#it’s quite a trauma cocktail | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lavendermin · 23 days ago

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collar of thorns | blade

blade x reader, fem reader, bodyguard au

wc | 5.1k

genre | hurt and (a tiny bit of) comfort, nsfw, minors do not interact

warnings | implied toxic family dynamics, unhealthy dependency, brief previous torture mention, panic attacks, trauma, blood and brief violence, nudity, blade uses a shower head to get you off (if there’s a term for this lmk I’m drawing a blank rn)

note | mwah thank you to the bestest @nashusglasses for beta reading this 💗 this was supposed to be at most 2k but well… here we are ^^; love blade’s quiet but gentle girldad vibe with the stellaron hunters so this is a loose interpretation of that in a bodyguard au. very self indulgent with a sprinkle of comfort and mostly exploring their dynamics of an evolving relationship

His calculated actions are a conversation—one you have learned to follow, though not without a learning curve. Even in silence there’s more he tells you with a glance alone than words ever could.

It’s experience that Blade has accumulated as your bodyguard for quite a few years. No stranger to your mannerisms and higher quality of life coming from a family with powerful connections and flaunted status.

He knows you well, in his opinion. Head held high but a frail little thing weak in the knees from utter fear and paranoia. Pitiful, he thinks. Like a field mouse braving the jaws of a beast.

Despite being the black sheep of a renowned family, you’re no less a target as a vessel of valuable knowledge— information that some would go to great lengths to gain. No cost is too great, risk and reward leading many astray. Ultimately, it pulls you closer to unraveling. Time and time again.

—

There is protest— displeasure from attendants that arrive on behalf of the main family estate. You aren’t meant to be seen like this— bedridden and flawed and vulnerable.

The instruction was to wait. Wait until you have healed and could properly make yourself presentable. To save your family face, above all else.

But it’s your house, your rules.

The attendant continues to talk your ear off about why this is egregious and why the meeting should be postponed until months later when you’ve healed. It’s what the family ordered.

They might as well have ordered you dead, too. In your current state you’re no different than a deer in an open meadow, a thousand triggers waiting to be pulled.

“No.” Your gaze is blank as you side-eye the attendant by your bedside. “I want him to see— see exactly what my father signed him up for. If he is to be my guard, then he has to be able to handle all aspects of my life. What good is he to me if the unsightly is just that and nothing more?”

The attendant opens their mouth to oppose, but is interrupted by a knock on your room’s door as another attendant exchanges a hushed message. Upon their departure a tall figure is allowed inside— dark, silent.

Heavy is the atmosphere as he stands before you with an air that you can’t quite read. Blade, his name that was briefly provided by your father’s informant days prior.

“The family extends its gratitude for your gracious courtesy to meet with me on such short notice. Things haven’t been going as smoothly as my father would like. And that man does not trust me whatsoever to keep my mouth shut if the worst should happen.” You mutter something bitterly that Blade chooses not to dwell on. Sleepless paranoia has taken quite the toll on you. The dark circles under your eyes are quite unbecoming, though he doesn’t comment on it.

It’s none of his business— not until you tell him it is. Your word now commands him from the second he stepped into the room.

Blade sits across from you in a leather chair, unreadable with a rather guarded posture. His employer’s daughter— his task— is both what he expects and doesn’t expect.

There is a fear that keeps you alive and a defeat that splits your soul. A cacophony of unrest, a cocktail for an isolated soul.

“As you can see, he’s sorely mistaken,” you snort, dry and humorless. The days worth of agony are neatly dressed in gauze and fresh bandages, well on their way to become a blur of many such incidents to come. A recent incident— torture for information, he can only assume. “Regardless, my life is in your hands now.”

Blade nods, a simple acknowledgement. How easily he accepts to be by your side until your final breath.

“More than your duty,” you continue, “you are my trusted companion. My only companion.”

___

There’s little intel Blade could gather on attempts at your life, but that matters less to him from the second he’s hired. Those attempts would not prove successful, at whatever cost. They would only diminish further the longer he was your guard.

Duty-bound and distanced, he does not bother asking further about your past, and neither do you. You know he wouldn’t answer, and you’ve tried.

As a victim of circumstance, you are hard to blame.

Casual conversation is one-sided—a condition you’ve grown accustomed to. The microscopic changes of expression he allows are often response enough for you to carry conversation. You’ve long since stopped thinking too hard about it. No use breaking your heart over minor inconveniences like a petulant, rich brat.

In fact, not once have you heard him speak in your presence. Doesn’t need to, you think.

It’s easier to think that perhaps he holds resentment or dislikes his duty of protecting you. The lack of verbal conversation is often key to that. But Blade is very good at what he does—skilled in the art of reading people with a glance. His gentle gestures despite a blank, forlorn expression speak to the heart. Your heart.

It’s easy— liking him.

“There’s a restaurant that was highly recommended to me. Word of mouth from one of the Iris Family members during last month’s meeting,” you start casually. Sleep is just freshly rubbed from your eyes that morning.

Blade doesn’t respond, as expected, his hands steadily occupied with brushing your hair. Always gentle. More patient than you who yanks at any knots that form. You prefer it when he does it, liking the feeling of little jolts of electricity down your spine at the intimate action. It calms your nerves, he’s noted.

So, he indulges you.

There’s hesitance in your fidgeting hands as you peek at him through the vanity mirror from under your lashes. It easily betrays the stern facade you try to enact. You try your luck anyway. “It looked promising and would be a nice change of pace. I would like to try it out.”

Silence. His hand stills and his gaze is rather cold as he meets your eye. The air in the room shifts, a thick tension that’s palpable. You don’t even flinch.

“Bad idea, I take it. Well, I have an errand in the area regardless— the Oak Family contacted us not long ago and I’m being issued as the initial contact for a new business discussion. It would be an ideal use of our time if we can still pick up some food to bring back afterward.”

His hands resume their brushing, burning-red gaze now a dulled crimson as he focuses on not pulling your hair. A better idea, you take it, as he seems to relent to your veiled suggestion with a quiet sigh. The only clear sign you’ve learned means you won him over.

Blade knows well that you look for little ways to get some wiggle room of normalcy. You’ve never gotten used to this caged-bird life, bound to fear what lies beyond the golden enclosure of silk and honey. Perhaps he pities your cries, like birdsong that longs for a life that doesn’t suffocate you— a life that doesn’t hinge on every day and every interaction being a gamble.

If there is even a fraction of an illusion of that for you, he will turn a blind eye and let you lie to yourself. A moment is enough to soothe your aching heart.

Later in the day you depart for the city. A distraught feeling sits in the pit of your belly. An omen brought by a spike in anxiety that you force out of mind as Blade opens the passenger door for you.

It’s a silent ride across several towns to the location indicated. There’s doubt that gnaws at the back of your mind. Something didn’t seem right with the person that contacted you with the location details for this conference between families. You’ve become much too aware that you’re viewed as an expendable pawn of the family.

But, you’re sure Robin will be there. And a familiar face is just what you need for this to be less of a drag.

Blade seems to sense your hesitance. Wordlessly, he turns on the radio. You worry too much, he seems to criticize with the action. It helps all the same.

But… your spirits seem lighter, more optimistic. A moment of normalcy as you tune out and look out the window at passing city lights and a sun slowly tucking away behind never ending buildings. You’re a person, then.

Even if only briefly.

____

They say a common phenomenon occurs that allows you to register one small, redundant detail when in a state of sudden shock. And you remember it then, clear as day.

7:59 PM.

The time on your cracked phone screen just inches away from you.

The smell of iron and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. None of it registered quick enough before Blade yanked you harshly out of the way.

And yelling. Muffled and harsh.

Your body is cold with fear, frozen stiff in place. It’s a feeling you haven’t felt since you were a child.

You struggle to get back onto your feet, cowering back toward the alley wall. It gets harder to breathe as panic sets in when your eyes spot Blade clutching his side.

The situation deteriorates further, every passing second a blur of struggle and dark figures. It feels like every emotion is going to burst out of you in a scream. It’s an out-of-body experience, as if you’re watching your own body act on its own trying to put itself between Blade and the attackers.

“Don’t,” he commands—harsher still with urgency. “Stop.”

You freeze at the foreign sound of his voice. There’s no time to process it as crimson seeps through the fresh wound on his side.

You keep hearing his muffled voice tell you to run, run away. Through the pounding in your ears of adrenaline and fear you realize that’s your voice. Hoarse and frantically yelling, pleading for him to run away— you’re hurt, don’t fight anymore.

The rest is a blur as Blade drags you out of the alley, through crowds of nightlife and shoves you into the car. There’s no way of knowing if the pursuit was hot on your tails. It’s a risk Blade could not afford in his current state.

Your mind is numb with fear during the entire process. Every jolt from the roads he speeds through shoots pain through his body— a bloody manifestation of his inadequacy. He hisses and clutches his side, forced to drive with one hand. The sound tears you from your daze for a moment but forces you to experience the present.

There’s red on your hands, your clothes. The smell of iron is putrid as you desperately try to control your breathing. Bile is at your throat and you choke back a sob, like a pitiful kicked dog. You can’t afford to freak out right now and make things worse.

It’s disjointed how your body reacts compared to your mind. You’ve been through worse. You know that. This comfortable life laying low with your bodyguard has spoiled you. He has spoiled you. Your heart is merely a soft pearl now, layers of disjointed affections received and perceived through his tenderness. The base instinct overwrites everything else— all logic, all experience.

This is not normal, it reasons. This shouldn’t be normal.

You want desperately to silence the mind.

The car comes to a slow stop after miles of non-stop driving, and you’re painfully aware of the trembling in your hands. Though you try to hide them by folding them onto your lap, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Blade’s hand, calloused and marred with drying red, is steady as it closes over your fist. It commands your attention and the lump at your throat threatens to rip a sob from you.

It’s alright now, his piercing red eyes tell you. There’s a tenderness that comes through while his thumb rubs your knuckles to ease your anxiety. He lets his head fall back onto the headrest, a bitter chuckle filling the rigid silence.

Your voice trembles, breathy as it breaks with the urge to cry. “They could have killed you.”

Blade exhales through his nose, eyes still closed as he processes your distress.

“I’m expendable. You must live.” His tone is even, detached. It lacks the usual twinge of warmth and care. It’s as if he’s reading something scripted instead— attempting to avoid overstepping.

“You’re being dishonest with me. That’s not what you want to say. I–”

Your mouth presses into a thin line, his hand squeezing yours.

“I know my father sent them.” There isn’t even hurt in your voice, but a steady bitterness begins to burn at the hearth of your soul. It was high time they deemed you more of a liability than an actual member of the family. You shake your head, and with a deep breath you steady your nerves as best as you can. “That matters less right now. Let's get you cleaned up.”

Staying the night at a hotel much too far from home is less than ideal, but you’re aware Blade won’t risk walking right into another ambush that may be waiting at your doorstep. Best not to compromise the situation further.

Despite the tremble of your lip, your hands are steady and efficient as they work to help clean his wounds. You jolt as your phone vibrates with an incoming call, apologizing as you excuse yourself to the balcony. Blade quietly finishes dressing the cleaned wound on his side. He listens intently as you speak with an Oak Family member on the phone, quickly and quietly.

“No, no. We are safe now. Please keep alert. My contact sent you all available surveillance footage of the area shortly after we departed. We can discuss this further once I look into it. On behalf of,” you pause, a strain on your voice before you compose yourself, “on behalf of the family I apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you, Robin.”

Blade watches you intently from the side. There’s a facade of calm you’re trying desperately to keep up. Perhaps it’s the ‘fight or flight’ that’s still keeping you whole right now. For now, he keeps a close watch over you, every microexpression, every fidget.

There’s hesitance as his left palm rests on the bed. It doesn’t escape your detection as you close the sliding door.

“Give me your hand.” A beat and he relents, red gaze as intense as ever as he watches you kneel before him in silence. “You’re hurt here, too.”

He grunts as if inconvenienced, but lets you do as you please. Indulges you— always does.

With a patient crimson gaze, he observes you. Your heart has never felt so vulnerable than right now.

“It’s not perfect, and I’m no doctor, but…” You pause to look over your work.

Despite trembling hands and less-than-elegant bandaging, you gently bring his knuckles to your lips and press a kiss to each one. A childish gesture he didn’t see you as the type to do. That surely in your naive heart you believe a kiss will make it better— despite the blood and bruises.

And Blade— doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stop you.

How selfishly he lets your heart devour him.

He gives a silent thanks and moves to sit away from you, making home on the couch with a wince as he adjusts to lay down. The lights are off now, save for your bedside lamp.

Even in the warmth of the lamplight, the feeling of being cold and isolated persists. Alone at the edge of the bed. You want to be selfish and order him to sleep on a proper bed— near you for your peace of mind.

Sleep, he tells you wordlessly with a glance. It’s been a long day.

You worry your lip all the same, seated at the edge of your bedside. Unmoving, tense— your mind reels, replaying the same thing over and over.

7:59 PM.

When the weapon just grazed over his heart and instead hit his side. When the smell of iron, cursed with beautiful crimson, nauseated you.

In the dark, your eyes adjust and watch as Blade’s breathing slows with sleep. It’s not normal— his breathing. The wrappings will only do so much while the pain persists. But by morning, the scar will be there, as if it had always been there. You don’t dare ask the details of why.

He’s spoiled you, surely. A comfortable life in his hands has made you soft. And you know this to be true, otherwise this attempt at your life would be nothing but another occurrence you hardly bat an eye to.

