#do NOT ask how long this took or how often i pick up the tablet i have no excuses. except for The Issues

[warpolomewdarkmatter]

my part of the trade with the wonderful @myrablurple!! got to illustrate my favourite of zurg's phrases featuring his kids no less:D

[spikezonebby]

hi !! saw requests for song fics are open, may I request something angsty with fem!human!reader x megatron (idw) to ‘young and beautiful’ by lana del rey ? 🥹 <3 thank you in advancee

Young and Beautiful (IDW Megatron x Fem!Human!reader)

Word count: 1,070

Eighty years. Humans lived for a measly eighty years.

You change right before Megatron’s optics. Your hair grays, your skin sags, your bones grow thinner. Like the very universe was sapping you away from him. Vector Prime alone could grant him all the time he needed to write a poem about all of the moments he lived with you.

But how could he begin to write when every time he picked up his stylus, you were that much further from him? He longed to capture the feeling of you and immortalize it in a data pad, but then you’d touch your tiny, soft servo along his gray bottom lip plate and take him away. Remind him that you were his moment. Here for a second, gone in a blink.

You flare, you flicker, you fade.

You asked him once, if he’d love you even after you weren’t so soft. You weren’t so pretty. And your mind wasn’t as intact as it once was.

Megatron’s answer was immediate.

“Even once the spark of your life extinguishes, and I won’t stop even for a klik after.”

You may have lamented the way time and age changed you, but Megatron learns to see unique beauty in it. There was something beautiful in a life lived so long that you COULD age, it was a promise of peace and resilience. You lived, you fought, you came back again and again. A force so strong that it took time itself to put you down.

Megatron thought that was romantic. Not in the way of kisses in summer or dancing in the moonlight, but the cosmic way. In the way that atoms and space dust collect together and become new stars, or how he realizes, in the grand scheme of things, so, so many tiny and nearly impossible things had to happen for you to be his.

As you grew older, you grew more rapt by his poetry. You blamed it on growing old and sentimental, he argued you were always sentimental. You had always found it fascinating, but Megatron believed that perhaps you took some comfort in it.

“Do you think, because I love you… I’ll be there in the Afterspark waiting for you?”

You were resting against his neck cables, curled up between his shoulder armor and helm vents like a tiny glitch mouse. The ardent heat of energon pulsing up the lines of his throat felt good and helped soothe some of the arthritis in your hands. He had to rest his chin on his servo, propping his helm up at an angle to keep from squishing you, but he hadn’t the spark to stop you.

It’s a question that he’d pondered many times. For he who often pondered the nature of all things grand, the question of life after death was a philosophist’s energon and mineral tablets. 

“You do not have a spark,” He points out, shifting his helm minutely to a position slightly more comfortable for you to tuck yourself under, “So I would not expect you to be held to the same rules and expectations of Primus.”

“But, your God is real.” You raise as a counterpoint, “Any proof that various human gods are real could be considered dubious at best.”

“That is a point for the high queries of gods, but what of your lack-there-of spark?”

“What is a spark but life?” You offer, gesturing with your hands and making the round shape of a spark before your breast. Megatron loathed to move you from your warm perch, so instead he tips the data pad in his servo so he can see your tiny reflection. You look comfortable, hidden securely in his collar fairings. “Perhaps I DO have a spark, but it’s simply just a different form. After all, energy cannot be destroyed. It merely changes form.”

You chuckle, knocking your knuckles against his neck cables. “Julius Robert Mayer.”

“A human philosopher?” Megatron asks, setting his datapad aside to instead settle for reaching up and touching his digit to your lap. You take the hint immediately, and hold his huge digit between your two itty bitty hands. 

“Founder of the laws of energy conservation. Suppose most of us are philosophers in some way, though.”

You have to be, with lives so short and bright. Megatron keeps that thought private to himself, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You were feeling thinner and thinner these days. He hoped you ate well enough.

“So, what have we come to the conclusion of in this conversation?” You prompt, bringing back your point, “That there is no true way to say I do not have a spark, and that it’s ultimately far more likely that Primus and his Afterspark wait for me than say… The Christian or Hebrew concept of God.”

“For there are too many to count.”

“For there are too many to count.” You agree, “But it is the most commonly applicable and the most similar to Primus.”

“But,” Megatron clicks his glossa, a smile coming to his face. He loved it so  when he could have these in-depth conversations with you. “That is also dismissing that humanity is a much younger culture than Cybertron was. Perhaps you will find proof that these things are indeed true, or perhaps something you had not even considered. Perhaps in the afterlife, you will have a veritable plethora of ‘heavens’ to choose from.”

“Then I’d choose to wait for you.” You say, “Or I’d choose some religion where I’d be reborn and I could fall in love with you again.”

“You could live again, redo all of the things you had missed. Unmake all of your mistakes.”

“You talk as if I considered you a mistake.”

He feels your tiny, cool lips press to the pulsing line of energon that is connected directly to his spark chamber. You laugh, giddy and sounding just as young as you were when he first met you. There’s a well of emotion there in his chest and, if not for millions of years of carefully cultivated control, he might have sobbed.

Instead, he settles for curling the whole of his huge, warm servo against your body, and recording this moment for all of time. The moment he writes on his spark that you wanted to be his in any life.

“I suppose it is not a mistake then, if you do not regret it.”

[ladychota]

Hi! Can I request an established relationship with avenger!loki and reader where reader works in the med bay and loki gets hurt on a mission and is trying to avoid reader from finding out to not worry her but she finds out anyway and gets mad at him. kind of like fluff humor you can take it from there lol 😭

I'm fine

Pairing - Loki x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of surgery, blood, injury (let me know if there's anything you want added)

Summary - Loki's been avoiding Y/n after a mission and she wants to know why.

Word Count - 2.3k

A/N - Thank you for this! I've been so excited for it lol, I hope it's alright!

Masterlist

"Hey, Bruce," You call, running after the scientist as he rushes through the med bay, tablet in hand. "Bruce!"

"What's up, Y/n?" He asks, turning to face you. "Are you gonna ask if they've reconnected to Loki's comms again?"

You let out a breath. "How did you guess?"

Loki - your extremely loving partner - was sent on a mission earlier today along with some of the other Avengers. It's often for you to continue work while he's away; a usually vain attempt to distract your mind from the dangers he could be in.

"Yes, they reconnected a few moments ago. He's alright," Bruce's reassuring smile lifts a huge weight off of your shoulders. "Nat said he-"

Bruce is cut off by an urgent-sounding noise on his tablet. He taps a few times before speaking.

"Hey Tony. Everything good?"

A crackly voice leaves the device. "No... Clint i- injured... retur- base."

"Got it. Get JARVIS to send me the details."

"Will do, over... ou-"

The call ends and Bruce visibly tenses. "Y/n. Go prepare and meet me and the team in Surgery 2."

Your relief instantly fades away to jittery nerves. You nod and turn around, quickly heading to grab your scrubs.

The pace around you picks up as word spreads over the incoming Avengers - no one is entirely sure how bad Clint is injured, but Bruce fears the worst. It doesn't take long for you to prepare - your hands are washed, scrubs, gloves and an apron are on, a disposable mask covers your nose and mouth and your hair is tied up tightly.

You file into the room with the rest of your team and begin setting up the equipment, readying supplies that will likely be needed. The thought of Loki niggles at the back of your mind. You're annoyed you can't meet him on the landing pad as usual. But it's not like him to just... disappear in the middle of a mission. Something must have happened...

You attempt to push the thoughts away. Your top priority now is to take care of Clint; to make sure he survives.

"The Avengers have landed in the Quinjet. Dr Banner says to be ready," JARVIS' mechanical voice rings down from the ceiling; you take a deep breath and ready yourself to do what you do best.

Bruce and the porter wheels a sedated Hawkeye into the bay; everyone gets to work straight away, Bruce overseeing the procedure.

It takes over two hours of surgery. Clint had lost a lot of blood from cuts and bruises everywhere. His worst injury, however, was a large piece of debris wedged in his lower abdomen - it took a lot of effort to remove the debris without causing any extra trauma. With some donor blood in his system and a few stitches here and there, the surgery was concluded and Clint was wheeled to a bay to come to his senses.

"Well done Y/n, you did good in there," Bruce congratulates, offering a smile. "Have the day off, you deserve it. I'll get one of the others to do the paperwork,"

You sigh quietly, happy to have some time off. "Thanks Banner. Don't overwork yourself! I'll come check on Clint later today."

"See you later," 

You turn and walk out of the Med Bay, the doors swinging to-and-fro before shutting behind you. Your gaze floats around the empty corridor, looking for a certain trickster God - sometimes he loiters outside the Med bay while you're in surgery, waiting to make sure you're okay. But today he's no where to be seen.

You shrug it off. He's just been on a mission and is probably exhausted, so he'll likely be in your room; or his, if he's not feeling the best. You take the lift up to the living quarters, skipping the common room and heading straight to your room.

"Hey Lo-" You push the door open, but your bed is empty; the bathroom door open. The room is eerily silent, and somewhat cold. Something feels... off.

You walk over to his room and knock twice - there's no answer. So, you walk right in. Loki never minds about you being in his personal space, so why would today be any different?

"Loki? You in here?" You hear a scuffle behind the closed bathroom door. "Loki?"

"Yep, I'm in the bathroom," He responds, his voice muffled by the separation between you both.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine!" He says much too quickly. Your eyes narrow with scepticism.

He bursts from the bathroom, the door crashing against the wall from his strength. He winces, a lopsided grin creeping on to his face.

"I'm fine," He repeats.

"For the God of lies, you really are a bad liar," You move forwards, rising onto your tip toes and gently angling his face down so you can analyse it.

"Uh, that's rude," He mumbles as you move his face this way and that, scrutinizing every part of his pale complexion for so much as a scratch.

Loki understands what you're doing almost instantly, his eyes rolling playfully.

"I'm fine, darling. I promise,"

You release his face and look down at your feet. "I'm sorry, I just... what happened on the mission? Bruce said your comms had been disconnected and... I panicked I guess."

Loki would typically tilt your head up with a singular finger and promise you that he was fine; that everything is okay. But today he doesn't. He stands silently - you can hardly bear it.

You hold your arms out and envelope him in a big hug. He doesn't return it straight away, what can only be described as a shudder flowing through every inch of his body.

Pulling away just as his arms try to snake around your waist. Your face contorts into one of worry, a small hint of hurt shining through your façade.

"Are you sure you're alright, my love?"

He nods somewhat sombrely.

"You know what?" He speaks. "I just remembered I have to feed the horses,"

Loki's eye twitches almost unnoticeably at his mistake - his lie is clearly one he's told many a time on Asgard.

"Feed the horses, huh?" You can't help but smirk slightly.

"It's a metaphor," He clarifies, pulling himself together and looking as if he hasn't just told the worst lie in the entire multiverse. "I have to go make sure Thor has enough pop tarts."

You hum in suspicious acknowledgement as Loki begins edging towards the door.

"Sure, sure."

"I'll see you later, darling." You're about to ask if you can come with him, but he's gone before a single syllable has left your lips.

The room around you feels much too quiet without him, and much too lonely too. What is up with him? Did he see something on the mission that bothered him? Or is he deliberately trying to hide something from you?

It's often that he's a terrible liar in front of you - despite his title - due to an unspoken rule he created, likely near the beginning of your relationship. It seems he vowed to himself never to lie to you, hence meaning that when he does lie they come out twisted and blocky, not smooth like his deceit towards anyone else. 

You're unsure of what to do with yourself, but end up deciding to take a shower to ease away the stress of the day. By the time you've finished and spent time drying your hair, you're sure Loki will have finished... 'making sure Thor has enough pop tarts'. 

~★~

"Hey Thor, Nat. You seen Loki?" You ask as you wander into the common area, feeling refreshed and a little less tense. 

"No, Lady Y/n. I apologise, I last saw him as we departed the jet of the quills earlier today."

You share a look with Nat, trying your best not to laugh.

"Thor, it's a Quinjet." Nat emphasises, rolling her eyes and barely concealing a smirk.

"Yes, that's exactly what I said, Lady Natasha. The jet of the quills." Thor beams like a toddler with candy.

Nat audibly sighs. "Sorry Y/n, I haven't seen him either."

"No worries." You mumble, looking around the room rather hopelessly. "You don't happen to know what happened on the mission with his comms, do you?"

Nat purses her lips for a moment. "It was just a lost signal. I don't think anything actually happened."

"Huh. Okay," Your brows furrow. If nothing happened then why does it feel as if he's avoiding you? You must just be overthinking it. "Thanks."

"You alright?" She adds.

"Uh, yeah-" The lift pings and you hear the doors slide open.

"Ah, brother!" Thor exclaims. "Your lady was just asking after you,"

You turn to see Loki in the lift, an unreadable look on his face.

"There you are! Where have you been?" You ask, your face breaking out in a smile.

"Oh, me? I was just on the balcony enjoying some fresh air." He laughs nervously.

"You were?" Nat asks, shooting you a look. "I was up there a few minutes ago,"

"Oh you were? We must have missed each other." Again, he laughs.

You try to shake away the hurt and confused feeling that has seeped into your soul. "Well, no matter. I have the day off so we could spend it together if you like?" You ask him.

Loki sucks in a breath. "I really would love to, darling, but I have to go fill in my mission report. Maybe later?"

You feel your shoulders sag, but you don't let your expression show your disappointment.

"Talking of which, how did the mission go? You usually give me a very detailed analysis." You say, waltzing into the lift alongside him.

"JARVIS, take us to the living quarters," Loki says to the ceiling and watches as the lift doors close once more. "It went okay, average really." You nod as the doors slide away to reveal the corridor to your rooms. "I shall see you later then, my love,"

Loki takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips gently, then turns and exits the lift.

"Uh, not so fast, Romeo," You call after him, fed up of his anticks. He's clearly avoiding you - and something is clearly up.

You stride over to him; he takes a few steps back until he hits the wall.

"What is up with you?" You ask, jabbing a finger at his chest. He winces.

Your eyebrows twitch with confusion. Why did he wince?

"Nothing is up, my love." He elects not to say more, you guess because he's lying. Again. 

Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you place your hand experimentally on his chest. He attempts to hide it, but he definitely flinches.

"Look, I must get on with my work. I promise I shall treat you to dinner tomorrow when it's all done," He grins and slips from your grasp, sauntering into his room.

"Nope," You say defiantly, following him. "You're going to explain to me why you're avoiding me. And I'm not leaving until you do."

"Avoiding you?" The door clicks shut behind you. "Y/n, darling. Don't be so silly."

"Are you calling me crazy now-" You cut off, catching a glimmer of crimson in the sink through the open bathroom door.

"Of course I'm not call-" Loki also stops, noticing what you're making a run for.

"What is this?!" You ask, holding up the bloody rag you found in the sink.

Loki swallows, biting nervously at his lower lip.

"I assure you, it's nothing."

"Don't play this game with me, Loki. What's going on?"

He sighs dramatically. "I merely gained a scratch while on the mission,"

"A scratch? Show me then,"

"I really don't think that's nec-"

"Show me," You interrupt, your tone harsh. 

Loki gives in, wincing as he pulls off his shirt. Beneath lies a myriad of scuffs and scratches, some deep enough to still be oozing blood, others just red and angry. You move forwards, fingertips ghosting over the worst gashes as your face betrays your emotions.

Looking up into his eyes, you notice the spark of guilt dancing around - yet you ignore it.

"Why didn't you tell me!? Gods, Loki, this could get infected... look how much dirt there is!" Huffing, you point to the bed. "Lie down."

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I just didn't want you to worry. You worry enough as it is." You ignore his comment, filling up a bowl with warm water and finding a fresh cloth. You bring it into the bedroom and place it on the bed next to him, dipping in the cloth and wringing it out.

"This might hurt," You murmur, gently dabbing at the wounds. Loki's muscles flex, his jaw setting with pain as you clear up the grit and blood.

"The comms cut because of this," Loki starts, speaking as if he owes you the explanation. "There were too many on me and they knocked me to the floor. I skidded and somehow broke the device. I had to fix it with my magic, but it took a while because I had to rid myself of those imbeciles,"

You don't respond straight away, continuing to clean him up.

"And how did no one notice during the subsequent medical exam? Or did you somehow manage to dodge it?"

He chuckles softly. "You know me too well. It was actually very easy to dodge it without you around. Speaking of, how did Clint's surgery go?"

You yawn, tiredness from the day creeping behind your eyes and into your mind.

"It went fine. He's in recovery now and will be on bed rest for the next day or so,"

The cuts are all clean now; you place the rag in the now bloody water and grab a medical kit to place strips over the worst gashes.

"You really are amazing," Loki murmurs, more to himself than you.

You can't help smiling. "And you would be amazing if you didn't hide your injuries from me,"

"I'm sorry my love," He replies.

Now finished with your job, you lean over and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

"You're forgiven," You get up and begin putting everything away, flashing a smirk in his direction. "Although I do still expect that dinner tomorrow night,"

"I wouldn't dare miss it." He grins.

Tag list - @mischief2sarawr Let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[gorlygorlx3]

A Little Impish (Human!Sun x GN!Reader) Chapter 1: The Escape Artist

Written by me!

"His name's Samuel.

Samuel Celeste."

"And like the others, he's a heinous criminal."

"How did he end up here?"

"Initially just for petty crimes. However, they kept adding on to his sentence due to multiple escape attempts."

"So he's done this often?"

