#procedural and that's where it falls down a bit. it's still good but i wanted to see more of shaw (who is brilliantly compelling as he

[huxhsz]

✈ — weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 03 - regeneration┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 05 - countdown

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

— content warning/s:

medical trauma

physical violence and injury

psychological trauma

non-consensual medical procedures

depersonalization and loss of agency

emotional dependency

mental health themes

hopelessness and suicidal ideation

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 04 — HELPLESSNESS

You don’t fight anymore.

You used to. You think you did. Maybe. It’s hard to remember.

At first, you’d flinch when the guards came. Struggle when they pulled you from your room. Beg when the restraints clicked into place. The words would tumble out—“Please stop, please don’t, please it hurts, please”—and you really thought, at some point, that maybe someone would care.

But no one did.

They never stopped.

And now… now you don’t bother.

When they come for you, you don’t resist. You don’t scream when they strap you down. You don’t ask why, because you already know the answer.

Research.

Data.

For the sake of progress.

It doesn’t matter how much it hurts. It doesn’t matter how much you hate it. It doesn’t matter what you say or do or feel because they’re going to do it anyway.

So you don’t waste the energy anymore.

You lie still as they strap you down, eyes fixed on the cold metal ceiling. You don’t wince when they draw the blade across your arm. You don’t scream when the bone fractures beneath the pressure of the vice. You barely blink when the pain flares bright and sharp across your nerves.

You know it’ll heal.

You know you’ll survive.

You know they’ll just do it again.

So what’s the point?

The scientists take notes. Talk over you like you’re not there. They discuss your recovery rate, your pain threshold, the adaptability of your cells. Sometimes you catch bits of it—faster than Subject 002, lower resistance than Subject 001.

Caleb heals too slowly. Unicorn breaks too easily.

You’re somewhere in between.

How lucky for them.

“Take her back to her room,” one of the scientists says eventually.

The restraints snap open. Someone hauls you upright. Your legs don’t want to work at first—numb, shaky—but you don’t resist as they drag you down the hall.

They open the door. Toss you inside.

You hit the floor hard, knees scraping against the cold tile. The door hisses shut behind you.

You stay there for a moment, cheek pressed to the ground. Your breath rasps in and out of your throat. Your arm still throbs faintly where they cut you, but the skin is already smooth again. Healed. Good as new.

A shadow falls over you.

“You’re back.”

Caleb’s voice is low and steady.

You don’t move.

The sound of footsteps, the faint creak of his knees as he lowers himself beside you. Warm hands catch your arms, pulling you upright. You don’t help him, but you don’t fight either.

He sits on the floor with you, back against the wall. His arms curl around you, drawing you close.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

You hadn’t noticed.

You curl into him instinctively, burying your face against his chest. His jacket smells like smoke and metal and the faint bite of oil. His hand runs slowly through your hair.

“They…” Your voice barely comes out. “They cut me open again.”

“I know,” Caleb says. His voice is low and dark.

“I didn’t stop them.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even try.”

Caleb’s hand tightens slightly against your hair. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t fight,” you whisper.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats. His hand cups the back of your head, steady and warm. “It’s not weakness to stop struggling when there’s no point.”

It feels like weakness.

“I think…” Your throat tightens. “I think they could kill me, and I wouldn’t even care.”

He tenses beneath you.

“They won’t,” he says. His voice is sharp now, brittle beneath the surface. “I won’t let them.”

“But you can’t stop them.”

His arms tighten around you. His heart pounds hard beneath your ear.

“I’ll find a way,” he murmurs. “I swear it.”

You’re not sure if you believe him.

But you don’t say that.

You just close your eyes, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath your cheek. His warmth seeps into you, dulling the sharp edges of the day’s pain.

Eventually, your shaking stops.

Eventually, the pain fades.

But you know tomorrow it’ll happen again.

And the next day.

And the next.

And you’re not sure how long you can keep surviving that.

You don’t know how long you sit there.

Caleb’s arms are still wrapped around you, his breath steady against the crown of your head. The floor is cold beneath you both, but his body is warm. Strong. He always feels steady, even when the rest of the world is falling apart.

His hand moves slowly through your hair, fingers brushing your scalp in soft, rhythmic motions. It’s grounding. It makes you feel… not better, exactly. But less broken. Less like you’re going to disappear entirely.

“You should sleep,” he says eventually.

You don’t want to. Sleep means waking up again. Sleep means facing it all tomorrow.

“I’m not tired,” you murmur.

“You’re lying.”

You don’t deny it.

You feel his chin press against the top of your head. “Just rest for a little while. I’ll stay here.”

You know he will. He always does.

But even so…

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I’ll see it again.”

Caleb doesn’t ask what you mean. He already knows.

The past, the future, the shifting possibilities—they blur together sometimes when you close your eyes. Flashes of things that haven’t happened yet. Glimpses of things that have already passed. It’s not always clear which is which. And you can’t stop it.

You see the needles.

The knives.

The blood.

You see Caleb’s face twisted in pain.

You see Unicorn’s eyes wide and empty and blank—

Your breath hitches. Your fingers curl into his jacket.

“I don’t want to see it,” you whisper.

Caleb’s arms tighten around you. His breath is steady against your hair. “You won’t,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

You lift your head slightly, pressing your cheek to his collarbone. The fabric of his jacket is worn beneath your fingertips. “How?”

He’s quiet for a moment. His hand moves to your back, fingers trailing over the ridge of your spine.

“Because I’ll stop them,” he says simply. “If they come for you, I’ll stop them.”

You shake your head. “You can’t.”

“Maybe not now.” His voice is low, dark beneath the softness. “But one day.”

You pull back just enough to see his face. His gaze is sharp beneath the fringe of his dark hair. Those violet eyes—cool and steady—meet yours without hesitation.

He really believes it.

That’s the terrifying part.

“You…”

“I’m serious,” he says quietly.

You sit back. His arms loosen around you, but he doesn’t let go entirely. Your hand drifts down, curling over his wrist. His skin is cold. His pulse beneath your fingers is steady.

“How?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes darken.

“I just know,” he says eventually.

That’s not an answer. But it’s enough for him.

“What…” You hesitate. “What if you can’t?”

“I will.” His voice is so certain.

“How can you be so sure?”

He leans forward slightly, gaze sharpening. “Because I have to.”

You swallow. His expression doesn’t change.

“Even if you have to hurt someone?” you whisper.

“If it keeps you safe.” His answer comes too quickly. No hesitation.

You stare at him. His face is still calm, but his eyes—those deep purple eyes—are burning.

You remember how he looked in the lab. When the scientists strapped him down. When the machines began to hum. You remember the sound of his breathing, thin and shallow. The way his jaw clenched as the voltage climbed higher. He hadn’t screamed.

But his eyes—those burning violet eyes—had found yours across the room.

You wonder if that’s how he held on. If you were the reason.

Or maybe… Maybe he’s just telling you that so you’ll stop shaking.

“I…” You hesitate, your thumb brushing over his wrist. “What if… What if we can’t get out?”

His expression hardens. “We will.”

“And if we don’t?”

He leans in. His forehead presses lightly to yours. His hand settles on the side of your face, thumb brushing the hollow of your cheek. His breath warms your skin.

“We will.” His voice is steady. Calm. Like it’s already a fact. “I promise.”

You don’t know if he can keep that promise.

But you want to believe him anyway.

Your breath shudders out. You close your eyes. His hand stays on your cheek, grounding you.

You don’t believe in much anymore.

But maybe… maybe you can believe in this.

Maybe you can believe in him.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. His hand stays at your back as you lean into him, your body relaxing by degrees. His warmth soaks into you, soft and steady.

“You should sleep,” he says softly.

This time, you don’t argue.

You let your eyes close.

You feel his hand settle at the nape of your neck. His breath is steady against your temple. His warmth shields you from the cold.

And for the first time in a long time…

…You sleep without seeing the future.

[thydungeongal]

I've made passing reference to my idea of "the best dungeon game I can imagine" and it's not like a coherent game concept but more like a grab-bag of ideas from other games/hacks/articles that, to me, would result in the ideal dungeon-crawling game

Exploration procedures in the style of Break!! and Errant. While calculating feet can sometimes be fun sometimes you can sacrifice a bit of granularity to give players discrete high-level choices. Exploration that is room-by-room, turn-by-turn sacrifices a bit of resolution but makes for easier top-down decision-making.

The overloaded encounter die can help reduce some of the mental overhead of resource-tracking. When it comes to resource-tracking there's an issue I haven't found a satisfactory solution to elsewhere: there's very little incentive for players to keep track of character resources in a system that mostly does depletion, which means that keeping track of when players need to count down character resources will often fall on the GM. Making the loss of resources part of the grind and making it a clear result of a mechanism outside of the GM and players' control simplifies it.

Speaking of abstracting some things to make them easier to keep track of on a top-down level, I think a Break!!/Old School Hack style system of measuring distance in areas can actually meaningfully allow for "theater of the mind" play while still allowing for informed tactical play.

Look I think d20+modifiers where you want to roll high is good, the feeling of rolling a natural 20 is unparalleled imo.

I feel keeping track of experience points is important in the context of a dungeon game because that type of gameplay benefits from objective goals that players can pursue for rewards. Most importantly, I think exploration in and of itself should be encouraged, so a system similar to the one used in Neoclassical Geek Revival where each new room explored grants cumulatively more experience points would be interesting to utilize.

The combination of an inherent incentive for the act of exploring in and of itself AND making the resource grind random actually has an interesting effect: while players can manage risk by making informed calculations like "okay with 1 ration per character our party should be able to explore for six turns on average which means that if nothing goes wrong we can expect six rooms' worth of experience points this trek" but they can't count on it. Managing risk is still the name of the game.

Idk I kinda like Break!! style character creation. As much fun as random character creation is I kind of ultimately prefer the flowchart where players can make informed choices about their character.

One issue I have with the traditional D&D endgame of domain management is that it often feels completely separate from the dungeon gameplay. I think it's great to have something to look forward to at higher levels besides more dungeoning in deeper dungeons, but as such I would like to make the domain management part of the gameplay from level 1. Maybe the characters need to go into dungeons to get resources to upgrade their base? Something like that.

Anyway this is like. Really high-level and barely even touches on what the potential character options would be and how the game would distinguish itself from other dungeon crawling games beyond obviously having the best list of hand-picked mechanics and systems all in one. And I haven't really thought about the interaction between all these systems at all. But anyway a girl can dream

[moonstruckme]

can i request a doctor!remus fic where maybe reader comes into the er and is very panicked by doctors and hospitals and they call remus in to help because he’s like known for putting people at ease….this may or may not be based on when i freaked out over a needle and they had to bring in a special doctor :l please and thank you and i’m obsessed with your fics <3

Thank you sweetness <3

cw: hospital, needle

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your heart is in your throat. It’s pounding so hard you can feel its beating in your teeth, and no matter how you try you cannot get tears to stop leaking from your eyes. 