The gentleness he grants you unravels you faster.

No matter how close Blade is, you’re always alone. Even so, you choose to stay within his shadow. It’s warm— always warm.

And you crave him. Crave him in ways you should not entertain.

You don’t sleep much that night. The attempts on your life are few in recent years, but even more rare is successful bloodshed. The more dire incidents leave your nerves fried, a heavy pounding in your chest as adrenaline leaves your body tense and sleepless. Even with Blade’s watchful gaze keeping you safe, knowing he’s been injured by your carelessness only leaves you waking with a strangled gasp from guilt-ridden nightmares every hour.

The room is foreign as you try to adjust your sight to the dark bathed in a sliver of moonlight from a crack in the hotel room’s curtains.

This bed is not yours, this room is not yours. It’s not home, and this isn’t normal. The target is hot on your back— always under someone’s watchful eye. Never able to take a full breath without gasping and clawing at the anxiety closing its hands around your throat.

Your throat feels tight the more you think. In the dark, faces seem to morph into the details on the ceiling— mocking and shifting. All you can do is think in circles, worry your lips raw.

When you look over, you can just barely make out Blade’s dark figure laid on the sofa across from you. The bandages wrapped on his torso are salt in the wound as the guilt claws at your throat once more. Tears sting your eyes as the stress of it all finally reaches a breaking point.

The clock reads midnight as you tiptoe to the bathroom.

The bathwater is just short of scalding when you step in. The feeling doesn’t even phase you, a welcome sensation as the steam surrounds you. Its temperature is a welcoming hug melting your stresses away little by little as you work your fingers into your tense shoulders. A sniffle here and there, shaky breaths accompanied by the sweet melodies of tears breaking the water’s surface.

For a while, you sit idly, watching water from the leaky faucet drip. With each drop, the echoing sound clears your mind and centers you.

Deep breath, hold it. Exhale. Repeat.

The door to the bathroom clicks open, heavy footsteps trailing in.

“I already knew you were awake, but I wish you would rest,” you mutter into your knees as you shrink into yourself.

He sits at the edge of the tub. Formality is left at the door, for your sake. You have nothing to hide from him, anyway. The flesh is nothing to hide, and you’re more ashamed to let his eyes gaze upon the want in your soul. Ugly and wretched.

“You care for me,” is all Blade says in the quiet echo of the bathroom. “Don’t.”

The silence that follows seeps into the water that is no longer warm. Your body sinks lower into the tub until your nose is just above the water. Heat sears the tips of your ears.

The pounding of your heart is deafening, louder still as his presence engulfs your senses.

You feel foolish and naive and your bones are tired of being within your flesh. Bound to carry a fool like you through every mistake.

The sound of water draining doesn’t faze you. He’s decided this is less healing than you wallowing in self-pity. It won’t do you any good. Believing him is easier when you’d rather not think.

You sit up and keep your gaze glued to the surface of the water. Not unable to meet his gaze— refusing to— as his words weigh heavy on your heart.

You would rather he squeeze your heart— drink it dry of the lifeblood that keeps it pumping. Maybe this isn’t love. Or isn’t what you need.

But you will yourself to not care. Have to.

Blade taps your shoulder, urging you to stand before you catch a cold the longer you stay in the lukewarm water. He sighs quietly when you shake your head petulantly.

You finally speak— a quiet, frail thing as your voice trembles ever so slightly. “You’re wrong. It’s more.”

The water sloshes and spills over the sides as you turn your body around. Your eyes meet full, crimson moons, and your heart remains strangely steady. Uncertainty claws at your nerves until they fray like ribbons.

The draining water weighs in the forefront of your mind like an hourglass waiting for your next move. And with each second his eyes crumble your resolve, seeing through you— peering into the soul of a frail little thing like you. He waits patiently for your next gamble.

You lean up, lips pressing against his. A forlorn warmth.

Not pushed away, not stopped. Blade indulges you. Always does.

A wordless answer.

“You don’t like it, but I love you,” you mutter against his lips when you pull away. “That won’t change easily.”

“I never said I don’t like it.”

You can’t meet his eyes when your fingers silently trace the bandage wrappings around his bare torso.

“It eats me alive to see you get hurt. I know it’s your job, but… I can still be a fool in love. Can’t I?”

When you chase his lips again, your body shivers. It’s difficult to tell if that comes as a result from the harsh, cold porcelain of the empty tub or his teeth sinking into your lip.

The water is running again when Blade pushes you away, your eyes unfocused and glassy. He makes your heart ache. You have yet to decide if it’s in a good way or a bad way.

“Is it pity?” you ask quietly. “The reason you kissed back?” There’s distress and hurt in your voice as Blade falls into routine, moving you about like a doll to finish what you inevitably will not.

No response. For once, you can’t read him.

Blade works silently as he runs hot water over your body with that delicate gentleness that has your heart yearning and longing for him to be forced into what you need. You swallow the greed— the selfishness— and tear out the vitals of that ugly beast before you go mad if he leaves.

Your back is to him as he uses the shower head to get the last remaining suds out of your hair. It pulls your focus for a moment, the feeling pleasant and distracting. Methods he already knows to soothe your tumultuous mind.

The water runs and he turns you around. The bandages around his torso are damp by now, your lingering gaze focusing on them as he finishes rinsing you in silence. The myriad of scars adorning his arms and torso bring a heavy feeling to your chest. You will the vile feeling away and focus on his fingers gently lathering up your hair. Keeping you sat makes the task more difficult— you know this. But the attention makes your heart lighter all the same.

Selfish. The thought brands itself on your back like a hot iron.

The water runs and runs along your thigh with a light pressure as he abandons the shower head and tilts your face up to finally look at him. His gaze is intense— worried in the way he searches your crestfallen expression. You’re sure you look pathetic like this, disappointment on your face.

But he kisses you.

Blade leans down and kisses you. Of his own volition, now, and it's soft and warm. So warm it singes the edges of the isolation that consumes you. And for a moment, salvation is what you feel.

“You’re stubborn,” he says, his breath warm as it fans your face. “I enjoy it. That’s my answer.”

You can’t help the pout on your lips. It pulls a hum of amusement from him.

“Enjoying the demise of my heart. You’re cruel.”

Your words have no bite. A ghost of a smile graces his lips and it brings a rush of emotion to your already starving heart.

Because you don’t know it, but he craves you. Fondly but desperately.

Where your family has thrown you to the side, he will hold you close. A greed of his own he has to battle— keep focused so it won’t consume him. So he won’t devour you whole.

A shiver runs through your body as he coaxes you back into the tub, and you think for a moment he’s back to keeping you at an arm’s length again. The cold of the porcelain is harsh on your back. You retain some shame, at least, and you go to cover your chest. It’s the feeling of being a lamb before the slaughter, pristine and loved.

“Sit still,” Blade commands, voice smooth and an octave lower as his arm pushes one of your legs apart to prop on the edge of the tub.

It's a welcome initiative that makes your face warm with a sudden meekness. You’re exposed and surely getting slick by the second with arousal dripping down your inner thigh. Spread and completely bare.

Your chest rises and falls at a quickening pace and you whimper in anticipation. Blade watches you almost curiously, as if he’s never heard these pathetic little sounds from your lips. There’s little that hasn’t been shared between you two with his intimate work as your bodyguard. His presence has been by your side nearly twenty four hours a day every day for the past few years. Still, this is a new low he is taking on with you.

Indulging you. Like he always does.

This is an inevitable shift in your relationship— one that has long since strayed from a purely professional stance. It never suited you both, at least that’s what you like to think.

His gaze like blood is trained onto your expression— every shift, every change, every wince. He wants to see them all, sear them into his memory like tomorrow isn’t promised.

Your body jolts and an obscene moan you can't manage to hold back bubbles up your throat as he holds the shower head just over your slick cunt. The water runs with a constant pressure that feels odd and overwhelmingly good. But your moans are much too loud, much too desperate. With a click, the flow changes and he rips a sharp gasp out of you as he aims the water at your throbbing clit.

Your body is thrashing, squirming against the porcelain but you don’t have it in you to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop. But this feeling is not him, and you want to be selfish and have him take all that remains. To have him take and take and fill and put you back together after he breaks you into irreplaceable pieces.

The squeeze of his hand on the tender flesh of your plush thigh is enough to have you panting and writhing. The feeling is isolated, the mere touch hot on your skin— scalding, even. His large hand sinks easily into the soft skin there, and you wish his touch alone would leave marks in his wake. To remind you that he’s still here, and you’ll both be alright.

The coiling feeling builds and builds, your walls clenching around nothing as your clit is assaulted by the constant stream of pressure. A whimper of frustration escapes your lips as your hips try to buck up to chase the feeling— begging for relief. He doesn’t spare you from cruelty, not when your expressions are a wonder to behold. You can’t even scream as an orgasm rips through you so suddenly, mouth agape as you twist and arch under his watchful gaze.

An expression twisted and contorted by bliss— Blade drinks up all your sounds and the sight of you undone. You squirm against his hold on your thigh as the feeling starts to toe into overstimulation. It’s too much of a good thing and you don’t know whether to beg him to stop or keep chasing the feeling of the coil tightly winding again.

The tears that adorn your lashes blur your peripheral, but you’re sure you see a wolfish grin on Blade’s expression.

Just short of coming undone again, he denies you a second completion. The stream of water slowly drips to a stop and you lay there catching your breath. Frustration sits in the pit of your belly as exhaustion finally settles on your limbs, eyelids heavy. For a moment you feel his lips on your temple— a brief, chaste gesture.

It’s silent as you get ready to sleep once more. By now it’s almost two in the morning, your tired body protesting the hour. But the air is no longer suffocating, and a lightness remains in your heart once more. The maw of the beast still looms over you but for now, the beating of two hearts quells your worries until morning.

His steps halt as you pull him along toward the bed.

“Sleep here,” you beg quietly. “It’ll be better for your wounds.”

Blade closes his eyes, forcing himself to disregard the want in your eyes. When you tug gently again he gives in, allowing you to do as you please. Just like always.

He cannot pleasure you how he wants, not tonight. You wouldn’t allow it with his wounds. All the same he relents when you urge him to sleep in a proper bed— to lay with you.

In the stillness of the dark, his hand searches for yours. You wonder for a moment if his fear of losing you rivals your own. For the sake of your heart, you’ll have to assume that much.

He fits easily into the crook of your neck and allows his lips to press tenderly where your shoulder meets your neck. The flesh dissolves under his tongue. You are left bare, a soul so desperately longing to be unsealed and seen and filled.

And he sees you. Blade fills you— with yearning and a wretched possessiveness unbecoming of you. But he fills you, nonetheless.

#mii writes #blade x reader #cw blood #nsf mii #cw panic attack #cw trauma #bodyguard au #fem reader #cw toxic family dynamic #cw unhealthy dependency #if I’m missing any tags lmk #I need to put blade under a microscope and study him #his character eludes me aghh #hurt/comfort

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writing-until-i-drop · 2 months ago

Text

God Complex | One Shot

Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x f! surgeon! reader (no use of y/n)

You're a trauma surgeon resident, studying at a bar when you're approached by a woman who steals your focus.

warnings! Slight dom!Phoenix, suggestive, drinking, not proof read

“Bite your lip any harder and I’m going to have to kiss it better,” A rich, feminine voice pulled you out of your textbook. Studying at a bar had been a tip your dad had given you. He said that real doctors don't have the luxury of a quiet and controlled environment all of the time and studying in such a crowded space would hone your focus. Except with just a few words, this woman had shattered your focus.

Standing in front of you was the most gorgeous woman you’d ever seen. You swallowed hard. The woman was in a tan, Navy uniform that was tailored to perfection, with dark hair slicked back into a tight bun. She looked amused as you squirmed under her dark gaze, unable to form any words. “Tell me your name, baby girl.”

Your response was instant, cheeks burning red under her gaze. The woman repeated your name like she was testing how it rolled off her tongue.

“Everyone calls me Phoenix,” She stepped between your knees, her citrus perfume filling the space. Your head spun like a top, full on gay panic setting in when Phoenix’s hand rested on your bare thigh. “But you, baby girl, can call me Tasha.” You nodded, unable to think of anything but how close this insanely hot woman was and the way her thumb was brushing the inside of your thigh.

“Tasha,” You whispered. Tasha grinned, squeezing your thigh.

“Are you going to be a good girl and let me buy you a drink?”

Again, your response was immediate.

“Yes,” Tasha eyed your can of soda.

“Is there a reason you’re staying sober so far?” You shook your head, pushing your textbook to the side. Suddenly, studying wasn’t so important to you after all. “Good. You seem like the fruity drink type, am I right?”

Another nod. Honestly, you would have drank straight whiskey if Tasha spit it in your mouth and by the look on her face, she knew it.

“Okay, then you sit here and look pretty while I get us both a drink.”

“Holy shit,” You breathed, air finally filling your lungs when Tasha was out of ear shot. “Holy shit, is this really happening?” You pinched yourself, pain shooting up your arm. It was real. Very real.

“Tell me about yourself, baby girl.” Tasha returned to the high top table with a beer and a fruity looking cocktail.

“I’m a trauma surgeon resident, that’s um, that’s why,” You pointed at your textbook.

“Ooh, so not only is my girl smart, she’s also an adrenaline junkie.” You flushed, sipping on your cocktail. You hadn’t received this much attention at once in a long time, it was overwhelming.

