#i’m pretty much like the worst patient in the world i never follow doctors orders

[castielsupernatural]

sophie my beloved bestie as a fellow kidney stone haver i have questions. 1) are you getting enough electrolytes? 2) do you find yourself craving salt (crunchy snacks/seafood/etc can be less specific examples of this) 3) take a potassium supplement. we are getting up there girlie pop and your body is not processing metals the way its supposed to. if you are a kidney stone haver, you may have to take different supplements than non kidney stone havers have a wonderful day i love you mwah

unfortunately i do not take any preventative measures despite kidney stone surgery being the absolute most humbling experience of my entire life. it’s been 2 and a half years since ive had one so i try to drink water and stay away from some stuff my urologist told me not to eat like almonds and spinach but ive definitely never pursued an electrolyte in my life besides when ive been like dying of hangover

[dinosaurtsukki]

❀ facets | “i don’t want you to see me like this” feat. chuuya nakahara

⇢ day 4 of angstcember

⇢ synopsis: you and chuuya both have sides to yourselves that you don’t want the other to see and unfortunately, the mafia brings out the worst in everyone

⇢ a/n: so here’s the chuuya angst you guys have been waiting for !! i,,, really hope that it was worth the wait i guess cause i know some of you were excited but if it’s not apologies in advance ;-;

⇢ pairing: chuuya nakahara x gn!reader

⇢ word count: 2.7k words

ANGSTCEMBER MASTERLIST (feat. haikyuu!! and bungou stray dogs)

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it was difficult to be in the mafia without spilling blood. after all, it was what the job entailed. just like everyone who joined the port mafia, you had been accepted because of your skill in eliminating targets. you always did so quickly and oftentimes mercilessly. more than a few times, mori himself had gave you solo missions to specifically assassinate unneeded targets.

and yet, you hated having to kill. you hated that from a young age, it was the only way you ever knew when it came to surviving the world you lived in. after being orphaned, you were immediately taken in by a criminal syndicate and trained to be an assassin before eventually joining the port mafia. as much as you tried to outrun this, you gave in and grew apathetic to your job requirements. ‘just do it as quick as possible, forget, and then move on,’ you told yourself during every job. 

that was until you had met chuuya nakahara.

well, it’s not like you had met him for the first time there at a local bar. everyone in the port mafia knew about the young, mafia executive with the powerful gravity manipulation ability. in fact, you had worked under him on a few assignments. despite the reputation about his temper, you found him to be quite level-headed when it came to leading your group and making difficult decisions on the spot. there was a side to chuuya that was a bit caring too and he always checked on everyone after a mission. sometimes, you’d even watch him remove his hat in respect when a fallen mafioso was reported.

“nakahara-san,” you were about to get up and bow when he waved a hand, signaling not to.

“you don’t need to do that. we’re not at work,” he scoffed, sitting on the bar stool next to you. “this is my first time here. recommend anything good?”

you were surprised at his casual-ness, especially since he was technically your boss too, but you answered his question nonetheless. “well, they always have really good whiskey.”

“can’t go wrong with that then,” chuuya said, requesting the drink from the bartender. “so, you’re l/n, right?” 

“you... remember my name?” you blinked in surprise. 

“i mean, you have worked for me. what kind of a boss would i be if i didn’t even know your name?” chuuya raised an eyebrow at you before sipping from his drink.

“makes sense,” you shrugged. “it’s just that you happen to be the first.”

“you’re also the one koyou ane-san spoke highly of,” chuuya added. “although, i heard you turned down her offer of a promotion.”

“i’m not really in great need of money,” you reasoned. “and besides, it’s pretty much the same job content anyway but i’d have to do more things.”

“well, the doing more things part you got right,” he chuckled, downing his glass before ordering a refill. “although, i get the feeling you have another reason for turning down that promotion.” chuuya looked at you expectantly and you felt as though you’ve underestimated his intuition just a bit. you looked down at your half-empty glass and sighed.

“i don’t really like being in the mafia. i’m good at my job but, i don’t care much for it, nor do i think i’m particularly good at anything else. in the end, i just feel like i’m being used?” you shook your head and laughed. “sorry, i know that sounds terribly pathetic.” 

“if you don’t like something, can you really help it?” chuuya pointed out.

“i thought you didn’t like people who chickened out?” you dared to tease him.

“that’s not the same as chickening out,” chuuya wagged a finger. “because you still do what’s being asked of you.”

“fair enough.”

“i don’t know if this helps but, you’re pretty good at tying bandages too,” he said, puzzling you slightly. “one of the doctors at the infirmary told me that tomura-san wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stopped the bleeding quickly.” chuuya downed his second glass of whiskey before placing it on the counter and paying for his drinks. “just some food for thought,” he added, before getting off the bar stool and leaving you alone.

...

whether or not chuuya had intended it, his comment did get you thinking quite a bit. you did have good knowledge of the human body, thanks to your assassin training that taught you which were the best points of the human body to strike. the port mafia boss himself was also a doctor, so who’s to say that killing people and saving lives were separate forms of knowledge.

slowly, you began to pick up on chuuya’s way of reinforcing that idea he had initially planted. when you were put in missions with him, he’d often order you to help patch up the wounded, even encouraging you to take your ‘patients’ to the infirmary. there, you’d intently watch the nurses and paramedics do their valuable work. at times, you wondered if you were really of use because you were no longer in the front lines but chuuya reassured you that what you were doing was more than enough.

finally, you decided to file in a request to transfer to the medical department. it took quite a long time for it to be processed, since you knew that you were still valuable to the organization as an assassin, but you managed to convince the higher-ups of being able to work as an on-site paramedic who could also defend themselves in the front lines.

after being accepted, you went to your usual bar for a celebratory drink. it didn’t come as a surprise anymore to see chuuya already there, waiting for you.

...

aside from holding up his reputation of being a powerful member of the port mafia, chuuya also wanted it to be known that he was a leader his subordinates could trust. ‘what’s the point of mistreating them if you know they’re ready to lay down their lives to follow your orders?’ chuuya would always reason. he wasn’t one to dote, but when he knew someone wasn’t exactly working at their very best, chuuya took it quite seriously.

you had already caught his eye the first time you worked with him on a job. there was nothing to complain about when it came to your skill. in fact, chuuya was particularly impressed with how cleanly and efficiently you eliminated your targets. it’s just that the expression on your face, one of boredom, caught his attention just as much. it almost reminded him of his own. sure, chuuya loved fighting and the adrenaline rush he got from it was like nothing else. but at one point, he had grown tired with knowing that he would win anyway no matter what. it was why he decided to put on his gloves and refrain from using his fists. 

at first, chuuya was mainly concerned with what was bothering you so he took a page out of dazai’s book -- which wasn’t something he wanted to particularly confess to -- and decided to coerce you a bit into doing something that would interest you. it wasn’t fully manipulative though, because chuuya genuinely knew you were quite good at the new skill you picked up and he could see you enjoyed that more. 

then, he noticed that there was an inarguable gentleness to you. chuuya happened to read your file out of curiosity and learned about your past being trained as a young assassin. he felt a bit sorry that a different life was robbed from you and was therefore even more motivated to help steer you down the path you wanted more.

chuuya was genuinely happy that you had joined the medical department but he did find that he was seeing you less and less. you joined a few more missions as a frontline paramedic but spent most of your time in the infirmary. it was only after it hit him that he was missing you that chuuya began to realize maybe there was something else underlying his intentions.

he didn’t like chickening out of anything but that also meant he shouldn’t chicken out with facing his feelings. chuuya couldn’t come see you at the infirmary because he never got injuries. instead, he decided to meet you again at your favorite bar, the place where he first met you for real. 

this time, he came with a confession. and so did you.

...

the first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes was the ringing in your ears and the dust that had seeped into your lungs. you blinked that same dust from your eyes before sitting up in a panic when you realized what had just happened. according to the higher-ups, the port mafia was going to be engaging with a very powerful enemy organization and you and your fellow paramedics and nurses in the infirmary were expected to be working all through the next few days. you were prepared as the bodies came flooding in and you just hoped and prayed that the fight would be over.

you had just finished stitching a particularly ugly gash when you heard an explosion from within the infirmary. and then, the screaming, and then, it occurred to you that the enemy had done the unthinkable.

there was rubble all around you and you struggled to get out but thankfully, you were still in one piece. but as you looked around what used to be an operating room, you realized the extent and gravity of the damage dealt. the enemy had just bombed a hospital. it wasn’t just port mafia members they were treating there but yokohama residents who had unfortunately been caught in the crossfire. sure, you were part of a mafia and used to be an assassin and you did kill people. but there was no dignity in bombing a hospital. 

rage flooded you as you walked around the ruins, your eyes picking up the ugly sights of what was left of the survivors and those who were terribly unlucky. and above all else, there was a terrible sadness. if you were in the frontlines, would you have prevented this?

...

chuuya’s blood ran cold when he heard the news about the infirmary being bombed by the enemy, enough to bring him to use his fist to finish off an enemy before sprinting over to where he had heard the explosions. the enemy had dealt a low blow and chuuya wanted nothing more than to finish everyone off. along with that anger came a feeling of fear that almost blinded him as he sprinted off to where the explosions came from. you were working in that hospital. if anything had happened to you, there’s no telling what chuuya would do in his anger.

only, he quickly realized that you weren’t in danger. meters away from the hospital, still dressed in your lab coat, chuuya found you with a scalpel in each hand, killing enemy attackers. only, you weren’t just killing them. chuuya could only assume it was rage that consumed you as you straddled an enemy’s corpse, driving your scalpel repeatedly into his face. 

“y/n!” he cried, grabbing onto your wrist before you could bring it down. slowly, you turned to look up at your lover. the rage in your eyes quickly turned into fear as you looked down and saw what you had done.

“i... i’m...” 

“that’s enough, y/n,” you heard chuuya say softly behind you. you dropped the scalpel and looked down at your shaking hands.

“maybe i could have stopped it,” you said shakily. “i should have been on the frontlines. i just want to help people and even now, i couldn’t even do that.” chuuya watched as you covered your face in your hands.

“what am i even good for?”

he knelt down in front of you and pulled your hands away from your face. you turned away from him.

“i don’t want you to see me like this.”

“nothing can change what i think about you,” chuuya said seriously, turning your chin to look at him. with a deft hand, he removed his gloves and slipped them over yours. “all i know is, nobody is born with hands that are meant to kill.” 

you looked down at your now-gloved hands and then up at your lover. he smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll be heading out now. do what you do best, okay y/n?”

you returned his smile and nodded with renewed determination. “alright.” 

...

you’ve always known about chuuya’s powerful ability and prowess in martial arts, but it was only after you got together with him that you learned about your boyfriend being the arahabaki. at first, you thought it was pretty cool, until you saw the pained expression on chuuya’s face as he talked about how he never really knew why he ended up connected to the arahabaki in the first place. because of his memory loss at a young age and with his terribly powerful special ability, chuuya often felt that he was inhuman.

‘maybe... that’s why he chose to help me,’ you thought, as you watched the vulnerable expression on his face that he only showed around you. 

that said, you’ve only heard about the sheer destructive ability of Corruption but because chuuya only used it in the most dire of times, you’ve never really see it for yourself. that is, until now.

you could tell that chuuya was no longer himself with the markings that covered what was visible on his skin and a grin that stretched across his face. he only activated Corruption when he knew dazai was there to stop him but it just so happened that right now, he was out of reach: floating in the sky while hurling gravity bullets around him.

“y/n,” dazai called out to you. he was heavily injured but somehow still standing. “you’ll get hurt if you stay here!”

“i need to help him!” 

with a loud explosion, chuuya dropped back down to the ground, causing the earth to cave in a circle around him. he turned with his sights set on you.

“chuuya,” you backed away slowly, terrified by his empty gaze. “it’s me, y/n! you can snap out of this!” you pleaded.

“y/n!” you heard dazai yell again. he was running towards chuuya from the other side of the forest clearing. “get out of here, he--”

you couldn’t hear the rest of what he said because with a wave of his arm, chuuya sent you flying backwards until you hit a tree before crumpling down to the ground. you felt your eyes fall shut just as dazai sprinted the last few meters to touch the back of chuuya’s hand.

with his ability nullified, chuuya fell to his knees. his body was wracked with pain from having used Corruption longer than he knew he should have. he felt dazai fall to the ground behind him and turned to find that he had promptly passed out, most likely because of the blood loss from his injuries. ‘so that’s why he couldn’t stop me quicker,’ chuuya thought. it was only after he scanned the ruined area around him that he found your crumpled form lying under a tree.

it couldn’t be.

“y/n!” he cried, hauling himself to his feet despite the roaring pain in his body. he hobbled over as quickly as he could over to you before lifting you in his arms. “y/n?” chuuya called your name again. with a groan, you stirred back into consciousness.

“you’re... back,” you smiled up at him. 

“fuck, i’m so sorry. i did this to you, didn’t i?” chuuya shook his head, feeling his hands tremble as he saw your injuries. “i’m so sorry.”

“you weren’t yourself.”

“i could have stopped myself, somehow!” he exclaimed. “i shouldn’t have let you come along on this mission. i shouldn’t have used Corruption.”

“chuuya--”

“i don’t want you to see me like this,” he hung his head. despite all his strength and connection to the arahabaki, chuuya was still human. and you didn’t care if you had to spend every day reminding him of that. 

“you’re human, chuuya,” you said softly, lifting your hand to his face and turning it to look at you. no one else would be able to see the sheer emotional vulnerability on chuuya’s face as you said those words. only you could make him feel this way. “i wouldn’t be what i am now if it weren’t for you.”

“are you really sure you want this... that you want... me?” chuuya asked. you smiled, sitting up to brush your lips against his.

“i’m sure.” 

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[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

[captainrexisboo]

In A Single Night Chp 3

HEY Y’ALL!  Flashback Chapter. Theres actually going to be a few of these, so strap in!! Y’all are gonna learn all about this au whether you want to or not. Onwards!!!

Warnings: wound description. family angst.

Chp 2 if you missed it ❤️

Tag list in the replies! Let me know if you would like to be tagged! All Comments Are Welcome!!! HERE WE GO-

EDIT: CHAPTER 4!!!

“Where is he?” Cody burst through the door to the doctor’s ward with explosive force, slamming the thick slab of oak into a thankfully sturdy table, clanging sterilized metals in their glass containers and having the overused hinges make a terrible scream. The two doctors in the room had just sat down from stitching their patient, long coats blotted with still wet red stains, and were jumping right on their feet again to the young soldier’s frantic scrambling, “What in the nine hells happened, he was just on patrol, just outside the wall-”

“Cody, Cody-” his cousin, an assistant to the surgeon, came up to him while hurriedly removing his working gloves, tossing them onto the stool he had sat on. He shushed Cody gently, placing clean, steadying hands on his shoulders and gently putting their foreheads together, “It’s alright, he’ll be okay.”

“Kix, where’s Rex?” The young Sergeant had a fearful glaze in his eyes, hands grasping onto Kix’s wrists as if to anchor himself to reality, swallowing the thick lump in his throat, not allowing one anxious tear to fall from his dark sepia stare. Kix squeezed his hold on Cody’s shoulders, keeping calming eye contact with a matching gaze, both in concern and color, before letting up and nodding in the direction to follow.

“Be quiet now, Codes. He’s asleep for the time being, as soon as he wakes up he’ll be in a world of pain,” Kix nearly pulled back the separating curtain, before his shoulders raised, turning to eye his older cousin, “It’s pretty bad...by soldier standards, it’s not anything we can’t handle, but...just brace yourself. It’s still rather grisly.”

Cody could feel the grave undertone in Kix’s voice, causing him to hold onto his breath. He gave Cody a single, slow nod, chin coming back up to point. A silent word to continue pulling the curtain back. Kix obliged, not before taking in a breath himself, the curtain pulling back with a shrill sound to rival the hinges of the medical ward’s doors.

Well. It was certainly Rex. The same shock of blond hair, heavens knows where that trait came from, but with the seemingly signature Fett jawline and nose they all seemed to carry...except that his nose had been uncentered from some brutish force, cracked back into place by the medics and turning a sickly puce, matching a bruise as big as Cody’s fist on the soft underside of his jaw. A bright red swell that was violet towards the center nearly shut his right eye, and there was thick stitching across his chin. Above the neck, Kix was right, nothing worse than an unsupervised sparring match with a bad partner. It was Rex’s shoulders and torso that had Cody turning ashen. Skin was torn and ripped, showing vulnerable muscle underneath, twitching with every strained breath Rex took in his sleeping form. Where there was skin left, Kix and the head doctor stitched together what looked like deep claw marks. Deep bruises and various scratches littered Rex’s form, but the worst damage was definitely the mauled gashes on his right chest, and left stomach. 

“What… what bite is that?” Cody pointed to Rex’s left shoulder, clearing the hoarseness of terror from his throat. This was his Corporal, his twin, looking half dead on the thin cot before him. What the hell had happened?

“Well,” Kix looked down, a little sheepish, and for the briefest distraction Cody let himself wonder how his cousin could look so embarrassed in this situation, “The doc says...he says bear attack.”

“... Bear attack?”

“Uh,” Kix looked back up, only to shoot his gaze right back down to Rex’s tightly wrapped up ankle, “Y-yeah.”

“Look at that,” Cody pointed to the giant, odd shape, in something he can only think of like a squared off crescent, voice pitching near menacingly low, “You’re a Fett, Kix. We’ve been hunting since we could toddle, does that look like a bear bite?”

“What else could it be?” Kix spat, his stress from working on close family punching through his words, “You’re ��the great Jango’s son’, why don’t you tell me? Have you seen that kind of a bite before?”

“I’ll start calling Jango my father when he starts acting like it,” Cody snarled back, looking off and raking his nails through his hair. He brought his fingers down to pinch the bridge of his nose, breathing deep and shutting his eyes tight. He let out a ragged breath, “I’m sorry, Kix, I just…”

“I know,” Kix paralleled Cody’s breathing, “It’s family.”

The moment grew heavy, the two of them finding some small, bitter comfort in the shared understanding that was their closely interwoven family. Cody clapped a hand to Kix’s shoulder, pulling him in to press their temples together, continuing to look at Rex’s resting form. He pointed vaguely to the wrapped ankle, the bandages down there free of any blood spots, a wordless question passing through the action.

“Bad sprain,” Kix mumbled, wiping a hand over his face as if to rid the dread from his expression in a single action, “We think he was running and tripped, that’s the only spot below his stomach that’s been wounded.”

Cody pushed off of Kix’s head, a wry puff of what could have been laughter breathing past his lips. If Rex was running, it couldn’t be a bear. You don’t run from bears, any hunter, Fett or not, knows that. Instead of lighting the fighting flame again, Cody sighed low, squeezing Kix’s shoulder, “And did anyone see this bear? The bear that happened to come up near the wall, a solid four hundred meters from the forest perimeter, and attack my brother who kriffin’ decided to run away-”

Oh, Cody was going to lose it. Nothing was adding up, nothing was making sense, and his mind was getting more muddled the longer he spent looking at Rex.

“Were there tracks, anything like that, anything else that confirms that this was a bear attack?”

Kix fell silent, looking back at the sprained ankle. Cody had his answer; no. They were making an assumption based on the singular fact that they don’t know what else it could’ve been- it was the best they could do until Rex woke back up.

~

“I guess a bear?”

Cody could only stare. He was ready to rip his hair out, match Rex’s closely cropped cut, “Really? A… are you sure?”

Rex shrugged, hissing a bit at the movement on his shoulder. He was bandaged up now, the salve the doctor and Kix had tenderly soothed over him as a disinfectant finally dry. He cleared his throat, voice still weary from his extended sleep, “I don’t know what else it could’ve been, Cody. It was covered in thick fur, had massive claws, and stood upright-”

“Did you run from it?” Cody cut in. He had to know, just for this to make a lick of sense.

“I…” Rex took a pause, blinking to himself, biting his lip, “...I don’t remember. I was just startled, and then I fell, when the thing…it...”

He trailed off, shaking his head, “No, that can’t be right.”

“What?” Cody pushed, near teetering at the edge of his seat, not bothering to hide his desperation, “Rex, just tell me, whatever you were going to say.”

His blond twin lifted a questioning brow, starkly dark compared to his fair hair atop his head, “Why, Codes? It’s not that important-”

“Rex. Please.”

Cody kept at his pleading stare, and Rex faltered. Cody ordered, he was their squad’s staff sergeant, he never begged. He looked at people with hardened fire in his glare and a stern scowl, not eyes as wide as dinner plates and a pathetic pout. Rex was so shaken at this  demeanor, he couldn’t do much else other than comply, “...well, like I said it stood upright. I… it felt like whatever it was locked eyes with me, and then… it started sprinting. Like a man.”

~

Cody refused to talk about the beast that attacked his brother after he heard what Rex had to say. It was clear no one truly knew, and no one would ever truly know, so he certainly wasn’t going to beat himself up over it. Rex had healed amazingly quick, tender yet sturdy scar tissue forming after about two days of changing bandages- while happy to spend some time with Kix, was elated to leave the medical ward so quick. He was let into training again a week later, like nothing had happened, and after a week more, the incident was nearly gone from Cody’s mind until he saw the gruesome scars that decorated Rex’s form when in the showers, or changing in the barracks. All was well.

Until Rex went missing a full month after the attack.

[samantha-thewinchester]

Poker Face. Works Every Time. || Before the Truth || Chapter 1

──────────────────────────────────

"Fall seven times, stand up eight."

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|| 3rd Person Point of View ||

The camera zooms in on a seemingly asleep Lily King. She lays in a hospital-like bed, heart monitor and IV's hooked up to her. The camera eventually pauses on her face, where she gasps herself awake and her eyes open, purple lightning shining in her eyes. But, she doesn't stay awake... her eyes flutter shut again, but her heart monitor says she's flatlining.

But she isn't flatlining at all.

Her heart is just too fast for the heart monitor to read.

—————————————————————————

|| Lily's Point of View ||

My eyes slowly flutter away and my eyes adjust to the bright light around me. I slowly try and sit up, hearing a loud beeping noise next to me. I look over and see that I'm hooked up to a heart monitor. Oh... that makes sense... I reach down and remove the heart monitor thingy and slide out of bed. A song is playing in the room. "Poker Face" I think. I can probably find a nurse to tell me what the hell happened, right?

But as I walk out of the room I was in, it becomes very clear I am not in a hospital at all. Especially, the sign that tells me I'm at Star Labs. The place that tried to change the world with it's particular accelator... But it failed. I remember that. I found that out right before I was... I was...

I was struck by lightning.

Holy shit, I was struck by lightning. I was struck by lightning and I lived. But I do have one question.

Why the hell am I at Star Labs?

I walk over and turn off the song, my head aching for probably many reasons. My arm was in pain, so I look down and see that I was attached to an IV. Meaning, I just ripped my IV out walking around. Shit.

You know what, whatever, I'm too lazy and confused to deal with that right now. Let's just figure out why I'm here first.

"Hello?" I call out into the halls, starting to walk further away from the room I was in. I was past a room with a bunch of computers, a cell with the name Grodd on it, and a few entrances to the particle accelerator.

"Hello?" I call out again, hearing a mechanical noise from down the hall. I quickly turn around and see Harrison Wells coming towards me... in a wheel chair...

"Lily... it's good to see that your awake." The Harrison Wells says to me. I take a deep breath, processing everything.

"D-Dr. Harrison Wells... w-what am I—" he lets out a chuckle.

"What are you doing at Star Labs? Well, I understand you might not realize why exactly you're here. That's why as soon as we found out you were awake, I came and found you. You were struck by lightning. And you were in a coma for about 10 months." I take a deep breath and begin to proccess. I've lost 10 months of my life. I've been in a coma.

Star Labs decided to take care of me?

"Now, I know you have questions." He says, moving forward towards me. "And me and my team will be happy to answer them. Just come with me, so Caitlyn can check your vitals, blood pressure-- well, you're in medical training. You must know the rest." He gives me a sickly sweet smile, before using the control on his chair to turn around and stars to ride away. I stand there, speechless for a minute.

"You coming?" He yells once he got to the end of the hallway, and I snapped out of my trance thing and quickly followed him. We walked into what looked like the manage control/main place of the building, computers and science equipment everywhere and anywhere. Dr. Wells leads me into a room, where a pretty lady with brunette hair smiled at me.

"Nice to finally meet you, Lily. I'm Dr. Caitlin Snow."

"Best doctor in the business." Dr. Wells tells me, smiling at the both of us. "I'll leave you two to it. Make sure Lily's all good to go. I'll notify her mother." Dr. Well's then rides out of the room, leaving me and Dr. Snow alone.

"If you could please sit down." Dr. Snow says, grabbing a chair for me. I smile at her, sitting down and looking around. This looks more like a lab then a doctor's office...

Dr. Snow does all the basic tests. Checking my blood pressure, my heart beat, etc. She did a few test I had never heard about before, but I just brushed them off as being normal for coma patients.

"So... what exactly happened here after the accelator failed?" I ask Dr. Snow as shes checking my eyes with the Ophthalmoscope.

"Well, a few people died... People that were in the accelator, or around..." She paused for a minute, pausing everything, before shaking it off and continuing. "Anyway, Star Labs isn't what it used to be. Just three of us now. Well, four if you count-"

"Caitlyn?!" Someone says, rushing into the room with another dude.

"Oh! Yay! She's up!" Dude #2 says, rushing over and looking me over. I stare at him confused as he runs back to check all the tests Caitlyn has done.

"Um... who's this?" Dude #1 asks us, giving me a small wave. I just smile back.

