#because somebodies keep the wounds from their nobodies

[big-friendly-birb]

An Ienzo to finish off 6/6!

From his expression here I can surmise he is about one second away from a snarky retort.

[morning-star-joy]

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

[notaboypossiblyagenius]

Dermatophagia — E. Prentiss.

a/n: short little blurb on baby emily because nobody ever talks about the feeling of impending doom that must’ve lingered after coming back to the U.S. from the Valhalla mission.

wc: ~600

warnings: nail biting, bleeding, pining so subtle it’s almost not there? no use of y/n, first thing i’ve written since 2022, very little dialogue, not proof read mwuahaha

feedback, comments, and reblogs are always super very appreciated:3

Emily watched as the blood pooled in the small divot between her skin and her nail, the stream of liquid soon expanding to fill the space. It served as a distraction, the repetitive process of picking, bleeding, healing became a reprieve from the feeling of impending doom that always managed to creep over her shoulder. She was too caught up in the sight to realize you’d joined her in the small space of her desk.

“Em, is that blood?” you muttered, reaching for her hand which proved to be useless as she quickly pulled it back with a startled look on her face.

“God! When’d you get here?” She said, turning her gaze from your unamused face to where you sat at the edge of her desk, arms folded over your chest. “We need to put a bell on you or something.”

“Haha, funny.” You replied, unfolding your arms as you reached out for her hand again, this time successfully. Your eyes scanned Emily’s finger which was now bordering mutilation, the skin around her nails uneven and torn. You never understood how she could do it, how in a matter of seconds her fingers could resemble the gruesome scenes you encountered day to day.

“Seriously, are you bleeding?” a redundant question from your end because it was very clear she was. Emily had to bite her tongue to keep the sarcastic comment that had developed like a reflex on a leash.

“Why do you pick your nails?” you asked, your eyes scanning the wound as you placed a napkin over the spot before looking back up at her. You were met with an anxious look, one that reminded you of a child who was scared of being scolded. She tilted her head from side to side, unsure of what to say, and as she did so her hair shifted from behind her ear in a way that made you want to tuck it back into place.

“I don’t know,”

“I don’t usually think about it,” she said, the way you hadn’t let go of her hand made her heartrate pickup, and she tried not to over analyze how you chose to place it on your lap. The contrast between her cold hands and your warm fingers holding the napkin in place made her want to seek out more of that warmth.

She shouldn’t be surprised you were helping her; you’d always go out of your way to swat at her hands whenever they began a path up to her mouth, or place a cup of coffee in them in an attempt to keep them from meeting their demise. She often wondered why you did so, as nobody else really bothered; yet, she never asked. Instead, she’d just allow it. She’d secretly relish in the fact that somebody finally noticed, even if she pretended to hate it.

“That much I've picked up on,” you said softly, a faint smile on your lips as you discarded the napkin that was now stained with blood. Your grip tightened slightly on Emily’s hand as you reached for the trash can, almost as if you were refusing to let it go.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts. Emily looked down at your intertwined hands and felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her chest, something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time. She wasn't used to being cared for—not like this. And while she could pretend all she wanted, the truth was, she liked it.

Maybe that's why she hadn’t pulled away, because for the first time in a very long time Emily wasn’t the only one looking out for Emily.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[9:12 am]

(cw: f!reader, Jaehyun is an asshole, angst with happy ending)

Yesterday had been a bad day. Scratch that- the last 14 hours had been bad. You had gotten home, tired from your day out with friends to find Jaehyun getting ready to leave.

“Oh, sorry I forgot to mention I had plans tonight. I’ll be back later, ok?” He had said casually, kissing your cheek before heading out the door for the night.

That had been right around seven. Then 11 o’clock rolled around and your texts went unanswered. 3 o’clock and your calls were being ignored. It had caused a huge anxious ball of nerves to form in the pit of your stomach which kept you up until now. Every time somebody in the hall would come home, you’d think it was Jaehyun. Someone in one of the other apartments would make a quiet noise and your head would snap toward the door. The caffeine from all the coffee you were drinking was giving you as much anxiety as it was energy. All your texts to mutual friends sent through the night had only been answered a few minutes ago stating they hadn’t been with Jaehyun all night. If he wasn’t with them then who was he with?

You started another pot of coffee when finally the front door opened. A haggard looking Jaehyun dragged his feet to the living room and threw himself onto the couch. “Oh my god! Jaehyun, are you alright?” You asked, rushing over to his side to not-so-subtly look for wounds.

“I’m fine,” came his voice, muffled by one of the throw pillows.

“Where were you? I called and texted you a dozen times. I was so worried.”

“I told you I had plans,” he sighed.

“Having plans now means you can stay out all night without letting your girlfriend know?” You asked while your annoyance for his nonchalance grew and grew.

“I had too much to drink and I had to stay at my friend’s house, ok?” He replied, standing from the couch to head to the bedroom.

“Why are you being so evasive? I texted all your friends and nobody was with you!”

He threw his hands up, turning to face you, “I hung out with a friend from elementary school, I went to her place, we had a few drinks, my phone died, and now I’m here. I’m at home. I’m hungover and I’m tired is that it?”

“But I talked to your friends from elementary school and they said they hadn’t seen you,” you reply quietly.

He groaned loudly, tilting his head back, “I hadn’t talked to her in a while. She sent me a DM and we started catching up and then she invited me to hang out.”

“So you hung out with a girl who you haven’t seen in years after she randomly messaged you?”

“That’s what I said, yeah,” he nodded.

“And you didn’t tell me where you were going, who you were with, and stayed out all night. How do I even know you’re telling me the truth right now?” You ask incredulously.

His eyes widened in surprise, “What are you trying to suggest right now?”

“I’m not suggesting anything Jaehyun. If your series of events sound fishy, then maybe it’s because they are.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” he states shakily.

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly, brushing past him to walk to the bedroom. You begin changing out of your pajamas and into an outfit to leave the house, wile he nervously gnaws on his lips. You stay silent and blank faced while you move around the room to get ready.

He finally speaks up while you grab your purse, “Where are you going?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention I had plans? I’ll be back later, ok?” You parrot his words back with a condescendingly sweet smile. His mouth opens but no sound comes out as you walk out the door.

You don’t return until early evening. You feel refreshed and relaxed, a weight off your shoulders, until “I’ve been calling you all day! Why didn’t you answer me?”

“I got busy. Decided I should hang out with one of my elementary friends who keeps swiping up on my stories and just see how he was doing,” you lie, moving to the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Jaehyun deadpans, “You didn’t actually do that did you?”

“Who knows? But whether or not I did, why is it ok for you to act that way but not for me?” You ask, crossing your arms across your chest.

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, you can see the tips of his ears turning red, and some small, tiny, part of you is beginning to feel a little guilty about your actions. He sighs out deeply, “I’m sorry. I mean that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that and I promise you nothing happened. Even if you didn’t think anything did, I want to reassure you that nothing happened with her.”

“Thank you,” you nod curtly in response, “I spent the whole day shopping by the way.”

“I promise I won’t ever do anything like that again either. Not just because it was totally out of line, but also because I remembered why I stopped talking to her. She was kind of a bully all those years ago and nothing has changed. She wanted to talk about all the drama and problems she had with people when we were 7- it’s been like 20 years!”

You laugh quietly, “why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“That’s the worst part! She had my phone in phone jail because I started texting you back while she started a movie. That’s why I started drinking so much, and she made me sleep on her floor because her couch was quoted not a resting couch. And! She told me she was gonna have a whole reunion party and I was the only idiot that forgot how rude she was as a kid and didn’t block her. So again, I’m sorry and I promise it will never- ever happen again. I will let you chip me like a dog and put me on a lea-”

You held up a hand, “Jaehyun stop talking please, I already got the full story and I’m not doing that. Let’s move on ok?”

He sighed happily, “I’m blocking her too. Her instagram, her number, her facebook, her MySpace, her twitter, her X, her profile on LinkdIn, her threads, her Pinterest-”

You laughed loudly, covering his mouth with your hand, “Stop! I get it!”

“And I’m telling everyone she’s still awful.”

[httpscomexe]

Ensnared 4

Summary: There’s no escaping him, especially after your new not so little injury.

(Find What I’m currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Yandere!Logan Howlett x PlusSize!Reader

Warnings: (Individual warnings per chapter) Kidnapping, waterboarding, food and water deprivation, a lot of blood, manipulation, yandere Logan, mentions of past murder, slight description of injury. Logan is an official warning as approved by the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) because Logan is a DRUG. PLEASE BE AWARE that this will be a NON-CON fic. Do NOT get attached if you do not like non-consensual fiction. I will not change my fic plans because somebody decided not to read the warnings. Thank you.

Tags: @sammyluvsfics

Word Count: 3736 (Find all chapters here) Chapter 5

P.S. If you’d like to be tagged, ask in the comments, you also have permission to send an ask, but make sure it is NOT anonymous, so I know your username, don’t worry, I’m scared of confrontation too. But this is a SAFE SPACE where I will not judge. Thank you again.

P.P.S. Everything with a gruesome description or horrifying act will also be in bold italic

“What- Oh.” He tilts his head a little. “I take it you found Vincent.”

You were speechless. This literal murderer had his hands on you to keep you still.

