#stomach cancers are not even close to the only ones that could potentially go on for a lifetime w treatment

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

Headcanons for the greasers x s/o who flinches when they raise their hand in a fight

Tw: Angsty ig, light potential violence, slight abusive

Ponyboy Curtis

-you two were arguing about his smoking again

-you really hates when he does it, and he does it too much

-so you express that one night when it’s just you two having dinner at the Curtis house, Darrys still working, and Soda is out with Steve

-“You need to quit smokin so much Ponyboy! It’ll kill you!”

“I can’t quit y/n, yk how I get without my cancer sticks, y/n, just lemme have one more!”

-soon it turns into a bigger arguement, and you both get into each others faces, yelling

-he raises his fist, not thinking, and pauses when he sees the fear in your eyes

-he feels immediately sick to his stomach, at the thought of scaring someone he loved so dearly

-as you run out of the house he yells “W-wait! Y/n! Y/n! I-i ain’t mean to I swear!”

-he feels horrible and definitely breaks down on his steps crying a bit and soda and carry find him there ask him what happened

-he explains and they exchange looks, and they make him go apologize

-he comes to your house with flowers and a handwritten apology, getting ready to leave them at your door when you open it

-before you can get a word in he’s already rambling “Y/n I-I am so sorry I would’ve never actually hit you, I hope you know that I’m so so sorry please don’t break up with me but I understand if you w-“

-you hug him

-“Ponyboy Micheal Curtis if you ever raise that fist again-“

-he never does

Johnny Cade

-it’s so hard to imagine him actually doing this

-I feel like the only way you’d get that kind of reaction out of him realistically is hurting his friends

-but for the sake of the hcs let’s say you both get into a fight and you try getting in his face or sum and he pushes you back, a lot harder then he meant

-you slam into the wall

-with tears down your cheeks, you always thought Johnny was your safe person, the last person on earth who would hurt you

-it wasn’t really about the pain, it didn’t hurt that much. But the fact he did it

-for Johnny, his world just shatters…. He just did what he swore he’d never do… lay hands on you

-he drops to his knees in shock at himself, feeling the worst pain imaginable looking at your wet eyes, your… scared eyes

-he knows that look so well, the one he’s had so many times himself and he feels his heart rip out when you run away from the lot

-in canon it takes a LOT to make him cry and this does it

-he cries in his hands, he can’t believe what he just did

-feels the worst out of all the greasers ☹️

-he lets you come to him, he doesn’t go to you, he wants to give you enough space from him

-when you come back and meet him at the lot his stomach does a flip

-“Y/n I didn’t mean to push you that hard I swear I wouldn’t ever hurt you I’m so sorry I’m just like my old man and ma…. I don’t ever wanna hurt you I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry….”

-practically drops to his knees before you

-you look at him, sighing, it’s impossible to stay mad at him

-you look him dead in the eyes as he gulps

“Johnny Cade you best never lay a finger on me again in that way y’hear?”

-he never comes close to doing that again, and even months later apologizes

Sodapop Curtis

-him doing this is so ooc like johnny lmao so it’s hard to protest and I think he’d again only ever do this if you attacked pony or sum

-you’re frustrated with him, he’s smart, dammit! Maybe a little slow, but when he gets things he gets them!

-and you really wish he could see that

-you both have enough collective money to push him through college to get a better job than a gas station

-and even if he is happy, he could be happier

-you both get into another arguement, and he grabs your arm, pulling you closer, and you squeal a little as your arm turns red

-he turns to you and meets your eyes, dropping your arm instantly

-you look at him in bewilderment and… fear as he starts

-“Y/n c’mon now please, wait…”

-but you’re out of that house faster than lightning

-he immediately goes to your house with flowers, and some jewelry that he’s been saving up to buy you

-you open the door “Soda, you can’t win my affection back with a half assed smile and-“

-he cuts you off with a sheepish grin “I- I actually intended to win you over in a different way…. Like an apology. I’m so sorry. I-After Sandy… I just can’t lose you too, to something so stupid. I’ll never do it again.”

-he is a man of his word

Darry Curtis

-one day he comes home, already tired from work and sees you there, crossed arms

-he forgot your anniversary… again

-he tried to apologize and you interrupted, furious

-he shoots back, arguing he can’t remember because he works all the time and actually does something with his life

-you get furious at this remark, and yell up in his face and he shoves you, (pb Curtis style 💀💀😭)

-you sit up, looking at him with tears because hell yes getting abused by Darry’s muscle mass hurts

-you look so scared and when darry meets your eyes his jaw drops, and he tries to apologize but you’ve already ran out of the house

-you head home and he comes to your door the next day, and the next

-your relationship takes the longest to heal

-about a month later you let him in and he’s mostly quiet, he feels horrible

-he lets you tell and scream at him and take out your anger, just so he can at least let you get it all out before he tries to apologize

-“Y/n I-i am really sorry. Sorrier than I ever have been in my entire life. I made one of the biggest mistakes I ever have and I am real sorry.”

-you stand up, and let out a teary sigh “if you ever lay another hand on me again I will leave you faster than you can’t count to three DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

-he nods

-it takes a very long time to repair your relationship, but once you do, he never lays a finger on you like that ever again

Dallas Winston

-one night, he gets a bit drunk and a girl kisses him

-you get mad, and see the whole thing before he pushes her away with disgust

-you think he cheated and yell at him about it when you both get home

-you both get HEATED and get in each others faces, this is definitely the most fast building fight

-he raises his palm up, nearly hitting you but taking a pause when he looks into your alone angry eyes, now with a layer of fear

-for a look the he’s used to getting so much his way, this hits differently

-he drops his hand, and looks down at it then back at you, and immediately tries to apologize

-“C’mon y/n I wasn’t actually gonna hit you you know that stop making such a big deal out of it-“

-you run out and he actually feels badly

-he won’t ever approach you first, he waits for you to come to him

-“Dallas Winston you NEVER do that again. Please.”

-he nods, and even, for the first time, apologizes sincerely

-he doesn’t ever do it again

Two Bit Matthews

-you two were joking around when suddenly he cracked a joke a bit too close to home

-you told him off and annoyed, he argued back

-pretty soon it was a full on fight, and he grabbed your hand and raised the other one

-you looked up at him “Two… were ya gonna hurt me?!”

-he snaps out of it, looking at you and instantly pulling away

-“Y/n, I’m so sorry… I-i don’t know what came over me. You know I couldn’t do that.”

-he looks into your eyes genuinely and you pause

-“Never again?” “Never again, promise.”

Steve Randle

-he left Ponyboy out of another hangout between him you and soda and you were mad, you knew it hurt Ponyboy

-you bring it up to him and he immediately deflects and rolls his eyes

-after a while things get pretty heated and he snaps, and grabs the collar of your shirt

-you gasp, and look down then up at him, and he looks at you, confused then guilty

-he looks at you as you back away “Y/n…… don’t be like that… I wouldn’t- I couldn’t-“

-you run out of the gas station and sit under a nearby tree, your head in your knees

-he runs after you, and squats down next to you, looking you in the eyes

-“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I know never do that to you. I’ll never do it again.”

[piffany666]

Ok just one more punk progeny won't hurt~

Chapter 4: the sun

TW: this Chapter contains purposefully induced PTSD flashbacks, self harm and smoking if any of these topics make you uncomfortable I recommend you scroll to below the red line, past this line is after the potentially uncomfortable situation ends.

Ftm trans Bright eyes (he/him pronouns)

Bright smoked as he sat on the roof of the solaire mansion.

Not so long ago he renounced smoking and demoted himself to vapeing but he made the compelling argument of 'its not like vampires can get lung cancer' besides, when he exhaled smoke protruded out of the bite holes in his neck and to him that was a compelling enough reason.

As he exhaled, the memories he'd made over the last few hours played in his head.

He did have a lot of fun with Vincent. It did feel good to hang out with another vampire that wasn't Sam, Fred or just some guy he met at a bar because his friends sucked.

So....why was he here?

He looked towards the horizon as he took a drag of the cigarette, in the direction of Wonder World.

The sun was creeping almost menacingly over the horizon but Bright had some time to kill before the sun came out of hiding.

He had a good day. He had found someone to talk to besides Tanker that truly understood him.

So why. Was. He. Here?

He asked himself again, eyes still attached to the horror movie set of a place he was made in.

Finally he closed his eyes, allowing the smoke to coil around him.

He remembered everything....he remembered everything as if it happened only yesterday.

The way the excitement melted away into dread and horror as the skull of Quinn's last victim rolled into view.

The way Fred ran, the way Bright lingered on a little longer than him.

Fred may have begun running before him but Bright was faster and it wasn't long before he overtook him.

Somewhere along the way Fred had fallen behind.

It was a good thing Fred told him to keep going because he probably would have kept running anyway and Fred would probably hate him even more than he already dose if that had been the case.

At least that's what Bright told himself.

Bright's heart rate began to increase so he instinctually took another drag.

He kept. On. Running.

Eventually the sound of his best friend's voice got quiet, whether or not it was due to distance or the fact that he was dead wouldn't be known until later on.

Because of this, Bright allowed himself to slow down. How many worst mistakes of your life can you make in one night?

Until eventually he heard a sound that could only be described as "woosh" and he was knocked to the ground along with his breath.

A low groan came from him before the ability to breathe was put into question.

Then HE appeared.

At first he was just a silhouette then his features became visible as he grabbed Bright's wrists and dropped his knees onto his stomach and chest.

He could still hear his voice...

"You should have listened to your friend little mouse~ didn't anybody tell you not to stay out late

On Halloween?~"

Bright scratched at his neck as if to swat him away, but he wasn't there.....all he did was reopen the wound.

The cigarette fell from his lips and onto the roof where he held his knees in his hands.

Nothing he did NOW would change what happened THEN so the memory played on.

He continued scratching at the bite mark as the situation played out in his head, desperately trying to get through the memory of the second most painful experience of his life.

Whether it was the blood loss or the sophistication, eventually everything just....stopped.

The pain....stopped.

Exept there was no breath left in him to let out a sigh of relief.

For what seemed like forever but upon looking back what was probably only a couple minutes, Bright just layed there, body numb from the feeling of nothing.

It felt....nice

Like he never had to feel any kind of pain ever again, physical or otherwise.

But then like a defibrillator to the neck, he was jolted back to semi consciousness.

He wouldn't describe himself as awake but he could see what was happening to him, his best friend, the one guy he least expected to hurt him in any way, in the same position as his killer,

Sucking at the bite mark left by him.

Bright felt himself wince as what was left of his bloody insides were slurped up into Fred.

When Fred's mouth left Bright's neck, Bright assumed it was over so he let himself go numb, which only made it sting more when Fred ripped his own neck wound and lowered himself so it flowed like a fountain into Bright's mouth.

At first he began spluttering and choking but then he gave up on struggling and allowed himself to drown.

He couldn't speak at the time, he knew that, but in his mind he heard himself screaming at Fred to stop and that he didn't understand what he was doing

But he knew he wanted him to stop.

But he did not waver till there was no more blood to give and when he drained himself dry he collapsed next to him.

They were both looking to the sky when they died together.

Bright's eyes jolted open as he began screaming in anger, agony and regret

The sun had finally made its way past the threshold of the horizon and the only thing protecting him from its burn was the shadow that the solaire mansion cast, so amongst the screaming that went unheard, he pulled back his sleeve and removed his glove that did its best to hide the battle scares from him and the sun's past encounters, and he shoved his arm into the light.

His screaming became more of a hiss as he felt his skin burn and sizzle

_________________________________________

He didn't know when he planned to stop

But luckily somone wasn't going to let him make that choice.

He felt himself being pulled backwards then he was swiftly turned around to face the figure that pulled him, however he wasn't able to see their face as his face was being held close to the chest of his saviour.

He could feel arms cover his body as if to shield him, he could hear a hiss come from the body that held him, almost to threaten the light that burned him.

Eventually the figure loosened their grip, allowing Bright to look up at them

It was William.

He didn't look angry, he just looked....protective...?

Like the sun had attempted to take somthing important from him.

After a moment of this, he no short of scooped Bright up and made a motion that could only be described as "wooshed" him down from the roof, sticking to the shadows.

Bright blinked and then he found himself in William's office again, still huddled in his arms.

William placed him onto the chair he sat in last time and looked him in the eyes.

"Were going to talk about what you were just doing, but before any of that I need to heal you, it will hurt more than it did last time, is that OK?"

Through tears that Bright couldn't prevent from falling, he nodded.

Before he began his work, William removed his belt and gave it to Bright

"You'll be needing this" Bright knew what to do.

He placed the flattened rope of leather into his mouth and felt his teeth press into it.

"Alright" William said to no one in particular.

The burn wound was very visible and within healing range but Bright was a very....skittish person so William wanted to be as careful as possible.

He slowly intertwined his fingers with Bright's and brought his arm up to him. He let go of Bright's hand and took his arm into both his hands to place it in front of him.

He looked at Bright one last time then began to work.

It was just like last time exept the feeling was throughout his whole arm, Bright tried his best to be still for him but he couldn't stop himself from kicking and squirming, he continued to bite into the belt he held in his mouth, tears now streaming down his face.

After healing his arm he moved onto his bite wound that now had a claw mark that was bound to scar.

After a good few minutes of that, William let go as fast as he could.

"There it's done"

Bright spat the belt out his mouth and a spluttering noise came from him as the tears continued.

After Bright had fully composed himself, he looked up at William who had a look of sympathy on his face, but not pity

Never pity.

"H-how did you know I was - that I would?-"

"Fred had told Sam that he could feel you feeling.....bad and that he worried you were going to 'do something stupid' Sam informed me of this and when I heard a scream come from the roof and given where the sun is currently, let's just say I put two and two together"

Looks like his literal cry for help didn't fall on deaf ears this time.

William looked Bright dead in the eyes, the look of sympathy still plastered on his face.

"I wouldn't describe what you just did as stupid, I'd describe it as....understandable but equally unfortunate"

Bright looked down

"Bright, I am older than you could ever imagine, I can recognise a cry for help when I see one"

At that, he picked the belt up from the floor and began to re applie it to his waist.

He then sat on the edge of his desk

"Talk"

This wasn't a command as much as it was an invitation but Bright still felt like he didn't want to know what would happen if he didn't do what he told him.

"W-well i-i" he took a moment to compose himself and breathed in

"I spent the day with Vincent"

"Oh?"

"Y-yeah, I had a lot of fun....it was nice"

"I'm glad"

"But i-i.....I don't deserve it....there is SO much I don't deserve...so i-i guess this was kinda like a...l-like a-"

"A punishment"

Bright looked up at him

"Y-yeah...I know it's stupid of me I just-"

"No it isn't. It's completely understandable, I mean since the very beginning of your vampire life everyone you have ever had to interact with has blamed you for what happened and since you agree with them, I can see why you wouldn't deem yourself worthy of happiness"

Bright was stunned, he knew he was old but he didn't exactly expect him to hit the nail on the head with this one.

"Y-Yeah..."

"Are you a man of faith Bright?"

Bright looked confused at the sudden seemingly off topic question.

"Why?"

"A few centuries ago there was a vampire I knew who was very religious and he believed himself to be worthy of hell, but since that was never going to be, he made sure his immortality, or what he called purgatory, would be filled with nothing but misery because he believed himself to be worthy of nothing but just that, misery."

William then got up and went rooting in one of his draws.

Giving Bright a minute to marinate on what he had been told.

