#but when i did they always hurt more than my appendicitis did

[theglitchmaster]

I was recently diagnosed with Hypermobile EDS and the more I read about it the more the random annoying "quirks" of my meat suit start to add up:

Like... fuck man

[cuubism]

Morphology | Dreamling | 4.6k words | Explicit | AO3

eldritch Dream, genderfluidity of a kind, lots of smut, nonhuman organs, angst, body dysphoria, undefined body forms and transformation, brief eldritch panic attack, they/them pronouns for Dream

Dream is not meant to stay in one form. But they must, for that is the form that Hob knows. That Hob loves. Or so they think.

this is based on @gabessquishytum and their anon's post located here, about Dream believing Hob won't want him in all his nonhuman shapes, only to discover Hob is very much a monsterfucker... and also loves him very much. I was going to append it to the post but then it got kind of very long. Hope you don't mind me playing around!

---

It was not for dreams to be only one thing.

In the Dreaming, they morphed and shifted, merging from one form to another. Smoke to wind to water, lava to sparks back to stone. In the minds of dreamers they took every unconceivable form, a thousand impossibilities as various as the limbs of Destiny’s forking tree. They were all of unreality. All that could not be, all that was hoped for, fleeting, forgotten, or held, for a time.

In the Waking, it was different. Dreams Dream bent and condensed into a singular form. They he knew well enough from his dreamers that while fluid changeability may be accepted in the illogical narratives of dreams, it was not so in the Waking. To interact with humans, he must appear as one, with the limited mutability that allowed.

Which was not to say that Dream disliked his Waking form. He chose what was pleasing to him. But sometimes it felt… stifling, for one used to being as expansive as the clouds.

Particularly after his imprisonment. Kept like an insect pinned to a board. Immovable. When he was meant to move. When he was Morpheus. Shaper of Forms.

Dream put that away from him.

Hob liked this form of his. Dream had come to understand the way Hob looked on him, and he liked that Hob wanted this form. But. He was not meant to stay in this form. Not always. It was. Chafing. It was. Hurting.

No matter. He could stay in this form that Hob wanted, because more than wanting to break from this skin Dream wanted Hob’s love. And his desire. He wanted to keep Hob’s gentle, heated touch.

This form of lean muscle and sharp bone. This solid body that had endured Roderick Burgess’s prison but also received Hob’s love… he could keep it. Yes. He could. He could.

~~~

I am wind that wishes to storm. Cloud that edges on rain. I am caterpillar’s dream of flight, I am words of disbelieving, I am the hopeful light of new stars, I am— I am water’s dance with the shore, and the sun’s kiss of the moon, and— and— no—

“Yo. Roiling mass of terror that I’m pretty sure is the boss. You good?”

Dream opened their eyes. They did not have eyes, but no matter. Dreams were often about seeing. Matthew was standing on the sand before them, head cocked.

“You alright?” he repeated. “I couldn’t tell if the shrieking was a bad thing or just like. One of your things.”

“One of my things,” Dream repeated.

“Can never know,” said Matthew. He hopped onto an arm that Dream’s form generated just for him to stand on.

“I was not,” said Dream, “shrieking.”

“You were definitely shrieking,” said Matthew. “It sounded like a laundry machine dying.”

Dream grumbled in offense.

Matthew nudged his head against one of Dream’s hands. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Dream considered. “Do you often ponder your own physical form, Matthew?”

“Well, since I became a bird,” said Matthew. “Kinda weird. It’s cool, though. Who doesn’t dream of flying, amirite?” He flapped his wings in demonstration, lifting off Dream’s arm, then settling down again.

“And when you were human?” Dream asked.

“Every human thinks about their body, dude.”

“Did you desire to change it?” Dream pressed.

“You mean like a weight loss program?” said Matthew. “Those never work.”

“No,” said Dream. Their form morphed around them, here legs, there tail, wings, teeth. They could not make it settle, not on a human shape or on anything else. They felt— agitated. They should return to their usual human form. Should. “That is not what I meant.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Matthew, and smacked his face with his wing in realization. “It’s this whole deal. Well, you could change it if you want? I mean. You’re doing it.”

“I did not mean to,” said Dream, their form still writhing around them, never landing on any one shape. “I—” they were meant to go see Hob. They had been cloaked properly in their usual shape. And. Something had snapped.

They remembered, now, falling to their knees on the sand, the careful construct of their human self, a body once worn easily as one of many, shattering into a million shards.

They should. Change. They should change back. They wished to see Hob, and Hob, for all his adaptability, was only human, he would not be able to tolerate this, this thing that could not even give itself a face, or decide what it was, this thing that found physical stasis anathema after so long pressed in glass. Hob cared for the being that he knew. Not this one that, Dream thought, sometimes did not even know itself.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think you should probably stop,” Matthew warned.

“You dare to question me?” Dream bit. He was condensing back down under his human mask, he could do it, he could. He had loved this form once. Could again. As one of many.

Matthew nipped at his hand with his beak. And it was only this that made Dream realize he was clawing at his face so hard he was bleeding starlight.

Solidity spiraled away from Dream again, and they let out a hard breath. It was useless. Whatever meager control they had maintained since their escape was slipping from them. It was pointless to pretend otherwise any longer. Or to pretend that they could truly offer Hob the form he was accustomed to.

“Matthew,” Dream said, and Matthew hopped to attention. “I have some business I must attend to. Please leave me now.”

“Are you sure—?”

Dream waved a hand and sent him back to the palace.

If it was impossible for them to consistently return to their prior state, then at least they should be done with it now. Show Hob what he was truly dealing with. That Dream was not what he thought. Or wanted. Then, at least, they would spare themselves any greater heartbreak.

Wrapping the barest trappings of their usual form around them like an ill-fitting coat, Dream stepped into the Waking.

~~~

Dream emerged directly onto Hob’s bed as a formless shadow. It felt good, to be formless. Normally, they did like to take a form, but to choose recently had been taxing.

Hob was awake and reading. Dream had been meant to come for dinner, and was late. When Dream appeared in a sudden fall of darkness, Hob shrieked and flung his book at them on instinct. It simply passed through Dream with no effect.

“Dream?” said Hob, gasping, the spike in his adrenaline clear. “Is that you, love? Somehow? Or am I about to get eaten?”

Those do not preclude each other, Dream said. Though as they were still a shadow, their voice was more a low rumbling vibration than a true voice.

“Not sure how I understood that,” said Hob. He tilted his head, trying to make out features in the darkness but not, Dream thought, managing it. “Always kind of knew you were more than you seemed,” he added. “Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

It is but one form I am capable of holding, Dream said. Strictly speaking, it was not quite a form at all. As they said it, they shifted, unconsciously, until they were the beam of lamplight caressing Hob’s face—Hob’s hand chased them across his own cheek—and then the lulling hum of traffic, comforting night sounds. Hob kept reaching for them, not quite knowing where he was reaching. And Dream slipped into his daydreams, his vision for what Dream’s many forms might be.

Hob’s daydreams were a comfortable place to land. Warm. Welcoming. And when Dream emerged, they were a thing of Hob’s imagining, something dark and shadowed and multi-faceted but ultimately. Touchable.

That was what Hob desired of them?

“Okay,” said Hob, “what actually is going on here? Are you okay?”

Dream did not reply, stuck on Hob’s daydreams. He did not wish for Dream to force themselves back into their usual form. He merely molded what Dream brought him into a form that was comprehensible to him.

Relief crashed over Dream, magnitudes greater than the dread they had refused to acknowledge. They knew, now, that they had truly expected this to be the end. To scare Hob off. But Hob did not seem to be scared.

“Dream?” Hob reached a careful hand toward them. He pet down Dream’s flank. Fur that was soft because he was touching it. He huffed an incredulous laugh. “Wow. It really is… you.”

“In some fashion,” said Dream.

“In some fashion,” Hob repeated. “In what fashion, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Dream butted their head into Hob’s shoulder. Following the relief of his touch, so much softer and more detailed, now that they did not have the barrier of a stifling form in the way.

“Darling,” Hob said, petting Dream’s hair, “need words.”

“No,” Dream mumbled petulantly. And Hob allowed them their petulance. Dream let out a long breath. It blew warm over Hob’s throat, and Dream felt him shiver. They trailed fingertips up Hob’s ribcage, along bare skin, feeling the stacked solidity of his bones. Hob shivered again.

“It’s like that, is it?” he said.

Dream shifted closer, half slither, half crawl, until their form, incomprehensible even to themselves, was draped over Hob’s lap. Bliss, there, the warmth of him. “You are not repelled?”

“By the ten arms? I think I can cope.” He pressed his lips in close to Dream’s ear. “In fact. I had a dream about this the other night. Well.” He laughed. “I guess I’m having a Dream about it now, eh?”

“Did you?” said Dream, ears pricking up. Had their… moods slipped into Hob’s dreams?

“Can’t remember the details,” Hob said. “But I remember how it felt.” He trailed fingertips up the bony knobs of Dream’s spine. Unlike Dream at the moment, Hob only had two arms, but Dream felt every press of his fingers acutely.

“How did it feel?” they whispered.

“Like,” Hob murmured, lips to Dream’s jaw now, “you were everywhere. Like I got into your body and made love to you from the inside out.”

The thought made all of the strange and varied nerves of Dream’s shifting body stand on end. They wrapped legs around Hob’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Scraped sharp teeth over his pulse. “Really?”

Hob laughed. “Interested now, are you?”

“Yes,” Dream rumbled, their form flickering in excitement, to shadow then a falling rainbow of light, to a mass of vines that wound all around Hob’s body, and then into roots, as if they could grow into Hob, then branching veins pulsing and racing with Hob’s heartbeat, then back to a morass of half-body, half-shadow, because yes, they wanted to be held by Hob, they must remember that.

Hob was still for several moments, then laughed incredulously. “Okay. You’re so cool. I don’t know what to do with any of that, so I’m going to have to wing it.”

He traced a hand along the soft feathers of a wing that had grown with his words. Dream shuddered. A sensitive part of the body, indeed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hob murmured. “My strange creature.”

Dream purred in pleasure, wrapping their wings around Hob’s back, mouth catching on the edge of his jaw, and, incredibly, felt Hob growing hard under them, as he would if Dream lounged in his lap and mouthed at his jaw as a human.

“You like this,” Dream said, unable to keep the surprise from their voice.

Hob chuckled. “Didn’t you know I fell for you the second I saw the spark of the otherworldly in your eyes? Just didn’t know the whole of what I was looking at. Not then.”

The spark of the otherworldly. “You are in love with dreams.”

“Figured it out by now, yeah.”

“You are. In love. With this,” Dream said, voice echoing from more than one throat, choked up.

“With this? You mean with you?”

“I do not know quite what I am, now,” Dream admitted.

“Well,” said Hob, slipping a hand between them. Dream gasped in pleasure, wings fluttering involuntarily. “You want to find out?”

Squirming against his hand, Dream said, “Do you even know what it is you are touching?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Hob said cheerfully. “Made you go all shivery, though.”

It had. It was. Dream writhed in his lap as Hob experimented, moaned in startled pleasure, toes curling. Body shifting to hurtle towards that arousal. Hob startled as his hand was suddenly enveloped in heat, something he could press into, and Dream whined, so full all at once with no prelude, body twisting out of control without their explicit direction. But it was good.

Hob gripped them by one wing—these had stayed even as Dream’s form continued to spin—and Dream quivered as Hob pulled them closer, pressing his hand deeper into slick heat. He was grinning against Dream’s throat, scraped light teeth over his pulse, sucked a bruise there. Dream’s form rode the wave of his daydreams, provided a wet mouth for him to bite and kiss as soon as he thought of it. Dream tangled long fingers in his hair, claws digging in.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Hob breathed against his lips.

“If you can cope with me changing on you,” Dream said. “I am not. Entirely in control. At the moment.”

A shameful admission, but Hob groaned as if it was the hottest thing he could think of. “I get to have you multiple ways at once? Oh, how will I manage?”

Dream laughed. It may have been a bit teary. Their many hearts were racing, lungs stuttering for air. Wings shivered, feathers fluttering. A long, furred tail wound its way up Hob’s back to wrap lightly around his throat, possessive. Dream would not let this man go now. Could not.

“Budge up, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Hob said, probing deeper under Dream’s form with his hand, the other still firm on Dream’s wing, which he seemed to have understood was very sensitive, and intended to press that advantage as much as he could.

The touch of Hob’s hand, in Dream, on them, around them, was bliss. Dream wished to be full of him again. To, as Hob had dreamt, be made love to from the inside out.

Riding that hope, their body shaped another hole for his questing fingers. Hob obligingly pressed his fingers in, but said, “Regrettably, darling, I’ve only got one cock, and I had other plans for my hands.”

“Regrettable, indeed,” said Dream, and Hob laughed. Then, “Plans?”

“Oh, yes. I expect some other interesting things may crop up, eh? Need hands free.” He leaned in close to Dream’s ear, which flicked toward him to listen. “I’m going to find every erogenous zone on this body and make it scream.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Dream’s body. They clung to Hob with every limb they could find. Hob grinned wickedly at this reaction. It was a look Dream knew well, one that always boded very well for them indeed.

Hob worked Dream open on two fingers—though he need not, Dream was already wet and gaping for him—then maneuvered his sleep shorts off, took his cock in hand and stroked it twice, hand slick with Dream’s fluids. Then he lifted Dream bodily and sank them back down on his cock.

Dream whined, careening up several registers, as they were filled so suddenly, as they took Hob to the base. Hob groaned at the feeling of their body. Dream tried to adjust to him but couldn’t, Hob’s cock pressed on sensitive spots deep within them, and any time they thought they’d gotten used to the feeling their body produced a new place to torment.

They clawed at Hob’s back, leaving red lines with sharp fingers. Hob gave an experimental thrust, shifting Dream in his lap, and Dream bit down on a scream as their body lit up, chasing the feeling, loving it, magnitudes more affected than in their usual, limited form.

“Wow,” Hob said, fond laughter in his voice, and heat too, as Dream panted wetly in his ear, “this is going to be fun. Have you been all worked up, my darling? Just needed someone to give you what you really need?”

“Needed you,” Dream murmured. They clenched around Hob, tried to steady themselves, but it only made things worse. Everywhere deep inside them was searing flame, their skin-feathers-fur prickly with static, they feared and needed Hob’s touch in equal measure. To soothe. To set alight.

Hob slipped a hand into the other space Dream had left to tempt him, probing deep. Dream bit down on his ear, drawing spots of blood. Hob drew his hand back, met one of Dream’s many eyes. Licked Dream’s fluids from his hand.

