#genuinely though i think i need to try and get (back) on medication for my chronic pain

[themalhambird]

I put Next Generation on for background noise while crafting, got distracted by just. Straight up watching it, and that means it's time for my longstanding tradition of [insert current media fixation here] Star Trek AU: Rings of Power edition.

Gil-galad is Captain of the U.S.S Lindon. He is not paid enough. Yes, the Federation doesn't use money, he's still not paid enough. His First Officer (on this diplomatic and scientific vessel) likes to stun first ask questions later, and his chief engineer does things like strip all the engines down and rearrange everything inside them instead of sleeping because "the ship was complaining the wires were itchy."

Celebrimbor is the chief engineer in question, from a small planet and a people with an affinity for crafting and machinery beyond most humanoids, but Celebrimbor takes it to a whole other level. He and the Lindon talk to each other. He made a little mechanical mouse to keep the plasma conduits company, got thrown in the brig for refusing to dismantle it when an Admiral doing an inspection orders him to, and got released from the brig 72 hours later when taking the mouse away from plasma conduits ended up triggering a series of engineering catastrophes.

Galadriel is first officer. She and Gil-galad disagree often, but are still a strong team. Elrond is communications officer, though he's trying to pick up as much medical knowledge and experience as possible because he's 1) genuinely interested but 2) Celebrimbor and Galadriel both have a tendency to Get Into Situations and knowing one end of the med scanner from the other comes in handy.

Adar is... okay picture this. There's an old abandoned mining colony on an astroid littered with scrap, and the Lindon needs spare parts after taking heavy damage in a storm or something, so Galadriel and Celebrimbor beam down...and are immediately taken captive by a group of the mineworkers- humanoidish beings calling themselves Uruks- abandoned when the capitalist shitbags had finished stripping the place bare. Adar refused to leave and has been struggling to keep the small group surviving, aims to have them thriving, but the whole place is powder keg. Anyway, respective reactions to being captured:

Galadriel: I am going to fight my way out of this with my bare hands and my teeth if I have to >:-/ Celebrimbor: All this broken machinery is easily fixible, i just need a few days- in exchange for being able to return to our ship with the parts we need? :D

Anyway while Celebrimbor is being helpful and Galadriel is being mad about it, the Uruks move against Adar because stuff has been shit for so long, and stuff explodes, and Adar ends up helping Galadriel and Celebrimbor make a run for it, at which point Celebrimbor is like. "Look, come back with us to the Lindon. There's nothing here for you, we can drop you off somewhere-" and that is how Adar ends up stalking around the Lindon or skulking in the engine room like a grumpy cat. He ends up sidling into an unofficial ship's security role thanks to a series of Episode-of-the-week type shenanigans.

Sauron is a reoccurring problem. He first boards the Lindon as Halbrand, an ambassador needing conveying around several star systems. Charming, model passenger, gets on very well with Galadriel in particular. The series of incidents and arguments that break out while he's on board are nothing to do with him. Elrond thinks something's *off*, but can't articulate why. Anyway, Halbrand leaves them. And then it comes through that Star Fleet never had any record of him...

A year or so later a new engineer is assigned to the Lindon- Annatar. By the time he's exposed, Celebrimbor's nearly blown up the whole ship up and a whole raft of Star Fleet engineering secrets have been stolen...

[shadow-bender]

.

[numberone-wifeguy]

05/07/24

[aventurineswife]

(Original Idea)

@smokess

It’s been a few weeks since you first arrived in the Devildom. You’ve already made your way through a few of the rougher patches: learning the magic laws, getting used to demon food, and navigating the maze that is the House of Lamentation. But there are still moments when things catch you completely off guard, and today happens to be one of them.

You’ve just been called to the dining room for breakfast, but as you walk in, your thoughts are still buzzing from yesterday’s events. You’re trying to put together how you ended up in this bizarre world full of demons with their own customs, traditions, and... strange ways of doing things.

As you sit down, the brothers—Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmo, and Beel—are already seated, along with Diavolo and Barbatos, who were visiting from the palace. The atmosphere is relaxed, almost too relaxed. They’re chatting, mostly about the latest human technology (Mammon is in a heated debate with Levi over the newest video game release) and general happenings in the Devildom.

But then, as you reach for your plate, your body betrays you.

You start sneezing, repeatedly. It’s not that unusual for you—back on Earth, you’ve had bad allergies before, especially in the spring. But here? You didn’t realize that it was possible for pollen from another dimension to mess with your system.

"Huh, bless you, I suppose." Lucifer comments, his tone a bit dry. He raises an eyebrow as you snatch a napkin and try to muffle another series of sneezes.

"Are you okay?" Beel asks, his voice sincere, though it’s impossible to ignore that he's already eyeing the plate of food in front of you, the steam rising from it. He’s always hungry, always concerned about food, and while you’re trying to focus on the allergy attack, his concern doesn’t help.

"I-I think it’s just my allergies," you manage to choke out between sneezes, your hand scrambling to find something to wipe your nose with.

Barbatos, ever the composed butler, immediately gets up and makes his way over to you with a tray of what looks like...some kind of odd, green liquid in a cup.

"Please drink this, MC. It should help soothe your reaction. We have a lot of unique flora in the Devildom, and they can affect humans in different ways."

You eye the drink with a mixture of suspicion and gratitude. At this point, you don’t really have any other choice.

“What... what’s in this?” you ask, sniffing it carefully.

“It’s a blend of herbs from the underworld,” Barbatos says with a calm smile. “Completely harmless. It should help with your symptoms. But you might want to avoid consuming anything too exotic until your body gets used to the local flora.”

You take a cautious sip. Surprisingly, the liquid doesn’t taste too bad, and within moments, your sneezing fits subside.

"Thanks, Barbatos," you say, giving him a grateful smile, but you're still mentally processing the fact that you might have to get used to demon herbs now.

“So, MC,” Diavolo begins, his voice loud and friendly as always, his large frame leaning toward you with genuine interest, “I wanted to ask, what kind of... ‘treatments’ do humans undergo back home?”

The question catches you off guard. You look around, noticing the brothers are now all paying attention—Diavolo's curiosity seems to have sparked a sudden group interest.

“Treatments?” you ask, hoping you understand the question right.

“You know, for things like... well, if you get sick, or need vaccinations?” Diavolo gestures, his enthusiasm barely contained. “It’s always interesting to hear how humans take care of themselves!”

You blink, processing the concept of vaccines. You realize that in the Devildom, none of these demons are likely familiar with things like flu shots or allergy medication... or even common human ailments like cold and flu. It’s a foreign concept here.

“Uh, well, humans get vaccinated—shots, you know, to prevent diseases? We also go to the doctor for stuff like fevers or injuries.” you say slowly, unsure if they understand what you're saying.

The room goes quiet. Then, unexpectedly, Mammon snickers.

"Wait, so ya all just get stuck with needles?" he asks, looking at you with wide, alarmed eyes. "Why would ya let someone do that to ya? Sounds like torture!"

You let out a small laugh, trying to explain it in a way they'd understand. "It’s for our protection. Without vaccines, we could get really sick from things we can easily avoid."

The demons all exchange looks of utter confusion. Satan looks thoughtful, though, his hand resting under his chin. “That’s... fascinating. So you just... accept being injected with something? No magical potions or healing spells?”

“Nope,” you answer, shaking your head. “Just medicine and stuff we get from the Earth. No magic involved.”

Diavolo claps his hands together in an amused gesture. “How strange! I wonder if that would work in the Devildom... Barbatos, what do you think?”

Barbatos, ever the pragmatic butler, raises an eyebrow. “I’m not entirely sure, My Lord. But I believe it would require a rather significant amount of effort. Perhaps we should stick to what we know works.”

You chuckle nervously, trying not to feel too alien. It’s weird being the only one who understands what vaccines even are, let alone periods, or allergies...

The conversation shifts after a while to other aspects of human life, which you’re not exactly prepared for. After some time, the talk turns to... well, other human customs—especially biological ones.

"So... do humans have... um... I don't know how to say this," Asmo starts, clearly not sure how to word it delicately. "Do humans, uh, have... ‘monthly’... discomforts?”

You freeze mid-bite, the word monthly hanging in the air like an uncomfortable weight. You’ve always been pretty private about your cycle, especially now that you’re in a room full of demons who probably know nothing about it.

“I, uh... it’s called a period,” you mutter, hoping the subject won’t get too awkward.

"A period?" Satan asks, leaning forward, eyes wide with curiosity. "Like... punctuation?"

“No!” you exclaim, mortified. "I mean... it’s a human thing. A... biological process." You sigh, trying to explain without sounding too embarrassed. "It’s a monthly occurrence where... my body, um, prepares for something it doesn’t need. So, it... uh... sheds the lining in the uterus."

The demons stare at you blankly. Even Lucifer, usually composed, looks momentarily baffled.

“And that... happens to you... every month?” Levi asks, horrified. “How do you... I mean, that sounds awful!”

You nod. "It can be uncomfortable. It’s like a... natural part of being human."

Barbatos, ever the tactful one, steps in smoothly, his voice calm. “It seems humans have a great deal to manage in their biology. Fascinating.”

“Right? And we’re just expected to deal with it,” you add, still feeling embarrassed but relieved that they’re not asking too many more questions.

Later, the conversation veers into a discussion about where you came from, your homeland, and your nationality. It’s a tricky subject, especially since most of these demons have never even heard of your country, let alone your hometown.

“So, you’re from Earth, right?” Lucifer asks, tapping his fingers on the table, as if contemplating the situation. “But Earth is so vast. How do you classify your people?”

You pause, unsure how to approach it. “Well, there are countries, and people belong to different nations. I come from a country called...”

The name of your country seems to hang in the air, but as you mention it, the demons exchange confused looks. They’ve never heard of it.

“Wait, so what’s that country like?” Mammon asks, genuinely curious. “What’s ya... currency? What’s the most popular food?”

You try your best to explain, but each question leads to another, and soon you realize how very, very different Earth is from the Devildom.

But as weird and overwhelming as this all is, you realize that these moments of confusion and surprise are part of what makes your time here so unique. The demons may not understand everything about you, but they're clearly invested in learning—whether it’s how to handle your allergies or what a "period" is.

And really, at the end of the day, it's that curiosity and willingness to understand each other that makes the Devildom feel a little more like home every day.

[lucabyte]

Finally: The NoHats AU doodles. Plus some sprite edits.

Usually I'd let things speak for themselves and keep my chattering in the tags, but I'll ramble about my context thoughts...

So. First of all here's a link (x) to the Nohats Origin Post for those coming in and going ????.

Anyway. These doodles are not in any obvious chronological order, though Loop going from pilfered bandolier (my headcanon for how Siffrin has all those pockets) -> custom outfit made by Isabeau, is supposed to generally denote 'just after the ending' -> 'a few months down the line'.

And speaking of, Design & Characterisation notes:

Overall: NoHats is suppooooosed to have the range to not just be ULTIMATE MISERY ALL THE TIME (but if you're a major whump/angst fan. go fucking nuts.) so these are supposed to be. The steps toward overcoming and living with grief but. The Misery Is Kind Of The Punchiest Part.... Oops....

