#i moved out to stop feeling trapped but this feels so much worse than living with my mum did and im so stressed out all the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chronicowboy · 21 days

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but when i tried to love him i loved at the wrong time

this is a two for one spec inspired by this post and my long lost love trapped dads

any complaints about this fic can and should be directed to @evankinard who bullied me into writing this for her after i ruined her day with a single dm. love you bby <3

Eddie breaks apart a little the moment Buck disappears from view, lets himself feel the wound in his side as an excuse not to feel the big unwieldy thing unfolding in his chest like a colonising panic. He hadn't wanted to leave him, not after half an hour trapped in that smoky room clinging to each other to ground themselves in the reality they were trapped in, but Buck had made several stubborn and convincing arguments about Christopher before announcing he wouldn't move if Eddie didn't. Eddie had tried, had tried to get Buck out first, Buck who had just found happiness with—with Tommy, Buck who has always deserved to live. But Hen and Chim had come in with the clinical wisdom of paramedics and said a rebar through the abdomen was always going to take priority over a fractured leg.

Now, Eddie is rolled out of a collapsing building, leaving behind Buck—a bird with a broken wing, incapable of moving.

God, the noises Buck had made when he'd dragged himself over to Eddie's side. They'll be haunting him for years, for whatever lifetime he has left. Worse somehow than the first time with an entire engine on top of him. Except this time, Eddie couldn't hold his hand. Not now, but not before either because... Because that was someone else's job now. And like a laugh from the universe, Tommy appears just as Eddie reaches down to put the brakes on the gurney before Hen and Chim can get him into the ambulance.

"Kinard?" Bobby greets him with a grim-faced nod. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard you might need an assist from air support." He shrugs, but the breathlessness in the voice and the way his eyes keep jumping around the gathered 118 like he's only counting the one man not there reveals his nonchalance as the act it is. "Thought I'd swing by."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?" Chimney asks.

"Fine, so I stole a helicopter again. Sue me for wanting to offer a hand." Tommy's face draws as soon as he stops speaking, and he glances back at the building waiting to swallow Eddie's heart whole. "How is he?"

"Holding in there," Eddie answers, voice tight enough to have Tommy really seeing him for the first time. "Think his bad leg is fractured."

"Shit," Tommy hisses, clenching his fists at his side.

"Yeah," Eddie breathes out. "Can't get himself out because of it. I wouldn't have left him, but—"

"He insisted," Tommy says, something entirely too knowing in his voice and his eyes. Eddie swallows thickly.

"And, well..." He gestures weakly to the rebar in his side, Buck's undershirt, now soaked through with Eddie's blood, wrapped around it as a makeshift bandage.

"Shit, Diaz." Tommy grimaces. "Shouldn't you be getting to the hospital?"

"He's refusing care until Buck is out too," Hen deadpans, pressing a new pad of gauze to his wound a little too firmly for it not to be intentional. Eddie just grits his teeth.

"Of course he is," Tommy murmurs. Eddie is too much of a coward to face up to whatever expression is on Tommy's face when he says it, so instead he focuses on the Incident Commander approaching Bobby.

"Site's been deemed too unstable," he announces. "No more personnel are to enter until we've found a way to stabilise it."

"My..." Bobby calms himself when his voice comes out in a growl. "My man is in there."

"And sending another man in there would be a suicide mission." The Incident Commander grimaces apologetically. "Sorry, Captain. That's an order."

Bobby turns his gaze back to the building, something so tightly drawn in him that it makes Eddie hurt all the worse. He knows without a shadow of a doubt what Bobby's thinking. He can't lose another son to a burning building.

And here, maybe this would be where Eddie runs back into the building and drags Buck out all on his own, maybe this would be where he finally gets to repay the favour for the gravel burn on his back, maybe this is where he'd get to redeem himself from the helplessness he'd felt just lowering Buck down to the ground. Except. There's a rebar in his side. Even with the adrenaline, even with the love... Eddie doesn't think he'd make it three steps before falling to his knees—a prayer in and of itself.

Instead, Eddie turns to look at Tommy. Tommy who is already looking at him, something determined and understanding and loving trapped behind the wildness of his eyes. A beat passes between them, silence saying more than they ever could.

"Bring him back to—" Me. But. Not to me.

Because that's not Eddie's place anymore. Eddie doesn't get to ask that of Buck's boyfriend. Eddie doesn't get to ask that at all. He's no longer the person that will be shaking Buck's pain pills into his hand and fetching him a bottle of water. He's no longer the person that will be wrapping Buck's cast in a bin bag for a shower and listening to him lament about the indignity of it. He's no longer the person that will be pulling Buck out of bed on his worst days to remind him that he's real and valued and loved. No, that's not his job anymore. But, fuck, Tommy's the only better man for the job.

"Bring him back to us," Eddie tells him then, and it feels like he's finally let go of the baton in the relay race, sure Tommy's got a hold of it now. And Tommy looks as wrongfooted by this as Eddie feels, but he nods anyway and grabs Eddie's discarded helmet from his lap, strapping it on.

"Kinard, no one goes in," Bobby warns him. "That's an order."

"You're not my captain anymore." Tommy only smiles and shrugs before sprinting towards the doors.

Bobby curses, but there's relief in it. Hen and Chim just watch him go with something hopeful on their faces. And Eddie. Eddie's eyes start to droop.

"Hey, hey, Eddie." Chim snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting Eddie back into semi-consciousness.

"Eddie, we need to get you to a hospital," Hen says calmly, reaching for the brakes.

"Move me an inch and I rip this rebar out of my side," he says lowly.

"Jesus, anyone ever tell you you're a drama queen?" Chim huffs.

"Yeah." Eddie chokes on his next breath a little. "The man trapped in that building."

A solemn silence settles over them then. They redirect their attention to the doors Tommy had disappeared into, and Hen lays a grounding hand on his shoulder as they wait.

It's not long before Tommy comes stumbling out of the building, looking every bit the action hero Eddie has never gotten to be for Buck what with his soot-stained face and Buck himself slung over his shoulder, splinted leg bouncing against his sternum. Hen and Bobby spring into action immediately, racing to meet them. Chim just unlocks Eddie's gurney and loads him into the ambulance, raising him up just enough to catch a perfect view of Tommy lowering Buck onto his own stretcher with a kiss to his forehead. The ambulance doors close, Chim knocks twice, the sirens begin to whine, and they lurch into motion.

"Did you draw the drama queen straw?" Eddie asks to distract himself from the tenderness of Tommy's kiss.

"Higher ups are a little more serious about conflicts of interest now Buck is officially my brother-in-law," Chim mumbles as he works on getting Eddie's IV in. "But also I'm better acquainted with rebars than Hen, so..."

Eddie huffs a weak laugh as his eyes drift to the ceiling, the clean white of it stinging his eyes.

"Chim?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone, right?" he chokes out. He doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling, but the sudden silence in the ambulance is as deafening as the siren overhead.

"No," Chim says eventually. "No, it's not."

"But what happens if the person you love..." Here, his voice breaks. An almighty crack right through the middle. It sounds like the building behind them just came crumbling down in his throat. "What happens if someone told them first?" He turns to face Chim's wide eyes. "Should you still tell them?"

"I-I don't know..." Chim opens his mouth a few times, a fish out of water, before he makes a decision. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "But what I do know is." He clears his throat. "If you let a wound like that fester... It'll kill you, Eddie."

"Yeah." Eddie lets his eyes fall shut.

I can feel it already.

#sami rambles #i hope you like it dearest wife #and i hope you don't blame me for a fic you made me write <3 #buddie #evan buckley #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #911 spec #tommy kinard #bucktommy #buck x tommy #911 fic #911 ficlet #911 spec fic #buddie ficlet #bucktommy ficlet #bucktommy fic #buddie fic

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year

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The Decision

Taking care of my dad has been challenging but probably the most rewarding thing I've ever done. In the past year I've had to push myself beyond my limits, beyond my illness, and do everything I could to make sure my dad was comfortable as his body slowly failed him.

I hadn't driven in over a decade, but he needed to get to dialysis so I took the entire driving test like a teenager in order to get my license again. I had to move out of my cozy basement command center and upstairs into the light. I hate the light. Much too bright. Since then we have been spending almost every second of every day together. This causes us to get on each others' nerves on occasion. But most of the time we are happy to have each others' company.

My job is mostly supervision and problem solving. I watch him to make sure he doesn't fall. But if he did fall, I needed a way to get him back up. So I found an electric chair lift. I just scoot his butt on and raise him back up. If he had a medical problem, I would figure out which doctor could help him. If his feet were cold, I would find battery-powered heated slippers to keep his toes toasty. Our house is filled with little solutions I found to make him as comfortable and safe as possible.

If he needs help with anything I am always right there to assist. It's usually little things, but for him, sometimes little things can be impossible things.

I was proud to do this and I believe it brought us closer than we have ever been.

Wednesday morning the surgery team came to visit my dad and look at his foot. They told me they cannot save the foot. My dad would need a below-the-knee amputation. This would require two months of grueling, painful rehab. Then another month or two for him to adjust to a prosthetic leg. Which he may not be able to tolerate with his balance issues.

Then the lung doctor came in. He said my dad's breathing could improve, but probably not to a comfortable degree. He explained with my dad's congestive heart failure getting worse, he is probably looking at another six months to a year of life, but only if everything with the amputation goes well.

I asked the lung doctor if this was all worth it. Four months of painful recovery from amputation just to live another two months? He said a reasonable person could decide it is worth it. That some people want to squeeze every second out of life. But another reasonable person might decide that quality of life is more important than length of life.

My dad has been unhappy with his health struggles for a while now. Dialysis is just awful. He sits in a chair for four hours, three times per week, and comes home absolutely wiped out. He sleeps for two to three hours and then feels miserable the rest of the night. Sometimes he will recover from the dialysis and then it is time to get more dialysis. Sundays were his only real day of rest because he had an extra day of recovery time.

He has breathing difficulties and they are getting worse. He can't take deep breaths so his lungs keep filling with CO2. The CO2 exacerbates his delirium and confusion. He has to wear an uncomfortable BiPAP breathing mask for hours to get rid of the CO2. Once the CO2 is blown off, he switches to high flow oxygen in his nose. The CO2 builds up again... back to the BiPAP. It has become a vicious cycle.

He is constantly trying to right his balance when he walks. He has arthritis pain that never stops. And because his circulation is so bad, his extremities are always either tingling or stinging him with neuropathy pain. Those heated slippers were his only refuge.

His depression is obvious. He curses at every little inconvenience. Every dropped pill due to his hands not working. Every time he bumps into the wall with his walker. Every time he fails to stand up, having to try multiple times. Everything frustrates him.

He hates being tethered to oxygen. He feels trapped in a 50 foot radius. He constantly wishes for nothing more than to go outside and take his riding mower for a spin.

I try to entertain him with new movies and TV shows, but he has trouble concentrating on new things. Sometimes he prefers just to watch his NCIS shows that he has seen many times. That way he won't get frustrated if he falls asleep and misses the ending.

And... he lost his wife.

He has had to exist without her for a year now and he sometimes forgets she is gone. He'll call out to her and she won't respond. He'll think she is still lying next to him in bed only to discover it is the pillow supporting his back. I think when she died a part of himself died as well. He lost a huge reason to keep fighting.

And since he has been back in the hospital, his delirium and confusion have returned. He is more lucid in the mornings after sleeping. But the exhaustion from not getting enough sleep, dialysis, his foot infection and pain, the drugs, the constant in-and-out of people checking on him... it's just too much. His brain cannot function without restful sleep. So he ends up hallucinating and losing the ability to communicate.

There just does not seem to be a path forward where he could have a comfortable quality of life.