William eventually pulled out a small piece of paper and then went over to Bright

"Here I want you to have this, but I want you to know that this dose not contribute to your decision, you may take this regardless of your decision"

Bright took the paper from him.

When he un-crumpled it he saw that it was a phone number and a name he couldn't pronounce but that didn't tell him much.

"What is this?"

"It's the phone number to the best therapist in the area, I'll pay for it however like I previously stated, I will do so regardless of whether or not you agree to be my progeny"

Bright's eyes became wide, he had wanted a therapist that actually knew what they were doing since before he died.

"Thank you"

He said breathlessly

"It's no trouble, I'll let you know when I inform him of the payment situation, now, it's time for you to sleep, I assume you've been having trouble with the sleeping situation so I recommend you start going to sleep at this time for now on"

"O-ok"

Bright had slept here many times before so he had no trouble finding his guest room but before he left, he thanked William one more time.

William nodded and smiled.

When Bright left William picked up his phone.

.........

"I trust you made it here safely then?~"

.........

"Good I'm glad to hear that, you're earlier than we agreed, miss your old home that much hmm?~"

..........

"Alright, Alright I won't jest, I suppose I just wanted to lighten the mood given the circumstances of your return"

..........

"Alright, oh! And there's somone I think you should meet, I think the two of you would get along very well~"

Taggs: @darlin-collins @anexistingexistence @you-think-i-care-mate

[naviculariis]

"I be the thief, chere......and there you go off stealin' my heart."

STATS NAME Remy Etienne LeBeau NICKNAME/ALIAS Le Diable Blanc, Ragin' Cajun, Gambit AGE 23 DATE OF BIRTH June 16th GENDER & PRONOUNS Male; He/Him/Yours ORIENTATION Pansexual RACE/ETHNICITY Human/Devil Fruit User/Acadian [ white ] NATIONALITY South Blue; Crescent Moon Island PHYSICAL HEIGHT 6’2” [ 187.96 ] WEIGHT   179 lbs [ 81.19 kg ] HAIR Red-Brown; tapered sides with a longer top. EYES Black sclera; red irises. [ brown prior to his DF ]. SCARS Multiple Misc. PIERCINGS Both ears twice. TATTOOS N/A FACE CLAIM ---

BACKGROUND PARENTS - Jean-Luc LeBeau SIBLINGS N/A EXES: Anna Marie OTHERS - PETS 3 cats [ Oliver, Figaro, Lucifer ] OCCUPATION Pirate, Thief, occasional agent for the Revolutionary Army HOMETOWN Norleens, Crescent Moon Island, South Blue CURRENT RESIDENCE N/A LANGUAGES: English, Cajun French, Spanish

PERSONAL POSITIVE TRAITS - Charming, Good with kids, Talkative NEUTRAL TRAITS - Flirtatious, Thief, Restless NEGATIVE TRAITS - Morally Gray, Rogue-ish, Self-Isolating ASTROLOGY Sun in Gemini, Moon in Leo, Rising Cancer

TEMPERAMENT: Remy LeBeau has been a charmer since the day he could speak. Always having had a way with words, it was like he was born to be a thief. Though he may come off as a self-centered flirt, his true personality is often misunderstood. Remy is open to talk about absolutely anything - except for his own past, giving him a more mysterious persona. 

Confidence and impulsivity mingle within him - whether it be in the heat of a fight or in a flirtatious encounter. He isn't the sort to back down from a fight, relying on his impulses rather than sound judgment. More often than not, it's his harsh, sarcastic, and witty comments that place him in hot water. Remy is well versed in making folks comfortable- through jokes or soft assurances. He'll sooner check in on his friends before checking in on himself. He rarely shows signs of fear, portraying a confident- almost cocky- attitude.

Despite this, he does allow himself to be vulnerable when it matters most- mostly with those he trusts, of course. Even though he is a thief, Remy lives by a code of honor which is held in the utmost regard. What this code is? Well, cher, that's for Remy to know, and for you… To not. A thief can't reveal all of his tricks, after all.

Remy is deceitful when he has something that he wants, especially when it comes to matters of the Heart. He does find it difficult to get close to people on a more personal or even romantic level due to the betrayals and traumas regarding his past. Perhaps one day.

But not today.

OTHER NEURODIVERGENCES & DISORDERS - PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Self-Isolation PHYSICAL DISABILITIES / CHRONIC ILLNESSES - Sea Water POWERS / ABILITIES - Kinetic-Kinetic Fruit: This Devil Fruit allows the user to manipulate Kinetic Energy in any shape or form. Remy can take the potential energy stored in an object and convert it to kinetic energy, thus "charging" that item with explosive results. He prefers to charge smaller objects, such as his ever-present playing cards, as the time required to charge them is greatly reduced and they are much easier for him to throw. The only real limitation to this ability is the time required to charge the object. The larger it is, the more time it takes.  Dissolution: Gambit can also cause objects to pull themselves apart instead of exploding violently making them harmlessly melt down to nothing. Once having focused charging on dissolving shrapnel in a victim's stomach and at times when jump-started able to overcharge falling debris from crumbling buildings. His control over this has increased to the point he can shatter ice he was encased in without blowing up.  Disruption: Gambit can take his explosive acceleration to temporarily scramble the sensory awareness of a person, knocking them out cold. Static Interference: Creates natural static, because of the charged potential energy always in his body. Can increase the effect by holding a charged object near his head. Vibration Emission: Gambit, through kinetic acceleration instead of conversion, can emit a shockwave accompanying a bright flashbang which leaves a sizable crater in the ground He can also charge items and not have them explode, such as his bo staff. Enhanced Conditioning: Gambit's ability to tap energy also grants him increased speed, strength, reflexes and reactions, flexibility, dexterity, coordination, balance, and endurance as a side effect, bestowing him an added edge he has used to his advantage by developing a unique acrobatic fighting style. Under normal circumstances, the physical "charge" he receives makes his abilities exceptional. This, coupled with the training he received when he was young from Jean-Luc, makes Gambit an expert fighter in both ranged and close combat.  WEAPONS - Bo Staff, Playing Cards

CONNECTIONS - Felicia Hardy [ WARNER; POSSIBLE ROMANTIC CONNECTION ]

VERSES -UPON THE LAND, UPON THE SEA CLOSED VERSE. -NAVICULARIS. CANON VERSE. Canon compliant timeline in which Remy is a lone pirate who sails the seas in search of new treasures to take, as well as a side agent for the Revolutionary Army.

[opinated-user]

I really hope that this isn’t a diagnosis (I genuinely don’t know if it is), but everything about Lily points to her being one of the most extreme, obvious examples of a pathological liar that I’ve ever seen. This would actually explain why she CHOOSES to just lie about things all of the time, and why she constantly compounds her lies on top of each other. Such as with the case of her alleged cancer: It was actually pretty believable when at first she just said that it was a diagnosis and that it was now in remission. . . . . . .But LO couldn’t just leave it like. No, she just got away with actually lying about having fucking cancer and she wanted MORE from it. So in comes her claiming that her cancer actually wasn’t that expensive at all to make, how she was suffering through her cancer making her rants for all of her horrible ungrateful fans for months. And how she supposedly got a cancer diagnosis and than went through CHEMOTHERAPY in order get it to go into remission, all within the span of just only SEVERAL. FUCKING. MONTHS.

Needless to say, this is literally just what pathological lying is. Its when a person (in this case Lily Orchard) just feels a constant COMPULSION to lie about everything that they possibly fucking can, all of the goddamn time. Even if they get away with a massive lie, that’s not enough for them. Because for a pathological liar, they don’t get a thrill out of GETTING AWAY WITH the lie. No, instead their (I.E. Lily’s) thrill comes from the mere ACTION OF lying in the fucking first place.

a thing of notice: pathological liars find it extremely difficult to control their lying, there's no real purpose to it, not even attention. the pathological liar is not trying to get anything out of it, they might not even have any idea of why they lie at all. that's why it's pathological and could be a symptom of a mental illness, because it's not rational at all. in the case of LO lying about cancer, though, it makes perfect sense why she says the thing she did. most of her lies do have an actual purpose and clear motivation, either to give her takes more credibility (like making herself into a camp counselor or having a therapist), to gain attention (lying about a buff neighbor she had sex shortly after Lizzy broke up with her) or to avoid accountability (too many examples to count). before Courtney came out with her allegations, LO was talking about a "mole" that gave her "funny results" and being really ominous about it. it's my theory that she was planning to tease the news for a little while longer until she finally announced either having actual cancer or that she had recovered... but then Courtney spoke up and she needed something to distract everyone/make herself the victim, so what better story that pretend to have bravely lived through cancer and chemotherapy already so 1. she didn't had to go through the trouble of make up how the treatment was going to be because it all ended already and 2. could present as a case closed, not worth asking more questions about so nobody needed to worry themselves with the issue. she lied about how the treatment was not that expensive at all to avoid allegations of us saying she uses it for financial gain (which would also open her up to actually get arrested for fraud). she lied about her first and only treatment being chemotherapy because everything she knows about cancer is through movies and shows at best, so she knows that chemotherapy and cancer are always linked together. she lied about it being skin cancer, rather than any other kind of cancer, because then she'd have to investigate other symptoms for her to fake. if it's skin cancer then it's "just a mole" and nothing else. she only started talking about feeling sick in the stomach and not being able to retain food only after i mentioned that was a potential side effect of chemotherapy... but she failed to realize that in order to be declared in full remission it would have need to have already been many months since her last session of chemo, so she wouldn't have those kind of symptoms anymore. in fact, any time she tried to pretend like only now she is sick because of chemotherapy she did it to try to sell the bit, again, ignoring the fact that her time to do so passed the moment she declared herself in full remission.

as to why she wanted to have about cancer and mentioned a mole that had "funny results" in the first place, even before Courtney... for the same reason why lied about getting stabbed or an online stalker she beat up in the streets or giving out tampons in highschool or selling drugs or being a sex worker or even lying about being Indigenous. because she wants to present herself as this very interesting person who had all this wacky things happen to her, who is more interesting than any other white girl in the internet, and because she doesn't actually have anything interesting happen to her, she has to lie. it's for the attention and her ego, always. that's not pathological lying. that's just a very insecure and bored person with too much free time, who probably has other issues that she should treat with a real therapist.

[reilleclan-blog]

CYBERPUNK EDGERUNNERS

My favorite scene

-

So I decided to enter the contest on twitter, cdpr wanted ppl to say their favorite scene and I wanted to pick a scene that not many ppl picked BUT what was also significant to me.

[ my favorite scene b/c it showed the severity of David's situation, "another tale" how many dreamers have thought they were "special" but inevitably die in this line of work? It reminded that no one is "special" in NC. The city that eats ppl alive. Eats dreamers ]

Now when I first watched the anime, this scene had popped out to me in the first place, b/c David was clearly not being himself. Doc was familiar with him so they were cool butttt he was never always "nice"to little boy David. Still it was clear Doc has formed an attachment to David. In a way he was kinda saving David's life when he was trying to "stop" him multiple times. Not saying he was the best influence but he did care for him.

Ok so fast forward David is using the Sandy more times then he ever should've, Doc constantly warns him, multiple ppl warn David he shouldn't push himself but at this point. That's all David was shown. Even in the beginning stages of his edge running journey he sat around waiting for something to do. He couldn't sit still possibly cause if he did, he'd have bad thoughts traumatic ones. And so he was always looking for work and always trying to upgrade that became more prevalent when Maine dies. Either b/c he wanted Maine's arms and/or "replace" Maine become something that Maine couldn't since he went "psycho". And adding on to the fact he wanted to "TAKE LUCY TO THE MOON" lol but everyone knows that part.

. High risk high reward. David stopped being the respectful kid he was known to be; David grabs the Doc and realizes he didn't mean to but what's done is done. Also made me think maybe that's why the doc never got "too close" to David b/c how many young bloods has that man seen. "Go be a living legend u punks say"(something like that) he couldn't stomach seeing another kid dead chasing after this sick dream that NC has fed ppl. (First time I watched edgerunners this scene immediately reminded me of V as well)

Honestly that's why I pick going with the aldecaldos everytime. But whatever. How much of your life are you going to give till you know you've finally "made it". David kept pushing to either chance other ppls dreams and cause what else could he be if not an edgerunner, V kept doing the same not realizing they had something better or not letting go of an old dream. OR not ever seeing their own potential b/c NC won't let u. Even Kerry says some shit like that. Johnny also fell for this trap and so did Jackie. SOO MANY

-

NC is a cancer I've said this time and time before. I actually did a yt vid on it. Anyways I went on a tangent some shit I forgot what the hell my point was but I believe I collected myself, anyways.

Good thing twitter only has 280characters wth

[ungalobrando]

Why you should quit purging not tomorrow, not now, but yesterday.

CW - Some hard truths about living with this kind of ED/addiction. Forcing yourself to throw up, medical issues and dental problems included.

I never see anyone talking about this ED very openly, so I figured it's time to change that. From the viewpoint of someone who's trying their best to recover, but sucks at it.

My resolution for 2023 is to stop purging entirely, and this most was mostly made for myself, but feel free to use it for your own recovery if it helps you.

° It's highly addictive. I mean it, you'll be addicted to it before you know it. At the beginning you might say how? It's gross, and painful, and you hate it, but take it from me. I'm almost 5 years into it, trying to get myself to stop, and I struggle after every meal, even if it wasn't high in calories or whatsoever. There's always that thought in the back of my head, telling me that I simply could purge and I'd feel better. It's a struggle to force myself to stay near my family or friends after eating, or at least go for a walk until the urge passes.

° You will not lose weight. Your body is smart. If what you ate doesn't actually make you sick because it's bad or poisonous, your stomach will try to hold onto your food if possible. You will have to bring up great effort to expel it, it will be painful, you could bleed, you could get horribly dizzy, you will most likely cry, and even then? You usually only bring up only half of what you ate. Maximum. Regularly forcing yourself to throw up after meals slows down your metabolism. Your body desperately clings to everything it can get, like it's afraid to lose nutrients because of your habit. There's a good chance you will GAIN weight. And your cheeks become puffy from it.

° It ruins your throat and stomach. I developed Barrett Syndrome and GERD. I get stomach cramps and heartburn after almost every meal. There aren't many things that I can eat without experiencing pain for hours afterwards. Liquids hardly stay down which makes drinking water pure torture. If I have soup before bed, there's a good chance I could suffocate on it in my sleep because my esophagus simply doesn't close properly. I don't dare to leave the house without my hot bottle and my heartburn meds. It's NOT a fun life, AND it makes me want to purge EVEN MORE to cope with the pain.

° It ruins your teeth. The risks to your stomach and esophagus aren't enough to turn you off? What about your teeth, then? Do you like cavities? Do you like chipped teeth? Do you like painful, exposed roots? Inflamed roots without cavities? Inflames gums and sores? Root canals? Getting your teeth pulled? High dentist bills? Potential cancer? Your stomach acid isn't supposed to come out of your mouth unless it's an emergency for your body. Eating a few too many calories is NOT an emergency. After you purged, you should rinse your mouth with plenty of water, wait for half an hour, and then brush your teeth and use mouthwash if you can. Brushing your teeth immediately rubs in the stomach acids.

° It ruins your hands and nails. Well, it depends if you use your hands or prefer to shove objects down your throat. I usually want it fast, and I don't care about consequences in the moment, so my hands have to suffer. My knuckles are often sore from how hard I'm biting them, two of my fingernails are short and brittle, and the skin between those two fingers is extremely dry, no matter what I do. I often get inflamed nail beds. Oh, and even if you don't use your fingers, you can watch the object you use suffer from the consequences, too. Until one day, it falls apart in your hands.

