#one day will be too late to choose recovery

[caffeinatedopossum]

Eating disorder recovery remains the hardest thing I've ever done/continue to do. And I've been through a lot

So yeah, if you're struggling with it right now or don't want to recover at the moment, that's understandable

[nightingale-prompts]

Batboy is back baby!

First | Previous | Next

(Back to the regularly scheduled idiots)

Life was not quite back to normal. Danny's lack of wings meant he didn't hang from the ceiling anymore. He also started eating less, he wasn't as much of a fiend for fruits anymore. The white fur collar he had started shedding until there was only a thin layer left.

Danny slept most of the day only moving to new spots occasionally. He would choose the most inconvenient spots as well. Like the roof.

One such day Danny was sleeping soundly in the midday sun when a portal opened behind him. A hand grabbed Danny by the ankle back onto the Ghost Zone. He only managed a single yelp before he was face to face with Clockwork.

"What part of come back do you not understand?" He scolded holding the boy in the palm of his hand.

Danny rolled over in the icy blue hand and sighed. He didn't bother looking up at "Kronos" in his titan form. He knew that it meant that his mentor was in a very bad mood.

"Now look at you. You have bearly staved off going into stasis. You are not fully formed yet young man and can't survive in the physical realm without an energy source. What have you been feeding on other than your own energy reserves?!" He lectured before another voice cut in.

"Go easy on him my love. Let me." Nocturne soothed taking Danny into his hands.

Danny was thankful for a moment before realizing that Nocturne's head was that of a ram which meant he was also mad.

Its very easy to read the emotions of god-level entities. The more imposing and non-humanoid the worse they feel.

"Daniel...what did I tell you to do late time we spoke?" Nocturne's red eyes narrowed, and his horizontal pupils shrank.

Danny knew this was a trap.

"Speak boy." Nocturne ordered.

"To return-"

"To return to the realms!" Nocturne bleated "And yet you stubbornly remained. Now look, you are practically wilting away! You are still a millennia too young to be this reckless. I should ban you from the physical realm. Putting you in a dream bubble for a century would teach you a lesson."

Danny knew that this was a bluff. Nocturne was a huge softie and never went through with a punishment. Clockwork on the other hand never made false promises.

" No, my Lamb. We shouldn't. Not yet at least." Clockwork sighed "For now we should concern ourselves with helping him recover."

Danny sighed with relief as the Titans let him go for now.

He had to leave a note for Dick that he would be at his homeworld for a few days. Clockwork also left a note to assure Dick that Danny was in good hands and is also being grounded.

Recovery by ghost standards was similar to humans.

Ambient ectoplasm could heal with enough time but it's by no means fast. It would take years for Danny to get back to his old self. When Danny first came back after being torn open the recovery was painfully slow without proper care. If Clockwork hadn't stepped in then Danny would still be in that state.

The first step is food. Despite what you'd think ghosts eat. They all have to eat something to survive, but they all just have their favorite foods.

Nocturne was a desire eater.

Clockwork by nature ate everything

Danny himself is a fear eater.

Fear eaters are the most common among ghosts.

But these are abstract foods.

Physical foods also exist. Ghosts cultivate foods of their own.

Danny's favorites are a bowl of Ice Scream with Ambrosia chunks, neck-tarine lemonade, the devil's eggs, and candied meal worms.

It sure beats eating honeyed dates, bread, and cheese with Clockwork and Nocturne. But a growing ghost has to eat alter food to grow in power.

So Danny can only eat offerings until further notice.

Clockwork also sent Danny to do tasks and training.

"You need to steel your mind. Your perception of yourself is too flimsy. The more you believe yourself to be small or a child the more your body becomes so. The more negative emotions you direct at yourself the worst you will appear." Clockwork droned on and on showing Danny complex diagrams about how to properly use his powers.

The time ghost had been firm about not teaching Danny any new abilities until he got this down.

Danny was not enthusiastic. He bearly made it though the first lecture on this.

"Give him a break. How about letting me show him some examples?" Nocturne said entering the room with a tray of tea. "Come with me. We'll go to the menagerie."

For the next few days, Danny was given a crash course on biology and mental conditioning. He practiced changing his form as quickly as possible and accurately copying. Nocturne was strict but fair. Nocturne was actually one of the best when it came to shifting.

On the last day, Danny hugged his mentors goodbye for now. Clockwork made sure to fasten a talisman around Danny's neck that would keep them in contact and help Danny control his power better so he didn't lose too much energy. Nocturne handed Danny a bag of golden Ambrosia for the road.

And like that, Danny was back home. Recharged and ready.

****

Dick tried not to be worried about Danny. He understood that since he wasn't entirely human he had to recover differently. But you can't blame him for feeling anxious.

Going missing once was problem enough.

When he returned to the apartment the first thing to greet him when he opened the door was something fuzzy flying at his face.

That fuzzy thing was a squeaking sliver bat that had somehow go in the house.

Dick peeled it off his face as the bat gleefully chirped at him.

"How did you get in little guy? Did Damian hide you in here?" Dick said as the Bat climbed up his suit.

Suddenly a heavy weight pressed down on him as the albino bat turned into Danny. Dick toppled to the floor.

"Dad!! Look! I finally did it! I flew!" Danny said leaning over Dick and smiling from ear to ear. His blue eyes flashed green.

Dick was stunned silent as he took in the last few seconds.

Did Danny call him dad?

[writersdrug]

The Good Friend

Chapter 1. A New Hobby

Summary: Johnny regularly checks up on Ghost after he sustained a bullet to the hip on their most recent deployment. It's already too late for him to escape, once he sees what's kept his beloved lieutenant so occupied over the past few days.

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, implied violence, restraining, psychotic behavior, blood, forced to help in kidnapping, obsessive behavior. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS. By clicking "Keep Reading" you are consenting to be responsible for the media you consume.

A/N: The people have spoken

Simon on medical leave: a disaster and a headache for the rest of the 141.

There's a daily text along the lines of "Let me know when we get shipped out next." It never mattered how many times Price responded with "You're not joining us for a while. Find a hobby, Simon." He was persistent in coming back to work as soon as possible - shattered hip be damned.

Price had given Soap the job of checking up on the poor brute. "Maybe he misses the usual company." He'd say. "Go see 'im, check in with the muppet."

Soap was a good friend, but there was only so much grumbling he could stomach from Simon. Those "check-ins" would turn into a pity party, with Simon saying "I should be out there, helpin' you lot. Only wastin' away in 'ere. Losin' my head." And it was true - every time Johnny visited, there was an open can of beer on the coffee table, or a glass of whiskey in his hand. The bottle of prescription, opioid pain killers on the kitchen table. Some ill-advised coping mechanism within arm's reach.

It hurt Johnny to see it, it really did. He cared about Simon, missed him, would do anything to get his beloved L.T. back on the team. But he knew the man needed rest and recovery, despite how much it was sending Simon into a spiral. Johnny offered to help clean up his place, but Simon angrily denied the offer. "Don't need a bloody caretaker." He spat.

Just tryin' to be a good friend, Soap wanted to say, but instead he answered with a slam of Simon's front door and a hushed "feckin' bastard."

Johnny was tired of it. When the fuck was this medical leave supposed to end? Apparently, in two weeks ("thank the feckin' lord") -

But, Soap soon discovered, Simon had requested more time off.

Price stated he'd said something about "still not feeling right", which immediately had Soap confused. That old bawbag would've been back in the game the second the bullet was out of his hip, if it wasn't for regulations. It festered in the back of his mind all day: why would Simon do that? What could possibly hold his attention more than the task force? More than Johnny?

There was only one way to find out.

Soap stands in front of Simon's door, knocking loudly against the dark wood. An unexpected visit, which Simon might be frustrated by - but Soap is dying to see what's got his lieutenant so preoccupied. Hopefully, he hasn't fallen into a pit of depression, choosing to drink himself to death, rather than come back to the team.

However, after just a few moments of standing on his porch, Simon answers it rather quickly. And he looks happy. Delighted, even.

"'Bout time, Johnny." Simon says, stepping aside to let him in. "Was wondering if you got lost."

"Was wonderin' if you'd gone crazy." Soap banters back, kicking the door shut behind him. "Cap said ye want more time?"

Simon chuckled quietly, locking the deadbolt behind Soap. He shoves his hands - gloved hands - into his sweatshirt pocket. "Took his advice. Found a hobby."

"Lemme guess: knittin' me a Christmas sweater?"

"You fuckin' wish."

It's good. It makes Soap sigh with relief (internally), seeing Simon in such good spirits. He tosses the pack of blems onto the coffee table and follows Simon into the kitchen. The smell of rubbing alcohol hits him before he sees the counter; bandages, gauze, bloody gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and an open suture kit.

He stops in the doorway to the kitchen, his teeth bared in a wince. "Shite, Ghost- ye reopen tha' bullet wound?" he says, lifting up one of the bloodied pieces of gauze.

"Hm?" Simon turns to face him, then looks at what he's holding. "Oh- nah, I'm fine. Luvie here bumped her head."

Johnny looks up, confused, following Simon's back with his eyes as he makes his way into the dining room - his mind goes blank when he sees the poor, bloodied thing, tied to one of the chairs.

You're staring back at him, hair messed and blood dried against a nasty gash on your forehead. Fabric is stuffed into your mouth, with a strip of duct tape securing it around your head. Your eyes light up with hope as they take Johnny in; you're heaving, poor thing, breaths more like whines as you fight through the delirium of your concussion. Your right ankle is swollen and a nasty shade of purple. Blood all over the chair, your thighs, and now, Johnny finally notices, Simon's hands.

"Dinged 'erself pretty good on my bookcase." Simon says, too calmly, his broad frame standing behind the chair you're strapped into. "Slippery lil' thing, she is."

Simon rips the duct tape off - your voice immediately fills the room, echoing inside Soap's head with your begging and pleading, please please please get me out of here, please help me, he kidnapped me, he's a monster, please-

Johnny has to look away - there's too much noise, too much going on - his eyes trail down the dark hall and into Simon's bedroom. The bookshelf is toppled over, volumes strewn about the floor, a lamp shattered on the ground and casting an eerie angle of light through the room. He hears the sound of his own blood pumping, his chest and throat feel tight, mind racing a million miles a second. Did his LT do this? His Simon?

"Johnny."

He turns back to you. The duct tape is back in place, and now you're weakly thrashing about as much as you can - which really isn't much. Ghost is staring at Soap, one of his hands wrapped around your shoulder, knuckles white with how hard he's gripping you; which is most likely what's making you cry so much.

"Need ya to help stitch 'er up." Simon says, his eyes cold. It's an order. "'Fore she bleeds out on us."

Johnny feels like he's going to vomit. He needs to stop thinking, to stop shaking, and do something. His lieutenant's kidnapped a bloody civilian, for Christ's sake. Why? And what the fuck did he do to her?

"Won't let me touch 'er. Hard to stitch the wound when she's throwin' a fit - damn near stabbed 'er in the eye. I'll hold 'er while you do th' job."

Johnny finally inhales after holding his breath for so long. He stumbles backwards into the kitchen, remembering where the front door is, thinking he should have been in his car and on the phone with the police by now. If he does, though, Simon will be gone forever. Locked up in prison, far away from Soap. How can he save this? How can he save you, and him? "Simon, ye- ye can't be serious, mate-"

"If you walk out tha' fuckin' door I'll kill 'er before you reach it."

That ruffles your feathers. You're whimpering again, screaming against the gag - at him? At Ghost? He freezes where he stands, trying to remember his training. Act first, think later. Do what keeps the most people alive in the moment. That's what Simon had taught him. The same man who was threatening to kill you, ironically, based on what Soap decided to do.

"Get the sutures off the counter." Simon ordered, apparently sensing Soap's inner turmoil. He knows Johnny wouldn't leave you there, not after the threat.

He couldn't.

Soap exhaled heavily through his teeth, forcing his muscles to move. He snatched the suture kit off the counter and stormed back into the living room. He heard Ghost hum in approval as he slapped it down on the table.

"You do it." he said, his voice low and full with grit. "Ye stitch 'er up, I'll help ye take her to the hospital. We come back n' clean up-"

"Shut the fuck up-" Simon growled out to Soap, gripping your chin in his large hand and yanking your head back against his abdomen. "Get to work. Don't let 'er die on me, now."

Die. Die. You had a concussion and a headwound, but you weren't dying - still, he knew that wasn't what Ghost meant. If Soap didn't help, you would die, one way or another. He had to think of this differently, for the time being. He was helping you. He'd take this little by little - first, patch you up. Figure out what the fuck to do with you later; also, how to keep this from ruining Simon's career, because he couldn't leave the task force. Soap wouldn't let that happen.

So, he took the needle and sutures in his hand, and knelt on the floor, between your restrained legs. Ignored the way you screamed and thrashed, only held still by Ghost's meaty paws. Didn't focus on Ghost's satisfied grin. He was doing this to save your life, you'd understand that later. He was doing this to save Simon's career.

Like a good friend.

Next ->

Taglist: @a-sadmilky

Ghost photo credit to @chatskaja

[magics-neptunes-things]

The Dork And The Nerd

Hello there!

I didn't post anything with Leah since like for ever, so there it is!

Please enjoy :)

TW : None I think, or please let me know :)

Looking around the room, you readjust the camera one last time before starting your stream. It’s your job, even if some people are still saying that it isn’t a real job and stupid things like that.

You were winning your life easily with it, living your dream. You always loved playing video games, you started alone because it wasn’t what your little sisters were loving to do. When you discovered online games it was a life changing for you. You started streaming when you were 18 years old, which was seven years ago now. It was hard at first to be honest, being a woman in this man world.

But you find some friends in popular streamers who took you under their wings and help you to be where you are now.

You have several thousand people who follow you to each of your live, four night each week. You still have some shit to deal with, like harassers, but you took a manager who is the one reading your mail. He takes on him to choose your different partnership and sometimes answer to the people sending you strange things.

You are openly gay, but that doesn’t make stop some of men to send you disturbing pictures. Thanks god it’s your agent who see them, but you are aware of it. Just like your girlfriend, though.

You start your stream like usual, saying hello to your followers and talking a little bit about actuality or what you did today. You have a white kitten, who you called Purrito, who is almost as famous as you are. He keeps coming when you are playing, sometimes lying on your hand, or trying to catch the mouse of your computer. You already have a lot of bloopers because of him, but you can’t be mad with him.

Lately, your passion for video games seems to have catch the attention of your girlfriend. She always was looking at you when you are streaming, when she can. You usually do it during the evening so she’s back from training or games.