“I- I wanna go home.” Your voice shakes as you speak to him, and he takes a few steps forward, carefully walking you further into the cabin before closing the front door and locking it, a clicking sound coming from the lock. “Please L-Logan… Please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” He sounds confused, walking you backwards until your back hits a wall but he stays close to you, his hands moving up to hold your face as you shrunk against the flat surface.

“I don’t wanna die- Please don’t hurt me…” You whine, tears beginning to stream down your face.

“Baby, I’m not gonna hurt you…” He tells you, his voice steady and calm compared to yours. “Why would I ever hurt you?” You finally muster the courage, your head tilted down but you look up at him through your lashes.

“You killed Vincent-“

“She brought that on herself when she hurt you.” He tells you, one of his hands moving to hover over your bandaged wound.

“She didn’t deserve that…”

“Baby nobody gets to hurt you.” He tells you, his voice becoming desperate as he speaks to you. “Not even I should be able to hurt you…” He whispers, his body beginning to press against yours as you’re pushed impossibly further against the wall.

“No. No Logan.” Your voice cracks a little and another tear falls down your face. “This isn’t right. This isn’t okay. Please, I wanna go home.”

“This is your home. And this is my home.” He gently reaches up to push some hair behind your ear. “You don’t need to leave, and you will not leave. This is your home now. You. Are. Mine.”

You swallowed heavily; his eyes still stared into yours as you let his words settle in your head.

Not even I should be able to hurt you. He said. He won’t hurt you. “Logan. I don’t care what you do. But I will not stop fighting you.” You whisper, trying your hardest to keep your voice steady. “At every opportunity I have, I will run. And I will not stop running and fighting you, until you let me go.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then his eyes seem to grow darker as he keeps you against the wall, one of his hands on your waist.

“I said I won’t hurt you. I never said I won’t lock you up.”

“Logan!” You shout, falling to the ground after he pushes you into a room, closing the solid door just as you reach it. “Logan let me out!” Yelling, and banging your fists on the door seems to do nothing, but you continue to do it anyways. Hoping he would be annoyed eventually.

But it was no good.

You finally give up after a while, at least an hour of banging on the door with your fists until your skin finally goes numb and red from the constant impact.

You throw yourself down, landing on a mattress that was sitting in the small room, not even covered by sheets.

The room was dark, and the walls and floor were made of concrete. So you stare at the ceiling, trying to think of another way you could get out.

But there were no doors. No vents. Nothing. Just the huge wooden door, a soft yellow light coming from the ceiling, and the cold, concrete walls.

It was quiet also. All you could hear was your breathing. You were sure the walls were soundproof, the thickness of them stopping even a scream.

So, you just lie there, wishing it would all end. And just as you’re about to close your eyes, you hear locks click, and the hinges in the door scream as the door is opened, Logan walking in with a plate of food and a glass of water. I will not stop fighting you.

“Hey, you should eat, you haven’t all day.”

You don’t answer him as you sit up and he crouches next to you, placing the plate of food on the bed for you.

“I’m not hungry.” You lie, your stomach rumbling as if on cue. The betrayal.

“Well, that doesn’t matter. You’re going to eat when I tell you whether you like it or not.” He tells you, lifting the plate and handing it to you. You take it in both hands, then you stare at him for a moment.

Your hands hover over the floor with the food on the plate, then you tilt the plate, all of the food falling off the ceramic before splatting on the floor.

And he sighs, his fists clenching at you then dropping the plate. It didn't break, but a crack was now visible from one side to the other, splitting it in half, and he growled a little.

“Was that necessary?” He asks you, his eyes boring into yours as you nod. “Clean it. Now.” You shake your head. Does he really think you would listen to him?

“No.” you tell him, your voice stern so he knows you aren’t doing shit.

“Clean it up now, or you will regret it.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Yea. I won’t” He leans forward, getting closer to you. “I can still torture you; I can do things that only emotionally disable you, I don’t need to get physical if I can be psychological.”

“Well, you already have the psycho part down.” Burn.

“Right.” He groans as he stands up, leaving the room and closing the door behind him before returning with a plastic bag, paper towels, and a bucket. “Last chance.” He tosses the towels and the bag on the mattress next to you and you don’t move an inch. “Fine.” He walks away, moving to the other side of the room to open another door you hadn’t noticed before, revealing a bathroom, and you watch as he places the bucket under the bathtub faucet, turning it off once the bucket is full before walking back over, placing the bucket in the corner of the room. “Now come here.” Again, you don’t move. “Fuck…” He mumbles before storming over to you, grabbing you and pulling you up, roughly, but not enough to hurt you.

“Let go!” You shout as he pushes you to your knees in front of the bucket.

“You don’t give me the fucking orders.” He whispers harshly in your ear before forcing your head down into the bucket of water just before you're about to scream, causing all of the air in your lungs to be lost in the water of the bucket.

He keeps you forced under the water for about ten seconds, holding you still as you squirm uncontrollably, his fingers tangled in your hair. Then he lifts your head back up, and you force air down your lungs just before he pushes your head back into the bucket. Let me go! You scream, but the water only emits bubbles of air to the top of the water, your words unheard.

Your head is brought back up.

“Do you really think you can fight me?” He asks, one of his hands with his fingers still tangled in your hair, which was stuck to your wet face, and his other hand was wrapped around your arm to keep you still. “Tell me do you really think you can fucking fight me?” He asks again.

“Fuck you!” You squirm, his fingers pulling your hair roughly. “That hurts! You said you won’t hurt me asshole!”

“I’m not hurting you.” He tells you. Bull fucking shit. “I’m just holding you; you’re hurting yourself by fucking moving.” Fuck. You stop squirming, still breathing heavily from the assault. “Are you gonna clean your mess now? Or do you need a few more seconds under the water?"

“I’ll clean it.” You finally give in, and he lets go of your body before you snap up onto your feet to get away from him, and he slowly stands back straight.

“Get to it.”

You do, immediately going to the fallen food on the floor and cleaning it quickly, but making sure it’s all clean, throwing all of the trash in the little bag.

“Good girl.” Your stomach flips as he takes the bag, leaving you on your knees. “Now tonight, I guess you’re going to bed hungry.” He tells you, crouching down to your level. “And don’t try anything stupid. I’m watching.” He points to a corner in the room, where a little black camera was propped up. Watching.

“Okay.” You mumble, knowing damned well you weren’t going to listen to him for shit.

“Good. Now lie down.” He tells you, standing back straight as he shoves one of his hands into his jean pocket, watching as you move onto the mattress. “Night.”

He walks out without another word, switching off the light with the switch on the wall near the door, leaving the room in pure darkness.

As you’re lying down, hours pass. No sounds are heard except for the often rumble of your stomach. Part of you regrets not eating, but you needed to test his limits. Of course though, now you were starving, and the pain wouldn’t let you sleep.

You sit up, slowly placing your feet on the ground as you take small steps towards the door, careful not to trip on anything, not that there was anything to trip on, before your fingers find the light switch, casting the room in the same yellow glow. You knock, or rather bang your fist on the door a few times. With as much as you didn’t want him knowing you had to rely on him for food, you also didn’t want to starve.

“Logan!” You call for him, your voice cracking quietly from dehydration and not speaking for a while. “Logan!” You shout a little louder, tears threatening to fall as you bang harder on the door. It’s a small cabin, he was bound to hear you next to the door, he just didn’t want to see you. So you look around the room, thinking of anything else you could do.

Your eyes immediately find the camera, a little red blinking light indicating he was watching you. Rushing over to the corner, there was the bucket full of water sitting under it on the floor. You tilt the bucket, pouring the water over the concrete before lifting it, the metal weight decently heavy in your hands. “Okay…” Mumbling, you take a few steps back with the bucket, then you chuck it up at the camera in the corner, letting it fall back down to the ground before picking it up, and repeating the process a few times before the little light turns off.

Thinking you broke it by accident, you put the bucket down before the familiar clicking sound comes from the door, making you run over to greet him. Not exactly sure why you were excited. Right, you’re starving.

“What the fuck are you-?”

“I’m really hungry.”

“It is 3 in the morning.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have a clock to tell me that.” He begins to close the door, his head shaking in annoyance. “Wait!” You shout, and he stops to look at you again.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well then you should’ve eaten earlier.”

“I’m sorry, Logan. But I cannot sleep, I’m literally starving.”

He considers you, staring you up and down, then he steps to the side, letting you leave the room before shutting the door again. You think about running, but you know he’s faster than you. So, you cut the idea out and listen.

“Come and look at what I have.” He tells you, moving past you and into the little kitchen.

He opens the fridge, and you look inside. There’s decent continents; eggs, milk, jam, and a few other things. Nothing to your appeal though.

“I- I don’t know-”

“I’ll make you a sandwich, go sit down.” He demands and you listen, moving past him to sit at a little table sitting next to a window.

Your eyes never leave him though as he pulls two cuts of bread out of a sandwich bag, laying them on a paper plate before taking peanut butter out of one of the cabinets, spreading it on one of the slices of bread.

“What kind of jam? Strawberry, blackberry, blueberry-”

“Strawberry is fine.”

He continues moving, reaching into the fridge for strawberry jam before opening it and spreading it on the other slice of bread, then slapping the two together.

“Here.” He hands you the plate, then moves back to the counter to put everything away.

You rip off a small piece and take an even smaller bite.

