#which i left untreated for too long

[theinternetisaweboflies]

so far my favorite part of persona 5 is when ann tries to get rid of kamoshida by telling him that she has appendicitis but she's been too busy to go to the hospital and he's such a bad phys ed teacher that he doesn't realize she would be dead

[fairestwriting]

Hi! Could I request Diasomnia with a reader who got injured but is too stubborn to let them help? Idk if you do platonic works but I would prefer this was. Romantic is fine tho :) have a nice day

i do write platonic relationships yeah! i wrote this one thinking of the reader more like their close friend but if someone wants to interpret it as a crush thing i think it could work too. i hope you have a nice day too <3

𐙚 Malleus Draconia

Malleus has enough common sense to not lose his mind over little scrapes, even though he’d honestly still want you to put a bandaid over it. But having mentioned that before, and receiving your very firm response that it was fine, he got the message that you might not like being fussed over.

So he mostly doesn’t voice these thoughts. He doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and he does know certain things really are so minor that it won’t make that much of a difference if you try to care for it or not. Even in a human body, which is still something that’s sort of a mystery to him.

But, for that precise reason of him not fully understanding the human healing process, if anything bleeds, or looks noticeably red, he refuses to leave you alone about it. You can still see some hesitancy in his eyes, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but it’s outweighed by worry. ”What if it gets infected, though? Are you sure you don’t want to at least bandage it?” He’s heard infections can get pretty serious, even if they’re very minor at first.

If all other arguments fail to reach you, he’ll ask if you could take care of it for his sake. Because he really hates to see you hurt, so could you just consider making sure it’ll heal faster? He’ll say that even over something like a nastier than average hand burn from cooking, and so honestly too — it’ll really put your stubbornness to test, regardless of how strong it is.

𐙚 Lilia Vanrouge

His knowledge on human injuries is, frankly, a bit all over the place. It’s hard to remember what’s serious and what isn’t when he’s been around for so long, and gotten so many injuries of his own. Sometimes he unconsciously projects his own body’s recovery ability onto others.

Now, that doesn’t mean he’ll be any sort of neglectful of your injuries, though. On the contrary, he insists on personally patching you up every time he catches a glimpse of one. ”Hmm, you don’t want to bother with it? That’s okay. I’ll do it for you, just hold still.” He’s smiling as he talks, not even giving you a chance to properly say no before he’s already taking a closer look at the injury. His grip is too strong for you to pull away, even if it isn’t forceful at all…

When it comes to things like scratches, it’s more of a playful show of affection. He does know it won’t kill you, it doesn’t really need that bandaid and certainly not the little kiss he places over it after— He just wants to show that he cares for you. If you find it flustering that’s just a bonus. And yes, he will still do it even if you’re just friends, just in a more parental sort of way, unless you tell him it genuinely makes you uncomfortable.

If it’s more serious, the sort of thing that could actually cause an infection if not taken care of properly, he’s not as lighthearted. He does still joke a little about how you don’t have to worry about a thing because he’s here to care for you, but mostly to keep the mood light, especially if it looks like something he’d have to take you to the nurse to properly care for. Lilia wonders why you’re so stubborn about the whole thing, maybe it’s a matter of not wanting to seem weak? He hopes you’ll feel more at ease with him, eventually.

𐙚 Silver

To nobody’s surprise, he’ll likely be the most easygoing and knowledgeable of the bunch. There’s no species difference factor at play here, he’s very aware of what can be dangerous if left untreated and what can’t.

He does point out injuries and ask about them if he notices them, no matter how small, but it’s more of an expression of caring about you in general rather than specifically worrying that the bad scrape you got from tripping could make you deathly ill. It won’t really alarm him when you tell him it’s not a big deal, or it doesn’t even hurt. He’ll at most remind you to keep it away from dirt and then drop the subject.

Silver is very quick to recognize what could truly be potentially dangerous, though. Lilia taught him the basics of first aid when he was pretty young, and he later went on to study it in more depth as part of his training. The way he notices and points out things might even come off strange, because he’s usually so laid back in every aspect. Before you can dismiss him he’s already listing all the reasons why your “little scratch” is looking a bit off putting.

Still, he doesn’t want to pressure you, so it might create a bit of a dilemma in his mind when you keep insisting it’s fine. ”I’m being serious here, I’m not trying to annoy you. It’s not supposed to be this red. If you don’t want to see the nurse, at least let me help.” He’ll argue, and he can get pretty firm, but he’ll never cross the line into outright scolding you. You sound honestly careless to him, but he feels like there must be a reason for you to feel that way, and he doesn’t want to pry.

𐙚 Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is about as educated in the topic as Silver, and the difference between how your body recovers from injuries versus his is pretty minimal compared to people like Malleus or Lilia. But. Well. It is Sebek. You can’t really expect him to just let it go, if he likes you enough to consider you at least a friend. He’s just not someone who can be any sort of laid back with those he cares about.

Even though he knows so much about the theory, he does actually get worried if you hurt yourself. Yes, he’s aware that just because the cut you got from peeling some fruit bled a little bit, it doesn’t mean it’s going to get infected if you don’t clean and bandage it within an hour. But every body can be so different, even within the same (or similar) species! Besides, he’s read that poor immune system function can contribute to wounds getting easily infected— And how is he supposed to tell if your immune system is doing perfectly fine, if you’re so guarded even with small injuries. You’d try to hide it if you were feeling sick too, woldn’t you?

Even though he’s the youngest in this group, he’s the one who really comes off like some kind of… nagging parent or overprotective older sibling. Hell, he might even be younger than you, but he’s still pulling bandaids and antiseptic seemingly out of nowhere and scolding you for not taking care of yourself. “You were already careless enough to get hurt, and now you want to just leave it like that?!” He balks at your insistence that it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t have to do anything or even worry, you’ve dealt with things like that before— Yeah, he’s not listening to any of that.

He might end up overstepping your boundaries a bit in the process, but he really does mean well. It just makes him anxious to see you dismissing your own safety like that, and that makes it hard to try to understand your perspective, whatever it is. You know him well enough to be aware that all the fussing just happens because he cares, and not because he’s genuinely trying to make you feel bad for getting hurt and not wanting to accept help with patching yourself up. If it does end up upsetting you, he’ll be understanding if you bring it up later.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[sky-scribbles]

Just remembered how, when I was first levelling up Gale, I thought, 'huh, he's got fairly decent Consitution for a wizard. Useful for gameplay purposes, of course, but I wonder if there's a narrative explanation?'

And not an hour or two of play later, learned that the orb - if left untreated too long - causes him constant pain, muscle spasms and disorientation. Gale and Tara did not immediately figure out how to treat his condition, which meant that he likely spent weeks or months in that state - and of course, whenever the orb acts up, he goes through it again. He probably endures it constantly through the end of act 1, after his treatment stops working.

Constitution, of course, is that the stat that represents ability to focus while being hurt. Endurance even after physical distress. Pain tolerance.

Yeah. I think there's a narrative explanation.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Monkeys meeting a reader who can see into the future like Bruno Madrigal, as is constantly left isolated from others.

I mean come on nobody sees these as warnings to try and AVOID?

We don't talk about (Y/n)😶

(Lmk Wukong) What ostracized for being able to see bad news in the future?! AS IF?! he wished he had met you a long time ago. He would have been able to avoid so much of life's bullsh*t, but here you are, nervous isolated and very, very, very, very kind. Wukong eventually fell in love with you because of your care for others dispite your emotional burnout and isolation. You started to feel the same to finally feeling safe enough to trust and love again.

(HIB Wukong) Now this is the first time he's ever been curious along with his son Luier. Learning that somewhere out there their is a beautiful but very isolated female monkey with the power to see the future. That makes Wukong wonder a few things and went to find you to get some answers. When you guys do met you the first thing he saw was burnout and sadness, Wukong immediately felt sympathy for your depression and mood. He and the children worked to lift your Spirits reminding you that life is beautiful, as Wukong kissed your face.

(NR Wukong) Ohhhhh Mystery Green eyed monkey lady, how exciting that is for him. Although he would be curious to know why such a beautiful jade siren, is all alone by herself in the night. That's when he learns about your gift you can see pretty far into the future, it probably explains why you keep slipping away from him so easily. Wukong decided to get tricky and he soon had you where he wanted you, right in his arms wooing you all night long.

(MKR Wukong) Oh jeez good luck pushing him away, Wukong has not been deterred by some nasty rumors before and he ain't gonna start now. He met you all alone in your cottage because he heard you can look into the future, but what he wasn't expecting was a pretty little monkey. Wukong was suddenly besides himself having such pretty eyes on him, and got extra stubborn to leave you be. Soon after finally helping him he made sure to bring you along too, holding your hand leading the way.

(Netflix Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhh Man this...this is a very deep untreated cut, Wukong knows about isolation, being ostracized, and rejected better then any mortal and immortal ever😥 Deep down despite his bravado and loud mouth he wouldn't wish that kind of loneliness upon even his enemies. Which is why he would go out of his way to break you out of your shell, so what of you can see the future all he sees is his future with you😉

(BMW Wukong) Your isolation would not deter him what so ever, you were the most beautiful creature he's ever seen. Wukong would do anything to get you to spend time with and date him, but you were extremely pessimistic about his chances for a good time with you. Though with the way you were receiving neck kisses from Wukong, that wouldn't take long to change your mind.

(Destined one) Wow you....you were beautiful and what's more is that you have an intriguing little gift. Though the Destined one immediately felt a large amount of depression from you, especially your isolation and pessimism. He definitely took it upon himself to give support and care to you, As he takes it upon himself to show you the bright sides of life bring a small smile to you.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🐀

[evilminji]

You know, i just had the mental image of a sith in star wars finding a ritual or something to summon a ghost and end up summoning danny, while in space. The sith is struggling to try and convince this otherworldly being to help them do evil and their just staring out the nearest viewport in awe about the amount of new space things to discover.

How does it feel? To have such a big and wrinkly brain? So full of smartness?? :O

That? Is Brilliant~☆

It could be a Krell situation. Stress of the war got to be too much. Or a Dooku situation, discontent fed and fed until it burst. Like a silently festering wound, left unseen and untreated.

Regardless of HOW it happened?

The lil shit steals from Madame Nu. Like a CRAZY PERSON.

Rightfully terrified that she will Kick Their Ass into the stratosphere for touching HER archives, they head straight for the "Sith Stuff". What does it DO? What RESEARCH did they do? HA! You ask too much of them! There is no PLAN here!

Their brain has gone to SOUP with the Dark Side. It's all wild mood swings and impulse decisions! Research and careful precautions takes PATIENCE. Planning. The calm and rationality they just THREW OUT AN AIR LOCK.

They are high on the initial high of the Dark Side that few, if any, Dark Siders ever SURVIVE. That TEST of their character and control, as they stand in the storm they have unleashed upon themselves.

You want POWER?

Okay.

HAVE IT.

Like trying to swallow a waterfall. Drink the ocean, one cup at a time. Endless, yes, but equally so? It is BRINE. Not the life giving waters of the Light. The more you drink... the deeper your thirst. The faster you die. Can you control yourself? Suffer it? For that's all that's left... suffering. Thirst. Endless, Endless Thirst.

Water water everywhere, and it shall grind your bones to DUST when next you drink.

Welcome to the Dark Side! Was it WORTH it?

But, ah, our Fallen's brain is muddled soup. They think so. They are not themselves. May never be again. That's why it's a tragedy. Because it both IS and ISN'T their hands that takes that Sith artifact. Because who they WERE would be appalled.

They don't even know what they are grabbing, do they? No one does. Seized from the ruins of a laboratory. Long dead horrors, painted upon the walls. A Sith's obsession with the afterlife of his people. Ghosts. Beings that were, supposedly, DIFFERENT then Force Ghosts.

The notes speak of "green". A vision or experience in his youth. Brief. The world tearing open. A gate to somewhere "green". The Sith believed it was the afterlife. Felt death inside the gate. Described as "peaceful, joyful, driven, and eternal", he was ultimately unable to full articulate the full scope of what he believed he saw.

Now his last device is in the hands of a fallen jedi.

Who is going to USE it.

P A N I C

Obviously, the Temple gaurds chase the crazy mofo as hard as they can. Without a DOUBT, every master on hand and available, is roped in by Madame Nu to FOLLOW that psychopath, before he unleashs FORCE KNOWS WHAT, directly over CORUSCANT AIRSPACE!!! The SENATE. THE TEMPLE?! HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF LIVES!?

