#i have fucking depression and i manage to give more shits than them

[moonstruckme]

I recently found ur page and omfg I spent hours yesterday reading all ur work!!!! What a lil fic of Sirius and reader but like pre relationship where she's in the hospital (u can pick reason) and she refuses to see anyone and just asks for Sirius

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: hospital, mention of stitches

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

Sirius feels awkward and stiff as he pulls back the curtain, though for all he knows you’re too hopped up on pain meds to even know it’s him. Really, that’s the only reasonable explanation for the directions the nurse had just delivered: “She said she’ll only see Sirius right now.” 

He has no clue why you’d ask for him. He’s probably the least comforting of your roommates, and as soon as he catches sight of you, knees tented in front of your chest and hands clasped around your ankles, his worry for your choice deepens. 

Someone’s tried to clean you up, but they’ve done a shit job of it. There’s still blood crusted on your chin, and your face is blotchy, your cheeks smeared with dark gray like you’d wiped across them with your hands only to spread your makeup off to the sides. James had said you’d cried the whole car ride to A&E, but Sirius still wasn’t prepared to see you like this. His chest feels hollow and achy. 

“Hey,” you say, voice scratchy. If hearts have strings, you’re playing his like a fiddle. 

“Hey, doll.” He goes for a smile as he sits on the edge of your little cot, managing to sound halfway normal. “Come here often?” 

You start to grin, then stop like it hurts. Sirius stops, too. 

“Yeah, you know,” you say, “now and then.” 

“Don’t see why.” He makes a show of looking about him, at the papery blue curtain and beige-ish linoleum floors. “Place is sorta depressing.” 

You roll your eyes, and Sirius’ heart lightens to see you in a better humor. “Yeah, I think I’ve judged my hangout poorly. I’m dying to get out of here.” 

He’ll bet. You’ve been here hours longer than him. James had been the only one home with you when you’d tripped on the stairs and bitten through your lip, and Sirius and Remus had only found out when they’d gotten home and seen the note James left, his already scribbly handwriting worsened by haste and panic. By the time they’d arrived they’d missed most of the action (Sirius was secretly thankful for that) and James had filled them in before the nurse had come out to inform them that you’d gotten three stitches in your lip and summoned Sirius back. 

“I can understand that.” He gives you his best approximation of James’ easygoing grin. “You ready to go home then, gorgeous?” 

The shift is slight, but Sirius sees your bravado fade, a shyness entering your expression. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you,” you say.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to hide his curiosity. “Why’s that?” 

“Because I know you’ll be honest with me.” 

He feels his eyebrows go up. “About what, doll?” 

You shrink a bit, knees drawing closer to your chest. Your voice is small when you ask, “Is it awful? I mean, do I look awful?” 

Ah. Sirius can see why you’d want him for this, but you’re wrong in your assumption. He’d absolutely lie to you if he needed to, just like Remus or James would in his place. But you’ve asked for him, so Sirius tries to do right by you. 

“You could never look awful, dollface. Be sensible.” He squints his eyes teasingly, reaching for your ankle and giving it a reprimanding little shake. “It’s just a couple of stitches, you haven’t been warped unrecognizable.” 

You frown, and it’s even more upsetting than usual. Your eyes look heart-breakingly insecure. “Are you sure?” you ask softly. 

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” Sirius scoffs like you’re unbelievable. “You said it yourself, babe, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He definitely would, but there’ll never be an occasion for that. He can’t imagine you genuinely looking bad. “I can clean you up a bit, though, if you’d like.” 

You blink. “Um, yeah. If you think it would help.” 

“Brilliant. Sit tight.” Sirius gets up and starts going through drawers, sifting through medical supplies for something he can use. 

“Fairly sure you’re not supposed to do that.” You sound like you’re trying not to smile. 

“Fairly certain my taxes pay for this place, and they’ve left my best-looking roommate with a dirty face.” He finds a box of mini-wipes, turning back to you. “Don’t tell James I’ve said that.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely tattling on you,” you tease, and Sirius is caught between feeling triumphant and worried that you look very near to grinning. He has no clue how easy it is to tear your stitches. 

“What, you want us to match? That’s cruel, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes. “He won’t punch you.” 

Sirius huffs a laugh, holding you still with a hand on your jaw as he wipes gently at your chin. “You haven’t known him as long as I have.” 

Your brows flick up as you meet his eyes, disbelieving. “Our James? You really think our James would hit you for saying he’s not the best looking roommate?” 

“Well, not if you’re in front of me,” he muses. He throws out the first wipe, ripping open another. “He already feels bad for you, so maybe that can work in my favor. If you are going to tell him, lean on me as we walk out, okay, doll? Give me a fighting chance.” 

The corner of your lips twist as you close your eyes and Sirius wipes sideways across your cheek. “Yeah, fair enough. I’ll do my best for you.”

[jocelynships]

Ya know it’s not fair that most of my favorite people live so far away. I’m lucky Devin and I are super close but I wish my friends and sister lived closer to me and it sucks and I can’t stop crying bc it’s been such a shit day and I just want some comfort

[aurae-rori]

DR RATIO ANALYSIS: PART 2, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT.

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, you already did one, why do you need a second?" And my answer is, "LORD, I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT HOW HIS DEFINITION OF 'IDIOT' IS DIFFERENT. AND ALSO HE DOES NOT HATE AVENTURINE NOR DOES HE THINK AVENTURINE IS STUPID." Once again, here is my disclaimer - although I have been researching psychology for a solid six years, I am NOT a professional. (I will be, one day. Just you wait, just youuuu wait-) So understand that everything I say has been analyzed with personal judgement, with my own conclusions, come to with logic and my personal interpretation. This is just what I have concluded, and you are always free to disagree.

This is my legacy. To be an analyzer. So let's go.

Okay, now that my disclaimer is over, let's take off Ratio's plaster head and chuck it into the sea, and see - what does he mean by 'idiot'?

This will be much shorter than my last, so don't worry - I will not be flashbanging you with another 4k words. This is more like a follow up, than anything else, because there's a few things I wish to touch on.

Dr. Ratio doesn't hate idiots in the sense that he hates people that have 'low IQ' or are 'stupid' in terms of being 'slow to understand'. I definitely touched on this in my last analysis, but he hates people who take their education for granted and don't go places with the gifts that they've been given. He hates "idiots" - "narrow minded" people who have the capabilities to do more and perceive more than they choose to do. People who deliberately look away or take what they know and what they could do for granted. He wants to open people's eyes and allow them to see life from multiple different angles and he believes that everyone should have a chance to learn - with the whole "knowledge for everyone" thing he's got rolling.

He wears a plaster head around people he doesn't seem to know too well in order to think more, or so that he doesn't have to see the faces of the people he dislikes. Pretty good roast. However, he does NOT wear that plaster head around Aventurine. Let's listen to the doctor's judgement - Aventurine is far from stupid. Although he likes to chalk up a lot of the things he does to his own luck, he is an INCREDIBLY capable individual who's managed to get this far because of his own form of genius. He's a man who relies on chance and good fortune, yes, but his charm, his way of scheming, and the way that he's good with people? That's skill. A talent he doesn't take for granted. Dr. Ratio respects him for this - because despite the fact that he has no proper education, he has his eyes wide open to the world and doesn't take shit for granted. He learns what he can in order to survive and he does it fucking well - Aventurine is a very smart man. He's observant, quick on his feet, and great at going with the flow and thinking in the moment.

Aventio aside, I actually believe that Dr. Ratio would be a really good teacher to those who struggle. He's patient where it's needed to be, even if he's got a quick temper, and I believe in his pursuit for knowledge he would do his best to go out of his way to find strategies that would work for their individuals. We're all unique, and he's aware of this - and because he wants to allow people to think for themselves, whatever helps the individual works. Depression? He's got a psych degree, I'm sure bro could give you some strategies. Autism? He has a touch of the 'tism himself. ADHD, and not feeling organized? Bro will help you. It's canon that he's a great fucking teacher - those who finish his classes go on to become successful people who are intelligent and critical thinkers. Round of applause for Ratio, the man that kins my father. He's shit at emotions, but great at knowledge.

Also, on that note, I believe that he would most likely hate parents that push thier "gifted" students to the limit without any compassion for the person that they really are. He's most definitely got some of that academic trauma so I believe that bro holds a secret disdain for parents who just use their children to gain more recgonition. Well, not so secret. He'd cuss them out. (Ratio please cuss out the horrible parents.)

Dr. Ratio, the Teacher ever. (Hey, maybe he'd get along with Kunikida...)

Also, I am definitely planning on making a fic where he teaches Aventurine Latin. As long as you're eager to learn and willing to look past the chalk being thrown, he's got a place for you.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk. I did not read this through, so this is not edited. Take my unedited rambles.

[cassafrasscr]

Back on my Ashton Chronic Pain Soapbox for a second after 4SD, because holy shit.

Taliesin saying that, actually Ashton’s pain gets worse/harder to ignore after disappearing for a while is so fucking real, though. Like, when you're in pain for that long, you really don't realize how terrible you actually felt every day until it eases up/goes away for a time.

I've been on antidepressants to help manage my pain for a few years. They aren't a perfect solution (I still have chronic pain), but my day-to-day is much more bearable than it was before the meds. Having depressive tendencies can actually make you more receptive to pain. But also, like, being in constant pain is a giant fucking bummer.

I was literally only two days in with taking my meds when I started feeling the difference. I was still having migraines and nausea from the side effects of the meds, but my joints hurt so much less.

Even my mom was like, 'Wow, you seem so much happier lately', and I was just like, 'YEAH, BECAUSE I'M NOT HURTING SO MUCH ALL THE TIME."

I'll never forget the look she gave me after that. I don’t think she really realized how bad it was for me until that moment. A lot of people didn't really take me seriously about my pain until I got on medication for it. And I didn't fully realize how much it was dragging me down until it wasn't anymore.

But also, my pain's been so much worse lately - I suffered an injury back in August that brought a lot of my old pain roaring back, and the cold climate where I live doesn't help. Holy shit, it's such a fucking drag. My everyday pain levels are a whole lot worse than I ever remember them being before i started medication, and I am just so, so tired.

Though it saddens me to know how many of us are enduring chronic pain every day, it made me feel less alone to see everyone sharing their experiences on my last couple posts about Ashton’s pain. Having that representation is so important, and I appreciate Taliesin so much for giving it to us.

[blooming-violets]

just finished five minutes. what other angsty goodness do you have to offer?!

Something Unforgivable

Peter cheats on his depressed, grieving girlfriend and feels like shit about it (as he should!!) and then part three randomly turns into a sex trafficking ring and murder fest story to spice things up.

Dancing On My Own (and the sequel)

People literally despise the fuck out of Peter in this fic. I seemed to have managed to make a typically beloved babyboy the most hated character. Then I tried to redeem him a bit but only made it worse and made people hate him more...but it's angsty af. And I personally think the ending fits their characters perfectly and makes total sense based on how I wrote them/their trauma/backstory buuuut it doesn't make people happy! ANGST

Nicest Thing

Honestly, this fic was written way before Dancing On My Own but they sort of have very similar vibes and I used a lot of inspo from this one to write DOMO. Like they could be the same Reader character person just in a slightly alternate universe. Peter's bff who's in love with him but he loves Gwen and then she dies and he's depressed and his friend tries to help him but it's hard to help grieving angry people.

Pinky Promise

there's children trying to jump off buildings and terrible fathers and attacks on nyc and two sad people just trying to find love in the midst of it all

Imminent

you see the future and that future shows Peter Parker's death. This is one of my favorite things I've done and I don't even think it's written that well but I think it's a unique concept and therefore it's my fav

Creature Like Me

This is my pride and joy. It's my baby. This is the most "I'm writing for me and only me" story I've ever done. It's just me pumping out chapters and like three people reading and cheering me on. And I have genuinely loved every single second. I. Fucking. Love. This. Story. So. Damn. Much.

Don't

This is short. Peter's an asshole during a fight. I like it because Reader stands up for herself and draws some boundaries. Don't let men treat you like shit. That's the message.

Are You Real?

Someone asked to me write fluff but I didn't see that so I defaulted to angst instead. A touch starved reader in a long distance relationship with Peter.

Touch Starved

Another touched starved but it's Peter who's in need of love.

From my Hurt/Comfort Bingo (that I should get back to completing some day): Caring for Reader's Wounds After Fight (home break in), Look At Me (stuck in an armed robbery), Car Accident (title speaks for itself, ended up as a 3 part mini series), Bring Your Kids to Work Day (reader is stuck in a fire with two kids and no way out)

Smut with Angst elements:

Cheating With Peter

Your marriage sucks, you're in love with Peter, all he seems to want is sex from you though and nothing more so you give it to him bc at least it means you'll be his in some sad pathetic way

In The Dark

Depressed reader needs Peter's help to find her way out of the darkness of her mind (through anal sex, apparently)

Ok that should be more than enough to keep you satisfied.

[saintship]

hi!! idk if u still take requests and i also don't know if ur comfortable writing about depression and suicidal thoughts/ideations? it's comforting reading someone have someone be there for them during those times so if u could write something with ghost like that i would absolutely appreciate it, love ur writing, xoxo!! 💕

I’ve been there, I hope you’re having a good day when you’re reading this, no matter what that looks like for you<3

Made reader a medic because I love the medic reader trope more than some family members

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, panic attacks, nightmares

Save you - Ghost x Reader

“MEDIC! WE NEED MEDIC NOW! FUCKING HELL!”

You were trapped—rain pelting at your head while your body remained pinned under a pile of building debris. The pressure on your chest was too heavy to speak, but you saw them in the distance. Price leaning over Simon. Blood seeping into the grooves of the wet pavement. Tears welled in your eyes as you reached with one arm, your vision spotting.

“MEDIC! PLEASE, PLEASE, WE NEED A MEDIC!”

