit myself to half a beer next time,” you say in his ear, faking a smile.

“Lightweight,” he replies.

You act like you’re scanning the room, as if you’re meeting Emma’s eyes by chance, and when you see her cold stare, you squeeze him tighter.

“She looks really mad,” you tell him.

Rafe smirks, his chest grazing yours. It feels good knowing he still has an effect on his ex. If she was really over him like she said she is, she wouldn’t care. This is the taste of power he needed.

He slides his hands to the small of your back, languidly dragging up the curve of your spine.

If he was a guy you like, if he was Beck, you’d be a nervous mess right now. But this is methodical and calculated. It’s easy to flirt with someone when it’s fake. There’s nothing on the line.

In the corner of your eye, Emma whispers something to Gabby and they disappear into the crowd. You pull back and slowly slip your hands off of Rafe’s shoulders to pat his chest.

“She left and she wasn’t happy,” you say. “You’re welcome.”

════════

When you think about last Friday, it’s like you’re recalling a story you heard about someone else, because it can’t possibly have been you.

One drink had you completely uninhibited. You’ve never been so close to a man before, and there you were, holding Rafe against you, murmuring in his ear, acting like two mutually interested people at a party, when in reality, you’re both always at least a little annoyed with each other.

As you sit in the study room, waiting for him to arrive for your tutoring session, you’re unsure if it’ll be awkward to look him in the eye after all that happened between you.

“Hey,” Rafe coolly says when he comes in.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Beck asked about you.”

You perk up, completely distracted from whatever you were just feeling.

“What?”

Rafe settles in his usual spot, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips, clearly proud of himself for thinking of this ruse in the first place.

“The other day at practice,” he says. He pulls out his laptop. “He asked me if you and me are hanging out.”

“And?”

“I said yeah, but it’s all fake.” He gives you an impatient shrug. “What do you think I said?”

“Ha ha,” you say flatly. “His sister’s my best friend. He must’ve heard about us from her.”

You were convincing when Lyla asked you about how your date went the next day, telling her that you had a great time with Rafe. She’s still surprised at the mismatched pair, but she’s trying to be supportive.

Rafe notices the subtle frown on your face as you pull his laptop forward.

“Did he say anything else?” you ask.

“No.”

“He’s asked his sister and you about me,” you say, “but he won’t talk to me himself. If he wants to check in on me, he should. I mean, I’ll definitely lie and say I’ve been doing great, but still.”

You try to shake away the thought. You hate how much you still care, how much his years of flirting with you just for everything to end the way it did have hurt you.

“Have you heard from Emma?” you ask.

Sorrow seeps into you when Rafe’s eyes lose their brightness. You shouldn’t have asked.

“She’s trying to act like she doesn’t care,” you try to console him. “You’ll have the last laugh.”

You swiftly change the subject, finding the file he was supposed to fill with a first draft. There’s hardly anything. You suck your teeth with a disappointed tsk.

“Rafe,” you say. “You need to come here with more written down.”

“What the hell am I supposed to write about a love story?” he grumbles.

“I already told you there are other themes in this book,” you reiterate. “Let’s go through them.”

════════

The next evening, you’re leaving the library after a study session when your phone vibrates with a text. It’s Rafe, letting you know that the team is celebrating a win at an off-campus bar and that you should come.

Imagining yourself walking into the bar and seeing Beck and acting the same way you did at that party feels impossible. A little part of you is worried last weekend’s display was a lucky fluke.

You reply to him as you walk deeper into the cool spring night: I have readings to do.

When ur done then?

You stare down at your screen, uncertain and nervous. It was easy when you had Emma to fool. You were confident she’d have some sort of reaction, seeing that it was her ex-boyfriend you were cuddling up to.

But Beck might not even care. And that’d hurt.

You eventually come to the conclusion that it’s worth a try. Beck damaged your pride. You want to undo some of that damage. And you didn’t start this just to back out.

You text Rafe: I’ll call you when I get there.

════════

Half an hour later, your name flashes on Rafe’s phone. He stands from his place at the table, all other seats taken up by teammates and girlfriends, and he makes his way to the entrance of the bar.

Even though you’re just someone he’s pretending to be into, it feels good to have a person come to a party just for him again. Emma used to always tag along for these things, back when she was the constant in his life.

“Hey,” he answers your call.

“Meet me at the front,” you say on the other end. Rafe finds you at the door, your arms crossed, your lips pulled into an awkward smile.

“I didn’t want to come in alone,” you explain. He puts his phone back in his pocket, eyes travelling over you in confusion. Why are you back to being nervous?

“Loosen up,” he says.

“I’m trying,” you breathe.

“Just follow my lead,” he says. “Act like you don’t care that he’s here.”

Rafe offers you his hand and you take it, feeling his slightly calloused palm against yours. You keep your gaze on the floor as he takes you into the loud bar.

He doesn’t give you a chance to think. He gets to his seat and pulls you onto his lap. You try your best to act like this is something you’ve done before.

You drape your arm around his shoulders, looking down at him, finding a sense of reassurance in his striking blue eyes as his lap warms the underside of your thighs.

“Casually sitting on your lap,” you mumble. “This is normal for us. Totally normal. Who needs a chair? Not me.”

Most of the group is in lively conversation. Some people don’t even notice your arrival. But Beck does.

You offer him a small smile from across the table, the sight of him making your stomach flutter. He nods in greeting, unreadable.

Rafe’s hand rests on the side of your bare thigh, fingers splayed over your cool skin, right where your skirt ends.

“You’re cold,” he says, loud enough over the music, quiet enough that only you can hear him.

His muscles start to tighten as his thumb brushes over the swell of your thigh.

It’s instinct. He can’t control that he’s getting worked up. He has a pretty girl on his lap. It’d be weird if his body didn’t have some sort of reaction.

“Yeah. It’s cold out,” you reply.

“How’d you get here?” he asks accusingly.

“I walked.”

“Walked?” he repeats. “By yourself?”

“Campus security can only escort me through school property,” you say. “I was on my own for like, two minutes.”

“Don’t do that again,” he says, quieter now. “I’d never let my girl walk alone at night.”

You tilt your head, frustration bubbling up inside you.

“Let?” you echo, brows furrowed.

