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woso-dreamzzz · 3 months

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Sick II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get sick again

Magda wakes up slowly.

She's not sure why she's waking up. Her alarm isn't going off. She doesn't need the toilet. The sun's still down so there's not any light coming through the curtains to either.

But, somehow, Magda's being ripped from her relaxing sleep.

She blinks awake blearily, already cursing in her head because there's an away match today and she really doesn't need to be awake earlier than she needs to.

There's a firm shove to her shoulder and Magda finally opens her eyes fully.

"Princesse?" Magda asks, rubbing her eyes," What's wrong? It's early."

"Sniffles, Morsa," You say. Your voice is all nasally and your face is bright red and practically dripping in sweat. You sniff as if to accentuate your point and wipe your snot away using Magda's pyjama top.

"You've got the sniffles?" Magda asks, still trying to wake up.

You nod miserably and Magda digs around in her bedside table for tissues to blow your nose out in.

She flicks the bedside lamp on to study you properly. It's probably a bit more than just the sniffles but Magda doesn't really want to tell you that.

It's awful timing really. You've got to get on a coach to Birmingham in a few hours and there's no way Magda can arrange childcare on such short notice or bow out of today's match either.

"Alright, Princesse," Magda says," Let's go into the bathroom and sort out your nose."

Magda turns the shower on and shuts the door, hopping that the steam will unblock your nose enough that it won't bother you on the trip up north.

Pernille wakes up soon after, helping to get you dressed and fed and drugs you up with kid's medicine to make the drive more bearable.

"Jessie!" You slur, nose still stuffed and head beginning to pound. It doesn't diminish your excitement though as you make Jessie lift you up and curl into her body.

Jessie frowns a little at the heat you're emanating, turning to look at Magda and Pernille with a question in her eyes.

"She's got a bit of a cold," Pernille says," I can take her if you want. There's no need for you to get sick too."

"I can take her," Jessie assures her quickly, adjusting her grip on you," Sick or not, we've got a nap scheduled."

"Jessie naps really good," You say through your stuffy nose, sniffling and wiping it with your shirt.

"Jessie's got a nap talent?" Morsa teases," Alright then. You nap with Jessie but if you feel bad, you have to come and tell me and Momma, alright?"

"Okay."

It's routine for away games for you to sit with Jessie on the bus. She carries a blanket with her now and you completely crash out against her collarbone as she wraps you up and holds you nice and tight like you enjoy.

Usually, you're out the moment the bus starts moving. But, because of your stuffy nose and the throbbing in your head, you can't seem to settle.

You whine and even that comes out nasally. You shift in Jessie's arms. Tears prick in your eyes.

You're very tired. You woke up this morning very early because it was difficult to breathe through the stuffiness in your nose. You'd tossed and turned in bed for a while before finally going to wake up Morsa.

It's a similar thing now as you shift in Jessie's grip.

"It's okay," She says and her cold hands slip under your shirt. Her fingers feel good on your feverish skin and they draw absentminded patterns on your back.

You sigh softly against Jessie's neck.

Her motions are soft and repetitive and the temperature is just what you need.

Pernille peers behind her an hour into the journey, stopping what she was saying to Magda to look back at you and Jessie.

You still look a little flushed from where you're tucked in Jessie's neck but you look content. Jessie's neck is tilted at an awkward angle as her head rests on yours. Her arms are curled around you tightly and she doesn't seem to mind that your drippy nose is pressed up against her shirt.

Pernille takes a picture.

"That one's going in the album," She says to Magda as she turns back around," They're sweet."

"We should probably dose her up before we play," Magda says," We're both starting today and Jessie. Are we leaving her on the bench?"

"We'll have to," Pernille replies," She's not going to be doing any assistant coaching, that's for sure. Zećira is on the bench today. I'm sure she'll look after her."

You stay with Jessie all the way up to the start of the match. You're happy curled into her and don't even put up a fight when Momma and Morsa make you have more medicine.

It helps your headache but not really your stuffy nose so when you're handed off to Zećira, the first thing she does is make you blow it out into a tissue.

"What's that?" You ask as you sit on the bench with her and she brings out a little tub.

"This is Vicks," Zećira says as she lifts up the back of your shirt," It's a vaporub. It's going to help your breathing."

It's nice to know that Zećira's noticed that you're breathing is different. You have to breathe through your mouth now because your nose is all stuffy so it can't get a lot of air through it anymore.

Zećira lathers the weird smelling stuff all over your back and then turns you to put it on your chest too.

It's quite an overpowering smell but it's helping your breath easier so you'll allow it.

"Zećira," You say," When I'm older, will I stop getting sick?"

Zećira laughs a little. You're sitting between her legs as she pulls your hair back so it's out of your face properly. "Sorry," She says," But even adults get sick sometimes."

You shake your head then abruptly stop when it throbs in response. "No," You say," 'Cause I've never seen Momma and Morsa sick."

"They get sick," Zećira assures you," They just hide it better and they take medicine too."

You make a face. "Medicine is yucky."

Zećira jostles you as she chuckles and you turn to look at her. "It is," She agrees," But sometimes we have to take it to feel better."

"Being sick is yucky too."

"Yeah, it is," Zećira agrees again," But it's nothing that a good night's sleep won't fix."

You don't really believe her and make a face.

Zećira is still laughing and she leans closer to whisper in your ear," I'm sure your mums will let you sleep in the big bed if you beg hard enough."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

She nods. "Really."

You grin.

You love sleeping in the Big Bed.

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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pimosworld · 11 months

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The story of us masterlist

Pairing: Triple frontier boys x f!reader

Summary: Set before reader and the boys are officially together and how it all came to be.

CW: 18+ MDNI, eventual poly relationship mentions of ptsd,verbally abusive boyfriend, cursing,threats of physical violence,alcohol consumption,mentions of past drug use,flirting,sexual tension,mentions of sex, smut in later chapters,minor character death, angst,fluff and happy ending. No description of reader.

Notes: I’ve taken some liberties with their lives after leaving delta but nothing too ooc. Frankie doesn’t have a kid and he lives with Benny and Will. Reader is a nurse for her occupation and her call sign is honey. The story will go between readers pov and the boys throughout. The boys have a group chat without reader named The golden girls, and a group chat with the reader named DF4L. It starts off heavy on the angst but it gets better I promise.

No set posting schedule and I’m not sure how many chapters this will be.

Chapter 1-Boundaries

Chapter 2-I’m no damsel

Chapter 3-The deal is off

Chapter 4-Going steady

Chapter 5-Flying without falling🔥

Chapter 6- I can fix that

Chapter 7-Weak in the knees🔥

Chapter 8-Keep you safe part I, part II

Final chapter

#triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier poly #triple frontier x fem reader #triple frontier boys x reader #francisco morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #will miller x reader #benny miller x reader #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier fanfiction

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oliversrarebooks · 13 days

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we'll make great pets

This bit of pet whump was partially inspired by Stray by @sowhumpshaped and by my innate desire to write protagonists who are kind of assholes.

tw: pet whump, dehumanization, brainwashing, involuntary drugging, captivity, abuse, dystopia, whumper turned whumpee

"Morning, Scout," said Max in a groggy mumble as he ruffled his pet's hair. His pet looked up at him with adoring eyes, as always. It was curled up safe and warm in its nest under a pile of weighted and woolen blankets, and Max couldn't help but be momentarily jealous. He'd love to slide back into his warm bed, but the driver would be here soon and his dad would kill him if he kept skipping out on his stupid business classes.

Pets didn't have to worry about any of that. They didn't have to worry about boring-ass college lectures or overdue papers or their parents riding their ass about the family legacy. All they had to do was eat, sleep, and obey their masters. Must be nice, in a way.

"Here, I brought you breakfast." As Scout sat up, yawning adorably and rubbing the sleep out of its eyes, Max tossed it a breakfast packet in one of its favorite flavors, egg and cheese. Max always bought it the good stuff, premium pet food with lots of protein and all-natural, high quality ingredients. His pet ate as good as he did, most days. Scout happily slurped up the food as Max refilled its water bottle and dumped its pills out into his hand.

"Down the hatch, boy," he said, popping the pills into his pet's mouth and quickly following it up with the water bottle before it could spit the pills out. Scout was well-behaved, having come from one of the finest pet facilities on the Eastern seaboard, but it was sometimes a little fussy about its pills. Max's dad used to slap and yell at the poor thing as though it were capable of knowing better. It had been a lot happier since accompanying Max to college, several hours away from his parents. So had Max.

With his pet all settled, Max turned to his closet to dress himself. Half his clothes lay in a pile on the floor where he'd tossed them aside, dissatisfied, the other day. The housekeeper wouldn't be coming until tomorrow so he'd just have to live with that. "I can't believe how trash all these clothes are. I gotta go shopping. Don't you think so, Scout?"

Scout nodded from his bed.

"Exactly. You get it. Just don't tell Dad how much I've been spending. It's our little secret, okay?" He ruffled Scout's hair as it laughed softly. Scout rarely ever spoke, much less gave up any of Max's secrets. It was a bad habit of Max's to talk to Scout as if it were a person, especially when no one else was around. Scout had been a birthday present for Max's seventh birthday, back when he'd been his parents' great hope instead of their great disappointment, and he couldn't help spoiling it a bit.

Max finally settled on a 90s inspired outfit with a bold floral print, paired with chunky jewelry and an oversized watch. He admired himself in the mirror, slicking back his hair and appreciating his flashy fashion sense.

The next thing was to delve into Scout's clothes to find something complementary. Scout's wardrobe was nearly as large as Max's, and far less constrained, since no one expected a pet to be dressed in the latest designer fashion. Max was free to outfit it in thrift store finds and homemade altered goods, soaking up the compliments he received on his picture perfect pet.

Fashion was his passion, after all. His parents just didn't get it.

His phone was buzzing insistently by the time he finished up with Scout, and so he grabbed a granola bar, clasped Scout's leash on, and dashed out the door to the driver. Scout lay its head in Max's lap in the backseat of the black SUV as Max checked his schedule for the day. He groaned and suppressed the urge to fling his phone out the window when he saw his entire morning would be filled with Economics 300 and Business Negotiations II.

Screw it, he'd just sleep through those. He could scrape a C no matter what he did, and Cs got degrees.

In the afternoon he had -- ugh, he'd forgotten that mandatory pet testing was today. It was required each year from everyone between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four, designed to make sure the pets occurring naturally in the human population were found and given appropriate treatment. It was, of course, trivially easy to pass if you were a person, but it was over three hours long and insanely dull.

Max had always passed with flying colors, of course. It was ludicrous to even test the heir and scion of the Parkington Corporation, as if he could be a pet, but it was federal law and apparently not possible to buy his way out of it.

His little brother, the obnoxiously hardworking golden child who could do no wrong in their mother's eyes, had passed his first pet test just last week, and of course their mother had thrown a disproportionate celebration. Max never got a cake and presents for something as silly as passing a pet test, that was for sure, but darling little Robbie was a genius no matter what he did.

Like it was so hard to prove that you're human.

A soft noise stirred Max out of his thoughts. Scout was looking up at him with a concerned expression. "It's all right, boy," Max soothed, running his fingers through his pet's silky hair. "Just gonna be a crap day. You don't have anything to worry about."

The car pulled up to the main building of McKinnon University, just a few blocks away from the Parkington Building her family had donated a few generations back. Fifteen minutes and one purchase of an enormous latte later, Max was dropping off Scout at one of the university's pet lounges. Pets weren't allowed in educational settings, of course, as too much mental stimulation was bad for them. It was a shame, as Max always found it easier to focus with Scout curled at his feet.

"Be a good boy, Scout," he said, ruffling its hair and handing it its favorite plush cow. "I'll be back soon."

Scout leaned into the touch with a dazed smile on its face. Its morning pills always made it drowsy, so Max knew it'd probably sleep most of the morning. They could go out for a walk in the park once Max was done with classes and his test, maybe play some frisbee, get some exercise.

With no small reluctance, Max left his pet behind and trudged to the lecture hall, ignoring the dirty look from the professor as he took his seat ten minutes late.

The classes seemed to drag on forever, as Max floated in and out of sleep, only catching bits and pieces of his professor's droning and powerpoint presentations before his eyes slid shut again. It didn't matter, none of this mattered. His parents' company was mostly run by the board anyway. He'd just let them handle all that shit while he built his fashion empire, his haute couture gracing celebrities at the Met Gala. Clothes that would make waves, clothes that would make people smile, clothes that would make people look good and feel good. What was even the point of being young and rich if he couldn't have fun?

Finally, Max was released from his last morning class, having learned precisely nothing. He had enough time to grab a bite to eat before the pet test, so he picked up Scout from the pet lounge and headed to a campus cafe that made a great quinoa bowl. He needed the protein and greens if he was gonna stay focused during the godawful pet test.

Since he had a few quiet moments to himself, he pulled out his sketchbook and began drawing out some ideas for a portfolio. Seeing the pet lounge this morning had got him thinking of comfortable and basic looks -- oversized sweaters, leggings, pastels, messy bedhead. Maybe a touch of academia, too, with chunky glasses and pleated skirts. One good thing about campus was that there was never a shortage of people and clothes to draw.

"Hey, Maxie!" Nathan was calling him from clear across the quad, his voice almost as loud as his jacket. He was, unfortunately, one of Max's closest friends since grade school, as their families lived in the same area and they went to the same vacation spots a lot. "Nice outfit. Love the colors."

"Thanks. Love the tiger print."

Nathan laughed. "You hate it, don't even pretend you don't. Hey, Scout." He knelt down to the pet's level as Scout nuzzled against him. "Want some chocolate, boy?"

"Hey, don't feed my pet human food. It's not good for it."

