#i have the memory of a concussed fish

[ratmans-notebooks]

I MEANT TO TAG @mossymothboi too i frogor ..sorrys

tagged by @spooklia :3

3 ships: me&sanguine me&scapegrace me&willard stiles. insert men kissing emoji here first ship: uhhhhhh h h h h percabeth probably ???i barely remember anything that happened more than a year ago last movie: willard (2003) :3 last song: suburbia overture/welcome to marybell township/VAMPIRE CULTURE/love me, normally - will wood currently reading: none BUT im gonna start reading ratmans notebooks SOON !! currently consuming: nothing. medication that supresses appetite check currently craving: sushi i guess if i had 2 pick something

tagging: @gillbuoy @deathbycatgirl @staticart

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Past, present, future

a/n: well, writing creativity hits me at the worst times. Including when I have a concussion! This one is for my silly moot @fortheb0ys

Minors DNI

Phillip was stressed. If stressed was even the right word. He was tired, and bored, and yet constantly busy busy busy. It was starting to make his head swirl so damn much that he decided to toss off his work and jobs to his poor second in command and go back to his little home town in the middle of nowhere Texas

He wasn’t there to see family, hell no. He had put his parents in a retirement home in Dallas years and years ago. He was going just to fish where he used to fish and enjoy how little that town changes- as if time was slowed there. He pulled up to his hotel happy as a clam and practically running to the local bar, enjoying as many drinks as he wanted to calm down, until he saw you walk in. Oh fuck

he hadn’t seen you since high school, since he left the whole backwater town to try his luck in the military, and told you by note. By note! He really did regret that now, how he had probably shattered you. Sure you two never ‘dated’, his parents would have slaughtered him for something like dating a man- but you two sure did everything a couple could. Nights spent together hidden away in a camping tent, secret kisses and hickeys littering him in the morning… he had really felt like shit having the nerve to show up here now, feeling wheezy and sick to his stomach.

he sat nervously next to you at the bar, letting you look him up and down as he drank a shot of whiskey, then two, then three. And a conversation started between you, about how your lives had ended up and how you’d stayed in the little country town and definitely flourished- calloused hands and well built figure filling in where you once were younger and softer, and the more he drank the more comfortable he felt around you, chuckling at your jokes and leaning into you as if he was head over heals again.

Four shots, five shots, six,

he was feeling real sick now, he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. But he had definitely lost track and gone above any standard he usually had. He felt Ick all over, barely wanting to walk out the door let alone leave you and go to his hotel- not that he could walk that far in the state he was in. He needed you in more ways than one, so he begged you pathetically to carry you home. Your grip and warmth grounded him enough that he got a grip while you carried him, softly nuzzling into your chest and hoping you’d stay just a little longer and indulge him just a bit more.

he didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were his a long time ago and he had royally fucked up- but he missed everything about you, every little detail was making his mind spin with old memories he had thought he had forgotten. He let you carry him into your house without a single protest- too in bliss and too drunk to bother you with the idea of carrying him back to his shitty hotel, especially when your house smelt of your cologne and safety.

he almost melted in your bed; whining and pulling you next to him before utterly dozing off, and clinging to you as if you would disappear if he let go

he woke up with an utterly pounding headache and a hangover worse then death himself- sitting up with a groan before remembering where he was, and that he was in your jacket from the bar… he has definitely made a fool of himself in front of you. But he supposed it was better then being alone in your apartment- he laid practically on top of you, feeling your even breathing as you slept. He had missed the feeling of being oh so close to you, but he still wanted to be closer- okay sure, it might be a bit wrong but he couldn’t help himself but kiss down your neck softly, his hands wondering and his body slipping down a bit, in no hurry to wake you up- just wanting to feel you.

he mouthed at your boxers a bit, shaking you awake enough to get a groan out of you and a tired nod as you tossed your head back on the pillow tiredly, still half asleep as he tugged your boxers down your legs and wrapped his pretty lips around your cock-head, taking you inch by inch slowly and choking a bit until he had every inch in his mouth, little gasps coming out of his stretched lips as he breathed you in, tears and spit dribbling down his face. He was focused on solely you, only little grinds of his hips against your leg giving himself physical pleasure

he hummed softly at the feeling of your hand grasping in his hair, before getting thrown off rhythm at a rough tug from you, pulling him off- a small drop of pre-cum and spit connecting his lips and your soaked member before you forced him back all the way down. You had gotten a lot rougher, and it felt so so good to be gasping as those big blue eyes of his poured with tears- looking like a mess. But he was your mess again. Yours.

he choked and gagged every so often, but worked you up until you were grasping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, painting his throat white as he swallowed every drop down, cumming in his own pants untouched before he pulled himself away and rolled beside you

“missed you, sugar.” Was all he could mutter as he caught his breath

[pastanest]

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: bet you hoes thought you’d seen the last of me x

tw: allusions to sa but no actual acts committed, just the fear of what men can do

Instincts

The moment you regain consciousness, your survival instincts are kicking in. Before even opening your eyes, you are aware that wherever you are right now, Daryl is not with you; there are binds on your wrists that keep them at your back and binds at your ankles to stop you from running - if Daryl was anywhere nearby, there’s no way in Hell you’d still be restrained. The right side of your face feels cold, pressed against a concrete floor. The left side of your face feels hot, stemming from a particular point just above your temple - point of impact, blood, possible concussion. How you got here is unclear; it would be a waste of time to focus on that.

Blinking as hard as you can, you clear your blurry, barely conscious vision. Four walls, two windows on the left and right, one door on the wall in front of you, off-centre to the left. Naturally, you are curled in the furthest corner from the door, where you appear to have been thrown, because you have no memory of army-crawling your bound self over here. There’s a silver lining if you’ve ever seen one: your back is not exposed, you can focus entirely on what’s in front of you. Namely, the three idiots who thought tying you up in wherever this is, was a good idea. Your brain is fighting hard to recognise any of their faces, but you can’t - they must have snuck up on you. And they wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on Daryl, so they must have waited for you to separate from him and snuck up on you. Blood running cold isn’t a new feeling since the world ended, but it feels entirely different now.

Even in the world before, any girl’s survival instincts would go haywire if she woke up in an unfamiliar room, tied up by three unfamiliar men. Particularly when you realise they could have covered your mouth, but they haven’t, because they aren’t as worried about you screaming as they are in need of that particular body part. But there’s one thing the end of the world brought you that will change the predicted outcome of your current situation..

“Jus’ sit tight.” Daryl forced one of his knives into your trembling hands, thinking you and your wide eyes looked like the kind of doe too pretty to kill - Merle called him a pussy the first (and only) time he’d used that excuse as a boy.

“B-But, what if-“ You were stuttering in a way Daryl got, but he’d never felt in your place.

Out in the world was where he belonged. That world ending didn’t change that for him, just meant he had to share it with a whole lot more uglies, and…some people that weren’t ugly in the slightest. Fighting for his life is what he’d always done, he wasn’t afraid of that, but folks like you? He knew from one look in your terrified eyes, you’d never felt fear like this. The kind that paralyses you. And Daryl recognised you had every right to feel that: the world you knew had ended, you were thrown into a makeshift camp with total strangers, grieving the family you’d lost and trying to find some sense of normality when the walkers came from the woods. You saw them get Amy, and you froze, because as much as you frantically looked around the camp, you knew Daryl wasn’t there. The one person you felt you could turn to for protection, the one time he left camp to go and look for his asshole of a brother. And you couldn’t cry out. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. A walker was stumbling towards you and you barely had it in you to take slow, unsteady steps back from it. The bolt that was shot through its skull was one you recognised, and in a blur you were grabbed, dragged until your back was no longer exposed and was instead against the wall of the RV.

“I won’t let ‘em.” Daryl answered you, leaving no room for you to argue even in your panicked state.

All you could do was nod, trembling hands gripping his knife.

“Jus’ sit tight, lemme handle it. Don’t draw attention.” Daryl instructed in the typical gruff fashion you’d already become accustomed to.

And he did as promised. Bolt after bolt from his crossbow flew through the air, bullets from the gun he carried and the guns in the hands of the others, too, took down the walkers that had invaded the home you had all been foolish enough to believe was safe. And when it was all over, Daryl came right back to you. It was actually difficult for him to get his knife back from your shaking hands, they were gripping it so hard. He could tell by your breathing you were in some sort of shock, so he did the one thing he remembered his mama doing for him when he was real small and cut his knee bad: he pulled you into his arms. And it wasn’t awkward, just like it hadn’t been when he was a boy, because it was needed. That reminder that you were safe. He needed that just as much as you did.

Years have passed since then. Or, at least, your best guess at years. You’re stronger now, more independent, more resourceful, and you can protect yourself. But in this moment, bound and trapped, your instinct to start shit talking is overshadowed by those exact words from Daryl when you’d felt this same uncertainty in his absence: sit tight. So, you keep your mouth shut, and your survival is governed by a version of Daryl in your subconscious. Slowly so as to not draw attention to yourself, you shuffle yourself around until you’re sitting up in the corner of the room, with your bound legs bent to your chest. Your tied wrists at your back are concealed by the rest of you, and as futile as the effort might be, you start picking at the rope from any awkward angle you can in an effort to loosen it. Raising your eyebrows up and down a few times, you can feel the tug of your wound, and the beginnings of dried blood crusting around it - you’ve been here, unconscious, more than a few minutes, but the heat of fresh blood you can still feel means you’ve not been here very long.

“Would you look at that, our girl’s back with us!” One of the men jeers, smacking the back of one of the others to get him looking over at you.

If Daryl was here and heard them call you that, they’d be dead already. That thought gives you a small amount of comfort.

“Awh, cat got your tongue, little lady? C’mon, don’t be shy!” The third man smirks at you, and as he starts walking over to you, your knees instinctively draw closer to your chest.

It takes everything in you not to react when he crouches down in front of you, one of his hands grabbing your jaw. You want to spit right in his face, but that would only escalate things beyond your control. Sit tight, sit tight. You focus on your breathing. Focus on looking past this ugly fucker, through him, to the door on the opposite side of the room. Hoping, willing, praying; dissociating.

