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honeybeefae · 1 year

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Bigger Than The Whole Sky (Cassian x Reader)

Summary// This entire year had been devastating for you and your mate. On more days than not you found yourself laying in bed, the pillow wet with tears, while Cassian stroked your hair and whispered soft words into your ear. You were so ready to give up, to crumble away like sand against the waves of grief, until you discover something that gives you and him hope.

(I know this is a few days late but I wanted to get it right! This is very angst heavy, I’m just going to warn you. It has a happy ending but it deals with the loss of a child, miscarriage, etc. As a mom who lost her first child, this fic is almost cathartic to me. It was years ago but that kind of pain never leaves you and although I don’t know if anyone who reads this has gone through this, statistically 1 in 4 women will suffer through this. This is for you, or for anyone going through grief)

@starfallweek Prompt: Character A swears they recognize one of the stars blazing past when Character B is trying to tell them something important.

WARNINGS: Angst, Miscarriage, Blood, Death, Vomit, Pregnancy, ending is hopeful

The curtains in the room billowed in the calm breeze, the sun streaming into a room that was full of darkness. You stared blankly at the door of your bedroom, listening to the soft snores of your mate while you furiously rubbed at your eyes to keep yourself awake.

It was the same every single night. You would try to sleep, your entire being exhausted from just existing, only to be plagued by the nightmares that replayed the night over and over again. No tea, herb, or medicine seemed to help, and every night you were edging closer and closer to the edge.

You quietly got up when your eyes tried to shut once more, walking over to the open balcony doors and stepping into the outside air. The warmth of the sun warmed your skin and kissed your face, making you briefly smile, until you laid a hand over your empty womb.

“Cassian! Cassian, help me!” You screamed from the bathroom, blood covering your legs as you fell to your knees in pain from the sharp cramps that were stabbing into your stomach. “Please…please no…”

Footsteps thudded loudly outside, your mate frantically searching for you, until he barged into the bathroom and saw you crumpled on the floor. “Y/N, what happened? What’s wrong?” He asked, kneeling in front of you despite the blood to grab your face. “Are you hurt? Where are you bleeding from?”

Your eyes were red from how hard you were crying, half from the pain and half from the realization of what was happening. It was the same thing you had seen your mother go through when you were young. You remembered hearing her screams, her prayers to the Mother to save her child, and then silence.

“I…” You started to say before sobbing again, his arms immediately pulling you into his chest as he cradled you closely. He shushed you, rocking the two of you back and forth as you cried and cried and cried.

Cassian figured out what was happening quickly, his heart shattering right along with yours. His tears fell onto your head, holding you to him as if you would also disappear. You stayed that way for hours, not moving until Feyre had come looking for you and immediately turned to go grab Madja.

She had to pry you from his arms to examine you, grimacing as she glanced at you in sympathy. Cassian’s hands never left yours as you lay on the bathroom floor, laboring for a few hours until you birthed your sleeping child. It was a boy, his wings so tiny as was the rest of his body, and you just sat there gazing at him until Madja gently took him and wrapped him in a blanket.

“Y/N?” Cassian called, pulling you back to the present. He looked over your sunken face, and your cracked lips, and felt as if he were looking at a ghost. “How long have you been out here?”

“Just for a few minutes.” Your voice was hoarse as you wrapped your arms around yourself, looking out towards the bay. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Did you?”

You looked away in silence, his face softening as he reached out to touch you. It felt foreign though like you were out of your own body.

“Y/N…you need to rest. Please.” He pleaded but you shook your head, looking up at him sadly.

“I can’t, Cass.” You mumble, the memory still burning in the back of your mind. “Every time I close my eyes, every time, I just see him and-”

Before you could break down, you snuggled into his chest, his lips pressing on the crown of your head to comfort you. Although the pain was still there, being in Cassian’s arms made it dull. You both had lost your son, you both were mourning and even though it had been a year of this agony, you at least knew you had someone to hold you in the dark.

After a few minutes, he pulled away, brushing the tears from your eyes. “You know tonight is Starfall, princess. Rhys and Feyre said they understood if we couldn’t make it but maybe it would be nice to get out for a while? See everyone?”

If you were being honest it was one of the last things you wanted to do but deep down you missed your family, and you knew your mate did too. He was always the social bat, the life of the party, and ever since the incident he changed, and became more withdrawn and sad. You hated how it had changed him, wishing you could take that pain away so his heart wouldn’t be marred by it.

Of course, it was impossible, you couldn’t change the past. However, maybe tonight was the first step you both needed to start healing. Starfall meant so much to both of you and while you definitely wouldn’t stay for the whole thing, an appearance was something you could manage.

“I don’t know if I can handle the entire party, but I think it would be nice to get out for a change.” You said, the corners of your mouth slightly turning up when he grinned from ear to ear.

“Of course, we don’t have to stay long. Just say the word and we can leave.” He affirmed, surprising you with a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now go spread the good news while I go bathe.” You shooed him, watching him throw on his clothes and walk out the door at breakneck speed. It reminded you of your old Cassian.

You started to draw a bath, letting the hot water almost sear your skin as it began to fill up. As you started to realize what you had just agreed to, you found yourself growing nauseous at seeing everyone again. It was no secret what had happened and while you were safe inside your room, out there you would be opened to the prying eyes and gossip of everyone else.

Could you handle it? What if it was too much? What if it was a disaster?

The contents of your stomach started to rise in your throat without warning and you barely had time to make it to the toilet before throwing it all up. It made your eyes sting as you gripped the bowl, blindly reaching for a towel to wipe your mouth as you slowly slid to the floor groaning.

Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to go tonight. If your nerves were already giving you this much trouble, you couldn’t imagine-

“Y/N?” Madja called from the bedroom, her voice laced with concern. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you quickly wrapped yourself in a robe and peeked out, surprised to see her already halfway across the room.

“Madja? What are you doing here?” You asked as she seemed to examine you with her eyes, trying to decipher the look in her eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?”

She must have heard you throwing up. “Yes, yes, I just was worried over Starfall tonight. It will be the first time I’ve been out in public since…” You trailed off, looking past her as the painful memory threatened to surge forward again.

Madja watched as you closed your eyes and breathed through your nose, calming yourself, before opening them once more. “I’m okay, just feeling a little sick. Do you think I could have some tea to settle my stomach?”

“I…I don’t think that would be wise, child.” She answered, brushing past you and into the bathroom to turn off the water. “Nor this hot of a bath.”

“Madja I assure you I am fine, I just wanted to relax and-”

“That’s not what I am concerned about.” She interrupted, crossing her arms as the wrinkles around her face softened. “Y/N, do you know when the last time you bled was?”

“It was…” You began, stalling when you couldn’t recall. After your loss, you hadn’t had your cycle and thought it was normal, you were grateful for not having to go through it on top of the trauma you had already endured.

But as Madja stood there, watching as you pieced together what she was asking, you stumbled back in disbelief, hitting the doorframe behind you. She immediately rushed forward, calling your name, but all you could hear were the screams and the sobbing of yourself and your mate.

“Y/N! Y/N!” She shouted, grabbing your face and making you meet her gaze. Your eyes were already welling up with tears once more, feeling as if your heart was about to fly out of your chest. “Y/N, you need to breathe. Breathe.”

Her hands were comforting as she grabbed one of your own and put it against her chest, letting you feel her breathe until you slowly started to match it.

“Please…please tell me it’s not true.” You whimpered, your bottom lip quivering as she shushed you and placed her hand over your womb. It was a few minutes before she pulled back, her lips tightened as she only gave you a slight nod of confirmation.

It felt as if the entire world was crashing down upon you. She did not stop as you buried your face into her neck, shaking in fear at the news. In your grief, you had only had a few brief moments of intimacy with your mate, mainly as a distraction to pull yourself out of the hole if only for a little while.

Madja softly ran her fingers over your head, shushing you, like a mother to a child. She was usually professional with the rest of your family but after what she had witnessed with you, she looked after you more closely.

“I can’t do it again, Madja.” You cried, shaking your head. “I’m so afraid.”

“Hush now.” She soothed, rubbing small circles into your back. “I know it is frightening, the unknown and the known, but you are already farther along than with your last.”

You were shocked to hear that, pulling away to see if she was serious. All of the symptoms you had had before were missing but you supposed with how you had been feeling and how overwhelmed you were, you probably just brushed them off just as you had this morning.

She wiped away your tears and used her magic to examine you once more, taking in the position of the growing babe. “I cannot guarantee you there won’t be any problems, this will be a higher-risk pregnancy, but I do have faith in the Cauldron and my hands.”

“What if it happens again?” You whisper, placing your hand over your belly. “What if I lose them? What if there is something wrong with me? If I cannot carry this baby, Madja, I fear that I will not be able to handle another death. My soul is already weary.”

“If you go throughout this life always worried about the what-ifs, you will never live, child,” Madja spoke softly. “Be afraid, grieve, feel whatever it is you are feeling, but also rejoice in this news and try to find the light in the darkness. That is what this child is.”

You let her words stew in your head, trying to sort through each of your emotions one by one as she wrote down a time and date for you to come visit her. “We will be doing weekly meetings to check, and if you have any worries come find me.”

As she started to walk out the door you called out for her, fiddling with your fingers as you asked, “Can you not disclose this to Cassian? I want to tell him.”

Madja smiled and nodded, holding a finger to her lips, before disappearing from your sight. You walked backward until your knees hit the bed, sitting on the edge as you processed what had just happened.

Anger, worry, guilt, and hope were the four biggest emotions you were working through. Anger that your body had allowed this to happen after what happened with your first, worry that you would lose another child, guilt that you got pregnant again so soon and that you were replacing your first, and a small hope that you would actually get to bring a child into this world for you and Cassian to raise.

It was a lot. What would Cass say? Would he be angry at you, or would he be excited? What about everyone else? What if your first son, wherever he was, was angry with you for replacing him? Were you being irrational?

The sun was already high in the sky and since your mate wasn’t back yet, you knew he probably wouldn’t return until later tonight. You had to tell him soon, it was a miracle that he hadn’t been able to smell it on you already.

Your bath was sure to be at least lukewarm by now so you decided to go ahead and start getting ready, finding yourself gazing at your stomach every time you passed the mirror and imagining who was inside you.

Later that day, 30 minutes to Starfall

The dress you put on was one you had worn before but it was still as beautiful. You had styled your hair in your favorite way, your makeup light, and your shoes comfortable. After making sure everything looked good, you turned to the side and stared at your abdomen once more. There was a small swell that you could easily hide if you tried.

You were dreading talking to Cassian, your mind racing with what could happen. Although he seemed more okay than you, you knew it was just a mask. He was grieving just as hard as you, tossing and turning at night and trying his best to hide the pain from you.

If he wasn’t happy with this…you didn’t know what you would do.

As the sun disappeared underneath the sea you finally found the courage to step out of the door, heading upstairs to the balcony where you could already hear the party starting. You had told him to meet you there when he tried to get you to walk out together, assuring him you just needed more time.

Your heart was beating as loud as your heels against the floor as you stepped out into the world for what felt like the first time in forever. Everyone was dressed beautifully, some of them conversing with each other while others were grazing the food table and bar.

Thankfully no one looked toward you, gawking or pointing like in your nightmares. It took you a minute to find Cassian but when you did you beelined to him, blushing when he pulled you into his arms and kissed you sweetly.

“You look beautiful, princess.” He murmured against your lips, kissing you once more before pulling back. “I was worried you were going to miss the start. I think the first one just streaked across the sky.”

“Well, I’m glad I came when I did.” You replied, snuggling into his side as you glanced up at the sky. You heard your friends behind you, laughing about something, and you were thankful they hadn’t spotted you yet.

You needed to tell him now, while you had alone time, but when you finally found the courage to speak everyone begin to cheer and toast as the first couple of souls appeared in blazing lights. It was enchanting to watch, distracting you for a moment as Cassian kissed your forehead.

And as you stood there beside him, his arm wrapped around you while you were surrounded by the beauty of the night and the liveliness of the party, that small spark of hope grew brighter and brighter. It was like the Mother herself was assuring you everything was going to work out.

“Cassian, I need to tell you something.” You said, turning to look at him. However, he seemed to be focused on something past the horizon. “Cassian?”

“Did you see that?” He asked breathlessly, his eyes wide in disbelief. “D-Did you see?”

“See what?” You turned to try and look at what he was staring at, only seeing the bright streaks of green. “I don’t see anything, Cass.”

“I swear, Y/N, I thought-” He paused, looking down at you with a mixture of happiness and sorrow. “One of the souls, I swear….”

You held your breath, your hand flying to your mouth as you squeezed his arm as hard as you could. There was no way, it couldn’t be. It was just your brain trying to make you feel better about your situation, he couldn’t have possibly seen what you thought he did.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself as you whispered, “Our son?”

He nodded once, his large hand cupping your cheek as you drew in a shaky breath. “It could have been a trick of the light, or something else, but I saw a small soul, it looked like he had wings and I just felt it. It felt like him, Y/N.”

However you knew it wasn’t, you knew Cassian would never joke or say something like this unless he fully believed it. And hearing him say that, looking at into his eyes, you knew this was a sign.

Your son had come down to visit you, he knew you needed him even if he never got to see you. It was destiny.

You quickly grabbed his hand and placed it over your stomach, tears freely falling as your voice wavered. “No, no it wasn’t a trick Cass. It was him.” You affirmed, smiling more than you ever had before. “He came to tell me, to tell us, that everything will be okay.”

“What do you mean?” He breathed, his gaze flickering between you and your conjoined hands over your womb. “Is this…are you…?”

Cassian couldn’t even finish the sentence as you nodded, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself from sobbing in front of everyone. You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, laughing incredulously as you said, “He wanted to visit his sibling.”

It took two seconds for him to digest your news before you were lifted into the air and spun around in his arms, grinning as he hollered in delight before bringing you into a crushing kiss. You felt warmth blossom in your chest where you had thought it never would again, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Everyone was probably wondering what had happened but for the first time in a year, you didn’t care. You didn’t care about the worries of tomorrow or of others, about the what-ifs, all you cared about was now.

Starfall had blessed you with your mate, your son, and your new babe all in one night. It was a happiness you never thought you would have again and you weren’t going to waste a moment of it.

