#VENT FIC

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Bruce Wayne flips through the pages of a sherlock holmes novel, enjoying the story when his phone rings. He answers, bringing the phone to his ear. AUTOMATED VOICE (via phone) This is Gotham City Jail. You have a collect call from— JASON TODD (via phone) Um, Jason. BRUCE Not again. AUTOMATED VOICE (via phone) Do you accept the charges? BRUCE I... guess so. Talk Jason. JASON Roy and I are in jail, can you come down here with bail money again? BRUCE God damnit... What did you do? JASON It's not important. BRUCE What did you do? I won't be... that mad. JASON (groaning) We were at the gun shop, have to buy new bullets, you know and we walked past this car that... had a child in it. The child was covered in sweat, exhausted. So I, being a good citizen, smashed the other side of the window and helped the little angel out. BRUCE That's actually sweet, an overreaction, but sweet. Why is Roy with you? JASON Him? He beat the father's ass when they left the grocery store that's next to the gun shop. Roy, what did you say when the guy left the store with a cart full of Crona beer? ROY (in the background) It's on site for child abusers, especially when they double down on doing it! BRUCE Oh... honestly father of the year, not gonna lie. Why didn't he call Oliver? JASON The asshole hung up on him when he heard the automated message. Bruce nods, understanding how much a prick Oliver can be. BRUCE Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes and don't worry I'll cover this, you don't have to pay me back. JASON Aww thanks.

[swordsandholly]

Mother’s Day Blues

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Word Count: ~900 unedited

Johnny loves Mother’s Day. You hate it.

MDNI | cw: vent fic, big mommy issues, mentioned childhood spanking, ED mention

Johnny loves Mother’s Day.

You hate it.

He watches you stand in the card aisle, shifting side to side, reading every single card. Snatching them up and shutting them hard just to shove them back into their little displays - huffing and growing ever more agitated as you go.

“It doesnnae matter what ye pick, bonnie.” He tries to be encouraging. “They’re all nice.”

“That’s the problem.” You mutter in a voice far too weak and bitter for his liking. “Why can’t they make one that just says, like, ‘You sure are my mom!’”

“Sweetheart…” Johnny knows you’re trying to cover it with humor, but the way your brow furrows breaks his heart. He sets a hand on your waist, pointing to a very generic, sparkly joke card. You nod and take it, grimacing still.

He hates it - hates watching you chew your lip and your hands shake while you pace back and forth before the 10 am alarm you set to call your mom goes off. Hates holding you while you sob in his lap after because of course she had to ask in a pathetic, whiny voice ‘is everything okay with us’ when she knows damn well it isn’t. When she won’t ever try to fix it or admit that she fucked up.

You carry the effects of the way she raised you everywhere you go. Johnny sees them all - knows them all by heart. Every time he notices you cutting portions and weighing yourself more than normal. When you use cruel words to describe your body. Every time you don’t tell him that you’re upset with him because you’re frightened of his reaction - body shaking so hard that you look like an earthquake personified. The lack of confidence in your interactions with others, how easily you fold and are ready to people please. Every time you get that glazed over, far away look in your eye after you remember something a little too clearly.

You only took him to meet her once. He’s never wanted to punch a woman like that before.

Johnny is, and always has been, of the opinion that you should cut contact. Cold turkey. Block her on everything and leave it be. You’ve argued about it more times than he can count, going back and forth about what would happen if you did. What the worst outcome could be.

“It’s not like she hit me…” You mutter.

“Spankin’ is hittin’, love.” Johnny takes your hands. “And it doesnnae matter if she did or not. She was rotten tae ye in every other way.”

You just get quiet. Tears well up in your eyes and what is he supposed to do when you get like that? Keep fighting? No, never. It’s your decision anyway. He just hates what she does to you and, by extension, how it effects your relationship with his mother.

Every time you visit is perfectly cordial. His mum loves you - sees you as her own. You’re Johnny’s after all. Her only son. You want to love her. You really, really do but when she says ‘I love you’ it feels like you’re going to die. Every time she hugs you he can see the way your shoulders tense up by your ears and your lips purse.

They’ve talked about it. Johnny and his mum. The horrified look she gave him when he told her only the little he knew at the time was more than enough. Bless her. She made it her goal to be the perfect mother-in-law. Never overbearing, never too needy. To love you quietly and meet you where you’re at.

He’s cried over it a few times - though he’d never admit it - watching her treat you with the gentle hands and words you deserve. It breaks his heart as you try to figure out what to do with it.

Johnny has known he wants to marry you for a long time. You’ve both talked about it, both made it known that you’re fully committed to one another forever. It’s just hard to plan a proposal when he isn’t sure how long he’ll be in town. He got the ring months ago and has just been holding onto it for the right time. So, in the end, he decides to be a bit spontaneous with it. His whole family is going on a beach day, and you look so pretty in your little cover up dresses.

His little nieces and nephews gladly help him set up a little path leading to a circle of flowers. His sister brings her big, fancy camera to take pictures while his other sister hints at you to wear something cute and invited you to get your nails done a week before.

Thank god you’re one of the most oblivious people on the planet.

Of course you say yes, tackling him down into the sand while you both cry. He knew you’d say yea but it still fills his heart to bursting. He buries his face in your neck to hide it, but he can’t stop it. You’re his, always and forever.

As the family congratulates and talks, his mother finally comes up and tenderly takes both your hands in hers.“Welcome to the family, love. It’s so nice to have another daughter.”

Johnny freezes, watching for your reaction.

Your eyes turn to saucers, a quiet hiccup shaking your chest before a full on sob follows. You bury your face in your hands and she wraps her arms around your shoulders. Johnny grabs onto you both.

She might not be your mum by blood, and you may never truly open up to her, but either way you deserve a good mother. He’s more than happy to share his own. Maybe someday you’ll heal. Little by little, by the same gentle hands that raised him.

A/N: Sorry for the angst but Mother’s Day has me fucked up.

[buckys-metal-arm]

I had a rough day and needed to word vomit this out to cope, which is why it doesn't have my usual formatting. GN!Reader, warning for some brief mentions of crying, but other than that it's just Bucky taking care of his partner 💙

Bucky holding you after a bad day at work, keeping you close to his chest and gently wiping your tears with his thumb as you recount the events of the day, listening intently to you vent. He presses little kisses to your forehead as you cry it out, and gets you water once you've calmed down. He refuses to leave your side until you've downed the entire glass because "you cried a lot, Doll. I just don't want you to get dehydrated."

Bucky carries you into the bathroom once you're done, cradling you against his body as he runs you a bath. He was just going to let you lay back and relax while he cooked your favorite meal and turned down your bed so it was nice and ready for you to fall into when you got out, but how could he say no to those pleading eyes you gave him when you asked him to join you? He opts to put in an order at your favorite takeout place and strips down before settling in behind you. You're in his arms as soon as his body hits the water, flesh and metal enveloping you in a cocoon of love and warmth. He takes his time washing your hair, peppering your back and shoulders with with kisses.

Bucky helps you out of the tub after he excuses himself so that he can throw on some clothes and grab you something warm to wear: your favorite pair of jogging shorts, the Henley that keeps disappearing from his top drawer, and a hoodie that he's been wearing a lot lately, knowing that you love how it smells like him. He turns down the bed as you get dressed, and somehow timed the food delivery out perfectly, so he gets you settled in bed before running to meet the delivery driver.

You and Bucky eat in bed, and once you two are done he lays in your lap and lets you play with his hair, knowing that it helps you calm down.

Bucky watches you start to sway, the way you fight to keep your eyes open, and asks if you're ready for bed. You beg him for some skin-on-skin, though you really don't need to. He would give you the universe if you asked him to. He helps you out of his your shirt before stripping off his own and hugging you to his chest. You nuzzle into him, stroking your fingers up and down his happy trail as you happily fall asleep on his chest, your bad day long forgotten as you doze off in his arms.

---------------------------------------------------

Had an absolute nightmare of a day at work and when I told my family about it my mom made it all about her like she ALWAYS does and my dad was at least sympathetic but just gave me like a sympathetic shoulder pat and all I want is a hug but no one in my family really does that so now all I want is a Bucky to hold me and tell me it's all gonna be okay and take care of me so... This happened

[x-x-nyctophilia-writes-x-x]

This is a hastily made vent fic

Simon Riley x Reader

(Gender neutral reader, reader does not have gendered pronouns, but does mention having a period)

Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of hospitalization and surgery, mentions of strained familial relationships, mentions of periods

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke slightly startled by the sound of the front door to your apartment opening. Quickly checking your phone you noted the time; 4:37 pm. Simon was finally home from another deployment. You moved to meet him in the living room, but before you could even make it out of bed he was already standing in the bedroom doorway, looking at you with a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

You stared back for a couple moments before offering a weak smile and a quiet welcome home. He let out a sigh like he'd been holding his breath and said “There you are, love. I'd been trying to get ahold of you on my way over here, but you didn't answer. Had me worried.” 

You checked your phone again and this time noticed that he had called and texted you, several times in the last hour. You turned back to him, “I'm so sorry, I was… taking a nap.” 

Simon continued watching you from the doorway, staring like he was analyzing you. You had the blinds closed and curtains drawn shut, leaving your room dim despite the sun still shining bright outside. Simon turned on the ceiling light to get a better look at you, and you flinched. He sighed again as he took you in, this time less relieved. Your hair was a mess, you had dark circles around your eyes, your lips were chapped, and you'd been asleep in your day clothes. He moved toward you and sat at the edge of your bed.

“Lovie, what happened,” he asked, placing the back of his hand against your forehead to check your temperature, “are you sick?”

“No, no! I'm fine! I'm just… Tired.” you said, adding under your breath, “haven't been sleeping well.” You were avoiding looking him in the eye. Simon gently grabbed your hand with one of his, and turned your face toward his with the other. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

It was firm, but not a demand. Suddenly you felt tears prickling at the corners of you eyes. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and his arms wrapped around you, instinctively, protectively, as you started to fall apart. 

“My dad… He's in the hospital! While you were gone he was diagnosed with cancer. He got rushed into surgery to remove the tumor. In a few weeks he starts chemotherapy. My mom and grandmother have been at each other's throats, arguing about what's best for him, who should take care of him during his recovery. Grandma's even been picking fights with the hospital staff! Even before all that, I got laid off! Something's gone wrong with my insurance, and I haven't had the time to sort it out, so I'm off my meds because now I can't afford them! My period started a week early last month, and I bled through my clothes, and this month it's a week late! I really haven't been sleeping well, my stomach is in knots, so I can hardly eat! And I missed you! I missed you so, so much!”

Simon just sat there with you, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while you let it all out. Once you had, he kissed your forehead and said a soft “I missed you too.”

Then he pulled away slightly to look you in the eye, concern evident on his face, but layered with what seemed like a little hurt. “Sweetheart,” he said more firmly again, “why didn't you tell me any of this was going on sooner? I know we didn't have a lot of chances to talk, but everytime I called you said everything was fine. Why'd you lie to me?”

You looked away, shame creeping its way into your chest while you found the words to answer him.

“I just… I didn't want you to worry. Your job is so dangerous, I didn't want you to be distracted by my problems while you were out there fighting.” 