"This is Lily King. She was put into a coma, exactly like you were." Dr. Snow says, as they all share a look.

"Does that mean everything is the same with-"

"We don't know." Dr. Snow says quickly, walking over with Dude #2 to check all my tests.

"Um... Hi I guess... I'm Lily." I lift up my hand.

"Barry Allen." He replies, shaking my hand.

"Cisco Ramon!" Dude #2, now known as Cisco says, coming back over and shaking my hand that was just free of Barry's. "And let me just say what an honor it is to see you awake. You know, after you were in a coma and all--" I just laugh awkwardly.

"Lily, we need to go to another room to test for a gene if that's okay with you." Dr. Snow asks me, and I just nod.

"What gene are you looking for?" I ask her, slowly standing up.

"A meta-human gene!" Cisco says from one of the computers.

"Either I'm behind in Med school, which is possible as I was in a coma, or-"

"Or it is a new gene found the night of the partical accelator explosion..." Dr. Snow says, giving me a smile.

"And what does this gene do?"

"It gives people super powers." Cisco says bluntly, making my choke on air.

"H-He's kidding-" Barry says quickly.

"No... he's not... There is a gene which allows people to do things, giving them "super powers"." Dr. Snow explains, doing air quotes around "super powers".

"Wow... you go into a coma for 10 months and everything changes..." I say, laughing a little. No one laughs. This is my worst nightmare. I'll go home now.

We just sit there, just staring at each other/sometimes Dr. Snow and Cisco checking my test as they finish. Then, a few minutes of awkwardness, we hear footsteps and machine coming our way. I stand up just as they come into view, Dr. Wells coming in with...

"Clarke!"I say, running up and hugging her. She quickly wraps her arms around me and kisses my head, mumbling into my ear about how she was so worred for me and such.

"Thank you so much... for helping my daughter." Clarke says, going and hugging Dr. Snow, Barry, and Cisco, and then back to Dr. Wells. Well, she doesn't hug Dr. Wells, she shakes her hand.

"Of course, Ms. King. It was our pleasure." Dr. Wells smiles at Clarke.

"It doesn't matter. You saved my daughter when the doctors didn't know what was happening to her. I will forever be greatful because of that." Clarke assures him.

"Taking care of her was truly a pleasure, Ms. King. Lily is..." He looks over at me, a look I can't decipher in his eyes. "...important. She was born to do great things." Dr. Wells finishes, smiling at me.

"Damn right she was..." Clarke says, coming back over side hugging me.

"Oh, um... when can I go home?" I ask, looking to Dr. Snow for answers on this.

"Um... well... I guess you can go home now, and just come back later for your test results..." Dr. Snow tells me, giving me a small smile. I smile back, and then we say our goodbyes and me and Clarke go home.

—————————————————————————

"I ordered in your favorite, because I didn't exactly have enough time to make it myself, but that's okay because you always liked Big Belly Burgers better anway! So, drum roll please..." Clarke says, taking my burger out of the bag. I just laugh and finish putting out our two plates.

"I would never turn this down..." I agree with her, laughing as she places our burgers on our plates.

"I'll be right back with the water, okay baby..." Clarke says, as I smile and nod at her, her walking into the other 'room' to the kitchen, as I sit down at my chair. A few minutes later she comes back with two waters, but she trips and the waters go flying.

Or, they should have gone flying.

Instead, everything seemed to stop. Or, you know, move in slow-mo. The water slowly floats out of the glasses, Clarke seems to be frozen... I slowly bring my hand up to my face. I'm not... I'm not frozen.

Crash.

I look back at Clarke who is standing there, taking deep breaths, with the glasses broken on the ground.

"Damn... Sorry, Sweetie." Clarke says, grabbing paper towels and quickly starting to wipe it up. I just stand there for a few minutes, staring, before I snap out of it and start to quickly help her, cutting myself on the glass.

"Are you okay?" Clarke says, quickly checking my hand.

"Yeah... yeah... I'm fine." I grab another paper towel for my own hand, wrapping it tightly over the cut, before I start to help her again. We clean up the floor and I go and run the cut under water, trying to clean it out so it doesn't get infected.

I look up to pump some soap into my hand, and when I look back down, the cut is gone.

"What the frack..." I whisper as I hold my hand up to my face. Am I hallucinating because of the coma? Is that a possibility? I mean, I am supposed to be in med school—

"So, you ready for bed?" Clarke says, walking back in and snapping me out of my thoughts. I laugh a little, throwing the papel tower I used on my cut away.

"I think I've slept enough for a lifetime..."

"Well... then how does a movie sound? You can pick."

"No, you need to get some sleep."

"I'm sorry, I thought I was supposed to be the parent..." Clarke says, causing me to make a face at her.

"We look out for each other, remember?" I say, passing her the thing of edible cookie dough. She quickly digs into it, stuffing her face with both of our favorite food.

"Yeah, but I'm still the parent... Anyway, I'll take the couch tonight, you get the bed."

"What no-"

"Not buts. You just got out of a coma, you get to sleep in the bed. Okay sweetheart?" Clarke says, putting her foot down. I roll my eyes and sit down on the couch next to her.

"Yes ma'am." I joke, Clarke immedately giving me the mom look.

"That makes me feel old and you damn know it."

I just smile at her, try to look as innocent as possible.

—————————————————————————

I wake up in Clarke's bed, stretching quickly before getting out of bed and getting ready for the day, feeling super energetic today. So energetic, that before Clarke even wakes up, I go for a jog around Clarke's neighborho-- Around 5 blocks.

How the hell was I able to jog 5 miles? I couldn't walk to the kitchen before my coma... I come back in to a very confused Clarke.

"Where did you go?"

"I- I went for a walk..."

"You walk? Since when?"

"I don't know, just felt like I should."

"Man, you must really be sick after the coma... we should take you back to Star Labs to get you checked. You might be the Streak" Clarke jokes, standing up and putting a hand on my forehead. I laugh, shaking her hand off. "But, seriously kid, you should go back to Star Labs and get checked up."

"Before that, who's the Streak? Because it sounds like someone who runs around naked-"

"No, no. He's the city's new superhero." Clarke says laughing. "Not the point, Lily, you need to go to Star Labs-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll go after I stop at Jitter's."

"Lily-"

"Love you, Clarke!" I say, rushing out of the door. I love Clarke, but we don't need her to be worried about me. I put in my head phones and walk towards Jitters, humming as I go.

I run in, get my coffee and just as I start on my path to Star Labs, I run into, the one, the only-

"Lily! Hey..." Barry says, standing in front of me awkwardly.

"Hi. Nice to see you again..."

"Yeah, yeah! You two!" He says quickly, before quickly rushing by me. "Sorry! I have to be somewhere! Like yesterday!" He says, quickly running by me. Okay... um... Star Labs. Yeah. Let's go there.

—————————————————————————

I walk into the... what was it called? Did they even tell me it's name yesterday? You know what, it doesn't matter. All I know is that I see Dr. Snow and Dr. Wells sitting by computers with someone talking over a radio thing.

"I'm not sure how that helps me guys!" I hear Barry saying, his voice bombing throughout Star Labs.

"You can't fight him, Barry. Just keep him coming at you, that should zap his strength." Dr. Snow tells Barry through an intercom thing.

"Gas is the least stable form of matter. This meta-human will not be able to stay in his mist form for long. His particles will need to reform." Dr. Wells says, not giving me anymore information as to what is happening. Do I let myself be known or...?

Yeah, nope, I want to listen in more.

"Barry. Barry."

"We win." Barry tells Dr. Wells.

"We win what?" I say, gaining everyone in the room's attention.

"Lily--" Dr. Snow says, quickly standing up and looking at me with wide eyes.

"That is my name. Um... would someone mind explain what the hell just happened? And why the hell Barry was fighting someone that could turn into gas?"

"Well, Ms. King, Barry Allen is the fastest man alive."

"Dr. Wells-" Dr. Snow tries to stop him, but he just brushes her off as his wheelchair comes closer to me.

"And we believe you may be the fastest woman alive."

[sebastianshaw]

I'M HERE TO YELL ABOUT THE WEREMOLES AGAIN THEY'RE REALLY AMAZING AND INTERESTING AND UNIQUE AND I LOVE THEM

-While a lot of the other Changing Breeds all dislike each other for one reason or another, or at best just don't interact, the moldwarps actually had it in their laws to aid their cousins in their respective duties for which Gaia created each of them, but -- "Killing Sceatha with the Garou, allowing Ratkin to travel to Run’s End, or showing the Moldwarp Burrows to other Breeds’ Kinfolk all fall outside of the realms of acceptable aid." CLEARLY THE RATKIN DID SOMETHING LIKE I HAVE NO DOUBT THERE IS GOOD REASON FOR THAT RULE (the wererats are chaos incarnate and I love them) -k so there is basically a trinity of spirits in this setting, the Triat---the Wyld, the Weaver, the Wyrm. Generally speaking, everyone is fighting the Wyrm and sometimes also the Weaver. But the moldwarps seek true balance between all three. And there's a small group of them called Apes Redeemers who want to basically exorcise the Weaver AND Wyrm out of human beings--- "Redeemers take humans in direct service to the Weaver, or with strong behavioural traits in its favour, and attempt to cleanse them through a mixture of psychological abuse, isolation, and repurposed rites. Freethinking Moldwarps shun this Hill’s ideals as quite beyond the pale, but Redeemers hold up examples of humans who have been forced into bestial states of primitive regression, the Weaver’s hold utterly stripped away, as evidence that their methods are in fact effective." (The Weaver is like...organization, society, technology, tools, etc. Normal humans are very much Weaver creatures.) - AW BUT THERE ARE ALSO PLAGUE DOCTOR MOLDWARPS WHO GO TO DISEASE RIDDEN AREAS TO TREAT PEOPLE - In addition to being the jailers of Gaia, they are also the undertakers, burying the dead of other creatures - There are different “Warrens” or types of weremole, based on their role in weremole society and the jobs they have. Most notable to me are the Cleansers and the Wardens. Cleansers “strive to emulate the motherly aspect of Gaia in all that they do. Calm and considerate, their lot is to cure the fallen, correcting their spiritual bearing and keeping them healthy during their stay in the Den. Sadly, despite their caring natures, Cleansers make for arguably the worst weremoles to act as the face of a Sett while interacting with other Fera. Speaking of tainted beings as patients needing treatment wins few friends in the wider shapeshifter community, and Cleansers find it difficult to adjust to the more punitive mindset broadly shared by most Fera.” “ They act as their communities’ confidants and carers, conduits for the worries, stresses, and strains which would otherwise hinder important work” “ Passionate and creative both in conflict and at peace, Cleansers tend to the Burrows’ feeding, nursing, and childrearing tasks outside of their main duties” “ Most Cleansers adopt a calm and measured persona following their Vision Crawl, and are incredibly difficult to infuriate.” Whereas the Wardens are “the closest thing a Burrow has to a standing force of warriors” and “the least empathic of all Warrens. Where Cleansers are the good cops, the Wardens are their counterparts, expected to keep Sceatha in line by any means necessary for them to be successfully rehabilitated. They embody force, conviction, and authority, and are granted Gifts which reflect such qualities in order to contain and recover the corrupted.” “ these Moles are tough, courageous, and stoic. These qualities are much called upon, for it is their burden to contain, monitor, and protect Sceatha held in captivity” “ Wardens embody intimidation, conviction, and authority in every action they take. This can sometimes be expressed with the exciting encouragement of an elder sibling, the sternness of a loving parent, or the detached professional attitudes of their human namesakes.” There are others, like Trackers and Diggers and Architects, but those are more concerned with burrowing tunnels or simply finding/retrieving Sceatha (Wyrm-tainted or otherwise corrupt creatures in need of healing/rehabilitation) rather than actually guarding and treating them, so they’re of less interest to me. The Diggers do also make tunnels in the Umbra, which is the spirit world, which is a pretty cool concept. - Their Homid (human) forms are as wonderfully unglamorous as moles themselves-- “ usually naturally heavy, with excessive body hair and poor eyesight. Their hands and feet are often disproportionately large compared to their small stature and otherwise short limbs, but for these physical shortfalls they make up with greater levels of strength, health, smell, hearing, and directional coordination” A far cry from the ridiculously sexy werewolf boyfriends of paranormal romance fiction. Love it. They also typically have jobs in sanitation or rehabilitation-- “ These individuals find employment as city planners, prison guards and wardens, subway and sewer maintenance operatives, and similar jobs focused around organisation, rehabilitation, and the conservation of resources both material and human. It’s a rare occurrence that an up-and-coming track athlete or singer enters the Vision Crawl.” Again, love it. - Their Crinos form (the hybrid form or “war form”) is HORRIFYING-- “ a large amalgamation of mole and human standing at 7 feet tall and over 80 stone in weight, a hunched monster which could never exist in the natural order of the surface world [. . .] twisted faces and sightless eyes [. . .] Knife-like teeth protrude along the length of their muzzles and shovelling claws grow from each clubbed hand” - Most wereanimals are weak to silver. Some varieties are weak to gold. But weremoles are weak to obsidian and other black gems. - Unlike most wereanimals, moldwarps can become vampires, and these unfortunate creatures are called The Baogane, also known as Bugbears. They are the saddest things I have ever heard of. “ The existence of a Baogane poses burning questions to her Sett. Should she receive an honourable Final Death and be given over to Gaia? Should she be put through arduous cleansing in the small hope it works? Or, more dubiously, should she be allowed to serve the Burrow eternally? Setts who are unfortunate enough to lose one of their own to a Leech make their own decisions on what to do with their fallen kin.” “ Baoganes look similar to how they did in life, save for their fangs being unnaturally long even for vampires. In Crinos form, these fangs splay out either side of their face to resemble the curved tusks of a boar, and sometimes punch through the flesh of their gums and lips. The fur of all forms - even Homid hair - becomes permanently sharp, coarse, and patchy, again similar to that of a boar.” “ Soil does not merely cling to the fur and skin of a Bugbear as it would to any other subterranean creature, but latches on with supernatural power, reflecting the earth’s desire to see such a monster dead and buried. Over the space of but a few nights, the Moldwarp may become so covered in filth and earthen debris that her size and shape cannot be discerned.” “ Baoganes often spend their unlives trapped within cleansing chambers, awaiting rehabilitation that may never come without their much-sought-after destruction. Many are granted the Thing of Salvation, though some willing penitents are denied even that.” The “Thing of Salvation” of course, is final death. The weremoles call very important ceremonies or celebrations, Things. Thing of Deliverance, Thing of the Hill, etc. - I honestly can’t overstate how new and crazy it is they wish to rehabilitate the Wyrm-tainted and save the Wyrm itself. For DECADES the entire point of this game has been FUCK UP THE WYRM’S SHIT. The Wyrm has always been the ultimate evil, even more so than the Weaver who is technically the one at fault for it going crazy, and EVERY wereanimal has had “destroy the Wyrm’s servants” in their own laws. And yet in the weremole’s laws, you’re NOT allowed to kill Sceatha unless your own life is threatened---” Sceatha are not of sound mind and so do not deserve unnecessary harm, irrespective of their most vile actions; only once they are cured are they to be judged as independent beings by the rest of the world. If that judgment is death, then they must be returned to Gaia without delay. Destroying befouled artefacts out of hand, meanwhile, is wasteful and disrespectful of their already-violated spirits.” Like this is just...so out of line from EVERY OTHER WERECREATURE it’s WILD, and it’s no wonder all the other critters are distrustful of them AT BEST. - So, Run’s End, that place they don’t ever let the Ratkin go? It sounds AMAZING, like so beautiful and spooky. It’s this realm “where death and decay occur, but peacefully and purely. This peace, however, is maintained only by the avid cleansing of its space by high-ranking Moldwarps, making it a nigh-impenetrable refuge of solemn deathliness suspended between zones of total corruption. Only by travelling along the Run, or traversing the turbulent dimensions held up by Run’s End to eventually find a border between worlds, may a being enter this place of pure, tranquil death. All is not quite as it should be, of course, for vicious battles constantly rage at the borders of Run’s End” “ The geography of Run’s End is reminiscent of an ancient Mayan jungle, at the heart of which stands a colossal obsidian temple to the Balance Wyrm, the structure in which the Lord of the Run resides beside his High Scrivein, Sanctus, and Thegn. This temple, the Body of Death, plays host to any great debate waged by high-Ranking Moldwarps, including each and every Althing. Around the Body of Death stretches the Fungal Forest, with mycelial growths a hundred metres tall stretching as far as the eye can see, generating natural luminescences of deep purple, dark red, and ochre green. From the unseen roof of the realm slowly descend all manner of remains - of humans, animals, plants, and even concepts, hopes, and dreams long forgotten - like snowflakes, landing gently atop the fungal canopy to be slowly digested. A fine film of red, brown, and green covers the undergrowth, having seeped down from the mushroom caps high above. Amongst these fungi are found equally decomposed but animate carrion beasts of all varieties lapping up the rotting fluids: insects, corvids, and Consumer Worms as long and thick as oak trunks winding amongst the mushroom stumps, soaking in the decay Despite its dire aspect, the fear of death for any being present in the Fungal Forest is simply absent; the fact that death comes for all is readily apparent, but comes as a comfort. Though not part of the Underworld proper, the Forest is a manifestation of final rest. From the gentle dripping of corpse-fluid to the slow undulation of the Consumer Worms, there is no violation or undue destruction in this Forest, only the equalising end of all things. Indeed, all beings who enter Run’s End begin decaying almost immediately; only those with some form of supernatural regeneration, or whose protection has been specifically petitioned for, may withstand it. Equally, the Body of Death allows only full-blooded Moldwarps to enter, with instant death and rapid decomposition coming to all others. At the Obsidian Reach, young and old Moldwarps alike dig to find something that they believe will bring them renown and acclaim, with no actual promise that anything lies beneath. The Obsidian Reach was actually discovered by the Gazers of the Deep during their very first visit. The Reach is infinitely high and wide and consists of solid obsidian, which naturally is almost unbreakable by Moldwarp standards. The stone itself bears the scratch marks and gouges of generations of claws trying to breach its shell. Beyond the stone’s infinite blackness, it has been told, are beings swept up in a storm mocking those who try to reach them, lands of shining cyclopean architecture, and even the resting bodies of mighty but unborn giants. Such claims are overlooked by all but the Gazers, but this does not prevent adventurers from ceaselessly trying to breach this inky vault.” LIKE THIS IS SO EERIE AND UNNERVING AND YET STRANGELY LOVELY AND SOOTHING TO ME? I AM REALLY LOVING MOLDWARP LORE

[mrs-denton]

Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought. 

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

[artificialqueens]

(Your Body Is) Out of this World (Shalaska) - Citrus

A/N: thank u to Mistress for beta-ing and subsequently bullying me into posting this

Summary: Dr. Sharon Needles is assigned to examine the newest alien arrival on their interstellar compound. Things do not go as she planned. Smut, 3.9k words.

Sharon had never seen a specimen like this before, and she’d been working at this facility for six years. Sure, the infinite expanse of space was filled with any number of cosmic horrors, and she’d seen quite a few of its offerings, but she’d never encountered anything like this.

Looking through the shielded glass of the MRI room for the first time, she’d been astounded. Inside was a humanoid that resembled Sharon’s own race in all of the fundamental ways, but was decidedly different in others. This alien looked like, well, what an alien in a video game would look like; a feminine figure with impossible proportions, yet still enough to appear human to an extent. She was long-legged and a little gangly, but not skin-and-bones; clearly there was strong muscle and soft fat beneath her shimmering blue-green skin. Her eyes were almost completely black, and when the alien had turned to make eye contact with Sharon, she’d looked away.

A Glamtr0nian. Their planet was shrouded in mystery, its people renowned for their incredible beauty, but not much was known about their physiology. Their concept of gender was beyond the realm of human imagination, but this particular one had disclosed an identification somewhere close to the human concept of womanhood, and had expressed consent toward being referred to as a “she.”

Now it was exam day. Sharon would be conducting a physical examination of the facility’s first Glamtr0nian specimen. She adjusted her glasses nervously as she stepped in front of the exam room door, pressing her palm against the scanner and waiting for her entrance permissions to clear. The doors slid open to reveal a second set of doors, a security measure in the event that specimens attempted to make an escape. It didn’t happen often, but it was a nice precaution to have. The outer doors would be secured by armed guards as well, if Sharon needed backup or found herself in a volatile situation.

The doors opened, and Sharon stepped inside. The alien was waiting for her, sitting on the exam table and showing no signs of distress and looking, for all intents and purposes, fairly comfortable. Her long, silvery-blonde hair was no longer piled into two buns on the top of her head like it had been when she’d arrived, but was now brushed back into a sleek, shiny ponytail. Her eyes were still black as night, but her makeup was definitely toned down, as if she was barely wearing any at all. A little hesitantly, Sharon stepped forward to conduct her first test: ensuring that the alien’s translation chip had been upgraded when she arrived at their facility.

“Can you understand me?”

Turning her head at the sound of Sharon’s voice, the Glamtr0nian looked at her and nodded.

“I was getting bored in here. It’s kind of unnerving to have all of these medical instruments around me, you know.”

“I understand, sorry about that,” Sharon smiled. “My name is Dr. Needles, I’ll be performing your examination today. Do you use a name?”

“Princess Alaska Joanne Elizabeth Thunderfuck 5000 of the planet Glamtr0n. Alaska is fine, or Your Highness if you’re kinky. So what’ll you be doing to me today, Doc Needles? That’s a fitting name, by the way.”

Sharon flushed, but tried not to let it affect her. “It’s just a routine physical exam. Making sure you’re healthy and figuring out what you need in order to design an ideal habitat.”

“You make me sound like a zoo animal,” Alaska grumped. “You’re not gonna put me on display, are you?”

Sharon shook her head, taken aback. “Not at all. This is just protocol while our engineering team works on repairing your spacecraft. It would be rude to stick you in a hotel room that was badly-suited for your particular needs.”

“Oh, that’s fine then,” Alaska said, sounding relieved. “I got kinda worried when they made me do all those MRIs and x-rays and stuff. The translation chip upgrade was cool though, I needed the newest language expansion. Thanks for that.”

“I’ll let Dr. West know you appreciate it,” Sharon smiled. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Do your worst.”

They went through a few of the simpler tests, like necessary air components and temperature preference, before moving on to diet and physical activity requirements. It turned out that Glamtr0nians were incredibly adaptable, to an extent that Sharon had never seen before, and their ability to shapeshift made it much easier to assimilate to any environment that they needed to.

“Are you comfortable if we move on to a more… private portion of the exam?”

“How private are we talking, Doc?” Alaska asked with a smirk. “You gonna probe me?”

Sharon blushed. “Not quite. If you’re comfortable doing so, I’d like to ask you to disrobe and allow me to record your body’s reactions to some simple tests.” Alaska’s robe was gone before she’d even finished her sentence, and she blushed even deeper at the sight of what was essentially a naked blue-green woman in front of her, covered only by a flashy silver thong.

“I thought you’d never ask. That thing was driving me insane.”

“Really? Was the fabric uncomfortable to you?“ That would be an interesting thing to make note of, for the sake of future patients.

“The fabric was fine, it was just so loose. I prefer to wear things with a much tighter fit, or nothing at all. Personal preference. Now you can test away.” She crossed her legs and leaned back on her palms, those dark eyes looking right at Sharon with such intensity that she thought she might melt. But she had a job to do, and dammit, she was going to do it.

Sharon took a reflex hammer from the table and checked Alaska’s reflexes, which were a little faster than a normal human’s but generally pretty normal. Taking her stethoscope from around her neck, she placed it on Alaska’s bare chest and waited, trying not to be a perv by looking at her perky breasts, though they were difficult to ignore.

“Very weak heartbeat…” she mumbled to herself, and Alaska giggled.

“It’s on the other side. Here,” she said, placing her hand over Sharon’s and guiding it to the right side of her chest. Sharon tried her hardest not to blush.

“Right. Is this a normal resting heart rate for you?"

"It’s a little higher,” Alaska answered, and Sharon looked at her, curious.

“Is this exam making you nervous?"

"Sure,” the alien replied, “Let’s go with that.”

Seemingly oblivious, Sharon continued. “I hate to ask this, but how’s your sexual health?”

“I’d say it’s just fine,” Alaska purred. “I assume this is all protocol?”

“Yeah, I have to go through this part just to make sure there’s no risk of any kind of outbreak in the compound. Who you choose to engage with isn’t our business, we just don’t want anything to spread– Not that I’m implying that you have anything,” she added, blushing. “It’s just precautionary.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Alaska said. “As far as I’m aware, I’m not carrying anything. I get tested regularly.”

Sharon copied that down in her notes. “That makes my job a lot easier. Are you sexually compatible with members of species outside your own?”

“Very.” Alaska smirked. “I’d say almost universally.”

“Really?” Sharon found herself blushing again. “You have that in common with humans, then.”

“Oh, I know,” Alaska answered, giving her gorgeous doctor a once-over. Were humans exceptionally dense, or was this one just not catching onto her advances? She was beginning to get frustrated with Sharon’s apparent lack of interest. Then again, she was doing that thing where her cheeks turned all pink and she radiated warmth, which was kind of adorable. “I’ve been told that humans are the most compatible species with my own. Sexually, at least. Especially the brunettes.”

“Why is that?”

Alaska bit her lip, gazing into the doctor’s eyes. “You know, for a doctor, you’re really kind of dumb.”

