#SH scars on my calves

[syrenki]

post depressive episode clarity like what the fuck do you mean they'll never disappear, just fade.

[puppyp4ws]

nooo don’t cry! fingertips gingerly tracing the scarred voids left in stretch marks, gently assuring you you’re loved entirely, ok?

[xiaomainlmao]

"Your Scars are also Beautiful" - Vil Schoenheit x gn! reader

Tw- self-harm, insecurities, nudity (without sexual intentions)

Just a sh comfort fic with Vil

A/n- very self-indulgent because I'm insecure about mine (and yet, still have the urges), I want nothing more than to be acknowledged despite my past decisions.

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"Oh there are a lot of things I feel nervous about when it comes to my bare body." You laughed, finding Vil's question to be quite amusing. After all, who goes asking people about what they think of their own naked body?

A very self- conscious model apparently. Your very self-conscious model.

"Well first off," you stated matter-of-factly, "my thighs feel too urm big?"

"Your thighs definitely look very squishy, but I don't think it's necessary for you to just suddenly loose all that fat." Vil replied, his thumb prodding at his chin to show he was carefully picking his words. "In fact, they look so squishy I find it a little cute. Be careful, I might end up using your thighs as a pillow some day." He chuckled at his own joke, causing you to roll your eyes before letting out a chuckle of your own.

He probably would end up doing that though.

"Well moving on, I'm scared of my bare back, because I can't see it. Sevens know whether or not my back has some weird spots, or marks or whatever." You said shaking your head, not knowing whether you conveyed the message or not.

Vil just chuckled again. "Darling I hardly doubt that there could be anything weird there if you haven't done anything. Go on, what else?"

"…well again I am insecure about my thighs." You softly laughed, but he caught the way your eyes went from seeming amused to looking a little sad. Even if you were smiling, there was certainly something serious about this particular thing.

"Why so?"

"I happen… to have certain scars there." Came a meek, hesitant reply from your side.

Vil's could feel his breath hitch. He paused, then went over to the door and made sure it was locked before sitting down on a chair and urging you towards him.

Two steps forward, but you didn't go over to him.

"Love, can I ask you to strip?"

"Huh?"

His gaze didn't falter. Vil looked you in the eyes, not showing any hesitation.

"Isn't… isn't that a bit…"

"Please trust me."

You stared at him for 2 minutes, before hesitantly nodding and taking your clothes off, left only in your underclothes. He beckoned you over, patting his thighs. "Sit."

You spread your legs to wrap them around him when he stopped you. "Laterally, I just want to hold you."

You settled yourself between his legs as he held your hips to help you balance. After a moment of hesitation, you leaned into his chest, sighing at the warmth. Listening to his rapid heartbeat. The heart can really tell you how the person feels about the situation, no matter how calm you look.

Usually, looking at someone undress can turn people on. But despite the proximity between you both, Vil didn't seem even slightly aroused. You looked up to see him. He was looking down at you, holding you as gently as the gentle smile adorning his face.

When you looked comfortable enough, Vil let his hands roam your body. Using his index, he traced your hips, feeling it curve underneath his touch. He went lower to trace the underside of your thighs, before slowly moving upward until he he stopped at your scars. Slowly, he started circling them, humming in acknowledgement.

The bumps left behind by the cuts were already prominent visually, and now he could also feel them, physically and emotionally.

He sighed directly in your ear. "You don't have to tell me anything about them right now, though I do wish to know about it at one point. However, whether I know the reason behind why you did this or not, if you ever have the urge to do it again, just come to me yeah? I'd gladly postpone my shoots to comfort you."

You lifted your legs up to place them both at the edge of the chair, to which Vil responded by placing his hands between your thighs and calves, letting you curl into a ball in his lap.

You felt Vil sigh into your hair. "If I could move, I probably would've gotten you those oils on my table. Massages not only help relieve tension in muscles, but can also soothe your mind by calming you. All this while also making sure your skin is in good condition." He thread his fingers through your hair, combing it with one hand while still holding onto you with the other.

The warmth, the softness of his hand, the gentleness of his touch... all of it was so comforting.

Vil felt you shake a bit as you let out croaked sob. "If you want to cry, feel free to. We're in the comfort of my room after all." He held on tight. His hands alternated between threading through your hair and massaging your legs.

He shuffled a bit, before picking you up bridal style and laying you both down on his bed. His hands found your face, as he gently wiped a tear away with his thumb, his lavender eyes softly holding your gaze. Then you felt him pull you closer to him, allowing you to get comfortable in his warm embrace.

"It's okay. I'm right here, and will be here all night, for you."

[boofts]

i feel like a bad person

tw ed, sh, body disformia

i feel like a bad person.

because every time someone like you trusts me enough to open up about your issues i always end up invalidating them in my head.

you tell me you used to self harm with tweezers, you'd pinch your skin with them until you left scars.

internally i would look down on you, i cut myself with real knives. i'd think.

i would sit in the darkness of my closet and cry, because nobody really ever wanted me. and draw lines, five at a time. it has to be fives. it has to be even. down the places nobody would ever see.

my inner thigh.

my lower torso.

my upper hips.

until i craved fresh skin to mar.

and i'd slice places they could see.

my wrists.

my shoulders.

my shins.

maybe i was hoping they would.

you'd tell me you don't like to look at your body, you tell me you deny yourself meals.

that's cute. i would think. i examine my body in the mirror every chance i get. searching for the hundreds of flaws i know are there. the weight of my stomach. the awkward length of my arms. the knobby bend in my knees. the ungraceful way my calves would swoop into my ankles. the curve of my jaw. the wideness of my eyes. the swollenness of my constantly chewed on lips. the way my body would look different to me every time i looked in a mirror. the flaws distorting and taking up more room in the reflective surfaces.

and i wouldn't eat. and even when i did i would make myself feel guilty enough to kneel in front of a toilet and force my fingers down my throat until my stomach would give no more and tears were streaming down my face and into my nose and mouth.

suffocating me.

drowning me.

you tell me you've got a new crush. i laugh and indulge you in your fantasies. all the while i drown in my delusions.

you have crushes, fleeting forms of want. i have soulmates, i fall in love. unending, never wavering, unstoppable need.

i pour and i pour all my heart into this person, and never get anything in return. i would never dare to even ask.

you exchange looks in the halls and text me about it immediately after.

i spend a whole afternoon drowning in their voice, but still craving more. and yet i never say a word to anyone. because it would ruin the feeling of my very own Romeo. because with feelings as shallow as yours you couldn't possibly understand, right?

i feel like a bad person.

because i know that you feel as validly as i do.

but you never seem to actually show any thoughts for others. no empathy.

and i have been nothing but kind.

at least... outwardly.

i feel like a bad person.

[shoutogepi]

A Million Times Over, part 2

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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Todoroki Shouto x American!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 6.4k 

[ ☀︎, ☁︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] (series warnings)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : NSFW references (no explicit smut this chapter)

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : You lose all memories from the past five years of your life due to an accident-induced coma, including any recollection of your beloved boyfriend and fellow pro-hero, Shouto. He’s devastated that you don’t remember him, but the both of you are determined to get your memories back, no matter how long it takes. In the meantime, you attempt to rebuild your relationship with him… while also nurturing the spark that’s still very much lit between you two.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Yaaaaaa babie so part 2 is finally finished! I’m wicked excited to finish the series next chapter and ughhh the smut is gonna be so good omg. Just wait. 

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : shout out to @shotoh for beta-reading this for me, what a saint <3 

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─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄸t was warm.

There was something heavy on your middle, but it didn’t feel like a nuisance— it was a welcome weight, one that somehow made comfort seep from your chest and fill the rest of your body with a quiet sense of peace. You hummed as sleep’s grasp on you lightened, the cogs in your mind beginning to turn. The hospital bed had never been this comfortable before, and the acrid smell of antiseptic and bustle of the doctors outside your door was peculiarly absent. Instead, a pleasant scent of laundry and cologne lingered on your pillowcase, making the corners of your mouth pull up in a droopy smile.

Your eyes opened as you recalled where you were, and whose arms you were lying in— whose gentle breaths blew at your hair and tickled the shell of your ear. Letting out a slow exhale, you blinked the sleep from your eyes, legs attempting to move, only to find them tangled with the muscled calves of your bedmate who, you prayed to whatever divine presence that was out there, was still asleep.

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However, when you tried to move away, a low groan sounded in your ear, scattering the stray hairs that laid out of place there. Like a sleeping bear, the arm around your waist curled around you tighter, pressing your entire body directly against the hard contour of his. You swallowed, blinking owlishly as you tried not to think about the sizeable semi-hardness poking into your backside, nor the rough fingertips that splayed out on the smooth expanse of your stomach at the bottom of your shirt, the very pinky dipping under the waistband of your sleep shorts and panties, palm warming your skin just enough to make your heart awaken for the day.

Your breath was caught in your throat, and you didn’t dare move another inch. Even if you didn’t have your memories of the man you shared your life with for the past few years, the moments the two of you had shared throughout the past week were enough to have butterflies fluttering to life in your stomach. The feeling of simply being in his arms, tucked under the sheets and cocooned in his warmth and his scent, it all had your body feeling like it was at peace.

At home.

Shouto’s hand was lying open beside your face, his arm tucked underneath your neck as he must’ve fallen asleep spooning you, and not since shifted away throughout the night. His fingers twitched in his sleep just slightly, and you took the moment to admire the long, slender digits. For a man of his size and stature, they were surprisingly thin, almost as if in another life he could have tickled piano keys for a living. But they were also marred with scars and calluses from his herowork— none open nor recent, seeing as he had taken the last month off to watch over you. Reaching for his hand, you traced the lines on his palm, trailing your fingertips over his skin and finding yourself lost in thought. You wondered if this was how you usually slept, if this was what you woke up to every day…

If that was your reality, you would happily accept it.

Being in Shouto’s arms made you feel safe, protected from the troubles of life. You already harbored silly feelings for him before you had even met him, and now that you had, those feelings had only been amplified, each day spent with him a catalyst to the reaction he triggered in your heart.

You bit your lip, twisting your spine so you could look at him. Holding your breath as you finally laid eyes on him, you took your time to admire him in all his slumbered glory. Your eyes loitered on his high cheekbones, the sharp angle of his jawline, and then the placid expression he donned while he slept, not plagued with the usual lacing of concern that he wore throughout the day. He was so… handsome. In all his hardened, heroic glory, he still managed to look like a prince straight out of every little girl’s storybook. And he certainly had the body to go with it as well— the fruits of his training on full display for you as you marveled at his naked chest.

Your heart leapt into your throat when he stirred, his arm around your waist coming to rub at his tired eyes. Watching his grey eye open slightly, your breath caught at the crooked grin that blossomed on his lips when he locked eyes with you.

“Mmm morning princess,” he rumbled, hand landing on your stomach to push your body backwards into his. He didn’t mind the little squeak of surprise you let out, nuzzling his face into your neck and slinging his leg across your hips once he flattened them onto the mattress. Your face felt like it was on fire, his morning… problem pressed firmly against your back now as he moaned in content, scattering lazy kisses across your throat.

You gasped when his hand on your stomach suddenly jumped up to grope your breast over your shirt, his fingers kneading tenderly as tingles fired across your nerves. It felt good to be receiving his unbridled affection— too good, really, as he started to suck at your neck. Your body cried out for his touch but you had barely even kissed last night— this was too much, too fast.

“Sh-Shouto!”

He paused, head rearing back as he detected the urgency in your voice, sleepy eyes locking with yours with his brows furrowed underneath his frazzled bed-head. It took him a moment before his eyes widened and horror replaced the slumber that had impeded his judgement before, his body jumping to the other side of the bed instantly as his cheeks flushed a bright pink. “I— I’m so sorry, Y/n, fuck— I didn’t…” he stammered, embarrassment evident as the pink turned to red, little flames sprouting on the left side of his head while his eyes flew about, unable to meet your gaze.

You instantly felt guilty, his demeanor apologetic. It was clear that he was frustrated with himself. “It’s okay, I’m not mad, I was just… it was just, um, unexpected?” you tried to laugh but it came out sounding more like a choke.

“Damn it…” Shouto mumbled, his hands coming to drag across his face morosely. The flames that licked at his side sizzled out, indicating that he was no longer so much shocked as he was contrite. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, muffled by his hands that still occupied his face. “It was just… I forgot for a second and... I didn’t mean to— to, well, come onto you. God, I’m sorry.”

You watched him for a second, your heart suddenly heavy with the sadness that leaked from his choice of words. For the first time in a long time, he had woken up with you in his arms, and he had forgotten about the absolute shitstorm of the month he’d had. That was probably how he acted when he woke up normally, as your sweet and loving boyfriend— showering you in affection was his first instinct of the day, and there was nothing wrong with that.

