#just stings yaknow

[artsy-hobbitses]

Hi! I would like to ask how Strongarm ( Pre-War) gained Sideswipe trust/ When Sideswipe decided that despite her being a cop Strongarm is worthy his trust what ultimately led to him helping to save her life

Because her Gotta Do Right instinct is more overpowering than her allegiance to the thin blue line, and it’s something that happens often enough that she’s made enemies on the force  who don’t like that she’s a Legacy Prick Pick who’s messing up their quotas (She and OP can brofist on this one) and won’t back them up when they have to explain their fuckups in court. 

There is no arrest without a warrant, ALL infractions are recorded—even that of fellow officers—and if you turn off your camera, she has hers on. She comes equipped with de-escalation training, PRIORITISES it and has no compunctions about stepping in if fellow cops step outta line.

Part of it IS because she’s a Legacy Pick—to an extent, she WAS Teflon when it came to this sort of thing, the higher ups coveted her after all, she didn’t come to them. Complaints would be filed over how difficult she was to work with, but for a while, like Prowl, she was still seen as more an asset than she was a liability, so she wielded that privilege to the best of her ability. 

Sideswipe saw it on the streets when she forced the shutdown of a ‘bait truck’ operation in an impoverished neighborhood and made calls to NGOs and aid centers instead of arrests when dealing with desperation-driven shoplifting. 

He saw it when she was off-duty because when she wasn’t in uniform, she was doing an Olivia Benson and checking in on victims of the cases she helped handle.  

He saw it in lockup personally a couple of times when her colleagues wanted to hold him beyond the remand period for whatever minor infractions they would bring him in for (vandalism, public disturbance, misdemeanor obstruction) and would try to bait him into violence so they could tag him with the felony of assaulting a police officer. He’s a hothead, not an idiot, but more surprising to him is that SHE knows exactly what they were trying to do, calls them up for it and makes sure he’s released on the dot at the end of his remand period. 

So it really wasn’t hard to trust her. 

Basically, she’s a straight arrow, an honest cop (by which I mean she’s a buff Judy Hopps) who genuinely cares, which has Sideswipe bemused and mildly concerned (Him? Give a shit? Dream on, Shortstack, but you best keep an eye out yaknow—the real dark stuff ain’t in front of your ranks, it’s behind ‘em). 

Because good cops don’t last out here.

At some point, she’s investigating Sideswipe’s claims that the murders of several prominent union activists in Hell’s Kitchen have gone under the radar, and she decided to pick it up despite her colleagues telling her that it’s just gang-related activity—you know how they are, you know what that place is like. 

She gives Sideswipe a burner cell so they can keep in contact over the case and trade info, after which she discovers:

The entire thing is part of a particularly bloody union-busting effort funded by a local pro-Functionist politician and carried out by cops on his payroll. 

There is paperwork filed on Sideswipe, approving the detainment and use of ‘behavioral conditioning’ via Mnemosurgery on him (similar to what had been planned for a young!Jazz) after the local three-strike law was amended to also include public disturbance-type misdemeanors. 

She immediately passes the intel and warning to Sideswipe and heads out to what she believes is a sting operation on a drug cartel. Which it IS, except the plan was for her to be ‘a hero killed in the line of duty’ and oops literally no one told her until she’s trying to remember how to breath and can feel some of her insides on her outside somewhere down the back of her waist.

No one has a chance to monologue though! All she needs to hear is “couldn’t let you warn him” and she’s firing off salvos in a fight for her life. Takes down one dirty cop, the others scatter to wait for backup, and she escapes out the back.

She doesn’t make it far though. Crumpled in a filthy alley somewhere, she makes the call to Sideswipe and does something she’s never done in her life; ask for help.

Because she doesn’t know who else to call (she can’t call her family and put them at risk, she can’t call her colleagues because she clearly can’t trust a lot of them, can’t go to a local GH because there will be a BOLO out for her—you’re all she has right now).

And Sideswipe drops everything and answers. 

Because good cops don’t last out here, he fuckin’ told you, but like hell he’ll let you die out on the streets. Shut up, don’t tell him all the things you wanted tell your old man that you never said before this—you tell your old man that in person, because whatever it takes, he’s making sure you get out of this alive. 

[ofchargers]

CANON   DIVERGENCE ;      STING   EUCLIFFE .

each  part  of  sting’s  canon  divergence  is  divided  into  the  arcs  he’s  appeared  in ;    the  grand  magic  games  arc ,   the  tartaros  arc ,   and  the  alvarez  empire  arc ,   which  will  have  its  own  post .

GRAND  MAGIC  GAMES :

sting  may  have  called  himself  a  “  true  dragon  slayer  ” ,   but  he  actually  mentions  to  natsu  that  he  is  looking  forward  to  seeing  natsu  fight  and  facing  him  on  the  field  ( albeit  in  a  sarcastic  and  rude  tone ,   despite  being  very  genuine  about  it ) .    he  does  NOT  say  he’ll  show  natsu  the  power  of  a  true  dragon  slayer  like  he  does  in  the  manga  /  anime .

sting  was  all  about  showing  camaraderie  within  guilds .    because  of  this ,   sting  does  not  show  disgust  towards  natsu’s  reason ,   but  instead  a  jealousy  for  what  he  doesn’t  have  with  anyone  in  the  guild  besides  rogue .

when  summoned  to  a  guild  meeting  with  jiemma ,   sting  shows  great  guilt  and  distress  with  yukino’s  excommunication  from  sabertooth .    she  stood  up  for  him  after  his  failure  with  the  chariot  game ,   and  he  feels  terrible  that  he  could  not  find  the  voice  to  do  the  same  for  her .    he  does  not  comment  to  rogue  that  sabertooth  has  no  need  for  weak  mages  afterwards .

he  does  not  enjoy  how  minerva  treated  lucy  in  the  naval  battle .

his  fight  with  natsu  and  gajeel  is  not  easily  won  on  natsu’s  end ;    this  is  a  headcanon  extending  to  my  canon  divergent  portrayal  of  natsu ,   but  sting  and  rogue  fought  valiantly  for  the  win  against  both  natsu  and  gajeel ,   yet  lost  by  a  small  margin .

he  fights  for  lector  after  his  loss  to  natsu  and  gajeel ,   since  the  whole  debacle  with  jiemma  and  lector’s  disappearance  is  pretty  much  my  canon .

his  strategy  on  the  final  day  of  the  grand  magic  games  is  sound ,   but  instead  of  surrendering  immediately ,   he  takes  them  on  as  intended  until  millianna  stops  him  and  shows  that  she  has  lector .    sting  surrenders  immediately  after  lector  is  returned  to  him ,   giving  fairy  tail  the  win .

sting  battles  scissor  runner  well  on  his  own  and  is  determined  to  prove  himself  a  dragon  slayer ,   which  leads  me  to  say ;    sting  does  not  go  to  rogue  with  scissor  runner  following  him .    he  wants  to  prove  that  he  can  slay  a  dragon  on  his  own .

he  does ,   however ,   find  his  way  to  rogue  after  the  dragons  are  returned  to  their  own  time ,   so  they  have  their  canon  conversation .

sting  is  not  tipsy  during  the  celebrations ,   but  he  did  have  a  drink .

he  immediately  approaches  yukino  when  she  enters  and  offers  apologies ,   but  he  does  not  just  apologise  on  behalf  of  jiemma ,   but  himself ;    sting  says  he  wished  that  he  had  the  courage  to  speak  out  against  the  former  guild  master  sooner ,   and  seeks  forgiveness  for  his  inaction .    he  understands  if  yukino  does  not  want  to  rejoin  sabertooth ,   but  he  leaves  the  option  there  for  her  if  she  ever  wishes  to  return  to  the  sabertooth  family .

TARTAROS :

honestly ,   how  he  made  it  to  tartaros  and  his  fight  with  mard  geer  plays  out  how  i  want  it  to ,   save  for  one  thing ;

sting  does  not  have  to  trick  natsu  into  letting  himself  and  rogue  help  him  beat  mard  geer .    he’s  only  trying  to  help  him  win .    he  couldn’t  care  about  the  book  of  end  if  that  was  what  natsu  was  so  determined  to  get .    he  makes  it  clear  that  he  and  rogue  aren’t  interfering  with  natsu’s  goal  and  that  he  just  wants  to  take  down  mard  geer .

fighting  against  jiemma  takes  a  huge  toll  on  sting .    physically ,   he  had  to  rest  for  weeks  until  he  was  back  at  full  strength .    mentally ,   there  were  a  lot  of  things  that  sealed  sting’s  growing  hatred  for  his  former  guild  master .

overall ,   sting  earned  himself  a  few  scars  from  the  battle .    most  of  them  are  on  his  arms ,   well  hidden  with  a  pair  of  new  gloves .

also ,   he  definitely  shed  tears  after  seeing  weisslogia .    he  thought  he  had  to  kill  weisslogia ,   his  memory  was  altered ,   and  it’s  only  now  that  he  realises  that  weisslogia  had  been  watching  over  him  this  whole  time ?    that’s  a  lot  to  take  in  at  once .    he’s  an  emotional  wreck  later ,   but  in  the  moment ,   he’s  too  prideful  to  cry  more  than  a  few  tears .

[teeth-farie]

Kinktober Day 3: Impact Play

Mammon/GN Reader

☞. . . This one turned out a little longer, oops!

The brothers seemed to listen to punishment better when it was dealt by your hands. It started with when you snapped at them, raising your voice and putting them in their place purely with shock. Whatever they did wrong, they fixed it that day. Mammon…Mammon was a little different. He’d much rather deal with a punishment from you than Lucifer, though that didn’t keep him from his usual shenanigans. Eventually, stern talking to’s weren’t cutting it.

“Mammon, I have reason to believe you’ve been selling my things.” You haven’t even raised your voice, and Mammon resembles a kicked puppy. “Lectures haven’t been cutting it, I’m going to start taking physical measures with you.” The low lights of your bedroom highlight that pang of fear almost perfectly. It’s gone before it came. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and tie me up already.”

You rummage around your wooden chest, retrieving something sleek and dark. “Actually, no. I’m going to punish you the way humans do.” You sit down on the edge of your bed, setting the paddle within your reach. Mammon swallows thickly, heat blooming on his face. “I-I mean, y-you,”

“Over my knees, this is your punishment.”

Mammon slowly shuffles over, averting his eyes every time he finds you still staring at him. “S’ weird,” he grumbles, yet he bends over your lap nonetheless, crossing his arms in front of himself. Just the feeling of your hand on his back makes him jump. You guide your hand down his tailbone, resting it on his rear. “I won’t start with the paddle just yet.”

Oddly enough, Mammon finds himself a little disappointed. That disappointment fades with the first hit, the fabric of his jeans cushioning the full force of your hand. He hides his face in his arms, biting down on his bottom lip. You hit again, dissatisfied with the lack of sting. “I’m pulling your pants down.”