“Wait,” you say again, the word a wobbly, tight-voiced mantra. You keep thinking that if you can just calm yourself enough to seem credible, you can reason with these people. Convince them that you’re actually fine, so there’s no need to touch you, or poke you, or try to move your already agonizing shoulder. 

There are already three people in your tiny curtained-off room with you, so when the curtain pulls back and a fourth enters, you angle your hurt shoulder away from him unconsciously. 

“Hello,” the new doctor says. His voice is low and velveteen smooth, cutting through the thrumming panic in your brain like a warm knife through butter. The other doctor and the nurses who have been trying to pacify you fall quiet, seemingly relieved this other man is here. He glances quickly at a clipboard. “Y/n? I’m Remus.” 

“Hi.” You feel pathetic and a bit wild, tears still trudging down your face as you try to keep an eye on everyone in the room, especially the nurse with the needle. They’ve promised you several times now that they’re not going to do anything until you agree, and it’s not that you don’t trust that but you’re wary of anything happening without your notice. 

Remus walks over to you as though this scene is completely normal for him. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed and sets the clipboard down. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, looking as though he’d really like to know. His expression is kind and concerned. 

You give a little laugh, using your good hand to wipe under your eyes. It comes out sounding pitchy and stilted. “I’ve been better,” you admit. Remus’ lips curve in a small, sad smile. “I just, I’d really rather not be here.” 

“That’s understandable,” he replies patiently. He seems the least urgent of anyone you’ve interacted with since you’ve been here, and there’s a tranquility about him that’s contagious. You feel your tears slowing. “This isn’t really somewhere people end up when their day is going according to plan. What is it that’s making you nervous, sweetheart?” 

All of it, you want to say. The doctors and the nurses and the machines and the hair-raising sound of a baby crying a few rooms over. You hate hospitals and you always have. The idea of needing to be in more pain to relieve the one you’re already experiencing makes you feel like you’re trying to breathe through a straw. 

“I don’t like needles,” you say. Understatement of the year. 

Remus nods, seeming to mull this over. “Well, you have a dislocated shoulder,” he says, mouth pinching sympathetically. “The only way to fix that is to put the joint back into its proper place. It’s not the sort of thing that takes care of itself.” As he talks, his hand moves to rest on top of yours, forefinger stroking a slow back-and-forth across the back of your hand. “It can be fairly painful,” he tells you, “and if you move you could make things a lot harder for yourself. So, we’re going to give you medicine to help you calm down and alleviate the pain.” 

In his steady, dulcet voice, the thing that’s been explained to you twice over already sounds a lot more sensible. His thumb works over your hand, light brown eyes gently coaxing.

“The good thing about this procedure is, both parts are done with fairly quickly. And if you’d like me to, I can hold you while Dr. Michaels works, if that’ll help you at all.” 

The other three people in the room are moving again, somewhat slowly, but Remus doesn’t seem to notice. He holds your gaze. 

“Yes, please,” you say tightly. You know it’s an acquiescence. Even as you say it more tears are blurring your vision. 

“Alright, it’s alright.” Remus wastes no time in moving to your side, his hip pressed to yours while he wraps one arm around your middle and uses the other to turn your face into his shoulder. “You’re fine, sweetheart.” 

You feel childish and embarrassed, wetting his scrubs with your tears, but he only sweeps his thumb over your ribs, shushing you compassionately.  

“We’re going to give you the medicine now, try to stay relaxed.” 

You tense when you feel the cold wipe, and a quiet whimper slips past your lips at the bite of the needle. 

Remus’ hand tightens on your head. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. The needle slips out. 

“Breathe,” Remus instructs. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped. You let out a tremulous exhale, and he brushes some hairs away from your face, your forehead still resting on his shoulder. “That was good,” he assures you. “You’re halfway done now.” 

“Thank you,” you say, more than a little humiliated as you swipe the wetness from your cheeks, sniffling. 

Remus offers a small smile. It’s absurd how much it relaxes you. “Don’t mention it.” He looks to the other doctor. “How do you want her for this next part?” 

“Lying down, please.” 

He turns back to you. “Okay? You want help?” 

Your good hand has gone back to holding your shoulder, so he uses a hand on your back to help ease you horizontal on the bed. Once you’re settled he coaxes your hand away, taking it in his own. His skin is warm and scarred in some places, cruel lines that feel like a violation to touch. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

Remus gets you talking, about the fall that landed you in here, your day before that, your life in general. His responses are understanding and amused at times, seemingly genuinely invested in what you have to say. As you speak his thumb is moving over the side of your hand, down to your wrist and back again, slow and hypnotic. A few minutes later, your eyelids and limbs are heavy, the movement of Remus’ thumb the center of your focus as he tells you about one of the many scrapes his ostensibly reckless friends have gotten into over the years. 

“Seems like it’s working,” he says with a little smile. You blink, not having realized he’d finished his story. “How do you feel, love?” 

“Sleepy.” Your voice sounds stretched and lazy. “My arm still sorta hurts, though.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic tsking sound. “Unfortunately, we can’t make all the pain go away, but it will be a lot easier than it would have otherwise.” He trades hands, taking your hand in his other one and using the first to make sure your face is angled towards him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here with you.” 

Somehow, that makes everything seem a lot more manageable. 

[t0ast-ghost]

Here’s the scene: Patient is in the hospital for incurable mystery disease that House gets talked into taking by Cuddy. He enters the room only to see a man with brown hair and what appears to be a case of simultaneous headache and constipation standing over his patient’s bed muttering nonsense. House approaches the scene only to find out this man believes he is a psychic and that the patient called him because he believes he’s being attacked by evil spirits which have lead to him falling ill.

So, putting Shawn Spencer in the same room as Gregory House

Some unavoidable plot points are as follows:

- House will try and get Shawn removed from the hospital

- Shawn will pretend to be a doctor at one point (and probably break into Wilson’s office)

- House will break into Shawn’s office/home. “You broke into my house!? (To Gus) See what I did there?”

- House will be talking to or about Shawn and his apparent “psychic abilities” and drop the phrase “everybody lies”

- Gus and Wilson will have a chance meeting and discuss the hardships of colleagues, both exhaling long mournful sighs

- Cameron and Foreman are going to debate about if psychic’s are real or not; both thinking it’s bogus but Cameron believes a patient should be allowed any comfort they want where Foreman thinks all psychics are just conmen trying to get money out of the dead and dying (Chase chimes in that he thinks some are for real)

- Chase will get insecure and hate on Shawn and then Shawn will say something to spook him (probably something about his dad) and then will do a full 180 and praise Chase’s beautiful looks

- Lassiter is already there at the hospital but he won’t admit why (it’s to see Wilson cause he’s the best oncologist or smt)

- Jules drove Lassie here cause his car was in an accident after some teens broke and stole it. She ends up meeting Cameron and they actually become good friends because they both work well together but when Cameron finds out Jules works with Shawn she becomes a bit… skeptical (they still trade contacts after the episode)

- House proposes a procedure that is too risky, that everyone shuts down except for Shawn who can also see how it’s the right decision for the patient to live (even though Gus is very against it)

- End of the episode is Gus getting to use his pharmaceutical knowledge to figure out that the wife was having an affair with the pharmacist and so he was giving the patient medication that made him hallucinate (that’s why he heard and saw ghosts) while also shutting down his organs while not being seen on whatever tests they ran. Once being admitted into the hospital the pharmacist found a way to start working in the hospital and going under the radar enough to slip something into the patient’s IV bags. Shawn gives the big speech and House gives him a slow clap and then calls for everyone to get to work curing the patient.

Very end of the episode Shawn goes to say goodbye to House and they have a short exchange where House divulges that he knows Shawn isn’t a psychic which leads to Shawn saying,

“Maybe you are right; everybody lies.” And then he walks away.

[theelectriccat]

Waiting for my AO3 invitation since I deleted my old account. In the meantime, here's a short, one-shot fic I wrote called "Blood in Concrete". TW: for depression, drug use mention, assault mention, and a suicide attempt. Dead dove and all that. Mostly Robby and Jack Abbott (who I can't wait to learn more about).

The streets of Pittsburgh were being cleaned up. With a combination of the sodas (baking and club) most blood stains were washed out with little complication, but it was a different matter when it came to concrete. Some of the stains could never fully be washed away, especially with foot traffic pounding the evidence further and further down into its pores. 

Dr. Michael Robinavich finally had a quiet moment after a series of atrocities, from Heather’s miscarriage to Dana’s assault to the entire Frank situation to losing several patients to an incel in the making turned festival shooter. And on the anniversary of Adamson’s death. He thought about visiting Adamson’s grave, but knew that any last stitch he had holding him together was in danger of unraveling so, naturally, standing 100 feet above a huge city with nothing but bloody concrete to break his fall seemed like a much more logical alternative. 

Robby both loved and loathed the quiet. He loved it because it was such a rare commodity. His stomach was grumbling. He was running around like a headless chicken for such a long period of time that the one protein bar he had at 11 AM was barely enough to satiate him. However, he could feel the bile starting to rise in his throat and didn’t want to aggravate his stomach further. 

But he loathed it because the idea of being alone with his own thoughts was terrifying. His thoughts were destructive and hateful. “If I were a better doctor, hell, if I were a better PERSON, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst of Frank. I wouldn’t have dismissed Dana and McKay's very legitimate worries. I would have actually been there for Heather when she needed me. Adamson would still be alive.”

Adamson would still be alive.

Everyone was right in telling him that he should not have shown up today. He most likely did more harm than good. He balled his fights so tightly that he could feel his fingernails piercing his palm skin. There was a part of him, a slightly perverse part, hoping that he didn’t peel his nails into submission so he could draw just a little bit of blood. Just enough to remind him that he was still inhabiting his own body.

Robby felt footsteps behind him. The silhouette of Jack Abbott came into frame. It was Abbott’s shift now, and Robby left the man with a shit show and a half. 

“I called you twice,” Jack noted, but his tone wasn’t angry. It was one of concern. “Mohan advised me to check on you. She was worried sick.”

“Mohan?” Robby asked.

“I think she thought you were actually going to jump.”

Robby laughed humorlessly.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” he admitted, but Jack didn’t laugh.

“Mohan’s not the only one, Robby. I heard a lot about what happened today. Why didn’t you call me to scrub in?”

“Because you probably had your own 12 hours of hell. I didn’t want to—”

“Bullshit! You know, you’re inconveniencing people more by doing this.”

Now Robby could feel another emotion poking through the cloud of self-pity: anger.

“By doing what exactly, Jack? Being a doctor? Doing my job?”

“Ah yes, because sending home Dana and Collins and firing Langdon when you’re already short staffed and need as many hands on deck as possible is doing your job. Look—I don’t know what’s going on with you, but…”

“Okay, first of all, Dana quit. At least, I think she quit. She was getting abused by patients to the point where she just couldn’t take it anymore. I caught Langdon with drugs. I was following procedure. And I did ask him back when we were in a desperate situation. And not that it’s any of your fucking business but Collins had a miscarriage.”