When Leah asked you to learn to her how to play video games, at first you thought she was messing with you. But she was really serious and ask you one more time. And who are you to refuse something to your girlfriend?

At first it was just to have fun, but you soon have an idea, and you used your best puppy eyes to get your girlfriend agreed with it. You wanted to make her play with you, but without her showing her face in your screen.

You never talked about Leah being your girlfriend, even if you are together for two years now. The public know that you are in a relationship, you sometimes mention your girlfriend live. They just don’t know who she is.

You met Leah at a ceremony and Katie who is a fan of your job took Leah when she went to met you. You were happy to met Katie, but you find yourself thunderstruck by Leah. You don’t remember if you were really coherent that night, but Leah followed you back almost immediately when you did it on Instagram.

You waited the next Arsenal games to sent her a message, congratulating her for her performance. You even take a picture of you in the stand with your father (who really was surprised when you ask him to go with you to a women football game). Leah answered you that next time you come you have to tell her, so she could give you a better seat.

You didn’t know if she was serious or not, but she then asked you the next game in London if you are coming and she find you a seat in the friends and family area. After the game she offers you to go for a drink. You then had other dates, and the rest is history.

You got together one month before she did her ACL and even if it was a hard time, you both get stronger. You let Lia Wälti take the lead in Leah’s recovery, but you were always around to help too. When Lia return to her home, you were the one staying with Leah at night. And you kept taking her in her rehab and cooking for her.

The day Leah started to run again, you were at the training to watch her. This is the day where she officially asked you to move in with her now that she could do things alone again. Unless cooking maybe, but that’s another question.

You accepted of course and the blonde happily transformed one of her guest room in your studio of stream.

It’s where you are now, Leah peacefully setting on your living room, ready to go live with you.

“Oh, it looks like our guest is here” you smile when you see that Leah is connected too. “Hi Baby!”

You only said to your viewers that it was your girlfriend, without saying anything else. You are aware that maybe someone will recognize Leah’s voice, but it would be fun anyway.

“Hi Love” she answers.

You make a reminder of the game you were going to play, for her first live Leah chose a car games, Trackmania. It wasn’t your favorite game, but you were so happy that she said yes to you that you would have accept a Tetris game.

“How are you?” you ask her, while making the game ready.

“I’m fine. Happy to play with you tonight.”

“I am happy too” you smile before looking at the camera. “Let’s have her a good evening guys so she will accept to do it more often yeah?”

You hear Leah chuckle, and you can’t help but smile. You already are seeing comments saying that you look whipped, what makes you roll your eyes. It seems to you that Leah’s voice is a little different from what it is in reality, but maybe your mind is playing trick.

You play several runs with Leah, before switching to another game after talking with your chat who recommend to you to make Leah try an adventure RPG. When you look at the clock again, it’s past midnight.

“Oh wow I didn’t realize that it was already so late” you exclaimed yourself. “We are going to stop here guys, I’m sorry. Maybe next time we will try Minecraft or something else, I’ll let you know. I hope you had as fun as I had Babe.”

“It was really fun. Thank you for inviting me.”

You can hear Leah smile and you can’t wait to go to the living room for a cuddle and kiss session. When you played together until know, you were able to show each other or tease the other with kisses.

“You will be invited for more times” you smirk.

Leah left and you take the time to thanks your viewers a little more longer before logging off. You stretch, finishing your bottle of water before going to find Leah. You run on the stairs and Leah already knew you were coming before you jump on the couch next to her.

She laughs when you attack her with kisses all over her face, finishing on her lips.

“Did you really have fun?” you ask, looking at her with attention.

She nods, playing with your hair. She’s smiling and every time you look at her, you wonder how in the world you get so lucky. She’s perfect.

“I did” she smiles at you. “I’m not saying that I want to do that all the night every night, but it was great.”

“Mh I maybe have another idea for us to have fun all night” you smirk.

The tone of your voice is very obvious and if Leah had one doubt, she just has to look the way you are looking at her. Your fingers run on her tight and you kiss her one more time, before sucking slightly at her neck.

Leah gulp and just hums, tilting her head on the side for you to have a better access. You know what you are doing, after more than two years, you know Leah’s body and reactions like the back of your hand.

“Let’s go to bed” Leah decides several seconds after, taking your hand before dragging you in your bedroom on the first floor.

********

“It was a great session.”

You smile at Leah who came to your studio after you played together again. You were still sitting when she entered the room, and she passed her hand around your shoulder from behind to kiss your cheek.

“It was” you smile before turning your chair to face Leah.

She sits on your lap, and you pass your arms around her. It wasn’t the second time that you are playing together while you are streaming, today you chose Fifa and it was very fun. You made the pact not to play with Arsenal or England, but it was still very funny. Leah is a very bad looser, so you play several games in the same team too.

“People are starting to have some suspicion though” Leah says.

She was right, you saw on social media some things about your girlfriend being Leah. But it wasn’t the only name coming.

“Yeah, they said I will make a great couple with some of your teammates too” you shrug, before counting on your fingers “They are talking about Sabrina, Alessia, Kyra and Lia.”

Leah frown, not really liking the picture who comes in her mind.

“Nah. You’re mine.” she answers possessively.

“Do you want to tell people?”

Leah looks at you, thinking for several seconds before answering. This is lasting for some weeks now and you know that you can’t stay hidden forever. You attract the attention of the world by playing together.

“Not now. It’s fun like this, don’t you think?”

“It is” you confirm with a smile.

Leah has the habit to be coupled with every teammate and you are sometimes shipped with other streamers. You like to stream with other of them, certain being your friends too. There is nothing much, but that doesn’t stop people to imagine that you are dating one of them.

But you have to admit too that your stream with Leah attracts more people than usual, and you are a little scared that people will assume that you’re using your girlfriend for the views.

Your face being very close to Leah, she seems to realize very quickly that something is on your mind.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“Nothing” you say at first, before sighing. “Well, I mean… I already have some viewers saying that I’m using my girlfriend to gain more viewers, so I was wondering how they would react when they realize it’s you.”

You shrug to show her that it’s not really important, you don’t want to think you are worried about something so little.

“If someone say that you know what my answer will be?” Leah asks with a serious face.

“No” you mumble.

“I will tell them that we are together for two years, that you have been the best girlfriend in the world since. I will tell them how affectionate, caring, sweet, funny, clever and passionate you are.”

You can’t help but smile and feel your cheek being a little red at that statement. Leah smirks and kisses your cheek.

“And I’ll add that if you use me, it’s only in the bedroom and the way you do is actually very talented and also very private.”

You laugh this time, hitting her on the arm. Leah seems very happy about her joke, her eyes shinning with malice. She’s so beautiful. You bite her jaw before whispering.

“You’re such a dork.”

“The Nerd and the Dork, it would be a great book title” she smirks.

“You’re not totally wrong.”

********

“You’re cheating!”

You can’t help but laugh at Leah. You are playing once again against your girlfriend, during a live. You are playing at Mario Kart and you just won the race for the third time in a row. She’s fuming and even if you can’t see her, the noise coming from downstairs are letting you know that she’s actually kicking the ground right now.

“I’m not, Baby I swear. You can’t cheat in this game.”

“Yes, you are!”

You roll your eyes, not answering anything. You are of course very aware about of much your girlfriend hates to lose. You are at the first place while Leah is third, which is really good for someone who isn’t playing video games daily like you. But not for the great Leah Williamson.

“Someone in the comment is saying that I will sleep on the couch. I won’t Babe, right?”

“I’m not sure about it for now” Leah grumbles. “Or maybe I’ll go sleep to the trai…”

You cough suddenly and Leah stops talking, realizing what she was just about to say. You really hope that no one would understand what she was going to say. Or at least another end of sentence, not “training ground”.

“Alright, next game” you say right after.

“I’m gonna crush you.”

She doesn’t and when you join her in the kitchen after, she seems really embarrassed. You ignore the different messages asking what Leah wanted to say and the answer some of them gave. You saw that some people where right and you know that the research will start again.

“I’m so sorry” she says, coming for you while you’re entering the room. “I was fuming because I was losing, and I forgot for some seconds that it wasn’t only you and me.”

You smile, easily passing your arms around her to give her a hug. She cuddles against you when you kiss her temple.

“It’s ok, don’t worry. Plus, you are the most famous between the both of us, you will be the most annoyed by all that.”

“Why would I be annoyed?”

Leah back up her head a little bit, just to be able to have a better look at your face. You arch an eyebrow before answering.

“Because you always told me you want privacy.”

It was in the early hours of your relationship, and you never said anything against it. You understood Leah’s needs, at this time you weren’t as famous as you are right now. She wanted to be known for her skills, her job in football or her implications in different charities. And the point was very easy for you to be understood. Your friends are families know obviously about you two, it would be strange and difficult to hide a relationship when you live together. Plus because of her answer last time you talked about it, you were really sure that it was what she want.

“I told you that at first, but now I wouldn’t mind if people start to know about us.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but your mind just blown. You were used to the idea of people stay in the ignorance about your relationship and the love you have for this woman. As long as you have her, why would you complain?

“Do you… Really?” you frown.

“Yeah, I mean if you don’t want to be out…”

“No, I do. I just thought that you would like to stay private for like forever?”

“I love you. I want the world to know how happy you make me. But in several weeks. I want to play with your fans a little more.”

“Sounds good to me” you smirk. “And I love you too.”

********

For the next weeks, you chose one day of the week to play and stream with Leah. Between those days, you were careful to post some things on social media, giving little clues to your followers about the identity of your girlfriend. You never posted something with Leah or even with a part of her hand or hair. It was more subtle than that.

Until one day, where you were peacefully streaming while Leah went out with her friends. You usually go with her, but today it was more an unexpected drink, so you already have something planned on your channel. You have an entire trust in Leah, and you know that nothing would ever happen with anyone. If you go with her almost every time, it’s only to have a great time with her.

Plus, tonight she’s out with Katie, Caitlin, Steph, her boyfriend, and Kyra, so there are really no risks.

You usually wait for Leah to text you that she was coming home to cut your stream, so you have the time to finish what you are doing and say goodbye to your viewers. Tonight though, either you didn’t see her message, or she forgot to send it to you.

Still, there is suddenly a stunning blonde who enters your studio, showing herself in the camera at the same time. You are so surprised that you only can look at her on the screen of your camera.

“Hello Hot stuff! You won’t believe what I just learned about Kyra! Did you k- … Oh shit.”

That’s the moment she realizes. It was almost comical to be honest, the enthusiastic tone with which she began her sentence, the moment of silence and the last words spoken in a low voice.

You only have like two seconds to decide if you want to cut the stream and never talk about it again, or if it’s time to be honest with everyone. You chose a third way and turn to the camera.

“Well it’s time for me to say goodbye. See you tomorrow at eight. Thanks for being here!”

You wave and cut the stream and the camera before turning in Leah’s direction. She seems amused but she has at the same time the same look on the face of a teenager caught doing something wrong.

“Funny way to outing things, this clip will be viral” you comment with a small smile.

“I’m sorry?”

Leah can’t hide her smile and you can’t either. You can be mad at her for something like that. You let Leah comes to sit on your lap, kissing her softly when she’s settled. She taste like tequila.

“How was your night?”

“Great. But I missed you.”

She hides her face in your neck, and you feel the goosebumps forming when her breath stroke your skin.

“Did you have fun?”

She hums, start to kiss your neck and you know that the discussion you were supposed to have right now is delayed for now. You will have a lot of time to talk about it later. Your phones are way too busy receiving tons notifications to be able to do anything with it right now anyway.

********

YourInstagram and LeahWilliamson

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YourInstagram Two years and a half with this dork. I love you ❤️🤍

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leahwilliamson I love you more my Nerd ❤️🤍  

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | When A Heart Reacts | Part 1

CW: none this chapter

AO3

When he left the military König missed the action found in the theatrics of war. He signed up with a company that would get him close to that again. He felt alive in those moments of pops of gunfire and the scream of missiles. Everything else became muted as a consequence. He worked with KorTac, leading one team (instead of several, doing that left him with hives) KorTac filled his needs until a bullet through the knee saw him in recovery and left behind.

König worked for a year to recover and train back to the standards he would need to reach to again take missions. He attempted three times and failed three times. When tears slid down his face they were absorbed by his makeshift cowl. A tired-faced woman had walked him into an office following his last failure. She spared no extra effort to look at him as she settled behind her computer. Slapping a stack of papers on the desk between them she spoke.

“Name?” She didn’t look at him, eyes on her screen and fingers poised for typing.

“König.”

When no second name followed she lifted a brow as she looked at him.

“One of those, okay.” Keys clicking her eyes tracked along the monitor. “Looks like you put away most of your earnings into a pension, good for you. Now to be eligible for the release of the pension all members leaving KorTac must complete regular therapy sessions. You can choose any therapist, if they don’t accept the insurance then KorTac will reimburse you for the out-of-pocket costs. You have insurance through KorTac for the next five years. They pay into a plan that will cover insurance premiums for the next fifty years, though you will require an evaluation every five to confirm that your injuries are still causing issues in your day-to-day life. When it comes back you are still having issues they will extend your coverage.”

She rattled off this information as if it were rote and not shocking news to him. This was more than the Austrian government had provided after years of faithfully serving. She lifted a hand from the keyboard and clicked a few times before turning to look at him again.

“I’m printing off your specific details but everything I just told you is contained in these papers,” she tapped the papers she had put down first. When König did not respond she stood and strode out of the room. She reappeared within moments, more papers held firmly in her hand. Once settled back in her seat she lifted all the paperwork, tapping them into a neat stack. König took them when offered.

She looked into his eyes as she held onto the papers, “Mr. König I would suggest finding a hobby, I find the men who find a hobby are less likely to fall into despair and die by their own hands.”

König pulls the papers from her hand slowly, the advice uncomfortable sitting atop his numbed feelings.

He had taken the advice though. It took him nearly a year to find something. He thought he had found peace in metal work but the hot forge became too large a barrier to enjoyment. Sculpture found him. He found extracting his images from stone a task that kept him focused and a challenge enough to pull him back time and again. His therapist put him in touch with a curator of a local art gallery when he complained about running out of space to store his finished pieces. No one was more shocked than König when his art began to sell, and sell well. Art became the outlet for his emotions and the gym became his outlet for his body. That is where he ran into you. Would it be cliche to say you became the outlet for his fantasies?

It happened so innocuously. You became waving buddies at the gym. This particular gym stayed open late but had locked doors after eight PM. One would use an app to unlock the door or notify the front desk staff to open the door.