"Yeah. It doesn't matter where he's placed, he always tries to escape. Even if he doesn't know any of his fellow inmates, he always finds a new route. We all call him the Escape Artist."

"The entire room is sealed tight. It's a complete mystery how he manages to get out. That's partially why most of the counselors have given up on him. His constant escape attempts make it hard to have a proper consultation has never been performed. He may be different from the other criminals, but that doesn't make him any less bad."

...

"You okay, Dr. (L/N)?"

"Is he at the Rehabilitation Center right now?"

"Yep. I just confirmed his location a few moments ago. I just hope he can finally be given a proper consultation. Good luck (Y/N)."

"Thanks."

After Vanessa, the hardworking and ever-tired assistant of the Rehabilitation Center handed you a tablet with the cell number your client was in, you made your way down the polished, metallic halls. Each step you took banged against the flooring like a drum. You later arrive at the steel door of the cell. Room 214.

*Creak*

"Samuel?"

The room is oppressively silent.

"Anyone there?"

Silence once again. The cell was a little more spacious than the others you've been in. The place was spotless as if it was just cleaned. You started to panic. He didn't escape again, did he?

"You're the new counselor, right?"

You were startled by a mellifluous voice. Turning around quickly, you see your patient startled by your presence. Short, wavy blonde hair bounced with a jolt as the handcuffs on his wrists jingled like bells. "My goodness! You shouldn't turn around like that all of a sudden!" Baby blue eyes widen in shock.

"Where did you come from?" You asked. He gave you a curious look before giggling. "I was behind you the entire time silly." He grinned.

"I didn't know I was being followed." Your shock melted off you after that. A little adjustment on your coat brought you back to a calmer state. Samuel smiled sweetly as if he were greeting a new neighbor who just moved in. "Anyway, nice to meet you. I'm Sam but you can just call me Sunny! What's your name?" Wow, for a criminal he sure is friendly. Then again, you should be careful, crooks can be slippery for counselors.

"(Y/N)."

"Wow, what a cool name! Cooler than any of the other counselors so far." His eyes were sparkling with delight. Samuel was definitely the friendliest and most childlike of all the criminals in the center. That increases your caution even more. "So you've come to have a little chat with me right?" He tilted his head.

You nodded, to which he responded with a huff and a frown. "I haven't the foggiest idea why you people keep wanting to pick my brain apart. I haven't done anything wrong." That was a complete lie. With what his records say and Vanessa's added comments, he's done more than what he believes."

Really? I heard you keep escaping." You cross your arms. Samuel stared at you in shock. He looked heartbroken. "M-ME?!"

"That's right."

"Is that what they said?" He pouted. "Come on, do I look like someone who would do such a thing?" He batted his eyes in innocence. You didn't say anything. No matter how innocent he was acting (or how cute he looked), nothing was going to sway you to manipulation. Samuel took the silence as an answer. He gasped as a hand was smack on his chest. "Wow...and here I thought that there was at least someone nice in this place." He saunters around aimlessly for a bit; hands behind his head as he makes a few long strides away from you.

"But surely..." He stops.

"Even you can see..." He turns his head to face you. "There is no way out of this room, and there are no tools I could use to help make a getaway." He shows you his hands. "And just look at these." He shakes the handcuffs, making a faint tintinnabulation, like wind chimes. They're secured, clutching tightly around his thin wrists. "I can't even move them without the cuffs pinching me." So you've heard. With the many wails and complaints of the other criminals. Asking staff to take them off to "stretch for a bit". Samuel moves closer to you as he proves his statement. "So me trying to escape is practically impossible! That security camera over there would've triggered an alarm if I'm gone." He points to the small but still apparent camera in the corner of the room. If you look closely, you can see a little flashing red light. "And even if I escaped, I wouldn't even be here." Samuel was...right...unfortunately. The cell is watertight and the security system is efficient. The Rehabilitation Center improved throughout the years.

"Such prejudice! You were already judging me before the consultation officially began." Samuel shook his head in disappointment."

Well if you're "so innocent", then what are you doing here?" You raised a brow.

"Because..." Samuel pauses for dramatic effect. "I've committed heinous crimes!" He dips backward with a hand resting on top of his head. Heinous crimes? You heard of some heinous crimes. Common ones like assault, murder, trafficking; you know the usual. You've heard of some crazy ones, like a young woman who was found in a hibachi restaurant eating chickens...alive. And a guy who started beating an old woman with a dildo. Yeah, it gets weird here in the Center. "Heinous? Your record only says you committed robbery." Not like it wasn't bad, but compared to what you heard (And saw), this was the most normal one of them all. "Well yeah, but it's still a horrible crime," Samuel says nonchalantly...as he looks through your wallet like a book.

"Wha...when did you...?!"

"When you first stepped in. It was too easy to resist. Here, you can have it back." He hands you your wallet with a cheeky grin. You didn't feel your wallet slip out nor even hear the sound of the zipper. "Anyhoo, now that we've cleared that up, how are things outside?"

"Outside?"

"Yeah! Outside! It's been a while since I had some time in the sun. Let alone what's going on out there."

"Well, you do well in this consultation, you'll be free to go."

"Oh I know that. But even if I pass this consultation with flying colors, that doesn't mean I'm rehabilitated though."

"That's because you haven't been there half the time!"

Samuel huffed and rolled his eyes. "Is that all they think of me as? A crook? A hoodlum? Or are you just this suspicious of people?" He eyed you; glaring daggers sharp enough to cut the handcuffs on him. You stepped back from the angered prisoner, worried he was going to strike you in a second. He didn't though, he just continued ranting with a side of walking hastily. "I was there for every consultation, waiting patiently for anyone to arrive. It's the counselors who never showed up. Captious counselors, hypocrites with no shame. Aren't I being good and participating right now?” He stopped and looked at you. “You know, if you keep distrusting me, I might get upset."  He grinds his teeth.

Usually, counselors would record any hostile behavior the criminals express. Any harm done to the counselors would result in further restrictions...or worse...

The death penalty.

Of all the criminals you consulted, none of them harmed you. Only attempted, but nothing extreme. More manipulation to break them out of the Center than threats of bashing your head open. You should report Sunn-Samuel's aggressive behavior on the tablet.

But you didn't.

There's something about Samuel that makes him different from the other criminals. Which is exactly what Vanessa said. You didn't know what it was. His smile? His positivity? His childlike demeanor? Whatever it was, it's infectious. And it gives you hope. A potential for one of your clients to be fully rehabilitated. It made you think about all your old clients. You've been in the Center for quite some time in your life; you've met some...unique criminals. Sadly, half of them were given up as the others believed they were "unable to consult". And the other half...died. But like all your patients, you never gave up on them. No matter how difficult they would be.

"Sorry. Didn't mean sound rude." You apologized.

"Well since you apologized, you're forgiven." Samuel smiled again.

"I'm going to help you get better."

"Really? You're gonna be at all the consultation meetings?" Samuel raised a brow at you as if your skepticism rubbed off on him.

"Every single one." You promised.

Samuel hums in suspicion. You understood why though. You bet he was willing to go through any sort of consultation with any counselors before, but their lazy assses didn't come to do their jobs. You've done this job for about 2 years now and by golly, you were going to have a successful rehabilitation if it's the last thing you'll do. "All right, I trust you Doc." Samuel grinned. "Maybe after I'm rehabilitated, we'll go strawberry picking!"

"Strawberry picking?" You questioned.

"You've never been strawberry picking?" He gawked.

"Nope. That does sound nice though."

"It really is. I know this place where you get to make all kinds of desserts with the strawberries you picked and you can keep them." Ok. That does sound nice.

Samuel looked at the clock. "Would you look at that? We got so carried away chatting that we're all out of time." He sighed. He looked so happy getting to talk to someone so casually. You were too. All the staff are always tired as hell, which makes everyone here dull. "I hope to see you again (Y/N)."You raise a brow.

That statement was suspicious. "Is there any reason I wouldn't come back?" 

"You never know. I might end up having someone different next time." He's right. Counselors swap out for all the prisoners every consultation. "But it was fun chatting with you. Even if you have a lot of suspicions about me."

You smiled. "I'm sure one day we'll be able to pick strawberries together." Sunny's eyes sparkled with wonder.

"Oh I can't wait!"

You leave the cell with a creak and a thump of the door.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material

Ch.One | Ch.Two

Chapter Three

Normally, Masters conducted training in a variety of disciplines, in the main courtyard, or in the smaller open air spaces of the Kamar-Taj complex, regardless of the weather--for sorcerers-in-training required preparation enough to utilize their skills in unpredictable or adverse conditions.  Even during monsoon season, this policy was seldom suspended, with the occasional rare exception; and by long-standing tradition, outdoor sessions were canceled only at the discretion of The Ancient One.  Since her loss, such a situation had not yet arisen—so it was inevitable that such should fall in a week where Stephen was in residence there, far from his place as Master of the New York Sanctum.

From June through early September, Kathmandu saw rain daily, with intermittent evening thunderstorms.  Steven Strange felt every day of that rain as a heightened ache in nearly every joint of his hands.  He hadn’t needed to check Doppler radar online to know that a doozey of a storm was headed their way; he’d felt the drop in barometric pressure several hours in advance, and the damp in the air announced itself spectacularly in a persistent, bone-deep throb that did it’s best to distract him from every task he set himself to.  Adding insult to injury, his tremors had intensified to the point of equaling those of the beginning months of his recovery.  Meditation helped to some extent, but the discomfort remained a constant, like white noise in the background as he moved throughout his day.  He kept to himself most of the day, focusing in the later hours on preparing himself to meet with Teyla for their first “lesson”, scheduled after the evening meal.

The winds lashed the rain against his back, while he crossed a courtyard lit by the flash of lightning, the peal of thunder distant enough to inform him that the worst of the storm had finally passed overhead. 

She was waiting for him in the library, as they’d arranged, engrossed in a text he recognized from his own early studies, and scribbling notes in a hand that would rival the worst of any doctors’ that he’d known.     

Stephen cleared his throat to announce his arrival, but Teyla’s eyes remained cast upon the book in front of her.  “Come here often?” he quipped, vying for her attention, swiftly realizing she probably wouldn’t get the humor of that old, banal pick-up line.  He set his rucksack on the table, then took the seat opposite her.

She looked up with a start, then smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Doctor Strange—I got a little lost doing the translation here.”  She slid the book across the table to him.  “It’s the third passage down.  I can’t tell if it’s require or recommend.”

He read the passage through, recalling the difficulties for Novices, of translating Sanskrit on sight—made doubly hard, he reckoned, as she might need to translate it first to English, and then into Hadeethan.  “It’s ‘pay no heed to’,” he told her, pointing to several words proceeding it, “You need to look at it in context to get the true meaning.”  He slid the book back to her.

“Oh—of course!  Now it makes sense.” She crossed the incorrect word off her notes, than laid her pencil down, “Thank you, Doctor.  I have been stuck a while, trying to work it out.”

Strange reached into his rucksack and pulled his tablet out.  “I’ve found this indispensable for translating ancient languages—saves a helluva lot of time.”  He handed it to Teyla, who looked immediately perplexed by the device.  “I don’t suppose you’ve got one of these,” he asked.  She shook her head solemnly.  “Okayyyyy—well how about I leave this with you for the evening?  It’ll make the hours ahead much more productive for you.”

“That is very kind of you, Doctor Strange, although…well…I have no idea how this thing…”

“This tablet,” he told her.

“Oh. This…tablet.  I have no skill with such a tool.”  She offered it back to him.

“Well, this one isn’t difficult at all.  Let me run through its functions for you, and I’ll bet you’ll be breezing through it in no time.”

Stephen went over the basics, and then showed her how to access various websites pertinent to her studies, including a translation site that he had relied on to get him through his early training.  Once she got over her initial distrust of the technology as a sufficient aid for study, Teyla adapted readily, and proved to have a defter hand with it than he had anticipated

Next, he removed several books from his pack and set two of them in front of her. “Now, these texts provide an introduction to clairvoyance and divination.  I want you to take some time over the next couple of days, read them through.”  Teyla picked one up, and then the other, running her fingers across the titles embossed on the covers.  “I’ve bookmarked some sections that I think have a direct bearing on what we’re trying to accomplish here,” he told her, “And if you feel ready, I encourage you to try what exercises you find worth your efforts.”

“I will do my best,” she nodded, “Master Salma said I will be mapping unchartered territory.”  She looked down, quietly admitting, “I find it all…very…intimidating.”

“No one will be judging you, Teyla.”  She met his eyes at that, searching for assurances.  “I promise,” he added, “And if we’re lucky, Kamar-Taj will learn as much from you, and you from us.”

Relief dawned first in her eyes, and then spread softly across her face, “I must admit my mentors on Hadeeth were frustrated when they could not provide teaching enough for me to harness and refine my raw ability for divination.  I pray that your efforts to guide me will not be a waste of your valuable time.”

“No effort to teach is wasted when the student is sincere in their desire to learn,” he assured her, his voice low and persuasive, “And that is something I’ve learned as both a student and a teacher myself—and not just of the mystics arts.  My medical training was more than a decade long process.”

Strange pulled a plain, leather bound book and pen from the side pocket of his rucksack, “One of the simplest things you can do is keep a record of your dreams.  The texts advise you do so nightly—or at least as often as you are able to recall your dreams upon awakening.”  He slid the items across the table to her.  “Whatever details you can remember without concentrating too hard—otherwise your waking mind will try to add definition to things that don’t make sense…”

Teyla nodded, growing excited, “Why yes—immediately record the images and the events of my dreams.  How have I not thought of this myself!  To keep a…a dream…”

“…journal,” they finished together.  She grinned at him, “Your wisdom has already surpassed that of my Hadeethan teachers.”

He chuckled, “As much as I’d like to, I can’t take credit for the idea, Teyla; it’s a basic beginning in most of these texts.  Keep in mind, your best results will come from writing down your first thoughts, no matter how confusing or jumbled they may be.  Don’t give your mind a chance to filter or rearrange them in a search for meaning.”

“Yes, yes,” she murmured, “I understand…”

“And your feelings, Teyla.  How you felt throughout the dream—and how you feel upon awakening.  Even if you wake mid-dream, or in the middle of the night,” he stressed, “Write it down.  This should help us see patterns in your dreaming, and eventually enable you to distinguish normal dreams from the prophetic ones.”

And there it was:  that light in her eyes and upon her face that reminded him of the simple joy of having an avenue of learning open up before him.  As exacting as his medical studies had been, there had always been the deep satisfaction of just knowing he was on the path to knowledge meant for him.  And again as he began his studies at Kamar-Taj.  As a physician, Stephen had seen that light from time to time, in his best student interns—and had forgotten it could be equally satisfying to the teacher who invoked it in their charges.  From a task he’d initially dreaded, he was suddenly glad the situation had forced him to become Teyla’s mentor.

Pleased that he had actually given Teyla something concrete in the way of guidance, Stephen asked how she was faring in her other training.  Though she maintained that she would have no need for the physical defensive skills when she returned to Hadeeth, she admitted she was impressed watching the Masters of those disciplines at work—and that she felt every moment of her own workouts in the aching muscles that followed in the aftermath.

“Oh yes, they can hurt like hell the first week or so,” he laughed, “But I guarantee you’ll feel fitter than you have in your whole life by the end of the second.”   

Eventually, their conversation made its way back to the subject of her studies with Stephen.  “The texts I’ve read so far--I have to admit that they’ve left me curious, Teyla.  Would you mind telling me what it’s like?”

“The…the dreams?”  She seemed surprised he had asked so plainly.

“Yes.  How do they work, exactly?”

Her face scrunched and her eyes took on a faraway look as she considered how to answer.  “The dreams have always been with me, as…as far back as my memory goes.  As a child, I had no idea they were any different from the dreams of others—and so I found no need to speak of them aloud.”

Quietly, Stephen prompted her, “So when did you realize that they were different?”

Teyla’s voice and manner grew solemn as her recollection came to life.  “I was…hmmm…seven years of age.  Seven Earth years.  And I had dreamed a dream for three nights straight—of my closest friend, Meandra.  It was a simple dream, and I had no inclination to question it.”  She closed her eyes, enrapt in the pictures her mind created.  “Meandra slept beneath a midnight, moonlit sky.  Fast asleep; she lay upon a bed of moss beside a small creek.”  Her mouth drew into a small, fleeting smile.  “My child’s mind believed the dream arose from anticipation of a nature walk our teacher had promised to us.  I would never have guessed it was a dream of warning.”

“Teyla,” he murmured, “Whatever happened, I’m sure you shouldn’t have blamed yourself.”

She sighed and looked back to him.  “Child that I was, it could not be helped.  When Meandra wandered away from the group, nobody noticed until we prepared to leave the forest.  The adults searched well into the night, but found no sign of her.  We all feared that she was lost to us.”

Stephen remained silent, considering the weight of guilt she may have borne, and at so tender an age.  Seeing his concern, Teyla shook her head, “No, good Doctor, it was not a fatal loss—though if I had been less afraid, I might have ended everyone’s woes all the sooner.”  She shrugged, and cast her eyes away shamefully, “Through a bitter night, I struggled with my fear that a simple word of warning might have spared Meandra losing her way.  And even worse, I fretted that through my dreams, I had worked some sort of dark magic as I slept, which might have cost my friend her life.”

