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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

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to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 1/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn't know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he's glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he's been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can't figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn't trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: brief fear of strangulation (no actual strangulation occurs)

Chapter Word Count: 2,926

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 2) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

It starts with the snake in the sunshine.

Thomas supposes that’s not entirely right, because in order to be truly accurate, he would have to acknowledge that ‘it’ started a long, long time ago, when he was a kid, or perhaps even when he was a baby. He’s not certain; he’s never thought to ask any of the sides when, exactly, they developed. And he’s also not certain when they became… the way that they are, instead of just being regular, non-sentient parts of his personality like literally everyone else on the planet is made up of, when his heart became someone called Patton, his logic someone called Logan, and so on. But he doesn’t think that any of that is particularly relevant for this specific situation, so for all intents and purposes: it starts with the snake in the sunshine.

He spots it when he’s coming down the stairs, and promptly stops up short on the third to last step, because, snake. In his apartment. And he knows that things like this happen in Florida, knows that wildlife has a tendency to encroach on human settlements (and he has heard enough horror stories about alligators in people’s backyards to last a lifetime, thank you), but it’s never happened to him before, and he’s not sure what to do about it.

It’s lying in the sunlight slanting through the window, coiled tightly, unmoving. It is white, with dappled yellow patterns all across its back, though there appears to be some kind of black marking on its head. It’s fairly large, too, far larger than any snakes he’s seen outside of a zoo, and he briefly entertains the notion that this might be a zoo escapee, though he’s not certain of how that would have happened. Or of how it got into his apartment in the first place. He definitely would have noticed it sneaking through the door, right?

He manages to overcome his initial fear, carefully dismounting the last few steps and approaching cautiously, sure to stay out of striking range. He doesn’t know much about snakes, doesn’t know how to tell if this is a venomous one or not, and he’s not taking any chances. Though, isn’t it something to do with the shape of their heads? Don’t venomous snakes have pointed heads? That sounds right. And this snake’s head doesn’t look particularly angular, so perhaps he’s safe, though he still doesn’t want to get bitten, venomous or not. The next step should probably be to call animal control and let them handle this.

Something about it seems off, though. Something in its markings, perhaps, that particular shade of yellow, or that odd blot on its head—

Wait. That can’t be right.

He stops. Takes a few steps forward, squinting. Goes so far as to rub his eyes, because perhaps there is a spot in his vision, fooling him into seeing something that doesn’t exist.

But no, it’s still there.

The black spot on its head isn’t a natural marking at all. He’s still not entirely sure his eyes can be trusted, but for all the world, it appears as though there is a tiny black bowler hat perched between this snake’s eyes.

And just like that, everything clicks. All the fear rushes out of him at once, leaving him breathless with relief. He can’t say that there is no apprehension about this new set of circumstances, and a healthy dose of confusion is steadily building, but this is far better than there being an actual, real snake in his apartment.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Slowly, the snake lifts its head, looking up at him with slightly glassy eyes. For a few seconds, they both participate in what has to be the strangest staring contest of Thomas’ life. Thomas loses, because the snake that is probably-almost-definitely-Janus doesn’t seem to blink.

Snakes don’t have facial expressions. Thomas is fairly certain of that. And yet, he gets the distinct impression that Janus is waiting for something; it’s in the gleam of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, almost like he’s issuing a challenge.

“It’s totally cool if it is,” he clarifies, raising his hands. “Uh, you can feel free to stay there as long as you want. But uh, I just wanted to make sure that it was you and not some random snake.” He smiles, casting about in his mind for something to say. He’s not yet sure how to talk to Janus, not sure how to interact with him now that he’s offered up his acceptance, but he’s certainly going to try his best. He wants to get to know him, wants to understand him better. He deserves nothing less. “There’s only room for one snake in this apartment.”

Janus stares at him for a while longer, and then nods, a fluid, intelligent motion that is slightly disturbing coming from something that looks like an animal, but Thomas can deal. If his sides can shapeshift into his friends, and puppets, and giant frog monsters with abs, he can cope with his snake-like side becoming an actual snake. It’s hardly the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

Janus returns to his coiled up position, apparently intent on taking a nap, and frankly, Thomas can’t blame him at all. A nap sounds great right about now. He’s not entirely sure why Janus has chosen to do so here, rather than in the mindscape; he’s certainly never seen any of the other sides sleep in his apartment. But he’s hardly about to make Janus leave, even if he’s bemused and a bit discomfited, so he wanders off to grab a snack and get back to editing, leaving Janus to sleep in the sunlight.

He’s gone by evening, and Thomas isn’t entirely sure when he left. It’s a few days before he shows up again, in the exact same spot, in the exact same sunbeam, and Thomas greets him but otherwise leaves him be.

From then on, it sort of becomes a thing. On cloudless days, Janus pops up as a snake to sun himself in the living room. Sometimes Thomas will chat with him, making idle conversation that he’s not sure is listened to, and sometimes he stays silent, content to do his own thing while Janus does his. It turns into a comfortable habit, on his end, at least, and he hopes that Janus is comfortable with it too. He thinks he is; at least, he never gives any indication otherwise.

He’s still not sure why exactly this is happening, but he hardly feels the need to complain.

But then, Thomas walks downstairs one day to find Janus staring directly at him.

He pauses, thrown by the change to their routine. Most of Janus’ body is curled in on itself, like usual, but his head is reared, and as Thomas watches, he sways back and forth slightly, a constant, seemingly automatic motion. His tongue flickers in the air, but he makes no sound, neither hissing nor speech, and though Thomas isn’t sure that he’s capable of talking while he’s like this, he’s heard him hiss a few times, so this silence is unnerving.

“Hey,” he says uneasily. He gives a half-hearted little wave, which he regrets almost instantly, feeling like an idiot. “Uh, is something the matter?”

Janus looks pointedly to the window behind him, and then back to Thomas again. It only takes Thomas a few seconds after that to realize what the issue is.

It’s raining.

And not a light rain, either, not the kind that casts grey shadows over the world and taps gentle, soothing rhythms against the windowpane. This is a storm, dark and furious, wind whipping and tearing into the trees and sending gust after gust of the torrential downpour against the glass. It is late afternoon, but it may as well be night for how dark the sky is. There is certainly no trace of sun poking through, and thus, no light for Janus to lie in.

