#but if you try to compare trauma in an 'i have it worse so you shouldnt be as upset as comparing your processing to five stages of grief'

[lesenbyan]

you know, I might be Stepping In It, but I really hate people's tendency to "you're lucky" when finding out someone's naturally skinny really piss me off.

I'm not saying there's not privilege to being skinny, there absolutely is in this fatphobic world. But as someone who has spent literally over half my life wishing I could gain any fucking weight ever it makes me so fucking mad. I've tried working out, I've had physically demanding jobs, I've tried, back when i could afford it, eating as much as I could handle. I have literal dysphoria about being skinny.

and then when I Go Off at a coworker for being the second person in a week to tell me I'm lucky- while wearing braces digging into my joints bc I am physically too small to wear them right but they don't get smaller- I'm told "oh but you have to realize we never considered the other side" sure! but I'm still allowed to get pissed! you would be too!

[krypticcafe]

Can please get fic where young reader almost gets r-word.. like! What happened to ellie on 'the last of us' like make it into that situation, reader kills the rapist and flees away and runs into the 141 team, and their like in this state of like panic, but they calm them down and they explain what happened they are beyond livid so they just reck hell on the people who was with the man who tried to r-word reader.

(this a platonic relationship between reader and the team)

Me and the Devil

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic 141 x gn!reader

warning(s): no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, non-explicit attempted r*pe, emotional and physical trauma, sexual physical and mental violence, canon-typical graphic violence, comfort

wordcount: ~3.8k

a/n: i'm not exactly sure what anon meant by young, but for context, reader is probably 20-22, I'm just not comfortable writing this kinda stuff for teen or child reader, I hope you don't mind. also, huge, HUGE emphasis on the warnings. though nothing is explicit and there are no sexual graphic terms, the descriptions and actions alone are still very disturbing and uncomfortable! and the violence is a little uncomfy for those not used to it, too. title is from 'Me and the Devil' - Soap&Skin

synopsis: You can see it. The devil. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, mocks you for your childish stupidity and naivete. To think the angels would come marching in, that you'd make it out with any semblance of sanity. You can't fight it, you can't even hide from it. All you can do is lie in your grave.

Just hours ago, you were alongside the 141, cleaning up and wiping out an enemy base, a typical Tuesday on a summer afternoon. You should've known things would go downhill with how smoothly it was all going. Even Price commented on it with an air of wariness and suspicion. After all, it was a saying that if the fight starts getting too easy, then it's an ambush. And an ambush it was. You want to tell yourself that it was nothing, easy as pie compared to what you've been through. You wanted to say that it was a success and you turned the tables on your enemies. You wanted to say that it ended within a matter of minutes and that you were on your way back to base with your boys, ready for a night of banter at the pub. You'd join Ghost in watching Soap and Gaz try their hand at poker, taking a shot each time Soap's dogshit luck lost him another couple of euros while Price would pry Roach from having another cocktail and piss himself ('it was one time!' he slurs).

But instead, you're here. Locked in a room, bag over your head, tied to a chair, a stereotypical hostage situation but that didn't make it any less tolerable. Though having a potato sack over your head was nowhere near as embarrassing as the reason why you were captured. You tried your best to hold onto the jeep, honestly, you did. Until some ankle-biter decided to latch onto you and sink his teeth into your flesh, causing your grip to loosen and send you tumbling into the dirt. Your bodies slammed into the ground, kicking up dust and your opponent taking most of the fall damage for you. How thoughtful.

Seething at the audacity he had to chomp on your leg like some feral mutt, you gave him a piece of your mind and made sure he'd never bite another ankle again. His friends caught up the moment you were done. They dragged you back down to the coarse dirt and sand of the earth, making you taste and choke on dust. You looked at the lifeless figure in the sand, briefly wondering if you'd be wishing you were him before a bag was slipped over your head and tied like a collar. It didn't help that the sand on the roof of your mouth combined with your ineffective attempts to ration your breathing made for a burn worse than any hard liquor down your throat. Thrashing and shouting like a madman, you cursed them like some teenager who discovered swearing as they tossed you into the back of a truck, rolling you forth with the heels of their boots. Not your finest moment.

Once you were loaded and the rest of them climbed on, the truck shot forward without slowing down for a second, taking you to your own personal hell for the next few days. Knowing the 141, they were probably at the safehouse, planning their next move to retrieve you. In the time between interrogations and routine attempts to break you, you could imagine Soap and Roach pacing around the room, Ghost brandishing a knife with a dark look in his eyes, and Price looming over a map and pulling up contacts with Gaz at his side. While you hated to burden them with your own mistakes, thinking about them all gnawing their teeth in comical anger at your expense brought you momentary comfort, eliciting a small chuckle.

"Something funny?" Much to your ire, all your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of several people shuffling into the room. You could only expect so much privacy in a place like this. The man who spoke up seemed to carry himself like a leader, considering how he spoke above all others and you could hear him carrying out demands every now and then, checking up on you as if he actually gave a shit. And currently, he was on the top of your "to kill" list, along with every other cunt in this prison.

"What'll it be today, more screaming or more silence? You know, you can only stay quiet for so long." He sighed. Judging by the sound of metal screeching on concrete, he pulled up a front-row seat. With a single yank, you were again temporarily freed of the confines of the bag on your face, glaring at the man with a look of ferocity that seemed as if it were etched on your face permanently. His clothes were disturbingly clean-cut and polished despite the blood he spilled for the past few days. Your blood he spilled. "Come now... you know you'll only make things more difficult. Face it, kid, they're not coming, it's been days."

When you felt gloved fingers touch your jaw you snapped, pulling away like an animal restrained by a leash. Your captor let out a taunting "Oooh", and your skin crawled at how he heckled and laughed like some adolescent boy poking a rabid animal with a stick through its cage. "So it bites."

"Fuck you." You rasped.

"And it talks." The humiliation of their nonchalant attitudes made you seethe, you knew it was a tactic to get under your skin and you just wouldn't have it, turning your head away from the men.

"Uh-uh, eyes on me. How is such a fresh thing like you out fighting wars with men like them?" He hummed, gripping your jaw with a strength that took you by surprise and had you wincing. Even though his hands were gloved, it felt as if he were trying to dig into your skin. With no other choice, you were forced to look into his eyes, the pyres of unimaginable anger burning in yours.

However, it was then that you felt it. Something was off. Something was horribly off about him. The several times he'd come in here to either coax you with gentle words or have his men beat you within an inch of your life, he either had some faux kindness or gleeful malice painted across his face. But this time, his eyes were alight with slimy delight. You hated it, Hated how it made you feel small, cornered, pulling on your leash so that you couldn't be yanked from the one place that made you feel safe. You hated how it didn't feel like he was trying to get under your skin, or sink into your bones but instead your mind as if to violate it. You hated how it seemed like he had something more in mind, something that you couldn't predict like a kick to the ribs or a carefully worded reassurance that you'd be in "good hands". It was the one thing you felt like you had control over, knowing what was next, and now you didn't.

With a wave of his hand, his men all filed out of the room, leaving just him and you alone. One came back with a bowl in their hands and you felt yourself doubt your worries. Were you already beginning to lose it in here? "Hungry?" He smiled, taking the bowl and dismissing the soldier. It looked and smelled like a stew, potatoes, and beef, not scraps of stale bread or lukewarm, half-empty beer cans.

"I asked them to make something special today for you, isn't that nice? I suppose even someone like you has a taste for the finer things in life and wouldn't say yes to leftovers." No answer came but it was to be expected as he mixed the stew with a spoon. Your eyes were trained on his face instead, expecting some kind of strings attached. He entertained that expectation by—to your disgust—spitting into the stew, mixing it more, and bringing up a spoonful to your face. "Consider that the cost of being so picky. Open wide, soldier. Surely you won't make a fuss again, now will you?"

There was a pause, you leaned forward, lips ghosting the tip of the spoon before you roughly shoved his chair away from you with your boot. The bowl fell from his hands onto the ground, pooling between the two of you. He could go to hell with his stupid fucking soup.

He let out a scowl of disapproval, his self-satisfied smirk replaced with disgust and irritation like a parent to their troublemaking child. Fine with you, you didn't need that asshole's approval. He stood, grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his hands and the small splatters on his uniform. "Should've known better that the government's pets would act like such animals. I gave you a chance, I tried to make this easy for you." He snarled, tossing his handkerchief aside and grabbing you by the collar, "But no, you just had to be a fucking brat, huh? Fine, be one. I can work with that. Either way, you'll be put in your place soon enough."

Before you could comprehend what he was implying, he slashed the ropes that binded you to your chair with a combat knife and shoved you to the floor, your head throbbing as it hit concrete, along with the rest of your aching muscles. Vision blurred, you sat up and tried to make out what he was doing, falling back when he roughly grabbed your hair and shoved your head back down into the ground. Like an alarm, every single flight or fight response went off in your body and yet you couldn't figure out what he was trying, you just knew that this was something worse and that you were a fool to let your guard down for a single second.

A twisted smile broke across his lips, "You know, you have a very lovely voice. You sing the loveliest songs."

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face until you let out a yelp of pain when he pressed into your stomach, already bruised from previous matters. He let out a sigh that made you shudder and you felt bile creep up your throat, moving your face to the side in fear that you'd choke on it.

"Eyes. On. Me." He snapped, his voice sounding so much louder than it actually was, his hand twisting your jaw back to look up at him while his fingers proceeded to dig themselves into whatever spots got you hissing and squirming away. That's all it took for your resolve to break, the blaze in your eyes fizzling out and replace with genuine fear and utter shock as you watched him straddle you and stare with a piercing gaze that trapped you. It forced your attention to stay on him, daring you to look anywhere else but him when that was all you could focus on. Him.

You couldn't even scream, paralyzed when you heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and the brushing of fabric, raw horror setting itself alight in your bones at how he loomed over you. At that moment, you swore you could see the devil itself laughing, cackling, mocking you in his eyes.

It was like you were seven again.

Scared, cornered in your room because you swore, you swore and sobbed and cried that you saw it, a monster in your closet. A dark, shadowy figure that'd taunt you merely with its existence and prayed on your downfall, drinking the fat tears you spilled and listening to your high-pitched cries as if they were music, eyes that you couldn't see but they could see you.

Others tried to convince you that it wasn't real, opened the doors, and closed them again, showing that there was nothing but cleanly folded clothes and hung-up jackets lined neatly along a rack. Every time, you'd feel a little more silly about your fears but anxious that they'd come back for more.

At some point, you nearly forgot about the monster altogether. It ceased to exist in your closet, but never your mind.

"Damn it, what now?!"

Pulled back into the present, you heard muffled speech with loud, obtrusive noises and more screaming and cursing from the man above you. He was faced with the still-closed door, talking to a soldier behind it. Instead of trying to catch up with what happened, your mind raced to its defensive instincts. Finding the spoon dropped from earlier, you reached for it with a strained grunt which caught his attention. Yet with a swift grab and thrust of your hand, you jammed the blunt handle of the spoon into his throat and screamed at him, your vocal cords ripping in deliriously satisfying pain.

Barely giving him a second to let out a final gasp for air, you flipped him over underneath you and yanked the spoon out, blood erupting out of the gash. Fire ignited in your veins and you balled your fists, giving him a taste of the rage of a caged beast with nothing left to lose, just the desperation to survive for more. It was a symphony of grotesque crunches of bone and ligament, and you yelled, screamed, and cursed with each impact at him, at the entire organization, at a godless world for making you live through hell. A pitiful yet gruesomely satisfying attempt to reclaim what sanity and control you lost in that room.

Blood and flesh coated your fingers like warm syrup, and you were sure your knuckles were split. Crimson red was a good look on a sterile uniform, you thought to yourself. The sight of your work made you realize it wasn't the devil in his eyes was laughing at you, but rather its reflection from over your shoulder, still gleefully singing and squealing with delight as it watched you indulge in pure, unadulterated wrath. Its tail wrapped around your neck, strangling you with delirium and bloodthirst, guiding you in your ear as you beat an already dead man to a pulp.

Taking a stand, its whispers remained in your ear, praising you and yet you felt sick looking at what was left of what you had done, of what was left of the man's face. His blood pooled around his shoulders, mixing with the stew into an unholy concoction, evidence that was a testimony to your suffering and to your sin. Using his combat knife, you cut through the ropes around your wrists, skin scratched raw and bleeding. Without a second glance, you took his gun and left the room.

To this day, you tell yourself that you crawled out of hell that day.

"Any signs of the hostage?" Gaz shouted over comms, holding off a room of enemies alongside Price.

The moment they had all seen your fingers slip from the jeep and saw you tumble away that afternoon was the moment they knew they wouldn't be coming back to base for a long time. Roach had watched in despair as he was so damn close to grabbing your hand, swearing that had he'd been a little quicker, you wouldn't be here. Soap had yelled for Price to go back but Gaz and Ghost both knew his hand wasn't going to turn that wheel anytime soon. All of them knew. They couldn't turn back, and you wouldn't have wanted them to either, not unless the entire team and mission were to be jeopardized. However, that didn't stop them from doing whatever it takes to get you back safe again.

"Negative." Ghost answered over the line, standing with Soap in a hallway painted with the blood of the opposition, bodies scattered like lifeless bags of flesh with no greater purpose than to rot.

"I have eyes on them, they escaped from captivity. Currently pursuing them!" Roach responded. He'd seen your figure run down a hall at an alarming speed, and when he followed you, he had a glimpse of the room and the spectacle you left behind, "The leader is terminated, too. Jesus, can someone get over here?! They're gunning it for the west exit and I can barely keep up!"

You were in fact, bolting for the exits, panicking the more you got lost and running so fast that you probably could've broken a record on base. Distant gunfire and blasts snapped at your heels like a pack of dogs, reminding you that if you didn't keep running, you'd be dead, you'd be torn apart and beaten just like their leader and fed to the wolves. Boots trampled the ground behind you like drums of death, the yelling of men ringing in your ears, a requiem to the inevitable. Run, just run, it's all you could do in this frenzied state. If you didn't you'd be helpless, you'd be put down like a rabid fucking animal. Run, even if your bones shook from the pain, even if flames licked at your torn muscles, even if it meant dying of exhaustion because anything was better than dying at the hands of those animals.