“Pretty thing like you needs some strong men lookin’ after her.”

Unfortunately, you’re not dissociated enough to miss those words from the man still crouched in front of you. But you’re grateful for that, because if you had been, you might’ve missed the subtlest creak from just outside the door. A moment’s pause. A second’s silence. And then the door slams against the wall, kicked open by a boot you barely have time to recognise before a bolt head from Daryl’s crossbow appears right between the eyes of the man who had been crouched in front of you, but is now a crumpled corpse on the floor.

“She don’t.” Daryl grunts.

The other two guys are quick to recover from their shock, attempting to tackle Daryl together, but he’s faster. They think this is his first rodeo? Man…you almost feel sorry for them. Except for the fact you don’t. At all.

You probably shouldn’t take any amount of joy in seeing Daryl easily take down two other guys with his bare hands, but it’s hard to shake the warmth that spreads through you, seeing and accepting the fact that he’s come to get you. That he didn’t stop looking until he found you, and the moment he did, he was ready for war. Punching both the guys down, Daryl’s quick to grab his crossbow from where he’d dropped it in favour of beating these guys to death, and fires another bolt into one of the guy’s stomachs. Leaves him to fall to the floor while Daryl drops his crossbow again and tackles the only man left standing, straddling him and throwing punch after punch after punch, until everything’s red. Guy’s face, Daryl’s fists, guy’s shirt, Daryl’s pants. Red. He only stops when he registers the guy under him is unconscious, and then he’s standing up, stalking over to the other guy who’s clutching at the bolt in his stomach, and doing the same damn thing. That guy, Daryl punches until he stops breathing. He didn’t intend to quit it, but your voice was the only thing that wasn’t red.

“STOP IT!”

It wasn’t the words you said or the way you said them, it was the fact that in them, Daryl could hear tears. You were crying. And that would shift his focus in any situation. Standing back up, he retrieves his crossbow from the ground and fires one last bolt to the only guy not left impaled, leaving one dead by bolt to the face, and two left to turn by bolts in the stomach. Let them rot.

Everything’s different when it’s Daryl crouching down in front of you, using his knife to cut the rope from your ankles and wrists. His bloody hands trembling around the blade, but not from fear. The ropes fall to the floor in tatters at the same rate as the tears rolling down your cheeks, but Daryl’s thumbs are there in a blink of an eye. Wiping your tears away, leaving smeared blood stains on your cheeks. He sees that look in your eyes again, like a blast from the past. A wide-eyed doe, too pretty for a world like this, but you’re here still.

Very gently, Daryl’s hands trail down your arms, lifting them and bringing them to his neck. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what he’s doing, but as soon as you realise, you’re shakily leaning into him. Daryl’s arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest and holding you there. Where he wishes he could keep you forever. Tucked away safe.

“Thank you.” Is the sniffle that comes from you.

“Don’t need thankin’, girl.” Is Daryl’s gruff response, but the way he huffs and drops his head to your shoulder tells you he’s getting bashful, and that makes you smile.

There’s quiet, then. Just for a few seconds. Holding each other in a room filled with dead bodies shouldn’t feel as warm as it does, but when the world ends, you make do with what you have.

“Home?” You break the silence, your voice soft.

“Home.” Daryl nods against your shoulder.

And neither of you are referring to the place you ought to be heading back to.

—————————————————————————

taglist: @ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

[cowgurrrl]

Killer

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's Note: FINALLY

Summary: “God is fucking with my oblivion. If he wants forgiveness, he shouldn’t have given us memory.” — Fish in Exile by Vi Khi Nao [2.7k]

Warnings: canonical type violence, PTSD symptoms, implied past violence, probably incorrect wound care, vague mention of Joel's sobriety, maybe love is enough to keep us alive

She's still shaking when you manage to get her to sit down long enough to look at the blood on her face and hands. Most of it isn't hers, but you can tell by the disengaged look in her eyes that she still paid for it. It isn't until you get some food and water in her that she seems more present, more there. You somehow convince Joel to wait for you in the living room instead of standing menacingly in the doorway with the shotgun still slung over his shoulder. Besides, he definitely popped his stitches and got a few more injuries for his troubles and should not be standing longer than necessary. 

"I'm gonna clean you up and then see what I can do about your bumps and bruises. Is that okay?" You ask as you pull out the first aid kit you managed to save from the flames. She just nods, and her fingers flex against the lip of the tub she's sitting on when you raise your hands. 

You explain every movement as you swipe the cold washcloth across her sensitive skin. She flinches if you move too fast or unexpectedly, her body jerking in the direction of the door. You have to shush her and drop everything when she does to show her your nonthreatening hands. As if seeing the empty space in your palms will ease the tension in her shoulders and erase the memories from her head. You breathe deeply, and she copies you until she relaxes enough for you to continue. It takes a long time to get a full inventory of her injuries. 

The notch on her nose isn't deep enough to need stitches, but you can tell it's shattered. From what you can immediately see, she has a broken nose, a concussion, and signs of smoke inhalation. Most of her injuries seem internal, too far away, and come with weeks of recovery time. The only ones you can treat outright are the burns and cuts on her hands and forearms. Even those you can only bandage and wait.  

"Is anything hurting that I can't see?" You ask gently, and she nods. "Where?"

"My…" her voice is crackly and seemingly too deep to be hers. She has to clear her throat to continue. "My ribs."

"Is it okay if I feel around to see if any are broken?" You ask, and she nods hesitantly. Carefully, you put your hands on her sides and apply some pressure every time you feel a set of ribs. She hisses when you press on the seventh and nearly jumps away when you move down to the eighth. "Hey, you're okay. I'm not trying to hurt you," you soothe. "It feels like you've got at least two that are broken, okay? They'll heal on their own, but it's gonna hurt like hell for a few weeks."

"Hurts like hell now." She mumbles.

"I know." You say, wishing there was more you could do. Little by little, she tells you everything that hurts, and you can tell her what's wrong— or, at least, what you're pretty sure is wrong. Without access to X-rays or real tests, everything is a best-guess diagnosis. "It looks like I've got some ibuprofen in here. That'll help with your pain for a while. It's completely safe." You say as you dig through the first aid kit and put two tablets in her hand. She hesitates, her eyes flicking to the door, hiding the two of you in the bathroom. 

"What about Joel?" She asks.

"There's more than enough in here for the both of you," you say and pass her a half-empty water bottle. "Please, just take them." It takes her looking at your supplies and ensuring you have enough to take them. She winces when she swallows but doesn't complain as you search for bandaids to cover her nose and burn cream for her fingers.

"Is he okay?" She asks so quietly you almost missed it. She's really asking if he's gonna die. If something is going to go wrong again and pull him into the bottomless pit of unconsciousness. If you're going to lose him. You screamed at her the last time she asked you that, and the memory makes you sick. She's staring at you like a dog waiting to be kicked when you nod. 

"He's gonna be fine. Might've ripped a stitch or two, but it's nothing we can't handle." You say, but she doesn't look comforted by your report. 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm okay." It's easier than talking about the burns on your arm from trying to get in the building. Or the painful creaking in your hand that's surely the result of breaking bones across men's faces. Or the devastating flashbacks you fought through when Ellie tried to tell you what happened. 

"I'm sorry." She mumbles. You press your elbows to your knees and lean forward so she can't avoid you. 

"Look at me," you urge, not daring to say another word until she does. "I'm not mad at you. Joel is not mad at you. None of this is your fault," she tries to open her mouth to argue, but you raise your hand to stop her. "I was too hard on you when Joel got hurt. I expected too much of you, and that's not fair. I'm the adult. I should've been shouldering the brunt of it, not you. I'm sorry." She doesn't say anything, and you shift uncomfortably as you think. 

"Y'know, there was a long time when I didn't travel with Joel. It was just me. I was trying to get to Boston, and I tried to do everything right. I didn't get too close to QZs. I didn't light fires. I didn't trust anyone else because I…" you stumble. "I know what men do to women who are alone with no one protecting them." The confession settles in the space separating you. You don't need to say anything more, and she doesn't need to hear more. Your eyes sting, and you take a shaky breath to compose yourself. "Nobody can blame you for doing what you did, is what I'm trying to say, I guess."

"I… I didn't know what else to do," she whispers, tears shining in her eyes. "I was so scared. He got in my head. He wouldn't stop talking. I just..." she trails off and shakes her head. "He said I was like him."

"Sweet girl, you are nothing like him." You say, but her jaw flexes in protest, a stray tear rolling down her cheek.

"I'm violent. And angry."

"So am I," you say. "I'm angry every day, and I don't handle it well. You've seen it. Am I like him, too?" You ask, reaching out to wipe a tear away before it can fall down her chin. She freezes for just a second before leaning into you, letting you take the weight of her head in your hand. You tuck her into your chest while she's still pliant and rub her back as her cries turn more into anguished sobs. "I know. I know," you tell her over and over again because you do know. "You're nothing like him, honey. Not even close."

She cries and bangs her fists against your chest angrily and spits every curse she knows. She will never get to be the little girl she was when she left Boston. He took that from her, and she has to learn to live with that. You can handle a few more bruises if it means she feels better for even half a second. You let her do whatever she needs to do until she wears herself out and her tears slow. When she's done, you give her more water and food before scooping her in your arms and carrying her out to where Joel is waiting.

He looks up from where he's anxiously pacing, his right foot taking more of his weight than his left, and glances between you and Ellie. Quickly, he sets up a makeshift bed for her on the old couch equipped with a sleeping bag and blankets, balling up his jacket as a pillow. You lay her body down as softly as possible, mindful of her broken ribs, and she curls up the second she touches the familiar material. You sit on the couch with her, playing with her hair and rubbing her back until she falls asleep. She smells like smoke and sweat, but you don't care. Joel acts as a quiet sentinel by bouncing his eyes from you two to the room around you like someone could come in at any point with weapons and ill intent. 

