#but on the other hand I'm an emotional trainwreck sometimes be it feeling too much or close to nothing or both at the same time

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday!!! I'm sure you can writing some soul killing angst 🤣 "Taking the blame" - Thalia/Blackwall

I sure did! I added Cullen/Thalia to the mix and a tiny bit of Cassandra, too. A direct continuation of this trainwreck that I started last week. Love triangle drama!

IDK if I stuck the landing on this one, but oh well, I got Cullen to punch Blackwall and that's the important thing.

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

WC: 1853

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

---

She sits alone in the war room, watching the slanted sunlight creep across the floor. 

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s voice, from the hall. 

Thalia starts, thinks absurdly of hiding under the table, but the heavy wooden door swings open and the Commander pokes his head through. He spots her immediately, slips in through the narrow space. “There you are. Josephine’s been trying to locate you all afternoon. We’ve no meeting today, but there’s a number of reports that need your…” 

He trails off, getting a good look at her face. His brow creases. “Are you all right?” 

She must look a fright. The skin around her eyes feels hot and puffy. Her eyes itch from crying. Her red hair is gathered low at the nape of her neck, a poor show for someone of her calibre, but this morning her wrist throbbed when she tried to do one of her usual elaborate plaits. She swallows and averts her gaze. “I’m fine.” 

Cullen wavers in the doorway. His hand moves to the hilt of his sword, as if he could use it to slash at her emotional distress. “I’ll tell her it can wait.” 

“Good. Thanks.” Her voice is faint. Her head pounds with humiliation.

The door closes. She waits to hear the heavy tread of his boots recede. Instead, they move toward her. She looks up; he’s pulling out a chair, sitting beside her. Her chest tightens. He’s so handsome in the soft glow of the afternoon light, hazel eyes soft with concern, that it’s difficult to look at him.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asks quietly. 

“Not really.” She stares at the map spread across the table before them. So many tokens laid across the map, each representing obstacles she had tried her best to overcome. “I’m just wondering where I went wrong.” 

“With what?” he asks, though she suspects he knows. She’d spied him in the crowd at the judgment, way in the back, wearing a grim expression. 

“Thom Rainier.” The name scalds her tongue.

Cullen’s face hardens. “You showed him great mercy. If he cannot handle it, that’s his problem.” 

Thalia snorts. Leave it to Cullen to have such a straightforward view. “Did he have a point, I wonder?”

“About?” 

“He called me corrupt. A criminal. Just like him.” 

Cullen narrows his eyes. “Thalia, with all due respect— I don’t think you ought to pay such prattle any mind. He was goading you. Trying to drag you down to his level. That’s how men like Rainier operate.”

“Men like Rainier.” Everything about the distinction feels foreign. 

“Bruisers. Thugs. Men who’ll do anything if the price is right.” 

He’s not like that at all, she wants to say, chest tight. He’s noble and good, I know he is, I just don’t understand why he’s so intent upon proving otherwise.

“Do you think I did the right thing, freeing him?” Thalia asks quietly. 

“That’s not for me to say.” Cullen’s response is immediate, voice resolute. She forgets, sometimes, how much of his life he has spent answering to others.

“It is, though.” Thalia shifts in her seat, fixing him with a stern look. “You’re one of my top advisors. I take input from you every day.” 

“I think…” He pauses, eyes skittering across the wide, worn map. “I think nothing was going to stop you from giving him another chance, whether he deserves it or not.” Cullen locks his gaze on hers, fierce and electric. “What Rainier chooses to do with it now is up to him.” 

Thalia’s heart thumps. She feels self-conscious, this close to him, alone. Something between them has been intensifying since that terrible night in Val Royeaux. She’d opened the door in the jail and there he stood, ready to fix this, whatever the cost. He rode all night. Left as soon as he heard, Josephine told her later, Thalia’s mouth open in a tiny o of surprise. 

“Thank you, Cullen.” The gratitude wells in her. He’s been here all along, unwavering, despite fighting demons of his own. She smiles, painful at it is against her chapped lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

He clears his throat. Is the color rising in his cheeks? “You’re the Inquisitor. You’d be fine, I expect.” 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m serious. I don’t think I’d’ve got this far if I didn’t have you. Your support. I just… I wanted to thank you.” Maker, now she’s blushing. The war room has gone terribly hot. 

He reaches over and takes her hand. Stunned, Thalia stares, then slowly lets her fingers thread through his. He wears soft, downy gloves, and she wishes he might remove them, so that she would feel his skin on hers. 

She twinges her wrist, and pain reverberates up her arm. She winces. 

“What?” Alarmed, Cullen loosens his grip. “I’m sorry, did I—?” 

“No, no, it’s nothing,” Thalia says. “Don’t worry about it.” 

But he’s watching her with careful eyes, measuring the way she’s holding her arm. He’s a warrior, no stranger to injury. He leans forward and gently slides up the sleeve of her cobalt blue tunic, revealing beneath the ring of grey bruises. He studies them, turning her hand over to get a better look. 

“Did he do this?” Cullen asks in a low voice, devoid of tenderness.