"A little chocolate's not gonna kill it. It's not a dog, you know." Nathan plopped in the chair across from Max as Scout happily munched the chocolate bar. "Whatcha drawing?" He pulled Max's sketchbook from his hands without warning. "Oh, nice. She looks awfully cozy for a stick-thin supermodel."

"That's the idea," said Max, taking his sketchbook back. "I was thinking of the aesthetics behind places like pet lounges and schools and --"

"Excuse me, can I have a moment of your time, please?"

They looked up to see a student with mouse-brown hair and wardrobe to match, clutching a sky-blue clipboard. Max groaned inwardly. A fucking survey or petition or some crap.

"Um, I'm with the Student Ethics for Pets Association..."

Of course it was SEPA. They infested the campus year-round, but they were always out in full force when there was a pet-related event, like the mandatory testing or the annual Pet Festival.

"I'm not interested," said Max. He agreed with the ethical treatment of pets, obviously, and if that was what SEPA was about, he'd be all for it. But they weren't just against mistreatment of pets, they were against pets entirely, even going so far as to claim that some pets were humans who had been unfairly forced into pet facilities.

"Most pet owners mean well, but they don't know the realities of the cruel tactics facilities use to train pets," she said, trying to push a pamphlet at Max. "Dangerous drug cocktails that result in intelligence and memory loss, brainwashing devices to ensure compliance, restraints that cause permanent joint damage..."

Max couldn't help his blood starting to boil. "I don't know where you think I got my pet from, but it wasn't some cheap pet mill in the slums that tortures pets. Scout lives better than I do. Does it look mistreated to you?"

"That's not the only problem with pet ownership. There's also the mandatory pet tests. How do we know that people aren't getting caught up in the inhumane pet treatments due to a flawed test?"

"Yeah, right. The pet test is super easy to pass if you're not a pet." Down by his feet, Scout was pressing against his legs, clearly stressed and whimpering. If this kept up, he'd have to Tag Scout, and he hated to do it. "For someone who cares about pet ethics, you sure don't care that you're upsetting my pet."

"All I'm saying is --"

"All I'm saying is get the hell out of here with your propaganda and leave me alone."

"Fine, I can take a hint," she said, turning on her heel and flouncing away.

Max scowled after her. SEPA was such a ridiculous organization. They would try to reel students in with reasonable-sounding arguments about saving abused pets and then start with their radical bullshit. It happened to gullible students all the time, and they'd go and look like idiots chaining themselves to pet training facilities and showrooms. "Friggin' ridiculous," he said, looking over at Nathan, who was watching the girl leave. "Nathan?"

"Huh? What'd you say?"

"Nathan, you don't actually believe any of that, do you?"

"What, SEPA stuff? Nah, not really," said Nathan, taking a long drink of his soda. "But don't you ever think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"What if the test is wrong sometimes? What if actual people get carted away to some pet facility and treated like a pet?" he said. "Wasn't there that girl who got taken from here a couple years back...?"

"Oh yeah, Victoria... Victoria what's-her-face. Her dad owned some tech startup, right, and it tanked after his daughter turned out to be a pet. That's gotta be super embarrassing for her family."

"Yeah, but... what if it's actually wrong sometimes?"

"You're not seriously worried that you're gonna fail the pet test, are you?" Max laughed. "C'mon, that doesn't happen. That pet probably knew deep down what it was. It was just pretending to be human 'cause it was afraid of getting caught. That's why they need the training and stuff, right?"

"I guess," said Nathan.

"Scout failed its test when it was my age, too," he said. "But, like, it was obviously failing out of college, getting super stressed all the time, crying in class... because it's hard for pets to pretend to be human. Don't you think the other way would be messed up, too, if we forced pets to just pretend to be human forever?"

"Yeah, that would be pretty messed up. They wouldn't be happy like that. I just don't like having to take this stupid test every year."

"Only a couple more years for us and we'll be done with it." Max's phone alarm went off. "Oh damn, we'd better get going if we're going to make it to the test on time. I don't wanna have to take the makeup test." They stood up, but Scout remained on the ground, curled up into a ball and whining. "Scout?"

"Is it okay?"

"It's upset 'cause of that crazy girl from SEPA. You can go on ahead, I've gotta get Scout calmed down," he said.

"Alright. Good luck on the test."

"Yeah, you too," he said, as though they needed it. He crouched down to eye level with his pet. "Hey, Scout, what's the matter?"

Scout flinched, shrinking away from Max. That was really strange. He hadn't acted like that with anyone but Max's dad.

"You gotta relax, boy. It's okay. I'm not gonna let some SEPA person liberate you or whatever," he said. "They let pets in the test room, but only if you can be calm. If you can't calm down, I'll have to Tag you."

Max should've know that would only upset Scout more. Scout backed away as best as it could, pulling at the leash, starting to actually cry. Shit. He couldn't leave Scout at the pet lounge like this, either. He didn't have a choice.

"All right, then, Scout, kneel."

Scout shook its head rapidly. "No," it said, almost too quietly to hear.

"C'mon, don't be like that. This is for your own good. Kneel."

It knelt down in front of Max, still teary and whimpering, as Max fished a Tag out of his bag. They were little disposable things that you clipped to a pet's neck that made them real quiet and docile for a few hours, perfect for calming agitated pets. They were also good for situations like vet visits and long flights, since it made the pet unable to form clear memories. Max bet the SEPA girl thought Tags were abusive, too, even though they were literally to help pets not be traumatized. Max normally tried to avoid Tagging Scout much, since he liked his pet to be active and happy.

Scout shut its eyes and bent over slightly so that Max could attach the Tag, a forlorn look on its face as he pressed the little disc just over its spine. "There you go, boy. See, that's not so bad, is it?" He pet Scout gently as the Tag's effects kicked in, its expression going glassy and vacant, a dazed smile replacing its earlier distress. "C'mon, we gotta get going or we're going to be late."

Max was glad he had resorted to Tagging Scout when the pet curled up safely under his feet in the testing room. It wasn't that Max was nervous about the pet test, but it was boring as hell, and having Scout there helped him focus.

A big portion of it was just a bunch of bullshit psychological questions, which Max breezed through without thinking about them. Then there were questions about current events, word puzzles, a bunch of really weird abstract stuff... but obviously Max was human, so he was sure that his answers must be the right ones. He'd definitely know if he were a pet.

Finally, the test was over, and the entire auditorium of people had to be held there while the tests were scored electronically, so that they could take any pets aside. Max whipped out his phone and fully absorbed himself in his feeds.

"Mr. Parkington."

"Huh?" He looked up to see the test proctor standing by his desk. "Hey, yeah, what's up? Was there a problem with my test or something?"

"Could you come with us, please?" The proctor gestured at the exit door.

"What...?" No, it couldn't be. He couldn't have failed. There was probably some kind of mistake with his form or the grading machine. "Is there a problem?"

"There's no problem," she said curtly. "We just need you to come with us to discuss your test."

Max glanced around the auditorium. Everyone was staring at him, and not in the way he preferred. Well, no wonder. The stupid goddamn proctor was making it sound like he failed his pet test, in front of half the campus. He'd never live this down. "So was my test form unreadable or something...?" he said, hoping to salvage the situation.

She was implacable. "You need to come with us, Mr. Parkington."

He groaned, fighting down the urge to cause an even bigger scene. The people around him were already chattering about it. His parents were going to be absolutely furious about the rumors that would fly, as though it were his fault. They'd sue the school, no doubt, but by then it'd be too late. Goddamn it.

"Fine, let's get this over with. C'mon, Scout." He chucked his phone into his bag and picked it up, tugging Scout's leash. It seemed nervous, resisting a bit, even though there was no way the Tag could've worn off yet, but it followed Max out of the room just the same. They were led out of the auditorium and into a small side office, where there were a couple of cops from the Federal Pet Agency waiting, the ones who had supervised the test taking.

"We have good news for you, Mr. Parkington," said the proctor, taking up a seat behind a metal desk.

"Good news? What kind of good news could --"

"Your pet test returned positive."

"What? That's it? You humiliated me in front of everyone to tell me that I passed? No shit, of course I'm a person."

The two agents glanced at each other.

"No, Mr. Parkington, I don't think you understand. I mean that we have positively identified you as a pet. You will no longer be required to act as a human, and your treatments can start today." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Isn't that good news?"

"...What?" Max felt as though the floor was dropping out from under him. "What the hell? What are you even talking about?"

"Your treatment can start right away, so if you'll just go with these agents --"

"What the fuck?!" he said, no longer caring about making a scene. Scout whimpered at his feet. "What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a prank? Is this some kind of viral stunt? Because I will definitely sue you to have the video taken down."

"It isn't a prank, and there is no video recording. Your test results are very clear cut."

"The hell they are! I've taken my test every year and I've never failed."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken about that."

"What do you mean by that?"

The proctor sighed and slapped a thick manila envelope onto the desk. "Your previous tests -- your real ones. Each one clearly showing that you are a pet."

"That's impossible! Then why --"

"There's a little known federal program that allows test results to be... deferred."

Max's stomach clenched. "Deferred?"

"It's an expensive option, and not widely publicized, but it allows families to suppress undesirable results for a year, while they get things in order," she said. "In your case, your family spent a great deal of money for seven years to delay the inevitable. However, this year they did not enroll in the program, so this is your final test result."

"No. No, that's not -- you're lying! You're making that up. There's no way. There's no way I failed any pet test, or that my parents paid money to cover it up. No way."

"It's all right," she said in a sickeningly condescending tone. "I know this must be very confusing, and that you've obviously been suffering without your necessary treatment for so long..."

"I'm not suffering!" He slammed his hands on the desk. The agents stepped closer, but the proctor was unfazed.

"Your grades in everything but your fashion drawing classes are --"

"I am not suffering because I'm bad at the business classes my dad forced on me!" Burning with frustration, humiliation, and a growing ember of dread, Max pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Actually, I'm going to call my dad right now. He'll put an end to this."

He was somewhat surprised that no one in the room stopped him from using his phone, until he turned it on and found no signal. "What the -- c'mon, you stupid thing --"

"Your phone service has been terminated," the proctor said. "Your parents have already been contacted by our team. They have been aware of this possibility and have made prior arrangements for you."

"No." Max's throat felt dry and his arms heavy as he dropped the phone. "There's no way. Even my asshole dad wouldn't let me be taken as a pet. I'm the heir --"

Wait.

The realization hit Max with the force of a semi-truck. The heir to Parkington Corporation. With Max out of the way, no longer a person, that heir would be --

His brother. His golden brother Robbie who could never do wrong. If they suffered the temporary humiliation of letting Max be hauled away as a pet, Robbie would be their only child. It wasn't just a matter of writing Max out of the will -- they wanted their un-favorite son to be out of the picture permanently.

Would they really go that far? The serious-looking proctors and agents in the room were a strong indication that they would.

And for the first time, Max felt true fear. This might not be a prank or a misunderstanding or an inconvenience. He might not be able to call his lawyers or his family to get him out of trouble. Even if it was a mistake, if he let them get their hands on him and process him as a pet... could you even come back from that? Wouldn't it be too late?

"I'm not going to let you take me anywhere," he said, inching towards the door. "I'll go borrow a phone and call my lawyer."

One of the agents immediately moved to block the door, unsurprisingly, as the proctor stood up. "As I was saying, your parents were aware of this possibility and have made prior arrangements for you."

"What arrangements?"

"You're going to be sent to the finest pet treatment facility on the Eastern seaboard, one that produces only high-end luxury pets. You're very fortunate."

Max swallowed hard. That sounded like the facility where they had purchased Scout for him. The thought of going through the same treatment as Scout...

That's when he realized that Scout was no longer at his feet. Instead, it was kneeling in front of one of the agents, having its head scratched. "Aww, who's a good boy?" he said. "It's you! Yes, you are..."

"Hey, Scout, what are you doing? Get away from him!"

Scout didn't even respond to him.

"Don't worry about Scout. We're going to send it to the same facility where we're sending you, for retraining and rehoming. It's a very good pet and I'm sure it'll find an excellent new home."

Scout had been custom trained to Max's childhood tastes. They had grown up together, inseparable. And now Scout was going to have its memories of him wiped, ready to be sent to a new owner...

And he was next.

"Scout. Scout, c'mon," Max pleaded, desperation in his voice. "You're not going with them. You're going with me. C'mon, Scout."

Scout had always been the most docile and agreeable of pets, always listening to Max, following at his heels and coming at his beck and call. And yet now it steadfastly ignored Max as though he were not there.

"Scout!" Max didn't want to go near the agents, so he stood a few feet away from his pet. "Scout, listen!"

Finally, Scout turned and looked at him. It opened its mouth, then closed it again. Finally, it smiled. It wasn't the vacant smile from being Tagged or the excited smile when they went out together or the sleepy smile it had going to bed at night. No, this smile seemed almost... malicious.

"I hope we can play together when you've been trained," Scout said.

Max felt the world spinning around him. Even his pet thought he was a pet. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't.

An agent was approaching him in his daze. "Now be a good boy and come with us."

"No!" He jerked away from the agent's hand. He had to get out of here. He couldn't let them take him. He had to escape, find someone who understood. Maybe that crazy girl from SEPA. Maybe...

"You'll feel so much better once you've been treated," said the agent on the other side of him. "Don't resist."

"Like hell!" Max pulled his arm free of the agent's grasp and tried to barge between them, only to be met with sturdy arms knocking him backwards. While physically fit, he was no fighter and no match for two highly trained federal agents. In a minute he was been forced to his knees with his arms pinned behind his back, restrained. "Let me go!" he screamed as he thrashed. "Let me go right now!"

"The pet is resisting. It'll need to be Tagged," said one agent to the other, who nodded and pulled out an all-too-familiar flat black disc.