You appeared one day after eight, in the middle of his sets. König carefully maintained the program he had worked out with his physical therapist. That meant five days with two rests. His rest days were Sunday and Thursday. You made smiles that filtered into his dreams on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

Several months slid by. He tracked the seasons by the length of your sleeves, always long workout pants for you. König helped you with form once when you were getting noisy and visibly frustrated with your lifts at an increased weight. Swallowing hard on his anxieties he decided to help. His therapist would be proud of him for not letting his social anxiety prevent him from helping someone. He had been challenging him to branch out for months now.

Stepping up near you he waited until you looked up and caught sight of him in the mirror. He waved with a slight shift of his hand.

“Keep your shoulders wide as you lift,” he mimed the corrected posture.

You narrowed your eyes as you watched, flicking from watching the mirror to his profile.

“Okay. Let me try that,” turning back to the weights you lifted, form perfect.

Settling the weights back on the mat you shot him a brilliant smile, not deterred at all by the scars creeping above his surgical mask. He had worked hard to shift away from his hood in public spaces. It still got much use at home though.

“Thank you! I couldn’t figure out why I was having so much trouble with this lift.”

König nodded and went back to his set several feet away. If his eyes strayed to you more than once, well who noticed? He liked the look of you, how solid and real you felt as compared to most of the women who floated through the gym. He, as a big man, had never understood the fascination of other large men in finding the smallest woman to bed. How did they make that work?

You hadn’t appeared in his art until the second time you interacted with him. Appearing before him as he finished a bicep curl you waited, left hand curled around one finger on your right. A sheepish smile sat on your face.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you help me?”

“Ja,” he set his weight down, standing.

The top of your head reached his shoulder, hair pulled back and away from your face.

“My grip slipped while trying to remove one of these plates and caught my finger. Can you help me by putting them away? I am done for the night after this. Need to go get my finger checked out.” You send him a half smile, cheeks a warm color.

He nodded once before removing all of the plates and returning them to their respective racks while you watched on, awkward smile firmly in place. Your cheeks reddened further when he looked at you after finishing the task.

“Thank you.”

König notices blood trailing down your arm. Without further thought, he pulls out his handkerchief and presses it to your arm. Startled you look down at your arm.

“Fuck, I need to go take care of this. Can I take this and wash it? I see you every time I’m here.”

You look so distressed König can do nothing more than nod. Watching as you disappear and then reappear from the locker room König runs the past few moments back in his mind. The wave that required both hands you sent him sticks in his mind.

It sticks so hard when he rises the next morning to start a new piece it is your face that appears as he carves away the stone.

Resting both hands against the work bench, fingers curled around his chisel König hung his head.

“Scheiße.”

Chiseled Heart Masterlist | Masterlist

@scaredyspooks @backseatsoldier @demothers-empty-blog Since you all asked to nicely.

[heaven-s-black-box]

Notes- Sleeping In; Anemo Boys x gn!Reader

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Recovery date: September 15th, 2024

Description: hiii i'm back again!! Im the anon who requested the shorter s/o one, and this time can i get the gn!reader sleeping in with the anemo boys (separately ofc) and anyone of your choosing? Thank youuuu ^^

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. Welcome back! I would have added more, but then this post would be too long, so I might make a second part of sorts because this was cute.

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Venti

Sleeping in is a regular occurrence

He calls it a perk of retirement

You call it the consequences of his actions (staying at Angel’s Share late)

Venti’s surprisingly strong, if he doesn’t want you getting out of bed you won’t

If he wakes up before you he just watches you sleep

There’s an entire ballad dedicated to you’re sleeping face in the late morning sun

All anonymous of course, the reality is his secret

Xiao

He doesn’t sleep

He will, however, lay beside you

When you sleep in he’s torn because on one hand he has patrol and on the other…

He feels at peace

If you lean into/ on him at all he will not move

Why do his eyes feel heavy?

Closing them for a moment shouldn’t hurt

Run your fingers through his hair and let him sleep please, he deserves a break

Kazuha

Dude’s sleep schedule is so messed up

Between the constant traveling and being up at the crack of dawn on the Crux

He could go to sleep at 1 AM and still be up at 5 AM

But once he settles back down in Inazuma, you’re surprised to wake up before him

The sun is very clearly coming through the window, so it’s weird his head is still against your chest

Whatever, you can’t remember what you needed to do anyways

Heizou

Another with a messy sleep schedule

Investigations have no set hours

But after a long one, he’ll take a day off and sleep in

He wasn’t there when you went to bed, you weren’t even sure when to expect him back

The noises outside the house tell you businesses are just opening to customers

It looks like you’ll be having a late breakfast, what with the way he pulls you closer in his sleep

His eyes open slightly and he mumbles something about it being too early

Sure, it’s too early, for lunch that is; Should probably wait a little longer

Wanderer

Doesn’t sleep

But unlike Xiao he can’t even fall asleep? If that makes sense

He pretends though

You wake up at some ungodly hour, your classes putting you on a weird schedule

His eyes are closed and his “heartbeat” is even

There aren’t any classes or responsibilities today, so you curl into his side and close your eyes again

As soon as you settle back down, he cracks an eye open

He’s gotten good at this

Aether

Hates sleeping in, his sister is out there somewhere and he needs to find her

But sometimes he can’t help it

The stress and injuries weigh him down

He wakes up to your fingers loosely re braiding his hair and wrapping the strands around your fingers

His body is in pain, and the first person he calls for, is you

Not his sister who’d plagued his dreams for years, who he often called for in the dead of night

But you, who holds him close and lets him rest if for a moment

[possibilistfanfiction]

ive been in complete brainrot mode about your arcane prompts and the way you write the dynamics between cait vi and jinx. like ive just been thinking about potential scenes in this au so if its okay im just going to list down some suggestions for prompts if that’s okay?

- vi gets brought into the hospital because she spent too long in a burning building trying to rescue as many people as she could (because that’s just the kind of person she is). cait and her argue over how sometimes vi needs to put her own safety first while she treats her wounds.

(I’d actually love to read any prompts where cait just simply cares for vi emotionally/physically cause vi’s backstory too makes me froth…) i just want to put her in my pocket and keep her safe :(

- jinx/vander/vi go to the kiramman’s for that dinner party and jinx/cassandra get along super well cause they collaborate on their embarrassing childhood stories about vi and cait. a joint slay

- a cassandra pov chapter as she notices how serious cait is about vi and the little moments between them and what she thinks about vi.

- maybe a cait focused chapter about how much of an empath she is and how exhausting it is to feel so deeply and try so hard to make everything better for everyone.

Thank you so much for writing this au!

You understand these characters so well and i feel for them so much when i read your work. Your writing carries so much heart and bleeds love practically :’)

it’s been all I’ve been thinking about lately and it brightens up my day immensely when i get a notification that you’ve updated! :)

[is there anything so undoing as a daughter! anyway i tried to work most of these in in some way; cassandra pov for u :) ao3 if u want. (also cait is trans bc since this is my au there's no transphobia & i love her)]

//

caitlyn informs you that she's a girl three days before her tenth birthday. she cries, but she's calm, and tobias is first to take her into his arms and tell her that it's good, that it's lovely, that you'll both do everything you can to see her, to make sure she's seen the way she wants to be, the way she is. you hug her too, so tight, because it's one thing to have a son, to instruct, always, how to be thoughtful, and kind, and use all the privilege your last name carries to do good in the world.

your child is thoughtful, and kind, and determined — in spades — with the set of your brow and the blue of your eyes. you do love your child, without reservation.

caitlyn's lip trembles and you brush back her hair that you'll teach her how to take care of when it starts to grow long; she sniffles and you kiss her forehead. she will grow tall and elegant; you and tobias help her choose her great-grandmother's name and then change all of her records accordingly; you take her shopping for new clothes she picks excitedly, and a few years later she beams when she tries on a pretty, simple lace bra; you ask tobias to explain the medications she needs and help her, when she's small, to keep track of them, until she can do it herself; you hold her hand in recovery after each surgery, where she cries in relief and you wipe her tears with a gentle smile. each new stage of belonging brings with it an ease in her breath that you cherish. she grows to be fierce and funny and brave, and still always gentle.

you love her, and you see her — always, she has been yours; she had grown inside your body and you had held her first, the greatest pride and joy of your life.

but it's something you had never been able to prepare yourself for, in any circumstance: a daughter. she undoes you every day.

//

you first hear the name vi — a nickname, of all things, used formally — one sunny, cold afternoon during a late lunch after caitlyn had come over to shoot skeet, a rare day she'd finished work early.

she tells you about her weekend, how she'd climbed and it was sunny and brilliant and she felt strong.

'with jayce?' you ask.

she nods. 'we met some people we ended up climbing with, too,' she says, which is new. 'they were both really good, and very safe. vi,' she tells you, and her voice goes a little reverent, soft around the edges. 'and her sister,' she tacks on, almost an afterthought but not unkind, just not her focus. she clears her throat, a blush spreading across her cheeks, different from the flush that you're accustomed to when you shoot in the cold together. 'anyway,' she says, and you fight a smile behind a sip of tea, 'what did you and dad think of the opera?'

you laugh, but you're relieved too: no one will ever be good enough for her — not only because of the name she carries, one you had carried all your life too, but because she's a force no one can harm, as long as you have any say.

you don't ask more questions after this vi; you tell her about the opera, and then you shoot some more, one more round. she doesn't miss.

//

when caitlyn was born, you held her tight. all day long, people had been in and out to meet her, and she had been so calm. it's not what you or tobias had wanted, but she was the heir to the kiramman name and so her fortune was already set, far before you had cried in joy at the positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter, tobias laughing delightedly, and far before she came into this world, with grey eyes that will turn electric blue and strong, tiny hands, clenched perpetually. she was so small and so new, and you handed her off to the nurse in the waning hours of the evening so you could sleep through the night.

not even two hours later, though, as the pain was really started to set in and tobias was dosing off in the chair next to you, the nurse had apologetically brought her back, bundled and screaming, her face splotched with red from crying.

'she won't stop,' the nurse said. 'we've tried everything, but she's keeping the other babies up. i'm sorry.'

you shook your head and took her back into your arms while she wailed as much as her little lungs would allow. you wondered about her, everything, because she was a person and there was so much to learn. you unbuttoned your gown and held her to your bare skin; she stopped crying, just like that. she latched onto your breast, easily, and ate a little, and then fell asleep, little sighs filling the room. tobias looks on in a very exhausted awe; you brought your lips to the crown of her head, the soft tuft of dark hair there that smelled so good, beyond anything you could have ever imaged: yours. she didn't fuss when he placed her in the bassinet a few minutes later; she slept all night, wanting just to be near you.

//

you're in your car, your driver regrettably apologizing as you get stuck in a typical rush hour traffic jam on the freeway, when caitlyn calls, a few weeks later.

'are you stuck in this traffic too?' you guess after she asks what you're doing, if you're free.

she groans. 'i was hoping to get home early, have time to decompress and shower before...'

she trails off, a pause you decide to let rest. she's always needed to tell you things in her own time.

'i have a date tonight,' she confesses, and you can hear the giddiness, the nervousness, through the phone.

you hum. 'oh?'

'yeah,' she says, and you stop yourself from chiding her about the informal word. 'i — she's amazing, mom. i just want it to go well.'

'well, you're a kiramman,' you remind her, the reminder thinly veiled under a tinge of encouragement in your tone. 'i'm sure you'll be quite impressive.'

she sighs; you know it's not the reassurance she wanted, but your family doesn't always have that luxury. she doesn't tell you anything else — instead you talk about the upcoming council vote on your latest bill, and how her meeting at work about funding cancer treatments went — and, of course, you don't ask.

//

tobias, always softer than you, especially with your daughter, asks after this vi on sunday. you meet caitlyn for brunch at your usual monthly spot, your mimosas already poured and cortados prepared as you sit down at your table.

'next month, just bring vi,' tobias says when he notices caitlyn's fire department sweatshirt underneath her peacoat. it's not too nice a restaurant for her jeans, boots, and a crew neck, but you are not normal patrons. he laughs when he says it, not disapproving in the slightest, a smirk on his face when you understand the implication: caitlyn had come from vi's home this morning, rather than her own apartment.

'it's serious, then?' you ask, and you try not to feel slighted that tobias seems to know far more about caitlyn's feelings, and vi's existence, than you: it's your own doing.

caitlyn fiddles with the corner of her napkin. 'yes,' she decides on, her smile small and tender, her shoulders soft. 'i'd like if you met her. i... well, i hope she'll be around for a long time.'

you suppose it was bound to happen: caitlyn is beautiful and smart and driven, talented and successful and, most importantly, good.

'we should meet her, then,' you decide.

//

caitlyn was in her first year of college the first time she brought home a girlfriend. you're sure she'd had girlfriends over before, a few of her friends throughout the years of secondary school giggling too much to just be interested in hanging out, as they say, but you hadn't prodded and she hadn't said. you'd always left that up to tobias, who still called her sprout and spent afternoons on long walks with her and the dogs, a daughter somehow easier to handle for him.

during winter holiday, even though university is just an hour away from your home, she brought home a girlfriend for winter holiday. this girl's family lived far away, and, for most, it's expensive to travel that distance, and so, ever generous, caitlyn invited her. you had agreed, if only because it was proper and you didn't want a fight before she even arrived.

the girl, for the most part, was uninteresting, if polite. caitlyn was enamored, but you trusted it would fade. she had been distinctly sad when she arrived home for summer break, informing you — tobias already knew, although he didn't have much of a clue about caitlyn's grades or extracurricular involvement — one day hunting that she and this girlfriend had broken things off. she'd not given you any real reason, just that it didn't work out, but you'd seen her frowning at the kiramman coat of arms engraved into a bullet. she'd loaded her gun, though, her favorite hunting rifle, when she spotted a hare, and shot perfectly without pause.

//

'and what is vi short for?' you ask, doing your best to not stare at the face tattoo caitlyn's very serious girlfriend has of her own nickname.

'oh, uh,' she responds, looks at cait and then rubs the back of her neck.

her hair is messy and asymmetrical, and the t-shirt she's wearing is quite nice, tucked into similarly nice slacks, and her belt matches the loafers you're absolutely sure are caitlyn's because you yourself had bought them for her for her last birthday — but there are more tattoos over the backs of her arms, disappearing under her shirt and emerging again on her neck. you do your best not to judge — and you don't judge people, especially your constituents — but vi is not just a person in your life. caitlyn, allegedly according to tobias, is in love with her, only a few months in.

