#i need to get new splints lol

[noctilin]

update on the final ver of the akiham linked charms i have for preorder in chip's store :3 only available until dec 26th

[dietraumerei]

I absolutely love the hell out of my lil homemade prompt generator but you can tell I have A Very Specific Set Of Topics I Like To Write About, and also I think I keep prompting stories I've already written, which is only mildly embarrassing. A representative collection, with commentary, below the cut.

(I don't expect to write any of these, really, but I get such a hit of delight that I thought I'd share, and it might be nice to come back to these someday. I wish I could get away with drabbles/really short writing anymore, but I seem to like to go on and on!)

"two broken legs" "disaster twins" "long recovery" [i can think of like four stories this describes]

"asexual relationship" "sex worker aziraphale" "minor hurt extreme comfort" [i just think this could be super cute]

"hit by a car" "long recovery" "queen/concubine au" [I have NO IDEA how i'd make this work but it could be quite the au, lol]

"bathing" "seaside" "high femme Aziraphale" [ok this one might get written as some smut]

"crying" "broken arm" "crutches" [sometimes you just gotta make your load-bearing blorbo sad so you can cheer them up]

"magic" "makeshift splint" "high femme Aziraphale" [this can only end poorly for the whumpee]

"not hurt/comfort" "broken back" "minor hurt extreme comfort" [actually kind of a fun challenge to meet the requirements but I wanted to note that I specifically added a prompt to try and write something not h/c, it basically never comes up in a random selection lol]

"broken leg" "eternally horny aziraphale" "multiple broken bones" [it's a shame I think I'm done or nearly done with Bike Girls, maybe we all need a new Comfort Lesbian series]

"broken neck" "broken leg" "big tits" [i am nothing if not pleasingly predictable YES I added 'big tits' to my prompt list and what were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament]

and since I can change up the number of prompts, it...actually gets quite specific? for instance:

"nonhuman AU" "fever" "two broken legs" "broken arm" "queens/royalty au" "broken foot or feet" "meet-cute" [how on earth I make this a meet-cute is beyond me at the moment but this could be a really tender h/c!]

"nonserious injury" "hit by a car" "Role-playing" "high femme Aziraphale" "broken leg" "bedrest" "genderqueer crowley" [ok but pillow princess Aziraphale needs to make a return]

[bright-side-of-the-moon]

juniper!

i had like 3 highlighters on hand go away XD anyway this is my girl juniper, shes severely underrated and therefore my new favorite character in existence <3 this was my only reference lol

juniper berries *insert theyre the same picture meme*

right so, shortly after moving to camp (early 2004) hilal is still overwhelmed by it all and seeks comfort by taking long walks around camp. the beauty and stillness of nature grounds her and she needs all she can get in that department. its been a rough few months.

on one of her early morning walks shes deep in thought and doesnt notice a small depression in her usual path. she slips and falls on a jagged rock. no serious harm done but she does hurt her wrist quite badly.

juniper, a nymph who lives around these parts, happens to see the whole ordeal and is quick to offer assistance. hilal is very surprised to see anyone here at this time, much less... a green skinned lady about her age? she watches in silence as she uses leaves and sticks to make a splint of sorts.

after she recovers from her initial shock, she stammers her thanks at the makeshift cast and makes her way back to camp. the pain starts to kick in almost immediately and shes sent to the infirmary at once

she has a hairline fractured wrist which in and of itself isnt serious, but her CTS complicates things a little; a couple months prior hilal was involved in a serious car accident. the closed wound from her surgery had partially opened from her fall.

L: trenchcoat, black trousers and turtleneck and boots, mulberry hijab (not shown). R: post CT surgery brace, also black lol, left hand.

a couple days later when shes in a better headspace, she recounts to chiron what, rather who, shed seen on her walk. he informs her that she must have met a dryad, or wood nymph, and that they inhabit certain trees. the nymph living closest to camp was juniper. hilal confirms that the kind stranger had given her a little blue thing. a juniper berry she learns, which she keeps on her desk next to a pinecone, some acorns, and a few rocks shed collected.

*le timeskip*

some time later hilal gets back to work (as long as she takes breaks and doesnt put pressure on her healing wrist) and decides to go pay juniper a visit. she bakes a few things she thinks she might like and goes searching for a tree with the pretty blue things.

juniper is quite surprised as she seldom gets any guests, except perhaps for the satyr that visits her when he can. this strange mortal has even brought food with her! has she mistaken her for someone above her in rank? a goddess maybe? this was all very new to her. but the mortal was kind, too kind, and very understanding. she insisted that they were for her, a gift. and who was she to deny?

hilal made scones lol because its the only english thing she could think of, and makes a really great treat with some butter and jam. and a glass of cold milk? heaven. as well as other picnic-y stuff

the two have a small feast and part ways. she eventually indirectly helps grover and juniper get together and is honestly their biggest fan lol. she attends their wedding and visits them in new athens.

happy ending :)

[animalcuckllective]

Hey, everyone, this is Skye :) I wanted to talk a little bit about my symptoms today for Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Awareness Month. So I’m not officially diagnosed with anything, but my doctors have told me they’re going to treat me as if I am diagnosed with Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.

So the biggest symptoms that affect me are general hypermobility (my joints are too bendy, essentially), repeating injuries (sprains, dislocations, subluxations), hyperextensions, muscle and joint pain, stiff muscles and joints, muscle spasms, kyphosis, fatigue, GI and urinary issues, and orthostatic hypotension. This all amounts to me being very tired, weak, and in pain most of the time.

Because of my symptoms, I generally wear knee braces to keep my knees from hyperextending. I also walk with forearm crutches because they keep me much more stable while walking, so I can walk a bit farther than I could without them. I have recently discovered the reason my fingers have been bending sideways and up is because they’re hypermobile and I’ve hyperextended them. I had no idea, I’m still learning new things about my body all the time, I have no clue what “normal” is. But this means I need to get ring splints soon, so next month I’ll be looking to get those.

Thanks for listening, if you did anyway lol. I just wanted to spread awareness, especially to people who may have had no idea what I’ve been talking about for the past few months, haha. I’m currently in PT with someone who specializes in patients that have EDS, and so far I’ve been finding her really helpful! Also my glasses have broken since this photo was taken, and I’ve had to write all this with a pair of prescription sunglasses on, or else I wouldn’t be able to see my computer screen lol.

[gokartkid]

chalex running au that i might finish l8r under the cut! feel bad for it gathering dust in my docus lol

Alex’s favourite running shoes are on the verge of falling apart.

They have been for a while; he can feel a shock judder up his heel if he strikes the ground wrong. It’s worrying— and definitely something that would make his physio go crazy, as if he hadn’t already been on the ice for having borderline shin splints. 

They’re his favourite though, and he swears up and down that they’ve changed the formula somehow for making them because they just ‘aren’t the same anymore.’ 

George usually hits him when he says this, and says it’s because they’re literally so old and falling apart that Alex has forgotten what they used to feel like. 

Still, he laces them up, worn into the grooves of his feet and tucks down his socks. 

It’s the first day back after the summer break, and he’s desperate to run.

The grass smells freshly cut when he steps out of the changing room and out onto the field, the haze of early morning still resting on the ground.

The track got a facelift while they were gone, new red rubber sweeping around in a wide oval circle. Coach Horner is already standing at the side of the track, arms crossed and top-gun style sunglasses on. 

“Dynamic stretching come on boys,” he says, “then get out there and show me what you’ve got.”

Alex had a problem with his hamstring last summer that took him out— endless afternoons of stretching and watching out the window as figures loped around and around the red rubber track, for the first time in his life wishing he was getting a horrible sunburn on the back of his neck and across his shoulders. The physio pushed meanly into the tender parts of his legs until he yelped, and made him do stretches that Alex would swear up and down were a complicated humiliation ritual.

He jogs on the spot and looks sideways at the new kid. Charles Leclerc.

He’s got a pretty face, pouty mouthed as he’s chatting to Horner. Long legs extending out of small white Nike shorts, colourful shoes. He has the calves of a runner, that’s for sure.

Alex looks down, and away.

He doesn’t listen to music when he runs, feet pounding against the ground. He likes the rush of blood, focussing on his own heavy breathing, the sound of it. Makes him feel more in tune with himself.

Yuki says it’s psychopathic of him, loves to block out the whole world with his airpod-pros that he sometimes plays music out of so loud that Alex says he doesn’t need headphones at all; he can just run next to Yuki and get the same experience.

He loves when he starts getting the tight burn in his chest as his body struggles for air— anaerobic respiration, his brain says, lactic acid build up in his shoulders. 

He cuts a look sideways to Charles, going around the outside of the track. His legs are pumping almost effortlessly, perfect form. Beads of sweat rest on his forehead but he doesn’t even look disgustingly red and puffy— how Alex knows he looks right now. It’s like, a tasteful blush, or something. 

Alex frowns and looks down. He sits on the side of the field when he’s done, bends at his waist and touches his toes, flexes his feet inside his shoes.

“Alexander!” 

He hears someone say his name, through the blood rushing in his ears and he looks up, frowns into the glaring sun.

Charles smiles down at him, then sits somehow clumsily and gracefully all at once, legs splayed out in front of him. 

“How was your holiday?”

[perculiar]

Very brave of me to take half a meth med when my tummy has been wrecked for 2 months (i need to do work)

I was thinking about my body and why it’s going thru it internally more than usual and

January: STI checks and course of PEP from being raped in December; mental health fucking dive - general shame, self-blame, isolation

Feb: managed to come out of the haze a little to have my CSA trauma flare the fuck up alongside OCD meaning hypersexuality begins in an incredibly overwhelming confusing way; return to place of SA for large blackwork tattoo (with incredibly sensitive skin)

March: started T on the 1st; more sexual health blood tests (syphilis + HIV checks); flying to Spain to take care of a dear friend, then launched into the worst 2 month acting job I’ve had

April: emergency dentist bc jaw n tooth pain meant I couldn’t eat or breathe and no pain meds + wine combo were touching it, I was almost on the edge of passing out n had to take a week out to have the rest days I was told I could have but was never given; food issues flared up; started vaping also which hurts my tummy; second inter-muscular dose of T administered by a friend after googling; ADHD psychosocial needs assessment; break up with post-assault counsellor bc she makes me feel awful and doesn’t understand dissociation is also an emotional reaction.

May: push to finish this job after unionising with the cast and crew - can barely take care of myself and therapist breaks usual neutrality to tell me they’re really concerned that this job is traumatising me in a way reminiscent of being stuck in domestic abuse childhood situations (it was and the mantra was “the only way out is through” lol); lost about £800 to ongoing dental needs to be decided it was grinding and I needed a specialist splint 👌🏽; finally finish the worst job of my life to immediately get sick for a week

June: finish off first root canal (still hurts to use left side of mouth); can’t eat and experience IBS-like symptoms and bloating in a big way for the first time; start round of antibiotics; mental health in York nosedives and I start feeling trapped and panicked; find and sign for new Manchester flat despite being over budget; more blood tests; podiatry appointment; generally quite ill and having to miss birthdays and events

July: MOVE TO MANCHESTER 🥳; start second root canal with round of stronger antibiotics that fuuuck up my mouth bc turns out I have an infection in the bone; third T injection; domestic violence support worker meeting (Chloe IDAS); second root canal; doctors about IBS = turns out to be extremely swollen stomach lining, possibly bc of ibuprofen use

Now here we are in

August: tummy getting better; mouth less fucked; need to stop vaping; felt like i dislocated my shoulder but after 3 very high pain days the hot osteopath helped ease it; need to call drs + find out where the blood test is + do the anonymous intelligence against the guy (NHS dr) who raped me

So that’s. Health stuff, mostly. Writing it out helped me see that I’m not actually just fucken,, wasting my time constantly. I can take more time for rest and recovery even. Jfc

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip but it's my Thursday

Tagged by @saltymaplesyrup tagging @mareenavee ( I know you're getting space but I said I was still tagging) @thequeenofthewinter @archangelsunited @snippetsrus @gilgamish @tallmatcha @kookaburra1701 @thana-topsy @orfeolookback @caliblorn Low effort 0 expectation, I know there's a lot of chaos running around but feel free to join in if you like. I have been procrastinating on study because I'm changing my major so I am out of steam on that. So I have um...too many wips in both the art section and the writing section. We have been doing SAD WARS and that means a lot of art and a lot of writing. Like I think I wrote 30K in a month XD ART First I have the Erra render that I've been working on. He's coming along.