Dream lunged forward to kiss him, whimpering into Hob’s mouth as that drove them impossibly deeper onto Hob’s cock. Hob pulled them close, kissed them hard, caught a fistful of Dream’s hair and pulled. Dream’s body decided that it liked that very much, indeed. They whined at the grip, clawing at Hob’s skin with many hands.

Hob brought them close with a firm hand, bounced Dream in his lap, moving them on and off his cock. Dream wailed, overstimulated by all the angles of his touch, torn between pulling away and diving closer as Hob swept his tongue into their mouth, over sharp teeth and soft palate.

“There’s a love,” Hob breathed. “Does that feel good, darling?”

Dream couldn’t offer a reply, and Hob didn’t wait for one. He dug his fingers into the tight feathering of Dream’s wing and tugged. Dream shrieked, wings flapping wildly, sets of them bursting along their back, more, more, less, more. Hob didn’t let up, stroking his fingers through the feathers, dragging over soft skin, sucking on Dream’s throat all the while.

Dream saw white, their body seized up, and the nebulous hole Hob was using to fuck them morphed into a mouth.

Hob yelped to suddenly feel his cock grazing over shielded teeth. Then he laughed. “Don’t you dare bite my dick off, you menace. It’s horrible to regrow it.”

Dream would have asked how he knew that, except Hob’s cock was down their throat. They choked, swallowing around him. Dream did not need to breathe, and so the pressure was exquisite. Their long tongue wrapped around Hob to the base, caressed his balls. Explored further, along his perineum, to probe at his entrance, and then press in.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Hob’s voice was a strangled shout. “Dream what the actual fuck are you doing?” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

I am fucking you with my tongue, Dream said, a hum directly from their form to Hob’s.

“I can bloody well tell, Jesus Mary and—”

Dream purred and rumbled in pleasure, the satisfaction of taking and being taken at once, of being inside their beloved and having Hob inside them in turn. As Hob had dreamt.

Hob’s fingers pressed into Dream. Dream’s form gave and made places for him to press into. Hob’s fingers tickled deep within them, starlight and heat tracking their path. Dream swirled in an indefinite vortex of shape, a hundred things at once, their body prickling all over with the pleasure of Hob’s touch.

Hob twisted against them, clenching down on their tongue, shouted “Dream!” and came down Dream’s throat. Dream swallowed him down in pleasure, retracted their tongue from Hob’s body, eliciting a long moan. They let Hob pull out, and licked the final taste of Hob from their lips before letting that mouth disappear into their form, the traces of Hob consumed.

And then Hob flipped them, somehow manhandled Dream’s indefinite form down to the mattress, pressed down immovably on legs and arms and wings so that the softest parts of Dream’s body were bared to him. Dream reached for him, always they reached for him, cock hard and straining, cunt aching, the slashes of their being weeping for Hob to come inside. Always weeping. They cried out, every inch of them trembling for Hob’s touch.

“You gorgeous nightmare,” Hob said. “You brilliant daydream. Oh, my darling, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Anything. But mostly I want to do this.”

He pressed his mouth to where Dream’s body strained for him.

Hob had a very talented and generous mouth, which Dream had blessedly been on the receiving end of many times. This was different: Dream’s form echoed out Hob’s touch, replicated it a hundred times over so every crevice of their body could feel the flat swipe of his tongue, how he drank Dream’s fluids down, the drag of his stubble over lips and folds and the soft skin of thighs. Dream’s many limbs trembled, bent, reformed themselves in ecstasy, they dragged at Hob’s hair, pressing his face deeper so Dream could grind against him, which only made Hob grin.

Hob pressed two fingers into Dream’s mouth and Dream greedily sucked on them, grounding themselves. Taking Hob in more than one way at once… yes. That was what they wanted. They closed their many eyes and gave themselves over to sensation. Hob’s mouth and tongue, the taste of him, the weight of his body as he bent Dream on the bed, his scent, musk and the woodsmoke that seemed to cling to him all these years later—or perhaps that was only in dreams.

They were a dream of completion. They were a dream of ecstasy. Of flight. Hob’s hand tangled in their fragile feathers. Hob’s mouth and fingers inside them. Then Hob plunged three fingers hard, deep within them, as he sucked on Dream’s clit, and with a piercing noise like glass shattering Dream came.

They were. Fragments. The individual colors splayed wide by a prism. Red, yellow, blue. Hob’s fingers trailed through them, blending the colors like paint in water. For several moments Dream drifted, more thought than being. Distantly aware of Hob’s weight on them. It felt… like kindness. Then they floated back to the present, light as the first flight of unfurled moth wings.

Hob was lying on them, looking at them, head tilted. A twinkle in his eyes. He skated his hands up Dream’s sides. Flowers bloomed in the wake of his touch, their soft petals shivering with sensitivity. Hob plucked one of the flower buds and, holding Dream’s gaze, ate it. Swallowed it. Dream watched the movement of his throat.

Inside out, he thought.

“Broke you into pieces,” Hob said then, with satisfaction. “Think I might have seen God for a sec there. Can do better, though.”

“Better?” Dream echoed, voice hoarse. Their form shifted, still, but slowly, languidly. No longer restless. A dark wing draped over Hob’s back. A tail played with his hair. He didn’t seem to mind.

“There’s so much we can do with this,” he said. He gazed at Dream, fond, terribly knowing. “Only getting started, love. I love—” he kissed Dream’s belly, a light, ghosting touch, and tickled Dream’s side with his fingertips— “how sensitive you are like this.”

“I—” Dream started. Absent the writhing need, now they just felt… stripped. Vulnerable. “I expected that you would. Not. Like this. It is not. Human.”

“Neither are you,” Hob pointed out.

“I appear so,” Dream said.

Hob snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Dream stared at him, unable to decide whether or not to be offended.

“I wear the guise of a human,” they insisted, and, to prove it, morphed back into the form that Hob would know as his lover. It was an easier coat to wear, now that they knew they could take it off.

“No, keep the wings,” Hob complained. “Those are cool.”

Dream obligingly returned wings to their form.

“I appear human, to you,” they insisted again.

“Dream, I say this with all the love in my heart, which is quite a lot because I do. Love you.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Dream with sparkling eyes. “You look about as human as a kid wearing a bedsheet looks like a ghost.”

Dream stared at him, mouth agape.

“Don’t worry, it’s a gorgeous costume,” Hob said. “Love it. Really, really do. But I could always tell that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Especially once I got close.” With this, he winked.

“A part of me is human,” Dream said. Had Hob truly always seen through them? Paid so close attention as to perceive the translucence of the mask? “For I am the dreams of humanity.”

“And a part of you isn’t,” said Hob. “For—” he mimicked the cadence of Dream’s speech, though not in a mocking way— “you are also the dreams of birds, and shadows, and stars.”

Dream nodded. “These and more.”

“Brilliant,” said Hob.

Brilliant, Dream thought.

Then Hob tilted his head, thinking back. “You expected me not to like that?”

“Recently,” said Dream slowly, “I found I could not maintain this form without pain. And so my hand was forced.” It hurt still, to think of. “I had no choice but to make my true form—or rather, my true formlessness—known to you if I wished to be here at all.”

Hob pushed himself up from where he was lying on Dream’s chest, and instead straddled his hips so he could take Dream’s face between his hands. “It hurts?” he demanded.

“At times,” said Dream. “More so. Since.” They didn’t finish the sentence.

“Why are you doing it now, then?”

“It does not hurt so much now,” Dream said. “It is simply that when I stay static, it begins to. Ache.”

“Ache,” Hob repeated, looking stricken. “Dream, if it hurts, then change back. Be a chimera or whatever the hell you were doing before.”

“That is how you interpreted it?”

“To be honest, I don’t think my brain was really interpreting it at all. You were just kind of… everything.” He stroked a fingertip along the fine bone of Dream’s wing, which was folded against their back now. “Did like the wings, though.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Cheeky.” Hob shook himself. “Getting distracted. The point is, don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” He tipped his head against Dream’s, lips to their skin. “Much rather see you how were today.”

“How?”

“Letting go. Enjoying yourself.” He smirked, Dream felt it against their temple. “Making all kind of lovely noises. Squealing. Shrieking—”

“I was not shrieking.”

“You were shrieking.”

Hob tickled his fingers through Dream’s feathers, and Dream made an embarrassing squeak. They smacked Hob in the face with that wing, and Hob burst out laughing, even though he had to pull a feather out of his teeth.

“I love you,” he said. “Don’t hurt yourself. Be... the indefinably strange creature that you are. And just trust me to keep up.”

Hob kissed them lightly on the lips. Dream leaned into him, made still for a moment by the depth of Hob’s care for them, how Hob caught all of their longing and swallowed it, kept it warm. How he loved Dream. And dreams.

Hob drew them both down to the bed, and the covers over them, and Dream let their other forms creep out, hesitant, but hungry for Hob’s affection. And a creature that was the sky’s dream of nightfall and the poetry of rain upon a still lake, that was the individual patterns of snowflakes and the sculptures built of their drifts, that was ambitious owl and frightened vole, quiet soil and its thoughtful worms, shape and narrative and human, too, of course, laid down its many heads, and curled its much-loved wings over its lover, and rested in his dreams.

[leclerc-s]

reluctant parents

series masterlist

penelopetrevino posted new stories

he said, 'amor, i have a surprise for you.' i'm patiently waiting to see what it is. update: the surprise is just lando... again 🙄

penelope trevino quick, when someone says, 'i have surprise for you' what does one normally think?

rowan todd well, last time pierre told me that we got a dog, so a dog.

natalia ruiz a dog, charlie did the same thing.

zoya torres well he said 'we have a problem' and it was his parents, whom i was meeting for the first time ever.

mick schumacher considering i told freya 'i did a thing' and i had gotten angie, i'd think a dog.

daniel jones-ricciardo i got a cat the last time she said that.

daphne jones-ricciardo i got a heart attack because it was followed by the words 'i got in an accident'

penelope trevino I TOLD YOU TWO!!

lando norris but aren't i a nice surprise? penelope trevino you have a girlfriend, spend time with her for the love of god. bailey winters he just tells me to spend time with max and p so he can spend time with his boyfriend.

carlos sainz but amor, you love lando!

mae jones-verstappen praying carlos sainz lives to see another day.

isabella perez he may have survived appendicitis but he will not survive pissing off penny.

pato o'ward he's about to learn that you never piss off a mexican woman. dulce perez rip carlos sainz, you would've hated to see max win another gp

gael perez rip carlos sainz, oscar can finally let out a sigh of relief

oscar piastri why am i always getting involved in shit?

lewis hamilton does carlos hate oscar because lando loves oscar and carlos wishes that was him?

fernando alonso he wants that mclaren seat back sebastian vettel you two are the biggest instigators in this group chat. fernando alonso it's a talent

rhys jones it's like watching a tennis match but only one cares and the other doesn't

penelope trevino BACK TO MY PROBLEM PEOPLE!

lance stroll carlos has attachment issues and lando imprinted on him like a baby duck.

pierre gasly alternative: carlos and lando have been cheating on their girlfriends with each other.

bailey winters i hate that i can actually believe that. penelope trevino why is that actually believable?

carlos sainz we are not that bad.

zoya torres if trevor noah can make a joke about lando looking like more of a couple with his former teammate (carlos) than his own girlfriend (bailey) it's bad.

lando norris we may have a problem.

penelope trevino you think?

penelopetrevino and landonorris have posted new stories

he's crashing another date. i could probably hurt him. i may be smiling but i need a bottle of patron to get me through the day. she's going to kill me. mclaren you know who to blame when i mysteriously die

penelope trevino quick, say something so i won't kill lando.

rowan todd you'll go to jail?

penelope trevino not good enough

isabella perez jesus will never let you forget this.

penelope trevino we're getting there.

zoya torres you'll never be able to see little jewel again?

penelope trevino thank you for that reminder zoya.

bailey winters i can call his mom for you? that's what i tend to do when he pisses me off or i call ria and she reminds him that i wrote a heartbreaking album about him.

bailey winters and if none of that works i call max, who laughs in his face for hours on end.

daphne jones-ricciardo or you could talk to them, like normal people

penelope trevino you think i haven't tried that yet? it's impossible to get through to them daph!

dulce perez they're like his work parents, he needs them around 24/7

isabella perez personally, i wouldn't let this slide.

mae jones-verstappen throw him into the slammer!!

natalia ruiz all of you guys have third wheels that suck. i love my third wheel.

penelope trevino not all of us can have a joris natalia!

natalia ruiz at least it's lando and not like pierre, who would be an annoying third wheel.

rowan todd okay, that's my boyfriend nat.

natalia ruiz you cannot be publicly defending a man who makes 🐶 jokes or calls himself tripod

bailey winters EMBARRASSING!!

rowan todd your boyfriend would rather spend time third wheeling his best friend than spend time with you.

bailey winters

rowan todd never make fun of me again bailey.

mae jones-verstappen she was obviously starving

isabella perez somewhere on the coast.

rowan todd you two are comedians.

daphne jones-ricciardo i see now why this group chats is named what it is.

daphne jones-ricciardo you're all fucked in the head.

natalia ruiz daphne's never one to reply but she always roasts the shit out of us.

penelope trevino i'm just resigned to the fact that lando is never going anywhere.

penelope trevino he is my sea urchin.

daphne jones-ricciardo this is why lando always crashes your dates.

dulce perez it's an irrational fear daph!!

daphne jones-ricciardo NO THE FUCK IT ISN'T!!

zoya torres so many problems so little time to digest it all.

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, lando.jpg and others

penelopetrevino photo dump but half of it is me with a beer (my only company because carlos always ditches me for lando) and the other half is carlos with his true love (lando)

tagged: carlossainz55, landonorris

view all comments

landonorris i am his true love, glad to see you finally admitting it

↳ penelopetrevino go spend time with your own girlfriend. rowan's roasting her in the groupchat.

↳ pierregasly WHAT GROUP CHAT?

↳ isabellaperez ABORT MISSION!! THEY CAN'T KNOW!!

↳ alex_albon FAKE PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!!

user26 i would rather die than let this happen to me.

↳ user60 what makes you think penelope has a choice in the matter?

↳ user26 that's very true

user89 those texts from lando are foul!!

baileywinters i say we dump them and date each other instead.

↳ penelopetrevino now that's a good idea.

↳ landonorris hold up what?

↳ carlossainz55 no.

user02 and when these two get married is lando going to interrupt the wedding for shits and giggles?

↳ landonorris that's actually not a bad idea.

↳ penelopetrevino you pull that shit on my wedding day and i'll hurt you.

patriciooward personally i would run him over with my car but that's just me.