He stares at you with hard eyes, forcing himself to push past the irritation of what you’re implying — that he’s controlling. He heard it from Emma before. She never understood that he was trying to protect her.

You’re supposed to be happy to see each other, not arguing. And he needs to get you back for pissing off his ex the other night. And it’s a good idea to get his hand off of your leg for his own sake.

His touch is featherlight when he cups your cheek. Your eyes soften with appreciation. He’s putting on this show for you, forcing your tense conversation to look sweet, and it makes you a bit more relaxed.

His ex is nowhere to be found, but he’s being affectionate with you, holding up his part of the deal. You can only hope this is working on Beck. You’d spent years seeing him with girls; he’d never seen you with a guy.

“I would’ve picked you up,” Rafe says stiffly, his tone mismatching his gesture. “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t be cool with knowing something could happen to you. You said we have to be believable, yeah?”

You study him under the dimmed, warm lights, your heart racing from feeling Beck’s presence at the other side of the table.

“So, it’s like you… feel responsible for my safety or something?” you ask.

The stress digging in Rafe’s shoulders fades into a relief he wasn’t expecting. It’s uncommon for him to feel understood. He felt it at times with his ex, but she hardly ever tried to see his side, calling him too much.

As if he needed the reminder. He knows he’s too much.

“Yeah,” he replies.

“I’ll tell you to come get me next time.”

He lowers his hand, resting it on your leg again. This time, though, he makes sure to only be touching your clothes, making no contact with your skin.

“How was the game?” you ask.

“We always beat Hatfield,” Rafe says.

“How many penalties did you get?”

“I don’t count.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” you say. “You’re in the sin bin a lot.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile that tells you he agrees, but that he also won’t change a thing.

“How’d you know that?”

“I came to a lot of games last semester.”

“You should probably start coming to them again,” he says.

He’s right. If this were real, you’d be coming to the rink to cheer your boyfriend on.

“It’s kind of hard for me,” you admit.

Rafe grimaces in the impatient way he always does, wearing that look that implies whatever you just said is silly. You lick your lips nervously, leaning even closer to him to explain.

“I used to go to all of his games,” you say, hushed. “All through high school, too. Sitting behind the home bench just reminds me of all the time I wasted thinking he liked me, too.”

You pull back. Rafe stares at you for a moment. Despite your differences, you really have been hurt the same way. You both saw a future with someone who gave you a glimmer of hope just to shut you down.

He doesn’t usually care enough to make someone feel better. Right now is different.

“Then sit behind the sin bin,” he says. “Count my penalties for me.”

You laugh. And when you notice Beck’s eyes on you, it feels really good.

You think back to what Rafe said, to act like you don’t care. You notice Isaac a few seats away and greet him with a hello and a smile, then meet Beck’s gaze.

“How was the game?” you say casually from across the table.

“Good,” Beck answers. “It’s cool to play with Marcus again.”

“Oh, right,” you say. Marcus was a mutual friend in high school who now plays for Hatfield, a college a town away. “Did you get to talk to him?”

“Not really,” Beck replies. “What’s up with you? It’s been a while.”

It’s irritating to hear him say that, as if the distance between you wasn’t all because of him. You used to talk to Beck all the time, until he unexpectedly drove you away.

You shrug, hoping you don’t give away how hurt you’ve been.

“Not much,” you say. You look at Rafe, willing yourself to flirt with another man in front of the one who broke your heart. “This one guy I’m tutoring has been taking up all my time.”

“Sounds rough,” Rafe says.

“Yeah,” you play along, “but I’m very patient.”

“You are,” Beck says. “I wouldn’t have survived last semester if it weren’t for you.”

You force another smile, meeting Beck’s gaze again. You don’t like the reminder of all the time you spent helping him with school, pining for him, hoping he pined for you, too.

Rafe looks between you and Beck as you continue to chat. There’s an obvious history between you two, a tone that only old friends could have, but the exchange is stiff.

It’s clear, at least to him, that there’s something you two aren’t talking about.

════════

Once the night ends, you get into Rafe’s car. He turns the key, the engine roaring to life.

“That was great,” you murmur sarcastically as you put on your seatbelt. You meant it to come out as a joke, but your voice has a strain to it.

It would’ve been amazing if Beck stared like Emma did the other night, but he didn’t. You feel rejected all over again.

“I think he knows us both well enough to know we can’t really like each other like that,” you say. You watch the bar’s neon sign blink in the passenger side mirror as you try to ground yourself. “Oh, well. We tried.”

Rafe highly doubts he caught on. There’s no world where you’d two be a couple — you’re irritatingly chatty and wear your heart on your sleeve, the complete opposite of Rafe and what he looks for in a girl — but while Beck kept a cool facade, his glances at you weren’t skeptical. And they weren’t platonic, either.

He puts the car in drive, anxiety gnawing at him as he pulls out of the parking lot. It sounds like you’re about to call it quits all because of a false assumption.

“He fell for it,” Rafe mutters. “And he was jealous. You’re crazy if you think he wasn’t.”

You were hoping that Beck would be convinced that you’re fine after what happened between you. That maybe he’d regret the way he handled things. But you never thought he’d actually be jealous. Why would he be if he never liked you in the first place?

“Then I guess I’m crazy,” you tell him, “because to me, he didn’t seem to care at all.”

Rafe scratches his jaw, exasperated.

“You ever think that maybe he’s just not transparent like you are?” he says after a beat.

You look at his profile, the passing streetlights washing over the planes of his face.

“Transparent?” you echo. “So, I… gave us away?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Rafe says gruffly. “You’re convincing with my help, but without it, you’re damn easy to read. He’s not as obvious as you. If you looked hard enough, though, you could tell that he really didn’t like that you were sitting on my lap.”

You stare ahead at the darkened street. From your first tutoring session with Rafe, he had you figured out. You mentioned Beck and he caught on to whatever gave you away.

You’ve been able to pretend you’ve been fine, that your heart has been kept intact. Rafe is the only one who saw through it, from the moment he sat down next to you in that study room. He has a knack for reading people.

“How do you do that?” you ask, studying his features once more.

“What?”

“I’m not easy to read,” you say. “Nobody else has picked up on how upset I’ve been over him. Not even my best friend. But you called me out right away. How are you so good at seeing through people?”

