angstyaches

[angstyaches]

"STOP PUTTING YOURSELF INTO DANGER!" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for expressing your fear that the person you care about might get themselves hurt if they keep acting like this, adjust as necessary

i thought i told you to stay back.

i love you too much to let you get hurt like this.

this affects me, too, you know.

every time you leave, i sit up all night waiting, praying you'll come back alive.

you keep pulling stunts like this and something bad will happen.

do you have a death wish or something?

this isn't fair to me.

i deserve better than this.

i didn't get any sleep last night because i was so worried about you.

you promised me you'd stop going out at night.

i don't like hearing this.

you've been risking your life, and for what? so you can feel like a goddamn hero?

i said i would handle it.

what the fuck are you doing here?

you told me you'd stay put.

so much for laying low.

you remember how bad it was last time.

seems like you haven't learned anything.

i believe you promised me you'd lay low.

i can't keep doing this.

don't give me that look.

we'll discuss this later.

this stops now.

i'm tired of picking up the pieces once you've left.

you keep throwing yourself into danger.

you don't give a shit about yourself, do you?

i'm sitting here, worried out of my mind, while you're out doing god knows what.

that was really stupid of you, and you know it.

i thought you knew better than this.

what's your excuse this time?

you do realize what this does to me, right? seeing you get hurt like this? you know it hurts me, too?

you really don't give a shit how this affects me, huh.

that was the dumbest possible thing you could have done.

i need you to stop throwing yourself into harm's way.

that was completely unnecessary.

they had it handled.

you didn't need to step in like that.

why do you think you're invincible?

the last time you pulled a stunt like this, it nearly got you killed.

i can't just sit here and watch you get hurt.

what are you trying to prove?

you just like fucking with my heart, don't you.

this shit hurts me, too, you know.

you're not the only one affected by this shit.

you've got a lot of people counting on you to come home every night.

what happens if you don't come back?

you think we can just carry on without you?

you think i can handle things if you end up dead?

i'm not sticking around to watch you get hurt.

you're not even slick.

you think you're invincible, don't you.

quit pretending you've got everything under control.

let someone else do it for a change.

you can't keep putting yourself through shit like this and expect me to just sit back and watch.

i'm done with this.

next time you do this, i'm not coming back.

promise me this is the end.

look me in the eyes and tell me you'll stop doing this.

let the authorities deal with it.

you're making a big mistake.

is it worth dying for?

i've dealt with enough pain over the years.

[angstyaches]

Kind of niche, but Whumpees who were starved in captivity, and then go onto starve themselves when they get out (whether intentional or not.)

TW FOR EDs, THIS COULD BE TRIGGERING! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Maybe their food was poisoned as punishment, and now every bite feels like danger. Whumpee makes caretaker eat first, to be sure. Even still, they sometimes think they can taste a hint of bitterness.

Maybe Whumpee began to associate hunger with normality, with survival. Fullness is unfamiliar, uncomfortable, alien, and scary, especially if force-feeding was involved. They subconsciously recreate the starvation, because it’s familiar.

Or maybe Whumpee associates eating with vulnerability. Maybe they weren’t allowed to eat unless they were watched or restrained, and now it feels embarrassing and shameful.

Maybe Whumpee associates certain foods or textures with their captivity. The thought of eating anything remotely similar to what they were served sends them into fits of gagging.

Maybe food was a form of control over them, and Whumpee is determined to take it back. Starvation is just the easiest way, in their mind. No one can use food to control me if I take it away first. It’s their choice when and if they eat, now.

Maybe they feel like they don’t deserve it, since they got out and others didn’t. They’re constantly pushing food onto others, especially caretaker. Maybe they’re so guilty they start working at a food bank or soup kitchen to “make up for” what they “stole” from others who didn’t make it out. Caretaker learns quickly that this new kindness is nothing but a trauma response.

Maybe Whumpee literally can’t eat, their stomach shrank so much that it can’t fit even a small amount of food inside. They’re closely watched for refeeding syndrome, and the scrutiny around their meals only makes their anxiety worse.

[angstyaches]

── ★ ˙🌱 ̟ !! touch prompts

¹⁾ knuckles brushing across a cheek

²⁾ a fist knotted in the collar of a shirt

³⁾ lips pressed against a brow-bone

⁴⁾ legs intertwined under covers

⁵⁾ shaking hands knotted together

⁶⁾ two fingers pressed against a pulse point

⁷⁾ unsure fingers braiding hair

⁸⁾ thighs wrapped around a waist

⁹⁾ feet kicked up into a lap

¹⁰⁾ hands guiding a spoon up to waiting lips

¹¹⁾ linked pinkies

¹²⁾ a head leaned against a stomach

¹³⁾ footsie under a dining table

¹⁴⁾ hands playing gently with hair

¹⁵⁾ a thumb pressing down on a bottom lip

¹⁶⁾ fingers scratching at a scalp

¹⁷⁾ a chest pressed warmly against a back

¹⁸⁾ foreheads leaned against one another

¹⁹⁾ hands kneading at sore muscles

²⁰⁾ fingertips tracing the notches of a spine

[angstyaches]

Shayne: consuming demons, eating food he's not used to, hunger, anxiety, stress, fear, motion sickness (mild).

Charlie: migraines, huge amounts of demonic energy, anxiety, bad eyesight, staring at a computer for too long.

Rin: overstimulation, awful period cramps.

Felix: consuming more than a miniscule amount of blood, indigestion from greasy or rich food, overeating (happens too often), motion sickness (can't ride in the back of a car).

Elliott: losing control during a hunt, solid food in any capacity, overexertion of his powers.

7/20/25 Prompt

From an anon: what makes your OCs sick?

[angstyaches]

July is usually when I start going insane and thinking about autumn and Halloween, so I thought, what about a summerween sickfic list so I can think/write about all those things and call it ~an event~?

So here we are:

[angstyaches]

Quick tips for writing kisses

⇰ the pause. THE PAUSE. like “are we doing this? oh god we’re doing this.”