↳ landonorris STOP GIVING HER IDEAS!

baileywinters contrary to popular belief, we do actually spend time together.

↳ user57 i would've thrown hands if norizz was neglecting his relationship to crash carlos' dates

↳ landonorris why am i always getting threatened with violence?

↳ isabellaperez because you pull shit like this.

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @ijustgomessitupx @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! and it's another late night update!!! woooo!!!

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[trigunsbbygirl]

Human Things that Confuse Knives Part 2

Made a second one since I had more ideas lol

content warnings: teeth, use bomb in an analogy, mention bruises. this one gets more into the body/anatomy idk what all people are comfy with so just in case

•Knives already thinks dreams are kinda weird, but those surreal ones and the utterly weird ones that just make no sense or seemed so real you wonder if it actually happened? he wants to know what's going on in your brain. Knives will listen to you as you recount your dream, he won't say much or make any facial reactions, but part of him is kinda amazed that your can brain come up with the weirdest, coolest and/or creepiest things ever.

•the concept of having baby teeth and adult teeth weirds Knives out. when Knives learns that you do lose your teeth as a kid he's staring at you like you've just grown a second head. don't tell him that you have wisdom teeth that usually need to be taken out via surgery as a teenager. (Vash is kinda grossed out by it. found out when a kid he was playing with ran up to him and was like 'look! my tooth fell out!:D' he panicked, thinking they got hurt, but it's replaced with horror, disbelief, slight disgust and concern when he finds out every human looses a set of teeth. he hates it a little. has no idea what to do when a kid tells him that a tooth fell out. help him)

•also. imagine Knives surprise when he learns about the appendix. you had been talking with a friend when you mentioned appendicitis and that you had to have surgery. it peaked his interest and when you're done talking, Knives asks about it. he stares at you in uncertainty and disbelief the further you explain. what do you mean there's a small pouch in your stomach that serves little to no function that can essentially become a bomb? Knives doesn't actually believe you until he looks it up. he wonders how humans have survived with bodies like that.

•same wonder when it comes to you having to take vitamins and other supplements because sometimes a body won't produce enough of something or too much.

•the fact the humans shed/lose hair. Knives knows that, but it kinda grosses him out a bit. he hates seeing your hair strands, makes you clean them up. (I hc that the twins just have little to no body hair and they don't actually lose hair strands.)

•double jointed people also weirds Knives out. what do you mean you can twist or bend a joint further than normal? it doesn't exactly creep or gross him out, but he doesn't like it. he'll never admit that, but he won't look/talk to you for a bit after you show off that flexibility.

•Knives is fascinated by the way your skin can change colors. (don't mention that he can turn a lovely shade of red, he gets all huffy.) but, anyways, he loves examining your face, watching as your face gets darker with certain things he does. (also likes seeing your facial expressions. humans are so expressive..) he also likes seeing your bruises and watching as the bruise changes colors over time as it heals. you joked one day that you could give him a bruise of his own that he can watch. he didn't like the joke (he prefers to give you (consensual) bruises.)

•now let's get into reverse Isekai for a bit.

•Knives does not fucking understand social media lmao. why the hell do you have to tell people you've never met what you did or thought that day and why are so many people interested? why do people do stupid things for views??

•he hates online discourse and always tunes you out when you try to talk about something that happened online. he doesn't care and thinks it's stupid.

•do NOT let him find out about stan culture or chronically online people. he's gonna lose any faith he had in humanity again. I wouldn't worry about that too much though. he has zero online presence, never uses social media outside of YouTube and even then he only uses it to watch documentaries or how to videos.

•memes confuse him a lot, especially how fast they come and go. you don't even know how to explain them to him. "why is this picture of a man just standing so funny?" "it just is? I don't know either." how do you even explain memes and internet culture to someone who's never been on the internet lol

•Knives thinks you're really weird if you've got a skewed sense of humor where something dramatically falling over makes you laugh(thinking of that waffle video.) he watches those types of videos with a straight face and when the video ends he just stares at you, wondering if you seriously think that's funny.

•he hates those youtube poop and deepfried videos. not only does he find them stupid and doesn't understand them, but they just bother his ears.

•bonus: Vash thinks the circadian rythym is pretty neat and that some people just know when to wake up. it took Vash a while to develop one, or at least, something like that since he doesn't technically need sleep. it'll never quite be the same though since he doesn't exactly get tired like humans do. it took decades for that type of tiredness to become present, but even still, he doesn't need it to survive.

[stray-kaz]

His Mistake : an Anthony Lockwood x f!reader drabble

The Gist of This: A drabble built around my headcanon that Lockwood would definitely say something stupid and/or offensive, unintentionally, when you’re on your period.

You groaned, lying prone on the couch in the sitting room, clutching a heated wheat pack to your stomach. Lucy sat with your socked feet in her lap, occasionally patting you in sympathy. George sat in another chair, absentmindedly flicking through a book while keeping half an eye on you, just in case.

Meanwhile, Lockwood watched you with a grim look on his face, almost inscrutable. He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning on and stood over you with arms folded.

“Are you sure it isn’t your appendix?” he asked, more like demanded.

George blinked in surprise and Lucy glared up at Lockwood with narrowed eyes. You snorted in derision and then moaned again, pressing your face into the cushions.

“Appendicitis doesn’t cause you to bleed from your uterus, Lockwood” Lucy said tersely.

He threw up his hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I know that!” he retorted.

“Do you?” George mumbled from behind his book.

Lockwood shot him a quelling glance he didn’t even notice and returned his gaze to you.

“We have more important things to do than sit around worrying about your contracting uterus. We have cases to complete! There are paying clients waiting on us!”

He knew the second he’d gone too far and physically started to back up, his feet propelling him backwards until he hit the closed door. He glanced frantically at George, who simply smirked back at him over the top of his book. You swung your feet off Lucy’s lap and stood up, wincing at the pain you felt with any and all movement. You stalked toward Lockwood, wheat pack all but glued to your front.

When you reached him, you prodded a finger into his chest with enough force to hurt.

“You have no idea what this feels like, Anthony Lockwood. If you did, you wouldn’t be pushing me so hard. But, boss, if you really want me fighting Type Twos while I am bleeding like a stuck pig, with a high chance of throwing up due to extreme exertion and pain, and therefore, with a higher chance of dying on the job, by all means, give the order.”

Lockwood stared at you with worried dark eyes; he had never looked more like Bambi, but as you pushed past him to go to your room, you pretended not to care.

An hour or so later, there was a somber knock on your door. Feeling a little less sore, you got up to answer it. Lockwood stood in the gap, shoulders hunched uncomfortably as he looked down at you. The top two buttons of his white dress shirt were undone, as though he had been fiddling, working up the courage to see you.

“I’m sorry” he said quietly, awkward. “It was my mistake.”

“Yes, it was” you agreed, propping your hands on your hips. “You’re lucky you’re cute and always apologise first.”

Lockwood released a sigh of relief and moved closer, his hands replacing yours on your hips.

“I love you” he said softly. 

“You’d better.”

“And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You smiled and reached up to link your hands behind his neck.

“I know. Now stop talking and kiss me, Lockwood.”

He did, too.

[russellsppttemplates]

We need more baby rora and seb content and let’s also not forget Angie

Oh, I just realised I didn't have Angie in my bee blurb

Tw: mentions a bee sting and allergy to it, veterinarians, pregnancy sickness

It wasn't often that you got to enjoy an afternoon like this. The temperature outside was just right for you to be able to have the floor to ceiling windows open in the living room, allowing you to rest on the sofa with your husband while your kids played outside.

"Is little one behaving well today?", he asked, his hand covering your bump and rubbing the area after he pushed the top you were wearing up to rest under your boobs, "yes, I've been feeling good. No more sickness and I can eat your mother's food again", you chuckled. For the last week, your taste buds had been all over the place, and one of your favourite Corinna's recipes was all you could think about, so she cooked it for you, but the moment the tray was set in your counter top, you were quick to go to the bathroom and throw up. "I'm sorry, seems little one isn't as fond of the food as I am", you pouted.

"All is well then, isn't it, little one? You're going to be a handful, I can tell", Mick mumbled, heating a shriek outside following Angie's bark, "Oh, no, the bee stung you!".

Remembering the time Sebastian was stung, and since he was allergic, you both got up as fast as possible, looking for the kids, "what happened?", you asked, seeing the kids looking at Angie, "Seb, where did it sting you?", Mick asked, looking at his son's arms and legs and looking for the red skin spot.

"It wasn't me, papa. It was Angie. She was palying with the bee and the she ate it!", Sebastian explained, making you kneel down and face the Australian Shepherd, looking at her snout for any clues of where it had stung her.

"Angie, I just want to see where you're hurt, okay?", you calmed her down, making her sit down and steady herself. Her mouth started to swell, and when you opened her mouth, you could see a distinct dot on her mouth, "Mick, can you call her veterinarian, please? I can see where she got stung", you said soflty, not wanting to alarm the kids.

While Mick explained to the veterinarian on the phone what had appended, Aurora and Sebastian sat on either side of Angie, petting her fur soflty, "is she in pain, mama?", Sebastian asked pouting, "I don't think so, my love. She seems a little uncomfortable maybe, right Angie?", you looked at her, seeing her snout a little bit more swollen than before.

"So, he said that it usually isn't a big concern, he just prescribed me and antihistamine for her and it's just to make her a little bit more comfortable and prevent further reactions. Otherwise, some ice and rest, and lots of cuddles too, should do the trick", he explained, grabbing his wallet and keys to go to the pharmacy.

Walking inside, you allowed Angie on the sofa while you went to the kitchen to get some ice and a towell to wrap it, "hey, Angie", you called, catching her attention as Aurora shuffled on the sofa so you could sit next to the dog, "it's going to be cold, but papa is also getting your meds, he should be here any minute now", you placed the ice on her snout.

When Mick arrived, you gave Angie the pills before she settled on the sofa, Aurora and Sebastian taking turns in holding the ice pack while you sat in the sofa too, "she kind of looks like Goofy", Aurora pointed out, earning an nod of agreement from her brother, "you'll be back to feeling good again, Angie", you little boy began, "But, please, if you ever feel hungry, you can come to me! You don't need to try to eat a bee. Plus, I even know where mama and papa keep your treats, I can always give you those", he said, petting the dog's fur.

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

[pugs-cats-bb-8]

Vanilla 5-Kamoshida

I've only played Royal, so I thought it would be fun to see what they changed from Vanilla.

Note: I mention anytime I see an unvoiced conversation.

Ren should not look so cool standing there all smug and shit.

Also, his coat should not be flapping.

I think there's 1 text bubble in the right-hand corner that didn't make it into Royal. (Ryuji).

Wow, they made Sae's Palace escape longer by adding Sumi. It's also a blocked scene, whereas, in Royal, it isn't.

I will forever love that "See ya". 💓💓

I swear they lost a couple grunts from Vanilla to Royal. Either that or I didn't hear them. Which is possible considering I didn't know what his voice sounded like at first.

The text implies more than drugging and beating went on. At least to me, it does. I hope I'm wrong.

I hate ABC keyboards.

I hate the interrogation.

I think the subway announcement might be shorter and different.

The first Arsene scene might be shorter in Royal.

The delivery guy is not voiced.

I love how long his legs are. I want to climb him like a tree. 😋😋 (I'm 5'5).

I do wonder if his parents actually sent him away or if they were ordered to? Also, what was the relationship like before? After?

Was he actually told anything? Or is it just the trauma? Shujin means prisoner. No wonder he was confused. I would be too.

You still need a bigger dust mop, my dude.

I like his shoes/boots.

Sojiro coming up to see that you cleaned is not voiced.

I don't think he eats for the first day.

Why'd he go home early that day?

I guess he always carried a bag.

How did the ball and chain appear on his leg if he had both legs on the bed thing? He would've noticed it. Unless it appeared as he started to walk.

I love how Igor speaks without hardly moving his teeth.

Some lines aren't voiced.

Christ, I went to a school that ended up on the news for fighting frequently. And they weren't half as shit as Shujin. We had worse kids and they weren't treated like that.

They just snuck Sumi's story in there.

That "oh fu" gets me every time. It's a horrible accident but that line is funny.

Akechi just wants sushi. Poor cutie. I love that sad face. It's so cute.

Another unvoiced conversation.

Then why don't your parents contact you?

I don't think this boy eats for two days.

Another unvoiced conversation.

Why doesn't Sojiro save guys number in his phone?

His phone looks like it has a metal case. Why does he keep it in his pocket at night?

Unvoiced conversation

I think the subway car is a different colour.

It took me so long to find the Ginza Line the first time.

How does Ann fit her ponytails in her hoodie?

My man is politely gawking. 🤣🤣.

What is that "naw" and wave? That is a very odd reaction. I'm chalking it up to Ren's odd and trying to lie low while also being somewhat nice.

Memory problems, trauma, or memory problems caused by trauma?

I love the view from his camera. 😍😍

Slight line change.

My head cannon is that awakening to a Persona is like a very powerful orgasm. +/- actually coming.

Can Ryuji hear Arsene?

Slight lines change for Arsene.

Removed text bubbles for leveling up.

I think they cut the guys in cages voice.

I can tell this is Vanilla. Morgana looks weird.

Unvoiced lines.

I don't think the "okay" is in Royal.

I think it's a slightly different conversation after you get Morgana.

More unvoiced conversations... I think.

Blow the wall up. With what stick of dynamite?

What about Ren screams dangerous?

Said student is standing right there.

Unvoiced conversation.

Calendar sound is a bit different.

Unvoiced conversation.

If Ann had appendicitis she'd be in the hospital.

Kamoshida's eyes look dead.

Unvoiced conversation

I love how in the anime Ryuji's like "What's with those pants? You look like you got kicked out of a magic act". 🤣🤣

Ren's hiding stance hurts my thighs.

I love his voice 😋😋😋.

That safe room doesn't look like a safe room.

The distorting effect for safe rooms when you first walk in is unnerving.

Maybe it's because I have motion sickness?

"What is this"? was added in Royal.

They made the win screen more concise.

Ren's gun had more ammo in Vanilla. I only have 8 bullets. ☹

Gun convo after first gun battle was taken out.

I love the battle before Ryuji's awakening on New game + no matter how much health you have it's scripted for you to fall in 2 hits.

Morgana has a healthy ego.

They might have changed the conversation with Shiho, but I don't remember it. Unvoiced conversation.

I wonder how much this boy eats in the beginning?

I love how the game implies that Ren's too tired to clean.

If it was me I'd clean.