“Wha-!”

You reach under him, where his crotch presses against your thighs and flick open his button. It takes a few tugs to get his tight jeans off, yet Mammon makes no effort to get away from you. You pull his jeans down under his ass, exposing black underwear. You decide to keep his underwear on him, if only to spare him from a complete strip of dignity.

The next spank is far more satisfying, a resounding slap! echoing from your palm. Mammon yelps, legs kicking out behind him. “That’s one,” you reel your hand back and hit again, slapping under his thighs. It elicits a high whimper this time, muffled by his arms. “Two,” he gasps out without your prompting. You raise a brow, a smirk spreading on your lips. “That’s right, go ahead and keep counting.” You punctuate your sentences with a few more spanks, focusing on his right cheek. “Ow! Three! F-four, five!”

“Tell me what you did wrong, why you’re here.”

Mammon swallows, panting in the crevice of his elbows, his hot breath fanning back at him. “I-I took your stuff.” He keens as you grab the lean fat of his ass, squeezing it between your fingers before spanking finally again. “Sixxx,” he practically drools, cursing himself at the interested twitch his dick gives. “Hm, you don’t seem too sorry,” you sigh with mock disappointment.

The shuffling clues Mammon in that you’ve grabbed the paddle, a surge of fear and excitement pooling in his chest.

You rest the paddle on his ass, the resin cool against his heated skin. It’s about the same color as his underwear, a smooth voided black. Mammon braces himself, lurching forward when the paddle comes down on his ass with a thwack!

“Fucking—seven!”

Thwack! Smack!

“E-eight, nine! M’sorry, I’m sorry!”

You put as much force into the next hit as you can, an actual moan slipping from his lips. “Ten,” he croaks, and it’s abundantly clear how hard he is, straining in his underwear. Mammon’s shaking violently, stomach clenching with his wracking body. He feels like he’s on fire, and you didn’t even smack his bare flesh. “You did good, you took your punishment like a good boy.” Your praise coats his senses like a balm, and Mammon feels like he’s floating. “M’good?” He slurs, feeling loose and unscrewed from his body when you begin guiding him back up.

He slumps against your lap again, clinging onto your shoulders. “Yes, you are! Punishment’s over, it’s all done.” You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

Mammon melts, lips parting in a whimper. “How about we take care of this now?” You ask gently, pressing a fingertip to the swollen tip of his cock. He groans, weakly rutting his hips up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he stutters, his head thumping onto your shoulder. You keep rubbing him through his underwear, tapping the little puddle of sticky fluid building at its peak. Mammon’s breath is hot against your neck, his drool collecting in the crook of your shoulder.

You begin pumping him to the best of your ability, yet he doesn’t seem to mind the restricted mobility. His toes curl in his boots, fingers squeezing tighter into the meat of your arms. “S’good, so good,” his stomach tightens, a warmth pooling below his navel. “Go ahead and come for me,” you whisper in his ear, gently rubbing underneath the head.

He keens, his entire body tending as liquid warmth spreads under your hands. “Ah-hah, hnn,” Mammon falls limp, arms loosely curled around you. “I d-didn’t, I didn’t sell it,” he begins, his voice cloudy and hoarse.

“Sell what?”

“Your stuff. I just took it, yaknow? S’ in my room—I missed ya.” You gently rub over his back, a curl to your lips as a low purr rumbles from his chest. “That’s ok, you can keep it.” You know full well of his horde, you’re just wondering about the day he’ll crack and try to take you too.

[maxfew]

sometimes it makes me rlly sad to know that so many people just think lando’s a brat or entitled or whatever because like......idk he’s so open about his lack of confidence in himself and that he’s insecure and i feel like a lot of people just breeze by the the anxiety he dealt with his first year in f1 and like??? idk he was the age i am right now when he first became a formula 1 driver and as someone who struggles with panic attacks and severe anxiety i can’t even imagine how he must of felt stepping into that sort of spotlight and as much as people love to talk about mental health they also pick and choose whose mental health matters 🙃🙃🙃 and like lando’s talked about his concern for the amount of stress the paddock must be under and how so many triple headers must impact each employee and these are such important conversations that need to be had.... but yeah idk. i guess i was just taken aback by how insecure he seemed with himself in that interview and it stings a bit and i just was thinking about it.... yaknow....

[deitysnips]

Regrettably Attached Pt. 1

Stark!Reader x Loki

Word Count: 2958

Authors Note: I wanna thank you guys in advance for reading this. I haven’t written anything in probably 6 years so it might be a little sloppy. I am open to suggestions and any fixes you guys can bring to my attention!

Summary:; You’re Tony Stark’s younger sister and you are somewhat part of the Avengers, but behind the scenes, not necessarily on the front lines unless you’re needed. This is an UA where Loki is living in the compound living under strict supervision and the reader slowly starts falling for the God of Mischief after hating him due to, yaknow, trying to kill her brother and some of her closest friends, but that quickly turns into lovers(obvi)

Growing up as Tony’s sister was and still is kind of terrifying. Tony has always been such a “smarty pants” for lack of a better phrase. Even with him being a child prodigy, you two have always been close and you would want it any other way. You grew up following in his and your fathers footsteps.

Years past and you have graduated with multiple engineering degrees and even though your mother and father weren’t here to see it, Tony always made sure you knew how proud they would be of you. No graduation, presentation or ceremony went unattended by the now Iron Man. So it was no surprise when Tony asked you to join him and the other Avengers at the compound to help with logistics and help Tony and Bruce create safer suits.

“Hey Kid! Get down here, we need your help!” 

It’s been 5 years that you’ve been living with Tony and still, nothing surprises you.

“Hold on! I just got out of the shower!” You shouted from your cracked bedroom door. You quickly put on some extremely worn jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt that you MIGHT have stolen from your older brother. You cracked open the door once more and yelled to Tony

“Is this a no shoes project?!” You sat with your head out the door tapping your fingers along the door frame when someone threw what seemed to be a wad of paper at the back of your head. You groaned and sucked air through your teeth. “I swear to the gods, Rogers, if you don’t stop throwing shit, I’m gonna curb stomp you” You said as you turned your head to send a glare towards Steve. To your unpleasant surprise, it was not Steve, but the annoying, somewhat attractive God Of Mischief, Loki

“Oh, my dear, Mr. America isn’t the only one who likes to get under your skin” Loki said very nonchalantly while leaning against his own door frame. “Now if you don’t mind. Stop that obnoxious yelling. Some of us are actually trying to work and not be babied by their dear brother.” Loki glared at you from where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You and the god have never been on good terms, even after the pleading Thor gave you when he brought him back from Asgard after its destruction. You wanted to believe him when he said that his brother had changed and was working towards being a better ‘person’, but it still left an unpleasant taste in your mouth since, you know, he tried to kill your brother.

“Get fucked, Loki.” You stepped out of your room, body completely turned towards the man in front of you. “I have told you multiple times to leave me alone. Tony might be okay with you being here, but I certainly don’t give a shit what happens to you.” You spat at him with venom and malice in your voice. Tony told you time and time again to try to be civil with Loki, but you never listened. You just couldn’t. 

You continued to stare at the slimy, yet oddly handsome man-god thing in front of you and if looks could kill, he wouldn’t be breathing.

“Hey, kid, did you not hear the urgency in my voice or do you enjoy giving me a heart attack?” You jumped when you felt your brother out his hand on your shoulder. “I told you that yes, you did need shoes. Bruce and I really need your help on the Mark VII suit- wait, sis, are you alright?” Tony studied your face after turning your shoulder towards him with a worried expression

“Yeah, I’m fine Tony. Let me just grab my shoes and I’ll be down” You pulled away from your brother and ran into your room, slamming the door behind you. You sit with your back against your door and hide your face in your hands, groaning loudly.

“Why can’t he just leave me alone?” You whisper softly to yourself. You’ve been at such a crossroads when it comes to the trickster god. You hate him for what he did to Tony and your friends, but at the same time, you can’t help but have this… attraction to him. The sharpness of his jawline, the softness in his bright blue eyes, or the way his lips curl up into a cheeky little smirk when he does something that riles you up. It’s been a year and a half since Thor brought Loki back, and you still haven’t adjusted.

You let out a long sigh of frustration as you stand up and walk to your closet pulling out a loved pair boots. After you pull your shoes on, you finally find the strength to walk out of your room and start heading towards the workshop to find Tony and Bruce. You make a pitstop to the kitchen to grab some coffee and a small snack

“Hey FRIDAY, can you ask if Tony and Bruce want anything?” You call out into the empty room while making a PB&J sandwich”

“They both say nothing at the moment other than your presence, Miss. Stark. Mr. Stark said it is very urgent and they need you down there quickly” 

You groan as you toss the butter knife into the sink and start walking down the stairs to the workshop. Once you enter you see Bruce leaning over one of the tablets with his hands running through his hair.

“Alright, what did I miss?” you say as you take a bite of your sandwich, causing the men to look up at you, seemingly irritated. “Whoa whoa boys, what the hell?” You raise an eyebrow at your brother who’s sitting across from Bruce, impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk. Tony sighs and stands up to walk over to his computer, pulling up the internals of the suit

“For whatever reason, the suit keeps overheating after about 10 minutes and we cannot for the life of us figure out why” Bruce says while Tony is flipping through all the internals for you. You can’t help but smile and giggle a little bit.

“Alright kid, what's so funny? Tony asks, slightly glaring in your direction.

“Oh no, nothing. Nothing at all. But, uh, unrelated, how long have you guys been working on this?”

“A couple h-” Tony goes to speak but is interrupted by the suit powering up, seemingly without issues.

“Big brother, you’re a terrible liar. When I woke up yesterday morning, you both had already been down here working on it. It was a simply missing variable and a loose connection.” Tony and Bruce both keep switching between the suit and their respective computers trying to figure out how they missed such a small thing.

“How the fu-” “LANGUAGE!” Steve yells out as he stares coming down the stairs. Tony rolls his eyes and starts going through the internals again before smacking his palm to his forehead. “Thanks kid”

“No problem old man, now go get some rest.” You say, patting Tony on the back.

“Hey, can I talk to you really quick, Squeak?” You groan loudly at the nickname that the team gave you when you first showed up. You were so nervous about making a good impression, that when you started to speak, all of your words got stuck in your chest and all that came out was a little squeak.

“Yeah Cap, maybe if you stop calling me that god awful nickname, like I've told you to do multiple times!” You both start walking up the stairs and you playfully push Rogers shoulder, knowing it won’t do much. 

Once you make it up the stairs, Steve leads you to the living room and sits at the couch across from your favorite chair

“Alright, if this is an intervention, I’m leaving. I get I shouldn’t be smoking bu-” You stop talking when Steve lifts his hand up and just stares at you with a dumbfounded look “This isn’t an intervention, but maybe it should be- yo- what?!” Steve gets a little loud at the end of his sentence, catching the attention of Tony and Thor who are in the kitchen making some lunch

“STEVE SHUT UP” You blush slightly and hide your face in your hands again.

