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theknightmarket · 1 year

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um i really wanna see a fic where damian takes care and looks after da. idk maybe da is sick but came to work anyways. maybe they were overwoking themself and eventually collapse. maybe they get injured somehow. just our dear mayor being concerned for them and looking after them

"You're too stubborn to die."

In which Damien helps the DA in a compromised state.

TW: angst, injury, blood

Pages: 15 - Words: 6,000

[Requests: OPEN]

A regular Sunday for the mayor of Los Angeles was, surprisingly, incredibly similar to that of any other thirty-year-old working man. It was one of Damien’s only days off in the month, and he treasured them like the holy grail; if his job was to hold endless amounts of paperwork, incessant meetings with countless people, and public speeches to bore the masses and himself, then his day off would be filled with as many relaxing activities as possible.

Damien wandered around the apartment, a watering can in one hand and his cane in the other. The doctor had long since said that he didn’t need it anymore, and that his insistence that he did was only psychosomatic, but it was more than that. To him, it was a grounding tool. If things got rough, and, in his profession, it was more of a when, he could grip tightly onto the stick and find comfort in the stability of it. Metal is not an easy material to break, and he much preferred it to messing with his jacket’s edges or cuffs. That meant, no matter how many of his veins popped through paled skin, it would always be there for him.

Now, though, he was content. The sun was shining, the windows let a blissful breeze flow through, and there was the distant hum of the radio from the kitchen. It couldn’t be more perfect. Sundays were always this way, like entering another dimension where famine had been decimated, all wars ended with the flick of a pen, greed, pride, envy wiped off the map. Even the air he breathed felt lighter.

There was a bounce in Damien’s step as he moved around, singing quietly along to the tune and thinking about his next projects. Getting all of the plants watered was number seven on his checklist – and, yes, it was in his back pocket while he went through the motions – but with only nine left to go, he thought he could get some recreation in. Maybe pick up a new book, you were raving on about ‘The Mysterious Rider’ yesterday, or he could swing by Celine’s place. Though, that place always did give him the creeps…

And you were going to be back in an hour.

The memory still made him smile, how could it not? He had been so excited but so nervous to ask you on a date, he’d double-checked and triple-checked and one more check for good measure. Hell, he’d planned the day out to a T, given that you’d even say yes. But Celine had convinced him you would, so he prepared flowers, reservations, outfits, all so that nothing could go wrong.

Then everything went wrong. He didn’t like focusing on that aspect of the story, it only made him wonder how he ever got you to go out with him again, but it all ended in a pretty fun evening, if he did say so himself. You’d assured him that it wasn’t all for naught, and that you’d had a good time, going so far as to ask if he was free a couple nights after. That one night turned into three nights, and then nights turned into days, and then, after a good few months, you’d gone right ahead and moved in together.

This was your apartment, too, it was where you came back to every evening with a tired smile and ready to have dinner together – and this night was to be no different.

Or Damien thought, until that hour passed, and he remained the only person in the room. But that was fine! He could hold out, and you probably only got caught in traffic or something. It just gave him time to get started on that book. It was absolutely nothing to worry about.

After taking it gently from the shelf, he settled onto the couch, a pillow behind his head and comfortable in evening clothes. The first sentence crossed his eyes, and he took in all the information he could as he read through the first chapter. It left him with questions, but that was fine, because you still weren’t back. Another half hour passed, and when he looked back up from the pages, he noticed that he had unconsciously shifted to be angled towards the front door. He tried to tell himself that everything was alright, he didn’t have to worry, work was probably just getting the best of you. Lord knows he wasn’t one to talk.

So, Damien kept reading, and when his eyes started to strain and holding up the book was too large of a chore, he went and made a cup of coffee. This was the first time you’d been late home, and what kind of partner would he be if he was asleep when you, surely, came back.

Minutes later, he was sipping idly at the kitchen island. The window across from him showed shimmers of orange and red, the cityscape of Los Angeles almost teasing him where he stood. You were out there somewhere, and he felt lousy not knowing where that was.

He took another sip.

The wall-mounted clock ticked by. Seconds felt like hours, and every one that dropped into the bucket pushed him closer to the edge. His jacket swayed on the hook, his shoes just below them. It would be so easy to get a cab over to your building and check how you’re getting on – you’d be hunched over your desk, taking a call from precinct cops who couldn’t do their jobs right, and then you’d see him, and you’d apologize for not getting back. He’d be fine with it, of course, and he’d end up helping you in the case that had its claws in you.

Oh, but he knew that he couldn’t do that. His heart thudded in his chest, his hands shook, but he respected your boundaries. It’d only been a month since you moved in, after all, and he didn’t want to overstep anything that quickly. Heaving a not-so-relaxing sigh, he vowed that he would stay right there in the apartment until you got back, no matter how long it took you.

By the third hour, he was starting to reconsider that.

The soles of his shoes were burned into the wooden flooring, his pacing surely annoying the neighbors below, but he could care less. Show him that you were alive and well, and he’d stop, but he had yet to see any clue as to your wellbeing, so they’d have to deal with it. He hated this, he hated this so much. Pointless waiting and irreverent, troublesome thoughts. They had no use to him, but he didn’t know how to get rid of them. They burrowed into his mind like an infestation of roaches or disease.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. He was going to throw that clock out of the window if he didn’t get ahold of himself. But what else was there to do? He’d completed all of his chores, even the ones he promised to leave for the next day, and he found himself waiting like a puppy at the front door. His eyes wavered over it, hoping for it to open just an inch to show he wasn’t stuck in purgatory.

Whatever higher power there was seemed to take pity on Damien, because not two seconds later, the creak of old wood broke the ticking of the clock. He almost sprung to his feet and launched himself at you when you entered, but he held himself back, if not for decorum, then for the sight of you. You were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes upon, but he was not one to lie to himself; right now, you looked terrible. Your skin tone had lightened so much that you appeared ill, and your chest was rising quicker than before. Were you sick or had working three hours after your shift finally got to you? Damien didn’t know, and he didn’t care. Taking care of these symptoms was his top priority.

“Darling?” he called out, still restraining himself from rushing to your side.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you lugged yourself towards the bedroom, completely dismissing hunger. You were far too tired to think about that, the bed, comfy cushions, and a warm blanket calling to you.

Damien caught your arm before you could get too far, though, with a concerned grimace playing on his lips. “Are you alright?”

He sounded worried, and that was the last thing you wanted – never mind the fact that it was well-warranted – so you heaved a tiny smile and muttered, “I’m fine, love, just tired.”

He still wasn’t satisfied, that was obvious, but you weren’t paying attention to that. A kiss on his forehead from you, a noise of discontentment from him, and you were on your way to the bedroom, trying to focus on your feet as to not trip over warping wood. Everything was slowly fading away at the edges of your vision, consumed by blackness and turning the rest fuzzy.

You knew exactly why this was happening, you knew it was bad, but no way in hell would you let Damien know. You loved him more than anything on the earth, but he was bound to worry about you more than necessary. You’d be fine, you silently promised him. You had to be.

Nearly six hours later, the moon was high in the sky, casting a shimmer of gray dust across the landscape. Light reflected off of windows, night walkers stumbled over rocks, and dogs howled in the alleyways. Patters of rain caressed against the city, warning of a dreary but calm morning.

Even with that promise, Damien couldn’t sleep. He had work in the morning, his day off having ended at the stroke of midnight, and yet the thought of leaving you in the apartment was horrifying. You had knocked out the second your head hit the pillow, leaving him to his thoughts, and they centered around just one thing: were you alright? He couldn’t believe you were just tired, since you’d woken up bright and early the morning before. He was almost insulted you thought he’d fall for that, but he was too worried to mind.

He dragged a hand through his hair. It tickled at the nape of his neck, though he hardly cared. What if something was wrong? Really wrong? His heart thrummed against his ribcage, like if it hit hard enough, you’d wake up and tell him what was wrong. But his ribs didn’t crack, and you didn’t wake up, and Damien was left sitting in the armchair by the window with tired eyes. This wasn’t doing any good, and the sun was due to rise in a few hours; he figured he might as well make you both some breakfast.

Damien shuffled out of the bedroom, a dark robe swaying across the floor and his cane stepping beside him. He held it tight while he made his way to the kitchen, where he noticed blurry chatter. He started confused, which quickly morphed into fear, and then his cheeks brightened in silent embarrassment. What he had thought was a robber was just the radio he had forgotten to shut off. He was glad you weren’t awake to see him creep around the corner, stick raised to thwack however was in there.

He turned the volume down and went to work. After so many times missing breakfast, Damien wasn’t sure what to make, so he decided on the only thing he knew how to decently cook – waffles, and even then, there was a chance they would come out burnt.

The crack of eggs and dust of flour was comforting in a way to him that only a childhood meal could be. In the earliest hours of the day, there would be no consequence to adding a gram more sugar than needed or cooking them for a second too long. The waffle iron steamed and sizzed in front of him once the batter was poured on, almost making him laugh. He let himself smile for the first time that day, the sense of warmth and lightness filling him.

“It has come to our attention that – last night, at the Dimmock Public Health Centre – the district attorney of Los Angeles was shot in an attempted assassination—”

Damien’s smile collapsed.

“—The D.A was rushed back to a car that was seen heading away from the scene, while police were contacted to find the assassin. We have not heard back from our sources about their wellbeing, but we have been assured that they are no longer in danger. Despite this, there has been speculation as to their current location and the reaction of federal agents—”

His own heartbeat cut off the radio, pounding against his head like an overzealous drummer. The smell of burnt food wafted into his nose, his vision toppled over the edge, his hands sweat, his feet moved before his mind could catch up. You weren’t ill, you weren’t overworked, you were shot. And he didn’t realize, and you didn’t tell him, and you weren’t waking up.

You weren’t waking up.

His cane slammed against the footboard, but you didn’t stir, not even a huff. He would have begged for you to groan or berate him or say anything, but you didn’t. You stayed quiet, and Damien’s breathing grew louder.

He tossed himself to your side, strew the bedsheets across the floor and saw, red as a rose, blood. It seeped into the fabric, like bacteria overcoming a wound. God, your wound. Normally, he would ask your permission to lift your shirt, but this was urgent, so he disregarded the crimson staining his hands and pulled the hem up.

Tears flooded his eyes as fear flooded his heart. A lazy medical patch had been slapped onto the entry hole, half of it having peeled off already and the other bled through. Damien had never trusted the medical professionals present during speeches, and this only deepened his distaste for them – but he’d deal with them later. For now, he had to wake you up.

First, he whispered shakily, “Come on, wake up, dear.”

No response. He tried again.

“Dear, please.”

No response.

“C’mon, you have to wake up, please.”

No response—

A cough.

You were alive, you were panicked, but you were alive. Eyes shot open and limbs rushing to get you out of bed, but you were stopped short by your own hiss. It felt like you had been shot again, more tissue and muscle ripped through with no regard for the nerves there – it made you think the bullet had been laced with something, hellfire, poison, but no. Dismally, you remembered the paramedics removing the metal as quick as they could, but speed was favored over kindness. The hole pricked again in response.

Coming down from the small adrenaline high, your eyes focused back in on Damien, who kneeled in front of you. He looked worse for wear, and you wondered if he had been injured, too. This wasn’t true, of course, and the drop of his shoulders gave you some relief, though the slight wet patches dripping onto his cheeks had you furrowing your brows.

“A-are you okay?” you mumbled, tentatively grasping his hand.

A weak chuckle tumbled out of him, fading like the whizz of a stone dropped down a cavern. He squeezed your hand tighter, remaining wary of your state, and asked, “Are you?”

Your attempt to nod was interrupted by a rack of coughs shaking your very body. They didn’t stop, not even when pain splintered away from your wound and all breath vacated your lungs. You weren’t fine, that much was obvious, but, when you’d calmed down from the fit, you settled on staying quiet.

Damien had been your friend for the majority of your life, but, after a year at the very most, it was obvious how much he worried. If you told him there was a crack in the pavement, he’d cross the street to avoid tripping – and if you told him that you were at risk of passing out from pain, you’d be suffocated from his fear. He was such a mother hen; the thought nearly made you laugh but you stopped yourself before you could be overwhelmed by coughs again.

The man sighed at your silence. Unbeknownst to you, not giving him an answer was making him more scared as the seconds ticked by. He pushed away stray hairs that had fallen into your face, trying to see the truth in your eyes. Comforting, obviously masking injury, you stared right back.

“We have to get you to the hospital.”

If it were Damien in your place, you’d agree in a heartbeat, but you were the one lying in bed, blood sticking clothes to your side. Your partner, however, was the mayor of Los Angeles, they could barely go a day without him. You didn’t want to risk taking up his precious time, when some disaster could strike that he’d have to report on. In your mind, it made the most sense for you to go about your daily lives and for you to just deal with it throughout the day. The shot wasn’t that bad, and you’d seen bills for a paper cut before.

Considering this, you found it in yourself to clear your throat and reply, “No, we don’t, I’ll be fine.”

“We have to get your wound checked out, I mean,” he gestured vaguely to the stained area, “those medics were clearly frauds- they didn’t even dress it right, and it’s coming off already, and you’re bleeding—”

You pulled his hands closer to you, fingers curling around his own in a silent reminder to calm down. His volume was steadily rising, which meant his heart rate was, too, and you knew how he got when he was overwhelmed. These past hours had already put more strain on him than you had wanted.

“I’ll be fine,” you repeated, offering a smile. He responded in kind, but his was more placating than agreeable, “if it was anything to worry about, I’d be in the hospital, now, wouldn’t I?”

Damien mulled this over in his mind. On one hand, your logic was sound, as always, and arguing with you had long since proved a fruitless venture. On the other, he didn’t like the thought of leaving you to your devices, as if you’d never been injured in the first place. What if something happened to you and you didn’t notice? With nothing else to do, he decided on a compromise.

“Okay,” he conceded, and, for a second, you thought yourself safe – you might have even gotten down to the offices for some paperwork – but Damien’s hands darted to the discarded sheets and re-tucked them around you.

Damien was going to look after you himself.

He was scarily efficient in how he moved around the room, gathering spare pillows, blankets, anything that would make you feel more comfortable in the bed. By the end of his little escapade, you looked more like a bird in a nest than a human. You couldn’t deny how proud he looked, though, and it would be easy to let your eyelids slip down for a few more minutes…

But you snapped to your senses and summonsed your will to talk. “Don’t you have to go into work today?”

He paused, back turned to you, at his position drawing the blinds. “…Not necessarily.”

“Damien,” you drawled.

The hairs on the nape of his neck pricked up and his face felt the power of a furnace. “Well,” spinning around, he did poorly at hiding his blush, “technically, yes, I do – but the office can handle work without me, just for today.” He slid into place beside you, resting a hand onto your shoulder. “You are more important.”

Normally, you’d jump at the opportunity to spend more time with your partner. Your schedules weren’t exactly kind in allowing you to be together, and moments with him were treasured more than those without. However, at this second, your eyebrows furrowed, and your lips pouted. Most of the time, you’d be forced to get rest, confined to bed while Damien ran errands to ease your weary soul. That was the last thing you wanted, and the only way to convince him to hold back would be to get him out of the apartment entirely. Besides, this wasn’t as big a deal as he was making it out to be, you were sure.

As if he could sense your resistance, Damien whispered, “I still have three hours until I go. I’ll take care of you, and then we’ll assess the situation.”

Sneaky. Damien might have been reserved and shy in public, but you have seen you’ve seen your fair share of his mischievous, sly side. Despite hardly ever getting practice, he was worryingly good at getting what he wanted via cunning means. You both respected and feared that aspect of him.

He left a kiss on your forehead, now, and rose from the bed to restart his preparations. If he had the time, he would’ve crafted some kind of checklist, but getting you a glass of water and medical equipment was top priority. That, and salvaging what he could from those burning waffles.

When he was back at your side again, your eyes having slipped closed once or twice, skin being tugged away from muscle caught your attention. The patch had been badly applied, but adhesive remained against the wound that meddled with blood slowly spurting out of the cracks. Divots sprang red and raised flesh curled around the hole like a mountain range. It made Damien’s stomach squirm and flip, but he focused his expression to clean the area.