° People smell it. No matter how much you wash your hands, no matter how well you rinse your mouth, food and stomach acid have a distinct smell and the people around you WILL smell it. The scent of vomit clings to your clothes and hair. It lingers in the air, and the next person who comes into the bathroom will KNOW. Do you want to carry the delicious smell of throw up with you? Do you want everyone to know that you shove your fingers down your throat? Your ED probably says YES, but ask yourself, do you really, REALLY want to be the person who always smells like vomit?

° You deserve better. A bit of a cheesy way to end this, but... would you want to KNOW, every time your best friend goes to the bathroom after eating? Would you want to know that your child throws up your lovingly prepared meals because they feel unworthy of them? Would you want to hear your parent throwing up every day and wondering when you'll have to start doing that, too? Do you want to count calories in the elder's home? Or ask your nurse how many calories are in your hospital food? Don't you think your life has so much more to offer than this?

[candychronicles]

violence // k. takami (hawks)

A/N: my lovely take on @sightoru​’s dante’s inferno collab! congrats on 1k (and many more)! i loved writing this, was definitely so different and so much fun!! also, please please please heed the warnings. i mention some potential very triggering things in here! 

CHARACTER PAIRING: Takami Keigo x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,645

WARNINGS: sacreligious themes (it is dante’s inferno, after all), death, grief, mentions of eating disorders & self harm, negative coping mechanisms, violence and overall violent themes

SYNOPSIS: the seventh circle of hell is violence: what will you face here?

Want to indulge yourself in all the circles of hell? Click here! 

panting, you prepared yourself for the next circle, chill seeping into your bones as you pressed yourself against the cold metal of the creaking elevator. sir nighteye looked forward, no emotion betraying his face as he continued to guide you through hell. you weren’t certain what would happen in the next cycle but you were so close, nearing the seventh beast, and you were more than determined to finish and see your mom once again.

“this next one will be no more or less difficult than anything else but you may find it particularly hard to handle nonetheless. please exit and i will see you on the other side,” was all sir nighteye said before the elevator screeched to a halt. 

he gestured with one slim hand towards the now open door, a blinding light flashing in your eyes. you shielded your vision from the assault but marched forward, determined to get out of this hell hole as fast as possible. taking one step forward, you fell into the light, a silent scream ripping from your lips as you careened towards nothing.

isopropyl alcohol

that was the first thing you noticed as you came back to your senses. rubbing your eyes, you jolted your body forward, blinking at the harsh light, cocking your head as you tried to gather your surroundings.

an unsteady thrum of beeping caught your attention and with careful consideration, you opened your eyes, blinking once, twice, three times to make sure you were right in what you saw.

your mom laid under a plain white cotton sheet, monitors going off left and right, doctors swarming around you like you were absolutely nothing, like you weren’t even there. they spoke gibberish to you but what you did know is that you were watching your mother die all over again. you tried to help, tried to do something, anything to keep her alive, but your hands went through her body like she was made of thin air. you sunk to your knees, pain and despair clawing its way into your heart once more. your brain was confused, unsure of what was going on, only knowing intense emotions and suffering.

you burst your way through the crowd, slipping through them like a ghost as you panicked, struggling to find your way out and somewhere where you could calm down and figure out how to get back to the elevator.

“whoa,” a gentle voice said, hand placed firmly against your shoulder to stop your body from running.

“you can see me?” you questioned, looking up at him quizzically, trying to place where you had recognized him before.

“yeah, you’re running like a chicken with your head cut off in the middle of a hospital. kind of hard not to notice.”

quickly, you observed all the people around you, everyone looking at you with sympathetic eyes. you felt ashamed that you had acted that way, let the emotions get the best of you all over again as you watched your mom die once more.

“who are you?” you finally asked, blinking owlishly at him as you tried to understand what was going on.

“you can call me Keigo,” he replied, ushering you over to an empty waiting room so you could catch your breath.

“why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Keigo asked, a kind and gentle smile on his face as he encouraged you to talk.

without hesitation, you began to speak, expressing all the feelings you had, feelings of guilt that you couldn’t help your mother more, feelings of sadness that she was gone, of anger that she was taken away from you, of anger that you didn’t do enough to save her. he listened with rapt attention, the air getting thicker and heavier the more you ranted and raved about yourself and the whole situation. before you even had a chance to process what was going on, he grabbed your hands with his own, eyes peering deep into your soul.

“is that why caused so much harm to yourself? not eating or drinking for days, not showering, wallowing in your self pity, punching walls and slitting wrists? lashing out at yourself because you felt like you were too weak to help your mother, punishing yourself for not being there for her enough, for not loving her enough in her weakest hour?”

“w-what?” you asked, struggling to pull your hands away.

“i mean, i agree with what you did. your mother deserved better, deserved a child who could be there for her unconditionally, but you shouldn’t only be mad at yourself darling. those doctors didn’t do enough to save her either. it wasn’t just you who failed her but every healthcare worker out there too. they should’ve caught the cancer earlier, they should’ve treated her better, they could’ve saved her life but instead let her die on that creaky old bed, you by her side crying and not trying to help either. absolutely pathetic, all of you.”

as he went on and on, you felt your anger grow. not only at yourself and the doctors but him as well. you knew you were angry with them, you knew you hated yourself but for him to infer that you weren’t good enough, that nobody was good enough, set your heart ablaze. wrenching your arms out of his hands, you smacked him in the face, blood boiling at his insinuations and words.

you expected him to look shocked, angry or even confused but instead went wide eyed as he cackled, hand coming up to rub the imprint you left on his face.

“that’s it baby, hit me again. c’mon, don’t be shy, hit me once more. get all that anger out, make yourself feel better,” he cooed, tilting his head to give you better access.

without even thinking, you launched yourself at him, punching and kicking and screaming, angry at the world, angry at yourself, not even caring about him or what he was, enraptured with the feeling of power that came over you as you wailed on Keigo. 

as the blood pooled around him, you felt yourself getting weaker, the anger continuing to rage inside of you but the energy draining out of your body. red rivulets of blood danced and moved along the floor, attaching itself to his back, creating a dripping red pair of wings. realization flashed before your eyes as you watched the man stand up and crack his back, seemingly no worse for wear despite the beating you gave him. 

“y-you’re Hawks, aren’t you?” you asked, remembering the fallen hero who had lost his wings and turned to the side of villandry in times of hardship.

“in the flesh, baby.”

“you’re in charge of violence… a man who was once a hero, turned villain as his friends and partners betrayed him.”

“you make it sound so sad but really, it was enlightening, a real treat to be able to punish those who put me through so much pain,” he confessed, flashing red stained teeth as he leaned over you, his bloody wings dripping onto your face.

“how do you feel after all that fighting, hm? want to keep going? i’ve got all of eternity to fight you.”

you went to protest but before you got a chance, a fist connected with your face and you were hit with the flashback of your mother dying once again. 

a kick to your stomach had you thinking of the days laying on the bedroom floor, too tired to even crawl into bed.

a shot to the knees had you thinking about the time you sat with blood dripping from your thighs, wanting so badly to feel something, anything other than the emptiness you had felt before.

punch after punch, kick after kick had you wallowing in despair, anger at yourself for ever allowing yourself to feel again, anger at Hawks for kicking you while you were down, angry at the doctors for letting your mother die and angry at the world for taking her away from you.

just as you were about to give up and let the feeling of despair and anger consume you, you thought about all the good times you had with your mother, all of the memories of love and devotion, how she made you promise her that you would be happy after her death, how that promise got you out of grief the first time and how you so desperately needed to hear those words again.

with a determined nod, you rolled under a couch, kicking it up from above you towards the man with the feral grin. you shot out into the hallway, not caring about the pain and anger anymore, wanting to live and be happy for your mother, forgiving yourself, everyone around you and the universe itself for putting you through so much pain. turning a corner, you spotted the light at the end of the tunnel, the elevator glistening from the harsh hospital lights.

“come on little bird, don’t you want to play? don’t you want to fight your anger away and be punished for the failure that you are?”

“you may have caused so much violence in your life Keigo, you may have chose the wrong path and led a life of anger and pain, but i won’t do the same. i will live happy and free, not only for my mom but for me as well.”

with that said, you rushed through the empty hallway, leaping into the elevator, turning around to face the fluorescent light as the doors promptly shut in front of you.

“you’ve seen better days,” was all sir nighteye managed to comment as he took in your bloody and disheveled appearance.

you frowned and scoffed, the pain disappearing as you readjusted your hair and clothes, mentally preparing yourself for the next circle. 

you were not about to give up. 

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

[ateezinmymind]

Numb

Rocker! Hongjoong x reader

angst, fluff ending

tw: smoking, drugs, alcohol, foul language, vomit, depressive symptoms, sexual harassment and toxic behavior—please don’t read if sensitive!! I don’t condone these acts <3

~you wanted to be more like him and less like you

~“fuck off! I don’t want to see that shit-face of yours again!!” ~

Tears streaming down your face, staining the flesh with a trail of black from your running eyeliner. You can’t get those last words out of your head, taking in a breath of smoke, and exhaling through your nose. Trying to ease the pain of abandonment—you contemplate what you’re going to do now.

Standing up from the concrete staircase you’ve been sulking on for the past 15 minutes,, burning out your cigarette—you make your way down to the only place you can think of..

The blaring sounds of screams and cries piercing your ears—the smell of alcohol and smoke,, bodies together,, this...this was it. This was where you could let go...let loose..and live.

“I am a cancer. I am a creep. I am the black sheep”

Hearing those booming lyrics-you look up to the stage. Finding the lead singer screaming into the mic—and bouncing with his guitar. From the eyeliner to his ripped-chained pants..you were sucked into a void. Eyes burning from the atmosphere,, head pounding—now heart aching. You couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Hey baby..can I get you something?” —snapping out of your self destructing trance, you look up to the raspy voice speaking to you.

~“Let me buy you a drink...you here alone?” ~

The buzzing effect in your body-taking you away..you felt numb. You didn’t feel right,, blurred vision, limp body—you were useless. Feeling your head being shook and lightly slapped, trying to blink your way to clear sight—you started to fade..

hearing the lone sounds of laughter and booms—everything felt underwater. You couldn’t quite see, hear or breathe. Maybe this was what you needed..no one loved you anyway. For fucks sake-you got kicked to the curb tonight—by your shitty once called boyfriend. Who which you caught cheating—and to which led to you being pushed out the door-with nothing but a pack of cigarettes and a twenty dollar bill.

You were drowning,, choking, needing air. Desperate..everything turning black,, it was what you deserved... until—

“Hey bitch!!”

jerking conscious from the ice water—wet, cold and vulnerable..you’re surrounded by big figures. Your body finally awake, the smell of the place hits you like a truck. Only causing your body to respond naturally—meaning dry heaving. Choking—you weakly stand up to be towered by the looming men. Clutching your stomach—you needed the bathroom, slapping your hand over your mouth to control the potential mess. You wobble forward..clearing a path to your destination— All while the lead singer watches you from afar....

Barging into the bathroom you’re met with a couple making out by the sinks, and the stench of regurgitated essence. Only causing the feeling in your stomach and throat to worsen..abdomen convulsing you knock through the stall—and spill your guts. Face flushing from the lack of air—your nose and throat burn, and your stomach churns with sickness. Flushing your vomit down the toilet—your mind hazes once again...and soon enough you black out against the stall wall—helpless.

———

Hongjoong hasn’t seen you come out of the bathroom for the past 20 minutes..he was starting to get anxious himself. But he still had to finish his last song before ending tonight’s show-

“You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick”

The bright lights—beaming all different tones of red and blue. He lived for the stage, the rush of adrenaline when the whistles and screams came. Hongjoong was meant for the spotlight—his soul voice, talent for the guitar-and his aura in all. He was a performer,, meant to please his audience—and when he saw you come in tonight, all ragged, sad and helpless. He couldn’t stop watching you, you were everything he wasn’t. And when those men spiked your drink—he wanted to kill them so badly, but he didn’t want to risk his place.

Sweat pooling down his face, hongjoong finishes the last song—

“Everyone wants a ride. pulls away, ooh—from you”

The screams from people lungs, the jumping of bodies close together, and the sweet sweet feeling of glory—all lasts for a second....

Jogging down the hall towards the women’s bathroom, Hongjoong gets stopped in his tracks. A girl extremely tipsy, reeking of alcohol puts her hand on his chest. “Heyyy..youurrr, yyou’re that s..singer guy...” trying to push her away—she only falls to her knees. “Excuse me—move” not understanding his words she squeezes hongjoongs thighs, then wraps her dirty fingers around his pants chain and pulls him forward. “S..Stop being sooO difficult..lemmeee make youu feel g..GOood” rubbing him she fiddles with his zipper

“What the fuck! Get off me bitch!” Pushing her head back she lands on her ass, and hongjoong steps over her with disgust. “Go give some other fucker a blow” taking a deep breath, he tries calming his raging thoughts of the drunk woman. Speed walking to the bathroom, barging through the door he screams at the couple grinding on each other “GET THE FUCK OUT!!-“

sending them running away, he sees your bare legs from under the stall. Pushing it open-he wants to hurl, but seeing you unconscious he swallows the urge down. “Hey-babe?” Shaking your limp body, causing your head to slide off the wall and hang down. Quickly hongjoong holds your neck in place and examines your face and body.

Your damp hair and top-makes him curse under his breath...how dare someone put something so fragile through hell? Why did he feel the need to help you so bad? Was it because of your differences...that he felt the need to protect you. And harm all the people who decided to put you down, and treat you like shit..

Trailing his eyes down, hongjoong sees your legs-scraped, cut and bruised, then he can’t help but notice your attire. The big T-shirt dress wasn’t doing its job in covering your lower half well, when sprawled on the bathroom floor, so he decided to help,,picking you up and taking you to somewhere safe...

———

The shooting feeling of your head pulsing caused you to wake finally conscious.. not knowing where the hell you were. Under the sheets of an unknown bed, surrounded by band equipment-you started to panic. Breath staggering-heart racing, eyes tearing up you quietly sobbed.

What did you do?? You’re in a strangers bed, and who knows what they did to you. Wiping your eyes you look down—dressed in a loose navy shirt, and boxer shorts...definitely not what you wore yesterday. Sniffles fill the empty room, and the smell of your hair comes to realization. Shit..someone really cleaned you up..

Heaving in a sharp breath—you feel your heart speed up..shit~not now..you can’t lose your mind right now. Someone can come get you-and you’ll be defenseless and weak against them. Ripping at your legs—trying to feel your way back to yourself through pain..you just whimper. Taking your head between your hands, hanging low—tears fall on the bed covers. The sounds of your sniffling cancel out the foot steps advancing your way through the hall-

“Hey~you’re awake”—jerking your head up to the mans voice..you immediately regret it, because your skull jolts in a jabbing pain. Making you cry out and curl in a ball, holding your head. “Wo..woah,, you okay babe?!” Hongjoong speeds to your suffering self. He didn’t know what to do..looking at the sheets and seeing your tear droplets..he can’t help but scoff. You have problems, it’s unreal...how can someone be so destroyed—physically and mentally??