Compelled by sympathy, Stephen took her hand—gingerly, for the continuing discomfort in his own.  “You were just a girl; surely no one could expect more of you,” he reminded her, “I hope someone was wise enough to tell you so.���

“Indeed,” she nodded, “With the dawn, I sought my mother out, and revealed my dreadful secret.  She bid me wait but a little, so that she could give the searchers a description of where Meandra might be found—and when she returned to me, she gave me only love and comfort.”  Teyla’s pretty eyes were soft with that memory.  “Meandra was not too worse for wear, and was swiftly reunited with her family.  And after I had rested a while—still afraid to sleep, lest I might dream dreadfully—Mother explained the nature of my gift.  She called it a blessing, and told me it promised a noble destiny if I could learn to use it for the good of my people.”

Resisting the urge to tell Teyla that laying such a charge on a seven year old was extremely poor parenting, Stephen ventured a guess, “I suppose she feels you’ve come of age to fulfill that destiny?”    

“Even so,” she admitted, “But know, good Doctor, that this is my hope as well.”

“Of course,” he told her, “I would expect no less.”  Strange withdrew his hand from hers, beginning to gather up the few materials which he now judged too elementary for Teyla to find of use.  He winced as he lifted one of the heavier volumes, cursing under his breath as he lost his grip and it landed on the table; the thud echoed through the quiet of the library.

Teyla met his eyes for only seconds, but he read her clear understanding in that brief moment, before she looked to his hands.  There was no hiding the tremor in them, but he tried to make light of the moment; sighing with feigned exasperation, “I need to remember this sort of heavy reading requires both hands to be effective.”  His self-deprecation fell short of lightening the moment.

“It is the rain, is it not,” she asked cautiously, although Stephen was sure she knew the answer already.  Teyla’s eyes lingered once again upon his hands, as though committing the network of scars to memory.

“Yes,” he shrugged, downplaying the degree of his discomfort, “Nature’s little way of keeping me humble.”

“Yet the magic you have worked with them is already legend among the students here.”  She smiled at his surprise, “Did you not know?”

Stephen clucked his tongue, “Yeah…well…legends are usually half exaggeration anyway.  At least here on Earth.  You should take those stories with a grain of salt, Teyla.”

“As you wish, Doctor Strange—but their unstinting admiration of your deeds is genuine.”  Demurely, she cast her eyes away and added, “A true hero I have heard you called; one who single-handedly battled one of the darkest forces in the multi-verse.”

Stephen waved her praise off (the simple movement enough to set the joints in that hand throbbing again), “Honestly, Teyla—I only did what any Master here would do if faced with such a catastrophic threat.”

The tilt of her head and her sympathetic little smile spoke her response well enough, leaving Strange feeling a bit self-conscious.  Standing up to leave, he would have changed the subject, but that she asked after his hands again.  Irritated at her dogged attention to his private pain, he tried his best to answer impassively, “I appreciate your concern, Teyla of Hadeeth, but this is a topic I’d rather not discuss.”

“Forgive me please, Doctor Strange.  I would not, for all the world, bring you further pain in this regard.”  Teyla bit her lip, looking uncertain for several moments.  “Please, do not be angry—but as we have discussed my dreams—and as I am under your tutelage in this regard--there is something I must share with you.”  

Between the fresh flare of pain in both his hands—and Teyla’s seeming obsession with his wounds—Stephen’s patience was nearly frayed; he inhaled sharply, “What must you share, that cannot wait for another day?”

The young woman from another world blinked several times, her eyes misted over with unshed tears.  “It is only that…that…”

“Yes,” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I have dreamt of your hands, Doctor.  And not only since I arrived at Kamar-Taj.”  Visibly trembling, Teyla rose from her seat, to face him squarely across the cold distance between them, “I have dreamt your hands many times over, from the day I came to Earth to live with my father…and in the ten Earth years since.”

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buy me a coffee?☕

[siriannatan]

Flowers 1/2

In order to lessen the amount of ongoing projects I went through ones I planned to be shorter and finished this one.

Hope ya'll like it :}

And yes, I did get inspired by Miley Cyrus… It's a good damn song.

Scott needed no stinking boyfriend. Jimmy could have all the engineers he wanted. Scott didn't need him at all. He did exceeding well on his own before Jimmy and will now without him.

He can buy flowers for himself. He had Louise to talk to, even if the cat couldn't talk back. No, talking back was actually better. He could even hold her little paws.

Who needs a boyfriend anyway?

Not Scott. So on his first day off since the mess, full of yelling and throwing things break up, he went to his favourite flower shop. They seemed to get a new neighbour in the form of a tattoo and piercing parlour.

"Scott! How can I help you," Pearl greeted him with a wide, warm smile.

"Prettiest flowers you have, I'm treating myself today," Scott grinned back. She already knew about the breakup and did not comment on it. "You got new neighbours," he hummed as she picked out what she knew were his favourites. Maybe he should get a new piercing. Mark the occasion properly.

"Oh, them, nice siblings, good artist I'm thinking of commissioning something for myself," Pearl chatted as if she was being paid to promote the other business.

Scott just hummed and nodded. He had been thinking of that new piercing for a long time. His clients often associated tattoos and piercings with creativity. He was in the middle of a contract when he got his first one. The client instantly was more on board with his ideas with that present. 

And he simply liked piercings. Even if he only had one for the time being. "I just might pop in and check it out. I've been thinking of getting another for some time," he mused, playing with his so far only one.

"I can keep your flowers here while you do," Pearl very kindly offered. 

Scott thanked her but took his flowers with him. "Maybe another day," he said and left.

"Suit yourself, one of the guys there is really cute~," she waved as Scott left. 

Cute guys were the last thing he needed at the moment. He was more than fine alone. Louise was all he needed.

He came by the place just a week later. The idea of getting a second piercing was constantly on his mind. And his latest  customer constantly complained they he was not creative enough.

Inside the place was dark, with moody music and closed displays of piercings and some other jewellery. On a small purple couch sat a kid so enamoured with the tablet he was holding he totally ignored Scott.

And behind the front desk, taping angrily at his phone was possibly the cutest man ever. Messy copper hair that a thin, dark wire headband failed to keep contained. Pretty blue eyes. Many dark metal piercings. A dark T-Shirt with an almost faded, red logo of some sort was slightly too big on him. Short sleeves exposing a dark rose sleeve tattoo on his arm. More black in the form of bracelets and rings. And he painted his nails. Black, plain matte black, but Scott still could appreciate it.

"Welcome, how can I help you?" The man asked as his phone hit the desk. 

Oh no, his voice was cute too even if he sounded bored and tired. At ten in the morning... "Hi... Umm do I need an appointment for a piercing and if I do when is the best time for it?" Scott instantly sauntered up to the desk. The kid was probably either a customer's or a relative of someone from the staff.

"Not really, I think Gem's free at the moment," the man shrugged and checked a bound in dark, likely fake, leather calendar. "Yep, she free. Is now okay?" 

"Yes," Scott nodded. He was not going to ask if Cutie could do it. That'd be weird. He was probably staring a weird amount already. Just appreciating the art on his arm, would be what he'd defend himself with.

"Great. Gem! You got a customer," he yelled to the back. Scott was definitely coming back just to see him. Which was probably a bad reason but he was damn cute.

Out the back came a girl that looked a lot like the cutie. The same shade of copper hair. Green eyes tho. She had the same annoyed expression as Cutie made at his phone. Twins? "No need to yell," she scolded. "Sorry about him, how can I help you today? I'm Gem by the way," she extended her arm, no longer annoyed but all friendly, professional and nice.

Scott somehow managed to focus on picking a spot he wanted and a starter stud. He'd think what he'd put there more permanently later. For today he picked a helix from the diagram he was presented if only just because Cutie had one of those among many others.

"He's single, fWhip, my brother," she smiled as she prepared for the job. Away from cutie ears.

"Is that a normal topic for a conversation with a customer?" Scott asked but did not mind getting the man's name.

"It's good for a sister who wants her brother to leave the house for something other than just work and pizza," Gem chuckled as she put all she needed in its place. "He only does tattoos if you want him alone for a little bit," she grinned and removed her hoodie. She had a very pretty, stained glass-like dragon on her arm. "This one was all fWhip. He's really good, especially if it's your first one," she said and got to work as Scott tried to process what he was supposed to do with that.

He could get a tattoo but that was quite a commitment to make just to stare at a cute guy. And have his hands on him... It was too tempting to not at least think about it...

There was no harm in just talking about it? Right? And he's been thinking about getting one before coming here today. So he asked Gem if he could maybe first consult a tattoo with someone. He didn't name anyone but she instantly offered to let him have 'five minutes with fWhip'. Scott just nodded. 

"fWhip, we have a customer who wants to talk about possible tattoos," Gem announced once she was done. Scott followed her and gave fWhip' a sheepish smile. "He liked my dragon so I offered to let him talk directly with the designer," she grinned. Scott was pretty sure he caught a tiny bit of blush on fWhip's face.

"Sure thing, the lady from the other side brought the flowers I ordered earlier," fWhip' shrugged and pointed to a fresh bouquet of flowers. "I had no idea what you meant so I just listed what I know you like," he shrugged and motioned Scott to follow him.

Scott was painfully aware he was alone with fWhip' when the door to his office clicked closed and a chair was pointed to him. His stare switched between fWhip, all the equipment for tattooing, a mix of colourful and monochromatic designs on the walls and a leather jacket hanging at the back of the spinning chair fWhip sat in.

"Please tell me Gem didn't force this into you?" fWhip started with a sigh. Leaning back in his chair. Unfairly attractive for the current circumstances.

"Not really, more like convinced me to finally take a first step," Scott smiled. He did not want this to end so quickly. And was now genuinely interested. "I simply have no ideas. But I've been thinking about getting one for a long time," he admitted, forcing himself to relax. He was not talking to a potential boyfriend but a professional in their place of work.

fWhip hummed. Got up and brought over a not-too-thick binder full of what turned out to be some designs he just had lying about... And they were all pretty good. But what got Scott's attention was a pair of golden stag horns. Very geometric, sketched out in pretty gold ink. "This one looks cool," he pointed out before he could bite himself.

"Mhm, could work as a back tattoo or clavicle but the second would hurt a lot more. This," he pulled his shirt's neckline down slightly, exposing some flowers. There were more peeking from under the short sleeve on his right arm. Same tattoo? "Hurt quite a bit and I'm used to it," he hummed, as Scott tried to focus words, not the sudden desire to know what and where exactly fWhip had tattooed on his body.

Scott hummed, shifting in his seat. Damn. Why must this man be so attractive? "I'll think about it and call if I make up my mind?" Was the best he could offer at the moment.

"Sure, you can also come up with any modifications you want. Would you want a photo or copy of this?" fWhip offered what Scott did not know how to ask for.

He accepted of course. Ideas about what to add, not change, already swirling in his head. Right next to all the indecent thoughts of fWhip his brain refused to let go of. He should not be thinking these thoughts yet here he was.

He felt weird when he left after paying for everything. He was happy with his new piercing but the sheet of paper with the scan of fWhip's sketch felt heavy in his bag. And it wasn't even the proper thing. Just a copy.

With a sigh, Scott almost dragged himself to his favourite coffee shop. He had some designs to work on. 

He could barely focus. The way fWhip swayed in his chair as he spoke was stuck in his mind. The way his fingers toyed with a pen all the time as well. Scott could not think about anything but the golden antlers' sketch.

His mind was mostly stuck on an image of fWhip, for unknown reasons shirtless with a rather blurry imagining of more flower tattoos based on what Scott had seen so far. Sketching it while looking very aesthetic and handsome... Damn. Scott wanted that man to break him in half...

He sighed as he pulled out a sheet of special foil he used to speculate modifications on printed-out designs and lined it over the print of fWhip's sketch. Not like he could focus on anything else...

[maitaitiu]

for you, i'd watch paint dry OCxCanon week 2024 Day 7: "so... it's a date, then?" Pairing type: romantic Canon Character: Skyla (she/her) OC: Fern (she/her) Fandom: Pokemon Wordcount: 1776

AO3 link

CWS: mentions of hospitals & needles

Synopsis: Skyla finally has a day off from both her jobs. It's sorely needed; she loves her work, but she's wiped out! She's looking forward to a relaxing evening, and then a fun day-long date with her girlfriend, Fern. Though, Skyla has forgotten that Fern has a hospital appointment the same day as her day off.

Skyla stretched her arms high above her head as she kicked the front door of her apartment closed. She was so glad to be done with work today.

Sure, she loved flying. And she loved doing Gym stuff. But man, it was all tiring. And she was thrilled to finally have a day off from both of them tomorrow.

Not only that. But she could finally spend a whole day with her girlfriend! Fern was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, slippers kicked off onto the floor and legs pulled onto the cushion. She was reading something on a tablet, though she looked completely bored.

Skyla threw her bag and coat into the cubby by the front door, and walked into the lounge- where she then dramatically flopped onto the couch and lay her head on her girlfriend’s legs.

“Hiya, cutie. You come here often?” Skyla grinned, drawling her voice out to exaggerate how tired she was.

“Now and again,” Fern’s reply wasn’t as enthusiastic, or happy, as expected, so Skyla sat up.

“You good?” she asked, “What’s on your mind?”

Fern looked up from her tablet, “Oh. Nothing interesting. Just health stuff.”

Skyla raised her eyebrows.

“I’ve got my infusion appointment tomorrow.” Fern said, frowning, “It’s just… boring.”

It took Skyla a minute to remember what those were. Fern only needed that kind of appointment every two months or so, and they’d only been dating a year… and its infrequency led to it being not something they really discussed much at all. But she did remember, after a minute or two of thinking.

Well, some of it, at least.

“Afterwards, then… how about we go watch a movie or something? Or… go for a run… or a walk- or we could go bowling..? It’s my first day off in ages tomorrow, so I wanna treat you anyway!”

Fern smiled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I forgot about your day off.” She said quietly, “I’m sorry, Sky.”

“Why?”

“It takes like, four hours. And it’s an hour to drive to the hospital, and an hour back… That’s already six hours… four of them I’m spending with a needle in my arm and under fluorescent lights that give me a headache.” She turned off her tablet and looked away, shoulders dropped down in obvious guilt, “I just don’t think I’d be up for anything outside of a nap before or after that.”

Skyla practically felt herself deflate. So much for having a nice, super fun day off adventuring with her girlfriend. She stayed quiet on the couch, and said nothing as Fern walked out of the living room to see what they had in the kitchen for dinner.

And also, evidently, to avoid the fact that both of them were now feeling bad.

With a sigh, Skyla lay down on the sofa, and stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t move her day off, and even if she could, she’d worked so hard today that the thought of going into work tomorrow was nauseating- no matter how much she enjoyed it.

But it wasn’t like Fern could move her appointment. So… what?

Skyla squeezed her eyes tightly shut to think for a minute.

Did they just accept that this was an irritating and unchangeable situation?

No. There must be some way for them to spend time together tomorrow.

Skyla picked herself up from the couch and resolutely walked into the kitchen, where Fern was reading the expiration date on a jar of pasta sauce.

“Should we just order pizza, d’you think?” Fern asked, “Or maybe Thai food? I don’t know if this is still good to eat…”

“It looks fine to me. Buuuut I could totes eat a Massaman curry… Mm.”

With not even a further glance to the jar of sauce before she shoved it back in the cupboard, Fern nodded. “Let’s do that. I’m craving tom yum soup already. Geez…”

She pulled out her cellphone to order the food- but Skyla quickly stopped her.

“I’ll pay.” She said, impulsively, “Also. Can we talk about tomorrow?”

Fern blinked, not really letting any expression through, which was most unusual, “Sure.”

And then she dialled their favourite Thai restaurant and placed an order for delivery.

Skyla sat down on one of the breakfast bar stools while Fern ordered, giving the occasional thumbs up whenever Fern asked about things like spice level or any appetisers or whatever. They practically always ordered the same things, so it was pretty easy to communicate the order silently as Fern spoke on the phone.

“Forty minutes,” Fern said as she snapped her flip-phone shut, “You should go get something more comfy on before then, hm?”

“Are you thinking… pyjama dinner and a movie?” Skyla asked, eyebrows raised.

“You bet. Go on. Go go go!” Skyla laughed as her girlfriend pushed her down the corridor toward the bedroom.

She took a quick shower, let her hair hang loose- still wet- and changed into her softest pyjamas. And then returned to the lounge with a blanket in hand, where Fern was once again curled up on the couch, looking at her tablet.

The thing was, showers were bizarrely good for thinking up ideas. And Skyla had one, now.

“Are people allowed to come with you to your appointment tomorrow?” she asked, as she sat down, and covered both of them with the blanket, “Like… a friend or a family member?”

“Oh. Yeah. One person, I think.” Fern nodded, and put the tablet away again, and reached to pet her patrat who was curled up on the armrest.

“Do you… normally bring anyone with you?” Skyla prompted after a moment.

“No. I’ve… always just gone alone.” Fern sighed, and pulled her patrat into her lap, “Why? Are you offering to come?”

“Yeah! I know you said it’s super boring and stuff, and the lights are gross, buuuuut…” she leaned onto her girlfriend’s shoulder, “Maybe I can help make that less boring! I can bring you an eye mask to shield you from the lights… and snacks… and I can give you massages…”

Fern snorted, “You’re not a masseuse.”

“Just an idea!” Skyla insisted, “I dunno, maybe it’d be a bit less boring if you had some company?”

She waited nervously as Fern thought in silence for a minute.

“Well… I mean… If you’d like to come…” Fern said quietly, with a tiny smile on her face, “It would be quite nice. It is really boring though.”