“It’s really okay, Sho. I was just surprised,” you peeped, trying to relieve him of some of the stress that he was so apparently harboring. “It’s not like I hated it…”

Shouto processed your words for a moment before one hand rose from his face, his brow contorted into a mix between accusatory and suggestive. There was a hint of a smile threatening to bloom on his lips, but he remained silent as he stared at you.

“I just meant that— well… we could lay here for a bit before we get up for the day. If… If that’s our usual routine or, if you would be interested in that!” You could feel your face getting hot now, the embarrassment transferring from him to you.

But Shouto chose not to tease you, instead scooting back over to you in the middle of the bed. “You always did like your morning cuddles,” he said, mouth turning at the corners into a smirk.

“Whatever, just— just keep your third leg to yourself, okay? Arms only!” You shared a quick look with him, the both of you shocked that you had really just said that.

But Shouto followed your request, flipping so he laid on his belly before his arm hooked out to bring you into his side, nose pressing up against your ear as you were on your back. The butterflies were back and busy again in your stomach— his touch just did something to you, it was both exhilarating and infuriating when he had hardly done anything. 

“Never heard that one before,” he murmured lowly, snark lurking in his voice. “You’re usually quite fond of my third leg, dear.”

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The rest of the morning went more according to plan. After a considerable amount of time lying in the sheets with Shouto cuddling into your side, you finally parted ways and went about getting ready for the day. There was a sense of giddiness pumping through your veins as your boyfriend left you stationed in front of your closet, mumbling something about preparation before you headed out.

Mostly, you were looking forward to going on your date. But then, there was also the surprised excitement that came from the sight of your walk-in closet, complete with rows of neatly organized clothes and a built-in wall with shelves and drawers, even a glass display case full of glittering jewels and gems in designs all tailored to your taste. You took a moment to pat yourself on the back. Not only did you seem to have the man of your dreams, but you had also attained your dream closet? If this was truly a dream, you most definitely did not want to wake up.

It took you an absurdly long amount of time to piece together your outfit. It was partially because you stopped to ogle at pretty much every hanger you rifled through, and partially because you were completely unsure of what clothes Shouto particularly enjoyed seeing you in. There was a sneaking suspicion that his preference was for you to not be clothed at all… but it wasn’t like you could go out on your date in your birthday suit. And, that would mean exposing your bare body to him, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that just yet.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t insanely attracted to him— because you definitely were. Just, the situation you were in was a delicate one, and when you did decide to indulge in the physicalities of your relationship, it would be after you had no more questions to ask him. You just weren’t quite there yet.

So, you decided on a pair of dark jeans and a flowy blouse that showcased your shoulders, matching the color of your shoes, belt, and purse. After a quick makeup routine, you chose to spruce up the outfit with a little jewelry, seeing as you had quite an ample selection to choose from. A shiny pair of hoops for your ears came easily enough, but you struggled to find a necklace which would pull everything together. Your eyes wandered over the chains of gold and silver, some shining with bright gems and some intricate enough with just the curve of the metal. It was then that you noticed a simple but very elegant necklace, its blue-topaz pendant catching your gaze. As you inspected the glittering stone, a warm feeling pooled in your chest, and you found your fingers reaching for the jewelry without thought. There was something special about this necklace, but what, exactly, you couldn’t identify.

It was incredibly frustrating. This was the closest you had come to remembering anything since you had woken up a week ago… and while it was certainly progress, it was infuriating to have the recollection dangling just barely out of your reach. You stared at the brilliant cyan gem for another moment before deciding that you weren’t going to remember based on willpower alone, securing the clasp around your neck. If that were the case, then you would have your memory back already, you were sure. You left the room with your shoes in hand, sock-clad feet padding quietly against the shiny hardwood floors while a sour taste dwelled on the back of your tongue.

Yet somehow, the second your eyes met Shouto’s, the feeling of self-loathing was instantly quelled, replaced with a pleasant wave of some feeling you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His eyes had locked onto the stone around your neck right as you walked into the kitchen, and immediately a smile graced his lips as he found your gaze.

You couldn’t help but return one, your eyes flickering to the floor before returning to him, overwhelmed with the tingles that zipped through you. He hadn’t really given you the chance to take in the outfit he had chosen before he left you to dress, and you found yourself appreciating the soft, cream sweater that fell just over his denim-clad hips.

“Wow, you look…” his eyes trailed down your form and then back up, his smile just as full. He let out a soft laugh, head tilting back before his attention returned to you, as if he didn’t quite believe the sight in front of him. “Beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

You already knew you looked good, but still, hearing the compliment roll off his tongue made your stomach leap up beside your heart. “Thank you, Sho. You look beautiful, too,” you teased, trying to downplay the effect his words had on you.

Even though his cheeks dusted with a light pink, his expression remained unchanged, gaze dropping to the pendant resting in the middle of your chest again. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

Just as you were about to tell him about the feeling you’d gotten earlier, he turned and grabbed some things from the counter behind him, whisking them into his arms. There was a curious look you shot him as you examined the numerous hats he offered to you, one of your brows rising at the variety.

Shouto didn’t give you the chance to ask, launching into explanation without your prompt. “You and I are technically celebrities. So it’s best if we conceal our faces while we’re out in public.” His gaze dropped to the brim of the gray suede boater in his hand, his thumb trailing across the soft material. “I don’t want you ambushed today. The public has missed you while you’ve been out of commission, so if we’re spotted, I’ll have to share you… and I don’t think either of us is ready for that quite yet.”

You nodded, ignoring the giddiness that bloomed in the depths of your stomach at his choice of words. Reaching for a floppy hat, your fingers brushed over his sweater as you grabbed your choice of camouflage. The fit was snug around your head, the silky ribbon tied around the crown the perfect match to your shoes. Shouto put on his hat as well, making sure to tuck the white half of his hair up and out of sight, giving him a faux monochromatic appearance. He wordlessly handed you a pair of large sunglasses, which you slid onto your face without protest. He mirrored your action, choosing a dark pair of aviators that helped disguise his famous scar.

“How do I look?” You asked, doing a little spin for full emphasis. The movement put a little smile on Shouto’s face, his eyes roaming your figure leisurely before he offered a thumbs up.

“Enchanting as always, love,” he replied stoically, the suavity and candor of his response aiding to the warm, swirling feeling in your stomach. But his expression morphed into a playful smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What about me?”

A laugh trickled out of you as he copied your twirl, his execution somehow more graceful than yours. His pink lips curled into a genuine smile at your giggle, ending his mock demonstration in a curtsey. This only caused you to swat at him in exaggeration, taking the first steps towards the door.

“Equally enchanting,” you replied, not a hint of a lie in your voice. Your conviction made Shouto stutter, his grin melting to a flustered purse of the lip. It was then that you took his hand decisively, chuckling as you placed a swift kiss to his cheek. “Ready to go.”

It took him a moment to buffer, but he quickly recovered, a warm flush coloring his cheeks as his fingers squeezed yours. The digits of his other hand curled around the small of your waist, guiding you through the door.

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Your eyes widened as Shouto pulled the sleek car into the parking space, your surroundings somewhat familiar. When you had asked where he was taking you, he hadn’t revealed any clues, preferring to give a vague “someplace you’ll enjoy” before effectively killing the conversation. You probably should’ve expected it, but surprise overtook you as you turned the sidewalk corner and there stood the cat cafe the pair of you had passed on your way back from the hospital just yesterday.

When you turned to look at Shouto, his eyes were already inspecting your reaction, the excitement written obviously all over your face. He regarded you with a quiet, knowing smile as he opened the door for you, the bell tinkling overhead and the quiet mewls of kittens further inside distinctly ringing in your ears. Right as you stepped inside, a fluffy, smoosh-face cat curled around your ankles, brushing and sniffing at you in greeting. Shouto made a joke about the fluffy beast being the cutest host he’d ever seen, his smile only growing when you laughed in return.

Once you were seated, tucked in a comfy pair of chairs in the corner of the cafe, a waitress came over to take your orders. What took you by surprise was that Shouto ordered for you— the exact confection and drink you were eyeing when you peeked at the menu. He shot you a little smirk at the cuteness of your impressed expression, asking if you’d like to add anything and turning the staff person's attention to you. At your denial, they excused themself, leaving you alone with Shouto once more.

There was a palpable tension in the air between the two of you. Unbeknownst to you, the other cafe goers could practically see the sparks flying between you.

“So… do we come here a lot?” you inquired, taking a tentative sip of your ice water and training your eyes on the top button of his shirt. It was just too intense to stare him straight in the eye sometimes…

Shouto took a moment to reply, looking through his red and white bangs at you fondly, leaning back in his chair before shaking his head. “Truthfully, we’ve never been here before.” He gauged the surprise in your eyes, a little knowing smile resting on his plump lip before he continued. “You always wanted to try this place but we hadn’t gotten around to it… you even picked out the food you wanted in case we came. I hope your tastes remain unchanged? If I ordered something you don’t want, I’ll call the waiter over.”

It was then your turn to shake your head, a quick and decisive answer. “No, you got it right,” you reassured, hands wringing slowly underneath the table in your lap. “The only other thing I wanted to try was the drink you ordered, so it’s fine!”

“Have as much as you like,” he suavely suggested, his tone sounding more like a demand than an offer. Just as he focused his eyes on yours, he was interrupted by a fuzzy orange kitten jumping into his lap, settling into a tiny loaf across his thighs and staring up at him expectantly.

You and Shouto both buffered for a moment before you let out a laugh at the sight of such a tiny creature in your broad boyfriend’s embrace. Shouto began to chuckle too, giving the creature a little scratch under the chin. The kitten meowed happily in agreement, placing its head onto its paws and settling in for a nap. You let the comfortable silence last for a minute before you meandered back into conversation.

“So um, earlier, when we were getting ready to go out…,” your fingers absentmindedly wandered to the pendant resting in the middle of your collar bones. “I saw this necklace in my closet and I felt like it was… important? And then I thought I caught you looking at it earlier too maybe? Do you know if it has any significant meaning or anything?”

Shouto’s gaze remained on the cat in his lap for another moment before it flicked over to you, and once again, you were stunned by the amount of emotion in his mismatched eyes. “I gave it to you,” he answered, his free hand fiddling with the sunglasses that now hung in the middle of his shirt collar. “It was for our first anniversary.”

You didn't really know what to make of that, the newfound knowledge resonating through you as you tried to remember anything about that day at all.

“I chose that color because you said you loved it… the color of my eyes. Or— eye— I suppose,” he gestured to the piercing cerulean orb that rested on his hot side, standing out even more against the muddled skin of his scar.

Your head nodded as you processed his answer, your finger nudging at the handle of your cutlery absentmindedly. “You do have nice eyes,” you mumbled, your veins pumping with a warmth you'd come to recognize as his natural effect on you.

Shouto smiled at that, his gaze focused on the pendant gleaming in the sun’s gentle caress. You could feel the intensity of his eyes there in the center of your chest, the modest amount of exposed cleavage feeling hot under his inspection.

At his silence, you continued on, your flusteredness forcing your mouth to move without much reason. “And— you have great taste in jewelry too, I mean, this is really beautiful.”

“It suits you,” he replied instantly, as if such words required no thought whatsoever.

That just made your cheeks feel even hotter, and a surprised chuckle sounded past your lips, his compliment egging on the butterfly swarm in your belly. “Thank you… I’m glad you have enough rationale to avoid a cheesy heart with your name on it or something.”

Shouto’s eyes fleed yours at that, taking a tentative sip of his water. You watched his pink lips curl into a subtle, knowing smirk. He yelped when you kicked his ankle underneath the table, gaze returning to you. He regarded your inquisitorial expression for a moment before he shrugged, his cheeks tinged with the lightest of pinks. “I have actually given you something like that before…”

You bit your lip, now wanting to kick yourself for making fun of the sweet yet idiotic, classic boyfriend gift. Heart jewelry, of course…

“And you really liked it… maybe almost as much as me,” he finished, and you watched as his blush deepened a few shades.

The waiter chose that moment to deliver your drinks, the conversation halting awkwardly before they took their leave once again.

“I really liked it?” You parroted, perplexed. There was no way you would find such a cheesy gift endearing enough to actually enjoy it.

Shouto adjusted himself in his chair, clearing his throat awkwardly. His eyes once again couldn’t meet yours, his fingertips tapping on the edge of the table. “Yeah it— it’s an anklet… it um, has my initials on the charm…” he mumbled, suddenly shy. “You seem to enjoy wearing it when we… when I— when I take you.”

“Oh.”

Your face felt on fire, neither of you brave enough to look each other in the eye following his confession. There wasn’t much you knew about your sex life with Shouto— though you assumed it to be very much alive, and healthily so— but just by the way he phrased that, your thighs were clenching together at the image your brain so kindly painted you.

