#better stock up on the kleenex

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The sudden gust and subsequent chaos across your desk has you reeling. You wheel back as you raise your hands defenslessly and watch everything scatter. Mr. Hansen’s jacket knocks over your fresh cup of coffee and your favourite ornament of a little ballerina kitten. 

“My office now, critter.” 

You wince again, this time because of the cruel name. You hate when he calls you that. You stand and pick up your boss’ jacket before it can get wet in the spilled coffee. You hang it on the rack in the corner beside your own and go back to sop up the mess with a wad of kleenex. 

You have more down your tights and on your chair but it doesn’t matter. At least time, it wasn’t scalding tea. You gather up the rest of your things but leave them in an unsorted cluster. You know better than to keep him waiting. 

As you flit around the desk, you notice a pair of watching eyes. You almost forgot about Jensen. He was so quiet messing with the printer that you didn’t even notice him. He frowns as he sits up and shuts the drawer. 

“You alright?” He asks. 

“Ahem, yea, thanks,” you try to smile but these days, it just isn’t easy. 

He gives you a look. Sympathetic and something more. You’re too embarrassed to worry about that. More so, you’re too afraid to make Mr. Hansen even angrier. Clearly something is wrong and the days only just begun. 

You approach his open office door. That’s a clear signal that he’s been waiting. You enter as one of your flats slips off your heel and claps loudly. You cringe as he stands at the window, glowering at the courtyard below. You like the green square. You go there to eat your lunches. When you get one.

“Tell me why my ex-wife insists on making me miserable?” He snarls. 

He doesn’t want an answer. When he asks you things, he never does. It’s rhetorical. He often only speaks to hear himself and anyone else joining the conversation only gives him a target. 

“I will get you your brown sugar espresso and croissant at once--” 

“Fuck off!” He chops his hand in the air and faces you. “I didn’t just call you in here for you to feed my like some pet. Come here.” 

He snaps his fingers and points to the chair across from his. You always hate the setup. The one behind his desk is tall and cushy and makes him look like a tyrannical king, whereas the one facing him is too low and made of the most uncomfortable acrylic. It doesn’t even have armrests. 

“Take notes.” 

You open up the notes app on your phone without hesitation. The smell of coffee wafter up from your stockings. You shift and focus on him. 

“Melora, you ice cold cunt, it’s been two years since I left your dry ass. If you send your attorney to my house again, I will show up to yours with a crowbar. My dick feels good without frost bite, thank you very much. Your regretful ex-husband, Lloyd ‘Fuck You’ Hansen.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking bitch.” You keep typing and he shakes his index at you, “not that part. Fuck. Oh, can you add the sick face emoji before you format that? Thanks, critter.” 

You hit save and stand up, “would you like your coffee now?” 

“Uh, sure, whatever. Make sure it’s hot. Oh, and you know what, I want that as a PDF before you forward it over to the former Mrs. Hansen. With letterhead.” 

He shoos you and you gladly take the dismissal. You never were one for arguing and never dared to say a single spare word to your boss. You assume that’s why he keeps you around. You’re no extraordinary assistant, just obedient. 

The tasks he gives you might not all be professional but as long as you get them done, you don’t get any trouble. You stride back out to your desk and stop short. Your things are all back where they belong and dry. Your cup is clean and rinsed out. 

Who did that? 

“Hey, uh, what kinda coffee do you take?” Jensen surprises you as he appears from around the corner. 

“Jake, uh I mean, Mr. Jensen, did you do all this?” 

“Ha, no one calls me mister but you,” he chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Took like six seconds. I was just thinking, I’m going to make a run down to The Grind and maybe I could get you something fresh.” 

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I... no, please don’t waste your time,” you wring your hands, your chewed up nails aching from your nervous habit. “I gotta go get Mr. Hansen’s breakfast.” 

“Right,” he looks down and fixes his glasses, “well, I fixed that thing.” He nods to the printer, “shouldn’t eat anymore paper. I hope. You know, every tech bootcamp I’ve gone through and they never teach you about printers. I swear, they defy the laws of the universe.” 

You show your teeth in a half-smile. That’s silly. He grins proudly. 

“I didn’t mention, I... like that bow in your hair. It’s cute. Matches your little kitty.” 

You peek down at the figurine of the calico doing a pirouette. You blush. You only wish you were that dainty. You feel gawkish with the way you seem to loom over everyone else, yet somehow feel tiny at the same time. 

“Thanks. That’s... please don’t feel sorry for me. He’s not that bad and it’s my job,” you shrug. 

“Feel sorry? No, I’m just... being nice. Well, maybe another time. For the coffee,” he says. “Unless, I could go with you on your run?” 

“Uh, that’s-- you’re busy. Mr. Hansen only like Esther’s.” 

“Esther’s?” He exclaims as his eyes bulge behind his frameless lenses, “that’s all the way across town.” 

“I know some shortcuts,” you assure him as you bend to retrieve your purse from under your desk and drop your phone in. “Anyway, thanks for fixing the printer. I gotta go before he catches me dawdling.” 

“Right. Guess I should get to accounting. Guess they had a server crash and some stuff got lost. See ya round.” 

“Sure,” you agree. You don’t see too many people around. They avoid Hansen and more often, you’re running around at his beck and call. 

[thinkpink212]

How To Take Care of You When Sick

The following items should be collected (and anything else you find helpful to you when sick) & kept somewhere dry and safe for those sick days, especially if you have no one who is able to come help take care of you🫧

Medication I.e pain relievers, migraine tablets, cough syrup, nose spray, sleeping pills, throat tablets etc

Vitamins especially D

Thermostats to check you’re fever goes down after 3 days otherwise you may have to contact your doctor

Vaporub, tiger balm or any form of menthol rub for chest/back & throat

Hand sanitizer

Lotion

Lip balm

Lavender sleep spray

Humidifier

Essential oils i.e eucalyptus, mint, lavender, lemongrass and/or tea treat

Tea (Ginger, turmeric, lemongrass etc) If possible, keep a stock of those packets from the Asian markets (often they are stronger & better imo)

Veggie stock (and vegan chicken stock, or the regular kind)

Frozen prepackaged veggies for a soup/stew

Instant noddles

A table fan in case you get too hot

A heating pad or heating blanket in case you get too cold

Fluffy socks & comfortable cloths you can easily take off/adjust for comfort

Silk or satin Sleep mask (especially if you don’t have blackout curtains)

Wet wipes and Kleenex

Electric toothbrush, mouthwash etc (but if you can’t keep up with your mouth hygiene, just try and rinse your mouth as often as you can! 

Portable charger

Emergency contact numbers written out on paper & somewhere electronic where you can send it, in case.

A Nice book or comfort movie — but do not strain yourself

Other Tips:

Sleep sleep sleep — you’re body is doing it’s best to fight off whatever you have. Feed it, hydrate it and medicate it to help, but most importantly, sleep to not strain yourself further then it can.

Please have an emergency saving fund for in case you’ll be missing from work for a couple of days (if you don’t get paid sick leave)

If possible, air out your room whenever you manage to get out of bed — the airflow is good for you.

If you have the option to order food, try to avoid greasy and hard foods. But essentially, eating is the goal so whatever you are in the mood for please eat eat eat!

Let someone know you are sick, besides those who need to know I.e boss, roommates, appointments. Just so you have someone aware in case your situation becomes more serious.

Xo

[bamboo72498]

Prompt: Beckett catches a miserable cold early season 5 after they got together and for the first time she lets Castle take care of her :’))

Hello, anon buddy! Good to hear from you again! Here is the fill for your prompt. It was a lot of fun to write!

[][]

It starts with a sniffle; one he waves off because of how cold and dry it’s been lately. Winter in New York is hard on all of them. But as the pile of tissues in her wastebasket starts to grow bigger and bigger and Kate’s nose gets redder and redder, he starts to get concerned. 

When they go out for lunch, she winces at the sunlight and keeps her head ducked the entire walk to their favorite Chinese place near the station, he knows she notices him looking at her but neither of them comments. 

But when they get a call as they're eating lunch and she passes it off to Ryan and Esposito, he has to say something. 

“Kate.”

“I’m fine, Castle,” she says, sipping on her Coke. He sees her disgusted look when she swallows mucus too. 

“You don’t look fine.”

“I have a headache. It’s no big deal.”

“I would say it’s more than a headache, or have you taken out stock in Kleenex in the past 24 hours and not told me?”

“It’s just allergies,” Kate says, trying to end the conversation and not admit how terrible she was feeling.

“Kate,” he says; softer this time, tilting his head at her. He’s known her long enough, studies her long enough, to know when she’s not feeling well and when she trying to his that she’s not feeling well. 

She lets out a defeated sigh. “Fine. I don’t feel good. Are you happy now?”

“A little. Is your lunch good?”

“No, it tastes like snot-covered cardboard,” She pouts. 

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that,” Castle replies with a chuckle. He sets his container aside and reaches for her. “Why don’t I call you a cab to take you home?”

“I don’t need to go home. I need a minute to lie down until my headache goes away.”

“Kate: you’re miserable here. I can tell how badly you’re fighting it. But every time the phone rings or you get another email, it makes your head pound harder. And I know you’re trying to be tough and show off your Superman powers. But I also know that you’re not going to get any work done with how you’re feeling right now.”

He watches her resolve break; how her head rests more and more on the arm that's propped up on her desk. 

“Please? For me.” He asks. 

“Okay, I’ll go. But just for today.”

“That’s all I ask.” Castle is quick to pull up his phone and call for his car service. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kate says a while later as they stand on the curb together watching the black town car pull up. “I appreciate it.”

“What are partners for?” He shrugs. “Soup and some sick day supplies, courtesy of Alexis and Mother are being sent to you as we speak.”

“Tell them thanks for me.” She gets into the car and Castle stops the door before she can get it closed. 

“Feel better, Kate.”

The last thing he sees before the car drives away is Kate’s soft smile. 

[marjaystuff]

Interview with Kristin Hannah and her new book, The Women

The Women by Kristin Hannah is yet another home run.  It has become obvious for those who have read her books she must own stock in Kleenex because people will go through a tissue box. The novel is split into two parts: During the Vietnam War and after.

The story has a twenty-year-old, Frances “Frankie” McGrath, after finishing nursing school, deciding to serve in Vietnam as an Army nurse. Nothing can prepare Frankie for what awaits in Vietnam, a chaotic and destructive environment. 