“Why would you think th– oh. Oh.” Sharon took a few steps back, blushing even harder than before. “Have you been-”

"Hitting on you this whole time? Yes. Kinda wish we’d met under different circumstances, not as a doctor and patient, because you’re very attractive and I’d like to have wildly kinky interspecies sex with you.”

This was, surprisingly, not the first time an alien had hit on Sharon during an exam. However, she’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t attracted to this particular alien, and it had taken her much longer than usual to catch on to Alaska’s flirting. Come to think of it, she’d been feeling rather warm since she first entered the room… Had she just been repressing her desire this entire time? It definitely sounded like something she would do.

“You know, I think I’ve written down everything you need to be comfortable in your section of the compound,” she said slowly, looking into Alaska’s inky-black eyes. “We could always save the regular checkup for another time.”

Alaska’s eyes widened as she realized what Sharon was doing, and her cheeks turned a delicate shade of turquoise. “You’re right. After all, they’ll probably be repairing my ship for a while…"

"I’d say a few weeks at least,” Sharon agreed.

"Right. Complex craft, that one is.”

“We have plenty of time for a follow-up exam.”

“Plenty.”

“I’m sure both of us have other things we could be doing with our time.”

“Oh, I can think of a few.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. And if you don’t put your mouth on my mouth in the next ten seconds, I think I’ll explode.”

They had been inching closer to one another throughout this exchange, but when Alaska begged to be kissed, Sharon’s composure was finally broken. She leaned against the exam table, capturing Alaska’s lips with her own and letting out a surprised whine when Alaska’s tongue was much longer than she’d expected. Fuck, she’d give anything for that tongue between her legs…

“You’re so sexy,” Sharon mumbled against the alien’s plush lips, her hands moving from the exam table to rest on Alaska’s thighs. They were slightly cooler than Sharon’s own body temperature, and impossibly soft and smooth; her skin was almost comparable to silicone in its texture, but wondrously alive. “God, I want you so bad.” As her right hand moved to Alaska’s inner thigh, her fingertips brushed against the thin strap of her thong. “Can I touch you?”

“Fuck yes,” Alaska breathed, her dark eyes half-lidded with lust. When Sharon cupped her and then froze, she looked up at the doctor with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I-” Sharon blushed and withdrew her hand. “I didn’t think to ask what… what you had going on down there. I guess I just assumed it was as humanoid as the rest of you.” She bit her lip, trying not to turn an even deeper shade of red as she looked up at Alaska. When she’d touched her, she’d felt a distinct bulge, and she was both curious and turned on by whatever was hidden by Alaska’s silvery underwear.

The alien smiled coyly. “Do you want to see?” Wordlessly, Sharon nodded and took a step back to allow her patient-turned-paramour to stand. Alaska hooked her fingers under the straps of her flimsy undergarment and pulled them over her hips, sliding her panties off completely and setting them on the exam table. She hopped up onto the table once more and spread her legs, giving Sharon full view of just what she was working with.

It was like nothing Sharon had ever seen. Confirming her suspicions that Alaska was completely hairless from the neck down, the alien was bare and wet, her dewy folds all but dripping with a bright blue fluid that seemed to give off a light of its own. It looked remarkably like what Sharon expected from an alien pussy, but the star of the show made itself obvious in the place where Alaska’s clit would be, had she been human. Though blue-green like the rest of her skin and shaped somewhat oddly with a tapering tip, it was unmistakably a penis, and it was leaking the same luminous fluid as her pussy– or perhaps it had dripped down, Sharon wasn’t sure.

“Fuck. Wow."

Alaska’s external member twitched and she bit her lip, flustered. "Is that a good ‘fuck, wow’ or a bad one?"

"Definitely good,” Sharon breathed, “Holy shit.”

“Do you still want to-"

”Yes,“ Sharon interrupted her, stepping between her legs again. "I want you. Fuck.”

Alaska smiled, clearly relieved. “Y'know, Dr. Needles, you’re wearing an awful lot of clothing right now…” She tugged at the lapels of Sharon’s labcoat, teasing. “C'mon, I showed you mine…”

Sharon grinned at her and began to undress, taking her time as she stripped down to her bra and panties. With every article of clothing she removed, she watched Alaska’s member grow a little stiffer; by the time she unclipped her bra, Alaska had grown several times her original size and was dripping all over her thighs and the exam table.

“You’re so hot, come here,” she whined, reaching out for the doctor and letting out a soft moan when Sharon moved closer, one hand skimming the alien’s slender waist. “Fuck, I didn’t think a strip tease could make me so wet.”

“That’s what that is, huh?” Sharon smirked, gesturing to the little luminescent mess Alaska had made.

“Whaaat, you’ve never seen Glamtr0nian precum?” Alaska whined, clearly desperate for some kind of action. “You wanna touch me, or are you gonna make me suffer forever?"

Sharon eyed Alaska’s pulsing member, a little apprehensive. "It’s not corrosive, is it?"

"Not to humans. I’ve been told it tastes like candy, too.”

“Well now you’re just lying to me so I’ll go down on you,” Sharon laughed. “What do you call it, anyway? Your… external part, I mean.”

“Same as you,” the alien shrugged. “On Glamtr0n we all have a pussy and a cock. It’s super easy for us to fuck,” she added with a giggle. “We’re kinda stretchy and can take a lot more than it looks like. But that’s not really relevant here.”

“And why’s that?” Sharon challenged.

Alaska gave her a look, and she withered almost immediately. “Because it’s so obvious that you want me inside you,” she answered as if Sharon had already known. And, to be fair, she had a point. Sharon definitely wanted Alaska’s alien cock to rearrange her gastrointestinal structures, but she wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Yet.

“You think so?” Sharon teased, stealing a kiss. “You’ve already made a mess of yourself, and you expect me to believe that you won’t blow your load the second you’re inside me?”

Alaska chased the doctor’s lips, running her hands down Sharon’s chest and squeezing her breasts. Fuck, she was so warm and soft and human. “I guess that’s up to you… Are you gonna let me fuck you so you can find out?” She trailed a palm down Sharon’s body to cup her over her panties, and smirked when she felt that they were wet. “You’re a bold talker for someone who’s dripping just as much as I am, Dr. Needles.”

“I think you owe me a favor for making a mess of my exam table,” Sharon breathed, her eyes dark and wide as Alaska’s long fingers pressed against her. “Don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re right, I’m terribly sorry for that,” the alien princess smirked. Just like that, her fingertips had grown talon-like nails, and she used them to slice away the straps of Sharon’s panties; as soon as the wet fabric hit the floor, Alaska’s hands were back to normal, pressing between the doctor’s folds and feeling how wet she truly was.

“Could’ve warned me before you did that,” Sharon said, but it was clear from her tone that she wasn’t upset at all, and rather more turned on because of it. “Oh, fuck.” Alaska’s fingers had found her entrance and a long, slender digit curled inside her, deeper than she’d ever been touched before. Alaska smirked, cupping Sharon’s cheek with her other hand and drawing her in for a kiss.

“You’re so warm… and Goddess, so fucking tight…” Her voice was low and sultry, even more so than before, and Sharon felt weak in her embrace. “I’ll have to be nice and slow with you… Make sure you can take me…”

“You’re evil,” Sharon whined as a second finger joined the first inside her, “You shouldn’t be able to make me feel this fucking good.”

Alaska laughed. “No? Would you like me to stop, then?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sharon growled, clenching down on Alaska’s fingers and enjoying the alien’s soft gasp of surprise. “God, fuck, you’re so good.”

“You swear a lot,” Alaska grinned, feeling blindly with her thumb for the little bud that she knew resided in the place where her own cock would be. When she found it, Sharon all but whimpered, falling forward to lean against her lover’s chest for support as she worked her magic.

“Holy shit.”

“Should we change positions? I don’t want you hurting yourself,” Alaska asked, a wicked glimmer in her eye. Sharon nodded, and allowed the alien to gently maneuver her body so that she was leaning against the exam table, her legs spread just enough for Alaska to kneel between them.

“Fuck.” Sharon had wanted Alaska between her legs, and now it was happening.

The alien kissed Sharon’s thighs, remembering that humans liked it when their skin was marked up, and sucked a hickey or two into the soft flesh. Her long tongue flicked upwards, tasting the wetness that had gathered on Sharon’s folds and stifling a moan at the taste of her. “Fuck, I’ll never get tired of human pussy,” she mumbled into Sharon’s thigh, causing the doctor to giggle and blush. “You’re so fucking wet.” Her tongue slid between Sharon’s lips again, lapping at her pussy eagerly as she listened to her soft moans of pleasure. Daringly, she teased at Sharon’s entrance before darting inside and tasting her deeply, and the human woman let out a cry.

“Oh my fucking god!” Alaska was every lesbian’s wet dream, and Sharon could hardly believe she had such a gorgeous and talented woman between her thighs. “Shit, you’re so good,” she whined as that impossibly long tongue fluttered over her clit and curled against her aching pussy. If she didn’t slow down soon, Sharon was going to make an embarrassing mess of herself.

“You taste so good, baby,” Alaska moaned, taking a moment to breathe. Sharon looked down at her, brushing a silver-blonde lock of hair away from her face where it had escaped her ponytail. Alaska’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were half-lidded, and she looked absolutely debauched, like there was nowhere in the universe she’d rather be than on her knees between Sharon’s legs.

Sharon bit her lower lip, feeling her own face heat up. “You look so good like this.”

“Hardly royal behavior, is it?” Alaska breathed with a little chuckle. “On my knees pleasuring a commoner while I’m soaked and unfulfilled.” It was clear that she was being playful, but once glance at her dick made it obvious just how badly she needed to be touched.

“Come here,” Sharon said, pulling the alien princess to her feet and immediately wrapping her fingers around her weeping cock. Alaska gasped sharply, her hips thrusting against Sharon’s touch of their own accord as the doctor stroked her carefully. “Is this good?”

“So good,” Alaska whined, and Sharon tightened her grip, moving a little faster. She learned quickly that unlike humans, Alaska had more than one deeply sensitive spot; her base was just as sensitive as her tip, and when Sharon slipped two fingers into her pussy, she keened and squirmed. “You are fucking incredible,” the princess praised her, doing her best to fuck herself on Sharon’s fingers while also thrusting up into her hand. “You’ll kill me before I can cum.”

“Who says I’m going to let you cum?” Sharon teased her, laughing when Alaska let out a pathetic whimper. “I’m kidding, I promise. Although this angle is kind of awkward, so…” She pulled her fingers out of Alaska despite soft protesting from the alien, and settled for kissing her deeply instead.

Alaska’s fingers found Sharon’s clit, and their lips met once more as they pleasured one another. Sharon came first, whining and shaking against Alaska’s delicate touch, and the princess slipped out of her grasp to kneel between her legs again and clean her up. Sharon was almost painfully sensitive, so Alaska took care to be gentle with her, and kissed her hip sweetly before coming back up to kiss her on the mouth.

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” she breathed, batting Sharon’s hand away. “I’ll take care of myself.”

Sharon frowned, her mind still a little foggy from her orgasm. “You sure? I want you to feel good…”

Alaska smiled. “It’s okay. I’m kind of messy when I cum…”

“I think we’ve made a mess already,” Sharon laughed, looking around the exam room at the disarrayed tables, piles of clothing, and little puddles of fluid (mostly Alaska’s). “I’ve never seen a girl get as wet as you do.”

The alien blushed. “It’s just how our bodies work… We’re really sexual beings, we like to be ready for anything.”

“I don’t mind the mess,” Sharon smiled, stealing another kiss. “You sure you don’t wanna finish inside me?” she asked, trying to tempt her lover into another round.

Alaska bit her lip, clearly considering the offer. “I don’t think you wanna risk an interspecies pregnancy this early in our relationship,” she grinned. “I’ll try not to make too much of a mess, I promise.”

“God, just let me touch you,” Sharon pleaded, and Alaska laughed aloud. She turned her back on Sharon, leaning against her chest as her hand moved down to begin pumping herself. “How’s this?” The question came out breathier than she’d meant it to, but she could hardly be blamed for being so fucking close already; Dr. Sharon Needles was magic.

Sharon’s hands roamed over her waist and hips before moving up to knead her breasts, peppering kisses over her shoulders and neck. One hand slid between her legs, fingers pressing up inside her and moving in time with her sloppy hand movements. “This is perfect. Cum for me, baby.”

Alaska let out a low cry, cumming into her fist and around Sharon’s fingers in an explosive release of that luminous fluid, now thicker and glowing even brighter than before. Sharon’s hand, Alaska’s thighs, and the floor of the exam room were a mess, but Sharon really couldn’t bring herself to care when she had a panting, writhing alien princess pressed against her, letting out silent sobs of pleasure as she came down.

“T-told you I was messy,” Alaska managed to say, all but collapsing against Sharon’s chest. The doctor smiled, pressing a warm, liquid kiss against Alaska’s neck.

“Yeah. You’re so pretty when you cum.”

Alaska blushed cerulean. “You think so?”

“Well, you’re pretty no matter what you’re doing. But even prettier when you’re like this.” Sharon pulled her fingers out of the alien princess and turned her so that they were facing one another. “We should probably clean up, huh?”

Alaska smiled, leaning forward to kiss Sharon deeply.

“Yeah. We probably should.”

[fallout4holmes]

Nuka-World 5

Holmes held off on putting up a flag in Kiddie Kingdom; he wanted to give Oswald plenty of time to round up his remaining friends and leave town before raiders moved in. Holmes also wanted to see more of Nuka-Town's exterior, keep going before we attracted attention with his absence. I think part of him was hoping to see some chink in the wall, some flaw we could use to our advantage. Heck, I know I was.

All we found was a foul-tempered deathclaw.

"Did you ever hear Danse's recommendation for how to hunt deathclaws?" Holmes hissed as I got a stimpack in him afterward. "'Return to base and forget about it. You'll live longer.'"

I chuckled, "Man's got a sense of humor I never give him credit for. You alright?" He nodded. "Honest answer, Sherlock," I said with a small smile.

Holmes frowned and admitted, "There is a ringing in my ears, but the rest of me will be fine as soon as the stimpak does its work."

I gently tilted his head back to get a look at his eyes. "Vision blurry?"

He hesitated, "Slightly."

"I want that Dr. Mackenzie to check you out. Might have a concussion."

"We can't waste the opportunity—"

"I'm not risking you being hurt worse than you look," I said, firm. "I know I'm killing a great chance for intel, make a plan, get the hell out of this place… but damn it, Sherlock, it doesn't do me any good if you wind up getting hurt beyond repair."

"If it meant you at least could get home—"

"You're gonna stop that kind of talk right now. You're seeing the doc," I helped him up, "and we'll figure something out."

I helped him back, but he insisted on going in through the front gate on his own. He pulled it off too, not that I thought he wouldn’t. The guy’s impressively stubborn. Maybe I should have said “infuriatingly,” but I guess it’s a bit of both. The doc checked him over, with the marketplace guards looking curious all the while. No one asked any questions, and Dr. Mackenzie said he probably suffered a mild concussion and needed to take it easy a couple days.

“Limited physical exertion and mental concentration, if possible,” she suggested. I guess it’s hard for a doctor to be firm with her patient when she’s got a shock collar around her neck.

Holmes sighed, “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to be an option.”

With that, we headed back to the Overboss’s room. Gage was waiting for us by the lift and followed us up. As soon as we were safely above listening ears, Gage helped himself to the bar. “Shit,” the raider chugged a swallow of what was probably vodka, “The fuck were you thinking, boss?! Everyone’s talking about how all of a sudden Kiddie Kingdom ain’t got a rads problem anymore, you can see the fucking park instead of a green haze! Then you come walking back in, go straight to the doc, and she tells you to take it easy?”

He slammed the bottle down on the bar and started pacing. “So you went in, cleaned out the park, nearly got yourself killed, and didn’t put up a flag. What the Fuck am I supposed to do with that?” He turned to me, “Shut up, I don’t want an answer, I got an answer already lined up. You gotta understand, the new Overboss getting his ass kicked doesn’t look good.” He turned back to Holmes, “You made it here without help, that’s good, but you look like shit. Cleaning out Kiddie Kingdom, rads central. Makes sense you’d get sick. I can run that angle. No flag? Eh, who wants the kid town anyway. Besides, wanna give it time to air out or whatever. That’ll keep folks… not happy, but not angry, which is the important part. Soon as you're ready, we’ll head out for one of the other parks." Gage walked right up to Holmes then, "This time, I’m coming with. Can’t let anyone get the idea I don’t care about the Overboss’s health.”

So much for finding a way out on our own.

The Galactic Zone was west of Nuka-Town and, according to Gage, the traders used to scavenge for scrap in the space-themed park before the raiders moved in. The dead bodies by the entrance weren’t encouraging.

Holmes looked at Gage. Gage shrugged, “I dunno what killed ‘em, they were here when we took over the place.”

Holmes searched the bodies and found a holotape. It was a diary; the dead traders had come to salvage the tech in the park, but something had gone wrong. Something called a "Star Control."

"The fuck is a star control?" Gage grumbled.

"I don't know," Holmes said, pistol drawn, "but activating it somehow caused these people's deaths."

Gage was not impressed, "Killing a bunch of traders already running away don't mean much."

"I have found it is best to be cautious when dealing with technology one does not understand," Holmes said flatly.

We headed in. Considering the theme of the park, the hostile robots weren't much of a surprise, but the number and variety was a bit of a shock.

"Didn't think I'd be getting shot at by a walking refrigerator today!" I shouted to Holmes as we took cover from the bot's blue blasts.

"Is it really shooting that Quantum shit??" Gage sounded offended. He got off a few shots with his rifle, shattering the display screen on top of the fridge. It didn't seem to slow it down. “Never did have the aim to knock the batteries out of 'em,” Gage shouted, “Always had to take down robots the hard way!”

Holmes drew Oswald's sword and charged. I swore, loudly, “Damn it, Gage, don’t give him ideas!!” Gage and I rushed after Holmes as he crippled the robot. Then I saw the eyebots. And the protectron. “We got company!”

“C’mere, spare parts!” Gage growled and opened fire.

I’ll give Gage some small credit; the man’s good in a fight, even if I hate how he shanghaied us into this mess. The three of us took the robots out, but that was just the welcoming committee. The whole park was populated by modified models of robots, painted in Nuka colors. Holmes wanted to find the Star Control, figuring that whatever it was probably had something to do with the robots run amok, and the dead traders out front.

None of us were expecting it to be a huge military-grade computer mainframe.

Gage whistled low, “Well ain't this somethin'. Probably don't all work, but... I'm gonna keep my hands to myself just the same.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” I muttered.

“Least I look like something, instead of falling apart.”

“Enough,” Holmes ordered. He approached a corpse holding a black circuit board with glowing red lights. The board was the same size and shape as the empty panels all across the mainframe. Holmes placed the board in one of the panels, and the mainframe powered up.

“Guess shooting it won’t do the trick, huh?” Gage joked as Holmes accessed the terminal.

“Shooting things is rarely an effective way to gain information, Mr. Gage,” Holmes said.

“Sure it is,” Gage shrugged, “you just gotta be careful not to kill ‘em on the first shot.”

While Holmes read, I looked around. The building was a military and space exhibit, a diorama of a Quantum-blue suit of power armor on the moon enclosed by glass in the middle. The fella Holmes had taken the gadget from had a holotape on him. Turned out he was the one that turned on the robots to defend his people from Colter's raiders, before making sure that the system could handle it. ‘What’s the worst that could happen,’ he wondered.

Well.

Holmes stepped away from the terminal and gestured to the panels, “The system is a Systemized Telemetry for Automated Robot Control, or S.T.A.R. Control. These cores enable communication to all of the robots in the park. If we can find the cores, we can shut the robots down and eventually disable the defense mode they’re currently in.”

“Find the shiny rectangle things? That’s it?” Gage said.

“And not get killed by rampaging robots in the process,” Holmes nodded.

“Right. I’m so glad we picked this park to start off,” Gage headed toward the entrance, “who’s bright idea was that?”

“Yours,” I said.

It’s hard to imagine Nuka-World as a place families once came to when you’re shooting robots alongside a raider who essentially kidnapped you and your partner to force you into being his front for power… but the Galactic Zone was probably pretty impressive back in its day. RobCo sponsored a battle arena to show off its robots, there was a movie theater featuring whatever sci-fi flick of the day, a space-adventure roller coaster, everything a kid with a fascination for robots and astronauts could want. There was also a Vault-Tec exhibit.

The attraction was obviously just a way to attract customers to purchase spots in vaults. I got a kick out of the "Mutations: It Could Happen To You” pamphlet we found behind a desk. Of course, it’s not really Vault-Tec if there’s not some sort of immoral experimentation going on, and sure enough this facsimile of a vault had all the requirements. Vault-Tec used the ride to experiment on visitors. After everything we’ve found in Vaults, you’d think I’d stop being surprised.

“You ask me, whole idea of these ‘Vaults’ was messed up,” Gage grumbled as we walked through. “Sure, stick me underground with no control over anything... What could go wrong?”

“You would have made a fascinating specimen for some of the horrific experiments I’ve seen,” Holmes muttered.

Gage frowned, “I don’t know if that was an insult or not, so I’m gonna keep my mouth shut this time. But if—”

Whatever threat was lined up got cut off by the protectrons on display coming to life.

We fought our way through the park, explored the nooks and crannies of every ride and exhibit until we’d collected a hefty haul of star cores. Once we were back at the Star Control, Holmes loaded them into the panels. There were only a few empty spots left, and that was more than enough for our purposes.

“There,” Holmes announced as he accessed the terminal again. “The robots have been taken off defense mode.”

“Good,” Gage said. “Means they won’t cause any trouble for whatever gang gets this place, right?”

“Yes.” Holmes kept neutral.

“So which is it gonna be?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Gage rolled his eyes, “Well start thinkin’, boss. Sooner you hoist a flag, the sooner we can get back to Nuka-Town and get ready for the next park.”

Holmes thought for a moment. He rifled through the pack of flags and pulled out a tattered sheet with a red knife crossing four black blades painted in the middle. As he headed up one of the ramps to the second floor of the building, Gage laughed, “Shit, the Disciples? Really? Figured you’d be more fond of the Operators.”

I was frowning as Holmes came back down. He gestured that we leave. The three of us got moving, Gage leading the way back to town. “Disciples?” I asked in a low voice.

“To paraphrase something Gage said earlier, raiders aren’t good with technology. I don’t imagine the Disciples will find much relief for their bloodlust in fighting robots.”

“Unless they make the robots fight other people.”

“That’s something the Pack might attempt, but not the Disciples. They enjoy getting their own hands dirty too much. And if any of these raiders could figure out how to use the Star Control system, I imagine it would be the Operators.”

“So you gave it to the gang that would get the least use and satisfaction out of it.”

He nodded.

I smiled, just a little.

[maknaesdancersrappers]

devotee.

warning/s: very dark themes (stalking, non consensual voyeurism, extreme violence, mentions of blood, talks about abusive mental disorders, obsession, death threats??), explicit smut (masturbation, unprotected sex, cum play, cunnilingus)

Please read at your own discretion.

Jaehyun’s version of Devoted. (please read this first if you haven’t before reading this one)

wc: ~12k

a/n: this is a scheduled post; i should be out of town when this gets posted, so please leave me messages about your thoughts on this!! This will give a little insight on how Jaehyun’s mind works throughout the entire Devoted!AU.

disclaimer: I don’t know anything about how therapy works (uh,,, not yet??) and the actual inner workings of it all so please excuse any blunders if there are any in that aspect!!! I’m pretty sure even the professions I’m using are wrong, so I’m sorry huehuehue ;A; feel free to educate my naive ass.

Jeon Bohyuk sighs heavily, reading through the notes from his last therapy session from months ago. It was alarming how… troubled… this family was. His own father had warned him about taking on his position, but he still pursued it. Bound by extreme secrecy and a very, very hefty paycheck; Dr. Jeon can only do as he’s told and make sure none of these sessions make it out to the public.

It was quite difficult being the Jung Conglomerate’s therapist.

His father always told him, “The Jung’s come first in any situation and problem they face.”

A knock sounds on the door and Dr. Jeon tells them to let themselves in. The familiar face peeks through the door and politely smiles like he always does.

“Ah, Jaehyun. It’s been quite awhile, hasn’t it?” He greets, standing up to move from his desk to the armchair while the newcomer sits at the velvet chaise lounge like a routine.

“Good morning, doctor.” Jaehyun sighs, sinking his body against the furniture already.

Dr. Jeon notices the bandaged hand resting on his patient’s lap, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he picks up his pen and notepad. “So, how have you been since our last meeting? I was starting to think you would never come back.”

Jaehyun stares at the ceiling for a moment and Dr. Jeon notes it down while he starts to answer him, “I might not come back for awhile after this… my girlfriend, [Y/N]...”

“Yes?”  Dr. Jeon looks up at him through his lashes, anticipating his following words. These sessions were because of her; or rather, how Jaehyun had become obsessed with her.

“She knows about my condition. The gist, at least. I didn’t mention the actual disorder; not yet… the timing wasn’t right.”

“And?” Dr. Jeon is continuously writing down in his notepad. “How did Ms. [Y/N] react?”

“Like you predicted, she was scared. But we compromised,” Jaehyun glances at him.

He nods his head and hums in approval, “That’s good. Did you willingly tell her or?”

“No, I got caught.” Jaehyun moves his bare hand over his bandaged one, “You told me during our last session that I should try putting some distance between us.”

It was to help - and also test - his (unhealthy) obsession with her. For years, he comes in for therapy sessions to talk about her and how he feels. Any other psychologists would have been alarmed, but given his family background, Dr. Jeon simply accepted that Jaehyun had found his trigger. What troubles him, however, was his wording. “Caught? What do you mean?”