He walks closer, though hesitantly. “I’m not sure what to tell you, buddy.” He winces as soon as he says it; ‘buddy’ doesn’t fit Janus at all, feels too presumptuous, like he’s assuming a closeness that doesn’t yet exist. He’ll keep trying. “I can’t control the weather.” He pauses, looking back to the snake, who has drawn up slightly, his head now almost level with Thomas’ waist. “Um, is there not anywhere in the mindscape that you could find some sun?”

Janus hisses, loud and sharp, opening his mouth to flash some fang. Instinctively, Thomas takes a step back.

He’ll take that as a no.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not sure what to do, then,” he says. “It’s supposed to be like this all day.”

Snakes cannot look disappointed. They cannot glare. They are literally incapable of those facial expressions. So how Janus is managing to convey angry dejection is absolutely beyond him. And he doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know if comfort would even be welcome; in a way, Janus is a lot like Virgil, not that he would ever dare to speak that opinion out loud. They present themselves entirely differently, but at their core, they are both proud, stubborn and guarded, if in varying ways. Thomas has learned Virgil fairly well by now, knows how to slip past his walls, but Janus is a different story.

But still, seeing him so disappointed doesn’t sit right with him. So he reaches out on instinct, running a finger down the scales just past his head in an attempt to offer comfort through touch, and he doesn’t realize that this may have been a mistake until Janus stiffens, going completely rigid and still. He pulls his hand back hastily.

“Sorry!” he says. “I should’ve asked first, I’m sorry.” He frowns, glancing from Janus to his finger and back again. “You’re really cold. Is that normal?”

Snakes are cold-blooded. He does know that much, knows that they rely on external factors in order to maintain their body temperatures. He just never thought that such a restriction would apply to Janus, considering that he is, in fact, an imaginary snake and not a real one. But if he’s wrong, if Janus truly does need an outside source of heat in order to stay warm himself, then that would explain his distress.

Janus hisses at him again and ducks back down, curling into himself until he resembles a convoluted knot, his head nowhere to be seen. It’s almost upsettingly cute, not that Thomas would risk voicing such a thought. He crouches down instead, considering his options. Would Janus accept his help, if he offered it?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Um, look, I can’t turn on the sun for you, but you look super uncomfortable, so if you wanted, you could… wrap around my arm, or something? Body heat would help, right?” He hesitates; Janus is fairly long, probably about five feet, possibly a bit longer, so the logistics might be a bit tricky. But he’s sure they could figure it out, if Janus would be amenable. Slowly, he stretches a hand out again, placing two fingers on Janus’ scales and stroking them with a feather-light touch. He really does feel cold.

Janus uncoils himself, hissing loudly, but he leans into the contact in a way that almost seems like desperation, like he’s trying to steal all the warmth he can from Thomas’ fingertips. And after a moment, the hissing stops, and he regards Thomas with an almost wild stare.

“Really,” he presses, unsure of what Janus is thinking. “I wouldn’t mind. Unless it’s not something you’re comfortable with, in which case, that’s fine, we could figure out something else. I… might have a heated blanket?” He casts back in his mind, trying to figure out if he does, in fact, possess a heated blanket, or if he just used to have one and is remembering incorrectly. If he doesn’t still have it, he’s not sure that he owns anything else that would help; snakes like heat lamps, he thinks, but he definitely doesn’t have one of those. Could he turn on the oven and set Janus in front of it? Would that work?

He is jolted out of his thoughts by the sensation of Janus’ head rubbing into his hand, like a cat seeking attention. He freezes, and so does Janus, and for a long moment, they have another one of those staring contests. Then, Janus sets his head primly on the back of his hand, still staring, as if asking for permission. Something bright and warm blooms in Thomas’ chest, and with his free hand, he gestures to his arm, trying to suppress the grin that wants to spread across his face.

Janus hesitates for a second longer. Then, he slithers up and around Thomas’ arm, and Thomas shivers at the sensation of frigid scales sliding across his skin. At first, it seems as though this won’t work, that Janus is simply too big to settle comfortably, but Thomas watches in fascination as Janus begins to shrink, landing on a much smaller size, perhaps two feet long, a length that can wrap around his arm with ease. Somehow, throughout the process, the tiny bowler hat remains perfectly balanced.

And just like that, there is a snake looped around Thomas’ arm.

“Alright,” he says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels, because this is the closest he feels like he’s gotten to making a personal connection to Janus in months. “Okay, cool. Um, I was planning on getting some more editing done, so you can just hang out while I do that, I guess. Feel free to hiss at me or something if you get uncomfortable.”

Janus remains silent, which he will take as a good sign. In fact, he remains silent for the better part of an hour, lazily regarding the computer screen as Thomas attempts to wrangle his filmed material into something worth posting. He ends up doing most of the work with one arm so as to disturb Janus as little as possible, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. After a time, he almost forgets that Janus is there at all, becomes accustomed to the chilly weight of his scales on his arm, the slight movements as he shifts in place every now and again.

But then, those slight movements become bigger movements, and Thomas stills, tensing as Janus uncoils and begins to slither his way up his arm and under his shirtsleeve. His breath catches, and chills shoot down his spine; Janus is warmer than before, but still cool, and the sensation as Janus moves across his shoulder and emerges from his shirt’s collar is odd, unfamiliar. He exhales shakily as Janus continues to move, looping himself around his neck several times, just tight enough that Thomas is very aware of his presence, of the fact that there is a snake coiled around his neck, and as much as he knows that Janus will not physically harm him (and probably couldn’t, even if he tried), there is an element in his hindbrain that is gibbering at him, insisting that everything about this situation is a very bad idea, and that he needs to remove the threat.

God, he hopes Virgil isn’t paying attention to this. Except, judging from the way he’s feeling right now, judging from the almost audible oh god oh god get him off get him off, he definitely is, and Thomas is very surprised that he’s held back from showing up in person.

And then, Janus lets out a whistling breath and tucks his head between the coils and Thomas’ neck, and all the tension leaks from Thomas’ body as his rational thinking catches up to the situation. The way Janus is gripping him is nowhere near tight enough to cut off his airflow, and it never was, even though he seems to be pressing up as close to his skin as possible. But why--?

Was his arm not warm enough?