In college, you had been the life of the party, but medical school and interning had burnt you out. Outside of your fellow residents and the occasional nurse, this was the longest conversation you had had in months.

“Why did you focus on trauma?”

“When I was an intern, there was a period in time that I thought about quitting,” You tapped your fingers nervously against the table, “I was so tired, I was barely sleeping or eating. I just didn’t want to do it anymore, the day I was going to quit, there was a massive traffic collision on the highway.”

The memory of everyone rushing around, preparing for the incoming influx of patients flashed through your mind. God, you had been so anxious and excited. You wanted to puke, scream, and celebrate all at the same time.

“There were so many people and so many injuries I’d only read about, I had to make so many split second decisions. The residents were there but they could only do so much supervision, I was holding people’s lives in my hand. It’s better than any drug, that feeling of control.”

“God, you should see the look on your face right now,” Tasha reached out, cupping your cheek. “It’s so hot that you love your work so much.”

“You don’t think I have a God complex or something?” All surgeons had a God complex, even if it’s a minor one. You held people’s lives in your hands, their lives depended on your skills and knowledge. It was as exhilarating as it was daunting.

Tasha licked her lips, dark eyes filled with lust. Her attention and touch stirred something in you, warmth spreading through your body until it felt like you were burning for her.

“Baby, if you’re God, I’ll get down on my knees for you every day.”

“Fuck,” You groaned, the tension between you finally snapping. Tasha’s grip slipped to the back of your neck, pulling you across the table for a demanding kiss. The angle made it hard but her lips were soft, tasting of cherry lip balm. Tasha tugged your hair, tipping your chin to deepen the kiss, her tongue caressing your own.

“You taste sweet, baby girl,” Tasha licked at your bottom lip, pulling back when your lungs demanded air. You were dazed, barely hearing the wolf whistles directed your way. “Ignore them, I always do.” You glanced, spotting a group of men in uniform.

“Friends of yours?”

“We’re pilots, guess you could say we’ve all got a bit of a God complex too.” You giggled when Tasha kissed you, the cheering starting up again like you had your own personal live studio audience. “I can kick their asses if you want me to.”

“Or you take me home,” You smiled, taking her hand off of the table and resting it on your thigh. Tasha squeezed your thigh and you bit down on your bottom lip.

“Now what did I tell you about biting that lip, baby?”

a/n: hope you like it! I've got a headcannon that Phoenix is the biggest flirt when it comes to women, just putting all of the men's game to shame.

#top gun fanfiction #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace #natasha trace x reader #natasha trace x y/n #natasha trace x you #phoenix x reader #phoenix x you #phoenix x y/n #top gun 1986 #top gun maverick #top gun fandom #natasha trace top gun #natasha trace x oc

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artiststarme · 11 months ago

Text

Sometimes Sorry Isn't Enough

Sometimes Steve wondered how he was still alive. What made him more deserving of life than Barb? He kept putting his life on the line and yet he scraped by with only scars as evidence. He’d fought the demodogs and the mindflayer. He’d thrown Molotov cocktails at Vecna/Henry/One’s face. He’d been prepared to die every single time. So why was he still here?

He wished he’d chosen to jump off the quarry’s cliff when he found out that his parents had left him behind for good. Wished that he hadn’t been too quick for the demodogs to catch in the junkyard. He wished that he’d taken Max’s place in the face of Vecna’s curse. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be around anymore.

He loved his friends, loved Robin and Eddie in particular, but it wasn’t enough. Robin had better things to do than deal with his trauma that he’d roped her into without her consent. If it weren’t for him being so desperate and needy for attention, she would never have been involved with the Upside Down. She wouldn’t have been psychologically tortured by the Russians or exposed to the Hell that existed beneath them. She’d be better off without him.

And Eddie. Poor Eddie didn’t deserve any of this either. He was simply the town’s scapegoat that was at the wrong place at the wrong time and now his life was forever changed because of it. His body was marred in scars where the bats mauled him, eerily similar to the ones that existed in Steve’s flesh. Steve should’ve done more to protect him instead of forcing him to play decoy and then his friend afterwards.

Instead of forcing his problems on the Party once again, Steve stewed by himself in his empty crypt of a home. The house was dark, the air was cold, and his heart was heavy. He poured pain pills, originally prescribed to deal with his horrific migraines, into his hands and took a deep breath. Unlike all those other times, he wouldn’t escape death again. As he swallowed pill after pill, his heart sank deeper. It was better this way.

He was unconscious by the time Robin arrived, a feeling of proud terror driving her away from her family dinner and to Steve’s side. He was unconscious when Eddie gave him CPR and mouth to mouth, imagining their first kiss would be much different than it actually was. He was on the verge of life and death by the time Hopper speedily pulled into his driveway and threw him in the ranger before the ambulance could even arrive to take him to the hospital, begging him the entire way to open his eyes.

When he woke up to hospital smells and bright lights, he initially felt disappointed. He’d failed once again to leave the wretched world that never seemed to want him. But when he looked around, he felt a spark of hope in his chest. Hopper, Eleven, Robin, Eddie, and Dustin were in various chairs and cots scattered throughout the room. Eddie was curled into a ball by his feet on the bed while Robin was pressed against his side, her head on his chest as if she was waiting subconsciously to hear each beat of his heart. Hopper was sat in a chair by his bedside, his fingers loosely gripping the bed frame. Eleven was on the window’s ledge, her brow furrowed like the world was on her shoulders still. And Dustin. He was on a cot right beside Steve’s bed, his body facing him and his hand wrapped around his wrist.

Steve felt guilt flood him. He always felt like he was surviving on luck alone, deserving to die and never quite doing so. He didn’t realize that he was surviving off the love of his friends, his family, and that they were doing the same. It would take awhile to change his way of thinking and for him to start appreciating the life he had but he would get there eventually. Especially with his best friend, his boyfriend, his little brother and sister, and Hopper by his side.

#it still doesn’t stop him from putting everyone else first though #he will always put his life on the line in the drop of a hat #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eleven hopper #chief jim hopper

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howtofightwrite · 1 year ago

Note

How well would a claymore mine field fare against troopers of a late medieval army (say, Swiss halberdiers in half armor)? How far away do the troopers need to be in order to have a good chance at survival? And how would a medieval army like that react to their leader hitting a landmine and getting blown up? Would they turn back and flee? Disperse away from the road? Or would they freeze up and lose unit cohesion?

In the words of the esteemed Dr. Farnsworth, “to shreds you say?”

So, for those unfamiliar, claymore mines use a shape charge to propel the shrapnel in a fixed cone (most the shrapnel is propelled in a roughly 45 degree arc, with almost all of it landing within a 90 degree arc of where it's pointed.) These can be rigged up with tripwires, or remote detonators. This is achieved by placing a fairly heavy plate behind the explosive, while the primary payload of eventual shrapnel is placed in front of it.

You don't technically hit a claymore mine. Again, these are shape charges, and designed to propel the destructive force (mostly) horizontally, so, you'd hit the tripwire, or a sentry with a detonator would activate it, possibly without even being detected by the people in the mine's kill zone.

Claymores have an optimal range of about 50 meters, with a maximum range of ~250 meters. So, “exactly how good do you consider your odds?” Because at 50m, the chances of being hit by fatal amounts of shrapnel is estimated to be about ~30%. (Obviously, in other circumstances, such as if you've got claymores set up in a confined concrete bunker, they're going to get a lot more dangerous.)

Also, we don't generally keep tight marching formations the way that early modern troops used, because modern weapons are horrifically effective against them. That Futurama quote is on the nose, because against a densely packed group of soldiers in early modern armor, the blast will likely hit almost all of them, and will, quite literally, blow many, if not most, of them apart. To put this more simply, using early modern military doctrine, they'd all be in the mine's kill zone when it went off, and their armor would do absolutely nothing to help them. In fact, this might be a case where their armor would further contribute to the shrapnel.

As for how they would react? I suspect most of them would take the ignoble option of dying almost instantly in the initial blast or shortly after from blood loss and extreme trauma. Would the survivors who could break and flee? Quite possibly. They also, quite likely, wouldn't even really understand what happened, simply because they'd never seen destructive force on that kind of scale before. “Would they lose cohesion?” My brother in Alfred Nobel's exploding cocktail lounge; they'd be losing biological cohesion with themselves. There wouldn't be a surviving unit.

There was a paradigm shift in the first World War. The stage had been set in the late 19th century, but most European armies didn't realize what had happened (and in fact, military leadership of the time stayed willfully ignorant) until after it came home.

Before this point, there was a concept of being able to “trade hits.” The halberdiers were expected to march into melee combat against other melee forces. This even survived the introduction of gunpowder units, and was still dominant military doctrine through the 19th century, where soldiers were expected to march in rank and file out onto the battlefield before shooting at each other in tightly packed formations.

What happened in the late 19th century was the development of weapons that were able to deal death with such speed and efficiency that getting into melee combat was no longer possible. The old, tightly packed, formations went from being an effective way to get troops into combat, to an effective way to see your troops completely eliminated by a single conscript's heavy machinegun fire.

The effective paradigm of infantry combat is now that your foes have the ability to end your existence, so you need to avoid their weapons (and preferably their detection) completely, until you can end them. (Yes, armor still exists, yes, it does work, but it's contingency you hope you don't need, rather than protection you expect to use.) Combat today is about controlling line of sight. Marching a squad of troops out onto the battlefield in tight formation wouldn't work, because a couple snipers with mediocre positioning could decimate them.

The claymore is part of this new paradigm. If you're in the kill range, unless you're in some radically more advanced armor than it was designed to deal with, you're going to have a bad day when it goes off.

We don't wear the same kinds of armor that those halberdiers used, because modern handgun rounds will perforate those. Modern armor does, sometimes, use steel plates (or, Kevlar, ceramic, or some polymers), as inserts but, the kind of steel used is significantly more resistant to modern bullets than what those early modern soldiers wore.

So, blown to shreds.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #improvised pulled pork dispenser #deboned

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madstronaut · 15 days ago

Text

truth can be stranger than fiction, but sometimes they also hold hands and kiss

I was gunning to post this in September but A Lot of Life™️ happened (and is still happening tbh) so despite me pouting at myself about skipping a month, without further ado - my 24th faficowrimo ramble~

every now and then, the fiction I read and my lived experiences tangle together in my head and coagulate into some interesting dreams...some of my favorites ofc are the smutty ones, what can I say I've always had an active imagination

Some of my beloved fics I note as comfort reads or cathartic reads, depending on how I'm feeling and the nature of the story...this falls squarely under cathartic for me

I will temporarily sidestep the mountain pile of naughty dreams to share of a recurring one that's always left me quite speechless that I have had the gift of dreaming about again brought on, in part, by the latest read of Service Dog Johnny by @void-my-warranty in a way that really just leaves me at a loss for words... if you'd like to get emotionally baja blasted (and also tbh once again hear me rant about my love for fanfic) with me, read on, my fellow taco bell enthusiast & traveler ✨🌮

also I am including this gif because I searched 'taco bell' as a joke and for some unexplainably fucked up reason this was one of the top gifs to show up in the list but also what a double-duty it serves as I talk about SERVICE DOG JOHNNY EH? reality sometimes really *is* stranger than fiction but also seriously wtf is going on here in this gif if you know pls DM me im afraid to google it

I started therapy a few years ago thanks to finally finding someone I trusted/specializing in my trauma cocktail *and* covered by my insurance (to my fellow americans: SHOCKER, I know, anyway fuck US healthcare and this economy but moving on) and I recall describing the early sessions to IRL beloveds/moots with some choice phrases, like:

having a sword tip poking my chest and being asked to walk further into the blade

having swallowed a large sack full of glass shards and instead of trying to remove them, realizing i have adjusted to have the bits piercing out of my body be less noticeable - not very sustainable personally speaking, let's be real

after some hard fucking work, sweat, tears put in I started dreaming about seeing that sword as a surgical scalpel instead, healing instead of harming, and that sack of glass filled with water and oil instead (really wanted to put a squirting/watersports joke here at voidy's expense but this is such a sacred thing to me but wait it's MY sacred thing and I can desecrate it for jokes IF I WANT TO OKAY) making me feel light and buoyant and seeing all my former open wounds now freshly scarred up. I'm honestly tearing up writing this out because I am very fucking proud of how far I have come... all this to say, brutal but rewarding. if you have the opp... 'walk towards the sword' my moots & beloveds 💝🫂

I have since ended regular therapy sessions and only go on the one-off times I really need the extra support, but a question I grappled with for a long time (and sometimes still do!) was "how do I know I'm healed?"

I used to think of healing as this near-mythical - and frankly, unreachable - final destination for me. but I'm learning it's more about the journey and companions along the way and the many signposts on the path marking how far I have come (and that I still have a ways to go). anyway I blabbered on here too long but my point is healing is hopefully a familiar (and necessary) journey for us all in so many ways, and I for one welcome the unexpected companions that help us take another step forward (and catch you when you falter back) *looking at you, fanfic my beloved* and SDJ was such a vivid reminder of all of this for me

I could fuck with concepts like protagonist/deuteragonist/tritagonist (had to look that third one up to see if a term even existed tbh) but the truth is for me, each of voidy's trio are written like living breathing dimensional beloveds to me in how broken and tender and loving and human and flawed and mysterious they are and each of them in their own way are so beloved to me.

