#because they wanted me to call them and ask me if i wanted a higher dosage.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 12

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Anxiety, Bad parents and siblings, Talking about abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 11 - Part 13

Series Masterlist

It had been just over a week since your wedding. You and Jake have improved your communication. He's also managed to really set himself up in the home theater where he'd spent that first night. Apparently one thing your parents got right was the massive pair of recliners specifically for that room. Jake swears they're more comfortable than most of the beds he's slept on over the years. It makes you feel better about taking the master bedroom for yourself. Clay had visited again bringing a few duffel bags of Jake's things, including his computer. The massive screen for the theater worked really well for his setup.

While you were cooking, Clay had made sure to update Jake on the status of his family. Things were working pretty well, but there were going to be a lot of paper trails to hide so that they couldn't be followed. Or at least, not followed easily. Aisha and Cougar had both caught a couple of people following his family around that were confirmed to be employed by his parents. Hopefully now that Jake had his computer he could get some better intel on the parents' finances and connections.

But you weren't privy to that update. Jake and Clay agreed it was safer to keep you in the dark about the details. Though Jake didn't doubt your sincerity, there were still too many unknowns about you.

You really didn't mind that they got quiet whenever you were near. Your mind was already at maximum anxiety with Travis, your brother, still being in the Intensive Care Unit. Your parents had been acting unusually as the week progressed and Travis didn't get better. According to the police report he'd been seen drinking heavily with friends before trying to drive home. Usually one of his friends would be the designated driver and keep everyone's keys but, somehow, Travis had gotten his keys.

And now your parents seemed to be readjusting their life plans, and yours as well. The one time you were allowed to visit the hospital you'd overheard your parents murmuring about "he can't be seen like this," "he'll be seen as weak," and other similar thoughts. It made you worried you and Jake would be even more under their scrutiny, set to even higher standards. Your breath hitched as you realized they may demand a grandchild to help change the public perception of the family to one of hope or something like that.

You and Jake were getting ready for your first public event as a couple. You're helping Jake pick out the right suit while doing your best to answer his questions about what to expect, what is appropriate conversation, how much both of you needed to talk to others before you could leave. You know you're missing things. Jake does, too. But neither of you can think of the questions to ask so you establish a silent signal for help. Jake squeezes your hand three times and you either step in or whisper some advice in his ear. It's not a great system, but it's all you can do for now.

Jake hates how he looks in all of this but he knows it's not about him or his comfort. At least he doesn't have to wear the torture device you call a dress. The thing looks impossibly tight on you. He's worried about your ability to breathe. And the stiletto heels have you warning him you'll be on his arm all night to help you keep your balance. Jake actually takes comfort in that because he really doesn't want to be left alone at this event. Probably any event, but this first one especially.

As the car pulls up Jake takes a deep breath and you attempt the same.

"We can do this, right?" He says quietly.

"I believe we can," you nod. You gently squeeze his hand in reassurance like you did that first morning with the parents.

He nods, "let's do this."

As soon as he's able Jake is out of the car and opening your door for you. The last time he did so you were scared of each other. Now you make sure to give him a small smile of thanks as he takes your hand. The elevator ride to the party is as quiet as the one you took together your wedding night, but less oppressively so. It isn't until the elevator doors open that you both put on your fake smiles. Both of you taking small comfort in the fact that neither of you is suffering alone.

After the first couple hours Jake is ready to punch someone, anyone, just so he can be forced to leave since he's not allowed out yet. He's incredibly grateful you insisted on eating a little something beforehand. The food here is barely edible and dissolves faster than cotton candy. He hates the wine? Champagne? Whatever the hell it is, he hates the taste of it but, in following your lead, he knows he has to at least sip often enough to warrant a replacement glass every 30 minutes or so. Jake was grateful to have your weight on his arm to help keep him grounded.

Especially when Charles Blackwood, a "friend" of his from high school, showed up. Charles had been nothing but a leech throughout all of high school but Jake was desperate for some kind of friendship.

"Jacob! Where have you been?" Charles holds out his hand and Jake grips it firmly.

"I've been okay, Charles. You?"

"Holy crap, you're married now? Is that why you finally came out of hiding?"

"Sort of," he admits.

He goes to introduce you but Charles stops him. "I know this lovely lady quite well," he admits. You avert your eyes. "We were engaged for some time."

"You were?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Charles smirks. "Would've been married for two years now if her parents hadn't stepped in."

"For once I'm glad they did," you interject. "You're a conman who shouldn't be here."

Charles gives a small laugh, "well look who finally grew up. Too bad you didn't pick up on what was going on before I got you into bed." Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "How are those dolphin projects going?"

"Sharks," Jake snipes. "Her focus was on sharks."

"Ooo, nerd standing up for nerd. How cute."

"You need to leave us alone," Jake fumes. "She is my wife and I won't let you insult her."

Charles scoffs, "since when can you fight?"

"Since boot camp."

That gives Charles pause. He searches Jake's face for tells that he's lying but finds none.

"Yeah, alright," Charles concedes. "Just don't ruin this party for me. Lots of other potential targets."

As soon as he was out of hearing range you let out a breath. "I'm so sorry," your voice quavers. "I should have...I should have told you."

"Told me what? That your ex-fiance is an asshole? That's not something you need to divulge."

"No...that...that I'm not..."

Jake leans in so that you're the only one who hears him. "You're more than just your virginity status. I'm sorry your first time was with him, he doesn't seem the type to make your pleasure a priority, but I'm not upset that you've had sex before."

You take as deep a breath as you can to steady yourself. "Thank you for that."

"So, can we leave the party yet?"

You check Jake's watch, trying not to be obvious about it. "We've got at least another half hour."

"When we do get out of here, would you be up for going out for some real food?"

You chuckle, "maybe delivery? Or take out? I'm not going to be able to eat much in this dress."

"Fair. And thank you for helping me get through all of this."

"Thank you for listening to my advice," you counter.

"Always," Jake affirms.

Part 11 - Part 13

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @embarrasingmf;

@irishhappiness; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82;

@ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[sorinethemastermind]

 Sorvus Week 2024 | Prompt: Camp (No Warnings Apply)

   Soren didn’t get why he had to watch Callum. It was a few weeks out in the woods, and there would be other people to look after the prince (step-prince, Soren added sullenly). What was the worst that could happen? Plus, camp was his thing. He’d been looking forward to it all year. 

 Thinking back to the previous summer, he could still remember the sense of satisfaction he’d felt after beating one of the older boys in a sparring match. All the kids in his year had cheered, and afterwards one of the instructors had come up and said that he was proud of him. This was Soren’s thing. This was what he was good at. The one thing he was good at. 

 Why couldn’t his Dad see that?

 But Viren had asked him to watch Callum. Well, sort of. He’d told King Harrow that he would keep an eye on the young prince, and Soren had been there, so it was sort of like asking because he could have said no. Except he didn’t, because if his Dad needed him to do it, then of course he would.

 Just think of it like Crownguard training, Soren thought, hoisting his pack up a little higher as he led Callum down the trail towards camp. It’ll be good practice. 

 It wasn’t like the young prince seemed especially thrilled about it either. He wasn’t really the outdoorsy type. Which was being plainly illustrated by the fact that he was daintily making his way around the muddle puddle that blocked their path. Soren just stomped on through, enjoying the little waves that his steps kicked up. He wasn’t as big a fan of his soggy socks afterwards, but that couldn’t have been avoided. 