Your fingers linger on the side of her neck, feeling her pulse against your skin as if to affirm that she's real and alive and here before you look at Joel. He looks as shaken as you feel. It was close. Closer than you've been in a long time, but she's alive. All three of you are, but at what cost? You swallow thickly and hesitantly stand from your perch next to Ellie, and Joel reaches for you, but you put a finger to your lips and gesture toward the bathroom. If she wakes up, she'll never go back to sleep, and she desperately needs rest after the past few weeks. He obediently follows you into the bathroom, and you leave the door cracked enough to see Ellie sleeping on the couch and for her to see you if she wakes up. You can keep both of them safe from here.

"Your turn, cowboy," you say as you put on a clean pair of gloves. He settles against the sink, sighing and shakily lifting his shirt to show you his stitches. About half of them held, and there's a slow flow of blood from the cut. Nothing to worry about. "You want anything for the pain?" You ask, and he shakes his head, jaw flexing. 

"No, no. It's fine. There's probably some adrenaline left or somethin'." He grumbles. 

"I'm sure that's how science works," you tease to lighten the mood as you gather the suturing supplies. He watches you with weary eyes like he's waiting for you to inject him with something else. You show him your gloved hands, containing only the needle and thread, and he takes a deep breath as he looks at you.

"I trust you," he says quietly. You think about pushing him to take something— anything— if it means he won't suffer, but you know it's a battle you'll lose like you always do. You might as well save time and just work. 

He's mostly quiet during the whole procedure, only letting out little huffs and grunts when you get to particularly sensitive areas. You mumble apologies and updates as you maneuver the needle as seamlessly as possible. Before, you didn't have the brain power to count his stitches and were, honestly, too scared to. There were too many factors against you, too much blood, too much fear. This time, you count all twenty-seven of them. He bleeds a little more, but it clots quickly and doesn't happen again once there's a neat line of real sutures across his stomach. You tape the bandage to his skin and pull his shirt back to cover it. He'll need a new one soon or, at least, a wash. 

Ellie's breathing is the only sound as you look for newer injuries. Bruises here and there and more broken or fractured bones in his already half-healed hand, but that's it. You stand from your place on the closed toilet lid to check his pupils for any signs of a concussion, but the second your face is close to his, he leans in just enough to kiss you. It's a welcome shock. 

When was the last time you kissed him? Jackson? Boston? In some distant time before Ellie? You never thought he'd open his eyes ever again, let alone be standing in front of you and kissing you. His lips are cracked but firm and familiar. His beard scratches your skin, but you can't be bothered to care. There are much worse things than the sting. His hands hold your face, and you want to fall into his chest, but you don't, conscious of his fresh stitches. Ellie mumbles something in her sleep, and you immediately break away from each other to stare at her through the crack in the door. She shifts but doesn't say anything else or show any signs of distress. When you look at each other again, his shoulders fall slightly. His hand lingers on your chin and turns your head a little to the left. "You've got a black eye." He murmurs, and you shrug.

"Yeah, David's guys got a few good hits in." You say. He looks over you, silently searching for something, and all you can do is watch him. He must seen how sullen and dead your eyes have become in the past few weeks. You've lost weight, so Ellie wouldn't. Your face is still dirty, and your hands are weak. You're not much to look at, and yet, he can't stop staring. 

When Joel suddenly found strength after hearing you yell after Ellie as men surrounded the house, you didn't necessarily have time for a warm reunion. You only had time to hide and wait for them to descend the stairs to the basement, where you could knock them around until they hit the ground. Even once the wheezing lungs returned to normal breathing and silence filled the house, you didn't talk about much more than getting Ellie back. 

Then, just like you did in the QZ, you did what you do best. You hurt people to get what you needed and killed them when you did. Joel screamed in their faces and demanded answers while you wiped blood from your hands and packed up your stuff. He finished them off brutally and without hesitation. It's the meticulous strategy and killing that reminds you of the Joel Tommy and Maria were so worried about. The one who didn't give two shits about his own life, let alone somebody else's. The one who was motivated by his pre-Outbreak work ethic to keep the monsters away, even if he became one in the process. The one who you met and worked with until the lines blurred. That Joel.

But in the dim light of the bathroom, with the smell of blood tinging the air, you can't find any traces of him. You only have the Joel you've come to discover on this journey, the Joel that was always hiding under the surface, the Joel you love. You take a deep breath and stare at him like if you look away, something will happen and try to kill him again. 

There's so much you need to talk about and plan for. You all need to recover and make up for lost time. You need to apologize and take care of them until it feels like it's enough to heal the pit of guilt eating away at you. You need to figure out what's next. But you can't find it in yourself to recount the events that happened while Joel was unconscious on the basement floor. Not yet. The only thought you keep circling back to is the exact one you've spent years pushing away and berating in hopes it would stop invading your psyche. Now, it feels unavoidable.

"I love you," you say. You're not quiet or hoping that he's deaf enough to miss it. You say it with everything that you are because no part of you has gone untouched by him. He kisses your forehead and pulls you into him.

"I know," he says simply. Years of tension and unspoken thoughts release from your shoulders, and you bury your face in his neck. "I love you." The syllables sound sweet as they break over his southern accent, and you want to wrap them around you for the rest of your life. You want to try to make a life where you can do that. You want him. You want a soft, happy life with Ellie and Joel where you don't have to morph into old forms to stay alive. 

You want a soft future, and if you have to bite and kill and scream to get it, then that's what you'll do. Nobody will ever take them away from you again.

[writersblockworks]

Shit I did/said as a kid/teen as the Valorant agents (I’ve never had a concussion or broken bones)

Hey guys its close to finals week when im writing this i have no idea when ill post it, but enjoy!!

Brimstone: Took charge of a group project but ended up doing the whole thing myself. (15)

Viper: Willingly grabbed a wild snake to show my mom when I was 3, but cried when they wanted me to hold a tarantula (3 then 6)

Omen: For some reason me and my friends use to play that we lost our memory, we really just used it as an excuse to be mean. (I was 9)

Cypher: Spent hours on an app that let me see city cameras in china or something (9 maybe? I'm not sure)

Sova: The first time i went fishing with my grandfather (RIP grandpa) I was so proud, then i dropped it on the ground and it flopped into the water. (i was 5)

Sage: My friends and i would hop the fence at our elementry school to go pick wildflowers, we had to stop because we got ticks (9 or 10)

Pheonix: My best friend at the time asked me what I would do if my future boyfriend gives me a knuckle sandwaich and I replied that I would eat it. I still would (my now boyfriend would never raise a hand against me) (i was 5)

Jett: A boy was showing off how fast he could run, so i tripped him (i was 8)

Raze: I spraypainted the sidewalk beside my house because i wanted to make art (I wanted to use the spray cans) then i got scolded. (I was 7)

Breech: I am autistic and someone said oh she cant shes autistic, so I bit them i dont know how old i was nor do i remember what they said.

Reyna: I would play the wack a mole game at the arcade so I could use the hammer to hit my best friend, she did the same to me (8?)

KillJoy: When i played Valorant for the first time my online friend made me play KJ because i was german (17)

Skye: While i was going my usual tree climbing, i saw a spider. I decided to fall to the ground, I got up just fine, then climbed a diffrent tree where i found a bee hive. (idk 11? maybe) Yoru: When I fIrst got glasses and I could actually see, I looked at my nana and asked her what happened to her face, then I threw up (I was 4)

Astra: I love the stars so much, I used to think we all became stars when we died because the movie princess and the frog, and I cried when the cathloic church said we didnt (I was 6)

KAY/O: In MMA class we had to do an excersize where the others would have to stop us from making it to the other side. Most of the kids dog piled on me, a 150 pound boy got on my back, yet I still made it across the room (idk I was 11 and weak, but for a treat after, I was strong) Chamber: My friend taught us pole dancing at recess and for some reason the teachers never stopped us. (we were in 5th grade about 10?)

Neon: I watched my younger brother slide into the Oven door. My parents for some reason put it in the living room. I tried to help him by saying it was the dog. However Our dog was living with my grandparents. (7?)

Fade: Spent a whole hour meowning at a random cat in France (I was 12, and where were my parents?) Harbor: I am a huge history nerd, I did three book reports on the titanic, Then when we had to be characters for a fake museum where we would have to preform for epople I decided to be the drunk man that survived (I was 10, why didnt a teacher tell me no?)

Gekko: I had one of the electronic Furbies, i still have that yellow shit. Me and my brother were playing with him and he turned evil and we got so scared. For a month we made our mom put him under a flowerpot with 2 bibles on top of it. (I actually dont know how old I was)

Deadlock: My grandma gave me a sewing kit for one of my birthdays so I just threw it at people (6)

Iso: Collected little rocks at recess then put them in the shoes of kids I didnt like (6)

Clove: Jumped off the top of the playground because I wanted to impress my crush, then I hit my head on the slide pole. Surprisingly I ended up being just fine.

Vyse: ummm I had a Wiggle (if anyone remembers those) and I would constantly bully it. I actualy dont know how old I was but I was a kid

Honorable mention: I farted in church when i was 4 and blamed it on Jesus and apparently you’re not supposed to do that. Also this is a rough memory and stir from the top of my head, I have childhood trauma

Anyways i finally got therapy. Byeeee working on a request rn

[doveshovel]

can we get more Hunter lore? 👉👈 niche little blorbo

!! Can't believe my little guy has gained niche blorbo status. I am honored, thank you anon <3

Feels it's important to mention that I'm not a very good writer, and Hunter's entire deal is essentially just me trying to make a character whose backstory is wildly out of place in the girl power sparkly horsie game but still sort of works with the cannon actions of the player character. This is just a hastily thrown together summary of how he winds up in Jorvik. That said, of course you can get more Hunter lore! :^D Sorry this took so long but I had to do some art to go with it :'))

Everything's tucked below since there ended up being a lot more than expected :') I think it's all fairly mild but

Content Warnings: Image 1: Some mild blood

Image 2: (dressed) head injury

Hunter's pre-jorvik summary contains: patricide, improper body disposal, vehicle theft (x5), unlawful operation of motor vehicles, crossing state lines with stolen property, trespassing, breaking and entering, evading arrest, speeding, and other minor crimes. Also some mention of drowning, concussion, and brain damage.