Thalia shivers and pulls away. “Cullen…” 

“Did he do this?” Urgent now, sharp and dangerous. 

Thalia presses her lips together, swallows the affirmative. Cullen’s face changes from open and expressive to the visage she spied on the night Haven fell, and at the battle for Adamant. The corner of his lip by his scar twitches. All at once he’s on his feet, he’s storming away, to the heavy wooden door and out into the corridor. 

“Cullen. Cullen, wait!” Thalia dashes after him, panic seizing her. 

She doesn’t know what he’ll do, but she feels the promise of it welling around her, threatening to shatter the brittle peace that has gripped Skyhold. By the hole in the stone hallway, she grabs his elbow. “It was me. It’s my fault. I tried— I was so angry, and I tried to strike him—”

Cullen whirls on her. “And so that justifies hurting you? A man three times your size?” He shakes his head, lets out a wry laugh. “There are a dozen ways he could have deflected a blow without leaving bruises, Thalia.” 

He sidesteps her grip, as if to prove his point, and keeps walking. His strides are long and sure, and she’s left scrambling to keep up. “Cullen, please. You don’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” 

The door to Josephine’s office lies open, and mercifully she is not present. In the light cast from the fireplace, Thalia again reaches for his arm. “Cullen, please, where are you going?” She fears she already knows, and that she won’t be able to stop him. 

“I need to have a word with Rainier.” 

She shakes her head frantically. “Please don’t. Please. You’re just going to make it worse.”

“How can it be worse?” He takes her gently by the shoulders, bends down slightly to look her in the face. “Listen to me, Thalia. None of this is your fault.” She sees every facet of his hazel eyes; this close, they look flecked with gold. “You have done nothing but give that man grace, and all he’s done is spit it back at you. That ends now.” 

Cullen releases her, leaving the impression of warmth on her skin. He strides out into the Main Hall, and Thalia follows him. There’s no other way. If she thought she could run down a secret stairwell and beat him outside, she would, but there’s no time. 

Everyone sees: the visiting dignitaries, the soldiers on watch, the servants and the refugees looking for a meal, Varric snug in his seat at his writing table, watching over the top of the manuscript he’s proofreading. Vivienne stands at the balcony above, one hand curling on the balustrade. They all see the Commander marching through the hall, face stony with determination, and the Inquisitor running shortly behind in a panic. 

The cold outside air hits them. Cullen does not even slow. Down the stairs, past the landing, deftly dodging a masked Orlesian admiring the view. Thalia is right behind him, eyes darting about, praying she might spot Blackwall first. She could run to the barn and warn him — and then what?

Cullen reaches the grass of the upper courtyard. When the Commander arrives, people stop what they are doing and stand to attention. He’s been counting on this, it’s clear. He searches the crowd, looking into the eyes of soldiers and citizens alike. He raises his voice, projects with authority. “Have any of you seen Thom Rainier?”

“Er, he went into the tavern a little while ago, Commander,” says Scout Harding, from her usual resting spot near its entrance. Her green-eyed gaze travels from Cullen to Thalia, and the pleasant expression freezes on her face. Her brows furrow, as if aware she may have made a mistake, but not sure why. By the training dummies, Cassandra and the Iron Bull abandon their battle stances, straighten, and stare. 

“Cullen,” Thalia tries once more. “Please. Leave it alone.” 

He turns to her, and she thinks that perhaps she’s finally gotten through to him. 

The door to Herald’s Rest opens, and Blackwall steps out, head ducked to clear the low threshold. Cullen steps forward, jaw set. “Hey, Rainier.” 

Blackwall looks up, and Cullen punches him in the mouth. 

Thalia gasps. Blackwall’s head snaps back. He rocks on his heels from the blow, recovers, and faces front, strands of hair knocked loose into his face. Blood drips from his lower lip as he fixes Cullen a look of icy hatred. The courtyard is silent.

“Touch her again,” Cullen says, “and I’ll drag you back down to the dungeons myself. Is that understood?” 

Blackwall turns his head and spits blood-tinged saliva into the grass. He straightens, eyes narrowed. “Yes, ser.” His voice is steely, unyielding. 

“Good.” Cullen turns on his heels and walks away. 

Blackwall wipes his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, squares his shoulders, and returns to the tavern. 

The people frozen in the courtyard begin to thaw. Heart thudding, Thalia tries to rush forward, but someone grabs her arm. Cassandra is by her side, a grim expression on her face. “I wouldn’t.”

“But—” Thalia shakes herself away. “I’ve got to talk to him.”

“Who?” Cassandra arches a brow.

“Blackwall. Cullen.” Thalia huffs. “Both of them.”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra says, exasperated, “were you never taught not to kick a hornet’s nest?”

Thalia swallows hard. “Cullen, he… he shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, he should not have.” Cassandra fixes her with a shrewd eye. “But I have never known him to act without cause.” 

Thalia chews her lip.

“You ought to go get some rest, Inquisitor.” Cassandra’s gaze travels over the courtyard, at the spectators awaiting any sign of an encore. She angles Thalia toward the respite of the keep. “It has been a trying few weeks for us all.” 

