#cheap stomach surgery

[azzibuckets]

loopy in love part 2 [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: sorry for the long wait! i wasn’t gonna write a second part but @makethemhoesmad forced me to.. and let’s pretend that azzi miraculously healed before the end lmfao

word count: 1.4k

part 1 | masterlist

Azzi needed to forget.

She needed to forget how warm Paige’s hands were when they’d traced her hair. She needed to forget the feel of Paige’s lips against her cheek, grazing across her skin and coming so close yet so far from where she needed it the most. She needed to forget the way Paige held her through the night, the two of them pressed so close together she didn’t know where she ended or began.

And she really needed to forget how uninhibited she’d been with the nitrous oxide running through her veins, revealing the secret she’d spent years perfecting to keep away, locked in the corners of her mind. Paige had been gone when Azzi had woken up this morning, with no text or note. Azzi been relieved at first, not knowing what to say or do so soon after the fact. But she also couldn’t ignore the anxiety swirling in her stomach, worried that she’d ruin everything they’d built over the past few years.

So that’s how she found herself with a bottle of tequila in her hand, sprawled out on the couch at 1 PM. Her apartment was utterly dark, the curtains drawn to block out the sunlight. She knew this wasn’t a healthy way to cope, but frankly, she didn’t care. She wanted, needed to numb the ache in her heart at Paige’s absence, at how she’s embarrased herself last night and probably destroyed their friendship ever.

But the doorbell rang, and when the door revealed Paige, Azzi was stuck, unsure of what to say or do. Paige’s face was void of emotion, her expression tightly controlled in the same way it was when she talked to reporters, the press, strangers, anyone that wasn’t someone she was close to. Azzi’s heart thudded.

Paige stepped in, not waiting for an invitation. She set a drink on the counter, the cup wet with condensation. “I brought you a smoothie.”

Azzi’s hands gingerly rubbed her jaw that was still swollen. “Thanks.”

Paige nodded in acknowledgment. She didn’t say anything, but her foot nervously toeing the ground told Azzi everything she needed to know.

“This is awkward,” Azzi blurted out.

Paige winced. “Yeah, it is,” she admitted. She went to go sit on the couch, but she paused when she saw the bottle of alcohol sitting on the coffee table. She picked it up, staring at it in disbelief as Azzi looked away in embarrasment. “Is this yours?”

“No, that’s…” Azzi’s mind furiously searched for someone to blame it on. “Caroline’s. She left it here the other day.”

Paige’s eyes hardened. “I can see droplets on the table.”

Azzi swallowed.

“Are you kidding me, Azzi?” Paige threw the bottle on the couch and approached her with blazing eyes, her jaw tense. “Did you happen to forget that you had surgery yesterday?”

Azzi sighed, having had enough of the conversation. She went to the kitchen, rummaging around the cabinets for something soft to eat. “It was just my wisdom teeth,” she muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Alcohol thins your blood, Azzi, you know that.”

“I really don’t need you to babysit me right now.”

“Then stop acting like a kid.” Paige marched past Azzi to the sink, bottle in hand. Before Azzi could stop her, she unscrewed the cap and poured the entire bottle of tequila down the drain.

“Paige, what the fuck?” When Paige only smirked at her, Azzi felt herself grow hot with anger at her audacity. “That cost fucking money.”

“Please,” Paige scoffed. “This shit is cheap as hell. And we both know money isn’t an issue with you.”

Azzi was done with this conversation. She was done with the way that Paige was able to get under her skin so easily and make her feel things that no one should feel for their best friend. Knowing she was only proving Paige right but still not caring enough, she headed to her room and slammed the door, feeling like she was 13 years old again.

But, of course, Paige followed her, opening the door and slipping inside. “Wanna tell me why you’re trying to get drunk at 1 in the afternoon?”

“Wanna tell me why you’re not at lift?”

“I’m not at lift because I wanted to make sure you were healing okay.” Paige’s voice rose an octave, but she forced herself to calm down once she saw the change in Azzi’s body language, how she was shifting away. “What happened, Az?” Her voice was soft now, and she took a seat next to the younger girl, letting their elbows knock together.

Azzi stared straight ahead, focusing on the loose thread in the carpet instead of daring to glance over at Paige. She could feel the alcohol buzzing loosely through her body, not enough to be intoxicated but enough to give her that little bit of boldness she wouldn’t have otherwise. “You don’t think I notice that you don’t tell me anything anymore?” The words cut like a knife in Paige’s chest, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, trying to let Azzi continue before saying anything. Azzi brought her knees up, folding her arms around them, making herself as small as possible like she was trying to protect herself. “Lately we’ve been fighting all the time. I-,” she paused, inhaling deeply, “I wasn’t even gonna ask you to take me to the dentist. I was scared you’d say no.”

Azzi closed her eyes briefly. “You know how devastating it is? To realize that I’m in love with my best friend, that I have been for the last four years. But then you started to pull away, and now it feels like I’m losing you, and I don’t know what to do.” She finally worked up the courage to look at Paige, but as soon as she did, she regretted it almost instantly. Paige’s eyes were rimmed red, wet with tears, her bottom lip trembling.

“It was two months ago.” Paige recalled the moment she’d started distancing herself from Azzi. “The guy at the bar - he was flirting with you. Remember how I was in a terrible mood that night?”

Azzi chuckled. It had become an inside joke with the team, how Paige had been the one who came up with the idea to go to Ted’s to celebrate that win, but had ended up sulking in the corner of the room the entire night because she “didn’t feel well.” “I remember.”

“You were flirting with that girl from Virginia Tech.” Paige was the one to look away now. “I remember feeling so irrationally angry. And I couldn’t even be mad, because you looked gorgeous that night. With your black top that I love.” Paige laughed dryly, but there was no humor in her voice. “And I remember thinking, damn, if I were that girl and seen you on the court playing like that, I would’ve flirted with you too. And I think that’s when I realized. That to me, you were more than just my best friend.”

Paige’s words hung in the air between the two of them, the tension almost tangible. Azzi burrowed her chin into her knees. “We fought that night,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“We did.” Paige anxiously rubbed her elbow. “And we got over it, but…”

“We never really did,” Azzi finished.

Both girls were silent.

Paige turned to face Azzi, giving a small smile. “But yesterday, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows obnoxiously. Azzi went to push Paige, but Paige grabbed her wrists instead, pulling her into her body until they were only a couple inches apart. Azzi had never been this close to the blonde before unless you counted her dreams, and it was dizzying, the smell of Paige’s perfume combined with the warming heat of her body.

When Paige’s fingers trailed up her palms, lightly tracing each groove before grazing the skin on her arm, Azzi sucked in a breath. Paige had touched her before. They cuddled almost every night for fuck’s sake. But it was different now, with electricity charging the air between them.

“Do you want this?” As soon as the word yes left Azzi’s mouth, she was pulled onto Paige’s lap, her legs straddling the blonde’s hips. Before she knew it, Paige’s mouth was on hers, soft and gentle, and Azzi realized then that she was fucked. In a split second, she knew that there was no way she’d be able to live without getting to taste Paige’s lips over and over again for the rest of her life, without the feeling of Paige’s teeth nibbling at her bottom lip and Paige sighing into her mouth. It was electrifying and it was thrilling and it was perfect, the way Paige’s lips molded against hers.

Paige suddenly pulled away, wiping at her mouth with a grimace. “I think I taste blood.”

Azzi ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Way to ruin the mood.”

Paige laughed, then pulled Azzi down so that they were lying on the bed, facing each other. “I’m sorry for pulling away. I was just trying to protect myself from falling too hard for you.” Paige’s thumb went to stroke Azzi’s cheek. “But I don’t think it worked anyways.”

Azzi’s breath caught, and she had to bite her lip to prevent herself from smiling too hard. “I don’t blame you. I’m pretty easy to fall in love with.” She expected a quip back, but Paige only stared at her with intensity.

“We’re still best friends, right?” Paige’s voice was small and unsure.

“I’ll die before we stop being best friends,” Azzi assured, pressing her forehead against Paige’s.

[itsphoenix0724]

On Call (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Your intern year in surgery is awful. Of course, sometimes it helps that you can find time with your attending in the On-Call room.

Warnings: Suggestive content, allusions to sex

Word Count: 674

A/N: A small blurb to get me back into writing inspired by my Grey's Anatomy binge.

A surgeon’s intern year is often seen as the most grueling, tiring, terrible experience they go through in their entire career. You’re run ragged by residents, barely eat, and of course, you barely sleep. 

Your back slams against the door to the on-call room, you’ve officially been up for 36 hours, and your neuro-attending is currently undoing the ties holding up your scrub pants. Azriel’s lips trail down your neck as you chuck his lab coat to the ground. His hands wander down to your ass and he lifts in one swift movement and you're in the air. His shirt comes off quicker than you can blink, and you’re moved to the bed. The cheap sheets scratch your back, but you sink into the mattress and your eyes flutter shut. You want nothing more than to work off the stress from work, but the bed is so inviting…

“Are you falling asleep?” Azriel lifts his head from where he’s been kissing his way down your stomach, hazel eyes fixing on you with an amused expression. “Am I not entertaining enough for you?” He brings his hands up to rub tickling circles into the skin of your stomach and you laugh despite yourself as your body attempts to shut down. 

“I’m sorry but I had rounds with Lady Death, then had to cover the ER, then I had to do my charts and skills lab, and I have been up for thirty-six hours.” You whine, dropping your head back down against the pillows, and you run a hand through the crown of Azriel’s inky black hair. He places a sympathetic kiss on your sternum. 

“I have a craniotomy later, would scrubbing in make you feel better?” The way he smiles at you feels like sunshine splitting the clouds and your brain turns to mush in your head. 

“You can’t just give me surgeries because you’re my boyfriend, the other interns will want to spike my head on the fence outside.” Azriel rolls his eyes and kisses his way back up your body. 

“I don’t give you surgeries because you're my girlfriend. I give you surgeries because you’re talented,” he presses a kiss to your lips “and smart” a kiss to your jaw “and beautiful.” you laugh again your hands finding purchase on Az’s shoulders, “You just also happen to be my girlfriend.” You haul your mouth back to his and Azriel lets out a groan into your mouth. “We can sleep if you’re too tired. My surgery doesn’t start for another two hours.” 

“That would be amazing,” Azriel rolls you onto your side, pulling you back into his chest. You let the warmth of his skin against yours soothe your aching muscles. Your eyes start to flutter closed, feeling protected and safe in the arms of your boyfriend. You’re just about to finally fall into darkness when your pager goes off again. Your eyes shoot back open, you could cry. “It’s Dr. Archeron, 911 in PEDS I got to go,” Azriel brushes a mournful hand through your hair as you retie your pants and pull your shirt back on. 

“Just 12 more hours, and then you can sleep like the dead,” Azriel mutters, rolling onto his back.  

“I’m not sure that’s the best joke to be making in a hospital,” You laugh as you press another kiss into his mouth. Azriel huffs a sleepy laugh and you’re about to climb back into bed when the pager goes off again. “Okay, I really got to go, if she points at me again I think I’ll set on fire.” You pull your hair back into a quick bun and send Az a smile before you dart out the door and break off in a run to the PEDS floor. 

A surgeon’s intern year is the worst year of their life, you get no sleep, work grueling hours, and want to curl in a ball and cry most of the time. But the hospital is our home, it’s where we belong, so maybe it's not all so bad. 

[heliads]

this city reeks of driving myself crazy

Jack Hughes misses his captain. Nico Hischier isn't acting like he misses Jack. Obviously, there are going to be problems.

masterlist

Nico is coming back from the mens’ world championships. Jack is trying not to act as if he has been waiting for this since the moment Nico left. 

The thought occurs to him halfway through physical therapy. Jack is in the middle of fifteen reps of some bullshit exercise involving resistance bands and a great deal of relief that no one can see him like this when he realizes that, soon, a plane will touch down and a man will get off, and that man will be Nico, and maybe everything will be okay again after all. 

Not everything, obviously. Nico coming back does not remove Jack’s shoulder surgery from this plane of existence, though, trusting his captain, it’ll probably make him feel a little better about it. Jack has already heard far too many whispers taking great delight in his absence— all it takes is one injury, and people are throwing words out there like career-ending and out for good. Nico would never say that. He would look at Jack thoughtfully, carefully, and tell him he expects to see Jack out on the ice again as soon as he can. Jack would do it, too. Anything if asked. He is a dog left at home too long, scratching at the door, waiting for the footsteps approaching down the hall to tell him he is not alone anymore. Someone will come for him, and then he will be alright. 

Jack will not tolerate the idea of a career-ending anything. The idea makes him sick to his stomach. He could never do anything but play. Being a spectator just might make Jack lose it once and for all. Imagining his team, his Devils, shooting back and forth across the ice, hearing the clash of the puck against their sticks, and then being separated from it all on the other side of the plastic dividers— it would drive him mad. Watching them win or lose and being unable to do a thing. Knowing he was no better than any of the other fans in the audience. He could wear a cheap copy of Nico’s jersey and jump up in his seat whenever the Devils scored and it would kill him more decisively than a gun to the head. 

So Jack does the stupid PT and he takes his pain meds and he goes to bed early, doesn’t drink, watches himself and his temper. And the door, mainly. Wondering if Nico will take him up on the offer he made a few days before the plane takes off:  Congrats man! U can come by my place to catch up if u want btw. 

He’d sent the text, bit back a scream, hurled his phone across the room to land on the sofa, immediately scurried over to check if Nico had responded (he had not), screamed for real this time, then taken more pills and stared at the ceiling for a while. All in a day’s work. 

And, when he checked back in the next morning, there was no return message. Nor the next day, either. It pisses Jack off to no end. Everyone’s always on their phones. There’s no way Nico hasn’t seen the text, so he simply isn’t responding because he doesn’t feel like it, which is just mean to such a good team player as Jack Hughes.

Stewing in his own self-righteous irritation, Jack intentionally ignores Nico’s text when it comes three days late. He glares at the notification bitterly, hoping that Nico can somehow sense it on the other end. Jack goes on Instagram in the hopes of distracting himself, but ends up seeing a post on how Nico’s plane has landed back in the States.

He’s back, then. Against his best intentions, Jack checks the text. Nico, 3 AM, Yeah, for sure. No date, no time for a meet-up. A pacifying answer that has absolutely no pacifying effect. Jack rages and rambles for two hours before he caves and texts back, was the flight good?

Twenty minutes later, the phone dings. Jack dives for it, immediately cursing his bad shoulder when it starts to twinge, and holds up the phone in trembling fingers only to register that Nico has replied with a thumbs up.