“That’s okay! I have plenty of gossip from work I can tell you… and play-by-plays of Gym battles… and you can tell me how it’s all going in Pinwheel Forest…” Skyla sighed happily and let herself fully lie down on Fern’s lap, biting back a laugh when Fern yelped in reaction to her hair being cold and damp, “Y’know. Hanging out. Moral support. And I can drive us home, so you can nap on the way back!”

“Sure. Okay.” Fern rolled her eyes, and pushed Skyla off her lap, “I appreciate it.”

“Yes!” Skyla exclaimed, as the doorbell rang, “So… it’s a date?!”

“The world’s most boring date ever, sure.” Fern said, getting to her feet.

“Still a date!” Skyla asserted, racing after her to the door.

“True.”

They paid for and received their food from the usual friendly delivery driver, and tipped him generously, as always, and then returned once more to the lounge- where they channel flicked until they found some trashy soap drama to watch, curled up together on the couch under a blanket, their pokemon lounging around the room as well, and eating some of their favourite foods.

Eventually, Fern fell asleep on Skyla’s shoulder, and she took the opportunity to quickly read up on the process of the infusion tomorrow. Where they’d have to go, what they were allowed to bring (Skyla made a list on the back of her hand of snacks and other stuff to pack before they set off), as well as the type of medicine Fern was getting (infliximab) and what sort of side effects it could have (the most common seemed to be nausea and headaches, so she also made a note to bring a heat pad and some painkillers. Not ibuprofen, since Fern couldn’t take those…) and also, she debated the possibility of sneaking off at some point to run to a store and buy Fern a gift… Would that be necessary? Would she think it was patronising? Maybe… It’d still be a nice gesture though, right?

It was already a lot to think through, and she wasn’t even the one needing the medicine. No wonder the whole process exhausted Fern so much, who was already more prone to fatigue due to the very condition she needed the medication for.

Still. Fern would be back to her normal, vibrant self in a couple of days. And if she wasn’t, well… Skyla wasn’t a quitter. She loved her girlfriend. That was that. If Fern was tired and sad for longer than usual, then Skyla would be there no matter what. And she’d do everything she could to make her feel even just a little better.

A date didn’t have to be a fancy meal or an eight-mile hike. It didn’t have to be bowling, or sports, or a walk on the beach. A date could be a nice evening in watching trashy TV, eating your favourite takeaway; a date could be an afternoon spent in a hospital room, braiding your girlfriend’s hair, and shielding her eyes from the harsh lights as she tried to nap away the hours with a needle in her arm.

For Fern, Skyla would spend a whole day doing the dullest paperwork ever if she had to. Fern, who would run a bath with floral bubbles for whenever Skyla said she’d had a rough day at work. Fern, who would personally beat the daylights out of anyone who was cruel toward pokemon. Fern, who felt her emotions at a hundred-and-twenty percent capacity all the time, and who listened intently whenever Skyla or someone else spoke, even if she didn’t care. Fern, who’s body was rebelling against her constantly and had to explain it to everyone she interacted with, and was so clearly exhausted by it all, but still kept going because she had no choice. Fern, who was asleep on Skyla’s shoulder, a tiny bit of sauce from her Pad Thai staining her cheek.

Skyla put her arm around her girlfriend and squeezed her with a hug.

She had always hated sitting still. But it wasn’t so bad with the woman she loved at her side.

Not at all, actually.

[oncexinxmyxdreams]

Encanto OC Event Week 2: Bruno and Mercedes. Soul Mates.

(Major spoilers that I haven't gotten around to for my fic, but let's get them out. I'm tired of holding them back!)

Mercedes and Bruno became friends at 10 years old. Bruno had social anxiety around others, so it took time to fully trust Mercedes. Besides, he figured she just wanted to befriend him for a vision like other kids. When he understood she didn't, he opened up. They clicked over common interests and enjoyed each other's company. Time was usually spent in the jungles because it was quiet and away from people. They both loved to read, and Bruno would tell Mercedes telenovela ideas. Bruno would help her search rocks for her collection and Mercedes always said maybe they'd find real emeralds. (Outside of his vision tablets.) She enjoyed being around water to swim or wade, but Bruno would stay along the banks. They'd pick flowers for their moms and sisters, but Mercedes's mom didn't appreciate it. They loved long walks while talking. When Mercedes went out to paint, Bruno would come with her. They had many conversations and discussions about hobbies, life and stress.

What really strengthened their bond were hardships. They were each other's comfort. Things grew worse for Bruno as the town viewed him negatively and he became more isolated. When Mercedes was upset over her mother, gaining a stepfather or becoming a half-sister. No matter what they had each other to listen, confess and even cry. They rarely fought and if there was a disagreement, it was resolved. There was one point, Bruno was afraid Mercedes wouldn't speak to him again. When they were 12, he had a vision about her donkey, Diego, dying. It was hard for Mercedes, and she grieved a couple days. When she tried visiting Bruno, he wouldn't leave his room. After finally being convinced to see her, Bruno immediately apologized for what happened. Mercedes silenced him with a hug. She didn't blame Bruno and even more, she missed him. She promised him nothing would hurt their friendship and he better not hide for so long again. That was the biggest conflict for a long time, but something bigger happened.

Shortly after her 15th birthday, Mercedes was asked to court a boy she really liked. However, it was a ruse for her to go out with his friend. Annoyed, she went along with it, but put an end when he tried kissing her when she said no. It didn't get worse because of Bruno. He'd had an involuntary vision and rushed to his best friend's aid. Also Mercedes snapped at the boy and left. Feeling shaken, Mercedes started for home and Bruno stayed. After he dropped her at home and made sure her family was there, Mercedes watched him leave. She felt funny and it wouldn't stop. To her shock, she'd developed a crush on her best friend! Mercedes kept it quiet because she knew it would overwhelm Bruno. Yet, her feeling didn't leave and grew stronger. She'd flirt often hoping he'd pick up something. He didn't. Mercedes kept debating when's the right time to bring up her feelings and how to handle it.

At this point, Bruno's never had a love interest, but a few months after Mercedes's crush begins something changes. He suddenly feels physically attracted to Mercedes and is falling for her. He panics that he's betrayed their friendship. He's jumpier and blushing around her, so he quickly leaves. Mercedes grew impatient and knew he must feel similar. She gently confronted him, and they admit. Bruno's unsure of everything since he worries about the future. Things were getting worse for his reputation, and he can't bear to drag Mercedes through it. She doesn't care and wants to give this new relationship a chance. She suggests they keep it secret for now and see how it goes. If the feelings cool, then they haven't lost their friendship. If they continue, then go from there. It's agreed with a kiss on the cheek.

Mercedes and Bruno secretly court by doing the same activities as before. There's just more flirtation involved. They share a sweet first kiss and by then, they know there's no going back. They often meet at late night when their families sleep. She sneaks out and Bruno, living in a sentient house, tells Casita he needs to walk and clear his head. They'll even go when it's raining and share so many tender kisses. They watch the stars and practice slow dancing like bolero. They exchange love letters by leaving them under Mercedes's window. They actually keep their romance secret as it's more exciting and like a telenovela. It's when they're 17, right around their second anniversary of courting, they become intimate. Without too much detail, it takes time, but they develop a whole new chemistry and can't get enough of each other. After that, there's a whole new purpose to meeting at night. The next three years were wonderful, but it couldn't last.

The arranged marriage came up so quickly that there was hardly time to discuss, fight or bargain. Mercedes's mother threatened her to obey and if she had any love interests in the Encanto, she'd make them miserable. (She didn't know about the secret relationship, but was covering all bases with her threats.) Mercedes and Bruno spent one last night together and the next morning saying goodbye like old friends among the Madrigals. Bruno became more isolated, and it grew worse as he was despised. Things would've been happier if they'd made different choices and they both regretted it. They certainly would've come forth about their relationship and married with the Madrigal's blessing. They would've been in bliss. They would've had children. One with pyrokinesis, the gift of fire. The other with retrocognition; ability to see the past...

All her life Mercedes never knew the true parentage of her twin girls. After all this time, Bruno's met his daughters after 30 years. ♟️📿

@encanto-extended-edition

[sparksintheashes]

melody in static; chapter 14

previous . index . next

what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [1930s]

cw; Vague drug addiction reference. Explicit body horror, violence, injury, named character death in fairly brutal detail. This is a harsh chapter. Please be warned.

---------------

Victor's eyes blearily focused towards the voice, only so far behind him and leaning against the wall. The voice sounded as weak as he was, which was, at least, somewhat reassuring - and there, there was Soner slumped against the wall, holding a small object in his palm. A ring, it seemed, his ring that he'd worn and fiddled with so often and that Victor now imagined was some sort of way of contacting his masters. And so, he offered a bitter smile. "Me," he confirmed.

Soner stared for a moment longer before looking down at the ring, and then back up at Victor. He was pale from blood loss, but appeared to have managed a makeshift tourniquet; enough to keep from bleeding out, apparently, but not much more than that. And as Victor tried to parse how long he'd been gone 'here', Soner's face twisted once more into something ugly.

"You did something," he spat accusingly. "They have said- they are telling me there was nothing-!" His hand clenched into a fist, tight enough for the knuckles to turn white, and Victor managed a shaky laugh as he started to push himself up.

"Then it all worked?...thank you for telling me," he said, unable to resist rubbing just a bit of salt into the wound. Soner deserved that and more, and he could see some color return to the man's face as rage filled it. But he still had a task to finish, didn't he-? If nothing else, he needed to check in on Pravda and the others...

...now, where had Soner put his tablet? He cast the man a glance, but he was back to fiddling with his ring, and as soon as he realized he was being watched he shot Victor a dark look. Apparently, he'd determined that while Victor had no intention of outright killing him, he was under no obligation to be helpful; fair enough, Victor determined, though he did bend down to pick up the man's flask and, once he'd determined there was still some left in it (and fought off the brief flare of urge to down it, himself), slide it across the floor towards the other man.

"For the pain," he suggested, voice curt. As much as that urge to drink was still there, he remembered how Soner had tried to force it down his throat; likely, the whole flask was drugged, and he wouldn't risk compromising himself when he was already so haggard. Soner picked it up after a moment, at least, lowering his gaze as he fumbled one-handedly with it. Content that the man was occupied for now, Victor took in his first good look at the room.

It appeared to be some sort of control center, for there was a terminal apparently designed for one of the Quintesson's make; their strange interface was ill-designed for human hands, though he rather thought one could operate such in a pinch. Otherwise, the walls were sparse, a few dim screens taking up most of one but leaving the rest of the room otherwise empty. Peyman, poor Peyman, was nowhere in sight - likely left to rot within the walls, and Victor made a mental note to bring it up to Owais when he next saw him. It was the least he could do, the very least, he didn't think it was possible to save him even with his discovered abilities...especially if Hei was any sign of what would happen if he so directly interfered with such things. A shudder ran through him at the recent memory, but did he owe the man to try...? It wasn't fair to-

"Fair?" Victor heard Soner repeat, belatedly realizing that he must have spoken some of that aloud. He glanced over his shoulder as the man continued to speak. "There is no 'fair', my friend, and you are a fool if you think otherwise." 

Apparently he hadn't had the alcohol, or whatever was in it had already hit him. Victor scoffed, shaking his head. "I didn't ask for your input," he said icily. 

Soner gave a snort of his own, slowly and painfully pushing himself to his feet. "And I did not ask for you to go and ruin my work," he spat. "Ever since- ever since they came, I have spent every moment finding ways to get ahead, and now you- I am worthless to them now!" His voice took on a shrill tone. "Less than worthless, I am untrustworthy, you have destroyed years-!"

And yet, every word Soner said made Victor all the more satisfied. He clenched his jaw, grim but savoring this victory, at least. "Are you expecting an apology, Soner?" he retorted. "You lied to me, drugged me, tried to give me to the Quintessons - and how many other lives have you ruined?" 

Soner barked out a harsh laugh, reaching to cradle his wound. All told, Victor was surprised he hadn't fallen unconscious - he could only assume that whatever modifications Soner had gone through had given his body some sort of heightened tolerance for injury, not dissimilar from a heavy laborer. And yet, he was still clearly in pain; pale, sweating, and utterly unlike the easygoing man Victor had once considered a friend. "Look at the world around you, Victor - oh, you have your little resistances, your tiny outposts of cooperation, but past those?" he sneered. "The only way to live is when others do not - you and your monster of a wife could have enjoyed a place among royalty, and now you all will die when the Quintessons come to clean up-!"

It was one thing to insult Victor. But Scarlett...Victor found himself wishing he still had Rhisling in its altered form, set to the man's throat. He growled nonetheless, taking a step forward. "I would rather die as a man than live as a traitor!" he snarled viciously, gripping his fists.

There was an odd glint in Soner's eyes, and he smiled - or, rather, bared his teeth. It reminded Victor of some of Magnes' savage grins, but this - this was different. "I would be happy to help you with that," Soner said, voice almost manic as he brought his hand - his ring to his mouth. And then-

-then he bit down on it, shattering what Victor had thought was some sort of gemstone. But no simple gemstone could fracture like that, no gemstone would release purple energy that crackled briefly about Soner's face before spreading to the rest of his body. Victor's step forward abruptly became a step back as he sucked in a breath of surprise, only able to watch in stunned horror as Soner's red eyes briefly took on a violet hue. Then the man hunched over, heaving in what sounded like agony as his breathing became only more and more labored; that energy continued to writhe about him like a set of snakes, enveloping him with coils that seemed to draw out his very blood vessels.

During the Great War, and even the Invasion, Victor had heard about certain soldiers - scouts, mostly, or outright spies - being given special pills. Death drugs, to be taken as a last resort when surrounded or otherwise in a hopeless position. For those of great importance, or holding information of great importance - but Soner had seemed like none of these and yet, it brought to mind the parallel. A moment later he understood just why that had come to mind - Soner's body was, for lack of a better word, twisting. And something else had come into mind, Primus's words from his time with Inquirata-

-cementing your modifications-

As Soner's body began to reshape itself in some horrific reaction to the energy, something abruptly sprouting through bandages on his arm, Victor reached for Rhisling. But he wasn't thinking of the weapon, anymore; perhaps later he would, could call himself a coward, but he wanted no part of this, and absolutely had to warn Pravda and the others of whatever the hell was going on now!

Before him, the comforting gold energy - a sharp contrast to the darker hue that was starting to fade about Soner's form - quickly laid forth his escape. Through it, he could see a flash of white, hear the sound of animalistic howls, but these were far, far more appealing than remaining where he was. He dove through, fully intending on letting the portal shut behind him-

-except it had blocked the sight of Soner moving around, and the once-man slammed into his back with a screech that sounded like nothing so much as Inquirata's rage-filled shrieks from those months ago. Victor's shout of alarm added to the cacophony, and he spun around frantically as he lost his balance, back thudding against the ground as he stared wide-eyed up into the face of what Soner had become.

Where before he wasn't an ugly-seeming man, now he was a hideous monster. His flesh itself had mutated, adopting the texture of the sickening char that was the trademark wound of a Quintesson's energy weapon. Like a mass of scar tissue and burnt flesh, it had grown into tumor-like lumps and masses, ripping through clothing and disfiguring any identifying features that Soner might once have had. In the case of his missing arm, it had formed into tendrils not unlike a Quintesson's limbs, only these seemed to be pure muscle without skin to cover or shield.

Other features had changed, as well, disproportionately growing or shrinking; his eyes were mere black pinpricks, swathed in folds of flesh, where his mouth - the mouth was a gaping, grinning maw that split his head in two, full of teeth like some horrific mixture between a shark and a lamprey. And though the great bulk that was the upper body kept Victor from seeing too much of the rest, he thought rather the lower half had grown smaller, as if mass had shifted from one place to another - or perhaps it was just a matter of comparison?

Either way. It was, in a word, revolting. And it smelt just as bad, a violet fume erupting from the mouth and bathing Victor's face as he gagged and tried to shove him, it, off of his form. "Get- get off me!" And now, as it cackled over him, mismatched teeth clacking against eachother and dripping putrid saliva, now he wanted Rhisling's edge, he threw his hand out to the side and tried to visualize it as a sword as he did a spacebridge, tried to call it to his hand.

The Soner-thing simply leaned forwards and brought down its maw.

It was only the coat that kept Victor's arm from being ripped clean off in an ironic mirror of what he'd done to Soner; as it was, Victor screamed, feeling some of the longer teeth pierce through what armor there was and into his skin. And like a dog with a rabbit, the thing twisted its head left, right, ready to tear through the resistance, Victor's arm felt ice-cold as the saliva fell against, into his flesh-

And then, a blast of heat. White fire slammed into it, and it screeched in agony, the motion forcing its mouth off of Victor's shoulder. But the pain alone was more than enough to make him woozy, and Victor could only barely manage to try and take advantage of the opportunity as he twisted to roll aside. But just when he'd thought himself free of its grasp, those arm-tendrils reached forwards, seizing his legs to drag back into its clutches.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

A blur of motion. A form leaping over him and onto the thing - a familiar flash of red as Scarlett grabbed whatever she could and thrust with her tail. The Soner-thing let out another shriek, flailing about as Scarlett moved like a dancer, tail stabbing with every other motion as she fought to stay on its form. Victor clutched his wound in agony as someone else moved next to him, her blue eyes wide as she looked him over. "Victor, are you-"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, feeling wetness in his eyes as he met hers. "I was - oh, God, Pravda, I'm so sorry."