When an attempt to slip away from his childhood home in the dead of night goes awry, Hunter accidentally hits and subsequently kills his father with a stolen car, then does some sloppy short-notice body disposal. It's nowhere near enough to make sure he's not a suspect, but it does ensure that the body isn't found for another week (until the neighbors come by to ask why his father wasn't at church, only to find that the front door's been left wide open and a small family of raccoons have made their home in the kitchen). He makes his way from his old house in rural North Carolina (U.S.) northwards through eight states under cover of night, switching cars three times along the way (once in Virginia, once in Pennsylvania, and again in New Jersey) until he arrives at the coast of Massachusetts.

^Hunter, age 19, 5 hours after hiding the body of his father

It's here that (not knowing shit about sailing, boats, or oceanic navigation) he chooses an old pontoon in a private dock to hotwire and sail across the Atlantic with the hope of evading prosecution. Three days into the so-far shockingly successful voyage, rough seas capsize his little vessel, leaving Hunter stranded half-conscious and about two-thirds drowned on some debris until the North Atlantic Current carries him into Jorvegian fishing territory. Five days after accidentally murdering his father, he's spotted drifting on some debris by the crew of a Jorvik fishing vessel and brought back to Cape West where he gets some bearings and starts life anew. :^)

The little pontoon isn't so lucky, and its remains wash up along the coast of Maine nearly three weeks later. By then, it's been connected to Hunter's murder + string of vehicle thefts, and he's presumed to have died at sea in an unsuccessful getaway. In some ways, he did.

Most memories of life before the storm have been wiped clear from his brain, and what little that returns in brief flashes is usually just as quickly forgotten again. Some foggy details of events in early childhood remain, but his entire personality is altered by damage and Hunter becomes someone else entirely, often feeling that he's living in a borrowed body.

^old doodle of Hunter, age 19, a week after landing in Cape West

Hunter spends about two weeks recovering from a concussion and anoxic brain damage at the fishing club's Cape West bunkhouse before he's well enough to start learning the ropes and work doing some slightly less intensive odd-jobs around the village (fixing nets, processing fish, delivering mail, a little stablehand work at Goldenleaf, etc.). He attends a riding camp in Moorland towards the end of his first year in Jorvik at the suggestion of Mr.Trout, who believes it'll be a good way to get some better ideas of what the horse-loving isle of Jorvik has to offer and find some sense of self beyond Goldenhills Valley.

From here, its essentially the main storyline with some minor changes and seasonings thrown in :^)

[a-bucket-of-trash]

And we see us again – Kelvin x Neutral Reader - One Shot

Prompt: Kelvin has recovered, time for a friendly visit.

Tags: Fluffy uwu

The last time you had seen Kelvin, it had been a couple of months ago, in the hospital, after having been finally rescued, after several months trapped in that hellish forest full of cannibals, mutants and an overpopulation of squirrels.

You had nothing more than superficial physical damage and poor nutrition, after consuming the tons of fish that he caught with inhuman skill, industrial quantity blueberries and the occasional legs that, in the winter season, gave you the opportunity to don’t starve.

Kelvin had it much worse, as his untreated brain injury had handicapped him over those months. Being on the island, you knew that the fact that his ears bleed on their own every couple of weeks was absolutely not a good thing, but in a place like this, there was nothing you could do but give him extra rest when you could, and cool down his head with a damp cloth. The fact that he had a fever along with the bleeding was a sign that something had become infected in his poor head, and the medicines you found lying around weren't the best, especially since most of them had already expired.

Still, the prognosis for him was pretty good. With proper treatment, medication and so on, within a few weeks his brain was working as it should, his hearing was beginning to return and he was finally articulating words. At least that's how you had seen on one of the last visits to the hospital. Maybe he would never be 100% the same as before, but, after what had happened, neither would you, and you hadn't had brain damage. You also needed treatment, especially psychological.

Forcing some of your contacts in the army, you got an address and, in that warm noon, you knocked on the light wooden door, seeing a familiar face open the door, and a pair of warm brown eyes smile in recognition.

"Permission to break your bones," he said, spreading his arms.

You laughed an "Affirmative" before giving him a hug, feeling how he squeezed you hard, almost lifting you into the air.

You had never been there, but you really wanted to visit your old friend of adventures and tragedies. Soon you were inside a very normal house, watching him walk back from the kitchen, a bottle of cold beer in each hand, pointing to the pale couch in the middle of the room, noticing the light coming in through the windows and the music playing in the background.

It was a little strange for you to see him moving fluidly and wearing a brown shirt and gray pants, shaved. Especially after months of seeing him dressed as a military and walking like a hasty duck.

You heard him sigh deeply, sitting down next to you, while you held your own beer.

"And well?" You asked, curious, “How are you? Getting better? You feel good?"

"What?" He pretended not to hear, to which he laughed as you smacked his leg firmly. “I'm fine, I'm fine. Little by little. I still don't hear as well as before, the doctors doubt that I will fully recover, but 90% is better than nothing. Possibly I will have a chronic headache from now on, and for another month I was forbidden to do any physical effort… The worst is the Post Traumatic Stress…” Kelvin shrugged and looked at you “And you? How did you find my house? Our mission was supposed to be… you know…”

"What mission?" You joked, taking a sip “I feel fine, except that now I'm terrified of flying… And well, you know, I can be a real pain in the butt. And I may have threatened to say things if they didn't give me your address."

"You're going to have them accuse you of Treason and end up in jail..." He shook his head softly "But I'm glad you convinced them" He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, smiling "After so much time together, let's just say that I've missed being ordered around by paper”

"I'm going to give you another concussion" You pushed him playfully, seeing him laugh, "I missed you too, puppy face... Did you get your memory back?"

“Mmmm…” He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering. “I don't remember anything about the week before the accident. I only have fragments of the first month, and I have more and more memories of the following months. The doctors say that I will not recover much more because of how my brain was then"

"Honestly, it's a relief" You sighed, looking at him "What happened to you was horrible, but it was also a horrible few months, it's better that you don't remember much"

“It was complicated, but not at all horrible” His brown eyes fixed on yours “You were there, I never felt alone or hopeless, despite the circumstances. I remember the hundreds of times you ran by with an ax in your hand, ripping off heads like you were possessed, but I also remember how you looked for a way to distract me, to make me feel useful, to cheer me up…”

"Don't start, please" You smiled, somewhat emotional "We already cried whole days, I don't need more..."

"You cried" He bothered you a little, smiling "Crybaby" He pushed you gently with his shoulder.

"Shut up" You laughed "You were the one who told me, crying, that you couldn't sleep in the hospital because you felt so alone"

"I still find it hard to sleep alone," He confessed.

“Mmmm” You sighed “Me too…” You remembered something and looked at him “In the end, I never found out your real name. Tell me to replace your code name, because it's already strange to call you Kelvin, Mr. Alpha Bravo Charlie"

“10.4” He laughed softly “But I've gotten used to being called Kelvin by now. It's going to seem strange to me that you suddenly call me Robert"

"Is your name Robert?" You laughed, denying "You don't have the face of a Robert"

"Affirmative, I'm going to change my name to one that matches my face," He joked, shaking his head, before slapping your knee "Keep calling me Kelvin"

“Kel…” You thought, in your own world inside your head.

"Hey" He gently drew your attention, touching your arm delicately "I know I thanked you a thousand times for keeping me alive, but thanks again"

"You're welcome, again" You smiled.

“Are you going to tell me what you saw in the caves?” He saw you deny “What? Why not? Military secret?

"Why do you want to know that?" You hesitated, taking a long drink of your beer.

"Don't fuck with me... If the times I saw a mutant on the island, I almost shit my pants, and you would happily go with your ax to cut off their heads or whatever the hell they had" Kelvin gestured widely with his bottle "You faced them! Like it was a picnic! And every time you left a cave, you came back beaten, without resources, with skin things hanging from your pockets… I want to know what the hell you saw for you to forbade me to accompany you down there”

“Rob… Kelvin” You put the beer down on the table “There was darker than a moose's butt, you were deaf. What was I supposed to do? Put a noose around your neck and walk among mutants as if you were a dog?

"I don't know…" He sighed, before drinking.

“Besides, if something happened to me in there, I knew that you were at the base, relatively safe…” You thought “Knowing that you were waiting for me back, somehow gave me the impetus to be extra careful, to make sure that I would come back to help you…”

Kelvin looked at you, half sad and half warm inside. You took care of him, even with your absences. The sound of his alarm clock woke him slightly, looking at the time, time for legal drugs. He slowly got up, to walk to a medicine box that was to one side, looking for what he had to take. He took out three different pills which he placed in his mouth and swallowed with a long sip of his beer.

"I'm going to kick your head until you even forget about your mother" You snorted angrily, seeing his surprised look "Idiot, don't mix drugs with alcohol. Are you still half stupid or what?"

"Ah" He chuckled, walking back to the couch "It's non-alcoholic beer, overprotective"

"Oh" You lowered your face from him, somewhat embarrassed, seeing him sit nearby.

You were still talking, when you remembered something else. You lifted the sleeve of your shirt, showing him a recent tattoo on your arm, below your shoulder. It was a skull with an ax stuck in it, very similar to the one you had used in all that time on the island. And next to both, what seemed to be a notepad, and on it, written: Survive.

Kelvin looked at it carefully, holding onto your arm a bit. He recognized that handwriting and even the design of the notepad, since he had read commands and suggestions in it, for months.

“It was going to be just the skull and the axe” You mentioned to him “But I didn't survive alone, on the contrary, I don't think I would have survived without you. So the notepad was in your honor."

Your name sounded tenderly on the lips of a Kelvin who had gotten quite touched and who hastened to give you one of his especially strong hugs.