Fallen McFuckface? Clearly did not think this through (nooooo, REALLY? Everyone is SHOCKED! Shocked, they tell you!), panics. Which is, unfortunately, the LAST thing they wanted them to do. FUCK™.

Masters and Knights are LITERALLY cutting through the hull, kicking down the door, they can survive limited Space exposure and honestly? We're not THAT high yet! Let's see you jump to hyperspace with HOLES in your ship! (Fucking, DONT GIVE THEM IDEAS! They're insane, remember?!) (Shit. You're right.)

When?

.......Green...~¤~

Hilariously? The Sith can plan all they want. But you can NEVER plan for stupid. Make a plan idiot proof, as they say, and the Universe will just build a better idiot. All that carefully curated misery, hatred, and suffering? That DISPAIR. The webs upon webs of Darkness carefully spread across the Senate district? Choking the Temple?

Mmmmm, tasty kindling. Good fuel! Sith Artifact LIKEY~!

It RIPS and TEARS. A screaming MAW IN THE SKY. A black hole for Dark Side energy that takes and takes and TAKES. Dropping people all across the district below. KILLING the particularly irredeemably monstrous. After all~!

The Force? Is in all things.

You DON'T have to be Force Sensitive, to Fall. Just a BASTARD. Just cruel and selfish, hateful and needlessly petty. All the things that would sour and turn a Jedi? Can sour and turn YOU too. Just slower, quiter, and with less explosions. But! It still wraps the Dark around your bones. Feeds it into your blood.

Kills you, when it all gets ripped away.

One must wonder.... how many Senators die instantly? And how many die in the days to come? Slowly, painfully, bed-bound as they reflect on who they had become? The fall out will be SPECTACULAR.

The Jedi's fault? How? How is their being stretched so thin they could not mount a proper response THEIR fault? How is YOUR corruption, THEIR fault? Please note all the individuals who were FINE! Baffled, but FINE!

But perhaps you are correct.

Perhaps, for the safety of ALL, we should MOVE our main Temple.

We've done it before. We can do it again. Or do you not want to HAVE that conversation? Hmmm? No, no, we wouldn't want to be a THREAT to you FINE people! You HONORABLE senators! Please, continue to yell and make demands! SEE HOW FAR IT GETS YOU!

Would they normally send someone more diplomatic? Yes. But STRANGELY all of THEM had weird SITH Darkness on them that got violently ripped off! They are in the halls of healing. Unconscious. Because getting Sith shit, that was hooked into your brain, violently ripped out? Not GREAT! 0 out of 10 healers recommend!

Fuuuuck you! Yes, I bite! And be warned, my Race is VENOMOUS! *aggravated Jedi Senior Padawan noises, hissing*

Danny? Got pulled out in FULL regalia. Just FULL on Ice and Stars. Full "I am the Cosmos beholding itself, I am the dead child you could not save.", beyond vanta-black armor and cape like a window to ever shifting stars, crown of aurora borealis playing off the eternal ice, all upon a youngling that seems forever floating... frozen in time. By death.

Was it sacrifice? Natural? Is it just a shape the spirit takes? IS he a youngling?

They both can and can not feel him.

Both can and can not SEE him.

He is so young....

A child king, hsmiles with such shared grief, when they look upon that too large crown, upon a head that should never have been forced to wear it. Like a child, forced to wear his father's mantle too soon. Is that what happened? Was it something worse? They can not bring themselves to ask.

Not when he is so... so DELIGHTED?

Playing with the younglings. In AWE of each and everyone of them. The things they learned each day. "Who wants to go flying?" "Try to float me!" "I believe in you." Oh, he BASKS in their Light like a desperate thing. Showers them with praise and attention, gentle corrections and undivided attention.

He is empathic. Alive and dead. Fascinated by the stars.

And of course... King™.

No, no, he's not interested in your Senate. Doesn't like um, Doesn't trust um. The vibes are RANCID. But I mean... if you REALLY need an army so bad? Since it seems you guys are pushing yourself WAY outside of your normal duties? Like, he doesn't know, uhhh farmers burning crops to prevent starvation? Something like that.

Just? Since you hate it? But are worried people will die? Or those Clone guys (Sweet! Clones! Ellie is gonna be HYPED.) Are gonna die? He could, you know... fix that for you?

JUST you.

We're gonna have to get it in writing. And they won't do anything BUT stop the robots and help people. They don't actually answer to you. Soooo.....?

.......are you offering us an army? (Yeah. An endless skeleton army. Lead by the greatest Generals to have ever died.).....(they get bored.)

And SUDDENLY? Oh look! The Galactic suffering levels? Just fucking DROPPED. All those SENTIENT Clone soldiers! Dying in vain, in agony, ALONE? Not happening! Skeletons can get blasted apart, fade, reassemble, and march RIGHT BACK OUT! This is GREAT fun!

And even better? Unlike with Pariah? THIS time they march? King PHANTOM is sending them to HELP people! Woooooo! Destroy metal crunchy things! Help clean up rubble! Build a house! Rescue trapped people from rubble! Tireless effort! Honor and service! Thanks for the FREE METAL! *rips apart your robots*

There are no anti-ecto technologies here! The BEST they have is Force users! Which? Ha ha ha! GOOD LUCK. That's what? One? TWO? Of you?? To HOW MANY of us??? *cackles in bone army*

And! If they happen upon OTHER things they don't like? Whoop! Should'a thought of that! Before being a DICK! King Phantom says slavery is ILLEGAL. And we, the FORMER slave army of King Pariah, have Millennium Long ISSUES with that! (Easy to remove that chip, when you can reach THROUGH a person. Here you Slaver FUCK. YOU have it! In fact! Have ALL of them. From each and every slave.)

Anikin LOVES his new Bone friends. They are WONDERFUL. Him n them? Bonded. He's made them all speech boards. They're plotting the gruesome end of the Hutt cartel together. He's showing them the holo of his wedding. They're making Super Advanced Chip scan-.....

W....Why is his scanner going off? There should be nothing near by for it to recognize. The only thing HERE is him, his Bone Buddies, and Rex for supervision.... *mounting horror as he slowly waves the device around* *beep*

R-Rex?

...

......

The Clones? De-chipped in like... two days. There are too many skeletons to NOT have them be able to just? *reach in, feel for the Non-Clone bit, grab it, pull out* didn't even need surgery! But boy, oh, boy! Is Anikin upset. That sure is a Slave chip! Hey, Kamino! Have a Chosen One and his Bones Bros! Some Clones in orbit with Real Big Guns.

And Palatine? Is? PISSED.

His whole ass Empire is dissolving in his hands. The Sith Master Plan! Going up in smoke! Walls are closing in! All because of ONE(1) glowing BRAT.

Wanna bet he goes after him... with LIGHTNING? In human form, of course. Danny. Who DIED to electricity. Who has, throughout ALL of this? Been chilling in the Jedi temple, finally... FINALLY! Unwinding. Putting down the stress on his shoulders. Healing from his childhood. Cuddling cute babies and laying on the grass to nap, listen to the waterfall. Be at PEACE, surrounded by the Light of the Jedi.

Danny, who has been making friends. Enjoying the archives. For once in his stressful, STRESSFUL life? Letting OTHER PEOPLE deal with it. Playing with alien puppies and weird not-cats. Trying new foods! Seeing about adopting some droids that Tucker might get on with. Sorry "buying" some droids. (As though those Restraining Bolts aren't coming off the SECOND they droids are in his hands.)

It's been cool. Relaxing. Great for his mental health.

They have folks LITERALLY called Mind Healers here! Jazz would love it!

So obviously Sith face ruins it. Hurts his friends and blasts him with LIGHTNING. The kids are crying and terrified. This was supposed to be some sort of "learn about how the Republic works" day trip to the Senate! He was helping chaperone. They are being so, SO brave. Staying together. Trying to get their teacher out of harms ways.

He? Is? PISSED.

How DARE you. How FUCKING DARE YOU?! A fight between adults? Not his Reality, not his business. Clockwork drilled that into his head. He CAN'T keep the Multiverse together. Fight every fight for everyone, save everything. People have free will. Have to decide for THEMSELVES. Choose to do the right thing.

It doesn't mean SHIT if they don't save themselves. Wont last, in the end, because they won't have LEARNED a damn thing. He GETS that! But KIDS?! Ooooh ho ho! He DRAWS THE LINE AT KIDS! At shocking the SHIT out of him with LIGHTNING!

You want to poke the sleeping titan 'til it wakes up?

Well congrats!

YOU HAVE HIS ATTENTION NOW!

*inhale*

*Wail*

Palpatine goes through the HOLE where about fifteen walls USED to be. Half of Coruscant physically hears it and EVERYONE with even a TOUCH of Force sensitivity FEELS it. Across the entire planet and up into orbit.

Dying screams and the crackle of electricity. Regret. Fear. The desperate need to protect, in your final moment. Pain and pressure, the cool slide of Death come to take it all away. You were just fourteen. You were just fourteen! You died screaming, you came back screaming, in the place between... will you ever stop screaming?

You are the Galaxy, the Cosmos, the INFINITE. You are just a child.

How many souls died screaming?

Can't you hear ALL OF THEM?

Pissed or not, kids come first. Fuuuuuck that guy. Danny picks up the teacher, the kids, and back to the Temple they go. Teacher survives. Kids cling. Senate gets itself into a snit over the "unprovoked attack". But the thing is? A whole CLASS of Baby Jedi say the Chancellor is the Sith Lord. Look too spooked to be lying. Their teacher, too WOUNDED for this to be a prank.

The Jedi close rank.

Palpatine tries to use the Clones.

You know... the De-chipped by their Bone Bros Clones.

Commander Fox? Gets to finally, FINALLY(!!!) live out his long time fantasy... of shooting the fucker. Slug thrower. Tragically, fails to kill him. But the attempt WAS enthusiastic! We applaud his attempt. Commander Fox gets to join Danny in the Gardens, under a Crechelings pile, staring at the stain glass ceiling and Not Thinking Or Having Responsibilities.

Huh.... kid's right. This IS nice.

Fox enjoys being a climb-able lump for the Crechelings. Welcome to the club, my dude.

The other Jedi? THEY can figure it out. The Temple is literally unassailable. If needs be, his army can PICK IT UP AND MOVE IT. Danny is Vibin. Have a fruit. You hear about Skywalker? Making pretty good ground on his whole "one man and massive bone army campaign against Slavery" thing. Missed the whole.... his buddy was an asshole reveal. Apparently reception is spotty. *shrugs*

His wife's nice though! *various married Jedi agree, Obi-Wan continues to sulk because: "REALLY?! You didn't even INVITE ME!? My own Padawan! To his WEDDING! Anikin how COULD YO-!?"*

[h0neybane]

MAGIKEY (TWST AU) BY @quartztwst !!

im going to PASS AWAAAAYYYYY IM SOSO TIRED. BUT ITS DONE. but anyway, more on evelyn...

Evelyn [Magikey User "Luna Luceat"]

“Hurry up, I'm gonna pass out."

Evelyn is an 18 year old girl and has been a magical girl for 4 years, since she was 14. In her magical girl form, she comes off as mysterious and aloof... but she's really just thinking about going home. She has occasionally breached the top 10 of Magical popularity rankings, but she mostly tries to keep to herself, vanishing immediately after her work is done. Oftentimes, she finished things so quick that the public is unaware.

A quiet, sleepy girl who is jaded from her years as a magical girl.

Status:

Mental/Emotional Strength: ★★★★☆ (She's hard to crack since she's used to her job, but her constant exhaustion can become a vulnerability if left untreated for too long.)

Physical Strength: ★★★☆☆ (She's moderately strong as her staff is fairly hefty, and she does swing with it sometimes.)

Stamina: ★★☆☆☆ (This girl is tired as FUCK LMFAO. She uses her little floating platform to move because she doesn't want to actually run.)

Strategy: ★★★★★ (Evelyn is very calculated with her moves as her goal is to get the job done as fast as possible to go home and SLEEP.)

Strengths: Evelyn is very experienced and keeps a close eye on all of her teammates, making sure they can operate effectively. She is especially strong during the nighttime in a full moon.

Weaknesses: Evelyn is constantly exhausted because she only works during the nighttime as that is when her powers are most effective. A daytime attack would leave her extremely vulnerable.

Evelyn lives with her little brother in their childhood home. Their parents are usually overseas on business trips, so they don't see them in person very often. Evelyn's brother is aware that she works during the night time, but doesn't know that she's a magical girl.