"No! No, don't! It's illegal to Tag a person!" said Max, knowing it was futile.

"This is for your own good." One agent held him down as the other attached the tag. He could feel the cool plastic against his skin and the bite of small needles piercing his skin, a cool and numb sensation as the Tag took hold.

The world blurred around him as a kind of dazed drowsiness took hold of his body. "No... it's not..." he slurred.

His head lolled to the side as the agents hauled him up between them, keeping a firm grip on his arms. A distant part of him still wanted to put up a fight, but he felt so far away... so out of it... so strangely calm and peaceful. He blinked, and he was already out in the hallway. The agents were shooing away the students who tried to crowd around them and shove phones in his face. This was going to be all over social media. His parents would be so mad...

...no, they wouldn't. They knew this was going to happen. There was no one coming to rescue him, not even his dad's money. Max tipped his head forward and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the crowd's gaze.

"Maxie? Maxie, what the hell? What the hell, man?" said a familiar loud voice.

"Nathan...?" He could just pick out Nathan's loud jacket in the crowd. "Help..." he said feebly. "I'm not a pet... tell them..."

"Holy shit." Nathan was rooted to the spot. He didn't seem to be moving to help Max at all as he was dragged away.

"Nathan...!"

Nathan pulled out his phone, took a picture, and then disappeared into the crowd.

The agents dragged him through the double glass doors of the auditorium to a black van waiting in the parking lot. Max couldn't find it in him to put up any resistance as he was loaded into the back seat and the doors were closed and locked. His head hit the window as he looked out at his college campus for possibly the last time.

It felt so unreal. It still felt like something that couldn't possibly be happening to him.

Would he really be turned into a pet...?

No... they'd figure out he was a person before it was too late. They had to.

#whump #whump writing #pet whump #dehumanization #brainwashing #drugging #kidnapping #dystopia

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bucknastysbabe · 10 months

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I’m lovin’ it - Aegon II

This is straight crack like I mean if you read this more than once you’re entitled to go do meth behind a strip mall and work overnight stocking. This is for Chris you big fat dirty white bitch why’d you take me off the motherfuckin schedule with yo triflin ass- @teamaemond

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Loser Stoner McDonald’s Worker!Aeg, modern universe, meet fuck, play place defiled more than usual, doggystyle, dirty talk, pnv!sex, I did not beta I just word vomited aggressively

A/N: based off the crazy ass anon that asked if Aegon would fuck in a McDonald’s play place and I couldn’t help but lose my shit

So McDonald’s wasn’t really twenty-four hours in your town. Too small. 10 o’clock would roll around and they usually had one or two workers and every machine was ‘broken’ by then. No really. They told you one time their hot was broken. You asked for coffee.

But you needed some coffee and some fries before going into an all-nighter studying at the local community college in the area. Hopefully the ‘hot’ wasn’t broken or the weird foot guy was working the night shift. You liked the stupid blonde, he was cute and flirty. Usually he would give you free stuff. Argan? Argon…something weird like that.

Walking into the desolate McDonald’s you breathed a sigh of relief at the blonde working tonight. No foot talks. He seemed bored and positively stoned out of his gourd, leaning against the counter. The man drawled, “How can I help you?”

You came closer and snatched at his name tag, making him yelp. Aegon. You snickered, “Aegon. What kinda name is that?” He grimaced and spat back, “A family one. I’m trying to go home early- so what’s the order.” He had a cute blush on his pale cheeks, pale orbs staring you down.

“Uh just a medium coffee and same for the fries. That’s all.”

“That’s a stupid order,” he commented while ringing it up.

You gave him a look, mouth gaping. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aegon smirked, “I don’t know, I’m about to close, I have all this leftover food and you want a coffee and fries. That’ll be three-oh-eight.” You handed him a five and teased, “Why don’t you eat the leftovers? You’re like…high as balls right now.” Aegon’s lips pouted and he sniffed, “I’m not trying to be one of those fat fuck stoners.”

You raised a brow at his slightly softened midsection and stifled a laugh. Violet eyes narrowed at you and he turned around to make your food. Plopping yourself on the counter you asked, “Soooo, you got siblings?”

“Yes.”

“Are they blonde too.”

“…Yes.”

“Oh. I graduated with Aemond.”

“He’s a dick.”

You laughed and agreed wholeheartedly. Aegon handed you the coffee and fries, having grabbed himself some nuggets in the meantime. He grumbled, “I gotta close soon.” You shrugged, “You don’t want company?”

A brow raised, heat coming across his eyes, “What kind of company are we talking about babe?”

Well.

Aegon had his standard black pants down, fucking you bent over the likely germ infested ball pit of the play place. He said there were no cameras in there…which had to be a total liability. No matter the issue he could fuck and had a nice cock.

His warm hands gripped your hips as he panted in staccato breaths, moaning, “Fuuuck, you’re fucking tight!”

You haphazardly flailed across the balls, unable to gain purchase as he fucked pathetic little ‘ah ah ah’s’ out of you. Reaching back to grab a boney wrist you whined, “C-can we- fuckshit- pleaAse find another spot! I-I d-oooon’t want a needle in ME! Goddamn!”

Aegon laughed, stupidly composed in his situation as he eased you down to the padded floor, hand now on the small of your back to push towards a better angle. You cried out as his cock drug along your sweet spot, pulling and stretching all the right walls. The blonde swatted a hand across your bouncing ass, huffing, “God- you’re gonna make me blow too fast, sh-shit.”

One of his gorgeous hand snuck down between your thighs to get at your swollen clit, sometimes sliding around where his cock stretched your cunt out. You mewled at the obscene feeling, wailing his name. The walls of your pussy were fluttering now, ecstasy taking a hold of body and mind. Chewing on your bottom lip, you thrust back to meet Aegon’s hips in wet slaps, hoarsely moaning.

“Oh Christ,” he whimpered under his breath, tone still low and raspy. Your legs were shaking, Aegon having to pull you up to keep from sliding flush to the ground. He leaned over your sweaty back, cooing in your ear with a playful nip, “Feels that good huh? You’re a needy little thing.”

“‘M gonna cum,” you squeaked with frantic eyes.

He began to nip and lap at your neck, disgustingly hot.

His fingers pinched and tugged at your clit, sending you over the edge with a careening wail, seizing up and milking his thick cock with rhythmic squeezes. Aegon stuttered on a breath, gasping for air as he quickly pulled out and painted your ass with hot cum. The idiot fell back onto his ass, you laying flat on the floor now.

You panted, pussy throbbing in the best way. Aegon moaned in content, “Needed that.” Finally pushing yourself off the floor you retied your ponytail and scoffed, “Yeah I’m not getting any studying done tonight.”

Aegon laughed, an endearing giggle, full lips stretched into a smile. He cocked his head and offered, “We can make this a full time…deal if you wanna help me close up? I’ll make it worth your while.” Then he gave you a cringeworthy wink. You found yourself grinning uncontrollably at the loser, accepting his proposition.

Besides, what’s wrong with a good fuck in the McDonald’s play place from a hot blonde?

#crack fic #aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd smut

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icedmatchatae · 1 year

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Glimpse of Us | KTH (Series)

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS's V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: TRIGGERS - Mentions of Drugs/Drugs use, alcohol consumption, violence (fighting), toxic relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, infidelity, unrequited love?, mentions of depression and anxiety, brief mentions of social anxiety (oc somewhat has it), descriptions of panic attacks, mentions of death/minor character deaths, descriptions of therapy/scenes within therapy sessions, a ton of flashbacks, financial instability, buckets of crying, the slowest fucking burn you'll ever come across, sexual content (but not too sexy bc this isn’t a naughty fic >:-|) poor OC is caught up in a lot of mess and all she wants is to have a better life, tae is a bit of a dick and a walking red flag but he just wants to be better :--(, they're both sad in their own ways, each chapter will have their own warnings and they will be presented at the beginning of the chapter

Word Count: TBD (21 chapter total)

Update Schedule: There is none! Posts are sporadic, but I do try to post at least twice a month…however, if I’m busy, I will keep you posted on a possible time frame.

A/N: A little bit inspired by Glimpse of Us by Joji because I couldn't get the song out of my damn head and it’s my top song of 2022 😭. I made my own spin to it, let’s see how well I execute it lol I’ve been preparing this for a while. This is my biggest project yet! I’ve been planning this since the summer even if I’m not done writing the whole thing I’m kinda nervous about posting this

I’ll also cross-posted this originally on AO3 as well! Enjoy~~~

Chapter List

I. Finding Happiness

II. The Story of You and Me

III. Blue

IV. Everything We Didn't Say

V. Same Old, Different New

VI. Why I Love You

VII. The True Reality

VIII. Please Don’t Break It

IX. Hear Me Out

X. You’re All I Need (Coming Soon)

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts x reader #matcha masterlist

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gauloiseblue · 2 months

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John Price as a arm candy personal bodyguard

General HQ | Part I | Part II

(Enemy to friend to lover AU)

He never planned to be anyone's bodyguard, but here he is, standing beside his wife like a guard dog

To tell the truth, she doesn't really need his protection, but sometimes there's moment when she becomes a target for black market dealers

She has an extensive collection of antiques, and some of them are priceless

So naturally, it becomes his job to keep them safe as well

It's not really a challenge for him because he's used to keeping the military assets safe. He knows all of the tricks and methods to store them and guard them during transport.

Other than that, his days are mostly filled with domestic kind of life

He'd complete his daily training, practice his rifle skill (mainly for hunting birds or deers), and help her with her work

Although he easily adapted into his new life, he's still not used to living in luxury. He has slept on the wet ground of a forest, used to eating the bland ratios, and lived in constant danger. But now, he gets to live comfortably

To cope with it, he sometimes goes on a camping trip for several days. He prefers to do it alone because he doesn't want his wife to get sick when the weather turns bad.

The only luxury that he allows himself to indulge in is having an expensive cigar

Of course, he does it only moderately. For a reason that his wife hates the smell

Whenever they're invited to a party, she'll book him an appointment for suit fitting. He'd complain to her, saying that he had more than enough suit, but she'd win the argument every time

While they might have different views in life, they share the same frame of mind, and have their desires align. She wants a loyal companion, and he wants to devote himself to the right person

One night, as they lay in bed, breathless and tired, she told him that to love someone is to constantly be disappointed by your partner a million times. She asked him if she had already disappointed him enough, and he told her he never expected her of anything in the first place

He knew that her wife kept a personal note in her drawer, and he only opened it once, when they're on the verge of separation. That was the last time that he ever doubted her, the first time he allowed himself to be fooled by his own feelings

You see, he's always the man with rationality, so to allow himself to be controlled by his heart is almost the same as betraying himself

He never regrets his decision, even to this day

Since he's the only one who's retired, his team would visit him from time to time, if their schedule allows them, that is

Soap would joke that if someone had told him years ago that his captain would settle down with her, he'd laugh at their face, asking them what kind of drug they took

(He said it because they both had a rough start. They hated each other on their first meeting)

While it's common for ex special force member to work as a bodyguard, it's rare for them to settle down with someone, let alone marrying the person they work for

Which makes his story into some kind of legend in the army

He'd roll his eyes at every comment about them, but she found it amusing that people either mock him, or wish to be as lucky as him

Sometimes, when his pride takes over, he reminds himself that arrogance won't lead him anywhere in life

But his love will guide him somewhere. Eventually

#cod #call of duty #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader #there's something about price being a loyal dog..............#i swear I'm normal about it #cod headcanons

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kastlequill · 6 months

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ii/v. unearth without a name: the world that hardens as the harsher winter holds

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 1.8k synopsis: the second time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, blood and injury, brainwashing, hallucinations, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture, non-consensual drug use ao3: read here ← prev | next →

II.

A semblance of a regimented schedule formed shortly after those first couple of days.

Two goons would begin the cycle with a visit, using you as a human punching bag until your ribs burned and your frayed nerves went numb. Then came the waterboarding and the breaking of bone, be it a rib or a finger. Last, but certainly not least, Rorke would work on molding your mind into something foreign, though whatever drug he’d administered on Day 1 hadn’t made a reappearance yet.

Yet.

You didn’t have it in you to treasure that simple blessing because your captors were constantly swapping one torture method for another, determined to keep you guessing. Recently, they’d started to get more creative; extreme sensory deprivation was still a favorite of theirs, but they had now added physically-intensive beatings into the mix.

Time elapsed strangely in this hellscape. With no sun to denote mornings and no moon to introduce nights, you had to measure its passage in terms of the damage inflicted upon you. Which was to say, what marked the beginning of a day wasn’t the sunrise; instead, it was the piece of stale bread that you received only after your captors made you beg like a dog.

And to determine when you’d reached the end of another day having survived, it was Rorke, not the setting sun nor the rising stars, who served as a useful metric. Night began in the moments following his departure from the chamber once he’d satiated his raging appetite for sadism, leaving you to succumb to your injuries and fall unconscious.

Eventually, those unfulfilling few hours of sleep would be interrupted by the force of the tossed bread hitting your head. Like clockwork, this cursed routine repeated again and again, though you couldn’t discern whether or not these recurring events were consistently scheduled at a specific hour. It would come as no surprise if they’d been staggered to hinder you from adapting to your new normal.

Such was the way of the Federation.

Regardless of the truth, according to your unconventional form of tracking time, nightfall was nearly upon you. Rorke had been here for what seemed like an eternity, putting forth a valiant effort in beating you into submission and breaking your will.

You just had to bear this pain a little while longer. Then, you could allow your body to recuperate through a bout of fitful slumber.

“Still got some fight left in you, eh?” Rorke wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Hands that had spent the last however many weeks tenderizing your flesh and splintering your bones. “First, let me express my gratitude. I appreciate you makin’ this fun for an old man.”