"Silly..." He whispered, closing his eyes "Absurdly silly and cute... Even though at the time I saw you cutting off the testicles of all the cannibals you killed because you were in a bad mood..."

"Aren't you afraid of being next to me? Who knows, I might do the same to you” You smiled, rubbing his broad back.

"I don't sleep well since you're not by my side" He whispered again, holding you more, squeezing you against his chest "I feel safe with you... Calm... And... Everyone who found out I had some brain damage treats me as if now I had the mind of a two-year-old..." He growled softly, somewhat annoyed "I hate being pitied... I'm not incapacitated, I'm not stupid... But..." Kelvin sighed, rubbing his face gently against yours "You treat me like if nothing had happened... Even though you lived by my side, when I was at my worst... For you it's over, and you treat me as such, as myself... That reassures me so much..."

“Oh, Kelvin…” You hugged him tighter “You, at your worst, hurt and deaf, on a demon island, did more than anyone would have done in the same situation…” You tried to lift his spirits a little “I never saw anyone fish with their hands as well as you, you should dedicate yourself professionally to that”

You heard him laugh softly, still squeezing you, as if he was partially afraid to let you go, although it didn't bother you, he was warm and utterly huggable. You knew it well, since, on many cold nights on that island, it was only possible to sleep because you both stayed embraced, sharing warmth and softness.

“Could you…stay?” He asked, almost as if his voice were a distant instrument of the music that was still being heard over the speaker, not daring to move a muscle, “I don't know… Maybe… Maybe you'll let me take a nap like we used to do then? I miss sleeping… accompanied…”

"Me too" You whispered, with your eyes closed, with his clean perfume entering your lungs.

"And have dinner…? I promise there are no fish to eat, not this time.” The soldier teased sheepishly.

"Sounds like a good plan to me, big guy" You smiled "I have weird dreams about fish"

"I dream... of you" He murmured "I only sleep well... if I dream of you"

You stayed still for a moment. The way he spoke was mixing with the feeling of his hands running down your back, and his face rubbing tenderly against your cheek. You prayed that you weren't misreading the signs, you prayed that it wasn't your own confused brain, that mind that months ago had fallen in love with that soldier, and you moved your face slightly, to find that pair of soft lips that had brushed your jaw like the wings of a butterfly, landing on yours.

You were sure that both of you had kissed at the same time, so you stayed there, still in his arms, tasting that shy mouth that tasted faintly of antibiotics. Kelvin was slow to kiss, but that made him utterly sweet, cuddly, and overly romantic, as if he had the time in the world for that. You weren't in a hurry either, you spent a long time in his mouth, caressing his soft short hair, enjoying it, so that later he just hugged you, burying his face in your neck, taking a deep breath, soaking in your scent.

"I hate that I can't do physical effort for a month..." Kelvin growled, impatient "But you wait... As soon as I have the medical approval, I'm going to show you why I could cut wood for hours..."

Your laughter echoed both in the walls and in his ears.

[rubinaitoart]

So…

Hypothetically speaking when it comes to fics (because there’s around 180+ Palia fics already on AO3) you could isekai literally any human protagonist into it right?

So here’s what I think the M6 would be like in Palia, just a quick list since my general creative juices are low today. This all assumes that A) They all don’t have any memories like the player and B) They all get isekai’d in separately.

Asra: Somehow this doesn’t feel too abnormal to him. The most strange part to them is the automaton and technology that’s scattered about the place. He warms up quickly to Jina, and there’s something about Hodari and Hassain that feels comforting and familiar. Their best skills are in bug catching and foraging. Adapts fairly well.

Nadia: The most irritating thing to her is her lack of memories. She might accidentally snap at Jina, but quickly corrects herself and apologizes profusely. Jel and Caleri are lovely people and it doesn’t take her long to get on Eshe’s good side. Her best skills are in hunting and furniture making. Manages to adapt.

Julian: This really throws him off. Perhaps he suffered a concussion? Absolutely floored by what Jina tells him and is insanely intrigued by Hekla. Doesn’t take long for him to befriend Tau and he’s frequently at the inn chatting with Reth , Ashura, Zeki, and Sifuu. Avoids Eshe for some reason, he feels like he should be keeping his head low… his best skills are in fishing and bug catching. Struggles a little to adapt.

Muriel: Sure. Why not. Inwardly freaked out by a lot of things—why is he so tall? Are the people just short? Where did he come from? Why is he covered in scars? Outwardly he manages to show some semblance of calm. He speaks very little, and Jina can’t get much out of him. Auni’s personality reminds him of someone, and he finds a kindred spirit in Hassain. Doesn’t take him long to befriend Tau either. His best skills are in foraging and furniture building. He struggles to adapt to everything.

Portia: Oh wow. This is fascinating! She has so many questions but not enough time to get any answers. Jina is ecstatic to meet someone with the same curiosity she does. Very quickly gets acquainted with everyone in town, and befriends Reth, Tish, and well everybody. Absolutely adores Zeki, and is very fond of the palcats and chappas. Her best skills are in cooking and gardening. She adapts pretty well.

Lucio: Where the hell is he?! … who the hell is he? Hm. Questions Jina on everything he can, and tries to wrap his head around everything. He does know he was somebody very important! So that should count for something. Probably pisses off Kenyatta but manages to charm his way onto Eshe and Kenli’s good side. His best skills are in hunting and foraging. Adapts well.

[tineeericeee]

What Waits Off the Coast Of Santa Barbara

Chapter two: Stupid Fucking Net

Notes: Soooo I may or may not have gone a little crazy on the details writing this… and it got so long I had to split it again. So now instead of three parts it’s four. So uh. Yeah. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT 😭

Anyways, enjoy!

Thank you @arrowheadedbitch for beta reading!

Shawn felt himself slowly come to, and cracked his eyes open delicately. He immediately shut them again. Everything was bright, so much brighter than the deep ocean, where things were darker and much softer in terms of color saturation.

He hadn’t been to the surface in… what, ten years? Time was difficult to keep track of down in the deep.

Had things changed much since he’d been gone? Were there flying cars and hoverboards like ‘Back to the Future 2’ said there would be? Maybe he could get one!

As his eyes adjusted, he saw he was staring straight up at the sky, a sky that was full of hundreds of twinkling lights. Stars, he remembered. It had been years since he saw those.

Shawn tried moving an arm to shield his eyes, but quickly stopped as his whole right side erupted into shocks of pain. He let out a low hiss as miniscule threads dug into his skin. He stopped trying to free himself and lay still, the stabbing ache slowly lessening to a dull throb.

Of course this happened to Shawn. It was just his luck he got into some kind of mess on the same night he decided to return to the surface. He could practically hear his dad berating him.

He tried to think back to how he got into this mess. It was a haze, but little pieces started stringing themselves together into a clearer and clearer memory.

He’d been on his way back when he swam into a school of fish, which had disoriented him enough to get tangled in a net that’d obviously been discarded.

His brain had gone into panic mode, and he thrashed around, blindly bumping into rocks and coral.

He remembered dozens of tiny fish flitting around his flailing body as he tried to gain control before hitting his head on a particularly large boulder, knocking him out cold.

Stupid, polluting humans. Shawn hated fisherman that discarded their old nets into the water instead of taking them back on land.

Whatever. He was awake and alert now, of course. Although the ‘alert’ part was still up for debate.

‘Okay, moving my right arm is a no go…’ He tried moving his left arm and neck to see if those had gotten injured as well. Thankfully, they just felt slightly sore. He began testing it further, cracking the joints in his neck, flexing his fingers and wrist, relieving minuscule amounts of tension. He raised his head to look down at his right side, where the pain was, to assess the damage done.

Sure enough, his entire right arm, along with his torso and tail, was wrapped in tiny yet sturdy threads of netting. Just looking at it made his wounds ache twice as much.

��Okay, don’t panic. Just take in your surroundings.’ He looked further to his right, and saw nothing but beach and a lone plastic bottle rolling around in the wind.

He looked to his left, and…

Dammit.

Apparently, someone had seen him. Great. Fantastic. Life had 100% fucked him over, getting him stuck in some stupid net and also given him a possible concussion. And now on top of it all, Shawn had been seen in his mer form. Although, the person — who he had identified as Mr. Bean lookalike, wearing what seemed to be one part of a two-piece work suit— didn’t seem to be moving, simply lying in a heap. He probably fainted when he saw him.

‘Maybe I could just…’

Shawn shifted to the right an inch and immediately regretted it, pain blooming all over his injured body once more. Sand dug into the millions of tiny cuts sprinkled around him, sharp and stinging.

He stopped and sat still once more, allowing his body to settle down again.

Shawn could try to shrink to his human form, but the netting tangled around him made him nervous about attempting that. He normally wasn’t ever this cautious, but when it came to possible deformity he was extra careful.

His transformation wasn’t really like what was shown in movies. Thanks to the large size difference between this form and his human form, the process was a lot like a lizard shedding old skin, pieces of him flaking away until he was the size of an average person.

Shawn moved his left arm, and examined his claws. Maybe he could tear through the net with those?…

No, they were only good for ripping and digging into flesh, not for cutting fine threads of fishing net.

Shawn looked down to his left again, taking a closer look at the man, contemplating another plan.

‘What if I-’

He shook his head and tried to say out loud ‘No, that’s a bad idea,’ but was stopped short when his tongue wasn’t cooperating with him. It had been so long since he spoke actual words. He had almost completely forgotten how to, which was something he’d have to work on.

As he tried coming up with a different idea, he took in more details of the man. He was small, and — dare he say — cute.

Shawn had only ever seen two humans while in his mer form: his dad, and Gus. They had both definitely seemed small to him in comparison, but he had never thought of them as cute. But, there was just something about this one…

Shawn continued to take in more of the guy.

His button up was untucked on one side, and slightly rumpled. Legs and arms lay askew, slightly thin and dangly. ‘Scarecrow’, Shawn’s brain said.

Shawn squinted, trying to take in the minuscule details of the guy’s face. Lines and creases dispersed around his temple. Maybe he scrunched his face a lot in confusion. Or maybe he just got annoyed often. All of this together looked… really good, surprisingly.