He’s going to slaughter the captain. He’s going to slaughter the captain and become the new captain and never do this to anyone ever again, ever. This is so stupid. Nico is capable of texting. Jack is capable of responding normally to a friendship disrupted by frequent flights and international games and only one of them having a fucked up shoulder. Right now, though, neither of them are acting like it.

He is proud of Nico, of course. Glad for him to have that opportunity and all that. But the ice seems extra cold when it’s quiet, and Jack hasn’t been able to feel his fingers in weeks, too many days below zero. He wants Nico back. Of course he does. He just hadn’t expected the wanting to take over him like this, wrapping brittle bones and surgery scars in a dense web of hurt that not even the painkillers can dull. 

Jack tries not to let the silence bother him, but, of course, it does. He goes to PT again. He calls his brothers one by one and hears them talk. He cleans up his apartment in case he gets a visitor, and maybe karma truly is real, because after several days of being a Good Person, Nico finally texts back and says, I can drop by Thurs evening if that’s cool?

Immediately, a jealous demon in his chest tells Jack that he should ignore Nico, just to get him back. Let Nico be the one waiting on the other line, wondering what he did to deserve the silence. Jack’s super good at being bitter if he wants it, and he feels mistreated enough to lash out.

Yeah. Sounds good.

He sends the text with his eyes closed, as if that makes it better. Like it isn’t Jack who caves but someone else, a doppelganger in Devils sweatpants slumped on the sofa in his apartment. Not his fault. Another thumbs up in response, which brings the anger back in force. Nico, of course, has the time to be casual in his responses. He’s the one who gets to swing by out of the blue. He can do anything he wants to, and Jack simply has to respect that.

When Thursday comes around, Jack finds himself mad enough to bite. It isn’t a good way to greet his captain. It isn’t a good way to meet with his friend. But Jack has been ignored for so long– calls unanswered, texts left on read– and he’s always devoured Nico’s attention far more greedily than anyone else. It’s not his fault that the crushing isolation left him sharp and smarting.

A knock on the door echoes around the problem, temporarily startling Jack out of the acidic monotony of his thoughts. He doesn’t need to check the door to know who it is. Only Nico would drop by like this, unannounced. Only Nico would assume Jack would be there to meet him with the bare minimum of text messages.

He could make Nico wait, and Jack certainly takes his time getting to the door, but then he’s hovering in front of the peephole and he can see a silhouette idling there for him, and it’s been so long since he saw Nico at all that Jack knows he doesn’t have it in him to keep Nico lingering any longer. Whatever happens, happens. But at least he’ll have a good face to look at in the meantime.

Jack’s hand jerks out, heavy on the knob, and then he swings the door open to reveal Nico standing there, hanging back from the threshold. His dark hair has crept out over his eyes, and it hides his face even more than the shadows of the poor high lighting. The contrast from the gasping fluorescents overhead paints dark hollows under his eyes, dramatic on his cheekbones. 

It reminds Jack of the Baroque portraits from the art museum the Devils had visited a while back. The PR agents wanted the players to seem more well-rounded or something. Bullshit. Jack had hated the trip, bored almost to tears with the slow pace of their guide, and he hates it now. Jack doesn’t want perfect art. He wants something real for the first time in months, and seeing his flawlessly posed captain makes him want to dirty that good bone structure with blood or his knuckles. Or both.

Nico raises his tragically beautiful eyes to Jack, waiting for something. Still brimming with bitterness, Jack says roughly, “Good to see you again,” and jerks his chin towards the inside of his apartment.

Nico takes the hint and slides past Jack, somehow able to go without touching him even though Jack had barely left him a few inches of room. Smooth on and off the ice. It’s so fucking unfair.

“Nice place,” Nico says, tugging off his coat and depositing it on a nearby kitchen chair.

“You’ve been here before,” Jack mutters.

Nico glances back towards him, arching a thick brow. “Does that mean I should say it looks like shit, then? It’s still nice even if this isn’t my first time seeing it.”

Jack laughs before he can choke it out. Although Nico hadn’t given any indication of being worried, his face relaxes microscopically. There’s no change Jack can name, nothing obvious like falling brows or slackening cheeks, but he knows the shift in feeling like it happened to himself.

“How’s the injury?” Nico asks, walking back to him.

“How do you think?” Jack spits, looking at the ground.

Nico tsks under his breath. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Jack says out of impulse. “The guys at PT say I’ll be back on ice soon. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not just worried about what happens to you on the ice,” Nico says, voice low. “Off the ice matters too.”

Jack wants to laugh. He doesn’t, this time. Nothing’s funny. “You have some way of showing it.”

Nico does manage to look distinctly embarrassed this time. “I was busy,” he says simply.

It’s a bullshit excuse and Nico knows it too, so he covers for it by tugging impatiently at the thick material of Jack’s shirt. “Show me.”

“What?” Jack asks, tough demeanor seriously slipping for the first time all night.

“The shoulder,” Nico says, as if this is a normal thing to ask after being alone in Jack’s apartment with no one except Jack to ask what the fuck is going on. “Show me. I want to see how bad it looks.”

“It’s a shoulder,” Jack mumbles. “Imagine it.”

Nico fixes him with a look, one brow half cocked. Jack knows this look from practices, from games. It means, do you really want to fight me on this one? Jack usually does, but even this is too stupid a battle for him to pick, so he shuts up long enough to bat Nico’s hand off his shirt like a fleck of dust and do as told. He had meant to pull the top off in one smooth movement, but his shoulder disagrees midway through and the motion ends up being a little more awkward than he’d hoped.

Then he’s standing in front of Nico, shirt off, and under the overhead light of his kitchen, he feels far more on display than he likes. Jack has shown far more bruised and battered skin than this, of course, years’ worth of locker rooms have long since stripped him of any shame around teammates, but it’s different like this. Like this– with no other eyes than Nico’s, which swoop over him with such obvious care that hot embarrassment starts to churn deep in Jack’s stomach. He doesn’t like the feeling, but he doesn’t put the shirt back on, either. Or tell Nico to stop looking.

Nico’s hand darts out again, like he can’t stop himself. The fingers rise to Jack’s shoulder, ghosting over the skin. At first, Nico’s touch is gentle, and then he finds a slow-blossoming bruise and presses, not sharply enough to hurt but enough to make the dull ache bloom again in the precise shape of Nico’s thumb. Caught in the force of it, the air leaves Jack’s lungs in a low groan that seems to catch in his chest, deep in his throat.

He expects Nico to snatch his hand away and start making apologies like everyone else when they find out what a broken little thing he really is, but instead, Nico leans forward, into the sound. He doesn’t press any harder, but he looks like he wants to. And Jack– Jack might want that, too.

Nico’s tongue appears at the corner of his mouth, licking his lips before he continues. Jack watches with the hunger of a famine. “You should be careful,” Nico says huskily.

“Why?” Jack asks, fighting to keep his voice casual. “Going to bench me, cap?”

Nico’s hand spasms slightly, thumb curling further into the dark flower of the bruise before he stops himself. Jack can’t remember if he’s ever seen Nico react to the title like that, but Nico hasn’t had his hands on Jack like this before, either.

“I could do anything,” Nico whispers. Jack isn’t sure if they’re talking about hockey anymore. He isn’t sure that they ever were.

He snickers. “You can’t keep me off forever.”

Nico drags his gaze from the bruise to Jack’s eyes. “You always were the troublemaker, weren’t you? Not even Dawson’s as bad. Not even Luke. Always mouthing off.”

Something shifts indignantly in the pit of Jack’s stomach at the mention of his brother. He’d do anything to get Nico’s focus off Luke and back on him, where it belongs, so he says, “What’re you going to do? Shut me up?”

“Maybe,” Nico hesitates over the word, drawing out the syllables as he trails his hand away from the bruise and onto the thin, puckered line of a scar along Jack’s shoulder. He grazes his nails over the hardened skin, making Jack hiss, not from hurt but something else, something worse and better at the same time.

With Nico focused on the scar and not Jack anymore, he’s free to say something stupid again, no longer pinned under the weight of two dark eyes. So he grins, wide and bold and goddamn brainless, and says, “Make me.”

Nico’s eyes snap up to his again. There is an unwritten rule in hockey, practically a mandate, that the captain is the captain for a reason, and if anyone tries to fight that, it is the captain’s moral obligation to prove why he’s wearing the C and not anyone else. Even if the one causing trouble is an alternate. Even if it’s Jack.

Nico’s mouth is hot and assertive when it collides with Jack’s. Jack was ready for something but not for this, and he stumbles back from the force of the kiss. Nico’s arm whips behind him, catching Jack by the hip and bringing him back in, stopping him from a fall. Jack is reminded vividly of all the times they’re on the ice, one of them crashing into the other; the natural, instinctive urge to latch on and never let go. 

Nico’s eyes are closed and then Jack’s are, too. He lets the kiss swallow him whole, blocking out the shoulder and the games and everything else. Jack thinks he could stay there forever, hooked on Nico like his first drink, but then the older boy breaks away, even when Jack tries to chase his lips, needy as ever. Nico leans his forehead on Jack’s, both of them breathing hard like they’ve run a mile. 

“See? I like you quiet,” Nico says, breath gusting onto Jack’s face with every word.

“Shut up,” Jack says, and kisses him again, biting Nico’s lip petulantly to get him back.

Nico just chuckles, curling his free hand into the back of Jack’s head. Jack actually gasps when Nico tugs his hair, giving Nico more of his mouth, letting the kiss take him apart again and again. 

This time, Jack is the one to pull away first, and in the sliver of space between their lips Nico whispers, “I missed you.”

“You haven’t been acting like it,” Jack mutters, and squirms when Nico knots his fingers in Jack’s hair again.

“That’s what the attitude is about? I forgot to respond to a few texts and you get all stubborn?” Nico asks incredulously.

“It wasn’t just a few texts,” Jack pouts, “You keep ditching me. Thought you didn’t want to talk to me at all.”

Nico pulls away for real this time, leans back far enough that Jack can see his entire face instead of snatches of lips and eyes and red cheeks. The look on his face, it isn’t angry or annoyed– it’s fond. Satisfied. “I always want to talk to you, Jack. Don’t you know that?”

“I didn’t when you were ignoring me,” Jack murmurs.

The hand in his hair relaxes, combing gently through the locks instead of twisting them. “Alright,” Nico says, still painfully enamored, “That’s my mistake, then. Let me apologize.”

Jack lets him. Happily. The offseason is long. If he tries, he can drag this out for a long time, make Nico make it up to him for months. Jack isn’t ashamed to admit that he’ll do it as long as he can. Better yet, Nico will let him, and know what he’s up to the whole time anyway.

That’s the best part about them, Jack supposes. They know each other. On and off the ice. On and off each other. Maybe it’ll be a long summer, but God, it’s going to be a good one.

hockey tag list: empty for now!

talked about this to @faerieroyal ily

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[theboywithburninghands]

Hello and Happy Pride! I have the penultimate chapter of the murder mystery au for you. It’s a doozy, there’s romance and conspiracy and root beer. Enjoy!

T/W: Murder, suicide, mild surgery, emotional abuse, fantasy racism

Animals Ch. 4: Dogs

You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to

So that when they turn their backs on you,

You'll get the chance to put the knife in…

—

Pomni was dimly aware of a deep ache in her side. This pain wrestled her from sleep, and she blinked awake. She looked up, but instead of her apartment’s cheap popcorn ceiling, she saw a ceiling with visible oak joists and beams. She looked down at herself, and saw a red and black checkered wool throw blanket wrapped around her rather than her quilt. She looked around and saw herself in a wood cabin, sparsely decorated. A sturdy wooden table and chairs in the middle of the main room, a braided, dull-colored wool rug laid across the floor to keep one’s feet warm, a brick fireplace with a shovelful of still warm ash in the hearth. Tilting her all the way up, she could see a small CRT television sat on an end table, in front of a cheap brown loveseat with red chenille cushions. It looked like someone had slept there last night, the pillows stacked at one end and a rumpled blue blanket on the couch.

She raised her arm to check her watch. It hurt a lot. She saw that her arm had been wrapped up in elastic gauze, but her watch was still on her wrist, although the screen had cracked. 7:21 AM. She moved the blanket aside with her left hand, her good hand, to look at herself. She was in a black t-shirt too large for her that appeared to be ruined by a bleach stain, and what appeared to be a pair of red long johns, also too big for her.

She heard the flush of a toilet and a door open at the far end of the room, but she couldn’t turn all the way to look without aggravating the pain in her stomach. A heavy pair of boots approached the bed, and she thought about throwing the blanket over her head like a child hiding from the monster in her closet.

“Hey. You’re up.”

A deep and growly voice greeted her. Above her stood a burly rabbit-wolf hybrid in a white collared shirt, black dress pants and a pair of black suspenders. He smiled sheepishly, trying not to show too much of his enormous teeth. She recognized him. He was the butcher shop owner.

His name was… Jax.

“Sorry, I just got back from feeding my livestock…Do you remember what happened last night?” the rabbit asked.

Pomni thought. She came home, and she couldn’t get in her apartment, and then…

“You got attacked by a Nightwalker,” the rabbit-wolf said. “I’m not sure what happened before then, but I found it biting into your side right outside your apartment. I know you probably feel horrible, and I don’t blame you, but you actually got sorta lucky. Nightwalkers like to travel in packs, so you probably ran into one that had wandered off from the group. A juvenile or runt or something.”

Pomni looked at him with big eyes. He cleared his throat.

“We should get you to the hospital as soon as we can. I patched you up as best I could, but I’m no doctor. You prolly need stitches.”

He looked at her again. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Jax’s ears pinned back, and he scratched behind one of them.

“…Uh. You were freezing too, so I had to warm you up by the fire and get you into dry clothes. Didn’t want you to get hypothermia…” His ears perked up. “A-Are you hungry? I can make you some food.”

Pomni opened her mouth to speak, but an eruption of coughing came out of her instead. She winced at the pain that flared in her abdomen when she did, clutching at her belly after her throat was sated.

Jax looked away with a grimace. “I know, I’m sorry… hang on, I might have something for the pain and cough. It’s not much, but…”

Jax looked inside the first aid kit he left sitting on the table. There was a small packet of extra strength aspirin inside that he gingerly opened with his large fingers. He went into his bathroom and found some acetaminophen in the medicine cabinet, filling a small glass cup with water from his kitchen tap. He carried the pills in one hand and the cup in the other.

“Can you sit up? I don’t want you to choke.” he asked.

Pomni attempted to scoot up in bed, but the nerves in her arm flashed with a pain that cut right to her ulna and she whimpered.