You wanted nothing more than to kill him slow, to watch the crazed gleam fade from his deadened eyes, but you’d decided on Day 2 not to engage him beyond what was strictly necessary. If you managed to keep the talking to a minimum, then perhaps Rorke wouldn’t linger for too long. A flawed logic built on desperation.

It worked on occasion, boredom striking him sooner rather than later, ending the interrogation session without much fanfare. Though that wasn’t always the case.

The man was a loose cannon. He lashed out on a whim then switched up before you could process what he’d originally done. Even his co-conspirators avoided being caught in his blast radius, but no such hope existed for you, the prisoner who still breathed only because he willed it.

“Now, with that out of the way—”

An uppercut collided against your chin, sending you reeling, doubling over, stretching the muscles in your arms as the ropes that dangled you from the ceiling strained under the pressure. The impact rattled your teeth, and the metallic taste of blood doused your bitten tongue.

The bastard possessed an absurd amount of power for his age. And you, half-starved and broken in one too many places, were the lucky recipient of said power.

“What are the Ghosts plannin’ to do near the Gulf?” He forced your gaze to meet his, yanking your head backward by the roots of your hair. Resolute in your fatal desire to safeguard your comrades to the best of your abilities, your mouth stayed stubbornly shut.

If you couldn’t be of use out there by their side on a battlefield, the least you could do was stop the enemy from obtaining crucial intel. You couldn’t give the Feds the upper hand, not when that ran the risk of landing Merrick, Hesh, Logan, Keegan in some shallow grave.

Rorke sneered. “So that’s the kinda game you want to play? Alright, little martyr, keep your secrets. But listen up, and listen good: when I find all ‘em out, because I will find out, you’ll wish you hadn’t been so blindly loyal to those damn mutts. Better hope you’ve still got most of your fingers when that day comes ‘round.”

The grip on your hair relinquished, and your head dipped low, too fatigued to support its weight on your own. You were content to stay like that, crumpled and weak, but the sound of rustling fabric bid you to remain present and raise your lidded gaze.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of Rorke pulling out a syringe from a pocket on his tactical vest.

“Remember this?” Its needle glistened menacingly in the dull lamplight. The man must have seen the brief panic that flitted across your face because he gave a wry chuckle. “Hell, of course y’do. No need for a reintroduction, then.”

Without further delay, Rorke jabbed the syringe into a bulging vein in your neck, dehydration making it appear more prominent than usual. Your fear spiked as he injected its contents into your already-fragile system. Compared to the previous dose, you began to experience the drug’s effects much faster, blood suddenly afire, choking on hurried gasps, jaw locked. It held your body hostage while it hijacked your biological milieu and scrambled your brain.

The bombardment on your five senses was so overwhelming that you had to close your eyes, the surrounding visual stimuli too abrasive to withstand in your compromised state. When you did finally blink them open again, the scene that greeted you was of a different man, a man whose presence you greatly welcomed.

Decked out in full gear and face lathered in greasepaint wherever his mask failed to conceal skin, Keegan stood several paces behind Rorke. Arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart, cold stare devoid of any affection but flowing with disappointment. Before, he’d spoken everything you had never wanted to hear; this time, however, the apparition uttered not a single syllable.

A flash of white heat diffused throughout your body from head to toe as rage superseded pain.

Did he really think you were a failure, a disgrace? Was that why he opted to hold his tongue, finding you unworthy, an utter waste of his breath?

You recalled the days when he had barely spared you a glance beyond ensuring you weren’t falling behind. When he had gradually begun to reference you as an irreplaceable part of their established collective; when eliciting a low chuckle from him had been considered a victory and earning his praise had become something of an addiction. When he had listened to your whispered confession then offered up a weakness of his own; when he had agreed to learn bit by bit how to give you his heart and how to take yours in turn.

Looking back, the two of you had come so far. And yet, the fruits of your labor would go uneaten. You weren’t foolish enough to assume survival was still a possibility after a few more rounds of torture; if your mind didn’t break first, then your body would surely shut down.

Two good months. That was all you had gotten with him as a lover.

Just two months.

Another punch to your liver yanked you from your spiraling thoughts. “You ready to talk? No? Suit yourself.”

The onslaught resumed, ripping old wounds anew, further bruising already-sore skin, weakening calcium-deficient bones. Truth be told, you’d been ready to talk for the past eight cycles of this shit, but loyalty prevented you from squealing like a pig. Regretfully, this very same loyalty was beginning to feel misplaced.

Were they even searching for you? Was he? Had your comrades so easily written you off as KIA, unable to justify expending valuable, scarce resources on a mere stray?

Sure, Keegan’s last visit had been cruel, biting, but at least he had acknowledged your existence, your situation. The exchange, though agonizing, had reinvigorated you with purpose and determination to make it out of this hellhole alive. Now, if this fabricated Keegan would only address you, then the cracks in your composure and willpower could be rectified, bestowing upon you the strength to persevere, to suffer in silence until either your rescue or your death.

If he would only speak to you as a human being separate from this current timeline of misery and monsters among men, then maybe you had a real chance here. Maybe, you would again bask in the warmth of a glorious sunrise.

Say something.

He didn’t, of course. It shouldn’t have surprised you; he had never been the type to fill the quiet with nonsensical chatter. But you needed this, as starved of him as you were of food and water. You’d wait three seconds for him to correct himself, or else you would give him a piece of your mind, a proper tongue-lashing, scratchy throat and raw vocal cords be damned.

A well-aimed kick in the calf triggered a mental countdown.

Three. . .

Continuous heavy blows struck your temple, the resulting craters spouting a stream of blood, its damage producing a shrill ringing in your ears.

Two . . .

Forgetting the sound of his voice, struggling to replicate the unhurried yet impassioned cadence with which he spoke, gone was his deep tenor—

One.

“God, make it stop,” were the words that left your cracked, chapped lips. But there was no God to answer your pleas; not down here. Still, you begged. “Please, just make it fucking stop.”

Keegan said nothing, content to continue his silent appraisal of the scene before him. Scrutinizing your weaknesses, judging how much more damage you could endure before your total destruction. A sentinel, a voyeur of your rawest pain.

Rorke, looming above like impending doom, a deadly omen, simply laughed and laughed.

And in that moment, you couldn’t decide which of the two men you hated more.

tbc.

#keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ #cod x reader #cod keegan #cod ghosts #call of duty #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #my fic #fic: unearth without a name

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brightlotusmoon · 4 months

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The 252 pages of documents explain that cannabis “has a currently accepted medical use in treatment in the United States” and has a “potential for abuse less than the drugs or other substances in Schedules I and II.”

Federal health officials said their review found that more than 30,000 healthcare professionals “across 43 U.S. jurisdictions are authorized to recommend the medical use of marijuana for more than six million registered patients for at least 15 medical conditions.”

“There exists widespread, current experience with medical use of the substance by [health care practitioners] operating in accordance with implemented jurisdiction-authorized programs, where medical use is recognized by entities that regulate the practice of medicine,” HHS said.

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makeyoumine69 · 23 days

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My Lovely Detective II

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC

— CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss

— CONTAINS: Non-con drug use & touching, kidnapping, gags.

— WORDS: 3k

— A/N: Thank you for your support! 💗💗💗

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Dinner

After nearly two weeks of exhaustive research, seeking additional evidence, and hints to challenge Bateman in their impending meeting, Andrea had finally reached the day of their scheduled dinner—an opportunity to probe deeper with her questions.

Indeed, it had been a testing period for Andrea, as her sleep was sporadic, and her mind was in overdrive, driven by the conviction that Bateman was hiding his true self. Even after numerous discussions with Kimball, her suspicions had only intensified. Amid this, Andrea began to exhibit subtle behavioral changes, ones that even her boyfriend Derek picked up on. However, she reassured him, attributing it to her work pressure.

'Was it?'

When Andrea arrived at the restaurant, Bateman was waiting for her outside. New York looked amazing in the dark time and it suited Patrick so much that the detective just stood aside and admired him for a moment.

"Mr. Bateman! I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!" The brunette chirped as she came closer. Her cheap coat was not warm and the dress was even cheaper, but this was the best dress she had, since she hated this kind of clothes.

"It's no problem." For once, the man was being honest, because he had made some preparations.

First of all, he had chosen a cheap restaurant, the kind of place where he or any of his colleagues wouldn't be seen under normal circumstances. Cheap by his elitist standards, of course. 'My lovely detective would be embarrassed by the price list anyway.'

Second, Patrick had called the restaurant himself instead of Jean, giving him the opportunity to place the reservation under an alias. This was also the reason why he had arrived early, when he usually preferred to have his dates wait for him. Now 'Mr. Thompson' had already checked in and the detective would never hear about the false name. This time, Patrick really wanted to make sure that his presence in this place would be impossible for Kimball or anyone else to verify. He wanted to erase this date from Jean's notes as well.

In his pockets was Rohypnol, ground to powder. A drug so strong she wouldn't even notice her way back to his apartment. But he wouldn't do anything to her until she wasn't fully conscious again, no. He wanted her to be so terribly aware of her situation.

Observing the woman who sat unsuspecting before him, Patrick took in the details of her attire. Her dress, which stirred a wave of disdain in him, and her shoes, of mock leather that rankled his senses, were noted with a critic's eye. Despite his distaste for her choices, a sense of unsettling calm washed over Patrick with the forethought of what was to come. Each element of her visage kindled within him an uncomfortable response, a feeling he grappled to understand, even as he plotted its demise.

"I've already checked our table, it has a very atmospheric placement. Let's go inside, shall we?"

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was amazing, Andrea had never been in places like this before, so when they took their table and the waiter brought them the menu, the detective visibly tensed in her seat.

"I'm not really hungry," the woman explained after looking through the countless dishes. "I think I'll just have some coffee, since I didn't come here to eat, but to ask you more questions."

With that, Andrea took out her beloved black notebook and put it on the table, almost dropping the glass of mineral water that was close by, but she pretended nothing had happened.

"So, I've been talking to Mr. Kimball about his conversation with Bethany's boyfriend and I've learned a lot of interesting information," the detective gave Bateman a small smile, noticing his slightly nervous movements as he adjusted his tie. "Bethany's boyfriend said that you and Bethany broke up because you didn't want children, while Bethany wanted a family. Is that true?"

Andrea brushed her curly hair and placed them on her shoulder, exposing her collarbone without even realizing it, the curve of her heavy breasts even more noticeable as she leaned down on the table as she waited for Patrick's answer.

'Was that the reason?' It seemed likely, and Patrick tried to remember, but admittedly it could have been him sleeping with other girls - did Bethany ever consider him to be faithful?

"Yes. I was never interested in building that kind of family, so of course that was an obstacle to a future together." Patrick swallowed hard, but for once it was not the fear of being caught - the thought always lingered in the back of his mind.

It was an innocent movement of hers that caught his attention - her wild hair swayed back, drawing his gaze to the now fully exposed cleavage. It was not a modest sight compared to the suit, and Patrick told himself that the heat that washed over his body was just irritation at her slutty attitude.

‘What a cheap way to distract me’, but he had to admit that for all the things she lacked in his eyes, her breasts looked perfect.

Up until now he had wanted to drug her to torture and kill her, she wasn't his type (and why would he settle for that when he could have anyone else?), but now other fantasies found their way into his mind… Patrick was suddenly very grateful for the waiter who came their way.

The detective was busy writing down Bateman's comments when the waiter came to their table. "Are you ready to order, sir?" The waiter asked, looking attentively at Patrick and then at Andrea.

"I'll have a double cappuccino," Andrea replied, handing him the menu. "And maybe another glass of water."

The waiter - a young man with a perfect smile - nodded a little confused. "Ma'am, how about some dessert to go with the coffee?"

Frowning, she put her notebook aside and looked at the waiter, her slight irritation palpable in the air. "No, just coffee and water, please."

"Are you sure? The charcoal cake with durian cream is outrageous here! No, please — be my guest," Patrick said with a condescending smile.

Without even giving the detective a chance to answer, he had already instructed the waiter, along with the usual J&B for himself. Actually, he did not care much for culinary pleasures, let alone sweets, but he had chosen the most expensive option among the desserts.

Perhaps he could disguise the drug as powdered sugar instead? But either way, Miss Moore had been far too observant so far. "Anything else you want to know about my love life?"

Bateman's question only made the detective smile and chuckle, his arrogant manner and self-centeredness amusing to her.

"Mr. Bateman, I already got the point that you're very successful with women, I really did," she paused and took a sip of water. "But did you say you were engaged? I think you did during our first meeting in your office."

'Not that I really care, but maybe it can trigger him to give me more information.'

"Does your fiancée know you keep in touch with your ex-girlfriend?" Andrea asked. Right after that, the waiter brought them their drinks. "Thank you." The waiter grinned at them and went to get their dishes.

The detective felt a strange thrill of the rush, as if she was getting closer to solving the mystery of Patrick Bateman, and all the knowledge she got from Mr. Kimball only fuelled her passion for it.

"Yes, I am indeed engaged." His attempt to confuse her had backfired terribly and it was impossible for Patrick to keep his voice neutral. He only managed not to reveal the growing level of aggression he was feeling towards her by taking a deep sip from the finely polished whiskey glass.

'Oh, that little bitch, I'm going to make her cry tears of pain and remorse.'

"I don't think my fiancée would care. After all, nothing had happened between me and Bethany, and my intentions were of a friendly nature."

Evelyn not caring about any of this was probably true, but not for the reason Patrick gave the detective. She was probably dating Timothy Price today.

"Some people are still faithful these days, you know. Is that what you believe in? Then you wouldn't have to explain this dinner to your partner."

The moment Bateman mentioned her partner, something heavy dropped in her gut. What the hell?

