#someone's probably already done it but oh well.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I was in a car accident yesterday (car took most of the damage, I’m ok other than bruises and sore muscles) and the whole thing has been a whirlwind of insurance and hospital and half asleep crying. I was wondering if I could request James potter x reader for comfort in a situation like that? I’m going through it rn lol hope you’re having a good day :)

Oh I'm sorry lovely! I had a very similar thing happen a little over a year ago, it's sooooo exhausting even when luckily no one is seriously hurt. Thanks for requesting, hope you're having a good/better day too <33

cw: past car accident, no details but talk of general aftermath of police questioning, insurance, etc.

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

The way James half-jogs up to the automatic doors of the hospital, seeming caught between walking and running, feels like someone is pressing down on the bruise of your chest. You wish you’d called him sooner. 

“James,” you call as he comes in, hating how your voice cuts through the taut quiet of the waiting area. It’s worth it for how his whole self softens when his eyes find you. 

He slows to a fast walk the rest of the way to you, the urgency slowly leaving him—which is appropriate, there is no urgency, everything has happened already—like an engine running out of gas. You stand as he nears, and both of you reach for each other before James hesitates. His hands stop midair, his brow tightening for a moment, before they come tentatively to your elbows.

“Hi,” he says, squeezing. “How bad is it?” 

“For me or the car?” you joke. 

“You.” James is feeling too earnest for joking, it seems. “Well, both of you. But you first.” 

You really thought you’d cry when you saw him. Worried you’d make a whole scene, blubbering and inconsolable, but you don’t seem to have any tears left. It makes sense, you suppose; you’ve cried a lot in the past few hours. First the slow, shaky kind right after getting out of your car, and then a real cry when a police officer had pulled you aside to get your version of events. (It had been embarrassing. She’d been nice about it, though.) Now, you wait for the tears to come, but for all your relief at seeing your boyfriend you feel rather dried up. 

It makes you wish, once again, that you’d called James sooner. You’d wanted to, of course, but you’d been nearly certain you’d be even less capable of holding yourself together if he were there, and there wasn’t much reason for him to be anyways. He was at work and you weren’t terribly hurt, so there was really nothing he could have done while you were talking to the police and the tow company and the paramedics and attempting not to drown in an overwhelm of insurance information. The only thing you really wanted him for was to hold your hand.

“I’m okay,” you say, the necessary preface. “A bit bruised up. My chest got the worst of it.” 

Unconsciously, your hand comes to your sternum as if to demonstrate, gravitating towards the center of the ache. James’ hand follows, seemingly just as thoughtless as it covers your own. He can’t see the bruise, but he makes a low, sad sound anyway. 

His care softens your voice. “They said my neck will probably hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t yet.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds really, truly heartbroken for you. “And the rest, it hurts a lot?” 

You shrug. What’s a lot? You know you could’ve had worse, much worse; still, you could do without that frightening soreness that comes with each breath. 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. “I could still hug.” 

It’s the question he’s been dying to ask, clearly. James’ arms are around you in a second, ardent but still gentle, palms pressing to the high and low points of your bag. It’s a good hug. You melt a little against him. 

James tucks his face into the side of your neck, like he’s trying to get as much contact with you as he can. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.” 

“You were at work.” 

“I’d have left work.” 

“There wasn’t anything you could do. I was fine, I just had to…” a little sigh escapes you, exhaustion creeping in now that he’s here “...talk to people. Insurance and all that.” 

James makes a soft, half-agreeing sound. His thumb strokes the base of your neck. “Still. I could have held your hand.” 

A new ache rises in the back of your throat, coming to join the rest. You wind your arms tighter around James. 

After a few, silent moments, he kisses your neck chastely and loosens his hold. “Ready to go home? Anything else you need?” 

You shake your head. “I’m signed out,” you say, so eager you feel like you could float out the doors. You hope you can entice James to lie in bed with you when you get home. You think you’ll sleep until tomorrow. “Let’s go, please.” 

“Alright, you don’t have to say please, sweetheart.” James curls an arm around your shoulders, pressing a smile into your cheek. “We can go. You need one of those wheelchairs for me to take you out to the car?” 

“Ha ha,” you say drily. “No.” 

“Just checking. Think maybe I ought to ask for one, just in case?”

“James. I will take your car home without you in it.” 

“Alright, lovie, I’m coming.”