Evelyn grew up very sheltered, being homeschooled by tutors hired by her parents. She was very lonely and she didn't really speak to her brother. She accumulated a massive amount of hobbies to pass time, one of those being gazing at the moon on her balcony, wishing for something to change.

Her wish was granted the night of her 14th birthday, with her magikey falling into her hands after gazing at the moon for the nth time. She eagerly and naively accepted, thinking that this was everything she hoped for.

Unfortunately, she soon came to realize that the nature of her abilities forced her to be sleep deprived if she wanted to do anything much outside of being a magical girl. After her second year of being a magical girl, her enthusiasm fully died, and now she just tries to get by until she can go home. (she still really likes her outfit though, LOL)

After a shift as a magical girl, Evelyn will usually rush inside a convience store, grab snacks, pay and bolt home. She hates staying for overtime even by 5 minutes... though, she's willing to grab some stuff for her brother if he asks for it.

Evelyn is technically enrolled in theMagikey Training School, but she rarely shows up to classes. If she does, she's usually sleeping in them, though she doesn't mind a chance to show off once in a while. The instructors tend to leave her alone whenever this happens, as they're aware of how hard she works.

She does try to be nice towards her juniors though. She fetches them treats once in a while.

uncharted lore territory!! i didnt watch madoka magica or anything so idk if this fits in at all so im warning in advance lol. this is adjacent to evelyn's ACTUAL lore within the original canon twst, which is why it's here. i will make a separate post explaining further later on

Evelyn has a secret. One that isn't her being a magical girl. She has not told crowley, nor any of her magical colleagues, and she does not intend to— at least not for now. However, this secret does leave her susceptible to... negative feelings.

tag list!

@taruruchi @honeyedpearcrushh @boopshoops @scint1llat3

@h2llish @viperbunnies @buttholesparkles @oya-oya-okay @cheerleaderman

@qsoap @angelwishess @jadelover69 @skriblee-ksk @lychee-face

[unboundprompts]

any tips on how to write somebody who is suffering from hypothermia/ frostbite?

How to Write About Hypothermia/Frostbite

-> Mayoclinic: Hypothermia

-> Mayoclinc: Frostbite (has images that may be triggering)

-> Nationwide Children's: Frostbite

Hypothermia is caused by long exposure to cold weather or water. Your body begins to lose heat faster than it can be produced. Left untreated, hypothermia can lead to complete failure of your heart and respiratory system and eventually to death.

Symptoms of Hypothermia:

Shivering

Slurred speech or mumbling

Slow, shallow breathing

Weak pulse

Clumsiness or lack of coordination

Drowsiness or very low energy

Confusion or memory loss

Loss of consciousness

Bright red, cold skin (in infants)

Someone with hypothermia usually isn't aware of their condition because the symptoms often begin gradually. Also, the confused thinking associated with hypothermia prevents self-awareness. The confused thinking can also lead to risk-taking behavior.

What to do if a Doctor is not an Option:

Removing wet clothing

Protecting the affected area from further cold

Not walking on frostbitten feet

Reducing pain with a pain reliever

Frostbite is damage to the skin caused by extreme cold. It happens when the skin, nerves, and blood vessels below the top layer of the skin freeze. Rain, snow, water, and wind can cause the skin to cool faster, which may lead to frostbite.

Early signs of frostbite:

Skin that is paler than normal, cold, and hard

Pain, tingling, burning, numbness, or aching

Swelling

Blisters in the first 24 hours

Later signs of frostbite (if not treated):

Dark purple or black skin color

No feeling or pain in that part of the body

Frostbite is most common on the fingers, toes, nose, ears, cheeks and chin. 

Writing Prompts about Hypothermia and Frostbite:

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

She was so cold she could barely think. The feeling in her feet and hands were lost so long ago that she could hardly bring herself to continue walking.

His breathing was so shallow that he was lightheaded. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't keep his eyes open. He wanted nothing more than to just lay down.

Their fingers and toes were tingling, a burning sensation that was slowly spreading.

She looked at her fingers, her skin an ugly purple shade.

Blisters coated his skin, the confusion he felt was too much for him to grasp the gravity of the situation.

They couldn't stop shivering, their entire body felt like it was burning.

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[the-s1lly-corner]

Hello, if it's alright, could I request a Toby, Slenderman, EJ, and Jane the Killer x reader (separately) in which the reader (in most cases) doesn't know that they're injured until they look down at the injury? Not exactly to the extent of cipa, but more like they don't feel the pain or even notice it until they look down and see the injury.

If not that's ok too. Either way, have a good day!

Various crps x injured!reader who doesnt realize theyre injured

idk if theres a term for it but this happens to me sometimes </3 the amount of times id randomly find bruises or cuts and start feeling the pain as soon as a acknowledge the injury hisshiss characters: ticci toby, slenderman, jane the killer, eyeless jack notes: reader is gn cws: mentions of injuries

SLENDERMAN

he almost has a sixth sense when it comes to you, so its likely that he knows youre hurt before you do... though to be fair, with how long it takes you to notice that isnt... very impressive/lh

he does not wait for you to actually notice the damage, he goes into caregiver mode- taking you to clean the wound if its open and wrapping it if needed

does not have any answers for why you dont notice the pain at first but thats mostly because hes not skilled or educated in that sort of thing- you can only learn so much by observing others from far away and living in the woods

TICCI TOBY

you both passively lean into one another to keep track of the others wounds; you dont notice yours for a while, and neither does toby- though your scenarios arent exactly the same, you help each other take care of any nasty wounds that could get nastier if left untreated

in a way he finds himself relating to you on some level, because even temporarily you dont feel pain- you both may end up talking about your experiences

that being said, the two of you may not take cuts and bruises as seriously as you should because "well i can still function/i didnt notice the pain before- so its fine!" mentality, its... not the best way to go about things...

EYELESS JACK

headcanon that he was into medical stuff before getting all goopy and cannibalistic, so even if he doesnt immediately know whats going on he can cook up some theories-

that being said hes going to get onto you for leaving wounds uncleaned and uncovered, and will make it a habit to check over you every now and then to make sure youre not hurt... looks in places that are hard to look (back, neck, stuff like that)

always keeps a pack of Band-Aids/bandages on him at all times for general use, keeps other stuff at his place for worse injuries- disinfectants and needles to stich things up- hopefully it wont ever have to come to that, though

JANE THE KILLER

if youre the type to joke about your wounds to make the atmosphere lighter, its not going to work on jane... not because shes worried (okay... she is....) but because shes just.. not amused by that sort of humor

like jack, shes going to be stern and make sure youre taking better care of yourself and taking the time to look over yourself, as well as teaching you basic first aid if you've decided to skip over that

does not try to control you, shes not going to stop you from getting into a fight or doing something a little risky (within reason, if the situation seems too.. intense... itd be different), because even despite your little... situation... she has enough trust in you not to get mortally wounded

[oswaldthatendswald]

In no particular order, here's a list of Donquixote Rocinante headcanons that I've written into or at least gestured at in pretty much everything I write about him. Full disclosure, these are very self-indulgent and have little to no backing in canon (cw: his canon backstory and long-term unhealthy coping habits, look I write a lot of angst you know what you're getting into):

He enjoys reading in his free time, especially very light-hearted fiction, and has a soft spot for Terrible Romance Novels

He really enjoys doing his makeup, and finds it soothing. Surprisingly, he's very good at precise lines (he can do a killer winged eyeliner), but ends up favouring styles he can put on quickly and touch up easily.

There are pretty gnarly scars left on his wrists from when he was tied up by the angry mob as a kid. When he gets stressed out, he tends to rub at them or, subconsciously, try to cover them up.

He also has chronic pain from injuries received during that time that went largely untreated until Sengoku took him in.

He takes his coffee with no cream and so much sugar. Just an intolerable amount of sugar. Except when he's upset and blaming himself for something, in which case he takes it without sugar (which no one noticed until Law). He's aware that he does this, but it's not so much an active choice as a compulsion to self-punish.

He enjoys music and will sing to himself while absorbed in a task, but will also probably use his Devil Fruit to make sure no one notices.

Autistic, but he'd never notice because Sengoku and Law both are too. Anything he does notice, he just assumes is the result of all the childhood trauma. (I don't think the one piece world has very much psychiatry yet, but I suspect they have identified PTSD-- similar to how we started talking about shell shock after WW1-- and enough work has been done on that to diagnose Rocinante).

His eye colour shifts dramatically depending on the light. It looks anywhere from deep brown to bright red.

His dislike of bread isn't due to intolerance, but again because of his Horrible Childhood-- eating mouldy bread gave him food poisoning on enough occasions to permanently put him off it and he flat out refuses to ever try it again.

He's a very tactile person and is secretly very glad that Law has grown to enjoy hugs over the years.

His clumsiness is caused by god-awful proprioception, but he's learned to compensate for it with very specifically trained Observation Haki. The effort this takes is too much for him to bother using it all the time, so he just bites the bullet and accepts the clumsiness.

He picked up smoking in order to fit in better with his peers and is kind of annoyed with his younger self because of how much money he has to spend on cigarettes now.

Sengoku's white goat was Rocinante's originally. The goat's name is Holden (metatextually, the goat is named Holden because that's the protagonist of The Expanse series of novels, and his ship is the Rocinante. Credit for this joke goes to my girlfriend).

[akirathedramaqueen]

CBT and Exposure Therapy: Blitzø Showcase

An important (really, don't skip) disclaimer

If you are contemplating whether or not you would benefit from any kind of therapy, consider consulting with your medical provider first. While I did my best to validate all the points made using publicly available resources, I am not a medical professional. At the very least, I strongly advise that you do your own research and not take some amateur's opinion about a character from a silly demon show for granted.

"Everyone in this show needs fucking therapy STAT!"

We hear fans screaming into the void every now and then. Me too. I plead guilty and I willingly put myself in custody. But I am not taking these words back.

Especially often it is being said with Blitzø in mind, who, as hinted earlier and clearly shown in the latest episode, Ghostfuckers, is not doing okay. Not in the slightest.

Which is . . . yes. Indeed, trauma-ridden Blitzø is a major problem for both him and those around him. Yes, we see him reaching his lowest point now exactly because he left these gaping wounds untreated for so long.

But the tricky question is—how, though? What to do? Will a good talking to a confidante help? Or, maybe, some kind of shock would snap him out of the spiral?

I've been pondering on this topic for more than 4 months, and, as the Ghostfuckers came out, I finally got all the data I need to prove a point. The show did all the job for me and effectively made Blitzø go through improvised versions of two popular therapy techniques. And, before I even start, I want to say—I am so glad with what we ended up with. What they did, and, more importantly, didn't do, aligns well with how it would likely happen in real life.

So buckle up, and let's see where it gets us!

Therapy # 1. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT

This is, in essence and with some corrections, your good old talking. Here you can find more information about it, so, if you're not familiar with the topic, I recommend following the link first.

But, very shortly: CBT is an extremely common approach to be tried while you're dealing with anxiety, depression, and a number of other mental disorders. What it aims to do is to help you get past unhelpful thinking (distortions) and learn not to act on it.

Looks like it fits the bill, right? Blitzø has a lot of issues with self-fulfilling prophecies, infuriatingly stupid assumptions, poorly thought-out actions . . .

But he's not like, you know . . . w-we're not, like . . . we're not doing a . . . w-we . . . what's betw— It's a transactional fucking, you see.

If you don't feel like coming, that's OK! I'm sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his matress! It's nothing, ya know . . . it's nothing else.

You . . . no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me . . . You are— you are free of me.

He sees things which aren't truly there.

It's not Stolas giving him space after the disaster in the 'Ozzie's.' It must be Stolas not needing him anymore, getting tired of him.

It's not Stolas caring about Blitzø. He is a royal, why would he care how an imp's day he happened to be fucking was?

It's not Stolas setting Blitzø free and putting an end to a problematic transaction they had with the hope for it to grow into something more. It's him getting rid of Blitzø.

As a result, he ends up hurting himself and the relationship he had with that one sad gay bird he happened to fall deeply for but literally trashed in his own house twice, acting on nothing more than frenetic fear of losing Stolas, but in reality, driving him away even more . . . for good.

I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!

Ha! I'm right, aren't I? You get off getting plowed by people you look down on!

And I can sorry more people, everyone but you! 'Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you . . .

So, the case's closed? Let someone—say, Millie—talk to him and tell him how wrong he was about himself and the others?

Well, here's the thing. Despite him being infinitely wrong about Stolas's intentions, we can't deny the fact that every one of his beliefs was not, in fact, a distortion. It'd led him to wrong conclusions, yes, but it was built on the information he received and legitimate experiences he had in his life. Here are only some of the facts connected to only this situation with Stolas, but there are other problematic behaviors and other reasons for him acting the way he does.

