#i didn’t even notice how tense i was. it’s like getting the weighted blanket on and just calming down

[lilgynt]

also L for the dub of my mom being nice about confirming i look okay and then forcing me to eat when i was putting it off ✊😔

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Part 12 CW: blood, past trauma and experimentation

Jason could almost go to sleep. He wouldn’t, not when he was the only Bat in the apartment, but it would be so easy to. Danny made a really good weighted blanket.

It seemed once the kid got over touching someone, he basically became a koala. Cass and Danny had spent the morning wrapped around each other on the couch. Cass was playing one of her weird clicking games and Danny, blue bear in his lap, was scrolling through articles on the tablet that Tim had brought him the other day.

Now, though, Cass was out on a snack run and Danny had slowly slumped over until he was laying across Jason. It wasn’t minded. Jason could admit he still had some trouble with touch himself, but it was easy to be there for Danny like this.

The problem was, Jason needed to get back to Crime Alley for at least a few nights. He was already past when Red Hood should have made an appearance. It he didn’t go back soon, rumors were going to start that he was dead. Again.

Jason waited for Danny to start searching for a new article to read to ask, “Are you alright with meeting someone soon?”

He didn’t expect Danny to tense like he did.

“Robin?”

“No, Dandelion,” Jason said, stroking Danny’s white hair. “N talked with Robin and he knows not to stop by like that without warning. We’ll have him over when you’re comfortable but not before.”

“Okay. Sorry. I don’t mean to…”

“None of that. He freaked you out,” Jason said. “I know he didn’t mean to, and from our guess it’s not his fault how he feels like to you, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. It’s okay to set boundaries.”

“He… doesn’t feel weird to you?”

Jason sighed. “No. I guess I don’t sense it. I didn’t know you had died until you told me.”

“Oh.” Danny’s voice was small and quiet.

“But I knew that I had died— the others know it’s too,” Jason was quick to add. “It’s alright that you died. No one will think differently of you.”

“They might. It’s… you’re different than me, I guess.”

“I don’t know, because I don’t know what happened to you, but I actually hope so. The way I came back wasn’t pleasant.” Jason had to take a breath before he continued. “I was murdered by a rogue in town called the Joker. I woke up… we’re still not sure when exactly, but somewhere about half a year later. I didn’t have any of my memories, but I still had most of my injuries.

“I was picked up by some people you might hear us refer to— the League of Assassins. They put me back together about a year after my death by tossing me in something called the Lazarus Pits. Those things come with a price though, one that I’m still paying. Coming back was… hard, in a lot of ways.”

“Oh,” Danny said. He clung a little to Jason’s shirt, like he wanted to make sure Jason was still there. It was a feeling Jason understood all too well. “I, um, don’t think I’ve ever stayed really dead for more than a minute or two. At least not like… not like you were.”

Jason rested his hand on Danny’s back, feeling him breath. Feeling him… feeling him not breathe.

“…Danny?”

Danny clung tighter to Jason’s shirt. “Go ahead, ask.”

“Are you… somewhat dead right now?”

“Yes.”

Just one word. A simple answer.

“Okay. That’s— okay. I’m glad there’s a reason that you’re not breathing,” Jason said and pressed a kiss to the top of Danny’s head as he tried to calm his own pounding heart.

“I think B.B. knows. I usually… it’s habit to breath but sometimes I forget and—”

“She’s good at noticing things.” Jason would have to talk with her. “But that goes to what I said, right? None of the others will thinking of you differently.”

“Even if…”

“Even if anything.”

Danny sat up and Jason resisted the urge to reach for him. It took him a moment longer to release Jason’s shirt. Jason sat up slowly and waited for Danny to get the words out he was obviously working on.

“Can I show you?”

“Course.” Jason braced himself for anything.

“It might be bright, close your eyes.”

The flash still shown through Jason’s eyelids.

“Oh.” Danny’s voice wavered horribly. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Danny?” Jason was reaching forward even as he opened his eyes.

It was good he did.

He had to catch Danny as he wavered dangerously. Danny’s who hair was black. Who’s eyes were blue. Who looked all the more like Bruce’s son. Who was bleeding red.

-

“Jesus and Mother Mary,” Dick cursed, resting his forehead against his wrist’s.

Cass came over and peeled the bloody gloves off for him. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Dick wheezed.

“Badly.”

Jason barked out a laugh at that. It was unstable in a way that reminded the room of worse days.

The door banged open and they all jolted, everyone but Cass, who was better than that, and Danny who was still out cold.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Tim rambled. “Is he stable?”

“Yes,” Cass answered. Her voice was calm, but but Duke could see the way that she fidgeted. For anyone else it wouldn’t be called fidgeting, but the way that she untied and retied and untied the trash bag in his visions told Dick otherwise.

Cass was as worried as the rest of them.

“Signal?” Tim asked. He came into the room, tablet already pulled up to record everything.

“Hard for me to say,” Duke said with a little shrug. He wished he could say, but he was still trying to understand what he was seeing. “The guy is… he’s like no one I’ve ever seen before. But I think he’s getting stronger.”

“That’s— holy fuck.” Tim paused as he finally got a look at Danny.

“Really looks like the old man like this, doesn’t he?” Jason asked. He was trying to hide how his hands were trembling by keeping his arms crossed. Everyone in the room let him pretend.

Duke sure wouldn’t have wanted to be the one Danny collapsed on like that. It was bad enough being the third one there as he swung over from his patrol. The cuts had still been appearing on Danny’s skin, ripping him apart like he was nothing.

He didn’t look much better all bandaged up.

“I think the cuts were ones he must have sustained before changing forms before he even met us,” Duke reasoned. “They… felt old.”

Dick rubbed at his face. “So the whole time they were there just waiting to bleed?”

Jason laughed again. “Waiting for him to be alive again.”

Slowly, Dick dropped his hands and looked up at Jason. “Jay?”

Okay, so they were at the point of forgetting cape-names now. That was a great sign.

Confusingly, Jason looked to Cass, who actually fidgeted.

“He doesn’t breathe. He does, not always. His heart beats, not always. It is like he…,” she twisted her hand as if trying to grab onto the right word. “Like he relaxes and forgets.”

Well that was weird. Dick nodded to the monitor that he had helped hook up. “He’s breathing right now and the monitor says his heartbeat is hella slow, but steady.”

“This is his alive form, I think. More alive form,” Jason said with a shrug. “His other form is his more dead form. He said he’s never stayed ‘really dead’ like I was. I think ‘really’ was the important word in that. He stressed it like it was… a technically or some shit.”

“Or a loophole,” Tim said. He was watching Danny with his head tilted just slightly to the right.

It was a pose that had Duke straightening up in attention. “What do you see that I can’t?”

Tim glanced at him and then back down at Danny. “The scars don’t match.”

“Ti—Red, please just say it,” Dick pleaded, exhaustion hanging on his words.

“Sorry, I was. I mean, the scars he has now don’t exactly match the scars he had in his— what are we calling it? Dead form?”

Jason flinched.

Dick’s eyes flicked from Jason to Tim. “Let’s go with… ghost. Undead, you know?”

Tim continued on valiantly. “His scars don’t match with what he had in his ghost form. There are a few like around his neck that I think are one-to-one and a lot of them are in the same place from what I can see and might be the same? I’d have to take photos and compare. But… he has more in this living form, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, right, so that’s a thing,” Jason said. He slid down the wall he was leaning against until he was squatting. He hung his head between his knee and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck.

Duke could see Jason passing out with enough probability that he slipped out of the room to grab some sour candy for Jason and an icepack for the back of his neck. Being honest with himself, Duke could use the moment out of the room. It was a lot to deal with.

Man, someone would have to do something about the bloody couch too… Dick sighed and took the time to send a message to Babs about it as well as an update. Knowing her she had a list of all the furniture in all the safe houses and could get a slipcover ordered on same day delivery. At least he hoped so. Everyone was taking this pretty hard and they didn’t need the reminder.

Duke figured the bad reaction was pretty fair though, they had thought that Danny was getting better and now his healing was going to be set back. Dick would be guilty because he hadn’t been here, Jason going through his issues about kids and violence and death, and Cass already counted Danny as family. She was never good when family was hurt. It was even worse that Danny should have been safe, he was under their watch.

Duke set the pack of candy and ice pack down next to Jason’s foot, close enough that he should be able to feel the cold, and backed up to his corner. It was best not to touch right then. He wasn’t afraid of Jason ever hurting him purposefully, but he was also very aware for Jason it might not always be purposeful.

Cass joined him, leaning against his side, and Duke wrapped an arm around her. Tim was tapping away on his tablet, mostly muttering to himself, but Dick had gotten up to peer over his shoulder.

Jason tore open the packet of candies and popped one in his mouth.

They’d be okay.

It would take work, but they were Bats. They were stubborn.

Dukes wrist buzzed. The tracking number for slipcover flashed across his hud. It would be there by 9 pm.

They’d be okay.

-

Everything hurt. Everything ached all the way down through his skin and muscled and bones. His breath caught in his chest, ragged and frayed like his lungs were full of shattered glass.

He tried not to make a noise.

He tried to stay quiet.

They would notice him if he made a noise. He couldn’t take any more attention. He didn’t think he’d survive more attention. God, that thought was almost enough to kill him. Once he would have done anything for his parents attention and now—

There was a hand in his hair. It was gentle.

Oh, he was crying.

“…going to be okay. We have you, Dandelion, and we’re not letting them touch you ever again. The two Reds will make sure it can never happen again. Once you’re better they’ll take a little road trip.”

That was… that wasn’t… a sob broke through Danny’s lips and he didn’t stop it. He didn’t even try.

He wasn’t there.

He could make noises.

He was safe.

“Danny? Hey, are you awake.”

Danny nodded as much as he could manage.

“Hey there,” Nightwing said, voice so kind that it just made Danny cry harder. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Danny shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay, thank you for answering me Danny. How’s the pain? Um, squeeze my hand once if it’s okay, twice if it’s really bad.”

Danny squeezed it three times.

“Really, really bad, huh? Okay. Okay… we can give you some pain meds through your IV. We have you on a saline drip because you looked really bad. We didn’t want to give you any meds without your consent though. Are you alright with some pain medication? Once for yes, twice for no.”

One squeeze.

“Okay, let me go—”

Danny clung to Nightwing’s hand a tightly at he could. His breath stuttered around the glass.

“Not leaving, Dandelion. I’m going to text Red Robin, okay? He’s in the living room. Hood and B.B are out… running an errand. They’ll be back soon. I’ll text Red and he’ll bring the pain meds.”

Danny nodded. Nightwing shifted around, but didn’t let go of Danny’s hand. The breathing calmed, got easier. Danny let out a slow breath.

“Hey Danny,” a new voice said. “The medication will make you feel fuzzy and maybe disoriented. You’ll probably sleep a lot. We don’t want you to wake up panicked. Is there anything we can do to help you know you’re here with us and safe?”

“Bear,” Danny croaked. He wet his lips and tried to continue. “Smells that aren’t… Touch. Warmth.”

“Red will get your teddy bear as soon as the meds are hooked up and we’ll work on the other things. One of us will always be here with you,” Nightwing said.

Danny squeezed his hand again.

“Okay. We won’t leave you alone, Danny, we’ll keep you safe. You’ll be okay.”

Danny trusted that.

It was surprising.

He didn’t think he could trust anymore, but Danny trusted that, trusted them.

The warmth of that thought followed him back into the black.

---

AN: This all Danny's fault, not mine! He decided to reveal his form early and then... welp.....

...Stay delightful, darlings?

[soaqrudyz]

they’re in the rec room one dreary afternoon, rain is pouring outside, shaking the walls of the base, and all soap really wanted was a cigarette. he’d been stressed, needlessly, helplessly, and now his one healthy means of escapism is gone, too. he’s about ready to explode, pacing the room like a caged animal, muttering senseless complaints and half baked sentences under his breath.

he’s startled out of his back and forth pace by gaz’s hand on his chest. a snarl finds its way to his lips and he has to fight to keep from spewing all the nasty, venomous thoughts that lay behind his lips.

“you need to chill out, mate” gaz drawls, pushing him ever so slightly backwards. his feet follow, trusting, even through his sour disposition.

“think i don’t know that?” he snaps, “i fuckin’ can’t.”

“that’s why i’m here to help. you’re bringing the whole base down, and you’ll wear a hole in the floor with all that stomping around.”

they walk back until soap is knocked onto the ratty sofa that price found god knows where. gaz maneuvers soap’s head to rest on the arm, his muscles wound tight despite being stretched out. he’s angry. angry and confused and he didn’t fucking like the rain, why did it always have to rain?

“ghost.” gaz calls, and soap notices his looming presence for the first time that day. which was a little shocking, considering the fact that soap could (and had, he’d won 70 quid off the stupid bet) pick ghost out in a crowd blindfolded just from the feeling of his stare alone.

soap realizes he might’ve been more out of it than he realized. the embarrassment only makes his blood run hotter.