“A break?” She stares up at him, “What do you mean?”

The suggestion was out of Jaehyun’s mouth before he could actually think it through. He stops walking, resulting her to stop as well. He pouts at her, pushing her stray strands of hair away from her face. “We barely have time for each other. We’re not breaking up, but we just… take a break from seeing each other to focus on finals and getting things done for graduation.”

She gives it a thought, “I guess you’re right… Plates are piling up and most of them have the same deadline.”

“I’d love to watch you work on them and cheer you on, but we hit a bump with our thesis.”

“Then I guess a break is really something we need, yeah? But we’re not technically breaking up, right?” She stretches her arms and hook them over his nape, playing with his soft, thick hair.

“Of course not.” He almost scowls, bringing a little giggle to bubble from her chest. “Until finals are over, there won’t be any seeing each other.”

“No booty calls.”

Jaehyun is visibly disheartened by this, but still nods, “No booty calls. No de-stressing together.”

“No dates,” She adds, “Even texts and phone calls?”

“No distractions at all.” There was regret in his words already. “I can’t walk you to your classes anymore.”

Truth be told, he didn’t have to walk her to her classes. His routes to his classes don’t even graze hers; he literally goes out of his way to walk her to her room, even though he could possibly be late (maybe even locked out) of his next subject.

“This is torture, Jaehyun, are you sure about this?”

Again, before he can think it through, he nods his head and it seals the deal.

Jaehyun barely lasted a day without her, constantly fighting the urge to find her or even send her a text. Halfway through the week, he busies himself with studies but always finds his mind wandering to what she was doing. At the end of the first week, he can’t congratulate himself; he needed to know how she was, what she was doing, where she’s been during her free time; he thinks about if she had pleasured herself with him running through her mind. He needed to see her, touch her, breathe her scent in. The picture on his nightstand isn’t enough, but he doesn’t have a choice. He’s done it before, and there’s no shame in doing it again, he’s just glad he has her photo protected between glasses to make it easier to clean later.

By the second week, he is back to his old habits. He’s keeping tabs on her; following her around when both their schedules are free. His mind is at ease knowing she’s keeping to herself without him, enjoying the company of her friends - people he actually trusts - and not paying attention to other guys.

Jaehyun remembers one of his therapy sessions; how Dr. Jeon talked about how his obsession with her was borderline unhealthy. He said that there was a high chance she wouldn’t like it and would probably leave him. The thought frightened Jaehyun; losing her was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. But she was so attractive; she might not see it, but he can. He can see every guy glancing at her when she enters a room or passes by. He can see their eyes glint with appreciation as it rakes down her entire being, how they would lick their lips like she was their next meal. It made his blood boil.

He follows her around not because he doesn’t trust her; he just doesn’t trust anybody else around her.

But her roommates just had to invite her out one Friday night.

There was a permanent frown on his face as he presses his back to the adjacent wall of her bedroom window.

“No. That’s too short.”

Without even looking, Jaehyun already knew what dress her roommate had pulled out of her closet. The image of her in that little black dress that stopped just above her thighs immediately sent a reaction to his crotch. He hated that dress because everything only he should see would be exposed to the world if she so much as lean forward; but he loved to fuck her in that dress. Easy access.

“It’s cute and sexy!”

‘Damn right, it is. But it’s also for my eyes only.’ Jaehyun presses himself more into the shadows when he spots some night joggers passing by.

“But Jae-”

“Last time I checked, you and Jaehyun are currently on break. Let your legs and ass breathe while they can. You’ve kept your best assets in pants or baggy shorts because Jaehyun doesn’t like it when guys ogle them.”

‘Fuck you, Minkyung. I’m supposed to like you more than Yebin.’

“Uhm, I don’t like being ogled by other guys, too.”

‘Oh, my poor baby, don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’ll regret even looking at you.’ He shifts a bit, adjusting his half-hard cock in his pants and peeking through her blinds. He almost let out a moan; she looked so… delicious in that dress. There’s no way a guy won’t be sparing her an appreciative once-over. He quietly leaves, careful not to make the metal stairs squeak under his feet.

Jaehyun knows where they were heading. He’s heard Yebin talking about it weeks ago. A quick taxi ride later, he’s seated at the far end of the bar. He had a tall glass of beer, watching the crowd from under his cap. Minutes later, he spots her and her roommates walking in. When she turned her head to the bar, he looks down to avoid her gaze. Giving it a few seconds, he cautiously looks back up to find her making her way to an empty booth.

“Jaehyun!” Someone pats his back and he’s lucky the music drowned out his voice before it could even reach to where she is. “I rarely see you drinking without your girl, man.”

Jaehyun sighs, pulling a face at the person who welcomed himself to the empty seat beside him.

Kim Mingyu was an ace player on the baseball team. He was on the basketball team for the first year of uni with Jaehyun, but switched sports during sophomore year.

“Yeah, we’re on a break.” Jaehyun might as well entertain him. In case he gets discovered by her or her roommates, he could always use Mingyu as an alibi. “We won’t have time for each other since we’re all graduating soon.”

“Tell me about it! We just had our very last training a while ago, so we’re celebrating here. Just tossed our bats and mitts in the back of our pick-ups and drove here.” Mingyu nods to his rowdy teammates over at the corner of the room. “I’m gonna miss baseball.”

“Not going pro?” Jaehyun takes a sip of his beer, briefly glancing over to her booth where a waiter delivered her cocktails.

Mingyu thanks the bartender after the beer he ordered was served to him. He chuckles, shaking his head to his question, “Nah, I don’t love the sport enough to have it become my profession. I’m going to try and be a model instead. What about you? You left basketball for your girlfriend. Talk about being whipped.”

“Basketball is just a hobby and another way to exercise for me. Besides, I’m taking over the family business so going pro isn’t an option.”

Jaehyun continues to converse with Mingyu, still checking up on her every now and then. He’s had three beers already that had his body buzzing and although it’s not enough to make him tipsy or drunk, he stops drinking and opted for water.

“Hey, man.” Mingyu slurs a bit, “It was great catching up with you, but I should go back to my teammates, it is our last night as a team.”

“You, too. Take care, Mingyu.” Jaehyun offers a weary smile as he watches his friend shakily stumbled back to where his team was. He moves his gaze back to her booth but panicked when he found it empty. Quickly, his eyes scan the dancing crowd and he’s quick to spot her. However, relief is nowhere in his system. There was a man eyeing her from behind and his gut already told him to make his way over.

But he was too late because from what it looks like, he had touched her. Her. His girlfriend. Jaehyun’s nostrils flared, standing up from his seat and pauses. Yebin had taken care of the situation immediately, stomping on the stranger’s foot and taking her away from him.

These were the rare moments Jaehyun could rely on Yebin. He continues to watch all three of them throw some cash onto their booth, grab their things, and make a beeline for the exit. He was sure she was going home, and he’ll check up on her in a minute, but he reckons he has something to deal with first as his eyes settled on the stranger that touched what had belonged to him.

Jaehyun stalks behind the stranger as he walks back to his car alone at the back of the vast, dimly lit parking lot. He pulls his hood over his head and lowers his cap. He recognizes Mingyu’s car and without thinking, grabs the nearest bat he could from the back and continues to walk up to the stranger.

Adrenaline was pumping through Jaehyun’s veins. He could only see red; he’s seething with anger as he raises the bat over his head. Before the stranger notices him, he strikes him; straight on the head. A pained cry leaves the man as he falls to the ground on his knees, clutching his head. The only coherent thought Jaehyun has in his head is the fact that this man had touched [Y/N] and that was enough to drive him to hit the man once, twice, thrice, not stopping even when blood is sprayed onto his face. He relents once the man is knocked unconscious.

Jaehyun’s breath is ragged, assessing what he had just done. Before anyone could catch him, he runs away with the baseball bat still in hand.

Dr. Jeon has removed his glasses and has been rubbing his eyes for a good minute after Jaehyun recounts his story. “Jaehyun.”

“He’s alive.” Jaehyun crosses his arms, retreating his attention back to the ceiling, already knowing where the warning mention of his name is going.

“Okay,” Dr. Jeon says, mostly to himself, “How did you feel about this? Let’s start with Ms. [Y/N] going out in a dress you deem ‘too short’ for her to wear out.”

“I’m not mad at her. Her friends forced her into it. [Y/N] is submissive; she gives into peer pressure most of the time.”

“So you were mad at her friends?”

Jaehyun half-heartedly shrugs his shoulders, “More annoyed. They got her into the mess, but they also saved her from it.”

“And this man,”

“Kim Iljung.” Jaehyun cuts in, covering his eyes with his unharmed hand.

“Oh, so you do know him?”

“No, his assault was broadcasted the next day on campus news.”

Dr. Jeon pauses, trying his best not to release another dismayed sigh. Not only did Jaehyun refer to this man’s assault like he hadn’t done it, he doesn’t sound remorseful at all. “Okay, this Mr. Kim Iljung… do you think he deserved to be punished like that? Were you satisfied with what had happened to him?”

Without another beat, Jaehyun nods. “Yes.”

The incident at the bar must have scared her off, Jaehyun assumes, because after classes, she goes straight home to either rest up or study. It’s been nine weeks, and yes, he knows, he counts each day he hasn’t sent her a text. He knew she was home, probably asleep, but he was out for a jog so he thought he would stop by - by her window, he means. Sneaking up the emergency stairs, he peers into her room and cusses under his breath, “Oh shit.”

She had music playing loud enough that it escapes through the closed window. She left the lights open for some reason while she lay on her bed, stripped naked, legs spread apart and fingers dancing on her clit.

Jaehyun inwardly groans, kneeling down to get a better view and hide himself in the shadows. He’s palming himself, biting down on his lower lip to prevent him from being too loud. When he sees her slip a finger in, he pushes the band of his shorts down and takes his cock out of the fly of his briefs. He’s already leaking; throbbing in his hold. For weeks, he relied only on his memories and her pictures to avoid getting blue balls.

He can explode with only a few pumps while watching her pleasure herself. Even better that she had moaned followed with a whimper of his name.

“Yes, baby that’s it.” He couldn’t stop himself from saying, furiously chasing after his high when he sees she added another finger. He can’t wait for her to come first, he’ll need to leave soon.

When her free hand goes over her breast to give it a tight grip with a soft cry with name; Jaehyun can feel his balls tightening. If only she could see him, coming undone from the sight of her masturbating with the thought of him. God, he loves her.

Unable to contain it any longer, Jaehyun comes; squirting his seed onto the window pane. A groan escapes him and he knows she must have heard it; noticing how she suddenly stops and looks around the room. He ducks away while tucking himself back into his shorts just as she looks to where he was and decides in a split second to jump down from the second floor and hide among the trash bins.

“Fuck.” He breathes, landing on his feet and ducking between the garbage cans. Looking up, he sees her poke her head out the window and looking down the emergency staircase. He holds his breath in, hoping he’s completely concealed in the shadows, releasing it only when she shivers a little and retreat back into the room. When he hears her slam the window close and draw the curtains, he waits a few more seconds before standing up, dusting himself off, and walking away as casual as possible.

“Do you think what you did was wrong? Or do you think it was okay because she’s your girlfriend?” Dr. Jeon puts his pen down for second to stretch his cramping hand.

“I don’t think anything’s wrong with it. Like you said, she’s my girlfriend.”

“But did you consider how she would have felt about it?”

Jaehyun curtly laughs, “[Y/N] is an exhibitionist. I’m sure she would have liked it.”

Dr. Jeon hums, “Even if she didn’t know you actually were?”

Jaehyun falls silent, resuming his stare off with the ceiling.

“If she would have liked it as you claim, why did you run off?”

“Because we were on break,” Jaehyun snaps, “That were the rules we set.”

“Rules you had long broken. I know these sessions are for you, Jaehyun, but if you really love Ms. [Y/N], you would consider how this would affect her own mental health in the long run.”

With a deep sigh, Jaehyun’s brows knit together, “I know.”

Finals were next week. Jaehyun found out from Johnny that [Y/N] was spending an all-nighter at the library. He had just finished reviewing for the first three exams he decided to take a night jog to destress; also excusing it to check up on her and probably watch over her if she were to walk back to her dorm in the dead of the night.

After a few laps around the university park, he makes a quick detour towards the library where he chances upon her leaving. It was about time to cool down so he slows down to a stride, stops his playlist, and follows her, leaving a good distance between the two of them.

What he didn’t expect was [Y/N] making her own detour; walking towards the gymnasium. Jaehyun is confused; it’s been hours since it was closed. How was she getting in?

He watches in amusement as she jumps the fence after a quick scan of her environment, causing him to duck behind a tree. Without hesitating, he follows after her once more. When he enters the gymnasium with the same door she had just unlocked and just barely catches her slipping into the hall that leads to the pool, he should have known where she was off to.

The sound of water sloshing and her soft moan echoes from the open door, bringing a little grin on Jaehyun’s face. He loved watching her swim. He could tell how happy she is when she swam. Before he knows it, he walks up until the edge of the pool; watching her swim down to the bottom and noting the bright red underwear set she had. He looks over to the side and sees her bag and discarded clothes.

“Oh my god! Jaehyun!” He whips his head towards her, “You scared me!”

It wasn’t his intention to be discovered, but he’s not going to let the chance of seeing her swim up close pass. He takes out his earphones and chuckles, “I’m sorry.”

She frowns at him, “How did you even know I was here?”

“I was out for a jog when I saw you jump the fence.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. When she blushes at the fact she was caught trespassing, Jaehyun squats down and smiles at her, “If anything, I should be asking you why you’re sneaking into the pool after closing time.”

Then he felt his breath hitch when she bites down on her lip, swimming over to where he stood, “The past weeks have been hard on me and I need to destress. Won’t you help me, Jae?”

He wants to say ‘yes,’ but he just stared her down,  “I don’t think that’s how taking breaks from a relationship works, [Y/N].”

“We’ve made it this far, Jae. Can’t we cheat this break thing?”

Already have, babe.

“[Y/N]” He warns, although he can feel his resolve crumbling down already.

“Please, Jae. For me?” She unconsciously bats her lashes at him and he’s annoyed at himself at how he loves that.

Sighing, Jaehyun shrugs, “I don’t have my swimming trunks.”

She giggles at him, “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in my underwear.”

He watches her a little bit more and he thinks she must have thought he was hesitating, because she reaches up and unzips his jacket for him. “Do you need help or are you going to let me play by myself?”

‘Not this time, baby.’ He thinks, smirking as he rises from the ground, discarding his jacket, and peeling his shirt away.

Jaehyun pretends he doesn’t see her practically salivating when she sees his body. He pushes his running shorts down and stands in his black boxers.

She’s biting down on your lips again when he kicks his shoes off and he smirks at her before diving head first into the water. When he resurfaced, he has her trapped on the other side of the pool after swimming underneath her; trying to chase her as she playfully swim away.

Jaehyun wipes away the excess water off his face while she wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“Hi.” She whispers, laughing when he flashes her a smile as she helps push his wet hair back.

“Hi.” He breathes, grabbing onto her thighs and guiding her legs around him. “So you needed to destress?”

She nods her head, sliding the hand that pushed his hair back down the side of his face. “How are you gonna help me?”

A number of options spill through his mind as he pulls her hips closer and grinds his erection against her crotch, eliciting a cute, silent gasp from her. “I can think of a few things.”

“C-care to show me?” She stutters and Jaehyun found it so endearing that he just had to kiss her for it.

The open kiss was messy and sloppy, and it was desperate, needy, and hungry. It was absolutely carnal, especially when she claws his bare back, looking for support as she slid down his body. Jaehyun pushes her against the side of the pool for leverage while his tongue invades her mouth, stroking her own as one of his hands roughly grabs her breasts, pushing it above the water’s surface.

He watches her throw her head back and rested it against the poolside as he clumsily thumbs her hardened nipples before leaning down to trail a sloppy kiss from her cheek, to her jaw, and stopped short on the side of her neck.

Jaehyun was losing it. He needed to have her then and there; but then a high pitched whistle hurls him back to reality.

“Shame on you two, fucking in a public pool.” Deep laughter follows afterwards.

He glares over to the entrance where a group of boys watched in amusement. He can feel [Y/N] shrink into him, obviously humiliated, and he covers her body from them.

“Do you mind?” He snaps at them, defensively putting his arms around her.

“Yeah, man, we do mind.” One of them hollers, “We wanted to swim in sperm-free water.”

“Jae, let’s just go.” She whispers to him, but he doesn’t react immediately; dark eyes glaring straight to the space behind her. His breathing had slowed and became heavy with explicit images of what he could possibly do to them, if only she wasn’t present.

“Jaehyun,” She cups his cheek and makes him face her, “Baby, let’s just go.”

It takes him another second to react. He closes his eyes, ignoring the violent thoughts, and kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

The guys didn’t pay attention to them anymore as they jumped into the far end of the pool. Jaehyun helped her get out of the pool and instinctively, he checked on the guys as he got out after her. Just as he expected, one of them was checking her out while she bent over to grab her things.

“Hey!” He shouts, “I’d appreciate it if you stopped checking my girlfriend out.”

“Can’t help it, man. No wonder you can’t keep your hands off of her.” And this asshole had the gall to look at her once more in an overly appreciative manner that made his blood boil like the incident at the bar.

Jaehyun balls his fists up, trying to get the rational side of him to calm himself down.

“Jaehyun, leave him alone. It’s not worth our time, come on.” She reminds him; her words and worried tone alone was enough to calm him, but the asshole just had to interrupt.

“Do her real good, man!”

He’s seeing red again, mind completely flooded with ways on how to beat this guy up, but she’s holding onto him with a vice grip and begging softly, “Baby, please, I just want to go home.”

And he finally relents to her request. Snatching the rest of their clothing up, they both head for the locker rooms to dry up and dress before leaving the premises.

“Let me walk you home.” Jaehyun pulls her to his side after seeing her shiver.  After a while, he quietly says, “I’m sorry about those dickheads.”

“It’s not your fault. Maybe it’s the universe saying we shouldn’t be cheating on taking a break.” She huddles closer to him when a breeze blew by. “But I really miss you, Jae.”

This makes him happy. He kisses the top of her head, “I miss you, too. We have a week left. I think we can hold out until then.”

“Until then? Hold out, what exactly?” She teases, spinning on her heels as they arrive at the doorstep of her dorm.

He leans down and kisses the spot between her jaw and ear. “What could have happened back in the pool and so much more in the privacy of our homes.” He purposely whispers in a deep and low tone, tickling her ear and making her pull away with a short laugh.

“I can’t wait, then.” She flirtatiously says, and he leans down to kiss her lips. “Get home safely, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry for not helping you destress.” Jaehyun slightly pouts at her and she smiles at him.

“I had this time with you.” She shrugs her shoulders, “It helped.”

“You can always play with yourself again.” He chuckles under his breath, and a little louder, says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She quietly responded.

He hopes she didn’t hear what he said as he walks away. Waiting for the sound of the dorm doors closing, he looks back to see she had already entered. She’s back in the safety of her home, but Jaehyun still feels unsettled with what had happened back at the pool.

Forget the serious case of blue balls; he’s furious; immensely angered by the guys - especially the one who basically undressed her with his eyes and wasn’t ashamed to show it. He pulls his phone out to check the time. It’s past midnight and the guys are probably still at the pool.

By the time Jaehyun returns to the gymnasium, the guys were all leaving; not even being sneaky about it. The typical troublemaking frat boys from the other side of the campus, Jaehyun thinks with a scoff. He memorizes their faces as they noisily went home before he does the same.

It takes Jaehyun a few days to find the guy who disrespected [Y/N]. He finds him smoking behind the bleachers of the soccer field all alone - perfect. He had requested for two bodyguards to accompany him just in case he had his friends with him.

The guy recognizes him when he approaches, a lazy grin growing on his face. “Hey, weren’t you that dude at the pool with the hot girl?”

Jaehyun’s fist are already balled up at his side. So the fucker remembers him because of [Y/N]? Oh, boy.

“What’s up, man? Did you need a light?” He cheers, taking his lighter out from his pocket and handed it to Jaehyun.

It disgusts him at how he thinks it’s okay to talk to him like they were long time friends.

He ignores the lighter and stares him down, “I don’t like how you looked at my girlfriend and made crude comments about her.”

The guy looks at him like he had said something stupid, snorting, “What? Aw, come on, man, don’t act like you didn’t finish elsewhere. Besides, your girlfriend? In that little red thing? I would have-”

He couldn’t finish his lewd statement because Jaehyun reels his arm back and swings a clean cut across this stranger’s face, sending him stumbling back to the floor.

“Don’t you fucking say shit about her.” Jaehyun growls, still trying to keep himself grounded and avoid sending the guy to the hospital - mostly because he’s had a good look at his face.

“Jongmin?! Yo, what’s going on here?” Four other guys show up but Jaehyun’s already taking two steps towards the closest one and throws a hard punch on their jaw.

Everything after that was a blur. The next thing he knew his bodyguards are restraining his arms and pulling him up from the ground where one of the guys were groaning, nose bleeding profusely. Jaehyun blinks at him, eyes darting to the other bodies scattered around, writhing in pain and covered in bruises.

His bodyguards are asking him if he’s okay; if he needs to go to the hospital or be escorted home. Jaehyun’s body is both numb but also buzzing with adrenaline. Did he do this by himself?

“I’m okay. Take care of them. Pay them to shut up.” He drags his thumb on the corner of his mouth where he felt something wet, pulling away to see dark red smudged across his finger.

“You weren’t aware of your actions while you were performing them?” Dr. Jeon repeats, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge.

Jaehyun shakes his head, sipping from the tea he requested before starting the session. “Like I blacked out.”

Dr. Jeon hums once again, reading over what he had jotted down. “So like with what had happened to Mr. Iljung, you believe they deserved what had happened to them?”

“Yes.”

“And you were satisfied with it?”

“Of course.”

“Despite the injury your received?” Dr. Jeon gestures to his hand and Jaehyun dryly laughs at him.

“I didn’t get this from them.”

This was the last day of finals for everyone. This was the day Jaehyun can finally have her back in his arms. She should be done with her last exam already while he still had one more to take. Ten told him that everyone was going to celebrate at the mall, so Jaehyun said he’d catch up once he finishes his exam. But he couldn’t wait at all. He rarely flexes his wealth, but if it meant being with her again, he’d do it in an instant.

His professor wasn’t so keen about letting him take the exam 30 minutes earlier; but with the reasoning that it’s better than having him taken later on that would be more suspicious and a few thousand bills slipped in, he took the exam half an hour earlier than his classmates and finished just before any of them come inside the room.

He’s buzzing with excitement, fidgeting in his seat as he had a chauffeur drive him to the mall instead of hailing a cab to save time. She must be feeling the same way, waiting for him to come to her and end the stupid break.

But when he finds her enjoying herself, laughing boisterously and poking fun at Doyoung, he was… dismayed. He knows they go way back and is very aware of Doyoung’s sexual orientation, yet jealousy nipped at him. He sees her eyes fluttering over at him and for some reason, he dodges out of view when she looks away.

Jaehyun’s heart is racing. He knows there’s no reason for him to feel this way. Maybe it’s just excitement from being able to be with her. He goes to the men’s bathroom to collect his thoughts before returning to where she was.

When he sees her and the rest walking towards a fast food joint, he cheers himself up, mischievously creeping up behind her and Doyoung, who had his arm around her shoulders, with intentions to scare her, but then he hears:

“You’re lucky I love you-”

And something came over Jaehyun that just took control of his entire being.

He grabs Doyoung by his shoulder and punches him in the face strong enough to push him to the floor, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh? Keeping her warm for me?”

“Dude, what the hell?!” Doyoung scrambles onto his feet with Ten’s help.

He tries to step forward but [Y/N] blocks him, “Jae, what is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with  me? I finished my exam early and rushed here to see you, but I see him,” He juts his chin towards Doyoung, “With his arm around you.”

“What’s happening here?” A mall security guard approached your group.

“A misunderstanding, nothing we can’t handle ourselves. Sorry for the trouble.” She bows her head at him and grab Jaehyun’s arm. “Can we talk outside?”

He casts a glare at Doyoung before letting her pull him out. On the way to the exit, Jaehyun recognizes the group of boys he ‘talked’ to last week. They were laughing to themselves, only to abruptly stop when they see him and immediately bow their heads and steer clear from his path. Jaehyun could feel the power coursing through his veins at the sight.

[Y/N] spins around to face him once they were both in the parking lot,  “Do you want to explain yourself for what you did back there?”

Jaehyun frowns at her; realizing the weight of his outburst, “He had his arm around you.”

“I - Jae! He is Doyoung. Kim Doyoung. My best friend since pre-school. My best friend who is asexual. You know that!”

“He can’t be asexual forever. For all we know, he’s already got a crush on you!”

She looks exasperated, “Why are you being jealous of him? He’s my best friend and will always just be my best friend.”

“He just said he loves you!”

“And I love him back, as in, platonically, which I think is what he meant!” She groans in frustration. “You’re being ridiculous!”

Jaehyun scowls at her. Can’t she see what the reason behind why he did that? “I’m being protective of my girlfriend!”

She purses her lips and stares him down, “Your girlfriend that you’re technically on a break with.”

“What?” His feels his body tense up. Finals are over, therefore the break is over, too.

“Maybe we should extend the break for a week or two.” She began to step back, but he follows.

“What?” Jaehyun repeats, eyes wide and full of worry, “Why?”