In the height of his foot pain he has exclaimed many times "I WANT TO DIE." And while I know part of that was due to his misery and frustration and pain in that moment... I think that exclamation contained his unfiltered wishes.

He was lucid Wednesday morning and we had a good conversation. He did not want to endure months of recovery and rehab. He did not want the pain of losing a leg. He did not want to fight for every breath. He did not want to lose access to clear thoughts on a regular basis. And he did not want to continue on without the love of his life.

There is this selfish part of me that wanted to convince him to keep fighting. He is my best friend. He is the greatest father I could ask for. Taking care of him this past year has given me great purpose. It has been an honor to help take care of him--as he had done for me all of my life.

Lately, he has had trouble getting into bed and covering himself up. So I have been tucking him in every night just like he did for me when I was little. First I have to arrange his pillows just right. One between his legs and one for him to hug. I put on his toasty slippers to keep his feet warm. I pull the covers up, give him a hug, tell him I love him, and say goodnight. Then I ask his Alexa speaker to play Billy Joel for him to fall asleep to. And I love doing that for him. I feel happy that we got through another day.

Whenever I am alone in our house, I miss him. I have never been in an empty house. It just feels wrong. And I'm not sure I am ready to adjust to that reality.

I want to watch another season of Cardinal's baseball with him. He loves The Mandalorian so much and I want to watch the new episodes with him. I downloaded every John Wayne movie, and even though I don't always care for those films, I like seeing him smile as he watches The Duke get into trouble.

I don't want to lose both of my parents in the span of a year.

And, well, I also don't want to lose the house. I don't want to live on my own. I don't want to worry about not having enough money to live. These are just things I can't help worrying about. And I feel guilty for worrying about myself during this time.

I have all of these reasons to want him to continue on. And I bet if I asked him to keep trying, he would do that for me. He would continue suffering and struggling for me. Because there has never been a time in his life that he would not do *anything* for his sons.

That's just who he is.

But I know I have to filter those feelings and reasons out. I know I can't ask my father to endure any more pain and misery because I fear being alone. He has always done what is best for me, and now I need to return the favor.

He has lived a long life. He had a wife that he loved. He had two sons that he raised and instilled his values in. He has a beautiful legacy that will live on in us.

He has nothing left to accomplish in this world.

He told me he wanted an out but he didn't know how to go about it. But I did. And I had to fight the urge to keep it to myself. I did not want to tell my father how to end his life. And telling him almost felt like I was personally killing him.

Thursday morning his favorite doctor is going to come speak to us. She is his kidney doctor. She is going to explain the process of stopping dialysis. With palliative care, it can be a relatively painless exit. Over a few weeks his kidneys will fail to filter out toxins. They will build up in his system. And eventually he will fade to black.

My mother had a horrible, painful, lonely death. Her final words were over a telephone because of COVID restrictions. The last time I saw her was across the ICU through a glass window.

Thankfully, my dad will be able to go out on his own terms.

He will be comfortable and surrounded by loved ones.

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rs-hawk · 4 months

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I feel like FtM monsters are pretty rare, even in the admitely niche context of trans monsters

I love FtM monsters. My favorite FtM piece I’ve done is this piece about an Orc Husband! I’ve only done a handful here but I’ll definitely be doing more, including this post.

Átahsaiais

You had grown up hearing the stories about the cannibalistic demon who lived in the mountains. A giant as tall as three men, with the strength of ten. He would snatch you up and eat you, cooking you into a stew and using your bones as tooth picks. The stories made you shudder, but they never stopped you from exploring.

You decided to go hiking in those mountains, and a long hike turned into an overnight camping trip, where you took refuge in a cave. You giggled to yourself as you thought about how the stories talked about a young woman getting trapped in a cave and having to rely on a God to save her from Átahsaiais. As the memories of the way the stories sounded coming from your grandmother’s lips filled your head, you drifted off to sleep.

When you were woken up, it was still dark out, but there was a sort of pounding sound coming from outside. It sounded like foot steps. Suddenly, you were glad you had forgotten a flashlight. Crawling on your belly, trying to be quiet and remain out of sight, you approached the mouth of the cave. Just outside, you saw a monstrous sight.

A creature that was so tall that it was blocking much of the moonlight. Gray, stringy hair that fell in thick ropes down his knobby and cracked skin. You swallowed back a stunned cry as his head turned, catching you in his line of vision.

You were frozen in place, and while you knew if you scooted back you would be out of his reach, you couldn’t move. Átahsaiais. A true monster amongst monsters.

With a large hand, he swiftly pulled you out of the cave, his breath making you cringe and he brought you up to his face. “Human,” he said in a growl that send shivers down your spine. “Woman. Why are you here?”

You swallowed hard before babbling about your hike. How you stayed out too late. Started it too late in the day. You just wanted to get some sleep before going home. Fat tears rolled down your face as you choke back sobs and he just… laughed. He set you down, your knees trembling so badly you almost fall.

“You will be caught by much worse than me if you stay out here,” he said, his voice rough like the way boulders sound when they start to fall.

You were unsure, but the sound of a howl ripping through the air made you jump closer to him. He chuckled as he curled a large hand, nearly the size of your entire body, around your torso to guide you. Soon enough you’re in his home, now a warm and well lived in cottage. You expected something more… terrifying.

He sat you down, pushing a cup of hot water into your hands before he disappeared behind a curtain of beads, seashells, and gemstones. He grumbled out a good night and told you to sleep wherever you like out there as the swinging curtain slowed. You felt relieved but also oddly disappointed. He was supposed to be a man eating monster and, what? He saved you from wolves, brought you to his home, and then decided to go to bed and offered you to sleep as well?

After a little while, with the fire dying down, you decided to at least sneak a peek at what his room is like. You imagined it being decorated with the bones of his victims and enemies, but it wasn’t. Instead, where you expected skulls and bones, there were vines that hung from the ceiling, with blooming flowers. A small hole in the wall, functioning as a window, had a bird’s nest tucked away in it.

You couldn’t decide how you felt as you slipped deeper into the room. The sounds you heard as you did you attributed to the small hole once you saw it, until you saw Átahsaiais on his bed. Two of his large, rough fingers were pushing in and out of his dripping cunt as his other hand teased and played with his t-dick.

Your mouth watered as you watched the way his chest heaved, his thick, gray, porcupine quill like hair splayed around his head- his eyes clenched shut with his mouth slightly open. Of their own accord, your feet took you to his bed. That was when you hesitated, but a sharp intake of breath from him told you he was close, and you wanted to help so badly that you couldn’t explain it.

You crawled between his legs, finally admitting your presence to him. His fingers and hand faltered for a moment before you fixed your mouth around the tip of his t-dick, struggling a bit with how much thicker it is than a regular human cock.

“Little Human,” he grunted slightly, his hand twitching at the base of his t-dick before he slid it to the back of your head, encouraging you to take more of it down your throat.

When he came, you couldn’t help but moan in excitement. It felt so good to know you’d helped him. A wet spot had formed between your own legs, which clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. In seconds, he had you pinned to his bed made of feathers and animal hides, his hands easily ripping off your pants before his fat tongue eases inside of you.

You see stars. His tongue itself was bigger a than a human’s cock, and the way he coaxed orgasm out of orgasm out of you made you realize why he was called a man eater.

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ittybluebell · 2 months

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Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 1

AO3

Matt Murdock didn't have anything against mice. He'd never been personally harrassed by one, but he understood the need to get rid of them. One easily turned into a dozen and with all the mess and digging into food, eviction was necessary. Despite how many rodents he heard daily, it wasn't something he thought about. The only reason mice were on his mind now was because one had moved into the floor, and he could hear it moving around as he laid in bed.

Now, like he said, Matt didn't have anything against mice.

Scrtch-scrtch-tick.

This one, however, was pushing its luck.

It showed up one night, moving in when he was out vigilante-ing and he only noticed the next day. At first, he didn't care. It was alone and hadn't yet realized there was food in his apartment. He had other, more pressing issues than a single mouse. It was a benign little thing - hardly a problem. Most nights, he could ignore the pitter-pattering and scraping or put in his noise-canceling earbuds.

Tonight, the mouse was too loud for earbuds. As he tossed and turned, Matt fumed, wondering what that rodent could possibly be up to. Rearranging furniture? Fuck, it sounded like it. Little mouse furniture.

Enough was enough. Matt threw a pillow at the floor and told the thing to shut up. To his surprise, it did. Matt sighed and finally went to sleep.

From that night on, he noticed a drastic decline in his downstairs neighbor's noise pollution.

How silly it was, Matt thought during a good mood, holding a grudge toward an animal. Especially one that was polite enough to let him sleep in peace.

Oh, how naïve he was.

The mouse quickly reinstated its grudge status when Matt noticed things going missing. It started with the bagels - a hole in the bag he noticed because the scent of bagel was particularly strong. Upon investigation, he discovered there was a complete lack of crumbs. And a chunk discreetly chewed from the middle. From there, things escalated. He smelled the shift in the air, smelled the remnants of another living being in his apartment. Little objects went missing - things even a seeing person might miss. But not Matt Murdock.

The sock was the last straw.

"What's the best bait for mouse traps?" Matt asked as soon as he entered the office.

"Cheese?" Foggy answered, confused. "Why? Do you have mice?"

"One. One mouse."

"How d- nevermind. Let me guess - you can't sleep."

"It's taking my stuff."

Foggy laughed. Karen huffed.

"At least tell me you're using non-lethal," said Karen. Upon his silence, she aww'd sadly. "Matt, no. It's just a mouse. You can't kill it."

"They're pests," said Foggy.

"But they're so cute. It just wants a place to live."

"Karen-" started Matt.

"No, no, she's got a point." Foggy spun his chair around. "Matt, you can't kill it! So cute and fuzzy!"

The lawyer-by-day, vigilante-by-night groaned. "Fine, I won't. Just stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Foggy, I can feel your eyes fake-tearing up."

Matt bought some glue traps and baited them with peanut butter. When Karen told him glue traps were worse - "They're so inhumane, Matt!" - he assured her that he'd know when the mouse got stuck; it wouldn't suffer. As much as the thing annoyed him, Karen was right: he wasn't going to abandon his no-killing rule for one mouse. (One mouse that must have a vendetta against him. He would not stoop to its level.) What kind of hypocrite would he be, huh?

The traps were set. Now to wait.

And wait.

A week passed. No mouse was caught. When he listened to its movement, he realized it was avoiding the spots he'd trapped. Avoiding the usual routes.

Smart. For a rodent. But Matt was smarter.

More traps, different bait. Traps disguised as the food and objects he'd noticed go missing, even the mate to his missing sock. It couldn't resist now.

Days passed.

Evidently, it could resist.

Foggy teased him about being outsmarted by an animal. Karen was on the mouse's side. Somebody must've told Jessica because he got a condescending text offering her services. Traitors, every one of them.

It all came to a head one terrible Friday night. Matt was already in a bad mood when he got home from work but going out, hearing and feeling New York City, pushed him over the edge. He was annoyed, his brain was overstimulated, and he just wanted to rest. The rooftop access door shut behind him and he threw his helmet into its trunk, about to shed the rest when the distinct sound of scratching and plastic crinkling in the kitchen cupboard caught his ear.

Matt stilled. It was here.

He marched with purpose toward the sounds.

That little bastard wasn't getting away this time. Catching it would be a satisfying end to a crappy day.

The mouse started fleeing before he was even close. It was headed for the other end of the cupboards - a hole in the floor Matt wasn't aware of but now could sense the air flowing from within. He'd have to seal that in the mor-

Mice didn't run on two legs.

