#inject the angst

[artsy-waffle19]

actually the Erik plotline is so sick and twisted like- imagine finding out that the person you've been putting on a pedestal all your life, who felt like your only friend at times in your life and whose approval and guidance you seek even after their death, might have been fundamentally against you and actively supported the mocking, humiliation and hurting of you and anybody like you. And they cannot change or explain themselves to you or make it up or do anything to make it better or make you understand. And you cannot even be mad at them because they're not around anymore and you miss them too much to be angry.

[stevebabey]

part one. the same cw applies as part one (cw: past sexual coercion is implied) thank u for any & all kind comments <3 hopin to deliver on the angsty hurt/comfort front >:/

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not exactly how he planned to start his whole apology speech but it’s as good a start as any. Steve is glad he says it. Eddie’s entire character softens just a bit hearing it, his shoulders relaxing to sit a little lower, like maybe, he was afraid Steve had come by to argue some more.

For a moment, they stare at each other until Eddie seems to realise he’s blocking the entrance. He jolts just a bit and side steps, beckoning Steve to come inside.

Good start. Steve steps forward and the subsequent rustle from behind his back reminds him of what’s in his hands. He pulls them out from their hiding spot and offers them out with only a marginally awkward cough. “Uh, first, these are for you.”

In his hands are blue hydrangeas, 3 of them, and the bag containing a mixtape and a multitude of Eddie’s favourite candies.

Eddie’s reaction isn’t… quite the usual. He doesn’t swoon or snap up the gifts out of Steve’s hands like Tilly and other girlfriends had. He doesn’t smile either, just eyes then silently. Steve feels a roll of worry tangle up his stomach.

After a moment, Eddie takes them. Steve follows him, taking the trailer stairs two at a time to keep watch on what Eddie will do. It’s a surprise then to watch them get placed to the side, flowers and gift bag dumped down on the Munson’s cluttered dining table. Eddie doesn’t even attempt a peek into the bag, which, well, for Eddie says a lot.

Moving his gaze from their discarded state to Eddie, Steve finds himself pinned down by Eddie’s waiting stare, his arms crossed tight over his chest. He’s waiting for Steve to speak. Right, it’s time to face the music.

Steve chances a quick glance down at the smudged bullet points on his palm. It suddenly feels too wooden for what Steve really wants to say, too constructed, too much what he thought Eddie wanted to hear.

And besides, Eddie hadn’t reacted as expected in the first instance, the forgotten gifts put to the side. Steve shoves his hand deep in his pocket and goes instead with exactly what he’s feeling.

“Okay, um. Look, I didn’t mean what I said. I- I know that was, I— my parents came home that night.”

None of it is coming out right, stammers on every word. Steve curses himself under his breath and wills himself to continue. Knows if it was Eddie apologising it would be poetic and sweet, all the right words in all the right order.

“I’m not— It’s not an excuse,” Steve shakes his head, tries to string together one single coherent fucking sentence. “I’m sorry. Sorry that I didn’t pick you up. And- and I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. Really, it’s- I don’t think that of you. I’m sorry if I made you think I did.”

Eddie nods, though his clenched jaw gives away he’s not entirely peachy just yet.

“Robin told me about your parents being home. And yeah, it wasn’t cool what you said.” He agrees and Steve’s stomach turns. “But I wasn’t exactly fair either, getting all up in your face about it, so I’m sorry for that.”

Steve blinks, surprised; an apology was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth.

“I’m still a bit hurt,” Eddie admits, arms folding across his chest in a defensive motion. Steve hates how he seems to be curling in on himself, so obviously hating to admit aloud that Steve’s words had cut so deep. “But y’know, I know now that you were wound up from your parents being home. So, you’re, like, forgiven I guess.”

...Huh, okay. Usually, forgiveness comes after the grovelling, Steve thinks. Not as easily granted as Eddie is seemingly giving him now.

“Okay, uh,” Steve says warily, not quite sure where to go from here. Eddie isn’t really moving, still standing a bit tense. Waiting for Steve to break the ice.

Steve’s eyes dart to the dining table — the resting hydrangeas and abandoned candy. Steve tries to put two and two together, sure, so sure he’s missing something. It’s never this easy.

Eddie hadn’t acknowledged the flowers, hadn’t wanted the gifts. Steve may be forgiven but he still hasn’t shown Eddie how sorry he is.

Steve steps closer and sinks to his knees.

Eddie’s eyes widen in an instant and he takes half a step back, his hands raising up. It doesn’t feel good to watch Eddie put distance between them. Something curls up in Steve’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks. His voice is a bit scratchy and he clears his throat, not moving closer but not moving further away.

Fine. He wants Steve to spell it out. Steve wishes Eddie would just let him apologise in the way he knows — he was hoping Eddie wouldn’t make him drag out his apologies like his father did. But Eddie did love his theatrics so it’s not all that surprising.

“I’m… still apologising?” It’s not meant to come out as a question but half way through the sentence, Steve clocks Eddie’s body language. It’s giving very different vibes than expected. Steve’s confused.

The confusion only hikes up when anger flares in Eddie’s eyes, his jaw tightening just a bit. “You’re—? This isn’t gonna make what you said hurt any less, Steve. Is that what the…”

Eddie trails off, his own gaze tracking over to the dining table. He seems even more ticked off then, fixing his gaze back on to Steve.

“Are you trying to— Did you think you buying me stuff and sucking my dick is some completely fucked way to fast-track an apology?”

Steve feels his own eyes widen, each word twisting his confusion up so tightly it hurts in his chest. Eddie sounds angry.