You managed to emit a noise;

“No..”

“NO!”

You sat up, your back prickling with a cold sweat. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t breathe,

“I can’t breathe..”

The weight next to you rose, strong arms cradling your waist. You tensed, your heart pounding. “I can’t breathe.. please..” you hiccuped, drawing breath roughly.

“You can. Listen to me.” Simon’s voice cut through the darkness, his hands running up and down your side. “Listen. Feel my hands.. hear my voice.”

His voice was bleary with sleep, only furthering the tears spilling down your cheeks. You knew a full night’s sleep was rare for him, and your nightmares were a contributor.

“You’re safe.”

Those words finally anchored you back to earth. You all but collapsed into his arms, laying your head on his chest as he moved to lay flat again. Your breathing eased into a steady rhythm, still hoarse but not gasping anymore.

“Good..good.”

Simon somehow knew that saying less meant more; his touch washed away your panic while his carefully chosen words reached the corners of your mind that were so afraid of losing him.

“You were dying..couldn’t save you..” You whispered into the fabric of his shirt, at which he resumed rubbing your back.

“I’m okay. I’m right here..”

“I know..” emotion weighed down your voice as you reached for his head, thumbing through the shorter hair on the sides. He smelled like your body wash; he always said he’d replace his own eventually but he never did. You never insisted.

You woke up to an empty bed and the sound of quiet conversation at your door. Sitting up slowly, you spotted a mug of your favorite drink on the nightstand, a conflicted smile pulling at your cheeks. It felt wrong to be treated this way; with kindness. You shared this trait with Simon, you knew he often felt he was undeserving, but being on the other side of that felt just as helpless.

You grab your drink and wander into the kitchen, spotting Simon pulling a few items out of a takeaway bag. He paused when he spotted you, abandoning his task to walk over.

“Was about to give you a shove, you slept so well.” He kissed your temple, his hands resting on your hips.

“Yeah..I’m sorry about last night, I—I don’t know, I should get it under control-"

“What? You can’t control nightmares, sweetheart.”

The pet name fell so easily from his lips it made you want to hide away forever.

“I’ll always be here for you. Like you are for me, yeah? You get on my ass for sayin’ shit like that, so I’ll get on yours.” He smoothed the wrinkles in your sweater sleeve absentmindedly. “I care, you know?”

You nod quickly. “Yes.. I know.”

He leaned down to kiss you slowly, his thumb grazing your cheekbone before pulling back to guide you to the table.

The guilt melted a bit after his little deceleration, and breakfast was nice. You also got to watch him put way too much hot sauce on his food, coughing through his words while insisting he was fine. You laughed gently, retrieving some frozen fruit for his tongue.

Soon, too soon, it was time for you to head to work while Simon stayed and attempted to burn through his paperwork. Sometimes you came home while he was in a meeting, witnessing the hilarious sight of Simon Riley being outsmarted by a video call app.

You felt sort of numb today. You walked around base feeling like your legs weren’t all there.

You’d had nightmares before. He had comforted you in the dark before. And now, he had reassured you about the ordeal entirely. But if he wasn’t sure, if he was losing too much sleep, would he say anything? You tried to wring yourself out, busying yourself with small tasks in between meetings and even helping a visitor’s young girl that scraped her knee.

Nothing worked.

It only got worse the drive home, since your phone died and your radio had been stolen a few days ago. Traffic blocked the freeway that led out of town, leaving you to sit in a percolating mess of your thoughts.

How could you take away his sleep? He already went through so much, he has been through so much, the least he deserves is a peaceful place to rest. How could you do that? How could you do that to him? Why is he with you, why is he putting up with this, why are you living while he is surviving?

Why are you alive?

The car behind you blared their horn. Space had freed in front of you during your train of thought, and you pulled forward, weaving through cars, desperate to get home and yet terrified to walk through the door. When you did, you didn’t hear the tapping of his keyboard; just the soft wind you knew came from his office fan. You set down your things, making your way to that room. Peering through the open door, your heart sank.

He was sprawled on the small couch behind his desk, practically spilling off of the thing because of his size. He was sleeping. Drawing deep, steady breaths, his chest rising and falling peacefully. He must have been so tired he took a break to nap.

You exited the room as silently as you could, not being able to stop the tears welling in your eyes. Your thoughts raced, back and forth, back and forth.

You’re being dramatic.

This is proof.

He’s finally getting sleep because you’re not here.

You’re such a

It’s not that serious!

How could you do that?

Just stop crying.

What if you were never here again?

You threw up in your kitchen sink.

Saliva trailed from your bottom lip, and you could only watch, knowing you’d woken him up. Again. He could never find peace. You spit roughly, turning your back and sinking to the floor. You registered Simon’s footsteps, his figure in the doorway, the smell of your body wash.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

His voice floated somewhere you couldn’t reach to. You noticed only now your breathing was frenzied, hoarse and uneven. Your hands trembled.

“Sweetheart, you’re scaring me, breathe.”

God, only you could manage to have a panic attack wrong. You must have made an upset noise through your hyperventilating, because he moved to face you.

“Come here.. come here.”

And then you were collapsing into his chest, sobbing harder with every breath. He didn’t say anything, holding you securely and rocking the both of you with an even rhythm

“It’s my fault..” your broken voice cracked through your tears.

“What? What’s your fault?” Simon ran a hand through your hair, still holding you to him.

“You..You’re never able to rest..” you hiccuped. “..while I’m here..you’re always taking care of me, you never get to sleep.”

You couldn’t stop now that you’d started.

“I shouldn’t be alive..”

Simon stiffened. He leaned forward to retrieve a dish towel, wiping away your tears, snot, and saliva so that you could see him clearly. You’d never seen his eyes so dark, so hurt.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you hear me?” His voice was a murmur, like he was whispering a promise.

“I- I don’t..” You were about to break into a sob again when you felt his palm at your jaw.

“You have no idea how empty this world would be without you.” He paused. “It’s not like I’ve never thought about it too, but it doesn’t last forever.”

You looked up at his admission, your breathing beginning to steady. “You’ve thought about it?”

He nodded. “I promise, you will look back on this, and realize how much you appreciate everything. You only get one shot at being alive. You cannot cut it short, do you understand me?”

You nodded, unable to say a word.

“You have no control of what happens at night. When your brain starts playing tricks on you. I’ll be there every time, because I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done it for me.”

You inhaled a shaky breath, reaching to touch his face. “I love you..”

“I love you.” He returned, pulling you close again. Anything else in the world seemed to dissolve; this was all you had ever hoped for.

[bookshelf-dust]

I'M HERE TO REQUEST AGAIN

this is going to be a bit angsty, but it's hurt/comfort. basically while he's in class some guys make fun of him by saying he's way out of reader's league and he gets self-conscious. reader and the Hellfire table notices he's not talking much at lunch so reader goes to talk to him (established relationship)

hope this wasn't too specific!<33 (don't worry about rushing the writing, enjoy the process!!)

glittery curls

gareth emerson x gn!reader

word count: 1,426

warnings: swearing, patrick and jason’s goons being assholes, angst, comfort, fluff

a/n: hi sweetheart! thank you for requesting. i’m so sorry it took me a little while and i hope that’s okay! this is a sweet idea and please don’t worry about it being too specific—it’s perfect like always! and thank you for being sweet about not rushing. i appreciate that more than you know <3

————

“Bend down a little, Gare.”

“Whatever you say, your highness.”

He has glitter in his hair. The girls had a project due, and Gareth, being the loving brother that he is, offered his services. You’ve been picking chunks and flecks of glitter out of his hair for three days. He claims to have washed it since, too.

He bends a little at the waist so that you can see his hair more clearly. You use your nails to grab at a piece of purple glitter from the roots of his hair.

“Kiss my ass, Emerson.”

He pinches your side at that remark and you let out a small squeal before presenting the glitter to him, a victorious look on your face. Gareth quirks a brow, examining the intruder, and then you wipe your finger off on his shirt before turning to go to your next class.

He catches your hand before you get too far. “Hey, hey, hey, where’s my kiss?”

Gareth “demands goodbye kisses” Emerson.

You pretend to be annoyed at the premise, and he pouts so hard you bring both hands to his face, apologizing repeatedly.

“Here, here!” You kiss him, short and sweet (you are in school, after all). He tastes like strawberries. You wonder if he had some for breakfast.

“Thank you,” he says. You plant another on his nose before leaving him to it.

Gareth adjusts the bag on his shoulder and turns to head into his classroom.

“That’s just sad, man.”

Gareth wouldn’t have thought anyone was talking to him if it weren’t for the closeness of the voice. He turns his head, finding Patrick staring at him. Andy and Jason linger further behind.

“I’m sorry?” Gareth’s tone changes into something much more serious, deeper even, than what he’d been using with you.

“You, dude. You’re totally head over heels for them, and they’re way out of your league.”

Patrick turns to watch you at the very end of the hallway, where you turn a corner and then you’re out of sight. He shakes his head. “It’s just depressing, man.”

Gareth feels his face warming. “What are you talking about, McKinney?”

Patrick laughs, and it doesn’t do anything but heighten Gareth’s frustration. He doesn’t understand where this is coming from.

“You and them,” Patrick says, nodding towards where you’d walked away. “You looked lovesick, and that’s just weird to me because the two of you make absolutely no sense.” Andy chuckles, and Gareth shoots him a look. He quiets.

“They’re pretty damn smart, and could be friends with anyone they want, but pick you and your group of freaks? Yeah, that just doesn’t check out, man. It’s probably best if you save yourself the trouble and dump ‘em now. That way you won’t have to deal with it when they realize the truth.”

Gareth decides he’s had enough of this shit. “Fuck you, man. Why don’t you mind your own business? Last time I checked, your last girlfriend cheated on you with Andy, so I really don’t think you have any reason to be giving me relationship advice.”

He pushes past the other boys and into the classroom, heading straight for his seat in the back against the wall.

Gareth barely hears a word of the lecture he’s supposed to be paying attention to. He’s amazed that he even manages to take notes.

Patrick’s comments race through his mind, over and over again. They pick at his every insecurity, his every vulnerability.

What if he’s right? You’re fucking insanely smart, Gareth thinks. You could be with anyone you wanted, and he knows that. Up until that conversation, Gareth thought your choosing him had meant something. That he was special. That his friends were special, and they were all worth more than whatever the people at school thought.

Now he’s not so sure.

He tries to distract himself from his buzzing mind by paying extra attention in his classes. It only partially works. All he can think about is that maybe you really are way out of his league.

Gareth gets to the Hellfire table at lunch before you do. He sits down beside Jeff, who’s too busy arguing with Mike about something to notice that something’s wrong.

You, however, clock it before you even take your seat. His arms are crossed and he’s bouncing his knee. He’s not laughing or splitting a cheese stick with Dustin. Something’s wrong with your boy.

Eddie seems to have noticed it too. He hasn’t sat yet, but he’s walking to the table just as you are, and shoots you a look over Gareth’s head. One that says, you seein’ this? You nod.

Eddie’s known Gareth long enough to know that when he gets quiet, he’s frustrated. Gareth being quiet is never a good thing. When he’s sad, he talks about it, and he might be a bit downcast, but he’s still Gareth.

Eddie has witnessed many a Gareth outburst, and they aren’t usually pretty. He knows you can handle it though. You’re exceptionally good at calming him down.

You slide into your seat, and Gareth doesn’t even look at you. You decide to take it easy.

You rub your thumb across the bare expanse of arm under his sleeve. That gets his attention. He turns to look at you. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” You keep rubbing his arm. “You okay?”

Gareth uncrosses his arms and sits up in his chair. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Emerson,” you say, keeping your voice low as to not cause a scene. He turns his head to look at you. You only use his last name when he’s being a pain in the ass. The thing is, Gareth doesn’t really give a shit if he’s being an ass right now.

He doesn’t feel like arguing with you. He’s too upset. Gareth is quiet for the rest of lunch, and he avoids you the rest of the day. It’s not until you drive over to his house after school that you get a chance to ask him what’s wrong.

He lets you in and leads you to his room without a word. “Gareth,” you start, “will you please tell me what’s wrong? I really don’t like seeing you like this.”

He tosses his head back, exasperated. “And you think I like feeling like this?”

“I know you don’t Gare, but I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Gareth takes one look at you, giving your most pleading and sincere eyes, and he’s done for. He runs both of his hands down his face and sits on the edge of his bed.

“After you went to class this morning? Patrick showed up and told me that the two of us being together doesn’t make sense.”

“What?” You ask, quickly becoming upset.

“He said that you’re way out of my league and too good for me and that someday you’re going to realize that I’m a piece of shit and you shouldn’t have chosen me.”

You realize his eyes are glossy and you rush to crouch in front of him, hands on his forearms. They’re warm under the tips of your fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey, don��t listen to any of his shit okay?”

“Stop,” Gareth says.

“What do you mean?” You don’t understand.

“I mean that I’m in love with you and they’re telling me that this is bullshit, that you don’t care and that you’re just going to leave me at some point and so I’m upset—”

“What?” You cut him off.

“Huh?” Gareth doesn’t realize what he says for a second. “Shit.”

You stare up at him.

“I’ve never said that before,” he tells you.

“No,” you shake your head. That knocked the breath right out of you. “But before you say anything else, I am not going to just up and leave you or something, Gareth. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I chose you because you’re the best boy in the world. And because I love you, too.”

The boy in question smiles at you.

“You love me too?” He asks shyly.

You bring a hand to his cheek, and he leans into the touch.

“Yeah. And it’s okay to be upset, Gare, because he was being an asshole, but I would never leave you, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, nodding. Gareth wraps his arms around you and practically scoops you up.

“Sweetheart,” you say after a moment, pulling away from him. He looks at you, confused.

“You’ve still got glitter in your hair.”