“Conversation for another time, anyways” Steve pulls your hands away from your face and makes you look at him and quietly says your name “What was going on earlier when Tony came up stairs? I was in the bathroom down the hall and I heard you yelling at someone? Was it Loki again?” You avoid eye contact but nod slightly. Steve lets out a small sigh and sits back

“What he did wasn’t even terrible, Cap. He threw a ball of paper at me and basically told me to shut up. I just get so irrationally angry at him for what he tried to do to my family. Tony is all I have left. I know that everyone has told me to make nice and just fake it for the sake of all of us being here almost all the time, but I can’t. I'm just so confused and..” You stop yourself and look up at Steve who is intently listening.

“What are you confused about, doll?” He raises an eyebrow and you start blushing again.

“I- I don’t wanna talk about it..” You whisper softly and glance over to where Tony and Thor are at. As much as Tony begs you to be nice and try to be civil, he would not hesitate to beat your ass if he found out that you were harboring a crush for the trickster. Steve leans in and whispers

“I think I know. I may be from a different time, but I know a crush when I see it.” He pulls back and smiles at you and for whatever reason, this makes you angry.

“WHAT?! You think I have a little schoolgirl crush on that fucking murderer?! HE TRIED TO KILL TONY MULTIPLE TIMES!” You yelled at Steve as you stood up, tears stinging your eyes “I would NEVER mess with the likes of Loki, whether he's a God or a prince of whatever the hell he is!”

“Squeak, now hold on-”

“No, Rogers- Leave me alone!” You storm away from him and go up the stairs leading to your bedroom. Once you get to your door, another wad of paper is thrown in your direction, but this time you catch it. Turning towards where the paper had come from, was he himself.

“Hello, darling. I heard you and Rogers speaking about me” He smirks ever so slightly and starts slowly sauntering over to you. Once he gets close to you, you pull a dagger out of the sheath around your thigh and press the tip to his chest

“I suggest you leave me the hell alone, you psychopath.” You grit your teeth as you finish your sentence and Loki puts his hands up in defeat and takes a few steps back

“My my, little one. I didn’t know you could be so feisty.” He chuckles slightly and crosses his arms over his chest. “I just wanted to have a civil conversation and see if we can come to an understanding about where my loyalties lie and try to get your tiny Midgardian brain to understand that I’m not the same person I was.. Before” 

You sheath your dagger and pinch the bridge of your nose hopeful to fight off your frustration.

“Look, Loki. You may not realize the severity of what you did, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna accept that you’re some righteous person-god- whatever the hell you are.”

“Oh, good heavens, no. I’m not righteous whatsoever, darling. Never have been, never will be. But” He points a finger at the ceiling and smiles “I can promise you that I do not plan to murder anyone… in this building” 

You smirk softly at the humor in the tricksters voice and cross your arms over your chest. 

“So how about that conversation?” You gester to him to come in your room but when you look back at his face he has a rather dumbfounded look on his face

“What a minute, 45 seconds ago you had a bloody dagger to my chest, ready to skin me alive, but now you want me to come into your room with you?” Loki walks closer to you slowly still with that dumb look on his face.

You place your hand back on your dagger and laugh “Just because I’m inviting you into my room, doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to stab you if you give me a reason to.” You wink at him and walk into your room, where you kick off your shoes and lounge in the recliner at the far corner of your room. 

The rooms at the compound were not small by any means. Each room has a giant California king size bed, a double walk-in closet, its own little mini fridge, plus enough room to have 2 Hulks lay side by side on the floor.

You have yours decorated in your signature color, with white accents on the furniture as well as copious amount of liquor bottles on the top of your bookshelf.

Loki saunters in after a few seconds and takes a seat on your bed, directly in front of you. It seems like he’s… admiring you? He won’t look away and seems to be studying your face, how your wavy hair falls softly from the messy bun on the top of your head, how your eyes sparkle with the sun coming through the windows, how your lips are just a subtle rosy color, indicating that you either suck of chew on them when frustrated.

“Are you gonna say anything or are you just gonna sit here and stare at me all day?” You blush softly and stare right back at him

“My dear, if I may be rather brash, it just seems like something seems of worry to you, my apologies. But, yes, where would you like me to begin?”

You and Loki sat there for 3 or 4 hours talking about what really happened when Loki invaded New York, what happened to his mother and how Asgard was completely destroyed by his and Thor’s elder sister. Half way through the conversation, you had pulled down a rather nice bottle of Whiskey and two rocks glasses, pouring both of you a drink while Loki was reliving what he described to be the most painful part of his life. There you sat with the man you had sworn to hate until your last breath, actually feeling sorry for judging him so harshly. But who can blame you?

“Wow” You said after he had finally finished. You looked down at your glass and it was empty. While Loki was explaining everything to you, you had finished 4 or 5 full glasses of whiskey and were starting to feel a little tipsy

“Loki, I am so indecently sorry. All of the times Thor and I had talked about what happened, he never once told me how hard you took everything.”

Loki scoffed a little and looked at his glass “Well, my story really isn’t for my brother to tell, and he never really understood my feelings on the matter. I never really spoke to him about it. It was really only me on my own.” He shrugged softly and finished what liquor he still had in his glass “I really hope this changes your viewing of my, darling. I truly meant what I said. I have zero intentions of harming anyone in this compound.”

You shook your head a little and pushed the hair that had fallen into your face back “But why tell me all of this? Why tell the one person who probably hates you the most in the tower all of your worries and how at fault you feel?” You looked up from your glass when he chuckled.

“My dear, I know you don’t truly hate me. You hate what I did to your brother and the Avengers.” He leaned forward to be at eye level with you and spoke very softly “Do not forget, little one. I can read minds, you know” He winked at you and sat back in his chair

“I- you what now?!” You sat up straight and your face became very flushed. How could you have been so naive? Thor had mentioned it a couple of times that he believes his brother could read thoughts, but you never took it to heart.

“Miss. Stark, it seems as so Mr. Stark is worried about you. He has no idea where you are and I didn’t think to make him privy of your location.” FRIDAY interjected before you or Loki could say anything regarding the mind reading matter.

“Thanks, FRIDAY, can you tell him I’m up in my room? I don’t think I’ll be able to walk after the amount of alcohol I’ve drank” You chuckled slightly and rubbed your face with your hands.

“Right away Miss. Stark. Oh, it seems as if your brother is coming to see you.” 

You internally began slightly panicking because as much as Tony wanted you to be civil, I don’t think he would want you damn near wasted with the God Of Mischief in your room.

“I shall be on my way, darling” Loki stood up and walked over to you. He rests his hands on the back of your chair and soon your face to face.

“Conversation for another time” He quickly places a kiss to your cheek before disappearing in a green cloud.

What the fuck is happening?

[pekkarolling]

Lmao so at IHOP last night/morning I learned that a bunch of my good friends now hated me in freshman year (like I thought they did, or didn’t in some cases) but now they love me?? A lil shook but also lowkey not surprised. Anyways I love them all so...

[elucere]

Sad Late August Quarantine Thoughts 2.0

Last year, I wrote this. Basically my thoughts on how I felt in my life up to that point and what quarantine had illuminated. It felt cathartic then, so hopefully it’ll feel cathartic now. A part of that probably had to do with the fact that the last part was complete bullshit, but we’ll get into that later.

At nearly the slightest inconvenience now, I’ll say “I’m at my limit”. Technically, that isn’t really true because if I was really at my limit, at the next inconvenience I would completely lose it. But no, I’m just simply reminding myself that while I’m constantly met with a series of unfortunate events, I haven’t broken down yet. I might feel like I’m there, but I’m not. I’m just at my limit. Things are bad, but they aren’t the worst they could be yet. So keep in mind, I am very much at my limit as I’m writing this.

Last year I talked about my struggles with my job. Yeah, I got fired in February. It was not pretty either. I knew I wasn’t doing well performance wise, and they invited me into a zoom call that they said was a project meeting a week before my year anniversary and fired me. My supervisor (or I guess, ex-supervisor) cried on call. I didn’t cry until afterwards. It was an entire year of me trying to get better, him promising that it’ll come with time, and then getting sacked because “we didn’t see improvements”. Really, really fucking sucked. And it messed with me for a long time because I kept replaying those last few weeks, trying to decipher what I could’ve done differently to prove my worth and keep my position. There was a lot. I felt really guilty.

I think the worst part is that I got a performance warning in December and realized at that point I’d become so apathetic about my job that I needed professional help. I’d been trying to go to therapy for a long time, but it never panned out. My mom forbade it when I was in high school, it was practically impossible to get an appointment at my college’s mental health facility unless you were considered a threat to yourself and others (which I most certainly did not want on my record), and after school life happened so fast with the pandemic and the fact that I live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my mom and my brother with very little privacy. Even now that I’ve convinced my mom that therapy is okay, actually, she still highly disproves and sees it as some sort of psychological failing on my part. Which is. Sure. Whatever. Why not.The reason I did not enroll in therapy that December is actually because my dad lost his job and with it, his health insurance, and with that, my health insurance. That means I had to enroll in a health plan through my employment, which became an unanticipatedly long process. I actually got my new-but-useless health insurance card in the mail a few days after I got fired. They actually fired me on the last day of the month, so my benefits wouldn’t extend beyond that month. That’s a bit of fun irony.

To quite a few of my friends, this story solidified the idea that insurance=therapy. As soon as I got insurance again, I’d be able to finally get some help. This was a couple of people’s first response to me when I got hired again (yay, I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore but I’m also afraid that I’ll just inevitably be fired again so I don’t let myself have the victory). I know my friends only want the best for me, and I can’t expect them be able to emotionally support me like a professional, but I’m afraid that they think that therapy will  be some sort of magical fix of sorts. I don’t mean in the sense of just getting better mentally, but I think being a tolerable person. I know that sounds like I’m just being self-depreciating, but let me explain.

A few years ago I was at dinner with one of my friends. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but she goes “name three things you actually like” because I was probably being negative or something. I said a few things and whatever, but that comment stuck with me for a long time. I thought it was especially poignant or something. Am I so unhappy all the time because I fixate on things I don’t like? It could be connected to the attitude of social media to be outwardly negative. Casual wisdom, you know.

Well, that was the fact until I was out with that same friend and we visited Barnes and Noble. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading this year and got more involved in the book community, so I have many Opinions. Some are good, some are bad, some are just me being annoying. After an hour of browsing the shelves, we drive home. I start talking about a series I really like in the car and she goes “It’s nice to hear you talk about a book you actually like.” Which kind of stunned me because I had just did a lot of talking about books I liked. How happy I was that kids were still reading Rangers Apprentice, going out of my way to see how many Brandon Sanderson books I could find in the Adult Fantasy section, and more reminiscing in the Young Adult section about books I liked recently or as a teen. The truth is, I talk about stuff I like all the time to people who will listen. Ask me about my favorite books! My favorite movies! My favorite musicals! I promise I will not shut up. It’s one of the few things I have that lift my spirits when I talk about it, I just don’t get the opportunity to much because it’s hard to find people who want to listen.