“Here, I’ll be quick,” Jax set the pills and water on the table and gently put his paws under her armpits, sliding her up against the headboard. She whined from the brief pain, but she remained sat up as Jax brought a chair over to the side of the bed and picked up the medicine and cup again.

“Open,” he requested. She opened her mouth and he put the pills on her tongue, bringing the brim of the glass to her lips. “Easy…”

She drained the entire thing, panting and then coughing again, her face crumpling in pain.

“That's all I got,” he growled meekly, putting a paw onto her left shoulder.

Pomni panted, sniffed twice through a clogged nose, swallowed, and managed to speak.

“Jax… weren’t you in jail? Did you… escape..?” Her voice was raspy.

Jax smiled a bit, still doing his best to hide his fangs. “Nah, I got bailed out. No idea who did it. My dad’s never seen that much scratch in his life.”

“Zooble wanted to bail you out yesterday but they didn’t have enough money…” Pomni mumbled.

“Sounds like them. Nah, I got no idea who did it. But I’m glad they did, cuz that way I was in time to get that Nightwalker off you. What were you doing outside?” Jax asked.

“I got locked out… Slipped and fell on the steps… I lost my keys at Kaufmo’s house…” Pomni rasped.

“Kaufmo’s house?”

“I went yesterday… I wanted to see if there was…” Pomni had to stop to swallow, smothering another cough. “If there was anything that might implicate someone else for his… you know… murder.”

Jax tilted his head, letting out a short, breathy laugh. “That’s… Uh, why? I mean, thank you, but-”

“Because you didn’t do it. I know you didn’t do it. Those detectives… I saw the way they looked at you. It wasn’t fair…”

Pomni bit down on her left hand’s fingernails. “But… if you got bailed out, then it was for nothing, wasn’t it..?”

“No,” Jax leaned forward a bit. “That’s… I don’t think any stranger’s ever stuck their neck out for me like that. Thank you.”

Jax smiled again. It was too wide to hide his large, frightening teeth, but Pomni’s pale face became dusted with pink anyway.

“We didn’t find anything anyway before the repo men got there. Just a bunch of pills and a scrap of burnt up paper someone flushed down the toilet…” she wheezed.

Pomni coughed again, groaning at the pain it caused her. Jax rubbed her shoulder.

“We should go to the hospital. I’m not all that hungry right now… But I don’t know if I can walk.” Pomni admitted. “Is it cold out?”

“Uh, I can turn the weather on.”

Jax got up from his chair and pressed the power button of his television with a hollow tink sound. The screen hissed to life, and the audio kicked in.

“-surprised everyone yesterday when he posted bail for Mr. Kingston.”

Jax’s eyes widened somewhat, and he sat down on the loveseat. The same news anchor that was interviewing Jax’s dad on Main Street yesterday now stood in front of the police station. The scene cut to Autumnvale’s mayor, a teeth-humanoid in an impeccably tailored red suit jacket and yellow scarf, standing at a podium in front of town hall.

“The people of Autumnvale have made their stance quite clear. The persecution of crossbreeds is already intolerable enough as it is, and the demonstration out here has shown that Autumnvale is just as tired of it as I am. Therefore, due to my dissatisfaction with the investigation and the evidence, I posted Jax Kingston’s bail yesterday evening.”

The crowd erupted into equal parts cheers and shouts of protests. The picture cut back to the news anchor.

“Police informed ADC news this morning that Mr. Kingston was privately released at 6:15 last night to avoid a scene. The detectives who arrested Mr. Kingston, as well as Kingston himself, have yet to be reached for comment.”

Pomni couldn’t quite turn to look due to her injuries, but she heard Jax give a short, incredulous laugh.

“I’ll be goddamned… Mayor Mason actually did it.”

He gave another short laugh, switching channels on the television to the weather.

“Do you know him..? The mayor?” Pomni asked. She couldn't help but smile right along with the butcher.

“He saved me. He found me when I was a baby, after my fake parents abandoned me. He also helped these grow in.”

Jax showed off his entire maw of razor sharp teeth. Pomni couldn’t help but shiver, despite how kind he had been. When something had big teeth, it was scary, a primal feeling buried deep in her animal brain.

“Is that… a good thing?” Pomni asked.

“Suuure it is. I’m part wolf, meat’s part of my diet. Plus, if I didn’t have that passion, I never would have opened the best butcher shop in the country.”

Pomni smiled again. “Well, I’m happy for you. But we still don’t know who actually did it… Killed Kaufmo I mean.”

“That can wait. You need the hospital. The only issue is, it’s not getting above 23 degrees today, and your snow clothes got… really messed up.”

Jax picked up her puffer jacket with the massive hole ripped in the side from off the table, and in his other hand, showed her fleece and black long sleeved shirt, the blood had dried on both to the point that it would probably never come out in the wash, unless said wash contained antimatter.

“Ohhh… my mom bought those for me…” Pomni said weakly. “They were part of my going away present…”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to sew.” Jax replied. “Ragatha might, but I don’t even think she could fix a mess this bad… But the good news is, I’ve got spare winter stuff. I used to wear it as a teenager, but it’ll probably still be big on you…”

He went over to the wood trunk at the foot of the bed and opened it, the hinges squeaking. After a few moments of rustling, he got out an insulated brown leather jacket with cream fur trim, a gray trapper hat and baggy, dark green squall pants.

“It’s not Gucci, but it beats freezing.” Jax said.

“You know what? That’s fine with me-” Pomni had another coughing fit, clutching her midsection in pain.

“Fuck..!” she exclaimed.

Jax rose to his feet, putting the chair back under his table. “Yup, that’s my cue to get you to the hospital. You need help getting dressed?”

“Uh… no, I uh…” she stammered with a blush.

“Look, I already cleaned you up and got you changed into dry clothes last night, so it’s no big deal. I don’t want you torturing yourself over pride or anything.” Jax said, looking up at the ceiling.

“I mean… I can do it. Just… if I need help, I’ll… call you? I guess?”

“Sure. I can hang out in the bathroom. Just holler if you need anything, okay?” Jax said. He set the clothes down on his bed, tucked his hands into the pockets of his work pants and stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

It took a good fifteen minutes and a great deal of whinging on her part, but Pomni got herself dressed. The only thing that hadn’t been swapped for something dry and warm was her underwear, which she silently appreciated quite a bit. She examined the bandages on her belly, which were reddish-brown with blood, but otherwise fairly clean. The wounds on her forehead and back had been washed and bandaged as well, although a few locks of her hair were quite sticky with dried blood. She needed a shower when it was safe to take one.

“Okay, I’m done.” Pomni called out, sitting on Jax’s bed.

Jax exited the bathroom and smirked upon seeing Pomni.

“I know, I know, I look like I’m wearing my dad’s clothes.” Pomni sighed.

“You look cute.” Jax replied.

Pomni felt her cheeks warm up. “Th-Thanks… so, are we just gonna call an ambulance? Since I don’t feel strong enough to walk…”

“Haven’t got a phone. I can walk you there.” Jax said. “What would be the most comfortable way for me to carry you?”

“You don’t have a car..? Or a horse?” Pomni asked.

“Nope. I get everywhere on my own two feet. When you’ve lived in this backwater as long as I have, you get good at moving around quickly and quietly.”

Pomni sighed. “Okay, fine. I guess we don’t have a choice, really.”

“What? Are you worried I’ll drop you? I carried you all the way here before, didn’t I? While running.”

Pomni sighed. “Okay. But before we go, can we get my keys? I know they’re still sitting there under his back window…”

“I’ll get ‘em after I drop you off. Hospital first. Come on, upsy.”

Jax scooped Pomni up carefully, placing his hands around the gash on her back. Pomni made a faint squeak in surprise, but luckily, he didn’t aggravate her wound. He must have gotten really good at picking up dead weight over the years.

“Shit, you’re tiny. Like lifting a bag of corncobs.” Jax grinned. Up close his teeth were even bigger than they looked, each one about the length of a toothpick.

“Yeah, well… you stink.” Pomni shot back. “You always use bacon grease as soap?”

Jax laughed. His chest bounced. “As if you can smell anything right now.”

“I can smell you. You ever thought about bathing once every few years?” Pomni covered her nose, but her smirk betrayed a playfulness to the gesture.

He opened the door to outside, shutting the door behind him and locking the door. Impressively, he balanced her on one palm and still managed to keep his hand off her back wound.

The morning air was freezing, as expected. Pomni felt a wave of shivers roll through her body upon feeling the bitter winter cold again. She felt her body gearing up for another coughing fit and clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha…” Jax said.

She let out a painful, barking cough into her gloves. She winced from the pain, which was only mildly dulled from the pill Jax gave her. As it finally subsided, she turned her head to the side and spat a gob of phlegm into the snow.

“Nice shot,” Jax chuckled.

“Mmmrrrrgh…” was the only thing Pomni managed to say. She rested her cheek against his chest. The warmth felt good.

—

While Dr. Wren’s office was the town psychiatric clinic, Autumnvale Regional Medical Center was where citizens were treated for injuries or sickness. It was a small building not too far from town, only one floor with twenty beds, five nurses and three doctors.

The nurse at the reception desk did a double take from her pulpy romance novel when a six foot tall rabbit-wolf entered the lobby, carrying what looked at first like a bundle of clothes, but was actually an adult woman.

“She fell down some stairs and got attacked by a Nightwalker. I did my best to patch her up, but she needs real medicine and stitches. It hurts for her to walk, too.”

The nurse narrowed her eyes at Jax before looking at Pomni. “You… fell down some stairs..?”

Pomni caught on immediately and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I fell down some stairs. He didn’t do this to me. He saved my fucking life, actually.”

She let out another barrage of coughs and groaned in pain, Jax smiling gratefully at her,

The nurse soon had Pomni in a wheelchair, taking her to the emergency room. The surgeon, a Persian woman almost as short as Pomni with rectangular glasses and bright red lipstick, tended to her. She applied some local anesthesia to Pomni’s belly and removed the bandages, Pomni only feeling a faint rip as her skin had gone totally numb.

“You know, these are cleaned and dressed quite professionally,” the surgeon said as she removed the gauze from the bite mark with a pair of forceps. “Your friend out there did a fine job. So, tell me what happened?”

Pomni thought a moment. It was easier to focus now that the pain had finally been put on mute. “There was this… I don’t want to call it a dog, it had hooves and no hair…”

“Nightwalker,” the surgeon said, picking up her suturing needle and threading it with Kevlar. “Awful monsters, they are. They come in all different shapes and sizes. Some of them move on two legs, like people. Some of them have too many arms and legs.”

“Uh huh. Well it came over and bit me, hard. It must have seen I was already hurt. But Jax… he got it with a knife and carried me to his house. I would’ve bled out or froze without him…”

Pomni coughed, the nurse giving her a menthol drop to soothe her throat so she wouldn’t jostle the surgeon’s needlework.

“Well, we’re all glad you’re safe. Did you ever find your keys?” the surgeon asked with a slight smile.

“No, but I know where they are…” Pomni said, sucking on the menthol drop. It felt great on her throat but tasted like chemical honey. “Jax said he’d go get them.”

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad you have someone who can look after you here, even if you’re from out of town…” the surgeon said as she cut off the thread with a pair of scissors before moving to the next bite. “Your wounds aren’t infected, but we are going to give you a tetanus and rabies shot just in case. I’m also going to give you some painkillers, are you allergic to any medication?”

“I have a sulfa sensitivity,” Pomni said. “Oh, I am on antidepressants though… I have the pills in my apartment.”

“We can probably give you some if we have any in the hospital pharmacy. I’ll have to check if they haven’t expired. Have you had anything to eat?” the surgeon inquired.

“No. Since my stomach doesn’t hurt right now, I could go for something to eat. I also need to call my parents. Man, they’re gonna be pissed…”

“Don’t be silly, they’ll be worried and relieved. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times.” the surgeon replied as she started on the next wound.

Pomni sighed. She supposed the surgeon was right, but she really hoped that her parents didn’t panic and want to take her back home. She was four hours away from the big city anyway, it wasn’t like it was a short trip for them. She had work to do as well, not just for school.

—

Jax sifted through the snow under Kaufmo’s back window. The drift wasn’t as heavy due to a colossal pine tree that had probably been here since before the town was even founded, but it was enough to hide a small object like keys.

Eventually, he found a few bits and bobs that might be in a lady’s purse buried in an inconspicuous patch of snow: a half eaten roll of breath mints, a bobby pin, and a ring of keys. Jax held up the keys between his thumb and pointer finger. It was one of those flimsy 99 cent things you could buy at any gas station, with two keys and a little charm dangling off one side. The charm appeared to depict a little blue smiling face with black eyes and sharp teeth.

“Hm. Cute,” Jax said to himself as he tucked the keys into his pocket. He looked into the window . So she had really gone in there looking for clues, huh? Brave of her, if careless. Well, now that the government repossessed all of Kaufmo’s things (he probably didn’t have a will), whatever clues there may have been were long gone.

That is, unless the cleaners hadn’t come yet.

Jax shaded his eyes and looked into the window. Too dark to tell. He tried the window. It was locked. He tried again, a little harder. It didn’t move. He tried again with his full strength. There was a loud twuuuuuung accompanied by the sound of metal clinking across a wooden floor, and the window slid open. Jax double checked to see if anybody was around, then climbed inside.

There wasn’t any furniture at all in the condo, really. The refrigerator in the kitchen appeared to be the only thing left. The hardwood was covered in gritty bits of crud that must have been under rugs, dust bunnies and a couple bits of loose change and chewed pen caps that had lived under couches and chairs for who knows how long. It smelled dusty and lonely. Jax rubbed his nose.

He took a brief look inside the bathroom. It was still a bit grimy, but otherwise empty. He checked the mirror cabinet. Empty. He opened the toilet lid, then closed it. Yeah, he wasn’t about to go sticking a paw in there, sorry Pomni.

He checked the last room, the bedroom. It was the only room with carpeting, and thus Jax could see where everything used to be thanks to the impressions in the floor. A bed, a dresser, something like a bookshelf or wardrobe. That was it. There was another window to the outside, but it wasn’t like you could take those out of the house too. Nothing in the closet either.

He turned to leave out the window he came through when his boot kicked something tiny on the carpet, about the size of a pebble you’d put in an aquarium. It skittered across the carpet and tapped the wall, coming to rest after rolling a short distance. Jax picked it up and held it towards the light filtering through the window.