Unscrewing the lid to the cool water bottle he brought in, he sits himself next to your hunched self. Placing his hand on your soft hair, he gently brushes strands out of the way..so he can see your face. “I know you probably have a million things on your mind right now..but I need you to drink some water-please” the mans voice somehow soothing the tightness in your chest, you open your eyes

His damp hair covering his eyes, his gentle hands gripping the water—you weakly slowly started to make your body lift.. eyes continuously leaking tears, you gently reach for the bottle. Slightly grazing his hand, you quickly look into his brown orbs in apology. “Sorry—” Just from talking to him out loud you feel pressure coming up again. Heaving in a deep breath-trying not to crumble again already just in the span of minutes, “what am I doing here?”

As Hongjoong watched you take a swig of water he softly reached his hand with nails painted black to wipe your cheek of tears. “Well...you were unconscious—so I wasn’t just going to leave you there like a shithead..” gulping, and putting the cap back on the empty bottle you take in his words. Your body being overwhelmed with awkwardness, you cover your face and whine. “You b-bathed me..and put me into n-new clothes..”

hearing Hongjoong chuckle out, you quickly uncover your face with shock. Why was he laughing at you?!! What did he do?? “Don’t worry~ I didn’t do anything to you,, just cleaned you up...I wouldn’t make moves on a someone not aware of their own decisions..” looking back down to your legs your mind begins to turn against you once again...

~Of course he wouldn’t do anything to you..no one would want to anyways. You don’t deserve anything, because you’re no good for anything.~

“Are you okay??” Cupping your head, you slowly give him a nod..eyes pooling with warm fresh tears. You blink away the blurriness, trying to calm down and speak again. But all you do is choke out a broken cry, “I s-shouldn’t be here...I don’t even know you, I don’t know where I am...and I-“ looking away from him, staring at your bandaged legs. Droplets falling onto your skin, you sniffle and realize your once broken skin that was decorated with cuts and bruises were now covered and protected.

“I understand..please forgive me, I’m hongjoong..I’m the lead singer and guitarist from the band you heard playing last night-“ lifting your head by your chin, he gives you the softest look. “y-yes I recognize you..I’m y-y/n-“ finally giving you a bright smile, and taking the bottle from your grip Hongjoong slides off the bed. “So what’s your story?-“

———

Walls broken down—exposed to the male you only just met a week ago...you’re starting to feel not so drifted from the world. Slowly regaining and healing...all thanks to him, all thanks to the person who is the complete opposite of you. He’s given so much to your little self, and you took the time, to breathe....take in the good and actually find meaning to live. Overcoming cruelty that fed the blazing fire which spiraled your self valuing into the pits of hell..

he saw you when you were drowning, in need of help.. and made you feel worth living for. With Hongjoong, there would be no more doubt, he..the man in the spotlight, chose you....

Who would’ve thought you’d turn up here.

Where this new beginning started....

But only this time, you weren’t in it alone....

“Before we start up tonight, I want to introduce an important person.” adrenaline coursing, blinding lights, aggressive shouting and screaming filled the hall... “Everyone, this is Y/n...”

————————————————————————

tagging my wife @hongjoong-a-holic 🥺

~this is kinda a mess...don’t really know what I was doing....I’m sorry

lyrics from: black sheep by palaye royale + black sheep by kailee morgue!!⭐️

[sisterspooky1013]

Title: Everything

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5030

Description: in an AU season 7, the IVF worked

Read it on AO3:

She felt sick, scanning the room for something she could throw up in if it came to that. One of the drawers was labeled “emesis bags” and she took a mental note. She couldn’t recall having thrown up a single time since her cancer went into remission, and she had the thought that this was a fact that would probably change if the procedure worked. She took a deep breath to fend off the nausea and looked around for something to distract her from the news she was waiting for. They’d drawn her blood 30 minutes prior and told her they’d call her with results, but she’d asked if she could wait, not sure she was capable of doing anything other than waiting, her stomach in knots. There was a rack of pamphlets on the wall about different tests, conditions, and procedures and she read over their titles, wondering if there’d be any she hadn’t heard of. “IUI,” “IVF,” “PCOS,” “POF,” the acronyms spoke to a world that could only be understood by the few that wished they didn’t have to be there. She noticed there wasn’t a pamphlet for “ova harvested by government evildoers (or possibly aliens) then later recovered under cryo refrigeration” and chuckled to herself at the idea. Mulder would have found that joke funny, but he wasn’t here. Not that he hadn’t asked to be, but she couldn’t stand the idea of having to get bad news in front of him. The downside was, of course, she’d have to repeat the bad news to him later, but at least she could have her own initial reaction in privacy.

Her eyes fell to a pamphlet titled “sperm donation” and she plucked it from the rack, scanning the panels that talked about how to select a donor and how to talk to a child about being donor conceived. Her selection of Mulder as her donor had been nothing like this. She’d spent weeks thinking about how to ask him, rehearsed the words over and over, considered sending them in an email, or calling him on the phone so she didn’t have to look at his shocked expression and watch him scramble for a way out. She decided that she’d insist he take some time to think about it, not accepting an immediate answer. She’d feel more confident that he came to the right conclusion if he had a day or two to consider it, and this would avoid her either worrying that his “yes” was one he’d come to regret, or wondering if his “no” would have been a “yes” if he hadn’t felt like he had to decide quickly. In the end she’d blurted it out after an evening spent spitballing about theories of alternate universes on his couch, their relaxed and comfortable banter a safe place for her, helping her feel brave. She’d been poised to walk out the door, her coat on, when she stopped and turned back to him as he rinsed dishes in the kitchen sink. Taking a breath and swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and forced the words out.

“Mulder, I need to ask you something. Something important.”

His expression was mostly concern, but there was curiosity there too. “Okay, what’s up?” He dried his hands on a dish towel and leaned against the doorframe, studying her. She wished he would have stayed at the sink, occupied. She wished he weren’t looking at her, his hooded eyes boring into her.

“Uh, well. You know that I’ve been pursuing in vitro fertilization with the ova you recovered.”

“Is something wrong? Are they not able to do the procedure?”

“No, nothing is wrong. It’s going fine. I’m to the point in the process where I have to choose a sperm donor. For the other half of the genetic material.”

“Okay.” He still had that same look on his face. He certainly wasn’t going to draw his own conclusions.

“I’ve looked at some of the donor profiles, but I’ve come to feel that I’d rather use a known donor than a stranger.”

“Okay.” There was more confusion in his face now than anything. She looked at the floor in frustration, sighing. Mulder laughed a little “I’m still waiting for the question part of this, Scully. Do you want me to help you choose?”

She laughed a little as well. “No, that’s not what I’m asking, Mulder.” She raised her eyes to look at his face. “I wanted to ask you if you’d consider being the donor.”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but it just hung there and she recognized that it was an expression of shock.

“Please, don’t answer now, I’d like you to take some time to think about it. And it’s okay if the answer ends up being no, really. I wouldn’t have any expectation of your involvement, financial or otherwise. I just can’t think of anyone else I’d want to scramble my DNA with.”

He closed his mouth and nodded once, still not able to find the right words to say, or any words for that matter. She’d turned and left without saying anything else, leaving him stupefied in the doorway of the kitchen.

When he stopped by her apartment the next night and told her his answer was yes, she’d been so overwhelmed she nearly lost her composure and kissed him right there in her living room. She was glad when he’d left soon after delivering the news, so that she could cry tears of happiness, and relief, and grief that this was the only bit of Mulder she could potentially have the opportunity to truly love. Though she wanted so much more of him, this could be enough. That knowledge made the stakes even higher as she jabbed her thighs and buttocks with the fertility drugs that would prepare her body to become pregnant. It made it even more bittersweet when he asked after the side effects, making clear he’d done his research, and joked about the awkwardness of the donation room at the clinic, not wanting to come back out too quickly so the nurses didn’t come to any conclusions about his stamina. She wanted so much more of him, but she could accept getting to have his child as enough.

Standing to replace the pamphlet on the rack, she smoothed the front of her dress and tugged at the hem of her sweater. It was a Saturday, so she was in non-work attire; a lavender knee-length cotton dress with a scoop neck, paired with a white cardigan and white strappy heels. It was something she might wear to church with her mother, and somehow this situation felt like one she could treat with reverence and respect. She paced the room as the nausea returned, knowing that each moment brought her closer to something big. She’d decided that if the results were negative, she’d call Mulder once she got home. If they were positive, she’d stop by his apartment and tell him in person.

There were three soft taps on the door and her heart lurched as Dr. Parenti peeked his head in, a soft smile on his face. She immediately looked for signs of the results in his expression, though as a fertility doctor she also knew he was well versed in how to deliver this kind of news.

“Dana, would you like to sit down?”

That must mean it was bad, if he was suggesting she sit. She did as told and braced herself, already forming questions about her odds if she tried again; she knew she had more than one ova that had made it to blastocyst.

“Congratulations, you’re pregnant.” He had that same soft smile, his tone measured.

She heard a ringing in her ears and her heart seemed to stop momentarily.

“I’m sorry….what?”

“You’re pregnant. Your HCG levels are nice and high for 15 days post transfer. We can do an ultrasound in a few weeks and look for a heartbeat. You’re not entirely out of the woods, but so far everything looks very normal, and very healthy.”

Her slackened jaw gave way to a tentative smile, her expression incredulous.

“I’m pregnant? You’re sure?”

“Quite sure, we do this a lot here” he reassured with a chuckle.

“I…I’m a bit speechless, I’m sorry. I had prepared myself for bad news. What do I do now?”

“Just keep taking your prenatal vitamins, and your oral progesterone. We’ll have you taper off that in a couple weeks. Avoid any especially high impact activity, now isn’t the time to hit the slopes, but for the most part you can do whatever you normally do, while abstaining from alcohol, of course. Sex is perfectly fine, and healthy. You can make an appointment for three weeks out to do a transvaginal ultrasound, and if you experience any spotting or cramping, or any other symptom that concerns you, please call.”

“Okay, I will, thank you again Dr. Parenti. Thank you so much.” The initial shock was wearing off and she felt tears pooling in her eyes.

“It’s what I do. Feel free to use this room for a bit, if you need some time to absorb the good news. We’ll see you soon.”

He closed the door softly behind him and she was alone again, a pained smile etched on her face as tears ran down her cheeks. It worked. Somehow it had worked. She put her hand on her belly and imagined a tiny embryo nestled into the wall of her uterus. The cells duplicating, she and Mulder’s genes dancing together to form a little human who was half of each of them. She choked back sobs of relief and thought about picking up her cell phone to call him, but she wanted to wait. She wanted to see the look on his face as he realized what she was realizing. They were going to have a baby, the two of them, together. She would have a piece of him to keep and to love endlessly. Their child.

When she was finally able to compose herself, she walked out of the exam room and through the lobby with reddened eyes but a beaming smile. The couples in the waiting room all lifted their heads as she passed through, looking at her for a sign of hope as she had each time she was in the same seat. She met each of their eyes and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Good news. Yes. They all seemed to relax a little. Maybe it was their turn next.

She drove across town to Mulder’s apartment with the radio off and the window open, her heart bursting with the kind of hope she hadn’t experienced in years, maybe ever. For as many times as she’d wondered where she took a wrong turn in life that brought her to a point where a family of he own seemed impossible, she had never imagined how sweet it would be when it did happen. As she turned on to his street, her heart thrummed in her ears and the nauseous feeling returned. She was pretty confident this would strike him as great news, but was also a little worried that he’d react with fear or regret. Maybe he’d only agreed because he assumed it wouldn’t take. This possibility meant that by the time she was standing outside his door, hand raised to knock, she had steeled herself against disappointment if he didn’t respond happily. She was businesslike, sharing a test result with him as she had 100 times, this test just happened to affect them both more than the others did. He flung the door open before she’d finished knocking, as though he’d been waiting for her. He looked her over and took in her puffy, red eyes and solemn expression, his own face dropping in understanding. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to him so he could wrap her in a hug while kicking the door shut behind her. She leaned into him, pressing the side of her face to his chest and threading her arms around his waist. He smelled like home.

“It’s okay Scully, we can try again.”

The ‘we’ in his statement did not go unnoticed. She smiled against him, her nervousness giving way to excitement as she gained confidence that his response would be a happy one. She laughed a little and he pulled away from her, his hands still on her shoulders, looking at her quizzically. She smiled a dopey, twisted smile and new tears welled, blurring the image of his deepening confusion.

“It worked, Mulder.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, trying to make sense of her words, her demeanor, her concurrent tears and smile.

“It worked. I’m pregnant.”

His eyebrows, which had been knotted in confusion, leapt up in surprise as his mouth slowly opened in an expression of shock, then stretched into a wide smile. Watching him realize what she had come to know in the exam room, that they were going to have a baby, together, was even better than experiencing it herself.

“You’re pregnant? You’re going to have a baby? We’re going to have a baby? You’re sure?”

She beamed at him and nodded enthusiastically, the ‘we’ in his words again filling her heart to bursting. Maybe he did want this with her, as more than just a donor. He pulled her to him again, squeezing her tightly as he pressed his nose to her hair and rocked gently back and forth. His joy was palpable, and she found it hard to believe that minutes ago she had feared that he’d be upset. She dug her nails into the flesh of his back and let her tears of happiness wet his shirt, not feeling a shred of discomfort at what was a very uncharacteristic amount of physical contact between them. This was exactly where she was supposed to be, right here in his foyer, next to his dining room table covered with junk mail and abandoned research papers, learning that the things she wanted from life were still available to her, with the man she loved, no less.

Mulder pulled back again, this time bringing his hands up to cup her face, and she was surprised to see that his own eyes were damp as well. She wasn’t sure if his joy was for her, or himself, or both, but the love in his gaze was undeniable. She placed her hands gently on his wrists and stroked his knuckles with her thumbs, returning his look. When he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead, she closed her eyes and sighed. When he placed yet another kiss on one cheek, then the other, her pulse quickened. When he placed his lips softly on hers, she felt the ache of 1,000 times she’d wanted to kiss him run down her body, exiting through her toes and spilling out on to the floor. She kissed him back, partly because she couldn’t not, and partly because she desperately needed him to know that she wanted this, that it wasn’t a mistake. He released her lips and rested his forehead against hers, moving his hands to her waist, hers finding their home at the back of his neck, gently tracing his hairline.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this happy in my entire life” he whispered to her, and she laughed with the knowledge that she had given him that, that they had created this moment together, for both of them.

“Can I kiss you again?” The question was so earnest, and so hopeful, it tore at her heart. How could he ever think the answer to that could be no?

Instead of answering him, she pushed up to her tip toes and gently pulled on his neck, bringing him to her. She tried to make it as sweet and chaste as his kiss had been, but the un-sated desire of 7 years and the heightened emotion of the moment got the better of her and she devoured his lips, tugging at them with her teeth and tasting them with her tongue. She felt his hands slide a little lower until they rested just above the swell of her ass, and the resulting throb between her legs made her wonder how early pregnancy hormones could affect her sex drive. He pulled away then, breathless with pupils the size of dinner plates, his lips swollen and moist.

“I’m sorry, is this okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable” he mumbled. As though she hadn’t been the one to put her tongue in his mouth. As though she hadn’t tipped her pelvis against his hungrily. He was so protective of her that he felt compelled to guard her from even himself.

“It’s more than okay, Mulder” she purred, already missing the salt of his sunflower seeds on her lips, already begging God or the universe that he should carry her to his bedroom. Full of wonder that only when his child was taking shape inside her could she find the courage to show him how she felt. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his eyes searching hers. She had the realization that he may have been wanting this just as much as she had. That they’d been standing together on the edge of the cliff, waiting for the other to jump first.