Some Josh about to fuck up some Reavers. IDK I kinda just wanted to draw the Dwarven toe prosthesis which will be more visible if I ever line this lol. under the cut for the rest!

Pic of Yani too idk. Okay, Writing!

Going to post 3 snips because I've been jumping around wips. First is a section from Mortal Chill

Corprus? But…how? I stood and moved to try to pull the covers off of him, I don’t know what I was really trying to do here. I could not remove them myself. I- I guess I wanted those bandages removed so that I could see for myself. The tumours, the growths that twisted and deformed the body. The broken bones the-

Maera he was so thin, was it the wasting kind? All I could remember were stories of mad creatures that would come screaming out of the southern ash wastes at night. That they had a madness, that they ate the cursed flesh of their brethren. The Urshilaku would warn us every few years of another outbreak of blight. That it had started breaching the Ghostfence.  My tribe did not much care for such things. The lore of our ancestors meant little amongst the Erabenimsun. Our Ashkhans were absolute rulers, our focus war and glory. The news of blight usually fell on deaf ears. Our Wise Woman’s warnings would often go unheeded. It was why my father had made that attempt on old Ulath-Pal’s life after all. Some sort of pact between my kin, the Ensirhaddon who bore most of the tribe’s farseers and mages and the Urshilaku and the Ilaba'andul-Sul family, who were the ruling clan of the northern wastes. It failed, and my kin were systematically executed one by one. I had fled the night my twin sister had her throat cut in her sleep. I was fifteen and utterly alone.

I had run into someone afflicted with blight somewhere around Piran. The wasting the growths. She was practically mad as she lashed out at me. I still have no idea how I had gotten away in the end. Maybe it is because I am forgetting so many things but I know that creature haunts me, Kiang.

Is this really to be my son’s fate?

You shuddered, turning to stroke our son’s cheek. Forty-six years since he was twelve. I guess I was trying to do the sum in my head, had never been good at that, resorting to counting the individual sections of my fingers instead. Three, six, twelve-

“Fifty-eight, Yani. He turned fifty-eight yesterday-I,” you let out a breath, shuddering once again, “I tried to summon you yesterday but- I don’t know why it didn’t work or-“

I couldn’t believe it, the last time I had heard your call and walked through the flames he was still a child, barely twenty-two! You reached for me, your hands on either side of my ruined face. Torn and beaten from the rubble that had entombed me. My ear missing, torn at some point. My face ripped from the razor edge of debris that I had not seen. My throat slashed to such a point that the grizzled meat was visible. It is why I cannot speak.

I was only thirty-one when I had died, barely grown myself. Maera I’ve missed so much.

The second is from Ahzidal's Descent

“Greave,” she held out her hand again, “Teldryn I need it to keep the splint in place.”

He grumbled a little as he reached out behind him, handing her the light, chitinous plate. The surface was a marbled green and beige that dully reflected the sunlight. It had something carved into its underside. Something in what looked like Dunmeris but she honestly couldn’t tell. Sydari untangled the netch leather straps and placed the chitin on top of his shin.

“Tel, I’m going to have to lift this again,” she said as she lightly prodded his shin.

“Do I have to wear it?” He groaned, scratching the back of his head, “I’m pretty sure that’s what irritated it in the first place. Thing was fine this morning.” He shrugged.

Sydari exhaled slowly. Of course, he’d blame the only thing that was supporting his leg! It couldn’t possibly be the fact that he chose to scale this dune! She lifted his leg and started securing the chitin greave to his shin, maybe a little too roughly.

“N'chow! Now I know you did that on purpose!” Teldryn protested, he began to fiddle with the leather strap of his goggles.

“You don’t think that maybe you aggravated your leg by climbing up a cliff?” Sydari pinched the bridge of her nose, “You didn’t even bother to properly brace it!”

“It was fine this morning when I took it off,” Teldryn hunched over his left knee and exhaled sharply, “Thing interferes with my prosthesis, I told you. Plus, I really felt fine this morning, Sydari.”

“You’re not supposed to be taking it off yet Teldryn,” Sydari began to search her pack again, pulling out another small vial, this one filled with a red viscous liquid that leaned violet in the sunlight. Tinged by the minuscule edition of Sleeping Tree Sap. It would dull the pain but make his comedown from the stamina tonic a lot harsher.

“What’s that?” Teldryn asked.

Sydari shook the bottle a little, “It dulls pain.”

Teldryn tilted his head, “Didn’t I just take one of those?”

Sydari shook her head, “No, this one is a bit different, stronger,” she handed him the glass vial, “Just don’t drink all of it, it contains a sedative.”

Teldryn raised an eyebrow, “What kind of sedative?”

Sydari sighed, “It’s a type of sap from this tree in Whiterun Hold, it’s um…”

Teldryn chortled, “Say no more hla’Miluth, say no more,” he raised the small bottle to his lips and took a small sip, “tastes like shit though,” he smiled and handed the mostly full vial back to her.

“You think everything does,” Sydari replied as she replaced the stopped and returned the vial to her pack.

She stood up and offered Teldryn her hand, “Come on, let's get you back to the Netch.”

“Aww come on Miluth!” Teldryn frowned, “It’s just over this ridge, we’re so close. Why go back now?”

Sydari pulled her pack over her shoulder and offered him her hand again, “Because you’re not making it up that hill, not in your wildest dreams.”

And finally a bit from Kagrumez Gauntlet

I took a few steps back, dagger still readied…just in case. The specter reached out.

“It is okay, Dumu, I mean you no harm,” there was an echo to his voice as well, as if he was both far away and far too close. I wonder if that is why he never spoke last time.

“Wha-“I stammered, I had no idea what any of this was.

He held up a hand and shook his head, “Does your Ata know you have that?”

I slowly lowered your dagger, putting it away. I shook my head at the ghost.

He sighed, “Nervyna, these places are death traps for the best of us. You cannot be messing around in here.”

I pouted, “Ata said he’d take me down here to help with his research. We were supposed to be here together but he ditched me with my cousins and came here himself,” I folded my arms, “It’s not fair!”

The ghost shook his head, his hair almost floating around him, “Oh Dumu, I am sure he had good reason. It is a new place, yes?”

I nodded, “That’s why we were going to come down here together,” I told the ghost, “then all of a sudden he decides ‘No! It’s time to go visit your cousins!’” I mimicked your gruff tone as best as I could. It made the ghost laugh.

“Ah, I think I know what is wrong, Nervyna,” the ghost smiled, “Your Ata found that down here, I do not think he wants one of these ambushing the two of you.”

I looked back at the metal mer that lay battered and broken, melted to the floor. Did he see this thing and run? I sighed, “So he saw this thing and ran away? It’s dead. Creepy but it’s dead.”

The ghost approached the broken hunk of metal and knelt over it, “Nervyna, your Ata does not run from these things. This is his doing.”

I walked over to where the ghost was kneeling, standing on the opposite side of the twisted metal mer, “how would you know that? I don’t even know who you are?”

The ghost furrowed his brow or tried to, the long scar that cut across his face seemed to make it hard, even in this form, “Nervyna, I have known your Ata for a very long time. More than he would probably care to admit. I know how he attacks these things. I have seen him do it many times. Dumu I know your Ata took down this metal mer because I do not know anyone else who can melt this kind of metal.”

I stared at the thing’s melted surface. It reminded me a little too much of how an ice mer melts during the early spring thaw. Like the ones that you would build with me whenever snow fell on the mountains to the north of the island. You hated the cold but you would take me up there every year so that we could make one. This wasn’t making any sense.

“I haven't seen Ata so much as take down a slaughterfish let alone whatever this thing is,” I stood and stomped back towards the stairs that lead further into the ruin.

“Nervyna! Wait!” the ghost called back as I descended the stairs. I replenished the light I had summoned with some of my magicka, just like you showed me. ‘Imagine you can make the light stronger with just one touch,’ I had finally started getting the hang of doing that.

The ghost reformed in front of me as I entered a colossal chamber. The whole place buzzing and whirring with that magical steam you always talked about. He frowned at me, bow gripped tightly in his ethereal fist. 

“Please do not run off like that. I can not protect you if you move too far away from me,” he cautioned, though his tone was even and calm, I could tell there was a slight hint of annoyance there.

“I never asked for your protection, ghost. I don’t even know who you are,” I grit my teeth, I never summoned any ancestor ghost. I don’t even know that spell yet!

The ghost blinked at me before sighing, “That is my fault, I forget that you do know what I look like. I am Erra, I was-“

“You’re Aya’s uncle!” I interrupted, I had heard of him before. I had heard of him a lot, in fact. You had called him by the same words that you used for Alma.

For a brief moment, I thought I saw the ghost frown. He smiled again and nodded, “Yes, that is it.”

[hyah-lian]

I posted 2,137 times in 2022

That's 2,137 more posts than 2021!

188 posts created (9%)

1,949 posts reblogged (91%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ezdotjpg

@wakingwinds

@transzeldas

@sister-dear

@triforce-of-mischief

I tagged 598 of my posts in 2022

#lu tag - 66 posts

#linked universe - 62 posts

#hyah-txt - 49 posts

#linked universe fic - 37 posts

#lu fic - 33 posts

#ez's bonus links - 32 posts

#fic tag - 29 posts

#bonus links - 27 posts

#lu hyrule - 25 posts

#srb - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#sometimes im like. i need some sleep help. take a melatonin and then im fuckin giddy & bouncing off the walls til 2 am when i took it at 8

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

@skyloftian-nutcase fanfic, for your Healthcare AU? It's more likely than you think.

I hope it's ok to post it and tag you like this ;;;; that one post yesterday got my brain goin. I hope its not too out of character for your boys or too off base on the situation lol

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

The staff section of the cafeteria had been cleared of tables and filled to the brim with CPR mannequins, gym mats, and a small army of staff in various locations around the space. 

A few, like Wars and Time were pacing through with other educators brought in for the training exercise. Others sat, stood, or laid with index cards; acting out or reading off their cards to the handful who were on their turn for acting as triage and treatment.

"Oh oof ouch, I am dying. My sats are unreadable. Oh no," Legend deadpanned from the blue mat on the floor while one of the hospital's newer hires rocked from foot to foot above him.

"Don't panic, breathe," Time raised his voice a little over the din of the emergency preparedness practice.

"And- and check the leads if they are there? And- or call a code for help?" Time nodded and the new hire ran through the motions.

"Cool, alright Wind, so what is the next step?" Twilight grinned and pulled the young respiratory-therapist-in-training's attention back to the scenario at hand.