He drops his head to your shoulder. “Dammit.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[cultofdixon]

Have Never Been Useless

Daryl Dixon • They/Them Pronouns • The archer takes a liking to a certain Alexandria resident that at first was a wild card. But slowly became someone important to him. • ANGST/SFW/NSFW • TW: Scars / Past Abuse / Injuries / Canon Violence / Phantom Pains / Depression / SH Scars / PTSD / Insecurities

Requested by: Anon

Daryl on the first night in Alexandria took watch while his entire group stayed in Rick’s place until they got comfortable. But given there wasn’t much activity happening, he decided to scope around the place to get a better idea of everything in the community.

The archer managed to get pretty far into the community without being spotted by anybody. Then he heard a quiet whistle. He quickly looked around and didn’t have to look far after spotting a black silhouette with a stick. Menacing. Truly.

“I’m not a fucking threat you’re just in my nightly walking route” The voice finally came into the one street lamp on that path as Daryl notices immediately the cane which counts for the stick. The brace he didn’t expect. “You have a staring problem. If I didn’t know better, I’d hit you to stop”

“You don’t know me, so what’s really stopping you?”

“My leg hurts. Why would I hit you with the only thing keeping me standing?”

Daryl shrugs which got a laugh out of the stranger as they brought themselves closer to him. He tended slightly when they twisted the top of their cane to pull out the blade.

“Didn’t get this shit confiscated” They smirk and before the archer could think they are a threat, they put it away and stepped back from the man. “But. I’m not a threat”

“You just—-“

“You don’t know me. You don’t get my past yet. But since you’re new and I’m liking your silent mysterious self…let’s go have a drink at my place” They started to head their way back to the town houses as Daryl followed hesitantly.

“Your name?”

“You first”

“Seriously?”

“Fine, Y/N. Now you?”

“Daryl”

“Great. I know one thing about you. You know two. Now give me one more fact about you before we drink”

“What’s the other fact about you?” Daryl scoffs confused as Y/N suddenly smacks him in the shins resulting in a hiss from him. “Right. Well. Anythin’ you wanna know or do I pick”

Y/N shrugs stopping to wait for this factoid as Daryl took a second and went with the simplest one.

“I had an older brother”

“Mm. Me too. I also had an younger brother”

“Do I owe yea another one since that’s a 3/2 now?”

“Nah. I really want a drink.” Y/N went back to walking with Daryl right beside them as he was more patient than they had thought when it came to taking seconds to take a moment to deal with their leg pain in uncomfortable silence on their part.

The two finally made it to a building that looks more “town hall-ish” that Daryl couldn’t believe that one of the residents lived in it. Well. Y/N works in it, given Deanna created it to be the library and needed someone she could trust to take care of it. Or more so someone who would never leave it.

“Nice…place?”

“It’s the library and the office in the back was made into my living quarters. They’re really treating me like a gargoyle statue that would never move” Y/N sighs setting their cane down on a spinning chair before wobbling into the sleeping quarters.

Daryl took a moment to look around the place while Y/N rummaged through a filing cabinet that they made into a dresser to find their hidden alcohol. He grew curious over a notebook that had a bunch of things sticking out of it but before he could open it, Y/N swiped it away from him replacing it with a bottle of vodka.

“Ain’t close to you yet to have you reading my deepest darkest thoughts” Y/N tossed the notebook on the chair with their cane. “Which. Brings a question to mind. You are new here and don’t trust anybody cuz you sleep outside”

“You’re more observant than I thought” Daryl sat on the edge of the desk in front of the office, assuming to be an old reception desk. “So the question?”

“Why trust me?”

Daryl shrugs setting the bottle down on the space beside him. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Y/N stares him down for a while as Daryl didn’t mind sitting in silence for a while. They eventually brushed it off and took the cap off the bottle before offering him the first drink which he took.

“I just…I don’t need anymore people thinking I’m useless because I’m crippled.”

The archer sets the bottle down after taking a swing and seeing Y/N’s anxiety in their expression as he shrugs.

“Yer not useless. Never thought you were the moment I met yea” Daryl gave them a bit of a smirk when he noticed their smile grace their face.

As the days went by, Daryl grew closer to Y/N. With the back-and-forth factoids with the small conversation that follows. It was the big stuff they never really talked about, they’d get close but neither of them pushed the other to go any further. Who woulda thought Daryl found someone he liked in this place? Aaron was something. But there was…a bond with Y/N.

“You make an extra plate?” Daryl asks Aaron as he was invited over for dinner since he didn’t go to the party.

“Oh it’s for Y/N. They didn’t go to the party either but we always make them a plate whenever we make big portion dinners. Leftovers kind of go to them”

“After Aaron shows yea what’s in the garage, you mind delivering it to them?” Eric chimes in taking another sip of his wine. “Aaron has seen how close you both are becoming. So—“

“I’d be happy to” Daryl states shoving in more spaghetti in his mouth enjoying the homemade meal more than they expected.

After getting the best news in this mystery place, that being a motorcycle he can build, Daryl made his way to the library with a plate of spaghetti for Y/N. He saw that the lights were on and let himself in to find their cane discarded on the ground. His anxiety got the best of him as he quickly sets the plate down on one of the tables heading forward finding Y/N laying on the floor.

“Hey. You okay? You hurt?”

Y/N rolls onto their back putting one of their arms behind their head as a pillow. “I’m good. Just. Uhm. Bad leg day”

“You need anything for it?” He frowns as they shook their head readjusting on the ground.

“Besides my pillow from my bed. I also wouldn’t mind whatever Aaron made that you brought. His cooking is recognizable the more you’ve had it”

“Sit tight” Daryl stepped over them to get their pillow first and have Y/N get themselves situated before grabbing the plate of food he left at the front.

Once Y/N got uncomfortable sitting up and leaning against the wall with their pillow behind their back. They happily took the plate and already dug in while Daryl got situated across from them.

“Aaron makes good ass spaghetti”

“Believe me. Could’ve ate the whole ass bowl” Daryl smiles listening to them laugh to such while eating.

“Should’ve. I would’ve” Y/N laughs setting their plate down in their lap for a moment. “You ever cooked in the old world?”

“Besides sandwiches of whatever leftover in the fridge. Didn’t really do much cooking. You?”

“Me neither. I traveled a lot” Y/N picked at their plate. “Ate whatever was staple to the place I would be in. I wanted to learn when uh. I couldn’t travel anymore but kind of just. Stayed put”

“Guessin’ your accident lead yea to stay put”

“Yeah. And that sucked” Y/N scoffs followed by a short chuckle before finishing up with their plate. “So. Aaron has told me about this thing he has in his garage because he’s wanted books on parts. I assume you’ve told him you ride bikes”

“Yeah it’s a skeleton to a motorcycle in his garage and I know most the parts in there. Thinking I can get it up and running in a few weeks” Daryl taps the top of his knee thinking about what he’s going to do first. “Wanna help?”

Daryl learned that he would do anything to get them to smile. He’d even fall on his ass if he’d have to just go get a laugh that ends in smile. He learned quickly that whenever Y/N brought up their past, even in the smallest way possible, they would have a big set back to such. Their whole mood changes. Even when he’s not the one to spark them bringing it up.

Little does Daryl know, Y/N wants to open that part of them to him. They haven’t know each other long and they are already so comfortable with him.

“Hey Y/N” Aaron smiles as Daryl suddenly hits his head on the bike frame when trying to look up. “What are you doing here?” His face grimaced when the archer hit his head as did Y/N’s.

They approached handing Daryl the manual to a different bike model in hopes he can find something helpful.

“Thanks. How long did it take yea?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, besides it didn’t take long” Y/N sat down on the stool in the garage setting their cane down on the workbench. Daryl read through parts of the manual taking that as an opportunity to change his expression. They couldn’t sleep last night…

“Can I make you something?” Aaron offers watching them nod with a smile before heading inside the house.

Daryl continued to read the sections he needed as he heard the sounds of the velcro tearing. He lifted his gaze watching Y/N take their brace off and setting it also on the work bench.

“How bad?”

“It’s just. Bad.”

“Scale—-“

“D, please. I don’t…I don’t want to talk about it this time” Y/N frowns gripping their thigh as Daryl sets the manual down for a moment, rising to his feet and making his way to them. “I will hurt you if you try anything”

Daryl rolls his eyes to that response knowing damn well that they would. But that didn’t stop him from helping in his own way. He brought the cart holding some of the miscellaneous parts and took all of them off before grabbing the pillow he was kneeling on to put it on top of the cart. Y/N watched his every move and was about to hurt him when he got close but tensed when he carefully lifted their leg onto the pillow giving something to rest it on instead of locking their knee later from a seated position.

“You’re an idiot”

“Mm. I’m talking to one” Daryl helped them get comfortable.

“Aren’t yea gonna keep fixing up your bike?”

“Takin’ a break” Daryl brought himself to lean against the work bench when Aaron stepped out with sandwiches in hand.

“No more working?”

“Nah I’m taking over his cart so he can’t really work without it” Y/N jokes resulting in an eye roll from the archer and a short laugh from Aaron.

“Wanna take this inside then? Get comfortable?”

“I’d have to uh. Put my brace back on and that takes—-“ Y/N cut themselves off when Daryl suddenly picked them up bridal style and every fiber of their being wanted to thrash but they would only aggravate their pain. “What in the fuck—-“

“Let’s just get yea comfortable and take a break” Daryl states heading inside with the help of Aaron holding the door open.

Once the bike was up and running, Daryl thought the first test run would be perfect for the day he and Aaron leave to recruit. He didn’t leave right away given he heard his name being called by Y/N as they slowly made their way to the front.

“What are you doing past the houses?”

“I’m allowed to leave my residence” Y/N laughs leaning on their cane as their free hand rubs their eyes. “Just wanted to see yea off yknow”

Daryl frowns seeing the exhaustion in their expression. He started to worry then and it grew worse but he was conflicted on what he needed to do.

“Didn’t have to”

“Fuck off. You’re my favorite person in this shithole. I’ll see yea off if I want.” Y/N shot him a smile before taking their leave on that note.

Before the two even set out, Spencer approached Daryl with a surprised expression on his face which only confused the archer until the bimbo spoke.

“I never seen them leave their place since they’ve been here. Must’ve left an impact on them” Spencer’s comment rang through Daryl’s head the entire time he was outside of the walls.

Once the gates closed and the familiar sound rang through Alexandria, Y/N felt a pain grow in their chest as they make their way back to the library and into their room. They got comfortable on the futon in the office that’s supposedly their bed and sat there thinking about all the things that could go wrong outside the walls. They like Aaron but the man doesn’t know how to handle certain situations outside. Daryl knows but he’s the self-sacrifice type…and they can’t lose him.

________

“You know you signed up to either watch me struggle off the ground or to help me up”

“I’ll help yea, unless you smack me again. Then I’ll watch yea like an upside down turtle”

“Rude” Y/N scoffs continuing to look up at the night sky with Daryl as they both enjoyed how empty Alexandria was at a certain hour just so that they can enjoy moments like these. Watching the stars comfortably without annoying distractions. “And it’s a tortoise. Turtles are ones in the water”

“Nerd” Daryl chuckles bringing his arms behind his head to cushion it. “Have yea read everything in that library?”

“No. Everything is boring. Only thing I read are my notes in that journal I’ve got or the back of food labels.” That earned a laugh from Daryl before the familiar uncomfortable silence returned.

Daryl wanted to ask the more detailed questions that lead him to get to know the deeper side of Y/N. But this moment, he didn’t have to ask.

“I can trust yea right?”

“Yeah”

“I was in a treatment facility before outbreak day and it wasn’t for my leg. It’s because of it.” Y/N sighs. “I enjoyed my life before the accident. Traveling and taking pictures was an escape of what I grew up with. Didn’t have to relive any of my trauma by facing it everyday…I simply spent every day with a new adventure in a new place and just. Lived…then, in Paris, I didn’t see the car coming” that brought a familiar weight to place itself on their chest. “Got flown back home. Threatened every doctor that if they took my leg I’d take my life. They didn’t amputate but after years of dealing with the pain…I was done. I wanted an out. My stupid little brother found me on the floor of my bathroom in my apartment back in New York and got me into a facility in Virginia. Right as I thought life was worth it again…the apocalypse happened”

Daryl didn’t know what to say immediately and Y/N didn’t expect him to say anything. They continued to look at the stars above as Y/N flinched slightly looking down to their side feeling the archer interlace his fingers with theirs squeezing his hand.

“Glad yea trust me enough to tell me that” Daryl starts as he brought himself closer, enough to be up against them. “I’m glad you stayed on this earth long enough for me to meet yea. But trust me, I ain’t letting yea go any time soon”

The tears had a mind of their own as they spilled from Y/N’s eyes once they heard that.

________

Alexandria was under new management the night Daryl returned with Morgan. But he didn’t care anymore about that the second he realized Y/N was absent from the bonfire that determined Rick’s residence.

The archer opened the door to the place finding most lights off so they must’ve been asleep or getting ready. But same as before he saw them on the floor, this time expecting it to be like times before being the leg pain. Though as he drew closer he didn’t see much movement and they didn’t react to his presence.

“No…Hey, come on” Daryl immediately fell to his knees picking up their upper half shaking them a bit. “Yea can’t do this to me” his panic started to settle in as he slapped their face a bit to get a reaction. “I can’t live without yea. Cmon please…don’t leave me here”

Right before the archer could smack them again, their eyes slowly open like one who’s been asleep for hours and the blurriness started to fade to see who it was shaking them.

“Why are you crying?” Y/N groans a bit feeling him latch onto their smaller frame as they brought their hands to his face wiping away the on-going tears. “Hey, what happened? What did I do?”