That blue brightened in brief surprise before Pravda narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. "Later," she curtly said, briefly casting a glance over her shoulder before throwing out a hand in that direction - white energy (so similar and different from the violet that had consumed Soner-!) erupted from her palm before she returned her attention fully to Victor, helping him sit up. But his vision swam even more at the motion, and he feebly pushed at her, feeling nauseous. There was a sharp intake of breath from Pravda before he felt a hand tug at his coat, and he couldn't have fought her if he'd wanted to as she quickly made a haphazard attempt to bind his injury before picking him up as though he weighed nothing.

A new shriek - one with a painful familiarity. Victor turned his head to the side just in time to catch sight of Scarlett being thrown off Soner's form, and he reached forwards instinctively, a futile attempt to catch her or perhaps call forth his weapon to defend her, he could not lose her again!

But instead, as if answering his call, sunset-colored wings spread wide like a cobra's hood as Owais bodily charged into the monster. It tried to twist, to bite, but Owais's great form held the strength of not one, but three; the winged centaur forced himself atop Soner and began to stomp with his hooves, throwing every bit of strength he had into trampling the traitor. The thing's cries crew fainter and fainter with each brutal slam, but so did Victor's vision.

The last thing he saw were a set of hate-filled red eyes gazing towards him - and then, the suffocating nausea of a darkness.

------------------

By the time the thing was still and silent, it was nothing so much as a mass of pulp. Pravda tried not to look at it as she moved to where Scarlett was picking herself up, only so worse for the wear. Her chitin-skin had protected her from the worst of its attacks, but she was still visibly distressed - with good reason, for Victor appeared to have passed out. Whether from blood loss or the simple shock of the injury remained to be seen, but hardly mattered; Scarlett took one look at him before looking at Pravda in a silent plea, and Pravda nodded before carefully moving him into her arms. "I will help the others," she said, but as she turned around - she could see that the rest of the Beastmen had things well in hand, talon, or whatever appendage they possessed.

Indeed, they were formidable fighters; when the soldier-Quintessons had arrived and stormed through the great doors, the Beastmen had already positioned themselves to take advantage of it. With Pravda volunteering to be bait, she was the flame that the Quintessons flew to as moths; Owais and his people only needed to close the trap about them.

But Victor's appearance had been a surprise. He was supposed to come in, yes, but also to give a signal before he did so Pravda would know to extract herself and ready the tablet for Primus to take their own action. Coming in screaming with some sort of creature trying to devour him was...not part of the plan, to say the least, but Pravda hadn't hesitated to separate nonetheless and come to his aid.

As Owais wiped his hooves off on the grass with an air of distaste, she took a closer look at the gory mass. As disgusting as it was, something had caught her attention, and there- fabric. Grimacing, she reached to pull it free, and it took her a moment to recognize it.

It was part of Soner's fez. She looked back at the monster, then back at the fabric, then back once more, and - yes, she could see other pieces of his garb. But the tearing was odd, it didn't seem that pieces had been torn off so much as torn through...

...perhaps she was imagining things. Certainly not the stench; she wrinkled her nose as she moved towards Owais, making a brief gesture with the fabric to catch his attention. "I think we have lost Soner," she said, grim.

Owais furrowed his brow, looking first at her hand before back at the pulp. "...Peymen would not have let either of them come to harm," he slowly noted, the implications as loud as the solemn silence that followed. Pravda bowed her head in respect before making another gesture, this one back towards where Scarlett was tending to Victor's wounds.

"We will ask him for information when he wakes up." At Owais's nod, she continued on more immediate matters with, "How did your people fare?"

His smile was thin and humorless, the victory without joy. "From what Sylvia has reported, we have won - but at a cost. I have asked some of the unwounded to start searching the Spire - perhaps we will discover what happened to the others on our own. But I cannot say I have ever  seen something like that," he added with a gesture at the thing's remains. "Not even with those of us who...did not take well to their modifications."

Pravda recalled such poor souls from her own past, and couldn't hold back a shudder at the thought. The Quintessons were generally neat with their experiments, though not always clean; in contrast, even before being trampled into a mess, the creature had seemed...chaotic. An unnatural twisting of flesh into a form that such itself was fighting; perhaps it would not have been long for this world, even had it not needed to be destroyed. Had Victor and the others encountered it on their way to the command station...?

Once more, she looked towards Scarlett. The woman seemed to have finished most of the immediate triage, and was now cradling Victor's head in her lap, slowly stroking his bloodied hair with a claw. After a moment, she looked up, seemingly having felt being watched - and all Pravda could see in those eyes?

Was her upset.

[bwela07]

Octonauts - A new Generation

Chapter 8

The father- I mean founder

Inkling’s pov

Missing humuhumunukunukuapua'a part 3

The trio have been gone for hours once again. Inkling hated when missions took this long. He would always get concerned about the effect it would have on the others. He cared about them deeply, they were like his children to him. He had watched how they helped him make his dream come true, his dream of making the oceans a better and safer place, despite knowing the dangers in doing so. He will never be able to express his undying gratitude towards each team member for everything that they have done. And now the captain, the lieutenant and the medic are out searching for a creature in need of help for several hours once again. If this continues, it will most certainly have a negative effect on their sleeping schedules.

“What’s wrong Inky?”, Min's concerned tone can be heard through the Octo-tablet.

Inkling would often call Min whenever he was troubled.

“Ah, nothing much. I’m just worried about the trio”, He says with a sigh.

“Have they been gone for a long time again?”, Min asks in a soft tone.

“I’m afraid so”, Inkling replies.

The two of them share a moment of silence. Inkling can already tell that Min is waiting for him to further unpack his troubles, but sadly he isn’t good at doing that.

“So…how has your week been?”, he awkwardly says in an attempt to change the subject.

“Inkling…”, Min’s calm and patient, yet clearly concerned tone pierces through Inklings heart. Min usually refers to him as ‘Inky’. She doesn’t call him ‘Inkling’ unless it’s a serious matter. Which just makes the sting worse.

“I’m sorry, you know that I’m not good at this sort of thing”, Inkling confesses, “I just…they’re like my children, you know? And what kind of father would let their child go through all of this?”

“So you feel guilty?”, Min asks.

“I…I guess so. I just want what’s best for them”, Inkling slumps into his chair in defeat.

“They all knew the risks they were taking when they applied for the job. They made the choice to go out there and risk their lives”, Min’s voice was gentle, but Inkling could hear how it was shaking.

“I know. You’re right. Despite that, I still feel guilty for some reason”, Inkling says, deciding not to confront Min for now.

“As you already said, it’s natural for a father to be worried about their children. Just trust them with the choices they make. They are old enough to take care of themselves”, Min’s voice was like a gentle breez, bringing comfort to the professor.

“I suppose you do make a good point”, he says. After sighing, he proceeds to show her his gratitude for always being there for him and for comforting him. They talk for about an hour after that before ending the call. With a smile on his face, Inkling turns towards a bookshelf and picks up whichever book is in his reach.

Inkling had just finished going around the Octopod to make sure that everyone was in bed, when the trio finally came back. They came back earlier than they did yesterday, which made the professor happy.

“Welcome back you three. How did it go? Did you find the missing humuhumunukunukuapa'a?”, Inkling asks in a joyful tone. There is a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Inkling realizes the sorrowful expression on all three of the trio’s faces, especially Peso’s. In fact, by the way the cat and the polar bear are handling the penguin, it seems like they’re trying to comfort him.

“Wh-What happened?”, Inkling stutters, the fear of a concerned father rising up.

“We sadly had no success finding the fish, professor”, the captain replies in a calming but firm tone.

“Are you alright Peso?”, Inkling asks.

“Yes professor, I’m just a little worried about the lost fish, that’s all”, Peso answers more quietly and shy than ever.

“Are you sure that’s it? You know that you can tell me anything”, the professor proceeds, desperate to find out what’s bothering the medic.

“It’s nothing, really”, Peso answers, this time in a more persuasive way.

“Alright. Well, the three of you better head to bed now”, Inkling says, despite still not being convinced by Peso’s words.

“You’re right”, Barnacles agrees while yawning, “After all, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

And with that, the four of them go their separate ways.

Cornin should have been here by now. Every evening, at about this time, Cornin would always come by and give the professor his bed-time-tea. Inkling is starting to get worried for the wellbeing of the Vegimal, and decides to go looking for him.

“Cornin? What happened?”, Inkling asks with concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that professor. While I was on my way to deliver your tea to you, I heard some strange noises coming from Peso’s bedroom. I went inside to investigate and found him fumbling around with something. When I had asked him why he’s still awake, he said that he couldn’t sleep. I gave him your tea, since I know that it helps you sleep. I’m preparing another cup right now”, Cornin explains in Vegimalese.

“Alright. I’m glad you gave him the tea. I wonder what’s been bothering him lately”, Inkling says while slowly drifting deep in thought.

“Perhaps you should go talk to him while you wait for your tea to be finished”, Tunip suggestes.

“What a wonderful idea Tunip! Just make sure that you all go to bed on time as well, okay?”, Inkling asks, while eying Barrot.

“Yes sir!”, Barrot says while saluting.

“I’ll come check on you later just in case”, Inkling mentions before he goes to Peso’s room using the electric chair that Tweak had made for him.

“What are you doing awake at this late hour Peso?”, Inkling asks with the patience and concern of a loving father.

“I’m just struggling to sleep, it’s nothing severe”, Peso replies.

“Peso, please be honest with me”, Inkling pleads.

Peso looks him into his eyes for a few seconds before looking down at the floor. Peso was sitting on his bed, with the tea cup in his flippers. The room was dark, with nothing but Peso’s bedside lamp providing some light. Inkling got out of his chair and made his way over to Peso to sit next to him, while the penguin puts his cup aside.

“Please tell me what’s wrong Peso. I want to help you”, Inkling gives one more desperate attempt to finding out the truth.

Peso remains quiet and continues staring at the floor. They stay seated that way for a while, until Peso abruptly turns towards the professor, catching the octopus by surprise.

“My older brother Pedro. He had gone missing for a long time. When he was found… He was badly injured… Months had gone by… It was way too late… I just…I just don’t want the same thing to happen again”, Peso stutters and stumbles over his words, but he finally manages to tell the professor what has been bothering him. They share a moment of silence, until Inkling pulls Peso into a hug. They stay like that for a while. Not a word is needed to be said. The comfort of the hug is more than enough. Peso’s shoulders violently shake as he starts crying, as Inkling tries his best to further comfort the penguin.

Despite everything that Peso has said, Inkling can’t help but feel like Peso’s still hiding something.

Other chapters

[thebookreader12345]

Non-Stop Bickering

Pairing: Crockett Marcel x reader

Summary: Being a neurosurgeon, Y/N never thought she'd be spending most of her days in the ED, especially with Dr. Marcel, who she claims she can't stand being around

Requested: Yes, by anonymous

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of death

Word Count: 1,468 Words

"Y/N," Dr. Abrams shouted to get my attention. "I just got a page about a neuro consult in the ED."

"Okay. And...?" I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"So go down there and deal with it," Sam spoke.

"But the page went to you," I counter.

"And as the Head of Neurosurgery, I'm making you do it," Sam retorted.

"I hate you sometimes, Sam," I tell my boss.

Dr. Abrams cracked a small smile. "No you don't. Have fun!" It didn't take me long to make my way down to the ED, and when I arrived, I found Maggie, who was standing at the nurses' station.

"Hey, Maggie," I greet the charge nurse. "I was told someone needed a neuro consult."

"Yes. Dr. Marcel," Maggie called out and waved the doctor over. "Your neuro consult is here."

"I asked for Dr. Abrams," Crockett claimed.

"Yeah, well, he sent me instead," I say. "Lets just get this over with. I don't want to see your face any longer than I have to."

"For your information, many people find me handsome," Crockett shared.

"Uh-huh," I hum as we made our way to the patient's room. "I'm sure they do."

"It's the truth," Crockett insisted.

"Right. What did you need me for?" I ask.

"My patient, Jaimie, she's 17 years old and was just in a huge car crash with her parents. I took her to surgery a few hours ago and she was fine after that, but all of a sudden she crashed and has been on the vent since," Crockett informed me.

"Got it," I mutter as the two of us entered the room. I pulled my pen from my jacket pocket and ran it up the bottom of Jaimie's feet. When that didn't stimulate a reaction, I swapped the pen out for a flashlight and shined the light in the teenagers eyes while also glancing towards the heart monitor standing off to the side.

"Well?" Crockett posed.

"Sorry," I apologize and shove the flashlight back into my pocket. "She's never gonna wake up."

"What? But she was fine earlier," Crockett put in.

"Yeah, but she's shown no reaction to pain or light. I'd talk to the parents as soon as possible to see if they'd like her organs to be donated," I advise.

"I told them that she'd be okay," Crockett murmured. "I promised them that they'd get their little girl back."

"You did what?" I hiss. "Crockett, you of all people should know that you can never promise that someone will make it out okay. Not when you work in the ED."

"She was fine when she came in," Crockett argued. "I just assumed...no. Jaimie can't be gone."

I scoffed. "So you don't believe me? You're the one who called me down here!"

"No, I called Dr. Abrams down here," Crockett corrected me.

"Whatever! Dr. Abrams would've come to the same conclusion I just did," I declare.

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna page him down here," Crockett stated.

"Go ahead. But you're wasting your time," I warn him. "She's gone." And with that, I left Jaimie's room to go back up to the neuro wing. I stepped inside the elevator and pushed the button of the floor I wanted to go to before leaning against the back wall and crossing my arms over my chest. Just as the doors started closing, a voice from inside the ED became clear.

"Hold the doors!"

I leapt forwards and slotted my arm between the tiny open space, causing the elevator doors to spring back open. And there, standing before me, was Will Halstead. His cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink, and he seemed to be almost out of breath.

"Thank you," Will breathed out as he entered the elevator. He then pressed another button on the front wall of the elevator which lit up as the doors slid shut, leaving the two of us alone in the small box. As the elevator ascended, it was dead silent accept for the slight dinging that emitted from the speaker signaling that we had passed another floor. "So, I uh, I heard the argument you and Marcel had down in the ED."

"I'd rather not talk about it," I assert as politely as possible. "He asked for my professional opinion, I gave it, and then he questioned my ability to diagnose a patient. That's what happened. End of story."

"I don't think he meant it like that. I think he was just upset about his patient, and he let his emotions get out of control," Will offered. "And you know how he gets when his patients are kids."

For a split second, I felt bad for yelling at Crockett. I remembered that he once had a child who died, a little girl named Harper. And while she had never reached the age that Jaimie had, his fatherly instincts had kicked in. But that all went away at a moments notice when I also remembered that he had insulted my work.

"Yeah? Well you don't see me walking around talking shit about his work," I exclaim as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. "Just drop the issue, Will. I can't stand to be around Crockett, and I don't think I'll ever be able to."

"But Y/n," Will started, only for me to cut him off.

"It's okay. Things will sort themselves out soon enough," I assure him as I stepped out of the elevator. "See ya later, Halstead." I found Sam standing at the nurses' station in the neuro wing typing away on a tablet, and when he heard me approaching, he looked up.

"How was the consult?" Sam quizzed.

"Next time you get a page from the ED that Dr. Marcel needs a consult or whatever the hell else, you're taking it," I grumble and walk right past him.

...........................................

I thought that after telling Sam I didn't want to do neuro consults in the ED for Dr. Marcel anymore, he'd listen and not assign me to do them. So when I got called down to the ED my next shift, I wasn't expecting to be directed Crockett.

"Not again," I mumble quietly as I approached Crockett, who was standing at the nurses' station putting away a tablet. He looked up as I approached, and a small smile graced his lips.

"You just couldn't stay away, could ya?" Crockett questioned.

"Just let me do my consult and I'll be on my way," I mutter. The consult only took a few minutes, and I was glad that I'd be able to leave ED, but just as I started walking away from the nurses' station, Crockett grabbed ahold of my arm.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Crockett seethed. "You didn't talk or even look at me the entire consult."

"Yeah, well, sorry if I don't want to be near the man who insulted my medical abilities," I retort.

"What? Come on. You're still mad about that?" Crockett asked.

"Of course I'm still mad about that! You can't just offend someone's career and expect everything to be okay after that! I mean, that really hu-"

I was cut off as Crockett surged forward, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled me towards him before placing his lips over mine. For a second, I was frozen where I stood. I didn't know what to do. But then my body reacted by kissing Crockett back. Crockett and I had always had a strange relationship. One minute we were fighting, the next we were flirting. And now here we were making out in front of the whole ED staff. After a few seconds, Crockett pulled away from me.

"I didn't think you'd kiss back," Crockett spoke.

"I didn't think you'd ever work up the courage to kiss me," I counter. "After all of our non-stop bickering, I thought you'd pick up that I liked you sooner."

"Believe me, I did," Crockett admitted. "I was just hesitant about approaching you because I didn't want our work to get in the way of what we could have."

"Well, I think I'll actually enjoy coming down to the ED now," I say.

Crockett smiled. "I'll look forward to seeing you. It'll probably be more often than we think since Dr. Abrams never comes down when I page."

I laughed softly. "Yeah, he doesn't like people interrupting his work, so he'll only come down if he's got absolutely nothing to do."

"Right, well, I'm off the clock in an hour, and I'm assuming you are too. What would you say if I asked you to grab a beer with me after work?" Crockett implored.

"I'd say I would love too," I reply.

"Great. Then I will see you after shift," Crockett claimed.

