#fuck surgical drains!!!!

[tethered-heartstrings]

i lived btw if you even care

[bolshevik-rpf]

.

[quarterlifekitty]

Something, something, König picking up gaming in his free time, not uncommon for an older guy especially with a cute little thing who has a nice set up for gaming and he absolutely takes to it with flying colours. Kinda pissing you off how he’s gotten leagues better than you at one of your favourites in such a short amount of time. So when that skin you absolutely NEED drops you’re going insane grinding for it. It’s frustrating too because all the sweats have come out of the woodwork to grind for it too, leading to a lot of swearing and groaning on your end, coincidentally, König’s free time aligns and he’s more than happy to help you grind the tougher parts if you sit pretty on his lap and drain his pent cock.

What’s better than two stress relievers when he comes home from a high tension workplace environment?

(Bonus points if he’s your weird online long distance boyfriend who definitely told you an age younger than what’s on his ID and the place he comes home to is just your apartment that he decided was his too.)

Brother. The way this ask is in my mind. I would like to preface this by saying if you or a loved one is playing a video game with microtransactions and limited edition skin drops it’s not too late to get help. We can beat this together.

cw: he’s kind of a creep in this. Red flags abound. Somno/dubcon type stuff

Gonna make a couple of amendments to this one if that’s ok. 1) König is never going to be a god gamer because his hands are too fucking big and also I WANNA BE THE DOMINANT GAMER IN THE RELATIONSHIP. My ass is carrying HIM in apex. I don’t care that he knows how to shoot real guns. Don’t take this away from me

2) while he didn’t outright lie about his age, he did not say shit that would lead you to believe this man was over 40. He shared very few details about his personal life. Just that he was in the military, Austrian, and now? A gamer. Those are all the hallmarks of being a man in his 20s! Except the Austrian thing— that can happen to anyone.

I like to imagine he treats you like his discord kitten tho. You ask how old he is and he’s like “I’m an adult, if that’s what you’re worried about” or “old enough” or “don’t worry about it” and you say “okay 💖 yay 💖”

And he’s 100% your sugar daddy. Constantly buying you games just so you can co-op with him, gifting you in-game currency to spend on battle passes, absolutely ravaging your wishlist— steam, amazon, or otherwise.

He finds himself in your area for work and you tell him your address so he can meet up with you.

And you’re kind of a stupid femcel so when this dude shows up at your door, almost seven feet tall and wearing a surgical mask, scarred face with a healthy grey streak in his hair, it’s not setting off any alarm bells. There’s like at least 5 red flags here but you’re colorblind and inviting him in.

You didn’t realize that he was planning on staying with you while he was in the area. You also didn’t realize that the moment he found out he’d be stationed near you, he decided it was time to take your relationship to the next level.

Which is how you end up stretched out on his cock on the same day that you met in person for the first time, with him grunting in your ear about how he dreamed of this— thought of it every time he jerked off when you fell asleep during a discord call. He could tell just from your voice that you’d be pretty and soft and tight and perfect for him— and he was ready to settle down.

Good thing you didn’t really have any plans for the rest of your life, or you might find how fast he moves a little scary.

So it makes sense that you’re still a little shy. Too nervous to initiate things usually. So he just has to motivate you a little.

This skin’s an exclusive, can’t be earned with currency, and available as a drop for just 7 days. You can’t put in the hours to get it on your own, not to mention how tedious it is, and it can’t be bought. But it’s so cute.

So he makes the offer. He’ll spend his precious leave time helping you earn it if you keep his cock warm while he does it. He’d initially planned on using that time to rearrange your guts, so you’re gonna have to make it worth his while.

And maybe you exaggerate a little. You’re used to saying these things over calls— where nothing has any repercussions in the real world. Where you can promise anything from the safety of being on a screen a world away.

You tell him you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you if he can get that skin for you. After a moment you realize the implications of saying that to someone who can and will hold you down and make out with your cervix using the tip of his cock.

He borrows one of your elastics to tie back his hair.

He’s gonna get you that skin. And then he’s gonna get you pregnant.

You did say anything.

[diazsdimples]

🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️ please 🙏

15 sentences for you!

Feeling slightly sheepish, Buck sinks into the chair, his hand immediately finding Tommy’s. The doctor positions herself so she can see both them and Eddie, but she addresses the latter as she talks. “Mr. Diaz, your injuries are extensive. Your CT, MRI and x-rays have shown us that you have a right ulnar fracture,” she gestures to his right arm, bandaged and held close to his chest, “fractures of your 6th and 7th ribs, as well as a fracture to your L4 vertebrae and a fracture where your ilium and ischium meet in your pelvis. We’ll plaster your arm, and at this point we do not believe your rib or spinal fracture will require surgery, as they’re both hairline fractures and can hopefully be managed with regular analgesia.” That’s…. not as bad as Buck was expecting. Based off what he’d been told, he’d come in expecting Eddie to be circling the drain, and his heart rate had galloped up a few beats per minute when the doctor had referred to Eddie’s injuries as “extensive”. No surgical intervention and some pain relief seems almost too good to be true, and Buck braces himself for the other shoe to drop. The doctor, however, hasn’t finished, and she holds up a hand as Tommy opens his mouth to ask a question, his eyebrows pulled together in an adorable furrow. “I’m afraid that isn’t quite it. Often with pelvic fractures, there can be some internal bleeding associated. The medics that bought you to us reported that your abdomen was rigid, and your pulse was racing and blood pressure was low – all classic signs of internal bleeding. The CT scan revealed around 1.2 litres of blood in your pelvis, Mr. Diaz, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is not where it’s meant to be. We would like to take you to surgery immediately to stabilise the pelvic fracture and cauterise the bleeding.” Internal bleeding, fuck.

Make Me Write - Disaster Date Edition

[rhonuscorner]

Is there any Earth fauna Sun and Moon would find immediately frightening?(besides everything because they've never seen it before) Is there any animal on earth that resembles creatures from their homeworld?

Oooooo this is a fun one! Yes actually! So far I've only come up with two animal species, one of which I came up with last night after I saw this ask at 4 in the morning when I couldn't sleep and then I spent the next 2 hours coming up with this nasty beasty lol.

This critter is considered extremely dangerous, and there are a few earth animals that would immediately remind Sun and Moon of this beast and send them into a panic should they see one (before y/n can reassure them that no, they're not in danger).

*cracks knuckles*

Long post under the cut, imma be doin' some creature lore dumping!

This creature is called a treterir. Most of the time it looks like big dark gray mass rolled up into a long tube with no discernible head, eyes or mouth. This thing is pure muscle, no skeleton, no carapace, no nothing. Babies are no bigger than a bandaid but the adults can reach up to 15 feet in length - twice the size of your average nebuterran. They like to hang around in darker, shadowed places; caves but dense forests are also good habitats for them, they slither along the ground (and they're fast) but can also hang from the ceiling or branches to target unsuspecting prey from above.

They are considered parasites and are kill on sight. Even the babies are dangerous.

A treterir feeds off something called l'isi'vir. This translates to 'life light' or 'light of life'. You know how Sun and Moon glow? That's what this is. Every nebuterran has their own l'isi'vir, it's like what a fingerprint is to us, unique to each individual. It's akin to their life force or life energy. One day it will burn out and the nebuterran in question dies. It's not just limited to nebuterrans either, lots of other creatures native to their homeworld have this too.

Treterirs don't have this life light but they still need it to survive, and they actively hunt those that do have it. They have something akin to heat vision to help them on these hunts, except instead of body heat they sense a creature's l'isi'vir.

To capture their prey, a treterir 'blankets' itself, meaning they unfold from their usual tube shape into a larger, flatter form and drop onto their prey like a blanket, and engulf them. The underside of their bodies, which is kept protected when they're 'tubed up', has countless little nubs all over, and each nub contains a thin pronged tooth which shoots out on contact to pierce skin; this is to help keep their prey in place as they wrap around it. They won't engulf their prey completely, ensuring there's still room to breathe so their prey doesn't die prematurely of suffocation.

The treterir then begins the process of absorbing their prey's l'isi'vir. It's almost like digesting someone alive. How long this takes depends on the size of the treterir in question, as well the size of their prey: with a full sized treterir and an adult nebuterran like Sun or Moon, this takes aprox. two earth days. Once that's done, all that's left will be a colorless, dried out husk. It's a shitty and painful way to die a slow death.

I mentioned even the babies are dangerous. Say one latches onto your leg; you can rip it off but all of its tiny pronged teeth will break off as well and stay embedded into your skin. This almost always causes a bad infection and the teeth are so small, tweezers won't do much.

Bigger specimens can't be ripped off without it taking a chunk of you with it, so these need to be surgically removed.

If for whatever reason you can't get it off... say you're a wild animal and a small bandaid-sized baby treterir latches onto the back of your head where you can't reach it... simply put, you're fucked. The treterir will stay latched on until you're drained of all your l'isi'vir, whether that takes days, weeks or even months, and as it feeds off of you it will grow and slowly wrap around more of your body. You might be able to reach it at some point when it's bigger, but by then you won't be able to remove it by yourself anymore without risking injury to yourself. So yeah. You gonna die.

Fortunately these creatures are not super common. Attacks on nebuterrans are rare nowadays and they only happen in the more rural areas. Still, every nebuterran knows to fear these monsters.

As for earth creatures... the most obvious one would be a snake. Seeing one slither around would be so reminiscent of how a treterir moves, it will instantly trigger a fight or flight response within Sun or Moon - and with these beasts, if you encounter one you run.

Another animal that would provoke a similar response would be a leech, because they look like baby treterirs. Even something as innocent and weak like an earthworm wriggling in the dirt or a caterpillar crawling along a branch would invoke this panic. It's such a primal fear, ingrained deep into the psyche of their whole species.

So yeah. That's my nightmare fuel for today. Thank you for this awesome ask, anon <3 this was really fun to work on!

[beautifulqueerexistence]

One Week Post-Op (DI Top Surgery update, TW MENTION: Surgical procedure, surgical complications, medical transition, top surgery drains, Hematoma)

Wow, holy crap, my surgery was a week ago already!