 “Soren, wait up!” Callum called, struggling to keep pace with his longer strides. Sometimes Soren forgot how small the other boy still was. He stopped for a moment to let his shorter legged companion catch up before forging ahead again.

 “Are we almost there?” Callum asked after a moment, still a few steps behind.

 “We��ve only been walking for like, five minutes." Soren pointed out. “Anyway, you’re the one who made us take that fancy carriage instead of just arriving with the rest of the kids.”

 “King Harrow wanted us to take the carriage.” The other boy corrected him.

 “Yeah, so you wouldn’t have to do the hike.”

 Yet another thing I won’t be doing this year because of stubby legs back there, Soren added in his mind.

 “And yet.” Callum managed, words coming in between huffing breaths. “It feels like we’re hiking right now.”

 “This is the shortest way I know.” Soren told him. Which was mostly true. Technically it was the second shortest way that he knew up the mountain, but Callum didn’t need to know that. It would only make him complain more.

 “Just… how long do you think it’ll be?”

 Soren turned to face the other boy, opening his mouth to say something about how it wouldn’t be taking this long if he would just hurry up - but Callum had his hands on his knees, cheeks puffing out with every breath.

 “Hand me your pack.” Soren said instead, holding out a hand. 

 “What?”

 “Your pack. I’ll carry it.”

 “But you’re already carrying one-”

 “I can manage.”

 Callum handed over the heavy bundle of camping equipment and Soren shouldered it alongside his own. 

 “Thanks, Soren.”

 He only felt a little guilty at Callum’s grateful smile.

 “Yeah, well, come on. Try and keep up.” he forged on ahead, Callum still trailing a few steps behind, but at least seeming less likely to topple backwards. 

 It was a solid twenty more minutes before they arrived at the camp. The sun was beginning to set as they trudged into the clearing that had been chosen for this year’s gathering, most of the other boys already having gathered to huddle around the great fire pit at it’s center. Soren started to make his way towards them, but was instead nearly swept over by the sudden flurry of activity that sprang to life around Callum.

 There must have been at least four attendants, brushing quickly past Soren to hover around the prince, offering clean clothes and refreshments. Soren wrinkled his nose, dropping Callum’s bag to the ground at his feet. One of his helpers would be able to find it, surely. None of them so much as gave him a second glance. 

 Stalking past the fire pit and the other campers, Soren found a spot at the edge of the forest and began erecting his tent. Nobody offered to help, he noticed. Though somebody was building Callum’s for him. Soren’s frown deepened and he hit the tent peg he was hammering with a little too much force, nearly splitting it. 

 “Drat.” he muttered under his breath, being more careful with his next strike. The familiar repetition of the process helped, and by the end of it, he was pretty sure he’d never been frustrated in the first place. Pretty sure.

 Still, he didn't really feel like joining the other boys for campfire stories, so instead crawled into his little shelter as soon as he’d finished setting it up. He stared at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep and listening to the quiet murmur of voices outside.

 “I heard the prince-”

 Soren rolled over, facing his back towards the fire and the assembled voices. But it didn’t stop them from drifting into the tent.

 “Do you think the prince-”

 He clapped his hands to his ears. What was so great about Callum, anyway? He hadn’t done anything special, hadn’t earned any of this attention. His Mom just married the King, and that was enough. He wasn’t even a real prince, Soren thought, bitterly. He was a step-prince.

 Eventually the voices outside quieted, along with Soren’s mind, and his eyes drifted closed. Callum isn’t going to ruin camp. He thought to himself, distantly. It’ll be just like last year. I’ll just need to do something bigger, work harder. It’ll be just like last year.

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 Something was scratching at the entrance of Callum’s tent. It had been for the last few minutes, snuffling around the edge. He could hear it through the walls.

 It’s probably a Banther, Callum thought, tucking his knees to his chest. It’s a Banther and it’s going to eat me.

 He didn’t know why King Harrow had made him come here. Was he really that much of a nuisance that he had to send him away for weeks, out to the middle of nowhere, with no one but Soren to help him? And where was Soren, anyway? Harrow had said that the older boy would be keeping an eye on him, and that had made Callum feel a bit better about the entire thing. But as soon as they’d arrived he’d vanished.

 The creature snuffled again, it’s shadow moving on the other side of the thin fabric of the tent. Callum was vividly aware of how fragile it was. Of how fragile he was. Will King Harrow care if I get eaten by a Banther?

 Don’t be silly, he amended. Of course he would care if I got eaten by a Banther. However, that won’t stop me from getting eaten by one.

 The snuffling thing pushed at the edge of the tent flap, and Callum scooted further away, gripping his satchel tightly and holding it out before him like a shield.

 “S- Stay back.” he managed. “I’m a very dangerous mage, and i- if you come in here, I’ll zap you!”

 Unfortunately the snuffling thing didn’t appear to speak Katolian. It stuck it’s head through the flap, and at the site of it’s intruding snout, Callum panicked; throwing his satchel at it with as much force as he could muster. But all he managed to do was blow the entrance to the tent open wider, revealing the form of his raccoon tormenter outside.

 “Ah!” Callum let out an involuntary scream, clapping his hands to his mouth and muffling the sound as much as he could. The last thing he wanted was to return home with all the other boys talking about how he was scared of a rodent. A rather large rodent, but still.

 The thing had scampered back when he threw his bag, but now crept forward again, pushing it with it’s nose. Callum reached tentatively towards the satchel’s strap, but the raccoon’s beady eyes flashed as it looked up at him, and he snatched his hand back. 

 “Shoo.” he whispered, kicking a foot in it’s direction. Not close enough to do anything, though. He pulled his leg back the moment it moved.

 It sniffed at his satchel again, and he realized belatedly that one of the attendants back at the castle had packed a few jelly tarts in it. For the road, she’d said. Callum waited for the raccoon to dig them out, figuring it would take them and leave. But instead it grabbed the satchel’s strap in it’s teeth and began dragging the entire thing away towards the woods.

 “Wait, no! Give that back!” he scrambled out of his tent and ran after it a few steps into the dark. But he was tentative, and it knew where it was going. All he saw was it’s busy tail vanishing into the pitch black of the treeline, carrying his satchel - and sketchbook, he realized with horror - with it. 

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 “Soren.”

 Soren rolled over, blearily flapping a hand in the direction of the voice, trying to ward it off. “I’m sleeping.” he murmured.

 “But you just talked, so clearly you’re not asleep.” the voice pointed out, making it painfully clear who it belonged to.

 Soren stifled a yawn, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “Well I was before you woke me up.”

 He opened his eyes, taking a moment to let them adjust to the dark. Callum was couched in the open entrance to his tent. The younger boy looked on the verge of tears. Instantly Soren sat up straighter, grabbing the wooden practice sword form where it always lay beside his bedroll.

 “What is it? Are you okay?”

 “Th- There was a raccoon and-”

 Soren groaned, dropping the weapon. “A raccoon? You woke me up cause of a raccoon?”

 Callum sniffed. “It took my sketchbook.”

 “So get a new sketchbook.” Soren offered.

 “It- It was a present from King Harrow. And it’s got…” Callum trailed off for a moment, then swallowed. His voice was quieter when he continued. “It’s got all the stuff I drew of my Mom.”

 Soren glanced away, feeling a pang of something in his own chest . He took a deep breath, then sighed.

 “Alright, let’s go get your stupid book.”