⇰ looking at each other’s mouths like it’s a life-or-death decision

⇰ someone whispering “can I?” or “just once” before going for it and RUINING ME EMOTIONALLY

⇰ hands. gripping shirts. cupping faces. hovering like “do I touch?? I WANNA TOUCH”

⇰ breath hitching?? yes. shakiness?? absolutely.

⇰ that stupid moment where one of them pulls back a few inches like “wait are you sure” and the other just goes for it again

⇰ kissing like they’re scared it’ll be the last time

⇰ kissing like they’ve been waiting ten goddamn years

⇰ teeth clashing awkwardly and both laughing about it but STILL FEELING IT

⇰ one of them freezing for a second mid-kiss because the feelings just hit

⇰ the post-kiss moment of “uh. so. yeah.” where neither knows what the hell just happened

⇰ OR the post-kiss forehead touch. destroy me.

[angstyaches]

I'm going on a late mini honeymoon this week, let's see if I get inspired to revisit the beach arc I was supposed to do once! ⛱️💦

[angstyaches]

passing out prompts

vasovagal response to phobias/pain/stress

whumpee throwing a hand out to the wall if they're alone and don't want to hit their head

the pre-pass out whimper (from personal experience this is a half-hearted attempt to warn others about passing out/an incomplete cry for help or attempt to ask something to stop rather than an actual whimper of distress) (though it is sometimes that too. lol)

more on the pre-syncope symptoms: presumably because of the lack of oxygen, you stop thinking clearly so i remember distinctly feeling my legs go wobbly and my vision go dark but thinking 'no i can just wait it out' - and then waking up on the floor

someone noticing that whumpee looks dizzy or faint and silently moving over to stand behind them

whumpee managing to get out that they feel dizzy but not managing to get to a chair or the floor so the person who catches them does a half-fall with them (because omg people are heavy hello)

or, whumpee who often feels dizzy but doesn't faint, who says they think they're about to pass out and no one rushes to them because they're usually fine. cue ✨ caretaker guilt ✨

[angstyaches]

[angstyaches]

Some days I wake up and feel the urge to rewrite the whole StW prologue arc from Rin's POV and show just how heavy and dull and colourless the world felt before she got confirmation that the supernatural really exists, it's very important to me 🖤

[angstyaches]

Sunday Sickness Prompt 7/6/25

Here's this week's prompt - and remember, send requests if you have them!

What are some particular lines that just "do it for you" when you read sickfics? Emeto specifically or illness/whump in general if you want.

[angstyaches]

Hi! Was looking for Aftermath Part 2 but couldn’t find it. Could you link it please? Thank you! Love your writing!

Here you go!!

Aftermath Part 2

[angstyaches]

The Hexagon: Aftermath Part Three

The Hexagon Saga: Part One + Two | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Aftermath Part One | Aftermath Part Two

CW: guilt, lying, stress-induced nausea, lots of negative self talk, crying, panic attack, mutual angst with mutual comfort, discussion of death, morally grey decisions.

___

“Get out,” Shayne murmured through clenched teeth. His fists ached from battering them on the punching bag, and the wound across his palm felt like it might burst into flame, but the pain was better than stillness. “I told you I wanted to train by myself.”

He heard the training room door close, and a distinct lack of any footsteps retreating. Shayne felt something murky and cold swirling deep in his chest, something he knew was only about to worsen the strain on their relationship, but fucking hell; for a creature with pristine hearing, Elliott just. Didn’t. Listen.

“Elliott.” Shayne spun around. “Get. The fuck –”

He wobbled on his feet, the words dying in his throat.

In a mismatched hoodie and tracksuit, Charlie was leaning against the wall. He wasn’t slouched, but did hold himself in a sort of… cringing, protective way. Though it didn’t seem that it was himself he was protecting.

In his arms, held loosely to his chest, was something light brown and covered in curls. Two shiny black eyes looked out over his crossed forearms, smothered in the folds of his clothes.

Blue-black tendrils spiraled through Charlie’s skin, starting at the corner of his left eye and disappearing into the base of the dirty-white, curved horn that grew from his left temple. His hair had been combed for the first time in quite a while; he’d made sure to put himself together somewhat before leaving the bedroom that morning.

The dark, churning anger didn’t want to go back down, but… it had to. Shayne forced it to. Turned towards the punching bag but didn’t actually punch it. Just stared at its worn stitching and hated it.

“I couldn't believe it when Elliott said you'd be down here,” Charlie said blandly. “Thought you'd be resting.”

The sweat was already cooling on the back of Shayne’s neck. It made him shudder. “I’m fine.”

Charlie hummed in a way that meant you know that I know you’re lying.

Shayne swallowed. He hadn't been lying this morning. His stomach had hurt, and quietly confessing that to Charlie as they'd laid in bed had felt easy. Too easy. He felt awful about it, about how he'd known that Charlie – despite his own ongoing problems – would be so gentle with him, and reassure him that he didn't need to come along to see Ingrid and Trevor. Shayne had known that would happen, hadn't he? He'd forced Charlie to give him an out, because he hadn't wanted to go. Not because he was afraid to witness their worry, but because he knew that would fuss over him as much as they would over Charlie. He didn't deserve that.

“Did you talk to Ryan?”

Shayne cleared his throat. Loudly. “You've got Vincent?”

It was a shitty thing to do, dodging the question, and Shayne felt shitty about doing it, but surely Charlie already knew the answer. If Shayne went to Ryan and complained that his stomach hurt, he couldn't imagine her having any other reaction than looking him up and down once and tell him to stop wasting her time, but since the Hexagon, apparently everything required scrutiny.

Charlie had gotten up twice in the night to go and find Ryan - first with a sore throat, quickly remedied with a glass of water, of all things. And then again because he couldn't stop scratching his wrist and became convinced that something from the forest had burrowed under his skin; it had turned out to be a mild irritation from the bandages.

No doubt Charlie was also stewing on the fact that Shayne still wouldn’t meet with Lucy to unpack his thoughts and emotions following their ordeal. As though spending one solitary hour with a counsellor had somehow made Charlie into some kind of paragon of healing.

Yes. Shayne was way past ready to dodge this whole subject, so he asked about the sudden appearance of Charlie's childhood bear.