“this some sort of intervention?” he growled, hands balled into tight fists.

gaz rolls his eyes and leaves, muttering a quiet “good luck with that.” to ghost and patting his shoulder as he passed.

his brain was a mess, he needed to get back up, needed to do something, fucking anything. the restlessness makes his fingers twitch, makes him burn from the inside out, he’s so god damn angry he could burst into flames.

and then ghost flops down right on top of him, and everything but the roiling thunder outside goes quiet. ghost is a big guy, pure muscle with a (very attractive) bit of fat around his middle. he was twice, maybe three times soap’s weight, no matter how much bulk he was putting on.

he’s overwhelmed by the man. his hands and legs are completely pinned. the weight on his chest forces him to take deeper breaths, which, in turn, make his tense muscles relax. the smell of ghost’s shampoo and detergent makes him dizzy, the soft cotton of his balaclava rubs against his cheek, and soap is mortified to find out he’s getting sleepy.

his eyes try to close, but he jerks himself awake each time. ghost is warm. like a big fuzzy blanket fresh out of the dyer, and really after the day he had, who could blame him for letting go for a minute?

“feels nice..” he slurs, eyes slipping shut again, but this time he doesn’t bother prying them back open.

“go to sleep, johnny.” ghost sighs, an exasperated little thing, and soap can feel the vibration of his voice all the way down to the tips of his toes.

he listens, if not only because it was raining outside and he couldn’t smoke a cigarette.

[dancingdonatello]

Hiii I'm not sure if reason are open but I can't get this outta my mind

Imagine one the 2012 turtles (of ur choice) is fighting a villain, and then gets thrown thru some human's window, hitting his head and passing out. The human finds him and notices that he's a turtle but doesn't really care and tries treating his wounds while he's out cold. He wakes up in their room, under a weighted blanket and surrounded by pillows with bandages all over him and an ice pack on his head. The human walks in and is just like "Oh you're up! Are you okay??" how do u think he'd respond? 😳

there is only one turtle who is to be thrown through windows

2012 Leonardo x reader

Leo’s eyes peeled open. At first everything was blurry. But when he blinked a few times, he was able to take in the view of pillows and blankets swamped on top of him.

“Are you okay?” A head leaned over him, worriedly looking down at him.

He jolted upwards, jumping when the bag of ice on his head fell onto his legs and shocked him with the iciness of it.

“What?” he asked, before tensing. He shouldn’t have spoken.

“Are you okay?” you repeated, looking a little nervous at how tense he became.

He stood up and wobbled dangerously for a moment before righting himself. It was better to leave now before you freaked out and started hitting him with a frying pan or something. He wanted to grab his swords, but.. when he felt for them over his shoulder, they were gone. He stepped toward the window and then suddenly, you moved.

“You’re gonna cut yourself on the glass!” You grabbed him by the strap on his shell, tugging him back. “There’s probably some still on the floor, too… I didn’t have time to sweep it all up.”

He ripped himself out of your grasp, now a little creeped out by how easy you were with touching him. How natural it was for you to just reach out and stop someone like him from hurting himself.

You brought your hand back to yourself, blinking a little at how rough he had been to get away. “Sorry.” At least you looked a little nervous to be around him… “There’s another window, if you want.”

You were offering him another window. He slowly relaxed his shoulders. You didn’t seem like some foot soldier uncover trying to get a lucky chance just because he went through your windows. Or some crazy weirdo who wanted to hurt him or keep him. You just seemed… nice.

He nodded.

You led him to another window in your apartment and even opened it for him, before moving out of the way.

Only when he made it onto the roof and relaxed when he was finally out of some human’s sight did he realize that you had also wrapped up the cuts and slashed on his arms and legs. He even had a bandaid on a paper cut he had gotten on his thumb.

He looked over the edge of the building and saw you sticking your head out your window and trying to look up to see where he went.

He backed up a step before you saw him and sighed. You’d have to pay a lot of money to get that window fixed. And what were you going to do with all that cold wind tonight?

The only thing to do was to return in an hour or two with some stuff to cover the window, right?

It would just be him returning the favor. That was the only reason.

[boydepartment]

can i request a comfort fic? i jus got bodyshamed cuz like im kinda skinny and im not in the best mood. Ni-Ki from enhypen pls :((

cold- nishimura riki x reader

a/n: usually i am not this specific with comfort fics however, i have experience going through this and i can write this properly. since i know how this feels first hand i can write this confidently. with comfort fics i really try my hardest to bring comfort and sometimes specific scenarios like this can get a little sticky. i really hope this helps you and i hope you’re okay. ive been body shamed many times throughout my life for being too big and too small, so i understand. lmk if you need anything anon my inbox is always open to you <3

warnings- angst to comfort, reader being body shamed, talk about difficultly to gain weight, talk about mental health, riki being kind. skinny reader.

wc- 300-500

MASTERLIST

your body laid curled up in your blankets, and tangled in your layered clothing. it was colder weather and to everyone else doing this would be pretty standard practice given the circumstances.

regardless of that fact, your main reason to bundle up was not due to the cold.

you were always cold, that was something you could put up with.

what you couldn’t put up with was the sly comments people would make about you unprovoked. even if provoked the comments that were made about you previously were extremely messed up and damaging.

you felt yourself sigh, you knew it was okay to be sensitive to this, it was human. but it really did hurt, there was no reason for anyone to comment on anyone’s body for ANY reason. however people thought they could with you. your friends thought they could with you.

you flipped over not hearing your boyfriend arrive at your home, he was supposed to come over today but you had texted him to cancel because you ‘weren’t feeling well.’ anymore. you didn’t think he would be coming over.

“you cold my love?” you heard a chuckle and you just hummed back. not in the mood for his games. and not in the mood to even become startled that he was in your home.

“i’m sorry were you asleep?” riki’s voice was soft as he walked over to the couch and laid down next to you. your body tensed up and he noticed this.

it made him scared he did something wrong.

“are you okay?” he asked, wanting to put his hand on your head and gently pat. but opting not to, not wanting to make you more uncomfortable than what he was reading from your face.

“i texted you saying i wasn’t feeling well…” you mumbled behind your blanket.

riki frowned, “i’m sorry… do you want or need anything? i didn’t see my texts otherwise i would’ve stopped by and picked you up something warm to drink.” you felt him get under the blanket, you felt yourself become nervous.

quickly you flipped over, your back facing him and you curled up a bit. taking some of the blanket with you.

he went to snake his hands around your waist as he was used to do but you panicked and moved his hands away, “don’t, please…”

the comments about you being too thin were getting to you and you didn’t want riki to even touch your body. the fear setting in that he was going to feel a rough edge or a part of your body where you were more bony than not. you were scared it was going to disgust him or freak him out. your friends were hard to believe that your boyfriend genuinely liked holding you. you could still hear their comments.

riki felt his mouth open a bit in shock, “did i do something?”

this hurt you more, he didn’t do anything, you felt like you did something wrong.

“no… i just- i don’t feel well.” your voice was wavering and it was making you stressed, if you even thought to rub your eyes you’d have to see your hands. you didn’t want to see any part of your body right now. you felt trapped, almost like you wanted to rip your skin off and just start over.

“what’s wrong… y/n please… communication is really important especially since we’re young… i don’t want to fuck this up please…” at this point riki was begging you to say something. he was stressed that he did something to you that he didn’t mean. riki couldn’t recall anything that he did. i mean he accidentally ripped your favorite pillow while you two were play fighting last week but you were laughing when the stuffing started going everywhere.

you flipped over, not wanting to torture him, “you didn’t do anything. i just went back to visit some friends and they made comments about my body.” your voice was shaky, almost panicking. because this is where a lot of people would say-

‘you’re thin why would it matter?’

‘people wish they had your body.’

‘you should be thankful that’s what they’re saying.’

you had experience of people saying that to you when you felt insecure of the bonier parts of your body. you learned quickly to suck it up, but it still hurt. and you constantly tried to gain weight. it was a difficult battle, you want to do it healthily however it’s a slow process that’s not even promised.

you couldn’t help your body and it was too taboo to share your insecurities. that’s what you learned that’s what you became accustomed to. it stung even more that people commented on your body now even without you saying something first. you felt violated.

riki felt his brows contort, he was rightfully pissed, “what were they saying?” he tried to find your hands under the blanket and did. for the first time in awhile, they were warm. you let him hold a small part of you and that relaxed him.

“i don’t want to talk about it anymore…” you mumbled more into the blanket, scared of what he was going to say. scared that if you opened up more, he’d try to hold you. that he was going to hate holding you, or finding it a chore.

“no one should be making comments on your body like that. whatever they said- clearly it effected you… and no one has the right to comment on your body. was what they were saying unprompted?” his voice was soft but firm. wanting to listen to what happened. wanting to comfort you properly.

“yes… it was unprompted and i froze up… i didn’t know how to respond to what they were saying.”

because genuinely how the fuck were you supposed to respond?

riki breathed in angrily, he was trying to properly calculate the situation and how to answer. he didn’t want to mess up or accidentally say something that could hurt you more, “i would take a break from them for a bit… maybe if you’re comfortable communicate how-“

“NO.” you practically jumped up, “they’re just going to tell me i shouldn’t be complaining and they’re totally gonna blow me off like my feelings don’t matter!”

riki’s eyes widened as he watched you settle back down, his hand rubbing yours gently, like you’d break, “okay my love… then you don’t have to… then i would just give myself a break from them okay? i’m not trying to sound like i’m isolating you either but you know your feelings matter to me. you matter to me. i will always listen…”

you nodded, he felt his heart breaking a bit when he saw a tear fall from your face. riki quickly used one of his hands to wipe your tears. you put your face more into his palm.

“when you hold me… does it bother you?” your voice was quiet, “like do i hurt you or do you feel uncomfortable?”

what the fuck did they say to you? that was the only thing that was going through riki’s head but he was smart enough to pick out the hints and signs. that was enough for him.

your friends must’ve pointed out how thin you are, he remembered you trying to gain weight and struggling to. he remembered that specific mental breakdown you had and felt so mad that your friends would just say things without thinking.

“you never bother me…” carefully he finally pulled you closer to him and held you, “my favorite thing to do is be around you and hold you… that’s not going to change okay? no matter what.”

you nodded, “i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to shut you out i was just scared… and i didn’t want you to think i was weird for getting upset about this.”

riki shook his head no, “don’t be scared to talk to me especially about stuff like this, i understand everything okay? so please don’t be scared. i know how it feels and im always going to be here to help you.”

“thank you…” you held him closer to you, riki’s hand going to your head and patting softly. his embrace was warm and you were comfortably wrapped in the blankets together. the cold weather long forgotten, the cold, harsh words that were said to you were slowly being healed, and you were starting to feel content. riki felt you relax and finally relaxed himself. he was always going to be here to help, because he loves you. those cold words people said to you weren’t going to change anything, whether you told him the specific words or not.

he loves you.

“i love you… thank you again…” your breathing was starting to slow, you were starting to fall asleep now that the war in your head was starting to die down.

“i love you more…”

[in-another-april]

─ movie date | s.r

summary/prompt - spencer invites you to his apartment to watch one of his russian sci-fi films with him | fluff

warnings - small mention of burns

wc - 735

notes - this was inspired by me rewatching and falling in love with awkward early seasons spencer all over again 😭

────────────────

 You sink deeper into the brown leather couch as the alarm of the microwave rings out behind you. Tilting your head back, you watch as Spencer empties the freshly popped popcorn into a bowl. You let out a soft chuckle as you see him holding the steaming bag as gingerly as possible to avoid burning his hand, a practically inevitable occurrence whenever he prepares food, his clumsy nature almost never failing to bring a fond smile onto your face.

“Need any help?” Your question makes him look from over his shoulder at you.

“Oh, I got it.” He shakes his head before pausing. “Thank you, though.” He rushes to add with an awkward smile, hoping you can’t tell how painfully out of his element he was.

So far, you two had been seeing each other outside of work for a few weeks, but you had yet to meet up at either of your respective apartments. He’d like to think he presented himself as “cool and collected” as Derek had coached him to be when you first suggested the idea of going to his place for a movie date, but he knew he was done for as soon as you mentioned wanting to watch the Russian sci-fi film he had been eagerly rambling about on the jet. He finds himself struggling to even think about the way your eyes light up with genuine curiosity whenever he goes on one his tangents without his face heating up. You’re going to be the death of him, he swears.

You can’t help the cheerful smile that makes its way onto your face as Spencer finally sits down next to you, after some fiddling with the TV and disc. You think for a moment before offering the other half of the blanket laid on your lap to him. His face turns red as he stares dumbly for a moment before happily accepting his side of the soft material, sliding closer to you. He’s eager to start the movie, in hopes it’ll serve enough of a distraction so you don’t notice the blush on his face getting brighter from simply being in your proximity.

He almost forgets he’s supposed to be translating for you until he sees the expectant look on your face after the first few lines pass. He mutters a quick apology before clearing his throat and reciting the words as they come, voice low as to minimize the disruption to the experience as much as possible. As the minutes pass, Spencer feels his nerves calm and breathing steady as he finds himself slotted securely back into his comfort zone: rattling off information regarding subjects he’s passionate about.

That is, until he feels the slight weight of your head against his shoulder, cuddling up to him like it’s second nature. His body instinctively tenses up under the contact, halting his translations as he stares off into space, cogs turning in his head as he tries to understand how his mind can feel blank while simultaneously housing so many rushing thoughts.