“Because, Jae,” He flinches at her tone, “I need time to get over what you just did inside to my best friend and you need time to contemplate over your actions and apologize to Doyoung.”

“(Y/N).” He whines. This can’t be happening.

“Jaehyun, please.” She crossed her arms over her chest, defensively, and this stops him in his tracks; dejectedly looking at her with pleading eyes, hoping it wavers her but she just shook her head with regret and turned away, walking to the mall front.

Jaehyun watches her, heart racing so fast and hard that he feels like he’s having a heart attack. She’s walking away from him. On her own volition. Angry. At him. He wants to be mad, too. Not at her. Not at Doyoung, but at himself. This isn’t how he’d imagine ending the break to be like. He thought he could take her out on a date, not extend the stupid thing one week longer all because he couldn’t stop himself.

There’s nothing he could do right now, except fix his mess with Doyoung. He had to let her cool off. He sees her get in a car that he presumes to be an Uber and now he feels twice as bad that he spoiled her celebration with her friends.

Jaehyun returns inside and finds Doyoung coming from the men’s bathroom. “Doyoung!”

Doyoung looks at him and immediately looks both annoyed and apprehensive as he walks up to him.

“Are you okay?”

“A little sore, but I’m not bleeding or feel like my nose is broken.”

Jaehyun sighs, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Doyoung shifts his weight to one leg and crosses his arms, “It’s not a secret you’re obsessed with [Y/N], Jaehyun. I get that you’re possessive of her and all that, but you need to remember she’s my best friend. She’s practically a sister to me.”

“I know. I know.” He groans, massaging his temples. “I just really don’t know what came over. Look, you’re the only other guy I trust [Y/N] with. I’m more at ease when I know she’s out partying with you guys when you’re around - don’t tell Ten, I won’t hear the end of it.”

This makes Doyoung chuckle, “I feel the same way. I mean, you can get out of hand… but I think she’s safer with you than with anybody else.”

“That means a lot to me, Doyoung.” Jaehyun weakly smiles at him, “I’m really sorry again. I can take you to the hospital and pay for everything.”

“I swear, I’m okay. Let’s just have dinner with the rest.”

He shakes his head, “I’ll skip this time. [Y/N] went home already and I don’t feel good about upsetting her.”

He offers him a sympathetic smile, “Don’t stress about it. Let her cool down for a day or two and the whole thing will blow over sooner than you think.”

Jaehyun believed Doyoung, but it’s been three days and not a single peep from her. She was probably holding onto her word about extending the break for a whole, full week, but Jaehyun was at his wit’s end. He distracted himself by going to the gym, taking multiple jogs, or just simply locking himself up his room and waiting for some online activity from her.

He needed to do something.

After an afternoon run, Jaehyun picks up a cheap, old prepaid phone and returns home to shower. He pulls on a shirt and some ripped jeans, and sits on his bed while punching in her phone number on the old phone. He hesitates pressing the faded green phone icon button on the small device; he knows this is going to traumatize her. But what else can he do? He can’t just wait anymore.

He flips the phone close and tucks it into his pocket. Johnny isn’t sleeping here tonight, so Jaehyun doesn’t have to be worried about looking suspicious as he sneaks in and out of their dorm. Before he leaves, he grabs a hoodie and a mask.

It was past 8 when Jaehyun arrives at her dorm; it was dark already thanks to the sky being covered with thick clouds and the sidewalks barely illuminated by the street lamps. Her room had no light in it and Jaehyun finds it odd, but decides against walking up the emergency stairs. He takes the old phone out of his pocket and dials her number, putting the device to his ear.

It rings thrice before she picks up, her groggy voice told Jaehyun she was merely asleep. “Hello?”

Jaehyun wants to talk to her, but he keeps quiet; focusing on the background noise at her end. He hears the volume of the television soften and the distinct squeak of her couch as he assumes she was sitting up from it.

“Hello? Who is this?” She asks again, yet he still doesn’t say anything as he carefully walks up to the front of the dorm where the window of her living room was. He can make out her figure by the window; watching her walk away from it after she had hung up on him.

He’s hidden by tall shrubs as he tries to guess what she was doing inside. She didn’t open the living room lights, but the soft glow emanating from the window tells him she was in the kitchen. His own phone vibrates and he quickly checks it, seeing that she was online and liking posts and photos of their friends. He quietly monitors her activity until he sees her reacting to Taeyong’s photo.

Taeyong was his friend. He introduced them to each other and even he can’t deny how good looking the boy was. He’d normally let it pass, but she specifically used the ‘heart eyes’ react button and she only ever use that on his posts for her and never with anybody else. Jealousy is creeping back over him, momentarily disrupted by the distinct sound of Minkyung and Yebin talking loudly as they approach their dorm.

Jaehyun ducks down and waits for them to enter the building before he redials her number, pulling the hood of his jacket until it shadowed his face and putting his mask on to cover half of his face. He’s angry; he doesn’t mean to be, but it’s the only thing he can feel at the moment.

She sounded aggravated when she picked his call up, “Hello? Hello? This better not be a prank call.”

He wanted to laugh at how cute she was trying to be intimidating. He doesn’t try to hide his breathing this time, letting it barely fill the silence of his end of the call.

“Hello? Who is this?”

Jaehyun looks up and he sees her… staring at him.

Well, hello there.

He lets out a soft heave and ends the call when she starts screaming.

He quickly fleas the scene, especially hearing her roommates’ concerned shouts. As he runs away, he takes out the battery of the old phone and tosses it in the bushes when he was a good five blocks away. When he’s back at home, he’s experiencing a flurry of emotions; he’s worried about her, first and foremost, he had never heard her scream like that before. He also felt disgusted at himself for scaring her. He feels a bit antsy because what if someone had seen him? But among these, he doesn’t regret what he had done. It felt like the only way - to him, at least - for her to go back to him.

Jaehyun, like most nights, couldn’t sleep at all; but when he does, it only lasted three hours. He was fully awake by 10AM because he receives a text from Johnny asking if he wanted food. Doyoung had graciously called him thrice last night, but didn’t pick up to make it seem like he slept early and responded to his messages in faux panic when he woke up.

Johnny’s home by 11 and Jaehyun is waiting for her to text him on the couch.

“Flowers for you, good sir.” Johnny fakes an English accent as he hands the bouquet Jaehyun requested to him. “And a nice, warm continental breakfast for brunch.”

He helps him prepare their food on the coffee table, promising to pay him for the flowers.

“Hey, I heard from Ten about [Y/N]. Is she okay?” Johnny slides him the tupperware of pancakes.

“I don’t know. Doyoung says she is and her roommates are taking care of her.” Jaehyun lets out a sigh to convince Johnny how worried he was. “I wish I hadn’t slept early. I would have gone to her immediately if I knew what had happened.”

Johnny nods, “At least she wasn’t physically harmed.”

“I hope they find that fucker.” He hopes the fuck not.

After eating, Jaehyun excuses himself to get ready to visit her. In the privacy of his room, he starts to get excited. There’s a certain way he wishes the scenarios turns out. He likes to imagine that she’ll run up to him and realize how much safer she is with him. He’ll finally get to kiss her and she’ll let him take over -

Damn it.

He didn’t think he was that excited, but it’s nothing he can’t take care of. So he stands in front of her picture and takes care of himself, promising to himself that he’ll clean it up once he gets back from your place.

He’s in the shower afterwards, generously lathering himself and scrubbing away the sins he committed against her. He wants to be quick, but he also wants to take his time to prepare for her - because she would take all these extra steps for him when they would meet, why shouldn’t he do the same? He’s so excited to see her that he thinks he hears her calling out to him from his bedroom.

After he finally rinses off and dries his hair, he throws on a loose shirt and boxer shorts on. He leaves his towel over his head while he brushes his teeth and uses it to wipe his lips after spitting. As he exits his bathroom, he stops in his tracks.

Was he excited enough to hallucinate? But he was sure that was her, turned away from him in the middle of his room.

“[Y/N]?”

She gasps, spinning around to face him. He caught the briefest flash of fear in her eyes and he realizes that evidences of last night were present all around the room. He was ready to explain himself, but then she’s choking out a sob and running towards him.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He automatically wraps his arms around her, smoothing her hair down. “You’re okay. I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

He holds her tight, letting her cry out the remaining fear from the previous night; feeling just a tiny but guilty while placing kisses on her head and rubbing her back.

“Oh god,” She breathes in deeply, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” He pulls away, tilting her face towards him. “How are you? Did you get any sleep? If I found out any sooner, I would have gone over to you.”

She shakes her head, “I couldn’t sleep properly, even though Yebin and Minkyung stayed with me.”

Doyoung must haven’t told her he’s been updating him about how she was. “Have you eaten at least? Let me cook something for you to eat.”

“I-I… Don’t leave me here.”

Jaehyun offers her a soft smile, “No one’s going to hurt you while I’m around. But if you really don’t want to stay in my room, you can come with me to the kitchen.”

He leads her to the kitchen by the hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. He makes small talk with her to get her mind off about last night, listening intently at her response while he fries some eggs and slices of pork. It didn’t take too long for him to serve it to her with some reheated rice from last night.

“Eat up, baby girl.”

“Baby girl?” She smirks, “Should I call you daddy, then?”

Jaehyun laughs, feeling his cheeks warm up. “Be careful what you wish for.” He whispers into her ear, trying to sound seductive but ends up chuckling.

He watches her eat and from time to time, letting her feed him some. His mind is daydreaming all of a sudden; this is what he wants to see in the future: feeding her meals in her shared home, keeping her safe and happy, being hers and vice versa.

“What are your plans after graduation?” He asks out of the blue.

“My plans?” She repeats after swallowing.

He nods, waiting for her to answer.

“Get a job?” She shrugs, “I haven’t thought about that at all, actually.”

“How about moving into a new apartment?”

She pauses for a moment, “I don’t know if I can afford it, but my contract for my apartment right now ends two months after graduation so I should probably look into it.”

“Well,” Jaehyun massages his nape and avoids her gaze; he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly nervous about asking, “My parents graduation gift for me is my own apartment room in downtown Seoul. I was wondering if, you know, you’d want to move in with me.”

She stares at him and he stares back, waiting. “Will your parents be okay with that? I mean, I thought you and Johnny would still be sharing an apartment.”

“He and Ten have their own plans, besides, I’m not sharing a bed with Johnny.” That makes her giggle and he lets out a short chuckle of his own, “And about my parents… they love you like their own daughter. They wouldn’t mind. I’m willing to bet they’re hoping for grandchildren in two years.”

“Woah there, big boy.” She laughs, “How about we take baby steps instead of hoping of seeing our baby take their first ones, huh?”

“Tell that to my parents.” He grumbles like a child and sees her reaching up to pinch his cheeks. His parents have always been vocal about wanting her to be the mother of their grandchildren; if only he knew how much he wishes that, too.

“Anyways, I’d love to.”

He blinks at her, breaking out of his reverie “Hm?”

“I’d love to move in with you.”

It takes a second for Jaehyun to grin at your answer and he swears it’s stretching his cheeks out too much that it almost hurts, “Really?”

She giggles at his reaction, biting down on her lower lip while she nods. “Yes, really.”

He pulls her in for multiple kisses, making her laugh in between each one. He kisses her longer and he could feel her body reacting to him already. His tongue grazes her lips and she instantly grants him access into her mouth, moaning at the sensation of his tongue sliding against hers.

His hands snake onto her thighs, roughly massaging them before pulling her tightly against his body. She clings onto him; mouths undetached as he hauls her up and takes her back to the bedroom.

Jaehyun sets her down on his bed with utmost care like she was a one of a kind piece of fine china. He pulls away from the kiss, leaving a string of saliva between their lips before it snaps as he straightened himself to remove his shirt.

He’s been waiting for this for too long.

“Oh, god.” She groans, “I can’t believe I lasted 4 months.” She palms him over his boxers with one hand while the other travelled upwards, fingers dancing across the expanse of the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest. Before she can slip her hands into his shorts, he grabs both of her wrists.

“I still owe you a destresser.” Jaehyun reminds her with a matching smirk.

She lets him undress her, his eyes darting to every newly exposed skin and dropping each of clothing articles on the floor by his feet. When she’s finally stripped off of all her clothes and underwear, he gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the bed. With a light tap on her thighs, her legs part to make room for him and it pleases him so much at how receptive she is to him.

He removes his boxers and kneels on the bed, stroking himself as he eyes her pussy. He leans down and kisses her, “I’m going to show you how much I missed you.”

“Don’t hold back.” She challenged and he playfully scoffs at her.

“When have I ever held back?”

Before she could answer, Jaehyun dips a finger into her core. A shaky sigh escapes her as he languidly moves his finger around, feeling her inner walls and how wet she was.

“Show me how much you missed me first.” He quietly says, almost begging, “Use my hand.”

She was whimpering softly while she covered his hand with her own, grinding her clit into his palm. Her fingers tapped onto his middle finger and he understood what she wanted, inserting it along with his pointer finger. He dragged them against her inner walls that caused her to softly moan.

God, she was so hot.

She lifted her hips up, hoping to get some more leverage but he flexes his middle finger and it brushes against something spongy inside her, making her gasp and dropping her weight back down to the bed.

‘Don’t worry, baby,’ Jaehyun thinks, ‘I’ll take care of you.’

With no warning, he pumps his fingers into her, curling them inside before pulling out. He knows how much she loves that and he can feel her body already starting to convulse. He continued his actions, going harder and faster, ignoring the signs of her oncoming orgasm.

She lets out a cry, grabbing onto his wrist with both hands as her body violently shook.

Not wasting any time, Jaehyun takes whatever essence of her climax his fingers collected and smears it over his cock, giving it a few more pumps before he slides it in her.

Her moan may or may not have been too loud for the neighbors to hear, but he didn’t give a fuck. His baby wants to be loud because of him and only him, then let them send noise complaints. Despite being sensitive and still high from her orgasm, he watches her trying to spread her thighs further for him.

Her pussy is sucking him in as he bottoms out in her and it’s driving him crazy.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so tight. You feel amazing.” He mumbles before he begins to thrust, slow and deep. He leans over and kisses her neck, alternating between sucking and licking every patch of skin he can get his mouth on.

“I’m going to mark you so other guys wouldn’t think twice about hitting on you, okay?” He thrusts a little too hard to punctuate his question and she groans in response.

“Yes, yes,” She gasps, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders. “I’m yours.”

He lets out an animalistic growl he didn’t know he could make, hips moving more erratically with her words. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours.” She chants, almost like a prayer.

With every repetition of her invocation, Jaehyun snaps his hips into her, gaining more speed and power. She’s all he’s ever wanted and here she is offering herself to him, willingly admitting herself to him. It’s enough to make him cum but he holds out for her.

Her body thrashed against him as he gave her a second orgasm for the night. He helps her ride it out, keeping her hips still as he shallowly pushed into Her. She clenched around him and he moans at the sensation.

“Shit, that feels so good, baby.” He rasps, throwing his head back. Too good.

“Won’t you come?” She asked with a pout.

If she only knew the power she held on him; he could explode any second now.

Miraculously, he somehow controls himself as he slows his thrusts and studies the state of her body; still shivering from her high, how his kisses on her neck have bloomed into a bouquet of purple flowers, how her breasts rose with every haggard breath. He takes one into his hand, softly palming it. “I’m getting there.”

“Is there anything you want me to do?” Her pouty lips were so tempting that it gave him an idea.

He pulls out all of a sudden and crawls until his knees are on either side of her chest. “Open up.”

Obediently, she parts her lips and sticks her tongue out a little.

He groans; she looked so innocent but lewd at the same time. Taking his cock into his hand and pumping as fast as he can, he places the tip on her tongue when beads of pre-cum ooze out.

She licks it up immediately, as if to coax him to ejaculate by running her tongue on the underside of his cock’s head.

Jaehyun is hissing out curses one after the other as he finally found the final push he needed to come. White, hot liquid shoots into her mouth and amidst of her swallowing it, the remaining cum splashes onto her cupid’s bow, cheek, and chin. He cries out in anguish when she pushes herself up to suck him dry with hollowed cheeks. As she falls back to bed, one last spurt escapes him and hits her brow.

Seeing it dribble down her eyelid, he uses his thumb to swipe it off. He tried to clean it on his sheets, but she grabs hold of his wrist and guides it to her mouth, collecting the salty substance with her tongue.

“Jesus christ, [Y/N].” Jaehyun exhales, feeling his cock twitch at the salacious scene and how her tongue swirled around his finger.

“I just missed how you tasted.” She giggles, kissing his thumb. “Still delicious.”

He combs her sweat-slicked hair and chuckles, “Well, I’m sure you taste sweeter.”

She juts out her lower lip at him, feigning innocence, “How would you know? You haven’t tasted me in months.”

“Oh?” His eyes glaze over once again, “Is that a challenge?”

“Baby,” She cooed, “It’s an invitation.”

She’s going to be the death of him, he thinks as he smirks at her. “Don’t mind if I do, then.” He trails a kiss from between her breasts down to her navel. His tongue licks her clit, lightly lapping up her juices as he moves lower. He hears her moan and feels her body reacting; encouraging him to keep going. He uses a hand to spread her lips apart and probes her entrance in slow, sensual figures of eights with his tongue.

But then he realizes that she had stopped responding to his actions, so he pulls away and looks at her. She was staring off to the side and his gaze follows hers and once he spots what had grabbed her attention, he hovers above her and places a hand on either side of her head.

“Look at me.” He commands.

“You couldn’t have…” She murmurs, looking back at you with concerned eyes.

There’s no way out of this. There’s clearly blood on that bat he keeps forgetting to dispose of. He had to explain himself.

“He touched you.” He simply states, devoid of any emotion.

“Jaehyun!” She reprimands, but he cuts her off.

“He disrespected you, [Y/N]. I wasn’t going to let that pass by!”

“How did you even know I was the bar? Were you following me?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe!”

She pushes him off, scooting off the bed and picking out her clothes from the floor. “Well, I was! Yebin and Minkyung were there with me. We left before he could do anything else. You didn’t have to beat him up with a bat! Jesus christ! Jae! You’re wanted by campus police.”

“He got what he deserved, [Y/N].” He coolly shrugs his shoulders, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on while watching her dress.

“And what about those guys from the pool?” She suddenly looks back at him, accusingly.

“I only meant to go after the one who couldn’t keep his eyes off you.” Jaehyun admits, “But his friends came looking for him, so I had to deal with them as well.”

“You took them by your--” She shuts her eyes in frustration and disbelief.

‘Trust me, love, I didn’t think I could do it by myself’ He inwardly scoffs, staring at her intently, ‘But I did, for you.’

Suddenly, she’s staring at him with an unreadable expression. Her gaze shifts to his study table where he left his mask and burner phone on. “...w-were you the guy last night?”

Just admit it all, Jung.

“Yes. I was outside your window, too, when you masturbated.”

She gapes at him with horrified astonishment, crying, “Why?! You scared me shitless!”

“That was the point.” He almost rolled his eyes at her.

Her jaw drops, unable to formulate a proper response, nevertheless, he continues to explain himself.

“I had to scare you back to me.”

“What?!”

“I was losing you.” His voice finally breaks from the monotony and raises an octave higher. “You asked for an extension when I was at my limit. I missed you!”

“I was mad! You punched my best friend, Jaehyun! I had the right to be! And it didn't mean you were losing me. I just needed time to cool down!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. Never, in the four years, they have spent together did they argue like this. “I can’t do this.”

Jaehyun’s ears start to ring at her words.

She tries to leave but he blocks her path.

“Can’t do what?” His voice had dropped, glaring her down.

She’s visibly taken aback from his demeanor, hindering her to respond to him, so he asks again in a raised voice.

“Can’t do what, [Y/N]?!”

“Let me go, Jae. I need to go.”

“Go where? Who are you running off to, huh? Doyoung? Taeyong?”

“Why are you dragging Taeyong into this?”

Jaehyun scowls, “I saw you giving his picture a heart eyes react.”

“Oh my god!” She shouts, “Do you hear yourself right now? So I liked his new photo because I thought his new hairstyle looked good. He’s our friend, remember? Jaehyun, please, let me leave.”

“And what? Extend our break even more? I don’t think so.” He reaches for her hand, but she avoids him. “[Y/N].”

“You’re honestly scaring me right now.” She backs away until she’s pressed up against the wall. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because I love you, [Y/N],” He steps forward, doing his very best to control himself at the moment, “Everything I do is for you. I have to protect you. If you could only see how other guys look at you, how they would undress you with their eyes - I, I can’t let them disrespect you like that. They need to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“And if you really, really do love me, Jae,” Her eyes begin to tear up, “You would let me leave.”

What? Leave?

“No. W-why?” His eyebrows scrunched up in frustration “Do you want to break up?”

She’s stumbling over her words, “I’m really scared right now, Jaehyun. Just please give me time to think--”

“Answer me!” He yelled, making her flinch in her spot. The last thread that kept him sane had snapped. He traps her against the wall, “Are you thinking about breaking up with me?”

“I don’t feel safe with you right now.” She breathes.

Her words were barely audible but they rang like sirens in Jaehyun’s ears. His head keeps repeating it over and over again: she’s not safe with you.

His vision bleeds red and he already knows what’s going to happen so he steps away from her, his subconsciousness reminding him to keep her out of harm’s way. He needed to hit something and it definitely won’t be her. His eyes get wet and blurry as they searched around the room for something, and they fell on the full length mirror attached to the bathroom door. Huffing, he takes two large steps towards it and swings as hard as he can.

He thinks he hears her screams as his fist connected to the mirror, creating a large, cracked web onto it. He lets the pain throb from his knuckles, before he repeatedly punches the mirror, over and over again; smashing chunks of the glass and sending them crashing to the floor.

“Jae, stop!” He thinks she yelled that to him, but he’s unsure. He just wants to let it out.

But he feels her grabbing his arms and stopping him, “Jaehyun!”

“Go away! I don’t want to hurt you,” He spares her a tormented glance. His cheeks feel wet; he didn’t even know he was crying. “I can’t hurt you, so let me--”

He attempts to throw another punch, but she holds him back.

Both of them struggled with one another, until he nudges her away and faces her, “You hate me!” He cries.

She shakes her head in denial, but he doesn’t believe you so repeats himself.

“You hate me.”

“I never said that.” She squeaked, staring into his eyes.

“You wanted to break up.” Jaehyun grabs a fistful of his hair, shutting his eyes as tightly as he can. The voices in his head chanted his words back at him.

“I never said that, either.” He hears her whisper.

He feels you touch his face and he flinches away it at first, snapping his eyes wide open like an injured beast being cornered, but the way she looked at him made him drop his defenses.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, sobbing like a little boy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He repeats his apology over and over until he feels her pull him down, letting his head rest on the crook of her neck. “I can’t lose you, [Y/N]. I can’t. I just wanted to protect you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me and you won’t.” She runs one of her hands down his back while the other combed through his hair.

He pulls away, tears still flowing down his cheeks, “You’re not leaving me?”

She searches for something in his eyes, before slowly cocking her head and offering him an unsure smile as he lightheartedly points out: “I mean, I have to go home sooner or later. But I can spend the night if you want to.”

“I want you to.” He mumbles and she smiles up at him.

“Then I’ll stay the night.” She pulls him down until his forehead was touching hers. Playing with the short hairs on his nape, she whispers onto his lips, “I love you.”

He’s unsure if he should believe her, but casts his doubt away. He smiles back at her, “I love you, too.”

“Let’s get your hand cleaned up and wrapped, okay?” She kisses his cheek and leads him out the room, careful not to step on any glass shards.

As she knelt in front of him, trying not to vomit at the sight of his broken and bloody hand while fishing out the little shards of glass with a pair of tweezers, Jaehyun’s finally coming into terms the gravity of his condition.

Maybe she truly was unsafe with him; but why didn’t she run away when he had given her the chance to? He had given her a glimpse of the monster inside him, yet instead of fleeing, she stays to tame and satiate him. An immense of wave of love overcomes him; there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind that he wants her and only her for the rest of his life.

Jaehyun jerks his hand back when she attempts to remove some chunks of glass shards embedded too deep onto his knuckles with tweezers. “Ow!”

“You were literally punching the mirror 30 minutes ago! Give me your hand!” She hisses, pulling his hand back and resting it on top of the blood-stained towel on his lap.

He winced every now and then, biting his tongue when it had hurt a tad too much for him to handle.

“I think I got them all out.” She says after a while, inspecting it under the torchlight of her phone, “Uh, yeah, okay. Go wash it with warm water and come back here.”

Jaehyun quietly obeys, standing up from his seat and taking the bowl of glass shards with him.

After doing what he’s been told, he disposes of the glass shards and bloody towel. Returning to his seat, he dries his hand with a new towel.

She tends to his wound once more, dabbing it with disinfectant. “Jae, we need to talk about what happened.”

“I know.” He solemnly whispers; he had hoped this could easily blow over without the need to discuss it, but he doubts you would ever forget what had happened. “I’m… not okay.”

She patiently waits for him to continue, showing him she’s confused by his statement; looking up at him briefly before taking a roll of gauze to wrap his hand with.

“I…” He licks his lips, “I’m diagnosed with this mental disorder…”

“And how is your relationship now after you told her about your disorder?”

Jaehyun glances down at his injury; she had rebandaged it again for him today, even though he could have had a professional do it. It was a simple act of love for him. “Like it never happened.”

“Oh, then she understands then? That’s good-”

“But,” Jaehyun sits up, hunching forward and resting his forearms on his thighs to support his weight, his fingers just loosely woven together in front of him. He blankly stares at the small altar his doctor had in his office. He was a very religious man, but he oddly never pushed religion onto him during their sessions. “She seems more… careful.”