#cullen rutherford #thalia trevelyan #blackwall #cassandra pentaghast #cullen x trevelyan #blackwall x trevelyan #the love triangle that never ends #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle #bad things happen bingo

[ronangallagherphi]

that sweater.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather - heather, conan grey

Ian said he was going to be fine, he said it so often even he believed the lie. 

He is not angry with anyone for what happened, because he knew it was going to come, and his brain doesn’t have the capacity to feel angry when all he can do right now is stare out a window covered in bars and listen to the droning of a television in the corner because he has to be in a hospital.

The same shows play over and over, he hears them in his sleep. He wants to say he would rather listen to something else, but no one is going to listen to him. No one notices the redhead in the corner in the faded blue sweater, tugging at loose threads and trying not to cry. Then again, he can just shut off his feelings because nothing really matters anymore. He is going to be left alone to die, and no one is going to care. 

He said he was going to be fine and then he wasn’t, there was no other option except admission to the hospital. Eighteen years old, and he is on the same road as his mother. He doesn’t want to really live this way, but it isn’t as though he has much choice at the moment. He is watched all of the time, the whole point is stop things like that from happening here. 

“Ian Gallagher?” his name called by a nurse, probably more pills or someone else to ask him too many fucking questions. He doesn’t speak, just looks over to the general direction of his name being called. He is waved over. He approaches apprehensively, folding his hands into the sleeves of the sweater. “You have visitors, please follow me and I will take you to see them.”

He goes, because what else is there to do? Take more lithium, listen to the same shows, be asked invasive questions about his childhood, and just stare at the wall. These are the exciting activities he is provided, but he is willing to play his hand at something new. 

The fluorescent lights and the stale hospital smell. The way he just feels like he will never get out of these four walls. He despises it so much, wishing he could just disappear into nothing. The way everyone looks at him with pity. The doctors say he will be just fine if he listens and takes his meds. The nurses telling him to take these pills. All of it, the same day in and day out. 

Ian just goes through the motions, following the nurse to the visiting area. The sweater is keeping him safe, just the feeling of it against his skin already makes him feel less anxious. 

The room feels small, seeing the other people just talking and being normal. He is led to a table. He sees them both, and he wants to smile. He wants to be happy. Just anything but the lack of emotion which has become his default. Seeing Fiona here with Mickey feels strange, but Ian doesn’t have the words to convey the type of strange. 

Ian sits, still fidgeting with the sweater and not really speaking. Fiona is talking, smiling too much and words rapidly falling from her lips. None of them register, because all Ian can see is Mickey. Those blue eyes and the way he looks guarded, and Ian wants to know what he is hiding. He wants to know what is going on, why they are here. “It’s really good to see you, Ian. Missed you,” Mickey tells him, and he feels his heart skip a beat. He actually feels something.

Fiona is still talking. But Ian and Mickey are just staring at each other, trying to say a million things at once. Thinking about the last time they were together. All of the tension and the love between them. Just the way they are drawn to each other no matter what. Ian often thinks of magnets, or like a trainwreck… it just happens and you cannot stop it. But at the same time, he can’t love someone so much the way he does Mick, and think of it as a trainwreck. It is the best and worst thing that ever happened to him, and sometimes he doesn’t know the proper way to frame it in his mind. 

“I missed you, too,” Ian replies, putting his hands on the table wanting to reach out to hold Mickey’s. But he holds back, waiting. Ian doesn’t know how to keep doing this to himself, why would anyone want to love him when he is so irrevocably broken?

“Doing good?”

Ian doesn’t know what this means anymore. Has he even had good in his life? His father hates him. His mother left. His brain is fucking broken. How can good even exist when all this bad shit keeps happening? The only good in his life is the love he has for Mickey, and it did not save him. It did not save anything. It just made life more messy and complicated. Ian doesn’t even think he should be allowed to have good anymore. 

“Are you doing good?” he asks instead, turning the question around. He wants to know. He wants to know if his love is enough. If just by existing, this means enough to Mickey that everything else does not really matter. He thought his life was going to go one way. Instead, he has been given so much shit to deal with, he doesn’t even understand how the universe could find anymore ways to fuck him over. But Mickey, the most beautiful person in the world, is here and this alone makes him believe in goodness just a little bit. 

Mickey nods. “Yeah, I am doing good. But it will be better when you’re home, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, when I come home.” He chuckles drily, pulling at a loose string on the sweater to distract himself.

The words hang between them. All of those unsaid things just there. The fact that Mickey married a woman. Just the way Ian hated feeling like he was second best. All of it really fucked with him, but he knows he loves Mickey more than anything. He would do whatever he had to in order to keep him close. But he still worries all of this sickness, all the broken pieces of him, will be too much to deal with. Because being gay on the South Side isn’t hard enough, add in having a mental illness and Ian doesn’t understand why the fuck anyone would want to put up with that. He just wants to go back to when it was easier. Before when they were just kids in love and not two fucked up people who can’t help being in love.

“Hey, Ian,” Mickey slides his hand over, gives him a quick squeeze. “You better stop saying stupid shit before I punch you, yeah? You’re going to fucking come home to me because there ain’t another option. Got it?”

Ian grabs his hands, holding tightly. “The only option?”