"Oh, yeah. Geeze, it's pretty loud and busy."

"Emergencies tend to be. You don't have to get it perfect, that's why we do the course."

"Right," Wind nodded and rechecked the card with the scenario information, "well then, uh, little mister bus crash. Your arm is probably broken and my what big bones you have for a second grader."

"Ha-ha. Take it seriously, please."

"I am. Reading the room, this kid wouldn't take kindly to coddling and lying from what I've heard. Plus it's not a red level emergency so-"

Wind laid Twilight's arm on his own legs on top of his folded up sweater. With slow and purposeful movements he held the hand still gently with one of his own, while the other went for the splinting materials in one of the tubs to the side.

"Your arm is going to get a, uhm," Wind furrowed his brow when Wars and another one of the course leaders walked by, "special jacket that'll hug it and help make it feel better until a doctor can get you a cast."

"My card just says 'inconsolable crying', I'm sure you can imagine what that is like."

"No, no Twi- do it right!" 

Legend was propped up on his elbow staring back at the two of them, oh so casually sipping his energy drink while his caretaker was tearing through the provided bins and listening to Time talk them through their panic.

"I'm not taking advice from an unconscious body with an untraceable rhythm that is somehow sitting up and drinking that crap."

"For all you know I'm asleep with detached leads," he stage whispered before slurping obnoxiously.

"I'm going to tie this here and here to help make your arm feel better," Wind half shouted over the other two.

Twilight flipped his behavior card around to show both Wind and Legend the underlined block lettering saying 'inconsolable crying' and shrugging. 

Wind rolled his eyes and the motion took his whole head lolling back on his shoulders in exasperation. Legend, the bug, just snorted. Then, of course, Wars looped back around to watch.

"Okay, one knot," Wind spoke as he continued, "and two. How brave! Quick, Legend! Wiggle your fingers!"

"Wha-"

"Flex those fingies! C'mon!" 

Legend flexed all of one at Wind's smiling face.

"Watch it!" Twi shouted before catching the glare from Wars. "Thats a swear finger. Tsk tsk."

"That's right! You should show him how to properly wiggle your fingers, kiddo," Wind, to his credit, avoided the patronizing tone most of the others put on when working with younger patients.

See the full post

35 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

#4

Wind joyfully infodumping about deep-sea horrors and the funky fish and shit from his world

Just blissfully describing a different breed of octoroks that flash colors and are wildly territorial (like a Humboldt squid basically) specifically and getting a collective what the fuck from the group and he just

"OH That isn't even the coolest part- *goes into an indepth history and description of how Tetra and the pirates did research on them bc Tetra is also super interested in them*"

Anyway.

35 notes - Posted April 11, 2022

#3

Wild: the last thing for this soup to be perfect is just... hmm... thyme leaves.

Time, sensing the perfect opportunity: *stands and walks away from the cooking fire*

Wild: ???? Your soup?

Twilight: Even when he's got laryngitis he still has dad jokes ugh.

36 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

#2

You think I would, now, wouldn't you? (LinkedUniverse fic)

For prompt 1. ‘Do You Know How To Take Care of a Sick Person?’

I felt like trying to take part in sicktember/whumptober 2022

I have a few written so far, but not a ton. I don't know if I will do every prompt/post every day, but why not do some writing and try to have fun, right? I love the cozy feels of ppl taking care of their friends and stuff, so I find this kinda thing cute. Also posted on A03 here

no real warnings, the only distressing thing is someone feels faint for a moment

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

Legend coughed hard into his elbow. When he pulled back, his shirt stayed hooked over his nose for a second before falling away fully revealing his blotchy red face. And the scowl, of course.

“Do you even know how to take care of a sick person?”

Hyrule winced at the crackling behind Leg’s choppy words. His own face flared red for a moment before he caught himself and took a deep… deep ish… breath.

“‘Cause, I get you’re a great healer. Fantastic-” he paused to clear his throat, though it sounded more like shaking a tin of rocks in chu jelly, “saved our asses more than I can count.”

“Okay. What can I do, then?” Hyrule screwed his face up for a second before letting it go slack again. “What would help?”

Legend pulled his shirt up and turned to cough away from Hyrule’s direction for another long moment. By the time he came up for air, his eyes were watering and Hyrule was squatting beside him with some water.

“Thahsss-” He cleared his throat again, “Thats a good start.”

Hyrule sighted and plonked his head to his hand to pinch and smooth away the tension between his brows. Once Legend had enough, Hyrule took the cup and stood, turning to the low fire with warm honeyed water resting atop in a pot.

“No wonder everyone jumped to go out and try to find out where we are,” Legend stared at his hands in his lap, “Sorry, I’m being kind of an ass.”

Legend could see Hyrule stiffen a few steps away.

“It’s… not okay, but I know you don’t mean it.” Hyrule shifted his weight. Standing still with his back to Legend he continued, “Yer…. feelin’ crummy…”

Hyrule almost sounded like he was drifting away. Legend sat up a bit more, face pinched and voice dry and cracking out before he could say anything.

“Rulie?”

Hyrule staggered a step and crouched down. He plonked onto his ass and turned to give Legend a pale, shaky smile.

“‘M good,” he huffed out a laugh, “Just got lightheaded for a second.”

“Oh my god,” Legend dragged his hands down his face and whined, “we’re cursed. We’ve got to be cursed. You’re sick too, now, aren’t you?”

“What can I say to get you to not worry?” Hyrule shrugged. He started feeling a bit floaty-headed after dinner, and the sore throat and aches blooming throughout the morning really cemented his desire to stick with the veteran at basecamp.

“Grab two cups and get your ass over here and sit,” Legend paused for a moment, “please.”

“Sure thing,” Hyrule stood up more carefully and retrieved the sad excuse for tea and cough remedy, “so, when can I start being pissy and snarky too? It might be fun.”

Legend snorted himself into another coughing fit that kicked off Hyrule laughing and coughing along.

“I would kill to see you snark off to someone,” Legend took the warm cup while Hyrule settled down beside him.

65 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

tumblr lu sexyman contest, but consider: dad bod + farmer tan Time.

plus a no-colour version if u wanna colour it yourself

66 notes - Posted October 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[fitness-is-here-to-stay]

Run 1: Couch to 5k

Alright, so I did it.

I did the first run but I didn't follow it exactly. Instead of doing 5 min walk in the beginning and end, with a 60 sec run and then a 90 sec walk interval in between, I did a ~10 min walk in the beginning and end, then a 60 sec walk then run interval. It just made it easier to track when I needed to change my pace. The 10 min walk was because it took me 10 min to get to the trail. If anything, that's better lol.

The next time I run, it'll have to be on the treadmill. I'm thinking the weekends will be outdoor days and the weekdays are inside.

Now, how did I feelllllll

Honestly, health and breathing wise, I felt pretty good. I mean, I wasn't running super fast, I was jogging. That's likely why it was easier. On a weirder note, I really needed to pee towards the end, is that normal? How the heck do marathon runners hold it in for so long?? wild.

I did, however, feel my shin splints coming in so that's not great. I'm thinking that might have to do with how old my shoes are so I probably should look into getting new ones. Or maybe my form is off, not sure. But I need to watch out for those cause shin splints are wackkkkk

Overall, I feel good. It wasn't taxing to the point that I hated it. But I do have concerns about my shin splints

RUN 1 COMPLETE!

[seitmai]

He should be sitting at your bedside, like men did when the women they loved were injured. Instead, he stood by the window. His gaze was fixed on the leafless silhouettes of the tree branches outside, drawn there because if he was looking at them he wasn’t looking at you, swathed in bandages and draped in sheets that bore an unsettling resemblance to a shroud. 

He cant even bear to sit beside her🥺

The machine noisily breathed for you. He’d grown so used to its rhythmic—whoosh, thump…pause… hiss—that the sounds faded into the background. Looking at your reflection in the glass was easier than actually looking at you. It softened the bruises that had deformed your features and hid the traction splint on your left lower leg. But the ventilator’s whir was a constant reminder that a machine was all that stood between you and death.

💔💔💔

“You look like hell.” “Thanks.” “Go home. Take a hot shower and a couple Benadryl. Once you’ve slept, you’ll feel better.” “Will I?” He’d been aiming for sarcasm but a waver of apprehension snuck into his voice instead.

Valid question at this point lol

 Recent events had solidified one fact—whatever this relationship was, it wasn’t casual. Not anymore. He couldn’t deny it, not when he’d spent days by your bedside, received updates from your family, and been added to your list of emergency contacts. The lack of questioning about his presence from either of your parents symbolized how entrenched your relationship had become. Vivian likely played a role in that, but it reinforced the same point: he was more than just your friend. What exactly he was remained unexamined as of yet, but it was only a matter of time.

I think they both knew for a while this wasn't casual anymore but both were too scared to bring it up..

He wasn’t blind to the fact that the age gap was part of what had drawn you to him. You’d wanted sexual experience, and he had plenty to offer. His sophistication and confidence were traits you appreciated in him, even as a friend. Sometimes he wondered if it was him you were drawn to, or the feeling of security he provided. You’d had too many responsibilities handed to you too early. He was good at taking charge. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the attraction stemmed from. Doubt gnawed at him. Did you want him, or did you just want someone competent, who made you feel safe? He wasn’t the only man who could meet those needs. Lloyd wished he could pretend otherwise, but he couldn’t see how both your futures could coexist in the long term.

Oh no he is getting into his head..🫣

Lloyd pulled out his phone and pretended to be occupied. The nurses quickly exited the shop after their orders were filled, but they’d given his thoughts a new path to wander down. There was a good chance that you’d want a family someday, given how healthy and tight-knit yours was. You were good with children. The idea of you not being a mother was somehow unfathomable to him. A chill ran down his spine. He could easily imagine the same story he’d just overheard being told about him. 

😬😬😬

What if you asked him for a baby? Would he be able to deny you what you wanted, even knowing the risks? He winced. No. He couldn’t be a father. He didn’t have the temperament for it, nor the energy it demanded.

Let's not think that way, princess needs to recover first and then an open conversation would probably help..

You deserved to be with someone who could give you the full experience of parenthood—someone younger, willing to endure sleepless nights, with the stamina to chase after a toddler. He couldn’t picture himself running after a child at his current age, let alone keeping up with a teenager. By the time your child graduated high school, he’d be at least sixty, if not older. You needed someone with more life ahead of them than he had to offer.

Age is just a number 🤷🏻‍♀️

He wished he didn’t have to think of these unpleasant things, that time could freeze everything as it was and your relationship could stay vague and undefined forever, but time marched on and there was no escaping the truth. Being with him came at a cost, and you’d already paid the price.

Oh this is gonna eat him up from the inside out..

 “It’s one less addiction to manage,” Lloyd said. 

Valid

“How many twenty-five-year olds vape? Eat a diet of pure junk food? You’re healthier right now than most younger men could dream of being. Hell, you’re drinking tea.”  Lloyd scoffed. “I don’t drink coffee so I’m off the hook?” “And you eat turkey bacon, which is pathetic and un-American, but to each their own. Seriously, if it’s bothering you, get your sperm tested.” “Checking it right now wouldn’t matter much. Princess and I are in different places in life. By the time she’s ready to have kids…” Lloyd trailed off. 

Good god Lloyd he just want to help you get your head out of your ass 🥴

“Deposit it at a sperm bank, they’ll put it on ice for later. Of course that’d take all the fun out of things, but it heads off the worst-case scenario.” 