Matt cocked his head, listening to the pattern of footfalls. He'd never cared to pay attention, but now it was impossible to miss. He knew what scurrying rodents sounded like. Whatever was in his kitchen, it was no rodent. It was bipedal. A bird? No, not with that speed. Not with that gait. He needed a closer examination.

Matt threw open the cupboard door. The first thing to hit his senses was the scent of corn chips.

The second was the heartbeat.

The creature's heart pounded swiftly in its chest. Air rushed from a mouth that was too upright for any kind of animal, a nose too humanlike. Small shoes hit the baseboard as it ran. Fabric rustled the same way he heard every single day in the street - like clothing.

Matt got lower, needing to be closer, needing to examine this little anomaly. How it moved, how it sounded, how uncannily familiar it was.

The living shape that his senses created was so alike to people that he was too shocked to outwardly react.

The little thing escaped into the floor, and Matt Murdock was left crouching there. Slowly, he shut the door. He took off the suit, dressed his wounds, and went to bed, his mind racing.

His body was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. Not when he was tracking the creature's movements. Every scrape, every soft thud of a step, the whisper-

Whispering?

"You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way…"

Whispering. Okay.

Matt pretended he didn't hear anything and put in his earbuds. That was a tomorrow-Matt problem.

Unfortunately for tomorrow-Matt, another problem knocked on his door first. That problem rhymed with Stank Hassle and didn't like to be ignored. Frank did offer coffee when they left so at least it wasn't a total bust. It was a good opportunity to get Matt out of his head; to get a clear perspective of the night before. Matt decided he was exhausted and hallucinating. The alternative was a tiny person living in the walls of his apartment. Delusion was easier.

Delusion was also what kept the borrower from abandoning the apartment altogether.

Call them stubborn, or stupid, but Finch didn't want to leave. Borrowers could only get so lucky. Landing a decent apartment with an oblivious bean was a rare opportunity, and Finch had no intention of giving it up. They would use this good fortune. Even if they didn't deserve it.

Finch shook off the guilt following that thought.

They spent the first week setting up: finding a place to sleep and tidying it up, living off the rations they packed. They got a lay of the land, surveying the apartment and its infrastructure. The excessively bright billboard directly in front of the living room window, the kitchen, and - most importantly - the bean. Light - or lack thereof - was never an issue for him. Not once did he flip a switch or so much as use his phone, which read texts aloud to him. He hardly looked at whatever claimed his attention. Everything added up to limited vision, but they couldn't be sure. It was safest not to risk any assumptions.

Evidence pointed to some damn good hearing when Finch was carving planks of wood out of the floor's innards. They were minding their own business, content with their repetitive, calming task, when something large and loud impacted the ceiling a dozen paces away.

The borrower nearly jumped out of their overalls, giving a startled squeak.

"Shut up," yelled the muffled voice above.

Pretending their soul wasn't just violently expelled from their body, Finch smoothed down their curly brown hair and exhaled shakily, making a mental note to postpone noisy work till the bean was away.

And they did good on that: when the bean was home, Finch completed the quieter, slower tasks. They thought they'd discovered the formula for living under the radar, satisfied to have found a routine that worked.

Then the traps appeared. Finch cursed their luck. The jig was up. The bean set up gross glue traps in outer access points, a couple even getting to the paths Finch took. Finch avoided them and laid low for a bit, hoping the lack of activity would convince the bean they'd skipped town. But more traps appeared. Smart ones, too - they almost fell for a couple. Now, Finch knew a thing or two about a thing or two. They made new routes and took extra care when borrowing. They even started mapping paths to the apartments below. Despite their small stature, Finch had a lot of room for determination. After a life of sticking their hand in the fire, they learned to take the heat. If the bean wanted them gone, he'd have to try a lot harder.

Night fell. The bean was gone. He followed routines - ones he scarcely strayed from. It would be hours before his return.

Finch made their way to the kitchen. They pushed up the trapdoor and strolled through the cupboard. They still had to be careful: just because the human wasn't home didn't mean they could throw all caution to the wind. Leaving evidence was a massive negatory. Finch didn't care for stupid rules, but the rules of borrowing were locked in their brain. They were already careless with the bagels, something they couldn't afford again. Desperation wasn't an excuse for sloppy borrowing - not when it exposed them.

Finch observed the boxes and containers around them, reading labels and calculating risk and reward. There was no chance of getting into that cereal box, but the nutrition bars would be a good grab. The box was short and already open. Finch pushed a can of tuna against it and hopped on. They began extracting a bar only to realize they had no way of getting something so large home without a sled.

"No, that'd be too easy." With a huff, Finch dropped it and shoved the can back into place. "'cause food can never be-" plastic crinkled under their foot "-easy?" Finch inspected the blue packaging. It was an open bag of tortilla chips. They grinned.

The scent of corn chips filled the space as Finch unfurled the bag. They dropped their backpack and started breaking the triangular chips into smaller pieces. Salt-free, too? Hell, yes. They tested the backpack's weight, put a bit more inside, then pulled the strings tight. They slung the strap across their chest. Oh, yeah, this would last them a good while. Finch fought with the chip bag, trying to roll the top underneath like it was before.

"Come on. Stupid fuckin'-" They tried to simultaneously lift the heavy bag and pull the other end.

Over the sounds of plastic popping and crackling in their ears, Finch didn't hear a door open and shut.

DOOM.

They did, however…

DOOM.

…feel the approaching footsteps of the human bean.

Finch froze. Blue eyes snapped wide open, their head flinching away from the plastic. It couldn't be...

Finch bolted.

He's supposed to be out why is he back-

DOOM.

They didn't need to know why he was back - just that he was and he was approaching at an alarming rate.

DOOM.

Oh, fuck, that's actually really close-

The doors ripped open. The hinges didn't even get a chance to squeak.

Finch stumbled. Air caught in their throat. For a moment, Finch was rooted to the floor. Just a moment. Long enough to see the human's form towering beyond the counter, covered in some kind of dark red leather. Long enough to see boots more than capable of squishing the life out of them.

Legs like fenceposts bent as the human came unbelievably closer. Closer than Finch had ever been to a bean. A giant face suspended above them, features blank and expressionless. Not once did the bean look at them.

Finch ran. They didn't look back. When they reached the hole in the floor, they plugged it up and kept going. Keep running.

Only when they reached the safety of their shelter did they falter.

"Oh, shit," they gasped, resting their weight on a nearby post. If their heart didn't outright stop, they were sure it might burst from their ribcage. Finch felt that exploding was a reasonable response. "He didn't see me." The scene replayed in their mind, over and over like a glitched tape. "I'm fine. You're fine. He didn't see you. There's no way he saw you. Just breathe."

Delusion, like they said. It was a powerful thing. It pulled many tricks on the mind. Like convincing oneself that they weren't discovered.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet, one might even say, if they weren't one Matt Murdock. He never got that phrase. Nothing was 'too quiet'. In his - correct - opinion, nothing was quiet enough. There was always something creaking, breathing, or thumping, even in the smallest hours of the night. But on some front he had to agree: there was a suspicious lack of activity from the critter in the floor lately. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he couldn't deny that it wasn't an animal. Animals didn't mutter to themselves, in full sentences, in English. He wasn't mentally, emotionally, or spiritually prepared to assess beyond whatever that meant. In the moments his mind wandered, however - such as now, sitting and listening to a recording for his current case - he found himself pondering the tiny being regardless.

The peace wasn't an accident. Finch had been avoiding that place, giving themself and the air time to settle. They continued work on their residence, slotting together panels of wood and cardboard to form walls. One room would do for now - they just needed protection from the elements and potential scavengers slinking around. Skies above, if a cockroach tried anything, it was next on the menu. Grind up the little fucker into a smoothie. Finch wished a bug would: it'd be miles better than those godforsaken tortilla chips. Finch gave the wood posts they'd just secured a good push, nodding in satisfaction and moving on to the wall. It would be the last one to seal up their box of a house.

Four days. It'd been four days since Finch was nearly discovered; four days since they stared a bean in the face and got away unscathed. Four days since they got an answer to what they'd only suspected: the human couldn't see. That explained the brilliantly bright billboard, the sensitive hearing, the lack of lights - it explained a lot. Finch had to re-evaluate their approach to borrowing. This human would be extra careful about his possessions - the sock was proof enough - and notice what was out of place. In some ways, this both simplified and complicated things.

But borrowers were nothing if not adaptable.

Finch ventured up to a peephole in the wall and looked out. Nothing had changed except the bean now sitting at the dining table, papers and an electronic box neatly laid out on the tabletop. Casually dressed, he was listening to… a podcast? No, too personal. Finch liked podcasts. There was a crime involved, but this sounded like a conversation Finch would overhear more than something designed to entertain. So this bean worked in solving crimes. A detective?

They listened to the dry as hell audio a scant longer before growing bored and moving on. Hey, at least the bean was preoccupied.

Naturally, they found themself puttering toward the kitchen. Wielding two bent nails tied to their belt, Finch climbed up the cupboard door, using hinges and decorative bevels alike to hoist themself up. Those bagels were good. Were there any left? Nothing but corn chips really wore down a person's capacity to give a damn. They perused the counter, confident that the bean was sufficiently distracted by his work. Finch was disappointed to find the bagels sealed in an airtight container. It was their own fault, slicing up the bag so messily. They pulled a face and resumed their search.

A plate of mostly-eaten pasta sat before them. Fuck yes! Finch scuttled to it, pulling out rolls of tinfoil from their bag. Careful to avoid crinkling, they gathered up all the leftover noodles and sauce that would fit.

Finch squirreled away their haul, licking their fingers clean of evidence and ignorant of the man listening to their heist just a few metres away.

Matt stopped paying attention to the tape some time ago.

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen couldn't drown out the little inhabitant in his walls. A scent had blown into the room, vaguely familiar with hints of tortilla chip. He sat straighter and listened, idly shuffling papers and tip-tapping his fingers on the table. He found himself unable to be anything other than impressed as they scaled his counter like a mountain climber. Whatever was left from dinner became his visitor's latest plunder. That was fine; less waste, right?

He was disappointed when they returned to the walls. He wound back the recording to get some work done, but found himself consistently distracted by his small neighbour's goings-on. This discovery was just so unique, so strange - how could he not be curious? He heard them venture out again, across the apartment now. Into his bedroom. What could they be doing?

Oho, if Matt found any more socks missing-

He turned in his seat, about to rise, when he heard:

"You hafta to be shittin' me."

The voice, quiet in size only and bold beyond that, was the mildly annoyed tone of someone who'd been inconvenienced. Matt had heard it before, in the late hush of the night, when no one else would. Muttered curses and remarks that blended into the creaking and groaning of buildings and chatter and sirens of the city. One voice that Matt Murdock had tried very hard not to think too much about.

"When is enough too much, huh?" the voice griped. "Does he think I'm just gonna lay on one? 'Oh, felt silly today, stepped on the massive rug of glue.' How 'bout I drag this onto your floor, see how you feel walkin' in a minefield?" They growled. "UGH. Beans."

Well.

There was no denying it anymore, was there? A tiny person was living in the walls of Matt's apartment.

Matt leaned back, processing. He'd tried ignoring it - for the sake of his mental health and faith - because it was insane. It was impossible. It shouldn't be.

And yet…

Matt wanted - needed - to investigate further.

He got up, quietly, light on his feet. He didn't make it two steps before he heard a swear and the tiny person retreated once more. Into an electrical outlet, by the sounds of it.

Hm. He couldn't sneak up on them - not this time. They heard him- no. Matt quirked his head, considering. They felt him approaching. Like Matt, they could feel vibrations. Vibrations that alerted them of a threat. It only made sense.

Heh, 'threat'. Regular ol' Matt Murdock was the threat this time, not his alter ego. Wasn't that something?

