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gummybugg · 7 months
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⚔️Writeblr Battle Royale Round 2: The Crispy Treatment🔥
Excited to reveal what @mysticstarlightduck and I have collaborated on for the battle scene between her oc Julyan (from The Last Wrath) and my oc Blair (from Crater City)! Thanks @writeblrbattleroyale for hosting this event! Please check out the other battles, they are quite spicy!
Are you excited for blood and gore? Well, Blair and Julyan sure aren’t :’D
warning: mention of death, gore, fire/burning, vomit, hallucinations, and panic attack
The world whirls around him, the old arena fading away as Julyan feels himself being transported, floating as if underwater. To where, that he can’t tell. 
After a mere moment, he feels the ground beneath his feet once again, and hazily blinks open his eyes. It feels like the last time he was brought here. And different all the same. 
As his vision adapts to new lighting, he feels a surge of energy pass through him, as if his body is healing from the ache of his previous opponent’s attacks, exhaustion giving place to full awareness once again, like it would after a full night’s rest. Strange, he frowns, but a welcomed feeling nonetheless. Everything is hazy around him. He can’t see the arena, it’s all, blurred, like his sight isn’t quite right. Julyan closes his eyes, rubbing them, and then opens his eyes again. It wasn’t much help, but that’s when he notices her, standing across from him. Her clothes are strange, but he quickly recognizes her garb as typical of a Fortune Teller. She looks at him, for a moment, he notices her eyes are filled with unspeakable sorrow. 
Maybe she doesn’t want to be here either. Given his recent experiences, that doesn’t seem unlikely.
Is she a new opponent? No, I don’t think so. Something doesn’t seem quite right. But if she is not my opponent, then what is she?
Before Julyan can figure out the answer to that thought, however, the Fortune Teller woman moves. And points to him. Directly. Once again, his surroundings swirl around him, and for a brief moment, Julyan feels like he is falling, fast, towards somewhere he cannot see, spinning like a kite caught in the wind. Before it stops, just as suddenly as it began, and he feels the ground beneath him again. 
Groaning from all the swirling and sudden crash, he stands up, and takes a lot around. He immediately regretted that decision. 
Looking around, at first it seems as if he is back home, in Agrannor. It’s the same snow covered streets of his city, the same stone carven walls. But there is blood upon the snow, and the wall’s ancient stone is marred by the all too familiar fires of war. Everything seems misplaced, destroyed. It’s nothing like what everything looked like when he was first whisked away to this dreadful competition. 
Something is wrong, terribly so.
A shrill scream cuts through the winter air, and Julyan feels as if his blood was frozen inside him, terror filling him. He knows this voice, he knows this voice too well. It can’t be… nonono… Julyan whirls around in the direction of the sound, heart beginning to race within his chest. 
Please no, Gods, anything but this, don’t let it be what I think it is -
The dreadfully familiar sigil of the Secret Court comes into view, as assassins march mercilessly through the ruins of the city around him. Terror follows soon after, the feeling he had wished he’d never feel, the fate he lived to avoid. Their enemies had found them. 
And worst, much worse yet. His siblings were caught in the crossfire. Julyan wanted to scream, or vomit, whatever came first. He felt as if his heart is going to punch a whole through his chest, terror and grief growing as he took in the sight that was standing in front of him. 
A red cloaked assassin smiled, rotten, standing behind his younger sister, a wickedly sharp dagger held dangerously close to her throat. Behind them, there was more blood on the snow, and Julyan wanted to curl up and die when he realized from where it was coming from. Azra, his adoptive brother, lay on top of the growing red stain, alive - but the deep gash at his side told Julyan that it would not be for long. 
Shaking, he finds his voice, looking up at the assassin placatingly. 
“Please, just… let them go, alright? There’s no need to involve them. You need a victim, don’t you? Then take me. Kill me, hurt me, do whatever you want. Just let them both live.”
The assassin tilted their head, glowing eyes a sickening reminder of what Julyan was trying to avoid. They laughed. 
“It’s too late for that, Sunscryer.” The voice echoes around him, like a ghost, sounding more like a snake’s hiss than anything human. “You ran, like a coward. You were too afraid to face your punishment, your fate. Now you pay the price of your freedom.”
The person pulled the dagger closer to Raelen’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood, and she sobbed. “Julyan, help me!”
Julyan tried to move, to take a step closer, do something. But he couldn’t, as if his feet were stuck in place. His eyes flitted between his sister and the assassin holding her at knifepoint. He wished he could comfort her, save her. But there was no time.
With renewed desperation, Julyan struggled against his inability to move, something still holding him stuck in place, as his legs were rooted to the floor. That didn’t stop him from trying - even though it was not working. 
“Stop!” Julyan commanded the assassin, though it came out as a desperate, ragged plea. “Don’t do this -  hey, I’m right here. I won’t fight you if you let them go. A-at all. Kill me now and end this madness, not them, please, leave them both alone. I’ll do whatever you want -”
The shadowy figure of the assassin laughed once more, shaking their head in sadistic glee. Julyan jumped forward, or at least he tried to, attempting to reach the assassin before it was too late. 
But he was helpless to only watch as the figure stabbed his sister in the heart. 
Time seemed to stop as crimson blood gushed out of the fresh wound, staining her robes around the twisting blade. For a moment, Julyan could not find the words to speak, or the air to breath, as he stared down his worst fear. 
Until he fell to his knees, a gut-wrenching scream leaving him and echoing mournfully around him, the realization of what he just witnessed being too much to even bear. “NO!”  Manic desperation filled him, his eyes glued to the corpses on the red snow before him, and the assassin walking away.
The wind picked up pace around him, but despite it, Julyan felt like he was being suffocated. He covered his face, nails digging into his pristine skin as he covered his eyes, unable to move. Unable to think. 
He couldn’t tell if the roaring sound that seemed to surround him was just the wind, or the blood rushing behind his ears. He couldn’t care less right now - he barely realized he was still sobbing, even though he couldn’t find the ability to stop. 
Around him, behind the roaring of the foggy wind, all other sounds seemed muffled, underwater. He didn’t open his eyes. 
But then, the wind stopped, and so did the sounds behind it. Julyan felt numb, despite the hammering of his heart within his chest and the shaking of his hands where they still rested upon his face. 
Faintly, in the back of his mind, Julyan felt a glimmer of recognition. Only slightly. Of where he’d been before all this horror came to be. Despite his mind still spiralling around him, and without caring enough to wipe away his tears, he looked up. 
And as expected his new opponent was standing right before him, a triumphant smile on their face. 
A frantic wind surrounded Blair, who removed his now-clean hands from his face to observe the arena morphing into something unrecognizable. That's right, he had survived. He made it! 
But he didn't feel free. 
Instead of the juxtaposing light and shadows of the old, reflective stadium, an even more vast and desolate field spread out before him. Through a silver mist, an old-timey fortune teller lady stepped forth, her arm outstretched. Her eyes told stories of long, forgotten tragedies. Too bad Blair’s could possibly be next.
Upon opening his eyes, Blair recognized his surroundings matching that of Elijah's apartment. Blair also found himself at gunpoint. At the end of the weapon stood what appeared to be Elijah, whose blurry face twisted in horror. 
"Get away from me, you freak!" Elijah crouched in the corner of the room, clutching his chest. His face was splotchy and his voice was ragged and worn. 
"What are you...?" Blair asked slowly. He took a step forward. 
"Get back, or I'll shoot!" Elijah said, except it didn't sound like he was convinced enough to pull the trigger. 
Shoot me? But I didn't do anything! I don't even know how I got here!
The grip Blair didn't notice he had on his knife tightened. How did that get there? He brought his hands up to his face. Sticky residue clung to his hands and dug dark, red trenches into each fold. He turned the knife over in his hand until he caught a glimpse of his blank expression. 
"I'm not going to hurt you," Blair closed the gap between them, causing Elijah to visibly shake under his shadow. He couldn't seem to release the knife, but kept his hands visible at the very least. "Tell me who did this to you," he demanded. 
"Please, just get out of my apartment!" Elijah choked, "I'll do anything you want, just--just please don't hurt me again!"
"Again...?" Blair's voice trembled. Then he followed Elijah’s gaze. 
Elijah looked down at the red spot on his chest that he had been clutching grow larger, the expression on his face melting into grotesque fear. Blair watched in a dissociative silence as his friend began hacking up blood at the sight of his wound, exacerbating his injury. 
In a blink, Blair found himself ripped away from the mini nightmare. 
This time, his setting appeared like one of the ancient worlds in an old sci-fi or fantasy movie he had seen once. But instead of a bloody man crouched before him, it was a girl Blair couldn't recognize. Behind them, another stranger. The stranger seemed to care a lot about this girl as he wailed in a similar heart-wrenching agony to Elijah's just a moment ago. 
As pitiful as the sight was, this stranger was irrelevant to Blair. In fact, the situation kind of confused him. Although his intuition told him this vision wasn't in any way connected to him, something about the man dressed in that unusually outdated attire struck him as important. But why, he wasn’t sure yet. 
But this was made clear the moment he opened his eyes from the vision: the man he had seen seconds ago in the nightmare resumed his crouched position in real life. The only thing missing was that bleeding girl. 
This was his opponent, the announcement made it clear. 
Blair has begun the battle with the upper hand, it seemed. Well, at least he had a psychological advantage, not much so a physical one...he glanced at the balisong in his hand. No more stabbing people, he promised himself. He didn't like how death felt in his hands the last round. He tried not to think about it too hard. Blair forced his vision that had tried to resurface to the back of his head. No more thoughts. Save that energy for winning the fight. 
He took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips to steady his shaking. Psychological warfare wasn't his forte, and neither was kicking a wounded animal. But it made Blair more secure in his actions to rile his opponent up rather than kick him while he's down. 
"Hey, are you gonna keep crying or fight?"
Blair wasn't sure what happened after death but thought it couldn't nearly be as shitty as fighting for a self-absorbed, sorry excuse of a circus ringmaster. As far as he could tell, this was no circus, unless Blair and Julyan counted as the clowns. 
"Crying isn't gonna bring your friend back from death, you know." 
The last few words came out of Blair’s throat a bit more unevenly than the rest. Julyan probably already knew why, as Blair’s vision had presumably leaked into his. But it didn't seem like his taunt had much of an effect on Julyan. So he pushed harder. 
"You won't be able to save her in time if you die and M gets to her first."
Julyan glared upwards, steadying himself on the floor. The shaking didn’t seem to stop. Faintly, his mind still foggy from the panic, Julyan grasped what this new person was trying to say. 
They were urging him to fight. No, they were taunting him to fight. Julyan narrowed his eyes, seeing the knife clutched on his opponent’s hand as the man took a step closer. He shook his head, feeling at the same time numb and overwhelmed. Scrambling, Julyan tried to think of what to do. His grip on his powers was fickle as is, but right now, after what he was forced to witness, his connection to the flames felt severed. Using them right now would causing him more harm than it would to his opponent.
New plan then. His arms were still shaking too much to fight, but he had a dagger. Blair - he recalled the name given by the announcer - didn’t have to know Julyan wouldn’t live up to his threats. He just had to buy some time, and then find a way to run away. 
Julyan knew that, if he was to survive this, he needed at least some time to recover. In his current state, he would be an easy mark. 
Shakily, he gathered himself up and rose to his feet, pulling out his dagger from under his overcoat, and pointing it at Blair. 
“... Get away from me.” Julyan ordered, trying to make his words threatening. Unfortunately, they came out as more of a desperate plea than anything else, and the trembling of his hand as he pointed the dagger wasn’t helping. His eyes flitted around, and he saw an entrance to the maze, just a few feet beside him. 
If he could gain distance, and stall his opponent long enough, he could make a run for it. Once inside the maze, he could try to figure this out, to control his powers and … fight. Maybe. but only then. 
Gracelessly but slowly, like a cornered animal, Julyan started making his way towards the pathway, not once looking away from his opponent as he backed away, dagger poised to strike.
Once he was sure his opponent was far away enough, Julyan took off, stumbling as he raced through the maze, trying to find at least a few moments to clear his mind, heart hammering on his chest as the throes of panic refused to leave him. 
"That's right, run! Can't hide forever."
Blair wasn't used to having the upper hand in most, if not all, battles he had ever gotten himself into. He clutched his balisong in his left hand, both his weapon and hand clean and restored. Placing one hand along the wall of the maze and the other, ready for attack, Blair began the search for his opponent. 