 The other boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

 “Yeah.” Soren grabbed his sword from where he’d dropped it, bringing it with him as he crawled out of the tent. “I did promise both our Dads I would keep an eye on you. Your stuff was probably included in that, too.”

 “Thanks, Soren.”

 “Yeah, sure.” He stood up, surveying the darkened camp. “Do you know which way it went?”

 Callum pointed off into the trees, and Soren rolled his shoulders. 

 “Alright, stay right behind me. Got it? There are Banthers in these woods.”

 Callum swallowed. “Uh huh.”

 “Let’s go.” Soren laid the sword across one of his shoulders, marching into the darkness. 

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 Check. Check. Che-

 Corvus stopped outside the next tent on his list. The flap wasn’t secured properly. He shook his head. Who was this supposed to be again? Oh yeah, the High Mage’s son. Probably doesn’t spend much time out in the elements. I’ll just show him how to do it.

 He crouched down, lifting the flap up and peering inside. But his instructions died on his lips. It was empty. Corvus stood quickly, glancing around. This was bad. Really bad. He couldn’t lose the High Mage’s son, not his first year of being an assistant councilor. 

 “Hello? High Mage’s son?” he called in a low whisper over the camp. 

 He probably just had to use the bathroom, Corvus though, logically. I’ll just wait for him here.

 But when the other boy hadn’t returned to his tent after ten minutes, he began to worry. Corvus glanced around nervously. He hadn’t heard any sort of commotion, but that didn’t make it much better. For all he knew the boy had just wandered off and gotten lost. And either way it had happened on his watch. 

 Corvus checked the rest of the tents quickly, keeping an eye out for anyone who could be the High Mage’s son. But that ended up being only the first of his problems when he found the prince’s tent was also empty.

 Now that is too much to be a coincidence, he thought. They must have gone off together.

 Scanning the ground for footprints, he caught sight of a small set leading from the prince’s tent and across the clearing. Following them, he discovered that his hunch had been right; they led directly to the other empty one. 

 So if I find the prince, I find them both. He thought, carefully picking out the smaller tread from the mess of footprints that filled the camp. They led him to the edge of the forest and into it, disappearing into the dark. With a sigh, Corvus followed them into the night. 

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 “Hey, uh, Soren? How do you know where we’re going?” Callum asked, picking his way carefully along behind the older boy.

 Soren pointed at the ground. “Your bag left drag marks.”

 “Oh. Cool. Coooolll.” Callum said. “And, uh, Soren?”

 “Yeah?”

 “How are we going to get back?”

 “We’ll follow our footprints.”

 “Yeah, but like, what if it’s too dark to see them?”

 “We’ve got the moon.” Soren said, pointing at the sky, eyes still trained on the ground.

 “Okay. Cool. Coooll-”

 “What?” Soren turned to face the prince. He was right, it was dark. He could hardly see Callum in the shadows. 

 “Just, uh, we’re pretty far from camp.”

 “Do you want your stuff back or not?” Soren asked. 

 “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

 “Well then, come on. I’m not going to get us lost.”

 “Okay.” Callum had taken the moment of pause to catch up, and fell into step beside Soren as they continued on. After a moment, he cleared his throat. 

 “It’s really cool how you can do all this stuff.”

 Soren glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, well, I am pretty cool.”

 “I wish I could do this sort of thing.” Callum sighed. “But I always mess it up.”

 “You’re probably good at other stuff.”

 “Nobody cares about other stuff.” Callum huffed. “Princes don’t need to be good at drawing, or at… at… I don’t even know! They need to be good at riding horses, and slaying dragons, and making decisions! And I’m not good at any of that stuff.”

 “Do you really need to be? You’re only the step-prince.”

 Callum sighed. “Yeah. I guess so.”

 He looked so downcast that Soren felt a little bad. He clapped the other boy on the shoulder. “Er, maybe you can use your drawings and like… make maps or something. That sounds pretty prince-y.”

 “Yeah. Maybe.” Callum didn’t seem convinced, eyes still fixed on his shoes. 

 Soren cleared his throat, fiddling awkwardly with the worn leather handle of his training sword. “You know, there are a lot of things I’m not good at either. Like… smarts stuff. So I just got good at hitting things instead.”

 He hefted the blade, swinging it before him. “Don’t need to talk to something if it’s already defeated!” 

 Soren shot Callum a hopeful glance, but the other boy didn’t laugh.

 He scratched the back of his head, returning the sword to his shoulder. “What I’m saying is, maybe you just haven’t found the thing you’re good at yet.”

 “Even if I do, it’s not gonna matter. It won’t change anything.” Callum huffed. “You’re right. I’m the step-prince. Being good at stuff isn’t gonna change that.”

 “That’s not what I meant.”

 “Then what did you mean?” Callum asked, shooting him a glare before quickly glancing away.

 “I- uhm.” Soren tried to find the right words, but it was all so muddled it was hard to explain. He scanned the trees, as though they would offer him a way out of it.

 And they did.

 “Hey, look!” he pointed at a nearby pine, drawing Callum’s attention up and into it’s branches. “That’s your bag, right?”

 “Yeah! Yeah, it is!” the prince ran over to the tree, reaching for the lowest branch. His fingers barely grazed it and he pushed himself up onto his toes, trying to reach it. 

 “Come… on!” he groaned. “I can’t do it.”

 “Step back.” Soren leaned his sword against a nearby trunk and walked over, cracking his knuckles (or trying to). “Let me handle this.”

 Callum scrambled back, staring at him as Soren leapt up as high as he could, catching the bottom most branch. His arms strained as he tried to heave himself up, but he managed to get up and over, straddling the branch while he tried to pick out which one to aim for next.

 “Soren, it’s really high.” Callum cautioned from below.

 “Chill out. I’ve done this before.”

 Soren braced himself against the rough bark of the tree’s trunk, feeling it scratch at his hands as he pulled himself upright to stand on the branch. Callum was just a vague shape in the shadows below, pacing back and forth nervously. 

 Soren carefully took his hand back from the tree, balancing as best he could, and grabbed the branch above him. Some of the bark came away on his hands as he heaved himself up and over again, steadily making his way closer to where the satchel hung a few limbs above. He repeated the process, slowly gaining height, until he was on level with the satchel. It’s strap was stuck on the branch above him, wedged between too smaller offshoots. 

 “Look, I’ve nearly got it!” Soren called to Callum, looking down. Which was probably a mistake, as he realized just how high he was. Soren swallowed, feeling his balance shift, and wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tree. 

 “Soren! How are you going to get down?”

 “Um. You let me worry about that!” Soren said with a lot of false bravado.

 “Did you get my bag yet?”

 “Working on it!” Soren slowly released his grip on the tree’s trunk, beginning to make his way carefully along the length of the branch, hands reaching out for the bag. The wood creaked below his feet and he swallowed hard. 

 “Soren! What was that?”

 “Nothing!” he called down to Callum. “It was nothing!”

 “Soren, is the branch breaking?”

 “No! Definitely not! That is definitely not what’s happening!”

 It creaked again, even louder this time, and Soren felt his foot slip as it branch groaned and heaved beneath his weight. He grabbed quickly onto the branch above until it steadied again.

 Just then a second, newer voice joined Callum’s. 

 “Prince Callum! I’m so glad I found you. Are you alone?”

 Soren didn’t know the new voice, and he couldn’t make out much of what was happening below through the darkness. The moon seemed to have abandoned them at some point during his climb, leaving everything in even deeper shadow.

 “Stupid moon.” Soren muttered to himself. “I hate the moon.”