“You good there, Janus?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He receives no response, neither a hiss nor any additional motion, so he tries again. “Are you, uh, asleep?”

Again, no reply, so it’s probably safe to assume. He smiles, wide and unrestrained, and powers down his laptop. The storm outside has calmed to a softer rainfall, pattering against the windows, and other than that, the world seems quiet and still. It’s earlier than Thomas usually goes to bed, but he actually feels like he might manage to fall asleep if he tries, and a little bit of extra rest never hurt anyone. He’s been working in bed already, thankfully, so while he can’t lie all the way down without dislodging Janus in some way, Logan won’t lecture him too much if he falls asleep where he sits.

He reaches over to the lamp at his bedside and turns off the light.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he murmurs. Predictably, he receives no response, but Janus’ scales still press against him in the dark, a comforting presence as he drifts off.

------

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @ldavmp4 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @sammy-is-obsessed @imlovethomassanders

As a note, I am willing to have a separate taglist for this fic if you just want to be tagged for the other two chapters. So if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask! But please do specify which taglist you would like to be added to.

#sanders sides #ts sides #platonic thomceit #character!thomas #janus sanders #ts janus #my fic #i'm not gonna lie this whole fic is an excuse to get c!thomas to hug janus

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drarry-lover-obsession · 4 years

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'My saviour' - posted on Ao3, wattpad and insta. MY WORK. GOVE CREDIT IF REPOSTED. enjoy!

❤❤

“Oh fuck!” I whispered. My eyes were wide and I was trembling so much I needed the table for support. My legs felt like a jelly jinx was used on them. I couldn’t stop shaking.

It was dinnertime in the Great Hall, my 5th year and I was sitting at Gryffindor table with Hermione, Ron, Neville and Ginny. I had literally just came into my “second puberty” – where I find out my other “gender”.

There are three types – Alpha, Beta and Omega. Most people are Betas but there are quite a few Alphas too. No one, absolutely no one, becomes an Omega. They are extinct. Also, very, very, very powerful. You can get some very powerful Alphas, but they cannot match an Omega’s power. These types of Alpha are incredibly rare and it is thought that they were meant to be potential mates to the now non – existent Omegas.

“Harry mate? What’s up? Are you okay?” Ron asks me with concern flickering through his eyes. “Um no, I’m feeling a little unwell guys. I think imma head to bed early tonight . Goodnight guys.” I replied pushing back my chair and hopping to my feet.

Hermione gasped, “Harry!” I panicked. “What? What is wrong Mione??” My eyes must have shown fear and panic as she immediately stood up to calm me down. “No, no, Harry I’m fine. It’s just, you look beautiful, angelic.” She sighed. “I wish I could keep you.” She was staring at me longingly now swaying slightly where she sat as if she was entranced.

Okay, what the fuck?

Neville, to my right gave me a sniff. “Yeah, Harry! You smell bloody gorgeous!!” He then reached out to me but was stopped when a hand came in between us. Immediately I felt safe but all the Gryffindor’s growled at my saviour.

I frowned and turned to my saviour.

I took in the black, polished pointy shoes, the smart, pristine trousers and the required school shirt. I admired the way the trousers wrapped themselves around the males (for it must be a male by the way they dress) muscular legs and then I took in the school robe. Slytherin. Well, that explains the growls. I tilted my head up further to meet his eyes. Stormy grey, like a swirling pool of silver. My breath caught. Oh my. He was gorgeous and I must have made a noise because his eyes glittered slightly with amusement.

Then my world came crashing down and I gasped. I staggered backwards. I felt like a bucket of ice water just dumped itself on my head.

Slytherin, grey eyes, my whole house just growled at him, male and, now I actually look, striking platinum blond hair. This could only be one person: Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy had come into his inheritance as an alpha, and a fucking powerful one too. This led to rumours spreading that if Omegas existed; he would be an Alpha powerful enough to have one. Malfoy did not taunt us that much anymore, it was crueller teasing. We all believe he is just concentrating on finding his mate (although they do not exist) to bother with annoying us.

“What do you want Malfoy.” Ginny says rising up to face him, falling into a defensive stance, wand out. “Oh nothing, just Harry here.” I raise my eyebrow at him. He raises one right back and smiles softly. Softly. Draco fucking Malfoy just softly smiled at me. What? Why?? He chuckled at my obvious confusion (quite fondly I’ll have you know). My heart is doing somersaults (not sure why. I admit it though; he is kinda cute and very handsome. Shhh!!) whereas my brain is thinking this is so suspicious. Ginny grabs my arm and pulls me towards her. Apparently, I had taken a step forward without realising. I snatched my arm back and glared at her. She snarled at me and so I growled back, telling her to back off. She grimaced and with her nose high in the air, she turned on her heel and stalked out the room.

The hall was silent by now everyone waiting to see what would happen next. Hermione gasped again. “Oh Harry. You have just come into your inheritance right? Malfoy here is an alpha but it confuses me as to why he is so interested in you. You are clearly an alpha too. You’re a powerful one though, just like him.” She inhales sharply. “Harry! This explains your magical outbursts! You couldn’t control your power at the time but now you’re fully changed, you can!” I gaped at her, then Draco.

Wait. Fuck! I just called him Draco. Fuuuuuuuck.

Draco looked at me with a strange face. He looked fiercely protective but very possessive at the same time. And that’s when I promptly fainted.

When I came around, I noticed I was in someone’s arms. They felt so safe, warm, and strong and I just wanted to stay in them forever. I breathed in an intoxicating scent – peppermint. Someone was carding their long, thin fingers through my unruly curls. They were also stroking my face and neck in a soothing manner. I peeked my eyes open and was met with Draco’s concerned gaze. My eyelids fluttered open fully and I took in my surroundings. Draco was holding me protectively, possessively in his arms whilst a furious ring of Gryffindor’s surrounded us. I clung to my mate. Oh yeah, should probably say, I am an omega. Draco is my mate. I fainted from the realisation (honestly I can handle a dark lord, dementors and an assault on my life at the end of every school year but I can’t not faint when I realise something life changing).

Looking back over the years, at our animosity towards each other, I feel like it was meant to be. Just hear me out a second. Draco and I always had our attention on one another. We were always seeking each other out and we had to see for ourselves where the other was. Looks across the great hall, small taunts that could be as concerned questions and the never-ending eye contact. Oh, and do not forget, that moment in third year when he LITERALLY CHECKED ME OUT! I guess you could say the signs were all there.