“Really?” He sounds defeated as he watches you nibble it.

“What…?”

“I don’t want to be here all night.”

You shrug. “Then go back to bed.”

“I don’t trust you yet unfortunately, or I would.”

“What am I gonna do?” You ask, taking another nibble.

“Something stupid.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Shut the fuck up and eat before I throw it away.”

You shut up, taking another small bite, and he watches you, another sigh escaping his throat as he leans against the counter and watches you with his arms crossed. You take the time it takes you to chew to look around a little. Your eyes darting quickly before taking another nibble. You spot a few things you’d be able to use against him. Some kitchen knives in a block, an umbrella, a grilling fork, only a few things to be used as weapons.

“Stop looking around and fucking eat, take bigger bites.”

You feel like you could cry as he raises his voice, it was like being judged by your own father the way he spoke, disappointment radiating from his lips.

“Sorry…” You mumble, your appetite being lost to his anger as you take an even smaller bite, not even on purpose before he shakes his head, grabbing the other chair and pulling it to you.

“Let me see this.” He takes the plate, ripping off a bigger piece than you before raising it in front of your face, urging you to eat it. Trying to feed you.

“Logan I-”

“Fucking, eat it.” He growls, and you open your lips, letting him feed you.

Feeding you until you shake your head, having eaten about ¾ of it before he tosses the rest, standing up and holding his hand out for you to take. Which you don’t.

“Also, Logan…" You mumble. “I’m cold, do you have any-”

“You’re not getting blankets unless you sleep with me.”

“What about warmer clothes?”

“No.”

You bite your cheek, not trusting sleeping with him, but you wouldn’t be able to sleep cold.

“Fine.” You whisper. “I’ll sleep with you, but please-” You pause, not sure if he’d even care. “Just please don’t touch me…” You beg a little, and he nods.

“I won’t.” He begins to walk towards the room. “At least not sexually.” What?

You lie there next to him. He didn’t touch you sexually, just as he had promised, but his arm was still wrapped around your waist, caging you against his body as his chest moved against your back each time he took a deep breath in his sleep. But your eyes remain open. The touch, the setting, everything. Everything was just so new and unusual to you, and you didn’t know how to feel, but your mind was definitely restless.

So you just lay there, hoping sleep would eventually take you, but you were silently praying a stroke would take you instead, just to end your pain.

When you do wake up, unsure of when you had fallen asleep, the weight of his arm is gone, letting you sigh in relief as you turn onto your back to stare at the ceiling. Not a single thought running through your mind as you just stare. But there was an unfamiliar sound coming from outside of the window as you lay there, making you turn your head towards the window, which was open, letting a cold wind drift into the room from the snow. In the distance was Logan, chopping wood in his flannel.

Then you have an idea.

He stops for a moment, turning around to look at you, but you close your eyes in a flash, not wanting him to know you’re awake, so after a moment, you open your eyes again, and he’s back to chopping wood with the large axe in his hand. He left it open to watch you.

You slowly get off the bed. You weren’t exactly dressed for stepping in snow. There were no shoes or even socks on your feet, and all you were wearing was a short black skirt and one of his shirts, which barely reached halfway down your thighs.

You reach the window, lifting it up all the way as he continues to swing at a log. Stepping through the window, the snow is cold on your bare feet, but you knew you wouldn’t ever have this opportunity to run ever again.

As soon as both of your feet are on the snow, which is about five inches off the ground, a generous amount that wouldn’t possibly slow you down (eyeroll), you take a single step, then another, your pace getting faster with each step before you’re going full sprint. Hell, you never would’ve guessed how fast you would be able to run through snow like you were without shoes. Mind you, it wasn’t that fast, and your feet quickly became numb.

“Hey!” Shit. You manage to run faster, sure enough he could definitely run faster. You saw the boots he was wearing. You realise, you fucked up. But you didn’t care.

I will run, and I will not stop running.

Your words replay in your mind, your feet moving impossibly fast in the snow as your pace is fueled by adrenaline.

“It isn’t safe Y/N! Stop fucking running!” He yells, continuing to chase behind you, the sound of his boots crushing snow getting closer only fueling more adrenaline through fear in your body. Making you run faster, and you know you’re moving faster than he is. But your feet were getting numb, preventing you from being able to run any further. So, once you're far enough, you rely on the fog from the snow to keep you hidden as you hide, ducking near some evergreen bushes until you knew you weren’t visible.

Your eyes land on his dark figure in the fog as he slows to a stop, spinning around trying to find you, making you quickly duck down before he sees you.

“Y/N!” He yells your name again, and it sounds almost urgent. “I’m being really fucking serious right now, you’re gonna get hurt!” He repeats, and you hear the crunching of his footsteps again, making you back away further, the size of the bush covered in snow keeping you hidden.

Your legs are completely numb as he doesn’t leave the area, your skin turning red from the cold snow, but you adjust yourself every time you think you’re in his point of view.

Then you feel relieved, leaning your head back against a tree as he lets out a disappointed sigh, you look over your shoulders to see him leaving, back in the direction of the cabin.

Then your hand snaps to cover your mouth, the snapping sound of heavy metal jaws is quiet, but Logan freezes as he hears the faint sound of it.

Tears fall down your cheeks. Yea, your legs were numb. But it still fucking hurt.

You build the courage to look down, your palm leaving your mouth as your eyes trail down your legs, a large bear trap clenched down on your right calf, the sight causing a painful squeak to escape your throat as you stared down at the rusty bear trap. The rust made it look old, like it had been sitting there untouched for years. Until you came along.

You look back over your shoulder, and Logan is gone, presumably ignoring the sound and heading back, so you lean forward, wrapping your fingers around the jaws of the bear trap before trying to pull it off, the teeth hadn’t sunk into your skin yet, only barely grazing it.

But then it snaps shut on your calf, causing a blood curdling scream to erupt from your throat, more tears streaming down your face. You swear the numbness only enhanced the pain.

Pained cries come from your throat, and you hear the crunching snow again, stopping at your side, making you look over as Logan stands beside you.

“See what I fucking told you?” He mocks you, bending down next to the bear trap and you watch him, but your eyes are mainly glued to the blood red crystals of snow that were slowly melting from the warm touch of your blood.

He takes a key out of his pocket. A big old one that looked as if it would unlock a dungeon, but it unlocks the bear trap, which he pushes back into place before taking your calf out of it, quickly removing his flannel to wrap around your leg, and you’re too stunned to speak.

He stands, now only wearing his jeans and white tank top, but you don’t have the energy to speak to him as he speaks to you.

Blood leaks from your leg, spilling into the snow as if it was infinite, some blood getting onto Logan's hands as he lifts you up, causing blood to drip from his flannel, the progressive amount already soaking the shirt as the little drops fall into the snow under you.

“Don’t run out again, there’s traps everywhere. Hunters too, and I don’t think you want a bullet in your forehead like Vincent.”

Your voice comes out tired, in a mumble. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me…”

“I didn’t. You hurt yourself. I told you to stop running.”

Fuck.

Once again, he was right, and the cabin was coming back into view.

You were never going to get away from him.

You realise, your vision begins to fade as the cabin becomes closer. Then there’s nothing as you pass out, your head falling against his shoulder as you faint…

[shywhumpauthor]

I like the idea of possessive Whumpers with their Whumpees in a setting that’s not direct captivity

Like Whumpee is still living their life, going to work and stuff, from the outside everything seems fine with them. Inside their house, though, of course it’s anything but.

I want the subtle signs of power. The necklace Whumpee wears, that nobody—save for one very specific person—ever gets close enough to notice that there isn’t a clasp—it’s welded on.

Their watch, seemingly a normal smartwatch, but it’s not connected to their own phone. Their location is always being shared to Whumper, and they better pray that the heartbeat monitor on it keeps working because if Whumper thought they took it off for even a minute, they’d be fucked.

Numerous wounds and bruises, hidden under gauze, then bandages, then a long sleeved undershirt, and finally their work clothes. They feel like the fabric is choking them, temperature growing unbearable in the many layers and the office’s heater. But they can’t take it off, not even their jacket.

The dark circles beneath their eyes, concealer smeared over their face to hide the bruises. When their coworkers ask why their voice is so hoarse, why their eyes are so swollen, they respond “just a head cold,” and quickly return to work.

They pray for somebody to notice the signs, and at the same time they hope no one will ever find out, fearing not only what Whumper would do to them, but what they would do to the coworker too.