#acotar fic #acotar angst #starfall week fic #starfall week #cassian x reader #cassian x reader acotar #cassian x reader angst #cassian acotar #cassian #angst fic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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canonizzyhours · 1 month

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Izzy Hands reminds me of my mom, although I think maybe not in the same way he reminds 309 of their dad. At the very least, I can still find it in me to love my mother.

I found watching season 2 as the episodes dropped incredibly stressful because of how much Izzy's presence reminded me of my mom. The way no one was acknowledging what had happened last season. The way I distinctly remembered bad things happening at his instigation while it went narratively unaddressed triggered the absolutely shit out of me.

Seeing Ed in literal sackcloth was heartbreaking, and the fact that Izzy was suffering at the same time didn't make it more palatable because I don't believe that suffering should be seen as the price one pays for atonement. Seeing Izzy celebrated for him celebrated for embracing softness when he denied that to Ed, hearing his voice during Ed and Stede's intimate moment, witnessing him have the audacity to say he had "another song" after everything that happened in s01e10, and the way he thrust himself into Ed and Stede's morning after scene like that?

And I get it, the season was never gonna really make time for Izzy to atone, which is why the narrative required his ending to be what it was. But I didn't even find his death cathartic because you could still make a compelling argument that even then, he still didn't understand what had happened and what he did wrong. That was one of the most devastating parts of it all, and it broke my heart for Ed all over again.

#320.

related posts: #310

#ofmd #izzy hands #edward teach #stede bonnet #canonizzyhours

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brothermoth · 4 months

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Tragedies have such an interesting flexibility to them that I think really comes out in both Rdr2 and 1. You can go the route of the inevitable: the characters are doomed because time after time they make the wrong choices, or make the right choices far too late. Arthur's death is set into place from the beginning. He wasn't meant to survive and he knew it. The narrative of Rdr2 reads like a disaster everyone saw coming. The collapse of a building already rigged for demolition. It's heartbreaking because everyone becomes more and more desperate despite knowing, deep down, that there is nothing they can do.

The first game is the sort of tragedy that sweeps the rug out from under you. The players expect John to remain focused on his goals and eventually achieve them. It was never up to him, and that is the tragedy. It does not matter what choices he makes because it is out of his hands. He's a puppet in someone else's game, trudging through it all with the looming sense that he's been sent on a wild goose chase. He did everything right, changed his ways and became the father and husband that his family needed. None of that mattered. Rdr1 is steeped in hopelessness in a way Rdr2 is not. Having recently finished the first game, I think John's death was somehow more devastating. It's sudden and unexpected, yet you feel blindsided because it was in the works all along. Both make for wonderfully cathartic tragedies (Rdr2 is on the Macbeth side of the scale, where Rdr1 is a Rogue One type vibe) and we need more competent writers to gut us in a loving manner.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr1

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odditycircus-2002 · 5 months

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Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung in Mortal Kombat 1 Part 12

Spoilers for MK 1 Story Mode: Proceed with Caution

Sooo, given how this whole ending is, just bear with me here, given there will be an alternate version of you. Still, I'll do my best to try and keep it coherent for y'all. Now onwards!

When Lui Kang recruited you to fight against your Titan self and Titan Shang Tsung, you volunteered to be part of his army to fight against the evil Titans. That is primarily because of the fact that they threaten the timeline YOU live in! Luckily, as mentioned before, you wouldn't be fighting alone; you'd be fighting with endless variants of people you know across timelines, including a version of you that appeared to be a heavenly figure.

At the top of the Temple, standing beside Titan Shang Tsung, is your Titan counterpart, who was grinning like a mad woman at the thought of the bloodshed that would take place. You hear her speaking to Lui Kang,

"Oh, but some things never change, Lui Kang. No matter how much you want to deny it. History has a way of repeating itself, such as now.

Titan Y/N claps her hands in amusement as she encourages Titan Shang Tsung as he reveals the allies they both have gathered throughout multiple timelines. Titan Y/N stood with her husband and a Titan Quan-chi as they signaled for their army to attack; in response, your allies charged up the pyramid. As the battle at the Argus's Temple commences, you feel as if everything you did and what happened didn't happen simultaneously.

You couldn't fly up the temple because the skies were packed with other flying Kombatants and projectiles. So you fought and petrified past Kung Laos, Kenshis, Shaos, Barakas, Sub-Zeros, and Rains. Although it wasn't just variant of people you know that you had to fight. The first one you had to face was Sindel, or at least a Sindel mixed with Zateran blood judging from her scaley appearance and how she vomited acid at you mixed with her banshee shriek. After defeating her, you ran off without another word.

Soon after confronting the Reptilian Empress, a Shao/Sub-Zero hybrid sends you to the ground.

"No healer will be able to fix you once I'm through."

While it was cathartic for you to fight another Shao, as you'll never tire of making the brute suffer, the ice he commanded was a bitch for your reptilian skin. Yet, you managed to prevail by slicing off that Shao's head. You had no time to revel in your victory when you had to run from a large group of Titan Shang Tsung's minions. You got a stab in on an evil Kenshi while running from them, though. Shortly after, you're then jumped by a Baraka and Scorpion hybrid.

"We'll see who's fangs are deadlier."

While you were a bit relieved to not be fighting against a Cryomancer, fighting against a Pyromancer wasn't a pleasant experience. Especially one that resembles your dear Baraka. You had no time to dwell on any regret before a blonde woman with a robotic eye that shoots devastating lasers starts to attack you with a large knife. Luckily your blade proved to be sharper as you disabled the blonde's eye by stabbing her in the eye and through the head. Shortly after, you go up against a Kenshi who seems to have mastered Hydromancy. You had to get a bit creative there because of how your petrifying gaze wouldn't work on him. So, the old-fashioned poison would do the trick.

If only the same could be said for the Goro that attacks you with a Warhammer in each arm. Yet, you're then saved by not one or two but three different versions of Johnny Cage, one of them dressed like some sort of ninja errr mime?

"Much appreciated; good health to you all!"

You say to them before you're confronted by a Reiko/Quan-chi hybrid. Like both of his components, he was overly confident in his skills. After defeating him, you climb higher up the pyramid only to be confronted with four people you've never met, all dressed in yellow and black uniforms. Fortunately, you didn't have to fight them alone before another Kitana, this one who wore two buns in her hair and was dressed in a way fitting for the divine, mowed the entire group down effortlessly.

"Oh, thank you so much, your Majesty."

Kitana then got knocked down by some random kombatant who came out of nowhere. After getting through a couple more bizarre hybrids, you were close enough to the top to see your Titan Y/N standing with the Deadly Alliance. The trio, seeing how close you are to the top, combine their magics to throw a huge ball of plasma down the pyramid in your direction. You managed to throw yourself out of the way but at the cost of a large group of people being obliterated. After tumbling down a dozen steps, you're soon confronted by three Mileenas, sais out and thirsty for your blood. While you killed two, one of them managed to pin you down and tried to stab you in the eyes like poor Kenshi. Keyword tried. This time, you took out Mileena's eyes with her own blades.

While Titan Y/N and the Titan Deadly Alliance prepare another spell, who should catch them off guard by attacking them but their far more virtuous counterparts? At first, they appeared to have the upper hand, enough so the more virtuous Shang Tsung could earnestly shout some encouragement to you. You hate how looking at him made you blush.

While Titan Shang Tsung and Titan Quan-chi devour the souls of their more heroic selves, your Titan self has a more sadistic idea in hand. She tore a hole into your virtuous counterpart before grabbing heroic Shang Tsung's spine as a hacksaw, bifurcating your other self. Titan Y/N then uses her blade to swiftly cut off your other self's head and tears off her veil to reveal the writhing head full of snakes beneath. Titan Y/N giggles before she turns her back on the war beneath her feet to toss the decapitated head over her shoulder like it were a bouquet. This turns dozens of the kombatants on either side into stone because they made the mistake of looking at your other self's eyes. These poor souls are soon shattered into pebbles by their enemies, indistinguishable from the rest of the pyramid's ruins. Luckily, you were spared this gruesome fate.

After getting through more strange opponents, you could finally reunite with Lord Lui Kang and follow him the rest of the way up the pyramid. Finally, you reached the top to fight the masterminds behind this war and the conspiracy against your timeline. Titan Y/N was less than impressed.

"I've heard your righteous spiel long enough to last ALL my lifetimes. So please, at least keep this fight interesting."

You knew Lord Lui Kang to be powerful beyond compare, but even with his Titan power restored, he was still one Titan going against three malicious ones. It didn't help that none of them, including Titan Y/N, didn't fight fairly such as when she bit into Lui Kang with her fangs. So with the Fire God currently out of commission you're forced to fight them all alone.

"Honestly, at this point in time, I've forgotten how many of you I've seen die."

Somehow, against all odds, and you nearly dying so many times and sustaining so many injuries, you were still standing among the bloodied and beaten Titans. Lui Kang couldn't help but compliment you on your impressive feat.

"Your praise is like a healing salve for all my wounds. Now, let's cut out these tumors."

Lui Kang, deciding you've done more than enough, walks over to stand over the fallen Titans. Using his own Titan power, he reduces all of them into dust and sand, hopefully making it the last time you'll see any of them specifically. However, without either Titan Shang Tsung or Titan Y/n, it became clear from how the entire realm shook that the timeline was starting to crumble and tear at the seams.

"What now?!"

Lui Kang quickly uses his power to send you back to your native timeline before the current one you're in collapses with you alongside it.

"Thank you for your aid, Y/N. I hope we meet again one day."

You're lifted into the air and surrounded by fire before a bright flash of white goes off in front of you, and you end up exactly where you need to be.

A/N: Whaaa, two posts in one day?!? How can this be??? Anyways, remember to like, reblog, and comment. And if you like, drop and ask a random thought in my inbox, as I do enjoy hearing from y'all!😁😁😁😁

Playlist while writing this

"A Good Song Never Dies" by Saint Motel

"Tot Musica" by Ado

"I Can't Decide" by Scissor Sisters

"Play With Fire" by Sam Tinnesz

"Running up that Hill" feat Meg Myers

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bimbobaggins69 · 1 year

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Don’t be sorry

Ex!Eddie Munson x fem!reader x Eddie’s one night stand (Stacy)

summary: after your boyfriend comes clean about cheating on you, he’ll do anything to get you back. You have other plans in mind; which include meeting up with the other woman and getting her side, but that’s not all you gain.

⚠️warnings: SLIGHT SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, ANGST, pictures are for aesthetic purposes only, cheating, manipulation, controlling behavior, jealous eddie, girl on girl sex, making out, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), reader basically figuring out her sexuality and we love that for her.

A/N: this was purely self indulgent, and extremely cathartic to write <3 also, I never headcanon Eddie as a cheater. I def don’t think he would, but I’ve read a lot of cheating fics and I just thought this would be a cool concept, even if it hurt to write.

Eddie Munson broke your heart, and you weren’t sure if you’d every truly get over it.

Two weeks ago, eddie had called you over to his place to talk, said he had something important he had to tell you. Of course you think nothing of it, as you make your way to forest hills. Maybe, eddie had some news or needed help with something. But, nothing could prepare you for the devastation you were about to face.

“Hey” he said with a pained expression as he opened the door to his trailer, eyes blood shot but not from smoking, this was something different. You noticed how puffy they were, like he’d been crying

“Eddie, baby what happened?” You ask full of concern. That killed him even more.

“Y/n, can you just sit down, please?” He says, tone almost as low as a whisper, as he looks down at his socked feet.

“Uh. Okay sure, but can you tell me what’s going on, you’re starting to scare me” you say, eyes full of worry as you watch Eddie begin pacing in front of you.

“Listen, baby I love you! You know I love you, so much, right?” He says, as his pacing stops and he drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, taking your hands in his.

All you can do is offer a nod, your heart begins to sink. But, no Eddie would never, could never do anything to hurt me, at least that’s what you continue to tell yourself as Eddies eyes begin to water. A single tear sliding down his left cheek

“Baby, I’m so sorry”—“I-I fuck! You know I’d never intentionally hurt you, I would never.”

Your face remains stoic, as he cries into your lap.

“Eddie, just say what you gotta say!” you snap, tired of the theatrics

“L-last week when we played at that new bar the pit, I-I uh I slept with someone else”—“y/n I’m so sorry! I swear it was a mistake a-and I’ll do anything, anything for your forgiveness so we can go back to the way things were, before. It could be like it never even happened, baby. I swear!”

That same day, you heard him in the woods selling to some cheerleader. He was all smiles and sweethearts, flirting and really working up that charm. You confronted him about it and he called you crazy “I would never cheat on you, princess. Come on, you should have more faith in me then that” those were his specific words that day, but you know what you heard. So, you refused to go to his show that night. Not even taking his calls the next day as he blew your phone up, now looking back was most likely out of guilt. God you felt like a complete idiot, but you were kind of having an “I knew it” moment, like you felt it in your heart and gut that something wasn’t right, and now you have the conformation but knowing didn’t make you feel any better.

You couldn’t help but laugh. The whole thing made you sick to your stomach, but you couldn’t contain it.

“Why are you laughing?” Eddie says, as he lifts his head out of your lap and wipes away his tears.

“God, I’m a fucking idiot” you say through your laughter. “I knew it, I knew you were flirting with that cheerleader and you told me I was crazy, and then you promised me you wouldn’t ever cheat on me. Wow Eddie, so congratulations you really are a piece of shit.” You say as you push him off of you and stand up, pulling down the skirt that had been bunched up around your upper thighs

“Baby, please just, please don’t leave. I promise, I will never ever do anything like that again, I swear!” He cries out “just please don’t leave me, y/n.”

You snort out another laugh.

the nerve of this guy!— You think to yourself.

“Eddie, get the fuck off the floor, Jesus!”

“C-can you answer a couple questions? you owe that to me.” you say, as eddie stands from his kneeling position to sit on the couch.

“Sure, go ahead” he says as monotone as ever. You can tell, his attitude has completely changed knowing his manipulation tactics were not gonna work on you.

“Were you flirting with Linda?” You ask as your eyebrows raise

“I-I mean not intentionally, baby. But you know me.” he says, as you notice a quick smirk flash on his lips, before it was gone.

“Stop calling me baby! And it’s a yes or no Eddie, quit with your bullshit” you say, happy at how stern your voice came out regardless of how much you were hurting inside.

“Yes, yes I was flirting, but I wasn’t trying to hook up with her or anything. I was just in a friendly mood.” he scoffs, as if you should understand his logic.