Her story shows how the friendship grew between three American military nurses serving in Vietnam: Frankie, Barb Johnson, and Ethel Flint, where they became a sisterhood. 

These women served and sacrificed so much yet were dismissed and seamlessly forgotten. Vietnam was a dark thorn in American history, but it is also a tragedy the way those who served were treated when they came home. Through Frankie’s eyes readers can take a journey with her, going through bad times and ending with hope.

It is a story about patriotism, friendship, and remembrance.  These women who served in Vietnam were not only strong, but also courageous. As Hannah so brilliantly points out they should not have any shame, because it all belongs to Americans who mistreated them.

Elise Cooper: Why write about Vietnam vets now?

Kristin Hannah: I have wanted to write it for quite some time.  It has been on my mind for a long while. I wanted to focus on returning from war.  I saw this personally when I was a child. I think for a long time Vietnam was a subject people did not want to read about or talk about. I sought to show what life was like in the Vietnam hospitals with its horror, difficulty, and camaraderie. On a book tour I was told by both male and female Vietnam vets and their children how this was an unspoken trauma in their family for over fifty years.  If the book helps in some small way this makes me happy.

EC: The female lead, Frankie, a Vietnam vet, seems to have the same journey as many vets who come home and feel misunderstood. Agree?

KH:  It is a sad truth that we have often failed our veterans upon their return in how we care for them. This has been my soapbox for a while.  If we as a country are going to ask people to put themselves in harm’s way for us it really behooves us to care for them fully when they come home.  This is especially true of female veterans who are often forgotten in this equation. 

EC:  Your earlier book, Home Front, was similar but focused on a war on terror vet?

KH:  My passion for wanting to focus on returning veterans led me to write Home Front. This was the beginning of my rearing up to write this book, The Women. By speaking with a Blackhawk pilot who deployed, Teresa Burgess, a warrant officer, helped me to find authenticity.  She also helped me to understand when women are considered in combat and when they are not. This idea that someone can be a Blackhawk pilot rescuing soldiers in a hot landing zone and not be considered in combat just stayed with me. One of the things the Vietnam nurses heard when they came home and tried to get help for their emotional trauma, “well you were not in combat so why would you have any issues.”

EC:  Your dedication in The Women was very powerful.  Do you want to explain it?

KH: It summarizes the book. It is my discovery of why I wrote this story. It was shocking to see that even the male Vietnam vets brushed off what nurses went through. The women were continually confronted with their invisibility and lack of remembrance for their service even by the VA and those who should have known better. Women have served as nurses in wars for ages. It was weird to me how consistently they were overlooked. They have been marginalized or forgotten.

EC:  You do explain that the Vietnam veterans, unlike other vets, were treated horrifically, which included being called baby killers, being flipped off, and spat upon.  Why put it in?

KH:  This is why I wanted to write about the Vietnam era.  As a child I remember how they were treated when they came home. My best friend’s father was shot down and I wore his POW bracelet for decades. This stayed with me. I always wanted to write about this terrible and dark period of American history because it so important for healing, individually and as a nation.  We need to recognize and remember their service. I think in many instances they lived in the shadows about what they went through. 

EC:  You also delve into PTSD?

KH:  Remember this is a time when there was no help for PTSD for the men either. This is the beginning of the treatment and the understanding of it.  The male vets faced daunting challenges to getting help as well, especially in the late 1960s. These vets came home to a toxic American reaction to their service. I do not think it can be overstated about how it affected their healing and wanting to get help.  This was entirely new.  The WWII vets came home to ticker tape parades of gratitude and honor, while the Vietnam vets, both male and female, came home to horror. 

EC:  Do you think PTSD played a huge role in the book?

KH:  In my first draft I did not include it because I wrote about it before in Home Front and The Great Alone, the dark side of PTSD. But the truth is, in reading about the Vietnam era vets it felt wrong not to talk about this journey of theirs including emotional trauma, flashbacks, nightmares, and responses they did not understand.  There was this layer of shame and silence that overlayed their service. I had to have Frankie experience what so many of her sister and male counterparts experienced. 

EC: Do you think wars now and in the past helped women who served be more empowered, many breaking the glass ceiling?

KH: I agree. I met a woman who was a nurse over there, became a lawyer, and is now a judge in Southern California. She said that one of the things learned after being a nurse in Vietnam is that “we can do anything.” I thought how true and powerful.  The women who I met have a wide range of careers. The 1960s was a time when women’s roles were much more prescribed, yet these women broke out of it and realized their own strength and power. Women should be able to do anything they want. 

EC:  How would you describe Frankie?

KH: I created Frankie to be a woman of her time, someone coming of age in the 50s and 60s.  She realized her own strength but became broken by her Vietnam experience.  Because of her lack of healing, she makes choices that destroy her.  She must fight with her girlfriends at her side as well as her own self to become the best version of herself.  She has learned from her mistakes, a survivor.  At times very competent, angry, fragile, anxious, and unhinged.  She is very smart, honest, and compassionate. Not necessary all these things all at once, a before and after.  When she came home to stateside after the war, she is fighting between the woman she was raised to be and the woman the Vietnam War turned her into. It takes her a long time to accept this new version of herself. She had to forge an unfamiliar and sometimes an unsupported path. 

EC: What about the friends Ethel and Barb?

KH:  Barb was the rebel rouser. They both are loyal and helped each other and Frankie.  They are strong and believed in each other. This is a presentation of female camaraderie during war. One thing I always heard is that war can be the best of times and the worst of times simultaneously. The best of times is the friendships they made, and they felt they did something that mattered.  Barb, Ethel, and Frankie were literally saving lives. This all comes together that created powerful bonds.  

EC:  You have a recurring theme in all your books?

KH:  Yes, female friendship is something I cared deeply about.  It is important to me that Frankie was healed by herself but also with her girlfriends. They saved her.

EC:  What about Frankie’s relationship with her father?

KH:  I found in my research how often these women who served felt unsupported by their own families, both on leaving and on returning. The father was part of the greatest generation who taught Frankie to be proud of her family’s military service.  He was proud when his son went off to war, but embarrassed and ashamed when his daughter did the same thing. I think many women in Vietnam did not have the support of their own families. 

EC:  Frankie’s love interests: Jamie and Rye?

KH:  Rye was Frankie’s brother’s best friend.  Over the course of her in country and at home life she falls in love several times.  Some of these love stories prove to be helpful and some are difficult. 

EC:  The way Jamie was described I thought of Robert Redford in the movie, “The Way We Were”- do you agree?

KH:  Me too. I said in the book that he looked like Robert Redford in the movie, “This Property Is Condemned.” 

EC:  Did the movie or TV show MASH come into your mind?

KH:  I mention it in the book because it came out in 1972/73. I grew up watching it.  It took me awhile to figure out what war were they talking about. I was astounded by those who said, “there were no women in Vietnam,” considering MASH was on. Women have served as nurses throughout wars.  How is it that these women were completely forgotten, even by the people who ought to know better.  

EC:  The emphasis in the book is that those women who served in Vietnam were forgotten?

KH: And they were not thought about. I saw this cartoon where someone pulled a military uniform out of the attic, and someone asked when did your grandfather serve.  They responded, “it was my grandmother.” It is so indicative to me that people automatically think soldiers are just male. There were over 10,000 women serving in Vietnam.

EC: Is The Nightingale still going to be made into a movie?

KH: It got stalled for a couple of years because of the pandemic and then got tripped up because of the writer’s strike and the actor’s strike.  I think we are finally on track to film in 2024, fingers crossed.

EC: Do you have any control over your books being made into movies?

KH: Control is not a word I would use. For The Nightingale they have been good about keeping me involved that includes me reading the script and giving input. This is as much as I can hope for as a novelist since I do not want to do the heavy lifting.  So, I must give up control to the people who hopefully know what they are doing.

EC: Is this book, The Women, going to be made into a movie?

KH: Warner Bros. has picked it up and they want to do a big screen.  I do not have control, but I do have input. I feel very much I am a part of the team, and this is a great feeling. 

EC:  Next book?

KH: Right now, I am thinking about some things.

THANK YOU!!

[blingitandmore]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Crystal Cross Vent Clip Car Interior Decor.

[mbarrcras]

Admittedly, I was a little late because I’m always the last person to jump on the hype train, but I binged them all recently and fell in love. Truly one of best trilogies out there and it really doesn’t get the praise it deserves. Already know ‘Kingdom’ will be another fantastic installment. Noted! I’m a very sensitive and emotional person, it doesn’t take much to get the waterworks flowing so definitely better safe than sorry. Always gotta keep the Kleenex stocked up in the Barrera household. And I will absolutely fill you in and report back with my glowing review as soon I get around to seeing it! Apologizing in advance for the endless incoherent rambling. What’s on your agenda now, by the way? Enjoying a little summer break, or are you working on a new and exciting project? | @freyaallcn

Oi, bless you! I'm so chuffed you're a big fan of the franchise, I've been too for a while. Honestly, I think you'll really enjoy this latest part. It's got all the action, drama, and heart that you've come to love from the series. Now, as for the tissues... well, I'd say it's always better to be safe than sorry. There are definitely a few moments that might tug at your heartstrings, so maybe pop a pack of tissues in your bag just in case, I don't want you to come angry at me because I hadn't warn you. But don't worry, it's not all doom and gloom, there are plenty of uplifting bits too, which helps balance things out. You'll have to fill me in later if you exhausted your supply of tissues.

[awed-frog]

The Memory Remains/Carthago Delenda

On the whole, I think I really liked this episode? It certainly felt very old school, in the best possible sense. There were a couple of moments I was actually worried, and considering that I know perfectly well both Sam and Dean will always be fine, that’s quite something. 