“Your problems? Love, no matter where I am, or what I'm doing, your problems are my problems. I'm your partner, and I'm here for you, even when I'm not with you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a bit of a smirk before he said, “And I'm no amateur. I'm more than good enough to do my job and care about you at the same time.” 

You couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up out of you at his cocky attitude, and he smiled seeing the shell you'd crawled into start to crack a little.

You sighed as you gazed up at him. “I'm sorry, for not being honest with you,” you said. He pulled you into his chest again and kissed your temple. 

“It's alright, I know. And I'm sorry you've had to deal with so much by yourself.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, finally able to enjoy each other's company again after being separated for so long, until Simon began to lift you off of his lap and make his way toward the door again. 

“Where're you going?” 

“Getting my phone, gonna order that dumpling soup you like. While we're waiting for it we're gonna take a bath, and you're gonna tell me everything else I missed out on while I was away. Good, bad. Everything. Get out that scented bubble mixture.”

And with that, he disappeared into the living room, leaving you with a smile on your face as you made your way to the bathroom to run the bath and find the bubble soap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been going through... a lot lately, so I wrote this to cope. Cheers.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

It’s hard to be strong, sometimes.

“Nothing’s gonna fix me.”

Billy can do the heavy lifting. Can pull the freight with nothing but the sweat on his back to show for it.

“I’m jus’ gonna hurt forever.”

But this?

He isn’t strong enough for this.

“You aren’t,” he coos. “I won’t let you.”

A strained little sob hiccups out of Steve, and he simply shakes his head. The veins running up the length of his neck thump fast with his pulse, rising to the surface of his flushed skin. Tense and angry, like his eyebrows, pinched together harshly no matter how much Billy shushes and croons at him.

He’s got Steve’s face buried in his chest, shirt completely damp around the collar, and Steve’s fists tangles weakly at the sides.

Right now is probably the calmest he’s been all afternoon since this started.

Billy buries his nose in Steve’s hair and closes his eyes, arms wrapped softly around him. Grounding him in place. Smoothing carefully over his back, wary of pressing lest he cause another river of tears.

“Why does something that’s supposed to help hurt so bad?” Steve whines.

As much as Billy wants to squeeze him as tight as he can, he doesn’t. Instead settles one of his hands against Steve’s head, holding his cheek to his chest and gently stroking his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know,” Billy admits. “Sometimes stuff doesn’t work, and you find out the shitty way.”

Steve huffs and makes a frustrated, pained sound into Billy’s shirt that’s followed by a warm wetness soaking into the fabric. Billy shushes into his hair again.

He wishes he could take the ache away. Wishes he could, even for just a moment, see what it feels like.

What could hurt so fucking bad that it has Steve crumbling into a mess of throaty sobs? Steve, who has been knocked around like a ragdoll and simply dusted himself off after?

“‘M gonna hurt forever,” he whines again.

Digs his forehead into Billy’s chest, shifting and rocking himself softly on top of him like he’s trying to physically shake the pain off, and Billy urges him to lie still with a gentle hand on his back.

“You won’t, it’ll pass.”

He tries to say it with certainty, but there’s a slight rasp in his voice to match the mist gathering in his eyes. Even when he gets Steve to fall still again.

“It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

A shaky sob leaves Steve’s lips as he curls his fingers tighter in Billy’s shirt at his sides.

“Everything,” he urges.

Presses himself down hard, muscles tense, like he’s trying to smother himself. Billy keeps his hand smoothing delicately up and down his back.

“I know, baby. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve’s muscles shake from the effort, but he eventually listens. Inhales a shallow breath and sighs it out, drawing another one in as slow as he can manage with his elevated heart rate.

It takes a few moments, but his grip eventually eases again. He sniffles and nudges his face against Billy’s ruined shirt, huffing softly.

“It hurts,” he rasps, voice just above a whisper.

“I know, Stevie.” Billy noses a kiss into the brunet’s hair. “I know.”

They lay there like that for a while. Steve eventually tires himself out, nodding off on top of Billy even though he’s still crying. Too emotionally and physically exhausted to stay awake through the pain.

Billy just holds him. Lays his head back on the pillow once Steve’s breathing finally evens out and exhales a long sigh.

He might not be strong enough to fix Steve, because most medications aren’t even strong enough for that.

He supposes that being strong enough to love Steve will suffice, though.

Then at least he doesn’t have to suffer it alone.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Hoof Race

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic

I’m going through ALOT because of a dickwad of a piano teacher. So imma just project and vent here. I love piano, but I don’t love the piano teacher. My own personal Umbridge. Bleck. So it’s gonna be sloppily written, projective, just. I’m going through a lot right now. A lot a lot.

Summary: Your first detention with Umbridge. Needless to say, very traumatizing. At least you have a pair of red heads to comfort you. Along with formed an escape plan to get you out of there. With some help

Warnings: Umbridge, scars, blood, depression, anxiety, stress, crying, trauma, Umbridge being Umbridge. Physical Violence against Reader from Umbridge, Humanism(Racism against other species) Surprise Guest Appearance for the Book Lovers from one of our favorite Divination Teachers

“Where is our little lab rat?” Fred huffed, as he was looking around for you. With George trailing behind. Looking in all the directions that Fred wasn’t looking. You had promised to meet them at Hagrid’s to test out a new product to help with calming animals. Something that was more so a Comission’s for Hagrid than anything else. Would be a nice little treat. Tea, fang, and laughter. Just one problem. Where are you?

“Should have never given Harry that map.” George would grumble, as he was getting worried now. Where were you? You aren’t one to break a promise. Especially to miss out on hanging with Hagrid. Who wants to purposely avoid a cozy evening with him? Especially since the twins had hoards of candy to share. If you missed a treat like that, it has to be beyond your control.

“Checked the dorm, checked Myrtle, checked the Requirement’s, checked the green house-“ The twins would finish each others sentences, as they walked. Trying so hard to think of where you could be. That’s when they stopped infront of the Defense Room Doors. They were open, but the office door was closed. They slowly looked to each other, before bolting inside.

“But Miss Umbridge, it hurts-!” They heard you shout, now that they were pressing their ears to the door. “It’s not suppose to feel good, darling. I should have expected such idiocy from someone who found it wise to speak out of turn-“ Umbridge would huff, as her heels could be heard pacing. A mixture of sharp clicks, and your hiccups.

“Mr. Firenze is not a THING-!” You snapped, only for a sharp smack to echo in the room. Made the twins wince, as you hiccuped again. “That beast is indeed that. Why defend that vile creature, when it even identifies itself as a beast-? Hm? Shouldn’t expect much from an idiotic child like yourself.” She lectured on.

“What do we do?” George whispered to Fred. What could they do? She was still a professor after all. Regardless, they had to do something. Anything. SOMETHING. They had to think fast, before you got even more hurt. Or worse. Expelled.

“Twins-?” A voice called itself, making the duo look over. The familiar blonde hair, and clips of hoof steps, made it clear who it was. Their newest teacher, given Umbridge very literally fired their old one. What a god send, as the twins were able to hatch a plan.

“Please please-“ They made praying hand gestures, as they pointed at her door. Making dramatic movements to try and convey they needed a distraction. Not wanting to get detention next. Never thought detention could be worse than anything Snape could offer.

The echo of another slap was what made the ever calm teacher connect the dots. Oh how he dispised such treatment. It was inhuman. That’s saying something from a man who used to live with trantulas the size of buildings. He would quickly motion for the red heads to quickly go hide under the stairs, before he cleared his throat.

“Mistress Umbridge? I need to speak with you about a matter at hand-!” He called, with a hoof stomp for added volume. The duo was quick to run under the stairs, and narrowly miss her gaze. An ever-plastered fake smile was on her lips, as she would walk down the stairs. A twitch to her eye was given, as she was now forced to speak to the centaur.

"Yes, Firenze? Whatever could you need at this late hour?" She asked, while the twins were quick to rush into the classroom. Left quite a sight. There you were, with bloody hands. To bloody to even make out what scars she had to make your write this time. Along with a firm bruise on your cheek, from her had no less. They were enraged, to put it lightly. This was the last time she would ever do this. That was their promise.

They were quick to your side, as you wrapped your arms around them. Your savior. "She just kept insulting him, and it wasn't right. He's a good teacher-" You would sniffle, as George would use his wand to try and clean your hands. He sneered at the words on your skin. Busy with tending to your immediate wounds, as Fred tried to calm you down and explain the plan.

"WAIT WAIT-I UH-I AM JUST A CENATUR! A WITCH LIKE YOURSELF KNOWS MORE THE I!" Firenze shouted, making the twins realize their time was running out. "Just be quiet, and follow our lead-" Fred just said, and you listened. Typical behavior, after all. They were always scheming, and you were happy to get into any mess they offered.

"Well....You are just a centaur. You aren't modern, or cultured, such as myself. I suppose i can remind you how we properly function here." Umbridge would smugly say, as Firenze tried so hard to not roll his eyes. Was worth it, as he was able to watch you be escorted back under the stairs. That firey red hair hidden away. Just in time, because even his calm soul can only take so much.

"Oh dear, Mar's is infront of Saturn. You know what that means, I better return to my classroom-!” She had no idea what that meant, no one did since it was a big lie. Least it sounded good enough to make her scoff. Feeling as though she wasted her time with him. Regardless, she gave a friendly smile. Now walking back towards her office.

The second her back was turned, the blonde stallion quickly motioned for the three of you to hurry to him. Fred and George basically carried you, as they did. Needing to work fast. Was just yanked around like a doll, but there was no choice. The moment Umbridge had gasped, noticing you were gone, you three were on his back.

“Where did-“ But it was faded, as you three were not having a horse ride of your life. Escaping her, this night. Quite the adrenaline rush. Riding the back of your teacher, as he tried to not trip down the stairs. Least you had Fred and George to comfort you. Holding on to the straps on their teachers body, for his supplies, and comforting you.

“Well clean you up, and make sure that this is the last time she ever hurts anyone.” Fred said, with a firm nod. You never thought the twins could look so angry before. Was scary, but also a morbid reassurance. Given Umbridge’s gaslighting was getting to you. Thinking you were a burden, failure, worthless, just horrible. Didn’t even noticed you were starting to cry. It was all too much. The boys would hold you close, and just hold.

“Dreadful woman. Dreadful dreadful just oh so dreadful-“ Firenze would keep on muttering, as he tried to not break an ankle on those ever moving stairs. Full of much spite as anyone else. Suppose that meant the twins had someone on their side, at least.

“You are gonna crash with us tonight.” Fred said to you, as Firenze took that as advice on where to go. Now heading to the Gryffindor common room. “Think of it as a big sleep over. Chilling in the common room’s living space.” George echoed. Childish, but there is joy in childhood. Had you smile in approval.

“Here, allow me to offer some assistance.” Firenze then spoke, as he rummaged in his bag. Still trotting along, as it was just a hallway roam now.

“This should help with your healing and recovery. Sometimes spells can not solve all problems.” And a small bag was offered to you three. Most likely a herbal of some kind. The kind textures were very reassuring. A reminder you weren’t crazy. That she was in the wrong. Not you. Still, made you tremble in fear.