Mirabelle: Taking the lead, continuing to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. In the game proper she's already shown to, while yes, be emotionally fragile at times, be prone to trying to hold the team together. I feel she'd do the same here. It also would help that she'd presumably be medicated again? But I can't imagine her chosen-one anxieities would be super ailed by the death of her friend. I wanted to try and give her more differences? She follows the change belief after all and is thus liable to switch up her style in general... But I didn't have a strong vision for this, so. The ball is in anyone's court. Her design changes here are keeping one of Sif's safety pins a la qpr bonding earring, and has the bell pendant at Loop's (oddly pushy) suggestion.

Isabeau: Taking it. Badly. Depression mullet and beard in tow. However, you best believe he is trying real badly to hide it. Loop very much does not reveal their identity to him because What The Fuck Would That Even Do. That's Scary. but they do try to comfort him while mentally regarding him "off limits". Backs themselves into some very unfortunate corners by alluding to their unfulfilled relationship with their Fighter as a point of common ground. I don't imagine this would go super great when recontextualised later after Loop is inevitably found out. Just in general oh good god what the fuck. this is like a radioactive pit of survivor's guilt.

Bonnie: Taking it probably The Worst. This is a child. Who was already feeling guilt. This is who everyone else is trying to keep it together for. Mirabelle and Isabeau would likely be putting up far less of a front without Bonnie around. They take the hat and take on Pocket Duty. They also have slightly more sif-y hairstyle but... Don't worry about it. They'd have Nille to fall back on once she's picked back up, and Loop almost certainly attempts to redouble efforts on making them feel better but seeing as how closed-off Bonnie can already be, it'd likely be difficult. However they would probably take Loop's identity reveal best...?

Odile: Odile's design.... ! Does not seem to have changed? How odd! Well. I'm sure she's dealing with things in a regular and non-cloistered manner. I already think that a regular Postcanon Activity for Odile could be her finding out about the potential for sif/loop to translate books and thus Knowledge in their native tongue assuming that ability sticks around postgame. Something something culture can never truly be wiped out etc etc. But putting it in this context. Makes it more desperate, more of a deflection for something else.

Loop: Helpful Loop. Well. They win! I feel like the entirety of ISAT being about Siffrin's mental state means I don't need to spill much ink here? You get it I think. I can't outdo the source material man. Anyway I imagine Loop is given clothes by Isabeau before they know who they are, but after they've become genuine friends. The outfit is in genuineness, on both sides from Loop and Isa, in having the cloak be a nod in respect to Siffrin, since Loop's "shared culture" would have to come up vis a vis cultural funerary traditions. Hard to avoid divulging that one...

[schattenhonig]

The A in LGBTQIA+ doesn't stand for aspec because they're not repressed!

(please read the disclaimer at the end of this post)

Ummm, excuse me? Would you mind telling me what your definition of repression is, then?

Because I feel repressed when a doctor asks me about my sex life, and if I say I have none, it gets marked down as a symptom without being asked if I suffer from it.

I feel repressed when my gyn tells me I can't get a hysterectomy yet despite losing so much blood on every period that I need to take iron supplements all the time, because I could change my mind about not wanting children (which is a whole other post, I know, but it's most likely linked to sex).

I feel repressed if I can't use dating apps or platforms because my sexuality doesn't even exist there, and the one time I tried, I got called names because I didn't want to meet for because it was clear where this date would go, despite my explicit "what I'm looking for".

I feel repressed when I think about how recently a paragraph was finally abolished in my country that considered sex a vital part of a marriage, basically entitling the spouses to having sex with their partner (both gender neutral, because entitling people to having sex with somebody else by law is wrong. It's basically a rape permission).

I feel repressed when I can't watch any film or show without it being about love and/or sex, no matter if it fits the narrative and furthers the plot.

I feel repressed when I plot my own stories and automatically put a romantic couple in there as main characters, even though I have no idea why this would be important for the plot. Not even my own stories, my own thoughts are mine.

I felt repressed when I was asked accusingly in a relationship if I wasn't missing something before I even knew asexuality as a spectrum was a thing, and having to lie about this being a side effect of my medication instead of genuinely not feeling attracted to someone in this way.

I feel repressed when I can't tell people I'm not sexually attracted to them because they will take this personally no matter how well I explain myself.

I feel repressed when everywhere I look there's advertising relying on naked skin, suggestive posing and objectification. Why are expensive cars still presented by women considered beautiful and tempting? It's not like that's necessary to convince people of spending so much money on a thing that gets you from A to B. Couches with women in smart dresses and high heels. That's not what a normal person looks like on a couch. But the worst is a truck in the town where I live: it's from a small fruit and vegetable stand, so whenever I see it, it comes from the warehouse, delivering groceries. On it is a woman clad in very little, presenting fruit. I'm sorry, but why? Does a misogynistic picture convince you of the necessity to avoid scurvy?

I feel repressed when I tell people and get the answer "you just haven't found the right person yet", because there are two possible assumptions from that point: I'm either not trying hard enough (so it's basically my own fault) or something about me is not right, appalling even (which circles back to I'm not trying hard enough or frames me as a victim of my genetics, upbringing or circumstances to be pitied).

Do not tell me how I feel. Do not try to tell me everything is fine and I shouldn't complain or ask for acknowledgement if everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how odd, how weird and how not normal I am. How much it inconveniences you to even acknowledge my existence, let alone respect any of my traits, views and choices.

And while I can only write from my own asexual point of view, I wrote this with all kinds of flavours of aspec in mind, so I'm explicitly including aromantics, aroace people and every shade of the spectrum in this. Not all my examples may apply to you, but I hope you can find something to relate to.

ETA: please feel free to add your own experiences of repression!

[bobardo]

how would carmy react if he ever accidentally hurt his girl…like not in a fun sexy way but in a real way…whether it’s genuinely fucking/spanking her too hard or saying something rather mean during sex

oh god i feel like he'd literally burst a blood vessel 😭

tw!! carm hurts his cub (emotionally). allusions to domestic ab*se (carm is a healing boy, all right?) happy ending.

i can see this happening after carmy loses for the first time. like, it sucks to lose for anyone, but this is carmen we’re talking about—the definition of a loser; a boy small and quiet enough to frighten into a corner, terrorize into a blank mind (poor, bruised boy. built a name for himself out of hollow self-confidence and false healing, a persona that crumbles with one (hundred) too many punches).

he walks through the tunnels with his head hung low, eddie’s hand massaging his right shoulder and benny’s soothing his left; nacho in front, his larger form shielding carm’s blotchy face from the inconsiderate paparazzi. y/n trails timidly beside her bear—hurting and erratic.

the locker room is stock-still silent as they file inside. usually, there's hollering and chanting in celebration as soon as they step through the threshold, and after congratulations and hugs (and kisses from his sweet cub), carm heads for the shower to wash away the grime of his brutal victory.

this time, though, there are no congrats to be given.

everyone seems to be walking on powder eggshells, overly tentative and precautionary as they tend to him. any questions they have for him are low and prudent, and any answers he has to offer them are clipped, and slightly cruel—finds it difficult to show kindness when their own is unwarranted, he lost. he failed (and failing does not call for sympathizing but for reprimanding, punishment; not consolation but condemnation).

"jus' fuck off, dude," carmen huffs, shrugging benny's hand of his shoulder. he sighs, drops his palm from figure and turns on his heal to walk out, anxiously twirling his toothpick along his tongue.

he steps next to y/n, where she waits, pretty in pink, like always, with her hands folded in front of her legs, eyes to the floor. he bumps his boney shoulder to hers, "think he needs you." her eyes flit up to meet his, and he gives her a small smile, and look of encouragement. "go get him, tiger," he whispers gently.

famous last words.

everyone silently gets the message and leaves the locker room to give carmen his space; all except his girl, his sweet cub.

"carmy," she utters softly, stepping toward him.

he throws her a look over his shoulder, "not now, cub, i'm... not now."

she frowns—presses still.

"carm," she tries again, sliding a supple palm up the curve of his back.

he jerks away from her touch, "not fuckin' now, y/n!" he keeps his back to her and starts toward the medical bed, blood dripping from his fingertips.

she bristles, but doesn't let him see it. takes a defesive step back, kicks up her chin, and swallows the lump in her throat (she hated it when he yelled, when he bunched himself up and tucked himself away in that corner of his mind, away from everyone, even her, but his protector. she couldn't help him there, couldn't pry him from the clutches of claws).

"please don't speak to me like that, carmen," she says, soft but firm. "i'm your girlfriend, not on payroll."

he snorts as he rips a white towel off the overhead shelf and starts soaking up the blood from his various wounds. he's rough as he scrapes it up and down his battered body, hurtful. y/n longs to reach out and do it for him—delicate and caring, the way he deserves—but keeps her twitching hands at her sides.

"fuckin' act like it," he mutters under his breath.

her eyebrows rise with indignation, "excuse me?"

"i said y'fuckin' act like you're on my payroll, shit!"

y/n's spent a long time trying to learn how to not be sensitive. she came from a household of men—four brothers, all boxers, thanks to her father—but just because she was constantly surrounded by their brutality doesn't mean she ever fully adapted to it. she inherited their tough skin—took the chipped pieces on the gym floor and melded them to her flesh herself, thicker, harder to pierce—but she couldn't bury her very being, no matter how hard she tried; she would always be a sensitive soul.

she exhales a shaky breath, her fingers curling into her palms, nails digging. he didn't mean it, he was just upset with himself.

"watch your damn tone, carmen."

"or what?" he scoffs, whipping around to face her, tossing the bloodied towel to the side. it's the first good look she's gotten at his face since the start of the fight, and it makes her want to scream.

he's got a swollen, bruised left eye and a crooked nose, a swelling jaw and busted lips; battered and bloodied, from his collarbone, scattered all across his torso.

her throat threatens to close up, and carmy's taking a looming step closer to her too fast for her to combat it.

"what the fuck are you gonna do? fuckin' bitch at me like you always do, huh?" she flinches as he gets in her face, stumbling back. "carmy this and carmy that, but s'never fucking good enough, is it? you just get to sit there and look pretty—live in my house, use my fuckin' money—and god fuckin' forbid i ever ask anything of you!" he throws his arms up, exasperated, huffs out a laugh, though it's certainly humorless. "i'd screw those precious fuckin' feelings a'yours, get y'cryin' like the fuckin' crybaby y'are..."

his voice trails off, the fiery blaze in his eye faltering—like he knows he's fucked up—but his face hardens again before she has the chance to decipher it.

there's part of her that wants to hurt him the way he's just hurt her, put up a fuckin' fight and scream at him the way they're both so used it. another part, though—a much stronger part—is too hurt to hurt him; too sad that her bear would take violence and cruelty over the kindness of others because he'd never been taught how.

she looks at him with a broken furrow between her brow—a bitter smile on her lips. her voice is watery as she starts, "i never asked you for any of that. you offered, and i accepted. and my sincerest fucking apologies for being a human, with emotions." she scoffs, let's out her own humorless laugh. she bites her lips to try and stop the river of tears at bay, looks to the side so he won't notice as a tear slips down her red cheek.

carmen exhales a long breath—he went too far. "cub—"

she lifts a dismissive hand, "no, y'know what? it's fine," she sniffs harshly, rubs underneath her eyes to stop the stray tears from slipping. "i'm— i'm gonna give you some space," she utters, turning to find her purse and coat. carmy watches her gathering her things uselessly, stuck. "seems like y'could use it."

she doesn't look back at him as she rushes to the door, and only stops when she feels a large paw grazing the exposed skin of her back.

"y/n," he whispers, wavering, unsure.

she brushes his hand from her figure.