Halleluja for Zach , at least one person that can think straight right now and points out some alternatives 🙏🏻

Somehow, Joe Hansen had crawled out of the grave and back up to the land of the living. There was no mistaking that face. The deep purple circles under his eyes, the dry, reddened skin partially hidden by a heavy five o’clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes from too much whiskey left Lloyd paralyzed for a moment. When his mind kicked back into gear, his first thought was almost smug: I knew you were too mean to die. But when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one behind him. Zach had stepped out to take a phone call. The shop was empty. His gaze turned back to the reflection. The eyes weren’t brown. They were crystal blue.  It wasn’t Joe. It was him. 

Uff that must be harrowing, but maybe also a little bit of a wakeup call

Chapter 29

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: In the aftermath of the incident, Lloyd grapples with his emotions and begins to wonder about their future.

Word Count: 4,605  

Warnings: Mention of adult content such as sex and drug use. Non-explicit references to child abuse, which is made clear by a character’s reactions and implied by their internal reflection, but not discussed in specific or graphic terms.

Author’s Note: Thank you for coming back to read this, despite my long absence! Full Author’s Note can be found here.

Masterlist 

Lloyd wasn’t where he should be. 

He should be sitting at your bedside, like men did when the women they loved were injured. Instead, he stood by the window. His gaze was fixed on the leafless silhouettes of the tree branches outside, drawn there because if he was looking at them he wasn’t looking at you, swathed in bandages and draped in sheets that bore an unsettling resemblance to a shroud. 

Injured felt like too plain of a word to describe your condition. You’d rammed a car head-on into a concrete barrier at high speed and a moment later, Westin Tafferty had shot you in the head at close range. The doctors said the bullet had grazed your parietal bone and fractured your skull, triggering internal bleeding. Within minutes of arriving at the hospital you’d been rushed into the operating room for an emergent craniotomy.

Now, you were sedated in a coma and no one could say if the surgery had been successful or not. The carefully titrated medications flowing through your I.V. masked any sign of improvement or deterioration. As long as the sedatives infused, you remained trapped in a stasis where no one could tell if you were healing or slipping away. Until they dialed back the drugs the state of suspension would persist. He’d asked, but no one was willing to estimate when they’d begin tapering off the medication–or if that was even part of the plan. 

Behind him, the ventilator hissed. Lloyd twisted his neck, trying to ease the tension as his eyes drifted over the landscape. Your room overlooked the courtyard, which wasn’t much to see, especially after the weekend’s turn in the weather. Skeletal tree branches stretched toward the sky, stripped bare by last night’s windstorm, which had brought in an unexpected cold front that settled into a hard frost. Just yesterday, the leaves had been turning yellow. Today they were scattered in a thick carpet over the grass. Your day nurse had told him it was the earliest frost since 1979. Lloyd hadn’t offered a response. 

In fact, he’d barely registered her remark at all. Information hadn’t been sticking in his mind lately. Between the car accident, the shooting, and the discovery that Westin Tafferty had been stalking you all along, his brain had short-circuited. The machinery in his head was broken. Synapses fired sluggishly, like a circuit board trying to transmit a signal through frayed wires. His thoughts flickered, dimmed, then disappeared.

He twisted his neck and scanned to the left, his gaze colliding with a reflection in the glass. The image was distorted but he could make out your form lying in the hospital bed directly behind him. Monitors were packed around your bed. A screen displayed your vitals, another showed wavy lines related to breathing, and one monitored intracranial pressure. A drain connected to your skull through a thin tube—that was a left over from the operation. He’d been curious about it but hadn’t asked. After two days in the ICU, he’d learned it was sometimes better not to know. On the other side of the bed, an infusion pump was hooked to the I.V. in your forearm, along with a ventilator.

The machine noisily breathed for you. He’d grown so used to its rhythmic—whoosh, thump…pause… hiss—that the sounds faded into the background. Looking at your reflection in the glass was easier than actually looking at you. It softened the bruises that had deformed your features and hid the traction splint on your left lower leg. But the ventilator’s whir was a constant reminder that a machine was all that stood between you and death. Lloyd inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. He took a long breath, drawing the air in deep to ease the sudden wave of nausea. His phone buzzed.

Expecting it was your mother or Vivian, Lloyd fished the device out of his pocket. The message was from an unsaved number.

I’m at the nurse’s station. Which hallway should I take?

Lloyd frowned and scrolled through the messages. He’d exchanged about a dozen texts with this number over the weekend, the details of which were fuzzy in his memory. It took some scrolling to realize the number belonged to Jen Kyzansky. Right. He remembered now. Jen had promised she’d stop by after work and it was five o’clock. He’d asked her to visit after an exchange with your day nurse, who confirmed that coma patients could sometimes hear people. Not always—but in some cases. 

He could barely stand to look at you in this condition, let alone speak, so he’d called in reinforcements. For all his personal dislike of the woman he was supremely confident in her ability to carry on a one-sided conversation. She would keep it positive and upbeat and talk about things you’d enjoy. You needed Jen right now, not him. 

He sent instructions to guide her through the maze of hallways and stepped outside the glass booth the ICU considered a “room” to wait for her arrival. A moment later, someone carrying a giant vase of flowers rounded the corner. Though he couldn’t see the person’s upper half, he recognized the tailored oxblood trousers. Jen shifted the flowers to her hip to read the room placards. Before he could call out, she spotted him and picked up the pace. When she was an arm’s length away she stopped, her gaze sweeping up and down his form. 

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t smirk, as he’d expected. “When was the last time you slept?”

Lloyd shrugged. He tried to sneer–after all, it was the customary greeting between him and Jen–but his features wouldn’t cooperate. To his dismay, her expression softened into something that looked suspiciously like sympathy.

“Go home. Take a hot shower and a couple Benadryl. Once you’ve slept, you’ll feel better.”

“Will I?” He’d been aiming for sarcasm but a waver of apprehension snuck into his voice instead. 

Her chin lifted. “Yes, you will. Call someone to drive you home, or at least drink some coffee. Driving tired is as bad as driving drunk.” 

Lloyd obeyed. At the end of the hall, he glanced back to see Jen sitting beside your bed. Jealousy cut through him. It was irrational, given that he had all afternoon to do what Jen was doing now, but unfortunately he couldn’t look at you for more than thirty seconds without wanting to throw himself off the roof. 

At the elevator bank his gaze drifted to the window as he waited for the car. It offered a different perspective on the same barren trees he’d stared at from your room. In a few months they’d be reborn, sprouting new buds and leafing out. Nature healed itself, even after the most brutal storms. He had no such ability. His wounds didn’t heal; they stayed with him, out of sight, but always festering under the surface. Lloyd scrubbed a hand over his face. Wallowing in self-pity didn’t do you any good. It wasn’t good for him, either, as painful emotions tended to corrode his self-control. He could feel the chaos welling up and worried that he wouldn’t be able to contain it much longer. The stitches of his composure were straining, threatening to tear apart. 

How could he ever support you if he couldn’t control his own emotions? He’d sent Jen in as his substitute for a task as basic as sitting by your bed and talking. He was useless—he couldn’t even look at you! You needed him right now, and he couldn't even look at you. He was a coward, and not because of the fear, but because he was letting it dictate his actions.

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

The elevator took him down to the lobby. As Jen suggested, he stopped by the coffee shop and ordered a London Fog. It was late afternoon, and aside from him and the barista, the shop was empty. That made sense. At five o’clock on a Monday most people were still at work, stuck in traffic, or picking up their kids.

Nothing played over the speakers and the weight of the silence pressed down on him. Lloyd sat down at a table to wait. He listened to the hum of the espresso machine, the soft clatter of metal instruments as the barista stirred his tea. His thoughts drifted back upstairs, comparing the quiet sounds of the coffee shop to the symphony of whirling, hissing, and beeping that filled your room. If you were here, you’d have ordered something so sugary and caffeinated that it ought to come with a Surgeon General’s warning. 

“Lloyd, your London Fog,” the barista called.

He collected his drink and turned to face a jarring sight—a group of nurses gathered in a loose semi-circle on the other side of the glass partition separating the shop from the hallway. They all wore the same unmistakable shade of green. Over the past few days, he’d learned the color coding system of the hospital’s scrubs: navy blue for ICU nurses, burgundy for lab techs, pale blue for surgical staff, and a garish shade of sea-foam green that identified this group as trauma nurses. His grip tightened around the cup, the heat seeping through the paper doing nothing to thaw the sudden chill in his fingers. The sight of the trauma nurses triggered a flood of memories, sharp and uninvited. 

The drive into the city. Detective Roth’s hands tight on the steering wheel as he wove through traffic. The flashing dash lights in the silent car, no wail of sirens overhead because those were only for official emergencies…Walking past the destroyed trauma bay, its floor littered with the debris of plastic packaging and soiled gauze, as a gray scrubbed man mopped blood off linoleum tiles. Meeting your parents in the waiting room of the surgical suite. The doctor entering, asking if anyone was ready to see you. Your mother, crying, too distraught to accompany your father to the post-anesthesia unit… Vivian suggesting Lloyd go with him instead…

Dishes clattered in the sink, snapping him back to the present. Lloyd pulled his gaze from the nurses and moved to a table, deliberately facing away from them, but the image of those green scrubs lingered in his mind.

For the past seventy-two hours, he’d clung to the hope that you would wake up, that somehow you’d shake off a traumatic brain injury as if it were nothing more than a common cold. The sheer absurdity of such magical thinking grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t stop the optimistic thought from creeping in. Being irrational didn’t change the facts, though, and two days later your diagnosis remained unchanged: critical but stable.

The word “stable” circled in his mind. He rolled the word silently over his tongue, as if repeating it would make it easier to accept. Stable meant things weren’t getting worse, but it didn’t mean they were getting better either. It was a fragile reassurance, one that only made him more anxious the longer he sat with it. The fact that you were stable didn’t offer any hint of what came next, whether you’d recover or languish in this state forever. Instead of easing his fears, the thought of your impending recovery opened up an uncomfortable set of questions, chief among them: where did your relationship go from here? 

Recent events had solidified one fact—whatever this relationship was, it wasn’t casual. Not anymore. He couldn’t deny it, not when he’d spent days by your bedside, received updates from your family, and been added to your list of emergency contacts. The lack of questioning about his presence from either of your parents symbolized how entrenched your relationship had become. Vivian likely played a role in that, but it reinforced the same point: he was more than just your friend. What exactly he was remained unexamined as of yet, but it was only a matter of time.

There was an eighteen year age gap between you. While he’d packed for college, you’d turned two weeks old. Your future was filled with hope and potential, any path was open and ready to be explored whenever you craved something more. He’d wasted his future already, thrown it away on bad decisions, mental instability, and addiction. The gap between you wasn’t just measured in years but also by directions; your lives were moving along different paths. You had spent this spring considering your options for law school and Lloyd had mapped out a tax-efficient withdrawal plan for his retirement funds. 

He wasn’t blind to the fact that the age gap was part of what had drawn you to him. You’d wanted sexual experience, and he had plenty to offer. His sophistication and confidence were traits you appreciated in him, even as a friend. Sometimes he wondered if it was him you were drawn to, or the feeling of security he provided. You’d had too many responsibilities handed to you too early. He was good at taking charge. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the attraction stemmed from. Doubt gnawed at him. Did you want him, or did you just want someone competent, who made you feel safe? He wasn’t the only man who could meet those needs. Lloyd wished he could pretend otherwise, but he couldn’t see how both your futures could coexist in the long term.