She met his gaze and let down every wall she had built around herself, hoping that he could see in her icy blue irises how completely she meant what she was going to say next. Hoping he could hear the hum in her body that he was responsible for. “I want you” she said, surprising herself with her own boldness. Having seen today what possibilities awaited her if she took a chance, she no longer wanted to take the safer path. If leaping off the cliff meant a baby with Mulder, maybe a life with him, she was prepared to hurl herself over the edge and accept the consequences.

His face crumpled a little, his mouth puckering with emotion. She recognized the way his chin pebbled and wondered if he was going to cry. The expression quickly passed and was replaced by a tender smile, though his eyes shone with dampness. “You’re really hitting it hard with life-changing news today” he teased.

“Go big or go home, Mulder.” She replied, leaning into him and brushing her lips lightly against his. Her calves were tired from propping her up to meet his height and it was the closest she could comfortably get.

“Will you stay a while?” He asked, ever the gentleman, not wanting to assume anything about what would happen next.

She said nothing, but nodded, and he released her, taking her hand and guiding her to sit beside him on the couch. She slipped her shoes off and kicked them underneath the coffee table, folding her legs under her her torso and gratefully sliding under the arm he extended to drape over her shoulders, nestling into his side. He took her hand and held her palm to his lips, sighing deeply, then placed their joined hands in his lap and kissed the top of her head. With her ear against his chest, she could hear the steady measure of his heart beating and felt an overwhelming sense of peace. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that this was her happy ending, but even just this moment where she had the knowledge that she was going to be a mother and Mulder returned her affection, it was enough. She knew well enough by now that she should cling to even the briefest glimpses of happiness and normalcy, because they were too often fleeting and untenable.

“How do you feel?” He asked her, and she wasn’t sure if he meant the pregnancy or the kiss, or both. Years of experience taught him that any inquiry into her state would be met with “I’m fine” 98% of the time, but he still always asked. He needed her to know that it mattered to him. She tipped her face up to look at his, no longer trying to conceal her feelings. It was incredibly freeing.

“Amazing” she answered, and she meant it. She couldn’t recall ever feeling better than she did right now.

He smiled at her, his own demeanor always being so impacted by hers, and lowered his head towards hers until their noses brushed together. “I love you” he whispered so quietly she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. She tucked her face back into his chest to conceal a yawn.

“Am I boring you?” He joked, and she chuckled, facing him again while she shook her head.

“I’m just suddenly exhausted” she remarked. How much had her life changed in the past couple hours? It’s was a lot to absorb.

“Wanna take a nap?!” He proposed with the same level of excitement he might normally ask “wanna go to Kentucky?!” Except this time, what he was offering actually sounded good.

“You don’t still have a water bed do you?” Her tone was skeptical, but also curious.

“Nope, I got a real mattress after the last one sprung a leak, at the insistence of my landlord.”

“In that case, sold.”

He stood and offered her his hands to help her off the couch. Without her shoes, the top of her head barely met the height of his armpits and he squeezed her to him, laughing. “Is your money on this kid being average height? Will we cancel each other out?”

“I don’t think that’s how genetics work, Mulder.” She replied, her words muffled against the fabric of his T shirt. Spitballing about whose traits their child would inherit was beyond what she ever could have hoped for. She wished she could bottle this moment up and save it forever.

He escorted her to his bedroom, never breaking contact with a hand on her arm or back. She let her sweater slide down her arms and folded it neatly before setting it on his dresser, and then lay down on her back on the bed. He took his place next to her, lying on his side with his head propped up under his arm. He tentatively reached out and placed his hand on her stomach, just above her belly button. She put her own hand on top of his and pushed it down until it was low on her pelvis and he could feel the hem of her panties underneath her dress.

“More like here” she corrected with a shy smile, very aware of the intimacy of where he was touching her.

“Guess I need to brush up on my anatomy” he said dryly, transfixed on the gentle rise and fall of her belly under his hand as she breathed. He rubbed his thumb back and forth and she stifled a gasp at the contact, apparently not well enough because he turned his head to look at her face. “You okay?” He asked, his tone tender. She nodded. “Does this bother you?” He inquired further, and she shook her head no, reaching up to touch his face so he knew she meant it.

Turning his attention back to his hand, he said “I wish you weren’t wearing a dress so I could see better.”

She laughed and his hand shook. “See what, Mulder? There’s nothing to see, not yet anyway.”

He looked at her sheepishly “I know, but it seems like bare skin is somehow closer to the real thing. I realize as I’m saying this that it doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t, but the things we want don’t always need to make sense.” Her voice had a faraway quality, like she was applying the logic to more than just this specific situation. “You know there’s this really cool thing dresses can do that you don’t appear to be privy to” she continued in a much more jovial tone. Pushing his hand off her, she flipped up the hem of her dress to reveal her stomach from the belly button down, including her pale pink lace panties. Mulder’s eyes went big momentarily before he tried to play it cool.

“That IS a neat trick” he marveled, forcing himself to look at her face. He tentatively put his hand back on her lower belly and her skin prickled up in goose flesh at his touch. His fingers danced over her flesh, tracing the place her uterus would be, imagining the tiny life growing there. Wordlessly, he dipped his head down and touched his lips to that place, causing her back to arch into him and her breath to catch in her throat. Mercifully, he didn’t ask if she was okay with what he was doing. She didn’t think she’d have been able to form words if he had. She felt his tongue hot and wet, darting out a trail up to her navel. She sighed, a tiny show of disappointment that he had traveled up instead of down. Bringing his face back near hers, he kissed her again, this time drawing it out, moving to her cheek and then her ear. Her neck and then her chest. She felt like she was floating.

“What do you want?” He whispered against her earlobe, grazing it with his teeth.

“Everything” she sighed. Every nerve ending in her body seemed to be on fire.

He moved over her, his elbows bracketing her rib cage and his knees just outside hers on the bed. Kissing down her throat, he made his way to the neckline of her dress, slipping his tongue just under the fabric to taste the flesh of her breasts before continuing. Shifting his weight to one arm, he pushed the hem of the dress up further, exposing her rib cage, and kissed every inch of her, giving extra attention to each scar. By the time he reached her belly button, her hands were in his hair, encouraging him on his journey. He again found the place where their baby grew, dropping kisses for each night he had prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that they would exist. His tongue flitted under the hem of her panties and her hips shifted slightly in response.

Lifting his head to look at her he asked “is this okay?” and she said “yes” with as much conviction as he had ever witnessed in her face.

“It won’t hurt the baby?” He questioned. He had to be sure. “No, it won’t hurt the baby” she replied, touched by his care almost as much as she was aroused by where this was headed.

He kissed the insides of her thighs, ran his nose along the crease of her leg, pressed it into the damp fabric of her panties and inhaled the smell of her want for him. Her hips were gyrating ever so gently, rebelling as she tried to temper her desire, resisting the overwhelming urge to beg him to fuck her immediately. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and asked “okay?,” waiting until she said yes before he pulled them down her legs, tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder. He followed the same path again, kissing her thighs, running his nose along the crease of her leg, and then concluding with a kiss to her labia. She sucked air into her lungs sharply and her fingers in his hair grasped and pulled. It may have hurt if he’d been paying any attention. If he hadn’t had more important things to attend to. Gingerly, he tried his tongue against her slick lips, tasting her wetness. God she was wet. He found her opening and lapped at it before sliding up to almost her clit. But not quite. Her head was thrown back, hiding her face from view, her back arching wildly, her fists gripping at his hair. She made tiny sounds; gasps and truncated moans. She was trying self-consciously to be quiet, something she always worried about since an ex had teased her about being loud. He explored her, pulling her lips between his, sliding his tongue through each crevice and fold, pushing it inside her until he earned a soft moan. Finally he flicked his tongue across her clit and she said “oh” in the most breathy, beautiful way that he thought he might cum in his jeans. He continued the motion, listening to her responses and increasing his pace until he felt her body tense. Gently, he slipped one finger inside her and she gasped just before he felt her muscles clamp around him, a single piercing cry escaping her lips as she began to pulse rhythmically. He continued to lick her and flex his finger softly inside, drawing out her orgasm and eliciting an “oh my god” which made him smile. He’d always wondered if she’d say that in bed. He’d always wanted to make her say it.

When the pulsing subsided, he carefully withdrew his finger and crawled back up to her. She had her eyes closed and was still breathing heavily. He pushed down the hem of her dress, feeling as though he should protect her modesty, even in light of what he’d just done. Nuzzling his face into her neck, he waited to see if she might fall asleep. After a few minutes she spoke.

“Mulder?”

“Hm.”

“I’m not sure this day could get any better.”

He laughed, and she joined him, rolling to her side so that they were face to face, her leg threading between his while her hand wrapped around his waist. He brushed her hair from her face and kissed the tip of her nose tenderly.

“Thank you” she whispered, her voice full of emotion.

“For what?”

She shrugged, her voice caught in her throat. “For everything” she rasped out.

He shook his head. “You are everything, Scully. Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”

She nestled against his chest, taking comfort in the circles he traced on her back until she drifted off to sleep.

[altagraye]

Faith  miniseries (part 1)

**T. W.!!: self harm, suicidal thoughts, self doubt, sad reader.

*this is my first xreader ever so i hope it aint sloppy. 💋

There were very few things that scared the Winchesters but tonight their fear was palpable. Most of the time they were passive and observant. Even Dean didn't want to open that can of worms. Ever since that hunt a few weeks ago, the one no one talked about on the 2 day drive home, something with you has been wrong. Like you got your wires crossed and you haven't been the same since. It has been gradual, like watching someone sinking in quicksand or dying of cancer.  

You weren't stupid, you could tell that they have been distantly observing you as if you had a ticking time bomb strapped to your torso at all times. You noticed the change of mood in the kitchen when you'd finally gotten yourself out of bed to grab a cup of coffee. It's like your presence sucked the life out of a room, much like a Dementor from Harry Potter. You didn't know which hurt more, the deafening silence, the obvious coaxed smiles from Sam, or the steady stares from Dean when your back was turned. Sometimes when you were awake enough, you heard the brothers arguing about something, you'd tricked yourself to overhear certain words in their heated arguments, and convinced yourself they hadn't been arguing about you. But they clearly were.  

Cas, the usual flat faced stoic of the Bunker had twinges of concern in his oceanic orbs. Were you that messed up? That a fuckin' angel was concerned about you? What the hell happened? It started with that hunt. That much you know, right? Maybe it started before that? When it did sink in, you started to spend much more time cooped up in your room. You liked the softness of your bed and the warmth of your bed-covers. Suddenly you didn't want to go...anywhere. You spent your days sleeping and struggling to keep your eyes open enough to hear what Sam had conjured up about a potential case. The nights, those were the worst though. In the night you couldn't get to sleep if you tried. And that was when you felt most alone. You hated being awake, if you were awake you were thinking. And thinking means remembering just how much of a screw up you knew you were.

Team Free Will just came back from a hunt which you had to pull teeth just to get to stay in the confines of the Bunker. It had been a few days. You don't remember the last time you ate. Was it when you ate the second to last slice of apple pie in the middle of the night when your insomnia was at its peak? Or was that this evening when you woke up to a grumbling stomach that you couldn't ignore, so you quelled it with warm chicken broth. You didn't feel deserving enough to eat solid food today. Your lips were cracked and severely chapped even though you knew you kept your lip balm in the bedside table, within reach. Your long hair is disheveled in its bun and you can't stop sneezing because you forgot to take your medicine today, again. What a failure. You can't take care of yourself. It would be so much better if you could just lay down in your bed and sleep. Sleep and dream, forever.  

Face it, the Winchesters are so much better without you. Dean doesn't need you burdening him. He would only have to carry your dead weight around on cases. You can't even muster up the courage to walk up to houses and round up info on the local legends, doing door-to-door sweeps. What in all Hell makes you think Dean could be attracted to someone, some frail little girl trapped in the past? You weren't his type anyhow, a plus-sized book worm didn't turn him on. How could it? You saw his porno-mags. Those girls were, perfection. Miles away from what you were. They were tall, sculpted shades of golden skin. They were the definition of success, confidence, beauty. Qualities you'd convinced yourself you weren't. You saw their type in multiple bartenders that you painfully watched Dean flirt with. From your table at the bar, it stung to see Dean's pearly whites brighten in the lights of the illuminated bar. His expression full of child-like glee, effortless and innocent. Sam was next to you for protection, his face buried in his tablet searching diligently through lore and articles of missing peoples.  

You shuffle your feet audibly into the kitchen. Even though you don't feel like eating, you need to eat at least a sandwich in Dean's presence. The brothers were sipping beer at the table in the kitchen while you fixed yourself a wimpy pb & j. Sitting down at the very edge of the metal table you stared for a long moment at your sandwich. I hate this, it's making me sick to even look at food, you think to yourself. You take a bite and chew slowly, wanting so hard to spit it out. You're too fat already. Why do you eat in the first place? Those thoughts stew in your head as you notice the Winchester brothers are staring at you. You notice someone is talking to you but it doesn't register. You swallow the bite unwillingly, closing your eyes like you had just done something terrible.  

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" You recognize the husk in the voice to be Dean's. You flinch and look at him, wishing immediately you hadn't stared into those perfect green orbs. The expression on his face let you know that he knew there was definitely something wrong with you. God you're such a freak. You drag your tongue on your left canine, the one that has always been particularly sharp. Feeling a cold sweat begin to drip down your neck, you start to panic. You drop your sandwich on its plate and rise from your seat. You need the sanctuary of your messy bedroom, the softness of the mattress. You need the coolness of the sheets. Your small feet tap the tile of the floor beneath you but you notice sound behind you that will your body to go faster. They were following after you.  

You'd never been more afraid that they'd find out what was in your head. That Dean would find out how you felt about him and about yourself. That can't be an option. You knew what would be next, what was inevitable. The dreaded talk. You finally reach the knob of your bedroom door, your palm slipping as you fumble with it from sweating. Just as they are about to reach you, you open the door and slam it shut behind you, locking it. You heart is racing against your chest. Locking the door isn't enough. So you barricade the door with your dresser. As you do so, you feel yourself breaking and hot tears flow down your face soaking into your hoodie.  

"Y/N?! C'mon, open the door." Sam says.

"Whatever it is we can talk about it. Y/N. Please?" Dean's tone is almost unlike him. You'd only ever heard him use this kind of tone with children who were in the midst of trauma from an awry hunt. Is that what he thought of you as? A wounded child in need of coddling? Or maybe even worse, a wounded animal.

You don't answer and there is a long pause. You need relief and release in the only way you know how. You rummage through your bedside table drawer and find a thin hunting knife, the one Dean gave you a few years ago. Your first gift from him. You pull down the fleece-like fabric of your sweatpants to reveal scars, left over from self-inflicted pain, years gone by. They were raised and pink lines. They wouldn't understand. You hear thudding from the other side of your door, that can only mean the brothers are getting more desperate, using their bodyweight to try and get inside.  

"Y/N!!" Dean yells for you in between the thudding.  

"GO AWAY!" You yell as you drag the sharpness across your skin. Red bubbles up from the cut and for a few seconds you feel relief. But it doesn't stop the pain. You cry more, sobbing uncontrollably. The salty tears blurring your vision until they spill over staining your cheeks. You need more, so you add more cuts, one by one. Oddly you chuckled at your macabre artwork, thinking you just made your thigh look like a piece of lined paper. You start your work on the opposite thigh, digging in a little deeper with each line.  

