#and feel uncomfortable or disgusted. don’t care as long as my pain makes you feel badly

[orangerosebush]

Realizing that nothing you is yours but instead is what was done to you is so fucked. I’m conflict avoidant :) oops just a trained behavior to fawn and shut down when yelled at by my father. I am an introvert :) oops no just my acclimation to the fact that I would come home from school each day and shut myself up in my room. I am private :) oops safety tactic. I use my Tumblr as a diary :) oops I don’t know how to be vulnerable to reach out to people whom I know in real life to vent. Also all my weird neuroses about masculinity are dad too lol. Honestly writing this out has made me feel a bit better because at least this realization might make therapy more productive when I try it again someday

[kittencomicslol]

How Gyutaro would like to cuddle

I spend an ungodly amount of time thinking about him and have so many cuddle headcanons so here we go

(Some of these were written at like 12 am in the description of literal music playlists durring my phones downtime but I did my best to spell check and make them fit)

• First off, Gyutaro would probably not be big on physical touch at first. He grew up his whole life only ever either giving his sister physical affection to keep her healthy/happy, and most physical touch he felt was abusive. So naturally relationships would be harder with him especially in the touch department.

• It will probably take months or years to get him ready to actually snuggle for hours, so work up to it!

• It would probably start off with hand holding. Gyutaro’s hands are pretty big, and usually rather cold. Even if they are a bit rough and calloused you still loved holding them even if it was just for a minute or two to help him feel comfortable.

• Like I said before it would take a while, but eventually after working up to hugs it would probably go faster after he realized how nice it was to be able to hold you.

• He will ALWAYS be a big spoon. Not just because he’s probably bigger, but for two main reasons. One being his spine, he knows it would most likely be uncomfortable and he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

• He also likes being able to hold you close and have his arms wrapped around you. Gyutaro cares immensely for his loved ones and he always wants to be able to protect and or watch over them. So the same goes for you, he wants you close.

• it’s not always necessary but he also enjoys placing his chin on top of your head when he spoons you. It makes him feel closer, he likes being able to feel and smell you better to know you are close. You make him feel relaxed and comfortable.

• even if he is a demon and he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep (or maybe they just can’t?? Idk) he will lie there all night long just to make sure that you are close and safe while you rest.

• He gets nervous when you rest your head on/by his chest. Gyutaro was never upset about his looks after a certain amount of time and even took pride in how he could scare off or disgust others.

• But when he’s around people he loves he’s a bit more insecure about his deformities or different looks as shown when Daki yells at him.

• He doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable on his chest because of how skinny he is and his ribs. Even if you tell him you don’t mind, he will still internally worry. He knows it’s not his fault he can’t get any meat on his bones; but he still wishes his body was more comfortable for you.

•If there is any part of Gyutaros body he actually likes and or prefers with affection, it’s his hands.

• He has always been prone to hand holding since Ume was little and they were human in order to keep her close and safe. Hand holding lets Gyutaro know that you are close and safe, and that is something he appreciates down to an unconscious level due to his human life he had long forgotten.

• Another thing he likes is definitely how he can use them to rub your back, cup your cheeks, or pet you and run his fingers through your hair. Whichever thing you prefer, all of those are things he very much enjoys.

• He's a demon, sure, but with that spine and slouch? He gets back pain like hell and he never wants you to experience it so back rubs help him be at ease that you are comfortable.

• Cheek holding/caressing? Something he does with Daki to help her calm down and feel better when she is upset. It always helped her and even though she can be a bit bratty about touch when it’s outside of comfort or battle, he always appreciates how his hands seem to help both her and you calm down.

• He loves how comfortable you look resting your head in his palms, so please by all means if you want to do that then just tell him, he will love it!!

• Playing with your hair? He raised a little girl and still looks after her, of course he knows how to handle and care for hair. He is always super gentle, making sure to not tug on a single hair you have.

• Like stated before, Gyutatos top priorities are keeping you and Daki happy and comfortable. So if you want to be petted or have your hair played with? Consider it done.

• Speaking of hands, he LOVES yours. Making sure you are close and alive is of course one reason discussed before.

• It is no exaggeration to say Gyutaro grew up with no affection at all, the most he got was when he was parenting Daki. And becoming a demon only made those gestures more lacking.

• After getting comfortable with touch, his favorite things are when you scratch his head gently or when you run your hand along his spine.

• He doesn’t want to gross you out or make you uncomfortable with his monstrous form, but if you want too? He is more than happy to oblige.. he loves how delicate and soft your hands are, and how much care goes into you being so gentle with him. It helps him with his back feeling uncomfortable since he’s always slouching

• He knows you know he is an upper rank demon who would be fine even if you did accidentally hurt him.. yet you still did everything you could to make sure he never even felt the slightest bit of discomfort.

• His hair might be messy and dirty, so help him wash it out and brush it will you? He might complain but he does appreciate it and secretly enjoys every single second of the domestic care you give him. Such sweet and small gestures are foreign to him and make him feel so soo loved.

• He was usually the one running his hands through someone else’s hair or patting them, and it didn’t take long for him to realize he enjoyed receiving that treatment just as much as giving it.

• Gyutaro usually isn’t aware of when he scratches his skin, let alone when it bleeds. He could care less usually, as if it mattered. It would just grow back. But.. with you.. it’s different.

• Gyutaro knows how poisonous his blood is, he has seen how it harms others. Whenever you two snuggle or are even remotely close he is hyper aware of any scratching or urges.

• Even if in a situation you were immune or it didn’t hurt you, he wouldn’t want to risk it. He also wouldn’t want to risk upsetting you by getting you messy with his own blood or ruining your clothes.

• Gyutaro can and will do every little thing possible to ensure your absolute safety when he is with you.

• Despite his lack of knowledge on affection and or romance, he still has his own special ways of expressing his love.

• Just like he does with Daki, he understands that you might not understand why he does what he does or that you won’t even notice the effort he puts in. He doesn’t do it for your praise or approval (though those are things he would absolutely adore) he does it out of love and respect for you.

• He doesn’t expect any sort of praise in return since he never got any from his sister because she was too immature to ever understand how wonderful he was to her.

• But if you notice? Jeez, will he feel flattered. It will probably make him want to scratch himself since that is how he responds to overwhelming emotions. But he won’t, and you know why.

• Just a simple thank you would be enough to fluster him, knowing he made you happy and proud of him sends him over the moon.

• Some things that particularly fluster him are sudden kisses(especially on his birthmarks) and praise.

• He can’t and will never get over the weird sensation of your lips on his skin or against his own.

• You never seemed to find him disgusting, and even though he worried you might one day snap out of whatever you were in and realize how hideous he was; for the time being he enjoyed your kisses.

• Kisses on his forehead are comforting for him, kisses around his nose, mouth, cheeks and chin fluster him very much; especially if it’s targeted to his marks

• The feeling of your breath up against his neck, the way your lips trail soft little kisses up against his skin sends shivers down his spine. How did he get so lucky? He didn’t know.. but he would never want it to end

• Despite being easily flustered and or overwhelmed by kisses, he really truly does love them.

• And praise? Oh goodness..

• At first and earlier on in the relationship he usually will ignore or refuse any praise about his appearance, even if he visibly becomes flustered by the pet names of ‘pretty boy’ and ‘handsome’

• He ignores them because he knows they aren’t true; at least to him they aren’t.. and unfortunately they most likely never really will be exactly true to him. Though over time he becomes more accepting of it, finding solace and comfort in how at least you find him attractive and lovable.

• Comments about his skills and strength are not only an ego boost, but they make him giddy because it means you are watching. You pay attention to him enough to notice such intricate details about him, his fighting patterns, his skills in combat he’s so proud of that usually don’t get much positive attention.

• He also appreciates praise about his strength because he feels like it makes you feel more safe to know he can protect you. And even if you don’t particularly think that way, HE still feels more proud and confident because he knows he can protect and care for his beloved.

——————

BAHHHH RAHHH RAHHGGHHHH RAHH RAHHHHHHH!1!1!1!1!1!1!

That’s all :3

[ziggyzolch]

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through II (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Warnings: maybe bungled the medical stuff and process of being admitted, suicidal ideation, aftermath, descriptions of self harm kind of? its not like currently happening. Bulimia and what comes with it. Those r the main things I think.

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

-------the shame is manifest in my resistance------- ❅❅❅

“So they’re admitting you?”

You could feel the snow being crushed beneath your weight as you leaned back on your hands. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon and your best friend was sitting next to you on a random curb, taking the pack of cigarettes from your hand.

It was mid-winter. The city streets bustled with the cheer of festive Christmas decorations and the harmonies of carolers. It almost makes you feel better. You never cared for Christmas, or religion in general, but the joy in the little kids’ faces at the snow blanketing the streets, and the laughing of teenagers having snowball fights was cute.

It helped.

You sigh, turning towards your friend, “No, I don’t think so. Most that’ll happen is I’ll be in therapy, I guess.”

She rubs her hands together in an attempt to warm up, “I think I’d kill myself if I got caught. Kidding, you’ll be fine. Probably.”

You scoff, “Thanks,”

You snatched the pack from her hand, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

You had gotten over the fear of throat cancer a long time ago. It’s more of an expectation than a fear now. Smoking and purging at the same time kind of makes it an inevitability. The thought of death didn’t scare you. Not that you were cripplingly suicidal. You didn’t desperately want to die anymore, you just wouldn’t mind if you did. If you died from all of these habits, it was fine, great even. If not, whatever.

Passively suicidal.

Tomorrow, you’ll have your long awaited psych evaluation. You were shocked that it wasn’t the first thing they’d done. You weren’t that big of a risk anyways. A week has passed since your parents caught you, and you’d been made to take a number of medical tests to determine the severity of your bulimia, or something.

The first one was a general physical assessment, the most simple yet most uncomfortable. You had been made to wear a hospital gown, which you felt was overboard but whatever. They wouldn’t be able to admit you just based off of a BMI measurement, you were sure. You weren’t very underweight, most bulimics you knew weren’t. In fact, most of them were normal, sometimes overweight, but you just assumed it was because they were bad at it. You didn’t feel anything looking at your weight. Numbers mattered, sure, but with every binge and purge, your weight fluctuated like crazy, so you learned to just look for signs of weight loss via mirror.

She read your BMI out loud, you knew it wasn’t low enough to be a concern. You internally celebrated, until you noticed her eyes glancing down to your arm.

Shit.

Burning was your preferred method of self mutilation. Cutting was unsatisfying, messy, and a pain in the ass. Burns look disgusting when they heal though, which was the only downside. The scars are easily passable as cooking accidents and such. When they’re still healing, though, charred, blistered, and disgusting, they’re almost impossible to excuse. Your mom had caught you once, with your worst burn nonetheless. One offer of taking over the chores for the day and she was off your back, already taking her place on the sofa.

The burns weren’t fresh, not at all. Most of them were years old, but you panicked nonetheless. You’ve seen how batshit they get at any sign of self harm. You watched as she glanced towards your arm, then turned back to her clipboard, writing something down. Subtly moving your other arm behind your back, you cover up the bruises on your knuckles.

You also had to go to a dentist appointment. Last time you went, you had just gotten your braces off and permanent retainers in. You still have glue on the back of your teeth from when your top retainer broke, they had never gotten rid of it. With how often it fell off, you were glad the dentist had given up on putting in replacements.

You were more worried about this appointment than the physical assessment. You couldn’t keep food down, smiling with your eroded teeth was uncomfortable, and your breath was horrible. The dentist would definitely notice something, at the very least that you were a smoker. Your mother would hate that more than bulimia.

Honestly, despite all of these effects, you got the benefit of barely having a gag reflex. Which, now that you think about it, doesn’t really matter considering you don’t even like men.

Surprise was clear on your face when your dentist complimented you on the health of your teeth and sent you on your way.

You didn’t really know what the other tests were, something about heart arrhythmias and electrolytes. You didn’t care, you were so over it. It was all bullshit. You weren’t sad. You weren’t suicidal nor were you a danger to yourself or others. You were just bulimic, not on the brink of fucking brain collapse.

All of this was bullshit.

❅❅❅

Wanda’s senses come back one by one. Her ears pick up the soft whirring of machinery and occasional beeping of monitors. The soft footsteps of nurses and patients walking past, the opening and closing of a door as doctors enter, the scratching of their pens against their clipboard. The lingering scent of antiseptic reaches her nose, and the bitter taste in her mouth makes itself known. Her fingers pinch the stiff material of her gown, and she can feel the IV in her arm. Finally, she opens her eyes.

Waking up in the fiery depths of hell would’ve been better than where Wanda was right now. She mumbled curses under her breath as she looked around, taking in the hospital equipment around her.

“Natasha?” She croaked out when she caught sight of her friend sleeping on the hospital chair in the corner of the room. Natasha jumped up, wiping the drool off her chin and rushing towards Wanda. “Oh, thank god.” She sighed, pulling Wanda into an awkward hug.

She pulls back when she realizes Wanda wasn’t hugging her back. “How do you feel?” Wanda cringes at the pity on Natasha’s face. “Peachy.” She turns away, not stopping Natasha when she reaches to grab her hand.

The widow sighs, rubbing circles into Wanda’s hand, making her fingers twitch slightly. They sit in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Wanda was glad Natasha had found her. She didn’t want to be found at all, but at least it was Natasha.

She was so stupid, so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn’t have worked. She should’ve just shot herself in the head, like a man. She’d read somewhere that men have higher suicide rates because they carry it out in more extreme ways. Girls usually go for lighter, prettier deaths. Overdoses, slitting their wrists in a rose petal filled bathtub, and such. More survivable, and less of a burden for whoever cleans up after them. Men don't feel the same obligation. So what if it's more work for the cleaners? A shotgun to the head is easier for them, that's what matters. They don't think about how puffy their face would get if they hung themselves, or how awkward they'd be positioned on the ground if they jumped off a building. They don't think about the possibility of surviving afterwards and dealing with the deformity.

Pietro’s lifeless body flashes in her mind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wanda finally notices the iron grip she had on Natasha’s hand.

She didn’t want to talk about Pietro. Never. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Her friend looks away, “You’re suspended until you get help.”

“What! No!” Wanda sits up, snatching her hand out of Natasha’s grip, “This was the first time! Bruce tried to kill himself, why isn’t he suspended?”

“That was before he even joined.”

Wanda sighs, “So, what like, therapy for a week?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, “Wanda, you tried to kill yourself. You need to be monitored.”

“I’m not a fucking child. Jesus, Nat!”

“It’s not up to me, Fury’s orders. Either get help or you’re fired, basically.”

“Don’t I need a psychological evaluation or some shit?”

“Wanda, you swallowed a whole bottle of whatever-the-fuck pills. I can evaluate you right now. You’re fucked in the head, babe.” Natasha attempts to joke.

She sighs in relief when Wanda huffs out a laugh, “So, you’re sending me to the loony bin?”

“Yup. It’ll be great though, perks of being an Avenger.” Natasha places a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“How long will I be there?”

Natasha grabs Wanda’s hand that’s picking at her gown, “Until you’re better.”

The sound of a girl yelling stops their conversation.

❅❅❅

“Inpatient would be the best option…”

The ringing in your ears blocks out whatever the doctor was saying. What the fuck. You were not crazy. So what if you were bulimic. You didn’t constantly starve yourself and avoid food so you were chill, but you also were not getting fat, so you were hot. It’s like a win-win.

You’re sitting with your parents, a doctor across from you. He must be a therapist, or psychologist…psychiatrist? Potato, Tomato.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to earth. Tears are pooling in your mothers eyes, your father is sighing into his hand. “What about my classes? My life!”

“Lower your voice. You aren’t being sent away to the fucking Alcatraz.” Your father grits out.

The doctor chimes in, “I’m sure you’ll be able to do your school work, most institutions let you have books and supervised computer time.”

You push your mothers hand off your shoulder. “Why are you doing this to me?”

She scoffs, “Me? Why are you doing this to yourself!”

“You can’t make me!” Passersby can hear your voice through the closed door of the office.

It was true, they couldn’t really. You were a legal adult, they couldn’t make you do shit. Your mother pinches the bridge of her nose before turning to your father expectedly. You look back and forth between them with an eyebrow raised.

“We won’t support you anymore if you don’t do this.” He finally pushes out.

“What? As if you’ve ever supported-”

Oh. Financially. College and such. Housing and such. Food…and such.

You’re not that level of adult, yet.

“What the fuck-”

“Language!”

“No! What the actual fuck! I’m not sick!”

Your father’s face contorts in anger, “Did you not hear a single word the doctor said? Your potassium levels, electrolytes, and heart are all fucked! You could have a heart attack!” He takes a breath,

“You are killing yourself.”

“What?” You don’t know what to say. Why is your heart beating so fast?

You let out a frustrated shriek, getting up to leave. They don’t know what they’re saying. You storm out of the office, narrowly avoiding passing nurses and stretchers, trying to ignore the sense of dread building within you.

Heart attacks were a lame death. You could imagine how stupid you'd look; jaw wide open, leaning back in your desk chair, clutching at your chest. The door to your room is always locked, so your parents wouldn’t care to check for a while. They’d just assume you were isolating yourself.

Stiffening up in that position, rotting and decomposing. So lame, so ugly.

It didn’t scare you.

Your head ricocheting off a wall interrupts your spiral.

Natasha winces, peaking over the door to find you on the floor, rubbing your head. Wanda had asked her to check what was going on, and you happened to be passing by at the same time she opened the door. You push yourself off the floor before Natasha could help you up. Black spots appear in your vision and you start swaying. You must’ve stood up too fast.

Natasha holds you up as you fall into her for a second, before you regain your bearings.

“Get off me!”

She lets go immediately, raising an eyebrow when you double-take at the sight of Wanda.

‘She’s so skinny.’