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror.............Part VI

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length in a later part)

Summary: Letha looks out for Caracalla. Geta plays healer and they are interrupted, oh so rudely.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of blood, 18+ only

Word Count: 2.9k

Part 6 of 13?

[ Part V ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hope you like this! There's just something about a reserved, yet teasing Geta. I can imagine it so well. I don't think I would be able to rein myself in. I would probably already have been killed, honestly.

“I do love it when they flood the Colosseum,” Caracalla confided, leaning over to where Letha sat at his side, sharing his wide chair. He was hardly sat in it anyways, constantly getting up to lean over the ledge, watching the sharks as they circled in the water. She had hardly spared a look Geta’s way since his dismissiveness that morning. Besides, she had a new job now. 

She didn’t know what she’d do if there was a reprisal so soon, but she could try her best. It wasn’t as if she had any choice. She tried to ignore the pain radiating from her shoulder. No thought was given to her pain by anyone around her, so she said nothing of it. She wasn’t sure what could be done anyway, and she wasn’t about to ask Caracalla for some of his supply. She didn’t like the way it made her feel.

“Do you like the games, Letha?” Caracalla asked, leaning back in his throne, quite close to Letha. It didn’t bother her. But it would probably be an entirely different story if it were his brother instead. Just imagining it made her feel foolish. At least this time she could blame the heat on her state.

“Not particularly, Emperor,” she admitted.

He grinned. “Well, I think you’ll like this one. You might recognize some of them.”

Something about the way he said it struck her as particularly mean, despite his innocent tone. As if it didn’t occur to him that she could be distressed at that fact. And she was distressed. Though most of them were prone to act out their baser impulses, there were a handful that still knew how to behave around a woman. She hoped she didn’t see them here today.

As the boats appeared, any effort to converse with Letha was abandoned. She watched Caracalla react to the promise of bloodshed much like any other Roman she’d encountered. With unabated glee. He was childlike, but there was nothing innocent in the way he cheered for every fallen man, every spray of blood. He didn’t cheer for any particular side, he cheered for the violence. She now understood what Macrinus told her. That he was bloodthirsty.

And the sound. The sound. She grit her teeth, attempting to hold in the way she wanted to react to the fighting as it crashed all around her. She was dangerously close to getting lost in her memory. She could just barely begin to make out her home in the distance, the trees behind it on fire, when–

The impact of the arrow hitting the wooden post of Geta’s throne shook Letha out of her spiral. Her hands were on Caracalla in a heartbeat, seizing the shoulders of his robes and hauling him down below the wall of the Emperors’ box. Her shoulder screamed in protest at the sudden motion and forced a cry to leave her throat as she bashed it into the floor.

It was followed soon after by fearful noises coming from the smaller Emperor. His hand gripped her forearm tightly and she could tell he was on the verge of panic. As the guards moved in she helped him get up, keeping  a hand on his back to press him lower to prevent him from being an easy target as they fled the box. 

Once they were inside the innards of the Colosseum she eased her hold on Caracalla. She still stayed firmly at his side just in case someone thought to take advantage of the chaos. She had lost sight of his brother, annoyed with herself at the stab of concern that surfaced at the thought of his safety.

“This way, Emperor,” General Tegula instructed, gesturing to a small passage just behind him. Caracalla paused, feet planted in the flow of Praetorians and senators as they moved briskly past them to the public exit. “Emperor Caracalla?”

Letha moved around him, eyes searching, trying to figure out what was wrong. He looked a lot like how she’d felt back in the Colosseum before the chaos unfolded. Trapped in her mind. Terrified.

“Emperor Caracalla, we have to go back home,” she soothed, talking to him like she might a small child. “I’m sure Dondus would like to know you’re safe.”

“Where is my brother?” he asked, light eyes swimming with unshed tears. 

“Through here,” Letha explained, pointing to the doorway behind her. “I’m sure he is so worried about you. Let’s not keep him waiting any longer,” she smiled, holding a hand out for Caracalla to take.

“Hurry,” Tegula pleaded, urging them on through the passage. 

Caracalla finally gripped her hand and she gently tugged him along behind her through the descending passage, her other hand holding up the hem of her skirts so she didn’t stumble in the low light. She didn’t have time to think about the pain in her shoulder. She would check the damage done later.