You hear someone suck in a breath sharply. Someone was in the room with you. During your release, you never noticed the dresser move or the door opening. Looking up from your bloodied thighs you see Dean staring back at you. His blade still in your hand, red dripping down your skin and slipping into the pure white sheets.  

"Y/N? Hey, that's okay. Put the knife down, alright?" He said to you smiling at you flashing his bright white impeccable teeth, Sam in the background of your bedroom doorway with his hand clasped over his mouth in a blank stare. More tears sear themselves into your eyes and flood over. Your lips are quivering. You drop your knife released from your trembling hand, it thunks itself into the wooden floor below. You don't dare look back at Dean. You curl yourself up as best as possible granted the size of your stomach won't let you pull your knees to your chest.

You collapse onto your bed facing your pillows, you sob into them and hold one tight to your face in a feeble attempt to hide yourself. You feel Dean sit next to you on the bed, and he begins to stroke your back in soothing motions. His effortless acts of kindness make you break more. You feel the onset of a nasty headache forming, from the intensity of your sobbing. You can barely make out Dean telling Sam to bring a first aid kit and water. Dean shushes you and continues to stroke your back and your arm.

"You don't have to tell me anything. Just take deep breaths, 'kay? Here, I'll do it too." He breathes deep in and out, hard enough to be audible. Why was he so nice to me all of a sudden?? You begin to feel numb, and you weren't sure if this was from the emotional break down or the blood loss. Had you cut too deep this time? Sam returns with the first aid kit. You note its metal clink on the bedside table. You unbury your face from your pillow only to get a breath of fresh air. You don't look at Dean or Sam. You couldn't. Dean thanks his younger brother for the glass of water and the kit.  

"Can you give us a minute Sammy?" Dean asks.

"Sure. As long as you need." Sam confirms and you hear the heavy footed thuds of his boots exit your room. Dean does something that you don't expect. He lays down on his side, with you. Spooning up against your form. You mentally whack yourself in the head, he's getting his jeans all bloody, that you're sure of. He continues to stroke your arm softly. He hooks his chin into the nook of your shoulder.

"Whenever you're ready. I'm all ears." He tells you, the gentleness in his tone brings you to tears again. You weep silently. Was this really happening? You don't budge or say a word as sleep takes you over and you feel so amazingly content. You melt into the rhythmic breaths that Dean takes. The act soothes you into dreamland. For the first time in a while you think, I want to wake up to him next to me. And you swear you smile in your slumber.

End part 1.

*criticism is taken constructively.

*comments are golden.

[toosicktoocare]

like father, like son

Spoilers for 911 Lone Star below!

A fic no one asked for: TK winds up sick because he’s not sleeping well since learning about his dad’s diagnosis and because he’s pushing himself too hard to be a better son. (Also, Carlos doesn’t really vibe with fever sex.) 

The dreams don’t actually start until a few days after his talk with his dad, after a moment of pure, unfiltered vulnerability spanning from one to the other, but when they do finally start to plague his sleep, they’re terrifying, encompassing his every fear into twisted images of dirty hospitals, blood splashing against walls from violent coughs, two large, decaying organs pressing against him, suffocating him, and his father, withering away before his eyes.

After jerking awake in a cold sweat two nights in a row, TK forgoes sleep because he would much rather take fatigue any day over the spoiled visuals that seem to stain his thoughts, even when he’s awake. He, instead, takes to the internet when he should be resting, researching the side effects of chemo, what to look out for, what dialogue could cause potential triggers, and the most important, the one he’s most determined to achieve by any means necessary, how to care for a cancer patient. 

He sleeps only a little, catching one to three hours a day but subconsciously not allowing his body to slip into REM, and his growing exhaustion goes relatively unnoticed until he wakes at three am after nodding off in a chair in his room with a medical book on his lap to a scratchy throat and a slight hint of pressure pushing behind his eyes. 

He slips to his feet, quietly resting the book on the chair, and he pads softly across his room to the bathroom, flicking the lights on with a wide yawn. His reflection leaves much to be desired, a pale, drawn man with deep purple bags under his eyes staring back at him. 

“Shit,” he mutters, a low whistle, almost impressed with how terrible he’s managed to look, but then he’s turning to cough lightly into the crook of his arm until he’s wincing from the uncomfortable tingle that almost burns against his throat. He hunches over the sink, splashing cool water on his face, and then he’s reaching for the ibuprofen, but when he can hear gagging from his dad’s bedroom, he drops the pill bottle, the loud clattering and rolling fading in the distance as he races out his room. 

“Dad?” He shoves his dad’s bathroom door open to see him curled around the toilet, shoulders shaking slightly. The panic in his eyes fades to sympathetic concern, a look he’s been sporting far too much over the last few days, and he crouches beside his dad, dropping a hand to his back to feel his muscles convulsing under his palm. Wincing, he smooths his palm up and down his dad’s back, repeating the action, just as his dad would do for him, until Owen’s finally reaching up to flush the toilet with a groan. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Owen rasps out, and TK’s eyes fall just a little. 

“You didn’t,” he reassures, spitting out a quick lie when Owen frowns at him. “I was already up. Had to piss.” 

“Creepy timing,” Owen says around a weak laugh. “Didn’t realize my stomach and your bladder were in sync.” 

Rolling his eyes, TK gets to his feet, reaching a hand out toward Owen. “You’re so weird,” he mutters when Owen’s hand finds his. He pulls him to his feet, a frown threatening to pull at his lips at the ease. His dad’s been dropping weight, and for just a moment, he’s almost pulled back to too-vivid images, but he shakes his head, willing the fear away. 

“You done?”

He keeps close to his dad when he sidesteps around him to the sink to rinse his mouth out, eyes trained to the slight tremor in his dad’s steps. 

“Yeah,” Owen groans, frowning at his reflection, and TK meets his eyes through the mirror. They share a silent conversation. They’ve been doing that a lot since they talked, neither knowing how to verbally convey what their eyes are practically screaming. 

“Are you alright?” Owen finally asks, turning from TK’s pale reflection to see if it’s merely a trick of the light or if his son truly looks ill. His frown deepens, concern taking over his forehead in deep worry lines, when TK’s poor image appears to not be just a trick of the mirror. “You look exhausted.” 

“I’m fine,” TK says easily, and he doesn’t fight it when Owen reaches the back of his hand to his forehead, only watching with a gaze that’s almost struggling to be patient. 

“You don’t feel feverish,” Owen mutters, stepping back to asses his son with a long, studious gaze, taking in the dark circles colored under his eyes, his slumped posture, and his almost sunken face. “Have you been sleeping?”

TK makes to answer, to reassure his dad that he’s completely fine, but Owen continues, not letting him sneak a word in. 

“I know it can be hard to shut your mind off, especially after learning about all of this.” He gestures weakly toward himself. “But, we can tell your therapist--” 

“Dad,” TK groans, turning toward the door. “I said I’m fine.” ‘I’m not the one with cancer’ is what he wants to follow with, but the mere thought stabs at his chest like a dagger that’s on fire, so, instead, he looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “Stop worrying about me and go get more rest, old man.” 

The smile grows wide and genuine at Owen’s mock dismay, the latter even going so far as to slap a hand to his chest. “Tyler Kennedy Strand, you take that back right this second!” 

“The number doesn’t lie,” TK laughs out, running when Owen shoots after him, and he takes the light punches to his back, stopping only when Owen turns away to cough harshly. Tension flicks across TK’s muscles, and he spins around, frowning. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Owen breathes out, catching his breath. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re going to wrinkle.” 

“You are unbelievable,” TK spits out around a huff of a laugh as he turns to leave the room, calling out his goodnight as he shuffles back into his room. It’s almost 3:30 now, and his alarm is set for 6. His muscles are aching for his bed, but his heart’s been the only one allowed to make decisions as of late. He bypasses his bed and slips his sneakers on, waiting until he hears Owen’s soft snores before he slips out of the house for a run. 

*****

“Not to be an asshole or anything, but you look like shit.” 

TK’s hand freezes mid rub at his helmet, and he drags a narrow gaze up to Judd. “Good morning to you, too.” He frowns a little, the crack in his voice betraying him, and he pulls his gaze back to his helmet, ignoring Judd when the latter takes a seat beside him. 

“TK, man, what’s going on? You’ve been looking like a zombie for a week now, and you’re starting to sound like one, too.”

“I’m fine,” TK grumbles, but the few coughs that slip past his pursed lips say otherwise, and he can see Judd tense slightly beside him through his peripherals. 

“It’s your dad, isn’t it?” Judd leans toward TK, keeping his voice low, and TK twists his gaze over until he’s meeting Judd’s surprisingly soft eyes. The look alone has his shoulders slumping, and he sighs lowly. 

“It’s just a lot to take in, and I’m trying to do better.” If he’s not dissecting each google page or medical book, he’s catering to his dad’s every need, cooking for him, supporting him as much as possible while out on the line, and being at his side through the nightly coughing fits and bouts of nausea. “I’m trying to take care of him,” he adds, voice almost a whisper, and Judd claps a hand to his shoulder. 

“You aren’t going to be any good to him if you drive yourself into the ground. You need a little break.” 

“I can’t--”

“--sorry to interrupt this little pow-wow, boys,” Owen cuts in, talking loud enough to gather the attention of his entire team. “But I’ve just received an invitation to the bar tonight, so make sure you bring your dancing shoes!” 

TK doesn’t miss the way Michelle stops to roll her eyes before she hoists herself up into the back of an ambulance, but then his dad’s talking directly to him, voice carrying over the hollers from the others. 

“You’ll come, right?” He leans forward, whispering. “Michelle said Carlos will be there--”

“--Dad!” TK hisses out sharply, and the heat that creeps to his cheeks is evident, enough so to have Judd bellowing out a laugh beside him. 

*****

TK excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving his mineral water with Carlos as he maneuvers around bar-goers until he’s shoving the bathroom door open just as his lungs burst. He buries his face into the crook of his arm, coughing harshly. He’s been getting worse as the day’s dragged on, and it’s been getting harder to keep it to himself. He started spiking a low-grade fever toward the end of his shift, and if the chill clinging to him is anything to go by, he’d say it’s definitely spiking. 

He feels like shit, point blank utter shit. His muscles are aching, but not like they do after a particularly hard shift. They’re almost throbbing, feeling oddly restless, and his head’s pounding, behind his eyes, across his forehead, all the way to drum at his temples. Worse, though, he can’t seem to shut his mind off, not even with Carlos and his unfair muscles by his side. 

He takes just a few moments to splash cold water over his burning face, sniffling lightly when he dries his face, and then he leaves, coughing weakly into his fist as he moves back around drunks and dancing until he’s bumping Carlos’ shoulder. 

“Your dad just yee-hawed half the people off the dance floor,” Carlos shouts over the music, and TK shoots a gaze to see his dad moving through some weirdly graceful mock lasso toss. 

“Marjan got the entire thing on video,” Carlos adds, nodding across the room, and TK follows his gaze with a half-hearted laugh. 

“Hey,” Carlos’ voice is softer this time, almost gentle, and TK pulls his eyes to his, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He leans in close to TK’s ear, and TK shudders against his hot breath. 

“I don’t know about you, but this place is kind of blowing my vibe, and my couch is really lonely--”

A quick distraction that TK smiles at, lips curling up almost deviously, and he nods quickly, allowing Carlos to pull him toward the exit. He spares a glance over his shoulder, fear suddenly gripping at his heart, but then he sees Michelle laughing as Owen spins her around the dance floor. It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s with the EMT Captain. 

He doesn’t mean to catch Judd’s eyes, but he does, and Judd nods once, an almost silent reassurance that TK clings to as Carlos all but drags him out of the bar. 

*****

TK’s melting against Carlos’ forceful touch, his body moving in sync with Carlos’ smooth movements. Their lips are molding to each other, their tongues battling, and when Carlos pulls away, dragging his bottom lip with him in a gentle bite for just a moment, he groans, back arching when Carlos drags sharp kisses down his neck. He’s almost lost completely to Carlos, but then Carlos is mumbling against his neck. 

“God, you’re on fire.” He nips at TK’s neck, almost drinking in the heat pouring off of him, and TK huffs around a small shiver, still feeling oddly cold despite being swallowed by the heat of Carlos’ muscles.

“Weird,” he grunts, a light moan slipping past his lips when Carlos’ hand trails down his stomach. “I’m actually freezing.” It’s a small slip-up, lost briefly in a moment of pure honesty, and then Carlos is pulling away quickly, a frown plastered to his lips. 

He’s hovering just above TK, hands pressed to the couch beside TK’s head, and his eyes are working over TK’s face. “You’re cold?” 

TK doesn’t really see the big deal because it’s probably just cold in Carlos’ apartment with the AC purring quietly in the background, so he nods, and then Carlos is rolling off of him and starting out of the room. 

“Carlos, what the fuck?” He shouts, his throat burning with each word until he turns to cough into the crook of his arm harshly. When he catches his breath, he turns his gaze to see Carlos walking toward him with a digital thermometer in his hand. 

“Doctor kink?” he starts, both brows raised, “I mean, if that’s your thing, I can get behind that--”

“TK, shut the fuck up and put this under your tongue.” 

TK opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos shoves the tip of the thermometer into his mouth, and he can’t do anything but oblige, slipping it under his tongue as he keeps a steady gaze to Carlos’ almost angry one. When the thermometer beeps, he moves to grab it, but Carlos is faster by a long shot, more so against TK’s sore muscles, and he frowns at the 102.2 degree reading, dropping it to TK’s hand as he presses a palm to TK’s forehead. 

“Woah,” TK breathes out at the reading, frowning deeply. He knew he had been running a low-grade, but this is way higher than he expected. “Shit,” he curses, eyes flying from the device to Carlos. “I’m sorry,” he spits out, but then his lungs quake with a need to cough, and he turns away from Carlos, coughing harshly into the crook of his arm. 

When he can suck in a deep breath without the burning need to cough more, he spares a hesitant glance back to see pure, dripping worry coloring Carlos’ eyes. 

“In the SUV earlier,” Carlos mutters, almost more to himself, “when you were coughing and said you accidentally inhaled some smoke on a call earlier. I should have known then.” He reaches over TK’s shoulder for a blanket folded on the back of his couch and drapes it over TK’s slightly trembling shoulders, and TK watches his every move. 

“Why didn’t you say earlier? I wouldn’t have pushed you--”

“--I wanted the distraction,” TK admits, surprising even himself. With the gig up, with Carlos staring at him with such consuming worry, he sinks back against the couch, allowing his illness to fully sweep over his body. He shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, and he tilts his head against the back of the couch, eyes finding the ceiling. 

“A distraction from what?” Carlos pushes gently, careful to not tiptoe over into boyfriend territory. 

“Everything,” TK mutters around a weak cough, and he rolls his head to the side when Carlos lays a gentle hand to his covered knee, a small sign of encouragement that he’s listening but not forcing. 

“If I say I’m not ready to talk about it right now, will you not ask about it?”

Carlos considers this, and while the urge to push past TK’s wall is as hot as the latter’s fever, he nods slowly. “You can stay the night,” he says instead, moving with the need to see TK through what he’s sure is either a really bad cold or maybe the flu.

“I can’t,” TK starts, and he pushes the blanket away, making to stand, but his vision wavers, gray dots dancing across his eyes, and Carlos is quick on his feet, snaking a strong arm around TK’s waist and guiding him back down to the couch. 