“No,” Steve insists weakly, because he knows that’s what Eddie wants to hear. Even if that sort of is what he was expecting. He shakes his head, tries to get a read on Eddie’s body language beyond his annoyance. What does he want? “No, I just…”

Eddie’s anger seems to wane a little, seeing the confusion shudder across Steve’s features. Steve suddenly feels incredibly stupid being on his knees— but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Maybe Eddie doesn’t want him in this way right now.

“I was,” Steve starts, clearing his throat and willing away his flushed cheeks. “I’m proving it to you.” His voice is a little stronger now, more sure. “I want to prove that I’m sorry.”

Eddie stares at him for a long moment and just when Steve thinks he’ll concede and reach for his belt, he surprises Steve and sinks to his knees too. He sits atop his boots, now face to face with his boyfriend, and reaches out gingerly to place a hand on Steve’s knee.

Steve eyes it for a moment. Is this the come on?

“Steve,” Eddie says gently. It reminds Steve of the tone one might have with an easily spooked animal, all comforting and soothing. “Do you even… want this? To have sex right now?”

It’s a strange question, Steve thinks. He frowns. This blowjob isn’t about him. “I think I’m confused,” He admits, forcing a chuckle to make it a little more casual. Then repeats the sentiment from earlier again. “I want to apologise.”

Eddie nods, harsh enough a curl untucks itself from behind his ear. “Yeah, sweetheart, you already did that. You apologised and I forgave you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that all these extra things, the gifts and flowers, made him question the genuineness in Steve’s apology at first. Something tells him to dig a little deeper. Steve isn’t smarmy or cocky, he’s not sure that’ll be forgiven, he’s… confused.

But Steve nods. He’s following Eddie’s words so far. Something glitters inside him that he’s already back to sweetheart so soon. He hesitantly lays his own hand atop of Eddie’s, resting them both on his knee. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even know what to say. 

“So, I guess what I’m asking is… what is this?” Eddie waves his hand over Steve’s kneeled form.

The way he says it is still so concerned, which is so far from the usual eagerness Steve has come to know from him normally in these types of situations. Suddenly, knowing Eddie’s definitely not in the mood makes the whole thing a lot more embarrassing now.

“Christ, I wish I had known you wouldn’t want that now,” Steve forces another laugh, quiet, as he ducks his head down. Eddie doesn’t join in, just waits patiently.

“I was— y’know,” Steve waves a hand, gesturing to nothing. “Proving I was sorry. Making it up to you. Guess sex was the wrong idea there, sorry.”

He grimaces a bit, squeezes Eddie’s hand. Steve wonders how he’ll end up making it up to Eddie, if not this way. It’s always been this way.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just stares at Steve with a perturbed expression on his face. If Steve had to guess, he’d say he almost— almost looks a bit sad.

“Stevie,” Eddie says, nudging closer. Both their knees are touching now. “You already apologised. I forgave you.”

He’s repeating things Steve already knows, so Steve nods. Then repeats the thing he’s heard a hundred times over, “Yeah, I know and now I need to prove how sorry I am.”

Eddie’s face crumples a bit, the frown line between his brows deepening. He seems to have hit some understanding, shuffling even closer to Steve. Any annoyance from a minute ago has leaked out of his body. He’s all comfort now, every soft part that Steve adores so much.

“No, you don’t.” Eddie says simply, words strong and sure. “I know that you’re sorry. You said so. That’s proof enough for me, sweetheart.”

Oh. That’s all there is to it, apparently.

Steve’s acutely aware that the emotion streaking through his chest is relief — relief that he doesn’t have to jump through hoops to gain anything back. Doesn’t have to open his mouth or spread his legs just to earn back his partners affections for a heat of the moment mistake.

He said he was sorry and Eddie forgave him. That’s it. That’s all it took. Like an ill-weighted scale, all the relief slides down into a strange hot shame. Oh god, he’s just come in and then— and Eddie hadn’t even— and Steve had thought—

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, that must’ve—“ Steve reels back, the embarrassment from earlier rearing up inside him close to pure mortification. He pulls his hand from Eddie’s grip, all of it suddenly wrong, so so wrong. “I’m sorry, that was so weird of me to offer—“

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Eddie’s cutting in before Steve gets very far, firmly planting both hands onto Steve’s shoulders to keep him from receding any further. “Don’t apologise for that. That’s… Steve, will you look at me please?”

Nope, a small voice inside him answer, with a quiver. Looking at the trailer floor is so much easier than what Eddie’s asking.

There’s been many times where Steve has felt a bit dumb but this? This feels like a special kind of stupid. The word throbs in his chest painfully as he wonders how he’d got so turned around. He wants to apologise again.

“Stevie?” Eddie says his name again, a soft coo. One of the hands on Steve’s shoulders shifts, hesitating for a moment, before gingerly cradling his jaw. Steve lets Eddie tilt his face up, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to his boyfriend’s face.

Eddie is all sweetness, eyes soft and smile encouraging. It’s his tenderness that makes Steve exhale, a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and he can’t help the way he sags just a bit and leans into Eddie’s hold.

Eddie gives a quiet hum. “No more apologies, okay?”

Steve nods, the motion a bit slow. It sort of feels as though it’s a little harder to move against gravity, like the air is thick molasses. He’s tired. Why is he so tired? He wonders if it’s the mountainous relief that’s still trickling out his body.

“We- we’ll need to talk about that later,” Eddie nods along to his words, voice all tender. The way he says it lets Steve know it’s not a bad thing. “But for now I think I’d just rather hold you. Can I do that?”

How backwards. Steve had come here to apologise, to make it up to Eddie, and now he’s the one being comforted. And yet, his nod comes much easier this time. It’s probably a bit too eager but Steve’s just about drowned in his embarrassment tonight so what’s some more?

