#when will i finish this doc & be free of this nightmare

[diejager]

Ooo I just love how you write platonic yanderess

Can you write a platonic yandere Ghost with his little sister😗

Of course. Of course.

Pairing : Big brother Simon "Ghost" Riley & little sister reader

Cw: canon violence, death, Ghost background, death, murder, dark, platonic yandere, protective Ghost, murder, mental breakdown, depression, trauma.

Wc: 1.3k

The last thing he wanted people to know - even his team - was about his civilian life, the secrets he held under lock and key near his heart, and a hard appearance. He protected what little was left of his old life fiercely, he wasn't Simon Riley anymore, he was "Ghost" now and that's all people knew. All the pain and torture he went through, from digging himself out of his grave to finding his family murdered, dead in the home they thought safe.

He remembered going home, exhausted and ecstatic to see his family, he celebrated Christmas with his family, drinking and eating at Tommy's house, you sitting next to him - your older brother. He was lucky that everyone was free that night, you both had unpredictable schedules, him being a red beret and you a field medic. Although he never had the chance to work with you, you were always skilled with your hands, bandaging and nursing his wounds.

You fixed him up when your dad got too drunk, Simon used to wrap himself around your body and receive every hit and berate of degrading insults your dad liked to spew. Simon protected you and you played his nurse until it became too real, you left for military service a few years after him, wishing to help the one who protected you so often.

He left to drink with friends on the eve, military buddies, you promise to come back once you got something from your flat near the edge of Downtown Manchester (it was a bit far, but always noisy, it helped quell the nightmares that silence brought).

He rushed home when he finished with whatever Sparks had done, ending him and his accomplice. They knew where he was before, it put his family at risk, then the call he got only solidified his fears when he stepped into Tommy's house, door open and lights off.

He found you sobbing, kneeling over Tommy and Joseph's bodies, cradling them. The dread and devastation he felt were overpowering, his life in the military had cost him his happy family. He was served revenge on a silver platter, a few scrapes here and there, but you two had disappeared in the dead of Christmas.

Everything from public relationships to your face was a risk, and somehow, he managed to keep you by his side wherever he served. You were the medic and him the lieutenant; (Name) and Simon Riley were dead, simply Doc and Ghost. That's how the world knew you and how Task Force 141 called you. Doc and Ghost, stuck by the hips, wearing similar masks and worked spectacularly together.

You were the last of his family, of the life he had before the murder - his dreamy heaven - so he kept you close, he protected you like he did when you were younger. If they got too close, he'd dispose of them immediately. Your safety was his top priority, whatever he did was for you, and the purpose he built himself was to ensure that you'd live.

He wanted you to stay, the agonizing pain of feeling lost and alone was harrowing, and he couldn't risk the chance of losing you too. They haunted him in his sleep, the memory of their deaths and his regrets, it all loomed over him like a reminder of his mistakes - his failures. The 'what if's lingered in his mind, the 'should have' and 'could have' becoming a mainstream of his thoughts when he looked at himself in the mirror; what if he never joined the army; what if he was there that night; he should have been there with them, instead of drinking at a bar; he could have saved you the grief and pain he felt, the one you shared like an open wound.

It should have been him.

He told himself that so many times, to you and himself, always mumbling about it at night, pointing the finger at himself for the loss. You stayed by his side, smaller arms wrapped around him like a blanket of comfort, warm and reassuring with words that pushed back his demons. He loved you so much, for being here and for always sticking to him.

You don't blame him for it, he doesn't understand how you don't, he saw it as his fault for bringing the enemy home.

"'S not your fault, Si," you whispered to him, his mental state too fragile for loud noises. His ears were ringing, almost so loudly that he thought his mind would implode on itself. You knew he felt everything much stronger, being the eldest of the trio he felt more responsible. "You're not to blame, Si. None of it, ya understand?"

He liked how your hands held his, gripping him tightly to bring him back to earth, far away from his violent mind. You supported him when he crashed and he held you when you broke, their deaths never left you, it simply brought you closer together than you'd think possible.

You closed yourself from others and built a wall of brick and cement, yet you smiled and socialized freely, you spoke enough for you both - or so Ghost insisted. He grew colder, callous, and brash with others, reserving his sweeter and softer side for you.

He stood near you, practically looming over you with his height of 6'4, broad shoulders, dark fatigues; a giant wall of muscle, you'd tease him, though you knew he was only protecting you. He's grown wary of everything that tried to approach you, he would stand before any approaching figure and glare them down.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, you were told from the file Price sent you, walked to meet you, smiling broadly and eyes squinting from the bright sun that bared down on the base. Besides him was Gaz, Kyle Garrick, olive-skinned and leaner than both males - blockheaded blokes, you called Simon and Soap.

His newly formed habit stood out the moment Ghost moved to block you from their sights, standing high and sneering when they stood feet away from you. You saw them flinch, hesitation seen through their eyes before they closed in, greeting Ghost who stared at their hand.

"Doc, pleasure meeting you, Soap, Gaz," you moved around Ghost, tapping his forearm reassuringly, his tense form slumping slightly. "He's Ghost, sorry 'bout him, he's not much of a people's person." Ghost huffed as you shook their hands, peering between them to the other duo approaching: Captain John Price and Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Ghost acted once more, moving to guard you even though he knew Price prior to the formation of Task Force 141, you both knew him. You shook his hand, bowing your head lightly out of respect for the experience and battle-hardened man.

Other than guarding you, he hoarded your attention like a dragon hoarding his gold, keeping you by his side wherever he went as much as he stuck to yours. Per your conditions, you and Ghost would always be assigned together, and Price sympathetically complied. You bunked together and ate on the same table, he warded away unsavory glances and you lashed out at those that glowered at Ghost.

Although you'd burn the world for Ghost, he took it a step further, he took it upon himself to take care of whatever plagued you. Be it harassment from a fellow soldier, he'd disappear the next day; be it an unintentional threat to your safety, properly disposed of; be it someone who's trying to get close to you, too close to you, would find themselves jumping into an oncoming train.

He did as he should to keep you from harm, any kind that would mean losing you. A desperate man takes desperate measures, and Simon "Ghost" Riley is the most desperate elder brother in the world.

#x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #yandere simon riley #simon riley x reader #yandere cod #yandere ghost #simon riley #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #task force 141 #cod mw2 #yandere #yandere x reader

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

I am IN LOVE with your writing!  I’m a dedicated reader! 💓💓 thanks for taking the time to do it!

Hear me out. Reader pulls a 24 hour shift in the local clinic on a busy day and we get a protective worried din?

He would also be busy but he would definitely pull reader out and make her take a nap AT LEAST. 😂 anyway, I just thought that would be cute to think about.

I hope you have a wonderful day and keep up the good work! 

[a/n: anybody wanna guess how many times it took me to try and post this b/c tumblr wanted to keep glitching and destroying it?? FUCKING FOUR. lord, im gonna go scream in a pillow. anyways, thanks anon for the great idea! also pls consider this my apology for the cliffhanger that i am so sorry (but not really) for.]

'A FRESH START' DELETED SCENE

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warnings: reader overworks herself, mentions of injuries (burns specifically) but not in great detail

Word Count: 1,934

Summary: Everyone needs a break, and Din is hell bent on ensuring you don't skip yours.

#MID 17: TAKE A BREAK, DOC

[so not between chapters, but a scene within one of the time breaks in chapter 17.]

.

"be with someone who will take care of you. not materialistically but take care of your soul, your well being, your heart, and everything that's you." -unknown

.

Trying to get the emergency clinic established was not easy. You agreed to the job, and Karga had given you free reign. The High Magistrate was essentially allowing you to run the clinic as you saw fit. Which in part was fantastic because it gave you incredible freedom, but it was also your worst nightmare. All your training had taught you was how to handle the medical aspect of an office. The business and organization side was a whole other issue. Especially because the people of Nevarro were not understanding that this was for emergencies only. 

“My ankle hurts.”

“Alright, when did this start? When did you get hurt?”

“I twisted it while jogging three years ago.”

“You⏤ Wait, what?”

In order for this to work the way it needed to, you’d have to focus on actual emergencies only. Alone you would never be able to handle the patient load that would come with servicing an entire city. Plus, you really didn’t want to. The amount of time it would take to even attempt that was insane, and Din needed your help with Grogu.

So, the plan would be to establish that this clinic was emergencies only, emphasize it to everyone who walked in the door, but for today you’d manage all the small, routine problems.

Just for today.

By lunch time, you had already seen 47 patients. None of which were emergent. In fact, the biggest injury was a young man who had dropped a glass plate at home and accidentally cut his hand. He needed four stitches. 

“Aayla?”

“Four more in the waiting room, doctor!” Aayla called out without even having to be asked the question. She was a gift from the Maker today. Already, you had decided to try training her more in depth medically and hire someone else to work the front desk. “You also have a guest.

“What?” You breathed, barely able to catch her words.

Aayla didn’t need to repeat herself because that was the moment Din swept into the room with the same confident strut he naturally seemed to have. At the sight of him, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as your lips curled up into a smile.

“What is going on?” Din asked as he drifted closer to you. There were still two patients sitting on cots waiting for you to finish with them, but Din commandeered your attention by settling his hand on your lower back and staring down at you. Even through the helmet you could feel his concerned gaze. “Why are you so busy? I thought you were hired for emergencies only.”

“I was, but apparently nobody told all of Nevarro that.”

Din stiffened. “Did Karga⏤”

“No. I don’t think he tricked me into this or that this was on purpose.” You said quickly. “And everyone who comes in, I’m telling them that from now on it’s emergencies only.”

“But today?”

“Today, I am seeing every Nevarro citizen.” You chuckled. “You want a check up, Mando?”

“Ner kar’ta,” Din shook his head, “Have you taken any breaks at all?” You shot him a sheepish smile. “Come. Let’s get lunch.”

“I can’t. I’ll just get further behind.” You mumbled. Din looked like he was ready to argue with you. In fact, his hands even drifted to his hips as his head tilted. You had seen him take on the same stance before lecturing Grogu. You wrapped your hands around his forearm and gave him the most reassuring smile you could muster. “It’s fine. I’m just sorry I’m bailing on you for lunch.” He sighed. “You poor thing, now you’ll have to spend more time with Mayfeld.”

Din huffed and you chuckled. Aayla called out that more people were filling the space, and for a second you thought the Mandalorian Marshal was considering sending everybody home just so you could have a moment for lunch. You squeezed his forearm. 

“Fine.” Din grumbled.

“Also, I know this won’t help my argument or convince you of anything, but,” You scrunched your nose with a small wince, “Do you think you can pick up Grogu today?”

Din seemed taken aback based on his voice alone, “How long do you plan on staying?”

You knew his question was one more focused on the concern of you staying here for too long versus him being upset that you couldn’t get Grogu. When you shot him another sheepish smile he just grumbled under his breath in Mando’a. Din caught you off guard by leaning forward to lightly rest his forehead against yours for a second. 

“This conversation isn’t over.” Din said simply and you just chuckled in response.

He squeezed your hand once before leaving and you were forced to return to the patients you had. Ten minutes passed at the most, you got two patients out with Aayla’s help, when Din’s heavy footfalls returned. You glanced over your shoulder to see he was holding a bag of food. He crossed the space to set the bag in your hands and you peered in to see it was your favorite sandwich from the local shop. Your eyes glanced back up at him with a grin. The warmth of being seen and known settling in your chest.