“Who did you fuck?” You ask as your second question

“You wanna know her name?” He says as he raises his eyebrow and folds his arms over his chest

“Yes Eddie, who is she? And how did it happen? All the details, don’t leave anything out.”

His eyes widen at your request

“I can’t do that. I don’t want to hurt you, more”

“Eddie, you’ve already hurt me. You putting your dick in someone else is already hurting me, I need to know, please?” Your voice losing its confidence as your lip wobbles

“Her name is Stacy, she’s one of the bartenders”-

“She uh, offered me a free drink. Said my guitar skills were good and I don’t know, we ended up fucking in the bathroom. It was the biggest mistake Ive ever made! it was fucking awful and I wish I could take it back.” he looks up at you with pleading eyes

“Mm, well maybe the next one will be better” you say, tone laced in sarcasm.

“There won’t be a next time baby, I swear.” he stands up, taking a step toward you as you begin backing away with your hands up, as if to silently tell him not to touch you.

“You’re so fucking right, there won’t be a next time!” You shout, as you turn around and walk out the door.

You make it to your car and jump in, so focused on getting the hell out of there, you don’t even know if he followed you out or not. It doesn’t matter though, you could never take him back after this.

It was a Friday night when you decided to go check out the pit. It was a little outside of Hawkins, closer to the city. You knew Eddie would be busy with hellfire, so there would be no chance you’d run into him. This wasn’t really his scene, unless he was there to play with his band, anyway.

As you walk into the smoke filled bar, red lights illuminating the patrons faces. You felt under dressed in your: black jeans, tank top and sneakers. While everyone else was dressed in leather or lace. You head to the bar to sit and grab a drink, while you wait to talk to this Stacy chick. You weren’t mad at her, it wasn’t her fault your boyfriend ‘ex boyfriend’ couldn’t keep it in his pants. If it wasn’t her it would’ve been someone else, as much as that thought kills you, it’s true. Eddie feeds off of attention, always has. So as much as you want to be surprised at his indiscretion, a part of you feels like you’ve just been waiting for that shoe to drop.

As you look around the bar, you start to feel like maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should just leave it alone, go home and try to find things that’ll take up your time, until you are fully over this heartbreak. As you begin to get up, the bartender comes over and asks if you would like a drink. Your head snaps to her, taking in her face; She was really pretty, brown hair fluffed out to perfection. She looked like one those girls from a heavy metal music video. Leopard print long sleeve adorning her body, cleavage peaking out of the deep v neck. You catch yourself staring and so does she, giving you a smirk that could make you melt. As you continued taking her in, her name tag catches your attention “Stacy” you read to yourself, making your stomach drop to your toes. Seeing her in person was so different than seeing her as the faceless girl in so many of your intrusive thoughts. She was beautiful and captivating. He said it was terrible and didn’t mean anything but looking at her, you know that’s nothing but lies. There was definitely attraction there and somehow that hurts a little bit more.

“I’ll have a beer, please.” you throw her a fake smile, not wanting to let your bitterness be known

“Sure hun, one beer coming up,” she smiles back

“I’ve never seen you around here before. What brings you in?” Tone sweet and curious, it made your breath hitch and your heart speed up.

“Oh, um nothing really, just came to people watch and grab a drink.” you say as you pick up your beer and take a sip

“Well, I’d like to see more of you.” she says with a wink before she turns around to tend to another bar goer.

Your stomach does back flips. You’ve always known you found women attractive, beyond an “Omg she’s so pretty” way, but you’ve never actually been with a girl before, and the new territory makes you a bit, apprehensive.

Am I really thinking about, fucking the girl my ex cheated on me with? What the fuck? Am I in the twilight zone?

You sat there as you watched Stacy make drinks and laugh with other patrons. She was so effortlessly cool. Apart of you held jealousy, but another part of you was enamored by her. You wanted to get to know everything about her. Touch her soft skin, her tits. You snap out of your pervy thoughts as she comes back around to you, leaning against the table top.

“What’s your name?” She questions with a smirk

“Uh, my name?” You stutter out. Men don’t even make you this nervous, what the fuck?

“Yes babe, your name?” She laughs out as your face turns a deep red

“My names y/n” you were internally thanking whatever god there is, that you were able to get that out without another stutter

“Nice to meet you, y/n. Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Your cheeks bloom a rosy pink, as she looks down at your breasts, nipples peaking through your white tank top.

Before you can stop the word vomit, you spit out;

“Can I actually talk to you about something, maybe when you get off of your shift?” Body closing in on itself at the brazen question.

“Uh, sure yeah I get off in about thirty minutes” she says, as she looks over your face while biting her lip. It’s clear she thinks you’re asking for a different reason.

After your second beer, you see Stacy grab her bag from underneath the bar. Making her way towards you, “let’s go out back?” She says but it’s more of a question. You nod your head and follow her towards the exit, down the dark hallway.

Walking out of the big red door, into the humid night air. Stacy leans up against the black stucco wall and lights a cigarette.

“You want one?” She asks as she blows out a puff of smoke

“Yeah, I’ll take one.” you don’t smoke much but you could use one, to calm your jangled nerves.

Stacy takes another one out of the pack and puts it between your lips, while bringing the hot pink lighter up. The flame illuminating her face while the tip of the cigarette begins to bellow out smoke into the night air. You both stair into each others eyes, cigarette already lit but quickly forgotten about. You take a step back, pulling the cigarette from your mouth, as you cough.

“Sorry.” she says with a sympathetic smile

“It’s okay.” you look off to the side, with pink tinged cheeks.

“So, what’d you want to talk about? Or, was that a ploy to get me all alone?” Stacy says with a flirty smirk

“Well, as much as I wish it was. I actually have a question.” you laugh out, as you put the cigarette back up to your lips.

“Ask away babe,”

“Um, it’s honestly really dumb. But my ex played a show here a couple weeks ago and apparently you and him hooked up in the bathroom.” your heart is hammering out of your chest. Not sure if it’s the confrontation, or the fact that you might hear some things you’re better off, not knowing.

“Oh shit, um. Guitar dude with the hair and dio back patch?” She squints her eyes in remembrance

You bite your lip as you nod your head

this is so stupid and embarrassing, why did you even come here?

“Yeah, we did hook up. Um, but you said your ex? You guys weren’t together, right?” Her whole energy radiated sweetness, you could tell she was genuine. You couldn’t dislike her, even if you tried.

“No, w-we were together. I broke up with him after he told me.” you say as you stub out the cigarette, against the wall.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry! I’m not that kind of girl. If I knew he was spoken for, I would’ve never touched him.”

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t come here to be a bitch or anything, I don’t really know why I came here. I thought maybe for closure, but I think I’d rather not know the details, and you seem really sweet and your beautiful so, I don’t blame him-”

“Hey, don’t do that! You’re beautiful too, it’s his loss. But I am really sorry, I know how much that shit hurts, and this might be weird but I mean, I wouldn’t mind hanging out, ya’know to help get your mind off of him.” she says, taking one last drag of her cigarette.

“I mean yeah, th-that would be cool. I would actually really like that, thank you!” you can’t hold back the beaming smile that takes over your face, maybe this is weird, hanging out with the girl your ex cheated on you with, but you know there’s something special about her, you can feel it in the depths of your stomach. She’s someone you’re meant to know. You’ve never been so drawn to a stranger before, its bewitching.

“Here, let me write down my number. You can call me anytime, okay?” She says as she fishes a red lipliner pencil and receipt out of her black leather bag and jots down the seven digit number.

“Thank you, it was nice meeting you, Stacy.”

“It was nice meeting you too, y/n. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” She says as she rubs her hand against your arm and begins walking away.

Your body must’ve been in shock, because it doesn’t move, even after Stacy has gotten into her brown station wagon and drove off. You definitely did not expect that outcome, but for the first time all day, you’re not thinking about Eddie. You’re thinking about Stacy, and all that may blossom between you two.

After about three days of waiting and not wanting to be too eager. You decide to call the new girl, that has taken over your every thought, since you met her. Eddie no longer at the forefront. Speaking of Eddie, he has blown up your landline, nonstop. Dropped by your house every single day, and has even left red roses and a note on your front porch. The note said everything you were expecting;

‘I’m so sorry, please take me back. It’ll never happen again, blah blah blah.’

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, at the lack of genuine accountability.

After you hang up with Stacy and agree to a movie night at her apartment, your phone rings—you’re so excited to hang with her, that you forgot you were in the business of ignoring a certain someone.

“Hello” you answer enthusiastically

“Y/n?” Eddie says as he sniffles on the other end

“Eddie, what do you want?”

“I just need to hear you voice, please just talk to me. I know I fucked up, trust me I know. But, I want to make it up to you. I really am sorry, y/n.” the crack in his voice tugs at your heart strings, the empath in you wants to forgive and move on. Take him back and pray he never hurts you like this again, but a bigger part of you is telling you that there will be another time, and you just can’t handle that pain, again. You love Eddie and probably always will, but you need to put yourself first, not his feelings. Yours.

“I’m sorry Eddie, but I have nothing to say to you” You slam the phone back down on the receiver, as your heart breaks for a second time.

You and Stacy are knee deep in; cheesy horror movies, deep conversation and flirty exchanges. You’ve never felt so infatuated and intrigued by someone, at least not to this level.

You want to know everything about her, her deepest darkest secrets. The things that scare her, or make her the happiest. You both haven’t even spoken a word of Eddie’s name, the whole night. As if, he doesn’t even exist. As if, his betrayal isn’t what brought you both together, in the first place.

“So, hey. Random question, but do you want to come to the pit this Saturday? Maybe after we can, I don’t know hang out, maybe like a date?” Stacy says, her face so full of hope. You wanted to press your lips against hers, right then and there.

“Um, Saturday? Doesn’t Eddie play on Saturday?” You ask.

Well, you almost went all night without saying his name.

“Who cares? The best way to get someone back, is by showing you’ve moved on. You don’t care about them anymore, even if it’s bullshit! You’ll be there with me, anyway. He can suck it!” She laughs out

You couldn’t help but giggle, cheeks heating up at the- ‘you’ll be there with me, anyway.’

“Yeah, okay that could be fun!” You agree, trying to stay calm to the fact that she asked you to go on a date.

“So a date? Hmm, does that mean you like me?”You say in a teasing but flirty tone, as you get up on your knees and face her, on her velvety mustard couch.

“Well, duh babe! I thought that was obvious.” She teased back

“Yeah, it was. I just had to be sure, before I did this.” You begin to lean into her space, as she closes the gap and presses her lips to yours.

A couple chaste pecks, turn into full on tongue and teeth, making out. It was so different from kissing a guy, so delicate and sensual. She tasted so sweet, you couldn’t get enough. You never wanted to stop.

You move to straddle her waist, the kiss deepening as she moans into your mouth, moving her hands to your ass, rubbing it through the rough fabric of your jean shorts.

Next thing you know; you’re taking each others shirts and bras off, shorts and panties following, after. You both move from the couch to Stacy’s, big comfortable bed. Continuing the kisses and sucks of each others necks and breasts, this was everything you were ever looking for when it came to sex. Sex with Eddie wasn’t bad, he was really good at it, but he wasn’t as good at foreplay like she was, you suppose it’s because you both know what women like, as far as how much pressure and where exactly on the clit feels best. But, if you were being honest after this you could never see yourself going back to being with a man.

Stacy, began moving over your body. Kissing you all the way down to your thighs, licking and sucking sensitive areas, you didn’t even know you had. She grabs the backs of your knees, spreading you out wide for her as she begins kissing your inner thighs and the crease between your thigh and pussy. Finally, after her teasing she begins eating your pussy, like it’s her last supper. She’s fucking incredible at it, too.

Your hands in her hair, as your toes curl and your back arches. Euphoria was beginning to take over your body, as you inched closer and closer to your climax.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum!” You yell out, as Stacy inserts two fingers, finding your g-spot instantly and working it as she lapped at your clit. Making the euphoric wave crash over your entire body, your legs were shaking as you cried out into the candle lit, dimness of her bedroom.

After you came down, Stacy made her way back up to kiss you, sucking on your bottom lip, as you savored the taste of yourself on her lips.

Finally, once your breathing became normal, and your body was now longer shaking. You push her down, as you do your best to repeat everything that was just done to you.

“I’ve never done this before, so just let me know if I do something you don’t like, okay?” You say shyly, with your head between her beautiful plush thighs.

“It’s alright, baby. I’ll talk you through it, okay? Don’t be nervous.” She whispers

You start by doing what you usually enjoy, which seemed to be working with the moans of your name and profanities she was shouting.

Finally, once you knew she was close you do exactly what she did; inserting two fingers as you search around for her spot, she cries out once you’ve found it.

“Mm, there she is.” You laugh out, almost cringing at the words that leave your mouth. Something that Eddie has said to you multiple times, while doing the same exact thing.

You shake your head of the memories. No, you don’t wanna think about him, while you’re with her. She’s far too special.

Once you make her cum, and she’s coming down the same exact way you were, not even 20 minutes ago. You plop right next to her, she turns to you with a smug smirk on her face.

“You sure this was your first time, eating pussy?” She huffs out, in an accusatory tone.

“No, I swear that was my first ti-” you begin, as she cuts you off

“I’m kidding! But holy shit, you’re really good” she says as she scoots her naked body closer to yours, both your breasts touching as she cups your cheek and begins kissing you. When she tastes herself on your lips she moans out, the sound going straight to your pussy. Fuck, you could do this all night long if she’d let you.

After your night with Stacy, you’ve talked to her every single day, and hung out a couple more times.

Today’s Saturday, the day she wants you to go down to the pit. The day Eddie and his band corroded coffin play, and our body is full of jitters and nerves, to say the least.

Apart of you wants to call her and tell her, you can’t make it. You haven’t seen eddie since you left his trailer after his confession and you don’t know how you’ll react to seeing him, again. He’s still been calling and trying everything to get you to talk to him, even crying to your mom about how sorry he is, but as much as she’s grown a fondness for Eddie through your relationship, she was disappointed in the way he hurt you. So of course she let him down gently, by telling him “she’s done, she doesn’t want anything to do with you Eddie. I’m sorry.”

You decide to suck it up, Stacy’s right. It’s best to go and show him you’ve moved on, maybe that way he’ll know you’re serious and that you really want him to leave you alone.

So you head to get ready; putting together the sexiest outfit you could find. A black corset top, black mini skirt and some knee high boots. You almost used a whole can of aqua net on your hair, and did your makeup; cat eyes and red lipstick. You felt so hot, you couldn’t wait for Stacy to see you like this.