Seeing light at the end of the sloped walkway, she prepared herself for the bright sun. Guards waited there to usher them to the safety of a waiting carriage. She gently held Caracalla back, stepping into the carriage first to check the occupants. She could feel him keeping a grip on the skirts of her dress. 

Sticking her head in, Letha locked eyes with a stressed Geta. “My brother?” he questioned, reminding her of her new responsibility. She reached down for Caracalla’s wrist and pulled him inside, moving aside so he could step past. The twins relaxed at the sight of each other, unharmed. 

Letha sat down on the firm wood bench closest to the opening as her adrenaline finally abated, the flaring of the pain in her shoulder now radiating down to her elbow. 

The two men sat beside each other, Geta listening intently as Caracalla relayed the horrors he’d just experienced. It was an intimate look into their relationship, one Letha suspected almost no one got to see. Though they were the same age, Geta was far and away the older brother out of the two. A natural protector. She could see genuine comfort in Geta’s face as Caracalla’s panic eased into a frustrated rant at the games being cut short. 

Letha nearly slid down to the floor as the carriage began to move, quite quickly at that. Her quick reach for something to grab onto caused her to groan, her hand reaching for her shoulder. 

“Are you alright, Letha?” Caracalla asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, holding her hand out to urge him to remain in his seat. The last thing they all needed was him hitting his head on something.

“Letha, you’re bleeding,” Geta spoke.

She was confused. 

“Your hand,” Geta urged, concern in his eyes. 

She turned her wrist and was confronted by her palm, stained with blood. She reached for her shoulder despite the throbbing pain and moved the fabric aside, realizing that the cloth covering was soaked through with blood. She let out a frustrated sigh and desperately hoped she hadn’t ripped any of the stitching. She didn’t think she would survive another visit from the healer and his needle.

Geta kept his eyes on Letha, unable to help himself. Even after they arrived home and she led Caracalla back inside, she still put aside her discomfort to follow his brother to his chambers. As Caracalla led her down the hallway, Geta could hear her assuring his brother that she would visit the healer as soon as he was safe in his rooms. It stirred emotions in Geta that he wasn’t prepared for. 

Under normal circumstances it would be him leading Caracalla back to his rooms, easing his concerns after such a stressful day. How Caracalla didn’t have an outburst at any point after the stray arrow lodged into the wood beside Geta’s head, Geta couldn’t say. It had been a while since the last one, and Letha had not yet experienced a true fit. She shouldn’t be so good at it, but she was. It was undeniable. 

Geta felt uncertain. With his usual responsibility to his brother taken up by Letha, he was left with nothing to do. He supposed now was as good a time as any to visit the bath, to truly relax and make the most of his free time before dinner arrived and he had to host their guests. An exhausting responsibility, one he wished he could delegate to his brother. But alas, his brother surely didn’t want it either.

His conversation with Macrinus had eased his concerns about her. Slightly. He had been lured in by her initially, and was captured by her show of violence, but the idea that he could become a target of it gave him enough pause to back off. This softness she had for his brother, however, warmed him right back up to her. He wanted to speak with her, to tell her he was grateful for her protection of his brother. To tell her she could never leave them now.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Emperor, but I still don’t know my way around this place. Where is my room?”

Geta looked up and felt almost startled by her presence, as if his quiet thoughts had summoned her. “Letha…”

“Yes?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

He forced his distracting thoughts out of his head. “Shouldn’t you be looking for the healer?”

She glanced away, down to the marble floor. “I’m not eager to find myself at the mercy of that needle again,” she admitted. 

Geta smiled slightly, mischief blossoming in his chest. “Come with me.”

She looked up sharply, confusion in her eyes.

“I’ve tended to a great many wounds,” he explained. “I can check on it at least.” 

He could see the questions she wanted to ask, could almost hear them asked in her voice. No matter how pleasant, the implication of them would still cut deeply. He didn’t want to discuss it and hoped she wouldn’t push it.

“I don’t want to take up your time, I’ll go see the healer,” she excused, stepping back. 

“But you don’t know how to get there,” Geta teased. A flutter passed through his stomach at the sight of her eyes narrowing. “Come,” he grinned, “I’ll show you around.”

She let out a sigh before taking a step towards him, her hands gesturing ahead as if to urge him to start walking. He didn’t need to be told twice, holding her gaze for a moment before turning around and strolling deep into the palace.