Wanda looks up at you, confused when she takes you in. You could’ve been the same weight as her, if not a little more. She doesn’t read people's thoughts if she can help it, but yours were so loud. You blush when she makes eye contact with you, turning and stomping away.

Your footsteps fade as Natasha closes the door, making her way back to Wanda. The widow smiles at Wanda, poking her side, “I think she has a crush on you.” Wanda’s eyes widen, “No way; she said I was skinny.” Natasha tilts her head, “Like in a disgusted way?” The witch looks down at her hands.

She assumed it was envy at first, but you didn’t look like you weighed significantly more than her. Nor was it disgust, based off of how you looked at her.

“Not…really. I don’t know.”

Natasha sighs, “Well, it doesn't matter. We’ll fatten you up in no time.”

She winces at Wanda’s obviously forced laugh.

She didn’t like being skinny, but it was an effect of her depression. It wouldn’t be that easy to reverse. The only reason she was open to this treatment was so that she could go back to work. She’ll just pretend to get better, go back, and work until she can’t take it anymore. Next time, she’ll use a gun. Actually, would she subconsciously stop the bullet with her powers? The pills almost killed her, maybe she’d just lock her door next time. She could pick up smoking, maybe that’d be like a backup. A slow, eventual death could be happening in the background while she found short term options. Multitasker.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Wanda is taken out of her reverie as Natasha pokes at her stomach again. She smiles, shaking her head and curling up into the bed. The older redhead pats her shoulder, “The squad’s going to visit before you leave. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

Wanda groans, she didn’t need any more people up her ass.

She stiffens at the sound of sniffling, looking up when she feels her shoulder dampen.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Natasha leans over her frame, hair masking her face. The brunette stammers, racking her brain for a reply. She’d never seen Natasha so emotional. It was like hearing Steve use slang.

She sighs, curling further into herself and ignoring Natasha. She wishes she could reassure her. Tell her that even the thought of trying again made her nauseous, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t live the rest of her life seeing her brother's corpse every time she blinks.

Living with the memory of Pietro’s death for the rest of her life was worse than any torture she’d ever endured.

She ignores the flashing images as her eyes drift close, falling asleep to the sound of Natasha’s sniffling.

❅❅❅

A/N: I lowk regret writing in in second person but yolo. reply to this post if u wanna get tagged in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @mathxa @nikkinss

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 26: THE ARTICLE

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Pregnancy Loss, Infertility

After you picked up the paper and read through the short-winded article, you could not help but feel nauseous again.

Seeing Cillian kiss his assistant like this made you sick, and you quickly realised that you were not wrong when you got a bad vibe from Kit, making you uncomfortable.

You also wondered whether, during your short-lived relationship with Cillian, he engaged in anything intimate with her. That would not have surprised you, considering that Kit had always had it out for him.

Kit clearly loved the attention as Cillian was not the first actor she was dating and you were curious as to what made her an excellent personal assistant for him. Was she more than that, even when he was married to Danielle? You were unsure and you knew that you should not care.

He had ended it with you and yet, you felt appalled and disgusted by his actions.

Filled with pain medication making you not think relatively straight, you picked up your phone and sent Cillian a photo of the article you read with the note saying “I am disgusted, but not surprised”, immediately following which Cillian called you.

“What is that supposed to mean? You are disgusted, but not surprised?” he asked, seeing that the article had made you upset as, even now, on the phone with him, you were crying.

“It means that I was right. There was always something about her, but you brushed it off when I mentioned it” you told him in a teary voice, causing Cillian to sigh but not answer.

“Did you sleep with her?” you asked after his long silent pause, knowing this was none of your business.

“What does it matter?” Cillian asked almost defensively, causing you to take in a deep breath.

“I will just take this as a yes,” you told him before allowing yourself to curse loudly so that everyone in the room could hear you. “Fuck, Cillian. Why?” you asked but, again, knew that he did not owe you any explanation.

“Because I have been trying to get you out of my fucking head Y/N” Cillian explained with much emotion in his voice but, of course, this made no sense to you whatsoever.

“So, it is my fault that you slept with your assistant?” you chuckled in disbelief, resulting in Cillian backtracking.

“Listen Y/N, I don’t have to explain myself to you. I slept with Kit, yes, but none of this is any of your business. We are not together anymore” Cillian told you and you could not help but ask him whether he had slept with her in the past as well, namely when you were dating each other.

“Of course not. Why would you even ask that?” he wondered and, again, you stated that she had always shown an interest in him, which was something he clearly was too blind to see.

“Okay. Well, at least I know that you have moved on, so that is good for you” you then told Cillian with some sadness in your voice and he asked you again whether it was still all right for him to bring Nina in to see you to which, of course, you agreed.

“Yes, sure. Just, please don’t come in with her. I cannot see you right now because, if I do, I might say something wrong, which would not be fair to Nina. She doesn’t need to know about any of this” you explained to Cillian as tears continued to stream down your face.

“Say something wrong? Like what?” Cillian asked, oblivious to the fact that you were hurting.

“Fuck Cillian, two weeks ago you told me that you loved me. Then you take it all back because of my age. Now I am in the hospital and find out you fucked your PA. How do you think this makes me feel, huh?” you cried before telling him that you were still upset after what happened and that him sleeping with Kit was your final straw. There was no coming back from this and you told him you were hurt by his actions which made Cillian gasp for air.

“All right. I will wait outside. I am sorry” he barely managed to say which is when you hung up on him and he started to curse.

Dropping back into his seat, Cillian sighed as tears in the corner of his eyes began to build up again, this time from knowing how much he had indeed hurt you. It had been two weeks since you parted ways and he never expected to find himself in a situation where he could not cope.

He knew very well that, over the past two weeks, he had been acting destructively and this included the fact that he had slept with his assistant Kit which, if it were not for his heartache and pain, he would not have done.

He regretted it and now, his mistake was already haunting him as even his daughter and ex-wife had brought up the article this afternoon.

Explaining the situation to Nina was, of course, almost worse than explaining the situation to you, and what Cillian did not know was that his daughter had grown to like you much more than she should have.

She also knew much more than she should have and, seeing her father upset, did not bother her much as, in Nina’s mind, it served him right.

“Are you and Kit a thing now?” she asked, before revealing to him that she would not like him to date a woman like Kit who, to this date, had always been a throne in her mother’s eye.

“No, we are not a thing. We just fooled around and it was stupid. I made a mistake” Cillian admitted carefully, trying to gauge the situation. He did not want to upset his daughter and had to be mindful not to hurt her feelings.

“Well, I suppose you are old enough to make your own decisions and certainly not too old to make mistakes, so I guess that’s fair,” Nina said wisely, knowing that her father was feeling bad about what happened. It was evident from his voice and demur and this somehow concerned her.

“I think we are never too old to make mistakes, Nina. In fact, I made many in recent weeks” Cillian admitted, referring to the fact that he had hurt you.

“Was breaking up with my dance teacher one of them?” Nina asked, catching her father by surprise, and causing his chin to drop. He wondered how she knew and why she had not said anything about it previously.

“What are you talking about?” he thus asked, again gauging the situation and, in the end, Cillian was surprised to learn that Nina knew along, ever since he started dating you.

“Come on Dad. I am not stupid” Nina told him, chuckling.

“No, seriously Nina, what are you talking about?” Cillian asked, still pretending that there had been nothing between you and him.

“I found some of her clothes with mine about a week ago when granny visited. She thought they were mine, from the dance academy, but I explained to her that they were not and placed them back in Y/N’s locker when I got to class. I don’t think she ever noticed. Also, the necklace with the Beatles quote she is wearing? It had to be from you. Only you are so weirdly romantic that it hurts” Nina laughed and, just as she explained to her father how she came to know about his relationship with you, he cursed.

“Fuck” he said, causing Nina to break out in even more laughter than before.

“Watch your language, Dad!” she lectured him and he admitted to her that he had, indeed, recently broken up with you.

“Yeah, breaking up with your dance teacher is one of the stupid things I have done Nina” Cillian told his daughter and, of course, she had questions.

“Did you not like her anymore?” she asked, wondering why her father had broken up with you.

“No, I still liked her very much but she is a little too young for me, sweetheart. It was not going to work” Cillian told his daughter who simply shrug her shoulders, knowing that she had to stay out of her father’s love life.

“All right. That’s your choice Dad” she thus said. “I can still like her though, right?” Nina then wondered.

“Of course. She is a wonderful person and there is no reason for you not to like her. Despite, she is your dance teacher and you love dancing, so who am I to get in the way of what makes you happy, hmm?” Cillian reassured Nina before hugging her and, since she was no longer into this kind of parental affection, she pulled away and told him it was time to head to the hospital.

***

An hour later, Nina and Cillian arrived with two books for you to read and a box of chocolates.

Seeing how upset you were earlier, Cillian remained outside, by the door while Nina walked in to see you, glancing back at her father with confusion.

“Dad? Are you coming?” she asked, but Cillian shook his head, telling Nina that one person at the time was enough. According to him, you still needed some rest.

Nina, of course, did not believe his reasoning and wondered whether the separation between you and her father was not on so amicable terms.

This, of course, was the case but both you and Cillian shielded his daughter from your disagreements with each other. This was the right thing to do and, since you liked Nina a lot, it was not very difficult either.

With that in mind, you hugged Nina and thanked her again for pretty much saving your life that day which was something that embarrassed her.

Like her father though, she did not like attention and thus quickly changed the topic.

Thus, you talked about dancing for a while and engaged in some jokes about life and a book you had both read before it came to your mind that you were sent a video of Nina’s recent solo by one of the other dance teachers.

“Can I see?” Nina asked and, of course, you showed it to her, not only once but twice, and, still, she criticised herself whereas you thought she did fantastically.

“Can Dad come in and see it?” Nina eventually asked and, even though you did not want to be anywhere near Cillian, you agreed, simply for her sake.

“Yes, of course” you thus said, pretending to be unbothered by Cillian’s presence as Nina called him inside.

“Y/N has a video from the training on Thursday which one of the other dancers took,” she told her father who, cautiously, approached you.

“Yes, come and have a look,” you told him, making him feel more comfortable.  “I was still in action then and Nina did amazing with the solo. She is showing so much emotion on stage now” you explained to Cillian who appeared to be very proud of his daughter as he watched the video.

“Can you send this to me so I can share it with Danielle?” he even asked and, of course, you nodded.

“Sure” you said before Cillian thanked you and told Nina that it was time to go, which was something she did not want to do.  She wanted to stay a bit longer and engage in conversation with you but her father was adamant that he had to go home as he had a meeting at six o’clock.

“A meeting with your assistant isn’t a meeting, Dad. She can work around you. Just tell her to come later” Nina told her father, knowing that Kit was supposed to come around to discuss the upcoming release of Oppenheimer and his interview schedule.

“I am sure Kit and your father have a lot of important things to discuss” you couldn’t help but say sarcastically before telling Nina that, if it was all right with her parents, she could return the following day for another visit.

“Okay Y/N. Take care” Nina told you before giving you yet another hug and, with that, Cillian and her left to go home and meet with his assistant.

***

At around 6 o’clock, Kit arrived at Cillian’s apartment and, as usual, she was punctual and on time.

As soon as she entered though, she attempted to give Cillian a kiss who quickly pulled away. He told her that his daughter was staying with him, as she already knew, which meant he could not interact with her this way.

Kit, of course, was disappointed, and even though Nina saw Kit’s attempt to kiss her father, she did not say anything, but disappeared in her room, smashing the door shut behind her.

“She seems angry” Kit pointed out before, finally, taking her chances. She pressed her lips onto his in haste and, again, Cillian pulled away.

“Kit, stop. This is not going to work” he told her, to which she sighed with frustration.

“Why? Because we work together?” she assumed, but this was not his reason.

“No, because I am not over Y/N and I don’t think I will be for quite some time. I love her and she...never mind…” Cillian stammered causing Kit to become angry.

“She just what?” Kit asked, trying to contain her emotions while pretending not to care about Cillian’s words.

“She saw the article in the paper, about us and she did not take lightly to it” Cillian explained, causing Kit to laugh.

“So what? You are not together anymore!” Kit pointed out, but Cillian remained firm.

“Still. She just had a miscarriage and I honestly need some time to digest all of this. Nina likes her and I miss her” Cillian explained before regretting telling Kit about your matters which, at this point, he did not know she would be using to her advantage soon.

“Fine. I mean, it was and would always be just sex Cillian. I can get that from someone else” Kit chuckled, telling Cillian not to worry about it.

“So, we are good?” Cillian asked, wanting to ensure that Kit could still be working for him as she had been an excellent assistant thus far.

“Of course, we are good. Let’s forget anything ever happened, okay?” Kit told him before diving right into Cillian’s work schedule.

“Okay, grand” Cillian confirmed with a smile, and without knowing that, later that night, Kit would take it upon herself to send an email to your place of work, using a fake email address.

“Dear Mr Beasly

I am writing to you as it has come to my attention recently that one of your dance teachers has engaged in intimate relations with one of the parents who, to this date, is still married.

Her name is Y/N Y/LN and the parent she got involved in is Nina Murphy’s father. Now, considering Mr Murphy’s status, I believe that this could and would reflect poorly on your establishment if their affair was to become known, especially since, recently, the said Miss Y/LN had undergone a pregnancy termination.

My suggestion would be to have Miss Y/LN resign on a favorable redundancy package, which includes the signing of a nondisclosure agreement.

Your sincerely;

A Concerned Parent”

[prescottsgirl]

ALL LIGHTS TURNED OFF, CAN BE TURNED ON

older!sidney prescott x fem!reader

summary: after having a bad mental health day, you show up at sidney’s doorstep.

warnings: depression, self-harm, age gap (r is in her 20s, sid is 42)

note: pls read with A LOT of caution cause it’s pretty heavy & can be triggering i jst wanted to make a little vent fic with my girl

Your hands trembled by your side as you waited patiently for your girlfriend to answer the door, fingers anxiously picking at any loose threads at the hem of your sweater. As soon as Sidney opened the door, she could tell that you weren’t doing good. Your eyes were dark and empty and your hair was all messy. If she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought that you were going to fall lifeless on the ground.

“Baby, come i—” before she could finish what she was saying, you wrapped your arms around her waist, tightly hugging her with your head pressed against her chest from the height difference. She reciprocated it, her hands rubbing at your back and she placed a simple kiss at the top of your head.

You pulled back and she could, then, really see the puddle of tears that you were fighting back. She knew you were so strong but she just wished that you wouldn’t hold your feelings back like that for so long.

She shut her door and grabbed your arms to bring you further into her house that you’ve started to call home. You hissed in pain when she grabbed you, and Sidney wasn’t stupid, she didn’t grab you hard at all; she knew what happened. It wasn’t the first time. There’s not a thing that ever gets past her.

“Oh, my pretty love. Did something happen again?” She didn’t want to immediately accuse you of what you did because she knew that it would only hurt your feelings.

Your bottom lip trembled and you nodded, looking down at the floor to avoid her gaze. She cups your pink cheeks with her hands so you had no choice but to look at her. That familiar look of love had not faltered a single bit. You knew you could be completely open with her. “Mhm. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you bawled, words getting slurred with your own salty tears.

She shook her head, thumb brushing away your tears. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’m not mad, baby. I’m so proud of you for coming here.” She picked off your stray hairs that stuck to your wet face, then leaned forward to kiss your nose. You were trembling so bad, you didn’t even know if it was from the cold or from all your emotions.

“Do you want to talk? Or we can take a hot shower, you feel like a little icicle,” she chuckled, trying to lighten up the mood. She successfully got a little smile out of you.

“Shower please? I just wanna be with you, i don’t really want to talk about it.”

She smiled, grabbing onto your hand this time as to not hurt you. Showering with Sidney was one of your favorite things. It was just an everyday task that turned into something so loving. It was the time of the day where you just got to appreciate each other so gently and intimately, even in a non-sexual way.

She brought you up to the bathroom, and with your permission, helped you undress. She discarded your pants firsts because she knew you were still going to be sensitive with her seeing your arms. Nevertheless, she treated you with so much care. She didn’t bat an eye when she removed your shirt, not looking disgusted or uncomfortable.

You know she dealt with blood and wounds a lot in her life considering her past, but you didn’t know how she’d react to you doing that to yourself on purpose. However, the first time you showed her, she was nothing but understanding.

Your arms were coated in a bit of dried blood. You were thankful that she hadn’t scolded you about not cleaning them. You just didn’t have the energy and hated wearing bandages when they were fresh.

She took off her own clothes and then stepped into the shower with you. When the water hit your cuts, you whimpered a little bit, cuddling closer into Sidney. She wrapped her strong arms around you and slowly rocked you side to side as a way to soothe you. “I know, I know, my poor baby.”

Sidney held you under the water for a couple of minutes before delicately washing you. She was always so gentle, you thought it was truly impossible for her to ever hurt someone. It makes you upset how anyone could ever want to hurt her.

“I’m gonna clean this blood away, I don’t want you to get any infections. Is that alright with you, hm?” She soaked a wash cloth under the water and smiled when you nodded. You were too exhausted to properly answer her. She knew that.

Sidney delicately wiped at your arms, all the red patches slowly turning into just lines. When she was done, she lifted your arm to her mouth and placed a kiss there. Your eyes teared up again.

She helped you out of the shower and wrapped a warm towel around you. It felt like it was fresh out of the dryer, almost like Sidney just knew.

You waited on her bed for her while she quickly threw on comfortable clothes, not bothering to brush out her wet hair. She wanted to take care of you as soon as she could, she knew you needed it right now.

You watched her the whole time with sleepy eyes. It made you feel a little better; just watching your favorite person exist. Like seeing her little lip bites whenever she would make eye contact with you or looking at all the little freckles on her body that you have nearly memorized by now. It was simple, but it was something.