“Harry what the fuck?!” Ron shouted at me. I flinched and huddled into Draco more. He stopped stroking me and instead clutched me closer whilst glaring at my best friend.

“Leave him alone weasel.” Draco said with a sneer. “Don’t tell me what to do snake. How about you leave him alone you slimy git!?” Ron retorted. “No, no don’t. Please love, do not let me go. I only want to be with you.” I shoved my face into his neck and he started gently stroking my hair again. Around us the Gryffindor’s gasped in horror. Cries of “you’ve poisoned harry!” and “the slimy slytherin has used his power to control harry!” were heard from the crowd.

Neville bared his teeth at Draco. “He isn’t yours Malfoy. He is mine. I saw him first! So I own him!”

Draco growled loudly, “no he isn’t longbottom. For two reasons: 1, he has chosen me as you can tell by the fact that he hasn’t moved and he specifically told me not to let go. And 2, you’re scaring him which suggests you’re a poor match for him anyway.”

Neville snarled and lunged towards my mate. Faster than I ever thought possible, I stood up and grabbed Neville and flung him onto the nearest table. I felt the control on my magic slip due to my anger and I used it to pin him down on to the table.

Stepping over him, I said, “Draco chose me, you chose me. Let it be known that I choose Draco.” And with that, I threw myself back into Draco’s arms. “And I accept you harry.” Draco whispered into my ears.

“Now love,” my heart swelled at the endearment. “You need to get your magic under control. As much as I love holding you and I’m glad you’re here, we must talk to adults about this.” “But won’t someone try taking advantage of me?” I asked timidly. Draco huffed a laugh.

“Oh harry darling, I doubt they even could if they tried. You’re so powerful baby.” He whispered the last bit in my ear with a smirk covering his beautiful face.

My body shivered, my cheeks warmed and my pulse began an erratic beat beneath my skin. Draco grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the exit. As we reached the magnificent doors, he looked over at the teachers sitting in shock and gestured with his head. Out. Now. We then walked hand in hand to Albus’ office.

THE END

#drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #dracoxharry #drarry fanfics #hogwarts #a/b/o au

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dontshootmespence · 5 years

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Yesterday I Was Clever, Today I Am Wise

Summary: Bogged down by the memories of people hurt and cases unsolved, Spencer turns to dilaudid for a second time, leaving his wife distraught and with no other options than to offer an ultimatum - kick the drugs or lose her. Will he continue his downward spiral and lose it all?

Words: 2,199

Warnings: Drug addiction and withdrawals, marriage problems, suicidal ideations.

A/N: My next entry for @cmbingo! This fulfills my reassignment square. This is a follow-up to How Did We End Up Here? It was one of my very first pieces and I never intended to do a sequel to it, but once @alisoncdariel went all hyper in my inbox and asked if I’d do a sequel, I checked my Bingo card and I thought this could really work! I hope you enjoy! <3

For weeks after Y/N walked out of the BAU, Spencer floated around the BAU, inhabiting it like a ghost - papers moved, the clacking of keyboard keys could be heard, reports were submitted and cases continued to get solved - but he wasn’t present, not really.

Everyone knew. If it had gone under the radar at all the first time around, it hadn’t now.

“Reid, can I see you in my office?” Hotch called, his head poking out from his office.

Spencer glanced up and nodded silently, placing his pen back into the cup that held it before going to see what his boss needed. When he walked in the room, he saw the entire team, minus Rossi, standing there and turned to walk out, but Morgan slammed the door before he could leave, glaring at him to shut up and listen. “We know, kid. We all know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Morgan snapped. His heart broke for his little brother, but it had to be done. “You’re not the only smart one here.”

Reluctantly, Spencer sat in the chair in front of Hotch’s desk and listened as they all cried. “You need help, Spence,” JJ said, sniffling. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“I’m fine. I can still do my job. I function.”

Hotch glared so hard Spencer could practically feel the holes being bored into his skull. “Barely. This isn’t an intervention, Reid. It’s an ultimatum.”

That caught his attention. “What are you talking about?”

“Either get help and get off the drugs or lose your job. We will be for you every step of the way if you need us and want our help, but I cannot let this go on. I failed you once before. Not again.”

Vibrating with anger, Spencer stood up and felt the pull again, wanting nothing more than to bolt toward the door, drive home and shoot up until he couldn’t feel anymore. “So my wife leaves me, I have nothing and you threaten to take away the one thing that helps me live? Breathe? Forget all the bullshit we see? Fuck you all.”

He turned to leave and was stopped in his tracks when Hotch told him where Rossi was. “He’s in your apartment right now searching every nook and cranny of your apartment with other members of the Bureau that have been sworn to secrecy as a favor to me. There will be nothing there when you get back and whether you want our help or not one of us will be keeping you under surveillance at all times over the next couple of weeks.”

Spencer didn’t reply. He barely moved a muscle before looking toward Morgan, who still stood in front of the door. “Move.”

Grabbing his messenger bag on the way out of the office, Spencer sped into the elevator without another word. Maybe if he was lucky withdrawal symptoms would take him in the middle of the night.

------

Walking out on Spencer had been the hardest thing you’d ever done, but something needed to change and he needed to be the one to change it; you couldn’t do it for him.

Some days you could go to and from work like any other day, acting as though you weren’t missing the love of your life with every fiber of your being, but other days the pain became unbearable. You should’ve come home and gotten a head start on the next day’s work, but instead you cried yourself to sleep, waking up hours later to the vibrating of your cellphone underneath your pillow.

“Hello?” You asked, voice croaking.

You hadn’t even opened your eyes to see who was calling and then you heard his voice - raw and wounded. “Y/N? Please, I-”

“Spence, I can’t,” you replied, heart sinking into your chest like a black hole. “Things can’t go on like this. I have to go, I-”

“Please!?” He begged into the phone. “I’m not asking you to come back to me. Not yet anyway. I’m-” His voice cut off and you heard him stifle a grunt of pain. “The team raided my apartment. They took everything I had and it’s been 26 hours. The pain is-” Each word he spoke wavered more and more, pain overtaking his body until you heard him collapse to the floor of the home you’d once shared. “I just need to see you...until the pain subsides. Please...I know what I’ve put you through and that I don’t deserve this, but I need you.”