 “Uhm, hello.” Callum was saying to the newcomer. Soren tried to listen even as he continued making his way closer to the end of the branch, his footfalls becoming slower and less sure the further out he went from the center of the tree. “And no, I’m just waiting for Soren.”

 “Soren?”

 “He’s in the tree.”

 “Oh. And why would he ever do that?”

 “You see, it’s a funny story actually-”

 Soren’s foot slipped, and he let out a small gasp of fear as he barely managed to steady himself on a nearby branch. Callum’s voice cut off at the noise, and suddenly the only sound was that of the wind rusting the pine’s needles and the bough under Soren’s feet groaning.

 “I’m sure it’s very funny, but perhaps you can tell me later.” The newcomer said after a moment. Then he called up into the tree; “Why don’t you come down now! Before you get hurt!”

 “I’ve got it all under control!” Soren called back. Which was kind of true. He was almost far enough out to be able to reach the bag. And he’d probably be able to figure out next steps from there.

 “I sort of doubt that you do!” the voice came again. “So please, just come down here and-”

 Soren took another step, and the branch gave it’s loudest complaint yet. He felt it shift under his feet, dipping downward. More, and then more, and then- 

 SNAP!

 Soren lunged forward as the branch broke, hands barely managing to grip onto the edge of Callum’s satchel before everything plunged downward.

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 Corvus was fairly sure that the kid in the tree was either the bravest - or more likely stupidest - person he had ever met. And he was going to get them all into a lot of trouble.

 “-just come down here and-”

 He was interrupted by a horrible snapping sound, and one of the tree’s higher branches - which he presumed the boy must have been on - broke away from the tree and plummeted towards the ground. Corvus grabbed the prince by the shoulders and pulled him out of the way, just barely managing to save them both from being squashed.

 No movement came from within the needled branches of the broken tree limb, and no scream of fear or pain had sounded as it plunged to the earth. Corvus crept forward, fearing the worst, but there was no boy to be found among the fronds and broken twigs. He glanced up at the tree, just barely making out the form of someone still above them, swaying gently back and forth. 

 Oh thank the Saints, Corvus thought. He caught himself.

 “Hey, Callum! I got your bag!” the idiot - Soren - called from above. Corvus faintly saw him wave a hand through the darkness. “I just, uh, don’t know how to get it down to you!”

 “Can’t you climb?” the prince asked, stepping up beside Corvus and staring into the foliage alongside him. 

 “Uhm, that would sort of require me to be able to reach the tree. Which I… can’t really do right now.”

 “What do you-” Callum’s eyes widened, and Corvus realized at the same moment he did what had occurred. “You’re hanging from my satchel?”

 “On the plus side, it seems to be very nice quality.” Soren informed them. 

 Definitely the stupidest, Corvus thought, shaking his head. Though that is it’s own kind of bravery.

 “Actually, uh, Callum.” Soren’s voice came again. “How much weight would you say this thing usually carries?”

 “I don’t know.” the prince tapped his chin. “Maybe like, three books worth?”

 “Well, uh, I think I weigh more than three books then.”

 “What’s happening?” Corvus asked anxiously, stepping forward. Not that he would be able to do anything if he fell. Could he catch him? Would that work?

 “You might want to step back.” Soren said by way of explanation.

 Callum stumbled quickly away, but Corvus scanned the ground furiously, trying to find anything that could break the other boy’s fall. Nothing. There was-

 “Timber!” Soren called, his voice betraying fear.

 Out of options, Corvus held out his arms and closed his eyes.

 It didn’t do very much good. Soren landed on him, sending them both sprawling into the dirt. Corvus spat out a few pine needles, wincing at a twinge of pain in his left wrist. 

 “Ow.” the other boy groaned, rolling off of Corvus and onto the ground. From there he held the satchel up, not moving from the dirt. “I got your thing, princeling.”

 Callum rushed forward, grabbing it and helping to pull first Soren to his feet, then Corvus.

 “I can’t believe you got it!” he gushed.

 Soren shook a few stray pine needles from his hair. There were a few tears in his clothes from where it’d gotten snagged on branches on the way down and Corvus was sure he’d have more than a few bruises later on, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. “Yeah, well, it’s not in uhh… exactly the same condition as before but-”

 Callum was already opening it, dumping the bag’s contents on the ground. He grabbed a book from among the other scattered items, rifling through the pages. He let out a relieved sigh. “It’s fine. My sketchbook is fine.”

 “You did all of this… for a book?” Corvus asked, glancing between them.

 Soren shrugged. “What can I say, he really likes his book.”

 Corvus shook his head, confused and a little bemused. “Well your adventure ends now. I’m taking both of you back to camp.”

 Callum quickly packed the rest of his things back into the now rather battered satchel and the pair of them allowed Corvus to lead them back the way they had come. 

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

 Soren practically flopped onto the ground as soon as they got back to camp. The older boy - Corvus - had gone off to get a medical kit (Soren didn’t know why, he was mostly fine) and left him and Callum alone by what remained of the fire. 

 The young prince was already sketching again, doodling something in his newly rescued spellbook. Soren heaved himself up off the ground and went over to sit beside him, glancing at the page. He was surprised to find his own likeness staring back at him.

 “You’re drawing… me?”

 Callum’s tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and he nodded. Soren watched, transfixed, as the younger boy drew not just him but the tree, raccoon, and satchel as well. The entire escapade came to life under his pencil. Even Corvus and Callum himself made an appearance.

 “You’re really good at that.” Soren told him as he was finishing up. 

 “Like it matters.” he let the book fall closed, tucking it and his pencil back into his bag.

 “I’m, uh, sorry about what I said before.”

 Callum just grabbed a nearby stick, poking sullenly at the last few embers that remained in the firepit before them. “Why? You were right.”

 “No. I was just… I don’t know.” Soren gazed up through the trees and out at the stars. They were really pretty, out here in the woods. “I guess I was jealous.”

 “Soren, you just tracked a raccoon through the woods, climbed a tree, and retrieved my satchel. And I just… watched. What do you have to be jealous of?”

 “I always have to do stuff like that!” Soren explained. “Just to get noticed. And then you get to like… walk into camp and instantly everybody wants to fawn over you and gives you all the attention you could ever have wanted and-”

 “But I don’t want it.” Callum interjected.

 Soren blinked at him, surprised. “Why not?”

 The prince squirmed a little. “It feels weird. Like they’re not paying attention to me, they’re paying attention to what I’m supposed to be. They only care cause I’m the prince, and like you said, I’m not even really that.”

 “I guess that doesn’t sound especially… fun.”

 “Yeah.” Callum agreed. “Not especially.”

 “Well, for what it’s worth, I think your drawings are really cool. And I’m not just saying that cause you’re the prince.”

 A small smile tugged at the corner of Callum’s mouth. “Thanks.”

 He seemed to be deciding something for a moment, and then pulled his sketchbook out again, leafing through until he found the illustration he’d done of Soren and the tree. He carefully ripped it out of the book and held it out to Soren. 

 “Here, I want you to have it.”

 “Really?”

 “Yeah.”

 “...thanks.” Soren took it gingerly, staring at it for a moment before folding it up neatly and tucking it into his pocket. “I can’t wait to tell my Dad.”

 “That you fell out of a tree?”

 “Well, maybe not that part.”

 Callum laughed, and Soren grinned at him. 

 “What’s so funny?” Corvus asked, returning with the med kit tucked under one arm. 