The next time Matt encountered his new neighbour, he was trying - and failing - to fall asleep. There was too much on his mind for sleep. Frustrated, he huffed and flopped over, restless, his thoughts racing. Sounds of the city were extra distracting tonight. He considered getting up and making a cup of tea - maybe that would calm his mind.

Noises from the kitchen drew his scattered focus. He sat up, listening to the scuffing and tapping that he'd come to recognize as his uninvited houseguest. Three visits in one day. Were they always this proactive? Well, he did interrupt their attempted heist of his bedroom. Matt scooted to the edge of the bed. He would make that tea, actually. As he stood, he remembered sneaking didn't work last time. Right. Heavy-footed. However, he had a hunch that this attempt would yield a sneakier result.

Aided by socks, Matt softly padded through his apartment. Tiny - the name he assigned his little visitor - was fiddling with some kind of packaging on the top shelf. And as he got closer, lo and behold, they did not startle. His theory was correct: the further Tiny was from the floor, the weaker their pallesthesia became. Their ability to detect vibrations just wasn’t as sensitive as his own. Once he stepped foot into the kitchen, Matt dropped the Daredevil act and let himself be known. He grabbed a mug and turned on the kettle. Tiny's pulse quickened; their breath hitched. He gave them time to hide before he opened the cupboard for a tea bag. He quickly realized the box wasn't in its usual spot - his own doing, unfortunately.

"Stupid tea bags," he muttered for Tiny's sake; an 'I'm not looking for you, I swear!' assurance as he searched the cabinets. For extra sauce, he added, "Always misplacing them."

Would he forgo tea? He did start the kettle… as much as he got a kick out of playing the part of oblivious blind guy, causing Tiny undue terror wasn't his end goal. He wanted to test them, their cockiness, not scare them. Tiny may be a thief, but they were just trying to survive. Why else was food their number one haul? Matt dedicated his life to helping people in need. Wasn't Tiny part of that demographic? Weren't they someone in need? Unless small people were running drug cartels and trafficking rings, Tiny was innocent.

Doubt and guilt crept in. Maybe he was pushing the bit too far.

Matt was just about to get up and leave when something square and coarse pressed into his fingers.

He faltered, then pinched it, rubbing his thumb over the material. Its strong, earthy scent gave it away.

A tea bag.

Small shoes lightly retreated. Matt withdrew his hand. He held the sachet of dried herbs, cogs turning in his mind. He tilted his head.

Tiny handed him a tea bag. That…

Matt found himself puzzled and oddly touched. It was for their own good, to avoid getting found, but he couldn't not appreciate the nice gesture. He easily smelt where the tea was, of course. But Tiny didn't know that. Huh.

Maybe he was being too harsh about the sock.

The kettle's bubbling pitch rose to a squeal. Wincing, Matt shut it off. He dropped the tea bag into the mug and poured steaming water over it.

What a strange experience. He wondered what Tiny was thinking. Their heartbeat eased into the fluttering pace that he learned was its resting rate. It was the trait that had him most convinced his roommate was a rodent of some sort, though the way they squeaked when startled was a close second.

Matt threw out the tea bag and took the mug to his room, leaving Tiny to their task.

The next day, he casually slipped questions about tiny people into a conversation with Foggy. (It was not casual and quite random, actually.)

"You mean, like… fairies?" Foggy cautiously asked.

Sort of? Matt didn't know whether Tiny could be considered a fairy. They certainly didn't seem like the fairy type, not with the kind of language he heard them utter. Did fairies say 'fuck'? Would that break some kind of fairy law?

Karen told him about a book series that she'd been obsessed with as a kid: it contained many smaller magical beings. Brownies, for instance. Matt settled on definitely not that one. What favours was he receiving? Aside from the tea bag - an isolated incident - absolutely none.

Matt wasn't convinced they were a magical creature. Really, they just… seemed like a normal person, albeit smaller. They hummed to themself, snickered at their own dumb jokes, and swore a hot streak that would impress even Castle and Jones. Matt was pretty damn sure they'd been building a house under his floor, though he noticed all the loud busywork was put on pause when he was home, most notably when he was sleeping. Another nice gesture that was also for their own self-preservation.

Maybe they were a mutant. Or maybe they were mutated, like him.

When Matt got home, he discarded the glue traps. It felt wrong to leave them now that he knew it was a person he'd been trying to catch. Guilty, he started leaving crumbs in easy-to-reach locations. It wouldn’t hurt him any - his grocery budget wasn’t gonna tank because of some scraps. If chips and leftovers were what they were after, then they had free reign over the countertop. That didn’t stop him from being cheeky about it, though - if Tiny was getting confident, he might as well play along.

He found Tiny’s courage something to marvel at. Roaming a giant’s home? Without fear? His vigilante persona was literally named Daredevil and he was impressed.

However, bravery and foolishness were not mutually exclusive. That’s when the cockiness came in.

Matt was minding his business, washing the dishes, when Tiny wandered out. Brows hitching up, he continued sponging the plate. Surely, they wouldn't-

Oh, but they did.

Unwavering, Tiny climbed up the counter they same way as before. They walked up to the pan on the stove and hooked a leg over. Matt fought hard not to chuffle. This was getting out of hand. Matt remembered an adage about not feeding animals or else they'd grow dependent. Had Matt inadvertently done exactly that? Animals that were accustomed to people often didn't see the danger. Tiny was certainly no animal, but the absence of caution they displayed in the moment was, frankly, ridiculous. It was a massive leap from the times they would flee his presence. He was starting to think he'd played too ignorant.

A smirk tugged at his lips upon hearing the leftover eggs being pilfered. When he turned to fetch the pan, Tiny was already hopping to the floor and disappearing behind the fridge.

Stealing right behind his back. When was enough too much, indeed.

AO3

#g/t #giant/tiny #goldfinch (oc)#matt murdock #daredevil g/t #giant tiny #the borrowers #borrowers #g/t community #gt #g/t writing #daredevil #marvel g/t #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction

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the-s1lly-corner · 28 days

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Eyeless Jack x angel!reader

Prize request 1/5 for @blackflask ! I hope you enjoy!!

Notes: Reader is GN! More of a "reader and jack meet and slowly grow closer" rather than "heres how they romance" post! I've never watched trolls but the dynamic in my head for reader and Jack here reminds me of poppy and branch

CW: None

Well it all started when you LOUDLY and quite ungracefully smashed through the poor mans roof and slammed into the ground

To save yourself from the embarrassment, you try to scramble out through the front door only to find it had already been locked for the night; you... were caught, quickly..

For one reason or another you're not immediately snuffed out due to trespassing onto his property; maybe it was because your wings were sprawled out on display, clearly showing that you weren't.. well, human

I like to imagine it's because he already has to deal with the fact he needs to take other human lives to survive, taking yours when he gets no sustenance or resource out of it just feels... worse

Jacks original plan was to patch you up and then have you leave immediately. The only real reason you werent instantly kicked out was due to your injuries, you couldnt really.. go anywhere

Jack is quiet, so hes not going to speak much when hes bandaging you- a problem if you happen to be a chatty person, you'll only really be met with short responses

He doesnt answer any questions you ask about him, he doesn't even give you his name on that first night

His original plan doesnt end up working, though, because you keep coming right back with things. Food, gifts, things like that. When he keeps rejecting them you turn to just.. following him around when he leaves his cabin, you insist that you want to pay him back

He tells you that you don't need to

And you dont take that as a cue to leave

Initially he wants his peace back but over time he starts to get used to your company

You guys start talking when he goes out to make sure the traps he set around are still.. functional and to see if they've caught something yet

You eventually learn his name, and he learns yours. You mostly talk about yourself, and your past and where you came from

It would take a while longer for Jack to tell you about himself, but he does open up to general conversation before that!

Hs finds you sitting on his porch waiting for him and he finally invites you inside.. now that you're not running off of pain and adrenaline you can see how run down the cabin was on the inside

You offer to help fix things, and he doesn't stop you after you keep insisting

And you add your personal touch, and unofficially you move in with him.. and suddenly things aren't so bad for either of you!

He doesnt even realize it when he starts seeking you out first, just to be around you.. its.. sweet

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #eyeless jack imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack x you

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faiiryteethh · 2 months

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Trigger Warning: Rare Illness/Health Issues [wasn't sure if this need a tw but these topics make some ppl uncomfy so i wanted to be considerate anyway💜]

so a lot of ppl have been asking me why i don't post pics anymore or why i have barely been on social media compared to how i used to be. and the reason is i've been having severe health issues for a very long time. i can't even remember the last time i went more than a month without feeling nauseous, or actually throwing up, or just having headaches and stomach pain that are so bad i can barely tolerate them.

i've known for a while that i have gastritis, but my mom & my bf convinced me to go to a new doctor for a second opinion. after months & months of pure agony and feeling exhausted and sick to the point where i have no energy, i finally know why. i went to a specialist and discovered i have a rare illness called CVS (Cyclic vomiting syndrome). and i also am lactose intolerant which was amplifying my symptoms because i eat dairy products constantly.

i am going to be starting treatment for it and i really hope it improves my life and my ability to function because i am so tired of "living" like this. just existing has been exhausting and painful. i literally haven't been able to accomplish any of the goals i have because i can't go more than a few days without feeling horrible.

i already feel useless because i'm autistic and i have bipolar 1 and i'm waiting on disability payments to come through because i am unable to work with my disabilities. so my bf has been working and doing his best to take care of me and our kids. i just feel so horrible and guilty all the time. and i genuinely didn't know why i feel sick 24/7. all i want is to feel like myself again. and to do all the things i miss doing. i feel like i'm trapped by this illness.

i'm grateful to have answers and know what i'm dealing with finally. but after suffering like this almost every single day for so long its so hard to feel hopeful for the future at this point. i'm literally in tears as i type this. its just been really bad. i never do my makeup anymore or feel good about myself. i can barely move sometimes because the pain in my stomach is so bad or i get pain in my throat from vomiting for hours at a time, and then i get MORE pain from dry heaving due to not being able to hold down any food. and then i get random migraines and headaches that last all day as a result of all of that. its taking a huge toll on my body and my mental health. my depression gets worse during the winter season so when this started getting really bad it just made my mental health a million times worse. its literal hell.

but yeah thats why i haven't been online. real life is hard enough and i haven't been motivated to post because of the hell i'm going through or a lot of the time i physically CAN'T make content. but i'm going to keep trying. i'm going to do every fucking thing my doctors tell me to do because im so fed up with suffering. i promise that i will make content again and post the things i create and other stuff i used to post about before i stopped being able to function. as soon as i start to feel semi normal or at least well enough to do daily activities and complete even small goals, i will post about it. i'll keep u guys updated.

i appreciate every single person who follows me and my content, and all the ppl who keep checking up on me and wondering where the fuck i went. i love you guys so much💜 and i'm so sorry to all the ppl who haven't heard from me. if i can gain at least a little bit of my physical strength and health back, i will be so happy. i also am trying to get vitamins prescribed to me because im severely lacking nutrients but they are so expensive and i can't afford them out of pocket until i get my disability money. i'm also anemic and have to start taking iron supplements again. i'm just a giant ball of health issues😭 its actually ridiculous how bad my health has been. but i'm a mom and for that reason i will never stop trying. i will do whatever it takes to get better. i don't think my health could get much worse than it is currently. hopefully i didn't just jinx myself by saying that😭

sorry for the super long explanation, i just have sooo many messages in my inbox and questions that you guys send me that i haven't answered. i don't want to leave u in the dark. the connections i've made on this silly little blog mean the world to me. and everything i've been going through has been so hard to explain. but since i recently got a REAL answer as to why i'm suffering so much, i felt it was a good time to let you guys know what is going on with me. like i said, when i am able to feel somewhat normal again i will post consistently and re-open my shop too! it sucks so bad having a passion for creating but being too sick to even get out of bed other than to get sick in the bathroom. i've been to the emergency room more times this month than i have in the last 4 years. if i can overcome this awfulness i will not take it for granted. i will work harder than i ever have to create and share it with the world. but for now i just have to sit back and do whatever my doctors tell me to do and hope to god that it helps me 😞

#kh

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tmntxthings · 11 months

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一∑ In The Sky・゜・。

author’s note: it’s been so long i legit had to think about how to bold words… oof, hello hello, tis i to drop off a song inspired drabble and then disappear back into the depths of.. wherever i came from? xD

song inspired: Castle in the Sky by eaJ

word association: self-deprecation, infatuation, ‘out-of-my-league’, reaffirmation, one-sided love, overthinking, obsessive

warnings: like one curse word, slight yandere thoughts, unedited

—————————————————————————

It was moments like these. Where he looked up and just knew some things would never change.