“Gonna be ok. She’s not gonna hurt you anymore.” Fred reassured, with a kiss to your head. Followed by George hugging you tightly. Just helping ground you, as the centaur finally stopped at the painting. She didn’t even ask for the password. As if she wanted to delay much needed rest.

“Rest, if you can. When you join me for our class, tomorrow, you are permitted to not join. You may just relax, and star gaze. That often times relaxes myself.” Firenze offered, as he laid down at the open wall. Allowing you three to get off. He understood you were a victim, and offered sanctuary where he could.

“Thanks…” You sniffled, as to not be rude. He knows, he knows. He gave you a pat on your head, and a smile, before taking his escort away. Leaving you three with your thoughts. The twins mostly thought of how to make whatever happens to Umbridge look like an accident, while you were still shaking from the ordeal. Murder plots can be for another time. You were first.

Escorted to the common room couch, you were as pampered as you could be. Hands properly wrapped, the herbal deal brewed, helping clean up the blood stains, using their latest invention to help clean up your bruise. Just doing what they could, as you sniffled and hiccuped.

Once done, you were soon lying against Fred. With George semi on top of you. As if some kind of pressure therapy. A means to make sure no one could touch you, or sneak up on you. Was nice. What was nicer was the random fellow classmates who walked around. May it to get something to drink, unable to sleep, what have you.

They took notice of you, could quickly grasp it was Umbridge, and let you have your comfort. May it be making sure you three had a blanket, staying extra quiet to not disturb you, or asking if you needed anything. Just some humanity against the darkness.

The comfort of the twins, the easing calm of the tea, and the sound of the ever lit fireplace. It helped you come back to earth again. Just what you needed. Reassurance that you were the victim. Not the other way around. Just deep breaths of fire, cinnamon, and gun powder.

You’ll be ok. You’ll be ok, and the twins promised.

As if they ever would break a promise.

[threebananasinatrenchcoat]

Here’s a little snippet of something I wrote yesterday. Just a lil vent fic about mental health (mine lol) featuring Regulus with OCD

CW for the full fic: self harm, discussions of mental health, suicidal thoughts

[wayfayrr]

So this is very much a self indulgent mini-fic, venting about some stuff that I've been dealing with recently <3 I'm working on requests and some other fics but I got told to post this to get it off of my chest anyway @cloudninetonine @angry-trashcan thanks for the confidence boost to be able to post this

“Hey, you’ve been sitting over here for a while, you feeling alright?”

“Just been thinking… I was part of some drama before I was uh brought here. It’s just, it’s just messed with me a bit I guess. I’ll be fine when we need to start moving again, don’t worry wars.”

After a brief second of fabric shuffling, he sits down and leans on me. It’s an oddly comforting feeling, different too like he’s bothered by something? What could’ve set him off so badly?

“Would you mind if I asked you about it? It’s clearly bothering you so, you should get it off of your chest and well, I’d just like to help you through this.”

“If you really want to know, it’s a little complicated though and while I can make a lot of it make sense to you I’ll have to leave a couple of things out.”

“Sounds like you’re willing to get it off of your chest though, so would you care to explain it to me honeybee?”

He’s being more persistent than usual too, have I really been looking so badly bothered by my thoughts? The worry does feel nice however, it feels more like talking to an old friend than anything which is wonderful seeing as I’ve not been able to reach them recently. I’ve just been stuck rereading old messages in a new context while my phone endlessly buffers to reach impossibly far servers.

“It’s… I’d been having issues with this person for a while… they used me more than anything, kept asking me for advice and making everything about them and brushed anything I or my other friends were trying to say off and sent things they really shouldn’t to people unwarrented… and then everything else.”

“Everything else? You don’t have to cut yourself off, with how you’ve been acting the rest feels like it’ll be worse anyway.”

“They just - someone connected some dots and pointed them out to me and I just… I’ve been going back over what they said and - and - and it made me think. They told me they associated my voice with a character they always got weird over, they kept fawning over my accent and how they’ve only ever heard it in fiction before, they gave me weird compliments when I was talking about things I did as a kid and that’s not even getting me started on how they treated my friends. I just… I feel so disgusted, seeing it in this light. Every bit of my skin just itches with disgust towards myself. Sorry I didn’t mean to share so much at once - I’m just tired. They didn’t even like me, it was like they only wanted me for where I’m from.”

The way he stilled sent a shiver down me, did I say to much? He might have not meant it when he said I could share… I mean theres no way he could’ve known… or does he think I’m simply overreacting? I’m probably just overreacting anyway.

My heart started beating again when he softened and pulled me to rest on him.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that all. They’re the one who is disgusting, not you, never you. I’ll speak to time, you should just rest for the rest of the day. I can lend you my scarf and you can just have a nap or I could ask wild to make your favourite food and you can just rest.”

I didn’t get a say before he’s already draped it over my shoulders; he’s leading me back over to the others and setting me down next to sky as he goes to speak with time. 

“Hmm? Did something happen, are you feeling alright dove?”

“Ah well, wars is going to ask time if we can stop for the day because I’m just dealing with some memories. I hope it won’t bother the others.”

“I doubt it, everyone’s been tense and tired recently. I know I have, I’ve been about dying for a rest. Would you care to join me too?”

Leaning back against him is all the response he needs as my eyes flutter closed, he’s so warm and comfortable. There are few people I’d prefer to rest next to. 

><><><><><><

“So then old man, I think that’s a good enough reason to settle for the day, don’t you?”

I know he’ll agree, asking him like this is simply a formality. After all, how could we continue when a member of the group is in such a state? On the verge of tears just from thinking about someone for a little bit too long. 

“You’ve never asked this for anyone else, but fine.” “Thank you Time, I’ll pay you back for this.”

“And Wars?”

“Hmm?”

“Go take your anger out on something, it’s not a good energy in the camp. Not if they’re so fragile right now. There’s apparently a standard bokoblin camp just a little south.”

He’s seen right through me then, but now I don’t need an alibi for when I come back.

[fanfic-writer-and-rambler]

Crypto bro trying to pitch his totally legit tech startup.

Oliver: Okay but what is an NFT?!

Crypto Bro: A non-fungible token that's a unique digital identifier that is recorded on a blockchain and is used to certify ownership and authenticity.

Bruce and Oliver: Yes but what can that be used for?!

Crypto bro: Plenty of things.

Bruce: What things?

Crypto bro: For in game items or wallpaper.

Oliver: Do we get a physical item as well?

Crypto bro: No it's digital.

Oliver: Can we exchange it for actual money?

Crypto bro (snidely laughing): Of course not.

Oliver: Why would people want to do that then?!

Bruce covers his face in confusion and frustration.

Bruce: I feel like I'm talking to a child about the plot for SpongeBob and they keep saying a kitchen sponge makes sense to be underwater and I'm just never understanding it.

Oliver: Mine is Paw Patrol.

Crypto bro: You don't understand. You can use it to get into concerts and parties.

Bruce (covering his face still): It's a ticket too. Awesome, why can't I buy that with real money again?

Crypto bro (getting nervous): You can buy merchandise.

Oliver: You just said it's non-fundable!

Bruce: Fungible. That means it can't be replaced.

Oliver: So if it's stolen I'm fucked?

Crypto bro: You won't be if you have your special words you write on a paper-

Oliver: Get out.

Crypto bro: I haven't even gotten to Shiba Coin!

Oliver: GET OUT!

The crypto bro storms out cursing that the way of the future is crypto.

Oliver turning to Bruce: Did you get any of that?

Bruce: I did, it's a scam. That's all it boils down to.

Oliver: Oh it's bullshit, not funding that. All right I'll leave you alone thanks for sitting through that.

Bruce: Yup, warn me next time.

Oliver (lying): I totally will. Bye.

[everybodyshusband]

this is technically a request fill for a couple of anons but turned into what's basically a vent fic, so i didn't feel comfortable wasting your requests on it. to those anons, your requests will be filled properly at some point, i promise.

cw for self-hatred, and desires of self-harm and suicidal thoughts while regressed. please also be aware that there is one line where rain considers killing an animal because he's so angry. this work is not suitable for regressed kiddos or littles.

but ! without further ado, 2.2k words of rain trying to hide his regression from dew and having a breakdown about it under the cut.

“Rain?”

The water ghoul looks up from his bass at the sound of Dewdrop’s voice, carefully schooling his expression into something typical of how he acts when he isn’t regressed; when he’s normal, his brain unhelpfully supplies. He clears his throat, giving himself a little more time to prepare himself for the conversation ahead. “Hey, sundew. What’s up?”

The words come out easier than he expected them to, but it still feels so wrong. He’s not supposed to talk like that, he’s not supposed to direct the conversation. He’s supposed to crawl into Dewdrop’s arms and let himself be held and loved, but he can’t. Can’t, because he has so much to do today. Has so many assigned duties on top of everything else he’s wanted to get done all week. He can’t focus on any of it if he’s regressed, so if he pretends to be fine—to be normal—then maybe he’ll be able to do what he needs to.

He’s jolted out of his head by Dewdrop’s voice. “Want a practice partner? I– I’m kinda struggling with some of the solos…”

The hesitation in the fire ghoul’s tone immediately sets Rain on edge. Dewdrop needs comforting, he thinks, but that’s not something the water ghoul is able to do when he’s regressed; not well, at least. Still, Rain tries. He smiles what he hopes is a regular, reassuring smile and reaches an arm out, ushering Dewdrop to sit down next to him. The gestures come to him easily. It’s a relief, but he can’t help the small voice in the back of his mind telling him the reason he’s able to pretend to be normal is because he pretends to be regressed.

(Which isn’t true. He knows it’s not. It’s proven by night curled up in Swiss’ arms, unable to murmur even a single word because he’s just too small to do anything else. By all the times he hasn’t been able to function without someone holding his hand, guiding him through the day. Alas, it’s never been something he can stop thinking. That he’s a fraud; so desperate for the attention of his packmates that he’s resorted to lying, deceiving them, in order to gain a shred of affection, a kind word here and there.)

The fire ghoul grins happily and sets himself up quickly, eyeing the music on Rain’s stand to gauge where he should flip to in his own music. “Rats, eh?”

“Mhmm, wa– Rats.” He turns away from Dewdrop, cheeks burning as he clears his throat and attempts to brush the slip off as something catching in his throat. “Good bassline. Hard when you haven’t played it in months, though.”

Dewdrop hums in agreement. “Mmm, I can imagine.” He fidgets with the tuning pegs, tilting his head in Rain’s direction, silently asking for a note to match. Rain obliges. “D’you wanna start from the start, or…?”

“Start’s fine,” Rain smiles. He knows the start best, he’ll be able to do it, he’s sure. He can ignore the brain fog. He can pretend. For Dewdrop, he can pretend. The fire ghoul seemed insecure and burdened enough when he asked to run through the solos. He doesn’t need Rain’s regressed headspace making anything more difficult for him. “Uhm…” he begins, unsure; failing already. “B– Backing track?” He stutters on the B and the K is over pronounced in compensation of his difficulty with the letter, but Dewdrop understands—and more importantly, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think we’ll be fine, right, Rainy?” He turns to smile at the water ghoul, eyes so soft and gentle, but there’s something underneath his tone that makes Rain fumble his bass.