It was curious how seemingly easy it was last time--and now this time--for Blair to pursue his opponent, he thought. It was almost like no one else wanted to be here either, and for a moment, the thought of reconciliation with his enemy against M crossed his mind, but was quickly interrupted by the guttural growls from behind the adjacent wall. 
Blair peered around the stone wall at a robot scorpion about the size of a large dog. In the nick of time, he dodged an electrical attack and resumed plastering against the safe side of the wall. A close call. 
There was no other way around it. Continuing straight ahead would result in a dead end. It was now or never. 
Blair recalled the safety procedures from his first day of Robotics 101. Rubber-like material acts as an insulation to electricity! He decided to run full throttle at the scorpion, which bared its claws in blue electric anticipation. Then he went in with a roundhouse kick, knocking both his croc and the claw into a side wall. 
"How do you like that, you bastard?" 
He hurried to pick up his shoe and new-found weapon. Now, Blair had no clue how to use this claw thing that doubled as a taser and a laser gun (which he endearingly called a tlaser), but aimed it at his mini-opponent, nonetheless. It must have weighed at least four babies, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. 
The scorpion from across the enclosure crawled its way closer, snapping its remaining claw at Blair, clearly looking to make things even. 
"Come on, do something!" He shook the claw, as one does when trying to get the last good piece of meat out from a crab's claw, "Piece of shit..." 
As if on command, a blinding beam fired from the disembodied claw, melting a hole straight through the scorpion's head. The recoil was enough to smack him shitless against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. That would take some getting used to. Blair’s eyes widened at the reality of owning a BFG (big fucking gun), and he clutched on to it as if his life depended on it (which, I mean, it did).
The scorpion squirmed from its last few bursts of energy for a couple more seconds, then stilled.
It wasn't like he wanted to do this. To be forced to kill more strangers, that is. He didn't take the idea of being another person's pawn--in this case, M's--too lightly. If he had it his way, no one would be killed except for that M guy. But it wasn't up to Blair what could be done. He was just as powerless as he was against the government back at home. 
Blair reasoned that since both he and Julyan were murderers since they had made it this far, that it probably wasn't worth mulling over ethics. Besides, the sooner he got to uncovering the mysterious M and his lackeys, the sooner he could get out of here and resume his mission. 
He began to wonder where the real Elijah was, since he had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination in the last round. Nothing and no one was to be trusted. 
Blair was going to proceed to the next round and the next round and however long it took until he got his ass out of this nightmare. Not just for his own sanity, but for Elijah’s, as well. Getting revenge for the person he cared for most severely outweighed the numerous bloodbaths it'd take to get there. He had somehow gotten himself into this mess and he knew there was no one helping him out of this. So, Blair proceeded deeper into the winding maze to seek out his worthy opponent. 
Julyan scrambled as he made yet another sharp turn, his boots sliding on the smooth concrete floor of the maze. He looked over his shoulder once more, at least his opponent was long behind him. Stumbling behind a particularly sturdy wall, Julyan let himself fall to his knees, back pressed against the coarse wall for support as he slid to the floor. Gasping for breath, Julyan placed one hand over his chest, clawing at the fabric of his linen shirt as if it might give him a semblance of a grasp on reality. Gods, he felt as if his heart wanted to beat out of his chest, and the screams from the illusion still echoed in his mind, haunting him. He really wanted to vomit right now, but could not find it in himself to pull away from the wall supporting his back. 
Okay, okay. Breathe. Julyan told himself, shakily as he stifled what he thought was another sob. You need to do this. Gods. Okay, what do I know right now? I am still in the arena. But it’s a maze now. That means that … what I saw it’s… not real. It’s not real, Julyan, get that? Not real. This is just like another nightmare, you had plenty of those before. Stop crying. Stop. O-okay. What else? There’s someone chasing me. Yes. He taunted me. He has a knife. Okay, not so bad, okay, I can… work with this.
Julyan thought’s were frantic, but at least he knew what to do. Somewhat. That’s a start. He tried to focus on just breathing, as his hands slowly stopped their desperate shaking.
As his mind became clearer, another thought - no a memory, he realized - resurfaced in his mind. A recent one, words spoken with a voice that was not his, but his opponent’s.
"Crying isn't gonna bring your friend back from death, you know." 
"You won't be able to save her in time if you die and M gets to her first."
The words replayed over and over in the back of his mind, and the more Julyan thought about them, the more they seemed to fill him with rage. As his mind became ever clearer, Julyan could not help the mix of disgust and fury that seemed to now fuel him, a desire to defeat his opponent rising in his chest, replacing the terror completely. This person tried to use his fears against him. Well, they messed with the wrong guy. Julyan slowly brought himself to his feet, no longer unsteady, clutching his runic dagger in one hand, as he closed the other in a fist, markings glowing bright red, like molten iron, as his grasp over his powers returned tenfold. 
As Julyan turned around, another sound echoed behind him. A howl. A strange howl. Quickly, despite how blood-chilling the sound was, Julyan waste no time in moving, trying to find the corridor where the sound came from, instead of waiting it to come to him. The howls grew louder the more he walked, closer, and Julyan followed them deeper into the maze, until, eventually, he saw it. Or well, a glimpse of it. 
It looked like some sort of bull, but had all the long six legs of a spider. As if my day could not get any worse. Julyan could feel it had noticed him, as the monster stopped in its tracks, head tilted. Listening. It’s legs clacked on the stone floor, echoing like hooves as it skittered around, despite it’s abnormal size.
Just get close enough already! Julyan wanted to scream, his nerves getting the better of him, but managed to calm down. The monster was clumsy, he could see that from the way the creature struggled to maneuver itself on the tight hallway. That gives him more advantage. He waited. 
And just when the monster managed to fully turn itself around, he striked. A beam of sunfire filled the corridor, charring the monster’s closest legs, causing it to make a terrible screech, but it did not cause it to stop. 
The monster bellowed, focusing it’s blazing eyes onto him as it’s nostrils flared, furious, like a charging ox. Julyan knew that sight all to well. 
“Uh…” He made to go back to the other corridor, but as if on cue, all the doors behind and around him slid closed with a clank. The only remaining door stood behind the furious spider-ox now aiming at him. The only way out is through. 
“Fucking hells, fine!”
The monster charged, footfalls echoing on the long hallway. Julyan stepped backwards, until his back hit the wall. The spell, I need a spell, what’s the name… Gods dammnit, yeah, Intangible Transportation. At the last moment, before the monster could smash him through its horns, Julyan cast the spell, and appeared on the other side of the corridor, the monster passing harmlessly through him and slamming its horns on the wall. 
It was momentarily disoriented, and Julyan did not waste a second to use that opportunity. Focusing, Julyan’s hands were engulfed in glowing red flames, and he cast two large bolts of fire on either side of the monster. It would take a lot to disintegrate such a large creature, so taking out both sets of legs should do the trick. It was swift, and Julyan was quick to walk around it, swiftly finishing the killing blow - plunging the dagger onto the beast’s heart, and twisting. It went blissfully limp, and Julyan pulled out the weapon, stunned as if breaking free from a trance.
For a moment, he paused, looking around in horror. At what he’d done. The walls around him were charred like coal, but that did not compare in the slightest to the mangled, charred corpse of this creature. This living creature which he had killed. With no remorse. Like an Imperial soldier would.
What did I do?!
There was so much blood, and the smell… Oh Gods the smell. It hit him like a ton of bricks, the scent of melted flesh burnt to a crisp. Julyan scrambled away, tripping in one of the beast’s severed legs and falling over it with a sickening crunch, as the charred remains dissolved into nothing but floating pieces of coal. The smell of burnt skin hit him tenfold, now that he had fallen upon it. 
Before he realized what he was doing, Julyan rolled onto his side, facing away from the sight and the godforsaken smell, bile rising to his throat. And puked. 
Chest heaving, there was little in his stomach that could be thrown up - he hadn’t eaten in a while, even before being brought here - and that absence only made this feel worse. It hurt a lot. When there was nothing more, he coughed, trying to catch his breath as he scrambled to his feet once more, walking away from the charred corpse behind him. 
Wiping away some unbidden tears, he spared the dead creature one last glance, once he was far away enough that the burnt smell wouldn’t just make him sick again. Taking in the damage he was forced to cause, Julyan felt a sense of rage overpower his sorrow, stronger than before. 
This wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t forced to fight in this arena. This wouldn’t have happened if his opponent didn’t taunt him during a moment of panic. 
This wasn’t himself, Julyan knew it. He hoped. He would never kill another creature like this. His mind wandered to his previous opponent from the prior fight. She hadn’t meant to harm him, not truly, and yet he was forced to kill her. And now he was forced to kill again.
Julyan seethed.
His anger twisted and turned, as he headed towards the only remaining open door in this hallway, dagger held tightly in his hand, Julyan walked out of the corridor and into the next room. It looked like a small arena. Good, this means his opponent might be near, this means he can end this quickly. 
Blair wandered into a large clearing, probably another corner of the maze. It was there he caught the glance of his opponent from just a few feet away. 
"You!" Blair had gone from dragging the pincer on the rocky ground to pointing it at Julyan. 
Now that he had gotten a better look, he noticed how tall Julyan really was. He had strawberry blond hair tied up in a ponytail, a ruffled white shirt, a fancy overcoat, and boots. Honestly pretty intimidating, but Blair was used to having a taller opponent by now. 
A pirate? Blair thought. 
Well, that didn't matter. Cosplay or not, he was going to win this match. He planted both feet firmly on the ground. This will end here, once and for all. Blair smacked the side of the BFG, charging its laser up. It would only take a single shot to annihilate his opponent, but he also wasn’t exactly sure how much juice was left. This could be his final shot. 
“I’m tired of you running. Let’s finally finish this so, in a way, both of us can get out of here,” Blair chuckled. But Julyan wasn’t laughing. Blair wondered if he was good at parties. 
"You're rather insistent, aren't you? Just back off already!" Julyan told Blair, a twinge of impatience to his usually collected voice. This was his last warning. His opponent had better heed it. 
"Look, I'd like to, but then that'd mean you'd win the match. And I didn't endure that acid trip nightmare for nothing." 
Julyan dodged Blair’s poor attempt at jabbing him with the sizzling metal prongs. The metal whirred past his head, just barely scraping his shoulder. Julyan saw the strange contraption, then the meager cut it had managed to cause, which barely hurt, then looked back up at his fuming opponent. It took all he had not to burst out laughing.
"Well aren't you a brutish one?"Julyan gave a twisty smirk filled with vitriol. "Your tactics are rather senseless, don't you think? Oh yeah, of course, you don't think, at all."
"Did you just call me stupid?" 
“Maybe.” Julyan chuckled, a dangerous, victoriously angry sound, filled with hatred as seamlessly sidestepped one of Blair’s hits. “Wow, I’m honestly surprised you realized that by yourself.”
“People like you deserve no remorse.” A spark in Blair’s eyes. Was it a glint? Probably just from the claw that resumed its humming and zappy duties. 
It didn't take much to rile Blair up especially given the circumstances. He focused more intently on his target. But it was difficult when all he could see was red. It fueled him to keep going despite the hole he had dug for himself. There was no backing out now, the only way now was up. He had to win this at any cost. 
Blair tried repositioning the laser the more Julyan danced about with his attacks, to which Blair found more irritating than anything. It was no easy task to dodge while holding a large weapon. The more he used it as a shield, the more it degraded, so Blair had a single chance to get things just right before…
A wall of fire shot right past him burning the side of his arm before Blair barely had time to dodge. In front of him, Julyan stalked closer, golden eyes burning hotter than the flames at his hands. 
“Who’s running now?” Julyan questioned, rhetorically, tilting his head as he watched a beam of his fire shoot outwards towards his opponent, who dodged in the last second, leaving a pit of melted ground where he’d just been standing. Julyan scoffed, walking closer, his flames burning white hot in his hands. He laughed, bordering on hysterics, feeling manic after all he just went through - his voice was sickeningly sweet, provoking, though it slowly derailed into rage as he finished his sentence “Weren’t you the guy taunting me when I couldn’t fight back? Well now I can. Step up to the challenge, you bastard!”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I said what I said,” Blair spat out a bloody tooth for no discernible reason. Maybe to assert dominance in his culture…? Not even M knew. 