At last, you found the light of an exit, finally an escape from this asylum. Your heart felt lighter when sunlight kissed your skin only to be weighed down by getting slammed into, grabbed into a relentless hold. You screeched, shrieked, snapped, and sneered while the voices seemed relieved, almost happy at your capture.

"Don't fucking touch me-!" You screamed with animosity, practically frothing at the mouth, "Don't fucking touch me I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking—"

"Friendly, friendly!"

Still growling under your breath, confusion flickered over your eyes. Why did it sound like... like...

"Captain?"

"You're safe kid," Price panted, as if he'd been running to chase you. He was chasing you. In all your hysteria, you hadn't realized that the group had been running after you for past minute or so, trying to call for you, get you to slow down. The only thing that worked was to just grab to and hopefully knock some sense into you or knock you out. "It's just us, see?"

Your gaze softened, taking in the features of the man before you. Despite the crossfire and fighting, somehow he still had such a kind look on him, puppy eyes that pitied you and kept you grounded. Turning your head, you saw the rest of the men watching you in concern, all tired but overjoyed nonetheless that you were finally back.

You were safe.

It was like a weight finally lifted off your chest, a pile of restrained misery and relief washing over you, and you wept without a thought to pride. Price whispered your name in a way that felt so comfortingly familiar, tucking your head into his shoulder and letting you muffle your sobs into his uniform. It was painful to hear your wails, the relief and the instability shaking off of you in waves. A part of you expected to be scolded, to be teased for messing up so badly with a simple mistake as letting go of the jeep but they didn't.

"You're in good hands,"

"We've got them covered,"

"They can't hurt you anymore, love."

"Do you have any major injuries?" Gaz asked, but you couldn't say a thing, clinging onto Price's jacket and crying like you were four years old and found by your parents after getting lost. Slowly and gently, Price pulled you from him to examine you, and that's when he saw it. It didn't take long for the others to notice as well. Your clothes were torn and belt undone. While no physical harm was visible, knowing what happened was enough to make Price tick.

"Roach, get them to the car and give them some spares ASAP. Everyone else with me, we're cleaning out the place." Everyone else had the same dark look in their eyes, one that sent shivers down your spine but encouraged you once more you were secure now. While Roach escorted you away, you peeked back to see them disappear back into the building. After you changed in the car, you could hear the distant gunfire and screams, shutting your eyes closed tight, making an effort to drown out the thoughts.

"You okay?" Roach frowned. he had apologized to you a dozen times over on your way to the car and explained all that happened after you were taken, which you appreciated him for and insisted it wasn't his fault. But he was sweet and stubborn, bandaging your wounds and telling you he'd make it up by giving you his dessert for the next month, a gesture that made you smile for once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah just... hope they're safe." You breathed, sinking into your seat with the rest of your thoughts. Though you cried once more, quietly this time and on Roach's shoulder. He was cautious not to initiate too much physical contact, holding your hand only when you asked for it.

The building was silent, not a single soul left to be reaped by the 141. They all regrouped around a body that was beaten beyond belief, to the point where the face was unrecognizable. Regardless, they knew who it was.

Gaz broke the silence, "You think they did this?" They all looked at each other, not wanting to imagine what happened to lead to this point.

Ghost nodded, a confirmation of something they already knew but wanted to mutually agree on. "No one else could've made this much of a bloody mess. HQ's going to have a field day with this. Can't say that he didn't have it coming for him, though."

"And well deserved, too." Soap spat. Price continued to look down on the figure on the floor without any thought to it. Not anger, disappointment, or spite, just disregard. Headquarters would be interested to hear what happened, but he could care less about the report. All that mattered was that loose ends were tied.

Minutes later, the men all piled up in the car again, setting for the road back. You woke from your half-asleep state, rubbing your eyes. You were met with a soft smile from Soap, who ruffled your hair. "You alright there, sleepin' beauty?"

Humming in acknowledgment, you nodded and glanced out the window to see the road whizzing by, the building growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Some dingy warehouse. So that was the hellhole you were stuck in for a near week.

"Dinnae think 'bout it too much," He followed your gaze and nudged your boot with his, "When we said they can't hurt ye anymore, we meant it."

"Yeah," You quietly mumbled, leaning back on Roach, who had fallen asleep and leaned on Gaz for support. "Can smell it on you guys."

That got a rumbling laugh out of Soap and even a little headshake from Ghost who sat in the passenger seat. Looking at the rearview mirror, Price was looking right back at you, eyes flickering to the road occasionally, "Get some rest. It'll be a long ride home."

You nodded like a little kid with a mumbled "yessir" and drifted off once more. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can breathe and ground yourself, no punishment, no torture, nothing to haunt in this rare bit of calm. You didn't feel the pain of your sore muscles, you didn't feel that your body was filthy, you didn't feel small and scared, not anymore. Just surrounded by nothing but a familiar feeling of safety and lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine that took you home.

a/n pt.2: had a tough time writing this one but hey, I think I managed! to be honest, though, I'm not super confident about the ending and proofread this while half-asleep, but I'd love to hear some thoughts about it. shoutout to the people who noticed any reoccurring themes.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Death Breath! Hey! Wait up!”

Nico bolts. He makes it about ten feet away from his cabin door before Will and his stupid long legs catch up with him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and then immediately tripping over his own foot and sending them both sprawling.

“I hate you,” Nico groans, curling up on the grass.

It’s too early for any of this. He was just trying to get back at Cecil for covering everything he owned in aluminum foil last week — and then he was going to go right the hell back to bed.

He knew he should have fucking shadow travelled.

“Aw, c’mon. You love me.”

Nico pretends to gag. The only thing he gets is Will’s crossed arms and raised eyebrow, so he doubles down and really starts to retch. Whatever. It’s eight thirty in the morning. He fell asleep at five. Rational thinking is a distant, distant memory.

“Whenever you’re done.”

“I will be sick at the thought for the next eight weeks,” Nico informs him. For dramatic effect, he looks up at Will’s face — which he cant even see, since the sun’s in his eyes — and shudders.

“You know, you have a genuine, beautiful talent for the dramatic arts, the likes of which I have never seen. Are you sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

I better not be, ‘cause then all the staring I do at your calves would be real weird, he thinks to himself, then considers whether he can convince Kayla to give him a lobotomy. He thinks she might like the opportunity.

“Piss off,” he says instead of that, artfully schooling his face into the aristocratic mask he’s perfected from his father, squaring his shoulders and looking at Will like he’s a pebble lodged in the flesh of his heel.

Will rolls his eyes. “Get up, Sharpay Evans. You’re gonna stain your shirt worse than you already have.”

Nico sniffs haughtily. “My shirt is perfectly fine, thank you very much. I order them in black for a reason.”

He notices a giant grass stain on the side when he stands. He ignores it. Will does not.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the Goth King.”

“Ghost King.”

“Right, right. That helps your case.”

Nico shoves him, fighting back a grin. “Whatever, Solace. What are you bothering me for?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Nico is a deeply cheesy person. Down to the core of him, past all the sarcasm and prickliness and trauma, or whatever, he’s made of fucking mozzarella, because what business does he have comparing Will’s eyes to the morning winter sky? Huh? That’s embarrassing. It isn’t even original. If Nico caught anyone saying shit like that out loud in real life, he’s collapse into the shadows from embarrassment. He needs electroshock therapy.

“I was thinking —”

“Rare,” Nico quips, just to watch Will’s eyebrow twitch. It does. Nico smiles.

“I was thinking,” he repeats, mocking glare in Nico’s direction, “that you and me go to the city this afternoon.”

“You chased me across camp for that?”

“Oh, please, Zombie Face. I chased you maybe twenty yards.”

“I think all that time sniffing rubbing alcohol has deteriorated your brain.”

“I think I’m going to shove you in the lake.”

“Feel free to try. You will not wake up the next morning.”

“Nah.” Will shoots him a smug smile. Nico trips over air. “I can be as annoying as I want and you still won’t kill me. I have impunity.”

Nico rolls his eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer. The less he acknowledges his own shame, the more likely it will go away on its own. Probably.

“Anyways. Guess what Cecil told me today.”

“His last will and testament?” Nico guesses, suddenly remembering his reason for being up this early.

“No, no, not that.” Will pauses. “Well, I mean, he did. I passed it on to Chiron. He has requested that when you maul him, you avoid his face, because he wants to be a sexy corpse and he can’t do that if you destroy his prettiest features.”

“Noted. Please inform him I will come for him within a window of the next fifteen hours.”

Theres a very particular face Will makes when he finds something genuinely funny. A smile a little more crooked than his regular one, teeth working at his bottom lip to hold it back, left dimple appearing in his cheek. It makes Nico want to do stupid things like press his thumb into said divot. He instead shoves his hands deeply into his pockets.

“I’ll let him know.” He clears his throat. “Anyways. You know what day it is today?”

Nico squints. “Tues…day? No, Wednesday.” He glances at Will. It’s been maybe….three days since their weekly sleepover? No, fuck, four. He thinks. “Thursday. Final answer.”

“Monday,” Will corrects, “and, gods, you need to sleep more. And a calendar. But no, that’s not my point.”

“Feel free to get to it.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Will finally explains. He tries for exasperated, but it doesn’t work — he’s clearly excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waving his hands. “And The Five Seasons is doing half off for couples, so you and I need to go!”

He waves his hands, as if tying off some grand reveal. His (blue blue blue blue) eyes are squeezed nearly shut by the force of his beam, which lessons slightly with every second Nico does not respond.

“William,” he says finally. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “William.”

Will pouts. “What?”

“Explain how this is relevant to me, William.”

“Aw, c’mon, Nico! Don’t be difficult!”

“William,” stresses Nico again. “We are not a couple. Did you hit your head again?”

“Well, duh, Neeks, it’s about the scam!” He flaps his hand in a way Nico assumes is meant to convey something. “We’re gonna — eat! Cheap! By pretending to be a couple!” Now both hands are flopping, paired with wide, imploring eyes. “Obviously!”

“Obviously,” Nico repeats, slowly. He instructs one half of his brain to keep its focus on not melting into a puddle of blushing embarrassed goo, and the other to exercise restraint and not strangle the boy in front of him. A headache begins to press behind his eyes. “Will, what the shit.”

“You of all people!” Will throws his hands up. “You love scamming people! You hate corporate holidays! You frequently throw pebbles at people who look, and I quote, too obnoxiously happy! You’re the best hater I know! You should be on board!”

He makes a compelling point. Not that Nico is going to make that easy for him.

“You seem very invested in this,” Nico points out. He manages to keep his voice tastefully judgmental, which he’s very proud of.

“Of course I am! I want cheap Five Seasons food, godsdammit!” He pauses, switching tactics. “Nico,” he says softly. He puts a gently hand on Nico’s forearm, making him freeze. He is suddenly very, very close, and wow, did his hair always frame his face in gentle waves? Has that always been a thing? “I really, really want to scam a restaurant with you.” He smiles, small and crooked and gods, Will doesn’t look dangerous very often, but holy Hades when he does — “Will you make my Valentines, and scam a restaurant with me?”

His fingers begin to trace little circles in the inside of Nico’s wrist.

“Yes,” he squeaks, voice cracking.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pulling his fist. “Yes, hell yes, Nico! We are going to scam the shit out of this restaurant! Half off for couples? How about half off for heathens! Free money, baby! Fuck yeah!”

He turns back towards Nico, smile still wide and radiant, blinking eyes pools of sparkling excitement. Nico’s knees go a little weak. “I’ll come get you at 2! Thank you, Neeks!”

He runs off back to his cabin, only tripping twice. Nico watches him go, feeling a little like he’s tripping, too, with all the swooping his stomach is doing.

“Dude,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “Be normal. Christo.”

It takes him ten straight minutes to get back to his cabin, even though he’s standing at the porch.

———

The obsidian handle of the Hades’ cabin door rattles.

“Neeks!” calls a voice behind the door, “you ready to go?”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Nico scrambles over to the mirror and stares at himself. He turns a little to the left. He scowls. “Shit!” Tugging the shirt off, he turns back to his closet, tossing the piece of clothing to join the rest of its brethren on the floor. “Shitfuck. Fuckshit. Shit.”

“Nico!”

“Coming!”

Tapping his foot rapidly, he looks harder, as if that will magically make the right shirt pop into existence, perfectly pressed, on a hanger. “Shit.”

“What could possibly be taking so long? You’ve had two hours!”

“I care about my appearance, Mr Flip Flops and Scrubs!”

“Bleh bleh! Hurry up!”

Nico bites his lip. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t, really. Five Seasons is not actually a fancy restaurant. He and Will just like to joke that it is, because it has tablecloths. They’ve gone there dozens of times before; they stop every time they’re in the city for supply runs or visits to Olympus or to harass their summer-only friends at school. There is literally no reason for Nico to be stressing about what stupid shirt he should wear. Gods know Will is wearing cargo shorts.

“Nico!”

“I’m coming!“

Scowling, he digs through the pile of discarded clothes until he finds the first shirt he’d put on — a dark green button up that was given to him, along with a bunch of other fancy clothes he never wears, by the Aphrodite cabin. He hastily shoves their buttons through their holes, cursing when he mixes them up and has to start over, and sprints over to the mirror to inspect himself.

The shirt looks good. It’s a little tight on the arms, which he suspects was on purpose, and the colour compliments his skin nicely. The buttons are a dark, shiny brown that match his eyes. They pair nice with his simple jeans and black vans, casual enough that he doesn’t look like he’s going to Prom, or anything stupid like that, but dressy enough that it looks like he put effort in. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make the staticky strands sit right, but gives up pretty quickly. It’s okay if one thing is a little messy, right?

“Finally,” huffs Will as the door swings open. He glances Nico up and down, then grins. “You look great.”

Nico was right. He is indeed wearing cargo shorts, although to his credit they are his one pair without various Head Medic stains. His sweater, too, is a pretty blue, V-necked, long-sleeved, and a completely different style than his shorts. It clashes horribly. His shoes are, for some reason, bright solid pink. Nico suspects Hecate magic. His hair is braided in two French braids, his favourite way to wear it. Nico believes he is also wearing a touch of sparkly eyeshadow.