The thing is, I’m naturally a critical person, I think. I love tearing things apart, in good and bad ways. I also love gossip. I’m an okay gossip, but I know at this point that I’m a good critic. I’m really good at identifying faults and commenting them on an insightful or constructive way. I edit a lot of my friends’ writings for this reason. I don’t find that to be anything negative, it’s just something that’s interesting to me. Basically what I’m saying is, what if it’s not mental illness and I’m just annoying and I’ll not be able to meet the expectations of other people’s idea of progress for me and I’ll be a disappointment. I’m kind of tearing up while typing that out while listening bopping to Disturbia by Rihanna but this is the third time I’ve been on the verge of crying today so yaknow maybe it is just mental illness.At this point, I can either talk about criticism in relation to the particular way I dish it, or I could talk about how I want to receive it. I think the former will take less time to elaborate, so I’ll start with that.

I mention last year how I got an unpaid gig as a critic for DiscussingFilm. Embarrassing at times, I joke with my friends that “DiscussingFilm Writer” is a slur, but it’s cool at times as well. I got a press pass to go to Sundance and gorged on an entire family sized bag of peanut M&Ms while I watched like 14 movies in one weekend. I’m trying to say positive things about this until I start ragging to prove that I’m not an overwhelmingly negative person, but I don’t think that’s working well. Whatever. The point is, if I didn’t like it I would quit, but if I did quit it wouldn’t be because I didn’t like it. It would because there was an…event. I had quite a falling out with one of the higher-ups that run the site and in response my work has taken a hit. I won’t go into too much detail, but I don’t get assigned anticipated releases anymore. My work is often delayed going out and, in turn, I feel less motivated to turn in my work on time. And then on top of that, it’s rarely promoted. I have examples on top of examples, but this stupid thing is getting long enough. To summarize the DiscussingFilm situation, I feel like shit. I have one of the lowest view counts on the site. I’m told that my work is good and it’s valued, but not enough to get reposted, I guess! Why bother. And also because the person I do not work well with is quite up in the food chain, I’ll never see a promotion. I wanted to become an editor so bad (I do editing on the side for my friends and enjoy it), but now it will never ever happen. I don’t have the opportunity to prove myself, it’s just completely off the table by nature of leadership. Ass. Complete ass. I’m doing quite a bit of work for DiscussingFilm including creating the standard for the Instagram, making graphics for the Instagram, performing interviews and writing reviews for the site, and co-hosting a DiscussingFilm branded podcast, and I will never see neither a dime for my work or recognition in any meaningful or significant way. I don’t have a say in anything, and I feel like an insignificant cog whose opinion does not mean much.

I still get insecure with my reviews, but not as much anyways. Sure, I can’t compare to the great writers at trades who do this for a living and have been doing so for years. But, I am better than a lot of writers at my level. Sometimes I try pitching to other publications, but so far I’ve only been met with rejection. It kinda stings to know that my work is not worth enough to be paid for, but I’m kinda over it. I still pitch. I try my best. That’s the thing about me, I just keep going. Rejection hurts like a bitch, but whatever. I don’t want to quit just yet, so I guess I won’t. There isn’t anyone in my corner who’s actively spurring me to keep going, I’ve just decided that I’ll get paid for my work one day and so now I will.This connects with the criticism I want to receive which unfortunately very much is not of the nonfiction variety. Ew I fucking hate talking about this but I need to get it off my chest.

After I got fired, I was slipping into quite a bit of a depression. I started a podcast at this time with my friend to try and prevent that, but I knew that I probably needed another project. I wasn’t watching movies anymore, DiscussingFilm was not publishing my shit, and all I was doing all day was reading (which I don’t anymore, I’m in a slump and it’s definitely connected to the idea I have in the next sentence). So I had the brilliant idea of “hey, I could do that. I could write a book. I should do it to do it.”You see, this has not been my only attempt at writing a proper book. I tried when I was 13, I tried when I was 15 and into online literate roleplay, I tried when I was 18 by doing NaNoWriMo in college (also, I was actually more depressed then). I also tried to get into a short story class in college that you had to submit a story to get into and didn’t even make it on the waitlist. Nothing stuck. But hey, I was unemployed and I came up with a funny premise that I wasn’t too attached to, so why not?

The book is not funny. It was supposed to, but it’s changed a lot. I’m very comfortable writing in camp. It’s difficult because I know sometimes I have my moments, but often I don’t. I also chose to write it in a genre I’m not super familiar with (Young Adult contemporary, I read Young Adult and Adult fiction primarily). I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the things I thought would come easily did not come easily. I have a lot of male friends, so I could certainly write the male characters as real people, right? Right? I’m funny, so the humor would come across well, right? Did I anticipate that after years of pretty much only analyzing films critically I’d subconsciously structure my story using dialogue-driven storytelling similar to a screenplay? No! Not at all, actually! This journey of self-discovery has been ass at every corner!

I recognize that first drafts are shit and authors hate their writing, but also I’m built different, your honor. By 15k words in, I realized I needed an outside perspective. I hated my own writing and I was afraid none of the characters were coming off right. I needed feedback, and I still do. But I hate being perceived. As long as no one reads my writing, they think that I know what I’m talking about and value my opinion on their writing, but once they figure out I’m just an Imposter then it’s game over. They’ll lose respect for me. Logically, I know this isn’t how this works, but I feel physically nauseous whenever someone reads my writing.

Anyways, back to my much-needed criticism. To make a long story short involving several English teacher that caused me to quit pursuing writing altogether in my formative years and decide to switch to a STEM track, I have very little tangible self-awareness of my own writing and how to improve it. I need the outside feedback, or at least I did. I’m 60k words into my first draft now and I’m cripplingly self aware of all my errors, but it feels too little too late. 60k words are a lot of words, and it feels not great knowing that most of them are trash. I really needed this kind of feedback earlier in the process so I could make tweaks early on. I know that writing is like a muscle and you need to work it out and practice to get stronger, but fuck man, FUCK. 60k words is a LOT of words. And I still need people to read it and give me feedback and I’m literally willingly asking people to read shit. It’s so humiliating. I guess I’m just at a point where I wish I could look at it and find something of value in what I’ve written.

I see other authors and I get so jealous. At their confidence, at their lyricism, their mastery of the art, their enthusiasm for their story, their love of their characters. I don’t have that. I’m not even talking about imposter’s syndrome. I know what that feels like. This is something else. I just wish I was the kind of person who could openly be creative without wanting to die. I’m 100% sure if I could be enthusiastic about the story I want to tell, the entire thing would be better. It’s crazy how I noticed that I’m not writing any metaphors into realizing that’s directly connected with my inability to be vulnerable and that I’m detaching myself from my work. That, and the fact that I’m fucking shite at writing metaphors apparently.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t have a writer group of friends and very little people to talk about this with, none of which are like… enthusiastic. It’s not their fault. I attract people into my life who are very much like me. They’re supportive and wonderful but I need someone who’d be excited to talk to me about it. I just feel like such a huge burden all the time. Everytime I bring it up I feel terrible, but it’s occupying so much of my brain space and I have no outlet. But also, getting that group of friends would require me to be vulnerable online and be willing to share what I have so far which I might actually throw up.I think it’s very fun that “crying and throwing up” has become a saying on Twitter considering that I’ve counted a countless amount of times this year and thrown up from stress four times since last November. It might also be connected to coffee consumption, but if that’s true I’m ready to off myself because coffee is one of my few joys. Honestly, it’s probably a mix of both. I’m very healthy, very much okay.

I don’t know. Last year, I ended my little essay on a hopeful note. Here’s the thing, this may seem like very much just stream of consciousness bullshit but there is quite a bit of structuring I do and omissions I make. I didn’t talk about my struggles reconnecting with people and subsequently taking their irregular replies, because there’s a lot to get into there. There’s a lot I could’ve talked about, but no room. There’s a very specific flow, and I feel like any story, it needs a conclusion. So last year, through tears, I wrote a hopeful ending. It was as much for me as it was to the people reading it. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in it for me to conclude in the same fashion this time around.

The truth is, I need to feel okay. I need to feel like I’m good at something, anything, and be recognized for it.

Life is suffering and I’m just constantly going through the motions. I promise you, this stupid thing is 3k words and the second I’m done I’ll go back to working on my b**k even though today I literally started crying thinking about how shit it is. I’m just a tenacious individual. I persist. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m done with being genuinely hopeful, but there’s nothing to do but keep moving. I don’t know if my writing will get better or if I’ll ever get published or if this story is worth it. I don’t fucking know anything and I feel like shit. But what else am I going to do? I’ve been holding onto this hope that I’ll feel better about things for just so long and it hasn’t happened. But I’m not giving up lmao I’m just working with what I have. I am at my limit.

[rocket-remmy]

A Battery Of Guilt, On Which To Poise|| Morgan and Remmy

TIMING: Last Night PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: The floor sure is nice this time of day. CONTENT: Depression, Mentions of past abuse, Homophobia mentions, Self Harm

It was strange having Remmy over at the house again, almost as strange as not being able to patch the seams in her old sweats with a touch of her hand. Almost. Morgan paced the house, waiting for them to show up, stretching her muscles restlessly like she’d seen Lara Croft do in the movies. She still found herself scanning the road outside the house, the shadowy corners of the trees in the yard when she let Anya out to hunt. Someone might be there, waiting for her, watching her. Then again, it hadn’t even been a week. Maybe that was supposed to be normal for a fresh steaming slice of trauma. But hadn’t she had enough? Hey, Universe, I’ve had enough! She thought, sending out each word as clearly as if it were a configuration for a mental spell. You tapped me out of life, so maybe let me tap out of the bullshit! She deflated with relief when she saw Remmy loping up the driveway. She felt like an idiot for having worried about them getting tired before. Things were still weird and stiff between them, but it was better to have them around than to be stuck with only her thoughts for company. 

Remmy could still remember the underwhelming response they’d received when they’d first told people hunters were after them. The only one with the appropriate response had been Lydia. She’d been scared for them, offered them shelter, a place to hide-- everyone else? Oh, no, Remmy! That’s bad! Are you okay? Can I do anything? Or, in Deirdre’s case, Just kill them. Two responses Remmy hated. And now, Morgan understood. They’d’ve been lying had they said they didn’t feel just a hint of an “I told you so” on their tongue. But they’d hold it, because they didn’t want to fight anymore, even if they still held that anger close to their chest. The walk to Morgan’s was fast, time slipping by like it didn’t need to bother to exist anymore, since it didn’t matter to them. Lately, nothing had mattered to them. They approached the door, and knocked, shifting from foot to foot as they waited for Morgan to answer the door, hands in pockets of torn and unwashed jeans.