She walked back over to you with a set of her own sweatpants and shirt. She knew you loved wearing her clothes, and it was a bonus for her because she thinks it‘s adorable on you.

“Arms up, baby,” she says, and you lazily follow her instructions. You’re so tired, but you don’t want to make this any harder than it already is. She throws her shirt over your and then you hold onto her shoulders as she helps you into the bottoms.

You sit back down on her bed because you don’t really know what you’re supposed to do anymore. It gets quiet and you’re terrified that’s she going to bring todays incident up, when it’s really the last thing you want to think or talk about. But instead, she gives you another dopey smile to try and make you laugh, and when you finally do, she starts tickling your sides so you never stop smiling.

“Stop! Stop,” you say, laughing and out of breath. You’re not so sure that you want her to stop because for once, the only pain you can feel is the one in your cheeks from laughing so hard.

“Nu-uh, why should i?” she teasingly says, but it eventually comes to a stop. She kisses your forehead and looks down at you. She notices how droopy your eyes are, clouded with sleep. “My girl is so sleepy,” she brushes her finger gently below your eye and you shake your head just as they flutter closed at her touch.

She chuckles at you and wraps you up in her arms so you’re laying down on top of her. She presses another kiss, this time to the top of your head and she can already feel your body becoming dead weight. “Get some sleep, pretty love. I’m right here now.”

[atlas-likes-writing]

Death in the Family

Characters: Jason Todd/Red Hood, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Bruce Wayne/Batman

Summary: The world is falling. Dick and Jason are trapped under the rubble of a now-destroyed building. It takes everything to escape.

Word Count: 2325

Tags: Angst, whump, gore, graphic depictions of injuries, death/deaths in the past, swearing (but nobody actually gives a shit about that), mentions of explosions, angst with a sad ending.

Authors Note: Is the pacing goofy? Yes. Do I care? No. I will be paying in advance for everyone's therapy bills regardless. This fic was inspired by the movie "Fall" on Netflix! Let me know if you want me to tag you in my fics!

Masterlist | AO3

@qcomicsy

It’s as if the world is falling. Everything feels so heavy. An uncomfortable weight lies on his chest. Moving doesn’t help. It instead makes it worse. A disgusting feeling of wetness coats the side of his face. Is it sweat? Tears? He can’t tell. His body is heavy. His eyelids are heavy. Maybe he should just stay there. Slip into sleep again. Maybe then that weighted feeling will leave him. 

“-Bird!” 

A tiny voice sounds out in the dim. That’s peculiar. What’s the importance of a bird right now? He’ll figure that out when he wakes up. He’s too tired to care right now. 

“Jaybird!” 

The voice is clearer now. Louder, but not to the point of deafness. Loud in the way your parents are loud when they yell at you from downstairs to tell you that dinner is ready. It’s distant. Muffled. Like someone has put earmuffs over his ears. 

“For goodness' sake, Jason! Wake up!” 

That’s what got his eyes to snap open. When he does, he’s met with almost pitch black. His arms are pinned to the ground beneath him by sharp stones. No, not stones. Boulders. His left arm has clearly snapped at the force of them falling on top of him. The dull throb that emanates from the now useless limb is soon to crescendo, but for now that’s all it is; a dull throb. It’s now Jason realises that the uncomfortable weight isn’t just the feeling of impending doom as he originally thought. It’s a slab of concrete. Thick and jagged and it’s digging into his torso, surely leaving bruises in its wake. 

He begins to panic when the dust begins to settle on his eyelids. How long had he been down there? He shifts around, attempting to move any of the debris that fell on him. Immediate regret shoots through him; as does a sharp, blinding pain in his leg. He cries out. The sound of it is gravelly and clogged as if something is stuck in his esophagus. The dust around him coats everything. His skin, his helmet (which he now realises is broken), his tattered costume; everything. It sticks to the interior of his throat and makes speech scratchy. 

“Nightwing?” he calls out to the darkness, “What happened? Dick? Are you there?” 

“I’m here, Jason. Had me worried for a second there,” the voice of his brother breaks through the cracks between the rock. Relief floods through the younger man. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” he responds. “Where are you? Are you injured?” 

“I’m fine, Jaybird. Only a couple scratches. You’re the priority right now. Keep talking to me, okay? Do you remember what happened?” 

What did happen? The vigilante ignores the pounding in his head in an attempt to recall the happenings of the past thirty minutes. His mind is filled with the images of a battle with the Joker. Jason broke down at the sight of him, and his distraction resulted in the C4 at the base of the high-rise building to explode, falling directly on top of them as a result. The two men are lucky to be alive. It’s a miracle Dick scraped away with only a few bruises and scratches. 

Yeah, Dick is apparently far luckier than Jason right now. 

“The fucking Joker,” Jason spits. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Let’s focus on getting out of here first, eh? We don’t know if the rest of the family are trapped under here as well.” 

Dick’s defusal works. Jason breathes in deeply to calm his nerves. His eyesight begins to adjust to the darkness, and he can make out his surroundings more clearly. 

“Right. Yeah. You’re right. Where are you? I can’t see you anywhere.” 

“I’m next to you, Jason. Through this gap in the rock,” Dick replies. At his words, Jason tilts his head as far as his predicament will allow him (which, predictably, is not very far), and the eyes of his brother shine out in the dim between two large rocks that separate them. They’re bright and unmoving and make Jason relax a little. They always seem to have that effect. The constancy of them always ooze safety and competence no matter the situation. He’s Nightwing. His gaze can make even Batman feel safe. All it takes is a meaningful look and Jason feels calmer almost immediately. 

The younger man moves his head back to its original position, looking up at the debris instead of to the side. He closes his eyes, before throwing his head back onto the ground in frustration. 

“Fuck! This is my fault,” he exclaims. 

“We both know that’s bullshit,” Dick replies. Jason fights the urge to tut at him mockingly for his colourful language. “That man beat you to half-to-death and then caused the building you were in to explode. Nobody is blaming you for acting the way you did. This is not your fault. Stop blaming yoursel-" 

“People could be dead, Dick.” 

That shuts him up. 

The two brothers lie there in silence for a while before Jason speaks up again. 

“We should be dead, Dick.” 

“How come?” 

“What are the chances of us making it this far? You’ve been a vigilante since you were what, eight? You’ve been in the game almost as long as Bruce, and yet here you are.” 

Dick remains quiet. Jason continues. 

“Me? I did die. Quite horrifically, might I add. Yet here I am.” Jason opens his eyes and turns back to his brother. “Why am I not dead?” 

“Because it wasn’t your time.” 

“Then when is my time?” 

“Not right now, if you’re wondering.” 

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be silent. 

“You have your whole life ahead of you,” Dick states, “Now is not the time for you to talk like you want to give up.” 

“I’m legally classified as dead, Dick. There is a gravestone in the gardens of the Manor with my name on it. I’m already halfway there.” 

“And? You’re alive right now, right? Is that not excuse to keep on living?” 

Jason sighs, a heavy exhaustion settling like bricks on his body. 

“Fuck you, man.” 

“What for?” 

“For being right.” 

Dick’s eyes remain trained him, steady and still. It’s almost unsettling. The older of the two speaks up, this time with humour in his voice. 

“I’m always right,” he says, a smile evident in his voice despite the fact that Jason can’t see the lower portion of his face. The younger brother chuckles, the sound scratchy and harsh. 

“Now that’s bullshit.” 

The silence that follows is comfortable despite their surroundings. Jason closes his eyes, a faint smile on his face. He could fall asleep here and be perfectly content with it. A heaviness presses on his eyes as he begins to drift off.  

“Jason! Don’t close your eyes.” For the second time in the span of about five minutes, his eyes snap open in shock. They flutter for a moment, and he lets out a disgruntled groan. 

“I’m tired, Dick. I want to sleep.” 

“I know you want to, kiddo, but I need you to stay awake for me, okay? Bruce will never forgive himself if you end up dead.”  

Jason scoffs. “Fuck that. He’d get over it as soon as the funeral’s over.” 

“Yeah right,” Dick replies. “You didn’t see how he treated himself after the first time. He nearly destroyed himself.” 

“Let’s put the emphasis on nearly, hm?” he spits into the darkness. “If I was in his position, I would have torn the world apart if he had-” 

“Bruce isn’t you, Jason!” 

“What. And you are, Golden Boy?” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“What did you mean then?” 

An audible sigh is heard from the other side of the boulder but the older of the two brothers otherwise stays silent. Jason closes his eyes again, this time out of regret. 

“Shit. Look, Dick. I’m sorry. We shouldn’t waste oxygen arguing.” 

“You’re right. We shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” 

It’s at this point when an audible drip of something falls onto the rocks behind Jason’s head. His eyebrows knit into a frown at the sound. What was that? Is there water above them? If so, maybe they could use it to find which way is up so they can escape. 

Another drip, this time closer to his head. He can’t see the droplet of whatever it is falling from the ceiling of debris. Is it coming from the side? He turns his head away from Dick to look for the source. In the dim, he can make out a puddle of something next to his head. He squints his eyes, and he sees that it’s red. 

Oh.

Red. Crimson. It’s blood. 

His blood. 

He’s bleeding. 

The thing coating the side of his face isn’t sweat or tears. It’s his own blood. 

Oh God. 

Was the space he was trapped in always this claustrophobic? 

Was this smell of death always present? 

His chest is tight. His throat is closing. The pounding in his head heightens. 

A short way above him, he can hear his family. They’re shouting for him. They’re shifting rubble and debris. They’re trying to reach him. They’re shouting for Dick. Dick is shouting back. 

They can’t hear him. 

“Jason! Shout! Let them hear you!” 

He does so. He shouts. He screams. He yells. He yells for Bruce. He yells for Tim. He yells for Steph. He yells for anyone who might be there to save him. 

“Red Hood? Is that you?” He hears his father’s voice. 

“Bruce!” Jason replies. “It’s me! Help me!” 

“Keep shouting, Jaylad. We’ll find you!” 

He continues to yell for his father. His voice quickly growing hoarse from the dust that sticks to his windpipe. Beside him, Dick urges him to keep going. 

“Keep shouting, Jason! Keep it up! Don’t stop!” 

It’s only when light spears through the rubble and debris is pulled away that he stops. Tears stream down his face as the now unsettled dust falls on top of him all at once. He squints as his eyes try to adjust to the newfound light. The boulders pinning his broken arms are lifted and the slab of concrete is removed from his ribs. Strong arms lift him up and out of the pit he was in moments before. Bruce was always able to lift him as if he weighed nothing. Now is apparently no different. He’s picked up and cradled by his father like a child as he’s taken away from the hell that trapped him. He hunts for his family amongst the destroyed remains of the building that fell on top of them. He sees Tim. Damian. Steph. Duke. Cass. Carrie. Harper. Kate. Everyone. They’re all there. They’re all safe. 

But they’re missing someone. 

“Dick! You left Dick!” Jason’s voice cracks. Bruce gazes at Jason, the eyes behind the cowl seem sad. Defeated. It’s an unnatural look on the man. The Dark Knight shouldn’t look defeated. 

“I’m sorry Jason,” Bruce soothes. He sounds broken. Why does he sound broken? 

“What? No. Can you not find him? He’s there! He was right next to me!” he exclaims. Jason looks over Bruce’s shoulder to see his family gathered around the hole he was pulled out of. Steph is crying into Tim’s shoulder, his hand rubbing her back in an attempt to calm her. Damian is on one knee; the blade of his katana is stuck into the ground in front of him with his head lowered as if in prayer. Kate puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. What are they doing? Can they not find him? Jason feels like a child. Helpless and ignored. 

As he continues watching, he sees a flash of black and red fly into the pit. There’s silence for a moment before he sees Connor Kent bring the limp body of Dick Grayson out of the rubble. From where Jason is, he can see the teary eyes of the Kryptonian and his heart sinks to the ground.  

He doesn’t want to look down from Connor’s face. He doesn’t want to see the truth of it. He saw Dick in the rubble moments ago. He was alive! He was well! He only had a few scratches. He said it himself! He- 

“-was dead on impact.” 

His eyes are open, but the usual shine is gone. They’re glassy and dead. 

What? 

No. 

That- 

That doesn’t make sense. 

“But he was talking to me! I heard him speak!” Jason exclaims. Bruce shakes his head. 

“No, you didn’t,” he states, voice uncharacteristically quiet. 

“You’re gaslighting me? Really?” 

“He didn’t talk to you, Jason. I promise you that.” 

Jason looks down from his brother’s eyes, unbelieving. He knows what he heard. Dick was speaking to him as clearly as his father does now. He was speaking right into his ear, for heaven’s sake! He looks at Dick’s mouth as if to disprove his father’s words. 

Or rather, where Dick’s mouth should be. 

His jaw is gone. Probably smashed by a rock on impact. The hinge hangs uselessly on Connor’s arm. It’s grim and ugly. Jason can’t look away despite himself. 

“They say that,” Bruce begins, “sometimes, when someone is in a life-or-death scenario, their brain hallucinates a loved one as an act of self-preservation.” 

The puzzle pieces are locking into place. The fact that Dick’s voice is what woke him up in the first place is making sense now. The fact that Jason never saw the lower portion of his face is making sense now. The smell of death wasn't coming from him. The unblinking, still eyes wasn’t a knowing gaze, he was fucking dead and Jason didn’t realise. He was stuck in a hole with the corpse of his older brother, and he didn't fucking know. But Dick saved Bruce from having two dead sons that day. 

Even in death, Dick Grayson is always there to keep you safe. I suppose he is luckier in that respect.

--

Should I do a part 2 to this?

Reblogs appreciated!

Masterlist

[uglypastels]

(Im)perfect Day // Eddie Munson fic

summary: Eddie can get in his head sometimes, and when that happens... well... the point is, he really really tried, @spiderrrling ❤

word count: 2.5k

no explicit warnings. cursing. chaotic eddie is a mess. fluff.

masterlist // inbox // add yourself to my taglist

The Hawkins High cafeteria was rowdy as any other morning but soon would be entertained by a high-pitched scream, followed by a pained grunt as Eddie Munson, the Hellraiser of Hellfire himself, doubled over and fell to the ground clutching his stomach. To think all he wanted was to give you a little birthday surprise.

He should have known better, of course, and technically he did. He knew you weren’t a fan of being scared or of getting surprised. So what exactly did he expect to happen when he walked over to you and placed his hands over your eyes, grinning wickedly from behind and whispering, “guess who?” in your ear? Did you overreact by screaming and digging your elbow into his ribs? Perhaps. But that’s what happened when people tried to scare you! 

‘Happy… birthday,’ he just about managed to say. 

‘Oh my god, are you ok?’ you turned around to see your poor boyfriend lying on the ground, his smirk now disfigured into an uncomfortable grimace as he tried to smile through the discomfort. 

‘Yeah, babe. Totally fine. Just– give me a minute.’ And a minute, more or less, it took for him to regain his composure. If it weren’t for his dignity having shattered into a million pieces as he hit the ground, he would have been “totally fine”. You could see that in his rosy cheeks as he sat down at your side, arm over your shoulder, sealing it with a kiss to your temple. 

‘Happy birthday,’ he said. 

‘You already said that,’ you reminded him, not that he cared. 

‘What? Is there an annual limit? Haaaaappyyy biiiiirthdayyy,’ much to your annoyance, he elongated the words for as long as possible, making sure everyone at the Hellfire table could hear him. 

‘Wait, it’s your birthday?’ Mike raised his eyebrow. 

‘No,’ you told him without looking up from your lunch. From the corner of your eye, you could see Eddie holding in his words, wanting to announce to everyone that it was your birthday, but he knew better. For, he saw the look you gave him. A look that very clearly stated, “one more word and my elbow will be in your ribs again, Munchie”. So, he kept his pretty mouth shut. 

For now. 

➠➠

‘So, why don’t you want people to know it’s your birthday, exactly?’ Robin asked as you were walking through the hallway between classes. 

‘It’s not that I don’t want people to know, but why does it matter? Why do people need to know?’ you said as you walked on. ‘Besides, it's so awkward. Because when people do know, then they feel obliged to make you feel special, while all they do is just stare and smile at you, half-assing their wishes to you or singing “Happy Birthday” from the top of their lungs while you stand there having no idea what to do with yourself as seconds before you had just begged them not to do that.’ 

‘I know it’s your birthday and I haven’t done any of those things.’ Robin pointed out.

‘Yes, but you’re special, and better than most people in this shithole.’ 

‘Quite correct, you are, y/n.’ She nodded, ‘so, just to be clear. You don’t want your birthday to be a big deal.’ 

‘I really don’t.’ 

‘So, that includes, let’s say– no balloons on your locker?’

‘Oh god, that–’ is precisely what you walked upon when you reached your locker. Accurately, it was one balloon, in your favourite colour. And it was bopping around in the air, string meticulously tied between the gaps in the locker door. You poked it lightly, and watched it bounce against the metal. Boink. And it kept bouncing as you opened your locker, to be greeted with a pile of what must have been chocolate frosting on a cupcake. 

‘Shit,’ you picked the frosted mess up from your geography textbook, now covered in chocolate. 

If you didn’t know better, you would have jumped to the conclusion that this must have been some disgusting prank someone was pulling on you, trying to make your day miserable, but it was quite the opposite of that. And the culprit was walking up just as you thought of him. 

‘Hey, sweetheart.’ Eddie wrapped his arms around you. ‘How do you like the— oh fuck!’ 

‘It was super sweet, Eds, really–’ you tried to cheer him up before he started freaking out. There was no way he would have thought that the icing on the cupcake would start sliding off and onto your stuff, making a horrible mess of it all. He would never have done any of it. 

‘No, shit, I’m so sorry. That was not supposed to happen. I just wanted you to have a nice surprise— and yes, I know, no surprises, but, ah fuck.’