Shouto was a big, strong man… one who was very proportional, as you recalled from the incident that occurred this morning. The thought of him taking you made your insides squirm with interest, fluttering at the premise of being stretched around him. You took another sip of your drink before the food thankfully arrived, allowing the pair of you to drop the conversation.

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

After you finished eating, Shouto took you to the trader’s market around the corner. There were people crowding the streets and trickling through the crosswalks, even though it was a late morning on a Friday and most of the population should’ve been busying away at their jobs. The bustle of the city should’ve been overwhelming for you— Shouto kept you close to his side at all times, his gaze scrutinizing any looks that lasted too long toward your direction.  And yet, you were having a blast, flittering about and exploring the vendors’ stands and the numerous trinket stalls that lined the busy square. His hand was always holding yours. Even when you got more invested in the items on display before you, his fingers would linger at your waist, making his relationship to you apparent to any bystanders.

Sunlight streamed down in between the tall buildings surrounding you, reflecting off the windows like mirrors and making you grateful for the shade of your hat. That made you extra thankful for the ghost of Shouto’s hand across your skin, welcoming the coolness exuding off of his right side. There was a light-hearted conversation between the pair of you, and many grannies waved you over to inspect their merchandise by calling out to the pair of lovebirds. The repeated label made Shouto puff up in pride, aiding him to stand tall and retain the advantage he had on you in terms of height.

Whenever your gaze lingered on something for a second too long, Shouto was instantly handing bills over to the merchants, insisting they take the change or at least tipping them appreciatively. By the time the two of you had visited every stall, numerous bags hung from his left arm, all precariously stacked so the fingers on his other hand could remain laced with yours.

He noticed your wary gaze on the bags, your expression giving your thoughts away immediately. “Don’t worry love,” he reassured, squeezing your fingers in his, “they’re no trouble at all.” At your attempt to grab a few and lessen the load, he pivoted and held them above your head. He frowned, keeping them out of reach as you continued your attempt, swatting at him gently.

“Just let me have one at least,” you pouted, your voice morphing into a little whine. That got him to grin, conceding and handing you the smallest, lightest bag of the bunch. He feigned ignorance when you shot him a playful glare in response, choosing now to steer you toward another topic instead.

“Would it ruin the date if we stopped by my office? I just need to drop off the folders I finished up last night, and the building is just a block over. It should only take a minute.”

You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders. “Sure,” you agreed, allowing his fingers to slip back into yours. Having your hand in his felt natural to you, the warmth of his skin welcomed. “I want to see your agency, anyway!”

It was a short walk to his workplace, as promised. The building was one of the tallest in the surrounding area, with sleek windows paneling all sides and reflecting the orange light of the barely-setting sun. The security guards didn’t bother the pair of you, Shouto acknowledging them with a nod as he slipped off his disguise. The elevator opened and Shouto flashed his badge at the sensor, then pushed the button for one of the floors higher up in the building.

In no time at all, the doors opened again and he led you past the couple secretaries that were perched behind their desks. You could feel their eyes glued to your back, and you were sure that the second you were safely located behind the glass doors to the hallway, they’d launch into discussion. The thought slipped your mind as you came round the corner, Shouto guiding you through the nearest door and ushering you into a large sitting room. Two doors were situated on either side of the room, long glass walls dividing the quarters. One door led to Shouto’s office, as designated by the nearby nameplate. The other you were about to read just as it opened, and a familiar, sharp-toothed redhead bounded toward the pair of you.

Immediately you grinned, ripping your hand from Shouto’s as you launched yourself at the famed Red Riot, one of Japan’s finest heroes lifting you off your feet in an enthusiastic embrace. Your laughs echoed around the room, Kirishima’s chuckles following as he spun you around. Shouto watched silently, a small frown adorning his lip while your gleeful laughs met his ears. He hadn’t heard such a sound in what seemed like forever, and even though he was not the cause of it, he couldn’t help but relish in it.

After a moment, Kirishima put you down and pulled Shouto in for a quick half-hug, patting him on the shoulder as his eyes then returned to you. “Well look who it is,” he grinned, his pointy teeth on display, hands landing on his narrow hips. “It’s so good to see you up and about, Y/n.”

“It’s good to see you too, Kiri,” you mirrored his expression, taking in his appearance.

Shouto watched your eyes rove over him, a sour taste developing at the back of his tongue. You had recognized Kirishima immediately— fondly, even— when it had taken hard work and ample time for you to warm up to him. It had taken a week for you to call him by his usual nickname, and yet, you called Kirishima by his own instantly. He could feel himself turning green at the realization, his frown remaining as his eyes sharpened in scrutiny.

“Wow,” you exclaimed after you had fully appraised the hero, even taking in the scarlet costume that had been updated since the last time you’d seen him. “You look great! Five years has really done you well, hmm? You’re totally ripped. Last time I saw you I swear you were shorter!”

Kirishima laughed and toed at the ground bashfully— never one to handle compliments very well. “Ah, thanks Y/n… gotta stay in shape when your costume has you shirtless all day, right?”

Shouto couldn’t help the envy that rose up inside of him as he watched you chatter eagerly with his coworker… even though he knew you had no control of what memories you lost, it still stung to watch you engage with and compliment another man. Especially when he hadn’t received such easy affection from you in much too long.

“You look much better, too,” Kirishima continued, glancing at Shouto as he picked up on the temperature drop in the room. Somehow you didn’t seem to notice the frost gathering on Shouto’s wrist as a result of his displeasure.  “Erm— last time I saw you was in the hospital when you were still in your coma. I was so relieved to hear you woke up! Then I figured it would be easier for you if you didn’t have any visitors, though… that’s what your f— um, Shouto said would be best, anyway.”  

At the mention of his name, you glanced at the half-and-half man beside you, shooting him a thankful smile that had his heart fluttering and his jealousy waning. He cleared his throat and nodded, casting a forced smile at the other hero. “Yes, well… I have to step into my office quickly, would you entertain her for a moment?”

Kirishima opened his mouth to reply, but Shouto was already halfway through the door, leaving the pair of you slightly stunned. You could see him through the glass wall, eyes following him and wondering why his curt attitude left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“So um…” The redhead turned to look at you, prompting you to do the same. “You really lost all your memories of him?”

The question hit you like he had dunked you in ice cold water, and you stiffened up immediately. Kirishima panicked then, eyes growing wide and covering his mouth.

“I can’t believe I just blurted that out— I just… You guys are so in love, I can’t imagine you two not together,” he explained earnestly, his brow furrowed. His honesty made your stomach burst with butterflies, the premise of being loved by Shouto and being able to love him made you feel flustered as hell.

“We are together,” you clarified, and Kirishima nodded. “Just not as together as before, I guess? It’s just… he makes me feel so many things and I barely know him. But he knows me? Like, intimately. It feels like he knows me more than I know myself sometimes. I dunno, it’s just… complicated, Kiri.”

He smiled in understanding, eyes sympathetic as you spilled your troubles to him. It was nice talking to someone who wasn’t Shouto— as much as you liked him, talking to him was difficult because he made you fumble with your words. You said things you didn’t mean to say when you were with him. Kirishima continued, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you guys are crazy in love. Like, you’re the couple I aspire to be in some day.”

You grabbed his hand and grinned at that, his sincerity making your heart melt. “Awe, Kiri… It’s good to see you haven’t changed from how I remember you. You’re still the sweetest.”

Kirishima laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just be yourself with him… I think it’ll put you both at ease. You’re really good for each other— he was devastated the whole time you were asleep.”

The admission made a lump appear in your throat, your eyes feeling glassy all the sudden.

“He hasn’t acted this frigid since his high school days… Long before he met you. I think you make him feel relaxed. I mean, that’s how he always looks when he’s with you, or thinking about you. I can tell when we’re on patrol and he’s daydreaming about you, ‘cus he’ll just walk right into a lamp pole.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image, cursing the timing when the door opened and Shouto stepped out, his eyes landing on you and then hardening as they moved to Kirishima. He stepped toward him, but you intercepted him and laced your arms around his middle instead, stopping him with your embrace.

Shouto faltered at the sudden display of affection, his cheeks growing hot as he locked gazes with Kirishima, his eyes then dropping to the top of your head as you hid your face in his chest. He was frozen mid-breath, completely still as you held him. His cool, clean scent swallowed you as you kept your head nuzzled into his front, his fingers limp as your hand found his.

With a small step back, you ceased your embrace, your fingers squeezing his tightly as your eyes captured his and you gave him a shy smile. His cheeks only darkened, the grimace that had occupied his face long gone and instead replaced with an awed blankness. His lips parted and moved pointlessly, as if he wanted to say something but no sound escaped him.

“It was nice catching up Kiri,” you said, eyes still locked with Shouto’s heterochromatic ones before you turned to the red hero, who was awkwardly looking to the side as he shuffled his weight between his feet.

Kirishima looked at you and laughed awkwardly once again. You began to exit with Shouto in tow behind you, the hero’s crimson gaze following the pair of you. “Ah, yeah, you too! Let’s meet up soon!”

Then the glass door closed, and you were once again in the vicinity of the secretaries' blatant gawking. You pointedly ignored them as you strode toward the elevator, with their soundlessly boss still trailing behind you. As you waited for the elevator to ascend to your floor, you caught Shouto looking at you funny in your peripheral vision. Yet when you turned to look at him, he only reached out and pulled you into his chest.

Caught by surprise, a meek noise slipped out of you before you collided with his pecs once again, his arms wrapping around you to secure you in place. He nuzzled into your hair and inhaled deeply, uncaring of the secretaries' stares.

Only when the elevator arrived did he pull away, to guide you inside and away from the prying eyes. When the doors were closed, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the crest of your cheek, a wisp of his peppermint-laced breath cooling your skin just as heat rushed there from his lips.

“Let’s go home, love,” Shouto murmured against your skin, knuckles nudging yours before your fingers curled around his. You nodded, holding his arm with your free hand and coming to stand by his side as the elevator rushed toward the ground. A peaceful moment of silence fell upon you and Shouto, giving you time for contemplation.

Any sane woman would've taken one look at Kirishima and felt at least a pinch of interest twirl inside her stomach. He was caring and handsome as they come, and yet he did absolutely nothing for you. Somehow when you were confronted with his chiseled abs and warm gaze, you felt less than when Shouto even glanced at you. You concluded that your body was definitely in love with him… and your heart longed to be the same. But part of you still had questions that needed to be resolved before you could really give yourself to him… and little did he know, you would find the answers to said questions so soon.

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

.

ahh i love this sho so much, he’s trying so hard... poor babie 🥺 next part i will be much kinder to him <3 if you enjoyed please be sure to reblog and or leave me a comment •ᴥ• 

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[justseveralowls]

Some body love reminders I don’t feel like are said enough:

This post contains talk about anatomy,SH recovery and general discussion about acceptance of ones physical form. If this has the potential to trigger offend or upset you then please move on from this post and stay safe and have a lovely day.

Otherwise click “Keep reading” and I hope this post provides confidence and comfort.

BODY HAIR- It’s perfectly okay to have or not have body hair. Whether on your face, arms legs or below the belt, it is part of being human and your genetics and nothing to be ashamed of.

SKIN TONE- This one is one I do hear a lot but it’s one I struggle with due to light translucent skin due to illness although my actual tone is mid olive (I’m latinx). Fair skin is lovely, dark skin is lovely, freckled skin is lovely, skin with varying pigmentation if lovely, Mid toned skin is lovely, olive skin is lovely. Your skin is beautiful,unique, and amazing as is.

HAIR- YOUR NATURAL HAIR IS STUNNING AND COMPLETELY PERFECT AS IS. Whether curly, coily, straight, thick, thin, short, long or having none at all. That is fine and you are beautiful.

SCARS/SKIN TEXTURE- Our skin is not perfectly smooth and even, no one’s is. on a cellular level this is very clear to see. Your skin is a mosaic of color, texture, markings and features. 

              ~Your acne is nothing to be ashamed of

              ~ Your scars are nothing to hate or feel bad about

              ~ Your ecema is nothing to be ashamed of

              ~ The dark circles around your eyes are normal so are the puffiness                      underneath.

              ~ The lines on your face, body, lips, and any where else are natural,                      and they are part of you that deserves love and respect.

              ~ Visible veins on any part of your body are okay, you don’t need to                     hate or hide them.

              ~ Your stretch marks are normal natural and literally everyone has                        them somewhere, because we grow, our bodies change, are skin                      is stretchy. (I have a condition where they are all over (backs of my                    legs, thighs, hips, even my fingers) and I like to call them my Zebra                    stripes.)

               ~Moles and freckles are natural beautiful and nothing to be ashamed                   of.