'violet,' caitlyn says, squeezing her hand not-very-discreetly under the table, a degree of reverence in her voice that has tobias looking your way with his brows raised. 'but she prefers vi.'

you might think that vi is certainly not good enough in any way for your daughter, but you also won't force a name down someone's throat: you didn't do it with your own child, and you would never do it now. 'vi, then.'

she nods, thankful, and looks to caitlyn's hands to figure out which fork to use when your salads are delivered. unfortunately, for just a moment, it's endearing, and when caitlyn smiles, proudly, later on while vi talks about her work as a firefighter, detailing one of her latest calls where she was able to carry two children out of a burning apartment as it collapsed, nonchalant and humble about the whole thing, you see a sliver of what caitlyn does: someone brave, heroic, steadfast in her selflessness — a partner. vi eats four of the small desserts when they get placed on an elegant tray in the middle of the table; caitlyn just laughs.

//

when caitlyn turned twelve, she tried to run away. tobias, as you both frantically looked for her, hours before her party, had insisted it wasn't about her everyday life: her peers at school had been accepting and kind this year, even if she wasn't always good at making friends, and her teachers spoke highly of her performance and participation in classes; her puberty blockers had, so far, worked wonderfully, without any averse side effects.

it wasn't hard to find her, mostly because there are few places caitlyn loved more than the stables on your property; she was less interested in the horses than she was spending time with your hunting dogs. they had loved her for years, because she was always sneaking them bits of chicken from the kitchens, and also because she loved them: dogs can tell those sorts of things, you're sure.

you had found her, curled up in the hay loft, her eyes red rimmed from crying, snuggled up between the dogs, sniffling a little in her sleep. her party, an annual affair, was slated to begin in a few hours. but still, tobias had turned to you and led you out of the stables by the hand. caitlyn's presents, all kinds of gadgets she'd been interested in, and new books and toys, as well as a beautiful gown for the event, were abandoned in her room. 'just let her have a few more minutes,' he'd said, glancing back at her. you are in charge of so much, responsible for so many: caitlyn's childhood, while full of the pressures of her name and status, has been, in all the ways you deem most important, full — there are those who, certainly, have it much worse.

but still, you'd agreed, if only because she'd cried herself asleep.

//

vi is, among other things, a gifted rock climber and boxer, a very devoted older sister, a terrible shot — when caitlyn tries to teach her skeet, they end up laughing more than hitting any targets, which no amount of eye rolling on your part seems to dampen — and, you will admit, a loving girlfriend who seems, genuinely, to understand some part of your daughter that you never quite have.

it's caitlyn's birthday, and she will always have your last name, which means there is a party, all chandeliers and champagne, every year in the great room at your home in celebration of her birth. vi shows up on time, with jayce and viktor and mel, looking almost comfortable in a space like this, laughing at a joke mel says and elbowing jayce in the arm, holding viktor's drink while he situates his cane. she's handsome, in a suit you're sure caitlyn had helped her pick and get tailored: her broad shoulders fill out the jacket and her shirt underneath is unbuttoned just enough to look fashionable and not sloppy.

caitlyn is, every year, beautiful, and competent, and kisses vi quickly — still soft, still heavy with promises — before she says hello to her friends and then greets you and tobias with kisses to the cheek and then, less formally, hugs. the gown she wears this year is the same dark as her hair, hugs her hips, and is just on this side of elegant, and you know she'd worn it for one person, and one person only: vi's eyes never seem, truly, to stray from her, no matter how many rounds of boring conversation caitlyn has to wade through.

eventually, when the party is in full swing, you head back to the kitchens to check on the dessert course. you turn the corner and see caitlyn and vi sitting on the counter, in the corner of the kitchen, your head chef ignoring them fully other than a small smile directed in caitlyn's direction when she moans around a bite of grilled cheese, her favorite since she was small. vi takes a bite of her own sandwich, and then says, 'holy shit, cait, you weren't lying,' and caitlyn laughs, relaxed from the champagne she's had, sure, but also different from every other year you've celebrated her coming into the world.

caitlyn ducks her head when vi moves closer, so they're touching all along one side, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. the chef delivers a cupcake with a smile, one single candle in it, and then winks.

'happy birthday, baby,' vi says, takes out a lighter from her suit jacket, and lights the candle. caitlyn blows it out, looking younger than you remember in a long time.

//

vi's father immediately reminds you of her: his muscles fill out his dress shirt, and he's brash, laughing heartily with tobias, but a little shy at the same time, when he doesn't know whether or not it's appropriate to eat with his hands.

'it's a burger and fries,' vi's little sister says, rolling her eyes and digging into her own lunch — at a normal cafe near the water and their climbing gym, which caitlyn had insisted upon for this meeting — with no hesitation. she's... interesting, with a messy blue buzzcut and a denim jacket with neon spray paint all over it, shaky hands and big, bright eyes — she looks like vi but younger, softer, a different kind of weary: her own entity entirely. you've heard of her from caitlyn, sure, how she's fun and funny and requires a level of care that vi will always hold sacred, and also from jayce, from has spoken so highly of her studies, how creative and smart she is, how she has, in his words, the genuine potential to change the world. tobias asks after her arm; a few weeks ago she had needed some stitches, and she proudly pulls back the cuff of her jacket and shows him the neat scar. 'excellent work, dr. kiramman the original.'

it gets a laugh out of you, which both caitlyn and vi look a little surprised by, but jinx only grins.

'wanna hear about the time vi was trying to do a flip and her sweatpants ripped right off? she was ten.'

vi groans while vander lets out a hearty chuckle. 'do tell,' you encourage.

it's, perhaps, one of the easiest meals you've shared with caitlyn and vi, if only because they're so mutually mortified at the trading of embarrassing childhood stories between their families like the most precious currency.

'i have to say,' you decide as you're picking up the bill, and then point your last fry at jinx, 'i like her.'

she gives a triumphant ha! to both caitlyn and vi, and then shoots a finger gun in your direction, grinning.

//

caitlyn calls tobias, crying, in the middle of the night. he puts the phone on speaker, because you'd woken too, and because your heart had skipped a beat the moment he answered and you heard caitlyn's sniffle. she tells you that vi was in a building when it collapsed, that they were able to get her out but it took too long, and she's hurt, and unconscious, and just getting to the ER now. she tells you that she's picking up vi's younger sister on her way there, and she asks tobias to come in and she asks you to bring clothes and food tomorrow morning, once they know more of what's happening and how vi is doing.

you don't go back to sleep that night; you wait for any updates from tobias and schedule send emails for the morning, just to have something to do. vi might not be your favorite pick for your daughter, but she's been wholly devoted to caitlyn for two years now, and you know they're planning to put an offer in on a house soon — not subtle in her commitment, despite her best efforts.

eventually, tobias calls to tell you that vi has made it through surgery and, although they'd had to remove her spleen and stop some difficult bleeding in her liver, and despite some broken ribs and a sprained shoulder, she should be just fine. you won't admit it to anyone, but you cry a few tears of relief when you hang up; more than anything, vi makes caitlyn safe and happy, and caitlyn takes great joy in being able to offer the same in return, and you would never want that to be taken from either of them.

//

they have a fight, not soon after, only about a month. caitlyn calls you, furious, even though you're in the middle of preparing one of the most important referendums of the year; she's your daughter, so you answer.

'she's being ridiculous,' she grits into the phone. you give her a moment to gather herself, and then she continues, less aggravated, 'i know it's because she isn't good at letting people help her, and she's worked on it in therapy, i know because we've gone together too.'

you hum gently.

'she's still hurt; her ribs haven't fully healed and she just got her stitches out two weeks ago, and she still gets headaches all the time, and yet today i got home to her building shelves. with a drill and everything! and normally, like, that would be hot —' caitlyn pauses, seemingly carried away for a moment; you don't laugh, just to spare her, but you have to fight it. 'we don't need more shelves right now. i just need her to...'

when she doesn't say anything, seemingly stuck, you suggest, 'let you take care of her?'

she sighs, on the verge of tears. 'then we had an argument. but, yes, all i want to do is take care of her. she had — she had so many unkind, awful things done to her; i saw her films and scans, and — mom.'

'oh, sweetheart,' you say, accepting, understanding, for the first time, the depth of their love: the grief, the pain, the boredom and difficulty and miracle of it all. 'she's stubborn only because it can be scary, to let someone love you so completely. i know how it feels, with your father.'

she sniffles. 'i do, love her like that.'

'you'll show her. she'll let you. just talk to her.'

'do you promise?'

she sounds so young, so small; you've wrapped her up in your arms and promised things much more difficult than reconciliation between the two of them. 'yes, my dear. i promise.'

//

time moves: they have a housewarming and, although you think their brownstone is smaller than necessary, it is beautiful. jinx shows you her basement proudly, and introduces you to her boyfriend? best friend? partner? — you're not quite sure, and her rambling and his adoring laughter at it, hadn't provided any real clarification. you help set out the small finger foods they'd ordered from their favorite lebanese restaurant, and you meet so many of their collective friends. it's a happy day, with a lot of wine, and everyone is in socked feet, and caitlyn wraps her arm around vi's waist and kisses the side of her head during a quiet moment in the hall, just the two of them in their home.

they adopt a dog, a big black and white boy who they're both immediately in love with and who falls asleep with his blocky, soft head on your lap when you sit down one evening with them over the holidays to watch a movie. caitlyn adores him, sends you and tobias pictures of him on their trail runs often; they take him on climbing trips and he enjoys sleeping in the sun.

//

when caitlyn is fourteen, you sat down with her and pressed your grandfather's wedding band into her palm. 'this was, when you were small, supposed to be yours, one day.' it was thick and gold and decidedly more masculine than she'd ever want, but it was gorgeous all the same, with your family's coat of arms inscribed on the inside.

she looked a little troubled by it, sorting out her feelings: what things belong, and what things are just off. you and tobias had never asked for her to explain, only if she wanted to; she told you, years ago, who she was, and you had always believed her.

'i can hold onto it for you,' you told her, 'just in case there's ever anything you end up wanting to do with it. there's no pressure, sweetheart. just know that it's yours.'

she had let out a big breath, relaxed her shoulders from her ears. 'okay,' she told you. 'thanks, mom.'

//

vi and jinx are out of town, on some kind of trip with jinx's partner, and caitlyn hadn't been able to take enough time off of work to go with them. she's over at the house now, moping about, clearly missing the people who have now become her family too, but it's dramatic enough that it's funny.

you're not sure, it's a gamble, but you call her up to your closet. she slumps down on the bench, in running shorts and one of vi's fire department captain — a recent promotion that you think caitlyn had been more excited about than vi herself — sweatshirts; she props one knee up and rests her chin on it, then looks at you expectantly, confused but interested.

'i'm not sure if you remember,' you say, and find it easily in the back of one of your jewelry cases, 'but i thought now might be a good time to give this to you.'

her eyes get big, the same blue as yours, when you put the ring in her hand. you're certain they've both been thinking of it: marriage, everything at the heart of such a union. their love, certainly, is big enough.

'i'm not sure what size violet's ring finger is, but it should be easy to resize, if we need.'

'oh.'

'but —' you rush to say — 'if you had a ring already picked out for her, one she might like better, we can just put this away again.'

she looks away from the ring and up at you, and then she's standing, years of grace and strength, the surest, best shot you know, and hugging you. she's taller, and the crook of her sweatshirt smells very distinctly like vi's cologne and caitlyn's perfume, all at once. 'thank you,' she whispers, teary.

you have so much you could say to deflect, about the horrors of wedding planning or whether or not vi is going to take the kiramman name, but caitlyn is your daughter, and you hold her to you like she's still small, still yours.

//

you straightened the straps of the dress caitlyn had picked out, the first she's ever tried on. she took a deep breath and then raised her eyes to look in the mirror. her hair was still short, although it was growing fast, much to her relief, and her features were delicate already on their own.

caitlyn turned to hug you tight around your waist, bursting into tears. you fought them yourself, instead rubbing gentle circles along her back while she got it all out. eventually, you dried her tears and turned her around to look in the mirror again. 'you are so beautiful, my girl,' you told her, and shushed when she started crying again. 'stand with your back straight,' you instructed, 'and your chest proud. the kiramman women have always been a force, and you will be too.'

she nodded, seriously, and straightened her thin shoulders. even though her lip trembled, a smile made its way through.

//

it's an ordinary day, another lunch, sunny and bright, when they tell you.

'a girl?' you ask, just to make sure you've heard them correctly.

'well, for now, at least,' vi says, sending a wink caitlyn's way, who rolls her eyes and then laughs.

they tell you more details of the adoption that's happening sooner than you can fully wrap your head around; you and tobias the second in the family to know, just after jinx, who had only found out this morning. she was, apparently, immediately thrilled, and tobias echoes the sentiment.

'to the kiramman women who have come before,' you say, after you've hugged both of them tight and ordered a bottle of champagne, 'and to those who will lead us forward, even further.'

caitlyn rolls her eyes and the seriousness, but they're suspiciously wet, and vi wholeheartedly clinks her glass with yours.

later, vi goes to get the car and tobias is settling the bill while you and caitlyn wait outside in the sun. 'prepare for her to be your undoing,' you tell her, serious but with a mirth you can't contain.

caitlyn raises a brow. 'i haven't been that bad.'

you shrug.

'mom.'

you laugh, pat her cheek.

she smiles, so bright. you weren't sure, when she was young, if this would ever be in the cards for her, but her life is beautiful and big, a world any child would be lucky to be loved in.

you hug her again, because you can. 'you are going to be a wonderful mother.'

she's taller than you, much stronger, but she'll always be small; you hold her still. she'll always be yours.

[multifan2022]

Fearless

New story that I had in my WIPS lets see if theres any interest lol. 

The water from the chasm was pouring down into the abyss below, sprinkles of the coolness hitting your face as you waited. Below people were starting to stir, leaving their rooms to find their way to the small shops or cafeteria. From your spot high on the wall they looked like ants, of course you weren't supposed to be up here.. 

Max would scalp you if he saw you. It was a tricky climb to this little alcove, the wall was wet from the waterfall next to it. Small little holes for your hands and feet, people such as Eric never would be able to make it. Even if he could he was too scared to try. That's why it was your favorite place in all of Dauntless. 

"You better get down, Girl.. You gotta get to the train." A voice called from the ledge below, when you looked down you saw the person who was like a mother too you. Her hair slicked back, tattoos on display with a soft smile on her sharp face. 

Tori. 

She was and is the only person who ever looked out for you. Told you that you were strong, strong enough to face the trails as an initiate. Strong enough to get your first tattoo, strong enough when you got your ears pierced. Strong enough when Max ranked you in third when you should've been in second. 

She was there the day you almost died at the hands of your 'friends'. There every day of your recovery. And there even now that you were one of the strongest, still in your corner even if you didn't need her. 

Little did she know you would always need her. 