‘Well, now you know why I’m not a fan of them,’ you chuckled, trying to lighten the situation up a bit. ‘But seriously, Eddie, thank you. An hey,’ you took a bite out of the cupcake, ‘it’s delicious.’ Then you scooped some of the melted icing onto your finger and smeared it over his face. 

‘Wow? This is what I get– no, actually, don’t answer that; I totally deserve it. I’ll clean it all up, I promise.’

‘Thank you,’ you said. You would have had no problems doing it yourself; the mess wasn’t even that bad, but since he offered and all…and god, those puppy dog eyes never grew old. The way he pouted at you, face filled with guilt, you couldn’t help but kiss him.

‘Meet me in the woods during 6th?’ Eddie mumbled against your lips. 

‘For another surprise?’ 

‘It’s not a surprise if you’re already expecting it.’ Oh, he was having too much fun with this, the little shit.

‘Fine,’ you rolled your eyes, ‘I’ll be there. Just… no more cupcakes, or balloons, ok?’ 

‘Gotcha.’ He kissed your nose before making his way to his next class, just not quite before turning around and shouting another “happy birthday!” over everyone’s heads. 

‘You too are disgustingly sweet,’ Robin said, to which you could only reply with a: ‘shut up.’ 

➠➠

The leaves were crisp beneath your feet as you made your way to the picnic bench. Usually, the meet-up spot for Eddie and his customers, but the table also part-timed as your little date spot, as romantic as that sounded. With him being so busy with school and Hellfire and his job (both the dealing and the one at the tire shop), Eddie had started feeling bad for not having time for you– which was far from the truth as you still felt like the two of you were always together, in the best way possible. But Eddie wanted more, so he had started this little tradition of you having little at-school dates. You’d sit at the table, have lunch or simply chat. 

He was already waiting for you at the table when you got there. His signature grin was plastered across his face. 

‘Hey there handsome,’ you said, sitting down opposite of him.

‘How are you, gorgeous?’ he asked, chin resting on top of his knuckles. You mirrored the position as you answered: 

‘Well, besides getting harassed in the cafeteria, and my entire locker getting covered in melted chocolate icing… it’s been pretty good, yeah.’

‘Not funny,’ he glared.

‘No? Because I find it hilarious, actually.’ you stole his smile momentarily before he went back to being his cheery self. ‘Will you tell me why you dragged me out here?’ Not that you really minded, but it was cold. The wind was blowing a little bit. Eddie’s hair kept hitting him in the face, and he tried to tame it every now and then but to no avail.  

‘Will you kill me if I say “happy birthday” again?’ 

‘Depends if you say it again now, because you’re really going over the limit here.’

‘I’ll try my luck,’ he started fishing for something in his pocket– and the other pocket, mumbling under his breath because how could he lose the damn thing. Now, don’t laugh; he’s got it just here– ‘ah! Happy birthday!’ He handed you a little rectangle box. The shape and size so vivid and distinct there was no doubt in your mind what it could be, despite the brown paper wrapped around it in a way that, again, if you didn’t know better, could have easily assumed took less than a minute but actually knew very well that Eddie must have stayed up hours the night before trying to wrap it for you.

‘You shouldn’t have.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah. I know. You say that every time. Open it.’ So you did. Carefully, so as not to rip the paper up too much. You unfolded the sides to reveal, you guessed it, a cassette tape. With a black marker, Eddie had written “THIS IS NOT A BIRTHDAY GIFT” on it, which made you look at him in confusion. 

‘Then what is it?’ 

‘It’s just a “my girlfriend despises her birthday for something, so I’ll just give her a gift to show her how amazing she is and how much I like her”. 

‘How much then?’ you looked down at the tape again, unable to keep in your smile. 

‘You’ll just have to listen to it and find out.’ 

‘I would love to, but uhh– you know my walkman broke last week.’ 

‘I did, yes, and I completely forgot.’ Eddie’s head hit the table quite severely. ‘I’m an actual moron, aren’t I?’ he asked, face still against the table, covered up by the curtain of his hair. 

‘No, c’mon, Eds, I really love this– it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.’ you reached out your hand to grab his, and he took it, but a bit lifelessly. Unsatisfied with that connection, you got up and sat back next to him.

‘Thank you,’ you said, kissing the top of his head. 

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied in a soft voice. Just like you, Eddie had a bit of a flair for the dramatics, but it's why the two of you worked so well. 

‘And hey, I’m saving up for a new walkman, and should have enough money in a few weeks and then you can bet that the first thing I listen to is this mix. And I can already tell it will be the best thing I have ever listened to.’ 

‘Or you can come over to my place, tonight,’ Eddie sat up as the lightbulb lit up bright in his mind. ‘I’ll make dinner.’ 

➠➠

And so dinner chez Munson it was. 

Or that was the plan, at least.

What was not a part of the plan was you and Eddie getting a bit lost in your little make-out session and him completely forgetting about whatever he was preparing in the tiny kitchen until the whole trailer was filled with smoke. With curses flying from his lips, he evacuated you heroically by throwing you over his shoulder and taking you outside.

‘Have you ever thought of joining the fire department?’ you asked as he sat down next to you on the makeshift patio in front of the trailer. All the doors and windows were open to air out the smoke, while the straps of the burned food had just met the bottom of the trashcan. 

‘Very funny,’ he rolled his eyes, giving you your jacket. 

‘I’m serious. The way you just did that– and you’re great with cats!’ 

‘Maybe so… better with cats than at this, that’s for sure,’ he sighed, covering his face with his hands.

‘No, c’mon this could have happened to anyone. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself baby.’

‘I know, I just—’ he groaned, ‘I just wanted you to have a great day, but instead, what did I do? I scared the shit out of you during lunch, I ruined your textbook, gave you a useless gift, and I almost burned my house down.’ 

‘You also,’ you brushed his hair out of his face a bit, ‘were the first person to tell me happy birthday, and I’m pretty sure you will be the last today too– and you definitely will have the record for most times saying it in a day. Not to mention, you gave me a delicious cupcake, which I really needed as I was already starving after lunch. And you gave me the best and most thoughtful gift I have ever gotten. A gift that I can already enjoy and look forward to for the next few weeks. Not to mention,’ you decided to add when his expression didn’t seem to be getting any better, ‘you basically just saved my life right there.’ 

Eddie shoved you away lightly, but the corners of his mouth were pulling up into a smile again. 

‘Besides,’ you were getting curious, ‘since when does any of this matter? You’ve never been so in your head about stuff.’ 

‘It’s nothing–’

‘Which means it’s definitely something,’ you interrupted, causing Eddie to glare at you.

‘You’re going to laugh at me.’ 

‘As I have a million times before and will probably do a million times again.’

‘Have you always been this rude?’ 

‘Yes. Now, tell me, what’s up with you?’ You stared at him until he finally gave up with a sigh and spilt what had been going on. 

‘Harrington got into my head,’ he explained, ‘we were hanging out, and I had let it slip that it was your birthday coming up, and– It wasn’t even that he had told me to do anything, but he started telling me all this stuff that he had done for his girlfriend and then I just– I felt like maybe I wasn’t doing enough for you. Like I could– should– be doing more. Because, fuck, you deserve the world, and I wanted to treat and spoil you just like that but–

  ‘Eddie,’ you tried to cut in a word, but he was digging such a big hole for himself, and was so lost in his words and thoughts, that there was no point in trying. ‘Eddie!’ you shouted out. Eddie looked at you, dazed, blinking slowly. 

‘I love you, that’s it basically.’ 

‘I know.’ Your hand reached out to his cheek as you kissed him softly. ‘But seriously, Eds, don’t let Steve wind you up like that. He’s an idiot.’ 

‘You underestimate him.’ 

‘Maybe, but you don’t ever have to prove yourself to me. Everything you’ve done was just absolutely amazing and I can’t thank you enough.’ You kissed him again, this time letting your arms wrap around him in a tight embrace which lingered on for much longer than the kiss. You held each other like that in a soft silence of the late night. 

‘I’m still sorry I burned out dinner,’ he mumbled into your shoulder. 

‘It’s honestly fine, Munchie.’

‘I might still have some Mac ‘n Cheese in the fridge,’ he suggested. 

‘Perfect.’ 

the end.

thank you for reading! please reblog and comment (maybe leave a review??) I would love to think what you thought of it <3

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[lenfantdeverone]

TW: discussion of past rape/non con.

Despite not dealing with the details of Scott's past abuse, this story main topic is still rape and trauma. If you're not in the right head space to be reading about that, please take care of yourself first and foremost.

My intention with this work is to explore a reality that I deeply care about. Please keep in mind that english is not my first language! If you notice any grammatical error feel free to correct me, all constructive criticism are well accepted in this house. At the moment, I don't have a beta reader, so if this work turns out to be in any way harmful or offensive, please let me know and it will be promptly taken down.

....................

“Scott, please.” Virgil sat uncomfortably on the bed next to his older brother, shoulders hunched as he desperately tried to catch a glimpse of Scott’s teary eyes. Ever since he was rescued over two years earlier, Scott never allowed himself to cry. Until that moment, holding Virgil’s hands. “Please, talk to me.”

Scott’s shoulders were tense, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he desperately tried to find comfort and support between Virgil’s careful fingers. His eyes were hurting, filled with burning hot tears which were kept inside for far too long. He had hoped it would get better. He had hoped he would just get over the whole ordeal and go on with his life like a man. He couldn’t take how weak and vulnerable he felt.

“I don’t know…” Scott bit the insides of his mouth. Hard. So hard he tasted blood, and still, that didn’t scare his darkest memory away. “I don’t know why this is happening.” He cried out, chocking a desperate groan as his throat clenched uncontrollably.

Honorably discharged; yet Scott felt so humiliated and unworthy. He felt like had no honor, no dignity, he was too ashamed of himself and there was nothing he could ever do to deserve the respect everyone offered him so carelessly. Scott accused himself of being a fraud, a coward liar who hid behind his shame and took advantage of the people around him. He was dirty, a filthy rug with no self-respect, and yet there he was, clinging onto his innocent brother’s hands so carelessly.

“Breathe.” Virgil’s thumb caressed Scott’s hands ever so gently, breathing heavily to get his older brother to match his rhythm. “It’s ok. It’s just me, you are safe with me, ok? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Virg, I…” Scott’s lungs were empty, his throat twitching and tensing, not letting any air inside or out. “I’m so sorry…” he whimpered weakly, keeping his eyes shut as he just couldn’t bear his brother’s sympathetic gaze. Scott refused to be pitied, he refused to be seen as the helpless, hurt and innocent victim.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Virgil assured him, his warmth so comforting yet Scott couldn’t allow himself to linger in his little brother’s care. “But please, allow me to know what is going on. Just tell me how are you feeling, I won’t judge you. Ever.” His voice was as warm and gentle as his hands, and for a moment Scott allowed his muscles to relax.

“I had to… I had to do terrible things back there, Virg.” Scott admitted, forcing the words out of his clenching throat. “I’m so ashamed of myself… I’m disgusting.” He could feel his brother’s worried eyes all over his body. His skin was burning, every inch of him was aching horribly, as the painful memories resurfaced from the depths of his core.

“Scott, stop… don’t.” Virgil almost begged, daring to brush his big brother’s hair with his fingers. “You were hurt… And what they did to you was never your fault. Never-“

“Except it was, Virg!” Scott’s desperate cries interrupted his little brother’s careful attempt at soothing his pain. “Not all of it but…” the confession was hard to make, his guts twisting and revolting. “I gave up at some point. I gave them what they wanted, because I’m a filthy rag and I’m so weak!” Scott felt bile rushing up his esophagus.

“Scott… Scott, look at me and don’t be scared. I’m on your side.” Virgil carefully cupped his brother’s face, gentle thumbs drawing circles on Scott’s red, hot cheeks. The eldest reluctantly pried his eyes open, terrified to stare into his little brother’s loving eyes through his tears “Are you… are you telling me you gave up information?” Virgil’s voice was shockingly thin, almost as if he was speaking the most vile and disgusting secret in the world.

“Never.” Scott’s jaw clenched, and he vigorously shook his head. “Virg I… I would never do that.”

“Then… what are you talking about, Scott?” Virgil asked, his pleading eyes staring deeply into through his brother’s tears, trying to grasp the source of his desperation “What did you give them? They tortured you for months, you did nothing wrong.”

“No, no, I did something horrible.” Scott shook his head almost convulsing, hugging himself with trembling hands. He bit his mouth hard, so hard, and he cried out in pain at the memories. He flinched away from Virgil’s touch, almost as if it hurt. “I did it...” he admitted, terrified. “I did it, I allowed it.”

“Scott, help me understand.” Virgil didn’t want to believe what his own mind was suggesting. He knew what the people in that damned place were capable of, he knew that his big brother was abused beyond imagination, but he… he just couldn’t take it.

“I don’t know how to… say it.” Scott looked so little, so vulnerable and frail. With his shivering shoulders hunched forward, his hands trembling as he traced the perimeter of his body, he looked so small. Virgil never saw his big brother like that.

“Scott…” Virgil was surprised and horrified when his brother flinched away just by hearing his voice. “Were you raped?” the word came out of mouth in a whim, he didn’t allow himself to stop and think of any other way of asking. He just needed to know, he needed to know the truth.

Scott gasped, his whole body freezing in place, his muscles as tense as a violin chord. He felt a hand grabbing his jaw, and no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t real, that no one was going to hurt him, it still felt so violating and painful. He couldn’t run away. Despite being safe, at home, that feeling would never disappear. He pried his lips open, desperate to make the pain away as quickly as possible, and he stayed like that until he realized that no one was going to abuse him again. He felt so stupid.

“No.” Scott denied, shaking that feeling off of his mouth, shallowing his fears. “No, I was not.” He shook his head, closing his eyes as he saw a face hovering just a few inches from his. A foreign breath on his shoulders. He had no way of running away. Hands. Please no. He screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth, his throat filled with that feeling that he would never be able to wash away. He couldn’t breathe, he just couldn’t breathe when there were so many of them and they never let him breathe.

“Breathe… breathe…” Virgil’s voice was distant, desperate, and Scott just wanted him to go away and not see him like that. Naked. On his knees. Complainant. Weak.

“I allowed it.” There was no way Scott would ever forgive himself for letting that happen to him. He fought back when they burned him, when they cut him, when they broke his bones, when they drugged him, when they strangled him, but he just let that happen. He gave up when they told him to open up, and he gave himself hoping it would hurt less. “It was not rape, because I allowed it.”

“No, Scott, please-”

“It didn’t even hurt..!” Scott let out a desperate chuckle, wondering how that excruciating pain didn’t reflect on his body at all. The doctors provided him with lengthy medical records of dozens of injuries, yet no one realized that his body was abused beyond that. No one bothered to check. “Rape is supposed to leave scars, doesn’t it?! Not a single inch of my body rebelled!”

“That’s not how it works-“

“And I came back here and I acted if nothing happened!” Scott cried out in desperation, hands buried in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. The pain was unbearable, the worst he had ever experienced. He gave himself and it still hurt him so bad he couldn’t forget a single moment of it. He was a waste, an eternally rotting piece of junk, and he would never allow himself the grace of forgiveness. “I hugged dad, I hugged you guys, I even hugged Alan! I’m filthy! And disgusting! And I’ve been passing this fucking dirt to the people I love…”

“Scott, breathe, please...!”

“I hid it from everyone because I’m too scared to admit that I’m a fucking whore and I don’t deserve to live!”

“SCOTT STOP IT!” Virgil immediately regretted screaming in Scott’s face, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t… he was crying, desperately trying to bring his brother back, he needed to keep him safe. “Please, please… stop it.” He begged, shaking hands carefully resting on his brother’s knees.

“I’m so sorry, Virgil…” Scott hid his face in his brother’s shoulder, crying desperately against the warm flannel shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t think those things, Scott. You can’t… You can’t talk about yourself like that…” Virgil gently rubbed Scott’s back, careful not to startle him, or hurt him. “You’re my big brother… I love you more than anything, we all do, please just listen to me.” Virgil spoke slowly and calmly, almost whispering the words into his brother’s ear. “It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. We are so grateful to have you back, no matter what, and we will always love you.”

“I’m so sorry…” Scott lingered in his brother’s gentle arms a little longer, craving the gentle and painless hug of a loving brother.

“There’s no need to apologize.” Virgil sighed, holding him closer. “Thank you for telling me… thank you for trusting me with this, I will not let you down.”

“Please don’t tell dad… Don’t tell the others.” Scott begged, his voice slightly cracking at the mere idea of having to face the disgust and horror in his father’s eyes as he realized what horrible truths his eldest was hiding.

“I won’t… I will never betray your trust, but…” Virgil exhaled. “Scott they need to know. Not from me, but from you… One day. Whenever you’re ready. We’ll get there together, but they need to know.”

“It’s terrifying…” Scott admitted, shaking his head.

“We love you.” Virgil reassured him, gently caressing his brother’s face and drying those painful tears. “We love you so much. Everything will be alright… I’ll be here with you every step of the way.” He promised wholeheartedly, a thin, gentle smile slowly forming on his lips. The realization hurt, but his one and only priority at the moment was his brother. And he just couldn’t help but smile knowing that Scott, his hero, was finally safe at home, where no one could lay hands on him and hurt him ever again.

“Thank you, Virg.” Scott couldn’t smile, not yet, he had no strength left. But Virgil could read it in his eyes, how grateful he was. A weight had just been lifted from his shoulder, and he finally had someone tell him what he so desperately needed to know: it wasn’t his fault and everything was going to be alright. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, big bro.” Virgil left a loving kiss on his brother’s forehead. “Anytime…”

[vollereix]

Hi!

This is my request! I had to rewrite it because it got lost :/ but I hope this is good enough!