Julyan shot another blast of sunfire, cornering Blair as the other tried to run back into the maze. For a moment, Julyan watched his opponent dodge flame after flame, as he made the burning spiral chase Blair no matter how far he tried to run. For a moment he wondered how on earth that man had the energy to dodge his attacks while carrying such a large scorpion claw. Until he could see his opponent becoming weary. Good, now that guy can’t taunt anyone. 
Lifting both his hands up he cast a wall of fire just as tall as him, and threw it towards Blair, who barely had time to run, rolling away - a faint singed smell seemed to permeate the maze, but Julyan forced himself to ignore it, momentarily losing focus on his flames, with shoot out haphazardly before he controlled them again. Not now, I can’t get sick again, not now. 
“You singed my hair off, you bastard!” Blair panted, hand against the wall for support. “Do you have any idea how long it took to grow that out?”
His opponent was insistent, Julyan had to give him that. It was difficult to pin down and hit this guy, he was fast, but Julyan’s anger more than compensated for that. At this point, he didn’t have to aim. Walls of fire were enough to trap Blair in every direction. And his opponent slowly realized it. Slow and steady, but with a brutality he usually found appalling, Julyan was breaking his opponent down. Now it was a matter of time. 
His power’s instability, however, seemed to grow the more angry he got. Which was, right now, a problem. Julyan was starting to feel dizzy again, like he’d been thrown into a pot of boiling water or a fiery lava field, but he forced himself to ignore the growing ache or how numb his fingers were getting. Winning was more important today.
Reality began sinking in like quick sand, Blair squirming in response. 
He dodged another attack, which grazed past his ear. In a single hit, he too, could be dead. And he could tell Julyan wasn’t going easy on him. This wasn’t like the last round at all. Burning hatred glinted in Julyan’s eyes, a look that Blair had only ever seen one other time. 
If he failed to survive this round, he would never have the chance to tell Elijah goodbye. Well, at least he wouldn’t be here to see me die, Blair thought to himself. This isn’t any of his business, and maybe it’s for the best I stay out of his hair. Maybe I deserve this. I am no better than Julyan and definitely not deserving of a happy ending. 
Blair’s vision was overcome with tears. Blinking had no effect on the oncoming of tears in remembrance of his best friend. That’s right, he never got to tell him how he felt about him. Well, that wouldn't matter. It wasn’t like anyone could love someone like Blair. His opponent was basically doing the world a service by exterminating people like him, right? 
I just hope that whatever happens…that at least Elijah gets his happy ending. 
Julyan spun around as Blair dodged yet another one of his strikes. He couldn’t feel anything, just the fire, burning inside of him, through him. And anger. He was never this angry before. Never. He hated anger. It was sick. Julyan realized, with a momentary pang, that this ‘anger’ was actually fear. Deathly fear. He shook his head, and his thoughts dissipated in the searing burn of his sunfire, his own skin aching at the overheating of the flames as he shaped it into a fiery spear, and took aim. 
And this time, he aimed to kill. 
A sudden gust of fiery wind shot through Blair’s chest– an instant kill. He fell to his knees, then collapsed to the ground with a solid thud. Through the gaping hole in his chest, the scorpion claw that had yet to fire its target shot. Abruptly, it began cooking the lifeless body with its laser, setting it aflame. Within seconds, Blair had been reduced to a pile of ash. 
Julyan watched, with growing terror, as his opponent burnt to ash, a gaping hole seared into the young man’s chest. His rage bubbled up, mixing with all the pain, terror and grief he was forced to endure today, his flames disobeying his own commands, spiralling around him in growing distress.
Julyan stared emptily at the corpse. He just killed someone again. Julyan felt his hands reaching to pull at his long hair, fire swirling around him like a searing hurricane. And he screamed, falling brokenly to the floor as the fire around him exploded outwards, flames finally stopping as he realized what he was being forced to become. 
A monster. 
As much as he wanted to go home, as much as he needed to go home and keep his siblings safe, a treasonous part of his mind asked one dangerous question. 
What if I lose myself?
Because that, oh that, was a terrible thing. And right now, it was a reality that felt far too real to ignore.
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tourettesdog · 7 months
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DPxDC prompt where Danny has been going by Nightingale for awhile now, but he has yet to legally change his name. On paper he's still a Fenton, and after what his parents did to him he struggles to see it still attached to his name.
He's been living in Gotham for a while now. He's tried laying low, leaving his past behind-- still he can't help but get involved when shit hits the fan. He's on the bats' radar quicker than he'd have liked, and they deduce his identity quicker than he'd have expected.
When he's confronted by Batman, the man addresses him as Fenton. He lays down his past-- what he knows of it, at least-- and all of the weaponry and questionable science attached to that name.
Danny's not sure what he expected from his inevitable interrogation with the big bat, but a panic attack wasn't it.
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a-sip-of-milo · 5 months
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It was only supposed to be a simple mission. Red Robin and Nightwing were sent to investigate some magical ruins that might have a lead on one of thier shared cases. Kon had practically begged to come along since he and Tim hadn't seen eachother in a while. Nightwing didn't see a problem with it so off they went.
It was later that night when they were asleep in thier tents (Timm was forced to sleep via the power of kons puppy dog eyes) that something strange happened.
---
Phantom wobbled a bit in flight. He didn't know where or when he was. He had just escaped his parents after they saw Vlad transform and in a fit of rage, Vlad outed Danny too.
Vlad was killed pretty quickly. But Danny? They tried to "fix" Danny. It was only thanks to Jazz freeing him that he could bolt into the Ghost Zone and disappear. And bolt he did. He went so far so fast that he didn't even notice when he re-entered the living realms and just kept going.
Not wanting to make his situation worse, he decided to bed down for the night. His wounds weren't exactly healed but they were closed and that was what really mattered. He phased the blood out of his clothes as he silently approached a camp. Thier fire was out, properly drenched too. Danny had a thought to swipe some food but decided not to. Not out of morality, desperate times and all that, but because he physically couldn't muster up the energy to do anything more than curl up on the grass and pass out from exhaustion.
Needless to say when Tim wakes up the next morning and sees what appears to be a younger version of himself curled up outside he freaks out. He sneakily snags a sample and compared it to his own DNA and, suprise! Its a match. Aside from the obvious marks of cloning in his genetic structure and this odd unknown element sticking to it he was a perfect match for Tim Drake Wayne.
Nightwing woke up to find Tim standing over his unconscious mini and muttering about him being a dad. Dick was glad he packed that expensive coffee. They were all going to need it.
Kon was just excited to be an uncle.
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makorragal-312 · 7 days
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Manifesting Buck holding Eddie's hand when they're in the helicopter and Eddie putting his thumb on Buck's pulse when they're on the ship.
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mauselet · 4 months
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The Influencer - And All Is Not Fine
This story is for @ask-the-rag-dolly's blog, specifically The Influencer AU. Honestly, loving the blog so much. Huge thanks to Mod Bee for creating it and if you haven't already, go check out her blog.
Big thanks to WanderingDragon and Foolscap Hamato for helping with the fic.
Yes, the story is named after Entropy by Awkward Marina lyrics. Also, the anon/s that speak in orange and red, you got a reference in there cause it felt fitting.
Well, I really hope you enjoy this story!
Story includes: Ragatha X Pomni (but can be taken as platonically), angst, hurt/comfort
TW body horror, possessive behavior, possession, anxiety/panic attack, haphephobia/fear of being touched, questioning sanity, self-neglect
It's been a few weeks since Pomni found out that there were currently hundreds of voices inside Ragatha's head. Wow, and after all this time it didn't sound any less insane. From what Pomni understood, those voices were a virus that had infected the circus and latched onto Ragatha. They couldn't tell Caine about this because he'd likely kill them and Ragatha refused that. For some reason, she wanted to protect them which seemed even crazier than the whole situation. Some of them were friendly, sure, but others…
They attacked Jax, causing him to glitch out. They taunted Ragatha by plaguing her mind with the worst cases imaginable or calling her names or taking her too literally. They spawned that stupid paper shredder!
Oh, how Pomni hated that thing! The next time she sees one, she’ll personally smash it into pieces.
In short, the voices–all of them–stressed Ragatha out. And who could blame her? Sometimes even your own voice in your head can drive you mad. Pomni was actually impressed that the doll hadn’t reached her breaking point yet with these “anons”, as they called themselves, constantly following her.
Of course, it wasn’t all that bad. Sure, they led to Ragatha temporarily losing her arm, but it was also thanks to them that she worked up the courage to speak to Pomni again. The thought of that always brought a smile to the jester’s face.
She was glad she could talk to her. Not only because Ragatha was nice and overall pleasant to be around, but it was also good for the ragdoll; especially now that she avoided the other circus performers to prevent another Jax fiasco or a possible infection.
The redhead’s absence was noticed by the others and to Pomni’s surprise, they were concerned about her. When Pomni first arrived, she was too busy spiraling down her anxiety to see it, but these trapped souls were friends. They cared about one another, even if it’d be in their own strange ways. So Pomni decided to reassure them all with daily reports on how Ragatha was doing.
And that was usually the extent of her interactions with them. Until Caine’s adventures forced her to stick around the whole day. Sometimes she was able to avoid them, however, there were times when she just couldn’t no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately for her, adventures like these stacked over the course of the last few days, making it basically impossible for Pomni to check on Ragatha.
By the third or fourth day, Pomni was getting anxious. Throughout the adventure, her fingers were constantly convulsing while stuck in an unnatural position, her eyes turned into scribbles and her thoughts were as far away from the game as possible.
Ragatha must’ve been lonely. It’s been days since she’s interacted with anyone. Well…since she’s interacted with someone who meant no harm to her. Hopefully, she was alright…
Pomni suddenly jerked and snapped out of her thoughts as a gloved hand waved in front of her eyes. Her head shot up and she saw Kinger, Zooble and Gangle who announced to her that they found a way to replace her in today’s adventure and that she could go see Ragatha. If she had to be honest, she didn’t even know what the adventure was, but if she really wasn’t needed there…
She gave the three of them a quick smile and dashed to Ragatha’s room as fast as her short legs could carry her. As soon as she arrived and caught her breath, she rang the bell, waiting and…
Waiting.
Pomni felt a pit in her stomach. No, no, no. She shook her head. Everything’s fine, it’s just taking a bit. She rang again.
“R-Ragatha? It’s me, Pomni. A-are you in there?”
But she was still left waiting.
“Ragatha!” she raised her voice, yet still no response.
Oh God, three days… Three whole days with nothing but those voices. That must’ve been a nightmare for the doll and Pomni left her dealing with that alone. She left her again…
“I’m coming in!” she announced and reached for the doorknob. Her body froze as she held it, overwhelmed by worried thoughts, but also by a sense of déjà vu. She chuckled darkly at the memory of desperately wanting to know what was behind a door she shouldn’t go through and then opened.
A wave of relief washed over Pomni as she wasn’t instantly met with a glitching blob with a thousand glowing eyeballs. She walked in and closed the door behind her.
She looked around the room and her heart skipped a beat. Ragatha was there, sitting on her bed, sewing what appeared to be a suit. She was so focused on her work; maybe that's why she didn't register the bell. Pomni can't actually remember if she'd ever seen her this focused, but she looked surprisingly calm and, the jester had to admit, quite pretty. 
“Um…Ragatha?” the short woman started, walking over, “I'm sorry for barging in, I was just worried when you didn't answer.” But the ragdoll didn't respond; it was as if she didn’t even notice that Pomni was in the room talking to her.
Was she ignoring her? Was she mad? Did she…hate her? All of those thoughts sounded really ridiculous considering that this was Ragatha we were talking about. She doesn’t even allow herself to hate Jax, someone who’s caused more than enough harm to her, so there is no way she’d ever hate Pomni. Right…? Yet all those thoughts, as unrealistic as they might’ve seemed, felt like real possibilities to Pomni.
Somehow despite Jax putting her worst fear in her room, voices constantly screaming at her and hurting her and Caine forcing her into some of the most dangerous scenarios, not being there for her seemed like the biggest crime of them all.
Well, there was only one way to fix it.
“I’m so sorry I took so long,” Pomni let out, her steps slowing down, “I tried to check on you, but Caine’s adventures-”
“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” hearing that gentle voice, Pomni stopped. It was nice hearing her again, but something felt off. Sure, Ragatha occasionally used pet names like hun or sweetheart or even dear–oh geez, Pomni felt her cheeks heating up just thinking about it—that wasn’t the issue. She sounded more nonchalant than reassuring.
That didn’t matter right now. She wasn’t mad and that brought a smile to Pomni’s face. However, that didn’t last long as the doll finally raised her head.