“Yeah,” Charlie mumbled. “Mum brought him. Shayne, did you –?”

“H-how’s she doing?” Still facing the punching bag, Shayne flexed the fingers of it his good hand, stretched out his arms - just so he would have something to do besides hit. He didn’t like Charlie to see him hit. “Your mum? And your dad?”

“Uh, yeah, not good.”

Shayne couldn’t resist turning to look again. Charlie’s pain hurt more than his own, and yet Shayne could never stop himself from looking directly at it. Observing it. Staring it down. As though he could intimidate it with his face, scare it away, like the sentient shadows that fled before him in the forest.

Charlie lowered his chin so that he was looking down at the teddy bear in his arms. His thumbs gently stroked back and forth its round little ears in a motion that appeared fluid, unconscious. Some echo of something he probably used to do as a child.

“I’m so glad I could see them, obviously, but it was also… kind of awful? They’re in some kind of shock, I think, and I don’t think it helped, seeing me.”

“They were worried about you,” Shayne murmured.

“I know, but it’s not just that! They’re confused. They’re angry. I… I wish I had some better way of explaining all of this to them. They seem to think Ryan and Nancy should have all the answers, all the time, and be able to fix everything. As if that’s ever been how the world works.”

Charlie gave the top of Vincent’s head an exhausted smile. Shayne recognized that smile. Charlie was annoyed at his parents for not understanding, but would never dream of admitting that in so many words. So instead, he smiled.

“They asked about you, too, lovely. They hope you're doing okay.”

And that was Shayne’s cue to turn away again, to pretend to be busy with something or another. Still facing the punching bag, he idly inspected the bandages around his right hand. The guilt swirled in the pit of his stomach. Someone else might have laughed at the irony; Ingrid and Trevor were clearly desperate for someone to blame, and eager to place that blame on Ryan and Nancy, when it was Shayne who had put Charlie in danger in the first place.

He was the reason they could have lost their son, and they were worried about him.

“They didn’t...” Charlie spoke softly, his voice thick with strain. “They didn't ask about CT, though.”

Shayne sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t asked, either, not since he’d last seen Charlie over two hours ago.

Useless.

“I mentioned what happened, but they don't get what it means, that I can't hear CT's voice anymore,” Charlie added quietly.

Shayne's chest started to feel tight, along with the clenching in his stomach. I do. I get it.

Still useless.

“I don't...” Charlie's voice hitched. A dull glaze had come over his eyes. “I don't think I...”

Shayne looked over again, just in time to see Charlie's knees sag, his legs buckling as he went to the floor.

After a short burst of panic, he realised that Charlie was intentionally letting himself sink. With Vincent seated in his lap, he stretched his legs out across the crash mats and kept his back pressed against the wall. He idly turned Vincent around to face him, so that he and the bear made direct eye contact. As if he hoped that his childhood bear would snap the demon out of its strange slumber.

It made some kind of sense, Shayne reasoned, awkwardly keeping his distance. After all, it had been the three of them – Charlie, CT, and Vincent – for a very long time. Much longer than he and Charlie had been he and Charlie.

It would make sense if an old stuffed toy ended up being more helpful than him. He needed to give them their –

“I can’t go on like this.” Charlie spoke – to the bear, to Shayne, to the room, or to the silent demon that was hopefully listening from somewhere deep in his psyche.

Shayne realised he'd slowly started to hug himself.

“I can’t. It’s… It’s like this huge, aching silence inside of me,” Charlie went on, not taking his eyes off of Vincent. “I haven't dreamt at all since we went into the Hexagon. When I think, it feels like only half of my brain is actually functioning. My thoughts are flat, and grey, and muddy, and empty. It – it’s like screaming into a cave at the top of your lungs and expecting an echo, even just a whisper, but there’s… nothing.”

“Charlie,” Shayne choked out.

“What’s happened to them? I mean… Are they dead? If they were dead, would a part of their soul still be here?” Lips trembling, eyes dull and gluey, Charlie looked up at Shayne now. Lost, afraid of the dark, suffering so much pain and horror that he didn't know where to put it. “Is – is a remnant of my dead friend going to be stuck in my head forever?”

Instead of pretending to know the answer - instead of beating himself to a pulp over not knowing the answer - Shayne crossed the room, knelt on the mats, and pulled Charlie into a hug. With his battered, wrapped hand, he guided Charlie's face towards his shoulder.

At the contact, Charlie bunched himself up, outstretched legs curling towards his middle. Vincent was crushed in the tangle of ribcages and limbs, and absorbed whatever tears made it to the underside of Charlie's chin. Charlie's shoulders shuddered back and forth as his body was wracked with convulsions that belonged to much louder sobs than the choked, broken little sounds that came from him. He hadn't cried out loud since the Hexagon, at least not while Shayne had been with him. And from the sounds of things, Charlie had spent his time with his parents reassuring them, rather than being comforted.

“I needed you.”

Shayne's body went rigid. The murky darkness stirred within him, and sent his stomach into a tight, urgent cramp. His eyes watered as he held Charlie close, jaw trembling as he pleaded with his own body. Not now. Please, not now.

“I’ve always felt like I could talk to Mum and Dad about anything, but today, I was – I was talking and talking, and it felt like most of what I was saying was coming out in a language they didn’t understand...” Even in the grip of Shayne's embrace, Charlie managed to free his arms and work his fingers tightly into his hair as he cried. “They looked at me like I was a – a child who didn’t know what I was going on about. They’ve never looked at me like that!”

He rasped, coughing around a deep sob.

Useless as he felt now, Shayne gently curled his good hand against the back of Charlie’s hand, hoping to ease it away from his scalp. “Charlie –”

“I needed you there with me! I’ve… I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never felt so alone, and now all I can think about is –” Charlie pulled his knees even closer to his chin, a compact ball of despair that only shrank smaller between Shayne’s arms. “Is how scared I am that you’re going to disappear, too!”

Shayne bit his lip. He managed to slide his own hand underneath Charlie's, gently curling his fingertips into Charlie's hair. “I-I’m –”

“What do I do?” Charlie cried. “What am I supposed to do if CT’s dead, my parents abandon me, and I don’t have you?”