Mickey just nods, because he wants it to be true. He wants to take Ian away from all of this bullshit. He wants to tell Fiona they need to bring him home. All of this fucking shit happening, and he doesn’t like dealing with the emotions. He hates it even more because he still goes home and there is no Ian. But then seeing Ian in his sweater just makes him feel strange, like this overwhelming sense of happiness. Even if it’s a little small, Ian wears it like it's the most important thing in the world. Like his Ian is still in there and will come back to him soon. 

“Yeah, because that is my fucking sweater and I want it back,” he says with a smile, his eyes crinkling the corners the way Ian loves. The most beautiful blue eyes he has ever seen.

“I’ll be home soon,” Ian promises.

“You better.” Mickey holds onto Ian, keeping him here. Maybe someone still does care. 

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian and mickey #writing #mine

[txemrn]

Did your MC struggled with either her body image or her emotions after giving birth? Was it difficult for her to get back to her old self?

Hey, Anon!

Thank you so much for the thoughtful Ask!

Before I answer...

Postpartum is such a delicate time period that unfortunately is painfully ignored here in America. We feed women delusional optimism, that having a baby is sunshine, rainbows and unicorns, and while yes, babies are a precious gift, we gotta get real! We shame women who may have negative thoughts during and after their pregnancy. We have a lack of resources to help them. Most women who deliver in the hospital are given ONE postpartum appointment @ six weeks, and they lack proper support at home. For working women, maternity leave is anywhere between 6-12 weeks, often times not paid.

Luckily, it's being talked about more... but it's like a small leak: it's not enough, and healthcare is heading in the WRONG direction. When there is that big of a shift in your life, and I'm talking your chemistry, your anatomy, your physiology, your social spheres, your responsibilities, then of course, there will be a struggle to get back to "normalcy" (there is no going back, only a new normalcy). Some women make it look flawless and others are trainwrecks. But, let's get one thing straight: this is a HUGE change for every. single. woman. Regardless of age, race, culture, education, religion, disability, etc., the struggle is REAL, and I believe here in America, we are creating the struggle by creating unrealistic expectation for our moms, attributing to their mental health, and for some, it will affect the care of their baby.

Pregnant Tatum...

She really struggled emotionally and mentally DURING the first 20 weeks of her pregnancy (keeping her bump a secret for most of that time). It's true what the say: Ignorance is bliss. Sometimes knowing too much can rob you of your joy.

But, she was proactive about this: 1) she had an honest conversation with her colleague/doctor that she was gonna need something for anxiety; 2) she has a wonderful husband who knows her so freakishly well, and before this surprise ever happened, he knew she would probably not handle pregnancy well; luckily he's a great listener, and he's very realistic; 3) she reached out to her closest friends who were already moms for support.

Postpartum Tatum...

She knew stretchmarks, loose skin and a poorly-toned belly were part of the game. She knew she was going to lose her hair, her nails would become brittle and her skin would age. She knew that panty liners would become part of her daily life if she ever wanted to sneeze or cough again. She knew the 25-35 lb weight-gain would not disappear when the baby was born. She knew her breasts would chap, blister and bleed, not to mention lose their volume and tone.

"But when you see your baby, it'll be worth it."

Now that she has gone through the experience herself, she has 2 words: bull. shit. Now hold on; don't come for me. Tatum would gladly lay down her life for that precious one; but guilting a woman for being honest about her experience is bullshit. "Oh, quit your whining; you got a baby." Come. On.

Because she sought out support before the sudden change in her life, the initial rough moments of motherhood were few and far between. She has her low moments still where she feels absolutely inadequate as a mother (mom shame is REAL), as a wife, and as a physician. She gets frustrated with the size and shape of her body, sometimes too embarrassed to even expose herself in front of Ethan. Not to over simplify the "cure", but when she starts taking care of herself, that awful voice of self-hate goes away.

The journey into motherhood is quite the challenge, and Tatum experienced it first hand. She still believes it isn't for everyone, and every woman deserves to make that choice for herself. Motherhood was unexpected... but knowing how perfectly baby Ramsey fits into the family, she is grateful for how everything fell into place at the right time. And the love that she has for that little one is indescribable, not to mention that her love for Daddy Ramsey has grown exponentially.

Thank you again for including me on this Ask! I cannot wait to explore in more detail the Ramseys becoming parents.

#you asked #open heart #ethan ramsey #tatum erikson #motherhood #parenthood #baby ramsey

[harimenui-forever]

WHAT THE FUCK IS IT CUZ I STILL DO NOT KNOW

#I can understand a character's pov and where people are coming from in theory through analysis that I have mastered in a way #if I get enough clues I can figure out how I'm supposed to be feeling...some things are better the second time around when u know #i can associate feelings with certain scenarios etc. irl it's kinda bad ig cuz idk what to do (ah the funeral fiasco) and I usually think #about ways to help moreso than feeling sad or whatever too #I listen to new things I learn... Sometimes I have to discard a part of myself reshape it take time to process things and it hurts #because opinions ideas and ideals are me and I am them (oh hello c!Wilbur) and it is one of my personal flaws I'm well aware #but on the other hand I'm an emotional trainwreck sometimes be it feeling too much or close to nothing or both at the same time #what a mess tbh #rambling #is it empathy if you feel like you've just gotten good at finding patterns in behavior and learned the expected responses? #if u see a scenario and your brain goes ''I do not understand this but maybe we should try *tries to analyze the shit out of it* okay this #is the most likely reason from the information we know... I understand now'' or is that just compassion on steroids??? #but then again when I do understand a character I feel for them and just fjnfnjfndkfntnf WHAT THE FUCK