If it’s alright, I’d like to request a Heizou x gn! reader where reader has the stomach flu and is staying home from work, frequently throwing up with a light fever, pounding headache and their body feeling extremely sore. Heizou decides to come over, absence at work was a rare occurrence for them so he took it as his duty to check up on them. He allowed himself inside after no one answered the door and found them heavily breathing in their bed, wide awake again after trying so hard to fall asleep for hours. They greeted him from their bed but as soon as they tried to get up they felt the urge to vomit, emptying their stomach into the bowl on their bedside they had set aside for those moments. They were coughing and tearing up, apologizing immediately that he had to witness something so disgusting. They were embarrassed too. He on the other hand was more concerned than disgusted, taking care of them for the rest of the day. After feeding them, giving them medicine and emptying their bowl multiple times into the toiled he let them straddle his lap and cry against his shoulder in pain, as he gently held them and rubbed comforting circles on their back until they finally fell asleep in his arms.

I had the stomach flu when I originally sent this one in and was craving some comfort so if this makes you uncomfortable and/or you don’t want to write it, it’s absolutely alright! thank you anyways <3

Hihi no worries, i’m perfectly fine with writing sickfics, as long as it’s not fetishes/kinks! Hope you’re doing better, i’m so sorry i couldn’t write this for you when you needed it 😞

THROUGH SICKNESS AND HEALTH

Heizou X gn!reader

Warnings: throwing up, induced vomiting, fever, headaches, body pain, being sick in general

You weren’t quite sure why you still set an alarm for this morning. The past two days had been awful, and today? Not any better.

Turning off your alarm, you forced yourself to get some water. You felt sick, but you knew that your body was dehydrated. Filling the cup to the brim, you took a small sip, letting the water soothe your dry throat.

Despite your multiple attempts to fall asleep, the constant pain and soreness was an unfriendly visitor. You would think about how much work you left undone, the piles of paper stacking up on your desk.

Taking slow breaths, you lay on your side, curling in on yourself and hoping that sleep will come easily.

—

Heizou once again poked his head into your office. He always did, but you weren’t there.

He found it rather weird, you weren’t one to slack off or miss work… and yet it’s been three consecutive days since he last saw you.

Could something have happened?

An unfavourable frown was etched onto Heizou’s face. He debated wether he should check on you.

Better safe than sorry…

It was a good thing you had given him a set of spare keys in case of emergency. Frankly he wasn’t sure if it was an emergency… if it wasn’t, he would not want to invade your house. But if it was…

Silence greeted him. Not even the sound of you trampling down the stairs to open the door.

Maybe you weren’t at home… or maybe you were sleeping, taking a shower… out of the house… The more Heizou thought about it the more worried he got. Taking out his phone he quickly called you.

You reached out a hand to silence the buzzing, not bothering to see who it was. The incessant ringing bringing a pain to your head. If you weren’t so miserable right now, you would have sworn you heard the sound of your door opening.

On the other side Heizou had unlocked the door, cautiously looking around. It certainly didn’t look like you were inside but he knew better than that.

Rushing up the stairs, he felt a sense of relief when he saw your bedroom door open. He was about to knock and call out your name when he realised the way you were breathing heavily. The blanket covering you moving up and down particularly fast.

“…y/n? what’s wrong?” Now Heizou was really worried.

He immediately went over to your side, kneeling down so that he was eye level with you.

“!!” Your eyes widened by just a fraction seeing him in front of you. “H-heizou… hi what are you—” Your apparent shock from his visit suddenly turned into a sense of urgency and discomfort.

Bringing the trash can up to your face, a few empty gags later and a thin stream of watery vomit was being emptied into the the bin.

The water which you had tried so hard to keep down failing you as you vomited your stomach out while coughing and crying miserably. You hadn’t intended for Heizou to see you in this state. Especially not when you were hunched over a trash can with disgusting bile spewing out of your mouth.

You muttered apology after apology, the tears falling in a never ending stream of embarrassment. Heizou was quick to hold you hand and reassure you that he didn’t mind.

Really, he didn’t. Seeing you in so much pain was already heartbreaking for him, his hand rubbed circles on your back as you cried into your hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to see me like this… I’m sor- Im so sorry!” You hiccuped, still crying out an apology.

All you wanted to do now was sink into a hole so deep that no one would be able to find you.

Maybe it was the delirium but you were half expecting Heizou to leave you alone and get disgusted at you.

“shh, don’t apologise. Calm down, i’m not upset i just want to help you.” He brought your head towards his shoulder, hugging you in his warm embrace.

His hands rubbed your shoulders, whispering reassuring words in your ear. Once your cries had turned into small sniffling, Heizou pulled away, his warm eyes looking into yours with so much care and gentleness.

“I’m going to empty the trash can and see if there’s any food you can eat okay?” His words came out as a soft whisper.

You nodded your head, hiccuping again.

After helping you lie down, Heizou did as he said and emptied the trash can, heading to your kitchen. There was practically nothing except for some cup noodles that was definitely not an option.

Letting out a defeated sigh, he only had one other choice which was to call someone to help.

—

Going back up to your room, Heizou closed the door behind him, setting down the bowl of porridge on your bedside table.

Helping you into a sitting position, he spoon fed you the porridge, making sure that i wasn’t too hot before giving it to you.

“don’t worry, i’m just going to throw the rubbish and get you some water.” He gave you a smile, letting you know he wasn’t leaving you.

After passing you a painkiller, he sat next to you on the bed, brushing the hair out of your face. You were still hugging the trash can, a bad feeling settling in your stomach.

Your fruitless attempts to keep the food down was over when your mouth started to fill with excess saliva. Heizou pulled your hair aside with one hand, the other rubbing your back.

Even after a few minutes all that came out was your saliva, leaving you gagging into the bucket. Tears stained your cheeks as another harsh retch fired its way out of your throat.

You didn’t understand why there was nothing coming up, the discomfort in your body was already making you restless.

Before you knew it, you had started crying again, Heizou only kissed your forehead trying to comfort you.

“H-heizou i feel miserable…” Your soft voice came out like a squeak.

“I know, I know. If you’d like I could try to help you…” Hearing this you hastily agreed.

Sitting upright now, Heizou stuck two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue earning a strangled cry from you. You coughed a few times but that was it.

Using a bit more force this time, Heizou pressed down again, this time successfully triggering your gag reflex. Pulling out his hand just in time, you started throwing up your food into the trash can.

The murky yellowish liquid filled the can, your back hunched over in defeat. A while later your vomit tapered off and left you breathing heavily.

“Do you think you’re done?” Heizou who had never left your side the entire time finally spoke up.

“mhm” you answered meekly.

Passing you the cup of water, you rinsed your mouth, letting the disgusting taste get washed out.

You slowly leaned your body against the headboard of your bed as Heizou went to clean up the bin. Breathing still erratic, you placed a hand on your chest trying to calm down.

—

It was already quite late in the night, after a few more incidents, you were completely drained. The fatigue of not getting a good sleep catching up to you.

Heizou had let you straddle his lap, your head hidden in his neck, muffling your cries. His arms wrapped around you protectively, giving you the comfort you needed.

It didn’t matter how long it took for you to fall asleep because Heizou stayed with you the entire night, rubbing circles into your back and making sure you were alright.

[tinydestinybear]

Favourite Things

Pairing: Harry Styles x (f.) Reader

Summary: You had been long accustomed to going into hibernation whenever your periods came but now that you have moved in with Harry and there are no more pads left, what do you do? (Requested by @vrittivsanghavi)

Warnings: Mentions of blood

W/C:

-

Harry had never questioned you on not meeting him for a few days every month until you moved in together. Earlier each month, you’d just give a new reason which convinced him soon that you weren’t exactly that comfortable sharing a side of yours so he gave your own time to trust him enough.

Thankfully this month, he had a trip scheduled to another city for a week which gave you enough time to be in hibernation.

You’re in your bathroom going through the drawers, cursing at yourself innerly for not having enough pads this time. The pain in your stomach seems to increase every time you move so going out yourself to restock them isn’t the best option. At times like these, you hope you’d have Harry right beside you.

However, what you didn’t expect was for Harry to return home as soon as he left.

“Baby, I’m home. Had to cancel t’flight, it’s pretty bad weather out there,” He said while coming into your bedroom. When he saw you, he noticed how unwell you looked and immediately walked towards you.

“Darling you good?” He asked, unsure of what you were doing with a box in your hand. 

“I’m out of my pads,” You groaned, keeping the box back at the cabinet, “I merely have one which won’t even last for 6 hours.”

Noticing your frustration, Harry suggested, “Do you want me to get you a new one from the store? While I get it, you could probably take some rest.”

And instantly, he was met by your rejection. “That’s not- you don’t have to do that. I’ll manage.”

“It’s no big deal love and I’m not letting you go when you feel this sick.” 

“Do you really not mind? I know sometimes people are uncomfortable with it.” You nervously asked, you had always thought that perhaps letting Harry know of that time of your month would led him to distance himself from you. 

“I’m most definitely not, it’s not something to be scared of.”

“Don’t you find it disgusting?”

He shook his head as he reassured you, “It’s not disgusting. They’re natural Y/N, you and I both know that. Has this been the reason why you’ve always distanced yourself?” He took a heavy sigh when you nodded to his question, “I know you might feel a little embarrassed right now, but there’s no need to be. I will never be disgusted by that. I still adore you just the same.”

“Thank you. I’m not used to being taking care of during these times.” You said, looking up at him with glossy eyes. Your emotions were truly a mess at this point. 

“Hey, no crying okay? and let me tell you we’re about to change all about that caring.”

“You looking after me, being this nice like an absolute sweetheart - it’s bound to me cry.” Seeing your happy tears, a smile took its place on his own face.

“Well, I’ll do anything to make you feel relaxed and happier. So please never worry of letting me know of these times, I want to take care of you hm?” He kissed the top of your nose as he wiped the tears on your cheek before he left for the store while you laid on the couch to rest for awhile.

Hearing the door open after a good 15 minutes, your head turned towards as you saw Harry with two bags. You chuckled when you spotted some of your favourite chocolates inside in one bag, “How much did you buy?”

“Sweets never hurt. I’m sure you’ll love to have some even more right now.” 

Once Harry made sure you had some food and sweets along with a relaxing bath, he waited till he was convinced that you were asleep and removed himself from the covers before going to the kitchen to tidy everything up. He stopped in his tracks when he heard you call for him, “Harry?”

“Hm,” He came around to sit on the edge on the bed, gently getting the hair out of your head. “You need something?”

“Yeah, you.” You said, a little annoyed that you couldn’t feel his warmth around you. “Come here and love me?”

“Don’t even have to ask. I didn’t know the neediness increases with the period,” He teased, deciding to tidy up later and as soon as he joined you back, you snuggled closer to him.

“Have I told you how amazing you are?” You asked while turning your head to look up at him, “Because you definitely deserve to know that.” 

“I know you’re just saying that to keep me massaging your tummy,” He chuckled while rubbing your tummy to help ease the pain and leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

[sanisse]

What about a NSFW alphabet for our boy Lindir? Elrond wouldn’t want him to feel left out lol. Also, I mean, it’s Lindir, need I say more?

yessss I LOVE him. He's so heartbreakingly gorgeous. Lindir's one of my blorbos and I feel like he's criminally underrated.

Lindir NSFW Alphabet

small cw for mentions of uncomfortable/bad past experiences. 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Sleepy baby

No but really he has such a difficult time staying awake after sex. He’s also kind of no thoughts head empty/a little dumb. Embarrassingly easy to fuck stupid. 

If he’s subbing (which is often) subspace and subsequent sub-drop lasts a long time for him and he requires a lot of aftercare. 

Very clingy. Please hold him and give him forehead smoochies. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tbh Lindir’s kind of insecure about his body? I think if you were to ask him, he would say he really likes his eyes. He genuinely thinks they’re pretty (they are!) and likes that about himself even if he isn’t super proud of the rest of himself.

He’s a body-worship guy so really he likes every part of you, but he does have a hand and finger kink so expect a lot of palm/wrist/hand kisses and sucking on fingers. It gets him going. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

opaque but very runny, doesn’t come a lot. Just a little splatter, really. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a number of kinks he finds embarrassing and worries about (but we aren’t here to kinkshame him!!). BIG consent play kink, mild pissing kink, big cockwarming/objectification kink, gigantic humiliation kink. He’s such a kinky little bastard and he so deeply wants to just be used. 

But more specifically on the lines of a dirty little secret: he so desperately wants Elrond to use him. I cannot even describe how much he thinks about this. No thoughts head empty. Definitely masturbates about it. Elrond has definitely caught him masturbating to this. He just deeply longs to be fucked over Elrond’s desk in his study. I don’t make the rules. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not super experienced. He hasn’t been around the block a lot and actually has some bad past experiences with male partners. It was a shock to him to discover that bottoming isn’t supposed to be painful. 

As a result he’s easy to accidentally bully in the bedroom & bad at communicating and requires a very careful gentle partner (even if he does, in his heart of hearts, want someone to just fuck the shit out of him. Please be gentle with him to start!! Good communication and proper consent is new to him!!) 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

When bottoming/receiving: missionary or-- not entirely if sure if this has some kind of official name, but spooning? With him being the little spoon. He also likes prone bone. Basically anything where he’s getting smothered and held. :) He prefers to bottom. 

If he’s topping (which he’s good at but doesn’t prefer, but will do if asked), he still likes spooning and missionary. He also really likes cowgirl and reverse cowgirl because he still feels like he’s bottoming. He gets kind of worried that he isn’t doing a good job so he prefers his partners to take their pleasure into their own hands if at all possible. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious isn’t the right word but he’s very worshipful. He can get kind of anxious or worried very easily, though, and hyperfocused on making things good for his partner. It’s difficult to get him to relax. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Completely hairless absolutely everywhere but his head and the smallest little happy trail on his stomach. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Needy, worshipful, attentive, adoring. He is simultaneously the best and worst partner you might ever have. When Lindir is really secure and confident in the bedroom he is just-- *chef’s kiss* wide saucer eyes that are only for you, so much oral (SO MUCH ORAL). He wants to kiss you, hold you, touch you, pleasure you. He will figure out everything you like as fast as he can and do all of it.

When he’s unconfident, though, he can be very stressed out, uncertain, and anxious. Has definitely had a panic attack once or twice during sex from the sheer worry that he isn’t being good for his partner. Again-- he requires a lot of patience, love, and reassurance due to past experiences. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

His masturbation exclusively includes fantasies of his current partner. He’s very private and very embarrassed about his masturbatory habits and will be shy about it if caught. He doesn’t like to masturbate in front of his partners (unless it’s in a bdsm context and he’s been told to and then it’s very hot for him). 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Lindir’s just a kinky little bastard. As previously mentioned: he has a consent play kink and an objectification/humiliation kink. He also melts over being told he’s being good, though! Praise kink goes hand in hand with his humiliation kink and he can come from either.

He has an oral fixation and has come from giving oral as well. Multiple times. He literally doesn’t even need to touch himself. Specifically especially if he’s getting his throat fucked by Elrond his partner and his partner comes? It’s enough to make him come: his partner’s pure pleasure at his expense.

He also may or may not have a daddy/mommy kink which he’s not super aware of but two certain someones may fulfill for him. 

OH and how could I forget: he has a free use, gangbang, and breeding kink that all go hand in hand together. He’s WAY too shy to act on all but the breeding kink of his own volition but if his partner figures out about the gangbang/free use fantasy he’ll be an utter mess for them. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He actually really likes the thrill/humiliation of semi-public spaces, but private rooms are more conducive to all the cuddles he likes post-sex. 

Very partial to being held and fucked in the bathtub. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Exertion of dominance. Commands. Even the smallest little things from a partner (folding clothes/doing chores, helping them get dressed/undressed, etc). 

Collar him. He will melt.

Kiss his neck. Tell him he looks pretty. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Substitution (please don’t pretend he’s someone else even in a kinky way. It hurts him). 

Degradation/name calling that goes too far. A little degradation/name calling is very fun for him, but don’t make it super personal. And keep away from any insults that mock his sexual skill (some people really like being made to feel inadequate. He’s not one of them). He’s more of a “please call me a whore” than a “please tell me I’m a useless pathetic mess” degradation kink person. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Uh yeah. This is one of his favorite things.

Like honestly it might be his favorite.

Don’t get me wrong he does really like sex but he also just...???? LOVES giving oral. Doesn’t matter if he’s eating pussy or sucking cock it’s just his favorite thing. Smother him. Hold him down. Fuck his face. Use him. 

Alternatively, lie back and let him pleasure you for hours. He’ll do it happily.

Alternatively-alternatively: he absolutely loves being a cockwarmer. It sends him into subspace in point five seconds.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

When topping: slow, passionate, very gentle as a default. Can fuck hard if asked but doesn’t naturally default this way.

When bottoming he is just dying to be fucked within an inch of his life. But will unconsciously melt and cry if you just make love to him (he forgets it’s a thing and just...yeah he’ll melt). 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickie ambivalent. The problem with quickies is that he really likes to be held/cuddled after sex and quickies aren’t super conducive to this. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

VERY experimentation positive. He loves trying new things! He can be nervous but is a very good sport about new stuff.

It’s hard to get him to admit that he wants to try something new, though. It takes a lot of coaxing and he’s easily embarrassed. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Comes extremely fast but doesn’t really ever seem to flag. 

Like, embarrassingly fast lmao. You could lightly blow on him and he’d come if he’s worked up. This is why he actually really likes cock rings and cock-cages. 

HOWEVER, like I said: he can come and come and come and come. One after the other after the other. This does get extremely tiring and he can easily accidentally be pushed into overdoing it. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Oh he owns a LOT of toys and is very shy about it.