There was silence for several seconds. That was not my business to tell, Robby thought, and he was right back to self-loathing. He advanced, starting to climb up to the ledge, when Jack grabbed him and tackled him for his own safety. Though Robby attempted to tussle, he was not in the right frame of mind, and going head to head against a former University of Michigan Wrestling Champion seemed foolish, especially since Jack lost not an ounce of that strength. All Robby could do was attempt to verbally spar, though even then he wasn't prodding as much as begging.

“Get off of me!” Robby demanded.

“No! Not until you promise me that you’ll never think of doing that again!”

"And what if I can't?"

"Then I'm going to keep you pinned until you do."

The two exchanged a look and Robby sighed, admitting defeat. Once Jack released him, Robby nodded and sat with his back against the wall. Jack sat beside him. He said nothing, but he leaned toward Robby in support. Robby felt tears pierce his eyes. If he had any stoicism left in him, he would have been able to blink them back and just blame them on hay fever if anyone noticed. But Jack wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t going to judge. Robby began to cry. No…sob. A sob so hard and full that he knew his ribs would start to ache.

“It’s all my fault,” he gasped.

“What’s your fault? I don’t see any of this being your fault.”

“It is. I ruin everything. I'm awful."

“Hey, hey…that’s my friend you’re talking about.” 

Jack sat quietly, giving Robby both the space and the support he needed. As he felt Jack’s hand squeeze his own gently, it was a little reminder. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but it gave him the nudge he needed to wipe his eyes, rise to his feet, and look back toward the door leading to the stairwell.

“I guess I should—”

“Go home and get some sleep, for God’s sake. Take tomorrow off. You didn’t take today off and you usually do. Consider it a…mental health day.”

“I…I couldn’t.”

Jack gave a wry smile.

“Unfortunately, we’re on my shift now. You don’t get to make that call. Go home. And…text me tomorrow to let me know how you’re doing.”

Robby took a breath.

“Doctor’s orders?”

“Yeah.”

Robby nodded as he made the trek down the stairs. Jack followed, and gave the staff a warning glance to avoid any hovering or meddling. Robby made his way to his locker. For a split second, he glanced at Frank’s. 

He had a lot of apologizing to do, but first he would have to take time to think about how to make it up to him. And he couldn’t do that in this spiraling state. Tomorrow, he'll be available to Heather. And he had apologies to make to her as well. Huge apologies with no guarantee of forgiveness.

He watched Samira Mohan pass him as she was grabbing her purse and water bottle out of her locker.

“Headed home?” he asked.

“Just about. You?”

“Yeah, finally.”

Mohan nodded.

“Good.”

“And I’m taking tomorrow off. Abbott’s scrubbing in. Pulling double duty.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised but relieved.

“Yes. You were right to talk to him. And…I’m sorry that I’ve been riding you as hard as I have. You’re a good doctor, Mohan…uh…Samira. And I should never have made you feel otherwise.”

She smiled.

“Apology accepted. But I can definitely think of someone who deserves a much bigger apology?”

“Who?”

“Yourself. You’re torturing yourself. And that’s not good for anyone. Take it from someone who knows.”

Robby couldn’t manage much more than a nod, but Mohan was satisfied as she started to make her way through the door. She was right, of course. He was letting blood sink into the concrete, and it was slowly killing him.

“Dr. Mohan?” Robby called, catching her just before she left.

“What is it?”

“Do you know where Kiara is? I…I think I might want to talk to her. I might…need to talk to her.”

Mohan gave him an understanding smile.

“I think she’s upstairs in the lounge.”

[renx01]

Playing Along - Part 1

Prompt: “Just play along, please” inspired this multiple part fic, in which agent Galahad and Kay are on a mission together in the French Alps. Here, they have to pretend to be a couple, despite the two of them being rivals and Kay always wanting to beat him at everything. Pairing: Harry Hart x Kingsman!Reader Fandom: Kingsman Tags/Warnings: fake dating, slowburn, rivals Word count: 2347

Masterlist

Harry and you have been sent on a mission together. While most of it is supposed to be gathering intelligence, there is a high-risk of having to kill some criminals to make sure they can’t spread word of your existence any further. Tonight is the first evening at the ski resort. The trip in and of itself wasn’t too eventful, Merlin flew the two of you to the French Alps, where you were picked up by a car and brought to the chalet you’ll be staying in. It is quite cosy, but still comfortable. It has two small bedrooms with a queen sized bed, a nightstand and a closet. You would have to share the bathroom, but that was standard procedure when it came to these sorts of missions. While Harry takes the room on the right, you take the one on the left and start unpacking your luggage. 

From the kitchenette you hear Harry’s voice ‘Tea?’ ‘Yes please.’ You call back out to him. Quickly, you put the last of your clothes in the closet, while you put your other supplies under the bed in their metal briefcase. Before walking to where Harry is, you quickly go into the bathroom and put your bag of toiletries into the cupboard. 

‘Do sit down, Kay.’ Harry motions you to take a seat and pours some tea into your cup. ‘Thank you Galahad,’ you sip your tea, ‘it’s lovely.’ He also takes a drink. ‘I always find a black tea and citrus blend warms one up quite well, especially in this sort of weather.’ His eyes shift to the window, yours following. A lot of snow had fallen the past week or so. ‘The predictions say it’ll start snowing again in two days.’ A surprised sound escapes Harry’s throat. ‘I’d hoped for clear skies, suppose we can’t have everything.’ He says matter of factly. ‘You only go skiing with good weather? I thought a bit of snow wouldn’t stop you.’ The teasing comment earns you a glare. ‘I don’t, however I do prefer some blue skies rather than grey ones that have snow constantly falling out of them.’ The agent scoffs.

Before finishing your tea, the two of you decide to talk through some of the plans for that evening and the upcoming week. ‘So we’re a couple? Or should we go another route with the story?’ He’s quiet for a moment. ‘I think that pretending to be a couple may be the most believable;’ his eyes divert, ‘especially considering that we will probably need to get close to other couples anyway.’ You nod. It wasn’t too unusual for you to play a couple when it came to missions such as this one, though it never went any further than some kisses on the cheek, holding hands, or having an arm around each other. Harry and you got along well enough, but there was always this underlying tension. He has always been favoured by Arthur and Merlin, probably partially because he has been a part of the Kingsman for quite a bit longer than you. Because of this, you always want to beat him, in whichever way possible. It remains unspoken, but you suspect Galahad enjoys it quite a bit. ‘The usual rules?’ You nod again. ‘Kay, you know I need more confirmation than you just nodding.’ ‘Yes, Galahad, the same rules as usual. No kissing on the lips unless absolutely necessary for our cover and no intimacy under any circumstances. Physical contact is to be kept to a minimum, holding hands or putting an arm around the other’s shoulder is fine.’ It was almost robotic as it came out of your mouth. ‘Good.’ He smiles. ‘Now, I was thinking we take the gondola up the mountain tomorrow morning around 9?’ 

The following morning you sat at the kitchen table around 8, a bowl of yoghurt and a cup of tea in front of you. Harry sits on the other side of the table sipping his tea as he waits for his toast. The both of you sit in silence until the both of you finish your breakfast and put on your glasses. ‘Galahad. Kay. Good morning to the both of you.’ Merlin’s voice is quite clear. ‘Morning.’ You mutter before Harry starts talking through the mission. Being more of a night owl meant that the early mornings which came with the job from time to time really weren’t your favourite. Pictures of some people flash before your eyes. ‘These are the targets. You’ll be pretty likely to interact with them either in one of the many ski huts or when you’re eating out in the evening. Try to befriend them in order to gain their trust and information.’ Merlin pauses. ‘So I’d like the both of you to avoid bickering in public.’ Harry looks at you. ‘Yes Merlin, I’ll try my best to not annoy Galahad too much.’ He scoffs. ‘It’s not that you annoy me, it’s just that you can be so incredibly incompetent at times, Kay.’ ‘As if you aren’t Galahad. Remember last year’s Christmas party?’ You retort. 

‘This is exactly what I’m trying to avoid here.’ Merlin interrupts you before you’re able to say anything else. ‘Look, the two of you are meant to be a couple. Act like it.’ The more annoyed the bald man becomes, the thicker his Scottish accent. The instructions were quite clear so you look Galahad in the eye. ‘Time to go skiing?’ Your voice drips in honey.

On the mountain itself, you didn’t speak to Galahad much, only discussing what slopes to take next and what off-piste routes may be of use if necessary. While both of you are quite proficient when it comes to skiing, Harry’s more old school, focussing on making those perfect turns and going at a steady speed. You, on the other hand, tend to show off from time to time, doing jumps or little tricks whenever you pass him. Around noon, you decided to have lunch together at one of the huts. This one had quite the amazing view of the slopes and nature surrounding it.

‘Je prendrai le croque monsieur avec un verre de vin, s'il vous plaît.’ Of course his French was impeccable. ‘Je prendrais les crêpes et un verre de vin, le même que mon ami, s’il vous plaît.’ While you had studied the language for a while, much more than ordering food wasn’t in your cards at the moment. Unlike most members of the Kingsman, or its candidates for that matter, you have not had a private education, meaning that you didn’t get much of an opportunity to learn foreign languages on a higher level. ‘You speak French?’ Harry asks you. ‘Not much, just enough to get by in restaurants and shops. I’d like to study it again in order to improve at some point in the future.’ He smiles. ‘It sounded pretty good, if you want I can teach you a little bit when we get back to the cabin? Before we go out for dinner.’ ‘Sounds good, thanks.’ You smile back. ‘Would you want me to teach you a few tricks in turn?’ Reaching out, he takes hold of your right hand and leans forward. ‘I don’t think I’m the type to learn tricks.’ He pauses and whispers. ‘Now, that couple at 8 o’clock is one of our targets. Let’s keep an eye on them throughout our lunch.’ The food arrives as he says so. He releases your hand and sits up straight once again. ‘Merci.’