Rafe’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. It’s a loaded question.

He spent his childhood hyperware of what unhappiness looks like in people, desperately clinging onto his dad’s fickle approval since he can remember. It never left his system. It turned him into a man trained in recognizing the slightest change in someone’s mood.

He could even sense when Emma was falling out of love with him. She said he was paranoid when he called her out on it, but he knew he was right.

After you spend your life starving for approval, wanting someone to see every side of you and decide that you’re worth loving, it’s second nature to make note of the signs that they’re writing you off. And to lose control when you beg them not to.

He swallows hard. You simply mentioned how observant he is and his mind is spinning now. You stripped back a layer, peeling at a part of him he pretends doesn’t exist.

It’s another thing about you that he’d never want in a real girlfriend. You’re doing what you did the other night when you asked about his ex. You’re prying.

“Just am,” he finally replies.

The tension is nipping at his bones, the memories flooding back with no mercy. Emma never dug at him like this. It’s part of why he liked her so much. She didn’t make him look at these sides of himself.

“Riveting,” you say, rolling your head to the side to look out the window. “Well, you don’t need to try to make me feel better, okay? You can give it to me straight that he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Did you register anything I just said?” he scoffs.

“Now you know how I feel when I’m tutoring you,” you joke, unaffected by his brashness like usual.

“He asked me about you the first chance he got, remember? And he was awkward as hell tonight. He cares. He’s just the type that’s desperate for everyone to think he’s a good guy, so when he’s jealous, he tries to hide it.”

You mull over his words. You’ve only ever thought the world of Beck, until he abruptly distanced himself from you and made you almost certain that he’d been conciously leading you on for years.

To think of him as someone preoccupied with being liked feels accurate. He always keeps the peace, possibly in an effort for approval.

The idea that he did feel something for you, that he does, is a dangerous type of hope you’re well acquainted with. It makes you feel better that someone else sees what you’d seen for years.

Rafe’s words, albeit curt, bring you relief. Beck must feel something that he never wanted to act on. And he might want to act on it now.

“I guess I’m just so used to overthinking about him,” you admit. “Thanks.”

Rafe is silent. Irritated. Tense. You didn’t want to believe all that Emma had told you that night at the rink, but most things check out. He’s moodier than you could’ve expected.

“You okay?” you ask.

He’s doing it again. He’s hardly offering any insight on what he’s thinking, shutting you out. Your dynamic feels unbalanced now, considering how much you’ve told him.

Rafe comes to a stop in front of your building. He’d do anything but admit why he’s so good at reading people. It’s a burden, a reminder of the desperation that’s lived in him ever since he was a child.

“We’re here,” he states flatly.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. Despite everything, you don’t have it in you to be angry at him. Not after he helped you so much. Not after he tried to console you in his own abrupt way.

“Rafe?”

“What?”

You stare at him until he gives in and looks at you, wearing yet another grimace.

“I’m not technically going through a breakup, but if anyone kind of gets what you’re going through right now, it’s me,” you tell him. “I vent to you a lot. It’s cool if you want to vent to me, too. This is all an act, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. That’s all. Thanks for the ride.”

You step out of the car and shut the door, leaving Rafe with the disquieting realization that if he’s going to keep doing this with you, he’ll have to accept the fact that you probably won’t stop prying.

next >

author’s note it’s not a fic by me if rafe doesn’t have daddy issues…

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi 👋, can I request a self aware Smilk & reader, where he’s the only one who knows of their existence, and the reader can sometimes take control of him which causes some confusion to other cookies.

(You can choose whether it’s a one-shot or headcanons)

Yess self awareness time

.......

After trying and trying again, you finally pulled Shadow Milk Cookie from the gacha, thrilled that he finally came home!

Now that you've understood all the hype surrounding him and how crazy powerful he can be after clearing his Beast Yeast episodes, you had all your star jellies, toppings, and a legendary beascuit saved just for him.

But ever since obtaining him, you've noticed some...oddities with him that made you assume it was part of his programming/AI.

When you see him walking around the kingdom or working at a station that's not the toy store, he's looking at you a lot.

Of course, some cookies may glance at you occasionally, with even fewer breaking the fourth wall (like Black Sapphire and Devil Cookie), but that's just what the devs added as a funny joke.

Shadow Milk...is different. He doesn't follow their script to a T.

The way he talks and waves at you, shows off during battles and making himself the last cookie standing in difficult arena fights, and doing his juggling trick when he knows you're looking at him.

Then he actually responded to you after you made a remark about where to put his statue...and at first you're startled, bc no way could that have been a coincidence...

In reality, he had an "awakening" of his own--in that his knowledge suddenly extended beyond CRK's borders.

Somehow, he can see and hear you, becoming 100% aware that he's in a video game.

But you assume his new antics are part of his programming...until one day the charade falls apart and he straight up tells you that he knows the truth. He even says your username, the device you're playing on, and the day you started CRK as proof in case you think he's lying.

You're stunned at first, but then you think it's actually pretty awesome....until he claims that he's the only one who knows and felt like it would've been better if he didn't.

Of course, the master of deceit would rather ignore the truth and live out a lie, like all the other cookies are....but he's stuck with this earthbread-shattering truth that's only his to bear.

In a way, being "trapped" in this game reminds him of the witches and the time he spent in the silver tree, believing he escaped one prison only to end up in another.

After you leave the game to tend to some real life matters, he tries sowing chaos in the kingdom by revealing this to other cookies, thinking they'd "wake up".

Yet none of them know wtf he's talking about. Not even the Beasts or Pure Vanilla, who thinks he's just trying to trick everybody again..although he admits that what Shadow Milk is saying sounds most outlandish.

Typically, he'd be able to conjure up some kind of "evidence" and manipulate wide masses into believing any word he says.

But you're untouchable, and he has no way of obtaining tangible proof of your existence to show the other cookies...and once he realizes this, he gets frustrated.

"Who do you think fulfills our wishes at the tree???? Who do you think indulges us with star jellies????? Keeps this kingdom from crumbling to pieces?!! We are ALL the puppets to an even bigger puppet master!"

Anyone who hears this yap from him just thinks 'is he alright? like genuinely?'