Letha couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare move as Geta’s ringed fingers hooked under the fabric over her shoulder. She could feel him staring her down as he lowered the strap, revealing the deep maroon-stained bandage. She figured he probably liked this, her unwilling to meet his eyes, floundering quietly beneath him. She felt like she was back in that warm room, shrinking under the weight of his teasing. 

His fingers pressed at her tender skin, making her wince. He lifted the bandage up off the wound. The pain forced her eyes shut as she bit back the groan travelling up her throat. It stayed stuck against the stitches, the dried blood holding firm.

“Hmm,” he paused, “water,” he muttered, leaving her side. She allowed herself to look at him now, watching him as he approached a table across the room where fruit and pitchers sat, waiting to satisfy any urge he might have for sustenance. He returned with a cup of clear, refreshing water. 

She looked up at him, having reached the threshold of quality time with Geta required to be comfortable. She found herself slowly getting used to the weight of his presence. It could be dangerous. 

“Do all Emperors receive the training of a healer, or just you?”

The corner of Geta’s lips quirked up at her effort at banter. “I’d hardly call it training. I can summon him if you wish,” he offered, meaning the healer.

“Do you have a needle over there?” she asked, glancing over at the tray placed on the small side table pulled up to his hip. She did find it highly curious that Geta, of all people, would have these things in his rooms. She didn’t think it was appropriate to ask why.

He wrung the scrap of cloth out slightly before pressing it to her shoulder and the stuck bandage. “No.”

She winced, but tried to hide it, for his sake. “Then I think I’ll be okay in your hands,” she answered.

“My hands, hmm?” he teased.

Her face grew hot at his suggestive tone. “That’s not what I meant.”

He let out a chuckle, unable and unwilling to hide his amusement from her. “It’s hard to know for sure, you know.” He pulled the bandage away, leaning down to inspect the wound and make sure the stitches were still stuck tight. He was relieved to find that they were. “After our prior encounter, I can’t assume you to be wholly innocent, Letha,” he grinned.

Letha turned her face and met his eyes, alarmed to find just how close he was. His grin stayed stuck firm on his lips, his warm brown eyes fixed on hers, until, for just a split second, they dipped lower, to her lips–

She looked away, her heart racing. Surely not. Surely he was just being kind, thanking her in his own way for her efforts to protect his brother. There could be no other motive. She wouldn’t allow herself to consider the alternative.

“So shy,” he teased, returning to his full height, perusing the contents of the side table until he found what he was looking for.

“Or maybe you’re intimidating,” she shot back, stilling as his fingers returned to her skin, gently smoothing a fresh bandage over the wound, loaded with some sort of healing poultice. She felt her wound grow cold for once, instead of angry and hot. It relaxed her.

He got low again, his face near hers as he pressed the edges of the tacky cloth down on her skin as gently as he dared. “Do I intimidate you, Letha?”

She met his warm, suffocating eyes. He was in control, had her right where he wanted. Where she wanted. She couldn’t lie to herself. As much as it went against everything that brought her here, she couldn’t help the way he made her feel. It was so unlike the reaction she had to anyone else. She wasn’t supposed to like him, she was meant to hate him and his brother, but with every moment spent in their presence she just felt more and more at ease. 

“Yes,” she admitted, her breathing unsteady, those snakes making themselves known again, swirling around inside.

She was a traitor. A traitor that let her eyes fall to his full, pink lips, watching as they parted slightly before he began to smile.

“Emperor Geta,” a soft, cloyingly sweet voice sounded from somewhere behind him. 

Letha again turned away, sliding out from under his fingertips. She hurriedly pulled the strap of the dress back up over the wound, ignoring the stinging as she sought to get as far away from Geta as possible while she still could. The interruption served as a rogue wave, washing icy water over her, putting out the heat Geta had brought forth. Drawing her ire.

Something close to fury overtook Geta’s features. It wasn’t directed at Letha. He quieted it before turning around to find out who saw fit to disturb him in his chambers.

“Lyra, I did not send for you,” Geta spoke, seemingly surprised.

Letha wanted to leave the room, reminded of their relationship instantly as Lyra brightened under his gaze, despite his tone.

“I heard about what happened, I just wanted to check on you,” she smiled, ignoring all signs that she might have interrupted something. Letha thought it was probably intentional. She wasn’t stupid. Or blind. “There’s still time before dinner, so I thought…” She didn’t need to finish her sentence.