Never in Shawn’s life would he have thought of someone with those features to be attractive. He had seen people with those features and thought they looked like an asshole.

And yet…

This guy somehow managed to pull it all off. And very nicely, if Shawn had to say.

He was cut off from his thoughts when his body gave another throb of pain.

Oh screw it. He’d already been seen by the guy, what was the worst that could happen now?

Shawn delicately reached out, bending his arm at an awkward angle to try and poke the unconscious guy awake. He marveled at the difference in size for second, before gently poking the man.

‘This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.’

…

‘But I really don’t have a better idea.’

—————

ao3 link

[clandestinegardenias]

beyond evil momentum. does it involve them going undercover for the cases?

Hell yeah it does!!

Momentum

Fandom: Beyond Evil

Summary: 20,000 words of not-nearly-finished post-canon Dongsik/Juwon get-together case fic in which they are once again partners investigating a string of sex worker and performer disappearances from a regional night club. I haven't touched this one in a year, I frankly have no idea what's in there anymore but I DO know it's self-indulgent and slow-burn-y as fuck and Juwon wears body glitter at one point I think

Snippet:

He doesn’t want to pick open Dongsik’s old wounds. The man deserves peace. Real peace—a house on a lake and a fishing pole he never tried to reel in, not a case that would bring up memories of a beloved niece brutally murdered.  And yet leaving him out seemed somehow more cruel. So, Juwon made the call.  Sitting in his hospital bed now, with Dongsik perched at his feet and case files spread out on the sheets, he knows he made the right choice.  His thoughts are still occasionally foggy from the concussion, and there’s no one else he’d trust to keep things organized and on track. That’s the main reason he involved Dongsik at this critical time.  The only reason. It has to be.  Dongsik’s thumb brushes his shin through the blanket as he picks up a case file.   “Our kidnapping means we’re on the right track. So, thank you for that”, Dongsik smiles up from under his curls, eyes crinkling with mirth. “We’ve gotten close to something, or someone, they don’t want us close to”, his gaze drops back down to the profiles of sex workers organized in a row over Juwon’s legs. “But who…” “Mary?” Juwon picks up the nearest profile sheet. She’d been quiet the handful of times they’d spoken to her, never engaging with them much. But her body language screamed of a kind of desperate fury. “Hmm, maybe. Natalia?” They sort through a few more profiles, foreign women from Russia and Thailand and China, most with ludicrously fake names. But there’s nothing to suggest any of the women ratted on them. Nothing to suggest they somehow got found out, though someone must have seen them and been suspicious enough to try and scare them away. The lackies, safely in custody, haven’t been talking. “We’ll lay low for a bit while you recover. Nothing wrong with that. Then we need to get back out there and touch base with our contacts. Retread our path, figure out where we got too close for comfort. And who knows, maybe one of the girls will see the bruises on your pretty face and decide it’s worth talking after all.” Juwon thinks Dongsik just called him pretty, which he does sometimes, and which very secretly spikes Juwon’s adrenaline like he just did ten shots of espresso.  He’s been cutting back on caffeine. It’s hard to appreciate, though, because he’s very, very tired all of a sudden. Exhausted.  The awful hospital bed feels warm and comfortable for once. Dongsik’s hip is resting against his foot under the blanket. There’s rain pattering against the windows. April showers, and all that.  Everything feels soft and right. He was so smart to ask Dongsik to join this investigation. So smart.  “Yes, yes, you’re very smart.” There’s a shuffling of papers. Dongsik just called him pretty and smart. His heartbeat feels lopsided. “Now sleep. You need it. We’ll continue tomorrow”.  Juwon hums in lazy assent. He’s so far gone he barely realizes that it must be the medication kicking in.  “Dongsik” he mumbles, casting his hand around until it finds the other man’s. Holds it, warm and loose. Brushes his thumb across the knuckles. “Thank you”.  The “You’re welcome” sounds a little stilted for some reason. Tight. Then a deep breath and Dongsik sighs soft and long. “Sleep well, little prince.” Juwon swears – he swears – he feels lips brush the back of his hand just before sleep claims him.  In the morning, he remembers nothing.

Ask my about one of my current WIPs!

[duusu-peacock-kwami]

U good?

I heard you got a concussion.

-Mod, @eelec-knife-fish-kwami

Yeah, I'm fine! I got smacked in the head with a volleyball during PE on Tuesday. The funny thing is, I was sitting down at the time because I was having really bad cramps. I'm the only person that anyone I've ever met has heard of who got a concussion while they weren't doing anything.

I'm mostly fine, apart from some memory problems and the occasional dizzy spell or migraine.

[ellibean-icecream]

Like Tears in the Rain

Chapter One - Adrift

“You have the power to save lives. More than any other. That’s why… you have to live. If anyone can create a cure… It’s you… It’s up to you now…”

—

The apothecary’s world rocked around her. Dizziness could be a symptom of any number of afflictions, ranging from the mundane to the severe. There was no need to panic; her first course of action would be to catalog any other symptoms she was experiencing. The more information she had the more accurate her diagnosis would be. Her throat was parched, her lips dry and cracked. Perhaps some combination of sun exposure and dehydration. When was the last time she had had anything to drink? What was she last doing that might have left her so..?

Where was she? Who was she? A torrent of questions filled her mind, a dam bursting before the flood. Why couldn’t she remember anything? The unsteadiness and apparent lack of memory were possibly symptomatic of a concussion.

And just how in the hell did she know all of this?

She heard waves. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the bright light. Far above her, masts stretched up into the sky, sails pulled taut by the wind. She spoke, despite the ache in her throat.

“Am I… on a ship?”

That would mean the unsteadiness she had felt since earlier was nothing but the rocking of the vessel on the waves. The sailor kneeling by her side nodded, his dark skin tanned further by his many hours on the sea. He gently pressed a canteen into her hands, helping her drink it. It was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted. As the last drops fell past her lips, the kind-hearted sailor took the canteen back, standing and stepping away from her. “Finally come to, have you? Feeling better yet?”

This question came from an older looking gentleman, dressed in finer garments than the other sailors in sight. Perhaps the captain of the vessel. He looked down at her fondly, a touch of concern in his eyes.

“You’ve got the luck o’ the tides, y’know.”

The apothecary sat up slowly, measuring her body’s response. She still felt slightly dizzy and doubted if she’d be able to stand on her own. The captain reached down, helping her slowly to her feet. Even this simple action left her throat parched once more.

“Easy now, lass.You’ve had a rough time o’ it. Drink up.”

He handed her another canteen of water. This time she took her time drinking it, feeling better with each passing moment. Dehydration, then. Perhaps her loss of memory was a symptom of something separate then.

“Thank you�� for saving me.”

“Couldn’t well leave you to the fishes. How’d you end up on that li’l skiff anyhow?”

“Skiff..?” She’d been on a skiff? How did she get there? Had she been part of a ship wreck? She wracked her brain, trying to find anything. Nothing. Meaningless fragments. A half remembered smile. The sound of a laugh, perhaps? Nothing that could explain how she ended up adrift in the ocean.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“C’mon now, this isn’t the time for jokes.”

A feeling bubbled in her stomach, and she lowered her head. Why would she lie about this? Why would anyone? She glanced back up at the captain, anger rising slightly before she caught his eyes. He was concerned for her. She didn’t know him, but he was concerned.

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t remember anything. Who I am, where I came from… it’s all a blank.”

His concern grew, his eyes staring piercingly into hers. She glanced away, unable to keep his intense gaze. She recognized the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Helplessness. Once more she was adrift, and once more it was the captain who saved her.

“I know one thing ‘bout you, lass. Your name. It’s Castti.”

Castti’s eyes widened slightly. She didn’t know him, but perhaps he knew her.

“Castti… How… How did you know that?”

“It’s stitched onto your outfit. What’s that uniform o’ yours, anyway?”

Castti glanced down at her attire. She wore a light blue cloak, fraying at the ends from use. Beneath this cloak a simple dress of the same color and a white apron accentuated once more in blue. Her boots and leggings were sturdy, and taken with the cloak suggested a life spent on the road. She shook her head slowly in response to his question.

“...Ah, right. Amnesia. Strange to think a person could forget their own name.”

She had to remember. He had given her her name. It was a start, but she needed more information. The crew had to know more about her arrival, and there was plenty of time before they made port.

—

Most of the crew had seemed happy to provide her with what information she needed. She reminded the captain of his daughter, and anyone he favored was welcomed by the crew. Most of the crew at least. One crewman had paled at the sight of her, and avoided her for the rest of the voyage.

The ship weighed anchor in Canalbrine a few days after she had been found adrift. From what she could piece together from the circumstances of her rescue, she had probably drifted from the continent to the east. How she had figured that out was still a mystery. She had found another clue to her identity. Her bag had been full of apothecary supplies, which explained her knowledge of the body, if not how she could remember it.

The captain had been worried about her setting off by herself, without her memories. He has slipped her a small pouch of leaves, enough for a night at the inn and a couple meals. She stepped down off the gangplank and onto the dock.

Canalbrine bustled like any major port at the arrival of a new ship. Traders and passengers alike stepped down around her as they went about their business, annoyed by her taking a moment to gather herself.

“She’s one of them, isn’t she…”

The whisper passed through the crowd as more eyes turned towards her. People turned to stare at her, before slipping down streets and into buildings. It wasn’t long before she was alone at the end of the docks.

“I… appear to be causing quite a stir.”

—

“Excuse me!”

The two girls who had been chatting by the bridge jumped with a start, eyes widening as they saw the apothecary. Without another word the two quickly fled. Castti’s brows furrowed in frustration. Something was clearly wrong, but no one was willing to tell her what. Perhaps the innkeeper would enlighten her, if they even acknowledged her presence. A young man paused in front of the building before her, eyeing her warily. His breathing seemed oddly shallow, and after another step he dropped to his knees. Castti was by his side in an instant.

“Excuse me! Are you alright?”