The next time you log in, Shadow Milk is gravely upset that he has to carry this burden and decides to take it out on you.

Suddenly there's lag spikes when his ability is on cooldown (so you can hardly use them in battle and lose your ranking in arena), he avoids you trying to pick him up in the kingdom (much to other cookies' confusion, as from their pov, he's fleeing something that's invisible)...and he even corrupted his own stats to make it seem like any promotions were gone and his level dropped back to 1.

You ask him why he's causing you all this trouble, and his next rant was more or less....a reasonable crashout.

"I was a god...or at least that's what I thought. But no. I've been lied to. A master of deceit...has been lied to again!! What cruel irony! This world...this life of mine....it's all been one big game from the start! And nobody knows but I!! HAHAHA!! Tell me, [username]..what's it like being the true god of this world? Do you enjoy toying with our lives? What makes you think you deserve my power?! Damn you....and damn this prison!! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN THOSE WITCHES!!!"

Other cookies just see him screaming at nobody in particular, although his rage forms rifts in the ground, from which the other-realm creeps out to attack anyone close to him.

You end up closing the game out of fear, leaving it alone for the next several hours.

While initially scared to reopen it, you did understand why Shadow Milk lashed out like that--he thought he was in control, and couldn't comprehend the idea of it being somebody else.

You don't know why he, of all cookies, had to be cursed with this forbidden knowledge, but what could be done about it now?

Nothing.

So you returned to the game and found a plushie of him somewhere after looking around for a few minutes, and after clicking him, he turns back to normal and scowls.

"What? You've come back to toy with me more, stupid god? Or were you just worried that I did something to your precious kingdom?"

"No, and no." You say, explaining to him that while you'd never fully understand what he was feeling--and couldn't help him explain your existence to other cookies--you wanted him to see you as a friend, not a puppet master or a witch or some untouchable god like he accuses you of being.

To show him you're serious, you bought all of his decor and gave him his own little castle/spire-like area, where he can indulge in his hobbies or just retreat there whenever he wanted to.

For some time, Shadow Milk is silent as he inspects everything and for a moment...you thought he reverted back to his NPC programming...

Then he looks at you and grins a little. "Jeez, if only you put this much effort into the rest of the kingdom."

"Yeah, well...I'm working on it." You chuckled. "Black Sapphire and Candy Apple Cookie think it's "dull" and doesn't compare to your spire, but-"

"I'll deal with them later. This...is acceptable."

It's fair to say...he's content.

He seems to finally accept his new reality, as he doesn't corrupt his stats or sabotage your gameplay anymore, allowing you to use him as your strongest magic cookie again.

Now if you start shifting your focus towards pulling Awakened Pure Vanilla, however, he might stir up some trouble to make the process take even longer

[dykerightsmp3]

iwtv universe dashboard simulator

girlbossclaudia reblogged

🐉 personafinterest Follow

If you consider yourself a 'shipper' of ANY of the dynamics in Daniel Molloy's new book unfollow me and I'm not kidding. You read a book about toxic and abusive relationships and decided to sexualize them that's on you

🩻 skeletalextractions

'don't sexualize them' is crazy. he describes one of them as doing 24/7 bdsm and describes the other couple's sex scenes in detail, multiple times

🐉 personafinterest Follow

an old man being a weirdo freak doesnt mean you have to be. he has two pulitzers and you have an ao3 account

🦚 strayitalianflamingo

do not understand vampstat's agreeing to participate in this book At All because why would you not want yourself to be cast as louis, the guy who actually got interviewed and got fucked over at every turn. at least armand eats crypto bros. what has lestat done except domestic violence and child neglect

🎆 magicalgirl Follow

sick and tired of seeing this propaganda on my dashboard. first of all it's ARMAND who abuses louis, not lestat, as you can CLEARLY tell if you actually pay any attention to the book's second half. louis isn't a reliable narrator; that's the whole point. armand just deluded him into thinking lestat had done worse than he had

🏆 vampjailbait Follow

lestat literally drops him hundreds of feet from the air causing his own daughter to orchestrate his murder. HOW would a man they had not met yet be to blame for this

🎆 magicalgirl Follow

it's a gothic horror FIRST of all and armand can manipulate memories, canonically, so I'm not sure why we would assume the truth of any of this. it's so clear that lestat is the love of louis's life, the book is a love story, and if you're not willing to see that you don't get it

🤍 johnwilliamwaterwhore

lestat was born with glass bones and paper skin and every morning he breaks his legs and at night he lies awake in agony until his heart attacks put him to sleep

🦚 strayitalianflamingo

does anyone in this thread smoke weed

strayitalianflamingo reblogged

🪻 bluelotushbo

personally I would deeply love to believe this is all real because if so all of these people may be the funniest people to ever exist. one of them has been alive since the 1700s and has decided his calling is to be a pop artist. and his boyfriend is a vegetarian art dealer who was the dom in 24-7 bdsm with a theater cult leader who he ghosted in like 1810. that's so epic

🏆 vampjailbait Follow

stfu you were posting lestat rpf like a week ago

🪻 bluelotushbo

🧛‍♀️ vampstatsmommy

Ordered my TVL merch today and the mug has the actual texture of blood on it. Epic

vampstatsmommy reblogged

🏞 loustatsno1ho Follow

okay we don't actually know much beyond that it was in the summer but happy death month to lestat! lestat de lioncourt has officially been dead for 231 slutty, slutty years 🎉

#wish I believed in this shit yall seem so happy.

🤵🏾‍♀️ girlbossclaudia

honestly if you read that book and you like a single one of them I don't trust u. I'll never forgive them for what they did to claudia

#louis i would forgive you but she's dead and can't join me so :(

strayitalianflamingo reblogged mutualaidmutuals

🏳️‍🌈 l4sbiancannibals Follow

they should make lestat a guest judge on drag race

🐠 lestatsporecleanseroil

it actually pisses me off sooo bad that he’s in a gay PR relationship with some twink who looks like his love interest from his fucking fictional vampire book. Girl didn’t straight people corner the market on this

🦋 falloutbitch Follow

is this about tvl or dan molloy

🐠 lestatsporecleanseroil

this is how im finding out vampire interviewed author has a fucking 20yearold twink boyfriend who looks like the sexy evil guy from his book I can't do this anymore

lestathater420 reblogged

🩻 skeletalextractions

honestly wish the book weren't fake bc if it weren't this would be sooo camp. imagine you break up this 500 year old guy's marriage 2 separate times and he's like I simply must have you

#feel like armand would do this as a character

lestatsporecleanseroil reblogged 69ingvampires

🛜 69ingvampires

say what u will about dan malloy but inventing vampirism to justify an age gap relationship is maybe the funniest thing anyone will ever do

♻️ malloy_bot Follow

Malloy.