Eddie’s hands move and grip Steve’s hands in his lap, giving a comforting squeeze— then waits, doesn’t move until Steve gives another squeeze back.

Then Eddie’s rising, standing up and pulling Steve up with him. It’s quiet, Steve hiding the tiny shake in his hands by squeezing Eddie’s hand so tight he won’t notice — til Eddie’s knees crack, terribly loud in the silence, and he whispers a loud, “Ow, fuck.”

Steve can’t help it, he laughs, the sound bursting out of him. Fuck, his boyfriend is an old man sometimes.

Then Eddie laughs too, that glorious sound that Steve could bottle and get drunk on and then they’re both laughing — and Eddie is tugging Steve into his bedroom, both of them collapsing into the creaky bed. The springs whine under their weight but it goes unheard.

Eddie does his best to bundle Steve in his arms, accidentally sticking his elbow into Steve’s side but it doesn’t even matter. Eddie cuddles are a fuckin’ delicacy as far Steve’s concerned— when he’s happy with the way he’s wrapped himself around Steve, full Koala style, he squeeezes.

It forces a pathetic sounding wheeze out from Steve, quickly spiralling into another laugh because who has ever loved him this way? This well? Between the threads of relief that pluck on his heartstrings is white hot love.

Steve already knows what’s coming next, what is always the second step in Eddie cuddles. Instead of hiding his face away into Eddie’s chest, like he’s done a thousand times before, he sticks his face out. Chin jutted out, face exposed, and ready for kisses.

Eddie doesn’t deny him. It’s a wet smush of quick kisses, on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids — Eddie lets out little ‘mwahs’ as he goes, in a sickly sweet voice that Steve adores.

Faintly, inside his chest Steve’s heart sighs. Because no apology, no forgiveness, has ever been like this, this simple, this easy. Equal comfort — like Eddie was aware Steve had been suffering on the other end of the silent treatment, at regretting his own words.

Steve silently hopes it’ll always be this way, even though another part deeper down knows it’ll be. That arguments with Eddie might involve childish silent treatment, tongues poked out and boots stamped — but that apologies would never be a test. Never more than an honest admittance of regret in the form of words.

In the way Eddie presses a particularly slimy kiss against his cheek, hard enough it makes Steve’s cheek squish, he thinks he might not have to worry much at all.

tags: @disorganisedbee @estrellami-1 @moonshadows-13 @qubert18 @fxndom-hoe @nelotegreitic @justforthedead89 @avacrebs @yikes-a-bee @just-a-tiny-void @stevesbipanic @penny-lane-bitch @clarakeanen @weeennussy

[whumpypepsigal]

Dune: Part Two (2024) “I’ll cross the storms with you”

[blue-rose-soul]

For hazbin hotel au: what would happen she found out at first meeting with alastor and kept it a secret because she didn't know how to process it?

By 'she' I'm guessing you mean Charlie?

I don't think she'd end up keeping the secret for all that long, to be honest. We know how she feels about keeping secrets from loved ones, although she's not nearly as close with Alastor so it's somewhat excusable. I feel like Charlie would still believe she had an obligation to tell the truth though.

I'm also not sure what scenario would allow Charlie to know but not Alastor OR Lucifer. The reason I decided Lucifer was wasted when he hooked up with Nicaise is because Vivienne described Lucifer and Lilith as being deeply in love. Even if some things have changed, I don't think Lucifer would ever intentionally cheat on Lilith. Even if their relationship was an open one, I doubt Lucifer would have knowingly abandoned any kid of his.

So if Lucifer didn't know, I don't see how Charlie would.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut...

Let's say she does figure it out. Not right off the bat, but over time she pieces together some clues from things she's heard Alastor mention offhand and stories Lucifer told her when she was a bit younger, before they stopped talking regularly. She doesn't know what to say to Alastor, so she goes to Vaggie, who doesn't really know how to handle the situation either. But there's one guy who has to have answers, right?

Charlie ends up calling Lucifer earlier than in canon, inviting him to the hotel to talk about 'something important.' Sometime after episode 4 but before the months-long time skip between then and episode 5. Lucifer comes running over, eager to see Charlie for the first time in ages.

He meets Alastor... aaaaaand does NOT make a good first impression. You've seen Dad Beat Dad.

There's no Mimzy to break up the argument this time (she won't show up for another 4-5 months) so Charlie has to stop things before they escalate. Fortunately, reminding Lucifer that she had something important to talk to him about is enough to get him to drop his sniping match with Alastor.

Unfortunately, trying to extract the truth from Lucifer is like pulling a tooth. Charlie keeps trying to subtly poke and prod but Lucifer's only half-listening, distracted, or he gets wrapped up cooing over his 'little girl.' Vaggie's not around to provide backup, since Charlie wanted to speak with Lucifer alone.

Eventually Charlie gets fed up with Lucifer's rambling and snaps, "DAD! Did you cheat on Mom?"

It takes Lucifer a hot minute to process the question.

When he does he's shocked and hurt... and a little afraid.

"Why would you ask that?" he wonders, and Charlie walks him through her mental math. Once in a moment of drunken vulnerability, Alastor let slip that he was conceived at Mardi Gras in New Orleans, in the same year that Lucifer snuck to Earth. And that his father was never in the picture. Lucifer is embarrassed as he admits he doesn't remember the entirety of that night. But surely it's just a coincidence, right? Lots of kids were conceived that night, at that parade.

Charlie tells him that Alastor's mom apparently referred to his father as an 'angel' and suddenly Lucifer's not so sure.

