#i had this realization and Lunged for my tablet

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

so i was thinking about how Howdy has eight legs bc he's a caterpillar - those have lots of legs. but butterflies? they only have six

imagine he comes out of his chrysalis and he's down two limbs. mf would have to relearn how to Walk

#i had this realization and Lunged for my tablet #caterpillars when they're in the soup: you know what? these are unnecessary *discards limbs* #and yes i know i know Technically caterpillars have six true legs and four prolegs yes yes #However they still kinda count and i like to have fun #he'd wake up and have a total httyd1 hiccup moment #*lifts blanket* Ohhhhhhhh fuck where's the other two #lmaoooo later frank hands him a bottle full of leftover Caterpillar Soup like 'here they are... sorry...' #i gave him cute stripey pj pants bc i caaaaaaan <3 #scribble salad #yassified howdy <3 #i feel so bad for him... #he tries so hard not to pupate and then not only Does He but he winds up with only two legs. poor guy! #not sure if i wanna stick with this for yass!howdy tho! i so do love his four legs...

[morganas-pendragons]

ache | fourteen

this got away from me sooooooo quickly, I hope you like it!

The first time you met him, he didn't have to tell you how old he was. You were well versed in reading people. In distinguishing those hidden details between the lines, between the cracks of the person, and recognizing the little things no one else could bother to care about.

You knew he was old. You didn't know he was forever. You didn't know that he'd been running for so long that he'd never allowed himself to learn how to stop. To plant his feet in one place, to inhale, to exhale.

You didn't realize how much he craved you. How he craved you like the oxygen he has not breathed in since Gallifrey. Since the last time he allowed himself to simply exist without having to flee to the next destination.

The Doctor. The man who keeps running, because he dare not look back.

But with you... when he left you...

Oh, he did. You just didn't know.

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart found you in the aftermath of the Doctor's departure. You were sitting on the park bench where the TARDIS had last dropped you off, knees drawn to your chest and eyes blankly staring at the spot in hopes the box would materialize.

It never did. Every time you sat here and thought about it, about him, your chest ached so badly. Like it was seeking the oxygen it had been deprived of.

She'd sat beside you and waited until you turned your head to acknowledge her, "Whatever it is, I'm not interested. I'm waiting for a friend to come back."

There's so little hope in your voice. You know he's not coming back. You know, but you hope, because The Doctor can ease that ache in your chest and breathe that air back into your lungs.

You wish you hadn't been so impressionable. He'd flashed those marvelous brown eyes and that charming smile. That was all it took.

And when he'd laid those bleeding hearts in your hands, you'd let the blood run through your fingers and held them close to your chest. You'd protected them. Cherished them.

And then you'd thrown them back in the TARDIS. Left to fend for themselves. Left to bleed again.

The ache just won't go away.

"Your friend is a notorious runner," Kate remarks. "The likelihood is slim. However, I do have an opportunity for you that you could consider.. where he may show his face sometime soon enough."

You heard her out. She told you about UNIT, about The Doctor and his involvement, and you took the job when she offered it to you.

You saw him from afar multiple times after that. You never saw Ten again, but Ten would see you, parking the TARDIS out of sight multiple times before he changed faces because just seeing you eased the ache in his chest that had settled there when you were gone.

Then the one in the tweed with the bowtie. He was clever. Sweet. Kind. You saw him several times. Marveled at him from afar.

The ache got a little bit easier to deal with.

Then the next one. So much older. Older and angry and lonely and so, so ready to give up. That companion who'd gone with him sought you out the first time they came to UNIT together. Almost like she recognized you.

Turns out, Clara did.

"Hi," You turn to acknowledge the younger woman from your spot at your desk and smile warmly. "My name is Clara. Forgive me for the intrusion, but I have to ask you something."

"Come on in," You wave to the open chair with an empty hand and settle your tablet on your desk. You'd been reading up on the Doctor and all UNIT had gathered on him since you'd joined. There was a lot to sift through. "What can I do for you, Clara?"

"I thought you looked familiar. Then I remembered," She reached into her pocket and pulled out an old photo. You froze instantly at the sight and leaned outward to inspect it. "He's got a picture of you on the console."

It's definitely you. You and Ten and Donna, weeks after you'd joined them on the TARDIS, wrapped in your parkas and Ten in his trench coat on the Planet of the Ood.

"That is me," You whisper. Clara softened as you ran your fingers along the edge of the picture, turning it over to read the inscription on the back. That's Ten's handwriting. It's not yours. It reads, When the ache was gone. "I used to be just like you. I was so..."

Clara waited. She waited, but your voice never came, because then she was saying, "I just wanted you to know something. He talks about you. He hasn't done it a lot, but you're the only one he's got a photograph of on the console. I see the way he looks at it. And he's mentioned you a few times. The Doctor told me once that he's been in pain since you've been gone. And I don't think it's going to stop."

And then she's gone, and you're on your own again. She didn't even leave you the photo. She just leaves you to collect your thoughts and the fact that The Doctor has not been able to move on from you.

Silent tears track down your face. You would give anything to touch him. To hold him, to run your thumbs reverently under those ancient eyes, and just... tell him how loved he is.

But you can't.

He keeps running away.

***

He stops cold when he sees you inside of Unit HQ. You're standing there behind Shirley, so beautiful, and so very alive. He's only just come back from Soho.

From the Toymaker. From the nightmare, from the constant reminding that he failed you, failed them, failed all of them. All the ones who died.

"We hired Y/N as a liaison. Turns out hiring your companions has proven to be quite beneficial. They are something of experts, after all."

And then there's Mel, and it's all just too much because there are so many people in this room who love him. He doesn't deserve that love. There's too much weakness in this room. His hearts are bleeding everywhere and The Toymaker knows his weaknesses.

The Doctor will not let the ache infect him again. Not when you're standing less than three feet away from him for the first time in fifteen years.

You have no time to react before he's in front of you, and you can smell him, and he's everywhere and his fingers are lacing with yours.

Something shifts inside of your chest.

"I have so much to answer for," He murmurs lowly enough only for the two of you to hear. "And I know there's no universe in which you don't hate me for what I did-"

His whole affect shifts into something of despair when you step forward to fill the gap between you and grip his chin between your thumb and finger. There's so much pain in those eyes now. Pain from inevitable losses, pain from what he's done to you, pain from existence.

You just want to take his ache away. If you're going to do anything with the precious amount of time you two have, you are going to take those bleeding hearts back into your hands and fix them. And then you are going to hold him.

You are going to hold him with your bloody hands - because when does anyone who is ever associated with The Doctor not have blood on their hands? - and refuse to ever let him go.

It makes your ache less. It makes your pain less.

"There won't ever be a single instance in which you could make me hate you," You admit. "And you will have all the time in the world to tell me why you made me leave."

"The Toymaker. He... He preys on weaknesses. He will know. He always knows."

And it's on that moment that you see something you almost never saw with his Tenth face: Fear. He is terrified. That unnerves you.

Without thinking, you stand on your tiptoes and cradle his face in your hands as you kiss his forehead. It's tender. Reverent. Mel and Donna try not to gape as The Doctor leans in closer and remains there until you pull apart.

"Then don't let him," You say firmly. "And you go out there and you win."

***

"I'm all sonic and Timelord. Take that away... what am I? What am I now?"

Donna is reminded of one of the earliest trips she'd ever taken with Ten. Among the very first where she'd realized that he had fallen in love with you. There's faint memories of Pompeii, of the aftermath, when you'd followed The Doctor into the console room after he'd stormed in there asking the same question.

That time you'd answered him with all the gentleness she answers him now, "Take that all away, and you're still a good man."

The few moments that you get alone with Donna give her the opportunity to fill you in on what she'd learned from being inside The Doctor's mind. She tells you about Eleven and Twelve and Thirteen, about the ones who died, about The Flux. You hear all of it.

What makes the ache unbearable is the fact that when Ten died, he died alone. And that's the worst part.

Because you'd broken your promise that he'd never be alone again. Despite the fact he'd forced you out, you'd failed him.

And now here you stood.

"Hey," Donna's hand rests on your shoulder as your eyes flicker over to the Doctor, who now stands mere feet in front of the Toymaker. "You'll be with him soon enough."

Seconds after she says it, the air is pierced by a scream as the galvanizing beam activates, and it is shot straight through The Doctor. Mel's hand is going white from how hard you are gripping it.

"I played one game with the first Doctor, the second game with the second Doctor, and I will play the next game with the next Doctor!" The Toymaker exclaims boldly.

You don't realize you're the one screaming until the beam turns off.

He falls to his knees. The last time he'd done that that you had seen was when you walked out of the TARDIS. Defeat. Resignation.

You wait for the regeneration energy to appear. You're about to lose this face, again, and there's not a single thing you can do about it. Not until Donna's voice speaks up again and shouts, "He's not dying alone!"

"You can do what you like to me," You're speaking before you can stop yourself. "But I'm going to be with him. I keep my word. And I won't fail him again."

Mel nods her confirmation to both remarks. You steel your expression as you pursue Donna and Mel toward the Doctor. You cannot be falling apart right now. The ache is not allowed to consume you when it is him who is about to die, to change, to become another man.

Everything in the world around you disappears when you meet those eyes. Those kind, sad eyes that have always looked at you with such reverence and devotion. Those are the eyes of a man who you would burn the galaxies and all within it if it gives him some peace.

The words are on his tongue, so ready to be said. The ache has made the weight of keeping those words to himself unbearable.

He knows though. In that moment, he knows. He will love you eternally. No matter the face.

"It's okay," You say confidently. "It's okay."

"It's not dying."

"But you're going to be someone else." Mel interjects. The Doctor's eyes travel between the three of you. His former companion, his best friend, and his love. "It doesn't matter who. 'Cause every single one of you is fantastic."

He meets your eyes head on, and you rest a singular hand between his hearts.

"Here we go again," He murmurs. "Allonsy."