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

Yuu get´s stabbed-Heartlslabyul

Riddle

he was ready to rip your head of for even thinking of visiting him at the stables instead of going to the infirmary

he was so loud even Sebek was shocked and you felt like your about to go deaf

as soon as your doing better you will get the scolding of a life time from Riddle, especially concerning basic Human instincts like ya know survival instincts and not ignoring a wound because you promised to help somebody

depending on how long you will have to stay he´ll bring you your homework and will help you study

he might even bring some tea and a tart to share with you but only if your doing good in the study sessions

Trey

he stabbed you and no matter how much he says it was an accident you don´t believe him

nobody turns around that fast with a knife in their hands while knowing somebody is behind them

at least he immediately rushed you to the infirmary and you even got him to swear because you said it wasn´t bad at all

which it was, I mean there was a lot of blood so that´s bad but at least it was only surface deep

would have sucked if he hit an organ and who knows if you could even get one donated because of the whole from another world/dimension thing

but at least he brought you some get well soon/sorry I stabbed you and landed you in the infirmary gifts

it was sweets and tooth things and honestly it could be worse

also you got a cute Clover shaped pillow

you did tell him you would check it for a surprise attempt at stabbing you again

needless to say Trey did not think it was funny

Cater

okay he´s all for the toxic mentality of putting on a front to look better in front of others but you´re taking it a bit to far

also your bleeding all over the carpet and he already knows Riddle will pop a blood vessel over the mess and than because you were dumb enough to not get that looked at and meeting him instead

but he´ll take plenty of cammable pics when your in the infirmary and out of the danger zone or maybe something that could have turned into something life threatening because you did not stop yourself from bleeding out

he did visit you a couple of times and even brought you some of Trey´s sweet as a get well soon gift

he may or may not has just wanted them for some cute pics though

but at least you get something sweet out of it

Ace

he just told you he´s surprised that you didn´t get stabbed earlier, you have a habit of pissing people of and not all of the NRC students are as nice as the ones you know

he might act like he doesn´t care but he´s actually worried about you

actually he would like to know how the fuck you didn´t bleed out already

he isn´t a Doctor but this looks really bad and you should go to the infirmary

and no you can´t make up any excuses you´ll go to the infirmary and if he has to Ace makes sure you´ll arrive there

but he´ll stay around for a while to make sure you don´t die of boredom

it would stuck if he´s stuck with Deuce and forced to look after Grim when your gone

also he doesn´t want to know what Riddle would do if he learns that he left you alone

Deuce

why are you here with him and not in the infirmary!?

he doesn´t care that you said you would help him study you should be more concerned about not bleeding out

he has to actually drag you away from wherever you two were meeting because you keep insisting that you´re fine and it´s only a small wound

which it isn´t, he´s even surprised you even managed to stay conscious

and that you even managed to walk all the way over here

also if you know you should tell him who stabbed you he promises he will only talk with the person

he´s lying and you know he´s lying but you still decided to tell him but he at least has to wait until you get better because you want to beat them up first

[deathbystero]

'cause we're just kids who grew up way too fast

in which Ponyboy struggles to come to terms with everything. a/n - here's the full chapter y'all. lemme know if it's worth carrying on with and if you have any ideas on what I can do to extend the plot, feel free to request or give me some ideas

It’s only been a few weeks since that night—coming on three, to be exact. I don’t think things will ever go back to how they were; how could they? With Johnny and Dallas gone, everything feels off-kilter in some way. Like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled, ready to fall away and leave nothing but a gaping hole in its place. 

Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Not really—not in the same way it was before. Things are a lot quieter. A lot emptier. I don’t think Darry minds all that much; an empty house is a peaceful house, even under all the unsettling tension. 

The gang feels a lot closer now, too. I suppose that’s one good thing about all of this, but nobody is quite themselves anymore. There isn’t as much energy in the air; there aren’t many laughs around anymore, and nobody smiles as often as they used to. It's like everyone is carrying around a weighty cloud on their shoulders, or maybe they’re just trying to keep their minds busy with something else. But we never talk about those days anymore; no one does. The topic makes us uncomfortable, like a wound that can never be healed. 

Maybe it’s just me who can’t get used to living without them. 

The nightmares still come every once in a while, more now than they used to. Sometimes they’re pretty bad—Johnny and Dallas making frequent appearances, their faces blurred, their voices distorted. Sometimes, I realise that I’m starting to forget the little things about them: the way Johnny would tilt his head a little to the left (or maybe it was to the right) when he was talking; the way Dallas would bite his lip when concentrating hard on something, even if he didn't seem to notice himself doing it. Everything seems to be slipping through my fingers faster than I can grasp, trying desperately to hold onto the memories, begging them not to fade away into the background. 

Maybe that’s why they haunt me so often: because I'm afraid—afraid that someday I won't remember them at all. 

Darry slept on the floor in my bedroom for a little while after that night, too scared to leave me alone after everything. He’s been doing that a lot lately, constantly checking up on me, even when I'm only in the next room over. Sodapop says it's because he's scared I’ll disappear again, which is ridiculous; I’ve got nowhere to run to, and even if I did, I doubt I’d want to anyway. Without Johnny to keep me company, I might as well be right here in Tulsa forever. 

There was never anything in the papers about Johnny and Dallas—at least not anything good. They don’t write editorials for “murderers” and hoodlums. Nobody would read them anyway. It would be a waste of ink, a waste of print, and a waste of paper. It’d just be another story about another couple of kids from the east side who wound up dead. No one would care. No one would even know what happened to them, not until somebody started asking questions, and even then, the truth would be twisted. Nobody knows what happened. Nobody but me. They can try to understand, just like Sodapop, Two-Bit,  Steve, and Darry have tried, but they won’t ever see it the same. Not like I do. 

For a long time after the incident, I tried convincing myself that Johnny wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be; you don’t just lose your closest buddy in one night. That doesn’t just happen. And yet, it had happened to me. 

To be truthful, I still don’t really believe that Johnny is dead. It’s stupid, irrational, and childish, but I can’t help but cling to that notion like my life depends on it. Maybe I'm losing it a bit, growing a little delusional. Darry seems to think so. Not a day goes by where he isn't telling me to “get my damn head out of the clouds” or to “get my act together."

I’m trying, really, I am, but sometimes it gets hard. The truth hurts too much. So I decided it was better to just pretend that it hadn’t happened. Pretend the entire mess never went down. That’s easier than confronting reality, even though I know there are some aspects of Johnny and Dallas’ deaths that are very, very real. Too real to be ignored. And it’s not like I can ignore it, can I? It’s part of me—a piece of me—a piece of my memory that I can never fully forget. I’ll just have to live with it.

That’s easier said than done, though.

[furiousgoldfish]

Getting disillusioned from your past is an extremely painful experience, and it hurts even worse when we're expected to not feel hurt from that.

What do you mean parents who I struggled to impress and who I loved all my life actually didn't care about me at all. What do you mean I was alone during the formative years of my life and nobody was in my corner and I grew up severely damaged by neglect and trauma due to it. What do you mean I haven't experience genuine love for any moment of my life.

I was in there, dreaming. I was building a life from straws and sand that I was able to grasp and glue together into an illusion of a family. I kept telling myself 'okay, but if this worse thing happened, then I would be protected, then it would be taken seriously, then it would matter.' I thought that's what we were all supposed to do? Every single time I said a word I would hear 'They're your parents and they're just doing what's best for you', what do you mean it was all a lie, every single time?

I was encouraged to put together a life that felt bearable to grow up in, so I wouldn't have to live in the worst possible option. The alternative was living in the world where every single person is an active danger to me and I am supposed to feel tense and terrified for every second of my life. To find out now, that it was not real? That I made everything up, that people were actively telling me to keep making it up, and to now find out I was alone all along, and I was hurt, for a long time, and nobody did anything? I was betrayed by every single person around me, since I was a baby? Everything I held onto was imaginary, every bit of trust and hope and love I held onto so dearly, never even existed?

That feels like wrenching hope out of my shaking arms when I'm still holding onto it to live. It feels like the entire inner world crashed and I don't know who anyone is, and I can't trust myself to find out, because I was wrong every single time I tried. Every event turns into pain. Every memory hurts like a burning wound. It's not 'starting over', it's being plunged into depth and the world closing in on you, showing you a face that you couldn't let yourself see because it would have broken you. And it's breaking you now.

To finally see your situation and your past as traumatic and devastating as it was, it's almost completely unbearable. Nobody should be expected to face that on somebody else's terms, or to suddenly be okay with it. It's not only a loss of an illusion, it's a loss of one's entire past, only to be replaced with a cruel, empty and abandonment-filled version. It's to realize you've been dreaming yourself a family while being alone in a dark cell with rocks thrown at you.

So be gentle with people who still partly live in that illusion, or who are struggling to break out of it. Yes, living in it is dangerous and painful, but breaking out takes a toll few could accept or manage. Nobody should be pushed or hurried up to go thru this devastation. Nobody should be forced to deal with this pain.

[f1nalgirl3]

DBD survivor headcannons

- Language barriers are a common problem for new survivors. Whenever a new one pops up in the campfire, the group’s first course of action is to figure out what language they speak, since they can’t do much else until that’s sorted out

-The entity has sapped the survivors of most of their physical strength, but heightened their stamina and durability. Which was a bit of shock for survivors like Chris Redfield when he realized he couldn’t just punch a hole in the killer and call it a day. That being said, it’s usually still his first instinct to fight the killer

-The survivors share items they recover from trials, and ration them to make sure nobody goes in empty handed. A lot of toolboxes and flashlights have been wasted by survivors throwing them at killers in a panic

-The only reason Dwight is considered the leader of the group is because he’s been here the longest. Whenever somebody new shows up in the fog, they’re directed right to him. He’s shown everyone the ropes, and still doesn’t really have the slightest clue how he’s managed to last this long

-That being said a lot of people have their doubts with him. This scrawny little white guy?? We’re gonna follow his lead?? Grizzled survivors like Bill or Ash seem like a much better candidate. But nobody else can rally the group together and motivate them like him. He doesn’t know how he does it either.