“You’ll… You’ll always h-have me,” Shayne whimpered. He tasted salt on his lips. When had he started crying? As he fought to get the words out, he also fought to keep his tormented stomach under control. “My love, no one is abandoning you. I promise.”

Charlie clenched his teeth against a hiccupping sob.

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry I didn’t go with you. I’m sorry I let you feel like this, love. I’m – I’m so fucking sorry, but I’m here. I love you. Ingrid and Trevor love you. They love you so much, but they're scared. They're just scared, Charlie. It' s okay. I love you. I’m here...”

Charlie didn’t respond, didn’t stop crying and gasping for breaths, didn’t lessen the death-grip on Vincent, didn’t try to reach for Shayne to return the hug or keep him close.

He doesn't want you.

Shayne was seized by the urge to lurch away. It was usually Charlie who melted into shows of physical affection, and the fact that he was… He was so unsure of everything that he wouldn’t even return Shayne’s hug…

He's scared, Shayne told himself, screamed at himself.

“It's okay. I love you. I’m here...”

He hates you, he hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

Shayne wished he could swipe at the thoughts as they floated up out of his mind. Wished he could tell them to fuck off. Wished he could yell at his own brain when it was being an asshole as easily as he could yell at Elliott when he was being an asshole.

He strained his arms even further around his boyfriend, squeezing closer on the crash mats and pressing his face into Charlie’s shoulder. Breathing him in and hoping that he was doing the same.

Charlie needed help. More help than even Nancy and Ryan and Lucy could offer him. Help from someone who knew more about this stuff. It should have been Shayne, but it would need to be someone else. Someone who knew more. Someone who could…

Create warding circles and open doors out of thin air.

Fuck.

Charlie's breaths were gradually evening out. Holding him like this was working, which made it even harder for Shayne to ease himself back from the embrace as his stomach churned. Hating himself, he squeezed Charlie’s shoulder so as not to leave him stranded without touch, without warning.

Charlie made a small whimper of protest, glancing at Shayne's hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened slightly when the back of that same hand then gravitated towards Shayne’s mouth.

“Hey.” Charlie straightened his back and wiped at his tearstained cheeks with a sense of urgency. He didn't seem to notice Vincent topple out of his lap onto the mats.

“I'm sorry,” Shayne mumbled from behind his own hand.

Charlie shook his head. “Are you okay?”

“I…” Shayne had fully intended on telling Charlie that he was pretty sure he was going to be sick, but his mouth had other plans. He took a sharp breath through his nose. “I haven’t told you everything that happened in the forest.”

Charlie shook his head again, sluggish. It was unfair to expect him to pay full attention while he was coming back from a panic attack, but now that he'd started, Shayne felt like he couldn't stop.

“It didn’t go away on its own,” he blurted out, breathless. “The spell. Hexagon.”

Charlie blinked. The glaze was slowly leaving his eyes, but they were now pink with strained blood vessels. “Was it you?”

The question – so quick, no hesitation – hit Shayne like a backhand to the throat. Was that what Charlie had thought all along? Was that what everybody had been thinking?

Would that have been better or worse than the truth?

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. Someone… appeared. Out of the trees, not long after the sun came up on the last day. You were sleeping. They were wearing, like, a hood, and I didn't see their face, so I don't...”

Useless.

“They – all they did was lift their hands, a-and the spell just ended. They didn’t even say anything, they just...”

Shayne frantically touched the back of his hand against his mouth again. Another false alarm. His stomach protesting him finally telling the truth, after days of punishing him for keeping the secret in the first place.

“And th-then they ran away, and I ran after them.”

Horror widened Charlie’s eyes. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t know!” Shayne pushed his hands into his hair, the wound from the Hexagon igniting again under the bandages. “I-I felt so useless in there, Charlie! I could barely breathe from not being able to do a fucking thing! And then, suddenly, it felt like there was something to do, so I did it! I didn’t know what I was going to do if I caught them, I just… I couldn’t just let them disappear.”

“You could have gotten hurt!”

“I know! And so could you.” Shayne winced and reached for Charlie, resting a hand on his knee.

At some point, Vincent had been retrieved from the floor, and he was poking his head out from behind Charlie’s elbow. The bear’s dead-eyed gaze was strangely grounding.

“I regretted it as soon as I realised what I’d done, I – I shouldn’t have left you there alone, love.”

“You shouldn’t run after strangers in the forest, especially ones with insane magic we know nothing about. I thought that was common sense.” Charlie sighed. “But come on. Tell me what happened.”

Shayne swallowed thickly, unsure if he was able to get everything out before we threw up.

“Did you catch up to them? Did they get away from you?” Charlie asked, his voice softening.

“Um. Both? I was able to catch up to them, but then they disappeared anyway. They used some kind of magic door and just, like –”

“A magic door?” Charlie muttered in confusion.

“That’s…” Shayne shook his head and squeezed Charlie’s knee, silently pleading not to be sidetracked. He knew how the story sounded, what people would think; that days of hunger and exhaustion and thinking they were going to die had fried his mind. And hey, there was still a slight chance that was true. But he was getting somewhere just now. He was…

Useless.

“It’s okay,” Charlie whispered. “What is it?”

Selfish.

“Th-their magic. I don’t know how to explain it, but it… It felt like…”

Delusional.

A black hole, gobbling up everything in its path –

“Like mine?” Shayne’s voice trembled. “Like my mum’s?”

Charlie’s lips parted, but he didn't say anything, as though any tension in his jaws had dropped away.

“So… when we came back here and I realised the Conclave was going to get involved, I – I panicked and decided not to say anything.” Shayne swallowed again, but it starting to become ineffective. His jaws ached, his mouth flooding sickly. He shifted his weight, bracing a hand on the floor mats. “Because if the Conclave t-takes them, I… I might never see them again.”

The words had never come together like that, not even in the deepest recesses of Shayne’s mind. He’d been vaguely aware that there was a core reason behind keeping this person’s existence a secret from the Aldridges, but he hadn’t quite landed on it.