Slipping down the wall, you could almost hear her eyes roll as you let go off the wall. The seconds of free fall giving you the little boost you need to make it through the day. When your booted feet meet the narrow walkway that has no rails, you turn to look at your mother figure. Confirming the eye roll you figured would be happening. 

Smiling widely at her as she loops her arm through yours, pulling you down the walkway. You could tell she had something to say, she always said that you were one of the few people who could read her like a book. You also knew if she was waiting then it was important and needed to be private. 

That proved to be true as she pulled you into the tattoo parlor, back into her room closing and locking the door before leaning against it. You stood hands folded together in front of her, waiting for whatever it was she was going to tell you. When she opened her eyes, your heart dropped, the line of tears waiting there was something you hadn't seen in two years. 

Since the day after she administered your test.. Since the day she watched you roll off the net after jumping. You stepped closer to her, using your hands to rub her arms slowly as she took a few deep breaths. "Theres another of you.. Shes almost as.... strong.. as you.." 

You felt all the muscles in your body freeze, you knew what she meant by 'strong'. 

Divergent.

Before you could start asking questions the speakers turned on and announced that the trains into the city would be leaving soon. Both of your heads turned back to each other, her hands grabbing you as you had her. "I told her to stay with the Stiffs.. But I have a feeling shes too much like someone else I know."  She had a soft smile on her face as her hands moved to your face, cupping both of your cheeks. 

"If she chooses Dauntless.. You have to protect her as I have you.. As we both have Uriah.. Promise me Y/n." Tori begged, you knew there was no way you could say no. Even though you wanted too. Protecting one Divergent along with yourself was going to be enough work, now there was someone almost as fucked up as you? And shes a stiff?? 

You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding as she leaned your forehead against her own. The buzzer went off again, you knew you were going to be questioned for being late. So you pulled away opening the door as Tori moved, pausing only to turn back and look at her. She had risked so much for you, how could you tell her no?

"Ill do what I can. But I wont risk myself or Uriah for someone, Zeke is one of my best friends. Riah is like a little brother too me, but I will do what I can. I promise Mom." 

~~

The entire train ride your stomach was in knots, bile heavy in your chest. Not only from not eating breakfast but from nerves. You watch Uriah talk and goof off with the other 16 year olds. You knew this was a big day for all of them, some would be coming home with you and some you would never speak too again. You couldn't help but wonder who would be going where, you remembered you own Choosing Ceremony. 

The day that you left Amity behind. 

Really nobody was surprised, you had never fit in there. Members of Amity are dedicated to peacefulness, kindness, forgiveness, trust, self-sufficiency, and neutrality. They are slow to anger and yet quick to forgive. None of which you are. You still held grudges from when you were five and your use to be brother ate the last pumpkin cake. 

No.. Amity was not where you belonged. While you did miss the rolling fields, and the openness of having the outdoors right there. You were constantly in trouble, always being chastised and then forgiven for everything. 

"Do not run through Y/n, we are all trying to meditate."

" Do not you think it would be kinder to offer the last one to someone older, maybe even younger? Be kinder Y/n."

"Dont worry young one, I forgive you for your stubbornness."

It was exhausting being there, the peacefulness and trust was all you missed. You were self-sufficient enough, part of being in Dauntless was being able to carry out orders without needing supervision. But you are quick to anger, slow to forgive and definitely biased. 

The kids started yelping as the city came into view, most readying themselves to jump. It was then you noticed the two standing near the back. They looked around at there friends, the girl whos name you couldn't remember caught your eye. Her face paling before you sent her a small smile, making your way over to her. 

Your voice was low, so low only she could hear you as you stood behind her. "Make the choice thats right for you. This is forever, dont think about anyone else. Just yourself. It'll be ok, I promise." 

You could read the surprise on her face as you pushed her towards the door, where everyone was already jumping. A quick somersault was all you registered as you stood walking with the group towards the building. Your eyes scan the crowd like you would be able to spot the girl Tori told you about. 

The Stiffs would already be in the building, walking up the stairs like the selfless people they are. 'Fuck that' You thought as you and Zeke broke from the group towards the front doors. The two of you were stationed outside, to make sure everything ran smoothly. That no one would come in and interrupt the ceremony once it started. You wanted to watch now that you knew what was happening, but it was too late. 

Plus who better to work with than your best friend? The hours this would take would go by quickly by his side. The only person you would trade him for was Four, and really he wouldn't be good conversation here. You knew his father was in there, that would mean he would shut down and be rude. 

He would be short and disgruntle. Which is why the last two times this had happened he stayed behind, ready to watch the first jump. 

Inside you could hear them starting, "Decades ago our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of human personality—of humankind's inclination toward evil, in whatever form that is. They divided into factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world's disarray." Marcus started. 

Your eyes rolled as you held your gun tightly, you had only heard this speech three times but it wore on your nerves. Before you could even think about how disrespectful it might be you started mocking him. 

"ThOsE wHo BlAmEd AgGrEsSiOn FoRmEd AmItY."

Zeke followed directly after you, proving yet again why he was your best friend. "ThOsE wHo BlAmEd IgNoRaNcE bEcAmE tHe ErUdItE."

You both shook your head and chuckled, "Seriously, he needs to revamp his speech. Its getting old, like they dont learn about all that in school no matter the faction." Shifting from foot too foot you could feel yourself getting restless. You were good at following orders, but today something just felt off. 

Zeke noticed almost immediately, you were antys. Moving around constantly, fingers tapping on the butt of your gun. Your face flush and slightly red like you were sweating. "Are you good? Because you look like your going to pass out." He said in a concerned tone, there was no judgement there like there would be with some others. 

You cracked your neck, willing yourself to calm the hell down. Planting your feet and finding your stance you nodded once. "Yeah I didn't sleep well last night" ..Not a lie.. "I always get worried that I'll see my brother here and he will give me that judgy Erudite stare.. " Again not a lie.. Ok not a complete lie. 

You really didn't care about any of Amity's opinions of you. The people whose feelings you cared about you could count on one hand. But for some reason the stare that your brother always gave you, even before you turned 16, always made your stomach turn. Like he knew something you didn't. Like he was disgusted by you. 

Zeke shook his head "I know that's not the reason, but Ill let it go. Just know I'm always here if you need to talk."  Silence fell between you two, you couldn't thank him for not pushing because that would confirm his doubts. After what felt like days the doors open and the few leaders are followed out by those who have chosen the fearless life you have. 

Your eyes stay straight ahead as they all file pass you, walking behind the group where Zeke is in the middle. It isn't hard to pick out the Stiff, taking small but quick steps trying to keep up the kids who are whooping and smiling. Its always easy to pick out the transfers, of course the plain grey dress thing shes wearing helps. 

Your feet move closer to her without you telling them too. Your lungs are pulling in air to speak even though your brain is telling you too shut up.. You made a promise, one that you unwilling would keep. 

"Dont look at me.. Keep your eyes forward and your mouth closed. Just listen."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blond girl next to you jumped as you spoke, clearly caught off guard. Either by you speaking to her in general or the tone that was clear even in whispers. Your grip on your weapon tightened as you tried to find the will to be reassuring like Tori was. 

"Follow what the Dauntless born do. Don't hesitate when jumping on the train or you'll die." Great job y/n.. That was reassuring.."When we get to headquarters, when they ask for jumpers.. volunteer before the others. Dont ask questions, dont look for help.. Just do as I say and it will be fine.." 

You didn't even look at her or give her the chance to respond before you started running. Didn't look back to see if she was running, or if she was falling behind. In no way would you allow it too look like you were helping her, because in the long run that would only make it worse. For both of you. 

"What the hell is going on?" A transfer boy yells as people start passing him. You shake your head and wonder if these kids even know who they are joining. Had they ever watched the Dauntless? Did they know anything besides that the motto said? 

We believe in freedom from fear, in ordinary acts of bravery, in defending those who cannot defend themselves.

Did they think that being part of this group came easily? That they would just walk into headquarters and be handed a gun and a job? Zeke was next to you jogging as the train horn sounded behind you. Jumping on and off things was one of his favorite things too do, anyone could see it in the way his face lite up. 

"Oh no," mumbles the Erudite boy. "Are we supposed to hop on that thing?"

You hear the Stiff mumble "yes" and feel the tiniest bit better. Maybe she wouldn't be so bad, maybe she knew a little about what was about to happen. But it didn't mean she was prepared for the amount of lying that she was going to have to do. Dauntless begin to pile in, group by group, until only the new initiates are left. The Dauntless-born initiates are used to doing this by now, so in a second it's just faction transfers left.

You watch as they all start to panic, running next to the car you're in. You placed yourself in the last one, where all the others were in the first two. You watched them make it in one by one, the Stiff almost falling off. Had it not been from the girl from Candor she wouldn't have made it. You all watch A short Erudite boy with red hair pumps his arms as he tries to catch up to the train. An Erudite girl by the door reaches out to grab the boy's hand, straining, but he is too far behind. He falls to his knees next to the tracks as we sail away, and puts his head in his hands.

You should feel bad. Hes just failed the first test, hes now factionless. Less than thirty minutes after making his choice he has failed. But you know deep down its for the best, this is the easy part. If he couldn't make it onto the train what you and Four have planned for training would've killed him. 

You listen to the Cador girl and the Abnegation girl talk, watch as she sits down and then instructs the other girl too. It is that moment you see her divergence. A true Dauntless would stay standing, be unafraid of the wind. Would find a way to show courage in the face of the speeding train and whipping wind. 

This is going to be so much harder than you think, so much worse than you had planned. Thankfully Uriah was only a little divergent. His would be easy to hide, this girl.. Beatrice.. She would cause problems, problems you had already promised to try and solve. 

 "I guess we are going to Dauntless headquarters," She says after the other girl Christina speaks, "but I don't know where that is."

"Does anyone?" Christina shakes her head, grinning. "It's like they just popped out of a hole in the ground or something." You chuckle and cross your arms, pulling their attention towards you but you just keep looking out the train doors. If only they knew, you kinda do pop out of holes. 

Then the wind rushes through the car, and the other faction transfers, hit with bursts of air, falling on top of one another. You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing through it. "Pathetic" You say loud enough for them all to hear, Christina scoffs along with the tall boy from Candor. The rest smartly stay quiet, Beatrice's eyes falling on you silently. 

"Arent you supposed to be like.. guiding us or something?" He says from his place on the floor, it's your turn to scoff. Turning back to the door grabbing the railing and leaning out, you hear the transfers gasp assuming you're going to fall. Like you haven't done this a million times, none of them know if you're a transfer or not. Younger kids don't go to the ceremony, they would have no idea if you were Dauntless born or not.

In the cars ahead you could see those your age looking back at you.  Zeke, Eric and Shauna all smiling knowing what was coming next. The roof came into view as you all pulled back into the cars, you could hear the Dauntless born whooping again. Turning back to the transfers you smiled, before locking eyes with Beatrice. They were all standing now, frantically talking amongst themselves about jumping. 

"Good luck" was all you said before running and throwing yourself from the train.

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

Part I

Summary: Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, blood, injury, death, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, Rengoku POV, eventual smut

Author Note: I am not OK and will never be OK about *waves hands* all that, so this is now a multichapter story.

II.

“Once again, you’re a guest in my healing ward.”

Kocho Shinobu speaks softly, as is her manner. She's seated by his bed with the afternoon sun shining gently on her features, highlighting the amethyst in her hair and eyes.

“I seem to be the only one,” Rengoku replies, looking at the empty infirmary. He’s still bedbound and can barely move his limbs. It hurts to breathe more often than not, and there’s a dull ache where his left eye used to be.

Her kind smile never falters as Kocho looks at the liquid in the syringe she’s preparing. Rengoku always admired her decision to honor her late sister this way, by holding on to that smile Kanae loved so much. After all, everyone has a keepsake of their loved ones in their heart, driving them forward. Memories, moments, words that hone one’s spirit and meld with determination, acting as a guiding light in the darkest places. He knows this all too well. 

“At least you won’t be lonely during your convalescence, those three have been coming here every day, even before you’d awoken.” She giggles, seeking a vein in his arm. 

Oh, of course… young Kamado… the boar lad, the yellow-haired boy. All of them gifted, resilient, and unwavering. He’d promised to train them, but…

That was… before. 

Another image appears before his mind’s eye, drenched in fog—you, running towards him. He, ordering you not to interfere. “Kocho. Tell me, please. How long before I can leave this bed? What is lost, what can I regain?” 

She sets the used syringe aside on a tray, then places her hands on her knees. “My, my, impatient already?” 

Rengoku tries a smile of his own, though it hurts the muscles in his face. If not for the strong sedatives and painkillers administered to him since he regained consciousness, he imagines he’d be squirming in pain. “I want to self-assess myself. Besides…I have promises to keep.” 

She understands. He knows she does. The Insect Hashira gazes out the window, and a small sigh leaves her chest. “Your fatal injuries have been healed by the peculiar blood demon art of young Kamado’s sister.”

He nods. Remarkable. He thought that would be his last battle, and he’d have passed without regret into the land of Yomi. Nevertheless, his gratitude is boundless.

“... your muscle and organ tissue has regenerated and there was no internal bleeding. However, there is still some damage to several vertebrae in your spine, severe trauma to your head I’ve not fully assessed yet, and you have eight fractured ribs.”

“Hah, I can feel them, too! I miscalculated by one, I thought there were seven.”

She looks his way, with that odd expression people sometimes have when he sounds unreasonably high-spirited. He supposes not everyone shares the same outlook, and that’s all well. But what use is there to bow down in dismay and accept the worst life throws my way? 

“Your left eye was smashed, and irrecoverable,” Kocho goes on. “We removed it with surgery and placed an implant inside to fill the empty eye socket. The recovery period in these cases is typically a year, as now you must adapt to your monocular status. But this also depends on the individual, and… this might mean alterations to your fighting style, of course.” She rises and picks up the tray. “I’m convinced that with time, you can return to a state allowing you to perform your duties. For now, please rest, that is a foremost priority.”

My friend, you know all too well that time is never on a demon slayer’s side. “Thank you, Kocho.”  She is right, though: he does feel exhausted, as though he’d climbed a mountain without rest or ever reaching the summit. Expected, though bothersome.

“We’ll do our best to help your recovery. Aoi will return later to change your bandages,” Kocho adds.

Rengoku turns his head as Kocho greets someone on her way out, and sees you, standing in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You heard?”

You nod, nearing the bed. “Ms. Kocho told me of it all while you were asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in bemusement. “What ever for?”

“Because, I won’t be able to help with your training for a while.”

