#until they get into actual fights but those slowly get rarer and rarer

[dduane]

An anonymized non-anon query

(A note: my ask box isn’t open to anons at the moment, because I started getting inappropriate messages that I didn’t care to see. Maybe I'll eventually go anon-open again. But the present situation isn’t going to stop me from answering asks where the person’s uneasy about having their username revealed. Like this one:)

[text:

Can't go on anon so this is a little mortifying to be Seen™ but;

Do you have any words for fandom girls who are no longer in their 20s and starting to construct people in their heads who shame them for "still being into this stuff"?]

First thing; funny how it's always fandom girls who come up against this, isn't it? If it was some 90-year-old fandom boy in question who'd been painting his face red and white and following Manchester United since he was nine, no one would turn a hair. In fact, everybody in that cohort of interest would be praising him for his commitment and loyalty. It's almost as if some people have bought into the idea that the rules are different for girls somehow! Something to do with the idea that where girls belong is home making everybody a sandwich. I wonder where that might have come from...

Anyway. What you're describing here is something a lot of us have run into: the pressure to (allow me briefly to stand the well-known trope on its head) Be Like All The Other Girls... and to be prepared (and indeed resigned) for that inevitably to happen IRL. This stuff starts sneaking into your head in a very innocuous way: by disguising itself as "being prepared" for what you're afraid might happen. And it's very hard to avoid having that concern slowly but surely turn into a dread of what's going to happen. (For there's a horrible seductiveness about self-fullfilling prophecy... even if you know you've built it yourself. Part of your mind, that frightened advanced-fight-or-flight part that's always trying to keep you safe by predicting all the possible futures, starts feeling satisfied with itself when it finally has the evidence to say, "Well, at least we were prepared for that!")

So it's best to be proactive about managing this, I think, before things start to get bothersome. Develop a quick switchblade-style defense that you can pull out of your brain's back pocket at short notice. And then, when you're used to using it on those rogue ideations, disarm the sneaky "attacker" more thoroughly by taking it apart, gradually, at the more straightforwardly analytical end.

Let's start with the switchblade: a good-old fashioned mantra. How about this:

"Nobody gets to gatekeep my joy."

This can be used as a silent affirmation any time you feel the need. Any time you start feeling that pressure—that annoying whisper from the conjectural voices in your head that want you to think about how maybe you are too old for this kind of thing—pull out the mantra and shiv them in the gut with it, three times. (Threes are always good for this. Think how many spells have to be done, or names spoken, in threes. The rhythm's an archetype all its own.)

What you'll notice, with repetition of this intervention over time, is that the incidence of this kind of thinking gradually gets rarer and rarer. It might take a while to go away completely... but you'll know what to do if it rears its head again.

But also: this response can when necessary be repeated right out loud in front of whatever sorry piece of breathing meat has the unutterable bald-faced gall to actually try to gatekeep you to your (digital or otherwise) face. Pull it out, set your features in an expression of amused calm (because what you do to your face makes differences in your brain), and hit 'em with it. And if they continue to try to argue the point with you, you get to just keep repeating your base-state mantra until they give up and go away.*

...Now, since good mantras normally run deeper than the mere words, it makes sense to inquire into an underlying issue:

Why do people do this to other people? (And I don't mean this as a rhetorical question with optional eyeroll: I mean it as a possible diagnostic.) There has to be a reason people pull this shit... as mandated by the favorite (different) mantra of psychiatric professionals everywhere: "All behavior is motivated."

One aspect of this to consider: the "you're too old to be into this stuff" response is usually a learned behavior. People for whom the perception of "insufficient" age or maturity is an issue have routinely picked it up from others. There are a number of reasons why they parrot it... the likeliest being that simply want to be seen saying the thing that lots of other people they know also say; so that by so doing, they can be seen as Smart. (This is of course just another a manifestation of our old generally-maladaptive friend, the so-called herd instinct.) And nine-tenths of those other people, I can guarantee you, got it in turn from others still. "They're too old for this" is rarely going to be a spontaneous insight. (Except when used pertinent to certain contact sports, and some types of opera.)

Yet why does the trope perpetuate itself so enthusiastically?

Leaving aside personal living-arrangement issues in individual cases, I think it's because in some people, underneath the expressed trope, there's a genuine fear... an insidious variation of the well-known impostor syndrome. And it's this:

They're afraid that whatever it is they've got at the moment, it's may well be the wrong kind of "this stuff"... not a real joy. (Some people will take this to mean, "The kind of stuff, or joy, other people will approve of." Cf. the "seeming Smart" thing.) And, as they get older, they may be becoming afraid they may never have it.

Now, people naturally try to protect themselves from experiencing their own fears whenever possible. This one's no different. So one way such folks find to distract themselves from the fear of having no joy is to devalue such joy in others. That way, whatever they see themselves as having their noses spitefully "rubbed in" can be perceived as no longer a real threat to them. They can start seeing it as a bad joy, a weak or silly or stupid joy. And (in this case specifically) an immature joy.

(With this in mind, the passage in which C.S. Lewis deals with this toxic fetishization of "maturity" is worth quoting in full, since we so frequently see only the last couple/few lines:)

“Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”

...And you hear there the voice of a man who'd dealt with a whole lot of critics in his time on this subject—some of them quite famous and elevated types, trying to discredit him for what we'd now think of as "clicks"—and had routinely made them ever so sorry they'd engaged. Also, Lewis was an enthusiastic reader of "the pulps" until his dying day, and you should have seen some of his responses to those who tried to tell him that "at his age, he should be over that science fiction stuff by now." I'd have to go digging for the cites, but... hooboy.

Anyway, and as a closer:

You're not required to—at someone else's mere behest—even think about changing your way of thinking and living in the (probably hopeless) hopes of pleasing or placating other people you've never met. And most specifically:

You are in no wise required by the Universe to curtail your personal experience of joy in order to try to make scared and small-souled people more comfortable.Your soul gets to be its own size, and have its own joy... in its very own shape, volume, and richness.

So if anyone pulls the "You're too old for [x]" crap on you, I encourage you to just let that attitude sail on by you and fuck straight out into the Oort Cloud and beyond. Let passing alien spacecraft on their way in-system gaze at it in wonder and say, "Wow, look at that go! Didn't think they had warp drive here yet."

...Anyway: let me know how you get on.

HTH!

*This is a basic assertiveness-training technique that I feel is much undervalued in daily usage. Every time someone comes up with a new reason you should stop doing what they don't like, and expects you to respond to that... what makes them think you're required to come up with a new and different reason not to? Who made that concept up? And why waste useful originality on someone arguing with you in the kind of bad faith that refuses to accept your answers? Just keep repeating yourself with the main reason until they give up (probably in great exasperation: too bad...) and bugger off elsewhere. :) ...But see the useful 1970s work When I Say No, I Feel Guilty for effective DIY approaches to this problem.

#advice #the retired psych nurse is IN -- 5¢ #or indeed #€0.03

[hows-my-handwriting]

Into the Rift (spiderverse!pacific rim au)

so going into more detail because the actual drawings are coming along really slowly xD (i love drawing robots but coming up with original robot design hard)

The story would be essentially the same as the movies where a mysterious rift opens up in the bottom of the Pacific ocean releasing giant monsters. To combat them, the world governments join together for the good of humanity and create the Jaegers. Those are giant robots piloted by two people through a process called a 'drift'.

The only thing that changes is the characters and the story developed from that idea.

this post has been sitting in my drafts for like a month now oml

(loooooong wordvomit under the cut)

So the jaeger program is basically a stand in for the spider society and all the spiderfolk are pilots or staff. Everyone is also aged up 2 or 3 years to cover international military requirements and such.

and for the sake of the story having a 'pilot shortage' in which only the lucky few being able to actually pilot a jaeger, drifting is much harder and rarer. this leads to the program accepting younger applicants than they normally would. (eg. miles, pav, peni etc)

(character list in order of rank or.. something)

Miguel (34-35) is the stand in for the marshal. I'm not totally sure if he *is* the marshal or not? because he could absolutely just be the pilot manager or the mission overseer. but for now we shall stick with marshal. He primarily serves as the head of the department and representative for the pilot body. He also doubles as a pilot of a gen 1 jaeger (Blue Revenge*) with Peter B Parker, previously Jessica Drew.

Jessica (34-35) is Miguel's ex copilot. She served for two years and during a faux time of inactivity from the rift, she and her husband decided to try for a child. She was called back during the next attack but in the post-fight medical checks, she was ordered to go on maternity leave. She did, for a couple months, but very quickly felt frustrated that she wasn't helping. She moved back into the military base and instead took up a leadership position in combat training. I think her rank would be lieutenant but I don't know enough about the military to make that official.

Peter B Parker (42-43) is a retired pilot. He served as a pilot up until the gen 3 jaegers went into production and was sent home when he got a major back injury. During his time off he started a family in his old New York home and began to forget about the jaegers and the war. He chose to live in ignorant bliss until it all came back when he was summoned back. He brought his entire family, despite the many warnings, and has rather enjoyed his grand return. Currently copilots with Miguel in the Revenge*. Previously piloted the Crimson Core*.

Ben Reilly (24-25) is a jet pilot. Previously a jaeger pilot of the Scarlet Gutter that was decommissioned after it suffered extreme damage in a fight he took solo with a class 2 kaiju. His twin brother was his copilot and died early on in the fight. He currently pilots a fighter jet as backup. The impact of that fight still haunt him and everyone knows to leave him be.

LEGO Spiderman (24-25) and Peter Parkedcar (25-26) are two unrelated pilots that are drift compatible. LEGO Spiderman (Lee Godwin aka LE-GO for short) has a chronic condition with locking joints and Peter Parkedcar is a selective mute. They pilot the Titanium Wall that is essentially just an immovable object to the kaiju's unstoppable force. Yes this is a meme lineup. Laugh.

Peter Porker (31-32) is the head of research. He's john mulaney in all aspects except for occupation. He is more of the morale backbone of the entire operation and spends more time out of the lab making sure to bring a smile to everyone's faces. He wears a cute pig beanie when out and about. He always has candy on him and is famous in the kitchen for hot dogs. No one knows where he gets the hot dogs from, since those are rarely stocked. There's a rumor going around that it's kaiju meat, not beef. Absolutely fascinated kaiju and a biology fanatic.

Margo Kess (20-21) is the head of technology. She's the surveillance guy who takes orders directly from Miguel and is in charge of relaying commands and judging actions on the battlefield. She's a young college graduate- more accurately a child prodigy- and took the first opportunity she had to put her skills to the test. She's very friendly and will always get to know the pilots personally. Drift compatible but has avoided training to not have people learn about her strained home life.

Peni Parker (17-19) is the daughter of the head of engineering. She is just under the required age to actually assume the position but has the most knowledge on jaeger design of anyone else in the program aside from her father. Her father was killed when one of the outposts was destroyed in a kaiju attack. Parentless, the organization arranged for her to stay at the main base, waiting for her 21st birthday so she can acquire an actual rank. Had a personalized jaeger her father had been slowly building, fit for one person, that she's slowly been working on to one day pilot in combat.

Peter Benjamin Parker (Benji or Ben for short) (22-23) was hired as the strategy lead after his impressive work as a police/military investigator. Had a lot of experience with international crime networks and hand picked by Peter B. He was enthusiastically handed over to the Jaeger program after he got just a bit too close to some apocalypse-profiting corruption. No one really knows why, but he's taken more of a liking to pilot training and has shied away from Miguel's leadership team and more towards Jessica and the recruits. He has a good eye for cadets with amazing potential and even applied to be a pilot himself, stepping away almost entirely from any kind of leadership role. Pilots Silver Noir with Hobie(**).

Hobie Brown (20-22) is a pilot. He was recruited early on as one of Britain's undesirables and turned out drift compatible. He was assigned a jaeger that was built and sponsored by the British Government named the Union Jack. Disgusted, he refused to respond to that name and instead calls his jaeger the Stark Screamer. The name has been adopted by command and no one has bothered to correct it. His pilot quit for unknown reasons after only a year on the field and the Screamer was retired until they can find another pilot to partner with him. Has been paired with Benji for the time being.

Gwen Stacy (18-19) is the youngest pilot to date but more than capable of jaeger combat. She was brought in by Jess, despite her father's refusal, and skipped all cadet training except for the essentials and given a jaeger assignment almost immediately. She was picked out when her father, a military rep instead of a cop, was visiting one of the bases that Jess happened to be in. She showed incredible potential in [insert event that im not 100% sure about yet] and was incredibly interested. Originally paired with Hobie because of their similarity in hobby and age. They were drift compatible but she didn't like the Screamer's kit or fighting style and requested a new assignment. She's still best bros with Hobie though. She marks the beginning of the youth recruitment.