-Yun-jun Lee was HORRIFIED by the state of the campfire when she first arrived. She’s sat in the lap of luxury for so long that even the thought of getting her shoes dirty made her physically ill.

-Claudette and David are pretty close, considering how his main skill set involves taking hits, and hers involves healing them. His recklessness gives her heart palpitations.

-Within trials, survivors gain superhuman healing abilities, able to seal up wounds that would normally be lethal. Not fully, just enough to keep their organs from spilling out until they can get patched up by a medkit or another survivor. This isn’t always a positive though- If a survivor is left on hook long enough, their body will begin to mend itself around the hook, lifting them off from it just tears a new wound in them.

-The RE squad sticks together, god forbid they end up in a trial together, it’s every killers worst nightmare. They’re coordinated as fuck

-The only animals in the vast field surrounding the campfires are crows and rats. Several attempts to hunt them have been made, none have been successful. The survivors haven’t eaten in a very long time, they’re so hungry that even the rotted meat hung up in cold wind is starting to look appealing.

-The crows aren’t actually creations of the entity, they’re just prone to finding their way into the realm. They have a symbiotic relationship with it. The abundance of death within the realm is basically an all-you-can-eat-buffet for them, so long as they help the entity out when needed.

[thebluestbluewords]

Spike Time! Because I got inspired by this post:

“Question for you, Auradon boy,” Mal demands, thumping her bag down on the lunch table with more aggression than she should probably show at school. “I need info and none of my usual losers are available to get it for me.” 

Doug looks up from his book slowly than is strictly necessary, in Mal’s opinion. It’s not like she’s threatening him, she’s just pursuing an unusual avenue for information. Never mind that she doesn’t actually like Doug, because he’s the most likely source for the info she needs, and she’s going to get it out of somebody one way or another. 

Doug frowns at her. “What do you need?” 

“You’ve been to the city.” Mal says, swinging one leg over the bench so that she’s at least pretending to sit with him. They’re sharing a girlfriend, or whatever, so she can at least try and look friendly. “And you’re like, a nerd about buildings and stuff, right?” 

Doug’s frown crumples into a more puzzled look. “Sure. I wouldn’t call myself a nerd, exactly, but—“ 

“You care about the history of stuff,” Mal interrupts. “Right?” 

“Sure.” 

“So,” Mal starts, and then realizes that the hand she’s got resting on the table is shaking. She clenches it into a fist. She can’t afford to show weakness. “You know why the FUCK there’s spikes and shit all over every fucking flat surface in the city?” 

Doug blinks. “Spikes?”He echoes, sounding puzzled. “The anti-pigeon spikes are only on the top of buildings. They’re a tool the city planners use to keep the streets clean. If the birds can’t land, they can’t leave, ah—droppings. Everywhere.” 

“Bird shit.” Mal repeats, flatly. 

“Yes.” 

“The spikes are for bird shit.” 

Doug squints at her. “Yes,” he says slowly. “They’re designed to keep away birds and other pests. That’s what the city planning guides say.” 

Great. Perfect. 

“And there’s no other reason they might put spikes at ground level,” Mal says, just to be sure that she’s not the one going insane here. “Like, on every flat surface you could possibly want to sit on.” 

Doug shakes his head. “I haven’t actually been to Auradon city since I was a kid. If there's spikes around on ground level, I don't know why they're there." 

Ugh. Typical Auradon kid. They can list off every fact known to man about kingdoms hundreds of miles away, but when you need a tiny piece of information about your own backyard, they come up blank. "But you can look it up, right?" Mal pushes. "In one of your books, or something."

Doug lifts a shoulder. "I guess. Why?" 

Mal grits her teeth. She's been independent since she was old enough to hold a knife. It's galling to need help from any Auradon brat, much less the one that she's lost half of Evie's time to. She's been the one protecting her crew for years, and it's best if she won't let outsiders know the specifics. Injuries are safest when they're secret, when nobody can tell that you're nursing a weak spot-- 

When you know the lay of the land and can keep it hidden until you're healed. When your puncture wounds aren't infected and oozing gods-know-what all over your clothes. When you have the barrer, thrice-cursed thing that it is, keeping you alive even when your body wants to die. 

"We might've-- gotten hurt." Mal admits. "On the spikes. I need to know why they're there, so I can heal the puncture wound and then melt them down to a pulp." 

"Metal turns into smelt," Doug says, and then looks almost horrified with himself. "Not a pulp. Not that it matters. Is Evie hiding a puncture wound?" 

Ah. This is why Evie likes him. 

"No." Mal snaps. 

"Then--?" 

"I have other friends." 

"You don't." Doug points out, eyes big and wide and fully earnest. "And if it's not Evie, then it's one of the other Isle kids. I haven't seen you bleeding on anything lately, not that you'd show me if you were, and--" 

"It's Jay. Happy?" 

"No. Evie hates when people get blood on her clothes." 

"She's not--" Mal sighs. This sort of questioning is exactly why she doesn't trust Auradon kids. With anything. They'll just talk about things, and not get anything useful done. "She doesn't care about the blood right now. I need you to tell me why the spikes are there. Can you handle that?" 

Doug drops his chin into something almost like a determined expression. Mal's more used to seeing the look on the faces of little kids when they're challenging each other to jump off of something that'll definitely break their legs, but that's unmistakably what it is. "Yes. But I want to know why you're asking." 

"I told you already. I'm going to melt them down. It's stupid to put spikes all over the place where perfectly normal people want to be. We can't be the only ones who want to run around the fucking city without pointless spikes getting in the way." 

"You're from the Isle," Doug points out. "I thought you guys were all about pointless spikes." 

"For ourselves, not for the ground. It's stupid to keep them around wherever for no reason." 

"I'll look it up," Doug promises. "Can I report back tonight, or are you flying into the city to melt them before dinner?" 

Mal's face twitches without her consent. Funny. He's funny. "I can wait until after dinner. But come by Evie's room after then. You can report back once we've eaten." 

"Got it. Can I ask one more question?" 

Mal forces a frown. She's got a reputation to uphold. "I suppose." 

"Why are you asking me, and not Lonnie or Ben? You're friends with them, aren't you?" 

Ugh. The real answer is that Lonnie's off campus, and Ben's too busy to worry with a little thing like oozing puncture wounds from spikes in the city that they weren't supposed to be visiting, but Doug's not going to stop if she tells him that. 

"I'm friends with you," Mal lies instead. "Friends ask each other stuff. Normal questions." 

"Like why there's spikes on the ground." 

"Yeah." 

"Lonnie's not here, is she." 

Stupid perceptive boys. 

"She's off campus for a ROAR tournament," Mal admits. "Evie's not mad about the blood because we had to rope her in so she could forge a nurse's note excusing Jay from the tournament for a minor, normal shoulder injury. We need help, and we need in from you, because you're the next in like of people who don't hate us. Are you going to help or not?" 

"Oh, I'm going to help." Doug pushes his glasses up his nose in a way that Mal can only describe as ominous. "But you might not like whatever I find, and you can't rip my head off about it when I tell you what I've found." 

Mal lets her eyes flash green. "Deal," she says, and sticks out a hand. "Fairy's honor." 

[nonokoko13]

Me when the first coherent thought I have in the morning is that Grim was either abandoned or his biological parents died and the only family he has ever known are three ghosts everyone was afraid of so everybody left them alone for centuries and a human who doesn't belong who doesn't entirely fit there just like them so they were all alone until they found each other.

Ghosts tied to a space which is unsure whether they can leave or not and a human who may have somebody waiting them back home and may leave with no chance of return. Who can't take Grim with them because where they come from things such as fantasy creatures and magic only exist in fairytales so he'd either live hidden from the world or in danger of being treated as a monster and experimented on because when faced with what it's new and different the world reacts with anger and fear and want to control it and tear it apart until nothing it was before is left.

He doesn't know or understand this but MC does and that's why they would have to leave him behind. His dream of studying magic and be the greatest mage wouldn't come true on Earth, that's the reason they would tell him. It's true even though it's not the main reason why. But Grim would understand they just don't want to stay with him and prefer to leave and forget him because if they did love him they would stay.

Then again he could try to dig up in his origins and find his first family but what if time travel exists and MC from a previous timeline was who gave him the ribbon, his first gift and only possession before arriving at NRC? Meaning MC was the person his world revolved around before he even knew who they were and there was no other family he had.

Doubting the trouble squad has ever have a heart to heart conversation about Grim and MC's fates if or when they depart either because they have forgotten or pretend they aren't aware but deep down Ace and Deuce and all of MC friends know but prefer to keep ignoring it instead of confront their feelings. Grim and Malleus being the only ones who may have never think of it until the moment arrives nor accept it. Just like young children who believe their parents, their pillars, their everything that makes them feel safe, would always be there until death knocks at their door. Because MC have friends and a home in Twisted Wonderland and they need them so why would they leave?

They know MC keeps searching a way home and wondering if their loved ones misses them as much as they do and how much time have passed on their planet without knowing MC wishes they could have it all so they didn't have to choose between their previous family and the one they found there. And neither Grim or Malleus won't admit they know because thinking of it brings back the feeling of abandonment and losing everything that make them feel completed.

But the prince will have both Silver and Sebek and his grandmother for the rest of their lives with him once he returns home, people who was there from the beginning. Time to grow with them and accept they'll leave too. Everyone will graduate and go home and except special occasions each one will go their own path.