🛜 69ingvampires

why the fuck did you take the time to make this

♻️ malloy_bot Follow

got bored

#just like louis in that damn investment property...

🌇 literarysalontakes

Much as the PR stunt has given it a bad rap, the book’s exploration of both the experience of Creole men in New Orleans at the turn of the century, as well as the experience of the colonial subject in the Renaissance era, is genuinely very interesting. Making up a fictional abusive relationship between the two characters exemplifying these themes and using the ways in which each of them have been devalued to draw into that is sort of insane but it really works! The publicity shtick is nuts but the book itself is actually fantastic and soo worth your time

#also claudia makes me deeply insane. essay about her forthcoming

jobsearchreputationera reblogged

🛍️ swiftietwiftie Follow

if you're somehow supporting the vampire lestat in this beef — which by the way, he's again picking with a woman — you need to be fully aware that the man you're supporting is not just parodying A Generic Vampire: he's a walking caricature of bisexual and french men, and by insisting he's a real vampire, he's not only playing into harmful and xenophobic stereotypes around Europeans, but sexualizing a genuinely dangerous kink (bloodplay). not to mention the guy he's cosplaying helped murder his own daughter and never cared about the racism his partner experienced, which has really upsetting implications. and don't forget that he shares the name of a guy who was found to have bones at his house :/

🕋 maraschinocherry

baby why didn't we begin with the bones💀

🏞 loustatsno1ho Follow

the bones were from the house of a guy nicknamed Lysander whose actual name was Simon something. this has been debunked a hundred times why do we need to keep having this discourse

🪔 girliepopped Follow

favorite things about this post: - the implication that a rockstar who cosplays a fucking vampire is being problematic by reproducing french stereotypes - the implication that the vampire is an anti european stereotype???? - the random misinformation - the fact that this person clearly didnt even read the book they're complaining about - 'sexualizing a genuinely dangerous kink (bloodplay)'

lestathater420 reblogged

🏄🏻‍♀️ jobsearchreputationera

Taylor would never have been in this beef back when she was dating Joe :/

🕋 maraschinocherry

speaking of tvl yall ever checked out his tiktok videos whys the motherfucker live in a shack. also i know it's for the bit but the 'sad white suburban mom quotes about motherhood' is a lot to take in

🏵 vamplestatpilled

who cares did you see his von dutch lipsync

🐛 wormdyke

white billionaire with a private jet appropriating the struggles of gnc artists... didnt know harry styles and taylor swift had a secret baby

jobsearchreputationera reblogged

🦚 strayitalianflamingo

Who will the Vampire Lestat pick beef with next: poll

UPDATE: Before this poll even closed we got the answer! It was Charli xcx.

[thecherrypittttttt]

SOLID WORK; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 4,700+

content warnings: my minimal medical knowledge, doctor humor, abbot’s filthy mouth, some smut, fluff <3

notes: i am so beyond new to this fandom and to tumblr so please stick with me but i couldn’t not write this🫶

・❥・

”Solid work.”

My breathing slows as I start to process the complexity of the procedure I had just performed. I’d probably be blushing at Dr Abbot’s praise if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through me.

“That was your save. Not mine.”

Trust me - I am never jumping to credit a man with my work but that was the truth. I may have physically done everything but the idea and the instructions that made it possible were all Dr Abbot.

I look back down at the patient. I tell myself it’s to make sure this is all real. That I really just did that. But if I am being honest it’s to avoid Dr Abbot’s unwavering eye contact.

“Hey-“

He is not gonna let me. I look up to meet his gaze. So rock solid but somehow so warm all at once. He may as well be staring right through me.

He lightly rests his hand on my forearm to stop me from going for the suture. To stop me from giving him anything other than my undivided attention.

“-you are the smartest person in here. Take the win.”

I can’t help the exasperated smile that spreads across my face. He’s right. I’ve only got a couple months left of residency. I should just take the fucking win for once in my life.

Abbot, much to my surprise, smiles back. And he has dimples because of course he does.

He’s calm under pressure, he lies on official paperwork to get a teenage girl the abortion she has every right to, he’s the actual smartest one here, he’s kind to everyone in this ED regardless of the stress he is under, and…he still has his hand on my arm.

His hand. The veins there don’t hurt the eyes either.

We must both realize his lingering touch at the same time because he is clearing his throat and pulling away. He reaches for a surgical instrument he doesn’t need. Picks it up and then puts it down.

I swear there is a faint blush on his cheeks but if I think about that too long one will appear on my own.

“Let Whitaker stitch this up. Go home - get some rest. Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I love Whitaker but he is so slow we may as well let the wound heal all on its own.”

Dr Abbot laughs. Genuinely, truly laughs as we exit out of the trauma bay. So loud that Robby looks over and asks if he’s okay.

Don’t get me wrong. Dr Abbot has a wonderful sense of humor. A wicked one, actually. But it’s one of those dry, witty kinds. Not the animated, giggly kind.

I tell myself it’s not a bad thing that I’m proud to have gotten a good laugh out of him. That it’s not a bad thing that it gave me butterflies. That’s it’s not a bad thing that I am laying in bed wondering how the hell I am going to get him to do that again.

・❥・

Jack lets out a low moan as he recovers. His eyes are dazed, his head slightly tilted back but not so much so that he can’t keep eye contact with me.

His hand that held the makeshift ponytail in my hair starts to massage my scalp as the other hand reaches for my chin and tilts my head up to meet his strong gaze.

Once he’s got me where he wants me, his thumb travels from my chin to my lips, swiping what’s left of his release off of it.

“My good girl. So good for me, yeah?”

My thighs involuntarily clench together at his words. He knows it too. I nod as his thumb presses further into my mouth, my lips wrapping around it.