Pavitr Prabhakar (17-18) is a cadet in training. He volunteered along with a large number of Indian civilians to chase the fame and glory that surrounded the now-martyred jaegers. Of the hundreds, he and a handful of his peers were selected and he was sent to his specific branch to complete training. He is drift compatible with almost anyone. Having no sense of fear or darkness in his past or his present, he's an incredible asset- if not a little naive. He and Hobie became best friends as soon as they met and has been promised to pilot the Screamer when he completes his training.

Miles Gonzalo Morales (17-18) is a new cadet starting training. He was supposed to be one in a pair but his twin was stuck in Spain with a travel complication. Miles could wait a couple months though and eagerly started training. He was selected because he had an identical twin- which are usually assumed to be drift compatible- but ended up being paired and drift compatible with Gwen. Despite him not having clearance, Gwen and many others think he shows enough potential to pilot a jaeger within the first month of his stay. He is currently assigned to a new jaeger in production: a gen 4 titan named the Clawed Viper***

Mateo Davis Morales (17-18) is a future cadet. He and his twin were split up before highschool for [insert reason i haven't figured out yet here] and he moved to Spain to finish his highschool education and eventually enlist in the jaeger program. However, due to transportation delays and possibly finances, when he and his twin were drafted, Mateo was stuck in Spain until nearly three months later. Just in time for . . . well, the drama (tm).

*Blue Revenge is not final. i don't know if i like it or not but the other option was the blue panther, for the shits and giggles. pretty sure i want to keep the blue but idk. Crimson Core is also a placeholder, but it does sound cooler

**Silver Noir is not final. I want to work in Noir somewhere and make a matte black jaeger but not a lot of words go with 'Noir'

***Clawed Viper is not final. Viper is final, but again, not a lot of words go with 'Viper'

#atsv #atsv au #pacific rim au #miles morales #miles g morales #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #hobie brown #margo kess #peni parker #spiderman noir #peter benjamin parker #spiderham #peter porker #lego spider #man #peter parkedcar #ben reilly #jessica drew #miguel ohara #prowler miles #holy shit that was a lot of writing #not even mentioning the drama ooh spooky... #if you ended up reading this thank you i love you #now indulge my brainworms

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Hey 👋

I swear I'm addicted to your writing😁 Thank you for the amazing post❤

Can I request a usually calm reader coming home to Hanni and Wil with n bruise on their cheek and/or blue knuckles from n fight. And when they question reader they find out reader defended their relationship.

Or

Them reacting to reader with cigarette burn scars from childhood or self harm scars.

Sorry if it's specific I had a dream about the first one and I'm insecure about my scars😅 Also if it makes you uncomfy ignore me🤣

Have a wonderful day/night/afternoon💕

Hey anon, sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this. Hope you enjoy!

Gender neutral y/n comes home covered in bruises. Their lovers Hannibal and Will need to know why.

trigger warnings: blood, threats of violence, mention of firearms, stalking

You spit a mouthful of blood into the snow before you even thought about turning the doorknob. Any random passerby would look at you and think you were attempting to rob the place. You couldn't say you disagreed, though: your hood was pulled over your head and you held a tire iron in your singular non-bleeding hand.

You knew it wasn't wise to let the old-money Baltimore socialites catch you in such a compromising position, but you had to double-check your mental map of the house one more time. Hannibal would undoubtedly be cooking; hopefully so in his element that he wouldn't notice you slipping by. Will was the one you had to worry about. When it came to you, he'd become as alert as a German shepherd with protective instincts to match. Where he was in the house was anyone's guess, so you needed to be on guard.

You removed your heavy boots and opted to leave them outside. You then tossed the tire iron behind a nearby planter and slowly, quietly turned the knob. The door creaked as it opened, making you cringe. The sight of neither of your partners immediately running up on you was a bit of a relief; you hadn't been discovered quite yet.

You just needed to make it upstairs so you could barricade yourself in the master bathroom and use that oh-so-rare sliver of privacy to cover up your bruises. Then you could climb down the trellis, grab your shoes and make a proper entrance with hello kisses and whatnot.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal called out before you could even breach the threshold.

With no thought on your mind other than "fuck", you turned your head away from the direction you heard him. "Yeah, I'm home."

"I'd rush to give you a kiss, but I'm a little tied up at the moment." He said, undoubtedly grinning to himself as he trussed a chicken with sturdy cooking wire. "So you'll have to come to me."

"Oh, yeah." You called back. "Let me just get cleaned up first."

"If you insist." He said with a dramatic dip in his voice. "But hurry right back. Dinner is almost ready."

Hurdle one was cleared. Now all you had to do was clear the second, much higher hurdle.

You ascended the stairs, but forgot to skip that one consistently creaky step that always alerted the dogs. A small army of dogs came pouring into the upstairs hallway, blocked only by the baby gate Hannibal had installed as a compromise. Enthusiastic barks filled the foyer as you desperately tried to calm them down from the top step.

"Winston! Max! Harley!" You rattled off as many names as you could remember. "Hush, please!"

"[F/N]?" Will said, turning the corner.

You momentarily considered throwing yourself down the stairs. It would be easier to explain the bruises and you could still soak up that sweet, sweet throuple affection without having to tell a story that even you didn't entirely believe. Common sense, however, kept your feet firmly on the ground.

Will appeared in your line of sight. You pulled the brim of your hat down and stuffed your hands into your pockets. "I, uh- forgot how to open the gate again."

The dogs parted in Will's path and he looked at you with suspicion as he effortlessly opened the gate. "Is everything okay?"

You turned your head to the side. "I'm fine. It's just really cold outside."

"I'm sure those wet clothes aren't helping." Will cocked his head. "We can start by throwing that hoodie in the dryer-"

Before you could pull away, he pushed your hood and your hat off in one fluid motion. He knew what was going on.

"I'm no doctor, but I don’t think busted noses and black eyes are side effects of low body temperature." He said, folding his arms.

You put your hand up, unintentionally revealing the bruises on your knuckles. "You learn something new every day."

You tried to scoot past him, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back.

"[F/N]--" Will said, a blistering fury beginning to percolate in his chest. "Who did this to you?"

"I ran into a bus stop." You lied, not even trying to make it sound believable.

"That bus wouldn't have happened to be headed to Dacula, would it?"

Your silence spoke louder than any excuse you could think of.

Will sighed. "Right. I think I know what happened."

"Will, I-" you protested.

"Save it for dinner." He scolded. "I'm sure Hannibal would love to hear this."

You'd been found out it was much worse than anticipated. You felt like you were on trial, which, given the circumstances, you could have actually been on trial in a real court of law on the charge of aggravated assault. However, that didn’t make you feel any better.

Hannibal demanded an explanation and couldn't wait until dinner. He was willing to let one of his culinary masterpieces burn in the oven, knowing of course that a much rarer delicacy was in the cards once you gave him a name.

He brushed his finger over an open cut under your eye. A light click of his tongue reached your ears as he examined your face.

"Give us a name, love." Hannibal probed, holding your jaw between his fingers and following the trail of bruises down your neck. "Who did this to you?"

"It's not a big deal, really." You assured him, squirming against his grip. "I started it."

"Now that, I find hard to believe." Hannibal contested. "You're not a preemptive strikes kind of person."

"Nor would you go all the way to Dacula to throw a few punches." Will added, approaching you with an ice pack.

"Okay, so maybe I finished it." You corrected.

Hannibal smiled proudly to himself. "That's more like it."

"What exactly did you finish?" Will asked, gently placing the ice against your bruised knuckles.

You sighed. You mentioned Dacula once and they already knew the answer. They were just waiting to hear you say it.

"My ex-boyfriend, Sidney." You leaned back on your one good wrist. "He was a being a completely irredeemable shit, as usual-"

"Details, darling." Hannibal said in too singsongy of a voice than was really appropriate while wrapping your hand in gauze.

"Acting entitled, talking like I belonged to him-"

"You have no idea how little that narrows it down." Will shook his head.

You were compelled to agree, but couldn't bring yourself to admit that and the fact that you ever dated Sidney in the first place. "Right."

"That isn't out of character for him." Hannibal said.

"And certainly not enough to make you willingly drive back out to cousinfuck nowhere to beat him up." Will finished.

"I didn't go out there with the intent to beat him up!" You contested. "He said that if I could meet him for coffee he'd never speak to me again. I know it's a lot of gas money, but I really was gonna hold him to the whole 'never speaking to me again' bit."

"So what happened?" Will asked, growing impatient.

You looked at the ground, embarrassment stopping the words at the tip of your tongue.

"Somehow, he caught a whiff of our... arrangement." You tightened your hands into frustrated fists. "And he made some really shitty comments about... you."

Hannibal and Will exchanged looks. They let the silence linger, urging you to fill it.

"He went into obscene detail about how mmf threesomes are his favorite category of porn," you tried not to gag as you recalled the disgusting details. "And then said if I 'let him watch', he wouldn't tell the local baptist church that I was a whore-"

"The man is a pig." Hannibal said, matter-of-factually.

"I got up to leave." You continued. "Obviously. Then he said he knew where you lived. Announced it to the whole diner. Started to go through his list of semiautomatic weapons. So to make sure he knew I meant business-"

"You threw the first punch." Hannibal finished the thought for you.

You nodded. "Naturally."

Will smiled to the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I would have loved to see that."

"As much as it pains me to say," Hannibal began, resignedly agreeing. "It's only fair that you stand up for us the way we stand up for you. From time to time."

Will brought your bruised knuckles to his lips. "Though we desperately need to teach you how to dodge. Because the next time you come home covered in scratches, someone will pay."

You took both of their hands. "I should get beat up more often."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #will graham x reader #will graham #will graham x you #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x you #poly hannigram #hannigram #hannigram x reader #anon request #anon ask

[pandaluc]

Love and Envy, all because of you.

When you like somebody else rather them

Characters included: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Jean

Warnings: not proof-read, very slight mentions of wine and fighting

g!n reader

Diluc

Diluc falling in love is something rarer than winning the lottery. So when this man falls in love, he falls really hard. Stutters, awkwardness, stares, and try-hardness. He does these all as long as you are in his sight.

However, he took such a long time to confess because fear had took over him. He feared to lose you as well, just as the way he lost his father. And well, to his surprise, he regretted not confessing earlier.

He decided to go work in Angel's Share and creek. The door swings open with Kaeya's arm around your waist, and you staring lovingly at Kaeya's eyes. Diluc's mood definitely got worse. And the fact that yoh are with his brother? He knows he has no right to get upset, but he can't ignore this burning flame in his heart the moment he saw the both of you.

He tries to maintain his composure, but deep in him was a mix of lots of emotions. He is annoyed, upset, sad, and disappointed all at the same time. And well it's not too good of a reason, but he might start treating Kaeya more harshly than before.

He is envious. In all people in Teyvat, why his brother? He can't help but stare at the both of you, thinking on the many decisions he went wrong. Thinking those opportunities he should've confessed but didn't. And the more he stares, the more his madness gets replace by sadness.

He lost again one of the few people he always treasured in his life. Though he knows that he should be happy because you are laughing joyfully in Kaeya's arms, but he can't help but imagine him being the source of your smiles.

Ever since, he will start to avoid you and will throw out his anger in paperwork and hilichurls. He distracts himself a lot, and makes sure he is very busy so that you will get off of his head and heart.

If he has to talk to you, he will make sure to have a stern face with a cold voice. He will do everything simply to push you away from him. And sometimes, he would say offensive words he didn't mean just to push you away. He does realize how much you'll get hurt when you and his friendship dies, but deep down in him he knows that this is for the good.

Kaeya

Ah yes, Kaeya, a very charming person and surely, lots in Mondstadt thinks so too. He is also a flirt and quite social, a reason why you both are friends for a very long time now.

And in his thinking, maybe it won't be such a bad idea to perhaps upgrade your relation to one another. It took him long enough to realize that he had grew feelings towards you.

He would worry a lot when you get hurt. He would make sure that nobody makes you feel uncomfortable. He started to be careful of his duties as the Cavalry Captain just so that he could see you once again. Heck, he even tried his very best to sound genuine instead of flirty when he compliments you. He was even prepared to quit drinking if that's what you find in a man. Sadly, all of his goodness, to you, was just friendliness.