Apparently all he’d needed to do was… fucking damn it all – talk about it.

He felt hollowed out, and still queasy. He lowered his head until his forehead touched Charlie’s shoulder. The relief when Charlie didn’t flinch away almost choked him. His body practically erupted with tingles when Charlie unhooked one arm to stroke the back of Shayne’s neck.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” he said. “I should have said something. Whoever they are, they might know a way of helping you. Of reversing whatever happen in the Hexagon.”

Charlie’s hand slowed.

“And our best chance of finding them would be to –” Shayne winced. “To get the Conclave involved. So, I’ll – I’ll get my shit together, and I’ll find Nancy, and I’ll tell her everything. She’ll know what to do next.”

Charlie's hair tickled the side of Shayne's neck as his head moved from side to side.

“No,” Charlie whispered.

Shayne lifted his head. He blinked, desperately searched Charlie’s bloodshot eyes.

“We’ll find them.” Charlie put a hand on top of Shayne’s, both of them bandaged in the same gauze. “You and me.”

“What?”

“You were right the first time, lovely. I’ve heard what the Aldridges have been saying. If the Conclave finds who created the Hexagon, we’ll probably never get a chance to talk to them.”

Shayne still couldn’t find what he’d been looking for in the way Charlie was gazing at him – resentment. Betrayal. Hurt.

Was this another symptom of Charlie's mental anguish over CT's silence? Was he so numb that he didn't understand the depth of Shayne's betrayal?

“I lied to everyone, Charlie. You're the love of my life and I fucking lied to you to protect this person we don't even know,” Shayne choked out, “after everything they put you through, after what their magic did to CT...”

As soon as he mentioned the demon's name, Shayne regretted it, his stomach twisting sharply. Charlie whipped his gaze away away, his mouth contorting with a grimace as he fought back tears again. Their hands suddenly squeezed one another with a little more force, despite their matching flesh wounds. Maybe it was okay that Shayne had brought CT up again; at least he'd reminded Charlie that he wasn't alone in his grief.

Lips parted and teeth gritted in a silent sob, Charlie shifted slightly, and leaned a little closer, his now unguarded torso facing Shayne’s. He still held onto Vincent with just one arm, holding him flat against his stomach.

“After what happened to us,” Charlie said, his clenched teeth lending a slight hiss to his voice, “I dare them not to tell us what we want to know. We’ll both get our answers.”

He's incredible.

You don't deserve him.

Shut the fuck up, Shayne screamed internally, willing the intense blue of Charlie's eyes to flood into his skull and drown out the bad thoughts. The nausea wasn't gone, but it didn't take up as much space as it had.

“Listen to me.” With his other hand, Charlie lightly grasped the back of Shayne’s neck again, a steady warmth against the familiar chill. “I’m with you. I’m on your side. Always. All you have to do is just let me.”

Shayne barely had time to nod his agreement before Charlie's mouth landed on his. The salty taste of mingled tears lasted a few seconds and then it was lost. Time slipped into a blur as Shayne felt himself being tipped onto his back, stretched out, only vaguely aware of Vincent the bear tumbling out of Charlie's lap and across the crash mats.

[angstyaches]

The Hexagon: Aftermath Part Three

The Hexagon Saga: Part One + Two | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Aftermath Part One | Aftermath Part Two

CW: guilt, lying, stress-induced nausea, lots of negative self talk, crying, panic attack, mutual angst with mutual comfort, discussion of death, morally grey decisions.

___

“Get out,” Shayne murmured through clenched teeth. His fists ached from battering them on the punching bag, and the wound across his palm felt like it might burst into flame, but the pain was better than stillness. “I told you I wanted to train by myself.”

He heard the training room door close, and a distinct lack of any footsteps retreating. Shayne felt something murky and cold swirling deep in his chest, something he knew was only about to worsen the strain on their relationship, but fucking hell; for a creature with pristine hearing, Elliott just. Didn’t. Listen.

“Elliott.” Shayne spun around. “Get. The fuck –”

He wobbled on his feet, the words dying in his throat.

In a mismatched hoodie and tracksuit, Charlie was leaning against the wall. He wasn’t slouched, but did hold himself in a sort of… cringing, protective way. Though it didn’t seem that it was himself he was protecting.

In his arms, held loosely to his chest, was something light brown and covered in curls. Two shiny black eyes looked out over his crossed forearms, smothered in the folds of his clothes.

Blue-black tendrils spiraled through Charlie’s skin, starting at the corner of his left eye and disappearing into the base of the dirty-white, curved horn that grew from his left temple. His hair had been combed for the first time in quite a while; he’d made sure to put himself together somewhat before leaving the bedroom that morning.

The dark, churning anger didn’t want to go back down, but… it had to. Shayne forced it to. Turned towards the punching bag but didn’t actually punch it. Just stared at its worn stitching and hated it.

“I couldn't believe it when Elliott said you'd be down here,” Charlie said blandly. “Thought you'd be resting.”

The sweat was already cooling on the back of Shayne’s neck. It made him shudder. “I’m fine.”

Charlie hummed in a way that meant you know that I know you’re lying.

Shayne swallowed. He hadn't been lying this morning. His stomach had hurt, and quietly confessing that to Charlie as they'd laid in bed had felt easy. Too easy. He felt awful about it, about how he'd known that Charlie – despite his own ongoing problems – would be so gentle with him, and reassure him that he didn't need to come along to see Ingrid and Trevor. Shayne had known that would happen, hadn't he? He'd forced Charlie to give him an out, because he hadn't wanted to go. Not because he was afraid to witness their worry, but because he knew that would fuss over him as much as they would over Charlie. He didn't deserve that.

“Did you talk to Ryan?”

Shayne cleared his throat. Loudly. “You've got Vincent?”

It was a shitty thing to do, dodging the question, and Shayne felt shitty about doing it, but surely Charlie already knew the answer. If Shayne went to Ryan and complained that his stomach hurt, he couldn't imagine her having any other reaction than looking him up and down once and tell him to stop wasting her time, but since the Hexagon, apparently everything required scrutiny.