BODY TYPE- Your body is living it is surviving it lets you be here and do the things you love. Asthetics are irrelevant and it deserves to be appreciated. Your health and happiness are so much more important than appearence

              ~ Haveing excess skin is fine

              ~ Having cellulite is healthy and normal

              ~ Having bones that show is okay

              ~ Weight/Body changes and shifts are normal and nothing to                                 feel ashamed of.

              ~ EVERY BODY TYPE IS VALID LOVELY AND WORTHY

              ~Your thighs are fine

              ~ Your hips are fine

              ~Your arms are fine

               ~ Your feet are fine

              ~ Your stomach is fine

               ~ Your hands are fine

              ~ Your nails are fine

              ~  Your calves/ ankles are fine (I struggle with this one)

              ~ YOUR BODY LOVES YOU AND DESERVES YOUR LOVE BACK

VOICE/LAUGH- Your voice is lovely, its comforting, it makes someone smile, it shows your love, your thoughts and your passion. Your laugh spreads joy, it’s infectious and it’s someones favorite sound.

YOUR INTERESTS- THE THINGS YOU ARE PASSIONATE ABOUT AND ENJOY ARE LOVELY AND NOTHING TO HIDE OR FEEL SHAME ABOUT! Someone (probably lots of people) love them too. You aren’t weird, cringey, or annoying. You are you and that is beautiful! (From someone who loves Hello Kitty, Disney Movies, true crime documentaries, Squishmallows and gets very excited about rocks and medical facts)

YOUR TEETH/SMILE- YOU ARE ALLOWED TO SMILE REGARDLESS OF HOW YOUR TEETH LOOK. Braces, missing/chipped teeth, caps, retainers, crooked teeth and all others are normal and you always deserve to show joy.

MEDICAL/BODY DIFFERENCES- Okay, this one is one I stuggle with but I feel it is so important.

~Your ports, tubes and pumps are helping you and you never need to feel like you have to hide them if you don’t want to.

~ Your braces, mobility aids, mouth gaurds (I have one for seizures). Are part of you and that is just fine.

~ Your medical scarring/devices are valid, important, and parts of you that deserve love and respect. 

Thanks for sticking with me through this very long post. I hope this helps you feel safe, comfortable, confident and like yourself in every aspect of who you are. You are beautiful, you are handsome, you are strong, you are valid and you are deserving of happiness.

Wishing love, light, hope and comfort to all of you!

[hello-nichya-here]

alright living up to my reputation as a tipsy anon :) how about that halloween party idea I mentioned? is it original? no. do I wanna write it anyway? yea :D 

also, I know I promised a part 2 on a different drabble but I didn't like that one & I (think?) I do like this one so maybe there will be a part 2 idk 

---

---

"You good, buddy?" Sokka asked, laughing and patting Zuko on the shoulder as Zuko stumbled out of the porta-potty, swaying on his feet. 

Zuko rolled his eyes, flipping Sokka the bird as his friend went into the porta-potty next. The massive event was winding down. A girl in a catsuit was holding back her sexy nurse friend's hair as the nurse puked in the bushes nearby. The food trucks had all closed by now. A handful of 'whooping' kids were still playing a game of beer pong at a folding table. Zuko had worried he would run into Azula tonight, but so far - no sign of her. He knew she'd started this semester, a freshman and two years behind him, but he'd yet to bump into her on campus. It had been just over six years since Zuko saw his sister - since the day he was taken away by social services and sent to live with his uncle after his father scarred the left side of his face beyond recognition on a hot stove. 

Halloween was the biggest party of the year for Caldera University students - it took place just far enough into the autumn semester that everyone was desperate for a chance to unwind. Plus what twenty-something didn't love a good excuse to dress up ridiculously and drink enough booze to destroy their liver? 'A Halloween Party's a rad excuse, to put your body through mad abuse,' Zuko thought, amusing himself with the reference. 

"What are you grinning at?" 

Zuko turned at the sound of a piercing voice nearby. A very beautiful girl in a very tiny red dress was leaning against a tree, smirking at him. Her lips matched her dress. She was wearing red stiletto heels with straps showing off her perfect calves. Her dark hair fell across her shoulders in soft locks, and she wore a red and black masquerade-style mask. She was also wearing a headband with curling deep red goatlike horns on top. 

"Here to tempt me into another drink? Or maybe into bailing on my buddy and walking back to my dorm alone?" Zuko asked, opting to ignore her question. 

The girl chuckled. "Why would I do that?" She was trying to convey a sense of certainty, but Zuko heard the slur in her voice. 

"Well, you're the devil, right?" Zuko said. 

"Perhaps not original," the girl said. "Granted. But it's fitting, trust me." She winked. Then she walked a little closer, touching the white mask covering the left half of Zuko's face. It was just them under the trees. A shiver ran down Zuko's spine at her touch. Her fingernails were long and painted black with intricate blue designs on each of them, like flames. "And you're what - hiding a horrible deformity?" 

Zuko glared. "The Phantom of the Opera is a very popular book." 

"Most people have only seen the movie," the girl said. Her hand was still on Zuko's face. "But I get your point." She narrowed her eyes, peering at him through her masquerade mask. "Do I know you from somewhere?" 

"Don't think so," Zuko said. Then he frowned. "You seem kind of familiar too." 

"Oh trust me," the girl said. "I'm not the kind of person you'd forget." She laughed, and it was a surprisingly cute sound, soft and uncertain. So far this girl had come across as cold, maybe even a little mean. "I'll admit I'm new here and I haven't met a lot of people worth talking to. Do you want to go back to my dorm with me?" 

Ten minutes later, Zuko found himself in the cleanest dorm room he'd ever seen. Unlike his and Sokka's shared space, there were no clothes or books scattered across the floor or on the desks. The single-bed dorm was so spotless it would be easy to mistake it for empty. Zuko sat on the bed while his mystery friend dug in a drawer, producing a bottle of Kors Vodka, Gold Edition. 

"You have expensive taste," Zuko said as she sat beside him on the meticulously made bed. 

The girl laughed, taking off the lid and drinking from the bottle. "Well, consider yourself lucky I like you." She handed him the bottle. "Normally I'm rather stingy." 

Zuko smirked, taking a drink. "You must not have met many people worth meeting here." 

The girl frowned, looking down as she took the bottle back. "No, not really. Then again, I have a way of chasing people off." 

Zuko moved a little closer on the bed, instinctively putting a hand on her knee. "I'm not going anywhere."

The girl smirked, and Zuko's insides warmed up. "No, you're not." 

Zuko found his eyes wandering the girl's body now. He might have had more shame if it weren't for the booze flowing through him. As it was, he ran his hand up her thigh, pushing the ends of her skirt up. She leaned into it, touching his chest with her hand. Zuko's eyes were drawn to the low cut of her costume, showing off the edges of a black silky bra. 

The mystery girl pressed her lips to Zuko's then and it was sweet for a moment - hesitant and shy. Then Zuko pushed her backward on the bed, climbing on top of her and kissing her with everything he had, running his hands across her curves and exploring her body. Zuko wasn't sure what compelled him to do it - if it was the booze or the intense attraction. He thought maybe though that something about this girl was just begging for it. The soft, surprised, sound of pleasure she let out as his hand slid between her legs, playing with her tiny panties, confirmed that she was enjoying the way he was holding her down. 

"Are you always this forceful?" she panted, a challenge in her gold eyes, still encased in the mask. 

Zuko grinned, sliding his fingers under her panties and teasing her as he bit down on her neck, making her cry out. "No," he said, kissing lower, until his face was between her breasts, kissing the exposed cleavage. "You're special." 

The costumes make total sense, and hell yes she's special! If that's how extra horny Zuko was just by looking at her, imagine once he knows it's Azula AND has moved on from the shame of "I can't sleep with my sister (again)."

Always great to see your scenarios! I live for them!

[echoalyssa]

Marks | Chase Hudson

TW : This fic mentions SH scars, nsfw content, as well as stretch marks. The idea was to bring awareness, and show that all marks and body types are beautiful and should not be shamed. I wasn’t able to finish it as it was just too hard for me mentally, but I wanted to get it out there. Please don’t read if you think it will trigger you or put a stop to your recovery. If any of you ever need to talk, my DM’s are always open! I love you all <3

You’re straddling Chase, hips swirling lazily. His hands rest on your hips, and his beautiful eyes are trained on where your bodies are connected, he’s watching you in complete and utter awe.

You have a hand on his chest, using him for leverage, and one hand is tangled in your hair. The hand on his chest curls, nails scratching at his skin when you shift your hips, changing the angle in the smallest bit and he hits something deep in you.

His head falls back against the pillows, his eyes falling shut. “God, I love y-you.” He grits out.

You glance down, wanting to see your bodies together and freeze. Chase let’s out a harsh breath beneath you, groaning out your name, his hips stuttering upwards at the sudden lack of movement.

Across the tops of our thighs are thin, almost transparent wavy lines. Stretch marks. Marks that also litter the insides of your thighs, the backs of your calves, and your behind. Marks that seemed to rule you, make you hate yourself.

On top of the stretch marks are horizontal straight scars. Haphazard with no pattern. The product of one of the darkest times in your life, when all you could do to cope was drag the blade over your skin and watch the blood follow in it’s wake.

Chase sits up, his gaze landing on the marks and scars that you couldn’t look away from.

He places a hand under your chin, long fingers forcing you to look at him. The other digits are on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the marks. The marks the made you self conscious about wearing shorts, let alone bikini bottoms come summer.

“Look at me,” he whispers, voice soft. His lips brush your and the hand on your chin moves to cleft a tear.

“You are beautiful, just the way you are. Marks and all.”

[toesuckler]

You okay?

not really, i had a friend of 3 years who was just revealed to be a huge liar and manipulating me all these years I thought i was being a bad friend by not believing all their dumb lies. they sent death threats to someone they hsd a crush on, obsessed over me and even FOLLOWED ME HOME one day and i just... let it happen. on a separate note (SH TW DO NOT LOOK IF YOURE TRIGGERED BY SUCH CONTENT!!!) i was caught by my mom about the scars on my legs (i dont know which part of my legs? i do both calves and thighs aswell as wrists so idk) i wasnt condemned and she didnt confenscate my razors (if she did i would just get more) but it sucks real bad (SH WARNING END.) h a buncha stuff just sorta happened and .. idk i feel terrible and so worn out and not even my boyfriends here rn. i miss him hes probably at band practice.

[frangipanidownunder]

Hi! Same anon re: Healing/Supernatural Burns. In case it further helps to jog memory, you publish it on AO3 on Oct 7th, 2018. And on your Tumblr on October 3rd, 2018. I have my fingers crossed! Thank you so much for trying. I just love your stories!

Here you go anon.

Superficial Burns: fic

NSFW. Season six, angry sex around One Son.  Follow up, called  Healing, is here.

She’s not sure what comes after rage. The door is still shuddering against the jamb. The low light from the lamp in the living room casts a pale golden glow that seems too beautiful, too ethereal for the moment. Her wrists ache from tension and she releases each finger with a pop, flexing her hands open as she slings off her jacket and kicks her shoes across the floor. 

He’s behind her before she realises what’s happening. She’s certain he didn’t knock. His hand is still in his pocket and his face is dangerously shadowed. The cut of his cheekbones, the narrowing of his eyes, the purse of his lips gives him the look of an assassin.

“Why are you here, Mulder? I didn’t think you were interested in anything I had to say.”

He throws his gaze to one side, like he’s batting away her words.  

She turns her back on him and heads to kitchen. She knows he hasn’t moved. He wants her to do the running, he wants her to break the silence, he wants her to say she’s fucking sorry for saying what she said about Diana. The kettle hisses.  

The burn of humiliation is still running as hot through her veins as the splash of water on her skin. She curses and presses the back of her hand to her lips and sees him in her periphery. His anger is coursing off him. External. Hers is locked inside. 

She reaches for the box of Earl Grey. Her sweater lifts from her waistband and she feels the cool air rush against her skin of her back. When she turns back he’s pressed against the door, arms above his head, staring at her. His eyes rake over her body but he says nothing. 

Her guts twist. Conflict blisters at her and she itches the spot on her hand where the boiling water splashed. She wants to scratch out the doubt, the guilt, the fucking satisfaction she’s feeling at seeing him seethe. Take your fucking beautiful face and tell your ex-partner about how badly you’re treated, how nobody gets you, how trust is the only truth now. 

“Haven’t you got somewhere to be, Mulder?” She sips her tea to hide the tremble in her lips. He moves off the door but doesn’t walk any closer to her. She wants to tell him to run to Diana. She knows he will. But he fills the place in front of her door so well. 

“Are you going to quit?” he says eventually. Like it’s any of his business. Like he cares anyway.

She leaves him without an answer. Finishes her tea. The sting of her burned hand throbs. 