Fact # 1. The circus fire did happen, and Blitzø was the reason for it. Unintentional, and of course it wasn't his fault, but it still ruined the lives of many people—him included. Blitzø cannot act like it never occurred.

Fact # 2. Hell is divided by class and race. Their situationship with the grimoire was an embodiment of that inequality. A lot of Blitzø's outburst during the Full Moon and later in the Apology Tour was connected to it, to his beliefs that Stolas is the same as the rest of the privileged circle. Beliefs, I stress, justified by the real world. Stolas is more of an exception, and even then, his behavior is only different when it comes to Blitzø. He still acts the same toward other imps.

Fact # 3. We knew about Stolas's intentions all along, but before that fateful Full Moon, what Blitzø saw was Stolas avoiding him and not communicating the issue the Ozzie's date had raised. And before Ozzie's? Stolas did act entitled and inappropriate. He was baby-talking to Blitzø and used derogatory terms while addressing him. The dude literally called him an impish plaything in the Truth Seekers.

Fact # 4. Blitzø's heavily implied (though not officially confirmed by the show) existing conditions—ADHD*, BPD**, PTSD, and dyslexia/dyscalculia***—do affect his life, and while Hell seems to be somewhat receptive of neurodivergence, he still has to deal with it every single fucking day. He is going to be avoidant and afraid to be abandoned at the same time. He is going to hate himself. His learning disabilities are going to make his life harder. No way around it.

Note: *, **, and *** contain links to separate meta-analyses from @timkontheunsure and @tealvenetianmask about the respective conditions and how they show themselves in Blitzø's case.

And my beef with CBT here is exactly that. CBT's goal is to gaslight you into believing your distortions hold no water and suggests you just ignore them. And, as I've shown with Blitzø, these reactions and assumptions aren't baseless. They are legitimate, and, in fact, sometimes help to get by. Even though it's a crooked crutch, you can't learn to walk properly by just throwing that crutch away. You're still going to limp, and oh, will it be painful.

This is oversimplistic and dismissive. Anxiety and depression don't come out of the blue, and with mental disabilities, it's even deeper. The class/disability stigma is alive and strong, and just slapping a "you're fine" bandaid on your traumatized self isn't going to help.

Therapy # 2. Exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy is another approach commonly used while dealing with traumatic past and its aftermath—PTSD, anxiety, phobias, and such. Again, if you're not familiar, there's the link for you, but very shortly—the therapist puts the patient in a safe environment and 'exposes' them to the feared object in question for limited periods of time. The goal is to eventually get rid of the targeted fear and decrease avoidance.

And Blitzø has got some phobias for sure.

The fear of letting everyone down. Again.

And the fear of abandonment. Again.

All of it is a result of self-hatred, sitting so deeply it rules his life and his vision of how others perceive him. Said it himself. Almost.

So, where and how does the show expose Blitzø to his traumatic past?

First, the most recent, and the most obvious one—Rolando and his slideshow of all traumatic events Blitzø ever had in his life.

Second—Blitzø's drug trip in the Truth Seekers. While it does not contain the events of the past as they were, it does force him to face his fears.

Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well? . . . You're going to die alone! . . . You're going to die alone, Blitzo!

With some stretch, the third one is Verosika's 'Blitzo sucks' party. Where Blitzø was forced to see the consequences of his avoidance and rejection.

Note: to be clear, I do think the party does not show the true extent of Blitzø's actions and how much he'd hurt people. It was exaggerated by Verosika, and here I explain why this is the case.

So, what gives? Or, rather, what gives it not?

It might sound funny now, considering I brought it up myself, but I, once again, say this is not therapeutic, just as CBT kind of 'talking.' If anything, all these three events did more harm than good.

The D.H.O.R.K.S.'s goal in the Truth Seekers was to torture the information out of Blitzø. He was not supposed to overcome it. He was supposed to crack.

The Verosika's goal was to ruin Blitzø's reputation. She was working her ass off to prove he's just a heartless freak.

The Rolando's goal was to fucking kill Blitzø.

And okay, their motivations had nothing to do with helping him, but maybe it did, in its own twisted way?

No. The writers added this to push Blitzø past the breaking point, not to heal him, and to show us more of his lore. Each time he was forced to face his past or fears or consequences, he was only spiraling more.

The only thing which did him some good was . . . well, Millie finally seeing his bravado mask falling off. But the cost of it was way too high. Not worth it.

To the therapy's defense, some points why it would never work in the way it was done in the show:

Blitzø had never given his consent and was not ready to face it. I might be very rude right now, but go and try producing some explosion-like sounds in front of war veterans without letting them know first and see what happens.

The amount of fearful experience exposed was way too overboard. He couldn't possibly digest it in a healthy way.

The environment was not safe. It was straight-up retraumatizing, an intentional one.

So there's that.

But what helped then?

We've briefly brushed over the fact Millie did talk to Blitzø. While I did imply this might be an example of CBT, here are some key deviations from the classic therapy which made all the difference.

Millie didn't sugarcoat all the shit Blitzø did. He was hurting their business. He didn't pay her. He was reduced to Bethanie. It showed her opinion can be trusted.

Millie apologized for not being there for him sooner. She admitted she relied too much on Blitzø being bulletproof, unbothered by everything. She admitted she didn't support him in a way he always did.

While proving she could never hate Blitzø, she used their common story, one he knows and can recall. She used evidence to prove him wrong, not a "it's all in your head" bandaid. And more than that, later she proved it with action—not for one second did she believe Rolando and his shittalk about what Blitzø supposedly was thinking about her. Her unwavering faith spoke more than any words ever could.

Getting back to exposure therapy . . . Metaphorically, she reminded Blitzø he can handle a beating or two. And physically beat the infestor demon out of him, which, as we can see later, didn't really affect Blitzø that much. He wasn't even battered. So, apparently, when the said exposure is done by someone who genuinely tries to make you feel better and knows your limits well, it might just work?

And finally, Millie acknowledged Blitzø's pain. She didn't brush it away. She validated him.

What all of this is about?

Like every treatment, too much of a medicine can become poisonous. So are CBT and exposure therapy.

They might help, and lots of research shows they do in certain cases. But there are limitations to what they can and cannot achieve, and they have to be adjusted to each individual story, to each trauma, and they should not be applied as a way to mend the outcome of the trauma without taking into account the story it comes with. Again, legitimate concerns and experiences cannot be brushed away or ignored.

Actualy . . . we've seen where it leads in the show too. In the beginning, Millie was quite dismissive of Blitzø's worries—all of this over a . . . breakup?

And here it comes full circle.

Only when Millie started taking Blitzø seriously, did it help them progress. And look how quickly we've switched from a complete despair to a glimmer of hope! Isn't that a beautiful closing scene?

As a closing note—we do not need to 'fix' Blitzø. After all this shit he went through, there won't be a day where he wakes up and be like, "Hey, I don't hate myself anymore! And look, I'm not afraid to be abandoned or misunderstood!"

I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is a lifelong battle. Being mentally whole, healthy, and constantly happy is no more than a myth, and everyone has their own demons and skeletons to deal with.

What Blitzø needs is some good support system to pull him back when he's down.

And boy, do I hope that one particular owl will fill in that role of unyielding pillar for Blitzø each time our lizard will fall into that pit again. Look, I love Millie, but there's only so much she can do. She can't be always present, she has her own life . . . and her own disaster of a husband to look after (affectionate <3). Here and here @lost-romantique talks about Stolas's capacity of loving, with me occasionally nodding, ha-ha. But to be short—it's fucking immense. And since he loves words, I do believe he has all the energy to tell again and again and again how awesome Blitzø is. Even if Blitzø wouldn't believe it himself.

[defnotririi]

Chapter 1.

One year since the apocalypse started, one year since everything had fallen apart. Y/N was barely surviving all alone, her crew leaving her to die. But something happened, something she never thought would happen. A group of seven boys found her. Saving her life.

Word count: 7k

Pairing: enemy!Ni-ki x Y/N

Genre: dystopian, apocalypse, survival, horror if you use a magnifying glass, enemies to lovers, ANGST

Status: on going/12-02-25

Warnings: Everything that comes with an apocalypse. (Do let me know if there's anything else tho <3)

Disclaimer: this is a fanfic based on imagination, nothing of this is real. If you feel uncomfortable with reading something like that, please leave. If any part of the stories is similar to a book, then it's either inspired (in which, credits will be given) or just coincidence since there's no much things to write about an apocalypse.

Author's note: this is my first ever long fanfic, so please be patient with me 😭🙏

Credits: There's a fanfic in Tumblr that's called Safe and Sound, mine wasn't inspired by this one, it was inspired by a wattpad story! But since the two stories are almost the same the credits go the the creator of Safe and sound! <3

The world had ended long before Y/N realized she was truly alone. The apocalypse had turned friends into enemies, trust into a liability, and survival into a constant battle. Betrayal had left her with nothing but wounds—both the kind that bled and the kind that didn’t.

She had been part of a group once. She fought alongside them, protected them, and believed they would do the same. But when supplies ran low and desperation grew thick in the air, they turned on her.

"You're slowing us down," they had said, as if her exhaustion, her injuries, her loyalty meant nothing. They left her behind, bleeding and defenseless against the hordes of undead roaming the streets.

For days, Y/N barely survived, her body pushed beyond its limits. Infection threatened to take hold of her untreated wounds, and hunger gnawed at her insides like a beast. She had accepted that this might be the end.

Then they found her.

A group of seven boys. Armed, well-fed, wary.

And they hated her.

Jungwon stood at the front of the group, his dark eyes filled with calculation as he stared down at the half-conscious girl on the pavement.

"She’s injured," Jake observed, crouching beside her to check her wounds.

"And she’s a liability," Ni-ki snapped, gripping his knife tightly. His jaw was clenched in irritation. "We don’t need dead weight."

"She’s barely alive," Heeseung muttered, arms crossed. "She won’t last long anyway."

"Should we just leave her?" Sunghoon asked, though there was no sympathy in his tone—just a practical coldness that had been necessary for survival.

Y/N forced her eyes open. "P-Please..." Her voice was weak, hoarse from days of dehydration. "I can... I can help..."

Jay scoffed, gripping his rifle. "Help? You can’t even stand."

"You should be grateful we haven’t shot you yet," Sunoo muttered, sharp-eyed as he studied her. He was the smart one, always thinking ahead. "For all we know, you could be working for another group. You could turn on us."

The words struck deeper than any wound. She had already been betrayed—how could they think she would do the same?

But they didn’t trust her. And why should they?

Jungwon sighed. "Jake, can you patch her up enough so she doesn’t die in the next hour?"

Jake hesitated before nodding. "I’ll do what I can."

Ni-ki let out an annoyed sigh. "Fine. But the second she becomes a problem, I’m ending this."

Staying with the boys was no easy task. They were cold, distant, and saw her as nothing more than a burden.

Ni-ki, especially, made it known that he didn’t want her around.

"You should just leave," he told her one night as they rested in an abandoned gas station. "We don’t need you slowing us down."

She didn’t argue. She was too exhausted.

But she wasn’t weak.

She forced herself to heal. She learned to keep up with them. She fought, scavenged, and proved she wasn’t just some helpless girl.

Yet, they still treated her like an outsider.

Jungwon never let her make decisions. Heeseung ignored her input on routes. Jay barely spoke to her unless it was about weapons. Sunghoon was indifferent. Sunoo was suspicious. Jake was the only one who treated her with some decency.

And Ni-ki? He openly despised her.

"Why do you even bother?" he sneered one morning as she sharpened a knife. "No matter how much you try, you’ll never really be part of us."

Y/N met his glare with tired eyes. "I don’t need to be part of you. I just need to survive."

He scoffed. "Good luck with that."

Everything changed the night the horde came.

They had set up camp in an abandoned school, thinking they were safe. They weren’t.

The moans of the undead filled the air, the sound of shuffling bodies growing closer.

"We need to move—now!" Jungwon ordered, grabbing his weapon.

The group scrambled, fighting off the zombies that broke through the windows. Y/N didn’t hesitate—she grabbed her knife and fought alongside them.

Jay fired shot after shot, Sunghoon took down the infected with brutal efficiency, and Heeseung led them through the chaos.

Then Y/N saw it.

A zombie lunging at Ni-ki from behind.

Without thinking, she threw herself forward, tackling it to the ground before it could sink its teeth into him. The creature snarled beneath her, snapping its rotten jaws, but she plunged her knife into its skull.