Charlie had gotten up twice in the night to go and find Ryan - first with a sore throat, quickly remedied with a glass of water, of all things. And then again because he couldn't stop scratching his wrist and became convinced that something from the forest had burrowed under his skin; it had turned out to be a mild irritation from the bandages.

No doubt Charlie was also stewing on the fact that Shayne still wouldn’t meet with Lucy to unpack his thoughts and emotions following their ordeal. As though spending one solitary hour with a counsellor had somehow made Charlie into some kind of paragon of healing.

Yes. Shayne was way past ready to dodge this whole subject, so he asked about the sudden appearance of Charlie's childhood bear.

“Yeah,” Charlie mumbled. “Mum brought him. Shayne, did you –?”

“H-how’s she doing?” Still facing the punching bag, Shayne flexed the fingers of it his good hand, stretched out his arms - just so he would have something to do besides hit. He didn’t like Charlie to see him hit. “Your mum? And your dad?”

“Uh, yeah, not good.”

Shayne couldn’t resist turning to look again. Charlie’s pain hurt more than his own, and yet Shayne could never stop himself from looking directly at it. Observing it. Staring it down. As though he could intimidate it with his face, scare it away, like the sentient shadows that fled before him in the forest.

Charlie lowered his chin so that he was looking down at the teddy bear in his arms. His thumbs gently stroked back and forth its round little ears in a motion that appeared fluid, unconscious. Some echo of something he probably used to do as a child.

“I’m so glad I could see them, obviously, but it was also… kind of awful? They’re in some kind of shock, I think, and I don’t think it helped, seeing me.”

“They were worried about you,” Shayne murmured.

“I know, but it’s not just that! They’re confused. They’re angry. I… I wish I had some better way of explaining all of this to them. They seem to think Ryan and Nancy should have all the answers, all the time, and be able to fix everything. As if that’s ever been how the world works.”

Charlie gave the top of Vincent’s head an exhausted smile. Shayne recognized that smile. Charlie was annoyed at his parents for not understanding, but would never dream of admitting that in so many words. So instead, he smiled.

“They asked about you, too, lovely. They hope you're doing okay.”

And that was Shayne’s cue to turn away again, to pretend to be busy with something or another. Still facing the punching bag, he idly inspected the bandages around his right hand. The guilt swirled in the pit of his stomach. Someone else might have laughed at the irony; Ingrid and Trevor were clearly desperate for someone to blame, and eager to place that blame on Ryan and Nancy, when it was Shayne who had put Charlie in danger in the first place.

He was the reason they could have lost their son, and they were worried about him.

“They didn’t...” Charlie spoke softly, his voice thick with strain. “They didn't ask about CT, though.”

Shayne sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t asked, either, not since he’d last seen Charlie over two hours ago.

Useless.

“I mentioned what happened, but they don't get what it means, that I can't hear CT's voice anymore,” Charlie added quietly.

Shayne's chest started to feel tight, along with the clenching in his stomach. I do. I get it.

Still useless.

“I don't...” Charlie's voice hitched. A dull glaze had come over his eyes. “I don't think I...”

Shayne looked over again, just in time to see Charlie's knees sag, his legs buckling as he went to the floor.

After a short burst of panic, he realised that Charlie was intentionally letting himself sink. With Vincent seated in his lap, he stretched his legs out across the crash mats and kept his back pressed against the wall. He idly turned Vincent around to face him, so that he and the bear made direct eye contact. As if he hoped that his childhood bear would snap the demon out of its strange slumber.

It made some kind of sense, Shayne reasoned, awkwardly keeping his distance. After all, it had been the three of them – Charlie, CT, and Vincent – for a very long time. Much longer than he and Charlie had been he and Charlie.

It would make sense if an old stuffed toy ended up being more helpful than him. He needed to give them their –

“I can’t go on like this.” Charlie spoke – to the bear, to Shayne, to the room, or to the silent demon that was hopefully listening from somewhere deep in his psyche.

Shayne realised he'd slowly started to hug himself.

“I can’t. It’s… It’s like this huge, aching silence inside of me,” Charlie went on, not taking his eyes off of Vincent. “I haven't dreamt at all since we went into the Hexagon. When I think, it feels like only half of my brain is actually functioning. My thoughts are flat, and grey, and muddy, and empty. It – it’s like screaming into a cave at the top of your lungs and expecting an echo, even just a whisper, but there’s… nothing.”

“Charlie,” Shayne choked out.

“What’s happened to them? I mean… Are they dead? If they were dead, would a part of their soul still be here?” Lips trembling, eyes dull and gluey, Charlie looked up at Shayne now. Lost, afraid of the dark, suffering so much pain and horror that he didn't know where to put it. “Is – is a remnant of my dead friend going to be stuck in my head forever?”

Instead of pretending to know the answer - instead of beating himself to a pulp over not knowing the answer - Shayne crossed the room, knelt on the mats, and pulled Charlie into a hug. With his battered, wrapped hand, he guided Charlie's face towards his shoulder.

At the contact, Charlie bunched himself up, outstretched legs curling towards his middle. Vincent was crushed in the tangle of ribcages and limbs, and absorbed whatever tears made it to the underside of Charlie's chin. Charlie's shoulders shuddered back and forth as his body was wracked with convulsions that belonged to much louder sobs than the choked, broken little sounds that came from him. He hadn't cried out loud since the Hexagon, at least not while Shayne had been with him. And from the sounds of things, Charlie had spent his time with his parents reassuring them, rather than being comforted.

“I needed you.”

Shayne's body went rigid. The murky darkness stirred within him, and sent his stomach into a tight, urgent cramp. His eyes watered as he held Charlie close, jaw trembling as he pleaded with his own body. Not now. Please, not now.

“I’ve always felt like I could talk to Mum and Dad about anything, but today, I was – I was talking and talking, and it felt like most of what I was saying was coming out in a language they didn’t understand...” Even in the grip of Shayne's embrace, Charlie managed to free his arms and work his fingers tightly into his hair as he cried. “They looked at me like I was a – a child who didn’t know what I was going on about. They’ve never looked at me like that!”