You park your car, and make your way into the pit. Already, you were getting a ton of looks and attention. But you ignore it, making your way to the bar, as you notice Eddie and his band setting up for their set. You keep your back turned not wanting to draw his attention towards you. Finally, Stacy comes over with a beautiful bright smile on her face.

“Hey, baby.” She says, her voice sending shivers through your body.

“Hey, can I-uh can I get a beer, please?”

“Of course, anything for you. You look so sexy, by the way.” She says as she send you a wink, before going to grab your beer out of the mini fridge, popping the cap off and handing it to you.

“What’s his face is about to go on. Im almost don’t with my shift, so we can hang out, dance or whatever you want to do, okay?” She says as she’s leaning in closer to your face from behind the bar.

“Okay, that sounds good.” You say back, not wanting to give away how nervous you are, but Stacy has already spotted the shake in your hands.

Suddenly, you hear the sounds of a guitar being strummed and a voice comes through the microphone

“We’re corroded coffin. Let’s go!” Eddie growls

And the sounds of “One. Two. Three. Four.” Being yelled out from behind the drum set. It made you smile, thinking of Gareth. You’d been really good friends throughout high school, but had kind of fallen off once you and Eddie started dating, due to jealousy. Eddie, didn’t like you being so close to Gareth, Jeff and the rest of the guys. Apparently, they all had crushes on you at one point. So, Eddie didn’t feel comfortable with you being as close to them as you use to be. You listened, and backed away like he asked. But now, you regret that more than anything.

As you begin to hear Eddie’s voice ring out, throughout the bar. A new wave of confidence and contentment, came over you. Thinking about all the shit Eddie had told you not to do, everything you blindly followed and obeyed. Meanwhile he fucked someone else, he didn’t have the same respect for you, that you carried for him, and something about that made this easier, made a weight slip off your shoulders. He didn’t deserve you, and you had never even seen it. Until now.

You turn around in your seat, as you stand up. Moving a little closer to the crowd. Stacy begins cleaning up, before she clocks out.

Eddie’s working his guitar and singing into the mic, eyes closed in concentration. You keep your eyes on him, you want him to see you. You want him to know you’re done.

As if on queue, he opens his eyes, scanning the crowd. Until, they stop on you. His eyes widen as he takes you in, your face, your body, your little skirt. He gave you so much shit for dressing like this once to one of his shows, said you were “begging for attention” so you stopped. You started wearing shirts and jeans, nothing that showed cleavage or legs. At the time you just thought he was jealous, it made you feel like he really loved you. But, you know that’s far from the truth now, you were someone for him to control. He no longer had that power over you.

Eddie continues the song, with his eyes on you. His face was a mix of anger and hunger, and it made you feel nothing. For the first time, your thighs weren’t clenching, your heart wasn’t racing, you felt absolutely nothing for him.

Stacy comes up behind you. Gently putting her hands on your waist, as she kisses your neck. That made your thighs clench, that made your heart speed up.

You look back at Eddie, as you hear the band still playing, but nothing being sung. He’s standing there, like a deer in the headlights. He’s stuck. Finally, the band stops, too. He walks off of stage towards you.

“Outside, now.” He says through gritted teeth

You grab Stacy’s hand, and follow.

As you walk out of the red door, Eddie already has a cigarette held up to his lips, he’s pacing back and forth.

“So what the fuck is this?” He spits, motioning between you and Stacy

“You guys trying to get back at me or something?” He asks as his jaw clenches

“Eddie, this has nothing to do with you.” Stacy says

“I’m not talking to you!” He spits

“Don’t talk to her like that!” You shout back as you glare at him.

“What the fuck, y/n? So what are you both together now?” He says as he eyes your intertwined hands

“Yeah, we are.” You say back

He snorts out a laugh, as he shakes his head.

“So what? That’s it? We’re done, for good?” Eddie’s eyes begin to water, as he looks down and wipes them with his ringed fingers.

“Eddie, you cheated on me. I can’t take you back after that. I did everything you asked me to in our relationship. I stopped dressing like this to your shows, I backed away from our friends because you didn’t like how close I was to them, and all the other shit you asked of me. I respected you enough to change so much about myself, and yet you couldn’t even keep it in your pants, after one argument. There’s absolutely no way in hell, I would ever subject myself to that again.” You say as the grip on Stacy’s hand tightens.

She kisses the back of your hand, before pulling you away towards your car. You felt like such a badass in this moment, you held the power and you loved it.

Eddie looked like a kicked puppy, and even though it hurt to leave him like that, finally you were being selfish.

Eddie watched as you both walked into the darkness of the car park, holding hands and giggling.

He couldn’t believe he really lost you, this time.

Thank you for reading! 💗

Comments & reblogs are appreciated

@tlclick73

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #cheating

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many-but-one · 2 months

Text

EYEWITNESS

⚠️TW: religious trauma, CSA, RAMCOA, descriptions of child death⚠️

Author’s note: This is an intense poem, but is extremely important for me to share as an eyewitness to these atrocities. As the highest level gatekeeper in our system, I witnessed Everything, and was forced to cut my emotions about it away so I could do my job. Yesterday, a mutual on TikTok (The Brigadoon System) posted a video in response to a hate comment on one of our videos, in which they described the emotions about what it’s like to witness child death, and it struck such a chord in me that I actually was able to feel some of these feelings again for the first time in many, many years. It was difficult. Devastating. But also cathartic in a way. It reminded me that I’m not the cold monster I used to believe I was, and that allowing yourself to feel grief can be healing, too.

Please only read if you feel you are able to do so, please heed the trigger warnings above.

This poem DOES end on a good note, but it starts a bit heavy. Please read with caution.

EYEWITNESS

You know what they say about eyewitness reports. How they are often unreliable, how people often focus too much on a certain thing or they are too caught up in the emotions of it all that they mistake brunette hair for black, or black skin for white. Or whatever story serves the highest bidder, whatever story the pigs can scrape out of them to put someone they already hate behind bars.

You’ve all heard that, right?

And maybe it’s true that eyewitness accounts aren’t always accurate, but I’ve always felt like I would be a fantastic eyewitness, so good, in fact, the cops would hate me for how I refuse to stare at the lineup of pictures of black men with dreads or Latino men with tattoos that scare the perfect bottle blonde PTO moms lined up in front of me. They’d hate me for how I’d describe the perpetrator as a white man in a black business suit, I’d note the exact turn the curls in his hair made. I’d let the police know he wore blue eye contacts. I’d tell them not to forget the freckle underneath his right eye, I surely won’t. I could tell them that his dick was 6.75 inches too and that he never shaved, and when they ask me why I know that, I’ll tell them that I could feel him hitting my cervix when I was six years old, and he couldn’t push all the way in. I’ll tell them I used to get his hair stuck under my tongue when he used my mouth like a cunt. I’d let them know he kept his nails clean and trimmed short so that when he gripped at me he wouldn’t leave scratches that would be noticed later.

See, the thing about eyewitness accounts is that emotions are always running high when someone holds a gun to you from the other side of a convenience counter, but luckily for me I cut those away when I was seven, my job description required it, especially after that one cold December night. You know, the really important one everyone talks about all the time. It’s a night that I lament as the one I became god, and so too like god I created the separation between the sky and the land—the inner world one, I mean. Don’t think I’ve gotten cocky, I’m not that much of a sadist.

The sky I created was like spilled ink swelling across a page of parchment, and it held no stars or moon. Instead the black, viscous sky held my grief, it held that singular emotion I could not take that night, the night I was killed three times and what arose from me were sacrificial lambs, a pack of snarling wolves, and a god whose blue eyes were as cold as the winter’s midnight wind. The grief nearly overtook me and so I had to cut him away from me, I placed him in the sky, the one thing that would remain not only above me, but all around me, a place I would swim in every so often and get trapped in like a raptor in a Jurassic tar pit.

The rest of my parts, the children and the tigers and the demons and angels would never know where my grief went, they’d call me cold and cruel, they’d call me a monster, and I’d let them, because I knew they were telling the version of the truth I believed myself. I was a monster for having the ability to cut my pain away from me while they all writhed in theirs like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

For every trauma we took, for every single event I witnessed, the sky would grow larger, darker, heavier. Nobody felt the weight of it except me, the god who resided in it, an Atlas of epic proportions—who experienced everything, witnessed everything, Knew Everything. Omnipresent, omniscient, but not omnipotent. Every December reminded me of that, when I’d find myself on that church floor in my white dress with my limbs bound in prayer. O Holy God, wherest art thou? I’m right here, I’ve Always been here. Shattered over and over like delicate china dolls, those fragment pieces still scream the words I could never say at the time and will never be able to receive an actual answer for.

WHY? WHY? WHY?

The answer that I know you hold in your blackened heart is that you’re a sick and twisted man with sick and twisted followers, who keep the red eyes trained on me for money. Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid, that I don’t know your little games weren’t for a religious cause? They were so you could line your pockets. But at least I’d get a good Christmas present and my dad would get his booze money.

I used to wish that you had killed me, my desire to give up and die was held in a creature called The Nothing, held back by the strongest of my wolf pack, a black hellhound named G’mork wreathed in the fires of Wrath and Vengeance, who holds Hope like a tool of demolition. He held back this immense creature almost as expansive as my grief overhead, and it kept us alive.

It wasn’t until later that I realized how important this would be to me. See, I hated that he existed to keep that desire at bay, sometimes I wish I could tell him to let it free, let it consume us, but our brain was stubborn in keeping us alive.

I now realize that if I hadn’t lived all these years later, I wouldn’t have been able to become the most important eyewitness I’d ever become. The most painful and devastating eyewitness I would ever bear, a witness to monstrosities that cannot ever be truly described, something I wish in my heart of heart and soul of souls that I could have stopped. I couldn’t then.

But maybe now, I can.

I have lived through so many types of torture, the sorts of things that make even my therapist with decades of experience wince and cringe. The sorts of things you can’t even conceive of if you hadn’t seen them yourself.

The first time I watched a child die, she looked like me. It was an accident, and I know this because the men in their black clothes and black masks with their blue eyes peering over and through were swearing and yelling at the one responsible for her death. I never knew her name, but her blonde hair was lighter than mine, and her eyes more of a grey than a blue. Her neck snapped like a gunshot and I froze when her body went limp. The girl next to me, perhaps barely five, screamed. The one on my other side, a girl no older than me, with hair longer than mine and a darker shade of gold than mine, stood stoic, her bright blue eyes barely welling with tears. When they punished the screaming girl mere seconds after the sound had been ripped from her lungs, I copied the older girl out of desperation. I had grown used to cutting out my emotions by now, what was a bit more going to do to me? My inner world sky now held a single star. I named that girl Star in my mind. Her hair was like a halo, fluffy like angels wings. It seemed fitting. I’ll never, ever forget her. I cannot unsee her. I have never been able to grieve her.

Many more stars were added over the course of months and years, a sky full of them, twinkling down upon my system, them none the wiser of who they represented. The girl with the doe-brown eyes, I called her Bambi. The girl who compulsively tore out her hair and was so very tall for being only nine, I called her Willow. They all had nicknames in my mind, all the ones I could see well enough and for long enough to name. For those that I couldn’t, their stars shined the brightest, my grief for them more intense than the heat of a supernova. Nameless stars for nameless girls.

Many of them were named various shades of colors, after what they were wearing, or the color of their skin or hair. Most often I used the colors of their eyes, something I almost always saw. Something I never looked away from, even in their final moments when I wanted to look away.

I made a promise to my first star, that I would never look away. Looking away meant punishment anyway, but even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t. I may never know their real name if they even had one, but I would know them by the color of their eyes.

Honey, Golden, Oak, Leaf, Moss, Ocean, Mist, Bluejay.

The eyes always told me what their screams could not. Their screams were pleas for help they knew wouldn’t come, but their eyes said WITNESS ME and I bore witness to them. NEVER FORGET ME and I never forgot them. LIVE FOR ME and I lived for them.

I taught myself more colors in art class at school so I could find more names to give. There would always be names to give. Perhaps this is why I became an artist. Every time I mix new colors on the palette, dip brush to oil and brush to paint and put paint to canvas, I remember the shades of eyes I saw, who begged me to be their eyewitness. Their eyes cover my canvases. Perhaps this is why I’ve always liked the colors blue, green, and brown in my artworks.

I see their eyes everywhere I go. In the moss clinging to tree bark during an afternoon walk, in the slicked brown leaves after an autumn thunderstorm, in the clear sky on a balmy summer’s day, in the honey I put in my tea when I have a cold, and in my morning coffee.

You’d think this would make me hate going outside, but nature is my favorite place to be. You’d think this would make me stop seeing color in everything I do, but I can’t help but gaze at the colorful world around me. After all, wouldn’t it make me sad to see the cinnamon on my toast and remember the exact way a girl was dismembered before me? Maybe for some this would be true, but not for me.

To me this is the best way I can bring these girls with me along in my life, in this way, it feels like they’re growing with me. In this way, it feels like they’re now an eyewitness to MY life, a life I promised I would live for them.

I always keep my promises.

#aridam🪢#dissociative identity disorder #personal post #manybutone #did system #poetry #my poetry

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hugcollector · 8 months

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when astarion is sobbing I was not okay... it was cathartic because you felt the relief, but it was also like all the walls came down for just a few moments and there he was, letting himself be vulnerable and scared and devastated and exhausted all at the same time.

and when he tells you he just feels numb it makes perfect sense. removing the abuser from the situation can not immediately erase two centuries of pain and fear. there is so much healing to do. but there is space for it now. and by giving others their freedom and choices he's started to rewrite the rules he was taught about life.

I really do think it's a sensitive and truthful way to show how post-traumatic recovery is a journey, a process and you need to have grace and patience for yourself while you slowly find a new and healthier way to exist in the world.

this portrayal will forever hold a tender space in my heart.

#hope you're all okay if you've got to this point #sending you all the best for your own journeys.#bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion bg3

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elzorton · 5 days

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Some thoughts about Otohan Thull, the impact of chance on storytelling structures and themes in ttrpgs, and the catharsis of fulfilling story beats.

BIG SPOILERS FOR C3E91 OF CRITICAL ROLE UNDER THE CUT

You have been warned.