I sort of liked the mythology, and I liked the class thing, and as for Dean hooking up with a waitress - look, first - this is the writer who practically wrote Dean as bi in Beyond the Mat, his only other Supernatural episode. I know they didn’t quite go there, but by paralleling a young Sam jerking off to some picture of Rio (sorry to be coarse, but that’s exactly what it was and it was confirmed both by dialogue and by Sam’s embarrassed stammering) with Dean’s obsession for Gunnar, well, kudos for the effort. And Jensen, of course, went with it, like he always does, and made the whole thing very obvious. So there’s that, and second - this is what Dean does. He’s a kisser and a hugger and all about touching and be touched, and sex with strangers was the only thing that, growing up, gave him that physical intimacy he craved and nobody else was capable to share with him. We know Mary was dead, of course, and John was not the hugging type, and Sam - my headcanon (which I use liberally in my fics, and sue me) is that he was an expansive child and Dean secretly loved it, but at some point John told both of them to just cut it out already, ‘cause you’re too old for this shit now. So that was that, and from then on, touch that actually matters has been in short supply for Dean - and, unlike Sam, whom I read as more reserved, Dean craves to be touched and held. It’s just who he is. So, whatever - he’s worried sick about Cas, and that’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and there’s a million other things going through his head and now that stupid sheriff’s brought half of them up again by talking about a kid who grew up with an abusive father as though that’s nothing and what can you do (I actually went back and looked three times at that scene, at how the sheriff says, “Guess who gets to take care of him?” because something was bugging me and yeah, there it was - Sam visibly makes an effort to react to the conversation because it’s what’s expected from him, but Dean just looks up - up and to the left, that is, which is what happens when you remember past experiences; and I don’t want this person who reads a lot into every detail, but these are basic biology things an actor would do without even realizing, and also it’s beyond canon, by this point, that Dean took care of John more than once, because that’s what happens when you’ve got an alcoholic parent) - and, sorry, here’s the end of the sentence - it looks perfectly reasonable to me that Dean would want some comfort, and I do believe he slept with that woman and that it was great and that it cheered him up a bit in some bittersweet way and what can you do?

Honestly, all that I’m upset about is that the straight stuff is always out in the open and for the queer one you need to stop your video and squint at the scene and the paintings and the colours and yeah, that BS smack on Dean and the waitress could be nothing -

(Also, that girl is not his type at all. She was just there, and she liked him, and, as he’s told us himself, he likes waitresses because they smell like food and it’s not easy to get them - if that doesn’t sound like comfort and a need for validation to you, I don’t know what does.)

Moving away from Destiel-related content, I really liked how seamlessly the different parts of the episode moved into one another. From that woman reading the text of the Fourth Amendment on the radio at the very beginning (the one which makes it illegal to search a house without a warrant or probable cause, that is), to Ketch and his men walking around in Sam and Dean’s lives as they themselves are in the outside world, living them - that was very well done.

Also well done: the whole social commentary on class and money. 

Industrial benefactors are sometimes seen as a good thing, because they normally provide houses for their workers and schools for their workers’ kids and therefore create and enrich a whole community, but personally I’ve always hated the concept (which is not as outdated as one would expect, and ew) and I was happy to see our writer didn’t give them an inch. Yes, sure, the town did prosper, but that factory was creepy and unpleasant in itself (even if you eat meat, you gotta admit that the meat industry and meat factories are about as bleak and morally ambiguous as you can get) and, more importantly, it was only held together by human sacrifice. The idea that it could, in fact, be considered acceptable to lose a kid every year so that the rest of the village can get by was never even suggested, and thank God. Instead, the whole episode read like some old-fashioned Quaker or Socialist leaflet: money corrupts (look at our first victim, lured to his death by a backpack full of dollar bills), creates division and resentment (the tale of the two brothers may have read like a bad Dynasty episode, but these things happen every day), generally comes from blood (the entire god story and the sacrifices) and it’s always better to be honest and poor than rich and tainted (I really liked the sheriff, poor guy).

As for the lore itself - I’m slightly less happy with it, mostly because I would expect both Sam and Dean to know perfectly well what a satyr is (and no, they don’t eat human flesh - those were the women who danced with Dionysos, totally different stuff) and because Moloch has been maligned plenty enough, but I did appreciate the casual horror of it all - a starved and tortured god locked in your cellar, people dressing as animals to capture an unwilling sacrifice - very gothic and compelling.

Since we’re now talking about pagan stuff, maybe Sam and Dean’s discussion about their legacy and mortality made sense, but it was still hard to watch. What happened to the wary hope of S11? To the idea it’s not too late to find a partner, perhaps even to have kids? With that mournful discussion and by carving their initials in the Bunker’s table, Sam and Dean have somehow closed the circle. Their story, this is what they seem to think, is not going anywhere, is not leaving any memory behind. The thing was so sweet and sad, I’m actually comforted by the fact this is not the last season, because there it was - the perfect foundation to end this story in a burst of flames. The reminder to their childhood, the belated acknowledgement that it wasn’t, in the end, as bad as it could have been (“Next time you hear me say that our family is messed up, remind me that we could be psycho goat people,” Dean says, and man, now I can’t wait for that confrontation with Mary we know is coming), the quiet acceptance about their importance in history (non-existent), in people’s lives (often significant) and in their own consciences (“We left the world better than we found it, you know.”) - the knowledge that one day they’ll both die, and they’ll be forgotten, and someone else will live in the Bunker, fight on - it was heartbreaking, but also - also, after all these years of anger and torment and hurt, it looks like Sam and Dean are very close to being okay with everything - their family, their jobs, their place in the world, and even each other - and that’s -

- yeah.

We'll eventually fade away, too.

Just in case someone is wondering: Moloch was the god of Carthage, a city which used to be roughly where Tunis is now. At one point, it was Rome’s main rival - mostly because Carthaginians were better educated and smarter and had a longer and richer civilisation behind them - so Rome started a brutal campaign against them which included a few wars and also liberal amounts of bullshit propaganda. What Moloch is generally associated with is child sacrifice, which ties in nicely with our two victims in The Memory Remains, and I’m not saying that never happened at all, but still - it’s very likely it didn’t happen with the alarming frequency described by some of the more vitriolic Roman politicians. Plus, you know - human sacrifice is a thing in every culture, and it makes perfect sense. A human life, and especially a child’s life, is the most precious thing a community has to offer, right up there with other very precious things, like a good stallion or a fertile bull, so when things start to go really bad, you have up up the ante a bit. Gods are not stupid, and no god is going to show up and save your stupid city in exchange for a loaf of bread and two rabbits. That’s just the way it goes, and everyone knows it. Even the Romans used to perform human sacrifices in times of trouble, so they can just shut it (as you can see, since I’m an archaeologist I’m approaching history in a calm, academic fashion, without taking sides, because that would be both unprofessional and pointless).

Oh, and this is a statue of Moloch which was created for some movie and ended up in someone’s garden in New Jersey, because why not.

Random thoughts: 

I so wish this was on HBO, because Jesus, stoned!Dean must be quite something and that’s clearly something he does, or used to do, a lot and uuugh, where’s my spinoff on those four years he spent without Sam?

Ketch is definitely coded as bisexual - what kind of man notices another man’s hair or clothes? - but at the moment I’m more interested in him stealing Mary’s picture and what he thinks about it.

Which Stark was Sam supposed to be? Who would appeal to him the most? Since Dean was Oberyn, I’m guessing we’re not looking for Tony, but for a random member of the Stark family - Ned, perhaps? Or Bran?

As for Dean picking Oberyn, lol. Bisexual guy who gets into fights to protect his family and is in love with an unpredictable ‘I’m as strong as you and can look after myself, thank you very much’ partner - it’s okay, sweetie, we’ve got you.

If this isn’t going anywhere, Wanek needs to take a chill pill - look at the ships and the puppies and the trench coats and oh my God, that BS sign - what the hell, man?

[whimsical-musingss]

Calling

Summary: when the group arrives to Alexandria, a lot of things change, especially between you and Daryl. (S5)

Warnings: typical TWD violence/gore, grief and loss. Fighting. Age gap. Fluff. Not my gif.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X F Reader

The large gate slides shut behind the group, and you immediately feel trapped. When you look at the others, you know that you aren’t the only one who feels this way.

Then Rick is off to speak with Deanna, who you assume is in charge here. You begin to feel more on edge as Rick walks away, and Judith begins to whimper in Carl’s arms.

You sneak a glance at Daryl, who is still holding the opossum by its tail. Your face twists in digust, which he notices, and raises his arm to move the dead animal closer. When you back away you notice the small smirk on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

The group waits in anticipation for Rick to return, and it doesn’t take long before he does. Aaron points to you, motioning you to step forward. You do.

“Deanna wants to speak with you now,” he says, and you only nod as you begin to walk with him, turning back to the group. Rick only nods, but Daryl looks more agitated.

The walk to Deanna’s house is quick, and when you stand on the porch, you’re amazed how huge the house is. How clean and tidy the lawn is. And when Aaron leads you inside, you could only stare in amazement at the furniture and the rugs. And damn, they’re clean.

“Hello, Y/N,” a woman says, and she’s standing in the middle of the room behind a couch. There’s a camera next to her, facing a chair.

You could only walk slowly to her, feeling extremely out of place. You peek at Deanna, who gives you a warm smile. You don’t return it.

“Please, sit. Do you mind if I film our conversation?” She asks, and you shrug as you sit slowly on the chair. It’s soft, and you run your fingers over the arm.

“Rick told me your name,” Deanna continues. “Are you close with Rick?”

You shrug again, your eyes peeking at the camera and then back down at your lap.

“Tell me, Y/N, did you grow up in Georgia?”

You nod, confused at her questions.

“What did you do before?” She asks again, leaning into the couch, eyes trained on you.

“Um...I am, well, I was a doctor,” you mumble, fingers now picking at the fabric on the chair arm.

“Which field of medicine?”

“Pediatrics.”

“Ah, so, I assume you are Judith’s doctor at the moment?” Deanna smiles.

“If you want to call it that.”

“Did you like your profession?” She tilts her head, analyzing you. You squirm.

Your brow furrows at her question, yet you know your answer. “I loved it,” you whisper, not meeting her eyes. “It was my calling.”

She nods, tapping her finger on her chin, thoughtful. “Did you have a lot of patients?”

You nod, a small smile on your lips.

“Besides pediatrics, do you have knowledge on how to treat adults as well?”

You nod again.

“All right, Y/N. It was very nice to meet you, and I’m sure I can find you a job here. You’ll fit in well here,” Deanna stands, and so do you.

“Thanks,” you mutter, and Aaron is outside when you open the door.

“What does Deanna mean by jobs? What jobs are there?” You ask.

“Did she give you one?” He asks.

“She said that she can find one,” you reply.

“And she will.”

When you return to the group, Rick immediately stands, his brow furrowed. “What did she ask?” Judith squirms in his arms.

“What I did before,” you whisper, looking down at Judith, letting her wrap her tiny fingers around your bigger one.

“Nothin’ else?” You shake your head at his question.