"I'm committed to relationships based on love and trust," Andrea replied, the broad smile never leaving her face. "But I don't think it can really work with guys like you, since yuppies change their dates like gloves."

The tone of her voice was more aggressive than annoyed, but she didn't like how it sounded anyway. Besides, the heat that suddenly coursed through her body from his unexpected question made her blush, and the only good option now was to excuse herself and go to the bathroom.

"If you excuse me, I have to use the bathroom." And with that Andrea retreated, but she didn't forget to take all her stuff with her.

'So, she has someone waiting for her…'

Patrick stared at her back (or rather her ass), somewhat stunned by this little outburst. Of course, he only cared because it would mean another person worried about Detective Moore's whereabouts. Hopefully she wasn't as much of a blabbermouth as Bethany had turned out to be.

'Once I'm done with her, not even her boyfriend will want to take her back,' he thought darkly, her disparaging view of yuppies bothering him much more than it should. 'Screw love and trust.'

The woman's fate would soon be sealed. Rohypnol was a hell of a drug, robbing its victims of the ability to move and talk for hours, to the point of losing their minds - long enough to take her body back to his apartment.

Making sure no one was paying attention to him, Patrick finally took the opportunity to stir the drug into both the rest of her coffee and the water. He could only hope that she would choose one or the other, but he was confident enough. After all, why would she waste something that cost the price of her awful dress?

Meanwhile in the bathroom…

'Fucking bastard,' Andrea kept repeating to herself as she washed her hands. Before the woman left the bathroom, she looked at her reflection, motivating herself to be strong and not to let this narcissistic king trap her in his net.

After a few minutes, the woman came back to their table and found Bateman talking sweetly to some random woman, but the moment the detective took her seat, he stopped his conversation and his full attention was on her again.

"I think I forgot to ask you the most important question," Andrea stated abruptly, picking up her cup of coffee. "Where were you the day Bethany disappeared?" A small sip of cappuccino made her think that it was a little sweeter than before, but the woman condemned herself for being paranoid. "I'm interested in the part of the day that followed your dinner with her."

Smirking, Andrea drank her coffee with double effort because it was so damn tasty — it was abnormally tasty.

"I believe I was returning some videotapes. Or maybe I just went straight home." Patrick didn't take his eyes off her, watching the woman's every move.

There was a crucial point, a very sudden one, where the drug would take effect. And since he didn't want to attract attention, he would have to leave the scene quickly, as if leading a drunk on his arm. Just outside the restaurant, he had parked a rental car. Never before had Patrick given so much deliberation to a crime, his style was usually impulsive, and in that sense she got special treatment. It bothered him, the sheer effort that had already gone into planning this.

But he would make it worth it.

"It's already late at night. I don't know what really happened to Bethany... Are you going to find a safe way home?" he said casually, noticing the unnatural fluttering of her eyelids, and for the first time that day Patrick felt a cold certainty calming his nerves. "I could always give you a ride, not a big deal."

It was strange when Andrea suddenly felt so tired and exhausted as if she had just run a sprint. "What... what did you say?" She mumbled incoherently and rubbed her eyes. "Can you...repeat...please?"

The surrounding sounds faded into the void, her eyes were so heavy that she could barely keep them open, and the way Bateman was smiling right now made her think that she was so fucked up. Time stopped for her when the woman almost fell on the table, but she managed to lean on her elbows.

Before she blacked out, Andrea took one last look at her empty coffee cup. "Bastard...you..."

And then she fell into the abyss.

In a rare moment of sincerity, Patrick finally let his facade slip - his face showing an expression of undisguised triumph. It was the last thing Detective Andrea Moore must have noticed before she collapsed, cursing him in vain with the last of her strength.

Where he would normally have used his Amex card, Patrick now threw a more than generous amount of cash on the table.

'Consider it a gift, buddy,' Bateman thought to himself, looking around for the waiter who had served them, before lifting Andrea, who was completely unconscious.

Seconds later, a dimly lit silhouette made its way through the cold night air of New York, Manhattan. He held a smaller figure close to his body, a gesture the unassuming eye would consider romantic. In reality, she was a dead weight in his arms, and Patrick could easily lift her onto one of the back seats like a crash dummy.

Once in a good mood, he turned on the radio — One Way or Another by Blondie — was playing, and made his way through the dense traffic of the never-sleeping city.

It took them an hour to reach the American Gardens Building, and she hadn't moved a muscle the entire time.

Getting past the security guard was also ridiculously easy - the man, already half asleep, didn't bother to keep an eye on Patrick's female acquaintances.

Now Detective Moore was lying on the white couch, her hair spread out and her dress pulled up, exposing part of her plump thighs. Coat and shoes were completely missing.

Patrick hadn't bothered to tie her up.

There was something primal about chasing down his victims, trying to run and escape when it was far too late for them. It excited him. However, he had gagged her with one of his least favorite ties (a gift from Sean), not wanting to deal with the verbal expressions of her initial shock.

'I bet she's a screamer.'

Sitting across from her in his treasured Barcelona chair, leaning back with his legs elegantly crossed and Detective Moore's notebook in his hand like the most interesting novel, Patrick waited for her to regain consciousness. It seemed to mimic an interview all over again, only this time the roles would be reversed. There was no paperwork on the glass table in front of him, just a cutting knife that had never been used for cooking.

The moment Andrea opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a perfectly white ceiling above her. Then she tried to turn her head, but the sharp pain pierced her temples just as she was about to do so.

"Mmmhm!" The detective whimpered breathlessly, unaware that she was gagged.

Her mind was still foggy and everything was doubled in her eyes, making it hard to understand what the hell was going on, but when a familiar scent of expensive cologne hit her nose, the woman pushed herself up on her elbows and the image she saw almost coaxed her back into unconsciousness.

Bateman, sitting arrogantly in the leather chair with her notebook in his manicured hands, his hazel eyes now as dark as the night sky and his nostrils flaring with the thrill of the rush.

'What a reckless woman I am!' Andrea cursed herself, but she still didn't try to run away, even when she found out that she wasn't tied up. 'No, that would be too easy and it doesn't work that way.'

And then a wicked idea came into her cloudy mind. Slowly, she opened her legs a little wider, pretending not to notice that her skirt had been hiked up and fighting the growing embarrassment in her chest.

‘I have to do it if I want to stay alive. I have to distract him any way I can!’

Not being a man of self-control, Patrick couldn't help but let his eyes immediately wander between her spread legs. She wasn't wearing any tights under her dress, which was unprofessional, and it gave him a direct view of her panties.

Patrick gritted his teeth, both disgusted and aroused by the act, and remembered once again his intense desire to teach her a lesson.

'Of course she is acting slutty now. But if she thinks she can be that good to save her life - maybe I'll let her try.'

In a few smooth moves, he crossed the distance between them, grabbed the back of the couch and leaned closer to her face. She looked even smaller now, trapped in this position, and yet she didn't seem fragile. Her eyes met his own with a certain defiance that was exciting, Patrick had to admit.

But it also made him even more angry.

"You think I'm interested in that?" And in a crude gesture, he pressed his hand against the thin fabric of her underwear, his big hand cupping her pussy completely and pushing the dress up past her broad hips.

"I've killed women far more beautiful than you… what should make you any different?” He murmured in her ear, in a tone that couldn't decide whether it was a threat or an invitation…

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and my amazing co-writer @iron-flavored-lipgloss and turn on notifications to know when we update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x oc #patrick bateman x fem!oc #slasher x oc

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thirstbxtch · 2 years

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Cash Only

Part II Here

You’re short on cash so you decide to offer Eddie something else instead.

Pairing: Eddie/Reader. No Y/N. Reader is 18+.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only.

References to drug use, Blow jobs, Fingering.

Friday night and there's a knock at the trailer door. Not surprising for the line of business he's in, but still he didn't have any scheduled appointments for this evening.

Eddie opens the door to find you, standing on the steps, one hand on the trailer.

"Hey, you have any Speed?" You ask looking up at him.

"Yeah, sure, come on in," Eddie says, motioning you in.

You were one of his regulars. Usually you bought Mary Jane, but sometimes when you had alot of homework or a big test to study for, you wanted Speed. It was mostly just functional.

You follow Eddie back to his room.

"How many do you want?" He asks crouching down to the drawer where he keeps his stash.

"Five."

"Five," Eddie echoes, finding the pills and counting them out before putting them in a little baggie.

He stands, turning to hand you the bag.

"That'll be $75."

You take your wallet out of your back pocket, opening it up and counting the bills within.

Fuck. You're short. You're way short.

You count them again, and then again one more time.

"Is there a problem?" Eddie asks mildly.

You bite your lip, counting one more time just to be sure.

"Shit," you curse to yourself, staring down into your wallet, trying to think of anything else you could offer instead.

You've seen the way boys look at you now, Eddie included. Sometimes he stares too long at your mouth or your chest, or how you can generally feel his gaze when he thinks you won't notice.

And you can't deny you've done some looking yourself. Those soft brown eyes, long brunette hair, lean torso, slender hips. Nimble fingers that have expertly rolled joints for you.

You shut your wallet and slip it back into your back pocket.

"Look, I'm short," you say finally meeting Eddie's gaze, "but I can blow you for it." You offer casually like this is something you do all the time--offer blowjobs in exchange for drugs.

"Woah," Eddie says drawing the baggie back, "you know the rules. No cash, no drugs."

You take a step closer, and Eddie eyes you suspiciously.

"Didn't know you were one for following the rules," you lilt in return.

"Every man's gotta have a code," he replies very matter of fact. "Look, I could sell you less, how much cash do you have?"

You shake your head.

"No, that isn't going to work. I need five. I have to write my research paper this weekend."

Eddie's backed up against his nightstand now, and you just a few inches away.

"Not my problem, princess," he replies, turning to drop the baggie in the top drawer of his nightstand.

You sit on the edge of his bed while he's turned away, leaning back on your arms.

He's turns back to you now, caught off guard by the sight of you on his bed.

Sure you've been in his room before to buy, but you've never been on his bed, looking up at him through lowered lashes the way you are now.

You bite your lower lip now, intentionally this time, releasing it slowly and Eddie's brown eyes track the movement.

"You sure about that?" You ask.

Eddie curses softly and looks down at the floor, shaking his head. You're almost certain he's going to kick you out when he raises one finger.

"Just this one time," he says, lifting his head to look at you.

"Yeah," you say gently, nodding before he can change his mind and reach out to hook two fingers in his belt loop to tug him closer, "just this one time."

He sits on the bed next to you and you dispel any awkwardness by placing a hand on his thigh and turning your face into his neck.

He always smells good like cheap aftershave and cigarettes with the earthy tinge of pot just beneath, but it's so much better this close. Intoxicating. Your nose is brushing the skin of his throat and you can't help yourself, you press a kiss just beneath his jaw, and his breath catches. It's a strangely intimate gesture for a drug transaction, definitely something that Eddie wasn't expecting. You place another lingering kiss below it, sliding your hand higher up his thigh.

Eddie tilts his face up, allowing you more access to the line of his throat, and you leave a trail of kisses down to the collar of his shirt, undoing his belt and jeans. He's already half hard by the time you cup him through his boxers, teasingly stroking him through the fabric, before you pull your hand away, licking the palm, and slipping it past the fabric this time.

He bites back a little sound that goes straight through you and glance up to see him biting his lower lip, eyes closed. You look away before they can flutter open again, stroking him lazily, enjoying the feel of him beneath your hand, and it only takes a few strokes to get him hard.

You slip off the bed and onto the floor. Eddie spreading his legs wide for you to kneel between, watching you with darkened eyes. This should feel wrong. He's not some creep who exploits women for sexual favors. But somehow it doesn't. Not when you're looking up at him like that, like you actually want to be on your knees in front of him. He's gotten off to the thought of it before, but his imagination has been a poor substitute for the reality.

You pull his cock out from the slit in the front of his boxers. He has a nice cock. Grasping it lightly, you lean in, licking the underside of the head deliberately, keeping eye contact with him. Eddie's brows crease together, and he bites his lip again, moaning, continuing to watch as you close your eyes and begin to bob up and down, occasionally swirling your tongue around the tip.

He puts a hand on your head, rings tangling in your hair.

"Fuck," he sighs, "'s good."

Eddie finally closes his eyes and tips his head back. He's not going to last long at all if he continues to watch your pretty mouth swallow his length, and some selfish part of him wants this to last.

You glance up to see Eddie's closed eyes and upturned face, hair falling over his shoulders. Gorgeous. You take the opportunity to discreetly undo your jeans with your free hand and slip it into your panties where you're soaked and aching.

You hum around his length at finally getting some relief, but Eddie doesn't seem to notice, face still upturned. You continue to lick, suck, and stroke him and when you finally deepthroat him, he groans out a string of curses.

"God-motherfucking-damnit, sweetheart, fuck, yeah, so fucking good."

He looks down to see your hollowed out cheeks and your lips wrapped around the base of his cock. Can feel your throat flex as you try not to gag, and then your mouth is sliding back up again, bobbing to halfway a few times, before doing it again.

"Christ," Eddie slurs between labored breaths, fingers tightening in your hair, he wants more than anything to thrust up into that hot, wet mouth of yours.

He shifts his hips experimentally, shaft sliding against your tongue, and you take the hint, stilling for him, and he thrusts shallowly up into your mouth, just grazing the back of your throat. You can feel his cock begin to throb on your tongue and it's only a few more shallow thrusts before Eddie's moaning, loudly, spilling down your throat.

You swallow it all and suck him lightly through the aftershocks until he gives a hiss of oversensitivity, releasing him with a soft pop.

Eddie's catching his breath, looking down at you with wide dark, eyes. At your flushed cheeks and your swollen, spit slick mouth, just begging to be kissed.