"i'll be at your house," she mumbles, and slips out of the door.

when it slams shut, carmy can't help the chocked sob that works its way up his sore throat. he stumbles backward, trips over his feet and crumbles to his knees. he curls into himself (like the boy in his mind, tucked safely in the corner), wraps his aching arms around his bent legs a cries like the crybaby he'd just accused his girlfriend of being.

his sweet cub.

god, he fucked up. they fight, so much—too much. he knows her mannerisms, has studied the inclinations of her sadness, frustration, irritation, and anger. he can't ever recall being faced with her disappointment, however, her utter hurt.

he fucked up, bad. but he's gonna fix it (has to, or the boy in the corner will never stop shaking with fear, sobbing, wailing—waiting for his protector to return with his cub).

——

it's late when carmen gets home. their home, not his (couldn't call it his, was never his when she's the one who made his house a home). he walks through the door of their penthouse with his hands full—his duffle bag, a bag of take out (from the three michelin star joint down on 39th), a heart-box of chocolates, and a large bouquet of flowers—and his tail tucked between his wobbly legs.

he places her gifts on the kitchen counter when he walks by in passing, groaning in relief as weight is lifted away from his body (he got beat the shit out of—had to if he fuckin' lost).

he walks into their bedroom as quietly as he can, softly kicking the door shut behind him. in their king-sized bed lay his sweet cub, curled up beneath the blankets—chin tucked and knees pulled to her chest—in a baby pink nightie and matching bonnet. he watches the subtle rise and fall of her back, smile fondly.

he shuffles to the foot of the bed and sets his duffle there, then moves around to her side, kneeling before his sleeping beauty.

"cub," he whispers, feather light as he presses stray baby hairs peaking through the band of her bonnet back underneath. "wake up f'me, baby, 've got some grovelin' t'do."

she groans groggily into the sheets as she starts to come to, stretches out like a cat as her tear-clumped, heavy eyes peel open.

"hey, sweet cub," he murmurs. she eyes him blankly through fluttery lashes.

he deserves that.

"i'm sorry, my girl," he sighs heavily, beginning to pet at her blotchy cheek. "i didn't mean it, fuckin' any of it. you don't bitch at me, y'never ask too much of me," he brings his free hand up to cradle her pretty face as tears begin to well in her eyes. "this is your house, your home. my money is yours, more than it's mine—fuckin' spend it all, cub, i don't care," the both huff out a short laugh, his fond, hers snotty. "y'not a crybaby, you're my baby—my girl, my sweet fuckin' cub, and i'm so goddamn sorry i said those things to you, baby."

she sniffles, curls her fingers around his wrists to keep him close. "y'mean it?"

his lips twitch up in a gentle smile, "i mean it, cub; m'so fuckin' sorry, sweetheart."

"good."

she pulls him in by her grip on his wrists, mouth pressing to his.

safe to say he's forgiven (he carries her out to the kitchen—arms clasped around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist—and presents her gifts to her for good measure, though. sits her in his lap and feeds her yummy pasta and chocolate with a glass of sangria, one of her go-to drinks, to see that giddy smile.

then eats her out of the kitchen counter, too).

——

a/n: how to make the writing process go faster no glue no borax

not edited/proofread!!

[junabuggy]

hello!! i saw you wanted requests and I was wondering if you would be willing to write some platonic headcanons for the Hazbin Hotel crew with a reader who has chronic pain. (i totally get if you don't want to) thank you so much and I'm excited to see what you write in the future 😺

Hazbin Hotel Crew x Chronic pain having! GN! Reader

A/n: tysm for the request !! This is my first time writing something like this so I hope it’s okay :3 (if there’s anything I got wrong, please correct me)

Warnings: Mentions of chronic pain and disability (but like.. that’s pretty obvious lol)

Fluff✔️ Comfort✔️ Angst❌ Smut❌

‧₊˚✧ Alastor ✧˚₊‧

📻𖤐 After a while of Alastor observing you, as he does with most, he’d notice your body language and think the way you acted was a bit odd…

📻𖤐 Not in a bad way, he just didn’t understand at first why you sometimes visibly look like you were in pain or even just hobbling around to get somewhere

📻𖤐 it definitely raised his brow…

📻𖤐 Before actually approaching you and asking you about it, I’d like to think he made one of the egg boiz spy on you like he did in that one episode 😭😭

📻𖤐 I don’t know what he was expecting though. The only somewhat valuable piece of information he gathered from what the little talking egg had told him was that it saw you taking pain medication. Which did not narrow it down at all and not much of his curiosity had been quenched quite yet..

📻𖤐 So, one peaceful and early morning in the hotel, he decided it’d be best to just ask you about it.

📻𖤐 “My dear, are you feeling alright? You look to be quite discomforted…?” He’d ask casually as he took a sip from his coffee mug, one brow raised and his eyes fixed on yours, pretending like he hadn’t noticed this before today.

📻𖤐 After a chat, he was informed you had something called “chronic pain”. He asked a few questions, nodding when he got the answers and once he was satisfied, he walked off back to his quarters in the hotel.

📻𖤐 After all, he had so much research to do.

📻𖤐 Adding onto that last once I do feel as though Alastor would do more research on it when you decided to tell him about your condition.

📻𖤐 Mostly for his own benefit of learning something new since he hadn’t heard of this before… but it came in handy if you ever needed a bit of a helping hand.

📻𖤐 Like, if you happened to have a flare up or just a particularly bad day he’d sit with you and made sure you rested up.

📻𖤐 He wouldn’t verbally express it but he did take pity on you. How unfortunate you were in constant agony.

📻𖤐 He is a sadistic little fuck though so he’d probably find it mildly entertaining or at the very least fascinating to see what’d make you tick or was a challenge for you

📻𖤐 Although he’d try to be careful not to push you too much.

‧₊˚✧ Angel Dust ✧˚₊‧

🕸️ᥫ᭡ We all know Angel Dust doesn’t have much of a filter so it wouldn’t take him long to ask you why you could barely stand upright for too long or look like you’re genuinely struggling all the time.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ In fact, he’s more perceptive than people would like to think he is. He noticed it shortly after you two had met.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ He’d probably come off a bit strong, saying something along the lines of “toots? Ya alright over there? Ya don’t look so uhhh.. you don’t look too hot.” As he gave you a one over.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ You could tell he wasn’t trying to be insulting to you though, he was just concerned and wanted to know what was troubling you. It showed ever so slightly on the spiders face.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Once you explained to Angel your condition he felt bad. Like, huh? Whatdoya mean you sometimes have trouble even getting outta bed in the morning because of how much pain you’re in?? Sometimes you neglect your own basic needs because you’re in constant pain?

🕸️ᥫ᭡ As he tired to wrap his head around the thought, he’d ask if there’s anything he could do to help. Of course though, there wasn’t much he could do.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ From that day on, Angel would try to make things at least a little easier for you. You had earned the title of his friend, after all. Why would he let his friend suffer alone?

🕸️ᥫ᭡ He loves to cook and is pretty good at it so expect a few homemade meals on him at least a few times <3

🕸️ᥫ᭡ If you ever had a flare up you better fucking believe he’d sit there with you and just talk. He rambles like an old man lol

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Also 100% has movie nights with you with both of you guys’ favourite snacks.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Oh and of course his pig Fat Nuggets would be joining you two

🕸️ᥫ᭡ And thankfully the little guy adores you. Which gains some points with Angel

🕸️ᥫ᭡ The piggy would crawl into your lap if you were up for it. He’s pretty light and his oinks and squeals are bound to make you crack a smile

🕸️ᥫ᭡ Angel is no stranger to feeling pain, so he knows how much it sucks.

🕸️ᥫ᭡ That’s why I believe he’d be one of the best people to tell. You’re his friend and wants to make sure you’re okay as possible.

‧₊˚✧ Husker ✧˚₊‧

🍺🃁 Husker, much like Angel, would notice almost immediately that something was up with you…

🍺🃁 At first Husk couldn’t place it. He just knew that he didn’t often see you standing up straight for long periods of time and that you looked like you were constantly unwell.

🍺🃁 Was it just bad migraines? He’s never really seen you drunk before so it’s not like it could be really bad hangovers.

🍺🃁 Plus, this has been going on since you arrived here so that seemed highly unlikely.

🍺🃁 Husk was the type of guy to keep it to himself though. If it didn’t concern him, why bother saying anything about it?

🍺🃁 One day though, you sat yourself down at the bar and asked for some water. This time however, you looked worse than usual, practically doubled over as you stared down at the bar.

🍺🃁 Even though Husk usually kept his mouth shut.. he couldn’t help but ask if you had a headache or something and if you needed some migraine medication.

🍺🃁 He wasn’t heartless.

🍺🃁 When you shook your head no slowly and told him you were just having a “flare up” he asked what you meant to which you gave a brief explanation of the condition you have.

🍺🃁 Suddenly, it all made sense. That’s why you looked like you were constantly in pain. It’s because you were.

🍺🃁 He slid you the ice cold water gently and observed you for a few moments before going back to wiping the glasses as he spoke to you.

🍺🃁 “If you need something don’t be afraid to ask for it.” He’d say, his deep voice trying to be as comforting as it can while also maintaining somewhat of a nonchalant tone.

🍺🃁 Then, after that, it became routine for you to sit at the bar with him.

🍺🃁 He definitely wasn’t complaining. It was nice getting to know you and since you had a place to just sit and rest, he got to see you more often.

🍺🃁 you swiftly became good friends with him and he was pretty helpful when it came to your condition.

🍺🃁 he’d do his best to check up on you often :)

‧₊˚✧ Vaggie ✧˚₊‧

🗡️☪︎ Vaggie heard about your chronic pain from Charlie so there wouldn’t be a need to tell her about it lol

🗡️☪︎ I have a feeling she’d be a little awkward with attempting to help you out…

🗡️☪︎ Like it’s not like she can really make you feel better so it’s a bit of a struggle for her..

🗡️☪︎ But she does try her best though because she cares about you. You’re her friend.

🗡️☪︎ After a few motivational words from Charlie she’s good to go, attempting to comfort you.

🗡️☪︎ I have a feeling she’d try to help by grabbing you stuff you wanted or needed and chatting with you.

🗡️☪︎ She’s actually quite fun to converse with, she’s pretty sweet when she wants to be and can hold good conversations :))

🗡️☪︎ She’s a good listener so if you wanted to vent or just had something on your mind, she’d listen.

🗡️☪︎ During flareups, Vaggie would just stay by your side and wait it out with you, if you needed anything, she’d be on it and would be back pretty fucking quickly too 💀

🗡️☪︎ Would put a random show on if you wanted a distraction and might let you rest your head on her shoulder if you so desired

🗡️☪︎ I can’t think of much else for her other than the fact she’d try her best. Maybe mess up a few times but ultimately she means well and tries to be as understanding as she possibly can be <33

‧₊˚✧ Charlie ✧˚₊‧

⭐️☀︎ The first thing you did when you arrived at the hotel was inform the very excited daughter of Lucifer that you had chronic pains so you might have to take it a bit slow when showing you around the Hazbin Hotel..

⭐️☀︎ And of course, Charlie being who she was, was very understanding and accepting of that fact.

⭐️☀︎ She’d heard about your condition before so making accommodations for you wouldn’t be an issue

⭐️☀︎ She’s a sweetheart so quite literally your biggest supporter

⭐️☀︎ Like, oh? You need something??Ohmygodwhydidntyoutellmesoonerhereitis :33

⭐️☀︎ Much like Vaggie, she’d sit and talk with you during your flareups

⭐️☀︎ Maybe make you a tea and discuss future plans and such for the hotel to get your mind off of things. Works sometimes surprisingly enough.