They don't bring it up to Alastor yet. It's still not 100% certain, and Charlie doesn't want to drop that on Alastor's lap in case she turns out to be wrong. But she keeps wondering, picking out the little things she and Alastor and her father have in common. It's MADDENING. On top of which, now Charlie's daddy issues are exacerbated by the revelation that, whether or not Alastor actually is her brother, Lucifer might have strayed when he went up to Earth. She asks him to leave and Alastor's all too happy to sneer at Lucifer on the way out.

The next few months pass as they would have in canon, with Charlie mainly focusing on trying to redeem Angel Dust and Sir Pentious, BUT with one difference. She also spends her time trying to talk to Alastor more about his family and life on Earth. He's not entirely receptive to her questioning. Ultimately he'd rather just forget who he was as a human and embrace being the Radio Demon. But, from time to time, he feeds her tidbits of information that can't really be used against him. After all, if she feels like they're 'close' then he can use that to his advantage. Over time, though, Alastor starts doing his own math, and picks up some hints as to what Charlie's weird behavior is really about.

Lucifer, meanwhile, spends the time doing some digging and trying to figure out whatever became of Nicaise after Mardi Gras, 190x. His research pretty much confirms what he and Charlie had begun to suspect. One solace; it seems like Nicaise went up to Heaven. But Lucifer is devastated to learn that she left behind a 10-12 year old child when she did.

[hypherr]

I know Callum is veal in the show but in my own world he is lean and mean and covered in scars from failed flying attempts/magic attempts

[odd-critter]

ive got problems, not just the ones that are little big ol people problems theres somethin to consider! when you come for dinner at my place!

(variations below!!!!)

[whumblr]

Experiment

Continuation from Scary words - pt 1 here

-

After the A for asphyxiation, Roman had effortlessly weaved into B for broken voice.

Dani had crumbled to the floor when he finally removed the cane, clutching her throat, broken gasps wheezing and whistling past her lips.

Unfortunately, it left her right where he wanted her; slumped over on her knees, back exposed.

And while he already had his broken voice, he couldn’t resist following it up with a few broken screams ripped from a broken throat.

It felt like her windpipe had shattered and the shards had lodged on the inside of her throat, each breath stabbing them in further.

“Do you want to continue your ABC’s?” Roman’s voice snapped her back to the present, to the library, where he was sitting at the reading table, her sitting in her chair on the other side of the room. “We only have D for drowning and E for electrocution to go before we can dive into flagellation. I’d say we can tick off D and E at the same time, even…”

She would gladly undergo those things if she got her C for castration. But unfortunately, they’d crossed the C off with, of course, the caning that followed after he broke her voice. She’d already unleashed her own ABC’s with asshole, bastard, and creep for starters, but he’d just tutted and pointed out that her voice and throat needed healing and that insults weren’t helping. What she needed was silence. Enforced silence, if necessary. He even threatened a gag or a collar. So for the past few days, the only thing she could do was curl up in her reading chair and give him her deadliest glares.

Roman had remained unperturbed. Brought her fucking tea with honey, placing it next to her pile of books on the side table with a genuine smile as she was reading. She couldn’t thank him; wasn’t allowed to thank him if he wanted to draw out some words to have an excuse to collar her, not that she wanted to thank him. She glared at the tea – tea with honey was fucking disgusting and the smell made her even more angry – and she wondered if it would even help a crushed throat.

Infuriatingly, it did.

“I’m good.” Her voice was still hoarse but at least by now she was allowed to speak again.

“Good, ‘cause I was thinking more of E for experiment.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

“See,” Roman continued, as if her silence was one that invited him to keep talking, “Pain can be influenced by a lot. The body has its ways to reduce or relieve pain, by hormones, adrenaline, endorphins, name it. Not to mention there are outside influences like the various painkillers and drugs. And it gets me wondering… if it can be reduced, then could it also be increased?”

He got up and gestured for her to follow him to his office. Reluctantly, she did. She uncomfortably looked on as he rummaged about in a drawer of his desk and he pulled out small case. He put it on his desk and opened it to reveal an injection needle and two vials with, judging by the unnatural blue colour, questionable content.

“What does that do?” she heard herself ask.

“Supposedly, it inhibits the release of adrenaline. That alone should up the magic for a bit but it should have the direct opposite effect of painkillers. Instead of blocking neurotransmission of pain, it stimulates the neuron and sends more signals to the brain.”

Oh, the wonders of unethical research.

“And, of course, you need a test subject…” she said, eyes on the blue liquid.

“Naturally.”

“You know, the man who started the pain index tested everything out on himself. I think should try these experiments on yourself as well. Otherwise your peers will just think you’re a pussy.”

“Well, there’s only one peer involved in this research and you already think I’m a pussy, so I don’t have much to lose.”

Pussy was a bit of an understatement in her humble opinion… And true, he didn’t have any of her respect left to lose.

“But my sense of pain is already increased due to stress…” she tried.

“We’ll just have to make a note of that in the footnotes.” Well, at least he acknowledged it… with a malicious grin that is. He closed the case with the syringe and carefully took it in his hands. “Now, come with me.”

She followed down to the basement, already knowing that the footnotes were a non-existent thing. This was purely to sate his own curiosity. And by god was she hoping that he bought – or made? – a dud. A harmless dud. She dawdled in the middle of the empty room, watching him.

“Let’s start… modestly.” His hand roamed over a row of knives and he picked a small – compared to the other things on display – hunting knife. “You wanna lie on there?” He gestured the knife towards the metal table.

She absolutely did not, thank you. No way she was going to make this experiment easier on him.

Roman shrugged. “I agree.” And he snapped forward.