You hold his gaze before slipping your other hand out of your panties, and the movement doesn't escape Eddie's notice. He's not sure how he hadn't noticed it before--

"Wait, were you?" He asks lowly.

"Yeah, I was," you admit plainly. No point in trying to deny what he had already seen.

Heat shoots straight down Eddie's spine.

"You think I'm just going to let you walk out of here with that pussy all wet for me," he says hotly and your eyes flicker, still processing his words as he hauls you up onto the bed with him.

He tucks himself back into his boxers before pushing you down against the mattress, pausing a moment before undoing your jeans, silently verifying permission, and you nod.

He pulls your jeans halfway down your thighs, staring at the wet spot soaking through your panties and groaning. He half lays on top of you, supporting himself on one arm as he pushes your panties to the side with his right hand, and slips two fingers inside you, voice cracking as you moan, you'd been so close when you were blowing him, and he doesn't waste anytime curling and pumping his fingers in a quick rhythm.

Your lower back curves away from the bed. His face is so close to yours. Your eyes meet, both dropping to the other's mouth and back again. Fuck. Eddie can't help himself, he kisses you, open and deep and sloppy, tongues sliding together, he pumps his fingers harder, pressing his thumb against your clit.

Your voice comes out embarrassingly high.

"Fuck, Eddie, yes," you keen, blacking out and clenching tightly around his fingers, you can even feel his rings, fuck, it's so good and he strokes you until your eyes flutter back open, then collapses next to you, face pressed against your shoulder.

It's just long moments of the sound of your breath together, and you're not sure what to say, but thankfully Eddie saves you.

"That was worth a lot more than five hits of Speed," he says contentedly.

"Do I still need to bring cash next time?" You ask, somewhat smug.

He nods against your shoulder before looking up at you.

"Sorry sweetheart, blowjobs don't pay the bills," he replies.

You laugh.

"A real businessman, aren’t you? Alright then," you get off the bed, zipping up your jeans, and generally straightening up, "I'll have cash next time." You promise, kissing him on the cheek.

He retrieves the baggie of Speed from his nightstand drawer and places it in your open palm.

"Great," he stands, zipping himself up as well.

Eddie walks you to the trailer door, stepping outside after you to have a smoke.

"Good luck with your paper," he calls, watching you walk away.

"Thanks, Eddie," you call back over your shoulder and get into your car.

Off to the library then.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things

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lifewithchronicpain · 4 months

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The U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration will further reduce the supply of codeine, morphine, oxycodone and other prescription opioids in 2024, ignoring complaints from thousands of patients that opioid pain medication is already difficult to obtain and many pharmacies are out of stock.

In a notice pre-published today in the Federal Register, the DEA said it would stick with plans to cut aggregate production quotas (APQ) for Schedule II opioids for the eighth consecutive year, reducing the supply of prescription opioids to levels not seen in nearly a decade. (Read more at link)

There is no fucking need for this, people are already struggling to get their medication. Drug overdoses continue to rise despite these ridiculous cuts to prescription opioids. This is just security theatre.

#suicide mentioned in link #disability #chronic pain #ableism #opioids #dea #prescription opioids #chronic illness #spoonies #article

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differentclasss · 6 months

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Halloween Scenarios

Halloween stuff with different Cillian Murphy characters I write for! Not head cannons, just kind of free-style scenarios. Thought I should do something for the season! 0:)

c/w: uh drugging, (yeah nothing happens it’s just Crane being a mischievous asshole) sex is implied and talked about but not written directly, suggestive material, and yadadada typical viewer discretion.

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Neil Lewis, and Jim (Delinquent Season)

A/N: It’s short but I just wanted to post a little something. Might do some more characters tomorrow or on Halloween depending on my schedule. Thanks!!

Jonathan Crane (Nolanverse)

Jonathan likes the idea of Halloween but finds that as an adult it’s less about getting scared and more about dressing up and getting trashed at parties. It's safe to say he doesn't celebrate it like that. He has one costume and it's purely for work.

He has a few ways of celebrating it, one being to stay inside and watch horror movies with you. It's a lot more fun for him if you're scared so he makes it his goal to find the goriest and scariest horror movies.

His favorite way of celebrating it though would be to scare the hell out of you. Before you would watch these films with him, he'd slip a bit of his fear toxin into your drink just to get more enjoyment out of the night with you. Nothing to break you, just something to make you uncharacteristically freaked out. A movie that you usually aren't afraid of, maybe you even found it a little silly, now suddenly has you hiding your face in your hands and grabbing at his arm. He'd laugh and watch you while amused.

The rest of the night you'd be very clingy towards him. Too scared to want to do anything regarding the holiday. He’d chide you and say, “Dear, it was just a movie. I have no idea what got into you!” Always coming off like he had no idea what was getting into you. You’d try to laugh it off and say something like, “Maybe I’m just not the Halloween type anymore.” After all, you were none the wiser. Jonathan didn’t feel bad about it, what was Halloween without a little bit of fear anyway?

Neil Lewis (Watching the Detectives)

Neil adores Halloween, it's a little childish but you would have to do a couple costumes with him. He’d spend way too much energy thinking about the perfect one. Something a little obscure and maybe even pretentious, like two lovers in a classic 1940's film. Neil made a holiday for the whole month of October. Either going to cheap drive-ins showing old horror movies or going to haunted houses and hayrides. It was cheesy, but you made him want to do cheesy things on the account that he liked you.

Neil took you to a little drive-in on a Saturday for a double feature of Halloween and Halloween II, it was a nice gesture despite both of you having seen this movie just short of a dozen times. You mocked a scared look whenever there was a jump scare and shared some laughs over the movie's age.

In the privacy of his car, you could get close to him. Neil would pretend to have his eyes glued to the screen while you first put your head on his shoulder and your hand on his bicep. Your hand trails down to his stomach as you kiss his neck and feel him shiver. You giggled a little and then he did too. You continue to kiss him and try to unbuckle his jeans before he moves and looks at you with a boyish grin.

“If I would’ve known you get like this during Halloween out of all movies…” He teased despite being a little flustered.

“Do you wanna go home and finish this movie there?” You ask with faux innocence and he nods quickly. Neither of you watched the movie when at home.

Jim (Delinquent Season)((My favorite guy failure))

Jim isn’t too excited about Halloween but he does like that it’s an opportunity to see you in a revealing costume. You had the grand idea of going as the pin-up model, Bettie Page. You didn’t tell Jim in advance, wanting to surprise him. Neither of you had any plans that Halloween, but you still wanted to indulge in a little bit of the holiday.

“I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you just wanted to go as a Playboy Bunny.” Jim teases you as you open up a package in the mail.

You laughed and shook your head as he watched you tear open the package. You hold up the little black corset top in one hand and the black high-waisted mini skirt in another. He laughed when he saw it, looking amusingly surprised.

“I think there’s a wig in here somewhere…” You told him with a little laugh as you put down the clothes and shifted through the package.

“I think you should try it on.” He offered, obviously a little excited about the prospect of seeing you in something just short of lingerie. “You know, make sure it fits.”

“Yeah?” You teased. “Is that the only reason why I should try it on?”

Jim walked behind you and put his hands on your hips as he kissed you softly on the neck.

“No,” He laughed and let his hands roam around your body for a moment. “I also want to see you in it. You’ll look so good…”

“Fine,” You smile and lean your head a tad so he can kiss your neck a bit more. “You might have to help me with the stockings though…”

“I have no objections to that at all.”

Bonus!

Jackson Rippner

“It’s Halloween?”

“Yeah, Jack.”

“Hm.”

(I don’t take him for a Halloween, he’s much more focused on domestic terrorism and all that silly stuff!)

Happy Halloween! Sorry if this is stupid or badly written, I just had to write something, it's been a while.

#jonathan crane x reader #jackson rippner x reader #neil lewis x reader #jim delinquent season x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction

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offender42085 · 18 days

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Post 1201

Before and After....... but before all this there was that adventure in the lake.

Thomas Jay Ruger, South Carolina inmate 371483, born 1994, incarceration intake December 2022 at age 28, scheduled for release June 2026

Distribution of a Controlled Substance, Trafficking Meth

On Sunday, January 2, 2022, Greenwood County (South Carolina) deputies chased a man who fled from a truck that he was driving and dove into Lake Greenwood to avoid arrest.

Thomas Jay Ruger, and Brandy Nicole Cockrell Young, were arrested. Both were charged with trafficking in meth or cocaine base; possession of narcotic in schedule I(b), (c), LSD and schedule II and possession of other controlled substance in schedule I-V. Ruger was also charged with two counts each of driving under suspension and failure to stop for blue light (FTSBL).

Earlier that day, a Greenwood County deputy spotted a man driving a truck and knew he had active warrants from other law enforcement agencies. He tried to stop the man, but he fled from officers and led deputies in a car chase into neighboring Laurens County.

Eventually the driver opened the door to the pickup truck and jumped from the moving truck and he ran and subsequently dove into Lake Greenwood, trying to swim across the lake. Officers took a woman in the truck into custody and eventually detained the man and brought him back to his truck.

The distance he was attempting to swim was estimated to be about 1/3 of a mile (or 1/2 a kilometer). Each time the man would see deputies waiting for him at the water's edge he would change direction. After several course changes he eventually came ashore into the hands of waiting deputies.

(Lake Greenwood is an artificial lake, composed of impounded water behind a hydroelectric dam. The surface area of the lake is 18 square miles/46 square kilometers with an average depth of 22 feet/7 meters.)

Inside the truck, officers found plastic baggies with about 11 grams of a substance that tested positive for meth, along with pills in the woman’s purse and other baggies. The man and woman told officers the drugs belonged to the other person, so deputies decided charge both of them in connection with the drugs.

At court proceedings almost a year later in November 2022, Ruger pleased guilty and was sentenced.

#inmate

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amphoterrible · 3 months

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some background information

What am I doing? Why, I'm re-watching House, M.D. as a whole-ass pharmacist and taking meticulous notes!

I’m only going to focus on when House, M.D. gets something about medication just wildly wrong. I’m not going to be like “why are the chest compressions so slow” or “would Chase really be inserting that temporary transcutaneous pacer at the beside wouldn’t they want to do that in the EP lab” or anything else along those lines. I am but a humble pharmacist.

Hydrocodone/acetaminophen (APAP), the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA), and the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA)

This is going to be interesting because House aired from November 16, 2004 to May 21, 2012 and there are two things that come to mind for me: 1) The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) asked drug manufacturers to reduce the strength of acetaminophen in combination acetaminophen products to 325 mg in 2011(1) and 2) hydrocodone combination products were still scheduled as schedule III by the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA).(2) Hydrocodone combination products weren’t rescheduled to schedule II until 2014. Schedule III prescriptions are a lot easier to write and fill than schedule II prescriptions. A lot of the legal nuance varies by state and I am not going to read New Jersey pharmacy statutes, thank you very MUCH I barely passed every Multistate Pharmacy Jurisprudence Examination (MPJE) I’ve ever taken. Back to the Vicodin. So how am I going to know exactly what formulation of Vicodin House was consuming?

I really don’t care about the hydrocodone component of it. There is no ceiling to an opioid, it’s whatever the patient can tolerate it. (Well technically there is too much to give but you have to look at if the patient is used to taking opioids or not don’t just slam someone with 10 mg of IV Dilaudid you know what I’m saying.) And if they don’t tolerate it give them some naloxone. And patients with chronic pain can tolerate a lot of opioids. Was Vicodin an appropriate opioid for House? No! But it was less regulated! And the threat of liver failure is dramatic! But Oxycontin would make more sense – Wilson’s an oncologist, he would be prescribing it all the time! Cancer hurts! Antineoplastics hurt! Oxycontin was the most widely abused prescription opioid in the United States in 2004(3), right when House started airing. But no, it’s Vicodin. The writers chose Vicodin for a reason. I’m going to let the art flow over me. We’re sticking with Vicodin. Or, hydrocodone/APAP because Abbott isn’t paying me to do this.

I worked in an independent retail pharmacy my first year of pharmacy school (which was 2010 before I realized I do not have a poker face to deal with the general public and immediately started working in a hospital), and I vaguely remember there being way too many formulations of hydrocodone/APAP. Hydrocodone/APAP has a few brand names: Vicodin, Norco, and Lortab. I usually say Norco because it’s the easiest. (I actually say hydrocodone/acetaminophen because I’m an asshole.) I found this email(4) sent by Abbott in October 2012 that discussed the newly reformulated Vicodin®, Vicodin ES®, and Vicodin HP®, which is handy since it lists the old formulations too:

Vicodin®

Hydrocodone 5 mg/acetaminophen 500 mg

Vicodin ES®

Hydrocodone 7.5 mg/acetaminophen 750 mg

Vicodin HP®

Hydrocodone 10 mg/acetaminophen 660 mg

Who the fuck puts 750 mg of acetaminophen in one tablet? That limits the patient to five tablets in 24 hours. We’ve known the maximum dose of acetaminophen is 4000 mg since the 1970s. What the fuck, Abbott.

(Matthew Mercer Voice) How Do You Want To Do This?

So, like, I guess I’ll just count the tablets I see House consuming and then calculate the total daily dose of acetaminophen for each Vicodin formulation? I feel like I can do total acetaminophen dosage based on episodes versus trying to keep track of the days. The timeline of this show is wonky and like once you hit the toxic dose you’re there so? Also, sometimes he takes more than one and it’s hard to hear the tablets like, clink against his teeth or whatever. Sparkle on! We’ll do our best. I was going to put this in an Excel spreadsheet but I just remembered I am a pharmacist and I cannot function in Excel.