After lots and lots of thinking if he actually have feelings for you, he finally decided to confess. Not until you came running up to him, continuously talking about this man you know that you fell so in love with. "May I know who is this man you fell in love with?". He took his chances but sadly, the name you said was not his. Disappointment filled Kaeya's heart, but at the same time, he found it funny. Funny, that he spent so much time making sure of his feelings that he didn't even get the chance to confess. Funny, how his confidence suddenly broke down when he knew that you had feelings for someone else.

He wanted to tell you that maybe he was the one for you. But, you looked so happy talking about this man you fell in love with. And kaeya is a smart man. He knew at that very moment that he didn't stand a chance. And that he will never be with you.

Even so, he agreed helping you to convey your feelings to the man you love. If it's only friendship you and he could have, then he will take it rather than being acquaintances. He'd remind you here and there to not get your hopes so high for this man, but everytime he does so, you force to him that you are sure of your decisions.

Because of you, he had gathered so much pain in his chest. Much pain that only wine could temporary wash off. During the evening, he'd tell you that he will be doing captain duties when in reality, he goes to his home drinking all the wine he could trying to forget about the pain you had caused him.

In times where you talk to him, he'd still seem normal and as if nothing is hurting him. But deep down, he just wishes to wrap his arms around you and be the man that will love you until the end of life.

Childe

You and Childe had been very close. He was comfortable with you. He wasn't afraid to show you his downsides, and the times where he cannot do anything but pour tears out. He did not want to hurt you as well. As much as he found fighting fun, he did not want to fight with you, ever.

That is when he realized that he had fallen in love with you. He denied it to himself a number of times but he just can't stop thinking of you. "Are they safe?" "Do they need anything?" "What if they feel alone?" "What if I lose them?". The moment he realized, he wanted to confess. He wanted to be yours. But he feared that him being part of the fatui will be a hindrance to your relationship and may affect your well-being. After all, he rarely gets time to stay and spend time with you.

But the moment he felt the feeling of envy, that is when he thought to himself that he will indeed confess and not give you up. While he was in Liyue's woods, he saw you walking with this man he does not know. He saw your hand holding someone else's. He saw your eyes full of love while staring at someone else's eyes. That exact moment, he decided to meet you as soon as possible and confess his feelings.

He was aware that it might make things awkward and that it might break the both of your friendship. But he wanted to at least do what he can, and take his chances. Some would say he was desperate, but to him, he was simply hopeful. He was hoping and wishing that you will be his.

And so he tried. But he couldn't. He felt scared. He knew he did not stand a chance. So instead, he tried to convey his feelings through actions, not through words. And he hoped to all of the archons and celestial gods that you will realize how much he yearns for your love.

Though in relationships, he doesn't get possessive and jealous easily.. Even if the both of you are just friends, he quite had become just a bit possessive and protective of you. How could you blame him after all? He really wanted you to be his, and for you to know it. He was willing to give anything and everything to you. He would even quit the fatui, despite his loyalty to the Tsaritsa, if that was the reason why you cannot love him back. Sometimes, he'd use his words to hint his feelings for you. "Is that man really all that? Don't you think that I may be better after all?" "Don't keep your hopes high though, he may leave you one day". However, you all took these phrases simply as a friendly way. Or even in a platonic way. After all, there was still a glimpse of a non-seriousness in his tone.

He had thoughts of using his fatui harbinger title to scare the man loving you off. But remembering your smile when you talk about this man, he'd rather set you free to make you happy than to see you all his with sadness in your face.

It cannot be avoided. You and his friendship was slowly but very slightly falling apart. He started to bottle up emotions and hide them from you. You started to spend more time to with your man, and less with him. And it saddened and angered him. But after much thinking, maybe it was good after all. Now that he spends less time with you, maybe his feelings will drift away. Just maybe.

Jean

The acting grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. Always so busy with work, and sometimes pressured to help others that she would try to do more than what she could. It was a very stressful life for her, barely getting a chance to rest and take a breath. But you went to her life. She admired and appreciated you oh so much. You would remind her to always eat and sleep. You would do your very best to help her in her duties, even if she insists that it is alright not to do so. You cared for her so much that she cannot help but get feelings for you.

It was when you made her realize that she should live a life the way she actually wants to. It was when you convinced her that she is not alone when it comes to protecting Mondstadt. It was when you were always and always there for her, she realized how strong her feelings gotten. But Jean is quite the shy and quiet type. No matter how much she trusts you, she could never get herself to express her romantic love for you.

And alas, the day she never though would come happened. You had told her that you indeed have a relationship with someone else. And at that day, she felt very devastated. She knew beforehand that she never stood a chance. She knew how much opportunities of confessing she had missed. She thought she was prepared for the day to come where you are with someone else. But she thought wrong. She was listening carefully to your words. Your words of excitement and joy towards that someone you love. Of course, she pretended to be so happy for you. But if you listen closely, you could hear a hint of sadness in the tone of her voice.

The moment you left her and locked the door of her office, she looked back at her paper works and started to drown in her thoughts. So many "what ifs" and "whys" in her head that she cannot hold her tears back no matter how much she tried. She knew it was pathetic to cry over one person that has a relationship with somebody else. But for some reason, she felt the same pain she feels whenever someone in the knights die.

She wouldn't necessarily avoid you. But the moment she sees you, she suddenly gets tense out of nowhere and tends to avoid you without even her noticing. If you called her out for it and ask if anything is wrong, she will simply make her exhaustion as an excuse. You thought that it was because of paper work and duties, so you tried to help. But those nights where she slept very late was because of her uncontrollable thinking and crying caused by you and you only. She would also make herself busy and interact with other people more. She would basically do anything to keep you out of her mind.

But of course, she is still there for you whenever you need something. She is always willing to lend a hand, even if it is for a future date of you and your partner. If you feel negative emotions, she will be there to listen and try to help if you wish. She may be disappointed that you chose someone else than her, she knows how to make sure that her emotions will not cause any harm to you and to your significant other.

Author's Note

I've been receiving lots of support lately in my posts and in my ask box and for that, I am very thankful <33. I know I don't post so often so my apologies for that. But nevertheless, I want to tell y'all that I appreciate each one of you so much! You make my day brighter. Ily, and don't forget to take care of yourself! Eat, hydrate, sleep, stay safe!

#genshin diluc #genshin hcs #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin kaeya #genshin childe #genshin jean #jean x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact #pandaluc #pandahcs

[whaleofatjme1920]

At the End of Your Rope (Jeff the Killer X F!Reader)

At the End of Your Rope

[Jeff the Killer X F!Reader]

[Warnings: heavy domestic abuse, violence, murder (not heavily described though), language]

[AN: This one's kinda heavy in some places. Take care of yourself first and foremost.]

It was rare that you had moments to yourself and even rarer when you found yourself enjoying those moments. Usually, you were tense, on edge, bitey and waiting to snap or invert back into yourself. That is what it does to you. It takes away, it destroys and it saps you of all your energy, your drive and your will.

No matter, that’s not what you’re supposed to be thinking about. You hum softly as you do the dishes, wondering how long this set of plates will last until he returns. You scrub hard at the bits still stuck to it, wondering how on earth he even managed to get this much filth plastered onto its surface - you made the meal, served it to him, you even took it back to the sink. Was he trying to key you off?

You took in a deep breath and scratched at its surface, only smiling softly when the piece finally dislodged from the blue floral design. You ran it under the sink, lukewarm water feeling alien against your skin as you continued to mindlessly rinse off the suds. As you began to stare off into space and by extension, the void, you found yourself remembering the times he used to bring you blue flowers at the beginning of every date.

A long time ago, when you were starry eyed about the world around you, he loved you deeply and truly. And it was the most strange of couplings, but they do say that opposites attract.

Last class of the day, what a relief. What wasn’t a relief was that it was chemistry. You’d never been particularly good at the subject, but you would often try your hardest and so far, throughout the year, had managed to coast by with a -B. It wasn’t perfect but it was good enough.

For the people around you who knew you better than that, they were more than surprised you hadn’t managed an A in the class just yet. You were the over achiever, the smart girl, the one who knew it all. But not in a cocky way, no, of course not. You were sweet, helpful and kind. That’s what spared you from how cruel teenagers can get - your aura was incredible and people would be absolutely dense to not like you. For the most part, you were quiet and only spoke to a few close friends.

Unfortunately for you, your last period chemistry class didn’t have any of your dear ones near. You sat in the middle of the classroom, attempting to take notes and kept your head down, honestly focused on the material when you heard laughter from the back of the classroom.

“Don't make me come back there,” your teacher said, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Do I need to split you up?”

“No, sorry Mrs. Haut,” a dark haired boy piped up.

Mrs. Haut rolled her eyes slightly before going back to writing on the chalkboard. She was talking about the electron configuration of atoms or something like that when the laughter picked back up again. Mrs. Haut sighed again before continuing writing. “One of you move up here by Miss Reader, another by Miss. Rhys, and another by Mr. Clarke.”

The three boys in the back verbally voice their distaste with their teacher’s decision but ultimately went along with it. You buried yourself in your notes even deeper when you realized just who it was sitting next to you. Usually, the person sitting next to you wouldn’t bother you, but the fact that this was by far the most disruptive person in the class had you a little flustered. You couldn’t afford skipping the notes or getting sidetracked especially with midterms coming up.

“You have a pen?” He asked quietly.

That made you pause. “Excuse me?”

“A pen..?” He repeated, albeit a little slowly, as to really get the point across.

You didn’t want to disrupt your teacher any further by the idle chit chat and quietly rummaged in your bag for a pen. Once your fingers grazed the object, you plopped it back onto the desk and got back to writing.

“Thanks,” he said.

Your eyes wandered from your notes over to him - and he smiled at you. Fighting back slight heat, you began scribbling down the notes with a nod as if to say ‘no problem.’

The lesson continued on for a little bit longer until you felt him gently poking your shoulder. You pried your eyes off of the board to give him the attention he so desperately craved. With an eyebrow raised, you asked him what was on his mind.

“What’s your name?” He asked softly.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks - how the hell did he miss your name? You were the only consistent question asker in this class! “... Reader,” you answered, eyes narrowed slightly at the fact he’d miss your name. Though, you do suppose what else could you expect from a class clown? “And what is your name?” You asked simply out of politeness.

His eyes widened in shock, and his face followed in suit. “You seriously don’t know?”

When you shook your head he gave a quiet, but exasperated groan and then flew into a tanger about who he was. The guy who set all those frogs loose last year, the same one who orchestrated turning all the furniture upside down, the guy who did donuts on the football field and the one who covered half the auditorium on elaborate post it notes art.

And unfortunately for you, none of those rang a bell. “I knew someone did it, but I didn’t know you were the one who did it.”

And that spirited yet another tangent from the boy sitting next to you. He went into painstaking detail about how he even got some of those things done, and you pretended to care, more so interested in the passion in his eyes than the actual content of the story. He was a surprisingly good storyteller! You hadn’t even realized the both of you had been chatting more than note taking when everything went dead silent. Much too silent.

“Miss Reader, I am more than disappointed in you,” Mrs. Haut said with another frown pulling on her red lips. “Both of you, detention.”

Your eyes widened in shock as she slapped down two pink slips on your shared table.

“Again?” The boy next to you asked incredulously, taking the note into his fingertips along with his bag in the other hand. “Mrs. H, this is like the second time this month!”

Mrs. Haut only shook her head and gestured towards the door, her shoe tapping impatiently on the ground.

“There’s only thirty more minutes left of class,” you said as you began to pack up your things. “I... “ Upon seeing your teacher’s tired expression,and not being one to directly challenge authority, you relented. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled before taking the slip into your grip and exiting her classroom. You took in a deep breath and trudged out of the classroom, wondering how you would explain to your parents your record had a spot on it when you exited the classroom and closed the door softly behind you.

“Do you know where the room is?” You posed your question to the resident class clown with a crestfallen expression.

“You’re actually planning on going?” He said it like it was a surprise.

“Uh, yeah? Where else would I be going?”

“I don’t know, but we can figure it out.” He smiled widely at you and plucked the pink slip from your hand.

“Wait what-? Give that back!” You cried out as quietly as you could to not disturb the other classes.

“C’mon, Princess, come and get it,” he teased. It didn’t sound like he had malice in his tone though.

You chased him through the hall attempting to get the slip back, narrowly avoiding the watchful gaze of hall monitors and the like when you found he had led you out to the parking lot. You didn’t have a car.

“Let’s go,” he beamed, scrunching up both of your pink slips in his hand before tossing them into the trash. “I wasn’t joking about figuring it out together.”