Daryl hovers, listening, the opossum’s tail still in his damn hand. And when it’s his turn, he takes it with him.

“I don’t think that’ll give Deanna a good impression,” you tease him, and he just scoffs.

The group is given two houses, but Rick has everyone stay together in just one, so everyone can sleep in the living room as a pack.

The group tentatively explores each house, however, finding changes of clothes and stocked fridges and cabinets full of food. You almost cry with joy when you turn on the shower, feeling the steam stick to your skin.

“You gon’ shower?” Daryl asks gruffly, and you turn to him, your change of clothes in your arms.

“I think so,” you say, your smile bigger than he’s ever seen it.

“Have fun,” he says, snarky, but he means it. Your smile doesn’t go away once you shut the door.

When the sun sets, everyone gathers in the living room, stomachs full and content for the first time in what feels like forever. You’re sitting near the windowsill, staring out into the darkness while you run a comb over and over through your wet hair.

It’s been forever since you combed it. Or washed it, or yourself. You feel better, refreshed, but still uneasy.

“Ya gotta knot or sumthn’?” Daryl quips next to you, obviously irritated how much you’re combing. “Just nervous,” you mutter, and stop moving the comb. You set it on the windowsill, sighing. He continues to look at you, and he has to admit, you look...nice. In a simple, clean tank top, skinny jeans, and sneakers. He flushes at the realization and looks away.

When there’s a knock at the door, everyone tenses, some standing up. Rick is the one who answers, and it’s Deanna. Everyone relaxes slightly, but Daryl is still tense next to you.

“I’m here for a couple of reasons,” Deanna smiles. “I’m here to check on you all, but also giving Y/N her clothes for her job.”

Your head jerks up at your name being spoken, and so does Daryl’s. Rick turns to you, nodding, so you slowly stand up and walk to the door.

“Hello,” you say, and Deanna nods. “I’m assigning you to be a doctor. Pediatrics as well as to treat wounds. No surgery,” she adds when you frown at the “treat wounds” part.

“Are...are you sure?” You ask, hands limp at your sides.

“You said it was your calling,” Deanna says.

“It’s been a really long time...I don’t think-“

“I think you can do this,” Deanna interrupts. “Make it your calling once again.”

She hands you a white coat and you feel like you’re at your old hospital, getting hired, and taking the same coat. Deanna also gives you a stethoscope, and you unconsciously put it around your neck.

“See?” She grins. “It’s still your calling.”

With that, you thank her numbly and walk back to your spot with Daryl. He’s staring, as always, and you look at him. “What?” You ask, and he smirks at your stethoscope. You scramble to take it off.

“Doctor L/N,” he smirks, and so you kick him with your foot. “Don’t be a prick,” you grin.

“You wanna do it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, before...I loved it, but now, I know that the work I’ve done amounted to nothing.”

“Don’ say that,” Daryl grumbles. “You worked yer ass off, don’ forget tha’.”

You shrug, turning the coat over in your hands, folding it. Your eyes meet his, a small smile on your lips.

“Thanks, Daryl. You should become the official Alexandrian counselor,” you laugh when he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

The days become blurry. You’ve adjusted to your job, picking up the profession like it’s riding a bike. You mostly saw people injuring themselves for stupid reasons, especially during the apocalypse. You saw some kids, and you notice you are happier, more open, with them. You’ve become some sort of yourself again.

You didn’t see Daryl much. You mostly saw him in the evenings, when he’s sitting on the porch, smoking. You’d always chide him for it, but now it’s become a joke. Especially since you’re back to being a doctor.

It’s mid afternoon, and you stand at the front gates waiting for the group to return in case they need medical assistance. It’s been a couple of minutes, so when you see Daryl in the distance, you raise your hand to wave at him. He nods in return, and you smile when he begins to make his way over.

The gate begins to open, so you turn around to greet Glenn. Your voice dies in your throat when you see him. He’s pissed as hell, yelling about how Aiden could have killed Tara.

You give Tara a questioning look, and she shakes her head. You are about to ask, but Aiden jabs Glenn in the chest, so you decide to step in.

“Enough of this!” You say loudly, putting your hands up and stepping between them. “What the hell happened?”

“It doesn’t concern you, nurse,” Aiden snaps, still glaring at Glenn.

“Aiden almost killed Tara because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Glenn says, and when Aiden tries to lunge at him, you put both of your hands to keep him away.

“Stop! What is wrong with you?” You cry.

Aiden flares down at you now. “Like I said before, nurse, stay out of it.”

“Don’t nurse me, asshole!” You say, disgusted. “I’m trying to stop you from making a big mistake!”

“Ya heard the woman,” Daryl growls, appearing behind Aiden.

“The girl isn’t the boss of me,” Aiden says stubbornly.

“Enough!” You say loudly.

“Listen to Y/N,” says Glenn. “She knows a hell of a lot more than you.”

Aiden’s hands fist your coat, throwing you aside like you weigh nothing. You cry out, landing on your side. You scramble to get up to stop Aiden from attacking Glenn, but Daryl is quicker.

He grabs the back of Aiden’s shirt, ripping him from Glenn. He’s on top of him, slamming his fist over and over on Aiden’s face.

“Daryl!” You gasp, throwing your arms around his torso, trying to pull him off. You didn’t see him, but Rick is suddenly there, and Daryl is off of Aiden.

“Are you okay?” You ask Daryl, making sure to kneel in between him and Aiden. His face is in your hands as you look for any wounds, but there are none. He avoids your eyes as Deanna approaches, saying something, but you ignore her.

“Daryl?” He finally looks at you, eyes soft. “Are you okay?”

He only nods. “Are you?” You nod.

“What about me?!” Yells Aiden, and you scoff. “Kleenex and ice, and staying away from him.” You nod at Daryl. “You know what he can do.”

You turn back to Daryl, grabbing his hands and helping him stand. He lets you, turning away and stalking off before you could say another word.

Deanna’s party was boring. You were asked the same questions. What hospital did you work in? How many patients? You tried to answer through gritted teeth, mentally exhausted from repeating yourself and having to listen to oblivious people. And the dress. Before all of this you would love wearing it, but now, it’s unpractical. And you had to shave for it. And the little heels? God, your feet were aching. You had enough. You said your goodbyes, claiming that you were tired and had an early shift tomorrow.

You walk back to the house, the wind making goosebumps appear across your skin. You lift the dress neckline higher as if can go for the millionth time tonight, not liking how much cleavage was being shown.

You weren’t surprised Daryl didn’t show. Yes, you were hoping he would, but deep down you knew he wasn’t a fan of gatherings. Especially something this idiotic.

You pass Aaron’s house, and the garage door is wide open, spilling light on the driveway and sidewalk.

“Y/N?”

You turn, and Aaron is walking out of the garage. “I thought that was you,” he says, and he points to your shoes. “I heard you coming.”

“Not creepy at all,” you quip. “Can I help you?”

“Just saying hi,” he says, unfazed. “Showing Daryl some bike parts. He’s going to be another recruiter for Alexandria with me.”

“Is that so?” You ask, leaning to look into the garage. And there he was, tinkering with parts and examining them. You walk up to the garage, fixing the neckline again, and Daryl’s head looks up when he hears your shoes.

“Hi,” you say, smiling. His eyes look down at your dress, your shoes, and back at your face. You fix the neckline again, uncomfortable.

“Hey.”

“Got a new bike? That’s great,” you smile at his work.

“Yeah. Where were ya?”

“A dumb...,” you trail off when Aaron looks at you. “A party. At Deanna’s.”

Daryl smirks at you, standing up from his work. “I’ll walk ya,” he mutters. He nods at Aaron, and you shrug. “Okay. You done?” You ask, and he nods.

The walk is short, only three houses down. But your feet hurt, so you walk slowly, and Daryl walks in pace with you.

“Recruiter, huh?” You ask, and he nods, kicking a stray rock. “Lucky. Get to go outside.” He only nods again, glancing at you.

“I don’t want ya talkin’ to Aiden,” he suddenly says, his voice gruff.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you chuckle. “Prick shoved me.”

“If he touches ya, or goes near ya, tell me,” he continues. “I’ll beat his ass again.”

“I’ll help you,” you joke, but he’s not smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, stopping, grabbing your arm, but not hard. Your eyes shoot up at him, surprised. “Nobody touches you like that again.”

“I promise,” you say, and he eases up, letting you go. You grab his hand in response, smiling to yourself as he doesn’t try to pull away.

“Ya mean a lot to me,” he mumbles, and you nod. “You mean everything to me,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

You reach the house, and he goes and sits on the porch, lighting up. You decide to sit next to him, sliding off your shoes and spreading out your legs, sighing in relief.

“Pretty dress,” he mumbles, taking a drag.

“Thanks. I’m never wearing it again,” you chuckle, and he lets out a huff.

You hold out your hand and take the cigarette from his lips and putting it to your own, taking a small drag before giving it back.

“Yer a doctor,” he says, surprised.

“Which is a stressful profession,” you smile, exhaling away from his face.

“You always gimme shit for it,” he says, sulky, and you laugh.

“Gives me a reason to talk to you,” you reply. You move your body so you’re leaning against his chest, in between his legs, and Daryl doesn’t complain. He passes the cigarette back to you, and you take your last drag.

His arm is unconsciously thrown around your waist, and he’s like a big teddy bear, encasing you, protecting you.

“I think it’s clear now,” you say, “that I have feelings for you.”

“Very clear,” he says gruffly, and you can feel the rumble against your back. He puts out the cigarette, his now free hand running down your arm.

That’s all you need. You move your body around so you’re kneeling in front of him, noses almost touching. “You...,” you trail off, and he leans in, connecting your lips with his. It’s a short kiss, but soft.

“That answer yer question?”

“Clearly,” you reply.