You’ve been at his side often. While in a coma, even if he couldn’t react, even if his body wouldn’t listen, he knew you were there. The thought is a warm one, a foreign sensation: different from the heat bursting in his body during a fight. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to your visits even now, to see how you’re faring, to hear the latest news on the Corps.

“No,” your voice brings him out of his thoughts, “but that does mean I can help you. When you’re ready, that is,” you add quickly. “With rehabilitation training.” 

“Of course!” The fatigue in his body is stubborn, clinging to him like heavy wet wool. “And… I don’t believe I’ve told you this yet: I’m happy you returned safely.”

You look away, appearing utterly miserable. It confuses him. Rengoku’s seen that shadow in his father’s eyes countless times, so often he can’t stand it: self-loathing.

“Forgive me, Master. I should have been able to do more, after all you strived to teach me. I… I could barely be of any use.”

But you were there, you helped protect all those people. You did your part. “You were unflinching, fast, and aided those who needed it precisely like I taught you. You are rank Kinoe, and what's your demon kill count?”

“Thirty-two.”

“There… now that I think about it, even without further guidance from me or anyone else, you’ll make Hashira soon! Our numbers are dwindling while demon activity increases. You’ve seen it. This is a struggle that needs all of us.” Rengoku pauses. The word ‘need’ felt odd coming from his mouth. But the statement is true. Why does it feel incomplete when he says it to your face?

You look down at your hands. “How can you do it?”

He blinks, frowning. “Do what?”

“Be so supportive and encouraging even when you’re lying broken in an infirmary bed. Sometimes… sometimes you are so very strange, Master.”

You do say that to him often, though less so than before. A smile trembles on your lips—it took you a long time to smile again, he recalls. 

“I merely speak the truth…” He can barely stay awake. The slow drip of liquid in the IV infusion is magnified, drowning out all other sounds, and your face becomes hazy as he drifts away.

Three years prior

The path of blood leads straight into the farmhouse, looking as though someone had been dragged inside by force.

His eyes narrow, and he centers his breaths as he walks forward with his blade drawn. The silence of the glade is eerie, the reek of decay nauseating in the heat of this humid summer.

Soon, he stands on the threshold. Two, there might be two of them. Near the farmhouse is a toolshed, he’ll look there next. Rengoku covers his mouth with his sleeve, eyes closing in pain.

The bodies lie there, some with scattered limbs. This was a family, no doubt about it. The brutality of the mutilation makes his stomach turn, but Rengoku steels his resolve, extending his senses for any hint of the entity’s presence: there is none. He sheathes his katana and enters the space proper. Three hours until dawn.

He descends to one knee, finding the fireplace in the middle is out, but the ashes are still warm. The tatami mats are sticky and stained dark. This all transpired recently. He reaches out a hand, touches an inert arm: not yet cold. Too late, I am too late. But I’ll find you, wherever you are, you damn beasts. 

It’s only due to his reflexes, honed with endless hours of training, that he turns around fast enough, leaping backward before the descending attack.

At first, he thinks it’s the demon, his katana at the ready.

“Don’t you dare touch them!” 

He pauses, nearly too late in avoiding the second strike. A girl’s voice, a human’s heartbeat. His arm shoots out, catching the wooden staff in a strong grip. 

You’re panting, eyes wild and glimmering in the moonlit night. “Let—go!”

“Wait, I’m not an enemy!” he says, taking a better look at you, still holding your makeshift weapon even as you try to wrest it from his hand. 

“How do I know that! Demon!” Your voice is hoarse. Half your face is caked in drying blood, and there must be multiple injuries on your body judging by the torn clothing and the widening dark stains. 

“I’m not a demon,” he speaks calmly but urgently. “I hunt them. Please, they may still be close.”

You jerk your chin towards a corner of the room. “I had him… I don’t need you. Get out of my home!” you yell, more desperate with each word. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Another body lies there in the dark, slitted pupils dark against its milky eyes. The head had been nearly completely crushed. Rengoku freezes in disbelief. You did this? Alone? “Wait, you don’t understand, there’s another—”

A loud crash severs his words as the ceiling collapses, and he barely has time to leap forward, catch you in his arms, and throw himself outside. He rolls onto the ground, pain erupting in his left shoulder with the impact. When he opens his eyes you’re there, safely held against him, face tearstained and body rigid with shock.

But there’s no time to explain further—he feels it. The gurgle of inhuman hunger as a figure emerges from the wreckage of the farmhouse, eyes fixed on them. It does not speak, but growls in hunger; it must be of the feral kind, no reasoning left as the transformation rotted its memories. 

Rengoku rises, changing his stance. “Stand back,” he urges, looking over his shoulder at you as you struggle with your own body. He looks back ahead, grinds his teeth, his breathing attuned to his thought. 

First Form: Unknowing Fire.

It doesn’t last long. He’s been running from mission to mission, dispensing with different kinds of fiends, and this was yet another run in a long chain that will only end with his own life. 

Once the head is removed, the battle is over. Sometimes there is someone left to check on after the fact; often, there isn’t. But now, Rengoku hurries towards you, descending and slipping a hand under your back, aiding you to sit. “Where are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” you say instead, eyes glazing over. He hopes the Kakushi will get here soon. You point towards your ruined home. “Set it ablaze… please.” 

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Rengoku urges even as your body turns heavier and your eyes roll back. 

He expected this to come. Kneeling and with his forehead pressed to the ground he sits still, prostrated before the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

A voice like the lull of spring reaches him, setting his worries aside. In his heart, he thinks he’s done what is right.

“Rank Kinoe Rengoku Kyojuro, you are summoned to explain why you have brought a non-combatant to headquarters, instead of having the Kakushi transport them to a civilian hospital.”

“Master, the girl shows extraordinary potential. Her family has been murdered by demons, and yet she managed to fell one before I arrived, alone, despite grievous wounds and bloodloss. Forgive me if I overstepped, but I believe…” 

“Go on.”

“I believe once her body heals and her focus returns, she will join the fight. I believe she will want to. If I'm wrong, I accept all consequences.”

“You sound fairly convinced of this, young Rengoku,” says Ubuyashiki Kagaya. “Though there is no reason to know for certain one way or the other.”

He stays quiet, his heart raging in his chest. It will all depend on you, of course. You may want to have nothing to do with this. 

“But… you’ve not failed us thus far. I will allow it.”

“Gratitude, Master.” And then, almost in the same breath, “If she chooses this, I will guide her myself.”

TBC

[peripaltepsy]

You said you had tips for dealing with hypochondria, right? - Entity

yeah, sorry for the late reply !

So, first of all, check on your necessities as soon as any panic starts. Are you thirsty, hungry, need to use the bathroom, tired? Fulfilling your needs will help a lot

I had 4 stages of recovery.

First stage: actually believing that I had x condition; I wondered if it was just anxiety but the fear was winning.

-> I would google not the symptoms I were "feeling", but the actual condition I thought I had. Notice how most conditions, when acquired, will take some time, like 3 days before onset. I'd think to myself, there's no need to stress right now; if I do feel these symptoms in 3 days I'll worry only then. (And then the symptoms never occurred lol)

-> Identifying triggers: literally anything can be an anxiety trigger, even things you'd never think of. I got anxious at a specific time of the day: 4 pm to 6 pm. Foods with white flour can trigger anxiety too. Chocolate also triggered it for me. It's up to you whether to avoid or deal with stuff (I for example, chose not to avoid chocolate since I already rarely ate it.) If you choose to avoid, keep in mind it's only temporary and you'll be able to expose yourself to these triggers someday

-> THE FAKE SYMPTOMS YOU'RE FEELING ARE EITHER THE ANXIETY OR NORMAL BODILY STUFF THAT YOUR HYPERAWARENESS IS PATHOLOGIZING.

Example: heart racing? Anxiety. Shivering? Anxiety.

I once got super worried because some parts of my face were warmer and others were cooler. But this is literally NORMAL.

I also worried because I felt the moisture inside my mouth and throat. It's NORMAL AND NECESSARY FOR SURVIVAL

-> If you're able to, go to a low-stimulating place. When I was in school I'd go to the bathroom and play music. It was just a 3 minutes break but I needed that. At home, I'd also lock myself in the bathroom but I'd watch latino shitpost compilations :)

-> I think one of the best forms of distraction is comedy. Have some youtube channels and tumblr pages etc bookmarked.

-> Remember, how many times did you really have the condition your hypochondria was telling you? Zero. ZERO!!!! IT WILL ALWAYS BE ZERO!!! THAT BITCH IS A LIAR!!! XD

-> You can ask friends to help ground you and remind you that the anxiety is wrong

-> sometimes anxiety is developed out of nowhere, but if you can find a "why" you developed it, that's good

Second stage: Knowing it's just anxiety, but the fear of having x condition/dying was still in my mind.

-> thats because your subconscious doesn't believe that your anxiety is caused by a concrete perceived thing; it still assumes its caused by a nebulous grand illness or something. Keep talking to it and asserting its not an illness but actually just X trigger. It'll take time but YOU'LL SUCCEED

-> There's not much to do. Just distract yourself and keep fighting the anxiety saying it's wrong.

Alternatively, if you're confident enough and grounded, you can be the bigger bitch. "Yeah so what if I got x?" "I don't fuckin care" "wow I'm so scared /s"

-> Activities that require active focus like doing the dishes are good distractions as well

-> Panic attacks = anxiety of anxiety. You can't force them, so if you confront something potentially triggering heads on and are aware of your anxiety coming up you'll be able to prevent feeling Real Bad.

Example: you're going to read an article about an illness and know it's gonna trigger you. So you click on it, you're not afraid of feeling anxiety, you're just aware of what you're gonna feel. You start noticing your breathing becoming shallower and think "the anxiety has begun". After reading it you go relax a little with the yt channel you bookmarked, for example. You're aware that your anxiety could use that new knowledge against you (aka it can be a new trigger) but you don't care because YOU'RE the one in control, YOU'RE the bigger bitch and won't let it dictate what you should do or not.

-> KEEP THE GIGACHAD MINDSET : Despite being neck deep in the hypochondria ocean in high school, I wanted to study stuff relating to healthcare in college. I didn't care that I could potentially get triggered everyday, I'd find a way to deal with it. And then I managed to beat hypochondria before entering college!!!

-> Ultimately, (and this may not suit you) what led me out of the second stage was a buddhist meditation called Maranasati. I used to do other types of meditation as well; maranasati is "death awareness meditation". Basically you just confront death and illness heads on and learn to be at peace with them.

Third stage: Knowing it's just anxiety

-> On this stage, the "health anxiety" part of your anxiety is gone or almost gone.

Just ride the bad vibes until the anxiety symptoms subside. And use the coping mechanisms and distractions as well.

Fourth stage: I got so evolved I can cut panic attacks as soon as they start

-> on this stage, I can immediately identify when something is making me anxious and think "oh, X thing is making me anxious"; and the panic symptoms immediately quiet down and stop; since the knowledge that yes, that concrete and perceived thing is the cause of our anxiety is anchored in my subconscious.

I hope anything I wrote can help you, good luck, beat that bitch into a pulp :)

[the-broken-truth]

Al'akh Al'ashghar - Jamil Viper [Platonic Yandere] [Male Yuu][Part 1 of 3]

Summary: During a dinner at Scarabia Dorm, something goes terribly wrong as you suddenly become poisoned, leaving you in critical condition. Fortunately, Jamil steps up to the task of ensuring that you make a full recovery. However, something about Jamil's demeanor seems off, but you can't quite identify what it is from your position of being bedridden.

Notes:

Al'akh Al'ashghar means 'Little Brother' in Arabic; considering Jamil's Name means 'Handsome/Beautiful' in Arabic, I thought this would be fitting to use. (I don't speak Arabic - I used Google Translate)

This story will be told in the Second POV.

Jamil will refer to the reader as 'Yuu' - if you so choose, replace Yuu with your own name.

You are hereby invited to Scarabia Dorm for a Grand Feast hosted by the Dorm Warden, Kalim Al-Asim, as my personal guest. Please, arrive at 6:00 P.M. or earlier if possible. I am hoping you will attend & I am looking forward to seeing you, Prefect. ~ Signed, Jamil Viper - Scarabia's Vice Dorm Warden

It all started with that invitation.

An Invitation from the Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia, Jamil Viper, for you to come to Scarabia for one of Kalim's Parties and join them for the Grand Feast that would come after the party; Jamil always made amazing food and Grim was insistent that the two of you attended the party so the chimera could stuff his face with the delicatable delicates from the Land of Scalding Sands.

You took time to actually make yourself presentable for the party, wearing a crimson dress shirt with black pants and completed with black shoes before you tended to your hair and brushed any dust or loose hair off your shirt before grabbing your fully charged phone and placed it on your pocket before Grim jumped on your shoulder and the two of you walked out of Ramshackle, making sure to lock the door behind you and placing the key inside of a fake rock before heading to the Hall of Mirrors before walking into Scarabia's Mirror, the fainted warmth of the setting sun hitting your face a bit harder than it was in your own territory.

"Prefect." A very familiar voice called out to you, causing you to turn your head in the direction of Scara'bias Dorm, seeing the Vice Dorm Warden walking over to you wearing Scarabia's Uniform with his hood over his head.

"Jamil-senpai, it's good to see you. Thank you for the invitation." You smiled at the Viper Dorm Warden as he looked at you up and down, taking in your visage before he remained silent for a while, "Senpai, is something wrong?"

"Scarabia's Colors look good on you, Prefect." Jamil said before he returned the smile - a rare sight that Jamil only showed you ever since you foiled his attempted coup of Scarabia and saved him from his Overblot Episode; ever since that day, he found himself attached to you.

He was comfortable being himself around you, and you didn't judge him nor blame him for his past mistakes. In fact, you helped him regain his reputation among the student body and also made sure he took time for self-care. There were times when you even looked after Kalim, realizing that Jamil was overworking himself and needed a break. He knew better than to argue with you, given your impressive record of defeating four Overblots despite being magicless.

"Thank you, Jamil-senpai; I thought it would be fitting to wear Scarabia Colors to a Scarabian Event." You smiled at him.

"Have you ever considered wearing those colors permanently?" Jamil asked.

"Huh?" You questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Surely you haven't forgotten about that conversation we had a few days ago, Yuu. Have you ever considered my offer?" Jamil asked with a raised eyebrow.

You recalled the conversation you had with Jamil during one of your late-night Mancala matches a few nights ago when you stayed over at Scarabia Dorm after a study session that lasted too long.