“You look dorky.”

Will grins wider. “Thank you! I wouldn’t let anyone help me choose something.”

“You should have.”

“I wanted it to be authentic, Nico. Also, got something for you.” From behind his back, he pulls out a handful of daisies, black dirt clinging to their roots, like he plucked them straight from the ground. Nico is inexplicably endeared by the image, and prays the smile on his face is less soft than he knows it is.

“You got me flowers?”

“Well, duh, Avril Lavigne. We gotta sell the scam.”

Nico brings them close to his face and inhales deeply. They smell fresh and earthy and sweet.

“That’s a stupid reason to bring someone flowers.”

“Give them back, then.”

“No. Fuck off. They’re mine.”

Will’s eyes twinkle. “Okay.” He holds out his arm. “Ready to go?”

The jump is close enough that Nico can convince him to shadow travel, and not just because he sadistically looks forward to the shade of green Will’s face will get after. As dangerous as he knows it can be, he misses it, sometimes. There’s something comforting about it, something soothing and familiar. Shadow travelling to the restaurant eases any lingering nerves.

“If you’re gonna throw up, do it somewhere I can’t hear you,” he says as they materialize in an alley.

Will’s cheeks puff out. “I’m gonna do it on your fuckin’ shoes.”

“I will leave your ass here, Solace, I swear to the gods.” Despite his grumbling, he rests a cool hand on the back of Will’s neck until he’s recovered. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He straightens, dusting off his sweater. “Let’s go.”

Nico follows him down the alley and onto the street, elbowing past the crowd of pedestrians until they approach the familiar glass doors. He rolls his eyes fondly every time Will apologizes to someone.

“You need to be meaner.”

Will sticks his tongue out and tries to trip him. Unfortunately, he only manages to throw himself off balance, nearly crashing to the floor of Nico hadn’t caught him.

“Good gods, Solace.”

“That was your fault!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The doors of the restaurant are absolutely plastered in cheesy red hearts and bows and cartoon kisses. And, as promised, a giant sign promising couples a fifty percent discount on their meals.

“My love,” says Will dramatically, holding out a hand, “shall we?”

Nico sighs, resting his hand delicately in Will’s. It sparks with electricity, like it always does. “I suppose.”

“Party pooper.”

“I’m not hearing oh, Nico, thank you so much for doing this incredibly stupid thing with me, you are my dearest friend and I owe you one. Or three, for some reason.”

Will’s mouth twitches. “Oh, Nico, thank you so much for —”

Nico shoves him, laughing. “Shut up.”

They’re seated pretty quickly, server smiling when they take notice of their clasped hands. Will orders chicken tenders, like he does every single time without fail, and water. Nico orders from the adult menu and absolutely does not make any kind of show about it.

“There is nothing babyish about chicken tendies.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Is this about you having a credit card? That does not make you more adult than me. It makes you a nepo baby.”

“Mhm. Sure thing.”

“Nobody likes a nepo baby, Nico.”

“Look, I think your drink comes with a complimentary sippy cup.”

Teasing and joking with Will is so easy that Nico forgets the core of their mission. The pink garlands hanging from the ceiling fade into the background — he’s too busy crying with laughter when Will nearly chokes to death on a french fry, too busy flicking a forkful of food at his shoulder just to make him shriek, too busy kicking his shin under the table. He catches Nico’s foot between his the fourth time he tries it, keeping it trapped for the rest of the meal. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“And your bill,” says their server when they’re done, setting down a slip of paper. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but do you two qualify for today’s discount?”

Will smirks widely. “We do,” he says, with no small amount of pleasure. He shoots Nico the least subtle wink of all time. Nico rolls his eyes, cheeks going a little pink.

“Great! You guys have a wonderful Valentine’s day.”

“You, too.”

The server hurries away, turning to their other tables. Will’s smile is wide and smug.

“I knew it would work.”

“Duh. Easiest scam in the world, Solace.”

He sticks his tongue out. “And thus the best payout. You’re welcome.”

“Blah, blah. Gimme the bill.”

“Um, no way, di Angelo. I’m paying.”

He opens his wallet before Nico can stop him, mouthing as he counts the bills.

“What? No! I’m paying.”

“Are not.”

“Am too!”

“Are not.” He sets down a couple twenties. Nico snatches them right back up. “You we’re just complaining about my credit card!”

“Exactly. Thus my need to continue to pretend you don’t have one, so we can continue our friendship.”

“Solace, I swear to the gods.”

“di Angelo, I swear to the gods.”

Nico stares him down. Will stares back. He doesn’t even try to hide his lazy grin, his laughing eyes.

“You’re not paying for this by yourself,” Nico says firmly. “You don’t have a job. My father invented being rich.”

“Sure, but I made you come with me.”

“Ugh!” Nico throws his hands up, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around that long neck (followed by his teeth and his tongue and his —). “Why are you impossible? I would’ve gone with you no matter what, stupid!”

As soon as he says it he wants to stick his head in wet cement. For a brief second, something like surprise flits across Will’s face, before he schools it back into his teasing smirk.

“Well, obviously, Death Breath. I’m excellent company.”

“You’re literally the most annoying person I know.”

“And yet here you are, hanging out with me, of your own volition.”

“…I’m paying next time.”

Will grins. “Whatever you say.”

They walk around the city for a while before heading back to camp. Will says it’s because he needs the air, Nico knows it’s because he wants him to rest a little longer before trying to shadow travel again. He tries not to let himself get all melty inside.

(Nobody willingly hangs out around the city for the ‘air’. He’s a shit liar. Nico should be offended.)

It’s nearing curfew by the time they melt back out from behind Thalia’s tree, extra shadows of early evening making the trip easier.

“Those fries are going to make a reappearance,” Will grimaces.

“Not if you don’t want me to kick you in the face.”

“You’d never.”

He would indeed never. But he would rather pass away than admit it, so.

“C’mon, dot face. It’s getting late. You have a cabin to run.”

“Oh, Nico,” Will says in a breathy falsetto, “are you walkin’ me to my cabin? How chivalrous!”

“Nevermind.”

“No no no no no I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Nico allows himself to be tugged, weak to Will’s giggles. “Walk me to my cabin. C’mon.”

Sighing, as if he’s so put out, Nico does. Some point in between Thalia’s tree and the amphitheater, Will’s hand slides down from around his wrist to tangled in between his fingers. Coincidentally, his mouth goes dry.

As they approach the Apollo cabin, Will slows to a stop.

“Hey.” He squeezes their fingers together, smile soft in the dying light of dawn. “I had fun today. Thank you for coming with me.”

Nico swallows. One day, those words will be said in a different context, if everything goes well for Nico, and he’s not sure how the hell he’s going to handle it without bursting into flame. “Yeah, well. Anything to scam a restaurant.”

“Right.”

They walk the last few steps to the cabin, rickety porch steps creaking under their feet as they approach the open door. Will doesn’t let go.

“Hey, Nico.”

“…Yeah?”

Quick as a flash, Will leans in and presses the softest of kisses to his mouth. The noise Nico makes is practically punched out of his lungs, spine going rigid in surprise.

“You can pay for our next date, okay?”

He’s gone before Nico can respond, ducking into his cabin with a small smile and closing the door behind him. Nico stands there, like an idiot, for three solid minutes at the very least, distantly aware of the giggles coming through the open window.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing his bottom lip.

“The little fucker set me up.”

Valentine’s day scam. Please. The only scam today was the scam of Will’s sneaky asking.

Nico smiles.

“You’re a mess, Solace!” he shouts, knowing damn well Will is listening.

He’s right. “Goodnight, Nico!”

Shaking his head, Nico runs back to his cabin, entire body tingling and cheeks aching with his grin.

[superbat-lmao]

Something that I relate to Jason Todd about is the alienation from your family that happens when you go through something traumatic.

I have had family members that try and bring up the cute kid I was and reminisce about a child that I am no longer able to feel connected to because of specific traumas. And I think Jason has a similar go of it in fanon.

The idea that who Bruce, Dick, and the rest of the family miss is the cute kid who used to be Robin and liked reading and was excited for school? Yeah, and that’s not who he is anymore. The memories of being that kid physically hurt, because you can’t separate out the fact that you were innocent from what happened to you. You already know the end to the story, and it’s not good.

You can’t go back to your innocence and you have to live with whatever messy and terrible things you’ve done to cope with the fact that you couldn’t handle your trauma in the way people wanted you to. It fucks you up and it feels like you’re two different people: that kid who could have done great things, and the person you are now that is stuck with all of the things you’ve done wrong.

Jason not wanting to see his family or having true difficulty reconciling with his family is on par with the glass case, the evidence that who his family wants back isn’t the person he became and is, but the kid he was. And no one is happy with the fact that he “isn’t the same kid that was lost”.

He’s changed in ways that aren’t all good, and that’s a hard pill to swallow.

I can’t imagine being Bruce or Dick or Alfred or Barbra and remembering the cute kid who thought Robin was magic. Of missing who you were before that kid died and the way it changed you as a person. Of wanting that kid back and also wanting what felt like yourself back.

Because it’s not just Jason’s grief that they have to contend with, it’s their own loss of themselves. Bruce is not the same father he was before he lost Jason and there’s no getting that man back. There’s no green light that he’ll be able to reach that undoes the past and restores his son to who he wanted him to be and himself to who he wishes he was.

I can’t imagine trying to rebuild that bridge when both people on either side are veritable strangers and looking for someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

Also, the tendency for fanon to have Jason “fall back into Robin training” is doubly painful. Because he can’t go back to being Robin. So anything that he does that is reminiscent of that kid, either in how he handles victims, or inside jokes with his family, or grumbling about current interests is going to look like maybe that kid still exists somewhere in Jason. That Jason is just lost or that something can be done in order to bring that kid out in certain circumstances when the truth is that it’s part of who he is, but it’s no longer the controlling part of his personality and it can’t be, because that kid wasn’t equipped to deal with what adult Jason has to deal with.

Being continually compared to a dead kid has got to suck worse than an older sibling standard. Especially when you never wanted to become what you are in the first place.

[yanderes-galore]

I need to feed my Yuuta brairot so can I request a yandere concept for Okkotsu with Childhood Friend! Darling?

At the time of writing this (5/30/24), I have finally seen Volume 0 on Crunchyroll so I can finally do this request! Hope you like it! Warning, this is a bit long and is mostly me rambling. I was a bit too excited to write his character, lol.

Yandere! Yuta Okkotsu with Childhood Friend! Darling

(Volume 0)

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Mentions of depression/suicidal thoughts (Due to canon), Dark themes, Violence, Blood, Death, Trauma, Slight stalking, Dubious companionship/relationship.

The idea of this is actually a bit cute although unnerving.

Yuta's childhood friend in canon was Rika.

So I can take this request in two directions.

You replace Rika and end up being his Cursed Spirit companion.

You're different from Rika and have been one of the few other people Yuta is close to.

Both versions of the concept are intriguing but I think I'll stick to the second variation for the sake of simplicity. (I definitely want to explore the first version at some point)

Yuta was always a timid boy in childhood, often isolating himself due to Rika.

He was shown to be sick when young, maybe you met him and Rika in childhood?

When you were young you three were a trio, which would certainly keep Rika from killing you.

Rika, for the most part, reacts to Yuta's emotions.

As you grow up, Rika leaves you be due to how Yuta feels.

She's jealous at first, yet sees that Yuta would hate her if she hurt you.

Which leads to, guess what, you having them both to deal with until she passes on years later.

Yuta originally wants to isolate himself and not cause any trouble for you.

There's times he's wanted to end it all due to the amount of times he's been bullied.

However, he has you.

You try to help, even when Yuta is adamant on you not helping.

Especially since Rika proceeds to kill every single one of his bullies.

You're the only one he feels he can speak with.

But... he can tell you're scared of his Curse.

Yuta... is worried you'll hate him... which ends up driving him away from you at times.

It's worse if you can't see Curses, as you can't see the cause.

However, if you can?

Perhaps you're able to see Curses and are able to see Rika.

Well, even then, you're scared of what follows Yuta.

Even if Rika won't hurt you for Yuta.

You always knew Yuta as a timid kid and pitied him a bit.

Even in High School you tried to be close to him, hoping to still be supportive.

Unfortunately, Yuta may not see you again until after the events with Geto if you aren't a Sorcerer.

You aren't from a Sorcerer house, so you aren't quite sure what to think of Curses even if you can see them.

You're actually quite worried when Yuta goes MIA.

You two are in two different worlds now.

You're a non-sorcerer and Yuta is a Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer.

You probably don't expect to see him again after he changes schools.

So it surprises you when Yuta does eventually show back up in your life.

Due to you being a non-sorcerer, Yuta may feel an overwhelming urge to protect you.

After all... the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons attack gets to him.

He knows of Geto's hate for "Monkeys" and realizes how... weak you are compared to a man like him.

Rika has moved on now, yet Yuta is still as strong as ever.

When Yuta sees you again, his chest tightens.

You're so oblivious to all he's gone through... and he's changed so much.

When you see him again, you go to ask if it's him.

Leading to Yuta enveloping you in a tight hug.

Oh how he's missed you.

You notice Yuta is extremely friendly and sociable compared to his usual timid self.

You want to ask so many questions, yet Yuta's just so excited.

He knows he has to study abroad soon, but he wanted to see you again so bad.

He's seen so much although he's unsure how to explain it.

Yuta has learned to cherish the friends he has.

Plus he definitely has anxiety about you since Geto's Curse Users are still around.

He keeps thinking about how strong he is...

You just keep smiling and talking to him, rambling to him as you have no clue what has happened.

Yuta thinks he can work with that.

Maybe it's for the best you don't know about the Sorcerer world?

Yuta may not tell you what happened if you don't know of Curses.

He's just been busy and has gotten help for his more timid nature.

You may not understand... but why does that matter?

Best you just focus on catching up, yeah?

Yuta has a higher chance of being a platonic yandere in this case, but he could also swing romantic.

His first concern when seeing you is making up for lost time.

He's been away from any source of normalcy for a long time now.

When seeing you he just wants to keep close.

Yuta's more protective than he was when he was younger with you.

You're surprised but he doesn't fully explain it until later.