“I… But-”

“But nothing, Princess. Live a little.” He nodded for you to follow him, and you, feeling much too awkward to challenge someone, found yourself being led by him to his car. It wasn’t a fancy car, but it wasn’t near as run down as you expected it to be. It looked like he kept it relatively decent, and the scent was that of lemon. Whatever, live a little.

You slid into the passenger seat and put on your seatbelt as he became once again.

“Atta girl!” He chuckled as the car roared to life. He then flicked on the radio, turned up some music and the two of you left the school.

You can’t quite say you’ve ever had fun like that before. He took you to a diner, out bowling, you two snuck into a movie theatre then got smoothies before he dropped you off at home. And he was so sweet and kind throughout it all. He made you laugh, listened to you attentively, and over smoothies, he attempted to help you study a bit. It was moot, but it was nice that he even attempted.

That was what started a beautiful friendship that lasted throughout the rest of that academic year. Later, it blossomed into a relationship, and further, it transformed into marriage. The day he asked you to marry him was one of the best days of your entire life - and then, you were convinced you had met your soulmate. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a partner, and he was oh so helpful and attentive.

High school sweethearts was what you were referred to, and you both fit the image so well. You were practically glowing anytime anyone had seen you. Your marriage had happened too fast, but you were convinced he was your one and only unaware that growth comes in many forms. And in this specific case, the roots have burst the pot.

Back then, he used to give you flowers nearly every day in various shades of the rainbow. Blue seemed to be the preferred though.

“You always get these, why?” You had asked one evening, fingertips gently petting the soft petals.

“Apparently, they mean something poetic,” he replied before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That’s what the flower guy keeps telling me. And they’re kinda hard to find,” he continued, eyes looking out at the starry night sky the two of you laid under. “So, whenever they come in, I grab them tight and bring them back to my baby.”

You giggled slightly before shutting him off with a kiss.

They were damn near unattainable after the two of you had gotten married. It seemed they’d gone out of style, or perhaps they just weren’t thriving as they used to. One day, when you were lonely and missing your husband, you pulled out an old book on various flora and fauna. You must’ve spent hours upon hours learning about the area you lived in when you chanced upon a dash of blue.

Cornflowers, they were cornflowers.

The flowers on the plate you’d run under the faucet for far too long weren’t the same shade of blue, but they were just as pretty. It’s a shame that these plates would most likely be broken before the month was out.

Gods, when did he change? It was hard to pinpoint it because the two of you had been under each other’s spell for a good chunk of that time. When did he flip the switch? When did he… You shook your head and turned off the faucet, deciding you were done with the dishes for now. Accidentally, when you were placing the plate back in its place, you bumped your forearm on the counter. With a wince, you hissed and mentally reminded yourself to mind the bruises that were still fresh there. He gripped your wrist so hard that night you were sure it was going to snap right off.

He really wasn’t like this in the beginning and your mind raked constantly with reasons as to why when you laid awake at night hoping he wouldn’t go too far or burn a bridge only to find it needed to be rebuilt with supplies that no longer existed.

It was nearing the late evening and he wasn’t supposed to be home until later in the night. You could afford to relax for just a little longer. With a deep breath, you walked up the stairs dead set on drawing a bath to just let your mind go blank. Hidden away in the bathroom sink’s cabinet was a ‘mix’ of herbs and such a dear friend of yours had said would aid in relaxing your soul and maybe your wounds. You could only use the clumsy excuse for so long.

You opened the door to your bathroom, quietly shut it behind you and didn’t bother locking it. If he was here, you might have, but you weren’t expecting him back until much, much later. You could afford to breathe. You drew the faucet and let it run for a moment or two until the water got a little warmer, then you plugged the tub and let it fill. You crouched down and poked your hand around towards the back of the bathroom sink before finding the jar filled with herbs and salts. It smelled divine even when closed. Unscrewing the lid, you are able to take in the scent of lavender, chamomile, rosebuds, sweet lemongrass and vanilla. Pink sea salt for added effect made the bath look heavenly when you poured in a generous scoop. As the water heated the herbs, you notice the rosebuds blooming into large, pink and red flowers. It was nothing short of magickal and filled you with some type of serenity.

Once the water was to your liking, you stripped and got into the tub, sighing in contentment as the water heated your form up. And from there, you let your mind go blank and take in the aroma of the herbs and flowers. You feel the stress leaving your body. You wish you could feel like this forever.

You allow your brain to wander as you relax and find it going back to your husband every single time. If he wasn’t asked to sit next to you, would you have been in this awful situation now? This was no way to live - and you wondered if you had just gone to detention that day if things would be different, or perhaps better. You thought you were able to pinpoint when everything went wrong when yet another starting point would come into your mind. It was like your brain was purposely making you move the goalposts so you wouldn’t be retraumatized by anything all over again.

It started small and in little bouts. He lost his patience with you. If you accidentally burnt the pancakes? It was alright but don’t let it happen again. Over watered the petunias just once? Great, now he needed to go to the store and pick up some new ones should those suffer root rot that was relatively treatable. Couldn’t get dinner ready on time? What a mess. Said something slightly off base? Your intelligence was being actively questioned. It kept snowballing until it reached the first time he hit you. Which was a dark enough day that you rather not think about.

He said he loved you. That he would protect you and make sure you were safe from all harm. But he broke that the moment his hand slapped your face so hard you felt the air leave your lungs. That was a really dark day, but it was not the darkest yet.

You must’ve spent close to an hour in the bath when you heard the front door opening. Shit, he wasn’t supposed to be back. You feel your heart pounding as you leap out of the bath, quickly drying yourself before throwing your clothes back on. In your haste, you forget to unplug the bath. But it’s too late, you hear him coming up the stairs. Seconds later, he’s in your shared bedroom.

“Reader? Where are you?” He sounds exhausted. Upon seeing the bathroom door closed, he stalks up to it. “Reader? Open up, Princess.”

It’s not the first time he’s tried to soften the blow like this.

“I-I’m still in the tub-”

“Sure, sure, sweetie,” he hums. “Can you uh, tell me why you haven’t gotten any food ready if you were going to fuck around in the tub like this then?”

Your heart constricts and your stomach twists. “I didn’t know you were gonna be home this early,” you say softly, ready to brace the door.

“Oh you forgot,” he says as if he’s speculating whether that was a decent answer or not. “You forgot,” he repeats. He stands in front of the bathroom door, swaying slightly like he’s waiting for you to come to you. “Come out of the bathroom.”

“I just drew it-”

“Did I ask for your excuses?”

“No-”

“Then come out of the FUCKING BATHROOM!” He hits the door so hard you thought you heard it splintering.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You cried out as you immediately rammed against the door, struggling to keep your husband back from breaking it down.

He didn’t answer, only continued to rattle off about everything wrong. She kicked the door harder and harder, sending you bouncing against the wood. You continued to cry out in pain but dug your shoulder into the door as you prayed it would be enough to keep him out.

“Stop, stop, STOP IT!” You felt tears pour out from your eyes as your husband pounded the door. “You’re being crazy right now, stop it!” Your throat felt raw with anguish as you continued to screech, head coming dangerously close to bouncing against the door as your husband began kicking it.

Eventually, he succeeded. He backed up, reared his leg up and took three hard hits, successfully kicking the door down. You went flying down with it and tumbled down the tile floor with a yelp of pain, landing sharply on your hip. You looked up through your pain and saw he was standing before you, fists balled and nothing but rage in his eyes.

“I told you to fucking let me in,” he seethes as he narrows in on you. Before he can touch you, his eyes travel to the tub. “And now you’re clogging up my fucking pipes?” He asks in an exasperated tone as he feels his blood pressure rise. “You need to learn a lesson,” he sighs as he runs his fingers through his hair. “When dogs are just puppies and they have an accident,” he begins as he bends down to the ground and nears you as you struggle to crawl away from him. “You take their nose and bury it into their mess.” He finishes. He straddles your waist and sloughs off your weak attempts to get him off of you.

You continue to cry and scream, beg and plead as his hands snake up your arms and to your hair. And your eyes widen as he takes a fistfull and then roughly stands up, dragging your body up with him.

“You fucking dog,” he spits as he drags you upwards. He begins to drag you towards the tub.

“No, NO!” You plead as you dig your heels into the tile, trying to grip onto the sink for dear life as he continues to drag you. You feel your strands of hair damn near get lifted from your scalp as he continues to yank you. He’ll kill you if you don’t put up a fight. “I’m sorry! Gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! Whatever I did to piss you off I promise that it won’t happen again!” You attempt to reason as he finally pries your hands off the sink.

“You should’ve known that to begin with,” he replies as he pulls your hair harder. He then brings you to the tub and roughly shoves you to its lip. You catch yourself and try to get away when he pushes at the back of your head. You still continue to fight him, crying and pleading even harder as your husband kicks in the back of your legs, attempting to cripple you further to get you to bend. You continue to push back, staring into the now cold bath like it’s a watery grave.

A scream rips through your throat as he hits the back of your skull, having you gasping for air and consciousness. He takes that moment as your weakness and finally overpowers you. Your head is thrust below the waters, and you find yourself screeching all the while. From above the water’s surface, you can hear your once beloved husband muttering about you and the faults of your character as he holds you under the water. Before you can even register that air is in your lungs again, you’re plunged back into the water, coughing and hacking all the while as he does so.

When he grows tired of continually plunging your head into the water, he picks up your lower half and tosses you in, sending the water and herbs flying everywhere as your clothed body enters the freezing tub. Your tears mix with the remnants of the bathwater as he holds you under, nothing but rage in his eyes as he does.

When you feel like it’s too much, you begin to let go. Perhaps darkness would be a nicer sight than the sunrise of tomorrow.

You open your eyes slowly to see that you’re still in the tub and laying in a small pool of water that isn’t enough to harm you regardless of how you were laid. You feel aches all over and you feel like water is weighing down your lungs. Slowly, you get to your bearings as you prop yourself up. Step by step and painstaking muscle movement by muscle movement, you stand and grip the edge of the tub, realizing you need to change out of your clothes. You pause momentarily to look at yourself in the mirror.

“Gods,” you whisper to yourself. You look like you were in a car accident. There’s bruises on your throat and your face from where he tried to slam you into the bathtub, and your face is puffy and discolored from crying. Your hair is knotted and you feel like no amount of conditioner on earth can get that out - to even think about detangling it is a nightmare. Your clothes are ripped and waterlogged. Everything about you screams pathetic. When you turn your head and look at the door, you see it’s broken beyond repair. He kicked it out of its latches and the wood itself is splintered in two.

You quietly step out of the bathroom, ready to change into drier clothes when you see your husband sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You feel yourself begin to shiver, momentarily feeling your mind drift elsewhere to protect your brain from further trauma.

“You’re finally up,” he says, a blank expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

You feel disgust come up in the back of your throat but swallow it back down in favor of not angering him further. “I’m fine,” you lie, not bothering to plaster on a smile.

“Good.” He slowly stands up. “I’m heading out. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He holds his arms out to you.

Shivering and absolutely terrified, you find yourself bending to his will. Quietly, you pad across the carpet to him and allow yourself to be wrapped up in his arms. His arms feel like a metal cage as they wrap around your quivering form.

“I’m sorry,” he says emptily as he buries his nose into your hair. “It won’t happen again.” He sways the two of you side to side as he holds you a little tighter, not bothering to mind the bumps and bruises he inflicted on your body.

You internally sigh and hollowly nod, allowing him to hold you.

He said that the last time.

It’s been a few days since your husband flew off the handle like that. Your husband stayed in the house, but like every time before, he pretended nothing had happened and instead vied for avoiding you. In a day or so, he’d be back to pretending he still loved you. But, your mind wasn’t entirely on him coming back to you and acting sweet - it was on everything in between.

See, this isn’t the first time that something of this caliber has happened to you. Convenience was something that seemed to pop up in your life more often than not, and you’d just accepted it. The first time you could remember it was when you were in your garage, trying to have a moment alone after your husband had shoved you into a wall for not making the potatoes the way he wanted (what a stupid thing to be upset over). As you sat at the workbench, sobbing quietly, your attention was pulled towards a thing of antifreeze. It was just propped up there. You don’t remember buying it, nor did you remember your husband buying it either. Neither of you regularly did car maintenance, nor did it seem like the kind used for a pool (which neither of you had). What on earth was it even doing here?

You quietly picked up the bottle and tossed it before your husband came calling for you to redo the potatoes.