“You…you were out cold. Like you were dead.” Daryl frowns choking up a bit as he felt his heart ache even worse than times before. “I thought yea died…”

“Gonna take more than sleeping pills to kill me, D. It’s my last resort when my leg is hurting…guess it worked a bit too well” Y/N brought their arms around his neck pulling them forward enough to sit up and Daryl to shift beneath them so that their position was Y/N settled in his lap. “I’m not going anywhere”

“Yea better…because…I…” Daryl struggles to get the words out as Y/N’s calloused fingers gently make him lift his gaze back onto them. “I think I’m fallin’ in love with yea”

To his surprise, Y/N didn’t wait another second before pressing their lips firmly against his and kissing the man that showed them that living was worth it.

Even when hell came knocking

“Daryl where are you? We need to discuss the plan about the walkers—-“ Rick stops himself when he barged into Daryl’s room which was the basement and saw him fast asleep laying on Y/N. “Uh. I need…uhm”

“You need Daryl. Yeah I heard yea stomping on the way down here.”

“You’re not exactly quiet” Daryl groans hiding his face in their stomach for a moment before turning toward Rick. “We doing this now?”

“No we’re just discussing—-“

“Then go. I’ll be there in five minutes” Daryl sighs bringing himself back to laying on Y/N comfortably, keeping mind of their leg propped up beside him.

Once he managed to get up after he simply wanted to stay in bed all day with Y/N. He got dressed watching Y/N get up from the bed stumbling a bit as he quickly took their extended hand to provide some balance.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with. Rick owes me more than five minutes with yea” Y/N gripped onto his shoulders as they struggled more than usual to stand without the brace. “Maybe we’ll be late”

“We can be late” Daryl smiles kissing their cheek and helping them sit down on the bed before grabbing some of their clothes to get dressed in.

Daryl had gotten the hang of helping Y/N into their brace faster than they expected. But hell he’s helped them get strapped in even before they became something.

They did indeed arrive to the meeting late and Y/N didn’t feel any better about it when Rick spotted the two and immediately glared. Daryl only glared back before tapping the man sitting in front of them listening gesturing to Y/N so that he’d give up the chair he was sitting in and he did willingly.

The meeting was to discuss the canyon of walkers that had a blockage that was threatening to fail. Inevitably sending the walkers their way. The trail run became the actual run and as much as Y/N felt a bubble of worry expand inside of them. Worrying about the archer leading the walkers away was the least of it.

There seemed to be a pattern of immediate threat and the only ones that gave Y/N trouble were the Wolves. But they didn’t stand a chance when they were crossed.

“And I thought I would need a disguise”

“Oh just put me in a sea of walkers. They can’t really tell the difference with me” Y/N let out a short laugh as they tried to keep up with Carol even when their leg was killing them.

It’s too much.

You’re going to collapse if you keep pushing.

People can fend for themsel—-no. I will push through it. I will help until I fall.

Except falling when the walkers had breached the walls weren’t what one expected to happen. It was poor timing to be thankful for Rick’s rampage through the herd when Y/N fell because he was enraged for what happened to his son. Michonne was following shortly behind him when he noticed Y/N struggling to get up from the ground. She quickly took the walkers approaching out before helping them to their feet wrapping their arm around her shoulders.

“You’re bleeding”

“Yeah, I know” Y/N held onto Michonne until they got to the infirmary.

“Oh Y/N—-I can use—“ Denise, before Daryl’s group arrived, was one of the other residents that actually acknowledged their existence in a positive light. “You’re injured”

“It’s fine. What do you need” Y/N wobbled to the roll stool letting Michonne go after thanking her and using their good leg to roll them over seeing Carl’s injury. “This is bad”

“Did you lose your cane?”

“Yeah but that doesn’t matter. I’ll be your nurse” Y/N pushed back grabbing some gloves.

Once the threats were contained and everyone was accounted for, Daryl returned with Abraham and Sasha to see the aftermath of all the chaos and that kicked his anxiety into overdrive but he was physically pushed toward the infirmary for not only his road rash but the stab wound as well.

Daryl tripped on his way over finding Y/N’s cane on the floor broken and that didn’t help much of his thoughts.

“Denise, got the archer needin’ to be looked at” Abraham announces as he enters the infirmary before Daryl but that announcement lead to the sound of crashing. “Is there—-“

“No moron” Y/N stumbles a bit after being stuck in a bed when they finished helping Denise with Carl. “What the fuck did y’all get into?”

The archer didn’t wait another moment as he brought himself to Y/N wrapping his arms around them feeling them latch on. They noticed the damage done on him and was about to say something but of course his eyes glued onto something else.

“Why is your leg bandaged?”

“Seriously? That’s what you focus on while you’re bleeding on me. I’d like to keep that blood inside of you” Y/N groans relaxing in his arms as Daryl pulls away a bit to get a better look when it was nothing but a flesh wound from dealing with the wolves. Never said they went unscathed. “We dealt with a lot while you were gone”

“Mm. Trust me, when I tell yes what happened it’d be around the same shit yea had to deal” Daryl sighs resting his head on their shoulder as they held him a bit longer.

“I will collapse in a sec if I stand much longer”

“Sorry, darling”

[missywritesfor7]

❤️‍🩹Lifeline | MYG❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: It’s long been controversial for idols to date, but idols dating each other can be really beautiful or a complete nightmare. When Yoongi's relationship with another idol is discovered, he decides maybe it’s time to break the taboo and show people it’s ok for idols to date. Instead, they find themselves caught in the midst of one media frenzy after another and struggle to keep their relationship as strong as it had been the past 2 years. Yoongi finds a self destructive way to cope, and it causes even more problems than it solves. As they fight for their relationship and their careers, they discover that sometimes, the only way to truly be free is to let go.

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x idol!OC

Warnings: nsfw, alcoholism, cheating, depression, anxiety, Yoongi goes through a bisexy ho phase, Yoongi is also in his alcoholic phase, post-military BTS

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Ch. 13: Weight

Yoongi starts his day in an empty bed. He’s used to it. Hyeri had another early call and left a short couple of hours ago. He rolls out of bed to get himself ready for another day in the studio.

After washing up and getting dressed he’s greeted in the kitchen by a prepared lunch and a note. Hyeri made him a small lunch before she left and wrote a note letting him know how much she loves him. He smiles at the note and packs the lunch into his backpack.

By the time Yoongi gets to his car he’s already feeling weighed down with guilt. She’s so good to him. Too good. The entire drive to the studio he can’t stop thinking about how terrible he is for everything he’s done. Even if he can accept her forgiving him for what he’s done on tour, he can’t accept his temptation taking him away the moment he steps into his studio.

“I don’t deserve her love,” he mumbles taking another sip of liquor while he sits at his keyboard.

He’s plagued with guilt the entire day. He knows he could stop it though. He could put the bottle down and no longer feel guilty for sneaking drinks behind Hyeri’s back. He went the entire day before without a drink, it’s just that easy.

But he’ll just finish off the bottle he has first.

Or maybe it would make more sense to finish the other two bottles he has in his studio so he can start fresh tomorrow with no temptations.

“Fuck,” he sighs to himself once he takes the last sip of his final bottle. He’s managed to accomplish nothing since he’s been there other than finishing off 3 bottles of liquor and repeating to himself how much of a piece of shit he is.

His chest tightens when he sees a text from Hyeri. She tells him she’s on a short break and she just wanted to remind him how much she loves him. She then gushed about the features of her new car. He’s so fucked up and guilty that all he can manage to do is type out a short “I love you too” in response. His guilt is suffocating and only gets worse when Hobi stops by to chat.

Hobi hadn’t seen Yoongi since his disastrous night when they were all out to dinner. Aside from a few texts, he hadn’t been able to see the state Yoongi is really in. He decided to stop by since he was in the office working on his own projects. No matter how hard Yoongi tried, Hobi knew the moment the door opened that Yoongi was in rough shape.

“Hyung,” Hobi says helping Yoongi to his couch. “How much have you already had?”

“I want to start fresh tomorrow,” Yoongi says trying to stabilize his vision.

“What’s going on?” Hobi asks with pain and concern in his voice. “You said you stopped.”

“I did,” Yoongi sighs. “Every time I stop I start again.”

At this point Yoongi is too drunk to hold back. He’s guilty and ashamed and now he’s more sad and disappointed because seeing the look on Hobi’s face is breaking him inside. He can’t stand seeing those he love hurting so much because of him. They all love him but he feels all he’s giving them in return is pain and suffering.

“Get help,” Hobi says softly. “Hyung, we’re all here for you. We only want to see you happy and healthy and you haven’t been either of those things in a while. Talk to us. Tell us what you’re going through.”

Yoongi looks at Hobi’s concerned face and breaks at his soft words. He never thought things would get this way. It’s not what he wanted. He isn’t even sure what he wanted in the first place, but now he’s drowning in guilt because he’s done nothing but continuously hurt the ones he loves most.

“I’m sorry, Hoba,” Yoongi says holding back his tears. “I’ve done nothing but fuck shit up. She still loves me after everything I’ve done. You guys are still here when I pretty much fucked up the entire tour.”

“Hyung-“

“I mean it,” Yoongi continues. “I thought I could stop on my own. I did for a little bit. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to stop now.”

“You don’t have to try to do it on your own. We’re here for you. Hyeri too. You know all she wants is for you to be ok.”

Hobi’s words only strangle Yoongi more. Sneaking around is much worse than telling the truth. Hurting his brothers and the love of his life is worse than anything in his mind. He’s already done everything to ruin any trust anyone had in him and he would never forgive himself if he is successful in finally pushing them all away.

“I can’t face her like this,” Yoongi says anxiously.

“Yes you can,” Hobi encourages. “You have to be honest with her. With…all of us.” Hobi hangs his head trying to calm the sudden pang in his heart. Yoongi has never been so low and it hurts them all that he doesn’t feel like he can be honest with them. They know exactly how Hyeri feels.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi apologizes again. “I want to be better for all of you. Hoseok, please, what do I do? All I know is the bottle. I drank because she hurt me. I drank so I wouldn’t feel the hurt. I drank because I didn’t want to be myself because being myself hurts. I drank because I stopped drinking. Then I drank because I feel bad for drinking. I can’t stop it, Hoseok.” Yoongi puts his head in his hands and tries his hardest to keep from loudly crying out in pain.

“Tell her,” Hobi says. “Tell her everything you just told me. If you don’t do anything else, at least do that. She just wants to support you but she can’t if you don’t tell her you’re struggling. Me and the members…” he pauses at the amount of pain on Yoongi’s face. “We want to support you. We love you, hyung.”

Yoongi immediately breaks down. Those words carry so much weight coming from Hoseok, and it’s too much for Yoongi to bear. He can’t stop crying. He isn’t sure he’s ever cried this much in front of one of the members. Everything is burning inside him.

He needs to tell Hyeri. If he keeps holding on to this he’ll never be able to be at peace. She shows him so much love that the longer he goes hiding his relapse, the shittier he feels.

The next day, Hyeri has a slightly later call time. She’s able to sleep in a bit longer and wake up with Yoongi. While he gets himself ready for another day in the studio, she prepares breakfast for him. She packs another small bento lunch for him. Then she returns to him with endless kisses and words of adoration.

The more she does for him the guiltier he feels. He wanted to tell her while eating breakfast, but the sparkle in her eyes took his voice away. He wanted to say something when she packed the bento box into his backpack, but her enthusiasm for his work paralyzed him. He tried so hard to say something when she was kissing him goodbye, but the words were sucked away by her soft lips.

He spends the day in his studio going through a rollercoaster of emotions. She’s too good for him, he has to tell her. She’s going to be so disappointed in him for being a failure, he can’t tell her anything.

Later that evening, Hyeri tells him she has the next day off. The drama she’s shooting is ahead of schedule so she gets the next day to relax. She tells Yoongi in excitement hoping he could miss a day in the studio to spend the day with her. She admits that she had been wanting to try a restaurant that recently opened up in town and she made reservations for dinner and was hoping Yoongi would be able to at least take time for that. She then takes time to thank him for her car. She tells him of more features she discovered and ends her long text telling him how much she loves him and how happy he makes her. Her words only deepen the mass of guilt he’s carrying.

Of course he’s going to take the day to spend with her. The one day he managed to stay sober was when he was with her and doing things for her. If he’s sober, he can feel less like a piece of shit.

Or so he thought.

The day starts with Hyeri preparing breakfast. She brews him a cup of coffee and tells him to not lift a finger. He sits at the table as she makes a plate for him. She hums a sweet song as she floats around the kitchen plating the meal she put together for the two of them.

Yoongi loves Hyeri’s voice. He fell in love the first time he heard her. Her honey vocals never fail to soothe every part of his body. He feels so fucking terrible. Even after talking to Hobi yesterday he still stopped to grab another drink on his way home last night. He sat in his car and drank the entire midsized bottle before going inside and slipping into bed next to a sleeping Hyeri.

During breakfast Hyeri sits across from Yoongi and tells him all about her day yesterday. She’s happy and enthusiastic as if she’s completely forgotten the things that Yoongi has done. The things he’s still doing. He has so much guilt crushing him that he can hardly eat his food.

“Babe?” Hyeri asks from across the table. She began to notice the unease on his face and now she’s starting to worry. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi lies. “No,” he immediately confesses shaking his head. “I’m not ok, Hyeri. Baby you’re…” he pauses to repress a sob. “You’re so good to me,” he strains to say. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. You put up with me and I feel like I do nothing but give you reason after reason to be done with me.”

Hyeri isn’t sure what he’s going on about, but she reaches for his hand hoping to comfort him. He looks so pained it breaks her heart. He squeezes her hand and continues sobbing.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. “I fucked up again and you don’t deserve to have to deal with my shit.”

“What?” She asks tilting her head. She doesn’t want to fear the worst, but she may not be able to control herself if he tells her he got a blowjob from another stranger. Of all things he could confess to her, she doesn’t think she can take that type of confession again.