He's just... missed you and has gone through a lot.

That's how the obsession begins, when he's older with you and seen the horrors of the world.

He's no longer that timid boy.

He's a man who can kill to protect those he loves.

Yet to you, he's still Yuta.

You notice he's more controlled now and things don't die around him anymore.

Although you have no clue where's he's been.

Yuta is an intense yandere due to how much he cares for people.

His obsession is most likely derived from the trauma he's gone through.

He's seen his fellow Sorcerers slaughtered and injured.

You aren't even a Sorcerer.

You're his childhood friend... one he sees as naive.

So wherever you go, Yuta is tempted to follow.

You just think he's being clingy.

If only you knew.

Yuta would kill for you if a Curse User targeted you.

You're oblivious to Curses and Curse Users hunting you down, before you even know about it, Yuta's slaughtered/exorcised them.

Yuta's used to blood on his clothes.

He always makes sure you're out of sight and out of range before he deals with any threat.

Yuta gains the mindset of wanting to protect you in this world even more now that he's a Sorcerer.

He's so sorry he pushed you away when he was younger.

Now he can protect you! (Similar to how Rika did with him)

Yuta is friendly but can be ruthless when you're in danger.

He feels no one else can protect you like he can.

As your childhood friend... he'll take that role.

You can't part from Yuta once he decides to stick by you.

It takes him a long time to go for his abroad studies.

He can't fathom the thought of leaving you alone now.

You find such behavior weird, granted, Yuta has been clingy in the past...

Not this much, though.

Honestly, even if Yuta explained the dangers of being a Jujutsu Sorcerer to you, you'd be hesitant until you saw it yourself.

He may even tell you eventually as much as he hates it so you know to stay close.

Yuta is already a protector at heart, it's in his blood (Quite literally, he's related to Gojo distantly)

So it's obvious he'll sacrifice everything to keep you safe.

Rika's gone now, he knows that.

You aren't.

For the sake of Rika and his own well-being, he needs you safe.

It's too easy to die in this world.

Hopefully you trust him... right?

The blood on his clothes is necessary.

Unfortunately it's also a common sight.

There's no use being stubborn with him, either.

Yuta's going to be stern with you, after all, he's seen what this world is really like.

Yuta loves you, as to what extent is up to you.

He follows you everywhere until he's dragged off to study abroad.

Even if he is, I can see him asking someone to watch over you until he can return.

Like Gojo or one of his friends for example.

He'd rather die than lose you to a Curse User or Curse when he's gone.

So prepare for Yuta never leaving your side once he comes back from his studies...

You and Rika have protected him enough... it's time he returned the favor.

[azuremist]

How to talk about Amane and Fuuta respectfully: a helpful guide!

Because apparently this fandom needs it. (All examples used are things I have actually seen people in this fandom say.)

❌ INSTEAD OF: “I don’t think Fuuta is that dumb. (To get indoctrinated by a cult)”

✅ TRY: “I don’t think that Fuuta would get indoctrinated.”

🤔 WHY?: The first sentence implies that adults who are victims of cults are stupid for getting indoctrinated.

❌ INSTEAD OF: “Amane can’t manipulate a grown adult! Fuuta is choosing to join the cult, so his actions from this point are his responsibility!”

✅ TRY: “Although Amane indoctrinated Fuuta, it was done with the intention of helping him. Unless stated otherwise, though, that’s the only thing she’s done to him, so his actions from this point are his responsibility.”

🤔 WHY?: The first sentence frames the victim of cult indoctrination as the aggressor (“choosing” to join). It also implies that adults cannot be victims of cults, if it is a child that convinced them to join, and that all the adults who did experience this are at fault for their trauma.

❌ INSTEAD OF: “Amane had no choice but to join the cult, because she was a child who wasn’t given any other option! Fuuta knows that other options exist!”

✅ TRY: Not saying this at all.

🤔 WHY?: This sentiment cannot be fixed, because it, at its core, inherently is comparing the trauma of two cult victims in order to dismiss one of them, because the other “has it worse”. Additionally, it victim-blames Fuuta, and again implies that he should “know better” than to be a victim.

And, in general:

❌ INSTEAD OF: Saying that Amane or Fuuta are are stupid for / should know better than being indoctrinated by a cult, comparing their trauma, or saying that one or both of them are at fault for being indoctrinated…

✅ TRY: Re-examining your thought process, rephrasing, and realizing that it is the cult that is at fault here, not either of its victims. Do not refer to indoctrinated as “choosing to join”. Do not call the cult a “religion”.

🤔 WHY?: This fandom is slowly getting worse and worse with casually victim-blaming and dismissing cult victims. Amane and Fuuta aren’t real, but people who have had similar circumstances to them are, and they do not deserve to have their experiences mocked, belittled or minimized.

At the end of the day, MILGRAM is a fictional story, but we must remain respectful of abuse survivors. Especially victims of often-mysticized and misunderstood modes of abuse, such as ritual abuse / victims of abusive cults.

Thank you!

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

COD monster men

Requested: Yes. By me. I requested this cause I wanted it.

Warnings: spice, angst, blood, some fluff, Alejandro watches you sleep

A/N:

Ghost - Vampire

For Ghost, it’s all too easy to forget what he is until he’s in the heat of battle, blood on his clothes, stroking that ever present hunger that burns inside of him every second of every day. He’s afraid to be around anyone right than, his hands shaking as he licks the blood off of his gloves in whatever dark corner he can find, far away from prying eyes. He’s so so hungry, so desperate for it that he accidentally bites through his gloves, drawing blood from his own skin. It’s never good, makes his belly twist and turn til he vomits it all back up. Sometimes he’s so desperate, so hungry, that he bites himself on purpose, puking be damned. That’s nothing compared to the pain of a stomach so empty that he feels like he’s going to die, a feeling he’s felt all too much in his life, even when he was human.

And then he sees you, waddling around in army gear, approaching him cautiously, a medkit in your hands. You tell him how you’re a medic, how you need to evaluate him for injuries.

He tries so hard to get you to just buzz off but you insist on staying, so he reluctantly lets you sterilize his fingers despite knowing that they’d just be healed within the hour. But there was something soothing about the satisfied look on your face when you were done, his fingers taped up oh so carefully. He looks at them for a moment, trying to remember the last time anyone had showed him such concern and gentleness. Probably…..yes, it was probably Tommy and His Mother, from so many years ago. The 1950’s, he believes.

He looks at you, not noticing as you get fidgety the longer he stares. He…..he likes it. Your care, your worry, your gentleness. It overpowers the hunger that begs him to rip your throat out, to bathe himself in the blood that would gush from you. To drink himself so full of you that maybe he could have those things, be those things. Maybe it would soften up his insides and he could really feel things for once.

Please, make him feel something.

Soap - Selkie

The first time Soap lets you touch his seal skin, he almost has a panic attack. Years of generational trauma, of the fear of a human touching and stealing their skin, of stealing them away from friends and family, raping and abusing them. Everything in him is yelling to yank his skin back from you, to hide it far far away from your eyes. But he doesn’t. He knows you wouldn’t do that. Sweet sweet you who is so gently petting at the snout of his skin, a look of wonder on your face.

And despite the panic that he’s fighting, he decides that he likes the sight of his skin wrapped around you, almost like you’re a selkie yourself. He knows he can trust his skin around you, because you would never hurt him. Never hide it from him or tether him to the land when he wants to be in the sea. Knows you won’t commit the atrocities that many people before you have commited.

He likes the sight of you holding his skin, entrusting all of himself with you.

And, as you pull out the small black box that he hid in the folds of his fur, he hopes that you’ll entrust him with all of you as well.

König - Werewolf

König couldn’t remember most of what his first change was like, only the pain. Blinding mind numbing pain as bones broke and healed, taking on new shapes, stretching his skin and growing hair, more hair than a Sasquatch. His Oma had to explain it to him when he woke up like that one morning, mid way into his transformation, screaming and crying, praying for death because surely that would be better than this pain. His Oma shushes him, cradles him even when he begged her to go away, her warm hands on his oversensitive skin only making everything worse, driving him even further into overstimulation.

And it was the same with you now, crying as you held him through his transformation, pawing at you, trying so hard not to let his claws sink into you and rip you to shreds just to distract himself from the pain. You were so sweet to him, cooing in his ears, rubbing your hands over his fur, trying to help him. And when he looked at you in the finishing stage of his change, you looked like an Angel sent from heaven. Something otherworldly, beautiful and strong, having pity on the animal he is.

And he knew he never wanted to let you go. Never ever again. His angel.

Alejandro - Incubus

Alejandro sighs as he crouches over your pliant body, gently caressing your cheeks with big rough hands. He had waited so long to get you like this, peacefully sleeping away as he invaded your mind, showing you the most deliciously sinful images of the two of you together. Twisting and whining and crying beneath him, or even above him in a few cases. And oh, the sexual energy that started floating off of you was the best he’d ever had, only growing sweeter the longer he tormented your sleeping brain. It was such a tease, not just to you either. He had to watch you crying out under him, wanting to touch you so badly that it hurt. But he wanted your permission. Wanted you to willingly let him in so he could wreck you for anyone else. Destroy you so beautifully that you could never be put back together the way you used to be.

And when your beautiful eyes opened up, looking at him so cutely in your sleepy pleasure drunk haze, he knew that he too would never be able to go back. That you’d ruined him for anyone else, made him addicted to you and you alone. Nobody else would ever compare.

All he wants now is you. So please, let him have you.

[snapghoul]

Why Twisters is an amazing movie

Brought to you by snapghoul and their film degree

I really love analyzing films and I need to talk about this movie so badly. Get cozy, grab a nice drink because this is a long one.

Spoilers below

[ Part 2 ]

1) Disaster film - Human vs Nature

Disasters films are one of the most difficult movies to write and shoot because it’s human vs nature and people can only do so much. They are to remind us that we are very fragile, nature very dangerous, and a visual metaphor for the illusion of control. Making a film like this also requires a lot of CGI or a balanced mix of practical effects which in most films today is not as common due to budget.

When looking at films like San Andres (2015) or Day After Tomorrow (2004), both films are more action based. San Andres is written worse to worse before it gets better which is externally common in films like these, the earth quakes that lead to a tsunami and so on. The film also ends with the hopeful “we won” with the American flag and everyone recovering.

What makes Twisters stand out is the presence of the disasters are there but they aren’t what drive the characters solely, the tornadoes themselves are actually a subplot. It’s not tragedy after tragedy, like there’s an ungodly amount of tornadoes at once and people are dying left and right. And when people died it wasn’t graphic, I appreciated that very much that it was only people being swept away and not bloody. The tornadoes themselves only take up about 30 minutes of the 2 hour movie, which is very little compared to other storm films.

The main story is Kate working to overcome her trauma and relearning how to love chasing and being in the field again. They are an obstacle that do end being the “antagonist” towards the end of the film where Kate drives into the EF5 to stop it. Twisters is more written in a way to respect nature, to see the beauty and the power of the earth. Twisters also ends more ambiguous, there is the moment of triumph but it’s very short lived before the resolution of Javi, Kate and Tyler at the airport.

2) Kate’s Character & Relationships

Kate is one of the best written female protagonists I’ve seen in a very long time. Through the film she is struggling to over come a lot of trauma while also trying to juggle her crumbled friendship with Javi and her disconnection with her mother. Her struggles are very real, they weren’t played down or exaggerated, she had realistic response to being in a tornado again after the death of her friends. They also show her reliving that event many times, in the beginning we see a “ghost” of Jeb telling she’s okay, the moment she sees a tornado with Javi up close, she stumbles back and the voices of Jeb as they’re riding out the storm in the pool and how she grabs Tyler’s hand for a second to see if he was still there.

I personally loved that she refused to acknowledge her fear when around others because that is a very human thing, many people do it which makes her very dimensional and relatable. How she didn’t give Ben her last name, how she told Riggs she wasn’t scared. It’s such a real things that it makes me froth at the mouth because it such good writing.

As many people are upset that Kate and Tyler didn’t kiss, I actually agree on why they cut it out, it’s not about their budding romance. In movies there are many different subplots, in Twisters, Kate and Tyler are I would say around subplot C. Which I LOVED, i loved that they didn’t have all her problems fixed by a love interest or how his character downplayed her intelligence. In fact he elevated her character, Tyler is there to remind her the passion and fun of their field, he is also a blank slate with Kate, he has no preconceptions about her or history which allows her to open up and reignite her passion she had before.

And her hair symbolism! How we see it slowly gets more brown and less bright beach blonde that we see in New York.

Kate and Javi’s relationship I would also place at subplot B, Javi trying to get Kate back in the field but doing it in a not so right way. They have some unresolved issues between them regarding the trauma they share and it rears its head multiple times. The line “three of my best friends died while you were trying to land a big fat grant.” Was a real nail in the coffin for them but also it opened Javi’s character development up for the end of the film. Not only that but they and audience known that he agreed to getting the money at the beginning. So them splitting up was good because neither of them could get what they wanted or process anything when they were together. And in the end the come back together when they grow and change.

Also have to mention Kate and her mom, because it’s more growth for Kate, her mom comes in as the mentor character type, she refused to let Kate throw anything away and pushed her and Tyler together because she saw what he was doing.

3) Tyler Owens & The Wranglers

Of course I have to talk about our favorite tornado cowboy. His character is so interesting, he adds so much to each character, like a said above he only lifted Kate up.

But what I loved most about him was the infectious enthusiasm and passion he just oozed about weather. Even with the cocky YouTube personality he was having fun which was a contrast to Javi and Kate who were there on business. He is also very bright, instead of having a self taught chaser he had a degree, he knows what he’s doing and how to be safe while doing stupid stuff. The scenes where we see him showing her science side were some of my favorites, seeing him geek out over the storms and setting up models just showed he’s as much as a nerd and Kate.

His character is also very compassionate as well as the wranglers. We learn they sell merch so they can provide free food and water to survivors, that Tyler and Boone spent a while looking for a dog and that Lilly offered Kate food before she left. We see Tyler put himself in danger for the safety of others many times but not in a hero archetype way, he’s not a hero in any way, he’s a man who deeply cares, understands tragedy and knows how important friends and family are.