Grim will stay with somebody else but it won't be the same for him because he already had a family he wanted to keep together and failed to do so and without the dorm ghosts and MC the only thing left for him is the wound he carried before finding them opened once again that will remember him that nobody in this world can stay by his side forever so he'll stay and search a way to reunite with MC again and wonder if they miss him as much as he does and wishing MC have had everyone they loved in twst so they didn't have to choose or if they had to they had chosen him instead in the end and thinking of how all the future plans they shared and promises they made of growing old together were empty and the words that made him happy about how they loved him now hurt and they failed him and he failed to have everything he wanted and they left they left and he's thinking of them even after promising himself he wouldn't anymore a lie just like theirs and he's crying again and it hurts it hurts and

[nomoreusername]

His Hoodie

Pairing:Aris x female reader

Summary:After losing Aris everything in your life falls apart.

A blue and gray striped hoodie, with no zipper, a hood, a single front pocket, and that had been through absolute hell.

Some days, I hate his hoodie. Other days, it’s the only sort of comfort. One thing's the same though. I will never take it off. Not even at night to sleep, out of fear that something could happen to it, refusal to let go, and grief that he never made it.

It doesn't smell like him anymore, and I don't know how to get it back.

I hate the Scorch, and I still hate Jorge and Brenda. I refuse to even be around them, but apparently everyone’s just forgiven them. I mean Thomas is fucking dating her. He's actually dating the girl who killed my boyfriend.

They keep telling me that it was an accident. And it was. There was no way she could have known her bullet would go through the guy's body, hitting my love.

So now I don't talk to Thomas, Minho, or Frypan either. While Teresa was with us I wouldn't look at her. When Newt was here I only spoke to him when it was about rescuing Sonya. Everyone only talked about Minho though, and Harriet didn't stand up for her, leaving me responsible for doing so. Now I don't talk to her either. I sometimes speak to Sonya, but she still hangs out with Harriet so I can't do so often.

I hate them. I hate everyone. They just want me to move on. Even the new friends didn't take me seriously as they tried to set me up. Every time though, I said that I had a fiancee, because I do. I never had a ring, but I didn't need one. That promise to be his wife when we got to the Safe Haven was more than enough.

Nobody took it seriously though. So much so, that somebody took his hoodie while I was in the shower as a “joke,” and I was apparently overdramatic. Because he was younger. He was just a kid, and kids make mistakes. While I agree, he was a teenager. Not a child so he knew right from wrong. Yet somehow when I beat the hell out of him for taking the only thing I had left of Aris I was the bad guy.

What kills me the most? It's only been ten years, and I’m already starting to forget his face. It's getting so blurry. His voice, I don't quite remember his exact tone and how he spoke. There also weren't exactly any photos or videos to remind me.

I remember the way Brenda led us to Jorge though. I still recall being afraid while he hung us upside down but feeling stronger when I looked at Aris. Because he was my everything, and I could make it through hell as long as I had him. Then, when we figured out how I was the one who untied his chains from his ankles so that we could move. Just as we thought it would okay though, there was some guy that came out of nowhere, pointing his own gun at us. Since we're each other's everything I kept my hand in front of Aris to protect him, and he did the same. It wasn't the time for it, at all, but the way fingers brushed against my hips while he did was kind of nice. I mean we were all being threatened and one of my thoughts was how much he means and how much I love him.

When the gunshot went off we thought it was from him until he fell forward, revealing Brenda pointing one. Like it was nothing she yelled at us to hurry up and ran without looking back. I also know the sound obviously made everyone flinch because we all thought that we were the ones who had been hit.

As I tried to leave he whispered my name. I turned to see blood coming out of his chest before he fell to the ground. As he did I was right beside him while everyone else stood there. Not knowing what to do, I just pressed my hands to the wound as I told him it would be okay. As he reached his hand out though, just barely pressing it on my cheek, I looked him in the eyes as he just gave me his touch.

What kills me is that his last sentence was just, “it's okay.” Officially, his last word was just, “I,” before he died. He never even finished them so all there was was an absolute lie. It's not okay, and it never will be.

I screamed as loud as I could. I shook him as I demanded that he wake up. In my hysteria I kissed him, only for his lips to be cold, like they belong to a stranger and not the warm boy who lit up my world. I kept saying his name, sobbing over his dead body as I did everything to wake him up, as if there was a chance. I mean I shook him, kissed him, hugged him, cradled him, rocked him, and stroked his hair.

The worst part is that I did all of this in so little time before two or three people dared pull me away. I kicked and thrashed and screamed and reached for him, only for them to tighten their grip. Two people grabbed my legs while another grabbed my arms. They pulled me to Jorge and forced me on the zipline.

When Jorge came down I was still on my knees, sobbing and repeating his name. When he got close I got on top and punched him over and over and over. I was yelling at the world, rage filling my veins as I called him and the girl monsters and barely human and freaks and screamed that I would kill them. I grabbed my knife and tried to stab him only for someone to restrain me.

Eventually, when I kept trying to kill him when nobody was looking, Minho was assigned to be his body guard since he was in obvious need of protection. Where was Aris’s protection though? Where were they when I was on the floor, doing everything to save his life?

I had failed him too, but I tried. It wasn't enough and never would be, but fucking hell, I did everything I could. It may have been in vain, but I did everything in my power to keep him alive.

Unfortunately, I didn't have any power. So now he's dead, and I’m not.

Since I couldn’t kill Jorge I attempted to murder Brenda. I dragged her to the club and beat her senseless. She barely got any hits in that I couldn't even feel through the sharp pain in my heart.

As I was only halfway done Newt found me. He put his arms around me so that I couldn't move. While he did so I was still shouting at him, telling him that I wasn't finished, reminding him that she killed Aris, the love of my life. The second he got a word in he told me that Aris wouldn't want me to be like this.

This broke something in me as if I wasn't already nothing but little pieces, a shell of who I was. I demanded that he tell me how he would know what Aris would want, but he just reminded me that this violent girl, the one seeking revenge, the one so easily able to hurt people, was not who he had fallen in love with.

The worst part was that he was right. I was not who Aris knew. When I saw myself in a mirror I didn't even recognize myself, and I hated everything about that person staring back.

How can I remember all that but not his face? Not his voice? Not his body? Not his scent? How can I remember everything but what I’m supposed to?

Why couldn't it have been me? Why did it have to him? Why can't I trade places with him?

Standing at the edge of the Safe Haven, I let out a blood curdling scream that only the birds in the sky could hear. Dropping to my knees, I told him that I was sorry as I started pulling at my hair. I screamed about how much I hate everyone and how much I love him. I screamed until my throat was raw, and my voice was scratchy. Yelling into my hands, I broke down again as I tried to remember any positive detail about him. All I had was little moments that he didn't look right in.

Feeling myself break even more than before, I banged my fists on the hard dirt until they were bloody. Crying out for him, as it started to rain I held his hoodie close to my body as it soaked through it. Laying down, I let myself get colder and colder as my eyes started shutting.

For hours and hours I laid there, waiting. Waiting with a smile on my face as it kept pouring. If it rained enough I would freeze. I wouldn't have to wake up. Not without him.

So, with my eyes still shut, as I became unable to move, I repeated his name as I prepared to see him again. And this time I wouldn't have to let him go. Ever.

[chiefbeifongcanrailme]

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Hi Mochi! I'm so sorry I'm taking forever to get to this ask- but it's totally your fault- you know I'm indecisive- I'm a Libra and I couldn't choose which fic to go with🫠

So after much procrastination, I have picked: Somebody Come Geeeeeeeed Her She's Dancin' Like A…

This is my stripper!Lin fic.

Spoilers below. Be warned.

I had a lot of plans of continuing this- prequel, sequel, multi-chap the whole shindig but alas, the world is cruel. Although, just answering the ask is giving me a fantastic idea.

Anyway, coming down to the fic- a 20-something year old Tenzin is reluctantly taken to a strip club by Bumi where he is completely smitten by one of the strippers. Convinced that the woman wearing close to nothing on stage is Lin, Tenzin abandons his brother to go find her and see if it really is Lin. But whether or not this woman is his good friend, Captain Lin Beifong, Tenzin is experiencing love at first sight.

I'm laughing as I'm typing this, but we all know Lin's hot as balls and to have her be a stripper would be everything. As I was first writing this fic, I kinda decided that the stripper would actually be Lin's doppelganger from the bronx south side (known to be a shady area of Republic City) and Tenzin would feel like he's being gaslit. Jade's boyfriend would be Lightning Bolt Zolt while Tenzin's friendship with Lin keeps getting tested over this. But then I changed my mind, and decided to go with undercover Lin who's working with one of the up and coming triads based in the south side- of course, this has to be secret and nobody other than Saikhan knows about this. He often covers for her and ever since Tenzin discovers Jade, Saikhan has been working overtime lol.

But coming to the fic itself, where I got to include none of this, I wanted to establish just how attracted Tenzin is to Lin. He supposedly falls for Jade and that's only because as Jade, she gives him the time of day while Lin doesn't. Lin enjoys being Jade because that's the only time Tenzin will properly shoot his shot- with Lin, he's too tightly wound. And well, while Jade may a boyfriend (Lightning Bolt Zolt), for convenience (and so that she can be trusted by the triads), Lin secretly is in love with Tenzin.