[cremebrulee666]

a nobody

grayson x y/n

tw - i think none???

a/n - this is not exactly how my blurb was intended to be like (they are absolutely 2 different things, but it basically has the same context, just changed to fit the inheritance games story line)

-also, in this you are the same age as grayson (avery hadn't inherited yet & grayson is still going to heights country day. also, emily exists but jameson y grayson no son enamorado con ella (jameson and grayson are not in love with her))

~y/n pov~

it would never be an average day at Heights Country Day. Going to school there was always rumors upon rumors, add on so much drama and numerous possibly toxic relationships. It had taken me one year to get used to the layout of the school. i still will never fit in.

everyone who goes to school here comes from a wealthy background/family. the people here are witty and practical... that's where my similarities with them end. they are glamorous and prosperous.

my parents, though they used to be well off & wealthy, became careless, emotional trainwrecks. they spent money on unreasonable treasures. they gambled. they fell in love with other people on the side. but they never divorced, never fought. because they thought that as long as around me they acted normal, everything would be normal. they thought that i wouldn't notice and find out.

but i knew this family was falling from the beginning. sometimes, they cared about people's feelings too much. other times, they didn't at all. they were irrational, insane, manic, even. but they're my family. and despite everything, i can't hate them. even when we are falling short of money and are not as well off as we used to be. i don't know what happened to turn this family into a mess, but it happened, and here we are.

at least my parents already prepaid my years at Heights Country Day in the first year. at least i can finish my last.

to be quite frank, i'm relieved. Heights Country Day might be a prestigious, luxurious, & fun school, but i'm tired.

i'm tired of being nothing.

tired of being nothing in a world full of people who are something.

tired of watching a boy i fell in love with from afar.

a boy who could only be described as everything.

grayson hawthorne.

well-known, wealthy, and all the girls love him. and as a nobody, he probably doesn't even know that i exist, which is why i must graduate the school with no problems and never see a trace of grayson hawthorne ever again.

~timeskip~

the day at school was pretty average... until xander hawthorne approached me, of course.

"hello!" he said in the his alexander hawthorne voice - peppy & vigorous - as he sat next to me where i ate.

"why are you talking to me." i asked in the most deadpan voice i have ever heard myself talk in, feeling pity on xander for my hostility.

"i thought you looked lonely" he replied, unfazed.

"i'm not lonely, i'm merely alone" i remarked, which was true - i have grown so accustomed to being alone, it was impossible for me to feel lonely.

"i'll say this in the most blatant way possible..... you currently have no friends. i took it upon myself to introduce you to some of mine." xander explained.

"...you've only brought yourself." i deadpan, again.

"yes! and my friends are also known as my very diverse alter-egos." xander answered, still as lively and positive as he first was when he approached, "...and i guess you can become acquaintances with my brothers... if you want"

"i prefer to surround myself with fewer people" i said, after pondering the appeal.

"so just me and my alter-egos!" xander celebrated, "i feel extremely honored, by the way"

for the first time during out interaction, i smiled, "y/n y/l/n" i introduced myself, holding a hand out for him to shake.

"alexander hawthorne, at your service. the baby of the hawthorne family. and the handsome one." xander said with a smile, returning my handshake.

~timeskip to later that day, when xander brings y/n to hawthorne house~

"and down there is the..." xander was showing me all the rooms in the hawthorne house, though there were too many for me to remember.

i only agreed to come to hawthorne house for xander. so if he decided it was a good idea to introduce me to any of his brothers, mostly grayson, expect me to be plotting his murder and him to be gone by the next day.

"oh, and look! theres grayson!" xander exclaimed, which snapped me back into reality.

i glared at him and whispered, "no. i don't need to interact with other people. i already had to interact with you!"

"but wouldn't it be sooo rude to not greet someone who was passing by?" xander replied in a quieter, more taunting voice.

i rolled my eyes and said nothing.

"good, now let's go say hello!" xander said as if disciplining me, dragging me over to where grayson was, even though he was approaching and we could have just waited for him to reach us.

"are you even sure he has time to be introduced to a nobody?" i questioned under my breath, trying to get myself out of having to talk to grayson.

"i'm sure he has loads of time." xander stated confidently, "no need to worry."

i sighed in relinquish.

"xander, who is this." mr boy-i'm-in-love-with asked xander as he approached.