“W– Why are you calling me ‘Rainy’ like that? You only say it like that when I’m… small.”

Dewdrop’s smile falters slightly, but his eyes remain warm. Kind. “Well, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but I thought you might’ve been feeling a bit small, love. Am I right?”

Rain readjusts his bass on his hip, refusing to meet Dewdrop’s eyes. “N– No… I– I feel fine,” he lies. “Normal. ‘M good. Promise.” He knows Dewdrop doesn’t believe him, but he can’t help but hope that maybe he’s convinced the fire ghoul. After all, Dewdrop has things to do today as well. He can’t blow off a whole day just to help Rain. Rain can’t ask him to do that.

“Are you sure, puddle? You’re not just telling me that because you feel bad about being small?”

“...Oh. Uhm… N– No?” Rain does his best to sound convincing but he knows there’s no persuading Dewdrop now, not when he already knows.

Dewdrop fixes him with a look, still adoring, but stern. “It’s not nice to lie, my love.”

And just like that, Rain’s facade crumbles.

His eyes fill with tears as he curls in on himself, hugging his bass tightly to his body. “I– I’m sorry, Dewy,” he cries. “I– I didn’ mean to! I’m sorry sorry, I’m really, very sorry. I didn’ mean to lie, ‘m sorry!”

He rocks back and forth, doing his best to self-soothe but it’s not working. He doesn’t know how to calm down. Doesn’t really know why his reaction to Dewdrop’s gentle chiding is a breakdown. He knows the fire ghoul was only trying to nudge him out of his pretences but he can’t help but listen to the voice in his head that whispers softly, cruelly.

He hates you for lying to him. He’s never going to talk to you again.

You got too comfortable with him. Shared too much. He doesn’t want to take care of you. He only does it to have an excuse to tell you what you’re doing wrong.

Such a burden to him. To the pack. Why can’t you just stop regressing? Just stop it. Stop being so small. Stop being so fucking weak.

He lets out a panicked yelp when Dewdrop reaches out to comfort him. “Nuh uh! Don’t touch me. I– I don’ deserve it.”

“Wh–” Dewdrop flounders.

That means it’s true; Rain doesn’t deserve it. He curls in on himself even further; he shouldn’t have said anything. Should have kept it to himself. Should have left the room the second Dewdrop entered it. Should have thought about someone other than himself and his own pathetic, useless needs for once.

“What makes you think that, Rainy?”

“Liar get punish,” he parrots as accurately as he can manage. “Only good boy get to be touch.”

“Oh, love…” Dewdrop sounds so disappointed. Rain braces himself for the inevitable. “That’s our rule for when you’re big and we, uhh…” He trails off, clearly unsure of how to phrase what he needs to say. Rain wishes he could rid the fog from his head enough to be able to reassure Dewdrop that he’s okay; it was just a slip of his mouth that made him say that, it’s not what he really thinks. But if he says that, it’s only fuelling the fire, and he’ll be punished more for lying; he’ll punish himself for lying. “Look, Rainy, love,” the fire ghoul tries again. “My point is that those rules don’t apply to you right now. They’re only there for when you’re big and we have our… Our special playtimes, yeah?” Dewdrop cringes at the words special playtimes and Rain knows exactly why; the phrase sounds so forced. He hates that Dewdrop feels the need to mince his words around Rain when he’s like this, as if the water ghoul doesn’t retain his understanding of the world and his own life when he regresses.

“You– You don’ like special playtime?” Rain’s goading Dewdrop into giving him an answer that he’ll hate, that will make him feel worse, he knows he is. But as long as the fire ghoul doesn’t notice, Rain doesn’t care. He deserves to feel bad, he knows that much. But he doesn’t feel bad enough, and it’s going to be hard to sink himself down to the level of bad that he deserves with Dewdrop watching his every move.

“No, no, Rainy,” he disagrees quickly. Too quickly, Rain thinks. “I love our special playtimes. I love them a lot, I promise. But… I don’t think this is something we should be talking about when you’re little, okay? We can talk about it when you’re big again if you want to, though.”

“O– Okay…” Rain’s heart sinks. It’s always like this. The very nature of their ghoul pack results in him being left out of most things when he’s little. Sometimes he doesn’t mind, and he’s more than content to sit with one of his packmates and fill some colouring sheets with bright pencil markings or curl up in their arms and drift off to sleep. But other times? His pack’s refusal to include him in certain activities or conversations feels less like protection and more like a poor disguise of their hatred of him, of their unwillingness to involve him in pack affairs. He understands, really, he does. He knows that when he’s regressed, there are things he shouldn’t be exposed to. Knows that when his pack are frustrated with him, he’s rarely the one at fault, just the one unlucky enough to bear the brunt of their frustration, no matter how much they try to hide it for his sake. But he also knows that the pack’s exclusion of him is because they don’t like him. Don’t enjoy his presence in any of the forms it takes. Don’t care about him enough to hide their annoyance, despite knowing their frustration directed at him can cause him to spiral so intensely that he barely remembers the rest of the day. He knows all of this, but nothing makes it hurt any less.

If he were in a better state of mind, he might reach out to Dewdrop and ask to be held for a while. Might sob and scream and cry until there aren’t any tears left but it would be okay, because he’d be safe in the fire ghoul’s arms. As it is, he can’t. He tells himself he doesn’t want to, which is true, in part. There’s a part of him desperately fighting to run away from Dewdrop, to refuse to ask for comfort, to never be a burden, never show weakness because otherwise he won’t love you anymore and you’ll be all alone all over again. The other part longs for comfort, regardless of the negative impact he knows it will have on his relationship with Dewdrop. He wants to be held, wants to be reassured that it’s okay to cry, that it’s okay because Dewdrop’s got him and he’s never letting go, never leaving. And so, he finds himself at an impasse and so angry at himself that he wants to punch something. Scream. Break his arm. Kill one of Copia’s rats. Kill himself.

The only benefit to being regressed that he can think of right now is that if he screams, no one bats an eye; all too accustomed to toddlers throwing tantrums that they don’t seem to care. And so when Dewdrop tentatively reaches an arm out, testing the waters to see whether Rain is ready for touch, the water ghoul screams. And he does it properly.

He doesn’t know how long he screams for before stopping, but once he stops, his throat is raw and aching in the silence of the room. He’s curled in on himself on the floor—bass discarded somewhere off to the side, hopefully in one piece—surrounded by pleasant warmth and pressure. Slowly, he realises that he’s wrapped up in Dewdrop’s embrace, and he begins to panic all over again, throat refusing to make another sound dispute his frantic attempts.

A warm hand cards through his hair, soft voice shushing him gently. “If you really want me to let go, Rainy, I will,” Dewdrop reassures him. “But I don’t want to let go, love. I want to help you, and I don’t want to leave you alone like this, okay?”

Rain turns his head and buries himself against Dewdrop’s chest, sobbing quietly. His emotional regulation for the day has been used up, and he knows that any and all emotions he feels for the rest of the day—or week, probably—will be on full display for everyone to see, no matter how much he wants to hide them. He finds himself nodding along to the fire ghoul’s words without his own brain’s permission. It’s impossible to deny for any longer that he wants comfort—he needs it so desperately it may as well be oxygen at this point—but he can’t bring himself to ask for it. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows that he’ll only feel worse later as a result of talking to Dewdrop and receiving his love and affections, but for now, that’s a problem for future Rain. Right now, all he really cares about is curling up in Dewdrop’s arms and soaking in the gentle comfort that the fire ghoul seems to be so good at providing him when he’s like this.

He doesn’t feel better about it, and he knows he’s not going to. To be honest, he doesn’t even want to try to feel better about it. But now that he’s here, he’ll accept the comfort of gentle caresses and chaste forehead kisses that Dewdrop seems intent on gifting to him. He’ll work on not feeling even worse about the fire ghoul’s affections another time.

[rose-tinted-vision]

obligatory 'hey what the fuck, post-canon allowing character A to grieve as they should have in the drama' fic

Fic: 往事流转在你眼眸 | the past flows in your eyes

Relationships: Xiao Heng & Wen Ji, Xiao Heng & Lu Ji, Xiao Heng/Xue Fangfei

spoilers for the ending of The Double (墨雨云间) | edited because I shouldn't be allowed to write at 3am

Xiao Heng stares at the dead body of General Dai, and feels nothing. He feels no sense of triumph or vindication, just a gaping sense of emptiness, of loss.

He had only been able to soldier on, push through the last few days of war because he had Wen Ji and Lu Ji at his side, had been able to confidently raze through the battlefield because he knew that they would be watching his back.

Now, he was alone.

Alone, just as he was a decade ago.

Perhaps even more so than back then.

He picks up the jade token from A'Li– with its rope broken, he had no way else to reattach it– he holds it with his teeth instead, and lets the cold fury consume him as he charges to meet the next wave of Dai soldiers.

Xiao Heng would survive this war. He had to survive this war, in order to bring Wen Ji and Lu Ji back home.

—

Xiao Heng guards their bodies all the way home.

He carries out their funeral rites himself– as their employer, their friend, their brother– they had no other family members. It had always been the three of them, building the reputation of Duke Su from the ground up, all while avoiding the corrupt officials together.

“I'm sorry,” Zhao Ye mutters, rounding his desk to stand in front of Xiao Heng, who had arrived to present his report to the Emperor, “I never expected…”

“Don't get emotionally involved,” Xiao Heng laughs bitterly, “isn't that what you said?”

“They weren't pawns!” Zhao Ye snaps, his eyes flashing angrily as he whirls on Xiao Heng. And if this were anywhere but the Emperor’s private office, if they hadn’t grown up together, if Zhao Ye didn’t know how much they had meant to him, he would likely have gotten sentenced for talking back to the Emperor. Instead, he just stares blankly at his friend, numb to the rage written all over his face.

“They were. What else would you call risking their lives to carry out our dirty work? They knew it too, but they didn't care.”

Zhao Ye deflates with a shaky exhale, his anger gone as quickly as it came, and he places a comforting hand on Xiao Heng’s shoulder.

It felt anything but comforting. It felt like the hand of someone who sent them to their deaths– 

“At least they went together,” Xiao Heng forces out, and it takes all of his self-control not to shake the hand off, “Wen Ji always said that if they died in battle, at least he would have a companion in hell.”

(He doesn’t know why he said that, or why he had bothered to share anything with Zhao Ye, who he had taught to view others as chess pieces and the world as their playing board).

Zhao Ye wisely says nothing, silently bearing the brunt of Xiao Heng’s grief.

—

“They’re gone?” A'Li asks, her voice trembling, “what do you mean they're gone?”

Xiao Heng simply takes her into his arms, because he does not want to say it either, does not want to say those words that would cement their deaths in reality.

(He doesn't think he could bear the expression on his furen’s face right now– his A'Li had always felt death more acutely than others, had always grieved for people openly, and he doesn’t think he is ready to feel his heart shatter again).

“Oh, Xiao Heng,” she mutters, burying her face into the crook of his neck as she breaks down, hands fisted in the back of his robes.

And that was all he really needed to let go, apparently.

For the first time in a month, Xiao Heng finally lets go of the restraint on his emotions, letting the grief overtake him as he cries in the security of his furen's arms.