As you looked down at the man, ruffled dark hair a mess from stressing and still in his robe, your heart swelled with love. He was your partner, and it was crazy to think you were his. Even after four months, everything felt like a haze, a dream you were scared to wake up from, because you knew nothing would come close to this. Carefully, you shifted your arm to caress Damien’s cheek.

He glanced back up at you quizzically, a look you only returned with a smile. Shaking his head, he returned to his work slightly more comforted than he was before.

Nearly half an hour passed in this fashion; Damien patted off the dried blood, replaced that medical path with a bandage around your waist, and managed to get your mind off of the wound with excerpts from ‘The Mysterious Rider’. You appreciated everything he was doing, down to the way he’d pause when he noticed your eyes drooping. Most of the time, you would shake yourself awake again with a yawn, but there were the odd times when you felt yourself drift off for seconds at a time. These bouts of fatigue never lasted long, and, while you were thankful for the brief rest, the expression on Damien’s face had you staying awake longer.

Every time the curtains closed even slightly, a mix of emotions spurred in him, melting over his eyes, and giving you a first-row seat to his thoughts. Half of him was glad to see you comfortable enough in this nest, it liked seeing you warm and sappy – but the other half was always scared that it might have been the last time you’d close your eyes, as if he hadn’t done a good enough job to keep you alive, and it would be all his fault that you… slipped. But that all wiped away when they opened again, revealing your familiar and welcoming irises. Full of life.

Even though you both knew how he felt, he prefaced the start of the next chapter with, “You can fall asleep, you know.”

You couldn’t deny the fact that you were tired – getting shot would do that to you – but worrying Damien any more than he already was, was at the bottom of your bucket list. So, you lightly shook your head and replied, “Nope, I’m so awake, I could—”

You were, helpfully, cut off by a yawn. Damien looked at you from his armchair, unimpressed, but you continued, nevertheless, “—I could finish a case. Maybe go back to work, in fact.”

At this, he became alert, the sharp spike of fear prodding him in the side. “No, not yet.”

“Damien,” you pleaded.

“I said ‘no’.” As he stood, his cane felt like an earthquake against the wooden flooring. Inwardly, you sighed; you’ve never liked getting into arguments with him, mostly because he was normally the one in the right, but it was unavoidable. Damien had work in two hours, and getting there was a quarter of that, and, before that, there was changing into his uniform. He was neglecting doing any of these to take care of you, and you found it hard not voicing your opinion about that.

“Look,” you started, sitting up straighter in the bed, “how about we do a test run?”

Damien stopped himself from getting through the doorway to listen to what you had to say. Still, he was thinking through getting a cold rag in case of a fever, but most of his attention was directed towards your proposition.

You continued, tentatively, “You go on a walk, alright?” Disagreement stirred inside him the second ‘go’ came out of your mouth, which you could see and began battling immediately, “And we’ll see how I get on alone.”

He thought over the scenario, practically moving his head to the direction of his thoughts, until he rushed to your side and kneeled down. Your hand was soon encapsulated in his fingers, warm and worried. “What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t,” you promised, leaning forward to peck at his lips. Really, you couldn’t be sure it would be alright, but it was worth trying just to see the blissful and hope-ridden look on Damien’s face. “It’s not like I’m going to die if you’re away for two seconds, love.”

With one more sigh and a slightly longer kiss for good luck, he began to get ready for a walk outside.

Five minutes in, Damien was spiraling.

His tolerance for being away from you had plummeted since the day before, and the glum of the streets was getting to him. It was indeed raining, turning his polished boots gritty from dust swept through the pathways, and it was difficult to discern what were droplets from the sky or from his skin. Despite the cold brushing against him, the worry he was experiencing was sending him into overdrive. He couldn’t tell if he was warm or cool if he was still walking or if he had made it past the first few steps to your apartment. It felt like he was having withdrawals, but there was no way he’d go back. Not only would he still be scared for you, but the disappointment you’d feel seeing him was something he’d do anything to avoid.

So, he took in a deep breath and tried to steady his beating heart. It was horrible, but he put himself through it. For you. He hoped you’d be proud, but he also hoped you’d be asleep when he returned.

The day was… nice, he supposed. Not many people were out this early, a few older gentlemen he passed with a wave, but the most popular of the species were stray dogs. One in particular he saw often when he was heading to or from work. The street had a nickname for the poor thing, and they’d elected to keep it there with spare scraps from the table or chew toys out of old pig’s ears. Benjie, if he remembered correctly, a golden lab that had been around for the last three years.

Fondly, Damien thought back on when you and the dog first interacted. He knew you loved pets, especially the over-active, wholesome ones. You’d requested him stay with you as soon as you saw him, even wagered you’d get him groomed and trained into a proper house dog. He rolled his eyes, you patted on his arm and vowed that, one day, he’d be the most pampered pup in all of Los Angeles.

But that had yet to come to fruition. Benjie was still out on the street, taking leftovers of roast dinners and maintaining a rough coat. Maybe, when this whole ideal was over, Damien would bring him home.

It was with that thought that a whole new cavalcade of bad ideas flooded his mind. They stopped him dead in his tracks, and – following that them – paled him beyond recognition. He flopped against a brick house, steadied his cane in the ridges of cobblestone and thought back on the very reason why you were in this position to begin with.

There was an attempted assassination. Someone had attempted to assassinate you. It hadn’t settled with him, until now, that someone powerful had hired a killer to end your life. And they had nearly succeeded, and you had nearly died, and—

And if they weren’t able to do it the first time, who was to say they wouldn’t try again?

Damien’s vision blurred together, buildings crumbling together and horses in the distance clicking like the trigger of a gun. He had to get back home, to you. God knows what could’ve happened to you in the time he was gone. You’d said you’d be fine, sure, but you were suffering from massive amounts of blood loss, and he loved you, but you were never the most logical person in the first place.

His feet were moving regardless of thought or will to. His eyes were clouded with possibilities and his mind overtaken by sorrow. If you weren’t okay when he got back, it would be all his fault. Why did he have to be such an idiot? He should have stayed with you, and he didn’t, and now you were suffering the consequences of his stupid choices.

He stumbled across the stones, plucked his cane from holes and brushing off the coattails of early risers. They were confused, but he didn’t care; all that mattered was getting back to you as quick as possible. Tears pricked up in the corners of his eyes, those wide windows scanning the street for your front door, and when he came to it, he all but ripped it off its hinges in order to get in.

Going two steps at a time was too slow for him but falling back down the stairs would be of no use to anyone. Still, he pushed himself to get to your apartment at a record pace. One mantra echoed through his mind while he struggled to your front door. Please, be alright. It was wish, to you, to any higher power, to anything that could better the chances.

His heart plummeted in his chest when he saw you lying on the ground.

Damien’s eyes whirled around, inspecting, for a second, for any hint as to what happened. Your arms were flattened out in front of, appearing to have cushioned your fall, and the only blood visible was what had leaked through your bandage.

Nevertheless, he fell to his knees next you, tilted your head up and looked for any other sign of injury. Hope overcoming horror, you seemed okay. Passed out, but okay, so he took his time in carefully drawing a hand up and down your body. Your heartbeat was steady and fine, your skin was barren of unexpected blemishes, and your eyelids were just beginning to flutter open again.

“Damien…?”

The second that he heard your voice, Damien captured you in a tight hug. Of course, at a hiss of pain from you, he pulled back, but you were going nowhere. The strict shift in temperature from the outside had him in whiplash and waking up with your back against the floor was doing you no better. He buried his head in your neck, both to keep you as close as possible and hide the tears beginning to flow. Not entirely sure of what was happening, you pat his back with one hand and cradled his head with another.

You shushed him and pecked at where you could, in the midst of whispering, “Hey, it’s all okay. I told you I wouldn’t die.”

Damien sobbed.

You held him tighter, an embrace solid enough to assure him you were really and truly there.

Exhale shivering in the air, he mumbled against you, “N-no, you’re… oh, you’re too stubborn to die.”

You smiled, ignoring the situation and thanking you lucky stars that you’d landed such a loving man.

“I’m here, love, everything’s okay.” Another kiss, and he lifted his head up to stare at you. Despite you being the one to have been shot, have passed out cold on the ground, you were comforting him. How had he ever gotten such a kind soul? He didn’t know, but he knew he was grateful, and that he’d do anything to keep you.

Shakily, he muttered, “Come on.” He secured his arm underneath your shoulder and lifted you to stand, against the twitching of his cane. The weight of two people was forgiven when you were up fully, and he gently sat you down at the island while he gathered your shoes and coat. “We are getting you to the hospital,” he announced, and that was that.

Being the mayor of Los Angeles had some drawbacks; long working days, the eyes of the press, social obligations – but there were definitely some advantages, not least of all being able to order anything with impunity, whether that was a public car, table at a restaurant, or being to stay in the room while nurses flittered around your partner. At this point, leaving your side felt more hellish than he expected hell to be, and, though he hated abusing his power, he was not about to wait in the hallway for the next hour.

So, by your side Damien stayed. The nurses poked and prodded at you, uncaringly prescribing you unlabeled medication, and redoing the bandages. He wasn’t ashamed to say he relaxed when they left you along, finally. At least he understood when enough was enough – or, he thought so, because if he told you that, you’d probably regard him unimpressed.

He caught your hand – noticeably less pale than it was before – in his own, and cradled it against his chest, as if fearing you’d disappear when let go. But, with you safely inside a hospital and treated by professionals, he could finally calm down. His nerves had been going haywire ever since you’d been late to dinner, but they found no reason to not settle down under his skin.

“You know, I love you.”

Damien perked up before sending a confused glance your way. Why were you telling him now? Was there something that he didn’t know? Had you been shot, had someone tried to kill you again—

“I nearly died yesterday, and,” you laughed awkwardly, as if you were telling a crude joke, “I kept thinking, what if I never get to tell you again?”

Now, he was fully turned to you, and it was then that he saw you were started to cry. He’d never seen you look like this before, wet cheeks and red eyes. His eyebrows involuntarily bent, and he squeezed your hand tighter.

You continued on, “I don’t want you to forget how I feel, and I think that if I had to live without you, I—” You cut yourself off with a sob.

Without a second thought, Damien moved to sit next to you on the bed, bringing you into his chest and cradling you as you cried. He peppered some kisses along your ear, neck, anywhere that could comfort you. He thanked his reputation for getting you a private room, lest you have to deal with people looking in to see the mayor and the district attorney communicating affection.

“I love you, too,” he responded, tone having never been more sincere.

You stayed like that until the nurses came back in, singing praises of Damien’s handiwork and pointing out your conditions. You would have to stay for a while longer, and you didn’t miss the proud smirk on your partner’s face when they told you that you should’ve come in sooner. Still, you laughed, rolled your eyes, and kissed him on the cheek. That normally shut him up, and this time was no exception.

Sighing, he sat back in his own chair, hand still caressing yours. “Do you still want me to go back to work?” he teased.

You brought Damien’s hand to you face, planted a well-intentioned kiss on the upper part of his hand, and winked. “Never.”

He felt himself lucky for being in a hospital; he was sure he could have died from a heart attack right there and then.

[Thank you so much for requesting - I'm sorry this took so long, but I'm glad that I got it out in the end! Gotta say, when I saw that I was allowed to injure the DA, I was already scheming. It did suck that I couldn't put a heart-rate monitor joke in though, since they hadn't been invented yet, but eh, the trade off is that we get nervous Damien waiting for you to come home. Again, thanks for requesting]

#request #markiplier egos #markiplier #who killed markiplier #damien #Damien x reader #DA #reader #markiplier egos x reader #wkm #wkm x reader #1920s #fanfiction #district attorney

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hpowellsmith · 9 months

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Hi, I was wondering... since in Honor bound MC and ROs are of a certain age is there a reason why they're still single? Like, it's totally fine if someone didn't want or did relationships in their youth or haven't met the right person yet but did any of the ROs or MC canonically have someone at one point? (Apart from our employer's daughter that is).

Ooooh. Now this is really interesting!

It's something that will come up ingame so it's behind the cut for those who want to go in without knowing anything:

None of them have had serious relationships in the immediately recent past.

Fiore (age 35): got together with their spouse Jaime young, when they were about twenty, and then they had Catarina when they were 21. After they divorced when Catarina was 8, Fiore was very focused on juggling caring for her and on their work. They co-parented with Jaime for about two years before Jaime's death, though Jaime was less present and their parenting was less stable/reliable than Fiore's. Fiore has dated people a bit, mostly people whom their friends introduced them to, or meeting people they've worked with for coffee dates, that sort of thing. But although some of them have been nice times, they haven't gotten really serious. There are a lot of reasons for this, much of which are in Fiore's head (they have a bunch of stuff going on about what they do and don't "deserve", and there are some other big aspects of their past which they don't feel comfortable opening up about. yet!). If they think about it, it's with a bit of wistfulness and a hope that it might be possible one day, when things align.

Korzha (age 41): is someone who is very "married to their work" and in being so, keeps a lot of distance between their personal life and their work life... but doesn't have a huge social life outside of work. Some of this is intentional from their side, some of it is a habit they've fallen into. They did date more when they were younger, and ended up in a pretty serious relationship in the workplace that went wrong somehow. Maybe it imploded, maybe there was drama, maybe they didn't treat each other well. Either way they went "no, things are going to be different from now on". And broadly, generally, they are content with that. They get a lot of satisfaction from their work and do prefer to keep their distance emotionally from those around them... and for some people that suits them very nicely but for Korzha sometimes it really doesn't. They had a horrible example of romantic relationships in the shape of their parents, and want to avoid repeating their patterns. If they think about it, they probably think that they might find someone suitable when they're assigned somewhere else - Ozera is so small that they don't think it would be possible to date comfortably.

Matia (age 44): if they were a sailor they would be "married to the sea" but... they're not. Maybe "married to the wilderness", lol. They've travelled around a LOT for most of their life and it's only in the last ten years that they've settled in one place. Which isn't to say that they haven't had longstanding relationships: I can absolutely see them having long-term friends-with-benefits situations where they would consider themself very close with and trusting towards the other person, but wouldn't necessarily call it "a romantic arrangement", as well as ones that have ended badly. They haven't been in a situation where they want to move in with someone, for example, and they'd see a romantic relationship as including markers like that - partly because of seeing their parents, who have had a very long and generally sweet/chill romantic marriage. After moving back to Elene's Prospect, they haven't really dated people in the town because of all the scrutiny all that gets. They do sometimes go to the neighbouring city to enjoy some hedonism; they may have had a fling with a previous teacher at Ozera; but in general they haven't had a recent "romantic, serious" relationship and are not expecting or actively looking for that at this stage.

Raffi (age 25): has had a lot of no-strings attachments with people they know, which has sometimes caused drama and has sometimes been fine, and Raffi hasn't totally figured out ways of pushing it towards the "fine" end of the spectrum. They have also had some friends-with-benefits situations but more often it has been less emotionally close. They have been in situations where they've been given lavish gifts and hung out with very wealthy people while sort-of-not-really dating them, but although they did enjoy that and found it fun, what they would really like is to be with someone who treats them like they're the most important person in the room; they believe there is someone out there who will, it's just that they haven't found them yet. Still, though they find the thought of that exciting, they're aware that they're young in the grand scheme of things and they haven't been in a huge rush to settle down.

Savarel (age 28): went on some very sweet, chill dates as a teenager with friends from school, and I can totally see their parents, aunts and uncles (their family is very, very large and sprawling) trying to set them up with kids or cousins of their friends when they come home on leave. Which Savarel would have gone on and probably enjoyed - maybe not always having a fantastic time, but sometimes! They would probably have had some romantic encounters, mostly with their own friends at some points, especially in their early to mid 20s. But as they've got older, they've done that less and less, especially in the last couple of years. Currently they don't really place themself and romantic relationships in the same sentence; if they think of it at all, they probably think "that simply isn't something that's going to happen" - not because they don't want it. But because the world, and they, are not in a state where it could happen. And they are in a mental place where they do not feel at all comfortable with wanting things let alone having them.