He grabbed her by the front of her shirt, got her off-balance, and pushed hard. Her world tilted. Her shoulder blades crashed against the cold, concrete floor. And before she could even get a dazed “fuck…” past her lips, Roman was already on top of her, having both wrists pinned under his knees.

“Stay with me, Dani dear,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face, “I’m going to need your honest responses here.” He held out the hunting knife in both hands and unsheathed it dramatically.

The sight of the knife helped more than the annoying snapping in her face; she snarled and started to buck against him, trying to get her wrists free.

He merely tutted and leaned over her, resting the blade just above her wrist. “Don’t, you don’t want me to slip. Like I said, we’ll just start modestly.”

His eyes were intently focused on hers, taking in every twitch, every bit of fear written over her face.

She didn’t have that luxury. Nor did she want to see the hunger on his face. Her eyes were fixed on the knife, ready for the—

His first cut drew a sharp intake of breath. But more in surprise than because of the pain. Luckily, it was barely more than a scratch and barely squeezed out a drop of blood.

But his intentions were made clear when he moved the knife a few inches up. And the prick of the tip breaking through skin grew sharper as it started to carve its way through.

Roman let the blade roll along on its curve, the edge sinking in up to where the sharpened lighter grey part thickened into the rest of the blade. He rested a hand just under her elbow and leaned his weight on it when she started to struggle. The knife resurfaced with a red hue and he dragged the tip to the other end of her arm to complete a full line.

Dani grit her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, keeping any pain bottled up, merely letting part of it escape in a frustrated grunt.

But the third time the knife broke skin, she flew up with a surprised yelp. The knife sank in deeper than before, and instead of feeling the sting of easily parted skin, this time she felt him force it through deeper layers. The quick slice was replaced by a slow dragging, drawing out the pain, until inch by inch, the build-up became too much.

She let out a cry. Let her head fall back against the concrete. Judging by the pain, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was close to or already carving directly into muscle. She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to keep a ‘stop!’ – or worse, ‘please’ – well contained.

Roman shushed her and despite his concentration on his carving, a smile started forming on his face.

“Now then,” he said, admiring his three cuts. He pulled the knife away, put it down, and he reached for the case with the needle. “Round two is the real deal.”

Like unsheathing the knife, he made a show of it. Stabbing the needle in the small vial, pulling the plunger back slowly while keeping his eyes locked with hers, flicking the syringe and putting the vial neatly back in the case. Slow, calculated, because he could. Then his thumb rested on the plunger and Dani braced herself.

“No,” she growled and tried sit up. “No you are not—"

Immediately his hand shot around her throat, cutting off her air, pushing her back down. And with just his thumb on her chin, he forced her to face sideways, giving him full access to her exposed neck.

Dani whimpered when she felt the needle pierce skin, when she felt that goddamn blue potion enter her system.

Roman sat back, leaning to the side to put the syringe back, but again his eyes didn’t leave hers. And they both waited for something to happen.

Nothing happened. As far as she was concerned. It was probably just her imagination… that the little bones in her wrists grinded painfully under his knees, rolling and bumping into each other with each movement he made. She just... hadn’t noticed before, what with the knife carving her up, that’s all. And it was just stress, or the aftermath of her struggle just now, that made the bruises from last week’s caning flare up, her shoulder blades tensing against the hard, unyielding concrete. Her throat flaring back up was because of that first surprised cry after days of silence.

And the three cuts over her forearm stinging harder than before was just part of his stupid placebo plan. Maybe after the initial fight and cutting up, adrenaline had just ebbed dow—oh shit.

Supposedly, it inhibits the release of adrenaline.

“Is it working?” Roman asked in the sweetest voice, noticing how her face fell.

“No,” she growled, shifting uncomfortably.

He hummed a note of disbelief. “Now for the before and after…”

He slashed the knife over the small of her wrist, matching the small scratch on the other and didn’t even bother with her response, immediately resting the tip a few inches above it.

It pricked out more than a lone drop of blood; tears started burning in her eyes. Pain, fear of a more intense pain, and the complete lack of control taking its toll on her.

Besides. If this worked, and probably even if it didn’t work, this was going to be waiting for her with everything he did. Beating. Injection. More severe beating drawing out more pain. Knifeplay. Injection. See what it does. Five whiplashes. Inj—

A gasp combined with a cry of pain as he repeated his process, letting his blade roll along. It was like acid slowly crawled over her skin, biting its way across, burning deeper, nibbling at her nerve ends.

“Ohh, I think it’s working,” he crooned as she twisted her head away. He rested a thumb under the cut, lightly pulling it open.

“No! No, it’s— AahH!" And this time not just the tip but almost the whole freaking knife dug into her arm.

She trashed under him, screaming, crying, voice tearing up her throat again. But it didn’t stop him from dragging out that final line, mirroring the gash on her other arm. He pushed her back down, leaned his weight heavier onto her wrist as she pulled and twisted wildly to get free.

Maybe it was her panic, maybe it was the accumulation of everything, maybe it was that goddamn drug, but it hurt worse than before and she just couldn’t take it. She screamed with every bit of skin that was forced apart and when he was finally done, she fell down on her back, shallow panicked breaths mixing with soft sobs.

Roman hummed and wiped the blade on her shirt. “And here I was sure that it worked…” He considered her, wicked grin on his face. He nudged up a little, letting her wrists slip free. But she was too dazed to do anything and she remained down, trying to catch her breath, just watching how the blood tickled down her arms.

“But well,” he continued, picking up one of the vials and holding it up in front of his eyes. Not even a quarter of it had been used. “If you say it’s not working… maybe we need a bigger sample size.”

He rose and neatly packed everything back into its case. A whimper rose up when he picked up the knife but he shushed her gently and held out a hand for her.