Pomni’s face turned paler than usual if it was even possible, the pinwheel eyes shrunk, making them nearly invisible and her smile vanished as if it was never there.
Oh %$!#... Oh %$!#! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! This wasn’t… This couldn’t have been real!
She wasn’t just staring at a black void with two colorful eyes where Ragatha’s button was supposed to be. She wasn’t just witnessing her friend slowly abstracting in front of her! She wasn’t… She wasn’t…
This wasn’t real!
It… It was just one of the digital hallucinations that Caine mentioned. Yeah! That’s it! That’s…That’s what it…was…
But those eyes, that void, they were still there, no matter how much Pomni convinced herself about the opposite.
Caine. She had to go get Caine! As Ragatha said once, maybe there was still time to fix this.
“Stay here!” Pomni blurted out, “I’ll be right back!” She quickly turned around and ran to the door. She’s going to come back this time. This time she won’t let Ragatha suffer.
She reached for the doorknob, but before she could grab it, arms wrapped around her and she was pulled back. One of the arms held her abdomen while the other was around her neck, not too tight yet still uncomfortable.
Feeling the fabric arms against her skin made her dizzy and itchy. She could sense every single pixel touching her, causing goosebumps to spread over her body.
“Where are you going, dear~?” she heard a whisper in her ear. It was Ragatha’s gentle, calming voice- No. It sounded different and…wrong. The voice was demanding and rough.
Pomni’s breath hitched. Was really something wrong with Ragatha? Or was her mind just messing with her? Well, the physical contact didn’t exactly help her think clearly as her body was plagued with this disgusting sensation.
“Don’t leave me~” For whatever reason, those words made the black-haired woman sick.
The doll’s embrace tightened. The touch of the fabric felt so venomous and paralyzing. It felt sickening. It felt wrong.
The jester wanted to escape that trap. She needed to escape it, yet no matter how much the voice in her head screamed at her body to move, it wouldn’t budge an inch. She was frozen in such a predicament with nothing but her racing heart, uneven breath, and voice stuck in her throat.
She attempted to take a deep breath, only to leave herself coughing.
“Are you alright, dear?” That voice again. It made shivers run down Pomni’s spine.
She sucked in another breath and let out a very weak and broken “Ragatha”. She repeated this a few times until she made a sensible sentence: “Ragatha… Please, let go…”
“Let go?” the doll wondered innocently, “why would I do that?”
“Please…” the jester mouthed.
“It’s not like I want to hurt you.” The grip tightened even more. “I would never hurt you. I would never-” The taller woman went silent. She felt the pale jester in her arms trembling and her heart dropped.
“Pomni…” Ragatha let out softly and her embrace loosened, “y-you’re shaking…” Rather than talking to Pomni, however, she seemed to have told it to herself. Reminding it to herself as if just physically feeling it wasn't enough to make it sink in. 
Even some of the voices were yelling at her to let go while the others objected. Was it the good or bad ones? What even made them good or bad? Were there even any bad voices? Were there even any good voices?
The voices that objected weren’t yelling, but whispering yet they were somehow much louder than the yells.
“Don’t listen to them–” “You can’t let go–” “You can–!” “She’ll find Caine and tell him about us–” “She wouldn’t–” “It’s too great of a risk–!” “If Caine finds out about us, we’ll be–” “What would happen to Rags–?”
“Ragatha, don’t you care about us? Don’t you care about what happens to you?!”
She flinched, instinctively tensing her hold on Pomni. In no way did she help the situation, with the jester’s body convulsing out of control.
“What is it, dolly? Are we too much for you to handle? Are we too loud? Can you even tell the difference between us and your own thoughts? Is there even a difference at this point?”
Oh God, her knees felt weak, her head was spinning, and tears filled her eye. She felt like she was about to collapse at any moment, but there was something forcing her to stand. Something kept her body like this against her will despite her exhaustion.
“Oh, dollface, do you feel the abstraction crawling under your skin? Or well, fabric? Did we do it? Did we f̴i̷n̴a̵l̸l̴y̸ ̶b̷r̸e̶a̵k̷ ̶y̷o̴u̵?̸”
All the voices then started shouting over one another again. Ragatha couldn’t even make out what they were saying as it all blended into an incoherent mess. With so much noise in her head, she wanted to join them. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs; let out all her frustration not just with the voices, but with her whole body. It would be a beautiful relief, but even that was a luxury. Her body wouldn’t let her. They wouldn’t let her.
She’d swear that in the middle of all the noise she heard things that made her want to throw up. She hoped that it was just her imagination and her brain tried to give those noises some meaning, however… That would mean it was her own thoughts and that creeped her out even more. Strangely, some of those words weren’t anything bad, they were just…words. Yet they all sounded so disgusting. So wrong. Every last one of them.
Every last one…
Every last–
“Please…” One voice silenced all of them despite how weak and broken it was. No… No, it was loud and clear. It was…real.
It hit her like a truck. Everything that just happened in the span of a few minutes. How Pomni walked into the room, apologizing. How terrified the jester was when she saw her. How she stopped her when she tried to leave. How she was holding her this whole time despite the pain she was clearly causing Pomni.
Ragatha jumped back, letting go of the jester, allowing her to collapse to her knees. The small woman was sitting there, swinging back and forth, hyperventilating. She reached her hands to her arms as if to brace herself, but she didn’t touch. Instead, she grabbed her hat and pulled, her eyes shut. The bells one would associate with joy and fun now sounded distorted to both of the performers. The bells were… unnerving.
“Oh my gosh…” Ragatha let out as it all sank in. She covered her mouth and a tear ran down her face as she stared down at the black-haired woman. Her heart was breaking at the sight. “Oh my gosh…”
She did this… No, no, no. The voices did. Right…? She…She wasn’t in control, was she?
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, although, she wasn’t sure if Pomni could even hear her, “I-I lost control of them.” She cried more. “I messed up. Ragatha, you idiot… You %$!# idiot! You scared her. You hurt her! Why would I…? I would never-”
She felt tears rolling down her right cheek too, but that wasn’t possible. She wiped the tears with her hand and when she looked at it, her fingertips were covered by dark liquid.
Her heart stopped, realizing what that was. The dark void was leaking. The voices were right…
The bells on Pomni’s head rang again, causing Ragatha to snap out of those thoughts. There was something more important she had to do than pity herself. Her emotions could wait. Her abstraction could wait! She didn’t matter right now. She didn’t matter at all! Pomni did.
Despite her own breakdown, she rushed over to the jester, kneeling in front of her. She was in tears, barely thinking straight, potentially on the verge of abstracting, but Pomni mattered more.
Ragatha reached her hand towards the pale woman but flinched when she realized it wasn’t the brightest idea considering what caused this in the first place. She instead laid her hands on her own knees so Pomni could see them.
“Hey, Pomni?” she spoke up, her voice trembling. That sure was reassuring…
C’mon, Ragatha! Get a hold of yourself! Pomni needs you! Don’t freak her out.
She took a deep breath and ran her hand through her yarn, brushing it over her right eye to hide it. She curled her hands into fists and calmed her breath before speaking.
“Pomni, hun?” She was doing her best to keep her voice stable this time. “Look at me, please. Hun, look at me.” Pomni cringed, her body still going back and forth. “It’s okay, it’s just me. The real me, I promise,” Ragatha continued, “I just need you to look at me.” The big eyes slowly opened, showing scribbles, and looked up. “That’s it.” Ragatha smiled at her brightly. “Good job, sweetheart. Good job.”
The smaller woman was still trembling, still pulling at her hat, still swinging back and forth, still not controlling her breath. 
“Alright, dear-”
Pomni flinched at that, tears streaming down her face as she looked away. 
“O-okay! Okay,” Ragatha said in an unintentional panic. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I won't call you that again, I promise. I promise. You’re safe now.”
Still in tears, the jester stopped pulling at her hat, yet the bells kept ringing. Each sob was accompanied by a happy metallic chime as her body jerked. Ragatha had to admit that it made her wails quite adorable and each little jingle seemingly made a voice in her head disappear each time. But she wished more than anything that they'd stop.
“Pomni?” Ragatha knew she had to keep trying. “Hey, Pompom, hun… Can you look at me again?”
The smaller woman didn't seem to listen. She then choked on her sobs as they didn't mix well with her rapid breathing. Seeing this, some of the voices panicked, but Ragatha had to stay calm. She instinctively lifted her hand from her knee, however, thankfully stopped herself from touching Pomni. 
“Please?” the ragdoll’s soothing voice asked and Pomni couldn't deny it. The black-haired woman turned to her, scribbles in her bloodshot eyes. 
“Good job.” A smile of relief and reassurance formed on Ragatha's face. “Now, honey, you're having another episode, but that's okay. It's okay, I'll help you through it. I’m not going anywhere. We'll get through it  together, okay?”
Pomni nodded slowly, choking on her sobs again. 
“I need you to breathe with me,” Ragatha told her, “four seconds in, hold and six out. Four, hold, six.” She waited for Pomni to nod again before she took a deep breath that the jester immediately followed, yet struggling. They held their breath, but sniffles broke them. Then they exhaled together. 
“Now, let's try again.”
And as Ragatha said, they did. Breathing was much easier for Pomni this time around. 
“You're doing great,” the redhead praised her, “are you able to go on your own?” She watched as Pomni nodded and took another deep breath with her eyes shut. “Good, keep going. You’re safe, hun. Focus on me, okay?”
When Pomni opened her eyes again, they were back to their pinwheel look. Ragatha also noticed that she stopped shaking and the swinging slowed down. Her smile widened in relief.
She kept talking to Pomni while the jester calmed her breath. They were like this for a few more minutes until…
“R-Ragatha…?” Pomni finally spoke up and the ragdoll gasped quietly.
“Welcome back, sweetheart,” Ragatha greeted her, “you feeling any better?”
“A little…” Pomni’s voice was still pretty weak, but she had much more to say. She held her hands together, rubbing her thumb with the other. “But I should be the one asking you.”
“What are you talking about?” Ragatha shook her head. “I just helped you through a panic attack-”
“And I’m forever grateful for that,” the jester blurted out, “but, Ragatha… You’re on the verge of abstracting!” They both flinched at the yell and Ragatha covered the black void on her face despite being hidden behind the hair. “And it’s all because of me.” Pomni shifted her eyes away. “Because I left you when you needed me. Again!”
“Pomni, you can’t blame yourself for that. It wasn’t your fault.”
“‘Can��t blame yourself?’ You’re the one to talk,” the pale woman scuffed. She then took a deep breath. “Sorry.”
“No, you have all the right to call me out.”
“Did it happen because of… them?” Pomni glanced at the taller woman, her eyes narrowing at the last word.
“I think so,” Ragatha replied and noticed Pomni inhaling to speak, but she quickly interrupted her, “that’s why you can’t tell Caine.”
“But, Rag-”
“You promised.”
“And you said you wanted this to stop,” Pomni reminded her, raising her voice, “I understand you don’t want them to die, but think about what they’re doing to you. Stress? Mental breakdowns? Abstraction?!” The doll lowered her head in shame. “Rags, you’re suffering and I can’t bear to watch. You care about the people around you and I appreciate that, but for once in this digital life think about yourself first.”
“No need to worry, darling,” Ragatha said calmly, looking up with a bright smile as if the topic was just a casual small talk, “the anons are actually what keeps me from abstracting, otherwise I’d be in the cellar by now.” Pomni cringed at every word due to how cheerfully the doll said them. “We’re also really, really sorry for touching you. We were so afraid of you telling Caine that we had to stop you somehow. Sorry we hurt you.”
Pomni was just staring at her, an unsure expression painted on her face. This all felt wrong and Ragatha’s next words didn’t ease that feeling.
“I’m fine, really. I’m sure that I can join in on the adventures again soon.”
No, that wasn’t right. She just said she’s afraid of Caine finding out, why does she suddenly want to take part in his adventures? And that wasn’t the only thing off.
“What happened to staying in your room to prevent infecting people with the virus?” Pomni wondered, “don’t get me wrong, the others would be happy to see you and they’re definitely worried about you. Heck, Zooble, Gangle and Kinger helped me get out of an adventure to check up on you; it’s just…”
“You’ve been spending so much time with me and you’re not influenced,” Ragatha pointed out.