“I had a drink last night,” he admits. “I had a few drinks during the day. Hyeri, the moment I went back to the studio I started drinking again and I’m such a terrible piece of shit for trying to hide it from you. I just don’t know what to do,” he cries. “You deserve nothing but the best, but I keep fucking up. I’m so sorry.” He releases her hand and hangs his head with tears flowing down to his plate.

“Yoongi,” she says softly. “Why are you just now telling me? I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you hide from me.” She has tears building up in her eyes and it only deepens Yoongi’s guilt.

“I can’t face you. It’s so hard,” he sobs. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me but all I ever do is things that disappoint you. I’m so sorry, Hyeri.”

“Baby I’m not disappointed in you if you tell me you need help. I’m here for you and I’ll do anything to help you. I just want you to be ok.” She’s trying to mask the trembling in her voice, but it’s hard. He looks so broken and it twists her up inside.

Yoongi can hardly get another word out through his sobs. He hadn’t realized just how hard it would be for him to ask for help. It’s painful and it frustrates him that it’s so difficult. Hyeri gets up and comes around the table to wipe the tears running down his face. She’s never seen him so low. He leans into her chest and continues crying as she offers comfort.

“I’m here for you,” she says. “We can work through this together.”

It’s certainly not how Hyeri saw the day starting, though she can’t say she’s surprised that he’s fallen back into his habit. She knew the moment she saw the bottle of whiskey in his car missing that he was likely drinking heavily again. The other night was the first time she felt she may have been wrong. He hadn’t had a drink that day and she was so happy to finally see the Yoongi she’s known and missed. The gentle lover who caters to her every need and satisfies her every desire.

She appreciates him being honest and asking for help. It’s been hard for her to trust him and now that he’s opened up she hopes that means she won’t have to keep checking all of his hiding places for booze. The state he’s in is hard for her to watch so she’s determined to help him get back to his healthy self.

Hyeri had been excited about the dinner reservation she made for them, but she decided it would probably be better to stay home and order in. She doesn’t want him to have to face any temptations at the restaurant, and she knows he loves to have a good food and drink pairing. Instead she does as she always does. She takes care of Yoongi.

He told her about how much he had been drinking since he started back at the studio and her jaw is nearly on the floor. She had no idea just how much he’d been drinking until now. She’s surprised he’s even still alive and she almost wants to take him to see a doctor because she can’t imagine his liver is in good shape. Multiple large bottles of strong drinks in a day, everyday, is insane.

Yoongi cried so much he wasn’t sure he’d have any tears left in him, but they seemed to find a way anyhow. Whenever he thought of how lucky he is to have Hyeri supporting him he would start to feel guilty again. He wants to do this for her so he can finally be the person he feels she deserves.

Things start off surprisingly easy. He had nothing left and Hyeri made sure of it. When the thought would creep into his mind he would just look at the photo of her car after her accident. He continues carrying so much guilt because of that so it’s been one thing that can always bring him out of temptation and remind him why he’s doing this. He felt that method was working well and he found himself happier and freer.

With their comeback getting closer, the guys have begun working on choreography. With Yoongi’s newfound happiness from being alcohol free and back at a healthy weight he’s been getting through practices with ease. The guys are all more than happy to see Yoongi looking and feeling much better.

At home, Yoongi and Hyeri spend whatever free time they can together. It’s not much with their schedules, but they make it work as they always have. When Yoongi has to see Hyeri off he can’t help but smile at the necklace she’s wearing. The one he bought her in New York and she hasn’t taken it off since they made up. Hyeri smiles back happy that he finally started wearing the bracelet she got him again. He couldn’t put it on because it only made him feel guilty. Now it motivates him.

Yoongi not only has the love and support from Hyeri to keep him going, but his brothers as well. They’re beginning to shoot more and more content for their album and he’s doing everything to stay on his best behavior with cameras being around every corner. Still feeling guilty from his performances on tour, he feels much more responsible for being his best for this comeback. He owes it to them and to Army.

The guys have been ecstatic about Yoongi’s sobriety. Hobi told the rest of the guys about finding Yoongi drunk in his studio. They were preparing to pause all practices to have a tough talk with him. They were surprised and a little skeptical to see him show up for practice sober. They gave it time but realized he truly was completely sober. No hidden flasks or extended bathroom breaks. They decided maybe they didn’t need to have a talk with him.

He was outgoing during their Festa live. They had an assortment of food and drinks but Yoongi stuck to his diet and drinking tea. He read chat comments and stayed responsive to everything going on. Everyone feels so happy to see Yoongi this way. It even brings a tear to Hyeri’s eye as she watches the live during a break she has in schedules. He looks so happy and healthy and she’s never been more in love with him.

Yoongi feels amazing. He’s proud of himself, he and Hyeri are doing great, and he’s excited about the group’s comeback. He hasn’t had a drink in nearly two months and he’s been feeling so much lighter.

Their comeback announcement finally went out and now things are really starting to pick up. There’s lots of excitement and fans are just as anxious to hear their new music. Their schedules are getting busier each day. There’s so many interviews, promos, and appearances that keep rolling in.

Finally the day comes and BTS embarks on another comeback season. They hit the ground running with performances and appearances on tv shows. The response to their album has been very positive and it makes Yoongi feel even more invigorated. He hasn’t had this much energy in a long time.

After making their promotional visits to nearly everywhere in the country, they head off for a round of overseas promos in the US. This will be the first true test of his resistance. The last time he was in the US things were a complete wreck. He’s determined to prove to himself and everyone else that he can get through this trip, this time away from Hyeri, without having a drink. They’ll only be there for two weeks, so it can’t be that bad.

On their third day in the US, Yoongi feels like he has a fever. He doesn’t though. He’s perfectly fine. It’s just the drinks in the minibar are starting to infiltrate his dreams. He didn’t think he would suddenly struggle like this. He wanted to talk to Hyeri about it, but when he talked to her he couldn’t find the courage to do so. If he tells her he’s struggling with temptation then she may think he’s there doing all of the things he was doing last time. The drinking until he blacks out, the blowjobs from strangers, and the getting robbed. He doesn’t want her to worry when he’s so far away.

Two days later he’s waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He keeps trying to remind himself that it’s all in his head. He can’t make it. In the morning he calls Jin to his room and unloads everything in the minibar into his arms. He hasn’t had a single drink but he’s afraid he’ll break if he has to be around those drinks any longer.

Jin is happy Yoongi reached out instead of trying to face this alone. He takes the drinks and has a manager bring Yoongi the teas and juices he likes. Yoongi is grateful for Jin and he feels much better being honest about it. He even told Hyeri the next time he talked to her and she expressed how proud of him she is. To Yoongi that was a huge obstacle that he was able to overcome.

When they return home he feels a wave of relief. Nothing can stop him now. To him that was the hardest test he would have to face and he made it through. He feels unstoppable.

A/N: Hi everyone! First I’d like to say how much I appreciate each and every one of you for supporting this story, you guys are awesome! 💜 I want to let you all know that there will be no new chapter next Monday. Life decided to suddenly throw me a curveball and I just need a little time to simply rest and refresh. No worries though because I’ll be back on the April 1 with a new chapter. Take care of yourselves 💜😊

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

To Leave the Abyss

Professor Sharp hates to recognise himself in your eyes.

&

A thirty something Auror Aesop Sharp is failing to come to terms with his predicament.

This was supposed to be a part of one of my WIP. But then I got into it and thought; oof, that's heavy. So it's a standlone. Gif amateurly made by me.

Note: Sharp, Hecat and Ronen knew each other in school. Ronen was oldest, Hecat was youngest and they were in the "I hate PNB" club before it was cool.

TW: Depression, Self-harm, suicidal thoughts, swearing

Sharp wasn’t usually fond of going to the Astronomy tower - the amount of stairs! Tonight however, he felt a certain pull towards the place, and he was glad that he did. It took him a long time to finally climb that spiral staircase, but once he managed to do so, he immediately noticed that he wasn’t alone there. Standing just ahead was a student, and he didn’t even need to guess which student it was. You were shaking like a leaf, your hand holding the handle of your broom in a vice grip, and you stood with your back to him. “What do you think you’re doing here?!” he asked loudly, making you flinch violently and turn around to face him.

The look on your face terrified him, haunted him, because he knew it all too personally. That wide-eyed panic, tinged with chaos and madness. You reminded him of a wounded, caged animal and he could almost feel you considering whether to just throw your broom away and toss yourself off the tower without it.

He remembered that look so well. 

—

He saw it in his own eyes, shortly after he was released from St Mungo’s. He moved around mostly on a wheelchair, using his cane only when absolutely necessary - to dress himself, get into and out of bed, sit on the sofa, use the bathroom. He drank heavily that evening. Like he did everyday since he got home, actually. He was just washing his hands, trying to balance himself on his good leg, the strong liquor making it even more difficult, when he made the mistake of looking up. He saw himself in the mirror. He saw the look. He saw his scar, red and angry and fucking painful. He saw his face. His face was overgrown, scruffy, and his eyes were red, the circles under them so dark they were nearly purple. His hair was a mess. He was a mess. A cripple. He’ll never be able to do his job again. He’ll never see his partner again. He’ll be forever haunted by the memory of seeing her with her wife and son, together in an embrace. He lost everything. He lost everything.

The pain in his leg seared, raw and agonising, and Aesop screamed. He brought his arms up in unhinged madness and he lunged forward, bringing his fisted hands against the mirror. There was a cathartic sound of glass shattering and he nearly felt relieved when he felt pain somewhere else than his leg and face. Blood. Blood was falling freely from his shaking hands. A few hard hits later, he was covered in it. He was trembling. With a final hit, he let his head join in on breaking the mirror. He saw red. Hot wetness ran down his nose, his cheeks.

Pain. His leg cramped up and with a shout he felt it give up on him, sending him plummeting to the ground. He sat there covered in cuts, in shards, in blood. He screamed. Aesop screamed as loud and long as he could, tears streaming down his face, red from exertion. He screamed even as his throat began to hurt, screamed until he no longer physically could. 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, head hung low, shards of glass all around him, some of the smaller cuts having stopped bleeding. The blood was drying up, becoming crusty. Tears still streamed down his face. He was filthy, his clothes were beyond salvation. His leg hurt like shit, so much he barely felt the glass cuts anymore. His hands were a mess. Two of his fingers were broken, protruding in odd directions. He was still shaking. 

One of his hands picked up a larger piece of what used to be his mirror. He observed the sharp edge of it. How long would it take to die if he was to slit his throat? How long would it take to bleed out like the pathetic animal he was, if he was to sever an artery. He unconsciously lifted the glass.

“Aesop Theodore Sharp, you put down that shard RIGHT NOW! ” He startled so much, he gripped it harder, cutting it into his palm. He winced and his hand released. It took a while before it hit the ground, having got stuck under his skin. Fresh blood started running down his arm.

Dinah Hecat stood before him, the look on her face terrifying. Her work injury years ago left her looking like an old woman despite being younger than him by two years. However, Aesop knew very well that she would have been able to take him on when he was in full health and strength. This was not a woman to be trifled with. “What were you thinking?!” she roared. The former unspeakable, current teacher observed him. He must’ve looked positively pitiful. “We’re going to St Mungos. You’ll be staying there until term ends, even if I’m to personally shackle you to the bed. And I won’t let you out of my sight during the summer. Aesop Sharp, heed my words, you are going to hate me before September comes!”

He didn’t argue. There was no point. He was as weak as a kitten right now and whatever Dinah wanted to do, he wouldn’t be able to stop her. 

He could not speak, when a healer in the magical hospital inquired about his injuries, his sore throat only producing strangle gurgling sounds. He drank so many potions, he felt as if his taste buds were permanently burned away. Wiggenweld, Blood-Replenishing potion, Skele-Gro, Calming draught, Draught of peace and of course Dreamless Sleep. A dose larger than he ever had before. 

When he woke up, he realised just what he’d done. He remembered everything. He sat up in the pristine white hospital bed, his whole body sore, his leg positively pulsing with pain. He put his face into his hands. He wept again. A warm hand touched his shoulder. Watery brown eyes looked up into the kind face of his former ministry colleague. Dinah stroked his shoulder, before moving her hand up to his face, to his hair, petting him softly. 

He cried into her shoulder that day, his hands laying limp in his lap. He heard a clock ticking somewhere to his left. He heard Dinah’s soft shushing sounds. He heard movement on the corridors - nurses, healers, patients, visitors. He heard his own heavy breathing, and he heard the beating of his own heart.

“Listen to me, Aesop,” she spoke later. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the sun was taking on an orange colour. Her hands were on his shoulder. “I am choosing to believe that yesterday-” her breath caught, but she recovered quickly, “yesterday was a moment of madness. Never again do I want to find you like I did. You have to realise that your life is not your own to take. Once you do, you’re not the one who’ll hurt. Everyone around you, your family, colleagues, your friends, they’ll be the ones to bear that pain. Think of your mother. You would really make her bury her son next to her husband? 

“You would have her suffer all alone until the end of her days? You would have her, and me, and Abraham, and your partner’s wife stand at your funeral? How could you be so selfish?” Her words were harsh, but Aesop felt he needed to hear them. He felt them grounding him. He felt ridiculous and pitiful. He wept on.

“Aesop… you won’t stay in this darkness. I know you won’t, because you won’t be allowed to. You’re one of the strongest people I know and you never knew when to give up. And now, giving up so easily? That’s not you. Get yourself together. I want to see that Aesop I know, that witty, brave, sarcastic, strong man, who’d always find a way to do what he felt was right. Even if it meant breaking a rule or two.” The broken man held his hands together in his lap, rubbing them slowly. Old habits die hard.

“What if-” he started, his voice still hoarse from yesterday. His throat felt numb. “What if I’m not able to… remember that man?” A smaller hand closed around his rugged ones. “Then you’ll have me to remind you. I’ll do everything in my power to help you, and if I’m unable to help, then you can be sure I’ll stand by you, every step of the way.” Aesop could have cried all over again.