“You should cool it off under cold water, Scully.” He takes a step towards her and she suddenly feels ripped open, like he can see insider her. “Burns can leave a nasty scar.”

“They’re just superficial,” she counters. 

He reaches to take her hand and his fingers are surprisingly cool. His touch is light around the red marks and she holds her breath as he presses his lips to her knuckles. 

“Why are you here?” she says again, but the force of anger has left her. There’s a pull at the back of her knees, and she locks them just to stay upright. She won’t fucking cry. The pad of his thumb rubs at the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’m here because I was worried about you.” And he’s telling the fucking truth, damn him. 

She tips her head back and her neck grinds. She laughs. And she cries. She leans into him and cries against his chest and he lets her and it fucking hurts. It hurts that he’s so close and so distant. That he’ll comfort her then run to Diana. That he dismisses her fears but would swallow them down for her.

“I hate you sometimes,” she whispers and he grabs the words from her mouth with his. His teeth press into her lips and his nose is buried into her cheek bone. She can’t breathe but she relishes the dizziness. Her calves strain as she tiptoes to kiss him harder. The sides of her hands hammer at his chest. 

“You can’t leave, Scully.” He slides his knees between her thighs and the friction of fabric against her centre is so delicious she yelps. He growls and rids her of her skirt. She unbuckles his belt and tugs his zipper down. He’s warm and hard against her palm and she strokes him through the fabric of his boxers. His hand covers her breast through the wool of her sweater, squeezing, then slips underneath pushing her bra cup up and pinching her nipple.  

“You’re frightened of being left on your own, Mulder,” she says and his fingers fit under the seam of her panties, snug, delving and dipping so that she can only buck against him.

The grind is slow, deliberate, teasing. His fucking arrogance is supreme and it fills her with equal measures of hot rage and pulsating need.

“God, Mulder, this is so wrong.”

The door clicks behind her as he cups both hands under her ass and lifts her. She wraps her legs around him, not caring about the dig of his jeans fly into her flesh, about the knot of wood at the base of her spine. She braces one arm against the cool timber and slips the other round his neck. His shoulder covers her face so that she is breathing in the leather of his jacket with each thrust. It burns in the most pleasurable way. She hisses and he bites into the roll of wool at her neck. 

He shudders to his climax all too quickly with a rambling tirade of sorryScullyIcouldn’tstopmyselfsorryScully and he lets her down with trembling hands. Her head feels strange, heavy on her shoulders. Her legs are shaking. The skin on her hand stings again. She doesn’t know where to look but he’s already zipping himself up, moving past her to open the door.

“I have to go,” he says, “I’m sorry, Scully.” She bends to pick up her skirt, holding it to her chest as the sound of his footsteps fades. 

When she answers the phone to Jeffrey Spender, she wonders if Mulder’s already at Diana’s. And she finds out what comes after rage as the flame of disappointment heats her blood.

[iphoenixrising]

I did not expect people to want more of the thing *shrugs* 

Thank-you for the comments on my assholery with cliff hangers @txbookeater​, I love you too babe <3. So much love to electra-iphigenie, emjalen, ships-lover, and @chibinightowl​ for talking up that post. Based on this thing. Warning for triggering themes. Be aware of good boyfriending, kink negotiations, and mentions of past sexual assault. 

Proceed at your own risk 

He takes in a breath, blank for a second, his brain catching up. “Could it possibly be in the bathroom before I get in a nice, hot shower? Followed by a few hours of unconsciousness? That would be really amazing right about now.”

Deflection is an art form, and he really is a master.  He shrugs off his bag, gives him an opportunity to turn away, aware of eyes and how he’s dragging ass, feeling off and irritable. His brain doesn’t have to keep moving from one thing to the next, and things are slowing down. A shudder runs like cold fingers down his spine.

“I think I’d rather ya do it right here, Tim,” and there’s no Sweets, Baby, or any other endearments to make this easier on him. Nope. 

(It’s fine. Breathe. Just some bruises. They’ve seen worse, had worse. They’re all adults here.)

“Jay, I am tired–” “You’re looking shaky, a little strung out.” Dick, at least, makes it gentle. “And I saw it already, so we both know. I’d rather see the damage without your shirt in the way.” “Then, we’re gonna talk ‘bout why ya didn’t tell us right away.” “Mmhm, we might need to have another talk about the rules when we play.” “You’re blowing this out of proportion,” he argues gently, rubbing his hands and wrists because his fingers are tingling. “We had a play date, and by the time I was getting...you know, sore, I was already at work, you were on patrol–” “You didn’t say a word about it to me,” Dick cuts in, “and you absolutely should have. Now, I’m wondering if you really do know your limits, and if I can trust you enough to stop us when you need to.” “I...I didn’t–” yes. Yes I did.

It’s as simple as breathing in too sharply, his ears suddenly ringing, and there’s rubber in his mouth, his teeth probably cutting into it, and it hurts. Normally, he’s okay with rough and multiple rounds, loves how they get when they need control, to feel like there’s something in their hands that can’t just be taken away. 

He gets it. Loves that their go-to outlet for it...is him. 

Even if he can’t come again, it still usually feels amazing, and crazy in his brain because they want him this much. Really, he loves them. 

(The bell clenched in his fist is making an indent in his palm. His chest constricts, just like last time, but he can at least gasp through the holes in the gag. So he doesn’t need to drop it. He wants to. It hurts and he wants to, but he doesn’t. He can take it. He’s had worse. This is for them.) 

Neither of them noticed it had gone from amazing to uncomfortable to painful, and he didn’t drop the bell. He didn’t tell them to stop, so really, it’s on him isn’t it?

Bile rushes up his throat, bringing him back to the very real present where Dick and Jay are suddenly really close, and he realizes he’s just sitting in Dick’s lap, shaking like a leaf.

His face is wet, his chest hitching. 

He doesn’t puke, so that is about a million points.

But, he is absolutely falling the utter fuck apart and that just isn’t conducive to his attempt at coming home to snuggle and pass out in blissful unconsciousness.

(This is his life. Seriously.)

“Shit, shit, shit,” the first attempt to move is right out the window because he’s on octopus hold lockdown.

(On one hand it feels nice to be held. On the other, he can’t escape and it feels restrictive, stifling, terrifying.)

“Hey, hey, Baby. Lookey here. That’s it, that’s good.” Jay is rubbing palms up and down the top of his calves, up to his knees and down to his ankles. He’s talking low and gentle. “I’m going ta the kitchen, n’ getcha some water. Then, we’re gonna talk ‘bout what’s doing, you feel me? If me and Dickie are gonna be able ta take care a’ ya, then we gotta know what’s in yer head.”

He’s breathing too hard, too fast, his hearing spotty at best.

“Ssshhh. You’re having a panic attack, Timmy. You’re hyperventilating, so I need for you to calm down now, okay?” 

Then Dick’s chest is under his tingling fingers, and the exaggerated breathing helps him slow it down, take back some of the control over his body.

He doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out or puke, so the day is looking up. 

The absurdity of that thought it the thing that really makes him laugh, the sound hoarse, choked. 

“Okay, okay, you’re doing good, Timmy, just stay with me,” and he didn’t notice when Dick started rocking back-and-forth in a soothing motion, or when Jay got back and slid a hand around the nape of his neck.

He’s still shaky as fuck, curled up against Dick’s warmth, and fuck is he cold and wrung out. It feels like a high fever, joints achy, brain foggy, reaction time slow.

“...it’s a fucking drop, Dick. Look at ‘im!” “I’ve never heard of a delayed response like this.” “Knew we shoulda waiting ta scene. He went right from bed ta the pressure cooker, Dick.” “I should have picked up on it when I went to see him.” “S’all right, least we know what ta do now,” and Jay bends, pulls and lifts him like he isn’t a full grown man, pulling him in tight. “Need ta getcha all warm n’ snuggled, don’t we, Baby?”

Dick is throwing back the covers, but Tim doesn’t want to get in bed, not smelling like antiseptic and and bleach, but being warm, being able to hide his face in the pillow is really appealing.

He nods in Jay’s shoulder and lets just the scrub top be pulled off, leaving him in the nerd shirt underneath. He’s glad for it, already vulnerable, cold, shaky.

A straw to his mouth from no where and water before hands are helping him scoot over gingerly in the middle before flopping down on his good side with two warm vigilantes like bookends. Gentle circles on his back while Dick snakes an arm under his head, pulls him closer. 

“All right, that’s better.”

That hand hits a tender spot, and the flinch is automatic. “Sorry, Timmy. Once yer all warm, we’ll lookit how bad, yeah? Gonna lemme see, and it’s gonna be all right. S’ just me n’ Dickie.”

It’s awful because the two wrapped around him is fucking close to perfect and he isn’t feeling as shitty as he was at the ominous picture they made when he first walked in, and yeah, yeah, maybe it was stupid to try hiding it from them. He’s fuzzy about it, but he’s pretty sure that’s a rule somewhere in the Do’s and Don’ts for Playtime talk. 

He probably going to get a lecture. Possibly two.

“Sorry,” he finally says, voice stronger because his throat doesn’t feel like raw hamburger anymore. “I...that wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know why it was bad, but I’m s–”

“The only thing that would make me angry right now is if you apologize again,” Dick follows it up with scritches to take the sting out of it. “Something triggered you to have a severe drop, Timmy, and if you could tell us what happened, it would help us to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Can you understand that? We need to know so we don’t accidentally hurt you?”

He goes still and his chest hurts just a little.

“I...I should have safeworded out,” it hurts to say, “I sh-should have dropped it, but I thought I could take it, and then things got weird and my brain just, and I thought if I did it would be weak and-and you didn’t need that, and I-I just. I’m sore and it hurt and I didn’t– it’s my fault, okay. I should have because I know that’s a rule somewhere.”

and he keeps babbling on, rambling with his eyes getting hot and his vigilante boyfriends petting him, rocking with him, letting everything just pour out of him without stopping him or pulling away, just–

Dealing with his special brand of insanity. (Those darn abandonment issues. Golly, some day he won’t feel like his chest is being ripped open viciously with fear they’re going to walk the fuck out of his life and never come back.)

He’s finally talked out, feeling like ass about fucking up their morning.

“Your color is coming back, that’s good.” “Warmed all up, Dickie. Time ta tell it like it is.” Well. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” and he blinks up out of Dick’s chest with his eyes still puffy and his side tender, those blue eyes dark with something hard to interpret.

“I’m not happy you didn’t tell us immediately because we agreed to communicate about these things. D&S can be scarring, and this is just an example of how people get hurt.” 

“And I’m going to say this now so you understand how important it is. About the fact you didn’t safeword.” Dick’s chest expands, hitches, “You need to know, you’re not only protecting yourself when you do, but you’re protecting us, too.”

“I don’t–”

“Tim. I’ve been sexually assaulted several times, and you know that. So... knowing I hurt you that way makes me sick inside, okay. Can you– can you understand that?”

“I-I fuck, Dick, I’m–” “Please don’t say it. No more sorries. But, it’s important you understand Jay and I have our own traumas, so if you, not us, want to keep trying this, we have to navigate more carefully.”

Behind him, Jay’s forehead is nestled in the dip at the base of his neck, and a hard breath whistles down the back of his shirt. 

He despairs inside at how Dick and Jay must be feeling, how bad it looked to them that Tim hadn’t come clean, hadn’t safeworded at all. “I fucked up. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

Dick presses a gentle kiss in his hair, and Jay nuzzles against his throat. 

He gets more sips of water and eventually a panini and soup. There’s more cuddles and warmth, more talk that sucks the breath out of them all. 

His head wraps around the rules differently this time, taking careful note of the way Dick’s expression gets shuddered and Jay goes still. He assures them he still does want playtime sometimes, shoots down the notion he’s only doing it for them, tells them that when his brain is too full and he needs to give up control, he doesn’t want to do it with anyone else but them. 

He realizes it’s because somewhere, he knows they’ll take care of him...if he lets them.

Then his shirt comes off so the deep bruises can have Alfred’s magical concoction spread over. His cheeks are pink when he’s laid out on his stomach with the scrub pants tossed off the bed. Soft praise while he’s spread open by gentle hands to make sure he’s not torn. Bruised and sore yeah, but nothing too awful. He gets a pair of Dick’s cut-off sweatpants that still hit him below the knee and one of Jay’s shirts that he practically swims in, but he feels about a million times better just wearing their clothes.

And when they’re careful with him for the next few days, when love making is tender and slow, when touches are easy with his bruises in mind, when everything is verbal and consent is crucial, he make more of an effort to stomp down the urges to push his limits, push himself. He stomps down on those stupid recriminations and uncertainties, tries to remember that these two could be literally anywhere else in the world, and yet, here they are at his side.

He gets to have vigilantes bleeding on his fire escape, and the men under the mask in his bed, in his shower, in his kitchen, in his life. 