I have been reading bell hook's we real cool: black men & masculinity lately (deeply enjoyed her books all about love and feminism is for everybody - i understand she is not free from controversy after having devoured a bunch of her writing but i deeply fuck with her main theories that being rooted and motivated to love and be loved at the core of our humanity needs to involve having our eyes, hearts, minds, ears, and hands open to the experiences of fellow humans, particularly marginalized + POC voices) and one of the passages discussing healing from abuse was very SDJ/simon-coded to me...

"Many males have experienced traumatic sexual abuse in childhood. It scars them for life. And when they receive the message from the culture that real men should be able to endure abuse as a rite of passage and emerge with their sexual agency intact, there is no cultural space for them to articulate that they were sexually abused, that they are damaged and in need of sexual healing."

I will say for myself, the culmination of the trio's journey so far in SDJ, simon in particular - with whom I unfortunately share some of his canon trauma and SDJ-flavored hangups and anxieties - has made me feel so loved and seen, like meeting a good samaritan (or perhaps a service dog johnny) on the road to hold my hand wordlessly saying "you too? me too." and walk part of the journey with me, even for a brief stretch.. a happy accident or eucatastrophe of meeting someone at the right place at the right time like reader and johnny have been for simon in SDJ ❤️‍🩹🫶🌿

I've heard an oft-cited statistic that in a random crowd at least a quarter if not more of the people around you, regardless of gender, have most likely experienced abuse and assault than not. Finding a space to be seen and heard re: sharing about abuse and trauma - and god forbid perhaps even healed? in the year of our lorde 2024? - has in many ways been delegated to avenues that aren't readily available to most, financially and socially and relationally speaking - even nowadays. I'm in my mid-30s and I was only able to afford therapy several years ago, despite finally mustering the courage to start looking after years of patient coaxing and support from IRL beloveds, because my workplace decided to expand our mental health benefits + insurance during covid.

beyond my IRL beloveds who have been absolutely incredible sources of support, I am not even fucking joking when I say fan-motherfuckin-fiction kept me afloat mentally spiritually socially since my madstroteens to help me feel seen, heard, loved, and healed - basically free therapy until I could afford the real thing...but even as I say "the real thing" there has been nothing fucking realer to me than the growth and beauty and joy and catharsis in reading life in its heights and valleys and finding a bit of myself in fanfic...

I've heard it said that the profound is lurking behind the absurd and I am 1000% serious when I say the very cathartic and moving tales and tragedies and romances and adventures and lessons and wisdom in FANFICTION (for CALL OF DUTY!!!!!!!!!!!! no less) is absolutely fucking priceless to me - the world didn't give it and the world can't take it away, as it says somewhere in some good books

these made up stories and characters and scenarios in our heads have held my hand, my head, my heart when I have needed it most - and helped me do so for others - and created the most expansive safe space to explore in a free and nonjudgmental way that I can't really think of a real-world equivalent other than actual therapy or times when I've felt a deeper peace and affection touch me in sacred settings or in nature or maybe playing D&D with my IRLs lol

so yes, I wholeheartedly agree that while some of the loveliest writings are drawn from lived experiences, exploring something new in fiction, like readers exploring sexuality through throuplegate tags ghoap fics or asks about aromanticism... or cathartic healing words and gestures they may have yet to hear or receive in reader's and johnny's stalwart and carefully mapped, but also spontaneous and artesian support and tender care for simon... can have just as real and powerful of an impact on reader & writer as well!

and it can be so clearly seen in the absolutely incredible reblogs, asks, comments, and headcanons and side drabbles shared if you go through voidy's SDJ tags which I also so enjoyed reading alongside the story; it reminds me of ye olden days when I was a rabid LOTR fan and I re-watched the extended versions of the trilogies in multiple iterations via the cast, director, and producer commentaries

ok before I lose my train of thought entirely here because I was supposed to rant about what I loved about SDJ and I've just been adding to this monster of a draft for weeks on end rambleranting on and on about fanfic-

the reader!!!! the reader. I have been brought to tears multiple times by her selfsacrificing affection and deep love for simon, as well as how well she is able to disarm him in the moment with her humor

the humor!!! the fucking weaponized use of humor as character tell and development in this fic... i feel (and personally use) humor as a way of visibly lowering and bypassing the armor and walls we put up around others as if to say 'see? it's safe! I feel safe around you enough to joke around and I want you to know that. i invite you into this safe space in me, with me.' and the way time and again reader, simon, and johnny uses it like a sniper shot is fucking brilliant

a random selection of some of (I write 'some' fully knowing I'm gonna just copypaste the entire fucking story) my favorite lines below:

He’s always been up front with you about his trauma, how he can’t stomach touch unless it’s non-sexual. You’ve always known it would just be only you taking care of your own needs, and it’s something you’re more than happy to accept, because you love him. But how could you even conceptualize doing something like that? Letting someone else touch you when you’re in love with Simon.

Lines like these above is what makes reader so human and real to me. 💋👌mwahmwah exponential chef kisses for your literary cookin voidy💋👌

God, why is he still talking to you like that? It’s really, really hot, but are you allowed to enjoy it? Surely you are.

right there with you dear reader, been there before 😵‍💫

His eyes are practically burning into you with some type of excitement, though he doesn't let the rest of his face betray it. It's only because you know him so well that you see the unusual gleam there, and suspect that if you put your hand on his chest right now, his heart would be hitting your palm in a gallop ... He's interacting with your sexual desire for the first time, running his thumb over the crown of your head and watching you so intently that the orgasm warming your legs is starting to feel unavoidable.

Simon's journey to re-experience sexual desire as safe and healthy and normal again...I do not have enough words 😭😭 anyway brb crying my heart goes out to SDJ simon so much i want to hold his face and dick(WHO SAID THAT) in my hands and cradle him gently and tenderly

“It won’t, love." He waits for your your fingers to find your clit again, and for your eyes to slide shut, and he whispers, "Someday very soon, you’re going to get to cum while you’re bent over the bed, and someone’s hand is keeping your head pressed nicely into the covers. You won’t have to think about anything but staying right there and getting fucked, and you’ll be able to just relax, and take it for as long as you’re meant to.”

SDJ simon, like many of us, also seems to find refuge and safe sexual expression in fantasy 👀👀

Simon just smiles at you in that warm way, the slight curve of his mouth that doesn’t have even a hint of malice or dishonesty behind it. You’ve grown to trust it implicitly.

🥹🥹🥹 this is so tender and lovely. mwah mwah mwah I would attack with so many cheek kisses for simon and voidy ✨

“Dinnae misrepresent me to your woman. I’ve had my share of romance.” “Learned that word on the way here, did you? You know you’re supposed to keep your eyes on the road.”

I fucking live for simon and johnny roasting each other 😂😂😂

The look of adoration he’s giving you sends a burst of fuzzy pink warmth through your chest.

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

“Simon,” you gasp, and then frantically backtrack over your mistake. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean— oh-hhh my god.”

I looooved loved loved loved loved loved this slip of the tongue. one word speaks volumes <3

It’s glaringly obvious how wet you are, the bits of your underwear that stick to your ass as he works his hand against your cunt.

ok I just want to say THIS IS SO REAL AND SO GODDAMN ANNOYING I HATE THAT FEELING LIKE THE OCEAN IS GIVING MY A WEDGIE where all my sometimes sensory issues girlies (gn) at

You figured out early on in the relationship that he loves affectionate threats of violence.

me, recalling DMs with voidy: yes, yes this is also voidy

“He was just offered a shag, of course he is.”

😂😂😂

That gentle touch happens again, this time sending a wash of awareness though you, forcing you to look away from his eyes. You’re not allowed to feel like this when he’s touching you. This is forever off limits, that interested tingle between your legs. Stop it, he’s just being sweet...“You’re turning me on,” you whisper. It’s what you’ve always done, any time he’s inadvertently touched you in a way that your body perceived as sexual. You always let him know, let him cut it out before it makes him feel a certain type of way. The last thing you want to do is find secret, perverted enjoyment in moments that would trigger him if he knew.

sometimes I call reader 'saint' in my head, because I can't think of a better word to sum up her patience, love, sense of self-sacrifice, near catholic levels of guilt for feeling anything remotely self-focused, and desire to focus wholly on others' well-being before her own...and alternately, a saint is also usually a two-dimensional flat figure, devoid of needs and wants, there to absorb all the negative emotions and give, give, give...surely not a life fit for a regular-degular human girlfriend, dear reader 👀

This has never happened before. He’s never pushed himself this far, standing between your legs like this when you’re in your underwear. Why he’s doing it now, you can’t fathom, but this is his struggle. You have to trust that he won’t hold it against you if he gets too far past his limits.

me, screaming and gesticulating wildly: you can't fathom THAT SIMON LOVES YOU AND WANTS TO PUT HIMSELF OUT THERE FOR YOU TO TRY AND MEET YOU WHERE YOU'VE RETREATED LKE YOU HAVE DONE FOR HIM????

You know that’s not true. If anything, the deflection leads you to believe that he’s protecting Simon, like he told him something personal.

something I find so interesting and perhaps a tad relatable - reader is a fucking psychic sometimes when it comes to reading others' intentions and feelings, and yet overly sus and cautious when it comes to seeing into herself (now why does that sound familar oh FUCK ITS-A ME, MARIO-)

He feels safe enough to touch himself with his friend here, but not when it’s just you? You glance back down to Johnny, heart galloping and anxiety expanding in your lungs as you make some unfortunate mental leaps. Why did Simon choose Johnny for this? How can he be so very confident that he’ll take care of you? Has he done this before? Is this a thing they do? Simon gets a new girlfriend, and Johnny gets free sex?

I've said this before somewhere but I theorize Johnny's presence for Simon make him feel safe for & from himself and sidenote: as a card-carrying woman I do not fault reader at. all. when it comes to her anxious spiral of thoughts here re: some men and their triflin ways

Maybe it’s just the post-nut clarity talking, but you realize for the first time that the reason isn’t because you want to keep him at arm’s length, it’s because you think you don’t deserve it. This whole arrangement has felt like you’re living someone else’s life, someone who’s worth being looked after like this. It’s not something you’ve ever experienced before, and it feels so unsafe to venture into something new. It feels comfortable and familiar to decide that you can’t allow yourself to fully experience Johnny, that you must ration him instead, nibbling on little bits so you don’t grow too accustomed to the taste. You’ve been subconsciously depriving yourself, as if maintaining your unmet needs is crucial to making sure you don’t grow beyond the person you’ve always been.

All of this + reader's reaction to perceiving crying as bad versus cathartic... early 20-something madstronaut, is that you

I have also wondered at the cost of arguably a huge part of herself (I believe we can and do change and accept ourselves and each other in and for love, kind of like moving but in tandem and rhythm, like a dance, but I'd argue reader in choosing simon and his particularities as her dance partner has also chosen to metaphorically tourniquet one of her limbs to do so) if maybe she is also crying out of personal grief and confusion as well. That razor-sharpness of post-nut clarity is too real... after deciding to give up her sex life as she knew it before for simon, then now suddenly exploring getting it back, and the whiplash of emotions while in an intense feedback loop of orgasms? gurrrrllll I would be bawling too, high-five

You think back over Johnny’s endless patience, how considerate and soft he’s been with you. How he went so slow the last time, giving you time to mentally prepare to be penetrated, making sure every touch was comfortable and enjoyable. And you consider for the first time that maybe Johnny isn’t just Simon-by-proxy for you. Maybe in a way, you are that, for Johnny.

mmm, ghoapcrumbs WHO SAID THAT

Also honestly I love me some unreliable narrators (reader here imho isn't unreliable in her perspective being false or wrong but rather her deep deep love and devotion for simon can be almost blinding to other important perspectives like her own to also consider at times..) sometimes I just want to take her by her shoulders and stare her down and peptalk her aggressively just saying in increasingly louder volume "YOU ARE ALSO WORTHY OF LOVE, RESPECT, CARE, AND AFFECTION - THE SAME LEVEL, NOT NECESSARILY THE SAME WAY, YOU GIVE TO SIMON - AND THAT IS PERFECTLY FINE AND VALID"

Nine minutes and change later, you make the last turn and smile to see Johnny in sweat-soaked running clothes, propped up against a lamppost like he’s trying to pretend he’s there on purpose.

😂😂😂 "pretend he's there on purpose" WHO'S THE FUCKING DOBBER NOW

Johnny makes an acknowledging grunt and limps towards your car, and you swear his face looks a little more flushed than it was a minute ago....“Nah. Thanks for the lift.” Stubborn, and definitely embarrassed.

oh look, pot, meet kettle...just two fucking dobbers (affectionate) who give like they have an infinite gaming glitch but hiss like those tiktok cats at the vet when they discover they *gasp* have their own needs

Johnny leans back on the couch to really look at you for the first time today, and it’s your turn to feel embarrassed. You feel like he’s somehow seeing more of you than is comfortable, and it makes you look away, towards the bright sky out the window. “I should be getting back,” you deflect, tugging the keys out of your pocket. “I switched phones with him, and he might not like that when he wakes up.”

I can't explain how much I fucking love this first dynamic between reader and johnny sans simon. feels like watching a knifefight where their knives are their inability to just receive disguised as their sense of generosity and they keep holding themselves hostage hoping the other gives in/runs away lmao. also i'm re-reading this in later drafts and I have no idea if this makes sense sooo I apologize in advance for my latenight ramblin

You kiss him until you’re in love with his mouth...