“I see.” Dr. Jeon massages his chin, “I would say it’s normal. She’s still processing it; she’ll eventually understand.”

“But when she understands, will she stay?”

His doctor frowns at him, “I can’t answer for Ms. [Y/N], Jaehyun. I personally believe you should just tell her everything; you’re founding your relationship on-”

“Lies?” He finishes for him, “I don’t like that word. Let’s call it… an altered fact. She’ll leave me if she finds out. I can tell her more details about my disorder, but anything more? I just know… she’ll leave me.”

“What makes you think-”

Jaehyun cuts him off with a leer and curt laugh, “I know she will, doctor. Don’t pretend she won’t. You know what I’ve done; how I spent years devoting myself to her like how you are with your God. You know how I felt alone and empty growing up; but then I met her; and I felt something beyond my comprehension. Like how Moses discovered the burning bush on Mount Sinai or how a dove brought back an olive branch to Noah. She had single-handedly completed me and now she’s mine. She said it herself; my goddess claimed herself to be mine. It’s only right and just I protect her in return. Isn’t that what you do? When someone disrespects your God, don’t you defend him?”

Dr. Jeon wearily watches him, but it’s nothing he hasn’t heard or seen before. Maybe that’s why he’s tempted to press one of the many panic buttons hidden around the room as discreet as he can. He knows he’ll regret it if he does it again - the Jungs can be quite unforgiving when they’re falsely accused of becoming a threat. It was paranoia and panic that pushed the button last time that brought in heavy set personnel to escort Jaehyun out with a nurse armed with a tranquilizer just in case. Jaehyun’s father was not pleased, almost threatening to terminate their exclusive contract. However, the young man in front of him wasn’t the same person that entered half an hour ago.

“I am going to do everything in my power to keep it that way - to keep her mine - and nothing,” Jaehyun stresses, “Nothing is going to stop me.” 

“And if anybody gets in the way,” he clenches both his fists so tightly that blood starts to emerge from his bandages. Dr. Jeon reaches out to stop him, but Jaehyun separates his hands and stares at his palms, “I’ll kill them with my bare hands.”

a/n: yes the Jung’s therapist is SVT Wonwoo’s brother lol also i purposefully left out Jaehyun’s actual disorder out so I can discuss it in later chapters of Devoted 2 (during that joint therapy session) I’m sorry if it got a little too dark, but I promise the plot is better like this.

I hope you guys liked this! uwu

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, MIMZ! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAPHAEL.

Admin Rosey: I never really thought that Raphael’s application would be so f u n to read. Macabre? Absolutely. Impassioned? Of course. But hilarious to the point where I was giggling? Definitely unexpected but that is what made this so enjoyable and it is ultimately why this application received a r e s o u n d i n g yes from each of us. There was a perspective that I always envisioned for Raphael but was never able to articulate it myself until you laid it out, word by word, with this application, Mimz. Raphael is such a multi-faceted and character that holds so much potential, and the way that you wove it into every aspect of the application made this so fun to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to produce such a wonderful application! Your faceclaim change to Kendrick Sampson has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias 

mimz

Age

21

Personal Pronouns

she/her

Activity Level

i’ll typically check the dash every day, and i try not to keep replies stewing for longer than a couple of days! that said i can be a little slow, especially around exam seasons.

Timezone

pst

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

miss minnie bleubeard’s blog

IN CHARACTER

Character

raphael, with a fc change to kendrick sampson

What drew you to this character? 

short answer: divine amorality sexy HAHAHAHA

long answer: there was something i read a little while ago about some of the best surgeons being able to dehumanize their patients to a rather frightening degree. there’s a level of abstraction that you need in order to not let your empathy get in the way of the practice of medicine; ultimately, a body is a body is a body, right? and then there’s the moral quandary of healing - it is a doctor’s duty to heal, but what does that actually mean? to what extent is a doctor’s duty to relieve suffering? to obstinately prolong life? if the body heals but the mind still ails, is a person healed? what i’m getting at, here, is that in some ways the healer is the most dangerous character of all. 

when i read raphael’s bio, there was a quote in that article from a surgeon named david cheever that came to mind: “as a result of anaesthetics, the surgeon ‘need not hurry; he need not sympathise; he need not worry; he can calmly dissect, as on a dead body.’” to me, raphael is an explosion and expansion of this concept. raphael is, quite literally, a medical ethicist’s worst nightmare, and to me, that’s absolutely fascinating. without sympathy, what separates a healer from an educated control freak with a god complex? with raphael, we can extend this concept to its furthest extreme. raphael isn’t even human - how could he even begin to sympathize with an experience so foreign to him? why would he worry about something trivial as human suffering when it essentially exists as a theoretical concept to him? divine beings have no reason to play by human rules, and as a creature raised by god’s side raphael was so far removed from the concept of human suffering that it’s sort of a no-brainer that he developed a sick fascination with it, like a child who managed to con their parent into buying a grand theft auto game and is obsessed with running over pedestrians because the stakes never quite feel real. it’s a perspective i’d absolutely love to explore in a group rp setting because the nature of rp means that it’s kind of...completely unsustainable? like as writers we’re shoving these characters together, which means that raphael will have to be exposed to mortals. there’s room for a lot of character development there, and it seems like something extremely interesting to explore.

BUT HERE’S THE THING⁠—and this is where the character gets really fun, in my opinion. i’ve talked a fair bit about god complexes already, but when applied to raphael an interesting question is raised: how much is a complex, and how much of it is actually being divine? what really made me want to get my grubby little hands on the reins of raphael’s story was seeing the disconnect between the way his connections are written from raphael’s perspective versus the other character’s perspective. it’s a fun little hubristic shade that makes him an unreliable narrator and infinitely more interesting than a simple morality thought experiment. i think it’s easy to see raphael as this super cool, all-powerful master manipulator (i think that’s a pretty accurate take on his self-image, in fact), but he’s not the only player in this game. for every pawn he’s trying to move, there is someone else trying to use him in a similar way, and i don’t know that he truly understands the ramifications of that. see, i think it’s easy to reduce raphael to the points i discuss in the previous paragraphs because that’s what he wants you to think of him. but this is a world of gods and superpowers and magical political intrigue and game of thrones doesn’t exist so nobody can tell him that he’s on the path to becoming a cersei lannister (admittedly i haven’t watched got so this reference might not be right but i feel like it’s right so uh. yeah!). maybe i just like to see arrogant men getting knocked down a peg? this might be a projection of that. i dunno. i just know that there are quite a few mind games and mental gymnastics to untangle with raphael and that’s fun. he’s fun.

also. i would like to once again reiterate: divine amorality sexy. it’s not good, to be clear, and i don’t condone it, but i’m just saying.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

WHEN  THE  CITY  CRUMBLES  AROUND  YOU  AND  YOU  HOLD  ITS VESTIGES  IN  YOUR  HANDS,  WHOM  DO  YOU  BLAME?

i think Raphael’s big character arc revolves around a simple question: how far are you willing to go to achieve what you want? 

ostensibly, it’s an easy answer: very far. but when your desire is antithetical to your very purpose, when chasing it puts you at odds with the thing you’ve worked to build, do the goalposts move?

(the correct answer is that raphael did not build caelum. he simply destroyed god.)

let’s say, hypothetically, that raphael gets what he wants. the world is thrown into war and chaos and destruction, yadda yadda, raphael gets his blood and his suffering, great. he’s lived through this before (a couple times, actually), so you think he’d realize by now—eventually, the dust will settle. people will tire of suffering. and where will that leave raphael? how many times will you remake the world to watch it burn? can you ever be fulfilled chasing a temporary high? 

(the correct answer is no, but raphael is an immortal being. more importantly, he is a patient one. he will wait a million days for rome to be built, if only to witness the single day in which it will burn.)

i think raphael needs to reckon with these questions. i think he’s lived far too long with his mentality unquestioned and that has made him both insufferable and a major threat to society. this is a long and pretentious way to say that raphael honestly kind of needs a hobby whatever the thc-verse equivalent of therapy is, but i think any sort of positive character development is contingent upon a recontextualization of suffering and chaos and raphael’s masks.

of course, this isn’t to say that introspection will only lead to positive character development. perhaps a raphael who looks deeper into his psyche will come to understand that his desires outweigh his role; perhaps such thoughts will push raphael over the edge of propriety and into something more outwardly despicable. no matter what, though, i think that the direction of raphael’s character development will be largely shaped on how he decides to prioritize his⁠ roles and goals. 

FOR  WHOM  DO  THESE  HANDS  HEAL?

let’s discuss the archangels, shall we? despite it all, raphael genuinely loves his brothers. i would argue, even, that raphael believes that his scheming is in service to the other archangels; he’s not blind to the way complacency has softened the angels. at this point, the only true threat to the angels is themselves—if michael wants to to unlock a state of sanctifying grace, it will happen at the hand of one of his kin. 

i spoke earlier about raphael’s goals ultimately being futile. this is largely because they are diametrically opposed to michael and gabriel’s goals, and while raphael knows this intellectually, i don’t think he’s quite thought about what the long-term implications of that conflict entails. he’s so caught up in the conflict between michael and gabriel that he’s neglected to consider how he factors into the dynamic. could he be the common ground that brings michael and gabriel together? could he be the final straw that breaks them apart? he is excited for the fighting, the fallout; but has he stopped to consider what the long-reaching effects of such a rift may be?

raphael is breaking his family apart because he loves them. will that be enough, when he is sent to pick up the pieces? whose side will he fall on, if he is to pick a side at all? 

DID  PYGMALION  FALL  IN  LOVE  WITH  THE  BEAUTY  OF  HIS  CREATION,  OR  THE  BEAUTY  HE  CREATED?

i said this in the previous section but i’d like to reiterate it: i think a big reason raphael is Like That is because the stakes have never quite felt real to him. raphael’s a pot stirrer, but he’s not a creature of action. to this, i say give him real stakes. to be honest, i don’t know exactly what that entails, because i could see a number of ways in which tangible pressure manifests itself for raphael. perhaps his meddling with michael and gabriel steps too far, and his brothers  perhaps the angels become suspicious of his maneuvering, in which the spider is drawn into his own web of intrigue. maybe we apply positive pressure, where the ails of the world require a healer and raphael is tapped to higher purpose⁠—and higher power. maybe raphael will find himself tempted by the very demons he holds in contempt. 

the point is that raphael has largely been a character who acts through others. even now, we see this through his grooming of romilda, with his subtle manipulation of michael and gabriel. i want him to become a more active character, either by his own volition or by his hand being forced. 

similarly, i’m extremely interested in seeing how raphael navigates the political elements of this verse. i expect it stings a bit to be the only archangel not given a position of leadership; perhaps he holds lingering resentment toward zadkiel for being given a role raphael had expected to receive. does he subtly undermine zadkiel’s leadership? i want to watch him play up tensions with the vices, to hide a vicious war-hawk perspective under the guise of a concerned healer. i want him to smile in abaddon and samael’s faces and plot their suffering in his mind. i want to see the snake slither in the grass, to return to his original form as a spider spinning a web of intrigue across his court. yes, i want a more active raphael, but i think the political drama is ripe for development, as well.

WHEN  I  SPIT  UP  MY  SINS  AND  BEG  FOR  REPENTANCE,  WHAT  WILL COME  UP?

this one’s a long shot, but i could maybe...see...raphael……..falling. i can guarantee you that the idea has never even crossed raphael’s mind, and that he would literally rather be smited than be cast out of caelum, but i can see it. i think he might be happier, actually; if he fell, he could really lean into the chaos and suffering thing without any compunction.

of course, this is something infinitely easier said than done. were raphael to be cast out of caelum, he would have nowhere to go. infernum would never take him⁠—he’s made far too many enemies among their ranks. he could wander the holy land, but he’s far too proud to bind himself to its existing social systems. (he wouldn’t be able to look gabriel in the eye.)

raphael would have absolutely nothing. 

but he would also be free.

that’s right, i think that a horsemen-style liberation arc would be an absolute banger for raphael. again, i don’t think it’s feasible unless a very specific set of circumstances happen, but just imagine a raphael with nothing to lose, free to go absolutely apeshit. his only prerogative is to make sure you have a bad day. he is free to sow whatever chaos, whatever suffering he so wishes across the land. WHEW.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, but i don’t see him going down easily.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

entomological curiosity, in short. consider: why did god leave the apple in the garden of eden? why do humans keep animals in glass cases? why do children burn ants with magnifying glasses?

raphael wants to observe the world. a good healer must understand his patients at a fundamental level, and such truths are only revealed when the subject is broken down to its basest parts. you see, raphael was weaned on temperance and virtue; there is a lush decadence to emotional extremes that he finds most fascinating. they are debased. they are crass. they are wantonly sentimental, in a garishly beautiful way.

but this is not all. he wants to stave off boredom, and these are the tools he has to play with. for all of his machinations, raphael is a simple being. raphael has no grand ambitions, no lofty ideals, and that is what makes him so dangerous. he wants to be amused. he wants to be stimulated. he wants to observe a world in which things happen.

ostensibly, this is not as selfish a motivation as it may seem. as a healer, raphael knows something that many do not: serenity cannot exist in perpetuity. it is impossible for the world to remain unchanged⁠—even if the change is not evident, it is happening. an eternal peace is all but a stagnation of the kingdom; the only thing stagnation breeds is degradation. the angels are weakening because they are not being challenged. michael and the virtues may be doing extensive research to find an alternate explanation, but raphael knows this to be the truth. 

of course, the irony underlying the selfless explanation of raphael’s motivations reveals the truth of the matter: it is a farce. perhaps it is a lie that raphael has even convinced himself he believes, but it is farcical nonetheless. raphael claims he wants to invoke change because stagnation is dangerous, but riddle me this⁠—if this is true, why has raphael never changed? centuries upon centuries have passed, and the world has changed around him, but raphael himself has remained largely unchanged. he is the orchestrator of change, not its agent nor its subject, and that is just the way he would like things to stay.

Character Traits

CHARISMATIC - there’s a reason very few have cottoned on to raphael’s true nature, and it’s not (just) his pretty face and magical girl-esque aura. there’s something effortlessly captivating about raphael, a pace to his cadence that has you hanging on to his every word, a lightness to his smile that makes you want to coax it out whenever and however you can. everything about raphael puts people at ease, except for his eyes, which tend to put people on edge if he’s not careful. he’s not gregarious or the outgoing sort of charismatic by any means, but he does manage to exude an overwhelming charisma.

PATIENT - it’s important to remember that before raphael turned on god, he waited for him. raphael performed healings for centuries and never raised a hand against his father in that time. think of all the angels that fell, that rebelled; raphael was not among them. no, raphael played the dutiful son, allowing his resentment to fester and boil deep underneath his skin, but never to surface. for centuries he served loyally, biding his time. remember: lucifer fell. raphael did not. which one killed god? as i mentioned in the plot section, raphael will wait a million days for rome to be built to witness the single day it burns. prolonged suffering is perhaps the most beautiful of all. fortitude goes hand-and-hand with patience.

INTELLIGENT - in a few ways. raphael is well-studied, with extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry and history and politics. raphael is emotionally intelligent; he hides his true nature behind a veneer constructed to meet expectations. he may not be as talented as gabriel in this regard, but it is a skillful construction nonetheless.

MANIPULATIVE - i mean. yeah.

ARROGANT - he thinks he’s smarter than god???????????????? tbf god was a bit of a headass in this universe but we’ve all read enough tragedies to know where this kind of hubris ends up going.

CRUEL - there’s a bit to unpack here. i’d argue that there are two types of cruelty: malicious cruelty and callous cruelty. raphael is certainly capable of both, but i think he embodies the latter. with certain notable exceptions, raphael’s cruelty is rarely personal; it is a thoughtless sort of cruelty, the type inflicted upon beings considered expendable. raphael is selfish and petty and powerful, and these traits coalesce into a casual cruelty. 

In-Character Para Sample cw: light gore

Look at how they look at him. God’s good little lambs, lined up all in a row, passive and pliant and patiently awaiting benediction. Patiently waiting for Raphael. 

Raphael hates them.

No. This is false. It is difficult for Raphael to muster up stronger feelings toward mortals than a vague sort of amusement, the sort of affinity one might have for a particularly stupid kit when it does something surprisingly clever. In this regard, he understands that he differs from his kin. Gabriel, in particular, has developed a particular fondness for the mortals. Why anyone would wish to strip mortals of their most fascinating behavior⁠—to the point of openly defying their Father⁠—is beyond Raphael. He has given up on trying to reason with his brother on the matter. 

The first supplicant is beckoned forward. They pray to the Lord and Raphael touches their forehead with one palm, cups their chin with the other. His fingers splay carelessly around a throat all but bared to him and the ceremony is so mechanical Raphael allows his thoughts to wander⁠. 

How easy it would be to tighten his grip. How beautiful it would be, to watch the lamb’s naive adoration flash into fear, to watch fear darken into betrayal and resentment and the most beautiful emotion of all: despair. He can feel the pulse at his fingertips. It would quicken in a stress response, he knows. It would quicken, then it would pound, and then maybe it would stop.  It all falls to Raphael’s whim. In this moment, Raphael holds their life in his hands. They have all but laid on his sword for the promise of absolution and when they look up at Raphael with their dumb, trusting eyes he can see the sparkling tracks where tears once fell, down the hollow of a cheek into the pool of a collarbone. He finds himself overcome with the desire to trace the fall with his tongue. “Give me your pain,” he murmurs. Let me taste it. Let me understand. 

He takes it. He does not taste it. He does not understand.

He releases the mortal. Those beautiful tear tracks are already fading. “The Lord be with you,” he says, and perhaps he even means it. His Father’s gaze burns into his back, even from a world away. He’d laugh at the irony, were he free to. Is this the weight you so desire? he wants to ask the devotee. No, Raphael knows the truth: God’s love is a shackle. God’s love is a leash and it is holding Raphael back from his fullest potential.

“And also with you,” the lamb responds. Their head is bowed obediently in prayer and they shuffle away, appropriately awed. The next supplicant is beckoned forward.

The light of Raphael’s presence obfuscates the darkness in his eyes.

— 

Later, much later, Raphael finds himself studying his hands. He flexes them, balls them into fists, stretches his fingers as far as they will spread. 

How easy it would be to tighten his grip.

The hand is at once an individual unit and a summation of individual parts. The hand contains twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles connected by over a hundred ligaments and tendons. Wrists connect to metacarpals, which connect to carpals, which taper off into delicate phalanges. Individually, each of these parts are largely useless; were Raphael to take a scalpel and drag it through a tendon, across the joints, the strings would be cut and the puppetry would cease to dance. You would be left with a small pile of carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, loose strings of muscle and tendon. At times, it is difficult to fathom how such mundane component parts are the instruments of extraordinary acts.

Raphael flexes his hand, watches bone shift under skin. If he remembers correctly, mortals have an idiom about knowing your hands, or something along those lines. He will not pretend to be familiar with mortal culture. Did you know that, wings aside, mortals and angels all have the same bone structure? 

Of course you did. It is common knowledge that God made all beings in His image, or so the story goes. 

This is an easy answer, but one with interesting implications. Let us extrapolate. If mortals and angels are essentially biological mirrors, and each are made in the image of God, does that mean that God will bleed like His creations? Slide a scalpel across God’s knuckles—will His puppets cease to dance?

Raphael could find out. It would take only a single blade, sliced through a single tendon. 

Now, Raphael is not so arrogant to believe himself the blade. He would not even consider himself the hand. Such a role requires a particular kind of conviction—

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in bitter disillusionment⁠—the sort inflicted upon Michael. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s capriciousness and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in righteous anger⁠—the sort inflicted upon Gabriel. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s neglect and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in a whetted hunger⁠—the sort God gifted to each of His angels. Hunger breeds hunters and heaven is full— )

—that Raphael simply cannot embody. Rage has never been his forte. 

Consider, however, that the hand is controlled by nerve impulses. A spark is all the hand needs to transform from a collection of bone to an agent of action. Yes. He clenches his fists. Here are the bones, the veins, the tendons, the muscle. Angels and mortals all share the same bone structure.

Does God?

Extras

pinterest.

raphael has classically beautiful wings. i’m talking TEXTBOOK cherubic angel wings, with the sweeping white feathers and all. raphael kind of hates them, though he takes a great deal of pride in them.

raphael doesn’t have a signature weapon. he’s proficient with blades, yes, and fights with a surgeon’s precision, not the strongest nor the fastest but eerily efficient in his blows. but he is a healer—at the end of the day, his empty hands are all he needs. (his empty hands are what you should fear.)

raphael hates the heretics pro forma but. but. he cannot deny a certain...fondness for them. the heretics exhibited such dedication to a futile cause; they believed their suffering to be something noble. it’s a laughable notion, certainly, but a sentiment so distinctly human it’s almost charming. should they wish to return, to throw themselves on the knife over and over and over, well. raphael shall not complain. he shall smile beatifically, perhaps abate their suffering, even⁠—and watch them do it again. 

in a modern au, raphael is a reality tv producer. ok actually he’s probably a surgeon but i think he’d make a very good reality tv producer. alternately, there is a universe out there where raph fixated on like...baking, or k-pop, instead of suffering. those are good timelines, i think. maybe not the k-pop stan timeline.

raphael is the living embodiment of that dwight schrute “we need a new plague” meme.

[woodrokiro]

Hollowed (fic) Part Three

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: They call her a miracle, but he looks at her as if she’s normal. It scares her. Fantasy/Futuristic/Zombie kinda?AU. Read Part One and Part Two.

As a kid, Ichigo imagined this place to be heaven on Earth. 

High up on the mountain, heavily secured by both stone walls and the near entirety of the militia, containing the smartest doctors and scientists dedicated to fighting the Hollowed--these are details that can allow more luxuries than one in the Valley could ever imagine.

He believed the walls to be just adorned in gold, gardens and fields bursting with fruits and vegetables to last years, doctors that can aid without having to wait until it’s officially deemed “safe” outside, and its people walking the grounds like they were on Cloud 9.

And… Yes, it’s incredible how privileged these people are to be living within such a structurally secured community. There are, indeed, ancient tapestries on the walls that must be hundreds of years old from the Old World at least, and he is disgusted with how plentiful the food is here compared to what is provided to the Valley.

But there’s… Something heavy in the air here.

The constant fog of the mountain has clearly taken its toll on the castle, as he notices mildew and mold in quite a few corners of stone. It’s crumbling, some trees outside bend to the ground as if too tired to pick themselves up, and it’s so fucking cold like good God, this is the place everyone says will be humanity’s saving grace?

And it’s not just the place itself: everyone walks with order, with a restrained purpose that never deviates within the day. There wasn’t much joy back where he was from either… But Jesus. He smiled at the maid that showed them their rooms the first night and she nearly bolted out of the room. There is a dark look in everyone’s eye, a near-obsessive work ethic as if they’re terrified  that today someone will call them lazy and have them kicked back down the mountain. 

Of course, the level of comfort at which you sit in your job depends on your station. 

 The caste system here nearly dictates that the militia is king, the scientists are nobles, and the “service” (cooks, farmers, housekeepers) are the bugs beneath everyone’s feet.

And Yamamoto is God. 

Blame it on him being from a normal (albeit, more dangerous) village, but he hates this hierarchy bullshit. 

---

“The more I see of this place, the less I like,” he tells his group their first night with crossed arms. “What, just because they have more access to weapons and protection they’re better than us? What makes that old guy in charge? Why did that Hinamori chick just near run out of the room? And what was the deal with that...” he motions wildly with his hands, trying to express… He doesn’t know. “You know. The girl in the really fancy dress, what’s her deal?!”

He sees Karin rolling her eyes, and Uryu sighs. “Kurosaki, we don’t have a choice. Obviously we’re allowed here on some favor from your father, but these aren’t people we want to rock the boat with. It’s a thin line between being a reluctantly welcomed guest and a happily thrown out one.”

“While it’s clear that Ichi-nii is having issues expressing himself here, I agree with my brother,” Karin cuts in. “On the other side of that coin: why did they allow us in? There have been people with more vying for a position here for years. Protection like this is worth all the gold and silver and food in the world. What was with our dad’s sword that made it so easy? Something’s fishy here, and I don’t like it.”

“Maybe Lord Yamamoto remembers your father as a friend, Ichigo? Or he just suddenly realized that there were some jobs open? There were these extra rooms already here, after all…” Inoue’s voice is hopeful, and Yuzu next to her nods enthusiastically in agreement. 

But Karin won’t budge. “Nah, these guys are military, the same ones that were supposed to protect us all these years and failed so miserably they escaped up here. There’s no way there are noble intentions here.”

“The point is, we can’t be too careful here… Or at least reckless.” Uryu shoots a pointed look at him, and Ichigo has a not-so-rare urge to throw him out the window. “We have to lay low for a bit and keep our guard up. Kurosaki, it’s clear Yamamoto’s got some sort of an interest in you. He arranged some meetings with you in the coming days, yes?”

Ichigo shifts. “Well, yeah, but that could be just because he’s setting up a position for me--”

“All the rest of us are to report in the common hall for our positions tomorrow. You’re the only one actually meeting with him.” Uryu raises an eyebrow. “See what kind of information he gives you. Take note on what he needs from you. But remember: you have to follow his rules on his time. That’s the only way we’re going to know a little better on how this place works.”

The group sits in silent contemplation until Yuzu sniffles. “And then what?” Her voice is shaky, and her watery eyes break Ichigo’s heart. “After we figure out the system… Then where do we go? What do we do?”