The food was pretty good, the wine complimenting it well enough. After finishing, both of you order a cup of tea and sit in silence, enjoying the sun which finally came out from behind the clouds. You lean back in your chair, stretching your legs and closing your eyes for a moment. The cold air feels wonderful against your skin. You hear the chair in front of you move for a moment. Opening only one eye, you see Harry has grabbed a pocket-sized novel from his jacket and has started reading. Quickly, you close your eye again. It was quite comfortable like this, a last moment of rest before you’d have to go socialise and get close to the given targets. The current plan is that before you head back to your cabin, you'll visit an apres ski bar, as it’s likely you’ll meet more of your targets there and may overhear what they’re planning for the upcoming few days. There’s one bar which is particularly popular amongst the targets, so you decided that that would be the place to go that afternoon. But for now, you decided you’d just enjoy the peace and quiet.  After a few minutes, Harry closes his book. ‘I’ll be right back dear.’ You open your eyes and look at him, smile, and nod. You follow his figure with your eyes. It becomes clear that he’s following one of the targets into the bathroom, pretending on having to go himself. As you wait, you slowly drink some more of your tea, silently observing the woman that was with the target just moments before. You take a picture of her with your glasses and send it to Merlin and whisper, ‘Any idea who this is?’ His response is swift. ‘That’s Guilia Fontana. Her father is a quite well known criminal in Italy, I think she tends to be less prominent within his organisation. What’s notable is that she’s recently been spotted multiple times with our target Angelo Bianco, it seems they’re on holiday together.’ Shortly after confirming the information and asking a few more questions, Harry arrives, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek before whispering, ‘Good news, I know where we’ll have dinner tonight.’ You look at him confused. ‘Got a particularly good address from our friend, who’ll be eating there tonight as well.’ He smirks when he pulls away and sits down next to you, his hand resting on your knee. Had he not been a colleague you desperately wanted to beat at everything, you might’ve found this moment of closeness attractive, but considering everything, you were more annoyed that you didn’t discover it before him. ‘And what sort of food do they serve, love?’ The last word came out almost strained.

You spent a couple of more hours on the slopes before heading to the apres ski bar. During that time, Merlin informed you that he’d managed to get the two of you a table at the aforementioned restaurant. It was quite fancy, according to him, and it served mostly french food. 

At the bar, you go get some drinks. While ordering, a man moves to stand next to you. It happens to be the target Galahad had followed earlier in the day, Angelo Bianco. You aren’t too interested in talking to him immediately, but he starts up a conversation with you as you both wait. ‘Good afternoon, I think I talked to your man earlier today. What’s your name?’ ‘I’m Cameron, but you may call me Cam. What’s your name?’ You hold out your hand for him to shake it. ‘Nice to meet you Cam, I’m Angelo.’ He says as he takes it to shake it. ‘Likewise,  Angelo.’ You smile at him. ‘So what’s brought you here to France? Having a nice holiday?’ ‘Ah yes, me and my fiance are here on holiday, some of her family will be coming to join us in a couple of days. What about you?’ This was quite useful information, you’d have to try and stretch this as much as possible. ‘That sounds lovely. Me and my partner are here on a holiday trip as well, though we have quite different skiing styles, so it can be a challenge from time to time.’ He laughs. ‘I know what that’s like, Guilia only wants to take blue and red slopes, rarely is she open to going off the black ones. Park is never really an option either.’ This is perfect. ‘Yeah, Harry isn’t a fan of the parks either. I think it’s a mental thing of not wanting to jump or something. I’d love to check them out though, I’ve heard they’re pretty amazing here.’ Angelo’s eyes light up, exactly what you’d hoped for. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Harry approach as you continue talking to Angelo. ‘Ah hello Harry, how’s it going?’ The bartender finally comes up with your drinks and you quietly pay as the two men talk. ‘Cam and I were just talking about the ski resort and everything it offers. Perhaps we can meet with the four of us at lunch tomorrow, check out the parks afterwards? I heard you guys were new here so we could show you around if you’d like?’ Harry seems to hesitate, so you slightly nudge him with your elbow and join the conversation once again. ‘That’d be lovely Angelo, thank you for the offer. We’d love to have you show us around, maybe Harry and Guilia can watch while we do a few park rounds after lunch? I’ve heard there’s a hut that has a great view of it.’ 

While you secured the supposed “double date”, Harry didn’t look too happy; at least to those who are able to see through his pleasant mannerisms. After excusing yourselves, having had a couple of drinks with Angelo and Guilia, the two of you go outside. Turning a corner, into a dimly lit area, Harry grabs your elbow and angrily whispers, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Inviting us on a double date with some of the most well-connected Italian criminals? This was not a part of the plan Cam.’ The way he pronounced the last sentence was almost venomous. ‘Harry, this is our opportunity to gain more information than expected.’ You whisper back angrily. ‘It’s dangerous.’ He retorts.

‘As if everything else we do isn’t, Galahad. Just play along, please.’ You almost spit out the words before pulling your arm free and walking to your skis. You still had a dinner to attend later that evening after all.

[farfromstrange]

New Year's Day | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You recount your history with Matt and the highs and the lows of your relationship.

Warnings: Fluff, descriptive writing & lack of dialogue, mentions of blood, but this is mostly very tame

Word count: 2.5k

A/n: This One-Shot is dedicated to my bestie, @blackshadowswriter. I'm a bit late, and I'm sorry for that. It took me a bit to finish. I just want to tell you how much I love and appreciate you. I also know you love Taylor, so I thought "why not write a fic and use as many song references as possible? She's going to LOVE that!" You're my favorite person in the world and you deserve this. I love you. I'm all out of words because I'm anxious as hell about showing you this. It took me two days to finish. I wanted it to be as good as I could make it. I'm still not 100% sure, but I never am when it comes to giving gifts. I hope you like it <3 (This is also why I'm not tagging anyone else because this is a gift for my best friend and I intended it as such)

From the moment you bumped into him on the corner street of your favorite café, you knew that he was the kind of chance that would only come around once in a lifetime.

It wasn’t like you, at least not back then, to buy a stranger a coffee. And it was even less like you to give him your number afterward.

You had never been big on dating at that point in your life. You used to take things exactly the way they came to you, and dating never really seemed to fit into that narrative.

You preferred to lose yourself in your own world, a world where no one could touch or hurt you the way you’ve been hurt so many times in the past by people who claimed to care about you—people who claimed to love you, and in the process, you lost sight of the fact that there are still a handful of good people out there.

No one can blame you for thinking like that though. Your heart has been broken one too many times, and not just by broken relationships. 

Deep down, you craved to find someone capable of understanding all of you, not just the pretty parts. You almost felt pathetic for pretending you didn’t need it and still thinking that way.

But deep down, you craved to find someone who wouldn’t be afraid of sticking around, someone who would never leave you because life tends to get hard.

It seemed nearly impossible to find a person like that without breaking your own heart, so you decided to retreat into your shell. Better to keep your heart safe and protected than put yourself out there and be broken all over again, right?

Those stupid love songs on the radio and the endless romantic stories of your friends’ dating lives, however, fueled your need for the same kind of connection only a few songwriters know how to put into words.

You wanted to fall in love, find the right person, and heal. You wanted to figure out why love wasn’t like the burning red of sex and passion but golden, like daylight. A love living for. A love fighting for.

You felt so stupid, secretly pining for an innocent childhood dream that eventually got crushed after years of heartbreak, but that is what happens when someone becomes chronically lonely. You turned to daydreaming because at least in your head, your life could be perfect. Not just good, not just livable, but filled with love and happiness.

Truth be told, when you’re your own worst enemy and have an inner saboteur set out to destroy everything that could be remotely good for you because you truly believe you don’t deserve it, it’s hard to allow yourself to be open. So perhaps that is why you chose to lock yourself away and live in delusion instead. Not facing reality became standard procedure in your way of life.

You tried blaming it on your past, your broken relationships, and disappointments, and while that played a big part in your trauma, you also slowly started to realize that you might have been hurting yourself so you wouldn’t have to open up ever again.

In an attempt to erase all the problems, you became the problem. You became your worst enemy, someone chasing ghosts that stayed long in the past and only came back to haunt the living shit out of you. But that’s a survivable condition. 

You tried therapy, you tried turning your life around and starting anew, and while that helped you find a job you love, find a nice group of friends, and make peace with what’s been broken, nothing else seemed to change. 

You had barely started putting yourself back together again when you bumped into him. You were late for a meeting, so your focus was on your phone instead of the street before you.

It was your fault. He was just trying to make his way over the sidewalk, his cane tapping in a steady rhythm to make his way forward, and you stepped right in the middle of it. 

You remember him grabbing your arm, catching you before you could fall. He wasn’t even irritated. When you looked up in shame, seeing the red glasses and the came, you begged for the floor to open up and swallow you whole. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I wasn’t looking. Are you okay?”

But before you could go on a rant about your stupidity, he cut you off, and in the silkiest voice possible, he said, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Are you?” 

“What?”

“Are you okay? You seem in a bit of a rush. Don’t want you to accidentally bump into a car next.” He chuckled, adjusting his glasses. Blood rushed to his cheeks. “That was a bad joke, sorry.”

You just about melted. “It’s okay,” you found yourself chuckling. “And so am I. I was too focused on my phone. That was my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It happens,” he said. He was so calm about it, unlike other New Yorkers you’ve met before.

Maybe the fact that you found him extraordinarily attractive and easy to be around compelled you to ask if you could buy him a cup of coffee to make up for bumping into him, completely abandoning your plans to make it to your work meeting five minutes late.

He introduced himself as Matthew. A lawyer. Not one of those rich defense attorneys who simply do it for the money. No, he does it to help people, and you fell for him right then and there. 

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but that day, when you got home after work, his number in your phone and a stupidly giddy smile on your flushed face, you knew that you’d somehow been enchanted to meet him. 

You never believed in love at first sight until you bumped into Matt Murdock, but the second you did, your life flipped upside down and changed in ways you could have never predicted. 

It is possible that the song playing over the speakers in the café right before you bumped him played a part in how you perceived the interaction. You’ve never been one to believe in coincidences. Nothing is ever accidental, and neither was your meeting. It couldn’t have been. 

You found each other when you needed someone, anyone, both of you, and it stuck. Thankfully, it did. 

Summer that year was cruel with New York drowning in an excruciating heatwave. You’d been meeting up with Matt for a couple of weeks, but you didn’t have it in you to put a label on whatever delicate thing was starting to build between the two of you. You didn’t want to wrap your hand around it and accidentally shatter something you could see growing into something more in the future. 

He was unlike anyone you’d met before, and he treated you in a way that made you believe, finally, that you are worthy of love. Not just giving but receiving because Matt himself struggled to see his worth after years of being disappointed and being there for everyone but himself. 

Love is a fragile thing though, and you have never been quite good with fragile things.

After a night of drinking away your sorrows at a nearby bar, you made your way to his apartment. You took a cab, too wasted to find your way there by yourself. You remember that you were crying; you were miserable and loathing yourself for several reasons that didn’t even make sense to you then.

When you arrived there, you knocked on his door. You didn’t get an answer. Just as you started to turn around and make your way back outside, you could hear a thud from the other side of the door. Panic settled in. You didn’t even hesitate before you opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and made your way into the dark interior of his apartment. 

Finding your blind, catholic not-boyfriend in a pool of his own blood, wearing a leather-clad suit with the horns of the devil had not been on your to-do list until that night. Reality hit you just as fast and knocked sobriety back into your senses as the adrenaline started to take over. 

He let out a grunt. Your name passed his lips. He sounded so weak, so fragile, and you just stood there, your heart pumping too much blood for your body to handle. 

“What the fuck?!” you said. You didn’t yell, you didn’t snap, you simply didn’t know how to process this information. 