“Why not? You can’t even walk.”

“My dad,” TK mutters, leaning heavily against Carlos. “I need to be with him... He needs someone with him to make sure he’s okay.” The panic from before, from leaving his father alone, hits him like a bucket of ice water being tossed over his head, and he’s shaking hard in Carlos’ grip, both from fever and fear, but Carlos’ only tightens his hold, a beacon of steady warmth he’s almost afraid to get too close to. 

Carlos really wants to ask about this because Owen seems fine, but the desperation clinging to TK’s tone has him considering his words. “I can call Michelle--”

“--no,” TK mutters, coughing against Carlos’ shoulder. “Judd. He’s the only other one who knows.” 

Carlos eases TK back against the couch, worry pulling at his heart as TK coughs and shivers and curls in on himself. “I’ll call Judd,” he starts, gaze drifting to the door for a moment. “Promise you won’t run?” 

“Couldn’t even if I tried,” TK chatters out, teeth clacking together, and Carlos makes quick work of calling Judd, rattling off what he knows. 

Judd’s worry on the other line of the phone apparently stretches back to a few days prior, and when he mentions he’s not sure that TK’s been sleeping, a pit grows in Carlos’ stomach, uncomfortable against the heavy weight of concern. 

Their conversation isn’t long, ending when Judd reassures him that he’ll keep an eye on Owen and will even make an excuse for TK’s absence. After, Carlos makes quick work of guiding TK to his bedroom. TK’s frighteningly compliant, only fighting him when he tries to pull an “Austin Police Department” hoodie over his head, snagging it from the back of a chair in his bedroom. 

“You’ll overheat,” Carlos tries, but TK somehow manages to pull the hoodie over his bare torso, and Carlos can’t say no when TK looks at him, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up at different ends, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his shaking hands, and the hem just covering a small part of TK’s bare thighs.

“Fine,” he mutters, breathing through a few curses as he helps TK into bed. He turns to get medicine for the fever, but TK’s hand is suddenly latching onto his wrist, surprisingly strong, and when he turns around, TK’s eyes, though glassy, are bright and aware. 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m just going to get some medicine--”

“--I can’t sleep,” TK admits, fingers digging into Carlos wrists as he coughs harshly. “I haven’t slept in a week.” 

“Jesus, TK,” Carlos breathes out. He’s getting more and more pieces of the puzzle that is Tyler Kennedy Strand, but the borders, the ones that support the picture, are still missing, as well as some middle chunks. “Why--”

“--you said you wouldn’t ask.” 

“Sorry,” Carlos mutters. “I’m just going to get medicine, and then I’ll come right back.” TK’s hand drops to the bed, eyes momentarily flicking to a color of fear that has Carlos rushing to the bathroom for ibuprofen and water. 

TK takes the medicine without question, wanting to rid his body of this shitty feeling just as much as Carlos does, and then Carlos slips some pants on and climbs into the bed, resting his back against the headboard, and TK watches him, eyes impossibly tired. 

“Do you think you can try to sleep? I’ll stay awake if you need me.”

“Judd’s with my dad?” TK asks, and when Carlos nods, he nods back, curling around Carlos’ hips, head resting against his thigh. He’s a little afraid to let his eyes slip closed, aware that he won’t have the control to not slip into REM, but when Carlos drops a careful hand to his hair, fingers carding softly through it, the fear eases a little, and he hums softly. 

“Is this okay? Have I gone too far into boyfriend territory?” 

“You have,” TK mutters around a yawn that’s followed by a few weak coughs. “But it’s okay for tonight.” 

[leather-and-laces]

Stevie A. Nicks Biography × History Predating Stardust Crusaders

NOTE - This bio is a HUGE Work in Progress. Certain things may change, and other bits may seem rushed.

)▬▬ BASIC INFO ▬▬(

• Name: Stevie Annah Nicks

• Nicknames and Aliases: Anna, Savannah

• Species: Human

• Powers: Stand- Isis [Egyptian Goddess Stand]

• Alignment: True Neutral

• Date of Birth: December 13th

• Gender: Female

• Hometown: Tokyo, Japan

• Relatives: Unnamed Father [DECEASED; Died from Brain Cancer], Unnamed Mother [DECEASED; Murdered]

• Occupation: Shipping Company Owner [Former], Gambler [Currently]

• Equipment: Sewing Scissors and Thread

• Status: Alive

▪︎ Part 3 - Age : 33

▪︎ Part 4 - Age : 45

▪︎ Part 5 - Age : 47

▪︎ Part 6 - 56

• Stand Name - Isis

• Stand Power - Red String Manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate the red string of fate, an invisible conceptual string that bonds souls together. They can create an limitless amount of red strings and extend them at any distance and the strings never tear apart, as it is practically indestructible. They can make the red strings become visible and touchable for others, and also choose to apply changes to anyone’s soul, and as well control the relationship of those bonded by the strings, or even completely remove their bond.

▪︎ Stand Stats

Power - D [Not “Attack” wise; This is catered to the effectiveness of Isis]

Speed - B

Range - A

Durability - D

Precision - A

Potential - B

▬▬ PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ▬▬

• Height: 5’9’’

• Weight: 162 LBs

• Body Shape: Hourglass

• Natural Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

• Dyed Hair Color: N/A

• Eye Color: Blue

• Ethnicity: Japanese American

• Skin Tone: Porcelain

*TOLD IN FIRST PERSON POV ONLY FIR THIS PART.*

▬▬ Back Story ▬▬

My father was a respectable man. A archeologist. And I, a archeologists’ eldest daughter and heir of his company, his golden girl. He not only owned a shipping company, he was a close relative of a museum curator, and also cared for the museum in Alaska– where we were often stayed at in the summer. As his heir, I was expected to learn much and so, I had my own private tutor once I was able to be home schooled.

When summer came to pass, we went back Tokyo. In Tokyo, I saw paintings in an art exhibit. I fell in love with their design, and took up the hobby of painting. I practiced and practiced, giving father and mother small gifts every once in awhile. He made it clear that I should not interact with the outside world all too often, as he believed it’d distract me from my studies after mother had passed away from a hate related crime; I was mixed between Japanese and American, bad blood from the second world war still remained. I, unknowst to him, was using this as a means of coping with grief, with trauma that had sparked my abilities; I always wished to alter the past, to manipulate Fate itself [though I hadn’t known it was fate at that time] to save my mothers life. I was about 6 at the time I first noticed my abilities. All the same, my father would oftentimes sneak out my supplies, leaving my projects vastly unfinished.

He did however, notice I had begun training my eye for the paint right after passing through the store on multiple occasions, and dreading with his daughter would whip up next. I could see things you wouldn’t believe; Red strings connected to every little thing with little dates etched into them, peoples lives… For as long as I could remember, I could see everything of this nature just dangling freely for me and only me to observe. I treasured these moments the most, this innocence in my abilities. Most of my paintings reflected things I saw in people’s lives.

I can remember everything so vividly down to an exact date and exact time in which my marriage that lasted a month or so, was quick to fall apart. I had just gotten into the gambling scene heavily at 24 years old and, undoubtedly so, I had made friends as well as enemies. It was no secret I was a rich mans daughter and heir that simply had too much time and cash on their hands to blow it all so I became a center of attention. My true gambling addiction began to grow from the time I was 16, as my tutor had accumulated a massive debt, and was the man responsible for sparking my true talent. Gambling. What few had tried approaching me in hopes of romantic interest, did so in groups, only interested in my cash or my body; Everyone except for him, or so I thought.

He was charming, handsome even, and he was like a god in my eyes for he made me feel special and loved… So when he proposed, I thought nothing of it and accepted him into my heart immediately. He was eager and I was nervous.

The chapel was empty on my side, save for my old tutor and an old colleague of my fathers, so his friends had spread out evenly.

My body, it was on the floor and it was oh so limp. I could feel it, suffocation as blood clogged every airway possible. So limp, yet I mustered the strength to say one name in hope someone-anyone-would overhear, no matter how faint or weak I sounded.

“Ricardo…?”

“No one is going to find your body, my sweet.”

With that, that Italian bastard left me to die, gagging on my blood. And the fool had the audacity to step over me as I was in the process of dying in my own pool of blood on the floor in the bedroom, blood slipping between my fingers from the wounds peppering my stomach and face from the bat he used to beat me with. Before leaving through the door, he stoked a flame to a scented candle given to us on our wedding… and smiled down at me “Thanks for the inhe…..”

I can remember blacking out and, somehow, by some miracle, I was alive; My ribs were cracked, left hand fractured and I had various damage to my face from the bat which he had chosen to bludgeon me with but… I was alive. It stirred something in me, like I had cheated the inevitable when in actuality a friend of his hand stopped by to drop off a box of camping supplies…

He planned to break my bones and stuff me in a trunk to better hide me in the nearby woods easier.

)▬▬ Stardust Crusaders Biography ▬▬(

A single mother turned thrill seeker, the longtime gamblers travels had landed her in Egypt; She felt seemingly drawn in, called to even, in a casino up in Cario. As a matter of fact, her exploits in gambling her brought her to make an acquaintance of the Elder D'Arby brother. The pair were rivals in the beginning; Stevie aiming to collect his thread of life, and he aiming to collect her soul, the pair would often play various card games together. It was always rather intense, but there was no success in their battles for either party, oftentimes ending in a draw.

These games together brought the pair closer, additionally, causing the duo to pair up to play games against people of interest. This also sparked the interest of Lord DIO, particularly her abilities, involving the alteration of fate on a human soul with the exception of the past; Her abilities complimented the Elder D'Arbys abilities rather well. He offered her money for her efforts, but she merely stated that she was interested in the thrills that accompanied her gambling habits, in exchange that she gets her children tended to with no involvement in this lifestyle she leads. She would oftentimes accompany the Elder D'Arby for his gambling exploits, even if she herself do not play games with him at all times, she ended up using her abilities to compliment his abilities with the soul.

She ended up, eventually, having her fair run in with the Crusaders shortly after the defeat of the Elder D'Arby. With her employ to DIO and the defeat of her friend, she challenged them to her own game of fate, before she was defeated. In a last ditch effort, she attempted to utilize her threads to grab herself a hostage for she knew her failure would ultimately lead to her potential demise. However, Star Platinum was fast, making short work of the woman and shattering all ten of her fingers, rendering her stand completely useless as she has no mobility in her hands. Her fate is ambiguous after this last encounter, but she is to be credited for helping place Anubis on that familiar path in which Chaka acquired the famous sword. Her role is minor in the Glory Gods, and ultimately, apart from complimenting the Elder D'Arbys abilities or her alteration of fate bound to a soul, she has little impact on the grand scheme of things.

She lives her life in shame as much as isolation, having been unable to raise her months old daughter properly, she had to send her child away to a relative in America until her hands recovered from their previous injuries caused by Jotaros encounter.

[kerosene-insomniac]

To Be So Lonely

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku

Warnings: Violence, mature language, homosexual behavior, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, major character death (not bakudeku)

Word Count for Chapter: 1,701 words

Summary: Midoriya Izuku has always wanted to be a musician. Something about the lyric working with a melody to convey his feeling just made his heart race. After his father died when he was three, Izuku has always relied on his mother. She worked two jobs to care for him and always supported his dreams. But when his mother is diagnosed with breast cancer just after he graduated high school, Izuku has to shift his focus. 

Now he’s working two jobs and takes care of his mother with the help of his gay neighbors. In an attempt to learn self-defense, Izuku takes a few classes at a local gym. It’s there that he meets Toshinori Yagi, an older beta who used to be a professional heavyweight boxer. Yagi notices Izuku’s potential and encourages the small omega to eventually go pro. So, in order to make more money, Izuku eventually agrees.

Bakugou Katsuki has only ever wanted to fight. Orphaned as the young age of four, Katsuki has been fighting to live for his entire life. Fighting is all he’s ever known. After fighting underground for a couple years, Katsuki is noticed by Todoroki Enji. The older alpha takes him in at 19 and names him the official successor of his legacy (especially since all of his actual kids hate him). 

Now, Katsuki is 25-years-old and the professional heavyweight champion.

In a whirlwind of events, Katsuki meets Izuku in the unlikeliest of places. He watches the small omega perform and can’t help it feel extremely protective and absolutely enamored with him. The older alpha gets to meet him and say goodbye without even learning the omega’s name. Katsuki isn’t sure that they’ll ever meet again. 

That is, until Katsuki officially meets Izuku at a professional lunch with his manager’s rival.

{OR}

The one where Katsuki is a professional alpha boxer with arrogance issues and Izuku is a stubborn omega that’s way little too reckless with his well-being. 

With a wacky cast of characters (including three idiots, a manly best friend, a traumatized bastard with daddy-issues, and many more) absolutely hell-bent on getting them together, neither men can seem to catch a break

{0.3} Special

“There was something beautiful about his scars, something lovely about his fallibility.”

― Grace Curley

K A T S U K I

“Square your shoulders.”

Katsuki ignored the monotonous voice and delivered three jabs to the blue punching bag in front of him. Honestly, he’s imagining the bag as Todoroki’s stupid face.

Stupid.

Fucking.

“You look tense. Maybe you would like some soba-“

Katsuki growled and dropped his stance, whirling around to face the other alpha. “Shut the fuck up, Icy Hot! Focus on your own bullshit!!”

Todoroki blinked, sipping his tea. “It’s not as entertaining.”

It’s been two days since Katsuki’s adventure at the bar. For some odd fucking reason, he can’t stop thinking about a certain freckled nerd and the bandages on his hands. To make things much worse, Shinsou has been ignoring his attempts at contact.

Now Katsuki’s training at his manager’s professional gym. He’s been with this manager for six years and wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

However, his manager’s son definitely makes Katsuki consider leaving.

“Stop pissing me off.” Katsuki grumbled, turning to face the punching bag again.

Todoroki chuckled, but the tone was still indifferent. “You’re the one getting mad, Bakugou. You should control your emotions better.”

Katsuki scoffed, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. “Shut the fuck up. At least I don’t have a meltdown every time someone boils water.”

“You should come up with better comebacks.”

That was enough to make Katsuki freeze.

“I have enough survival instincts not to tell you. Stick to the shitty nicknames.”

Katsuki swallowed thickly, blinking multiple times in an attempt to snap out of his daze. Now, thanks to Icy Hot, his mind was preoccupied by freckles, green eyes, and the smell of chocolate cherries.

His mind had been a muddled mess since that night.

“Bakubro! You good?”

Katsuki snapped out of his daze again and locked eyes with a worried Kirishima. The other alpha was watching him with obvious concern.

He nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound so sure.” Kirishima murmured, glancing at Todoroki. “You have a tournament tonight, so we can’t afford you overworking yourself.”

Katsuki immediately bristled at the alpha’s tone, his eyes flashing angrily. “Stop looking down on me, Shitty Hair! I don’t need your fucking pity and I don’t need your concern!”

Kirishima didn’t even flinch. “There’s no need to be so defensive…”

“Fuck you, I’m not defensive!”

“You’re just proving my point!”

“Fuck your shitty point!”

Todoroki, who simply watched the interaction with bored eyes, finally cleared his throat and made both alphas freeze. “Perhaps this is about the potential celebrity that’s supposed to be at the tournament?”

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hah?!”

“All Might is supposed to be involved in the tournament.” Todoroki murmured, pursing his lips.

That was enough to make Katsuki’s nerves much worse.