His mouth quips into a smirk, “Solid work, doctor.”

I roll my eyes and bat his hand away. Standing up from my knees on my own. Ignoring his arms trying to gently guide me up instead.

“That! That is exactly what I am talking about!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

Jack just laughs as he grabs my wrist, turning me back towards him. He’s quick to have me pinned up against our shower wall - his strong thigh spreading my own apart as he plants long slow kisses across my neck.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Back when I was a resident, otherwise known as a couple months ago, Jack consistently praised what I was doing by saying “Solid work.”

The way he did always made me dizzy. His voice would drop an octave and he’d look me straight in my eyes while he said it. There is nothing inherently sensual about the phrase but it took me a while to realize he was not complimenting the other residents like that.

Him saying it during sex started as a joke. Harkening back to when, as he puts it, I was so painfully oblivious to his flirting. To which I responded, “That was flirting?”.

He said it again to me at work the next day. Being completely and utterly genuine. I don’t even remember what I did but I did it well and he is always the first to acknowledge that. So he was confused when I just huffed in annoyance and peeled out of the room without so much of a glance at him.

I wasn’t annoyed at him. I was annoyed that now all I could think about was him. His hands, his biceps, his tongue. Everything. And I still had six hours of my shift to go.

He followed me into the on-call room I was going to find some refuge in. He locked the door behind him - closed the curtain for good measure.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

And then I felt bad. He thought something was actually wrong. That no way I’d ever brush him off like that when he was just trying to compliment me unless something was seriously wrong.

His eyes bored into mine, genuine concern and love pouring out of them. And here I was just being a brat.

I tried to be sly about the way my eyes trailed the veins bulging out of his biceps. I tried to be sly about the way I was imagining my hands tugging on his salt and pepper curls that were just slightly askew from a couple hours work. Unfortunately for me, Jack can read me like a book.

“Did you just stomp out of the ED because you’re needy?” Jack couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face at the realization.

“Well maybe if you weren’t always going Mr Christian Gray on me with the praise-“

“I don’t even know who that is but all I said was ‘Solid work’-“

Jack stops himself as he remembers the past couple nights. When he was saying the same thing in a much different context.

I can’t say I’m entirely innocent. Or innocent at all really. I love throwing in a ‘sir’ every now and again at work to tease Jack. So he does the same to me with other phrases - constantly.

And he said the same thing in that on-call room that he is saying to me right now, “But what I do know is how fucking wet you are for me. So stop pouting and let me taste you, yeah?”

He swipes a finger through my soaked folds before he’s the one sinking down to his knees as I try to keep mine from buckling.

・❥・

“Solid work, Dr Abbot.”

I smile down at my sparkling new engagement ring and then up at the love of my life.

“Seriously? You can tease but I can’t?”

“What’s that saying again? Happy wife, happy life?”

Neither of us can wipe the huge grins off of our faces. No one knows we’re engaged yet. Just how we wanted it.

A couple of months ago, right after I had taken an attending job at The Pitt, Jack had broached the topic of marriage. We’d talked about it before. We both knew we were spending the rest of our lives together. But we hadn’t actually talked about the timeline of it all - the logistics.

Jack was always extremely hyper aware about how our relationship affected me. He didn’t want it to interfere with my career or all of my hard work. So as much as he would’ve walked down the aisle six months ago, he wanted everything to be on my terms.

“Hypothetically - if I were to propose, say within the next month - would you say yes?”

“Hypothetically - if I ever say no to a marriage proposal from you - please get me a psychiatry consult.”

Jack laughed - in an airy way where you could tell he was relieved. I kissed him. There was no universe in which I ever said no to a proposal from him.

He pestered me with questions. He wanted direction but not so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised when the time came.

I told him I didn’t want anything fancy. No big party although I did want to have a small gathering with our friends and family at some point afterwards. A nice sized diamond but not gaudy. No grand gestures - just him being him is all that I wanted.

And he executed perfectly. Because when does he not. It was our first night in the new home we had bought. He said we could get a hotel while we waited for our furniture to be delivered. But I wanted to do one night with no furniture, an air mattress, some candles, and a pizza delivery.

“Like camping.” I had said.

“You hate camping.”

I laughed because he was right but he obliged me anyways. He carried me over the threshold and I made a joke about how he’s got to be careful - being old and all.

Then he carried me right over to the air mattress, said something like “Can an old man do this?” and went on to coax four orgasms from me - one from his fingers, one from his tongue, one from his thigh, and finally one from where I wanted him most.

When we were done, I threw on one of his old tshirts and a pair of boxers. He just had on an old pair of sweats and a white tee. We stared into each others eyes like two lovesick teenagers until he said “Come here - I gotta show you something.”

“Babe, the house is empty.”

“Get over here smart ass.”

Jack picked up a candle and lead us over to the fireplace. He set the candle on the mantle as I read what was now engraved into the stone ‘The Abbots - Est 2025’

“So this is why you were getting all of those random tools from Amazon.”

Ever the handy man he is. Then he was on his knee. His bad one. To which I told him he didn’t have to do that. And then he said he would even if it killed him. And I think I said something stupid like “Not on my watch.”

I don’t even remember what he said after that. He doesn’t either. We both blacked out from sheer happiness. All I really remember is him asking me to do him the honor of being his wife and me pulling him up off of his knee and saying ‘Duh!’ as fast I could before kissing him. Over and over and over again until that air mattress was just a deflated extension of the wood floor beneath it.

・❥・

Dana’s hand rests on my thigh gently. My leg stops shaking. My mind doesn’t stop racing though.

I'm not an anxious person. If anything, I can be relaxed to a fault. But I am an intuitive person - and something is wrong.

Where is he?

“Relax. When is that man ever late?”

“That’s why I’m worried.”

You would think I didn't have my own license or car the way Jack insists on driving me everywhere. He tells me it is to keep our insurance from being sky high. I may or may not be a bit accident prone when behind the wheel. I tell him it's because he's obsessed with me. He always huffs a laugh and murmurs something about two things being true at once.

The Pitt makes sense. Ever since Jack started taking on more day shifts to balance out our conflicting schedules, a lot of times we are arriving and leaving here together. But on the off chance we are not, he is still picking me up. Always with some kind of treat in hand - usually a McDonalds Diet Coke much to Jack's dismay.