4) Music & Sound

Oh my god, the music in the film is phenomenal. Sound makes up a good majority of a movie, without good sound a film can flop. What I loved most about it was a lot of the music was diegetic: taking place in the world and can be heard by the characters. Seen(or heard) Ain’t No Love In Oklahoma playing through the speakers as the wranglers roll up, accompanied by a shot of the loud speakers on the motor home and the audio editing to make it sound like it’s coming from said speakers. (Ghost) Riders in the Sky blasting while they go to shoot fireworks, seeing Tyler whipping the truck through the field very recklessly also sets up that these characters are wild and obnoxious. Boone singing along to Dead End Road while loading flares, it adds another element of fun for them to interact with the music instead of it there so let for aesthetics.

If there was music for the action scenes, it wasn’t overpowering, in fact i barely noticed it until my third watch through.

The soundtrack is also really good, I’m not a huge country fan but my god did I by that OST vinyl so fast.

5) The Trucks

This is an honorable mention, but the red sped up dually ram was a character in its self. Once again showing the rugged and fun loving wranglers when put next to StormPAR’s pristine white trucks which is also a metaphor for Javi that we see it gets dirtier and dirtier as the film progresses and his character changes. But also how the red ram represents Tyler, he’s very safety oriented and the truck is a part of him and protects Kate during the final storm. She puts her trust in it and lets nature run it course instead of fighting it, something Tyler was trying to teach her. Not to run from it but to ride it.

But also Tyler ripping that rig through fields going 75mph is also just so funny to me.

I love symbolism.

I’m gonna stop it here before I write a whole essay about this which I might. But if you haven’t seen this movie I highly recommend it, it’s PG-13 so I suggest being careful watching this with little ones if you have them, the CGI storms can get a little freaky.

(Please let me know if you want more, I will gladly talk more)

[citruslullabies]

Hola! I have not bad idea for u…

What if DogDay caught Y/N self-harming.? Something in the spirit of blood, but with a fluff at the end. It would be very interesting to read…

Thanks..✍️

I can do that!

Trigger warnings: ‼️HEAVY TRIGGER WARNINGS‼️BLOOD, SELF HARM, THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE AND DETAILED SKIN TRAUMA‼️ STOP READING NOW IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE BY THIS BY ANY MEANS! I AM NOT LIABLE IF YOU CONTINUE, KNOWING THESE ARE TRIGGERS. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Romantic/platonic: unspecified

Requested by: anonymous

Category: HEAVY. ANGST. READ WARNINGS.

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader

Word count: 677

Leave My Skin to Rest

After the situation at Playco with fighting for your life and saving others, your mental health seemed to rapidly decline.

You knew you were safe and sound, but you knew many weren't as fortunate as you. And that hurt worse than you thought it would. The employees and children, the critters, the teachers. Every single one of them hadn't made it out alive, yet you did by some lucky shot at luck with a day you missed. The guilt weighed on you like nothing else had.

It was wrong to think this way, and you knew that. You hated yourself for making it out alive when many others didn't and a part of you wishes that you hadn't missed that dreadful day.

So the punishment for your survival and beating heart was on your skin, whether that be showers that are hotter than you can handle or squeezing your skin until it hurts, maybe even cutting or pulling hair out. Right now you were pinching your skin between your long fingernails that needed to be cut, as you started to lack self care and didn't find the means to cut them if you didn't chew on them. You were sitting on your bed with your trembling hand digging at the sensitive skin on your arms, pinching and picking while blood profusely tried to escape your body and trickle down.

Tears escaped your eyes, sniffling as you looked down at your poor skin. So red from irritation and blood, your fingers that kept doing the actions repeatedly were the same. You stared at the skin that looked as if it was rotting with birds pecking at it with a feeling of regret, like a sensation of feeling as if you deserved this for simply living while many had not.

You had saved a few, sure. But what's a few compared to thousands? It simply couldn't compare. You had spiraled down a hole like Alice and you couldn't get yourself out no matter the methods of trying to forget in a healthy way of trying to cope, you always came back to step one. And that was punishing your body for still existing instead of rotting.

Your breath hitched as you heard the click of your door, quickly trying to hide your arm as you saw a large canine walk in with a plate of dinner since you had missed their calls for you to come out, it looked like omelets. With some egg shells in it but omelets. You slowly looked up at Dogday, gulping and forcing a smile as well as you could. “H-hey.. can you just set the plate down? I'll eat it in a minute.” You spoke softly.

Your large companion nodded, smiling as he walked over despite your wishing for him to set it down on the desk beside your door. His tail was wagging, so he clearly made it and was excited for you to try it… but it seemed to slow down and stiffen up when he smelled something that was sadly familiar to his nose. “... Angel?” He asked softly.

He continued to sniff the air, watching you become nervous and awkward before he found the source. His eyes widened and he immediately panicked, taking your arm into his delicate paws to gaze upon it and think of a solution for your aching. “(Your name)!? What- what happened to you? Did you do this? Why?” He asked, his mind buzzing with questions as he hesitantly touched your wounds with a desire to heal them. He knew your skin was littered in scars, but he never knew any of them were your own personal doing. But those questions were what broke you; your normal upbeat persona had fallen and you were silent, before sniffling and breaking down. His soft fur caught your tears as you explained everything. He rubbed your back and shushed you, carefully taking you to the restroom and bandaging you up as he continued to let you cry against him.

He wanted you to know that everything would be alright.

Thank you for requesting!

If you ever feel this way please call a national suicidal helpline, which is the number 9-8-8 I believe. You are not alone. And you are loved.

[houxe]

Regarding my SBI/DSMP Fics

TW: Abuse, Trauma, and Mentions of Suicide.

With all that has happened, I did want to come out here and make my stance clear. I will always stand with Shelby (Shubble) and all of the victims who are speaking out against Will Gold (Wilbur Soot). If you still support that bastard, unfollow me and leave my blog and whatever small community I made.

I've already stated this is my Discord channel, but I want to put it here too.

For me, c!Wilbur is so far removed from cc!Wilbur that I don't connect the two. The characters are vessels for my own characterizations and stories. It's a bit like writing Supernatural*, Twilight, or Hazbin Hotel fanfics. I don't support the guy, monetarily or otherwise, he does not interact with fanfics, I have plans to be very vocal that I'm on Shelby's side no matter what/make it clear that what Will did is wrong, and I don't use his real life events as plots in my stories. At least, I certainly don't try to. It's why I typically change traits about the characters. (I.e. Tommy is shorter, Phil is taller, Techno is bulky, and Wilbur always has golden/hazel eyes.)

I'm aware that it's a tad different because it's rp and not something like a full on book or an actor in a movie, but DSMP has also been over for over two years and the characterizations I make for SBI are not at all based on the CCs. Real life Techno isn't a literal terrorist, Phil ain't a father married to a goddess, Tommy is not a traumatized child soldier, and Wilbur isn't suicidal and blowing up countries.

I think I'll likely focus more on Techno, Tommy, and Phil for a while, but I'm not gonna let one dude ruin a fandom and things I've made for myself. Nothing I write is ever made for Wilbur, as I've seen people saying. Additionally, Wilbur was not the only writer. Technoblade, Philza, TommyInnit, and so many others made that story what it was. Not him.

However, if any CCs come forward saying they don't want their old characters interacting with his, I will respect that.

Though I do think there is a tendency to take real life events (i.e. Techno's cancer, LJ's music, Tommy's real life parents, etc.) and put them into fiction about DSMP. I, however, don't try to do that and have stated before that I don't feel comfortable doing so. The truth is that we have not gotten any genuine SBI content outside of DSMP for years. The dynamic in real life is very different from what was presented in the DSMP. Did personalities still bleed over? Yes, I'm not going to deny that, but I'm not going to act like they're exactly the same between character and person either. We've had that conversation like in 2021, it's why we have C! and CC!.

The rather sad truth is, SBI is what got me really into writing and it's a comfort for me that nothing can compare to. Obviously, I don't think it's appropriate to be writing certain types of stories right now or to be involving characters made by CCs outside of the DSMP. I think it's up to everyone else to decide on what they want to do, however, rushing it also isn't the way to go either. Give yourself time to heal and think it over first instead of throwing away something that gives you comfort and has not been associated with by the creators for over two years.

Anyways, fuck Will Gold. Fuck the fact that he hurt so many people, and fuck that he lied and manipulated his way around the damn internet. ESPECIALLY fuck the fact that he tried to diminish what he did and not take proper accountability.

Go and support Shelby so so much, she and everyone who spoke out really deserve it. I'm glad silence on these types of issues is not being normalized.

Here is a list of (American) resources for DV help:

TNLR

RAINN

WOAR

Love is respect

The Trevor project

Futures without violence

National domestic violence hotline

Resource on what DV and abuse looks like

*Changed it from Harry Potter to Supernatural because Harry Potter is a significantly worse and more problematic franchise, even just within the content of the books. It'd be better left in the dust. I've talked about it before, but it was the first thing that came to my mind at the time and was a poor comparison on my part, I'm truly sorry for that.

[nuumbie]

DRAMATIC IRONY

Prompt: You witness a memory bubble at Sir Edward’s. A product of a dream belonging to the trailblaze. Unlike the last Dream Bubble isn’t very much fun at all.

Author’s Notes: Less of Akivili!Reader x Aha. More like Reader reads a self-insert of Ahavili Fanfiction. Romantic-Undertones. A character study based on my perception of both characters based on what little crumbs Star Rail has given us. Hope you enjoy.

You had gotten a text from Sir Edward… apparently you are moving up in the ranks! You are a prized enough customer to get told when they’re having a sale on memories… obviously to maximize your achievements and to fully grasp all of the expierence! This was a must to go and see.

It’s a little exciting to witness the dreams of a long dead Aeon in order to understand them your fingers grasp the bubble. It’s warm as you hold it delicately within your fingertips. A precious memory that belongs to the Astral Express. It’s a little giddying of a thought to understand the crew better. To know of the paths your predecessors had laid out for you… and to understand the Aeon Akivili a little better considering how much of your life revolves in their footsteps…

You note in the back of your mind to tell Himeko… maybe Danheng and March? Perhaps, even Mr Yang would be curious! You can’t help but to imagine their reactions. Pompom’s especially! They seemed a little curious with the last memory bubble you bought… perhaps these souvenirs could serve as precious to the conductor? Such thoughts motivate you forward to press on! “So this is it…”

“You’re excited aren’t you?” Edward’s pupils widen at you. “This was recommended by a certain party. I’m not sure how they got their hands on the memory. I haven’t looked at it myself. You’ll have to tell me how much fun you’re having.”

You pause catching his words. “Eh… you didn’t check? Isn’t that apart of your job?”

“That it is, that it is… this isn’t mine to look at however. The person who left it with me said it was a gift for you and said ‘not to ruin the surprise no matter what’. It’s your choice whether you look at it in the end.”

Oh, that makes you less-wanting to open it up to peek inside. What if they downloaded something scary on it? What if it isn’t a memory of the Astral Express at all but a bunch of jumpscares or even worse… a Rickroll? The memory that once pleasantly reminded you of jelly now hangs like slime between your fingers… “Was… it a girl with pigtails? And a fox-mask…? Kind of short?” You even your hand around where she usually stands when compared to you regardless of your own height.

“Ah, how elaborate of a description!” Edward cheers. “No, it was this blue-haired man—“

You immediately feel all joy you felt suck out of you in instants. A world record pace.

Technically, it still could be Sparkle. That doesn’t narrow it down at all now that you really think about it. You suddenly don’t really want to do this. Because it’s either Sparkle or him… a gift from any of those two hasn’t really ended well for you in the past the more you think about it. Actually, all it’s gotten you is bucket loads of trauma and pains in the butt. But…

“…”

“Will I get stellar jades if I do this?”

Edward blinks a couple of times in confusion. “Ah, they did leave some around here somewhere in there now that you mention it… you’d have to stick your hand inside to get it.”

You immediately stick your hand within the dream bubble and grab hold of it and you don’t look back. Such is the will of the trailblaze.

-

Akivilli’s form is unknown to you yet you can feel the wet grass on your tush as the memories rush into your brain and take hold of your consciousness.

Things you know about Akivilli, perhaps bipedal? Ah, with how things are. They could possibly be a walking trash can on legs and you wouldn’t even know the difference. You try to focus through the haze of the memories.

The words are not your own. But the voice that leaves your throat is yours without any doubt in your head. A shame that you couldn’t choose for another to read it to you again… or at least have the option of it.

You find yourself laughing. Your voice calling back at you despite not knowing the words until you hear them. It’s a bit unnerving, but you soon sit back, relax, and then the dream plays out as your vision returns.

It’s a starry night sky. A view you’ve grown accustomed to. It hasn’t lost its luster yet and you fear the day that the sight of the stars no longer excites you. You reach your hand out towards the stars, tracing the constellations. Although, you can’t see your hands. You can somehow feel its warmth. It goes from your hand to your chest, leaving you warm and fuzzy inside like you drank a bunch of hot cocoa. You can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your throat. It’s you but it isn’t. It’s a strange, disembodying feeling. You should be used to it by now, but you can’t say you are any closer to coping with it than you were before.

“I think I’m really happy.” An emotion that’s not yours, a feeling that doesn’t belong to you, the bubbly, overwhelming feeling of happiness. One that you don’t understand overwhelms you. “Right now. I wonder. Is this what humans call peace? I wish this feeling could last forever.”

But it can’t. It’s a sad and happy thought. The fact you’ll go to experience many more joys and sorrows. That you’ve yet to feel even more highs and lows. For the reason for living is to go through the good and the bad.

“Ah, Akivili, Akivili—“ perhaps, you should have expected it. considering who gave you the dream bubble, but you’re still surprised. a shapeless miasma, surrounded by masks, your sight is blurry when you gaze directly at the figure. without a head THEIR arms wiggling as they hold a multitude of faces, masks, they circle between them on a dime. the mask that looks back at you in THEIR iconic smile. THEY laugh. “The real star is right here. Before your eyes. A touch away! Yet, you yearn for something so far away? How silly, how cruel, to call the night sky beautiful when I’m right here!”

A resounding sound of a million hands snapping. Louder than a gunshot.