***

There are two of them. Two Doctors. The older one, the newer one, wears something you've never seen on The Doctor. He wears the mark of acceptance. Or peace.

Probably both.

But the way he looks at you? Oh, the way he looks at you. It's like he knows something that you and the younger Doctor don't know. When The younger Doctor and Donna approach the newest Doctor after the Toymaker is defeated, you stay behind to let them have their moment.

Until Fifteen looks back and motions you forward the second Fourteen's head falls into the crook of his neck. He already knows. He already knows, and he’s asking you to come step in. To be his sanctuary.

You suck in a breath and approach, bridging the gap between The Doctor and Donna to tenderly run your hand up his spine. He can’t see you. He can’t see you, but you can see him, and his entire being trembles at your touch.

“How many people died?” Fourteen asks again. You swallow the knot in your throat and meet the older Doctors dark gaze, to which he winks at you and gently turns his younger self around so that way his face is buried in your neck instead.

“They’re right.” You whisper, threading your fingers through the hair at his nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. The older Doctor presses a finger to his lips and tugs on Donna’s arm to give the two of you a moment of privacy. “It’s not your fault. None of this, none of the ones who died, are your fault. You want to know why?”

He allows you to lift his head from the crook of your neck. Your fingers trace the curve of his jaw until you’re cupping it in your hands, and the urge to kiss him until the ache disappears has never been stronger.

The Doctor asks with such a hesitation that is so unlike him, "Why?"

And it's then that you realize: For all the time this lonely harbinger of death and destruction has existed, when was the last time he stopped? When was the last time he lived?

"Because we choose to. We choose you. There were so many of us, so many of us who wanted something better then the simplistic life we get here on Earth."

The Doctor shakes his head. "Humans are not and have never been simple-" You press a finger to his lips and quirk a brow, playfully daring him to continue.

"You come and urge us away in that brilliant little box of yours with promises of a better life. An exciting life. Regardless of the dangers to ourselves, we always take it, because of you. We take you in all that you are even when the Oncoming Storm dares to rear his ugly head. Ancient. Timeless. Infinite," You tenderly run a thumb under his eye. "You love so much... but don't let yourself be loved in return. You don't let yourself be thanked. That's why. We love you because you're selfless, because you're you."

The Doctor hates how wrong you are. He wants to believe those things about himself, but he is by nature a selfish man.

"You are too good to me." He whispers in your ear, lips brushing your temple. You hum thoughtfully and reach under his vest to playfully squeeze his hips.

"Because you're deserving of goodness too, my love."

In the doorway behind you both, The older Doctor smiles. This is exactly the thing, the people, that his younger self needs to heal from all that damage. All that pain and loneliness.

And eventually, he too will wear the mark of peace that this new body has been granted.

***

"Do you know why I think this face came back? So you could stop. So you could come home."

The Doctor has been absently sipping at his drink for the greater part of thirty minutes as he basks in the sunlight and the joy from the group gathered around the table. Mel is just barely leaning into him, enough for her warmth to seep through the fabric of his shirt, and Donna is grinning brightly as Rose tells the story of when The Doctor took her to Mars.

In the distance, Wilf's shotgun goes off as he misses yet another mole attempting to emerge from its burrow.

It is the most peace he's had in millennia.

"Hey," Donna's voice softly calls from his left as she nudges his side with her elbow. "Where did you go?" Ten had this blank look of devastation and haunting that he wore quite often when she'd ask him a question about his past, or about where he'd come from. He lived in his memories. Memories about Gallifrey. About his companions.

This time though, it's you.

Before he can properly reply to Donna, there's a voice shouting from inside the house. His brow furrows. All of the family is outside. So who-

"Donna! For God's sake, why does your house have little to no counter space? There's only four of you! Where am I supposed to put this food?"

The Doctor sucks in a sharp breath. "Is that-"

"Don't worry, I didn't say a word," Donna assures. "But yes. Now go."

She says it with such demand that he has no choice but to trust her and stands to his feet. The Doctor wiggles his toes in the damp, warm grass and takes his empty glass inside to refill it.

There you are. Right there, in all your splendor, muttering curse words under your breath as you work to create space for the desert you'd brought at Donna's request. He's at a loss for words.

That's a first.

"Donna, if you're just standing there gaping-" You whip around and lift an accusatory finger, eyes wide as The Doctor's gaze flickers down and back up to yours playfully. "Doctor."

"Hi."

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd have flown away by now."

Be brave, Doc. Be brave.

Your eyes follow the path of his hands as one comes to rest on your jaw, then the other, until you find yourself drawn impossibly close and only mere inches from his lips. "Between you, Donna and my older self... Think I figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

The Doctor's fingers tangle in your hair then and tip your head upwards. "Why I was coming home," He whispers. "The long way around."

The sigh of relief that escapes from both of you as the ache finally, finally leaves makes all of the pain worth it. All the heartache. The loneliness.

It's all worth it if he gets this.

"I love you." The Doctor murmurs as you pull apart. The smile that rewards him could rival the brightness of Gallifrey's suns, and he thinks he might be able to do this kind of life after all if it means he gets to see that smile. Forever.

"I love you too." You reply, resting a single hand on his chest. "The ache..."

"What?"

"The ache." You breathe. "It's gone. Guess I must've needed a Doctor to fix me up."

Donna turns her head to gaze at the open kitchen doors as laughter pours through, and The Doctor emerges with you carried on his back. You take your place in his lap easily enough once he sits down.

Yeah. The amnesia.. the missing years, the adventures... It had all been worth it.

Those bleeding hearts that have spent millennia broken still beat, messy stitches holding as they take their rest within their cage.

Healed. Fixed.

No longer aching.

#fourteenth doctor x reader #fourteen x reader #doctor who imagines #doctor who oneshots #doctor who spoilers #doctor who

[idanceuntilidie]

YAN DEMON X HUMAN READER X YAN ANGEL PLS SORRY I HADNT REALIZED YOU DIF ANGEL ALREADY VKVK

I hope it was okay!! it accidentally got long.. sorry pookie wookie woo damn this would make a good vn ngl

yan angel x gn reader x yan demon

tw: yandere themes and behaviours, mentions of killing

The light from the billboard always shinesBut it changed twelve times since you went away

Requests are open

“An angel sat on one shoulder, a devil on the other. Both of them wore my face.” But you are not really sure they have your face. You are not a very religious person, so you didn’t understand why they decided to bother you exactly but at least you weren’t lonely anymore. Mirui appeared first, you remember the meeting very well, hell, it gave you a heart attack. You work in a small cafe, a gem hidden in the mud. You liked it very much, your boss was nice and you even made friends with some of the people you worked with.

Well you didn’t think it was so nice and fun now, working as the cashier reminded you about the thing you dreaded. Interactions with other beings that you do not know, see for the first time and could be really fucking mean at times. Homosapiens. A woman in her mid twenties stood in front of you, waving her hands and screaming her lungs out. Your polite smile tightens as your nails dig painfully into your forearm. She found out that what she ordered was really expensive, it’s weird because there are prices next to the stuff you guys make. The woman's face flushed deep beet red in anger, and you are pretty sure she spat on you. Ew. You heard a small chuckle followed by a loud snort and laughter from your right, it startled you, but when you looked there you saw no one. After another fit of laughter you noticed a small red thing sitting on your right shoulder. A small human-like creature. It looked back at you, eyes flickering with mischief and a small full of white sharp teeth. “You should spill that coffee on her, ya know? It’s still hot, it can’t go to waste” it said Your eyes slowly went back to the screaming woman, then on the hot coffee on the counter.

To be fired or not to be fired, that is the question. Before you even got a chance to fully think this through, your boss appeared behind you and shooed you away to deal with the customer. Your boss was a savage old lady, the customer stood no chance against her. Out of sight out of mind. The small demon muttered something, disappointed, it crossed its arms and pouted. You scurried away, to the kitchen to take your mind off of things and maybe help around a bit.

Faith appeared a few weeks after Mirui did, successfully stopping you from chugging only energy drinks, spilling coffee and doing pranks on rude customers. “Do it, do it, do it, do it!” she giggled manically, clapping her hands happily. Today Mirui decided to be feminine, she sat on your right shoulder like she always did. You noticed every day she had new outfits, very revealing of course, it made you blush slightly. “Shut up, I can't focus.” “Dear child, they might fire you.” a new voice on your left stated calmly. God damn it another one. This time a painfully white angel sat on your left shoulder. He didn’t even look at you, his attention was focused on little stone tablets sitting on his lap.

“Ew who the fuck are you” Mirui spat pointing a very sharp manicured finger on the angel.

“The only rational one here” “It looks disgusting, Y/N quickly throw it off!” she grabbed your collar and shook it violently. The angel rolled its eyes and looked at her. “Stop it demon spawn, I was sent here to make sure this disgusting-” it started but when it looked at Mirui, a look of disgust appeared on its face. “Piece of work won’t do too much damage to such a pure soul, y/n leave that salt alone.” You and Mirui groaned, you will have revenge on that karen. “You suck” “Go suck dick and shut up” “Language both of you” “Ew, let’s call it Faith or Angelico or something, it’s basic- just like it” Mirui gagged. Faith went back to his stone tablets, not looking at you or the demon. Even though it wasn’t looking, you could feel how he judges you. In the end, they didn’t leave you alone. 

You wake and fall asleep to their constant bickering. You figured it’s because Mirui is a demon, and Faith is an angel. Or maybe it’s because they are so different? It makes you tired honestly. Yet their different personalities and behaviors made your life a little bit more interesting.