Sorry, my ass. He meant to do that. What kind of school pits adults against children? I mean I don't like Mishima, but really.

Why does Ren take Mishima's place in the anime?

Unvoiced conversation.

I will never remember that 1st years are on the top floor and then it goes 2nd then 3rd. Opposite it'd normally be.

Ren should not look so good in gym clothes.

Unvoiced mission.

Unvoiced conversation.

Ren looks off in the direction of the wall. 🤣🤣.

Unvoiced conversation.

Slight line change.

The school sucks.

He has elf boots.

Different delivery on that line.

"I'll let you go... To hell". I want that voiced.

Hazy effect to safe rooms added in Royal.

Morgana has 16 ammo!?

I forgot Baton Pass used to be a perk.

Morgana just invites himself in. Just like a cat. 🐈

I forgot Takemi's VA changed.

Morgana is a house critic. Although, you do live in an attic.

Doesn't want the cat. "Aw, I wanted to name it". That scene in the anime is cute. Ren sounds so adorable.

"Don't text in class" as she texts him back to say that🤣🤣.

Until about R.3, you don't have much of a chance to dodge the chalk.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Different camera angle for meetings.

I think to be a couger you have to be like 40 or so.

I don't think they should make you sacrifice Arsene. Like just tell me how to make new Personas. You don't have to show me. I love Baby Yoda (I forgot his name) in a pot. But I'd like to keep Arsene.

When I said I wanted to hear him speak more this isn't what I meant! I nearly cried the first time I played. I didn't know you could sacifice someone else if you had more Personas. I made sure to get more on my 2nd playthrough.

Also, how do Arsene and Pixie make Baby Yoda in a pot?

I avoided the Velvet Room so much during my 1st playthrough, that I only had 27-30% compendium completion when I finished the 1st time.

At least you can rebuild Arsene from the ground up. (Not too much of a bright side).

Third Eye, or as I call it. "Accidentally" hitting it to hear his voice. 😋😋😋😋. I mean the PS4 bumpers are very hitable. 😅😅😅.

I steal every smashy, item or not.

Ah yes, Ren hides behind a pillar, but the shadow can totally see Ann, Ryuji and Morgana. We're real hidden there.

I hate negations, just give me the damn Persona.

On NG+ I just summon from the compendium based on my level.

Although I did have to negotiate a bit on my 2nd playthrough. For some reason, all shadows instantly joined me when I asked. I ended up with a lot of girl shadows. (I find it funny because I'm Bi).

I love if you shot slow enough. You can hear him.😋😋.

That smirk.😍😍😍.

You can't hide if an enemy is chasing you. No, but you can kick the door open. 😍😍. I like his thing for kicking shit.

I thought those were pots on the shelf. They're volleyballs? I mean it makes sense. But I thought they were small vases or pots.

Different sound effect for pulling the chains.

No 'here is important object' sound. I like the sound because you can sometimes miss things.

There used to be an enemy on the chandelier?

I swear you jump down to the very front in Royal, which means you have to walk all the way back, or fast travel to the nearest safe room. At least in Vanilla, you can climb back up. Although, it is kinda useless because of fast travel.

You got two items from locked chests? The only time I got 2 items from chests was in Strikers.

Unvoiced conversation.

So the "Take this" came from Vanilla.

I like how when he says "Okay". Sometimes he doesn't sound so sure. It comes out more like a question than a statement. It's cute.

Unvoiced conversation.

Unvoiced conversation.

Beefcake book was added in Royal.

No enemy after you come out of the creepy room.

The ram's head didn't need to lower. Ren could've jumped to get it. Hell, I could jump to get it. (5'5)

Different sound effect for safe rooms.

Unvoiced conversation.

Ann has 36 ammo!?

A maze with red enemies. 😨 Royal has it easy.

Different sound effect when going through painting.

There's chests by the entrance stairs?

*Goes to the fridge* Morgana - "Aren't you tired. You should go to sleep". 🤣🤣 The cat won't let you eat.

Too tired to do the crossword but not too tired to go to the bathroom🤣🤣.

Also, the checking status thing in the bathroom was added in Royal.

So do you go to the school bathroom to check your stats?

It took me forever to find out how to check my stats.

Different question.

I forget you can't dash in the overworld.

Can't buy confidant items at the bargain place.

Are there more locked chests in Vanilla or is because this is my 4th playthrough and I have the perma pick?

Different stairs sound.

"Tampering with the statue might not be good". Oh, but it's safe to head straight into the swinging blades.

"My tail would be in danger". Just keep it down while we crawl.

Royal made the palaces longer by adding the will seeds. They took away a lot of locked chests. I guess they just dumped it all into Mementos.

The next to last chest is before the block things.

That's a weird setup.

I think the enemy is further back.

In Royal, I beat the palace on 18, send the card on 19 and beat him on 20. 21 is my first free day. In Vanilla, the soonest you can beat the palace is 19 (because of SP limitations), send the card on 20 and beat him on 21. Which makes 22 your first free day.

I wouldn't doubt Ren scowls a lot.

"That's not catnip". 🤣🤣 I love that line. I'd like to hear it voiced.

Now's not the time to rank up, Morgana.

I hate Baton Pass in Vanilla.

I like how she pronounces it out.

Did they have to animate his leg hair? 🤢🤢.

Could they please voice the lines that come with dramatic hand gestures? Give the guys some more lines.

In Royal, Morgana tells you to go after the cup and you have to click yes.

"I can create Personas up to lv. -" Was taken out in Royal.

We were totally going to kill Kamoshida. 😁🔪.

"This place is about to collapse". Followed by a scene of Morgana cleaning his face. 🤦‍♀️.

Why does Morgana meow back at them? He can talk.

Unvoiced conversation.

Ren is the only person I know who can make gym clothes look hot. 😍😍😍.

You only had one item on the home shopping network?

Different question and no charm or Ann point.

No got book sound.

Unvoiced conversation.

Different wording on the question.

I don't think being able to brew coffee makes people respect you. Maybe a coffee snob.

Unvoiced conversation.

Morgana will not let you fail a multi part quest. 🤣🤣.

Yes, doing illegal things at a doctor's office. 🙄🙄.

I'm pretty sure he can't just barge in like that.

Unvoiced conversation.

Don't mess with Ann.

Unvoiced conversation.

Why does doing the crossword take up your entire night?

Unvoiced conversation.

Does Iwai call him Detective-san in Royal?

Kamoshida's palace- Not too different. A few places in the middle, one at the end and a couple in the beginning. Prefer Royal.

[elvisabutler]

Hey, baby! Love your work!

Can I ask for a Austin x reader where he’s dating a doctor during the wrap of Elvis and she is just tending to him when he gets hospitalised?

physician heal thy boyfriend

summary: your boyfriend is austin butler, star of the hopefully soon to be smash hit elvis. your boyfriend has a habit of pushing himself too far for this role. your boyfriend finds himself in your care while being completely and utterly out of it and sick as a dog. you are- mildly not impressed, but mostly a little worried. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) pairing: austin butler x doctor! reader rating: t word count: 1952 warnings: hospital setting. talk of austin's hospitalization post elvis. talk of austin's injury to his head with the guitar. talk of medication and hallucinations. austin being sick as hell. reader is a doctor. mild implications of a panic attack. imagery of austin being very sick. brief mention of COVID as well. author's note: thank you for this request and the compliment, anon! it always delights me to have people enjoy my writing especially when i know it's not always everyone's cup of tea re: pairings or content. i didn't go super into detail re: the details of austin's hospitalization since- we don't know the exact exact details and i'm not a doctor myself. i hope you enjoy! and apologies for this taking a hot minute, i was trying to focus on kinktober stuff during october and things like this got opened and noticed and worked on- but not posted. also consider this a thanksgiving gift for all the americans who celebrate it. can't bring y'all food from my sil ( who will not let me cook for the family just yet ) but i can provide you fic food. and know that i'm super thankful for all of you.

It's not as if you didn't think this would be a possibility, you had gotten lucky the last time he injured himself- the time with the guitar that you still give him a good ribbing for- and you had been off and not at the hospital and thankfully stitches weren't necessarily your forte, you saved them for the surgeons. However, nothing in the universe, no amount of logic could have prepared you for seeing your boyfriend groaning on a gurney, looking at you with glassy eyes that mean he's not all there. He's physically there, yes, but his mind is either in a haze of a fever or completely given over to whatever pain is inflicting itself on him in the present moment. There's a part of your heart that stutters at the image, a part of your brain that is overwhelmed with sheer panic at seeing him like this. An actor is supposed to be a safe-ish profession, one where you don't have to worry about your significant other being hurt and showing up in an emergency room or at a hospital unexpectedly. Yet here you were, looking at him being struck down by an illness that came out of nowhere- at least- you're pretty sure it did.

Everyone downstairs had gotten him mostly stable from what you've heard and what you see in front of you. You try and not let your mind wander to what he looked like when he was brought in if this is stable, but the thought pops up nonetheless, making you stop in your tracks for just a moment as you took deep breaths. He was alright, you knew how to do your job, you could help him and stay with him. He could use his- he could use the fact that he has just wrapped Elvis- or something they'd make an exception for you just this once.

His current predicament was more your specialty than his guitar injury. Dealing with what would have been a normal case of appendicitis was easy even despite the now present extra complications. Austin- despite your strong suggestions that he maybe should take better care of himself- didn't take better care of himself, turning what could have been something simple into a much rougher infection and gave him lymph nodes you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. If you weren't so worried you're pretty sure you'd make a joke about how he really is trying to become Elvis with the hospital stay despite the fact that you know the movie has wrapped. After all you and him had both are gone to the wrap part at Baz's house. There's a part of you that wonders if that party and the sheer amount of people that were at that party might have been what led to this. But you have learned in your few years as a doctor that it's better to not necessarily speculate like that unless you want to drive yourself up the wall. Besides if that was the cause of Austin's predicament right now you're not a hundred percent sure you wouldn't be a bit peeved at Baz. As it stands, you do end up shooting off a text to him asking him what on Earth happened and if he knew Austin wasn't feeling well that morning when they had met up for breakfast.

A groan from Austin's bed knocks you out of your head and reminds you that you have a job to do and you get yourself into gear, making sure he's got the correct tests ordered, the right medication ordered and everything you can think of that will make sure he will be comfortable even as his body tries to fully rebel against him. It's a bit touch and go for the first two days and the few times you think Austin is coherent and realizes that you are there he mutters 'Cilla and Satnin and you try to not take it personally, instead reminding yourself that his medicine has a tendency to have a side effect of at least mild hallucinations and he did just get done pretending to be Elvis for the greater part of almost two years. After that second day and heading into the third, you realize he's seeming more normal, his eyes look a little clearer when you see them open and you chance a proper visit, one where you stay there until he wakes up just to actually check on him properly.

A proper visit where the exhaustion of taking care of all your other patients and him might end up catching up to you and has you passing out with your head in his lap in what is the- most comfortable chair you could use to sleep in- if you had used it normally and not pulled it up next to his bed. The first thing you're aware of as you wake up is a hand on your head and a very rough sounding southern drawl coming from above you.

"What- Y/N, what- why are ya in m'lap, baby?" The confusion is evident in his voice but as you groggily lift your head up and look into his eyes, you can see it written all over there as well.

It takes you a minute or so to wake up, your eyes adjusting to the light and to the movement of Austin shifting in the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable. When you finally do you blink at him and purse your lips. "What's the last thing you remember, Aus?"

You very rarely use that specific nickname with him, saving it only for occasions when you feel he needs to honestly pay attention to you. That alone causes him to sit up as straight as he can and just look at you with an intensity you know he couldn't have managed either of the previous days.

"I was with Baz and-" He pauses, biting his lower lip before wincing. "Pain. A lot of pain and feeling like I was on fire."

The description earns a grim smile from you before you exhale, shaking your head. "That is a pretty good description of what you looked like when I got called down to make sure you weren't going to die or be left permanently incapacitated. Now I know my boyfriend didn't specifically ignore my orders as his doctor girlfriend to actually take care of himself especially now that filming was winding down. And I know he didn't act like a teenager who when I wasn't around to maybe check or was too busy at work just took advantage of that and didn't take care of himself. Because he's a smart guy, isn't he?"

Austin looks like he's about to say the first thing that comes to mind, the first- you imagine- pretty idiotic thing that comes to mind before he sees the look on your face and realizes this is a battle he will not win. "I-" He stops and moves to grab your hand. "I might have continued to push myself because I'm a bit of an idiot who definitely was taking advantage of my long hours and your long hours to hide that. Is that what I need to admit? Or do I need to keep going?"

You can't help but laugh at the question, biting your lip to prevent a full fit of laughter from escaping. "I mean, you can keep going, I'm actually a little curious to see how big of a hole you can dig yourself into, by all means." Your eyes slide up to his IV bag and you frown, grabbing his remote to call a nurse, the alarm hasn't sounded that it's empty and due for a change but- you know how busy it's been lately and you're not in the mood to have Austin wait for too long.

Austin's quiet for a moment as he looks at you, noting how he swears you have some lines on your forehead that you didn't have before. He put those there- he made you worry so much you got new worry lines. It doesn't distract from your beauty, far from it, but still it sens a rush of guilt through him that has him placing his hand on your cheek. Before you realize what you're doing, you nuzzle your cheek against his hand, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Letting out tension in your shoulders that haven't left since he first was brought in. "I'm- Nothing is going to change what happened, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry baby."

A shaky sort of breath leaves your body before you grab Austin's hand and move to kiss it before you touch his cheek. "I know you are. Because you scared the shit out of me. And Baz, but he wasn't the one taking care of you, who didn't know what exactly was wrong and how you could-" You shut your eyes and rub at them. "You're not allowed to do this to me again, Mr. Butler. I started dating you because you're supposed to be the safe bet, no silly injuries or COVID or sickness like this. And look at you, a guitar to the head, this, you better not make it a trifecta."

He shakes his head, moving his hand that you still have held to brush away tears you have falling. "I wouldn't dream of it." He pauses. "How long am I in here for?"

"A week." You answer quicker than you should. "Might be overkill but you've got your antibiotics via IV and while you live with me and I can change it, I also have to be at work half the time so hospital it is."

Austin flushes and you think for a moment he's going to be sick before you see how he's looking at you- it's a look you know well, one that usually leads to things in the bedroom and you just narrow your eyes as he starts to speak. "So, you're my doctor then. And I'm your patient."

You take a moment to just look up at the ceiling and purse your lips, wondering not for the first time why you ever started dating Austin when he says dumb things like that. It shouldn't be something that's funny, and it really isn't but you've been so worried about him for the past two days that hearing that stupid joke as much as it makes you roll your eyes just makes you laugh. "I am and you are. But as your doctor I cannot in good conscience condone any shenanigans of a sexual sort just yet. Maybe in a few days."