“Okay,” he said instead.

–

Dinah did good on her promise, and really checked in on him every day of the summer. She was driving him up the wall, actually. She threw out every bottle of alcohol she found, and regularly made sure he didn’t buy any more. He started eating more, because not doing so resulted in the former unspeakable giving him an earful. He decided fairly quickly that it’s simply less of a hassle to get something into his stomach, than having to endure her wrath every day. He gained back some of the weight he lost, no longer looking so gaunt. 

She forced him to start walking, using his cane for support. It hurt like hell. It made him determined. He was not going to give up. Slytherins don’t just give up. Dinah made him go outside, being so obnoxious he was almost glad to get out of his house. The first breath of fresh morning air made his sore body buzz appreciatively. He didn’t walk far the first day, choosing to just sit in his little garden. The DADA teacher appeared with tea and sat next to him, looking awfully proud of herself. With a flick of his wand, he disposed of the dead plants on his herbology table nearby.

The next day he walked around the little hamlet. He tried not to notice the stares he received from his neighbours. He tried even harder not to notice their pity. He pushed his chin forward, proud and defiant, as he made his way to the merchant nearby. He needed new seeds. 

—

He wasn’t entirely happy to be in the Three Broomsticks, if he was being honest. But, once more Dinah pestered him until he agreed. That is, until he gave her his worst angsty-teenager ‘Fine!’ . He knew people were staring. The curious glances were easier to handle than the winces. A girl appeared at their table, taking their orders. She could have been fifteen, maybe sixteen. She didn’t look at his scar, didn’t look at his cane. She observed him as if he wasn’t a cripple, who’s obviously in pain. She just smiled and took their order. He was grateful for it. “That’s Sirona Ryan, one of my Ravenclaws,” smiled Dinah, “wonderful girl. She really came out of her shell once she embraced who she is.”

—

Having grown tired of spending his compensation money and the little sick leave pay he received every two weeks on buying potions for his pain, he soon started brewing his own. Wiggenweld, for a start, but also various other potions, as well as salves, each of which have had various success in diminishing his pain. He forgot how much he always loved this subject. He started experimenting, too, trying new ingredients, new combinations. The healers in St Mungos may have been convinced there was no cure for his ailment, but Aesop wouldn’t give up. 

When summer ended and Dinah could only visit him during the weekends, he was equally glad and disappointed. He thought he looked forward to being alone again, alone with his thoughts, alone without her constantly pestering him to eat something, to go outside, to shave, to cut his hair, to dress in fresh clothes. He found himself slightly lonely now.  

However, he found a rhythm, a routine. He’d wake up in the morning and go about his day. Aesop would do his morning hygiene. He’d make and eat his breakfast. He’d tend to his plants. He’d have lunch. He’d go for a walk, leaning on his cane. The pain never went away, but it was more bearable now. On most days, that is. He’d be hunched over his potions station long into the evening, brewing and brewing. He’d run his experiments. He’d fall into his bed, but not without taking either Dreamless Sleep or Draught of Peace.

Rinse and repeat. 

He ate, he wore clean clothes, he took care of himself and his home. He visited his mother, who always fretted over him. Then there was Dinah who would also fret over him when she came over. He saw Abraham a few times, the jovial man always full of stories. He let his hair and stubble grow in defiance. He was offered a different job in the Auror office. Auror recruitment programme… the very thought made him shudder. To think he’d be buried under parchment, dealing with children straight out of Hogwarts, who thought they were some heroes who would save the world, only for them to soon realise how horribly they were mistaken… Often brutally. Bloodily.

He didn’t want that. Such a job held no appeal to him whatsoever.

Aesop Sharp retired from the Auror office at 34 years old.

He still received a small amount of monetary support from the ministry every month, and he started selling some of what he brewed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Aesop. In any case, it was enough until he found something better to do, some new job that could fill him with fulfilment. Dinah came around, sometime during April with a smug smile on her face. She found him the perfect job, she claimed.

Four months later, Aesop stood before Hogwarts.

He found it rather funny. He didn’t want to deal with children straight out of Hogwarts who pursued an Auror career, only to deal with them in the school itself. If anything, he could make sure they were well prepared, that they were humble, that they knew everything they needed. That they wouldn’t end up like him.

He also thought about the vast expanse of Hogwarts library, of the Greenhouses, of the ingredient stores. If he was to find a cure somewhere, it would be here.

With every limping step towards the castle, he grew more and more sure that this was the right decision. That this was fate. 

—

The worst time of his life flashed before Aesop’s eyes. He saw your sorrow, your desperation, your pain. He saw you, entirely, and he saw himself, too. It was raw and painful and he hated it. He hated to see someone so strong, so ridiculously brave, so kind and selfless like you feeling this way. Damn ancient magic, damn the keepers, damn Ranrok and damn Eleazar for leaving you like he did.

“Come here,” he said, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. Not knowing why, you obeyed. Your broom hit the floor. You moved slowly, still shaking violently, tears already appearing in your eyes. It was Aesop who took the final two steps to you, and, without further ado, closed his arms around your smaller form, pressing you to him entirely, imprisoning you in his warmth. You’ve grown during the year, but being as tall as he was, he easily tucked your head under his chin. Sobs soon started leaving you. Gut-wrenching and raw like his screams were before. It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

He made it on time, he made it before you did something stupid. Like he did. He wouldn’t let you be like him. He held you tightly, stroked your hair, let you cry on his shoulder. He made soft shushing noises. In the distance he heard bells, it was midnight. You clung onto him, your hands gripping the fabric of his coat so tightly, your fingers went white. He was a solid, steady warmth against you, and you felt safe, protected, and you weren’t alone. When your sobs began subsiding, you felt utterly exhausted, numb, your throat was sore from crying so hard, and your head was starting to ache.

Two large lean hands grabbed your face, gently, yet insistently. The potions master pulled you back, tilted your head and looked into your eyes deeply. His face was so close, his large nose almost touched your own.

“You listen to me, (F/N)(L/N), and you listen well,” he started, his tone soft, yet very serious, “I know your pain. I know the darkness - you won’t stay in it. You won’t be allowed to. I won’t let you, your friends and teachers won’t let you, and you definitely won’t let yourself.” He remembered what Dinah told him, all those years ago, word for word. He never forgot. He never stopped being grateful to her. She pulled him out of that void and now he had to do the same for this young witch.

“You’re stronger than you know. I simply won’t accept you giving up, not after you single-handedly defeated Ranrok, after you saved this school. That’s not you. I want to see that absolutely brilliant girl, who excels in school by day and rescues beasts by night, who’s untamed and unafraid, and who’s always ready to defy anything and anyone, even me, in order to do what’s right. Whatever you need, I’m here. If you cannot bear to be alone, I’m wholly prepared to give you detention every evening until you graduate. I intend to pull you out of that abyss, even if you hate me for it.”

At some point your hands covered his own on your cheeks, and fresh tears rolled from your eyes. Aesop pulled you close again, grounding you, letting you fall apart in his arms and putting you back together with his quiet comfort. “I could never hate you,” you whimpered and clung on tighter, not wanting him to let you go. He wouldn’t. Just like Aesop was not alone, he wouldn’t let you be alone either. You were not alone. He was not alone.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed reading. You can also find this story on AO3. I appreciate your feedback!

[lanawinters-ily]

You're My Baby, Say It To Me

Your mental health has taken a dip again. But it is okay. Mama Ally is here to pick up all the (literal) pieces.

Pairing: Ally Mayfair x Teen!Reader (Gender neutral)

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: mental health themes, collapsing, themes of s*lf-harm

Yes, if you can believe it, I did write this fic as less bad than the true story ouch.

It was getting bad again.

Though, this time, you weren’t entirely sure if you had ever gotten better in the first place.

The feeling deep in your chest was heavy, and with every step you took, it became harder to not sink right into the floor.

Through the tile, through the foundations, through the dirt.

To bury yourself in this depression that had built up around you.

It was different this time.

You felt as if you had talked too much, shared too much. Everyone was so so worried, but even their concern didn’t seem enough.

No one could touch you when you had already blocked them off before they even tried.

University had failed. It was supposed to be a new start, but somehow you had fucked it up even more than at home.

Now that was impressive.

At least you had your mama.

It was just you and her, and she had struggled when you were gone.

The house seemed so much emptier, and she was looking forward to having you home for the holidays.

But not this early.

Unfortunately, we are beginning at the day after Ally had to collect you from university, after a friend has called her expressing serious concerns over your mental health. She had rushed straight over and bought you home without hesitation.

But you were yet to open up to her.

Ally wanted to give you space, though her maternal instincts were screaming to pull you close and hold you until every problem faded away.

She wanted you to trust her, to come to her in your time.

Perhaps that was a bad idea.

—

It had been another rough evening, though your emotions seemed slightly off. You couldn’t place the difference, but it made you uneasy.

Today had been good. Your mood had lifted a little, and you had even managed some low-effort chores. This kind of day was unfamiliar for you, and often didn’t have the desired effect.

After one day of slight positivity, your depression tended to come back with full force. Like, slap-in-the-face kind of force.

You had convinced yourself that this mood was different, and would last.

Well, sorry to spoil, but it did not.

As you were getting ready for bed, nausea started rising in your throat. The familiar feeling of anxiety shot through your body, not creeping up like usual, but pulsating into every limb in an instance.

This was not going to end well.

“Sweetheart, would you make me a cup of tea?” Ally’s voice called up the stairs.

Shit. You had to pull yourself together quickly, take drastic action to save face in front of your mother.

Swallowing down bile, you took a couple measured breaths and walked down the stairs.

All you had to do was boil the kettle, pour it into mugs and say goodnight to your mama.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

With shaky legs you stepped into the kitchen, filled up the kettle and put it on. Took out two mugs, two teabags, and a teaspoon.

It was then when things began to get hazy.

Your ears were ringing, and the kettle looked like it was floating. Spots took over and a strange grey haze coloured your usually bright kitchen

Something crashed to the ground, and it took you a couple of seconds to realise you had dropped a mug.

The last thing you heard was a distant scream of “Sweetheart?!” before everything faded to black.

—

“Sweetheart? Baby?”

You could hear a faint muttering. Never in your life had you felt so disorientated. Hard floor under your back, a throbbing in your head, and a sharp pain on your arm.

And who was talking?

Squeezing your eyes, you tried with all your energy to force the lids open.

“Baby? Can you hear me?”

A groan that you didn’t even recognise as your own slipped from your mouth. Eyes wandering the surroundings you realised you were on the kitchen floor, with your mother hovering over you.

She’d never looked so terrified in her life. Ally Mayfair did not do scared.

But it was different with you. Her baby.

You couldn’t speak, so just looked at her and made a noise in recognition that you could hear.

“Oh my baby.” Ally let out a huge sigh of relief at this sign.

“Stay down here for a little bit love. I don’t want you collapsing on me again, okay?”

You just blinked, pretty sure that you couldn’t even imagine sitting, let alone standing right now.

Your body felt as if you’d somehow doubled in weight, heavy heavy heavy into the ground. As if you’d break through the grey tiles and fall forever and ever.

“Sweetie.” Ally said in a somber tone, making you look back up at her.

“You were bleeding pretty badly from your wrist. I thought it was from the mug, but when I looked, I could tell it was something different.”

Sure enough, you looked to see your wrist securely bandaged.

Huh.

That must have happened during the panic attack. How weird. You’d never done that without even thinking before.

Maybe that’s why it was worse than normal.

“When did this start again honey?”

Your mother peered down at you with sad brown eyes, tears peeking out from behind eyelids.

Energy was needed for this conversation, and energy was certainly not what you had in that moment.

So, you just made another noise and shrugged, hoping that Ally would sense that you wanted to move away from the subject.

“Alright love.” She squeezed your hand and sighed, looking briefly at her phone.

“You were out for about five minutes, which is not ideal darling. I called an ambulance while you were unconscious. They weren’t too concerned, but a crisis team is going to call us soon. Is that okay baby?”

Tears filled your eyes as your lip wobbled. You had really fucked up this time.

“My baby,” Ally mumbled and gently guided you up into her embrace.

She rocked you back and forth while you sniffled, not even having the energy to form sobs. You sat like that for a couple of minutes until you had quietened down.

“Let’s get you up and comfy sweetheart.” Your mama said.

As desperate as you were to move off the cold, hard floor, your body was still in shock-mode. As Ally carefully pulled you by your hands upwards, your knees buckled, sending you back towards the ground.

“Oh!” Ally gasped, grabbing you as you fell. You both ended up on the floor again.

“Let’s try that again. I can hold your weight darling, you can always lean on me.” Your mother said softly.

You knew this was a double meaning, and made a little smile in recognition. Working together, you and Ally managed to make it into the living room and she laid you on the sofa.

She sat beside you and soft hands stroked your pale face.

“We’ve got this baby. Me and you, against the world. All the bad, that’s staying outside this room. In here, it is us. I’ve got you, sweetheart. Please lean on me.”

And for the first time in a while, you felt a stir of hope in your chest.

“Thank you mama. I love you.”

“I love you baby. You’re my everything.”

Taglist: @sweetestberryofthebunch @dreamypqulson @ahsfan05

(I just tagged people who I knew wanted to read this bc my other taglist is so out of date haha)

[hello-nichya-here]

If you had to characterized Michael Jackson as one of the following adjectives that happened to be important qualities in the entertainment industry, which would you pick? Explain your answer.

Vocalist

Dancer

Songwriter

Performer

Picking "vocalist" would imply that his main focus as an artist would be his singing abilities.

Picking "dancer" would imply that his main focus as an artist would be his dancing abilities.

Picking "songwriter" would imply that his main focus as an artist would be his lyrics and not how he delivers them.