A capsule, half blue and half orange. The blue side marked with a string of letters, TEBA, the orange marked with numbers, 7199. He sniffed it. Smelled like… the floor. His sense of smell was good, but he couldn’t pinpoint what a pill was for just by sniffing it once. He put it in his back pocket for later, then stepped out of the window into the snow. Maybe Pomni knew what it was for, or one of the doctors at the hospital. He crunched up the sidewalk back towards the hospital. He was always thankful for his fur, it was like having a coat year-round.

“KINGSTON!”

Jax’s long ears sprung straight up upon hearing a voice call for him. He growled and turned, expecting to see Trevor or some other goon waiting to pick a fight for “getting off easy.”

Instead, it was two people on a striped horse. The person in the rear clambered off the back and ran forward, a chess piece shaped fellow in a red flannel jacket and bucket fishing hat.

“Jax..! Oh, my boy!” Kinger threw his hands around Jax’s burly torso and pressed an ear to his chest, squeezing him with all his might.

“Dad..! Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t…” Jax began. He could feel Kinger’s breath and shoulders hitching.

“We all thought they were gonna put you away forever, Jax…” Kinger whispered, tears running down his face.

“…I did too, dad.” Jax replied tenderly. He hugged the old man back as tight as he could without hurting him. His real dad.

“I’m so glad you’re here…” Kinger sobbed.

“Me too… I’m sorry I didn’t call, really. Something huge came up, I- OOF!”

Jax felt a fist box him in the side. He looked over to see Zooble, their fist raised and quaking.

“Something came up, huh? It better have been life or death, you stupid! Meathead! Asshole!” Zooble punctuated the last three words with three more sharp blows to the side. Jax’s arms were still around his adoptive father and thus too preoccupied for a counter hit.

“Zooble, cut it out already, that shit hurts! Sorry dad…”

The cowboy relented with a huff and hugged Jax as well. The butcher rolled his eyes, but smiled and put an arm around them too.

“So what was so important you couldn’t let your friends and family know you were outta jail?” Zooble demanded.

“That art student girl, Pomni, she- I was on my to vi- I was on my way home and I saw her getting attacked by a Nightwalker. She needed help.” Jax explained.

Zooble withdrew and tilted up their hat incredulously. “Wait, Pomni? Seriously?! I just saw her yesterday, we were casing Kaufmo’s place over there for any evidence that might get you off the hook? She got attacked! Shit, man, I hope it wasn’t ‘cause I left her behind…”

“Good job son! Killing a Nightwalker all on your own… your mother would have been proud!” Kinger said, at last releasing Jax and wiping his eyes.

“I know she would’ve, dad… But no, it wasn’t you, Zooble. She lost her keys.” Jax held up and jingled Pomni’s keychain. “She’s in the hospital now if you want to see her. I had to keep her from bleeding to death last night…”

“Ugh. What a fuckin’ mess… Sorry, Kinger. I’m glad she’s okay though.” Zooble said, putting their hand and hook on their hips.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Jax,” Kinger said. “And good for you for helping a stranger. I raised you right.”

“You know she’s got a crush on you, right?” Zooble added, a smile in their voice. Jax arched an eyebrow.

“What? Don’t be stupid. She’s just thankful someone was around to save her skinny little butt.”

“Ohhhh no no, we figured it out yesterday. She’s got a huuuge crush on you. I bet she thinks you’re her knight in shining armor now.” Zooble elbowed the butcher in the side.

Jax scoffed, but there was an unmistakable shy smile on his face for a moment before it turned into a smirk.

“A crush, huh? You mean like the kind you have on Gangle?”

Zooble rolled their eyes. “This again? Don’t try and change the subject, man.”

“I’m not. I’m very much still on the subject of crushes. In fact, I think I was just thinking about what those flowers left by Kaufmo’s house were originally for. There was a card left in the bouquet.”

Jax removed a small paper card with elegant lavender cursive written on it from his back pocket. Zooble somehow turned even more pink.

“Let’s see, ‘To Gangle, From Your Secret Admirer,’ with two little hearts after it! How cute! Now who do ya think coulda left that there, hm?”

Zooble flicked the card out of Jax’s paw and pulled the brim of their hat almost entirely over their face, climbing up onto ZigZag.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital, FangFace. I’m gonna go tell Ragatha about what happened and hope she doesn’t swoon.”

“You better tell Gangle too. Unless you’d rather send her a card, ‘Secret Admirer.’” Jax leered, feral teeth on full display.

He ducked an apple thrown at his head, waved goodbye to his dad, and watched the two of them ride off into the distance.

Jax put his hands in his pockets, smiling a little less wickedly to himself. So, she had a crush, huh? He couldn’t think of a time anyone had ever liked him like that. There had been a few disgusting remarks thrown his way by some of the lint-brained, redneck wife-beaters that hung around the bar and hardware store. It must have been some kind of weird sexual racism thing, where you hate someone for their race but at the same time think they’re hot. Gangle told him about it once. He didn’t much care why. The mouths that issued those taunts now had significantly less teeth or tongues in their heads anyway.

But… he was alright with this. He liked her too, and it felt good. For ages, he didn’t understand stories with romance in them. Putting your mouth on someone else’s mouth and calling them cute things always felt weird and sort of childish to him.

But… Now he got it. Maybe he could try doing those things with her, if she was okay with it. He’d have to watch his teeth though.

—

Pomni had been on the phone with her mother for almost 30 minutes. The nurse, a sheep woman, had sat her in a wheelchair and trundled her down to the white corded phone on the wall.

“Of course I understand, mom, but I’m not going home… Because I’m okay on my own… I’m 25, mom! If something happens with my stitches, I’ll just call an ambulance… Yes, they have ambulances here, mom, they’re not Amish… Mom, I have insurance, you helped me set it up! I’m not going to max out my copayments, I- look, can I talk to dad? Well, when’ll he be home..? Oh, okay. You didn’t tell him I was in critical condition or anything, right? Thank you.”

Ragatha sat nearby, reading the newspaper. She had, of course, dropped everything and closed the café when Zooble informed her about Pomni’s ordeal, rushing over to the hospital to check on her. Ragatha had tried to call Pomni twice the previous evening to let her know about Jax being bailed out, and was nervous the rest of the night upon not getting an answer back. Sitting here and keeping an eye on Pomni helped curb some of the guilt she felt, however irrational it was.

“Everyone locks their doors around 6:30 or 7:00 around here, and now I kinda understand why… I’m only joking, mom… Um, I don’t know about tonight, it’s a four hour drive. Okay. Okay, well, if you’re dead set on coming tonight, leave ASAP, and book the room now. Like, now now. I know you’re worried, mom, but I don’t want you or dad getting hurt… Uh… Shoot, I don’t know the name of the inn. Do you want to talk to Ragatha? She can help. I need something to drink, anyway, my throat hurts... It’s just a cold, mom. Okay, here she is. Love you too, talk in a sec.”

Ragatha was over by the phone in a heartbeat, Pomni handing it off to her and wheeling her way down the hall towards the drink machine.

“Hi, Ella! Holding up okay?” Ragatha said in her sweetest voice. “Oh, I understand, all of us are shaken up. But she’s a tough girl, she’s doing awesome. Okay, you got a pencil?”

Pomni reached the humming drink machine and took her pocketbook out of her purse. She shook out a few coins into her palm, sorted out three quarters and poured the rest back in. She reached up to the machine’s coin slot gingerly and dropped in two quarters. The surgeon told her to not bend too far up or down to keep from popping any stitches, so she had to awkwardly push the coins in with the very tip of fingers to avoid stretching her arm out. The last quarter slipped off her finger and chinged onto the floor, rolling a few feet away before laying tails-side up.

“Goddamn it…” Pomni rolled her eyes and reopened her pocketbook. She didn’t want to risk ripping her sutures.

“Here,” a deep voice said.

Pomni looked up to see Jax picking up the quarter and sliding it into the coin slot. From her sitting position, he looked even taller.

“What do you feel like?” he asked, hovering a finger over the selection buttons.

“Root beer, thanks,” Pomni said with a smile.

Jax pressed the appropriate button with his thumb, the machine whirring for a moment before a silver can of Barker’s Root Beer clunked noisily into the vending slot. Jax picked up the can and cracked the pop top. He sniffed it and recoiled.

“Smells like medicine,” he said as he handed it off to Pomni.

“I just took painkillers, a decongestant and my anti-depressants, I know what medicine tastes like.” Pomni smirked.

She took three long swallows of root beer, the manufactured hyper-sweet taste like ambrosia after the pills and bland hospital food, the cold and prickly bubbles easing the dryness of her throat. She belched, grimacing in disgust and putting a fist to her mouth.

“Euck- okay, that tasted like medicine…”

Jax laughed a bit, then reached into his pocket and offered Pomni her keys. “These are yours, right?”

“You found them…”

As she took the keys , she turned over his large paw and placed a small kiss on his knuckle. Jax looked at the back of his hand like it had suddenly grown an extra finger.

“Sorry,” Pomni giggled, blushing. “Was that too much?”

“No, it… I just… I’ve only ever gotten those from my mother.” he replied distantly.

Pomni smiled. For all his razortooth smiles and talk of blood and butchery, there still existed something warm and fragile inside that bulky frame.

“I could give you one on the lips too, if you wanted.” Pomni said, keeping her gaze on the floor.

Jax’s moon yellow eyes widened somewhat. He scratched the back of his head and looked at the ceiling for a moment before looking back down with a short laugh.

“Why?” he asked.

“I want to,” Pomni answered without hesitating.

Jax opened his mouth to answer. He found he had no words. He gently gripped the armrests of Pomni’s wheelchair and lowered his upper body down to her eye level. Up close, he looked… fluffy. Downright huggable. His eyes, usually so laser-focused and piercing, darted about.

Pomni went for it. She leaned in carefully and laid a chaste kiss on the rabbit-wolf’s lips. Jax’s ears pinned back, but his eyes closed with hers for the moment it lasted.

The kiss broke, only lasting a moment or two, and the two of them stared at one another.

“My breath wasn’t bad, was it?” Jax asked with a sheepish, sharp-toothed smile.

“It can’t have been any worse than mine, I haven’t even brushed my teeth today.” Pomni replied.

The two of them laughed shyly, before Pomni touched her forehead with Jax’s and closed her eyes.

“Thank you for everything…” she whispered.

“Pomni, hun! Your dad is on the phone!” Ragatha called from around the corner.

“Coming!” she replied, her voice still slightly weak. She gave Jax one more grateful smile before turning her chair around and wheeling towards the corner.

“Oh! Pomni, wait! I found something at Kaufmo’s house.” Jax took hold of one of the push handles to keep Pomni from leaving, taking the capsule out of his back pocket. “Look. You said he dumped all his medicine, right?”

Pomni handed Jax her drink as she took the pill from his paw.

“Oh. Yeah, this is- this is like the kind I take! It’s Prozac. Or the generic version of it, at least. It-”

Pomni blinked, then held the pill closer to her eyes and squinted. She thought for a moment before she gasped and covered her mouth.

“What?” Jax asked urgently.

“I think I know what happened to Kaufmo.”

“What? Seriously? You’re not just-”

Pomni nodded feverishly. “I think I’m onto something. But there’s one thing I need you to do for me before we go pointing any fingers.”

Pomni handed Jax back the pill, whispered something to him, then wheeled forward, only for Jax to grab a push handle again.

“Wait, how am I supposed to convince them to do that?!” Jax demanded.

“Use their biggest weakness against them. Be scary.” Pomni said with a smile before wheeling around the corner.

“Ragatha! Do you have any idea how to get in contact with ADC?”

2 hours later…

The news anchor checked her makeup one last time before taking her mark, in front of the hospital by the double door entrance. The protestors from the previous day had gathered outside, some carrying signs congratulating Jax, others had signs asking for more justice to be served on the part of crossbreeds. The news anchor tapped her earpiece.

“We’re rolling? Okay- Thanks, Rob, many folks in Autumnvale, including myself, were floored to hear this afternoon’s story. 22-year-old Jax Kingston, proprietor of the town butcher shop, faced arrest on suspicion of murder only yesterday. However, Autumnvale’s Mayor Caine Mason posted Kingston’s half-a-million dollar bail out of his own pocket, citing ‘dissatisfaction with the evidence and investigation.’ And it would appear that Mr. Kingston did something truly heroic not fifteen minutes after he was released from the town jail.”

The footage cut to B-Roll of a young woman in a hospital bed talking to a nurse.

“25-year-old grad student Pomni Freeman found herself in a life or death situation at 6:30 last night, when she fell down the flight of stairs outside her apartment and encountered a juvenile Nightwalker waiting for her at the bottom.”

It cut to Pomni laying in her bed. She looked quite tired.

“It just walked up and bit me in the stomach. Like it was the most natural thing in the world…” she said.

“It must have been terrifying. Can you even describe how you felt?” the interviewer said from off camera.

“Like I was going to die. Alone, cold and screaming…” Pomni replied dourly.

The news anchor continued.

“But, in a miraculous stroke of luck, Kingston heard her screaming and rushed in.”

It cut to Jax being interviewed. He loomed over the entire news crew. The boom mic operator had to stand on a stepladder.

“I got the monster off of her, then I got her somewhere safe.” he grunted.

“How did you feel?” the interviewer asked.

“…Afraid.” he responded after a lengthy pause. “Afraid for her.”

It cut to B-Roll footage of the mayor, Caine Mason, at his desk, working on some important-looking paperwork.

“ADC was informed of these events via an anonymous tip just a few hours after the mayor announced that he bailed out Mr. Kingston, ”

It cut to Caine, at his desk, fingers knit together.

“Hopefully this will serve as an example of how crossbred people are just as deserving of our respect as anyone else. This is a landmark moment.” he said.

The camera cut back to the news anchor.

“But not everyone agrees, Rob. As you can see, some townsfolk have gathered outside Autumnvale Regional Medical Center behind me, some to celebrate Mr. Kingston’s achievement, others to-”

There was a commotion behind the anchor. The crowd appeared to be agitated by something occurring at the entrance.

A shape humanoid in a green and yellow poncho and cowboy hat had wrestled the megaphone out of Dr. Wren’s hand, shouting into it.

“EVERYONE LISTEN UP! Pomni Freeman has an important announcement regarding the…uh…”

They paused, looking at a nearby woman made of ribbons and a white mask for help. She whispered a few things to them, and they spoke up again.

“…regarding the encouraged suicide of Kaufmo.”

The news anchor waved at her cameraman, “Keep rolling, keep rolling!”

Pomni Freeman, still in her wheelchair but wearing a brown leather jacket and a gray trapper hat, both too large for her, and rolled over to take the bullhorn. Jax stood right beside her.