He rasped, coughing around a deep sob.

Useless as he felt now, Shayne gently curled his good hand against the back of Charlie’s hand, hoping to ease it away from his scalp. “Charlie –”

“I needed you there with me! I’ve… I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never felt so alone, and now all I can think about is –” Charlie pulled his knees even closer to his chin, a compact ball of despair that only shrank smaller between Shayne’s arms. “Is how scared I am that you’re going to disappear, too!”

Shayne bit his lip. He managed to slide his own hand underneath Charlie's, gently curling his fingertips into Charlie's hair. “I-I’m –”

“What do I do?” Charlie cried. “What am I supposed to do if CT’s dead, my parents abandon me, and I don’t have you?”

“You’ll… You’ll always h-have me,” Shayne whimpered. He tasted salt on his lips. When had he started crying? As he fought to get the words out, he also fought to keep his tormented stomach under control. “My love, no one is abandoning you. I promise.”

Charlie clenched his teeth against a hiccupping sob.

“I’m sorry. I'm so sorry I didn’t go with you. I’m sorry I let you feel like this, love. I’m – I’m so fucking sorry, but I’m here. I love you. Ingrid and Trevor love you. They love you so much, but they're scared. They're just scared, Charlie. It' s okay. I love you. I’m here...”

Charlie didn’t respond, didn’t stop crying and gasping for breaths, didn’t lessen the death-grip on Vincent, didn’t try to reach for Shayne to return the hug or keep him close.

He doesn't want you.

Shayne was seized by the urge to lurch away. It was usually Charlie who melted into shows of physical affection, and the fact that he was… He was so unsure of everything that he wouldn’t even return Shayne’s hug…

He's scared, Shayne told himself, screamed at himself.

“It's okay. I love you. I’m here...”

He hates you, he hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

Shayne wished he could swipe at the thoughts as they floated up out of his mind. Wished he could tell them to fuck off. Wished he could yell at his own brain when it was being an asshole as easily as he could yell at Elliott when he was being an asshole.

He strained his arms even further around his boyfriend, squeezing closer on the crash mats and pressing his face into Charlie’s shoulder. Breathing him in and hoping that he was doing the same.

Charlie needed help. More help than even Nancy and Ryan and Lucy could offer him. Help from someone who knew more about this stuff. It should have been Shayne, but it would need to be someone else. Someone who knew more. Someone who could…

Create warding circles and open doors out of thin air.

Fuck.

Charlie's breaths were gradually evening out. Holding him like this was working, which made it even harder for Shayne to ease himself back from the embrace as his stomach churned. Hating himself, he squeezed Charlie’s shoulder so as not to leave him stranded without touch, without warning.

Charlie made a small whimper of protest, glancing at Shayne's hand on his shoulder. His eyes widened slightly when the back of that same hand then gravitated towards Shayne’s mouth.

“Hey.” Charlie straightened his back and wiped at his tearstained cheeks with a sense of urgency. He didn't seem to notice Vincent topple out of his lap onto the mats.

“I'm sorry,” Shayne mumbled from behind his own hand.

Charlie shook his head. “Are you okay?”

“I…” Shayne had fully intended on telling Charlie that he was pretty sure he was going to be sick, but his mouth had other plans. He took a sharp breath through his nose. “I haven’t told you everything that happened in the forest.”

Charlie shook his head again, sluggish. It was unfair to expect him to pay full attention while he was coming back from a panic attack, but now that he'd started, Shayne felt like he couldn't stop.

“It didn’t go away on its own,” he blurted out, breathless. “The spell. Hexagon.”

Charlie blinked. The glaze was slowly leaving his eyes, but they were now pink with strained blood vessels. “Was it you?”

The question – so quick, no hesitation – hit Shayne like a backhand to the throat. Was that what Charlie had thought all along? Was that what everybody had been thinking?

Would that have been better or worse than the truth?

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. Someone… appeared. Out of the trees, not long after the sun came up on the last day. You were sleeping. They were wearing, like, a hood, and I didn't see their face, so I don't...”

Useless.

“They – all they did was lift their hands, a-and the spell just ended. They didn’t even say anything, they just...”

Shayne frantically touched the back of his hand against his mouth again. Another false alarm. His stomach protesting him finally telling the truth, after days of punishing him for keeping the secret in the first place.

“And th-then they ran away, and I ran after them.”

Horror widened Charlie’s eyes. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I don’t know!” Shayne pushed his hands into his hair, the wound from the Hexagon igniting again under the bandages. “I-I felt so useless in there, Charlie! I could barely breathe from not being able to do a fucking thing! And then, suddenly, it felt like there was something to do, so I did it! I didn’t know what I was going to do if I caught them, I just… I couldn’t just let them disappear.”

“You could have gotten hurt!”

“I know! And so could you.” Shayne winced and reached for Charlie, resting a hand on his knee.

At some point, Vincent had been retrieved from the floor, and he was poking his head out from behind Charlie’s elbow. The bear’s dead-eyed gaze was strangely grounding.

“I regretted it as soon as I realised what I’d done, I – I shouldn’t have left you there alone, love.”

“You shouldn’t run after strangers in the forest, especially ones with insane magic we know nothing about. I thought that was common sense.” Charlie sighed. “But come on. Tell me what happened.”

Shayne swallowed thickly, unsure if he was able to get everything out before we threw up.

“Did you catch up to them? Did they get away from you?” Charlie asked, his voice softening.

“Um. Both? I was able to catch up to them, but then they disappeared anyway. They used some kind of magic door and just, like –”

“A magic door?” Charlie muttered in confusion.

“That’s…” Shayne shook his head and squeezed Charlie’s knee, silently pleading not to be sidetracked. He knew how the story sounded, what people would think; that days of hunger and exhaustion and thinking they were going to die had fried his mind. And hey, there was still a slight chance that was true. But he was getting somewhere just now. He was…

Useless.

“It’s okay,” Charlie whispered. “What is it?”

Selfish.

“Th-their magic. I don’t know how to explain it, but it… It felt like…”

Delusional.