The second time you noticed something much too conveniently placed was when the coffee in front of you was decaf. Your husband was terrible at waking up in the mornings, and the only thing that kept him up was his morning coffee on the drive to work. Well, one morning it was decaf in the keurig- and you almost didn’t notice it. The last time that happened, he’d almost swerved off the road. In a panic, you switched it to the right one before he noticed. If neither of you did, it could have claimed his life as the drive from your neck of the woods to the city was kind of dodgy in general.

The third most prominent time was semi-recently. You were cooking and once you finished, carried about your day. When you stopped by the kitchen to grab your keys and head to town for some shopping, you noticed that the gas was left on. Your husband was due to come home soon - if it stayed on for any longer, it might have killed him. Of course, you turned it off, but your hand lingered on the dial just a moment longer, wondering what would have happened if you didn’t turn it off. Feeling monstrous for even letting that thought pop into your head, you pulled back your hand like you had thrown it into the fire.

Those were just some of the most prominent things that happened. There were also little things that occurred as well, such as the TV always being clicked onto certain types of true crime documentaries entailing warring spouses, or the reading material being a tad too detailed in how to get away with things that obviously weren't legal. It started with petty theft, or piracy, and then moved onto other things that were much too unpleasant for you to even detail. All of these things seemed to be calling you towards something more sinister than you had ever imagined.

And until now, you’d managed to hold it all back. Sure, you entertain yourself by watching the documentaries and reading the material (which you wonder deeply who put it in your mailbox to begin with) but you never actually thought to harm him, did you?

It all came to a head a few weeks after the bathtub incident. He pushed you around plenty since then, but it hadn’t crossed the threshold like what happened back then - and that was enough to keep you at bay until this specific dinner. Apparently, your husband had missed out on a promotion given to someone younger and more ambitious than him and that killed him on the inside. He had a chip on his shoulder and he was dead set on taking it out on you.

“Gave it to that little prick,” he mumbles as he stabs at his food.

“I’m sure you’ll get it next time-”

“Next time? That’s half a fucking year away,” your husband replies as he bites down on his food. “Worthless job and can’t even move up in it. Stuck in this hellhole,” he continues to mutter as he stabs around.

Not wanting to even think about flaring him, you just drink uncomfortably at your water. “Is…” You close your mouth, not wanting to even hear his voice.

“No, no, finish your thought,” he says with a deep sigh.

“It’s not important.”

“My wife has something to say, she says it.”

“No, really I-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Reader, spit it out.”

“Is the food okay?” You ask quietly as you avert your eyes to anywhere but at him. You gulp thickly, worrying that you’ve upset him further and lament even opening your mouth up to begin with.

“It’s awful,” he replies before taking another bite. “You must really be testing me, y’know that?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“I know.”

Uncomfortable silence passes between the two of you as dinner goes on with that same unease. You practically exude discomfort as you sit there, picking at your food and not wanting to even stomach it as long as this monster sits across from you. You wonder if your husband is going to go on one of his tangents when he answers that useless question by opening his mouth.

He talks a lot about how much he hates work, his coworkers, his lot in life, literally anything he could complain about and everything. He has such a hatred for the world around him that you wonder if it was always hiding just below the surface when you first met him. Probably. People tend to grow into who they were always meant to be as the years go on.

“And you,” he continues, pointing his fork in an accusatory manner at you. “You are the worst part of it,” he says as he narrows his eyes. He does this to you at every meal. And by the end of it, he’s always so riled up he almost breaks the plates. “Remember that girl, Jada? From honors math?”

You quietly nod.

“I should’ve married her. Girl with some brains and a nice ass,” he muses. “Instead I settled for you. Worthless, bruised and battered, puffy faced you,” he says with absolute vitriol, getting more and more riled up as his complaints carry on. “Hell, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been thrown in detention again either.”

“That wasn’t my fault-”

“Oh so she speaks, does she?” He stands up.

You brace yourself.

“You know better than that,” he says lowly like a tiger waiting to pounce. “Than to talk back to me in my OWN GODDAMN HOUSE!” The plates and the dinner go flying off the table as he roughly shoves his arms across it.

There go the plates that reminded you of something nicer.

You immediately stand up and gasp, your chair flying back as you do so. Your hands fly up as your husband’s hands grip ar your wrists, his power taking over your frail form as he begins hurling you backwards to the countertop.

“Teach you to talk to me like that again,” he growls as he slams you down onto the counter, wrists not being jostled into his one hand. “You’ll never learn,” he mumbles, strill wrangling you down to the countertop.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him reaching towards the knife rack - and you see your very life fly before your eyes as he palms one.

You begin to repeat no like a mantra as he grips the knife and then lets go of your wrists, hsi hand going to the collar of your shirt. You cry out as your hands balled into fists and start punching, your legs being held by his body as his hand latches onto your throat and squeezes. Tears prick your eyes once again as his eyes flick down to your shirt.

“Stop!” You weakly cry out as his fingers dig into your flesh.

He raises the knife, a mad look on his faze as the steel catches the light. It shines, and then comes plunging down.

You scream as the knife is stabbed much too close to your neck, instead trapping you by snagging your shirt to the counter.

“You stay here and think about all the trouble you’ve caused,” he says in a ‘bubbling with rage’ tone as he shoves your head into the counter. “And clean up this mess.”

Once he leaves and slammed the front door shut, you pry yourself free from the knife and then fall to the floor sobbing, once again feeling your heart broken over your husband treating you so. But, once the rain fell, all that came was a ping - a spark. As you finally composed yourself and began cleaning his mess, the spark ignited to a flame that grew like wildfire in your mind’s eyes as you gingerly picked up the pieces of plates that you held such saccharine fondness over.

You couldn’t stand for this anymore.

With exhaustion sweeping over your body and the kitchen now cleaned, you allow yourself to move on autopilot and move upwards towards your bedroom. You don’t bother changing and plop down onto it. You stare at your ceiling, wondering if you should run away or - oh! Here comes a thought. With your eyes inching towards your nightstand, you finally give into the overwhelming feeling to open the drawer and you do so. Your hand gropes around before you finally touch something cold. Your mind lurches once you realize what it is.

You sit up, more than surprised to see the handle of a gun under your fingertips. On it is a sticky note with a smiley face: ‘don’t forget to turn off the safety :)’. A shiver of horror runs down your spine when you realize there’s a silencer attached to it. Gods, you knew he had a gun but a silencer? Everything about this - you knew it was wrong.

But holding it in your hand… That felt right.

You decided to stay quiet on things for now and think. Afterall, he was stronger than you. You couldn’t just confront him with the gun. He might wrestle it out of you and shoot you instead. You couldn’t take that kind of risk right now. So, you waited, looked over the gun some more, and waited.

Your husband entered back into the house at some gods awful time at night, more than pleased to see the house was back in order as it should be as he closed the door behind him. He was exhausted on all facets (though it could not hold a candle to how you were feeling) as he trudged up the stairs.

You laid in bed, pretending to be asleep. You knew what had to be done.

When your husband came in, huffed and got ready for bed, you itched for the trigger. You knew you had to act soon, but not too fast or he could hurt you again an take you out instead. Your breath hitched when you felt him sit on the bed and get comfortable, of course, turned away from you.

You took in a deep breath, closed your eyes, and held the gun in your hand once you felt him slip into sleep. The moments felt like hours as you quietly sat up and held the gun in your hands. Were you really going to do this?

Your mind flashed with hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities. At one point, a long time ago, you loved him. You loved him deeply and truly.

You took aim.

You shot.

Gods, if you knew it was going to be this hard to drag his body out here, you would’ve chosen a different place to shoot him. Dragging your now dead husband through the woods behind your house was an absolutely miserable process. You were working up a sweat as you did so and it was so dark that you could hardly make heads or tails of anything.

Finally, guided by the moonlight, you came to a place that looked more than decent. It was far enough, and the growth here was so heavy that if you tumbled the earth around, it would hardly look like anyone had disturbed it to begin with.

“Always making things harder on me,” you mumble as you toss his limp body back to the earth before you juggle the shovel you’d dragged along into your hands. You let your mind go blank as you began to cut into the soil.

A plethora of thoughts entered into your head as you shoveled away, making a deep enough hole to throw your deceased husband in. In a way, you didn’t think he deserved a hole this nice, but you knew deep down you had to hide the body. You continued to shovel, and once you finally made it deep enough to your liking, rolled his body into the ground.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” a low, slightly gravelly voice chuckles, slow clapping.

“Who’s there?” You ask in a slightly panicked tone, holding the shovel up like a weapon. “I… I won’t hesitate-”

“Don’t make me laugh,” the voice continues, a playful bite on every syllable. “No, no, you did good.”

Your eyes frantically look around for the voice when you hear a whistle. There, behind you, is a man. Possibly mid 20s, shoulder length black hair, pale skin that rivals the light of the moon, wearing a hoodie covered in things you’d rather not think of and taller than you by a good head or so.

“You gonna put the shovel down?” He asks with a brow raised.

Hesitantly, you lower the shovel in your grasp just to let him get a little closer. Your eyes widen when you see he’s cut a smile into his face. “Who… Who are you?”

“I’ll tell you if you finish your job here,” he says as he nods to the uncovered, deceased body of your husband. “And before you go through the typical ‘oh my gods, are you gonna turn me in’ bullshit so many of you seem to go through, rest assured that I’m not gonna do anything to you. Just finish your job. Can you do that for me, Bird?” He leans against the tree, looking at you with a small smark.

A mind too frazzled for anything else, you nod and get back to work. It doesn’t take near as long to fill the hole as it did to carve it out, which was a pleasant surprise. When you were done, you wiped the sweat from your brow.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you held the shovel firmly in your hands.

“Checking in on you,” he replies. “You want to go back to your house and-”

“No,” you cut him off, eyes averting down the ground. “Anywhere but there right now.” You say softly, gesturing to the disturbed earth.

The man pops off the tree and stalks over to the hole you’d covered, lightly shoving some foliage on top of it. “Okay, still sensitive. I get that,” he hums. “Follow me then. Let’s take a walk.” He nods for you to follow, blue eyes silently telling you to bring the shovel along with you.

Not wanting to be near his body anymore despite it being packed below the ground, you relent and follow.

“So, you did good, really good,” the man says as he puts his hands back in his hoodie pockets.

“Why do you keep saying that?” You ask, quickly matching pace with him. “And I never did get your name..?” You trail off slightly, taking in the deep scent of the woods around you. The scent of pine and autumn fills your nose.

“Because you did my job for me, and it’s Jeff,” he replies, his arm momentarily pushing back some low hanging pines. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while, Bird.” He chuckles softly when he sees your confused expression.

“Really? Bird?” You repeat in a dry tone, face deadpanning at the very mention of it. “Job?”

“You’re flighty, like a bird, and judging by how fast you switch topics, bird.” He smiles, continuing to lead you further and further into the woods and away from your now empty house. “Little while back, I was asked to kill your husband. But, I saw you during one of my stalking outings and well, thought I could make things interesting.” He says it like it’s nothing and common knowledge.

“You what?” You ask in a surprised tone. “You stalked us?”

“Well, yeah,” Jeff says. “Normally, I don’t take that much care in my work. I tend to gut first and never ask questions, but you posed something interesting in my wake.”

“Holy fuck,” you murmur as you continue to trot throguh the woods. “We’re both going to jail.”

“Me? Absolutely not. You? Well,” he turns his attention to the deer path laid before the two of you and smiles at the open, moonlit field. “Depends on how you’ll answer my question.”

The two of you step through the remaining brush and finally reach the field. You had no idea this place was even behind your house or even so close. Tall grass rising to your waist sways gently in the wind as you step out of the trees and into the open air. Stars dot the sky as the moon hangs overhead. This place feels nostalgic. Out in the distance is a little stone structure, and upon Jeff taking you closer to it, it’s a little stone shelter.

“Take a seat, gonna be a while,” Jeff says as he rummages around in his pocket. He pulls out a lighter, bends down and lights the pieces of wood conveniently left inside of it, and the night is no longer cold.

You get comfortable and let your exhausted body rest. “Have you been watching me for long?”

“Longer than necessary,” Jeff answers as he cracks his back before finally getting comfortable. “But, I only watched you from a distance. Tell me about yourself first, let me know it wasn’t a mistake to let you breathe.” He smirks at you and winks, sending shivers down your spine.

You take in a deep breath, not really feeling anything but exhaustion and decide to tell him. You tell him everything, about your childhood, about little intricacies and so on. You told him about high school and how you met your husband. Little stories, anecdotes, memories and feelings resurfaced as you detailed how everything was bliss. And then one day, it wasn’t.