He nods solemnly as he sees a nurse entering a room. He leans over for a moment, knowing fully well you can't stop laughing and won't just yet. "Just show up in only the your coat and we'll know if I'm feeling better. You know I can't resist your sexy doctor look."

If you have to tell the nurse about changing his IV bag through broken off bits of laughter, that's his fault. If you can't help but slap his arm lightly when he tries to grab at your butt- seriously, you really should have remembered the side effects of his medicine and his inhibitions- then that's also his fault. If later on that day you find yourself curled up against him watching some Australian soap opera? Well, despite not being on duty this particular day, you are still his doctor, and a little rest and a lot of cuddles might have been your additional recommendation for the start of an optimal recovery.

And really, who was he to argue?

[rachaelswrites]

Emergency Surgery

Derek Morgan x Daughter!reader

You need emergency surgery but Savannah has a hard time getting a hold of your dad.

Word Count: 940

A/N: I don’t know much about appendicitis so google was my friend for this. This takes place in season 11 so reader is about twelve

Warnings: Reader has appendicitis and is in the hospital. No graphic descriptions though (let me know if I miss any)

Derek should have known your sluggish movements this morning was more than just the regular twelve-year-old exhaustion. He also should have known that you were bundled up in a sweatshirt and sweatpants and still complained that the temperature being too cold meant something was up with you.

“Do you really need it that warm?” Derek asked as he pulled out of the driveway so he could drop you off at school. You had turned the heat all the way up in the car and even turned on the seat warmers.

“It’s too cold out,” you said, burying yourself in your hoodie even more. 

“You’re weird,” your dad said back.

“No, I'm cold.”

Derek laughed at you but let you be, deciding he’d rather toast in his own car than try to change your mind.

Once Derek dropped you off at school, he headed straight for the BAU, but not before he turned the heat back down.

~~~~~

At the office, the whole day was turning out to be Morgan running from one meeting to the other. These were his least favorite days. He’d much rather be out solving a case or even stuck at his desk doing paperwork. At least that meant he could stay in contact with both you and Savannah.

~~~~~

He was about to head into what felt like his hundredth meeting when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his back pocket and saw Savannah’s contact photo. He declined the call and sent her a quick, “Can’t talk right now,” and put it back away. 

He entered the meeting room with all the higher-ups of the bureau and took his seat. He felt his phone vibrate again but he ignored it. The room was mostly silent  as everyone was getting ready for the meeting to start so when his phone rang for a third time, everyone heard it.

Derek pulled it out again and not only did he have the three missed calls from Savannah, there were two messages as well.

Derek call me immediately 

It’s Y/n

He jumped from his seat, “I’m sorry I have to take this,” he said, exiting the room. His departure earned him a few confused looks, especially from the other members on his team.

“Savannah what is it?” he asked, concern laced in his voice.

“Y/n is in the hospital Derek. You need to get over here quickly,” she said.

“What’s going on with her?” he asked, already grabbing his things from his desk and leaving the building, “Is she okay?”

“Yes she’s okay. She has appendicitis. The doctors are already working on her,” she explained, “When you get here I’ll fill you in more.”

~~~~~

Within minutes, Derek had peeled out of the FBI parking lot and got to the hospital. He ran inside, making his way to the waiting room, “Savannah,” he said, seeing her sitting in a chair, “What the hell happened?”

“She called me and said she wasn’t feeling good,” Savannah started, “She said it hurt to move and laugh so I had a hunch for what it was. I picked her up and brought her here. Her fever was really high so they did some tests. If they had waited any longer her appendix could have burst so they took her back immediately.”

“She’s going to be okay?” he asked her, pulling her into a hug.

Savannah nodded, “She should be out soon and then you can see her,” she said, returning Derek’s hug. She knew he’d worry over you, no matter how small the surgery was. You were his baby and his job was to protect and keep you safe.

“Why didn’t she call me?” Morgan asked, letting go of Savannah and sitting down in a chair.

“Well, you never let her stay home when she’s feeling sick. I think she was going with her best bet,” Savannah joked.

“That might be true but I always give her the best cuddles and snacks,” Derek shot.

“I’m not sure KitKat’s and cuddles are the best medicine for appendicitis,” Savannah pointed out. 

“Y/n Morgan?” a nurse called, interrupting the conversation between the other two.

Both of them stood up and made their way to the nurse, “Is she awake?” Derek asked the nurse. 

“She will be shortly. You two can go and see her now if you’d like,” the nurse said. He led the way through the hospital and to your room. You were asleep in the bed, the baby blue hospital blanket draped over your body.

Savannah had tasked herself with finding you something you could eat and drink and also letting the team know that you were okay. When they find out, they’d of course be worried about you.

Derek pulled a chair up the side of your bed and grabbed your hand in his, “Hey sweet girl,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, “You almost gave your old man a heart attack.”

~~~~~

It had taken you a bit longer to wake up then the doctors expected but after a while, you were up and talking. It didn’t even seem to phase you that one of your organs almost burst and you just got out of surgery. You were starting to get antsy laying in bed, waiting for doctors to check in and tell you when you could leave. 

The only good thing about the situation was that by the end of your first day in the hospital, Garcia had dropped by with lots of gifts from all the team members. Her arms were stuffed full of balloons, stuffed animals, and sweets.

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @jjmybeloved @vxidsti1es @waxingmoonwrites @benbarnesbussy @hallecarey1 @freds-slut  @ssa-uglywhore27 @czlypso (for some reason I can’t tag you) @sweetpeterparker @spiritualchange @im-in-love-with-pizza-bites

Criminal Minds

@jswessie187 @wannabemobwife

[jade-parcels]

idk if you did this already, if you did sorry for asking. but lately my period cramps have been killing me! could you do some comfort headcanons for period – cramps, sensitivity, chest pain, headaches, feeling more insecure than usual – involving childe, diluc and maybe zhongli (and, well, anyone else if you feel like it). it can be either in a modern au or in genshin universe. anything is ok. thank you so much!

Helping you on your period

With Diluc, Zhongli, Childe and Baizhu

I think the universe matched us up! In sync cycles gang!!

—————————

Diluc:

Thank the Pyro Archon!!

Diluc already has a high body temp but when he activates his vision and holds it against your stomach? Say bye to those cramps

Since it’s just the two of you, he’s more than happy to cuddle with you and read to you while holding you close against his chest

Anything you want, just name it. You want a hot bath? You want something sweet? You want pain killers? His staff is on it!

It hurts him to see you in pain like this cause besides letting you use his vision and giving you pain killers there really isn’t anything he can do :( so he’ll apologize a lot to you even though it isn’t his fault

If it starts to get really bad he’ll take you to the cathedral! I mean…Idk what they could do for you but he’s trying his best

Whatever commission work you had planned before your period started is finished rather quick. When he goes to check on the tavern, he’ll complete your commissions for you and bring the mora back for you! He knows how hard it can be to get good paying commissions nowadays so he wouldn’t want you to miss out

If he sees that you’re feeling down, he’ll put more effort into complimenting you and being more affectionate than usual :)

Zhongli:

Ah yes, he is experienced in this area

He’s been around for so long, he knows all kinds of tips and tricks to help make symptoms not as severe

However his remedies are notorious for taking forever to make. His sobering tea takes 6 hours to brew…and his pain killer tea takes 9. By the time he finishes making all of his herbal concoctions, your period will be over lmao

Zhongli will put a lot of effort in to make sure you’re comfortable. He’ll get you as many pillows or blankets as you need, open the window for fresh air, close the drapes if it’s too bright, read to you if you’re bored. He knows you’re miserable so he’ll do his best to entertain you and keep you as comfortable as one can be in this condition

He’ll offer to do yoga with you if you’re up for it. Certain poses can alleviate pressure in the pelvic area so he’ll do it with you! (Squats always help me out too when it gets really bad!! Doing squats, drinking water and applying heat never fails! But everyone’s different!)

When you sleep, he’ll play with your hair and rub your back :) he loves how peaceful you look while finally getting some rest :)

Childe:

He’s a little clueless but he’s got the spirit!

See, when he received his education from the fatui they didn’t really give him a course on female anatomy so…he is aware of periods and what they are but he has no idea how severe symptoms can be

So when you’re in so much pain that you can’t get out of bed?? He’s super worried about you, he’s about to go get a doctor to come here to see you

It’s kinda funny to actually go in depth and explain how bad symptoms can be, how much you bleed, how awful cramps are cause he just…doesn’t know. Most men don’t actually know! He’ll genuinely feel bad for you and by explaining it all to him, he’ll learn and become a very reliable helper :)

“You should probably take a bath, right? I’ll go warm up some water” “Stay with me…just for a few more minutes” “Okay but then we’re gonna take a bath together. I’ll make the water extra hot too, that’ll help with cramps right?” “Mhm”

He’ll try to get you up and moving when you allow it so you don’t feel stiff from sitting in the same position for too long

Ajax is very affectionate already and will become even more affectionate if he sees that your self esteem is low. He’ll make sure to reassure you that you’re still so beautiful to him :’)

He’d think you’re pretty no matter what. You could have greasy hair, hormonal breakouts and eye bags from being tired and he’d still look at you like ‘wow…’ :’)

Baizhu:

As a medical professional, he’ll insist on being at your side when you show any indication of being in pain

He’ll make you some herbal pain relievers, they’ll taste super bitter and make your tongue numb for a minute but they’ll kick in pretty quick!!

Baizhu cant afford to take full days off but he’ll take half days in order to make sure you eat breakfast and lunch, drink water and rest.

You help him out when his own illness kicks in so he has no problem helping you out :) he’s content to rub your shoulders and coach you into sitting/laying positions that may be more comfortable

If you’re more cranky or sad than usual he’ll make you something warm and cuddle with you :) when you don’t feel well, you get to see his excellent bedside manner in action! Though he is far more affectionate with you than he is with his other patients lmao

If you’re someone who worries about their symptoms and fears they have suddenly developed a rare disease over night (looking up symptoms on the Internet is a terrible habit :’) ) He’ll be there to assure you that nothing is seriously wrong

“Honey, my side has been hurting a lot” “I know dear, I’ve already told you you don’t have appendicitis” “Maybe my liver is gonna rupture!!!” “That’s higher up, I’d be able to tell due to swelling and a fever. You don’t have either of those” “But what about that pain in my neck? What if it’s a tumor Baizhuuuuu!” “Darling, I think you just need to go to sleep” pffttt

[thebeautyoffanfics]

hii i know you might be busy because of school so take your time! Could i please get a Dead!Mitsuba,,,Dead!Hanako,,,Dead!Tsukasa,, x reader (if you dont want to write for them characters right now than you can choose others i dont mind <3) where they think reader is dying??Any situation is fine :)

dead!mitsuba sousuke x gn!reader, dead!hanako x gn!reader, dead!tsukasa yugi x gn!reader

a/n: ahh thank you for being patient;;! And of course!! Thank you so much for requesting, and I hope this turns out alright! And I’m so sorry for the time it took;;

aahhh i constantly remember how difficult starting and ending fics are,,, sorry if it sounds awkward ;v;; i’m also sorry if this isn’t dramatic enough- i’m trying to get these out, but i’m in a funky phase, as i haven’t written in a while;;

warnings: vomit (in Hanako’s), blood (in Tsukasa’s)

word count: 2,765

mitsuba sousuke <3

It wasn’t uncommon for Mitsuba to watch you do everyday school things. He’d follow you around, playing it off as if he wasn’t. Even now, he sat under a tree, watching you assist one of the clubs.

You were always entertaining… or maybe, you were simply enough to captivate his attention in anything you did? Your arm held high as you caught the baseball tossed your way, grinning at the person who threw it. Though not fond of you smiling like that at another person, the glance you gave Mitsuba practically made up for it- though he still glanced away, as if he wasn’t looking in the first place.

Moments passed, before he peered back up at you.

Your smiling face, as you turned to speak to one of the club members- his eyes darting over at hearing someone yell your name.

“(Y/N)!! WATCH OUT-”

And, eyes back over at you, as the undeniable sound of a baseball smacking against a skull. Mitsuba froze up, only being able to watch as you toppled to the ground. The club members instantly panicked, and Mitsuba did the same- both he and the members running over to you, students shaking you as if that would do anything.

“Idiots!! Don’t shake them-!”

Unfortunately, all of his yelling was futile. Mitsuba was dead, after all, and he was sure that you were too. A bump already formed on your head, as you peeked your eyes open, reaching for your head. Your fingers grazed against the bump, then quickly retracted, as tears filled your eyes. Shouts from the club members to get an adult rang out, as Mitsuba placed his hands on your shoulder, shaking almost as violently as you were. You closed your eyes, shaking as you reached to your head again, only to retract once more.

“(Y-Y/N), it’s okay- a-are you okay?” Mitsuba stuttered out, trying not to get emotional. It was only an injury, right… you were fine. You had to be. You’d be fine. Right?

But, when you only shook your head, squeezing your eyes tighter, he couldn’t help the pure fear that filled his entire body. His eyes grew watery when a teacher finally arrived, already on the phone with, he hoped, the paramedics.

Too much time passed, Mitsuba thought. Too much time spent grasping your hand, tears threatening to spill, as the teacher asked you too many questions. And, the absolute dread at the teacher’s reaction to everything- hearing you attempt to explain that everything went black for a moment- seeing the teachers eyes widen a bit, then eyebrows furrow in frustration. Mitsuba wanted to scream. To yell at whoever threw the ball- he didn’t care if it was a mistake. To yell at the paramedics- it was an emergency! Why couldn’t the emergency vehicle get there sooner??

Finally, they arrived. Paramedics picking you up, Mitsuba following alongside them until you sat in the vehicle. His eyes flickering from person to person, then back at you, until they shut the doors and drove off.

The next few days were like a living hell for Mitsuba. No- he wasn’t living. It was as if he had been doomed to suffer for all eternity. He shook every time he walked past your homeroom, peering inside as he checked for you. Peering over at your desk, praying that he wouldn’t see flowers sitting there. The lack of flowers was the only hope Mitsuba had left. The lack of rumors, the lack of Sakura one day opening up the broadcast with “(Y/N)-san of the baseball field.” It sounded ridiculous, sure, but he couldn’t help it…

Yes, though he’d never say it to anyone- maybe you, but that was a stretch- Mitsuba had never been so worried… he thought, as he finally saw you again, clinging to you as if you were as fragile as glass- that your death would probably affect him worse than his own did. Because, a world without you, would officially be a world without life… without you, Mitsuba knew he could no longer even feel alive.