“Eat.” Din said firmly.

“Thank you.” You replied. “I’ll eat it as soon as⏤”

“No.” He interrupted. A tilt to his head and a challenge in his voice. “I’m not leaving until I watch you take a few bites. At the least.”

You rolled your eyes, in good nature, and handed him the bag so you could wash your hands in the sink off to the side. On your way back to Din, you asked Aayla to bandage one patient’s knee and get imaging of another patient’s hand. Din had already pulled out your sandwich to set on the desk you had brought into the corner. Before you could reach for it, Din pointed to the desk chair. With a chuckle you dropped down into the seat, the first time you were off your feet all morning, and only then did Din push the sandwich toward you. 

“Thanks.” You said after your first bite. More sincere than your last. Din was leaning against the desk beside you. Close enough that your arm could press against his thigh if you moved it over even an inch. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Apparently, I did.” Din chuckled. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have eaten at all.”

You couldn't argue. Instead, you just shook your head, “Not gonna lie, I always did have a bad habit of getting caught up in my work.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Doctor, can you take a look at this?” Aayla called out.

You quickly took one last, large bite of your sandwich before standing. Din pushed off the desk to tower over you again. He nodded. “I’ll pick up Grogu, but if you’re not home by 5 I’m coming back to drag you home.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” You teased.

Din leaned over to lightly tap his forehead against yours and you chuckled. He reached over to pick up your sandwich and held it up towards you. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you leaned over and took another bite. Holding a hand over your mouth, tucking the food into your cheek, you spoke. “Happy?”

“Yes. Be careful. Message me if you need anything.”

You watched him leave with a bemused smile.

Never before had you been so acutely aware of the saying ‘when it rains, it pours’. Today had already been stressful and busy so it would make sense that at 4:25 in the afternoon an actual emergency rolled in. Nothing to test and stretch your skills like having to handle a trauma case after a full day of working. There had been an incident, on the other side of this world deep in the lava plains, where a group of smugglers got a bit too close to a river of lava with their weapons and nearly blew one another sky high. 

The least injured of the three had flown them in. She had some superficial burns all along her left side. Then the other two had third degree burns that required some serious fluid replacement. You didn’t stop working, barely paused to take a breath, until all three were stable and resting comfortably. Only then did you drop down into your desk’s chair and rest your head on your arms with a sigh. 

About twenty minutes later, a pair of hands settled on your shoulders, squeezing in comfort, and you would’ve been startled if you didn’t recognize the creak of Din’s leather with the comforting smell of his flight suit’s detergent and the polish used on his beskar. 

“What time is it?” You groaned.

“8:42.”

“You’re nearly four hours late.”

Din squeezed your shoulders once more before letting a hand settle on the back of your neck. You found the weight of it grounded you. “I got here at 4:50. Saw you were busy with something important. Left then came back.” His thumb caressed your skin, and you pushed your head up to glance at him. Din had the hand not on your neck resting on the desk. “You alright?”

“Just tired.” You mumbled and rubbed your face with one hand. “Grogu?”

“He’s with Peli. Missed you at dinner though.” Din replied. “He acts up when you’re not around.”

“No, no. He’s a perfect angel, always.”

Din snorted at that, and the sound made you chuckle. You glanced over at the cots that held the three smugglers who slept soundly. All their vitals still stable. Din’s hand slipped down to rub your upper back soothingly. “You coming home?”

“I can’t. Not until the emergency shuttle gets here to pick those three up.” You sighed. “They have to be at a facility with a higher level of care than just me.”

“‘Just you’ saved their lives.”

“You know what I mean.” You shrugged. “You should go though.” Din tilted his head. “There’s no telling how long it’ll take for the ship to get here. I already sent Aayla home. I’m just babysitting right now. You should pick up Grogu and head home. Get some sleep.”

Din shook his head as if it were the stupidest thing you had ever said. He gently wrapped his hand around your upper arm and pulled you up from your seat. You let him drag you along to the fourth cot in the room which was currently empty. “You sleep. I’ll babysit.” 

“Din…”

He lightly pushed down on your shoulders until you were seated on the cot. You stared up at him in question, but he just shook his head. “If something changes with their status I’ll wake you.” Din pushed you down a little further so you were laying down. The moment your body hit the relatively soft bed you felt yourself sink into it with exhaustion. Din went to walk, but you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the cot as well.

“You can babysit while laying down, can’t you?”

“My armor isn’t gonna be much of a pillow.”

“Neither is this cot.”

Din chuckled and dropped down to lay beside you. You rested your head on his chest, the cool metal of the beskar biting into your warm cheek, and just sighed. It hadn’t occurred to you how tired you truly were until now. Din had an arm wrapped around you so he could grasp your shoulder with his hand and use his thumb to trace patterns there.

“Take a break, doc.” Din hummed. “I got you.”

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilra @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @uwu-i-purple-you @modiddys-blog @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @xxinvisblexx @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @sydney-1209 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @banana-lol @daybleedsintonightfall11 @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition @thelovelyhann @harrys-sunflower-bakery @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #female reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #fluff #comfort #nanny!reader #doctor!reader

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 5

Part (5) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I really meant to finish this arc today... looks like there's going to be one more chapter after this, though... Such is the way of writing, I guess...

Warnings: Minor flashbacks/PTSD, reference to torture, loads of guilt and tension, otherwise mostly just fluff and angst

WC: 3,820

Science disproved the fallacy of “muscle memory” eons ago. The antiquated theory that cells somehow held some semblance of thought toward self-preservation, enough at least to react independent of heightened nerve bundles, now resided only in layman’s speech in which the physiology behind impulse control, voluntary and involuntary motions, and even the sympathetic systems responsible for endless bodily functions initiated by the fight or flight response were simply inconsequential. Whether someone believed their hand jerked away from a burning iron due to the hand’s fear of pain or from the spinal cord’s ability to recognize and react to such acute dangers absent direction from the brain doesn’t change the reality that the hand moved before the individual ever registered that they were burning.

I wasn’t burning. I wasn’t drowning, nor was I bound to some unbreakable surface. Logic told me that the danger had passed, but my body remembered only the agony of being held on the edge of death for what could have been days or minutes for all my mind could make sense of it. The delicate tissues lining my airways couldn’t forget the hurt from that chilled, rancid water, and the part of my brain that held no value toward thought or rationale overruled any hope of overcoming the frenzied panic reawaken by the memory of that hurt.

That first, desperate gasp left me spasming beneath such violent coughs, my body could do nothing more than curl weakly onto its side, diaphragm convulsing both from the effort to clear my lungs of every drop of that putrid liquid and from the simple, consuming need for air that had been denied from me for far, far too long. I felt myself reach toward my face, hand trembling as my fingertips darted over my cheeks, my hair, searching for that mask before it could tighten around my lips once more, before it could be used to rob me of sight that I might find myself even more helpless, unable to guess towards when that water would begin to drown me leaving me panicking anew at every sound, every hint of movement around me.

But there was nothing there.

My legs shifted in thoughtless, jerked motions if only to confirm nothing remained locked around my ankles, vaguely noting that no merciless restraints had prevented me from turning onto my side. Only my own weakness hindered my movements. The surface below me was far too soft in light of the memory of whatever I’d been bound to… The walls around me were too clean… And that voice…

“Easy, med’ika… shh, just breathe.” Chest still jerking with an occasional cough, I managed to look toward that familiar voice, and the depth of mourning that suddenly swept through me left me cold in a way I couldn’t explain. I would find no solace in denial after glimpsing the heartbreaking regret in those golden eyes. My nightmares had been real. Comet couldn’t even bring himself to reach for me yet, hands hovering before him as he forced himself to maintain some measure of a “safe” distance between us lest his presence send me into the same panic I’d lost myself in when I woke to find Wolffe holding me.

I loathed the lingering terror, but seeing how the kind man before me hurt because of my pain… that’s what drew the flood of tears to my eyes, and when I looked at him once more, when I let him see the desperate need burning through me, something too close to a sob escaped him. Free of that earlier hesitation, he lowered himself onto his knees at my bedside, movements torn between rushed and gentle as he pulled me against him, and I readily pressed myself into that embrace, fingers clawing into the sleek fabric atop him ribs, face burring itself into the notch of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry… Maker, I’m so sorry…” He murmured, lips shifting atop my hair. My chest twisted at his words, mind reaching for any way I might convince him that he wasn’t at fault, that there was no way to anticipate an attack by a third party; that his guilt only left me crying harder against him for the guilt it stirred within me, but all I could manage was to shake my head, silently begging him to understand.

“Shh, we’ve got you, med’ika… You’re safe now.” My hand tightened around his shirt, straining to force some measure of steadiness into hitched breaths as I dragged my mind back from that grief and fear if only for the hope that it might grant him some quiet as well. His embrace didn’t waver even after the tension began to ease from my aching body, and I made no effort to push even a whisper of distance between us.

“How-” The first attempt at speech nearly sent me back into a wretched coughing fit, but I managed to suppress it, wincing as I cleared my throat. “How did you find me?” Still, my voice was barely audible, the hoarse words dragging painfully along the raw tissue of my throat.

“Wolffe.” He answered simply, but the moment of hesitation that followed drew my gaze up to find him gnawing absently at his cheek, eyes turned blindly toward the far side of the room. “I… I think he reached out to the… to…” His jaw tensed, mind churning over how to answer before shifting to sit atop the edge of the mattress with a sigh, and I didn’t fight the way he carefully dragged me onto his lap. “I think he figured if he could get the kind of intel we came here for, he probably had some way of figuring out where’d they’d take you.” Oh… my father… I didn’t press for more and nodded as I rested my head back against Comet’s shoulder, pleased to feel him relax slightly in response.

Only then did I begin to really notice pain beyond the burn that accompanied every breath, the consuming ache set deep in my lungs. My left arm was immobilized in a splint, and I could feel the subtle pressure of bandages wrapped around my chest and leg.

“What happened?” I asked, the question barely more than a wheeze as I flared my fingers pointedly. With a sigh, his hold finally began to loosen.

“It was just dislocated.” He explained, thumb dragging absently over my arm, almost more as a self-soothing gesture than in an attempt to comfort me. “You bruised a couple ribs when the gala blew up – got a nice burn on your calf from it. Looks like most of it was just from when you were…” His arms tightened nervously, again stumbling slightly over his words. “Trying to get free.” He finished, voice dropping as though it would lessen the impact those words might have. Just the thought of how violently I’d fought against those damned restraints, the terror fueling my limbs well past what they should have been capable of threatened to draw a cold sweat from me. Still, I found myself looking down to see the thick layer of cloth wrapped about my wrists, clearly able to imagine how the skin had been worn raw and torn in my frenzy.

“And the datachip?” I could hear the cold acceptance in my own voice, certain that it had been lost and all the effort and planning and pain amounted to nothing.

“Safe.” He assured me quietly. “They got the bracelet, but we ended the connection before they could trace it back.” I let out a slow sigh of relief at that and tried to let myself treasure a moment of stillness, to let my mind drift thoughtlessly as I fought to to convince myself that the horrors of that dark room might be left in the past, and that I might find solace in the knowledge that I was still alive, that, despite how certain I’d been of my own impending death, how much I’d longed for the comfort of what release it surely promised, I’d survived.