The next scene he yellows, gets a much needed pause before they continue, and the aftercare is truly a thing of beauty.

[pestopascal]

“I just — I’m breathless, okay? Whenever I’m with you, it happens.” OR “All my choices lead me to you.” OR [Holds the other’s hand when they think the other won’t notice] With any FHR pairing you'd like? 👀👀

prompts here

how about.... all three? 350~ words each

chargestep: “I just — I’m breathless, okay? Whenever I’m with you, it happens."

“You going alright there, old man?”

Easy to sing out, when you’re up the stairs. Half a flight ahead, but still going strong. Two steps at a time, and your chest ached, throat dry and sore. For more than a block, you had both been running up and down varying buildings and sites. Hopefully, this would be the last one.

If only because you sure as hell weren’t admitting that the burn in your calves might actually lay you out for a week.

Pinch the bottom of your mask up to breathe, when you're on the next landing. Try not to look like you’re very obviously leaning on the handrail, free hand on hip. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” you greet, grin broad when Ortega collapses, hands on knees. “You good?”

Perhaps you were bordering on concerned, when a single finger was held up. Still not looking up, deep heaves. But you were to shush, no more teasing. That doesn’t stop the twist of your lips at all. 

“I am just — I’m just a little…”

You offer a: “Breathless?” unable to keep the smarm out of your voice. You didn’t have to see his face to know that he would’ve been momentarily pinched.

With a wave of his hand, Ortega looks up. A somewhat cheeky smile, you had to admit, that made you suddenly fear the next words out of his mouth. 

“It’s just… whenever I’m with you, it’s been known to happen.”

The pause stretches, until you can only flatly ask, “what?”

“You take my breath away.” And Ortega pushes himself up, grinning, hands on hips. Distracting in how his chest continues to rise and fall, but the recovery was tremendous. 

Your cheeks burn, and what comes out of your mouth was not an intelligent sound. If anything, it forces you to pull your mask down, to hide the way the flush rises up your neck. “Sh—shut up!” Turn. Up the stairs. 

“Smooth,” Ortega calls after you, but he’s laughing too hard. You’re glad he can’t hear your heart beat, when you know it shouldn’t. 

flystep: “All my choices lead me to you.”

In books, they call it the red string of fate. When you were younger, buried in libraries and behind tall gates, it was all you had. Books, lives that you couldn’t live. But those had been buried, under heroes and shows and a coffin you never saw.

So you had followed the trail. Was it pulling you along? One foot in front of the other, trailing the way from one side of the country to the other. You left behind your name, your money. Easy enough to pick up everything else. 

And there is power, in being someone else. To flip through the masks, the motions. You’d been doing it all your life, anyway. Except back home it had been called polite society.

Now it was just simply the thrum of the city. A heartbeat you couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, not from all the way up in the clouds. A different world, up there, away from everything else.

Away from how you always got dragged back down.

You don’t settle. There is no pull here for you, where gravel gets stuck in your shoes and light reflects off the road. Not even computers that cry their name, still, seven years too late, can keep you safe in four walls. Cord cut, freedom keeping you aloft.

Except for a phone call. The reveal. Defeat. A broken leg and bruised spirit and now more than ever, you want to leave, go. 

You’re yanked back down to Earth, one way or another. Hooked around your ankle, keeping you locked into the gravity. It’s their smile, how their fingers splay across your back, finding your centre. Only when you set them on a sidewalk, trying not to fiddle with your fingers, do you bite back words.

Words you had buried, like concepts. Pipe dreams of a teenager, locked in a box, key left behind. Nine months, of being in their orbit had brought that forward. And you had suffered, god, you had suffered to be here. Lost too much to ever regain, and there was no time to mourn the past.

Because, you know, at the end of the day… this was all done for them. And you’ve already let go of regret.

chen-->ortega: [Holds the other’s hand when they think the other won’t notice]

You hate hospitals. How light burns behind your eyelids, and the acute awareness of life holding on. Clenching your hands in the blankets, you don’t think how they should’ve taken them away, even for a moment.

Compromised. You could’ve been compromised. Would they even be able to tell, that you were gone? Lost, perhaps, with a deep and broken scar, stretching too wide to seal?

Don’t think like that, you tell yourself. Repeat Ortega’s words. Your life is not your own.

But that thought hurts, right in a place you had never come to terms with. And it burns, something that no amount of ignorance and compartmentalisation would fix. Stings in a way you hadn’t expected, now, with the thought of Ortega. And his words. 

Had you not made it up those stairs. Not seen the thing, the monster, at the top. You. You’re not sure. You might’ve been too late for him.

You don’t think about Sidestep. Don’t want to. Because that was another kind of pain, unfamiliar and unwelcome, that stings your eyes and your life is not your own, Chen. Sidestep was gone, and you were here. Routine check up. You wanted out.

Roll your head to the side, looking for the button to signal a nurse over. Even as your pulse skyrockets, and the little machines beep a little too loudly, you focus on the button. On getting out. That your life was not your own.

“Chen.”

A voice that stops you. Steels you, if you bought into that irony. Always on your left, and Ortega was no different this time as well as others. In a chair, curled in a way that would’ve been uncomfortable in any other way. But Ortega is smooth and easy, passing off mild discomfort as nothing more than a hiccup in conversation.

You do not comment on the bags under his eyes. “You’re awake.”

“You too.”

Hand lowering back to the bed. You don’t ask: is it over? That was childish and ignorant. Unwelcome, much like the next words out of your mouth. “I’m sorry.” 

And you mean it. Even as Ortega visibly breaks before you, with how his eyes well and lip wobbles. Rarely does he break, and this was the tipping point. Only you, him, and the walls would bear witness to this.

You do not comment at the weight on your hand, something you would not have registered, had you not looked down. Ortega crumpled, arm covering his face as he leans forward. Against the bed, trying to stop his shoulders from shaking. A strange sort of comfort you had not experienced in so long, a lump rises in your throat. You stare ahead, refusing to blink away the tears. News on the television, volume down low. Watch as the world burns, and don’t think about how you were left to pick it up, all over again. 

[millieswickedbooks]

the somewhat tragic story of georgie’s savior - chapter one

CHAPTER ONE: what exactly happened on the eventful rainy afternoon in Derry, Maine of April 1989

(1/?)

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter >>

pairing: Loser’s Club x black!OC (platonic), Pennywise x black!OC (NOT ROMANTIC AT ALL)

word count: 4,613

WARNINGS: PENNYWISE, the Bowers’ gang, so much swearing y’all, racism, racial slurs, assault, bullying, blood, injury, child abuse, literal child dismemberment (duh), scars, mentions of self-harm (cutting), throwing up/puke, attempted drowning, mention of major oc death, mention of sexual assault

 ☹

 WHEN JORDYN GARCIA WOKE UP at 11:03 a.m. this morning actually wanting to go outside for once, she knew she should've ignored the feeling. She was so stupid for not doing so. It was weird, she never wants too! She usually never went out because the racists would make her feel uncomfortable by glaring down at her and because she never knew if Hell-On-Legs a.k.a Henry Bowers and his goons would be around the corner and that alone made her shiver in fear. But alas she wanted to go out this weekend. She hated to admit it but staying in the house was boring and it was nice out. Despite the cold, scared feeling deep in her gut told her to stay inside, she decided to ignore it and went to brush her teeth and shower.

After showering, Jordyn put on some slightly sheer black tights—to conceal the other scars on her thighs—some blue denim shorts, pink ankle socks and some all-white Vans. She stood there staring at a red Beastie Boys t-shirt. It was a short sleeve.

‘Should I wear it?’ Jordyn thought to herself. She looked down at her arms. They were both covered in many ugly, straight white scars she inflicted on herself. God, she hated them so much. They stood out so much due to her dark brown skin. She hated herself for doing this to herself. 

She angrily stuffed the shirt into the drawer, not caring if it wasn’t folded like the rest of the shirts in there and slammed the drawer shut. She huffed, walked over to her closet and threw on a white long-sleeve top and called it a day. She turned the mirror and looked up at her head. After putting some leave-in conditioner in her light brown and blonde mane, she put it in a neat bun. She looked at her finished product and smiled. She liked how new dye and highlights looked on her. 

‘Pretty good for a rookie,’ she thought to herself. Then she frowned, her hair reminding her of her mother, Priscilla Garcia.

'Mom always loved my hair, she thought it was my best feature...' Jordyn closed her eyes, making a fist and dug her nails into her palms, chastising herself for thinking of her mom– her dead mother. She took a deep breath in and calmed herself down, deciding she was ready and exiting her room.

She went downstairs and sighed at the sight she saw. Her father, Isaiah Garcia, was passed out on the floor, glass and other things all thrown about all over the floor. Jordyn looked down at her father she loved so deeply and shook her head in disappointment. He got super drunk last night... it was an absolute sh... crap show.

Long story short, voices were raised, tears were shed and glass bottles and other objects were thrown. She at first thought the whole thing was a dream but she saw all the bruises and cuts on her knees and calves to prove that last night wasn't a dream. She shook her head at herself, knowing she was smarter than to believe something like that.

She grabbed a broom and swept the glass shards and other things away, throwing them in the trash. She washed her dishes and then grabbed a clean glass, poured some water in it and grabbed some painkillers out of the medicine cabinet, walking over to the living room and setting them down on the surface of the living room table for her father. Jordyn then crouched down and began to lift her father off the ground, well, she struggled to lift him off of the ground.

'Jesus, what does this man eat?' Jordyn thought to herself. She almost dropped him and quickly balanced herself. After a couple more attempts, she managed to lay her father onto the couch. She stood there, trying to catch her breath and stared at her father, shocked by two things; the fact that the man didn't wake up at all during the whole process and that she had managed to find the strength to do that.

She went upstairs, grabbed a blanket and tucked her father in and repositioned his head on the pillow so he wouldn't get a neck cramp. She kissed her father's forehead and then grabbed the TV remote.

"A clown?!" was the last thing heard from the TV as Jordyn turned it off.

She happily walked out of the house, liking the feeling of the sun on her skin. She contemplated grabbing her skateboard but after thinking it over for a long minute, she decided against taking it with her. She wandered down the street, nibbling on her brownie, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her face and the cool breeze. Jordyn felt like she wouldn't regret this after all.

  ☹

  After a while of walking around, she found herself being stared at by two white guys and a white girl. As she walked past them she faintly heard the word, "...n*gger" being said in their conversation. The vile word had caused a cold feeling to settle deep in her gut as her chest warmed with anger. Jordyn rolled her eyes because god, she didn’t even need to do anything for people to come at her neck. 

Then she remembered a certain someone who always uses the dreadful word. 

‘What if Henry is out here with his little terrorist minions?’ Jordyn thought to herself, looking around quickly, scanning the area which, to her luck, was Bower’s-gang-free. The word alone reminded her of Henry, since it was a word he used it so much whenever she was around. 

Then Jordyn got an idea. She wanted to go to his house to see if they were there, and if they were, then she would continue to enjoy her day-out, in peace. She thought it over and made her way down to the Bowers' household.

After almost ten minutes of silent walking, she came to the bully's house. She walked around the edge of it and went to the backyard. She found the four boys lounging in the back. She thanked her lucky stars and turned to walk away as quick as all Hell but their conversation had caught her attention.

"A clown, Belch? A fucking clown?" Henry said, laughing at Belch. They all started laughing.

"I know! It's weird and crazy but I swear it felt so real, and it was fucking scary as all Hell!" Belch explained. Jordyn laughed quietly. 'Belch is scared of clowns? That's fu... hecking rich.' Jordyn felt that she needed to stop swearing so much, it's become such a bad habit that she didn't even see it as a habit anymore. She shook the thought out of her head continued to listen in on their discussion.

"Belch, shut the fuck up," Patrick told him, still chuckling.

"What did the clown look like?" Vic asked, looking genuinely interested in what Belch had to say.

"Well, it had the usual white-paint skin, and red nose, lips, and hair. But its mouth was painted in a way that made it look like his smile reached his ears. And he had like huge fucking head. He also had these yellow eyes and these sharp teeth... ugh, it was so creepy, I don't even wanna talk about it."

'Dreams of clowns? With sharp teeth? And yellow eyes?' She pondered. 'Boys are so weird.' But that reminded Jordyn of something... but she couldn't remember exactly what it reminded her of. While she racked her brain, she looked ahead and noticed something near a tree on the other side of the Bowers' backyard. She squinted her eyes and saw it was a red balloon. It wasn't tied to the tree. It was just floating there. Was she imagining this? She thought she saw the balloon getting closer. Her eyes widened in confusion and then she heard a shout. She turned to where the Bowers' gang was and saw them all looking right at her, and they looked livid.... 'Fuck.'