 “Just Dad stuff.” Soren explained.

 “Hm. Alright. Well, let me see your leg.”

 “It’s fine, Corvus.” Soren groaned.

 “It will be fine when I say it’s fine. Now show me your leg.”

 Soren sighed, pulling up his pant leg. He grimaced, most of his ankle was already a deep violet. Alright, maybe it wasn’t that fine.

 Corvus shook his head and sighed. “You’re probably going to need a splint.”

 “A splint! But it’s… it’s fine! If my leg is all messed up, I can’t do any of the activities. Like the hikes or the sparring or the-”

 “You’re going to need a splint.” Corvus repeated. “And no, you probably shouldn’t do any of those.”

 “But-”

 “You need to take it easy for at least a few weeks, until your ankle is better. I don’t know how you even walked on it the whole way back.”

 “Soren’s tough.” Callum supplied, leaning over to look at Corvus. “That’s how.”

 “Hmph. Well, he wouldn’t need to be tough if he didn’t go falling out of trees. Why don’t you go to bed, Prince Callum. It’s nearly morning and you aren’t on bed rest.”

 Callum sighed, but plodded off towards his tent. He glanced back at them once before disappearing inside, and Soren gave him an encouraging smile. But as soon as he was gone he let out a heavy breath, wincing. 

 “It’s not fine, eh?” Corvus said, not looking up from what he was doing.

 “I mean, it probably would be by tomorrow- ow”

 “No. It won’t.”

 Soren sighed. “Fine. I’ll rest.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad? I could have helped you back to camp.”

 “I uhm…”

 “There’s more than one way to be tough.” Corvus told him, finishing the splint and sitting back to look at Soren. “Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness.”

 “Yeah, well, where I come from it is.”

 “That’s stupid.”

 “Are you calling my family stupid?”

 “I guess so.” Corvus returned the rest of the supplies to the med kit and clipped it shut before standing up. “I’ll check on it again tomorrow. Okay?”

 “But what am I supposed to do all day? Everyone else is going to be out doing fun stuff, and I’ll just be stuck here watching the grass grow.”

 “That’s the price you’re paying for your heroics.”

 “Heroics?” Soren perked up, and Corvus glanced back at him.

 “Don’t let it go to your head.”

 “Too late.” Soren grinned at him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Corvus’ mouth. The older boy sighed.

 “I suppose I should stay back and ensure that you actually rest.”

 “So… what I’m hearing is that you’re gonna keep me company?”

 “That would be a side effect, yes.”

 “Great! We can come up with a new camp song.”

 “And why would we do that?”

 “Because it’s fun.” Soren said, counting off the reasons on the fingers of his left hand. “Because we can. And because I said so.”

 Corvus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Camp songs it is, then.”

 “Yes!” Soren cheered, forgetting that the log he was sitting on didn’t have a back and toppling over.

 “Soren!” Corvus rushed to his side, peering over to make sure that he was alright. “Are you okay?”

 Soren brushed the leaves from his clothes as the older boy helped him up. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

 “Tomorrow, then?”

 “Tomorrow."

[deadbeandrop]

ah yes, my favorite characters from camp lazlo, how come no one talks about them uhhh (checks notes) slinkman's parents from a family portrait in one episode

they met at slugfest ❤️

[iiusia]

hm.

[crossbackpoke-check]

giroux x any of then sens youngins

banging my pots and pans together WHY NOT ALL OF THEM

claude giroux, as demonstrated by the pie chart, is so beautiful and so shippable. i want those sens yungins to make him feel like an absolute dinosaur and i would read any and all of it even if i am more partial to claude/flyers pairings. to be specific:

josh norris: i need you to watch this video and tell me that's not horny. in what other contexts can you teach josh french, claude

timmy stü: i know there's gifs out there but the way he is with claude on the bench... ohhh he wants to fuck that old man so bad, he wants that old man to tell him he's pretty and doing so well

brady: idealistic/intellectual match rather than pure physical To Me. would be very interesting to explore if brady sees a future in claude, if claude sees his past in brady, the chain of captaincy etc etc

brady AND timmy: i love linemates who are obsessed with each other and seducing their old man case closed

thomas chabot: who would i be if i did not give you a pairing for no reason other than i said so. french canadian connection? the thread is out there somewhere and it's in whatever tiktoks chabby sends to claude

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

its my own fault for not checking sooner (bc i forget my mychart login like all the fucking time and get discouraged from checking just from that) but i finally found out why i didnt get my t refill last time i tried asking cvs :)

[gwensy]

i need to purchase an easy bake oven ive been craving easy bake oven cookies since i was 12

[pathologicalreid]

a love song for lady earth | s.r.

in which reader has her first experience with munch!spencer

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: oral (fem receiving), munch!spencer, a little bit of overstim, d/s dynamics if you spin in circles and then squint, pwp, cumming untouched, fingering, dirty talk, a little praise word count: 2.16k a/n: this one goes out to everyone who's ever gotten shitty head from shitty guys. also to people who like their men a little pathetic.

“What are you doing?” Your voice comes out higher than you anticipated. The slight panic in your tone sets your boyfriend on high alert, his eyebrows rising in curiosity as he hovers over you.

Spencer pulls himself up until you meet his eyes, concern and lust fusing together to create nothing short of confusion. He studies your expression, investigating your interruption with the kind of delicacy that he always has when approaching intimacy, “Baby,” he starts, “Have you ever received oral sex before?”

Your lips part in surprise, wondering why that’s the conclusion he comes to, “I have,” you respond hesitantly. “I just—” you falter, “You don’t have to.”

His confusion deepens, “I don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to give me head,” you answer timidly, “Because it’s not— you just don’t have to.”

Languidly, Spencer drags his fingertips up and down your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “It’s not what? Now you have to tell me.”

You groan in frustration, looking up at the ceiling fan while you search for words that won’t set your cheeks ablaze, “I don’t like it, and I know guys don’t like it. So, you just… we can skip that part.”

“Just out of curiosity, what about it don’t you like?” Spencer asks, sitting up fully between your legs, one hand resting on your knee, keeping your legs parted.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “I just don’t get any pleasure out of a guy trying to French with my vagina while I fake moan.”

“Ah,” Spencer breathes, “So, you’ve never received good oral sex before,” he amends his previous question.

Propping yourself up on your hands, you raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “I’m not entirely convinced there is such a thing, and will you please stop calling it oral sex? It sounds so clinical.”

He crawls over to you, putting his face right in front of yours, “Do you trust me?”

You frown, “Of course I do, what does that have to do with any of this?”

“Would you be willing to let me go down on you?” The earnestness in his tone catches you by surprise. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wants to eat you out.

Humming affectionately, you tilt your head at him, “Do you really want to? I always thought guys hated doing it.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “Then I guess that demographic doesn’t apply to me.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “You can… We can try,” you offer. Nerves twist in your lower belly as his eyes widen ever so slightly, your eyes fall shut as he leans his head forward, pressing his lips to yours while his hand starts to pull at the waistband of your panties.

Your boyfriend’s lips are almost unfairly soft against your own as his hands continue to undress you, pushing your t-shirt up around your waist and pulling down your underwear to the middle of your thighs. Pressing his forehead against yours, Spencer pulls away ever so slightly, “You can always tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”

Nodding, you can’t help but be curious about his plan. You find yourself questioning every partner you’ve had in the past, or maybe Spencer just has a special talent with his mouth—he certainly was good at running it. “Yes,” you say, kissing him again before he moves his head down.