-

We were barely a day out from the Negotiator. I didn’t want to think about how everyone would react to what had happened, didn’t want to think about how I’d react to even trying to tell them. Despite the dread of dealing with that impeding conversation and all it entailed, still I was eager to rejoin them, to escape the tense quiet staling the air of this ship; the way Boost and Sinker stifled even the hint of a disagreement, how strained Warthog’s laugh had become. Even Wolffe had fallen into something far too somber, making no effort to avoid me though I could see the guilt in his eyes if ever we crossed paths. I hated it.

When I tread thoughtlessly into the bunkroom, I hadn’t expected to find him lying prone atop his cot, eyes intently closed though I held little doubt that he was still awake. I hesitated for barely a breath before yielding beneath the need urging me forward. His brow cocked, eyes opening just enough to glance toward me before shutting once more as I nestled onto the thin pad beside him, barely an inch separating us.

“Something wrong with your bed, kid?” He asked, voice falling back into what, to anyone else, surely sounded more akin to an irritated growl than the subtle teasing I knew it to be.

“Yeah. It’s way over there.” I retorted, and I relished the balm of comfort gleaned from the way his lips twitched ever so briefly into a smirk. Still, I could stand the silence that followed for only so long amidst the scream of questions roaring through my head.

“Did you know?” It was barely loud enough to be called speech, all mirth from that brief quip abandoning me. His throat shifted, jaw tensing a moment before opening his eyes to stare blindly at the empty bunk above him.

“What part?” The softness in how he spoke only worked to remind me of that terrible guilt, and I suddenly feared it was a curse they’d never be able to free themselves of.

“My father.” He was still for a moment before quietly drawing in a deep breath.

“No.” He whispered. “I knew he was from Agamar; that he’d lost his family to the war, but I didn’t know who he was until you met him.” I swallowed back whatever relief or remorse or regret vied to break me and shifted just enough to rest my forehead against his shoulder.

“Was he behind the bomb?” He didn’t need to answer me. I knew I was right by the tension that stole through him.

“He figured you’d be out by then.” Wolffe explained, as though it might quell whatever betrayal he feared the confirmation might bring, but I felt nothing; allowed myself to feel nothing even as I wondered if I should blame my father for what had been done to me.

“Comet said he helped you find me?” A small grunt caught in his throat, and I pulled back just enough to see the beginnings of a scowl distort his face.

“Comet talks too much.” Wolffe mumbled but let out a short huff before explaining. “I had to tell him who you were – he wouldn’t risk any of his operatives until I did.” I didn’t hear the apology laced through those quiet words. My body went stiff, air staling in my chest, numb to whatever hurt still lingered there. Would he know what my capture meant? What they’d do to me? Was he replaying our every shared word lit anew with the heartbreaking realization that I’d known him the instant I saw him, that I’d chosen not to reveal myself when he’d failed to recognize me in kind?

I didn’t notice Wolffe’s gaze turn toward me, didn’t note the sharp concern in eyes far more comfortable in an impatient glare until his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I let myself be drawn flush against his side, cheek resting atop his chest.

“He’s made his own choices. Try not to blame yourself for the actions of a man you haven’t seen in nearly a decade.” The deadpan look he shot me was enough to draw a small chuckle. Before I could respond, the bunkroom door opened behind me.

“That poor man…” I whispered, unable to fathom what he must be going through now. Wolffe didn’t try to hide that familiar eyeroll, drawing my attention back to him.

“Ooo, we’re having a cuddle party on the commander’s bunk?” I was laughing before Wolffe’s warning growl fell silent, knowing those words easily carried throughout the ship.

“Boost.” His chest rumbled with the threat laced through his brother’s name, but Boost was already in motion, and the cot groaned beneath his weight as the man hoisted himself gracelessly across us, shuffling noisily until his back rested against the wall and his legs stretched overtop mine and Wolffe’s thighs, hapless grin toying with his lips in blatant disregard for the lethal glare Wolffe had trained on him.

“Boost.” He called again, voice lowering into something far more dangerous.

“Think the long-necks’ll get pissed if we break it?” Warthog asked mere seconds later, his own words nearly breaking out into a laughter of his own. Wolffe let out a slow tense sigh as the pilot pushed his way onto the bed above me, forcing the both of us to shift until he’d wedged his torso beneath our shoulders.

“Depends on the story you come up with to explain how it broke.” Boost replied.

“The Commander already sent in the report – you’d have to find a damn good reason for it to break outside of the actual mission.” Comet advised from behind me, already easing himself onto the too-thin strip of remaining mattress.

“Nah, we’ll just tell ‘em they built it wrong.” Warthog replied, chuckling at his own words. Despite his nonchalance, the instant the bed began to creak, we all tensed, but he went back to laughing openly when Wolffe craned his neck to glare at the man.

I’d forgotten about this. Hunter and his brothers were close, but it was different here. Where once the 104th was a standard battalion, now only five remained. That kind of loss could have driven them apart, ruined by grief and despair. Instead, they sought refuge in what few brothers they still had. The simple act of touch brings with it a comfort that can’t be replicated with drugs or kind words. The innocence fueling the need for that comfort, for the silent reassurance that they were still alive, was precious, and when the weight of this war fell too heavily on their shoulders, there was no one who understood that burden more than the men around them.

-

If felt like hours had passed before something begrudgingly pulled me back to a weary awareness, unsure at first what had woken me, but even in the darkness, I found the brilliant gold of Sinker’s eyes studying the dark cloth immobilizing my shoulder. The muscle lay bunched beneath his cheeks, brows drawn harshly together, tense breaths so near to breaking even as his fingers rested lightly atop my arm. The instant his gaze flicked to mine, the instant he realized I was awake, that I’d seen him in that moment of vulnerability, his expression instantly softened, but he made no effort to pull away from me.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” He murmured, voice barely audible amidst the lazy, deep breaths of his sleeping brothers nestled all around me. “We’re still a few hours out – you should get some more rest.”

I didn’t try to reply, mind already teetering back into that gentle release, but I couldn’t forget the initial glimpse of despair I’d seen in him, heart breaking at the reminder of how deeply they hurt because of what happened to me. Without a word, I flared my fingers out, unable to move the limb more than slightly twisting my wrist toward him. His lips pulled into a weak smirk, shoulders sinking beneath of heavy sigh, but he shifted to slip his hand in mine. Body relaxing with a slow breath, I held him firmly against me, chin tucking against my chest enough to lightly touch my lips to his knuckles as I let my eyes slide shut once more. Still, he didn’t try to pull away, not until long after I’d fallen back into a gentle sleep.

-

Knowing that each passing second brought me closer to the Negotiator, to the inevitability of reliving those horrors first in telling Cody, and then again in telling my squad only worked to drive me back to the brink of panic. I couldn’t stay in a room with them; couldn’t see their remorse and not dread the thought of seeing that same expression haunt Hunter’s face, of the rage that might threaten to overwhelm Crosshair or the sorrow that would weigh on Wrecker… I hadn’t begun to figure out how to tell any of them… what to tell them. What was I allowed to tell them…

It was easy to hope the following day would bring some reprieve to the stiffness with which they held themselves around me, that a night piled in that too-small cot together might free them of that tension, but I was to be granted no such relief. Conversation had never felt awkward with them before, but now they tripped over nearly every word shared with me, as though second guessing if they were about to say something that might remind me the lifetime I’d spent drowning at the mercy of my interrogator, which, in turn, left me unable to think about anything but that helplessness, that utter certainty that I was dying, and the terrible acceptance that I was powerless to stop it.

I’d found myself practically hiding in the fresher for that last half hour, torn between grief and relief to finally let myself slip back into the safety of my armor before rejoining the others as the ship began to dock.

“Still can’t get used to seein’ you in those colors.” Warthog grunted from pilot’s chair.

“It’s been over a year, Warthog.” I drawled, forcing what I hoped to be a lightness into my still-scratchy voice.

“Yeah, but… did they have to go with something so… edgy?” I instantly felt my shoulders tense.

“Sorry.” He muttered after several long seconds. I had to grind my lips between my teeth to keep my breath from hitching, unable to either apologize for my tone nor to dismiss the exchange altogether. No one spoke again until the engine faded into a quiet hum before finally shutting off, and I again found myself loathing the tension, loathing myself for having brought it back en force so thoughtlessly as we approached the ramp.

“They’ve more than earned the right to wear whatever they want… and we do enough stealth missions to warrant darker colors.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, for it to sound like I was berating him, but I was too anxious to restrain that flash of anger, and my heart sank at the heavy silence that instantly followed.

I should have assumed they’d be there; that Tech would alert the others the instant the non-GAR issued ship made its approach and found some way to prepare myself, but I could do nothing more than stare at the collection of eager faces and hesitant smiles awaiting me at the base of that ramp; should have thought toward how I might steel myself for seeing those familiar faces fall into uncertainty and concern upon noting that damned sling that I should have omitted at least for those first few minutes. I should have offered some light-hearted reassurance, found some means of dismissing their fears before they could begin to twist and grow with all the unanswered questions for those past few days, but I had nothing – no gentle greeting nor quick-witted remark as automated movements led me toward them in the wake of Wolffe’s steps.

“Um…” The strangled sound caught in my throat, unable to look at them even through the protective cover of my helm’s visor. “I have to debrief with Commander Cody.” The way my comms system distorted my voice seemed only to worsen the lingering hoarseness, and I tried to pretend I didn’t see the way Crosshair’s expression turned rabid. “I’ll find you after.” I added in something too close to a mutter before continuing after my old commander.

They didn’t follow me, nor did Boost or the others as I trailed aimlessly behind Wolffe into the bowels of the massive Destroyer, unsure what havoc might unfold the instant we were out of sight. Would Hunter be able to keep his brother in line if my old squad told them what happened? Would he even try? My thoughts were too jumbled to worry over it for long. There was just too much for any one thing to hold my attention for more than a heart-wrenching second, and I quickly gave up any effort to do anything more than keep my strides even.

“You going to be alright?” Wolffe asked, pausing several meters before that familiar door. I hadn't noticed him remove his bucket, but automatically slipped mine off in kind as he glanced pointedly toward Cody's office. I’d suspected he wouldn’t be joining me, that he needed to find General Plo for his own debrief, and it was almost a relief knowing he wouldn’t be with me for this. I didn’t want him to hear me try to recant that nightmare when he was still struggling with the aftermath, too.

“Yeah… I’ll be fine, Wolffe.” I offered, lips pulling into a small smile that neither of us believed. He almost turned away, but paused, brow just hinting at a frown as he looked at me. With a quiet sigh, he let his hand trail through my hair to rest gently against the back of my head before lightly touching his forehead to mine.

“Be safe, kid.” He said, and the vainly hidden note of defeat those short words left me floundering. Still my lips shifted around that too familiar reply, though it was barely more than a whisper.

“Still not a kid.” The short breath that escaped him shook just enough to nearly ruin me, gaze darting up to find his eyes ground shut.