“Something in him snapped and went rotten,” you sigh. “And he hurt me. Hurt me really bad.”

Jeff looks up from the fire to see how the light dances across your skin. It’s here that he’s finally able to see the extent of your dead husband’s power over you. Bruises darker than your natural shade line your skin like oddly erased marks on a stubborn piece of paper. Your eyes are hollow, devoid of all life. Hair from your scalp is oddly placed as if it’s still trying to grow back. Your posture conveys nothing but pure exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a tone that’s much more gruff than he originally means. It’s not that he doesn’t genuinely feel bad, it’s that he’s awful at actually verbalizing it. In truth, Jeff doesn’t like abusers. They make him feel wrong, make him feel like something’s not fair. Jeff like to fancy himself as someone who goes by the rule of ‘equality.’ If you pick on someone weaker than you with them having no chance of fighting back or at least inflicting the same damage back, you are nothing but a coward who gets off on hurting smaller people. And that in his mind is nothing short of detestable. “Guess good on me for letting you take him out, huh?”

You look at him with an odd mixture of confusion and absolute relief. “I guess,” you say, the sound of serenity slipping into your tone. “And what about you? What originally sent you out here?”

“Tall guy in a suit,” he stated, a small scowl pulling at his lips. “Y’know, he’s interested in you.”

“Tall guy in a suit?”

“Slender Man. I call him ‘Pale Ass’ though. He’s like… A murderous businessman. Has little drones to do his work even though he’s more than capable of doing it himself. And that’s where you come in.” Jeff shifts slightly and fixes his posture. “He’s the guy who originally wanted your husband dead. Sent me to do it.”

“Why did he want him dead?” You inquire. You knew your husband had done some dodgy things, especially with how strangely he was acting within the last few years as his abuse ran up, but you originally assumed he was cheating or something. Maybe into some other shady things. What on earth could he have done to garner the attention of some murderer kingpin?

“Saw something he shouldn’t have. My guess is Toby - maybe Theo. Both of them suck at covering up their tracks,” Jeff laughs slightly. “Probably saw one of us hiding a body, committing a murder, shit, he could’ve stumbled on some finals when he obviously shouldn’t have done that. Regardless, it got Slender’s attention, and now he’s dead because of it,” Jeff continues as he casts his eyes from you to the flickering flames. “You remember that night he fell asleep in his car in the garage?”

You nod.

“Almost took him out right there.” Jeff’s brows furrow slightly. “Something stopped me and then I saw you. The way he reacted to you asking if he wanted a certain type of potato made me giggle, and then I got a thought.”

“The antifreeze…”

“Yeah, the antifreeze. I’d noticed you were being pushed around for a while, honestly planning on taking you out to give you some rest but,” his eyes flash, “seemed more fun to get you into it too.” He sighs and leans back. “Was it cathartic?”

You find yourself uncomfortably shifting and wanting to answer with ‘no, of course not! I killed someone,’ before realizing that wouldn't be truthful. It was cathartic to put an end to his life. It was cathartic to finally bring justice for yourself in a way that no prison system would allow. “It… It was.” You admit, shyly and quietly like confessing to a bad secret.

“Feels nice to admit it, right?” He smiles.

“It does.”

“Now, imagine doing that to other pieces of shit,” he says as he sits up again. “Imagine being able to do that to every monster that’s ever hurt anyone just like you/”

You close your eyes and feel the red hot rage tingle your fingertips. Being able to unload on your dead husband was more than pleasing - in fact, it was nice, and dare you say, fun. The thought of being able to do that to other people who hurt others like that, while a far off possibility now as you were still frail, was still a possibility nonetheless.

“I mean, where else do you have to go?” Jeff continues, watching as you toss the thought around in your head. “You’d never get caught. He’d handle it all right now. You’d be free.” Jeff stands up and begins crossing the distance to meet you. His shadow walks alongside him. Dusk hangs in the air. “Or, if this isn’t to your liking, you can join him.”

“What?” You question, eyes flicking up from Jeff’s shoes to his eyes.

“You gotta understand,” he begins as he crouches in front of you. “If you say no and

decide to deal with the fallout like a normal human being, you’ll be caught and most likely killed for it. You’d be at the end of your rope.”

You feel an ocean of emotions swell up inside of you. “And if I… What would you even have me do if I followed you?”

“I’ll take you to meet him, and we’ll see what happens next. He’ll cover for you. You won’t ever have to see this place ever again.”

The sun begins to peek over the horizon. The fire is dying down. You can hear birds chirping in the early morning sky as fluffy clouds bid good morning to the dimming stars in the sky.

“Let’s get outta here, Bird.” Jeff stands up, holding out his hand.

You take in a deep breath, hand hovering over his. You thought of your husband, your life and everything that had ever happened to lead up to this moment. You’d gone this far, and there was clearly no going back. Another deep breath in and you pressed your hand down to his.

Jeff’s smile bloomed once again.

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer x reader #reader insert #x reader #creepypasta jtk

[flying-nightwing]

Gentle - Jason Todd

Hi people! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted anything, honestly it’s been a hectic two months and I barely made it out alive lmao. But Jason was never too far away in my mind, don’t worry kids. So this is something I’ve been wanting to write for some moments now, and I came through, well, right about now. 

I haven’t really written something axed on the emotions/feelings like that, once again I’m trying to expand my style to new stuff. This is my first hurt/comfort that was actively trying to be that, and yet another take on Jason because I’m a simp. This is also very, very soft. I hope you’ll enjoy xx

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 1731

Warnings: mention of blood, Jason being heartbreakingly insecure and vulnerable, allusion to the effects of his trauma.

Summary: Being with Jason Todd often comes with its own load of complicated hardships, but you would never let him go through it alone ever again. 

You barely heard him come back.

You had a sharp ear and a light sleep, which means you always knew the moment Jason came back from patrol. Usually it would be followed by the sound of the shower and him joining you in bed, but sometimes it would not. And those times were usually when things had gone bad. 

Quietly, you got up from the bed and navigated the apartment in the dark. By now, your feet knew the way without needing the guidance of your eyes. Only the light from the stovetop was turned on, casting a weak glow on the common area. You could dicernate Jason’s still body on the couch, still in full red hood gear with the exception of his helmet. He knew you were there, of course he did, but he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t, you figured. Hard nights did that to him.

With a pinch in your heart, you went and knelt in front of him, just not touching him yet. His eyes were open and glossy, staring into nothing. The instances where you found him like this had become rarer in the last years, but they still happened. You were just glad he wasn’t pushing you away anymore. He once told you to just stay asleep and not bother with him, but you could never. Secretly, he was grateful for it. He would never tell you how much, though, because he didn’t want to make you feel like it was something you had to do for him.

“Hi babe” You spoke in a whisper, making you slide his eyes to you. You could see the hurt in them, reflected in the blue of his irises and the red of fatigue and frustration around them. His beautiful expressive eyes that could hold so much love could also hold so much pain at times. It wasn’t fair. “It’s okay. You’re okay now”

You didn’t expect an answer. He had a tendency of getting non-verbal in these situations.

“May I?”

You raised your hand lightly, and he gave you a little nod. Slowly, you enveloped his gloved hands in yours with one hand, while you pushed back a wild streak of hair out of his face with the other. You kept your touch light, knowing he would be already over sensitive as it was. He closed his eyes, enjoying the much needed comfort you provided him. You could feel the almost dried blood on his hands, the tensions in his jaw, the hurt coming off of him in waves. Not physical hurt, you were pretty sure he was unscathed beside the few bruises or cuts here and there. 

“Can I help you with it?”

He breathed out unevenly. The question really meant let me help you, it was a plea for you to help him feel better. Only a little while ago he had actually allowed you to take care of him at his most vulnerable moments. Still, he nodded again. You pulled yourself on your feet and gently helped him to sit up on the couch. Without rushing him, you then helped him stand up beside you and lead him to the bathroom. You kept the light dim so as not to hurt his eyes and guided him in front of the sink. In a slightly better light, you could see how tired and battered he looked. It must have been one of his worst nights ever since you had known him.

You began undoing his gloves first, taking off the blood and dirt soaked material from his hands, then pulled off his leather jacket that you threw in his Red Hood hamper. You could deal with it tomorrow. You turned on the tap to warm water and gently guided his hands under it. You softly rubbed the red and brown colors from his skin, letting the grime disappear down the drain. You made sure to wash it all; between his fingers and under his nails so he wouldn’t have to look at it at all when you’d turn off the tap. 

You carefully dried his hands with a towel before you moved to his shirt. You began pulling it off and he helped you pass it through his arms when it was too high for you, and the piece of his suit joined the rest in the hamper. Blood had seeped through the fabric, mixing with the sweat to taint his chest light red. You moved him to the toilet, where you softly pushed him down on the closed lid. You then damped a washcloth and came back to him. His eyes met yours as you gently washed away the remnant of a gruesome and violent night on his face. His glance meant everything, it was a little stitch on the wound to see your action seemed to help him feel better. 

You moved to his neck and chest, kneeling in front of him once again. You repeated your actions there, your hand still careful and steady. He closed his eyes and sighed, and you felt his muscles untense just a little bit. You observed his scars as you went, still wondering after all this time how he was so strong. It amazed you how he could pull through every curveball life threw at him, and how he could still remain the good man he was today despite all of it. As you washed down his arm, you picked his hand and left a little butterfly kiss on his wrist that made his breath hitch. Then you trailed up the inside of his arm with your lips until you stopped mid bicep. You met his bright eyes and slowly reached for his cheek. 

“How can you even look at me?”

You tilted your head at his quiet words, a saddened smile on your face. “How could I not?” You spoke back in a whisper. “You think your scars are ugly, but you’re so wrong. They write your story in a language very few understand, like a holy text kept in a secret temple meant to be worshipped. You’re strong and passionate, rash and beautiful. And never, remember that, never will I look at you with anything else than the adoration you deserve” 

The light of the bathroom reflected the tears pooling in his eyes like crystals as you rubbed your thumb on his cheek. He leaned into your hand, and his long eyelashes brushed against your finger when he closed his eyelids. He didn’t need to say anything more, you understood what he was trying to communicate. It was why he loved you so much, why he let himself be vulnerable around you. You were patient and kind, always there to help him up. You weren’t blind to his flaws but you accepted him as he was, not as everybody wanted him to be. You understood, which was more than he could say about most people in his life.

And when you looked at him like that, like he was your entire world and universe, he couldn’t help but feel safe. He didn’t have to run, fight, or survive. It was like he could breathe now, like he could finally live. And it scared him, it scared him so much because he felt like he had never truly left that coffin six feet under ground, until you began digging out the dirt to reach him. He was lost in the best kind of way, trying to figure out what to do with the sunrays that finally warmed his entire body after being subject to the coldness of the grave for so long. He was helpless to you, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to end. 

You stood up and grabbed a new washcloth, warming it under the tap and returning to Jason. You passed over his face again, then his neck and his chest to wash away the remnant of diluted blood on his skin. You placed a light kiss on his shoulder before you helped him up again, then helped him out of his tactical pants. You grabbed your washcloth again, but he gently stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

“Go back to sleep, my love” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I got it from here”

You stared into his eyes, trying to find a clue that he was trying to hide away. But he was way calmer now, his eyes did not hold as much hurt as when you had found him on the couch. His glance was tired and exhausted, yet soft and loving. “Only if you’re sure” 

He nodded, blinking slowly. In any other circumstances, it wouldn’t have convinced you that he didn’t need your help. But for now, it was enough. Just the fact that he had it in him to speak was the indicator you needed. You retreated to the joined bedroom and slipped under the covers that had almost gone cold in the little time you were out of them and rested your head on the pillow. Your eyes softly closed, not yet completely succumbing into sleep yet. The soft noise in the bathroom played in the background like a muffled speaker, keeping you conscious just enough to check on him from afar. After a moment, the door opened and the light shut off, followed by quiet footsteps coming your way. The covers lifted and the bed dropped, then you opened your arms for Jason to crawl into them. His skin was still a bit cold from the hand wash, but the warmth of your embrace made him sigh against you. You caressed his hair as you fought not to fall asleep just yet, but your movements became slower and slower. The world around you started to fade at the first birds began to sing outside your window, their songs gradually lulling you to sleep.

Just as you were on the edge of consciousness, you hear the faintest whisper reach your ears. Two simple words that yet meant the world, especially coming from Jason. Admitting he needed help was something big for him, and even more expressing gratefulness at something he thought he didn’t deserve. That little spoken note guided you to a peaceful sleep with your lover safe and sound in your arms, or at least for tonight. Two simple words that didn’t need to be explained.