Picking "performer" would imply that his Mai focus as an artist during live shows isn't his singing it dancing, but the production elements (costumes, dancers, lighting, scene set up, ect)

Please give examples to justify your answer.

Picking one of the above adjectives wouldn't imply that his abilities in the rest of them are lacking, I'm simply trying to find which feild is his best.

This message has been typed by someone who knows shit about MJ and wants to learn but not through the mainstream media, as you've already said that they treated him like shit.

ANON, YOU FOOL, YOU OPENED THE FLOOD GATES! Get a snack and some water, then sit down, this is gonna take a ridiculously long time because I know WAY too much about Michael and you just gave me the chance to share all of that knowledge at once.

First off, I unfortunately have to get the depressing part out of the way and tell you that it wasn't just the media that treated him like shit. Nearly everyone in his life failed this man on some degree.

His father used to watch him and his brother's practice for their performances as The Jackson 5/The Jacksons - with a belt in hand to beat them if they got even a single note wrong. He'd also just throw them against all too He also made fun of Michael's appearence as he was growing up, mocking him for his acne, big nose and for being too dark to truly be his son.

Joseph Jackson also cheated on his wife constantly - especially while traveling with his sons during tours, since he was the manager. So add "Had to listen to him cheat on my mom" to the lists of reasons why Michael didn't like his dad all that much. He also didn't care where his sons performed as long as it got them money, leading to Michael, while still very much a young CHILD, singing in strip clubs, and, in his own words, having to watch adults fighting and vomiting on each other.

His brothers weren't saints either. They all had to share a room in the hotels during tours, and Michael not only had to hear his older brothers having sex with fans (again, while he was still a child), but he also had to hear how these girls were being used and thrown away. Michael even tried to talk to one of said girls after it because she was crying so much he thought she might have been there against her will.

And when Michael went solo and became far richer than anyone in the family (who by now were FAR from poor), he was constantly harassed for money by nearly everyone, leading to him full on hiding from them many times, and sometimes only "talking" to them by sending his lawyer in his place. In his own words "I’ve supported my brothers, supported them all. I’ve put their kids through school. But they still come after me, still wanting more. It never ends." After his death, most of his relatives were too busy fighting over his money to properly mourn him, or comfort his children.

As I explained in a previous post, the people that were making money off of him and his performances, were more than willing to just let Michael continue dancing after getting seriously injured and nearly dying:

His final tour, literally named "This Is It" because he wanted to officially retire already, was originally meant to be just 5 shows. Instead Michael was tricked into commiting to 50 shows, and pressured to "keep his word." Thanks to the years of neglect to his health, plus the reharsals for this tour, as well the help of a doctor that was more than happy to put him in a drug induced coma and call it "helping him sleep", Michael was dead before the first show of this tour even took place.

After his death, two posthumos albums were released, "Michael" and "Xscape." The first one had a lot of controversy surrounding it because 3 of the songs were NOT sung by Michael, and Sony, his record label, full on say on court that they had the right to attribute these tracks to Jackson, regardless of authenticity - aka "We should have the right to attach his name to stuff he didn't make, just so we can sell it a higher price." It did not go well.

Finally, we have the pedophilia allegations (that people still take as absolute truth despite Michael being proven innocent in court), which can summed up in this 2 minute video:

Said accusations, despite being obviously false, nearly destroyed his reputation completely, AND made him a victim of police brutality during the court case.

Now we got all that crap all of the way, let's talk about what actually matters:

Why Michael Jackson will always be THE greatest artist of all time!

There's a reason why he was called the King Of Pop, why many artists today (from like The Weekend and Bruno Mars, to nearly every K-Pop group ever) take a ton of notes from how he used to do things, why people still ADORE Thriller 40 years later, why he is still so iconic even though "Year of Michael Jackson" was 1988 - 35 years ago. Michael Jackson was the definition of a "perfectionist." A picture of him should be right next to that word in every dictionary.

If while reading about his depressing life, you found yourself thinking "Why did he wait so long to finally 'quit his job', and even then was still willing to end it on a high note?" the answer is pretty simple: Michael Jackson was an ambitious man, with a real passion for his craft, and he knew damn well he was incredibly talented. ALL of the words you chose as possibilities to define him - performer, dance, singer, writer - apply to him, because he made sure he was the best at everything, that no other artist, no matter how good they were, could compare to him.

Everything he did was like clockwork, a ton of large and small parts moving at once.

Michael knew that he needed to capture people's attention, so he used everything he had at his disposal. Multiple dancers, costumes, lighting, make-up, sound effects, back up vocalists going insane on the microphone, and short films to promote songs/albums.

Ever thought some music video by an artist you like was super creative and awesome? Thank Michael Jackson, because his clips were EVENTS, and he really opened the door for people to get creative and actively add plot to their videos/short films instead of just dancing and singing.

This man was commited into making everything he did look fantastic - and I do mean EVERYTHING. In a concert in Moscow, the stage was wet due to the heavy rain before it, so Michael added sliding around to the choreography to show the crew were the water puddles were. Whenever something liket that happened and his shoes were wet, instead of stopping the concert for even a minute to dry them or put a different pair on, he'd just signal for people in the crew to leave towels on the stage, so he'd stand on them while dancing, drying the shoes without having to stop.

But he also used fake "unplanned" events to create humor, and give the crew more time to prepare things for the next song, or so he could change clothes - the most famous one being inviting Slash, who would pretend get "carried away" during his guitar solos and "not stop when he was supposed to."

Then there are things like him using the iconic white glove in only one hand to hide the first signs of his vitiligo, or the hats (as well as wigs and hair-extensions) to cover up the scars and hair loss that he suffered after the Pepsi accident, in which his hair caught fire while filming a commercial.

There was also the time in which he couldn't dance due to an injury, so he did a less elaborate dance (by his standards anyway) while in a chair, but while reacting the entire vibe of the original short film for that song, so it would still get the public excited. That dude knew how to use his little "tricks" to get around any change of plans.

There was also his habit of using black shoes and black pants, but white socks, so that when he was dancing, people's eyes would naturally focus on the thing that is standing out, and thus be able to notice every little step he was doing (he once mentioned in an interview how he'd get frustrated watching James Brown on TV because the camera didn't focus enough on his feet for him to learn how to copy the moves).

Those last two exemples I just gave you, also highlight a very important thing: dancing absolutely is part of Michael's theatrics (see the awesome choreography of "Dangerous", which is one of my favorites, and can often even overshadow the more "flashy" stuff, because just having him alone on stage was enough to create something unforgettable - like the first time he did the Moonwalk

But we can also not separate the dance from his passion for music. There's a reason Michael's entire body moves whenever there's a change even in a single note, be it through a kick, a snap of his fingers, a tap of his foot, or just him turning his head to the side. He had repeatedly said that when working on his dancing, he focused more on the feeling it gave him.

Michael was heavily involved in the creation of his music, from the melody to the lyrics - back in the Jackson 5 days, he and his brother's actively fought to be allowed to write their own songs, instead of just doing covers and having other people write for them. Even though he had been putting out solo records his whole life, he said his albums only started to truly feel like they were his when he started stepping up as a song writter, starting in "Off The Wall", and gaining more and more confidence in his craft with each new record.

And back to the "performer" side for a minute: there's a reason why Michael always gave it all when making music videos. He wanted them to properly convey the meaning of the lyrics, even to people who did not speak any english. That's how important the messages he wanted to share with people were to him.

There's also the song "They Don't Care About Us", which Michael wrote after the incident I mentioned before, in which some bastard cops decided to make him their punching bag. The whole song is about authorities abusing their power over people, while neglecting to do their jobs. There are two videos for this one, one in a real prison, which was heavily censored by american media, and one in poor regions of Brazil, where our government tried to prevent him from filming his video - in both cases, it was obviously a case of the very people Michael was calling out not wanting him to expose just how right he was. (Little fun fact for you: Michael's help, both through expousure and money, for the people here in Brazil was so significant that there's a statue in his homage).

The music video for "Beat It" also has members of real, rival gangs as Michael's dancers, promoting his message for people not let that kind of grudge and "I'm the best" atitute get them in the dangerous situations because they didn't want to "admit defeat" and walk away - once again, he's everything at once, an amazing performer making a cool video, and a skilled writer getting a point across.

His vocals also tie into how much the lyrics mattered. He was literally crying while recording "She's Out Of My Life", and even though he didn't write "Man In The Mirror" that song was always very dear to him (and by consequence, to fans) because it alligned with his beliefs for a better world.

The emotions behind any lyrics, regardless of if it had been written by him or not (and I remind you, it very often was, and he literally fought for that right), were the very core of what Michael Jackson, both the artist and person, was all about. The feeling, the message.

But he also was so serious and methodical about every other part of the songs he made. So much so that, for Billie Jean, he recorded 91 different takes, but the one that was considered the best and ended up on the album was take TWO! And he once managed to prove he had not ripped off a different song writer by beatboxing in court. I am not kidding.

THAT is how skilled that man was. MJ could sing pretty much anything he wanted to sing, and had an unbelievable level of control over his voice, that allowed him to reach super high notes, despite having a naturally much lower, deeper voice. Just compare his singing in these two tracks:

And if you want to hear solely his voice, without the rest of the song to "distract" you, well...

And to circle back to his performances again, even in situations in which he had to lipsinc - like award shows since the logistics for live performances in those places can be complicated, or during a REALLY elaborate choreography - he still had the habit of recording NEW vocals for the songs, so fans would still get to hear him toy with new ideas for his old tracks, instead of just watching him dance while the album's tracks were playing

So there you have it, anon. This is Michael Jackson - performer, dancer, singer, songwriter - the full package. (If you want to see a concert of his in which he shows off all of that, I recommend you watch the full Live at Wembly concert, which anyone can watch for free on his official youtube channel)

[lost-creatures]

"Hot Cougars in your area". She'd seen the ads a hundred times before, they were probably the only motherfuckers willing to advertise on these piece of shit message boards, and most of them were just scams anyway. This time though:

Reader Discretion Advised: Eaten Alive, hard vore, snuff, vomit, musk, yuri, t4t MINORS DNI

So I do as I'm told and walk away from my campsite in the middle of the night without telling anyone. We didn't have to go far— just some state park in the mountains above the suburbs. An arid montane scrubland echoed across the rolling surface, its reds and yellows muted to grey and blue in the winter moonlight. Three ridgelines deep into the mountains already. Just the hike to the backcountry campsite beat my ass, so my legs are screaming as I walk into the cold.

/

it was an unlicensed app, right? but you know the website seemed normal enough and i figured that if this worked, i wouldn't really care what they did with whatever got left behind. enough debt to buy a house i guess? i thought i'd been fucked anyway, made a profile and went 2 weeks without a response or message. they're just gonna rob me, huh? this is even better than Lex.

i really needed a girl to pin me down and start tearing into me, nobody ever goes hard enough goddammit. if you want something done right i guess you need to find the real deal.

i almost deleted the app, told myself two days in a row that i should. then, a photo, a mass, the clash of textures between corded muscle and gelatinous organ, heaped onto the dust at night. the kind of thing you'd see on a trail cam, but the angle was wrong.

how can i reply? i can't just hit her with the keysmash, how many women like her can even admit they'd want to do this to you. prey have to stand out a bit more these days, predator populations are way down.

"hey um, is that your work? i really liek it ;3"

fuck goddammit its over im fucking blowing it

"thnk u for noticing meeeee!~"

i'll just kms i'm cooked

"sorry i, the composition of the piece is very strong. the way the textures of the corpse contrast with the dusty landscape, acts to draw your focus as much as the border of the spot lighting and surrounding darkness. the off center lighting creates an almost sfumato effect along the massing, creating beautiful shadow shapes. would you want a new subject? ;3"

"Hahaha, you're cute aren't you?"

my rizz is unlimited

"We should meet. Do you know Henry Coe?"

/

Going back down the 22% grade is harder than climbing it and made even worse by the loose gravelly surface and the too many gin and tonics I had after we made camp. My boot catches a rock as I leave the trail and my knees hit the rocks. It hurts, but I'm having trouble finding the meeting spot, maybe some blood on the trail will help her find me. It feels like she's already on top of me. There's a pressure in the air and it makes every crack and shift in the earth reverberate across the slope. In that moment I can hear every motion every breath under the scrub. There's nothing, just wind howling over the crest of Mount Sizer. But I can feel her boring into me. I keep waiting for her to collide with me, knock me to the ground. I want her I want her inside me.

I want to be ready so I strip my torn clothing from my body.

This has to be the spot, the singular tree matches the photo she sent. I sit, bare ass shivering on the stone under the tree and wipe the fresh beads of blood down my knees, only managing to make a big red smear reaching halfway down my shins. The premix gin and tonics from the campsite start to fight their way back up my throat.

"I didn't think you were gonna show." she's smiling. Her stare pierces through me like I'm not even there. Its entrancing.

Her amber felid form followed my same path along the mountainside and into this depression. A little bit of my blood already stains her muzzle.

"You're Eloise? You know you shouldn't give your real name out to strangers on the internet, right?" She stretches the last word out, lilting, like she's trying hard not to laugh.

I'm struggling to respond through the boozy haze, the biting wind, and the nerves I get just looking at her. "i didn't really think it mattered" I uncurl a bit and she finally gets a look at my face. "can i know yours?"

She jumps, pounces, closing the distance between us faster than I can react. The full weight of her body hits me square between the breasts. Between her body and the rocks beneath every last wisp of air is pressed from my lungs. Her scent hits me all once as I gasp for air, she's actually wild, fuck. Her stink is acrid, acidic, astringent, its the kind of smell that sucks the moisture out of the air and dries out your mouth. I don't gag so much as start panting and straining towards her. "Its Tiffany." Planted on my sternum she makes every breath a labor and I barely manage to whisper a reply.