The young man struggled, trying to get to his feet again before collapsing down once more. Castti eyed him over, mentally noting each visible symptom. His forehead was damp and his breathing shallow, likely he had some kind of fever.

“What’s going on here? Is something wrong with him?”

Castti stood, turning to face the new arrival. Her breath caught on her answer. The woman before her had long, flowing hair tied up in a ponytail. Her brown skin caught the light of the setting sun. She was beautiful. Castti’s face burned as she realized she was forgetting her patient.

“He’s burning up! We need to get him inside!”

[mbrainspaz]

but we /love/ you

my gran literally just said to me: Your mom and I can vote for whoever we want to and still love you!

me: Republicans have introduced over 200 anti-trans bills in 2022 and 2023. Republican legislators are currently actively pushing bills that would criminalize the existence of non-binary and trans people.

gran: Well they should stop those little 4 year old kids from getting their bodies changed.

me: THAT'S NOT HAPPENING. THAT'S ACTUAL PROPAGANDA. Ok, listen carefully—surgeries like that are not being performed on minors. It's already a thing that they have to wait until they're 18. That's already how it works.

gran: oh.

me: I'm not saying you have to vote democrat. I'm saying if you actually loved me, you would.

gran: It's actually democrats who are in power now.

me: This is state level politics I'm talking about. We live in a red state. But go on, tell me what big bad democrats in Washington have done to hurt you.

gran: Gas prices and welfare!

me: 🤦🏻

I hate everything. That literally is all boomer politics is in their 6-o-clock news poisoned shrunken brains. "Gas price go up when democrat." Her other point? F*cking 'welfare queens.' I kid you not. This lifelong forced birther who is living on social security because she and her husband are retired/unemployed just went on a rant about poor people 'having babies just to get more welfare checks'. WHILE TALKING TO HER RECENTLY HOMELESS AND STILL STRUGGLING GRANDKID WITH THREE JOBS this woman—who dropped out of 6th grade in '54 and can barely read but is suddenly america's top political advisor—tries to go on a rant about f*cking welfare. And yeah you know she meant impoverished black mothers, particularly. This all started because she made another attempt at inviting my mom to our margarita night on the proviso that I don't 'talk politics' because they 'don't care' about the politics that affect my life. I tried FOR 30 MINUTES just now to explain the concept of 'y'all not caring about the politics actually just tells me you don't really care about me'. And it sucks, but I have to live with that. What I don't have to do is spend the little time and energy I have outside of my corporate slave job and side hustles to mollycoddle the feelings of two people who are actively throwing me under the bus of their f*cked up political and religious ideologies.

gran: but we LOVE you!

me: then show it.

gran: HOW DARE YOU ASK US TO DO THAT.

me: ok so once more, the 'love' you are giving is actually harming me.

gran: name ONE time.

me: *lists several instances where they threw me under the bus, invalidated me, gaslit me, and disrespected me to my face, and explains how that was hurtful.*

gran: that's your problem—you dwell on things!

me: I don't have the memory of a concussed fish, you mean.

Anyway, we ended on me explaining for the millionth time that I don't feel heard, seen, or understood, and therefore do not feel loved. I said "I have, at this point, essentially written y'all a list of things you could do that would show me you love me, and every time you tear it up in my face and tell me to stop that" (but you still want me to show up for margaritas and put up with getting disrespected and stepped on for the rest of my life). To that gran said, "Make a list! Write it down for me. I'll read it." "Yeah... we'll see."

I mean, it's not gonna work. I've been talking openly about being non-binary for over 6 months and if you think a single person in my family has googled a single article or study about anything queer (other than maybe 'how do I un-trans my adult child, HELP!'), you're giving them too much credit.

So here I go—off to waste the rest of my afternoon writing a damn list (of shit that should be obvious) instead of working on my side hustles and getting my house clean before work tomorrow. This is why people go no contact. It's always, "oh, I'm not being loving enough? Do more emotional labor for me and then maybe we'll see if you deserve an ounce of dignity or respect!"

[hqmillioncorn]

FFXIVWrite Day nineteen: Weal

With coco cocoda (and also @windupnamazu) coco cocoda

Vague Hildibrand 6.4 spoilers

Babycorn sat down alone in her chair. Everyone besides her and Cherrypit had already left the room and after Hildibrand. It was just her that hadn’t yet processed what exactly she had seen with the rest of everyone.  Could anyone really blame her?  “Um.” Butter poked her arm, he was a little worried when Babycorn didn’t respond. “Are you alright Bebe?”  Babycorn laid her head on her hands and just kept staring straight ahead.  “Uh. Huh?”  The concussion might have been making this ten-times worse too.

The last thing Babycorn remembered was watching Hildibrand run in front of her, taking a hit that was meant for her. It had filled her with a bunch of bad memories but after that she was drawing a huge, empty blank. 

It took a minute but she realized she was now lying on the floor. It was pretty comfy. 

“Bebe!” Cherrypit was also sitting right next to her. There was a crayon in his hand and a piece of paper in front of him. He must have been drawing something while she’d been busy sleeping on the floor.

Or at least, she thought she had been sleeping.

“Bebe! You ‘kay?” He waggled his crayon at her. 

“I’m fine Cherry.” Though that was pretty far from the truth. Her head kinda hurt and she couldn’t really remember how she got here. This sort of feeling wasn’t too unfamiliar to her but it had been a hot minute since something like this had happened to her. 

Not since that time she took a big tumble in Kholusia.

Babycorn looked around, she recognized this place. It looked a lot like the house that she and everyone had found Hildibrand sleeping in and just recently had found Pupu sick in too. Which meant she was in Radz-at-Han. 

“Yeah! Ding ding ding!” Cherrypit let out a cheer. “Bebe’s right!” 

He must have read her mind again to know what she was thinking. 

“As always!” She boasted, “Thanks Cherry! You’re the coolest, you know that?” Anyone that was anyone would be jealous of her super cool little brother. I bet they wished they had a little brother as cute and as smart as her’s. She had really missed him.

Cherrypit let out a happy laugh, and a whole bunch of baby babble with it. It probably meant something along the lines of, “You’re cool too Bebe!” Or Babycorn hoped it did. 

There were small little beds set up around the room. That’s when Babycorn noticed one that was pretty much right next to her. It was yellow in color and that’s when she recognized it as the same one that had pretty much been a constant companion on her adventures. 

From the time that she knocked herself out trying to fish in the Ruby Sea to the other time she accidentally ate a poisonous plant. That small little yellow bed always had her back whenever she had to take an unexpected nap during her travels. 

Weird though. She didn’t carry it around. So who did?

“Wuwu!” Cherrypit answered. “Peepee! Vegooo!” 

“Lunya and Peepo and Viggo?” Had they been the ones to put her here? 

Cherrypit nodded. “Put Bebe and Coco and Butts!” He stood up and began to run around the room. Babycorn tracked him as Cherrypit ran onto the ceiling and pointed down at something using his crayon. “Coco!” he helpfully told her.

Sure enough, under Cherrypit sat a confused looking Coco.

He had a little bandage on his head, it was pushing down a part of his fluffy hair and Babycorn thought it looked kinda silly. Babycorn couldn’t see it herself but she was wearing a similar looking bandage on her head too. 

“How long have you been here?!” 

Coco’s expression mirrored Babycorn’s, he was just as surprised as her. “W-What? How long have you been there?!” 

“I’ve been here the entire while!” Babycorn crossed her arms and pouted. 

Meanwhile Cherry was still continuing his journey across the ceiling, stopping right on top of another small bed. “Butts!” Cherrypit pointed. Unlike both Babycorn and Coco he looked like he was deep in sleep. 

Cherrypit put his finger to his mouth and let out a “shhhhhhh!” Just like Lunya had shown him earlier when he said he wanted to stay with Babycorn. 

“Oh! Butts!” Babycorn was a little surprised to see him here. “How long has he been there?” 

“...How long has he been there?” Coco asked. 

Neither had an answer.

Babycorn hoped that Butter wasn’t sleeping for the same reason Hildibrand was. He would probably be really scared if he found himself all by himself in the First. What would she tell Pancake?! She would gladly take care of Pancake while Butter was gone of course but would Butter be okay?! Maybe true love’s kiss would wake him too like it had done to Hildibrand! 

She did kiss Hildibrand right? That wasn’t a dream she just had? Hmm.

…What was she thinking about again?

“Hey Coco? Do you remember what happened?” 

Coco sat up, he put his hand on his chin to look like he was thinking really hard about something. And that was because he was. Try as he might, he was coming up with the same conclusion as Babycorn.

He couldn’t really remember what had happened, let alone why most of them were in here with the same bump on their head.

“No bump!” Cherrypit reminded them. He pat the top of his own head proudly.  

There was just one little memory in his fairly large and fluffy head from between heading out to help Pupu recover from his cold and now. 

“I think I did something really cool!”

“Huh?” Coco Cocoda? Do something? Cool????? “Like what?”

“I threw a ball into a basket!” Coco stood up and mimicked the movements he saw himself doing in his head. The reason why he had done something like this were a little muddled but he was sure of one thing. He looked really cool!!! “I went like-!  Wooooooosh! Pow! Pow!” 

Babycorn remained unconvinced. “I think you’re making that part up Coco.” She couldn’t remember any of what Coco was talking about. Not to mention the very idea of Coco pulling something like that was pretty unbelievable in the first place.

“Noooooo! It’s true!!!!” Coco cried, “You were there too! You saw it!”

“Uh. I think I would remember seeing you do something like that.” Babycorn scoffed. She prided herself on her memory. It was like a steel trap. She could remember the menu of every restaurant she had ever visited. Surely she would have remembered seeing a Coco ballin moment. 

“It sounds like you're just making something up.”

“Nooooooooo! Melmeltan was there too!” He was sure of it! If there was anything that he was sure of, it was that Melmeltan was there to look at how cool he was!

Babycorn scoffed, “Now you’re lying to look cool in front of Melmeltan? She already thinks you’re cool, you dummy! Leave some cool for the rest of us!!” How else was she supposed to win both Hildibrand’s hearts at this rate if Coco kept stealing all the cool moments from her.