“Test, test… Okay. Uh. Hi, everyone. I can’t talk very loud, I have a cold. Uh, as you know, Jax Kingston has been the chief suspect in this case. But… I’ve uncovered some evidence that proves otherwise. I know I’m not a cop, and I’m willing to sacrifice my scholarship for the evidence I’ve obtained. The truth is… Kaufmo really did just kill himself.”

She held up a small blue and orange capsule.

“Uh, this is Fluoxetine Maleate, also called Prozac. It’s an SSRI that helps with anxiety and depression. Kaufmo took these just as I take them, every morning. The one I’ve got right here, it’s a fake. A placebo. I had Jax ask one of the doctors to check and make sure it was a real pill, pretending it was one of the ones I got from the pharmacy. I’m… sorry I lied to the hospital staff, but you wouldn’t have believed me if I had just asked you to analyze it. I have the proof right here…”

She held up some complicated looking paperwork.

“What tipped me off was the letters and numbers on the capsule. Anyone that takes generic Prozac will tell you the pattern on the capsules is always TEVA-7189. This one says TEBA-7188. It’s just a capsule of sugar.”

There was a murmur in the crowd.

“Kaufmo was on fake antidepressants. That’s why he killed himself. He was taking all different sorts of medication, but he wasn’t improving. So… he gave up. He decided to end it… Nothing was helping… But why? Why was it all phony?”

She turned slowly to glare at Dr. Wren.

“I know what you did, you twisted fuck.”

“What I- excuse me?” Dr. Wren replied.

“You call yourself a doctor? You gave Kaufmo placebos for who knows how long, so his depression got worse. Then, when the poor man offed himself, you dumped the fake pills, and replaced them with real ones in case someone ever tried testing them. I found all those pills you flushed down the toilet!

“But that wasn’t the only thing you flushed, was it? Nope. You burnt something and flushed it down the toilet too. Right? What was it? Something to push him over the edge even further. Hate mail? Some kind of threat? Something that would make him lose all hope. The final nail in the coffin for him to end it all.”

Dr. Wren had gone red in the face. “Young lady, these are completely baseless allegations! How can you say something so-”

“I’m not done! Then, when he hung himself from that pine tree, you slit his arms with one of Jax’s knives, hid the knife badly so the cops would find it and blame Jax, and then you waited for him to get arrested so you could send out a rallying cry to aaall these people who actually wanted to help, and you could look like a hero. Well, I hate to tell you, Dr. Wren. You’re not a hero. You’re a freak! All you did was bully a man that everyone loved into killing himself, then you made the guy who was already the town pariah into the main suspect because it looked good to defend him!”

“Stop this right now! You’re demeaning an entire movement with your lies! You don’t-” Dr. Wren let out an incredulous laugh. “You don’t have any proof that one word of your insane story is true!”

“You’re right… I don’t,” Pomni replied. “None of this has any hard evidence, there’s not even any proof that this pill came from Kaufmo’s house. Just my word. But guess what? You’re the only one that can prescribe anti-depressants around here, and I’ve got proof that these didn’t come from the hospital pharmacy and that they’re fake! I don’t care if you don’t get convicted! I don’t care if this all gets thrown out in court and you walk! You’re DONE. I know that you’re guilty! And now everyone else knows you’re guilty! Here in town and out in tv-land!”

Pomni pointed the bullhorn at the news crew, who were still rolling. She turned back towards Dr. Wren, whose face had bleached.

“Congratu-fuckin’-lations! You made a good movement look worse and you took a man’s life away! Was it worth it? Do you feel like a hero?!”

Pomni devolved into a coughing fit, dropping the bullhorn to the ground with a clatter. Jax held her handkerchief to her mouth, then wheeled her back towards the hospital entrance, the cowboy and ribbon woman following after them. A growing murmur began to rise in the crowd, Dr. Wren staring dead-eyed into space. The news anchor turned back to the camera and swept her hair out of her face, clearing her throat.

“Well. I guess that’s back to you, Rob.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Coming!

Media IRL

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating Flirty

I stood in the bedroom, looking at every inch of me in my mirror. I couldn't stop picking at myself all my little tiny details all the things I would change if I could.

"My cheeks are too chubby, I don't have like smooth cheekbones,"

"Your cheeks are fine Y/n," Thomas answers from the bed, where he sits against the headboard with some sort of... I don't actually know what is is some puzzler thing his friends set him he'd been battling with it for four days and had yet to get anywhere with it. 

"But they're chubby,"

"Exactly, I can pinch them." he smiled, "Pinchy pinchy," He smiled trying to pinch my cheek but I batted his hand away, "No! Let me crab pinch you." he said trying to pinch my cheeks,

"No! thomas! go back to your damn puzzle cube," I told him

He did so I went back to the mirror, 

"My nose is ugly,"

"I like it, very boopable."

"My eyelids are weird."

"... You're eyelids?"

"Yeah, they should be less winkly and more curved."

"... I never thought eyelids could be unattractive, or even that anyone would look that closely at eyelids." He said, "Well I like them," he shrugged "I think your eyelids are lovely" he said sitting up on his knees making me shut my eyes and kissing my eyelids "Boop" He smiled booping my nose with his own,

"Stop complimenting me thomas."

"Why? You're adorable and I like telling you" he smiled, before sitting back on the bed and grabbing the puzzle box, "Now... reveal your secrets to me cube!" 

"Hmmm... My arms are flabby."

"Your arms are lovely, they give me hugs"

"My neck is too long,"

"... I... too long? its neck is as long as it needs to be. I like your neck, it's long so I have lots of real estate for hickeys and kisses." 

"My waist should be more defined."

"I can wrap my arms around it fine."

"My thighs are too big."

"You're thighs are amazing! they squeeze my head and it's like the best feeling in the world, plus I rest my hand when I'm driving, and you are a very nice handrest, and headrest, and anything rest really," 

"My legs are too short."

"You're legs are your legs love, you can't change them and why would you even if you could, your just the right size to snuggle when we stand up, I get to rest my head on you it makes me very cosy."

"My stomach is too flabby." 

"You're stomach is fine!" He complained, "What is this about?"

"Humm?"

"You. picking at your damn self" he said, "Come here."

"I don't wan-"

"Here. bring that but here before I spank it." he warned so I sat on the bed, "What is the matter y/n? you're perfect, you know I think your perfect, your the most beautiful thing in the world, what's going you like this."

"Lisa..."

"Lisa? what's lisa done now." he sighed already annoyed, 

"She got a nose job today."

"Ahh that... makes a lot of sense now." He nodded, "You're feeling insecure because Lisa is getting plastic surgery."

"Yeah,"

"Why?"

"Becuase she's gonna look perfect after this and it makes me feel... ugly."

"It's gonna make her look like plastic I've seen her plastic surgery plan. she wants a waist of twenty-five inches and E-cup boobs. and she's not going somewhere good, that place she's going to for these advertisements on Facebook...she's gonna end up looking like most people who get cheap plastic surgery, like a weird rubbery sex doll. and that's all she'll be a weird rubbery sex doll with no personality." he explained, "I love you, my beautiful real girl, I love your eyes, your eyelids, your chubby little cheeks, your cute nose, I love everything because there yours love. I see you're body and see the scars and little things people would call imperfections and I see all the little things that make you the way you are, all your little scars and imperfections that show the life we've lived. You're not some airbrushed waxy doll and I wouldn't ever want you to be." 

"You wouldn't? you wouldn't want me to look like a magazine model?"

"God no! they airbrush the crap out of magazines." he laughed, "Would you want me to look like that? all smooth and air brushed, and surgery enhanced?"

"No! I like you just the way you are,"

"see, that's the way I feel about you. Even I'm not a weird waxy doll, I am, weird too everyone is. I have a lot of veins coming through on my hands and arms, I have that weird scar on my leg from that motorbike crash, I don't even get chest hair which I admit does kinda make me sad... but you don't see me going out and sticking astroterf to my chest do you?"

"No," I giggled, 

"See, imperfections are what make us human love, and I love you very very much,"

"Awww I love you too thomas." I smiled, "but you don't think I'd look better if I had bigger boobs."

"... You're boobs are fine love. I like your boobs. They're great." He smiled, "Perfectly hand-sized."

"Is that your attempt at asking to touch my boobs?"

"...Yes." He smiled, 

"Alright" I chuckled and immediately his hands went to my boobs 

"Ummmmm I love these so much. why would anyone wanna shove plastic and filler and junk into this perfect marshmallowy deliciousness." 

"I don't know I kinda feel like my nipples look weird."

"your nipples look weird?" he asked, "I have never ever in my life paid attention to what your nipples look like, I see them... I get excited, I wanna kiss them, play with them and sometimes suck on them. I do not pay the slightest bit of attention to what they look like, I purely care I'm getting to see them the only thought going through my mind is one simple word."

"Which is?"

"yay." He said, "Do. not. change. your boobs. they. are perfect." he said kissing my chest a little as he plaid with my boobs,

"Alright you have fun Tommy," I laughed petting his hair i took his puzzle box and gave it a go myself giving it a tinker and opening it up to reveal a single chocolate truffle

"W-What did you do!" He yelped taking it from me, "How did you- oww... now I'll never figure it out." He sighed 

I rolled my eyes and put the chocolate back inside and shut it up again "There."

"Yes! Thank you, love," he smiled taking it back, "Now show me what you did."

"No, you have to figure it out that's the point of the puzzle box thomas." 

"Fine," he pouts working with it again, 

"Well, I need a shower..." I sighed, getting up and grabbing a towel, 

"Alright, have fun love." he smiled as he worked on the puzzle box,

"You wanna join me?"

"Hu..."

"do you want to join me?"

"In ... in the shower?"

"Yeah,"

"Yes!" 

"Alright let's go," I smiled heading to the bathroom

"Coming!" He excitedly yelled jumping out the bed throwing his shirt and racing after me. 

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The guest PT 19

Masterlist

Jack and Belle walked through the hospital trying to figure out how they would practice the operation when they head the Prof talking to Hetty.

"I was a young man about town with all the trappings. But not the wherewithal to clad myself as I'd have liked. And Astley Cooper let me know that. He was very particular about shirts." The old man whittered.

" Astley Cooper?" Jack asked.

" Yes. "Oh, McGregor," he'd say, "Wearing a cheap shirt again today"?" He laughed.

"Sorry, sir. The man you worked with... You worked with Sir Astley Cooper?" Jack asked.

" Did you happen to see the..." Belle followed him into he room.

"Operation on the aortic ane?" He asked.

" Yes. How did you-?"

"Doctor Sneed asked in passing this morning I assume it's another competition between the two of you." He waved his hand towards Jack.

"Could you tell me about it?" Belle asked.

" Sit down, Dr. Dawkins, Lady Belle, Port?"

"No. Thank you. Do you have any clinical notes?" Jack prompted.

"Oh, God. Somewhere. No matter, I remember it clearly." Jack's eyes flick to Hetty who nods and started looking through the notebooks, "It was rainy that day and I'd forgotten my coat and Cooper said I look like a drowned rat. He was a brilliant bastard."

" The surgery, sir. How did he do it?" Belle asked.

" The challenge is to tie the ligation tight enough to fix the aneurysm, but loose enough to sustain blood flow through the body." The words drifted off as the Prof fell asleep.

" What's he been drinking?" Jack called to Hetty .

"The old Parsons." She replied looking up from the desk.

" Old... That'll knock out a bloody whale." Belle groaned. Jack disappeared for a moment and the women hear him rummaging before coming back with a large syringe. He injects it into the professor's arm and he shoots awake.

"Mother of God!" He shouts

" Sir. What was the ligation? How did he tie it?" Jack was rushed in his words.

" What was that you gave me, Dawkins? It's quite moreish."

" Please, sir, try to remember. What was Cooper's solution?" Belle stood from her seat.

" He didn't have one. Patient died. Bloody awful mess." The prof sighed.

Hetty looks up, a notebook in her hand. The three of them dart from the office making their way through the corridors.

"What on earth? Dawkins! What are you doing here? Gaines has been-" Sneed came rushing up to them but Belle thought quickly.

"Go, I'll find you in a moment." She shoves Jack away and turns back to Sneed. Jack and Hetty rush up to Jack's room where Hetty begins reading through the pages.

"Principle challenges to..." Hetty stops reading aloud.

"What?" Jack feels his stomach clench with fear.

" Here, he goes on about a lovely Sauternes he drank in 1817. Something about a duck pâté. Oh. 'The spinal cord and the aorta. It's extremely dangerous if you...'Some muck all over it. I think it's the pâté. And the rest is all in Latin." Hetty lowers the notebook as Jack drops into the wooden chair in front of her

"For God's sake!" He growled holding his head in his hands.

" You love her, don't you? Then I can see why you wouldn't want to do it." The nurse sighs.

" I will kill her." He says with tears in his eyes.

"What if she dies and you don't try?" She asks. Across the room Belle steps inside, closing the door behind her.

"How is any of this fair?" Jack asks.

" Fair? You've never really loved anyone, have you?" Hetty looks at him with pity, "You peel the skin off your heart and it always hurts. No matter what you do." Belle blinks, she knows that pain all too well. Hetty looked to her.

"You can read Latin," She nods, "You can read Prof's notes."

Belle runs her eye over the old language,

" Yes. Yes. Disagree with that. That's just plainly wrong. I don't need these. Found it from First Principles. What's important is to get the hand positions." Come on Sneed is getting a body ready in the morgue."

"How-? Nevermind let's go." Jack and Belle run from the room leaving Hetty alone. Her heart breaking for too many reasons.

"Cut into the linea alba." Belle said

"All right. I've got that far." Jack replies

"Good. Now, make a small aperture into the peritoneum, insert your finger into the abdomen." She continues, "Pass your finger between the intestines to the spine. And now, push the needle with the ligature behind it." Jack did as she instructed with Sneed watching him.

" So, just shove a needle through y/n's entire body without piercing anything?"he said looking between Jack and Belle.

" Take care not to nick the aorta..." She said.

Jack pushed the needle and his fingers through the corpse, every movement a struggle.

"I can't. ...or break the spinal cord. I can't do this blindly. I will paralyse her or I will kill her." Jack looked up at Sneed.

"No, it's doable. Watch. Belle rushed forward, taking Jack's place, "There. Ligation's tied. No damage to the aorta or the spinal cord." She smiled

" Assuming that I can do this, how do I tie it tight enough to fix it, but not so tightly, it cuts the circulation off completely?" Jack was looking for hope in her eyes

" We'll fill the aorta with water and try." Sneed suggested as he darted across the room.