[droolwool]

Hey guys! How have you all been doing? Well, I've finally caught up with the rest of the world and I've tested positive for Covid for the first time. It's been a long week, but I feel much better now. I had two boosters after my two shots which I think really helped me ( so take your vaccines people! ). The biggest problem right now besides feeling tired and with no will to do anything... Is that I believe that I am ending the entire world stock of Kleenexes! All this said... And because I probably won't be out in the streets to celebrate Halloween in Manchester (something that I was really excited about), but I still want to be in the spirit of this spooky fun season, I thought I'd share with some of my Halloween pieces. Check the direct links to my shop and galleries on my bio. I would love to see them going to a new home... . . . . . #droolwool #halloween #arttoys #toyart #handmadearttoy #softsculpture #spookycute #zombie #grimreaper #pumpkin #popsiclebear #woolsculpture #collectibletoy #toycollector #needlefelting

[invsiblestringswrites]

Back in the moonlit-kitchen, Claire pulled two glasses down from the cabinet, gave them a rinse in the sink, and then filled them up with the pitcher of sun tea on the sill. No ice, of course, but. Better than nothing. She pressed one of the glasses into Ford's hand and sipped her own, taking stock of the room around them. A light that flickered even when the power was on, linoleum that peeled in the corners, a fridge that made an unconvincing grating noise when you opened the door longer than 30 seconds.

The first thing she'd done when moving in was take the "welcome" mat off the doorstep, and it now lay draped over one of the dining chairs like a used Kleenex. The only people getting into this trainwreck of a house would have her express permission.

At Ford's offer, her eyes flicked back to his form, hazy in the half-light but considerable in stature. Still, he'd be no match if anyone came calling after her.. what a way to repay his kindness, potentially bringing danger to his doorstep? Just as she was about to graciously decline his offer, thunder cracked overhead and shook the frame around them, prompting the once-indecisive light fixture over the edge. As if in slow motion, it severed its last ties to the ceiling plaster and slammed into the linoleum at their feet in a million yellowed pieces. Fantastic.

"I'll only put you out for the night," she promised. Tomorrow, she'd reassess her options. Surely this parish had to have a competent realtor, one who valued confidentiality. The last thing she needed was for any unfamiliar covens to take notice. "Do you think someone down at the Home Depot could replace that?" Ms. Darcy hadn't requested a security deposit, and apparently that was because there wasn't anything secure here.

He waved his hand at her apology, wordlessly reassuring her there was no need for it. Ford grew up around here; he was more than used to trekking about in storms much worse than the one that tormented the outside. Besides, he'd been a bit curious about what kind of place Miss Darcy, the landlord, was running.

As he walked around the basement, staying within the flashlight's small perimeter of emitted light, he noticed more than a few things weren't up to code. It was something he half-expected. Miss Darcy was old as dust and she hardly called anyone over to check on her property, insisting that she could handle it all herself. He kept his mouth closed, however, as he examined—there was no need to worry the blonde any more than she had been.

"Like most storms, it should pass overnight," he told Claire, his tone giving away that it may not be her number one worry. There was a beat of silence as he contemplated something.

When the storm blew over in the morning he knew he would be giving a call to Miss Darcy, telling her it was irresponsible and unsafe to keep a tenant in a house that wasn't up to standards. That would, however, most likely leave the blonde with him now without a place to stay. But... the guest room at the Smith estate had been empty for quite some time and wasn't expecting any lodgers in the next couple of days. Without disclosing any of his thoughts, he turned to Claire.

"Look. I usually don't meddle with Miss Darcy's business," he began. "But I can't in good conscience let you stay here. If the breaker's fixed in the morning, fine, but I know her better than to have that be the only problem you'll face in the house for the rest of your lodging. I have a room up at my farmhouse that we rent out to visitors—you can spend the night there for free, and in the morning we'll help you find someplace new and better to stay."

[creativeashproductions]

What If...? II // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: After playing The Orpheum things were looking up, Sunset Curve bought the house that owned the studio the band used. Alex lived in a safe environment will only love, Reggie didn’t feel like a ghost in his house and Luke was no longer sleeping on a couch. Life is good until it isn’t.

Warnings: Swearing, accident, injuries, angst, car accident (this was written before If I Stay)

Words: 2.7k

Requested: By @beautifulblogsblog . There will be more parts, total coincidence that it has a car accident. Also appears when I try solely fluff it turns into painful angst. My apologies, the next part will be better but also prepare for it too.

A/N: Sorry for disappearing. I have Lost Time Part 2 finished, If I Stay Part 2 is also finished but I really want to put a new part out for What If...? so here you go!

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

Hollywood, 1996

A hot cup of your morning brew cradled in your hand you stared out the window to the garage where Sunset Curve had practiced for years. A year had passed since The Orpheum; the band got signed to a label with an EP being dropped. The moment money came to the band Luke, Alex and Reggie had pooled money to buy the house the garage belonged to. You just happened to be over a lot still being seventeen.

“Hey,” Luke spoke, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his body tight against yours. His chin resting on your shoulder as his hand swiped the mug to take a swig from it.

“Hey!”

“Don’t sound so offended.” Luke chuckled, “I’ve tasted other things that belong to you.”

“Disgusting.” Alex gagged walking by the couple with distaste written clearly all over his face. He adored you two together, but he didn’t like the activities that you frequently did behind closed doors.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t play wrestle in the middle of the night.” Reggie scoffed heading up the stairs to his room while Alex blinked after him.

“I- and he wonders why he’s still single.” Alex sighed, heading to the living room to watch a film whereas Bobby was grabbing a quick drink before leaving. The only member of the band that didn’t live in the house but then again, he didn’t have issues with his parents; well if he did, he never told anyone else.

A snicker fell from your lips as a deep chuckled vibrated through the body courtesy of Luke’s close quarters with you. His arms tightened when you shifted in his arms, glancing at his watch before you pushed the mug back into his hand.

“Gotta go.” You sighed, pressing a kiss to Luke’s cheek and freeing yourself from his warm embrace to nab the bag from the chair. Luke released a whine detesting the emptiness in his arms, ��As much as I would have to stay and cuddle all day, I have plans.”

Luke released a long sigh with a nod glancing as Bobby’s gaze fixated your form heading for the front door. He snapped out of it when Luke hit his chest.

“C’mon man! That’s my girl.” Luke scoffed, making his way for the stairs, “Go, home, dude.”

Bobby did as he was told glancing up at the ceiling where each boy would be in their bedrooms until practice later that night. Bobby couldn’t help that he found you attractive, but he would never step over the line with his bandmate. You were already gone when Bobby got outside and the harsh glare on the back of his head from Luke.

Lance had picked up his daughter itching to play you the bones of the new song he had recorded with the band. It was by far his favourite one given that it was centered on you growing up which he both hated and loved. He had missed more of your life than he cared to admit so it is the last year before you would leave the house, he had taken a break from touring.

“It’s not fully finished. The working title is Bittersweet.” Your father spoke glancing over, “It’s slower than our usual song, but I have ideas.”

“What was the inspiration?” You questioned leaning your head back to glance over at him. A small smile tugged at the rock star in the driver’s seat.

“Almost twenty-years ago a struggling musician snuck into a concert he couldn’t afford. A struck of luck had a pretty ballet dancer attending too. It was an odd love story, and that musician had a double miracle. Eighteen years ago, he met the second love of his life.” Lance had a way with words that entranced anyone, whether it be musically or not.

“That musician was you.” You took a guess that ended up being right when Lance nodded, “Dad.”

“I was hoping you would harmonize on it with me? My sound guy is incorporating your voice as a baby, and in the ending, I want you to say something.”

A bright smile turned the corners of your mouth up while silent tears rolled down your cheeks at the idea he had. At that moment, you also decided to keep the collaboration and song a secret from your boyfriend and friends.

“I’d love to.” You spoke swiftly hugging his arm before he was shoving you back to your seat and his arm slung in front of you.

A blindly light made its presence known for a second before a loud crack shattered around you and your body was slammed the dash—a scream coming from your father before everything went quiet. You prone form slumped onto the crushed door unaware of the cries taking place outside the car.

Lance moaned fluttering his eyelids as consciousness brought him into the world again. His brain struggling to make sense of why the car was on its side. It connected when his first thought was his daughter.

“Sweetheart.” Lance’s tongue caught the copper taste in his mouth, but it was the petrifying taste fear that lingered as he received no response.

Straining his neck, he could see now you were laying against the crushed passenger door of the car; the car on its side with Lance strapped to the seat. A sharp cry released as he caught the blood coating the profile of his little girl. A haunting sound of Bittersweet filled the car among Lance’s sobs.

In the home of Sunset Curve, it was notoriously known that the only channel on TV was MTV, never the news. As usual, the guys were fighting over what kind of pizzas, they should order unaware of the countless news reports on a car crash. It wouldn’t be under hours later that they found out.

“Guys!” Alex’s head snapped up as Bobby struggled to breathe in the entrance of the kitchen, leaving the front door wide open.

“Mushrooms Bobby?” Reggie inquired oblivious to the tension radiating off the rhythm guitarist. Bobby had enough sweat it was like they had just finished a fifteen song setlist under boiling lights.

“Have you guys seen MTV?” Bobby demanded gaining the attention of his three bandmates as looking lost at the uncharacteristic anxious boy.

“Is our song playing?” Luke spoke, leaning over the island with a grin. His messy hair almost covering his hazel eyes.

Bobby didn’t reply other than to rush over to the tv to get to MTV. Instead of music blasting the house, a somber person was sitting on a chair.

“The musical world is struggling as the world waits for news on musician Lancaster Jameson following a car accident early this afternoon. Little news has been released on the circumstances leading to the crash on the occupants with both vehicles.” The man spoke sitting on a stool behind a makeshift desk.

Luke’s heart dropped at the words that rocked him to the core. His body working on autopilot was already moving to the door, he needed to be there for you. You must be terrified for your father. Luke had to be there for you. He just didn’t know you were in the car as well.

“An emergency response official revealed, however, that as they used the jaws of life, a song was still playing. A song very unlike anything Lancaster’s band has released before.”

A taxi, courtesy of Alex, pulled up beside the lead singer with his friend helping him into the backseat before joining him as well. Little did they know about the scene at the hospital.

Your mother, Nancy, sat silently ripping apart a Kleenex a nurse had graciously given the woman as she waited with bated breath. Her pallor pale and gaunt under the harsh hospital lights where she waited to hear the news for her family. Her tears began to fall as Luke, and his bandmate appeared in the ER.

“Mrs. Y/L/N.” Alex spoke, heading straight for the woman pushing the fears and anxious feelings to be dealt with at another time.

The woman couldn’t look Luke in the eye, knowing that the media had been issued legal documents to ensure you were kept out of the news. The lawyers had swiftly jumped on that part of the accident while your mother worried herself with the what-ifs swirling in her head.

“Luke.” She breathed, leaning to pull the teenager into a hug, “I’m sorry I couldn’t call.”