⭐️☀︎ She’s nice to talk to, very comforting vibes

⭐️☀︎ But it may get a bit annoying how many times she asks if you’re sure there’s nothing she can do to make your pain go away somehow lol

⭐️☀︎ Or even just how many times she asks if you need something. “Do you need anything? No? Are you sure? Okay…. But are you really sure?”

⭐️☀︎ Might stress herself out on occasion over it tbh😭🙏

⭐️☀︎ But she only means well, you know that.

⭐️☀︎ Her cat Keekee I’m sure would love to cuddle, the cute cyclopean kitty pushing its forehead against your hand for pets (only if you’re up to it, of course.)

⭐️☀︎ Asides from Angel, Charlie would definitely be the best person to tell in the hotel because like… genuinely she just wants to help In any way she can lol

‧₊˚✧ Niffty ✧˚₊‧

🧼𐙚 Niffty is quite blunt as well, very out there and doesn’t really think before she speaks half of the time it just kinda comes out 😭

🧼𐙚 So.. she’d probably take one look at you, and ask why you’re in pain.

🧼𐙚 To which you’d explain to the little one eyed maid your condition, she’d think about it for a moment before asking a shitload of questions about it to which you answer :))

🧼𐙚 Other than that I don’t think Niffty would like… really do much?

🧼𐙚 Maybe clean for you

🧼𐙚 But there’s not much else she would do, realistically, she might forget about it and then ask again. Once you remind her she remembers tho lol

🧼𐙚 During your flareups I do believe like the others she’d sit with you for a while…

🧼𐙚 Before spotting a roach and scurrying off to go take care of the pest. Once done, she’d come back and the cycle repeats.

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[blackleatherjacketz]

All Better

Eric Northman x Female Reader

Summary: You miss a meeting because you're sick, and Eric makes a house call to make you feel better.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Eric being Eric, Strep Throat, Antibiotics, Shoving, Blaming, Kissing, Glamoring, Hypnotizing, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Healing Vampire Blood, Blood Drinking, Biting, Vampirism, Nipple Play, Licking, Cunnilingus, Female Orgasm

Read more Eric!

“You don’t look very good.” Eric states the obvious as his brows knit together in a look of, wait a minute, is that… concern that you’re seeing on his face? It must be the medication you’re on that’s blurring your vision and dulling your senses, because you’re pretty sure that ‘concern’ isn’t in Eric Northman’s emotional repertoire. “What’s wrong with you?”

It isn’t until he pushes you up against the wall, staring at your pale face as beads of sweat run down your temples that he understands why you didn’t show up to Fangtasia tonight or bother answering your phone when he called. The realization of your illness slowly melts that concerned look of his into a stoic expression of understanding, allowing his pupils to expand just the slightest bit before his lips part in silence.

“I’m just sick, it’s nothing.” You try to look away from him, tempted to fall back into your old habit of isolating yourself when falling ill, only he grabs hold of your chin to prevent that from happening.

“Sick, how?” That sense of understanding gets washed away in a flash, his brief display of genuine emotion quickly covered up by his usual curt and cutting tone.

“It’s just an infection, I know I should have called, I just didn’t think you’d…”

“Didn’t think I’d what?” He tightens his grip on your chin, bringing his face closer to yours. “Didn’t think I’d notice that my favorite human wasn’t there to greet me tonight?”

Favorite human? Did you hear that right? You can’t help but raise your eyebrows in surprise as he admits it out loud, albeit through gritted teeth.

“I was too weak to drive out there, I…” You mutter as his cool grip on your face chills you even more, forcing your body to shiver in its febrile state.

“Then let me heal you.” He offers, his eyes scanning over your shaking form before he brings his wrist up to his mouth.

“What?” Your arrangement with Eric has always been very simple; you show up once a week to let him feed on you and he pays you enough money to cover your mortgage each month. It had never been more than that though, never crossed any other carnal line despite your secret desire for more intimacy with him. He had never once offered you his own blood before, and the idea of it still kind of scares you, if you’re being honest with yourself. “Heal me?”

“So you won’t be sick anymore.” He loosens his grip on your face, his hand falling loosely around your neck.

“I’m on antibiotics, Eric, I don’t need your blood.” You attempt to walk away from him but he places his palm flat across your chest, forcing you back into position against the wall. Even his restrained amount of strength is too much for your weakened muscles to withstand as you wince in pain.

“Let me heal you.” He stares into your eyes, accessing your subconscious mind as you can’t help but stare right back, too tired to put up any sort of emotional barrier between the two of you. You’ve seen him do this to others before, convincing them to do whatever he wanted, whether that be to pay him back, run away or even kill someone for him. You just never thought he’d do it to you.

“Okay,” You hear yourself whisper almost immediately before taking his hand and leading him to the couch at the far end of your living room. You watch him sit down as if he’s already been there dozens of times before, as if he’s lived there with you already, as if he owns the place. You feel him pull you onto his lap, guiding your hips and thighs so that you’re now straddling him in the middle of your couch as his hands carefully smooth their way up your back.

“You’re shivering.” He grins as you settle into him, your pelvis slowly rocking against his hips as his hands find their way into your hair. “I can fix that.”

“Yeah?” As scary as the idea of drinking his blood is, the thought of letting this feverish hell continue any longer seems way worse.

“Let me take care of you.” Eric fumbles through the random items on the side table closest to him until he finds something sharp at his disposal: a ball point pen. He pushes the cap off with his thumb, smiles up at you before jabbing the pen into his neck so quickly, you barely have a chance to register what’s happening before he pulls you in closer. “Now, drink.”

You gasp as your heart races in a confused sense of horror, watching droplets of his blood ooze out of his wound and down the porcelain skin of his neck. Your lips begin to tremble as his fingers weave their way into your hair, pushing your mouth in closer to his throat as you attempt to fight your body’s natural panic response.

“Drink.” He instructs again, only this time more sternly.

Having no other choice but to do as you’re told, you open your mouth and lick the droplets of blood from his neck as he continues to hold you in place. It tastes a little better than you thought it would, a sort of salty mixture with hints of iron and blackberry wine that leaves a surprisingly pleasant aftertaste on the back of your tongue. Kind of like a rich Cabernet.

Well, that’s not so bad, now is it?

You open up again and start down at his clavicle this time, making sure to clean up any remnants of the fluid until you get all the way up to the puncture site, greedily suckling straight from the source. You can hear him moan as you lap him up, feel his grip on your hair tighten as you consume him, getting lost in the closeness of your bodies and the binding of your fluids. You’re sure that he can hear your heart beating wildly inside your chest, thumping hard against his as you wrap your arms around his torso to get even closer to him. You can feel his blood working inside you, healing you on a cellular level; each vampiric red blood cell eradicating any bacteria into oblivion as the weakness leaves your muscles and the pain dissipates from your throat.

“Enough,” he whispers reluctantly, now having to pull your mouth off him. “That’s enough, sweetheart.”

His words barely bring you out of your trance, his salty flesh no longer beneath your tongue as he tugs on your scalp to get you to finally stop drinking. It’s almost as if you’ve been brought back to reality after having one of the most intense dreams you’ve ever had as you watch his wound heal just as quickly as he had made it. You’ll never get used to that.

“It worked.” You exclaim gratefully. “I feel better!”

“I told you.” Eric grins as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip, reminding you that you’ve made quite the mess of yourself. “This is why you have to let me take care of you.”

“I’m not very good at that.” You’ve always had to take care of yourself in the past. One lesson that life has taught you time and time again is that the second you start depending on someone is the very moment that you’ll be disappointed.

“I know, but you have to let me do it anyway.” His eyelids drop halfway down as he looks at you longingly, gazing upon you in a way that you’ve never noticed before.

Maybe it’s that look, or maybe it’s the high of his blood now coursing through your veins that makes you suddenly feel compelled to press your lips against his, letting that vampiric confidence guide your actions. You keep them there for a few seconds, realizing that he isn’t pulling away from you, but instead is kissing you back with just as much enthusiasm as he pulls tighter on your scalp.

You’ve always wanted to kiss him, from the very first moment that you saw him. But something about him told you that he had women throwing themselves at his feet left and right; and you didn’t want to be like one of them. You were just grateful for the little contact you got when he fed upon you each week. You relished every caress of your cheek, every squeeze of your waist that sent shivers down your spine before he ended up drinking his fill. You never thought that he’d be interested in you like this, that he’d actually want you in that type of way at all.

However, his tongue now parts your lips as his kiss intensifies, all but moaning the truth into your mouth as if he’s been waiting just as long to finally taste your lips. His kiss is desperate and sloppy, so different from the perfectly put together business man you first met that night at the bar. His composure casually crumbles to pieces as his hands travel all over your body, frantically grasping onto your muscles until they find themselves in your hair again, his lips curling into a deviously satisfied smirk.

You feel him grow beneath his jeans, his clothed member now brushing against the thin fabric of your underwear as his hips needily writhe against your junction. His deliberate movements trigger that moisture to collect between your thighs as he continues his rhythm upward with several shallow breaths. Now stained in his own blood, his mouth ventures over every inch of your lips and chin before moving down to your jawline, licking a trail alongside your pulse.

You whimper in response, grinding your needy center against him as you brace yourself for the bite that never comes. Instead he lifts your shirt up over your head, exposing your bare breasts to the cool temperature of the room as your nipples harden in front of his face.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” He teases, letting go of the rest of you so he can graze his palms across them, sending a much more intense tingling sensation down your spine.

“I didn’t know that you wanted to…” Your breath hitches as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard before wrapping his arms behind you and turning you on your back. He keeps contact with your skin the entire time, pulling on your sensitive tissue as he looks up at you with those eyes again, dragging your tender bud in between his teeth.

“Really?” He laughs with a smirk. He moves on to the next one before popping it into his mouth while pinching the other, sending a barrage of little fireworks into your skin. “You think I make feeding contracts lightly?”

“No, I uhh…” Your back arches toward the ceiling as he sucks bursts of delight into your tissues, humming a sweet vibration against your skin as you all but melt beneath him. Pleasure being the last sensation you expect to get from Eric’s mouth, you can’t help but feel a little breathless as his fingers simultaneously tug your underwear down your hips as they instinctively lift off the couch cushion to aid in their removal. “It’s hard for me to tell sometimes.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” He licks a languid path down your quaking abdomen as your muscles contract in hurried anticipation, beads of sweat popping up in his wake. He circles around your navel with his tongue, kissing a hungry trail down your pelvis while his hands help slide your panties off your calves and feet. He smiles and spreads your thighs as far apart as they can go, straining your muscles as he stares at you like a jungle cat would its prey before it pounces. “Looks like I could be a better communicator.”

His fangs drop and his eyes darken, wasting no time in settling between your thighs to take the bite you were wondering would ever come at all. Instead of sinking his fangs into your femoral artery to get the most blood in the least amount of time, though, he bites you just above your swollen center. He laughs as you yelp from the piercing pain, letting that red hot fluid spill down your already dripping wet seam before he dives in to finally taste it.

That cold, blood-thirsty vampire that you’ve known for the past few weeks finally comes out as he starts licking streaks of crimson up and down your puffy lips, spreading the blood and gore into your folds as his tongue delivers that tantalizing balance of pain and pleasure that you’ve only read about in books. He growls like the creature of the night that he is as he devours you, snaking his arms beneath your thighs to pull you in even closer as his mouth delves into your flesh. Unable to be sated, he flicks his tongue up and down your sensitive clit, sending signals of ecstasy up through your spine and into your brain as your eyes flutter with visions of shapes and colors you never knew existed.