“I know.” He murmured, voice rushed. His grip tightened for just a moment, expression pinching with something too near pain, and then it was gone, posture once more portraying every ounce the rigid commander he’d always been as he tread steadily down the hall. I couldn’t move for several seconds; couldn’t breathe beneath that flash of… what? That was more than just guilt… I wanted to chase after him; to throw something or scream, but found myself thinking back to the tense quiet that had fallen around us in the cockpit mere days prior… Whatever it was… the time for it had passed.

Next Chapter

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @kixs-husband @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @isthereanechoinhere96 @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @wanderneverlost @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89 @waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose

#star wars #the bad batch #the clone wars #104th battalion #star wars fanfiction #fanfiction #star wars tcw #wolffe #commander wolffe #tbb oc #my writings #star wars fanfic #first person reader #febuwhump #slow burn #panic attack #blame #self-blame #giving up #guilt #reader whump #soft wolffe #profanity #boost #tcw boost #tcw comet #tcw sinker #sinker #warthog #tcw warthog

[subwaytostardew]

▽ Subway to Stardew - Emmet 8-Heart Event ▽

This plays after getting at least 8 hearts with Emmet and entering the Railroad between 9AM - 4PM on a Thursday after viewing his 7 heart event.

You recieve this letter when you reach 8 hearts with Emmet!

Commentary and progress under the readmore.

▷ Station Steward Thylak

I DID NOT REALIZE THAT THIS EVENT WOULD BE THAT LONG... I could have sworn it was around 14 minutes max! I was worried that the battle stuff went by too quickly! It's almost 30 minutes long! And that's with me clicking away faster! Emmet really meant it when he said he wanted to spend all the livelong day together...

I thought it was going to be roughly 18 minutes. NOPE. WOOPS. This what happens when you write possibly too much.

We are bad at making short events. Vanilla events are around 1-3 minutes long. A day in Stardew lasts 14 minutes and 10 seconds. I would not recommend trying to play this mod spoiler free on multiplayer because time does not freeze and you will die if you don't skip the events. I wouldn't want to shorten the events either... Cutting down their infodumps would just be wrong.

We had a few requests to have a battle event which made me 😅 because I personally couldn't imagine that going well (truth over ideals...). This event was partially made to shut that idea down. The whole tunnel scene is mostly me trying to write an in-story reason as to why there won't be a battle with the farmer against Ingo... Emmet is competitive! This is not just limited to battles but extends to being your best friend! Behind the scenes... I'm just too tired to write out more battles. I actually really dislike single battle format. I'm not making an Ingo battle event. You already have three games to battle him in. I refuse to make more battle events for the time being.

I say that but there's another half-finished double battle event between submas that I switched tracks from to work on Emmet's 8 heart event... I'll finish that eventually.

Anyways... the creation process did not go by quickly at all either. I sure do have a lot to say on that matter. I do all my coding in google docs (terrible, I know) and so far we have had to make 3 seperate documents becuase things start to break at around 40 pages. The document before Emmet's 8 heart event made it to 64 pages before I abandoned it for a new document.

The longest document we have is around 80 pages along. Which usually contain the draft scripts of multiple events. code documents however take up a lot more since it's basically a giant wall of text. So when Emmet's 8 heart event started to slow down the current code document (the third iteration). We had to give the event its own space.

Emmet's 8 heart event ended up being 36 pages long alone! Also if you didn't know, Stardew's event format doesn't allow for line breaks so I have been staring at a 36 page wall of text for weeks. I plan to upload a video compiling all the different options later because I feel like all of the "good" options for battle... don't quite make sense in the context of the rest of the story. The farmer is supposed to not be good at battle and lose because they got overwhelmed with information. As the one writing out all the battle options though, I can't bring myself to act like I'm bad at battling. The winning options are extra silly just to justify a loss and because I couldn't bring myself to lie about Wild Charge not being a guaranteed OHKO on Archeops either. Especially since Emmet brings out damage calculations in a few of the options.

On that topic, all of the battle options play out accurately in a real double battle! I tested. Every. Single. Path. In Pokemon Showdown between the halves of Emmet's team.

I had nightmares of reliving this same battle over and over because that's all I did when I was awake. Make it stopppppp 😭

The lines about them practicing were references to me actually simulating everything in Showdown! Emmet's frustration is also based on how making this event took over my brain so now I struggle to comprehend how someone who doesn't know what to do in this battle would feel... Thank you Kade for helping me with that part ^^;;;

Your welcome =3

I actually enjoyed the Pokémon Showdown part - when it comes to Pokémon Battles, I have dabbled a little bit into the competitive side of things. Or at least the massive game of 4D Chess... trying to predict your opponent etc. Bait them into making a mistake, etc. There was a good time where we did nothing but Pokémon Battles for a night. And it was fun.

I am in no way good at competitive side of things - (I lose lot but that's okay.) especially in the double battle format. Single Battles I could do. (Though once again, I'm average at best) However I think the most memorable battle I ever had was back in Pokémon X and Y, where I managed to chip away and stall a Mega Aggron with a Umbreon.. And I think Umbreon was my last Pokémon but I kept using Moonlight to keep my health up. My kid self was super surprised and ecstatic that I beaten the odds... but whenever I do Pokémon Showdown I'm either testing battle stuff or making teams. I'm addicted to team compositions and doing a combination of different Pokémon even if it's not the competitive Meta....

I have the choices sorted into good/bad routes in my mind so in most of the routes, Emmet criticizes the player's decisions based on type advantage, STAB, and target. I was torn between the best and worst options for this recording but thanks to Kade's input, you get to see Durant ramming into Emmet instead of him getting mad at you for conducting Shadow Claw on Galvantula.

Battling Emmet as a first time trainer is not going to go well! Not only is he too competitive and he refuses to let you win (unlike Ingo), he pretty much sets you up for failiure. I'm sorry Emmet but Galvantula's stats are not intended for making her a physical attacker (emphasis on the Egg Move at what cost...).

Not to mention... Emmet is a Battle Facility Head. And you don't get to battle the Subway Bosses in the mainline games unless you have a somewhat decent team halfway through the game. Even still! They can both wipe the floor with you if you're not aware that they are using battle items...

Though I interpret Emmet not going easy on someone as him challenging them to push themselves and exceed expectations. Both Ingo and Emmet as characters encourage others in their own way, Ingo through words and Emmet I believe through his actions. Though he also can say some encouraging things.

Not the most encouraging if you compare their quotes pages... Customer service and communication isn't exactly his forte... But Emmet wants you to do your best and win against him! He likes seeing serious battlers like him! He just won't let you win unless if you push yourself to do your best. You'll have to. He doesn't really have the most beginner-friendly approach...

Considering you the Farmer, have no idea what a Pokémon even is. (You're practically learning everything from Ingo, Emmet, Elesa etc.) The fact you get challenged to a Battle because Emmet wants to share his interests with you - to have you better understand Pokémon.

He just struggles with the fact that, he is essentially challenging someone with no real battle experience and it's a Double Battle at that. Controlling two Pokémon at once?! Think about the effort it takes to command one Pokémon. We all seen the Anime and how trainers struggle to connect with their partners because they're new. They're just starting. They aren't going to be Battle Facility levels of skill.

Not to mention that Emmet is a little deprived in the valley and hasn't really battled any other new passengers in quite some time. At most, he battled Iris once when she came to visit, Ingo (who's Pokemon are optimized for countering/pissing him off), and himself (I had the mental image of him sitting in the field practicing for this event like an old man playing chess against himself in a park). He's a little too far gone to fully understand what a beginner would think in this situation other than mayyyybe it would take a moment to catch them up to speed. (I would know... I swear those option paths rewired my brain...)

After inputting all of their data into Showdown, I had actually forgotten that Galvantula and Durant are Emmet's Doubles Line team while Eelektross and Archeops are the Super Doubles Line team when deciding the matchups. (Been a while since they were in the Battle Subway huh...) Story-wise, I was thinking that Emmet should be with his ace and that he wouldn't really trust anyone else with Archeops since... he has higher support needs (depression bird 💔). Eelektross and Archeops are paired up because of Gastro Acid and Defeatist. I was thinking that Galvantula and Durant are a bit more beginner-friendly; they can take a loss a bit more easilly (a little less so in Galvantula's case... she's a hater). The farmer had already met Durant earlier in the 4-heart event so he'd volunteer to return the favor of fighting for you. Once you win his trust, he's more than happy to help. As for Galvantula... She's testing to see if she can trust her clingy child with you.

I'm excited to dive into the Pokémon NPC stories... Durant and Excadrill especially.

Durant was originally going to have Choice Scarf instead of Quick Claw to help narrow down the options. It was a pain reorganizing my notes and options all over again to lump not only move choices but turn order in mind. My notes were a mess.

Durant and Galvantula are a very luck-based combination so it was ultimately easier to write the different option paths with that in mind since Stardew's event format is verrrrrrrrrrrry linear. All of the options need to merge back into the same event (well... besides the option to refuse his friendship/battle which ends the event in the tunnel). Durant has lowered accuracy while Galvantula has higher critical hit ratios, I could write the battles based on their luck which is great because I wanted to force a loss.

I thought it would be a little too... reductive (it sure would reduce the amount of content >.>) and unrealistic for the player to impress Emmet with a victory on their first battle. Emmet sees this battle as a test on if you can follow his train of thought and be a good match for him because he's a little bit dependent on you for emotional regulation. He kind of expects you as his favorite passenger to have twin telepathy like Ingo since that's his standard operating procedure. You won't. Because you're not Ingo. You're just some weird farmer he got attached to. With the setup of a battle, I wanted this event to develop the farmer and Emmet's relationship to show that they aren't exactly perfect for each other (and Will say things that can be wrongly misinterpreted) but ultimately they will put in the effort to communicate and make things work. They won't have the best communication! But it's there.

While Ingo has a proper library confession, this event doubles as Emmet's "confession" of sorts. Emmet is already pretty openly affectionate by this point and I wanted to make it somewhat ambiguous as to whether or not his attachment to you is romantic or strictly platonic. To him, it doesn't really matter, but he does want you all to himself. He's not fond of sharing!

But... While Emmet's event may be more platonic in intent, you can still reject him. It's a lot harsher than Ingo's because refusing to even let him try to be a better friend for you is pretty harsh in itself. Ingo's is mostly the choice of whether or not you want to send him back to 6 hearts for more dialogue variety (it's really easy to miss dialogue when you try to max out their hearts as soon as possible! We're making lines for every day, season, and heart level.) Rejecting Emmet sends you back to 2 hearts and overrides his daily dialogue for the day with him asking if you're still friends, apologizing, and then getting too upset to say anything more.

Anyways!

From the start, I wanted Emmet to be like Nemona; awkward in their attachment, somewhat intimidating in their obsession/competitiveness, and thinks of the player as their savior from loneliness. He wants to be the best friend you have because you're the best friend he has. It's only fair. Best rival for life, favorite passenger, same thing.

The mountain pass events were actually made because Emmet's original schedule included him waiting around near the bushes there like Nemona stalking the player on their gym journey. NPCs actually can't path there so when he did, he was just deleted from the save!

I also stumbled across a bug back when I made the very first introduction event where a question loops unless if you pick a certain option. I kept that with Emmet forcing you to keep battling with him in mind as a slight reference to how Nemona doesn't let you say no to being her "best rival for life". This question also makes SMAPI hate you!