Lindir’s a size queen. The toys in his underwear drawer are extremely large and he’d absolutely die if anyone found them. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing ambivalent. Positive but ambivalent. He doesn’t like to tease his partners since their orgasms are honestly what gets him off, but he will tease if asked to. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He is LOUD.

Adorable, but loud. High pitched whimpers, mewls, gasps, moans. Will yelp and scream. Tends to be very incoherant when he’s turned on so don’t expect any sentences. Just lots of begging and praise but mostly little whines and mewls. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Fantasizes about being asked to take care of Elrond’s guests for him.

Elrond would never ask him to DO such a thing of course! But Elrond has absolutely entertained this fantasy for him and it was very fun for all parties involved. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s small. It’s really cute, actually. About four and a half inches and average girth. Pale with a cute blush-pink head. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Two words.

Horny. Bastard.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Uh.

I’m pretty sure he’s fallen asleep during sex.  

[bucknastysbabe]

Candy - Talk Talk

Rating: Mature

A/N: Be warned this is my projection of being in active alcoholism. But make it a songfic and interpret past shitty relationships. Shit warps your reality, thoughts, perceptions. Basically a lot of slipping into alcoholism is a slow slide triggered into GO TIME by an emotional/traumatic or even euphoric event so def not fic Bucky’s fault. Very unreliable narrator. Sequel of sorts to Tommy’s Party

Tags: TW ADHERE!! sui ideation, explicit descriptions of withdrawals, alcoholism and alcohol abuse, toxic relationships, depression, delusional thinking, drug abuse, just dreadful really

This sure is some kind of party. It's so useful. Surrounds my life with excuses. For what I choose to lose.

You knew this was stupid. So stupid. Wanda had tried to persuade you to go to another party that didn’t include your roommate cum ex-boyfriend. But nope. You were drunk already and wanted to feel something— whether that be chaos, pain, or the gentle caress of oblivion.

The parties masked the pain of living with the man you still loved. The man who had clearly moved on with new flings every week. You drank and danced to find an excuse to not think think fucking think all the damn time.

You don’t have to wonder what you did wrong with a stomach full of booze and nose full of adderall. Kept you in the moment. Therefore if you went out every night with the ‘wrong crowd’ that was your problem. The rest of day you could spend hungover and sleeping away your amounting problems.

And my name. Doesn't look the same to me.

Your advisor had sent you to a counselor because of your plummeting grades. The lady asked if you were depressed. “No, just tired,” you lied.

“How much do you drink a week?”

Once.

You were fine as long as you had your new lover. Although he was consuming you, transforming you into something better, freer, no cares in the world. The girl you always wanted to be. The one who stared back at you with glazed eyes and reddened cheeks in the mirror was a different person. Thank god.

And inside, don't you know I feel so bad.

Bucky pulled you aside the other day, his stupidly handsome face all wrought with concern. He gripped your shoulder, pretty pink mouth trembling, pissed, “What’s happened to you? You’re throwing your life away.” You shoved him away, hissing, “Since when did you care? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks. Just leave me be I’m fine.”

He trembled in anger, throwing up his hands. Bucky tried to stay level but ended up shouting, “I do care! It’s fucking hell watching you poison yourself and run with those,” he bit his lip and paused, “Those alpha fucks.”

You stared at him blankly. There was a fifth behind your bed. Walking to your room you said over your shoulder, “It’s only okay for you when everything’s perfect.”

You heard something get thrown, vodka dripping down your heaving throat.

Candy, when I tried to turn away. To feel new again.

You shoved Brock off your shaking frame. He was out cold. You needed something. Stop the shakes, sweaty shivers wracking your body. Now. Bucky had some whiskey hidden away in the kitchen. He was out the door when Brock came in, a look of disgust on Buck’s handsome face. Twisting and marring it.

Good.

Less he was around the more you could indulge. Blocking our reality was hard when someone who made you want to do better was confusing. Brock was a dick, he made it easy.

My emotion cost me pain. Did I look the same? When I think about the times that I laughed away the idea you'd cheat me.

There was nothing in your room. Nothing in the apartment. No fix. Your brain was screaming at you, skin crawling uncomfortably. The air was too hot, too cold, you didn’t know. All your money was spent until next week.

“You need help, I can’t take it anymore, I poured it out,” came his shaky voice.

You turned to glare at your former love, eyes manic and red rimmed. Your mouth was so, so dry. Stalking toward Bucky you weakly shoved his broad chest, croaking, “Why the fuck would you do that? The fuck is wrong with you?” Your head erupted into a pang of pain, wincing.

Bucky grabbed your shoulders, shaking, pleading, “C’mon, I have some Powerade, we can watch movies and try to relax like old times.”

You trembled in place with anger and the onset of delirium tremens. Bucky searched your sunken eyes, fear lacing his features. Why couldn’t he just move away and leave you alone. You thought he’d bolt by now. With a ragged sob you replied, “I never thought you’d enjoy seeing me in pain so much.” You crumpled, he held you, repeating he didn’t like to see you in pain.

He sat by your side for a little that night. But the liquor was back in your cup. He told you he was gone if you didn’t stop. The idiot had been gone since he deemed your relationship too ‘isolated’.

Bucky didn’t end up leaving, hovering like a nursemaid. Maybe there was a way.

But look again, what do you say? 'That's my name.’

Bucky stayed around, trying to wean you off. Spring break. What a bust. You couldn’t keep anything down. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if oblivion would be better. He irked you, made hatred boil up, something that was so pure had been blackened. You were too weak to go get your own shit, but he probably took your money too.

Bucky sat next to you on the couch, big hand on your elbow. You spat, “What? Come to wallow in my misery like a pig in shit?” He sighed, gritting his jaw. The brunette asked, “Do you not see a problem here?” You didn’t like the way his heavy brows pinched, made your heart ache.

You turned to face him, face close up, Bucky’s eyes darting to your lips. Breath fanning against his slack jaw you rasped, “The problem is you aren’t seeing me. Never have. Too clingy, too wild, too drunk.” You nipped his lip roughly, growling, “Did’ja only like me when you were fucking me?”

Bucky pulled back, breath hitching. He stood up abruptly, yelling, “What the fuck are you even talking about? I love you!” His blue eyes were watery. He croaked, “I mean who even are you anymore baby?” Your throat tightened. Fuck fuck fuck you needed booze.

AND I HOPE THAT I'VE KEPT YOU AMUSED

TO WIPE THAT SPIT RIGHT OFF MY BOOTS

Lies. Bucky was lying. Your brain whispered darkly, manipulating anything that might’ve been coherent though. He was bootlicking, appealing to that little soft part in your heart. Just enough to keep you on that string for his twisted amusement. You dialed Brock.

“Pick me up, bring a roadie stat.”

And when I'm home and thinking in the dark. I hope that none of this has had to go too far.

When it gets too late. To see me any other way.

He moved out a month later. Finally, your thoughts cheered. But why did it still hurt even when plastered on the ground? Bucky left a scathing note. You cried until your nose bled after. Fucking idiot, that’s your name.

‘Get help because I’m not going to see you lifeless in a coffin. Don’t contact me until you’re sober.’

Maybe you should get sober. But wasn’t this your plan? Run off the ones who really cared? Make Bucky hate you because it was easier than knowing he chose to leave you. Wanda even cut you off, Steve left a flyer for AA on your porch.

You took another swig.

Atleast you had this. The only thing within your grasp.

And it gets so hard to hold on. To everything that I want so bad.

[mystic-shadows42]

Roman Godfrey Horror Character Comparison >> Patrick Bateman

“I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days.” - Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)

“What’ve you done?” You asked as you dropped the two bags full of food from your hands.

You stared in horror at Roman whose face was dripping with blood. He was mindlessly staring at himself in the mirror, not bothering to even react or look your way. Instead, he answered you in a monotone voice.

“I don’t feel like myself.”

Your chest felt heavy. You had only been gone for thirty minutes. Roman had been ill for a week and had begged you to get him something to eat after not having much of an appetite for the past couple of days. You figured he was at least feeling better but now that you looked at him, you figured wrong.

“What do you mean?”

Through the mirror, his eyes looked darker. His skin was lighter almost as if he was drained of life.

“I didn’t feel any pain.” 

You looked at the cut that Roman had inflicted on himself and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking trying to harm himself. It wasn’t like him at all to try and do something like that.

“You said you were hungry so I brought you food,” you didn’t quite know what to say. Roman was making you feel uncomfortable with how detached he seemed to be right now.

“I do feel hungry. It’s like an insatiable thirst that can’t be quenched.”

You narrowed your brows not understanding what he was saying.

“There’s water in the kitchen...and juice. I can bring you anything you’d like.” You rubbed your hands together feeling nervous. Roman straightened his posture and looked at you sharply in the mirror.

“I can hear your heart racing. It’s only making your blood flow more soundly,” he closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation. What he was saying wasn’t making sense but you knew he wasn’t well.

He needed to be seen and you doubt he’d want it to be from a doctor. Roman opened his eyes and they fluttered a few times before his eyes grew wide in alert. His pupils were dilated then his breathing became harsh.

“You need to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you like this.” You took a step forward but stopped when he looked at you sharply. His eyes were almost completely black now.

“You need to go before I do something bad. There’s only so much control I have over myself right now.”

You huffed out a humorless laugh thinking perhaps this was all some sort of joke he’d been playing with you. It was a sick joke that you so wanted to believe. You walked straight to him and rubbed his arms trying to soothe him but he held you firmly away looking at you intensely.

“Get the fuck out before I fucking hurt you.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. That otherworldly look he gave you was enough to scare you right out of the house. The groceries were long forgotten and gone was the thought of caring for your long time-friend whom you harbored a crush on.

[halloweenhoneylover]

running the red

summary: prequel to slow going. there’s a party in a house in the suburbs on a chilly night in march. (steve harrington x fem!reader)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: some fluff, mostly angst, listen to bags by clairo while reading for real pain

author's note: reposted bc it wasn't showing up in the tag so fingers crossed. also both parts can be read independently or not.

Somebody with a big house had parents that were out of town. 

You usually liked parties. You liked the music, the dancing, and as long as you brought your own alcohol, the drinks weren’t bad. There was something exhilarating about being a young person at a party, feeling like you were doing something right finally. Something was off tonight though, and you found yourself struggling to have a good time. 

You knew why. Earlier in the evening, you had been fine, sitting at your vanity smudging on eyeliner and chatting mindlessly with Robin who was close to burning herself on your curling iron. Finally, she flew too close to the sun, and you heard her hiss behind you. “Shit.” You heard her trot to your bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash water on her burn. “How do you not injure yourself with this every time you use it?” she called. 

“I don’t know, might just be you, man. Wouldn’t say that dexterity is your strong suit.” You wielded the mascara wand masterfully, blinking it onto a curled lash. 

She returned to your room. “You just make it look so easy.” 

“Not everyone can play with the pros, baby girl.”

Collapsing onto the floor with a grimace, she pointed to the table in front of you. “Can you pass me the blush?”

Absentmindedly, you tossed it to her which she fumbled helplessly onto the ground. “Zero for two, Jesus Christ.”

From behind you, there was a knock. “What’s up, ladies?”

You turned to see a grinning Steve leaning on the doorframe of your bedroom.

Robin put the blush down momentarily. “You know, I don’t love it when you greet us like we're some of the poor girls you prey on at work.”

His face screwed up in disgust. “Please don’t frame me as a predator. I don’t need that kinda baggage.”

You looked sympathetic. “It must hamper your really incredible game.”

His jaw dropped in betrayal. “Don’t team up on me here!”

You turned to Robin with faux disbelief and tutted disapprovingly. “I can’t believe that Steve is actively opposed to female solidarity.”

She shook her head. “And to think he calls himself a feminist ally.”

“I am!” he spluttered indignantly. “Don’t spin my words against me, you guys are the worst.” You extended a hand to Robin which she high-fived while Steve grumbled under his breath. “Why do I drive you guys anywhere?”

You turned back to the mirror to finish up your mascara. “Because we’re your good friends, and you care for us deeply.”

Behind you, Steve gazed at you with an intensity he couldn’t comprehend while something in his chest itched uncomfortably. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Robin making a heart shape out of her hands and pouting her lips in a caricature of fake kisses. He shook his head at her with pinched brows like he didn’t understand, and she narrowed her eyes at him because obviously, he did. From his place at the doorway, he kicked out a foot to gently rock her backwards, and she slapped his foot away aggressively. 

“You guys aren’t even speaking, how does it always devolve into physical altercations?” You twisted the cap on your mascara and fluffed up your hair.

“Because sometimes a slap upside the head is the only way to get a point through his thick skull,” Robin retorted.

“Robin, I told you I’m self-conscious about how big my head is, why would you say that?”

“It’s a saying, dingus! It doesn’t actually describe the circumference of your head, oh my god.” She stood and placed the blush on the vanity next to you. “I have to pee.” Then, she stormed out. 

You got up from your seat to stand in front of Steve with an oddly serious look on your face. He was about to ask you what you were doing when you grabbed his head, and his eyes widened, but you just tilted it around, inspecting with furrowed brows. You shook your head. “Nope, seems pretty normal-sized to me.”

Steve just grinned down at you. 

—

Somehow, you got shafted in Nose Goes and forced into the backseat. You hated the backseat. It always felt like you were a child being driven around by your parents, and you always found yourself hauling yourself in between the front seats to participate in the conversation.

Squished between the seats and arm propped on the center console, you rested your chin on your palm. “Whose house are we going to again?”

“Cindy M’s.”

“How do we know Cindy M?”

“I’ve been on a couple dates with her recently.”

“Dates plural?” Robin asked incredulously.

“Yes, dates plural.” He shot her a disapproving look. “I don’t know it’s been going pretty well.”

You stared at the radio, glowing in the dark of the car. Suddenly, you were burdened with the task of Acting Normal despite very unforgiving circumstances: going to the house of a girl who your best friend was seeing with said best friend who you were harboring immense, sticky feelings for. Your eyes were wide, begging for help while you stared at Robin who also felt incredibly panicked. 

Your mental telepathy was well-honed, so she received the message beamed through your expression. Did you know?

To which she responded with a silent Of course I didn’t!!!

And then, you failed your Acting Normal challenge and slouched into the backseat, and to cover up your fatal mistake, you piped up from the back, “Will we get to meet this special lady tonight?”

Somehow missing the incredible mental communication happening beside him, Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. She’s hosting, so she might be busy.”

Oh my god, he’s embarrassed of us, you thought to yourself. You stretched out in the backseat to maybe die. As if this could get any worse.

—

It could get worse. The party was fine, nothing special, but contrary to Steve’s earlier prediction, you did get to meet Cindy M, and she was perfectly nice and pretty and interesting.

It was horrible.

The worst part was that you couldn’t even hate her, that in another life, if she wasn’t courting your crush, you might actually be friends. Robin watched in horror as you chatted with Cindy lightheartedly enough, even cracking a couple jokes now and then, and she saw the hope drain from your eyes. 

Steve appeared from around a corner with two red solo cups in his hand, one of which he handed to Cindy. She grabbed it and smiled up at him, and when she said thanks!, you could see her perfect, shiny, white teeth flashing, and somehow that was the thing that pushed you over the edge. 

Ducking your face into your cup, you disguised the disappointment flooding your features. You cleared your throat, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed there before looking up with a bright smile of your own. “I think I might also need a refill.”

“Me too,” Robin added quickly. 

Steve tore his eyes away from the pretty girl in front of him to look at you both. “Do you guys want me to get them?”

“No, we’re good! You keep her company.” You flashed a smile at Cindy who smiled back at you, and when you couldn’t wish her the worst, you ducked into the mass of people to somehow find your way to the kitchen. Robin trailed close behind you, almost falling into people as she tried to keep pace with you. By the time you emerged into the relative clearing that was the kitchen, Robin was panting.

“Your uncanny ability to maneuver through large masses of people is something I will never be able to understand.” 

“Oh my god, Robin, she’s so nice.” Completely ignoring Robin’s previous statement, you crossed your arms on the kitchen island and rested your head on them. She laid a wary hand on your shoulder and tried to think of something comforting. 

“Maybe she’ll, like, get hit by a car or something.”

You lifted your head to glare at her. “Do you know how bad it is, Robin? It’s so bad that I don’t even wish great misfortune upon her. So don’t say shit like that.” Your head was placed back on your arms.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But maybe Steve doesn’t even like her that much.”

“He’s gone on dates, Robin! Plural! I’m fucking screwed!”

Finally relenting her crusade of optimism, she admitted, “Yeah, it really sucks.” She observed you in your position of misery against the counter. “Do you wanna go home?”

“We have no way of getting there.”

“I don’t know, I’ll call…Keith.”

That brought you out of your distressed state of collapse. “You would call Keith for me?”

She shrugged a little with the ghost of a smile. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Maybe you were a little tipsy because you weren’t a very touchy person regularly, but you launched yourself at her into a hug. “Thank you.” It came out muffled against her jacket. You removed yourself from her, and when you saw the interminable sympathy in her eyes, you sighed. “I very much appreciate the gesture, but neither one of us should get in a car with Keith ever, I think? And I think I’ll survive. It’s a party! I can have fun.”

“You sound really convincing.”

“I can have fun.” The sight of a familiar bottle in your peripheral vision caught your eye, so you grabbed it and held it up in victory. “We’re doing tequila shots.”

Robin eyed the bottle warily. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Grabbing the shot glasses and filling them, you reassure her, “This’ll be fun. We’ll both take a shot and refill our drinks, so we’re drunk enough to have fun but not too drunk, so we’re still classy, and it’ll be great! Limes!” From somewhere on the counter, you found a bowl of pre-cut lime wedges. (Cindy was a really great host.) Grabbing the salt, you poured some on the back of both your hands.