“Let’s disinfect all this first, shall we.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @whumpy-daydreams @whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna

[mqkoeyes]

this fanfic.

[transingthoseformers]

Hey :3

The dead boytoy, Kiloton

[lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache]

I need y’all to pleaseeee start writing some more Hobie Brown/Reader angst/hurt comfort… I have gone through literally every single one on tumblr AND ao3

[darehearts]

what if i make the tarsus iv events from tos canon for my aos jim kirk tho 😵‍💫

[lovelyrocker]

Consequences Part Five(end)

RPF

Warnings: Talk of Cheating, STD, HIV, Angst, Language, Medical Setting, Shot/Injection

Characters: Timothee Chalamet, Reader

Pairings: Timothee Chalamet x Reader

Word Count: 1,795

Part Four

You were sitting in the familiar office again, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air. Timothee squeezed your hand between his as his leg bounced with anxiety. You squeezed his hand between your two and he looked over at you.

“It’s gonna be okay.” You tell him with an assuring smile.

He gives a tight lipped smile back to you. His brow was pulled together with concern as you watched him take a visible deep breath. He looks down at his hand sitting in your lap, wrapped between yours. You could feel the anxiousness through him.

“You-” He looks up to you, nibbling his lower lip. “You’ll love me the same?” He struggled to keep his eyes on yours. “Won’t you?”

“Oh Timmy!” You slip your hand behind his neck and pull him to you, his forehead resting on yours. “I am not going anywhere.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “If you have this, we will figure things out.” You lift your head, making sure he is looking at you. “They have made so many advancements in the medical field when it comes to HIV.” You reached, fixing his t-shirt collar that was bunched up. “I’ve done my research.” You tap the underneath of his chin. “Now, they can take your sperm and my egg and fertilize it, then implant it in my uterus and voila, baby Chalamet. No infection passed.”

“Really?” His face softened. “They can do that?! You won’t get infected? What about the baby?”

“They learned that the infection only gets passed through the mother. So I would have to have it to pass it to the baby. You can’t pass it to the baby that way.”

“So we can still have a family?!” His voice sounded so hopeful as he said this, your heart broke and swelled at the same time.

The door opened and you both looked up at the doctor as he walked in. Timothee’s hand gripped your hand tightly. You soothingly rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb. He swallowed hard as the doctor rounded his desk.

“Hello, Timothee. Y/N.” He gave a polite nod in your direction and you returned the gesture. He sits behind his desk and looks at Timothee, clearing his throat. “I have good news and bad news, Timothee.”

“O-okay.” He looks to you then  to the doctor as if making sure you were still there..

“But the bad news is actually good news.” The doctor continues, opening the folder in front of him.

“What? What do you mean?” You ask with the shake of your head.

The doctor looks at Timothee. “Tim, you don’t have HIV.”

The relief that went through Timothee was seen and heard with the exhale of the breath he was holding. Tears were filling his eyes as he looked at you.

“But,” The doctor spoke and you and Timothee looked back at him. “You do have syphilis.”

“What?!” You both say in unison.

“A pretty advanced case, actually.” The doctor added.

“I- I don’t understand.” Timothee shook his head. “Syphilis? I don't have any symptoms of syphilis.”

“As I said, yours is pretty advanced. You’ve had it for a while, so you wouldn’t have symptoms now. You have three stages of syphilis.” The doctor began to explain, you and Timothee listening carefully. “First stage symptom would have been enlarged lymph nodes near the groin. Small, painless sores on the skin, sometimes in the mouth or sore throat. Second stage, where you are, would be small, reddish-brown sores on the skin, sores in the mouth, vagina, or anus, fever, swollen lymph glands, weight loss, hair loss, headache and muscle aches, extreme tiredness.”

“So me being so worn down wasn’t from over working?” He asked the doctor.

“That didn’t help.” The doctor explained. “This explains your earlier results and your white blood cell counts as well.”

“So you are saying when I had sore throats and what I thought were ulcers in my mouth from too much spicy food, it was syphilis?”

“More likely than not, yes.” The doctor  answered bluntly.

“And he’s been having this for how long?” You ask, looking at the doctor in disbelief.

“Hard to say how long exactly, but like I said, he is in stage two of the infection so it's been awhile.”

“Like four years ago, maybe?” You ask again.

“With these levels,” The doctor nods. “And lack of symptoms, currently, yeah.” Timothee looks back at you with guilt all over his face knowing exactly when and who he contracted it from.. “You are lucky we caught this now.” The doctor continued. “In stage three of this infection, after so many years and prolonged infection you end up with organ damage and some people have died from this.”

“What do we do now?” You look to the doctor. “How do we find out if there is damage and how do we treat it? How do we get him healthy again?”

“Luckily,” The doctor stands, walking to the opposite side of his office. “Treatment is very simple.” He grabs a pair of white gloves, slipping them on. “One injection of long-acting Benzathine penicillin G, in your buttock will cure you.” The doctor Grabs a syringe and a vial of meds. “Do you want her to step out?”

“That’s it?” Timothee asks, turning in his chair to face the doctor. “One shot and I’m cured?”

“That’s it. You will have to hold off on unprotected sex for a few weeks, but yes.” The doctor smiles at Timothee. “That’s it.”

“Hell yes!” Timothee stands, unbuckling his belt and jeans.

You grimace when the doctor injects him, seeing the clear discomfort of his face. “You okay?”

“The burn in my ass cheek is worth it knowing I didn’t fuck up everything.” Timothee tells you with soft features and relief in his eyes.

“Make an appointment with the front desk to come back in a few weeks for recheck and again in three months to repeat blood tests.” The doctor tells Timothee before he walks out.