#asks #honor bound #fiore roldan #varenn korzha #matia frasada #raffi claudian #savarel lopes #honor bound spoilers #choice of games #interactive fiction

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freebirdyance · 11 months

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Somehow, Finn had started to genuinely trust Yancy over the past few months. It was mainly just the two of them screwing around, and they knew it was irrational to start growing an attachment to him when there were no obvious strings attached, but something about him just made them... soft. And the even more bizarre aspect of this whole thing was that they enjoyed who they were when they were around him. In the tender moments between the passion and the heat, she somehow became all smiley and playful, and Finn fucking adored that feeling even if they'd never admit it out loud.

June came by quickly; they had barely noticed any time passing, and now it was Pride Month and she wanted to celebrate her queerness with Yancy by their side. The dyke bar they had been attending since she was old enough to drink, The Lady Killer, had a pride-themed karaoke night every Sunday for the entire month. It was open to people of all genders and sexualities, and... well, Finn might have accidentally left the flyer for it on Yancy's desk after the two of them had "discussed business" in his office for four hours one night. They definitely didn't leave it there on purpose, not at all, because The Siren would never ask someone on a date, especially not the man that they had planned on assassinating not even a year ago. No, it was purely coincidence that the flyer had a specific day and time written on the bottom left corner and was left unattended right where Yancy would see it. And there was definitely no knife plunged into the desk, pinning the flyer down so it wouldn't be tossed out.

Because Finn definitely wasn't asking the boss on a date.

They were dressed more casually than they usually preferred, since it was a hot summer night and they didn't want to sweat to death in one of their nice corsets or suits. They additionally wanted to avoid potentially drawing attention to themself, which was a rare occurrence in their life. If Yancy really did show up, Finn hoped that the two of them wouldn't be recognized so that they could enjoy the night, but she doubted he'd show up in anything less than a three-piece suit. Not that they minded how fucking scrumptious he looked in his suits, but still not the most convenient outfit choice when it came to subtlety.

Still, they nervously began checking their phone as it grew closer to eight in the afternoon, which was most definitely not the time that they'd scribbled on the flyer that they definitely hadn't left in Yancy's office in hopes of seeing him there.

- @lost-in-gardener

It was a feeling that had started to get harder and harder to fight against over the months. Yancy had already broken several of his personal rules by sleeping with Finn, and it had been too fucking good to stop. So it became a regular thing. The passion between them was palpable every single time, but it started evolving into something else for him as time went on. And trying not to let his heart go totally soft for them was about as easy as trying to swim upstream with weights attached to every limb.

Especially because he noticed the change in her, too. Finn had been witty and sarcastic from the moment they entered his life again, but then it was more. The way they seemed to smile a certain way when they looked at him. Fuck, the way they looked at him, a hint of fondness that made his chest seize up. How they could joke around with each other so damn easily, like they've done it for years. Yancy has laughed more in the last few months, genuinely laughed, than he has in the last few years.

So when he catches sight of the flyer stuck to his desk with one of their knives, he's... nervous. It's an almost foreign feeling that is hard to grasp at first. And he knows that if they meet up like this (a date? Finn would probably lightly stab him if he suggested it was one) it would change the nature of their relationship even more. There's a brief thought that he shouldn't do this, further complicating things even if every part of him wanted to go. But the thought of doing so makes something twist painfully in his chest. Not in fear of their retaliation, but... not wanting to hurt them in such a way.

And of course, karaoke is one of his guiltiest pleasures by far, in his eyes. It's not like Finn could've known, but... yeah. He wants to go, and he's even excited about it. So, for the first time in a long time, he actually dresses down. Even his hair isn't fully slicked back like usual, showing the dark and slightly wavy curls that are usually more controlled and flat. Also, for the first time in a long time, he doesn't have any of his guys in the immediate vicinity blending in. It was another sign of trust that excited and terrified him in equal measure.

Yancy walks into the bar at one minute before eight, and it takes a moment for him to spot Finn in the crowd, and his heart is suddenly beating a little faster. They looked so... different than usual. Still gorgeous, still them, another side that he's treated to. That they are also trusting him with. Taking a second to breathe, he meets their gaze and moves through the crowd until he's standing in front of them, hands tucked into his jean pockets. "Hey. Almost didn't recognize you, darlin'. You look great."

#yancys out and about (rp thread)#something more (finn)#cockiest hitman

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fourtyfourcatss · 6 months

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Hello! I saw that matchup trades were open, and I thought I'd offer you one on my side blog @courtofmatchups

I'd like to send one in for Twisted Wonderland for an OC if that's cool

How Saima describes themself: I like to say I'm a pretty cheerful and upbeat person. I try my best to smile through tough situations, though it can be hard sometimes. I also like to say I'm a family person, and I will do anything to protect them, and my friends. I am perfectionistic, but sadly I am a bit scatterbrained, much to the dismay of my parents and older sister. Hell, I almost burned the eggs I was making for the first time. I have been working on my organizational skills though, and I’m happy to say that I’ve come a pretty long way. I can be quite petty too. If someone wrongs me, I tell them either bad puns or horrifying facts for a period of time as revenge. I'm also good at math, so my friends come to me for help with that. Also, in almost every friend group I'm in, I somehow become a therapist friend. Lemme tell you, THAT really takes a toll on me. I also have a soft spot for unabridged fairytales (they high-key have me in a chokehold). Some more lil' factoids about me: I wear my hair in low ponytails because I don't like the feeling of hair on the back of my neck. My friends and family often told me my hands get pretty animated when I talk

Likes: Anime, drawing comics, video games, unabridged fairytales, sweets (my favourite dessert is caramel pudding) and spending time with my older sister

Dislikes: Cruelty, confrontation (I will kick butt if I need to, literally or figuratively), anyone who dares to threaten my friends or family, arrogance when it gets out of hand, black tea or coffee (I cannot drink it unless it is sweetened or if I have it with a LOT of milk)

-> for saima !

[i’ll be using both sets of pronouns for her] — hope you enjoy!

twst ✦ silver

✦ saima has captured the heart of… silver!

✦ the first meeting is embarrassing for both parties; saima is waving their hand around wildly at the courtyard while chastising ace, and at the very same moment, ruggie is rushing to get leona’s lunch to the savanaclaw dorm, and runs right into silver. he trips, and saima end up wacking his face. hard. and then, since he was in the midst of falling, he hits the ground extra hard. then grimm, who had been on saima’s shoulders panicked, and saima losing balance on the uneven grass, falls down onto silver. its not a romantic position at all….

✦ after the apologies, neither of them could really let the situation go, small as it is. there was so many people around! everyone was looking! silver feels shame at how he did not notice ruggie, or even dodge saima’s flurry of hands. it was unbefitting of someone with knightly conducts. usually, he does not get so worked up so easily, but in particular, he had always wanted to give a good impression upon malleus’ friend, and now because of his tired disposition… 🙁

✦ buuttt it all works out in the end ✨ eventually, the two of them get a moment of time together, and tie off the embarrassing first impressions to start anew a very contrasting friendship! a man with a fatigued countenance and an upbeat prefect! though, it seems that while silver still seems to doze off here and there, he can still reply and recall what saima has said even while he was in a daze! how odd..

✦ silver greatly admires saima’s values in family and the way she is viewing the world, brightened in optimism and trying their hardest! he himself can understand the amount of love and drive that is given with the meaning behind every action. the appreciation they have for one another runs deep, extremely so the more and more they learn of each other and their pasts. he can see how diligent and endearing she is as a person, trying to improve any aspect — though, he isnt too partial to horrifying facts 😨

✦ he doesnt need a therapist, meaning they dont have to exhaust that extra emotional energy. he’s extremely good at listening though, so he will definitely be someone to confide in for saima! they can tackle vulnerable situations together no problem! he’s not too good at comfort, but he will try, and saima can definitely pick themselves back up

✦ absolutely watches anime and abridged fairy tales with saima! as long as he doesn’t need to do much, he’ll definitely be an active participant (as much as he can). he isnt too good with video games or the like, so saima uses it as a bonding activity for the two of them!

✦ theyre just the sweetest, spinning cotton candy with interactions. saima definitely tones down her voice to whisper in his ears to test if silver is awake or not. it sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. but oh, he absolutely adores their voice.

#twst matchup #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland matchup #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x oc #oc matchups #twst silver

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ezrisdax-archive · 1 year

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characters forced to take on a name from a predecessor post... got me thinkin of clone Shep now

send me a ☕️ and a topic and i’ll talk about how i feel about it

rhrfgjkdhk there's a reason I'm tumblr user ezrisdax here and rcdimusprime on my other blog because I relate too much to characters suddenly forced into a legacy/name from a predecessor and living with it.

but like it's tragic!! it's just the whole ghost haunting you thing and even worse if you didn't know the person properly and also somehow kinda do? And absolutely for clone Shep in that regard the previous person is put on this unreachable pedestal that you're always aiming for. And if you try to live up to them in some way then you're told you can't and if you don't try at all you're told you're wasting the name. (I'm forever haunted by Garak saying Jadzia was 'vital and alive. she owned herself' to Ezri okay, you just know clone Shep hearing that would have them rampaging)

it's always a no win scenario for characters like that. clone Shep was doomed from the beginning for several reasons and that's just one of them. Even if they'd got the Normandy off the ground somehow you know they'd tear themself apart still trying to live up to Shepard regardless; people would tell them they seem different and that little remark would drive them to do dangerous things in an attempt to prove they were the better Shepard.

also there's just the identity aspect: who are you if you're trying to live up to someone else's ideals? What line do you draw between them and yourself and how far will you go to push that to others. There's this one line in dark matter when a character finds out they're a copy of someone else "I don't know how to put it into words but her existence somehow diminishes me. I'm a lesser version of someone else. A diluted imperfect facsimile." which I think really sums up the struggle for these types of characters and how they view themselves.

And that's not even getting into how fandom perceives said characters because hoo boy they'll always be the replacement for a better character in their eyes. And sometimes that's valid! And the reason the character was changed in the first place is unfair (*cough*jadzia*cough*) but man is it hard for that character to win any place in fandom eyes too.

#beej talks mass effect #beej talks star trek #I mean sorta #camalyng #I just relate way way too much to these types of characters

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starsfreckled · 1 year

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👀 + what do you think about hermes and fandaniel?

i forgot the exact meme help .

pity. anger. fandaniel especially is hard for amaya to define. they recognize a lot of their own pain in him, this bottomless hopelessness that leads to this gap between a person and everything else. that is very much where amaya was during stb and shb. this anger at the world for everything its done to you. but amaya was lucky that they had the scions, that they learned to find joy again - that being a dark knight taught them the importance of allowing themself to be angry, to grieve but not to hurt others over it.

so yeah, they pity fandaniel. this person torn by their previous sundered lives, by hermes memories until there is just a husk of a person with nothing really to them. i think they wish they could do something about it, but realize he is too far gone & has hurt far too many people - people amaya loves & cares for. amaya may find it in their heart again to be kind but they are too bitter to be foolish about it.

hermes on the other hand... I do think they really, really wish that they could somehow protect him from the world. maybe it is the part of their soul that is azem, because asthelios & hermes were rather similar. but where hermes drowned in sadness & feeling like he could do nothing, asthelios decided to use their losses as a lesson. to still love the world, to try better next time... & to not care what others think.

hermes is a lesson for amaya. he is gone - nothing can be done for him but amaya sees what certain aspects of a society can do & with ew done now & people all over the star trying to better themselves... amaya hopes they can strive towards a future that would make a person like hermes smile & that might even give someone like fandaniel the will to try again.

#forgesahead #❝ ᶦⁿᵏ ˢᵒᵃᵏᵉᵈ ᶠᶦⁿᵍᵉʳᵗᶦᵖˢ ❞╱ ic asks .#❝ ᵇᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗᵉᵉᵗʰ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ʷᶦⁿᵈ ᵘᵖᵒⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒʳˢ ❞╱ about .#spoilers cw

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elprupneerg · 4 months

Text

(vague posting about a youtube video i just saw earlier but i don't wanna get into it with the creator or their other fans cuz i genuinely admire them and don't wanna be seen as a hater and also i'm sure the creator didn't mean anything bad by the video but i'm still pissed off and need to get this out somehow so here we are)

first: if you're gonna talk about a historical figure who spent their entire life crossdressing and wrote their own autobiography then maybe you should double check how that person referred to themself in the original language rather than just relying on what the translators decided to use. because translators (especially before trans people were more well known/respected by academia) may have gotten it wrong or mis-translated things, and also since english doesn't have every aspect of our grammar gendered the same way many other languages do we may not be able to read the person's self-professed gender as easily as someone reading the original words might.

second: queer people are not all angels. we can be petty ass bitches (what i'm doing right now), we can contribute to horrible things in this world (environmental issues and genocides and every form of bigotry under the sun), we can be mean and cruel to people around us (see every bit of intra-community fighting we've had since we started forming communities for ourselves).

that pettiness and cruelty and contribution to horrible things does not erase our right to be called the correct names, the correct pronouns, and the correct terms. i might not care for a certain olympic athlete's conservative politics, or a certain drag artist's ties with the fracking industry, or for the internalized bigotry a lot of people around me express cuz we're not perfect and still learning. but that doesn't make it ok to suddenly deny anyone the right to their name and expression

third: figuring out how to refer to historical people who express attitudes/behaviors that would today be seen as queer can be really tricky! i am not denying this! and trying to shove our words onto someone who isn't even alive to hear those words is uhhhhh Not Great. however, it is important to look at the words and attitudes someone has expressed and respect those. for example, if a person has spent a significant part of their life dressing as a man and living as a man and in the original text of their autobiography they use masculine grammar for themself and they only tell someone they're a "woman" because they were about to get executed and were hoping to avoid that and the last scene of their autobiography involves them threatening to beat up some people calling them a woman. Then Perhaps That Person Is Not A Woman And Using She/her Pronouns And His Birth Name Is A Little Bit Transphobic.

yes even if he was a conquistador jackass who traveled around getting into fights and contributing to the genocide of the americas. i do not support antonio de erauso's actions cuz he was a conman and an asshole and literally got a pension from the spanish government for his participation in a fucking genocide. but goddammit he was still most likely a dude and calling him by his birth name is gonna make me give you the stink eye.

#putting this on the 'piss on the poor' website is Probably a bad idea #stg if any of you are saying that i'm supporting a genocidal dick then uhhhhhhh fuck off #antonio is not a role model #but also if we cannot respect the names of the asshole trans people then what is stopping us from deadnaming the 'nice' ones #if you insist on calling him his birth name then i'm gonna be nervous that you'll wanna use mine!#because i'm not fucking perfect then you might deem me 'not trans enough' to have my fucking Name respected #and uhhhhhhh fuck that shit!

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hungeringheart · 7 months

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May I please request a session analysis of a Page of Void (D), Mage of Time (D), Sylph of Space (P), Rogue of Breath (P)?

They're all humans, but the Page of Void and Rogue of Breath are in their late teens where as the Syplh of Space and Mage of Time are in their early teens!! Thank you :)

Hello there! First of all, let me begin as always by saying thank you for writing. I appreciate the opportunity to shed some light on some things and make you happy! When people send me thank-you asks or like or reblog my posts for them and tag them with keysmashes, it really makes me feel useful and interesting. I hope I repay that adequately every time!

Second, on the infinitesimal chance you also celebrate, chag Sukkos sameach and moadim l'simcha! Any delays aren't so much personal as they're rooted in me being really busy with the Rosh Hashana - Yom Kippur - Sukkos - Simchas Torah holiday season. :3

(Usually I draft and queue posts to make sure there's still something to post when I can't compose, but this year a lot was happening.)

Third, if you celebrate anything in this season otherwise, happy holiday of your people, or if there is nothing such recently, happy October!

And now, as is tradition at this point, on to business.

Dramatis Personae

Page of Void

Mage of Time

Sylph of Space

Rogue of Breath

Lay of the Land

Anon, in light of the way you presented this bunch, this is a lovely lineup. We have potential for a really sweet story!