I met with my surgeon yesterday for my first follow up! It was really nice to be able to talk about the small hematoma (a blot clot, more or less!) in my left side, and have her concretely tell me that it’s breaking down the way it’s supposed to, that the neon color drainage IS normal (for a person with a hematoma)… And I got my right side drain out!!! The left will continue to stay in until (at least) my follow up a week from today. The hematoma needs to reliquify slowly and drain, either via my drain or by spreading to the surrounding porous tissue by converting to bruising. That being said, my bruising is gonna WORSEN before it’ll get better, but bruising is a good sign that my hematoma is healing. Swelling is pretty consistent on the left, and she said that everything looks amazing, all things considered!

I realized yesterday that I will never again have to deal with underboob sweat, that weird “tuck your shirt under them so your skin doesn’t stick and get all sweaty gross,” or having to “rest them” while leaning on a table. That was a trippy realization, that at some point I did that for the last time, and now I’m just free of it. I was able to soooorta tilt to my right while sleeping last night, and as a side sleeper, I’m ecstatic about that. I looked at my pre-op photos for the first time since surgery this morning and I’m gonna be honest… I’m already forgetting what they felt like. It feels so dissociated bc my brain just so easily clicked into “Yep, this is what my chest is supposed to look like.” Even with the incisions and bruising it still feels like MY (flat) chest just had some surgery. And that’s a super fucking cool feeling, having my chest feel like MINE, finally feel familiar.

My mom thanked my surgeon yesterday for “that (my) smile” and said “it was an overnight difference with him. I can just see him glowing with relief.” I think that’s a pretty accurate anecdote to leave this update off on. More to come as things progress.

Side note- If anyone has any questions about top surgery, drains, hematomas, or anything adjacent, I’m happy to talk! My DMs are always open. I’m by no means an expert or qualified doctor, but I’m always happy to share my experience in the hope that it helps someone else.

[ochrearia]

Little Lullabies

Holy shit why is this 4k words long what the fuck is wrong with me (I know why it's literally just a compilation of 8 ~500 word drabbles put into one post because they're all kind of connected) HEY YOU GUYS LIKE HURT/COMFORT?

BFs in this One-Shot: PoPr!BF (Biff, mine), cs!BF (Beefer, mine), wyd!BF (Beef, Karl's), fc!BF (Boyf, Keyy's), Cyborg!BF (Cyber, Keyy's), sfa!BF (Peacock, Shed's), S2!BF (Bee, Isaac's), Candy!BF (Blue, Slushgut's), Yourself (YS)

It was a little funny how Biff was more likely to go over to YS’s place than the other way around these days. At the start it wasn’t even possible for him to do that, so it made it seem like the smaller was making up for lost time every time he mirror-walked over.

This was not one of those days, though.

YS was proving to be a hypocrite. Just a little bit. He’d made Biff promise not to take on his bad emotions and feelings anymore after the one time. But now as he was sitting here, Biff pitifully laid across his chest, he really wanted to take a page out of his book and take his suffering away. Would that even work with how it was? He didn’t know, didn’t stop him from wanting to.

Biff was sick. Most likely nothing left in his stomach, everything having been emptied into the toilet earlier. Cherry was stuck at her parents’ for the weekend, and Pico had gone out to get a few things for the poor guy. YS was here to make sure Biff wasn’t alone as per his Pico’s request. The ginger had refused to leave the apartment otherwise. YS could have been the one to go out and let him stay with his boyfriend, but it wasn’t his world, he didn’t know where basic stores were. And by the time he’d realized he could just go back to his own to buy things, Biff had already gotten surgically attached to him.

“Pico should be back soon, little man.” YS said softly, a hand rubbing gently across Biff’s back. The small, in-pain whines he was hearing from the other was making him more upset than he needed to admit. “The worst of it should be over, you’ll start feeling better soon.”

“Stomach hurts.” Biff complained softly, his energy having been drained a while ago. “Trying to sleep, keep jolting… Can’t fall asleep fast enough.”

Well that wouldn’t do.

YS sighed, slightly frustrated that he couldn’t do more. He gently pulled Biff a little farther up into his arms, not wanting to aggravate his stomach more than it already was. It was easy to curl around his other selves when he was the tallest of them all. Regardless of his hesitations about his voice when it came to humming things, YS pushed that aside and let himself bring a bit of a lullaby into the air.

It was one he’d hummed to Biff before. Not the more music-box version of his own song, he’d only used that once and decided to take up a different to-go instead after. Personalized comfort, a song just for him when he needed it. It always worked, thankfully. YS could feel him sag further into his hold, the pained breaths becoming slower and more deep as he continued. 

His Pico would be back soon, and Biff would probably need to be awake again to take some medicine and other things, whatever the hitman was getting. But YS saw no harm in leading him to doze off for a little. He needed the rest.

______________________________________________

Hot ball of hollow fire you are. YS thought to himself, slightly amused. It was rather interesting how quickly Beef had gone from being the equivalent of an angry rat backed up into a corner around him to completely okay and willing to be close. He was still surprised the other had the courage to go up to him and ask directly to be a little brother too. Not at all what he’d expected from Beef of all of the instances.

It was more than okay with him, though. Meant YS could do more to help, and be more efficient with it too.

It also made him happy that all of them along the line wanted to be his little brother but that wasn’t the point.

Beef had gotten overly-angry at something as far as YS could tell, and had come here as a way to cool off and remove himself from the situation. It wasn’t an argument with his partners according to him, which was good. But he was still adamantly refusing to say what he even got mad about. A little concerning, but he couldn’t force it. If they wanted to trust him then they would. It’s not like he could be talking, considering just how much he was hiding from all of them.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Not even a little?” YS tried again, immediately going back on what he’d just thought. Just one more try.

“No.” Beef grumbled, shoving his face further into YS’s shoulder. “No talking. I don’t pay you to talk. Just want a hug.”

YS grinned, rolling his eyes as he let his arms encircle tighter around the other. Hug? Yeah, he could do that. Apparently he was really good at it. His best skill some would say, which was hilarious, but a nice feeling. Beef was hesitant in his endeavors asking for affection, so him being so direct about it was enough to earn him exactly what he wanted.

I wonder… YS thought, letting his mind wander a little into his own memories. Personalized comfort was always nice to have. There wasn’t much to be changed about a hug, not that any of them seemed to want it to change. But there was another thing he could do. Picking out a different one from his thoughts this time, he began to hum. Not the same melody he had for Biff, no. A different one picked specifically for Beef when he would need it.

Gotcha, you little shitter. YS thought mischievously when his humming coaxed Beef to all but melt into his embrace. Good to know that what worked on one would work on the rest in terms of offering comfort. Choosing a different tune for each would be a fun little game. You think you’re so smug having blackmail on me, don’t you? Now we’re even. But that’s a story for another time, I think. You’re safe to cool off here for as long as you need it.

______________________________________________

Boyf proved harder to completely curl around when he needed comfort. His fault for deciding to be a tall instance really, without the power to shapeshift. Didn’t stop him from being an oversized baby sometimes. Realistically, they kind of all were. But dammit, couldn’t this guy at least be a little shorter so he could be good at his hugging job? One of the apparent good parts of YS’s hugs was how he was able to completely surround them.

Boyf had a nightmare, apparently. He was getting nightmares often as of late. Why he’d come to YS in search of comfort compared to his partners was beyond him really, but he was here. And then he’d had the gall to look almost offended by the fact the taller had been awake at this god-forsaken hour. YS didn’t really sleep that much, they had to have figured that out by now.

The song YS had chosen as his to-go for Boyf was a little different. Somewhere along the line he’d gone searching for songs that weren’t exactly upbeat or uplifting to begin with, and he was using those to pick from and spin into comforting sounds instead. He wasn’t entirely sure if this one was working, though, because Boyf seemed to be grabbing tighter to his hoodie the more he hummed, and he really couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad emotional response.

“You okay?” YS asked gently, pausing his humming. He got a noise of complaint in response.

“Why’d you stop, don’t stop.” Boyf’s thoughts echoed in his head. “Keep going… please keep going. Miss my sister, she used to sing to me when I was upset…”

Ah. Good emotional response, then, entirely by accident. Boyf hadn’t done much to speak about his siblings aside from the fact he had them. YS knew his brother was Ritz, younger brother. And somehow it was a common theme across multiple universes that Hatsune Miku-- Yes, THAT Hatsune Miku-- was a sister. Kind of hysterical to think about, but he supposed weirder things had happened.

YS picked up where he left off, deciding that this song was a keeper. This would be the go-to for Boyf. He was still running with the personalized comfort idea, because the more he thought about it, the more he realized the things he was willing to do for them were things he’d wish he had someone do for him. It’s not like he’d tell them he had personalized lullaby choices for each of them though. They didn’t need to know all things considered. That would ruin his already fragmented facade.

“Keep going…” Boyf’s thoughts repeated as he snuggled further into YS’s arms. “Might fall back asleep here…”

YS sighed gently, bringing a hand up to scratch softly in Boyf’s hair. Such was his fate, getting stuck under another one of his selves. Well, it’s not like he was doing anything important anyway. Staring despondent at the ceiling isn’t so despondent when you had someone and their warmth to keep you company.

______________________________________________

YS knew that there was never going to be a time where you’d just be fully fine with severe changes to your body. He knew that very well, because most times he could be fine by not thinking about it but there would be other times where it would eat him alive. Beefer was no exception to this rule, but he kind of wished that he’d be that lucky. He wasn’t of course. There wasn’t much he could do about it other than just be there for the Dinaurian.

Beefer was hiding his face adamantly against YS’s chest. His eyes were closed, because he didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to see the tail, the overly pale white of his skin, didn’t want to see the elongated ears and claws, didn’t want to see himself. Changing species against your will wasn’t something YS had any experience with, but he assumed it was a special kind of hell to deal with.

“I’m grateful to be alive.” Beefer mumbled against the fabric of his big brother’s hoodie, almost like he was trying to… distract himself? Convince himself? “I’m grateful to be alive and that will never change. I just wish… it hadn’t been this way. Or that I didn't have to feel so gross about it.”

“I’m glad you’re alive too.” YS said carefully, unsure how to tread on this. “And I’m sure your Cherry and Pico are too. I wish I could say how to not hate it, seeing features that you never used to have. But I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t.” Beefer sighed. “I can’t expect you to. I just… wanted some comfort without judgment. Not that they would do that, probably, I don’t know. I don’t need to be giving them any more problems than we already have. They’re getting suspicious on why I disappear for so long randomly too. I can’t explain all this, not now, I don’t even know where I would begin…”

“You don’t have to.” YS placated quickly, letting his arms wrap around the Dinaurian softly. “Don’t worry about any of that shit here. If you need an escape then that’s what you’ll get. Try not to get yourself too in over your head with the secrets, though, okay?”