Hang with me here cause for the first half it could sound like i’m whining but i promise that this isn’t a negative or critical post. (also, i’m a little sleep deprived so if i’m not making sense just ignore me oops)

Okay, so a thing for me when it comes to ttrpgs compared with, let’s call it ”traditional” mediums of storytelling such as books or movies, is that the randomness that comes with dice rolls, chance and improv can sometimes leave certain story beats feeling… unfulfilled? Chance can lead to things getting resolved in a way that doesn’t feel impactful - or at least not as impactful as it could’ve been.

The death of grand villains such as Otohan Thull is a very good example of this. We expect villains to meet their demise dramatically, and thematically. As i was watching the latest episode, i found myself hoping that Laudna, Imogen or Orym would get the hdywtdt on Otohan. They are the ones who personally have been hurt by her the most, and therefore ”should” (according to my brain that is used to certain story structures ) get the final blow. If the story was told through a traditional storytelling medium, these are very likely scenarios. I’m not saying that it definitely would’ve happened like that, but I’m saying that however it would’ve happened, it would’ve been in a thematically impactful way.

In ttrpgs however, the thematically impactful death of a major villain isn’t guaranteed. The fact that some things aren’t gonna get resolved in the most fulfilling ways is something that we just have to accept. And i DO accept that - but it doesn’t stop the moments where it happens from feeling… incomplete.

WITH ALL THAT BEING SAID - here comes the part where it will stop sounding like i’m about to be whiny about the way it played out.

The outcome of this episode, the death of Otohan, DID feel fulfilling and impactful. It WAS impactful - and thematically relevant. Just not in the way that I expected. Which is exactly what I wish to experience around storytelling.

FCG’s sacrifice is heartbreaking and beautiful. It left me devastated and thankful. Otohan Thull has been so masterfully set up as a villain throughout the campaign. For their death to feel fulfilling, it kind of NEEDED to happen in a grand and impactful way. To me, she DESERVED a memorable death. The most obvious ways that could’ve come true is if Laudna, Imogen or Orym would’ve killed them. Laudna, she would kill the person who murdered her and further her spiral downward into Delilah’s embrace. Imogen and Orym, they would’ve gotten revenge on the person killing the people they loved the most.

Of course, those scenarios aren’t the only thematically fulfilling ways Otohan Thull could’ve died. What transpired this episode is absolutely, 100% meaningful and fulfilling. It just fulfilled another story beat then the ones I expected.

I have already seen a lot of posts highlighting 4SD discussions, previous conversations between characters and the growth of FCG as a character preceding this episode, where among other things FCG’s tendencies to want to sacrifice themselves, their journey towards the Changebringer and her philosophy of choosing your own path, and their growth towards viewing themselves as a living being with a soul. Therefor, I don’t feel the need to go into details of why their death felt thematically in line. We knew they were a ”ticking time bomb”. We knew they wanted to keep their friends safe with any means necessary.

What this means for the death of Otohan, is that it happened in a way that is bittersweet, cathartic and simultaneously expected and unexpected. THAT, is everything you could wish for in the death of a major villain. Otohan Thull has been one of my absolute favorite villains in all three campaigns. She has been brutal, involved and has kept the characters looking over their shoulders in fear everywhere they go. They deserved a grand death. They deserved something impactful, thematically relevant and unforgettable.

Otohan’s death will forever be etched into my brain. As Brennan said so beautifully: ”Why do we tell stories? To try to make sense of a world that can be terrifying and enormous”. This made sense. It was still terrifying. But it made sense. It was fulfilling.

TL;DR, ttrpgs don’t guarantee that major villains will meet their ends in thematically fulfilling ways. In this case, it WAS fulfilling and impactful. Just not in the way I, personally, expected.

#okay i'm done now. thanks for coming to my ted talk #gonna go sleep lol #critical role #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #c3e91 #fcg #fresh cut grass #otohan thull

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shybunnie20 · 1 year

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Bff!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Bff!Dustin Henderson

★My Masterlist

Summary: The last thing you want is to bring your friends down with you, so you decide against telling them how much you've been struggling. They find out in the worst way imaginable.

Author's Note: Thank you for another request, Anon! This is the darkest fic I've written thus far. It was cathartic to channel some of my personal experiences and I hope that reading it provides similar relief.

Not suitable for sensitive readers! Extreme angst with a bittersweet ending. No use of Y/N. Inspired by the song Sara - We Three. Be sure to reblog, follow, and show some love ♡

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Depression and anxiety, self-harm (cutting), panic attacks, suicidal ideation and attempt (overdose), substance abuse, Eddie being a crybaby, includes swearing.

Do not proceed if the warnings are triggering for you. Read Down & to the Left instead, it has a similar theme but it's far less intense.

There are people in this world who have the luxury of not knowing what it’s like to experience mental illness. From the outside looking in, depression is nothing more than being exceptionally sad. Unsolicited advice comes with such naivety. A myriad of superficial solutions to the multidimensional hardship that isn’t so easily soaked away by a candle-lit bubble bath or intensive exercise.

You’ve been dubbed as moody, complicated, and sensitive. These surface-level generalizations indicate that your friends wouldn’t understand what you’re going through. At this rate, it’s not worth trying to explain the corrosion eating away at your cheeks. Therefore, you continue the everlasting game of bloody knuckles and you have yet to say “mercy.” With one foot in the grave, you daydream about what your funeral will be like. Does anyone even care enough to know what your favorite flower is for the floral arrangements?

Draping a sheet over your bedroom window is essential because it makes it trickier for your demons to find you. Instead of them ripping you apart limb by limb, you dissolve into your blankets in the dark. The quietude instills a false sense of security that you hold near and dear. It’s lonesome, but you don’t want another person’s presence. Numbness is the company that you ache for. Christ, what you wouldn’t give for it to swallow you whole.

In art mediums, blue is considered the color of sadness, but it isn’t for you. With a blade as your brush, the crimson drawn to the surface of your skin is the paint. The picture you’ve created is less than pleasant but it’s certainly eye-catching. Looking in the mirror feels like seeing your scars on the wall of an art gallery, a mocking image of everything you’ve failed to be. You avoid your reflection at all costs, the full-length mirror in your bathroom is without exception.

Perhaps you’re a sucker for devastation because frankly, smiling feels unnatural. Any flicker of happiness feels repulsive and out of place. You’ve accepted that it’s not an emotion you’re meant to experience. At one point you’d felt envious of the carefree spirits who live vibrantly, but that’s not the life you’re meant to live. As if assembled with faulty parts, you’ve always felt defective.

You haven’t been going through this unaccompanied though. Dustin and Eddie have always had your back. You couldn’t ask for more reasonable best friends. Considering that you don’t open up to just anyone, it’s comforting that you can confide in these two dorks. The panic attacks have been occurring for a while now and the boys figured out how to effectively help you through them. Dustin has gotten especially adept at detecting the symptoms before you’ve noticed them yourself.

However, their awareness doesn’t go beyond your experience with anxiety. You’d think they could piece together the rest considering how often they come over to tidy up your place and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. But at the end of the day, they’re simple creatures. Even though it’s right under their noses, they don’t realize the gravity of what you’re dealing with. You refuse to drag them into the darkness with you. They’re so full of love and light, they don’t deserve exposure to emotional turmoil of this degree.

You didn’t think you could be any more exhausted but another demanding day at work has proven otherwise. More than anything you want to lay in bed to drift away from the agony.

After dropping your keys while aiming to stick them in the lock, you scoop them up and successfully open the front door.

“Surprise!”

You convincingly mirror the expression on the beaming faces of Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin while simultaneously noticing the bundles of balloons and the handmade banner. “Oh, wow. You guys, this is- amazing.” You’re startled by the sound of a party horn crinkling as Dustin bounces out of his hiding place. He insisted on hiding even though no one else did.

“Y’Little shit.” You chuckle and wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a side hug. “You’re the mastermind behind this, huh?”

Dustin tries to dodge the attempt you make at tussling his coffee-colored ringlets but fails miserably. “I couldn’t let my party planning skills go to waste. It turned out pretty great if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkle with a sense of achievement while they search yours for approval.

“Everything looks great, Dusty Bun. Thank you.” Your arm is still draped around his shoulder, so you give him a squeeze. He cringes at the use of his pet name as you make your way across the room to greet the remainder of your guests.

Nancy is perched on Jonathan’s lap while Robin is on the opposite end of the couch, which leaves the middle cushion available for you. As much as you don’t want to be this close in proximity to anyone right now, your body is far too sore to stand for much longer. Steve pours everyone’s beverages of choice and has Dustin deliver them from the kitchen. It takes a minute for you to find the ideal spot between your friends where your thighs aren’t touching theirs.

You drown out the lively chit-chat and music by descending into yourself. Birthdays don’t mean shit anymore. They’re simply a reminder that you just spent another 364 days pretending that you’re fine. Your preoccupation with death is always breathing hotly down your neck.

Just as your throat tightens and your eyes are on the verge of watering, the front door swings open. While balancing a carton of candles and a stack of paper plates on top of a pink bakery box, Eddie attempts to shake frizzy curls out of his face. He’s slightly winded from hustling in the hopes of making it back before you did. When his eyes meet yours, the expression of tizzy deflates. “Son of a bitch. I missed it?”

Dustin snorts mockingly while motioning to you. “Obviously, dude. She beat you by a couple of minutes.”

“God dammit!” Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “I was really looking forward to yelling ‘surprise.’ I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Eddie’s pout curls into a grin when he catches the eye roll you give in response to his belatedness. He quickly dresses the cake with candles and lights them with his trusty Zippo. Even with the pep in his step, he manages to approach you slowly enough that all of the candles remain lit.

Steve kills the lights and your friends begin to sing “Happy Birthday.” Not only is Dustin intentionally off-key but he’s ad-libbing through the whole song as well.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been uncomfortable during the duration of the tune. Rather unsure of what to do with yourself while being serenaded. Are you supposed to be singing along? Where should you be looking? Luckily your counterfeit smile is realistic enough that it’s not obvious how uncomfortable you are right now.

Eddie crouches at your feet while balancing the cake over your knees. He grins sweetly, his honey-colored irises reflecting the swaying flames atop the multicolored candles. “Okay, baby doll. Time to make your wish and make it a good one.” He winks with a nod.

The room is hushed save for the record player continuing to spin a faint melody. You can feel everyone’s eyes boring into you and it makes you want to peel your skin off. All of your friends are buzzing with merriment but you can only think about the unorthodox method of relief you’re desperately craving. What’s your birthday wish? It’s for this to be over already.

You blow out the candles with a shallow breath and the tightness in your throat exacerbates as the dark room swells with clapping and whooping before Steve turns the lights back on. Those few seconds allow you to rid your cheeks of the tears that escaped before anyone can notice.

The last thing on your mind right now is eating cake but you force yourself to do so in order to play the part of being the birthday girl. Everyone is having a blast celebrating your existence while clueless as to how badly you want to die. Even though you’re surrounded by people who love you, it doesn’t quell the provocation from within. You can’t picture anything past this birthday and you’d be content with it being the last one.

To be honest, you’ve never been very good at coping. It’s become impossible to ignore the need to etch into the plush of your thigh. You’re not going to be able to get through the remainder of this party if you don’t get it out of your system. After politely excusing yourself, the pounding in your head thunders and you slip away to your bedroom.

Once you’ve closed the door, you hastily shimmy your pants off and plop yourself at the foot of the bed. A blade is drawn from the top drawer of your nightstand and with a fierce inhale you sink the straight edge into the existing lines to deeply reopen them. Your teeth chew the inside of your lip and a dull ache shoots through your body. This is it, this is how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not meant to feel content, you’re destined to self-destruct. The countdown ticks on, though you don’t know precisely how much time you have left before you finally beg for mercy.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Eddie’s zestful voice before the door opens. “Are you ready to tear into your presents? We’re-” With his mouth slightly agape, Eddie’s eyes lock onto the blood dripping down the curvature of your calf.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. You intended to lock the door but failed to do so in your rash state of mind. You try to think of an excuse as if there’s a rational way to dismiss the damaging act. Your thinned forcefield evaporates and tears flood your vision once more. It’s awfully convenient because you can no longer see Eddie’s crestfallen mug.

Without further hesitation, Eddie closes the door behind him. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes lingering on the bloodied razor blade still pinched between your fingers. He approaches cautiously, removes it from your hold, and places it in his jacket pocket. Out of sight out of mind. Eddie slides onto the bed behind you with his legs stretched alongside yours. After snaking his arms around your shoulders, he gently guides you backward against his chest.

He’s rigid for the first few seconds, but the sound of your wailing reminds him that his intention is to be a haven right now. You cling to him, fingernails digging into his forearms that are folded across your sternum. Eddie squeezes his eyes closed so tightly that the insides of his eyelids are splashed with tingling colors.

Every fighting gasp for air that you take between the silent screams causes panging in his chest as if atomic bombs are going off. He can’t afford to be distracted by his profuse concern because his priority is bringing you down from your heightened state. His mind is racing and yet it feels so blank at the same time. The blood transfers from your bare leg onto his jeans.

Of your friends in the living room, Dustin is the only one who hears the muffled commotion. He strolls down the hall to investigate. “Hey, guyyyys. The super awesome party I threw is out here.”

Eddie is quick to respond before the doorknob turns. “Don’t come in!” He knows Dustin will let himself in just as he had done moments ago. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel even more mortified by Dustin seeing you like this. “She’s not feeling well. Just uh- have everybody go home.”

“Did she hurl or something?” Dustin presses his ear against the door to try and determine what’s happening on the other side. You seemed fine a couple of minutes ago, how sick could you possibly be?

“Dude, please. Tell them she’s too tired for all the socializing tonight.” Eddie shushes you calmingly while you swallow your whimpers to avoid giving yourself away. “And you’ll need to catch a ride from Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get to stay and comfort you, he’s your best friend too. He cares about you just as much as Eddie, he would even argue that he loves you more than Eddie does. Regardless, he doesn’t bother arguing because judging by the tone of Eddie’s instruction, it’s not up for debate. He rallies your other pals to gather the accumulated trash on their way out. Dustin feels that his effort in making your birthday special was overlooked. He spent weeks planning out your party with the objective of impressing you.

Once the front door slams shut, your mental breakdown resumes in full force. Eddie scoops you up into his lap and rocks you gently. With your head bowed, your hair catches the tears plummeting from Eddie’s eyes. By the time you’ve stopped hyperventilating, your voice is coarse like sandpaper from screaming through the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” You whine exasperatedly. Your nasal passage is blocked, forcing you to breathe out of your mouth. It feels like your head is full of helium and the pressure is pushing against your eyes. It’s making it unbearable to keep them open.