"meet my new friend! y/n y/l/n!" xander introduced me, as i winced internally. i was supposed to make it through the year without ever coming across grayson davenport hawthorne.

despite my dismay, i forced out a smile at grayson, "hello"

~grayson's pov~

meeting xander's friend had completely messed up my tightly-packed schedule. it was supposed to be schoolwork, paperwork, & being perfect. but now it has become talking with y/n & xander, schoolwork, thinking about y/n, paperwork, thinking some more about y/n, & being close to perfect.

how could i have fallen in love with someone i had barely known? was it her dark mood & humor, her subtle smiles, or her sunny disposition after getting to know her?

whatever it was, it had gotten into my head and i'm convinced i may never forget her. especially if xander kept bringing her around.

(ok that's it for now, but i'm probably going to post a part 2 to this soon, i just didn't want to promise something and then never come out with it)

(have a lovely day, wonderful people!~ <3)

masterlist

#grayson x reader #grayson hawthorne #the hawthorne legacy #the inheritance games #oneshot #<3 #tig #x reader #grayson davenport hawthorne

[mcdonniealds]

Healing

BEFORE READING • This literature contains heavy mentions of self-harm, self-hatred, implied OC/canon pairing, and a mentioned needle (that is used in a metaphorical way). Please turn back if you’re sensitive to these subjects, and stay safe!

Just a note: I’m not good at writing literature or any fanfiction at all. So the writing might come out as rushed, and canon character(s) featured in the story may come off as out of character (which I will apologize for). Nevertheless, enjoy the fanfic!

(Also, I'd suggest listening to Will Stetson's cover 'I'm Glad You're Evil Too'; it's heavily inspired by it.)

Words: 1,165

Feeling hurt can be a dreadful thing to live with - or at least that’s what Axel believes in.

For as long as he can remember, he felt hurt, used, and powerless for a long time against the world. The once human being learned that the world isn’t a pretty place to live perversely, constantly relying on thieving in a harsh environment for survival. The only thing that kept Axel going was his little sister, who unfortunately had the same fate as him to become what they are now; monsters or freaks from the public eye.

All thanks to the oozquitos.

To make matters worse, they were rather ‘fortunate’ enough to get in the hands of the Foot Clan, who have trained the mutated siblings to become Foot soldiers. Axel was obedient and submitted orders without a complaint to get the job done. They taught themselves to be detached from any humane emotions or sympathy - just so they wouldn’t feel remorse hurting other people for the Foot Clan’s gain.

Zir sister, however, had a different view from zem.

Lynn, the loud fox child with a heart of gold and a positive view of the world, didn’t bother to mask her hatred on the clan, who gave her and Axel a home. It was blatant that she was upset with her brother, who let the leaders use him as a puppet to control his actions. He should’ve listened to her sooner.

But…now it’s in the past. The siblings betrayed the Foot Clan to fight against the demon Shredder. The very same demon Axel tried to collect pieces of Dark Armor to resurrect him once more. They became the turtle brothers’ allies… sort of.

Axel can sense some distrust from the turtles, which ze couldn’t blame them for. They fought in the past before, and ze is capable betray them at any moment. Though, it could be worse if it weren’t for the hyperactive sister’s behavior slowly rubbing on them.

Nevertheless, that can’t be said to the distant axolotl mutant. Axel was just…too distant and sometimes emotionless to the turtles and the crew apart from Lynn, whom he showed affection and care. It wasn’t his intentions, of course. The cold soldier has trouble communicating with emotions to other people and particularly has issues being touched without permission. Well, until a wild box turtle started to reach out to Axel.

In truth, Axel is surprised that the youngest one of the turtles would reach out for them. Their personalities contracted one another - and yet, both managed to become close and friends even. That was when the axolotl mutant realized Mikey’s touch didn’t bother them that much and sparked something within them.

A peculiar warm feeling.

Chuckling pitifully at the thought, Axel put those feelings by the side and stared down at zir arms which their mahogany wraps are now removed. Not only it hid Axel in the shadows, but it helped hiding the scars ze planted to cope with the pain. Ze was aware that it wasn’t a good idea to hurt zemself.

But he deserved it, right? He was the bad guy, yes? That was what those shadows behind Axel said… Right?

“Axel…?”

Then why was Mikey sitting opposite Axel with a worried and shocked look? They swore they saw tears forming at the corner of the turtle’s baby blue eyes as he examined their arms covered in fainted scars. He didn’t understand it.

Why would a person hurt themselves like this?

Mikey was trying to say something anything to react to this situation, but all came out a stutter: “Wh-why would you- I-”

“I-I’m sorry.” Axel interrupted with a remorseful look on zir face; it was clear it was as painful as to talk about the fainted scars, “I just…”

Just what? Axel didn’t know either; why would he do that?

Mikey felt like he was getting more pricked with a needle the more he stared at the scars. He didn’t know what to do - He could go to his brothers for guidance on how to handle this situation, but how would Axel feel? Would it feel like he was violating their boundaries without permission?

“How long were you doing this?” Mikey asked with a gentle tone. The former Foot Soldier let out a shaky sigh before answering, “For a while; since when I joined the Foot Clan.”

The answer made the wild turtle widened his eyes with pure shock and anger. The Foot Clan did this to zem? He didn’t realize he tightened Axel’s hand in pure, internal fury.

Before he could explode in a pure fit of anger, he pulled the axolotl into a hug. Mikey started to sob uncontrollably, from the sympathy of his friend to his surprise: “I’m so sorry!”