You were well aware of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen parading outside at night, beating up criminals and giving them a good fright��Matt did not fit the picture you had of the guy until you saw him lying there, obviously injured. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said hoarsely. He tried to roll over, but the pain turned out to be too severe. 

Needless to say, he passed out on you without a proper explanation, and you somehow had to use what little you could remember from first-aid to help this bleeding mess of a man. You feared that you would lose him that night, and that was when you realized that, on top of falling for him, you didn’t care who he was, you only needed him to live.

When he woke up to you hovering over him, he groaned. “I’m sorry,” was all he said. “I’d understand if–”

“Don’t talk,” you cut him off with a finger on his lips. You wouldn’t let him push you away. Not after everything you’d been through.

He tried to sit up. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s not exactly something you lead with on a first date. I get it. What I don’t get…”

“I didn’t lie,” it was his turn to cut you off. You remember looking up at him, and you heard him out. You had to. In your mind, there is an explanation for everything, and you were once again proven right at that moment.

He bared his life story to you, how he survived through tragedies no human should ever have to face. How he turned blind, how his senses heightened, and how he lost the one person he could always count on. When his father died, something changed in Matt. He tried to go straight, to do his father proud, but he couldn’t ignore this desperate need for justice forever. He felt cursed. So, he became someone who could make a difference, and not just as a lawyer.

He expected you to walk out, but you didn’t. You saw him for who he was, and you accepted him.

“I think I’m falling for you, and it scares the hell out of me,” you blurted out that night.

He stared at you, his unfocused eyes bewildered, his lips moving soundlessly as he tried to find an answer.

Just when you thought he would break your heart after putting your trust in him, he let out a shaky sigh and he kissed you.

He wasn’t ready to say it back just yet, but he spoke to you through actions that made you feel confident in what you were growing again.

You somehow already knew back then that Matt Murdock would be the man you one day would marry and spend the rest of your life with. 

The truth is, you two have been through a lot throughout your relationship. It hasn’t always been smooth sailing, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t worth it. 

From the moment you met him to the countless dates, sharing coffees over empty takeout containers, kissing in the rain, Daredevil, fighting over the beautiful women in his life that almost broke you, and fighting over his desperate need to push those away who only want what is good for him because he is own worst saboteur.

It all led you down a journey that turned out to be harder than expected and not at all the love story you envisioned, but it still turned out to be the best thing that has ever happened to you. He is the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

You used to run away from happiness out of fear of getting hurt, and Matt did the same. He feared to admit it, but then he met you and he finally realized that running was of no use because you were more than ready to stick around through everything. Through every disaster and heartache—through every broken bone, you stuck around.

You saw something in him from the moment you met that no one can ever take away. You got a taste of heaven from the devil himself, and even though he was darker than the sunshine you wished for in your life, you managed to find a way to bring some light into his life. 

You are sunshine, even on your worst days, and he’s midnight rain. But you love the rain. You love him. 

Your first kiss happened in the rain. He took your hand and asked you to dance, and you did. You danced to the sound of the raindrops pattering against the asphalt beneath your feet, and it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—Matt engulfed in the soft moonlight, his hand in yours, and a big smile on his irresistible lips. 

You want more of those nights. Even the nights you’ve had to patch him up or hold him as he broke down from all the weight he often enough carries on his shoulders, you want more of those. You want all of them.

You want him and all the strings attached to him, no matter how painful because ever since he can remember, people have walked out on Matt and hurt him in ways you can only fathom. You don’t want to be that person. 

He opened up to you. He decided to be vulnerable. He stood with you through everything and fought for you when you thought you two wouldn’t last.

He gave you his best smile and his tears, and he laughed with you every night that you waited up for him to come home safely. He quickly became the moonlight to your sun—it is a different kind of light, but it is a light that sustains you nonetheless. 

You want all of his laughter and never miss it again. You want his smiles. You want his tears. You want to spend every waking second with him. You want to miss him and welcome him back home after an agonizingly long night of worrying. You want to cheer him up in court and be his lucky charm. You want to wear his initial on a chain around your neck, in Braille, because he got it for you on your birthday. 

“I know I don’t own you,” he said to you, “but I love you. And I know you. I want you to carry me close to your heart the same way I’ll always carry you close to mine.”

And his, you are. You’re no one else’s but his, and even if that sounds a bit territorial, you don’t care. You want all of it and more because it’s Matt you’re talking about, no one else. Not a stranger but the man you love so desperately it hurts sometimes.

All the girls he loved before don’t matter because he’s got you now. You forgave him more times than he probably deserved. You held on when he barely had any strength left. In return, he has shown the same kind of devotion to you time and time again. How can you ever say no to any of that when you are so in love? 

All those memories replay in sudden flashing sequences right in front of your inner eye. You love him more than anyone has ever loved him. You pulled him out of a very dark hole. You saved his life. And he saved yours. 

As he’s kneeling in front of you now, your hand in his and clutching the small, velvety box in his other, your life passes by before your eyes. Your life alone and your life together. You recount every memory in a millisecond, too shocked to even comprehend what is happening. But it is happening. 

Matt Murdock is kneeling on the floor before you, the glitter, confetti, and sticky champagne someone spilled earlier most likely leaving a stain on his good dress pants, but he remains unwavering in his decision to open that little box and show you what he’s been hiding for a while. 

It’s a diamond ring, something he probably took months to save up for. It’s small yet elegant, and it’s staring right at you. He’s taken his glasses off to try and do the same. You would marry him with paper rings, that much is true. 

Matt says your name oh-so-softly. “Will you marry me?” Four words that stop your heart and restart it at the same time. 

He sees right through you. You see right through him. Even in your worst times, you were there for each other, and now he’s asking you to spend the rest of your life with him. Together. To give him all of your days and nights and he will give you all of his in return. He is asking you the question you’ve been wondering if he would ever ask it, and he did. 

The fireworks go off in the distance, in your stomach, everywhere. The new year has rounded the corner. People are cheering and celebrating around you, but you don’t pay attention to them. 

The clock strikes midnight and with the softest smile, you say, “Yes.” You don’t need to tell him that you would do it a million times over because he knows. He knows your heartbeat, and he knows that you would never lie to him. 

He doesn’t waste time to pull you into his arms and kiss you softly, passionately, as if both of your lives depend on it. 

It’s a bit cliché, to get proposed to on New Year’s Eve. To start the new year with the man you love and a ring on your finger. But that only means that you will still be together on New Year’s Day, and all the days after that. 

Matt chose you. You chose Matt. You chose a life together that is as unpredictable as they come, but at least you have each other to hold onto. 

And he will never be just the stranger that you bumped into in front of your favorite corner café ever again. You have him now. Maybe that was your plan all along. Maybe you are the mastermind he knows that you are. None of it was accidental. 

And now, Matt Murdock is yours. Forever and always. 

[katareyoudrilling]

The Sweepstakes: Marcus Pike Epilogue (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Porn Star Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Summary: Marcus invited you out for pancakes after you did your scene together, but where are you now?

Word count: 676

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: pornography, allusions to sex acts, clit play

A/N: This takes place after the events of The Sweepstakes: Marcus Pike so read that first!  I hope you enjoy what I’ve imagined here.  Thank you for all your support of this horny series. I am having too much fun (there’s no such thing) with it!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – link in bio or ask me to add you!

You squirm on the couch as you watch Marcus on screen.  His beautiful back is to the camera, a view you didn’t get to see that night, all firm muscle and golden skin.  You admire, as you do every time, how his broad shoulders taper to his trim waste.  Below is still covered by his jeans.

He’s eating you out, pulling wanton noises from your mouth as he thoroughly takes you apart.  Heat pools low in your belly as you vividly remember how it felt to have him between your legs.  You watch, breathing heavily, as you come apart under Marcus’s legendary ministrations.

The urge to relieve some of the pressure building in your center is almost too much to bear, but you know it will be so much better if you can just hold off a little longer.

You hear the door to the apartment open and close, followed by the thud of a bag of groceries landing on the kitchen table.

Your eyes never leave the screen.

“Again?” Marcus asks with a chuckle, walking into the room, completely unfazed by the sight of himself, now naked and having his cock sucked, on screen.

“You were gone all day!” you whine, writhing on the couch with the effort of not touching yourself.

Marcus shrugs off his jacket and steps out of his shoes.  “Can I help?”

You nod and scootch forward on the couch, leaving just enough space for him to snuggle in behind you.  It takes a bit of effort with how broad he is, but it’s so worth it when you sink back into his warm chest, and he wraps his arms around you.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers in your ear before placing a sweet kiss on your cheek.  You chase his mouth, but he pulls away.  “No, no.  Keep watching.”

You turn back to the recording.  Video Marcus is lining up his beautiful cock to fuck you senseless.

Couch Marcus slips his hand down your pants.

Your hips buck into his hand with the first contact, you’re so worked up already.

“So wet, baby, just from watching.  We do look good together,” Marcus rasps.

You moan in response, unable to form words as his talented fingers circle your aching clit.  On screen you climax again and Marcus dives into your pussy to eat you out while you come.  It’s your favorite moment of the video and you can’t help falling over the edge with Marcus whispering how good you feel in your ear.

As you come down from your high, you turn to snuggle face first into Marcus’s chest, pressing pause on the remote.  “You don’t want another?” he teases you.

“I do, but not right now.”  You kiss his soft lips and smile.  “How was your audition?”

“It went well, I think I got it,” he smiles bashfully, pink tinging the tips of his ears.

“Marcus!  That’s great!”

Marcus has a thriving porn career, but the reality is that it has a time limit.  So, he decided to diversify and has been trying to get more acting roles.

“Remind me what this one was again?”

“Well, it’s a 6-episode arc on a crime procedural.  I would play an FBI agent in the art crimes division—”

“Just like in your videos!” you interrupt excitedly.  Marcus often plays an FBI agent in his softcore movies.

He laughs.  “Kind of.  I would be the love interest of one of the main characters, but in the end, she chooses the other guy.”

“No one is going to believe that,” you laugh.  “You’re too handsome and charming.  Is your character a weirdo or something?”

Marcus laughs, “Not in what I’ve seen so far.  A little intense maybe.”

“Good luck to the writers explaining that away then.  I’m so proud of you!”  You kiss him deeply, melting into his plush lips and warm chest.

“Do you want to watch the rest of the video?”  He asks between kisses.

“Nah, I’d rather have the live show.  Let’s go to bed, Marcus.  I need to congratulate you properly.”

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

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – in reblog

[bump1nthen1ght]

Worship of a Maiden (F!Reader x M!Satyr)

Pairing: Fem!SoftDom!Reader x Sub!Male!Satyr

Genre: Established Relationship, Domestic, Fluffy Smut

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1361 words

Summary: Your lover does so much for his community, holds so much weight on his shoulders. It only makes sense that you’d take that weight off once in a while

Request: Hi there! I wanted to make a request for a soft femdom reader x male satyr please, if you're interested. Featuring praise, using his horns as handles during cunnilingus, and a titjob as a reward for pussy well ate. Thank you for your time.