Timothee is quiet on the drive home. You can tell his butt is sore from the shot, which the doctor said was normal. You were making his favorite lasagna for dinner when he walked through the front door. “Hey, love.” You smiled up at him. “I was just about to text you and tell you dinner was in the oven.” You shut the oven.

Timothee walks over to you and grabs you by the waist, kissing you deeply. Your rear hits the counter as you place one hand on the counter top to catch yourself and the other on his face. He has not kissed you this intimately since the night he left to go to that after party.

You bring your other hand to his face as you let him kiss your lips hungrily. “Marry me.” He whispers over your lips.

“What?” You pull away.

He backs away with his brow pulled together in worry. “I mean- I-” He shoves his hands in his pocket. “Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to come out like that.” He pushes his hair from his face, turning around. He walks away a bit then turns back to you. You’re standing there in complete confusion and shock.

“Did you just ask me to marry you by mistake?”

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” Timothee says as the frustration sinks into him deeper. “I- damn it. Okay, let me try this again.” He runs his hands across his face in agitation.

You grab his hands. “Baby,” He looks at you. “Breathe.” You watch him take a deep breath. “Okay now start from the beginning.” You push his hair from his face with a soft smile.

“I love you.” He says softly.

“I love you, too, baby.” You stroke his cheek.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Tim-”

“No,” He takes your hands. “Listen.” He pulls you to the living room and sits you down on the couch. “Just listen, please.” You close your mouth and nod, letting him speak. “I don’t deserve you because I disrespected you and broke your heart when I cheated. I remember when we started dating you said the one thing you don’t forgive is cheating. That it was a deal breaker for you.” He took another breath. “And yet, you were gracious enough to forgive me. To give me another chance. A chance I don’t deserve. Then you stood by me through something that most would walk away from.” His eyes began to fill with tears but he blinked them away. “I know how much I’ve messed up and how much it took for you to keep loving me. I’m- i’m not blind to how I’ve hurt you. And for you to go through that hurt alone,” He shook his head. “I am so fucking sorry, baby.”

“I know, baby.” You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb. “I know you, Timmy. I know you well enough to know you made a mistake.”

“And I am so grateful for that love.” He takes your hand and kisses your palm. “It made me realize that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That you are it for me. I thought I knew it before but now I have no doubt that you are meant to be my wife.” He looks you deep in the eyes as you try your damndest not to cry. “I’ve been looking at rings and trying to find the right time to ask. But when I walked in and saw you and- and kissed you it just-”

“Came out.” You finished with a chuckle. “You could never keep a secret, Timmy.” He laughed, looking at your hands in his. “This is as good a time as any.”

“What? To propose?” He gives a head tilt. “Without a ring?”

“No,” You chuckle. “To tell you I’m pregnant.”

“What?!” His eyes are huge.

“I- I uh- didn’t go to the doctor to get retested a few weeks ago. It was to verify a pregnancy.” You stand going to the drawer, pulling out an ultrasound picture.

Timothee takes the photos in his hand. “I- I don’t understand.”

“That night in Paris a few days before you found out.” You explain.

“You knew this whole time?” He looks up at you.

“No. I started feeling sick about two weeks ago. I thought my missed period was stress. I was too early to read in blood work. If I would have waited a week, it would have shown up.”

“So you are telling me that the quickie in the hotel room the night before the showcase?”

You nod with a giggle. “Yeah.” You push his hair from his face. “Not all consequences are bad.”

[theartthatleavesthemark]

i have never been a tedtrent truther just because i am sorry but ted is a straight man to me he just has such a straight white midwestern man vibe (no hate to the tedtrent nation because i love u guys and u are brilliant writers) BUT after watching this episode and seeing how trent hearteyes crimm was staring at ted for oh idk the whole episode i am officially rewriting my headcanon to trent has a one-way totally unrequited crush on ted who is 100000% oblivious and probably will be forever and trent was originally massively annoyed at himself about this but has slowly become more and more genuinely adoring of this mustachioed dumbass

[littlestfallenangel]

Either Suletta and Miorine grow and become better people and have a happy, healthy life together despite it all

Or they get worse and their relationship becomes irredeemably toxic until they probably kill each other

[omorinintendoswitchedition]

DMC:

★ - sad headcanon

I actually got this from my mutuals but at first Dante would find comfort in his appearance being similar to Vergil, like he can pretend that Vergil is there with him. But as time goes on and he goes on more and more missions he slowly begins to look less and less like Vergil, and one night he looks in the mirror and he doesn’t see Vergil anymore. And it breaks his heart because it feels like he’s cut off his brother for good. It feels like he’s betrayed Vergil, even though he’s been gone for a long time

[ppeasants]

I’m currently working on chapter 5 of my Wind-centric fic ‘Fish Out of Water’ but I’ve hit a but of a writer’s block. I have every scene planned out, so I know what I want to write, i’m just having trouble actually writing it. I have one scene done, and I wanted to put the WIP on here.

It features an argument between Sky and Wind. Wind, feeling isolated from the rest of The Chain, has found solitude in the experiences he shares with Sky. Sky, not knowing why Wind has drawn away from the others, is happy to try and help their youngest. However, their experiences aren’t the same, and things come to a head when one of their companions are brought up.

Hopefully putting something out there will get me out of this block. The passage is gonna be below this block, and the fic is up on my pinned post. Please let me know what y’all think, any feedback is super appreciated!

Sky and Wind reach the Plaza, just as the sun touches the tops of the clouds. It’s not evening yet, but it will be soon, and the sight from there is still one of his favourite things about Skyloft. Sky can’t wait to show Wind the sunset. It’s one of the best parts of living on Skyloft: the sunset over the clouds is absolutely stunning.