Faith sat on the edge of the couch, watching as Mirui did a little fashion show. You were forced to watch too,  he wouldn’t leave you alone if you didn’t. Your eyesight got a little blurry, you were tired. Very very tired, so in the end you couldn’t help but just doze off. Mirui noticed it first, giddy as he returned to his normal size. Giggling and swinging his feet as he watched you slowly fall asleep. Carefully, he gets up to sit right next to you. He sighed dreamily as he played with you hair. Aren’t you just the cutest? Naive too, just perfect. He nuzzled against your cheek, smiling widely. He could feel how warm your body was, hell he could even smell you. Mirui covered his mouth with his hand to prevent the laughter that was slowly bubbling up.

He heard a very loud scoff from Faith and when he looked at them, they had a very unpleasant look on their face.

“What’s up?” he smiled „Jealous?”

„It’s disgusting how you cling to them when they are asleep.” Faith hissed

“Oh is the baby mad because they don’t have the balls to actually get this close?” Mirui smiled proudly, cuddling up to you even closer than possible. You stirred a bit in your sleep, your pretty face scrunching in confusion before returning to a calm state. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep on your side, only to be yanked back by his hair by Faith. “Back off, you demon scum” “Oh oh careful now or I might start to like it” “I am serious Mirui” Faith hissed, grabbing the demon's throat as they squeezed it painfully. Their touch was painful, Mirui swore he heard a small sizzling which made him hiss. “leave, they are mine and you knew that.” “fuck off, I love them more than your sorry ass does.” he said as he tried to get away from the angel.

It happened a lot, especially when you slept. None of them wanted to give you up, let the other have your love and attention which resulted in fighting. Oh how surprised you would be if you found out that those arguments were about you, and they didn’t just appear out of thin air. Hell they have known you way before you even noticed their existence. Always there, in the background, watching, listening, admiring. Mirui was first to approach, thinking that Faith would eventually back off, and then he wouldn’t need to kill them, but they didn’t. 

And Faith, well, at first they didn’t know about Mirui, but when he eventually wanted to meet you he saw that little red slut sitting on your shoulder whispering sins. Oh their poor sweetheart, tainted and tortured by a monster. He decided to watch for a bit then appear as your savior.Now both of them are stuck being next to each other almost all the time, none of them would give up though. They will stay by your side.

Your eyes slowly open to see a white and red blob strangling each other. Your face twists into a frown, before sighing and going back to sleep.

#yan angel #yan demon #x reader #male yandere #female yandere #gn yandere #yanderes #yandere #tw yandere #oc yandere #yandere x darling #yandere blog #yandere oc #gn reader #yandere x gn reader #yanderes x gn reader #mooties

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

———

It actually takes them a moment to find everyone, once they get to the library. Clearly, any lingering doubt from the team has evaporated, and they’re all here to give their all. They find Pidge up to her ears in laptops and tablets and wires, twelve screens blinking at her at once, code running across the screen so quickly it actually makes Keith a little dizzy. Shiro is sitting on a table with a book half his size propped open on his lap. Hunk is scanning through a truly ancient looking scroll.

The Alteans are nowhere to be found.

“Maybe they doubled back to the bridge?” Lance suggests. “Allura mentioned talking to a couple people in the Coalition to see if that lead anywhere.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth is there a flash of light, a blue so bright it’s almost white, blinding the entire library for a moment.

“Or they’re doing Star Trek amounts of space magic fuckery,” Lance mutters, and takes off immediately in the direction of the light source, dragging Keith behind him. The rest of the team, intrigued by the flash, isn’t far behind them.

At the centre of the light flash are Allura and Coran, eyes glowing white, palms pressed to a crystal carving on the wall. A crack snakes out from where their palms are placed, circling up and around to form a giant rectangle, and then the wall crumbles away.

Keith gapes. “Space fuckery indeed.”

Without another word, the team follows the Alteans down the dimly lit hallway, through a series of twisting tunnels, walls lined with carvings and paintings. They walk in silence for at least fifteen minutes, eventually forming a single file line as the tunnels get narrower, until the path finally gives way to a giant, gaping cave-like room. The ceiling goes up so high that Keith can’t see it, he just knows that it goes up. The walls are lined with shelves and shelves off books, and several more shelves are floating around the massive room. The entire room glows a faint blue.

“Welcome to the very centre of the most ancient building of Altea,” Coran says. He hardly speaks above a whisper, but his voice seems to echo. “Most of the building — the castle — is familiar to you, having been renovated to added onto the structure more recently, but this room here is one and a half billion years old.” Coran speaks quietly, reverently, moreso in a voice one might use on holy ground rather than a museum. And it feels right, too — there’s something big and powerful and ancient and suffocating about this place, like the mere air in the room enters Keith’s lungs and dissolves into his spirit. He almost feels as if he should take off his shoes, speak only in a whisper. This place feels like the beginning of everything.

Coran turns to Keith. His normally jovial expression is solemn, eyes dim and solemn. “Your situation is faintly familiar to me, my dear,” he says softly. “‘An endless living torture.’” The way he says it is almost like an incantation, like a recitation of a spell. “When I was very small, eons ago, my village was hit with an epidemic. Unusual for any village in Altea, to become panicked and weakened by a disease they could not recognise and could not heal, and that lack of security made the panic worse. The children and the elderly were the most affected, although much of the infection seemed random. Most, if not all, of the infected met their end.”

There’s a long, thick moment of silence. Every single one of them is leaned closely to Coran, likely without realizing it, eyes wide and brows creased, hands tense at their sides. Even Allura drinks up every one of Coran’s words, story completely foreign to her.

“It took too long for the alchemists to finally discover a solution,” Coran continues. “At that point, so many had died that it had seemed almost pointless. Many more bonds were ruined, after unkindness brewed from the fear of the unknown. I remember my closest friend died before I could even see her, because my parents confined me to the house, terrified I’d catch the illness from her. No one felt safe, and so no one felt compassionate. Very few, rather. Some risked their lives to care.

“The alchemists’ elixir was as hard-won as it was miraculous. In the end the illness had been a parasite, mutated by a chance string of fate. Once the problem had been identified the solution was almost easy, and quickly the sick were healed and the healthy were immunized. Great precautions spread quickly to the rest of Altea, warning other villages and the kingdom, protecting all the other people. But the damage in my village was already done.”

“Is that what I have?” Keith asks, voice coming out hoarse. His heart pounds. “A parasite? Is the rest of the team at risk?”

Coran shakes his head, and if possible the dread in his expression grows heavier. “I wish you had the parasite. It would be less foreboding, less abstract. The parasite at least is a physical illness, and one for which our MedBay is equipped to treat, for which I am easily able to identify and treat.”

The advisor sags forward, as if the energy has suddenly been sapped from him, as if someone has cut the strings that kept him upright. When he speaks again is voice is quieter than a whisper, and Keith has to strain to hear it.

“After the outbreak…the leader of the village never forgave xemself. Xe felt fully and completely responsible for the outbreak, and the guilt of the aftermath — obvious in both the many funeral pyres xe had to help burn, and the scarring left behind in those who had been healed — haunted xem everywhere xe went. No one blamed xem, of course. In fact it was the bravery of the leader that led to the discovery of the cure in the first place, as xe was one of the few people who refused to bow to the fear of infection and cared for the sick, getting samples from them also. But still xe felt the burden of fault on xis shoulders, and it was to heavy for xem to bear.

“One day the leader broke down in the square; collapsed sobbing to the ground. Xe was completely inconsolable, even to xis wife. It took hours to calm xem enough to speak. We found out —” Coran pauses for a moment, choked, as if the words are hard to even form — “we found out that long past the day the alchemists came with their solution, long past the days the final funeral pyre had been burned, the leader had been reliving the death of xis people. Again and again, xe was reliving it; in different ways every time, but the same deaths. It had never ended for xem. The days had passed normally for us, but the leader’s agony and guilt about the tragedy had warped xis quintessence, trapping xem in a purgatory of xis own making.”

Keith makes a strangled noise. In a second there are hands on him, several, big and calloused, prosthetic, ring-clad. His team is an immediate vessel of support for him, holding him carefully, pillars at his back and his sides.

A purgatory of your own making. That sounds about right. That sounds like the hell Keith is living in, day after day, and of course he’s the own root of his problems, of course he has made things more complicated for himself again.

“How do we fix it?” Pidge asks, and her voice isn’t small or scared. She sounds determined. It’s an instant calm to his heart, a balm to his fear. A quick look around to his team shows identical expressions.

Whether or not he has made this problem for himself, whether or not it’s his own guilt that is so suffocating that it’s killing him, torturing him, his team is going to help him fix it.

Lance catches his gaze and smiles, brown eyes warm and constant, familiar, and knocks their heads together gently. “We got this, Samurai.”

Lance is going to help him fix it.

“That’s why I have brought you here,” Coran answers. “I was young when this happened. I don’t remember all of it. But I remember the solution was ancient, because this curse is ancient. We had to consult the knowledge of the farthest of our Altean ancestors, when magic was at its most concentrated.” He spreads his arms wide, and the low hum of quintessence thrumming through the room pulses at his signal. He smiles slightly, a mix of wry and proud and encouraging.

“We’re going to have to search.”

———

next chapter

#IM SO SORRY IM LATE IM SORRY IM SORRY #BUT LOOK!!! PLOT!!!! #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #lance #lance mcclain #klance #pre klance #coran #coran coran the gorgeous man #keith & coran #team as family #black paladin keith #red paladin lance #brown-eyed lance #keith angst #time loop au #my writing #fic #longpost

[angel-of-the-moons]

Blood Moon

Marc Spector/Moon Knight (Spider-Man: Vengeance of Venom) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Injuries, Mentions of surgery, life-threatening injuries, jealousy(?), arguing, Marc is once again back on his dramatic Angsty™ bullshit, some of Reader's past comes to light

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Yeah I'm gonna try to finish this series before Halloween is over because vampires fall into spooky season purview. Also I haven't actually fully watched all of this specific Spider-Man cartoon's episodes so I'm making shit up as I go along. I really only watched the episodes with Moon Knight lol

Taglist: @badbishsblog

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Pt. 2

Marc's mind was immediately consumed the moment the words left Peter's mouth.