Eddie rests his cheek on the crown of your head and exhales steadily to release the pent-up tension. He assumes that you’re apologizing for injuring yourself but that’s far from the truth. You’re not sorry for doing it, you’re just sorry he saw it. Eddie refuses to let go regardless of the pins and needles swarming his legs.

The two of you sit in silence, the only noises being your sniffles and labored breathing. Once the pattern has returned to normal and he feels confident that you can drink safely, Eddie gets to his feet to leave the room. He stops in his tracks when you tug at his hand in protest. You’re visibly troubled by being unattended.

“Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Eddie pets your hair and you reluctantly release his hand from your own.

Upon his return, he’s gathered a glass of water, a wet cloth, and your first aid kit. Your arms are far too feeble to support the weight of the glass, so Eddie tips it attentively as you drink. “Thank you,” You say breathily between sips.

Eddie wipes dribbled water from your chin with a subtle hum. After placing the cup aside, he kneels at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you for permission and you nod weakly, wincing when he uses the warm cloth to rid your leg of the dried blood. The site is visibly inflamed so he’s being as gentle as he can. Once the wound is clean, Eddie applies antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Lastly, he presses a barely-there kiss to the site in order to help make it feel better.

He spares you much back and forth, so as to not overwhelm you. “Arms up.”

Ever so compliant, you raise your arms. Eddie pulls your shirt off and tosses it in the hamper. Prior to this evening, being half-naked in front of him would’ve been awkward. Although, having been pantsless up until now, you could give a shit. Being caught doing what you were was more undignified than wearing one less article of clothing would be.

“That’s goin’ too,” he motions to your bra, turning away from you to dig through your dresser.

While you’re tugging off the garment, Eddie runs his palm over the folded pajamas to see which ones are the softest and will in turn be the most pacifying. He pulls out a band tee that he hadn’t realized you’d swiped from him and the corner of his mouth quirks up but he can’t form a full grin.

You take the shirt from his extended reach and pull it over your head. “Okay.” You utter raspily as the cue that you’re decent and he can turn around.

Eddie hands you a tissue because he can hear that you’re only breathing through your mouth. You blow your nose harshly, far too spent to care about how gross it sounds. After clearing your airway with a few tissues, Eddie discards them and then uses the clean side of the wet cloth to wipe the remaining mess from under your nose. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

With a sheepish nod, you scoot backward on the bed and lay down gradually, your muscles like stiffening cement. Eddie tucks you under the covers and as soon as your head makes contact with the pillow, your eyes fall closed and don’t reopen.

Minutes after you succumb to exhaustion, Eddie cries quietly to himself. For hours, he lays here watching you sleep and strokes your tear-stained cheek with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain open, unwilling to rest because he’s fearful that something bad will happen if he dozes off. Eddie needs to guard you, even if that means he has to protect you from yourself. Losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

Despite trying, he can’t get the image out of his head. The scattered scars that surrounded your fresh wound are burned into his memory. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Whatever is going on with you is unmistakably severe enough that you’re hiding it from him and have been for a while.

How is he going to tell Dustin? Maybe he'll leave it at the fact that you’re having a difficult time and omit the part about you hurting yourself. It would positively crush him if he found out. Besides, Eddie doesn’t want to jeopardize everything by violating your trust.

You made Eddie promise not to tell a soul what happened that day, including Dustin. He agreed on the terms that you’d inform him when you need help from thereon out. You wish you could keep your word but that’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to vocalize the wretched things your brain tells you? It’s a language only you can comprehend, it’s meant to torment you specifically.

You’re not stupid, you know how much that evening shook him up. To put Eddie’s heart at ease you’ve gotten better at feigning that everything is peachy keen. Not dissimilarly, Eddie is playing pretend too. He acts as though he doesn’t see you differently knowing what he does now. Obviously, you don’t want to discuss it so he continues to act like it never happened.

Eddie thinks about it every day and he’s had an abundance of nightmares that replay like an echo. He can’t move past it because not only is he concerned that you’re still hurting yourself, but you’re also refusing to let him in. You’re effectively shutting out the person you’ve told everything. Certainly, if he tried to talk to you about it, you’d remove yourself from his life entirely.

To his credit, he’s right on the money. Not only that, but your state of well-being has worsened. The daydreaming is more vivid and you ponder what the least painful way to go would be. Existing already hurts so much, you want to feel at peace when you rest.

It has surpassed psychological pain nowadays. The entirety of your body is overrun with fatigue. You just want to be free from it all. It’s like a home invasion where anxiety and depression ransack your mind in search of valuables. Anxiety leaves no stone unturned while depression covers your mouth and presses a gun to your temple.

Dustin and Eddie are still your best friends, but you’ve met someone new. Their name is Ativan and god, they’re a treat. Although prescribed as needed for your panic attacks, they offer you access to a realm of serenity that you can’t reach without them.

At the end of every grueling day, the first thing you do when you get home is swig down a tablet. By the time you’ve changed out of your work clothes and crawled into bed, you’re seeping into the dimension that connects this world to another. It feels dense but it isn’t warm or cold and it doesn’t hug nor choke you. It simply carries you away from worthlessness and inadequacy.

At the thirty-minute mark, your brain has melted to slush. Your surroundings smudge together, erasing any previously discernable objects. It’s best to be in bed because with how uncoordinated and sluggish it makes you, you become one with whatever surface you end up on.

The day Eddie caught you, you learned that he truly thinks the world of you. But when it comes down to it, you need to be more secretive in order to shield not only him but Dustin too. You hate that Eddie checks in on you from time to time. You don’t hate that he cares enough to ask, it’s that it pains you to lie every time he does.

Ideally, if you withdraw from your friends subtly enough, no one will feel majorly impacted when you decide to call it quits. People say that suicide is selfish but that’s not entirely true. If anything it’s inherently selfless because you believe that you’re freeing your loved ones of the burden that you perceive yourself as.

Today is another one of those days where you can’t be bothered to get out of bed. You missed your shift at work in its entirety by having slept for 14 hours straight. It doesn’t matter. You’d much rather lie here to rot, so you did. Asleep or awake, all you can think about is that feeling of pure ease. A state beyond numbness and unconsciousness. Rather, it’s nothingness. That’s where you want to be.

You’re hanging on by a thread worn too thin. The apathy bites at your toes and gnaws its way up your body. Tears well in your eyes and drip onto your pillowcase. You feel nauseated and woozy. Living day after day has slashed you to the point of being able to see through yourself. Your headstone is half engraved, only missing today’s date.

While choking on the reasons why you should give up, there’s no flavor of justification for continuing to live. You subconsciously rip open tallied scabs on your wrist from last night’s bloodletting. The bedsheets run red, blood smearing across your skin. You can’t feel it, it’s not enough. The ringing demand is painfully loud. You have to make it stop.

The brittleness of your lungs causes you to claw for a rickety breath. Spit drips down your chin as your burnt-out throat fails to produce a scream. You clutch the sheets with bloodied fingers. Gotta make it stop. After rolling off of the mattress, your palms hit the floor before you can get to your feet.

You use the wall to brace yourself as you stagger to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is torn open and rattling fills the small room as bottles fall into the basin below. The thunder in your brain overrides your senses, impairing your ability to see and hear. Your hips press against the sink to keep yourself vertical while you search the cabinet.

With the desired bottles in hand, you pop the caps and they bounce when they hit the floor. You dump the contents into your palm, balling your fist to ensure that you don’t drop any. You don’t care how many are left, it just needs to be enough. With a few gulps of booze from the bottle tucked beside the bathtub, you throw back the handful of tablets and swallow thickly. The sensation of the bitter liquid searing your throat is tranquilizing in itself, ensuring that solace is soon to come.

Due to your stomach being empty, the shift hits like a whirlwind. You sit on the cold floor with your back against the side of the tub. The tears stop, your heart rate slows, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over you. Finally, the urge is satiated. As the full-body trembling ceases and the earth stops turning, your eyelids seal as you melt in the stillness.

Your phone rings twice only moments after you’ve taken the pills. Ten minutes later your front door opens and slams shut.

Dustin toes off his sneakers, eyeing Eddie while he does the same. “If she’s working late shouldn’t we just wait for her to get home? I don’t think she'll appreciate us being here unsupervised.”

Eddie shakes the spare house key he snagged from its hiding place. “She won’t even know we were here. We’re just gonna dig around real quick. My lighter has got to be here ‘cause I’ve looked everywhere.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band and shucks off his denim jacket.

“There’s no way you looked everywhere.” Dustin remarks, earning an annoyed look from Eddie.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why we’re here, genius.” Eddie commences the hunt by lifting couch cushions and tossing around the decorative pillows.

Dustin fake scours for a beat before heading toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” Eddie dramatically shakes out a throw blanket as if it’ll make his Zippo appear like a magic trick.

“Bathroom.”

“Seriously? I told you not to drink a whole can of pop.”

“Well, I did.” Dustin crosses his arms defensively. “And if I hold it any longer I'll spontaneously combust. Do you wanna have to clean that up?”

“Gross, no thanks.” Eddie tosses the blanket back on the couch, neglecting to refold it. “Just hurry up and don’t touch anything.”

“Why would I?” Dustin squints.

Eddie mirrors the teen’s prickly body language. “Uh, ‘cause you’re nosey as hell.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Am not,” Dustin calls out as he pivots down the hall. He stops in the doorway to the bathroom, met with the sight of you slumped on your side. “Eddie…”

“What? Found it?” Eddie cocks his head at Dustin’s statue-like stance. He approaches and peeks into the bathroom, then abruptly brushes past Dustin to get to you. Eddie’s knees bruise from the sheer force at which they smack the porcelain tile. He guides you to sit upright but your unsupported head rolls forward. “Nononono shit shit shit!”

When he scoops you up into his arms, he feels the subtle warmth of your skin against his own. Still alive. Thrust into panic mode, Eddie repeatedly taps your cheek to elicit a reaction but to no avail. Tears pour from his eyes as he secures your head to his heaving chest. “Go call for help!”

Dustin doesn’t flinch, his mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. Utterly frozen in carbonite as he witnesses his best friend dying on the bathroom floor.

“NOW!” Eddie booms pressingly.

Dustin dashes away to dial 911. In the meantime, Eddie cradles you and sobs. “We’re here, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

After all this time, the way you’ve been feeling has finally broken the surface. Your emotions are now presented in their rawest form, revealing how broken you’ve been feeling.

“Hurry, Dustin!” Eddie beseeches through a wet cough. The tears cascade from his cheeks onto your limp body, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “Just hold on for me, okay?” His voice cracks, “Please don’t go.” The knot in his stomach is taut while he focuses on the jagged passing of air through your nostrils.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles his blotchy cheek in its wake. “Please, god. Please please please… don’t take her from us.” Eddie is doing his damndest to keep you from slipping away by stimulating you with his voice and touch. A faint rattle spills from your throat, your brain is convinced that you’re floating but you’re sinking fast. “Dustin!”

On cue, he reappears in the doorway with puffy bloodshot eyes and a wet sheen trailing from his nose, pooling in his Cupid’s bow. “They’re on the way.”

“We gotta keep her warm,” Eddie sniffles with glossily desperate eyes. Dustin gets on his knees and complies. The two of them cocoon you in their body heat until the paramedics arrive.

The boys are forced out of the bathroom and they stand in the living room to stay out of the way. Dustin is enveloped in Eddie’s trembling arms. He buries his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck to dampen the sound of his unbridled blubbering.

Eddie shields him from looking as you’re wheeled out of the bathroom on the gurney. He has to be strong for Dustin because you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

Dustin grabs fistfuls of Eddie's shirt and tugs so hard that the seams snap. “She’s gonna be okay, right?” He rasps with a saturated cry.

“Yeah-” Eddie refuses to think for even a second that it’ll just be the two of them from now on. You’re a part of the unit, it’s meant to stay that way. He tightens his embrace, holding Dustin impossibly closer. ”She’s stronger than both of us combined. She’s gonna pull through this, I know it.”

Author's Note Cont.: Eddie and Dustin are so proud of you for trying your best every day, even when it doesn’t feel like you have much to show for it.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

tags: @protecteddiemunson4vr @nj01

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bonni · 3 months

Text

Closing thoughts on The Traitor Baru Cormorant

I love when a book is good enough to make me passionate about reading again.

First, the ending. When I was at around chapter 20 I made a post that was like "oh I think Baru will probably betray the rebellion but I'm not sure" but honestly if I was a more careful reader I would have already been sure at that point, and within another 2 or 3 chapters I understood that there was no alternative, nothing else that the narrative could be implying with the constant references to some great guarded secret and Baru's nervous fixation on red hair. The foreshadowing is certainly not subtle, but it doesn’t need to be. I don't think that Seth Dickinson set out with the intention of surprising the reader with Baru's betrayal, instead it's supposed to be something that we're constantly aware of, that we know is coming, but that only becomes obvious in the briefest moments, because the narration reflects Baru's own mental state. It's not that her betrayal is a shock, the signs are everywhere, but she only openly acknowledges them in moments of internal strife, and never states her intentions outright, because in order to deceive others, she must also deceive herself. It's a really clever narrative tactic and it's rewarding to careful readers.

The epilogue, on the other hand, was a bit surprising to me (in a good way). I guess it shouldn't have been, but I kind of figured Tain Hu and Xate Olake would stay missing and come back at a climactic moment in a later book to punish Baru for the mercy she showed them and stir turmoil in her heart. Instead, it seems her turmoil will be entirely self-inflicted. I really like the choice to give Baru hemianopsia, it's a condition that we don't see a lot in fiction and the way it's used to represent the divide in her heart is really interesting.

Onto more general praise, this book is incredibly gripping. Combat scenes in books are often boring, but the imagery in these ones are so rich. Tain Hu's duel against Cattlson, the bombing of the tax ships, the final battle at the Inirein, all fantastic.

Tain Hu's death is cathartic. It works really well. It's devastating, of course, but that's what makes character death meaningful. Muire Lo's death was also necessary for Baru's character, but in a way that made me a lot more depressed. Tain Hu got closure, but Muire Lo didn't, which makes his death infinitely sadder. I'm not criticizing the writing choice, it just kind of bums me out. I liked him a lot as a character.