Gotta love Pokémon's false sense of 'Sure you have a choice. Your choice is always YES.'

There's probably a more fitting flower for Emmet outside of poppies. I just looked up every flower in Stardew (some of them aren't real...) and their meanings in flower language to come to the conclusion of poppies. The meanings in Emmet's event refer to the white poppy in particular. White. Rest. Oblivion. It fits. Good enough. It was a bit difficult to find more on the flower language of poppies in English (particularly the "Oblivion" part) so I resorted to Japanese sites for more information.

In English, the meaning of "Rest" seems to precede every other meaning. Poppies are used in death memorials. Emmet and the farmer did accidentally develop a shared theme of dying (overwork exhaustion, slimes, the mines, etc... Emmet can't get a break. I'm sorry.) but I wasn't sure if Kade was okay with the theme of death being emphasized. With that in mind, I was stunned when I that saw that her first battle map draft included a graveyard. The implication that Emmet picked flowers from a memorial site...

In my mind - the area is an old train stop in between the desert area and the forest/mountains that lead into Pelican Town. Also figured there would be an abandon farm - considering how Pelican Town is struggling it makes sense that potentially other places are not in best of shape either.

The graveyard is possibly dead relatives of whatever family or farmer made their life near the rails. Of course a lot of time has passed... So much so that nature has taken back what was theirs in the first place.

I always make up stories when having a location in mind and this area parallels with the tunnel Ingo takes you through to stargaze around 10 hearts. That area being an abandon coal mining operation.... Coal, Wood, etc. was used to powered steam trains so makes sense for there to be a source for it. I'm not the best when it comes to filling up Tiled Maps with decor - but I at least put down enough for Thylak to come in and make it more fitting for Stardew

The battlefield underwent quite a few revisions, one was having the battle area be more centered, and changing the old warehouse/worker area to be more like a train repair station with a water stop. I wanted it to feel like a place where Emmet goes to keep himself busy when he's told to take a break from working on the station.

Here's the final map! The battle area had to be shrunken down to fit in an event. More grass was added because I kept losing track of Joltik in the dirt. There's more flowers for Emmet to observe the quality of and pick tge best ones as gifts that he's too nervous to give the farmer until they wilt and dry. Poppies by the gravestones, of course!

I also did attempt to make a proper scrapbook sprite for when I eventually have Emmet give you his gift, but I never got around to implementing it properly since... I'm not familliar with adding custom items and its implementation changes in the 1.6 update.

Despite having access to the modding alpha, I've been procrastinating on migrating to 1.6 since HD Portraits isn't supported yet (I know... 1.6 releases in 3 weeks...).

WOO 1.6 WE ARE NO WHERE NEAR READY FOR ALL THE STUFF THAT POSSIBLY GOING TO BREAK. LOL.

Until next time! Thank you for reading!

#subway to stardew #submas #pokemon #stardew valley #sdv mods #Emmet #Kudari #subway to stardew terminal station #events

[see-arcane]

Harker Horrors

The Vampyres

Something is culling the dead.

Whether they imbibe blood, leech life, or merely traded mortality away to their devil of choice, the revenants of the world are disappearing. A phenomenon that has been carving its way through the undead like a belated necrosis moving steadily through the past century and more. One which the Vampyre, a possessor of many names and collector of many lives, has been fretting over for some time.

A laughable fear, for he is one of those canny cadaverous few who made a deal for perpetual resurrection. The bitten may crumble, but the bargainer may rise from death after death. So he reminds himself. So he worries is no longer the case.

Not when the old boyar in the Carpathians was one of the first to vanish. Still, the monster from the mountains may simply be in hiding, just as the rest must be. The Vampyre himself is surely jumping at shadows. So he convinces himself for a single night…

…before a Thing known only as ‘Quinn Morse’ makes itself and its work known.

Surprise! I accidentally finished a novella during what was supposed to be a short story break. Whoops. Updates to come.

Link to Tumblr post (and Google Doc link within) is here.

If you’d like to drop some change in my virtual tip jar, my Ko-fi is here.

Assorted other Horrors are below the cut to save you from an overlong post:

Barking Harker

The climax in Transylvania takes a perilous turn. The surreal shifts in Jonathan Harker’s person are revealed as only the beginning of a far stranger metamorphosis. The promise of Mina Harker’s life becomes the crux of an unthinkable bargain. The dead travel fast, but are far from the only roaming children of the night—and far from the only threat. The past is exhumed, the present brims with monsters new and old, and the future yawns open like the swinging lid of a coffin as plans further, deeper, and far more nightmarish than Dracula’s English holiday come to light…

Link to teaser section here.

Penclosa

It’s been almost a year since Jonathan Harker made that fateful first trip to Transylvania. The monster that imprisoned him, that threatened his love, that died in a box of earth by two blades, has been gone for months. Yet Jonathan’s nightmares have never left. In fact, as the bleak anniversary nears, they have worsened. Van Helsing’s mesmerism has made no progress in freeing him from the nightly horror. But he has come from Amsterdam for a potentially fruitful visit to another professor. Prof. Wilson is playing host to a mesmerist of singular and uncanny power, Miss Helen Penclosa. On meeting the troubled young man and his wife, she is only too happy to help…

Link to teaser section here.

#time to dust off the Scribbles blog and load it up with all the new original stuff on this one #at this point it's just a paranoia thing #but better safe than sorry if this account ever magically vanishes again :c #barking harker #penclosa #jonathan harker #dracula #helen penclosa #the parasite #bram stoker #arthur conan doyle #the vampyre #the vampyres #john william polidori #my art #my writing #harker horrors

[wishing-stones]

whats the longest streak the boys have with keeping baggs from working? would any of them make bets surrounding the docs chronic workaholism

This is a bit of a dangerous game to play with him because he's wildly intuitive and observant. He tends to brush off direct attempts to get him to pull his proverbial nose out of his work at best, or threaten to frog march them out of his lab and make them leave him alone. The only one he lets get away with this is Nightmare, who will ramp up his persistence the longer he gets dismissed.

"I believe it is high time that you stop for the evening, doctor. It is getting quite late." "Yes, yes, I'm aware. I'm neck-deep in the middle of something, so once I'm finished. It shouldn't be more than an hour at the most." An hour later, he comes back. "If you are still 'neck-deep' in your project, perhaps I ought to lift you out of it." "Less so now, I'll wade out myself, don't fuss yourself over it, I will let you know." Twenty minutes later, he comes back again and sits down. "Have you even considered a stopping point in all of this?" "I have, and I have also almost reached it." After another ten minutes, Nightmare takes to hovering. "I'd prefer it if you weren't in my necessary escape path, I need room to maneuver if I make a miscalculation." "If you are anticipating miscalculations, it is far beyond time for you to cease what you are doing." Continued bickering or dismissal gets him picked up (once his hands are free) and carted off. Baggs is usually good about stopping something quickly if he's being threatened with this, because it embarrasses the hell out of him.

Among the guys, the reigning champion is Axe, who has picked up on Baggs' innate want to help and capitalizes on it to keep him busy with little things that aren't in his lab or involve a project. Things like his memory exercises, needing an extra pair of steady hands as a sous chef, and oh, hey! Check out this neat thing he got when he was on a mission the other day.

Killer and Cross tag-team and make him sit still in one spot while overseeing sparring matches.

Dust has cottoned on to what kinds of media he likes, so he'll play it loudly enough in the tv room to draw the doc's attention if he's nearby.

If they all work together, over the course of a day, they can probably keep him out of his lab for the day. The longest streak they've managed is three days, by the end of which Baggs was going stir-crazy from not having something to devote is excess energy to, having slept regularly, and being coerced into leisure for a few days to rest his body as well. He's not that upset about it, he knows it was done for his wellbeing, but... It was underhanded and sneaky.

There generally aren't bets for "how long can this person keep him distracted" and more "how long is it gonna take the boss to force him to call it quits."

Killer usually wins these because he knows Nightmare and his boundaries the best.

#k answers #k headcanons #feat. r&r crew #readmore for length as always

[dogueteeth]

Fanfic Writer Questions

Thank you @silvery-bluish & @glitchy-npc for the tags! Not sure who else to send it to atm but if you see this on my page and decide to pitch in with your answers feel free to @ me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I've got 12! Most are oneshots, others are series.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

47002 on AO3 at the moment! And so much more in my docs.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Fallen Hero, with a dash of TWC and some other fandoms sprinkled in my WIPS but I've been on Fallen Hero brainrot for a long time now so the other fandoms are currently neglected.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Nightmare (surprisingly enough) w/ 28 kudos

focus (it's harder than you think) (also surprising lol) w/ 20 kudos

new pavement w/ 18 kudos

anamnesis w/ 18 kudos

freefall w/ 13 kudos tied with bath(toaster)tub also w/ 13 kudos

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to respond to all of them! But some days I just don't have the spoons to and I forget, but I really appreciate any comments I receive.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

HA. you want me to pick??? Ok hrm. maybe bath(toaster)tub? anamnesis also has so me pretty angsty pieces in there.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

PFFF. ok gotta. go look for this one. Maybe sargasso sea, though it's technically not the last iteration in its series between a continued plotline hinted out in after the fall and a third part planned for its series.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! I think.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

(slaps brain) this bad boy can generate so much smut. I write pretty much any kind? Soft, rough, indulgent, M/M, F/M, F/F, other any everything, kinky or emotional, etc. Just whatever strikes me at the time, but most just dont get published bc I'm mid.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I typically HATE crossover fics they just aren't my thing I do write AUs of X story set in X story's universe, just haven't published them (wait does that still count as a crossover).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah, considered it once tho.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! Haven't found someone with the vibe ig, it's just never crossed my mind to co-write a fic and just never been asked too.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

(cue strained breath) i have no all time favorites BUT. but. Ricardo/Wei gets me SO soft ok. i just. unrequited years long attraction finally requited and i. AAAAA. place sidestep in there too and i'm just so happy. i need poly rep in my life sometimes ok.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I stare into the google docs hell and ask you how you could expect me to pick one but. BUT. Praeludium//Allegro. A piece meant to dive in how Sidestep is able to experience the moment someone dies through their mind.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Shorter pieces! They tend to be about ~2000-5000 words per part, that's usually when I feel I've done my best. I'm also. Decent at NSFW writing? Sometimes, at least.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely long fics. I had a plan for freefall and have scrapped and adapted it multiple times now, pus it's just difficult to keep myself interested in specific but necessary chapters.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

It's fun! I've included Spanish and Russian excerpts into my fics before but I don't do it a lot. Considered writing fully in Spanish at some point for an Ortega POV but I'm not confident in my grammar abilities. Spanish verb tenses my beloathed.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Naruto. On a different old account best left to gather dust.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Hm, I'm not sure if I have a favorite. I do really like the NSFW piece I wrote from Remy's POV, though. Short but good.

[gabessquishytum]

I have more omegaverse thoughts!! In no particular order have a brain dump of ideas that are free real estate

Hob is starting to go into heat but it’s the date of one of their centennial meetups and he can’t miss it. Dream doesn’t understand why everyone in the bar is giving them the side eye (it’s Hob - he smells like sweet fertile omega) And Dream can morph his form into anything. So he morphs it into one of an Alpha for Hob.