The chime of the door announced the admission of two new patrons to the coffee shop. A pair of nurses in pink scrubs entered, giggling at some private joke as they formed a queue at the counter. Labor and delivery nurses, Lloyd guessed, judging by their uniforms. Their conversation quickly confirmed his assumption and in the tight confines of the shop, he couldn’t help but overhear them. 

“I almost called him her dad,” the brunette said. “He’s like three times her age, it's the obvious way to go!”

“Melanie flagged the chart with a note.” 

“Yeah, but by the time I saw it the word ‘dad’ was already halfway out of my mouth.” 

“You really called him her Dad?!”

“I tried to change it to Dale. The transition was not smooth. Not at all. They stared at me like I was crazy. Then I made up some B.S. about how he looks like a Dale—”

Her friend snickered. “Girl…”

“Shut up! The man has white hair! He’s lucky I didn’t call him Grandpa.”

The other shook her head. “Can you imagine having a kid with a guy that old?”

“No thanks. You?”

“Pfft, absolutely not.” She wrinkled her nose. 

“Neither of them thought this through. The risk isn’t worth it.” 

“Hell no,” her friend agreed. “The odds of all that scary genetic crap is like six times as high with fathers over forty.”

“What about fathers over eighty?” the brunette giggled. 

“You know it’s harder for guys to get someone pregnant once they’re over forty?”

“It’s like nature’s way of cutting the old timers off.” 

“Not if they’re persistent!”

They both laughed. 

Lloyd pulled out his phone and pretended to be occupied. The nurses quickly exited the shop after their orders were filled, but they’d given his thoughts a new path to wander down. There was a good chance that you’d want a family someday, given how healthy and tight-knit yours was. You were good with children. The idea of you not being a mother was somehow unfathomable to him. A chill ran down his spine. He could easily imagine the same story he’d just overheard being told about him. 

It wasn’t wise to become a father after a certain age, Lloyd mused. He cringed and shook himself, disturbed by the seriousness of the thought. There was no reason to consider such things. He had decided long ago that he didn’t want children. The Hansen line would end with him, and there would be no heir to carry on the family curse.

His mind drifted to Zach’s comment about vasectomies and his insinuation that Lloyd was keeping his options open by not getting snipped. Suddenly, that accusation hit too close to home. Being in a relationship with a much younger woman opened the door to that possibility, and you’d both been complacent by relying on only one form of birth control for the past few months.

What if you asked him for a baby? Would he be able to deny you what you wanted, even knowing the risks? He winced. No. He couldn’t be a father. He didn’t have the temperament for it, nor the energy it demanded.

You deserved to be with someone who could give you the full experience of parenthood—someone younger, willing to endure sleepless nights, with the stamina to chase after a toddler. He couldn’t picture himself running after a child at his current age, let alone keeping up with a teenager. By the time your child graduated high school, he’d be at least sixty, if not older. You needed someone with more life ahead of them than he had to offer.

Maybe you didn’t want children. For a moment, the thought sparked a flood of relief. But guilt came fast on its heels, crushing the tiny flicker of hope. How could he even think that? It wasn’t his decision to make. He had no right to wish you’d give up something as fundamental as motherhood just to accommodate his shortcomings. You might be willing to accept the limitations brought on by his age and past, but he couldn’t ask that of you. Your future didn’t need to be burdened by his realities. 

He wished he didn’t have to think of these unpleasant things, that time could freeze everything as it was and your relationship could stay vague and undefined forever, but time marched on and there was no escaping the truth. Being with him came at a cost, and you’d already paid the price. If not for your friendship with him, Court Gentry never would have known your name. If Lloyd hadn’t turned down Court’s request for help—not once, but twice—you wouldn’t have been drawn into his reckless scheme to expose the spy at Bishop & Howard. 

Then there was Westin Tafferty. His grudge against Lloyd had made you a target. Without that connection, Tafferty wouldn’t have spent months harassing and stalking you. He wouldn’t have tried to kill you. The worst part was that Lloyd still couldn’t remember meeting him; whether Tafferty hadn’t made much of an impression or Lloyd had been too high to recall their introduction was up for debate. But Zach had confirmed the truth: Tafferty had spent twenty years working for the NSA and he’d crossed paths with Lloyd on more than one occasion. Detective Diskant had recovered the flash drive you’d hidden and spent the weekend piecing things together. There was plenty of evidence, enough for three life sentences, but Tafferty had vanished.

Even forgotten memories from his past haunted him—and by extension, you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t untangle the past from the present. You’d had a brush with his past in Singapore, then again in Qatar. Apparently, those close calls hadn’t been warning enough, because this time the consequences had really caught up and now there was a machine breathing for you. 

Lloyd’s tea had gone cold, but he was still deep in thought when Zach entered the coffee shop. His leather jacket creaked, stiff from the cold, as he sat down in the opposite chair. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Zach said, unzipping his jacket. He regarded Lloyd with a knowing gaze. “You look like you’re plotting something. Care to share?”

“I’m not plotting anything.” 

Zach’s eyebrow twitched, and Lloyd sighed, amending his statement. 

“Not now at least.” 

Zach leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head. “Alright.” 

Lloyd grunted, picked up his tea and sipped, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Is that tea?”

“Yes.”

“Disgusting.”

“It’s one less addiction to manage,” Lloyd said. 

“Mmmhhh.” 

Silence fell. Zach didn’t speak. He maintained the same relaxed posture but his eyes watched Lloyd with the intensity of a hawk watching a mouse. It was a pressure tactic that worked wonders in the interrogation room. Lloyd disliked having it used on him and felt ridiculous for wanting to fill the lingering silence, yet the thoughts bouncing around in his head had to go somewhere. He weighed the risks and decided that Zach was the safest option.

“Do you ever think about…kids?”  

Zach braced his elbows on the table. “No. I settled that issue a long time ago.” 

Lloyd rubbed his jaw, scowling at the itchiness of the three-day stubble he hadn’t found time to shave off. 

“Nurses were just in here talking about congenital issues with older fathers, the odds of it and such, that’s all.” 

Zach waved his hand. “You’re borrowing trouble.” 

“I’m not saying I want kids,” Lloyd rushed to clarify. 

“Spare me the bullshit. Let’s talk about it. You’re twisting yourself up over statistics without considering the rest of the picture.”

“What do you mean?”

“How many Gulf War vets, who were exposed to God-knows-what in Kuwait, had kids? And most of them were fine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ve researched it for decades and still can’t find a strong link. Genetic problems depend on a lot of factors.” 

He must not have looked persuaded because Zach continued. 

“How many twenty-five-year olds vape? Eat a diet of pure junk food? You’re healthier right now than most younger men could dream of being. Hell, you’re drinking tea.” 

Lloyd scoffed. “I don’t drink coffee so I’m off the hook?”

“And you eat turkey bacon, which is pathetic and un-American, but to each their own. Seriously, if it’s bothering you, get your sperm tested.”

“Do what?”

“Get your sperm tested,” Zach said, as casually as if he were reminding Lloyd to check his tire pressure. 

“Sperm testing? They do that?”

“Yeah. I had mine tested before and after my vasectomy.”

“Checking it right now wouldn’t matter much. Princess and I are in different places in life. By the time she’s ready to have kids…” Lloyd trailed off. 

“Deposit it at a sperm bank, they’ll put it on ice for later. Of course that’d take all the fun out of things, but it heads off the worst-case scenario.” 

Lloyd let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Zach’s logic cut through his spiraling. 

“Get your head on straight and focus on what you can control,” Zach said. 

“Which would be?”

The blond man’s face turned serious. “I have news.” 

Lloyd arched his brow. 

“Westin is dead.” 

“Since when?” 

“His body was found this afternoon—a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

Disgust hit first, followed by a surge of regret that twisted into concern. The disgust came from the fact that he hadn’t brought about Westin’s death by his own hand. Regret came from knowing, intuitively, how Westin’s death had played out. His eyes locked with Zach’s who read the unspoken assumption in them.. 

“I didn’t do it.”

“The others?” 

“No.”

“What about…”

“Possible,” Zach said. “No one knows where Gentry disappeared to, but I have a source that thinks he’s still in the city.”

“I might have something on that.”

“Care to share?”

“No.” 

“I take it you’re going to try and talk to him one-on-one?”

“Maybe.”

Zach snorted. “Because that went so well last time around.”

“Has anyone claimed the body?”

“No. They asked Bishop to identify him. Diskant said the scene was clean. There were no fingerprints other than Westin’s on the gun.” 

“There are still loose threads,” Lloyd said. 

“If you mean Aiden, he’s been arrested. Bishop has a friend at the district attorneys’ who says he’s going to be charged with espionage tomorrow.”

“Not the loose thread I was thinking of, but that’s good to hear.” 

“Tell me where the other loose thread is and I’ll take care of it,” Zach offered. 

“No. He’s worth more to us alive than dead.”

”Are you up to talking to him? Because you look like shit.” 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Screw you.” 

He shoved back from the table, snagged his empty cup and headed for the trash can. At the counter, he was about to toss it when something in the gleaming back panel of the espresso machine caught his eye. His blood froze at the sight of a familiar face staring back at him.

Joe. 

Somehow, Joe Hansen had crawled out of the grave and back up to the land of the living. There was no mistaking that face. The deep purple circles under his eyes, the dry, reddened skin partially hidden by a heavy five o’clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes from too much whiskey left Lloyd paralyzed for a moment. When his mind kicked back into gear, his first thought was almost smug: I knew you were too mean to die. But when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one behind him. Zach had stepped out to take a phone call. The shop was empty. His gaze turned back to the reflection. The eyes weren’t brown. They were crystal blue. 

It wasn’t Joe. It was him. 

He hadn’t shaved since Friday and had the scruff to prove it. A sleepless weekend explained the bloodshot eyes and dark circles. The wind and cold, combined with neglect of his skincare routine, had stripped his skin raw, leaving it cracked and red like a drunk’s. He looked as if he’d gone on a three-day bender instead of spending the weekend in a hospital room. He looked like Joe Hansen—even more so than usual. 

Lloyd stared at the reflection until his eyes couldn’t focus anymore. It didn’t make a difference. The image was burned into his brain. It wasn’t just their physical resemblance, it went deeper. The need for control, the volcanic temper. The chaos he’d spent his whole life trying to keep at bay. He crumpled up his cup and tossed it into the canister with more force than he’d meant to. A heavy weight settled in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to outrun it, Joe’s blood still ran in his veins. He’d rather die than admit it, but the truth, that he and Joe were fruit of the same tree, was inescapable. 

He stepped out of the coffee shop into the cold. Its icy bite was nothing compared to the pain of the knowledge that was sinking into his bones. He couldn’t keep you in his life, not in good conscience, not knowing the evil that lurked inside of him. The leaves crunched under his feet and the sound was like a physical reminder: nothing lasts forever. Your relationship had already stretched long beyond its season. No matter how much he wished otherwise, soon the pieces of your lives would no longer fit together. You’d outgrow him. Once that happened, any attempt he made to patch up the seams would cause it to unravel further.

The revelation cleared his mind, though his heart felt ten degrees colder. His chest throbbed, but at least the mental storm that had raged for days finally broke, leaving a hollow stillness in its wake. There wasn’t a choice for him to make, only a truth for him to accept. Your relationship was temporary and it would soon draw to a close. He couldn’t risk holding you back or allowing his past to endanger you again. The facts were clear cut, black-and-white. There was a wrong decision and a right one.  If he wanted you to have the future that you deserved he had to do the right thing.