Beefer nodded, too tired now to respond. YS tilted his head with a sigh, knowing that this was sadly the best he could do. With the short conversation over, he put into practice his little plan again. Another lullaby came tumbling gruffly from his throat, this one being more of a proper lullaby compared to the rest. If nothing else, he could offer this to the smaller one.

At least it was doing something, though. Every time his target of comfort relaxed or snuggled closer, YS took relief in knowing he was at least doing something. Beefer would have to go back to his world soon to make sure his friends didn’t completely freak out about his absence, but for now he was free to stay and forget his problems.

______________________________________________

Compared to some of the others, YS hadn’t actually seen Peacock get genuinely upset about something much at all. Suppose that was a positive side to not caring much at all about most things, it made it easier to roll with sudden changes and unfavorable results to things. Sometimes not caring so much was a good thing, but YS couldn’t stomach the idea of doing that. God knows he cared almost too much. But that was him. He was actually a little lost for words on how he could make this better.

Peacock was more insistent to try and help YS with his problems despite being tight-lipped about them. So the fact he’d come through the mirror today looking like the world was ending, that was enough to freak the angel out a little. The hug and humming combo immediately jumped to his mind, and Peacock wasn’t complaining. So, hug it was.

It was thoughts about his Pico again. The ginger being so hesitant and cut off was bothering him. He didn’t understand why he was doing it again, running off on him when all he wanted was to have Pico back in his life and not have to worry about him disappearing again. Peacock wanted him there, but with the way the other was acting, it didn’t seem like that sentiment was a shared one. That would hurt anyone to figure out.

“He’s… being an idiot.” YS decided, resting his chin on the top of Peacock’s head. “I don’t know what his deal is. I don’t really know how to help, either. But you should at least know you don’t deserve this nonsense.”

“I just want him around.” Peacock grumbled softly, returning the other’s hug eagerly. “He doesn’t listen to me when I say that. Always rushing off and making excuses. Fuck, I was so happy when I ran into him again. Now it’s like I’m watching him pull away more and more each time he accidentally gets in my line of sight.”

Hopefully this idiot will stop doing that and come around or I swear I’ll go over there myself. YS thought. His ability to mirror-walk was still locked behind needing the rest to look at a mirror, or at least accidentally be reflected in something for him to get through. He was sure that would happen eventually, and YS could go on a hunt for this idiotic hitman. Though he was unsure if Peacock would want that.

There wasn’t much else he could really say to help, so now seemed like a good time to practice the humming part of his hug-hum combo. Another instance, another personally picked tune. If anyone was going to get the song that felt like flying above the clouds, it would be him. Angels could sense other angels. Peacock had always kept his wings out of sight whenever YS saw him around, but he knew he had to at least have them still. The sky was still a comfort they could both agree on. Maybe he hugged a little tighter to the other too.

______________________________________________

Crying wasn’t allowed. YS already didn’t like crying when it was himself doing the crying, it made him feel stupid and ridiculous. An outward showing of his own turmoils that he hated letting other people know he even had. But when it was any of his other selves crying instead, somehow it made him feel even worse. It was like watching himself fall apart and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. 

Well, almost nothing.

He wasn’t sure which was worse, the fact that Bee was leaking silent tears while hugged to his chest, something that reminded him of himself and he hated the idea of any of them being like him, or the other possibility he could have gone with which was loud and unstoppable sobs. He’d prefer there to be no tears at all really. YS wasn’t entirely sure what exactly was wrong, if this had been caused by an action or words said, but anything that made his little brothers cry was bullshit and not allowed. God, they were turning him into such a dedicated protector, what was happening to him?

“Hey.” YS started softly, trying to capture Bee’s attention enough to get him to look up at him. “Come on now. I don’t know what’s going on, and I obviously won’t unless you want to tell me. But I can’t let you leave my apartment before you dry those tears.”

Bee just kept looking at him, unsure what to say. He knew what the problem was and even now with YS showing clear care for him his head was telling him it wasn’t deserved. I can’t believe I manipulated him into caring about me. “I just want to feel like I’m okay.”

A simple request and yet it wasn’t anything YS could fulfill for certain. He frowned slightly, offering Bee a sympathetic look as well as he could for how his face looked. “Not gonna let you leave until those tears dry.” He repeated. “I can’t do much other than remind you you’re wanted here.”

Bee buried his face back against YS at that, conflicting thoughts at war in his head. Face covered, he was slightly surprised when he heard YS start humming something. He’d heard the other sing before, he had a strong and commanding voice but it was nowhere to be found here. Gruff still, sure, but soft and comforting in a way he hadn’t heard before. A lullaby, for him? Soft and dragged out notes, no lyrics to be heard, just a melody.

As much as Bee felt like he didn’t deserve it, didn’t belong with any of them, he couldn’t stop the deep breath the sudden comfort drew from him. This was nice. Did he maybe deserve it after all?

“There you are, little man.” YS spoke between his hums, using the silly nickname he’d started using with Biff first. There were only so many variations he could say, after all. “You’re alright. Stay for as long as you need.”

______________________________________________

“Dude, be serious, you look like you’re about to pass out any second now.”

YS wasn’t even sure that Blue even had any problems to speak of. The dude was always overly happy and excited for basically everything, every time he’d come around to hang out was met with eyes full of wonder and an air of sunshine around him. But at the same time he came off as utterly clueless at best and straight up stupid at worst. To be fair, they were all stupid, but like, come on. Was this a persona he was putting up or was he genuinely just this excited and happy about everything? Maybe he was too air-headed to even tell he had problems.

It somehow didn’t seem like the dude even knew he wasn’t human as well. How do you go through life not knowing what you are? How do you just not know you’re an angel, has he just never looked in the mirror and seen literal wings and a halo?

“Noooo, no I’m fine!” Blue responded, clearly not fine. He looked just about ready to take the best afternoon nap of his life, but for some reason was stubbornly keeping his eyes open to stay watching shitty reality TV with his big brother. “I can stay awake, I don’t want to ruin my sleep schedule!”

“Dude.” YS snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “It’s not worth it to stay awake watching this shit. Nothing I have is good and you don’t have to pretend like I have anything exciting to offer.”

The words were met with a pout. YS rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him into a hug. He’d already been heavily leaning into the taller’s shoulder and he put up no resistance. YS folded one hand into his hair and the other left comfortably on his back. “Take a nap, idiot. You’re clearly not going to last until your bedtime.”

“Bedtime? I’m not a five year old.” Blue fired back.

“Sure are acting like one right now.” YS teased, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Insisting on staying up because your big brother’s still up too? Very child-like behavior.”

It was fine, he was getting good at it now. Having all these times where his other selves came seeking comfort, and giving it all to them in the form of a hug paired with a lullaby. Blue didn’t necessarily need comfort in this scenario, but it wouldn’t hurt for YS to pick out a personalized melody for him too, just in case. Settling on another one he remembered hearing once, the tune rumbled from his throat while he let his hand massage into the other’s scalp.

“No fair…” Blue whined, already starting to lose the battle with his heavy eyelids. “Lullabies are cheating…”

“You’ll thank me later.” YS said in reply, a smug look on his face as the angel’s eyes slipped closed, body completely leaning into his own. Yeah, he was getting good at this.

Maybe he was proud about that.

______________________________________________

Maybe this time it was an instance where neither of them were okay. YS didn’t know how to handle this at all, looking at him made him want to tear his hair out and curse out whatever shitty excuse of a god was out there that let this happen. He knew he’d fallen into contact with this version far too early in the timeline, but he had been doomed to stay the moment he caught sight of him. Cyber. Another him, only 14 years old and possibly having the worst ending he’d seen yet. It wasn’t fair.

Cyber had died. He came from a world where the events at the school so many of the other instances of him experienced had gone wrong. They’d lost. The world was on the brink of ending and it was up to these kids to fix it. They’re just kids, how was that fair, it wasn’t fair, this wasn’t right. He’d died, only to be brought back as a fucked up science experiment by the aliens who’d attacked the school in the first place. A cyborg puppet meant to be used for destruction and conquering.

YS had found him locked in a shed with a dusty old mirror.

He couldn’t blame Cyber’s Pico fully. That Pico was also only 14, and what else was a kid supposed to do when they knew their dead boyfriend was dangerous, yet didn’t have the heart to let him go? Just kids, left to deal with all of this mess, this trauma. How was YS supposed to leave and wait for the timeline to advance to where they were the same age after seeing this?

He didn’t.

Cyber didn’t speak much to him, or at all really. The only thing YS had to go off of was the fact he wasn’t trying to attack him. Actually, the poor kid seemed to get attached to him rather quickly. His Pico had been slowly unlocking the human still left in him, and that part was fighting off the robotic programming. Slowly but surely, and the progress was far from linear. Sometimes it was all he could do to just not be violent, stay silent and huddle against the older for comfort. YS could do that. He could give comfort, because he was learning really fast he was entirely in over his head with some of his other selves. How was he supposed to fix this?

It was easy to completely curl around Cyber in a hug. Still small, he was supposed to be still growing at this point- would he even still get to? The lullaby he’d picked for the younger was repeating in his throat over and over, and for once it wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be. His voice shook slightly, catching on itself the more YS thought about how fucking sad this situation was.

He was good at comforting the rest. That’s what he did.

But who, YS thought bitterly, who would be left to comfort him?

[master-sass-blast]

Resurgence.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

Summary: You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

-

AKA you and Lin meet up for an evening to blow off steam. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: M for sexual content, panic attacks, PTSD symptomatology, vomiting, and arguing.

Word count: 5.9k.

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

P.S. Shout out to the commenter who pointed out how guilty Lin must feel for not saying anything about the locks. I hadn't even thought of that.

Wake up. Stretch. Get ready for work. Catch the 8:30 morning tram.

Get to work. Clock in. Review client roster for the day. Confer with reception Start off with your first patient for the day.

Clock out for lunch. Eat lunch. Talk to coworkers. Take a short walk during break.

Clock back in for the afternoon. Work with more patients. Confer with an assistant on upcoming scheduled appointments. Take your afternoon break. Drink some tea.

Wrap up your last scheduled appointment. Update client progress charts. Tidy work space. Clock out.