Morgan swung open the door on the first knock, trusting Remmy to come in and lock the door behind them on their own. They’d been by enough times before. “Thanks for coming,” she said. “I know you said whenever, but I appreciate it.” She lead them down the hall to the workout room, where she had already laid mats down around the punching bag. Her eyes drifted upward to the attic, where she knew the weapons hung in all kind of strange, menacing displays. It had given her chills before, the violence and the reverence of Deirdre’s work tangled up together. Remmy probably wouldn’t want to know about that yet, better to make this as uncomplicated as possible. “Have you ever--you mentioned a crossbow guy, and that hunter you asked once. Have you ever had to fight one of these assholes before?”

Closing the door and locking it-- a practice they were familiar with by now-- Remmy followed Morgan through the house. They’d been here so many times before, but somehow this time felt different. Everything just felt different. Even after their talk with Deirdre, things still didn’t feel quite right. “Is Deirdre home?” they asked as they walked, heading into the basement. When they made it to the room, Remmy paused, standing in the doorway. What did Deirdre need a room like this for? They supposed it didn’t matter, though, did it. Very little did, after all. “Yeah, I have. I mostly just run, though,” they said with a shrug, “unless someone is with me. I don’t wanna fight these guys just to fight them, but I will to protect someone.”

“Oh. She’s at work, but she’ll be home in a couple hours.” Morgan shrugged, a hint of a sour pout. She was relieved, for Remmy and Deirdre both, that they had each other. Remmy wasn’t talking much to their other friends, apparently, and she sometimes wondered who Deirdre had at all, besides Lydia.  But a little small talk with Remmy wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. Like they were maybe trying to be friends with her too. But maybe there wasn’t much of a point today. Every time she thought she’d buried the memory of that day in the woods nice and good, it came back up with a bitter sting. And of course, she couldn’t think of fighting back without thinking about it. “You’d just let them go and hurt someone else?” She asked, tying back her hair. “Treat you like you’re...less than an animal? You know they don’t have any right to treat you that way, right? Any of us. We might be dead but...fuck…” She grimaced, walking to the middle of the room, letting out the air she’d been holding in her chest for no reason. “I’m not you-mad, just...mad.”

Remmy gave as much of a glare as a one-eyed, depressed, unkempt zombie could give as Morgan went on. They didn’t move for a moment, watching her closely as she made her way to the middle of the room. “I already told you, I already told everyone,” they said, a little dour, “I’m not killing anyone. Ever. Again.” Spoke precisely, letting the words sit in the air a bit. “Hunter or not. I’m not doing it.” They finally pulled their hands out of their pockets, rolled up their sleeves in preparation. “You’re allowed to be mad, though. You should be mad, it’ll help when you need to fight back.” They looked over at Morgan finally, adjusting their eye patch. “Okay, come at me again. I wanna see what you’ve got.”

Morgan set her jaw, grimacing. When she was alive she had appreciated, in principle, that Remmy didn’t want to go back to the person they were in the military, even if running away when you knew how to do something else seemed just shy of incomprehensible. But now that she had been on the other end of that fight, when she had feared the dark coming for her again, she couldn’t imagine laying down and taking it. Even rabbits fought against the foxes. How could you not try, if you knew how? And knowing how cruel hunters could be, how human and yet so cruel--how could you not want to make them pay? They should know better. They were people. They were supposed to know better. She swallowed her thoughts down, mumbling, “Fine,” and came up to Remmy. She struck the stance they had taught her and started swinging. 

Remmy knew Morgan didn’t like their answer, but the world had already taken everything else from them-- they would not let it take this. Even if it meant their supposed friends thought less of them. It wasn’t as if the ones they had left had high opinions anyway. So Remmy set themself in a stance, and waited for Morgan to throw the first punch. She was sloppy, and Remmy couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she didn’t know how to fight or if it was because she was in a stubborn mood right now. So, they decide to give something new a shot. They batted Morgan’s hand away, stepping out of the way of her easily predicted punches. They weren’t a great fighter by any means, but they were good enough to get by, and being in the Ring had certainly helped a lot, too. They batted her hand away again, this time taking the extra effort to reach and flick her cheek before moving out of the way. “What? Can’t hit me?”

Morgan huffed, rolling her eyes at her friend. They were goading her on purpose, but she was too frustrated not to fall for it. At least this was simple. Catch Remmy and give them at least one good pummel to prove that she could. She swung again, tensing up. Swung again as they evaded her. She shifted on her feet, swift now that she was caught up in the moment, and clocked their collarbone hard enough to dent it. She smirked, brow quirked with self satisfaction and aimed a kick to their knee, just to shake things up.

If Remmy had been a normal person, the punch would have stumbled them. But as it were, they were still a zombie, and even as their chest dented, they only wavered a moment. Morgan went for a sweep of the knee, but she was too off-balance, too widespread, and Remmy caught her leg with their arm, gripping it tightly before flipping her off her remaining foot and dumping her onto the floor. “You’re too off balance,” they said finally, looking down at her. They didn’t offer to help her back up. “You have to make sure your center of balance is always forward, otherwise that happens,” they instructed, pointing at her. Remembering all the times their lieutenant had done the same to them. A swipe of the foot, a twist of the arm. Faces planted in dirt. Get up, he’d say, try again. Until the bruises were the only things showing.

Morgan went to the floor with a yelp. She grunted again, scrambling to her feet to show just how not hurt and not bothered she was. “Okay, fine,” she said, “How do I do that? And what do I do if you--if someone comes up behind me? I was knocked on my ass in less than a second. And--” She sighed, trying to remind herself that this was all just new, that she was just learning. “--How the heck do I figure out what my center of gravity is?” She asked, feeling more like an idiot than anything else.

Remmy sighed. They stood up, then, relaxing. “Let’s...start with one thing at a time,” they said, coming over to her. Somehow, she looked just as tired as they felt, and it didn’t go over Remmy’s head that neither of them actually could get tired. “Did you ever um-- get the stuff from Felix?” they asked, not looking at her as they adjusted her stance, tapping her toes so they pointed outward, pressing her arms closer to her body to protect the heart-- well, neck, now-- lifting them a little higher than normal. “Okay, I’m gonna push on your shoulder, don’t let me push you over but stay in that position, got it?”

“I talked to him, yeah,” Morgan replied. “I’ll be getting stuff soon. Just, you know, have to wait for supplies. Zombie meds don’t grow on trees, yaknow? But soon. Really ready for better to kick-in, to have some kind of consistency. I know you can’t actually wake up on the wrong side of whatever when you don’t sleep, but I hate when the switch happens. I hate that I can go from almost fine to being a mess with just thinking something wrong. That’s not just me, right?” She took in a breath and exhaled. There was nothing inside her to regulate, but the association soothed her. She could calm her head. She nodded for Remmy to do their worst. They pushed; she pushed back, holding still, digging her weight into the earth. She brought her gaze up to Remmy’s, narrowed with determination.

“No,” Remmy said quietly after they listened to her, “it’s not just you.” In truth, Remmy hadn’t felt the switch in a long time. They’d just been on the downward slope, somehow able to fall further and further, slipping under the surface and drowning in the anger they couldn’t seem to get rid of. They longed for the switch, to feel even the slightest bit okay-- but how true could that be, when they knowingly neglected their own stash of zombie xanax? “If you want some now, I have some,” they said, as they pushed on her shoulder, trying to throw her off balance. Morgan stayed put. That was good. “Feel that?” they said, pushing her a little harder, and though she stumbled slightly, she did not falter. “That’s your center of balance.”

“You do?” Morgan was so startled she stumbled out of her stance. “Are you sure? He told me they’re kinda, you know, pricey. Not the easiest ingredients to wrangle.” But she wanted some, yes. Stigma or not, this was a level of shity her therapy skills weren’t equipped to deal with on their own. She was tired. It was the stupidest thing in the world with her so-called endless energy, but she was so tired in her mind. She felt numb for holding on so long sometimes. There were moments where she could get some feeling going up again, where she could will herself to be a little less unglued, but she always slipped back again, and there was so much of her she still had to control, to manage. How to feel. How to touch. How to sleep without sleeping. What to do about her breathing. “I can cover the cost, at least. Deirdre kind of pays for everything at this point, so I’m doing okay with savings. Can I do that at least?” She centered herself up again, ready to go, but her arms were only half-raised, more focused on her friend.

“Yeah, um--” Remmy started, “I’ve got extra.” That was a blatant lie, but they weren’t going to let Morgan know that. She was already mad enough, they’d already lost enough between them, they didn’t need to lose what little ground they’d recovered. “I don’t...I don’t need money. You don’t have to pay me,” they said quietly. “Just...if you really want to, we can figure something else out, but I don’t need money.” They watched her center herself again, standing up and looking at her, making sure her feet were pointed in the right directions, before pushing on her shoulders again. “Good, balanced. See?” they backed up again. They didn’t want to talk anymore. “Try again.”

“Extra?” Morgan asked incredulously. “Felix doesn’t strike me as the ‘free extras’ kind of guy. I have to pay you back somehow, even if it’s not cash, okay?” She let Remmy reposition her, test her center with another push. Morgan dug into herself and did not budge. She raised her fists again, ready to continue with the exercise, but she couldn’t bury her concern for her friend. She threw one punch, then another, but it just felt wrong, pushing past something this serious. “Remmy, are you skipping meds?” She asked. 

“I mean, he’s a good guy. He was good to me, at least,” Remmy said, ducking and weaving to dodge Morgan’s fists. They blocked a punch or two by grabbing Morgan’s hand and pushing back on her, making sure she was still keeping her center of balance. She didn’t stumble or topple, which meant she was. At least she was listening to their instructions. “I’m not skipping them,” they said, pushing her away. “I’m not taking them. But we’re not talking about this-- I’m not talking about this.”

Morgan drew another breath, in and out. The pause, the concentration, gave her enough of a moment to reset herself and keep hold of that balance. It wasn’t so different from magic, the focus, the balance between holding her emotions honestly in her hand and letting them go through a direct channel. Whatever lines of power that had once lit her up remained dead. No hair rose on her arms, no vein tingled with recognition, but the other parts of her fell into it with a desperation she hadn’t felt until that moment. She threw two more punches, trying to concentrate her energy in her arms. Remmy pushed her away and she righted herself almost at once. “What do you mean you’re not taking them? At all? Remmy, why? You need those! If I need those, you definitely need those! Why are you doing this to yourself!