Let’s talk about the mechanism of liver toxicity and treatment of acetaminophen overdose if we hit significant toxicity. Wouldn’t it be funny if we didn’t?? That would result in me rambling about House M.D. for pages and pages and he doesn’t even get hypothetical liver failure. Is this fanfiction? Am I writing really weird fanfiction? Anyways significant toxicity occurs if you hit 150 mg/kg of acetaminophen.(5) How much does Gregory House weigh?? Let’s give him a range: 160-180 pounds (73-82 kg). Fairly average, actually. So House’s toxic dose of acetaminophen is likely 10,950 mg to 12,300 mg. Let’s say lower range is 22 tablets of Vicodin®, 15 tablets of Vicodin ES®, 17 tablets of Vicodin HP® and the upper range is 25 tablets of Vicodin®, 17 tablets of Vicodin ES®, and 19 tablets of Vicodin HP®.

References

Department of Health and Human Services. Food and Drug Administration. Prescription drug products containing acetaminophen; actions to reduce liver injury from unintentional overdose. Federal Register. 2011;76(10):2691-2697.

Seago S, Hayek A, Pruszynski J, Newman MG. Change in prescription habits after federal rescheduling of hydrocodone combination products. Proc (Bayl Univ Med Cent). 2016; 29:268-270.

Zee AV. The promotion of marketing of OxyContin: commercial triumph, public health tragedy. Am J Public Health. 2009;99:221-227.

Abbott. Newly reformulated Vicodin® launch announcement. https://www.uspharmacist.com/email/ecf1248.html. Accessed January 8, 2024.

Hendrickson RG. Acetaminophen. In: Nelson LS, Howland M, Lewin NA, Smith SW, Goldfrank LR, Hoffman RS, eds. Goldfrank's Toxicologic Emergencies, 11e. McGraw-Hill; 2019:486-499.

#house md #hate crimes md #house rewatch 2024 #I'm halfway through season 1 this is going to take A Bit #so please bear with me #but here's some background ramblings #I'll make a pinned post and have links to each season #so I am ~*~organized~*~

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enigmaticexplorer · 4 months

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I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter II

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | A Muse | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4.7K

Beta. @starstofillmydream

17 Telona

Kazi was a creature of routine.

She preferred tidiness and organization, as demonstrated by her clean house and minimalistic interior design. Everything had its place. And clutter was quickly alleviated. If it wasn’t useful, then it was donated.

After her father’s death, she became hyper-focused on intensive scheduling. The galaxy was chaotic and unpredictable. Routine guaranteed a sense of security and allowed her to feel in control.

Early morning—the gray of nautical twilight just giving way to the pinks of sunrise—was her time.

She preferred the quiet, the solitude.

A swim in the lake down the hill, her strokes repetitive.

A brisk walk back to the house, the dewy climate of Eluca’s jungles and the chilled scent of an earthy breeze relaxing.

A quick shower to cleanse herself.

A bowl of porridge decorated with chunks of lumina berries and a drizzle of honey.

Breakfast completed, her solitude lasted an hour, soon interrupted by a sleepy Neyti and a busy Daria. The morning routine took a turn as Kazi focused on Neyti. Breakfast eaten, teeth brushed, school uniform donned. A short drive to the school and then onto work in Eluca’s capital city, Canopis.

Daria, sometimes with the aid of Healer Natasha, retrieved Neyti from school in the afternoon. Kazi returned to the house in the late evening, ate dinner, and then started her analytical work for the rebel network, spending time with Neyti as the youngling completed her schoolwork or watched a film. Her day didn’t allow for unscheduled interruptions.

So it had gone since their arrival on Eluca.

Hair still wet from her shower, Kazi stood at the kitchen counter slicing strips of a lumina berry. The berries—ovular shaped and larger than her hand—were a random buy at the marketplace, but when she realized Neyti enjoyed them, they became a staple in the household.

The dark purple fuzz of the shell tickled her palm. She placed the tip of her knife at the center of the berry, sliding it around until it fell into a nearly imperceptible crack. With a smug smile, she slid the knife down and—

The bookcase in the entryway swung open.

Kazi startled, her hand twitching and the knife jerking. It sliced open her palm.

“Fuck,” she hissed. Setting aside both fruit and knife in favor of running her hand under the sink’s spout, she assessed the cut.

Luckily, it was small and shallow, and it wouldn’t require stitches. And even if it did, Kazi knew herself well enough to admit she would ignore the problem indefinitely. She would have to be forced and drugged to get stitches. She shivered at the thought.

It was her involuntary reaction that reminded her of the moving bookcase. Shoulders stiffening and stomach clenching, Kazi turned off the sink, pressed a cloth to her still-bleeding palm, and lifted her head.

One of the clones, the one with the cybernetic eye—Commander Wolffe—stood on the opposite side of the bar. He was dressed in simple clothes: a white work shirt, brown trousers, and a dark belt. His hair—faded on the sides and longer on top—was slicked back with water. He must have taken a shower. At least the amenities in the basement still worked.

The commander scanned his surroundings, his eyes lingering on the dragon figurine on the bookcase.

Scales polished a lightless black, as impenetrable as a black hole, the dragon was as long as Kazi’s hand. It was poised in the midst of flight, mirroring the flight pattern of the female dragon from her favorite constellation and legend: the Dancing Dragons.

The sole difference between her carving and the female dragon was the color. Black versus silver-blue. Kazi’s dragon had been carved from a burnt tree in Ceaia’s most sacred land, the resting place of the last dragon.

The figurine used to stand on her nightstand. Gifted by her father when she was five years old, per Traditionalist custom, the dragon was her guardian. Her protector. It was one of the few pieces of her old life she still kept. Symbolic of the little girl she used to be. The little girl she couldn’t entirely cut out.

Kazi shook away the memory and refocused on the clone.

Silence expanded between them, tense and heavy. Tightly wrung with mutual observation and calculation both she and Commander Wolffe were partaking in as they eyed one another.

In the spirit of cohabitation—forced cohabitation—Kazi cleared her throat. The man across the counter stilled. Except she didn’t have anything to say to him. Maybe a morning greeting would suffice.

But she didn’t think she owed him that. He was in her house interrupting her morning routine, after all.

“My sister and Neyti will be down sometime soon to eat breakfast,” Kazi informed him. Setting aside the now bloodied rag, she returned to the lumina berry. The shell split open with ease. “Neyti and I leave at 07:30. Daria typically spends the day in town, so you’ll have the house to yourselves until 16:45, or 17:00.” And because her nerves were still rattled by his presence, and because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Be sure to tidy up after yourselves up here. We prefer cleanliness.”

With that, she walked around the bar, keeping close to the cool metal to avoid nearing the commander, and approached the couch and the flatscreen. A flip of a switch and the flatscreen displayed the local news channel.

“The problem of terrorists attacking our workplaces, our places of trade, our homes cannot be taken lightly,” a female voice relayed from the screen. Kazi pursed her lips as she returned to the kitchen. “I am dedicated to protecting the people in Veridian Sector, and by extension, the people of our Empire.”

The voice belonged to Moff Harpy of Veridian Sector. A kindly appearance hid the woman’s vindictive nature. Supporting Imperial nationalization of local businesses, Moff Harpy earned herself a negative reputation among Eluca’s locals. She was greedy and willing to funnel money from obsolete planets, like Eluca, into the industrial, money-making planets of Veridian Sector.

Since the end of the war, Veridian Sector had grown into an important military stronghold. Its location along a prominent hyperspace route and its general submission to Imperial whims made it ideal for Imperial military and security operations. And, as such, most of its planets hosted new military bases. To aid the Empire in its conquest of the ‘uncivilized and rebellious’ Outer Rim.

“Has terrorism been a problem here?”

The question caught her off guard and Kazi looked up from the porridge she was heating on the stove. The commander sat in a stool at the bar. He was reading through a file on his datapad and when he noticed her attention, he shut it off.

“I wouldn’t call it terrorism,” she said, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, hard and seemingly apathetic. Bored, yet hinting intrigue.

The expressionless mask shifted as he rolled his eyes. “Unlawful use of violence against civilians is terrorism.”

“That may be so”—she stirred her porridge—“but what about the unlawful use of violence by the government against civilians. Is that considered terrorism as well?” Her question was rhetorical so she pressed on. “There have been small pockets of rebellion in this sector, just as there have been in most Outer Rim sectors ever since the Empire arrived.”

They lapsed into silence.

Kazi listened to the updates from the HoloNet, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to watch the screen whenever the news was appallingly glamoured in propaganda. The reporters shifted their attention back to the question of “terrorism” and the recent imprisonment of terrorists on the planet Geonosis.

“These rebels”—Commander Wolffe said the word as if it offended him—“are idiots if they think they can take on the Empire.”

Kazi frowned at the condescension in his tone. She may have held similar cynical beliefs—rebellion against the omnipotent Empire was inevitably futile and would likely lead to mass deaths across the galaxy—but she didn’t care for the former commander’s ridicule.

There were good people out there. People like Lore and Sparks, and even Fehr, who were dedicated to helping others: food relief, chain code provisions, displaced persons’ relocation. Kazi may have lacked the optimism in hoping for the Empire’s end. But she did believe in helping others.

“They’re people who believe in something bigger and better.” She noted the barely masked scorn in the commander’s gaze while he listened to her. “I don’t see why their personal decisions matter so much to you.”

“They don’t.” He tapped two fingers against the bar.

Even sitting his stature and size were imposing. Intimidating. He could easily overpower her if he wanted, and that thought unnerved her.

“They have to realize fighting against the Empire is a waste of resources,” Commander Wolffe interrupted the silence once more. Kazi gripped her spoon harder. “And for what? To restore the Republic? It’s an unattainable goal.”

“Maybe to you.”

“Don’t tell me you believe their agenda.”

Her hesitation to answer earned her a smug look from the commander. It put her on the defensive.

“What about you?” she demanded. “You’re trying to rescue current soldiers of the Empire. That’s an incredibly futile mission.” The commander stiffened and she silently congratulated herself for hitting a nerve. “The rebels may be optimistic, but they’re actually doing something instead of hiding.”

“The rebels’ actions aren’t doing anything helpful. You can argue their actions are working to the contrary. Blowing up government buildings with innocent civilians in them will anger the Empire. It’ll react harsher. And crueler.”

“Those were guerrillas. The rebel network isn’t—”

“What has your network done? Anything of value?”

“The Empire has been in control for little more than a year.” Defensiveness coiled in her muscles and it took effort to keep her tone composed. “Rebellion takes time. Time to plan. To organize. To strategize. The network is gathering resources and intel in order to prepare for well-timed targets. I would expect a commander to know that.”

“Not everyone has time.” Commander Wolffe leaned forward. “My brothers and I are doing something. We’re rescuing soldiers. Getting them out and somewhere safe. Right now. The rebel groups—network, Partisan Front, whatever you want to call them—haven’t done anything beneficial.”

“I find it hypocritical that you’re scorning the rebels while working with them.”

He scoffed. “We’re not working together.”

Kazi frowned. It was her understanding that the three commanders were working with the network. Now that she thought about it, though, Fehr never mentioned a network-clone collaboration. The older woman merely stated she knew the men through a mutual contact.

Suspicion spiked in her chest, like a blowfish the moment it sensed danger. Kazi knew nothing about these clones—their mission could be a lie, a façade for something else.

“We have a similar dislike of the Empire,” Commander Wolffe said, his eyes narrowing at her blatant stare. “That’s it. I won’t waste my time on unrealistic ideologies and impractical strategies that will fail.”

“The rebels’ ideology may be flawed, but it’s hope that dictates their actions. Hope that the galaxy can be better.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “People need that hope—they need something to believe in—because without it, they won’t be invested in the movement.”

He cocked his head to the side, mistrust palpable in his quick assessment of her body. “What are you doing for the movement?”

“I collect data and analyze it.”

“What type of data?”

“Data concerning Veridian Sector.”

Commander Wolffe sat back in his seat, a satisfied expression on his face. “Your data isn’t significant.”

Kazi gritted her teeth. The data she stole from her government job was minimal, and it wasn’t significant to the galaxy at large. However, it kept the network informed of Imperial movements within the Sector, as well as the occasional intelligence that helped precarious situations elsewhere.

Her intel analyses served one purpose: to warn the network of alarming Imperial decisions.

Kazi didn’t appreciate the smug look on the commander’s face, and she didn’t appreciate his blatant dismissal of the rebel network’s work—dismissal of her work—even if she agreed with him.

“It’s better to analyze insignificant data than to abet the Empire. Remind me, you were a soldier, right?” She smiled at the clench in his jaw. “We have people like you to thank for standing by and allowing the Empire to overthrow the Republic.”

The commander straightened in his seat, lips pressing in a firm line. Kazi maintained eye contact. But she could feel the tension emanating from him. Tension and rage.

The silence lasted a full minute before Commander Wolffe tapped his fingers against the bar, rolling his shoulders back.

“ ‘Course a natborn would assume I supported the rise of the Empire.” His voice carried an overtone of indifference. It was belied by the rigidity of his posture. “Arrogant and judgmental, huh.”

“Is it really judgmental if it’s based on fact?”

“And what evidence do you have to support your statement?”

“Did you or did you not serve the Empire as it came to power?”

The commander crossed his arms over his chest. “You said you already knew.”

Kazi regarded him for a few seconds. He had a point—she had made her judgment and thought herself correct without the evidence to support or prove it. It irked her that he was technically right. The taunting quirk of his mouth irked her even further.

“I may have judged you, but I am right.” Kazi turned off the stove and removed her porridge, allowing it to cool. “The clones turned against the Republic and now serve the Empire. You served the Empire, so your criticism of the rebellion is moot.”

Commander Wolffe scoffed. “I’m not allowed to criticize ineffective strategy because of my past?”