___________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett

[cafedanslanuit]

@rfadaydreaming​ said: ALLIE domestic hawks x reader hcs ple a se <3 love u 🥺🥰 

a/n: i missed writing about my birdman so much!! i had a lot of fun writing these mwah thank u cae

Takami Keigo / Hawks Domestic Headcanons

- When he moves into your apartment, it's not something that happens in a day. It starts little by little. The free t-shirt that came with your pizza order that he now uses as sleepwear, his favourite brand of tea in your kitchen, the extra toothbrush you gave him one night he had a meeting early morning. It’s like he starts building his nest, piece by piece, and one day you realize he has his own drawer.

- He is usually up really early, no matter what time he went to bed. His bird antics plus his training played a part in this, so most mornings he just likes to look at you sleep, a soft smile on his lips to show how grateful he is to be able to wake up next to you.

- Keigo tries to cook, but he isn’t the best at it. His macaroni and cheese are pretty good though. He’s the most happy whenever, for some reason, you get home later than him and he gets to cook something for you.

- Once, he tried to take you out to dinner, but as soon as you had asked for appetizers, a lot of news reporters and fans crashed your date, wanting to get a word out of Hawks and his new ‘fling’. Since he couldn’t really hide his wings, all your dates have been indoors. You usually order take out, put a blanket on the floor and sit there, often accompanied by some candles and music.

- However, every once in a while, he will ask you to dress up and you two have dinner at the balcony. He says just because he can’t take you out without other people bothering you shouldn’t stop you from having special date nights every once in a while. He’ll even order from a fancy restaurant. He makes sure to bring you flowers and also dress up, making sure he uses your favourite shirt he owns.

- I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: Hawks has a playlist that reminds him of you. Actually, it’s two playlists. One is filled with any songs that remind him of you (and yes, some of them are meme songs) and the other is specifically for your dates. Whether you’re eating on the floor or having a balcony date, he will always put that playlist on for you to slow dance with him (you can listen to the playlist here).

- Keigo didn’t get to decorate his own apartment, as it was bought by the Commission. So, once while you are browsing for new curtains, you tell him you want him to pick which ones to buy. He gets really nervous about you putting that much trust into him, knowing you will have to look at those curtains every day. He takes his time choosing, and when the curtains arrive, he insists to help you install them. Sometimes you can still catch him staring at the curtains with a small smile on his lips.

- While he wants his relationship to stay away from the public eye to avoid the Commission trying to interfere, he does post a lot about you in his Instagram private stories. Most of them are candid pictures of you drinking coffee, reading the news on your tablet or cooking with some heart doodles on the side.

- When he comes home after a long day of hero work, he loves to find you laying on your back. That way, he can crawl up and lay between your legs, his head on your chest. There’s something really reassuring for him to fall asleep listening to your heartbeat. 

- During quarantine, you felt really upset about not being able to go out, and he noticed you becoming restless and pacing around the living room more than usual. One night, he took you flying with him and instructed you to close your eyes until he told you to. After some minutes, he landed on one of your favourite parks in town. Since it was really late, no one was around, so it was okay to be without a mask. He took your hand and walked alongside with you, his chest filling with warmth at the sight of your usual smile once again back in your lips.

- He remembers special dates, such as your birthday and your anniversary. Since he always gets up earlier than you, he will bring you breakfast to bed. He’s not the best at cooking, but his special breakfasts always include your coffee just the way you like it, your favourite juice box, slightly burnt toasts (he doesn’t fully believe when you swear you like them like that) and scrambled eggs. After breakfast, he will pull you back into bed and hold you against his chest, whispering reminders about how grateful he is that you came into his life and how much he loves you.

- Having said all this, Keigo also has some bad days. You still don’t know exactly what triggers them, but you can notice him forcing a smile whenever you talk to him. On those days, you take the lead and cook his favourite dinner. You make sure to hold him the rest of the night while running your fingers across his scalp. Most of the time, you stay silent as you do so and press kissed to his forehead and temple every once in a while. You know there is a reason behind him not talking about his family or the nightmares that wake him up in the middle of the night covered in sweat. But for now, you don’t ask any questions, but rather make him feel you’re a secure port for him to land.

- Even if he wakes up first, when you know he has to get to the agency early, you wake up early as well and prepare coffee for him. You bought him a tumbler from Starbucks and he was so happy and giddy about it. He even posts a lot of photos of it on his main Instagram page. There’s something really special for him aout you waking up early even when you don’t really have to and make sure he goes patrolling with freshly brewed coffee. That plus a goodbye kiss from you is all he needs to start his morning on a good note.

- When it’s your turn to come back from work tired, he will help you sit down on the couch and rub your shoulders for as long as you need to. To help you relax, he really likes combing out your hair. He seems to have a lot of fun putting some products on your hair and brushing it out, massaging your scalp every now and then. He can stay hours doing that, a loving stare while he takes care of someone he loves.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

3 Oct. Suptober: Rainbows

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

s15 au; deancas

In hindsight, Cas was preoccupied, not only by the task at hand but by the person he was undertaking it on behalf of, which was likely why he didn't realize he had company in the bunker kitchen until Sam said, "Hey, Cas," and Cas almost fumbled the glass into the sink. 

"Oof, sorry," Sam rushed to say next. 

His expression was a variety of things, none of which Cas clocked as fundamentally apologetic while he refilled the glass. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Whatcha doing?"

Cas squinted at him. Maybe Sam was drunk, or ill. "Just getting a drink of water." He left the statement there; Sam had seen him consume water before.

Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and did not look at Cas. "Sure. You." He made some kind of gesture with his hands that did not seem relevant to anything. "You seen Dean lately?"

"He's asleep," Cas offered, since he knew it to be correct.

"In his room?" Sam's voice cracked on the second word.

Cas drew out the word 'yes' into something of a question. What was Sam looking at on the ceiling anyway?

"His room. Which. You just left?" Sam bounced on the balls of his feet for a second.

Cas looked around for intruders, hex bags, strange fogs, spooky auras, blood stains, a bucket of empty beer cans -- something that might explain why Sam was speaking like someone who'd just learned English. 

"Yes, Dean's room." 

Cas suppressed a smile that wanted to surface as his thoughts quickly flitted to Dean -- Dean curled boneless beneath a body-warmed blanket, his eyelashes fanned dark against the tops of his freckled cheeks -- and back again. He sat the glass in the sink and stepped toward Sam carefully.

"Uh huh. Okay." Sam took a step backwards. His line of sight popped back up to the light fixture. "Wearing. ...What it is you're wearing?

Cas glanced down past his bare chest to the flannel covering his legs. "Pajamas?"

Sam nodded a series of tight little nods, like an invisible puppeteer controlling him was getting restless. "Okay. Okay. And Dean is." He didn't trail off as much as seem to run out of ideas for the rest of the sentence.

"Asleep," Cas reminded him. 

Another Sam nod. "Right." 

"He tends to fall asleep for a while within thirty or so minutes after we--"

"Dude," Sam said. 

Understanding clicked into place. "Ah. I apologize, Sam," Cas said, with a small sinking sensation in his stomach. "I did assume Dean had told you." 

He was leaving out some words, and he didn't mean to play coy; it just seemed like perhaps Sam would prefer fewer details over more with regards to -- how to say diplomatically? -- recent developments.

"Dean tell me? Really?" Sam stared at him directly for the first time the whole encounter. His pupils were big black dots reminiscent of the ones he'd had when they were all cartoons for a while.

"No." Cas paused. "But I did think maybe you just knew." 

An honest confession, since Sam, a skilled hunter with decades of experience beneath his proverbial belt, was often quite good at discerning patterns beneath the surface of verbal communication. Cas had not always been as certain of his own feelings as he was in the present. Indeed, it had taken years for what he felt for Dean -- unfamiliar, prismatic impulses occasionally strong enough to almost bring Cas to his knees -- to coagulate into something fierce and unshakeable that could in part be described in words, much less translatable to more tangible actions. Just because Cas had been slow to realize the depths of his own emotions didn't mean Sam had been.

Except.

Sam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline like worms fleeing chicken beaks. 

"What," he choked out. "Why. No. How would I have known about--" He was flinging his hands around again. "--This?" The hands flew toward Cas like Sam was casting a spell at him. "You are like my brother."

"Um," Cas said.

"And Dean is my brother."

"Uh--"

"And I have literally heard him refer to you as our brother."

"Right.”

"Like, we're all brothers here." Sam gave a helpless chuff of laughter.

"Okay."

"So you understand," Sam continued, "why I might be concerned that my two brothers are apparently sleeping together." The volume of his voice went lower in direct counter to its pitch by the end of the sentence.

Cas chose not to comment on this, nor on the shadow that lurked in the doorway and then dissipated. He said instead, "I don't really sleep all that much, but I take your point."

Sam buried his face in the palms of his hands. 

"I'm." Cas swallowed. He stood a bit taller, the way a soldier might when either respectfully yielding to an enemy or accepting that opponent's surrender -- not that Sam was a villain here. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Sam."

"It's." Sam took a deep breath, then coughed once. "You don't have to apologize."

"Sam, could you... There is nothing on the ceiling that could be that interesting."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Sam spoke like he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it.

Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. "All right."

"The stress," Sam said. "What we do. Monsters. Apocalypses, plural. It's-- I know it's a lot." Now he had slipped into hunter wrangler mode, all rallying the troops and leftover law school pragmatism. "And I can see how the two of you might, you know, need to blow off some steam. Sometimes."

"Sam--"

"Dean always does get a little antsy when he goes a while without." Sam shook his head like he'd realized this was absolutely not a topic he wanted to think about. "You know."

"Sam," Cas said sharply.

"I'll stop talking now."

"I'm in love with your brother, Sam." Those truest words were spoken so easily that once upon a time it might have bothered Cas; in the present, it assuredly did not. He let Sam gape for a moment and then softened the statement with, "It's not just a casual, friends with insurance sort of thing for me. For the record. If that helps."

Sam looked like the human equivalent of the little tri-colored beachball that would spin and spin onscreen when one of his computer tablets got overwhelmed. Finally, his eyes cleared. "All right." His mouth quirked. "The phrase is 'friends with benefits.'" 

Cas blinked. "Insurance is often a benefit extended to citizens in the United States, isn't it?"

"Less often than's helpful," Sam said.

Cas nodded. The two of them stood there by the sink, not really looking at each other. A thought came to Cas.

"I love you too--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Cas held up a hand. "--But I'm not in love with you." This distinction was one that had taken him a long time to understand; it seemed worth sharing.

The ceiling had recaptured Sam's fascination, but he was smiling when he said, "I know." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "I love you too."

Cas returned the smile. "You, and Dean, and Jack -- you are all my family."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, as if pleased. "Yeah, I know."

Cas picked the glass of water up out of the sink. He raised it to Sam in a small toast. "Okay. I'm going to go back to Dean's room now."

"'Night, Cas."

Cas padded back down the hallway, opened Dean's squeaky door, and crept inside the room. The bedside lamp had been turned on. He watched the blanketed lump in the middle of the mattress for movement before asking quietly, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it." Dean sat up and yawned. He scratched at the side of his head where his hair was sticking out. The blanket puddled below his pelvis. Cas glanced away like he hadn't personally and enthusiastically pressed those hipbones into the mattress less than an hour before.

When Cas walked around and put a knee on the bed, Dean said, "I also wanted water."

Cas bumped his arm with the glass. "This is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, taking it from him. "Thanks."

"Because I don't drink all that much water."

"Right."

"Because I don't sweat as much as you do."

"Hmm. You sweat some," Dean said, a hint of slyness in his tone. He leaned away to leave the water glass on the bedside table.

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress and let Dean scoot up to him. "Are you bragging about making me sweat?"

"Mmm," Dean said, splaying his hand over Cas's clavicle. 

"You should probably talk to Sam in the morning."

"This is the morning."

"Later, then."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist like he owned the span of it. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could just--

"Nooo." 

A sharpness tapped underneath Cas's ribcage, an angel blade's point pressed with deliberate aim. It took a minute before he could speak. He gathered his courage. "If you want to stop--"

"No." The word fell from Dean like Cas had knocked it out with his fist. His eyes were fever bright and anguished, and another, better ache flooded Cas's chest at the sight. "No."

"I am very much in love with you." Cas took a breath. "Sam's reaction, I know, wasn't entirely out of nowhere." 

Dean tipped his forehead to Cas's. "I don't think he was objecting so much as he was surprised--"

"I'm only saying, I have thought of you both as my brothers, at various times in the past." Cas studied, not for the first time, a collection of freckles on Dean's shoulder. "I still think of Sam as a brother, in a way. He may not be incorrect that the situation, as it has evolved, is something a bit… Atypical." He considered a further implication. "And each of us is one of Jack's dads."

Dean huffed, a bluff since his fingertips were memorizing Cas's vertebrae like he planned to sketch them later. "Well. We can't all be the goddamn Waltons, or whoever."

Cas agreed, "We definitely do not live on a farm." He let himself sway toward the ardent way Dean was looking at him. "It might be nice to live on a farm, with cows and ducks, maybe some sheep--"

"And I am very much in love with you too," Dean said softly. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek.

"Yeah?" Cas's eyes felt hot.

"Yep."

Cas thought to say, "You know, Sam is exactly who you raised him to be: a good man."

At that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "New rule," he said hoarsely after several seconds. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We cannot talk about Sam, like. When we're not even dressed."

Cas stretched out his right leg and wiggled his foot. "I have on these pajamas pants. Can no-one else see them? They're covered in so many things."

This was an understatement. Technically, the pattern contained no less than the following items: rainbows, unicorns, blue whales, yellow stars, shield-wielding pugs, and anti-whale flags, whatever and why-ever those were. Put simply, the pajama pattern was like an indecipherable code of images that seemed to illustrate the illicit drug use of the manufacturer's designer.

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

Cas thumbed a spot on Dean's throat, his mouth going dry with the desire to taste the pulse fluttering there. "In my celestial wavelength form, I suppose I would be more closely related to a visually-deducible electromagnetic wave than I would be a pug riding a whale into glorious battle."

"These pajamas are a work of art," Dean contended, kissing Cas's temple. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I guess that story about God -- Chuck -- using a rainbow to seal a promise about never again destroying earth with a flood is just apocrypha, huh?"

Cas thought about it. "Yes. Unfortunately." He tried not to sigh. "Sometimes I have to remind myself Chuck created some beautiful wonders despite...being who he is."

"Yeah. Going out after a hard rain and seeing a rainbow's colors arching through the clouds -- still seems hopeful." Dean started pulling Cas down beside him on the mattress. "Maybe that's what reminds me of you."

Unable to speak, Cas tucked his face into Dean's throat. 

Dean's fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of the pajamas, ever so slowly. "Anyway, these are mine." Cas hummed an affirmative. "I would like them back," Dean said.

"Now?" Cas heard himself gasp.

Dean pressed him onto his back to nose his way down the line of Cas's breastbone, his warm breath teasing over cooled skin and coaxing out a shiver Cas felt splintering through his whole body. 

"I would settle for you just not having them on at the moment," Dean said, using both hands to reclaim his property, and before raising up to kiss anything Cas might have wanted to say in response entirely out of his mouth.

[comfy-whumpee]

Birdhouse: The Talks

Whumptober Day Two: Talking is Overrated. TW: dehumanisation, slavery, BBU, bad decisions in therapy.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

The new rescue was called Roman. Not by himself, but by whoever had taken the initiative to name their brand-new captive. He hadn’t yet told her who had give it to him, but he had assured her that he was still happy to be known by the name.

Sunita Kaur had been providing therapy to his those like him for years now, in varying capacities, and he was the newest addition to her caseload. She spent the Wednesday of her working week privately commissioned to support the residents of the Birdhouse Shelter, and with the fee its proprietor paid her, she was able to do the rest of her work completely pro bono. That was the way Avis Jacobitz worked. She paid you what she thought you were worth to her household.

Each new rescue came with new strengths and new challenges. Roman had escaped himself, which often gave them a head start, but not always. He was also in good physical condition, which made sense; the Birdhouse specialised in complex emotional needs more than physical ones. Not that any ex-pet came without their chronic pains and weak immune systems. Roman was prone to dizzy spells and took iron tablets daily.

He was sitting on the comfortable chair with his hands resting on his knees and his back straight. To be sitting on the chair in his first session was another strength. But then, not all ex-pets had been banned from furniture.

“My name is Sunita Kaur. I’m a trained practitioner of counselling for pet industry survivors.”

She didn’t miss the way Roman’s lips moved faintly to echo that term. Pet industry survivor. It was difficult to talk about those labels without reinforcing them, but she had settled on one eventually.

“That’s you, Roman. A survivor of the American organisations that attempt to brainwash and remake people.”

There was no sense of recognition in Roman’s eyes as he thought about that. He didn’t reply.

Sunita gave him a moment to think, and then offered, “How do you feel about that description?”

It’s several seconds, unmarked in their passing, before Roman ventures, “I like being called a rescue.”

“Can you tell me why?” Sunita asks, keeping all reaction clear from her expression. If she so much as twitches a nostril, an ex-pet will pick up on it.

Roman glances down shyly, smiling. “Because I was. There was a new cleaner and she called someone to help me, and now I’m here. I like thinking about her.”

Every word was delivered in the faintest whisper. Sunita was straining her ears.

“Why do you like thinking about her?”

His hands sit perfectly still on his unmoving knees. Only his expression changes. “Because she was nice. And she helped me even though she was a stranger, and I like knowing – strangers can help you.”

Sometimes she wondered at the ability of her patients to love people who had been cruel to them. Sometimes, it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, ex-pets loved people in general, through some innate hope and fortitude all their suffering had failed to tarnish.