Xate Yawa was evidently too interesting as a foil to Baru to get rid of. I'm excited to see more of her, she's such an interesting character in that she's utterly despicable which says a lot about our protagonist considering how blatantly similar they are.

Baru's closing letter emphasizes Xate Olake's death, but... this guy has faked his death what, 3 times now? It would be cool to see him return at some point, but perhaps that's just wishful thinking. He had become one of my favorite characters by the end of the book.

#chatter #baru cormorant

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starflungwaddledee · 5 months

Note

Hey got a question, is it normal for your heartbeat to beat rapidly wherever you look at really tense or angsty scenes?

It's Just a question I had in mind

putting these together because they're clearly related. i admit these have me a little bit stumped, but i'll take this in good faith and do my best! under the cut because of length.

topics include: physiological reactions to fiction, emotional reactions/empathy of creators, and finally addressing the unspoken question present in asks like this.

"is it normal to have a physiological reaction (heart beat, jitters, excitement, sadness, etc) to fiction"

absolutely! i cannot overstate how common it is to have reactions of any wide variety to fiction. the whole point of storytelling is to make you feel things! the reactions you have, their intensity, and the specific media or genre you'll have those reactions to will vary person to person. in regards to angst in particular, like i've said on this topic before: reactions will vary. some people might get excited, others might get sad, others might feel it like a gut punch but in a really good and cathartic way. none of these are better or worse or more normal or more abnormal than the other.

"do i as a creator have an emotional reaction to the work i'm creating?"

i personally do, sure. i was actually quite explicit in the tags of the comic that came right before this ask that i found it hard to draw, because seeing kirby so sad was emotionally pulverising to me. do all creators? no. do i feel a strong emotional reaction to all scenes? no. or all types of content creation? no. for me, prose is actually much easier to tackle than illustration; i can write trauma and suffering and psychological devastation until the cows come home, but drawing it is a different matter. consuming the work of others is different again. and this is different for everybody. am i somehow morally better or more empathetic than an artist that doesn't struggle to draw characters sad? hell no! being able to represent- in fiction- a strong emotion generally requires that you empathise with or at least understand that emotion. sometimes creators actually have to be able to turn this off to be able to create the content we make; the way we turn off strict adherence to reality in order to write fantasy. if we couldn't do this, content across the board- art, movies, novels- would be flattened to nothing but the cheeriest and most mediocre parts of our day to day lives. no fun monsters (because those aren't real). no challenges to rise above (because those make us sad). no characters who have different experiences to us (because how could we imagine or feel for that). and it would be okay for like... twenty minutes of all books containing 'the sun was shining and i woke up on time and had a yummy breakfast', but then it would suck, sorry. conflict and imagination are the root of content.

"it's just a question I had in mind".

a way to think about this might be; would you ask these questions about genres that aren't angst? would you ask "is it normal to be happy when these characters finally reunite" or "is it normal to feel resolution in response to a happy ending" or "is it normal to feel excitement when a character has their cool hero moment". perhaps it's because your reaction to angst is something you construe as negative, but if you wouldn't doubt your reactions to cheerful content, then there's no reason to doubt the reactions you have to angst either; these are just reactions! fiction is designed to make us feel things, but what you feel will be up to you. no one feeling or response is better or worse than any others.

lastly, i feel like there is an unspoken question here that i don't like.

and maybe you didn't intend it. i'm going to extend that grace to you, and because you seem to need reassurance about this (though i will not be reassuring about this further. i do not like reassurance seeking from strangers and this is a boundary i am setting right now), this is not an attack or even a criticism. your questions are fine if they are coming from a place of curiosity and- i simply assume- that these are new or difficult concepts to you that you have yet to have explored or explained.

but on the good faith assumption you didn't intend it, and wouldn't want to do this again (especially if you message other creators), i think you should be aware.

because it sounds like this: "do the people who make sad/angsty/dark content care at all or are you heartless to the suffering (of these characters). is angst/dark content made by bad people?" i felt it the previous time i got a question like this too when it explicitly stated "you seem like a nice person", as if being a nice person was in contrast with what i was creating.

please. we are just people. the relative light or darkness of the content you make says absolutely nothing about your morals, your real life attitudes, or your ability to be an empath.

someone making cute animal art could be a school yard bully. someone writing a complex sci-fi warhorror fic could be the most altruistic and compassionate soul in the world.

in my experience, creators are some of the most empathetic people i have ever met, and many of them know their craft intimately. these are people capable of stepping into the shoes of others as easily as breathing. of sitting down at their work station every day and finding inside themselves a way to answer "how would this really feel?" so clearly and honestly that they can put it onto the paper for you to feel it too.

#being able to storytell in such a way that the reader feels something is a skill!! it is a Skill and not an accident or a moral failing.#if what someone's work makes you feel is not something you like; don't consume that work!#again... if angst is not for you you can block it from my work with this tag: cw angst #if it really hurts you my work may not be for you! this is a niche i am interested in and am *very grateful* to find others here are as wel #have seen this surprise expressed by other kirby angst/dark creators. it's a seemingly unlikely place but also the most likely place.#lastly: unempathetic creators also exist and are no better or worse than empathetic creators.#because lacking empathy is not a flaw and it also forms absolutely NOTHING about your morals. okay anyway.#once more: i will not be offering anymore reassurance to reassurance seeking. it makes me deeply uncomfortable. thanks.#also not to toot my own horn but that was a banger ending line. if you read to the end that's your reward.#replies

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danwhobrowses · 4 months

Text

One Piece Chapter 1102 - Initial Thoughts

And we have returned

For more Emotional Devastation!

Bonney's cathartic freedom is still undermined by the reality of hindsight, and before we end the year Oda intends to make sure we leave in sadness and mourning.

One more time, for Kuma

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release

A Bonney-themed cover this time, eating hot dogs with some wolves

True to her word Bonney has set to sea to find her father, unleashing the Bonney Pirates onto any leads she can find

Typically, the government string up lies to vilify Bonney by saying she attacked villages of elderly and children

Kuma was indeed there, but to protect her and honor his arrangement he has to leave, surprised she became a pirate

Bonney's annoyed, but she is patient too, she also intends to find Nika as well, something to show off to him when they find him

This happens in parallel to Luffy getting his bounty, right after Arlong Park

Dragon decides to 'conveniently' head to Loguetown

Rare Smoker cameo, I miss that dude

Ace getting to show off in front of Jinbe, his brother did just beat his former subordinate after all

Kuma also seems to admire the irony of Luffy being a pirate given his parentage

Meanwhile, Bonney proves herself to still be a good person; only plunder from bad guys and only help people if they need it

The others also help her look older, giving her lipstick and the piercing so that Kuma would recognize her

Bonney also feels that if she becomes a big enough deal, she'll get her father's attention

Back with Kuma though the Pacifista are ready

It would be surreal to see a clone army of yourself in pods

This is around Enies Lobby time, as they mention that some 'rookies' declared war on the WG

Even Vegapunk didn't know about Dragon having a son, but since Vegapunk is gonna be going through Kuma's memories there's no point hiding it

Kuma has made the similarities between Luffy and Nika known too

Thriller Bark recap this time from Kuma's perspective

That Ursus Shock was still madness, I guess now we know how they all survived it though

And look at all this Nothing Happened about to happen

Even Kuma thinks this amount of pain could take him out, showing just how incredible a feat this was

Then we shift to Sabaody, Kuma's got his summons for the upcoming Paramount War

But Kuma is not at Sabaody for Luffy, he's come to get one last look at Bonney

A guy that size cannot sneak in a public place XD

But he's halted by another incident: the punching of a Celestial Dragon

'Who would dare do that?' I think you know bud

It's always good to see Charloss KO'd

And seeing that Luffy did it to protect a Fishman too compels him to make his move

The division is now shown through Kuma's monologue

A tragic monologue as Kuma apologizes to the Revolutionaries for leaving, how he wishes to put his faith into Bonney and Luffy as a legacy, and how he internally apologizes to Luffy, noting that they are not ready yet

'Don't go there yet, after all, you will someday save the world' - I might need a minute for this

And now the Gorosei are back to their fuckery

Kuma has a self-destruct mechanism!?

Vegapunk is again strongly against such a plan, but Saturn continues to gaslight and try to justify their immeasurable cruelty

Means that Kuma has a ticking bomb in him, could that have any key information to where he's going in present?

Vegapunk wants to try and sneak in a way to maintain some of Kuma's personality in exchange, but Saturn shuts him down quickly

'Any attempts to deceive me will fail' - yeah about that one?

The time has come to erase Bartholomew Kuma though, and despite Vegapunk's objections, Kuma feels at ease for how much he fought for him

We bring in the command for Kuma to protect the Sunny

'I'd like to be a stubborn guardian for their home' man...

With Luffy's poster in hand, Kuma notes how moved and motivated he's become by Luffy, how much like the legend of Nika he's become

He believes he'll be king as well

Kuma removes his memories too, not a full on procedure it's like a copy, but one which'll dissipate on touch

Vegapunk however has devised a way to view it without touching though to study it

Kuma gets to watch his life unfold, wondering how many were harmed or troubled by his actions

Panel by panel Kuma sees his life, his parents, Ivankov, Ginny, Dragon, the fishermen, Bonney, Vegapunk, each time running through that field a little older

Tears stream down Vegapunk's eyes at the precipice of the lever

'Your life hasn't caused anyone harm or trouble, but your death will pain everyone who loves you' - fucking god Oda

And before he goes, as all of Egghead mourn the loss of a true saint, he leaves one last message for Bonney, heard in present when she takes the bubble

'Please wish her a happy 10th birthday'

Bartholomew Kuma did not deserve any of this.

BARTHOLOMEW KUMA DID NOT DESERVE A FUCKING DAMN THING OF THIS!

Typical for Oda to end the year on a wave of emotions. But it was a spectacularly heart-wrenching chapter, Kuma once again seen through a new lens which elevates him to a top tier character.

There's not much else to say, nothing else really to intuit except whether present-Kuma knows the bomb is in him, and maybe if Vegapunk managed to keep a small piece of his ego within him to act this way. I think we all just need to have a small cry or something.

We'll have a break now so we'll only see a chapter in January, but we can live with that, we do need to recover.

Bartholomew Kuma did not deserve any of this, but he loved, he sacrificed, and his legacy will live on.

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ten-cent-sleuth · 6 months

Text

A Galling Yoke, Part 11

<- Prev | Next ->

for the Cathartic Shower or Sudden Realisation, Drowning or Drowning Your Sorrows, and Fingore or Electrocution squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Mature (for potential triggers, not for sexual content)

BEWARE THE CONTENT WARNINGS POSTED ABOVE. If you are not comfortable with them, you can read the first part of the chapter, stop at the line break, and skip to the author’s notes for more information.

Nobody bothered you for the coming days. Acquaintances steered clear of Voss House, though the Little Season was by now in full swing, and your staff steered clear of you, though you tried your best not to be too dull or ill tempered with them. Mrs Rogers still kept you company, but you could not entertain much conversation despite your yearning to confide in her all your devastation about William and all your doubts about what you’d gone through with Sherlock. The closest you had managed was a few minutes’ exchange—

“Sherlock knows about Edmund. He knows about me.”

“Oh… I am sorry, ma’am; I know you do not like to be reminded of it.”

“It was terrible, Mrs Rogers. It is terrible.”

“Did he react badly? He never did strike me as the sort to judge a lady for a cad’s behaviour.”

“No, I believe not that he… That is, I know not. I gave him not a chance to properly react, whether it would have been badly or not. But no, his core reaction seemed to be one of concern—and one of apology.”

“Then…he made you not feel pitied, or shameful?”

“Not the guilty sort of shame, merely…merely humiliated, the way one would feel if one made a fool of oneself in public and was laughed at. If… If that makes any sense…”

“It does, my dear. I understand.”

“Perhaps a little pitied, as well. Though I suppose I ought not to be surprised by that. If a battered wife is not blamed, she is to be pitied, is she not?”

“I do not pity you, and you know I do not blame you.”

“…It is only, he had such a sad look about him when he found out. His eyes…”

“There is nothing wrong with being sad about such a situation, is there, ma’am? I am sad some days, when I recall how the master treated you solely to feel better about himself. I am sad whenever I recall how he made you feel—whenever I see how he still makes you feel. Are you not?”

“Indeed, I suppose there are times… Sad, and angry also. I wish I never had to recall.”

“Of course, my lady. But there is nothing wrong with remembering and thinking about it either. Ignorance is a much graver failing than knowledge.”

You had thought of Sherlock then, of how much he prized knowledge, of how much he was discomfited by lack of it, of how much he had wanted knowledge of you.

“Was Mr Holmes’s failing making you feel exposed and embarrassed, or making you think about what you have not spoken of in a very long time?” she had asked, and the answer you felt in your breast had been too tumultuous and nebulous to verbalise.

Mrs Rogers had given you much to think about, but you tried to not have time to think. You busied yourself with catching up on the household affairs you had neglected for the investigation, and then getting as far ahead as you could with them; who knew if Lord Coltidge would have the time to ensure Voss House was running smoothly when things inevitably got hectic once you turned yourself into Scotland Yard?

Then that got you thinking: once you were convicted, your widow’s portion would revert to its original owners, wouldn’t it? Which meant your father would get the house back—it had been bestowed to Edmund as part of your dowry and only became yours upon his demise—and you could not leave your servants vulnerable to him, so you prepared protections for their jobs and arranged for alternate incomes if they had to leave.

You sent the Sulyards an invitation to come by Voss House at any time and at long last clear out Edmund’s effects. You finished up needlework projects lying around and said your goodbyes to your book collection. You went through your chambers and chose what could be given away. You did everything you could to ensure you would slip away from this world, this life, with as few ripples as possible. No unfinished business, no loose ends—

Blinking, you set down the ledger you’d been reviewing and stared out the study window. As you drifted over to the glass pane, the thoughts whirled faster and faster around your head until the tornado sucked the breath out of you: Sherlock had said professional killers didn’t leave loose ends—yet Miss Algar, a trackable witness who had seen the entire murder, remained breathing and even comfortable—so William must have gotten involved—how?—not sure, but somehow he kept the hitman from getting to Miss Algar—so William must have hired Mrs Kinley too—makes sense, who else but Viscount of Pashbroke would expend such liabilities—but it would be equally in character for Viscount of Pashbroke to hand over the reins of everything to the Earl of Coltidge once he broke about the murder—when it rains, it pours—but if your father hadn’t gotten rid of her, he approved of her, which meant she was the talebearing sort of employee—goodness, remember when Mrs Tattershall promised not to tell Father about the frog incident but then she did?—goodness, remember how he knew about your visit to Miss Algar before anyone in London had?—but if Mrs Kinley had always been indiscreet, might she be in contact with the hitman?—no loose ends—yes, ’tis possible she was not even aware, ’tis possible the hitman had snuck into her circle of acquaintances—she had called her charge’s attack an “accident”!—oh yes, ’tis entirely possible she blissfully did not realise the danger she was in, the danger of being a loose end.