Remmy looked away. They didn’t-- couldn’t-- look Morgan in the eyes anymore. Why had they stopped taking them? Why had they stopped wearing Nell’s bracelet? Why were they starving themself? “Because I don’t deserve it!” they finally said, shoulders taught, hands clenched into fists as they stood like a brick, firm and unmoving. Like a soldier. “Because I deserve to be punished.” What for? They weren’t entirely sure. But they knew that they couldn’t look at themself in the mirror again anymore. And they knew they couldn’t look at the supplements Felix had gotten for them anymore. And they knew they couldn’t ever bring themself to reach out to their friends. All they knew was that they felt raw and wrong, and the last time they’d felt this way, the only thing that had gotten rid of it was pushing through it at boot camp. Putting it all behind them and moving on. “I thought knowing would help, but it just-- it just sucks.”

“Punished? What do you mean punished, Remmy? Punished for what?” Morgan dropped her guard and paced around to find Remmy’s face, tilting her head so she could at least try to find their eyes. “I know,” she said softly. “I know that knowing what happened doesn’t help.” She’d told them so, even if it had been in a moment of anger. “But none of that means you deserve to be hurt. That’s not how it is. So what gives, Remmy?”

“For all the shit things I did!” Remmy shouted, turning to face away from Morgan as she searched for their eyes. “Because I’m a shit person! I thought-- you know, I thought I could be better, but obviously I can’t. I’m not. I’m the same person I’ve always been-- alone and angry and stupid. And no amount of trying to be better is going to change that. I’m just-- I’m just rotten,” they said, shuddering at the word, remembering all the times they’d heard it. From the man with the angry fist, or from the principal sat slumped behind a desk, or from the pastor staring at them from behind the pew. You must’ve been made wrong. “And this-- being this, it’s my punishment.”

Morgan grabbed Remmy’s arm and yanked hard, trying to spin them around. “No, fuck that! That is bullshit, Remmy, you hear me? That is fucking bullshit!” When they wouldn’t budge she shoved them, putting all her strength into it. “If that’s true, what am I being punished for, huh? What’s thing I did that made me deserve this?” There was nothing. Her curse screwed her out of her life, the rest was just--stars, was it random? Was it just a well intention ed mistake? A last ditch effort? A cursed second chance? She didn’t know, but she sure as hell didn’t ‘deserve’ it for not coming up to scratch. “That’s bullshit thinking, Remmy,” she said. “You’re not special and you’re not rotten, you just got screwed. Can you see that? You’re a good person!  You’re good! You’re good and you don’t deserve the shit you’re giving yourself!”

“You’re not being punished! Obviously you’re not! You got the-the girlfriend who cried over you while you died and held you, and you got the support when you woke up, and you have all the friends who mourned you, and you-- you have all those people helping you through this. The only mistake you made was trusting me. I’m the one that decided to bite you, I did this to you,” Remmy shouted, shoving her away again, already feeling hot, angry tears welling in their eye. “I took everything good away from you because that’s-- that’s what I do. I just take the good from everyone. From-- from you, from Darius, from my mom. My friends. Everyone. I just-- I take it and I ruin it. I ruin everything.”

“Remmy--” Morgan deflated. “My curse took everything away from me. Constance took everything from me. She killed me. Fate literally said so. So I don’t know where the hell you’re getting that from. You didn’t make these things happen, any of them. You were screwed over. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. And it wasn’t you.” She gripped their shoulders, squeezing tight. “It’s not you. Fuck that, okay?”

“S-stop it!” Remmy said, pushing Morgan away again. “Stop it! Just-- be mad! Like you were before! Just hate me and be mad! It’s my fault! I should’ve just let you--” die? But they didn’t really believe that, did they? The thought of losing another friend pained them more than death. “It was my fault! I shouldn’t have let you go out, Deirdre said-- and then I-- and then you--” Words falling from their mouth without much thought anymore, hands going out wildly. “It’s always my fault! Always my fault! I just hurt people.” Choking back a sob. “I just hurt people. 

Morgan grappled with Remmy, pushing and reaching until she had hold of their wrists. She squeezed them tight in her hands and held them until her muscles shook, hard enough to bruise a human, hard enough to keep Remmy from hurting themself. “You’re a good person!” She snapped, shouting over them “I was cursed and then I got screwed over! It was fate, don’t you get it? I was born fucked and no matter how hard I worked, no matter how many times I suffered, no matter how many times I put my life together again, Constance’s bullshit was always going to take it away! No universe, no sacrifice was ever going to give me my good, Remmy! You didn’t do shit!” She was crying too now, tears trickling down as her throat went hoarse. “You didn’t screw me up,” she said, more firmly this time. “You didn’t do it, Remmy. And I love you. I love you, Remmy.”

“No, don’t-- don’t!” Remmy protested, struggling in Morgan’s grip. But despite being stronger, they couldn’t find the energy to get away from her, beaten down by her grip on their wrists, by the way she was staring into them-- by her words. Remmy felt trapped, shrinking into themself. “I did! I bit you! I made you like this! I made you into a monster just like me! And I shouldn’t have-- he said it was the wrong thing to do, too, and I--” they tried to push her away again, trembling in her grip. In fear. Not of her, but for her. “Everyone I love dies or gets hurt and I-- I’m not worth that. I’m not worth it. So just--” they yanked again and pounded a fist on Morgan’s chest. “Hate me.” They pounded another fist. “Just hate me.” Another, each blow growing weaker. “Hate me--” thud-- “Please!”--thump-- “Just--” thump-- “please…” 

Morgan reached down into her core and held herself steady. She staggered back once, twice, but always came back to where she was before as Remmy wailed on her chest. “I still love you, Remmy. Maybe that’s fucked up, but I do. I still love you.” She grappled with them again, working them with each push towards the wall, blocking their fists when she could, but finding that quiet space inside her and holding on tight. Then she had them up against the wall, pinned tight. “I love you. Are you ready to stop now? You can stop. It’s time to stop, Remmy. I love you, so stop.”

Remmy’s back hit the wall and they stopped. Staring wide eyed at Morgan as she spoke, her words not entirely registering. “I’m not worth it, though,” they croaked out, choking on a sob. Suddenly trying to inhale, their lungs begging for steady breath, even though they hadn’t needed it in over a year. Hands digging into Morgan, fingers curling, not pushing her away, but not pulling her close either. Body trembling. “They all get killed or hurt or lost. I can’t-- I’m not--” memories flashing behind their eyes of all the times they were told they weren’t worth it, they’d never be worth it. Friends turning their backs, strung up on flag poles; cadets whispering behind hands about them; privates staring and pointing; lieutenants looking down on them disapprovingly. They couldn’t accept it, even as they saw the stubbornness behind Morgan’s eyes. They couldn’t do it. Their chest felt like it was collapsing. They gasped for air again, clutching their chest. Clutching Morgan’s arm. “It’s not-- I’m not-- I can’t--  I can’t. I don’t know how to stop.”

Morgan stepped close as Remmy began to collapse under their grief. She let them tug on her arm, even loosened her grip so they had room to reach for that air, to reset their body again. She worked her arms around them in as much of a bear hug as her short limbs would allow. “Shut up, you’re worth it,” she said. “You’re worth it, Remmy. You just are.” Gradually, as they shook and cried she lowered them to the ground. She had enough practice with her will giving out over the last month, she knew how to do it without knocking their bones too hard. Easy did it. Sliding carefully to their knees, then sitting, and then they were laying on the mat together, squeezed tight end to end. Morgan pressed her cheek to Remmy’s hair, squeezed them tighter. “You’re worth more than this, Remmy. You’re a person. You’re a whole ass good person and you’re worth more.”

Remmy’s body collapsed under the weight of everything, and they sank slowly to the ground in Morgan’s arms, holding onto her as their lifeline. “But how can I-- when I’m still so-- I’m so angry still,” they pleaded, “I’m so mad all the time and I don’t know how to stop. I-- I’m mad at you and I’m mad at Deirdre and Lydia and Skylar and Blanche and it’s-- I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I can’t-- I feel like-- everything, everyone-- why didn’t anyone just tell me? And I’m-- I’m jealous of you. You got to have-- you got to die in Deirdre’s arms and she cried over you and then you got-- you got to wake up with her. You didn’t have to ever be alone and it’s not fair. And I know I had-- I know he was there, but he died, too. I didn’t get to wake up with him. I didn’t get to cry in his arms. I didn’t get anyone and you had everyone and it’s not fair,” they sobbed, face planting into Morgan’s shoulder even as they lay on the mat, defeated. “I’m so mad at you. I’m so mad at myself. I can’t make it stop. It won’t….It won’t stop…”

“Shut up, we didn’t know it was a lie.” Morgan said, squeezing Remmy tighter. “No one can know until they get to here. And I am still pissed at you too. I am pissed, Remmy, but I love you. And if I can be pissed and love you, you can be angry and love yourself too. It’s okay. You can let yourself off the hook, okay? Let yourself off the hook…” She went on like that, fists bunched in their clothes and hair as she held them steady. Remmy continued to come apart in her arms, one weight on their chest slipping after another. “You’re not alone right now, are you?” She whispered. “Because we help each other. That’s what we have to do to survive this.”

Remmy’s hands curled tight enough into Morgan’s shirt to tear small holes in the fabric. They didn’t move, didn’t say anything, trembling in her arms, on the cold floor-- not that they could really feel it. They knew that was she said made sense, but their heart still clenched, their chest still heaved. Why couldn’t they just believe it? Was that trust really that far gone? Could they no longer believe Morgan after the shattering truth came out behind everyone’s egregious lies? That this was okay? That they were fine? That they were still themself, even undead? How could they believe anything anyone said anymore? They couldn’t. They just...couldn’t. But Remmy was so tired of fighting it. So they just curled into Morgan and let out silent tears, stealing their body. “I’m sorry,” was all they murmured into the quiet room, into Morgan’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

[lilithsgayadoptednephew]

To Be Daumerling

Fandoms: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!   Not Rated Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings M/M Complete Work

Master List

Chapter 6

##TW chapter includes drowning##

He gripped fruitlessly at the slick walls of the drain as he fell, the water shocked him when he landed. There was a terrifying moment where he was too shocked to move, he just sank limply through the stagnant water of the U bend.

Finally with a determined jolt his presence returned to him and he pushed towards the surface.

Lucifer stared for a moment in disbelief.

"MC!!" He practically screeched, throwing the sprayer aside and rushing to lean over the sink. Hands planted firmly on the metal as he tried to see down the dark drain. "MC can you hear me?!"

MC wished he'd had his earplugs, Lucifer's shout bounced down the walls of the piping and battered him from all sides.

Lucifer practically kicked himself, even if MC could hear he couldn't respond. The dark of the drain was thick, but no match for a demon. Summoning his night vision he searched for the human. The tube went down surprisingly far, but at the very bottom he could barely see desperate paddling of a tiny creature trying to stay afloat.

Without hesitation he jammed his arm down the drain, his reach came just shy of MCs tiny, desperately reaching hand. Aggravated he pulled his arm out and looked down at the human.

"I'm going to find something to pull you out!" He yelled again, the little figure looked up at him but had no free hand to gesture whether or not he agreed.

Lucifer pulled his head away from the sink suddenly, the regular lights of the kitchen assaulting his night vision and making him hiss. After adjusting he whipped his head around the room looking for something to act as a rope.