On a long day of doing nothing, nothing hots better than an afternoon nap.Especially in your grove, where the sun hits it perfectly at its peak, warm yet not oppressive between the overbrush. The grass feels like a heated quilt against your back, the sound of fresh water trickling from the stream nearby.

You were only asleep for 40 minutes, just letting your eyes rest for a moment in peace. You’re half-awake when Lyterius starts kissing your neck, his stubble scratching against your jaw.

“Hello Handsome.” You yawn, arms stretching as your back arches. Lyterius doesn’t answer, instead nuzzling his neck into the gap of your shoulder and neck. Your hands find their place in his thick curls, rubbing gently into his scalp. “How is everybody?”

Lyterius groans, nuzzling deeper into your neck.

“The council still giving you trouble?”

Calling them a ‘council’ is a bit of a stretch, as the gathering of satyrs is more like a town-hall, with no official leaders or strict procedure, and a lot more wine and drugs.

Lyterius, as one of the older satyrs, often had to wrangle everyone together, make sure that the satyr's connection with nature and Pan was still flourishing. That the young ones weren’t getting too rowdy and forgetting their duties to the forest.

It was a heavy duty for a man who’d much rather be fishing and playing his banjo, a burden that wore him down.

You don't need a direct answer from Lyterius to know he was stressed, that he needs someone else to take the reins for a bit.

Your hands knot tighter into his hair, and kiss his cheek with force. He becomes like honey in your hands.

“Please…” Lyterius moans, “Let me taste you, mistress.”

“Such a polite boy you are.” You kiss the corners of his lips, pulling away as he chases you for more. He likes the chase, the temptation, even if he whines like a brat sometimes..

You shimmy backward on the grass, letting your legs spread and your linen dress fall to the side. Your pussy is bare, already beginning to slicken from Lyterius’s debaucherous gaze.

“Come here, baby. Serve your mistress.”

Lyterius falls to his stomach like a devout man of prayer, scrambling to slot himself between your thighs. His short tail begins to twitch and wag behind him, his calloused hands groping up your ass.

You let your head fall back to the grass as Lyterius takes a whiff of your heated sex, his body trembling as his tongue flickers out of his mouth. His first licks against your lips are soft, too soft. Your hands wrap around the edges of his curled horns and yank him closer to your cunt. A throaty moan vibrates your pussy lips.

“That’s it, dearest. Eat me properly.”

Lyrerius throws himself into his work, drinking your slick like it's an oasis. He licks a long, flat stripe against your clit, groaning as your legs clench around his pointed ears. He sucks on the nub like it's a fresh nectarine, soaking up your contented moans and the taste of your cunt.

By now you’re practically dripping, Lyterius diving head first into your walls with a strong thrust of his tongue. It undulates and pushes, trying to find the most sensitive area. His nose grinds against your clit, and you yank his horns back and forth so it rubs it just the right away.

Your core flexes as your head throws upwards, mouth open lewdly as you watch Lyterius please you.

“Good boy.” You purr, hands rubbing the base of his horns, one of his most sensitive areas. “You always know how to please me, baby. I’d think you were a priest of Eros himself from the you worship me.”

You can see Lyterius eyes rolling backwards from behind his eyelids, a pleasant shiver running down his spine. Another soft spot of his is your sultyr voice in his ear, whispering praises.

His tongue finds it was to your g-spot, thrusting and fucking it with fervor. You bite your lip, using your grip to hump against his jaw.

“F-fuck, that tongue.” You arch your chest, pushing your tits together. “You were made for this, made to be between my legs, to be my baby.”

Lyterius groans into your pussy, his brow furrowing. You notice the movement behind, the way he’s begun humping into the grass. He won't come without your permission, but the friction must be tortuous.

“I’m gonna cum.” You pant, chest heaving. Your hands yank more on his horns, slick bursting into his mouth. Lyterius doesn’t slow down, letting you rice out till completeion. “Fuck, Fuck!”

Your pussy spasms around his tongue, legs wrapping him in a chokehold as your body shakes from the orgasm, Lyterius still licking like a good boy. It's only with a push of your hands that he detaches, trails of your slick spatter around his jaw, his tongue stuck out like a dog.

You take a few seconds to recover, Lyterius pressing hot kisses into your inner thighs as your high slowly fades into embers. Your gaze lazily sweeps down to your lover, whose attention you catch with a pat on his head.

“You’ve been such a good pet, I think you deserve a reward.” Lyterius eyes light up at the word, arms trembling as you pat your chest. He scrambles up eagerly, but he is gentle as he sits in your sternum, trying not to be disobedient despite his growing impatience. His cock theaps against your chest, flushed with blood and leaking precum.

“T-thank you, mistress.” Lyterius pants, sweat and your juices beading his neck. He worries his lips between his teeth as you press your tits together around his shaft, the tip poking out near your jaw. “Thank you.” He grits, hips trembling with forced stillness.

“You may move, pet. This is for you.”

Lyterius wastes no time, planting his hoofs into the grass and gripping onto the side of your tits. His hands envelop yours, and his furry torso begins to humo into your breasts' warm embrace.

“Oh, gods yes.” Lyterius moans, his cock sliding wasily between your tits, aided by your sweat and his precum. “Your tits are incredible, mistress.”

You simply nod, more focused instead on the head of his cock, still dripping and only inches from your mouth. You’re feeling extra generous, and stick out your tongue so that his cock hits it at the peak of every thrust. His whole body shudders.

“Please, may I come on your face, mistress?” Lyterius’ voice trembles, brain scrambling from your soft tits against his cock. You smirk, tongue pushed out longer as you nod again. Lyterius whimpers with joy. “Thank you!”

His thrusts are sloppy, desperate in chasing that high from earlier. The taste of salty cum dabs on your tongue and you can feel him getting closer with each thrust. Heavy balls slap against your under-boob, tight and full of cum. Satyr’s always cum buckets, even with their near limitless stamina, and your pussy throbs at the thought of being covered in it.

“Thank you, th-thank you!” Lyterius yelps as his hips stutter and shake, his cock pulsing as a hot jet of cum flies across your tongue, almost reaching the back of your throat. You just keep smiling, feeling ropes and ropes of cum flood your neck, lips, and cheeks. Lyterius hooves dig grooves into the ground as he rides the crashing wave, falling to the side when he’s finally finished.

—

He pants into the grass, enjoying the lingering dew on his sweaty back and neck as Lyrerius falls to the side. He heats a faint giggle near him, the warm hand of his love patting his cheek. She grabs a handful of water and splashes it over her face and neck, washing herself and her hands before she grabs another and gestures it towards his mouth.

“Drink, my love.”

Water trickles out of the side of his mouth as he sips, barely able to lift his head off the ground. She chuckled again, then slides into his side. She traces circles into his chest.

Truly, what a wonderful maiden he worships.

[ignalina-c0re]

hello please tell me more about stall recovery procedures so i can scream about it thank you

WIP folder game

I love screaming about SRP, it's my babyyyyy <3 I think I haven't written longform since I was like, 14, so it's a biiig thing for me, my attention span doesn't usually last long enough :,D

I'm going to tell you about Holding Patterns, which is currently part 3 4, hopefully I don't come up with more bullshit in the meantime fjhíjskkjg It's a Rosie POV mostly about his developing friendship with Bucky through letters and phone calls.

It's gonna be a mixed media fic, with some of the bulk of it taken up by letters I'm making in photoshop, and postcards!!! Because in this 'verse Rosie travels around a lot to give speeches and demo flights and stuff, so he figures he might as well find some spiffy postcards to spice up their correspondence, and he's so right. Bucky collects them <3

Rosie also takes Bucky emergency relief clubbing in Chicago, because he's doing REALLY badly with trying to settle back into civilian life, and it goes... interesting

They take to the hotel's roof to dry out, both physically and metaphorically. They're both sweaty and more than a little drunk, and the roof access door only takes a little jimmying to open, and the glittering city skyline spreads open under their feet.

Bucky is smoking a cigarette leisurely, humming to himself, out of tune. Rosie's ears are ringing: he isn't sure if the high-pitched whine in his head is improving Bucky's humming or not. The half-empty bottle of coke he's rolling between his hands is soothingly cool on his fevered skin, damp with condensation.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of them, or as much silence as there can be in the middle of a lively city in the bleary pre-dawn hours. A little breeze shifts the heavy summer air, still warm this late in the day. Or this early, depending on your perspective, Rosie guesses. It definitely feels late for him: his muscles feel like jelly, his throat is raw and his head is fuzzy from both alcohol and tiredness. He's wrung out, but in a good way, and Bucky seems to be in a similar state: his shoulders are sagging, and his motions are sluggish, but his face is relaxed, if not a bit distracted; a far cry from the tense mess he was on the train on the way here.

Seems like Rosie still has a few good ideas after all.

"…So, you do this often?" Bucky asks, breaking the silence.

"As often as I can, yeah. Good way to unwind."

"Good for meeting people too, yeah?"

Rosie nearly drops the bottle at that.

"..what do you mean?" He stammers out after a too-long pause.

Is this where Bucky drops me for being queer? Was this a bad idea after all? His heart constricts. He had fun tonight, and he likes Bucky a lot, too much almost: his guard was way down.

But when he chances a nervous look at the other man, he sees no derision in his face, just a gentle sort of curiosity, and a slight puzzlement as he seemingly tries to piece his thoughts together.

"I mean… the after-hours crowd," he gestures vaguely with his cigarette. A piece of ash falls from the tip. Rosie just raises a questioning eyebrow at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "Is it really this easy, I mean? I usually take my chances in a bar or something, trying to mind-read the other fellas, but then sometimes I give the wrong guy the look, and get decked."

Oh.

"…I thought you were more of a ladies man?" He can't be saying what I think he's saying. Then again, there was his love for Gale, but that could go either way, could just be a very deep friendship. Rosie never wants to assume: assumptions like that get people hurt.

"I am, yeah." The grin that spreads on Bucky's face is rakish, and does nothing to quiet the frantic hammering of Rosie's heart. "I do also like a fella or two, when the mood strikes, but it's a bit more difficult to arrange, you know what I mean I think."

Rosie huffs out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Both ways, that's new.

"I do, and it is, for sure. You kind of… know people, who know places, you know? It's all very… underground resistance, I guess."

"Underground resistance!" Bucky barks out a laughter. There's still no tension in him, and he's still rakish and handsome in the underlit darkness of the late night. He stubs his cigarette out on the ground next to him, and immediately starts rummaging around for another one. "Do you ever go home with other… resistance fighters?"

Rosie can't suppress a snorting laugh.

"Sometimes, yeah. Mostly it's just making out in a dark corner or something, like teenagers. None of the… fighters want to be found out either."

"Sad reality, isn't it?" Rosie just hums an affirmative. "What about tonight, huh? That guy you were dancing with last, didn't you want to… you know…?