By the time you pressed a steadying palm to the window, you were resolved to make sure Mrs Kinley and Miss Algar were safe. Even if it were a long shot, verification that they were prepared should your arrest upset whatever precarious balance with which the hitman had gotten comfortable was not a task you could leave for someone after the fact.

In the hackney to Cable Street, you couldn’t help but think that Sherlock would have come to this conclusion sooner, if only you had kept him apprised of all that you had learnt. If you had told him about Lord Coltidge’s uncommonly familiar knowledge of London on dit… If you had told him William was responsible for Edmund’s death but you felt responsible regardless…

You shook your head. Stop. You could not forget the very valid reason you had not told him: these were your burdens to bear, and he would be better off not learning of them, just as he would have been better off not learning how much pain you carried in you.

Mrs Rogers’s recent words popped into your imagination, and you stewed in them for the rest of the carriage ride.

As you alighted from it in front of Miss Algar’s building, wincing at the aching stiffness in your right leg, you regretted not having spent your time planning what to say instead, but that did not turn out to be so great a problem.

The conversation with Mrs Kinley did not last very long.

The landlord had once again happily led you to the correct flat, but this time, the nurse did not even let you past the threshold. Dogged, you had pleaded your case to her on her doorstep, you whispering furtively your concerns and she exclaiming unreservedly her indignation.

“I have no doubt that you know of whom I speak,” you had thrown out as a last-ditch effort.

“Oh, the impudence! Always a-comin’ hereabouts and a-tellin’ me what to do, just because you’re a great lady and I’m a lowly worker! A noble or not, I think I’d well know if a man I knew had bloody hands!”

“If you would merely tell me if my description sounds like anybody you—”

“Out with you! Out, out, else I scream for the peelers!”

You flinched as the door slammed in your face.

Massaging your vindictive knee—it still had not quite forgiven you for forcing it to run from 221b Baker Street; a part of you couldn’t help but agree—you thought once again of Sherlock. Ignorance is the curse of God indeed. He would have had no patience for Mrs Kinley’s pride getting in the way of the case. Gracious, was this even within the purview of an investigation anymore?

With a sigh, you walked haltingly to the side of the building, leaned against it, and looked up at the sky. What to do? What to do, what to do? You had not planned—or particularly wished, though you did paradoxically long—to see Sherlock, at least not outside of Whitehall Place, but perhaps his assistance would be necessary to protect Miss Algar…

Deliberating over your options, you let quite some time pass. You had not come to a conclusion when movement in your periphery caught your attention. You started to turn, but something else in the air caught your eye: Was it flurrying? Could these really be the first snowflakes?

Before you could confirm, something struck you in the side of the head and—

—cold. Hmm. What? Your thoughts were sluggish—treacle dripping through your fingers. What had you just been thinking? What had been the first half of…?

A shiver wracked through you. Oh, right. It was too cold. You hated the cold. Why was it so cold?

You shivered again, and this time you noticed something strange: your arms were held down. Held…or tied? And your legs. Your legs too. Tied down.

Now that you were really waking up, you could also tell something was on your face—rough, musty, but light and not completely opaque. That wasn’t so bad, though you endeavoured to keep your breaths shallow so you didn’t inhale too much of the material or whatever dirt it might carry. The real discomfort was under you, a stiff board that was brutal on your shoulders, not to mention the cramps sure to come with your right leg being unable to stretch or relax properly. All in all, you had no clue how you had ended up in this situation.

Clue. Heavens, if Sherlock were here, he’d have probably deduced which sector of London you found yourself in and how much time had passed.

But Sherlock wasn’t here—and he wasn’t coming.

You shuddered, this time not only from the cold.

“Oh, apologies, m’lady—oughtay get a fire goin’?”

You squirmed at the unfamiliar voice. Had the speaker been there this whole time, watching you? If he had just arrived, how had you not heard a door creak?

“Who are you?” Foolish; he would never answer that. “Why did you take me? What are you going to do?”

Now that you were listening to yourself, you realised your voice had a peculiar echo. You must be in a large chamber of some sort—at least as wide and as tall as a ballroom, but where in London could he have taken you that was like that yet secluded enough for nefarious activities?

“Y’sure y’wish fo’ me to answer tha’?” mused your abductor.

You gulped. If he were the hitman—and, really, who else would he be?—you were now a loose end.

“It won’t be so bad, m’lady, if y’just tells me wha’ oi wanna know.” His pause was as menacing as his words. “Why’s ’olmes lookin’ into the ole nemmo on Cable? He know ’bout me?”

“Does he know what about you?” you huffed wryly. “I do not know who you are, you—”

The frigidity hit you first—it was acute, stinging, and miserable. It pierced your skin, freezing you right to the bone all across your body. You didn’t realise it was really only touching your face until it stopped.

“Now that weren’t a very prudent answer, m’lady. You gots a be’ah one?”

“What do you mean? What do you mean?” This time, you were entirely sincere in your confusion: you were so breathless and so cold you couldn’t quite remember what he’d asked you, much less figure out how to answer. And you didn’t know what he had done to you—your senses were too restricted and disoriented for that—but you knew you didn’t want him to do it again, ever.

But then he heaved a sigh, and your heart seizing with realisation, you tensed for—

A thick, heavy paw clamped over your mouth and nose, the now smothering cloth across your face tight against your nostrils. And it was damp, now. It was then that you realised what exactly was happening: he was pouring water on you, right onto you, and you couldn’t breathe.

For minutes—or perhaps seconds, instants, but for a long time, you clawed at your restraints and jerked around on the board, all in vain, all the while flailing to tell whether you were inhaling or exhaling. Filthy water cascading down your nose, muddy panic flooding up your airway, you begged, you sobbed, for it to stop.

Could he hear? Could he understand?

“Anything, I shall tell you anything,” you screamed—your drowning mind screamed—your drowned mouth tried to scream.

Would you drown? Would you die here?

And then it stopped. The water stopped. The pleading and the pain did not.

You heaved as much as you could while still strapped to the board, your lungs shrieking for air.

Air, air, air—

Please, please, please—

“Bleedin’ toffah,” scoffed your tormentor. “Y’need a minute t’stop bla’erin’ nonsense, does you? Blasted no-abilities can’t ’andle nuffin’, not even a bi’ ov fisherman’s dau’er wivout all the box ov toys…”

Quivering with panic and hiccuped tears, you listened to him walk away and sluggishly understood that you indeed hadn’t spoken aloud. A quiet, drenched part of you was grateful—and ashamed that you had tried to—but largely you were horrified that this meant he would return and that meant the water would return and—

The suffocating material, with your shaking, falls, falls to the floor but more importantly falls off. You gasp with relief, even if you still can’t see or breathe clearly from the force of your sobs. Through blurry vision, however, you actually managed to see where you were: a warehouse, dusty and empty, nothing of note, nothing of use… But it’s so bare that your darting eyes notice holes in the wall with wires sticking out—wires not entirely covered in rubber. Naked wires.

And you started to properly calm down as a plan took shape…

“Awite, m’lady, I ’ope you— Wo’ the—!”

Your gaze shot to the man approaching you, walking out of the shadows, and your brow jumped up. That nose, that jawline, that forehead—those were memorable features that you had seen before, that you had seen on Miss Algar’s nurse. You had a rapid stream of thoughts then—of course, of course, William would have accepted a recommendation from his murderous employee about whom to hire for their witness!—but it was dammed by the stony look on your present company as he stormed over to you. Close up, he was a veritable boulder, large and robust, strong- and angry-looking.

“You seen me face!”

You blinked up at him. It had escaped you that anyone knowing his identity would be a big deal to him, but yes, you had seen his face, and you weren’t likely to forget it.

“Dratted Barney Rubble,” he snarled as his calloused hand grabbed at the board you were lying on.

You went rigid in anticipation as he dragged the board—and, you realised now, it was more of a worktable with wheels—in the direction whence he’d come. But when you saw where he was taking you, a rusting basin double the volume of a clawfoot slipper tub, your rising fear went the way of your previous panic. The plan was solidifying.

Chest tightening, you steeled yourself to do just one last little thing…

“Y’re gonna give me the answers oi want,” he muttered, “’cause y’re a ’ole lotta wo’k, m’lady. Take my lump of ice and make this wurf my while, eh?”

His sinister chuckle was the last thing you heard before he threw cloth once more over your head and your ears greyed out with a dull pounding. You knew what was coming. And you had just enough time to hold your breath; then the water started pouring.

For as long as you could, you resisted, determined not to feel that tidal wave of wild terror and compromise your honour again. And you made it over the first swell. You even fought down some of the second surge of rolling nausea and desperate fright! But confound it, how did the water keep coming, simply water and water and—

“Gaugh!”

Exhale—

No, no, no—

Inhale—

Water, constant, splashing, filling—

You gagged as it invaded what should have only had air.

Water, crisp, biting, freezing—

And you kept gagging, unable to find equilibrium now that your defence had crumbled.

Water, mucky, churning, nauseating—

You panted for oxygen, but in its stead your mouth sucked in liquid and moistened cloth. Your only recourse was this: The plan. The plan, the plan, the plan. Remember the plan.

And after some eternity, the tide receded, the pounding quieted, and the sinister chuckle repeated.

“Well, yer maiden-crypt?” he questioned. “’Ow much’s ’olmes know ’bout me an’ the ole Draylus—whatsit—Mistuh ’onourable E’mund?”

The plan. The plan. The plan.

You nodded rapidly under the cloth and rasped out, “Yes, I—I shall tell— He— Mr Holmes, he knows that— Oh, oh goodness— But he still cannot be certain whether—”

There was a rattling slam, and you didn’t have to pretend to flinch. “Ge’ i’ togever!” he shouted. “Oi don’t understa’ nuffin’ y’re sayin’!”

Pushing past your dread, you yanked at your restraints and cried, “Forgive me. Please, forgive me—I shall tell you anything, but no more water, please, please, I cannot—”

You allowed a bit of the hysteria you were feeling deep within your ribcage to spill out in gasping breaths and incoherent pleas. It was cathartic, but above all, it worked.

“Damnation,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he threw away the rag on your head and untied the straps around your arms and legs. “Wou’ja calm it now, m’lady? Oi promise you, no mo’ wa’er iv you tell me—”

Sitting up and scanning the room to reorient yourself, you let his aggravated appeasements wash over you, and when you were ready, with a deep breath, you leapt off the table and shoved him into the basin.

It was deep enough that his head actually went underwater, his shoulders banging into the bottom. You didn’t wait for him to regain his senses and scramble back to the surface.

“Please, God, let this work,” you whispered, grabbing the closest wire exposed in the wall. You shoved it into the water, as close to the man thrashing for purchase in the basin as you dared—but nothing happened.

Sherlock’s face flashed in your head, animated as he explained open and closed circuits. Open: no current. You glanced back at the hole in the wall and saw more heads of copper. Need current. Grinding your jaw, you snatched one with your free hand and had your hard-earned breath knocked right out of you.

Electric agony jumped out of the wires and punched straight through you. Your body felt crumpled from top to bottom with the force of it.

But through the contractions violently commanding your muscles, Sherlock’s voice rang out between your ears: “Electricity shall move more easily through the pump water…” Well, this water was dirtier than any pump water, certainly more so than Sherlock’s fancy deionised stuff.

“…but it always takes the most direct path.”

Move, you ordered yourself, struggling to eye the “most direct path” through the sweaty haze of sheer hurt. Move. Move. MOVE.

Just as your captor pushed his head out of the water, you threw your spasming fists open and watched the wires fall on opposite sides of the man. He screamed. He screamed, and you stumbled back, not so much because the volume deafened as because the despair punctured.

Between pushing him into the water and dropping the wires beside him passed mere seconds—seven, maybe eight—but your mind was hurtling at such breakneck speed with all the ways the plan could go wrong that it felt like you were waiting before you could finally leave him behind and run.

You did not run very well.

Your right leg was taut, the knee barely creaking along; your arms were dead weight at your sides, your entire torso felt weak and fuzzy, and the nerves throughout your body were quite literally fried.

But you did very efficiently drag yourself out of that crumbling building, onto the street, and down many sidewalks of the City in search of an area of London you recognised.

Dear Lord, is it snowing? was your first lucid thought. And it was. You hobbled along, pressing a palm to walls and fences to keep yourself upright and awake, and watched the flakes drift to the ground. The thought that now you would die, watered down as you were in freezing temperatures, entered your mind and was met with much less perturbation as the thought that you would die there had been. Perhaps because you would not be as ashamed to lose your life to nature as you would be to lose it to a hired killer. Or perhaps simply because you were in shock.

Yet your brain did not feel muddled, but rather cleared of many troubles, of thoughts as large and as weighted as pennies. Indeed, when the first person to approach you among all those giving you strange looks asked, “Madam, are you in need of assistance?”, you had an answer ready—

“I am. Please, know you the way to Baker Street?”

For with a mind newly cleared, you knew that you—even if it meant feeling exposed and embarrassed, even if it meant speaking of things you didn’t want to think about, even if it meant letting him in—would only ever want to go to one person for help, for safety: Sherlock Holmes.

Thank you for reading. If you stopped at the line break (provided by @firefly-graphics, whose graphics are very cool), you can DM me (or send an ask, but you’ll have to be off anon) and I’ll give you a summary. This is not necessary though; the skipped section has some character development and meaningful parallels, but nothing plot-wise that you can’t figure out in the next chapter. Everyone else, I hope you enjoyed the warehouse scene (which I am Quite dissatisfied with and will be revising the heck out of for AO3). I have no doubt that I screwed up some facts; to a certain extent, I did so knowingly for the plot, but still feel free to point out errors or inaccuracies with the science or the Cockney and I’ll hope to rectify them. Feedback is always welcome!

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock x reader #enola holmes #a galling yoke #the dimensions of fandom

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