“You idiot… I hate you so much,” His voice broke slightly, as you wrapped your arms back around him. Much like the moment when he was so sure you wouldn’t show back up, tears threatened to spill. “I missed you. Dummy. I missed you so much-”

hanako <3

There was a part of Hanako slightly paranoid about your death. Not overly so- not in a way that would hinder you. Simply, in the sense that he would risk his well-being to protect you. Yet, there were many situations where he was… helpless.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to enter the girl’s bathroom, though it was almost always to visit Hanako. So, his face instinctively lit up when he saw you stumble into the bathroom- though he felt the color drain from his face when he saw your shakey figure. The color was drained from your face as well, he noted, as he quickly floated over to you.

“(Y/N)?? What’s wrong?” He questioned, pushing the hair from your face, getting a good look at your face. He was already positive you didn’t feel well. He just needed to know how- then, he could help. Surely, he could do something.

“I… I dunno- my stomach hurts, haha… really badly.”

Before Hanako could question further- where did it hurt, what kind of pain- you stumbled into a stall, spilling any contents that were in your stomach into the toilet. Instinctively, Hanako cringed a bit- quickly, he shook the queasy feeling he got off, and stepped over to you, rubbing your back carefully.

When you looked up at Hanako, tears running down your face, he instantly feared the worst.

“Please get a teacher, or Yashiro, or- someone,” You told him, arms securing themselves around your stomach. Hanako quickly nodded, rushing as quickly down the hallway as he could. He wasn’t a doctor, for Pete’s sake- not even close to it. So, he practically flung himself into Yashiro’s classroom, shouting at her from the doorway.

“YASHIRO, (Y/N)’S IN A LOT OF PAIN!!”

Hanako could only ring his hands nervously for a moment, as Yashiro asked the teacher to be excused, floating anxiously beside her for a moment, then rushing back to you when she explained that she was going to get a teacher- thinking for a split moment, as he explained to her that you already threw up. To that, Yashiro nodded, telling Hanako that she’d be sure to make sure your guardians were contacted.

Once he reentered the bathroom, Hanako’s nerves were at a new worst state. His eyes landed on you, practically curled up next to the toilet, sniffling to yourself- he was sure he never wanted to help anyone so badly. He was sure that, if he could, he would take your pain.

“Yashiro’s getting a teacher, (Y/N). A-are you feeling any better?” You shook your head, glancing up at the ghost boy. Your face was slightly flushed with what he was sure was a fever, and your eyebrows were furrowed in clear desperation and pain. All he wanted to do was help.

“I feel like I’m dying…”

Dying. The word “dying” stuck out, striking at Hanako’s nerves as if they weren’t already being tested. You felt like you were dying? Were you?? He sat in front of you, hands shaking violently as he attempted to seem calm. You couldn’t die. No- no, the teacher would come. You would live, wouldn’t you? You weren’t going to die… right?

“It’s okay, (Y/N)- you’ll be okay,” He spoke, rubbing your shoulders gently and placing a soft kiss to your forehead, half trying to convince himself. As he continued to do so, the teacher entered the bathroom, knocking on the stall- though the door creaked open, as you hadn’t had the time to shut and lock it. It wasn’t as if you needed to- the nausea was simply overwhelming.

“(Y/N)? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m having really bad stomach pains… I threw up- it hurts to talk,” You muttered, glancing up at the teacher, giving them the same pained look you gave Hanako. They crouched next to you, placing a hand against your forehead, then nodding.

“Where does it hurt?”

Clearly not wanting to move, you sniffled, forcing yourself to sit back just enough to motion around your lower-right abdomen. As if it clicked, the teacher nodded, letting you fall back into the position you were previously in. “I have no room to say for sure, but it does sound like appendicitis. Your parents are on the way, and I’ll let them know to take you over to the hospital.”

Your grip on yourself tightened a bit, panic showing up in your face. Seeing that panic, Hanako could only fear the worst. He knew vaguely of appendicitis, sure- how likely was someone to die from it-?? If your appendix ruptured, he knew it was dire. Did it? How long did it take for an appendix to rupture? Before he could even acknowledge the thoughts running through his mind, the teacher lifted you up, carrying you out of the room.

Though Hanako followed, he was left standing at the doors of the school when your guardian carried you away. The final bell rang, all of the students finally emptying out of the school, as the car you were in drove away. He watched until it was out of sight, silently noting that it must have been the direction of the hospital.

The first few days were practically torture for Hanako. Yashiro’s comments didn’t help- her saying that you went into surgery only worsened his fears. During his lifetime, surgery was… unpleasant, to say the least. They could do it- you could certainly have your appendix removed, but- but what if something went wrong? How had things changed since he lived…? Had it ruptured, were you going to live? What if you died during recovery?

He couldn’t stand it. No, until several weeks passed, Hanako was a nervous wreck. The relief that washed through him when he saw you walking through the school halls was almost comical- that is, if he wasn’t clinging to you like he really had almost lost you.

“(Y/N)... I’m so glad to see you again.”

“Hanako, I’m so glad to see you too. Sorry for scaring you like that… but thanks for sticking with me.”

Of course, Hanako could only accept the praise, unsure how to word “I stuck with you because I didn’t want you to die alone.”

tsukasa yugi <3

Tsukasa, most were sure, wouldn’t necessarily… care if someone around him died. No, he probably loved the pained expressions of someone taking their last breaths. If it was a messy death? It would be better for him, right? Screams of pain, tears streaming down someone’s face, blood splattered around. Natsuhiko half joked that it would be a dream for Tsukasa, no matter if everyone else considered it a nightmare. Sakura remained quiet, shaking her head slightly. You… disagreed, as if protecting Tsukasa. Maybe he wouldn’t… as eerie as your boyfriend could be at times, you loved him nonetheless- and you were sure you didn’t fall for someone who would… enjoy…… others’ pain…?

Hm…

Either way! You were sure you didn’t fall for someone who would enjoy your pain!!!

Those thoughts were just that- little thoughts you had. Thrown into a few conversations between the fellow people who frequented the broadcasting room. Nothing you really wanted to prove, you know? No, you’d rather assume it, and not go through anything particularly painful to prove it.

However, those weren’t necessarily your thoughts as you tripped over the rug, one of Sakura’s tea sets in your hands. The hot tea in them went flying, landing all over you- but, that wasn’t really your focus, as you landed with a harsh thud. The glass cracked underneath you, the uncomfortable sound of shattering filling the room- accompanied by your scream- at first being echoed because of the fright of following, but being finished off because of the feeling of glass splintering you as if you were the fragile object.

Your scream ended in a cry, tears quickly clouding your vision as the sharp pain coursed through every spot the glass had harmed. Sakura’s eyes went wide, and she stood up, aiming to walk over and help you- Natsuhiko did the same, exclaiming your name once he saw you began to fall, a bit quicker than Sakura was- Mitsuba could only stare, as if his fight or flight was activated. Before any of them could reach you, Tsukasa was there, shouting your name and cupping your face.

Tsukasa wasn’t bothered by the blood, as if he could be bothered by any blood, pure worry crossing his face. It was a rare sight- Tsukasa genuinely concerned- but it wasn’t like seeing a bloody (Y/N) on the floor was exactly common. It was no one's focus, as the other three finally were gathered around you. Protectively, nearly forgetting your injuries, Tsukasa held your head to his chest- glaring at the others.

“Go get a nurse!! (Y/N)’s bleeding-!”

Natsuhiko nodded, rushing off, as Mitsuba glanced around panickedly- Sakura pushed Tsukasa away from you slightly, as if to let him know to be careful. His hands wandered to your arms, holding them carefully, peering at the glass, then up at the tears streaming down your face.

“Don’t pull out the glass. It could make the bleeding worse, and we can’t be sure where all the glass has landed. Especially in their arms.”

Tsukasa nodded a bit, glancing at his hand when one of your tears landed on it. He ignored the blood dripping onto his palms, quietly licking the tear that fell onto the back of his hand. That wasn’t enough to distract you though- he half hoped he could take away your pain, but was discouraged to only be met with your shaky sobs. His eyes wandered along the shards sticking out of your arms. Dangerously close to places he knew they couldn’t scratch- an artery, he knew, would be beyond dangerous… what if, when the glass gets pulled out, you’re met with the spewing blood that comes with a punctured artery? Looking around at the blood dripping everywhere- were you… dying?

Tsukasa froze up a bit. (Y/N)? Dying?

Well, he was dead… Amane was dead. Mitsuba was dead. But… what would happen when you died?

Would you become a ghost? Or would death be the final separation for the two of you- would Tsukasa be trapped on earth, while you moved on to whatever afterlife there was??

“(Y/N) can’t die,” was his only thought, as Natsuhiko returned, gently explaining that he was going to carry you to the nurse- then, your guardian could come at take you to the hospital. However, once Natsuhiko’s arms wrapped around your torso, Tsukasa grabbed Natsuhiko’s closest arm. “I- I can take care of them. I’ll carry, (Y/N).” “Runt, you’re a ghost. For real, don’t screw around. Let me carry them, hurry now,” He spoke, lifting you up. Tsukasa stood, balling his hands up slightly nervously. Oh, a nervous Tsukasa… it was also such a strange sight- watching Natsuhiko speedwalk with you in his arms, Tsukasa floating alongside them. In fact, Tsukasa remained with the both of you- holding your arms carefully, until you were entering the car, towels placed around you to keep the blood from spilling anywhere. He watched the car drive off, unsure how to process anything.

The next several days were… difficult for Tsukasa. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it, yet he found himself peering into your classroom to see if flowers sat on your desk. He found himself paying closer attention to the rumors spread- listening carefully for anything that sounded similar to you. He wandered the halls, as if he suddenly lost his purpose- keeping an extra eye out for a person, or ghost, with cuts from shards of glass littering their body.

Tsukasa was his… clingy self when you returned. He hugged you as tightly as he could, not wanting to release even when you warned him about your still healing arms. He placed countless kisses to your face, giggling out that he was so sure you were going to die. Even when you questioned his thoughts, Tsukasa continued on, kissing the scars, scabs, and few stitches on your body. Yes, he really was glad that you were alive. Be it for selfish reasons or selfless ones, he couldn’t be sure- he just knew he was glad.

[double-hoe-seven]

Fight or Flight

Request: [X] Pairing: Slade Wilson/Deathstroke x Reader Word Count: 1925 Fandom: DCEU/Justice League (Snyder Cut) Warnings: Inferred violence, ANGSTY AF

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that for me?" You asked the nurse in front of you, looking away from the ultrasound screen. "I congratulated you on your pregnancy, Mrs. Wilson, it looks like you just passed the ten-week mark," the nurse said with a smile. "Ten weeks?!" You half-shouted, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. "No, no, I'm not pregnant, I have an IUD and I've had my period. I have a gallstone, or a kidney stone, or appendicitis," you objected. "Intrauterine Devices aren't 100%, that bleeding was more than likely implantation bleeding, it's perfectly normal. But you are pregnant, see that? That's the little forehead," she pointed out an area on the screen but you couldn't look at it. "Ma'am, given your reaction, I'm required to ask. Are you safe at home?" The nurse asked cautiously. You gave an unsure nod and muttered "I will be."

The drive home wasn't nearly as long as you'd hoped, so you sat in your driveway, starring at the steering wheel. You wanted to scream or punch something but there was just this lump in your throat that kept everything buried. The house was quiet when you finally walked inside, Slade was away on a job. You have, or had, an IUD to prevent pregnancy; they were supposed to be the best option. When you fell into bed, you curled up. The picture on your bedside table taunted you, you remembered when it was taken: you were in this cabin in the Canadian countryside just to get out of Gotham for a bit, he took the picture when you two were cozy by the fire. You looked so happy, and he looked so calm; you immediately turned the frame around. It hurt to look at a time when you were so happy during a moment where you felt like you were caught in a downward spiral.

On one hand, you knew your husband didn't want kids after what happened with his first wife and it was already too late to terminate but on the other hand, you knew you wouldn't be able to give it up for adoption either. Your choices were slim, fight or flight; fight meant you'd stay and face your husband's definite ire and flight meant upping and leaving as soon as you possibly could, get as far as possible before he came home. You chose flight. Jumping out of bed, you started putting clothes and essentials into your suitcase. You packed lightly, not knowing how far you'd have to go. You kept your note short, every word you wrote hurt more than the last: 'Slade, I will always love you but I can't stay. Things have changed and I can't undo them. I'm sorry I'm not brave enough to say it in person. Goodbye, all my love' you finished it by signing your name and propping it on the dresser. With a shaky hand, you pulled the rings off of your finger and set them in front of the note, biting your quivering lip to stop the sob that wanted to escape.

On your way out of town, you stopped by the bank to close your account and cash out. After the bank, you stopped by a guy you knew who did fake documents and picked up a few passports, some licenses, several birth certificates, and a few other falsified documents you might need. Your final stops before disappearing were a car dealership where you traded in your old car for something more inconspicuous and an electronics store for a new phone. Then you were gone, trying your best to ignore the feeling of absolute sorrow swelling in your chest as the life you'd built faded in the rearview. You weren't just leaving your husband and your home, you were leaving your friends and your entire identity.

2 Years Later

"Come on Ollie, it's time to get out of the bath," you said as you reached under the water to pull the plug, only to have the child while and grab your hand. "Nooo, wanna play more," he whined. "Baby look at your little hands they're all pruney," you picked up one of his hands and showed him. "If you stay in any longer, you'll become a raisin," you said, smiling when he let your hand go, shaking his head and saying 'no' repeatedly. He hated raisins. After wrapping him in his hooded dinosaur towel around him, you unplugged the drain and carried him to his room.

You let him pick out his own pajamas and when he was dressed, you tucked him into bed and read his favorite bedtime story. By the time you reached the halfway point, he was out, snoring quietly. You turned his nightlight on and made sure his window was locked before leaving his room, leaving his door cracked behind you. When you started to run a shower for yourself before bed, you felt something weird. Your gut was telling you something wasn't right. You quickly checked your room and bathroom, then your son's room and bathroom again. When you got to the living room, you saw nothing amiss, your front door and windows were locked. The surprise came when you got to the kitchen.