“Ready?” You looked at Robin whose concern had faded but not disappeared entirely. Glancing at the shots and then back up at you, she shrugged.

“Oh, what the hell.” You cheered, and you both licked the salt off your hands, downed the shots, and sucked the lime wedges. Giggling, you stuck both of your hands up for a double high-five that Robin granted you readily. 

“See? It’s fun, not sad!”

—

For a while, you were right. The party could be pretty fun, and you remembered why you liked them. The music, the dancing, the drinks. Having dragged Robin into the density of the living room to dance, you were now sweating profusely, and your quads were becoming sore from bent knees for hip swaying. Only when you felt some rando’s hand on your waist did you feel the need to remove yourself from the crowd with Robin following behind. 

Emerging from the mass of people breathlessly, you bumped into someone on the outskirts of the living room, and you began to apologize profusely when you looked up to see a familiar face. “Hey, Vickie,” you cheered pointedly. 

“Vickie!” Robin echoed with eyebrows raised and a tripping heart. “Hi—uh—how are you?”

Ginger hair curling at her sharp jaw, she gave a toothy grin. “Hey, guys! Fancy running into you here!”

“Crazy coincidence, I know!” you replied, tone stilted. “You know, I hate to do this, but I need to go refill my drink, but luckily, Robin here can keep you company!” You stared at your friends intensely with eyes that read This is a golden opportunity, and legally, you have to take it.

The message must have been conveyed because Robin was giving you a thumbs up, and you were thrust back into the labyrinth of people that made up the hallway. Ducking around kissing couples and conversations, you found the back door that led out onto a patio, but it was filled with people playing pong, so you redirected into the entry foyer which was relatively unpopulated. Needing a quiet space to catch your breath for a couple minutes, you thought about going upstairs but then figured that you were more likely to encounter horny young people and their accompanying noises than peace and quiet. For a moment, your mind drifted to Steve and Cindy M, and you wondered if they had gone upstairs. Your stomach twisted, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the thought of them or the alcohol, so you decided you needed some fresh air and stepped out the front door. 

It was March, and March in Indiana is fickle. However, today was decidedly a recollection of the winter that had only just faded a couple weeks ago, but the cold was a welcome refuge from the overwhelming heat of young adult bodies pressed together. Almost as soon as you stumbled off the porch step, a gust of wind bit at your nose, and a crop of goosebumps prickled over your arms. Shivering, you thought back to the moment you had left your house.

“You’re stupid if you’re leaving without a jacket,” Steve chided from the doorway and the warmth of his own jacket. Halfway over your front lawn to his car, you turned to grin at him. 

“We’re never gonna be outside for long. The walk from your car to the house and back! I’ll be fine, mom.”

Knowing you wouldn’t be going back in the house despite his protests, he shut the door behind him, sauntering onto your stoop. “You say that now, but when we’re walking out, you’re gonna whine, and I’m gonna have to give you my jacket, and then I’m gonna be cold, and that’s not fair to me.”

“I’m not gonna whine!” you protested.

“I know you, [Y/N/N]. You’re the biggest whiner of them all.” He had finally caught up to you in your yard and knocked you with his shoulder as he teased.

“Okay, then just don’t give me your jacket if you’re gonna be a baby about it.” Together, you trudged towards his car, your arms wrapped around yourself to protect you from the chill. He noticed this and gave you a knowing look. 

Rounding the front of the car to get to the driver’s side, he retorted, “I’m not the baby in this situation.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile pulling at your lips. “Whatever you say, Harrington.

You never liked admitting that he knew better, but you had to give him his due as you clutched yourself in Cindy M’s front yard. It was deserted, a few solo cups abandoned in the grass, but at this point, it was just you and the line of cars in the driveway. A wobble in your knee suggested that perhaps sitting was your best option at the moment, so you stumbled to the curb at the end of the lawn and heaved yourself onto the ground. Scuffing your shoe against the fine gravel that had collected where the road met the curb, you tried to think about anything but Steve to no avail. You hugged your knees to your chest and sighed with steely regret pumping through your veins. At least Cindy lived at the end of a dead end, so there were no cars and hopefully no neighbors to witness your pity party.

“What happened to not leaving the premises of the party?”

Steve’ familiar voice called out behind you, the smile evident in his voice, but you could hear the grass rustling like he was trotting over to you, so you didn’t turn. Instead, you hunched your shoulders further and pressed your shins closer. 

You waited until he arrived next to you, so you wouldn’t have to raise your voice. “What are you talking about?”

Settling beside you, he splayed his legs out and fiddled with his empty cup. “I know how you like to hide away in some secluded part of the party that you think only you can find, but you’re not as sneaky as you think.” You turned your head to look at him. He jutted his chin out, watching the stillness of the night in front of you like he was on guard from something hiding just out of sight. Gazing at him with discerning eyes, you mourned, thinking that nobody ever gave him credit for how observant he was. It was rather tragic that Steve Harrington was convinced he was stupid when he really wasn’t. 

“I didn’t think anybody ever noticed I was gone.”

“I do.” His head swiveled to look down at you, and you shifted your gaze away, unable to meet his eyes. He wondered why you wouldn’t look at him. “I notice.” For a moment, it was so quiet that all that could be heard was the rustling of the wind in the trees, but Steve didn’t often care much for silence. “Besides, you’re always gone for huge chunks of time.”

“I’m only ever gone for, like, twenty minutes at most.”

“That’s a long time.” He tucked his chin to his chest when he was finally convinced you wouldn’t look at him. “‘S a long time without you, [Y/N/N].”  But that feels too sticky, too touchy-feely, so he stumbled out new words to cover the old ones. “Always get worried about you, think something’s happened to you. There’s some jerky guys in this town, and I wanna make sure you’re safe, so I always find you and make sure you’re good.”

“You haven’t ever said anything about it before.” You crossed your arms over your knees and rested your chin there, trying to see what he sees in the shadows.

“I have, though.”

For the first time since he came out, you met his eyes, and you looked confused. “I don’t remember that.”

When he chuckled, you could see the wispy steam churning from his hot breath. “I bet you don’t. You were pretty gone that night, and when I went to go check on you, you were sitting in a tree twenty yards into the woods behind Andrew Clark’s house chatting with yourself.”

You looked mortified, squeezing your eyes shut, and Steve laughed. “You’re joking.”

He leaned to bump you with his shoulder, and it was like his laughter was contagious because at his touch, you devolved into embarrassed giggles. “No, I’m not. There was some singing too. Did you know you’re a real Whitney Houston when you’re drunk?”

“Oh god.”

“Honestly, it was the only way I found you that night. Heard Saving All My Love for You echoing through the trees.” He grinned at you as you buried your face in your shoulder. “But we got you down without breaking any legs, and I told you that you could still have your alone time at parties as long as you remained on the premises, so I wouldn’t have to come fishing you out of trees.”

Looking back to the house and then back at him, you said, “I think I’m still technically on the premises right now.”

He tutted at you disapprovingly before slapping the curb with his hand. “See where you’re sitting right now? Who d’you think paved it? The Millers? Nah, the city did. So, I think that means technically, you’re on the mean streets of Hawkins alone at night.”

You gestured to the still suburbia in front of you. “Seems super dangerous to me.”

He looked back into the darkness with a small smile and something serious staining his gaze. “You never know.”

A particularly strong gust of wind breezed around you, and you slid your hands up and down your arms, trying to create friction. Rolling his eyes beside you, Steve began to shoulder off his jacket. “What did I tell you about bringing a coat?”

“Steve, really, you don’t have—” But he was as stubborn as you, pulling the jacket over your bare arms despite your protests. Not willing to contest it once it was on because its heat was undeniable and necessary (and it smelled like his cologne), you tugged it on tighter, grumbling a quiet thanks. 

“Why’d you come out here?” His question felt sharp against your sternum and maybe he could see the trepidation on your face because he continued, “Just that it’s so cold, and I’m sure there were plenty of good hiding spots upstairs.”

You decided to be honest. “Too many horny people upstairs.”

That kicked a laugh out of him. “Suppose that’s true.”

“Like the cold too.”

He scoffed at that. “What, you like to suffer?” And sitting next to him, you think, yeah, I do. 

Maybe that’s the realization that pushed you into action because something deep in you ached, and the soft part of you was crying, begging to stop suffering. Or at least, to suffer in a different way, to suffer with the glory of truth. Once it occurred to you, it bubbled up endlessly into your throat, and you had to stop yourself from vomiting out all your feelings at once. 

“Steve, I have to tell you something.”

As if he could tell everything in you had sobered up, he straightened his back and with a soft gaze, answered, “Okay.”

“It’s big and scary, though.” Your eyes were big and round and shiny as they looked up at him, and it was unnerving for him. You tended to be opaque, hard to read on purpose, but now, he could look in your eyes and see your fear plainly. 

He nodded, trying to reassure you. His eyebrows pinched together in concern. “Okay.”

Looking at the ground because you could no longer look at him, you whispered. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “What’d you say? I couldn’t hear.”

“Um,” you gulp hastily, trying to reorient yourself so you wouldn’t come out guns ablazing. “I don’t know if you could tell, but when we first met, I hated you.” He laughed at that, and it egged you on. “Um yeah, I thought you were the worst. ‘Cuz in school, you were the worst. But then we started talking, and I realized you weren’t the same guy, and I actually really liked talking to you. You made me laugh, you were nice.” Something in your chest gave out, maybe it knew you were getting to the hard part. “And—”cough”—and I don’t know when it happened, my heart started to beat really fast whenever you were around, and I’d start to freak out because I wouldn’t know what to say to you, and that had never happened before.”

The pieces of the puzzle were fitting together in Steve’s mind, and something pleasant and curly commingled with dread in his stomach. 

“I can’t really explain it, Steve, but I like you. A lot.” Your big moony eyes shined up at him again, and Steve saw a different ‘l’ word there. “And I know I really shouldn’t say this to you while we’re at the house of the girl you’re dating, but I was gonna literally throw up if I didn’t say anything, and I don’t expect you to, like, drop her and sweep me off my feet or anything.” Your voice shrunk, thin and barely audible with the weight of your heart. “ I just figured if anyone could let me down easy, it’d be you.”

The rustling of leaves in the trees. The hush of the grass in the wind. He looked at you with an unfathomable expression, and the deep brown of his eyes flicked rapidly as he searched your face. You didn’t know what he was looking for. 

You didn’t want to rush him by any means, but you were sitting there with your heart in your hands, beating, bleeding, and it was awfully hard to breathe.

“Steve,” you begged. “Could you please say something?” A rough swallow. “Anything?”

It felt momentous. Earth-shaking, even. The ground beneath Steve was rolling, and he had no idea what to do. Inside the house, there was a pretty girl waiting for him, and it would be safe and easy to go back in there and kiss her and try to love her. Out here on the edge of the world with you, he could fall off the precipice at any second, and it would hurt worse than anything that could happen inside that stupid house, and Steve couldn’t help but think that you were right. It was big and scary.

His chest rose and fell with big breaths, and he still hadn’t looked away. The soft part of him was yelling at him too. 

He didn’t feel entirely in control of himself as he stood wordlessly. He wished you would close your fucking eyes. They were cavernous and sad, and tears were seeping at the corners. He turned his head away because he couldn’t look anymore. Especially as he turned and walked back up to the house. 

read slow going here.

[flecks-of-stardust]

Dreamless: Chapter Three — First Reckonings

Chapter three of my Hollow Knight AU, Dreamless. Spoilers inbound.

Learn more about this AU; a link to the Dreamless masterlist.

Chapter summary: Ghost finishes polishing Quirrel's nail and bids him farewell. They then have an altercation with the snails, and are thrown out. After that, they encounter Sly, and are given a few uncomfortable truths about Hallownest.

Content warning for bound hands and legs (briefly) and self hatred (brief).

Read this chapter on AO3.

It doesn’t take too long for them to finish polishing the nail. They sit back, admiring their work briefly. It’s polished enough that they can see their reflection in it, the metal catching the glow of their shell nicely. Hefting it in their hand one last time, they hand the nail back to the isopod hilt first. “You should really learn how to care for your nail yourself.” 

The isopod sighs, accepting the nail and turning it over in their hands. “I should. Once I’m done here, I’ll figure something out.” The isopod turns it this way and that, observing their work. “Thank you, traveler.”  

They shrug. “Just be glad it was still fixable.”

“Oh, I am.” The isopod sheathes their nail with another sigh. “I owe it to travelers like you to pass on little bits of knowledge I otherwise lack. It’s saved my hide more times than one.” The isopod’s antennae twitch, and they adjust their hat with a small smile. “It’s lovely, learning more about the world, don’t you think?”

They give an impatient nod. With the task at hand complete, they need to get going. “Yeah, whatever.” They give the stone cage a long look, searching for the pain of the Call, before hopping to their feet and heading back the way they came. They’ve wasted enough time here.

“Oh, are you leaving? Be well, traveler! Hopefully we’ll meet again!” the isopod calls after them as they walk away. They don’t look back, unsheathing their nail as they continue with a huff. That isopod is lucky if they make it back to another kingdom.

The stone walls press down on them as they march onward, claws clicking softly against the ground with every step. Without the Call thumping through their head, they’re left with an uncomfortable silence broken only by their thoughts. Over and over again the same thought circles: they have a sibling, here. Their sibling cried out for them. All this time, it was their sibling. 

Their insides twist. They were so disgusted at the Call previously, cursing it for existing and bemoaning its every move. That raw pain from the Call, when their eye threatens to rupture… that’s from their sibling, isn’t it? All along it was just their pain. What else could it be? They should have come sooner. If they had they’d both be out of here by now.

They shake their head, trying to clear it of the swirling thoughts, but the lack of the now familiar throbbing of the Call as they do so only disorients them more, sending them stumbling into the wall. Bracing themself against it, they clench their hand around their nail with a hiss. They’ll get this done, no matter what. They just need more information.

Returning to the base of the second staircase, they stop and look around, gauging their next move. There are two other passageways branching off from the room. One has a more polished appearance, while the other looks somewhat rudimentary. Of the three possible exits from the room, the rudimentary path is noticeably older and more battered by time than the other two.

A strange energy they hadn’t previously noticed is seeping out from the rudimentary path. They take a step towards it, lifting their nail. It’s oddly familiar, somehow. It twists through the air, settling around them like a blanket of snow, cold and numb and heavy. Their body prickles where it touches them, and they rub at their arms, unnerved. They don’t recall ever encountering something like this, but their body reacts like it’s felt it before; the buzzing of the energy is… no, not enjoyable, not exactly, but it feels… familiar is the only word they have for it. 

This place is as good a place as any to start figuring out more, they suppose. Holding their nail closer, they walk towards the entrance of the rudimentary path, trying to ignore how the hairs on their body stand up on end the closer to the tunnel they get. 

The moment they enter the tunnel, darkness swallows them. They freeze, their fingers tingling as the energy coalesces inside them, vibrating and jittering around. The previous room had been dim, but not completely dark; even with the glow of their own shell, they can’t see anything in front of them. They’re still holding their nail up, but despite swishing it around experimentally, the metal no longer catches the glow of their shell. 

They continue anyway, but slow down their pace significantly, testing the ground in front of them lightly before leaning their weight on their foot. This darkness is artificial, that much they’re certain of, but they don’t know how it manages to swallow even their own natural glow. The energy presses down on them with every move they take; whatever this is, they need to be careful.

A few more steps, and their foot clicks against a solid wall. Freezing in place again, they wait, listening for whispers of movement around them. The energy hums through the air, thickening it, until it pulls at them in dense clumps, hanging off their body and condensing around their head; they shake their head in a futile attempt to rid themself of the sensation. 

Have they really never felt this before? It’s too familiar. But where, then? Where else could they possibly have—

A faint, distant pattering of footsteps sounds. They spin, pointing their nail in its direction, tensing. It’s gone before they even move, but they try to pinpoint the source of the sound anyway, having to sift through the buzzing of the energy in the air as they do so. It’s so loud, despite not even being a sound. They scratch at their head in irritation.

Nothing moves for another flicker. Warily, they lower their nail somewhat, but they keep it in front of them. They’re in a bad position here, especially since their shell glows. Maybe they should turn back. Without being able to see anything, they won’t find any answers here either.

Reaching out a hand, they pat for the nearest wall. Instead, their hand lands on something that distinctly does not feel like a wall, and a dull, echoing thump emanates from it. They leap back in alarm, pointing their nail at the object. 

While still midair, their wrists slam together of their own accord, their nail clattering out of their hands from the impact as the darkness abruptly lifts from the room. They stagger as they land, thrown off balance by the sudden change. The glowing band around their wrists makes their hands shake, the energy flowing off the band making their muscles clench and twitch painfully. They strain against it, trying to break the bonds or at least pull a hand out, but their arms do not respond to them, uselessly jerking from the glut of energy that floods their body.

They’re not alone here. They spin, looking around wildly and meeting the gazes of a circle of twelve snails. They block their path to the exits, including the way they had come from, and they glower at them, eyestalks waving angrily. With a growl, they dive for their nail, fingers spasming violently from the bindings. But before their hands even make contact with the nail, it flies away from them; a snail on the far end of the circle plucks it from the air, laying it at their feet before resuming staring daggers at them. They glare back, arms still convulsing. 

One of the snails, their shell noticeably larger than many of the rest of the snails’ shells, steps forward. Attempting to stand to face them, they nearly fall flat on their face as new bindings pin their tibias to the floor. They opt to glower up at the elder snail as they stop in front of them. 

The elder snail returns their glare coolly. “In a bit of a bind, aren’t you?” they say snidely, each slow and deliberate sign dripping with venom. 

They shake their bound hands at the elder snail, trying to flip them off; their fingers merely flail around pointlessly. Sighing, the snail flicks their hand. The glowing bonds dissipate with a faint hiss. Unprepared for the sudden release, their arms fly away in opposite directions, spasming violently. They grimace, attempting to reacquaint themself with their limbs.