He had to break things off. Whether it broke his own heart didn’t matter.

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

Coming Soon - Chapter XXX

Masterlist 

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

Taglist: @denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess

@amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-doctor-help @terry2227 @jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind @kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar @awkwardgiraffe726 @pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire @maylaysia109 @liecastillo @unluckyevans @marantha @literaturelove @babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp

@calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @namelesssav @yiiiikesmish @andydrysdalerogers @mrsbarnes32557038 @lokislady82 @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @thewritergremlin-rae @raven-blue3000 @samfreakingwinchester

[returntosaturn271995]

Tuesday, November 14th, 2023: Hamburger Helper

Text out of context:

Kiera: feel you girl but trust me when I say everybody’s feels that way! I feel like that all the time. I keep telling myself damn my PA journey is slower because I’ve decided to spend some time abroad and I trip on it at least a few times a week. But then everyone around me reminds me that it’s not a fucking race, we can only control where we are right now and right now is exactly where we need to be. There’s no deadline for getting a degree, getting a dream job, having a family or getting a home. And when you look back later on in life it’ll all make sense why you are on the current path. You just have to enjoy the ride and work at being 1% better each day and push 1% closer to your goal each day

Erin Burks: Absolutely So so so true Legit re-reading this ❤️ need the reminder over and over lol

Kiera: Don’t forget it babe! And we can vent about it together when you’re here because I’m telling you I feel that way a lot too! And so does everyone I talk to.

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

I'm starting to realize that I will always be striving and always have a sense of emptiness because that is a baseline emotion for a human. It's the static behind the internal monologue, the fuzzy crackle of the TV when you turn it off at night.

My life is not a preamble to an eventual state of accomplishment. My life is happening right now. And it's a good life led by a well-meaning if slightly neurotic, late 20-something. Getting cozy with the grind is just part of that. Getting comfortable with change is part of that. Advocating for yourself is part of that.

It's growth and steps and glasses of water. We're born, we grow, we die. We nourish others along the way. I'm trying to poison myself less.

So on this less than remarkable day, a day on which I'm not that proud, I would like to note the following facts about my existence.

Perfume and clothing arrived in the mail today! Hollah- full capitalist haul and review coming oh-so-soon

Had a 30-minute lovely phone call with Dad that was way better than the super depressing one I had with Zach

Martyn bought our London hotel room and is picking me up from Heathrow in a couple of days

I made a cheesy mushroom sauce burger with red onion and watched Sex and the City with a very subdued (read: depressed) Makenna. I worry for her. Well, I worry for us all.

Stayed up working, got up early to work. I enjoy having a job.

My therapist complimented my nails. Also I'm more anxious than depressed these days. Still human, but fuck yeah we're doing the damn thing aren't we?

Did a beach/music walk and my shin splint is improved

Listened to podcasts, did the dishes, long hot shower

Read the news for maybe too long (wow, it's really awful everywhere, huh? My problems are very small in comparison)

Meditated. On imposter syndrome of all things. That's me. But I am doing things all the time to heal, aren't I? So it counts.

[thebibliosphere]

Hi Joy! I've a question. Before you were able to get finger splints, how did you find ways to write? I'm in the process of (FINALLY) getting diagnosed, largely because my hands and wrists have gotten so bad they're near unusable some days. Typing or pen-and-paper writing means they'll be useless for everything else for at least a day or two. But my brain will not stfu about writing, so something must be done somehow. Again, how to do the write when hands no want to do the do? Ty, take care.

Congrats on finally getting help with a diagnosis! So sorry you need one.

And uh, honestly, I'm not a good person to ask. I've spent the last year in hand therapy trying to undo the damage I've done to my hands by forcing them to type/write without ring splints because writing/typing is my job and I didn't have the option not to do it.

Ideally I'd use dictation more often (I like Dragon text to speech) but I also have vocal chord dysfunction from my hEDS, so that's not as helpful for me as it is for some people, lol.

That said, if you're able, dictation can be a really good way of getting the bulk of the stuff down while sparing your hands. It can take some getting used to, but once you've got your software tuned to your speech, it's amazing how quickly you can rattle through things.

If you're unable to use dictation for whatever reason, I'm going to recommend you look into finger exercises to try and maintain your hand health as best you can while you wait for accessibility aids.

These ones listed here on WebMD for osteoarthrosis are close to what I've been doing. Though we don't focus so much on squeezing or finger lifts because those aggravate my pain.

https://www.webmd.com/osteoarthritis/ss/slideshow-hand-finger-exercises

Also try to make sure you as using a good keyboard that is at the correct height for you. Ideally, your desk/keyboard should be level with where your elbows sit naturally when bent. Like this:

Full website and article here: https://www.blitzresults.com/en/ergonomic/

Magic Physio Man used to give me a telling off all the time for typing at a desk that was an inch too tall for me because even having your keyboard an inch too high can put serious repetitive strain on your shoulders/arms/hands because of the extra strain.

In terms of keyboards, you might find relief from using an ergonomic one, but for me, I've found my hyper flexibility cares less about the ergonomics and more about the size of the keyboard so I'm not always having to flex to reach things. My new keyboard is considerably smaller than my current one, and it's a lot less strain on my bendy fingers.

Also, have you looked into ring pens? You'll sometimes see them labeled as arthritis pens, and they'll often look like this:

I always thought holding pens and pencils was supposed to be agonizing until I tried these bad boys.

Anyway, that's just some of the things I do to make writing easier on my hands. I hope they are helpful! Good luck with getting things figured out!

[bubbleteaimagines]

B and D from the Soulmate Au prompt with Porco please :) ♡

Symbols on Your Skin

Porco Galliard Drabble

Authors Note: Ngl I need these new episodes to drop cause I’m running out of Porco gifs lol

B = Body Art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin)

he had to admit, you were no artist. porco knew that from the moment he got his first doodle. some type of flower, the base all twisted and the petals shaped weirdly.

honestly, he wasn’t even sure if it was supposed to be a flower, but nevertheless, he had beamed with pride whenever he got it.

the doodle that you received back was much more terrifying than yours — a very rough drawing of a titan that had honestly scared you a little.

when you first met porco, you scolded him for drawing something too scary for your ten-year-old mind to handle.

and likewise, he teased you about your shitty flower to which you scoffed and explained to him that it was a bee, not a rose.

porco had burst out into a fit of laughter at this, not being able to contain himself.

“a bee?” he had snorted, raising an eyebrow. “that’s even worse. should’ve just said it was flower.”

“shut up,” you pushed him lightly, looking down as your own smile threatened to appear. “drawing a dick on a titan was way worse, anyways. i mean honestly, who raised you?”

you both had great fun poking at the other that day. but in all honesty, you were just to finally have found each other.

D = Damage (damage done to a person also translates into their soulmate’s body (cuts, bruises and all)

growing up, you often cursed the day that your soulmate was born.

it wasn’t that you hated him or anything, it was just that he always seemed to be getting hurt, which in turn hurt you too.

cuts, bruises, gashes, you seemed to wake up with it all, almost every single day. whether it be minor or major enough for you to go to the hospital, your soulmate just wouldn’t stop getting hurt.

of course, when you met porco everything seemed to make sense.

he had been a warrior candidate growing up which explained a lot of the injuries you got. especially the bruised knuckles, which you weren’t too pleased to learn that it came from him punching reiner so often.

porco felt a little guilty burdening you all your life, but you reassured him that you really didn’t mind. you’d rather wake up every day in pain than to not have have a soulmate at all.

you were grateful for porco— even if he was a pain in your ass.

“you know, i can’t wait for you to finally become a titan,” you remember telling him as you both sat in the infirmary with a broken finger.

“oh yeah?” porco rose an eyebrow, wincing as the doctor tied his splint. “trying to get rid of me after only 13 years, yeah?”

“no you idiot,” you rolled your eyes, chuckling a little. “i just can’t wait until we can finally heal. that way i won’t have to suffer since i barely get scratch.”

“that’s a lie,” porco scoffed, shaking his head. “what about that one time you fell in a hole when you were six? we’ve still got the scar!”

“oh—!”

a pain in your ass indeed. but you knew you wouldn’t trade him for anyone else. after all, whatever your souls were made of— his and yours were the same.

[raventherogue]

I get the whole "Megatron is made of metal lol" thing but it's implied in some continuities that whatever Cybertronians are made of isn't normal metal. They can appear like cars and tanks and whatnot but routinely survive impacts and laser blasts that would absolutely crumple and destroy steel or aluminum. In TFP Bulkhead describes themselves as "living metal" in the scraplets episode. In Age of Extinction the whole premise is that the seeds cyberform organic matter and that is then harvested for the purpose of manufacturing new Cybertronians. In TFP it's also implied that Cybertronians need to heal and can regenerate; Ratchet gets his arm "broken" in episode 3 or 4 and Optimus helps put a cast or splint of sorts on him, Optimus catches a plague virus in one episode, and Bulkhead has a whole arc in season 2 where he needs to go through physical therapy after a near fatal injury. Finally, there's the nebulous nature of protoforms.

Magneto has ambiguous limits on his powers. Vibranium or Adamantine (I forget which) is considered an anti metal (whatever the fuck that means) in the comics and he can't manipulate one of the other (again I forget which). In fact they're considered "opposites" of each other and that's how Ultron is defeated in one instance. Also he can't manipulate Thor's hammer because it's made of moon rocks or something.

Depending on universe rules there's an argument to be made that Magneto can't simply trivialize the fight by crumpling Megatron or whatever. That said he's still a force to be reckoned with, given there are materials around him that he can manipulate. Sadly, the one comic run where Transformers and Marvel did crossover, Magneto was not featured (though Logan was).

Ok but serious question

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 12

thank you all so much for your patience! and for all the lovely birthday wishes <3 i hope this was worth the wait! also I know fuck all about medical stuff, please forgive me lol

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lave-e @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it 

CW: dehumanisation, pet whumpee, self-harm mentions, very negative thoughts towards not being able to walk (please note: Rowe’s negativity towards not being able to walk comes entirely from the fact he was trained to kneel & doesn’t feel that he’s ‘earned’ the right to rest, and nothing else)

-

“The hospital says your leg should be fine to walk on in like a week,” Master said, holding the letter out for Rowe to see. Rowe breathed a sigh of relief. “But that’s obviously complete bullshit. They’re only saying that because you’re a Pet. You’ll need to rest for at least a month.”

“A month, Master?”

“Oh good, your ears work,” he replied, ruffling Rowe’s hair. “Now, I’d better make you something to eat.”

And before Rowe could protest (he shouldn’t protest, Pets don’t argue back), Master had gone, leaving Rowe with the ever-deepening knot in his stomach.

This was bad.

He couldn’t even walk. How on earth was he going to be useful now? He had tried to get up today, wanting to show Master Tomas that he was good, he knew a splint was no excuse, he could still get up and serve. But all that had happened was he put an ounce of weight on the stupid thing and immediately cried out in pain, bringing Master to force him back to bed.

So he couldn’t walk. He certainly couldn’t kneel. How would he beg properly? The knot twisted so horrifically at that thought that he felt nauseous. What would he do if he couldn’t beg? How would he get food, or sleep? How would he show Master that he was sorry after he broke a rule? How would he even be properly submissive if he was just fucking sitting there with his stupid, stupid, stupid broken leg?