In the usual vein of my analyses my immediate judgment is that several things are true in your world and these kids' lives at the outset.

Concerning the older two

Let's take Breath, for example -- freedom, agency, importance, room for exploration and development, opportunity to be animated about things -- is in short supply, possibly accessible only by the Rogue (the oldest child?). I think we can safely interpret this in a straightforward sociological way: the kids live in a modern and strongly surveilled world where they don't have a lot of choices or any sense of importance or progress. Maybe your Rogue is the first one to learn to drive? In a country where you need to do that to get anywhere and live a full life, a car is a potently symbolic thing.

Void, also -- in that it has a Page, we can make the judgment that this Page in particular has some trouble allowing secrets to exist, handling ambiguity, and understanding complicated, mysterious adult concepts. Void itself is also difficult to apprehend here, strongly about mystery and the fear of futility.

The Page's class marks them as a bit immature, and also as somehow subservient to greater manifestations of the aspect, vulnerable to it. Void players also seem to have a canon predisposition to lose themselves in something, often relationships (Equius to Nepeta and to the Alternian social order, Horuss to Rufioh) or escapist fixations (Roxy's alcoholism, Horuss' quixotic belief that he's actually a horse). In my Prince of Void's case the something is religion; a friend's Mage of Void obsesses over scientific study of the Furthest Ring.

We can actually give this Page a journey similar to canon's Horuss, who was a canon Page of Void, but as he's ... Horuss, why don't we do... not that?

Alcohol is a good angle -- but any substance will do. Everyone is a bit wayward here, but this character -- and their aspect -- sits in an especially difficult balance; everyone has a slightly woowoo stoner friend or at least classmate that adults are sure is going nowhere fast. If they succeed at realizing themself, they'll learn a lot about things they used to not understand, and about things they should let be as they are. If they fail... well, there's always Roxy's pre-scratch fate. And Roxy had money. That's no guarantee for this one.

Also, of course, a page is something of a baby lawyer, or a baby knight -- why would the Void need such a person if there were no external, concerning danger?

Concerning the others,

A Sylph of Space implies that Space -- potential, creativity, literal space, metaphorical living-room -- needs recontextualization, restructuring and healing, but we have the information that this character is 13-15. So what might that look like?

We'll get more into this later, but I think that at the outset it probably means everyone is a bit burnt out from the demands of that stage of life bearing down on them. The older friends in this group are facing burnout from pressures that are radiating onto the younger ones, the younger ones feel stifled maybe -- and to top it off, the Sylph (or the Mage) is probably moving, or known to be moving at the end of summer, or some other terribly final and painful thing for a kid of thirteen at the earliest. Their desire to mend the rift caused by all this is probably the catalyst for the gang's playing of the game.

The young Mage of Time, of course, needs to learn about time -- cycles, endings, passage, death, tradition, rhythm, order. In a happy timeline where normal things happen, they might do this via a poignantly timed human or animal death in the family, or via a friend or themself moving. At worst -- at very worst -- they might be ill themselves, and worried they won't get to live the life they wanted.

Instead (or maybe in addition), of course, they get to learn about Time through the horrible conflict of being isekaid into a hungry dimension of self creation wearing the appearance of a game as one might wear a stranger's skin for some nefarious purpose, in which even if they Do know about these things, none of their beloved, specific, cultural learning about time and rhythm matters, because how do you compute the lunar date in imaginationspace, and how do you celebrate anything unmoored from time and the flow of life where you belong?

Hooray! Torment and existentialism for all the little children!

And of course, in that this is the case, I expect time is opaque to the other players too -- shortly we will see just how.

A Narrative Possibility

The strong impression I have is that this is a story about a pair of older friends who have to let their underclassmen or siblings tag along on their hijinks. One of them is a free spirit in the type of way that's maybe even healthy and whimsical, and one not so much, with more misery to smoke about -- but they're tight, anyhow, because they look after their younger friends or siblings in common. In my culture this is a very normal arrangement, and I certainly still have and keep in touch with what you might call my kouhais, even if I don't really interact as much with the other older kids in the group. Maybe it's so for these guys! Or maybe not quite...

But anyway, the older kids here are both struggling in their own way, they just conspire to hide it from the young ones. The Void Page is on the cusp of what could be a seriously destructive spiral (were they rejected everywhere they applied? is money suddenly tight?), and the Rogue of Breath desperately wants to help, but can't -- and then there are still the kids, who have to believe there are dreams ahead, or what's the point?

Both older kids seem to have shelved both their family traditions and their personal ambitions (forgot about Time, surrendered Space) in order to keep up a brave front and the appearance that the world can be fun and easy and nice.

But, well...

Maurice Sendak has a quote (from a talk with Shel Silverstein) in which he confesses that as a young kid he spent a lot of time and mental energy on making sure the adults never knew that he knew how things were, playing up the image of his childhood. This is a universal childhood experience where children are expected to be innocent -- remember? Do you remember it?

The kids here definitely know already -- the older teens have no idea, but they do.

Something happens to cause the Mage to learn that soon either they or the Sylph will move (or worse), and the Page and Rogue are off to college soon anyhow (the factual details of where the older kids are off to have been kept from the younger ones) -- so the Sylph takes it upon themself to beg to play this new game together, as a kind of desperate last hurrah they hope will lead to the others at least writing, if not rekindling their old, inspiring passions.

Once they're in and the gravitas sets in, I think the old dynamic is both revitalized (no sane person who fancied themself an adult could want to endanger children, even annoying ones that made it so you couldn't see films for grownups) and challenged (in that the most powerful and "relevant", telegraphed and signposted aspects are given to the kids, and the older teens have less protagonisty but more thoughtful assignments).

It's also affirmed -- the older kids probably do not feel they have any time or space to take a breath or contemplate the void, under the circumstances.

I think the older kids might want to meddle or perfectionize a bit too much -- the Rogue of Breath does after all have a predisposition to steal and arbitrarily reassign narrative importance, and the Page of Void in part has to learn to face it when they should leave well enough alone -- and that will be your main conflict. A type of strife between children who haven't quite learned yet that it's possible to lose the fight to define yourself against societal forces that want to define you, and borderline young adults who are struggling actively with that.

I should emphasize that I think they all love each other more than anything -- but, like all kids, they're in different places about how to show that.

Not much scary outside threat -- the game here is safe and winnable (except for him, but deal with him as you like), but the story is about growing up at different paces, a fundamentally intimate exploration of friendship and siblinghood and how hard it is to be a teenager all the way through.

If anything, I think the most obvious and important narrative roles for the older kids might somehow inhere to their quests, but also touch some danger in or to the Ring -- as a symbol for their sense that this is really about the kids, but as an enactment of the fact that it's just as much about them, too, and that the mystery of entering into adulthood is still important even if there are younger kids entering adolescence to worry about. And, of course, an affirmation that love is real and blood (covenantal or as it were uterine) is thicker than water...

But, of course, as usual, mileage varies. Preferences, among other things, differ, as we all know.

If you get around to making this a fanventure, no matter if you end up discarding this outline or not, I'd love to know about it and see it! I'm a sucker for these types of grounded family stories, and I really think these little guys have really strong potential. {:

#session analysis #homestuck #asks

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dothemindything · 10 months

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hey full offense mr “im not emo”, but have you ever considered how many of us there are that arent ghosts and dont just fade away into nothingness but yet still somehow keep on chugging???????? theres not some big cosmic force thats only supposed to keep you around if youre ““needed””, because there is no meaning to life or anything that comes afterward!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its all made up and the points dont matter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i think trying to base your existence off of your role in relation to others is easy (see: all of my fuckshit shortly before i fucked off to the corn for a bit there) buuuut that is itself also lame because no one is perfect, including me (as hard as that may be to believe!), or my dave, or you, or anyone else!!!! its just about having fun, like playing stabtag, or learning how to literally steal eyes, or licking an amish persons cookie and handing it back to them (i dont think they have amish people in texas, but its worth a look!), or idk, learn a kpop dance or something! basically all im saying is that it is literally not that deep bro, and you look like one of those toddlers that manages to drown themself in a couple inches of water while the rest of us hot bitches have moved on to sunbathing at the beach. now at least one of these is probably the correct image out of the depths of my phone, but i think the russian roulette aspect of this is more fun. this way you have to interpret my intentions!

YEAH, WHATEVER.

PUTTING ALL THAT ASIDE, AND MY GENERAL UNEASE AT THE FACT THAT YOU'VE SOMEHOW ACCOMPLISHED A MULTIMEDIA ASK (WHICH I DIDN'T FUCKING KNOW WAS A THING???), STABTAG IS STILL NUMBER ONE PRIORITY.

SO I GUESS WE'RE AT A STANDSTILL UNTIL I GET THAT FIGURED OUT. IT'D PROBABLY NECESSITATE SOME TELEPORTATION GIMMICK, SO I HOPE YOU STILL HAVE TRANSPORTALIZERS OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE.

#fatalroyale #ask

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thescarletwitchsapprentice · 3 years

Text

A Pure Soul (Yandere!Wanda Maximoff x ADD!Autistic!reader)

Summary: Two weeks or so after Wanda arrives at the Avengers’ Place, (y/n) shows up. An autistic Avenger who’s extremely honest and who doesn’t really seem to mind just being by themself, but also is kind and even affectionate to others. Wanda’s smitten by this and does the unthinkable.

Request?: Nope. I’m literally just throwing this out of the back of my head. From the Yandere Starter Prompts list by @yandere-mccree

Prompt: 5. “This world doesn’t deserve an angel like you.”

Warnings: (AOU Spoilers, CACW spoilers, IW spoilers, Endgame spoilers, torture sorta, sleep paralysis mention, ableism, slight manipulation?, kidnapping, mind-breaking mention)

Note: I wanted to try a bit more of a subtle Yandere vibe for Wanda. I’ve never really written one of these, so it might not be as great as I hoped. I don’t encourage or condone the unhealthy aspects.

Word Count: 3,268

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It’s only been a couple of weeks or so after she’d been taken from Sokovia after it was destroyed. Wanda’s still mourning the loss of her brother when you arrive. You're a shy person, not a fan of eye contact, but you do like touch, hugs in particular, as well as head pets.

Wanda doesn’t pay attention to you much at first. You’re just another Avenger to her; a nice change of pace, but that’s all. But then comes Lagos. Wanda now has guilt along with so much trauma. It’s no surprise when you hear her crying in her room one day, the door somehow left open a crack.

“I’m a terrible person,” she says softly, thinking no one heard.

You peek in and catch her with a pillow to her face, weeping. Your heart breaks. You know it’s on her, but she clearly feels terrible. You stand in the doorway until she soon notices you.

“Oh....(y/n),” she says as casually as she can. “Hey.”

“You’re not a terrible person,” you tell her.

She’s shocked to hear this.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

You shake your head.

“Why would I be?”

“I’m too destructive,” she says, sniffling. “You saw what happened in Lagos.”

You enter your room and sit on her bed with her.

“But you’re also very kind,” you point out. “And you’re a good person. You clearly care when you hurt others, and you want to rectify your mistakes. A bad person wouldn’t do that.”

In that moment, you can sense her need for some physical contact. You lean over and give her a hug, rubbing her back.

“I’m glad you’re here, Wanda,” you tell her.

And you are. You truly are. Even if you don’t know her well, you’ve heard her talk a few times, and she’s a breath of fresh air. Most of the Avengers tend to be a bit loud and sometimes a bit insensitive, but not Wanda. Wanda’s extremely sensitive to others’ feelings and tends to be a quiet person. It’s something you need. Her accent is also soothing to you for some reason, not to mention she’s beautiful.

You let her cry on your shoulder for a few hours, even humming to her a bit. Then it’s dinnertime and you’re called to the kitchen. That’s when something in Wanda changes. You, an Avenger who barely knows her, aren’t afraid of her; in fact, you’re glad that she’s here. She also doesn’t know you all that well, but she’s seen some acts of kindness you’ve done for her and the other Avengers, even when you thought no one was watching. And she heard your thoughts when you were hugging her, all wonderful things about her, how you wish she could see how amazing she is, how beautiful she is.

At that moment, her heart melts. How can someone with such a sweet and pure soul like you exist? How could someone so....perfect exist? It’s a ray of sunshine in her heart, making her forget about the guilt and trauma, even if only for a few moments. Your presence is exactly what she needs. And she needs more of it.....

===================================

At first it starts off simple and small; making an effort to see you more often, running into you in the compound, smiling at you, making conversation. And honestly, there’s something about Wanda you can’t quite shake off. She does make your heart flutter; sometimes you get shy around her or even blush. It’s adorable and it’s something that only makes her more fond of you.

She discovers you’re autistic when the lights of the compound are too bright one time. The second she notices how anxious you are after Tony turns on the lights before getting his coffee in the other room, she immediately turns them down for you, and she’s the first person you tell.

“I’m touched that you trust me enough to confess this,” she tells you with a few tears in your eyes.

Wanda asks you what other things you like or dislike, things that give you sensory overload and things that help you calm down. She asks you about your experiences as an autistic person. You’re touched by how considerate she is, and even confess to her about your ADD, or Inattentive ADHD, as they call it now. She also asks about that, but does her best to take it a little at a time so that you’re not overwhelmed with questions.

What you don’t know is that she already knows all of this, having telepathy and all; she wants to hear it from you so that it doesn’t come off as creepy. She also loves to hear your voice. It’s like music to her ears, music that eases her stresses and trauma, even if only temporarily.

Then she starts to make some more effort, actively implementing what she knows and paying attention to things you say and do, so that she knows what she can do or say without it being suspicious. Wanda wants the relationship to move as naturally as possible. You’re her precious angel, and she doesn’t want to scare you. And she won’t unless it’s inevitable or of absolute necessity.

Wanda buys a bunch of fidgets and other sensory things for you to try, keeping in mind what you’ve told her. But also throwing in some “close guesses,” meaning things she knows but that you haven’t told her, things close to what you’ve told her. She can easily pass it off as just “having a hunch,” as long as it doesn’t happen too often.

Though she wants it to be as natural as possible, she occasionally uses her powers on you; nothing too severe at first. Just sending little suggestions to your mind; she’s told you a few of her favorite things, so she’ll base those suggestions off of that. One of the first suggestions is why not ask her how to make paprikash? She suggests that the two of you make it together and you agree. You’re not big on spice, but there’s some sweet paprika as a substitute. And it’s not as spicy as you think, but it’s delicious.

Sometimes Wanda sends a suggestion to get you going on a rant on one of your Special Interests; it’s both a chance for her to “get to know you more,” but mostly because she adores hearing you speak about what you love; she especially loves seeing that twinkle in your eyes and she loves seeing your face light up. It’s one of the most precious things to her, seeing you so happy. She wants to cherish every single second of it.

Though you’re nervous about it, suggestions of humming or singing to her pop into your mind. You give into them fairly often, mostly later on in the relationship. She tells you about how beautiful your voice really is, which gets you shy and blushing. It’s so endearing to her, seeing her sweet little sunbeam being so cute without even trying.

When you come back from a battle, Wanda checks to make sure you’re okay as soon as possible. She volunteers to patch you up to the best of her ability, and she soon becomes the person you first think of when you need first aid or care after a battle.

Then Wanda decides to take it a little further; her room in the compound is next to yours. She stands outside of your door, waiting for you to go to sleep, before opening the door a tad and sending in sweet dreams. If there’s one thing she despises, it’s seeing her sweet little angel upset, and this assures that it won’t happen.

Next she sends little dreams with her in it; first only small appearances, but then she becomes apparent little by little until she ends up being the focus of many of them. Of course she’ll throw in miscellaneous dreams here and there, just to make sure you don’t get suspicious.

Then comes Wanda’s biggest suggestion to you; you two have gotten so close over the past few months, why not ask her to be your girlfriend? It only makes sense. You still feel those butterflies in your stomach, you two both have amazing chemistry, and you both are very close. At this point, you don’t question it. You’re just nervous to ask, as you’ve never been in a relationship before. Of course the nervousness is also slightly part of the suggestion, more on a subconscious level. It’s not enough to make you panic; just enough to make you shy when asking her. And of course, you are. You end up stammering a little, blushing a bit. She fondly assures you that it’s okay to feel this nervousness, and happily accepts being your girlfriend.