Donatello saw cement. He smelled sewage. Though he had major improvements in that department where it mattered, it was still here. It was still everywhere but his home. He was sure he could solve this problem easily. Just send his creations out further than their targeted perimeters. But that wouldn’t happen.

The smell warded off most unwanted guests and attention. It would stay as it always has been. It would smell of filth and garbage and worse things.

Donnie blinked as his wrist vibrated. Ah yes. You were on your way. It was raining. He knew that and yet he couldn’t move a muscle to meet you out further than where he was. Maybe it was because he thought you might change your mind.

What if you decided you didn’t want to visit the monster in the sewers? What if you decided it wasn’t worth your time. Because truthfully Donnie didn’t think he deserved your time nor attention.

And yet you still gave it to him. More than just those things though. You gave him hope. Which was a dangerous thing.

See you, you lived up there. Past the cement. You lived with the sky. And every time you dropped to his level. Every time you lowered yourself to be with him, in his terrain, trapped under cement and with currents of muck. Donnie felt a multitude of things. He questioned more.

Were you lonely up there? Was that why you descended? Was his company even enough to ease that loneliness? He couldn’t tell.

Why did you stay? Longer each time in fact and he was worried one day you would fall asleep down here. You didn’t belong hidden beneath cold stone. You were the sun. You belonged up there. In the clouds, in the sky.

He felt like he had become the gravity. Like he dragged you down into the depths of darkness with him. It was conflicting. He hated himself sometimes. And to make it worse he couldn’t stop but spilling everything on his mind with you. He made you promise practically every meeting that you wanted to be there. That you wanted to be with him. That he wasn’t being too much.

It took lots of reassuring and he still couldn’t believe it. That someone like you could find him something other than miserable. You called him smart. You called him charming. You called him funny. Donatello warmed at those words but in the back of his mind he didn’t think he deserved them.

His wrist vibrated once more and he shook his head clearing all thoughts. The manhole cover lifted and directly above him, there you were. Peering down, rain falling down around you and from the strands of your wet hair. You squinted for a moment before your eyes adjusted and found him.

It was like timed slowed as he watched that smile of yours spread. Beaming of happiness, directly towards him. The sun. Shining down on him as you called out his name. Donnie swallowed, wishing for the millionth time that he could live in the sky too. Things would be different. He wouldn’t feel this way. Like he wasn’t easy to be around. Like he caused you discomfort and pain. Like he was holding his breath waiting to wake up from this dream.

And yet you descended, joining him.

Donnie thought that he needed to be careful. Lest he get addicted. Lest he get entitled. Heaven forbid he start to believe that someone as holy as you were meant to be with him. Like it was some sort of fucked up destiny.

Your feet landed on the pavement. Your arms went around his middle. And he bent forward, head nuzzling into your hair and trying to memorize the way you smelled. Like rain and perfume and something sweet.

Oh how he wished for more. Wished to be more. Wished to be similar. Wished like hell to be yours and for you to be his and things to be different and it made him hold you tighter. One of these days he wouldn’t be able to let go.

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aloneinthehellfire · 1 year

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Eight Months

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Y/n went missing at the end of spring. A note was left explaining that after her father, Bob Newby, died, she just couldn’t bear to stay in Hawkins. The others were shocked but after gaining no leads on where she could be, they had to accept that she was gone. But when summer rolls in and Hawkins starts getting scary, Steve and Dustin find themselves venturing into a Russian base and uncover more secrets than they bargained for.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: swearing, [flashbacks], kidnapping, witnessing murder, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of bruises/blood, fluff and kind of angst?

[A/N: Another random thought at like 2am bc I have insomnia so enjoy. I also really enjoy writing season three fanfics.]

Eight Months [Masterlist]

Eight Months: A Surprise Reunion

[Part One]

The letter you had left in Mike Wheeler’s basement explained it all. They wouldn’t find it until after their festivities.

Your father, Bob Newby, had risked his life to save others. In your mind, and others, he was a hero.

When your mother left you both to fend for yourselves, Bob didn’t shy away from his fatherly duties. In fact, he rose to the occasion. Money was tight but he still made sure you grew up the best you could without a mother. And you soon came to realise you didn’t need one. Because he was all you needed.

When you were 17, your father had fallen in love. Joyce Byers captured his heart and you understood why; she was perfect for him. She welcomed you into her family, as did her sons, and despite the drastic change, you grew to love them all.

But, one fateful evening changed all of that. It had been innocent at first, your best friend Steve Harrington asking you to aid him in winning Nancy Wheeler back. Your heart broke at the request from years and years of hiding your feelings for him, but Nancy made him happy. And you wanted him to be happy.

Once Dustin had found you both and asked for your help, things only got worse. You were dragged into the world beneath Hawkins, learning things that should only be seen in your nightmares.

It led to your father losing his life after saving his family.

Joyce did her best, taking care of you like you were her own. But the thought of living in a town without your father was too much pain to bear. And the decision was made.

You were to move away from Hawkins and leave your goodbyes in a heartfelt letter addressed to the people you loved.

***

“Hey, assholes! Let us out!” Robin yelled, continuously thumping on the door as Steve paced the room wondering how the hell they were going to get out of here.

It all started with a secret Russian message. Translation, Dustin had said at the time. Steve should have listened to his instinct when it told him ‘translation’ would be more than he agreed to.

Now, he and his co worker Robin were trapped in a Russian base with no hope of escaping and the fear of torture on their minds.

Well, he was afraid at least. Robin, on the other hand, gave up on fear half an hour into the wait and was now trying every annoying tactic to get it over and done with.

“Cowards!” She called out when she had no response again, slumping against the wall beside her.

“Do you have to do that?” Steve asked, hands on hips, “You’re basically inviting them to torture us.”

“They don't have to take so long.” Robin said, quieter than she should have and Steve realised that the wait itself was torture for her.

“We’ll find a way out.” Steve said, nodding with such determination, Robin almost believed him.

But she knew better than to hope for miracles.

She pushed away from the wall, crossing the room and heading straight to the metal shelves at the back.

“What are you doing?” Steve followed her, frowning.

“This whole time we’ve been waiting, we could have actually seen if there was another door in this place.”

Steve stopped, pursing his lips. Robin noticed his sudden lack of movement, turning to meet her co worker’s face showing all kinds of disbelief.

“I’m not an expert on secret Russian bases but I know enough to assume that they wouldn’t lock prisoners in a room with an exit.” He stressed, pointing back the way they had walked.

Robin sighed, moving her head slightly to the right before her eyes caught something and she felt a smirk playing on her lips.

“Hm, yeah. You’re probably right.” She shrugged, looking directly to her right. “Oh, and what, pray tell, is that?”

She held her hand out and Steve craned his neck around the corner to see… another door. His breath hitched.

“Pure luck.” He grumbled as Robin let out a happy laugh, practically bouncing over to the door.

“So, dingus, it seems you know absolutely nothing about secret Russian-”

Robin’s victory was cut short when she swung open the door.

Steve frowned at her, shaking his head. “What?”

“Uh…” She stumbled over words, staring into the dark room with wide eyes.

“Let me guess, it’s a dead end?” Steve threw his hands up in exasperation, already stalking away from her. “See, I knew it. The Russians can’t be that stupid if they had a whole ass fancy elevator system and liquid that melts metal-”

“Steve.” Robin tried, her voice quiet.

“-and the fact that we needed to use vents to get in here instead of an actual door just proves-”

“Steve!” She yelled this time, raising her hand to a surrender.

“What?!” Steve turned, running a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“You should probably come see this.”

Robin said just as soon as he turned the corner again, a frown appearing on his face when he watched her disappear into the other room, enveloped by the shadows.

“Robin?” He called out in a whisper, poking his head around the door.

He squinted into the darkness before making out a shape further in, realising that Robin was crouched down on the floor. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, his heart raced.

She wasn’t alone.

Robin was knelt next to someone else, their body sat on the floor in the corner with their back against the wall, looking extremely scared of the girl in front of them.

“Hey.” Robin said soothingly, both hands held out, “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Steve took a few timid steps into the room, getting closer. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make out features on their face, eyes immediately drawn to the pair of red sneakers. He knew someone with red sneakers.

“Who are you?”

And he most definitely knew that voice.

Steve froze, all kinds of emotions bubbling inside as he reached Robin, looking over her shoulder and confirming his suspicions with a racing heart.

“Y/n?”

You whip your head up, meeting his eyes. As soon as recognition dawned on you, you sprung to your feet, shaking your head.

“Steve?” You cry and suddenly he’s pulling you into his arms, catching you in a tight hug. “What- what the hell are you doing here?”

“Me?” Steve let out a breathy laugh, releasing you and stepping back, “What about-”

All his words faded when he finally saw you within breathing distance, his breath caught in his throat.

The first thing he noticed was the healing scar; etched into your eyebrow and reaching half way up your forehead, burning red in the harsh light. Then, the various cuts on your cheek, your lip. The way your hair was tangled, some stray hairs clinging to your face. Bruises scattered across your jaw in a variety of colour, all presenting themselves as different ages. Finally, your teary eyes, the look of fear lingering as you stare back at him.

He stepped forward, cupping your cheek in his palm. The way you flinched slightly before softening under his touch didn’t go unnoticed to him.

“Y/n.” Steve’s head slowly shook side to side, eyes never leaving yours. “What happened?”

Driving away was meant to be the easy part. But that came to an untimely stop when your car broke down just outside the new building for the Starcourt Mall.

Hawkins had been working on building the mall for months, making sure it was ready to open for the summer. It was almost done but still not open to the public yet. You figured they wanted it to be perfect. It should be, considering the amount of money spent.

Stepping out of your car with a groan, you assess the damage. You hiss as smoke pours from your engine, fanning away the dirty air.

“Shit.” You mutter, glancing around you for some kind of miracle.

The drilling and digging noises from the construction site up ahead was clouding your senses to the point that if it hadn’t been for pure luck, you would have missed the figure turning a corner behind the white wall up ahead. You call out after them for help, only to be drowned out by the sounds around you. With a sigh, you slammed your hood shut and started to follow them.

The luck wasn’t as pure as you thought it would be.

Turning the corner, your eyes focus in on the man up ahead, a green uniform clinging to his body as he raised his arm. You frown, moving closer before you notice another figure on the floor, pleading.

Your heart almost stopped when you saw the gun pointing down at him.

The shot ripped through the air, the construction site proving a good distraction as you watched the pleading figure drop limply to the floor.

You couldn’t help the scream that escaped your lips.

The uniformed man caught your gaze and before you knew it, you were ambushed. Officers all around you spoke in a foreign language, raising their guns to you and you had no choice but to surrender, dropping to your knees before they dragged you away from the site and into a loading bay building.