🥰🥰🥰

also the flashback to their meet-cute (meet-wrestle?) is once again INCREDIBLE!!! as sex/touch-averse simon is, their body language speak volumes in those split-second matching responses to each others' reactions with the pendrop and the arm-wrestle tie. those magnetic "we click right away" interactions you have with certain folks is absolutely intoxicating

Simon’s not looking in your direction, but you can feel the ghost of his attention somehow, making you feel scrutinized and out of place here. You haven’t felt in place in so long, it’s like an ache in your chest.

I shivered at how good this line is!!!!! THE GHOST OF HIS ATTENTION- mmmpfffhhh

She proudly presents you with Simon’s number, scrawled in blue pen on her palm. And there, below it: “You have lovely eyes”

my very first crush/love in high school also told me "I had lovely eyes" over AIM, made me very nostalgic 😂😂 Also can I just say laney you a real one; you went out of your way to go to bat for our girlie despite striking out yourself, a true sister indeed, pouring one out for you tonight

The sizzle of the onions begins to die as he closes the distance, and you shriek as he scoops you up into the air with a, “Where’s your fuckin knife now, you little ankle biter?”

i live for their horny-adjacent playfights

You wind back as far as you can, furiously smacking Simon’s ass with one solid hit, and you’re rewarded by his pained grunt and a satisfying sting to your palm.

fucking screeeeching

So, apparently Johnny is one of those absolute pieces of shit who can pick up any fine motor activity after the second or third try.

I hate to expose myself like this but...*high-fives johnny*

It’s subdued now, in a way that would almost make you wonder if they’d been fighting about something, except that Simon still seems awfully relaxed. As he entwines your fingers, you realize it’s Johnny who’s bothered. Johnny, who's never bothered about anything, is now staring blankly at the TV, his eyes unmoving even though the players are darting across the field.

once again fascinated by the dynamic duos of this trio!!!! I told voidy once I read SDJ sometimes as a mystery/drama because I'm constantly edged kept in suspense about our trio's next moves and motivations

His fingers skim your jaw. “I don’t think you know… sort of… seeing how brave you are with all this. How much it helps.”

my GOD. this plus my audible gasp when Simon finally touches reader sexually in ch. 10....beyond being incredibly sexy I also was very moved at the two (plus one) reaching this milestone and I have hornycried MULTIPLE times reading this fic

Everything these guys do feels sexy right now, and what’s worse is that Simon is sitting right across the table from you, and he’s thinking about you. It’s like he’s hit that sweet spot where he’s not so much in his head anymore, but he’s still a little turned on from what happened. You can feel it in his gaze, how it keeps wandering down the line of your shirt collar, keeps tracking the motion of your fingers while you hold your straw to drink.

Being aware of anothers' attention and lust has got to be one of the most intoxicating and powerful feelings in the world 🥴

“Johnny,” you whine, desperate to get him to stop hurting himself. You need to stop enjoying this, you need to focus on his pain, but he’s making you forget yourself. He’s fucking you and holding your hand to the bed, and despite your best efforts, he’s making you need to cum. He’s making you hate your own pleasure, as it brings him more and more pain.

the absolute deepdive into reader's psyche here in this little snippet is just *chef's french kiss*

When you get home that night, you take an everything shower. You paint your toenails and do your hair extra pretty, shave and lotion and basically make yourself as edible as you can be, because your baby’s coming home. Suddenly you’re on your feet, sliding a little in your socks as you rush to meet him. He’s just finished flopping his bag onto the floor when your arms wrap around the most familiar, safe body you know, and then you’re home.

I get strong cuteness aggression vibes whenever I see reader being just absolutely adorable

You barely even comprehend how big he is, with how big this event feels in your heart. So it’s bittersweet, seeing the aftermath of his success. You know it’s got to pain him, losing the control on his body and mind that he holds to such a standard in every other aspect of his life. He could have gone for years more, keeping a tight handle on things, dismissing the trauma and projecting that insecurity onto everyone else in unhealthy ways. But he didn’t. He’s here, unable to even tolerate your touch just yet, with his lungs spasming and his eyes leaking in a way his father would find unforgivable. A grown man, coming to terms with his reality and letting others see his failings, people who love him. People he can depend on, not because of blood relation, but because he’s worked tirelessly to build and earn that deep kind of trust.

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I basically cry-read this whole chappie and also stopped in my tracks and gasped out loud when simon asked to fuck reader and definitely got out of bed screeching victoriously with joy after they Finally Did The Deed

You gingerly sit up and do your best to keep the cum dripping down your thigh instead of onto the bed. God, that’s Simon’s cum. That’s the best cum in the world right there.

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

You round the corner of the hall, only to see the door still wide open, and your boyfriend with his head bent down, resting on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny has an arm wrapped around Simon’s head and another around his shoulders, fisting his shirt and holding him tight. “That wasn’t a small thing,” Johnny’s whispering, cheek to cheek with his friend. “That wasn’t a small thing, mate.”

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

I'll be quite honest if SDJ ended here with this incredible milestone I would've still been happy as a clam.. I believe all wins big and small are worth celebratin

It’s kind of weird that you’re here. Technically this is where you live, but all of a sudden you have this feeling of not belonging here, of being unnecessary in this moment. You feel like you’re just outside, looking in on Simon’s journey, without actually being too relevant to the path of it. It could have been anyone, really. Pretty much anybody with a heart would have given him the same kind of love, helped him get to this result. You just got lucky enough to come into his life first, but this would have played out the same with anyone.

reader my sweet READER DID YOU NOT PAY ATTENTION TO MY EIGHT-PART PEP TALK WHITEBOARD POWERPOINT PRESENTATION OF HOW AMAZING YOU ARE? as painful it is for me to read how self-deprecating as she is here...her perspective also betrays truly how deeply she sees and loves simon in how lovable she perceives him to be (and how willing she is to give him the sort of patient, kind, long-suffering commitment and devotion I have heard mused and preached about that someone like simon, nay all of us need and want)

Okay, maybe that’s not entirely accurate. The truth is, you want to get used. You’re not even that horny anymore, you just need to feel like you’re desired and important and useful for something.

👀👀 the way voidy is fucking reading the writing on the wall of my brain/pussy is near psychic to me 👀👀

In a roundabout sort of way, being selfish right now and not worrying about anyone else might be what’s best for everybody. There’s only so much you can give.

Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror, with freshly moisturized skin and slightly tired eyes, and you have this unexpected wave of compassion for yourself. You’re only human. You had a big day, and a significant conversation, and you made it through the hard parts. Things are going to be okay now, because you chose right. You’ve poured yourself into people who actually deserve to have you, and it will all work out somehow in the end.

🫂🫂🫂 i love this so much

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stays there for a minute stretching his neck out, while you remain where you are, vibrating with anticipation. Finally he sighs and glances over his shoulder at you. “Suppose you’re allowed to get excited.”

the fucking GIGGLES that erupted from me... btw PSA if you haven't deduced it already i am madly in love with droll goofy SDJ simon and his dry-ass humor

You’re limp after that, merely a jellyfish washed up on the beach. Simon thinks it’s funny, keeps lifting your wrist in the air and then letting it flop to the mattress. He can’t even see it, but finds it entertaining all the same.

god THIS FUCKIN SCENE i just fucking erupted in giggles but also teared at simon finding humor and joy and laughter in sex again

The anger is inescapable, bordering on full-on rage, though Soap’s face doesn’t move at all. He keeps it locked deep inside, reminding himself that this is good. This is healthy for Simon. This is what he’s always hoped for, companionship and romance for his large, quiet friend. The jealously is intrusive, and he doesn’t claim it as his own.

If I could I would happily spend hours picking through SDJ soap's brain like the basement book aisles at the strand bookstore.. I had a conversation with an IRL beloved recently about how we are only jealous with the things & people that matter most to us....oh johnny boy, don't be embarassed trying to dodge one of the most common and pervasive feelings known to humanity!!! follow the thread to your interior and let it show you something about yourself 👀 (or hell that's what I try to do when I've felt embarrassed about feeling jealous)

But the thing is, he doesn’t want to fuck anyone else. Everything here is so peaceful, even with the emotional turmoil. He can feel the acceptance in the air that these two have generated, soaking into his skin every time he visits here. Things aren’t okay, and that’s somehow okay. It boggles the mind.

ah what's the phrase, better the devil you know? I also fuck with the "finding comfort and familiarity in chaos" vibes though I am trying not to have that be my baseline norm of late

He hasn’t had a hookup since he started coming here. Far less sex than he’s grown used to, and yet he’s finding himself thinking about it less and less. It’s like the obsession with the chase and the release has finally lost its grip on him, and now the connection is what he finds himself thinking about. Fuck the connection. That’s the part that hurts people, and it honestly doesn’t make sense that he’s still feeling safe about it. It must be because they love each other. It’s a convenient buffer, the reason he decided to go through with this in the first place. The line has been drawn in the sand, and he just has to hope they’ll live up to their end of the bargain.

to this I'll just say my people, my IRL beloveds, are the people who saw and accepted me as I was, for who I am - and all my changing ebbs and flows throughout the years, even at my most broken and awful, and ironically their acceptance and love and care for me while I was at my lowest is what helped me more fully return to and be myself... I believe johnny is experiencing a glimpse of that here now 🥹 I am legally obligated to throw in one of my favorite quotes on this topic which I have mentioned before:

There is a twilight zone in our hearts that we ourselves cannot see. Even when we know quite a lot about ourselves-our gifts and weaknesses, our ambitions and aspirations, our motives and our drives-large parts of ourselves remain in the shadow of consciousness. This is a very good thing. We will always remain partially hidden to ourselves. Other people, especially those who love us, can often see our twilight zones better than we ourselves can. The way we are seen and understood by others is different from the way we see and understand ourselves. We will never fully know the significance of our presence in the lives of our friends. That's a grace, a grace that calls us not only to humility, but to a deep trust in those who love us. It is the twilight zones of our hearts where true friendships are born. - Henri Nouwen

Simon did it. It took years, and an angel of a girlfriend, but he fucking did it. It’s simply indescribable, the burst of hope flaming to life in Johnny’s chest. Good things can happen sometimes out of nowhere. Sometimes, in a random bed in a random city, the universe can push a piece back into place that was missing.

this has to be one of the most beautiful lines of prose I've ever read

You enjoy how safe your body feels with his touch, how it’s no longer a thought in your mind that he’s doing this out of pity. You’ve formed this strange sort of sexual bond, and friendship, and it makes sense to your pussy that he gets to touch it whenever he wants.

ah, thinkin with the puss, we've all been there dear reader *pats the puss sagely* also such a simple sentence but one not to be taken for granted - no matter how hardcore the kink, feeling safety with your lover's touch is so so baseline important and crucial 💯

“Mhmm,” you tell Johnny, drawing out each syllable in a slow, breathy voice. “So sweet, and thoughtful, and you smell really… Mmmm... Really good.” Johnny raises his eyes to the ceiling, inhaling a long, frustrated breath. For what reason, you can’t imagine, because you’re certainly doing nothing wrong.

I am laughing my ass off because since first reading this voidy updated the chapter with the lovely @gorsime's incredible SDJ fanart and please, scroll down to the end of the chappie (ch 17) if you haven't seen it already

The guilt does start to hit a little, as you get dragged onto your actual boyfriendʼs lap, and a less-scruffy mouth presses to your cheek. You're being selfish. You've gotten too used to your wants being met, and you really need to dial it back down to just needs. This is simply a wakeup call, like hello, hereʼs reality, sometimes your own fingers are all you get, and thatʼs okay.

I have wondered just how much of this was loosely choreographed & planned by johnny and simon for dear reader 👀

Up until now, sex with Johnny has been somewhat casual, and you haven’t embarrassed yourself too badly. But things are always different, when it’s Simon. Suddenly your heart’s in it. Suddenly your brain is pushed to the side, and all you can think about are brown eyes and big hands, and being as good as you can possibly be. And you’re unused to the feeling of having Johnny nearby when you’re so focused on giving yourself to Simon.

once again, just deeply touched (and turned on) by the evolution of reader & simon's sexual relationship (good boy johnny)

He watches your eyes while his fingers trail down your belly, and to your utter shock you suddenly feel them on your pussy.

once again fuckin screamingggggggg! sometimes when you're in it for the long haul after seeing someone's borky bits and pieces, you'd be surprised how a bit (or more) of tender, trauma/person-specific love, kindness, care, and unusual paths of healing can have in speeding up the process of recovery...so much so that it can seem like a whiplash when you've resigned yourself to an eternity of seeing yourself/ur beloved as wounded/hurt and suddenly (but really not so suddenly!) you both meet A Healing/Healed version of Them/You - is this 2.0, or someone new? who knows!!!! what an adventure (it is currently 2am on a weeknight and I got work tomorrow as I ramble but I AM ON A ROLL also I made the mistake of telling voidy weeks ago that I thought I was gonna post this and hoo boy i am paying that price)

“Why don’t you go see Johnny?” Simon murmurs, giving your forehead one last kiss. “Get you something better than fingers.” “I think you should let her have something of yours,” comes Johnny’s voice, before you can begin to form a reply. “Cross my heart, I won’t look.”

literally yelled out loud omg HIS DICK? IS IT HIS DICK? HOLY SHIT SIMON'S DICK?????? the first time I read this

Your lungs know it’s happening before anything else does. They expand and then hold, and the next drop of your hips feels so good, as something deep inside you turns itself inside out. With a debilitating roll of sensation, you let out a pained cry and feel your cunt begin to brand itself onto him with pulse after pulse of your release. It streams down your limbs and explodes in your belly, and it’s Simon who’s got you this time.

this is pure poetry!!! also something deep inside you turning inside out and streaming down your limbs has got to be one of the best descriptions of an orgasm ive read tbh ive only reeaally experienced a full-body endless orgasm after a ton of edging (like at least 15 min) which I don't have the patience or stamina for anymore ;-; but I still think about that One Magical Night from years ago when I did achieve this

It almost hurts to cum on something that big, but it’s a good kind of hurt.