“Pay attention to me instead.”

THEY snap their fingers.

The star you were tracing bursts into bright, colorful confetti.

A deep sadness consumes you. The constellation has lost a piece of itself. Millions of years into nothing but scraps of paper floating through outer space. “Agh— AHA.” what a hard name to yell. you weep for the fallen star with your whole chest so it knows it was loved “… you guys never change. I liked that star too.”

“Oh, but we do.” THEY tilt the mask, facing upside down. The smile is curved into a frown. “Nothing lasts forever, Akivili, my Akivili. I’m sure at the end of the universe that IX will swallow all of us down and eat us up. We will change inevitably. Ena turned into Xipe’s late night snack. This moment will go away. That is why I wish for you to admire Aha’s radiance instead! You can disappear. I would spend my eternity thinking about the time you preferred a star over me.”

You feel a deep sadness that isn’t yours. You crush it in your palms and hold it in your hands.

“Don’t get jealous. I do prefer you.” THEY giggle. you don’t turn to face THEM despite that. Glancing out towards the night sky. Bright stars hang across the planet. a planet so small and insignifant in the face of such a big universe. but that’s why it’s so important. your fingers line the stars in the sky into a million different shapes, you can taste the thrill of adventure, the loving unknown. the future and the heat of it on your tongue. a million light years away. “I like that you’re here next to me. I like that you’re with me. This sight is only so enjoyable because I have someone to love it so throughly with.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t though.” you grab where your heart would be. but as an aeon, do you even have one of those? nobody’s ever dissected an aeon before. perhaps they’re made out of rock candy, gears, oils, and a dash of love. because you don’t know. it’s as possible as any other possibility. “Can’t you at least try to hold a little empathy? That star had a long time left. And even if it didn’t— stars usually last a long time after they die. But now it’s just gone. The sky is missing a piece of itself. What will people look at when they place their eyes on that particular patch of sky?”

“Ewww!” THEIR voice transforms. the sound of a child, a mimicked sound and replica of a hundred crying children. THEIR face morphs into disgust. the haughty laugh is accompanied by a loud boo you’d hear from a game show. you have to stifle a laugh as they whine. “You’re killing me, killing me. Ah, dearest, loveliest, Akivili— are you trying to shackle me?”

“My detested, beloathed Aha.” you laugh loudly and try to match THEIR joy. though, a part of you lingers on the fallen star, the fallen aeon, and you resolve to live and hold onto this feeling even tighter until it sears a hole in you that’ll last forever even when you’re gone. “If only I could.”

You don’t know what love is. But you capture it in bits and pieces. You feel it ringing in every piece of you and it calls out to you when you look out at the express crew, whenever you glance up at the night sky you promised to explore, whenever the astral express warp-jumps and even you feel a little dizzy with the sensation of truly being alive.

And you feel it, too. Even for things you shouldn’t. To the things that feel like sand that flows through your fingers. To the things that will move on without you. Because worlds spin, the galaxy changes, every time you close your eyes for as much as you gain there is always something to lose.

Aha doesn’t have a face. THEIR fingertip press against your face, however, pressing your lips into a smile, you think despite being the embodiment of joy they can not smile without a head. “Ahaha.”

“Didn’t you say you could die without regret?” THEY reach out for your hand with their other arms. they move your body, while you stand there uselessly, positioning you like they were inviting you to dance. but they don’t move. neither do you. “You’ve got plenty of regrets itching at your lips, Akivili. So many words left unsaid. You should say them. You have so much power, you have the ability to reach the heavens, to reach for the stars you like so very much. But you always refuse to take.”

“It was a metaphor.” you mutter back. though, it sounds more sad than you intend. Aha notices. they ruffle your hair giggling at your sorry attempts. You don’t resist as much as you should.

“A trailblazer isn’t meant to stay in one place, Akivili. Isn’t that your path? You should tread it properly.” THEY make a buzzer-sound effect. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re so strange.” THEY laugh harder and harder. their hands reach for their stomach to hold it. like THEY would fall over if they hadn’t. “Except, not strange at all! You’re strange because you’re an Aeon— but you’re so lamefully, painfully, mundane from your pinky finger to your toes. You’re a walking, talking, contradiction. To be honest, it’s lame, so dreadfully, drearily, lame.”

“Akivili, Akivili.” THEY smile and they sing a song, out of tune, manical. “I love that part of you, though, you who’s is one-and-only across all the world trees…”

You don’t understand THEM at all. But they just insulted you. You stare at THEM dumbfounded, with crossed arms, but the mask smiles back will a look filled with endearment.

“You know.” You pout as your fingers— does Akivili even have hands? But, you can feel something reaching, weakly lifting, trying to cling to them and hold onto something that touches back. “I want you to stay. The Astral Express. You could join me. We accept everyone. You could be a nameless, too. On the express, everyone is the same.”

“Everyone’s accepted me.” Your heart sings at the thought. “They’d accept you, too. That’s what I want.”

“I know.” Aha‘s smile is strange. “I wanted to hear you say it anyway! Akivili wants me. Akivili wants me. They really said it! I should sing it to so everyone in the galaxy can hear. I wonder if they’d create a holiday over it? So everyone can memorize the date you poured yourself out to me!”

“Don’t.” You pout knowing where this is going. It’d only serve as a reminder. “You’re too cruel, sometimes.”

“I’m the nicest to you.” AHA smiles. “Isn’t that so funny? I care about you. I’d miss you. That’s such a funny thought to me! I can’t help but to laugh.”

You flashback to a time where they wondered out-loud how you’d react if THEY blew up the express. You remember silence before THEY laughed it off and said it was something for the back-burner.

Nice is subjective.

“Would you join me, though? Would you leave your express for me?” Aha giggles. “Would you watch the stars burn with me. All the way from the theater seat? Would you come with me, instead? We could do other things. Everything. I could show you things you’d never get to see on your train if you’d let me.”

“I wouldn’t.” you repeat before you can even think about the words leaving your mouth. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know, too. See? You can live up to your namesake.” THEY tap your nose. “It’s written in you. It’s interwoven in you. You shouldn’t forget your beginnings despite all the time that goes by.”

“It’s your meaning.” THEY cackle. “No matter how hard you try, so better to embrace the upcoming tragedy.”

“I know.” Aha hugs you, deeply. “It’s okay. Akivili, my Akivili. Don’t cry! I’ll always take time out of my day to see you! You’re the most exciting show which always gets me to smile the most! I’ll always be watching over you. Maybe, one day. If you miss Aha so much. THEY would like to see you personally from first-ticket seats every now and again on your little missions, too.”

“We could never give each other our forever.” THEY squeeze hard enough for it to hurt, hands wrapping around you, possessively. but, you know better than that. you know they’ll let you go. maybe, you wish they would try a little harder to stay. “My Akivili. I’ll give you all of my now. Because I really do enjoy this! And maybe I’ll give you my later, and even more of a latter after that, and even more. Even if that seems sad. It’s not. We can’t give ourselves everything to each other.”

“But I’ll give more to you than I’ve ever given anyone else.”

“After all, I’m one of the few things that won’t go away, won’t I?” a deep sadness spills in your gut threatening to pour out. “You’re the same. Some things get boring with time. But you grow more wonderful with time. I fall a little deeper in love with you each time I see you!” ❤️

“I love you, Akivili, my Akivili.”

You ignore the burning sensation in your stomach. This grief is another feeling to cherish. A grief for something that hasn’t happened yet. Aha calls you THEIRS. But, you know deep down—

THEY would never be YOURS.

“I think I love you, too.”

Your hold is so tight it burns. You hold onto this. Knowing the moment you open your eyes it will all disappear. But that’s okay. You repeat to yourself. Because this moment is so good. And it’ll happen again. Even if it won’t last.

It’s so good because it won’t last, that means you have to make it. You try to tell yourself that. Repeating the words like a prayer. It really is funny. You’re an Aeon who begs.

“You sweet-talker!!!” THEY laugh. “You should tell me more of this Express! Aha is curious, Aha is curious! Ahaahaa… maybe I’ll take some time out of my schedule and go and visit! Would that make you happy?”

“Don’t play with my feelings like that after so throughly rejecting me.” You deadpan back, but you can’t help but to stifle the sound of your own laughter, however sad. “The express really does welcome everyone. Even if it’s only for awhile.”

And you’re right.

Like everything.

This fades away, too.

-

You wake up standing up. The dream bubble in your hand oozes through your fingers. Leaking onto the floor. Edward’s voice brings you from your stupor.

“Oh, it’s not meant to do that. Forgive me. I don’t think you’ll be able to view this memory for a second time. I wonder if I could recover it…”

So you won’t be able to bring it to the express. You wonder if you would’ve. Knowing what you saw.

It felt more personal— too personal to share. Can you bring yourself to say anything to Edward? Not really. You just shake your head. It’s okay. It’s really better this way.

Looking into your hands now sticky with the hopes and dreams of a long-dead Aeon, you find a measly 75 jades. It’s coated in the sliminess of the dream bubble.

It’s barely enough for half a pull.

[bloggingboutburgers]

Since this post of mine has been reblogged more than others lately, I’d like to clarify that my goal in it wasn’t to equate trauma or anything of the sort. Just that the truth of the matter is, concretely speaking, asexual people and aromantic people face backlash just like other people in the LGBTQIA+ community do. It’s not the same kind of backlash, but it IS backlash for sure. And the point isn’t to compare which is worse. One only ever knows their own experience anyway and the point is, if their experience is painful, it’s painful, and deserving of compassion. Trying to make a scale out of it just opens mental cans of worms that get in the way of us feeling collectively better, no matter what our experiences are.

(...Also for the record, now that I have a partner that looks the same gender as me (they’re NB but you know there’ll always be people who’ll assume), I have high chances of facing a combo of both backlashes, so joke’s on me I guess)

[osarina]

honestly the most tragic relationship in civzai/pmreader universe is yosano & reader and i will stand on that hill forever.

like originally i was thinking maybe they only rarely interacted while on tokoyami island, but the more that i thought about it, the more i realized that they probably did interact frequently. mori would've wanted his "immortal regiment" as soon as possible and to have it perfected, he needed reader's ability to be able to "heal" the soldiers' minds. so mori would've likely had yosano try to help her figure out how to work her ability. they would have been friendly enough with each other, the only two young girls in the warzone, both dragged into this war in some manner or another, yosano probably saw her as a younger sister tbh being 3 years older, wanted to help her as best as she could.

and then mori does mori things. when yosano's help doesn't give him the progress he needs, he starts using other tactics to try to get her to develop her ability in the way he needs. starts comparing her to yosano, starts holding her place at his side over her head, threatens to send her back if she can't be useful. all things that a kid in her situation would be terrified of.

and like you guys have to understand pmreader does NOT have a reliable narration of those years. like we'll see it in the canonverse & the civzai verse (which is actually what stemmed this post), but her memories of those years are very warped courtesy of trauma & mori's manipulation. it all happens directly after she watches her entire village slaughtered in the crossfires of the great war so she's already very unstable, and mori gets in her head VERY quickly.

so she thinks back to these years and can only remember the threats of being dropped back off in the ruins of her village & the way mori held yosano as a type of idealized figure that she'd never be able to catch up to no matter how hard she tried. "be more useful like yosano and you can keep your place here" and stuff like that. she doesn't have like ANY memory of the months yosano spent trying to help her figure out her ability, doesn't remember how she would sit with her for hours and tell her that she's making good progress even when mori would give that disappointed frown, doesn't remember anything because its all been warped and twisted by moris' constant threats and comparison. so naturally she becomes resentful and hateful about it.

meanwhile, poor yosano only remembers the 7/8 year old girl she tried & failed to help, couldn't do anything when mori separated them and turned reader against yosano. yosano got off of the warfront and out from under mori's thumb, but reader didn't, and yosano has had so much guilt over it for years, living in the what ifs and wondering what ever happened to her.

and obviously mori's manipulations of reader never stopped after that—probably gets worse, even, because he would lament losing yosano while keeping reader, would've preferred the opposite. so when reader and yosano meet again years later, reader immediately rejects and spurns her, and yosano is just soooo distraught over it like the one person that could rlly truly fully understand her rejecting her in such a manner HURTS. hurts even more when she sees how reader has turned out so similar to mori bc she still remembers her as the kid she was and failed to protect.

i suppose while we're on the topic - i always get a lot of questions about reader and mori's relationship. dazai kind of mentions it in 'i laugh like me again,' but reader has like undying loyalty toward him that he definitely doesn't deserve. as shitty of one as he is, he's the only father figure she remembers, she still feels like she owes him her life for rescuing her from the warzone and has a VERY intense complex of trying to make him proud of her. i wouldn't say that mori doesn't care about her, he does in his own way, but whatever feelings he does have for her are overshadowed by his ambitions.

anyway tldr: yosano and reader are tragic, and mori is a cunt. i feel like im missing stuff concerning reader's and mori's relationship but that wasn't the point of this post anyway maybe ill make it its own post

[waywardsou2]

Drunk!Logan x Drunk!MaleReader Part 2

You guys were hounding me like crazy for the next part so here. I whipped this one up for you. Get it whilst it's hot and fresh! @oktcunez @raetastic07 @a-short-ass-disappointment (if you would like to be tagged for future one shots let me know)

Summary: Logan didn't get you. And you didn't get Logan, you were mad at the world and you had taken it out in Logan. So now you decided to take it out on yourself.

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: swearing, self-harm, suicidal ideation, worthlessness, self esteem issues, survivors' guilt, trauma, blood, graphic violence, can be read as platonic or potentially romantic

(If you haven't caught up on part 1 you can read that here)

You storm out of the bar cursing and muttering to yourself. You vent your frustrations to the night air. Why did he hold back? It’s not like it would have hurt you for long. You've taken bullets to the lungs, claws couldn’t be anything different. And it wouldn’t matter anyway, your body wouldn't let the injury stay there for too long. The punctures would have been filled again within minutes.

Minutes ago he was ready to throw you around like a rag doll but as soon as you give him an opening he hesitates.

Coward, can’t even punch the guy who was cussing him out and pushing him around, did he really think you were that fragile?