"i… i…"

I've wanted this for so long but I never thought I'd get this far. I have no idea what to say.

She shifts her weight into my guts and the sick I've been holding back overtops the lump in my throat and pours weakly down my chin. I gag into my chest as my entire body contracts and the waves of my vomit splash flecks of evidence into the fur of her breast and forelegs.

"Its okay kiddo, you don't have to say anything"

"please," I'm coughing up the heavier stragglers stuck in my throat, "you're beautiful" It just burns now. "i need you to take everything from me"

She laughs and looks down, guiding my eye to her massive paws pressing into the plush of my abdomen. To the contents of my stomach emptied over my still flat chest and softening waistline, dripping off in chunks. The tips of her claws poke from their cuticle in their round furred sheath. Fully deployed, each one looks like a karambit, sharpened just for me. She runs her paws gently over my belly, the touch imperceptable over that of the scouring wind, and still, red and black beads follow in the trail she leaves. The roughness of her underpaw brushes past my aching nipples. I can't help but gasp at the burst of sensation attacking my touch starved corpus. She cups her mouth over my breast and gently rolls the small lump of fat around with her tongue, punctuating herself by flicking the tensed tip against my nipples. I can barely process how desperately horny I am. Between my love life sequestered behind a screen and my newly sensitive flesh, I was unprepared. Warmth spreads where my cunt should be and I can't help but grind weakly against her soft underbelly. The first hardon I've had in weeks, I'm almost crying. She pauses a moment and grins down at my weak erection to let me frot against her own growing studded clit. She pins my wrists against the stony ground and puts her hips into it. I'm screaming, the feeling is so intense it almost edges into painful. She's growling feral in my ear, gravel infiltrating her saccharine valley accent. God Fuck please I need it its fucking happening. I shoot; I didn't even know I could do that anymore. The thin mucus spraying from my tip coats the gap between us and she thrusts harder against my pelvis. When she shoots, it hits me in the chin so hard I yelp.

"You really are cute. I hope I can keep you." Her voice trails off and she looks down at me with pity or maybe resignation.

Held down by her impossible strength, she pulls open the soft flesh of my belly like a ripe persimmon. I scream and the sound is deadened and hurried away by the gusts up the windward side of the mountain. Her snout pushes into the freshly wet cleft and I feel her buried deep inside my guts. She works her way underneath my ribs, my chest swelling at the foreign addition. There is a new pressure in me as she nibbles at my liver, the taut wet bulge of organ fills her mouth. I feel her tugging at me with suction at the back her her throat. Her teeth sink into me and the shifting cords of her stiff neck pull with enough force to tear the dark mass free. I sit in a howling void, fully part of that world. I am pure energy bursting forth from a charred vessel. Steam rises around the internal heat bleeding external, a pocket in our frigid night. Spread thin over the earth, I hope she makes eye contact with me while she chews at the choice cuts. She looks back at me, almost bashful at the intimacy held in our stares.

She lays by my side devouring me. Her cum pools in my jugular notch, stained pink with flecks of blood. A tongue like a wave of sand cleans my blood from my outstretched hand. She works her way between each of my fingers all the way down to the webbing. Rolling them over and over with that wet muscle. She knows exactly what she's doing, she's still finding ways to tease me back to ecstasy. In one smooth motion she pulls the hand into her mouth, laying the wrist perfectly along her incisors, canines neatly out of the way. And she bites, gently at first, and then the muscles in her jaw tighten and contract. Blood oozes forth and then sprays from the base of the bite. The radiocarpal ligaments snap apart in suddenly relived tension and her teeth smash themselves between my many carpal bones. My hand spasms, articulated by pain, and she rolls her bite just enough. The back of my hand hits the wet of her hard palate and every nerve in my hand screams as it comes away in her mouth. She pins the arm under her while she sucks at the meat of my hand.

its too much its everything im scared i cant

I come to and the wind's died down a little, the moon's not quite where it used to be. I guess you can live a pretty long time with your guts out and no liver. Longer than I'd have thought anyway. A stump of a wrist bounces off a rock as she drags me. The edges are black with either dried blood or frostbite. I'm not sure how much longer I have left, but every second I get with her is an eternity.

[papasmistakeria]

Cursed Enterprise headcanon (maybe AU) cause my favourite series is now Enterprise and they're the closest to the 21st century so I can make millenial headcanons for them and it'd still be considered canon:

One time, Malcolm had the crew do archery for target practice and survival training. Ironically, the person who had the worst score was Archer

Archer lost Porthos this one time and he was depressed for an entire month. In a show of good will and friendship, T'Pol decided to make it her mission to find Porthos. She brought Archer the beagle back and he was so happy he cried and hugged her for an entire hour. 3 days later, Hoshi and Travis showed up with the real Porthos. Archer was left with one question; If that's Porthos, then who the fuck is the beagle that T'Pol brought? In the end, Archer gave up trying to figure it out and decided to adopt the other beagle

T'Pol was fascinated by the human custom of international communities discussion through means of forums as a way to recognize cultures. For her research, she signed up for Twitter. It was then she's convinced humans are fucking stupid

Trip had top surgery twice; First time when he transitioned and second time on his arm when he grew those nipples

Trip has spent most of his young adult life trying to lick his elbows. Nearly died twisting his neck one time

Malcolm had a Green Day phase and Trip laughs at him for it

Because he's smaller than most Security Chiefs, Malcolm is very resourceful in combat. Meaning, he bites and claws at people like a rabid animal. He also has near perfect voice imitation which adds to the long list of 'Things Absolutely Fucked Up about Malcolm Reed'. Some people thought he's a skinwalker or some demon

Whenever he's drunk, Malcolm shifts through 10 different personalities and accents and all of those are just Dominic Keating characters

Hoshi has a soft spot for rodents. She snuck in a bunch of her pet mice into the ship during launch and some of them escaped and at the same time, the whole ship power died and the only ones still active are weapons and warp. Turns out, some of her mice are in Engineering having the feast of their lives (they're chewing on the cables). Trip nearly had an aneurysm while the entire Engineering crew were chasing multiple mice away with brooms

Hoshi's role model is Hatsune Miku

Travis' role model is also Hatsune Miku

Travis plays Roblox. One time he made a Roblox game based off the Enterprise but then the captain found out and told him to shut it down. Nobody even noticed that Archer himself plays Roblox

One creature that Phlox absolutely cannot stand is the Earth Wasp. During his first few days on Earth, he thought the wasp was a bee and tried to observe it but instead it stung him and he hasn't forgiven it

Phlox is a big fan of Scooby Doo and has spent years trying to find a talking dog. He still believes Porthos has the ability to speak but hides it

Hayes is a Brony. His favourite is Applejack

The Enterprise crew has a Minecraft server for everyone. The Engineers are the ones who built every structure in the server. The Science and Medical crew are the ones making farms and whatnot. Command crew are the ones mining. The Security crew logs in every now and then just to blow shit up and ruin everyone's day

The only time Harris regretted recruiting Malcolm to Section 31 was during his first solo mission and somehow Malcolm managed to bite a Starfleet security officer's fucking fingers off clean and Harris nearly had an aneurysm trying to do damage control

Shran tries to learn about human custom through their history since he's a firm believer that history is the door to the present. The next time he greeted Archer, he did a dab and Archer cried

Shran went to visit Earth as a show of diplomacy and for a date with Archer. Someone offered to give him more money if he gives them some money and he mistook that for weird human hospitality tradition. He got scammed

There's a thirst trap of Soval somewhere and it's on Forrest's private tiktok account

[99pluto]

Seventeen as F1 drivers

So, my bestie and I are both into F1 and we’re carats, and this started as a joke, but I took it seriously. Tbh i don't even know how to use this website, anyway, i had fun with these. Don't take it upfront, it's silly and meant to be funny, not offensive.

Seventeen members as F1 drivers would be:

S.Coups: Michael Schumacher (Ferrari era). Huge crack that makes history ? Well kind of, just like Michael he’d get out of his car to go and beat the shit out of that one mf that crashed into him. No Javi would be in the team anymore, too scared for their life. Kimi Raikkonen type of radios (anger issues). Ultra competitive and would swear as much as Tsunoda.

Jeonghan: Christian Horner. Yes. He is a good tactician deal with it, kinda evil like Horner sometimes, but he’s got as much love to provide to his kids just like Christian with Max. He would start racing but find out he’s even better at managing a team.

Joshua: Sebastian Vettel (not Redbull era). Not Redbull era bc he was (unfairly) disliked (just like Max) at that time, and EVERYONE loves Seb. That’s it, it’s the rule, you like F1 ? You like Seb. You don’t like F1 ? You still like Seb. Unproblematic and engaged king. Also a fucking legend.

Jun: Valteri Bottas (Alfa Romeo era). Unbothered moisturized king that slays. He’s doing his things, he doesn’t care because he knows his worth, you saw him naked and didn’t expect that. Everyone praises him on how he owns his style and he fucking does. Is hilarious when you don’t expect him to be.

Hoshi: George Russell. Iconic, hilarious, massive talent, carried Williams, CARRIED WILLIAMS, nothing to prove cuz he’s one of the best altho the Mercedes is hard to drive, doesn’t complain cuz he’s EXCELLENT and races with an 8th world champion without looking ridiculous next to him.

Wonwoo: Zhou Guanyu. He’s calm and collected, doesn’t make much waves, he’s doing his things and looks good doing them. Good pics, insta feed slays. 

Woozi: Fernando Alonso. Dude will hit retirement age and still be talented, pisses me off. Rarely speaks but spicy and precise comments. Will sometimes mess with your mind, he is clever and knows how to handle himself.

DK: Alex Albon (Williams era). He’s EXCELLENT, is happy with what he has, he got treated badly when he was younger but now he knows his worth. Hard work, a sunshine, hella funny.

Mingyu: Charles Leclerc (Ferrari depressed edition). Huge ass talent (as in Max Verstappen talent, without the father trauma) but does silly mistakes, is also silly. Gets bullied by his own team, basically. Might look cute and all but can get pretty serious, like, fr, he’s talented and SMART.

Minghao: Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes era). Fashion icon, all about healthy soul in a healthy body, ICONIC. He’s just got the Lewis vibe idk like they would be friends i wouldn’t even be surprised.

Seungkwan: Daniel Ricciardo. The official sunshine of F1, the marketing face, everyone wants to meet him because he is so funny, iconic, adorable and he is talented. He carries F1’s image, he is still a sensitive person and can get hurt, so don’t, he has SO much to give and gives with pleasure, don’t hurt him (Br*wn if catch u). No one is more Dani coded than Seungkwan (kinda Seokmin too but had to choose).

Vernon: Carlos Sainz Jr. Mf isn’t part of this world, he’s seing things we don’t, chaotic in a calm way. Looks always hot in an unfair way (i might be biased). Aware of how people perceive him as weird, thinks it’s funny or doesn’t care. Unique laugh, why do they transform into seals when they’re laughing their ass out ???

Dino: Mick Schumacher (post H**s shithole era) or Oscar Piastri. He’s is the future of F1, the boy proved himself, teams literally fought over him. Give him a mediocre car he will still pull some good result although he’s a rookie, update the car and he’s a threat to experienced drivers that have been racing for years. Also Mick personality vibe, fr there’s something. Also very sweet then BOOM, he’s fucking hot.

[ibeoutchea]

IWTV Episode 5-Let’s Refocus

Okay, while everyone is going off on Lestat (rightfully so. idc that this isn’t “book” Lestat because while the show is based off the books, this behavior tracks like hell with “show” Lestat), can we turn our attention to Louis?! I find it crazy that all this attention and concern is going towards the abuser and not the abused??? 

Like this whole episode my heart broke for him. First he’s dealing with thinking Claudia is so depressed that she’s not eating. Going so far as to bring food to her room (live birds that he ensures can’t fly away) and fretting over if she’s healthy. To finding out that she’s jeopardized the underground livelihood they managed to carve out despite blatant discrimination-and we know how much Louis’ businesses mean to him. Even still, Louis’ biggest concern is her well being.

When Claudia reveals out of spite that Lestat still fucking around with Antionette, he swallows it for the most part so he could try and convince her to stay to no avail. He’s also swallowing the fact that her words-maniacally used to prove a point by Lestat- hurt him deeply because while he realizes he made a mistake in asking to create her- he thought his love would be enough. A reoccurring theme is that his love is never enough and it cuts deep each time he’s faced with that realization.

She leaves for seven whole years and he spends every last one trying to figure out where she is. He speaks to her so often another vampire heard (fuck that man btw hope he burns) and always with apology. As if things weren’t already bad, Grace asks for a meet up to show him that they have decided to declare him dead so they no longer have to excuse or deal with him. Not once does she ever ask him what happened to make him change or show any real concern. She doesn’t even give him the chance to spend a little time with him before she’s off leaving him to stare at his own headstone.

So now he gets to grieve the loss of his sister and of his daughter, born out of his desire to have a familial connection who loves him for who he is.

Lestat’s love is not pure and has always been founded by the need to possess. [Even in the books so pls spare me that specific diatribe]. Claudia’s love was that and more, it was his redemption or so he believes. It’s why when she does return home he can forgive her with open arms because all he wants is to love/be loved.

Then Lestat, like the tornado he is, ruins that reunion to make it about himself. If that wasn’t enough he goes further and beats the hell out of both of them and in the midst of it all, Louis is still putting Claudia before himself. Reassuring her that he was fine but she shouldn’t look. When Lestat is holding him up in the sky and he cries to be let go, he does not mean just physically. He wants to be free of those spindly roots! 

So here we are with a broken Louis in more ways than one. Constantly being hurt by those who claim to love him and he doesn’t think he’s worthy of anything better because of his past mistakes. Louis tragedy is that he’s never been able to love himself. He can’t explain how he needs to be loved because he doesn’t know.

If that ain’t some heartbreaking shit then I don’t know what is.