You were hurt. You almost died. If it hadn't been for Princess Shuri just happening to be visiting Avengers Tower, and used some of the Wakandan tech she had?

You'd be paralyzed. At least partially. You would have needed intense physical therapy.

Because apparently when you were partnered with Spider-Man and Ironheart for a mission, the Green Goblin's glider was hit by one of her repulsors.

It sent the glider careening out of control, Gobby having bailed at the last second, leaving the glider to crash into you and crush you against a brick wall.

You had several spine fractures, crushed ribs, dislocated arm, broken collarbones, hell, they were apparently worried you almost needed a lung transplant before they realized your lungs could actually be saved.

You had to have a kidney removed. Apparently Thor himself offered one of his up to you, saying:

"She is an honorable young soul. She deserves to be in one whole piece!"

You had apparently declined once you were out of anesthesia.

Marc began vaguely wondering if he himself wasn't a match. Maybe he...

When he approached the wing you were in, he was stopped by a woman in a labcoat, her tag reading "M. Ross."

"I am the primary doctor here. Director Fury insisted on a sign in sheet for visitors to her room. He also has limited the number of visitors to one person at a time, to ease her." She told him without looking up from her tablet.

"Name, please?"

"Marc Spector." He replied.

"Is that with a "C" or a "K" at the end?" She mused, tapping away.

"C."

"Ah, okay, here..." She frowned, her brow creasing as she looked up at him from under her glasses.

"Your name has been blacklisted. I'm sorry but you cannot visit her."

"What?? Why the hell not?" Marc demanded, already feeling his blood pressure rise.

"Director Fury's orders. You'll have to take it up with him."

"Can't I just poke my head in?"

"No. Whatever you did to get blacklisted, it's probably regarding her. I won't have you emotionally or possibly physically antagonizing my patient. Please, go speak with the Director." She said matter-of-factly.

"Damn it! Fine." He grunted, turning on his heel and marching through the Tower.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

It was storming outside, the sight of lightning flashing and rain pelting the glass windows of Fury's office providing the perfect background for the tense shoulders and rigid posture of the annoyed man as he stood with his back to Marc, who was seated in one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk, the laminated surface reflecting each flash of lightning.

Marc instantly felt like a schoolboy about to get scolded by his angry principal. Very few things intimidated Marc.

Director Fury was one of those things.

And Marc had the sense that Fury was very, very, vehemently pissed at him right now.

"This wouldn't have happened had you been there to cover for her." Fury said, without turning to look at him.

Marc just knew the man had a deep scowl wrinkling his brow.

"Director--"

"She volunteered, Marc."

Marc blinked, and reeled his head back. "Sir?"

"Nobody else wanted to be your partner, Marc. Nobody else wanted to deal with you." Fury turned around and fixed him with a steely gaze his one good eye glaring at him with intensity.

"Black Owl agreed to work with you, she volunteered."

"I don't... understand."

"The partnership program. The initiative. None of the other younger heroes wanted to work with you because you're too intense, because your head is shoved so far up your ass you can only hear your own thoughts--"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and hissed out a sigh.

"I know you lost your daughter. I know losing her almost killed you, and set you back to boot camp reset mode. But Black Owl isn't a fucking Marine, Marc. Neither are you. Not anymore."

Marc shook his head. "Sir, I fail to see how this has anything to--"

"You think you're the only one who lost loved ones, Marc? She lost her family. All of them." Fury said coldly.

Marc felt a stone drop deep in his gut at this revelation.

"I... I didn't know about--"

"Because you didn't read her file. You accepted the partnership, and just assumed she'd fall in line like you would."

Marc felt himself shrink inside, his self-awareness creeping up as he realized that no... he never read your file. All he really knew about you was that you were some reckless, immature... kid.

Which wasn't entirely true, it's just that you had an overly exuberant personality that grated his nerves. Your... liveliness.

Maybe he... he envied you. Maybe he wished he could still feel that much... joy? When he couldn't?

For a long time, his only source of joy was his daughter. And with her gone it left some kind of... void, inside of him. A vast pit of just numbness and duty to take the place of his love and joy.

"She lost her family." Fury continues.

"Her powers manifested when she was young. Something happened. Something bad. She was the only one who was pulled from the wreckage alive."

If it was possible, Marc felt worse, now. But the worst hadn't been said yet...

Fury leaned over, pressing the palms of his hands flat on his desk.

"She killed them. Inadvertently mind you... but it happened. She was six."

Ice crept into his veins, freezing the blood into a red slush as it crawled through his body. He felt dizzy, almost sick at hearing this.

He really...

...really...

Should have read your file.

"I..."

"You can't see her yet." Fury told him, turning to look out the window once more, as thunder mutely boomed in the angry clouds.

"But--"

"I have some assignments for you. Nothing you can't handle on your own. Give her a few days to recover. She's in no condition for a shouting match that I know you two will get into when she lays eyes on you."

"I..." Marc's posture slumped, feeling guilty. "... you're... right."

"I know I'm right. I don't want to see your face for a few days, Spector. Come back when you're finished on the missions I have for you." Fury grunted.

"I... yes sir." Marc said, standing up, before turning to leave Fury's office.

All he could really do was wait. And read.

After all, hurting you was never really his intention.

But he also made a mental note to add a target to his list.

Somebody needed to pay for this.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Pt. 3: Link

#moon knight #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector #my writing

[cynicalone94]

Buried Alive

“I told you it wasn’t a concussion.” Jay says as he puts his jacket back on and follows his friend out of the treatment room. 

“Pardon me for not accepting that from a guy who once insisted that he was fine and then ended up getting fifteen stitches.” Adam grouses. 

It takes effort but Jay manages to keep from sticking his tongue out. 

He sees Will and is about to approach his brother when he realizes that he’s talking to a patient – or maybe a family member – he recognizes the look on his brother’s face.

A death notification. 

Shit. 

Then the man lunges at his brother. 

“Hey!” he shouts, sprinting forward to dive between them. “Don’t touch him!”

It doesn’t take long long for him to wrestle the man away from his brother, slamming him against the wall. 

“It’s okay, Jay, it’s okay.” Will says. 

“He attacked you.” Jay growls. 

“I just told him that his daughter died.” Will says. “Cut him some slack.”

“He hurt you?” Jay asks. 

“No.” Will assures. “You got there first.”

“You gonna try again?” Jay asks, directing his words to the man who’s arm he’s holding. 

“No.” the man says, his tone broken and defeated. 

Jay releases the man, guiding him away from Will and giving him a light shove. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” he says. “But the doctors here did everything they could for your daughter. They shouldn’t be the ones that you’re directing your anger at.”

The man shakes his head, glaring at Will.

But then he turns and walks away. Jay watches until he’s out of sight and then turns his attention back to his brother. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, reaching out to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine.” Will promises. “Good thing you were here, huh?”

“I’ve been telling you that for years.” Jay jokes. “I have to get back to work now. See you later?” 

“Yeah.”

By the time he and Adam had made it back to the district the team had mostly finished with the paperwork on the case so they mostly just shoot the breeze with the team until Voight kicks them all out. 

Jay walks down to his truck, rubbing his forehead distractedly as he fishes in his pocket for his keys. 

Something collides with the back of his legs sending him dropping to the ground. 

“What the -” 

He’s cut off as something slams into his face, slamming him back against the door panel of his truck. 

Another hit sends him into the black. 

Which is where he still is when he comes too. 

He tries to sit up and his head crashes against hard wood. He falls back flat, rubbing at his temple. 

With a groan, he feels around the space that he’s in, searching out the dimensions. 

He’s in a box. 

A box that doesn’t extend far above the top of his head or far beyond the bottoms of his feet. There isn’t enough room at his sides to bring his arms out more than a few inches. And he’d bashed his head on the top of the box within six inches of lifting it off the bottom . 

He’s in a coffin. 

If only answering that question didn’t bring up a lot more. 

Is he just in a coffin or has he been buried? If he is, how deep is he? How much oxygen does he have?

Why is he here?

He remembers getting jumped in the parking lot of the district. Tries to remember if he’d seen his assailant. 

Shit. 

The guy from Med. 

He should have just arrested him when he had the chance. 

Will leans against the desk, working on charting.

The brief lull between patients gives him the chance to desperately try to catch up on paperwork. 

Which is why he’s more than a little annoyed when someone walks up next to him, dropping something on top of his tablet. 

“I don’t really have…”

He trails off, glancing up to see the man who’d attacked him this morning. He swallows hard and looks back down at the photo of his little brother. 

He’s in a dark space with glimpses of wood surrounding him. He’s also deeply unconscious with blood on his forehead. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks quietly.

“Just a little knock to the head.” the man tells him. “Enough to get him in the box.”

“What box?” Will asks. 

“You let my daughter suffocate.” the man snarls. “And now your brother does the same.”

Will shakes his head. 

“You can’t do this. I’m so sorry about your daughter but there was nothing I could do. The blunt force trauma was too severe.”

“You should have tried harder.” the man says. “It’s too late now. My daughter is dead and soon, your brother will be too.”

“Security.” Will calls out, grabbing the man’s arm as he steps away. “Keep this man here.”

“Would you like me to call the police?” the security officer asks, talking hold of the man’s arm. 

“I’ll take care of that.” Will says, reaching for his phone. “How long does he have?”

The man doesn’t answer and Will steps forward. 

“How long has he been in there?” he growls. 

“I buried him an hour ago.” the man admits. 

A coffin can keep the average human breathing for five and a half hours. Jay’s size will work against him but his fitness will help. His training and ability to stay calm in stressful situations will also but him some time. 

But none of that will mean anything if they don’t find him. 

Voight answers on the first ring. 

“Will. Is Jay okay?”

“Not really.” Will says. “I really need you to get to Med.”

“I’m on my way. What’s going on, Will?”