Maybe it’s the vampire blood pumping through your veins for the very first time, or maybe it’s Eric’s skilled mouth that forces your eyes to roll back into your head. The way he keeps eating and drinking makes it feel as if each and every tiny hair on your skin is now alive, standing on end waiting for him to touch them, to give them permission to explode until your entire body begins to shake. You reach out for him in vain as the otherworldly sense of euphoria washes over you, forcing every muscle in your body to convulse in rhythmic waves as he relentlessly drinks from your bloody cunt. He glances up at you only to grin as your skin changes color, warming and cooling in phases as your orgasm violently works its way through your skin and bones and finally out of your mouth.

“Eric!” You cry out as he finally pulls back from you, licking his lips as you rattle and hum in the crimson mess he’s made of you. “Oh my God, Eric!”

“See?” He smirks as he watches you come down from your hormonal high, running your hands through his hair as he finally gives your bloody center one last lick. “All better.”

[jeun-bug]

Had a hilarious idea so here’s brainrotting anon back again:

Tweet: “Overheard a student go up to MC and say ‘I need you to be a girl for a second’. MC looked down, grabbed her own tits, and said ‘do these not count for that? Does this mean I can go topless when I’m sweating my ass off in Jabberwock?!’ And *insert ghoul here* just slaps them upside the head”

(I personally think it’d be funny if it was Jin, who in one of the rare times he leaves his room overheard the honor student say that and is just like “wtf why do I want this dumbass again??”. Though Tohma, Sho, Ren, or Jiro are good candidates too. I just think a lot of the others who try to lecture them out of it, would try to egg it on as teasing flirting, would try to genuinely-ish encourage it for the chaos, or just wouldn’t care.)

HAHAHAH you’re totally right. I think alan would put his hand on top of the inspector’s head and just like…. roughly ruffle their hair, yk?

my MC is gender neutral, but i can absolutely see this going down with a female-bodied MC

this got surprisingly long lolol more hc’s under the cut <3

kaito would flip out 😭😭 he’s rapidly moving between “HOW DARE YOU IMPLY THAT THE HONOR STUDENT ISNT A GIRL ALL THE TIME” and “INSPECTOR YOU CANT JUST SHOW THOSE OFF TO ANYONE IM THE KNLY ONE ALLOWED TI SEE THEM ITS NAUGHTY TO SHOW THEM OFF IN PUBLIC”

romeo would also backhand them, sho would scoff and shove them away. leo would encourage it until he realizes it’s probably Not Great if his fake partner gets caught topless in public.

jiro wouldn’t care, he’s like “i see them topless all the time? it’s just boobs?”. yuri would blush so hard thinking about seeing the inspector’s chest in a non-medical scenario that he nearly passes out.

i feel like rui and haku would get lowkey defensive but try to play it off as flirting like “um hey hello??? you can’t just show those off those are my eyes only???” LMAO

ren and zenji would shout at them for considering it 😭 imagine zenji “MY DEAR!!! YOUR BODY IS A TEMPLE, YOU CANNOT ALLOW THOSE WHO ARE UNWORTHY (everyone besides me) TO LAY THEIR EYES UPON YOUR BEAUTIFUL FORM!!!!!”

lyca and ed wouldn’t care i think. ed would get flirty about it lolol

poor subaru would be bright red and desperately trying to navigate discouraging it AND being polite and not overstepping lmao “well…. um, i mean- i don’t mean to overstep or anything…. it’s just…. that sort of thing is…. of course, it’s ultimately your choice…. but….” 😭😭

taiga would lose it and actively encourage them to take their top off NOW like “ cmon inspector you said it. it would be so funny cmon “

haru gasps, affronted, and covers peekaboo’s ears, “inSPECtor!!! if it’s that hot, i’ll buy you a portable fan!!!! there is no need for that!!!!!!!”

ritsu would lecture the GA student about harassment laws and then turn around and lecture the inspector about public nudity laws.

if it’s said around towa, jabberwock park doesn’t know a single day of peaceful weather for a week, after which the GA student mysteriously goes missing lolol

you’re totally right about jin 😭 he’s like “if this is what you’re getting up to when i leave you alone, i’ll just have to start following you around everywhere to keep you out of trouble.” and everyone besides the MC immediately realizes he’s just trying to find excuses to spend time with them.

tohma and luca would both lecture the inspector about it, but tohma would be lowkey laughing to whole time LMAO he’s like “that’s incredibly improper, inspector. if you’re going to work so closely with frostheim, i must ask that you do your best to maintain a respectable image” but he’s just a shit eating grin on his face bc he’s truly a vagastrom boy at heart LMAOO

[underoossss]

can I request a hurt/comfort with steve, where maybe the reader gets hurt in the upside-down and he is taking care of her? you are one of my favorite steve blogs!

I love a good old hurt comfort!!! And this time though r is hurt Steve is getting comfort cause that boy sure blames himself for no apparent reason. You’re so sweet thank you! It means the world to me you like the stories I write for y’all💖 I hope you like this! 1k.

••••

“I can’t lose her!”

Steve’s scream still echoes at the back of your mind, fuzzy and distant but it’s still there. The panic, the pain, the anger, they’re all there burned in your brain. You were in a dizzy state, half present and half gone after your last trip to the upside down had left you with a pierced leg and a bleeding wound. Vecna was gone which is all that mattered, yet instead of celebrating Steve hovered over you making a makeshift tourniquet for your leg with his belt – Nancy and Robin trying their best to calm him down. That's when he snapped, voice raw and cracking with emotion; it was clear he didn't mean to, but if you were in his shoes you're sure you'd have done the same. You wanted to reassure him, tell him you were fine, but things were hazy after that.

Steve's quiet now, lying down on his bed next to you.

His torso is bandaged just like your leg; his wounds clean and treated, yours got ten stitches covered with two layers of gauze and clear medical tape. He's done nothing but look after you since you got back, making sure you had everything you needed, driving you to his place and helping you get upstairs. He even washed your hair, gentle and caring and careful, pretending he's alright when you know he isn't. His hands still shake no matter how much you hold onto them, you can tell he's holding back tears from the way he clears his throat before speaking. Yet he only wants to take care of you.

"You should try to get some rest." Steve says, one hand gentle on your cheek as his thumb rubs softly at your skin. "It's late."

You glance sideways at him, his face is golden in the glow of the nightstand lamp. Hair almost dry from his shower earlier, eyes red-rimmed, a soft grin that's holding everything back. You know this boy the same way he knows you. "I can't sleep lying on my back." You whisper over a frown.

"We can figure it out." Steve's smile is a fraction more genuine this time, always happy to help you. "Here, let me sit up."

It takes some minutes but Steve rearranges the pillows and helps you sit up, mindful of your injured leg. He lies back against the headboard with you slumped sideways against his chest, head resting on his shoulder and patched up leg extended in front of you. It's not the most comfortable position but it's better than before, especially now that you have your arms around Steve.

"I'm not hurting you?" You ask quietly, closing your eyes at Steve's touch rubbing up and down your arm.

"No," You feel Steve shake his head. "I like this better."

You snuggle closer to him, wanting to be as much as possible as someone who thought would lose the other only hours ago. Steve hums and kisses your temple which makes you look up at him. When you see the tears he's holding back, you break.

"I'm so sorry Stevie." You mumble through an aching throat. "I didn't mean to get hurt and scare you like that."

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't have to say sorry."

"I wanted to tell you I would be okay, reassure you that I would be." Your words are rushed through your tears, lips pulling downwards with sorrow. "It all happened so fast."

Steve's arms go around you and pull you closer, his shoulder shaking as he cries into your hair. You'd squeeze him tight in return if he wasn't injured, so you settle for kissing the middle of his chest as you cry with him. The idea of the roles being reversed makes your blood freeze with panic. "I thought I was going to lose you." Steve confesses, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

"You'll never lose me." You pull pack to look at him in the eyes, red and full of tears just like yours. "I will always fight to stay by your side, Steve. I can't even imagine being without you; if I can keep you from going through that, you know I will. Just like I know you'd fight too."

Steve closes his eyes and nods, "Every time."

You grab his face in both your hands. "I love you, so much."

He looks calmer when he opens his eyes, still shaken but better than before. "I love you too."

"Tell me what you need?" You ask in a whisper, wiping the last of his tears away and kissing the corner of his mouth. "Please, if I can make it better I'd like to."

"I just need you." Steve brings you towards his chest again with his arms around your waist. "This is all I need."

You look up at him and smile when you see some of that previous fear melt away from his face. Your beautiful boy slowly becoming himself again. "I can give you a kiss too. I don't think we've ever gone this long without kissing you know."

"Tell me about it." Steve's smile appears then, before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

masterlist

[captain039]

PART 4 He’s Grumpy, I’m sunshine

Alpha!Logan x omega!reader

Warnings: AOB, age gap (legal), light swearing, grumpy/sunshine, anxiety, mental health issues, m violence, torture, plus size reader, medication usage for anxiety, depression and sleeping, heat pills, scent blockers

Set at Charles school

Your mutation: fire creation and control

Previous part <-

My mind is just horny for Hugh Jackman it’s bad xD

The next day you wait till around dinner time to head to the bar, you put on a fancy dress and some low heels, throw on some makeup and sigh. You stare at your reflection poking your stomach, hips and waist, you had put on one of those slender shapewear things too. You rolled your eyes opened the bathroom door a little harshly and grabbed your small purse.

“Let’s go” you grumbled hating this plan already.

“Actually, no, why the hell am I here?” You turn making Logan almost run into you.

“Never been on a mission before?” He asks.

“No?” You say frowning and he falters.

“You’ve been itching to get out the school” he says.

“How do you know that?” You ask, you’d only just gone to speak with Jean about it when you walked in on them both in her lab.

“Because-“ he growls a little pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Stay here” he says moving out the way.

“No, you said to come, so I will go” his lips curls up showing the two fangs he has.

“Omega” he grumbles as you walk out the motel door and to the car.

You had thrown on some perfume to go over your dulled scent, like hell you could flirt your way into a secret fighting ring. Better off getting your ass caught and thrown in there. You stare out the window till you arrive. When you enter you already hate it, your whole body tenses and you feel eyes. You forced Logan to wait at least ten minutes before coming in. You sit in a small booth finding yourself ready to flee and your hands overly hot. Logan walks in, cigar in his mouth, leather jacket over his shoulders. You take a small breath as he heads over to the bar. You didn’t look at him properly when you left the motel, jeans, plain white shirt and a leather brown jacket with boots. He orders so naturally and you wish you took the keys for yourself. You know he’s appealing, the few other women in the bar getting an eye full. You don’t blame them but the heat dancing on your palm says otherwise.

“Can I get ya something doll?” A older woman asks.

“Just a smoothie?” You ask and she smiles and nods. It was a bar cross restaurant you think from the dining tables to one side with the register and small display of foods and the bar and pool table on the other side. Logan starts talking around, grabs a pool cue and joins the game. You were truely going to hell for your thoughts as he bent over the table and striked the ball. The waitress comes with your juice and you thank her. You relax a bit, nobody’s on this side of the restaurant, the smoothie is nice and cold too though your head feels a little funny. You look out the window to the dusty car park figuring Logan could handle majority of this mission. You sigh a bit glancing back to Logan seeing a brunette woman by his side. She’s gorgeous, slim waist and body, nice sized boobs and ass, the dress complimenting her every curve and just the right amount of makeup on her face. She’s faking not knowing how to play, or she genuinely doesn’t know how to play as Logan shows her. He doesn’t do the whole get behind her thing and lean with her though, which makes her disappointed even if she gets one of the pool balls in the shoot.