You lift your head off him slightly, turning to meet his eyes. “Oh, I didn’t mean to make you comfortable, I’m sorry.” You say, cursing yourself for being too forward. “I can move-”

“No!” Spencer interjects quickly, cringing at how desperate it made him come off. “I- sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so, uh, I just meant to say…” The deep breath he takes only serves to fluster him more as it ends up being just a whiff of your perfume. “You don’t have to move, I don’t mind.” Is what he settles on, trying his best to read your expression as he stares up at you.

“Are you sure?” You’re not sure why you ask, but you still revel in the sweetness of his answer.

“I’m positive. I’d… prefer it, really.” He shyly admits, looking everywhere except your eyes. “O-Only if you want to, of course.”

He’s happy to see that answer satisfied you, returning to your position leaning against him. You don’t think it’s possible for your smile to grow bigger, but you prove yourself wrong as you feel him hesitantly wrap his arm around you, pressing his head against yours. He resumes his whisper translations, but you’d have to admit that the movie is lost in the back of your mind as you opt to focus your attention on the man sitting next to you.

[steviewashere]

Walking To The Bright Lights In Sorrow

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Major Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Discussions of the Death Penalty, Eddie's Death Seen as a Suicide (I think that's the only way I can describe it) Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, (Except Vecna Dies, Too), Angst, Mild Comfort, Dead Eddie Munson, Grieving Steve Harrington, Ghost Eddie Munson, Moving On, Goodbyes, Love Confessions, Eddie Moving on To the After Life, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Missed Opportunity, Promises Title from "Grace" by Jeff Buckley For @steddieangstyaugust Day 2 Prompt: Ghost(s)

🪦—————🪦 In the hollow of night, woken fresh from a nightmare, Steve started to have conversations with the dead air in his bedroom. It started as short, assuring affirmations in a scratchy sort of mumbling, something to calm him down. But now, it’s to somebody.

Eddie Munson.

He’s not wearing the green vest or the combat boots or the black bandanna. He’s not covered in blood and looking beyond Steve’s shoulder. No, Eddie’s clean and vivacious and in his usual everyday—the black leather jacket and the Hellfire Club t-shirt and dark blue, near black denim jeans. All that’s missing is the vest, but Eddie has turned him down every single time he’s offered it up.

The vest was clean, Steve made sure of that. Every patch in its place. All the buttons, the pins were stabbed through the material; just as Eddie left it. Just as Eddie gave it to him. And Steve knew, within half-conversations with Dustin, that battle vests really meant something. It was armor, a safety blanket, a flag, and a promise. To stay true to oneself.

But it seemed like Eddie didn’t need Steve’s help on that front. Because he swore, beyond everything, that Eddie was alive in his room. He was speaking and flailing and grinning. He was joking and laughing and holding himself casually. Sometimes, he swore that Eddie would reach out to him, like he was gearing up to brush back his hair or soothe a palm down his tense bicep or hold his trembling hand, but then he’d hesitate with some awful, sour sort of realization. He’d give up right then and there.

It happens again tonight.

It’s four in the morning. The sun not up yet. Early December, almost Christmas, and Steve is somehow sweating himself out of his clothes. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, gripping to the mattress with his aching fingers, looking at the carpet below his bare feet. And he notices when Eddie joins him because he settles on the mattress, too. Makes the bed dip. His weight barely anything, but Steve has known how to gauge him months ago.

“The bats,” Eddie’s voice croaks. It’s not a pretty sound. Almost a rasp, something on the verge of…death, but Steve makes himself stave that thought off. His voice echoes, too. Like a whisper in a cathedral. Hauntingly close.

Steve nods his head in response. Whispers, “I couldn’t stop them from getting to you…again.”

Eddie hums beside him. “You couldn’t stop them in the first place, Steve,” he states, “they came for me when you weren’t there.”

“I should’ve been”—

“No,” Eddie’s quick to murmur, “no, Steve. It was my choice. Nothing would’ve changed my mind, I promise you that.” It’s the same thing he says every time Steve has the nightmare about the demobats. It’s the same dismissive murmur. It’s the same factual thing. Steve hates it, but won’t say that. Doesn’t think he really can.

There’s silence in the room now. Tense and rigid and thick. He wants to cut it with a knife or tear it apart with his bare hands, but can’t even lift his fingers away from the mattress, can’t even make them curl into his own palms.

The mattress shifts next to him. Eddie’s cold, fog-heavy, wind-like presence icy on Steve’s arm. It’s the closest thing to touching they can get. All he wants is to rest his head on Eddie’s shoulder, wants to smell his hair, wants to trace his fingers over the soft parts of his cheeks where those wounds are noticeably not present. Though, part of him is petrified of what happens if he does. A part of him wonders if it’ll be like in Hollywood—the ghosts touching their loved ones and then disappearing into a nothingness. A yearning, empty nothingness.

“I passed by Dustin’s before I came over here,” Eddie breathes into the space. That echo ever present, ever stomach curdling. “He was sound asleep. All curled up under his blanket. He was…there was this faint smile on his face and it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen since his head banging during our crazy, alter-dimension performance. I didn’t stop inside, though. Didn’t want to wake him.”

He swallows. Doesn’t know why Eddie’s telling him this. But he just responds low and careful, “He’s been keeping himself busy with Hellfire. Got a lot of responsibility now, y’know? I watched him do that master stuff or whatever…he’s got a talent for it, at least I think so.”

“Dustin was always going to be my pick for when I graduated,” Eddie says, a soft smile present in his voice. It soothes something racing in Steve’s veins, but he’s not ready to sleep, not ready to see Eddie’s face close behind the blackness in his eyelids. “I’ve heard a bit here and there of his campaigns. He…uh…he makes me an NPC a lot, doesn’t he?”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath. Murmurs, voice crackling, “He always saves you. Always, Eds. You always join the party members as a companion. Sometimes, you’re the only one still standing.” He finally lifts his gaze from the floor to look into Eddie’s eyes. His dark, yet cold and ghastly eyes. “I don’t think he can handle you dying again,” he admits, “I don’t think anybody can. Not even me.”

Eddie blinks at that. His mouth barely twitching into a frown before going neutral again. Lets out a soft, aching sigh. “The only thing I regret about dying is that all of you guys are so hung up on it,” he says, voice gone flat. Devoid.

Cold.

“Jesus Christ, Eds. That’s”—

“Brutal?” He finishes. “Yeah, Steve, I know. But it’s the truth.” His body shifts again, crouching to stand. And in the blink of an eye, Steve is looking up at Eddie, at him standing and hovering. Hands on his hips, gaze pointed out to the backyard, watching the curtains shiver from the small opening in the window. “I was going to be sentenced to the death penalty, you know that? They were going to ask for my last meal. Which I’d say the same thing I requested—Honeycombs, YooHoo, maybe some beer if they’d allow it. Then they were going to execute me. I think that’s more brutal, don’t you?”

And then he stares directly into Steve. Into. His gaze burns. Despite the icy edge to his irises. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe—he doesn’t need to do that anymore anyway.

A moment later, he looks away and continues, “I didn’t want that. I wanted to go out on my own accord. And I wanted it to mean something. It did, in the end, it ended up saving the world.

“I, Eddie Munson, former freak of Hawkins and three time senior—I was a hero at the end of the day. Even though you told me not to. I know what you told me. But sometimes you gotta bend the rules in order to make things right.”

“But, Eds…Eddie, the town still thinks”—

“Fuck what they think, Steve. I know what I am.” He moves at that. Crouching on the ground in front of Steve. Down on his knees. Face looking up to Steve’s sad gaze. His hands hover over Steve’s bare knees. “I know what I am,” he repeats, a murmur. “I don’t regret my death. I don’t regret what had to be done. I just hate that all of you always remember, you guys are constantly mourning. Over me? You’re mourning over me? We hardly knew each other!”

Steve sniffs. His lips wobble when he opens them to speak. There are tears sitting in his waterlines, hot and spiky and ready to spill. “I wanted to know you, Eds. I like when you’re here. I like dreaming about you because then we can talk and I can”—

“Baby,” Eddie coos sadly, “baby, this isn’t doing you any good.”

“It is!” Steve crows, “it is and now…now that you saw me tonight, I can go back to sleep and it’ll be fine.” He even scoots up the mattress, carefully, and situates himself under his blanket. “See? Cozy and warm. I’ll go to sleep and everything will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

There’s a stunned, slow moment of silence. Eddie isn’t on the floor anymore, instead sitting on the edge of the mattress. All his movements hidden in between blinks, when Steve’s shifting and can’t see him. He can hear Eddie audibly swallow, hard enough that it sounds like he’s consuming rocks. But he doesn’t speak.

“Right?” Steve asks again, soft this time. So soft that it nearly gets lost on its way over the comforter. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ve got a funny story to tell you and we can”—

“Steve,” Eddie finally breathes. He looks over. Dark eyes hauntingly crestfallen. Piercing Steve like the sharp end of that stupid syringe. It makes him ache in all the worst ways. Just on the cusp of a heart attack. Eddie’s right hand shifts from his lap, moving slow over the blanket, hovering on the left side of Steve’s face. Contemplating. “Steve, I want to go. I…I’ve seen all I need to. You’re the last one.”

“Eds,” he murmurs.

“I want to go home, sweetheart. I want to see my mom. I want…I want to be in my childhood home. I want to dance with her. I want to go. Please.” And with the faintest of touch, he swipes his cold, ghostly thumb under Steve’s eye, into his hairline, over the top of his ear. He doesn’t disappear, but Steve doesn’t even want to blink. “I’ll still be in here, when you want me,” he says, tapping at Steve’s temple. “But I can’t be in here anymore,” and he states that with a wide arm gesturing around the bedroom.

He blinks, finally. Tears spilling hot and fast over his cheeks. Lips trembling. Nose stuffed up and snotty. Eddie’s still not gone, not yet, at least. “Okay,” he squeaks. “I just…I think I”—

“I know,” Eddie whispers, “I know, baby. I feel the same way.” His touch gets heavier, firmer on Steve’s cheek. In slow motion, his legs begin to wisp away. Steve hates that he was right about this part. “I love you, too, Stevie. I’ve had so much fun with you all these nights. I just want to rest, too.”

Steve closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Eddie go, but he nods his head slow against his pillow. Sinking into the last bit of touch Eddie will ever give him. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” Eddie breathes, voice far away.

“Save me a spot?”

His thumb presses hard into Steve’s cheek. There’s a smile to his voice again, “Always, Stevie.”

“Okay,” Steve sighs, relaxing into his mattress. “Goodnight, Eds.”

The only response is the faint brush of wind from the window.

It’s almost like a kiss.

🪦—————🪦

[slayersins]

Dabi x Reader fluff, his latent big brother tendencies are showing in this one

The night view was pretty from the bar rooftop and the cool air felt good on your skin at first. It was a nice idea to join Dabi for a smoke after all. You two were silently people watching, elbows up on the railing, he slowly exhaled some smoke out. It suited him. He looked maybe a little too good doing it. It wasn’t fair. Bastard. You lit your second cigarette cursing him light heartedly in your mind and couldn’t help but notice how cold it really was up there. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop yourself from shivering and Dabi noticed it. “Stand a little closer.” he rasped, breaking the comfortable silence you two shared. With a questioning look on your face and your hands still up on the rail you slid next to him, your shoulders almost brushing together. You appreciate it but how could this help you..?  Then you noticed it, he rose his body temperature. The heat radiating from him was pleasant but far from enough to stop your shivers. With an annoyed click of his tongue he stood up straight. Took a drag on his cigarette and then crushed the butt beneath his boots. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood behind you. Not understanding what is happening you straightened your back awkwardly and peered back over your shoulders. Before you could ask him anything, he calmly murmured “Come here” and with his hands in his pockets he quickly opened his coat and closed it around you, pressing your back against his chest. It felt like being tucked under a warm cozy blanket. That was not the problem? There was a problem even? You wouldn’t call it that but god- What is happening? Your brain short circuited because he was essentially hugging you. You froze up and with every fiber of your muscles stiff your trembling stopped immediately. He then rest his head on top of yours, dealing the final blow to your heart. You didn’t even dare to breathe. Dabi could sense how tense you were and with a little tilt of his head he saw your ear. Bright pink.  Idiot. Stop acting as if this is a big deal, you are the one making him flustered now dammit. You have some nerve acting all cute and innocent. Even if you could see his face you couldn’t tell he was thinking these things, if anything he looked bored or annoyed, especially with his lips slightly pouting. All you could feel is his body getting heavier? He slowly applied more and more of his body weight on you! With his hands still lazily resting in his pockets and his head placed on top of yours, acting as if nothing is happening. “Dabi what..Da? DABI?“ Of course he didn’t stopped just kept adding to the weight and watch you struggle with your knees buckling. “What are you doing? Stop?? Hey?!” You laughed in confusion, your back slowly but surely bent under his weight. Your knees started to give out too. He didn’t stop until you became a laughing panicking mess. “Aaaa please?! Dabi please? Heavy! Heavy!” you babbled and he accepted your final pleas, quietly snickering he released you from under his weight and his coat too…and yet you were not shivering. Forgotten about the chilly night air, still smiling you wiped a small tear from your eye. “I dropped my cig, dumbass.” “I will give you another one you crybaby.” You rolled your eyes smiling and took one from the box he offered with a self-satisfied grin.  See? You aren’t cold anymore.