“I lost a patient this morning. Her father was angry, lunged at me. Jay got in the way which must have been where the bastard got the idea.”

“Will.” Voight says, gently but firmly urging him to get to the point. 

“He buried my brother, Hank.” he gasps. 

“Alright, Will.” Voight says. “We’ll find him.”

Jay thumps against the lid of the box for what feels like the hundredth time. 

He doesn’t know why he keeps doing it. It isn’t helping the situation, isn’t helping him get out of this damn coffin. 

Does Will know what’s going on? He assumes that the man would have told him, wanting to prolong his brother’s misery. 

But Will would have called Voight so hopefully his team is looking for him, trying to get him out of here. 

He just needs to stay calm, to keep breathing until they find him. 

He doesn’t want to die here.

Hot tears streak down his cheeks and he scoffs, squeezing his eyes closed. He’s been in tight spots before, been pretty sure that he was going to die. 

Why can’t he keep it together?

A sob escapes his throat and he maneuvers his hands up to scrub at his eyes. 

He needs to stop crying. He’s wasting valuable oxygen by not remaining calm. 

He needs to calm down and just breathe. 

That just makes him cry harder, rolling his head toward the side of the box. 

He wants to go home. 

Voight stares through the observation window at George Penrod. 

It’s been an two hours since that frantic call from Will, three hours if this man’s words are to be believed since Jay had been buried. 

And they have nothing. 

The bastard isn’t talking and they haven’t been able to track anything from his movements to tell them where he’d taken Jay. 

The door swings open. 

“Voight, I’ve got something.” Adam bursts out. “George Penrod is the undertaker at a local cemetery. We pulled records on upcoming burials at the cemetery.”

“Upcoming?” Voight asks. 

“Kim’s idea. She figures the graves would have already been dug for burials over the next few days which would have made it easier to bury Jay.”

Voight nods. 

“How many gravesites are we looking at?”

“Eight.” Adam answers. 

“Let’s get out there.” Voight says. “Jay doesn’t have time for us to waste.”

Adam nods, scrambling back down the hall. 

The tears have dried up. 

In their wake, he’s just exhausted. He can’t even lift his head, as if there was anywhere to lift it. 

He coughs weakly. 

The air is getting thinner. Though maybe that’s just in his head. 

It isn’t. 

He knows it isn’t. 

He doesn’t have much longer. 

It’s an enormous cemetery and all of the spots on Adam’s list are spread out across the acreage. 

It takes too long to check them all and the team’s desperation rises rapidly as one by one they all come up empty. Some of them haven’t even been dug yet and others are just empty holes in the ground. 

After the seventh plot, even Voight is showing the weight of the pressure. 

By the best account they have, Jay has been in the ground for over five hours and oxygen has to be running out. 

In the dark, as they approach the eighth and final gravesite, it looks as if they’ve come up on another grave that hasn’t been dug yet. 

“Dirt’s loose.” Kevin shouts. “This is it.”

His call electrifies the team as they scramble for equipment. The backhoe had been left nearby and Adam wastes no time diving behind the controls and starting it up. 

The team watches with bated breath as he begins to clear the dirt. 

It feels slow going, the fear of hitting the coffin and hurting Jay all too close to the front of his mind as he digs. 

At five feet, he stops, backing out as Kevin and Kim jump in with shovels to continue digging. 

Soon enough they hit something solid and the shovels are traded out to keep moving dirt by hand until they’ve cleared enough to open the lid. 

Jay isn’t moving. 

His face is pale with tear tracks marking through the dirt and sweat covering his cheeks. 

Kevin presses his fingers into the side of their friend’s throat. 

“Weak pulse but he’s not breathing.” he shouts back up, starting compressions. “Where are those paramedics?”

“Four minutes out.” Voight shouts back. 

“Be real great if they could make it four minutes faster than that!” Kevin says. “Come on, Jay! Stay with us!”

Three minutes of compressions later, Adam is pulling Kim out of the hole so that a paramedic can jump down. 

Kevin continues compression as she starts an IV, pushing medication. 

Getting him onto the backboard and lifted out of the grave is a tricky scramble but they manage it, Adam taking over compressions at the top while Kevin and the paramedic are being helping out. 

Just as they’re settling the backboard onto the stretcher, Jay comes back to life with a sharp inhale. 

Adam stumbles slightly as he pulls back, righted by Kim’s hand on his shoulder. 

Jay keeps trying to sit up, coughing and gasping. 

“Easy Jay.” Adam tries to soothe, putting a hand on Jay’s shoulder, gently pushing back. 

Terrified eyes lock on his face and he rubs circles on Jay’s shoulder with his thumb. 

“We’ve got you.” Adam promises. “You’re out and we’re going to take care of you, okay?”

The skidding of tires through gravel sounds nearby and Adam looks up to see Will bailing out of the driver’s seat, his hair even more ruffled than usual. 

“Jay!” 

Jay jumps, twitching under Adam’s hand, eyes searching for his brother. 

Adam takes a step toward Jay’s feet, reaching back to tug Will into place next to his brother’s head. 

“Hey Jay.” he says, voice carrying an audible tremor as he fights to calm his nerves. “I’m here, okay. I’m here.”

“Will?”Jay breathes out, hand moving toward his brother. 

“I’m here.” Will repeats, taking his brother’s hand. “I got you, kiddo. Let’s get him in the ambulance.”

“Will.” Jay repeats. 

“Yeah.” Will says. “It’s going to be okay, buddy. How is he?”

The question is directed toward the paramedic.

“His vitals are stable but we have no way of knowing how long he was deprived of oxygen and how much.” the paramedic answers. 

Will nods. 

The fear and panic in his brother’s eyes, the way he just keeps repeating Will’s name. 

All of that could point to damage from hypoxia. 

Or it could just be the natural, completely expected terror of a man who spent five and a half hours buried alive in a coffin. 

A man who slipped into unconsciousness not knowing if he’d ever wake up. 

“Will?” 

“I’m here buddy. It’s going to be okay.”

Hours later, with MRIs and CT scans cleared, neurological evaluations passed with flying colors, Will is sitting watching his brother sleep. 

After the terror of those hours, of searching and wondering if they would be too late, Jay is going to be fine. 

He’s being kept overnight for observation and in the morning Will gets to take him home. 

No lasting damage. 

At least not physically. 

As his brother jolts awake for the second time in the last thirty minutes, Will leans forward, taking his hand. 

“Easy Jay.” he soothes. “You’re at Med. You’re safe.”

Jay’s eyes lock on his, the fear slowly fading as his mind catches up with the fact that whatever horrors his nightmares had shown him were not true to the present. 

Will keeps talking, providing gentle reassurance that the nightmare is truly over. 

He almost thinks his littler brother has fallen back asleep when he hears the quiet voice. 

“It wasn’t your fault, you know?”

“He hurt you because of me.” Will says. “Because I couldn’t do my job.”

“Your job is to treat patients not to be a miracle worker.” Jay tells him. 

“I should have saved her. I should have been better.” Will argues. 

“You are an incredible doctor. And you care so much about every single patient you treat.” Jay says. “His daughter died because her injuries were too severe to treat. You did everything you could for her.”

“I should have done more.” 

“We do what we can.” Jay says, the distant look on his face reminding Will that his brother also has a job where sometimes his best just isn’t good enough. 

“I’m still sorry he hurt you.” Will says. “Sorry you went through that because of me.”

“I am too.” Jay says. “I wish he hadn’t lost his daughter, wish I’d realized how dangerous he was when I had my hands on him, and I wish you hadn’t had to deal with losing a patient today and then had the fear of losing me stacked on top of that. And I can admit that not being buried alive would have really improved my overall evening. But that doesn’t make what happened your fault. You’re a great brother and I’m lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have you too, little brother.” Will says, carding fingers through Jay’s hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jay says, jerking his head away from the touch. “Now stop being sappy on me and see if you can’t find a hockey game on, huh?”

Will chuckles but reaches for the remote. 

Yeah, he’s going to be just fine. 

#whumptober 2023 #no.25 #buried alive #Chicago PD #fic #Jay Halstead

[macgyvermedical]

Do you know anything about how you would've treated asthma in the 1930s?

The closest reference for this i have is from the 1950s, but with the exception of antibiotics I think this is probably fairly similar.

Asthma was understood as a consequence of 1 or more of 3 possible factors:

Psychological

Infective

Allergic

For psychological, which was really important at the time, you'd pretty much just use sedatives. For that we had barbiturates, ether, or paraldehyde, the former given as a pill and the latter 2 given as suppositories as needed. The goal would be to give a med that wouldn't depress respiration, but would cause relaxation. Morphine was not used for this, but codeine might have been. For reference, yes, barbiturates and codeine depress respiration, but I guess not as much as other stuff?

They could also do back rubs and foot rubs, and mustard plasters to try to draw the inflammation from the lungs to a different part of the body.

A note on sedatives/hypnotics: The more I get into 20th century medicine, the more I realize we probably don't do nearly enough for anxiety these days.

Back then EVERYONE was being treated for anxiety if they were sick. We were on top of that sh*t. While I don't think it's great to give everyone phenobarbital and chloral hydrate for a cold or after surgery, I also don't think we should be as stingy about antihistamines and trazodone as we are. Like, do you know how much better patients' lives would be if everyone got a PRN for benadryl or trazodone in the hospital if they wanted it? I honestly think hospital length-of-stays would go down. My hospital won't go further than 0.3 of melatonin

I think it would solve a lot of problems if patients could sleep (nearly impossible in a hospital as they stand without some kind of assistance) and have their anxiety controlled before it boiled over and required a sitter and chemical restraint.

But that's just me.

Anyway, on to infective. So in the late 1930s we had sulfa drugs, but not the heavy hitters like penicillin. Prontosil (sulfanilamide) would have likely been used for pneumonias at least in urban areas in the US and Europe, and assuming a bacterial infection, it probably would have worked to some degree (resistance would not have been a major problem at this point). If there were no signs of infection, or if it had been anywhere else, it would likely not have been used.