Well, Pomni couldn’t argue with that. There were still many other issues with this seemingly spontaneous idea, but the more she thought about them the less sense her reasoning as to why they were even issues made. It was as if her mind was getting blurrier the more she tried to use her brain. She must’ve been tired from her previous meltdown.
“I guess you have a point.” She let out a sigh and smiled at the woman softly, but then… Did Ragatha have that wide grin on her face before? That didn’t matter right now; she needed some rest.
“Look, I know I haven’t been here in a while, but I should really go into my room and take a nap,” she explained.
“Oh, no worries, d̶e̶a̸r̴,” Ragatha replied, “have a nice sleep.”
“I’ll try. Thanks.” Pomni stood up and headed to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned back. “And I mean it, try thinking about yourself. It isn’t hard to care about you; me and at least three other people can agree on that.” Her smile widened as she opened the door. “And Ragatha? …I… Thank you for helping me through the attack, I really appreciate it. You’re a great friend.”
She then closed the door and stayed in the room. 
She originally planned on finding Caine the moment she was outside. She was well aware that Ragatha didn't want that, however, Pomni was willing to do anything to help her stop hurting. She didn't care if Ragatha hated her for it–she was sure she would–she just wanted her friend to be safe.
But as much as she wanted that, she couldn't bring her body to go through with it. It was as if it didn't obey her. 
“Don't leave me,” she remembered the doll's words. No, it wasn't a memory; it felt like someone just whispered in her ear. 
That's crazy. It was just her imagination. Nothing else. 
“Pomni, please. Don't leave,” Ragatha's voice begged her. It sounded so real. But there was no way Ragatha's whispers could reach her, right?
The more she thought about it, the more her mind was filled with white noise, static. And the longer that went on, the more that noise made sense to her as if it spoke to her. 
“I'm scared,” one noise was much louder. Ragatha's voice.
Pomni's not leaving her again.
She let go of the doorknob and turned around to see the ragdoll still sitting on her knees, showing Pomni her back. 
“Actually, can I stay here?” the jester asked, “I don't want you to be alone and…I'd also feel more comfortable with some company.”
“Why of course,” the doll replied, the huge grin remaining on her face. She got up and headed over to her bed. Reaching into her hair, she pulled out her bow and used it to tie her hair up in a ponytail.
“You can take a nap in my bed,” she said. 
“Oh.” Pomni blushed a little, not only at the offer but also due to the redhead’s sudden hairdo change. Whatever it was, it had some strong influence on Pomni. "Thanks."
Once at her bed, Ragatha picked up the suit she was working on when Pomni first walked in. It was nearly done. It truly was clothing worthy of someone as powerful as her; someone with influence stronger than the ringmaster himself.
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ghouljams · 6 months
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can you please take us back to the beginning? from where it all started?
what did ghost do that made price decide ‘yep, imma ship you out with the horses’ and how did price mention goose before ghost met her.
I have been dying to write some Price and Ghost fic. I wanna do some fae au stuff for them too, but for now we focus on the cowboys. So here it is. Ghost tells Price he'd follow him into hell, and Price asks if he'd follow him to safety too.
"You're not renewing your contract," Ghost has never been keen on beating around the bush. Price is used to that, used to the sharp look in his lieutenant's eye that asks 'what are you keeping off the record and should I do the same?' There have been enough times that they've had to scramble in the dark without the cushion of military contracts, everything less than official in order to achieve the impossible, that he should have expected the look.
"I'm retiring," Price tells him, tugs open the corner drawer of his desk to fish for a cigar. The scrape of wood echoes through his office. Simon fidgets, a short flick of his nails against the pads of his fingers that is quickly stopped by Ghost's clenching fists.
"Retiring," Ghost repeats, feels the word out like he's never heard it before, "didn't know men like us retired." Price hums, clicking his lighter with a growing frustration, fucking military grade bullshit. Ghost flicks his lighter on, and holds it out for his captain. Price takes a moment with his cigar, letting the flame burn just a little long before Ghost flips the lid shut.
"When's the last time you slept?" He asks instead of rising to the obvious, if self deprecating, bait.
"Last night." The answer comes just a second too quick. Practiced. It's a standard question from the psych eval Price knows good and god damn well Ghost's been lying on for years. The kind of scars he's got...
"Really?" Price isn't asking, he lowers his cigar and exhales heavily, feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders, "I didn't." Ghost doesn't blink.
"Don't see how, they just keep makin' the barrack beds more comfortable." He jokes, the deadpan tone a distraction from his underlying agreement. Price would bet Ghost hasn't had a decent night's sleep in years. It won't be any better with him gone.
"Your contract is up about this time isn't it?" Price slides a folder to the side, flips up the edge of Ghost's papers. Same date stamped at the top as his own. It's been like that as long as he can remember. There's never been any question of what was going to happen on that date, except this time around. "What're your plans for that?"
"Renew." Ghost says without an ounce of hesitation.
"Without me?"
Ghost freezes. Price can almost see the gears turning in his head. A new captain, one he can't trust, one who doesn't know who he is or how he works. A new captain that might bring in new people, who might decide he's too much work and have him transferred out of counter terrorism. Who might not let his psych slip pass, who might discharge him for any number of things Price has let go over the years.
Ghost is a good soldier because he trusts him. Someone new? After what happened chasing down Hassan and Makarov, it's anyone's bet how he'll play. Those betrayals still hangs fresh over all of their heads.
"You like animals lieutenant?"
"Animals, sir?" Ghost's head tips forward ever so slightly, the smallest breech in his rigid posture betraying his confusion.
"My wife's family owns a ranch stateside. Would save me the trouble of lookin' for an extra hand if you wanted to change careers." Price leans back in his chair, "Good place to spend your retirement if you like animals."
"When'd you get married?" It's not the most elegant topic change, but it's also not a "no."
"Soon as I saw how shit the barracks were," It's the truth, but it sounds close enough to a joke that anyone else might think it was, "Got a kid too, Goose, you'd like 'er." Ghost grunts, breezing past that one, though Price knows he's carefully filing the information away. Mind like a bear trap that one. There's nothing Price has ever known Ghost to forget.
The two men regard each other across Price's desk. There's a level of trust between them that's carried them to this point, past every roadblock. It's not something that can be built up over night, nor is it one the affords requests lightly. Price has asked a lot of Ghost over the years, both of them understanding that the only way out was through. Now they stand at an impasse. One of them leaving, the other hoping they'll stay.
Ghost doesn't know what he'll be if Price leaves. He doesn't know what he is when he isn't this.
"Simon," Price appeals, leaning forward, "Let me do this for you. Let me get you out before this job kills you. The ranch is nice, it's quiet, you'll have your own place, work. You can sleep there."
Ghost is silent for a long moment, his eyes dark, clouded, as they stare Price down. It's anyone's guess what he's thinking. The conversations they've had- Price knows as well --no better-- than anyone that Ghost lives his life waiting for this work to kill him. He can't bury him again. Can't mourn Simon a second time when he knows he could have saved him. Price couldn't be there last time, but now? Today? He can try.
"I'm not babysitting," Ghost says finally. Price smiles, feels the tight anxiety in his chest loosen a little.
"Who? Goose?" He chuckles, shakes his head, "Doubt you'll get the chance to meet 'er, but I'll make sure she knows not to bother you."
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Barnaby x Wally Comic (barnaby’s drawn by @weebannihilator )
Extras:
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tadc-ragatha · 5 months
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So would ya do pomni with a reader that takes the form of a teddy bear and is has very comfortable hugs
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Pomni with a Teddy Bear Reader
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TW: Panic attack mentions
Type: Headcanons
A/N: I combined the asks because they worked well together. Reader has been there the third longest (Kinger, Ragatha, then the reader). Spoilers.
You were a rock amongst the group. Really, it was you and Ragatha keeping everyone stable and from abstracting. It was all thanks to your personalities, of course. Both of you were very kind and empathetic towards the others, able to identify with their situations all too well.
So, it was no surprise the two of you immediately wanted to help Pomni feel better when she arrived int he digital circus. You remembered how Ragatha and Kinger had helped you adjust, and although there were other people there (and although Kinger was in a much better mental state), you still wanted to return the kindness to someone else.
But, alas, Jax took over the situation. He sent you with "crybaby" and "hoo-haa", or Gangle and Kinger, as they were really known, to assess and deal with the gloinks situation while he took Ragatha and Pomni to check of Kaufmo. It was a shame, really; you had wanted to help Pomni out a lot. And knowing Kaufmo and Jax, she may have found herself in quite the situation if it weren't for Ragatha to keep everything calm.
However, it soon turned out the situation was much more dire that you had initially expected. When Kaufmo abstracted, you felt terrible. Not only for Kaufmo and everyone else who knew him, but also Pomni. She had been hoping so hard to find out about the exit through him--even if said exit you knew didn't exist.
At the dinner table after the ordeal, you tried to talk to Pomni and comfort her. There was little reaction out of her at first, and it definitely freaked you out when she started smiling out of nowhere, but you did your best to calm her down. It took a while--a good while--but as everyone started to finish up you finally got her out of her existential crisis trance.
From then on, Pomni stuck to you and Ragatha. Jax was a no-go for comfort, Gangle needed a therapist of her own, Kinger was too unstable, and Zooble wasn't there to comfort others. However, having been there longer, Ragatha's own mental state was more at risk of slipping, so Pomni ended up sticking to you more.
Being a large teddy bear, you were always very nice to hold on to. At first it started with you gently wrapping an arm around her or putting your hand on her shoulder (with permission, of course) when she was having a panic attack. Since then, it grew to her latching onto you when she got frightened during moments of heightened anxiety to her just wrapping her arms around you when she was having too much.
You never complained once. For what it's worth, you were just glad she wasn't abstracting. Being the largest in the group (about the same height as Jax, but with a lot more width), it was easy for you to shield her from prying eyes when she was freaking out. You'd also pick her up on occasion when she was having a really bad time and take her to her room to sleep and forget about what was worrying her. Pomni appreciates it so much, and at times she doesn't know what else she'd do if you weren't there.
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just-a-sewer-goblin · 20 days
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Simon Flinches
Simon x gn!reader
Finally did it! And I looked at it so much that I hate it now, even went back in and changed some small words and stuff, but here you go. Take the flinching trope and make it Simon instead of reader flinching.
Warnings: panic attack, hurt/comfort, barely proofread because I'm too tired, reader being called "Sir" as a honorific not referring to the gender
Wordcount ~3k
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You'd say you've gotten good at navigating the minefield that is Simon. You've been together a while by now and you've learned how to handle him so he feels safe and can be himself. It's been a long process that's far from over but you wouldn't have it any other way. Simon is worth all the time, all the effort. And if it means losing a limb in the process, crossing that minefield to get closer to him is worth it.
Simon would say he's gotten good at defusing the ticking bomb that he is. He's been with you for a bit now and he's learned how to trust you more, how to be vulnerable with you. His walls are lower than they’ve ever been and it has actually lead to good things.
But sometimes things don’t go as you want. No matter how hard you try, how carefully you try to navigate Simon. Sometimes just a tiny thing, a gesture, a word, makes everything explode, traps you in that minefield without knowing where to put your foot next, how to reach out to him without stepping onto another scar, tearing it open in a violent explosion.
Like now. It’s so goddamn stupid you could kick yourself. You've been arguing about whose turn it was to choose the movie. Something so insignificant, so trivial. But it's been a long day for both of you and what started as a joking argument has turned into an actual one and now you don't know how to stop it. Your voices are raised, you’re both shouting the frustrations of the day at each other. You hate arguing with Simon, just as he hates arguing with you.
You know it’s a normal part of any relationship, but with Simon it scares you. With Simon you never know when it could turn into him leaving. Into him pulling away. Yet you find yourself unable to stop your frustration from dripping from your tongue like venom. Simon’s not doing any better.
"Your movie choices are questionable anyway!", Simon throws into your face. "I suffer through them just for you. But they're horrible really! They all suck. I want to watch something that actually entertains me!"
Okay, that stung. Just a few days ago you'd shared one of you favorite movies with him. A movie that changed something in you when you first watched it, a movie that slightly tilted your world view. You didn't expect him to like it but that stung. And in your mind his sentence turns into you not being entertaining enough.
So you step forward, trying to hold back tears. "Yeah, as if your", you jab your finger at his chest, Simon flinches back "movie choices -"
You freeze. He'd taken a step back, raising his hands to shield himself and your heart drops, shattering at your feet. His big eyes are watching your next move in apprehension.