[aonungyou-shit]

Movies? You mean crying time?

Warnings: Maybe some spoilers for Luca the movie I mention (idk i think itll be interested if the reef navi would watch something with water yknow. Also i cry like a baby at luca and im also still so stupidly obsessed). 

“Come on, come on! Before norms takes it away” Tuk spoke now, taking your arm and rushing off to a little part of the little setup Norm and Max had set up. 

Kiri and yourself now running off as quietly as you could. Truth be told you two knew you wouldn’t really get into trouble. You were allowed, Sometimes to watch the movies that Norm had surprisingly saved. And honestly working up the old ‘uncle norm pls’ puppy eyes you had managed to master. 

Well safe to say you wouldn’t get into trouble. 

All your siblings huddled under the shawls and blankets that you had of course weaved up with Kiri. Now You did know that Lo’ak was inviting Tsireya. But now three metkayina’s were sat there huddled up with a basket of fruit. 

It was a funny sight to see really. 

“We got it! Now c'mon. Let's choose one” 

Now you knew and oftentimes teased Norm for being a giant nerd. Having a good Catalog of not only Children movies, But horror or Comedies. You didn’t get them much. And seeing as you knew Tuk was joining you decided to just allow some kids movies. 

“Which one’s haven’t we seen?” 

You continued to scroll. Now thinking about it there were a few movies about the sea or anything relating to that. So without much thought you clicked on Luca. 

“Oh yeah nice one” 

You smiled Letting her get comfortable as you set the laptop up on a Basket you had brought. No doubt all of you would be huddled together to see the tiny screen. “We should have stolen the projector”  

“We barely left with our lives” Kiri said dramatically. Which you rolled your eyes on. 

“Okay but if we all have crooks in our necks it isn’t my fault. Everyone ready?” 

You got a collected yes. Before hitting play. Now Going to join the pile. Shoulder to shoulder with Ao’nung. Who Extended his arms to cover you with the blanket. 

Your twin. Neteyam leaning back and resting on your leg. Which you didnt mind now but would later, no doubt. When your leg would fall asleep under his weight. 

Hearing the music play was a little startling. You knew English and that was pretty much it. 

“Demon Language? This isn’t english” Tsireya said. 

You had completely forgotten that now that you have taught them about english it probably would be startling to not hear that. 

“Yeah human’s had a lot of different languages” You said 

No doubt you would have to answer questions later. No doubt about why on pandora would human’s make communication so difficult. 

You just Let it be. Finally seeing the sea monster that the two characters were talking about. 

It was nice. Seeing what earth’s sea was like. 

“So wait? Human’s had those sea monsters?” 

“No Rotxo its just a movie. Yknow like… Like a story That’s not true” 

“That’s stupid” 

You rolled your eyes, shushing everyone as you got yourself some fruit. No doubt the little bits and pieces of commentary would be happening. Given this was their first time watching a movie. 

You eat your snack as you watch the movie progress. 

Resting your head on Ao’nung shoulder you continued to watch. 

=============================

You bit down hard on the fruit. The bone is now grinding against your teeth as you watch the scene unfold. You didn’t even notice how all of you seemed to lean in on the little screen at that moment. 

You had many movies that did this. That builds up the music in such a tragic feeling and right now you were preparing it. 

“See i knew this”

“Sea monster” 

God it really broke you. The tears now build up as you watched Alberto gasp as Luca had betrayed him. You heard tuk let out a little no. No doubt most of you are crying at this scene. 

You could only watch eyes glued to the laptop as you watched Ercole throw harpoons towards Alberto. 

Ao’nung took notice of your tense figure beside him. Looking at you he noticed how your eyes were now streaming down tears. You rubbing your eyes and trying not to make too much sound as you couldn’t help but cry at the scene. 

Ao’nung did find it sad. He didn’t know why or how. But he found himself relating to the kids. In a way he would feel bad or worse if his best friend would betray him that way. 

He tapped your hand. Making you look at him. He took the time to wipe away your tears before peppering your cheeks with soft kisses and then planting one on your forehead, being careful as to not disturb the others. 

“Its alright” 

You couldn’t help but nod and laugh a little. God you hated watching movies that made you so stupidly sad for people that didn’t exist. 

But you continued to watch, leaning your head on Ao’nung. 

It was now really quiet. And you looked ahead to the rest of your family. Neteyam had unfortunately fallen asleep on you. Tsireya hugging your little brother. Tears in her eyes as she continued to see the movie. 

“Yes it is, you're not like me. Your the good kid and i'm just the kid that… ruins everything” 

You didnt even try to hold it. The Little sob that left you as you watched Alberto hold himself in. It was so sad to think that humans, whether fake or not, Had to know the concept of abandonment. It wasn’t normal. It was never meant to be normal. 

“So human’s abandoned their family?” Rotxo asked rubbing his eyes as he continued to watch the scene. Breaking the silence as he finally sat up next to Kiri and Spider. Spider biting his lip as he was often the one who felt abandoned. 

“Sometimes” Lo’ak commented. 

You sushed them again. Leaning into Ao’nung again now putting the bone of your finished fruit in the basket. 

And continued to watch. 

It didn’t feel like much time had passed. But pretty soon the ending came. Neteyam woke up just in time as you watched the kids on screen win the Cup that they were so adamant of winning. 

It touched you how the music played. The visuals. The way they felt liberated. Yeah there weren't a lot of scenes of the ocean. But the scenes of the human towns. It made you long for a home you could never know. 

From the stories your father told you. Earth was dead, there was nothing that human’s enjoyed more than little times of fun. And an escape from a reality that was dull and void of anything that meant living. 

You felt sad and yet so happy. Watching the little boys interact. 

“But, how am i gonna know your okay?” Luca said 

You watched as they hugged and you wanted to sob again from happiness. Watching as the two boys tightened their arms around each other before Alberto spoke

“You got me off the island luca, Im okay” 

Now it was Rotxo’s turn to begin to cry. By Eywa he never thought he would cry over human things. But here he was. just like Ao'nung who also began to sniffle

Now this made you look at him. His normal cocky face now sprinkled with some tears here and there while he bit down at his lip trying so hard not to sniffle. You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Before taking his face in your hands as you kissed his cheek as he did for you a while ago. 

“That was beautiful” 

You heard Tuk cry as she whipped her tears off too. 

“It was! I cant believe humans made such a heartbreaking story” Tsireya said wiping her tears too. 

You watched as everyone Began to sit up. No doubt by now it is dark and probably your father is looking for you all. 

Just as it seemed. Norm had opened the door. Eyes Crossed as he stared at all of you and then at the Laptop he had been missing for over an hour. 

“Care to explain?” 

“Shit..” Kiri muttered 

You laughed a little, grabbing the laptop before handing it over. You could manage another earful from your father or from norm. But you would in fact ask if you could have days where he allowed you to watch your movies. 

Maybe once in a while if you don't get into too much trouble.

[luna-redamancy]

Hi!! If you like the idea could you please write an headcanon with Fili, Kíli and Thorin (even just one of them is fine, no worries🤗) with a reader who's love language is physical touch.

They're not together but the reader catches feelings. So sometimes they starts to put their hand on the other's or resting their head on his shoulder and things like this but then they changes their mind because they don't know if he's okay with it.

Thank you if you write it!!!

Hiii! I chose to do this for Fili. So sorry for the delay, mentally I haven't been in a very good place but I'm trying my best to get requests posted. I hope you enjoy this! It's a mix of head canons and writing:

At first he thought your behavior was normal, seeing the way you sometimes touched Bilbo’s arms or brought Ori into hugs. 

You were just a touchy person, showing your affection through physical touch. 

So, when you sat next to him under the stars, the two of you on watch that evening, and leaned your head on his shoulder. At first he thought nothing of it. 

uNTIL

He began to notice you stopped being so affectionate with others, saving your brushes of affection to your full on hugs just for him. 

And at first, you leaned into your own subconscious behavior. Directing your yearning for his reciprocation into action, showing him more physical affection than usual, until one night he avoided it. 

You had gone for a hug, arms nearly wrapping around him when he adjusted to slip out of your grasp, moving to grab his water pouch before telling you he was going to the spring to fill it. 

Then it all seemed to smack in your face, his awkward smiles and nods, his tense posture when you’d hug him. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice it before. 

So you withdrew. Halting your affection and keeping to yourself, confusing the poor dwarf immensely. 

“(Y/n),” Fili called out to you one evening just as you were beginning to retire for bed. “May I speak with you, for just a moment?” 

“Oh… Yes, of course,” You carefully placed the blanket you had under your arm down onto your bedroll, following Fili behind the trees. 

“What do you wish to speak to me about?” You fought the urge to curl inward on yourself as your anxiety began to build as he walked a little further ahead of you. 

“I just wish to know,” He paused, as if searching for the perfect words before turning to you. 

“You confuse me,” Fili chose to rephrase, looking concerned. “When you first started doing things like hugging me or that night where you rested your head on my shoulder,” He reached up, fingers brushing his left shoulder. If he closed his eyes, he could go back to that night and still feel your comforting weight on him and the scent of you infiltrating his senses. 

“And then it seemed that more often you were being affectionate with me, and I felt elated,” Fili grinned, looking down at his hands. He was holding something that you couldn’t see. 

“Elated?” You were confused, all the tense postures and awkward grins and avoidance pulling up like a slideshow in your brain. 

“But then… You stopped,” Fili looked back up to you, eyebrows furrowed, “And then you withdrew and suddenly we were strangers.” 

“I just… Wanted to know what I did wrong,” Fili took a small breath, “If you’d be willing to tell me, that is?” 

“Oh Fili,” Your hand flew to your mouth,  “I’m so sorry,” You shook your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, no no, nothing at all.”

You dropped your hand, your gaze drifting to your feet. “I realized how rude I was being,” You let your gaze flicker back up to see his expression dissolve into confusion. 

“I never asked if you were okay with my physical touch, and you seemed so uncomfortable with me doing so,” You paused as he just nodded at you to keep speaking. 

Taking a deep breath, you continued. “I care for you, Fili,” You explained, fighting the urge to wince as his expression changed into something you couldn’t decipher. 

“And I couldn’t bear making you so uncomfortable when I realized it,” 

“You care–”

“Please know I am so sorry,” You frowned, “It was never my intention to do so,” 

“To care for me?”

“What? No, no,” 

“To show me love?”

“I….” You didn’t even realize Fili was walking closer to you until he was directly in front of you, his hand cupping your cheek. 

“You never made me uncomfortable,” Fili gave you a soft grin. “You made me think my feelings were returned, and… Just to clarify something I heard earlier- you do?” 

“I- Yes, yes I do,” Flustered, the words stumbled out of your mouth as you nodded, making his grin widen. 

Please note, tags in bold are blogs that cannot be tagged either due to blog visibility settings set to not visible or because your username has changed. If it has changed, please comment, send in an ask, or private message me for it to be updated. 

Forever Tag-

@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck  @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18 @raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @ladylouoflothlorien​ @ten-tenya-iida ​​ @legolaslovely​ @bthtallmadge2​ @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf @aspookybunny @keijibum @moony-artnstuff @sirkekselord @guardianofrivendell @fluffymadamina @izbelross @fandomhoe101 @acahope311 @kitkatd7 @mooseetx @themerriweathermage @elvish-sky @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @laurfilijames @frequentlychangingfandoms @cameronsails @linasofia @starryeyedrogue  @shethereadinghobbit @beenovel @onlystarshere @fckmini @spidergirla5 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @myselfandfantasy @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @broken-ghost @mbruben-stein @mrsdurin @hai-kbai

Fili-

@greennightspider @ashleygrrrl @skylarkvip   @saviorsong @dark-angel-is-back @lelapine @sadndnboii-reads @gothamchic16

[star-going-supernova]

Gregory introduces Spring-ness to Freddy

The first prompt up there is number three of our tumblr generated prompts and comes from TheGrimRead3r on ao3! The second one came in during this event, but there was no reason not to put them together. This one is a sequel to Amongst the Dead, and the tldr of that ficlet is that Vanessa got spring-locked and possesses a white bunny animatronic now.

A Difference Keenly Felt

Vanessa didn’t know what she was doing. In the grand scheme of things, that is, because right now, she was letting a kid stand on her shoulders in order to climb into a vent. A kid she desperately wanted to save. Which meant now was not the time to have an existential crisis. Gregory’s slight weight left her, and she listened to the clunking of him scooting around up there.

“I’ll go unlock the door,” he called back to her, and then he was off. It was a good thing they weren’t trying to be quiet, she mused with a soft huff.

She wandered back over to the door in question. Her movements still felt stiff, but it was already a far cry from the absolute struggle it was to stand up. She hadn’t moved since she’d been tossed into that room like junk—as if she wasn’t a… as if she wasn’t an actual person.

A dead one, yes, but clearly death wasn’t as final as she’d once believed.

Vanessa looked down at herself, at what she thought of as her body now. It didn’t feel the same as her human body, of course, but it was still hers. There was a much duller sense of feeling, like she was touching things through a thick blanket, and she’d completely lost her ability to taste and smell. But the limbs moved as she wanted, and her eyesight and hearing was certainly improved.

It wasn’t the body she would have chosen for herself. If she could get her human one back, she would in a heartbeat. But instead, she was a fuzzy white rabbit animatronic, which was just salt in the wound.