Allergic is probably the cause most associated with asthma today. In the 1950s it would have been treated with the new steroids prednisone and prednisolone. In the 1930s the best we had was epinephrine, ephedrine, and theophylline. The ephedrine and theophylline would have been given as a tablet, the epi would have been given subcutaneously or IM as a long-acting shot packed in oil.

Additionally, the advice to clean the house and stay away from triggers would have been given just as it is today.

Generally, breathing steam, giving expectorants like potassium iodide, and sitting in a comfortable position for breathing would have been common practice. Oxygen, if available was also given if the patient was cyanotic (we didn't have a way of measuring pulse oxygen saturation easily, so relied on physical signs of labored breathing and color changes).

#writing reference #medical history #asthma #respiratory

[duckingwriting]

ROYGBIV tag

I was tagged by @winterandwords here

📝 Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

No pressure tagging: @mthollowell-writes, @squarebracket-trickster, @oh-no-another-idea, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @kaylinalexanderbooks, and leaving an open tag.

Red - from Tricera-Tops

Kathrin scrambled away from the new beast when he turned around and started towards her. Her hand touched her tablet and she grasped it in her hands and held it up  as a shield. She had her legs curled towards her chest, her back flat on the ground, her eyes closed, and gasping frightened breath ripping from her mouth. There was a deep chuffing sound and then a large hand closed around her ankle. Another lifted up and wrapped around her wrist. They were rough, Kathrin could feel the scrape of scales as he pulled her limbs away from her torso. Opening her eyes Kathrin stared into nearly red eyes, with gold sparks through them.

Orange

Anthony slowly regained consciousness. He was warm, something was blowing hot air on his body and he was not quite sure what to make of that. He turned his head slowly and looked over his shoulder and found himself staring into the bright orange eyes that he would have sworn were part of a very vivid nightmare of being chased through the forest by a monster. Anthony tried to look around and realized wherever he was it seemed to be made of mostly stone or something similar.

Yellow - panel description from gay superhero comic

POV from the door looking into the living room. There's a small TV, old boobtube kinda tv. Probably black and white. Broken Rabbit ear antenna sits on top. Piles of magazines and books litter every available surface with tools and broken/barely put together tech laying arund as well. There's a single faded yellowed couch - think 70s couch

Green - from Wanted: 'Til Death

Phil felt his lungs deflate with a sigh of relief when he spotted a splash of auburn red hair beneath a black hat and the splash of signature green of his bandanna around his neck. Robin was dancing with a woman Phil recognized almost immediately. Madame Marian. Phil’s gaze darted back towards Little John, realizing where he recognized the women from.

Blue - from the Avatar(cameron) unnamed fic

"Return to your body, JakeSully." Tsu'tey dropped Jake onto one of the link pods. Jake flinched as his elbow connected with the metal siding. "Why?" Jake snarled sitting up and glaring at Tsu'tey. "Because I want my mate." Tsu'tey crossed his arms. Jake stared with a frown up at the large blue alien glaring down at him. Finally he sighed and shook his head pushing himself to the edge of the pod bed. "No. You want what you think your mate is, you're repulsed by reality." Tsu'tey's jaw tensed as he stared down at the human reaching for the chair still held in his hand. Tsu'tey dropped the chair by the body and leaned over the human Forcing Jake to lean away. "I see you JakeSully."

Indigo

Violet

#writblr #dux writing #duxwriting #my writing #tag games #tag game #fanfiction #amwriting #TsuteyXJakeABO #open tag #Tricera-tops #Jur-ASS-ic #YouSpinoMe #RobinHoodWestern #SGAFC #I apparently use color more than i thought #mostly to describe eyes #very little for anything else #I did try purple instead of violet and still got jack

[the-butter-churner]

Lyrics from 'Blossoms' by The Amazing Devil that remind me of The Ravening War

The weight of my phone Like a tablet of stone Seems to grow with the words I just read

The scrumptious scoundrels receiving their letters from the Sanctus Putris.

So I gather up the candlelight Jangle the chimes And mop up what is left of my lungs

Colin and Amangeaux getting ready to leave after the ambush on the road.

And I climb up the ladder Had I taken more care I might havе seen all the rot in the rungs

I see this, again, as Colin and Amangeaux reacting to the violence they've perpetrated, and the horror of the world around them. Also, the use of the word rot makes me think of Karna, so maybe this is also Amangeaux realizing that she didn't know Karna as well as she thought she did.

And I pack what is needed For thе journey to come All my books, all my bracken and booze And the door shuts behind me And I breathe in the air And say "Yeah, well I'm sorry too"

I feel like Colin is taking over the song but, yeah. Him leaving Deli. Why does doing the right thing still feel so much like running away?

And I stare at the soldiers before me All my blossoms that have waited to fall

Deli in his Linkin Park era. Making peace with the violence, committing to the part.

And I walk Knowing every last one of them is painted in light As I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right

I think this is all of them! They're all entering such different chapters of their lives, their worlds are crumbling to the ground and they're being forced to build new ones, and a lot of them are making mistakes-- or, at the very least, decisions they can't take back.

My dress is on fire And I hurl myself, I heal myself, I drag myself like a rug in the rain And my saint she is dancing As every step I choose to take begins to set the world aflame

This is so Raphaniel and Karna. "I hurl myself, I heal myself", it speaks to the dark, base nature of both of their magic, and how they're the most devout characters out of the cast. They both have a ritual obsession and understanding, which they see in one another.

And the soldiers march behind me I can hear them beat their spears And for the first time in all my life I know I'm more than what I fear

Post-breakup Deli w/ Karna at his side. Glow up. Feeling more confident than ever.

And I stare At the soldiers before me All my blossoms that have waited to rise

THEM MEETING AT THE BATTLE OF PANGRANOS, ALL COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY CHANGED

And I scream out to the sky You do not get to hurt me just because I asked you once If you were alright

Break in the timeline just to say this line reminds me of Amangeaux and Karna :)

And just as it's ringing I whisper aloud to my saint "Oh we, we're gonna get on"

Raphaniel and the Saprophians, or Raphaniel seeing the steel for the first time.

#is this anything? #probably not #but guys just listen to the song you'll hear what i'm saying #the ravening war #trw #trw spoilers #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #karna solara #bishop raphaniel charlock #dimension 20 #blossoms #the amazing devil #ruin the amazing devil

[thefaeslibrary]

[Splitting connection...]

.

..

...

Success!

Sharon: "ALICE- BE CAREFULL-!"

Alice: "I am TRYING-"

Becca: "I got this don't you worry! It's just like golf!"

Sharon sat atop Alice's shoulder, while Becca stood next to her, swinging a large broom down at the scurrying bugs of various purple shades. Mrs. Forster cackled an evil hissing laugh as she got closer to the two of them with every step. On the other side of the room Mistress Barbarous had already scared Rosie and Carlos into a corner. She weilded cooking utensils and was threatening to use them in a NOT very circus friendly way. To which the freaky lion that accompanied her seemed delighted about

Rosie: "THIS IS NOTHING LIKE ANIME WE ARE SO FUCKED-"

Barbarous: "Now now BRATS! Language like that won't be tolerated in mY HOUSE!"

She made a lunge for them, but was knocked clean from the air as Judith finally arrived on the scene. Flinging herself directly ontop of the circus themed witch and wrestling with her to the ground.

Judith: "NOT ON MY WATCH!"

Barbarous: "Augh! Forster I thought you said there were only 5 of these brats!!!"

Forster: "There WAS only 5!"

Judith laughs, she laughs hard and loud directly in Barbarous' face. A gloating victorious laugh that could only ever come from her in this situation.

Judith: "You don't know the half of it! We've been upstairs and everything!!!"

Barbarous: "You've been UPSTAIRS? Clarissa that little traitorous-"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence before Judith clocks her a new one. It almost seems like she doesn't realize the witches summoned familiars creeping up on her, getting ready to take her out. A lion of that size, messed up or not, is bound to solve anyone's living issues-

The lion mimics it's owner, lunging for the girl, just as she spins and it sinks its teeth into that of Mistress Barbarous instead on accident.

Carlos and Rosie cheer loudly, and in Barbarous' injured state the lions dissipate. Leaving her to grovel on the ground.

Judith turns her attention to Mrs. Forster who sneers back at her. Her swarm of bugs is intimidating, and she was fighting a couple of kids....but these kids had taken down her two allies- and with veruca still in the tablet...she shrinks down to that of a spider to make a break for it- but a glass cup slams down ontop of her with a victorious laugh.

It was Alice. Her sister sat atop the glass peering down at the spider.

Sharon: "Oh man, I actually missed you Mrs. Forester. Since I've been gone for too months! Crazy how I went missing around the time you left town huh?"

The spider skitters at her angrily but it can't escape the glass cup.

#goosebumps #goosebumps oc #the coven kids #🧙‍♀️🟡 #🧙‍♀️🟣 #the perfect brew arc #text post

[kichimiangra]

In your comic, what was Klunk's plan after kidnapping Ratchet? His ominous little puppet show made it clear that Ratchet did not have any real say in the matter, but how did Klunk plan to "replace" Clank? Was Klunk intending to assist Dr. Nefarious with Ratchet's very unwilling help, and just keep the Lombax nearby?

I wish I could fully remember. This was one of those "Left open to continue but didn't plan far past the puke joke" moments. It definitely would have had Klunk kidnap Ratchet and get right into some crazy stuff. I think it was going to have Klunk try to use the mind control device from Secret Agent Clank he had used on Ratchet in that game, or graft it to his head more permanently with intent to use it to keep Ratchet under his control.. but in a creepy stalker way. And it would either go down a direction of it not working and Ratchet having to pretend it is while playing house/tea party with Klunk while waiting for a chance to escape/ his friends to come to the rescue (The Comedy route) or a direction where it doesn't immediately work but it is constantly pushing further into Ratchet's mind until he doesn't even know what is real and what isn't anymore! Wasn't he always with Klunk since Veldin? But wait wasn't he not... but wasn't he just kidnapped by the vacuume cleaner? But why would that happen? Aren't they partners? Why would Klunk need to kidnap him?