His fist flew down towards it, but he stopped himself just in time. It’d only make him scream again, and Master had already given him a warning about that. Instead he stared at the letter from the hospital. Tomas G…Grz…. something… 12 h-a-r-t… Hartland Road… your Pet… s-p-l-i-n-t…. bed rest for up to one week…

He turned his head away. It just said what Master had told him. Master doesn’t lie, Rowe thought absently.

When Master returned some time later with a gently steaming mug and a plate of food, Rowe decided to beg in the only other way he knew how.

“M-Master,” he began, bowing his head and holding his curled up hands together, “Please, I can walk, I’ll be fine. Please let me try.”

“No, Rowe,” Master replied immediately, making Rowe’s heart sink.

“Please- I have to kneel-”

“You don’t. You need to rest. Walking will only make your leg worse. You’re delicate.”

“Th-then, please, Master, how will I- how will I beg for food, an-and sleep, and be good…”

Master set the tray down on Rowe’s -no, Master’s, nothing here was his possession, you know that Rowe- bedside table, and perched on the end of the bed. He was wearing a thin knitted cardigan that had slid down his shoulders to gather in the crook of his elbows. His rings, three of them today, clinked together as he took Rowe’s hand. Rowe had learnt that this meant a stern order was coming.

“You don’t need to kneel, pal. You don’t need to earn food or sleep, okay? You can take them freely.”

“N-no, I have to earn it, it’s a privilege, Master.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “If I give you permission to eat and sleep every day, will you do it?”

“Of course, Master.” An order was an order.

“Then that’s what I’ll do. You can eat this lunch. It’s just some spag bol.”

“Thank you, thank you, I’m very grateful, Master.” Rowe said, bowing his head submissively. Master rubbed his thumb along Rowe’s knuckles.

“But before you eat, I do have something else I need to say to you.”

Rowe tensed, nodding. Master stood, leaving Rowe’s hand feeling cold.

“I know what’s going on, okay? With all your mystery injuries. I know you didn’t trip when you broke your nose, I know you have new cuts along your shoulders, and I don’t even know how you were planning on hiding your legs from me. Jesus Christ, Rowe,” his voice faltered, trembling ever so slightly, with something that didn’t seem like anger, “it was fucking scary. I know you’re- look, I know you’ve been hurting yourself. Okay? That’s what this is about. I know you’ve done these things to yourself and it has to stop now.”

He sank to his haunches, bringing himself down to eye level, and took Rowe’s hands- both of them. Maybe he thought Rowe might lash out and hurt him too. Rowe wanted to protest, but Master hadn’t finished speaking.

“It has to stop, love. I care about you so, so much, and I know that you have had a scary fucking life. I- well, I don’t know, I couldn’t know what it’s been like for you, and what you’ve gone through. But I know you’re often very scared, and living with me has been very new and weird, yeah? And I know that when I got you, you were expecting something very different. I’m not…trying to put words in your mouth. B-but if you’re trying to, uh, make up for a lack of punishments, this isn’t how to do that, okay. We can work something out. Right now, I have to be firm with you. If you hurt yourself again, you will be in trouble. I don’t want to frighten you, and I will do everything I can to help you with this, but what matters most is you stopping. You’ve been escalating too, starting off with your nose, then knives, and now a hammer? It isn’t safe, Rowe. Do you understand? Oh, honey-”

Master wiped away the tears that had started to run down Rowe’s cheeks. He sniffed and meekly told Master that yes, he did understand.

“Alright. Is there anything you want to say? Do you want to talk about it? Anything you want me to do differently?”

Rowe wished he wasn’t crying. Crying made him look guilty. What could he say? He wanted to kneel so much.

“…I’m sorry, Master.”

“Don’t be sorry, Rowe. Everything is going to be fine. Things will be a bit different while your leg heals…but you will get used to it. We will get used to it.”

Master’s thumb, wet with Rowe’s tears, moved to cup his face as he planted a small kiss on Rowe’s forehead. A kiss- that was new. He quite liked it.

-

thirty days until I’m useful again

The clock showed quarter past two in the morning. Master thought Rowe was hurting himself. Which did make sense -why would Master doubt his friend?- but it was wrong, and Rowe had always been taught that his owner was never wrong. Your owner doesn’t make mistakes, what they say goes, and their Pet shuts up and accepts it. But- but-

His head felt close to bursting with the conflicting information. And even worse, when Kasia next came and used him as a punching bag, Master was going to get angry. He would think Rowe had deliberately disobeyed him, and he would be so furious that after everything he had done for him, Rowe had had the nerve to ignore an order like that? After all his consideration, and patience, and, and, kindness.

He sank back against the bedframe and stared at his leg, propped up by a tower of cushions. He tried to wiggle his toes. It hurt. Was this Kasia’s plan all along? Make Rowe so pitiful that Master finally threw him out, for Kasia to snap up? The walls were caving in and here he was, helpless, watching it happen.

-

twenty-eight days until I’m useful again

“It’s getting cold,” Master said. Rowe mumbled an agreement, although he couldn’t say he felt cold, wrapped up as he was in a blanket on the sofa, his splinted leg poking out delicately. Master seemed to realise this and smiled softly. “I suppose you’re quite snug right now, aren’t you?”

“Th-thank you, Master.”

“No, no, I didn’t say it just to get a thank you. Being cold is the worst. Which reminds me, I have to take my pill. I’m a fiend for forgetting.”

“What’s your pill for, Master?”

There was a time Rowe would never have dared ask such a silly, invasive question, but Master had made it clear that he didn’t mind. He seemed to like it when Rowe talked and, as Master put it, ‘made conversation’. Besides, Rowe had never seen him take any sort of medication.

“Folic acid. For my sins. Or, well, mainly for my anemia.”

“What’s… what’s that?”

Although, maybe he was still pushing it. Old master would have laughed at Rowe’s ignorance, before punishing him for asking.

“It’s a deficiency,” Master replied casually. “Makes me cold, and grumpy, and if I stand up too fast I go blind for a few seconds. Sometimes I faint! But this little top-up keeps me in order.”

Rowe watched Master chase the pill down with some water. Something about this felt… odd. Rowe had always been taught that a Pet’s owner was perfect. But now that he thought about it, Master did always seem to be wrapped up warm, or clutching a mug of tea.

“Do- do you- do you want this blanket?” Rowe ventured nervously. Master smiled and his eyes twinkled softly.

“Aw, Rowe, that is so kind. But I’m fine, honestly. You’re the one with the splint! You need to be wrapped up. I will come and sit with you, if that’s alright. Want to put the telly on?”

-

twenty-five days until I’m useful again

TV was a new and strange phenomenon for Rowe. Master rarely put it on before, but with Rowe spending most of his days confined to the sofa, wanting for nothing, being treated far better than he deserved, he had started watching some with his Pet- a routine that didn’t last long.

“I’m remembering why I don’t watch TV much,” remarked Master, filling up the kettle and eyeing the millionth episode of some dreadful home makeover show. “Bloody daytime shite.”

Rowe agreed, but he wouldn’t dare sound ungrateful. Until-

“What do you think, pal?”

That question again. “It’s- uh- n-not that great.”

“Thank fuck. Well done on telling the truth, love. I’ll try and find something a bit more exciting.”

Telling the truth. Rowe stared at his leg, and the cuts under his shirt ached.

-

twenty-two days until I’m useful again

Rowe could hardly focus on the book he was reading. It was called James and the Giant Peach, and it was charming (and he was reading!), but he couldn’t stop his skin from crawling.

Master was sat beside him, typing away on the laptop balanced on his knees, (complaining because ever since Adam had come over everyone at work had started being weirdly polite in their emails) but for some reason his closeness wasn’t the issue. It should be, Rowe knew. He should be far more scared of his Master than he was.

“You alright, pal? Haven’t turned a page in a while. Is there a word you’re struggling with?”

Rowe flinched as Master leant in. “I really- really want to be useful, Master, please,” he admitted.

“Ahh, you’re feeling a bit restless? That’s totally normal. Happens to all people.”

But I’m not a person, Rowe thought. Maybe Master was just trying to relate.

“I know what you can do. You want a chore, right?”

Rowe nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please, Master.”

“Righty. Two secs.”

The basket of freshly dried laundry dropped onto the sofa with a thunk, and a few seconds later Master sat next to it with a ‘’here you go, pal, fancy doing some folding?’’

The itchiness went away in a heartbeat. He had barely stammered out a thank you before he had seized the first item and got to work.

When his hands brushed against Master Tomas’s he looked up in confusion. Master simply smiled at him while neatly folding a pair of trousers.

What? Was Rowe not being fast enough? Was he being clumsy? Was Master showing him how, because Rowe was doing such a terrible job? Was he- was he in trouble?

“Hey, don’t worry,” said Master, seeing the look on Rowe’s face. “Just thought I’d do my share. We both live here after all, don’t we?”

“But- but- this is what I’m for, Master?”

“You’re doing this because you wanted to. I haven’t asked. These last few days you’ve just been resting and I’ve been perfectly happy with you.”

Rowe never understood when Master spoke in riddles like that. Why couldn’t he just be direct in what he wanted from Rowe?

“O-okay, Master.”

-

nineteen days until I can kneel

“This is for you,” Master said, opening up the parcel that had clattered through the letterbox earlier and made Rowe jump. He watched as Master Tomas ran a pair of scissors through the tape, and his chest felt… fine? Like even though Master could hurt him, and he probably should, it wasn’t a scary thought. Before Rowe had a chance to think about that further, Master brought out a pair of very fluffy socks.

“For me?” he asked, even though that was exactly what he’d just been told. He just couldn’t quite believe it, even after everything Master had given him.

“Yeah! Got to keep your feet warm, pal. Want to try them on?”

Rowe nodded and slipped them on. They were patterned with red and white stripes, and they came up almost to his knee on his free leg. Master Tomas helped him fold the other down to sit underneath the splint.

“Thank you so much, they’re lovely,” Rowe said earnestly, and- even better- actually smiled. Master Tomas smiled straight back at him.

-

seventeen days left until I can use my leg

“Have you always been a Pet?” Master asked suddenly. Rowe looked up from his book, his fingers curling in at the memory of his training.

“Yes, Master.”

“You didn’t have a life before it?”

“No. I was trained to be a Pet… that’s all I know.”

This seemed to be the wrong answer. Master frowned deeply.

“Don’t you have anyone missing you? Is there someone you care about, somewhere out there?”

“Only you, Master.”

And it was the utmost truth, and Rowe hoped Master believed him, because Rowe didn’t want him to worry.

 fourteen days until I’m healed

eleven days left of resting

nine days left- because it’s good for me

five days left and I feel so much better already

three days left-

“Hey, Kas,” Master said, his voice floating down the stairs. Rowe went stiff. He had almost forgotten- Master had been so kind that he, he, he had got complacent. How did he let himself forget? “The hospital told me I didn’t ever properly sign the forms for Rowe. Call me back when you get this, and we can sort it out? Cheers, mate. See you.”

A beep. Rowe could barely breathe. He pressed a hand to his face to calm himself. It was a voicemail, Kasia didn’t pick up, there was still time-

Master’s soft footsteps padded towards him-

Rowe tried in vain not to cry. He was so weak, crying at the mere mention of his tormentor. Master was seconds from rounding the corner into the living room. Kasia would come soon. And then what? What would he do to Rowe this time? And what would Master say?

Rowe’s chest heaved with his panicked breaths.

What could he do?