Silence.

Ni-ki stared at her, eyes wide, breath uneven.

She had saved him.

After that night, things changed.

Ni-ki avoided her—but not out of hatred. He didn’t know how to look at her anymore.

Jake started talking to her more. "That was impressive," he admitted as he cleaned a wound on her arm. "Not many people would’ve done that."

"She still could’ve let him die," Jay muttered, but there was less bite in his words.

Y/N just shrugged. "I don’t leave people behind."

The words hit deeper than she intended.

Jungwon, ever the leader, nodded. "Maybe we misjudged you."

Maybe. But trust was hard-earned.

Over time, the tension faded.

Heeseung started asking for her input on maps. Sunoo actually smiled at her once. Sunghoon trained with her. Jay let her handle a gun.

And Ni-ki?

He still avoided her sometimes, but he no longer looked at her with pure hatred. One night, as they sat by the fire, he finally spoke.

"You’re not as useless as I thought," he muttered.

Y/N smirked. "Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

They still had a long way to go. The world was still broken, and danger lurked in every shadow.

But for the first time in a long time, Y/N wasn’t alone.

And maybe—just maybe—she had found a place to belong.

Hunting had become easier now that the group had started trusting Y/N—at least, most of them. She was walking beside Heeseung, scanning the abandoned city outskirts for any movement. They needed food, and after days of barely scraping by, they couldn’t afford to come back empty-handed.

"You’re quieter than usual," Heeseung noted, adjusting the strap of his rifle.

Y/N shrugged. "Just thinking."

"About?"

She hesitated. "Ni-ki. He still doesn’t trust me, does he?"

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, glancing at her. "It’s not about you."

Y/N frowned. "Then what is it?"

For a while, he didn’t answer. The only sound was the wind moving through the abandoned streets, the distant echoes of the dead somewhere far off. Then, in a quiet voice, Heeseung finally said, "A few months ago, we found someone. A guy. He was injured, desperate—just like you."

Y/N’s stomach tightened. "What happened?"

Heeseung’s grip on his gun tightened. "We took him in. Ni-ki didn’t trust him from the start, but the rest of us thought he deserved a chance." He sighed, his expression dark. "He proved Ni-ki right."

Y/N swallowed.

"He killed someone we loved," Heeseung continued, his voice heavy with something deeper than anger—grief. "Ni-ki’s best friend. The one person he trusted most in this world. He used her as a threat, he wanted our supplies but even when we gave him what he wanted... He killed her Infront of us."

Y/N’s breath hitched. No wonder Ni-ki looked at her like she was a threat. No wonder he flinched whenever she got too close.

"I’m not him," she whispered.

"I know," Heeseung said, looking at her. "But Ni-ki doesn’t. Not yet."

Y/N didn’t say anything else. She just looked ahead, gripping the knife at her side a little tighter.

That night, as Y/N stood outside on watch duty, she heard a voice.

"Well, well. Didn’t expect to see a new face here."

She turned sharply, hand flying to her knife. A man stood near the trees, partially hidden in the shadows. He was grinning.

"Who are you?" Y/N demanded.

The man tilted his head. "No one important. But I was once." His smirk widened. "You’re in their little group now, huh? Let me guess—Ni-ki hates you?"

Her blood ran cold.

He chuckled. "Figures. He never did trust easy. But you? You remind me of myself."

"I’m nothing like you."

He raised his hands. "Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night." His eyes darkened. "Tell them I said hello."

Then he disappeared into the woods.

Y/N stood frozen, heart pounding.

A twig snapped behind her. She turned—Ni-ki stood there, eyes wild with panic. He had heard everything.

"Ni-ki—"

But before she could say anything, he bolted.

By the time they realized Ni-ki was gone, it was too late.

"He went after him," Jay growled, gripping his gun.

"Alone?" Jungwon’s expression was hard, unreadable. "Damn it."

"We need to go," Jake said. "Now."

They ran. Through the woods, past the old buildings, tracking Ni-ki’s footprints in the dirt.

Then they found it.

A body—no, a man. Crawling. His leg was covered in blood, a bullet wound in his thigh. He was screaming, trying to drag himself away.

And behind him, the dead were coming.

Ni-ki stood there, watching, gun lowered.

"He’s done," he muttered.

They should have left him.

They didn’t.

Jungwon fired a shot, killing a zombie before it could reach the injured man. He looked at Ni-ki, furious. "We don’t leave people to be eaten alive."

"He deserved it," Ni-ki spat.

"That’s not the point!"

But the damage was done. The man lived. Barely. And vengeance never dies.

Days passed. They thought it was over. That they were safe.

Then the attack came.

The man had returned—with people. Armed. Dangerous.

Gunshots rang out in the night.

"They found us!" Sunghoon shouted, grabbing his knife.

"Move!" Jungwon ordered. "We have to leave—now!"

The camp burned. Supplies were lost. But they had no choice.

They ran.

And as Y/N looked back one last time, she saw him. The man Ni-ki had left to die.

Grinning.

Because this wasn’t over.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the abandoned city as Y/N and Ni-ki walked in silence. The others had sent them out to hunt, but the air between them was thick with unspoken tension.

Ni-ki hadn’t spoken much since the night he had confronted the person responsible for his best friend’s fate. He had thought that justice would bring closure—but instead, it left an emptiness inside him, one that gnawed at his chest like the dangers lurking in the ruins.

"You’re quiet," Y/N finally said, breaking the silence.

"So are you," he muttered, kicking a stray rock.

She hesitated before speaking again. "You did what you had to do."

Ni-ki’s jaw tightened. "I left them to their fate."

"They deserved worse," Y/N said without hesitation.

His head snapped toward her, surprise flashing in his dark eyes.

"If it were me," she continued, gripping her knife tighter, "I would’ve done the same. No—worse."

Ni-ki stared at her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But there was none.

For so long, he had felt alone in his anger, in his need for justice. But now? Someone understood.

And for the first time, guilt twisted inside him.

"You’re not like me," he said quietly.

"Maybe I am," Y/N replied, meeting his gaze. "And maybe that’s not a bad thing."

Ni-ki looked away. He didn’t know if he should feel relieved or afraid.

By the time they returned to camp, something was wrong.

The fire was still burning. Their supplies were scattered. But the air was too still.

"Where are they?" Y/N whispered, reaching for her knife.

A rustle. A footstep.

Then—

A hand grabbed Ni-ki from behind, shoving him to the ground. Another wrapped around Y/N’s arm, forcing her back.

Strangers. Armed. Dangerous.

"Well, well," a gruff voice sneered. "The last two left."

Y/N’s heart pounded as she struggled. She could see them now—the others. Jungwon, Jay, Heeseung, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jake. Tied up, bruised.

Trapped.

"Let them go," Ni-ki growled, struggling against his captor.

The man holding Y/N chuckled. "Oh, you’re not in a position to make demands, kid." He pressed a weapon against her ribs. "But since you’re here, we’ve got a better deal. How about this?"

He looked at the rest of the group.

"One of you doesn’t make it. The rest get to leave."

Silence.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. She could see it—the way Jungwon was already calculating, the way Jake’s hands clenched, the way Sunghoon was shifting on his feet, ready to fight.

Then she made her choice.

"Take me," Y/N said.

Ni-ki’s head snapped toward her. "What?"

"You want someone gone, right?" she said to the man, voice steady despite the fear clawing at her throat. "Then take me."

The man grinned. "Brave. But foolish."

He pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out.

But Y/N never felt it.

Because Ni-ki had stepped in front of her.

The bullet tore through him, his body jerking as he collapsed to the ground.

"Ni-ki!" Y/N screamed, catching him before he hit the dirt.

The world blurred. The shouting. The chaos.

She didn’t care.

All she could see was Ni-ki, his face pale, his breath shaky.

"You idiot," she choked, pressing her hands to the wound.

He gritted his teeth, his grip on her tightening. "Told you... you’re not like me."

Then his eyes fluttered closed.

And the fight wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

the one thing I have heard probably the most consistently, from the most people, since being diagnosed with breast cancer, is that I have a "good attitude;" meaning, that I make jokes about having cancer, which makes whoever is listening to me feel better about the fact that I have cancer.

Here's the thing - the worst part of having cancer (so far, in my experience - I'll update as this progresses) is having to live with the constant, oppressive dread that right now, somewhere in my body, a cancer cell is taking root in my bones, or in my lungs. That it will silently grow, and spread, and eventually become rampant and untreatable, killing me decades before my time, and I won't know that I'm on that course until it's too late to do anything about it. That I will have to leave my wife alone, that she will have to watch me die painfully and without dignity, and that I will leave this world without having had the time to see so much of what makes it beautiful and strange.

this is not a funny thought!

However, the second worst part of having cancer is - okay, so they removed the tumor, right, and at the same time, they also removed a clump of lymph nodes in my armpit. They do that to test whether or not the cancer has spread. So coming out of surgery, I have two incision sites: one above where the tumor was, and the other one on my trunk right about where your bra passes under your arm.

And that means I'm not allowed to wear deodorant for ten days.

Imagine me: stinky, in my bed. I am an adult woman with a beating heart. I will not claim I have any greater share of dignity or wisdom than a typical example of my cohort, but I have lived and learned and erred, and amassed a small collection of accomplishments which I would not be ashamed to present to God at my reckoning, should such a being exist, and should such a reckoning take place. Times when I have shown meaningful kindness to someone when it would have been more convenient or popular to do nothing. Times when I have told a necessary truth to my own painful detriment. Things I have made that possessed, to at least a meager measure, a glimmer of genuine beauty. Trust I have earned, and not betrayed. I'm not a saint, but my soul is not nothing, and as I am forced to reckon with my own mortality in a way that few people my age ever do, I, like - I smell pretty bad? And like - my armpit is, like, clammy. I mean, how long has it been since you didn't wear deodorant for multiple days. There's a change in texture that I was not expecting. Just in the right armpit! The left armpit is fine, she gets to have deodorant.

But like, stress makes the B.O. situation not so hot, and I'm medically prohibited from doing the one thing that would rectify the situation. I own deodorant. It's right over there. I can see it from where I'm sitting. I am sure you understand of course that I am immersed in greater miseries. Even aside from the existential dread of having cancer - the incisions are painful. I'm very tired. I have two blown-out veins from when the anesthesiologist struggled to find a workable injection site before the surgery, so I have some wild bruising, and I can't really bend my left arm. But these are afflictions with some dignity. To have pain or fatigue after surgery is rather ennobled in the common discourse. But - do I have to smell like ham, too?

Must I smell like rank ham?

Of course the solution to the ham smell is just to take more showers, but bathing after surgery presents its own category of woes, which are also not particularly dignified. And it's here, caught betwixt the Scylla and Charybdis of 'smelling like old meat' and 'unwinding my boob from its surgical sling to take another ride around the wet room rodeo' that I find the humor in my situation. The feeble ape rails against her trivial but intractable stink!

And that humor spreads - much like cancer! - to everything else that it touches. It is, actually, very funny to tell someone that the joke Christmas gift they got for me is probably what gave me cancer. It's funny, when people find out I got my diagnosis on January 2nd, to blandly follow that up with "--So, 2024, not off to a great start, but 2025 is going to be my year." It's funny, when someone invites me to something we both know I probably don't want to go to, to suck air between my teeth and go, "Ooh, I would, but, you know--the cancer. Yeah, I can feel it flaring up right now. Maybe next time."

Things are funny when they subvert your expectations. People expect you to treat your cancer diagnosis very gravely, and so it's funny - to them, and to me - when I don't. And then they tell me I have "a great attitude."

"You'll be fine," I've heard over and over again. "You have a great attitude. That's the most important thing, in this kind of a situation - keeping a great attitude."

I certainly hope that's true! There is definitely plenty of science to support the idea that a positive mental attitude has an impact on health outcomes. I think the effectiveness of modern chemotherapy drugs, and the extent to which my particular cancer responds to them, will have a significantly larger impact; and that moreover, it's probably prudent to remember that people with great attitudes die of cancer every day. But I will not turn my nose up at a percentage point or two perhaps coming from the willingness to crack jokes about all the cancer I've got, and how surprised I was to learn that I'd got it.

As I suggested up top, I know that when people say "you have a great attitude," they sometimes genuinely mean that they are pleased to find me in a mental state that might increase my chances of recovering from a deadly disease, but mostly they mean "thanks for not being a huge bummer about your cancer. I appreciate you for not ruining my day about it." And I'm completely okay with that. Like, yeah - I am deliberately sparing you from the burden of having to Take Seriously my life-threatening condition. You're welcome. I, too, would rather avoid this conversation on one of the finite number of Thursdays God has seen fit to grant unto the measure of our lives. What the fuck are you supposed to do about any of this?