… Sorry? What are you sorry for? Axel thought for a moment. They didn’t understand why their friend was apologizing to them when they should be the one to confess the apology. Axel returned the embrace, and without realizing it, began to tear up.

The pair sat embracing one another, crying out apologies after apologies before the room quieted into a stiff silence. Both Axel and Mikey did not know what to do or how to react after the session. Until a lightbulb lit up in Mikey’s head, signaling an idea.

Pulling away from the hug, the box turtle turned his back on the axolotl before revealing to be what appeared as a used pack of colorful markers.

“Mikey, what are you about to do?” asked the curious Axel while tilting his head; they watched Mikey trying to pick out one of the markers and ended up with a red marker. He turned to them with a bright smile on his face that could lit their dark world. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re about to draw flowers on your arms! If you’re alright with it, that is.”

Mikey exclaimed in joy before adding the last sentence to ask Axel first if they are alright with the plan. Axel blinked a few times to regain his thoughts and composure. Ze then let out a small smile and nodded to give Mikey a go, which made him squeal with joy. Ze loved seeing him smile.

The pink mutant pulled out one of his arms for the orange turtle to draw on. Mikey first started drawing the flower on his wrist before working his way up to the forearm.

This whole thing felt like time has stopped around them so the two teenagers could have a tranquil moment. Axel thought for a moment about what just happened minutes or hours ago - from being a sobbing trainwreck of a mess to now an individual who’s finally in peace with someone they love and care about. Maybe this won’t be so bad, even though the road might be a long way to go.

“Maybe I could heal from this.” Axel blurted out his thought and shared a simper with Mikey, who nodded in agreement.

#rottmnt #fanfic #tw self harm #oc x canon #axel #mikey #tmnt #michaxel #trash art

[thenervousmedic]

A coffee a day... (Connor x Reader)

Note: Oh man this one is short, sorry! ^.^ but i think the cut-off point was suspenseful enough so here you go-!

1 1/2k words.

Chapter 7: New priorities.

The redness on your cheeks didn’t fade as he walked away, staring after him whilst fighting the questions that grabbed at your hands. His lips were warm, soft, with not a single flaw. Even if it was for only those few seconds the kiss he had laid onto your forehead spread warmth immediately through your veins. No matter what you had thought before, this sealed the deal, the slow burn that built in your chest started to ache. You wanted to reach for his arm, to stop him from leaving, but were too stunned to do anything other than watch.

You wanted so badly to believe he felt it. That there was something in his biocode fighting to come through.

“Love?”

“Yeah…”

“…I think I’d like to feel that someday.”

An invisible violin bow played on your heartstrings. A somber and slow melody that stayed fairly quiet compared to the sounds of the world around you, bringing your thoughts back to focus. Did he mean it? God it’s torture. The conflicting sides of your brain loudly arguing with each other. One wanting  more than anything to believe he was nice to you because he liked you, while the other spat back that he was just keeping you happy to make his job easier.

Sumo was there to greet you as the door creaked open, snuffling at Hank’s clothes that you still wore (Albeit better fitting ones than the ones you first came here in.) Whining at you while the door blew shut.

“Hey big guy…” His adorable face brought you some immediate comfort, following you over to the sofa where you proceeded to cuddle and mess with his heavy fluff. “You’re a good judge of character, aren't you, what do you think?” his reply was just a short blow of air from his nose before he waddled off to a corner and slumped down onto the floor. At least you weren't alone.

--

“Lieutenant, I have made a big mistake-”

Hank rubbed his face as Connor entered the break room, which was luckily incredibly empty upon their arrival. “What is it now, Connor?” “I think I may be developing unnecessary lines of code-” “So you’ve got a bug, go get it fixed.” His growl wasn’t reassuring in the slightest, Connor now looking almost lost and confused. It was a strange face for him, one Hank had only seen the day he was pulled up from the ledge of that roof, this was more important than he had first thought. “...It’s not something you want gone. Is it?” He struggled to reply, opening his mouth with nothing coming out before both hands grabbed at the sides of his head, sitting down opposite Hank with his elbows on the table. “What I want shouldn’t be more important than my duties-” Hank’s heart almost stopped. What he wanted? He really did want something, that wasn’t in his programming.

“Sometimes there's something more important than orders, Connor.” He took a long drink of what Connor could only identify as a hazardous substance- probably some form of alcohol. “You shouldn’t drink on the job, Hank.” Hank’s face creased into a tired but satisfied grin. “My job isn’t as important as my drinking-.” “It’s a bad habit-” “So is falling for someone…”

The room sat still. Connor, in a dazed silence, wanted to deny the implication. But he couldn’t. That would be lying… He really was falling for you. He had been for as long as he can remember your smile, your voice, very little freckle on your cheeks. The way his own circulatory system sped up only confirmed Hank’s suspicions, Connor’s face slowly turning an oddly adorable shade of blue.