She hadn’t known how to feel when she realized her human body had been removed. The insides of her animatronic suit were far from clean—judging by the way Gregory’s nose wrinkled when he got too close, she still smelled of rot—but it hurt a little to have lost that last piece of who she used to be. She was grateful, though, to not have to be so aware of the flesh and blood that had clogged her insides.

The door unlocked, and as Gregory pulled it open, he said, “You’ll never guess who I found! I don’t think I mentioned it, actually, but Freddy was helping me before we got separated, and that was when I met you!”

What passed for fear when one’s body lacked flesh and hormones and a brain to translate those chemicals flashed through Vanessa, and she looked up in a panic to see Glamrock Freddy standing behind Gregory. His smile faded a bit when he saw her, but Gregory didn’t notice either of their reactions.

“Freddy, this is Vanessa. She watched over me while I took a nap. Vanessa, this is Freddy. He was helping me before I met you.” He barely gave them a chance to take each other in before he was off like a shot. “I’m gonna go get a Fazerblaster like you suggested, Freddy! Be right back, play nice!”

Vanessa tensed as she was left alone with a real animatronic. He eyed her distrustfully.

“You are not like me,” Freddy said eventually.

“Uh,” she replied. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are… different. Wrong,” Freddy said. She flinched minutely; trust me, she wanted to say, I know. “There is no ‘Vanessa’ in my files of past or present animatronic personalities. You do not exist, yet you stand before me.” His countenance hardened, and even though Vanessa wasn’t hooked up to the communication system the way a proper animatronic would be, she could nearly feel the protective rage settling over him. “If you are trying to hurt Gregory, I will stop you.”

She raised her hands and shuffled away. “I’m just trying to help, okay? The kid needs as much as he can get.”

“Who—what are you?” Freddy demanded.

“I’m Vanessa,” she said. “I… I’m…”

He moved fast for a robot, much faster than she did, as unused to her mechanical body as she was. He slammed her into a wall, looking quite ready to rip her apart if need be.

“Okay, okay!” she cried. “But you can’t tell Gregory, yeah? It’ll—it won’t help.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

She wished she could swallow or run a hand through her hair or even just breathe. But all of those little human things had been taken from her. Their absence, the difference in all the little things that made her up… she felt it deep and sharply.

But it wasn’t like she could cry about it.

“I’m Vanessa,” she repeated. “And I was a human. I got… I was tricked into this suit—it’s got springlocks, which are really really dangerous—and I. I died. In here. And now my body’s gone and this is my body now.”

The light of Freddy’s eyes flickered. She could hear the subtle clicking and whirring of his body as he processed that.

“Vanessa Anderson,” he said slowly.

Her voice box emitted static, as close to a choked breath as she could manage.

He continued, “She is in my files as a night guard who went missing a year ago.”

A year. Had she really been asleep, shut down, whatever, for that long?

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That, that was me. And now I’m…” She gestured helplessly at herself.

Freddy backed off, releasing her. “I am very sorry, Vanessa Anderson. I… will not tell Gregory.”

“Thanks. And I mean it. I just want to help him. I, I can’t let him end up like me.”

He looked at her, then, really looked at her, and he nodded. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or a remnant of her humanity that demanded she seek emotion even in emotionless things, or maybe it was because she understood him in a way she wouldn’t have been able to as a human. But whatever it was, it seemed to Vanessa that Freddy was looking at her with more compassion than anyone had shown her in years.

[annie-creates]

Out like a light

Pairing: Lady Lesso x werewolf reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1000

Note: I loved writing this, hope there's enough fluff for you my love. Sorry for making you wait for it but I hope you'll like it.

You felt the upcoming full moon in your aching bones. You didn’t always have a bad reaction to it, sometimes the transformations hurt more, sometimes less. But as you walked around the school for evil teaching class after class, you knew tonight is not gonna be an easy night. Still you pushed through, already being used to this never ending cycle of pain and power. You made it into your own little ritual. You’d leave the castle after dinner, making sure to eat and drink enough to have the strength needed for your transformation. Then you’d wait for the moon to fully come out, running into the woods and draining your energy. After a few hours you’d come home and go to sleep.

You planned to do the same tonight. As you approached the dinning hall with your girlfriend by your side, you gave her a little kiss assuring her you’ll be fine tonight and she doesn’t have to wait for you. You ate and went out to get a head start. As you navigated the woods behind school watching the moon over the tree crowns, the scenery seemed quite peaceful. You’d even enjoy it if it wasn’t for your aching bones and throbbing head signaling your body is more than ready to take the form of your beast.

You fell to your knees, slowly transforming into the large grey wolf that was your other half. It took longer than usual tonight and was extremely painful, so you were left just breathing and resting for a minute to collect yourself. But as you picked yourself up from the ground to your four strong paws, you ran. Your distance and speed were unlimited, and you found yourself enjoying the wind in your face and cracking branches under your weight. Many found being in the wolf form restricting, but to you it was freedom.

You came back to the castle long after midnight, your claws screeching on the stoned floors. You were well aware Leonora hated it when you came back to the room still in your werewolf form leaving dirt everywhere, but considering how today’s transformation went, you didn’t wanna experience it again in the cold and darkness of the forest. You noticed the light in the room still on and as you stepped in, you found your girlfriend in her favorite armchair by the fireplace reading a book. Her questioning eyes met your apologetic ones as you started to transform back into human with your wolf cries turning into pained grunts.

Leonora wrapped your slouched form in a warm blanket lightly caressing your hair. She has seen many of your transformations both ways, the good ones and the bad ones, so she already had a pretty good idea about what hurts you, what kind of treatment you're willing to get and what kind of touches are forbidden. As you had your own little ritual for the full moon nights, she prepared one of her own, taking note of all the things she can do to make you feel better.

“I’ll get the bath ready, alright?” she offered and you answered with a little nod.

After she made sure you’ll be alright for the couple minutes, she went to the bathroom to prepare your favorite lotions and bubble bath. Leonora made sure the water is just the right temperature to relax your aching tense muscles and even lit up a few candles with the scents you liked. She turned the light down a bit, well aware you’re sensitive to sensory perceptions after your wolfing episodes.

“Honey the bath is ready.” She came back to help you into the tub, carefully letting you sit down in it. “How was your night?” it was a simple question; you knew you didn’t have to speak but she gave you the option to. And for a long time you didn’t.

“It was nice. The transforming – not so much.” You answered after some prolonged minutes in which she just gently washed your body. You were slowly coming back to her not only in the body but also in your head.

“I’m sorry baby. But we’ll make it alright.” She promised and caressed your shoulder knowing kisses weren’t welcomed now. “Can I wash your hair?” such big intervention needed permission first and she was willing to wait to get it.

“Yea.” You nodded and tilted your head back to make the job easier for her.

By the time you were done in the bathtub you were finally responsive and back to yourself, feeling every aching bone and pulled muscle. Leonora wrapped you in a fluffy bathrobe doing a basic hair and care routine with you until you were all done and cleaned up ready to go to bed. And that’s where you went, burring yourself in a pile of duvets and comfy blankets. Leonora observed you with nothing but love in her eyes as the only light she left on was the lamp at her bedside table.

“Do you wanna go to sleep?” she offered seeing as it would be more than reasonable at this hour.

“Not yet. Can you read me from your book?” you begged her placing your head on her shoulder as she picked up the book she was reading before you came back.

“It’s not an interesting book.” She warned you.

“I don’t care, I love your voice.” That and you loved the beating of her heart and movement of breath under your ear.

“Okay.” Leonora shrugged and started reading with you in her arms, but your silence didn’t last long.

“Can you do the thing with your hands?” you asked, pleading eyes boring into hers.

“You mean this?” with a genuine smile Leonora started to draw gentle slow circles on your back, lightly scratching you with her fingernails.

“Yes.” You closed your eyes in bliss purring in satisfaction.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep after that. In the arms of your one true love you were out like a light.

[vittoriaisfuckingpathetic]

fic: take my hand (don't fear the reaper) chapter I

rated M | read it on ao3 | next chapter

“You alright?” Arthur asked uneasily. They mostly didn’t talk about when John would get like this, because it was just easier to not. There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about. John’s hands shook as he tried to light the match once, twice, three times. “I’m fine,” he said with the unlit cigarette between his lips. Finally, the match lit. “You ain’t,” “...I ain’t,” John agreed. He took that first inhale of his cigarette, a slow, easy drag. It felt like heaven. “But neither are you,” A character study taking place before, during, and after Ch 6's final mission from John's perspective. inspired by this tumblr post

John woke uneasily the night before everything fell apart. Sleep had always been difficult to come by for the man, but it seemed to have gotten worse as of late.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was that Abigail was no longer in his cot. The two had been sharing ever since he’d gotten back from Sisika — it was a bit of an awkward fit, but he preferred it that way. It was nice, too, though, being able to hold Abigail in his arms and feel her warmth against his body.

“It’s just… it’s warmer like this,” Abigail had defended (quietly so as to not wake Jack), curled up to his side. 

“Seems to me like you jus’ can’t stand bein’ apart from me,” He’d teased in reply, earning himself a playful swat on the chest.  

“You be quiet, or else Jack’ll want to climb in, too.”  

The second thing John noticed was that in lieu of Abigail in bed with him, Jack was occupying the space that she once had been in, his breath even and indicative that he was sleeping soundly. He couldn’t blame the boy, considering how chilly it was getting day by day. It was November, after all. 

But if Jack had A) stolen Abigail’s spot and B) had been there long enough to fall asleep, how long had Abigail been gone?

He elected to give her a few more minutes before he checked on her. 

Or, at least, he tried to. His restless mind wouldn’t let him relax, and he anxiously needed to make sure Abigail was alright.

He shifted his weight, testing to see how much he could move without Jack noticing. After swinging half of his body off the cot, Jack had barely moved. 

John wondered if Jack inherited being a heavy sleeper from him (or rather, a heavy sleeper before life had happened to him, before the bad things had happened).

He managed to get out of bed without waking Jack.

The little boy’s nose wrinkled, his features scrunching for a moment at the disruption. After a few terse seconds, he cuddled the pillow closer, his face relaxing. John fixed the blanket on top of the boy, making sure he was tucked in safely. 

Such a parental action came to him strangely naturally, he realized. 

He groped around in the dark tent for his jeans, eventually finding them after a few moments of fumbling. As silently as he could manage (which was quite silent; he had managed to learn when he was young how to move and shadow people without making so much as a peep), he put them on, followed by his boots, and stumbled outside. 

The soundscape was familiar, and yet it wasn’t at the same time. He could hear Arthur wheeze rather than snore in his sleep, and he saw figures at the campfire (talking about God knows what , maybe mutiny or killing folk for sport, or some other kind of dumbassery) but they weren’t family, instead foes. It wasn’t exactly what he was used to, but nothing seemed particularly out of place for this new normal.

Like a lightbulb being lit, he realized where Abigail likely was; the slope southwest from his tent. She had often slipped there in more tense moments.

He skulked along the darkest edge of the camp, remaining unseen by all until he reached the unlit scout campfire.

Sure enough, there Abigail was. Away from the warmth and light of the campfire, far from anyone’s prying eyes or ears. 

Upon closer inspection, he realized she was shivering.

“You alright? You didn’t come back and I was…” he trailed off. He was worried, he realized. Worried about all of this shit; worried that one day, Micah, or even Dutch, would snap and get them all killed.

John was worried, he realized, because he loved her. 

“I needed to clear my head. I’m… I’m scared, John. I’m real scared.” She looked so young, so different like this — hair cascading down her back, wide-eyed, shivering. She looked vulnerable. 

John wanted to take that fear from her — but how could he? He felt so helpless. It felt like he was lying in wait for them all to get killed.

What the hell was he waiting for? So many people had already cut and run; Uncle, Karen, Trelawny, Mary-Beth, and Swanson had all disappeared as the days went on. Pearson had left earlier that day whilst John was on guard duty.

“You leavin’, Pearson?” he’d asked, seeing how Pearson’s horse was carrying much more than one would take on a simple trip. 

“I… ah, yeah. Just needed to clear my head.” Pearson replied, not looking John in the eye. 

“You ain’t comin’ back, are you,” John replied, stating it as more of a fact than a question. Frankly, he couldn’t blame the man. If he was in his shoes, he would be leaving, too. After all, Pearson could slip away much easier than John could hope to. 

Pearson’s avoidant gaze finally landed on John. “…Maybe. Probably not. No. I think it’s about time to cut and run,” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” John muttered more to himself than directly to Pearson. “You take care of yourself, Mister Pearson.” 

“You too, John.” Pearson glanced worriedly behind him, then to John. “You should get Abigail and your boy out of here. Save yourselves,” he added, speaking a little quieter.  

“I will,”  

“Well. I hope everything works out, Mister Marston. I’ll be seeing you,” 

John said nothing else, waving him off. 

The plan was ‘Get Out When The Time Comes’ — but when? What if it happened too late? What if they all died trying? What if he got Arthur killed — weak as the man was rapidly becoming? 

He huffed out a breath, the cold air making it visible for the briefest of moments. Wrapped an arm around her waist, half expecting her to bat him away or give him a look. 

But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into his touch. 