(Shout out to my one good work buddy who, on hearing the news, instantly responded with "Oh my god, Geri Hallwell aka Ginger Spice also got breast cancer young! You're like twins!" Thus far he is the only person who has said something in response to the news that actually made an immediate, positive impact.)

So anyway, obviously all I ever say in response to "you have a great attitude" is "Thanks! I'm just focusing on the positives and taking it a day at a time." Because that's true, and moreover, it's all anyone needs to hear.

What I'd like to say - not to them, because there's no point in burdening them any further than the embarrassing reminder of death burdens anyone - but maybe to someone, maybe just to You, maybe that's why I'm writing this -

What I'd like to say is: dogg, you have no idea how subverted my expectations have been lately. How could I not find this funny?

How profoundly alienated from the absurdity of death would I have to be to not laugh about this?

Like - I know this is so stupid, but listen: I could die. No, no - listen - no I know everyone dies - but like - are you listening? Are you actually listening? I could die. I could die. I could die. I could die.

Isn't that so funny? Isn't that actually so funny?

And this - this attitude that I'm in, right now, this one right here, where shaking my head ruefully and marveling at the - maybe belated, but I think probably actually quite premature - realization that oh no, 'everyone dies' means for me too, huh - and laughing at myself for never, apparently, really grasping that until now, and laughing at the incredible statistical unlikelihood my cancer - I've never won anything before! - and laughing at how woefully ill-prepared most people are to respond to news like this, and laughing about how, of everything terrible about cancer, the actual number-two-on-the-list worst thing about it so far is that I can't put on deodorant -

Is this the great attitude you're talking about?

I'm not angry, I'm not resentful, I'm curious, I'm really curious. Do you understand why I'm laughing?

[docsbestkissedoperative]

This is the Closest Thing to Intimacy (for us)

JEBHANK UPON YOU! The Sleeper Labs mission has made me lose it completely, so here's this

A03 version

TW: Intentional self-poisoning, probably not accurate medical stuff

🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴

The sight of Hank J. Wimbleton’s collapsed, broken body on the ground was not a new one for Christoff. Standing above them, a weapon firmly held in his hand, is just as familiar.

In his opinion, the only oddity in this particular situation is that it’s not exactly his fault that Hank is where they are now, delirious and likely with their vision blurring until two Christoffs stood before them.

As an ex-scientist of the Nexus, he knew fully well what Hank was experiencing now. Cardiac glycosides, though made to treat certain heart conditions, would be poisonous should anyone choose to take more than the recommended. The heart could start to beat too fast or too slow, nausea is imminent, an increased amount of potassium will send the subject into a heart attack, and, if left untreated, they could die from their heart being unable to pump blood properly.

Simply put, if Christoff did not keep his end of the bargain, Hank would be on their way to a painful death. As a matter of fact, they already are.

Christoff kneeled in front of his uneasy ally, watching them attempt to stay still but letting slip moments where the pain causes them to curl up, hands digging into the sweater beneath their dark black coat where their heart must be. Notably, their heart appeared to be further to the right and to the bottom. By its current position, Christoff was certain that it pushed into whatever was left of Hanks’ ribcage, as if threatening to spill out and escape. 

From how fierce they were in battle, it was easy to forget that Hank was a dead grunt walking, a hodgepodge of body parts put back together to something resembling themself. Not that he could judge, Doc had to do the same for him.

He wasn’t sure why he even thought about it. Perhaps it intrigued him is all, that for someone who has experienced the agony of death a loathsome amount of times, they would still willingly dance with it once more.

More perplexing was that they trusted Christoff to bring them back from the brink. Some of their deaths, though long ago by this point, were willingly caused by Christoff. And yet, he barely finished his explanation of what they needed to do before Hank had waltzed over to the cabinet and slammed it open.

“Which one of these is the glycavides?” They asked flatly, eyes likely squinting behind their goggles to read the labels.

“Glycosides.” Christoff corrected them as he walked towards Hank, “The cardiac kind.”

“Whatever.” They responded, randomly pulling a small clear bottle out and raising it up so Christoff could see it, “This one?”

“No.” Christoff said, and pushed Hank out of the way of the cabinet. Hank responded by rolling their eyes, but they took a step back to give the ex-scientist space to sift through the dusty bottles.

Cardiac glycosides were not the only drugs here. Narcotics of every variety, amlodipine, tramadol, everything else to make any and all physical pain tolerable enough for Subject 1v02P_6 to willingly continue experiments were shoved in this cabinet. It was all unorganized, much to Christoff’s displeasure, perhaps from the previous owner’s own use.

“You almost done there, Christoff?” Hank says after only a minute, arms crossed and fingers impatiently squeezing them. If Christoff didn’t know them any better, he wouldn’t have caught the way Hank’s mask shifted, a frown evident on the part of their face that could still emote.

“Patience, Hank.” He answers, tossing a half-empty plastic bottle away, “If we take the wrong one, I cannot guarantee that we will know how to resuscitate the other.”

He hears a huff, but no further complaints.

After another minute passes, he finally finds the correct one. A brown bottle just a few centimeters shorter than the others, still full. 

“Here it is.” He says, “And fortunately in liquid form. This should make it easier to consume.”

“Cool.” Hank says, and stretches their palm out, “Hand it over.”

A pause. The silence hangs heavy between them.

Hank bristles, “What.”

Christoff grips the bottle a little tighter, and says hesitantly, “You…will be the one to take it?”

“Yeah. Duh.” They say bluntly, like Christoff was an idiot for not understanding it from the get-go.

“You understand that however brief, this will be excruciating?” He asks carefully.

“Yeah.”

“And you will have to rely on me to bring you back?”

“How many times will you make me say ‘Yeah’ before you give me the bottle?”

Truthfully, it did not make any sense to Christoff. Logically, he was more knowledgeable on how to treat the adverse reactions of taking this medicine, so Hank taking it instead of him made the most sense. That, he could not argue against. However, Hank’s decision to volunteer so quickly was off putting to him.

Their current alliance already hinged on them not tearing each other into shreds. Hell, it began because Hank beat him until he was knocked onto the ground. If they were not searching for Hofnarr, he was certain they would have killed him on the spot.

Still, there were moments where it felt…different. Hank, half kneeling on the ground, shielding him with their own body as he recovered from a sleepwalker’s explosion, enduring more scratches from other sleepwalkers that would have destroyed a poorer quality coat. Hank, sensing the danger first, using their blade with deadly precision to send a bullet flying back to its sender. And no matter how many times Hank wanted to crawl into the vents, they let Christoff open mini elevators and grab keycards.

“Let’s get this over with already, Christoff.” Hank snapped.

And this patience. Hank had been doing their best to be patient. For him.

What was going on?

It doesn’t click exactly, but Christoff found himself softly placing the bottle onto Hank’s waiting palm. Before Hank could retract it, Christoff placed one hand under Hank’s, and his other slowly folded Hank’s fingers shut over the bottle and stayed on top of it.

Hank freezes. Christoff doesn’t say anything.

From what he could gather from the skin left uncovered by their gloves, Hank’s hands were very rough and calloused. Handling weapons and getting into many fist fights would do that to anyone. He can only guess at times, but he does his best to trace the stitches that connected the thumb to the palm, the palm to the wrist, the wrist to the arm, then retraced his steps back to the other fingers. Christoff was fascinated that though their heart may have shifted positions, the speed of its pulse remained the same.

Hank doesn’t melt into his touch, but their shoulders relax by a near imperceivable amount. Christoff caught it.

What felt like an eternity passed without a word uttered, then Christoff says, “You will only need around a quarter for its effects to be sufficient.”

“Sure.” Hank doesn’t miss a beat, and they lower their mask, twist the cap open, and drink.

Not much happens at first, then Hank drops the bottle and falls to their knees, gasping for air like they were suffocating. Seconds later, they’re on the ground shaking.

And here he was now, kneeling in front of Nevada’s killing machine, who left their life in his hands. Was that not so strange?

He had grabbed a bigger bottle of digoxin immune fab and a syringe along with the cardiac glycoside. The half empty water bottle he had collected before they entered the Sleeper Labs was enough to reconstitute it, and he hurriedly filled the syringe with it.

As Hank writhed, Christoff reached for their arm and held it firmly. If Hank could glare at him for interrupting their pain induced squirming, they would.

“Patience.” He says. Hank, despite it all, rolls their eyes and does their best to stay still.

He tears off a small scrap of his torn lab coat to use as a tourniquet on Hank’s arm. His hands are gentle as they find a vein, and without a moment to waste, he injects the mixture into Hank’s arm.

The reaction is not instantaneous, but over time, Hank’s pained movements begin to slow down, and their breathing returns to a calmer state.

All throughout it, they did not complain as Christoff soothed them, assuring him the pain would ease soon enough.

If not for the unique circumstances they were both currently in, Christoff doubts that Hank would ever allow something so…unspoken to happen between them.

When the pain appears to fully subside, Hank adjusts their mask and stands as if they were not mere minutes away from death.

“Can we leave now?” They ask.

Christoff coughs to give himself a moment to recover, “Yes. The gate should be open now.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Hank says, chooses four different guns from the room they were in, and jogs out into the madness of the outside.

Christoff is compelled to follow after him.

[gatheringbones]

[“Terry’s hair was long & thick, bleached blond, perhaps because she wanted to be a princess in a fairy tale instead of real. We wrote letters to one another, passionately declaring our eternal love, which the technicians stole. One night when she was sitting on my bed in the dorm after lights out, as I brushed her hair, they threw on the lights in a frenzy of disgust & separated us for being lesbians. We were too drugged and too frightened to do more than hold hands. The head nurse was a lesbian, who called Terry’s mother, who came the next day to take her home to her psychiatrist father, to whom she had not spoken in over four years. I was sent to the old women’s ward for punishment, where my job was to feed the bed-bound ladies, some of them in restraints all the time. The stench of urine & untreated cancer was overwhelming. I wrote long, intense letters to Terry, which I could not send, hiding them under my green plastic mattress. Terry’s stars are deep burgundy, & I bleed into the other colors when I mourn that we never made love.

Then Maggie was dragged onto our ward, in hot pink tights & purple smock, her teeth glittering with mischief Far from being depressed by the surroundings, she sang bawdy songs to the old ladies she fed, opening our misery with laughter. She was from a wealthy Marin family who sent her there to straighten her up & scare her into agreeing to marry the man they wanted to sell her off to, although they wouldn’t say it like that (she did). Somehow her wedding veil was among her belongings. She liked to wear it to the vast dining barrack because it annoyed the nurses so much. It was very beautiful, expensive lace which she trailed behind her like indifference. One day Maggie & I decided to get married. The guy who thought he was jesus was happy to perform our ceremony, held in the courtyard of our adjoining wards, surrounded by hundreds of old glass windows barred with iron grates. I wore Maggie’s veil & my Napa State Hospital white cardigan tied to make a train. We both carried huge bouquets of lilacs, which were blooming wildly in that hot, dry country. All our patient guests cheered & clapped so loudly that we couldn’t hear what jesus was saying. We only got to stroll down the sidewalk, showered with rice that Edith had filched from the kitchen where she was one of the cooks, before our union was rudely interrupted by burly male guards straining with anger in their white uniforms.

Everyone was locked down, some of us in solitary, & the bells went off for riot alert. Maggie’s poor veil was ripped apart by their feet & rage & arms. The head nurse (another lesbian) called Maggie’s mother that night, & before I had a chance to kiss her hello & goodbye, Maggie was driven away the next morning in her father’s limp-dick limo (her words again), as we ate our powdered eggs, silently depressed.