She was going to enjoy working with Roman.

-

Florence never made eye contact. Their gaze drifted around her face and off again. They sat in the comfortable chair, leaning slightly against its side, long hair tumbling off one shoulder and an arm stretched out to show the curving line of their body in what had to be an uncomfortable position. They looked like an art piece. They played with their skirt. Sunita was used to this. Florence liked textures.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “Avis has lots of people to care for.”

Sunita nodded. It was something that Florence was already dealing with. Avis split her time with equity as her guiding principle, offering the right amount of support to everyone who needed it. Florence was used to their time with Avis waxing and waning depending on the needs of the others in the house.

‘To each according to their need’ was a powerful concept, unless one of your rescues was always desperate for attention.

Sunita hummed in acknowledgement. “So how do you feel about Roman getting lots of help?” They were the one who had brought it up, after all. There was something there.

Florence ran fingers up and down their silky turquoise skirt. Their gaze flittered across the window. “He’s funny. He acts different.”

“Different how?”

There were no birds in the sky, but Florence’s eyes moved as if there were. “He doesn’t have anyone he loves.”

-

“Of course I love them.” Kamala lifted her chin, hands folded on her lap, the picture of dignified confidence. The neat edge of her hijab was broken only by the lightning-bolt pin she had used on one side. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “The Birdhouse is like my family. We look after each other. That’s not particular to Florence. They just like spending time with me.”

Sunita nodded, showing that she was listening, but didn’t interrupt, hoping Kamala would keep going.

“It’s not wrong to give more time to someone who asks for it,” Kamala continued after a moment, smiling earnestly. “Florence is used to being the centre of attention. It makes them happy. And it makes me happy to help them.”

“We’ve touched on this before, Kamala. You derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from what services you can offer others, how you can fill their needs. I think you know what I’d like you to think about.”

“My needs,” Kamala answered with a pretty smile. “I understand, Mrs Kaur. I took more time to myself this week, although it was hard. I reread some of the comics I got when I first came here, in my bedroom. I haven’t done that in a while.”

She spoke with perfectly believable sincerity, underlined with a hint of eager-to-please nervousness, of am I doing it right?

“That sounds positive, Kamala. How did that feel, to be spending time on yourself?”

“It’s hard, Mrs Kaur. I don’t like myself very much. But I know it’s what will help me in the long term, so I do my best. If you practice self-care, it will become second nature.”

Sunita was sure she had said those exact words to her before. “That is the goal.”

-

Tenten’s twitch was worse today, jerking his shoulder and running down his arm as he spoke. He didn’t make eye contact, but not in the way that Florence didn’t, always busy looking elsewhere. Tenten kept his eyes averted. His limbs were drawn close together, arms on his knees, as if he was unsure how to sit on something soft.

“I don’t, I don’t want-t t-to, to-to make anyone ss-sad. But I did, m-made her, upset-t, I t-t-t, t-t, I c-c-could see. She was.”

“That’s alright, Tenten. Take your time.” She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not going to think any different of you. I will still be your therapist.”

Tenten made an uncertain noise, his shoulder jumping like a livewire. His foot tapped. “You, but you’re her c-c-counsellor too. I don’t want-t, I might, if I say somet-thing she didn’t want you t-to, to know.”

“I understand your concern. Remember, this is confidential. I will never use what you tell me in my sessions with the others.” She smiled kindly as his eyes flickered to her and away shyly. “But do remember that I talk to Avis before I start sessions, to make sure I’m aware of anything significant. I may already know about the conflict you’re thinking of.”

Tenten’s shoulders hunched, “C-c-con, conflict, huh?” he echoed. “What do you th-think it is?”

She made sure to smile gently. “I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing under the maroon neckerchief he always wore. He took a breath. “Okay.”

-

“We’ve been here for forty minutes, Avis, and you still haven’t said a word about yourself.”

Avis leaned back in the armchair, frowning at the wall. “I know,” she admitted. “I know we always end up here. I start talking and it’s about how Roman’s settling in, or Florence’s new night terror, or Kamala and Tenten getting into another argument, or… Boo. Everything about Boo and their – situation. It’s just, I spend my whole life looking after those guys. Even when they’re doing something else, like Therapy Day or tutoring, there’s five of them now, so there’s always something.”

Dr Cerasale showed nothing but patient understanding. It was true, that this often formed the bulk of the sessions he held with Avis. It had been improving for a while, before she’d accepted the new rescue.

“And I know, I find fulfilment in my work, that’s not a bad thing, and some people live with different professional-personal balances. And for my kind of job, there’s not much distance between them. But…”

She stopped, still frowning at the wall.

“What is the downside of that?” he prompted her.

Dark eyes flashed his way. “Do you mean me not having any time to myself, or me seeing my son in every single one of them?”

All patients had their challenges. Avis had a unique living situation and a very unusual career path, but the underlying causes of her mindset were very normal.

“Let’s talk about guilt,” he said, and she broke eye contact.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Lazy Mornings - 5

Lazy Mornings:  A Captain America Fanfic

Lazy Mornings Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1696

Warnings: smut (MF, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: Steve Rogers has trouble taking time for himself.  When his friends set him up with a person with a very unusual skill, perhaps he can learn that the quiet moments are just as important as everything else.

Chapter 5

There was something a little magical about the way the sun crept through the curtains as Steve slowly woke.  It fell in a clear beam over the bed, and dust motes floated in it, glowing brightly like they were alive and filled with their own kind of magic.  From the beam the light diffused through the room, blanketing in a soft white haze that made everything seem like it was wrapped in cloud.

Steve had slept well.  Better than he could ever remember sleeping before.  It was the good, deep, restful sleep that most people just long for.  There was no urgency to waking either, so he did it gradually, appreciating the scent of coffee, linen, and fresh-cut grass, along with the warmth of your body pressed against him.

You slept so close to him - practically buried into his side.  Sleeping with another person usually brought with it some minor discomforts that were a trade-off to the intimacy of sharing such a space with another person.  Hair that got in your mouth.  Awkward arm placements.  Overheating from the shared body temperature.  Accidentally getting kicked in rather tender areas.

There was none of that with you.  The bed which would normally be too soft for him to be truly comfortable was somehow perfect.  The air temperature was cool, but the bed was perfectly warm in that way that made it hard to leave.  The way you tucked in against him felt like the two of you were made for each other.  Like two pieces of a puzzle, or Lego bricks.

You made a soft sound and your arms tightened around him.  “Good morning,” you mumbled, in a sleep-heavy voice.  “Will you stay?”

Steve hummed and pressed his cheek against the top of your head.  “Mm-hmm.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was agreeing to.  Now?  Forever?  He didn’t know, but either way that answer felt right.

You hummed and nuzzled at his neck, kissing his throat and gently grazing your teeth over his skin.  “Good,” you whispered.  “I have plans.”

He pulled back and looked down at you, smiling a lazy smile.  You looked ethereal in the soft morning light.  You returned his gaze and reached up and ran your finger along his jaw so that his morning stubble scratched over your fingertips.  For a moment that’s all either of you did - just lay there gazing at each other - and then he broke.  He leaned in and kissed you deeply.  Your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself tightly against him.  There was a slowness to your movements that seemed to translate to a deeper intimacy.  There was no rush.  No desperate need.  The two of you took your time to just kiss and caress each other’s skin.  He ran his hands over you as you raked your fingers through his hair.  Your hips moved slowly against him so your cunt rubbed against his morning erection.

The pressure of your body against his, the warmth that radiated from your skin, and the way his body buzzed under your fingers, made that lazy, cozy feeling start to blend into his desire and need.

He kissed your throat and massaged your ass as he slowly rutted against you.  Your fluids dripped from your cunt and coated his cock.  He hummed and when the head of his cock caught on your entrance, he pushed, slowly sinking into the warm passage.  The movement was met, not with a moan, but a soft contented sigh.

He rolled so he was on top of you and the two of you began to move together.  He rolled his hips penetrating you deeply, taking his time to feel every ridge and contour of your internal walls.  You counter, arching your back and rocking under him and clenching around him. The kissing was a constant tender caress.  Lips against lips and necks, collarbones, and chest.  It added to that soft buzz inside him, and the world became fuzzy and far off as the two of you made love.

“You feel so good, Steve,” you hummed against his throat.

He moaned in response and brought his lips to yours.  You nudged him and he rolled over so you were straddling him.  You broke the kiss and sat up, closing your eyes and letting your head loll back as you twisted and circled your hips while staying seated on his cock.  He watched you, mesmerized by the way your body moved as you rode him.  He ran his hands over your breasts and down your sides, letting one settle on your hip and the other over your pussy, working your clit with his thumb.  You moaned and moved a little faster, your lips parted in silent pleasure.  Your cunt began to clench and flutter and with a deep moan, you came, your body seizing up.  Steve grabbed your hips and began to thrust up into you, chasing his own release.  When it came, it was like his orgasm washed through him like a wave, he closed his eyes and groaned as his muscles clenched and he spilled inside you.

You stayed sitting on top of him for a moment, just letting yourself relax and come down from your orgasm high.  As your breathing returned to normal, you climbed off him.  “I’m going to make breakfast,” you said, grabbing your robe and sliding it on.

Steve stretched and watched you leave the room as he debated what to do.  He hadn’t ever had breakfast in bed, and he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t comfortable right where it was.

His need to be up and participating in the world ended up winning out, and he dragged himself out of bed.  He tried to keep in the spirit of the lazy morning though.  He used the bathroom and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt before coming out to find you.  The kitchen smelled of coffee, bacon, and maple syrup, and you stood at the stove singing to yourself.  He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Really giving yourself to it, huh?”  You asked.  “I can feel it.  Makes me feel a little more real.”

“If that’s all it takes for you to feel that way, I’ll have to do this more often,” Steve said.

You laughed and turned, kissing his cheek.  “If you really want to spoil yourself, the paper should be on the doorstep.”

Steve let you go and went to the door.  Sitting on your welcome mat in the hall was a copy of the New York Times.  He picked it up feeling a little bewildered.  Since waking up from the ice he’d seen newspapers being sold, but he’d never known anyone who bought them.  He’d been dropped into a world of leading-edge technology where the new was delivered digitally in an instant.  It was all tablets and holographic screens in his world now.  Having an actual honest-to-god newspaper felt a little like he was stepping back in time.

He took it to the reading nook you had by the window and reclined back on the window bench, pulling the plush blanket you had sitting there over his legs and unfolding the paper.

It was strange how strong the scent of fresh-cut grass was, even though he wasn’t sure he could smell it as much as he formed the idea of it in his head just from being around you.  If he looked down through the window, it was just another busy New York street below him.  You lived across from Central Park though, and looking right ahead he had views of trees and grass he could sink into the illusion of a Sunday in the suburbs with neighbors mowing their lawn while he took his time to read the paper.

“Don’t you look comfortable here,” you said, bringing over a tray.  Sitting on it was a plate filled with pancakes, eggs, and bacon, a mug of hot coffee, and a glass of orange juice.  He shifted a little and took the tray, placing it over his lap, and you took a seat in the wingback chair beside him.

“You’re spoiling me,” Steve said, picking up his coffee and breathing in the aroma.  “You’re not eating?”

“When I have someone who’s really giving themselves over to what I have to offer, I don’t actually need to eat,” you replied.

Steve surveyed you, raising his eyebrow.  “Thor always needs to eat.”

You laughed.  “Thor and I are slightly different entities.  And I don’t pretend to understand it.  I am feeling it very strongly from you right now though because this is not something you let yourself do very often.  It’s nourishing.”

“For us both,” Steve said and started to eat.  He took his time to savor it all.  It wasn’t the best food he’d ever had, but it seemed to hit the spot exactly.  The coffee was hot and brewed just how he liked it, bitter but not burned.  The eggs were sunny side up but the white had cooked through while the yolk was still runny.  The bacon was salty and crispy and mixed with the maple syrup on the pancakes perfectly.

“Do you think we can actually work long term?”  Steve asked as he ate.  “We seem to need such different things.  And what would happen if I stopped fighting and just retried?  Would that affect how this worked for you?”

You shrugged.  “To answer your second question first; no it wouldn’t.  Eventually, you’d stop appreciating the lie-ins and it’s really in the desire and appreciation of them that gives me my power,” you said.  “As for the first, I couldn’t say.  No one knows what the future brings or how long people can stay compatible.  It’s working now, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Steve agreed, and sipped on his coffee thoughtfully.  Maybe he needed this.  A reason to balance his life so he took something for himself once in a while.  Maybe appreciating the quiet moments more would help him get through the chaos of his everyday life.  Maybe his friends had been right, it was time for him to get a life too.

// NEXT

[endobiologist]

Trans Guy Tips #3; Testosterone HRT, How to Inject, & Its Effects On Body & Mind, Pt. 1

Note: I will likely add more sections to this at a later time, as I learn more about taking testosterone and its effects. Be sure to check back!

1. First, and this can change depending on your body type and what your own endocrinologist recommends for you,

but personally for me and for a lot of transgender men, Testosterone Cypionate, usually 200mg each dose, is the best choice, and so is taking the injection form, doing that intramuscularly, and taking them bi-weekly, meaning every other week on the exact amount of time from the time you took your last dose.

My endocrinologist explained to me that this is due to if you overload your body with testosterone constantly, or if you overdose it in an attempt to get more effects, you will instead have the opposite effect where you will instead gain estrogen, and more of it, because testosterone converts to estrogen when there's an excess of it and the body senses it as something wrong!!

So please please never take more than you are supposed to take, prescribed officially by your doctor.

They usually recommend bi-weekly for most if choosing injections, because it makes it so the testosterone spreads evenly throughout your system the entire time, and just has a very even perfect use that makes the effect stronger and it makes your body get used to it quicker, which speeds up the effects significantly, and tends to be the healthiest option.

2. Also in terms of safety, never ever get testosterone from a non-official source like the black market, online, or from a friend. You cannot trust this, as it has not been evaluated medically whatsoever.

Also, most importantly, you don't have a medical professional there to see if your hormones and all your health is correct and good to start or continue, or what dose to take, or which kind works best for your body, as well as not having any checkups, which is also vital when you take a new hormone in your body to make sure everything is balancing right!!!

So it is very dangerous, you could accidentally overdose, or your body could malfunction somehow, or you could just be injecting yourself with stuff that doesn't work ever!!

There are many things that could go wrong, so PLEASE never ever EVER do this.

Get a trans-familiar endocrinologist.

3. Now mind you, there are other options for taking T if you just cannot handle injections whatsoever.

Option one are tablets called subdermal capsules that they implant under your skin, usually under your arm or shoulder skin as it seems to spread the best that way. They will slowly leak testosterone until they replenish themselves and you have to get them replaced.

Some people praise these as they are pretty even in effects, and they make it so you have a steady supply pretty well, and also you don't have to think about it very often as the tablets last quite a while.

The downside is, that despite its evenness quality, it doesn't actually have very strong effects.

It will still give you effects for sure, but it will take a lot longer, possibly multiple years, to see the full effects of it.

There are also things known as topical testosterone, where you can put a gel or cream on yourself and it will dose you with the amount it has in it.

This is the least invasive option, however it's one with a very small amount of testosterone, so it will take some of the longest to feel, or see, effects.

Also, I have heard from some people that if you are having someone else put the gel on you, if they accidentally get it on their skin, it will literally dose them with testosterone, which is not okay if you have someone who is not trans and does not want it doing it.

So if you choose this route, please do it yourself so you're not dosing any more on to other people, and instead just on to yourself.

It also doesn't waste the dose on others that way, and you get the full effects instead.

There is also things known as oral testosterone, taken through pill form. But I have heard some bad things about these, and I have heard recommendations not to use them due to there being a lot of downsides, as it doesn't absorb into your body nearly as well as any of the other options, even the slower ones.

But really what matters is what you need, and what your body needs, so even though injections provide the most amount and the most even supply when you use them, especially bi-weekly as well, it might be different for you as every single trans guy/transmasculine person is different, physically & mentally!

And some things work better for others, so consult with your doctor, and let them know the effects and the timing you want, and they will suggest options for you if you are not able to choose yourself without assistance due to lack of knowledge etc.

I would however recommend deeply researching every section of testosterone as I did, before going to an endocrinologist, so you are very prepared and know which kind you want already which will make the appointment take less time as well.

Also you never want to rely on the information of just one person, so always research.

Don't just trust my guide immediately or anyone's guide if it's just one you read, instead do your own research on many sites & forums, and find what works for you, as I can only say what works/worked for me.

4. And when it actually comes to the fun part, the injections,

I will give you a step-by-step guide on mostly how to have someone else inject you, but you can also take my advice for injecting yourself, however I have no advice for specifics of that, such as ways to calm yourself down from queasiness when doing it yourself, since I have never injected myself due to me honestly being just a little squeamish about doing it myself.

But I've always had my mother do it, and I have watched occasionally to see how best to do it, and have experienced it quite a few times now, so I know which way is the least painful as well.

If I were ever forced to do it myself, that way I would be able to because I know how to beforehand.

Now what you do is when you pick up your prescription of Testosterone, this is assuming if you take it bi-weekly and an injection form, you get two 1 ml bottles (A month's supply) and you have to unfortunately ask for & buy the syringe that comes preloaded with the needles.

Also make sure never to ask for just a needle, cuz they will literally give you just a needle, and no syringe.

It's happened to me before, LOL.

They usually have the syringes & needles in stock almost always, but there are a few occasions where they didn't have the needles.