===============================

Now that you two are a couple, her next suggestion for you is to give into those affectionate feelings you have when cuddling with her. She loves the warmth you bring. Wanda didn’t think you could get any cuter, and yet she’s a full-on puddle when you cuddle with her. You’re just so sweet and Wanda can’t help but feel protective over you.

Others begin to notice you opening up more and they start making conversation with you. Of course Wanda’s listening to their thoughts to make sure they’re not interested in going further than a friendship with you. Friends are okay for her, and she’s very excited inside when you make a new friend, as she knows that making friends doesn’t exactly come naturally to you. However if it ever gets to anything past that, she’d have to take action. One does express interest in you, and that doesn’t sit well with Wanda. This person doesn’t deserve such a sweet angel, let alone her sweet little angel. Something must be done.

That night, after sending you sweet dreams, she sneaks over to their place and hides just outside of their bedroom door. She’s able to track their brain activity, so she knows when they’ve gone to sleep. Once they do, she sends them their worst nightmares, ones that paralyze them in their sleep out of fear. The next day, you don’t see them at their usual time. You figure maybe they’re sick or they overslept. In the meantime, she’s there to keep you company. It happens on and off with them for some odd reason.

If it’s one of the Avengers taking an interest in you, Wanda ensures that the two of you don’t get too close. If you go on a mission and need a partner, Wanda steps up. It’s not really a surprise to them, with her being your girlfriend and all. She glares at the Avenger who’s showing interest, letting them know to stay back.

=========================================

And then shit hits the fan.

You come back to the compound in tears one night and Wanda’s the first one at your side.

“(Y/N), what happened?” she asks worried.

You tell her about how you ran into someone who said that autism is a disease that needs to be cured and that you shouldn’t exist because you’re a burden on society. Wanda doesn’t leave your side that night. You need someone there for you. Externally she’s supportive and loving. But internally, she’s both heartbroken and fuming as she looks through the memory. A fire storms inside of her. How dare they tell such a sweet and pure soul like you that they’re a burden! How dare they say her sweet angel has a disease that needs to be cured! Wanda knows that autism has its challenges, but also its upsides. It’s not anything that needs a cure. It’s a part of your identity. She will NOT let this slide. Not even a little.

After cuddling with you, and sending extra-special sweet dreams that night, Wanda finds the place of the person who told you this. Wanda sneaks into their bedroom and induces their worst nightmares, along with a dose of sleep paralysis. She uses her telekinesis to throw objects around the room and even at them. She uses her power to make them choke. Her grief and anger only amplifies the severity. It’s satisfying to her to hear them scream, plead, beg for mercy, to see them so helpless, knowing what they said to her precious angel. She keeps doing this to them until they’re completely broken, even going back multiple nights, just to make sure they’re gone for good.

You don’t hear from them until you find out that they’ve become completely catatonic. Part of you still feels bad for them for some reason, but you don’t know why.

“You have nothing to feel bad about, (Y/N),” Wanda assures you when you bring this up with her. “Their guilt probably just got the best of them. C’mon, how about we get some lunch together?”

Wanda’s got your back and more for the next few days. And then Tony locks her in her room, and you’re infuriated. He just sees her as a weapon and not a person. In spite of their attempts to convince you to come along on missions, you decide to stay back and keep Wanda company, to make her confinement more bearable.

The two of you both fight Tony together, end up in the Raft, and escape together, living away from the compound. Then comes the war. You’re the one dusted and Wanda survives. Those five years without you are hell to her. She spirals back into grief, guilt, and trauma, blaming herself for not being able to save you. Thank God for Bruce Banner. In 2023, he brings you back. The second Wanda finds this out, she rushes for you, her eyes filled with tears, and you’re just as relieved to see her. Your warmth sparks a sense of purpose back into her. After you died and were brought back to life, to her you’re truly an angel now, and she refuses to let an angel be harmed. She’s reluctant to let you fight, but she tells you as long as you stay by her, it should be fine.

Tony sacrifices himself to save you all from Thanos. The second the funeral is over, you decide to take a nap. Wanda gently grabs you and takes you to a remote location; a cottage in the middle of the woods on an island. Those five years without you and then suddenly having you back sent her protective instincts into overdrive. She decides that she can’t let anyone or anything hurt you anymore. She’s lost her parents and her brother. She can’t lose you. She won’t lose you.

When you come to, you’re shocked about where you are.

“H-huh?”

Sitting up you begin to panic when you hear a familiar voice.

“Good! You’re awake.”

The smell of paprika hits your nose as you see her face, a sweet smile upon it.

“W-wanda?”

She brings over a plate of chicken paprikash.

“What do you think, (y/n)?” she asks.

“Of what?”

She gives a little giggle.

“Of our new home, of course.”

Your heart jumps in your chest.

“New home?”

Wanda sets down the food on a nearby table, and sits next to you on the bed you’ve been placed in.

“(Y/N), I.....those past five years....”

“Must’ve been horrific,” you say, still in shock.

She nods.

“And I wish I could’ve saved you.”

She gently takes ahold of your hands.

“And now that you’re back....I’m scared to lose you. I want us to be together forever.”

Your face flushes, and you glance away. She giggles a little and gently guides your face back up to her.

“My sweet (y/n), you’re too adorable,” she tells you.

Your eyes meet the bridge of her nose, and she doesn’t make you look at her eyes. She knows eye contact can be hell for you.

“I’ve missed this energy so much; I’ve missed your kind-hearted nature, your beautiful voice, your wide and innocent eyes, that cute little button nose, you cuddling up close to me. I’ve set everything in this cottage up just for you. I want you to be as comfortable and happy as possible here.”

“Where exactly are we, though?” you ask.

“Somewhere where you’ll never be hurt again. I’ll ensure that.”

This set off a slight red flag, and you panic a little.

“We couldn’t have just moved to a house in the suburbs or maybe a house in Greece?”

She shakes her head as she pets yours, something that absolutely gives you butterflies.

“No. This world doesn’t deserve an angel like you, sweet (y/n). You have such a pure soul-you are a pure soul-and the world outside will only hurt you. Sweet and innocent people, especially at your age, are very rare. They’re like diamonds; real diamonds. They’re extremely difficult to find, but once you do, they’re a treasure that needs to be protected. I want to be that for you. I want to protect you, keep you safe, love you and care for you. This cottage, this island, it can become a whole new world. At least give it a try? For me? Please?”

You want to say no, right? You’re not sure. It feels like something inside of you is at war, but one side is winning. Wanda’s clearly relieved to have you, and you’ve loved her for a long time now as she’s loved you for a long time now. You feel comfortable around her too. Perhaps a little protection might not be the worst idea. At the very least, a trial run wouldn’t hurt.

You nod.

“Okay, I’ll give it a go.”

Wanda hugs you close and gives you a small peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, my sweet (y/n)! Thank you.”

The two of you have dinner together and then watch a few sitcoms before you cuddle up in bed as Wanda softly sings you a Sokovian lullaby, your head lying near her shoulder. As you drift off to sleep, Wanda watches you endearingly. What you don’t know is that you’re going to enjoy being here. She’d love it if it’s on your own terms, but if you start to seem distant, she won’t hesitate to use her magic to send some suggestions. Maybe it’s to prompt you to ask her to include or remove or change something, or even to enhance your joy for the little things. Extreme worst-case scenario? She’ll plague you with a few nightmares, ones that’ll show you how dangerous the outside world is without her, but it will pain her to do so. Expect a lot of cuddling and kisses from her when you wake up in tears in the hopes of making things better. And she makes sure they do. All she wants is for you to stay and be happy and safe with her.

And even if you wanted to leave, it’s doubtful that even with your powers, you’ll get past the barrier Wanda’s put up. It’s doubtful that you’ll even get that far. It’s a big island after all. Big and deserted. She wants to give you enough space, but not too much. Just enough to make you happy. If you somehow find it, Wanda will make sure you’ll forget finding it. She’ll fill in the gaps with something else so that it doesn’t seem suspicious. It’s not surprising that she knows how to deal with so many outcomes; she’s had five years to think it over, after all, just in case you came back.

But none of that matters right now. All that matters is that she has you, her precious angel, and you’ll be hers forever one way or the other.

#yandere marvel #marvel #yandere!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x autistic!reader #yandere!wanda maximoff #yandere avengers #Avengers #scarlet witch #yandere!scarlet witch #yandere x reader #avengers x you #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #autistic fanfics #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

Text

Shuichi, Kokichi and Nagito’s crush likes napping on his lap during breaks

Shuichi Saihara:

· Ah yes, the Super High School Level Astronomer, it was no wonder Kaito would be friends with such a person, and whoever Kaito was friends with, all his other friends would be friends with them as well, that was how Shuichi had met you. Often in those nightly training sessions, for a break Kaito, Shuichi, Maki and whoever else felt like joining them that evening would jog around till finding you, telescope by your side. You’d speak of the stars, of legends that surrounded them, of how travelers of old navigated the world through them, how stars were born, what there different colors meant, and so much more. Folklore, history, science, didn’t matter, you knew and continued to learn about each and any possible aspect you could about those specks of light. However, you were rather quiet outside of those moments, though you weren’t closed off. It was more so, if you weren’t speaking of stars you’d just so intently listen to others.

· … Maybe that’s how or why it happened? More often than not, when at school you were rather drowsy. You were often out, camping in the mountains away from the harsh city lights so when you were at school it was nice. When you were around, Shuichi made sure to spend time with you. You were able to speak so much without words, it was fun trying to interpret your expressions. Truthfully Shuichi didn’t think much of it at first, it was just how you were, quiet, yet outgoing, bubbly even. Others however had a more difficult time understanding you, somehow they didn’t notice the many little nuances that made up you, your slightest shift of expression or tilt of the head, your body language, how you spoke more so with your eyes, engaging in the conversations in your own way. How others couldn’t Shuichi had no idea at first, you were captivating, how could they NOT notice!?

· At first he had thought it was simply him being a detective, often having to interpret and read people through his work with his Uncle, but… that was not quite it, there was more to this. I didn’t come naturally, he WANTED to understand you. He found himself drawn to you, your gravity too powerful for him to even consider resisting. And it seemed the same could be said for you too. Whenever break rolled around, no matter how short it may be, you’d always seek him out. Due to more often than not being awake through the night you’d nap, but Shuichi didn’t mind, not even when you used his shoulder or lap as a pillow. He’d read his novels aloud to you, or if he was working through a case, walk through his logic aloud, he’d just speak even if you were asleep, something in him just knew you were still taking this all in.

· Even if he was somehow one of the few people who understood you, he wondered how you had even seen him yet. You were like a supernova in his eyes, so bright, so stunning, so colorful, leaving only beauty and wonder in your wake, how did you notice him? By chance did your heart race too at the thought of spending more time together? Did you also find a soft, comforting, warmth in his presence as he did you? Did you adore hearing him speak just as he did you? Whatever the case may be for you, he sure hopped it was something similar because he simply wished to your beloved stars above that you felt even half as amazing as he did with you, he just wanted you to know of such a fantastic emotion, it, no… you were astonishing and he simply wished to share and indulge in it with you.

Kokichi Oma:

· “Y/N!” “Hu-AH” You groaned, shakily pushing yourself off the ground. Then you noticed all your items had slipped out of your bookbag. You sighed, seeing all your papers had fallen out of your folders as well. “Geez, Y/N, I didn’t know you were so clumsy!” “Ah, just tired today I guess.” You noticed how Kokichi kept taking glances to you as he helped gather your items. Not surprising considering you literally just tumbled down a flight of stairs. Before you knew it all your supplied had already been collected and placed back in your bag. That was really quick. You winced as you stood up. Your knees almost collapsed under you and Kokichi was in the position to catch you should you have fallen but thankfully you were able to do so yourself. “Hey, hey! Where are you going?” “Oh, uh… umm.” You thought and thought but couldn’t remember. It was so hard, you felt like your mind was swimming and swirling, all thoughts fuzzy and difficult to reach.

· Then suddenly you were being dragged along by the hand. “What the-” “You are coming with me! This’ll be fun! Especially if you have nothing better to do!” You were completely confused but more so shocked from the whole situation so you couldn’t really bring yourself to try to stop or ask where you were even going.

· Koichi just kept running around, getting you completely lost. Eventually though he let go, dashing a few paces forward before tumbling and falling. “O-Oma!?” He simply laughed, sitting up. He hummed as the wind rolled past swaying his hair as he looked up to the sky. “Oh, Y/N, Y/N! Look at that!” You were confused looking up to the sky where he was pointing. “Ugh, you can’t see it from there, sit down already!” Taking your arm, he playfully tugged on it, but even that was enough to send you falling. Even with you sprawled across his lap, he managed to scooch over enough so just your head was there. “Perfect! Now, that cloud looks like Gonta; giant, kinda dumb, soft. And that one-” You were… quite puzzled. Clouds? Of all things? That was what he wanted to show you? You heard Kokichi speaking, but it was all noise to you, it held no meaning. You just listened as he droned on and pointed, the shadow of his outstretched arm conveniently covering your eyes.

· You never really noticed how nice and soft Kokichi’s voice could be. Then again, he was always so loud or quiet, constantly shifting tone you never got the chance to just hear it… It was… rather pleasant. You wanted to hear him longer, engage in whatever game he was playing but so quickly your eyes drooped and all our senses simply lulled to nothing.

· Then it was evening. At first the sight of those orange and purple hues confused you, but then- “Y/N, you’re alive! It’s been twenty years and Miu’s army of robots have taken over! We need you to join the resistance!” He couldn’t help but laugh at your absolutely baffled expression. “But that’s a lie.” “… oh yeah… Wait…” You suddenly completely awakened, abruptly sitting up. “It’s evening already!? Did we skip class!?” “It’s whateves, Y/N. Hope’s Peak doesn’t care if we skip class.” “No, not that!” You sighed, burrowing your face into your hands and mumbled to yourself. “I didn’t take the new meds again. Of course, I didn’t.” Huh, new medicine was it. Kokichi smirked, dragging you up onto your feet. “C’mon! You’ll make us late for dinner!”

· The next several weeks were like that. No matter what you did you’d always end up napping on Kokichi’s lap at some point. This was much needed. Your therapist had been fired so you had to start all over with someone new, who wanted to give you new medicine meaning new side affects that could only be worked around via time management. It was a process trying to work out what amount you needed and what not. Napping with Kokichi was just about the only solace you had gotten in the chaos. When you had found a good balance of medication no longer were you exhausted in the day or losing sleep at night. It was great though, admittedly you missed it.

· It had been about a week or so since your medication seemed to stable out and all was well with you once more. The bells for break had tolled and you left class. Break wasn’t long, but you didn’t care. Hearing shrieks and screams of terror and that ‘Nishishi” you knew you were close. Seeing Kokichi make his escape you simply went to one of the benches outside. And there you waited.

· You still waited even after the bells signaling the end of break had tolled. “Oh? Y/N actually skipping class!? What has this world come too!? Soon the sky will be falling!” Seeing he wasn’t lying per say and just exaggerating you decided to answer. “I haven’t taken my nap yet.” You took his hand, pulling him onto the bench and you placed your head atop his lap. Though you weren’t not tired, a mid-day nap in the sun just felt so nice.

· Thankfully for Kokichi, you were asleep so you couldn’t see his giddy smile. Though with this seemingly becoming the new norm you’d likely catch him one of these days. For now he’d just indulge in this moment with you, his crush and worry about that when it happens.