“I understand. You need to focus on Lance.” Luke supplied, stepping back to look around the room for you. His brows furrowed at the lack of evidence you were there, “Where’s Y/N?”

Nancy’s eyes watered further at the mention of her daughter still in surgery looking over to Alex, who collapsed into the chair understanding the look. Luke didn’t see it.

“I suppose the lawyers did an excellent job.” Nancy sighed, digging deep inside herself to lead the teenage boy to the chairs be had settled into, “I’m very sorry, Luke. Our lawyers reacted to the accident, but Lance’s name was already released. He wasn’t alone.”

“Y/N-“

“She’s in surgery right now.” Nancy’s voice broke slumping into the chair, returning to shredding the Kleenex in her hand. Alex was stock still in his chair, “I’ve been told she was lucky. There hasn’t been news on Lance yet.”

“Oh my god.” Luke breathed, staring at the scuffed shoes he had had for years by now with a little doodle you had done one night. The world faded as Luke went over a single moment, he had shared with you, and something burned; something he had carried for months now felt heavier than ever before.

Hours went by for Luke, Alex and your mother slowly the ER waiting room grew to have Reggie for support. He was the most serious he had been in his entire life; he had contacted the Patterson family but pleaded they wait for news at home. Reggie knew Luke wouldn’t be able to deal with his unresolved issues with his parents and the grief.

“Mrs. Y/L/N.” A doctor wearing scrubs called outgaining the attention of Nancy who rushed up to the older doctor, “Please follow me.”

Nancy wavered in her steps as the doctor brought the middle-aged woman to a quiet room where the sound of a heart monitor beeped. Nancy was quick to rush over to the body, resting still out from the medication.

“Y/N.” Your mother breathed collapsing into a chair where she grasped your hand tightly. Her eyes took in the superficial cuts on your face and the brace on your wrist.

“She’s miraculously lucky for the severe car accident, she has a minor concussion along with a broken wrist. We had to remove her appendix or spleen, but she’ll be fine. The seat belt, however, snapped upon impact.” The doctor spoke facing the sobbing woman with pity in his eyes, “By the bruise across her chest we can see that your husband protected her, the media calls with ‘being soccer mom’d’ or my daughter does. Had he not done that the injuries would have been too severe to survive or she would have been in a vegetative state for the rest of her life.”

“Lance. Is he okay?”

“We need to talk about that. If you could follow me, we’ll let your daughter rest.”

Sunset Curve came to an early hiatus in their music career as Luke refused to leave your room from the moment he was allowed. When visitor hours were up, you could find him in his car struggling from sneaking into your room, but the warning of charges from the guard kept him in his place. For the first time in his life, Luke had no urge to put pen to paper or strum a single tune on his guitar.

He would stay silent in the chair beside your bed, holding tight to your hand in despair and guilt. He would, of course, visit Lance when your mother came to see you, they traded off not wanting either one to be alone.

A moan from the bed brought the attention of Luke and Alex, who had visited today to convince his best friend to come home for a shower.

“Baby?” Luke lunged closer as your eye fluttered open scanning the room with bleary eyes and sadness, “Hey.”

“Why are you holding my hand?” You questioned glancing at the hand intertwined with yours. Luke’s face dropped stumbling back at the look you cast him.

 “You don’t-“

“I woke up from an accident, and you can’t hug me?” You finished staring at the boy down, unaware the delivery of the question could very well be better than it was. Luke heaved a sigh gently, pulling you into a hug.

“That was cruel. I thought you didn’t remember me.”

“Luke forgetting you is like forgetting what the moon is.” You spoke wincing as you leaned back, “What’s the damage?”

Luke’s eyes glared at the nonchalant behaviour you displayed. At the same time, he was an utter mess from a week of sleeplessness and crippling fear. Alex’s deep sigh as he pushed down on Luke’s shoulders to place him back in the chair.

“The damage is you’ve been unconscious for a week with a minor concussion, a broken wrist, a bruised knee that was recently diagnosed, you are one spleen less, and you won’t have to worry about getting appendicitis. You will be incredibly sore from the bruises as well.” Alex supplied leaning to gently hug your form for even if you were dating his ex you had quickly grown to be a surrogate little sister.

“Oh.” You blinked, turning to stare at the wall, “What about my Dad?”

“He’s fine. He’s been struggling with orderlies every day to escape to check on you.” Luke spoke, “Your mom and I have had to do shifts between rooms during visitation hours. Security wasn’t happy to find me in here after hours.”

“Good.” You nodded leaning back in the bed staring up at the ceiling muttering a reply when Alex murmured, he would head to tell your parents you were awake.

Luke once had romantic plans before the accident, but when he found out about your accident, everything hit him. What-ifs of never living his dreams with you, of the things he might never get to do.

“Your hand better heal fast so that brace can come off.” Luke spoke, keeping his gaze on your face entirely in love with you. Your look of confusion amusing him, “Well how will the ring fit?”

“Ring?” You questioned becoming owl-eyed when Luke pulled out a stunning ring from his pocket, “Oh my god.”

“You tend to change my plans with everything you do. I was going to have this big speech and a romantic dinner, but I can’t wait.” Luke spoke, leaning to wipe away a tear from your eye, “I never want to be that scared again so until I can blow your socks off with a better proposal will you marry me?”

Your hand cupped the smooth cheek of the boy you loved more than words could ever say, “No.”

Luke’s heart broke at the words he never anticipated to hear, “What?”

“I say this because I love you, but I don’t want to go into an engagement with bad blood between you and your parents. You’ve shown them that your dream was worth it, but now you have to reach out. I want only happiness when we get engaged.”

Luke nodded his head, putting the ring back in his pocket, disappointed in the response, but what could he do? You gave a reason, and while definitely annoyed him he couldn’t fault your compassionate nature. For once in your entire relationship, the silence was awkward.

“So…” You trailed off, avoiding looking at Luke, “Have you decided on a tracklist for the album?”

“Huh? Oh, no.” Luke shook his head only to be relieved when your parents came into the room. Nancy was already crying as she collapsed into the chair.

“Oh baby.” Nancy spoke, pressing a kiss to the bruised forehead you currently rocked. Lance scowled as he was rolled closer to the bed by the orderly.

“I’m fine.” You grumbled as your mom scanned every part of you, “Seriously!”

“I almost lost my baby.” Your mom snapped before apologizing at raising her tone, “Let me coddle you.”

You resigned yourself, but there was a sadness inside as Luke shared a goodbye before leaving you alone with your parents. You really wished you hadn’t been wrong in your decision.

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[magalidragon]

n°7 - “Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

In the “Heat Wave” universe, pretty please!😊

YES! Love these beans! 🔥🔥🔥 And  because I also got another ask for this same universe, I’ve combined it into one Drabblish-ish (2700 words, not 2500, lol).  And THANK YOU FOR THE MOODBOARD DARLING!  Enjoy!

Smutty One Liner Prompts

7. “Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

10. “Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you.”

Bliss, that's what this was, Dany thought, her eyes still closed, her breathing even, and her skin tingly and warm.  She sighed, exhaling out any worry she might continue to have—there was no more worry now that she was out of the Hell House and living in Heaven's Hall—her body nestled in a soft, fluffy mattress with thick quilt and soft flannel sheets covering her.  She smiled, serene, and opened her eyes slowly, peering up at a set of red eyes, watching her.  

She smiled wider, quirking an eyebrow up.  "That's really creepy Ghost."

Ghost said nothing, licked his chops, and then her face, and hopped away from his nighttime stalking.  She chuckled, sitting up on her elbows, glancing at three faces underneath one of the throw blankets over the bed, all of her little dragons purring contentedly, no doubt thankful she had relocated them completely.  She wiggled her toes, returning feeling to them, and scanned the room, which was empty.  

The snow had eventually stopped, the wind fading away, and now the sun was out, but to her surprise, she must have slept through most of the day.  Bloody cold, she cursed inwardly, for she never got sick.  She had slept most of the last couple of days, interspersed with coughing fits, cranky moments of letting Jon take her temperature and pour soup and tea down her throat, and the occasional "I am not sick, so you can totally fuck me, I promise I won't pass out" debates.  He had refused, tucking her into the big bed in his room, saying that she was his patient now, and one did not take advantage that way.

"You're too honorable for your own good," she bitched, the last time she'd tried to suggest a little nookie.

"Sue me."

"Hmm, I might."  

He simply kissed her nose, told her she was adorable with her pouting, and she fell asleep before she could reply, cursing her body for succumbing to this strange Southern cold during this strange Southern storm.  

It was almost sundown; the light fading overtop the trees cocooning the house on the mountainside.  She blinked at the reflection of the snowy treetops in the huge windows and felt good.  Good enough to get out of bed, she figured, sliding free of the sheets, the huge Night's Watch hoodie falling over her hips to her knees and sleeves over her fingertips.  She shuffled in her thick wool socks—also stolen from Jon—to the bathroom, flicking on the light and taking stock of her reflection.  

Her nose was chapped from blowing into Kleenex, her eyes slightly blood-shot, and her hair was a nest of epic proportions, she wondered if there was a dragon living in it.  She scrubbed her cheek with her palm, shaking her head, and glanced at Ghost, who looked up at her curiously.  "Do you think I'm sexy Ghost?"  She put on a fake pose, thrusting her hip to the side, pretending to look cute in the oversized sweatshirt and nothing else.  

Ghost did not indicate one way or the other.  He just wandered off towards the sunken tub, hoping into it and then put his paws on the other side, tail wagging and gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows.  She wandered over, sitting on the edge, and followed his gaze, smiling down at Jon, who was moving firewood from the deck into the house.  She scratched Ghost's head.  "Thank you for keeping me company, I'm sure you'd rather be with him."

She ran her fingers as best through her hair as she could, wincing at tangles.  "Ugh."  A shower was necessary.  She shivered; it was still chilly, even with the heat returning, the pipes back to working order.  

Somewhere in the bedroom, her phone dinged.  She left Ghost to his watch, getting off the bathtub edge and went to pick it up from the nightstand, staring at the email notification from Tyrion Lannister.  

Thank you for your message, Lannister Properties is currently closed due to significant weather activity, we will respond in due time. She scoffed, opened up one of the emails that had been sent immediately after and saw that indeed, Tyrion had replied.