“Excuse me,” Letha finally spoke, wanting to be anywhere else than in the presence of the tall Emperor and his lover. She strode for the doorway Lyra had just passed through, trying to remember Geta’s directions as they walked the halls earlier. 

“Leave me,” Geta ordered Lyra, a bit cold. Letha left the room before she could hear any more.

As she retraced their path back to where he said her rooms were, her face burned. Embarrassed, she pushed through the door quickly and fell back against it, forcing it shut. 

“Fool,” she scolded. “Absolutely stupid, stupid.”

Her rational mind returned now that she wasn’t suffocated by Geta’s aura. She needed to get a grip on herself, fast. She couldn’t allow herself to get entangled with him. What would happen when he realized she was sent there with a purpose? That the man she’d killed had been paid by the man that owned her? It wouldn’t matter what she might feel for him. It would be her death. Even now she was descending into a well, every moment spent not killing the twins was another board being laid over top, hammered in harshly.

If she wasn’t going to kill the Emperors, she had to come up with a solution to Macrinus. If he knew she wasn’t going to complete her task, she would surely be top of his list to be murdered with all she knew of his plans. She was in more danger than she knew how to handle. Would the Emperors ever forgive her for her choices, for considering their deaths? She expected not.

[ Part VII ]

[theocddiaries]

Rouge: Come on, Abe, it's not that bad. The boiler was twenty years old, it's normal that we have to replace it. Abraham: That's not the point, Rouge. I've been here as long as that boiler, and I'm twice as burned out. Rouge: Oh, please, you're just saying that because you had to chip in and you're in a bad mood. Abraham: No. I'm too bored to even get mad anymore. It's the same thing every day. You don't believe me? What time is it? Rouge: Around noon. Abraham: You forgot your lunch, didn't you? [Rouge hisses.] Abraham: Aha. That means your brother is about to storm in, swearing up and down that he won't cook for you anymore because if you're going to be that ungrateful, you might as well spend money at the cafeteria. And then he'll leave, slamming the door. Rouge: Well— [Shadow enters without knocking and throws the tupperware at Rouge like a frisbee.] Shadow: Here, choke on it. I'm done. Tomorrow, you eat at the cafeteria, because I'm not coming here every damn day to see these miserable people just because you can't be responsible with food I went through hell to cook for you. [storms off, slamming the door] Abraham: And that's just round one. Now, he's so pissed he forgot to ask you for the visitor's pass he needs to leave. That is, unless he punches a hole through the wall, which, honestly, I'd appreciate, because at least something different would happen. Rouge: Oh, come on, Abraham. Shadow is mad at life itself, and the only reason I don’t forget my head is because it’s attached to my body. Anyone could’ve seen that coming. Abraham: Okay, then. Now, Topaz is going to show up late with an excuse that involves two relatives and a vegetable. [Topaz comes running, knocks on the door, and opens it, her face red and panting from the sprint.] Topaz: Hello, Commander. Uh, sorry for being late, but my cousin's rabbit got loose, and her mom and I were chasing it all over Square with a carrot. Hehe, well, I'll get to my post now. [leaves before they can say anything] Abraham: And now, you'll hear Rockwell yelling because someone ate her brownie, only to realize she already ate it herself and then blame everyone else anyway. Rockwell [from the break room]: Where the hell is my food?! I am SICK of nobody respecting ANYTHING in this damn pla-- Oh, wait, I already ate it. I came here for a napkin… You guys are driving me crazy! I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore!!! Abraham: And now you're going to tell me I'm just having a bad day and that I need a hug. [glances at her] [Rouge lowers her arms, scratching the back of her head] Rouge: Well, uh… look, if a job like ours has monotony, that’s a good sign, isn’t it? Abraham: Probably. But that’s not what’s getting to me. The worst part is that nobody here gives a damn about what happens to me. [Abraham gets up, looking downcast, and opens the door, stepping aside just in time for Shadow, who indeed came back to ask Rouge for the visitor's pass.] Shadow: Rouge, please, give me the-- [looks Abraham up and down]: Abraham, are you alright? Abraham: It's none of your business, gossip. [walks off] Shadow: Hope your day gets worse then, asshole. Rouge: That’s one habit I’m getting sick of too…

[craftexchange]

Hi! I’m not someone who normally like, sells or talks about my crafting too much, but this is such a cute idea! Plus, I just learned to knit socks, and I would love the chance to practice more.