“Thank you,” he mutters, bringing his head back down to where it was before you’d stopped him. Spencer lazily drags your panties down your legs, flinging them across the room to be found later before dropping his head between your knees, littering small, slow kisses along the insides of your thighs. “Pretty girl,” he hums, inspecting your glistening sex with peaked interest.

Your cunt clenches around nothing at his words, earning a chuckle from Spencer as he set on top of your mound, pulling the skin taut before blowing cool air on you. You jump in response, looking down at where he’s smirking from between your legs. Admittedly, you’d never felt so dizzy at the prospect of having a man go down on you, he just looks so pretty.

He hums absentmindedly, “Just making sure you’re paying attention,” he teases.

There could be an air raid siren going off and you’d still be too focused on him to take cover. His movements are calculated as he exposes your clit to the air, leaning his head down and pressing his tongue flat against your folds, licking a stripe before readjusting himself on the bed.

A constellation of feather-light kisses is left everywhere, your inner thighs, up toward your hip bone—everywhere except where you really need him. Your clit aches with need as he continues to tease you, the pad of his thumb skimming ever so slightly over the sensitive bud, relieving only a fraction of the pressure that’s building up. “Spence,” you breathe.

“Are you enjoying this?” He asks, lifting his head up and looking at you curiously.

You nod once, “Are you?” You challenge.

His head drops again, and your breath hitches when he answers, “Immensely.”

Spencer continues but doesn’t move on, studying your anatomy so intently that it only serves to turn you on even more. His hand ghosts over your folds, running a finger over your slit and chuckling when your hips buck up in response to the stimulation.

He could’ve gotten you to beg, had that been his goal, you would’ve babbled please so incessantly that the word no longer held any meaning, but that wasn’t what Spencer wanted. He wanted you to enjoy receiving pleasure in a way that no man had ever wanted before.

“You’re just so fucking perfect,” he murmurs, watching you intently.

Before you had a chance to reply, his mouth was on you again, his tongue deftly slipping between your folds and poking at your entrance. Other than working you up, you didn’t feel any different than you had previously. You give a gentle hum of encouragement—at least he tried, and at least you’d be wet enough for sex.

Spencer curls his tongue, dragging your slick up to your clit, and that’s where he finally got you. His tongue pressed firmly against the bundle of nerves as you squirm beneath him, your body moving faster than your brain as your hips move away from his mouth, “Shh,” Spencer coos, “It’s okay, baby. I know it’s a lot. I’ve got you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you nod. You open your mouth to form a reply, but the only thing that comes out is a breathy sigh.

Carefully, Spencer moves your legs, placing your thighs on top of his shoulders, giving you one more glance before diving back in, kitten-licking your clit while you try to catch your breath.

“Spence,” you cry, feeling an orgasm that you previously hadn’t thought was possible building in your lower belly. A swarm of nerves and aches of pleasure thrumming through your body like electricity.

He readjusts, lifting his head more so that his lips can wrap around the sensitive nub, his mouth gently suckling on it.

At a loss for what to do with your hand, they find their way down to his head, weaving your fingers through his hair as his ministrations drive you closer and closer to an orgasm. Tugging at the soft curls earns a groan from him, the vibrations on your clit causing you to cry out, “Oh my god.”

He drops one of your legs, moving his hand up to grab one of yours before you cum, squeezing his hand as he gently nips at your clit, further encouraging your orgasm.

“I’m— ah, please,” you babble nervously, inhaling sharply as your orgasm washes over you, cunt clenching around nothing as Spencer’s mouth continues working at you, licking softly as your back arches off of the bed, sweat causing the sheets to stick to your skin.

Your thighs are trembling by the time Spencer comes back up, his mouth shining with your arousal as he breathes as heavily as you. His hand cups your sensitive sex when he leans forward, leaning in to kiss your lips.

The taste of yourself on his lips doesn’t even cross your mind as you cup the back of his head and pull his mouth to yours. The tang of your own cunt on your tongue draws a moan from the back of your throat, and you jump when one of Spencer’s fingers gently teases your interest, the sensitivity from your previous orgasm making your head spin.

“Can I go back?” Spencer asks, looking down at his hand briefly before returning to your eyes for permission.

Your mouth gapes, “You want more?”

He groans in response, “Angel, I’d spend all day between your thighs if you’d let me.”

Your stomach flips, mourning the fact that you had plans in the afternoon, “I might just take you up on that someday.”

Lifting your body from the pillows, Spencer tugs your t-shirt the rest of the way off your body, leaving you fully nude in front of him, “Fuck,” he groans, gently guiding your back to the mattress as he attaches his lips to your neck, leaving your fingers clawing at his back.

His head moves lower, nipping and sucking at your collarbones, leaving light marks as he makes his way down to your chest. His lips scatter kisses all along your breasts as he moves down, down, down. Right until he’s right where you want him, and right where he wants to be. “Oh,” you whimper, taking in a shaky breath while he tentatively presses his index finger into your wet hole.

“Poor baby,” Spencer coos at your sensitivity, “You’re doing so well, letting me fuck you with my mouth. All you needed was someone to suck your clit.”

You sigh dazedly in response, every thought in your mind evacuating as his mouth drops to your pussy again, languidly lapping at your cunt while his finger eases into you, “You’re so good at this.”

He hums against you in response, the vibrations causing your body to shudder and your hands to return to their home in his hair. The feeling of his mouth gently sucking on that little bundle of nerves and his finger starting to thrust makes your walls clench.

A strangled moan escapes your mouth when he adds a second finger, his second and third fingers driving into you with a steady rhythm as his tongue flicks your clit in calculated movements. The recognition of your impending orgasm hits you, “’m close,” you breathe, gasping as his movements don’t relent, tears prick at your eyes as you chase that high.

Spencer pushes your legs further apart with his spare hand, keeping your thighs from closing around his head as he moans against your cunt. You pull on his hair, eliciting another groan from him that sends you hurtling into your second orgasm, crying out his name like a prayer as he tapers off his ministrations.

His hand slows first, gently working you through your orgasm as his tongue laps at your clit, gentle movements soothing the hypersensitive spot as you catch your breath, tears trickling down your cheeks as you smooth out the hair on his head. He pulls away from you, releasing your trembling thighs and letting them fall around him as he tiredly rests his head on your abdomen. “Spence,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair, causing him to rest his chin on you, meeting your eyes as he wipes your slick from his mouth.

He hums a response, “My love,” he murmurs, eyes closing as he enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair.

You chew on the inside of your lip nervously, “Do… do you need me?” Your question was tentative, unsure if he wants you to reciprocate.

“Uh,” he says, equally as unsure, “That’s not necessary.”

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s not like I feel inclined to, but I’d like to… to return the favor.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I mean I’m taken care of. I already…” his voice trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Oh.” Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smile, “Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” Desperately. You were trying desperately not to laugh at the prospect of your boyfriend cumming in his briefs.

He rolls his eyes in response, clearly unbothered. He seems almost proud, and you suppose it’s not often that a man finishes from giving head. “So,” he starts, moving his hand and using his fingertips to draw stars across your bare skin, “Did you enjoy it?”

You huff in response, the answer is obvious, but he just wants the victory of knowing he’s changed your mind. Who are you to refuse him of that? “Immensely,” you answer.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

I promised you some lions! Let's talk about manes, males, and management.

This is Tandie, the current male lion at the Woodland Park Zoo.

Notice anything odd about him? He's got one of those hilarious awkward teenager manes. Except... this cat is nine years old.