[kaetastic]

MINE

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: On the streets of London, Luca Changretta feels the need to show people what’s his [requested: @supermegapauselouca​​]

warning: fluff, jealousy

word count: 2.5k

notes: thank you all so much for 600 followers! thank you for reading my works! have a good day and please take care! and i will never get tired of @supermegapauselouca​ ‘s asks! thank you so much! i hope this is alright :) my goal was 1.1k but somehow it surpassed that lol

Luca Changretta was at the land of the iconic historical royal mess, England, to accomplish a vendetta, to bring justice to his father’s death which will never be left in vain. His father was killed by a flock of infant gangsters who waved around their guns, Birmingham gangsters. People of an organisation that could barely handle shit. A reason to why Luca was slightly elated because all they ever was and will be are weakling gangsters. Not the mafia. Overlooking the two sides of the coin, the Italian, without a doubt, knew that his side of the fence possessed things Thomas Shelby will never get to touch. Just the name of the man was enough for him to regurgitate the small breakfast he had in the morning. All he needed to do was remove the Shelby’s name from existence, and he can get away to enjoy his long-awaited life in New York with his lover.

Give them the taste of their own medicine; then he might be able to finally catch pleasant snooze or deep sleep in the shared bed of his house at New York. However, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to enjoy the sights England offered. Despite the serious, vital business he was on, it didn’t hurt him to experience the foreign country. Although he’s been to England before for his cousin’s wedding, the limited time had only allowed him a few days of exploring the country he was once at. He was barely impressed with what the country had to give, there are endless words and they ended up with the name ‘spotted dick’?

With a hand stuffed in his pocket that only gave warmth to the tips of his fingers, his tongue caressed the bulging splints of the matchstick that pierced into the flap of muscle. As he stood on the bricked sidewalk, he couldn’t help but notice the drop in temperature after he exited the store. Starting a fire sounds good right about now. The noise of cars conversing one another overlapped the shouting of civilians, enough to battle against those raging factories in the industrial sections of England that clashed of ramming metal and screaming of roaring fires. There was one sound that remained the same in New York and London, a bustling noise that others would find irritating, however, the mafioso grew to like it. It gave him a sense of security, a song that he didn’t need to drag all the way from home. It also reminded him that he was not on a peculiar land of another life form; although, cowering around Birmingham felt like it.

The honking of cars echoed into his ears as if it was a practising choir of amateurs who set an uneven tone of screeching pitches and guttural hums, a song played on loop in the early rising of the sun. To be months away from home, everything started to rock him even though he reassured he was going to be just fine. The boat he had anchored on England started to dance to the wavering current of events. The Italian didn’t do well with seasickness, so, now he felt homesick. To make matters worse, the bag of coffee he had brought had begun to crumple up at the lack of the product.

He was deprived of the warm walls that were coated with hung framed pictures of him smiling, something he doesn’t often do in England. But, that wasn’t even what he had missed. There were nights he wasn’t able to find solace in the hotel bed he was to slumber in until he has taken down the Shelby’s. There weren’t occasional rustling of sheets or faint mumbling of nonsense in the middle of the night. The absence of her presence resulted in a rocky week of fluctuating sleep for the mafioso.

The prickly material of the sheets hooked onto his ageing skin, tugging on it with a snap. Travelling far from home once again, begun to peel his eyes to notice the fine details that he would usually overlook, things that didn’t bother him before, such as the frigid wind that continuously bit into him every time his toes would accidentally poke out from the heating sheets with every meticulous movement.

Luca was grateful he chose Henley Street, it was more private and reserved. Although, a part of him only wanted to stay in the Inkberrow Hotel because of its theatre past of the iconic, William Shakespeare. Though, it wasn’t good for his cranking brain. The Italian liked silence, it was where he thrived best, but because he was metres away from home, it was only scribbled in his destiny for him to worry about what was going on at home.

The torment of only a couple of hours of sleep ended when the person who consumed the majority of space in his head had appeared. After a long day of unsuccessful negotiations that were not met to his satisfaction, all the Italian wanted was Y/N. God seemed to hear his plead as she had been sitting on his bed when he creaked the door open. Even though he was against the idea of her being at England as threats can be imposed onto her (never will he trust Thomas Shelby’s words that spew out of his mouth), shoved deep down his gut was a craving need for her. With her presence, he nearly met with the floor once she mentioned coffee.

Months without seeing his girl was excruciating. International calls were better than scribbled lines on letters, but it was nothing like being in each other’s presence. Whenever he had time to ponder which was more than adequate, it always directed back to her. Without a doubt, the Italian was constantly concerned about his mother’s well-being since she was alone during hardships of losing her son and her husband in a barely digestible timespan. Audrey Changretta insisted on bringing justice to her husband’s name. Luca Changretta was a mafioso, but he was also mama’s boy. 

As a man travelling to England for a vendetta, he came to the land as a lover of theatre. Not even a hefty weight of carrying out such a traditional task will drag his shoulders down. With the addition of his girl’s presence, the Italian wasn’t perplexed to why he was on the streets of lively London, out in the open. Her words had always managed to enchant him, even before they were even official. It was as if she had the ability to cast a spell on him. It was something along the lines of ‘going out for fresh air’ and ‘not get cooped up in his own exhalation’. If she wasn’t there, Luca was sure he would be a drowning mess as months proceeded. 

The corners of his lips curled up at the thought of a happy life. A happy life with Y/N, and he was sure once the vendetta had been accomplished, the life he dreamed of as a mere boy will come true. The morning scent of cars’ passing gas and overly scented colognes battled on the golden street. Mists of smoke vaporized into the air, a present for those who lingered behind the vehicle. Gentle rattles of the metal vehicle jittered throughout the frigid metal sheets as uneven crests of the brick road created a dizzying ride. Occasional screeching of whistles from police officers trickled into his ears, to which he only let out a laugh. A smear of bitterness coated on his tongue. He wasn’t sure if it was from men who could barely call their clothing... outfits or from the sight hazed over with a pane of red. 

The white pine of the matchstick pierced into his tongue, slashing through the muscle to snip away his thrumming blood vessels. Across the bustling road was a pavement overrun by milling heads of crowds who weaved through strings of beads. The fiery head of the stick gestured towards the ground, neck nearly snapped into fragments of floating bones. Luca sat behind a brick wall to those who lingered their eyes over his suit or most likely, the prominent black ink cross on the side of his neck, but his eyes did not quiver away from Y/N’s figure. 

Although the woman who scurried over the other side of the road to check out the trinkets she had found amusing, it seemed her plans had changed. Mumbling about bringing souvenirs home, it didn’t take long for her to dash away. The Italian had to enter a shop; however, he was not worried, for his henchmen trailed behind her. After being with Luca, Y/N memorized everybody’s faces and their names. She was slightly defeated when she had spotted them following her even though she was just across the store Luca was in, but she was not surprised. The Italians were at war, which only led to an increase to his already high worry about her. 

Under the grinning sun, the woman who managed to enraptured his heart sent those smiles that would cause his ancient knees to bobble. Not to him, but another man. The glint in her eyes sparkled under the rays of light like chilly cubes of ice that were dunked in whiskey, under a faint haze of the sunset. Dressed in a navy blue knee-length dress, an outfit Luca was proud to announce an uncle of his had stitched, and the same-coloured cloche hat, it was a drooling sight for him in the morning. After insisting that the day had a lot in store for him, Luca was sure it was a tactic she had used because the night before, he had his nose dug into his papers. 

His jaw ticked. Throwing a glance at the pair of men he had assigned to follow the woman, they replied with a shrug of their shoulders. Fucking useless. A part of him nudged him to trudge over to her and swoop in. Yet, he was glued onto the spot. Fingers pinching the neck of the matchstick, he crossed his arms as he grazed his eyes over the scene. 

A giggle seeped through Y/N’s teeth as the words of the man trickled into her ears. When the boy who had been sauntering around with trinkets in his hands had paced away after she had taken one in possession, she was approached by a man in a two-piece ashy grey suit. His name was Jacob, a lover of travelling, a reason to why he had even pursued in his career despite his mother’s worried speeches. Even the reason for his approach was amusing, the odd man had found the horse trinket to be like that of his childhood’s pony. Although, he mentioned that the pony was slightly more... rounded. Without knowing Luca’s eyes were caressing over the pair, she had indulged in Jacob’s presence, “It is true, I hear of these buildings in America and I wish to see them one day.” 

The ceramic horse she had purchased sat in the cowering darkness of her purse, a noticeable addition of weight had sagged the bottom of the purse, “I hope you get a chance to see them. If you do, my boyfriend is a businessman, I’m sure he can hook you up with something, he’s actually in that store.”

Pointing towards the shop Luca had entered not too long ago, her finger ended up bullseye on his face. Y/N wasn’t sure what expression he wore when she glanced at him. Clenched with narrowed eyes, the hat that sat on his head smeared a coat of shadow over his forehead. The golden rings wrapped around his fingers glistened under the rays of light, blaring beams into her eyes. Luca quirked his eyebrows. Although she would have liked to proceed with the conversation, the blurry figure of two men in dark suit popped out in the corners of her eyes. Before Jacob had the chance to inquire for any other information, she let out a breathy sigh, “I’m sorry, Jacob. But I must be on my way, good day.” 

Jacob’s mouth cranked open, but with a glare from the two ominous people who trailed behind Y/N, it caused his mouth to zip shut. Raising her hands at the honking cars who yelled at her for sprinting across the road, she called out his name, “Luca.”

The Italian sauntered away, fingers fiddling with the toothpick as her voice fell on his deaf ears. With a huff, she stomped towards the Italian even though his colossal strides led her to go breathless, “Luca, look at what I got.” 

Yanking out the glossy horse from her purse which seemed to be painted by unsteady hands since wavering trails of pink overlapped to concoct a pastel purple which soon swirled down its poor legs, the corners of her lips curled down as she had only seen the faults under a proper angle of sunlight. Although she wore a toothy grin to the man who glanced at the mess of a trinket, Luca continued to pace to nowhere. A part of her became blue since she assumed he would find it hilarious to even be put up in their home, while the other was irritated. Y/N couldn’t care less for the horse, she was annoyed by his abrupt behaviour of a wild, untamed child, “What’s going on with you?” 

Slightly more exasperated, she weaved through the crowds who opposed current. Y/N felt like a fish who was streaming up a stream of water. Even though Luca’s lanky figure, added by his lavish suit was seen by almost everyone, no one bothered to apply the same to her. So, Luca sauntered at a casual gait, fingers twiddling with the matchstick, his legs were not crisscrossed or in coiled swirls, as everyone made a path for him, while Y/N had to duck under slabs of wood carried by workers and scoot around bawling children. Were they even supposed to be up this early? 

Then, it all clicked together. Halting on the spot which caused people to throw glances, the corners of her lips quirked up. Luca Changretta was jealous. The Italian didn’t know where he was even going, all he did was focus on the sidewalk and he didn’t bother to check the street names. That was when agile footsteps screeched in front of him, “You’re jealous,” An icy glare that would normally send everyone into shards of ashes was shot at her, which only made her grin. “Luca Changretta is jealous.”

Despite his stoic face and tight lip, her sing-song voice seeped into his heart. And oh lord, if only the corners of his lips did not twitch, the teasing would’ve ended, “You are!” Arms wrapped around the cooling fabric of his suit, she rested her body onto him. “Are you just gonna ignore me?” No words fell off his lips as he continued walking without hurling a glance. “Fine. Just to let you know, I’m wearing your favourite.” 

Shocks of volts zapped into his feet, tugging the strings of his leg to halt once her voice deepened to huskiness. Grazing his eyes the crowd, he could see her figure fading into the distant. Oh, that little minx.