There, leaning against your counter with his arms folded over his chest in an all too familiar and tense stance stood Slade, his icy stare piercing you and leaving you frozen in your spot. "I've been looking for you," he said tensely. The lump in your throat kept you from immediately saying anything, your eyes were drawn to the gun in his hand. "Where is he?" He asked coldly. You gulped nervously, barely finding the strength to ask "where's who?" "Don't you fucking play dumb with me. Where is the bastard you left me for?" He asked again, his voice growing angrier with each word. "I-I didn't leave you for anyone," your voice was so small as he approached, doing what you could to will yourself not to cry. "That's fucking bullshit, now either tell me where the motherfucker you cheated with is or I'll find him myself and kill him slowly," he snarled. "I never cheated on you, Slade," you said softly, finally meeting his dark eye.

Slade stopped right in front of you, glaring down "then how come you left?" "I didn't have a choice. I knew what you wanted and I knew how you'd react to getting the opposite," you tried to make your voice sound firm but it still shook. All of your muscles tensed when you felt the barrel of his gun make a home under your chin. "I loved you, you know that?" He asked with the faintest quiver in his voice, you almost missed it. "Tell me why you left." He demanded sternly. You opened your mouth to answer him, to tell him the truth but a small voice stopped you.

"Mama, thirsty," the small voice said. There, in the kitchen entryway, in his firetruck pajamas with his stuffed dragon, stood your son rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Oliver go to your room!" You said quickly, a new panic rising. The gun under your chin fell slightly as Slade looked at the toddler who had just about every feature of his with the exception of his eyes. The eyes on the small child were definitely yours but everything else was his, it made him feel a number of ways he couldn't fully place. When Slade's gaze returned to you, it wasn't as furious, now it was just anger muddled with confusion. "What's that?" He sneered, nodding over to him.

"My son." Was your quiet but firm answer. "Who's his father?" Was his next question, his brow furrowed some. "You already know that answer to that," you said, your voice beginning to even out as he reholstered the gun. "I want you to look me in the eye and say it," he growled. "You are." "Is that why you ran?" He asked after a long, tense silence, your son not moving from his spot, too curious about what was happening in front of him. You only nodded because you didn't trust your voice not to shake and you didn't trust yourself not to start crying. "Why?" He asked with a stern frown. "You said you never wanted more kids after everything that happened with your sons. I was okay with that but then I had to go to the doctor, they told me I was pregnant and I panicked. It was either stay and fight you over the child I wouldn't be able to get rid of, or leave everything behind and raise him alone, it felt like the safer option for him," you explained after taking a deep, shuttering breath.

His entire stance changed; his shoulders slumped some and his head dropped "you were afraid for his safety and your own?" You nodded "I did what I thought was safe, despite how much it hurt, I did what I had to." He took another look at the toddler before sighing "I thought you cheated on me and ran off with the guy. I spent two years planning to kill you and your lover in an act of vengeance but you were just keeping him safe." "I loved you more than anything and anyone in the world, Slade. I never wanted anyone else," you said firmly, slowly moving away from him. When you were close enough, you scooped your son up and held him protectively, hiding his face "I'll fight tooth and nail for this child, Slade, until my dying breath. Even if it means fighting you."

"I don't want to fight," he said with a heavy sigh. "Then what do you want?" Your tone was sharper now, you were getting bolder as he calmed. "I want my wife back," he whispered, watching you and the child. "I'm sorry I made you think you had to hide from me to keep him safe. I'm sorry I terrified you into running. I'm sorry for all of my actions that led to you running away out of fear for your own safety," he apologized when his eye met yours. Now, there was a look of humility on his face, of pure remorse and sorrow. "Slade I-" you cut yourself off, you couldn't find anything to say, your head was spinning. You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt his hands on your cheeks, gently wiping the tears away "is there any way you can forgive me? For us to be a family?" You had no idea what to say to him as more tears streamed down your face, the familiar feeling of him pulling you into his arms broke the dam that held your tears back. You couldn't help but bury your face in his chest as you cried in his arms.

He held you securely like he always did whenever you had nightmares, pressing a kiss to the top of your head lovingly. When you felt someone drip onto your shoulder, you looked up and saw the small tear trail on his cheek; you wiped it away gently with your thumb. "Please, give me a chance to be a better husband to you, to be a better father than I was to my sons before they died," he pleaded softly. You looked at your son in your arms before looking up at him in thought. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and thought for a moment. When your eyes opened again and met his, you knew exactly what your choice would be.

Tag Team: @bdffkierenwalker​ @anarchistbeauty​ @honey-im-hotdog​ 

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[goldnn-harry]

could we get a request where the reader is harry's assistant and closest friend and they have feelings for each other but wont admit, but than the reader gets sick and it's appendicitis she faints while harry is getting ready for his show one night.

y/n couldn't admit to herself she had a crush on harry. given the fact that harry was famous and she wasn't, it made her feel like a crazy fan.

of course she wasn't, she had been harry's assistant for 2 years, and one of his most supportive friends for even longer.

“did they bring the outfit already?” y/n asked harry.

“yep, no need to worry love,” harry smiled.

“okay, good. i already told jenny to play a few more songs. sarah needs time to nurse.”

harry hummed in agreement.

harry was full aware of his crush on y/n and he admitted it himself, unlike her who ignored her own feelings. he's always thought she was a very pretty, nice girl, but in the past two months those feelings have definitely increased.

y/n sat down and drank some water from a bottle. she wrinkled her nose slightly and set the bottle back down.

“you alright?”

“yeah, just a bit of nausea.” y/n touched her forehead lightly and felt a very light coat of sweat on it. she didn't think anything of it, since she had been walking back and forth a lot.

“did you eat?”

“yes, i did. it'll go away soon. have you gotten your hair and makeup done already?”

“yes, y/n. stop stressing,”

she hummed and smiled. “it's what you pay me for,”

“nooo, i pay you to help me with certain things. not for you to stress unnecessarily,”

“whatever you say, styles.” she smiled teasingly and walked over to him. looking down at him—since he was sitting—she fixed the collar of his shirt.

her body wobbled slightly and she had to close her eyes too steady herself. with a hand on harry's shoulder, she took a light breath.

“wow, are you sure you're okay?”

“yeah yeah, i'm okay,” she opened her eyes, “bit dizzy that's all.”

“dizzy and nauseous? are you sure you ate?”

she nodded again.

“when was the last time you ate?”

“like 2 hours ago, when we all ate together.”

harry nodded, “eat this.” he reached over to his bag and grabbed a granola bar.

y/n murmured a thank you and ate the granola bar in silence after sitting.

after finishing it, she layed back on her chair.

“20 minutes until you go up, remember,” she mumbled.

“yes love, i remember.” harry stood up and walked over to her, placing a hand on her forehead.

“you're catching a fever. that's why you're dizzy.”

“no no that's not true, i'm okay. go get dressed,”

“y/n-”

“go get dressed harry, really,”

harry sighed and did as she told him. however, when he got back y/n was clutching her side while crouching over.

“y/n what's wrong?” harry quickly walked over to her side and helped her stand.

“it hurts, here,” she moaned slightly in pain while motioning to her side.

“that's your appendix love- here, lay do-” harry couldn't finish what he was saying, because in that moment y/n collapsed on the floor.

shit, shit, shit!

harry quickly layed her body on the couch again and touched her forehead. she was burning up, as expected. he looked at the time, he had around 15 minutes left before he had to go on stage. but during no circumstances was he going to leave y/n here fainted and alone.

he grabbed his phone and sent a quick message to jeff, letting him know he'd need a bit more extra time.

“come on y/n, open those pretty eyes.”

after 5 minutes, y/n finally woke up.

“harry..” she blinked a couple times and looked around.

“hi love, how do you feel? you fainted.”

“i did? i guess i'm alright, tired.”

“you scared me love. does it still hurt?”

“no, not really. i'm sorry i scared you.”

harry stared at her for a while. was this it? is this when he was going to tell her about his feelings?

y/n immediately gasped, “harry! the show!”

“shh shh, calm down lovie. i asked for extra time, it's alright,”

“oh..” she layed back down, “why did you?”

“so i could make sure you were okay,”

“why would you do that?”

harry chuckled slightly, “isn't it obvious?”

“what is?”

“you're so clueless my love,”

she blushed slightly, “what are you talking about?”

“i like you y/n.”

she gasped slightly, “you do?”

he nodded, “very much.”

“but as in more than friends?”

“yes darling,”

“i.. i like you too harry,”

harry grinned, he was so relieved. he pulled her up and kissed her firmly.

“i'm so glad you do.”

“i have liked you for a while.. i was just scared to say something because i felt like i'd looked obsessed or something.”

“why obsessed?”

“well cause i'm not famous,”

“that doesn't make you obsessed love,”

“i know, but it's still weird since our lives are so different. i felt like i was going to sound like one of those 14 year old girls that are completely obsessed with you,”

he chuckled, “you don't,”

she smiled, “good. now get on that stage, i'll be okay.”

“are you sure?”

“i promise.”

“good,” harry smiled and kissed her. “i'll see you after, and we're going to the doctor by the way.”

she rolled her eyes, but she loved how much he cared, and he knew that.

[pascalpanic]

so i read this scenario on reddit and i thought it would be a cute and fluffy fic idea if you want to write it :)

one of the Pedro boys (i was thinking frankie or marcus moreno but you can put any one of them that you feel like would fit the story) lands himself in the hospital and the reader visits him often cause they’re friends. they notice that every time they visit, his heart rate monitor speeds up, like not enough to cause alarm but enough to be noticeable, and that’s how she finds out that he likes her and they decide to date (after he gets out of hospital)

Appendicitis (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: talk of being ill, vomit, pain, lots of talk of hospitals and that being a major setting, Frankie is a dad, language

A/N: welcome back to Josie’s quest to clean her inbox! This idea was so precious!! I hope you guys like it!!

Frankie is in fucking agony. Never has he felt something as painful as this, never has such pain radiated through his body so intensely that he has no choice but to vomit out his stomach’s contents.

He spends the day at home, occupying his daughter as best he can while he’s in such suffering. He figures that maybe it’s just really bad gas cramping or constipation. Marisol plays quietly, at her daddy’s request, watching her favorite Disney movies on the couch while nuzzled into his side. Frankie has never been so grateful to get her into bed at the end of the day.

After a full day of the pain, and realizing that it wasn’t going away no matter how many painkillers he took, Frankie gave in around midnight. Lying in his bed, skin turning gray and the pain now decisively in his right side, Frankie called you.

After a few rings, you picked up. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hi.” His voice sounds agonized. “How much do you charge for babysitting again?” He asks, the strain clear.

You’re confused, pushing the phone closer to your ear and thinking it might be the distance that makes him sound so odd. “Uh, you’re my friend, so free. You need me to take Mari?” You ask him.

He nods. “Yeah; how much for like a week though? I don’t want to impose though, and-“

His voice sounds terrible. “Frankie. Shut up. A week? What’s wrong? I can take Marisol for as long as you need, but I gotta know what’s going on.”

Frankie is quiet before he grunts softly in pain. “I think my appendix might be fucked up. It hurts like fucking hell. Mari’s asleep, I don’t wanna wake her or anything, but could you-“

You cut him off once more, sitting bolt upright. “I’m on my way over. Do you think you can hang on until I get there? I can drive you to the hospital, or we’ll get one of the boys.”

“That sounds good,” Frankie agrees. “Fuckin’ ambulances are so expensive.”

You chuckle softly. “Hang in there, Fish, okay? I’m gonna call Will, see if he can drive you and I’ll stay with Mari. How’s that?”

Marisol loves you. There’s no better solution in Frankie’s eyes: she behaves better for you than she does for him. She’ll be in good hands, happy for as long as he needs to be in the hospital healing. “Perfect. God, you’re a fucking angel. Don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better than me,” you snort as you pull on a hoodie and slip on some shoes. “I’m gonna call Will. You got this, Fish. Distract yourself. I’ll send you updates.”

When you arrive at the Morales household, Will’s truck is already in the driveway. He lives closer, so it makes sense. Be quiet and don’t wake Mari, you remember as you slip off your shoes and head up the stairs of Frankie’s home. It’s quiet, unsurprising for this time of night, and you know Mari is a light sleeper. Frankie would never want to wake her at this hour.

Wandering into his room, you find Will standing next to the bed and an incredibly worn-looking Frankie. His skin holds barely any color, his face almost green in nausea. You rush to his side. “Frankie, holy shit,” you exclaim in a loud whisper, taking his hand. “You’re okay?”

“I will be if Miller mans up and gets me out of this bed,” he says, followed by a chuckle with no humor.

Will sighs. He’s wearing pajamas too, looking as exhausted as you are. Frankie groans as he hears Mari’s tiny voice over the baby monitor. “Fuck. You’re staying with her, Will’s bringing me?” He clarifies, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes.

Nodding, you squeeze his hand. “Give me directions quickly and I’ll go get her. You gotta sit up first, Frankie,” you reassure him.

He squeezes your hand back tight and sits up, his face contorting in pain. There’s a flush of redness to his cheeks, and it makes him look more human for a moment until it fades again. “She won’t fall back asleep unless she’s in this bed with you. She needs the attention. Uh, food is in the fridge, you know emergency shit,” he says, with surprising coherence for the pain he’s in.

You nod and ruffle Frankie’s soft bedhead. “Benny- fuck,” you wince, knowing the Miller brothers hate being mixed up. Somehow, even with their distinct personalities, you do it all the time. “Will. Send me updates,” you remind him as you stand. “And you, Francisco,” you murmur and press a kiss to his sweat-beaded forehead, “get some strong pain meds and get better for me and Mari.” You smile softly and walk out of the room.

The room next to Frankie’s is beautiful, a sage green paint and lots of woodland creatures painted on the walls by Frankie’s surprisingly artistic hands. There’s a crib covered by a creamy white canopy and the little girl pokes her head up, tilting to the side in confusion as she sees you.

It’s not fear, of course. Mari loves you, absolutely adores you in fact. She’s just… confused. Her little brain can tell it’s the middle of the night. “Where’s Daddy?” She asks, making uppy arms at you.

You walk over to her crib, picking her up and kissing her head. “Daddy’s got a tummyache, cutie,” you tell her and tickle her tummy gently, making her giggle and bury her tiny face in your chest. “He’s gonna go see the doctor and get it all fixed up, okay? You and I are gonna have so much fun,” you assure her, and she giggles again.

You can hear two sets of feet, slowly moving. “Let’s go give Daddy a kiss goodbye, okay?” Mari nods and rubs her little eyes.

Frankie’s got an arm around Will’s shoulders in the hall, looking absolutely agonized. He smiles a little as he sees you and his baby. “Hey, patita,” he chuckles. He dubbed her duckling from the soft tufts of fluff on her head as a baby. “Be good while I’m gone.”

Mari nods and puts a hand on either side of Frankie’s sweating face, making a little pout and giving him a kiss. “Love you, Daddy,” she says, a yawn overtaking her tiny face.