“Thank you” 

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #red hood x you #outlaws

[parvulous-writings]

SFW alphabet// Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader

Request: There isn’t one- this is pure self indulgence. 

Submitted by:​ MEEEE

Genre/fandom: Fluff/Star Wars

Warnings:  None.

Summary: SFW alphabet for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Not my gif

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Obi-Wan is pretty damn affectionate- when you both are alone. In public, it is often a different story. That’s not to say he doesn’t sweet talk you quietly when you’re out and about, but he rarely holds your hand when in places that the Jedi Order could see you. When you are alone though, either in his quarters, your Coruscant apartment or elsewhere out of sight, he is one of the most affectionate people you’ve ever met, giving you so many hugs and kisses it’s hard to count. One of his favourite things to do, during slower days, he’ll sit in his favourite chair whilst he reads, letting you sit in a nearby chair, your hands linking you both together.  B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

Quite simply, Obi-Wan is one of the nicest and fairest beings in the galaxy, and the very best friend should you put the effort in to get to know him- though, even if you don’t, he’s still extraordinarily kind hearted, and ever the gentleman.  The friendship would probably start when he’s assigned to protect you- and of course he politely introduces himself, and you’re drawn to his friendly and calming presence. 

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He ADORES cuddles. All of them. In bed, in comfy chairs, standing up- anywhere, anyhow, so long as you aren’t discovered. Given half the chance, he would cuddle you to the end of time. He’s a big one for physical affection. A lot of his favourite moments with you are spent curled up together, talking about both everything and nothing, basking in each others company.  D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?) Obi-Wan would love to settle down- and he was incredibly ready to leave the Jedi Order for you, but you told him to stay, at least for Anakin’s sake.  He is a marvelous cook- and you can’t convince me otherwise. You don’t go out for secret date nights, oh no, Obi-Wan cooks you a delicious home-made meal.  He’s also quite clean, doing all the chores around his quarters almost every day or when he gets the chance between training sessions, meetings and the missions.  E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) If he had to, he would try and let you down slowly. He would try not to make a show of it and explain calmly to you why he think it would be best for you to go your separate ways. It would break him inside, but he’d keep his composure until he was alone.   F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?) He would like very much to get married to you 😊 you are his one and only living love, after all. He’d leave the Order for you, if you let him. Enough said, really. G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?) Very gentle physically, very very gentle indeed. His touches are always so soft, as if he’s nervous that you’re only a dream, and if he’s too rough with you, you’ll suddenly poof out of existence. It’s quite sweet, actually.  H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?) Like with cuddles, Obi is a pretty big hugger. His hugs are warm, and full of all the love he holds for you. You almost always catch his scent- the faint smell of spices, and it always calms you down, it’s soothing. His hands often find the small of your back and the back of your head, supporting you as well as keeping you close to him. I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?) Not particularly quickly- he tries to suppress his feelings at first, and it takes many weeks of being around you for him to even admit to himself that he liked you, not to mention how long it took for him to muster up the courage to admit his feelings for you.  Even after he admits his love for you, he usually only says the L word when he thinks it’s a special occasion- though he makes sure that you know he loves you in other ways.

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Obi-Wan doesn’t often get jealous- he understands the need for close friendships outside of your relationship. But there have been one or two instances where his emotions have gotten the better of him. When he’s jealous, he can get rather possessive. He doesn’t mean to- he truly doesn’t- but he’ll put his arm around your waist, pull you close to his side, whilst giving a very dark glare to send them a message. (He’ll try not to do this in front of Jedi, and has so far succeeded in that regard.)  K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Obi-Wan’s kisses are often quite light and brief- as most of them are given in public. Kisses in private are much deeper, much more passionate, much longer. His favourite place to kiss you is the very tip of your nose, he doesn’t know why really, he just thinks it’s a very endearing place to kiss you. His favourite place to be kissed is just under his jaw, your lips just seem to press against his skin so nicely there.  L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?) Oh, Obi-Wan is a dream around children! He is a wonderful mentor to the younglings in the temple- a brilliant father figure for those who see him as such. Absolute father/husband material, I tell you.  M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?) They are sometimes few and far between, but... Imagine the most idyllic scene you can think of. Sunlight streaming through the window and lightly hitting your face, as the wonderful smell of breakfast hits your nose, rousing you from your slumber. There he stands, in his nightclothes with his back to you, as he cooks you a glorious breakfast. He turns to smile at you as you get up, moving over to quickly give you a morning kiss on the cheek.  That is a morning with Obi-Wan. N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?) Just as heavenly as the mornings. They’re quiet, more often than not, but they’re still wonderful. Though just as rare as the mornings, if not rarer, you both spend the first part of the evening watching the sun set, before dining together, and finally ending up in each others arms, talking nonsense till you both find  slumber.  O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?) Usually late at night, a month or so into your relationship. It’s not about what most people would consider ‘secrets’, but to Obi-Wan these things are incredibly personal. He talks to you about the bond he had with his master, and how he felt when he lost him, he talks about how proud he is of Anakin, all of it. It takes a few weeks and countless late nights, but you’re both all the closer to one another for it.  P - Patience (How easily angered are they?) Man’s a Jedi. The King of patience. He doesn’t often get angry.  When he does, though... Yikes. He loses it. Thankfully his rage is almost never directed towards you. 

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?) He remembers everything you tell him, down to the last detail. You mention something as a throwaway comment? I guarantee you he’ll be doing or purchasing something  to do with that little throwaway line. Every detail goes into his head and never leaves.  R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?) A time he found you entertaining the younglings whilst waiting for you. You seemed so happy, your eyes sparkling and full of life, glinting as you laughed. He leant against the wall, just watching you as you played with them, letting them embrace their childhood for a little bit longer. It is something he’ll often play it over and over again in his head when he’s watching you sleep. 

S - Security (How protective are they?) Obi-Wan knows you have to fight your own battles, and he does try his best to let you do that, offering guidance if you need it. However, when he knows you’re out of your depth- whatever that may be- he will step in and defend you in whatever way he needs to.  T - Try (How much effort do they put in?) He puts in so much effort for you, trying to prove himself to you even though you constantly remind him he doesn’t need to. He also finds it his constant quest to make it up to you for not spending more time with you when in the Order. You tell him not to do that too, but he never seems to listen.  U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?) Apologising too much. For not spending enough time with you, for being late when he isn’t.. Little things. Little, pesky things. It started off sweet at first, but quickly you found it to be a little bit of a problem.  V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Not really that concerned. He keeps himself clean of course, he has more than enough decency for that, but he’s not really that fussed. He’ll pay more attention to small things- like the style of his hair or how he wears his robe- if he wants to impress you, but he’s not exactly vain. W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Oh he would definitely feel incomplete without you. He misses you deeply when on missions- and even goes as far to use his holocom to contact you when far off and he can’t bear not hearing your voice anymore.  X - Xtra (Random HC) Obi-Wan is an absolutely divine cook. You want a meal that the canteens or cafeteria don’t do a good job on? Say no more, he shall provide for you. He’d cook practically anything for you, just to see you smile.  Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?) Obi-Wan isn’t particularly fussy when it comes to partners, however there is one thing that almost always has to be there. Manners. Otherwise, you may just have a few ettiquete lessons from Master Kenobi. Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)

Obi-Wan is usually a sound sleeper, and has a regular sleeping pattern. This pattern is only slightly taken off track when you sleep in the same bed as him, and he’ll spend at least half an hour running his hands through your hair as you sleep, admiring the blissful smile that crosses your lips. 

#obi wan fluff #obi wan x reader #obi wan headcanon #sfw alphabet #sfw x reader #star wars #star wars fluff #star wars x reader #no y/n #kenobi #kenobi fluff #kenobi x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan kenobi #star wars imagines #star wars headcanons #please request #x reader requests #requests open

[niuttuc]

Lhur’s Sheet

Name: Lhur (Tolema the Third, don’t call him that)

Pronouns: He/Him

Species: Giant

Age: 19

Plane of Origin: Fiora

First Planeswalk: Ocaelum (underwater fan-plane)

Colors: Black, a splash of white secondary

Appearance: As a giant, Lhur stands a bit over twice as tall as most humans (Garruks notwithstanding), but otherwise looks like you'd expect of a young noble, maybe a little sharper a gaze and a little rarer a smile. Black hair, blue eyes, quite a few scars hidden by his clothes. While most people think of him as being richly dressed or in his ornamental armor, while on other planes or outside of ceremonies he's generally more comfortably and discretly draped.

Backstory: Lhur grew up under the harsh rule of his father, Tolema II, a conquering warlord who knew when to stop his expansion, and established his own small kingdom years before Lhur's birth. His father's rule was as tyrannical and violent as was necessary to keep control of the previously democratic cities he conquered, and Tolema used his magic over shadows to make sure his hold stayed strong on all three of those.

He was no kinder on his son and heir, having great plans for him and being as demanding and rough on him as his own father, the first Tolema, had with him. If not more. Aside from the early lessons in everything a ruler might need, from fighting to managing taxes, and a few demonstrations of “how a king should act and react”, Tolema obtained the help of a demon to teach his son the most powerful magic the young giant could handle. This is around the time of Lhur’s mother’s death, when he was not even in his teens.

As one would expect, Lhur grew resenting his father and most of what he preached. He saw how Tolema ruled, and how the rest of the population feared or hated the conquering king. When a teenage Lhur started looking for ways to sabotage his genitor’s reign, it was for nothing more than getting back at him. That teenage rebellion slowly morphed into more as he got more and more effective, enough to get the attention of the existing resistance to Tolema. Of course, once they figured out who exactly Lhur was, they were more than wary, but through words and actions, he managed to slowly get the trust of a cell and another.

A few years later, and Lhur was one of the major figures of the Resistance under an alias, a poorly guarded secret, and a “hero of the people”. Some in the Resistance were still cautious, but none could debate that his actions and plans had cost more to Tolema than any other individual. At least, ones that lived to keep fighting.

The Resistance effort culminated into a legend-worthy attack against Tolema in his own palace, Lhur channeling the desire of the entire capital in a singular battle against his father in the ruins of his throne room. After a harrowing fight, he managed to kill his father and free the country of his reign, handing over the reigns of the country back to its people.

Or so the official story goes. While Lhur did defeat his father, he isn’t so sure about the killing part. The grievly wounded Tolema revealed to his son that he was very aware of his “resistance” and that this was just what he had planned for Lhur, for him to take over in opposition, as a loved hero and ruler instead of the despised one that Tolema had himself been. The shift from pride, hate and righteousness from Lhur to doubt and consternation was stark enough to make him spark, taking him to the most beautiful place he’d ever seen... Until he figured out how to go back.

By then, there was no body to be found. To stop the fights within the city, Lhur claimed victory and the death of his father, taking control of his father’s soldiers and warriors who knew better than to question the orders of their “new king”.

Which brings us to the situation Lhur is currently in. He agreed with the remaining Resistance and council of leaders from the cities of his country to let them decide of the future of the country, and they aren’t too keen on letting the son of the Tyrant lead and establish an actual dynasty. On the other end, they know him and most of them trust him, which is particularly necessary because Tolema’s troops still obey him and they need him “on the throne” to avoid further issues there. The population, most of it anyway, love him for freeing them from the tyrant, and to keep control over the troops, he was officially declared ruler as well. He has great influence over the council and the affairs of the kingdom while they take decisions, as well as latitude to act by himself, but so far he only suggests and brings information to light. He’s legally the king of the country, and rules it de facto, but in practice he’s not seen as being permanently so by the council, who are the one making the decisions as far as they’re concerned.

With all of this as a background, Lhur tries to navigate his new reality of being a planeswalker, using other planes as ways to get breaks and decompress, staying there a few days at a time as he should be “traveling” between the different cities. He also has to worry about his father, and if he’s still alive, which he assumes but isn’t sure of, or of where he could have gone. He’d have thought he’d have manifested by now if he was still alive, but the last revelation he got from him made him unsure of his guesses as far as his father’s thoughts.

Lhur is loved, and he tries to make it stay that way. He saw the results of hatred of a ruler, and it’s much easier for him to hold onto his position with public support. On the other end, he’s not sure if his father was saying the truth, and if he want to play into his hand so blatantly.