“I won’t bring you drugs.”

“I’m not asking you too. Just, please.” Maybe this was the kick in the ass he’d needed. But you weren’t going to get too hopeful just yet.

“I’ll be right there.”

Morgan had been sitting in his car watching Spencer’s apartment to make sure he didn’t try and go out to buy any replacement drugs. With a silent thank you, you rushed up the stairs and opened the door to see your apartment destroyed. Somehow, his drugs had gone missing. Once this was over you’d ask him what happened, but he’d come home to look for his secret stashes and found nothing.

You found him in the bathtub fully clothed under ice cold water. “Spence...”

Crouching down, you pressed a hand to the side of his face and he opened his eyes. “Y/N...thank you.”

There wasn't much you could do for him. Apparently, he’d been using again for a while at an even higher dose than he’d used before. The drugs had to work their way out of his system.

You called into work and took off claiming a family emergency. For the next six days, you cleaned his sweat-soaked laundry, prepared cold compresses, cooked whatever food he could eat and held him as the shakes took over.

When he could speak without searing pain, he attempted to apologize, to beg you to come back, but it wasn’t that easy. He’d kicked the drugs for the second time and that was a start, but they weren’t the main problem. “It’s what lead you to take the drugs, Spence. Our lack of communication. The pain you see firsthand every day. Your inability to let me be my own person and make my own choices to bear those burdens with you. I’m not saying our marriage isn’t able to be saved. I still love you to the moon and back, but our relationship needs more than just a bandaid.”

Solemnly, he nodded, fresh tears falling from his lashes like stars in the sky. “I understand. But-but we can still try, right? As long as I’m willing to put in the work?”

“Absolutely. I’m willing if you are.”

------

In the ensuing weeks, Spencer had to earn back Y/N’s trust little by little. As much as he hated to admit that the drugs had wormed their way back into his life for a second time, they had, and they weren’t responsible for his downward spiral - at least not wholly.

Day after day, he went to NA meetings, vowing to go to at least one a week for the rest of his life no matter how clean he felt. It was a promise to no one but himself. With each passing day, he got stronger and stronger, feeling mentally and physically better than he had in years.

“How are you feeling today?” Y/N asked, pressing a kiss to his lips as he walked in the door. They still weren’t living together again yet. They’d been apart for three months, but they talked or visited at least once a day and things finally felt like they were on the upswing again. “Better and better. Therapy is helping too.”

“I knew it would,” she whispered, blissfully resting her head against his chest. “We can start going as a couple too if that helps.”

Hesitating, Spencer kissed the top of her head. “Possibly yeah. I actually wanted to discuss what we’ve been talking about for the past few weeks.”

“Okay...” she said with a hint of uncertainty. “You sure?”

“Yes. Um, I told him that I didn’t want to burden you with what I see every day because it’s so personal and up close, and he understood that. With what we see every day, to pass that onto someone else almost feels negligent-”

“Spence, you have to-”

“Let me finish,” he pleaded. “I realize that I need to talk about these things with you and going forward, when things come back to me and I feel like I can’t handle them I’ll do that, but that doesn’t mean I need continue doing what I do.”

Eyes widening, Y/N leaned back against the kitchen counter. “You want to quit the BAU?”

“I don’t want to. I love making a different and I love the people I work with, but I can’t do it anymore and I think it’s okay for me to admit that. I was actually talking with him about reassignment within the Bureau - something that still made me feel like I’m helping people without being so ‘on the front lines’ so to speak. Maybe counterintelligence or counter terrorism, utilizing my profiling to go over reports and decipher where and when and how attacks might take place. It would be less fieldwork, which means I’d be further removed from the horror of it all, you know? Plus I’d be home more. We could start the family we always wanted and if I really wanted to I could consult for the BAU on occasion.”

It all made sense and she loved the idea of him being home. Before his downward spiral, they’d dreamt of starting a family, but she had to make sure. “You’ve been doing this for so long. It’s been a part of who you are. If you stop, do you think you could come to resent me? Like I made you choose between me and the BAU?”

“You didn’t. You aren’t. I love what I do, but I love you more. And my time at the BAU would still be an integral part of who I am. I’d just be allowing myself to grow, while taking care of myself and ensuring that I never leave you with the images running around in my head.”

With a subtle smile, Y/N tilted her head up and kissed Spencer’s chin. He sounded confident. He sounded like he knew what he wanted and how to get there. He was so much more comfortable in his own skin now. “If you think this is what’s best for you and our relationship, then I’m with you. I still think we should go to some couple’s therapy though. While you adjust to whatever new position you have?”

“That makes sense. I just know I need a change. Not because I don’t like what I do but because I need to take care of myself and it’s too much for me now. It reminds me of a quote for the 13th-century Persian poet, Rumi.”

Y/N giggled softly into his chest. In his downward spiral, he’d lost his love of info-dumping, which was one of the things she’d always loved about him. “What is it?”

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

------

Shortly after they spoke about reassignment, Spencer went over his options with Hotch and the rest of the team, who were all totally on board with his decision so long as they got together once a week for dinner. “And you text me at least three times a week, Boy Wonder,” Penelope had added.

Counterterrorism was more than happy to take him on; his reputation preceded him. Analyzing reports had him doing a lot of what he had been doing with the BAU, just more removed from the field than his former work. There was a slightly different kind of pressure on him - the lives of thousands or millions on his mind rather than one - but it didn’t affect him as much as working with individuals had.

While he adjusted to his new position, he and Y/N attended therapy once a week to discuss old traumas he’d endured and how they could both handle it going forward.

Reassignment wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the right one.

“Hey, baby,” Y/N greeted as Spencer walked in the door just in time for dinner. With his new job, came a tighter schedule. He was home for dinner nearly every night. “How was work?”

“Still getting used to things, but my brain is still working and I’m still helping people, so I feel okay. I just have to get used to not working with my friends every day more than anything.”

“That’ll come with time,” she replied. “Maybe we can have them over for dinner next week as long as they don’t have a case?”

“I’d love that.” Spencer crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and taking a moment to appreciate the smell of her shampoo and the softness of her skin. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me, on us.”