(AKA the drama route)

I do remember that Nefarious was mostly being reserved for a joke ending where after all the drama is had, think epic final battle moment, Neffy just shows up (Because this is all taking place in Neffys base) and is like "There you fucking are you little asshole!" *Deactivates Klunk and goes back to repairing him* and is so pissed off by the events of the day that he just tells everyone to get the hell out of his house.

My friend was helping me get out of corners a lot with the writing and she specializes in kidnapping fics (She was responsible for Klunks little puppet show) and she had written out a script for the whole scene that the puke joke exists in including what would be like... Pages 13-15 if I had gone further than the puke joke:

Nefarious clasped his hands together. “Excellent!” 

He turned, gaze blurring past metal walls and corridors as he zeroed on his minions. His eyes shrank to pinpricks as he realized what exactly was in their hands.

Before turning, he lifted a fist and grinned at the mirror. “Finally! I’ll be able to kill my nemesis. With what you’ve stolen from their very own home I will be able to–“

“Those monsters!” He slapped a hand to his chest and hacked. Metal screws flew out of his mouth and bounced off the heads of the minions. “What did they do to my creation!?!”

He lifted a hand, index finger raised to his minions, as he proceeded to upchuck cogs and bolts. The metal chinked against the floor and scattered about the robots feet. When he finished, he straightened and eyed the object in the minion’s hands.

“He’s been turned into an atrocity. Those squishy heroes are horrible! Horrible I say!”

Lawrence puttered to Nefarious’ side, the corners of his mouth curved down in boredom. “Sir, if I do recall you have a photo of said heroes in your holo-diary.”

The butler reached into his vest. “I believe you even titled that page as…ah, Bestie Buddies?”

Lawrence started to pull out a tablet with the words “Neffie’s Diary” inscribed on the back in elegant calligraphy but Nefarious lunged in front of him, eyes wide.

“No!” He faced his minions, back hiding Lawrence and any incriminating evidence from view. “I mean, uh, I don’t have a diary!”

Lawrence rolled his eyes but returned the tablet to his vest and stepped out from behind Nefarious, studying the vacuum-transformed Klunk. “Sir?” he gestured at the minions, who, judging by how they were shaking enough for their innard metal to rattle, were terrified. 

Nefarious swiped his baby out of their hands and shooed them away. “‘l’ll fix him and he’ll be back to causing mayhem and terror!” He started to laugh but his system glitched and he froze. The dialogue and music from his favorite movie played from the speaker wired into his mouth.

Lawrence smiled slightly and slapped his back. Hard. He stumbled a bit but continued his laughter. Damn, Lawrence was working out or something cause that hurt.

~oOo~ 

Nefarious leaned over a work table, goggles covering his eyes to protect them from flying sparks. He held a screwdriver in one hand and leaned over Klunk’s unconscious form. The small robot had the chest compartment open as he worked on cleaning out Klunk’s innards.

He pulled out a chunk of orange fur with the screwdriver and shifted the fur into one hand. “You poor thing you’ve got a lot of hideous Lombax hair.”

He turned around, exchanging the wrench for a small lint brush. It’d be easier to clean out the hair and then work on restoring the wiring. Nefarious pinched the fur between two metal fingers.

He murmured to himself. “If I could feel…would this be soft?”

The robot turned around and his eyes shot wide. Where was Klunk? Metal clacked and he lifted his gaze to spot the little robot turning a corner. Strands of orange hair fell out of his chest and left a trail behind him.

Nefarious crossed his arms and yelled. “You’ll come back when your circuits overheat!” He huffed to himself. “Ungrateful little brat.”

~oOo~

So I know with her cowriting it would have been something awesome:P

#ratchet and clank #R&C: Thinking of you #kc answers stuff

[top-tier-tickles]

Feel the Joy?

This fic was suggested by an anonymous. This DOES NOT take place within my Dark Deception Tickle Au. I hope you enjoy it!

___________________________________________

Doug raced around the dingy halls of the Joy Joy land castle. His legs and lungs burned in agony, fortunately, his new vanish ability allowed him to catch his breath without being caught by Lucky or Penny.

He still had some soul shards to collect, with vanish active, he pulled up his tablet to check his progress. Little did he know, Lucky the Rabbit was close by, ready to end Doug's life. Doug stood there, oblivious to the fact that vanish had just worn off and the hulking animatronic behind him.

"Ohhh! Cool tablet! Can I borrow it? I'll give it back, I promise!" Lucky said, grabbing Doug.

Doug shrieked, both from Lucky startling him, and because he had just squeezed Doug's hips. Lucky jumped at the scream, and looked with a blank stare. Where did that noise come from?!

The rabbit looked to where his hands were, and immediately realized. "No way....You're ticklish?!" He asked with a laugh. Doug's face went pale, how could these robots know what tickling was?! Oh God, what was gonna happen now?!

Quickly, he activated speed boost, dashing away from the rabbit. "Ohohoho! Where are YOU going?" Lucky laughed. Then, he activated his own boost power, and easily caught up to the mortal.

Doug's heart nearly stopped as Lucky appeared next to him, wrapped his arms around him, and lifted him off of the ground, effectively trapping him. He kicked and yelled as much as he could, but he was no match for the strength of the metal limbs of the robot.

"Oh, Penny~" Lucky called. Shit.

"Yeees?" Penny asked as she fluttered in, "Oh, goodie! You found Squishy!" "Yes I did, and check this out!" Lucky answered. Doug did NOT like the teasing tone in his voice. Before he knew it, Lucky's fingers were drilling into his sides.

"AH! AHAHAHAHAHA! STOP IT!" He cracked up. "Awww! He's ticklish!" Penny squealed, jumping up and down. "Yeah, and he's a squirmy one, too. Help me out? Lucky asked her, turning Doug to face her.

"Absolutely!" She yelled, skipping closer to the two. Penny wasted no time in squeezing Doug's hips, causing him to scream in laughter. "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHOHO! C-CUHUHUHUHUT IHIHIT OUHUHUT!"

"Begging already? That's pathetic, Dougie-boy." Lucky laughed, wiggling his fingers in his armpits. As time went on, the more Doug thrashed and squirmed, it was getting hard to hold him. At one point, he'd almost escaped.

"Geez, We need reinforcements. Don't you think, dear Penny?" The rabbit teased. "Why, certainly, sir Lucky." Penny joked back. What were they planning now?!

"Oh, Hangry!~"

Oh fuck.

Suddenly, the three heard the service elevator door creak open, and the sound of mechanical stomps followed. Doug was screwed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here." The low, gruff voice of Hangry the Pig responded.

"We just found out something rather interesting 'bout our mortal here, an' we need your help." Lucky said, holding Doug up.

"Help with what? What'd you find out?" Hangry asked.

Without a word, the rabbit sqeezed Doug's sides, letting out a squeal.

"Ohhhh, I see..." the pig said, "I'll gladly help."

Well thats just great.

"Y'know, I like to tenderize my ribs first." Hangry said to the trapped mortal. Suddenly, Hangry's hand dove in and sqeezed Doug's ribs. "Heehehehahahaha-HAHAHAHA!" Doug cackled as all members of the gang started tickling him.

This whole thing lasted for a good 30 minutes, afterwards, Doug was completely breathless. The gang 'awed' as Penny took Doug in her arms. "Ohhh, Squishy!" She said, hugging him rather tightly. Suddenly, a loud SNAP, and Doug was dead.

"Oh, whoops! Sorry, fellas!" She apologized.

"Eh, Don't worry 'bout it, Pen, he'll be back."

___________________________________________

#dark deception tickle #sfw tickling #tickling #writing prompt #tickle fluff

[inlovewithsidecharacters]

#1- Robaire x Sick

// ^{ Warnings - None }^ // ^{ 1/5 Fics }^ // 

Robaire is dying. He is alone. He is in the dark. And he is dying. Every time he coughs he's sure that this is the time his lungs will be thrown from his throat along with the raggedy push of air. His watery eyes are for sure draining every ounce of fluid from his body. He will be a shriveled vegetable in a short time. And worst of all he is freezing to death. He is in his bunk, huddled under a impressive mound of blankets, and he is freezing to death.

This is the worst way to go, he assures himself. Isolated, like an injured dog, too much pride to allow himself the worried care of his friends and bandmates. Besides their help would do no good, as all he can do now is wallow in his own self-pity, and wait for the sweet release of death to take him away.

A pitiful whimper escapes his lips, reverberating throughout his chest, he swears he can hear his lungs rattling around from the offense.

Then a blinding light shatters the dark sanctuary that is Robaire’s cave of a bunk on the bus. A face appears, the perfect features, strong yet delicate, a seemingly small glow of light circling the man's crown. A gasp quietly pushes his way past Robaire’s lips. An Angel.

"Dude, you're pathetic. You know this, right?"

Robaire is a little confused, because he imagined an angel to be a bit more...kind or sympathetic to the fact that Robaire is dying. Then, as his vision clears he realizes the Angel looks more like an elf than anything. Perplexing.

"I'm dying." He informs the elf fiercely.

"It's a chest cold, Ro." There is a familiar laidback tone that resonates with Robaire and he starts to think that maybe this isn't an elf at all. An elf in the human form, perhaps, but he's sure Z. would disagree. "Had you not been out clubbing in the midst of winter this could've all been avoided m'sure."

Robaire huffs, a small pout pulling on his features. "You were with me!" He croaks, exasperated, "Literally stuck to my side the entire time."