[shygirl4991]

The break up

Summary: After so much failure SMG3 is done being in his boyfriends shadow and decides to find his own path.

Tag: Angst, establish relationship, takes place during smg4 trash friends, vent fic

SMG3 was stressed, his business was failing. No matter what he did, people just rolled their eyes at him and walked away from his cafe. Sure he was popular on twitch but that wasn't what he wanted, twitch was another reason to follow in his boyfriends footsteps to be famous like him.His cafe was his own dream something he wanted in life, yet again he chases something he wants only to end in the shadow of his partner.  He sighs, putting his phone down as his boyfriend kicks the door down “Babe! You won't believe what just happened. I got a sponsor from Micheal Jordan. This will be such a boost for my channel!” 

SMG4's voice faded to the background as he stared at the USB in the man's hand, suddenly the words his partner were saying changed “Now with this I can show how much better I am then you, it's okay nothing wrong with being a trophy boyfriend.”  Three growled as he got up smacking the USB out of Fours hand, surprised he took a step back looking at his love “The hell was that Three?” Three was shaking as the voice in his head reminded him of their past. How SMG4 acted so smug in school with his high grades, how he ruined everything for him when he was close to reaching fame and love. He glares at the man wondering why he even thought dating was the smart idea, for all he knows this was another trick, some kind of secret plan that Four had to hurt him just like he has after all these years. “Im…done,” he whispers, confusing Four “What?” Three looks up with tears in his eyes “I'M DONE WITH YOU! LEAVE MY LIFE AND NEVER RETURN! I DON'T LOVE YOU I NEVER DID!” SMG4 stared at Three in shock, his own eyes watering “Wha…why are you saying this…after everything we have been through?”  Three lets out a bitter chuckle “You mean how you always been better at things then me…leaving me in your dust as the world forgets me heh..why would i want to date someone like that.” Four shakes his head as he reaches for Three. He brushes Four away, staring at his phone that showed a picture of them kissing, crying, he turns away from SMG4. He won't let himself be tricked and hurt again. He snaps his fingers then grabs Eggdog leaving for the internet graveyard, a place where forgotten dead memes go to live and funny enough his home. Maybe he was always destined to be forgotten  and abandoned. Weeks passed since the break up, no one has seen or heard from SMG3 leaving Four alone to protect his home from gods and other creatures trying to kill them all. SMG1 and two attempted to bring the other guardian back only to learn the internet graveyard woods was protecting the man, changing the path to make it impossible to find him. Over time they gave up and everyone just accepted they would never see the man again, Four kept busy never stopping his work so he can never think about the cold he felt in his heart the day SMG3 disappeared. 

[irondad-defensesquad]

Logically, anyone has bad days.

But they’re not obvious. Or they don’t look as bad as you might think.

Tony absolutely knows how to be in that place.

But he finds himself on the other side, too.

No matter the rain, the snow, the fog, Peter is a ray of sunshine that will always have so many things to say to Tony. Even in his quieter days, he still has a whole starry sky in his eyes.

Tony is so focused on the stars themselves that he doesn’t pay attention to the void between them.

And then some days, the stars aren’t shining much, and the darkness is taking over.

Peter often disguises it. Tony doesn’t want to invade his space, but some part of him feels bad for not doing something, either. He at least tries to reassure Peter that he doesn’t have to be all bubbly and excited, that he can just… be, y’know?

The kid apparently ignores that.

Until the storm is too much.

Literally.

And Tony gets a call in the middle of Peter’s school time.

Thankfully, Tony was already driving in town. It’s raining a lot. And Peter is trembling in the call.

He apologizes so much. Mostly for not handling school today.

“I woke up wrong,” Peter argues.

Tony is not angry, far from it.

So, quite hesitantly, Peter asks him if he can pick him up. Which Tony already planned by tracking down the kid’s GPS (either from the suit or the phone).

The thing is, Peter isn’t even in the suit to warm himself up.

Tony finds him outside of a flower shop. The poor thing is completely drenched. He looks like an abandoned puppy.

Peter sighs in relief when he gets in the warm, fancy car. Then he’s rambling about the car and school like it’s just a normal day, like he hasn’t run away from class crying.

“Peter.”

The boy gulps, expecting to get yelled at.

Tony sighs and… wraps his blazer around Peter.

“You hungry, kid?” He asks.

“Y-Yeah… I didn’t eat lunch, so…”

As the man imagined.

“Thought of getting burgers for you. But we’re going home, okay? We’ll get it in the drive-thru and you eat just until we get upstate.”

“S-Sounds good.”

Peter doesn’t talk as much. He does eat fast. Besides his metabolism, of course, it seems like Peter hasn’t even eaten breakfast. Tony leaves the lecture for another day, the kid is too miserable.

He doesn’t know how to approach it.

“... You wanna talk about it?”

Tony isn’t stupid.

That flower shop was near the cemetery. Nowhere near Peter’s school.

His smile, even the pretend one, fades away.

Right now, not a single star lights Peter’s eyes.

Tony wishes he could give him all the stars, his own even, to give him hope.

That’s not possible.

And he needs to pay attention to the void, too. Embrace it. Because it’s still part of Peter.

“Kid.”

Peter doesn’t look scared this time.

“... I really appreciate you calling me,” Tony smiles. “I’ll always be here to pick you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

Peter’s eyes grow deep the more his mentor gazes at him.

Tony swears he’ll wrap Peter in three blankets, give him all the hot cocoas in the world, let him pick the movie, and above all… Tony will smother him in hugs.

In days when the void prevails, it might be hard to believe someone could love you like that.

But they do. They will.

[wordsbymae]

MINORS DNI

Title: The Outlaw King

Pairing: Male OC x female!reader

Summary: Reader is the daughter of a struggling noble who in an attempt to save the prospects of his family begins marrying off his daughters, he is successful for the most part, until his youngest remains. Viewed as lesser compared to her sisters in her appearance, the reader is left without any suitors. Until her father is forced to marry her off to an outlaw.

TW: Female reader, insecure thoughts, chubby!reader, midsized!reader, she's got boobs, reader herself doesn't act insecure but she would be described as insecure yes. Older sisters say cruel things without thinking of consequences, discussion of weight gain and loss, reader is seen to be not as attractive as her sisters, starving oneself is brought up, and the outlaw is a bit vulgar (he likes something to grab) and is accidentally cruel (he doesn't mean to be, he's just an idiot and a man). Reader is insulted by her sister.

NSFW: swear words, vulgar descriptions of sex, he's just horny for reader, I didn't try smut cause I suck at it, but I might try it in a separate fic, the word whore is used (sex workers deserve respect, I'm using it as a historical term), groping, smacking ass, discussions of non/con (it does not happen), implied consensual sex or as consensual l as arranged married sex with an outlaw can go.

If I have forgotten anything let me know!

Notes: Not gonna lie this is very much a vent fic. So it might seem a bit too specific for a reader's fic. There will be some triggering topics brought up so if any of the above is not your cup of tea please move along. Also please please please use your own discretion for this one, I would hate for my writing to reinforce insecurities in anyone or bring up bad thoughts about themselves. So once again please please please use discretion. No one is forcing you to read this.

Reader discretion is advised! Also, I hope I don't need to say this but I will just in case, I do not condone these sorts of actions!!! Or any actions in any of my work. This is pure fiction. Also, all my OCs and the reader are over the age of 18+.

Lots of love Mae xx

Alphabet

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure you want to wear that dress?" your sister questioned, her mouth forming a tight grimace. Her ringed hands made their way to her tidy hips. Her dress was one of emerald green, its linen fabric delicately wrapped around her waist and cascaded down to the floor in waves. It was a beautiful dress and she looked like an angel in it. It had been your mother's. She had given it to you before she passed away, it hadn't fit you though, despite your late-night struggles to tame the fabric around your hips and breasts. You still remember trying to silence your tears as you nearly ripped the black silk ribbon designed to close the dress at the back. Your chest had been too big and the fabric too tight. So you had given up and gifted it to your sister. If the lands hadn't betrayed you maybe you could have asked a maid to take out some of the seems, but the famine meant you had no extra coins for silly things like thread.

"I thought it looked nice" you answered, voice soft and head bowed. Your hands had come up to your belly and they were currently pulling and twisting your fingers. Your dress was one of dull blue. It was a favourite of yours as it did not pinch your skin or constrict your breathing, nor did it leave marks around your arms where the seems dug into your soft flesh.

"It is dull and plain" your sister scoffed "how are you expected to catch the eye of a suitor if you look like that". she pushed past you towards your closet, ripping open the doors to find a more appropriate dress.

Her words left poison in your gut and tore at your heart. You had spent all morning twisting and curling your hair, putting dainty flowers in the braids. You had redone your rouge and kohl three times, to the point where tears of frustration nearly ruined everything anyway. You had thought you looked decent, maybe even pretty. But as soon as your older sister walked through the door, looking like Venus herself, you thought the flowers in your hair made you look childish and the kohl made you look tarty.

"It is important that we all look our best today. Papa invited nearly all the lords and their sons in the kingdom. Without our bride price, our people will suffer" she mindlessly rambled as she threw dress after dress from their home onto your bed. She had no need to remind you about the reasoning behind today's festivities. Your father's lands were the largest agricultural producer in the kingdom, but sickness had plagued the soil leaving the crop rotten. Without a harvest, your father was forced to buy crops from the other lords, but his coin was running low. In order to save his people from starvation until the famine resided, he was forced to marry you and your sisters off for your bride prices. Your father had cried bitter tears at the thought. He had no sons and you and your sisters were his everything. The only solace he had was his oldest daughter and her future betrothed would be the next lord and lady of the castle, allowing him at least one daughter to remain. You on the other hand, as the youngest, feared you may never see your father or sisters again once married. It was seldom a husband allowed his wife to travel away from her place by their side.

"Ah! This one, try this one!" your sister cheered, pushing a lilac dress into your arms. You recognised it immediately.

"Oh no, not this one" you stammered, already trying to push it back into her arms.

"What? Why not? Just put it on, the suitors shall be arriving soon" she snapped, her eyes looking at you with annoyance.

"I cannot" you stressed, begging her with your gaze.

"This is ridiculous. Put the dress on and be done with it." she insisted pushing you towards the changing stand

"It does not fit" you whispered, hoping she would leave and forget it all. She continued to push you.

"It does not fit!" you shouted, removing yourself from her grip. You turned towards her and watched as her eyes softened.

"It does not fit? Well, then I will tighten it more. Silly girl it is a simple fix" she comforted, her hands now gentle as she once more pushed you to the changing stand. Tears began to swell in your eyes as you allowed her to move you.

"It is too tight on me" you whimpered, your voice almost a whisper. Her hands, which had been softly undoing the laces of your dress suddenly stopped. You could feel the air shift.

"it is too tight?" She coldly asked, her hands gripping the laces. "Papa only gifted it to you last month! It fitted then! What have you done hm? Gouged yourself on the lager while others starve?" she hissed, her hands ripped away from you as she grabbed the dress in your hands. "Papa used coin that could have been better used elsewhere for you! For a silly dress that is as good as rags!" she roared, hands ripping and tearing at the fabric. You were sobbing now, watching as the pretty purple fabric was left tatted on the ground. When she was done, she looked at you with steely eyes. For a moment you thought she might hit you.