Ichigo is about to say something falsely cheerful to comfort his sister before Chad in his corner clears his throat. 

“We survive,” he finally says, and that has to be good enough for all of them.

---

And three days in, Ichigo still has no clue what Yamamoto’s got in store for him.

Although the messages he has received each morning since their arrival says that he’ll be meeting with the old man, he finds out it’s more like he’s meeting with generals and captains who represent Yamamoto, or something.

Powerful people are fucking weird.

In any case, he’s certainly not been twiddling his thumbs. A General Ukitake gave him a tour of the grounds, focusing more on the military section--and Ichigo guesses Yamamoto wanted to see if he was true to his word on using a sword, because then he was forced to spar with a few of the soldiers.

Mostly easy fights, if you ask him--although one bald guy and an angry redhead kind of gave him a rough time--but Ichigo just barely avoided a battle with a Captain Kenpachi, who grinned maniacally and demanded a battle “as soon as the old geezer puts you back here.”.

(Ichigo’s pretty sure at this point he’s going to be put in a military position, and it fits. But he would really really like to not be in that captain’s squad.)

There’s been a couple of actual meetings with the old man, but nothing of substance: each lasts an uncomfortably long ten minutes, with Yamamoto staring at him for long periods of time before peppering in casual questions about his village, his group, and his father.

It’s bizarre, but Ichigo decides to follow Uryu’s advice for once and go along with the whole thing. He bristles at Yamamoto’s question concerning his mother… But otherwise, he answers them as honestly as he can. 

He’s not given the worst job, he supposes. 

Actually, nearly none of them are. Uryu--while resenting the military system as much as he did--snagged a spot at the wall with his bow, and he mentioned they might give him a position within science, what with his family’s medical background. Chad scored a position in weaponry, and while he doesn’t have any previous experience (that Ichigo knows of), Ichigo’s confident he’ll do great. 

The girls are in the service, and Ichigo feels… Conflicted about that. 

He gets the icky feeling that it’s weirdly sexist (even though Yuzu really is talented in the kitchen… BUT HER GENDER HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT), and can’t help but feel it as demeaning to his sisters and friend. The service is treated bottom rung here, after all, and if someone even remotely tries to mess with one of them…

Not to mention Karin is absolutely miserable. 

But he knows she grits her teeth, does her job alongside Yuzu and Inoue and everyone else for the sake of being remotely safe for once in their goddamned lives. If she can suck it up, so can he.

The longer Yamamoto has him wait for his job, the more nervous it makes him. That’s all. 

---

On the fourth morning after the others have headed to work, he receives a message to go directly to Yamamoto’s quarters. 

He’s escorted by a few soldiers--which is weird, considering the ease of which he’s been going place to place the last few days--and the old man is sitting patiently at his desk, hands clasped together. 

It’s like he’s going to get punished.

And he has no idea what Yamamoto has on him (probably something his old man did, screwing him over even after probable-death, the fucker), but Ichigo prays to whatever god might still be out there and care about humanity that the world can do whatever it wants to him, just leave his friends and sisters be--

“I’ve assigned a guard job for you, Ichigo Kurosaki.”

He stares blankly at the old man. 

“That’s… It? After all this time?”

Yamamoto smiles in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, well, we do apologize for the delay. There were some… Precautions that we had to take before getting you to this position. We wanted to make sure you were a right fit.”

“Oh… Okay. So am I at the gate with Uryu, or--”

“No, no. None of that.” A gnarled hand waves the thought away. “This is a private guard position. Very important. Tell me, do you remember seeing our Lady Rukia the day you arrived?”

Ichigo tries to think of the female faces he caught in the crowd, and then remembers the woman in the ornate garb. “The one dressed in all the… Dressed really nicely?”

“Yes, that very one. She is dressed to reflect how precious she is to us. We call her our ‘Prized One.’ Tell me, have you ever played chess? You might call her the queen of our board.”

“... I’m not sure I follow--”

“You don’t need to.” The response is sharp, so swift that Ichigo almost startles. Yamamoto glares hard behind his hands at him, before suddenly relaxing. “Just know that your job is to guard her. You will be going with her where she goes, watching the entrance to her rooms. We have enemies that would very much like to take her, and that… Would be devastating to our cause.”

Ichigo’s having a hard time biting his tongue on all the questions bubbling up. What the fuck is up with this girl? 

Instead, he asks: “So, in terms of guarding her at night… I suppose what I’m trying to say here is, will I be her only guard? I hate to tell you I can’t be awake twenty four hours, sir.”

The old man chuckles dryly. “Of course not, my boy. Nothing of that sort is expected. We have a rotating staff at night while she sleeps; but you will be her primary guardian. In return, your group will be made of good use here.”

Ah. There it is. 

“So you’re blackmailing me, eh? I knew it was only too convenient that you took on my friends and sisters so easily.”

“Not at all. They have all been mastering their duties beautifully. This is just… Insurance, you might say. If you do your job, they will keep theirs. You would be wise to take it; others have not had such an offer.”

“So why me? What’s so important about this job, and why does it have to be me that does it?”

“You’ll learn, as I’m sure your friends have told you, that it’s better not to question this institution. Just trust that this is a job I consider you capable of, and leave the decision making to us. Now,” Yamamoto slides a sheet of paper from the corner of his desk to himself and begins to write on it. “Go to the Northwest Hall, fourth floor. If you get lost, there will be service persons that can lead you the right direction. They’ve been made aware of your new position.”

The old man doesn’t even acknowledge Ichigo’s leaving as he writes further.

[bobasheebaby]

Opia- Monsters chapter 4

Pairing: Olivia x Emma (MC); Olivia x Liam

Word count: 2,082 Warnings: Evil Liam, Evil Olivia, child abuse, infected wound, sword (knife) violence, blood, wound treatment Summary: Olivia and Liam take Emma to their hotel. A/N: More evil Liam. This one is severely twisted. This is a collaboration with @sirbeepsalot, so hang onto your seats.

Series warnings: Evil Liam, Evil Olivia, child abuse, character death, abuse, knife violence, blood, unhealthy sexual situations, NSFW content to come. By asking to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let one of us know if you want on or off the taglist.

Disclaimer: We only own our OC’s, the rest we are just borrowing from PB.

Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

The trio was quiet as the elevator slowly lifted them to the hotel’s penthouse. Liam glanced at Olivia and Emma, surprised at how put together they looked for having just killed a man.

He shouldn’t be surprised. At this point, they were essentially professionals. They could make a killing off of murder for hire assignments if they didn’t have a country to run.

The elevator stopped and they stepped out into the sitting room of their suite. Emma looked around wide eyed as she took in the room, her swollen lips parted slightly in awe. “This is the nicest place I’ve ever been,” Emma said as she ran her fingers along the petals of a deep red cyclamen. She turned her head to look at Liam and Olivia, who were by the door watching her with smiles on their faces. “You have the whole floor to yourselves?”

“We do,” Liam said as he slipped off his jacket. “Are you hungry? I can order room service while you freshen up. Olivia?”

“I’m fine. Emma, darling, what would you like to eat?”

Emma tapped her fingers on her arm. “I’m not sure. What are my options?”

“We’re at the most exclusive hotel in New York City. They have whatever you want.” Liam paused before turning to Olivia. "I'm going to order you a bowl of chicken soup." He met her eyes, the meaning of his statement clear: you will eat what I order you. He looked to Emma, flashing her a smile. "It's her favorite item on the menu."

“Liam, I’m fine.” Olivia said through gritted teeth. “Order something for yourself and Emma.”

The room was quiet while Olivia and Liam glared at each other. Emma shifted her weight nervously; it was the first time she had seen something other than complete devotion and love between them. Her discomfort led her to break the silence. “Chicken soup sounds good. I need a bath.”

“I’ll join you,” Olivia said before turning and guiding Emma to the master suite. She shot Liam a quick glance; he knew exactly what it meant: don’t fuck this up like you fucked things up with Juliet.

--

Emma entered the opulent bathroom and turned on the bath while Olivia collected her toiletries from her room. She handed a bag of vanilla scented bath products to Emma before perching her frail body on the sink. “Aren’t you going to bathe?”

“I am. I thought you were going to join me. We’re both pretty gross after … ” she trailed off, unable to say the words we killed Trey.

Olivia looked down before sliding off the countertop. She walked up to Emma and slowly started picking at the buttons on her shirt. “You are an amazing woman to take your life back from that asshole. I can’t wait to learn more about you.”

Emma stepped back from Olivia’s hands and pulled her shirt closed. “I’m not amazing. I’m just trying to survive. I fell for sweet talk once … as much as I like and appreciate you and Liam, I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

Olivia ran her thumbs under her eyes to wipe away stray tears. There was something about Emma that she couldn’t put her finger on but she knew she was different. Maybe it was written in the stars or in their eyes as they worked together to free her from Trey, but it was something special. It was something she didn’t want to fuck up.

“I understand. It is hard to trust others. I’ll leave you to bathe. I should have Liam address this wound on my chest.”

Emma's eyes followed Olivia’s hand as she gestured to her chest, where her right breast had an open bite wound around the nipple. Blood had soaked into what was left of her silk shell as the skin screamed red and angry. She felt heartbroken; Olivia had allowed Trey to violate her and she simply pushed her away.

Her hand reached forward and clasped Olivia’s as she turned to leave. “I need time … just know that I think you are pretty amazing too.”

“Thanks, Emma. I really need to have this looked at. Liam gets worried when I have open wounds.” She looked down and cupped her breast, shifting it up and to the side to get a better look at the damage. “There is a robe in the bedroom. I’ll see you when you finish.” She gave her hand a gentle squeeze before leaving the bathroom and softly closing the door.

--

She has to be okay.

His feet moved at warp speed as he raced through the halls towards the Walker residence.

She can’t leave me. I can’t do this on my own.

Liam didn’t allow himself to catch his breath before he was banging on the door. He was terrified of what his punishment would be for getting Olivia help; he’d been told she was fine and to stop his constant cries for attention. His parents would be angry when they returned but he didn’t care. Olivia was all he had in this world. If she died, he didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for failing her so horribly.

It was his fault she was sick. He’d begged until the young orphan was allowed to move to the Palace. He didn’t understand why they had been so reluctant to take her in—she was younger than him and left all alone. She would have been safer by herself.

The first time he was ever physically struck was a few days after she moved in with them. He took it with gritted teeth, believing that as long as she was safe they could punish him however they wanted. It was when he found her sporting the same bruises that he’d learned he wasn’t doing her a favor at all. She had also become a victim of their abuse.

He continued to hammer his fist against the solid oak door, panicked about why no one answered. He knew he didn’t have the luxury of being calm or patient; each minute counted. His foot drew back before slamming into the door. His hands curled into fists as he readied them for another barrage of hits. He couldn’t give up when she really needed him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door flew open. Bianca’s brown eyes were wide with surprise as she tried to close the robe haphazardly wrapped around her body. “Liam, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Livvy, she’s worse!” He said as tears streaked down his face. They had promised she’d be fine but she had only gotten sicker. He knew this would likely earn him the worst punishment he’d ever gotten, but he had to do something to try to save her. “She needs a doctor! I think she’s dying!”

Bianca hesitated at the door, her eyes looking back at her sleeping children. She suspected what happened and knew the risk of defying the King and Queen’s orders. She couldn’t turn a blind eye any longer; a child might be dying. She pulled her robe snug around the slight swell of her stomach as she stepped out into the hallway and shut the door. She raced down the marble halls behind the young prince and prayed they could get her help in time.

--

Bianca gasped as she took in the small girl. Her crimson hair soaked in sweat and clinging to her face. Her pale skin was as white as the sheets covering her shivering form. She knew the abuse was bad, but she never thought it would ever get this bad. Her heart broke as she rushed forward, her hand grazing Olivia’s forehead. She pulled her hand back quickly as though she’d been burned; her skin felt like it was on fire. “How did this happen?”

Liam shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It was one thing to get her help, but another to tell her how she got sick. You have to tell her. Livvy could die otherwise.

“She—she was cut.”

“Cut?” Bianca questioned. Surely he doesn’t mean ...

“Here.” He gestured to a spot on the left side of his ribs. “With a sword.”

--

Oliva walked across the penthouse to find Liam changing into his pajamas in one of the other bedrooms. He looked up and smiled as she crossed the threshold. “I thought you and Emma were tak--”

“--Three things,” she said, her voice tight. “First, don’t challenge me on food in front of others. You know better.”

Liam watched her quietly while he waited for her soul to settle. “Livvy, I haven’t seen you eat all day. You will eat when I say you eat. I refuse to watch you starve yourself to death after all we’ve been through.”

She didn’t respond and instead sat on the bed and waved her hand over her chest. “This needs attention. It might need stitches.” She laid down on the bed and watched as Liam went to his luggage and pulled out a small leather case.

“Let me see,” he murmured as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Olivia bit her lip as he started cleaning the wound with an antiseptic wash. “So … he did this?” He looked over to see Olivia’s eyes closed, a small smile on her face.

“You should have seen what we did to him. I’ll tell you once you fix me.”

--

Liam’s feet were rooted to the ground in fear as he watched his father take the requested sword from the servant. He wanted to intervene but he couldn’t let his presence be known; it would only make things worse for her in the end.

“You don’t play with swords.” Constantine growled, his eyes shining with rage as he watched the light refract off the edge of the smooth, sharp blade.

“It wasn’t real.” Olivia whimpered. She realized her mistake too late as his palm struck her face. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought them back. She never cried. Nevrakis don’t cry.

“Fake or not, you don’t play with weapons.” His blue eyes flashed as his hand slashed the blade across her side.

Olivia cried out in pain as her hands clutched her side; she refused to let the impending tears fall.

“Next time I catch you with a sword you will get worse.” Constantine turned to a servant. “Take her back to her room and don’t allow her to change or dress the wound. I want this to serve as a lesson.”

“Yes sir.” The servant gulped as she carefully took the small girls blood smeared hand in hers.

Liam clenched his small hands into fists as he fought to remain silent. She was his to protect and all he ever did was continue to fail her. I’ll do better, I promise.

--

“I don’t think you need stitches but I’m going to glue it and tape it up. It’s not deep--it just looks bad.” He worked slowly to repair the damaged tissue, gasps spilling from Olivia’s lips each time he touched her. He smirked as he saw her hand travel between her legs. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” she said as she stroked herself, her body already overstimulated from Trey’s assault. She focused on the warmth in her pelvis and the cool burn of the wound as Liam cleaned and bandaged her up. She was taking the experience back for herself.

--

Bianca gulped, her hands shaking as she lifted the sheet and gingerly pulled up Olivia’s nightgown. The air left her lungs as hot tears pricked at her eyes as she saw the large gash covering the small girls ribs. The wound was obviously infected. The skin red, angry, inflamed, with green spreading outward from the cut.  She couldn’t believe anyone could ever treat a child like this. She felt like she was going to be sick.

“Please save her,” Liam said, his voice small and childlike and nothing like the prince she knew.

Bianca nodded. “We’ll get her help--she’ll be okay.”

Please, Lord, let her be okay.

--

"When do I get to hear what happened?" Liam asked as he packed away his supplies.

Olivia stretched as she sat up on the bed. "Depends. You want the short or long story?"

"Hmm," Liam breathed as he walked back to stand between Olivia's legs. He palmed himself as he realized he needed release now. "Short story. I can't wait."

Feedback fuels us, please like, comment or reblog to let us know how much you like it. We can handle the screams, so scream away.

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

Taglist will be reblogged.

[elisaphoenix13]

A Half Day

It was probably a bad idea.

Okay, it was a terrible idea.

But Stephen needed a day off. From everything. Sorcerer Supreme duties, parenting, being a doctor, being a housewife, being a husband (he was pretty sure he heard someone make the correction of 'wife' from the other side of the ocean)...and really...doing everything. By the Vishanti, he practically parented the Avengers too! They came to him for a lot of issues or to patch them up, he's stopped three attempted food fights this month, and he had to stop Quill and Bucky from taking some of Harley and Peter's jokes seriously.

Like the one where Peter said he had to jump off the roof and Harley told him to do a flip.

Stephen was tired, and actually willing to risk leaving Valerie with her father (and everyone else) just so he could have more than an hour of peace. Tony was capable of raising a baby, but at the same time, half of their friends had been gone so no one bothered him. Now the tower was full again, plus Quill, and the god himself was part of the problem. With Valerie. Natasha was another part of it. Those two were constantly fighting over the baby--

Why was he thinking about this? Stephen did not remove his nanotech (with the knowledge that he would be getting an earful from Tony when he got home) and leave his phone behind just to spend his day off thinking about the chaos back home. Nope. He came to France for a quiet cup of tea that he could finish before it got cold and eat all the croissants he could stomach in one sitting. He even pulled out cash before coming so Tony couldn't track him if he used the card.

He did leave a note for his husband before he left early this morning (New York time), and simply wrote that he would be back soon. That was about two hours ago. A nice two hours of two cups of tea and probably about three or four croissants, and then he paid for his meal before walking around the streets of Paris. He took in the sights, breathed in the fresh air, and enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to grab his children's shirts to keep them from toppling over the bridge into the water below. Harley and Peter would have probably made a bet to see who could lean over furthest before falling or chickening out (Peter of course not allowed to use his spider grip), and Diana would either call them dummies or push one of them over.

With how much time she spent with Cassie, the boys still seemed to be rubbing off on her in all the worst ways. Then again, Cassie would do the same thing...maybe the young girl had a bigger part in raising Diana than Stephen initially thought. Maybe raising wasn't the right word though.

"I can't even go an hour without thinking about the kids." Stephen mumbles to himself.

Or anything else for that matter. He was having a hard time enjoying his peace when all he could think about was the doubtless disaster waiting for him at home already. He could visualize it now. Diana probably smuggled glitter into the tower and made more glitter bombs for Harley to shoot throughout the tower (and at Quill since Stephen was positive his oldest had a death wish), Peter with his webs, Tony and Tibbs down in the lab ignoring the disaster the kids and the team were creating, and Valerie was probably being pawned off between Avengers.

Athena was out of the overall equation since she was currently walking around Paris with him, and while they got some curious glances, they weren't bothered since the wolf stuck firmly to Stephen's side. She never ran off after stray animals or barked at other dogs that other people were out on walks with...she always waited for Stephen's permission and it still left him appalled. He only ever used magic to communicate with her the one time when she first came home with them, but she still ignored her instincts. Of course, if anyone or anything was a threat, that was an entirely different story. If Stephen was attacked, Athena would pounce without command. If there was a threat, she got defensive until Stephen commanded her.

Athena really was Stephen's.

"I guess a few hours for myself is better than nothing." Stephen muses aloud and looks down at the white wolf. "Might as well get the cubs souvenirs and get you some meat before we head home."

The sorcerer heads back toward the shops and commands Athena to stay outside while he goes into a butcher's shop, and after paying for the wolf's meal and asking the owner not to bother wrapping it, he carries it out by the paper it's sitting on. Stephen leans over to set it on the ground in front of Athena and quietly praises her for waiting patiently, and pets her head before leaving her to her lunch. She would remain in the spot by the bench while he went into a nearby cafe and ordered some crepes to go (for the kids), and also grabbed some coffee beans for Tony. A favorite of his that could only be found in France and that he had run out of a week ago.

Tony had been too absentminded to ask FRIDAY to order more coffee. He just moved on to the remains of other coffee beans he had sitting around. At least these would help pacify his husband's wrath to some degree. Tony had a billion and one reasons to worry about Stephen's and their children's safety...and even the rest of the team. The team acting as and being a family was spreading around the world (and some parts of the universe because of their battle with Thanos...and Quill's temper), and while some of the people with less than savory intentions thought twice and backed off, there were still a few morons.

Stephen buys the coffee and leaves the shop to return to Athena and he throws away the paper the meat had been sitting on into the nearest waste bin. He then motions for the wolf to follow as he slips out of sight to open a portal back home, and they barely step through when Harley snatches the bag of crepes as he runs past. Peter dashes after him, no doubt smelling the crepes, and they stumble into the kitchen where Dia and Cassie had been making something (thankfully glitter seemed to be absent) and they put it aside when Harley unloads the crepes for them.

Well the kids were easily taken care of with food, but how much of the disaster had the tower turned into in the few hours that Stephen had been gone? He looks around to assess the damage that had been done…

...but there was none.

It was as clean as he had left it that morning. The only thing different was that Tony was passed out on the couch with their youngest sleeping peacefully on his chest. Even while the engineer snored. The fact that the tower was clean and his husband was sleeping made Stephen start to wonder if perhaps he accidentally stepped into the wrong dimension. A few inconspicuous spells only proved that he was in the right place and Stephen looked around the floor some more. Kids eating at the table, Tony and baby daughter sleeping on the couch, Tibbs curled up with Athena on the floor...wait.

Some of the Avengers were sprawled out on the living room floor too. Quill was snoring (purring) on his back, and Scott was using his stomach as a pillow as he and Sam watched tv and Bucky threw popcorn at them from one of the couches. Steve sat next to the soldier drawing in a sketchbook, and Clint and Natasha were playing cards...how did Stephen miss them?

Probably because it wasn't the usual disaster. Everyone was quiet and everything was clean.

"Oh, hey Mama Bear. You're home a lot earlier than we expected." Sam says from his reclined position against one of Quill's bent legs.

"I...was expecting a mess to clean up." Stephen admits.

"Tony initiated the 'Mom Needs A Break' protocol." Bucky explains and the sorcerer blinks at him.

"There's a protocol for that?"

"You're married to him. You should know by now that there's a protocol for everything." Scott says. "There's even a protocol for when this guy goes berserk and I'm not home." He smacks the back of his hand against Quill's shoulder who doesn't even flinch and just keeps snoozing.

"Beast Mode Protocol." Tony elaborates sleepily as he looks at his watch. "You're back early tesoro."

Stephen sighs as he walks into the living room and retrieves his waking infant daughter off of the engineer. "All I did was think about the kids and the possible disaster I would come home to. I did enjoy two cups of hot tea though." He drops the bag of coffee beans into Tony's lap when he sits up and the older man grins.

"France? I'll pretend you didn't leave behind your tech and phone this time."

"How compassionate." Stephen teases and steals a kiss after his husband stands up. "Where are you going?"

"Down to the lab to make you tech that you can't remove. Come on furball." Tony heads over to the elevator as Tibbs unfurls himself from Athena's side and follows the billionaire into the elevator.

"I remember a time when Tibbs was my cat." Peter grumbles from the kitchen when the elevator doors close.

Stephen only smiles as he joins the kids in the kitchen and sets Valerie in her high chair. There was no heat behind Peter's words. Tibbs may spend time with Tony in the lab whenever he was down there, but he always slept in Peter's room every night. All of the cat's things were still in the teen's room, and he had originally belonged to Peter anyway. Tibbs just liked everyone. Their alpaca Gerald...and even Athena, a dangerous predator. He truly was a cat that didn't care.

"When's the last time your sister ate?" Stephen asks the kids, and Cassie was surprisingly the one who answered.

"Bucky fed her some cereal about three hours ago."

"I'm still convinced there's some of that in my arm!" The man calls from the living room.

"Buck, just go down to the lab and ask Tony to take a look." Steve says with a chuckle.

Stephen grabs a jar of baby food from the cupboard as Bucky relents and disappears onto the elevator and the doctor sits in a chair in front of the high chair. The moment Stephen fed her a small spoonful of pureed apples and blueberries, she was eating it so fast that he barely pulled the spoon away from her mouth before she was opening it again for more. Valerie loved fruit and it was always the least messiest meal, unlike the attempt to feed her pureed green beans. She was always a quiet baby, but if anyone put green beans anywhere near her...she threw a fit. Quill had been the one to figure that out the hard way. Stephen had his hands full that day and the celestial offered to help feed Valerie, so the sorcerer gave him the jar of green beans to feed her.

Stephen happened to watch that first spoonful disappear into Valerie's mouth, and then the look of pure betrayal appeared on her face. Betrayal because her Uncle Quill fed her that atrocious toxic waste and was trying to feed her a second spoonful. The god took a green bean shower that day, and Stephen made a mental note to keep green beans off the list of pureed vegetables to feed her.

Thankfully she liked everything else fed to her.

So far.

"Thanks for the crepes, Mom!" The boys jump up from their seats and toss the to go containers into the trash before they also disappear onto the elevator.

"I remember a time when they liked to cuddle." Stephen sighs heavily as he feeds the last of the fruit to Valerie.

"I could use some Mama Bear cuddles." Cassie says. "Papa Bear cuddles are great and all but his are more secure while yours are comforting."

"Me too!" Diana chimes in. "I want Mama Bear cuddles in a pillow fort!"

Stephen smirks. "You better get Uncle Quill to move then."

"Pfft. That's easy." Diana waves her hand at her mother. "He's like you."

"Like m--?" The doctor starts to ask until the little girl screams.

The sorcerer hears Scott and Sam squawk as the snoring suddenly stops, and he watches in mild amusement as Quill vaults over the couch closest to the kitchen. The celestial stumbles over to the girls and looks around for whatever is threatening Diana, and when he finds nothing, he narrows his eyes.

"What were you screaming for?"

"We needed you to move so me and Cassie can build a pillow fort and cuddle with Mommy."

Quill rubs his eyes. "You could have just asked."

"Well that's no fun." Stephen says with a smirk.

"Just for that, I'm sleeping in your bed." The celestial turns and makes his way up the stairs toward the master bedroom.

The doctor laughs. "Go sleep in your own bed!"

"Nope! Too late!" Quill disappears into the bedroom and Stephen looks at his daughter.