Catch 5:45 evening tram. Stop by the market to pick up food for dinner. Go back home. Make dinner. Do chores and general “life maintenance.” Try to relax. Get ready for bed. Go to sleep.

And on, and on, and on, and on…

You like your job. You love the field of work you’ve picked. Carrying on your grandmother’s legacy –the tradition of the Northern Water Tribe’s healing work–gives you reason to hold your head high each morning.

You have purpose. Passion. You help people.

Maybe you’re a workaholic in denial. Or maybe it’s the fault of your mad idea to also work at Yue General as a trauma recovery specialist and on-call surgical assistant. Whatever the case, at least once a year, you hit a point where the daily grind of your life starts drilling through your head and draining your will to live.

In years past, you’d usually take a few days off, after about the fifth week of dragging yourself through the motions. You’d promise to “refresh” your life –clean up your apartment, take care of responsibilities left to the side in the wake of your waning motivation–then spend your time off eating your weight in take out and napping on your couch.

Well. It works. Each year, you’re able to return to work after a few days living as a shut-in hedonist with renewed joy and drive.

This year, however…

You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What,” you say, somewhat winded, as you slow to a stop in front of her. You wind your arms around her neck and curl your fingers into her curly, short hair. “You didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

…

The second the deadbolt slides into place, the weight of your daily grind melts away.

Technically, the second you got a phone call from your darling girlfriend, and thus received the invitation to come over for an evening, a lot of the drudgery bearing down on you had abated. But you’d still waited, balancing electric anticipation, looming over your head as you counted down the days, then the hours, then the minutes…

You moan into Lin’s mouth as she grabs your ass with both hands.

Bliss.

You’ve always hated waiting for what you want –for anything, really.

Lin shoves you against the nearest wall. She growls when you squeeze her ass harder than necessary, then grabs your hands. “Behave.”

“No.” You take the opportunity to nip at her lower lip –which makes her gasp gloriously–then utilize her shock to fight her grip. “I–”

Lin all but slams your hands against the wall, over your head. She brushes her lips along your jawline –which makes you tremble–then murmurs huskily in your ear. “Enough. Be patient.”

“Patient?” you sputter. “I’ve been patient the whole damn week–”

“I called you only three days ago.”

“It felt like a week!” You whimper when Lin nips at the side of your neck. Feigning submission, you tip your head back and melt against her –until she loosens her grip on your wrists.

“You little–” Lin catches your hand halfway on its journey up her shirt with one hand, then grabs your face with the other. She forces you to look her in the eye and glowers down at you. “What did I just tell you?”

“You called me three days ago.” A cheeky, self-satisfied grin stretches across your face when she growls at you. You smile up at her, the picture of innocence, then use her moment of distraction to jam your thigh between her legs.

Lin lets out a choked gasp of your name and stumbles against you.

“Aw, baby, did you miss me?” you purr. “You could’ve called me so –FUCK!”

In one fluid motion, Lin tosses you over her shoulder and marches down the hall, towards her bedroom.

A short grunt escapes you when she tosses you on her bed, and then you squeal when she yanks you over her lap. In short order, your pants are yanked down around your knees. You mock-glare at her over your shoulder when she pulls roughly on your underwear. “Don’t rip these! I like them!”

Lin grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your head back down against the bed. “Shut up.”

Blissful pain shoots across your scalp. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you moan into her bedspread.

(Regardless, she heeds your demand and doesn’t ruin your underwear.)

Your underwear follow the trajectory of your pants in short order. Anticipation and arousal pulse through your cunt, prompting you to squirm atop Lin’s lap.

She pins you down by barring one strong, unyielding arm across the small of your back. Her free hand gently smooths over the swell of your bare ass –almost worshipful, in contrast to her ire with your bratting. “Last chance. Behave.”

You can’t resist. “Or what?”

Her hand cracks down against your skin.

You yelp –then whimper when she kneads your asscheek, drawing out the underlying ache. “Lin–”

“Be. Good.” She leans over your back to growl in your ear. “Or I won’t let you cum tonight.”

…Come on. She practically set that up on a silver platter for you.

“What makes you think you can make me cum to begin with?”

SMACK!

A delighted sob rips out of your throat. You writhe –well, as much as you can, anyway, since Lin’s always bound to win any contest of strength between the two of you–then moan when she spanks you one, two, three more times. Stars burst behind your eyelids, dazzling and transcendent as all coherent thought leaks out your brain through your dripping cunt. “Fucking spirits–” You groan, low and ragged, when Lin’s hand cracks down against your ass for a fourth time. “Oh shit!”

She keeps spanking you in irregular intervals, until your ass feels hot and you’re a whimpering, slick mess. Lin brushes her fingers against your labia, then pulls away when your hips push against her fingertips. “What? Nothing smart to say now?”

And you don’t. The ability to speak has since left your brain, drowned out by arousal, and endorphins, and the feeling of your girlfriend’s hand against your throbbing skin. So, in lieu of saying what’s on your mind, you opt for a physical demonstration.

“You little fucking brat–”

Or, well, you try to.

You manage to twist your arm and get half a hand on Lin’s chest –her beautiful, soft chest that you would never take your hands off, if you had things your way–before the bottom drawer of her nightstand flies open and a familiar glint of silver whizzes past your head.

Your stomach lurches, akin to airsickness, when the first metal cuff closes around your wrist.

“You never listen, never learn–”

It’s like you’ve toppled into the Northern Ocean in the midst of winter. Every muscle in your body seizes, practically frozen solid. You’re sinking, slipping beneath the surface as La drags you into their depths, theirs forevermore.

“–okay? Talk to me–”

You can’t breathe right. There’s a burlap bag over your head. You’re tied to a chair in a dank basement, there’s a bag over your head, and you’re going to die–

“Breathe.” Lin undoes the cuffs with her metalbending, then tosses them aside. She lifts you into her arms, turning you so that you’re sitting in her lap. “What’s wrong? Did I–”

“Don’t leave me again!” A broken sob tears from your throat. You throw your arms around her, clutching her close as you bury your face into her neck. Shudders wrack your body as you cry louder. “Don’t –don’t leave me–”

“Okay! Okay.” Lin cups the back of your head with one hand. “I won’t leave you. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You’re trying. But it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. You can’t catch your breath, can’t get your diaphragm to open up properly.

“What does she taste like?”

The back of your throat burns. Your mouth tastes like acrid metal.

“I want you to tell me. What does she taste like when you use your tongue on her?”

Clammy sweat beads along your forehead.

“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

You shove yourself to your feet, then clap one hand over your mouth when you retch.

Lin’s reflexes succeed where yours fail. When you double over, she grabs you by the shoulders and rushes you to the bathroom.

The first heave makes your eyes water and burn. You cough, stomach roiling as your whole body rolls. Putrid bile spews into the toilet basin on the second heave, burning your throat on the way out. You sob when you can breathe again, falling to your knees on the hard, cold tiles of Lin’s bathroom floor.

Lin’s hand is strong, yet gentle on your hair. She quickly tucks a few stray strands away from your face. “Easy. Just let it happen.”

Like I have any control here. Panting, you clutch the rim of the toilet bowl. “I–” You retch, then curl over the toilet again.

…

Things go fuzzy. Once your stomach is empty, you collapse against the side of Lin’s bathtub. You’re gasping, clammy and trembling as you try to suck down enough air to stop the feeling of drowning.

A cool glass of water is pressed into your hands. You take a small sip, rinse your mouth, then spit into the toilet bowl before slumping down again.

At some point, you wind up in Lin’s bed, tucked carefully under the covers. Your knees and hips ache from the harsh, unforgiving tile floor. Still shaking, you wince as you curl up on your side. Short, shallow breaths puff past your lips. I’m okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re safe, Lin’s here–

Except she’s not.

You bolt upright, terror coursing through your veins. The bathroom’s empty, there’s no light peeking out beneath the door to her home office, and the kitchen is silent. Your stomach drops into your feet, and you lunge out of bed. “Lin?”

“What’s wrong?” Her feet hit the floor in her living room, and then she appears at the end of the hallway, expression pinched from concern. “Are you–” She stumbles back a few steps when you careen into her. “What the –hey!”

You lock your arms around her waist and bury your face in her neck. Your pulse pounds in your ears, racing and erratic. “You left me again!”

“I–” Lin’s hands grip your shoulders tightly. “I stayed with you while–”

“Not then! Earlier! You left me!”

Lin tightens her hold on your shoulders, then forces you back so she can see your face. “I don’t know what we’re talking about!”

You lock your jaw to keep yourself from rambling and gibbering like an unhinged loon. Throat tight with fear and anguish, you force yourself to breathe as deeply as you can. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Bile roils in your empty stomach; you swallow hard, then pull away from her. “You left me. After the warehouse. After Kim.”

Lin goes perfectly still. Her wide, green eyes lock onto your face, then quickly focus on the floor instead, before finally drifting to the empty kitchen. Her scarred cheek twitches minutely. “I don’t understand what that has to do with right now.”

“I’m trying,” you spit out between clenched teeth. Frustrated –with her, with the situation, with yourself–you close your eyes and scrub at your face with your hands. “I’m not –you aren’t –I don’t want to–”

“Breathe.”

You do as Lin says, relaxing minutely when her hand brushes against your upper arm. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Use the diaphragm and abdominal muscles to control things. Deep inhale, even slower exhale.

Once you’re visibly calmer, Lin speaks again. “Why did you panic when I cuffed you?”

“I…” You swallow hard, then shrug small and sad. “I flashed back to –to the warehouse fight.” A pang of anxiety makes your voice crack. “When Kim had me tied to a chair in the basement.”

“Shit.” Lin rakes one hand through her short, wavy gray hair. “I’m sorry, I should have thought–”

“Of nothing,” you cut her off, suddenly weary.

“I should have checked in before restraining you–”

“And I would have said ‘go for it.’” You level her with a firm stare. “I didn’t know it was going to happen, either. It just… came out of nowhere.” The anxiousness crests higher, and you compensate by stepping into Lin’s space and wrapping your arms around her waist. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. “Thanks for helping me when I freaked out.”

“Of course,” Lin says as she wraps both arms around your shoulders. “What, like I was going to leave you like that?”

“I know, I know,” you reply automatically.

She left you after the warehouse.

It’s a poisonous, traitorous thought. Cold, nauseating ire roils in your gut. It turns hot as it swirls up your spine, until it breaks over your head in a tidal wave of rage and indignance.