Ms. Targaryen, I was sorry to see your negative review of our property.  As you know, significant weather activity is possible, and while we cannot compensate you for any destruction caused by Acts of the Gods, we would like to offer you a 20 percent discount on your next Lannister Property rental.  A Lannister always pays their debts, and we would like to no longer be in debt to you!  Thank you, Tyrion  P.S.  Our insurance investigator will survey the property damage and be in touch regarding your payment options.

Her mouth dropped.  "Fuck you!" she shouted at the email.  She would definitely be handling this stupid little lion herself.  After drafting a very strongly worded email with tons of legal jargon she hoped would have the Lannister quaking in his boots, she dropped her phone, a muscle twitching somewhere in her shoulder.  She rubbed at it, scowling at the dragons, who were watching her from where they now were seated on her pillow.  She shook her head.  "Fucking Lannisters."

At least she had Jon, she figured, and picked up her phone again, sending a quick message to Missandei.  Despite the weather, the plague, and the shitty rental, I'm feeling much better now.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.  She smirked at her BFF's reply:  Yes, I've heard endless banging can do that to a person.

After saying that she was not endless banging Jon-- they'd had to take a break because of the plague after all-- she put the phone on silent, charged it up, and then padded back into the bathroom, because now she well and truly needed a hot, long, relaxing shower....or...maybe...

Her eyes landed on the tub.  It had been used just to store water those first couple days without power, but a week later....she swished her lips around and decided.  She deserved a soak.  Just like she wanted when she first saw it.  She leaned over and tugged on the taps, letting the hot water pour in, steam instantly rising.  It was rather deep, like a small pond, and she puttered about looking for some candles, finding a few in another bedroom and even some bath salts.  They smelled divine, lavender and eucalyptus, perfect for relaxing and also shaking loose any remaining crap in her nose from the cold.  

She watched the bubbles foam, fluffy and cloudlike, almost resembling the snow that pillowed along the windowsills outside.  The sun had fully disappeared behind the trees, the stars peeking out.  It was rather breathtaking, maybe even something she might have seen if she'd been up at the Wall with Missandei and Grey instead of down in Dorne, when she had planned to just watch sunsets over red sand dunes and mountains.  Go figure, she was getting the North and she didn't even pay for it.

Stripping out of her hoodie and her granny panties— Jon had thankfully not continued to make fun of her for their use while she was sick—she slipped into the tub, hissing at the first touch of the hot water on her skin, and then moaning in delight, her dragonblood positively singing.  Her brothers jokingly referred to her as "the Unburnt" because for whatever reason she did not feel pain with heat.  Barely even flinched when fire flicked her fingertips as she loaded the fireplace with wood, to Jon's shock.  

It was straight out of the Heavens of Valyria, she thought, sinking fully under the foamy bubbles, the lavender soothing her dry skin, the eucalyptus filling her lungs, crisp and healing.  She reached to adjust her knotty hair, piled on her head, and closed her eyes, groaning happily the deeper she sunk into the tub.  The lights off, the candles all around her, it was how she wouldn't mind spending another power outage.

Ghost was not one to leave her out, his head on the edge of the tub, accepting wet scratches now and then on his head.  She chuckled, opening an eye to peer at him.  "If you want in here, you're welcome to it, but I'm not dealing with that wet dog smell later."

He huffed, annoyed.  

The only thing truly missing, she realized, after an undetermined amount of time later, was some music, a glass of wine, and a very attractive, very sexy, very naked Jon Snow.

"Well look at you."

Eyes springing open, she turned her head sideways, spotting Jon leaning against the door frame.  His sweaty curls slicked at his neck and temples, his t-shirt and sweats damp from the snow and exertion of moving all the firewood around.  In his hands, he had a bottle of beer and a glass of wine.  She smirked.  "Which one is for me?"

"Which one do you prefer?"

"Gimme."

He already knew her, handing her the Dornish red, while he sipped at the Northern ale.  He glanced at Ghost, who was scowling up at him.  "What?  I'm not giving you a bath."

"Am I in his tub?"

"Yes, he likes baths."

"Your dog is very weird Jon Snow."

"Don't I know it."  His eyes darkened, the candlelight shooting off the gray irises in sparks, his lip curling over his teeth in a wry smile.  "In fact, I have to say, I'm a little upset with you."

She smirked, flicking some bubbles at him.  "Oh yeah?"

"Aye, you're sharing bathtime with my dog and not me."

Ghost stuck his nose into the bubbles, blowing them up into the air and snatching them with his teeth, until some went up his nose and he sneezed, rubbing his nose into the rug.  She sat up, peering over the edge of the tub, laughing.  "Oh Ghostie!  You alright prumia?"

The Valyrian for 'my heart' had begun slipping easily when it came to the fluffy dog, who whined, rubbed his nose with his paw, and accepted her kisses, even if some of the water dripped from her arms and shoulders when she leaned over to reach him.  She fell back into the tub, once Ghost had finished with her, and wandered off, the door banging shut after him.  She frowned, about to ask, but Jon answered the unspoken question.

"Aye, he closed the door.  He also likes giving people privacy."

As he had kept to himself, hiding off away from them during those couple nights on the floor in front of the fireplace, she had to thank the dog for that.  She smirked up at Jon, who looked a bit annoyed, and was toeing off his socks, the beer now on the edge of the tub.  She sipped he wine, surveying him appreciatively, the black t-shirt falling to the floor.  She purred, recognizing the gleaming lust in his eyes.  "Who knew jealousy was such a powerful motivator for you?"

"Jealous?" he scoffed.  "No way."

"Hmm."  She disagreed.  

“Is there some space left in that bathtub?”  

When she opened her eyes, she found that he was naked, the sweatpants joining the t-shirt and his socks.  She licked her lips, shifting and gestured; there was more than enough room.  She smirked at him, as he stepped in and yelped.  “Careful, it’s hot,” she cooed.  Gathering some bubbles, she piled them in front of her, annoyed that they shielded her favorite part of him from her gaze.  She had an ulterior motive of course, for hiding her body from him, smirking as he scowled back at her, no doubt mad he couldn’t see beyond the lavender scented shield.

He sank back into the tub, his head popping over the side, leaning on the other edge and his feet sliding along her legs, before they stopped on either side of her arse.  She slipped her leg along his, the salts and soaps giving her skin an added slickness.  He narrowed his eyes on hers and she smiled, innocent, as her foot moved over his calf, his thigh, and then pressed between them, her brows arching.  “Hmm,” she murmured.  “Such…hard work out there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was alone in bed when I woke up,” she continued.  She sniffed, hoping her voice didn’t have the added thickness to it from her cold.  She was trying to be sexy, scooping up a handful of bubbles and blowing them towards him.  

A little pillow of bubbles landed on his head and he smiled, eyebrow lifting.  “Cute.”

“You do look cute.”  

“I don’t usually like baths.”  He flicked some bubbles away from her chest, scowling again at them.  “They’re blocking the view.”

“Well that’s too bad.”

“It really is.  Makes things…inaccessible too.”

“And what are those?”  Her foot was still sliding along his cock, her toes tickling along the hard, thick length, and suddenly it fell to the side, as he lunged towards her, a wolf with its prey.  Water splashed around them, bubbles everywhere, and before she knew it, his arms were around her thighs, hoisting her up to the edge of the tub, and splaying her legs out.  A wicked grin shot up at her, his sinful lips twisted, and eyes black.  She cried out, before she even knew what was happening, and he tugged her forward, arms wrapped around her legs, which fell over his shoulders, and he dove down.

The first thing she felt was his tongue, spearing straight into her.  “Fuck!” she screamed, clenching around his head and grabbing at his wet curls.  She moaned, long and low, her head falling backwards, smacking against the foggy windowpane.  She kept a hand on his hair and her other fell back as well, grappling for something to hold, and eventually found the edge of the window itself, holding tight to the wooden frame.  

He feasted like a man starved, his tongue slipping in and around her folds, which had already been damp at the sight of him and had grown increasingly slick with her need for him as he teased her and stripped in front of her. She panted, Valyrian babbling with “Jon” and “fuck” and “yes”, everything he did in response to her body’s craving.  His tongue was pure magic, lips suckling here and there, and his hand breaking free of her leg to slip between them, a single thick finger sliding inside, crooking at just the right angle to find the spot inside of her that had her whining, high-pitched, desperate to come.  

Flicking his tongue around her entrance, he gathered up her wetness with it and carried it to her clit, nibbling and sucking the little bud, alternating between giving it the attention she wanted and sliding it back into her, a second finger now joining the first.  He let go of her other thigh, since she was holding herself up and his other hand pressed above her pubic bone, at the exact moment his fingers pressed to that magic spot, the pressure too much for her to bear.  

She was coming, the flame already flickering, and stoked higher and higher.  She gripped his hair so tight; she almost tore it clean from his skull, and when her eyes pried open long enough to meet his, that devious, devilish look that told her he knew exactly what he was doing, she couldn’t take it.  It shattered her, the flame exploding into thousands of tiny ones, engulfing her.  

Hand falling off the window, smearing finger tracks down the condensation, she thrust her hips aimlessly into his mouth, her body clenching, spasming around him.  He carried on, careful of her sensitivity, and kept moving, fingers slipping along, this thumb tapping and circling, and tongue angling through, drinking up her sweetness.  She came again, her body quivering, exhausted.  

It all felt so good, so fuzzy, and she slipped back into the tub, water splashing out over the edges, her head almost falling straight under the top of the still steaming water.  He caught her, turning so she was draped over his chest, the bubbles fading away around them.  His cock was still hard, pressed between his abdomen and hers, and she lifted her hips enough to trap him there, teasing her and him both.  “Soon,” she sighed, eyes closed.  “Give me a minute.”

He brushed his lips over top her hairline, damp now with sweat.  “Feeling better?”

Rising over him as best she could, at the awkward angle, bathwater and bubbles still coating her skin, she reached her hand around his head to pull his mouth to hers, groaning at the taste of herself she still felt on his tongue.  “Oh Jon, you have no idea how good I feel now.”

“Glad to hear it.”  

[nagisadeservesbetter]

ah so ive never requested anything so im sorry if this is awkward 😳 your page is really fun btw ANYWAY could you possibly do sick nagisa hcs? (if not totally okay lol)

Aw, thank you!

I feel like Nagisa is like,,, sluggish and whiney when he's sick.

Not in an annoying way, but he will lay in bed and drink tea, talking about how he wishes his nose was clear. The class would come visit him with some vitamins and soup they made in cooking class for him. Korosensei would absolutely baby him and frantically try to help him feel better. He'd stock him up with Kleenex boxes, cold medicine and healthy foods to help him get better sooner.