The next few days were a blur, constant interrogation from a man you assumed was in charge.

“Who do you work for?”

That was all you were asked, the truth only earning punishments in the form of torture from men much bigger and much stronger than you. You didn’t know when they finally started believing you but soon, you were relieved from the pain and thrown into a room, only occasionally brought out when they needed information from you; the long nights of torture only led to you discussing the Upside Down, something they were very intrigued to know.

You didn’t understand why until it was too late.

They couldn’t let you go, not with the risk of you telling everyone what you had witnessed. In fact, they offered you a job so you didn’t prove as much as a burden. They weren’t too pleased when you spat the offer back in their faces, refusing to work for men trying to open another gate.

So, other than the occasional painful chit-chat about what lurks beneath Hawkins, you were confined to a dark room for what seemed like eternity.

Until one day, Steve showed up.

When you told him about what they did to you, Steve’s stomach dropped.

The day you left, he had seen you driving away in your car while he was in his own. Something in him wanted to follow you, to make sure you were okay. But, instead, he went home with the assumption that he'd just ask you about it the next day.

Finding the letter broke his heart, a pain bubbling inside when he realises he made a mistake.

And now, guilt. He could have saved you.

Regardless of when it happened, which he still struggled to figure out. After all, you can't have been down here too long, right?

“What the hell are you doing here?” You shook your head, searching Steve’s face with such intensity he was sure you were checking he wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

“It’s a long story.” Steve sighs, hands still holding your face.

“Um, hi.” The girl behind you spoke, giving a small wave, “I’m Robin.”

“Hi.” You reply with a small smile. “I’m-”

“Y/n.” She grinned, nodding, “Yeah. I know.”

Steve widened his eyes as a warning and Robin simply mocked zipping her lips shut. Let’s just say, Steve hadn’t been shy about telling his new found friend all about you. Just for her to continuously tell him that the reason he had such a problem with getting girls was because he never truly got over you.

“We cracked a secret Russian code and basically fell into this place.” Robin stated, “Like, literally. The elevator ride bruised me.”

“You came into the base?” You shake your head in confusion, “Why the hell would you-”

Your face drops into a smile and Steve’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Dustin?” You simply ask and Steve nods his head.

“As much as I love this reunion,” Robin interrupted, stepping forward, “we’re still stuck inside a scary building with no way out.”

“There is a way out.” You say quietly, stepping out of Steve’s gentle hold and hugging your torso. He frowns at your action, watching how you avoid his eyes.

“Really?” Robin’s face lit up, bounding over to you, “How?”

“You just need a keycard.” You say and her face falls. You notice, leaning back against the wall. “You guys did have a keycard when you broke in here, right?”

The silence was your answer and you sighed, rubbing your forehead.

“Okay,” You continue, starting to pace the room. “there’s always Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Steve raised his eyebrow and you shifted, taking a breath.

“Distraction.”

“Distraction?” Robin took her turn to query as Steve stood there, realisation already dawning on him.

“No, absolutely not.” He shakes his head profusely, stepping towards you.

“We can’t all leave.” You raise your chin slightly, showcasing your stubbornness. “The best I can do is get the both of you…”

As you look between them, you look taken-aback and Steve begins to internally panic. What were you thinking? Did you think something was going on between them?

“… what the hell are you wearing?”

“Oh.” Robin looked down, smirking, “We’re not actual sailors. We work at Scoops.”

“Scoops?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, the ice-cream place.” Robin nods, frowning when you still don’t understand “At the mall?”

You shake your head, “It opened?”

“Like, ages ago.” She laughed awkwardly, sharing a look with Steve. “Wait. How long have you been down here?”

“I don’t know.” You admit, shrugging. “You don’t really get much sunlight underground, you know?”

"When did you get back to Hawkins?" Steve questions, obviously oblivious to the situation.

"Get back?" You shake your head and he sighs, heart beating faster.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Steve frowns, and you whip your head up, twisting your face as you tried to recollect.

“Uh… it was…” You slowly start nodding, “The party thing? Or dance, I don’t know.”

Steve shrugged when Robin looked at him.

“Oh!” You suddenly say, remembering. “I was leaving a letter in the basement because I knew no one would be there. The kids were going to the Snow Ball at the middle school.”

“As in… winter-time?” Robin’s voice raises in pitch and you nod.

“Yeah?”

“Y/n…” Steve catches your eyes and your face falls as you see the concern spread across it. “That was eight months ago.”

“Eight-” You take a breath, shaking your head. “No, no. I- I can’t have been here for eight months. It’s not-”

Your hand flies to cover your mouth as you realise. Time really had slipped away.

“I’m so-” Steve runs to comfort you when a loud sound rings out from the front of the room, his eyes widening as Russian is yelled and echoed from the walls.

“What do they want?” Robin whispers, her hands shaking slightly.

“They said they want to speak to the boy.” You translate, slowly looking to Steve. Eight months is all it took for you to start understanding Russian.

“Stay here.” Steve says, ignoring your protests as he steps out into the open.

You and Robin try to run after him, watching in horror as he’s dragged away.

You knew all too well what room he was going to end up in.

to be continued...

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #steve #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things 3 #stranger things fanfic #the battle of starcourt #fanfic

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epigstolary · 2 years

Text

Too Much of a Good Thing

When you said I’d never have to lift a finger if I didn’t want to, it turned out you meant it literally. And now, I almost can’t manage even that much. In all the years we’ve been together, you’ve always been the sweetest, kindest, most attentive partner anyone could ask for. You’ve indulged, even anticipated, my every whim. The hundreds of pounds of blubber I’m buried under are visible proof of that. But I don’t know how much more of your love my body can take.

When we met, I was comparatively skinny. Not fat; barely chubby, even. It didn’t take long for that to stop being true. You doted on me with regular boxes of chocolate, romantic dinners out, late nights staying at the ice cream parlor near my apartment until closing, homemade baked goods and other treats delivered before our dates. I was so taken by all your affection and how much I was enjoying all the treats that I barely noticed what it was doing to my waistline. The new (bigger) clothes you consistently brought me helped with that, too; but there was a part of me that was enjoying it so much that I didn’t want to notice, either.

I won’t say things changed, but they definitely accelerated once we moved in together. With basically a 24/7 opportunity to see me, your flow of affection turned into a torrent. Now, instead of only getting spoiled when we were going on a date or hanging out together, I was the beneficiary of your generosity almost constantly. It went from being a little pastry with my coffee break or a special second dessert, to having something new to eat or drink every couple of hours or less. It started taking conscious effort to finish one treat before you appeared, smiling, with another. I hated to be ungrateful, didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate what you were doing for me, and so… I just kept eating.

Eventually, I got used to it. It became a habit to accept your regular round of indulgences without question. And I started looking like someone who was used to it. My belly got too big to fit into our compact car, even doing everything I could to press its pendulous weight down between my legs. My rump and love handles thickened and widened until the armchairs in our living room became impractical, comfortable traps that my girth would fill and overflow and be completely stuck in without help. My elbows and wrists disappeared under puffy sleeves of chub that I could feel wobbling with each swing of my now-weightier arms, trying to counterbalance the movement of my body from walking. I say walking; it quickly came to look more like I was barely picking up each of my blubbery, shapeless legs and putting it down a little ahead of where it had been before repeating the process with the other. Once you told me I’d run out of plus-sizes at our favorite clothing store, and I saw no signs that my ballooning would be slowing down anytime soon, I knew I had to say something

It’s hard to describe the few times I tried to rein you in as anything other than a disaster. Try as I might, I just couldn’t make you understand that wanting to slow down on all the special snacks and desserts and goodies had nothing to do with how I felt about our relationship. You said you did, of course, and tried to put on a good show; but eventually you started to mope and seem listless and look absolutely miserable. You hardly ate anything yourself. And for my part, having gotten used to the constant flow of calories and the dopamine hit with every new treat, there wasn’t much willpower left when I saw how hard it was hitting you. It never took long for me to give in, see the joy return to your face when you got to start filling me up with lavish indulgences again, and go along with it when you made a point of outdoing your past spoiling to make up for lost time.

Now that it’s so hard to move, it’s only gotten worse. You know I can barely get out of bed, and how tired I get those few times a day when I do. You’re always ready to make sure I have what I need so I, literally, never have to lift a finger or even ask for something I might want. It seems like every couple of minutes, you bring me some new treat, something else to snack on, another drink, another meal, another candy. There’s always more, right at hand, to keep shoveling in.

And there’s nowhere to go. These days, I can’t even reach around all the fat on my body. It just about fills the bed that used to be big enough for the both of us. If I could manage to waddle all the way to the front door, I’m not even sure I’d fit through it anymore. I can’t get away; so whatever you bring me, I eat it. And drink it. And chew it. And swallow it.

And enjoy it. And dread it. And crave it. And fear it.

I wish you could see with clear eyes what you’re doing to me and what I really need. I wish you could see that I’m way, way too fat for my own good. That you should be making me move and exercise instead of sit and eat. That I need you to make me diet instead of make me indulge. That every treat is a temptation, every snack a sap to my willpower, every meal a means to make it that much harder to ever go back. You’re loving me to death, and every new pound proves just how completely, thoroughly, smotheringly you love me.

It takes my breath away.

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #gaining #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #extreme weight gain #wg story #weight gain story #gainer stories

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i-eat-nail-polish · 4 months

Text

Hey I’m gonna probably post more serious stuff because I need to have discussions with people about Palestine. For one I live in an area and am surrounded by people who aren’t pro Palestinian. They don’t take anything surround boycotts or information in general about the genocide serious at all because it doesnt effect them. It’s starting to wear on me because there’s no one to cope (idk if that’s the right word) with what I see online on a daily basis. Ever since mid October or so? (When the tik tok algorithm caught up with the time) I’ve seen countless atrocities that I’ve only ever seen in video games or movies played out in real life against real people. I learned what real bombs sound like both far away and up close because of these videos. Lately I’ve also started to dream about being trapped in Gaza with that feeling of death looming. It sounds dramatic but it’s true. Every day I’m thankful that I’m constantly shown information about Palestine and surrounding Arab countries and I’m also in shock. I’m in shock for a few reasons. 1: I’ve watched for months now, a country, a land and it’s people go through something worse than hell and nobody around feels the same sadness and basic human empathy. No one cares to take in that there’s a massive loss of life and culture and future for whatever reason. It’s gut renching to think about it. 2: I can’t help beyond witnessing and documenting. It seems stupid and corny to think that we’re privileged to have phones but documenting this horrible event through a phone camera is so incredible for history. It just feels almost insulting that that’s all I can do as a poor college student in America. Yes, I can call my representatives which thankfully where I live do support a free and liberated Palestine, but others won’t even do much as think about their constituents. It’s hard because it feels like we’re trying to move a volcano with plastic beach shovels. So all we can do is sit and save videos before social media giants take them down. 3: coming to terms that nobody looks out for each other on a large scale. Because I follow now many journalists from various sectors ranging from on the ground in Gaza to political scientists giving me lessons on the United Nations history, I’m shocked at how all of it is fake. Nothing makes sense anymore. You’re telling me because 2 countries won’t vote on a ceasefire but 98% do we can’t move on with it? Why does the US get privileges that to my limited knowledge no one else has the same power leverage as. How has nobody else stepped in when MANY war crimes are being committed. Why do they even exist if countries are never seriously prosecuted? Why even have rules if you can’t follow them? It’s disheartening to watch but I can’t give up hope. I’m not giving up hope because that’s all we have. I may not have direct ties to Palestine but as if needless suffering is enough for me to care, I care especially for the queer family in Gaza. They are as much apart of the queer family as my roommates are. I don’t know if and when we lose LGBTQ+ people in Gaza but I know it’s happening so I cry for the loss of our family. I need to see an end to this. I need to. I don’t know how to process any of what I’ve witnessed or feel right now or even what else I can do to help stop a genocide. I need to talk to people so please may you strike up conversation. Correct me in any place, tell me about the latest boycotts, show me protests. Please converse we have to keep hope alive.