A black hole, gobbling up everything in its path –

“Like mine?” Shayne’s voice trembled. “Like my mum’s?”

Charlie’s lips parted, but he didn't say anything, as though any tension in his jaws had dropped away.

“So… when we came back here and I realised the Conclave was going to get involved, I – I panicked and decided not to say anything.” Shayne swallowed again, but it starting to become ineffective. His jaws ached, his mouth flooding sickly. He shifted his weight, bracing a hand on the floor mats. “Because if the Conclave t-takes them, I… I might never see them again.”

The words had never come together like that, not even in the deepest recesses of Shayne’s mind. He’d been vaguely aware that there was a core reason behind keeping this person’s existence a secret from the Aldridges, but he hadn’t quite landed on it.

Apparently all he’d needed to do was… fucking damn it all – talk about it.

He felt hollowed out, and still queasy. He lowered his head until his forehead touched Charlie’s shoulder. The relief when Charlie didn’t flinch away almost choked him. His body practically erupted with tingles when Charlie unhooked one arm to stroke the back of Shayne’s neck.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” he said. “I should have said something. Whoever they are, they might know a way of helping you. Of reversing whatever happen in the Hexagon.”

Charlie’s hand slowed.

“And our best chance of finding them would be to –” Shayne winced. “To get the Conclave involved. So, I’ll – I’ll get my shit together, and I’ll find Nancy, and I’ll tell her everything. She’ll know what to do next.”

Charlie's hair tickled the side of Shayne's neck as his head moved from side to side.

“No,” Charlie whispered.

Shayne lifted his head. He blinked, desperately searched Charlie’s bloodshot eyes.

“We’ll find them.” Charlie put a hand on top of Shayne’s, both of them bandaged in the same gauze. “You and me.”

“What?”

“You were right the first time, lovely. I’ve heard what the Aldridges have been saying. If the Conclave finds who created the Hexagon, we’ll probably never get a chance to talk to them.”

Shayne still couldn’t find what he’d been looking for in the way Charlie was gazing at him – resentment. Betrayal. Hurt.

Was this another symptom of Charlie's mental anguish over CT's silence? Was he so numb that he didn't understand the depth of Shayne's betrayal?

“I lied to everyone, Charlie. You're the love of my life and I fucking lied to you to protect this person we don't even know,” Shayne choked out, “after everything they put you through, after what their magic did to CT...”

As soon as he mentioned the demon's name, Shayne regretted it, his stomach twisting sharply. Charlie whipped his gaze away away, his mouth contorting with a grimace as he fought back tears again. Their hands suddenly squeezed one another with a little more force, despite their matching flesh wounds. Maybe it was okay that Shayne had brought CT up again; at least he'd reminded Charlie that he wasn't alone in his grief.

Lips parted and teeth gritted in a silent sob, Charlie shifted slightly, and leaned a little closer, his now unguarded torso facing Shayne’s. He still held onto Vincent with just one arm, holding him flat against his stomach.

“After what happened to us,” Charlie said, his clenched teeth lending a slight hiss to his voice, “I dare them not to tell us what we want to know. We’ll both get our answers.”

He's incredible.

You don't deserve him.

Shut the fuck up, Shayne screamed internally, willing the intense blue of Charlie's eyes to flood into his skull and drown out the bad thoughts. The nausea wasn't gone, but it didn't take up as much space as it had.

“Listen to me.” With his other hand, Charlie lightly grasped the back of Shayne’s neck again, a steady warmth against the familiar chill. “I’m with you. I’m on your side. Always. All you have to do is just let me.”

Shayne barely had time to nod his agreement before Charlie's mouth landed on his. The salty taste of mingled tears lasted a few seconds and then it was lost. Time slipped into a blur as Shayne felt himself being tipped onto his back, stretched out, only vaguely aware of Vincent the bear tumbling out of Charlie's lap and across the crash mats.

[angstyaches]

Mild 🌟vation warning(it turns out okay I promise 👍)

Guard who, after a personal event begins to skip meals x the King he's devoted to allowing him to continue working if the guard decides to, unknowing of the guard's newfound tendency.

Guard whose stomach is growling during his debrief after a long day x King with rather keen hearing then making sure there's always something made for the guard to eat after work from then on, wondering if the guard's appetite may have gotten bigger from stress but finding nothing out of the ordinary touched

Guard who hasn't been properly attended to by another for his entire life, noticing the pattern and beginning to ignore it x King getting increasingly worried about the habits of the guard, realizing what was going on too late.

Guard who faints mid-training x King who takes him back to his own personal chambers instead of letting the guard get worse.

Guard still trying to insist he's alright x King who stuffs him silly(in more ways than one send tweet)

Guard who finally starts accepting the help after without much hesitation, seeing the knowing looks of his King x the King who is very satisfied with seeing this

Guard who feels his tunic becoming comfortably snug over his waist once x King who finds it adorable to see the slight changes coming back to normalcy in the guard

Guard who is turning red having to ask for a size up x King who is pleased to have the guard at a comfortable weight again, insisting that the guard stays healthy unless he desires to have a repeat of that evening a month prior.

[angstyaches]

do you think that characters who lost their magic powers ever do weird stuff out of habit? like astronauts who will "drop" things in mid air because they're used to stuff floating at zero gravity?

just imagine an ex-telechinetic staring at their mug of coffee for five minutes when they're particularly sleep deprived before remembering they have to get up to grab it.

or someone who used to be able to fly doing an awkward half jump every time they're startled.

a character turning to speak to spirits they can no longer hear about five times a day.

[angstyaches]

Sounds for your favorite character's belly to make

A loud, robust hungry growl

The building gurgle of a rising burp

A queasy gurgle as their overtaxed stomach struggles to digest

A slosh as their liquid-filled stomach is jostled

A long, low, rumbling grumble

The gentle gurgles of content digestion

A strained gurgle as a gulp of food/drink lands in their full stomach

A high, whining hungry growl

The unmistakable crampy gurgling of a dangerously upset belly

A long, groaning, achy howl

A gassy rumble so intense that their whole belly trembles

The pressurized gurgle of a burp swallowed back down