I was, of course, immediately curious.

Manes serve a lot of purposes for male lions, including being an indicator of health and fitness - it's actually a sexually selected trait and a social signal. Mane texture / hair quality / length is dependent on nutrition and the body having energy to grow (and carry around!) that much hair! The color is also a signal: males with darker manes have been found to have higher testosterone levels.

In one research report, wild males were much more likely to avoid a lion decoy when it had a longer or darker mane - but the girls really loved a dark mane. It's thought this is because a long, dark mane is an indicator of mate quality. Males with longer, darker manes have higher testosterone and were pretty healthy: meaning they had more energy for fighting, had a better chance of recovering if they got injured, and generally had a higher rate of offspring survival. Manes matter!

So, back to Tandie. He was actually born at the Woodland Park Zoo in 2014 alongside two brothers, to dad Xerxes and mother Adia.

This was Xerxes (rip).

Obviously, a very large, dark, lush mane on Xerxes here. So where did these blond muttonchops come from on his son?

I asked the zoo docents and got an answer that didn't make a lot of sense. They told me that after the three cubs grew into adolescents, they were moved to the Oakland Zoo together. But living together suppressed his testosterone, and he never grew a mane.

Hmmmm.

Here's a photo from 2016, when the brothers debuted at Oakland. They're a year and a half old in this photo.

(Photo Credit: Oakland Zoo)

And here's from an announcement for their third birthday.

(Photo credit: Oakland Zoo)

Okay, so these dudes obviously all were growing manes as of 2017. I think Tandie is the one on the left in the first photo, and laying down in the middle on the second. What happened?

I was just in the Bay Area for a zoo road trip, of course I went to Oakland and tracked down a docent to ask some questions.

It turns out that shortly after the brothers turned three, they started acting like adult male lions: they started scuffling regularly. It's a normal social thing for male lions to live in groups, called coalitions, but according to my lion experts there's generally a baseline level of some social jostling within them. It wasn't quite clear from what the docent said if they couldn't manage the boys together, or if they just wanted to avoid the scratches and small wounds that result from normal lion behavior. Regardless, they put all three of the boys on testosterone blockers in order to be able to keep them together as a social group.

Now, I don't know a lot about the use of hormone alteration as a form of captive animal management, except in the case of birth control. I don't think it's something that's unethical - there was just a webinar on it that I saw go by - but I don't think it's commonly done with big cats. Lions have kind of complicated reproductive cycles, and for instance, we've been learning that female lions can take much longer to come into estrus again than expected after coming off hormonal birth control.

In males, testosterone blockers (or being neutered) means they lose their manes. This is why a lot of rescues will do a vasectomy on their males instead of a neuter - it allows them to keep their mane and the social signals that accompany it.

Tandie returned home to Woodland Park Zoo after Xerxes passed in early 2022, and the docent told me all of the lions had been off their blockers "for while." I'd guess those things happened around the same time, since bringing the trio down to a duo at Oakland would reduce some of the social tensions.

Hormones are such interesting things, though. One of Tandie's brothers has a full mane again, and the other is still totally mane-less.

As for Tandie, his mane is growing back in, and it looks like he might rival his dad for length and coloration.

He started here, in February:

Yesterday:

What a difference four months (and maybe proximity to a girl) makes!

[fazcinatingblog]

Went to my brother's auction today to realise that my dream of buying a 2 bedroom apartment at an auction is probably dead

[azuremist]

I think that more fanfiction should be written with the aim to tackle the original meaning of hanahaki. Because when the concept of hanahaki disease was originally created, it was intended to be a metaphor for suppressing one’s feelings.

Your feelings are this beautiful garden of flora inside of your chest. When you express how you feel honestly, you allow for it to grow freely. But when you hide how you feel out of fear of rejection, and try to make it smaller and smaller, the flowers become cramped inside of you, until you choke on your own feelings. Every flower you cough up is something you’ve felt, but refused to say.

The whole “dying” thing is intended to be more symbolic especially. You’re killing off bits and pieces of yourself and how you feel, because you’re afraid to express yourself.

It’s not really supposed to be, “The one I love doesn’t love me back, and I’m dying from it.” Rather, it’s more along the lines of, “Repressing your emotions is bad for you, and it’s better and healthier to express them freely, even when it’s scary.”

Which is to say that, one, the cure for the disease should be telling the person that you are in love with how you feel. How the other person feels about the person afflicted should have nothing to do with it, as the trope is meant to be about feeling your emotions unapologetically.

And that, two, it’s not an inherently romantic trope. Obviously, it has romantic applications, but it can be written for any situation where a character is hiding how they truly feel. This can include a refusal to address a specific trauma, a desire to indulge in something that they’re ashamed of, and even really practical things, like wanting to ask one’s boss for a higher position.

Although (as an aromantic person myself) I don’t agree with this conclusion about the trope, this application would also avoid people calling it arophobic. When the thing killing the character is a refusal to be honest with themselves, rather than an unrequited love, it’s on nobody’s hands but their own to save their life.

There are a ton of ways that this interpretation of the hanahaki disease could be applied in new and interesting ways in fanfiction, and I’d love to read what things people could come up with!

[genderqueerdykes]

one of the most evil parts about me being told that i needed to lose weight before i could get my diseased gallbladder removed was that without telling me at all whatsoever, the physician's assistant who was responsible for my surgery consult silently gave me a referral for bariatric weight loss surgery. she told me that i'd have to get my gallbladder removal surgery with that department as well because they're used to working on bigger bodies.

she told me this, but that's not what she meant. she wanted me to get bariatric weight loss surgery all because i told her that i have poly cystic ovarian syndrome and that it's hard for me to willingly lose weight. when i called the bariatric surgeons about scheduling my consult for my gallbladder removal, they were extremely confused and were like "well is this for the bariatric surgery referral or the gallbladder removal referral?"

without my permission, without me asking, the physician's assistant silently signed me up for weight loss surgery that i never consented to. i never once mentioned wanting this surgery. i never once mentioned that my weight is affecting my health or bothering me. this person saw this as a mandatory step in order to get the surgery to remove my diseased organ. as if there were no other options. i never want to get bariatric weight loss surgery because i know it will completely devastate my health. this PA was so stuck on my weight. she could not get over it, she was literally obsessed. she did not care about my health, safety or well being, she was just obsessed with her hatred of fat people

she saw my weight as a higher priority than my diseased gallbladder. she was so stuck up her own ass that she was convinced that my weight was doing more damage to me than my gallbladder was. she wanted to keep blaming me for eating a high fat diet (i'm a vegetarian- i don't eat a high fat diet) and mocking me for being fat. she literally saw me being fat as a bigger issue than the fact that i had a literal rock stuck in the neck of one of my organs. if you ask me, if the surgeons and anesthesiologists have problems working on fat patients, that's a skill issue on them. that means you're a bad surgeon or anesthesiologist and you need to try to improve your skills. this is a literal skill issue, it's not the patient's fault that the medical professional fucking sucks at their job!

i can't describe to you how evil and insidious that is. the fact that she looked at me and went "oh my fucking god it's your weight that's the problem just go lose weight you fat asshole" just showed how much disregard she has for her fat patients. it's like she relishes torturing us or leaving us to be sick or die. there's no reason to behave this way. there's no reason to FORCE someone into weight loss surgery. my health is NOT being negatively impacted by my weight- gallstones are not caused by being overweight, and you can't give yourself gallstones. no matter how much fat you eat you can't give yourself gallstones- this is something that happens outside of your control

i hate medical professionals who are proudly fatphobic. they wear the fact that they let people remain sick and die as a badge of honor. like they're doing the world a favor. like staying sick or dying is better off for the patient. like the patient somehow doesn't "DESERVE" to be in good health. fat people DO deserve to be in good health. we DON'T have to "EARN" surgeries or life saving procedures. we are alive and human just like everyone else. this qualifies us for being cared for medically, no matter what. leave your prejudices at home. you can't just kill fat people because you don't like that we exist.