But it is honestly annoying having to pay for something extra when the testosterone itself doesn't cost anything, yet the injection needles you need to use it do??? Lmao.

However it's not that annoying, because they're actually relatively cheap!

Here in Nevada, with no discounts used, they usually only cost you about like $3 usually, $4 at most, so it's pretty price effective.

5. I strongly recommend this, it was my mom's edition to this by the way, she strongly recommends as well,

that you should wait at least a month before taking your first dose of T.

Even when you just received it!

The reason for this is because sometimes they will be out of testosterone or out of needles, or you won't be able to afford it for whatever reason, you never know and it's so much better to have at least 1 if not 2 backup doses and syringes + needles on hand so you never have to worry about that.

I was impatient and injected the day I got it, and so though I haven't run into a problem yet, it is stressful knowing that if a mistake happens with the injection and the fluid leaks out too much, or something happens, whatever it is, that I won't have a backup dose.

So, I would highly recommend waiting a month or even two before injecting, so you have two doses and you pick it up way before you run out every time.

That's way more efficient.

6. Now although this comes from the point of view of someone who hasn't injected themselves, and only has been injected, I pretty much know how it works so I could if I had to, I would just be squeamish.

And for a lot of people they feel the same, so it's easier to get a family member or a close friend to do it for you, as long as they're always around when you need to take your dose.

Personally I have my mom do it because she's talented at injections due to having reptiles that needed some done the same way.

So, basically, you take everything out of its containers, and make sure not to touch the needle itself ever.

Once everything's out of its containers, then make sure to test if the needle is totally closed onto the syringe.

If it is, it's good to go.

Checking the tightness of the needle is very important because if you don't, you can end up having the needle pop off inside you, and release none of the testosterone actually inside of you, wasting a dose completely & it just hurts like a SOB.

Now, take the cap off the needle.

I would recommend always sanitizing the needle, the syringe, and also having a little gauze pad or paper towel piece, all soaked with rubbing alcohol to sterilize the area you will be injecting, so there is no risk of infection at all.

Although not extremely important, I'd recommend you'd also want to bring a tiny Band-Aid.

It will be a very very tiny wound, more like a dot, but it actually bleeds quite a bit after, due to it going deep in, so it's helpful to put a Band-Aid on just for the first hour or so, then take it off and let it breathe, and it heals super quick. It'll be gone before, or by the next day, usually.

Please remember not to touch the needle ever as it'd ruin its sterilization. They're usually sterilized, but it might be a good idea to sterilize them again just in case, to basically make sure there is no risk of infection whatsoever.

Also this is just a common sense cleanliness rule,

but I still want to state it to make sure people know;

Always throw away every single needle and syringe you use, as soon as you are done using it.

Do not keep it or EVER re-inject with the same needle.

And also be sure to throw away any testosterone you have left that is excess from your dose.

You do not need that, as it goes bad and won't work after being exposed to air, so it's impossible to save and use later, unfortunately.

Now, you will be injecting intramuscularly in the leg, either leg will do, hell you can switch them up each time if you'd like. It doesn't matter much.

This means you will be injecting on the area of your thigh that is a little high up, and towards the top, but a little to the outer side.

This means the testosterone is injected straight between the muscles, and goes to the bloodstream quickly also, when you inject.

Now you want to remove the lid from the Testosterone Cypionate bottle, and shake It up very very good, so that there are no bubbles, no particles visible in the Testosterone, and no oil separation either.

If it looks completely clear, or is a slight yellowish colour but mixed together well, then you're good to go.

The possible slight yellowish color comes from the cottonseed oil that they use to store the testosterone correctly in.

It makes it to where you have to use a little bit of a bigger needle to inject yourself with, but it's actually a very very small needle and it's not painful very much at all.

A lot of myths I read about testosterone before I received it said the needles were huge and scary and painful, but the truth is they're not at all, even to me who's slightly scared of needles and has low ability to tolerate pain.

Literally, popping a zit hurts worse than the injections.

The pain is something like a very tiny ant bite, or a slight pinch on your skin, it doesn't really hurt very much at all.

In fact, whenever I take mine, even the very first time I did, I didn't even make a sound! And it's over very quickly, as well.

I would recommend for the easiest time however, for a little higher price, getting a 21 gauge syringe needle, and also an 18 gauge syringe needle for each dose you take.

The 21 gauge is larger for drawing up the testosterone from the vial easier than the 18 gauge would.

Then you remove that 21g needle from that syringe, and instead put on the 18 gauge for the actual injecting.

If you want a cheaper price tag, and/or you're just lazy like me, you can get away with using just an 18 gauge needled syringe, however it makes it much significantly harder to draw up out of the vial.

It is still quite possible, but is for sure challenging, mistakes can occur so be very careful if you choose this route.

Now when you're trying to draw up the Testosterone Cypionate out of the bottle, you want to hold it upside down, or downward at an angle kind of diagonal, and you want to make sure the needle is visibly in the liquid.

Then, you draw back slowly, but try and fill it as much as you can. You can always dispose of extra that you don't need.

If using only the 18 gauge like said earlier, which is what I personally do, it is very hard to draw up out of the bottle, so be very careful, and try to figure out the trick to it, is all I can say.

Everyone has a different trick for it.

Don't use all the testosterone in the bottle however for your actual being-injected-dose.

You need to usually use only 75 mL of the 1 ml bottle each dose.

Also before you ever inject, but after you fill the syringe, make sure to aspirate the needle, which means to act like you're injecting it, in the air pointing up, needle upwards, and you very slowly push down, which expels a little bit of the testosterone, but you also expel any air particles or bubbles that are trapped inside.

This is why you want to put a little more in the syringe than you actually will inject, because when you aspirate the needle some will leak out and make it the perfect amount to inject, rather than losing it an amount of it that you need.

If there is even a single bubble inside the syringe, that can cause a heart attack, and many other deadly problems!!!

So do not ever inject, if there is a bubble in your syringe.

If there is, best case scenario is you try to aspirate it heavily, even if you need to then refill it somewhat afterwards, the most important part is making sure no air bubbles are in it.

If there is no way to get the bubble out, you'd need to buy a new syringe, as it most likely has a deformation of some kind.

But that's the worst case scenario, and personally I haven't experienced that yet.

That, however, is why it is so important to aspirate, to make sure there's no air left in the syringe before you inject.

Now you want to make sure to get exactly .75 ml, that you put it up to the line right before 1 ml and that's about the amount you need.

And remember; never take more than prescribed, it will have the opposite affects you want.

Now that you know all the details, here is how to perform injecting the actual testosterone.

You take the needle to the sterilized area of thigh that you cleaned with the rubbing alcohol.

And you can either use a kind of sideways diagonal position to go in, or you can use straight on.

I find straight on makes it much less painful for me, so I usually go with that, but either way works, and whatever is most comfortable for you is what you should use.

Now you just go in kind of slowly, and try not to move the needle around too much, just push slowly all the way in 'till the needle is completely in the leg.

Then dispense slowly the testosterone to the intramuscular area, and once all the testosterone is out of the syringe and inside your bloodstream, pull it out very slowly, all the while holding the skin around it firmly, so that it doesn't hurt as much pulling it out. If you pull it out fast it fuckin' hurts.

You can also sterilize the area of injection again, if you want, but it's not really necessary.

Then, you just put that Band-Aid previously mentioned on, for like an hour, and you're good!

7. Now for the effects of testosterone, though I don't have a perfect timeline. But around one DAY in, I noticed for some reason my clitoral growth where your clitoris pretty much changes into a tiny penis except the urethra doesn't move unfortunately without surgery.

It can grow one to two inches at max, although I have not experienced that much yet.

However for some reason I had definitely experienced minor clitoral growth pretty much as soon as I took my first shot of testosterone, which is incredibly rare, as it's supposed to happen six months to a year in and be one of the later effects!! But for some reason, it was the first effect I got, so that really goes to show that everyone is built quite different, so some things in this guide might not be totally accurate for everyone.

1 week in, I started experiencing a very hoarse voice, not a sore throat or anything, but just where your voice sounds like you're sick or you're losing your voice, for some reason.

This is the first step in your voice changing to a deeper baritone.

It's usually not painful whatsoever, but I have heard from some people that it can irritate their throat occasionally due to the foreign feeling of it, this stage doesn't last very long though.

Then, about 1 month in, I started noticing extensive hair growth. Also I seem to have got way darker hair than any of my family members ever had, and way more hair than they ever had, so you can't totally rely on the predictions of what your family looks like to see how you're going to change.

You kind of have to be ready for anything to happen, but usually the hair growth and the masculinity of your family will almost always pass on to you when you transition physically.

This can even include male pattern baldness eventually.

Sometimes it happens to trans men immediately after taking it, other times it will take years and other times it will be when they're elderly like cis men have.

Personally, I have not seen any male pattern baldness yet, however my front l of my hair slightly receded back and in the shape of male members of my dad's side of my family, but nothing like a total receding hairline.

It still looks like a full head of hair!

Usually you can tell what type of hair you get by looking at your family members closely.

If your family includes a lot of thick hairy people naturally, then you are going to usually get very large amounts of hair.

If you have a family with barely any hair, or very light coloured hair, you'll usually get a small amount of hair or a large amount of hair but with light colour. Personally, I got real lucky so it's clear that there are exceptions, but that's usually how it goes is that you can look to your family members as to how you're going to look and sound like.

About 3 months in, my voice started really deepening and I mean really deep. But the funny thing about it is that sometimes it will switch from being really low and masculine and amazing, to being kind of regular like before, to a little low but not super low, and even to what I call the "permanent helium" which makes you literally sound like you inhaled helium but it's literally just your vocal cords cracking that bad from growing to a male length.

Sometimes it will crack in a way where you can't stop talking in that high pitch, and it's really awkward, but it is also really funny if you learn to laugh at yourself, and always remind yourself that this is the process of gaining a deeper voice.

I have heard that vocal training to make your voice deeper also helps exponentially for more effects if you want a super deep voice.

About 4 to 5 months in, which is where I'm currently at, I've experienced way more hair growth!

Even more so than the start of it.

My head hair seems to be thicker and healthier for some reason, I'm not sure why because I have never heard of that affecting your head hair, its texture, or its thickness like that?

But it seems to have happened, so I guess it's possible?

I'm gaining a moustache and a few beard hairs, but mainly my moustache is super dark and already very visible.

Also due to my moustache and my deep voice alone, now I can already pass pretty much 100% of the time if maybe 99%, and I'm a very naturally baby-faced person too, so that's impressive!

My voice is mainly settled into a pretty deep baritone.

It still has a little bit of a high pitch sometimes, but barely.

I can tell there's a little more progress needed, but not much.

I don't do the helium thing as much as I used to, but it does still occasionally occur as lengthening your vocal cords, which is what occurs when you take testosterone, can be a lengthy and frustrating process at times.

I have also specifically seen lots of body hair at this time, way more than the sparse amount at first, including even a happy trail and a little bit of chest hair although it's not noticeable yet unless you squint, but it still has way more than I used to!

Also my hair on my arms, and especially on my legs, is thick, dark and everywhere.

I've also noticed my fat is starting tk begin redistributing a little bit.

It's not totally doing it yet, but it's getting close, as my thighs, hips, and behind area lost a bunch of weight, while my stomach gained a little bit of weight and so did my arms.

I also gained a fair bit of muscle as not only can I see it when I flex, but also I can lift things a little easier than I used to, and muscle seems to develop easier for me, even when I work out barely.

I've never been a very physical person, so it's still hard, but it's way easier now that I take testosterone.

Those are all the effects I have to record right now, as I'm only 4-5 months in, but I will update this with new parts as I experience more and more.

Also, please take all effects and timelines with a grain of salt, because everybody works differently.

Also I specifically was mentioning Testosterone Cypionate, bi-weekly injection form, so if you take testosterone in a different way, some of this might be different, irrelevant or even completely useless to you, but I am only able to provide information on these forms as they're the only form I've taken of it myself.

Now, to quickly dispel a few stupid myths that circulate around taking testosterone, to ease your worries.

Myth #1. "Testosterone makes you aggressive, violent, and a bad person!"

The truth is that testosterone does not change who you are, whatsoever.

It can however change certain little preferences like for example what flavor food you like will sometimes change, but usually not all foods, just a couple, or sometimes even just one.

It can change little tiny details, like maybe your favorite colour may change, and it definitely does have its emotional effects for sure, but it does not make anyone aggressive or violent automatically.

Testosterone is not an angry hormone, and estrogen is not a peaceful hormone, despite what most people stereotype them as being, so just blanketing everyone under the term of "aggressive" because they have testosterone in them is straight-up incorrect at best, and also sexist at worst.

Estrogen is not better than testosterone. Testosterone is not better than estrogen. It just matters what you want in your body.

What it may actually do is sometimes, people will experience a wide variety of emotions, including extreme euphoria and confidence (that's the effect I seem to have had, thankfully!)

Other people however will get very emotional and sad and will cry over things easier, and no, that's not an estrogen trait, testosterone can do that too.

And sometimes, on a rare occasion, people can get more irritable or cranky. But they're never violent.

They just get a little grumpier than usual.

However, all these emotional effects eventually do phase out and stabilize, and you'll be back to all your regular moods.

You never truly change who you are as an individual, and your beliefs and morals will stay the same.

It's not like you will completely change into a different person, you will never have to fear that, nor should any of your family and friends.

Myth #2. "Testosterone is steroids, right? So doesn't that mean that you're stronger than everyone else?"

This is a ridiculous notion, and I'm not even sure how it got spread im the first place, but I've heard it firsthand, and it's really as stupid as it sounds.

Testosterone is not steroids, they may have some similar properties due to chemical makeup, but they are not in any way steroids.

Steroids are an addictive & potentially harmful drug. Testosterone is a naturally occuring hormone that we all have some of.

For instance, testosterone also does not make you any more muscular just automatically.

It can make you a little more muscled subtly due to the muscle structure changing to that of a cis man's, but it can't straight up make you jacked, that's just not possible.

Also it does not make you any stronger than anyone else.

It might make you a little stronger than a cis female, but you are not stronger than a cis man, in fact you're weaker, due to starting out assigned female at birth.

I'm not sure why people assume that if you take testosterone, that means you're strong??

Because you're taking testosterone because you don't have any so clearly you don't have very much.

I'm not totally sure where this silly notion got spread, possibly as a way to make trans people feel guilty for taking T, by making them think it's a drug, and it's just not when you look at the facts.

It's good to dissuade folks who think this way, from this notion, as it can also make us look like drug addicts or on steroid pills, which both are just completely false.

Testosterone is not even addictive.

It's a natural hormone inside your body.

Myth #3. "Testosterone will give you all forms of cancer, and strokes and heart attacks, almost certainly!"

I'm not sure where or how this got spread either, it is true that it is possible, they said, in a scientific study, that they can't confirm completely that it could theoretically make your chances of stroke and heart attack a little higher due to your system basically changing to that of a cis man's, and going through a cis man's puberty.

But honestly, you have less risk of strokes and heart attacks than even cis men do, and you don't have a prostate which is a common location for men to get cancer, so you actually have an advantage over most!

It's very rare that you would ever come into contact with one of these things happening, pretty much as rare if a little less as it would be if you didn't take T at all.

There is also no evidence whatsoever that testosterone causes cancer, of any kind, let alone all of them.

A lot of people have tried to spread this rumour, to stop people from getting HRT treatment, which is really cruel and fucked up, and a lot of parents will use the "cancer" excuse as a way to not give their child HRT.

The truth is that it does not cause cancer, and that is a complete myth.

There's actually some evidence that being on T might improve your chances of fighting cancer, and having a stronger immune system for it as well.

Myth #4. This kind of goes along with the other one, but some people believe that "If you take testosterone, you could be shortening your lifespan by many years!!"

This is complete speculation, nothing has been confirmed.

It's possible, perhaps, that it could shorten your lifespan by a couple years, but not many.

You still would have an advantage over cis men again.

But it's never been truly proved that your lifespan gets shorter from T, so there is no reason to fear less of your life occuring just because you're trying to make yourself happier.

All right, I think that's all the rumours I can set straight, and all the info & advice about injections and medicine and general information about testosterone that I can give you at the moment.

I will update this post later, so please check back again in maybe a few month's time from now, as then I will have more effects to discuss.

But if I want to leave you with anything to think about,

remember that testosterone is a completely safe and natural chemical hormone that produces itself in your body already.

You just don't have enough of it to look the masculine way you want to.

It is not dangerous, it won't hurt you and if you really want it, go after it!!

But I would also very much advise you to be sure you want to go ahead with it, and that you are okay with all effects happening.

Because if you aren't, if you are even the least bit hesitant, not only will the doctor not allow you to proceed because you are not mentally fit to yet,

but also if you did end up taking testosterone then you could end up getting effects that you don't want, and having them be permanent, and causing you dysphoria for the rest of your life.

So please, make sure to know yourself well, and know your wants and needs clearly.

I also highly recommend having a psychiatrist or a mental health therapist for quite a while before going into testosterone therapy.

Not only does it make you more qualified to acquire testosterone because it shows you actually thought it through, but also it is exceedingly helpful for the mental and physical changes you will be proceeding with over these next years.

The last thing I want to say, my closing note, is congratulations on your testosterone, if you received it!

And I hope my guide helped in any way, and apologies if it ended up really long this time, there's a lot of things you need to know about T.

Thank you for reading, and I hope this humble trans guy's journal entries help you at all.

- Atom T. L. Yorke