You mutter to yourself a little louder. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much that he was so uncaring when it came to you. You were the newest member to the team and he always over looked you, he could be rough with the other team members but at least he acknowledged them. He always seemed to just pass over you. What was his deal?

It didn’t matter, you were mad at yourself for even caring. What good was it seeking approval from someone like that

Wait, no. You didn’t want approval. That would be stupid, you didn't need approval. You never did. And this guy was no different. He was nothing to you.

Except he was, because if he wasn’t you wouldn’t be having this battle with yourself.

You skulk down the adjacent ally to the bar and start to vent your frustrations louder. You wished your body would allow you to feel pain, prolonged pain. You wish it didn’t heal. You wish you had scars to show for your losses, for the battles claimed with victory and the battles ending in defeat. But no, your body was as pristine as a newborn baby and like a psychopath you wished your skin would scar and scab and peel and break and bleed. It did. But never for long enough.

Sure the mental pain was bad, excruciating even. But you had nothing to show for it, no real loss. No real pain. Nothing that signified that you were even struggling the way you were. The only sign anyone knew something was wrong was the fact that you went to drink every night. But that was normal for a few of the team members so it was nothing to ask about. And no one asked so you didn’t tell anyone.

Although you find it hard to believe that you would tell anyone even if they did ask. But it wasn’t your place to complain, there are bigger problems in the world and people with worse situations than you. Some trauma was nothing compared to that.

But deep down you knew it wasn’t just “some trauma” it was the reason you were here in the first place. Your mutation manifested during a school shooting, you stepped in front of a group of middle schoolers and took the bullets. But instead of being thanked for saving those kids you got incarcerated and experimented on until you broke out. Having to live off grid until Charles found you.

That’s what you get for trying to be a hero when you weren’t. Because you weren’t, it was a simple fact. You weren’t heroic, you weren't special, you couldn't perform feats of strength, and you definitely couldn’t protect people.

You punched the wall of the bar, the skin on your knuckles splitting from the force. Good.

But like usual the skin flaked off, dying as it was replaced with fresh clean skin. The only trace of your injury was the tiny trickle of blood sliding down your finger.

You punched the wall, again and again and again.

Meanwhile Logan was still sitting on the floor where you shoved him off, he watched after you as you stalked away and walked out of view. He was holding out his hand like it was burning, trying to keep the heat away from himself.

What the hell had you been thinking, you had made him mad, sure. But he wasn’t going to actually fight you. He just wanted to scare you off so you would stop. Things didn’t go well when people pushed his buttons. It wasn’t a threat, it was the truth. He couldn’t always control his rage and you prodding him was dangerous. He needed you to stop but what you had done, or attempted to do, left him speechless.

He knew of your regenerative powers and reinforced skin but there was no way he was going to willingly attack a team mate. He had been watching you ever since you joined the team. Keeping an eye on you but making sure to keep his distance. You were fierce and strong. Capable but reckless. Due to your regenerative mutation you threw yourself in the path of others. Like a human shield. I

f it weren’t for your mutation, he might have said you were suicidal. That was before tonight. Now he might have said and believed it was true.

He’d been purposefully keeping his distance from you, he didn’t want to scare you off or intimidate you. He was told that he could be very confronting at first so he wanted to give you time to adjust. He guesses this is what he gets for following Scott’s advice. It seems keeping his distance had the opposite of the intended affect.

But tonight, had just thrown a spanner in the works. He couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the fact that you always seemed rearing for a fight but what you had just tried to do had thrown off his entire image of you. Not necessarily in a bad way, but a way that made him want to close the distance. He was concerned for you, and he could tell you were carrying something heavy. Like everyone in the X-Men they all had a ball and chain with them. A past life that had brought them here to Charles’ school.

But yours was still unknown to him, and he assumed to everyone else except Charles.

Picking himself up from the floor he drops some of money on the bar next to yours and follows you outside. He sniffs at the air, following your scent and the alcohol intermingled in with it. As he follows your scent something else joins it, something sweet.

He turns a corner to find you in the back alley, beating up the brick wall of the bar, your knuckles bleeding and then healing over. You don’t hesitate between each punch, your hands not even completely healed before you strike the wall again. Over and over and over. Blood covered your hands making them a deep crimson in the shadowy back alley. The same deep colour was dripping from the walls, making the brickwork look like it was crying. The cracks in the bricks filled with your blood. Were those cracks there before or after you began your barrage?

The scene laid out before him was haunting. In a mere split second Logan had gone from an annoyed but concerned walk to a horrified sprint. He slams into you and pulls you away from the wall. Spinning the two of you around and pushing your back into the patch of blood on the wall. From this close the smell of the blood overwhelmed him, but he struggled through it. He grabbed your hands and pinned them to the wall beside your head. He didn’t want to risk you trying to get away or hurting yourself again.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed into your face

You glowered back, he could see now that you had tears falling from your eyes. You weren’t yelling or sobbing or making any noise. He could hardly hear your breathing you were that quiet. You hadn’t even made a grunt as you split open your own skin.

You didn’t speak now, you didn’t want to say anything. You didn’t have to explain this to him. It wasn’t his business, and he didn’t really care. He wasn’t asking because he cared. He was asking because he thought you were insane.

He looked down at you with his brow furrowed. He couldn’t figure you out, there was something missing in the now twisted image he had of you. The why. Why you were here, not just here tonight but here with the X men at all. Why?

“Why?” he asked, his voice still rough but softer than it was gruff. Unlike his first question  

“Why what?” you asked, you were being stupid on purpose. Pretending like this whole situation was completely normal. That you hadn’t just been injuring yourself on purpose and were now trapped between your teammate and a wall.

“Don’t do that, just answer the question”

You didn’t want to, you didn’t want to be here anymore, it was a mistake coming here to drink and picking on Logan. You just wanted to disappear but he pressed you harder.

Repeating the same question

“Why?”

“What was the point?”

“What was wrong with you”

He was begging you to answer him, his voice was overwhelming, yelling at you for an answer until you snapped. His voice reverberated around your head until your skull cracked from the strain of it.

You fight against him as you yell but he holds on, he doesn’t even flinch as you scream “Because I can’t fucking die! Because I will never have a scar left behind to show what I’ve done! To show what I’ve been through! Because if I don’t come home with blood on my hand’s no one will know that I ever did anything worth anything! Because if I can’t bleed then everyone who has ever died won’t be able to rest knowing that the person who failed to save them doesn’t even have a scar to show for his failure!”

And it was out. Your words were out of your mind and into the world. The sound carried away on the wind, the world and now Logan knowing the secret you had kept hidden. Like a locked box at the bottom of the lake. That had been pulled from the depths and sprung open from years of rusting in the water.

Logan didn’t let go of you, in fact he held on tighter. The truth making him scared for you.

No, not for you.

Of you.

Because a person who still went on trying to do everything for others despite all the pain they held inside was someone stronger than any foe he ever faced. Any enemy he was ever going to face.

You looked away, staring down at Logan’s chest. Unable to look him in the face despite the rage you felt against him. It was all bundled up inside of you like a raging fire burning down its containment. And you were starting to burn him, you didn’t want to, but you knew you already had. Scorched him like everyone else in your life. No matter how hard you tried to douse your own flame people kept adding fuel to it.

But that rage wasn't fading and you had to direct it somewhere. You pulled your arms forward and ripped them away from his grasp. Some of the blood on your knuckles smeared onto his hand as you pulled away. You put your hands on his chest and shoved as hard as you could. Causing him to stumble back from you. Releasing you from his arm cage.

"Get the fuck away from me" you hiss at him.

You turn to leave down the alley and you bump into his with your shoulder for good measure.

You make your way to your car and speed out of the parking lot and down the road. Once again leaving Logan in your dust.

Oh my god I couldn't help myself but I'm leaving you guys hanging for a part 3. If you want to see where this goes (maybe I'll even turn it into a mini series) then let me know!

And as usual I take requests so if you want to see anything in particular then send me an ask!

Edit: if you happen to be coming back to re read this, yes. I did change the ending because I had no fucking clue how to connect the next part so something needed to shift. Sorry to disappoint but it moved to fast for me to be able to probably continue the story.

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Haunted Memories

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 3.6K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, harsh language, tw: trauma from abusive mother, vomit, DESCRIPTION OF POSSIBLE SEXUAL ASSUALT

—————

I wish I didn't care. 'Cause I just can't compare and oh how the bitterness stings. What am I doing wrong? Do I just not belong? Oh, why can't I excel at something? Like you.

“What is wrong with you?”

Her voice roars through the small apartment rattling the walls. Your head instinctively ducks down at the sheer volume as salty tears already form in your eyes. You didn’t mean for it to happen it was an accident, you had a simple job go and get the food with the ration cards. Your tiny hands clutching the cards that determine whether you will eat or not as you race through the streets excitement across your face happy to provide help to your mother.

“How stupid are you?”

That insult was thrown at you so many times it slowly became fact. You were a stupid kid. A disgrace, brat, failure. Any comment under the sun could describe how stupid you were. The ration building was so close and the warm feeling ready to hear the praise come from your mother when you returned home.

“I should have made sure you were never born.”

Just feet away and your short legs tripped against some mere trash. You should have paid more attention, she says you’re always daydreaming your attention a thousand miles away. You hit the ground hard and fast, the scrape of concrete against your fragile skin as your grasp of the small paper cards gets picked up by the wind. You watch frozen on your stomach watching the ticket to a meal fly into the gutter disappearing from your view and in that moment you had been given a fate worse than death.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is living with such an ungrateful brat!” She was right you were one. You took her kindness for granted and this is how you repay her. Your hands clutch the end of her shirt tears welling up in your eyes as you begged for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry mama..please I’m sorry!” It hurt worse hitting the ground once more but this time at the hands of your mother. You hold your breath trying to keep in the tears but fail the second you smack against the tile of the kitchen. Fat tears roll down your face stinging the tiny cuts across your face from falling on the street as you cry before your mother. Her warnings to force you to stop go on deaf ears as you wail before her and beg for forgiveness. It was pathetic really. Big tears and snot pouring out of the child had only triggered the older woman more just the noise sent her into a rage.

“I told you…to stop fucking crying!” A harsh grip on your arm as you’re pulled to your feet stumbling to try to keep up. The door to the outside rips open as you’re tossed out your body colliding with the cold snow producing a sharp cry. Scrambling to your knees you look up at your mother disgust branded on her face as she stares at not a child anymore but a young woman.

“Starve for all I care. I don’t care about you…your bastard of a father never cared about you..the world doesn’t care about you.” Her words are like venom, as you bite your lip so hard blood pours from the self-afflicted wound. The door shakes on its old hinges as it slams shut. You race to the old wood your hands pounding on the door pleads falling from your lips,

“Mama…I’m sorry please let me in.” Your voice is hoarse and cracks with your words. The snow soaks into your thin clothes your body quickly numbs as you cry hoping she finds pity and brings you inside away from here where anyone could snatch you up and harm you.

 The cable wraps around your throat tightly dragging you away from your safety as your voice is choked by the wire. It digs deep into your skin scratching to pull it free as your precious air is drained from your lungs. The other raider stalks toward you in the snow as your legs kick out the storm rages on muffling your screams.

Cries for your mother to come to your aid.

Help me.

Save me. 

Love me.

Your prayers go unanswered as the cable gets taut, your lungs burning, screaming for air. The burly man towers over you pinning you the cold of the snow burning your skin as his hands move toward his belt ready to take what he wants.

This was what she warned you about. You’re a stupid girl who never listens to her.

“Mama please!” Your screams echo through the air as the man with no jaw reveals a rotten bloody grin as his hand grabs your pants.

Air rushes through your lungs as you shoot upwards the rapid ascent of bile as you fall from the bed pain pulsing in your shoulder. Your sore body stumbles to the bathroom barely reaching the toilet as you expel whatever little was in your stomach. Your eyes sting as you empty your stomach coughing at the acidic taste, feeling drained as you slump back against the wall. You wince at the inhale your hand raising to your throat sucking in a harsh breath feeling the bandaged skin but the light pressure just tracing it sends you recoiling.

Fuck that hurts.

Flushing the toilet while pulling yourself up with the help of the sink running the water to wash your hands and then cupping water in your palms to drink. Spitting out the water in the sink semi-cleaning your mouth from the bitter taste of bile you look up at the mirror. Why hadn’t you anticipated the attack? You should’ve known one was going to be coming from behind. Your brows draw together a deep frown across your face looking at yourself. Those dark circles, the weakness in your bones and muscles, you’re getting weaker.

Getting weaker makes you vulnerable.

Weak means you’ve become a liability.

Weak means you can’t protect yourself.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

The world wasn’t going to wait for you to heal. The world doesn’t care about you.

Your joints ache removing the bandages seeing the raw wound across your neck and the neat stitching along your shoulder. The water runs a murky red removing the dried blood and grime off your body wishing to stay under the hot water forever but you knew you would have to get out. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to running hot water.

You had to bite down on your lip to muffle the sounds of pain as you redressed your wounds and dressed in clothes. Your limbs ache and you already feel drained of energy but you need to persevere through. The house is silent looking out the windows it didn’t even look like the sun had risen yet. Your body begs you to return to bed and sleep but you ignore the rational side, when you lived in the cabin the few times you injured yourself you were right back at work. Surviving to get to where you are today didn’t allow you to rest, if that meant traveling with healing wounds or cold then it happened.

The walk to the stables could have been peaceful if it wasn’t for the slight pounding in your head that only grew worse when you made it to the building. You barely acknowledge the horses as they seem to sense your weakened state putting them in a concern mode. Red nudges her head against your hand when you pat the side of her face. A noise of worry for the young girl that took care of them all.

Joel was surprised to not be plagued with nightmares given the circumstances that occurred not even twenty-four hours ago. No dreams of failing those he cared about, watching the ones he loved taken from him so brutally leaving him just an empty shell. He was also surprised by the quietness of the home, no pounding of shoes rushing through the house or the banging of cabinets as Ellie went scavenging for a meal for the growing girl. Glancing at the functioning clock resting against the bedside table he saw how late he had slept in for. It was almost noon for christ sake he scolds himself. Pushing himself up and out of bed with a groan to get at the late start in the day. His joints ache and crack as he rises to his feet and the loud noise of someone bounding up the stairs makes him feel slightly alright knowing this was normal in this new life of his.