“I am too,” he admitted. “I’m gonna get us outta here.” he wondered if his words sounded as empty to her as they did to him. Getting out was the plan — but beyond that…?  

He was a fucking idiot. And Abigail knew it, too, so why she didn’t take Jack and run was beyond him.

“We ain’t exactly got a lot of time left, John. The government is comin’ down on us fast.” She shifted closer to him, likely seeking the warmth that he brought. The skin of her bare arms was cool to the touch. “I don’t want Jack to be made an orphan.” She added softly, shaking her head as if willing the thought away. 

“He won’t be, Abigail. We ain’t lettin’ anythin’ happen to that boy.” He left the word again unsaid. Because he’d failed almost as spectacularly as his own father, only realizing how much he’d cared for Jack after the boy was (briefly) kidnapped. Though he hadn’t been harmed, those few days will haunt John for the rest of his life.

“Micah… that— that slime, that scum.” Abigail started, her voice trembling with anger. “He’s been… talkin’ to Jack. Sayin’ odd things, tellin’ him he’d take him fishing. I told the boy t’stay away from him, but if that scum does anything to Jack, I…” 

“He won’t, Abigail. I won’t let him, long as I live.” 

“I almost lost you once, John Marston. Weren’t for Arthur, you’d be six feet under by now.” She retorted. She sighed and turned to face him, her features softening. She was quiet for a moment, brow knit as her hand went to his scarred cheek. It was rare for her to touch him; rarer for her to initiate it, so he simply stayed still. “I can’t lose you for real this time,” 

The air around them stilled, no sounds to be heard except their own synchronized breathing and the far-off hooting of a distant owl. 

The forest was eerily beautiful at this time of night. 

“You ain’t gotta worry about that.”

“I mean it, John. You’re my… I…” she was interrupted by disruptive yelling coming from camp — a common occurrence as of late. 

“I should go see what that is,” he stated, partially because with every passing day, he wondered if some sort of Mexican standoff was bound to erupt. 

She slipped her hand in his, another unexpected move. “I’ll go with you,”

He gave her hand a little squeeze. This was different, too. Rarely did they hold hands, or have much physical contact in general, really. Abigail had never been a physical type of person, and John simply didn’t have opportunities to seek it out. 

It was nice, having her close.

“—How nice of you to join us, John! I’m sure he’ll give us his wise input now!” Micah spat, circling the campfire like a predator stalking its prey. He had a smug expression on his face. Meanwhile, Bill, Javier, Joe, and Cleet were eyeing the couple dangerously.

“The hell’s goin’ on?” John asked, trying to channel in that intimidating energy that Arthur usually had. 

“We was jus’ havin’ a lively conversation, Scarface. ‘S all.” Micah chuckled, shaking his head. He had his arms outstretched affably. “Why don’t you and your… well, we’ll call her a lady — I suppose that’s the polite term, sit down by the fire with us?” Micah’s little comment earned raucous laughter from Bill and more sensible laughter from Cleet and Joe. Javier, meanwhile, was staring at the fire, expression hard to read.

“Watch what you say about my wife,” He’s not sure why exactly he called her his wife, but it felt right. Maybe in a different life, they’d be married for real. 

Neither of them had ever really cared about marriage; despite that, they were generally viewed as a married couple, even if neither of them had ever confirmed it aloud.

Still, wife had an extra oomph to it that seemed to get his point across well. Abigail seemed a bit surprised by his statement but said nothing to dispute it.

“Oh! Suddenly she’s your wife now. Marston’s gone soft, ain’t it?” Micah taunted.

Bill — the fucking idiot he was — was still laughing obnoxiously. “I get it! Cause he wifed up a whore!”

Whatever John was about to retort died on his tongue with the interruption of Arthur. His hands were on his hips, making him seem a little bigger and a little less sickly. “The hell you boys screamin’ for? It’s three in the damn morning. You tryin’ to wake the whole goddamn camp?” His words were punctuated with a particularly wet-sounding cough. Abigail looked at John worriedly. 

Micah smirked. “You’re right, Blacklung. You need your beauty rest. Maybe we should turn in for the night, huh, boys?” he asked tauntingly. 

Arthur coughed yet again, the action wracking his degraded frame. “Shut the—“ Another cough. “—hell up. Don’t disturb the entire camp with your nonsense.”

“Easy now, cowpoke. Don’t exert yourself yellin’ at little ol’ me. We’re quieting down, ain’t we, fellers?” In response, Micah earned some unenthusiastic, mumbled replies. 

John swallowed hard. He wanted to do nothing more than curl up next to Abigail, pull her close, wrap himself around her until morning arrived. 

But that would have to wait until later.

With one last disdainful glare at Micah, Arthur turned his heel and headed back towards his tent, sighing angrily.

“I need to say something to Arthur,” John said in a hushed tone. He left details unsaid, knowing there were prying ears nearby. 

Her eyes lit up with understanding. She nodded. “Night,” Abigail whispered. Her fingertips ghosted over his skin one last time.

“Night,” he replied, leaning down to brush a kiss against her forehead. It was yet another uncommon gesture for him; hell, he half expected Abigail to dodge it.

But she didn’t. Instead, she gave him an unreadable expression before walking off.

He made sure she got back to his tent before walking off the trees behind Arthur’s lean-to, where he knew the elder man would be.

“I’m fine,” Arthur spoke before John even had a chance to open his mouth. He flicked his cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with his boot. 

“Don’t lie. You look terrible, Arthur.” He leaned against the tree next to him. “…I hate seein’ you like this.”

Silence greeted that comment. He hated that Arthur refused to tell him what was wrong with him beyond his vague answer of being sick (and even that had taken much poking and prodding). Hated that Arthur wouldn’t allow anyone else to help him. 

It hurt, watching him suffer. It made John feel helpless, useless, angry. All those emotions swirled together in his gut, churning with each other

When Arthur finally broke the silence, he sounded exhausted. “I’m gonna make sure you get outta here. That’s what I’m worried about.” 

His voice cracked, and John hated that, too. 

John glanced at Arthur, whose shoulders heaved, fighting a coughing fit.

Yet another silence grew between them, broken only by the chirping of crickets.  The moonlight shone softly, casting shadows onto Arthur’s weary figure. 

“Listen. If somethin’ happens, I know a safe place.” Arthur said carefully. He put his hand on John’s shoulder, a once-familiar gesture. When they had grown apart following his year of absence, that brotherly familiarity had stopped. 

The distance and resentment that had grown between the two had only been an insult to injury following John’s return. 

But while Arthur had merely been cold to him, Dutch’s welcome was… different.

“John, son, can I talk to you for a moment?” Dutch had asked, his voice sounding as jubilant as ever. Without waiting for a reply, he had wrapped an arm around John’s shoulder, bringing the younger man uncomfortably close as he led him away from the campfire.  

“Listen, Dutch, I’m sorr—” 

Dutch’s eyes darkened. “I know you are, boy.” any trace of geniality in the elder man’s voice was gone. “Don’t you ever dare to do that to me again.” his grip had turned into iron; it was a warning sign. 

“I won’t, I pr—”  

“I mean it, John. I won’t put up with it.” 

And for the first time in his life, John had truly feared Dutch for a moment.  

The cold look in Dutch’s eyes was gone within a flash. He gave John a winning smile, smoothing the latter’s vest where it had wrinkled under his grip. “Now. Shall we get back to the celebration? We’ve all missed you so much.” 

John swallowed past the lump in his throat. God, he needed a cigarette. He let himself slide down, union suit briefly catching and snagging on the rough bark. The ground was cold and likely a little muddy beneath him, but he found himself not quite caring. “Where’s the safe place?”

“Copperhead Landing, northeast of the marsh. It ain’t much— just a dilapidated shack, but ain’t nobody goes out there. If things go south sometime soon, I’ll meet you there, you hear?”

“Okay,” John whispered, his mind going a mile a minute.  

Arthur coughed yet again, the action making his whole body shake. 

(Every time Arthur coughed, John felt his sense of dread increase a little more.)

“When the time comes, John…” Arthur started, then trailed off as yet another coughing fit started.

“I know,” he responded, barely audible over the former’s coughs. He felt as though he was hardly absorbing the information, too many thoughts concurrently buzzing in his head.

How was he supposed to do this? It was clearly time to get out, but he didn’t know how or what to do on his own. He had to provide for Abigail and Jack and keep them safe and alive and out of danger and what if Dutch came to find them, would he have to kill Dutch to save his family? Would Dutch try to kill them? — 

A cigarette was what he needed. It’d clear his mind. The more the thought lingered, the more he craved the sweet relaxation it would give him. 

He patted his pockets down anxiously, the rhythmic, repeating motion quickening with every second. Where the fuck were they? He just had them in his jeans pocket earlier. 

Arthur was coughing again, the sound echoing in his head like a ticking time bomb — because Arthur was, frankly, a ticking time bomb.  God, where the fuck were his cigarettes? They weren’t in his pockets. 

“Do you have— have a— a smoke? I need, fuck, I just—” He was still palming uselessly at his jeans pockets because he needed a fucking smoke and he didn’t have one and why didn't he have one yet?

Whatever Arthur might’ve responded with went unheard because John couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears and his own layered, panicked thoughts.

Time was running out, the law was getting closer, and every minute he spent in this Hell-on-Earth, their so-called camp was just a stinging reminder to John that his family, Abigail and Arthur and Jack and Tilly and Grimshaw and everyone else was all going to die and it would be entirely his fault. 

He needed a fucking cigarette.

Hosea had already died. Lenny and Mac and Davey and Jenny and Sean and Kieran—

“John,” Arthur said firmly, shaking him on the shoulder and saving him from drowning amongst the sea of his own terrible thoughts. He was holding a pack of cigarettes in his free hand. John grabbed them like a lifeline, relief already flooding his veins just at the sight.

He exhaled (and his head spun— had he been holding his breath by accident?). “You, uh— you got a match?”

Said matches were tossed on the ground in front of John, falling with a thwap. His hands scrambled to grab them. 

“You alright?” Arthur asked uneasily, the effect compounded by his voice tinged with illness. They mostly didn’t talk about when John would get like this, because it was just easier to not.

There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about.

John’s hands shook as he tried to light the match once, twice, three times. “I’m fine,” he said with the unlit cigarette between his lips. Finally, the match lit.

“You ain’t,” 

“...I ain’t,” John agreed. He took that first inhale of his cigarette, a slow, easy drag. It felt like heaven. “But neither are you,”

 Arthur said nothing in reply.

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #8: Tape IV (Killswitch)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, vivisection, blood/gore, organ stuff, mention of body weight/starvation

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Another benefit of the freezer would be its numbing properties. Ether wasn’t cheap to come by, and neither was chloroform. Giving him another concussion was risky. Heather didn’t know the long-term effects of all these injuries. She would rather not put Jackie in a coma, even if he was a petulant little prick. 

Besides, she was curious. How long before his body gave way? Would it ever? How much could she remove before it proved fatal? Was there a limit to his pain? Was there any mechanism hidden in that biology to numb him, something like a killswitch in his nerves? Or would he feel it all indefinitely? Like a perpetual motion machine, sustained by his own kinetic energy. An automaton of infinite force, a system that would never stop. 

And, all these reasons aside, there was one glaring benefit. If nothing else, the pain would teach him a lesson. Teach him to think before he acted.

She wondered what he thought about all this. If Heather was immortal, she’d be thrilled. Then again, Heather was not being held captive as someone else’s guinea pig. Perhaps he didn’t find any of this as fascinating as she did. Not that she was going to ask him, of course. That information was irrelevant. Nothing but a distraction.

 “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” She tore the blanket off him and let it fall to the ground. “It’s a new day and we don’t have any time to waste. Get up.”

He suppressed a yawn. “Hello.” His eyelashes were coated in frost, she noticed. So were his lips, and the joints of his hands. The curls and coils in his hair had gone stiff.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine.” The corners of his mouth tilted in what could almost be called a smile. “How are you?”

“We have no time for such pleasantries.” The recorder clicked to life. “Tape four, I think. Jackie over here has been in a deep freezer for well over seven hours. How do you feel, Jackie?”

“Oh, I’m okay. Cold, I guess. Thanks for the blanket, by the way.” 

She ignored that last comment. “Subject has not gone unconscious, evidently. Meaning he is immune to asphyxiation and hypothermia. How many fingers am I holding up, Jackie?” 

He studied her hands. “Five?”

“Great. And how would you rate your pain, on a scale of one to ten? One being nothing at all, ten being unbearable agony.”

“Like, a four? Everything sort of hurts.” He laughed softly. “Sleeping helped.” 

“Yes, rest is important. I expect you to take care of your basic needs. I won’t have a test subject who’s too tired to be coherent. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sat up in the freezer, letting one hand rest on the ledge. “Can I get out of here, then?”

“Not yet. Just wait a few minutes.”

Keeping him calm would be crucial. Keeping him from moving, or lashing out. Or panicking. Something like this would be distressing, for sure. Heather had considered giving up, but she was not a coward. She wasn’t afraid of a little blood. Jackie would be fine. If he was upset, he’d get over it. If he was angry, he could wallow in his own rage. That was fine with her. It would be fine. Better to rip the bandage off now.

“Jackie.” She leaned in a little. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it?” His brows furrowed slightly. The corners of his mouth went tense, less of a smile and more the start of a frown.