Logan hates himself, he hadn’t realised you had never been on a mission and Charles sure as hell didn’t ask you and him to go. It was supposed to be Jean and him, but when you walked in shoulders tense and looking ready to burst again he decided you and him needed to get out. You’re quiet the whole ride, awkwardly trying to act normal as he forces himself not to smile at it. You don’t know how to act around him, he doesn’t blame you, he’s always been a cold hard bastard. When you have a shower he stares at the door wondering if you’d let him join you, he wants to fell your body so bad, feel those thighs around his head, sink his teeth into your flesh while you moan his name. He’s worked up even more now he swears, you’re too shy and kind for someone like him. Once the shower stops he sighs a little missing his opportunity, he frowns though when you take a long time in there and your anxiety peeks. It’s like he’s in tune with you and he gets up and knocks. Your response has him on edge and opening the door without permission. Seeing you in a towel, flushed and fresh out the shower has his dick hardening. Fuck he wants to smell you, breathe in that sweet scent he knows you have. He sees the syringes in the counter though and his face turns hard. It looks like something Hank cooked up which probably means it’s for your mutation. He gets snappy for no reason and growls when he does leaving you confused. He smokes even though it does nothing before going back inside and seeing you already tucked in your bed. He slides his shirt off and kicks off his shoes before he’s in bed too.

He lays awake, one hand above his head one resting on his chest, he hears you whimper a few times and frowns before you start to mumble panicked and your scent spikes. He’s up quickly and sitting on the edge of your bed, your over heating, he sees small flames dance on your face as it squints. He shakes you gently and you’re up quickly hands out. You burn his chest and he hisses. He hates how you instantly worry and sadden tears in your eyes. He heals easily though, he’d get burnt a thousand times if it meant to be this close. He curses your scent blocker, wants to set it on fire and throw the ashes far away from your reach. He wants to lean forward feel your lips against his, feel your heated body against his.

Watching you now sip whatever the hell that was in your cup and look outside a little calmed in that perfect black dress. He forgot breathing was a thing till his lungs demanded air. Your hips looked so grabable, the way your hair sat was perfect. You were safer over there than here while he talked and tried to gather information. A beta woman came up to him though, flirted with big brown eyes and innocence. He played along for a bit hoping to gather information, but he doubted she’d know, she wasn’t a mutant, nor did she smell like anything related to violence. He showed her how to shoot properly and she lost interest thankfully. He looked back to you, your eyes hard on the woman and pride swelled up in him. He saw small flickers of flame along your skin as you caught his eyes and looked away with red cheeks. He walks over, he doesn’t think anyone here has information. Slides in the booth while you frown a little still blushing.

“Come play” he cocks his head a small smirk on his lip’s and you choke a little on your drink.

“No thank you, I’m happy here with my smoothie, pretty sure the blonde wants a go” you gesture vaguely to the other side.

“Come on” he’s teasing, seeing if you’ll break as his nose flares a little catching something sweet that isn’t your perfume.

“Fine” you sigh.

This was a bad idea, agreeing to whatever evil plan the alpha conspired. You hate the looks the women give and think about going back.

“Logan-“ you say hesitantly but he’s already grabbed two pool cues and set up the table.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks.

“Vaguely, whoever shoots first, if they get a high or low in that’s their numbers, first one to get all there numbers in and then the eight wins” you shrug and see him with a small look of awe on his face.

“You shoot” he cocks his head to the table as stands casually.

“I’m not good at this” you grumble. You lean down and aim, hitting the ball harshly, too harshly, it ends up bouncing and you wish the earth would swallow you up.

“Too much force” Logan says.

“You go first” you get embarrassed and hurry away feeling your head spin a little again.

“Hey” the alpha holds your arm and you jolt a bit. You gulp a little feeling like everyone’s watching you with hatred that this handsome alpha is focused on you.

“Logan-“ you sigh looking to his face. He’s got some puppy dog look going on and you almost choke again. You take a small breath a small frown on your face, you could pick up more of his scent now.

“Just- you go first” you say quietly and he nods. He rearranges the balls and hits them easily, a high going in first.

“Guess I’m highs” he’s says and you nod going around the table. You lean down a little thankful this dress is below knee high. You aim a bit till Logan’s voice makes you jump.

“You won’t hit there” he says and you huff turning to him a small smile playing at his lips. He walks to you and your heart rate picks up as he slides his body easily around yours. Your cheeks flush instantly and realise he’s going to really show you how to shoot. Your mind kicks into override and you scramble out of his hold breathing quickly and he frowns.

“This was a bad idea, keys? Keys where’s the keys” you say rushed body hot as he hands you the keys. You rush outside letting the cool air calm your body and small flames flickering on your arms. You feel like crying and curse softly as you hang your head.

“You ok there doll face?” You frown looking to your left seeing an alpha leaning against the wall smoking.

“Yes, sorry” you say shuffling away a bit as you catch his scent with a small frown. Why was everyone’s scents stronger? You think back to last night body going ridged as you remember in your hastiness to put the serum away you forgot your anti-heat and scent blockers. Panic rises up in you, sure you’ve forgotten them before at the safety of the school where you had access to your room and a locked door.

“Logan” you mumble needing to get inside till the alpha nearby blocks it. You frown not use to this kind of treatment as he a smirk plays at his face. He looks ok you guess, bear a little messy, teeth a bit too yellow for your liking. You feel your hands shake and feel the heat of your flames along your skin.

“Sir I need to get back to my alpha” you lie and he glances to your neck scoffing.

“What alpha?” He leans closer as you back away, but he follows.

“This one” Logan growls behind him, pulling the man away from you and punching him. The man’s knocked out instantly and you take a small shaky breath.

“You ok?” He asks a frown on his face as you shake your head. Gods his scent, it flares with worry as he comes closer nose flaring, eyes narrowing.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t take-“ you take a small breath hugging your body, flames dancing across your arms.

“Hey, hey it’s ok” Logan comes closer large hands on your heated skin.

“You barged in and I panicked with the serum I forgot to take them” you feel tears in your eyes, you feel stupid. Logan has a frown on his face but he tugs you to him, arms going around your shoulders, a hand cradling your head. You shudder forced to breathe him in a small noise leaving your throat. You can’t help your arms going around him and nuzzling closed, wanting his scent all over you. You feel something prick your neck then and jolt.

“Logan” you slur as your body goes limp.

Next part ->

Taglist:

@beanhardy

[veritas-scribblings]

attraction - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,067

In October, James Potter starts popping up everywhere. The library. The great hall. The quad, when Regulus is just trying to sit and read. The potions classroom, where James apparently left a textbook he needed. The greenhouses, where Regulus is trying to complete some homework. The quidditch pitch, because James is apparently spying for his house.

It’s like one minute, James predominantly exists in the periphery of Regulus's life as the boy his brother is attached-at-the-hip to (and the boy who makes Regulus feel a little bit funny inside), and then suddenly James is absolutely everywhere Regulus looks.

And it’s driving Regulus insane.

He says this to Barty, who offers to slip James something that will keep him out of Regulus’s hair. Regulus is almost tempted to take Barty up on his offer, and he would, but he can never quite know if Barty’s idea of the ‘something’ he’d slip James is innocuous (in the sense that maybe James will live on the toilet for a few days) or if it’s something…less innocuous (like James will need medical intervention to repair his spleen). 

The trouble is, every time James Potter shows up, Regulus makes an utter fool of himself. Like James has a force field of ‘stupid’ around him that draws Regulus in, scrambles his brain and lowers his general intelligence and co-ordination a few pegs.

Last time, when James turned up in the potions lab looking for his stray charms book, Regulus dropped his ink well and ended up coated in black in ink. And then James had laughed at him, because James is an absolute bastard, and Regulus had wanted to die a quick and sudden death.

Unfortunately, no Regulus’s had been harmed in the course of that incident (except perhaps for Regulus’s pride), and this is why Regulus is now standing in the back of the library staring James down. And James has a book in his hands that Regulus needs, and there is no way that he will be leaving without that book.

Even if it includes removing James’s lovely hands from the rest of his lovely person. 

‘That’s mine,’ Regulus says flatly. He reaches out to grab the book from James’s hands, forgetting the books he already has tucked under his arms. They fall to the floor in a series of thuds, landing on Regulus’s foot, causing him to curse angrily. 

‘Shit! Fuck!’

‘Language, Regulus,’ James laughs. ‘And it’s not. Your book. It’s the library’s book.’

‘It’s mine. I came here to borrow it, and what do you even need it for? Why are you here?’

‘I came looking for you,’ James says quickly, smiling in that way that he always does, the way that leaves Regulus feeling slightly weak inside. ‘I…just…go out with me?’

Regulus, who had been picking up the books he'd dropped, falters and frowns, uncertain that he’s heard James right. The cocky grin James had been wearing a moment ago has disappeared and he looks almost awkward in his own body. Which is unusual for James, who typically has that characteristic Gryffindor Quidditch Player arrogance about him. 

‘Go out with me,’ James says, more earnestly this time.

‘What? …why?’

‘Why?’ James repeats, surprised. He thinks for a moment and then, as though he’s giving a speech or a presentation, he says, ‘Well, I’m good at quidditch. Captain of the team! And I’m funny…I think. I think I have a good sense of humour. And I’m a nice guy! Mostly. Yeah, in general. Oh, and I’m a good student. I get good grades. Always turn in my assignments on time. Professors love me. And I’m a good friend. Sirius can vouch for me!’ 

James is shifting on the spot, scratching the back of his neck, watching Regulus like Regulus has him under a guillotine and all Regulus needs to do is pull that rope. ‘So…?’ he says. ‘Will you?’ 

Regulus grabs the book from James’s hands and slips it into the pile he has tucked back under his arm.

‘Why?’ Regulus hisses. ‘Is this a joke? One of your pranks? Is my brother going to leap out from somewhere?’ 

James genuinely looks aghast at this idea. ‘What? No! I—’ He pauses, mouthing oh like he’s had some sort of realisation. Reaches out to take Regulus’s arm, which Regulus yanks back, furiously. ‘No, I want you to go out with me because I like you. I like you. A lot.’ 

James’s smile is genuine. Earnest. Most things about James are genuine and earnest. And, Regulus thinks, maybe this is why James does funny things to Regulus’s insides. Things that make Regulus feel slightly dizzy and jittery, that make Regulus feel just a bit stupider, that make Regulus feel warm inside. 

‘I’ve been,’ James starts somewhat sheepishly. ‘I’ve been…following you around, maybe. Trying to work up the courage.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Regulus retorts.

‘Oh?’

‘…you following me.’

‘Oh.’

‘So, this isn’t a joke?’

James shakes his head vehemently, and smiles at Regulus. There’s such hope in the smile that it feels like Regulus’s world has turned on its head. None of this makes sense. None of it. Surely there’s a shoe on the other side of all of this that’ll drop, and Regulus’s traitorous brain will tell him, ‘I told you. I told you so.’

Or maybe it won’t.

‘Okay,’ Regulus says hesitantly. ‘Okay.’ 