It’s not fair. You and Lin have talked about the whole Kim aftermath fiasco. It’s been put to bed.

Has it? You chew on your lower lip as your mind turns the issue over. If you’re still upset about it, has it really been laid to rest?

How many times have you lectured your patients, after all? Some small injuries or aches, if left unattended, can morph into much bigger problems.

The tell-tale sensation snaps back –almost like vertigo, your head spins as the room suddenly feels miniscule around you. You can feel the walls of Lin’s apartment closing in around you, feel your scalp pressing against the plastered ceiling, even though your girlfriend is still holding you and your head is still comfortably pillowed against her chest. The urge to curl in on yourself, to find somewhere dark and small to hide claws up your legs and back, snarling and demanding your immediate submission. Breathe. Your eyes slip shut, and you press your forehead against your girlfriend’s shoulder. I deserve to exist. My feelings deserve to exist. Teeth clenched against a fresh wave of nausea, you breathe through anger and frustration and pain. Ask, don’t accuse. You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Why –why did you leave me after I got kidnapped?”

Unsurprisingly, Lin freezes again.

You can hear her swallow nervously. When she doesn’t speak, you decide to keep talking. “I needed you. I–I was so fucking scared, and hurt–” Your voice cracks as hot, stinging tears well up behind your closed eyelids. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trembling all over as you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. Just –give me a second.”

Lin says nothing, simply waiting in patient silence.

Outside, down in the street below, a Satomobile door thumps shut. The engine revs, then settles into a steady purr before fading away. The familiar rattle of the city tram breaks through the autumnal winds that rip off the harbor. The sound of the tram’s bell soars higher, sailing into the night air like asclepias puffs in the wind.

You flex your feet against the hardwood floors of Lin’s apartment. Pretty grain pattern, part of your brain notes inanely. Must’ve been expensive to refine and install. “Why did you leave me?” you whisper hoarsely, once you finally manage to scrape yourself together. You swipe at your face with the cuff of your sleeve; you hadn’t even managed to get undressed before everything went to shit. You clear your throat. “I… I don’t understand.”

For several long, tense moments, you think she might not answer at all. Then, Lin sighs. “I… I panicked.”

You watch Lin sharply, trying to read her often inscrutable expression and posture.

She walks away from you, over to the window in the living area that overlooks Republic City. She stares out at the night skyline –despite the sun having already set, the city glows from all the electric lights. She braces her hands against the white windowsill; she almost looks like a pensive, noir-style detective from the murder mystery radio shows you like so much.

You tuck your tongue in your cheek to keep from giggling hysterically.

“It was my fault.” She doesn’t look at you. “The nature of my job creates enemies.” She steps back from the windowsill; her hands curl into fists at her sides. “I should’ve known better. I do know better. And despite that, I didn’t keep you safe.”

“It’s not–” With a long, heavy sigh, you shake your head. “You can’t possibly predict every–”

“I did.” When you sputter disbelievingly, she faces you –but her gaze doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The security on your building is shit. And you’d be a lot better off with platinum locks.”

After a moment of your best river carp impression, you manage to close your mouth and shake your head. “Lin…” You hold up one finger when she opens her mouth to argue. “That’s not the same thing as knowing that Kim was going to kidnap me.” When Lin’s unconvinced, pinched expression doesn’t lift, you sputter, flabbergasted. “Okay, look –Lin. Baby. If I don’t expect you to make sure every aspect of my life is safe, what good does it do to hold yourself to that kind of standard?”

“I still–”

“‘Still’ nothing, Lin! You’re not a fucking god! Okay, so you thought about my locks; that –that doesn’t obligate you to do anything,” you insist. Sweat beads along your back, soaking into your shirt. You sigh, then sweep your hair off the back of your neck to try and cool off. “As it so happens, I’m an adult; I’m ultimately responsible for myself, and that includes my own safety. Besides, it’s a nice enough neighborhood!”

Lin stares at you, flat and unimpressed. “Bad things happen anywhere.” Her jaw tightens. “You would know.”

You sputter, caught flat-footed by her audacity to use your own assault against you. “I –how fucking dare you!” You clench your hands into fists at your side, fingernails biting into the meat of your palm. “I am not –I cannot believe–” Sense takes hold before you cavalier too far down the road of rage and indignance; as angry as you are, you don’t want to spew vitriol all over Lin. Even if she’s kind of earned it. You glare at her, jaw locked tight. “Even if you have a logical point,” you spit out through clenched teeth, “the woman who skipped out on me after I was assaulted does not get to use that trauma against me in an argument!”

Lin’s lips press into a thin line. She looks at the floor, expression somewhat chastened. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“Yes, yes it was. And thank you.” In a testament to your self-control –which, normally, you’d pass off as lacking at best–you inhale deeply and try to yank your temper back into some semblance of calm. Your head is starting to throb dully. So much for a relaxing night off. You rub your temples as you struggle to process and respond to Lin’s adamant self-blame. “I don’t –I don’t walk around with this notion that being your girlfriend comes with some sort of pass to perfect protection! I don’t expect you to package me up all nice and safe so nothing bad ever happens to me!” 

“I know–”

“Then what, in Yue’s name, is the fucking problem!” You fling your arms wide, voice rising as your frustration mounts again. “There are associated risks with living in the real fucking world, and I have never asked, or intoned, or suggested that you safeguard me from every bad thing that could ever happen! Why…” When your mind finally runs blank, anger petering out, you throw up your arms before letting them fall back to your sides. Your palms hit your thighs with a light slap. “What’s the point? What’s the point of putting yourself through all that, Lin?”

Lin scowls. She turns partly away and rakes one hand through her thick, curly hair. “It’s still my job.” She sighs harshly. “I know you don’t expect me to protect you.” She looks back over you, expression solemn. “I know. But it’s still my job. I don’t–” She presses her lips into a thin line, frustrated, then crosses her arms over her chest. “I believe in police work. I believe that doing my job keeps people safe. Even when I’m ‘off the clock,’ my duties to the people I care about don’t stop, and that includes keeping them safe.”

“Okay.” You nod along, choking back retort after retort through sheer force of will. It matters to her. It matters to her. It matters to her. “Okay.”

Lin fully turns away from you –but even without seeing her face, you can still tell she’s on edge. The line of her body is rigid as she stares out the window of her living room. She takes a deep, audible breath, shoulders rising and falling as she does. She clasps her hands behind her back and bows her head; for a moment, she looks exactly like the countless press release pictures of the indomitable Chief Beifong (which you may or may not have clipped out of the newspaper and tucked away for your own edification, you’ll claim the fifth if asked to testify, presumed innocent until proven guilty). “I didn’t know if we were going to be serious or not. It was more comfortable, for me, to keep you at arm’s length. And that included not making an issue of your building’s security problems.”

It stings, you can’t lie. Her confessed, deliberate indifference to your safety –when it’s apparently a big deal to her–hurts. You swallow hard, then tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep from firing back before she’s done talking. 

“It was my fault,” Lin states, voice flat and final. “After Kim… I couldn’t deal with it.” Finally, she turns and looks you in the eye. Her expression flickers for a moment, nearly giving way to anguish, before locking down to something more neutral with what you know to be an insurmountable, bone-deep reserve of will. “I’m sorry.” She stiffens, then frowns slowly when you start shaking your head. “What? What is it?”

“I–” Hot, stinging tears trace down your cheeks. Your palms are clammy, and your back is drenched in sweat. “That –thank you. Thank you for being honest. But–” You draw in a shaky breath as you try to school your thoughts into something more coherent. “I don’t –the locks wouldn’t have changed anything, Lin. They –no.” You hold up one finger and glare harshly at her when she opens her mouth to argue. “No. We both know that Kim had a very particular goal in mind. Better locks wouldn’t have stopped him. He would’ve had his goons just, I don’t know, kick in my door, or some shit.” You shrug, defeated, then rub your hands over your face. “I –I don’t care about the stupid locks. I get that it’s important to you, and that’s fine, but the locks don’t make a difference to me.” 

The locks wouldn’t have held your hand in the hospital, after all. The locks wouldn’t have talked to you on the phone after you woke up from yet another nightmare. The locks wouldn’t have rubbed salve into the rope burn on your wrists from where you’d chafed your skin trying to wriggle free. The locks–

Your face crumples, but you manage to keep going as you start crying. “I needed you.” Your whole body shudders as you draw in a shaky, broken breath. “I was so fucking scared, and hurt, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to me–”

Lin presses her lips together in a tight line, then holds her arms out to you.

You choke on a sob, then rush into her embrace. “I was so fucking scared!” You bury your face into her shirt, trembling as you weep. “I felt so lost, and small, and you just left me–”

Lin tucks your head beneath her chin. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was cruel,” you insist, voice pitiful to your own ears. “And selfish.”

Lin draws in a shaky breath. “It was,” she agrees, her own voice wavering. She hugs you close, as though she can squeeze the pain and suffering right out of you. “I was wrong –and cruel, and selfish. I’m so, so sorry.”

Something inside you releases, like a locked muscle finally relaxing after a good, thorough healing session. You melt against her, hurt yielding to assurance and peace. A shaky exhale floats past your lips. “Thank you.”

…

Once you stop crying and settle into the post-panic attack-argument-meltdown, Lin disentangles from you and sequesters herself in the bathroom.

You can hear the sink tap running; if you felt up to it, you could probably extend your bending and feel the water swirling down the drain.

Exhaustion has you feeling hollowed out. You peel your shirt away from your skin with a grimace. The stress of the evening made you sweat. You try to adjust your underwear under your skirt. All of your clothes, frankly, feel uncomfortably, grossly stuck to your skin. This is not how I wanted to get wet tonight.

You drop down onto Lin’s couch gracelessly. You slump into the dark green cushions and close your eyes.

Your whole body feels raw. Your skin almost feels like you’ve been scraped along the pavement outside. Throbbing and tender, you shift restlessly, trying to find some position that will agree with you.

Outside, a Satomobile honks loudly, which is quickly followed by the sound of tires screeching.

Flinching, you curl forward and comb your fingers through your hair. Fuck me. Quickly, you flip on Lin’s radio, then let out a sigh when instrumental music starts droning through the speakers. You turn up the volume dial, just until the crushing feeling of overstimulation starts to abate. That’s better.