The pounding on the bedroom door was something he didn’t think was normal. A tired shuffle quickly turned into annoyance as he dressed himself as the door continued to be beaten by whoever was outside of it.

“I’m coming! You can stop your poundin’!” He shouts his voice hoarse from using it for the first time today. “Why the hell are yo-” He already had a feeling it was Ellie as he swung the door revealing the younger girl but what came out of her wasn’t what he expected.

“She’s gone!” The panic and fear in her voice and face seemed to completely wake the older man up.

“What?” Immediately alert as Ellie starts pulling him out of his room and dragging him to the stairs, “I woke up and thought to make you guys breakfast and when I went to go check out her she wasn’t there! Her shoes and coat were gone, and it looked like she hadn’t been there for hours. I wanted to go looking but I knew I should have woken you up.”

“Settle down kiddo, it’s alright. Get your shoes and coat we’ll go get Tommy.” And like he summoned his brother the front door swings open and in comes the younger Miller brother with surprisingly the person they were about to go after who looked on the verge of keeling over.

“What the hell! Where were you?!” Ellie starts spewing questions running up to her and grabbing her shoulders. The motion makes the older girl’s eyes widen and she pulls back right out the door barely making it to the porch railing before emptying her stomach right over into the snow below. Ellie and Joel jump back at the sudden action as Tommy who seems to have already dealt with this holds your hair back as you cough and spit out bile, the acidic taste bringing tears to your eyes.

“Holy fuck.” Ellie turns from the sight not able to handle someone being sick causing a turn in her stomach. Joel watches as Tommy gives some comforting words while you rest your head on the railing trying to catch your breath.

“Alright let’s get you inside,” Tommy says softly helping you back to your feet both men were surprised by the complacency given your rejection of their help last night. The younger Miller brother helps you sit on the couch pulling a blanket across your lap before joining his brother back by the front door.

“Where the hell did you find her?” Joel questions both men glancing over at you and the sickly expression and demeanour that surrounds you. “Stables was going to take her shift until someone could cover her. Found her barely able to stand looking like the wind could blow her away.” Looking back at you to find Ellie sitting beside you on the couch trying to offer you a glass of water and you accept with weak hands.

Your head was pounding with the weak sips of water added weight to your empty stomach creating more pain. Being in Jackson you’ve gotten too used to actual meals or decent food instead of picking scrapes or rationing food to last you when you were in the cabin. Even in Kansas, the limited ration cards were barely enough for a growing child your stomach used to times of going through the day with maybe only one meal or just a crumb of food in your body.

“Hey kid,” Tommy’s voice pulls you from your thoughts with a heavy head looking up at the older man squatted in front of you. “You just stay there with Ellie and keep drinking water. Gonna get you soup something light on your stomach alright?” You hum bringing your attention back to your drink and Tommy stands with a groan both he and Joel head elsewhere from your field of vision. You’re sure Joel said something to Ellie but your eyes drifted shut only to blink awake from a poke at your thigh and a whisper of your name.

“Thank fuck I thought you stopped breathing for a second,” Ellie sighs and you shift your position feeling a crick in your neck from how you rested it. Ellie sat on one end her legs crossed on the cushion while you were more splayed out on your end.

“Where’d they go?” You grumble rubbing your eyes and wincing from the soreness in your shoulder when moving it.

“Uh Tommy went to go get you some food from the mess hall and Joel went to get you painkillers for your shoulder and something for your fever,” Ellie explains fiddling with the comic in her hands. She felt a lot of pressure on her shoulders being responsible for someone much older than her. Joel basically telling to keep an eye on her and no matter the circumstances ‘Don’t Let Her Leave.’

You cough and a flare of dryness in your throat and you reach for the glass finishing the water lubricating your vocal cords, “I’m fine…” Your hands gripping the couch and trying to push yourself to stand.

“No no no. Joel said you have to stay here until they get back. You shouldn’t have been outside anyway with your injuries.” Ellie rises to her feet and grabs your arms pushing you back onto the couch a groan coming from you. “Sorry! But I can’t let you leave.”

“You’re an asshole.” You hiss your one moment of energy gone once return to the couch. “Whatever keeps you there, I’m gonna get you more water. Don’t move.” She says pointedly grabbing your empty glass she walks backward making sure you’re in her sites before bolting for the kitchen to get you more water. In the few seconds she’s gone you contemplate getting up and trying to leave but your body wins out on your mind shutting down in exhaustion.

“Alright, more water for you.” She holds it out and you accept it with a grunt, “You’re welcome.” Rolling her eyes she returns to her spot silence between the two of you before she speaks up.

“How did you get those burns on your arms.”

“No.” A tense air covers the living room and you can see Ellie fidgeting in the awkward tension and the coldness that came from you from just one word.

“I just thought…I don’t know if it’s good to talk about things. Joel says it isn’t healthy to keep things to yourself, though when I tell him shit he just scolds me and gets made like it wasn’t my fucking fault,” She kinda goes off track before refocusing, “I’m just saying maybe talking about it to someone who may get you. Instead of an adult that’s just gonna be annoying and berate you.”

“You’re like twelve though?” You say and she smacks your leg with her comic, “Fuck you I’m sixteen! You’re only two years older.” You smirk a light chuckle leaves you and Ellie has a look of shock.

“You just laughed? I’ve never heard you fucking laugh!” She gets all excited as you take of sip of your water, “And you’ll never hear it again.”

“Come on! You didn’t even crack a grin at my joke book and you know those were fucking funny.” She points her finger at you before leaning back against the arm of the couch. Your finger circles the rim of the glass your nails broken your skin littered with tiny cuts are fading scars.

“You can ask questions,” Ellie perks up, “But if I don’t want to answer you don’t push it. Got it.” It was a tiny step of her learning about you but she was taking it and running with it.

“Promise! Alright alright!” She fixes herself to be fully facing you an excited grin on your face.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Whatever time passed since Joel and Tommy left Ellie learned as much as she could from your favorite color even though you said you didn’t have one and she said everyone has one until you said orange like sunset orange, you were born in the summer though it took you a while to figure out when you were born, your favorite food being the chocolates Ellie gave you when you first met which lead her to run to the kitchen to grab them the two of you nibbling on them as you spoke, you told her you used to read when you were a kid taking as many books as you could in the QZ school library and during your travels to the cabin to keep you entertained the cabin having your ‘collection’ of books you found. It got to deeper questions that the light air took a different path.

“So how long were you in that cabin before Tommy and Jesse found you?” Ellie asks leaning her arms on her knees with interest.

“I found that place when I had just turned seventeen so it was still warm but it was going to start getting colder soon. I was with people for a bit before I left them. They found me and took me with them…they were Fireflies.” That piece of information has Ellie sitting up straight hearing the rebellion group she was closely connected to.

“You were a Firefly?” She asks and you shrug, “I didn’t believe and still don’t believe in that whole ‘Look for the Light’ bullshit. They didn’t kill me when I stumbled upon their base, they kept me alive and let me stay with them.” They could have killed you, you were just a kid with no benefits for them but they spared you. Kept you alive in this fucked up world.

“Why did you leave?” She asks. Had they come across people you knew when you were traveling? Ellie could tell Joel that you were a ‘Firefly’ maybe he’d met you before during their travels. Maybe Marlene knew of you or maybe Tommy might she was sure Joel mentioned Tommy being a Firefly once.

“Place got attacked. I’m not sure who it was but I didn’t have any ties to them. I wasn’t fighting in a dying rebellion so I left and found myself tired and bleeding at that cabin.” You say. You remember that quiet, the peace that was there in that building before you heard the pop of bullets, and suddenly people were yelling running towards the fight unaware it was coming straight towards them.

“You got hurt?” Ellie says concern in her voice. “Grabbed whatever I could and ran, whatever group or whoever was there got me. The bullet went right through my calf no matter how fast I ran. I couldn’t outrun them so I just lay there and hoped they thought I was dead.

The pain of the bullet ripping through flesh your body hitting the ground and you just reacted smearing the blood of the dead Firefly next to you and just laid there. You heard the footsteps drawing near until they stopped right before you and for a second you were actually fearful that you would die. You heard the clatter of the empty magazine land inches from your face before whoever was before you looted the Firefly’s weapon and continued on leaving you there. You weren’t sure how long you stayed there until you got up and limped your way out of that building.

“I fixed myself up then just walked until I stumbled up the cabin you know the rest.” You say and it’s quiet before you place the once again empty glass to the side looking at Ellie an unrecognizable look on her face. “You alright?” She quickly looks up the look disappears as well.

“Yeah..yeah I’m good.” She says with a nod and you return one as well, “It wasn’t an easy life but it was my life. I rather deal with the infected. They are predictable I know how they work. But people…the ones still living in this fucked up world. They are the reason I stayed in the cabin.”

It was an understandable reason, infected were easier to read and how to avoid them or to kill them. Humans had different ideas and ways of living, and that made them more dangerous. If it wasn’t for a fungus infecting a majority of them we all would have killed each sooner or later.

“All these years who taught you to survive…who looked after you in the QZ? Where were your parents during all of this.” The shock in your veins just from the mention of the two people who created you, mainly the one who was in your life.

“You think I’m going to look after an ungrateful fucking brat?!”

With the slam of that glass bottle, the chips and cracks form just waiting for the one moment when it explodes when slammed just hard enough.

The smell of the smoke would cloud the house, making your eyes water, and your lungs tight begging for fresh air.

Your skin burns as the stick is held against your skin. Screams and pleads blare in your head.

“This is all your fault!”

“Pass.”

Where the Wild Things Are Tags

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[mal3vol3nt]

Hi. You’re probably tired of seeing me dump stuff like this. (I’ll try to make this the last time). But I have to vent to someone. Because I see this one guy, claim to not hate Aang, only to villainize him to a ridiculous extent, acting like he’s unempathetic, forcing Katara to tend to his emotional needs and this user completely downplays Aang’s genocidal trauma. Not to be rude, but how much of a heartless prick do you have to be to invalidate genocide and the trauma it can cause. These fake fans should honestly keep their mouths shut about this show, they clearly don’t understand it.

the southern raiders episode needs to be freed from the zutara fandom i swear. i’m fully convinced they never actually watched that episode cause it literally ends with katara saying she still didn’t forgive yon rha and aang accepting that. he literally says “im proud of you”. it was never her anger at the man that aang disagreed with, it was the action she planned on doing—murder—that he wanted to talk her down from. not for yon rha’s sake, but for her’s. so even though she didn’t forgive him, aang respected that and was able to recognize the strength and validity in her decision. i’m so tired of repeating this rebuttal to this stupid as fuck argument

aang doesn’t force her to do anything in the entire series. katara has her own agency and free will to do as she pleases and not a single character has ever taken that away from her, and the one time where her freedom was threatened (by pakku), she fought for it and ensured she got her way. when yall say aang takes her agency away from her, you’re also ignoring the core traits of katara: her fierceness, her determination, her ability to recognize what’s right for herself, and her sense of justice

she never blindly follows or takes direction from anyone. when aang tried telling her and sokka to stay put while he made the trip to see roku in the fire nation, katara (and sokka) put her foot down and refused to listen. she demanded that they go with him, and he accepted them making that choice for themselves. when sokka tried convincing her to leave after she met up with haru and they had the chance to escape from the fire nation ship, she refused and said she wasn’t abandoning the rest of the earthbenders. her decision was respected by both aang and sokka. in fact, there are so many instances of her making her own decisions regardless of what anyone else says that it would be impossible for me to list them all. she never succumbs to what aang or anyone else wants, and she always makes her genuine thoughts on an important decision known. katara does not need anyone to tell her what to do nor does she allow anyone to tell her what to do. this is the same girl who single handedly changed the “no girls allowed” rule in the northern water tribe after having been told “you can’t do that”. yall think she would let aang walk all over her??? please put some respect on her name

now this may be a controversial take but i don’t care it’s the truth: comparing sokka and katara losing their mom to aang losing his entire culture and people is actually insane and insensitive but not for the reason zutaras think. its because absolutely nothing any other character went through can compare to what aang did, and to diminish his tragedy by saying katara’s trauma surrounding her mom’s death is somehow worse is actual insanity and i need yall to go to prison LMAO

katara did not witness her mom get murdered. that only happened in natla and i refuse to acknowledge that. she ran out of the tent to go tell her dad that a fire nation soldier was with their mom and when she came back, the man was gone and kya was dead. still insanely traumatic, but she was not literally standing there watching as kya burned to death

that’s literally what happened with aang. from his perspective, he had just seen gyatso only a few hours ago. gyatso was alive literally moments ago in his mind and then he was greeted with his decayed skeleton among the bodies of unwelcome fire nation soldiers. just like katara experienced insane whiplash from that heartbreaking change, to see someone alive only to come back to them gone, aang went through roughly the same thing

the only difference is aang didn’t just lose gyatso, he lost all his friends and mentors as well. and he didn’t just lose all his friends and mentors, he lost every single person who looked like him. and he didn’t just lose every single person who looked like him, he lost everyone he had grown close to and seen from the other nations. and he didn’t just lose everyone he had grown close to and seen from the other nations, he lost the animals native to the airbending temples. and he didn’t just lose the animals native to the airbending temples, he lost the native plants as well. and he didn’t just lose the native plants, he lost the structural beauty and integrity of the air temples. and he didn’t just lose the structural beauty and integrity of the air temples, he lost the ability to practice his cultural customs with others. and he didn’t just lose the ability to practice his cultural customs with others, he lost the ability to bend his native element with others. and he didn’t just lose the ability to bend his native element with others, he lost the time to mourn for all that he lost

i’m sorry to those of you who wanna believe your favs have suffered more than anyone else in the series, but none of their tragedies compare to aang’s. and i don’t believe in downplaying what the others went through to support a fandom narrative, but this is literally just me acknowledging the severity of aang’s story. to suggest any one else has gone through more is to be ignorant and nothing anyone can say will ever convince me otherwise

only reason yall think zuko or katara or sokka or toph or azula or whoever the fuck else is more tragic than aang is because all of their traumas are more relatable to the everyday person whereas aang’s is something that most people can’t even comprehend