“I can not fail my mission. They can, and will, replace me if i do.” He fidgeted, feeling Hank’s locked gaze burn every hair up his neck. “You need to help me, Hank. If Cyberlife finds out I…” Hank’s grizzled shell almost cracked at the sight, this machine, this thing he had thought would never stray from his objectives. He was struggling with something that could only be described as emotions. He was feeling things for people. “When you were on the roof- I felt a wall try to stop me from helping you… I should have chased that deviant-”

“But you didn’t….” He grinned at the utter surprise on Connor's face. As much as he’d love to continue that conversation, His LED began whirring a sharp yellow, his eyes blinking roughly.

“...I just got report of a suspected murder, we should take a look, it’s at the Eden club downtown.” Without waiting for an answer, Connor stood up and took off. Walking straight for the exit while Hang dragged himself up from the table as well.

“This better be worth my time.”

--

Rain trickled down from the top of the window, your finger making a small finishing line as two droplets raced one another to reach it. Soft moonlight poked through the water beams, making oily sparkling lens flares around the streetlamps. You were tired. Not necessarily physically tired, just mentally so. Today was such a trainwreck. You only wanted to help out, instead you had a meltdown at the police station and felt your heart explode because of an android.

The world is a mess. You are a mess. Everything is messed up…

Oh well. Right? I mean you can’t feel terrible forever. Even if that is an option, it’s not a very good one. You can’t find any motivation for anything and it’s dragging you down into a put, you don’t want to feel this way. Surely there was something in the house to keep you busy? Perhaps you could cook? No, there's no good ingredients in the house, you had already checked. If only you had your phone or- Click, creaaaaak.

The front door opened slowly, finally someone was home. Your head perked from its spot on the windowsill, staring at the doorway as it was lit by the distant moon. The uniform footsteps that echoed in the house telling you all you need to know. “Welcome home, Connor.” You sounded a little nervous, something he probably had noticed upon walking your way. He was absolutely drenched from head to toe. What’s more is that he shut the door behind him - no Hank. “Where’s Lieutenant Anderson?”

You didn’t get a reply, he just looked at the floor by your feet sadly, a defeated posture prompting you to stand. Worriedly putting your hand out towards his arm only to have him redirect it. He took your wrist gently, raising it to cup the side of his face, closing his eyes to let out a long breath. You could feel yourself blushing. Every synthetic muscle along his jawline tensed, the pulse that ran through your hand only accelerating when he shook ever so softly.

“Connor?” You didn't get a verbal response but he did at the very least open his eyes to look at you. You could lose yourself in his warm brown gaze if you weren't careful.

“Can you hold me, please?”

His voice was calm but you could tell something was wrong behind the flattened tone. Nodding and pulling him closer. Taking your hand away from his cheek to wrap both arms around his chest. “I'm… sorry. For my strange behaviour I… think something is going wrong in my system.”

“Are you hurt?” he shook his head, not that you could see this, your cheek was still pressed up against his chest.

“No just… I’m lost, Y/N. What do I do?” You tried to let go but he only hugged you tighter, earning a small awkward laugh as you tried again.

“Come on, sit, you obviously need to talk about it.” He finally released you, following you closely with both eyes locked on the floor. Sumo’s reassuring whines coming from a far off corner as the two of you sat down. The sofa groaning under the sudden weight. He was frowning, rubbing his hands together, the LED at his temple blinked rapidly between red and yellow. You felt a shallow pain hit your chest, but hid it behind an encouraging smile, placing hand softly onto his leg. “I… I can’t become a deviant.  I have to stop them before-  They’re dangerous but I-...” Connor buried his face in his hands, letting out a long frustrated groan as you moved to sit closer. Rubbing your hand slowly up and down the back of his jacket. His words were muffled, but you could still make out the faint ‘I must accomplish my mission’ under his other mutterings.

It hurt to see him so conflicted, but part of you was rejoicing. So he did feel. “This is… just part of what it means to be alive.” You tried to sound positive, smiling delicately at him while prying a hand away from his forehead to hold it tightly. “Sometimes you’ll do things and… and they might not go perfectly according to plan. Or you’ll change things that were meant to be set in stone. Nobody is perfect, Connor, just because your brain works thousands of times faster than mine doesn’t make you foolproof.”

His breathing slowed, keeping his head tilted at the floor while an eye roamed up to look at you. “I’ve never failed a Mission, Y/N. Is this why you didn't join the force? To avoid this feeling?” You recoiled slightly. You knew exactly how he felt in this moment, the fear of failure, the want to hide away from the world and give up before you’d properly begun. It stings, but knowing you had failed before you even began was almost just as bad.

“Don’t… think of it as failing.” your eyes broke from his, wondering to look at the carpet with flickering uncertainty. “Think of it as… changing objectives?” The expression he wore was hard to read, not quite desperate and not quite curious, he looked at you like you knew everything in the word there was to know about the subject. “What is my new mission?” He lent closer to you, the chilled breaths that blew from his slightly parted mouth made you shiver, expectantly watching your eyes for what comes next. He was serious? He wanted you to give him orders? Your heart picked up it’s pace, the redness to your cheeks returned with vigour as you lightly shook from how close he had gotten to you. “What do you want it to be?”

“I… want my new mission to be you…”

#dbh #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh connor x reader #a coffee a day...