#cmbingo19 #cmbingo #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #dontshootmespence #how did we end up here #yesterday I was clever today I am wise

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etherian-affairs · 5 years

Text

Mermista's Wild Ride.

This is a crackship roller coaster. It includes Merdak, Entrapdak, Mertrapta, and Perfume Weaver mentions.

Every section was written based on reaction to the previous section in the discord server I wrote this in. In real time!

Anyway buckle up.

==========

The Hordak esq creature was baring down on Mermista fast. Entirely too fast. She had also made the mistake of not noticing it over the other soldiers she was fighting. A rather large mistake. For a brief moment Mermista really thought she was going to finally bite it. Fear fills her in her final moments, real deep fear.

As the thing reared up its weapon, sneering at her, the Princess of Salineas finds an arm warp around her waste. With a yelp she's tugged to the side, and a large energy cannon attached to an armor encased arm is extended out. It hums with power for a moment, power that is suddenly unleashed.

The brutes arm is gone in a flash. Then there's another flash and the top half of its body is gone, simply erased from existence. The remains fall over lifeless.

Lord Hordak releases Mermista, she stumbles, wide eyed and staring up at the alien conquerer in shock and something else.

He looks serious, focusing on the battlefield as he releases the built up heat from his arm cannon. The flames of destruction that he himself has born during this engagement flicker in the backdrop to highlight him. Like a stoic god of war in an oil painting. "Are you alright?" He asks as he glances down at Mermista.

"Uh... Yeah... I'm good." Mermista feels a burning sensation crawl up her cheeks.

"Good. Pay more attention to your sorroundings moving forward." Hordak adds as he readies his weapon and fires on another target, returning to the fray proper as if this entire moment did not happen.

...

"Princess Mermista. You seem distracted." The voice jolts Mermista out of her daydreaming. Hordak is standing before her, quirking a brow at her surprise. When had he approached her? She had been watching him how could he have approached her without her noticing?!

Watching him for entirely Alliance related reasons of course.

"Oh. Yeah sorry. I've just been... Thinking about stuff." The princess tries to brush it off casually. He does not need to know anything about these nonsense feelings swirling inside of her mind.

Hordak nods, seeming to ponder that response before looking out from their campsite to the fields below. Visibly charred and broken from the battle earlier, even in the moonlight. "Indeed. There is much to think about. It seems we have Prime's forces on the run... For now. The use of heavy weaponry has closed the bottleneck of his armies entry."

"Yeah..."

"Still. If you cannot remain focused you should get rest while things are calm." Hordak notes, nodding to Mermista. "I can keep watch of this post while you do so, so do not worry."

Again heat flushes Mermistas cheeks. Why? He's just being a fellow soldier. Collected and calculating and thoughtful...

"Thanks. I think I will." Mermista tries to say casually. Taking a deep breath and heading to her sleeping roll. Best to sleep this off.

...

Burning cheeks? Easy to handle. A flutter in the chest when he brings her coffee in the mornings of their shared deployment? That can be pushed down. That slight pleasant burning in her core as he destroys the armies of their enemy? That's a fluke.

This though. This... Ache in her chest... This Mermista can barely stand. It's eating at her.

They've met back up with another group of Alliance soldiers. Specifically a group with Entrapta in it. It was immediate, the Princess of Dryl shouting "Hordak!" And literally leaping into his arms with a happy laugh.

And Hordak catching her.

The way they smile at each other. The way they nuzzle and give each other gentle loving kisses. The sheer... Apparentness of their love. The bottomless affection they seem to share. Even the way they immediately and seamlessly get to work together. As if they barely need to say anything to know each other's thoughts.

It hurts. Mermista hurts.

It doesn't help that Sea Hawk is here too. He's nice and she is fond of him but he does not currently mix well with these very problematic feelings.

"Oh Mermiiiistaaaa! The greatest soldier there ever waaaaas!" Sea Hawk sings at her side.

She groans and glowers. Pulling her eyes away from the happy lab couple working on bots nearby. "Please stop..."

She isn't sure who she's talking to at this point.

...

"Oh I can share." Entrapta says with a mischievous grin.

Mermista stammers. Actually stammers. How had it come to this? Sure she had been a tad surly and more flippant than usual but how had Entrapta of all people figured out what was going on? And why was Entrapta okay with it?! "yeah well... What about Hordak?"

Entrapta giggles. "Oh he's fine with it too. Watch!" She glances back. "Hordak!"

The Lord looks up from his maintenance of Emily. "Hmm?"

"Would you want to sleep with Mermista sometimes?" Entrapta asks. "It would help her morale!"

Mermista is beat red. Entrapta is shouting right now. Alliance soldiers are staring. This is awful. All Mermista can do is wait for Hordak to tell Entrapta no. That Entrapta is being ridiculous as she tends to do.

However Hordak just nods. "Very well. It will likely increase her battlefield efficiency if she has been desiring that."

Mermista gapes.

Some of the people listening in gape too.

...

"No!" Adora shouts. "No! No no no! No!"

Mermista is clutching her forehead. Beat red. Entrapta can be so loud and soldiers gossip and now everyone knows.

Everyone. Knows. The other Princesses, the entire army, probably Horde Prime himself.

"It's already... Weird! That Entrapta and Hordak are a thing!" Adora adds on to her exclaiming.

"Pretty sure that's rude!" Entrapta shoots back looking grumpy.

"It is." Hordak assures his wife. He's unbelievably calm.

Suddenly Sea Hawk let's out another loud sob. He has been doing that. "Mermista! I thought we HAD SOMETHING!!!" His eyes are red, filled with tears.

Mermista wants to die. Just bury her at sea right now.

Catra raises her hand from the crate she's sitting on. "To be fair to Mermista. Hordak IS hot."

"Catra No!" Adora screams in horror.

"I will not be sleeping with Catra, even if it won the war." Hordak notes mostly to Entrapta.

"Ouch." Catra fires back sarcastically.

This is all the worst.

...

"So let me get this straight" Queen Glimmer of Bright Moon looks over the assembled Etherian Alliance Ruling Council. "You have all called a council meeting to discuss... A moratorium on sleeping with Hordak?..."

"Yes!" Adora stands and shouts. "It's a distraction from the war effort!"