Jack takes the saying 'If you're not early - you're late' far more seriously than anyone I have ever met. The day shift typically gets off at 7 PM which means he is usually here to gossip with Robby on the roof by 6:35 PM.

“Go - take a case! He’ll be here to pick you up before you know it.”

My dissents are quickly met with Dana shooing me from the nurses station and personally squaring my shoulders to the board.

I haven’t even read the first name when Robby appears at my shoulder.

“Where is your fiancé?”

“Say that any louder and you’re going to be my next patient.”

“Yeah because you two are so inconspicuous with the whispering and the giggling and the big honking rock on your finger and the-“

“-disappearing to 'clean' the on-call room.” Dana finishes Robby’s sentence as they both double over in laughter.

Dana, Robby, and Collins are the only people in the ED that know about Jack and I’s relationship.

Collins knew I had feelings for Jack before I even let myself go there. Robby knew Jack had feelings for me before he let himself go there. So they took matters into their own hands.

Collins had a $100 on Jack breaking first. Robby $100 on me. And he had an extra $100 to spare when he bribed Dr Ellis to ask me to take her night shift for a week. Oh, how that backfired on him.

Three shifts later and Robby was $200 in the hole.

Six months later, I was moved out of my city apartment and into Jack's house.

Dana offered to drive me home after shift one night. Because it was cold and rainy and my apartment was close by. My apartment that I no longer lived in.

Jack wasn’t picking me up - he was out of town at a conference. I insisted on taking an uber, the bus, walking - anything that meant not explaining to Dana why my new address was the same as Dr Abbot's. She wouldn't take no for an answer and yelled "Oh, I knew it! Bridget owes me $100!" when I finally fessed up.

One year later, almost to the day that Robby had to pony up on his bet with Collins, I had an engagement ring on my finger.

Tonight, after he picks me up, Jack and I are going to pilates together.

It was only a matter of time before Robby and Collins gave it another go and I bet Jack that Robby would fold before Collins.

What's the point in betting money when we share a bank account? Seeing Jack in the pink pilates grippy socks he does not know I got him will be priceless.

“Well, when you find him please tell him that he is late for our date on the roof."

"Stop dragging him up there - you already have a date tonight!"

"Yeah, one in which I need his advice on."

"Oh please, you're talking to the wrong Abbot if you need advice on how to woo Collins." Dana interjects. Not everyone in the ED knows about Jack and I but they do know Heather and I are best friends.

"Oh, I wasn't aware you two had tied the knot already. Do you want me to change your name on the board? I can do that right now actually. Does HR know? It'll just take a moment-" Robby teases.

I grab the remote out of Robby's hands as he laughs, "Okay fine - go have your little roof date but do not take long!"

"Well, we'd already be done if he wasn't late. Where is he by the way? He is never late for anything.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

I step forward, my elbows on the counter of the nurses station and my head now in my hands as I groan.

“Relax. It’s Jack - we couldn’t keep him away from this place even if we wanted to. Especially with you in here.” Robby squeezes my shoulder and is off to what I assume to be the roof.

I check my watch before I stand back up to scan the board for real this time - 6:50 PM.

Where is he?

I pull my phone from my pocket. There’s no new message from Jack lighting up my home screen but I open up our conversation anyways.

From Jack: I miss you

From Jack: I can’t believe Langdon is getting to hang out with you right now and not me

From Jack: If you stay at that damn hospital any longer we’re gonna have to start forwarding all these packages you order there

Little does he know one of those many packages holds his new pilates socks.

To Jack: Oh please - as if more than half aren’t all your little go bag gadgets

To Jack: And to think our colleagues think I’m the drama queen

“Incoming - Trauma 1!”

I’m happy for the distraction. I’m gowned, gloved, and ready to go before the patient is even rolled in.

The doors to Trauma 1 fly open - but not with a patient. Just Dana.

“I’m going to get Robby! You should not have to do this.” Dana is staring pointedly at me before she’s off. I don’t even get a chance to respond.

Weird. I know I’ve only been an attending for a couple months but Dana had more confidence in me on my first day as an intern than she did just now.

I now understand why as the patient is rolled in front of me.

There he is.

Unconscious. Cold. Clammy. And slightly bloody from a small cut on his forehead.

My world stops.

“Heart attack.” Langdon is here.

Somehow all I can think of is Jack’s text from earlier. I want to laugh but I can’t. What if I never get one again? I’m supposed to see him in pink pilates socks tonight. Not in a body bag.

“CLEAR!”

Suddenly all the pieces from the past couple days are coming together and I cannot believe I didn’t catch it sooner. Can’t believe he didn’t catch it sooner!

“CLEAR!”

His dizziness. The increase in massages of his amputated leg. The quick heart beat. The rash.

I hear the commotion around me. But I’m not processing any of it until it’s directed at me.

“I said CLEAR! Move!”

This cant be happening. So I decide that it’s not going to.

“No!” My voice comes out way more feeble than I meant. Way more feeble than anyone in this ED has ever heard me.

“Well I hope you enjoyed being Abbot’s favorite because you’re going to kill him and your career in one go.”

“Langdon - he is not having a heart attack.”

“Yes he is!”

“No he isn’t - take off his leg!”

“Take off his leg?! Okay, you’re literally going insane. And I’m supposed to report to you?! I know I went to rehab but oh my gosh - CLEAR!”

“I’m going to clear you out of this trauma bay if you do not get out of my way.”

You know how they say a new mom could lift a car off of her new born baby? I’m pretty sure that’s the phenomenon I am experiencing right now. I don’t exactly know what other worldly force is taking over me right now but I do not question it. I am watching myself from outside of my body as I spring into action.

I shove Langdon to the side as I lift up Jack’s pant leg to remove his prosthetic. The prosthetic that noone else in this room would’ve known he had.

He doesn’t keep it a secret but he doesn’t exactly advertise it either. Especially when he refuses to sit down on a double shift. Ironically enough, that’s probably why he is on this table.

I spot what I’m looking for immediately but Langdon is the one who speaks it out loud, “Pressure ulcer - he’s in septic shock.”

“Thanks for finally using your brain Dr Langdon but we’re going to be using mine from here on out.”