🥴🤤🥴🤤 mmm iykyk but also yes, prep prep prep preparation is key

Your hand climbs up to his face, but instead of the rough five o’clock shadow you expect to find, the first thing you feel is something wet. He twists his face away, but it’s too late. You felt that line of dampness on the edge of his jaw. His fingers begin to stroke your hair, so you comfort him too. You run your hand across the muscled line of his shoulder, wishing there was something you could say to make it better. Maybe someday when you’re better with words, you can let him know how it feels to have him connected to you like this, to have both of your hearts wide open and witnessing each other. But all you can do right now is caress his neck and plant a little kiss on the skin you can reach, and whisper that you love him. That he’s doing such a good job, and you see his efforts. You see him.

🥹🥹🥹🥹 AAAAND JUST LIKE THAT I AM CRYING AGAIN GOD THIS HAS TO BE SOME KIND OF NEW UNIQUE KINK IVE DEVELOPED WITH THE EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH OF THE HORNYCRYING OF IT ALL

“Doin’ alright?” he asks, hugging you back because he’s a very nice person.

I am so so curious what soap was thinking as he witnessed this little miracle (which came about in no small part thanks to him, that soap, such a saint he is, so kind and selfless and giving and- *cut off by loud explosion*)

You know now, why he didn’t let you cum before. He let you think he was being mean, in order to give you an experience you never thought you’d have. Johnny gave that to you, for no reason other than he knew it would make you happy, and he was the only one who could. The noise he makes when you take him into yourself is so Johnny. It’s half groan, half breathy laugh, mirroring the way he seems to see his sexuality as a game. He just wants you to play with him, that’s all. A little tug on his hair, a little smile while you kiss him, he eats it up. So you do it. You play with him for the noises, because he likes it. You can’t get enough of him, that’s the problem. Yeah, the sex is fun, and necessary at times, but you just like having him in your house. You like those hands that never hurt you, the sunshine in his voice, those eyes that know when to pretend they don’t see things. It’s just who he is.

that post-nut clarity kickin in for reader I see

“Johnny, I like you.” You just barely catch the way his smile drops away, as you take him into your mouth. He’s in it now. No more flirting, no more foreplay. He’s ready for you to get him to your throat, and let him cum in it.

no noo too much post-nut clarity GO BACK READER GO BAC- 😂

“You don’t get to decide that what people need are the things you want them to need. Tea?”

HAHAHA SIMOOOOOOOON TENSION DIFFUSER EXTRAORDINAIRE

I just want to say, shoutout to all my girlies (gn) who can come from a shower head; that shit is just too laser-focused for me to get off 😵‍💫

The way you’d cried and cried over that. It hurts so fucking bad, missing him the way you do, while knowing there’s really no legitimate reason to feel sad.

no legitimate reaso- GIRL HE TURNED YOU INTO A LITERAL SHOWER HEAD, JESUS HIMSELF WOULD WEEP-

He gave and gave, and in a weird way, it left you feeling used. It feels like he stole something from you, by not opening himself up in return.

✨oh, familiar pathways of coping and perceiving trauma responses, is that you✨

“Alright.” You hold the damp towel to your chest and stand there with a few feet of distance separating you, and give him the truth. “You don’t feel safe with me if Johnny’s not in the picture, and I don’t understand why.”

there's got to be something poetic about reader having this convo while butt nakey

What’s he playing at? He’s just standing there, looking at you like you’re something new and interesting. Like he’s redrawing some kind of perception in his mind, and enjoying the outcome.

not even gonna lie, started crying reading that last line ruminating on how far simon has come... 🥹🥹🥹 so proud of these little freaks (supremely affectionate)

“You’re trying to turn me on, but tough titties, I’m already wet.”

reader is basically horny shakespeare to me 😘👌 fucking love her humor

“You’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.” “I will,” you promise. He brings his mouth down to give you a kiss. “...Even if you think it’s something I want.” “You don’t get to have fun, only me,” you recite with a smile. “Good girl.” You get rewarded with another soft kiss, and a firm circle over your clit. “Might have to fool around a bit, it’s been some years for me.” “I have my appointments cleared for the rest of the night.” “Mmmm.” He takes in a long inhale, curling his finger around the gusset of your underwear to start tugging it off. “I like you.” ‘I like you too, baby.”

ur not crying im crying i mean wait what aNYWAY this is my umpteenth readthru of this because this fucking chapter!!!!! my god I was speechless the first few times around and in some sort of holy awe and pride and joy and deep in the feels from he SEX!!! THEY HAD SEX!!! WITHOUT JOHNNY AROUND!!! (but really, I see and hear echoes of johnny in simon's newly gained sexual confidence around reader 👀👀👀)

“Yeah, stuff it. What I bloody well mean is, I thought we’d have time. Because you and me, it’s… it’s going to be a long thing. And I thought we’d get there eventually, and we have.”

🥹🥹🥹🥹

“I won’t,” you promise, running your thumb across the scars on his cheek that you have to consciously notice to even remember they’re there. He’s just so beautiful. It’s not an opinion, or something you’ve talked yourself into, it just is. Some people will look the same however long you know them, but every now and then you meet a Simon Riley who’s just so wonderful that their face turns into something perfect in your eyes.

I love them both so much 🥹🥹🥹🥹 is this not what love is, how reader sees simon

So apparently post-nut clarity Simon is fucking annoying.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

It makes you wonder if something inside him died tonight. Something other people put there, and you both just decided to kill it, because it was time.

once again...pure fucking poetry that has again, left me hornycrying...and again I'd die happy if this fic ended here. i mean, purely sexually speaking, hast thine service not been fulfilled here, loyal johnny boy 👀

I have a friend whose family used to raise seeing eye/service dogs on her farm growing up (yes yes I know her fam could've be doin numbers on the clock app today) and talked about how the training to weed out which puppos were eligible was clocking the ones who could most suppress their instincts & nature to obey and pre-empt needs in their obedience.... everytime I see one out in public I am always a little in awe of how professional it is but also a little secretly heartbroken at the same time for that little puppo that was trained out of itself so early...maybe projecting a little but sometimes I also feel some type of way at seeing that line boasting that Johnny is the youngest SAS recruit as his claim to fame also why i love 141 AUs so much where they are living their best civilian life untouched by war

He’s talking about something inside him, something that settled wrong in his heart today. He saw something about himself that scared him. Maybe it was something new, or maybe it was old and buried, but it violated his personal code in some way. There’s nothing you can do about that. You can’t reach into his chest and dig it out, as much as you wish you could. All you have are your eyes, looking at him now like he isn’t a monster at all, and he never could be.

this incredible fic is still ongoing but I am reminded in so many ways how powerful a simple word, a gaze, a touch, can be in reaching out to share and extend a bit of healing and love - and if that's too lofty a goal, then just to offer acknowledgement and presence.

I think of how much both reader and johnny and even simon with reader shortchange themselves so much throughout the story so far and yet the fruit of their consistent presence in each other's lives is so fucking masterfully crafted and yielded in the latter chapters in the most cathartically rewarding way. I know I am changed from reading about their tender and patient kindness and humor for each other so really to all the people moaning 'bout throuplegate let's be honest this is more of a polycule if we consider simon, reader, johnny, you, me, and voidy 😂😂😂

I mentioned approximately 17 years ago when I first started writing this ramble on asking, "how do we know when we are healed?"

my therapist and I had long, long chats about 'neuroplasticity,' but I knew it when my heart & mind & body responded to it all, combined with the love and support from my IRLs, by replacing one of my persistent nightmares with a new recurring dream - it's been a while, but I dreamt it again after reading SDJ the first time around, and I woke up smiling and crying thinking of simon & reader & johnny & voidy & you <3

I am sitting in a large patch of sunbeam streaming in through my window. my body, normally covered with blood and torn skin and shiny bits of glass leaking out from my wounds, looks different. As I sit in the sunlight my entire body becomes transparent, like oil, or the clear wax of a long burning candle. I become soluble enough to see all those jagged shards inside me and begin easily plucking them out one by one. I see now it's not just glass but claws, teeth, nails - old memories, but all still leftover and festering inside me. I wonder at the source of this change and notice where my heart would be is a wick, and sitting in the sunlight has lit it aflame. as I watch my body become clearer and clearer, I see the rest of all those shards fall out and my wounds softening, blurring, closing up. I move out of the sun and get ready to venture out. My heart still glows and burns steadily, and I remain solvent. Some people reach out with claws, teeth, nails - and find themselves horribly burned by the hot oil as they swipe harmlessly through me and leave no marks. Some people reach out with open hands and arms, and find themselves softening, melting and old wounds and scars under their skins blurring and closing up. I am envisioning where i used to see broken glass inside me, whole, healing, filled with light and water. Like a sunrise and morning inside me.

all this to say, to voidy, and my fellow readers, and fic writers in general - thank you & I love you, for holding my hand and making my days and night a little bit softer & brighter 💛💚❤️‍🩹🌿✨

my fucking god I really really am genuinely contemplating making an invoice to submit to my insurance so that voidy can be duly compensated for tangibly contributing to my positive mental health and growth this year ✨✨✨ mwah mwah mwah mwah so many aggressively affectionate playfully nonromantic chef's kisses for you 💋💋💋 mwah mwah mwa mawh-[devolves into snoring from writing most of this in the wee midnight morning hours between colds, flus, traveling, tears, conventions, funerals, zooms, trains, planes, podcasts-]

A fuckin timely banger of a read from this morning’s commute:

“A sacrament is when something holy happens. It is transparent time, time you can see through to something deep inside time. Needless to say church isn’t the only place where holy happens. Sacramental moments can occur at any moment, at any place, and to anybody. Watching something get born. Making love. A walk on the beach. Somebody coming to see you when you’re sick. A meal with people you love. Looking into a stranger’s eyes and finding out they are not a stranger’s. If we weren’t blind as bats, we might see that life itself is sacramental.” - Frederick Buechner

🌿🌿🌿 thank you stevie for being my latenight crooner and ramblin companion

youtube

#madstrothought #FaFiCoWriMo #fanfiction #call of duty #service dog johnny #void-my-warranty #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #poly!ghoap #Youtube

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lorata · 6 months ago

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any particular ideas about the victors and empathy? like are there any that are low/no empathy, or any that are hyperempathetic? it would be interesting to see how empathy or lack thereof would impact their experiences/images both before, during, and after their games (even if panem probably doesn't have a very good understanding of what that entails from a psychology perspective lol)

a fun thing is that both Selene and Petra are low/no empathy, which makes them a fascinating pair. Petra knows she's missing something early and so outsources her sense of right & wrong to The Rules while Selene just does not care and this is a source of conflict for the two of them quite often.

Selene bases her morality around You Are Annoying Me, Personally whereas Petra's is You Have Broken The Rules This Is Bad And Unfair And Wrong which is why they drive each other up the wall

at their first kill tests Selene doesn't feel guilty. she vaguely thinks she should? but she doesn't, and they're here to kill, so, oh well. Petra asks her victim what she did, learns she did something bad, and is like, all right then, I'm good. they have a chat after Selene's about how neither felt bad and it's the one time they're both weirdly sympatico

both Selene and Petra have images that are slightly ... off/wild/feral, in no small part due to this. Selene they have to constantly remind her to pull it back or she'll go full villain (ha ha OH WELL given that she kills her district partner immediately but Misha knows). Petra's original was a bit more on the like ..... off-putting aloof killer vibe, similar to Clove, but with the maces she never got to pull that out so she had to go for the nymphomaniac over the top angle instead.

post-Games it's easy to keep things from Petra re: the state of the world until things explode because she just doesn't think about it. she has enough to deal with re: her own healing and constantly getting re-traumatized and all that nonsense that she doesn't have the mental energy to put towards things like oh what is it like for the districts or the other victors or is the only person who's nice to me actually doing this as part of a giant machiavellian scheme. it all falls apart in canon divergence once she has time to really sit and wrestle with those questions? but boy it takes some time and work and the others (particularly the younger ones) have some choice words for her in the meantime

Callista is also very low empathy, this (ahem) very clearly factored into her image & strategy. She does not care about the other districts and she says what she wants and if you get offended that's on you. Now mind you, while Calli has low empathy and her circle is small, IF you are inside that circle her compassion level is extremely high. Calli knows that Nero is hurting and she wants to do many, many murders on his behalf. She is very angry that she cannot. Ditto with her tributes, most of whom are similarly villainized by the narrative which is part of the reason she keeps choosing them anyway. In the AUs where she does manage to land either Creed or Alec she doesn't get what they're feeling half the time but she will help them regardless and god help anyone who tries to stand between them.

on the flip side we have Devon and Alec, who are both on the hyper-empathy end of things. Devon is able to control and use his fairly well, both in the Games and beyond; Alec has much more trauma and tends to be paralyzed by it for a lot longer before finally managing to work through things as an adult. part of Alec's problem is being unable to make his own decisions or justify his emotions

ironically Claudius is also very high on empathy but has no idea for a long time given that his specific cocktail of trauma and rage responses resulted in him lashing out and hurting people, so his whole "i'm a monster" thing dug in pretty deep and he withdraws. post-games though he can't help it and it lands him in trouble fairly quickly since he can't stop THINKING about other people and it sends him straight to treason town before he's even finished his victory tour, lol. post-canon divergence he winds up being like ... a teen counsellor for ex-centre kids which is the last thing he thought he'd be doing, but there you go. funny enough Eibhlin is the first person to tell him that he's high empathy and he doesn't believe her. but one of the reasons he's so good at 'mentoring' Selene is his ability to get inside her head before she even knows her own feelings really

in general while they don't have official vocab for it the Centre definitely IDs kids who have high empathy and/or compassion and has ways to decentralize that, whether it's giving them a cause or comfort in the rules or helping to carefully dissociate what they do from who they are. for the kids on the other end it's more a question of managing that line so they don't go too far.