#palestine #free palestine #free gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #pro palestine #🍉#activism #coping #long post #alhamdulillah #inshallah #palestine will be free #free palestine until its backwards #gaza #gaza genocide #genuinely asking #please help #boycott divest sanction

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pinkandpurple360 · 3 months

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I think it's worth mentioning that if Stolas became mortal or lost his power: he'd hate it. I don't care what stans say, Stolas regardless of intentional or not treats everyone below him like shit and has no problem using his stasis to get what he wants. Not only that, him being Blue Blood gives him power over Blitzo and there's no doubt in my mind Stolas is gonna gaslight him into a relationship in the next episode and make it seem Blitzo is in the wrong because 'boo hoo I'm so sad' which is just...gross as fuck. And what happens after he loses that edge over Blitzo and doesn't have power over him anymore now that he's no longer a prince and mortal? He'll make Blitzo's life hell and honestly, I won't blame Blitzo if he kicks him out now the fact he doesn't have a way to threaten his lively hood.

At least Ozzie has positive qualities to him and can adapt if he chose to give it all up to be with Fizz (not saying that should happen or like the idea but I rather that than Fizz getting to live forever kind of thing if we MUST have the two being happily together in the end. Plus the whole 'jester to queen' thing you mentioned in your last ask gave me something to think more about because boy does it feel Viv sure enjoys taking away my gremlin's identity and agency). Stolas is everything Striker and Blitzo says he is and his actions show it. Doesn't matter how much you gaslight your audience Viv, you're running your show for this horrible ship and you have no one to blame but yourself if it keeps losing views.

Now if you excuse me, Trash Anon needs to write her self indulgent polycue fanfic before the Full Moon drops and have her true happy ending to the show.

Truer words have never been spoken Trash anon, can I call you TA?

He’ll absolutely hate it but at the same time, he loves being weak and pathetic enough to need Blitzøs attention. Like how he faked it in LooLoo Land and got really excited in Seeing Stars and Western Energy at the idea of being saved by him, it’s a glorified fetish. Plus the only reason I think Viv keeps weakening him is so we stop pointing out the weird coercive power dynamic that has not budged an inch, and will never move an inch while she claims it’s not a big issue. Despite it being the establishing scene of a character who was meant to be a villain until the end of season one, where the shipping art got really popular. Now any time someone brings up his behaviour in murder family, stolitz stans bring up The Circus, an entirely different set of events. Which, I will keep saying, doesn’t disprove anything or make the deal ok. Because once off of (guilt driven) “consent” by someone trapped in someone else’s bedroom, doesn’t include consent from then on or every month.

Not only gaslight him into a relationship, but move into his apartment, join his business, hell probably ask to watch when he’s using the shower. And given the leaks of Via abandoning stolas because of all of this, and stolas saying things to her like “you’ve been the one good thing in my life” and running away from Blitzø (only for him to follow up behind him, give him his jacket, and rest his head on his shoulders, like a pet) This is going to get so so ugly. And I feel like any decent writer would see this as the perfect trigger for stolas to become the Stella of Blitzøs life. Always tormenting him and reminding him of what he did. And stolas always abuses Millie Moxxie and doesn’t even know Loona exists (and if he treats imps this bad I can’t imagine hellhounds) so it’s an awful idea.

Everyone hated seeing stars, so they’re gonna make the entire show seeing stars from now on🫣 and I think Chai said the writing of the episode is even worse than that.

#helluva boss critical #stolitz critical

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angelgoeslewd · 1 year

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Hi Angel, could i request Wren and Landry seeing a very pregnant PC and maybe the water break when there with them? So for Wren when they play card or something like and Landry maybe at the pub or somewhere else i don't mind thank you have a great day/night!

finally got around to posting this 💕 currently dealing with admissions rn which SUCKS bleh

also gonna take the liberty here to make pc pregnant w their kid bc why not 😎👉👉 if u want just a rando pregnancy lmk!!

⚠️ warnings: heavy pregnancy talk: water breaking, stressful births, etc. mentions of harper being less than savory to pregnant people, reader is able to give birth, possessiveness, breeding kink/baby trapping.

Wren:

if you hid it from him

if you actually managed to hide your pregnancy up to this point from this man, color him impressed. his whole job is being in the know. most of that info is directed towards Remy’s profitability but ya know, never hurts to have a few aces up your sleeves. and he has. so many.

night started off simple enough, a game of cards with his puppy playing across from him; you’ve gotten good after all these times, your bluffs have been harder to read, even harder when you wear the collar he had gotten made for you

its when you stop bluffing and throwing back your sharp wit that he both loves and despises when he looks up. in fact, you’ve stopped doing everything. you’re completely still. not a response he’s seen from you. and it worries him.

“you ok, pup?”

you give a little shake of your head, and then drop your cards to the table. your hands shoot to your abdomen, breath heavy, placing your forehead on the cool wood table. Wren is at your side in an instant, hands wandering over you, looking for wounds. it’s too much, the pain, the sensation of warmth moving across your body, and you push them away weakly.

when he doesn’t find any, his mind immediately goes to the worst. he pulls his gun on his men, wondering which one decided to poison the wrong person.

he’s not supposed to care about you this much. you’re just a body in his bed. he needs his gang, he knows this. he needs them to trust him, needs them to be ready to lay down their lives for him. but he does cares about you. too much about you. you, his puppy. the one he’s trained so perfectly, invested so much time in. and he wont let this transgression go.

“no… wren,” you call, trying your hardest to uncurl yourself and grab at his arm. he pulls his gun up and away from you, easily moving it out of your reach. but you manage to will yourself out of the chair. when it happens.

you hear a snap, and your body reacts, looking up to Wren, his perfectly trained puppy, thinking he had snapped his fingers for your attention, but one hand is holding the gun and the other is at his side, so you’re confused — when your feel your thighs dampen. you’ve already lost your bottoms in the first round, so you can feel all the wetness that runs down your leg and suddenly, you put it together.

he does too, seeing the puddle on the floor. his gun is instantly away, holding you as your struggle to stay on your feet while the contractions get worse.

“puppy… you been keepin’ secrets?” you nod, pitifully. the look on your face is almost literally the definition of a kicked wet dog, and Wren is amused at how well you play your part.

it’s the next words out of your mouth that makes him stop. you can’t manage many words through the contractions, but you manage to get out, “yours…”

“Everyone get the fuck out,” He spits, still unmoving, eyes trained on you. His men, who have been watching the entire time, almost in shock at how quickly so much has happened, are out the door in less then 3 seconds. They all know that voice. They’re all convinced they won’t be seeing you anymore, and honestly, so are you. and you shut your eyes tight, wondering if he’d at least take the baby to somewhere better then Bailey’s orphanage after you’ve been taken care of.

but instead, there’s a firm, gentle hand on your back, and you open your eyes to met wren’s. he’s so close to you, inches away. you can feel his breath on your face as he assesses the situation. “i’ll take care of you, darlin’. don’t worry.”

no time for prep. no time for anything. much to his displeasure, he has to get you to the hospital. he picks you up easily, trying to be as gentle as he can, barging out of the cottage and telling his men to start the car.

he spends the entire hospital visit watching harper with eyes like a wren hawk. has a HUGE, completely out of character outburst when harper has to actually touch you to help you give birth. takes the baby away from him as soon as possible.

visiting hours do not apply to him. if they kick him out, he’s just going to break back in so…

if you didn’t hide it from him

a pregnant partner is almost like a status symbol to him. when you tell him, he’s over the moon. doesn’t show it, simply nods and says, “ok.”

but your whole existence to him changes. you aren’t just a fun bedmate. you’re his show dog, his prized pooch. wants you to wear tight shirts, show off that belly he’s blessed you with. show off his fertility, show off how safe he can keep you in this horrible place.

this sometimes means you come with him on ‘tasks.’

dangerous? yes. but don’t worry. you have your own team of bodyguards, people wren has known the longest and trusts the most, who would die for him, to protect you. they’d take a bullet for you. it’s an intimidation tactic. even bailey would raise an eyebrow at wren’s shameless flaunt of power. but wren isn’t bothering him or his business so he doesn’t care too much.

in fact, bailey might use it as leverage. but that’s another story.

in private, he gets touchy. super touchy. lots of pregnancy sex. he always has an arm around you or hand on you. you go where he does.

when your water breaks, he’s right there. holding you, breathing with you through contractions. would prefer a home birth, honestly, with a member of his, recently hired, who has midwife experience. he doesn’t really like the hospital. or harper. especially harper.

he’s probably been preparing for this day and will refuse any jobs from Remy for the two weeks leading up to your due date. much to his displeasure. has made his team practice drills for this, so they jump into action when it happens.

he’s the one holding your hand, if you want a water birth, he’ll get in with you, reminding you how strong you are to have carried his babes for so long, he doesn’t care about the blood or anything else. as long as the baby and you are healthy. he’s seen and be through a lot of shit, birth doesn’t scare him off.

Landry

if you hid it from him

like wren, it is VERY hard to hide anything from this man, because you not only have to hide it from him, you have to hide it from the whole town. one drunk idiot with a loose tongue will have Landry at Bailey’s doorstep, demanding to speak to you about those rumors.

so if you actually managed it, congratulations! You might have a shot at working at Landry’s bar!

of course, he’ll very upset if he knows you’ve accepted drinks while pregnant. please don’t do that to this man. yes, he’s a shady asshole but he’s less of an asshole then anyone else in this town.

but when your water breaks? at his bar? he shuts down. Landry is not a doer. see, he takes pride in being able to avoid any doing and being able to sit comfortably on his wealth like a dragon. he will be practically on the verge of passing out. his hands will be shaking. but he’ll eventually get you in his car and to the hospital.

he adores you l, but, uh. this isn’t his forte. he’s ready to bolt when you’re in (semi) safe hands.

he doesn’t even put two and two together until you’re grabbing his hand, asking him, strained as you lay in the hospital bed, if he wants to stay and see his baby.

ok. Landry has officially shut down now. what.

oh. oh. it’s been a while, but he has a pretty good memory. you mean that one time when you sucked him off behind the bar all night and when he finally closed up and did you on the counter and he — oh.

or maybe it was that other time, when you surprised him in his bed, he was so turned on by the way you were able to get in without tipping him off that he — mhm. could’ve been that time.

it takes him a while to boot back up, but when he does, he’s still not fully out of shock. he just nods dumbly and follows your bed to the delivery room. he does hold your hand the whole time and cuts the cord though so ❤️. big love to Landry to being the only decent father besides Robin.

oh my god. he doesn’t think anything could be as cute as holding the new little infant in his arms. it’s adorable. and he’s honestly in love with how utterly perfect it is. its cute little nose.

he is 100% knocking you up again. give this bachelor a taste of domestic life and he’s going to keep you there.

if you didn’t hide it from him

honestly, not much changes besides Landry is a little bit more prepared for the birth.

he blacks out for about 5 minutes when you tell him. you’re sitting in front of him, at a table in his bar, long before it opens, waving your hand in front of his face worriedly when he comes to. “we’re… having a baby. a baby.” probably repeats this for another 5 minutes. it is honestly so concerning to you, but considering what this town is like, you don’t expect him to stick around. but eventually, when you’re turning to leave, he grabs your wrist, a determined look coming over his face, and he promises you that he will be the best dad he can be.