And it's funny cuz Tenzin loves Jade, Jade "loves" Zolt, Zolt- who sees Lin at the RCPD once is obsessed with this more high strung, difficult, stick-in-the-ass version of his girlfriend- and therefore into Lin, who in turn, is into Tenzin who just won't make a move!

RIP to all my good ideas. Unfortunately for its audience, this director only publishes the very pretty, pointy tip of her icebergs.

[run-me-through-but-not-like-that]

Nursed

Summary: When Izzy gets sick, Stede insists he takes some time off. He also insists that you are put in charge of the first mate's care.

Word Count: 3477

Izzy knew that the best thing to do when a member of the crew got sick was to quarantine them, at least to some extent. Ships were prime spaces for viruses to spread and if the whole crew got sick that would be good for nobody. 

That rule hasn’t applied much to Izzy since he became First Mate, though. He was always needed for one thing or another, he couldn’t just take time off because he had the sniffles or a sore throat. He had to just work through it unless it got bad enough to have him unable to move from his cot, that wasn’t very common though.

Why Bonnet had insisted on following this one rule of ship and crew maintenance was beyond him, probably just to irritate Izzy even more than he already does. Izzy had let a few coughs and sneezes slip while he was up on deck, no big deal, but Bonnet had taken notice. Roach had agreed that Izzy was coming down with something, and Bonnet had insisted that Izzy retire to his cabin to sleep it off, to take as much time as he needed until he was feeling better. Of course, Izzy had thought it, but Edward had only backed up his co-captain on the matter.

So, Izzy had stomped down to his cabin while hurling verbal abuse at anyone who he passed just to make himself feel a little bit better. He supposed that if he was going to be trapped in his cabin until he could pass as being perfectly well, he might as well actually try to sleep some of this sickness off.

His short nap was cut even shorter by the sound of somebody knocking at his door. Surely Bonnet had told the whole crew that Izzy was in bed with some terrible illness by now, so maybe if he just stayed quiet the person outside would just go away.

Instead, the door opened. Izzy groaned as he sat up, finding that his head was actually aching a little more now rather than feeling any better. He glared at you, only snarling a little, as you entered his cabin.

“I guess I woke you…” you observed, at least looking a little guilty about it. “Didn’t think you’d actually go to sleep. Thought you’d just pace around until you passed out or something,” you didn’t look at him as you moved further into the room, placing a tray down on his desk.

“Anyway, got some…bad news,” you turned to him, a not so sorry smile on your face.

“If I’m dying, that would actually be a relief,” Izzy huffed. Even when he was sent to his cabin to wallow in his sickness, he couldn’t get a break from this damned crew.

“Ah, nobody’s that lucky, I’m afraid,” you joked, but it actually came out more light than malicious. “Stede has assigned me to nurse you back to health,” you finally informed him.

Izzy blinked at you like you had just spoken some other language he wasn’t familiar with. “What?”

“Best to only have one person coming to see you, reduce the risk of contamination and all that. Since I help Roach with the medical stuff around here, Stede thought it would be for the best,” you explained.

“Fucking hell,” Izzy sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. His head was aching more now.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you laughed to yourself before stepping to the side, gesturing to the tray on his desk. “Got you a pitcher of water, you really need to keep hydrated, and some broth. Won’t be too heavy on your stomach.”

At least you didn’t bring up the whole ‘Izzy the Spewer’ thing, even if Izzy could tell what you were getting at with the stomach comment. To his surprise, you actually sounded sincere and concerned rather than mocking.

“When did you start feeling sick?” you asked, almost clinically. A little like Roach would ask ‘does that hurt’ when he was poking at a bleeding wound.

“I can take care of myself. Done it plenty of times before.” Izzy wasn’t even sure why he was fighting it, stupid shit seemed to be inevitable on this ship.

“Oh, I’m sure. I bet you worked through it all like the stubborn little creature you are, right?” you rolled your eyes, your tone flat.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Izzy muttered.

“Well, you still don’t, now you have to let yourself accept help and be taken care of,” you tutted before repeating your question. “So, when did you start feeling sick?”

“...felt it coming on yesterday.”

“You’re at the beginning of it then. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. Probably just the common cold, nothing to worry about, sure you’ve dealt with worse,” you shrugged slightly. “Drink. Eat. Drink some more. Then get some sleep. Let your body rest and heal,” you advised, “I’ll be back later to check on you, get you some more food and water.”

“Don’t feel obligated,” Izzy grumbled as you headed to the door, unsure if he even wanted you to hear him.

“I’ll see you later. Or not…if you’re asleep, I won’t wake you,” you told him, leaving no room for debate.

And just like that, you were gone.

Despite being frustrated with Bonnet's stupid orders and even more frustrated that you would be popping in and out, Izzy dropped down in the seat at his desk. He ate the broth and drank some water before dragging himself back into bed, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

Just as you said you would, you dropped by his cabin later on to check on him. To your surprise, he was actually sleeping. Even more surprisingly, he actually looked somewhat peaceful, not as grumpy as he usually is. 

Maybe it was silly, but you couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.

You placed the fresh pitcher of water and some leftover biscuits, in case he got hungry, down on his desk.

Silently, you stepped over to Izzy’s cot and carefully fixed the blanket over his frame. He must have kicked it off of himself a little in his sleep. Izzy hummed and nuzzled into his pillow, you bit back a small laugh. Wasn’t that just adorable? You dug a cloth out of your pocket and wiped away the slight sheen of sweat over his brow before returning to his desk.

With your job done, you gathered up the dirty dishes and left the cabin. You walked into the galley, dropping the dishes down by the sink.

“How’s the patient?” Roach asked. He had been very vocal about how pleased he was that Stede had assigned you to watch over Izzy and not him.

“Sleeping,” you told him, “think he’s getting a fever.” 

“Better you than me, I’d probably just tie him down to the bed and force feed him until he’s better,” Roach mused. He was a surprisingly talented medic but not always the most patient one. If his patient didn’t want help, they wouldn’t be getting it.

“Kinky,” you wiggled your brows at him before turning back to the dishes. “Let’s just hope the fever makes him easier to handle.”

You checked in on Izzy again before you headed to bed. He was sleeping again but there was less water and fewer biscuits than what you had left earlier, so you took that as a win. You would stop by before breakfast, make sure he wasn’t going without anything.

-

The next morning you checked in on Izzy, expecting to find him still in bed, but instead he was sitting on the edge of his cot. His clothes sat beside him, pants in hand. It looked like he had started to get dressed but had to sit down before really even starting.

He looked frustrated with himself but he clearly wasn’t well, his face pale and his shoulders slumped.

“Are you seriously trying to get up?” you asked with a huff, like you just couldn’t believe what you were seeing. You absolutely could believe that Izzy Hands was trying to get back to work when he was hitting the worst of his illness. 

“I’m fine,” Izzy insisted, cringing at how rough his own voice sounded.

“That’s a blatant fucking lie,” you rolled your eyes. “C’mon, back in bed,” you were in front of him in an instant, pulling the leather pants out of his hands. You folded his clothes neatly and placed them on top of the chest at the bottom of his bed.

Izzy just watched as you moved around his cabin, vaguely pleased that you had neatly handled his clothes, as ridiculous as that may be. Then you were returning to him, a hand on his shoulder as you got him to lay down and pulled his blanket over him. He protested and weakly thought but before he knew it, he was back in his bed.

“Too warm,” Izzy complained, trying to push the blanket off of him again.

“It’s your fever. Don’t kick it off, okay?” your voice was surprisingly soothing as you spoke, like you really wanted him to understand and not just do as you said because you said it. “I’ll get some stuff for you in a minute,” you assured, tucking the blanket back into place.

“Are you up for eating?” you asked, stepping back. Izzy just shrugged, feeling completely out of his element. “I’ll get you something small,” you decided with a small nod. “Want some medication?”

“No,” Izzy answered. You just nodded, not pushing him on the matter.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you promised before gathering up the dirty dishes and dipping out of the cabin.

When you returned again a few minutes later, it was with another tray of items.

Izzy grumpily sat up and let you give him what you brought for him. You got him to drink a full cup of water and then helped him eat a few spoonfuls of soup. He blushed the whole time at the fussing and protesting that he could manage himself, but you just shushed him and did your job.

Izzy drank some more and lay down properly again. You placed a cool damp cloth over his forehead, making him comfortable before telling him to get some sleep. He surprised himself by actually falling asleep, unable to fight his heavy eyelids.

This time, as he slept, you stayed. Sitting by his bedside so you could keep replacing the cloth and keep his temperature down.

You had to pop out of the cabin every now and again throughout the day to tend to other things but you would always return to care for Izzy, even if he fought you every step of the way.

-

On the third day, Izzy’s fever seemed to reach its peak. Which you hoped meant it would start getting better soon.

He ate very little that day but you managed to force him to drink whenever he woke up. When you had been asked to nurse Izzy a little, you had completely planned on giving him plenty of space and time alone since he seemed to enjoy it so much, but that day you barely left his side.

While he slept, you were sitting beside him, rinsing and replacing the cloth on his forehead to help keep him cool.

Your silent routine was interrupted by a quiet whine. You paused, frowning down at the sleeping first mate. He whined again, his brow pinching slightly.