Beel always left his stupid sneakers in the kitchen.

0MC treaded water helplessly as he waited for Lucifer to return. The water was too deep to stand and the walls were too slick to grab. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to think about his predicament.

His mouth tasted like grease...there were bits of old pasta floating in the water….

Everything smelled like bile and MC had to fight not to cry. It was so dark, the water soaked through his clothes and chilled him to the bone. His arms and legs were growing so sore.

Finally when it felt like he couldn't stand it another second he saw a string being lowered down towards him.

He stretched his hand high above his head to grab the lifeline, his shoulder feeling like it was going to give out any moment. He sank lower in the water as he was left with only one hand to help him tread water.

But the string... shoelace? It swung in circles all around MC, never close enough to grab hold. With a cry of despair his arm fell back to the water, he treaded for a moment before throwing his hand back up. He would not give up so easily.

His reach lasted half the time it had, before before falling back to the water. His lungs burned from the effort it took to stay afloat. Slowly...he sank below the water's surface, just barely, perhaps an inch.

With a terrified burst of strength he swam back to the surface and kept afloat. His panic turned to hysteria as he realized he couldn't lift his arm any more.

0Mammon didn't expect to be seeing this at four in the afternoon. Lucifer hunched over the sink with his arm jammed down the drain. What'd he drop in there, his wallet? The second born watched in amusement as Lucifer went to more and more desperate measures to retrieve whatever he'd dropped.

In truth Mammon had never seen his older brother look so frazzled. It was beyond hilarious, but also curious. Was it something he didn't want them to find?

"Yaknow if the sinks clogged you can just use the garbage disposal–" he had his hand on the switch when Lucifer practically tackled him.

"Are you insane?" He growled. Mammon shrank at the tone, but talked back anyway.

"Hey hey what did I do?" He defended. Lucifer just went back to his work with a final warning not to even look at the garbage disposal. Mammon watched over Lucifer's shoulder but received no explanation.

"What's down there?" He finally asked. Lucifer didn't answer for a long time.

"MC" he responded at length, not looking up from his endeavors. Mammon's eyebrows shot into his hairline.

Lucifer... thought MC was stuck in the drain. Slowly he backed away.

"Uh...so you know how dementia runs in our family?" He asked as casually as he could. Lucifer shot him a glare that promised a heinous demise but didn't comment. "Oh come on! MC is not in the drain!" He yelled. Lucifer stopped what he was doing and just stared down the piping. Then he stood silently and stepped away.

"See for yourself" he said so quietly Mammon felt his skin crawl. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he stepped towards the sink and peered in.

0Dipping below the surface was becoming more and more frequent. MC was slowly coming to grips with something. With every passing second his limbs became colder, every time he sank he stayed down for a little longer. He was getting heavier, it was getting harder to drag himself back to the surface time and time again.

He was coming to grips with the fact that he was drowning.

He sank.

1...2...3...4…

Gasp!

He was drowning.

It wasn't fast or hectic like on TV. It was quiet, so quiet as he fought to stay afloat that no one would hear him even if he was normal size. And it was slow, agonizingly slow as his limbs begged him to give in but his lungs begged him to keep going. No relief in either course.

He sank.

1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10...11…

Gasp!

He coughed and his lungs burned so badly he gagged. He had to fight the sensation just to get air down.

He'd swallowed so much grimy water he felt like he'd be sick. The grease made his skin slimy and his eyes sting. Tears streamed down his face as he tried desperately to pretend it wasn't happening. He tried to believe it would be over soon.

He sank.

1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10...11...12...13...14..15...16…

He almost came to the surface, but failed just before reaching it.

17...18...19...20...21...22...23…

Gasp!

He couldn't raise his arms, the attempts Lucifer made to help him were useless. He shook so violently his vision went blurry. His stomach turned at the endlessly rolling sensation of the water.

He'd always loved swimming.

He sank.

1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10...11...12...13...14..15...16...17...18...19...20...21...22...23...24...25...26...27…27...27...22...3...7….37………

Belphigor wouldn't let him breathe.

The demon laughed in sheer glee as he squeezed the life out of the human. MC gasped and struggled but there was no escaping his grasp.

Please, please!

MC begged silently for just one more breath.

Gasp!

It wasn't air that filled his lungs, the water burned him like a match to parchment. A strangled scream was muffled by the grotesque water that cradled his weakened body. Stifling his cries to never see the light of day.

0Mammon and Lucifer froze as they watched the tiny human sink into the abyss.

Mammon had no idea how or why or what was happening. All he had were the facts, and the facts were that MC was small. He was in the drain, and he was dying. Lucifer had to think fast. He had no idea how long a human could go without air but he knew it wasn't long.

They'd tried hands, strings, tongs, tongs taped to stuff. MC was simply too far beyond their reach. He looked forlornly at Mammon, not daring to believe there was actually nothing they could do.

Mammon… his brothers!

" LEVIATHAN!! "

0After seemingly hours of Levi fishing around in the drain with his tail, finally MC was retrieved. The others watched in horrid fascination. The cat was out of the bag and it was time for Lucifer to explain himself.

But he didn't, he just sat in the dining room where they'd brought the unconscious MC. The human laid unconscious in his palm, soaked clothes and ashen skin. Lucifer gently prodded the tiny boy with his fingers, coaxing him to wake. To move, to show any sign that he was alive.

They sat in silence as MC remained still, not even breath moved his limp form.

[yunisverse]

Bendy Digimon AU “Maybe I’m better off alone.”

It’s just as the rest are queuing up to head home that Henry feels a tug at his sleeve. He looks down to Bendimon, the little demon’s expression more thoughtful than Henry’s ever seen.

“Before you go, can we talk?”

He has homework that’s overdue, but it can wait another day probably. Waving the others to go on ahead for the night, Henry buries his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “What’s up?”

Bendimon waits a moment, a little too long, until finally Norman has vanished out into the real world with the rest of the team. Then, the little digimon takes a deep breath, and looks off into the bushes. “Do you ever…” He stops, scuffing a foot against the ground, and tries again. “I mean… you should… probably stop coming here.”

Henry stares at him. Whatever he’d thought this conversation might be about, he hadn’t been braced for that. “Why?”

“Just–it’s a lotta work for a thing you don’t gotta do. The other kids, they can… they can take care of it all from here, yaknow?”

Henry blinks. “Did… Sammy tell you to say all that?”

“No, I just–”

“Was it Wally?”

“No!” Bendimon draws himself up, chest puffing indignantly. “No one told me to say it! I think you oughta just go home and stop worrying about all this stuff!”

Henry’s brow furrows. He’s been expecting to get into this argument with one of the other kids eventually, but coming from Bendimon just has him confused. “I can’t stop until I know Joey’s safe.”

“Sure you can!” Bendimon crosses his arms, looking away. “You helped out a bunch, getting everyone together like you did. And I’m real glad you helped out. But you can’t do anything more than that, so. There’s no point in you coming along anymore.”

“I don’t care if there’s a point.” Henry’s head cocks to the side. “Are you mad at me?” There’s silence, for a moment. Henry straightens up a little. His confusion has given away to annoyance. “What did I do? Why are you acting weird?”

“You’re the one who’s weird!” Bendimon’s shoulders hunch up, arms still crossed and eyes pointed firmly away. “You’re not my partner, you know! That digivice you got isn’t yours! So you’re just butting in where you don’t gotta and getting in the way of everybody!”

“So–so you just want me to forget about my friend?! Why are you the only one who gets to be worried?”

“’Cos I’m his partner! I was supposed to look after him, and be there for him, and instead I–” Bendimon stops suddenly. He grits his teeth. “I let him down. And, and I don’t need your help to fix it. I oughta do it myself.”

For a moment, Henry wants to agree just to get away from him, to yell that he really should do it alone if he’s going to be a jerk. Just the thought of saying it stings. Henry blinks hard a few times, rubbing at his nose. “I don’t care about that partner stuff. All that destiny or whatever you guys are supposed to have, I’m not part of it, and I don’t care. He’s my friend. And–” Henry sniffs, and lifts his chin. “And you are, too. So, so I’m gonna keep coming back, because friends help each other out, even when they don’t have to.”

Squaring his shoulders, Henry puts his hands on his hips and scowls down at Bendimon. “So, you’re just gonna have to deal with me getting in the way, okay?”

In contrast, Bendimon deflates under Henry’s gaze. His big dark eyes flicker over Henry’s stern expression, then to the floor. “What if I can’t?”

Henry’s confidence wanes. “Huh?”

Bendimon scuffs at the ground again, drawing lines in the dirt with his claws. “If you get in the way when I’m… when I digivolve, then…” He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s like Sammy keeps saying. I’m dangerous. I wouldn’t even think about it.”

“Bendimon–”

“You figured it out, right? What really happened to Joey? It doesn’t take a genius.” Bendimon hunches in on himself, glowering at the clumps of dirt beneath him. “You don’t gotta keep acting stupid. You’re not dumb. And I’m not either.“

Henry takes a step forward. “Bendimon, quit it. We don’t know what happened.”

There’s a pulse in Henry’s pocket. He doesn’t need to check to know that uncanny, insubstantial light is flickering out of the digivice. Bendimon balls his fists in defiance.

“We don’t gotta know to know!” The air around Bendimon crackles, static sending the hair on Henry’s arms on end. “I went nutso, and he went missing, and you’re seriously gonna act like it ain’t obvious what happened?” Pixels of light flicker in and out of space around the digital demon, the ground under his feet popping to lower resolutions as reality crackles. “You can’t keep coming back here, or you’re gonna end up like he did, and it’s all gonna be my fault again!”

Goosebumps erupt across Henry’s skin under the static assault as he closes the gap between them and grabs onto Bendimon’s shoulders. “Listen to me, would you?! I’m said I don’t care about all that, and I meant it! You’re my friend, and I’m here to help you out, and I’m willing to get hurt if that’s what it takes!”

Bendimon’s blue-tinted skin buzzes against Henry’s hands. “I ain’t willing to hurt you, though.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not scared.” Ignoring the pulsing in his pocket, the stuttering reality around him, and the burn of warning static in the air, Henry pulls Bendimon into a close hug. “You’re not that big thing that shows up. You’d never hurt me, or Joey. I trust you.”

After a moment, Henry feels claws at his back–short, dull ones, sheathed under gloves. Henry squeezes tighter, and Bendimon returns in kind. 

Slowly, the thrum of energy around them slows, lessens, then dies away, until the only thing surrounding Bendimon is Henry’s own embrace.

“You should go.” Bendimon’s voice is faint and rough. His grasping claws don’t loosen until Henry finally straightens up.

“Mhmm.” Henry squeezes Bendimon’s shoulder, and gives a shaky smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

[fumblebeefae]

Yaknow, honestly, following up on that anon's question: Is there any solid literature as to why we think bees evolved to have their stingers require their death? Some advantage gained, even if unrelated to actually stinging?