James grins. The grin is wide and bright like the sun, and he practically bounces on the spot. Like Regulus has made his day. His week. Maybe his month.

‘Really?’ he says excitedly. ‘Really? Great! Okay, great! This is great! I’ll…um…we’ll. Hogsmede. This weekend. I’ll, um, we’ll go together. It’ll be great.’ He steps forwards towards Regulus, appears to reconsider this, and hastily steps backwards.

Regulus nods slowly, unsure what he’s meant to do with all of this. His heart is fluttering in his stomach, making him feel nervous and worried. That’s he’s going to do something stupid again, like break his ink well or drop his books on his foot. And James will realise that Regulus is stupid and this whole idea was stupid, because why is James even interested in ‘going out with Regulus’? 

But there’s also this other spark of hope in Regulus that James will not think he’s stupid. Maybe he’ll like Regulus and Regulus will get to spend more time around James, intentionally, and they’ll do it all over again.

[midnight-mourning]

*Taps mic* Heard y'all like Moon around here, you're in luck, this one's for you

massive, MASSIVE thank you to @lunarmoves for beta-reading this chapter!!

She put a lot of time and effort into making my BS readable for y'all and it's greatly appreciated <3 <3 <3

Shay also makes really good dca stuff (also sebastian solace but I know very little about the fish tbh) and you should check her out!

Also, happy 200k+!!! We're only 297k from truly becoming the 500k enemies to lovers slowburn of our dreams lmaoooo

But for real I apologize for such a delay with this one. If you'd like to hear my excuses/reasoning they're below the cut, or you can just go read the chapter whatever suits ya ^-^

Tag list (if you would like added please see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

CW: medical stuff & additionally a bit of unreality mentions

Okay going to try and keep this simple bc I've said parts of it before

So as most of you know, I've been sick for 3 months now

I've now been on two rounds of steroids, and currently on my third round of antibiotics, which are basically keep me fucntional, not improving

besides general discomfort and pain, my memory has been pretty shot at times, I will go through the day and barely remember what I did/what I'm doing/what I need to do

as someone who had brain fog caused by covid a few years ago, this was genuinely a scary experience because ultimately, this has been worse

i've felt out of control of my body, having times where I'm mid thought and then instantly lose it

this is not my normal, I usually pride myself on my memory, so losing it has been incredibly devastating and scary

this was not helped by the fact that the quick care I went to (THREE TIMES for this) basically kind of sort of tried to gaslight me into believing nothing could be done and that it's not an infection

so not only has this entire thing has gotten dragged out so much more, which makes me sad tbh, but I've also felt like I've been going crazy bc it felt like no one was believing me when i said I was sick and not getting any better (including friends, family, coworkers etc, though unintentional on their parts to be fair)

I feel like I've lost three months of my life and coming to terms with that has been, yeah

on top of all that, I'm still in school AND doing grad stuff, and while the school side of things has been okay (thank god), grad's had it's moments, won't get into it but have had multiple issues with my advisor that have been at times just really tough to deal with

Confused spirit got pushed to the back burner, because i quite literally at times could not think, and when it comes to this fic, where there's multiple ongoing plot threads, characterizations, lore, and so on to keep track of, it was just, impossible to me to even consider writing for it

having shorter stuff like promptober, the oneshots and such was great to keep me writing, and also still interact with everyone in the community, plus i had a lot of fun with them so that helped too

this is all to say that I do sincerly apologize for the delay, and at the very least I should've clearly communicated about there being a hiatus, when this all started I thought i'd be down for two weeks max, then as that time kept increasing I just kept putting it off and putting it off because i thought i was going to get better, and then I didn't

I do this for fun and for nothing else, fic writing isn't content (it's engaging with fandom) and i have to remind myself of that sometimes but given that I've been around in some capacity on and off I feel I should've said something in some regard

Having said all that, I'm doing okay now! Still sick, but as long as I'm on meds I'm functional, stuff is getting managable with grad, and hopefully have some fun things coming up irl! Point is, the last three months haven't been the best, but they've been alright, due in part to all the support you all have given me, so thank you for that, can't say it enough :)

Okay, I think that just about covers it, thank you for taking the time to read all of this if you did <3

[dawnbreakersgaze]

NOPE

NO

NO THANK YOU

I don't like the way those are lining up AT ALL.

"Broken free of the shackles of natural law"

We've heard/seen Zayne be referenced as "shackled" at least 3 times before at this point. By Raymond, by the 'Narrator' ("remains shackled to time"), and in reference to the Foreseer myth. This makes the 4th. I genuinely hurt every single time the story so heavy handidly reminds me that Zayne really is a dog on a chain. The Foreseer robes even have a LITERAL collar of thorns over the neck of it ffs. It's painful to watch at this point and it breaks my heart.

"Why persuade Zayne? What he really needs is a pair of hands. Ones that can carry out God's mission and allow for God's descent."

Between this, and the one below of-

"At least he has another option. His last one"

I'm torn on which one is referencing Astra. On one hand, Astra really could be a modern made "God". An elevated man of great power, someone Zayne turned to in his 11th hour to try and save MC (though we all know how that turned out, unfortunately). It would seem that Xander Sciences is playing at God, and if we know anything about the sci-fi scene, it's that human experimentation ALWAYS ends up going ~soooo well~ and nothing ever goes wrong there 👀

On the other hand, the "last option" really gets my gut feeling going. My theorist brain is telling me Zayne is gonna go full Warlock pact and make a deal with an entity in exchange for MC's life. Only it's gonna go tits up and be a Fey pact, and because we all know how MC and he end up, clearly Zayne did NOT read the fine print (or more likely, Zayne thought he could out maneuver the rules). Ever since I read the Mt Eternal anecdote and realized the Tower and Mt Eternal are in the same location, I could not shake the feeling that Zayne already has made contact with whatever "Astra" is. Be it a very powerful person, an actual God, or someone else entirely different (like another time traveler, such as Xavier and the backtrackers). We know he's traveling back there multiple times by himself, conducting research of an unknown variety, that only he and Dr. Noah are privy to. I'm just saying if ever there was a cover up for having contact with a supernatural being/aliens/a God, that's a really fucking good one.

Whatever it is, this new lore drop has really really spelled out in big bold letters, that Zayne is thought of as a tool by a LOT of people. Xander Sciences, Astra, even the Dean of the medical academy had a moment there. My poor man even thinks of himself as a tool, one that is meant to save MC (from himself he even says at one point 😭😭😭 like oh my God Zayne stoppppp). He literally considers himself expendable so long as he saves her. Once he's done his job and secured her future, even if that means passing on the ability to save her to someone else, he's fine laying down his life for that.

And that's seriously the saddest part of this whole fucking game imo.

[hannahssimblr]

The air is burning rubber and grill smoke. Hot, like a damp blanket wrapped around us. Wet, if not from the rains, then the air itself. We bike along the black veins of Bangkok. Loud and fragrant, bright with lanterns glowing through the night. An entire world, a million lives under the awnings, darting across the street in random leaps of courage. Tuk Tuks and cars and bicycles weaving in anarchic sequences. As it rains, wet umbrellas catch the lights. Red, yellow, purple, green.

The bike is hot, purring beneath me, slick tarmac and the splash of dirty water over my shoes, as Jonas, behind, curses in English. He is diligent about using my language around me, including when getting hit by a van. His bike slides and crashes to the ground underneath him. I pull my brakes and wait until he’s up again while the traffic weaves around me. He’s fine, as always, only for another scratch on his leg, bleeding, but hardly. His blood is washed thin, then yellow, then away. We say something to each other about how he should have seen it coming, moved quicker. There are no rules here but one: the biggest will go first. We, and our dinged up hired motorbikes, are far from the biggest, and so, as they say, we must get the fuck out of the way. 

It’s Brandon, the American from the hostel we arrange to meet at a tiny bar at Khao San Road, a circus of neon I wish I could paint. “Mathematics at Oberlin,” he said when he introduced himself, as though defined by the supposed prestige of his degree. He was visibly disappointed, then, when neither of us had heard of Oberlin, and pivoted to defining himself by his Adderall habit. It isn’t a genuine medical need. He just likes it.  

“I’m going to out-drink the Irishman tonight,” he announces to the crowd we’ve gathered amongst. Twelve or more of us, with varying English abilities, huddled under an awning and dodging sheets of rain that spill over the edge. 

“Best of luck,” I say, though he will out-drink me, no doubt. My half-Irishness has done nothing to aid my ability to drink without being violently ill. Like the time I tried a pint of Guinness in the smoking area and promptly regurgitated foam down the front of my sweatshirt. I try anyway, drinking things put in front of me with abandon, like a man who doesn’t fear death.

A few hours of this, then several of us do shots of something mysterious served from an old three litre water bottle that is so incredibly strong it instantly activates my gag reflex. 

“Deep breaths,” Jonas tells me, his hand on my shoulder out the front of the bar as I fist the back of my hair and suck in lungfuls of air that is too humid to be satisfying. 

“I think I’ll probably get sick every single day we’re in Thailand,” I say, quivering with despair over a puddle with my own distorted reflection.

“Maybe you should take a night off, then.”

“I don’t want to.”

He pushes his fringe away from his forehead. It is milk white against his tanned face. “Just because everyone else is doing something doesn’t mean you have to. You’re no less of a man because-”

“I’m not the kind of person that gets peer pressured. I can say no.”

A pause. “Well, yes, I can see that.”

“We’re here to have fun, not to be tucked up in the hostel bunks by ten every night. We’re just-” I fight back a wave of nausea. “-making the most of it.”

“I see. You are enjoying vomiting on the streets every night.”

“Please don’t say that word to me.”

“Okay. You should take a break. Maybe no more drinking tonight.”

I shrug him away, irritated. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Sorry,” he says, and leaves me to gag on my own, though I’m lonely without him there.

I am actually fine after a few minutes, and hours later as the night continues, I find myself with Brandon as he is going on about something, talking at me in a way that is not exactly annoying, yet persistent and unending. I let his words wash over me, that familiar manic cocaine cadence. 

We do bumps with him, Jonas and I, every twenty minutes, trips to the bathroom, and then eventually when the bar is so full, and we are squeezed into our corner by dozens of bodies, we do bumps off the hostel key cards and the tips of our fingers. Then I’m talking at Jonas, and Jonas is talking at me, and Brandon at us both while we all pretend to listen, and enjoy so much the feeling of it, the fleeting flames in our blood, the world better and brighter for the few minutes before it fades, and we start all over again. 

“What’s better, coke or sex?” Says Brandon, and I get what he’s going for, but this is a stupid question. 

“You have an addiction if you’re asking me that.” I remember it is time to call Astrid. I need to tell her something. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I go to outside the bar among the percussive hammer of the rain.

“Hello?” Her voice is sharp and sober. 

“Astrid. I’m just calling because I was thinking of you, and I need to let you know how much I love you. Like, seriously love you and I’m so lucky that your my girlfriend, and that you’ve decided to be with me. I miss you so much when I’m here and I can’t wait to come home and be with you again, and I just-”

“Jude, you phoned me an hour ago to say this.”

I rear back, offended. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. We had this exact conversation.”

I don’t think Astrid really understands the weight of what I’m trying to tell her. I love her. She’s so special to me, and has to know the way I feel about her right now, or I think I might explode. 

“I miss you.”