“I’m not lying! She probably thought I looked super cool…!” 

In his concussion induced head he clearly remembered that Melmeltan had cheered him on and given him a trophy for coolest guy in the world and winner of her heart. Somewhere off to the right a ten year old Chocobo racer was sobbing into his hands. That would show him!

Babycorn touched the bump on her head again. It didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier, now it was just kinda sore. That weird feeling that she was forgetting something was still very much lingering though. 

“Here I’ll show you!” 

Babycorn turned her attention to where Coco had called out from. He was standing on his bed, a red colored materia in his hand. It was much smaller than a ball but it was pretty much the closest orb shaped thing Coco had on hand. “I’ll throw this into that bin over there! Then you’ll believe me!” Said bin was all the way on the other side of the room.

It might have been the concussion that Babycorn didn’t know she had but she actually believed that Coco might actually be telling the truth. At least, he sounded confident enough about it.  

“Okay! You can do it Coco!” Babycorn cheered.

Cherrypit had a bad feeling about this. Which he could only articulate by covering his eyes with his hands. 

“HiYAH!” Coco threw the materia with all of his might towards the bin.

At that very moment the door to their room opened. Lunya, Reese and Viggo walked in. In that order.

“Hey guys? Are you feeling b-”

The red materia that Coco had thrown hit Lunya right on the side of the head, knocking her down to the ground. Reese looked down at Lunya and then over to Coco with her mouth wide open in utter shock, completely speechless.

Lunya was alright, just on the floor. “Owwy.” Her voice was muffled. 

Coco was frozen. Out of fear and surprise that he had managed to throw something that hard enough that it would knock someone down. Mostly fear though.

“OOooOOh! Somebodys in troubleeee~!” 

Babycorn was glad it wasn’t her for once.

[dogmomwrites]

Find the Words!

Only almost a month behind... Thanks so much for the tag, @fearofahumanplanet! Passing it along with a soft tag to @crypticcodexcreations, @j-1173, @andromedaexists, @jjm-blogspot, @oh-no-another-idea, @k--havok, @ghost-town-story, @marinesocks, and @littlepatchofhell, as well as an open tag for anyone who wants to join!

Your words, should you choose to accept them, will be random, innocent, repeat, and fortunate

My words were kneel, lobby, divide, charge, and forget, and these excerpts are all taken from my unnamed wip that still very much needs a name and some rewriting. They're under the cut!

Kneel Slowly, awareness came back to him. He was shaking. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he only squinted against it. His chest hurt. He gasped in deep, desperate breaths. His head swam, dizzy from no air.

“Johnson?” the voice came again, hesitant and concerned.

Aaron looked up. Sergeant Blake was kneeling close by, his eyes wide as he took in Aaron’s reactions.

“Sir?”

He let his head drop back against the chainlink. His own memories filled his head, and he let them take over, focusing on the good ones. Birthdays and Christmases, time spent with his father, mother, and brother, his nephew being born. They played in his head until he was able to breathe normal again. He cracked his eyes open.

“Are you okay, sir?” Blake asked.

“If you ever meet my mom,” Aaron said, his voice a weak, soft rasp, “don’t tell her about this.”

Lobby It was a smaller hotel, rustic-looking, built from solid logs and decorated with an overbearing hunting theme. Everywhere he looked, he saw bears, moose, deer, foxes, fowl, fish, and flannel. Everything was made of wood—maybe even handmade, from the looks of the table and chairs in the lobby. The rug was simple and worn almost threadbare in places.

The woman at the counter smiled at them when the door opened and the bell overhead jingled. Her smile faded to concern when she saw Ryan. “Oh my lord, are you alright? You look dead on your feet.”

He managed a weak grin. Apparently he looked as bad as he felt. “I’m fine,” he said, the words only somewhat slurred. “Just…been up all night.” And last night…and half the night before that…

“You need a bed, and honey, you came to the perfect place for that. We have a lot of empty rooms with some very comfortable beds if you and your friend would like to stay a while.”

Divide With more help than he knew what to do with, Aaron was taken down white-walled halls to another room with a similar decoration scheme. The room was split into two with a one-way window acting as the divider. On one side of the glass was the controls and observation area. On the other side of the glass, a chair was bolted to the floor. Straps waited to hold the prisoner in place.

The straps waited to hold him in place.

It was an odd feeling, to realize that he was a prisoner. They took him to the chair and strapped him in, then two remained in the room on either side of him, out of reach but close enough for a quick reaction.

“I must say,” Doctor Krauss’ voice said from the other side of the glass, “I expected a bit more resistance from you, Aaron.”

“I’m still concussed,” Aaron reminded him with a small shrug.

Charge “Avalanche!” Jimmy squinted in the bright sun.

Either way he looked, the street was empty. No sign of the dog. Two days since Aaron had left him in charge of her. Two days, and the only way he could keep her inside was by bribing her with Balto and chicken nuggets. Any time she went outside, she was gone, running off to wherever her nose led her.

He considered preparing missing posters for when she inevitably got herself lost.

I should fix my fence, Jimmy thought. Then he realized he didn’t actually have a fence. I should get a fence.

“Dogsitting?”

Forget “You…” He stopped and shook his head, sighing to himself. His reaction only furthered Riley’s confusion. “Never mind. Go back to bed, Riley.”

“What?”

“Just forget it.” Adjusting his jacket, Jimmy sorted through the pocket until he found something and handed it over. “Here’s your keys.”

Riley accepted them, bewildered, and watched him step into the bedroom long enough to pat Avalanche’s sleepy head and then go down the stairs without another word. For a guy who’d come home at all hours of the night and turn on all the lights, calling out to ask where certain foods were, Jimmy could be very quiet when he wanted to avoid waking someone.

[wistsandmagic]

As someone who has been cut up very badly before, agreeing with @fractiousrvt on the 'if you are distracted sometimes you WILL NOT NOTICE you are bleeding'. This can also apply to being distracted by other injuries.

Case in point: as a 10 year old, I fell off of a cliff. I was climbing it (by myself), and the small tree I was using as a makeshift hand/foothold to get to the top of the cliff just...came out of the cliff face. With me still in it. I plummetted a good 40 feet, hitting every OTHER tree and little out-cropping on said cliff, into a river. Now, the river was cold, so that probably helped, but I had to get out of the water and climb the cliff again because the entire reason I was climbing it to BEGIN with was to get to the road so I could get home. Versus trying to swim/walk 8 miles upriver, after having been fishing.

By the time I got to the top and made it to the highway, I was in pain, cold, and angry, because the fall and subsequent river plunge had broken my fishing pole. TEN YEAR OLDS WITH PRIORITIES, RIGHT?

It wasn't until I'd walked the 2 miles home, on the side of a busy highway, and I'd had a chance to calm down a bit and realize I was really hurting and really dizzy, that I realized I was not only completely soaked in water, but in blood, too. My overalls, my shirt, my shoes, everything was dripping with blood, and I had very little intact skin, to be perfectly honest. And no, not a single car stopped to help the blood-covered little kid walking the road. Not ONE. That was a fun hospital visit and explanation...

Same with fevers. I've had quite a few that hit 103 and a bit above. 100% will make you hallucinate, even if you don't lose consciousness. Also they make time do very weird things in your memory. One I remember....halfway anyway, was being sick (cannot remember with what) and laying in bed watching a Jackie Chan movie to distract myself from feeling awful. I blinked, and in that blink, my mother was kneeling beside my bed, ice packs in hand, the movie was over, and she was talking to my Mamaw about calling 911 because I wasn't responding, just moaning. Turns out I'd hallucinated the Jackie Chan movie, my parents hadn't brought the little portable TV/tape player to my room yet, BECAUSE I'd been delirious for two days and had been unresponsive for an hour at the time of my mother telling my grandma to call 911! I have no memory of ANY of this, and what memory I DO have was a hallucination! I hallucinated an entire movie, with plot and EVERYTHING!

And last, concussions. Agree with everything above. But also. Even mild ones will seriously mess with your memory. I hit my head on the underside of my freezer door a couple of years ago. I passed out and hit the floor. I texted my roommate/best friend that I had afterward, because I came to as I was hitting the floor so I knew what had happened. She came home soon after, thankfully. That's....basically all I remember for the next 3 or so days, other than having a telehealth visit from a doctor to get a note for work. I do not recall what was said, just that I had the paperwork sent to my email because it's still IN my email. My best friend tells me that she watched me on the couch for those 3 days, and I talked to her coherently, but I did not go to work, nor did I really get off the couch other than to go to the bathroom, and I'd space in the middle of talking to her or just fall asleep for 10-15 minutes at a time. I do not have any memory of this at all. I remember getting up to go to work on a Saturday and going to medical because they had to clear me, being given emitrol because driving to work had made me sick, and then going to my building to find that the Saturday shift had been cancelled and no one had texted me about it, so I cried and the team lead who was there for drum line overtime (I work in a factory) sent me home. I do not remember coming home or going back to bed, I don't remember anything about that entire weekend either, but I remember going to work on that next Monday and being angry at my team lead for not texting me and having a very, very bad headache. This was the span of a full week, because I hit my head on the Sunday previous. My memory of that entire week is spotty and disjointed, and my concussion was mild.

You can really do some wild stuff with them.

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you’re really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it’s only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they’re bleeding. stop with the ‘i didn’t even feel it’ yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it’s really gushin’, other times it’s a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it’s slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain’t that articulate. even if they’re mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that’s ur trope - or a secret, it’s gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they’re gonna feel fine. until….bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 110F. no 'oh no his fever is 120F!! ahhh!“ no his fever is 0F because he’s fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it’s a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

seizures (severe)

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

ALSO about fevers - they absolutely can cause hallucinations. Sometimes these alter memory and future memory processing. they're scary shit guys.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

ALSO I FORGOT LEMME ADD ON:

YOU DIE AT 85F

sorry I forgot. at that point for a sustained period of time you're too cold to survive.

pt 2