“Relax. Don’t look so worried.” She cupped his face in her hands. His eyes went wide at the sudden motion. “Jackie, I need you to look at me. Can you do that? No,” she said as his gaze flicked behind her. “Look at me. Don’t look down.”

“Okay? Why?” He held her gaze, though there was a degree of uneasiness in the depth of his pupils, the way they seemed to tremble. 

“That doesn’t matter.” She let go of his face. “Lay down."

He shifted, though she could tell he was reluctant. Ice crackled beneath his weight. Though his legs did not fit comfortably in the freezer, his torso lay flat. One hand was placed on the freezer ledge, and the other was curved up against the polystyrene wall.

"Thank you," Heather said. "Take off your shirt, please."

“Shirt? What?” 

“Well, I suppose you can keep it on. I’ll clean it off later.” She retrieved two zip-ties from her pocket. Heavy-duty zip-ties, the hardware employee had assured. Thick, made of rigid plastic, difficult to break. 

A couple hours earlier, she had secured two hooks on the outside rims of the freezer. Restraints were necessary for certain procedures—even under anesthetics, the sudden reflexes of an injured body could interfere with a surgeon’s work. Restraints were necessary for a patient’s safety. And the hooks were low enough to be comfortable. They stuck out only a few inches above his shoulders. That would, at the very least, be a comfort.

“This is just to ensure you won’t move,” she said. “It’s distracting, you know, if you start moving around. That’s all.” She began securing his wrists as she spoke, pulling the plastic straps up, ensuring that nothing could slip out. Jackie regarded these motions with an expression that was decidedly not calm, but he remained silent. 

“There you go.” She finished the second zip-tie up and brushed her hands off. “How are your wrists? Is the plastic too rough?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” Heather began pulling on her rubber gloves. She had brought in another table earlier, longer and made of plastic, where she’d arranged her tools. The scalpel, the pair of scissors, the bone saw, the many jars, her pistol—one never knew when things would go sideways—and a variety of forceps and clamps. “Close your eyes if you need to. Oh, and try not to make too much noise. I’ll be done in a moment.”

“What are you—” He attempted to look over her shoulder. 

Heather tilted his head back towards her, clasping his jaw gently in her hand. “Stop asking questions.”

He asked nothing else, if only because she refused to answer. With the scalpel held behind her back, she lifted his shirt. The fabric bunched just above his collarbones. His chest was now visible. The scars above his heart had completely disappeared after the fire, like nothing more than a line drawn in the sand. She observed the steady movements of his lungs beneath the skin and bones, with as much clinical detachment as she could muster. He really needed to eat more. Another week of hunger and his ribs would be visible through the skin. 

She brought the scalpel to his chest. He tensed beneath the blade. As she dragged it through his skin, he gasped. She opened him up all the way from the start of the collarbone to the section of skin above the hips, in a double-sided Y pattern. 

It wasn’t all too different from dissecting a frog or cat. She had also worked on human cadavers before, in her university years. It never failed to amaze her how similar all bodies were. Those organic structures were an endless source of fascination. All people, whatever their worth or power or beauty, could be reduced to nothing more than blood and bones with only a blade and a couple of well-placed cuts.

Jackie’s insides were normal. A few pulls of the scalpel later, she could see all the central organs laid out before her. Blood glittered between the tissues, glazing every surface. Stomach, lungs, liver, intestines… nothing out of the ordinary. His heart was beating abnormally fast, however. Wrought with spasms, possessed by a waterfalling panic. His lungs, too, worked quickly. A beautiful system of muscles and tissues and blood. Nothing was damaged or mutated. Nothing indicated the source of his immortality.

“Subject is biologically typical,” Heather informed the recorder. “No abnormalities, as far as I can see. I’ll start dissecting the organs and go from there, I think.”

His head tilted to one side, so that it rested on the ice. “Heather.”

“Shh.” She placed a hand on his cheek, without looking up, before realizing that her gloves were smudged with blood. A line of red painted his face. “Oh. Sorry about that. Everything is okay. Calm down.”

“Heather,” he repeated, a little more insistently. His voice was low, barely louder than a whisper, and heavy with emotion. “Stop.”

His nails were digging into his palms. An anchor to keep him steady. His knuckles were going pale from holding on. His eyes had glassed over. His pupils went out of focus. His lips were trembling, with all the delicate subtlety of a butterfly crawling out of its chrysalis. His arm shifted, as if to fight the restraints, but he could only shudder and sink further into the ice.

“Don’t move,” she warned. “Don’t even try. Not while I’m working. Your insides will fall out, and that won’t be pleasant for either of us. And stay quiet. I'll gag you if I have to.”

His gaze was fixed on her, but he ventured a single glance down—this did nothing to calm him. His breathing came in short, shallow bursts. 

Heather grasped his jaw much harder this time, forcing his head up. “I told you to look at me. Don’t move again. Don't think about it.” 

She let go. With the bone saw she broke a few ribs open—he flinched hard, jerked his wrists against the zip-ties—then she dug the scalpel into an exposed artery. With a hand to stem the blood flow, she sawed it off from the body. Much to her surprise, the tissue was healing faster now. Within seconds, the artery grew back, sewing the gap shut. His body was learning, it seemed. Or it was trying to keep him conscious.

After three more attempts, she ceased her sawing and moved on to removing the liver. The organ was of regular color and size, being large and reddish-brown. It was cut out with comparative ease. 

Jackie swallowed. “Is that mine?” 

“Let me check the label.” She laughed at her own joke. “Aren’t you something special? How are you doing any of this?”

He shivered. He was no longer looking right at Heather, but in fact someplace behind her. He didn’t seem to be listening anymore.

“I’m not done yet,” she said. “Hang on. Give me five more minutes.” 

Heather moved on to his intestines. First, she had to reopen his skin—compared to the heart, it healed extremely slowly, but it still healed. Then, using the scissors, she cut the small intestines away from the ligaments holding them together. She lifted them out of the body. 

“Fascinating.” She inspected the organ in the light, tilting it this way and that. “Does this hurt?”

He nodded fervently. 

“Are you sorry?”

He waited a second too long to answer. She crushed the intestines in her fist.

He was pierced by a shuddering gasp. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please, stop. Don’t.” The muscles in his shoulders tensed up, as she let go of the organ. “Please, don’t do that again.”

“It looks like you’ve finally learned some manners. Remember this feeling, Jackie. I want you to remember this the next time you even think of escaping.”

“I—” Another deep gasp, a longer one. Tears glistened in his eyes. He coughed. He coughed again, harder, a sound that would leave his throat sore. Blood dripped from his lips. “Ow.”

“Well, you can still speak, so it can’t hurt that much.” She wiped the blood off his mouth with a gloved finger. “I’ll finish up in a few more minutes. I’d like to take a souvenir or two, first.”

"A souvenir.”  His breath hitched. “Like this is the fucking Eiffel t—tower." 

She pressed her nails down, watched him squirm. "You're not being very polite, Jackie."

"I’m sorry. St—stop.  I'm sorry.”

Heather was fascinated by his compliance. She could do anything to him now. She had power over him. He could beg all he wanted, but she didn’t have to stop. She…

…felt a slight twinge of pity. He was obviously upset. Close to a panic attack, if he wasn’t already there. Who wouldn't be? Heather couldn't blame him for trying to escape, or for acting a little rude. She didn’t like it, of course, but it was to be expected. He’d been torn out of his old life like nothing more than a flower from the earth. It would take some time to get used to this, no matter how kind Heather was. She was a reasonable person. All things considered, she was actually a nice person. And he was so helpless, so fragile beneath the cold metal of her instruments, that she felt something close to sympathy. 

“Okay.” She put the intestines back in his body, eliciting yet another soft gasp. “Close your eyes, Jack.”

She retrieved an injection from the table, filling it with the anesthetic drug. Once she had measured the correct amount, she pressed the needle into the base of his neck. He did not struggle—he knew not to, or he had lost too much blood to care. His eyes lowered, then closed. He fell unconscious some time after. His body relaxed, and his head slumped over the edge of the freezer. Those fleeting, shallow breaths began to slow. 

“Well." Heather turned to the recorder with a slightly embarrassed smile, even though she was alone. "That was… that was definitely...”

After a moment of deliberation, she put the injection away and returned to her subject. “Subject’s pain receptors function as normal. Immortality doesn’t account for that. Good to know, I suppose.” She severed the small intestine entirely from his body, then placed it on a sheet of wax paper.

 “There’s one thing I’ve noticed,” Heather continued as she worked the scalpel. “Certain tissues heal slower than others. My hypothesis is that the vital organs, like the heart, take priority over the less essential ones. It takes a toll on the body, I assume. Making all those new parts. Skin and hair heals the slowest. That’s only an educated guess, however. I’ll need to run a few more tests before I’m certain.” 

She cut a section from his large intestine. “I’ve not the slightest clue how or why this is happening. Perhaps a biopsy will reveal something…“ She placed the section in an open jar. “I’d love to examine his skeletal structure. His muscles, as well. All of him, really.”

By the time she was done, all the jars had been filled with Jackie’s organs and tissues. Some of the smaller jars held his blood. She had managed to remove a section of his ribs as well, though it had taken a significant amount of force to saw off. In the end, she had quite the collection. The only problem would be fitting it all in her spare freezer. She could dispose of some of the parakeet hearts and dog brains, Heather supposed. This was much more important. 

This changed things.

[yippeesizedifgohard]

The Date (oneshot)

HI. this is my first writing, i hope the g/t community on here likes it

-----

Sal was not a confident person, they would count themself as far more anxious, in fact. It didn’t help that sometimes they felt as though they had a phobia of Lobians - a newly befriended species that just so happened to be huge. Sal hadn’t even graduated college yet, they were an intern at a company to pay the bills, but they didn’t care much for the work. It would look good on a resume, and that was all that mattered. Lobians were frequent in the office - well not in the office but near it - but Sal never had to talk to them. It wasn’t until they met another paid intern that they first spoke to a Lobian.

“Hi,” he said, a small wave of a hand that could cover Sal like a weighted blanket, “you’re Sal, right?” They looked up from the forms they had been filling out and took a minute just to give him a light nod. “I’m new here - only been working for a few months actually - and my boss told me you’d be the best person to talk to about how to use the copier.” 

“Well, I-I don’t know if you’ll be able to use it,” they began, then realized that if they made this giant angry it could be over for them. “B-but, um, I can copy some things for you, i-if you need.” Sal tapped the papers on the table once, then set them down and stood. The Lobian offered another kind smile and scratched the back of his neck.

“Thank you so much,” he stated, reaching his hand out. Sal flinched and prayed he didn’t notice. He unfurled his fingers - about the size of Sal themself - and in his palm sat a piece of paper, a little wrinkled and wet from the sweat of his palm. Sal offered a nervous smile. 

Little did they know that would be the first of many interactions. Sal eventually learned the Lobians name - it was Ezra. Sal also learned a few other things about Ezra. He was talkative, friendly (at least on the outside), and oblivious as hell. He was denser than a rock. At least Sal knew he’d never get angry over their little flinches or the times Ezra would laugh and Sal would shake for a few moments after that. Still, Ezra scared them, and Sal knew deep down that there was something off about him. Nobody was that happy. 

There was one time, of course, when he slipped that facade. Watching when a man who was several stories tall yells at someone? It’s an experience you don’t forget. It didn’t help that the incident practically confirmed office rumors. People had already begun to claim that Ezra had been violent in the past, that he had anger issues and had only gotten the job because he had intimidated the boss. After the incident, the rumors furthered in severity. The secretary, Jenni, had looked his name up on the internet one time, and an article popped up. Allegedly, when he was sixteen, he had been caught trying to french a human, and then that human was found dead a few days later. Unrelated, the article had said. But Sal didn’t believe it.

“Sal? I had a request, if you aren’t busy.” He poked his head through the balcony window. Sal spun around in their chair, trembling lightly. How could someone so big sneak up on people like that? 

“You, um, you have the floor Ezra.” They noted, sitting on their hands so that they would stop shaking. 

“Would you like to get lunch together?” He asked, his cheeks lightly dusted with red. No. Sal thought. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. They panicked silently with their eyes open and a soft smile on their face. He couldn’t be serious. There was no fucking way. Either way, Sal could not have a choice in the matter. They had seen what happened if Ezra wanted his way - he got it, always.

“Okay,” they practically breathed out the response, their muscles tensing. They flinched when his hand laid down on the balcony. 

“Well, lunch break starts in a couple minutes, you wanna go now?” Sal stared at the hand. They couldn’t take too long in their response, or Ezra might get mad. But even if they said yes, would it be safe to go with him? If he had an unstable past, it surely wasn’t. But, if he had an unstable past, what was stopping him from doing whatever he wanted? So Sal got up from the chair, trembling of course, and sat in his hand. They tried not to look at his face as he blushed again.

Ezra had talked their ear off the whole way there, but Sal hadn’t been listening. They were preoccupied with the fact that they were now on a date with a guy they didn’t like who might’ve had a track record of hurting human partners. They trembled in his hand the whole way to the cushy restaurant, and felt even worse when the giant hostess made a face at them when they walked in. She seated them swiftly, but gave a knowing look to Sal. They’d gotten it before. It was one that meant ‘if you need out of here, just let me know.’ 