Dream has been visiting Hob more lately. Just popping into his life at random times. He goes by the university but Hob isn’t there. So he appears in his apartment. Hob is in the height of a heat. Fingers and toys buried deep but it’s not.enough. And there is Dream watching him. Curious at his friend. Curious enough to just insert his hand into Hob’s hole without prompting or asking.

(Hear me out here) Hob is an alpha in physiology. But he only truly likes to get fucked by other alphas and always considered himself much more submissive and omega-like in personality and in bed.

1489 Hob very specifically asks, “What do I have to do?” When questioning Dream about why he’s immortal and who Dream is. What if instead of saying he has to do nothing but meet every 100 years Dream decides to get greedy. What does Hob have to do? Be his omega. Satisfy his ruts. Present for the nightmare king.

Whoops! Dream didn’t realize he has all the parts of an alpha and Hob is in heat and it triggers a rut. Queue rough claiming needy Dream just taking Hob in a haze of sex

Whooooops Dream and Hob fucked dirty in 1389 or 1489 and Dream imprinted on/marked/claimed (whatever flavor of omegaverse you want to go with here) Hob. So now Hob is tied to a man he only sees every 100 years who doesn’t even realize what he did.

Intersex omegaverse Hob via reality bending Dream. He’s got a leaking hole that can be plugged for days. He’s also got a cock that can plug up Dream. Hell they could do both simultaneously when Dream gets creative about it.

Can go opposite and have Dream be the omega - have Hob unable to resist him. Dream on his back begging for relief (something he never thought he would do) Letting Hob be the one to fill him through every round of heat.

Omegaverse royalty AU - Dream is the prickly prince who is required to bond to ascend the throne in the kingdom. So queen night and king time hold a ball (or a selection?) to find potential mates. Queue sweet Hob Gadling a peasant who has no business mating with the prince doing exactly that much to everyone else’s surprise. &/or you could also go the route of accidentally slept with the servant and knocked them up. Whoopsie. Idk basic tropes are fun to play with here.

Pure smut - Hob just imagines a knot and Dream wants to give him everything he wants. So he gives himself a knot mid-fuck into Hob. But Hob wasn’t expecting that and isn’t relaxed enough when it appears. So Dream has to coax his large knot already swollen slowly into Hob. The stretch of it burns slightly but Hob has never been so satisfied. There he plugs him up and keeps Hob on his swollen cock for hours. Filling him with more cum every round.

I’m sure I have way more thoughts but this was my initial brain dump to hopefully help inspire you even juuuuust a little. 🤞

-🫀

I think we should kiss. Passionately. In the rain. This is SO good. Seriously, you're an absolute inspiration and I'm happy to report that the abo fuckfest has begun in my Google docs and I have already incorporated a couple of these incredible, delicious, FANTASTIC ideas.

I'm so weak for alpha x alpha btw, so thank you for reminding me that that is a thing. Alpha Hob taking a knot from Alpha Dream? I'm going to make it happen. When I've finished what I'm working on right now 😏😏

#🫀 anon #dreamling #nsft #the sandman #cw omegaverse

[friend-of-a-cat]

Hello there! Apologies for diving into your inbox and if I'm interrupting anything you're busy with; but I just wanted to say again - thank you so much for that wonderful post you made for EO with your own version of events! (It's this one: just to serve as a throwback and reference https://www.tumblr.com/friend-of-a-cat/737035670430810113/my-very-crude-etrian-odyssey-rewrite?source=share) You really helped fix a dilemma I had with a potential Nexus playthrough; that being the fact that it wouldn't really make much sense for my EO5 party members to be around my EO1-4 ones, ahah. As a matter of fact, my own 'lore' for the series has grown and been largely, if not completely based around your post, it really is that good and if I ever one day sit down and decide to write about all the chronicles of my guilds from EO1-5, I'd definitely take your sequence of events into consideration, ahah. Actually, I messaged you because I grabbed the words from your post and began to expand on it some more on a doc, adding more details on how things came to be and taking a few details from Untold (a game I haven't and will probably never play, lol), while also doing just a bit of rearranging and putting a date on all of the history. I'm unsure who else I'd really show it to, but I thought I'd let you know about it and gauge your interest, seeing as 90% of it was your work, ahahah. Do let me know if you'd like to give it a read, but more than anything; thank you again for your contributions to the EO community!

Thank you so much! And you're so welcome, I'm glad my post was able to help! I'm chuffed that I was able to inspire you to expand upon your own lore. I found the timeline to be kind of a nightmare and then inspiration struck, so I kind of just… sat there for a good few hours writing and revising it all.

I would absolutely love to give your document a read. Literally anything Etrian Odyssey piques my interest lol, and I adore looking at and reading fan content (and making it). I'm very interested in your additions, too, especially since I haven't finished a single game (which is still one of my greatest shames, though, in my defence, I have nearly finished at least two of them) - thus, I don't really have a lot of context for some of the events that happen. But yes, definitely send it over and I'll give it a look when I have some free time!!

#my asks #my ramblings #etrian odyssey

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP list, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it. And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Ok so… this is where we get into just how utterly chaotic my creative process is, but not in a way that results in oodles of files that have creative interesting names - quite the opposite in fact.

You see… I have currently have 16 files and the titles are:

Moonrat Moonrat 2 Moonrat 3 Moonrat 4 … all the way up to the current Moonrat 16

The reason for this is that I don't actually separate different stories into individual files until they end up on Ao3. It's all just one long running thing all squished together with a few spaces between 'chunks' that sometimes, but not always, end up being separate stories and/or chapters. And I'm a packrat (pack-moonrat?) and never throw anything away so if something is cut out it's usually shoved in a free spot at the bottom of everything else to be used in something else later.

When Google docs starts taking too long to load and spazzes on me with lag, that's when I start a new file.

Because my first drafts end up looking more like free-verse poetry than stories, with usually only between 1 and 5 words on a line, either in bits of un-attributed dialogue or point form ideas, it often goes on for a ridiculous number of pages, so these tend to be large documents. I also am really really bad at titles. Except in very rare situations, everything comes out as untitled brain vomit and then is titled very close to the end (sometimes mid Ao3 post when I realize 'oh yes, titles are a thing - oops') long after I've turned it into actual sentences with real grammar and such.

Basic unfinished idea-chunks that are ongoing include, but are not limited to:

30-some pages of the first Dawning story that is still unfinished (I ended up realizing I would not finish the writing challenge in time if I continued the inordinately long Dawning story I had begun so I wrote "Dawning Oasis" instead and will finish this one some other time)

the Drifter on a special secret mission for Eris in the Sepulcher lost sector in the Throne World

Eris finding a renegade Hive chapel dedicated to her on the Moon

the last chapter(s) of "Dance with Vengeance" (this has since been posted)

several false starts based upon lyrics to other Crane Wives songs for that one writing challenge I did (as opposed to the completed one with sad Drifter having nightmares called "Ashes, Ashes")

oodles of random snippets of dialogue

Drifter teaching Eris to cook and/or cooking and/or Eris eating various dishes

various iterations of Eris exhibiting telepathy and/or non-normative vision that I have rejected from current projects for consistency reasons which may end up in other things later

more Immaru bullying like in "Visitation" and "Wind Chimes" (he knows what he did)

lots more nightmares because, when I'm not writing fanfiction, that's one of my narrative specialities

several false starts for the sequel/enactment of the private gambit match discussed in "Hide and Seek"

bits pertaining to and/or including/referencing that one bog slug

Per the rules above, you are invited to ask/message about any/all of these (or, quite frankly, anything else - I do not bite unless we both agree that I wish to bite you and you wish to be bitten).

I have never done a thing like this before, nor have I ever tagged anyone else on tumblr before, so here's hoping I did this correctly. I was tagged by: @flowers-of-io and I am tagging: @redbutterflies-blueeyes @synnthamonsugar @bbyfacedx and @annieruok94

I would love to tag more people but I actually have quite the serious disconnect between who people are on Ao3 and who people are on here and I am very easily confused. If you look at this and go "But why did you not tag me? Do you not love me?" The answer is: "No I just have no fucking clue what I'm doing. Please say hello and tell me who you are on Ao3 so I can include you if I ever do a thing like this again."

That is all.

#writing #ask game

[takearisk-ao3]

Hey! Do you know when you will be posting? I am desperately waiting for the new chapter. If it is gonna be long can we have a sneak peak??

so i was told by @fairsquare16 that the next time someone asks about a update on the update i was allowed to blame her because we spent the entire day yesterday talking about an original fantasy romance story that i have absolutely no intention of continuing, let alone finishing, instead of actually writing and editing chapter 11.. so please feel free to go over to her ask box and torture her for our delay (i am 100% joking please be nice to cata)

in all honesty, i have rewritten the second half of chap 11 at least four times and two days ago got so fed up with it that i deleted about 5k words (which looking back wasn't the best course of action but here we are) i have promised several people who can hold me accountable that this will be my last rewrite and for the sake of my own sanity i will not delete and rewrite any more scenes.

i actually have my doc opened right now and am working my way through it very slowly but we're working through it. i've honestly considered these past four weeks progress even though its been a nightmare, because it HAS gotten better with each rewrite its just frustrating for me that i have to rewrite in the first place.

ANYWAYS all of this is a really round about way of saying that i have no idea when i will post but that i hope it will be soon.

i do have a fun (mild spoiler) sneak peak if you are interested? i'll put it under the cut because of said spoilers

“Merlin’s fucking beard,” Ron muttered, straightening to his full height and pulling Harry’s attention to the door. Padma rounded the corner accompanied by a person he hadn’t seen in nearly five and half years. “No,” Ron growled, extending a protective arm over the top of Harry’s chest. “Absolutely not.” “Funnily enough,” Pansy Parkinson replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t recall needing your permission.” Ron rounded on Padma. “Are you mad?” Padma sighed like she’d been expecting this. “Pansy consults on an as-needed basis-” “I don’t care,” Ron interrupted. “Find someone else.” “There is no one else-” “By all means, Weasley,” Parkinson deadpanned, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “Keep arguing, but your friend here can’t live on oxygenation spells forever.” “Better that than whatever you’re going to do to him-” “Enough!” Padma bellowed, her russet cheeks flushed pink. “Ron, stand aside or get out of my exam room-”

#tpfy update #tpfy sneak peek #the path from you #anon #answered

[thessalian]

Thess vs IT Bullshit

I'm really hoping that today was the result of the universe getting my usual "Thursdays Are Bullshit" thing done a little early this week because of how important tomorrow actually is for me. I could accept that if it means that I get a smooth, hassle-free booking of my autograph slots at MCM tomorrow afternoon...

So today, apparently we added a new hospital to our dictation software, and everything was fucked. Here are just a few of the bits of bullshit I encountered over the course of the day, on top of the scam call that woke me up earlier than I wanted to be after an already fitful sleep:

First off - couldn't drag a chunk of typing into my own personal folder. Every time I did, it magically vanished and reappeared in the main queue. So I had to basically just type whatever was at the top of the queue every time. Which ... well, you know what Temp's like. (Thank the gods for Milady, is all I'll say.) Of course, the problem there is what happens when we're all trying to grab the bit of typing at the top of the queue at the same time (the word you are looking for to describe that is "clusterfuck").