" Come on, we are so close." Belle huffed when Jack moved away from the heart. His mind was exhausted and hope was slowly fading.

"Move. Clamped." Belle shoved him aside and started working.

" Belle. Please, Belle, stop." Sneed tried to pull her away from the organ.

" No!"

" Stop. It doesn't work. No. It doesn't work. I'm so sorry." Sneed pulled her back and Belle collapsed against him tears falling from her eyes.

"We can't do it." She finally admits.

"No, no we can't give up we just need more time." Sneed says.

"Why do you care? All you've done is try to hurt her." Jack growled through his tears. Belle looked up at Sneed's face, seeing the same look in his eyes that she saw in the mirror.

"You aren't the only one who has fallen in love with y/n Jack."

*_*_*_*

"my turn daddy, my turn!" The boy shouted, gleefully reaching up to him. Jack swapped the children and copied his spin with the boy before lifting the girl up with as well. All three turn to you, their smiles wide.

You run through a door and find yourself standing in a meadow, bathed in a golden glow of the setting sun. Not too far away there is a blanket laid out on the grass, a whicker basket in one corner and food dotted around. It feels peaceful, like a dream. Giggles of children caught your ear and you turn, seeing a crystal clear pond with two young children splashing in the water. With them Jack was playing, his shirt sleeves and trousers legs rolled up to keep them out of the water. He lifted the small girl up and spun her around in the air. She giggled even harder.

"Come mumma, play with us!" The children giggled more. You feel.ypurself walking, the grass soft below your feet, but no matter how far you walked or how fast you could not close the gap between you.

"Y/n?" You hear Jack's voice, but it isn't from the man by the pond, instead it is like it comes from the sky. Twisting around you try to find a way out of the meadow. Trees, tall and dark surround you.

Panic fills you and you start running as fast as your feet would take you until you hit hard against the tree trunks. Your body falls backwards but you don't feel the ground instead you feel yourself landing on your bed. Your modern apartment bedroom, now around you.

"No not again." You sigh as you stand and walk out to the living room. The TV played in the corner and you can hear movement in the kitchen. Approaching slowly you held your breath until you saw Belle and Fanny. The two women were cooking and chatting.

"Why are you here?" Fanny asks, her face hard.

"You aren't welcome here." Belle hissed at you.

"What? How do I get back?" You ask. Both girls smiled at you and pulled out modern pistols.

"We kill you silly." They spoke in perfect unison.

"y/n?"

"Jack?" You spin on your heels and dart for the apartment door. The corridor is long, stretching on. You run as fast as your legs will allow you. There is an open door at the end and you can see Jack's fingers clutching at it.

It was becoming harder to run, like your feet were tacky and sticking to the ground until you could no longer move forward. Looking down you see your feet. The carpet had grown and lifted around your feet, moulding onto you and holding you still.

"Jack I'm coming!" You shout.

"Jack! Jack please help me!" You call out to him.

*_*_*_*

"Fanny l, my dear. I know in your eyes I must look like a failure after losing the gold." Oliver perched on the edge of an armchair, across from Fanny in the parlour, "but if you would still have me I would be humbled if you agreed to come to England with me."

"Oh, Mr Twist, of course I will." Fanny giggled.

"you must call me Oliver, please. I have a friend on the ship, the captain, he can marry us once we are at sea." He smiles, as Fanny blushes. Across the room Lady Jane and Edmund share a rare moment of tenderness. He pats her hand that was laid on his chest.

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon @mydeputyghostwagon

[shadecrux]

On The Wing - Chapter 2

https://open.spotify.com/track/0RLwgks1gHQzXeIkaJIpHr

Previous Chapter  ┃Next Chapter

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°•★Pairing: Bucky Barnes x femaleartist!reader

°•★Rating: NSFW 

°•★Tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, romantic AND sexual tension, flirting, pet names (doll, sweetheart), a little bit of steve!, k.i.s.s.i.n.g., metal arm (i consider that a warning), grumpy!bucky if you squint, bucky being a dork, promises of more lewdness

°•★ Words: 2275

°•★ Notes: Chapter two!!  Uhh uhh only thing I can really think to note here is that while I will be writing a bit about Bucky being a soldier any resemblance to real world wars or history is accidental, as I intentionally left it vague to keep the story from veering in a different direction. I know we haven’t reached smut yet but it is coming I promise!!  

~All writing unless otherwise noted is my own. Please do not post or reupload my work to other websites without my express consent. I do not consent for my fics to be used in AI creations. I do not own any of the characters featured in my works unless they are stated to be OCs.~

All of my fanworks are intended for adults aged 18 and up only! Minors please DNI. ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48744160/chapters/123378907

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I wish the rocket stayed 

Over the promenade 

Cus I would make a hook and eye 

And fish them from the sky 

My darling she and i 

We’re hangin' on to take us high 

And sing the world goodbye

It had been almost a year since Bucky had returned to civilian life. He had joined the army, looking to serve his country, to make the world a better place and in doing so secure for himself a better future in a life that had fallen stagnant.  He was sent home halfway through his first tour of duty with an honorable discharge, several medals and awards for his acts of heroism, and one less arm for the troubles. Bucky sometimes wondered still if some of those rewards weren’t just “We’re sorry we blew your arm off” flattery, but he shrugged it off. They were gonna keep taking care of him, getting him into the best hospitals they could for treatment and rehabilitation from his injuries. The blast that took his arm would have killed his entire squadron if not for his fast actions - after saving a dozen lives it was the least they could do for him. Eventually, that meant getting him into a clinical trial for a new kind of prosthetic on the utmost cutting edge of technology. One that could fully articulate and respond to electrical impulses that controlled one’s nervous system, that could even simulate something resembling a sense of touch. It wasn’t difficult to sell the story of the war hero to get him into the clinical trials, and due to his excellent health, he was a perfect candidate for the experimental procedure. And though the surgeries left him with deep, jagged scars surrounding the connection where metal met flesh - it worked. It was celebrated as a second chance for a deserving man and as hope for a future where more people might be given their lives back after grievous injury.  Despite his unique circumstances that could have easily landed him in the public eye, Bucky kept a low profile. He had insisted on a certain degree of anonymity when partaking in the trial, avoided press and requests for interviews, and even took to wearing a tight-fitted pair of leather gloves and long-sleeved shirts to hide his arm from prying eyes.  He moved back to New York to try to reintegrate himself back into civilian life. Physical therapy and therapy therapy once a week, job training, cheap studio apartment in Brooklyn… His time in the army had changed him, leaving him with scars, and nightmares, jumping at loud noises and punching at shadows.  He could likely have used his connections to find some more gainful sort of employment, discharge or not, but… after the things he had seen, Bucky just couldn’t stomach the idea. Not so soon, at the very least. 

Still, the soldier worked on and off, odd jobs mostly, nothing with any sort of regularity. His mind and body were still healing, and the military pension he was on was enough to keep him comfortable, even if it was just making ends meet. He was just sort of… drifting, without any real cause or purpose. 

It didn’t seem as though anyone could reach him to pull him out of that darkness, though that didn’t stop his childhood best friend from trying, every chance he got.

“Come on, Buck. It’s been ages since you’ve gone out - just this once, humor me?” Steve asked, giving Bucky his best sad puppy dog face.  “M’ just tired, Stevie…” he muttered, unconvincingly, scrubbing a hand through his hair that was starting to grow out again.  “You’re a terrible liar.” “Am not.”  “You’re thinking about her again… aren’t you?” Bucky said nothing for a long moment before grunting in frustration and tossing a couch cushion at his slightly too persistent friend.  “Where’d ya get so damn insightful anyway?”  “Buck, it might surprise you to learn, but… you’re not a great liar. And you’re not the best at hiding your emotions, either. You know I’m always here if you need a shoulder to lean on, right?” “I know Steve. I know.”  “So, should I tell the guys you won’t be making it this time?” Bucky nodded, giving Steve an apologetic half-smile.  “Next time. I promise I’ll come out next time.” ——————

He’d hardly believed that you had accepted his request to join you, that you seemed to be expressing interest in a guy like him. You were different, he could tell just by looking at you - the way you dressed, the way you moved through the crowds, the way you seemed to observe the world around you with a more dedicated eye than most. You stood out in a subtle sort of way that intrigued him immediately.  It had been fortunate, in a strange way that he had been gawking at you when he had been - it’s the only reason you didn’t end up squished between the roof and the side of the building. 

Now that he had your company, he would do anything he could to keep it. 

Bucky had taken it upon himself to act as your tour guide since you had never been to Coney Island before. He talked up the history of the park, gave his suggestions for what rides were best, and in general went above and beyond to make sure you were enjoying your time there.  Coasters were your favorites, and Bucky, always fond of the more thrilling rides himself was all too happy to show them all to you. As time went on, he found himself taking your hand in his more often, under the guise of guiding you from place to place. He knew he was lying to himself, that in truth he just wanted to touch you, to feel that electric tingle each time your skin brushed his… but based on the way you clutched his hand in his, the way you sometimes chased his touch when he moved away from you, it seemed that you and he were on the same page. Conversations flowed easily, he talked about his life, and you talked about yours. He was truly blown away, hearing about all the places you had been, all the things you had done, and listened raptly to you every time you spoke. You left out the heavy stuff, of course, your history, your family… and while Bucky noticed, he wasn’t about to bring it up. It wasn’t his place to pry. He talked about his own life, his family, the interesting things he’d seen or done in all his years in the city. Sharing his love of literature and fiction, talking about his favorite sports teams or the swing dancing classes he had taken. He didn’t consider his life, or himself very interesting compared to you, all the things you’d done and exotic places you had been. Still, you gave him just as much focus as he gave you, and Bucky wondered once again just what you saw in him… but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Bucky remembered trying to convince you to ride the water rides - and you refusing as you hadn’t brought anything to change into. Eventually, though, the heat of the day had gotten to you, and with a boyish grin, he had dragged you to wait in line for their flume ride. The entire time it wound its way up the hill you were cursing silently under your breath, and he just laughed at the way your face scrunched up in annoyance.  “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you’re annoyed?”  “Fuck you.” 

Your profanities only made him laugh harder - he swore he could hear an undertone of affection there, his chest swelling with warmth. You really were just too damn cute. As it made its final descent you grabbed him and tried to hide behind him looking to avoid being hit by the splash.  “Oh no you don’t!” he laughed, easily grappling you and wrestling you back in front of him just as the white spray flew up around you, drenching you both in cold, chlorinated water. “Ahhh, you bastard!” You had sputtered, frantically brushing the water out of your face. “Oh come on sweetheart… you didn’t think I was gonna let you miss out on the fun, didja?” He smirked.  “Mmm… you’re lucky you’re cute.” You dared to say, muttering it in frustration.  You couldn’t help but laugh, though as he helped you up to your feet and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, the two of you giggling all the way to the exit gates and beyond. He spent the next hour preening from your praise, and the next time he took your hand you held his tightly, stepping in closer to his side as you walked. For the rest of the day, any chance he could find your hand was in his, or his arm was slung lazily around your shoulders.  The sky was beginning to fade into twilight, the lights of the midway all coming on, the park a bright glowing presence to contrast with the darkening skyline when you, at last, found your way back to the games, having ridden everything at least once. He had insisted on trying to win one of the giant animal toys for you at the games - you explained to him how most of them were rigged to be deceptively difficult, but that didn’t dissuade him. In the end, he didn’t manage to win the giant dragon plush he was aiming for - but instead, you walked away with a surprisingly soft unicorn plush, all blues and purples and little spots of silver making its fur look like a sky just filling with stars.  

You had tried to play it cool when he was selecting a prize for you, but Bucky was observant enough to see your eyes continually flicking toward it, and he had the worker reaching out to grab one before you could muster a word of protest. Your singular muttered comment as you walked away about it being “too girly” made him smirk. He could bring up how he saw you hug it the moment he looked down to put his wallet away… but he decided to keep that piece of information to himself, for now. 

Not one to be outdone, you insisted on staying there on the midway until you had matched or bested him - and while in the end you did no better, by the time you were walking away, arm in arm he had a prize of his own clutched to his chest - a floppy white wolf plush made in the same style of yours. Was it stereotypical to cap off the day with a big, romantic Ferris wheel ride?  Maybe a little - but Bucky always had been a little traditional, at least when it came to romance. Sometimes cliches are cliche for a reason.  And as you rode the bucket up to the top to take in the surrounding view, you could see why he had insisted. You could see the whole park, the white sand beaches trailing off into the distance on either side of you.  On one side was the darkness of the sea, and on the other the twinkling lights of Brooklyn in the distance. It was beautiful… but not nearly as beautiful as you, he thought, watching your eyes light up with wonder at the scene. A burst of color from down the beach startled you both, and the two of you looked up in unison to see fireworks bursting in the night sky, high overhead. It wasn’t a holiday, as far as he knew - but he wasn’t about to complain, seeing your eyes light up at the colorful display overhead. He slid an arm around you, and you nestled into his side, wrapping both arms around his waist while Bucky willed his heart to stop beating so loudly in his chest. You were somewhere near the top when the ride came to a stop, just in time for the finale of the show, a final bright series of bursting golds and pinks and greens that lit the entire night sky. He looked over at you to find your eyes already on him. You looked so beautiful, and he had been holding himself back all day long… Bucky slid a hand up to your face to cup your cheek, gently lifting your head towards his. He felt his heart all but stop as you leaned into the touch, your eyes trailing back and forth between his eyes and his lips. He had to go for it - but he had to do it right.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered, and you responded with a small nod, already leaning in, as was he, pulled by a magnetism that neither of you could deny any longer. It was explosive, that first kiss, bursting in his brain just as the rockets burst in the sky above you. Your lips felt so soft against his, your grip around his waist tightening. His head was spinning when he broke away from you, far too soon for his liking as you were brought back down to the ground to disembark. He held you clutched tightly to his side as you wound your way back to the exit through a throng of people leaving as the voice over the loudspeaker announced that the park was closed.  Outside of the gates, you surprised him again, throwing your arms around his neck and leaning up for another kiss which he eagerly returned. “Come home with me…” you murmured against his lips, and his hands tightened on you in response, a heated sensation tugging at his stomach. “You sure, doll?” Your next kiss, hungry and full of promise was all the answer Bucky needed. He called for a cab and off the two of you went into the night.

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 3 - "Squeeze my hand" / Flatline

TW: background character death, death threats, gore, surgery, assault mention, verbal abuse

@medwhumpmay

Death wasn't uncommon in the illegal organ trade. Victims were either harvested for all they were worth, or they went under the knife voluntarily in unsanitary conditions and died of complications after the fact. Bodies of recently deceased were stolen and never found again, or a John or Jane Doe was claimed by sketchy individuals with false papers.