“Love you too,” he nods and looks up at you. “I owe you.”

“Friends don’t owe each other,” you shake your head. “Now get your a… butt to the hospital, Morales,” you tell him and pat Will on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

He nods at you and the two men shuffle along through the house until they can get Frankie into the car and on his way to (hopefully) sedation and a cure.

Yawning again, Mari’s big brown eyes look up at you from where you hold her on your hip. “Snack?” She asks you, pointing towards the kitchen.

Her little voice and tiny, pudgy fingers are too much. “I suppose. Only because we’re having special girls’ time,” you tease and boop her nose. Setting her on the counter, you grab some cubes of cheese and some berries, which you make sure are in small pieces.

Mari’s content to eat her snacks with you, and you can see her growing sleepier again as the plate empties out. “Sleepy?” You ask her, and she nods. “Alright, cutie pie,” you sigh and lift her, holding her to your chest as she wraps her arms around your neck and her legs around your torso. “Do you want me to cuddle with you?” You ask.

She nods. “Gotta snuggle for late sleepies. Daddy says that.”

The words melt your heart. Frankie’s always been so good with her, so warm and skilled and precious. It only makes your crush on the man grow every time his little girl babbles about how much she loves her daddy. “Does he?”

She nods. “Daddy sings for me.”

Frankie singing Marisol to sleep. The idea melts your heart. You need in on that. “What does he sing to you?” You ask. “What’s your favorite song that daddy sings to you?”

She thinks for a moment as you sit on the edge of the bed, allowing her to clamber off your lap and into the cozy king-sized bed. “Rocket Man.” It’s hard to decipher in her baby-talk, but you get it.

“He sings that for you?” You ask as you get under the covers, into the blankets that are still warm from Frankie’s body heat, that smell like his cologne.

Mari snuggles into your chest, and nods softly. “Can you sing Rocket Man?”

“Of course,” you nod and trace little circles into the toddler’s back, singing the Elton John song to her in a soft voice. It doesn’t take long, now that she’s in her daddy’s bed and got a snack, for her to fall asleep. She snores softly, and you follow suit not too long after.

-

It did turn out that Frankie had appendicitis. The doctors weren’t entirely sure what caused it, but you and the Miller brothers rotated your time with Marisol at home and the hospital with Frankie, as his stay was painfully long for such an active man. Santiago video chatted often, but being out of town prevented him from physically seeing Fish.

It took him about a week to recover, and that time was mostly spent napping or watching the television in his room. He’d bullshit with the guys or you when you were around, and he especially loved the time of the afternoon every day where one of you brought Marisol to see him.

Usually it was just you or one of the Millers who stayed in the room with him. The other two either stayed with Marisol or got to stay at home and rest for themselves. It was a lucky day when you and Benny got to both be with Frankie for a while, telling stories and laughing. It was your turn to be off-duty, but all you wanted from your free time was to be with the man.

Your presence has always made Frankie’s heart rate a little faster. It’s always made his palms a little clammy, and his pants a little tighter sometimes. At least now he can attribute it to the pain.

Every time his eyes catch yours, his heart monitor gets a little louder. It’s odd, but you shrug it off. It can’t mean anything. It’s just your Frankie. After an hour or so of spending time with the guys, you run to get fast food for the three of you. While you’re away, you receive a text from Benny.

Benny Boy: you’re fucking with his head, bro

You: what?

Benny Boy: the heart rate monitor is nearly silent right now. every time frankie looks at you it spikes, don’t tell me you haven’t been noticing that

You: do you want nuggets or a burger?

You: thats ridiculous, Benny.

Benny Boy: always nuggets. but seriously, his heart rate is at like 54 right now, he’s just chilling and kind of dozed off. let’s check it when you come back.

You: be prepared for the most boring science experiment ever. also, what dip do you want?

After you receive your bulging bags of food, stuffed from both Benny’s and Frankie’s massive appetites, you return to the hospital.

You: walking in. pulse status?

Benny: 60. he’s a little more awake now.

As you enter the room, Frankie turns to you and grins. “Hey. What did you get?” He asks.

You plop the bags on the small table overhanging Frankie’s bed and grin. “Just your usual order. I know what you like,” you shrug as you unpack the food.

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 77

Smiling at the rate of Frankie’s heart, more than you should really, you sit down back next to Benny and the three of you eat your food. It’s somewhat quiet, the chatter dying as you devour the fast food, savoring the grease and salt.

After everyone is finished, you stand and clean up the garbage, tossing it all away. You sit back down on Frankie’s bedside. “So, macho man. How’s the pain?” You ask, your fingers tracing his good side.

Beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 86

He shrugs. “It hurts like a bitch, and they said it’s gonna keep hurting like a bitch.”

“Poor baby,” you chuckle, cupping the side of his face and kissing his forehead softly.

Beep beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 96

Benny groans and stands. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” He smacks your arm as he walks past, as if rubbing in the evidence he’s found. “And then take a walk, I think.”

You’re still seated at Frankie’s side, on the inflatable hospital mattress. “Oh Benjamin,” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why’d he leave so quick?”

You shrug, though you know the answer. “Who knows? Benny can’t even predict himself,” you chuckle. Frankie’s hand rests over his chest. You slide your hand over his torso and lace your fingers through his until you’re holding it. You can feel his heart thumping steadily against it. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 104

He smiles. “I’m lucky I have you.”

You sigh softly as you look up at the heart rate monitor again. “I gotta say, you have a really high resting rate,” you say nonchalantly, as if you believe it.

Frankie’s face warms. “I, uh-“

“I’m kidding, Frankie,” you mumble softly to him, smiling a little. “I really like you, and I think that monitor is helping me know you like me too. When you get out of here, can we maybe go on a date some time?”

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. HR: 112

Nodding enthusiastically, those floppy curls move with his head. “I would love that,” he tells you with a beaming smile. “God, have you been able to tell all day?” He asks as he looks up at the monitor, his ears burning with heat as he reads the pulse rate. It’s embarrassingly high.

“Yeah,” you finally admit and smile down at him. “But it’s cute. And it makes me feel all warm inside because I finally know you like me too.”

Big brown eyes stare up at you with all of the love in the world. “If I wasn’t wearing a hospital gown, I’d kiss you right now,” he promises. “But that’ll have to wait.”

“Yes it will,” you nod and kiss his forehead again, easing him back against the mattress he’d lifted up from slightly. “Now I’m going to go find Benny, and you slow down that heart rate,” you tease and ruffle his curls.

“I’m not gonna be able to slow it down with you around,” he says with a soft smile, his eyes slipping shut.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan

[youarestellarverse]

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I think maybe I need another sideblog for this, lol. It's turning into a monster.

Epistolary/fake reddit post take 3: Ruby/"Pearl", in her own words.

Originally posted here by u/princess_and_the_pearl on r/relationshipgoals:

Princess And The Sweatpants

(or, Prince Charming Magically Transforms a Sick Day into a Spa Retreat)

Bear with me. Brain fog is a hell of a drug. 

I (26NB) was diagnosed with fibromyalgia two years ago after about six months of symptoms, which was astonishingly fast for anyone and downright miraculous considering that at the time, I still thought I was a cis man, and I presented very much that way. There are people who don't believe that's even possible. Several doctors have questioned my diagnosis, asking suspiciously isn't that only in women? 

Strangely, when I'm wearing a dress, they don't do that. 

Anyway, I have fibromyalgia, which means I constantly feel like I did that time in high school after I played a football game while actively suffering from acute appendicitis (it burst within forty seconds of me getting on the field, because duh, and I almost died— thanks, Dad, for making me play when I had a fever of 104 and I was telling you I felt like someone was spearing me through the back— but that's another story.) 

Feverish, sore everywhere, sick to my stomach, like my skin is bruised. The worst part is the fatigue. I get so tired during flares that I can sleep 14 hours a day and wake up exhausted. The only other time I've felt like this was when I was sixteen and fighting off sepsis. 

I bring up football mostly because I look like a football player. I was a heavyweight before I got my diagnosis (though I've dropped a lot; my MIL keeps "just happening to be in the neighborhood"— two hours away, mind— with baked goods and stuff). I'm close enough to 6'6 to round up to it if I wanted. I have been told I have the rugged, thoughtful face of a stern, ancient Roman politician. I wear shoes so big that half the time they don't even make them in men's sizes. 

And most of the time, that's fine! I'm okay with it when, as my (genuinely) Dear Husband/Prince Charming (27M) puts it, my "gend-o-meter" is pointed towards guy, which is still more often than not. 

But it gets to me otherwise, which Charming knows. He also has this very eerie ability to tell where that meter is pointed without asking me. He says it's something about my posture, but he's not sure exactly what. All I know is he's never wrong, and he always knows the best time to pop his head around the corner, smile his sweet smile, say "Hey, babe, guess what?" and then burst into a corny pop song. 

[Relevant comment from PC himself:

girl you got my heart racing in your skin-tight jeans~ 🥰😍😚💙💙]

Last week (midsummer for posterity), I was having a hell of a time with a rash of thunderstorms. Everything hurt so badly I could barely think straight. It was like every injury I'd ever had was fresh again, and being a football player, I've gotten banged up a lot. I had five migraines over the span of eight days. I lost a scary amount of weight because I could barely keep anything down. 

Eventually my BFFs (we'll call them BFFa, 26F, and, BFF1, 25M, because I don't want to rank them against each other) came out and stayed over the weekend. They made an enormous batch of corn chowder, which was so good it overrode my nausea and lack of appetite and was all I could manage for about 3 days straight. (It's really excellent chowder.)

I'm glad they were here, because I've never had gender dysphoria come on in the middle of a flare before, and I freaked Charming out pretty good when I got halfway through my food and suddenly had enough energy to burst into tears. BFFa is very calming and good at talking people through things, and she helped me articulate while making sure my husband didn't panic. BFF1 isn't as comfortable with emotional displays, but he makes a damn good rice pudding and it's really hard to stay upset when the house smells so nice. 

DH, anxiety managed, was able to throw himself into planning mode. He started by calling our mastiff (5F) and having her lay with me while he drew a bath (she's allowed on the bed after a specific command; she was already trained as a service dog when we inherited her, which was incredibly lucky for me because I realized I needed one about a month later). 

He's helped me take care of myself before. I quit football because of an injury that destroyed my mobility, and for about three months I was completely reliant on him for almost everything. He helped me stand up to pee. I can't ever pay him back for what he's done for me, but he says the same thing, so we must be even in his mind. 

He's always been sweet about it, but he really went all out this time: he lit dozens of beeswax candles,  put rose oil and floated petals in the bathwater, set up the shower stall with my chair and a rose-vanilla shower bomb, and hooked up my iPod to the bathroom speakers so he could shuffle through my playlist of all the love songs he's ever sung me. 

Then he got me out of my depressed college student chic (the aforementioned sweatpants and my alma mater's t-shirt), helped me into a silk robe that didn't hurt my skin, and supported my weight as we walked. 

He got me settled in the shower chair, then stripped and joined me. I didn't have to lift a finger, which was good, because I couldn't without my shoulder seizing up. (He took care of that, too. He's the only person willing to massage me hard enough that I can actually feel it. Everyone else gets too worried about hurting me. Ha.) 

After I was clean, he brought out a razor. That man shaved my legs for me, and I have a lot of leg, so that's no small feat. 

I'm honestly not sure if I was crying. I think I must have been, because he kept kissing my knees and ankles every time he finished a pass. He sang along with the playlist, too. When you smile, the whole world stops and stares for a while. I got sunshine on a cloudy day. I don't know why you're being shy. I think you're pretty without any makeup on. 

...yeah, in retrospect, I was definitely crying. 

I felt so much better it didn't matter. He washed my hair, then helped me into the bath and knelt beside the tub and rubbed my neck while I soaked and let the water support my joints. 

Let me tell you: if you've got a partner suffering from chronic pain, this is one of the best ways you can make them feel pampered and loved. 100/10; do recommend.

And that wasn't even the end of it. 

While we were in the bathroom, BFFa was going through my wardrobe. Charming helped me back into the robe, and when I got back to our room she'd changed out the sheets and set out my softest, most comfortable cotton maxi dress. 

It's very pretty. I made it out of fabric my husband's best man (28M) whipped up for me with fiber from his partner's cashmere goats. He used blue potato peels for dye, which gives it a beautiful muted color that transitions from blue to pink via clever use of anthocyanin reactions.

He also dyed some cashmere yarn to match it, which I found out when my baby SIL (minor) gave me a gorgeous crocheted shawl for Christmas last year. It was laid out beside the dress, which was perfect, because one of my symptoms is that I can't regulate my body temperature very well; having it available to take off and put on as-needed was great.

It felt wonderful on my skin. They got me settled in bed again, our dog in her own bed on the floor (still tall enough for me to scratch her ears 💜). Then they facetimed Prince Charming's gf (29F, she's also married to my drag mother), and she walked him through putting on my makeup and styling my hair into a pixie. 

I honestly never thought it possible that I could feel cute and pretty with short hair. That's part of why I was upset. When my head hurts like that, wearing a wig is asking to end up in the hospital with an intractable migraine, and my face is so angular that without long hair to soften it, the image can be really jarring. 

(That was how I figured out I was nonbinary, actually. I was rehearsing a drag routine and I just felt Wrong and I couldn't figure out why, until my girlfriend (26F) suggested I try practicing in my wig and I saw myself in the mirror and suddenly it clicked.) 

Somehow, he pulled it off. It might partly have been the flower hair clip that BFF1 made me with a soldering iron and some copper wire. Most of it was my face. I had no idea DH knew how to contour, but I looked...soft. Feminine. I felt like a queen. 

Not that he's ever failed to make me feel like one before, but this time, he really outdid himself. I looked how I felt. That's not an easy feat for me in this context. He pulled it off flawlessly. 

It was also just fun, and after such high pain levels I needed fun almost more than I needed validation. 

NOTES: good fucking lord tumblr what have you done with your post editor it took me literally almost half an hour to get it all indented why is there a "character limit" on indentations now

BFF1 and BFFa are of course Piper and Leo, Prince Charming is Percy, Percy's girlfriend is Silena (married to Charlie ofc), Ruby's girlfriend is Annabeth, Percy's best man is Grover; if you read the other posts in this genre, you possibly get the idea. I know, I know, it's getting convoluted.

PING LIST: @perseusjackson-jasongrace @elaborateruses @starlightshadowsworld (lmk if you want me to stop pinging you in Ruby stuff, I'm sort of assuming lol.)

As always, let me know if you want in on (or off of) the ping list!