"Fine, stay in that tatty rag. Do not come crying to me when the men look past you" she sneered, leaving your room in a huff, slamming the door behind her. You fell to your knees as tears dragged black kohl down your cheeks. It felt like hours, but it had really been only a short few minutes before your father opened your door calling your name with cheer.

"Where are you my dear! My scouts have caught sight of the first Lord!"

His merriment was soon killed when he saw you on the ground.

"Oh, my love! Are you alright? What happened? No more tears now, that's a girl. Dry those eyes." he comforted, holding you in his arms as vengeful tears raced down your cheek. After a few moments, you choked out what had happened. A part of you thought that maybe he would punish your sister, reprimand her or, as a cruel part of you wished, banish her from the festivities. But your father loved you and your sisters equally, sometimes a little too much.

"I am sure she did not mean to. She is just worried because of the trouble that faces us. That is all." he explained patting you on the back.

"Come fix your eyes and I shall redo your laces and then let us meet the Lords, yes?" he cheered, helping you up to your feet.

After harshly scrubbing your face clean of the kohl and rouge and quickly putting some more on (only rouge this time, the kohl made you nervous), your father lead you down the corridors of the castle. You knew he was speaking to you about your sister, how he would ask her to apologise to you and that maybe your oldest sister (your favourite, she was rarely cruel) would gift you an old dress of hers (you knew it wouldn't fit either), but you drowned him out with dreams of what might come. Before this afternoon you had imagined that a nobleman would fall in love with you at first sight. That he would beg at your father's feet for your hand in marriage, that he would gift you flowers and jewels and you would discuss politics and arts. Now you imagined one of the noblemen scorning your sister, declaring her undesirable and a wretch, before he declaring his love for you and carrying you away while you laughed at your sister's misery. It was a cruel thought, yes, but it warmed you. You wished you could say you hated your sisters, but you still loved them, which is why it hurt so much when they made comments on your looks. Friening pity and worry, leaving giggles and snide looks your way. They were like sweet poison. You couldn't wait till distance made the heart fonder.

You and your father finally made it to the steps of the castle joining all four of your sisters. Your eldest sister gives you a smile, another a glance, and the other two, including the sister you wished would tumble down the stairs and fall flat in the mud, give each other a glance and then a giggle. Your father left you standing next to them as he made his way to your oldest sister, just in time for a bugle call and the thundering sound of horses racing through the castle square.

They have arrived.

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You wished they never came.

You had hoped for love at first sight. That you would catch a glimpse of a dashing man and you two would fall head over heels in love. That you would dance the night away in his arms and be announced his betrothed by morn. Then you wished that you would strike up a conversation with a lord, and you would discuss history and medicine and by the end of the night, you would be walking through the gardens with your arms intertwined. Then you just prayed one of them would talk to you. They favoured your sisters heavily, ignoring you in conversation to laugh at a quip your sister made or would speak over the top of you altogether. By the end of the night, you had drifted to the sides. Watching as your sisters danced in the arms of charming men you knew would be their husbands. Even your oldest sister had abandoned you. You had gone to her in the hopes she would comfort you, and she did. Until the middle son of a Southern Lord asked her for a dance, and then she was gone. She did promise to come back, but you watched as the two of them huddled together in the shadows. You were feeling miserable and jealous yes, but not enough to steal your darling sister away from a chance of happiness.

So instead you just hid in the shadows, counting the minutes until you could hide away in your room. It wasn't the first time something like this has happened. You had become used to being seen as the lesser sister during events and ceremonies. It wasn't like you were dull. In fact, you were intelligent, charming and funny, but when you were placed with your sisters it was like all that seeped away from you and you struggled to reach their level of grace and poise. Tonight hurt the most, however, because the survival of your people depended on you catching the eye of a suitor. Without all four bride prices, your father would not have enough coin to buy next season's shipment of food. Your people would starve otherwise. For the first time in your life, you actually started to believe the cruel comments your sisters would make. Maybe you really were undesirable? Maybe everything would be easier if you had your mother's face and not the rounded one of your father. You were failing your father and it was because of something so inherently you. There was nothing you could do to change it, it is who you are, and here a room full of men deemed it unworthy.

You had decided you were done. Nothing more to do but leave and hideaway in your room. You left quickly, struggling to hide the tears swelling in your eyes. Your father would come looking for you, maybe, but it was nothing an excuse of lightheadedness couldn't control. Once arriving in your room, you were quick to scrub the rouge from your cheeks and rip the flowers from your hair. With a screech, you threw them to the ground. You had spent a whole morning picking them. You were foolish to think they could elevate a face like yours. You then tore yourself from your dress and drove under the covers. Like every night since she passed, you wished your mother was here. Even though you knew she would just call your worries silly and ridiculous, or worse offer to help you fast. It often seemed like you were like a goose in a family of swans. While not harsh to the gaze, you were nothing in comparison to the other women in your family.

Crying yourself to sleep, you whispered over and over again that it wasn't fair.

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You watched as your sister waved at you from the window of the carriage before darting back inside. Your father beside you was cheering, with tears running down his rosy cheeks. Your oldest sister was linked in arms with her husband, both smiling and waving at the carriage as it disappeared from sight. Since the ball a week prior, all your sisters had been married. All their suitors declared their intent the morning after the festivities. A part of you had been hopeful, foolishly so, that maybe you had caught a suitor's eye. That they had just been too shy to approach you but had wanted you for their wife. You were terribly disappointed when no man stepped forward when your father called your name. It was humiliating too, watching as some men even took steps back. It broke the last bit of hope left in you. You had been terribly jealous, watching your sisters fawn over wedding dresses. You had just stood to the side, lightly touching scraps of silk that had been discarded on the floor. You had watched in envy during each separate wedding wishing that could be you, that someone wanted you enough to announce their loyalty to you. It made you sick to the stomach with the amount of guilt you felt feeling that way.

If you had been disappointed and miserable from the whole affair, your father was devastated. He was so close to saving his people, and yet he had failed. You remained by his side. He was torn between his love for you and relief that his youngest would not leave his side so soon but also shattered at the prospect of his people suffering. His once loving and kind attitude towards you suddenly became cold, and he often refused to look you in the eyes. He loved you, yes, but sometimes you think he blamed you. For what you weren't sure. Maybe for not at least trying on that lilac dress, or maybe not being as charming as your sisters were. A cruel and wicked part of you thought that maybe he blamed himself, for siring a creature like you.

He had since tried to discuss marriage with less favourable suitors. But the poorer lords could not afford the bride price he need and the older (much older) lords made you cry at his feet begging him to reconsider. He succumbed to your pleas. But at a price. He warned that if you continued to refuse his choice of suitors then by the last day of the month he would marry you to the next willing and able man who asked for your hand. And so your father declared to the whole kingdom your hand in marriage. That any man (noble or not) who could afford your bride price could come to his lands to ask for your hand. You had a condition of your own. They could not see you until the bride price was paid and you were lifting the veil in the church. You did not want to be humiliated any longer by shallow men. You were allowed to see them though, with you hiding behind your father's counsel room walls, peering through a hole created for your eyes.

So for the next week men viring for your hand arrived. You refused every single one. They were far too old, or far too young. They had had five wives previous and all had met a grisly fate by 'accidental drowning'. They kept asking your father what you looked like and made jokes about not wanting to be tricked into a marriage with a beast. Some seemed respectful and charming until they laughed at a poor serving girl tripping over their foot while your father was away from the room. One kept picking at his teeth, another had attrocious manners and sneezed all over your father. You refused all.

It was finally the last day of the month and your oldest sister was fusing over you. This whole affair made her fret, she had begged you to at least reconsider sending the last suitor away (the one who sneezed), but you were adamant, if not a little frightened. Maybe you should have lowered your standards. Maybe you should have given the sneezer a chance. At least before you had a choice, but now? Now it was whoever walked through the castle gates. You weren't hiding behind the wall today. It wasn't your choice. Instead, you and your sister took tea in the garden as you nervously wondered who your husband would be. Before everything had started, you had prayed for a charming, dashing, handsome man. But now you could only hope he was kind.

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Your husband-to-be was an outlaw. A rogue. A criminal and thief. Most definitely a murderer and only the Lord knew what else. To even think your father allowed this match brought tears to your eyes. But he had sworn that on the last day of the month, he would accept the first man to ask for your hand. You were sure he never thought it would be the infamous Outlaw King (why wasn't he just arrested or killed on sight? movie magic baby). He disgusted you, your betrothed, you had only seen him from afar, still refusing to let him see you until the wedding. But your sister had told you all. About how he waltzed into the castle and pushed past your father's guards to declare his intentions for your hand. He hadn't even asked! He had thrown the required price on your father's table and had only laughed at the sight of your father's wide eyes.

Your father could only nod his head and approve your betrothal. You remember your father meeting you in the gardens to tell you of your betrothed. Your sister had exploded into fury, while you had just sat still in shock. You had heard tales of him of course, an immoral and cunning man, leading a band of outlaws deep in the woods. He was said to be the bastard son of the King's brother. Left to fend for himself as a babe in the woods. That he was raised by a she-wolf and inherited her blood lust. He was handy with a knife and brutal with a sword. That every whore in the kingdom longed for his presence, for the gold and pleasure he provided. It was said he killed a man for just jesting he was as good with a sword as he was. He was a vile man and yet you were to be his wife. You had cried in your bed at the thought of him, of his vile hands touching you. Your sister had tried to console you but it was your duty to your people to marry him.

The day of the wedding left you frightened. You were worried about many things. What would become of you after your wedding? Of where you would live. Would you be expected to steal and rob like he does? Would you be classed as an outlaw too? all these thoughts helped distract you from the most worrying of all. What if he didn't like you? What if even a scoundrel like him didn't want you. Then you really would be a failure of a woman.

You don't remember much before the wedding, just your sister whispering in your ear about how to make it less painful, you hadn't been listening so you don't know what she was referring to. You remember your hands feeling the silk of your wedding dress as your sister laced the ribbon in front of the mirror. For a brief second, you thought you looked pretty. You also remember your father's grip on your arm as he walked you down the aisle before hesitantly passing you to the tall and stocky man in front of you. Tales of the Outlaw King will have you believe he was a lean figure with fair hair and blue eyes. A resemblance of the Prince he was supposed to be sired from. Instead, he was broad with deep brown eyes and dark scruffy hair. He had a wide cheerful grin and he looked far too excited for this sombre affair. He was so excited he didn't even wait for the priest to tell him to lift the veil, he just yanked it up and let out a low whistle at the sight of you.

"You sure are pretty huh" he grinned. A blush made its way up your cheeks and over your ears. It was the first time anyone had ever called you that. You could only stare at him before mumbling a thank you, you were raised to be polite after all, and then you turned towards the priest with palms sweaty. He spent the whole ceremony stealing glances at you and urging the priest to hurry up. Asking if all the formalities were necessary. The congregation was split between some being disgraced at his antics and others amused by his merriment, either in awe at his presence or his own men, shouting and hollering encouragement. However, when he pulled a knife on the priest when he tried to ask if anyone wanted to object, the guests all gave out a cry of hysteria, with only his men howling in joy. It was frightening to see the priest pushed up against the altar, your future husband's dagger at his throat. You gave a yelp at the sight and backed away slightly. You were reminded that he was not a nice man.