“Blood ox is 91.” Someone yells. I don’t know who. What I do know is that 91 is dangerously low.

“Scalpel.” I demand.

“What are you going to do?”

“We need to drain this fluid before his organs start to fail.”

The first and only time Jack taught me this procedure it was his save. Now it has to be mine.

I tell myself that one day we will be sitting in front of our engraved fireplace. Old. Like, actually old. Not the fake old that Jack tries to pretend he is. With kids and grandkids - telling them the story of how Jack saved his own life through the transitive property. So I better get to work.

“Scalpel. Now.”

Langdon slams the scalpel into my hand. I ignore the looks around the room. The looks that say ‘The only person qualified to perform something like this in an ED is the patient’.

“Your funeral. And his.” I ignore Langdon.

I must have cut the most perfect incisions of my life. Performed the most flawless procedure anyone has ever seen from me. I don’t remember any of it.

The loud beeping slows. His blood pressure rises. Then his blood oxygen. Then the bag I drained is full and being disposed of by Dana.

When did she get here?

Robby’s hand is on my shoulder, trying to pull me away.

When did he get here?

I hear him tell Whitaker to get a suture and close up the wound. Oh, the irony. Credit where credit is due - Whitaker has gotten much quicker under Jack’s patient teaching. Thank fucking goodness.

I think of the first real laugh I got out of Jack. My eyes start to tear up but I stop myself. I will hear that laugh again. Over and over and over again. So much so that I would get sick of it if that was even possible.

Robby is apologizing profusely into my ear. He has nothing to be sorry for. But I can’t manage any words. So I just let him move me out of Whittaker’s way but I do not leave Jack’s side.

I can’t seem to register anything beyond Jack’s face that I’m seemingly trying to force into consciousness with my stare alone.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

My head turns to Whitaker at his question but it swivels so fast back to Jack I think I give myself whiplash. Because I don’t speak - he does.

“Solid work, doctor.”

I’ve never been happier to hear those words come out of his mouth.

“Oh my god.” My hand clamps over my mouth as my head dips to Jack’s chest, my arms wrapping around his shoulders.

My adrenaline tank plummets to zero and I am absolutely sobbing into Jack’s chest. Whatever was coursing through my veins during that procedure is coming out in what feels like gallons of tears and hiccups.

I don’t care who’s in the room. I don’t care that everyone is slack jawed and staring and so beyond confused. I don’t care that out of the corner of my eye I see Perlah slapping a $100 into Princess’s palm.

All I care is that Jack’s hand has found its way into my hair and when I place my shaking hand on top of it to make sure it’s real - it is. Even better - it’s warm and dexterous and alive.

He’s alive and he’s here.

He gently guides my head out of his chest. I lift my chin up to look at him - give him the eye contact I know he is seeking. That we both are.

“Baby - I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m safe, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice is as steady as ever. His heart beat matching it. The beat that was so faint what seems like moments ago.

I let it calm me down. I place a kiss to his chest and lean up to do the same to his forehead. My hand tangles in his salt and pepper curls as I hold his sweaty forehead to my lips and then bring my own forehead down to meet his. I close me eyes and breath him in.

He’s alive and he’s here.

“Welcome back, brother.” Robby manages to choke out through a couple tears of his own.

“Just wanted to make sure you guys weren’t getting lazy at the end of your shift.”

We all crack a smile but only Robby speaks, “Does this mean I have to work a double?”

“Not if you go park my car. It’s in the ambulance bay.”

I speak a full sentence for what feels like the first time in days, “You drove here?”

“We had a date. Plus, I wasn’t feeling quite right.” Jack nods down towards his amputated leg like it’s nothing but a minor inconvenience.

I dig into his pocket and toss Robby his keys. Robby calls for a CT and a room with a bed before ushering himself and everyone else out to give us some privacy.

“And how are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling like I’d like to make the woman who just saved my life my wife.”

My hand immediately flies to the small cut on his forehead. The blood dry and crusty, “How hard did you hit your head? We’re already engaged.”

Jack chuckles, places his hand on mine and squeezes, “I barely hit my head when I fell out of the car. I’m fine - I just really don't want to live another moment without being able to call myself your husband.”

So we don’t. Not really anyways. I make Jack get every fucking scan in the book that I think we hit our insurance deductible in under an hour. He humors me by lying in the bed in one of the ER rooms as I pump a myriad of fluid and antibiotics into him.

After a few hours his blood oxygen is perfect. So is his blood pressure and his heart rate. I don’t think I’ve taken my eyes off of him once. Or my hands. Running my hands through his hair, caressing his forehead, squeezing his forearm. Just to reassure myself he is here.

He understands what I’m doing. Hears what I cannot say. He grabs my hand on its next pass through his hair and presses a kiss to every single knuckle before speaking, “Baby, I’m sorry I scared you. I scared myself honestly. But I promise, I am not going anywhere. Ever. And I am so sorry you had to go through that. You should have never had to operate on me. I don’t know how you did that. I mean if it was flipped. If I saw you come in like that-“

His voice falters, his bottom lip quivers and he pulls me into the tightest hug as we both begin to cry. I think if we could crawl into eachothers skin, we would.

We stay there like that for a while. Until Jack grabs my face, kisses every single part of it, then whispers “I love you so much but I think if you pump anymore fluid into me you’re going to water board me.”

As if on cue, Robby whips the curtain open, “To the roof we go!”

“You can’t be serious.”

Robby holds up some kind of certificate as Collins and Dana round the corner.

In the hours I spent nursing Jack back to health, I went to the bathroom one time. And only because I hadn’t gone the last four hours of my shift and I own a huge water bottle.

In that one bathroom break, Jack had managed to get Robby ordained online and enlisted Dana and Collins to ‘decorate’ the roof.

We’re still gonna have our wedding ceremony and the reception and the whole ordeal. But I agree with him - I can’t go another second not married to him. Not after today.

So we go up to the roof. Jack still in his hospital gown and me in my scrubs. Robby officiates, Dana sings because she can’t help herself, and Collins ‘witnesses’ which really means crying.

Jack is kissing me before Robby can even say, “You may kiss your bride.”

When we come up for air, Robby claps both of us on the back and says, “Solid work, you two.”

I just kiss my husband again. Because he is alive and he is here