When I was trying to figure out where the typing I'd pulled into my personal folder had vanished off to, I checked the archives. Happened to notice a few things in there that hadn't been typed. So when I flagged that up in the growing email chain about the mess the addition of the new hospital to our dictation software caused, the IT guy pulled everything labelled as "Transcription Pending" out of the archive and back into the main queue. Suddenly the queue is 300-odd dictations long, so basically doubled.

I then proceeded to notice that when we finish typing the dictation and click "Finished" ... the software doesn't switch it to "Transcription Completed". It just sits there in the archives as "Transcription Pending". So most of the ones that the IT guy put back into the main queue had already been typed, so it was a matter of digging out which ones had and which ones hadn't been typed, which as you can imagine was a fucking nightmare. (Scruffman then turned to IT Guy and went, "That was a really bad call because you have stressed out all the secretaries; next time, just stick them in my queue and I'll sort out which have been typed and which haven't". I have no idea if they're going to solve the fact that transcriptions aren't marked as finished when they're ... you know, finished.

Also it turns out that the reason there were untyped reports in the archives is because some genius decided that a copy of a piece of dictation should go into the archives before it's been typed. This is counterintuitive as fuck to me, but hey. Also we don't each have individual archive folders anymore, which makes it even harder to find something we maybe hit "Finish" on by mistake. (It can be easy to do - the button for "Finish" is at the top of the foot pedal, right over the spot you press for "Play", so...)

Then I ended up doing a lot of the typing for the new junior doctors, because of course I did - they were the long ones. One guy had messed up his microphone connection and was halfway across the room from the built-in microphone in his monitor so I had to try to type up things he was saying from halfway across the room when something very near the microphone was making this ... not loud, exactly, but heavy *THOOMP THOOMP THOOMP* noise that I could actually feel through my in-ear headphones (great for someone with chronic migraine, right?). I think it was music because it sounded like a rave with the treble turned down all the way. Anyway, he also cut out a significant chunk of the block key by mistake and I had to dig up contact details for this guy when I only had a first initial and a fairly common last name to go on. Thankfully, I got it right first try, but it was more bullshit I did not need.

Another junior doctor produced a twelve-minute long monstrosity but it was actually only maybe half that, because the junior doctor kept recording through the general faff he was doing with the specimen. This on top of rewriting half the actual report in the middle of and immediately after finishing the block key.

He was not the only one to keep recording when unnecessary, by the way. At least the other one only left it for three minutes instead of, like, six.

All I wanted to do with today was throw together some tuna broccoli pasta, have a nice meal, and indulge in some more Baldur's Gate 3 as a way of distracting from the vibrating anxiety I am feeling over having to book eight autograph slots that are going to be fought over like starving dogs fight over scraps. (Effectively I'm going to be hovering over that site at five minutes to three in anticipation of the autograph slots going on sale, and if work doesn't like it, work can suck it; I'm allowed breaks.) However, now the migraine is growing to epic proportions and the stress is causing a fibro flare and both are giving me vertigo and I can't tell whether the nausea and the dizzy is the vertigo or the fact that I haven't eaten much of anything today.

...What, you think I had time for lunch in all this? I took some breaks, sure, but none long enough to stuff a sandwich into my face. I had two cups of coffee and a nectarine.

So basically ... underslept and tired, stressed and aggravated, nauseous and pain-wracked, probably hungry but not really sure, and in no mood to do anything but whimper, really.

......I guess that's one way to distract from autograph booking anxiety...

#Thess has a day job

[gone-to-oregone]

Thinking about making a complete* Hatchetfield lore doc, with everything that we know so far. If you have any canon information from Nick, Starkid Twitter, any of the Nightmare Time talkbacks, or the Guy/Black Friday’s commentary tracks, or just any connections you’ve made with stories/lyrics/characters, please feel free to add them here so I can add them to the doc. When it’s finished, I’ll add it here

#starkid #nightmare time #hatchetfield horrors #the guy who didn't like musicals #black friday

[heartofspells]

13, 14, 20, and 22

(Also, fun fact about 14: I loaned a kid a book in Sixth Grade, I’m a junior in college now, and I still remember their name, which book it was, and that I never got it back so I had to buy a new copy. I remember almost nothing else about this kid or middle school, but I will never forget this)

I would also never forget that. The pure evil nerve of withholding such a precious item from you. You have my deepest sympathies.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

Oh, okay. We're starting with the hard, juicy ones. I'm here for it.

Truly bad/neglectful/abusive parenting is probably the thing I struggle with the most. If you've ever paid attention to any of my fics where it's brought up, you might notice that while it's there, addressed and made known, I also skirt around it for the most part (especially with Sirius and the Blacks). I think the closest I've ever come if turning Lyall into a disinterested and judgmental father for one specific fic/series where he and Remus had one (1) harsh interaction where words were thrown out. Everything else is always mostly hinted at.

That being said, it's almost too easy to write the bits that come after, once the character is free but still struggling with it, which is a strange thing, I'm aware. Beyond that, almost any other sort of deep angst or dark topic comes pretty easily to me.

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

I've always been very protective of my books, even when I was young. I always get them back and I only lend to people I know aren't going to disappear. I'm like a library. You get two weeks and after that I'm snapping my fingers, demanding it be returned or you'll suffer the consequences (paying the late fees with your SOUL). My sister is the worst. She borrows books a lot and it's always a struggle getting them back, but I know where she lives, so she can't hide from me.

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

Screw love, I want my story finished to perfection with gorgeous little details added into the pages and artwork projected straight from my mind so that people can see exactly what I see, no typos in existence, every sentence structured divinely, with all the emotions that cripple a person and leave them nothing but puddles of themselves. Gimme.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

Ahaha! The way I laughed at this. Look, there are certain aspects of my life where I am insanely organized and put together. Writing isn't one of those areas. I have an external hard drive, two flash drives, and three separate, chaotic document folders on my laptop all containing different bits of writing. Some of my stuff is stored on Google Docs (hate that), there are things in Dropbox (do people still use that anymore??), notes also stored in all these places along with on my phone in an app, bits of writing lost forever in the terror that is tumblr, randomly jotted things on scrap pieces of paper, old notebooks and a Filofax from years ago floating around in boxes and inside drawers that haven't seen the light of day in years...Those WIP games that go around sometimes are a nightmare because I'm a mess. I'll never find it all.

Send me weird questions if you'd like!

#weird writer questions #ask game #anon asks #ask #answer #lovely anons

[mypoisonedvine]

Side Effects | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: you never know what might be in the beakers at another chemist's station. you never know which of your colleagues might come along just in the knick of time to become the only antidote to your affliction.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut! (dub con due to sex pollen), semi-public sex (because technically someone could have walked by but unlikely), guilt/hesitance, kinda pining??, fingering, creampie,

a/n: yes, this is an accurate depiction of emergency shower protocol in a chemical lab and yes it is every lab technician's worst nightmare. thankfully the other stuff is not an accurate depiction of any known chemical, lol.

You wiped your forehead with a tired sigh, staring down at the calculations in front of you before using your pen to scribble over them before tearing out the page and throwing it away.

“You still do that by hand?” Bruce interjected, making you look up at where he was leaning in the doorway to the lab, watching you work.

“Oh, Dr. Banner!” you greeted with a smile, wondering if it was too ecstatic. You weren’t so good at the ‘playing it cool’ thing like he seemed to be.

“We have all those fancy screens and digital whiteboards, you know,” he explained as he stepped in and looked around at your work. “Not to mention the computer can do that stuff for you.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “but I always feel better doing it myself, on real paper. Not that I’m having any luck at the moment…”

"Here, I'll give them a quick look while you take a break," he offered, glancing at the numbers from over your shoulder. "You just get up and stretch your legs for a minute, doc."

You always thought it was sort of silly for him to call you that when he was a doctor as well, but you didn't complain.

Regardless, you were about to tell him that it was fine and you didn't need a break, but he was leaning in closer to take your seat and the proximity was so intimidating that you hopped up and went along with it anyways. He sat down and pondered your calculations while you circled the lab, taking a moment to appreciate how nice it felt to stand up and move around after sitting for so long.

"Your handwriting is…" Bruce trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

"Feminine and graceful?" you finished sarcastically.

"Sure," he chuckled.

"Yeah, just like me—" you started to quip, but mid-sentence you (ironically) stumbled and tripped, using a nearby table to catch yourself— but you accidentally grabbed onto a beaker, which tipped over and smashed onto the ground. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor just before you did, and you winced as you fell into the puddle of the unknown substance.

“Shit!” you hissed as you scrambled to get up, looking down at your clothes and seeing they were covered in the fluid, which was beginning to evaporate, or steam, or something. Remembering lab safety protocols, you instantly began to strip, closing your eyes and wishing Bruce hadn’t come in just before this. As you shirked your lab coat, shirt, and skirt, you walked to the emergency shower, pulling the lever and gasping when the chilly stream of water poured down on you. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes before being kind enough to turn around as you shivered and removed your bra and underwear, now completely naked and weakly scrubbing yourself with your hands in hopes that none of the chemical had gotten onto your skin.

“What is it?” he asked nervously, turning his head back enough that you could hear him over the flow of water, but hopefully not so much that he could see anything important.

“I don’t know,” you answered, “it’s not mine. It’s something Dr. Sutherland was working on…”

“Is it… are you in pain at all?” he asked, even more concerned, and you tried to decide if you could feel any effects.

“N-no…” you answered hesitantly. You felt hot, and strange, and you were covered in rolling chills, but you figured that was just the situation you were in— naked in a tepid shower in front of your coworker who just so happened to be incredibly sexy.

“I should call poison control,” Bruce offered as he reached for his cell phone.

“No, I’m fine,” you denied as the water flow slowed down and you wiped your face, confident that you looked like a complete mess— but at least you saved yourself from whatever was in that beaker, right?

“Here,” Bruce offered an emergency blanket to you after pulling it off a nearby shelf, and it was not at all absorbent but it helped with the draft as you stepped away from the shower which was still leaking the last few drops of water onto the drain on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded nervously, shivering and dripping and looking back at him with no idea what to say at all.

“Do you feel alright? I should check you for burns,” he suggested. “I— I won’t look…”

“Please,” you sighed, pulling the blanket a bit to expose your chest and stomach. He brushed his hand over the skin there, making you instantly whine as heat burned just under your skin, clouding your mind and making you crave even more.

"Did that hurt?" he asked anxiously, pulling away, but you stepped closer.

"No it's… it's good, it's so good."

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at you, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, doc, you must be running a fever of 105."

"Touch me more, please," you whimpered. It was like you were in a dream, everything foggy and distant, and the only time that anything made sense was when he touched you. Or maybe it was that his touch sent you further into delirium; you couldn't be sure.

He gasped when he looked at your quivering legs only to find slick arousal running down the inside of them, threatening to drip onto the floor.

"Oh," he sighed.

"Please," you begged mindlessly, "Dr. Banner, I n-need you…"

"No, you need medical attention."