"You can skip that part father. Unless anyone has anything to say?" he joked cruelly, turning to the church with his arms open wide, dagger shining in the light of the sun beams through the windows. Your father looked like he was about to faint and your sister was being held back by her husband.

"No? Wonderful. Can we get this show on the road then father? I'm itching to be balls deep in my pretty lady by nightfall" he beamed putting his knife away. You yourself felt like you were about to faint. A heat rising from your stomach. You did not know if from disgust, fear or heaven forbid want. A cruel part of you whispered that maybe it was all a joke, a wicked ploy to have you believe he fancied you. But the look he gave you when he turned to smile at you, had those thoughts racing away. You could hear your sister hissing out curses, while your father groaned in defeat.

The priest, skipping a few steps, then declared you man and wife. You felt your husband's large hands grip your hips before dragging you to him, your chest bumping into his. He quickly brought you into a harsh kiss, his tongue prodding at your opening, you could only stand there still, your hands pressed tightly up against him. His hands made their way down to your arse before he gripped it tightly, a moan of satisfaction coming from your husband and a gasp from you. He took the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside. You could hear the cheers from his men and the polite, almost disgusted clapping of your guest. He tore himself away from you to turn to the congregation, giving out a howl of joy and throwing his hands to the heavens. His men went wild. Some began jumping up and down on the pews, while others began to slap the wooden material creating a deafening sound of thunder. One even had two swords in his hand, waving them around his head in joy. You had started to turn yourself to look at your father and sister but were stopped when your husband gripped your thighs to throw you over his shoulder with a yelp. He walked towards your family, you were in shock at it all and could only react with a squeal as he playfully smacked your bottom a few times. Stopping in front of your father and sister, you lifted yourself slightly up to meet their gaze.

"Don't you worry sir, I'll take real good care of her. Hell, next time we meet, there might be some ankle bitters running around" he laughed, giving a particularly hard slap to your arse. You gave a yelp and your father fell to his chair with a groan. Your sister was spitting curses, her husband desperately trying to hold her back from hitting your husband. Your husband only laughed with cruel mockery as he left your family, walking down the aisle into the fresh air of the world beyond.

You were plopped on the ground outside as dozens of wild cheering men pooled around you. Shouts of congratulations and well-dones were lifted into the air. Your husband was clapped on the back and brought into tight hugs. Every one of them had big smiles gracing their faces. Slowly they drifted away. You looked over their shoulders trying to find where the carriage was. Instead, a man leads a large bay stallion over to your husband. Your husband thanked him before turning to you.

“Up you go princess” he grunted, grabbing your waist and hauling you up on the saddle. You tried to get comfortable, but your dress pooled around you, making it hard for you to sit right or even see the stallion’s head. You turned to ask your husband if there was a carriage to take, but you were stopped by the sight of his hands tearing at your dress. You gave a shout of fear and using one leg you tried to kick him away. Instead, just grabbed it with one hand and ripped it with another. Scraps of silk lay forgotten on the muddy ground. His hand on your ankle was rough and warm, and it left tingles behind. After doing the other side as well, with you once again trying to kick in his teeth, your lower legs were bare. The removal of the excess fabric made it much easier for you to sit and you gave him a begrudging thank you. He just smiled at you and gripped your ankle tighter before running his hand up your skin, to your knee and diving it under the remainder of the dress before resting it on the meat of your thigh. He pawed at your soft flesh before giving you a smile.

“That’s alright princess” he cooed, before lifting himself up behind you. You tried to give him some more room, moving forward slightly. However, you were pulled back by his arm around your waist, leaving your arse pressed tight against his groin. You tried to move forward again but was once more pulled back.

“Come on sweet cheeks, don’t you wanna make your husband happy?” he sang, and you gave him a small hesitant nod. “Then sit that arse right here and let a man enjoy his wife’s company.” He teased, his mouth finding its way to your ear. He encouraged the horse forward, and he gave a groan as you were jolted back and your arse ground against him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that” he cooed. You could only blush and tense up, trying desperately to ignore his hardening member digging into you.

You turned your head to look for your family, finding them standing on the church steps. You gave a small wave and a little smile. Your eyes began to swell with tears as you watched your father fall to the ground in grief. His youngest taken by an outlaw. You turned around quickly not wanting to watch your father’s misery.

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"I saw you" he remarked, leading his horse into the forest.

You had been riding all day and you had yet to have a proper conversation with him. Instead, he would shout vulgar remarks to his men, telling them how desperate he was to sink into your warm cunt, or he would joke to them how the only reason he hadn’t torn the rest of your dress off and taken you roughly on the ground was that he didn’t want the sight of your soft, sweet flesh available to the dirty bastards. After each conversation and jest, he would give a laugh and then squeeze a portion of you. His favourite place to grab was your thigh. You would often be startled by his hand finding its way under your skirts, where it would run up and down before squeezing and finally leaving. The conversations and his touch left you breathless and terrified. You were sure this man would force himself on you and the idea of it left you shaking. After a vile comment made by him about how he would soon teach his pretty princess how to suck cock like a whore, which made you give out a sob of fear, he suddenly refused to joke with his men about you further. Even ordering one man to get off his horse and walk when he made a particular vulgar comment on how your breasts would look, bouncing on your husband’s cock. Since then, the group only spoke of other things, like robbing and killing. Your husband remained silent throughout. So, it shocked you when he remarked that he had seen you, his voice was much softer than you had previously known.

"Pardon?" you queried, slightly turning your head to him.

"The night of that big party you had. Me and the boys came to rob everyone blind, but then out popped you. You were wearing that bluey-looking dress, looking all pretty and shit. I liked the flowers in your hair, made you look real sweet. I guess you could say it was love at first sight. Couldn't rob everyone when I was thinking about you" he said, hand resting on his own hip and the other leading the horse over tree roots and rocks. You listened intently, thinking back to that night. Surely you would have seen an outlaw. You blushed at his words; a small smile fought its way to your lips. Until it was ripped down with his continuing story.  

"You ran off before I could nab ya, tried again a few more times during the week of all your sisters getting hitched. Kept just missing ya though. You were running this way and that, and sometimes you wouldn’t even leave the castle! I may be a fool in love but I’m not foolish to think I would be able to get past your guards and steal you away.” He chuckled as if he was relaying a funny little tale down at the pub. “But then your old man declared your hand free game! all it took was a little hard work robbing some rich fucks and next thing I knew we're getting hitched. My ma would be proud, I got you the honest way! who would have thought huh?" he beamed, giving you a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"you stole the money. And you still tried to kidnap me" you said in shock. Your eyes widened in disgust.

"so?" he questioned, he really saw no problem with his whole plan. Suddenly you turned a corner and in front of you was the Outlaw’s lair. It was remarkably put together. Houses and huts hidden under the canopy of the trees, some even in the branches of the tall trees, and bridges traveling throughout creating a roadway of planks and rope. It was amazing.

“Welcome home princess” he cheered, it did nothing to kill the fear inside of you.

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You listened to the continuing festivities outside the wooden walls. Your husband (whose name you still didn’t know) told you that his men would party into the wee hours of dawn. But your husband had other things on his mind than drinking, he had snatched you from the horse and carried you into his bed chambers, throwing you onto the bed. You had given a shriek of surprise and quickly sat up moving to the edge of the bed, just in time as he fell to the space where you once were. He gave a groan of frustration and lifted himself up to his elbows.

“Come here wife, I have dreamed of that sweet cunt since I first saw you. Let me finally have a taste for all my good work” he grunted before reaching for you. You jumped to your feet.

“I don’t even know your name!” you blurted out, thinking quickly about how to tame this man’s lust without touching him.

“Its Bingus” he remarked, face bored.

“Excuse me?” you asked, you weren’t one to judge but that name did not suit the man in front of you.

“Of course it isn't! It isn't exactly a name that inspires fear and respect” he chuckled as he also stood from the bed. You stood tense, standing close to the wall. He gave a sigh before answering your initial question.

“It's Alwyn,” he said as he slowly stepped towards you. He reached out with his hands, and you flinched slightly. He moved his hands up and down your arms, giving you slight comfort. “ Now that you know, I expect you to scream it loud enough to drown out those fuckers outside”

He grabbed your waist and lifted you up, placing you on the bed with him firmly on top. His body was in between your legs, and you tried desperately to push him off.

“Oh, you wound me sweet cheeks! All I want to do is show you my love!” he teased “and how can I not, with you laying in my bed looking like the prettiest whore there ever was"

You gave a cry of anger as your hand raced for his face. He easily grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand flat onto the bed next to your head.

"It's a compliment sweet cheeks! I mean it in a 'fucking hell my wife is so fucking hot, I'm about to blow my load just at the sight of her pretty tits' way." He consoled. “And what pretty tits they are. I mean look at them. I just want to bury my face in em” he groaned before doing exactly that. You felt his lips mouth at the skin of your cleavage, the rest hidden by your dress. The pleasure left you flustered, and you gave out a moan. He started to grind his pelvis against your clothed warmth. You could feel his hardening cock straining against his pants. But all the feelings, of pleasure, confusion, nervousness and insecurities overwhelmed you.

“Did you mean it?” you whimpered, grabbing his hair with your non-trapped hand, and pulling his face up.

“Mean what princess?” he cooed. Eyes and smile dopey with lust.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”, you whispered, tears making their way to your eyes. He released your hand to gently hold your face.

“The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in all my days” he soothed going in for a kiss.

“You aren’t just saying that right? Right?” you sniffed, turning your head for his kiss to fall flat on your cheek, he lifted his head with a groan. You needed to know. Needed to make sure he wasn’t just lying to you to get you to willingly give up your honour.

“Now why would you say something like that huh?” he probed.  You looked at him with teary eyes. Begging for him to leave it and forget it.

“Well? What got my pretty lady worried?” he implored.

“I just don’t believe you” you sniffled, a rogue tear traveling down your cheek before his thumb swiped it away.

“Don’t believe me? Sweetheart I would be a fool to not think you are the prettiest, most gorgeous being I’ve ever seen” he laughed, once more going for a kiss. Once more you turned your head, this time his mouth finding its way on the pillow, he gave a grunt of frustration.

“How can you think I’m beautiful when I look like me?” you whimpered, tears following quickly. His head snapped up quickly. His eyes darkened. His gaze was harsh, but his fingers on your face were soft. His thumb gently wiped away the offensive tears.

“Who told you otherwise?” he snarled, his face twisting into anger. But when your face turned to one of fear, his eyes softened, and his face became gentle.