orphanage? haha sorry Bailey. PC is getting kidnapped moved to Landry’s room above the bar. he probably sells him a share of his bar in return. worth it though. he will absolutely not take no for an answer. you’re in his sight morning and night. he will drive you to school and pick you up. he makes sure you take your vitamins and eat good meals.

honestly, probably the best option to get knocked up by, despite him being a helicopter mom. man’s been a bachelor for so long that settling down actually seems… nice.

as long as you’re able to turn a blind eye to his actual source of income and ready to be under scrutiny of cops and always surrounded by shady people. 🤷‍♀️ if you don’t feel safe, he’ll do his best to make sure you do. security systems, an actual house, whatever you need.

remember that hoard I was talking about earlier? oh yeah, this dude’s got a bit of cash he can burn. skullduggery is the easiest source of high income in the game, he’s where all the money is flowing to.

he never mentions your pregnancy to anyone and probably won’t. it’s too risky in his line of work. keeps you separated from his work. and if you were selling him stolen goods before? well, that’s gotta stop. will refuse anything you bring him and demand you quit putting yourself in unnecessary danger. will lock you in his room if you don’t.

packs your hospital bags months before your due date. he’s so nervous. he uncharacteristically messes up orders and drops glasses when he’s working and the thought pops into his head. blames it on nicotine.

speaking of. chain smokes. not in the house or near you, but he does to calm himself down over the whole ordeal. needs it to stay sane. when he gets too worked up, you tell him to go have one to chill out.

wren and mickey absolutely find out and make fun of him.

when your water breaks, it’s during bar hours, of course. he won’t let you downstairs when it’s working hours so you have to call him to tell him. tells everyone to get the fuck out and considering how worked up he is, they do without any complaint.

carries you, literally bridal style, to his car.

again, an absolute wreck at the hospital. paces. won’t leave you to smoke though, you half wish he did, however, because he’s somewhat of a pain. jumping at every sound of pain you make, demanding Harper around, you can tell even Harper is annoyed.

but when it’s all done and over with, you have to almost pry the baby from his arms. tries to bottle feed it, but doesn’t get how to do it right. at least he’s trying.

hope you’re ready to be pregnant 24/7. he’s addicted :).

loves watching you breastfeed, if it's possible for you to do so.

#angelic songs #dol #degrees of lewdity #landry the criminal #wren the smuggler #.SMS SENT #☕ of dol

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soracities · 9 months

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hi mim! i hope you're keeping well :) i wonder if you have any experience or thoughts on something, as a fellow late twenties-er:

how do you deal with unaccountable/unjustified cruelty towards you? like most people, i've lived through some bad times and have had pleeeeenty of people be mean to me, but generally as an adult, especially in the last few years, i do all right managing social situations & protecting myself, so i can safely disengage or accept the shitty stuff until the feelings dissipate. also, i try really, really hard to be genuine and kind to everyone, no matter what, and am relatively naive, so that helps limit bad interactions to some extent.

but earlier this year, i was trapped in a situation with a boss (they had power over me, so i couldn't leave) and was stuck listening to them hammer at me relentlessly with cruel, personal insults. (my union wasn't willing to do anything because of work politics.) my boss had teased out some misunderstandings and built them up in their head and let them fester until they felt the need to pull me into their office and scream really horrible things at me. they refused to let me defend myself and called me a liar every time i tried - basically begged - to explain where the misunderstandings must have come from, laughed at me when i asked them to stop yelling, threatened me over and over...i was full-bodied sobbing in front of them because i couldn't understand how this could have happened, how someone i knew and trusted (at work! not a shitty family member or abusive partner!) could snap and lose control like that at me. it was so so awful.

an older friend, who is much more cynical than i am, pointed out afterwards that this is par for the course when you're trying to be a nice and honest person; he tried to impress upon me the idea that if you are kind and passionate, you will inevitably & repeatedly encounter people who will harm you because they can do so without consequences. because if you care about being kind, they know you won't fight back. because if you care about your work, you'll do anything to keep doing it.

i have a really hard time with this perspective. again, i've lived through plenty of horrible things, no small number being directly related to injustice and prejudice, and i firmly believe that you don't get the chance to opt out of suffering in life. i know that there are worse things that happen on vastly different scales. i also know vocational awe and abuse is a real issue in the arts and in helping professions - i made it my life's work to help people who've suffered childhood trauma, as did my coworkers, but unfortunately the kind of people who run not-for-profits are rarely (if ever?) cool, decent people.

so i can't stop thinking about this day - i quit my job, even though i was eventually able to calm my boss down, because i have boundaries when it comes to yelling at work, but the excessive degree of cruelty sticks in my mind. i can't wrap my head around it because her behaviour feels so antithetical to anything i could ever even imagine doing to another person, especially in a workplace. i'm not obsessing over it, but this degree of meanness really sticks, you know? as we get older and encounter more people like this, how do we keep our hearts open? how do we make sense of cruelty when we have no way of fighting it or reasoning with it? as we get older and get a better sense of how limited our power is in the world, how do we let go and move on without losing hope?

I think we are able to let go and move on without losing hope because "letting go" is not surrendering our own capacity for action--it's surrendering the belief that we should be able to (if we are truly "good and virtuous" enough as people) control the responses and decisions of other people.

I think it's very easy to conflate the two: that letting go is the same as not caring, but they aren't mutually inclusive things in the least. And I think this idea maybe comes from the same perspective you described your older friend as having (and I am with you in this, because I do not abide by that belief either)--that if you are kind and passionate, you will inevitably & repeatedly encounter people who will harm you because they can do so without consequences. I think the biggest issue I have with this (and I have many) is that it assumes a responsibility for others' actions that you are not obliged to have. And in doing so it actually erases the notion of accountability (which we do have) by putting the brunt of it on a single party, effectively absolving the other (the person who acted cruelly and caused you harm in the first place) of any responsibility they themselves have. It's a perspective I don't like because it negates itself without realising, or acknowledging, that it does so but still posits its view as an undeniable truth about the world: by its own logic people have enough agency to act in cruel ways because they know they can get away with it (which implies a conscious, measured, analytic decision), but somehow not enough agency to be held responsible for that decision in the first place.

It's not an objective statement, but a self-fulfilling prophecy: if you are going to be responsible for other people's unwarranted mistreatment of you, then, yes, caring and sincerity aren't worthy endeavours--but only because you have actively created, and justified, a world in which your right to behave callously takes precedence and is, therefore (whether this is conscious or not, admitted or not), valued. And at its heart, I sometimes think that is what statements like this are about: they're an indicator of what we value in this world, even if we don't realise it, or would be horrified to realise it

I think that because this idea is so prevalent and exists in so many different variations--the idea that you have to guard yourself against others because people will "always" take advantage of you otherwise--it trickles down even to those of us who don't believe it; you convince yourself that any mistreatment has to be a failing on your part: your kindness wasn't good enough, your attempts at understanding weren't empathetic enough--in short: you made a bad investment and therefore you were not good enough. And when we fall into this trap, the same thing happens to us as happens to the person who harmed you: you lose sight of your own agency and your own capacity for decision-making, and the role these occupy in every interaction, for every person.

Being kind, open, and sincere, to me, are things that have very little, if anything, to do with other people--they are decisions that I have made regarding my conduct, my beliefs, and my hopes for the kind of world that I want to live in, and the world I want to build with each interaction I have with someone else. They are not a means of measuring my own worth in the eyes of others, or proving myself to people to show that I am good enough, I can be good enough, that if you let me show you who I am, what I am, how I am then surely this can overcome anything (because I am giving everything I have) and you can accept me and therefore I can accept myself--because the fallout of that is, like I said, that if someone rejects it and decides instead to offer cruelty, the edifice of my entire being falls apart: why? because I have hitched it all on someone else's decision. The decision that I made, the decision that I came to as a result of all my experiences, all my hurts and beliefs, all that I have learnt and unlearnt in order to get to a place where I can exist in the world in a way that gives me fulfillment (in essence: the sum of my entire life)--all of that suddenly doesn't matter anymore, and why? Because someone else decided to be shitty?

This is what I mean about agency, and about our own capacity for action. Someone else's choice doesn't have to be mine. But it is their choice. And if you offer kindness and are met with callousness, that is a choice on their part, not yours. Letting go of others' cruelty towards you, and cruelty in the world at large, is not letting go of your own beliefs or changing who you are and how you approach or live in the world. It's simply saying: this is me, and that is you--otherwise it'd be like deciding that you no longer like oranges because some random person thinks clementines are gross.

I don't necessarily believe that all acts of cruelty are beyond understanding, but I also don't believe that understanding is going to come as some kind of revelatory moment that will make it all make sense. But what I do believe is that, sometimes, especially when it comes to people treating us as horrifically as your boss treated you (and I really am so sorry that you were forced to endure something so awful for that long), when we look for understanding, what we're looking for is a justification: that there has to be a why to explain it all and tidy these painful interactions up like a neat and indisputable equation. But I don't believe that they are always the same thing. If I were to take any of the hateful rhetoric I see around me--sexism, racism, homophobia etc--and try to understand it I know I won't and never could, and I'm thankful for that: because, for me, the very moment it begins to make sense to me is the moment I have seen something in it that can be justified and that will never ever be the case. But what I can understand is how we have a world in which these exist--I can see and recognize all the various points of power and domination that require a constant renewal and generation of such intense violence and hate in order to maintain a status quo whose sole priority is its own preservation, at the brutal cost of anyone and everything else. That, in situations like these, is what understanding is to me: it isn't acceptance or justification but knowing how certain aspects of this world work so that I can make the decision to refuse them.

The key thing, I think, in trying to understand why people treat us unkindly, is knowing that we can refuse it, not by negating it as a reality (this is naivety and can, sometimes, be just as insular as blind cynicism) but recognising that sometimes people respond in ways that are the result of factors that have nothing to do with us personally--they could be the result of traumas, immaturity, selfishness, bad behavioural feedback loops or simply plain pettiness--but it isn't our job to somehow fix that for them.

When it comes down to it, at the heart of most pessimism (and some cruelty) is a reservoir of fear or pain, or some concoction of the two. Our world is a profoundly fucked up place, in many regards, and all of us accumulate a host of hurts and traumas as a result of that: you cannot always control the things that happen to you but you can control the decisions you make about your life and the actions you choose to follow as a result. Your boss made a calculated, deliberate decision to berate you in the most painful and humiliating way possible--this had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with her. People who decide, consistently, to act cruelly will do so regardless of who is on the receiving end: it isn't about the person they target, but about whatever this cruelty and targetting validates for them and that is a choice. You cannot understand why she would do this to you because you know there is no justification for it. And that is something to hold on to because already it shows you that you are absolutely not like her. And that is where your agency and your ability to not lose hope lies.

I think the only way, sometimes, that I have managed to deal with this (and despair in general at the things that happen in this world sometimes) is to recognise what I can control and what I can't. It doesn't make things less painful, but it does make them less crippling. Whatever has happened in people's lives, the views they take as a result and the decisions that they then make--that isn't something I can change. All I can account for is how I respond, learn and grow from my own experiences. Other people can have their truths about the world, but I also have mine: and I assert it over and over again through the people I surround myself with, through the little actions I take to try and make it all as bearable as I can for myself and others, where I'm able to. I think, for me, recognizing the world's duality is part of that: knowing that cruelty exists, that pain exists, that senseless violence exists and knowing, too, that beauty exists, that graciousness, and openness, and kindness exist--and that I can resolve to bring more of those into the world and less of the others, even if it's only in my tiny corner of it. It may be small, but it exists. And if my life is a testament to nothing else but that, then I know I'll have spent it sincerely, regardless of what others choose to do with theirs. I really hope this helps you somewhat, anon 💕

#ask #anonymous #notes from elsewhere

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