It should be ridiculous, really, someone as capable as Simon, a trained soldier, flinching over you putting your finger on his chest. As if you could actually inflict harm on him. As if you wouldn't rather die than hurt him.
But it's not ridiculous. It's a fucking fist to the face.
The sudden quiet makes your ears ring and Simon doesn't seem to be any better. His chest is heaving. His arms are still up, shoulders hunched, his entire stance small and scared. He’s ready to block your blows, ready to deal with you finally putting your hands on him.
His breathing is loud and quick and you want to guide him to calmness but you don’t know how when you caused his distress in the first place. This is new territory. A new step you took that landed you directly over a mine and it’s exploding right now. Exploding in slow motion, letting you see the details of everything you’ve built with Simon shattering and crumbling into dust.
Then his entire demeanor changes and you almost get whiplash. In a flash he’s squared his feet, narrowed his eyes and dropped his shoulders. His hands have gone down but they’re fists at his sides and there’s nothing relaxed about his new stance. You just watched every wall he’s let down for you come back up in the matter of a second.
His cold gaze almost hurts, his eyes distant and calculating, trying to guess your next move. Like a shield of ice that slipped into place before his soul, keeping it hidden from you.
"Simon -" It's whispered. A plea.
He takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders and then starts walking towards you with purpose. For an irrational second you think he’s going to hit you for scaring him. You think he’s going to get revenge on you for everything that’s ever been done to him.
The next second you’re ashamed for even thinking that. He’s not going for you. No, it’s worse. He’s going for the door of the living room behind you.
You’re helplessly watching, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry, almost painful. Your heart is hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying break your ribs from the inside. Trying to break free so it can follow Simon.
You’re frozen as you watch him leave the room. Every single muscle in his body is coiled tight, ready to whip around and stop any threat. Stop you should you so much as breathe too hard.
Holding your breath, tears gather in your eyes, dripping wetly down your cheeks. This is it, you’re waiting for the telltale sound of the door to the apartment opening and closing, Simon walking out of your life because this is irreparable.
The relieve you feel when you hear the bedroom door instead almost brings you to your knees. Then you hear the lock to the room turn and your heart breaks all over again. He’s locked you out of his safe space.
Fuck.
You sink down onto the floor and start crying in earnest. You never wanted to scare him. Never wanted to provoke that reaction. You had only pointed your finger!
You’re not even sure if you’re crying over what you’d just done or if your tears are for Simon, how he must be feeling right now. The one person he’s let in raising their hand at him, making him feel unsafe.
He’d thought you’d hit him. He’d thought you’d put your hands on him in a harmful way.
The pain coursing through you makes you breathless as you cry for Simon and everything he’s endured, as you cry over what you’d just ruined.
Hopefully he can’t hear you from the bedroom. You don’t want to cry over this, it’s not your place to cry when Simon is the one hurting. But you’re so scared of losing him of losing your best friend of losing your forever that you can’t help it.
In a weird twisted, crooked way his reaction is prove of how much he trusts you. Trusted you. He’d trusted you enough to let his guard down so far that a gesture of yours caught him off guard. You’ve never seen him so surprised by something someone did, his eyes always all over everyone. He’s always so aware of everyone and everything.
The fact that he felt safe enough to even be caught off guard shows just how close he’d let you. It was a privilege, a gift. A fragile little thing with broken wings in your palms and now you’ve crushed it.
You try to calm your breathing more. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Deep, slow. The way you instruct Simon to breathe when he’s battling his demons.
Demons he might be battling right now. And suddenly your tears run dry and you jump to your feet. This really isn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. So you get a slippery grip on your emotions and push them back for a later time.
Rushing to the bedroom, you raise your hand and pause. You can hear Simon’s steps in the room; he’s walking in circles like a caged animal. You’ll be damned if you don’t at least try to help, doesn’t matter if this is your fault in the first place.
You knock.
His steps halt.
And then they approach the door, soft thuds drawing closer, you can see the door handle turn but it doesn’t open. And then he’s frantically shaking it, apparently not remembering locking it.
“It’s locked!” His voice sounds so confused and scared that your chest feels like it’s caving in.
“You locked it, baby. You can unlock it. The key is on your side.”, you try to say in a calm soothing tone but you’re pretty sure your voice is shaking.
The turning of the key is frantic and the door gets ripped open and then you’re face to face with Simon and his eyes are wide, flitting all over the room, disoriented. His chest is still heaving, even worse than before, and when you see him shaking, you know there’s no stopping it.
Simon’s eyes lock on you and he doubles over, his hands clawing at his chest and neck, he's breathing too hard, always in until his chest must feel like it’s exploding.
“Can’t… breathe…”, he chokes out, eyes utterly terrified, tears starting to drip as he’s frantically trying to breathe and not drown in his feelings.
You don’t know if this is a ‘touch helps’ kind of panic attack or a ‘don’t you dare touch me’ panic attack and you’re scanning over him trying to guess, when his hand grips your shoulder in an iron grip and his wide eyes look straight through you.
He’s still hyperventilating and your heart seems hell bent on matching his hectic panting. Grabbing his arms, you try to steady him as he goes down, his knees buckling. He’s heavy in your hold and your muscles scream but you put your all into preventing him from falling and hurting himself in the process. At least you manage to slow his fall and then he’s on the floor on his hands and knees. One of his hands tries to dig his fingers into the floor as the other fists his shirt, damn near ripping it.
You have to do something even if you don’t know if it’ll help or make things worse. There's no forgiving yourself if you don’t at least try, even if it’s fishing in the dark. If it doesn’t work, you can change the approach. But doing nothing won’t help anyway. So you wrap your arms around him. “I’m going to lay you down, baby. I’m going to hold you.”
You don’t think he hears you but maneuvering him without telling him feels wrong anyway. And then you do exactly as you said, you tug Simon with all your strength towards you and he topples over onto his side, landing on top of you instead of the floor and you’re glad you’re there to soften his fall. Even if you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises from it.
Immediately you wriggle partially out from under him, keeping him on your thighs, in your lap and you wrap your arms around him.
“I’ve got you, Simon. I’m here. You’re in our apartment. Everything is okay. You’re safe, baby.”
Tears silently start dripping fdown your face again, when he curls in on himself clawing at the floor and you know he will black out if he doesn’t get his breaths more even.
In a desperate attempt you put your hand over his chest and push. “Simon, breathe out, baby, come on. Out.”
You exhale in an exaggerated way next to his ear and you think you hear him exhaling the tiniest bit, before he’s sucking air in in in. But that’s something. He can hear you, he reacts, which means he’s allowing you to guide him.
You press again. “Good, again. Ouuuuuut.”, you exhale and this time he manages to get a bit more air out. The way your top is sticking to you with sweat makes you shiver but you don’t give any attention to your own body being stressed. It will calm down when Simon does.
You continue. You don’t know how long you talk to him like that, reassurances between commands to breathe. It’s probably only been a few minutes, but you’re exhausted like you’ve been going for hours, fighting for every exhale until finally his breathing is back to a rhythm that’s as close to normal as it can get in this moment.
The exhaustion rolls over you as if you’ve had the attack yourself and your body curls over him, resting your head on him as he shakes in your lap and breathes.
The thumping of his heart under your cheek is still way too quick and he’s shaking like a fucking leaf, so you drag your tired body out from under him and turn him onto his back. Goddamnit he’s heavy.
Looking at his face resupplies your tears. His cheeks are wet, he’s pale as a sheet and his arms are clutched tightly to him as he continues shaking. You know he’s somewhat aware of his surroundings again but he’s still victim to his mind and body.
Remembering what he’s asked for before in moments when he’s needed grounding, you crawl over him and lay down with your full weight. Your head rests on his chest, near his shoulders and his arms, curled over his chest, dig into your own uncomfortably but that doesn’t matter right now.
Your own body shakes with his as you raise your hands, gently lifting his head - after a silent “please” because he resisted for a moment until his eyes focused on you - and pull a rug closer so he can rest his head on that instead of the hard floor.
Your entire body sags with relief when he pulls his arms out from under you and wraps them around you instead. His hold is tight as if he’s trying to make your bodies merge into one. As if he’s trying to push you into his ribcage to keep your right next to his heart.
His heartbeat slowly returns to normal under you and yours follows his lead. When he lifts his head and presses a kiss to your forehead, you curl your fist tighter into his shirt and finally try to push yourself off of him. The slight tightening of his hold on you makes you settle again.
The broad palms of his hands are warm and soothing as they pass back and forth over your back. You press your lips to his chest through his shirt and his next exhale is long and shaky.
He moves, jostling you slightly, and you try to get up again, but he doesn’t let you. His voice is low and tired as he says: “Hold on, lovie.”
You do and he sits up, maneuvering you in his arms until he’s got one arm around your back and one under your knees. Then he stands up and even though his movements are slow and exhausted the little to no effort with which he handles your weight still steals your breath.
His heavy steps take you both back into your bedroom and he puts you down on your shared bed, crawling in with you immediately.
You turn onto your side, as does he and then you’re looking at each other, the exhaustion on his face making you feel your own all the more.
Simon moves his hand, covers one of yours and squeezes twice. Immediately you return the gesture. A small sleepy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The reassurance behind that gesture making both of you melt into the mattress.
Still there’s so much talking to do and you end up whispering “We need to talk about this, Si.” into the small space between you, where your joined hands lie.
He brings your hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to each of your fingers, before letting it fall back onto the covers, still in his hold. His eyes are exhausted but you know you can’t sleep without having discussed what happened.
“I need you to know, Si”, you swallow against the tightness in your throat “I would never, ever hurt you. I’d rather chop off my own hand than touch you in a way that could cause you harm. I’m so sorry, Simon, I-“
“I know.”
You shut up, big eyes on his and he smiles, kissing the back of your hand this time.
“I know.”, he repeats and practically watches the gears in your head turn. So he takes a deep gulp of air and continues. “It’s not you, ‘luv. It’s the fucking past. Not your fault that a damn finger is all it took today to set me off. It’s my brain being a fucker.”
You’re so relieved you could cry again. He didn’t think you’d hurt him. His brain just didn’t make the distinction between the finger belonging to you or someone else at that moment. In that moment it was only a hand raised against him.
Still, maybe there’s a way to prevent that in the future? So you tentatively ask: “What can I do so you feel comfortable trusting me more? So you don’t feel like you’re endangered by a gesture from me?”
“I trust you.”, he states calmly and you shake your head.
“There has to be something I can do better. So it’s easier for you to trust-“ The way Simon takes your joined hands and brings them up to his throat, abruptly shuts you up. He's pressing your palm against it so it would be easy to squeeze and hurt and – you try to pull it back and he forces your hand harder against his throat with his own. You freeze completely.
“I trust you.”
Your eyes widen and fly to his from where they’d been locked onto his throat and the way your hand is curled against it in a chokehold.
His eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes fixated on you, willing you to understand. The soft caress of his thumb on the back of your hand - a hand that could cut off his oxygen if you wanted - makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.
“Okay.”, you whisper and he finally drops his hand, allows you to slowly draw your hand back from his throat. Your eyes are still widened and lock onto his neck again. Leaning forward you press a kiss to the delicate skin over his Adam’s apple and feel him swallow heavily under your lips.
When you look at hom again his eyebrows are still furrowed and warm palm finds your cheek. “I’m sorry, I reacted like that to something so small.”
You shake your head and nuzzle into his hold, giving a little kiss to his thumb. There's desperation in his eyes and you whish you could kiss it away.
“I’m sorry, ‘m all kinds of fucked up, ‘luv. Wouldn’t fault you if it’s too much. If you want to –“ Your hand covers his mouth and his eyes betray the surprise at that gesture.
“Don’t you dare, Si. Don’t you dare even say that.  As if I’d want that. You shouldn’t even think that. The only reason why I mind the panic attacks is because I know how heavily they weigh on you. You can flinch, you can scream, you can break, I don’t mind. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt, if I could I’d make it stop, but I’ll take that as long as I have you in my arms at the end of the day.”
His hand gently draws your hand away from his mouth and he whispers: “But I’m a handful, lovie. How can you not mind the hassle?”
You smile at him, a little mischievously. “Good thing that I’ve got two hands then, baby.”
He snorts, while his entire face softens, and draws you in closer, you're pressed into his chest, his arms around you and he showers your head with kiss after kiss.
“I thought you were going to leave me.”, comes your muffled voice abruptly halting all of Simon's movement. Gently he pushes you away a bit so you can see his sincerity when he answers.