"This is ridiculous!" Entrapta shouts back. "It's a morale boosting activity!"

"He's evil Entrapta! It's already weird you do it!"

Mermista is currently trying to slide under the table to hide. Anything to get away from this.

Perfuma raises her hand. "Excuse me... I have a question."

Glimmer sighs. "Yes Perfuma?"

"Is the issue that Hordak is evil?..."

"Yes!" Adora shouts.

"That's irrelevant!" Entrapta shouts back. "He's just ethically divergent!"

Perfuma cuts through. "Um... Okay... So... If the issue is he's evil... Can we still sleep with other evil people? Like Shadow Weaver?"

"WHAT?!" Catra and Adora both scream in unbridled horror.

Even Hordak looks over at Perfuma with wide eyes at that one. Mermista feels slightly better for a moment as the focus leaves her.

...

"Okay!" Adora shouts. She never stops shoutong. She's gesturing to the large board covered in pictures and documents with string and other nonsense. They've been here for hours. "I think we have this worked out!"

Entrapta, standing next to Adora nods. "Yes! This seems fair!"

Everyone else is sitting back watching this unfold. Entrapta and Adora basically completely took over for this whole meeting. Mermista continues to look and feel like dying, Hordak looks quietly amused, Catra is glowering, Perfuma strangely hopeful.

Queen Glimmer just looks so tired.

Really everyone else is some mix of those and the air in the room is heavy and awkward.

"So!" Adora continues. "There will be no more casual sleeping with Hordak with the singular exception of Entrapta who due to sleeping with him previously and remaining effective is allowed to continue. However others may petition the alliance council for permission to sleep with Hordak if they can show good cause that it would somehow aid the war effort!"

Entrapta nods. "Hordak and I retain full rights to veto any yes given by the council in this regard though!" She adds.

"This is so stupid." Catra mutters quietly.

"Furthermore!" Adora says loudly. "We should all be aware of the Shadow Weaver clause that states that Princess Perfuma, and only her, may sleep with Shadow Weaver under stipulation that she never ever talk about it again!"

"Yay" Perfuma claps.

...

As everyone leaves Hordak approaches Mermista. The Princess of Salineas looks up at him, feeling so... Everything. This crush spiralled out of control in ways she could scarcely comprehend and she just wanted to hide in Salineas forever.

"Hordak..." She mutters.

"Princess Mermista." He replies, glancing around as people file out quickly. Trying to escape this horrible meeting.

Suddenly when they're mostly alone the Lord leans forward, close to Mermista. She almost shivers. "Petty Alliance rulings aside. Feel free to visit Dryl as you desire." He grins. Red teeth glinting in the light. "We are good at being discrete." He adds before standing back up and marching away to rejoin Entrapta.

Mermista is beet red.

...

Mermista stares up at the ceiling of the royal chambers of Dryl. A room of metal and purple and fluffy furniture. She's in the bed, a massive thing. How did she even get here? It's all a blur. Not actually of course, she knows exactly how she got here, she followed through on the invitation. The emotional journey is what's a blur.

All because Hordak saved her life. Honestly that's kind of cliche and pathetic.

Before Mermista can let out a groan of defeat she feels a body press against get and glances over. Entrapta. Naked and curled against the Princess of Salineas. Snoring and cuddling. Mermista stares at her for a moment in... Bewilderment? This whole situation is so bizarre.

Then the person on her opposite side speaks. "Cute isn't she?" Hordak asks with a pleased tone. "Do not worry about waking her, Entrapta sleeps like the dead." He adds.

"Yeah..." Mermista nods absently before staring back up at the ceiling. "The alliance is going to kill me..."

"They don't need to know." Hordak adds. "Do you want breakfast? I can make something for you two."

Mermista looks over at him. "Uh... Okay." Might as well get free food if this is happening after all.

#merdak #entrapdak #perfume weaver #my writing #nonsense

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inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years

Text

In Which Sherlock Tries a Different Way To Cope With His Issues and John Finds Out About It

Hey so here it is, the fanfic I asked you (anonymously) if you wanted to read. The one where I project my issues onto fictional characters. Wasn’t sure if I was gonna send it/post it/allow it to be seen by other humans because it’s sort of…personal, i guess. Um. Is there any way to put it under a read more?

Anyway, here we go. Trigger warning for self harm.

(Submitted By Anonymous, story under cut)

Hi Nonny! As requested, I did put it under a read more, and I hope it’s okay if I did some grammar corrections... I can’t help myself LOL.

As an aside, it’s a good ficlet, and I commend you for being brave to share what seems to be a real life experience through the eyes of the characters. The fic is worryingly detailed, though, Nonny, and I really hope that you are okay, and that you are seeking professional help if you need it. Remember: you are important and loved just as much as the next person, and I would hate for you to be self harming. HOWEVER, I do know that a lot of people write fics based on their past as a coping mechanism, and as a way to heal and to share their stories of their life, and to educate other people.

I love you Nonny, and I would be sad the see you hurt yourself. Please, for everyone, if you can’t get mental health support, 7Cups has been rec’d to me a lot as a “right now” solution until you can get to your therapist. PLEASE, you are all so beautiful, and you ARE worth something to me.

Story is under the read more, to everyone else: HEAVY TW for Self Harm (particularly cutting), blood, depression, drugs and mental health issues.

It definitely hurt. He could feel it every time, but that was okay—that was part of the appeal, part of how it worked. How does it work?

The body releases endorphins when it’s hurt, as a sort of natural painkiller, gives you a sort of biological high.

It’s calming, watching blood, deep red and so warm, drip, drip, drip down your arm, off your fingertips, splatter against the stark white tile. Your hands shaking, feeling the heat rising out of your body when everything else seems so cold, reminding you of how alive you are in this frosty, unforgiving world.

It makes you feel powerful and in control—to see the damage you can cause, the marks you can carve into your skin, a permanent reminder of the chaos inside you.

The preparation, the clean-up, the act itself, it’s a distraction; the physical pain drowns out the tightness in your chest, the empty blackness clawing at your stomach, the weight that presses on your lungs, threatening to suffocate you—

It lets everything out, everything you’ve been shoving into the deepest, darkest corners of your mind, the things you can’t bear to face in the light of day, finally freed from the prison of your flesh, eating away at your insides, things now washing down the drain in a swirl of rusty red water.