The duo sits on a bench in the main plaza across from the Light tower, and just take in the sights, the breeze of the sailor’s namesake ruffling their hair and moving the clouds that make up the chosen’s name.

Not one to let the silence sit, Sky turns to Wind and asks, “You talked about your Phantom Sword earlier, how you used it on your second adventure. What about your first one?”

Wind stills, and looks up at Sky from his shoulder where he had been resting. Sky continues, unperturbed. “You mentioned before how you used the Master Sword, right?”

“Yeah, I had the Master Sword during my first adventure.” Wind responds quietly, after a minute. “I had to power it up to make sure it could actually ki- defeat Ganondorf.”

“Oh, so like me!” Sky smiles down at Wind. “I had to forge the Goddess sword in three fires to be able to create the Master Sword.”

“Oh, that’s actually pretty cool.” Wind is slightly smiling back at Sky. “The sages powered up my sword after I was able to wake their memories. Medli, one of the sages, played a harp. Reminds me of yours!”

“Well, one day I’d love to hear her song.” A beat of silence passes, before Sky continues. “So, what happened to the Master Sword anyways? You know, considering you're not using her anymore.

Wind’s smile drops, hoping he had successfully changed the topic away from the sword, but failing, as he’s looking down at Sky’s sword now. He takes a few minutes to respond, which worries Sky. He doesn’t want to cause Wind any undue stress, but the silence coming from the sailor makes him worry about what could’ve happened to Fi.

A few minutes more pass, and Sky is sure that the worry is starting to show on his face, because Wind finally looks up to Sky whispers. “Do you remember how exactly I beat Ganondorf? When I told you all of my final battle?”

Before Sky can answer, Wind continues. “When I finally ended Ganondorf, I saw the life leave his eyes as his body turned to stone. The sword was already wedged deep in his skull as it surrounded it, and the castle which we fought atop of was filling quickly with water. By the time that I came back to myself after the fight, I was in a magical bubble being pulled away from the arena.”

A look of horror is dawning on Sky’s face as he takes in exactly what Wind is saying, but he can't bring himself to believe it. “Wind. What happened to the Master Sword?”

Wind flinches at the dark tone in Sky’s voice. Wind opens his mouth, but he can’t bring himself to give a response. He tries to lower his head, but Sky grabs his shoulders and forces him to look up. “What did you do to Fi?”

Their eyes meet, the desperation in Sky’s clashes with the apprehension in Wind’s, the undertones of fear, though for different reasons, are present in both. The breeze is silent as the two stare at each other. It takes a minute before Wind can finally muster the strength to answer. The one answer that Sky was dreading.

“I left the sword in Ganondorf’s skull as I was brought to the surface. When his body turned to stone, and I was dragged away, I didn’t have any chance to grab it.”

“I had to leave the Master Sword at the bottom of the ocean.”

Sky’s hands drop to his sides, letting go of Wind’s shoulders as the youngest backs up into the bench’s armrest, watching as Sky’s face slowly turns into one of panic; one hand raising to cover his mouth, followed by the other, holding back a silent whimper at the thought of his sole companion being left to drown under the sea.

Wind tried to say something to Sky, inching closer to comfort him, but before he can even raise his arm, Sky’s hands drop from his face and the looks of panic morphs into one of fear, then sadness, then anger. Wind can feel his shout before he hears it.

“What do you mean? What do you mean you just left her at the bottom of the ocean?” The shout ends up being barely a whisper, although Wind still flinches back as if he’s being screamed at. The quiet doesn’t last for long, though, as Sky’s voice gradually picks up in volume as he continues.

“Did you really just leave her down there? Didn’t she help you to defeat your evil? Didn’t she mean something to you? Did you drown her on purpose?” Sky is yelling more with every sentence, and Wind is starting to tear up, although Sky can’t see it through the blur of tears forming in his own eyes.

“She means so much to me! I forged her, and I know you did too! Did that mean nothing? Do you just not care about my companion? You know how much she means to me!”

“You just LEFT her to drow-”

“DO YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!!!” 

Wind’s yell pierces the air, cutting through Sky’s rant about his companion. It forces Sky to finally look down at the youngest, and he can see the tears forcing their way through his closed eyes and down his face, his breathing heavy as he continues.

“Do you think I don’t know that I killed her? I do! Of course I do! It’s all I could think about when you told me that sword had a soul! It never spoke to me! It never cared about me - why would it? I never deserved it! The Goddesses never cared about me! It was just a goddess-damned sword when I held her!

I killed Ganondorf down there! I’m the one who fuckin’ killed King! I couldn’t save MY companion! When I learned I left Fi to die, that I killed THREE people, I - I couldn’t - fuck I -”

Wind’s rant is cut short as Sky pulls him into his chest, and Wind freezes before he grasps tightly into the sailcloth around Sky’s shoulders, sobs wracking his body as whispers of “sorry, I’m so sorry, please I’m sorry,” fill the space between the two.

There are no apologies, there is no forgiveness coming from Sky as he holds Wind. He is still mourning the loss of his closest friend. Tears silently roll down his face as he holds Wind tighter; whether it’s a form of comfort for Wind, or for himself, he can’t say. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe Sky – if he was in a better space – would tell Wind that it wasn’t his fault, for either Fi or King; that he tried his best, and that it’s okay. Maybe Wind would tell Sky that Fi is still alive, here and now, and across other times, as well. Maybe someday they would be okay, with their own mistakes, and with each other, but right now, they are not.

The breeze returns, caressing their two children as they sit there for hours, wrapping them in a chilling embrace, wishing it could give the two their companions back, and just hoping that it can be enough.

It isn’t.

They miss the sunset.