The yarn would be what I used for the left hand photo, a reasonably thin multi-strand maroon/blue/white. (I’m low on sock-weight yarn right now because I haven’t done socks before this year, but I unraveled a sweater I never wear (90% acrylic, 10% polyester, machine wash cold and dry on low) so I have plenty of this.

You would just have to tell me 1. Length you want for the ankle (not like, knee or thigh-highs, please, just like your preferred height for a normal every day sock, excluding heel) 2. Circumference of your ankle or calf (depending on sock height obviously) 3. Length of your foot from heel to toe, and 4. Which kind of a heel you want (the left-hand sock is a German short row heel, which you can’t see well with that yarn but is very neat looking and similar to what you find on a store-bought sock. It can be kind of narrow, though. The right-hand sock has a heel flap and gusset with instep decreases, which is common on handmade socks, and from what I’ve read often is more comfortable for people with larger or wider feet). If you have an opinion on how long you want the ribbed (cuff) part of your leg to be you’re welcome to tell me that as well.

It’s been taking me a little over a week to knit one pair of socks, I’m knitting a pair right now, and I have one more lined up after this, for an idea of timeline. For full transparency the two pairs of socks pictured here are both pairs of socks that I have ever knit (not including the unfinished ones on my needles), although by the time I knit socks for any exchanges, I will have knit four pairs of socks, lol. They will be quite simple like these, no cabling or anything which wouldn’t show up well with the yarn I have anyway. But I can put little white accent stripes on them like I have here if you’d like!

Oh, I suppose I could also make amber and pearl earrings:

For some reason I can’t find other pictures in my camera roll even though I have done a few of these. Ignore the tarnish on the hook lol, this one is mine that I’ve worn a lot, obviously I have bright and shiny new hooks for strangers. I would just do whatever sort of design I felt like, but you could tell me if you want something fairly simple like this with just two or three beads or something fancy. It is real amber and real pearls, I have a whole little bag of each plus those little baby manufactured pearls at the top (still “real” in a sense- they’re made of mother of pearl, so it’s like, pearl stuff, just ground up and shaped more precisely into a nice round shape) and as you can see each one is going to be a little bit different but I do match the size and shape as best as I can for a pair of earrings.

I could probably do, idk, up to 4-5 trades? 4-5 of each? Earrings I can knock out in an evening whereas the socks take a bit of time, as I’ve said. I’ll ship within the US.

ISO: nothing in particular? Am I allowed to say I’ll just accept trades that interest me without having specific parameters as to the type of craft? My tastes in most things, clothing/accessories/art/decor/etc tend towards vintage. I like 40s-50s (mostly femme) fashions, and antique furniture. I like plants and outer space and retrofuturism and sci-fi, I garden, I sew. I try to be environmentally conscious in my purchases and use of resources. I like art and fancy pretty things and useful trinkets, but not so much knick-knacks and tchotchkes (well, I do like them, but my surfaces are pretty cluttered already).

OP: @alagaisia

[iinterstellars]

" ─── hypothetically if someone came with only a cut and some bruises... i don't think them sleeping would be too much of an issue... " he replies in a soft voice, reassuring still only since it's obvious she's still worried about him. the water bottle comes in like it was sent by god himself, he uncaps it quickly ─ maybe a little too fast, but he's at least mindful enough to actually drink it in small sips; even though he wants to do the opposite. he's already embarrassed himself enough in front of her, doesn't want to add choking to the growing list of unsightly things he's done today. he drinks about half of the bottle in one swig before capping it again and setting it down next to him on the bench. " i hope so too, i don't think i've ever done it actually... stitched myself up i mean. " there had NEVER been the need before after all, he wasn't accident prone and even if at any point he'd gotten hurt then... he'd go to someone else, but here, he's the only one capable. which is a little bit scary to think about but... he doesn't get the time to dwell on it. defne's gentle hands are on him, warm and soft; it stops him from thinking. right at that same moment he looks down and, well, this positioning isn't any better than what he was trying to avoid, is it? she's still kneeling down between his legs, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that make his heart feel like leaping out of his chest. he blinks once, then twice; trying to remember what's the last thing she said. something about broken ribs? oh. " well... without x - rays, you just gotta see if each side of the ribcage moves the same way while breathing deeply, in any case... if i have a broken rib there's nothing to do but letting it heal naturally. " the words come out a little rushed, and he suddenly feels thirsty once again, and even though it's not exactly water what he's craving he settles for it and takes the bottle in his hands again. quickly uncapping it and drinking slowly until it's all gone. it allows him enough time to gather himself. " uh... well, there's not much to do here other than... exercising... " he admits with a sheepish chuckle, looking away from her just to keep his mind for wandering; the way he was sitting would definitely make his body betray his thoughts and he did not want that to happen. it was mortifying to even think about. " yeah... probably just a bruise. it only hurts when i breathe in. " or when i move too fast he thinks but, well, these are things he can live with. nothing life - threatening. good.