Nagito Komaeda:

· Though you were an Ultimate, an amazing person who could take care of themself just fine, Nagito worried about you. You slept, a lot. No matter when or where you could find a place to nap should you want too. It wasn’t all the time though, Nagito still had many conversations with you and had gotten to see your talent firsthand, an extraordinary sight! When you were awake, you’d spend much of your time with him, often over analyzing him trying to see if there was a scientific cause for the outlandish phenomena that was his luck. Not surprising since you were a scientist. At times Nagito wondered if your mind worked so hard when you were awake, trying to solve every last mystery the world had to offer, that drove you to exhaustion so quickly. That would explain how you could be so excitedly chatting away about one theory of yours or another only for you to suddenly fall over, knocked out. Thankfully it seemed Nagito’s luck would kick in moments like that so he could catch you before your face smashed into the ground.

· Always following you around, trying to keep your drowsy tendency from getting you into danger, from just always being beside he had become your assistant of sorts. Though he would never dare to insist on it, he always sneakily became the one to carry your stuff around in the end, even if you had started your journey with them. Taking you by your shoulders he’d steer you away from bumping into other people or objects. He would take your hand, but he felt unworthy of such an honor unless you decided he could and he knew if he did a bright scarlet would erupt on his cheeks and his heart would pick up in pace, things you surely would notice with your keen eye. When you were awake, nothing could get past you, so Nagito would have to be extra careful. He couldn’t let you figure out his feelings. He simply didn’t have it in him to confess and he was garbage, surely you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but if you did somehow, it’s not like he would deny you, someone like him had no right to deny an Ultimate, or so he thought at least.

· Although… Nagito couldn’t help his feelings seeping out, no matter how much he had tried to keep them inside. Often, he was just talking and suddenly he’d be complimenting you and about to say he loved you and he’d have to cut himself off by causing an ‘accident’ like tripping over chairs or abruptly changing his words to say something else. He was always left a flustered mess.

· It was just another day when Nagito strolled into your lab, finding your workspace was filled with many documents, many taped to white boards with string attacked to each and every last one, some string simply linking two pages on the same board, others stretching across the room, forcing one to duck, and twist to avoid them all, one could compare it to avoiding the lights in the laser filled room in some generic spy flic. “Hmm, but how to go about testing this?” “Testing what?” “Oh, Komaeda! Perfect timing!” You strolled over to him, looking through some file, seemingly not paying attention to your surroundings yet still avoiding all that strings. “Today I’m studying human communication!” “Uh huh.” “And I wish to test something!” You looked to him with those stunningly bright eyes as you explained, completely captivating him. “The power of words. I wish to see if they are like water in a pipe. For comparison, imagine a person as the pipe and the words water. I wonder if say a person is upset, if speaking to another person was the only way to alleviate the pressure of those emotions, or if just speaking aloud, even to no one, if that’d alleviate the pressure as well, OR if something else would happen. Yes, each individual is different, but there could still be a majority! I’m thinking we’ll go about-” a yawn escaped you before you continued. “about this… by…” You took a small notebook from your pocket, quickly scribbling down notes as Nagito lead you to a couch in the corner of the room. Nagito already knew this was coming considering that ‘pipe’ comparison didn’t make much sense since pipes would still leak, even if with another pipe around.

· He sat beside you on the couch and moments later you rested your head on his lap. You tried holding up the little book to him and when he took it your hand and arm went limp, you already fast asleep. Nagito couldn’t help but smile, seeing you already so restful. As usually he looked through your notebook, seeing what he needed to prepare in order to set up your tests. Curiously he also looked over your notes, wondering how your interest in astrology the day prior lead to this through your connective thinking. It was always fun seeing how you could draw connections between seemingly completely unrelated topics, then again that was likely how you were such a good scientist. As he continued to read, fascinated by your research he began to wonder something. Looking to you his heart melted. “I love you.” Immediately his heart raced, and he felt that heat raising to his cheeks. What if a person were to vent to another, even if they weren’t paying attention? Perhaps because he still had told you, he still would have gotten this off his chest and he’d stop almost confessing to you so often.

· That was how Nagito had begun to whisper his affections to you as you slept. It was a thrill like no other, fearing you’d awake right as he confessed his feelings, yet also endlessly excited by the thought as well. There was more than a fair share of times where he was almost caught, but it seemed you were none the wiser to his words of love.

· “Hmm? Komeada? What are you mumbling about?” For a moment he froze, love struck at your soft tender expression. “Ah-uh-Oh? I was speaking? I apologize if I woke you up.” You simply huffed in response… a-and you just kept looking at him? Oh boy. Did you know? Was he finally caught? What would your response be? What did you think of him? “Thank you.” “Huh?” You smiled, nuzzling into him. “having this… instantaneous version of narcolepsy… Even though I started studying, I could never figure out how to stop it, maybe that’s because I get distracted easily, I- wait, no. No tangents.” You took a deep breath trying to reorganize your thoughts. “It… can be scary, one moment being awake then suddenly asleep. Before you I’d often sleep on the train and go way past my stop and get lost. There have also been a number of near-death experiences like when I fell asleep when walking across the street. I… it’s nice, knowing you’re around. To keep me safe and keep an eye on me. And I guess waking up to hearing your voice, waking up knowing for a fact I was safe… I don’t know, it was just nice, and I want you to know, I truly do appreciate you putting up with me.”

· How… how could you make him fall for you more and more so effortlessly? Well, if you liked hearing his voice when you woke up… maybe… maybe next time he wouldn’t stop speaking of his love for you, even as you awoke. After all, he could never deny you anything, especially not your own comfort and ease of mind.

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Text

Nemesis - Choose Your Own Whump 2

With A receiving the most votes on my last post, for this adventure we are going with a drugged Villain whumpee. Sorry about the generic name for this one, I really couldn’t think of anything else ^^

I hope you enjoy, and thanks to everyone for replying to the last post! As always, votes can be sent in through any method you want. Comments, asks, and PMs are all just fine. I’ll see it!

CW//Falling off a building, hostage situations, shapeshifting, medical abuse, extensive talk of sedatives, brief mention of a needle

Please note that the third scene of this piece is from the point of view of a drugged character, and thus the scene has some aspects that could be described as unreality. Please skip this scene if this would make you uncomfortable.

The video was grainy.

It was always grainy. That was the strange thing about it-- everyone carried around miniature computers in their pockets, equipped with tiny cameras that would have rivaled the most powerful devices of years prior. Any civilian could take a 4k quality video on some social media, but the moment anything actually important was happening, technology seemed to regress twenty years.

Hero supposed it didn’t matter. Their memory of the incident was certainly clear as day, better than any camera could ever capture.

And yet...

They clicked a button on the remote, and the clip restarted.

The sides of the screen were blocked out in fuzzy grey-- the video having been taken through the bars of a metal fence. Between them, the camera focused at first on the foot of a brown brick building, before panning upwards, only stopping upon reaching the roof. It took a moment for the visual to adjust, focusing against the glare of the sun overhead.

Two figures, on the building’s roof. Two figures seen so often together, in so many similar videos.

The standoff had taken from dawn till sunset. How Villain had gotten into the building unnoticed had yet to be fully understood, but, regardless of method, they wasted little time in taking hostage a group of professors, eating lunch together. A single one had been released, bringing with them a message:

“Everyone leaves. No one comes in. Everyone stays outside the fence.”

It had seemed like a trap, at first. Of course it had. It wouldn’t be the first time that Villain had played such a trick. After much debating, however, evacuation was deemed to be the best option, and the campus was soon barren.

The hours afterwards had been as long and hot as they had been nerve-wracking. The very thought of following orders from Villain made Hero’s stomach twist, but their orders were incredibly clear: Don’t do anything stupid.

It was an incredibly difficult order to follow.

Establishing a line of communication had been the hardest part. Villain had quickly disconnected any security cameras in the vicinity, alongside confiscating any technology their hostages might have held.

In the end, it was decided that a reporter would be the one to go in. One of the most recognizable faces in the city, and one that was neutral. Not fighting for either side, but representing the citizenry.

The whole plan bet on one fact: That the shapeshifting Hero could pull of the imitation.

It worked. At least, it worked for as long as it needed to. Villain accepted the olive branch, and allowed the supposed reporter to enter unharmed.

Of course, the illusion broke as soon as Hero opened their mouth. No matter how good they were at changing their shape, it did not change their voice. In the brief moment of confusion, the hostages had managed to make their escape.

Leaving only the two nemeses, and the building as their battlefield.

It was hard to remember the fight. They had waged so many battles against one another, they all seemed to blend together, at one point or another. There was broken glass, pushed over tables, exploding equipment, and then-

And then they were on the roof.

Villain was stupid, but they weren’t, well, they weren’t stupid. They may have had the moral compass of a kleptomaniac feline, and the brain cells to match, but they had common sense. A sense of self-preservation.

Forcing them to the edge of the roof... it was supposed to be like pushing them to a corner. Trapping them.

In the video, the two figures danced. Forward, and back, until one took the lead. Until they were up against the edge, with nowhere left to go.

They were supposed to stop. They weren’t supposed to fall.

They stopped their own fall, or at least they tried. They were telekinetic. Of course they did. But they were surprised, or confused, or, or something. They slowed themself down. But they did not stop. The force with which they struck the concrete parking lot below was more than enough to knock them out.

The video ended.

And... that was it. The end. Years and years of battles, some won, some lost, all ended. They should have been happy, and they were! They hated Villain, sincerely and truly hated them.

But no other villain fought like them. No other villain had their tongue, their wit. Their skill. Their fight.

Villain’s defeat should have been epic! The ultimate confrontation of good and evil, of chaos, and order.

Yet, their downfall was a simple trip.

In the corner of Hero’s TV screen, small white text helpfully reported to them just when that video had been recorded.

One year ago.

One year, since that day. Since Villain’s downfall. And now...

Hero’s phone buzzed. A text message. The confirmation of a meeting.

One whole year, and still, Hero’s mind was consumed by their lost nemesis.

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The diner was terribly busy, and yet, when Hacker walked through the door, Hero had no doubts as to their identity.

Despite their rather stereotypical appearance, there was nothing about the person’s manner that would have indicated the sheer amount of time they spent behind a computer screen. They greeted the receptionist, pointed to Hero, and exchanged a few words beyond that. With a smile, then, they parted, and made their way to Hero’s table.

Their manner only seemed strange when they sat down, and Hero noted that the way they smiled seemed to pain them.

“Is this seriously what you people act like?” They hissed through bared teeth. “Can I stop smiling now? Or will they look at me weird?”

“They’re already looking at you weird.”

“They are?”

“You- You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh thank god.” Immediately, their expression fell into one far more analytic. Far less friendly. “I, uh, don’t get out much.”

“Really?” Hero raised a brow incredulously.

“I’ve got more important things to do than, uh, than going out. Anyways.” They stuck a hand outwards. It was partially covered by a fingerless glove. “I’m Hacker.”

“I figured.” Hero shook the offered hand. “I’m Hero, though I suppose you already know that.”

“You’d think people here would be, uh, a bit more in awe? It’s not everyday you get to eat in the same building as a superhero.”

“Keep your voice down, please.”

“Oh, sorry. Is it, like, a secret? You don’t have a secret identity, do you?”

“No. But when I’m out of costume, I’m not exactly that recognizable. So let’s keep it that way. Kapish?”

“Kapash. But, still, oh my god. This is so cool! A real life hero...”

“Yeah... Yeah. A real hero alright.”

A hero who could hardly focus during battle. A hero who infuriated their team leader more than they aided them.

“Anyways.” Hacker raised their head, a far more natural smile coming onto their face. “I have the... thing.”

“You mentioned that. It’s about Villain, right?”

“Mhm.”

The person across the booth leaned down, prying a laptop from a carrying case and placing it atop the table. It was a bulky thing, and as soon as it was turned on, the shrill sound of fans struggling not to overheat filled Hero’s head. Hacker clicked around a bit. They gripped the edges of the device, as if about to spin it around, before they stopped, frowning.

“It’s been a year now, hasn’t it?” They commented.

“Since Villain was captured. Yes. 374 days.”

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“You miss them, don’t you?”

It was so direct. Hero couldn’t help but stutter:

“I don’t- Of course I don’t miss them. I hate them.”

Hacker looked up over the laptop screen to give them an incredulous look. It wasn’t a convincing lie.

“I don’t miss them.” Hero stood their ground. “But I want to make sure they’re contained.”

“I just... I don’t know if this is something you want to see. You’re trying to move on, and-”

“Show me it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If it’s something to do with their containment, I need to know about it. I can’t let them hurt anyone else.”

“Well, that’s not the problem here. If you’re sure.”

With a sigh, Hacker spun the computer around, so that it’s screen faced Hero.

They weren’t sure what they expected. Some kind of... deep web threat? A message from Villain? A copycat? An escape attempt?

But they didn’t get any of that. Instead, the screen displayed a simple PDF. Medical records. At the top, in bold letters and a rather ostentatious logo, the header read:

Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization

For the most part, the page was Greek to Hero. A slew of ID numbers and attending physicians with far too many acronyms following their names. What did make sense to them was the spreadsheet that made up most of the page, labelled:

Approved Daily Medication Dosage for Patient: Villain

The spreadsheet took up two pages with solid text. Hero did not recognize the medication names, of course, but they did not need to be a doctor to understand the entries written under the column labelled “Medication Purpose.”

Every single data cell, even as they scrolled to the bottom of the document, contained only one word. The same word.

Sedation

“This is...” Hero muttered, furrowing their brow. Scrolling up and down. This had to be wrong, somehow.

“I don’t understand most of it.” Hacker commented sheepishly. “But, uh, I have a few friends with some more medical knowledge than me. They’ve never seen anything like it. It’s more than enough medication to sedate a fucking elephant- sorry, excuse my language.”

“It’s fine.” The confusion in their voice was rapidly melting to fury.

“Even for major surgical procedures... nothing near this level would ever be used.”

“This has to be a mistake.” Hero shook their head. “A mix-up. Maybe it’s like... all the medications the facility ordered. And they just labelled it wrong.”

“Well, if it’s a mistake, they’ve been making the exact same one for an entire year. I’ve got 374 of these files. Newest one just got uploaded a few hours ago.”

“And they’re always the same?”

“With some minor dosage adjustments, but yes. That’s not, um, that’s not all of it.”

Hacker reached over, dragging the computer back so that it faced them again. There was more clicking this time, along with typing at a speed that made Hero’s fingers hurt, just to watch it.

When the laptop was spun back around, this time, it was a video.

A camera feed.

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Villain felt about to choke on their tongue.

It wasn’t a new feeling. More or less, it was the only thing they felt, anymore. That heavy block of muscle in their mouth, threatening at any moment to block throat choke air no air no-

They were losing their words again. Words... wordsssssss... Voices. Voices spoke words. Sometimes, they did. Sometimes they grumbled and muttered and sputtered and murmured like a car murmured. Cars... or was it cats? No, cats didn’t murmur. They purred. What else did they do? Not bark... no, barking too loud for cats. Cat go mew mew, real quiet like.

Cat’s meow, that is a cat’s voice. There were other voices, too. Quiet like cats. Two of them, two voices. They knew those voices, those were the doctors’ voices. The doctors liked to talk a lot. They talked, but they did not see. Or... no. They were not seen. Villain did not see them. They wanted to, but their eyes were broken. The engines in their eyelids would not run anymore, would not open the garage door, Sally!

One of the doctors’ voices got closer. A million miles away, a hand was laid upon Villain’s wrist, flipping over their hand so that their palm faced downward.

“Let’s move it.”

It was a silly thing to say. Nothing moved in this place. Nothing that Villain could see, as their eyes were broken.

“Is the other vein healed enough?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

Silly words... Villain wanted to laugh, but their muscles were firmly locked away behind a padlock.

“Okay.” The doctor sounded so sad. Why were they so sad? Villain’s mouth was full of soil. The doctor was tired. “I’ll get the rest of the medicines.”

“We’re going 30 milligrams up from yesterday on the Propofol.”

“Oh? Why?”

“They opened their eyes, yesterday.”

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Hero felt sick. In the top right corner of the security footage, the same logo from the medical records was displayed. The Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization. Below it, a subtitle.

“Keeping the city safe.”

Was this safety? It shouldn’t have been. They had known, of course, what had happened to Villain after their capture and very brief hospital stay. It was what happened to all villains. They were sent to the rehab unit.