“Never. As long as you’ll have me.”
Your eyes water and he tilts your head up, with the tip of his finger under your chin, and presses the softest of kisses to your lips. “Don’t care about the flinches and panic attacks and hard moments as long as I get to be in your arms at the end of the day.”
You laugh, when he uses your words against you, a cracked, teary laugh and kiss him again.
“Fuck I need a nap.”, he groans once you’ve managed to stop spelling your love against the lips of each other. You giggle.
“We both do, but drink something first. You’ll wake up with a headache if you don’t.”, you say and he groans with the effort of rolling over and drinking out of the bottle on his nightstand.
He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you, what he did to find someone so caring. Who looks at his hard exterior and handles it with soft touches and patience. He doesn’t know what he did right in his life, because he for sure can’t remember ever doing anything right, to find someone like you. He’s not going to let you go and if he has to beg at some point, then he’ll strangle his pride with his own two hands and do so.
When he faces you again he grins. “Mission accomplished, Sir.”
You groan and hide your face in your hands, missing Simon’s soft expression at your flustered state. God you’re so cute. Especially when you’re voice comes out all embarrassed when you say: “You can’t say that! You know what it does to me when you call me that!”
He wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close, your bodies fit to each other, immediately finding comfort in each other. And he can feel a wave of calmness crash over him, making him sleepy and slow. “Ya can do something ‘bout that when we wake up. Don’t think my soldier’s up to doing any long marches right now.”
He’s expecting it when your hand wriggles free and slaps his shoulder. “Simon!” You can feel his upper body shake with silent laughter.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Si.”
Your eyes are heavy, your muscles finally relaxing after all that tension of earlier. Your bodies melt into each other. You can feel Simon’s breathing getting slower, a telltale sign of him falling asleep.
“I love you.”, you mumble again before sleep takes you.
Simon’s too far gone to reply but you feel the two squeezes of his hand on you, pressing his love directly into your skin.
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movedto-bunny-lovers · 7 months
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Your f/o would help ground you during a panic attack, helping you breathe to the best of their ability. Your f/o would help you calm down and would make sure you were safe with them, too. Your f/o would be worried but caring and would do anything to be there for you.
proship/comship DNI
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zimthandmade · 6 months
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How would your Mello take Matt's death? In both versions (manga and anime) the way he reacts is very dry. Since in your AU both of them, unlike in canon, are very close, I think Mello would hit the steering wheel and say some insults, maybe stop the truck and kick some trees a few times, or something like that. (Sorry if it's hard to understand, English is not my first language and I'm using a translator)
Oh boy, really emotional topic here. I think his dry reaction in canon also happens in this AU - he’s 100% focused and in a mission mode. They both knew the risk, calculated it and this was one of the possible outcomes. It’s just information. And the longer he drives, the more the realisation settles in that his best friend just died, the emotions come through and the worst panic attack of his life creeps on him. I’m sure he only took the truck to this old church because he needed to stop asap if he didn’t want to cause an accident. And he saw this old run down building at the side of the road and took a turn for it. 100% with you on his outburst - once he’s out of the vehicle he goes full on screaming fit, throws a brick at the truck, kicks and smashes whatever is there before collapsing shaking, hyperventilating, crying. Takada must be absolutely panicing as well, as she can hear her kidnapper going complete berserk outside. When he suddenly quiets down from his fit of rage she’s probably thinking he’s coming for her next and writes his name down without wasting another second.
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(I know it looks like the truck is burning already but it's just the headlights shining against the bricks) -- My buddies over at Fewjar made a really good song/video that imo fits the whole mood pretty well -> LATENITEAHA I can totally see Mello in there.
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thebad-lydrawn-sanses · 2 months
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Is Error in one of the Teams Or is he a loney guy?
And what does everyone fears/likes the most?
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Killer: i like Nightmare (platonically) and i fucking hate paintbrushes Cross: oh, i fear cows and like tacos and chocolate. the only thing i like more than these two things was beating the shit out of Ink. it was funny and worth the scars Dust: abandonment Dust: … Dust: … Dust: i like…d Dust: …when Cross beat the shit out of Ink
(Horror likes making nests out of blankets/pillows and fears not having a steady food source. Currently taking a well-deserved nap.)
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sp0o0kylights · 4 months
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Part Seven/ Part Eight (YOU ARE HERE)
Ao3
Monsters aren't real.
The thing that's flying towards him is--a hallucination. A figment of Gareth's imagination.
The same way the feeling of time slowing to a crawl is just a trick of the light playing with his anxiety.
He'd be fine.
(It won't hurt.)
Gareth's limbs froze, locking him in place even as the manticore bore down on him.
Thankfully, Steve did not have that problem.
Gareth's shirt was snatched from the back, choking him as Steve yanked him out of the way.
It was just in time--the Manticore blew past seconds later, too-large body so close Gareth could feel the air move past him.
The stench was unimaginable.
A fuckload of noise exploded in Gareth's ears as time kicked back in. He fell hard, behind Steve as the older teen swung his nail bat with his left hand.
Huh. Gareth thought distantly as wood, nail and flesh connected. Steve's ambidextrous.
He never would have guessed.
Doesn't think anyone would.
(Should Gareth survive this, he will immediately tease Steve about it. Right after profusely thanking him for saving his life and having a meltdown about honest to God monsters existing in Hawkins.)
The fucker barked a noise, and the only comparable thing Gareth could relate it to was a seal--if a seal had played with some of the sound effect pedals the music store.
Maybe got run over by a car right after for good measure.
In one breath, the monsters' weird, elongated hand-paws raked lines through the floor.
In the next, a wing smashed high over Eddie's head. The finger-like claws at the crux of it pierced through Stewart's still-stuck door, balancing itself as it turned.
This brought the manticore's gore-filled hole of a mouth so close to Eddie's head Gareth thought it forfeit, and it was only Steve's interference that kept Eddie the Banished from being Eddie the Buried.
"Come on!" Steve bellowed.
He smacked the bat into the floor, as much a challenge as it was a distraction.
Thick saliva dripped to the floor in clumps as the manticore's head, a bulbous thing composed of five petal-like slices of flesh and too many teeth rattled in response.
A car horn trumpeted again--and if it was a warning it was one coming far too late.
The Manticore dropped its chest to the ground as it took the bait. A dark, black tipped scorpion tail rose over the back of the beast, stinger longer than Gareth's arm and wider than a sword.
Faster than Gareth could track, almost faster than Steve could parry, the tail lashed forward, stinger out like a lance.
(But Steve, wonderful, amazing, athletic Steve, caught and parried it with his bat.
Then and there, Gareth swore to never mock a jock, ever again.)
The bat met armored exoskeleton with a sickening crack!, the force of the hit shaking Steve's arms. His right foot slid back, biceps flexing as the stinger pushed against him, straining hard against nail and wood.
Steve grunted, shoes squeaking as he was forced to give ground, the Manticore overpowering him by the sheer strength of its tail.
The entire encounter had barely lasted a few seconds but without interference?
Steve would be thrown aside--and impaled.
Before Gareth could think about how stupid it was, he was on his feet and rushing to help.
He grabbed the fire poker off the ground and thrust it forward, towards the manticore's not-a-face.
Screamed “Go back to hell you piece of shit!” So loud his voice cracked.
It worked.
The beast flinched, tail rocketing back as it rose back up on all four paws, hissing in outrage.
Steve staggered with how fast the tail had moved, but caught himself, bat wavering in the air, and--
There was no reprieve.
No moment to breathe, because as soon as the stinger's gone there's a grotesque, hand-like paw swiping at them both.
Gareth fell back, only to realize he wasn't the target.
Steve was.
The claws flash in the flickering overhead lights and there wasn’t any time.
He's as good as dead and Gareth can't do anything to save him--
But Eddie can.
Sometime during the last few seconds, the older teen had pulled his knife. Jammed it deep into the back of the manticore's front leg, and twisted after the blade had sunk down to the hilt.
This, and the resulting aborted attack, saved Steve's life.
The thing wailed as the struck leg crumpled, sending the fucker’s head on a collision course with the floor.
Stewart's door jumped in its frame as the wing-claws, dug in deep into the wood, caught the manticore. Two flesh-petals scraped the floor, but the move kept it from falling-- at the cost of putting its full weight on the door.
A door already bowed. Hinges pre-fucked with, thanks to Eddie’s early meddling.
It didn't hold.
Hinges screamed as the wood bent, before gravity asserted itself and shattered it. Massive wood splinters shoot out in an explosion of wood, more than one piece embedding itself into the manticore.
Eddie scrambled backwards half turned to protect his head, saved from two large chunks of wood only by the grace of his thick leather jacket.
Several things happened at once.
The car outside honked a third time.
The manticore lunged.
And Eddie tripped.
One petal of teeth tore into him--a graze that left his leg a bloody mess and ripped a scream from his mouth.
Gareth and Steve both shot instinctively: Steve to attack the side of the manticore's head, Gareth to slam the fire poker into a wing.
(One second turned into three.)
The manticore in turn, leapt backwards, head shaking with the hit of Steve's bat--and Gareth had exactly one half-second to realize all they had done up until this moment was piss it off before the wing he'd struck swept out.
It struck him in the gut and Steve in the chest, sending both of them flying.
Gareth's back met the floor a second time expelling all the air from his lungs, vision going dark at the edges as his head hit the floor.
(Three seconds turned to seven.)
This time he physically couldn't move, too stunned as Eddie screamed Steve's name.
Stewart, Gareth realized, was screaming too.
(Seven seconds became eighteen, until Gareth's chest could take in air again, the loud ringing in his ears easing somewhat.)
He kept blinking, thinking the weird streaks of orange light was his vision blurring, until his brain kicked in and informed him that no, those were flames he was seeing.
Gareth pushed himself up on his elbows to find that reinforcements had arrived.
Flames flew in an arc as another on-fire tennis ball struck the Manticores side. The ball bounced, flames trickling down to the floor as the monster beast shrieked.
A third ball had it slamming itself into the wall as Gareth whipped his head to the opposite end of the hallway.
Tiff and Dustin were spraying a can of something onto a number of tennis balls--the ones Gareth knew Tiff kept in her car for tennis.
Lucas loaded one into his slingshot, drawing the rubber bands back and holding so that Jeff’s lighter could turn it into a proper weapon.
He launched it once flames encompassed it fully, and Gareth watched as it flew true.
Landed to the right of the muscular, lion--like chest, flames catching every piece of skin that was touched.
A part of Gareth expected this to only distract the fucker, the same way the pieces of wood sticking out of it’s sides had barely slowed it down--but fire, apparently was its weakness.
The manticore reacted like it was being burned with acid more so than fire, dropping and rolling and ping-pinging between walls as more and more of its wing was overtaken.
Its screams turned into rapid, wracked yelps, until finally it threw itself so hard into a wall that it fell through it.
For a moment a dark hole remained open.
Gray pieces of ash lazily floated out, giving them all a glimpse into a terrifying, dark blue forest, red lightning slashing the sky above before the hole re-sealed itself.
(It closed the way a wound did. All sides creeping in at a speed far too fast for human skin, but was just slow enough to make the wall appear like a living membrane instead of wood and plaster.)
For a long moment, the only thing Gareth could hear was all his friends' harsh panting.
"Did you kill it?" Stewart asked, head peeking around the corner.
Eddie looked to Steve to answer.
Which he did.
"Rule number two, man.” Steve raked a hand through his hair, trying to comb out the sweat that had collected at his temples after he climbed to his feet. “If you can’t see the body, it’s not dead.”
Stewart crept cautiously into the hall, looking as shell shocked as Gareth felt. "Why the hell isn't that rule one?”
"I don't know, the kids made the rules. You can ask them.”
Gareth’s head pulsed unhappily, but Gareth had other concerns as he made his way to his feet.
“How bad is it?” He asked as he made his way over, Eddie still on the ground.
“I’m alright.” Eddie lied, as if they all couldn’t see the sticky patch of blood on his torn jeans.
"Stop talking, start walking!" Dustin yelled at them.
“Eddie’s injured, give us a minute!” Steve yelled back. “God. Go make yourself useful and get my medkit!”
“I’m fine, it’s fine! ” Eddie yelled out right after, voice waspish in his pain.
It convinced absolutely no one, and in fact, caused several people to come down the hallway towards him.
Lucky for him, Steve made it there first.
Dropping to his knees in front of Eddie, he gently moved a ringed hand away from the wound, giving it a critical once over as Gareth and Stewart hovered.