“You’re not criticizing ineffective strategy. You’re criticizing the rebellion’s existence.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He fisted a hand atop the counter. “The rebellion is another form of authority. Similar to the Empire. It’s exerting what it believes is the ideal way of governance.”

It was her turn to scoff. “The rebellion is fighting to free people from oppressive authority. They’re not exerting their own beliefs on others.”

“What happens if the rebellion defeats the Empire? What’s stopping them from abusing their power?”

“The rebellion’s leaders won’t abuse their power—”

“You don’t know that.”

“In that case, you shouldn’t trust any form of authority or governance.” At Commander Wolffe’s casual shrug, Kazi rolled her eyes. “Your cynicism is unreasonable—”

“I have every reason to not trust any form of governance.”

“I never said you didn’t—”

“You were saying my behavior was unreasonable.”

Kazi straightened at the accusation in his tone. “You clearly have a problem with me—”

“And you’ve been the picture of hospitality.”

“As I was saying”—her voice sharpened—“you have a problem with me, so tell me what it is.”

The commander lounged back in the stool. His features were tight with wariness, his gaze cold and harsh. “What does your network want from us?”

The question was so unexpected Kazi could only blink at him.

“The network wants many things,” she said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know what the network wants from you, or if they even want something.” She held his gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescue-and-relocate.” The commander worked his jaw, his eyes never leaving hers. “Why was this house chosen?”

At his flippant tone, Kazi tensed. “Is it not up to your standards?”

“I’m trying to figure out why the network chose this location when you clearly don’t want us here.” He gave her a bored look. “Planning on turning us in to the Empire?”

“Why did you accept the location when you clearly don’t trust the network?”

He refused to answer, his gaze unflinching.

Deeming the conversation concluded, Kazi returned to her porridge. She spooned a lump but hesitated, sneaking a sidelong glance in the commander’s direction. Eating in front of a stranger—eating in front of people, in general—was something she avoided, so she turned her back to him. Her small bite was cold and bland. She forced herself to swallow.

Uncertainty gnawed at her mind and apprehension knotted her muscles. The commander’s intrusion left her feeling off-kilter. Everything was outside her control.

Her porridge was no longer warm. She lost precious minutes of solitude. Her palm ached from the coagulating blood. The floors were dirty.

Kazi bit her tongue. Crumbs dotted the hardwood and it was clear her sister hadn’t vacuumed, even though she said she would.

Gripping her spoon harder, she tried to steady her breathing. She would vacuum when she returned to the house tonight. It wasn’t a big deal.

But her sister’s lack of responsibility vexed her, and her environment was unclean, and now three more people would be using the kitchen. Excluding however many soldiers the clone commanders brought here.

The reality of the situation struck her. Soldiers would be living here. Soldiers she didn’t know. Male soldiers who could be a danger to Neyti or Daria.

Heart beating too fast, Kazi forced herself to take another bite of porridge. It was too cold. She struggled to swallow it.

Panic mounted inside of her. She set aside the bowl and moved on to preparing Neyti’s lunch.

Minutes later, with a well-balanced meal paired with a tasty slice of pie she baked earlier in the week, Kazi stacked the food containers into a portable lunch bag. Snagging a pen and flimsi pad from a drawer, she wrote a quick note.

The moons will be full tonight. We can look at them.

The daily notes were simple. She didn’t know if Neyti read them, but she wanted the little girl to know she wasn’t alone. Even if she was distant and they didn’t talk—

A sharp intake of breath drew her attention and Kazi looked up.

In hindsight, she reacted too slowly.

The situation was unusual—players on a gameboard interacting in a dimension they weren’t supposed to—and so her reaction was delayed, allowing the situation to devolve.

A sleepy Neyti stood at the bottom of the stairs, adorably rumpled in overlarge pajamas and bunny-shaped slippers. Black hair knotted, her mouth hung open.

Kazi’s first thought concerned a morning greeting. She never knew how to interact with Neyti, and she always overthought what to say.

Good morning felt too formal and insincere.

How did you sleep? would go unanswered since Neyti refused to speak.

Today, the greeting debate didn’t matter.

Neyti stared at Commander Wolffe with wide eyes, and the commander stared back, perturbed.

The small child gulped. She mouthed a word, something that looked like “No.”

Confused, Kazi watched Neyti launch herself at the now-standing commander. Tiny fists pummeled the commander’s thighs and stomach, and it was so odd that Kazi still hesitated.

An annoyed grunt from the commander snapped her into action and Kazi lurched around the bar, yanking Neyti into her body. The little girl strained against her arms, gasping.

“Neyti,” Kazi scolded gently, turning the girl around. “Stop—stop.”

Neyti was shaking, large gray eyes welling with tears, nose sniffling. She seemed to be fighting the tears—her tawny skin growing blotchy and shoulders curving inwards. Pitiful hiccups emanated from her chest and she kept gulping, as if she could swallow back the emotions.

The sight of the small child trying to control her emotions made Kazi tense.

It was like looking through a window into her childhood. Witnessing the moments she hid in her room, breathing erratic and body shuddering as she dug her fingernails into her thighs and ordered herself not to cry. Pinching herself to feel real pain rather than the uncontrollable feelings pounding in her chest like fists trying to claw their way free.

“Neyti,” Kazi whispered hoarsely.

Neyti burst into a stifled sob and pressed her hands to her face, trying to hide the tears wetting her cheeks. Small, muffled cries shook her shoulders.

From the corner of Kazi’s eye, Commander Wolffe rubbed the back of his neck, his consternated gaze trained on the crying girl. He took a step forward, brows knitted together.

Deciding it best to create space, Kazi scooped Neyti into her arms and moved upstairs to the safe confines of the little girl’s room. Once the door was closed, she set Neyti on the edge of the bed.

The bed’s quilt was a mosaic depiction of blue and white waves. She thought it would be a pleasant reminder of Ceaia; a reminder of home for the child who lost everything. Small stuffed animals—a spotted jaguar, a blue bird of prey, and a pink dolphin (all natives to Eluca)—perched across Neyti’s stacked pillows.

Sitting cross-legged, Neyti hid her face in her hands. Her sobs had quieted into wet hiccups; she still trembled.

Kazi reached a hand forward—tentative, slow—but she hesitated. She worked hard to respect Neyti’s space, understanding how disorienting unwanted touch could be, and she didn’t want to force it.

Instead, she grabbed the spotted jaguar and gently placed it in Neyti’s lap. A hope the stuffed animal could provide a comfort she couldn’t. Neyti hugged the animal to her chest.

Uncertain what to do now, Kazi scanned the girl’s bedroom.

A brown, wooden desk leaned against the left wall. Laid across its chair was Neyti’s school uniform, creaseless and clean.

Four of the desk’s six shelves were barren. One shelf carried extra school supplies and the second shelf housed a small succulent Daria gifted Neyti a few weeks ago. Bulbous, white dots splattered the red flower, like sheep grazing in a field of blood. Vibrant green oddly shaped leaves sloped the perimeter of the pot. The dirt looked freshly watered.

A quiet cough drew her attention. Wide eyes blinked at her. Abashed, Neyti ducked her chin to her chest, hastily wiping at her cheeks.

Kazi bit the inside of her cheek, hating herself for Neyti’s clear embarrassment. She needed to do better—be better—for the youngling. Shoving aside her self-deprecating thoughts, she grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the nightstand and offered one to Neyti. The girl accepted it and rubbed away her tears.

“Did the man downstairs scare you?” Kazi asked gently.

Neyti froze, her shoulders curving inwards.

“It’s okay if you were scared,” she said. Neyti’s lower lip trembled and Kazi mentally berated herself. Berated herself for putting Neyti in such an awful situation. “It’s scary to see people you don’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him.” She paused. “Did he remind you of what happened to your mom?”

The little girl sniffled and looked down at the bed. Her fingers played with the tissue, folding it into crisp lines.

Kazi massaged her temple. She should have known Neyti would react this way. She should have been prepared. She should have told Commander Wolffe to leave so that she could speak with Neyti.

It was her fault Neyti was scared and crying. She had failed. Failed spectacularly.

Defeat wrapped an unfriendly arm around her; she gritted her teeth.

“That man downstairs isn’t going to hurt you, okay?” She searched Neyti’s frowning face. “He’s a…good guy. And he and a few others like him are going to live with us for a while. Okay?”

Neyti tilted her head to the side, curiosity awakened.

Kazi nudged a bunny slipper with her foot. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me and Daria. Okay?”

Still fiddling with the tissue, Neyti considered her. For a six-year-old, she practiced a shrewdness most adults lacked, her expression thoughtful, perceptive eyes wandering from the door to her face. Kazi kept her features open and kind, hoping Neyti could see the truth in her gaze. The promise. Finally, Neyti nodded.

Loosing a quiet breath of relief, Kazi straightened. She hesitated for a moment and then extended her hand. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

Neyti appraised her hand. After a few seconds, she patted it.

Slightly bemused, Kazi decided it was progress and made her way to the door.

Correcting one of the lopsided ears on her bunny slipper so that both were proportionally angled, Neyti stumbled from her bed, tossed away her tissue, and followed Kazi back downstairs.

Her hope to ease Neyti into a cohabitated space with the clones—starting small with just Commander Wolffe—was ruined by the presence of the other two clones.

The three clones stood close together, countenances serious and voices low in discussion.

Muscles stiffened along her back and Kazi pursed her lips. So much for an easy introduction.

Lifting her chin, she strode into the kitchen. The clones’ conversation faltered. Three sets of eyes assessed her and then lowered to Neyti who stood on the final step of the staircase, one hand curled around the banister while her gaze bounced from one clone to the next. Her cheeks started to darken; her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Kazi cleared her throat—an attempt to distract the clones from Neyti—and grabbed her bloodied rag, stuffing it in her back pocket to hide it from Neyti.

“I want to apologize for what happened,” she said, meeting Commander Wolffe’s gaze. “I hadn’t told her about your arrival and you…” Scared her.

A muscle flexed in his jaw.

“…startled her,” she finished.

Soft footsteps padded to the corner of the bar. Kazi gave Neyti an encouraging nod. Bunny ears bobbing, Neyti stepped close to her side, her eyes darting from Kazi to the clones. A vacillated movement waiting for someone to act.

Commander Cody moved first, patting one of the bar’s stools. A small smile lifted his lips, and in a kindly voice he asked, “Do you want to sit here?”

An adorable glare darkened Neyti’s features. With a suspicious glower aimed at the commander, she wandered farther into the kitchen, deliberately ignoring the three males.

The clones shared dubious looks.

While Neyti grabbed a fork from a squeaking drawer, Kazi opened a lopsided cabinet to retrieve a plate, wincing at the cabinet’s poor appearance. The house boasted a multitude of loose or broken oddities. She wanted to hire someone to fix the basic issues but she kept putting it off.

Still glowering, Neyti edged around the bar, keeping ample distance between her and the males, and took a seat at the kitchen table. Scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and berry slices filled her plate. She took slow bites as she eyed the clones.

Expecting more interrogation from the now-gathered commanders, Kazi faced them. Commander Wolffe was staring at her, arms folded across his chest.

“You have a kid.”

“Yes.” She studied him, trying to decipher his inscrutable expression. It was futile. When the three clones didn’t question her further on Neyti’s existence, she changed topics. “I registered a flight plan for you. Your ship is now a food-export carrier.”

Registering the flight plan under her name left her annoyed and unsettled. But Fehr requested it, and she couldn’t refuse. She only hoped nothing would come of it.

Commander Fox leaned against the bar. “Fehr mentioned you’re an analyst.”

It wasn’t a question so Kazi didn’t bother confirming. Instead, she observed the severe glare Commander Wolffe threw Commander Fox. A glare full of warning.

Either ignorant of Commander Wolffe’s baleful stare or electing to ignore him, Commander Fox continued. “We have intel that needs to be analyzed—”

“No.” The word was low and controlled, and though Commander Wolffe appeared apathetic, the rigid lines in his shoulders and jaw spoke otherwise.

The two commanders stared one another down. Their postures were stiff and eyes narrowed as they engaged in a silent argument Kazi couldn’t parse. Commander Cody looked between them. He released an aggrieved sigh, shaking his head.

Deciding she had no interest in whatever the clones wanted, Kazi joined Neyti at the table.

While Neyti finished her breakfast, Kazi considered her tasks for the day, making a mental note to pick up more lumina berries from the Marketplace. Her thoughts were jittery, though, and her attention returned to analyzing Commander Wolffe. He hadn’t moved, his stance defensive, face guarded.

Except, this time, his expression wasn’t so unreadable.

He was scrutinizing her. Studying her in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck curl.

There was something in his gaze that left her discomfited. Like she was a ball of yarn, knotted and entangled, yet he was assured in his abilities to pick her apart. To untangle her and peer inside at all she kept carefully locked away and hidden.

But she knew herself, and she knew he would never succeed.

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | A Muse | Chapter 3

A/N: Next chapter release – January 18th

I love the reluctant father trope. It's one of my favorites. But I’ve also come to the unremarkable realization that readers readily forgive male characters for their parenting mistakes, but when it comes to a woman, she’s expected to be a good parent. She’s expected to have a motherly “instinct”, and readers, and society in general, aren’t forgiving of these female characters when they mess up.

This is my take on the reluctant father trope. Kazi will make mistakes when it comes to Neyti’s care. She will majorly fuck up. She is human, she is not infallible, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Parenting is a learning experience, regardless of gender. Her struggles are a main part of this story.

Read "A Muse" for additional context and a map of the house.

#I Yearn and so I Fear #commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari #commander wolffe #oc: kazi ennari #commander wolffe x ofc #star wars fanfiction #commander wolffe fanfiction

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