Eventually, Lin emerges from the bathroom. (It’s probably not very long, but your poor, fatigued brain has settled into the muddy state where time starts moving like molasses.) She heads straight for the kitchen and starts quietly puttering about; a few cabinet doors open and close, the tap for the sink runs briefly, and the range hisses as Lin lights it with match.

You borderline drowse as you half-watch her work, half-melt away into the syrupy ooze of reality.

Hours, maybe minutes later, Lin joins you at the couch. She sets down a tray with a fresh pot of tea and two cups onto the coffee table, then reaches over and turns the radio down. “Here.”

You force yourself into a more upright position and accept the cup of steaming, fragrant tea she holds out to you. “Thanks.”

Lin sets down next to you, and makes no protest when you immediately invade her space and curl up against her. She wraps one arm around your shoulders, then picks up her cup of tea with her free hand.

The tea is nice –no doubt some very expensive, well grown blend. You wish you could do more than sip tiredly at it, but your head feels heavy (probably from the swelling in your sinuses, on account of all the crying).

Distantly, the healer part of your brain starts noting all the facets of recovery after crying. Parasympathetic nervous system takes over. Brain releases endorphins. Muscles release tension from build up of stress. Autonomic nervous system reins in heart rate, respiration rate, and blood pressure.

“You alright?” Lin murmurs when you let out a shaky breath..

Nodding, you hum, then tip your head back and kiss her softly. Even though you’re tired, your head feels clearer. The consuming static of terror and rage have finally been swept out, leaving subdued peace and clarity.

Speaking of…

“Hey.” You crane your head back so you can see her face better. “If… if something happens to me again–” You pause when Lin grimaces and looks away. After waiting a moment, you press your fingers against her jaw and gently guide her head until she’s looking at you again. “If something happens to me again,” you repeat, “don’t… don’t push me away.” A lump rises in your throat, but you push past it. “I won’t ever be angry at you if something bad happens to me, okay? And it’s –it’s so much worse–” Your voice breaks; you have to take a moment to pull yourself together before you try speaking again. “It’s so much worse with you not around.”

Blinking rapidly, Lin nods. “Alright.” She looks away for a bit, gaze distant. She swallows hard, jaw rolling as she lets out a sigh, then asks, “Would you consider getting platinum locks?”

“They’re expensive.”

“Victim’s Assistance fund should pay for them, considering your apartment was broken into during the course of an abduction,” Lin fires back, almost like she’s reading the fine print straight from the page. “All you’d have to do is submit a request form and a copy of the police report to their office. And if they don’t pay for platinum locks, I will.”

Part of you wants to protest the notion of her paying for any of it. It’s your apartment and your responsibility. Feasibly, you could scope out some options, compare prices, and then allot the necessary savings into your monthly budget.

A quiet, wiser voice in your head whispers, ‘It’s okay to let her help you.’ “Would you feel better if I had platinum locks?”

Lin’s reply comes without hesitation. “Yes.”

You sweep your tongue along the back of your teeth; part of you chafes at the thought of acquiescing. You can take care of yourself, after all. You moved here on your own, put yourself through university and therapeutic certifications, built yourself up as a reputable and capable physical therapist and surgical assistant. While Lin’s compensated you for ruined clothes and the odd day when she’s worked you over enough that you needed to take a day or two off work, you’ve never needed –or expected–her to bankroll your life.

If the Victim’s Assistance Fund comes through, she won’t have to pay, you remind yourself. And it’s just one set of locks, and she’ll feel better knowing you’re safer.

That’s the clincher, in the end. Stubborn pride isn’t worth your girlfriend’s peace of mind –especially over something as non-invasive as a good set of locks.

You nestle back against the warmth and comfort of Lin’s embrace. “Alright. I’ll start figuring out the Victim’s Assistance fund stuff tomorrow.”

“I can give you the number for one of the department heads.”

“Okay,” you murmur, cheek squished against her shoulder. Part of you thinks it’s a little ridiculous –there’s no reason you can’t go through the same process as everyone else–but you’re too tired to argue (and, honestly, bypassing some of the formalities and traditional run-around will be nice). You sigh, then nuzzle against her and close your eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I know –I know you were just taking a moment to breathe, and you weren’t actually leaving me; I just –I was still so out of my head from the cuffs, and the panic attack, and I–”

“It’s okay.” Lin wraps one strong arm around your shoulders. “You were scared; it’s okay.” She kisses the top of your head, then squeezes you a little closer. “Stay here tonight. I’d rather you go home once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

You sniff, then nod. “Okay.” Melting into her embrace, you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The radio croons on; the singer –a woman with a smooth, low voice–drawls on about the ocean and the land meeting as lovers. Down the hall, the gentle, intermittent rumble of the elevator interjects between the radio and the sounds of the city at no particular rhythm. Outside, the distant, waning sounds of Republic City’s nightlife echo into the air.

The two of you lapse back into comforting silence.

…

Once the two of you finish your tea, Lin tidies up before shepherding you to bed. 

You rinse off in the shower first. You worry about washing your hair, or anything too involved, but getting the sweat off your skin is essential if you don’t want to wake up irritable and itchy. 

Your stomach still feels shaky –no doubt from all the mucus and drainage from crying. You turn down the water to a comfortably cool temperature (helps with the inflammation), then mechanically work through the steps of washing up as quickly as you can.

You borrow Lin’s toothbrush (and, fine, it’s really not the grossest thing, especially since you’ve made a point of burying your face between her legs whenever she lets you), and she lends you another baggy, Republic City Police Academy shirt to sleep in.

The gray shirt feels exquisitely soft between your fingertips, against your skin. You tuck away the notion of “borrowing” it for future you to ponder.

It’s nice, slipping beneath the covers on Lin’s bed. Her sheets are luxuriously soft –no doubt a vastly higher thread count than what you can afford.

You stretch your legs like a polar bear pup. Something pops in your lower back, and you groan. “Ugh, finally.”

“You okay?”

“Cracked my back.” You wait for her to turn off the lamp, then cross the space between you and curl up against her side.

Lin obliges you by slipping her arm beneath your neck and winding it around your shoulders. Her fingertips slip beneath the collar of your shirt and stroke along the base of your neck. 

The familiar sounds of the city dwindle as the night drags on. The surrounding apartments are equally still. Here, in Lin’s bed, in her arms, you’re enveloped by safety. By warmth. Every breath you take is filled with the familiar scent of Lin –traces of the cologne she favors, the fresh mint of her toothpaste, even the fragrant tea you both had earlier. The blankets are cozy, exquisitely soft, and the perfect weight to help lull your frazzled mind and body into slumber.

Just for a moment, right before you drop off into sleep, your body relaxes into a state of perfect contentment. It’s almost like you’re floating, perfectly supported and enveloped, much like floating in a pool for a moment of rest before swimming again. Tranquility seeps through your veins, washing away any remaining tension and panic from earlier in the evening.

You fall asleep to the gentle thumping of Lin’s heart and her steady, deep breathing.

[nabicube]

Episode 2: Too Late

Part 2 of Beginning of the Happy Ending. Read episode 1 here. ◈ Non-romantic idol au, angst, fantasy ◈ Warnings: Themes of depression and despair, mentions of suicidal thoughts, dysfunctional family dynamics, supernatural elements, mild violence, swearing ◈Word Count: 655

◈◈◈

You open your eyes, confused. You at least expected to be in a lot of pain, if alive at all. But all you felt was exhaustion and the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

The body you were in was not San; it couldn’t be.

You immediately sit up on your bed and stretch your hands out. The hands you see are much smaller and more delicate than San’s. Moreover, his signature golden family ring is nowhere to be seen on your pointer finger. Only the Ateez team ring on your ring finger.

You feel like you recognize these hands. You search for a mirror in your room, and your speculation is confirmed.

It’s Hongjoong. You switched bodies with Hongjoong when you were supposed to with San.

WHY. WHY. WHY. NO. NO. NO. NO!!! WHY!??

After confusion came anger. There is only one thing to blame this on.

“Lazy shinigami!! Demon!! Do you hear me!? What the fuck is this!?”

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t have to scream! I’m right here!”

The lazy entity, with its familiar voice, appears in front of you.

“I was supposed to switch with San! You told me I could! Why!?”

“Oh, my god, you’re fucking hurting my eardrums…It’s because you were thinking of Hongjoong when you fell asleep…”

It says with a deep sigh.

Your heart sank.

Now, you were angry at yourself because you remembered how the last thing you were thinking was how to explain the situation to Hongjoong in case San’s body survived.

You hated your brain and how it always overthinks and goes onto tangents like that.

You messed up terribly. You couldn’t save the most important person at the most important time.

But, you didn’t have time to dwell on these emotions. You had to know San’s condition immediately.

It was strange how natural you felt in Hongjoong’s body, and in his room, you think for a second. It felt like your own body and familiar environment, while your mind was distinctly that of your original and not Hongjoong’s.

You knew that Hongjoong didn’t have work today because Ateez had announced the cancel all of their schedules for the coming week.

Grabbing the phone on the side table, you bursted out of the room, where you found Jongho sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone.

“Where is San!?”

Jongho gives you a puzzled look — actually, more like a death stare.

“What do you mean? You were with him all night at the hospital until we had to drag you back home and force you to sleep.”

“Just tell me!”

Side-eyeing you, Jongho tells you the name of the hospital. Even before he finishes his sentence, you look for the main entrance, head toward it, and out, apologizing to Jongho in your mind for not having the mental capacity to thank him.

◈◈◈

As you walked down the long, white, quiet, and sterile hospital hallway toward San’s room, your vision started to blur and distort. You felt like you were about to faint as if all the blood was draining from your body. Your limbs felt heavy, but you forced yourself to take one step at a time.

There, connected to numerous tubes, was San.

He was sleeping peacefully, but seeing his state and the fact that he was in an intensive-care unit made the gravity of the situation hit you. There were also painful-looking, large surgical scars on his chest and stomach.

You had nothing you could do. The nurses were watching over him in shifts, day and night, and you had nothing to do other than to trust them.

But as you left the room, the sound of the heart monitor kept echoing in your head.

You were standing in the hallway, not knowing what to do next, and suddenly, your (well, Hongjoong’s) phone rang loudly.

You glanced at the number absentmindedly and recognized it immediately — because it was your own.

[stripydottycat]

Alt Takiawase. Bev lives!