However, Maggie was a very sneaky & smart girl. She calmly arrived the following day in her VW bug (custom-painted purple, as are her stars) & said she had come back to collect her belongings, which no one had thought to pack up. Her mother, a master materialist (probably hoping for the veil), was very understanding. The hospital wanted to be accommodating in hope of future funds. So Maggie surprised me by returning to busily pack up not very much. We weren’t allowed to talk, & the nurses were watching us sharply until Ursula, understanding our need, threw her tennis shoe at the TV, screaming. Maggie palmed me a note to meet her by the lilac hedge behind the building, where she had conveniently parked. I left as though going to my new job at the dairy (cow shit apparently being a step up from human shit). The other women realized Ursula’s intentions & took off their keds, too. My last sight of that day room (where I had been declared incurably schizophrenic) was of flying sneakers, screaming technicians, breaking glass, & laughing patients—a really lovely melee. Because, of course, Maggie had returned to rescue me. We pulled out the backseat of her bug & I lay down across the battery. She laid a Mexican blanket over me, while I tried to project looking like a backseat. She piled her boxes, mostly empty, on top of me. The guards at the main gate were distracted by another call from the ward where the women who weren’t strapped down could not be contained. Maggie smiled, they gave her back her driver’s license, & off we went. On the other side of town, Maggie freed me from my seat charade & I tasted the wind in my hair for the first time in more than a year. She drove me to Big Sur, where I’d never been & they wouldn’t look for me (I had seven previous escapes, which is why I was on the violent ward so often, a curious juxtaposition—is freedom indeed violence, for lesbians?). In her trunk she had a sleeping bag, some food, money, & clothes that didn’t say Napa State on them for me. She dropped me near an overpass under which fellow fugitives of all kinds were camped, driving back to Marin, where perhaps she did escape marrying him. My belongings & three cartons of writing may still be in a dusty storage room at Napa. I guess I’m AWOL. Freedom’s worth the loss. If not for Maggie, I’d still be in the loony bin, incurable & terrified, not allowed to be a lesbian except with technicians. But I ripped that nurse out of the quilt.

Big Sur was rich with empty summer houses we raided for canned goods as a gang of teenage runaways, Vietnam War deserters, Rez escapees & drug dealers. We caught and roasted a wild pig. We hid out from the park rangers. We flirted with soldiers from the base for bags of potato chips, Hostess lemon pies, & chocolate bars. It was my theory we wouldn’t get scurvy if we ate the pies. We dropped acid & had orgies & stole into the mud baths at night. I was in a fog & detoxing from the nuthouse drugs, until one dusk when my eyes became diamond sharp at the sight of a thin young guy getting out of a hitchhiking ride at the convenience store near the campgrounds. He had black wavy hair cut in a DA falling forward over his face, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket that oozed sex. Our eyes caught across the parking lot & I fell in love like slamming into earth. I walked over, offering my open bag of BBQ pork rinds. Her reaching hand made me laugh & I blurted out, “I thought you were a guy.” She looked me up & down intensely, startled me by stroking my crotch with a quick secret movement, & growled, “Good.”]

chrystos, from cherry picker, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[kitthepurplepotato]

Side note: I’m not back from my hiatus, I’m just giving you guys a treat to make the long waits a little bit better!

Chapter 7 - Something’s wrong with the puppy.

Summary: Eijirou comes into the coffee shop looking like the ghost of himself. Needless to say, you make sure he feels better as soon as possible.

Warnings: Swear words, reader has a few, tiny bit inappropriate thoughts here and there, sharing a bath (in underwear! Nothing cheeky!) a little bit angsty on Kirishima’s side, bless his broken little soul.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Who made you frown like that, puppy dog?”

Eijirou is here for his usual morning beverage but he looks absolutely… done. He also looks like he just finished a shift instead of starting one but you decide not to comment on that for now; his mental health is much more important than the fact that he has soot all over his face and probably scares the customers with his disheveled look. His bright red hair is muted into a weird, dark grayish-crimson color and there are cracks in the metal parts of his costume.

It has been two weeks since your first kiss but Eijirou haven’t kissed you since. His work was hectic, your date on that Friday got canceled and you’ve only seen each other here, in the coffee shop and even that was only for a few minutes instead the usual half an hour. You miss him so much. “Why are so dirty, hun’?”

“I don’t want to go back. Too much. Tired. Don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

Yet here he is, in a busy coffee shop, just so he can see you. Fucking hell, you love him so much.

“Come.” You point towards the staff room at the back. Thankfully, the boss is here to support you today and she’s nice enough to not comment on the fact that you are supposed to serve customers and not to give mental support to your broken boyfriend. You make eye contact with her and she only rolls her eyes.

“Go home.” She mouths silently and you don’t need to be asked twice.

“Actually, change of plans, follow me.”

Eijirou doesn’t say a word through the whole journey home. You call a taxi and tell the guy your address; you don’t want anyone to see him like that and you are quite sure he wouldn’t want that either if he would be in the right state of mind.

You open your door but Ei doesn’t move so you pull him in with you and make your way towards the bathroom with him. He still haven’t said a single word since you’ve left the coffee shop but that’s okay. You start the water in the bath and pour your favorite lavender scented bubble bath into it; the water becomes purple with silver glitters swirling around happily, the scent calming you right away and you can only hope it does the same for your mopey companion.

“I’ll take your… this thing off. Is that okay?” You point at the two metal accessories on his torso and he only nods at that. You hate seeing him like this. Eijirou should always smile. He’s beautiful when he’s happy.

It takes you a few seconds to understand how those things work but after a while you find two clips on the back; you catch the gauntlets when they are about to fall down and you almost pull a muscle; they are so heavy you can’t believe he’s working in these every day. You wouldn’t be able to lift them if you wouldn’t have gone through your uncle’s training when you were a teen.

“Let’s clean you up a little bit before you sit in, okay?” You take a cloth from the cupboard and wet it, slowly stroking the hero’s upper body to rid him of the black soot. He doesn’t say anything but his frown deepens, like he’s ashamed of being in this state, which honestly, it’s quite understandable. As the soot disappears you find quite a lot of scars, they aren’t bleeding anymore but they definitely sting but he doesn’t even flinch when you touch them with the wet towel. You decide to leave then untreated for now and do that after the bath when hopefully, Eijirou will have more mental energy to actually communicate. They are really small compared to the usual hero injuries but for a normal person, these would be enough to end up in a hospital for at least a day. This is one of the things that makes you mad about the hero world… how they are treated differently even though they are just humans, like everyone else. All these old scars on his body wouldn’t be there if they would have been treated properly, but they weren’t; because it’s just a “scratch”, too small for the medic team to care about in the chaos but injuries like that still leave a scar afterwards but apparently that doesn’t matter because heroes aren’t supposed to be pretty, they are nothing but a living-breathing weapon, even in this day and age. It got a little bit better since pro hero Deku and his gang took over the top charts but there’s still a long way to go before the heroes can get the right treatment.

Eijirou’s muscles bounce under your hands, the skin alternating between soft and rough, depending on the area; for instance, the area where his gauntlets is full of callouses, angry and red, probably from the constant friction. You drop the wet towel into the sink to trace them with your fingers, but Eijirou catches your wrist after a few tentative strokes.

“Hurts.” He mumbles. “Ugly.”

It breaks your heart how he can’t even make a full sentence properly right now. He’s a shadow of himself, a dark blob in the well-lit bathroom.

“It’s not.” Is all you say and decide to approach the situation in a different way; you move into Eijirou’s space and start leaving tiny kisses around the area, slowly moving closer to the calluses and leaving feather light pecks all over the reddish area. “It’s beautiful because it’s you.”

Eijirou doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. He starts to sob loudly, pulling you closer by your waist as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, body flush against yours. Your heart thrashes in your chest and you are quite sure he can feel the heavy bangs against his chest but instead of feeling ashamed you just feel… happy. Happy to be able to show him how much he means to you in ways he knows you can’t fake. “I really like you, Eijirou.”

“I love you. So much.” His hand grips your hair at your nape and you almost moan from the sudden pleasure. Your scalp was always really sensitive so you hated when people ruffled your hair in a friendly gesture but this… this is perfect. It’s more than perfect when it’s Eijirou who’s doing it.

“Let me take care of you, Ei.” He doesn’t say anything to that just lets you pull him towards the bath full of bubbles. “Can I get rid of your trousers? Underwear can stay.” He nods again and you get to work, trying not to think about about how suggestive this whole situation is. It’s not the right time for that. You already made the situation weird by enjoying the hair pulling a bit too much so it’s time for you take a deep breath and take your mind out of the gutter. He needs you.

Eijirou plops into the bath like a good boy after that but doesn’t do anything else; he just sits there with an empty gaze, staring at the shower gel bottle in the corner as though he’s having a silent conversation with it. And maybe he does. Who knows.

He doesn’t let your hand go, he holds it tight even as his body slowly relaxes; by the look of it, he won’t do anything for the next few minutes so you try to reach the shampoo bottle on the other end but Eijirou suddenly pulls your hand and you end up falling into the bath tub, your head thankfully landing on his chest and not somewhere dangerous. You look at your wet clothing and sigh, a tiny hint of a smile hiding in the corner of your mouth.

“Ei. If you wanted me to join you you should’ve just said so.” You giggle as you try to rid yourself from the disgustingly wet shirt and your trousers, probably hitting the poor guy with your elbows quite a few times but he doesn’t comment on it. You end up in your panties and your bra which is basically the same as wearing a swimsuit even though the padded bra feels really uncomfortable on your skin but there is no fucking way you’ll take that off right now for obvious reasons.

You really need to tell yourself AGAIN that this is NOT a romantic situation. Don’t think about what are you sitting on right now. Do not.

You wait a few seconds to give him time to answer but it doesn’t seem like he will so you finally take the shampoo in your hand and and give it to the redhead while you take the the shower head in your hand and start spraying his hair, straddling the guy’s hips while you do so. As the red gets brighter you can’t help but notice his roots; there is a tiny bit of black peeking out from his scalp, so tiny you wouldn’t even see it if you are not up close.

You are not surprised about it per se, you had a hunch his hair isn’t natural but it still baffles you a little bit.

“I can’t imagine you with black hair.” You mumble and the hero tenses under you. “Hey, it’s just hair. Don’t act like I just realized you are an alien.” You leave a tiny kiss on the top of his head to calm him down and thankfully, it works wonders; his body relaxes again, soft and pliant under your touch. “Mine is dyed too. I know, shocker.”

Eijirou looks up at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“And Uncle Riot?”

You can’t help but laugh loudly at that.

“Of course that’s your first question.” You mumble as you lather the shampoo into his hair. “His hair color is natural. He’s the only one in the family with that shade. Don’t ask, why, because we have no idea. My dad used to tease him about being adopted, they were terrible to each other. Typical brothers, really.”

“I don’t have any siblings.” Eijirou admits with a shy look on his pretty flushed face.

“Me neither. Thank god for that, I’m enough of a menace alone, we don’t need another one of me in the family.” You slowly wash the soap away, ready to put the conditioner on. He lets you do it in silence, he just closes his eyes and enjoys how your fingers scratch his scalp in the process. “You like this, Ei? Feeling better?” You scratch behind his ear like he’s a dog but by the look of it, Ei likes it so it doesn’t end up being as weird as you thought it would be.

“Uhum. I’m… I’m back. Kinda.” He admits sheepishly.

“Still okay with me being here with you? Do you want me to get out?” You ask, just in case; you don’t want him to be uncomfortable and you absolutely understand if he feels like it’s too much now.

“Can I wash your back?” Is the answer you get and your cheeks flush heavily from the words.

 You leave the conditioner on his head to do its thing and sit between his legs, ready to be washed. Now it’s really starting to sink in how… close you two are right now. It’s extremely intimate, way too intimate for two people who’s been dating for less than a month but somehow, it just feels… right. Perfect. Like it’s how it’s supposed to be.

Eijirou moves towards the shower gel, pumps the liquid into his hands and starts washing your back; his hands are so careful yet so deliberate, it almost feels like a massage and you can feel the goosebumps appearing on your skin from the pleasure. You sigh contentedly, feeling the urge to lay back on his chest and instead of pushing you back to your original position he lets you lean on him, his hands snaking around your waist to pull you close. His chin ends up on your shoulder then he takes a deep breath and finally, he starts talking.

“Katsuki and his fiancé are on a holiday. They went to see her family abroad so they’re not in town. Stupid fuckers realized the number two hero is away and started to do all kind of shit in our patrol area, hoping they can get away with it but needless to say, it’s all in vain but they don’t give up. It’s constant. They are easy jobs but… I’m tired. I haven’t slept for a week. Izuku and Shouto tries to help as much as they can but they have their own agency to run as well as helping ours and we are missing the two strongest heroes in our agency so… yeah.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You know you are strong enough, this is just way too much for a person fueled by coffee and energy drinks? You are just a human, Eijirou. Give yourself a break. I’m quite sure your friends can keep an eye on your agency for one day.” You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing the hand resting on your belly affectionately. “Stay with me today, Eijirou. Have a nap, then we can watch a movie in the afternoon and go to sleep early.”

“Is it a date?” Eijirou teases as he leaves a tiny kiss on the top of your head.

“It’s better than that. It’s our first day living together. It’s the practice round.”