Or, if your name was Fetch, you would steal a kidney or a piece of liver as a side hustle while waiting for ransom money to be delivered.

Beep...beep...beep...beep...

Fetch was glad to be working with some equipment again. He felt much less pressed for time when he could actually see the victim's vitals, instead of having to move as fast as possible to ensure at least some chance of survival.

His clients were cheap and tried to underpay him, so since he wasn't required to keep the hostage in one piece, he decided to make up for the difference by selling one of his kidneys.

It had pretty much become a routine surgery for him. He knew exactly what to do and what to look out for, and he still worked fast, even if he could technically take it easier.

Erick was enjoying the experience a little less. He'd been in a mood since they arrived at the hideout, but Fetch couldn't bring himself to care too much. He knew the teen had several bad memories of this place, but the surgical suite built underneath the barn was too good to pass up on. So what if Erick got bitten by rats, nearly assaulted by someone, and buried his first body here, only to later dig up a half-decomposed corpse so they could stage his death.

Frankly, Fetch thought the teen was overreacting. The rats were only in the basement in the farmhouse, the man who tried to assault him died the same day, and the corpse had been burned to a crisp a year ago. But despite how he felt about it, Fetch had decided to give Erick some leniency and let him hang out in the secret room underneath the barn, even if he was visibly uncomfortable at the whole surgery part.

"Erick, I need ice."

"Ugh..."

Fetch glared at the teen as he reluctantly came out of his corner that was the furthest away from the surgical table and opened the freezer to scoop out some ice with a bowl. Then he reluctantly came closer, reaching out his arm to give him the ice, but Fetch didn't take it.

"You know that's not how it goes," he said, "you know what to do with that ice."

"I haven't washed my hands," Erick argued.

"I'll tell him to get antibiotics when I let him go, now ice him!" Fetch ordered.

Erick had the nerve to groan, before reluctantly stepping even closer and beginning to carefully place the ice around the kidney, when suddenly the monitor started beeping rapidly in alarm.

"What did you do?" Fetch asked.

"Nothing?" Erick said, "I mean, I'm just putting the ice in like you told me."

"Don't talk back to me!" Fetch snapped, "take the ice out, maybe he's bleeding somewhere."

Erick groaned again, barely having the stomach to even look at the wound, let alone to dig around in it for slippery ice cubes covered in blood and other fluids.

Beeeeeeeeeep...

"Ah fuck," Fetch said, promptly taking his gloves off and stepping away. Erick looked over at the monitor, recognising the flatline. Then he looked back at Fetch, who didn't even react.

"A-aren't you going to revive him?"

"He's asystolic, the fuck am I supposed to do?" Fetch said, "his heart stopped. He's not worth the trouble to even try to revive."

"W-won't your client be angry?" Erick asked.

"It's literally easier to just hide from them than to try and revive him," Fetch said, "can't even use his fuckin' kidney to afford it. Probably had an underlying condition that makes it no good... Get the shovel. This is your fault, so you can clean it up."

"How is it my fault?" Erick asked.

"You distracted me with your whining!" Fetch said, "now do as I say or I'll make you dig your own grave too!"

The real whump is Erick's discomfort about this whole situation, but tbh I don't feel like I described it well enough, but w/e it's something! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Feel free to imagine the ass-whoopin' he got afterwards. I'll try to come up with something more emotional on other prompts to rlly tug on the heartstrings.

Masterlist Main account

[mandana-the-service-pup]

I’m just going to ignore how physically grueling yesterday was and get to the point:

Rheumatologist wasn’t interested in ordering the abdominal ultrasound. I was hopeful but not surprised. I’ll have to wait until the end of October to meet with my GI doctor for the first time and go from there. She also thinks it might not be SLE/Lupus but she’s going to leave that as a possible dx bc it opens up more treatment options for me.

The Rheumatologist thinks I’m in too much pain and wants to put me on Methotrexate which is a low dose of chemo once a week. It could be revolutionary for my quality of life but it’s got a lot of side effect so I’m going to have to jump through a bunch of hoops before I can start it.

1) Skin biopsy is at the end of this month. Methotrexate is a risk factor for skin cancer so definitely need to be cleared by the Dermatologist before taking it.

2) GI doctor is at the end of October. Need to check on abdominal aorta stuff but also figure out the stomach pain, nausea and appetite issues I’m already having. Methotrexate mainly causes GI problems so I need to be as stable as possible going into it and have a game plan for dealing with the side effects with my GI Dr.

3) Try to get a handle on the oxygen stuff. I still haven’t received my sleep apnea test so hopefully that will show something. I really need to catch these episodes during a Pulmonologist apt so they can put me on supplemental oxygen to see if that will help. Methotrexate can cause really serious lung problems so I have to be completely cleared by the Pulmonologist before I can start it. She’s also the one who wanted me to look into the abdominal aorta inflammation stuff so idk if she thinks that is having an effect on my oxygen or if it’s just something she thinks I have that needs to be followed up on.

4) Wisdom teeth removal. I’ve been putting it off bc I wanted to get my oxygen more stable, in my situation it’s not super necessary and EDS can make dental procedures difficult due to less effective numbing. The problem now is that Methotrexate can cause mouth sores, makes you immunocompromised and can’t be used with some anasthesia due to increased toxicity. So I need to be stable enough for the surgery but it needs to be done and healed before I can start the medication.

My next Rheumatology apt is in December. I don’t think I can get all of this stuff done (and move!) before then but I guess it’s worth a shot

I also taught myself cross stitch last night and for a cheap sick-in-bed activity it’s not bad 🥲

[koreandragon]

Realistically stomach cancer is one of the type of cancers that have the poorest prognosis, the 5-year survival rate is only around 30% (even after chemotherapy and surgery)… Of course it depends on many factors but it’s usually worse when the person is young because it tends to be a more aggressive type. If they choose to go the realistic route you know what that means unfortunately… 😒 I hope I’m wrong but that seriously sucks 😩

i mean this is still a romcom so they're not gonna kill her i'm sure like since when have kdramas cared about being realistic lmao. it's just a pretty cheap plot device to drive a wedge between the main couple and then bring them back together stronger. whatever we'll ride this out and see what happens

[tinknevertalks]

Trick or treat!

Aaaaah! Someone else at my door! So this treat is actually a section from the next chapter of In The Nice Part of Town, set after Helen loses a patient. I know, I know, it sounds sad but it has a solid Helen & James moment that I'm like 99.999% sure you'll enjoy.

--

“No good ever came of drinking here, remember?”

Her stomach lurched. She'd already lost a patient on her table, she now had to listen to James, and his maddeningly soft voice. “I never said that.” Inside, she cheered: she hadn't slurred her words. If she could get through this conversation, the world was her whisky bottle.

“No, your exact words were, ‘Drinking yourself into a stupor is not going to bring back your patient.’” He held up two fingers to the barman, who promptly nodded. “No amount of cheap booze is going to make you feel better.”

“Not…” She blinked, trying to sound like a whole, respectable, adult and not a failed surgeon. Oh God, the paperwork she'd have to contend with during the next few days. “Not cheap. And not trying to bring them-- oh.” She eyed the glass in front of her, the twin to the one in front of James. Looking up further, she noticed the kind eyes she'd unconsciously missed these last months. Miserable, hot, stinging prickles stabbed the corners of her eyes, the tears forming unbidden. This wasn't meant to happen.

“You're human, Helen. You cannot be expected to be perfect every day.”

She swallowed, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. “It was a bloody valve replacement.”

“It was a complex surgery that became more complex due to a tumour on the wall of the heart near the mitral valve. I saw the same scan: nobody picked up on it.”

Looking into her glass, wishing she could divine her next few steps, Helen decided the best thing to do was drink her whiskey. Holding it aloft, she intoned, “To invisible tumours; may they make humans of us all.” She didn't bother waiting for his glass to clink hers. Down in one, more effective than novocaine.

James didn't stay long, didn't say much either, just matched her drink for drink for the next hour.

[jackidy]

Heart Murmur

Pairing: Roach/König   Warnings: N/A Contains: self reflection, sexuality reflection and realisation, comfort no hurt, John Price’s ferrets being ferrets    Rating: T Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2  AU: Falconry Au ( @hurrraaid ) Word length: 871

Summary:  Roach can't define it, not really. Comparisons come in the form of bodily ailments, an itch he can't scratch, a twist in his stomach. A heart murmur that keeps catching him by surprise.

[AO3]

Authors Note: Apologies for any errors I got out of laser eye surgery earlier today and my vision is left wanting lmao. CCTV bit based on this art by Hurraaid

“I’m a cute lil bug man” - Sign language 

----

There's something about König that eludes him, something that makes him an enigma despite being the definition of an open book at times.

Roach can't define it, not really. Comparisons come in the form of bodily ailments, an itch he can't scratch, a twist in his stomach. A heart murmur that keeps catching him by surprise.

Romance was never something he partook in. It was just about the gratification that came with sex and nothing more, the endless chase for cheap, quick thrills with no strings attached.

Then König happened.

He graces him with fond looks, warm and inviting, expressive eyes brimming with a soft affection that ignited an inferno within him. The morning after smiles, the sleepy mumbles of good morning in either English or German, a promise of breakfast in a gentle kiss that brings back the murmur in its entirety.

Roach believed all he wanted from his voice was desperation and begging, pleased little gasps and whimpers for more or harder. Wanted to be able to hear the effect his words and hands had on him. Hear him be vocal enough for the both of them.

But then he finds himself drawn to the excited lilt in his voice when talking about vultures. Like a moth to the flame he's enraptured, a foreign feeling blooming in his chest as König enthusiastically talks of both Fuschl and Ötzi.

He wonders if König has ever spoken about him with that tone, an unknown warmth blooming in his cheeks at the warmth.

Eyes focus on the CCTV screens, gripping the warm mug resting between his hands a little tighter. There was no time to pay attention to the mess König was making him, scanning the aviaries with fledglings before movement on another screen catches his attention.

Its König and Gaz, Roach watching with interest as they talked, smile tugging at his lips at how expressively König spoke with his hands.

The smile turns to laughter, vocal and loud, filling the air of the staffroom with genuine mirth as the Austrian lays down flat on the ground, phone out to photograph Ötzi.

He can hear the compliments König paid his laugh the last time he'd used it, when the giant of a man explained how he'd learnt German Sign at first before his sister had pointed out that Roach would know British instead. Cute. Joyful. König had descended into rapidly spoken German that, if his meagre attempts at translation were to be believed, was akin to the whimsical nature of bumble bees.

Maybe Simon was right, Roach biting his lower lip with worry as he continued to watch König and Gaz, Gaz now having joined the other on the floor. Maybe this was the affliction of affection, the radiating warmth of König's light having drawn him in and now Roach was terrified he was but Icarus in the midst of reaching for the sun.

What if it doesn't work out? What if he simply leads König along, a promise of romance he can't fulfil and the feeling of being trapped in a one sided agreement with the fear of hurting him.

Simon had laughed at him when he'd explained this in rambled sign, trying to conceptualise his confusion as his hands moved almost too sporadically to form words. "It's called having a crush, ya pillock"

Was that it? Grubs first crush and its on a giant walking embodiment of social anxiety. It's funny, really, laughing again only this time his phantom one.

A hand claps on his shoulder, Roach jumping and turning in his seat to find Price, surprisingly ferretless. He looks amused, the concerned tilt of his eyebrows not hiding the fact he's clearly laughing at a joke Roach isn't yet privy to.

"Ferret for your thoughts?" Prince inquires, giving Roach space to think over his response, the click of the kettle beginning the timer to articulation in Roach's mind.

Does he tell Price? Ask for help from the one man who both had life experience and was least likely to mock him. It was sound in theory but the hesitation lingered of being open with his feelings and embracing the theory that he's been wrong in his thoughts of himself all along.

His self imposed time goes off with the rumbling of boiling water, the sound of it pouring into chipped, stained mugs and the slide of another cup of tea across the counter beside him.

Roach turns to Price, watching his boss take over flicking through the CCTV, not taking his attention away as he reprimanded the ferret in his sleeve for trying to drink his tea.

What's the worst that could happen? Price hadn't harshly reprimanded neither Soap nor Simon for their blatant flirting and that had long since become a worldwide problem. Roach refuses to believe his confusion over how König makes him feel is as bad as that.

Like a child, he gently takes hold of Price's sleeve, careful to not be too rough with the fleece in case either Deadshot or Daiquiri were in there. "What is it, son?"

Taking a moment to breathe, Roach carefully signs out his question, a nervous energy tingling in his fingers.

"How do you know if you're in love?"

[mcltiples]

@lustsang sent; “A good rule to remember for life is that when it comes to plastic surgery and sushi, never be attracted by a bargain.” / For Val!

Pausing his actions, Valentino stared down at the sushi on his plate. Maybe she was right. He should have gone to the store where they sold the more expensive sushi. Yet, his stomach didn't even bother with it. He saw the cheap sushi and decided to take it anyway.

That wouldn't stop him though from taking another bite. "It still tastes good, sushi is sushi no matter the price," So he thinks. "And what? Are you planning on getting plastic surgery? You're too pretty for that shit, unless you want bigger tits, I can get behind that."

[dailyunsolvedmysteries-movedd]

The Box Lady of Benton

It was October 8th, 1976 and Norman Skoog had spent the day harvesting his “back 40,” acres of corn along Benton County Road 200 South. Around 5pm, while harvesting in a remote spot about a mile-and-a-half from the Skoog home, he made a bizarre discovery. A white cardboard box wrapped in tape and rope sat on the ground roughly nine rows deep in the field, approximately 15 yards off of the gravel road. Norman had nearly ran over the box with his combine. When he got out to investigate the box, he realized it was far too heavy for him to lift alone. He left on his combine to get his father-in-law and his pickup. Together, they loaded the box into the bed of the truck and drove it to the Skoog home.

Curtis Skoog, 16, was first to notice the pungent odor of cheap perfume coming from within the box. Using a pocket knife, he sliced open a section of the box to find a broken vial of perfume lying atop something wrapped in layers of plastic. Concerned what may be inside, Norman phoned police. He told Curtis to return the vial to the box and wait for the Sheriff to arrive.

Sheriff Donal Steely arrived at the Skoog home a short time later to inspect the suspicious package. As he began to cut into the thick sheets of heavy plastic and rope, a new foul smell wafted out of the box. Steely decided he should contact the State Police before proceeding any further. Indiana State Police arrived and opened the box. Beneath the layers of plastic sheeting and rope, they discovered the body of a woman. The body was taken to the local coroners office, and later an autopsy was preformed in Lafayette, Indiana.