" we can get you water . " she breathes out , eyes moving back over to where the guard was moments ago . she doesn't know what thomas having a dry mouth means . surely nothing serious . maybe a dry mouth can be just a dry mouth . defne's eyes look back up to him . she's noticing his sentences are starting to drift off . he sounds tired , like he could fall asleep , and that makes defne feel like she has to start worrying again . " hypothetically , if someone came in to the clinic with a cut on their head , all bruised up . . . them falling asleep would be a bad idea, right ? " she double checks , imitating his wince as he presses the gauze to his own head . " be gentle . " defne almost sounds like she's scolding him for his own heavier hand .

she leans back on her haunches , just as the guard reappears , handing her the small plastic cup of water . she immediately hands it to thomas . " small sips . " she's heard him say the very same thing to countless others . PREVENTS CHOKING , she can hear his voice in her head , the easy , measured way he'd move around and instruct at the same time . thomas is the picture of calm and level-headed . briefly , tonight ( although it seems like longer ago ) , she swore she almost saw a different part of him . more cheeky , more open . tipsy . fun and silly . her heart picks up its pace once again , and defne works to busy herself just as he awkwardly reaches to unbutton his shirt . he struggles with one hand and defne doesn't really think before she scoots closer again and helps him unbutton the few last ones . she hasn't helped someone take off their shirt in a long while . " hopefully you won't be stitching yourself . " defne might pass out if it came to that , but she decides not to say that .

as thomas' shirt falls open , defne's eyes immediately find the decent-sized bruise on him . she inhales sharp through her teeth . her hand reaches out and the pads of her fingers gently skim over the discolouration . " how . . how do i tell if something's broken ? like a rib or something ? " defne asks , eyebrows knitting together , unsure . she looks up to him and seems to startle herself at the positioning . he's spread back , legs apart , shirt open , all muscle and ridged skin , her hand on him as if it belongs there yet simultaneously SHOULDN'T BE TOUCHING HIM . oh . she struggles to swallow . defne clears her throat a bit too loudly . her hand falls away from his bare skin . " since when do doctors have 8-packs and muscles , anyways ? " she injects her voice with classic defne blase-ness , although she feels heated and sweaty from looking at him in this state of undress . " my doctor didn't even brush his hair , sometimes , i swear . the apocalypse really raised the standards for you guys . " she needs to shut up, but she's trying hard to act normal and not think about his muscles . her on her knees . thomas' bare skin . DEFNE EXHALES AGAIN , FORCIBLY . " the bruising doesn't look that bad . " she says instead , finally .

[calvins-creations]

The nefarious anglerrr

(Click for quality, tumblr sucks) Original Pic under cut

[milkywayes]

GARRUS VAKARIAN: DATABASE IMAGE ACCESS. > PT. 1 : 2160, 2166, 2170. > all files backdated according to user preferences: (terran_coordinated.calendar).

[werewiire]

[the-count-and-the-raven]

I had an idea

[experimentaldata]

“he should be at the club” “she should NOT be at the club” they should both be at the public library

[nadoodles]

had a revelation and made this in half an hour. is this anything

[starsshiningabyss]

This wouldn't leave my head, so take this low effort scribble lol

[prussianbluevanilla]

[hamlet-not-hamnet]

pov you’re a royal guardsman preparing to shoot some revolutionaries and this is what you see

(aka that one meme but make it enjoltaire)

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[cowboyfatgum]

Man I haven’t been here in a minute but uh, Mammon and Lucifer as Deadpool and Wolverine

Thank you for your time <3<3