#lorata answers #we must be killers: tales from district 2 #transrevolutions

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ilovespec · 4 months ago

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Shark love~

yandere Fem ! gang leader × Civilian Fem ! reader.| part 2.

WARNING!!!: a small mention of trauma, obscene language , YANDERE IS A FUCKING GANG BOSS , Yandere has nerve problems , yandere and Y/N are female, illegal entry (into the apartment) , somnophilia (in the form of kisses and hugs without Y/N's consent) , drinking alcohol , yandere deceives Y/N .

part 1

part 3

6390 words.

It's been a month since Y/N moved to this city! Surprisingly, there were a lot of polite and nice people here... The salary was paid regularly... And there were even a lot of places to have fun! But every day she imagined two of these girls in turn.. Whom she met on her second day in this city... It was as if they were watching her ... Although it is possible that she is paranoid, or she is just tired at work...But lo! Today she had her well-deserved vacation!! And she decided to go to the club..

(Time skip)

It was already evening, and Y/N was standing at the mirror and applying light makeup.. She was wearing a beautiful black dress, just above the knee..and just in case, I took a small purse.. For money and phone. And after 15-20 minutes, she was already sitting in a taxi and driving to the club...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

And so, she has already arrived at the club and sat down at the bar...

- A strange-looking girl bartender : good-good night to you ~ cutie ~ what will you order?

The appearance of this bartender girl is very.. Unusual... She has tanned skin, curly GREEN hair, and a muscular build.. A scar on the right eyebrow, and a scar running through the upper and lower lip.. Black little earrings in the ears, and a black bandana on the head... Her name tag had the name "Erba" on it

-Y/N: beer for me, please..

And just as she was about to take her purse out of her purse, she was stopped by a large , calloused and tanned palm covered with scars..

- A familiar voice: and me, please.. "White Russian". I will pay for me, and for this simpatico coniglietto.

Y/N looked up... And I saw her "old friend" SQUALO!! She sat down on the chair to the left of Y/N as if nothing had happened, threw one hand behind her as if "hugging" her, and held her hand for a couple of seconds without letting Y/N get the money, and then let go of her wrist and paid to the bartender "Erba" in cash...Then, Squalo turned her attention to Y/N

-Squalo: haha~ how small the world is.. Good night to you, Y/N.

That night, Squalo was wearing a black sleeveless T-shirt, a black and white bandana on her head...Uh..a black and white tie with a shark print...? Okay..black trousers with a leather belt that had a plaque.. In the form of a shark, and also, she was wearing high, black leather lace-up boots. Squalo smiles toothily at Y/N, once again showing her terrifying teeth..

-Y/N: and good night to you too..Squalo..

-Squalo: Oh oh oh... Why are you talking to me like I'm 50 years old? I'm only 33 years old..

-Y/N: well... That's the point.. You are almost 10 years older than me..

Squalo laughs hoarsely.. Her laugh is quite intimidating.. And strangely, there were fewer people in the club when Squalo came..but nothing , maybe it 's just a coincidence ..Squalo gulped down her cocktail, and Y/N slowly drank her beer... Squalo waited for Y/N to finish her alcohol, AND TOOK HER HAND WITH THE WORDS

-Squalo: Dear Y/N~ let's go dance, huh?~

When they reached the dance floor, Squalo started dancing furiously.. And some strange , frenzied and loud music was playing in the background... and Y/N hesitantly connected to it...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

After dancing for QUITE a WHILE, they sat down to drink again... Squalo drank a little, and since Y/N had a vacation, she drank beer without limiting herself... Since she even forgot that Squalo pays for everything...

(Timeskip)

After a while... Y/N was already COMPLETELY drunk!! Her face was flushed like a tomato, and she no longer hesitated to joke, laugh and gently hold her hand, or hug Squalo (much to her delight) and so it went on... UNTIL LATE AT NIGHT FUCK!!! And finally, when it was about 4 a.m., Squalo gently put her hand on Y/N's shoulder

-Squalo: huh~ we had a lot of fun.. But I think it's time for us to go home, you need to call a taxi-

Squalo abruptly cut off her monologue as... Y/N fell on her breasts and passed out. Well... This will make Squalo's task easier! Now you don't have to secretly send your man to bring Y/N to her house! Squalo carefully, as if Y/N consisted of glass, picked her up in her arms , and looking at her lovingly went to the exit ,but her subordinate came up to her.

-Subordinate Squalo: Uh... boss... And why was it necessary to expel all drunks or people?. By "substances" from this club? Most of them were imprisoned for drunken brawl , drunk driving and other hooliganism!

SQUALO KICKED HER SUBORDINATE IN THE FACE, WHICH CAUSED HIM TO FALL WITH A BROKEN JAW AND NOSE !!

Squalo: don't make such a noise, bastard... Don't you see..? My darling is sleeping in my arms.. you don't even understand how fucking happy I am right now...

Squalo came out with Y/N in her arms, and got into her car, put Y/N in the seat next to her .

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

After a while, they ended up in apartment Y/N.. and yes. Squalo has been here before, but Y/N didn't know about it.. Squalo went to Y/N's bedroom, put her on the bed and...she took her pajamas out of the closet, and changed her clothes because Y/N can't sleep in such a dress and heels. Then, she just put Y/N on the bed, lay down next to her and began gently kissing her skin, trying not to wake her up... Ha~.. Her angel's skin was so soft ~... Just as she thought..and then, she just She wrapped her muscular , rough and scarred arms, around her fragile little body . And hugging her, she fell asleep with her in her arms...

｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

The next morning...

Y/N woke up with a severe hangover.. And somehow she opened her eyes... huh?! Is she lying in her bed...?!!!?? AND SOMEONE 'S FUCKING HUGGING HER!!!!! Y/N turns in shock, and sees that Squalo is hugging her, and looks closely at Y/N, and when she saw that Y/N was looking at her, she smiles..

-Squalo: oh~ dear! You're already awake!!

Squalo kisses Y/N on the forehead..

-Y/N: ha..?

Y/N blushes.

-Y/N: why... why do you call me that...?

-Squalo: why do I call you that..? Don't you remember?!!? We started dating yesterday, honey~

(In Squalo's mind: I'd rather lie and be with my sweet angel~ !! Than I will bribe the cops so that I won't be imprisoned for illegal entry..)

Y/N blushes in shock, and the whole effect of the hangover is forgotten immediately, her face immediatelyIt took on a beetroot hue , and she buried her face in her lap

-Y/N muffled: how embarrassing....

Squalo laughs, gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen... And after 15 minutes he returns, TAKES Y/N LIKE A SACK OF POTATOES AND CARRIES IT TO THE KITCHEN!!! She sits her down on a chair, and puts a plate of food in front of her, and she goes to the balcony.. Probably to smoke...

-Squalo: Bon appetit, babygirl >3<

How do you like this part? I tried my best, lol >3<

about what kind of music was playing in the this club:

#i do not know what to write #character #oc #oc's #yandere #yandere character #female yandere #muscular yandere #dangerous yandere #yandere gangster #yandere gang leader #gang leader #fem gang geader #beautiful yandere #rich yandere #Spotify

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an0thergl1tch · 4 months ago

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Remus headcanons because I am bored :

*This dude either had a giant ring of skeleton keys or can pick any lock because you know damn well you can’t keep him out of anywhere

*Logan and Remus trade information for fanfiction purposes “hey where is the safest place to stab someone I wanna give my main character trauma” “any place could kill a person however aiming for fatty areas of the stomach and thigh decreases the risk you will hit a major organ or artery” “thanks”

*Remus has every notification noise set to the Grindr ping, Janus has to silence remus’s phone when they go out in public.

*Remus doesn’t wear headphones when listening to music or watching videos in public he just plays it at max volume (he’s that dick, he would be that one guy walking around with a boombox.) He is not allowed the aux cord because otherwise he will play the raunchiest shit at max volume with all the windows down.

*Chronic iPad kid. Easiest way to shut him up is to give him a phone with angry birds on it.

*Clingy as hell, wants to go under your skin, is a biter. Also he’s fucking obsessed with fangs if you have fangs he will ask you to bite him.

*His room isn’t even scary it’s just shelves upon shelves of trinkets. Definitely has a sex toy collection somewhere though. He calls his room the sex dungeon to keep people from snooping around. Probably has a workbench somewhere with a sewing machine on it because he definitely is the type of punk to make ALL of his clothes. Makes a bunch of shit: jewelry, weapons, dolls, and probably has a assortment of taxidermy projects.

*Definitely into witchcraft and paganism, has multiple alters, some serious, some to random male celebrities Thomas has a crush on. Probably has some voodoo dolls stashed somewhere, among his very large handmade doll collection that may or may not of been due to Coraline.

*Oh he definitely has a fur suit somewhere in his room, your telling me this fucker doesn’t have one of those neon wolf fursonas, probably made it himself.

*So. Many. Scars. Half of them from Remus being a dumbass, half of them from Remus testing the limits of his immortality. “hmmm I wonder If jumping off the roof will kill me” “nope”

*Cannot take a compliment. If you compliment him he will immediately assume your trying to get in his pants. If you say it’s a compliment, he will malfunction.

*Fucking loves animals, all animals. ALL animals. Will try to pick up a wild bobcat. Along with his brother he also has the “all animals love me” Disney princess genes. Probably has befriended a murder of crows.

*Very good at making cocktails however you will be hammered after a single glass because he is quite heavy handed.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #headcanon

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lunar-years · 2 months ago

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How do you think Jamie’s mental health issues present/the effects of his father’s abuse in adulthood especially when being in a relationship with Roy and Keeley.

From what we’ve seen on the show alone I think Jamie is very well adjusted in general and has a bright and amazing future ahead of him in every sense ❤️

Cycling back to how his mental health issues present... we actually got a lot of canonical insight into this and to me it's an unpleasant cocktail of repression, overcompensating/excitable euphoria, shutting down, and depression. His repressive tendencies run pretty deep and it's been easier for him historically to push forward by pushing certain emotions down. When he gets triggered by being constantly around his dad in Manchester, he fucks off to Lust Conquers All. When he's upset in Amsterdam, he's cartwheeling down the streets with a hyper sort of constant energy. he's veryyy "i'm so depressed I act like it's my birthday everyday." Then you have moments like Wembley and the week leading up to Mom City where he freezes and falls into subsequent bouts of depression.

To me, I think quite a bit of those episodes stem from the fact that he's spent so long repressing his trauma that he fully does not realize he has it nor has he spent any time openly confronting it. Jame very much that guy who will drop THE most upsetting personal lore whilst laughing and then not understand why the room has gone silent. He can't remember what happened in Amsterdam. In Mom City he tells Roy he doesn't know he's upset, and when Keeley is listing off all the reasons he might have for not being himself lately, he's so overwhelmed by that because he hadn't even considered those reasons, or more aptly hadn't let himself stare them in the face.

Personally I think therapy helps him a lot and he takes to it like a fish to water. Finally he has someone to help him name the things that have happened to him and then help him process and reckon with those things in a healthy way. I definitely think he would learn to lean on others a lot more and develop new coping strategies to lessen instances like the one that drove him to Lust Conquers All.

That said, I think those first few weeks/months/years would be TOUGH. He's dealing with realities about his own life that he's spent much of the course of that life continually shoving down, and there's a lot of big words and diagnoses being thrown his way that overwhelms him even as it eventually relieves him to know there's a name for it.

It would be particularly difficult for him if that level of reckoning was happening at the same time as other big changes in his life, for instance getting together with Roy and Keeley and all the other anxieties that would come with that, or trying to reconnect with his dad. How long and in what capacity James Tartt Sr. remains in his life has to have an enormous impact on how his trauma related stuff presents, esp. given what we see in the finale. His father is very obviously his most prominent and longest-standing trigger. It's that sort of combination, along with him allowing himself to feel emotions outside of shutting down in the face of triggers, that I think could lead to panic attacks.

As for the royjamiekeeley aspect...they all deal with various mental health issues and are incredibly understanding and supportive ofc. As with all things, they have to find their footing and figure out through trial and error how to best help one another, but once they get it down they are incredibly solid. They help Jamie lessen his exposure to the stuff that triggers him (incl. his dad, in whatever way that works) and know how to best help to bring him down from panic attacks, how to talk to him when he's in various funks (he does the same for them), etc.

So it boils down to: I think future Jamie is on very solid footing but that doesn't mean he never stumbles. He's got a lot of healing left to do but I firmly believe he's up for the task.

#jamie tartt #royjamiekeeley #ted lasso #this is sort of what two different fics i'm working on rn are about but also not really? but sort of? yeah!