"No more of that unless you're really in trouble."

"I promise."

"Good. Now go build a fort."

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Wake Up

Summary: Noah’s worst injury is a traumatic brain injury.

WC: ~3k

Warnings: Death

When Noah comes to for the very first time, it’s been two full days since he was attacked. Or at least, that’s what they tell him. His memories are sloppy and thrown together, not quite painting a full picture of what happened to him besides the fact that it really hurt. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t remember, because his body looks and feels like he was dropped into a blender and pulsed on high speed. Two to three minutes until creamy, he thinks dazedly. There’s no one else in his room, but a whiteboard across from him lists his medications and what scans they’re taking him through today, while his bedside table is crowded with flowers and balloons and get well cards. 

He fumbles around for a minute to find the call button, trying to make sure that they know he’s awake. Maybe they’ll have some answers for him, or at least be able to call up April. His memories are fuzzy, but he knows he needs to make sure she’s alright. He gets a nagging suspicion that there’s someone else he should be talking to, but it doesn’t make its way through the mess of his mind yet. Be patient, he tells himself. He’s going to be okay.

The nurse who comes to check on him is sweet, calling the doctor while she does some preliminary testing. Can he follow a pen light with his eyes? What’s his pain level like? Does he know his name? Is there anyone she can call for him.

“I want my sister,” he says. His mouth is clumsy. “April. She works in the ED.”

“I’ll call her for you.”

Noah tries to thank her, but his words stumble together, and he’s left frustrated with himself and confused as two doctors file in, one who introduces herself as Noah’s primary doctor, Dr. Warner, and another who he recognizes after a moment. Dr. Abrams. Something must have happened to his head, which explains a lot about how slow his mind is and how much he’s struggling to piece together.

Warner asks some of the same questions about the nurse, explains his injuries, and asks him how he’s feeling, to which he replies that he’s sore. And then Dr. Abrams clears his throat, not quite looking Noah in the eye as he speaks.

“You sustained a concussion and a fairly small subdural hematoma, a- a bruise on your brain in the temporal region. When you came in, the team thought it best to just keep an eye on it while they worried about more pressing injuries, but once you came out of surgery, you seized.”

Noah hears him, but the words aren’t processing well.

“We stabilized it, and you seem to be healing, but there could be some long term effects.”

“Like what?”

“It could cause problems with your memory, speech, concentration, mood- or none of them. It’s just a wait and see.” Dr. Abrams gives him a somewhat stiff smile and pats his shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, Noah.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dr. Warner asks.

He struggles to fit together the pieces. It’s all out of order, hard to tell what came when. Opening presents for his birthday as a child and getting a residency at med and going to a busy party with tons of people at a naggingly familiar but unidentifiable location, all bright and vibrant memories, feel like they happened at the same time even though he knows that isn’t true. He just doesn’t know. But what feels the most recent is getting hurt.

“Pain,” he answers.

“Do you remember anything else about it?”

Noah shakes his head, even though it makes him a little dizzy. “No, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Some of it may come back with time,” she says, and before he can be bombarded with more questions, April’s coming in.

She looks rather haggard, compared to how put together she often is. Her hairline is loose with flyaways, bags heavy under her eyes, shifting unsteadily on her feet. Noah hates when she’s worried, because it usually means that he has to worry, and/or something bad is happening. This is how she was when he applied to medical school, after she put herself through nursing school to provide for him like their parents never have. She’s done a lot for him, he thinks, and he feels bad to have upset her like this.

“Hey Noah,” April says softly, pulling a chair up at his bedside. “How’re you feeling?”

“Never better.” 

She cracks a small smile. “I called Crockett when they said you were awake. He’s on his way, should be about twenty more minutes.”

Crockett, like the vague memory of a party, isn’t entirely strange but has no specific connotations in his head. He can’t put it together well, but he pretends to know what that means while she talks to the doctors and a good amount of it goes over his head. Concentrating on it makes his head start to hurt, which he chalks up to still being tired, so he lets them talk about it and struggles to put together the pieces. What names does he know other than April’s? He knows Dr. Abrams. He scours his brain and comes up with Maggie and Ethan, too, but much more than that starts to go fuzzy. He thinks of brown curly hair and a white coat, a name out of reach but a laugh burned into his brain.

“Noah.”

He blinks at April. The doctors aren’t here anymore, just them, and Noah wonders how he missed that.

“How are you? Really?” she asks.

“Everything hurts and my brain isn’t working.”

She laughs slightly, leans to press a button at his side that floods him with warmth and chases away the pain after a brief moment. A nice little dose of painkillers. He should have thought about that earlier, asked after it because there’s not a single part of him that doesn’t ache. When he looks at his hands, one has mottled bruises on it, and the other is wrapped up in a cast that stretches from the middle of his palm nearly all the way to his elbow. It’s bright, neon pink of all colors. He wonders who chose it. April wouldn’t have, but the curly haired girl in his memories would, he thinks. It’s hard to know. 

Noah relaxes back against the pillows, reveling in it for a moment before there’s a loud knock on the wall and he’s jerked back into reality to see a naggingly familiar face, smiling at him and holding a bouquet. Has it been twenty minutes since April got here? Because he’s pretty sure this is the Crockett she mentioned, setting down the roses at his bedside and pressing the gentlest of kisses to his temple.

“Hey sugar, it’s good to see you awake.”

More than anything in the world, Noah wishes something would happen to give him an excuse not to say anything, reveal that he doesn’t know who this man is or what they mean to each other. He looks at April pleadingly, hoping she’ll help, but she can’t. 

“Noah?”

He swallows and looks at the man. He looks pretty rough too, just like April, and he has the faint smell of liquor still on his clothes, like he had been drinking before he got here. He doesn’t sound drunk. But he smells it. 

“Noah, sugar, what’s wrong?”

“I- I-”

It’s April who puts a hand on the man’s shoulder and gives him a thin smile. “Maybe you should come back later.”

“But-”

“Crockett.”

Reluctantly, Crockett leaves the room, roses left behind and Noah’s skin burning with the memory of his kiss. She must have known something was wrong, and like when they were young, she’s protecting him. He can breathe easy now. Or at least easier. His chest hasn’t much been cooperating, but it’s perfectly fine with the combination of painkillers and a cannula giving him extra oxygen. His stats look fine, anyway, even if he doesn’t feel good.

“Noah, honey, do you know who that was?”

He wants to say yes. He wishes he could say yes. But he shakes his head slightly. “He seemed familiar…”

The last thing he wants is April’s pity, but it washes across her face anyway with a splash of worry and the slightest hint of anger. Not at him, he hopes. It’s hard to tell. But she’s very careful choosing her words when she picks up Crockett’s flowers and sets them out of Noah’s line of sight. 

“That was Crockett Marcel. He’s a trauma surgeon in the ED, you’re doing your residency under him.”

She stops there, but clearly there’s more to say.

“And?”

“You two have been together for a couple months.”

It would explain the flowers, how upset Crockett was, but mostly Noah is having a hard time believing that he had- has? A thing with a cocky surgeon who’s apparently in charge of him and from the smell of it, has a drinking problem. It doesn’t make sense. And why wouldn’t he be able to remember any of that?

“I don’t…”

Something must show on his face. Sadness, loss, confusion- something that makes April’s face go soft as she tucks his sheets around him like they’re children again, makes a soothing sound and fluffs one of his pillows. She’s mothering him. He doesn’t mind this time. It’s easier than trying to do it for himself right now. 

“Just get some rest, okay? We can figure it out later.”

And he is tired, so he nods slightly and relaxes into the bed. He hurts. There’s a part of him that wants to wake up later, with all the pieces put back together, and he won’t have to try and tape together shredded photographs of memories that he can’t imagine himself making. He prays, as he drifts off, for everything to make sense.

The next time he comes to, nearly a full day later, he has no more idea than he did last time. April is still there, but in sweatpants and a tee shirt as opposed to her scrubs, and there’s new flowers at his bedside. She smiles and tells him that hopefully, he’ll be able to go home in a week, except that Noah isn’t sure where home is. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

“Good morning. Or good evening, I guess,” she says.

She sounds tired.

“Sleep well?”

“Ish,” he answers, and finds the painkiller button to help with the ache spreading through his body. On the whiteboard across from him, mixed up with words he can’t quite read, are pinned-up scans that are probably of his body. One of his chest shows a completely whited out lung. There’s one of his brain that’s got a bright blast of colors on it. “Are we supposed to have those?”

Immediately, April stands up and takes them down, tucking them out of sight. “I asked to see. Sorry.”

He looks down at his chest and wonders if that’s why it hurts. Probably. It could be blood or fluid, he has no way of knowing unless he asks, which he would rather not. This is one thing he’s happy to be ignorant of. The cards, however, he’s curious about, so he reaches clumsily over for the pile. With mild success, he gets them into his lap and can start trying to read them.

Key word, trying.

For whatever reason, he can’t make the lines turn to words. He spends maybe a minute or two staring at the one in front of him before he sets it down and wills himself not to cry. He won’t cry. This will be fixed soon, he’ll be fine.

“Do you want me to read them to you?”

He nods. This is humiliating, but it’s outweighed by his curiosity as April takes the first off the stack and reads it to him like a bedtime story. This one is from someone named Elodie, a name he doesn’t recognize but whose words seem like they were close. There’s a generic one signed by “the whole med staff,” one from Crockett, one from their parents. But then, April picks one up and immediately sets it back down.

“April?”

“It’s fine.”

She goes to throw the card away.

“April.”

“Noah.”

“Please?”

There’s a slow, deep breath. A sniffle. Hesitation as she opens the brightly colored card and shakily reads, “You’re lucky you’re still alive. Next time it’s your sister.”

Before he can ask what that means, she’s stepping out of the room with her phone and he has to guess this is about whatever put him in the hospital. He doesn’t know why, but clearly it’s bad, and if they hurt her, he’ll never forgive himself. He can’t let them hurt April. Whoever they are.

When he tries to remember, it just gives him a headache and brings him to painful tears and a sharper pain in his chest because of course he still can’t breathe. It’s only been a handful of days. He struggles for the call button, hoping that someone will help him, help April. In the moments between finally hitting the button and someone coming, there’s a taste like the way matches smell in his mouth. He doesn’t remember anything after that.

It’s only a few hours before he wakes up again. His body aches and tingles like he’s been shoved through an electric outlet and squeezed back out, and the room is crowded. April and Crockett. Dr. Warner and Dr. Abrams. A tall man with a dark jacket and a notepad. It’s a lot at once, and he forgets how to breathe for a minute while Dr. Abrams talks at him.

“I don’t…”

There’s a word that belongs at the end of the sentence, but he can’t find it. Instead, he trails off again. He’s been doing that lately. They’re all looking at him until the stranger pulls up a seat beside him and asks him what he remembers about the attack. 

“It hurt.” One of his hands raises to his head almost instinctively, finding bandages. Oh. “Something about- about-”

“It’s okay, take your time, sugar,” Crockett says.

What comes out of his mouth is “May.”

Everyone’s looking at him.

“April. I mean April.”

Dr. Abrams gives everyone a look and crosses his arms, but doesn’t interrupt the stranger. Probably a police officer, that would make sense.

“There was a woman.”

“Can you remember anything about her?”

Nothing comes to mind. A hint of a voice, but not enough for him to know what was said and there’s no face to fill the void. Useless. The stranger thanks him, leaves him, gives the seat to Dr. Abrams and the heavy black tablet in his hand.

“Noah, it doesn’t look like your brain is healing.”

He shows him a picture. The colors again, but it’s taking up more space and Noah has this nagging sense that he should understand it better than he does. So he nods slightly and looks around the room. They’re all still looking at him.

“We have a couple of options. We could do a craniotomy, where we would remove part of your skull to get to the blood clot, and drain it. There’s a good chance you survive it, about 80%. It’s too large for a burr hole. We could also just leave it alone and hope. Put you on anticonvulsants, keep you comfortable, and see if it heals on its own. It would be less invasive, and less painful, but there’s no guarantee.”

Noah nods.

“What do you want to do?”

If he’s honest, he doesn’t quite recall the options, and there’s nothing to suggest an answer on anyone’s face, so he finally gets out, “Whatever you think is best.”

“I’d recommend the surgery, and that we do it as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

Except he doesn’t know for sure what he’s agreeing to, and he’s tired again from all the talking and the thinking and a nap sounds good, even though they’re still talking to him. More frantically now, louder, and he tries to stay awake as best as he can.

“Can you hear me?”

The face above him reminds him of his mother, and he smiles.

He wakes up in a different room with a nebulizer on his face. Nothing hurts anymore, but he can’t quite think of anything, either. His brain is blissfully empty, his mouth disgustingly dry, and the cold metal on his chest is making his muscles tighten. It’s harder to breathe now.

“Hey, you’re okay, Noah. You’re okay. Do you know where you are?”

Just barely, he manages to open his eyes, looking into a warm, soft brown face with a wide array of blonde curls. She’s wearing a white coat as she shines a light into his eyes. Too bright. Can’t see. But then it’s over and she’s backing away a bit, leaving him to try and orient himself in all this. There’s a couch, off to the side, where two people lay. Both familiar, but not recognizable. He should know who they are. He should know where he is.

The doctor is still waiting for an answer.

He doesn’t have one for her. 

The two people on the couch stir, get up in each other’s arms and come to his bedside, each reaching out to him with concern. The woman fluffs his pillows, the man holds his hand. They speak to him, but it doesn’t get through very well. He has no idea what they’re saying, but it feels rather safe and warm. He doesn’t have to worry about anything, not that he could if he wanted to, and rests against the soft bed while a gentle kiss lands on his cheek.

Noah does not wake up again.

[starringemiliaclarke]

Press: Emilia Clarke: ‘I didn’t want people to think of me as sick'

THE GUARDIAN – As she stars in this year’s Christmas feelgood movie, Emilia Clarke talks about the intense scrutiny of Game of Thrones, how she coped with the brain haemorrhage that almost killed her – and why we all need to escape reality sometimes

Gallery Links:

PHOTOSHOOTS & OUTTAKES > 2019 > 2019 The Guardian

MAGAZINES > 2019 > 2019 The Observer – Dec 1

  Emilia Clarke had a headache. It was 2011, just before Valentine’s Day and just after she’d wrapped on the first series of Game of Thrones, playing Daenerys Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons. She didn’t yet know, as she crawled into the locker room of her local gym in north London and vomited bile into the toilet, that Game of Thrones would run for seven further seasons, break Emmy-award records for most wins for a scripted television series and for a drama, be named one of the greatest TV shows of all time, and quickly come to define her. But there was much she didn’t know.

She didn’t know that at 24 she had suffered a life-threatening stroke, a subarachnoid haemorrhage (SAH) caused by bleeding into the space surrounding the brain. She didn’t know, as she lay on the floor repeating lines from Game of Thrones in order to test her memory, that a third of SAH patients die immediately, or that those who survive require urgent treatment to avoid a second, often fatal bleed. She didn’t know there was another swollen blood vessel in her brain, which had doubled in size by the time she finished filming season three. She didn’t know that one day, eight years later, over biscuits on her pink sofa, she would be smiling with the dark realisation that her stroke was one of the best things that could have happened to her.

Her pink sofa is in her pink house, which is also green and blue and muted shades of rust, and has a secret bar hidden in a courtyard shed, and an outdoor screening room heated by a wood-burning stove. To walk into her living room, where one corner is painted with a symbol relating to her mum, another to her late dad, and a third with a meaningful dragon, is to enter the cosiest corner of Clarke’s mind. By the stairs, horsehair is visible in the plaster; the walls are stripped back to the bone. She shows me round with a raw sort of glee, a sense that her comfort and safety are bound into the details: the friends’ art on the walls, the “single girl’s” bedroom. She moved in after Game of Thrones; in this and many ways, her life can be cleanly dissected into before and after.

Before, Clarke, now 33, who grew up in Oxfordshire, had appeared in a single episode of the daytime soap Doctors. She was ambitious, optimistic and relentlessly cheerful. After, after Game of Thrones, and the death of her father, which shook her family, as did her life-threatening stroke, she is sitting on her pink sofa and contemplating a decade that changed her.

“And yes, I’m at the point where I definitely think of the brain haemorrhage as a good thing,” she nods. She has extremely expressive eyebrows that appear jointed – for every word Clarke says, and she says many, they add 15 more. “Because I was never destined to be the ‘young actor goes off the rails’ type, up and down the gossip columns. And having a brain haemorrhage that coincided precisely with the beginning of my career and the beginning of a show that became something quite meaty, it gave me a perspective that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.” She pauses. “I’m quite a resilient human being, so a parent dying and brain haemorrhages coinciding with success and people following you in the street and getting stalkers – you’re just, like, ‘Well let’s try and make something sensible of it.’”

It was a decade that contained the very best and very worst of a life, and one of the sensible things she tried to make of it was the founding of a charity, SameYou, to provide treatment for people recovering from brain injuries and stroke. It was only in order to promote the charity that, eight years after her stroke, she finally decided to talk about it, in a piece for the New Yorker. “On the set, I didn’t miss a beat, but I struggled,” she wrote, of returning to Game of Thrones after brain surgery. “Season two would be my worst. I didn’t know what Daenerys was doing. If I am truly being honest, every minute of every day I thought I was going to die.”

It’s remarkable, considering her profile and her regular appearances in the Daily Mail in lovely dresses and grand smiles, that she managed to keep it secret for so long. She didn’t want to tell strangers, “Because it was mine.” She feared, too, that people would “sneer at it”.

It so happened that, the week before I went to meet her, I had a similar (though less dramatic) neurological diagnosis – when I tell her about it, for some reason my voice shakes. She is warm and quick with recommendations, and as she continues she says, “Well, you know, then. You know the worries. That people will think your soul, your movement, your voice, who you were,” was damaged. “It was nerve-racking to share it, to be honest. It always is, when you make yourself vulnerable.” She waited so long to talk about it, because, “I didn’t want people to think of me as… sick.”

There are still days on set when she will quietly pull aside the makeup person and say, “‘I think I’m having a brain haemorrhage. I’m not, I promise, but maybe just put me in a cold tent and we’ll sit down for a second, and I apologise in advance if I freak you out.’ Over the summer I was burning the candle at both ends, and I was with my mate on the plane. And I was like, ‘Dude, I feel really weird…’ But I was fine. It’s hard not to think the worst. It’s hard to think you’re overtired, or you’ve been on Instagram too long, and to realise these might have the same side-effects as something deadly. But the charity evolves with me. I use it. Here’s something else that I feel: maybe someone else feels the same way.”

She talks about the summer just gone with a regretful kind of wonder – it was th e summer after the Game of Thrones finale had divided fans, when she was coming to terms with how the “overwhelming” amount of nudity in the first season had affected her. And, after years of “filling every hiatus with a movie, shit, good or otherwise” (she starred opposite Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator Genisys, and as Qi’ra in Solo: a Star Wars Story) she had decided to take a break. Or, the decision was made for her.

“After we did the premiere for the last season, it felt suddenly like I lost all of the bones in my body. And I was in this puddle on the floor going, ‘Maybe this isn’t just the show.’ I’d never wanted to look around and see what we had, because I was convinced it was just going to blow up in our faces. And, well, at the end it kind of did. So I kept my head down. Then, after the premiere, I finally was able to stop, and that was difficult.” She travelled and went “raving with my mates, but that was not fulfilling. So, bloated and exhausted I went away for two weeks with my best girlfriend, [The Good Fight star] Rose Leslie, and it was in this retreat in India that I suddenly got it. This is what stopping feels like. And I was able to finally… be kind to myself.”

All this is recent. All this is really recent, with a new understanding of grief. Her beloved father, a theatre sound engineer, died of cancer in 2016. “The world felt like a scarier place once my dad wasn’t in it,” she said at the time. “There was the referendum, too,” she shudders. “It was the year of everything bad.”

But it was after her lost summer that, “I finally got this feeling. As if, on a cellular level, I’d grown up. And it’s so bittersweet, because I was clinging on to that childlike optimism. Then, when I finally let it go, I realised that was actually quite a heavy backpack to be wearing. I felt like that at the Emmys, too, finally popping my head up from the bunker. It’s as if you can see the actual landscape that you’ve been living in this entire time from another perspective.”

Occasionally she looks at me apologetically, her eyebrows like arrows, to check she’s not saying too much, and then she continues. “It can be perceived as such a feminine trait, can’t it – the responsibility to ‘put a smile on it’. And, and you feel like it’s a defeat if you give in and admit, ‘Maybe it’s not going to be OK in the end.’ But then, if you do, then you have an opportunity to go… ‘and what if that’s all right?’ Death is shit,” she says, dramatically. “It’s really hard and grief is horrific, and yet it is completely and utterly guaranteed. No matter how much Silicon Valley boys want to prove to everyone it’s not. But the finality of death, the absolute certainty of it, I’ve realised, is such a tonic.”

Along with a good stroke, I add the loss of a parent to her list of recommendations. “No! I’m not recommending it to anyone, obviously. But it is something real you can actually hold on to. We don’t look at grief properly. I’m not talking about the random moments of completely overwhelming emotion, I’m pretty in control of that… there was only one time on set where I just physically couldn’t stop crying. It’s the other stuff that we don’t discuss – the functional grief; when your worldview and your perspective on life and yourself changes irrevocably, forever.”

How is she dealing with that? “By realising that there is a framework that life lives within, and knowing when you reach the edges of it. There’s that. And I try to use the shit feelings as opposed to just ‘breathing through it’. It’s like putting my plastic in the recycling bin – it might not do anything, but I should at least try. And then being an actor and having a production company, knowing that the greater understanding I have about life, the greater storyteller I can be. As an actor, you’re always observing – no matter what trauma you’re going through, there’s a wee bit of your brain that’s like, ‘Isn’t this fascinating?’”

Every time I interview a famous person I leave feeling slightly high and slightly sad, because to enter their fabulous world also, inevitably, means you see the shadow of their cage. The imposed disconnect, for instance. And the constant smiling and the many locks. Clarke was catapulted to extreme fame during a period when she nearly lost her mind. She started to find gifts outside her door, from one of many stalkers. One, she says, is extremely unwell, another extremely mean. “The stalker stuff is just horrible because, as a single lady walking around town, I already feel like I’m being followed.”

These stalkers believe they’re having a relationship with her, “which is confusing, because having a relationship with people I don’t know is a big part of what I signed up for. I care about what art does to people. But it carries with it a responsibility, and when you leave your front door you take that with you. And it’s a difficult path to navigate. Because sometimes,” and she’s talking about fans now, the line between the two often being blurred, “you get grabbed physically and your instincts kick in. When you see shock being registered on someone else’s face, you’re like, ‘Where’s the danger?’ And then you realise, oh, it’s me – I’m the danger.”

Her fanbase is due to change shortly, as she maps out her career without dragons. Clarke’s new film is Last Christmas and is based on the Wham! song. While it is a box-office hit, reviews have been… mixed. “The kind of bad,” said Rolling Stone, “that falls somewhere between finding a lump of coal in your stocking and discovering one painfully lodged in your rectum.” It threatens to become a cult classic. Reader, I loved it.

Clarke plays a woman whose messy life, it becomes clear, is partly a result of recent illness. “I was able,” she says darkly, “to bring a lot to the role.” There is a romantic twist, a twist so gooey it may cause diabetes in vulnerable audiences, but there is a second twist, in that this film (co-written by Emma Thompson) could prove to be the most effective piece of anti-Brexit propaganda of the festive season. Clarke (with Thompson as her mother) plays the youngest of a family of first-generation immigrants, dealing with the fallout of the referendum.

“We filmed a scene of a hate crime,” Clarke says, a scene on a London bus where a couple are told to go back to where they came from. “And Emma said, ‘Come on, let’s be honest: haven’t we all witnessed something similar?’” She loved working on this film, in part because of the women in charge, “who recognised that we all had a life outside this movie. You don’t have to have a vagina to do that, but the difference lay in that slight… lack of patriarchy?” And in part because of the intersection between entertainment and what she describes as “meaning”. Something she continues to search for, albeit with regular disclaimers of privilege, and embarrassment.

“The world is scary at the moment, both politically and environmentally. You have politicians pushing people to the absolute limits of their left versus right parameters, and the middle ground that we were all living in before is now wasteland, because both sides are life or death. It feels so much more polarised and extreme than ever. You’ve got 33-year-olds like me asking, ‘Should I bring kids into this world? If I do, what will that kid feel like?’ It feels frightening, consistently. And I’m not alone. I’m leaning hard on Bake Off right now.”

But the fear has made her reassess her work, post-Game of Thrones. “Entertainment is about taking you outside of yourself for a second, which is largely what I think the success of Game of Thrones was. People wanted to see something familiar, but also have that level of separation, through dragons and magic. Escapism is what lots of people go to art for. So, if we can cherry-pick stories to tell people in a shitty time, I’d like to give them something really good. It could make them feel better, or less alone, or make them realise there’s something outside of their front door that they should care about.”

She takes a sharp breath. “You know, I spent a lot of time being like, ‘What I do is all bullshit. I’m completely selfish, a total narcissist.’ And then…” And then the world hit her at a great speed, and she emerged into this new adulthood, and 10 years crawled over her like glittering rats. “And then I realised what it was for. I help provide relief. And that’s worth something, especially now. Right?”

It takes a second before I realise she is waiting for an answer. “Right,” I say, reassuringly. “Right.”

Last Christmas is in cinemas nationwide now

Press: Emilia Clarke: ‘I didn’t want people to think of me as sick’ was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke | Est 2012