The night was young but the inhabitants of Scarabia Dorm were tucked away in their dorms, resting up for the sun to rise in a few hours for them to start their days over again; well, one inhabitant and a visitor were still wide away. Grim was sleeping on the softest pillow he could find in Scarabia's Lounge while The Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia & Prefect of Ramshackle were sitting on soft pillows with the Mancala game before them; the two of them had completed their weekly study session but it got so late into the night & Grim ended up falling asleep. You didn't have the heart to wake up the sleeping chimera and Jamil offered you a room in Scarabia's Dorm - the same room you stayed in during Scarabia's 'Training Camp'. Ironic, isn't it?

"I'm honestly surprised that you decided to remain in Scarabia after our study session, Yuu." Jamil said while making his move on the game board.

"It's not that big of a deal - I'm mostly at Scarabia when I am not at Ramshackle, in class, or tending to Crowley's Tasks." You exhaled before making your move on the Mancala Board, "Honestly, Scarabia is almost like a 2nd Home to me."

"Second Home? Why not a 3rd Home?" Jamil asked.

"Home is where the heart is, Jamil. It's a place where you feel appreciated and loved. I never really felt 'loved' in my Original World. It was more like I was being tolerated and my efforts were never really appreciated. Ramshackle is the first place I consider home because it belongs to me and Grim. It's a place of my own where I can have my own peace. Scarabia, on the other hand, feels like 'coming home.' You, Kalim, and the other students of Scarabia are kind of like the family I never had but always wanted." You explained while waiting for Jamil to make a move, but he continued to gaze upon you with wide eyes.

"If that is truly how you feel... If coming to Scarabia Dorm is like coming home for you... Why don't you stay?" Jamil asked, causing you to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

'What do you mean??" You asked him.

"I wanted to talk to you about something important. Have you considered becoming an official member of Scarabia Dorm? Kalim and the other members have spoken about it and we would all love to have you here permanently. I have the paperwork ready for a Dorm Transfer, with Kalim's and Headmage Crowley's signatures. All it needs is yours. Please sign it and become a part of Scarabia Dorm. We would welcome you with open arms, Yuu." Jamil looked into your eyes with a smile on his face; his works were genuine.

You looked down at the Mancala Board - Jamil's Words echoing in your head.

"Jamil-senpai, we talked about this: If I was meant to be in Scarabia, the Dark Mirror would have placed me in Scarabia." You explained but that caused Jamil to frown.

"The Dark Mirror was unable to assign you to one of the seven Dorms because it detects magic, and you don't possess any magical abilities, Yuu. Had you been from Wonderland or possessed magical powers, the mirror would have placed you in Scarabia. However, your exceptional intelligence and performance in dealing with the Overblots, despite being from a different world, indicates that you would excel in the Sorcerer of the Sands' Domain. You are meant to be here with us, Yuu."Jamil held out his hand to you, "Come home to us, Al'akh Al'ashghar."

'Al'akh Al'ashghar? What does that...?' You thought before another voice called out to Jamil and you.

"Yuu! Grim! You guys made it here!" Kalim walked out of the dorm and waved over to the Prefect of Ramshackle, causing you to walk around Jamil and walk over to the Walking Ball of Sunshine of Scarabia and give him a hug. Kalim grabbed you by your hand and pulled you away from Jamil who just stood there for a while to be alone with his thoughts before a smile crept along his face as he turned and started walking towards the dorm building.

'I have a very important feast to create.'

Grim rested on your shoulder as everyone sat in the Lounge Room while waiting for Jamil to finish making the food for the feast; Kalim was telling them about how Jamil helped him with his studying and he was able to get a high grade on his most recent test thanks to the Vice Dorm Warden. You sat there while Grim was talking to Kalim about the food Jamil was making but your mind kept going back to what Jamil said before you came into the dorm - his words gave you one message but the tone of his voice, was as if it was hiding another message.

And that name he called you: Al'akh Al'ashghar

You opened your mouth to ask Kalim the meaning of that name, certain that it was found in the Land of Scalding Sands, but before the words could leave your lips - Jamil and several Scarabia Students walked into the Lounge Roo. with serving platters of food and drinks, but Jamil was carrying two smaller platters in his hands: one for Kalim and the other for you. Grim leaped off your head and joined the other Scarabia Students in their feasting while Jamil placed the personal platters in front of you and Kalim; Jamil smiled at you before placing a drink next to your food and another for Kalin - your couple was made of pure silver rather than the gold and it had your name engraved in the side.

"A Gift. For everything you have done for Scarabia." Jamil said before taking his seat next to Kalim to start eating his own food.

You looked at the dish Jamil set in front of you and picked up your spoon before starting to eat; it was divine in texture and taste, just like everything else Jamil made. You continued to eat before you felt your throat getting dry from the spices used in the meat reached to grab your silver cup and took a drink of the tea before swallowing it to soothe your throat; the relief soon came and you continued to eat.

*COUGH*

*COUGH*

*COUGH*

"Prefect, that is a rather violent cough. Are you okay?" Jamil asked as he look up from his meal with concern on his face.

"I'm fine. It's just some spices got caught in my throat and..." You were cut off by another round of violent coughing, you covered your mouth and removed it to get some air in your lungs when your air seemed to get thinner.

"PREFECT! YOUR HAND!" One of the Scarabia Students called out in panic, causing you to look at your hand and your eyes got wide with the same horror - Blood stained your palm and fingers.

Soon enough, your air supply was completely cut off; you grabbed your throat as you tried to breathe but nothing was going in and nothing was coming out - it was as if you were drowning as you threw yourself back and landed on the pillows behind you as you scratched at your throat.

"POISON! HE'S BEEN POISONED!"

"HOLD ON, I HAVE AN ANTIDOTE!"

Your vision was getting blurry but you could barely make out Jamil's face as he pulled a vial of amber liquid from somewhere on his person and held it to your lips.

"Come on, drink this for me, Al'akh Al'ashghar; I'm here for you. I'm going to help you. Drink for me." Jamil's voice seemed to echo but your body seemed to obey his plead without you thinking about it as your mouth opened and the liquid from the vial went down your throat and slowly opened the blocked passage, allowing the air to flow into your aching burning lungs.

However, the air to your brain was low and you were slowly losing consciousness, but you could make out the last words Jamil said before your world faded into darkness.

"I have you now, Al'akh Al'ashghar"

'What does... that mean?' You thought before you closed your eyes.

And then, you knew no more as you floated in the void of your subconsciousness.

[TO BE CONTINUED IN PART TWO]

[thebiggerbear]

Soldier Boy Fic Recs List Page 2

Rec List under Read More:

Checkerboard by @zepskies - You’re not a supe. You’re breakable. Soldier Boy sometimes forgets that.

Wanderlust by @zepskies - Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

Break Me Down by @zepskies - You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

In the Dark by @zepskies - You and Ben have tackled the insurmountable together, but no one said the recovery would be easy.

Love Actually Part 1 by @zepskies - Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.

Love Actually Part 2 by @zepskies - You and Ben steel yourselves in order to meet your crazy family for Christmas dinner.

Love Actually Part 3 by @zepskies - You and Ben steel yourselves in order to meet your crazy family for Christmas dinner.

Wake Me Up by @zepskies - A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

Strong As Blood Part 1 by @zepskies - After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out?

Strong As Blood Part 2 by @zepskies - After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out?

Until Morning by @zepskies - A quiet moment between you, Ben, and your newborn daughter.

This One's For You by @zepskies - Late one night, finding no other recourse, Ben sings to his infant daughter to help her sleep.

Green by @zepskies - Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

Calculated Risks by @zepskies - You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

Lesson Learned by @zepskies - There’s only so much teasing Ben is willing to take. He has no choice but to punish you.

Lost On You by @zepskies - 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

Your Name in Lights by @venus-haze - All eyes are on Soldier Boy's new movie, especially after his leading lady drops out just as filming starts. An aspiring starlet with a few supporting roles to your name, you're offered your big break when Vought unexpectedly chooses you to replace her. Stardom finds you almost overnight, but your rocky relationship with Soldier Boy eventually eclipses your career, and you have to decide how you want your legacy to be defined.

When Reality is Worse than the Lies they told Me by @kickingitwithkirk - The Boys have come to hide out with you.

Too Sweet For Me by @luci-in-trenchcoats - Seventeen year old Y/N isn’t thrilled when she finds out her father is somehow Soldier Boy and she’s now meant to live with him… (Daughter!Reader)

Happy New Year, Soldier Boy by @kamisobsessed - Annie and Hughie invite you and the other members of ‘The Boys’ over for a New Years Eve party. You and Soldier Boy don’t always get along. When the New Year is about to ring in, you don’t have anyone share a New Year’s kiss with, but Soldier Boy changes that.

Sleigh Ride by @zepskies - Yet again, you convince Ben to indulge you in a new Christmas tradition.

buy me presents by @little-wicked10 - Soldier Boy can’t help his obsession with his little Beverly Hills beauty and spoils her for Christmas.

Attention by @lila-lou - Ben is always distant in public—you’ve come to expect it. But at Annie’s birthday party, his detachment stings more than ever. With a little push from Frenchie, though, Ben makes it clear that there’s no one he wants more than you.

Little Soldier by @lila-lou - Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

Smokey Snuggles, Zero Struggles by @syrma-sensei - Request: laying in his arms while he smokes.

Presents & Gingerbread by @lila-lou - Ben has little interest in the season’s traditions but keeps up with the wrapping and decorations just to see you happy. Still, it didn’t take long for him to draw your attention away from the preparations, making it clear that you’re the only thing he cares about.

Losing You by @thesilmarillionblog - Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy’s secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Unpunishable by @eepwtf - soldier boy boarding school au! x catholic boy (Soldier Boy x Male!Reader)

Earn It by @angelbabyyy99 - You hated Ben. His crappy personality, the whole nine yards, but you couldn’t help being attracted to it. (Soldier Boy x Curvy!Reader)

More Than You Could Ever Know by @godmadeaterribleerror - A No Love Lost Christmas Special! Takes place about five months after the end of No Love Lost, sort of an epilogue to the main story.

Family by @lila-lou - This Christmas is your first with Emily, Beau’s teenage daughter. Between her shy smiles and sharp wit, she’s learning to trust you, and you’re creating a home together.

No One by @justwhisperingfantasies

Unholy by @the-lone-writer94 - Reimagined story based on the motel scene in the Herogasm episode. Whilst Soldier Boy is adjusting to being back, he is currently holed up in a motel as he awaits for Butcher and Hugie. However, something comes up and Butcher needs someone to watch Soldier Boy. Which comes in Jessica, she’s a private investigator, she’s hot-tempered and tough, will she and Soldier Boy be able to be in the same room as each other? Because even she can’t deny that Soldier Boy is hot.

Lost In Translation by @zepskies - Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? (Soldier Boy x Female POC!Reader)

Black Velvet Series by @goldcoastsunset (I cannot find this fic, I think the author deactivated, if anyone finds this story again on AO3 or FFn or they come back to Tumblr and repost please post a link in the comments. That story was AMAZING!!!!)

Page 1

*I will add more as I go

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[halfadeckofcards]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[amazingmsme]

Best Served Cold

AN: it shouldn’t really come as any surprise that I’m a Tim Stoker stan & that man needs to get knocked down a few pegs. The role reversal prompt was perfect for them, cause sometimes the tickle monster just needs a taste of his own medicine! Without further ado, here’s day 22’s fic!

Martin was on his way back down to the archives, a fresh cup of tea in hand. He was halfway back from the break room when a loud shriek echoed down the stone halls followed by shrill, frantic giggles. He smiled to himself, rolling his eyes fondly. It seems Sasha fell prey to Tim's antics once more.

Oh well, better her than him.

He walked down the rest of the stairs and around the corner, her laughter growing louder the closer he got closer. Sure enough, Tim had cornered her between the wall and a filing cabinet, giggling herself silly. She looked adorable like this, Martin had to admit, but he sympathized with her plight. He wasn't sure which of them he attacked more frequently...

A rare smirk settled on his face. Perhaps a bit of revenge was in order.

He crept up behind Tim as quietly as he could, but he was too preoccupied with the task at hand to notice anyway. He slowly raised his arms, a predator about to strike.

"Just one more piece! Come on, don't be stingYYYY! Hehehey whahat the hehehell?" His sly bargaining was interrupted by a shocked squeal that quickly gave way to confused laughter.

"What's the matter Tim? I thought you just loved tickling, seeing as you do it to us so much," Martin pointed out, surprisingly bold and teasing with his words, but a rare bout of mischief had taken root, and he was determined to put their resident trouble maker in his place. Sasha barked out a laugh at his words as she recovered, enjoying her front row seat to the show.

"Thahat's not- nohoho don't!" he pivoted mid sentence when Martin's hands scribbled down to his hips.

"I mean, it's only fair to return the favor, don't you think Sasha?" he asked innocently, continuing to hold Tim on his tickly hug. She made a miraculously quick recovery upon hearing those words, already wiggling her fingers at her previous tormentor.

"Oh I couldn't agree more! He's been extra annoying lately, maybe he was just waiting, begging for one of us to just snap," she finally struck, diving right for his belly. He immediately doubled over, bursting out into bright, bubbly giggles.

"I wahahas nohohot!" he denied, twisting in Martin's hold and trying to hold Sasha's hands away. A few quick pinches up his ribs reminded Tim that he was still very much a problem. He arched away with a shriek when he found a spot between his sixth and seventh rib that seemed worse than the rest.

“Noho, please! Nohohot thehehere!” his pleading went ignored as they continued to seek out the best spots.

“Alright then, how about here instead?” Martin asked as he plunged his hands beneath his arms to scribble at the center of his hollows.

“Ahahabsolutely nohohot!” he cried out through his laughter. He snorted and shook his head back and forth when Sasha reached up to flutter her nails along his neck, scribbling at the spot just behind his ears.

“NOHOHO! Ihihi hahate you bohohoth!” he whined through growing hysterics. But it was all for show. Being trapped in a tickle sandwich between your best friends wasn’t ideal, but it he’d choose that over filing any day.

“Awww, we love you too!” she cooed in a false honey sweet tone.

“N-nohot whahahat I said!” he choked out, trying to hide the blush quickly spreading across his cheeks.

“I know, but you forget I happen to be fluent in Tim Stoker sass,” she teased, scratching underneath his chin just to make him squeal.

“Ohoho fuck you!” he hissed through clenched teeth before another snort ripped free from his chest. He gave up on the useless endeavor of fighting back, instead focusing all his efforts on hiding his face.

“Aw, why are you hiding? There’s no need to be so embarrassed Tim!” Martin teased fondly, but he really meant what he said.

“Exactly! So stop hiding, and let me see that handsome smile,” Sasha taunted as she gently pulled his arms away from his face. His blush darkened and he immediately ducked his head to look away.

“Nohoho!”