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itsbenedict · 2 months ago

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From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 4/18 | 2/2

Adea, with the finely-honed mom skill of Bothering Customer Service People, decides to loudly play NOSE KARATE GAMES ASK TO SEE MANAGER, but no one responds- she attracts the attention of some glitch-ghosts before Walter slaps a wing over her mouth.

He suggests that ELECTRIC BOLT LEFT US they COLLECT BUTTERFLIES, herding them together into one of those dense swarms that seems to allow them to reach the fennec fox who keeps dropping off supplies for them. It's not a bad idea- but it's tricky to corral loose butterflies in a ghost-crowded juice bar without antagonizing some ghosts.

The two of you split up, and- well, Adea gets sort of attacked by some of the ghosts she ticked off. They phase right through the both of you, but there's a chilling sensation and a loss of motor control involved, your limbs flailing involuntarily as they do so. It's disconcerting, and Adea takes a couple hits to her Soul Integrity from smacking against tables and the like, but otherwise things go much smoother than might be expected of a bug-corralling operation in an extremely haunted room.

The swarm, this time, doesn't reveal a fennec, but rather a tired looking cat polishing a glass at the bar. They can't say they've ever been asked to serve drinks to a cloud of butterflies before, but they appear to take the whole affair in an uncanny stride, and accept the CAFÉ VOUCHER. It's good for 20 Coin's worth of the house menu:

Some newfangled experimental INHALED FOODS that come in compressed air canisters (2)

A SPRINGLIKE CARD that resembles something from hanafuda but isn't quite the right season (2)

A tulpa of a little pony who embodies the spirit of generosity, so you always have a MIND RARITY at hand (2)

You could get poked with a cocktail umbrella. "YOW," SHRIEK US, because that toothpick end is pointy. (2)

Ever want to be traumatized by fae teaching you math? Now TRIG FAIRY TRAUMA can be yours, for only (2)

Jack wants to just get in the car and drive, but I BUCKLE UP, JACK. It's the law. (5)

There's a DOMINANT ICICLE hanging over the bar that's clearly the boss of all the other icicles. (4)

They sell SELTZERS, APTLY, by the sea shore. Or, shorter: by the sea, sure. Sheesh. (1)

There's a bee waiting in line to order behind you. It's going to be the BEE'S TURN next. (1)

Ol' Zed over there on the house piano is playing ZED'S TUNE, but he takes requests, for (1)

And lastly, if you're boring or watching your weight, you can always just order some SPINACH SALADS (2).

(All of these options restore hunger at least proportional to their cost, but may have other effects. How much of each the 20-Coin voucher will buy will be determined by the spread of results on this poll, rather than chosen by a single winner. You can also choose to PORT POLYTHEISTS and spend your own Coin to purchase extra rations.)

Continued

#lost in hearts #anagram bartending action!

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cookiesupplier · 6 months ago

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Catch You When You Fall - Part Two

pairing: Nicholas Ruffilo & ofc (Catherine)

warnings/tropes: slow burn, angst, murder, mystery, smut, mentions of speciesism, mentions of violence, trauma... (to be added.)

summary: A new soul has arrived in the Afterlife. While she appears to adjust just like anyone else might in the new environment of the world of life after death, despite the ordeal she experienced with her death. The question is has she really, and can Nicholas help her without crossing lines that he knows he shouldn't?

Authors Note: Sooo took me an extra day.. and its extra unbeta'd.. sorry for any mistakes.. my read through of my draft was super rushedddd sorry.. hopefully its not too bad!

To find the others in the Hell AU Universe: Combined Hell-Verse Masterlist

tags: @missduffsblog @tearfallpixie @spicywhenspeaking @sorrowsofsilence @wild-child-7747

@lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens @valiantroeagleangel @bngurngheart @collapsedglasshouses

@embracethereaper42 @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny @dominuslunae @xxkittenkissesxx

If you would like to be added to this tag list please see THIS FORM

Over the next few days, Cat got the ‘Hell’ tour from Bryce. He showed her around the community, took her to her new home. It was a little apartment on the ground floor, with a balcony that led out to a small green area out front. Bryce had even told her she could plant something there if she wanted to. It was the first time in her life that she had the option of her own garden to tend to, and she absolutely loved the idea. Before, she’d always lived in different types of rental spaces, and they always, without fail, had different levels of landlord rules. It made sense of course, she was only renting and didn’t own the space, she couldn’t do anything she wanted with it. Basically, it amounted to her not being able to plant anything, even if there was a strip of space that would be perfect for it, now she had hopes of starting a little garden of her own. She just had to decide on what flowers she was going to plant in it, what she was going to do with it, she knew she wanted to include some irises of some kind, they are her mother’s favourite. Once she had them planted, she looked forward to seeing them every morning, she hoped it would be a long time until she saw her mother here. As it was, she was almost wished the flowers were already planted as she got ready to leave, but they weren’t, not yet.

Pulling on her coat as she passed by the balcony of the front hall of her apartment and let herself out the door. She was on her way to her first day of work, well, her first official day of work. Cat had met her boss yesterday. Ishtar had been wonderful when they spoke the day before at the vegetarian café that Cat was going to be working at. It was still quite new apparently, it had only opened up a few weeks ago, so everything was still just starting up, but it already seemed popular. While Cat wasn’t vegetarian herself, she loved to bake and try new things. The moment that Ishtar had heard this, she’d lit up like the Christmas tree in the middle of Times Square, and Cat couldn’t help but smile. She had a feeling they were going to get along just fine, despite the fact that she was almost sure that it was Bryce that had seemed wary when he told her about this job.

When they started talking about what jobs she might want to do, Bryce had brought her a list of different possible options for her. Most of them were menial jobs she would have never touched when she was alive, bartender? Not that she had anything against working at a bar, or clubbing, but she didn’t know how to make those kinds of drinks for the life of her! She’d studied as an English major and had worked at a publishing house while she was alive. Sure, she had drank a few cocktails, but she didn’t know heads or tails about how to make them. Books, now those were something that she had always been passionate about. Being here, in the Afterlife, her entire world turned upside down, it was a perfect time to make a change, to take a chance on something she loved. So that was what had drawn her to the café, despite Bryce’s attempts in talking her into working in the library instead. She knew he was just trying to guide her to what she knew, she couldn’t blame him for that.

She had visited the library with him when he had taken her there, hoping to change her mind, she was sure, not that he said as much. Cat had gone to the library, and come back with a decent stack of books that were currently sitting on her night stand, and she was happily enjoying reading. The Afterlife had a very enjoyable assortment of literature, and unlike in the living world, she didn’t have to spend every cent of her pay check on books constantly. Who needed heaven, she was quite happy right here in so-called hell right now, thank you.

Now, when it came to Bryce’s real problem with her working at the café, and she could tell he had a problem with it, even if he didn’t come right out and say it. The amount of times he asked if she was sure, if she was absolutely certain she wanted to work there, it was a giveaway. There was also the fact that he kept assuring her that if she changed her mind at any time, even after she started working there, she could always come to him, and he would work out another position for her. He was absolutely determined for some reason that she not work there, and it was mind-boggling as to why.

Cat wasn’t sure which he seemed to have more trouble with, the fact that she didn’t immediately agree to his idea in the first place, or that she had chosen that specific café in question. At first, she had thought it was because she had decided on anything but his idea, he seemed like a man that was used to everyone just going along with the ideas that he had. Bryce was very easy going, the surfer vibe he had going on, he used it well, it worked for him, and seemed to make agreeing with him just seamless with most things. However, then, when she selected the café, and really insisted that was what she wanted to do, he switched gears and started assuring her that she didn’t have to decide right then and there. She could take her time. Take a few weeks, a few months if she needed to.

That was when he let her know that humans didn’t even need to work in hell, that technically, only demons did. Well, that was news to her. Up until that moment, he had seemed to be encouraging her to work, impressing upon her that she should. In fact, it had made her feel like if she didn’t, that she would be penalised in some way. Maybe she might not have ended up being punished in one of those torture realms, but something might happen to her. For all she knew, she would have gotten assigned a job if she didn’t choose one, and one that was disgusting.. Or worse, forcibly reincarnated as a bug, a cockroach, or worse, a spider. So hearing that she didn’t have to work at all, oh, Bryce was very obviously manipulating her, and she didn’t like it.

That had been when she decided that the café was definitely where she wanted to work, and there was nothing he could say that would talk her out of it now. She started this morning, and Cat was on her way to work, bright and early. While she loved to bake, she wasn’t actually going to be working there as one of the bakers, or dealing with any of the main food preparations that she knew of yet. Ishtar had told her yesterday that she was set to learn the ropes today, and that a lot of her work at the end of one day, was setting up for the next. It made everything go a lot smoother the next morning if she had everything prepared the day before. That was really smart, and she loved that idea, already the woman sounded amazing, she couldn’t wait to get to know her more.

As she approached the outside of the café, she went along the side where the staff door was, knocking lightly, and a moment later the door opened to the smiling face of her boss, Ishtar. When she’d first met her, it had been remarkable to meet the bright bubbly face of the demoness, but a welcoming one.

“Hey, Cat, come on in.”

Unlike Bryce, Ishtar, didn’t seem to jump right to the endearments to sweeten her up, she didn’t need to. She was perfectly nice enough on her own. Of course, meeting demons like her, made it all the clearer what Bryce had meant when he said that some demons don’t shift into a human form. While she had a humanoid form, two arms, two legs, and hypothetically ten fingers and ten toes by the looks of it, she was pure demon, with her gorgeous purple tones to her appearance. She adorned with tattoos still like other demons, hers were simple flowering vines over her skin, and stunning horns curled from her beautiful hair that was braided around them today.

Slipping into the back area of the café where they made all the food and drinks for the sitting area out front where they served the customers, at least the ones that didn’t take their food to go.

“Alright, Cat, so I’m going to get you started just taking orders behind the counter for now. Don’t worry, it's not going to be permanent, I hope to teach you how to do all the different jobs through the café. From waitressing, working register, making drinks, even baking for the display case, cooking out back.”

That really excited her to hear, that she wasn’t going to be shoehorned into one job here. If felt nice to know that she was going to have options and means to vary in time.

“Admittedly, sometimes I bake a lot a home and bring them in, it cuts down some of my extreme early morning commutes, and my boyfriend thanks me for that. His version of waking up early involves very different activities than baking.”

Cat felt her face flush warm, the kind of activities that she would attribute to early mornings and boyfriends, well, they didn’t involve baking either. Even if the thought of being in the kitchen of the morning brought about the idea of her boyfriend surprising her while she wore nothing but one of his shirts that she slept in. A boyfriend she had never got around to getting, she’d been far too much of a home body, always with her head in the books. The closest she came, and even before the end of the second day, he’d basically told her she was boring. That she needed to get her head out of the clouds, that there was more to life than fantasy. That being obsessed with dragons, magic, and elves, and all those things that go bump in the night was pathetic. Personally, she just thought he was pathetic, he would sit there playing his video games, and shoot up people, military type games. He had his obsession, so the fact he thought he could call her out for what she enjoyed, was ironic in the face of it. Unfortunately, at the time, she had spiralled and got so depressed at the rejection, but eventually she got over him and moved on focusing on school instead.

“So if I might want to experiment in the future, baking, or other café style dish ideas, provided it's vegetarian, you might be interested?”

Cat was curious about trying different things. She wanted to try and see what happened with cooking instead of just her delving into the world of words and books like she had when she was alive. Maybe, also maybe, she was trying to give herself a little something for a distraction. A distraction from this dark feeling in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t even really fathom right about now.

“Oh, I would most definitely be interested. I can’t promise we will always serve what you come up with, but I’d love to see what you do make, I always like trying new things.”

Of course, Cat had no idea just yet what she might like to make, what would go well with what they made here. They had different treats and delights in the display case yesterday when she had come by to talk to Ishtar. Ishtar hadn’t called it an interview, nor the first time she had been by the café to meet with her and find out if she would be will to hire her in the first place. Instead, yesterday just seemed to be a check in to make sure everything was okay and that both she was still interested in working there, and Ishtar was still partial to having her at the café. With them both still on board, here she was, bright and early and ready to go.

“Can I ask, is the vegetarian element of the café, is that a preference of yours, or is that something you found lacking in the general cuisine choices?”

Cat couldn’t help but ask, it was a curious thing, she had found that a lot while she was alive. If enough people wanted something, then customs would adjust to embrace it. However, there were places that would buck so heavily against this it would tear a community apart, and it was so painful to see. She didn’t want to insult Ishtar by assuming anything about what she liked, or didn’t like.

“It’s a personal choice, I suppose it's half culture, half upbringing. When I was reborn this lifetime, I spent a lot of time with my mother, and she is vegetarian. However, as I got older and travelled more, I found I just didn’t have the same taste for meat others do. I can and have eaten it on occasion, it isn’t a health issue.. Much to my boyfriend’s thankfulness. Though.. Thinking of poor little animals, skewered for food, always does make me miserable.”

Nodding, that was fair, and it showed she had a bigger heart than some people.

“I find it interesting there are still such diverse ways of life here.”

“Exactly, demons are just as diverse as humans, unfortunately it can also get just as ugly.. But let's not get into that. Now, let's get you set up at the register.”

Ishtar hooked her arm with hers with a bright smile and guided her up front to the counter so she could help her get set up before they opened.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

#nicholas ruffilo #nicholas ruffilo x ofc #original female character #original character #demons #bad omens #fanficition #bad omens fanfic #hell au #hell verse #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #bad omens fic #nick ruffilo #nick ruffilo fic #fic: catch you when you fall

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