Todoroki ignored Katsuki’s gobsmacked expression and focused his gaze on the laptop in front of him. “Father had been raging about it for days. Apparently Toshinori has chosen a successor.”

“No way!”

Kaminari’ s voice echoed throughout the gym as he raced towards them with Mina and Sero hot on his heels. If Katsuki wasn’t so shocked, he would’ve yelled at the lot of them for running inside.

Yagi Toshinori, or All Might, had been a famous boxer back in the day. He was best known as the beta who took on an alpha heavyweight champion and won.

He was easily Katsuki’s favorite boxer.

Toshinori had retired years ago and disappeared from the public eye. He didn’t come to tournaments and definitely wasn't associated with the community. So the idea that he had chosen a successor was mind-blowing.

If anything, Katsuki felt jealous.

“Bakugou? You look pale.”

Katsuki snapped out of his daze and glared in Todoroki’s direction. “Do you know who his successor is? What’s his weight class?”

Todoroki hummed, looking at his laptop again. “According to the website, his name is Izuku Midoriya. Light Heavyweight.”

“He must be a beta.” Kirishima murmured thoughtfully.

“Actually, it doesn’t say.”

Katsuki stood up a bit straighter at Todoroki’s words, his heart thudding in his ears. “It doesn’t say? Everyone is required to list they’re secondary gender when applying.”

Todoroki shrugged. “It only lists his name, weight class, and type of fight. There’s no picture or mention of his gender. Apparently this is his debut tournament, but he’s been underground for the past year.”

“Is he boxing?” Mina asked, obviously invested.

The alpha sighed indifferently. “Kick-boxing. Honestly, I’m more excited to meet the beta who kicked my father’s ass.”

Katsuki huffed to himself and focused on the punching bag again. He wouldn’t be fighting All Might’s mysterious successor, but he had the urge to show him who’s boss.

What could be so fucking special about Izuku Midoriya?

********

I Z U K U

“Parry or guard, Deku!”

Izuku huffed and guarded his face with his forearms. He was sweating wildly as Uraraka directed high kicks towards his face. The green mouth-guard between his teeth was clenched tightly as he concentrated.

Uraraka had been doing this much longer than him, so her skills were a little more precise and powerful.

But she also takes a second to get her bearings after kicks or jabs.

Izuku waited a split second after her last kick to pull his left leg back and swing it to hit Uraraka’s torso head-on.

Uraraka gasped on impact, caught off-guard.

That’s all Izuku needed.

In quick succession, Izuku delivered three jabs and ultimately finished with a right hook to take down his opponent.

Sure enough, Uraraka collapsed on the mat.

Izuku straightened his stance, panting wildly as he used his wrists to maneuver the head gear off of his curls. He was sweating like a pig, dressed in a form-fitting tank and spandex shorts.

Uraraka was panting as well, spread eagle on the mat. “That was good, Deku. Wasn’t expecting a roundhouse kick.”

“I can’t let you win every time, Uraraka.” Izuku huffed, chuckling lightly.

Before the female omega could respond or even think of a witty response, a gruff and familiar voice spoke first.

“Excellent job, my boy.”

Izuku glanced to the side, where two betas had been watching the sparring match. Shinsou was one of them, sipping on what looked like iced coffee. The other, however, was Izuku’s teacher and close friend.

Izuku bowed, his face hot. “Thank you, Toshinori-sensei.”

“Your reflexes have improved quite a bit.”

Uraraka sat upright, humming in agreement. “Compared to yesterday, Deku managed to study my reflexes and react accordingly.”

Toshinori grinned, leaning on his cane as he walked over. “I noticed that as well. He’ll need that skill, especially since all the alphas tonight will try to crowd him and get a solid hit.”

“They'll have to catch me first.” Izuku muttered, wiping his brow.

The blond beta chuckled at his response. “That’s correct, my boy. If you stay light on your feet, then it should be fairly easy.”

Izuku nodded, still slightly out of breath.

“However, we do need to discuss something.”

This doesn’t sound good.

Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed in obvious confusion, his stomach already churning with anxiety. Toshinori looked serious and stressed, which was a tell-tale sign that something was wrong.

“Endeavor reached out to me today.”

Endeavor?

Izuku shared a glance with Shinsou and Uraraka. “What did he want? I thought he only reached out to try and challenge you to a rematch?”

Toshinori’ s mouth twitched slightly. “He’s very intrigued with the fact that I’ve been training a successor. He’s offered us a chance to train at his gym and spar with his successor.”

“Why would he do that?”

The elder beta shrugged, smiling lightly. “I think it might be his way of sizing up the competition. Personally, I think it’s a good idea.”

Izuku cringed. “Endeavor’s gym is full of raging alphas with pride issues. I really don’t want to put up with courting requests or the assumptions that I need extra assistance from them.”

“But he has access to better training gear.”

The green-eyed omega sighed, his boxing gloves feeling heavy on his hands. “I’ve heard of his successor, sensei. From what Shinsou has told me, he’s loud and aggressive in or out of the ring.”

Uraraka, who was watching the conversation, rolled her eyes. “Just give him an attitude adjustment, Deku.”

“It’s not that-“

Shinsou, who had been listening silently, effectively cut him off. “You’ve already met him, Izuku.”

What?

“No, I haven’t.” Izuku murmured, hopelessly confused.

The purple-haired beta chuckled, placing his iced coffee on a table before approaching them. ��He’s the alpha who insisted on walking you home after kicking Dabi’s ass.”

And just like that, Izuku couldn’t breathe.

Hell, he couldn’t even process the information.

Blondie, who Izuku had pushed to the back of his mind, was nothing like Shinsou’s description of Endeavor’s successor. He was rough and loud, but he did make any move to attack him.

However, Blondie did assume that Izuku was helpless.

This can’t be the same-

“Deku, you’re mumbling again.”

Izuku froze, his skin immediately reddening as he glanced around the room. “Oh. I didn’t realize that I was….”

Shinsou raised an eyebrow at Izuku, grabbing a gloved hand and beginning to unlace the wrist. “I guess he made an impact on you, too. He won’t stop harassing me about your wellbeing, you know.”

“What?” Uraraka screeched, making everyone else wince.

Izuku sighed, ignoring the nervous flutter in his chest. “He probably thinks I need protecting. How does he know that you’re friends with me?”

The beta shrugged. “I was out with Denki and his friends that night. We went to the bar you perform at and Bakugou basically started drooling.”

“He’s sounds proper infatuated, Midoriya.”

Izuku groaned at Toshinori’s teasing tone, using his newly freed hand to rub his face. His bandages felt rough on his skin, but it was nice. “Not you too, sensei. I’m sure that this Bakugou person is just looking for a boost to his ego.”

Toshinori chuckled, obviously amused. “Be that as it may, I already accepted Endeavor’s request. We’re having lunch with them before the tournament.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

His teacher grinned. “I didn’t give you a choice, my boy.”

*********

[silver-rings-and-rabbits]

Open Heart: Second Year

I don’t think I’m saying anything that hasn’t already been said before but this is bugging me like crazy. I don’t use Tumblr very often but I don’t know anyone else who plays Choices, so here I am (I guess spoiler alert for those who haven’t played Open Heart).

Open Heart book 1 is one of my favourite books, possibly even my most favourite. I genuinely couldn’t decide between Bryce, Raf and Ethan. I switch between the male and female MC and I’ve been able to give them different personalities. The book had strong writing and a coherent plot with probably three main storylines: Patient X, Panacea Labs, and Mrs Martinez, which all tied together beautifully at the end. Even all our patients came back in the last chapter.

And then Open Heart: Second Year. Where to start.

Obviously Ethan is our boss, mentor and colleague so he will have a vital role in the story, but why push the other LIs aside? Why can’t Bryce romancers steal a few minutes in the hospital corridors where Bryce gives you a flirty wink and a pat on the butt? Why can’t Jackie romancers sneak into her room every so often?

And let’s get started on Rafael. First of all....what the fuck?

I love a little bit of angst so I wasn’t initially too mad when Sora was introduced (actually I think it made me want Rafael more, because apparently I only like men I can’t have...and I’ve gone off Ethan because he would be too easy). But there was none. Sora appeared in chapter 2, where it’s described as ‘stings a little to watch’, but doesn’t appear again until the baseball game in chapter 8 where they cheer for Edenbrook a couple of times. The only kind of ‘angst’ Rafael romancers got was dancing with Raf at the music festival where Sora is briefly mentioned and MC closes their eyes and listens to Raf’s heartbeat (which was a sweet moment, to be fair). Are you seriously telling me that none of their friends acknowledged that he and MC used to date? That they wouldn’t have asked if MC was OK at least once? That they would have invited Rafael over to the apartment without giving MC a heads up? And when PB was asked about this they gave some crap about making things realistic and exploring the mature themes of a medical drama. If Open Heart were realistic, MC would have been fired halfway through book 1 (one of the dialogue options with Ethan in book 1 chapter 6 actually leads him to say ‘consider yourself lucky you’re even getting a next time’) but NO, we get ‘realism’ by losing a beloved love interest and character that people have grown invested in and spent money on, and then completely waste the opportunity for drama.

And then there’s chapter 10.

And going back to realism, they couldn’t think of anything else apart from vengeance and terrorism? Not, I don’t know, just a highly infectious patient which is probably more likely to happen within a hospital?

I do think that chapter 11 is one of the strongest chapters of Second Year, and the book has got stronger since then. But knowing that it might have ended with the death of Rafael leaves a VERY bitter taste. I’m very glad they rewrote it...but what on earth was the thought process behind that?!? Going back to realism again, if they wanted drama and emotions, why not have Kyra die of surgical complications? At least we’d have been somewhat prepared for that as she was introduced as being a cancer patient, and there would have been more angst (especially for Bryce romancers) as he would have had the guilt of not being able to save her when he promised MC he would, even if it was out of his hands. But sure, have Rafael caught in an assassination attempt, that makes sense. And it still doesn’t really excuse Sora, I mean, imagine the pain if he was still an LI and he and MC were saying their last goodbyes in that room??

I was happy with the rewrite to chapter 11 and the kiss between Raf and MC in chapter 12 was beautiful. And PB have actually made something of an effort to include Raf in the rest of the story; I was half-expecting to not see him again until the obligatory 30-diamond scene in the last chapter.

Chapter 12 was so emotional and it was so clear that each character and LI was struggling with the events. And the end of chapter 12 and the beginning of chapter 13 made it very clear that MC was terrified of returning to work. MC has butterflies in their stomach as they walk in to Edenbrook and then...nothing. That was that. As if they just needed to face their fear and they’d be alright again. Now I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure PTSD isn’t as simple as that? It would go far deeper than ‘Oh, I’m alright, just taking it one day at a time’. And the narration specified that MC was uncomfortable at the idea of going back into the diagnostics room where the attack happened, but chapter 14 we’re back in there without batting an eyelid.

Someone (I don’t know who...if you’re reading this let me know!!) pointed out that Danny and Bobby could have been mentioned at the gala...there could have been some kind of ‘in memory’ and donors could have been guilt tripped by MC. But no, not a peep. I keep thinking that we could have had Baz, Zaid and Inez (I miss her) catching up with MC and asking how they’re doing and how worried they were. If you’re going to the gala with Raf there could have been a highly emotional scene between them about what happened in the room. Raf alludes to it in a line of dialogue but there was potential for so much more.

And how about the fact that a group of doctors cured the incurable OVERNIGHT and it worked without proper testing? NO ONE has mentioned that since! Surely there would be papers being published and deeper research being conducted now that lives aren’t on the line? We had a whole chapter about how a research grant would save the hospital but now...nothing?! Ed Farrugia hasn’t been mentioned since chapter 12. No one in the team is talking about how it was June’s idea to convince him to switch to Edenbrook. Surely that would be a huge elephant in the room? Wouldn’t she at least say something like ‘I never wanted this to happen, we went too far’? Something?!

The fact that there has been no follow-up to the attack suggests to me that it was purely for shock value. They just wanted drama and didn’t care about keeping it grounded. And assuming that Rafael died in the original, that’s more upsetting. I can’t believe that he was the least profitable character in the history of Choices ever. And even if he was, was it because no one bought his diamond scenes, or because he didn’t have diamond scenes to buy? I romanced Bryce in my first playthrough, but I remember choosing to assist on his surgery without even thinking about it, I didn’t even look at the diamonds it would cost. So a beloved character would have been killed, and it would have brought nothing to the story.

Furthermore, Sora would never have been explained. Rafael almost explained in chapters 2 and 12 but both times MC cut them off. If Rafael was originally going to die in chapter 11, Rafael romancers would never have got that explanation, unless they were to hear it from Sora themselves afterwards (doubtful). And it’s highly unlikely it actually will be explained. PB will probably say ‘it’s up to you what happened!’ like they’re doing us a favour by creating our own headcanon, but to me that’s just lazy writing; they wanted to write off Rafael and they didn’t care how they did it.

If Second Year hadn’t opened with a funeral scene we might never have been clued into what was going to happen and demanded a rewrite.

Aside from that, there’s Esme. She’s introduced as breaking Dr Thorne’s hand and then has to diagnose and treat him in chapter 10. Depending on your choices, he gets surgery and thanks Esme for saving his life and apologises for the bar incident. Otherwise she doesn’t run further tests and he messes up a surgery which eventually forces him to resign. And then Esme gets her plotline with Levi. If Dr Thorne wasn’t her main plotline, what was the point in introducing him? It’s another storyline that had huge potential--sexual harassment in the workplace, for example--but had little to no payoff and fell off the radar. If PB wanted to introduce MC and Esme the night before they both started working then MC could have just literally walked into Esme and either apologised, asked if she was OK, or told her to watch where she was going, and that would have affected how she greeted you in the hospital the next day. But no, we get this storyline hinted at which is then written off and replaced. Maybe it was a rewrite, I just don’t see why it would have been.

Like I said before, the main storylines of book 1 all tied together in the end, but the storylines we’ve had in book 2 have just felt like completely separate events, just a bunch of stuff that happens and is quickly forgotten. I think the balance of the LIs has been better since chapter 11; even when the gang went to Vegas, Raf romancers got a quick phone call with him. As a Raf romancer, I appreciated that, and it only goes to show how PB could accommodate for all LIs whilst having Ethan integral as our boss (see before, bonus scenes for Jackie romancers sneaking into each others rooms, bonus scenes for Bryce romancers having flirty interactions in the corridors). 

There is such a difference in dialogue if you’re playing Ethan’s romance route or not. I had him stay behind in chapter 11 and I thought it came across as a sweet conversation between a mentor and his protégée. But the other LIs don’t have anything close to that level of detail. Ethan romancers get pretty close to being official in chapter 17 but I’ve heard Jackie and Bryce didn’t get that. And Raf romancers didn’t even get caught sneaking back into the gala. I’m still holding out hope that book 2 will end with all LIs saying ‘I love you’ and being official with MC, but the inequality makes me sad.

I might have had some more to say, but this post has been longer than I intended and I don’t remember what that might have been. I really wanted to like Open Heart: Second Year. Book 1 will always be a favourite, but book 2? It’s like going from the classic era of The Simpsons where Homer was a lazy dumbass but genuinely loved his family, to the modern era of The Simpsons where nothing makes sense and Homer is a straight-up jerk. I just hope that, if we get book 3, they would have learned from their mistakes and Open Heart can be saved. It doesn’t deserve this.

Well, that’s my two cents. Sorry for the long post. If you got this far, thanks for reading.