A therapy program. Helping villains to control their powers and reform their lives. To return them to the straight and narrow. But, now that Hero thought about it...

Villain was the only one who had never been released.

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Thanks so much for reading! Just like last time, there are two options along with every part of this story. Alongside each options is a question, so that you guys can give more specific suggestions if you so wish. The option that receives the most votes will be the choice that our Hero makes!

A.) Tell someone about what is happening - Who should Hero tell? (They are on a small team, as well as part of a larger Organization, for reference.)

B.) Attempt a more direct approach. Visit Villain in the rehab program - Should Hero try to rescue Villain immediately?

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #hero villain whump #drugged whumpee #drugged villain #villain whumpee #hero villain prompt #choose your own whump #choose your own adventure #nemesis

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one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Okay so request~~~~

So at the end of last blood, he never stays at his ranch. He tells the aunt “Idk. I’ll move around, like always.” And then proceeds to destroy his home and land beyond repair, you know that story i wrote about picking up first blood rambo?? Well, change that to old man rambo!

What about him having rhat random chance meeting with someone like SR(from the one i wrote) and staying with them. How they take care of him without even knowing him, and how he has a chance to try out a new life away from war and what he was with someone who’s young and starting out on their own ambitions.

I could totally see him being introduced to SR’s friends as “oh, my new roommate!” And him telling SR all about vague war stories, they teach him to cook and cook him breakfast. Honestly just rambo being taken somewhere far away and nice and staying with someone who definitely has their own problems, but takes on the therapy by helping him instead.

Basically, SR is very very damaged and rambo can tell- but they’re so sweet and responsible, mature, and loyal. They take out emotions and pain through spreading love instead of war, he can’t let that go. Not now

(Hopefully that gives you ideas!!!)

I'm sorry this took so damn long for me to write, and I'm sorry that it's so bad, too, but I hope you like it in any case!😓😅

Life Goes On.

John Rambo (Rambo: Last Blood) x Named!OC (not mine)

Warnings: injury detail, death, blood

Masterlist

John's eyes are barely open as he sluggishly guides the horse beneath him further on, their surfaces dry and sore even as he blinks them. By now it's useless, the dust in the air having gotten into his corneas within the first hour of his long ride, irritating his scleras very quickly. Exhaustion has long since numbed out any pain he still feels, his eyes becoming the least of his worries as he gradually loses the sensation in his lower abdomen, where his more serious wound is bleeding profusely onto his shirt, still oozing even after fifteen hours of being left alone. He knows the blood flow isn't too bad anymore, as his hasty attempts to patch himself up have left him with a better chance of surviving, but his other wounds are slowly driving him to a comatose state. The veteran can't move his fingers properly, the digits clunky and uncoordinated as he tries to grip onto the reins, the blisters from the tough leather split and leaking as he struggles to do so. Nausea has settled into his head, his vision blurred as his strength slowly fails him - he's too old to have survived as he used to. Without his medication, John finds himself plagued constantly by flashes of past grief and sorrow, images of his dead team back in 'Nam flooding his conscience, accompanied by the beaten and bruised face of Gabrielle.

Beneath him, the horse walks slowly, his thighs aching from the hours of riding, chafing sores lining them under the fabric of his trousers, his body slouched forwards in the saddle. Pity for the animal also gnaws at his mind, and he feels a pang of guilt as he realises that it's unlikely it will be able to carry him much further without any respite. It's head is drooped, steps slow and unsteady, panting breaths rushing from its throat in haggard bursts. If he had any energy, John would remove the tack from the horse and let it go, but he knows this isn't a plausible idea for him if he wants to survive. He owes it to Maria to survive.

His conscience starts to slip, just as the sun comes to its highest point in the sky, heat and dry air lulling him into a false sense of security as he feels his control leaving him. Unable to keep a grip on it, he succumbs to the darkness rising up in his vision, falling into it gratefully, needing the reprieve.

Vaguely, John seems to recall a car pulling up beside him, the door slamming closed as someone shouts to him, hands taking the reins from his. Gravity seems to take control, and John falls from the horse, landing heavily in the dirt, but he doesn't lie there long. Whoever has taken hold of the horse is swift to come to his aid, pulling him into their arms as they try to drag him back to their car. They're struggling, and he wants to fight back, to tell whoever it is to get lost, but he finds he can't, his throat too raw to even force a sound past, so he can only stay limp as they manhandle him into their vehicle, murmuring gently to him the entire time.

It's at that point that he finally loses consciousness.

Agony floods John's body as he comes to again, drawing a hoarse groan from his scratchy throat as he jerks upwards, his instincts still ready for action even after all these years. Blearily, he blinks, hands scrambling to identify his surroundings, dull surprise dripping into his conscience as he finds a soft duvet and pillows on top of a comfortable mattress, warmth encompassing him. Frowning, the veteran pushes himself upright, ignoring the pain in his body as he does so, his hand going up to cup his wound instinctively. Shocked to find a clean dressing plastered over the ragged injury, John blinks again and takes a look around.

He's in a small room, laying on a bed in the centre, the domicile unfamiliar to him. Idly he wonders if maybe he's died and found some kind of afterlife, but a sharp stab of agony from his side eliminates this idea from his head in seconds. The room is quite comfortably decorated, designed to be cosy and close, whilst remaining roomy enough to allow for decent living space. A few photographs line the wall, accompanied by posters of movies he's never bothered to go see, having never really managed to overcome the triggers they often set off when he's not expecting them.

Just as he goes to climb out of the bed, the door swings open, and an unfamiliar figure steps in, a first aid kit held in one hand as they juggle a bowl of water in the other. Instantly, John's on his feet, instincts taking over as he ignores the flare of agony that springs up in him as he swiftly moves over to the newcomer. In seconds, they find themselves pinned to the wall, a hand wrapped around their throat. Yelping in fear, they let go of the bowl and first aid kit, smaller hands coming up to grip his larger arm, eyes wide as they stare at him in shock, wincing as warm water splashes the two of them.

It takes all John has not to crush their windpipe, his rational mind taking over the militant instinct as he keeps them in a threatening hold, the youth unable to move at all. A wave of nausea washes over him, and he falters, vision spinning wildly as he drops back a step, losing his grip on the newcomer as quickly as he secured it, the sudden disorientation throwing him off as he falls to the floor again. Grunting in pain, he lands heavily, the impact jarring his bones and muscles roughly. Recovering quickly, the newcomer drops down beside him, eyes widened in concern now, rather than fear.

"Are you alright?" They ask him, voice soft with worry, searching his face for any serious problem.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, John manages a response, his usually rough voice coarse and gravelly now.

"'M fine."

They just scoff, hesitantly reaching out to help him back up again, heaving his heavy body onto the bed again.

"You are far from fine." They point out, "What happened, you fight a war or something?"

He almost laughs.

"Something like that." John murmurs bitterly, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Shooting him an odd look, the newcomer goes and fetches the spilt bowl of water, sighing at the mess before they hold it up for him to see.

"I'm just gonna get some more water, then I'll patch you up again, that alright?" They ask him, looking somewhat cautious.

Suspicious, John watches them for a sign of deception. Finding none, he simply nods, knowing he can easily take them out if he needs to. They smile, going to leave the room, only to stop in the doorway and turn around.

"My name is SR, by the way." They introduce themself.

"John." He grunts in way of reply, watching as they nod and leave the room.

Two months have passed and he's no longer bedridden, the veteran able to move freely around the house, even though there's still a little residual pain, and the mental horrors he faces every night leave him drained with no reprieve. With no medication to help him, it's no surprise that John has relapsed into a familiar state of sullen silence and brooding, finding himself reminded of the things he'd rather forget every day, in everything he does and everything he sees.

SR is no exception to this: he has warmed up to them, and he somewhat trusts them, the youth having shown him more kindness than he has experienced since Maria and Gabrielle. Their only downfall is that they remind him a lot of his murdered niece, the two having very similar traits that very quickly sussed out. Childhood trauma has led them to becoming very determinedly driven and friendly, ambitious and confident in some aspects of life, whilst also noticeably damaged in other aspects, that he realises very quickly. Somehow, however, they always keep themselves afloat, and choose not to show any of the weight bearing down on their mind, as he knows it is, though he is also very swift to realise that their way of dealing with this pain is very simple; they work to make life better for others. It's visible in everything they do: cooking for him every day, caring for him in any way they can, doing their best to let him know he can trust them.

At first, he had been somewhat cold and closed off to them, but they swiftly worked to help warm him up again, reawakening the more personable version of himself he managed to cultivate in his time on the ranch. It was nice to become a little lighter again, but his guard stayed up, and still is, though not as much as it was before. Vividly, he can remember the time he found himself trusting them further: when their friends had come over to catch up.

Naturally, they'd all been surprised to find some nearly hostile ex-soldier residing in their friend's home, living his life out with them. As soon as they'd said something, however, SR had leapt in to defend him, and had inadvertently shown their care for him on a much greater scale than before, reminding John of what his life was like with Maria and Gabrielle. When their friends had then left, an hour or so later, he had stepped up to them and told them how thankful he was, feeling more cared for than he ever thought he would.

Now, after weeks of being taught how to cook, and being cooked for, plus hours and hours of talking with each other as they helped each other to overcome past grief, he can very honestly say he is immensely grateful to be with them. They know more about him than he told himself he'd ever tell anyone, SR often listening with rapt attention to his war stories, eyes wide as they hear all of the harrowing details. He feels comfortable telling these tales, and they seem content to listen, so he appreciates them in whole new ways.

And when he finally opens himself back up to physical contact, the embrace he receives from his excitable carer is only too worth it, the first smile in months gracing his lips as he does so. Life feels like it's turning on its axis again - for the better this time.

#sylvester stallone #rambo #sly stallone #john rambo #john rambo x reader #rambo imagine #rambo x reader

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z-1-wolfe · 3 years

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Parhelion Headcanons (sir this is all for you) @greenbeany

Putting 'em under the cut because they got very long O.O

I- the gnome is Neon I take no criticism. They are often good-natured souls with a more mischievous side, and if that doesn’t describe Neon I’m not sure what does. Playful, funny, good intentions, that my good Bean is our lovable cat personified. Okay Parhelion dnd au with gnome Neon please /j.

I AM SMACKING THE GUN OUT OF YOUR HANDS [runs into a glass wall] dammit,, guess I gotta talk now

I- oh no,, time to fail the exam I guess (turns all your head canons upside down)

Okay they do sleep yes they do. Actually that’s a lie only Ciel sleeps, the other two are insomniacs. Ciel has all of her day to day life planned out to the minute, so she heads to bed at a certain time and wakes up at a certain time, the other two are more of a “we’ll sleep when we’re tired” kinda duo. Unfortunately due to Ilia’s night terrors and Neon’s ADHD they almost never rest. No they do not sleep in a SANE bed, ha why would they have a bed? They sleep in a hammock all tangled up with each other. It’s hard to tell what order they sleep in when they kinda curl into each other. They do not use a duvet, why have a duvet when Neon is a space heater? There are no pillows on the hammock X). OKAY THEIR ROOM, THIS I GOT, it’s a funky mess that is somehow organized thanks to Ciel. Ilia doesn’t own a lot in general but it was her life’s dream to paint her bedroom rainbow so guess what they have now. The other two are too soft and they supported her efforts and they love her despite her poor design sense XD.

I- why closet ASDFG I mean— No they do not share a closet they all have completely different fashion sense and if that was all in one place people would be genuinely terrified. But since they’re broke they had to make do with one walk in closet that they partitioned off into sections. YES THEY DO HAVE MATCHING OUTFITS THEY ARE SO CUTE LIKE THAT. They tend to be like those cute couple outfits with a few variations to match their own personal style. But their favorite matching outfit are these duck hoodies they own courtesy of once again Ilia living out her childhood dreams. No they don’t own many outfits because like I mentioned earlier they are broke x). Hmm thinking about each other’s styles… Ilia think both of her girlfriends have great taste, she loves the well, neon of Neon, and the prim and properness of Ciel. Neon just doesn’t care XD. And Ciel is just, she’s just standing there wishing she could help their fashion sense, but she holds back because “It does suit them in an odd way.” Ciel gets the most compliments on her style hands down, she looks organized and you can bet she saves money to buy outfits that actually accentuate her cuteness. They don’t wear makeup no time for that (in which you learn Z has little to no knowledge in how to apply makeup and doesn’t know how to answer that question)

OH OKAY I LOVE VIDDY GAMES. Ciel likes real-time strategy games because she’s insane and that’s literally all she knows in life thanks to being raised in an upper class family in Atlas. Neon likes open world games, something something she likes the chance for adventure and determining one’s fate for themself. Ilia has never once played a video game until after she defected from the White Fang but I can see her playing something light like Stardew Valley, low stakes kinda games. Hmm, they might play Animal Crossing together? Since it has aspects they all enjoy. They each have an individual switch (Ilia has a coral switch lite) and one shared PC. Okay game with most hours, maybe Minecraft? They still haven’t beat the enderdragon because Neon keeps getting distracted XD. Neon is the bomb at party games though, you can bet she has a perfect score on all the songs in Just Dance. Ciel is a sharpshooter, god knows who taught her how to shoot like that. The biggest splatoon fan is unfortunately not Neon it is Ilia, she loves all the colors in the game ^^. But she and Neon have wracked up quite a few hours in co-op.

Uhhh books!! Ilia likes fanfics :) it’s unfortunately one of the only ways for her to see positive representation of herself. Neon for some reason reads Epics?? Like her favorite is the Epic of Gilgamesh what is up with that?? Ciel reads webtoons :), she reads enough serious stuff for school work and such, she likes to just kick back and relax after all that. Yes they have schedules reading time courtesy of Ciel :). Uhh, they relax by baking together. None of them had many chances to indulge in sweets while growing up so they make full use of their time now. ?? SPOON?? Cuddle hours happen on a whim, the one thing that Ciel can never schedule because she never knows when it’ll occur. They relax the most in the kitchen x) because that’s where they bake, it’s not unusual to find Neon asleep on the counter while she waits for their sweets to rise. They read in the light, Neon is afraid that by reading in the dark that they’ll all ruin their eyesight. Ciel likes the sunrise because she’s up the earliest and is the only one to see it, the other two prefer sunset because that’s usually when their day is about to begin XD.

Favorite spot for dates! The park ^^, they like to go on picnic dates with all their baked goods. There is no plan, usually one of them will randomly pull the other two out of the house because they haven’t touched grass in a while XD. There are no ideas, they share one braincell and they spend too much time doting on each other to use it. Uhm favorite movie genre,,, they like comedy movies :). Their favorite place to eat is this tiny store on the corner of their street that makes mean gyros, they heccin’ love them. Coping with horror, Ilia is desensitized to horror because of the things she’s seen in life, Neon treats it like a game because she knows it’s not real, Ciel, is okay with it, but she gets shook more easily than the other two and they often have to reassure her. No they do not like theme parks, there are too many people around for Ilia and Ciel and Neon respects their boundaries so they tend to go to more quiet places. Uhm heights, Ciel is used to heights because she’s friends with Penny and woah can that girl toss her in the air like she’s a couple of grapes. Ilia doesn’t mind heights but she would prefer to have her feet on the ground. Neon loves the ground so damn much if it leaves her she will cry because man she can’t roller-skate in the air can she, what will she do if the ground is suddenly gone? They like evening dates because it’s normally the only time all three of them are awake enough for it XD. They end a night by sleeping I am not quite sure if there are other ways to end it lmao. They absolutely despise Neon’s roller skating dates but they love how excited she gets about them so they end up becoming as good as professional roller skaters because the smile on Neon’s face when they join her is dazzling.

I am slowly going insane. Yes each girl has a hobby I sure hope they do. Ilia knits, Ciel paints, and Neon writes. I would like to imagine that Ciel would try to schedule time for their hobbies she ends up giving up because all their sleep schedules are wack. Designated chef is Neon (probably made food for FNKI back in atlas), designated driver is Ilia (I mean I like to imagine she stole cars and stuff in the White Fang XD), designated decorator for stuff is normally Ciel though Neon does try to hijack a few of her plans occasionally, designated shopper is Ciel because the other two have no concept of Saving money, and they all work together to clean :). They don’t work together, they believe in keeping their work life and home life separate to prevent their feelings from getting in the way. They do not have pets, none of them have the energy or responsibility to do that, but Ilia did once bring a moose home one day for some reason.