The guy Rosie was dancing with last was an absolutely captivating redhead, with an adorable smattering of freckles all over his face and arms, and warm chocolate brown eyes. He also had the disposition of a nervous rabbit, and on any other night, Rosie would have gladly taken him aside to distract him from his anxieties, but tonight, his only concern was Bucky.

Bucky, who was plenty captivating himself, eclipsing every man in the club that night.

"I didn't want to leave you alone." I would have gone home with you, and nobody else.

"Aw, here I am, ruining your dating prospects!"

"Nonsense, tonight was a riot, I wouldn't have missed it for anything!"

Bucky considers him for a moment, with an odd, inscrutable look in his eyes. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and blows the smoke out at the city. Rosie's eyes follow sharp curves of his profile; the long, pale line of his neck down to sweat-sheened collarbones disappearing into the half-open collar of his wine-dark shirt. He has to force his gaze away.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Bucky's hand on his knee.

"Why not take me home, then?" His voice is husky and seductive, and Rosie forgets to breathe. The hand on his knee is a firey brand, inching glacier-slow up his thigh, and scrubbing every single thought from his head besides pure want. He finds himself leaning forward just a little, and Bucky mirrors him, the scant space between them tantalizing and, suddenly, suffocatingly hot.

That way lies danger, Rosie's brain supplies, rational for once. As much as he wants to give in to his impulses, tackle Bucky to the ground and ravish him, it wouldn't end well. Not for Bucky, already teetering on a knife's edge between sanity and complete abandon; and certainly not for him and his career, his carefully cultivated barrier between a daytime life of duty and normalcy, and nights of nameless desire, lightning strikes of intimacy not allowed to touch daylight hours, lest they burn everything to the ground.

"I don't think you need that kind of complication right now," he manages to get out, somehow sounding perfectly normal and rational despite the rabbit-quick beating of his heart. He quickly straightens up, in an almost-futile effort to cool the fire licking at his skin and making a home low in his stomach.

Bucky watches him quietly. There's something dark in his eyes, something hungry and familiar; he blinks and shakes his head, and it disappears behind the drunken cheer.

"You're probably right." He takes his hand off Rosie's knee, and turns to stare at the city instead.

[lost-inthedream]

One night stand with SF9

Short headcanons

Pairing: sf9 x female reader

Warning: no feelings, just sex *shrugs*

Genre: smut

Bonus song rec: O, by OnlyOneOf

Youngbin:

Makes sure to take you to his place because he wants both of you to be comfortable.

Is slightly tipsy but seems to be trustworthy, especially thanks to his politeness.

Laughs so easily and kisses so good.

In his bedroom, he undresses you slowly so you can step back if you feel like it.

Thanks the stars you did not give up because the way he fucks your pussy while he kisses you is a present from heaven. He also, instructs you to moan for him.

Spoons you afterward and says you can stay for the night and have breakfast in the morning if you want to.

Inseong:

I know we are talking about hookups here but he enchants you thanks to his friendly aura. He snapped so many witty remarks between kisses and butt grabs.

Asks where you prefer to go for it because he does not have any strong preference, then you all end up deciding on an hourly hotel.

Fucks you a bit harder than you expected considering this is the first time you have sex. But forgive him, his cock is somewhat longer than average. He won't hurt you anyhow.

Likes to talk afterward and praises you for doing amazing.

Jaeyoon:

Making out with him in public is filthy as heck. You two need a room, otherwise you're gonna be arrested.

100% prefers a hourly hotel. This is his procedure not to catch feelings. He is a whore with a big heart (we can see it from his big tiddies).

Skipping to the hotel room, he fucks you against a wall before taking it to the bed. Semi-clothed sex because he is so impatient.

At least three rounds because your pussy is magical, according to him.

Almost sleeps thereafter, so you gotta remind him you are in a hotel.

Dawon:

He voices the most outrageous prophanities in your ear while you are at the bar. You KNOW he can take you right because he exudes those vibes.

Likes the idea of going to your place if it's possible. It just sounds more comfortable and tidy. Also, he can say goodbye whenever he feels like it.

He makes you ride his thigh on the couch, then he finally rails you on the floor.

May take a shower with you afterward as well as press you against the tiles before helping you clean. But definitely won't stay for the night.

Zuho:

Acts all mysterious while the two of you flirt for all to see. He is not really touchy at first but he might fix your blouse strap or anything. Also, he looks deep into your eyes.

Since he likes to talk about his works as a compositor too, he end up inviting you to see his studio. His intentions are clear though, it is getting late.

Zuho shows you his music tools while his hand traces up and down your hips. It goes like this until neither of you can take it anymore.

He does not give a fuck about that being casual, his mouth cannot stop kissing yours passionately. You all end up fucking while holding hands.

He wears you out so you HAVE TO sleep there.

Rowoon:

You already knew each other when he first approached you with that malicious smirk. He had never treated you like that before but you were not complaining.

Now you are at an after-party with a tall man who smiles at everything you say. "I could listen to your voice until the sunrise" he admits stirring his drink "Will you stay with me?"

You go to his apartment and have slow sex with him numerous times. Not in a row but you all have the compromise to stay awake, right?

He eventually falls asleep in the dawn, and so you do. Your bodies still smell like lust but you all will think about it later.

You keep on being just two people who know each other after all.

Yoo Taeyang:

He loves it if you come toward him. Taeyang makes clear that he is happy that you did the right thing. "I like cute girls with an attitude"

He is very discreet but is not scared of leaning close to your ear and asking to go to a private place with you.

He is fine with your place and definitely shows you another side of him when you get there. Taeyang is much more nasty than he looked outside. His large hands go straight to your butt cheeks once your lips connect.

In a second both of you get naked in the living room but he is fine if you prefer it slower. All his attention is on you and he boosts your ego with the way his dick gets hard in a split second.

He sleeps with you but wakes you up to say good-bye very early.

Hwiyoung:

The art of having you into him was built by him. I mean, he is someone you repeatedly meet on your way to work and he kept seductively staring at you as if you were a top model. He eyed you up from head to toe and apparently liked what you presented.

Once you started talking, he asked you out and there were you now: on top of his kitchen counter and aware that it was only for tonight. "You are so gorgeous" he reaffirms.

The way he eats you out definitely worths the awkward enconters that will follow it.

Hwiyoung's hold is firm yet calm, he makes you feel desired. The kisses are fluid and the orgasms, hard.

You wake up next to each other and he makes you breakfast.

Chani:

You don't think he has any second intention until he strikes a suggestive line after you say you need to go. "Wait, are you going without giving me a kiss?"

Okay, he was handsome but you have not suspected he was into you. You clumsily lean for a kiss on his cheek but he turns and clicks his lips on yours.

You do not give up on going home but he follows you toward there.

Let's be real, he might touch you inappropriately in the Uber, you and he make out in the elevator and you pull him onto the couch as soon as you enter your place.

He assures you that he is leaving afterwards but he actually dozes off naked in your bed and you have morning sex too. Then he goes home.

[mokagachas]

share with me your great wisdom of of snake gal and water gal for I have not played arknight is a bit

hm okay alright ( muses )

I’ll say right off the bat I’ve mentioned on this blog before that while I don’t dislike romantic ships by any means I find myself very rarely “shipping” characters by pure definition of the word I mostly just enjoy their dynamics and parallels and My Goodness ho’ol and mumu have that in droves with one another

The vast TLDR oversimplification of the two of them: Ho’olheyak and Muelsyse are the last/some of the last of each of their respective races, Ho’olheyak being the last of the K’uk’ulkan and Muelsyse of the elves. Both are long life species naturally, but Ho’olheyak has gone through a torturous ritual at a young age that all K’uk’ulkan go through where she is implanted with the memories of generations of K’uk’ulkan before her. The procedure cuts her life short, and while we don’t know exactly HOW short, its presumably not very long to go

Muelsyse and Ho’olheyak both go on quests to find out what remains of, or what happened to, their people. They both have rather different approaches to it, however, with Muelsyse holds out hope that she’ll find other elves still alive, going on a lone quest to hunt down what remains of them and ultimately discovering that yes, most have died out, partially due to their weakness to originium. Despite this, she herself stays in densely populated city areas and interacts with Infected people frequently, enjoying being a social person while also feeling agonizingly alone. Muelsyse is decidedly a Good Person.

On the flip side, Ho’olheyak almost agonizingly relies on using other people to get the information she wants, seeking less about the specificities of what happened to her race and moreso their purpose and affect. She infiltrates secret organizations, double and triple crosses whenever it suits her whim, and is an utterly self-serving person who has no qualms in committing atrocities to get what she wants- though this is not to be confused with commiting atrocities for the pure joy of it. She ultimately finds a “god” robot thing (long story) that more or less tells her that everything she’s been working for is more or less worthless and she doesn’t necessarily fall to despair, but she does become incredibly languid and passive, though she keeps her trade mark asshole-ish ness.

Muelsyse flat out says it in Ho’olheyak’s files: “We each have what the other lacks.” They’re characters that are Definitely built to be the inverse of each other despite having rather sparing direct interactions in events but being littered in each other’s files. It’s really interesting to me!

But while their long life parallels (or robbed lack thereof in Ho’ol’s case) and relationship with their ancestors are the most obvious connections to be drawn between them, what fascinates me the most is their social parallels and how their experiences have changed how they interact with the world.

Both of them feel incredibly alone in one way or another. For Muelsyse, this comes near to breaking her at times. Despite the people around her that she cares for, and who care for her, she has such a different life experience than everyone else that she feels a disconnect that cannot be bridged. Despite this, she does her best to form genuine connections with those around her, even if they fail to give her what she wants.

Ho’olheyak is alone and at least Thinks she doesn’t care about it. She doesn’t respect many people, if any at all. She shatters every possible connection she could have with a shrug, pursuing only what could benefit her and seeming impartial to what she does to have her way. She is alone yet clearly wants for more: why else would she be seeking for meaning in the K’uk’ulkan so desperately?

These are two people who have had such violently different lived, yet the closest either of them can get to finding someone who can even begin to comprehend the life they’ve led and the struggles they’ve faced is in the other person. They acknowledge to themselves that the other person share similarities, but have trouble crossing that final step due to how the other has acted is so contradictory to their personal motives.

They’re both drawn to and reject the other… I like it :)

[riverz-pawz]

Who wants to know the gruesome story I made up todayyyy? Welp. Here it is! (Takes place before they had numbing and stuff. For some reason it takes place in a morgue. Don't ask.) TW: GRUESOME DEATH, SHITTY DOCTORS, UNSETTLING STORY, DEREALIZATION, PROBABLY SOME ETC.