[lucysarah-c]

Why do I feel like Levi would use you as an excuse for anything?

"Captain Levi, could you stay behind to watch the cadet—"

"No, my wife caught a cold. I want to be there for her."

First, he always calls you "wife" because, to him, it doesn't matter if you two aren't officially married yet or if you're saving money to get married. You're his wife. This man was devoted to you the second you agreed to go on a date with him. Second, you don't have a cold… you simply sneezed a couple of times that morning.

"Levi, could you stay for the following meeting—"

"No, Y/N is waiting for me back in my chambers, and it's already too late," Levi replied, picking up his stuff from the meeting office's table and interrupting Erwin.

"I'm sure Y/N will understand," Erwin tried to reason, but it seemed like Levi had already stepped outside of the meeting.

"What can I say, Erwin? I'm a good husband. You make your work a priority, and you lose your girl."

"Did you finish that report—"

"I was going to stay up all night, but Y/N insisted I go to bed."

But most importantly, Levi would use you to escape ANY social event that his antisocial soul could.

"Captain! Are you staying for the after-party?" Zackly asked, almost dragging him upstairs.

"No. I'm a taken man, and everyone knows what goes on at those after-parties," Levi groaned, taking off the friendly arm around his shoulder. "I'm going home. I'm going home to my wife."

"I'm sure Y/N will understand. Good wives do."

"You don't know my wife."

While most of the time, you're just a very calm, accepting partner. Levi's life as a captain is already hard, and you don't like to add demands to it. But somehow, he's always early from any event Erwin dragged him to, coming back to be in your arms, to fall asleep as you play with his hair, and finally be able to catch some rest. You don't mind it… but you have to admit it caught you off guard when a higher-up asked you to give Levi some freedom.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

The Daycare

Danny moves to Gotham after Lady Gotham themselves asks for his help.

Gotham's natural ecto has been deteriorating, and considering ecto was what held everything in existence together safely this was a major problem for Lady Gotham.

If Gotham got too bad it would spread to the rest of the world, and could cause it to cease to exist entirely.

So Danny came, as the Ghost King he had the power to filter in great amounts of the corrupt ecto just by being in the city.

But part of his obsession was protection & helping, Gotham already had a lot of help (Batfam). So he decided to focus on helping not with the problem at the top (villains), but with the problems at the bottom.

The problems at the bottom that would be the root cause in breeding more problems.

After all, many didn't start evil, but need and desperation pushed them towards that path.

So Danny moved to the worst part of Gotham, The Bowery.

What did he do there?

Why open a Daycare of course!

Many parents could not get a good or stable job simply because they needed to look after their kids and could not afford to pay the daycare fee.

Danny wasn't worried about money after all the coffers that he inherited as king would take forever to even make a dent in it, and that's only if he was living a very lavish lifestyle everyday for several human generations.

With this in mind his Daycare fee was pretty much nothing.

He would take care of the children of a very wide age group, while the adults could focus on getting a decent job or even returning to school for a higher education for better opportunities.

How does he care for so many children?

He duplicates himself of course!

At least in the very beginning, after a while he begins expanding his Daycare offering classes and tutoring to the children as well as free food at all times.

Who's helping him ?

His ex-rouges and other ghosts who volunteered.

Lunch Lady absolutely adores having so many people and kids to make food for, and Box Lunch can socialize and play with the other kids while she works.

Ember even volunteers to be the music teacher!

Danny has the help of many ghosts who once they heard his plans were very excited to help, many having the obsession with teaching children or in general. Other ghosts helped with building, expanding, and just generally helping maintain the building in great shape. Even building a very diverse and fun playground.

Of course all this catches the attention of Red Hood. Danny just appears one day on his territory with many others and practically having a building appear out of nowhere with how fast it was built, asking literal pennies to take care of the children, and free food for anyone who asks.

All that gains a lot of attention and is rather suspicious.

But the crime rate has been going down since he opened, which is a good thing.

But many people don't want good things and decide messing with Danny and his Daycare.

Unfortunately for them cuz Danny is absolutely down for violence if he's protecting what's his.

~

Villain: "What a lovely place you have here would be a shame if something were to happen"

Danny who has the audacity to fight Gods and win: "Someone call an ambulance! But not for me!

Also Danny: "These hands are rated E for everyone"

~

Other people:"Should we call someone for help?"

The ghosts:" Nah, let him have his fun he needs his enrichment"

~

Red Hood: "He's very suspicious"

Danny is absolutely covered in paint and singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star with the young kids: "Ah yes I'm totally doing normal Gothamite behavior"

~

Lady Gotham is having some self care spa time she's having a grand time: "Should I warn the young king of the other halfa (Jason)? Hmm best not, it'll be more entertaining if it happens naturally"

~

Just an Idea

[oceantornadoo]

two lieutenants.

(simon riley x f!reader, all fluff)

two lieutenants🌪️masterlist

not supposed to happen, not really. but the higher ups are finding their morality (where was it all these years ago?) and want to pat themselves on the back for adding a woman to the team.

simon is prepared to hate you, someone taking his spot. this one thing he's done in his life well, the one family he can protect. it itches him in a place he can't shake, the thought of change, of a new person. someone who will stare at his skeleton ways and his gruff voice, someone who will judge but not understand.

but then he meets you, tinkling laugh with doe eyes. calculating in your military knowledge, respectful of the 141's history. never overstepping, never trying to take his place, simply wanting to learn. he tries to hate you, tries to dump sugar in your tea and hide your eye black, but you just laugh and make a face at the sweetness, drawing an extra makeup stick out of your cargoes.

he needs to hate you, but you wash his extra masks without asking on the days he can't touch them for the blood that's laced into the seams. you include his cigarettes on base grocery runs and pour over tactical maps with him until the wee hours, understanding his fundamental need to know everything, more than what's in the briefing papers.

you are prepared to be intimidated by the ghost, the killing machine without a name. you know you're the only woman on an all-male team, but even you can't work friendship miracles. then you meet him and he cocks his head and sizes you up, seeing you as a threat instead of a piece of meat. someone worth considering, not a sideshow, not eye candy.

you try to be scared of him, but how could you when he always leaves an extra tea bag in the almost-empty box? when he keeps hair ties in his front pocket because yours always seem to break in between missions. he listens to your stories and nods thoughtfully, not needing to preen and puff his status like men you've met before.

you need to stay away, but he takes off his gloves in front of you that first time and suddenly you can't. he tells you to call him simon and that he likes the way you say his name, your dissimilar accent coming through. he brushes stray hair from the nape of your neck during a desert mission, tucking it back into your bandana, and you can't remember why you ever intimidated by this man who makes you earn his comfort and care, but who gives it endlessly once you've got it. he's your simon and you're his partner in crime, and suddenly you two could never imagine a team without two lieutenants.

--

im not always into power/rank play i want to be RESPECTED

(don't get me wrong it still eats sometimes)