It was concluded that the woman’s cause of death was from a small calibre single gunshot wound at the base of her neck fired at close range. The bullet was never recovered. Her death was estimated to have occurred 7-10 days before being found, but it was noted that very little decomposition had occurred.

She was found in the fetal position with her knees pressed firmly against her chest. Her body was bound with rope and her hands were tied under her knees. Her head and face were wrapped in white paper towelling, and two small plastic bags had been tied over her head. Her body had been wrapped in several layers of thick plastic, similar to those used as runners to protect carpet. White clothesline style rope and heavy duty duct tape had been used to tie the plastic around the body and was so tightly bound, it had distorted and bruised the woman’s face.

The woman was white, approximately 5 feet 2 inches tall, weighed around 175 pounds, and was estimated to be around 60 years of age. The woman wore a green 2-piece pants suit that was covered in blood, but otherwise clean. She wore no makeup, shoes, pantyhose, or jewelry and had no identification. She had a few distinguishing facial features, including a large “bump” on the bridge of her nose and “abnormally large ears.”

It was evident the woman had undergone several surgeries. She had undergone a radical mastectomy, and bore a vertical surgical scar on her mid-section which extended from her sternum to her stomach. She had also undergone extensive dental work, though she was in need of more.

Her makeshift “coffin” was a white cardboard box measuring 3-by-2-by-1-foot. The box was a typical moving box, stamped with a factory label reading “wardrobe.” Another part of the box bore a handwritten notation reading “hall closet.” It was learned that the box had been manufactured in Illinois. Inside of the box, the small vial of perfume was found, however it had no label. The box itself had been sealed with tape and the same rope that was used to bind the woman. Investigators believe the box had been left at the location the same day it was found. Heavy rains had blanketed the area the previous day into the early morning hours and the box showed no signs of moisture damage.

Police attempted to use fingerprints to identify the unknown woman, however they never found a match. This led them to the conclusion she had never been arrested, or held a civil service job. A sketch of the woman was released to the public in the hopes of identifying her, however no one came forward to claim her body. Eventually, she was buried in an unmarked grave in Fowler Cemetery.

The investigation continued and several people came forward from states as far away as Alabama believing the unknown woman may be their missing loved one. Unfortunately she was not a match to any of them.

Multiple theories existed, from everything to a “mob-hit,” to a wrong place wrong time scenario. However the most bizarre, and seemingly most accepted theory, is that the box was dropped from a helicopter.

While the area the box was found is extremely rural, it is also a tight knit community of farmers who are outside from sun up to sun down. According to them, they would have noticed someone driving along the gravel road that morning, and while they didn’t spot any suspicious cars, they did see a helicopter fly over the field early that morning. According to three separate witness statements, the helicopter approached from the northeast, swung to the southwest, and hovered near the ground for a few seconds where the box was found.

A second piece of evidence supporting the helicopter theory is that when police searched the area where the box was found, they discovered an irregular circle of exposed black dirt around the dumping site. During harvest, corn stalks litter the ground covering the soil. The powerful updraft created by a helicopter could cause the stalks to scatter leaving the ground exposed and leaving a circular “imprint” like the one discovered at the scene.

[okadaizoirl]

tell us about the diy top surgery

SO OKADA IZO'S DUMBASS TOP SURGERY.

i will be copy-pasting and editing/amending an old thing from twitter-- there's a practice of posting "solos", ficlets for characterization in essence

CWs for: brief mention of disordered eating, severe and graphic transmasculine top dysphoria, gore, self-harm related to gender dysphoria!

Yoshi-chan. Yoshi-chan. Yoshi-chan.

How much more would Yoshifuru hear that name? He hated it. He hated being called 'beautiful'. He hated being called 'cute'. He hated being chastised by the neighbors for how he acted.

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘰, not 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦. The other boys got it. In fact, the other boys were happy to have another boy to play with. Their parents didn't think the same. They weren't happy. Some of them acted happy, and said that kids played silly games.

That might have flown back when Yoshifuru was young enough to not understand. But he knows what those crinkling faces mean now.

All he felt now was boiling rage above his disgust, burning white-hot. Boiling, boiling over, pushing away his stomach as he tried to shed that particular fat from his body-- But it remained. It laughed at him in his dreams. He knew it well. Those budding nipples peeled back-- There were mouths underneath, the areolae their lips as they grinned.

Grinning. Laughing. Mocking. "Yoshi-chan, Yoshi-chan," they sang, each note dripping with venom to infect his brain. It burned. It boiled. It was boiling over and scorching him from the inside out.

His mother was sleeping. His father was working. There was no better time to fix his problem before it worsened, right?

He gathered all he needed: A rag, with his father's cheap booze to soak it in. A carving knife, sharpened tirelessly since before sunup. A location: the river, to wash away the inevitable detritus of his deed.

Looking back, Izo cringes. He prides himself on solving his own problems, but the execution was sloppy; in fact, even he thinks it was inconceivably dangerous.

But Yoshifuru stood in the river, rag soaked in gutter wine between his teeth, as he brought the knife under one breast. Booze flowed into his mouth, all at once, as his teeth grit. Blood trickled into the water, running downstream steadily. Blood soon turned to disgusting clumps. More booze overwhelmed his senses as he bit back screams of agony.

Looking back, Izo cringes as Yoshifuru goes on.

Eventually, the skin fell back in a pathetic flap. But this was an improvement! All he'd need was to see someone to stitch him up, and he'd never have those dreams again. Once he'd finished with the other side, of course. The rag was refreshed as the fish ate at adipose tissue.

By the time the deed was done, his skin hung loosely off his chest. He stumbled, cold and bleeding in the river, drunk off his little ass. It was a wonder he wandered back to dry land, half-naked, losing blood at such a rate. He'd barely made it back to his village. He walked past his own house-- He knew better than to think he'd find love in the arms of his mother, or care from the voice of his father. If he went home now, he'd surely die.

He went right to the Sakamoto household, fist weakly tapping the door before he fell on his back.

He didn't remember much from that point. All he recalled was waking beside a warm, welcoming fire from an irori hearth. All he recalled was a hand raising to his chest, finding it slightly sunken, stitched--

And tender. He winced. He winces.

He recalled a voice. "You sure did get lucky, Yoshifuru." Ryoma's mother. A force to be reckoned with, but the kindest heart in all of Tosa. His head turned towards her.

"You coulda bled out, baby," she went on as she prepped the pot in the hearth. "You won't even get breasts." His eyes widened.

"W... What'd ya say? Ryoma-no-okaa-san?" "Sachi-no-kaasan, dearie. But yer not gonna develop any chest after that stunt you pulled. If that fills out at all, you better count yerself lucky! You'll have a chest like a man for the rest of your life."

Like a man. Yoshifuru smiled. He smiled, and then he laughed. Izo laughs, thinking about it as his finger traces the scarred flesh left behind from Sakamoto Sachi's work.

"Good," Yoshifuru states in that weak voice. "That means my work weren't fer nothin'."

Sachi stopped tending to her pot for a moment, looking over to the exhausted but overjoyed child beside the hearth. "You... You mean t'tell me you meant t'do this, child?" "Yeah." "You'll... You wanna be seen as a man?" "Yeah." "What 'bout yer pa--" "Fuck 'em." "Yoshifuru!!"

This back-and-forth dominated the time the pot took to boil-- How it nearly boiled over and ruined the fire beneath. Sachi sighed as she looked over the child--

The boy, on her floor, stitched and weakened from blood loss.

"Then whadda we say happened?" "Huh?" "Everybody else's folks, Yoshifuru," Ryoma's mother spoke just above a whisper as she stirred the hot pot. "They won't be nice. Whadda we tell 'em?"

Silence and time benefitted the stew, but not the dilemma presented here. Yoshifuru's mind twisted around the question. He knew some people wouldn't be nice. Not everyone was his friend. Not everyone was Ryoma-no-okaa-san. But how could he explain this easiest?

"... My folks lied," he mumbled, catching Sachi's attention. "Did they?" She leaned forward, brow arched. She wasn't suspicious, though-- She was expecting the rest of his explanation. He gulped. Not even Izo enjoyed the thought of being put on the spot so.

"My folks didn't wanna let another Okada see war," he continued, "so they said I was a daughter. They lied t'everybody. You found out." "So I did, Yoshi-kun."

Yoshifuru's heart suddenly fluttered, though he coughed soon after. Those wide eyes explained it all; that sudden realization dawning on him, the sun rising after an eleven-year night. He understood. Sachi understood. He looked back to the ceiling.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Thinking back, Izo sighs. His fingers trace one scar, then another. His chest did fill back in somewhat, but just enough for the surface to be even. From that day, his chest no longer laughed at him. His body was to his own design. It always would be, no matter what.

Izo takes a drag of his kiseru at last, exhaling a thick plume of smoke to linger near the ceiling.

"Sachi-no-kaasan's hot pot? Best I ever had."

[totally-a-different-person]

you should do one with Laurel and a pre surgery Jon (laurel on top but I feel like that goes without saying)

I think this one is gonna be pretty fun to write I really love Laurel and haven't gotten to do anything with her yet so it'll be good, I also realized it's the only man/woman pairing I've written on this account (nsft past this point proceed at your own risk)

It was rather late and Laurel invited Jon over to her house. He'd had a really nice time, they went to see a movie and now they were just cuddling on her couch. Jon had never really had a girlfriend as serious as this, it was really great though, Laurel was amazing. She was so affectionate too, he wasn't used to it really, it seemed like she always wanted to be hugging him, sitting on his lap of vice versa, always something. She was pretty much laying on top of his while they watched the movie and it was really nice, she was warm and comfortable.

He had his chin resting on the top of her head, her feet dangling over the side of the couch since she was a bit taller than him. She didn't mind though, it was comfortable and she liked having him pressed up against her like this. She leaned in a bit more to start kissing his neck, smiling against the pale skin as he giggled, wiggling a bit. He couldn't get away though, he was trapped under her for her to do whatever she pleased. He squirmed and laughed while she kissed him, she nipped at him a bit as well, watching the way he shuddered feeling her teeth against him. She thought it was adorable, grinning and bitting down harder.

The noises she got were even better, only encouraging her to take things further. She got on her knees on either side of him so she was properly over him now, grinning as she kissed him and started to unbutton his shirt. He seemed more than fine with that, sweetly kissing back. She tasted like weed and cheap red wine, as well as Oreo cookies, he quiet liked it. He helped he slip it off once it was open, he didn't know how far she planned to go and it was a little exciting. But now the were left with awkward question of what to do about the binder. "Do you want me to leave this on?" She tilted her head a bit letting her hands rest on his sides. "Uhm... I think so yes... thank you" he said that last part a little quieter, blushing a bit more making her smile as she sweetly kissed his cheek "no problem"

She sat up more as she took off her own sweater as well as her grey tank top leaving her in a lacey black bra. Her pale skin was illuminated only by the dim light of the tv and the moon through the window and the sight left Jon's whole face deep scarlet, her grinning and chuckling softly. "You wanna take it off?~" she coed leaning a bit closer to his face as she did. "I-I..." He stutters looking back up into her eyes "it's easy, see" she gently took his hands, moving them to be behind her back where he could unclip it. She then slipped it off and the shorter stared, his face still bright red. "You can touch if you like" his eyes widened a bit as he looked into hers for a moment before carefully cupping them both with his hands, the were soft and warm.

She chuckled softly placing her hands over his "gentle" he gave a nervous chuckle and took his hands back rubbing them together a bit "s-sorry" she laughed quietly too "it's ok sweetheart, you're so adorable" she bit her lip a little and him lay back a bit more and pecked his lips, again kissing down his neck but going further this time down his stomach and running her nails down his side as she did leaving little red lines and making him moan softly. She unbuttoned his pants and took them off, bottom lip between her teeth as she smirked, slipping her hand in the waistline of his boxers and looking at him.

"Can I?" She wanted so badly to make him feel good, he was so cute and she could only imagen the noises he'd make while she ate him out. He nodded quickly, desperately wanting to continue, and his eagerness just made her even more excited taking them off and dropping them down. He spread his legs as she did, pretty much soaked already. She chuckled a bit as she leaned down more, placing a kiss just above his pussy, watching him squirm slightly in anticipation. She flattened her tongue against his folds, listening to him gasp as she slowly licked between them, only brushing his clit and still he jolted, nearly yelping.

She brought her tongue inside of his drenched entrance, not wanting to play with his button just yet, she wanted to ease him into it even though she knew how much it frustrated him. She honestly loved making him a little mad. He gasped as she did and Laurel, being very happy with that reaction rewarded him nudging the little bundle of nerves with her nose as continued working her tongue against his walls earning a loud moan. One of his hands was gripping the couch tight and the other found itself in her hair, not holding her down or pulling "Fu-fuck-!~" he whinced.

She gently took it out leaving him panting, she wanted to service his clit next, would have felt bad making him wait any longer, and she would give him what he wanted even if she was a little mean about it first. She knew he liked it rough and knew he could handle it, it was just funny watching him get impatient. She rather harshly licked it and he moaned loudly, she loved the way his body twitched and shook, nearly screaming when she dug her nails into his thigh.

He was almost tearing up now, mindlessly begging her for more and not to stop, struggling to stay still for her to work. She thought he looked so delicious, she wished she could devour him like this all the time. He had given up on trying to watch, as much as he had licked it at first he just couldn't anymore, his head leaned back, crying out Laurel's name. He was getting dangerously close to orgasm already, his stomach felt so tight and hot. Laurel noticed this and grinned against his pussy, bringing two of her fingers up and pushing them in rather easily as he took a sharp, almost frantic breath.

She worked them in and out as she continued using her tongue on him, he had scratch marks a over his hips and thighs as well as a few bite marks. Jon was absolutely on cloud nine, panting heavily and giving lots of moans "L-laurel please-" "you gonna cum for me baby" she purred looking up at him as he nodded quickly. She smiled and licked him as she curled her fingers, honestly just adoring the way he screamed, his orgasm hitting him like a semi truck as he panted still giving little high pitched moans. Laurel took her fingers out and leaned up kissing him deeply and he kissed back. He could taste himself on her lips. It was sort of sweet weirdly enough. She moved away from the kiss and they both took a short breath before she smiled more and kissed his cheek, just getting comfortable again laying on him like nothing had happed and they weren't both half naked, her chest pressed against his as he wrapped his arms around her again, watching the TV.