“So, I’ve probably bored you with all the nerdy work stuff, what do you want to do outside of filing papers all day?” Ezra asked, still oblivious to Sal’s discomfort. They fiddled with their fingers in their lap.

“I-I’m studying to be a psychologist right now, but, um, I don’t know if that’s what I’m going to go with yet.” They said, using the menu as a shield to hide behind. Ezra looked at his own menu, but continued the conversation.

“That’s really cool, Sal!” He noted loudly, though he changed the subject with a laugh. His laughter was always so unrestrained and loud, but now it felt mocking, which only added to Sal’s discomfort. He smiled playfully, “I know just what you should get. The fish and chips! Ha, I still remember when you told Jenni about how much you hated fish.” Sal’s toes curled inside their shoes and they desperately tried to make themself look smaller. How had he even known about that conversation? He wasn’t even a part of it? Had he just been listening to everything they said? When the waiter finally came, Ezra ordered himself a chicken parmesan sandwich. 

Sal ordered fish and chips. 

“Hey, you know I was just joking, right? You-you didn’t have to order the fish and chips.” Ezra suddenly got quiet and lower to the table. Closer to eye level. His face changed, and for a minute Sal’s brain lied to them about what it meant. It was by no means an angry face, but the sudden shift in Ezra’s mood made them more twitchy. Sal kept quiet, their eyes keeping away from him like the way he looked was poison. “Sal? Are…you okay?” Sal’s gaze snapped up to meet him and they nodded quickly. It was then Ezra caught on. “Oh. Oh no. Not again.” He gasped lightly and sat back up again. Sal tensed and he noticed. “I-I. Sal, you aren’t…no. No. I didn’t- I’m sorry.” He stood up from the table. “I-I’m going to the restroom.” Sal was left alone at the table.

~

He’d done it again. This happened so many times. Ezra would meet someone, mistaken their complacence was kindness, and then think they were way closer than they were. He looked at himself in the mirror of the bathroom, desperately messing with his hair.

“Oh god, no. I-I didn’t mean to-.” He didn’t know how to deal with it, so he just cried. He slumped onto the sinks and cried. Soon enough, someone came to check on him. 

“Hey man, you okay?” It was the waiter that was waiting his table. He looked up at him and sniffled.

“I-I did it again. I th-thought- I didn’t know.” The waiter just looked at him, confused.

“Your date sent me, by the way.” He added, washing his hands. “You might wanna head back out there.” Ezra splashed some water on his face, took in a deep breath, and let out a ragged exhale. When he got back to the table, the food had arrived, but he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Listen, Sal, I am so sorry. I-I thought we were friends, and I didn’t know that you were…” he trailed off, his eyes refreshing with tears again. He slumped on the table, not wanting to look at the little face he had admired. There was a soft touch on his forehead and his head slowly moved up. Sal was standing right in front of his face, shaking, but there.

“N-No. I-I’m sorry, Ezra. I-I should’ve…” It was then he took in their nervous body language and recognised it as the language that had been there the whole time. That first day with the copier, he knew they were nervous then, but he assumed they had never talked to one of his kind before.

“Sal, I-I’m going to quit.” He said quickly and quietly. “I-I’m so sorry I didn’t notice before- oh god, I-I’m so sorry.” Ezra cried softly, mindful of how close Sal was to him. 

“No, no, y-you don't have to do that, i-its okay, really.” Sal tried to assure him, though they were shaking and stuttering. Ezra sighed into the table.

“I…is everyone there afraid of me too?” He asked softly, terrified of the answer.

“Well I-I know Mr. P isn't,” they offered.

“That's the boss, he doesn't count.” Ezra frowned. “I-I’m so sorry. It wasn't supposed to go like this again.” Sal gave him a confused look. “This isn't the first time I fell in love with someone who was afraid of me.” He commented, not really wanting to speak on it further.

“I-Is that what that article was about?” Sal asked themself quietly, probably trying to make it so Ezra couldn't hear them. But he did.

“What article?” He began to sit up. Sal flinched and he clenched his aching fingers.

“Jenni showed us an article, um, about…you.” Sal said, legs shaking. Ezra inhaled sharply.

“Oh. Wh-what was it about, anyway?” He had a hunch, but he needed to hear it from someone else just in case it wasn't what he thought. Sal took a deep breath and backed away, like they were afraid he was going to lash out. His stomach sank, knowing that fear was actually reasonable. He had freaked out at the boss a few weeks ago.

He was interning in HR, and somebody had voiced a complaint about him. Instead of doing the reasonable thing and saving his frustration for later like he typically did in the presence of humans, he expressed his frustration to his boss. Loudly. For a minute he forgot the office was made almost entirely out of windows and he yelled about it. Mr. Picker had told him softly that he could have the rest of the day off, and so Ezra left early that day.

“Um,” Sal's voice brought his attention out of his thoughts. “It was about something that happened when you were sixteen. I-It involved a human who later died and, um, yeah.” Ezra covered his eyes with his hands and began to cry again. “Ezra? I-I’m sorry.”

He was sixteen and in love with a human boy at his school. By now the two had begun dating, and Ezra had thought things were going well, at least, until the police burst in when they were getting very passionate. It turned out that Ezra's boyfriend hadn't been in love with him, in fact he was afraid of him. A few days later, his ex was found dead and he was taken to court over it. It was the most stressful time in his life, and he became more angry as a result. He was tired and scared.

“No, no, i-its partly true. I-I had done what I did to you, b-but it went further than it should have. B-but I didn't kill him.” He said, not looking at Sal at all. There were a few moments of silence between them as he cried. “I-I’m so sorry, it makes sense why you're all so afraid.”

“I'm sorry I judged you so quickly. That was wrong of me.” Sal commented, not able to look at Ezra. “Let's just go back to the office.” Ezra wiped his face.

“I shouldn't carry you right now. I'm sorry.” He said, sniffling. “I shouldn't have taken you out. I should have known better.” His head was laid in his arms and he kept his gaze away from Sal.

“Focusing on the should’ves doesn't help.” Sal said automatically, but then Ezra looked at them and they flinched. “I-I mean from a psychological standpoint.” Ezra laughed breathily.

“I know,” he wiped his eyes, “it's just really easy to.” The pair sat there in silence for a few minutes. “Thank you for not, I don't know, running away or screaming or hiding from me.” Sal gave him an honest soft smile.

“It's the least I could've done.”

Eventually, the two of them made it back to the office and were called in by Mr. Picker. Ezra was fully ready to take the fall, but Sal surprised him when they told their boss about all the ways Ezra was doing well at his job. He almost cried for the third time that day when Sal said they would stake their career on him. He would get to work there, but Mr. Picker was changing his job to be a delivery boy between employees to help prevent the collective fear due to ignorance.

[kelp-my-beloved]

It had been a month since The World And The Fabric Of Reality was saved, with no casualties mind you, and False the Hermit was still thinking about her doppelganger, laying in her bed in the Hermit Empire unable to sleep.

That might have more to do with having Grian snoring in the bed next to hers than any introspection, but it’s not like she could just get up and leave, right?

Some… measurements had been taken since the whole Everybody Almost Died thing. After all, everybody knew that the first rule when dealing with Your Self That Isn’t Really Yourself was get yourself as many worlds away as possible, but since the Rift still refused to work that wasn’t an option. And if you added the fact that they were both apparently very, very prone to murder since they were together, well.

Both sides of the server had decided to give them nannies.

Yeah.

It was more like having a parole officer following you 24/7 than a babysitter, but the hermits and a few emperors had complained about the term.

Neither False did, surprisingly, but understandably their opinion had little weight in that meeting.

Grian was still snoring. False felt the rest of her sanity crumble to dust.

She threw her blankets away with a groan. Unsurprisingly, her bedroom partner did not even stir.

False was going to take her chance, consequences damned. Her hairs were falling from the stress of not having a second alone since they had all almost died, and while she had appreciated the company at the beginning, and loved her friends very much, she can’t do it any longer.

Not when she had a perfect, secret place with a very comfortable bed far, far away from everybody.

Well, almost everybody.

It didn’t matter. She was just leaving for the night, and would be back and around before the sun rose. Before anyone noticed! Nobody had to know.

If it wasn’t so convenient for her, False would feel both worried and offended that none of the Hermits woke up. Not even when she lighted the rocket and took off to Cogsmead.

Her tower was in the same state she had left it so long ago, complete with the Conspiracy Board and all. It had once filled her with pride, how attentive she had been to every single detail, but now she could barely stand to look at it. She had gone a little overboard with it, pun not intended, hadn’t she?

She threw her jacket over it. When she woke up, she would make sure to throw it out, before sneaking back into her room.

Finally, finally, she fell into her white bed, and let the silence lull her to sleep.

A ball of paper was thrown at her face.

‘Open the door, bitch’

False let herself groan once again, until she realized she had made very sure none of the hermits followed her, and there was only one person who couldn’t physically knock the door or fence or window, and was too shy to just shout at her. That revelation made her sit up with the speed of lighting.

“I don’t know if you can get inside without frying up” she warned False. “I… didn’t really put the electric field, and I don’t know how it works”

The Emperor of Cogsmead didn’t seem too worried about that, and her outfit made The Hermit rethink her decision of opening that door. She looked like she was headed to war, a sword in one hand and a charged crossword on the other, and with a full netherine armor that reflected the light with the subtle shine of enchantments. False was reminded of a starving, desperate wolf she had once cornered in a forest, and decided that the air was too tense for her liking. “Hey, False, long time no see,” she tried, with her best attempt at a smile.

Her doppelganger did not seem to fall for it, and instead rose her sword to her chin, mindful not to cross the line between inside and outside her tower. “What are you doing here?”

Right. A perfectly understandable reaction, considering. Everything.

“I’m not here to cause any problems,” she told her, raising her arms. “I just couldn’t sleep over the Hermit’s base, and this was the only place that came to my mind”

The Other False squinted at her, but lowered her sword. She didn’t save it in her inventory, though. “Aren’t you supposed to have someone watching over you?” she asked.

Ah. “I mean, yeah, but Grian was snoring like crazy… Don’t you?” she asked back.

What were you doing at the devil’s sacrament? A voice whispered in her mind, with no explanation. False shook it off.

That startled her, apparently not expecting the question to be thrown back at her. “I didn’t want to wake Pix up,” she muttered under her breath, cheeks and ears heating up.

False The Rifty was about to say something, when the name caught up to her. “Wait, wasn’t Pix-?”

“The guy I murdered? Yeah…” she finished for her, scratching her neck with the hand still holding the loaded crossbow. “Wait, isn’t Grian-?”

“The guy who loves to prank people and thus nobody is able to sleep while near him? Yeah” And that was definitely the reason why she hadn’t been able to close an eye, sure.

Much to her astonishment, False put her crossbow in her inventory. “Well, I can empathize with that” she said, in a tone of voice that let her know that she wasn’t a stranger to paranoia.

Which. Once again, understandable.

“I…” What were you supposed to say to your doppelganger whom you had called evil and spied on for weeks, but that on your defense was killing people and making them forget about it? “How have you been?”

The Cogsmead False took a step back, and then another. Hermit False could see the hand with a sword tremble in what was likely her containing herself from raising it. “We don’t have to do this,” she told her, voice full of suspicion.

False heart broke a little bit. Just a small crack. Because she was kind of responsible for how skittish False was being, wasn’t she? She had been stalking her for a while, gaslighting her into thinking she had built a whole tower without her knowing. Not to mention all the ‘she’s evil’ thing.

She rose her hands to the air. “I’m not planning anything,” she tried to reassure her. “It’s just, it’s been a while, and we started with the left foot. Maybe we can try to be friends?”

“I…” False blinked, lips pressed while thinking. “You really are me, aren’t you?” she murmured, with an uneasy expression in her face.

False’s first instinct was to reply with a sarcastic comment about her observation skills, but she then realized this was their first real interaction since… since Things Went Wrong. And it was the only time they had, given that everybody had made sure after it that they stayed as separated as possible.

Which was probably for a good reason. Everything she knew about doppelgangers told her that they were meant to go crazy, or kill each other, or something along those lines. Stakes weren’t good.

The point was, while the Hermit had known the Emperor for what felt like a lifetime now, the Emperor only knew her for like, a few weeks, and this was the second time she saw her. False understood the curiosity.

“I really am,” she replied. Then, taking a tentative step outside and leaning against the railing in the bridge. “Kind of crazy, isn’t it?” she smiled at her. “We could even swap places and I bet people wouldn’t notice”

While she did this, False watched her with a confused expression, until she finally relaxed and leaned against the railing too, if a few steps away. “Absolutely not. I’m not good with new people”. Or people in general, they both knew she didn’t add.

False wasn’t surprised. “That’s fine. I don’t think your people like me that much, either”

They stayed in silence for a while, until the sound of a door opening and a historian screaming interrupted them. False started to walk towards him, but stopping after a moment, remembering the foreigner in her bridge.

“So, I really need to go,” she told her doppelganger. Then, after a moment, and with a lot of hesitation: “You can stay the night, if you want. And, uh, come back. It’s your tower. But, also, if you want to come by- in secret, of course, uh. I wouldn’t mind seeing you, now and then. I could use your advise in building”. She finished with an anxious smile.

The emperor left before False had a chance to reply.

“Sure,” she told nobody.