“Shush, just gotta get through the worst of it,” you attempted to soothe him, even if he couldn’t hear you.

Izzy’s face scrunched up as he began to writhe on his cot, like he was having a nightmare of some sort. It was probably a symptom of his fever, or at least worsened by it.

“You’re alright, Iz. Just a bad dream, I’ve got you,” you continued to talk sweet nonsense until he calmed. He hummed slightly when you ran your fingers through his dirty hair, so you continued, happy that it was soothing him.

You smiled as he settled. “There we go, just sleep it off,” you whispered. Izzy let out a small sigh, slipping back into a dreamless sleep.

With a sigh, you stood and began tidying up again. You couldn’t sit around watching Izzy sleep all day, especially when he would most likely be perfectly fine, but you found yourself not really wanting to leave him.

-

The fourth day came around after you managed to pull yourself away from his side to get some sleep. Of course, the first thing you did was grab some food from the galley and went to see Izzy. He was laying on his cot, awake but not looking happy in the slightest. At least he wasn’t trying to get back to work this time.

“Still feeling shitty, huh?” you asked.

“You tell me,” Izzy muttered.

For some reason you felt fond about his grouchiness. “Alright, I brought some brekkie. Hungry?”

Izzy eyed the bowl in your hands. “...could eat…”

You insisted on spoon feeding him even when he fought it. He eventually allowed it, grumbling with each bite he took. The broth was good though, soothing his throat, clearing his sinuses, and warming his belly.

“Ate more than yesterday, that’s good,” you acknowledged.

As you placed the bowl down, Izzy actually asked for something. “Water?”

“Look at that, asking for things, accepting help. You’re growing, doing so well.” You were teasing, of course you were teasing, just joking around. Still, he couldn’t help the way he flushed at the praise. What the fuck? He only asked for some water.

You poured him a cup of water and handed it over without another comment. “If you finish the full cup and I’ll leave you alone until lunch,” you promised.

“If that’s all it takes,” Izzy huffed, bringing the cup up to his mouth.

“Ah, you like me. You haven’t even threatened to stab me once,” you teased.

Izzy distracted himself by finishing the drink, letting you take the cup back once it was empty. He really didn’t need all this doting, and surely he could fight it a little more…

“And we say…” you prompted.

“Fuck off.”

“Come on, Izzy. Say it and I’ll bring an extra treat with lunch.”

“Fucking-” Izzy sighed, knowing you wouldn’t drop this. You had probably earnt it at this point anyway. “Thank you.”

“See, not so difficult,” you smiled, seemingly pleased with him, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

Izzy froze but you didn’t pay it any mind, you just went about tidying up like you always do and headed for the door. “Get some rest. Feel better soon, Iz,” you left him with another sincere smile.

-

You returned to Izzy’s cabin later on that day. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Can I fucking move now?” Izzy glared at you. He was probably going a little crazy locked up in his cabin for the last few days, and you couldn’t really blame him.

“Nope, not until you’re back in perfect health. Captain’s rules,” you at least looked a little apologetic, “maybe tomorrow, though.”

“Got you some broth,” of course, you had your tray with you, “Roach is making stew for dinner today, think you’re up for that?” 

Izzy huffed and rolled his eyes. “Just some fucking stew.” 

“Izzy, work with me here. Don’t want to give you anything that upsets your stomach,” you sighed, something about it a little pleading.

You were right, he supposed. You only wanted to help, even if Bonnet had fucking ordered you to. “...yeah…stew will be fine,” he gave in.

“Good,” you smiled, bright and genuine again.

You let him feed himself this time, since this time you sat and ate with him. Letting him have half of your orange.

“Since you’re feeling better and not sleeping through the whole day, do you want me to bring you anything for entertainment?” you asked but Izzy just raised an eyebrow at you. “I dunno, like a book or something?” you weren’t even sure if he could read, you had seen him working on the logs but that was a little different.

“I could get Frenchie to sit outside your door and play some songs,” you suggested.

“A book is fine,” Izzy answered quickly before begrudgingly adding, “nothing boring.”

“It will be the most exhilarating book you’ve ever read,” you winked playfully.

-

Since lunch had gone so well, at least in your opinion, you had decided to eat your dinner with Izzy as well. Plus, he was more cognizant than he was yesterday and you thought the company would be good for him even if he didn’t much care for it.

“Aren’t you worried about getting sick? I mean, you don’t have to eat with me,” Izzy eventually questioned after eating in silence.

“Don’t want you to be all isolated and lonely in here. I’ll take the risk,” you shrugged, sounding honest enough. “You’ll just have to nurse me back to health like I have so kindly done for you,” you teased.

“In your fucking dreams,” Izzy scoffed. He was a first mate, not a nurse.

“I bet you’d be the most effective nurse ever, very practical. Terrible bedside manner, though,” you thought out loud, hearing Izzy’s quiet snort of amusement. “Bet you’d just tell the illness to fuck off and it would.”

“Huh, haven’t tried that yet,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t work on yourself. Bet your illnesses are just stubborn as you are,” you hummed thoughtfully.

At that, Izzy smiled a little to himself. He had to admit that this is kinda…nice.

“Think you’ll be back up on deck soon?” you asked.

“Could have been up there today but you’d snitch to Bonnet,” Izzy shot a halfhearted glare your way. 

“Damn right I would. You need to get fully better or you’re just going to make it worse again,” you chastised. “But maybe the next couple of days, maybe even tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck,” Izzy seemed genuinely relieved. You’ve never met somebody so reluctant to take a break, especially when they obviously needed one.

“That means you need to be caught up on what’s going on up there,” your eyes brightened at the realisation.

“Bet it’s not piracy,” Izzy scoffed.

“I’d say you won that bet, but I have no coin to give you,” you rolled your eyes fondly. “Anyway, here’s everything that has happened since you got sentenced to your cabin…”

You went on to tell him about all of the inane things the crew had gotten up too over the last few days, even going into depth about the most mundane things.

Izzy truly didn’t care about the stupid conversations the crew was having over dinner in the galley, but he found himself listening anyway. Admittedly, he lost the actual words every now and again when he really lost interest in the story, but he still found your voice soothing. Even if he couldn’t recall everything you said, a part of him didn’t want you to stop. He could just finish his stew to the soothing sound of your company.

-

On the fifth day, you might have even said that Izzy seemed excited to see you. As soon as you stepped into the cabin, Izzy perked up. “Thank fuck you’re here.”

“Wow, you’re happy to see me…did you fall out of bed and hit your head?” you squinted in suspicion. 

“No,” Izzy huffed. “No, I’m feeling better. I can be…discharged or whatever the fuck,” he insisted.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you tutted.

“Which is why I’m glad you’ve shown up already,” he rolled his eyes.

“I’m right on time!” 

“Just get on with it!”

“Careful or I’m going to tell Stede you need a few more days bedrest,” you warned sternly, earning a small grumble from Izzy.

You gave him a quick check over, making sure his temperature was back to normal, that the colour had returned to his face. Asked how his throat felt, how tired he was, even though you knew he would most likely lie about anything he could. You had to admit, he did seem a lot better.

“Alright, first mate Hands, I think you’re good to get back to work,” you announced/ “But take it easy. First sniffle or clearing of your throat, as I’m dragging you back down here,” you warned.

“Fine. Now fuck off,” Izzy huffed, waving his hand to dismiss you.

“...I still brought breakfast…might as well eat before heading up,” you reasoned, gesturing towards the tray on his desk. Two servings of porridge that Roach had prepared for the crew this morning. 

“Yeah. Fine, alright,” Izzy accepted the breakfast, not complaining when you sat with him to eat together. “...thanks,” he whispered, his gratitude unprompted and sincere this time, making you smile as you ate another spoonful.

[nightspires]

one line that sticks out to me from the nace scene in 4x07 is nancy saying "you wont let me move on".

at first i thought that was kind of unfair of nancy, as i was thinking... well, what exactly has ace done to prevent her from moving on? even when she confronted him in icarus hall and apologised about dancing with tristan, he immediately was like "it's fine, i'm good, this is what we agreed to".

but then i thought that actually maybe it's related to their conversation about being friends and the idea that what they had before was never really just platonic friendship. because SO much of their dynamic and what made nancy fall for ace in the first place was the way he showed up for her. and him stepping in at the last second last ep to save her from the massive spider, and going to find chunk velez for her.....

ace is still very much doing these acts of service for her even while she is really hurting and struggling with how to process being apart from him and how their relationship has been changed forever. and that HURTS.

it all comes down to them both fundamentally disagreeing on how to deal with the curse. for nancy, ace refusing to keep trying to break it feels like a rejection. it's painful and heartbreaking and she wishes he would fight for her and change his mind. but for ace, it's not about not wanting her. it's a sacrifice borne out of love. he is willing to sacrifice his own potential happinness so that a) no harm ever comes to nancy, and b) so she can be happy with somebody else.

and that disagreement and miscommunication is so outside of their usual dynamic. they are usually on the same page, they get each other in a way nobody else does. they show up for each other in a way nobody else does. being at odds in this way, about this specific issue, is just so so so painful for all involved.

how can they be around each other without constantly reopening that wound? how can they be friends when everything about their former friendship led them to where they are now? how can they move on when they both still care for one another so deeply? UGH. it's so fraught.