“Stop teasing me.” Eijirou pouts and you can’t help but leave a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not. I promise.” You murmur as you turn back to him to continue cleaning him.

You could get used to this, it’s actually terrifying how normal it feels like to share a bath with this man you’ve only known for a few months. There’s no awkwardness the air and you don’t even feel shy for being almost naked, skin touching skin as you shimmy into him after the both of you are fresh and clean. It’s so easy to forget how young your relationship is as you cuddle in the hot bath tub, cheeks ruddy from the heat. He’s so beautiful with his wet hair framing his face, the locks soft and shiny for the conditioner.

You already see a future routine in front of you; sharing a coffee in the coffee shop in the morning then in the afternoon, cooking lunch, sharing a meal, enjoying each other’s company while lounging on the couch, cuddled close while a silly super hero movie with an unnecessary romantic plot plays in the background, having a bath together then sharing the bed and making love until it’s time to sleep. Maybe you two could train on your free days, spar until you both end up tangled on the mat, kissing the living shit out of the other. You could have dinners at your uncle’s house and just stare at your perfect fiancé fanboying over everything in the house like he’s not about to be a part of this family himself in a few months. Fuck, it would be perfect. So fucking perfect.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything.” Eijirou mutters into your ear, pulling you close.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. You need to rest and I just want you all to myself for a day. It’s a win-win.”

“… Always teasing me…” he says and you leave it to him; maybe it’s the best if he thinks it’s all just a joke for now. Your true feelings might suffocate him. It’s too much too soon, but it’s the truth. You already have your whole life planned out with him as weird as it sounds.

You can’t wait for all your dreams to become reality one day; but today, you need to take a deep breath - so you just do exactly that.

You can wait forever for him if that’s what he needs. It doesn’t matter because he’s worth it.

~•🪨•~

“What do I need to say for you to stay with me?” Eijirou mutters with a red face, staring out from your bedroom window, tucked in into your sheets like a little kid at bedtime. You are definitely going overboard with your actions right now, but you can’t help but worry about this silly little sensitive man in front of you.

He really reminds you of your uncle sometimes. You were way too young to understand his constant battle with mental health when he was still a hero but once you were eighteen your uncle started to open up about his old struggles and he had the same look on his face when he told you his stories as the one on Eijirou’s face right now and it breaks your heart. You don’t want to see him like this but it’s the part of the job as cruel as it sounds and you need to respect that; just because you were able to be selfish and leave all that behind, that doesn’t mean it was the right choice and you know that. Of course, it’s amazing to live carefree but the amount of people you couldn’t save because you’ve left the field haunts you to this day and sometimes it makes you wonder if all the pain is actually worth it for the lives you could save.

You thought that love is something unachievable when you are in this line of work and seeing Eijirou’s mopey little face clearly tells you that it’s not an easy task to be successful in love and at your job at the same time, and not everyone would have the patience to take care of you in time of need but… maybe, it’s all about surrounding yourself with the right people. You also have a feeling that you would’ve met Eijirou anyway, even if you’d never work in your uncle’s coffee shop because you two are connected by fate and no one can change your mind about that.

“This is my flat, silly, I’m not going anywhere.” You give the redhead a fond smile, but apparently, that’s not what the said redhead wanted to hear because he shakes his head vigorously, his face even more red than before. He takes your hand in his tentatively, stroking your knuckles with his thumb as he mumbles something inaudible. He pulls your hand closer and that’s when it clicks; he wants you to stay with him… in the bed. While he naps. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest from the sudden happiness that washes over you.

“You just need to say please. But before you do, I must warn you I might kiss you for real. I’m at my limits, puppy dog.”

You are quite sure you are as red as him by now but you try to keep your cheeky smile on, hoping it’s dark enough in the room for him to not see how flustered you are. It’s just not on brand, you know. You are the one teasing, not the other way around! Damn, the tables have turned.

“I… I can take that risk any day.” He mutters back; you make a silly noise in your throat, a high pitched little yelp you hope he can’t hear as you slowly let him pull you into the bed, cuddling you right away as you lay down next to him.

Okay, the tables DEFINITELY have turned. “Is this too much? I feel like your heart is yelling at me to go away.” He sighs with his face hidden in your chest. “So aggressive.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whisper into his ear while your arm snakes around his middle to initiate an actual cuddle. “It beats like that every time you come through the coffee shop door. It has been doing that for a while.”

“Am I scary?”

… This guy is an actual idiot. Do you really need to spell it out?

“Ei, look at me.” Slowly, Eijirou moves his head from your chest and he looks so terrified, you can’t stop yourself anymore; you stroke his chin while you look into his eyes fondly, moving closer and closer, giving him enough time to move away, but he… doesn’t. Finally, your lips collide in a warm, chaste kiss, one that’s barely there but it’s just enough to make a point. “Do I look scared of you, silly?”

Suddenly, Eijirou pushes himself up to his elbows and stares into your eyes. He’s still close, much closer than you’ve even been to him, his breath fans your lips and you feel goosebumps going down your spine from the thrill of it.

“If I say you do, will you do that again?” For the first time today, he almost looks like himself again; his eyes are full of wonder, he bites his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling, he’s so fucking precious you want to put him in your pocket and keep him there for the hard days and for the good ones, just have him with you every day because fuck, you really do love this fucking himbo.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

But…

This is not what you were expecting.

Eijirou pecks your lips once, twice, then a third time, but then he moves to your cheeks and leaves tiny little kisses all over until he gets bored of the area and goes back to your lips, pecks them again, but even as you try to give him a proper kiss, he moves away and keeps peppering you with these small, almost friendly kisses and you are so fucking confused but also kinda excited for finally not being the one doing all the work.

You have no idea how to tell him you want… well.. more. You feel selfish for not appreciating this properly and you feel like this is not the time for you to speak up about if; maybe, this is what he needs now, just… love and affection but not in a suggestive way. You take a deep breath and try to do the same, just peppering kisses on his cheeks and lips, counting fucking sheep to calm yourself down before you devour the man on top of you. Small kisses. You can do this.

You gently change your positions to let Eijirou lay on the bed and rest. He makes a tiny yelp from the sudden change but he let’s you be in charge; you straddle his hips but you make sure you don’t touch in inappropriate places because while you would absolutely love to take this further, he’s clearly not in the mood for that yet. Maybe he’s the “no heavy making out” before marriage kinda guy. It would make a lot of sense to be fair, with the whole “proposal on the first date” thing he’d pulled.

You really need to sit down and talk, this is getting ridiculous. You haven’t even talked about being a couple properly. Obviously, you are not stupid, you know you are… well… something, maybe even more than just a couple at this point but it all happened so quickly it would be nice to know you two are on the same page about this.

You sweep this thought under the rug for a few more days; now you have a mission to finish, which is to make Eijirou happy enough to be able to take a proper nap. You leave tiny kisses on his cheeks, then one cheeky peck on his mouth, your thumb caressing his cheekbone soothingly as you keep kissing him, slow and careful until Eijirou looks like he’s ready to doze off; when the time is right, you lay down next to him, your fingers drawing circles into his naked chest until finally, his breathing evens out and he’s out like a light, a tiny smile ghosting his face as he sleeps peacefully, unconsciously cuddling into your side.

Needless to say, you can’t fall asleep. Your heart is thrashing in your chest, begging for attention, begging for that deep kiss you’ve been dreaming about for eternity.

“You’ll be the death of me, himbo.” You mumble silently as you close your eyes and pretend to sleep for the next couple of hours.

It’s fine. You have your whole life to take those steps forward. There is no need to rush this. Maybe, if you tell that to yourself a couple more times you’ll actually believe it.

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Thank you very much for your kind words under my last personal update. I’m sorry for not replying. I read them all and they made me really happy I’m just… well… having troubles communicating with anyone right now. Thank you very much for being so kind and patient with me, I hope this surprise chapter makes your day a bit better 💜

- Tell me what you think of this chapter! Tell me what you think will happen in the next! I might not respond but I’ll definitely enjoy reading your conspiracies! 💜

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan @themultifandomgirl @dark-witch-bitch @lotusstarr

[rthstewart]

So is John Pevensie still an antagonist in Stone Gryphon? (Am I asking this because I love Helen and Mrs. Godwin? Yes. I am also asking because I love a furiously protective person and John seemed like that in the snippets from his perspective)

@becauseforoncethisisme asked:

So is John Pevensie still an antagonist in Stone Gryphon? (Am I asking this because I love Helen and Mrs. Godwin? Yes. I am also asking because I love a furiously protective person and John seemed like that in the snippets from his perspective)

First, thanks so much for reading and reaching out about the first chapters of Heart and Crow Make The Peace.

Ware below for LONG meta/history/ruth stewart blather

For many years, the first and last look readers had of John Pevensie was a scene in the posted Apostolic Way.  It’s a disastrous dinner at the Rainbow Room in New York City, where Col. Walker-Smythe has brought Edmund to America to work as his aide and batman.  John is, as presented in the story, a writer and editor, recruited by the SOE, to work on the generation of pro-British propaganda.  He is a serial philanderer, is bitterly disappointed that it is Edmund, rather than Peter, who has come to America, and the dinner is excruciatingly painful as John’s memories of his children are several years old and certainly pre-Narnia, leaving Edmund to, once again, be far kinder than his father deserves and Walker-Smythe is furious.  It’s made worse by numerous women who have obviously enjoyed John’s attentions in the past stopping by the table to say hello.  

Meanwhile, Helen Pevensie is back in London, and true to what was more common in 1943 than it was in 2020, has been in a sexual relationship with Mrs. Beatrice Goodwin, the widow next door.  

I was probably too successful in the scene as John can come across as a craven and cruel person. Readers’ sympathies (and mine) have always tilted to Helen.

With the reposted story, I slightly tweaked the previous version of the Rainbow Room scene and have introduced in text that a part of John’s issue is untreated PTSD. So, is this signaling a change of heart for me in John's role? and what about Mrs. Goodwin and Helen?

John's untreated illness is an explanation, in part, but not a justification to be sure.

I’ve always intended for Helen and Beatrice to go their separate ways.  As broad-minded as the Four are, it's different when your parents are involved and I’m finding it hard to push myself to writing that as a resolution or where it’s all just one big happy polyamory.  From discussions with readers, I could see Beatrice moving to a small market town for economy, meeting another widow with young children and you know, there are only 2 bedrooms in the cottage, so of course….   Post-war England was filled with these kinds of relationships of economy and convenience and, presumably, potential romance amongst widows.

As a writer, I also want John and Helen to both put some work in and try to rebuild their relationship.  This is something millions of people had to do post-War and I’m interested in how and whether couples can overcome infidelity.  I’m not sure I could, personally (I’ve been married for over 30 years!) and I’m interested in developing it.  TSG itself presents numerous different takes on bonding and infidelity which, while true to the time period, is also intended as a contrast to Edmund and Lucy’s  own sense of loss for their partners.  Something I’ve not decided is whether Morgan and Aidan, respectively, went on to have their own relationships some period of time later.  

There’s another reason for introducing John’s PTSD.  TSG was originally supposed to be a two-fer, Peter-centric story.  I was going to do a time-skip after the conclusion of Ox 1942 and jump to post war, with Peter starting an affair with Mary, dropping out of uni, finally finding his path, and then everyone dying, with Susan left behind (I had this about half-written, even). I never, EVER wanted to touch the 1940s UK educational systems or Peter’s potential service in the military as I deemed bothway beyond my storytelling skill.

[TQSiT was never in the cards – that’s the fault of an early reader, Miniver on ff dot net long since gone, who asked, Well, given these adventures for Peter, and Lucy and Edmund off on the Dawn Treader, surely Susan is up to something exciting in America, which coincided with me reading a WaPo review Connant’s The Irregulars.  Oops.]

So to avoid having to write Peter in the service, from the very beginning, back in Ox 1942, I wrote that Peter’s parents are opposed to his service and he’s willing to go along with it because he thinks he’s an insubordination risk.  I never explained why they are opposed which is really not especially consistent with the patriotism of the time.  

So, in the story I’ve picked up again 12 years later, John’s trauma at Dunkirk as now part of the reason for that opposition.  He goes to War to protect his family and early on is deeply traumatized by the failures to evacuate soldiers on the beaches; he hears the screams of men and ships going down in his dreams.  In his own protective misguided way, he wants to protect his family from that horror. And when he finds out that Aslan plucked his children out of England and turned them into warriors, he is going to be PISSED.  

 Oops.

Thanks so much   @becauseforoncethisisme!!