“It’s not bad.” Eddie tried to argue, wincing as he poked around his leg, Steve continually having to bat his hands away. “If we can wrap it I’ll be able to walk out of here.”
“I won’t know until I see more of it.” Tiff said, Jeff and Grant right on her heels to circle Eddie and Steve. “But he might be right for once--there’s not much blood. You’re gonna lose the pants though.”
“Noooo.” Eddie said, in a poor mimic of one of his D&D voices.
“Not to rush you, but we need to get out of here.” Jeff cast an anxious look over at the wall, and Gareth nodded his agreement.
This wasn’t a safe place right now.
(Had likely never been a safe place, if it was birthing out monsters like the manticore.)
Steve looked up at Eddie, holding his gaze.
“Think you can hobble over to the cars if two of us help?”
He got a sharp nod back.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now hop to it.” Tiff said with a clap. Her voice was dry, tone almost sarcastic, but Gareth heard the unease in it
Not that anyone needed any convincing to get the hell out of dodge.
("I'm going to take up running." Eddie told him later, hands shaking from pain as Gareth drove Van Helsing after FrankenCar, Grant's Ford Escort
They had managed to wrap Eddie’s leg up in a quick bandage with the medkit. Gareth hadn’t truly been able to bring himself to look at the wound, but he’d caught a glimpse.
The fang marks stood out on Eddie’s pale skin, and ran in so many rows it looked like he’d shoved half his leg into a shark's mouth.
Tiffany insisted it was more horrific looking than it was actually horrific, and given Eddie had made at least three “am I gonna lose the leg, Doc?” jokes, Gareth believed her.
Still--it was weird, to drive Eddie’s van.
Weirder still to see Steve's Beemer (unnamed on grounds that Hellfire couldn't decide between the Batmobile and the BeemHolder) lead their little procession--though it had been a fight to get Steve to drive the car instead of ride along with Eddie.
"We both know you’re not seriously considering going running.” Gareth told him, voice shaking. “Which is unfortunate, because I'm going to make you anyway."
His fingers tightened hard on the steering wheel.
“I’m going to make everyone go running.”
It was a testament to how scared both of them were that they ended the conversation there.
No joke, no walking back what they'd said.
Running apparently, was back to being a core survival skill and Gareth very much enjoyed staying alive.)
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xXx
Gareth hadn’t asked why the Byers house was the chosen place to regroup.
Had kind of assumed that it had been picked because Will’s mother wasn’t home.
Definitely was not expecting an adult to come flying out of the door with the air of a frazzled border collie, herding kids inside before freezing when she caught sight of Eddie.
Or rather: Eddie being carefully pulled out of Van Helsing by Steve and Jeff, cursing and whining the whole way.
“You big baby, you’re not that hurt.” Jeff huffed as Eddie’s squirming almost forced him to let go, resulting in Eddie gripping at Steve’s sweater like a liferaft.
“You can talk when you’re the one that got bit by a monster, Jeffrey.” Eddie snapped back, hopping on his good leg. “I almost died!”
“Steve said it just barely grazed you--”
“Steve was busy trying to keep it off of me to really notice what was happening! Unlike you. What were you doing, Jeff? Honking the fucking car horn?”
“I wasn’t the one honking--”
They continued to bicker as Miss Byers marched forward.
Gareth expected her to yell--and given the way Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her, possibly even deny them entrance.
Shoo them away or send them home.
It wouldn’t be the first time a member of Hellfire had been beaten, only for the adults around them to act like they were the ones causing trouble.
Instead, she earned Gareth’s respect immediately by moving alongside Steve and asking; “Is anyone else injured?”
Barely waited for the shake of Steve’s head before spinning on her heel and heading back inside, yelling all the way.
“Will, fetch me towels. Jonathan--get the medkit! ”
“No worries, Miss Byers. Stevie here already has one.” Eddie said, before his attempts to charm her fell utterly flat when he accidentally jostled his leg and hissed out a curse.
“Steve’s not as good as mine, hun.” Her eyes swept over his leg, calculating. “Is that bite what I think it is?”
“Related.” Steve answered, starting the lengthy process of getting Eddie inside.
“Shit.” She sighed, and for the first time that night Gareth realized she too, wore the same haunted look Steve did.
Which meant she'd believe them.
A part of him, the part who was still a teenager, a kid in his own right, relaxed that an adult knew.
As with most of Hellfire, Gareth didn’t typically trust adults, but his relationship with his own parents was slightly better than most of the others. It led him to such beliefs like that maybe, just maybe, this would be the end of the monsters.
That he’d never face a thing like that outside of D&D, ever again. That whatever events haunted Steve would be handled by the proper authorities.
(That they’d be okay. Everyone would be okay.)
Sirens sounded in the distance, and even as Gareth walked inside the house he knew it wasn’t true.
Whatever all this was?
It wasn’t going away anytime soon.
“Munson?” A rumpled Jonathan Byers said, blinking like an owl hit with sunlight as the Steve-Eddie-Jeff procession went past.
He got a half-assed roguish grin and a waggle of fingers while Steve rolled his eyes over Eddie’s head.
“What happened!?” Jonathan asked, as Joyce bustled past him, relieving Jonathan of the medkit.
“It’s a long story, but we have a code red at the lab.”
Gareth knew he was frazzled, purely by the fact his hands once again went to mess with his hair, right after helping Eddie down into a chair.
“Which they knew apparently.”
‘They’ was accompanied by Steve jerking his thumb towards the living room--where the kids were talking to themselves in a huddle.
Outside, the sirens grew louder.
Jonathan looked to the living room and back, before heaving a sigh so world weary it was almost impressive. “Of course they did.”
“Demodog?” Miss Byers asked as she laid out various medical supplies on her kitchen table, pausing every so often to stare at Eddie’s leg.
“It was a manticore!” One of the kids yelled.
Gareth wasn't surprised to learn some of the brats were listening in.
There was a pause, as Miss Byers stared quizzically at Steve.
“It's like a demodog but much larger?” He told her, making an awkward shape with his hands that explained absolutely nothing. “With wings? Oh--and a scorpion tail.”
“It was terrifying.” Stewart added in a mutter, all of Hellfire awkwardly camped themselves around Eddie.
Which wasn’t good, given the frown on Miss Byers face as she carefully cut away even more of his jeans and their shitty attempt at band-aiding his wound.
It was the face of someone who was about to cause pain in an attempt to heal, and knew it.
For all that he was their front-man and self-proclaimed shepherd of Hellfire, Eddie's pain tolerance was absolute shit.
The guy could take a punch well enough, and the rings on his hands meant business when he hit back--but when adrenaline wasn't flowing?
Eddie broke down faster than his van did.
This whole thing was a bit of a sore spot. Something Eddie had admitted once under extreme duress had come from his father repeatedly telling him a man needed to be tough, and a Munson man even tougher.
(The duress in question was during one particularly animated D&D fight.
Eddie had gotten too excited and slapped an open palm down on top of a pointy figure, embedded it well into his skin.
The incident had derailed the campaign entirely and caused Hellfire as a whole to learn that their fearless leader really hated people watching him cry.)
Needless to say, a room full of children, his friends, his crush, and one of said kids' mothers wasn't exactly an ideal set up for Eddie to lose it.
So Gareth set himself up as a sort of barrier, blocking Eddie's view from the living room (and hopefully, vice versa, before making eyes at his friends to do the same.
Thankfully Jeff at least, caught on.
Communication was given through pointed looks and nudging elbows, but quickly enough, Hellfire managed to make a decently solid barrier between the kids (and Jonathan, who was doing an amazing job of chewing out said children) leaving Steve and Gareth as the sole onlookers.
“Alright, someone start talking.” Miss Byers loudly commanded, as she finally unearthed Eddie’s wounds.
To Eddie, she offered a well-used bottle of Tylenol, muttering quiet apologies before she began cleaning his very gross looking wound.
“Hey--” Gareth himself muttered, half praying he’d magically think of an excuse for Steve to fuck off, only to realize Hellfire’s jock had actually moved into the kitchen.
A line of mismatched mugs and cups was taking form on the counter, and it took a minute of carefully looking anywhere but at Eddie as Miss Byers worked to figure out Steve was making hot chocolate.
Figured that was probably smart, given Grant looked so tense Gareth expected his head to explode at any second.
(The loud arguing from the kids as they tried to explain didn't help any.)
A thought that Jonathan also seemed to have, given he put on a voice that sounded far to fatherly for Gareth's comfort and bellowed;
“Alright, enough!”
--which at least got him the silence he wanted.
“One at a time!” Jonathan parented from the living room. “Will, you start. Dustin you’re up next, then Mike, then El.”
He put his hands on his hips and Gareth nearly laughed aloud, because apparently the children weren't the only ones picking up Steve's mannerisms.
“Start from when you decided to sneak out without telling anybody but Steve.”
“If it makes you feel better we didn't actually tell Steve.” Dustin chirped.
Jonathan stared at him, and judging from his face alone Gareth expected utter hell to erupt from his mouth.
Instead they got a sort of quiet: “That does actually make me feel a bit better, thanks.”
Steve scoffed from the kitchen in response, which thankfully covered Eddie’s pained hiss from where Miss Byers was patting hydrogen peroxide into his bite mark.
Unfortunately for Jonathan, the kids came up with their own order and as always, let Dustin and Mike be their talking pieces.
“Like we told everyone else, it started because Will and El sensed something--” One began, right as red and blue lights splashed across the walls.
The source of the siren--a police truck that, judging bu the loud crunch of tires sliding on gravel and a shriek of breaks--had arrived.
Several of the children (plus Grant) cursed.
“Who called Hopper?!”
“He’s El’s dad idiot, of course someone called him.”
“Come on Max didn’t we talk about calling people names--”
Eddie tensed, as did the majority of the room, as loud, pounding footsteps tore up the front porch.
“I called him.” Miss Byers said as she rose from her crouch, apparently done re-bandaging Eddie.
She weaved her way through the room and was nearly taken out by her own front door when it was flung open to reveal the man himself, who looked like he’d spent the night fist-fighting his way through a bar, in the dark.
“El?!” He bellowed, eyes frantically scanning the room before landing on her.
The relief was so immediate it seemed to make him slump for a second.
Or rather, long enough for him to draw in enough air to get out a proper yell. “Someone better start explaining, right now. Starting with you Michael Wheeler!”
It was only then, as the man himself stepped into the light, that Gareth finally figured out why he looked sort of--off.
Unreal even, like a figure stepping out of a dream and into reality.
Jim Hopper, Chief of Hawkins Police Department, was wearing Scooby Doo pajamas.
The top was a faded orange color, boasting an image of a footstep in the center of a magnifying glass.
The bottoms were green, the head of the famed Great Dane patterned all over.
Combined?
It was Gareth's last straw.
‘You cannot be having a panic attack over the Chief’s pajamas.’ A far away part of Gareth thought hysterically, as his vision kaleidoscoped.
God, was he so fucking lame.
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isitautism · 9 months
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5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Grounding Technique
Many folk I talk to haven't heard of this simple, effective grounding technique. This technique may help ground you in a mental health crisis such as anxiety or panic attacks, PTSD flashbacks, meltdowns and other crises. Take a look and see if this technique might help you, too.
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This technique is meant to serve as a safety net to remind you that you are safe. It was taught to me by my therapist after I was diagnosed with C-PTSD. It helps by reminding us that the time of past danger is gone and we have moved into safety in the present. It has proven helpful in certain areas of towns, stores, and situations where I am reminded of my trauma.
I hope that it can also help you.
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acidlamb · 2 months
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There it is again. The intense burning feeling. He scratches to get rid of it, but it’s still there. He can fill the liquid in his lungs. He takes a breath, but all that comes out is a wet cough. This feeling isn't natural; he tries to remind himself that it's just another episode, But everything is a blaring neon green. He inhales sharply, focusing on the ticking of the clock and the fabric of the blanket, and then he's back in his bedroom again
“Jason?”
She says, her voice soothing and soft. It feels weird for her to be kind; she knows she's not a gentle creature, but she's trying. He’s quiet for a long beat, then swallows tightly, attempting to get rid of the lump in his throat. Feeling as if he’s burning, like his blood is on fire, like his veins are trying to burst, attempting to tear their way out of his body. He can barely move. He has to wake himself up. His breath seems a little shaky; he doesn’t like that. He doesn't want to seem weak, but in front of her, it's safe; she is a safe place.
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