“No? Well that’s a bit rude, innit?” she asked with a laugh of her own. She went back to poking around his tummy, drawing out jumpy, nervous giggles.

“This ihihis rude!” he argued, and they both gasped.

“What? We’re just sharing the love!” Sasha justified.

“And I’m simply returning the favor!” Martin added. An amused chuckle from behind made them all stop in their tracks as they turned to see Jon browsing a nearby cluttered desk.

“No need to stop on my account, I just needed to grab a few things,” he explained, eyes scanning the surface until he apparently found what he needed.

“Please, carry on. And don’t forget to go for his knees,” he advised with a teasing smirk, going as far as to wink at the crew. He was about to leave, when Martin’s voice called out and gave him pause.

“Or you could do it yourself.” And wasn’t that an enticing thought.

“I’m afraid I’m swamped,” he excused himself with a little shrug.

“Sounds like you could use a break then. And we have the perfect stress ball for you to try out,” Sasha insisted.

He stared at the three of them, all with varying degrees of a smile on their face. And they looked so hopeful, even Tim, that he just couldn’t refuse.

He sighed, setting down the file before cracking his knuckles, flashing a rare, mischievous smile.

They all could use a good laugh.

[etherealphosphor]

Stay With Me, Please.

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Reader has an incurable disease, Reader is married to Dottore, Sfw, Angst, No happy ending, Death, Mentions of blood

⟡ Edited <3

Dottore valued you above anything else in his life; you were his one real joy. Before he met you, his life had been dull and monotonous, the days almost seeming to blend together. Passing out at his desk after working too late into the night was a common occurrence back then. However, that wasn’t the case anymore, as his career was far from his biggest worry.

You, his lover and his number one priority, suffered from an incurable disease. That ailment caused your body to become fragile and weak, and as time went on, more and more of your strength was slipping away without any hope of recovery.

You coughed quite a bit, too; the sound made Dottore’s heart sink awfully every time he heard it. It was beyond painful for Dottore to see you in that state, and he tried his best to make life as easy as he could for you.

However, naturally, he did mess up on occasion. Although he promised to stay by your side every night and never to choose work over being next to you, he’d sometimes lose track of time. When that happened, you’d slowly walk step after step to the door of his office to ask him to come back to bed.

When he’d see you standing at the door, your legs shaking with the effort to keep standing, a wave of guilt would come crashing over him. Immediately, Dottore would drop all of his research and run to wrap you up in his arms, apologizing over and over for working as late as he did. 

You’d always put your arms around Dottore’s neck as he carried you, resting your head on his shoulder. Even just walking to his office drained you of all your energy. As you two reached the bedroom, Dottore gently set you down before laying down next to you and pulling you into his arms. 

He’d stroke your hair gently as you were lulled by his heartbeat, whispering to you about how much he loved you and how things would be okay. Only in those moments did you feel truly alright, as you almost forgot all about your debilitating sickness. If only things could stay the same way forever. 

As the months passed, your body only got weaker. Your hands shook any time you tried to use them, and when you walked, you’d only fall over. You could feel your time slipping away. You would die, and you could only wait for it to happen. Stuck in the same bed, day after day.

All you wished for was to become even a just a little bit stronger. To regain the strength in your hands so you could pick up a hobby or two would be a miracle. But as much as you wished for your disease to be gone, nothing would improve. 

Dottore could sense you were dying as well. Your cough had gotten worse as of late, and when he held you at night, your body was so fragile it was almost like glass. He was terrified he’d break you just by being beside you. 

He knew something had to be done. Dottore began working all day—and some nights—on a cure for your disease. Since you could no longer walk properly, you weren’t there to remind him to come to bed, and he’d get swept up in his experiments. 

On the nights he didn't end up by your side, you cried yourself to sleep, hugging your pillow for the comfort you were missing, until you eventually ran out of energy and passed out. You couldn’t let Dottore see you like this; you knew it would absolutely break his heart. 

Dottore hated being away from you all day, but he felt that if he put in enough effort, maybe he could find a breakthrough. Maybe he could save you if he tried his hardest. All the time he spent away from you would pay off once he was able to cure you, right?

This was the only time in his life that he was really, truly worried about anything. And he’d never say a word out loud, but this was also the first time he doubted his abilities on a subject. You were what brought him joy when nothing else did; you were his entire world. He couldn’t lose you. He needed to try everything in his power to keep you alive. 

One night, while you were lying in his embrace, you spoke slowly, your voice shaking. In recent times, you hadn’t been speaking much since your throat had begun to feel painful due to how much you had been coughing. 

"Dottore.."

His eyes widened; your tone sounded serious. "Yes, my love..? What is it? Also, please try not to speak too much; I know how much it has been hurting you."

"There’s no progress, is there? In the cure, I mean. Love, I think you should just drop it at this point." You said, coughing a little.

"What? Why would you suggest that? Don’t.. don’t you want to live?" Dottore stared at you with a worried look in his eyes. He didn’t like what you were suggesting at all.

"I do, darling.. I do, but I don’t have much time left as it is, and we both know that." You stared into those deep red eyes of his. When you first met him, you thought of them as quite unsettling, but now they were one of your favorite things about him.

Dottore ran his hand across your cheek, giving you a sympathetic gaze. "Just give me a while longer, okay? I promise you, I’ll make progress, just—"

You cut him off. "No, darling. If you keep trying to cure me, I’ll be gone before you know it. Just.. spend these last few months with me, okay? I just want to make every second last with you."

Dottore’s voice was filled with concern. "But then.. [Name], you’ll surely die; shouldn’t I at least try to save you? There’s still a chance; I’ve made a little progress—I just need more time, my love. Don’t give up yet."

You put your hand on his, the one that was already stroking your cheek. "Darling, I know it won’t work; I’ve already come to terms with that. I just need your company, that’s all. I can’t die without regrets if you stay in your lab all day."

Dottore tried to object again, saying, "I—[Name], we can still spend time together. I can set up a bed in my lab for you to rest in while I work; I promise you won’t be lonely again. I have to try to save you, don’t I? We’ll never know if we don’t try, [Name]."

You felt awful; you knew that you were all Dottore had, and telling him this was making the realization sink in: he was going to lose you. He had tried to deny it, ignoring it by working on a cure, but the truth was that you were dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"[Name].. please. Let me try it." Dottore begged you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

It hurt you to see him like that—it really did. But you couldn’t give in. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to spend your last days the way you wished. You knew Dottore was desperately holding on to hope; he was the smartest person you had ever met, so of course he already knew that his efforts were of no use.

"Dottore.." You reached out to stroke his hair, which was something that always calmed him down. "You know that it’s not going to work, right? You’re the one who’s been studying my disease for years now; there’s no way you don’t know."

A tear fell from Dottore’s eye, and it rolled down his cheek. A couple of years ago, Dottore practically didn’t even know how to cry. He was a stern man back then who showed no weakness. 

Nowadays, though, it was commonplace to see him with tears running down his face. Often times, he would lay his head on his desk in the middle of his research and let himself sob where nobody could hear him. Dottore never let you see him cry, as he didn’t wish to make you lose hope in finding a cure.

However, now that you had accepted your fate, silent tears flowed down his face. You tried wiping them away and saying gentle words to soothe him, but it seemed like nothing would calm him.

"I— I.. I don’t want to lose you, [Name]. There has to be another way, something.. anything. What can I do? I don’t want you to die. You’re my everything, [Name]. I can’t live without you. If only I could just switch our places.." Dottore’s voice was choked up, and he was speaking in between sobs.

"Dottore, my love, it’s okay. Please don’t worry so much. I still have a couple months left, maybe even a year. We’ll spend every minute together, and make the most out of what we have. That, or you can spend your time cooped up in your laboratory. How does the first option sound to you?" You continued to stroke his hair, speaking in a very comforting tone.

Dottore just nodded, tears still flowing down his face. He wanted to make you happy, but it was so hard to let go of his hope of saving you. Eventually, you and Dottore fell asleep together, with him holding you tightly. 

In the month following that conversation, Dottore reluctantly dropped his research on your disease to spend all of his time with you. Winter was soon approaching, and your condition was only getting considerably worse. Dottore could feel that you didn’t have as much time left as you thought you did. 

One day, Dottore woke up to the sound of your coughing. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over a little.

"Love..? What’s wrong?" Dottore asked, moving closer to you.

When you turned your head toward him, Dottore’s eyes went wide. Blood was dripping from your mouth.

"[Name], are you okay!?" Dottore took your face in his hands, gently wiping the blood off of it with his thumb.

"I’m alright, Dottore.. it doesn’t hurt too much." You assured him.

"I need to get you to my lab immediately." Dottore said, moving an arm around you to pick you up.

"Love, I’m not getting any better; there’s no need." You objected, but he scooped you up regardless.

"I didn’t say I was going to cure you, darling; I intend to get you some pain medication." Dottore explained, faking a calm tone as he walked.

Once you reached his lab, Dottore sat you down on the medical bed and began to look around the shelves for the correct medicine. Once he found it, he brought the little orange bottle back to you.

"Here, take one of these with water; it might hurt a little, but I promise you’ll feel better in the end." Dottore handed you a glass.

You quickly took the pill, wincing as the water touched your throat.

"Good, good.." Dottore said, distractedly. It seemed his mind was elsewhere at the moment, but you didn’t know exactly why. He snapped back into reality and went to pick you up again, saying, "I’ll take these pills with us."

Throughout the rest of the day, you coughed up small amounts of blood. The next day, it was more. And the day after that, still more. You could see it in Dottore’s eyes; you didn’t have long left to live. At night, Dottore silently cried while holding you in your sleep. He knew you’d leave him eventually; he always did, but not like this. Not this soon.

Another month passed, and now you could barely keep yourself awake. Dottore had to make sure you took your pills and that you didn’t choke on the blood you coughed up. Blood stained your white bedsheets, a constant reminder to Dottore that you had a couple of days left, at most. In the few minutes you were awake at any given moment, he had to tearfully tell you how much he loved you, or else he might never get another chance to.

You were so exhausted. Mentally and physically. At this point, you just wanted the pain to be over. At the same time, you wanted to cling to life, but archons, you were so tired. You drifted in and out of consciousness, almost to the point where you didn’t know what reality was anymore. All you knew was that tears flowed down your beloved husband’s face, and he was desperately trying to take care of you.

"Please drink your water; you’ll feel better, okay?" Dottore put the bottle to your lips, his voice shaking with sobs.

You just stared at him. You really didn't have the energy to drink water right then. However, you took little sips anyway, hoping that maybe he’d smile just a little bit.

"There you go, [Name].. that’s good.. drink some more. It’ll help you." Dottore spoke gently as you drifted off into sleep again. The last thing you saw was him trying to force a smile to encourage you through his endless tears.

Your dreams were all odd and terrifying, blending together into a chaotic mess. This made for restless sleep, contributing to your drowsiness and lack of energy.

The next time you woke up, it took a minute to make sense of where you were. However, once you remembered what was going on, you felt strangely calm. Blood flowed slowly from your mouth, making new stains on the sheets.

".. Dottore.." You managed to sputter out.

"Yes, my love?" Dottore said calmly, but inside he was quite surprised that you were speaking. He hadn’t heard your voice for a while now, due to your condition. 

"I love you, Dottore.." You smiled at him, blood still leaking from your mouth.

Dottore stroked your hair gently and cleaned the blood from your face. Tears still fell from his eyes, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. However, he smiled back to reassure you, his voice breaking. "I love you too, [Name], more than anything."

You gazed up into those deep red eyes of his. Oh, how you loved those eyes. "Can I have one more kiss?"

Dottore nodded. "Of course you can, my love."

Dottore gently tilted your chin up and leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to yours. Your lips tasted distinctly of blood, but that was the last thing he cared about. He hugged you closer to him, running his hands through your hair and kissing you passionately. Tears still flowed steadily down Dottore’s cheeks as he pulled away from you. He could feel your breathing getting slower.

"No.. no, don’t leave me now. [Name], hang on!" Dottore’s eyes went wide, and he spoke in a panicked tone.

You simply gave him the faintest of smiles, whispering again, "I love you, Dottore."

Dottore held your face in his hands, desperately willing you to stay alive. "No, no, no, no! Don’t give up! You’re all I have left; you can’t leave me now!"

However, he could feel your heartbeat slow. His tears were flowing down his face faster than ever. "Please, [Name]! I can’t take this, please!"

Dottore had his arms tightly around you, and so he knew exactly when you took your last breath. He knew there was nothing he could do now.

The sorrow was too much to bear, and Dottore began to scream in pain. "NO! PLEASE COME BACK, [NAME]! DON'T LEAVE ME! I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU! STAY WITH ME, PLEASE!"

That scream was the anguished scream of a man who had just lost everything he had left to live for. He buried his face in your chest and let out a wail of pure agony. 

You were gone, and you took everything Dottore loved with you.

[furiousgoldfish]

I've been inactive lately, because I'm back at a bad place. It turns out that spending six months frozen in trauma affected me more severely than I would have liked. I'm bedridden, constantly in too much pain to do anything.

I've spent the first week of it in denial, believing that I will snap right out of it and be okay, but I can tell now that I'm going to be like this for a while. Even just getting up to eat something is now too complicated, the struggle of the day is just getting some food in me.

I'm trying to accept this and be okay with it. If I need to spend several months in bed before I can move again, and for a while my achievements will be that I managed to spend a few minutes outside, then what's so wrong about that? I don't need to feel guilty. I don't want this, and I didn't choose this, and I hate that life is just going by while I lie down, unable to do anything, struggling to eat. I've been through this before and it's only ever when I feel better, that I realize how bad it really was, how I was struggling to breathe, how much time I spent wishing my stomach didn't hurt from hunger, unable to fix myself a meal.

Even just writing it down makes it more down to earth. In my mind I'm still struggling with the shame of being inactive, but the reality of it is that I'm in pain, it's not something to be persecuted for. Isn't it interesting how difficult it is to feel compassion towards yourself, when no one else has ever shown it to you? I bear no hatred towards myself, but my instincts still jump to persecution and judgment, just because it's the only thing I've ever experienced in such a state.

I know a lot of people have their symptoms worsen during the holiday season, re-living all of the seasonal trauma and feeling like their recovery is going backwards. I hope you all experience compassion and don't feel that judgment towards yourself any longer, because nobody deserves that. Nobody needs to be persecuted for struggling and staying inactive, it's not even a choice. There's not even a point in it, because it doesn't make the suffering end faster, it doesn't make the person get active more quickly, it makes the whole thing worse and longer. It's not a helpful sentiment, it's just hatred, wanting a person in pain to feel even worse. And nobody needs that on top of already suffering.