You whined and grabbed as his shirt, humming at the feeling of his warm skin just beneath. If the forearms that he often left exposed in rolled-up sleeves were anything to go buy, his chest was probably toned and tanned, lightly dusted with dark hair… you were all but drooling at the thought. "Please, Bruce… just help me," you pleaded, looking up into his eyes which were swirling with conflict.

"I can't," he shook his head. "I'd be taking advantage."

He must have seen the heartbreak of rejection make you wince, because he tried to soothe you with his hands resting on your arms— even just that contact making you suppress a moan.

"I've wanted this for so long," he explained, "and you— you haven't. You're unwell, you need to go to a hospital."

You sobbed a little at the idea of being taken away from him and examined by strangers, when you knew the solution was right in front of you. "No, no Bruce they'll touch me! Nobody can touch me but you, I only want you."

He scoffed, but you heard the weakness in it and you needed him to give in soon before you melted from your own hear. "You're deranged— delirious," he reiterated.

"It'll feel so good, please Bruce, I'll be so good for you— anything you want, I'll do it, I'm yours."

"Stop talking like that," he winced. "I can't… I can't."

"I need to feel you inside me, Dr. Banner, I need it more than anything. It's just gonna get worse… please, help me. I want you. I trust you."

"You'll hate me in the morning," he asserted. "God, this is so wrong…"

But much to your relief, he reached down and hesitantly slid his thick middle finger through your folds, gasping gently as he felt how wet you were. "I should t-take you somewhere private."

"No, need you now— right here," you pleaded, trying to chase his touch with your hips.

"But if someone came by—" he began to fret, glancing at the door; but his attention was turned back to you by your hands weaving into his hair.

"Nobody else stays this late, god, Bruce please I just need you so bad—"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss, which was enough on its own to make warmth bloom in your gut, but then he started to move his finger again and you shuddered with a moan that was muffled by his lips.

"Maybe I can make you come like this," he offered as he pulled back just enough to whisper to you, "would that help you? It'll take the edge off."

You bucked and moaned against his fingers, just those subtle touches driving you wild. "N-no, it has to be inside! You have to fuck me, I need your cock."

He breathed through his teeth, like he was almost considering it, but then looked away. "I can't," he shook his head.

"Can't or won't?"

He frowned. "Won't. I'll get you off with my fingers, otherwise it would be… too selfish."

"Bruce, I'm literally begging you for it," you sighed, the irritated tone that you'd intended lost in the moans he elicited by rubbing your swollen clit.

"I know," he winced, "I know and it's killing me that I can't give you what you're asking for… I swear if it wasn't like this…" he trailed off as you looked up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"What would it be like?" you asked lowly. "Tell me how you would fuck me."

For all his shyness before, there was a brief switch in his demeanor as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck as he whispered, two fingers sliding into your channel at the exact moment that he spoke.

"So fucking hard."

You whimpered, knees wobbling a bit as you tried to ride his fingers— but he wasn't pushing back, wasn't giving you enough force to balance against when you sought more friction. "P-please, Bruce— I know you want to, please, please baby I need it so bad…"

"I know," he breathed, free hand cradling your face as his thumb stroked your cheek, and it was so needlessly compassionate, so effortlessly soothing that your heart had no choice but to clench at his tenderness. Other parts of you clenched as well, in much more literal ways, but the heart thing was more important.

You gingerly reached forward and palmed his cock through his pants, moaning when you felt how hard it was. "You're desperate, too," you informed him with a little smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? It aches."

"Yes," he answered tensely.

"I'm hurting too. I'm aching, for you. Please, Bruce, help me."

As he pulled back and examined your face, he chewed his lip and contemplated. He couldn't stand to see you in pain, but he couldn't comprehend what he had to do to help you. Well, okay, that's not totally accurate because he had actually "comprehended" the idea of making love to you plenty of times. But that was just a fantasy, a very misguided one that he only indulged in in his weakest moments. And in those fantasies, shockingly enough, you were always completed lucid and of sound mind and body. He sadly could not say that for you at the moment, and of course he couldn't because of course when you were sober and healthy, you didn't see him that way.

Bruce prided himself on his logic, his integrity, his patience. Suddenly, those qualities were falling prey to a much deeper, carnal instinct that saw this not as a predicament but as an opportunity. Logic states, after all, that it would be wasteful to have everything he wanted thrown into his lap and to let it go to waste.

"Fuck," he groaned as he kissed you again, fucking you faster with his fingers. You moaned and went for his belt, barely managing to open it with your hands shaking so much; part of you had considered just trying to rip the leather off of him, and with the force of your need it seemed almost plausible.

Finally getting his trousers opened just enough to reach inside, you purred as you reached in and navigated past his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. It was so thick and smooth and hot and you almost wanted to drop to your knees and take it in your throat right then, but you had better plans.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, grinning against you at the way you whined, before wrapping his arms around you and quickly instructing you to jump.

It was infuriating, how easily he caught you when you wrapped your body around him. Infuriating and so painfully sexy.

He never broke the kiss as he walked the two of you to your lab table, sliding the papers aside and onto the floor to set you on it. You started on his aggravatingly-small shirt buttons while he pushed his trousers and boxers down the rest of the way, and god his cock was right there between your legs, so close but very much too far away for your liking.

You didn't have the time or energy to get his shirt off, settling for just running your hands over the exposed skin instead. He grinned and watched the path your hands made, hissing slightly when they wrapped around his shaft— for a second you swore you could feel it throb.

"Don't make me wait anymore," you whispered your plea, sighing a little when he nodded.

"Okay baby," he agreed.

"Been waiting so long," you whined.

"Me too," he nodded, and with a little push, his cock slid all the way into you and filles you to the brim. Even when you were completely drenched, the girth of him was so wide that it stung, that it tore you open, but you loved it. Your head fell back and just from him being inside you, you came. The substance had you so needy and sensitive that that was all it took. It wasn't enough yet, of course. You knew you needed more. But God, he felt so good you could hardly breathe.

"Baby," you heard Bruce gasp, his fingers digging into your hips. Your chest twisted when he laughed a little, breathless and just teetering on the line between complimentary and mocking. "Did you just come?"

You considered playing dumb, but nodded instead.

His smile was apparent when he pressed his lips just below your ear to suck on the delicate skin there, his teeth trailing up to nibble your earlobe lightly. You hoped he would leave a mark, you hoped he would leave lots of marks that you could remember this by for weeks to come.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?" he asked breathlessly, whispering so quietly you could barely hear it over the beating of your own pulse which echoed in your ears.

"You feel so good," you justified, "so fucking good, Bruce."

"You too," he sighed as he finally pulled back and slid into you again, the friction making your back arch instantly. "Even better than I imagined."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to push deeper with each thrust. When he pushed you to your limits it felt like you might just fall apart right there, but it was so worth it.

As if that wasn't enough, he reached down and circled a thumb over your overstimulated clit, grinning down at you at the sight of you writhing and bucking wildly in his arms.

"Fuck!" you cried as you tightened your hands on his shoulders into fists hard enough to risk tearing through his shirt.

"Too much?"

"More," you pleaded instead, crying out when he gave you exactly what you wanted with fast, rough thrusts into your drenched walls. "Yes," you sobbed, "yes, fuck— m'gonna come, Bruce, gonna come again."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, voice so much rougher than normal, "show me how good it feels, baby."

It felt like his words were the thin that pushed you over the edge, as if your body somehow both understood and obeyed his command. You could feel a renewed wave of slick leak out from you, enough that you could hear the wetness in each slap of his hips against yours. His name was somewhere in the litany of curses and praises that spilled from your lips, your mind too clouded with hazy pleasure to keep track of what you were actually saying.

"Just like that," he groaned, "doing so good, fuck, say my name just like that every time I make you come."

An easy enough stricture to follow, especially when it seemed like he was all you could think about. He looked so different with his clothes half-shorn and his eyes dark with lust. He hadn't taken his glasses or labcoat off and you weren't sure which of those you were happier about.

His lips and hands were all over you; you couldn't even keep track of everywhere he was touching you, that's how overwhelming it was. "God, you're so fucking perfect," he groaned against your skin, finding a hardened nipple as his tongue explored you and wrapping his lips around it. "You are so goddamn sexy, you know that? I love seeing you with your legs spread for me like a needy little whore. I love hearing you moan and knowing I'm the one making you feel this good."

He took a moment to look at you and soak in your shocked reaction to his words before leaning in to continue.

"I love feeling you come for me," he purred in your ear.

"Then you're gonna really like what I'm about to do," you shivered.

"Yeah? You can gimme another one already?" he smiled. "Such a good girl…"

You really couldn't help it, it felt like everything he did only enhanced your pleasure— his words, his hands all over you, not to even mention his cock inside you. As much as the hedonistic corner of your brain was happy to let this go on forever, the ramifications of constant orgasms were finally catching up with you as you wondered how much more of this you could take.

"F-fuck, are you close?" you asked weakly. "Want you to come for me, Bruce, please."

"I-I'll pull out," he suggested, although the way he looked down at his length sinking into you and pulling back out, covered in your abundant arousal, didn't exactly indicate that he was willing and able to actually make good on his offer.

"No!" you yelped, pulling him closer by his unbuttoned shirt. "It needs to be inside, Bruce, please come inside me."

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

"Please, Bruce, please, promise you'll come inside."

"I will," he sighed, "fuck, I will baby, I promise I'm gonna fill you up so good, you're gonna have my come so fucking deep inside you…"

"Yes!" you moaned, completely unabashed as the unknown substance had apparently absolved you of any shame whatsoever. "Yes, I want it, Bruce, I want your come."

The moment you felt his seed start to paint your walls, you felt relief begin to wash over you. Your mind and body relaxed, the overwhelming heat under your skin subsiding into a comforting warmth, the desperation that had burned in your gut satiated at last.

And that left you staring up at him in realization of what you had done, just as he looked back at you with the same.

"God, I'm so sorry—" he shuddered, moving to pull away. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips again, holding him close.

"N-no, wait," you groaned, "it's okay. Don't go."

"You don't hate me," he said, the exhaustion in his tone making it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

"Never," you sighed with a weak smile, sitting up to clutch his face and kiss him again. "God, Bruce, now I'm just wondering what took us so long."

"Our lab safety is just too good, clearly," he smiled as he kissed you again, pulling back a little too soon to examine your face where he held it in his hands. "Are you okay? You should still probably go to a doctor…"

"I'm already with a doctor," you smirked, "and his treatment was very effective."

"Yeah, that was…" he trailed off, wide eyes as if he were reminiscing about what had only just transpired.

"Sorry for being so… desperate," you cringed. "I didn't mean to… um… impose…"

He just laughed and kissed your forehead, making you feel your cheeks warm a bit; ironic that with everything that had just happened, this was what made you blush. "A beautiful, amazing woman that I've been dreaming about for months begs me to take her in the laboratory… really inconvenient."

"I mean, cleaning up these papers and the broken glass is gonna be pretty tedious, along with the incident report," you frowned.

"I'll help you with it," he offered.

"Tomorrow," you decided. "Right now, I'm taking you to my place."

"Is that so?" he asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yep. We both are in serious need of a shower, and then I wanna go again," you grinned wickedly.

"I thought you said you weren't feeling the effects of the chemical anymore," he recalled, voice tinted with concern.

"I'm not," you reassured, "I'm just feeling the effects of you."

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x y/n