She felt her heart beating hard in her chest as the realization dawned on her. She's going to die. They'll kill her. They're going to kill her. 

She began to back up and tripped over her feet, landing on her butt. There was a loud 'POP' —that sounded like a balloon popping to be exact—causing the Bowers' gang to look in the direction of the noise.

"What the hell was that?" Henry asked his minions and they all made noises of confusion, not knowing where it came from.

Jordyn looked there too and saw the balloon or whatever the hell it was, it was gone and Jordyn took this as a sign from whoever was above to get the fuck out of there. While they were distracted, she got up and began running as fast as she could. When the boys lost interest in whatever made the noise they turned back to face Jordyn and saw she was gone. They saw that she had already begun running and had entered the woods near Bowers' house.

"You're dead, you stupid n*gger! You hear me?! Dead!" Henry Bowers screamed, chasing after the girl, Patrick, Vic, and Belch quickly following behind.

Jordyn, on the other hand, tore through the woods with a panicked expression, silently thanking Mr. Callahan, her track coach, for making her join Track & Field for the past two years. She would've been dead by now if it wasn't for all the dreaded practices she went through. She had heard what Henry said now and that had fueled her to move quicker. She needed to get to a public place. Quick.

Her feet were pounding against the dirt ground and she soon saw the town. She was breathing heavy when she reached the sidewalk. She had heard their pounding footsteps and knew they were gaining on her. She had run down the sidewalk, careful not to bump into anyone while running and looking behind her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jordyn muttered over and over under her breath. Because to hell with trying not to swear, she’s too busy trying to survive .

When she looked behind her for 8 billionth time, she realized only Belch, Henry and Vic were behind her. 'Where's Patrick?' She thought as she ran past an alley. Just then she was yanked into the said alley. She yelped before a hand covered her mouth. She turned her head and saw the missing Bowers' gang member, Patrick, looking down at her with a sadistic smile. 'Shit.' She thrashed against him, trying her hardest to get out of his grip.

"Jordyn, you better stop being a slut and rubbing up against me like that," Patrick whispered in her ear from behind. "You made it very clear that you didn’t like me last time. Have you changed your mind, slut?"

Jordyn shuddered at the memory that began to replay in her mind. She remembered feeling his hands all over her and she remembered vomiting and sobbing. She quickly shook it out of her head, fear taking over and she stopped moving. The rest of the gang had turned the corner when she did. Henry smirked menacingly. 'That's it,' she thought, 'I'm a goner.'

"Nice catch, Patrick." Jordyn began to struggle against Patrick's grip and this made Henry happy. He punched her in the face causing her to groan in pain. Belch was wickedly grinned at her.

"Caught a n*gger peeper," Henry said as he glared at her, grabbing her face and forcing her to look at him. He then proceeded to punch her stomach five times, each punch making it harder for her to breathe. She felt the tears cascading down her face. It hurt so bad. Belch and Vic were cheering him on, while Patrick cackled loudly behind her.

"You like peeping so much? Yeah, you little peeper? Well, peep this, bitch," Jordyn soon felt her stomach get swiftly kicked repeatedly. 'Shit, the bruises there would last weeks,' she thought, praying he wouldn't break her ribs.

Henry slapped her, causing her to stumble a little bit.

"Stop moving, dumb whore!" Patrick said, annoyance lacing his voice. Jordyn's legs gave out, she couldn't stand, she could only focus on the pain that made her body physically throb.

Henry had got in her face, and screaming, "Stay up peeping bitch!" She made eye contact with him and his eyes had caused a surge of anger to rise within her. She felt the iron-metallic taste on her taste buds and spit the blood out onto Henry's face.

Needless to say, he was livid. She was surprised at the size of her own balls. She had literally just signed her death wish. He's actually going to kill her this time.

It was silent as Henry just stared at Jordyn. Patrick, Belch, and Vic were just staring, in complete shock. Vic was the first to react. He grabbed Jordyn out of Patrick's grip and shoved her to the ground, kicking her legs. Belch and Patrick were about to join until Henry stopped them. Vic stopped too.

"To the creek," He simply muttered. Vic grabbed her roughly and threw her on his shoulder twice as rough. The whole way to the creek was a blur to Jordyn, she tried to call out for help but each time received a hard pinch on the backs of her thighs. She knew some people just ignored her because she heard them. 'Those fuckers.'

She tried so much to... at least do something as they began to go down the hill. She was too busy trying to get a sufficient amount of air in her lungs while crying at the pressure being applied to her very badly bruised stomach from Vic's bony ass shoulders. Jordyn had just heard the rushing water when she was unceremoniously dropped on the hard ground. She winced and looked at Henry's ugly face. He was unnervingly calm for someone with a temper like his. Belch and Patrick took her arms and dragged her to the middle of the creek and held her as she struggled in their grips. Henry reached down and shoved her head back down into the water.

They kept her under until her lungs were burning, and she swallowed a mouth full of water. It got in her windpipe causing her cough some more, inhaling more water. Jordyn began to freak out and thrash. They yanked her up and she coughed it right back up. They were laughing at her. She was in pain, humiliated, crying and struggling to breathe. As soon as they heard her coughing become less frequent they brought back under again. She breathed in the water through her nose this time. She was brought back and she was yelling and coughing so hard, she ended up making herself throw up. It was just water, stomach acid and chunks of brownie, but it angered the group of boys tormenting her right now. She was under again and this time, they pulled her out before she had breathed the water in. Jordyn took this chance and let out a scream so loud, she knew her voice would pay for dearly. Belch let go of her to cover his ears and Patrick put his hand over her mouth, muffling her screams.

Henry acted quickly by bringing his fist down to her face and that shut her up. Blood began to trickle from her nose due to the impact and as it seeped down her face, mixing with the river water that coated her face. Jordyn's head lolled backward as she begged for herself to pass out, to be saved, Hell, even die, she didn't give a single damn, she just wanted to pain to stop.

"What a fucking bitch," Belch commented as they all dropped her in the creek. They stood up and Henry got in her face, holding her up by the deathly grip he had on her neck.

"If you ever even look at me, I swear I'll skin you alive. Fucking slut," He shoved her into the water and walked away, after his three goons. Leaving her there. Leaving her in pain, bloody, bruised and crying. They were walking away, like as if what they did wasn't attempted murder. Walking away like... like nothing happened.

Jordyn laid there in the water, shivering and feeling every throb coming from her wounds, cuts, and bruises. She didn't know if she was laying there because she didn't want to get up yet or if she physically couldn't. She knew she should have trusted her gut feeling. She's never, ever going outside now, it's only going out to school from now on.

  ☹

   After laying there for a while, Jordyn lost track of time, she began to feel rain began to drizzle. She moaned in pain and she sat up, looking around. 

Nature was beautiful but her view was cut short as she quickly went down into the water. Jordyn began to freak out. 'I'm alone, I know that for a fact. How was I just pulled under?' She tried to get up but it was something was keeping her from doing so.

Jordyn opened her eyes underwater, she saw orange-red hair. She was just then pulled back up to see just the blur of green from the trees and brought back down. She was terrified. Who was doing this? Was it someone from that racist cult? Jordyn's head was then, abruptly, brought back up, barely having enough time to even take a single breath, and she was shoved back down into the water. This time her head was slammed against the rocks. That was when she started hearing the voices.

'Jordyn...' 

'Come with us, Jordyn...' 

'Come with us...' 

'We float here, Jordyn...' 

'Come float with us, Jordyn...' 

'You can float too' 

'You will float, Jordyn...' 

'You'll float too.' 

'You'll float too!' 

'YOU'LL FLOAT TOO!'

Jordyn came up screaming for air. She gagged and coughed, hunched over, not wanting to get puke on herself, just in case it happened. She then remembered what happened and quickly looked around for whoever was responsible and saw no one. She began to cry, not understanding what had just happened. She was gagging, hiccuping, and sobbing all at the same time. 

'I probably have snot and blood on my face, gross,' she thought to herself. She scooped some water in her hands and rubbed over her face, repeating the action a couple of times until she felt within herself her face had cleaned up a little bit. She decided to stay in the water for a couple more minutes, slowly regaining her breath and trying to comprehend what had happened in her mind.

It had been a while of her just laying in the water, she soon felt a drop fall on her face, and roll down her face, neck and mixed in with the other water on her. Then another drop, another and another. Soon she had realized it began to rain and she decided it was time for her to go home or pneumonia would soon rent a space in her chest and lungs. She got up, climbed up the hill and proceeded to walk home... she never knew what was coming next.

  ☹

   Jordyn was so positive that her bad day was surely over and she could just peacefully yet painfully make her way home. She was wrong. Very wrong. She had been walking home when it happened.

It felt as if the sky had gotten darker with every step she took. The rain was starting to come down heavier with every passing minute. Jordyn had to look up at the sky, hearing the sound of thunder crash above her. 'Well heck,' she thought. 'Better hurry up.'

Jordyn began to jog until she reached the corner of Jackson Street. She stopped to take a breather. She was shivering from her cold and wet clothes that were clinging to her like a second skin and felt some water sloshing around somewhere in her, a shiver ran up her spine at the memory.

She was about to continue on her 'merry' way when she heard a scream. She looked in the direction of the noise and saw a small child in a bright yellow raincoat crawling away from a storm drain. She felt the same dread-feeling in her stomach from this morning and before she could even think of what she was doing, she began to sprint in the direction of the screaming child. She then saw a hand began to reach for the little child... coming from inside the drain.

'What the actual fuck?' This fueled her to go quicker.

Just before the hand wrapped around the kid's green rain boots, Jordyn had quickly scooped the child in her arms and took off down the street. The kid in her arms was screaming in pain and fear. Once in her arms, she realized it was a boy. She turned around to look behind her and saw a red balloon sticking out the sewer. It popped and a creepy laugh rang out through the air.

"You'll float too, Jordyn. Just you wait..." She heard right behind her ear. She whipped around, her grip on the kid getting tighter. At the end of the street was a tall man just down the street. A tall clown? 

The clown was dressed in all white, a red balloon in his hand and fiery red-orange hair which reminded her of what had happened at the creek. Jordyn couldn't make out the clown's specific facial features but she could tell the clown was smiling at them. Its eyes turned on… literally. They were like bright yellow lights, boring into her soul, and leaving an unsettling fear in here that she could feel in her bones. The clown rose its right hand to wave at them, tilting its head to the side in a manner that was way too creepy for her liking.

"What the FUCK is that?!" Jordyn swore loudly, her eyes widened. She turned and sprinted until she knew she was far away from whatever that was. She felt like laying on the ground and just dying right then and there; her ribs were practically screaming at her to stop. 

When Jordyn had reached a random building she put the boy down beside it, away from the public’s eye. She had planned to rest stop to catch her breath and to check on the boy for any injuries. She gasped at the sight of the crying child. The boy had a bloody stump where his right arm was supposed to be. 

'Oh my Lord Jesus...' She looked down at herself and 'lo and behold, her once favorite shorts and shirt were a wet, bloody mess. She looked into the boy's sad brown eyes and her heart ached for the child. She decided to talk to him.

"Hey, little boy, what's your name?" Jordyn asked. He looked unsure but he answered.

"...Georgie."

"Georgie? Okay, you got a last name, Georgie?"

"Georgie Denbrough." That last name seemed very familiar to Jordyn.

"Well Georgie, my name is Jordyn Garcia, I'm gonna take you to the hospital, okay?" Jordyn explained to him and Georgie nodded. "I'm gonna pick you up now? Is that okay?" Georgie nodded again. She scooped him back in her arm, laying his head on her shoulder. She began to run to Derry Union Hospital.

"Georgie, keep talking to me, okay? You cannot, and I repeat, cannot fall asleep on me," she told him, not feeling well with the fact that the child wasn't talking.

"But I'm tired," Georgie muttered near her ear. Shit. She could feel the incoming panic attack but she took a deep breath, knowing she had no time for that at the moment.

"Talk to me, Georgie! Okay? How are you doing? Are you in pain?"

"My arm…" His voice was quivering. Jordyn swore she could feel her heart break for the small child.

"Georgie, I'm so sorry about your arm... Everything will be alright, just hold on for me okay?” Jordyn pleaded and she felt Georgie nod so she spoke up again. “Use your words Georgie.”

“Okay,” Georgie muttered and that was enough for her. Jordyn then decided to speak up once again, something told her that the silence was not a good thing at the moment.

“So, Georgie, um, do you have any friends?" Jordyn tried to make lengthy conversation but she too busy trying to find the quickest way possible to the hospital. Anything to get Georgie to talk worked at the moment.

"Billie!" Bill? Jordyn remembered now! This is George Denbrough, Bill Denbrough's little brother! She was running so quickly and panting so hard, she felt as if her lungs would just give out any moment now. "The boat, he took my boat! Billie’s gonna be so mad!" Georgie continued.