Robaire remembers the night fondly, the last night that he wasn't a walking dead man. Him and Z. had decided to go clubbing. At first, Z. didn’t want to go, mainly because he thrived off of two things, Solitude, and Aaron T.

However, it wasn't long before they had abandoned the tour bus, going inside the flourishing building, and partied the night away on the dance floor. He remembered the refreshing smoothies that he’d ordered. Yep. That was a good night that he wouldn’t forget.

There was another good memory that night, him and a mysterious British woman that he’d met, sharing a romantic embrace in the back alley of a posh London night club. Probably the best memory a dying man could ask for, Robaire thought hopelessly.

"Yes, young Robaire, this is true. However I’m not the one who chose to get sick." Z. responds evenly as he disappears for a moment and then (elf-like in quickness, Roabire thinks) reappears with a box of paracetamol. He gives Robaire two tablets, also shoving a glass of water into his hands, and fusses like an overprotective mother until he's shoved both the tablets down.

Z. nods, remaining stoic, "Scoot yourself over now." He doesn't wait for Robaire to move but just pushes himself onto the bunk. Using all his muscles to might up the colossal amount of blankets he sits cross legged on his bunk, back leaning against the board of the bunk. 

“Now go to sleep. I’m not leaving until you do.”

"…Just don’t get yourself sick." Robaire mumbles but doesn't make any effort to distance himself from Z., "It would be a devastation if we both died."

Z. scoffs but runs a comforting hand through the mans hair. "I didn't realize you were such a drama king when you're sick." He mumbles, tightening his hold around the sick man. "Half expected you to have a proper obituary written and sent to The Daily Mail."

Robaire laughs softly, pretending that he didn't maybe already have one or two front page headline quotes in mind, and turns so he can bury his face into Z.’s lap. He's already feeling better- maybe the paracetamol has begun to run his course, but his suspicions lead more to the comforting guy sitting beside him. 

"You're weird like this." Z. grumbles, "Never thought you insisting on your immediate death would be so funny."

Robaire grumbles a bit because he is dying, or was, because every second he's spent with Z. perks his health a bit more. And also because there is a slight patronizing tone to his friends voice, a joking one albeit, but Robaire doesn't exactly glow in pleasure when Z. calls him funny. He could take cute, or maybe even fit, but funny? He was dying just a second ago!

However, he doesn't have the energy or the health to change Z.’s choice of adjective at the moment so he just snuggles in deeper. Their breathing falls into a synchronized rising and falling, chests each moving in time with the other. Robaire’s recent hope that the sweet surrender of death came quickly fades as fast as it appears.

The only release he needs is the comfort of friends.

#did u miss me #I still have 4 to go #LETS GOOOOOO #4town robaire #4town aaron z #4town #4 town #Turning Red #turning red fanfic #AT THIS POINT IDK #idk #idek #idkk #idkkk #idkkkk #idkkkkkkkk

[kariachi]

This started with a little concept I wanted to make official canon to my Osmobeast stuff and suddenly became this. Daemon AU fic that is mostly talk of Joneses, Gar having a heart attack, the usual shit.

~~

It takes eight months of actually dating and apparently rave reviews from Annelie (who, they have been informed several times, is The Sensible One and who knows where all she and Kevin’s lines are) before Susi about gives Gar a heart attack by butting their head against his side during a visit. Nat has to relay their teasing ‘maybe we won’t have to kill you after all’ to him later. As much a shock as it is, between his not having touched anybody else’s daemon since he was a toddler and the realization that they and Argit apparently considered him at least a good friend, it also appears to be where a switch flips with Kevin and Annelie’s entire family tree. By the end of the week, they’ve suddenly gotten friend requests from seven different pairs they can trace directly to the Jones or Imperial clans, including fucking Killer Croc and Thrasher.

That had been a shocker, and they’d taken a full day to let it sink in before cautiously accepting the request, only for the first message they got to be the third case of ‘if you raise a hand to them you die’ they’d gotten since the start of this relationship. Technically red flags, but they’d seen enough of the other pair’s life to be willing to roll with it. At least they were reasonable shovel talks.

“I feel like we should be studying,” Nat said as they pondered an eighth request, “feels like a pop quiz is looming.”

“Yeah, it’s called the Passover seder,” Kevin said from the other end of the couch, where they would’ve sworn he and Annelie were too absorbed in their books to notice the world around them.

“We’ll give you the cliff notes before we take you, don’t worry,” she added.

“Please do, I’m scared,” Gar said with a laugh, unpausing his game as Nat started trawling this new in-law’s account. “Swear every time we turn around there’s more.” Kevin snorted.

“Yeah, and we’re getting to the point where most of our branch is old enough for kids. I’ve already got my money on ten more in this branch within the next decade. Annie’s saying thirteen though.”

“I just think our damming cousins are going to come in with more numbers than expected, and your estimate is assuming we don’t.”

“Swear the universe is trying to make up for us not really having family with you people,” Gar said before that last bit sunk in and knocked the air out of his lungs. Nat caught on faster, shifting from cat to rabbit to weasel in quick succession. She abandoned their phone to hop up on the back of the couch and face Annelie directly.

“If you have something to tell us feel free,” she said carefully, “but if not, please don’t even think on those lines for at least another five years.”

“Please,” Gar croaked. The other pair snickered, and Kevin leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek as an enemy offed his character.

“Don’t worry, we’re not planning anything,” Annelie laughed, stretching over her tablet to chew affectionately on Nat's ear, “just a possibility I feel worth including in an estimate. Ten years is a long time and we have bad luck.”

“Well, you keep that bad luck safely contained. The shock alone would kill us, I think.”

“It almost did,” Gar muttered, flopping over to lean against Kevin as he restarted the level.

“Sorry, babe, no intent to scare you.”

“We know and forgive you.” With a sigh and a lick, Nat left Annelie to her book again and headed back for the phone. “I assume Purnama and Surya are related to Molly, Areli, Tracey, and Asaph?”

“Yeah! Ben and Kettie’s fiance. Their little pair are the cutest things on this planet, and I’ll keep saying it until Tracey and Asaph pop out that kid of theirs-”

#fanfic #kevin and annelie's entire family: we're done and if you abuse them we're mounting your head as a warning to future suitors #gar and nat: ....concerning but understandable please do

[intrestingatparties]

Day Three: Don't Mind Me

Zip Ties | Smiling | Awoken in the night

@themerrywhumpofmay

I know nobody really cares about my ocs but this is my breakdown and i get to choose my coping mechanism. This is very obviously a capture prompt but whatever. Also this was written on tablet again, so...

Characters: Minos, Devo

TW/CW: burning, kidnapping, threats, mUrDeR attempt, just general arson.

Devo blinked open his eyes, the scent of gasoline filling his nose. He tried to stand up, before realizing that his ankles were tied to the chair legs. Even more surprising, Minos was standing in front of him, leaning against the wall.

"Oh don't mind me. I'm just here to deliver a gift," Minos said, studying Devo like he was some sort of science experiment he had yet to finish.

"Wh... What?" A very confused Devo continued glancing around his apartment, specifically his kitchen, and noticed the glass bottles standing on the counter. This wasn't exactly a kidnapping.

Oh who am I kidding, Devo thought. It's Minos. He wouldn't do something like that. He wouldn't hurt me.

...Then why am I tied to a chair in my kitchen?

And then Devo looked a bit closer.

Minos had blue eyes right? Not purple? No, they were definitely supposed to be blue.

"Oh don't worry, it's not for you." Minos dug into his pocket and pulled out...

Oh god.

No.

"Minos what the hell-" Minos put a finger to his lips.

"Wouldn't want to wake up the roommate, would you?" Devo jerked back, zip ties cutting into his wrists. So that's what this is about.

"What happened to you?" Devo's heart hammered in his chest as her stared at the emerald lighter on the teenager's hand, because Minos was terrified of fire-

"I've been thinking," Minos began, setting the lighter on the counter and picking up one of the glass bottles. He popped the lid, and turned it upside down.

The smell of gasoline, lighter fluid, and kerosene intensified.

Oh my god, Devo thought. This can't be happening, I didn't even do anything-

"You can't kill gods, right? Not without a huge sacrifice. We learned that the hard way." Minos's tone darkened.

"Minos..."

"But godlings... " Minos laughed. "Well, those are much more fragile. Much more... Attached to people. Family." Another bottle. "Friends."

"Minos please, we can talk about this! We can talk thought it, but please, don't do this," Devo pleaded. Minos smashed the bottle against the counter, making Devo flinch.

"Oh my god, do you ever just shut up?" Minos yelled. "I swear, if you don't stop talking I'll cut out your tongue." Devo nodded frantically, heart in his throat, and Minos smiled. "Good. Now here's the real question: why haven't you screamed yet? You've always been a team player. She's just upstairs, why haven't you..." Devo glanced away, guilt bubbling up in his chest. Minos laughed, a loud, terrifying sound. "You kicked her out!" He wiped away a tear. "Oh that's too funny!"

Eventually, Minos's laughter receded, and he grabbed a cloth from the rag drawer. Getting another bottle, he soaked it in the mixture, the excess flooding the floor. He wrung it out, then approached Devo, who let out a quiet sob.

"Please..." Minos stretched the rag out as far as it would go, then placed it over Devo's eyes.

"Aw, smile. They might recover your body at some point." Devo thrashed around in the darkness caused by the blindfold. Stopplease, he thought. Ididn'tkillhimkeepmeoutofthis!

"PLEASE!" He screamed aloud. "MINOS PLEASE, WE WERE FRIENDS! I DIDN'T KILL HIM! I DIDN'T KNOW, PLEASE!" Minos chuckled.

"Oh, I know you didn't. It's all in the principle, you know?"

A soft click.

Smoke filled his lungs.

Devo screamed.

#merry whump of may #don't mind me #Day 3 #whump writing #Oc Whump #disillusionment arc 2 #Whump challenge #Whump community #gay theater kid vs mom friend #who will win?