I am nomming on your arm sir. Ilia and Neon get along with Penny surprisingly well, though I do think Ilia would get along with Weiss better? Ruby and Weiss look at Ciel and see a beacon arc Weiss and more or less adopt her despite Ciel being older than the two of them. They might like.. play board games together? Like some of those more team based board games I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, may the best polycule win. I cannot see them in a cuddle puddle to be honest ajcnjsanjs I am so sorry— hmm Ruby and Neon do not know the meaning of formal, as far as they are concerned these are their girlfriend’s friends and that means that by extension these are their friends. Weiss would like nothing to do with Neon after Neon insults Yang during the Vytal festival but she begrudgingly goes on outings with her and hey, now they’re make up buddies for some reason. The parhelion gals take the fs gals to the gyro place they like :). Parhelion gang Is a lot more vocal on their dates because their love language happens to be words of affirmation while the fs gang’s happen to be physical touch. Both polycules are very very affectionate though I will die on this hill.

DARN IT TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME HAVE 10 IMAGES PER POST THIS IS FINE IT WAS JUST ONE MORE PROMPT DARN IT

(Parhelion angst! How do Neon and Ciel react to the news about the dust mine? How do they find out about Ilia getting expelled? Do they find out about the white fang? Is there any faunus stigma afterwards? How does Ciel react to people bullying her Faunus GFS? Does Neon talk to Ciel much after? Do they ever reunite? Does Neon attempt to help Ciel while she grieves Penny? Where the fuck is Ciel now? Is Neon still alive? Does Ilia ever think about them? Does Blake know about them from Ilia?)

BUDDY I CAME TO THE LAST ASK AND NOW ONLY DID I REALIZE YOU MEANT PARHELION BACK WHEN THEY WHERE IN BEACON THIS WHOLE TIME I’M CRYING. (This ask is answered under the assumption that they are already dating back in Atlas Academy) Ciel is fiercely protective of her girlfriends, though people only know that Neon is a Faunus because Ilia masks her traits during her time at the academy. Neon and Ciel are horrified about the news about the dust mines. They know that Ilia is a Faunus and that her parents were working there so they rush to see her as soon as possible. But they’re too late,,, Ilia’s already been expelled for attacking her fellow students. They don’t hear from Ilia for a few years after that and the two slowly drift apart, each blaming the other for not getting to Ilia soon enough. They don’t find out about the White Fang until they reunite with Ilia unfortunately, but they feel sad that Ilia had felt that they only way for her to get revenge for her parents was by joining a militant group (I’m working under the assumption that Sienna only took control of the White Fang shortly before Ilia joined). When Neon learns that Penny didn’t make it after the Fall of Beacon she hesitantly reaches out to Ciel for the first time in a year, and she does try to help. But for Ciel it’s blow after heccin’ blow and she pushes Neon away in a rage. Ciel leaves the Academy after that and goes rogue, working as a huntsman without a license for the poorer parts of remnant. Ilia is unaware of all this drama during the Beacon arc. The next time she hears of any news is during the Fall of Atlas, and she’s scared, scared because she’s still recovering and she just heard Ruby announce to the world that Remnant is under attack, and oh my gosh her ex girlfriends live in Atlas. Neon makes it out alive, though not entirely in one piece, she now has a prosthetic leg. Ilia is the first person to see her, it’s a tearful reunion and they haven’t fully made up yet, but hey it’s a work in progress, now they just have to find out where Ciel is, but when they do they’ll BOTH be there to greet her. Blake has no idea who the fuck Ciel and Neon are lmao, Ilia never told her anything about her past romances when she was in the White Fang.

Oh gosh I think that's it-- And that is it thank you for listening to me ramble about Parhelion you get a juice box for making it this far. Sir I am sincerely sorry for turning your ship upside down please forgive me.

#parhelion #ilia amitola #ciel soleil #neon katt #I have been typing for an eternity n' a half...#I swear I have essays for school that are a fraction of this post #2172 words of pure headcanon you are welcome sir #I hope you'll enjoy it when ya wake up sjancjkack #[runs]#zenta writes

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angstyaches · 3 years

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Why Do Bad Things Happen To Hungry People?

This is my first hunger fic in a very long time. How the hell are you supposed to title these things?!

It’s also the first ever fic from the Lucyverse, as I’ve decided to call it (basically, any fics that follow the day-to-day lives of Lucy’s flatmates).

CW: hunger, overworking, getting stuck on public transport.

___

Autumn waved as she entered the coffee shop, flinching as the little bell over the door went off to announce her arrival. She glanced up at it, gesturing with her palm for it to calm down, as though it should have somehow known she wasn’t a real customer. Payton’s heart skipped a beat as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and scampered away to an armchair by the window, not wanting to disturb her partner while they worked.

She was so freaking cute.

“Busy today?”

Payton tore their eyes off the back of Autumn’s head and turned to look at Jake, who had only started his supervisor shift five minutes ago. He was inspecting how much money was in the till as Payton laid out a fresh batch of muffins in the food case. The wafting scents of cinnamon and banana and chocolate were all so enticing that Payton could no longer ignore the fact that they’d had to work through lunch. Going an afternoon without food had left them with an ache in their stomach that had only been aggravated more by the stress of keeping the constant stream of customers satisfied. It had rained unexpectedly all afternoon, which had sent floods of park visitors running for shelter and warm drinks.

“Very,” Payton replied to Jake. “I don’t think we had any free tables for about four hours. We barely had time to wipe them down between customers.”

“Christ,” Jake grumbled, closing the till. “And you managed okay, even though Stephen called in sick?”

Payton gestured around themself, displaying the fact that nothing appeared to have burned down or crumbled. Part of them wanted to complain further about the toll the day had taken on them, but it felt better to just act confident about it. “Everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“They should be paying you as a supervisor, you know,” Jake said. “I’ll talk to Anne about interviewing you.”

“Really? That would – that would be really cool.” Payton blushed, partly from the praise from their superior, but mostly because their stomach chose that moment to twist inside of them, releasing a long, rumbling growl. The music in the coffee shop was low and calming at this time of evening, but… maybe it would still muffle the sound?

When Jake double-glanced towards the front of Payton’s apron, it was clear that the music had muffled nothing.

“Sorry.” Payton placed a hand over their belly. “When Stephen couldn’t come, it meant I couldn’t take my lunch break.”

Jake frowned and glanced at his watch. “Your shift started at ten thirty, right? You haven’t had a break since then?”

Payton shook their head.

“Fuck it, go home. I’ll tell Anne you clocked out on time.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, you’ve only got another half-hour anyway, and the place is dead now.” Jake gestured to the room of thirty-six seats, of which only five were currently occupied. “Plus, your girl’s already here. No use in keeping her waiting.”

Payton was already wriggling out of their apron and heading for the door that led to the break room and lockers. “Thank you so much.”

Once they were in the break room, silence crashed over Payton like waves. The shop hadn’t been loud just now by any means, but they hadn’t been away from a din of any kind for almost ten hours. Their ears rang as they put their apron and work shoes in their locker and gulped a half-bottle of water that they found in there. The liquid hit their stomach like a solid lump of rock, but luckily it was lukewarm, and the discomfort didn’t linger for too long.

Payton didn’t linger either.

They tugged their jacket on over their buttoned shirt, wishing they’d brought something with a hood today, in case it decided to rain again before they made it to the tram. Maybe Autumn had thought to bring an umbrella, they reckoned, sighing in premature relief at the thought of her, waiting in the shop for them. They quickly pulled their headband off, brushing their dark bangs downwards and tossing the band into the locker for the next day.

As they pushed back through the door to the coffee shop, Payton felt like their feet had ceased to exist, leaving behind ankles that just floated through the air with a human body propped over them. They saw the back of Autumn’s head near the window, and they smiled to themself, momentarily forgetting the hunger and exhaustion and stress.

“See you tomorrow,” Jake called from behind the till.

Payton shot him a half-hearted salute, never slowing on their beeline to where Autumn was waiting. Well, it was less of a beeline than Payton would have liked; as though to personally inconvenience them, the coffee shop was full of tables and chairs and sofas, which needed to be manoeuvred around.

“Ooh!” Autumn exclaimed as arms snaked around her shoulders from behind the armchair. She dropped her book into her lap and reached up with one hand to tickle the back of Payton’s neck. “Hello, baby. Finished early?”

Payton mumbled an inaudible confirmation against her hair, not caring that they were probably messing up her ponytail. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Autumn said. “A little tired.”

“Me too,” Payton sighed, lifting their head but remaining slumped against the back of the armchair. They felt a gentle cramping in their stomach as they reconsidered their answer. “And hungry.”

“Huh.” Autumn reached up and tapped her book against the top of Payton’s head. The gesture was unnecessarily gentle, as though she’d hit them with something thicker than a paperback print of Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape. “Well, luckily for you, I’ve got all the makings of your favourite waiting in your fridge.”

Payton’s stomach clenched again, their heart lifting slightly. It had been tricky to get Lucy to agree to it, but Autumn had her own key to the apartment; not only did she call around to visit Payton so often that she might as well have lived there too, but there were often issues at home that she opted to spend the night away from.

But that wasn’t the point right now.

“Your famous sausage rolls?” Payton sank even harder against the back of the armchair, partly to be dramatic, but partly because their body literally weakened a little at the notion of Autumn’s cooking.

Autumn smiled up at them from the cushions. “Pastry’s already made. Just got to assemble and bake them. I got us some oven chips too. Oh – I forgot to check if you had any beans in the cupboard, though.”

“We’re four college students; of course we’ve got beans in the cupboard,” Payton assured her, loudly enough to disguise the fact that their stomach was growling again as they pictured the dinner they hadn’t known awaited them.

“Excellent point.” Autumn scooped up the strap of her shoulder bag and slipped her book inside. She smoothed down the hem of her pinafore as she stood up. “Ready to go?”

“Way beyond ready,” Payton smiled, watching her scoop up the umbrella that was resting against the arm of the chair.

***

Payton wriggled uncomfortably in a scratchy tram seat, unable to find a relaxed position where they didn’t feel painful pressure building up in their stomach. It was really starting to ache, now that there was nothing to keep Payton’s mind busy. They would have loved nothing more than to be home already, biting into the flaky pastry and warm, soft filling of Autumn’s sausage rolls and finally getting something into their cramping belly.

“You alright, baby? You’re quiet.”

“Am I?” Payton laughed. Their head was spinning just a little, and their voice was starting to sound shaky. “Sorry, I’m just very tired.”

It didn’t feel good to lie to Autumn, even if it was less a lie and more a concealment of the truth. She would never say the words out loud, but Payton knew that she thought of them as a pushover, both in matters at work and at the apartment. There were a lot of aspects of their job that she called unacceptable, and if she’d had her way, they would have quit the coffee shop by now. They had no idea how she would react if they became a shift supervisor and had to take on even more responsibilities, but Payton reckoned that was a discussion for another night when things were a little more certain.

In the meantime, it was best not to say anything about having to skip lunch.

Slipping their hands into the pockets of their open jacket, Payton subtly rubbed their middle, feeling their empty stomach roll around in distress. They tensed and held their breath, hoping to prevent any noises from emerging.

There was a sharp jerking motion as the train slowed to a stop. Autumn gasped lightly and put out a hand to stop herself from sliding forward in her seat. They both looked at each other and held the gaze for a moment before a voice crackled over the tram’s intercom.

“Apologies, folks, it’s just a minor technical issue. Service will resume shortly.”

“Shortly?” Autumn mumbled in annoyance. “Talk about vague...”

“Damn it,” Payton sighed, sinking lower in their seat and pushing their hands deeper into the pockets of their jacket. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

Autumn chuckled; she was still sitting fully upright, leaning towards Payton’s seat as she tried to see up to the top of the tram. “Assumptive of you to refer to yourself as good people.”

“Not me, baby. I was talking about you.”

“Oh. Aw. Thank you.” Autumn smiled and reached out a hand, both to acknowledge Payton and to give herself some balance as she craned her neck.

The hand landed lightly on Payton’s belly, which - in their slumped position - acted as an almost-flat surface for her to lean on as she continued peering up through the carts. She was probably expecting to see tram staff coming through, explaining the situation to the passengers; what she probably wasn’t expecting was to feel rumbling movement beneath her palm, which was accompanied by a loud, pinched growl.

Payton let out a little groan too, turning their face to bury it against Autumn’s shoulder.

“What’s going on, baby?” Autumn half-laughed, her eyes trained on Payton’s stomach as it vibrated under her hand again. She teasingly ran a finger between the buttons in their shirt, gesturing as though to peek under the fabric. “You hiding an angry tiger in there?”

“I told you I was hungry.”

“Yeah, but...” Autumn gasped and rubbed a wide circle across Payton’s belly as it roared again, prompting them to glance around and make sure the seats close to them hadn’t magically filled up with people in the last few seconds.

Autumn, on the other hand, had had her attention drawn away from anything to do with the tram, and towards a particular, grumbling organ. “Baby, what’d you have for lunch?”

Payton groaned again, wriggling a little further down so that their knees were pressed against the seat in front of them. They felt a red blush in their cheeks as Autumn sat back and peered down at their face.

They sighed, eyes trailing down to where Autumn’s hand was still resting on their belly. “The shop was really busy today, and the shift supervisor couldn’t come in, so I ended up working through lunch.”

Payton then held their breath again, both in anticipation of their stomach letting out another whine under Autumn’s palm, and of her response.

“You’re so good, baby.”

Payton raised their eyebrows. “Am I? You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad at you,” Autumn sighed. “I obviously don’t like it when you don’t take care of yourself properly, but I also wish I had your level of dedication.”

A smile played on Payton’s lips as they nudged the side of their head against Autumn’s waist. “Jake’s gonna see about getting me bumped up to supervisor.”

“And he should,” Autumn laughed, lifting her other hand to sweep Payton’s eyes out of their eyes. “You’re amazing at that job, and no one ever tells you enough.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Autumn leaned down to kiss the side of Payton’s head. “Just promise me that you’ll use your powers as supervisor for good. Like giving yourself lunch breaks.” She gently tapped one finger against Payton’s stomach. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Payton mumbled, burying their face as their chest fluttered. The glow of being praised and worried about lasted only a precious moment though, because there was still an empty belly in the vicinity, and it was determined not to let itself be forgotten in all the chatter.

“You’re mad at Payton though, aren’t you?” Autumn pursed her lips as she spoke to their stomach, as though she was talking to a cat. She patted her hand against Payton’s belly as it grumbled. “That’s okay, I’d be mad too, if my owner spent the day giving yummy food to customers and not me.”

The mention of food sent Payton’s thoughts drifting back towards the dinner that had been promised, and they groaned again, this time nudging their head right into Autumn’s lap. She bit her lip and glanced around at the nearby seats, once more confirming that there was nobody else in the cart.

“Comfy down there?” There was a tiny twist of irony in Autumn’s voice, but her tone was mostly genuine.

“Kind of,” Payton said, using both hands to keep Autumn’s pressed to their aching gut. They glanced up at the grey ceiling of the tram, at the darkness that lay just outside the window, hopelessness welling in their chest as their belly rolled unhappily. “Just so hungry.”

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just wish I knew how long we were gonna be stuck here.”

“Me too,” Autumn sighed. “But no matter how long it takes us to get home, I’m still going to cook for you the minute we get in.”

“Mmm.” Payton smiled to themself and closed their eyes, letting go of Autumn’s hand as it began to work slow, gentle circles into their belly through their shirt. “Thank you.”

#hunger #hunger fic #hunger kink #belly kink #stomach kink #stomach noises #stomach rumbling fic #oc hunger fic #lucyverse #lucyverse payton #lucyverse autumn #my OCs #overworked #overworking #hunger whump

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