Who knows why it works. But it does. It makes everything more bearable, for a time at least, and it stops the never-ending, uncontrollable swirl of thoughts, the ones that won’t go away no matter what you try, and it reminds you that you’re real; that you’re human. It brings you back to reality and takes you away at the same time. It’s as close as I can get to being able to turn off my head. And God, how I wish I could turn off my head.

Of course, he’d never be able to articulate any of that. He wasn’t expecting to have to, either—no one has to know—but then came a sound, a sound that sent his heart racing into overdrive, that caused his stomach to plummet to the ground, that made his hands shake and his breathing catch—

A knock on the bathroom door.

A voice, John’s voice: “Sherlock? You in there?”

He’d been acting strange lately. (Okay, so he always acted strange, but this was beyond normal, even for him.) Always so twitchy, avoiding John’s casual questions, and the way he held his arms was off. Elbows bent. Didn’t let anyone touch them. Never rolled up his sleeves. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, John’s mind immediately went to drugs. And so he waited, deciding when to confront him.

“So when were you going to tell me about it?”

John had him cornered, as he walked out of the bathroom in his robe and pajamas. Sherlock tried to push past him, but John grabbed him by the bicep, forced his friend to face him. “Well? How long have you been back on?”

“On what?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“You know what. Drugs, Sherlock. Mycroft is going to want a list.”

“I’m not on drugs, John,” Sherlock said scathingly. “Now would you please let me by? I have an experiment I need to work on.” He tried again to walk away, down the hallway, but John wasn’t letting go.

“I’m not an idiot, Sherlock. For God’s sake, I’m a bloody doctor. And I’m your best friend. I know when you’re not acting right,” John replied. He knew he shouldn’t be angry, but he just couldn’t understand why Sherlock kept pulling this.

A pause, and then, more gently this time, “Sherlock, we’ve been through this before. You should’ve come talk to me—or Molly, or Lestrade, or hell, even Mycroft—anybody, really.”

“John, I appreciate the concern, but you’ve miscalculated the situation. Now, would you please let me go?” Sherlock’s tone was clipped, like he was trying to keep it light but having difficulty.

“Miscalculated, have I? Then I guess you won’t mind me checking?” And before Sherlock had time to react, John grabbed him by his wrist, flipped it over, shoved up the sleeve of his dressing gown, and—

“Jesus Christ.”

It was barely a breath, an echo of quiet, whispered shock. He had been expecting track marks. He had been expecting drugs.

He hadn’t been expecting this.

Sherlock looked at the ground, smiled sheepishly. “It’s not as good as drugs, but I made a promise to avoid those.”

John was still staring at Sherlock’s arm.

It was crisscrossed with thick red slashes, some weeks old, others still bleeding. John withdrew his hand, now sticky with blood, looking shocked. He looked at Sherlock, disbelief and horror crossing his face before being replaced by a sort of resigned calmness as he regained his composure. “Show me the other one.”

Sherlock wordlessly held out his arm. John pushed up the sleeve, saw more cuts, and shook his head, looking away.

“Christ, Sherlock, what the hell were thinking?”

“I told you,” Sherlock explained, “it’s like drugs. It heightens my thought process.”

John shook his head again, clearly not believing Sherlock, but apparently thinking it useless to argue with him. “Okay, well…” John looked around the hallway, clearly trying to figure out what to do. He had been prepared to argue, prepared to search all of Sherlock’s usual hiding places, but not to stitch up his friend’s arms, to run through his mind everything in the flat everything that could be used as a razor blade. There were a lot of things that could be used as a razor blade. Scalpels, kitchen knives, shaving razors, even the little blade in a pencil sharpener will work in a pinch.

“Here, come here.” John grabbed ahold of Sherlock’s wrist again, gently guiding him to the kitchen sink. Turning on the water and clearing dishes and science experiments from the counter, John washed his hands of Sherlock’s blood (dark red and sticky, leaving rusty fingerprints on the faucet handles) and said, “You wash those out, I’ll go and find the first aid kit. Stay there, okay?”

John walked back down the hallway, rooting through a closet to find the first aid kit that was buried somewhere in there. There’s something about the feeling of cold water on your arm, watching it swirl orange and pink and red before it floods down the drain, washing away all the things you’ve done wrong. John spread out the contents of the first aid kit on the counter beside the sink while Sherlock watched, apparently mesmerized, as the water flowed over his wrists, stained red as it ran down the drain.

“Okay, hold your arms out… yeah,” John turned off the water and poured hydrogen peroxide over Sherlock’s wrists. It sizzled and foamed where it met exposed flesh, but Sherlock gave no indication that he felt anything. John picked up a suture needle and a pair of forceps and got to work sewing Sherlock’s shredded arms back together.

And I think I’ll end it there. Apparently, you’re not supposed to put hydrogen peroxide on wounds, because it kills healthy cells, but I didn’t feel like changing it. Sorry if the characterization is off, I don’t write fanfics very often, and I’m wayyy very new to Sherlock. But basically there are a few moments in the show that sort of put the idea into my head of drug addiction is not all that different to self harm, and we all know Sherlock is super self-destructive, so like what if he took that up as a different, still unhealthy coping mechanism. Plus then we had Faith Smith, who while I’ve seen a lot of posts saying she’s a mirror for John (which I don’t disagree with), she kind of brings up the issue of self harm being a different but very similar coping mechanism to what Sherlock does. Hope that made sense. Anyway thanks for reading through all of my rambling lol. (Also quick fic rec if you like the premise of Your Fave Is A Cutter type thing there’s one on AO3 called It Was The Boredom by 221Bme that I really liked.)

Yeah. Also I don’t know how submissions really work but if you don’t feel comfortable posting this (because it’s pretty…detailed…) I totally understand.

(Submitted by Anonymous)

Hi Nonny! Again, I want to thank you for sharing your ficlet, and I am sorry that you are hurting, but I am hopeful that writing is your new outlet. <3 Cutting fics aren’t really my cup of tea (a little bit TOO close to home for me, given I myself have self-esteem issues and contemplated cutting when I was younger), but I respect you very much for putting into words what I cannot ever relate to. I hope you are alright <3

#send me things #submission #self harm tw #depression cw #drugs cw #mental health cw #ficlets

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