-I get a stabbing pain in my eyelid to my brain... Probably a lobotomy... They didn't numb anything... Didn't put me asleep. They didn't have the technology at the time... It's like I'm in shock... I know what's happening, but I can't fight it... Like I'm tied down... Ropes on my waist and arms and legs... But I'm not struggling... The ropes are like buckles... They're attached to the table... I'm not trying to struggle... This isn't making anything better... It hurts... They're cutting the nerve in my brain... It's a lobotomy...They left me here... Tied down afterwards... They're gonna go get psych meds... I should've tried to struggle at first... They don't know why I didn't... I know I should have... But I didn't... It still hurts... The nurse walked in... She said that she's sorry about what they're gonna do when they come back. She asked if I'd rather die after because she knows I'm in pain... She knows that they aren't doing this because it's good for me... They're doing it as an experiment... They wanna know if I'll stay still for another procedure... She keeps saying sorry... She's crying... The nurse tried to tell them no. They told her to leave. She's still crying and telling me she's sorry about what they're about to do...? They forced her out... They let her back in but forced her to not try to stop the procedure... She hugged me... She's sitting on the floor and holding my hand... My abdomen hurts...I lifted my head up and saw what they were doing. I put it back down and stayed still... I look down at the nurse. She kisses my head and holds my hand tighter... Those sick fucks... No, no, no... They took my baby... That's what they did... They took my baby and ripped out my uterus... After the lobotomy, they wanted to see if I'd stay still... I'm crying but I'm not struggling or being hysterical... I'm just softly talking and asking them to leave my baby alone and asking why they took my baby... They cremated my baby... It's gone... The nurse is crying harder and telling me that she's sorry... They stitched me back up... They covered me back up... I'm still cold... I'm just laying there in a hospital gown... The nurse didn't leave she's crying and holding my hand still... She got me a blanket... It's warm and softly weighted... Fluffy... She gave me a stuffie... It's a fluffy cat.. Basically the size of my baby that was cremated... She said sorry and told me to just try to pretend... That it was gonna be okay... That I won't hurt anymore after a little while... She's softly running her hands through my hair and tracing my face... Wiping away the tears that keep falling... I'm tired... So tired... It hurts... The nurse is crying and telling me it's okay... That I can hold onto the stuffed cat and sleep... All warm and comfy... She even softly moved me just a bit so she could put a warm blanket under me too...It's getting dark... She shut the light off and put on a soft glowing lamp... Comfy and an orange- yellow color... She's playing with my hair while one of her hands is on top of the blanket... Softly rubbing where my wound is... It feels good... I'm comfy and warm... With my baby... But wait, it isn't my baby. My baby is gone, it's a stuffed cat... But that's okay... It's warm and soft... I'm sleepy but I don't wanna sleep... I don't want to... I'm scared. She's singing my favorite song... Humming and speaking... I look around one more time and she shows me a picture of my husband and son... My daughter... The nurse tells me that it'll be okay.... They'll know what happened. She doesn't care if she loses her job... She'll tell them...I'm crying and so is the nurse... She tells me to try to rest... That it's okay and I can sleep now... I close my eyes... I breathe and fall asleep... I'm gone... I'm dead... But at least it was warm...Little Ghost's story, please don't steal. Tag me if you repost. :]

[brigdh]

I used to write weekly reviews of what I was reading and post them to tumblr, but then I fell out of the habit. However, I did manage to finish some books last month, and maybe you will enjoy reading my thoughts?

The Centre by Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi. A thriller set in modern-day London. Anisa, a Pakistani immigrant from a wealthy family, dreams of translating great works of literature, but is stuck doing the subtitles on Bollywood movies. Her white boyfriend Adam speaks eight languages fluently, perfectly, like he was born to them. At first Anisa is only jealous, but then she learns that Adam is hiding a connection to the Centre, a mysterious organization that promises to teach anyone any language in only two weeks – for a price. And, well, who wouldn't be tempted? But visiting the Centre is only the beginning of Anisa's uncovering a whole host of secrets, as she meets and grows close to the Indian woman of her own age who runs the place; she and Anisa fall instantly into a close friendship which reveals some of Anisa's own missing pieces.

Anisa is a fabulous character – sympathetic and self-centered, unreliable and occasionally awful, trying her best but so often (like most of us) just justifying her own lack of action. The writing is fantastic, compelling and funny and sad and precise. Right from the first page, I had trouble putting it down.

The mystery of how the Centre does what it does is obvious from fairly early on, but I didn't feel like that was a problem. The drive of The Centre isn't so much about answering the question of "how?" but that of "what now?" Knowledge (of a language or of anything else) is power, but access to power is complicated by race, gender, sexuality, class, age, and so many other factors, all of which come into play. Anisa – and the other characters, and readers ourselves – want to remake the world for the better, but can she do so by using the tools of the powerful? Or would the act of using their tools change her into just another copy of them? The Centre doesn't answer these questions (and to be fair, how on earth could a single novel do so?), but the way it raises them and the dilemma it poses to Anisa is just so good.

Hugely recommended, and I can't wait for Siddiqi's next book.

Gilded Needles by Michael McDowell. A historical thriller set in 1880s New York City, focused on the rivalry between two families: the Stallworths and the Shanks. The Stallworths are upper-class, respectable, and include a judge, a preacher, a would-be politician, and a fashionable hostess of ladies' committees. The Shanks are sordid criminals, and include a fence, a prostitute, an abortionist (which, you know, I don't have much of a problem with, except that she cares less about her patients actually surviving the procedure and more about getting paid), opium addicts, and lesbians. They come to one another's attention when the Stallworths decide to lead a 'clean up the slum' operation to boost their own political prominence, which unfortunately happens to focus on the Shanks's neighborhood and ultimately causes the death of three of the Shanks. Black Lena, matriarch of the Shanks family, seeks revenge, and vows to kill three of the Stallworths in return.

This novel is better categorized as a thriller than as horror, which is unfortunate because I wanted something scary to read for Halloween. But despite that, it's hugely compelling, a real race of devious motives and sinister plots and squalid historical detail. Not a single character in the book is remotely likable, and despite their outward differences, the Shanks and the Stallworths are united in finding the very concept of morality irrelevant and laughable. The Shanks come out ahead as slightly easier to root for because at least they seem to like one another, whereas the Stallworths hate one another as much as they hate the poor, the unpopular, and the pathetic. Gilded Needles is a bit like watching a reality show, where everyone is terrible but you still have a great time throwing back popcorn as they tear the competition to bits.

A ton of trashy fun in a historical setting? My very favorite kind of book.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Adventures in Herps

Where I live is pretty good herp habitat.

For those less zoologically inclined, herp or herptile is a kind of zoologist catch-all term for reptiles and amphibians lumped together, as opposed to birds, fish, mammals, or any other odd vertebrates you might have lying around.

(Some very odd indeed. Tunicates, anyone?)

In some ways, it’s a decent way to lump things. Both groups are cold-blooded and similar in appearance, a lot of habitats, and often how they make a living (eating things smaller than them, mostly). Plus when you’re grabbing something hopping/squiggling/scampering along, you may not have a good enough look to identify exactly what it is, so you’d better know a bit about both.

(Yes, there are snakelike amphibians. Check out caecilians. Some of them provide “milk” to their young!)

So where I live I get to see a lot of things hop, squiggle, and flash their throat flags (anoles!) around the year. This has its ups and downs. Ups, in that I get to hear and see a lot of small living things that I know won’t hurt me, which is soothing to the soul. Seriously, even a huge skink that could take a bite out of your hand doesn’t want to, and would much rather wriggle under the building wall to hide out. Likewise the garter snakes; I once ran across, at night, a garter snake not too much more than a foot long, meaning it had just recently been born. (Ovoviviparous, they are.) It was much more interested in getting out of sight and possibly finding a tiny frog than bothering a human!

Downsides... heh. Well. When you live in good frog and toad habitat - and I have an ephemeral pond right nearby, so yeah - things can get noisy at night. The Electric Sheep are particularly persistent. But there are a few other hazards, particularly if you have a car. If you hear treefrogs calling at night, or you know there are treefrogs in the area... it’s not a bad idea to pick up a small stick and run it under your door-handle before you open it. Trust me, stick your fingers in once with a clammy frog trying to hide out there, and you never forget it.

(I know someone who has to keep clearing treefrogs out on a regular basis because they like to get into the nooks around their pickup truck doors. Operating procedure: pick up stick, then open door and scoot stick around, hopefully to get any frogs to hop out instead of inside the cab... and out, so they don’t get squished if you close the door!)

Lizards can also be a problem this way because anoles in particular like to hang out in the windshield wells. Don’t ask me why. They just do. Meaning every once in a while as you’re heading down the highway at the double-nickel there’s a lizard on your windshield, and that is Very Distracting.

...Don’t worry if they get blown off. Like squirrels, they hit terminal velocity so fast that the fall won’t hurt them. So long as they don’t get squashed, it’s a perfectly viable way for them to hitch a ride to new territory. Still. Very. Distracting.

On the other hand I did get to shoo a fair-sized green anole off someone’s plants the other day so it didn’t end up inside their car, so hopefully he’s having a good day now instead of screams, shouts, and a car crash. The look on said person’s face as I just let the anole run over me to safer, non-being-bought plants... heh!

(And yes, he. Females have a stripe, he didn’t. So it was a guy being a guy. ;) )

[trainsinanime]

Over the past two weekends I watched the two big movies that society collectively forgot in the wake of Barbenheimer: Indiana Jones and Mission Impossible. And let me tell you:

Yeah society was right. You don’t need to watch either.

What I find interesting is how similar both of them are. I don’t just mean the superficial stuff, like similar multi-party car chases, the addition of an English thief who has way more charisma than the aging lead, or a train sequence where the exact same Scottish Museum railroad pretends to be the Austrian alps.

(Although talking about that: I like Haley Atwell's versioning the English thief more than Phoebe Waller-Bridge's. That may partly be leftover affection from Agent Carter, but she really is that great. Mission Impossible also has a lot of Alfa Romeos in its car chase through Italy involving a Fiat 500, which means it wins by default. Even though the heroes repeatedly eschew a perfectly good Alfa Romeo 159 there in favor of some boring BMW in an obvious bit of sponsoring. The trains are mostly similar; the paint scheme in MI is slightly better but the Pennsylvanian signals are weird. I could talk more about the train there but the important thing is that I got tired of watching train cars fall down a bridge after the third one.)

But the main thing that unites them is how tired they seem. They try desperately to woo us with ridiculous implausible MacGuffins, exorbitant stunts and returning old actors. But neither of them actually has much of a story to tell. They try to make things personal for their main heroes, but ultimately it’s just the same procedure as last year or last decade. Neither movie has anything to say, they only hope to woo you with their brand names. To be fair, that did work on me, but that doesn’t mean it was a good idea on my part.

There is arguably a wider discussion to be had here; I feel very similar things about John Wick 4, a movie where several characters repeatedly say, „this movie is pointless“, or the mess that was James Bond „No Time To Die“. Make no mistake, John Wick 4 is by far the best of them, but still.

Anyway, the family members I wanted to watch Barbie with have night shift this weekend, so I can’t see it yet, but I have no doubt that it’s more interesting. If you want you can wait for Indy and Mission to come out in streaming, but I can’t even really recommend that.