Beverley is almost shaking out of her skin as she tucks the meat sample from Hannibal’s fridge into the back of her jeans & carefully descends the steps down to who knows what. She is about to exonerate Will & end the reign of the Chesapeake Ripper.

Also known as Dr Hannibal Lecter.

Her solid FBI-issue torch makes the plastic sheeting hanging from the ceiling in the (murder) dungeon shine & sparkle; the stainless steel autopsy bench - for that is clearly what it is - glints ominously. Bev takes a deep breath in at the sight of a couple of meathooks hanging from the ceiling, a large drain directly below. There are multiple trays of what she recognises as surgical instruments laid out in an orderly manner on a stainless steel cart. Bev dares not stray too far from the safety of the steps. She tightens the grip on her gun, safety off. What horrors this place must have seen.

The torch beam sweeps across a section of wall & she spots a light switch. She flicks the lights on…and suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck prickle with the certain knowledge that she is no longer alone down here. Her heart rate picks up & she clenches her teeth as she turns around slowly. The Chesapeake Ripper (for she can no longer think of him as Hannibal, or Dr Lecter, or any other name) is standing 12 feet away from her, his face in shadow. He is utterly still.

Bev knows the steps are 5 feet away from her at most. They are steep. She’s sure that monster can cover the distance between them in no time, with his home ground advantage. Bev needs to incapacitate him before she goes up those steps. That there is clearly another way in and out of the dungeon complicates matters.

This will be a fight to escape, or a fight to the death.

Bev is not willing to make the first move.

It feels like time stretches before her.

She has trained for situations where her life is at risk.

She has exceptional shooting skills (the image of Will in the Quantico gun range flicks in & out of her head).

She is Special Agent Beverly Katz.

She is a fucking BAMF.

𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺.

Not at the hands of a monster in a 3 piece suit.

She’s got 17 bullets with the Ripper’s name on, & a torch that can smash a skull without too much effort.

He makes his move, lunging to kill the lights & Bev keeps that torch beam on his face to blind him as he advances towards her at a steady pace, not running, pulling his arm back as if to throw something, but Bev is quicker & she gets a shot off, she takes a step back & he takes another step forward, dodging to avoid the light but she keeps it shining on him & she has him in her sights when he lunges at her, fast, she gets a shot off then another & he pushes her up against a wall trying to choke her & she shoots again, close range, swings at his head with the torch & connects hard with his head.

His grip on her loosens & he staggers back, Bev gasps desperately for breath as she bathes him in light. He sinks to the floor. He’s down, there is blood, she is up those steps at speed & almost at the top when she hears a groan & the slap of one of his hands on the handrail at the bottom. She leaps the last two steps up into the pantry & flashes the light down onto a bloodied Chesapeake Ripper, his face contorted with rage, trying to haul himself upright at the the base of the stairs. Bev knows too well that appearances can be deceiving. She slams the hatch shut & sprints on jelly legs through the kitchen & the dining room & into the lobby, every shadow in the house of shadows a threat. She hauls the front door open & sprints for her car. She knows she’s not safe till she’s away from here.

She staggers as she reaches the car, falling into the drivers seat & shaking so much she can hardly hold the steering wheel. She checks the rear view mirror for a black Bentley as she speeds away & calls Jack. He sounds tired when he answers.

“Yes Bev.”

“HANNIBAL IS THE FUCKING CHESAPEAKE RIPPER I MIGHT HAVE KILLED HIM BUT PROBABLY NOT BUT HE WAS TRYING TO KILL ME AND HE HAS A MURDER DUNGEON” she shouts

There is a moment of silence on the line

“You’ve been talking to Will, haven’t you,” Jack sighs.

He is way too stoned for this. He hangs up. It can wait till morning.

Bev screams in anger. She’s going to head to the nearest police station. And call Zeller & Price.

She suddenly realises she still has the meat sample tucked in the back of her jeans. Ugh. She pulls it out & tosses it with disgust on to the passenger seat, shuddering.

At the next lights, a black Bentley pulls up next to her.

[franciscrozierofficial]

There are 47 iron nails that I can count from my beside. 28 bottles of various tonics, 14 sheets or cloths, 52 wooden boards in the walls and floor of the visible area, 4 bowls for draining blood, 17 metal surgical tools, and no fucking walking cane to be seen.

Cor it’s like being in recovery all over again 😠. Not a damn thing to do

[living-lucid-dream]

(EVEN MORE) Blind Pico AU!

After several hours of exhausted sleep oblivion, Pico begins to have a nightmare. He dreams that he is alone and being hunted by somebody or something that speaks in different voices, mimicking his friends and past enemies. He is running down a hallway at his old high school with no windows or doors--only endless rows of lockers. At the end of the hall is a bottomless black pool that will swallow his entire being. He can't stop running because he will be caught by the hunter, but he can't continue because the pool is getting closer and closer....

Just as he is about to fall into the pool, Pico wakes up screaming. This ends up being extra unfortunate because the sudden ear-splitting shrieking jerks Boyfriend out of a dead sleep, startling him enough that he flops off the edge of the bed.

Boyfriend scrambles up off the ground and asks Pico if he is alright. Pico says he's fine and apologizes to Boyfriend for kicking him off the bed. Boyfriend asks him if he's sure and if he needs anything and frets that they slept past when Pico was supposed to have his eyedrops. Embarrassed over Boyfriend's ministrations, Pico insists that he is alright aside from being thirsty and also needing to go to the bathroom.

Boyfriend awkwardly says, "Do you...uh...need help or...?" to which Pico immediately snaps that he can handle that just fine on his own, fuck you very much. Boyfriend says he's sorry and he's just trying to figure all of this out, which only makes Pico feel like a total jerk on top of feeling like an invalid. Pico tells him it's fine and asks Boyfriend if they can just forget that conversation ever happened already.

After Pico takes care of his business (and after Boyfriend helps him put in his eyedrops and empties the drains), Boyfriend asks if he wants him to go get some lunch at--where else?--McDonald's. Pico tells him sure and insists that he will be fine on his own for half an hour.

This turns out to be a filthy lie as, just a few minutes after Boyfriend leaves, Pico trips over a shoe and falls on the floor. After the initial shock wears off (because it turns out that falling directly onto a new surgical incision hurts), Pico quickly discovers that between the incision on his abdomen, the broken ribs, and his arm in a cast, he can't maneuver to get up off the floor. He spends the next twenty minutes or so wallowing in his own mortification, both hoping Boyfriend will come back soon to help while also wishing he could just curl up and die of shame.

Boyfriend does eventually get back to Pico's apartment. He hurries over to Pico as soon as he's in the door, leading to this brilliant exchange:

"WHAT HAPPENED?!?"

"What does it look like?"

"OH MY GOD, DID YOU FALL?!?"

"No, I just decided to lay ass-up on the ground and make out with the floor."

"ARE YOU OK?!?"

"Just peachy."

"Um...if you're OK and you're done making out with the floor (which is really weird and kind of gross), maybe you should...get up off the floor...?"

"Wow, you're really gonna make me spell this out for you, huh?"

"Spell what out for--"

"I CAN'T GET UP, NUMB NUTS!"

"Oh."

Boyfriend helps Pico up off the floor and is alarmed to note that Pico is bleeding. Turns out he pulled out a couple of the staples on his incision when he fell, but the bleeding seems to be slowing down and the incision is OK. Boyfriend helps him clean off the blood and Pico changes into a clean shirt.

Over lunch, Pico decides to address the elephant in the room: "Just to be clear, last night never happened."

Boyfriend asks, "What, the crying or the falling asleep in each other's arms?"

Pico responds, "Both! All of it!"

Boyfriend is a bit hurt by this, but Pico is quick to explain: "What you have with Girlfriend is perfect for both of you. I don't want to do anything to mess that up, and I'm not going to let you do anything to throw that away."

Boyfriend sputters out a confused "What?" so Pico goes on: "I'm your ex, Bee. Even though nothing happened, do you really think Girlfriend would be cool with us sharing a bed?"

Boyfriend tries to insist that Girlfriend would understand, that he knows for a fact that she would be happy about it. Pico scoffs at this and demands to know how Boyfriend can possibly know that 'for a fact.'

Boyfriend squirms and says that he wants to tell Pico but he and Girlfriend agreed they would talk to Pico about it together. Pico asks him if this has anything to do with the thing he and Girlfriend wanted to talk to him about before the concert. Boyfriend tells him it definitely does and that he really, really wants to tell him but that he and Girlfriend made a promise to each other. Then he says, "Speaking of that night...I know you don't remember what happened, but do you have any idea who might have done this?"

Pico tells him there are a LOT of people who were mad at him that night. Boyfriend suggests that they ask Darnell and Nene if they noticed anybody suspicious to which Pico immediately snaps, "NO! I don't want to ask them for anything!"

Boyfriend is taken aback by Pico's vehemence on the matter and asks him why not. Pico then proceeds to tell Boyfriend about his interview with the police while he was in the hospital:

After the standard questions, the police asked him if he recognized either of two objects they had brought with them because Pico was found in a dumpster and these were the only things in the dumpster with him.

Pico flatly responded that no, it was pretty hard to recognize any objects when you can't see anything. The officers told him that they have a silver lighter and a throwing star. Pico asked them if the throwing star had a "Hello Kitty" sticker on it. (It did.) Then he asked them if the lighter had an engraved "D" on it. (It did.) Pico then told the police that he did recognize those things: "They belong to me."

Boyfriend asks, "But don't those belong to Nene and Darnell?"

Pico tells him that yes, they definitely do. (Those were his Christmas presents to them!)

Boyfriend asks Pico why he didn't tell the police who the lighter and throwing star really belonged to. Pico tells him he doesn't know for sure that Darnell and Nene did it--and even if they did, he'd rather deal with it himself than rat them out.

Part One Previous Next

~

I planned to write more of the AU down in this post, but I've been fighting a migraine all day and this feels like a good spot to stop for now. Never fear; more will be coming soon!

[honourablejester]

5e Character Concept: Ravenloft Lovecraftian Dhampir

So a while back I had an idea for how to put a more lovecraftian spin on the dhampir, because Van Richten’s Guide to Ravenloft does give you some hunger and backstory options for dhampirs that aren’t your usual ‘bitten by a vampire’ or ‘half-breed child of a vampire’. Things like hungers for cerebral spine fluid and psychic energy, and origins like ‘a parasite lives inside you; you indulge its hunger’, ‘you are a diminished form of an otherworldly being; slaking your hunger hastens your renewal’, and ‘a radical experiment changed your body, making you reliant on others for vital fluids’. So. There’s carte blanche already to go lovecraftian here, and all I want to do is slightly reflavour the vampiric bite to be silvery feeding tendrils that lie along her jaw like scars and unfurl to dive into some poor saps ear canal to feed. You know. For fun.