Their stingers don’t require them to die, they only die when stinging mammals because our skin is very thick and they therefore can’t retract their stinger. Bees don’t just defend and attack mammals, but also other animals such as insects.

The reason only workers have barbed stingers (drones are stingless and queens do not have barbed stingers) is because bees have a barbed ratchet mechanism. The muscles and articulate plates around the bees stinger work to force the stinger deeper into victim, allowing for better injection of venom. These plates catch on the barbs of the stinger and that’s what force it further in.

On the other hand it likely also functions as a warning mechanism. When a worker bee dies from stinging a mammal it releases alarm pheromones which warn other workers to attack and defend the hive. Losing a few workers in order to drive off a large mammalian attacker is preferable to having the whole colony destroyed. 

If you want to read further specific literature I suggest using google scholar.

[iapislazuli]

i understand competely where youre coming from but also it stings when people are like "WOW THIS IS JUST LIKE THIS WAY MORE POPULAR AND MORE SUCCESSFUL THING" especially to like, small content creators... i dont mean like d*ltarune because the creator was on the hs team but yaknow

but 99% of the time people arent saying it like that. theyre usually saying it in a “hey this thing i love is a lot like this other thing i love, isnt that wacky!” it’s an innocuous and genuine sentiment of appreciation and to spit on it and mock the person for being “cringe” is really, really mean and uncalled for 

[anihan-systems]

Stinging Words, Shivering Shoulders, and Shutting Down

Trying my best to assess which actions are derived from trauma, and which ones come from maturity.

It’s been a long time since I started shivering when my parents started fighting, again.

It’s not that they haven’t fought in a long time. They’ve fought lots of times. But it’s the first time I shivered because of it.

I used to think I’ve started growing from it — when all along, during the previous other times they’ve fought, I think I just repressed it, in a way.

Most of their fights escalated at least once or twice. It was scary. Of course, I tried stopping them as a kid, but they told me to not intervene. 

They probably don’t remember this either, but our fights escalate too. For example:

My mom verbally and physically abusing me when I snuck out to another school’s fair to see my first high school girlfriend.

My mom verbally and physically assaulting me because I didn’t submit my requirements on-time.

My mom telling me I wasted my time being in my theatre club back in high school after rehearsals.

My dad outwardly shouting at my brother just because he got a low score.

That time my mom and dad physically fought each other in our old condominium (as if other people won’t be able to hear the commotion).

I don’t remember much of the others — but I know it was bad.

The worst part is they usually gaslight me into them either not remembering or me making stuff up. They’re lawyers. It’s typical.

Sometimes I wish I never had dysfunctional parents, and sometimes I wish they’ve gone to therapy instead of me. And sometimes I wish I knew how not to be so abrasive when it comes to love.

Maybe so secretive of my love life is a trauma response. The fact that other people will get into something personal but fickle until it dissolves. Someone might ruin it, or worse, I ruin it.

But maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s a way for me to grow from the rocks and pebbles that blocked me.

But maybe it is. Maybe I just grew out of desperation.

Maybe submitting requirements and outputs two weeks before the deadline is a  trauma response. I’m so scared of submitting late and failing my classes. What will I be if I’m a failure?

But maybe it’s not. Maybe it is a way of serving other people and myself, and I’ve exercised enough mentally to push through.

But maybe it is. Maybe I just grew out of fear.

Maybe taking on so many responsibilities and having a clear-cut resumé is a trauma response. I want a job. I want to earn money. I want things other and bigger than myself.

But maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s a way for me to push through conventional boundaries. I just really like working with other people.

But maybe it is. Maybe I just grew for the sake of escapism.

Sometimes I wish my words didn’t sting. It hurts the people I love. 

You know how bumblebees are, right? Their main goal overall was to spread pollen and make flowers grow, but on the other side, they have stingers too. And even though they rarely sting, it’s gonna hurt really bad for the bee and the thing they stung.

I tend to have that attribute, and it hurts. It really does. 

In tenth grade, I was the bossy kid — and not for a good reason, obviously. I would deliberately overtake people during recitation, and act like a leader even when it’s very out-of-place.

I learned to grow from it.

Last night, I told Kobe to do something, but he didn’t do it, and I snapped. I shut down. I didn’t want to talk to him that night anymore, and I left the call and ignored his messages.

A part of growing is assessing which of your habits are grown from trauma and from growth itself. I think, very much aside from all the other achievements I want to get this year, I just really want to grow from these bad things, yaknow?

[editinspire-blog]

Steve Harrington ~ First Time

So this is actually suppose to be for a series I'm writing but I just thought, yaknow what? There is not enough Steve smut. So yeah.

Warning:

Swearing

Smut

I think that it?? :/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Steve..? how does this look?" I walk out of the bathroom in my new underwear heading towards Steve. He's perched at the edge of my bed just marvelling at me as I walk out.

"Stop staring" I laugh

"I'm not staring, I'm admiring" he reached his hands out towards me "come here princess" I strut towards him, swaying my hips as I go along. I'd been so nervous to do this, worried I wouldn't be like the other girls he's slept with.

His fingers practically ghosted over the fabric, causing goose bumps to form as he trailed from my panties, which were lace, and up to my bra which was silk with no padding. "Fuck, princess" he couldn't get over how well the fabric clung to you and how well the navy blue colour complimented your skin.

"You have to wear this more often, babe" he says as he pulls me onto his lap. The thin silk bra rubbing against his chest. Steve pulled me close, kissing me in a way that made my knees weak. Kissing had always been a means to an end for him, but not with Stephanie.

Hesitantly, I sneak my tongue into his mouth, enjoying how he intensified the kiss until I nervously attempted to get rid of his shirt. He paused, looking at me with such puppy eyes “A-Are you sure?” He asked quietly. I just nod in response.

My arms slid over his shoulders, and he pulled me against him, kissing me hungrily. His hand had travelled down my body slowly until it finally rests on my ass, tapping and grabbing it as I press myself against him. His other hand slowly but surely finds it's way up settling just under my bra, his thumb toying with the band of it.

Eventually he cupped my breast over my bra. Slightly massaging it. "God, you've made it so hard to wait baby girl" he moans. He expertly undoes my bra, gently pulling it down so he can knead the soft skin. He didn't want to rip it considering it was his new favourite outfit on me.

Not taking our mouths off one another, we both lay down on my bed, with Steve urging to take off his shirt. Although he was not the muscliest man I had ever seen, I could still feel my mouth watering, desperate to run my hands over his chest. To me, he was perfect just the way he was.

He started pampering my breasts with sweet and feather-like kisses, I threw my head back and closed my eyes with relish, enjoying the feeling of his warm lips on my skin. I could feel the arousal pooling between my legs, with heat spreading throughout my whole body.

My hands wandered down to his pants to free his erection. He almost flinched when my fingers grazed his manhood, so I simply wrapped my fingers around his noticeable length and stroked him a few times so he moaned against my breasts.

He pulls the rest of our garments off. He kisses me once again before moving down, kissing each and every fading bruise on my stomach. His breath fans over my core. He moves away, and I whine, lifting my hips up. "Eager now, are we, baby?" Steve coos, grinning as he leaves open mouthed kisses on my inner thighs.

He finally licks up my slit, agonisingly slow. Running his thumb through my lips, spreading my wetness around, his hips gently grinding into the mattress. All I can do is watch and moan as he teases me. He winks at the sound of my neediness. He then spreads my folds, instantly bringing his mouth to my clit.

I almost scream at the pleasure coursing through my body, my hands burying themselves in Steves hair (which we all know he loves) as he swirls his tongue over the bud, his teeth ever so slightly tugging on it. "Oh god, Steve" I scream, he hums in approval, the vibrations making me wetter with every pass of his tongue.

He let go of my clit, moving down a bit to bury his face inside of me, making partially slurping sounds as he ate me out, his thumb coming up to play with my clit. "You taste so good, baby" he mumbles against my folds, his words muffled but sinful to my ears as he takes my clit back between his lips.

As he sucks on my clit, he inserts two fingers into me by surprise, my moans letting him know he was doing amazingly. I grind my hips down on his fingers as he slowly starts to pump them in and out. I don't even realise I'm about to come until it's too late.

A wave of warm relief corses through me as I moan, still grinding my core against Steve's face, but he doesn't mind, he takes all I have to offer, slowly licking up and down my slit as I come down from my high.

He crawls up my body, capturing my lips in a kiss, letting me taste myself before moving away to grab a condom.

Biting my lower lip, I lay down on the bed waiting for Steve to put on the condom. Steve carefully positioned himself between my legs. I spread them wide for him, moaning when the tip of his hard member grazed against my wet folds.

“Okay?” He murmured.

“Okay.” And then, slowly, he pushed himself inside of me, eliciting a loud scream from both of us. A stinging pain washed through me, the burning sensation of my virginity being taken catching me off guard as I took a deep breath. Steve remained still, stroking my cheek with his right hand, while his other pressed firmly against the mattress so he wouldn’t shift his entire body weight onto me.

"You okay, princess?" He asks. I slowly lift my hips to meet his, clenching around him, causing him to moan. "You'll be the death of me, baby girl" He kisses me as he pulls out slowly, moving his mouth to my neck as he pushes back in, groaning into my skin.

He sets a steady pace, the slow drag of his cock against my walls driving us both insane. He ends up picking up the pace, thrusting in faster as he moves down to my chest, sucking hickeys on my breast as I moan, tugging on his hair to bring him back to my lips.

I finally feel my orgasm coming, every single nerve sparking with pleasure as I moan. "I'm so... so close, fuck"

"It's okay, baby, c'mon, come for me" he whispers against my lips, dropping his hand to my clit as he thrusts in a few more times. We both release, me screaming in pleasure, pulling on his hair, and him with a quiet 'fuck' and a low grunt, his face in the crook of my neck as his thrusts come to a stop, his cock still inside me.

We stay like this for a few minutes, letting ourselves come down from our highs. Steve starts kissing my neck "I love you, Steph. So, so much" he says, his lips still sucking on my skin.

"I love you too, Steve" as I say this I can feel him smile against my skin followed by a few more kisses before he finally pulls out, the two of us moaning in unison.

"Let me clean you up, princess" he whispers, discarding the condom on his way to the bathroom. He comes back with a warm towel, cleaning up my core and inner thighs gently before tossing it back in the bathroom.

He comes back over, practically jumping on top of me in a big bear hug "this isn't how I imagined it'd be" he says into my neck.

"what do you mean" I ask worried, this is the part where he tells me I wasn't as good as the other girls.

"I wanted it to be special for you, with flowers and candles, chocolate and netflix for after" he says laughing, thinking he was being an idiot.

"It was perfect, I can't imagine my first time being with any other person, im glad it was with you" I tell him, bringing his head back onto my chest, as we slowly drift off to sleep.