Soul magic. That’s what the energy is; they were sensing the soul in the air from the spells. They’ve seen people use it once or twice; their hands glowed in a similar way to the elder snail’s do now as they healed up a scrape on someone’s arm or whatever. They’ve never seen it used for this, though.

It takes a while for their arms to regain enough sensation for them to sign, and even then the signs come out jerky and jagged. “What do you want from me?” they spit, trying to make their signs as sharp as they can. The effect is lost as their hands flop around, still not fully responsive to them.  

The elder snail gives an unimpressed twitch of their eyestalks. “What do _you_ want with _us_?” they retort, their signs fast but precise. “Why are you here?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

Their hands throw themselves into the air, yanking painfully on their already aching muscles before dropping like stones. They flinch, shakily reaching around to massage their arms. The elder snail’s gaze is even colder now. “It is very much my business. You walked into our home and began poking around. Why are you here?”

They freeze. Their home? They glance around at the snails, a deep, roiling unease starting to swirl inside of them. They hadn’t expected there to be people living this close to Dirtmouth. Clearly they’re unaffiliated with Elderbug, or he wouldn’t be the way he is. 

The elder snail steps even closer, forcing them to tilt their head up to look at them. “You would have kept going if we hadn’t stopped you. Just ‘exploring’ deeper. And what would you have done to our children, if you’d found them?” The snail bends down, their hands and face uncomfortably close to theirs. They lean back, both out of instinct and so they can see the signs better. “You, of all people, should know better than to stick your head where it doesn’t belong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” they snap, their signs even sloppier than before from the angle they’re holding themself at. “Why me? What have I done?” 

“Don’t play dumb, wyrmspawn.”

Bewildered, they stare at the snail. “What?”

A soft, derisive noise escapes the snail. “Ignorance won’t get you out of this.” Stepping away, the snail claps their hands, and they pitch forward onto their face as the bindings around their tibias are released. Gasping, they force themself up onto their elbows and look up at the elder snail, who only gives them a short, mirthless laugh. “I have to admit I expected more from you, wyrmspawn. You didn’t even put up a fight.” The snails part around one of the exits, giving them an escape path. The elder snail jabs a finger at it. “Now get out.” 

They lay there for a few moments, uncertain. “But my nail—” 

They duck, slamming their face into the ground, as the snail who confiscated their nail hurls it towards them. It sails over their head, then clatters against the stone walls; they cringe internally. Then they gasp as an invisible force yanks them into the air, feet dangling off the ground as they flail in a panic. “You had your chance,” the elder snail says, hands glowing so brightly their eyes start to hurt. 

Before they can even process what the elder snail is doing, they’re flung through the air after their nail. Several things crack as they hit the ground, and they slide a few more tarsi before fully coming to a stop. Every part of their body is screaming in pain; they try to prop themself up, but the moment they put weight on their arms, they give way again, and they slump to the ground, their head spinning from the pain. 

A small burst of soul magic pulses through them again, the resultant buzz of energy making their limbs twitch. _Leave._ A command, given not through voice nor sign, but directly into their mind by force of will and magic. They shudder, retrieving their nail and forcing themself up onto their hands again despite how their arms violently shake. They’re not sticking around to find out what the snails think about them resting here.

As they painfully crawl their way down the tunnel, their limbs gradually regain responsiveness, until they’re able to stand again with the support of the wall. With a hiss of pain, they sheathe their nail. Was any of that really necessary? 

Wyrmspawn. They nearly slide back down to the floor. Them, the spawn of the legendary pale wyrms that bring reverence and terror everywhere they go? How could the elder snail possibly know that? They don’t even know their own origins.

But they’d been so insistent about them being a danger. They just got here. What have they done that could possibly warrant the treatment they’d just gotten? 

But… they have a sibling here. A sibling who presumably never… left. Who was always here.  

… wasn’t the king of Hallownest a wyrm? 

No. No, no no no no no. The king of Hallownest is long dead. The elder snail has no proof. Even if they were right, it could be any other wyrm. 

It doesn’t matter either way. They’re wasting time here. They let go of the wall, resolutely walking forward despite the uncontrollable shaking of their legs. They’ve at least concluded that there’s no further information to be found here.

They make their way over to the remaining exit, one shaking step after another. The tunnel is, thankfully, free of soul energy, and is also illuminated by wall mounted lumafly lanterns; they relish the ability to see where they’re putting their feet down. Logic follows that somewhere in here, they should make some progress towards freeing their sibling. They’ll be glad to be rid of this place.

Emerging uncontested into a new room, they lean against the wall as they survey their surroundings. It’s much larger than any of the other rooms they’ve been in so far, large enough that the illumination of the lanterns is dampened; the other end of the room is too far away and too shaded for them to make out any details. There is, however, a structure directly in front of them, one with steps leading down to what appears to be another tunnel. They glare at it, taking a few steps closer to get a better look. Surely that’s not another settlement.

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you.”

They instinctively spin around, but their legs buckle from the sudden movement, sending them crashing to the ground. The fly standing a few widths away lets out a droll chuckle. “I see you’ve met the snails.”

They scramble to their feet, struggling to pull their nail out. The fly crosses their arms with another laugh. “Nice little show you’ve got there.” The fly flicks their antennae at their nail. “Save your strength. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

“Reassuring, thank you,” they spit, giving up on caring about how neat their signs are.

The fly harrumphs. “Trade Sign. I’m out of practice. We’ll see if I’ve still got it.” Making a beckoning gesture with their hand, the fly turns and starts walking away. “Come. We can sit while we talk.” 

They stand there, legs trembling, and glare at the fly. The fly stops, meeting their glare with an impassioned look. “Well? Either follow or leave. You clearly have questions, and I may have answers.”

Crossing their arms with a huff, they stomp towards the fly, who resumes walking without so much as a backward glance. As much as they hate to admit it, the fly is right about both things. They need answers, and their legs are about to give out on them again.

They stop at a wooden door around a length away, which the fly shoves open with one hand. There’s a small campsite inside the room, complete with a blanket on the ground, a big lumafly lantern in the center of the blanket, and a few piles of random objects. “Make yourself comfortable,” the fly says, airily flicking their hand at the blanket. “And don’t touch anything.”

They comply, sinking to their tibias with a sigh on the corner of the blanket. The room, clearly an abandoned storeroom, is modestly lit by the big lantern, displaying the stacks of abandoned crates placed haphazardly around the room. A few overturned crates lie on their sides on the ground; all of them are empty. 

“Other people took anything that could be of use here long ago,” the fly remarks, sitting down across from them without closing the door. “Unless you want wood, there’s nothing here for you.” Crossing their arms, the fly fixes them with an austere stare. “So. Ask away.”

They stare at the fly for a few moments. With the better lighting from the big lantern, they quite clearly match the description Elderbug had given them earlier. “Are you Sly?” they ask, their hands starting to cramp from forcing them to move in a specific way instead of letting them flop all over the place. “Elderbug was looking for you.”

The fly sighs. “Again? I told him I’d be down here a while. Yes, I’m Sly. Are you his rescue mission?” 

They blink. “No, he just asked me to do him a favor.”

“So yes, you are.” Sly’s antennae twitch irritably. “He asks every traveler that comes through about that whenever I’m not back in town within a harvest. I suppose it’s about time I pay him a visit to remind him I’m not dead.” 

Oh. “He was very worried.” 

“Give him anything to think about and he’ll worry about it. He does a fantastic job at making minor issues into mountains of stress.” Sly grabs a bag near him and starts packing items in his camp away, glancing up at them occasionally. They sit there awkwardly, remembering Sly’s earlier request for them not to touch anything. “One of these cycles he’s going to start peeling his own chitin off from the stress. I don’t know how he hasn’t dropped dead from sheer anxiety yet.” He pauses in his packing briefly, letting out a sigh. “He’s only gotten worse since Bretta stumbled her way down here. I’m sure he mentioned her to you.” 

“Yes, he did. Asked me to look for her too.” 

Sly gives them a sharp but otherwise unreadable look. They squirm under his gaze. “I haven’t had much luck so far, but I’ve been slowly working my way into the deeper parts of the Fungal Groves. Send her back up if you find her. She’s a lovely young lass, but she’s more than a bit airheaded.” He resumes packing. “If she thought to bring food with her, it’s bound to be all gone now, so I hope she’s found something to eat down here.”

They nod stiffly. They still don’t expect to have time to find the child, but they’re not going to tell Sly that.

With a few more firm shoves, Sly finishes cramming the last of his items into his bag, which he tosses aside. “But, enough about me and my issues.” He fixes them with the same stern stare from earlier. “You have questions, yes?”

Caught off guard by the sudden topic change, they stare at him, their mind going blank. He crosses his arms again with a shrug. “One word of advice that I’m going to give you regardless of whether you ask for it or not. If you came this way looking for Hallownest’s riches?” His stare intensifies. Their hands twitch. “Don’t.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Their tail spasms. “Not what I’m here for.” 

“Good. Then what are you here for?”

The truth will sound utterly ridiculous. Why tell him about their sibling, anyway? Sly has no stake in this. “I’m… looking for someone,” they say after a few ticks. Close enough to the truth, yet so far away from it. “Or something, I guess.”

Sly shrugs, flicking his antennae blithely. “That’s what we’re all down here for, one way or another. You’re going to have to be more specific about what you want to know.”

The knowledge that they have no idea how to free their sibling presses down on their shoulders, and they hunch into themself. How do they even ask about this? They’re not even sure where to go next. Dirtmouth is all but dead itself, and the snails will kill them if they return. What else is left?

… there is still Hallownest itself. “How much do you know about Hallownest?” they try, trying to gauge Sly’s reaction. 

He does not react. “More than I’d like to. I used to live there.” 

Shock jolts through them, making their arms twitch. “What?”

“What? The stories about Hallownest aren’t just for show.” He unsheathes his nail, glancing down at it. “I hatched and grew up there.” 

They stare at him, dumbfounded. He returns the stare levelly. “Most of what you hear about Hallownest has some truth to it. It sealed itself off years ago and is now a shadow of its former self. The one thing that is untrue is that it’s dead.” He tilts his nail, catching the glow of the lumafly lantern with the broad edge, and he sighs. “I think things would be simpler if it were actually gone.” 

The shock coalesces into a cold, hard lump of dread that thumps around inside their chest. “How can it still be alive?” they argue, fumbling for the right words. “It’s been over sixty-four years since it had imports. Elderbug’s the only one left in Dirtmouth.”

Sly lets out a bitter laugh. “Are you actually trying to debate me on whether the kingdom I _ran away from_ is still alive?”

They lift their hands to retort, but no words come to mind. Sly continues, his voice darkening with every word, “Last I checked, the reason Dirtmouth is empty is because everyone keeps trying to find this blasted kingdom. For all I know, Bretta’s already made her way there.” They shrink into themself from the force of his glare. “Hallownest is very much alive, and it is ravenous for the ill informed. It will swallow you up like everyone else who came before you.” He stands, picking up his lantern and sheathing his nail. “Turn back. You’re unprepared for this.”

They get to their feet, wobbling as their legs protest the sudden movement. “You can’t just tell me to leave. You don’t know me.” 

“I don’t. But I’ve watched enough people lose themselves to this kingdom.” 

“I don’t have a _choice_—”

“You _always_ have a choice,” he snaps, closing the gap between them. “There is never a moment where you are not making choices. And _you_”—he jabs his finger into their chest, making them stumble a step back—”have _no idea_ what you’re getting yourself into.”

“You don’t even know—”

“You walked into the snails’ abode.” His stare burns into them, and they have to force themself to keep standing straight. “If you knew what you were doing they would not have needed to throw you out.”

They snarl, reaching for their nail. Sly draws his in one smooth motion, his stare not wavering. “Do you really want to test me on this?” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Might I remind you that you’re in no state to fight right now?”

They stare at each other for a few moments, unmoving, before they let their arm fall, clenching their hands into fists. Sly keeps his nail unsheathed. “You will run out of leniency, traveler,” he warns, his voice barely above a whisper. “And this kingdom will treat you far, far worse.” 

He maintains his stare for a few more moments; they force themself to meet it despite the way their insides crawl. With a final scoff, he steps back, sheathing his nail and picking up his bag. “Regardless, good luck on your travels. I hope whatever business you have here is resolved quickly and cleanly.” He turns, walking a few steps towards the door, then stops. “If you need me, I’ll be back up in Dirtmouth.”  

He leaves without another word, leaving the door hanging open. Alone again, their legs finally give out on them, and they allow themself to collapse to the ground in an unceremonious heap. There goes their lead. Botched because they can’t ever stop to think before they point their nail at something. 

So much for wyrmspawn. They can’t do anything right. Their sibling’s never going to get out of here. They fully curl up, letting their body shake itself apart. All they ever do is make things worse. 

First chapter: A Call to Struggle | Previous chapter: A Cry from the Dark

[yourthoughtsarenotthefirst]

a thing that I did for an English class but really liked

Tws// derealization, non-violent thievery of body parts, fear of being replaced

I am lost. I am very, very lost. I have walked through these boring muted hallways and up these lifeless stairs in this colorless building many, many, times, but somehow I am lost. These hallways don’t lead to this room, I know that, I must have taken a wrong turn but I have never seen these rooms before, and it has to be understood that I know this building, this is just not right.  I must have been walking for no less than a few minutes, an hour maybe? Maybe I’m overreacting and it’s only been a few seconds, but I feel like I have been stuck here for decades. 

I’m thinking about whether my boss will notice, or if anyone will notice. But no one is here to tell me off, to tell me to go to work. I am alone. 

I don’t like being alone, it makes me feel something that I can’t put my finger on. It feels like I’m a sand castle, so fragile, the waves can carry me out to sea, I lose my shape and become insignificant grains of sand in the uniform water. 

I hear a cry, a painful, distressed sob. I stop for a moment; that noise doesn’t feel human, something is off, it sounds like it’s looping. I hear the same desperate yell echo through the hallways multiple times, the same painful beg for anyone to help. 

Slowly, I started to walk. if that noise was coming from a human I couldn’t just ignore it. Maybe I thought it was a way out, maybe I wanted to not be alone.  

On top of one of the identical staircases, I saw them, a figure with long blond hair curled up on the ground, making those shrieking yells. 

‘Are you ok?’ I asked. It’s head snapped towards me, it’s eyes looked glossy, it’s skin looked plastic.

‘My finger.’ it showed me it’s wobbly hand, the index finger gone. 

‘Please, get me a new one.’ he looked at my right hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ I must have said, ‘I don’t know how to do that.’ 

‘Please!’ it grabbed my arm, weird glazed eyes staring through me,‘I know how to do it without causing any pain! I’ll give it right back when I find mine again!’ 

I must have tried to run away. I should have tried to run away, but I could feel parts of my reason and understanding drift away. I nodded slightly.  

It took off my index finger with a pop and slid it on its hand, looking at it with a slight smile. 

‘Fits perfectly,’ it emphasized.   

We started to walk together. I did not know its name, but there was no need to know, we didn’t talk much. 

Parts of me started to be left behind in each room, drifting away like a loose being slightly tugged on in a sweater, unraveling its intricate design. First, I lost my reasoning. Nothing was normal about this, the more I walked alongside it, the less the building was making sense. The hallways slightly curled, the ceiling seemed to be getting higher and higher every time we walked through each door, but my brain molded to fit this new reality, it hurt to think about it. It kept walking next to me, getting uncomfortably close, staring down at me. Was it always this tall?

We entered a strangely colorful room. Pulsating, a mass was sprawled upon the floor. 

‘Have you ever broken a bone?’ 

‘No,’ I said, staring at the blob, an eye emerging from its flesh, staring back through me. 

‘Hm.’ they noted, and started reaching out its arm towards the thing.

Roaring, a mouth cut through the entity revealing millions of human teeth tunneling through the void like throat. It bit off their arm, a disgusting crunch echoing through the room. 

they stood still for a bit, looking down at where their arm used to be attached to, and then they looked at me. 

‘Would you be a darling and give me your arm?’ It asked. 

I stood there, frozen. It smiled as if I had agreed and popped off my arm, attaching it to its shoulder. It giggled, looking at me, 

‘I need to be more careful, don’t I?’ it winked. 

Piece by piece it took me apart. it took the other arm, both my legs, it once asked for my tongue. 

I don’t know why I am here. I don’t know where I was going. I don’t know where I want to go. Yet they wander with me, yet they stay by my side, hovering over me as the dizzy rooms merge into a singular hallway. My eyes are getting heavy, everything I see bleeds together in a sickening indescribable color. I have not felt anything in so long besides it as it carries me, a torso and head, was I ever anything else? 

What is my name, it asked. I look at it with tired eyes, I do not know, I want to say, but it has taken my tongue and it has taken my teeth, all I can do now is watch. 

It laughs, an echoing, horrid, dizzying laugh, as it holds me closer to it. It’s arms, that might have used to be mine but that time has been so far ago that it has only become a mere concept, softly patting my hair, before it tore it off. 

I cannot feel anymore, my body has no need to feel, it  has no need to pain, death cannot reach me here. 

With a slow rip, it took my hair, as it ripped off its own, it  placed mine on its head and it dropped me on the ground. 

‘What is your name?’ it mockingly asked, knowing that there was no answer. 

‘If you take apart something, piece by piece, and build it again, in some ways nothing changed. But something has changed hasn’t there?’ 

It walked towards something, ‘Do you remember what this is? This is a door. You haven’t seen an exit in so long.’ ‘Once I enter through this door, I will be a young man named Micheal on his way to work. You used to be that,” it giggled," you are nothing now.’ it shared one last mocking smile, crawling up its face. ‘You would have never even existed.’