But. VRGR also has several cosmic horror Domains of Dread, and one of them is Bluetspur. The mind flayer domain, whose Darklord is the God-Brain, an insane and mortal elder brain whose horrific experiments towards apotheosis resulted in its physical form rebelling against itself, giving it a slow, horrific wasting disease that it is desperately trying to fight. Which, fun. Bluetspur is completely inhospitable to human life, you won’t find characters from there. What you will find is characters who were abducted to there, experimented on, and thrown back without their memories if the experiments were unsatisfactory. Amnesiac characters with fragmented dreams of vast mountains under red suns, things moving inside their skin, and pallid tentacles wielding surgical instruments. You know, your standard alien abduction repressed memories.

And. Bluetspur is also the origin of vampiric mind flayers. Feral mind flayers infected with vampirism by the God-Brain, so that they can drain cerebral fluid from victims and return to be dissolved by the God-Brain along with their cargo to stave off its own degeneration and dementia. Hence the additional dhampir origins above. So. With that in mind …

Just while we’re here, I want to kit out a full Ravenloft lovecraftian dhampir, a survivor of the twisted experiments of Bluetspur. And, just because we’re going full Lovecraft here, I do think we’re going to go for Aberrant Sorcerer? Just to go full tentacle. But, also. Dhampir. Experiments that changed your body. Psychic infections from a mad, diseased God-Brain and its desperate servants. Aberrant fits pretty well? Our sorcery was not inborn, it absolutely came from massive physical and psychic trauma.

Do I want to go full partial ceremorphosis? Dhampir has the parasite option, and Aberrant Sorcerer also has ‘infected with mindflayer tadpole but transformation couldn’t complete’ as an origin option. And since I’m going full Ravenloft and giving her a Dark Gift as well, ‘Symbiotic Being’ is an option. But. I think I’d prefer ‘Gathered Whispers’ for the Dark Gift. Granted, that still has ‘an alien intelligence intrudes upon my thoughts’ or ‘a sibling I don’t have shares my body’ as spirit options, so it could still work. But I think …

I think she was an extremely flawed experiment. Instead of infecting a mind flayer with vampirism, or infecting a vampire with ceremorphosis, they were trying to do both at once, short-cut the process by infecting a human with both, and they sort of … cancelled each other out? Fully messed her up, rewrote her body, fucked up her mind to the point that Modify Memory was barely necessary, but she’s neither a mind flayer nor a vampire. There is no surviving tadpole. Instead, she’s a halfway thing, and the spirits of Gathered Whispers are the fragments, or ghosts, of so many unsuccessful experiments of Bluetspur. Some of them are mind flayers. (Maybe one of them is the ghost of the tadpole). Some of them were human. It’s all a mess, and so is she.

And then she was dumped back out into another Domain of Dread, or maybe just tossed into the Mists until she stumbled into whatever one was closest.

If I was playing her, obviously this would be whatever Domain the campaign is in. For this thought experiment, though, I think it would be really fun if she was spat back out into Lamordia? You know, the gothic, industrial, mad science, Frankenstein Domain? With all her fragmented memories of experimentation and bodily transformation, to land in a domain dominated by mutation, radiation, and bodily experimentation. Just to fully traumatise her, and also maybe to confuse her memories? Given that they’re so fragmentary, maybe she thinks her memories are of Lamordian experimentation, and it takes a good long while for her to realise that they’re from somewhere much further and more alien.

So. To pull all that pile of trauma together. Picture a tall, rangy, slightly wild-eyed woman, with a rather dark, healthy-looking complexion. Not vampiric pale. Tangled brown hair streaked with gray. Long, bony hands that shake slightly. Two thin, silvery scars, one on each side of her face, running along her jawbone. And if an enemy ever gets too close, well. Those scars unfurl. Twin tendrils, thin, silvery feeding tendrils, that dive into that enemy’s ears.

Is she Lamordian? Originally, I mean. Was she stolen from there? Do we want to give her a Germanic sort of name? Irma might be fun. It means whole, which is nicely cruel. Irma Hafner. Hafner means potter, from hafan, or vessel. Whole vessel. Or whole/great maker of vessels. Maybe the mind flayer who stole her way back when had a dark sense of humour. Heh.

I’m not sure on the background. Well, no. I do kind of want to take the Ruined background from The Book of Many Things again, mostly because it lets her take Tough at first level, which will be very handy since she’s built around Cha/Con for spells and her bite, and she’s a sorcerer and therefore has no hit points. It also gives her stealth and survival, which seem quite fitting for a wild amnesiac who wandered out of the mists with nothing but broken memories of being tortured. So, yes, her mechanical background is Ruined. As, well, she was. But I meant more … what’s her profession? What does she do? How is she trying to make her living right now. Is she just a wild beggar woman wandering around? (Has she met Elise?) Actually, that might not be a bad idea. Sorcerers don’t need much in the way of equipment. She’ll be using her bite and cantrips instead of weapons, and after that we can say she scrounged the makings of a component pouch and an explorer’s pack.

Sidenote: Bluetspur and Lamordia really do have a lot in common. Darklord Viktra’s desperation to defeat death and cure Elise’s wasting disease, the God-Brain’s desperation to defeat death and its own wasting disease. I bet Viktra would find the God-Brain fascinating. And it might, maybe, think her … useful. Heh.

But, yes. Mechanically. Irma is a Dhampir, and Aberrant Sorcerer, and Ruined. She has a dark gift, Gathered Whispers, which means she’s haunted by spirits, whispering voices, which will give her the Message cantrip, a reaction to add her proficiency to her AC for 1 attack if the opponent isn’t deaf, and some fun consequences whenever she rolls a 1. She’ll have 16 each in Charisma and Constitution, with probably Dexterity and Wisdom as her next highest, and Intelligence and Strength taking up the rear. Her vampiric bite has been reflavoured to feeding tendrils along her jaw, and she feeds on cerebral fluid. She’ll start out with a respectable 11 hit points, which is not bad on a sorcerer. Starting cantrips are Mind Sliver, Message, Mage Hand, Chill Touch, Prestidigitation and Minor Illusion. Starting spells are Arms of Hadar, Dissonant Whispers, Mage Armour and Sleep. She’s a beggar and a wild woman, and she has dark dreams and fractured memories of a strange red sun, and things pulling her apart to put her back together. And not much in the way of other memories, or at least not whole ones.

She is trying very hard to pretend to be sane and sort-of-normal. She is not succeeding very well. But, you know. She’d like some food, and some money, and she has this nagging impression that the worst has already happened to her, so she’s willing to brave a few terrors in pursuit of them. Just. Labs, laboratories, might be tricky for her. Medical procedures. Tentacles. Things like that. Heh.

Irma Hafner. A survivor of Bluetspur, a Ravenloft lovecraftian dhampir.

[arrogantsoap]

top surgery went great!

it took a lot longer than expected so my parents thought I died but turns out my titties were just too crazy they'd never seen something like it before.

I went in at around 7.30am and woke up at around 1.30pm, but I only got out of observation like over an hour later. anesthesia was the best fucking thing ever if I could I'd be under that shit CONSTANTLY. I didn't dream or anything i was just so. relaxed.

Now I've been in my room at the hospital since and I'm probably going home in a few hours. I have little to no pain but the fucking surgical top I have to wear is so tight I wanna die. Final boss of binders. And also the fucking drains are annoying the shit out of me and I need to pee but my dad's asleep and I'm too shy to wake him up just to be like "will you help me go peepee". Anyway. I'm doing great.

[rawliverandgoronspice]

.

fighting everything cynical and spiteful in me because I still want to love and believe in people regardless of their flaws, but fucking hell I've hardly ever been tried on such a wide scale before. a lot of people, including people I really love, are making it really really hard to not only hold onto hope that there is a better future than this, but to feel like it's even worth it to try.

I had an inkling there would be a war on mental health on top of everything else going on, and thanks everything I am at a place in my life where it's not enough to send me tumbling down the deep end, but the thread remains thin. And it's genuinely super important to refuse to fall apart, it's absolutely necessary to find a way to persevere in the rise of a worldwide technofascist order because fuck them they don't deserve our despair, but. Yeah. I sincerely doubt it's going to get any easier any time soon, and given they're trying to destroy solidarity, to both monetize and punish self-expression and self-identity, mangle the essence of art and creation, force everybody into poverty and precarity, hunt down any indesirable in more and more unhinged ways and gradually restrict the consumption of everything... Yeah it's going to be a fucking nightmare moving forward.

My heart goes to everybody who's worse off than me on any of these topics, and who's already running on limited options and drained-out mental health. I don't know how to circumvent this entire situation we're facing, and specifically all the surgical ways they're trying to blot out hope and shut down solidarity. I just know it's absolutely necessary to find a way regardless.

[unspuncreature]

cw for just. nasty. just gross. bloody viscera post surgical talk

during my surgery on weds they had to take enough tissue that they decided it was in my best interest to place surgical mesh to help with bleeding and prevent hemorrhaging and other complications and such

i was told that i had mesh inside me when i came up from anesthesia and was given some basics during my discharge. nothing inside you for six weeks, it’ll come out on its own, this is what normal bleeding is like, etc. and i thought ok this is a cake walk compared to my very hands-on top surgery recovery needs and seems like nothing compared to how gross my drains were that first week and a half yknow

so i didn’t think much of it because i’m like oh just a little surgical mesh inside me i’m sure it can’t be worse than any of the other giant pieces of cauterized flesh that will be coming out of me

WRONG

this

fucking

PALM SIZED WAD OF BURNT FLESH AND BLOOD AND MESH

and fuck knows what else

just came out of me

fucking. goodbye. i hate it!!!!

imagine an egg but the egg is actually your burnt insides all wadded up and covered in blood

bad look. feels bad feels inorganic

my blood pressure is so low too already and this made it drop again so i’m just sipping water and sitting on the floor in my living room under a blanket once more feeling very sorry for myself

anyway this post is just a pointless vent thanks for listening n reading. maybe i will feel better later

godspeed✌️