“I know you do, but it’s seven in the evening in Germany, okay? This is not a conversation I want to have with you now. I’m on the way to have dinner with Elias. We discussed this earlier, remember? You called me as I was getting dressed and ready to go out.”

I chuckle and lean my weight against the wall. “Oh. So, what are you wearing?”

“A dress and some sandals.”

“Which dress?”

“It’s green.”

“Hm. Do I know that one?”

“I doubt. It’s from my summer wardrobe, and I just unpacked it.”

“You think I’d like it? Can you describe it?”

A sigh then. “I’m about to go into the station, so I can’t really talk like this with you with so many people around.”

“Astrid,” I whine. “I just feel-”

“You feel the way you always do when you are on drugs. You’ll call me tomorrow and we’ll have this conversation again, I’m sure, but now is not the right time.”

“No, I need to tell you now-”

“That you love me. I know. I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Let me hang up now.”

“Okay, have fun with Elias.”

“I will. Be good.”

“I promise,” I say, but she’s already gone. I rest my head against the wall, then, and think about Astrid and the way she is, and the sort of complex torture it is to be with her. Her, someone so completely unromantic and sharp and blunt and then me, her polar opposite, and how we still actually love each other despite our differences, and even though it was hard at various times at the start of our relationship — a car drives by beeping its horn very loudly which is quite obnoxious, actually, and I wonder was he beeping at me, like, for a joke, or if there was some traffic situation I am not aware of — we overcame it together and actually learned how to make things work, which is probably the most adult thing I have ever done, if I really think about it.

I think I’ve left a pretty grotesque path of destruction in my wake in the past, in terms of girls and relationships especially, but being with Astrid now proves that I’m able to grow and learn and be a better person, and actually a proper man who acts in ways he could genuinely be proud of, and these are things I would be saying into Jonas’ face right now if he was unlucky enough to be standing here. He wouldn’t like it but he’d probably take it, waiting for his turn to say something long and rambling into my face, too, like, about hiking trails or the deep fried scorpions he saw at that market that we didn’t try because I insisted they were too disgusting for humans to ingest, but he regrets not tasting so he’ll probably go back and get one if they’re still there, even though he can’t remember exactly where the market was anymore because Bangkok is so big and everything is unfamiliar and completely at odds with what we are used to.

Someone rolls down the window of a taxi and takes a picture of me on a phone, which is one of the regular happenings I meant to tell Astrid about before I was overcome with my love for her and went off on that deranged tangent about her dress, and as I watch the taxi tearing away, I wonder if I already told her about all the people who take pictures of me during the blank spot that is our phone call an hour ago, and that today this random woman got me to hold her baby at a temple and took a picture of us together, like I was its dad, or uncle or something, and it was so weird that she trusted me to just hold him and, I don’t know, not run away revealing myself to be a kidnapper of babies, not that I would do that, but anyway, once I agreed to take that one shot like a dozen others came up to me and Jonas and forming a queue and asking for pictures, and it was this weird feeling that I was a celebrity against my will, like I got a taste of what that would feel like, and honestly it was torturous and I hated it so much and I genuinely think if I was famous I’d be one of those that killed themselves or went mad and bought a big castle to live in on my own, like Enya.

Jonas and I eventually fled the gathering crowds, and they took pictures of us doing that too, which was pretty hilarious, to be honest. I wonder if they will put them up on Facebook like, “and lastly, here are the tall men running from us!” Jonas has come out of the bar now, ready, I’m sure to share more regrets and lament about the deep fried scorpions, but his face is stricken, like, in such a way that I understand the topic is more important, and not about scorpions at all, but I’m so busy thinking that I don’t hear his first sentence when he says it to m-

“What? Sorry.”

“A girl. She wants me to go home with her.”

“Oh. Well, you should go if you like her.”

He lets out a shuddering exhalation, standing there in the middle of the dry patch beneath the awning, the knee length khaki shorts, the scabs on his legs. “I’ve never done that kind of thing before.”

“Had sex?”

“No, of course I have. I mean go home with a girl on a one-night stand kind of thing. None have ever asked me to do that.”

“Well, they usually don’t. She obviously fancies you. What are you out here talking to me for?”

“I thought you might have advice.”

“About one-night stands?”

He nods, and I feel a surge of sympathy toward him, this protective emotion that is likely a chemical affliction. The image of him running away from that poor woman without saying a word to come outside and strategise with me is adorable. The urge comes to hug him, but I resist it.  

“I’m flattered you think I know a lot about one-night stands, but it’s not like I’ve really done that kind of thing either. I’m a long-term relationship kind of person as a general rule.”

“I sense you know what you are doing more than I do. Even if it is many times with the same woman, you know? At least you know in some way how to–” he breaks off, and I nod, because yes, I know how to– but stand there deliberating over how I can explain to him that nothing about the sex I have with Astrid is normal or replicable in ordinary environments. Not the kind you have with a girl you just met in the bar. Imagine that, like, “yeah, nice gaff. Here, just wondering, when we get into it d’you mind if I spit in your mouth?” 

“Ask her what she likes, and do that,” I tell him. “Worst thing you can do is guess.”

Nodding, he says. “Okay.”

“And just be nice. You’re a nice person. Try to, um, project that. Which one is she?”

He directs my attention through the window to the lively scene around the bar, and points out a short brunette in a pair of denim shorts. A non-intimidating presence, a pleasant face. I would probably sleep with her too, not that it indicates something exceedingly wonderful or unique about her, because I would sleep with most women under the right circumstances. 

I miss Astrid. I hope she takes a photograph of her green dress and sends it to me, as she sometimes does. “OOTD” she’ll type. As in, “outfit of the day”, and attach a picture of her in a mirror, or the reflection of the U-Bahn door, standing with her knees turned inward in such a way that makes the gap between her thighs appear large. Allegedly a desirable feature. 

Maybe later, when I’m alone in the hostel and Jonas is off gently making love to this brunette somewhere, I will succumb to my worst and most desperate version and send Astrid about four messages one after another begging for more pictures, minus clothes this time, and she’ll say no, because it’s still too civilised an hour in Berlin to send nudes to her boyfriend, coked up and wired sleepless for the fourth night in a row in a Thai hostel bed. 

Jonas enters the window scene. Under the warm lights, he speaks to her. There is nodding, smiling, shy laughter. She puts her drink onto a table and slings her bag over her shoulder. And I feel like I am watching someone collect a person they barely know at the airport. 

The door swings open and noise from within spills onto the streets as they emerge together. Jonas’ hand hovering near her, unsure of whether he should touch her, and then for one moment we meet eyes, and nod, and then he huddles under her umbrella, disappearing into the night. 

It only strikes me afterwards that I should have asked him where they were going, in case the girl, whose name I didn’t even ask for, turns out to be some sort of deranged killer. Jen would be aghast at my carelessness, but anyway. He’ll come back in some shape or form. Good for him, really.

Pummelled by rain, the walk home is a slog. My hair, far too long now, shaggy well past the collar of my shirt, sticks to my face and sends rivulets down my cheeks. There is so much water I am constantly blinking it away. Somewhere, in the seedy part of town with the boarded up businesses, red light pours from a doorway. A woman calls to me, knowing by the look of me I speak English. 

“Hello, baby, you’re all wet,” she says. “Come inside. I can make you happy.”

I’m happy already, actually. A deeply, sincerely happy man. I round a corner and get sick onto a pile of loose rubbish, watching the semi-digested remnants of my noodle dinner rinse away in a stream of rainwater. 

I am soaked to the skin, my socks wet inside my shoes, my t-shirt stuck to my body and heavy with the bulk of the rain. This is rain, I think madly. Real rain. Back in Ireland, it was never like this. It pissed rain, or you’d get that little misty spit, pretending to be rain but refusing to commit. No, this is catharsis. It’s what the Irish weather wishes it had the stones to be. 

As I check my phone, no messages. The clock has turned over to tomorrow. June the twenty-first. Midsummer’s day. God, I think, sloshing indiscriminately through a wide, ankle deep puddle. This day last year it rained, too. That day on the beach, when the heavens opened and unleashed a mighty torrent over the coast. Pock marks in the sand. It drove in sideways and washed the beach house windows with salty water that left residue for the entire summer. That boy, the Jude lazing on the sofa watching it, in dry socks and those tracksuit shorts his mother loathed, barely feels like me anymore. I wonder what he’d think if he could see the future, exactly one year from then. Here, man. I’m in Asia. I turned out mostly fine. Life is a journey of discovery and I am… discovering myself.

And I think of her, then, too. That inevitable thought. It’s been nearly a year now since we’ve seen each other, and eight months since I stopped emailing. I forget her sometimes, but then alone on nights like this, she floats into my mind, drifting by on the surface of the sea. The blue of the sky, and her light brown hair floating hypnotically beneath the waves as she laughs, silvery and joyful with the seagulls' caw. A yearning grips me, a sort of gasping desperation to return to that place again, to the simplicity of CDs whirring in the stereo, murmuring together in the sunlight, the crunch of gravel beneath bicycle tyres and sand in the lines of our hands. 

That was it. The most romantic time of my life. Nothing complex, only the things I made that way in my head. It was the electricity of my leg touching hers, the intense, whole body sensation of just looking at her, turning to jelly when she looked back. The soft curves of her face in my hands, how just kissing her lit my blood on fire. Then, when kissing meant something to me. In Berlin, I did it just to do it. A thing I did with my lips, a preamble, but it was never a preamble with her. It was the apex. I would have died kissing her.

I shoulder through the hostel door and leave a puddle on the tiles. There is nobody to apologise to, and nothing dry to clean it with, so I leave it there and trudge upwards to the room, where the Nepalese backpackers are snoring in their bunks. They do it so loudly that sleep would be impossible even if I were capable. Luckily, it is not my priority. I strip my clothes off and lie in my bunk. I find my phone and type a message to Astrid. 

Outfit pics? 

A fruitless endeavour. She’s probably cracking into a crème brûlée with Elias and talking about something intelligent. I go back to my messages and scroll, scroll mindlessly, doing at least a decent job of pretending I am. I go back through the months, dozens of chats, friends, arrangements, happy birthday messages. Back to territory I have never revisited for dread of what I might encounter. Stop. 

Evie. 

One tap, and my thumb trembles.

17th August 2010  Yeah, so basically you just get the bus to Clontarf. I live on Vernon Ave so you can either get off near the shops or Seafield road.  Okay, sounds fine. I’ll probably leave soon.   Text me if you have any problems.  See you in a few hours. 

Weird. I thought we might have said something else, showcased more personality, or given more away about our feelings, but I have discovered an uninspiring chat, revealing nothing about us and who we were. Another tap then, on the text box, like adding a chapter to an unfinished novel.

Hey, do you still think about last summer? 

Paragraph. 

Because I do, to be honest. Been thinking about it tonight. How are you?

Tap. I send it, and my nose runs. I wipe it with my finger and it comes away dark, thick. The back of my throat tastes like iron now. I curse under my breath and sit up. Blood drips on the sheets and I quickly block my nostril with my thumb. It’s fine. This happens sometimes. I go to the bathroom and stuff a wad of toilet paper up my nose, pinching the bridge for a while until it slows. My face in the mirror is insane, my hair curly and half-dry, blood crusted around my nostril. I wet the toilet paper and clean it away, then flush it down the toilet, brilliant red, circling, circling, then gone. 

Back in the bunk, my phone glows. A red exclamation mark beside my last text. 

! Not Delivered

I stare at it. I hit the power button. Fuck it. For the best, I think, then roll over and try to sleep.

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