Nagisa would also sleep like a cat, taking long naps all day and taking advantage of his home alone time by sitting in the living room instead of his bedroom. He'd do Just Dance and make himself nauseous by moving too much and he'd eat snacks that made him feel worse. He'd think "what's the worse that could happen?" Before eating ramen noodles and getting nauseous immediately after. Kaede and Sugino would lock him in his room and tell him how stupid he was for doing so.

I can just imagine him being sluggish, whiney and stupid.

[builder051]

Glad you're doing better after surgery and the aftermath. Would you be up for a Creedless Assassins fic? Natasha guessing wrong on how much of the substance of the week is enough and doing an inadequate job covering for herself? Thanks!

Nat knows it’s wrong to snort a line before going on duty, but a cup of coffee isn’t going to cut it.  A cup of coffee and a couple of Adderall aren’t going to cut it either, so she is truly down to her last option when she pulls the tiny clear plastic baggie out of her pocket.  She pours the crystalline substance within out onto the edge of the toilet paper rack in the SHIELD women’s bathroom, then uses her security badge to cut it and a leftover 1000 Yen note rolled into a tube to inhale the powder into her system.

When she emerges, wiping her nose on her sleeve and trying to be casual about it, Clint cocks his head slightly and says, “Ready?”

“Yeah.”  Nat pulls her fingers into her jacket, ignoring the dampness of mucous and the immediate secretions that start post introduction of a foreign substance.  She feels dry and wet at the same time.  It’s uncomfortable, but she knows she can manage.  She has to.

They jump into the Jeep Grand Cherokee waiting in the parking garage and immediately hit the road, Clint at home in the drivers’ seat whilst Nat bounces along uncomfortably in the passenger side.  

“Why’re you stepping on the brake so hard?” Nat snaps.  “You’ve got traction for miles with these tires.”

“Um...”  Clint hits the gas and accelerates away from the red light, then glances over at her.  He narrows his eyes as if sizing her up.

“Hey, eyes on the road, dumbass.”

“What’re you on?” Clint asks slowly.  “You’re only this harsh when you’re high.”

“Shut up.  I’m not,” Nat lies, though she knows she’s not convincing.  

“Right.”

Nat grabs her tablet out of the bag between her feet before Clint can say any more.  She pulls up the mission briefing and re-reads the details, even though she didn’t miss any the first time.  

“The target’s on a solo hunting trip just over the West Virginia border.  In the god forsaken fucking mountains,” Nat says.  She bites at her cuticles and looks out the window while she scrolls through the information with her other hand.  The sky overhead is turning grey with cloud cover, the atmosphere becoming heavy and seeming to settle into a throb right above Nat’s brow.

“You say that like you don’t want to, you know, enter the hornet’s nest.”  Clint spares her another look.

“Let’s just... get it done.”  Nat returns her gaze to the tablet screen, even though it’s only worsening her headache.  Something’s brewing in the pit of her stomach, though whether it’s guilt or nausea is anyone’s guess at this point.

When Clint leaves the highway for the path less traveled out toward open country, Nat flicks her eyes from the speedometer to the compass reading on the rearview, then to the clock embedded in the dash.  She has enough of the drug in her to last a few hours yet, plus enough in her pocket for a second dose, but she’s not sure she’ll have the opportunity, let alone the privacy, to get set up with it.  

“What?” Clint asks.  “Got somewhere to be?”

“Yeah, a hot date.”  Nat shifts in her seat so her arm wraps around her abdomen and her elbow points painfully into the handle of the door.  She’s moved around enough, though, that she doesn’t think she can scoot out of her current position without seeming like a wiggly child.

“No one will go out with you,” Clint says.  

Nat sniffs.  “You would.”

“Nah.”  He twists his lip.  “Used to be my thing, but... Don’t play that way anymore.”

It’s obvious, since they haven’t hooked up in over a decade.  But Nat can’t help but feel a little hurt inside.  “What do you mean?”

“You’re...” Clint gestures nebulously at the air between them.  “Skinny.  Pale.  I mean, I know you’re using.  Something.  Some of the time.”

“We are not making this a sobriety discussion.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault--”

“Clint.  Just, please.  Shut up.”  Nat can’t look at him, so she turns to look out the window instead.  The green, rocky terrain blasting by blurs a little, and she isn’t sure whether it’s due to their speed or the optical illusion of coke aura gathering in the creases of her lower eyelids.  Her stomach feels empty and watery, and something is clearly brewing to splash up into the back of her throat.  Nat swallows heavily, hoping the whole thing will collapse as an imaginary construct, aura built out of the extra feeling brought on by the perceptiveness of the drug.

It does nothing for her, though, and the deep lines between Nat’s gums and cheeks begin to fill with warm saliva.  She uses her tongue to sweep the passages clear, tasting bile, mucous, and chemicals as she goes.  The urge to gag rises on the back of her tongue, but Nat swallows hard and authoritatively, staying in control and refusing to be desperate.  Not now.  Not yet.

“Nat...”  Clint sighs out her name, which Nat finds irksome as ever in her current predicament.  She’s overdone it now, she knows; the top of her head is vibrating against the back of the seat rest.  She can’t stay still.  She digs the nails of one hand into the palm of the other and tries to focus on the pain, but it doesn’t come.  The rush in her bloodstream, the beating of her heart in her ears, it’s all louder than every external input combined.

A gush of heat into the greater space of her mouth and the feeling of her jaw falling into her lap brings Nat back to the urgency of the moment.  She stays stock still and moves only her eyeballs, pulling them sideways toward Clint until her head screams in protest with a sharp throb.

“Mm.”  Nat shifts again, pulling forward against her seatbelt and creeping one hand upward toward her face.  Instinct tells her to clap it over her mouth, but stubborn dignity says otherwise.  Nat clamps her sweaty fingers down on the collar of her jacket and holds on tightly.  She knows she won’t last long, but she can’t make herself speak up, either.

Clint turns his head at the sound of her voice, though, and seems to take in Nat’s pale visage.  “Fuck,” he mutters, shifting gears and turning in his seat to unnecessarily look behind him before pulling off the road.  

The Jeep stutters to a halt in the gravel on the side of the country highway, bouncing Nat side to side in her seat.  Vomit erupts into her throat, and she flails her shaking hands at the door handle while Clint turns off the engine and leaps into action.  Within half a second, he’s around the car and opening her door, then taking her under the armpits and supporting her forward as she spills her guts into the dust between them.

Not much comes up, but Nat continues to retch after her stomach is empty.  Her eyes begin to water, and fat droplets run down her cheeks and collect under her chin until they fall en mass and add dampness to her already soiled jacket.

“Ok, it’s ok,” Clint murmurs, patting Nat between the shoulder blades and bringing her forehead down to rest just above his tactical belt.  “I got you.”

Nat spits.  “Hm.”  She withdraws her hand into her sleeve again and wipes her eyes, then her nose, from which clear fluid with a thin streak of blood has begun to leak.  

“There has to be a Kleenex somewhere...”  Clint starts to reach around her to dig in the glove compartment, but Nat stays his arm.

“Clint, stop.”  She shakes her head and immediately regrets it.  “I’m-- I’m fine.”  Nat raises her eyes to his, knowing they’re wet and bloodshot and full of lies, but hoping she can still convince him otherwise.  Or at least to let her be.

“Yeah, you are.”  Clint juts his jaw forward, and Nat can’t tell if he’s angry or hurt or maybe just disappointed in her.  He lets out a breath.  “You, uh, wanna go, or you wanna stay stopped for a minute?”

“I’m ok.  I’m good to go.”  Nat pulls her feet back into the vehicle and reaches to close the door.  Clint grips it from the outside as she takes the handle from within.  It slams loudly as it closes, exacerbating Nat’s headache, and she tries not to wince, for he’s staring at her through the window, pleading with his eyes.

Nat sighs and holds his gaze for half a second, then looks into her lap.  She raises her eyes again, though, but Clint’s already gone, walking around the back of the Jeep to return to his seat.

[thelostgrimoire]

Hey! A few ideas for the pride event: Pride clothes (white shirts/pants/dresses) that folks can write or paint on. Everyone makes art on each other, images, words, symbols, hopes and dreams. It can be very cute! I did this as a personal pride project once :)

Similarly, posters with the same idea. Or a more specific idea like what "it gets better" will look like to them. If it is already good, great, what does that look like now! Parents coming to pride, grandpa using your pronouns, grandma changing the name on your stockings, your church doing gay marriage? In the future, drinking iced tea at your kitchen table and feeling light and free, walking down the street in your favourite outfit and only feeling good about yourself, absence of fear or dread, moments of joy with your found family, or bio family.

A pride water balloon fight. Can also be combined with white clothing. Dye the water rainbow colours as you fill balloons. Throw the rainbow.

Invite senior members of the LGBT community to come and tell their stories. Get to know your history. Have snacks, and kleenexes, and a space people can go to feel really raw emotions. Ask them to share their hopes from when they were younger and if they achieved them, what it was like fighting for existence, what they want the youth to never forget, how they found happiness, what they held onto when it was hard, queer culture over time when it was a secret and what they like about queer culture now that it is loud. bring in elders from a variety of religions. Dont shy away from pain, don't focus on it exclusively either. Thank them with words, maybe a gift card to a food place, or make it a pot luck so everyone has a secure meal for that day. host slam poetry, open mic music, comedy, and story telling event and invite the community. give it a theme that resonates with the kids. make it a celebration of this achievement: that they can be here together for this purpose.

make masks. use arts and craft tools. take inspiration from drag and ballroom. leave your whole face open because you don't have to hide. make sunbursts in rainbow colours around it, or make a mask that shows what you feel on the inside and wear it openly. have someone come in and speak about their journey to being out, or each person learn about someone in LGBT+ history and when their mask is done get up and share that story. make a "quilt" like we do for folks who have died of AIDs. Make it for people who never got their patch. Honour them. Hear their stories online, ask their friends and family to share something, learn yourselves and share it. Grieve, and remember, and honour, and celebrate together.

host a nameday celebration for everyone who chose their own name. let everyone share the meaning behind their name, get the cis people to join in.

Thank you so much!! I'll send her all these lovely ideas 💖🌈

Thank you thank you thank youuuuu 💖💖💖💖

[blingitandmore]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Crystal Cross Vent Clip Car Interior Decor.