“Who was it, sweetheart? You tell me and I’ll burn their fucking house down” his voice soft and soothing, his thumbs moving their way to your lips, tracing their outline. You hesitated. It wasn’t like anyone at had ever out rightly told you, you were ugly or unattractive. But it was what they hadn’t said. In the way your mother would call your sisters beautiful and gorgeous, then turn to you and say you liked nice, just nice. How only your sisters were ever praised for their tidy figures and easy-to-manage breasts by the dressmaker, while she only ever tsked and sighed measuring your hips and bust.  It was in the way you had always felt left out, never feeling like an equal, sometimes not even feeling like a sister. Instead of telling him all that you just gave him a shake of the head and a sniffle. After a few moments of silence, he relented, maybe later he would ask and then he would get to burn something. But right now, he needed to change tactics.

“You know…I’ve always had a thing for girls like you” he encouraged, leaving sweet kisses on your rounded cheeks and jaw, before looking down at you once more. You looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

“You’re so, so soft, and there’s so much to grab and fuck me but your thighs? Heaven. And these tits? the way they bounce when you walk? Fuck, it's enough for a man to blow a load at the very sight. And the way your arse jiggles? I just want to bend you over and fuck the daylight out of you” he moaned, kissing up and down your neck. You became flustered, the only thing you could do was listen and hold onto his shoulders as he continued his assault on your body. It was going so well too, you had started to think he really did see you as desirable, as someone worth loving. Until he opened his big stupid mouth again.

“So what you’re not as thin as your sisters or some other women? I like my women well fed and fuck sweetheart look at you! You’re as well fed as a heifer in spring!” he cheered, his eyes bright with joy and his mouth smiling wide. You on the other hand were frowning. Giving a cry of anger you pushed him off you and jumped from the bed. Angry tears began rolling down your cheeks as you looked for something to bash him with. Ah, a broom! Grabbing it you turned to swing it at him, Alwyn shouting in confusion and shock, only narrowing missing a stick to the face by leaping from the bed. You tried to swing at him again, but he grabbed the broom and pulled it forward, you along with it. He held you in his arms as you raged against him, sobs crying out.

“Hey! Hey! Come on princess, what now!” he exclaimed trying to soften the blows to his chest from your hands.

“It’s not fair!” you wailed, “It’s not fair!” Finally tired from all the excitement you slowed your assault, leaving you to sob into his chest, hands covering your face. You could feel his hands awkwardly rub your back. You hated him.

“What’s not fair?”  he whispered.

“It’s not fair they look the way they do, and I’m left looking like this” you choked, “it's not fair they are called as fair as a swan in flight or, or as pretty as a sunflower in summer or as beautiful as Venus herself. And I’m left to be compared to a heifer! A heifer!” you broke down into more bitter tears by the end of your rant. Your tears left damp splotches on his shirt. He deserved it.

“ A very pretty heifer” he encouraged, making you growl in anger and restart your war against his chest.

“Ok! Ok! You don’t want to be called a heifer! I get it!” he exclaimed grabbing your wrists together to stop you.

“But you are as pretty as a sunflower, or as beautiful as a goose” he soothed, hands resting on your hips and fingers rubbing small circles.

“Swan” you sniffed.

“Right. As beautiful as a swan” he took a pause, “I thought they were the same thing? Aren’t swans just baby geese?” he questioned, head tilting slightly to the right.

“No!” you giggled; tears forgotten as you smiled watching as his own grin made its way to his face.

“Right, okay, so swans are swans and geese are geese?” he asked, a large smile gracing his lips. You giggled as you nodded your head.

“Okay, I get it now.” He nodded. “I don’t like swans. They are too pretentious, with really fucking long necks and stupid-looking faces. I like geese better” he remarked.

“I thought you didn’t know what a swan was?” you smirked, tears now drying on your cheek.

“I didn’t, I thought swans shrunk as they got older to be geese” he replied, face one of pure glee. This left you laughing deeply, your head falling back and a massive smile on your face.

“There’s my pretty girl” Alwyn cooed, watching you with pure love in his eyes. “I don’t know who ever made you feel this way about yourself, but they were fucking idiots. I mean look at yourself. As beautiful and as radiant as the first morning rays over a snow-covered mountain” he soothed, leaving a light kiss on your lips. Tears welled in your eyes but this time of joy.

“You’re pretty good-looking yourself. One might say handsome” you shyly smiled. He gave a chuckle before answering.

“Oh I know I am sweetheart.” He teased. You brought your lips to his and brought his hands to your arse, allowing him to squeeze. A moan came from both of you. But you still at one more question. Slowly removing your lips and giggling as he pouted you stared at him for a moment.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When you said you fell in love with me?” you whispered, terrified you would break the spell between you two. Your fears dissipated as a dashing smile graced his charming face.

“I’m not a praying man, but I swear to any god that lives in heaven that it was the truth” he marvelled, hands resting once more on your hips, fingers falling into a familiar routine of small circles.

“I think I like you too” you softly spoke.

“Good to know princess.” He smirked, hands now rubbing up and down your sides  “So how about you spread those pretty thighs for me and I find heaven for us both?”

he really did get to be balls deep by nightfall

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey guys it's mae!

I just wanted to have a quick discussion about the above topics just cause I want to make myself clear. I completely and utterly understand that it is not healthy to expect your partner (if you can call what these two have a relationship) to 'fix' your insecurities, that is something only you can try and work on. And yeah I don't think anyone will ever be without insecurities and therefore it is natural for partners to help each other through that. But you have to make the first step, even if your partner is the one to encourage you. I wrote this because of personal reasons and as a way of venting (don't worry it's mainly the feeling of my situation rather than based on any particular events). I see this as a fantasy and thus it does not relate to expectations of reality, you guys should view it as such too. There is nothing wrong with fantasising about someone rushing in and 'rescuing' ( i put them in inverted commas because he legit kidnaps the reader) you but I think it's also important to view yourself as your own hero. If anyone is struggling with body image issues and insecurities feel free to dm me (just remind me to post it privately I forget) and we can have a chat. I am not a licenced professional or anything but I can send you in the right direction. I know what it's like being told your entire life you're not good enough looks-wise. Anyway! I just wanted to make that crystal clear cause I do see people idolising a partner with the sole purpose of fixing their insecurities without putting the work in themselves or even helping their partners with their own insecurities. Also, you don't need a partner to be happy! It can be achieved, but this one goes out to us lonely bitches who just want to slow dance with someone.

All the best,

Mae xx

[floppydiskettess]

alone (chamber x reader) (hurt/comfort)

a/n: im writing this in a super bad episode, if it sucks im sorry. i just need some sort of comfort right now and with this i can pretend i have someone who cares about me. i can pretend that someone actually notices that i am hurting.

tw: sh (hitting self, nothing gorey), severe depression, depressive episodes

when chamber returned to your shared living space, he was not expecting to be greeted to the suffocating silence surrounding the house.

"mon ange? are you here?" he called out but recieved nothing back. had you gone out on a mission?

he set down his items on a counter nearby and approached the bedroom. as he got closer he heard the small sounds of shuffling. when he sat right outsid ghe door, he heard the shaky heavy breathing on the other side just barely audible.

he frowns and worry crosses his face, he knocks on the door immediately.

"darling...? what's wrong? can you please let me in..?"

when you open the door, he lets out a soft gasp as he takes in your appearence. tear stains are present and running down your face from your exhausted dark eyes, just behind you he can see a bunch of little items thrown around as if an animal had ran through the room. he looked around before noticing the soft purple bruises forming on your arms. he nearly started crying then and there.

"mon dieu..what happened mon couer?" he says quietly as if he were trying not to spook you. as he takes in the state of you and the room, you begin crying harder. you messed up HIS space...he is going to be so mad...heisgoingtoleavemeand-

you feel two hands on your shoulders attemptijg to ground you. "hey hey...listen can you follow my breathing for me love?" he says as he pulls you into his chest so you can hear his breathing.

as you mimic his breathing, he softly praises you. "good job...thats it. i'm so proud.."

the only sound in the room is the two of you's soft breathing with the occasional sniffle. he loving rubs your back as he whispers softly into your hair.

"do you feel any better now dear?" when he feels your slow nod into his shoulder he smiles and hugs you tighter.

when you pull away from him, his rests hos hand on your cheek and slowly caresses his thumb over it.

"..do you want to talk about it..? it's alright if not. just tell me what you need."

"i just...why can't i be good at anything...? you have your gun designs...i just have nothing i am good at. i can't draw, or fight, or even be good at video games.."

"oh dear...i'm sorry you feel like that...i promise you that your "thing" will come soon alright? you don't have to be perfect for me or anyone else. now, can i ask where the bruises came from...? ....did you do that?"

seeing you shakily nod is all he needs before he grabs your arm and kisses it softly

"oh honey...why? you need to be careful. i love you so much ok? if you ever feel like this again please call me..i don't want you to suffer through this alone.." he says in a shaky tone you have never heard before. he sound...scared. observing the room around him, he can tell in your throwing match with the random trinkets that you had hit yourself on various items..his heart nearly shattered. when he hears you small muffled apology, he sighs.

"you have no need to be sorry, i am simply happy you are safe...now, what can we do to get this off your mind hm? would you like to watch that new show you told me about?" he said as he gave you a caring gaze.

the rest of the night was spent cuddling on the bed, you quickly fell asleep feeling drained from the stress. when you woke up, the room was tidy and you were pressed gently into his bare chest as he rubbed your back and let out soft breaths into your hair.

"you are not alone anymore mon amour. please, if you need lean on me. i will support you."

sorry for the self indulgent post. i literally described my morning but added someone there 💀. uh anyways i hope you all are doing ok and if you need support to reach out!

(please do not vent on this post)

[maddilynmuse]

More ISAT fanfic… happy Father’s Day. A short one this time.

Spoilers through at least Act 2 (including description because this game is like that).

CW: Canon Typical death, emotional numbness.

Pretty much just angst. Short and painful.

Siffrin thinks of how easy it is to beat the king now.

————

Was the king always this easy?

He hasn’t made a move, but his hp is already down over a third. You haven’t even used the bomb yet. Was it silly? To waste time sharpening the key knife? It cuts so well.

Too well.

You’re too fast. The shield wears off on you before he’s had a chance to inflict the future—a future that isn’t coming, won’t come, will never come—on you. You wonder, could you take it now? Are you strong enough to take the hit?

Your cowardly soul doesn’t want to try.

Salty broths to Mirabelle, Isabeau up next, pass to Mira, shield.

He screams, time collapsing—a reverse of yours, pulling forward instead of back—and it barely scratches the skin before sliding off the cold, numb exterior. You smirk because it’s the script, not out of any joy or triumph. It’s not getting one over on him, it’s just routine. Obligation. An obstacle between you and what you want.

The same excuses as always. At one point it hurt, at one point you sympathized, now it just makes you angry (when it does anything at all).

Should you bother with the bomb? No, you decide. It’s more satisfying to Tear Him Apart… or at least used to be. He suffers and you feel nothing. No guilt, no pain, no triumph. At most there is a dull, sick satisfaction at seeing him grovel.

This is what you deserve.

This is where your choices led.

This is what the Universe always intended.

(You do not know if you’re talking about you or him… or if that distinction matters).

Once more he disappears until next time. There’s no weight lifted from your chest. It was too quick, too easy. Your body remains taught, waiting for another blow that’ll never come.

Everyone else celebrates, and you know you should too, but you don’t. This mismatch is hard to bare.

…

You consider leaving a flower, but you don’t. He’s not important to you anymore.

————

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?