"Who took your boat?" Jordyn asked, already fearing the answer deep within her.

"The bad clown! He took my boat!" Georgie cried, sobbing into her shoulder. She was shushing him, trying to calm the blubbering boy when she turned down the street leading down to the hospital. Jordyn wanted to scream with every step, her ribs were killing her. She didn’t care, she had to keep going. For Georgie. 

She honestly didn't know how it was possible but she ran faster. Something deep within her was telling her she needed to push harder, get there faster, she was running out of time. 

She arrived at the hospital and went into the parking lot of the emergency room. Bursting through the Emergency doors of the hospital, many people turned, wanting to see what had caused the ruckus.

"I need help here! Ma'am, please! He's losing a lot of blood!" Jordyn cried out and ran over to the receptionist, whose eyes were about to pop out of their sockets from how wide they were. She called for help and no more than forty seconds later multiple doctors and nurses burst through some doors. Jordyn quickly ran towards them, handing Georgie to the closest doctor. He was placed on a gurney and wheeled away by the yelling doctors.

"It'll be okay, Georgie! Just hang on!" She called out after them. Breathing hard, ribs throbbing in pain and with tears brimming her eyes, she looked around and saw everyone staring at her. She remembered her bloody appearance and wondered what they thought of her, what they would say to others. 'Yes Becky, the dark-skinned girl was covered in bruises, cuts, sopping wet, had a bloody nose and a bloody shirt and shorts! Burst through the doors, screaming like a banshee! Carrying little Georgie Denbrough, who was missing an ARM, Becky!'  

She awkwardly cleared her throat and walked to the nearest bathroom. She took in her appearance. She looked like trash. She splashed water on her face and dried herself up as best as she could.

When she came out, she was motioned over by the receptionist.

"Is he okay?" Jordyn asked.

"He is in surgery, would you like to wait in the waiting room nearby him?" She asked.

"Please..."

"Room 309A." And with that, she was off to 309A. She took a seat in the chairs provided out there. She got into a comfortable enough position for her bruised ribs and let her foot anxiously bounce. She checked the time. It was 5:09 p.m. 

'Lord, what a long day,' she thought. After seven minutes of sitting quietly, she began to drift off in the seat. Jordyn couldn't stop herself. She was so tired.

She was later forcibly awakened to someone shaking her shoulders.

☹

chapter one is up !!! lemme know what yall think of it ♡

[general-butterfly-iii]

Tw: sh, ed, metal health issues

I was awake for the whole night, I am not tired, it's 5:39AM and it's too late to sleep. I fucked up my calve with a blade, which was unintentional, but carving out a fucking rat before wasn't. I am going to a camp soon and my only friend, and my girlfriend will be there, and I wanted them to see me as a better person, but I'll be just some autistic fucker covered in scars, who can't go one day without fainting, panicking over a piece of bread, nor sleeping at least 5h. Wow. I trutly am a piece of shit and they'll hate me as much as I hate myself :DD

[sunken-standard]

Oh 99 and 25 sounds awesome too. But feel free to do whichever you like :) and thank you!

Set vaguely in the same universe as Chapter 15 of Ficlet Cemetery.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”/ “This is a once in a lifetime thing and you want me to blow it off?”

*

“This is a once in a lifetimething and you want me to blow it off?”

“Molly, they have sales every bankholiday.  You can shop online on the train on the way there and youwon’t even have to knock over anyone’s Gran or get in a hair-pullingcontest with a university student.”

“Yeah, but that’s the best part.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her,unsure if she was joking.  She may look harmless, but sometimes hethought she was actually just a tiny, hard lump of condensed rage inkitten’s clothing.  

“Besides,” she continued, “Ineed bras.”

Need?  Hardly, he thought.  Notreally much to support and he, for one, was always much happier whenshe went without.  He knew better than to say any of that out loud.

“And they only sell those on theHigh Street.”  He gave her one of her own flat looks.  Didn’twork nearly as well for him, he had actual lips, not justlizard scales around his mouth like she did.

“There’s nothing standard aboutbras and jeans, it’s like each one is bespoke but for someone that’snot you and you have to go through every one until you find the onethat’s close enough.  And they’re ephemeral like spring flowers, youcan never get the same cut or style again, even if you go back to the shop the next day.  The rack you found them on is already gone andthere’s a shop dummy with a dress that’s still two seasons away inits place and none of the shop girls even remember carrying thatbrand.  Every time I walk through the doors of Debenham’s it’s likeI’ve stepped in a fairy circle,” she said, throwing her hands inthe air.  He stepped aside to avoid the blood splatter.

“Fine, I will buy you bras andknickers to match at full price if you just—”

It was, of course, at that moment thatone of the students observing the post-mortem cleared his throat. “Uh, Dr. Hooper?  You were saying about the, uh, scarring on thelungs?”

“Oh, right, yeah.  Probably TB. Good thing we’re all wearing masks!”  She looked at Sherlockfrom behind her clear splatter guard and gave him the creepiest grin,like a doll’s face in a horror film.  

He wasn’t wearing a mask.

And there were actually people outthere who still wondered why he’d chosen her to fall in love with. Well, maybe not so much ‘chosen’ as ‘slipped on a banana peel andlanded on his arse, dazed and confused.’  

*

“So you’re going to chase abowling ball made of cheese down a hill,” she said, pulling herhair free from its elastic and fingercombing it before sliding intobed.

“Not exactly.”

She froze under the duvet mid-burrow. “I’m going to chase a bowling ball made of cheese down ahill.”

“Yup,” he said, reaching overher to switch off the light.

“And what’s John doing this timeto prevent him from going?”

“Threw out his back during 'tummytime’ with Rosie two days ago.  You should be thrilled, you’ll get toslake your bloodthirst and you may just win our Goddaughter’sbirth weight in cheese.”

“And the underwear?”

“Still on the table.  Really, youcould stand to upgrade, anyway.”  He hoped she’d be open tosuggestion when it came time to pick them out.  He was partial toFrench knickers, himself.  Not that he’d ever get to see themanywhere but on her laundry pile or the drying rack in the bathroom,but hope sprang eternal.

“I like my plain cotton just fine,thank you.”

“And you wonder why you’re stillsingle,” he muttered.  

“Yeah, it has nothing at all to dowith having a platonic domestic arrangement with the world’s onlyconsulting cockblock,” she grumbled, flipping onto her side. “Goddammit, what have I told you about the cold feet?”

“Can’t hear you, already asleep,”he said, doing a theatrical snore and a whistle while he scrunchedhis toes against her calves.  He got a soft elbow to the kidney forit.  Goodnight kisses are overrated anyway, he told himself.

*

“So what am I supposed to belooking for?”

“Don’t know yet.  Just keepwarming up, maybe do some stretching.  Wouldn’t want to pullanything.”

Molly rolled her eyes and started tostretch as he scanned the crowd.  Of course, she just had to bendover and plant her palms flat on the ground between her feet rightthen.  If only she’d worn joggers or sweats or anything notmade of spandex.  

*

“Oh look, there’s a bloke dressedlike you,” she said, running in place to keep her muscles warmedup.

“What?  Where?”

“Behind the Storm Trooper and nextto Aquaman.”

“Who?”

“Four to the left of the dinosaur. You at least know what those are, right?  Or are they filed under'Solar System’ because they were killed by a rock from space?”

“That was only the lastextinction, there were two others before it that don’t have a smokinggun in the form of a 'rock from space’ like the Creteaceous-Paleogeneevent,” he said, slightly annoyed that he’d made one stupid slipof the tongue once however many years ago and then had to goand double-down on it on principle and now it was thing, likethe hat.  Which some bloody wanker was wearing, along with a blacktrench coat and a cheap suit that obviously came from a charity shop. God, how he missed the days of anonymity.  

“Nerd,” Molly coughed.

“Says the woman who organizes herspice cabinet by genus.”

“It’s not by genus, it’s byflavour profile, and those things just happen to mostly coincide.”

*

Sherlock winced as he watched thecompetitors in the first race go arse-over-teakettle down the muddyhill like someone had dumped a box of rag dolls at the top.  Hewinced harder when he saw the paramedics trotting off with three menon stretchers and four others freely bleeding from head wounds,including the winner.

“You know you don’t actually haveto compete, I’ve seen what I needed to for the case and we can gohome any time,” he said.  The thought of her actually gettinghurt made him queasy.

“That cheese is mine,” shesaid, bouncing from side to side and shaking out her shoulders andarms.

“Is this the point where I’msupposed to kiss you for good luck?”

Molly looked at him askance.  "Andyou say I watch too much telly.“

Bugger.  Was worth a shot anyway,though.

*

“I can’t believe it’s only beenten minutes and it’s up on YouTube,” Molly said, looking down ather phone while the paramedic wrapped her ankle.  All thingsconsidered, it could have been much worse.  "And it’s bleeped. Huh.“

Sherlock leaned over her and she pushedplay again.

"No, you stupid f—–ng cow, Iwas the first over the line!” The woman in the roller derbyoutfit bellowed at Molly.

Molly stepped closer, cheeks alreadyblotchy from the cold and the trip down the hill.  "Listen here,you sh— f—–ng c— s—–g wh—“

"Do you kiss your mother with thatmouth?”  Sherlock said, equally appalled and aroused at Molly’sdisplay.  He’d still been shoving his way through the crowd at thatpoint to get to the finish line, so he’d apparently missed that. He’d got there just in time to watch Molly get pulled off the otherwoman.

“Who do you think I learned itfrom?”  Then, “I better get that cheese.  What’s taking thejudges so long?”

“You know it’s just cheese, yeah? Could always just cut it in half,” the paramedic—who remindedhim a little bit of Stamford, only twenty years younger—said. “I’ve got cling film in the back of the ambulance and someone’sgot to have a knife, it’s a cheese festival, after all.”

“Huh,” Molly said, thenleaned forward to look over at the roller derby woman.

“Five pounds is better than none,”the woman shrugged.

*

“You know, five pounds is actuallykind of a lot of cheese,” Molly said as she hobbled into herflat.  He probably should have done the gentlemanly thing and carriedher, but she was caked in mud.  He couldn’t believe they’d actuallylet her on the train.  They did make her sit on a bin liner, though.

“At least it stores well?”

“True.  I suppose we’ll be havinga lot of macaroni cheese and cheese toasties for supper, though. I’ve said the word cheese too much and now it doesn’t sound like aword anymore.  Cheese.  Cheeeeese.  You say it.”

“You’re sure you didn’t hit yourhead on the way down?” he asked, prying open one of her eyelids.

“Quite sure.  And I’ve had nothingstronger than a paracetamol, either.  This is all just Molly Hooper. Which, speaking of all of Molly Hooper, I think I’m going toneed help getting into the shower—”

My ship has finally come in, hethought.

“—so I need to phone Mary beforeI do anything else.  Can you, ah, help me with my shoes and put a binliner on the chair for me?”

“Yes, dear,” he said glumly.

[topcollective]

We’ve spent the past week following Venus in the night sky. Anchoring the divine feminine power is all of our birth right. ✨ Shine brighter than better. This World is yours for the taking. Repost @suzbubs with the incredib ・・・ 🌷This is for the thighs that aren't toned enough, for the butt that isn't perky enough, for the skin that has too many freckles and moles. For the hair that feels scraggly and thin. For the jawline that feels like it's not chiseled or cut enough. For the lips that could be fuller and less crooked. For the eyebrows that are nonexistent without makeup. For the eyes that - albeit - might be a cherished feature, can't see sh*t without contacts. For the gray hair, and not just a hair here and there - mostly gray. For the varicose veins and scars. For my thick calves and cankles. . This is for all the things I've ever told myself, a billion times in my head. My inner critic's name is "Bertha" (sorry to any kind-hearted Berthas out there), and nothing's ever good enough for her. . For so long, she kept me from being in the moment. From connecting with people around me that matter most. From putting myself out there. From focusing on anyone outside of my own headspace. She took over. . I don't know where she came from, but it was many places, things, people, and interactions along the way that birthed her, fed her, and kept her strong. . Magazines with photoshopped images of impossible women. Media that taught me my most important asset was my exterior. Comments from people that made me feel worthless if I didn't meet their expectations. Remarks I heard from men (or women) around me, about women they observed, interacted with, lived with. Judgements and criticisms about women's looks, not only from others, but from myself too. When we say, "that girl's got a nasty ass", or "her face is busted", or, "her nose is too big", we're saying it to our dearest friends, our sisters, our moms, and ourselves. Because we're all worth everything, and we all struggle. . I know she was only coming from a place of pain, of wanting to be loved, and I forgive her. But now, Bertha's taking a bow to a new Queen b: Suzbub. /// A #BTS snap from a photoshoot