Magic, gear and/or abilities: Lhur’s main magic is a demonic one over wants and wishes. He has the ability to perceive what people want the most, and in a certain measure, to magically realize it. There’s many limits to it and it’s never the most effective. And there may be consequences. But even with those, he’s very powerful. Beyond that, he’s a giant with access to an entire royal arsenal, training to use a good part of it, and able to manifest his own desires, so in the few occasions he has to result to fighting, he is one of the most dangerous opponents one could be tasked to face head-on. He’s charismatic and grew up in a court on Fiora, even if it was much less subtle than Paliano’s, and knowing what people want makes him a very adept politician and negotiator, which is generally the approach he prefers.

#Lhur #mtg #mtg oc list #fanwalker #mtg fantober #planeswalker #custom magic card #Fiora #Tolema

[ultimatetornshipper]

Daminette December Day 3

@daminette-december2019-2020

Princes and Pedestals

Chapter 3 – Legend

Previous

Next

Marinette closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The breeze softly danced through her hair as she sat in the windowsill of her room. She opened her eyes and stared at the parchment resting on a book on her lap, her little bottle of ink sat next to her on the ledge. She fidgeted with the quill in her hand, frustrated.

She was trying to write a letter to Luka to let him know that they'd arrived safely. He was her right hand man and their friends were most likely bugging him on whether he'd heard from her or not. She needed to give them an estimate on how well the whole thing was going but she barely had a feel for these people. She was pretty certain they wanted this alliance just as much as the Order did, but she didn’t yet have any idea what exactly they’d ask for.

She sighed and dipped her quill in her ink, maybe if she started the words would come.

Dear Luka

I hope you are well. How is everyone doing? How’s Alya and the baby? How’s Nino dealing with her pregnancy hormones? How’s she dealing with his overprotectiveness? Has Chloe returned from her mission? How did it go?

I miss you all, I hope everything is alright back home.

We arrived safely at the Gotham Royal family's Summer home. They have treated me with kindness and respect.

She took a breath. Should she tell him about Prince Damian? He would in all likelihood be the next Black Cat. He was her match. She didn’t know him, but the Destruction radiating off of him was on par with the Creation that followed her. As much as she didn’t want to replace- She shook her head, moving on was inevitable, she needed someone to rule by her side. She needed to tell her court the truth.

I met him. It all feels too soon after everything that happened last year. The Destruction coming from him was incredible. Plagg would kill me if I didn’t introduce them. Please have Pegasus deliver the ring when you receive my letter. He can deliver it to my exact location, I’ll explain things to any witnesses. I’ll disclose more information on who he is if he accepts my offer of the ring.

Yours sincerely,

Marinette

She tapped her chin with the end of her quill as she reread her letter.

A soft mew made her look up, sitting next to her little ink bottle was a beautiful calico, staring at her curiously.

“Hey girl,” she replied softly, holding out her hand, the cat sniffed it then pressed her cheek against Marinette’s hand. She scratched the cat's head softly, smiling.

“Her name is Legend,” a voice said from her doorway. She looked up and recognized Lady Stephanie standing in her doorway. She was about to greet her when the girl kept talking.

“Oh sorry, your door was open, I didn’t think it'd be a problem, we’re just pretty casual around here and it slipped my mind, Your Majesty,” she said, quickly, her hands gesturing as she spoke.

Marinette smiled at her, standing and placing her letter, book and quill on a nearby table, “It’s quite alright, Lady Stephanie. My court and I are quite similar to you that way, and please do call me Marinette,”

“Only if you’ll call me Steph,” she replied, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway.

Marinette saw the movement and invited her in. They sat at the table she’d put her letter on and she folded it as they made small talk.

She melted some wax onto her envelope and pressed it with the Miraculous Court's seal as she listened to Steph detail a story about the time she and Jason had snuck into the kitchen to steal some of the pastries before a big event when she’d first arrived at the castle back in Gotham.

“It seems you are all quite close,” Marinette commented after Stephanie wrapped up her tale.

“Yeah, we’re family, you know?” she replied. Stephanie wrung her hands together before meeting her gaze, “Can I ask you something?”

Marinette could feel the girl’s unease, so she tried to appear reassuring, “Yes,”

“Yesterday,” she started hesitantly, “In the throne room, the older man who came with you did most of the talking. I don’t know much about the Order of the Miraculous, but I was pretty certain you’re their leader but you didn’t really talk so...” she left the rest of the question unsaid, clearly hoping Marinette would understand hat she was trying to say.

She could tell the girl didn’t mean any disrespect, she was simply curious and she couldn’t blame her. So she gave her a smile, “Master Fu is my teacher, I’m still learning to lead and he’s helping me through everything, until my training is complete he makes the important introductions and still does a lot of the talking. I will be voicing my thoughts a lot more during negotiations though,”

Stephanie nodded slowly, “That makes a lot of sense actually,”

They spent the afternoon together and had tea in the garden.

Marinette was listening to Stephanie ‘s retelling of how she and Tim first met when she recognized Prince Jason heading towards them.

Stephanie spotted him too so she paused when he got close. Marinette nodded her head at him, “Your Highness,”

He nodded back, “Your Majesty,”

He sat down on the open chair at their table and Stephanie quickly continued her story.

She listened politely, but she was aware of the Prince who had joined them studying her discreetly, if she hadn’t been trained to notice, she would’ve missed it.

He noticed her noticing him and she was impressed by his ability to read body language. He, if her training was correct, was growing more and more curious about her by the second.

Somehow managing to miss the tension Stephanie kept telling her story.

“We were both so incredibly oblivious to the other’s feelings and denying our own. Months of pinning and so many misunderstandings. Apparently it was an incredibly frustrating debacle to watch,” she said laughingly, giving Prince Jason a pointed look.

He groaned, playing along and ignoring their silent sort-of conversation that had transpired earlier, “Don’t remind me, it was torture,”

They all laughed, and a comfortable silence followed.

Well that was until Tikki appeared and the other two almost fell of their chairs. She turned to her kwami and decided to explain later.

“Guardian, Queen Bee is attempting to contact you,” she quickly supplied, ignoring the two royal siblings who were staring in shock.

“Put her on, these two can be trusted,” she replied, sipping her tea.

Tikki put down a device on the table and the familiar image of Queen Bee appeared shining in the air in front of her, it was nothing new to Marinette but the other two stared in shock at the moving image of a blonde girl in armor unlike any they’ve ever seen.

“Bee, this better be important, you know how much it takes out of the kwami to do calls (a/n I’m not gonna figure out a new name for it, calls make sense sorry not sorry °3°),” Marinette said sternly.

Chloe looked grim but stood up straight, confident in her choice, “I’m afraid it’s rather urgent Guardian,”

Marinette felt chills, Chloe rarely looked that grim, it was even rarer for her to address her by her title, “Queen Bee, what is it?”

Chloe grimaced. She gave her a meaningful look softly replied, “It may bring back a few unpleasant memories, Mari,”

Oh

It felt as though the wind had momentarily been knocked out of her.

The familiar green eyes that haunted her at night flashed through her mind. Immediately followed by a darker, newer pair. She pushed both images away, she’d deal with that later, now Chloe needed her to be the Guardian.

Marinette took a deep breath and tightened her grip on her cup, “I can take it,”

“It’s Gabriel, he has the butterfly, he wants -,” Chloe swallowed, looking at Mari with pity, she lowered her voice, “He wants to bring him back, Mari,”

Her grip around her teacup was deadly, it was a shock it hadn’t broken yet. She was certain her knuckles and face were both as white as a cloud.

“I -,” her voice cracked and she took a deep breath, she was in the presence of strangers, she couldn’t break down, she pushed her emotions back and went into her Guardian mode, “Tikki add Carapace, Viperion, Tigress, Rena Rouge and Paon to the call. Now. I want it taken care of quickly,”

Chloe’s eyes widened, “Those are all our top warriors,”

“Like I said, I want this taken care of quickly,” Marinette replied briskly.

The others were quickly added and they all switched to the language of the Guardians. If the two royal siblings could speak French, her and Chloe’s previous conversation had already given enough away. Chloe explained the situation while Marinette quickly pulled herself together, she could fall apart later. Right now her Court needed her.

Carapace looked on edge and she knew why. Rena was on the call and she was pregnant, he was scared that she’d have to fight.

“Rena,” she said after Chloe finished explaining, all eyes turned to look at her, “You’re not fighting, but your strategizing capabilities are too valuable to have you sit out completely. You’re on the side-lines for this one,”

Carapace looked relieved and Rena nodded, understanding.

She looked at Viperion, while half her letter turned out to be written in vain, at least she could get this done quicker, “I need you to send Plagg and his ring with Pegasus as soon as you guys finish discussing details,"

She took a deep breath, "I found my match,”

(a/n did I totally just only put the prompt as part of a single paragraph? yeah i did. Do I have any idea where this is going? No i don't. Is the fact that I don’t listen to my outline and do whatever the hell I want gonna stop me? Nope, not at all)

(fr tho I’m just as surprised at this plot as yall are ngl, also, look at me doing a cliffhanger hehehe)

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb

#daminette #daminette december #i know it's taking long just gimme a chance fluff to come I promise there'll be some next chapter #damian x marinette #maribat #damian wayne #batfam #batman #jason todd #stephanie brown #I'm sorry i promise interaction I just need to set up some plot man #medieval au #a whelming chapter if I do say so myself #lol jk #hope everyone enjoyed and thanks for reading!! #utp writes

[tetsvya]

❛ pumpkin guts war! ❜

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  nothing ever seems to go smoothly when you’re surrounded by your favorite group of people, so why would you think pumpkin carving would be any different?

➼ pairing! karasuno vbc x manager!reader, a little ennoshita bias bc i adore him <3

➼ warnings! none

➼ type! fluff, reader is in their second year, takes place in october 

➼ author’s note! hi! this is my first time posting on tumblr and first time writing for hq so i hope this goes okay. i apologize beforehand if there are any mistakes or the characters are ooc, i'm trying to get the hang of them. anyways, this is a halloween inspired fic and i'm hoping to post some about some of the other schools as well! i'll probably link them at the end of this post if i can! anyways, happy halloween, stay safe, and enjoy this little treat! <3

It was very rare that the Volleyball Club had a day off, and it was even rarer when one of those days were dedicated to a team bonding activity. But it had been a rather long time since you guys had last had one, so with a little planning from you, Kiyoko, and Yachi, it was decided that the VBC would spend a few hours together, and instead of tossing a ball back and forth, it'd be spent carving pumpkins. That's how you found yourself where you are now, sitting on a tarp in one of the school's empty soccer fields, Ennoshita to the right of you and Tanaka to the left of you, Noya besides him, Narita across from you, and Kinoshita besides him. The third and first years were in similar circles on their own tarps a few feet away from you guys.

"Noya-San, what are you carving?" Hinata called from where he sat beside Kageyama, eyes only for the hyperactive second year. Noya shrugged nonchalantly, a cocky smirk turning up the corners of his lips as he cradled his pumpkin to his chest.

"It's a surprise, obviously!"

"Oh!" Hinata's eyes lit up at the prospect and, he too, pulled his own pumpkin tight against his chest as to shield it from anyone's searching eyes, "Mine will be one too, then!"

"Idiot!" Kageyama called from his spot beside Hinata, narrowing his eyes at the boy, "You're probably carving a volleyball!"

Hinata's cheeks grew red at Kageyama's words but that didn't stop the shorter boy from scowling at him, "Am not!"

The two began to bicker back and forth and you turned your attention away from them with a smile, averting your attention back to your own pumpkin that rested in your lap.

"He was so going to carve a volleyball" Ennoshita leaned in to whisper to you. You turned to him, laughing with a nod, and Ennoshita couldn't help but join in.

"What about you, Ennoshita?" You asked, leaning closer to peer at his pumpkin. While he hadn't got to actually carving the pumpkin yet, he had sketched a face onto the surface of it. A smile broke out on your face at the cute design, and you looked up to meet his eyes, "It's cute, Chika-Chan!"

Ennoshita felt his cheeks warm up at the sight of your bright smile, but he brushed it off with a laugh, leaning into you to peer over your shoulder. You moved quickly, though, jerking your pumpkin out of his sight before he could take a glance at it. Ennoshita's eyebrows shot up at your sudden movements, "What? I can't see your pumpkin?"

You shook your head, clutching it tighter to you when he tried to take another glance, "No! You have to wait until it's done!"

"Fine" The boy sighed, rolling his eyes at you as he leaned back, picking up a carving knife as he got to work on carving out the face of his pumpkin. You watched him for a moment longer, before glancing back at your own pumpkin. You picked up a marker, popping off the cap before bringing it up to your pumpkin. Unbeknownst to you, Ennoshita glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling to himself when he saw the concentrated look on your face. Your eyebrows were knitted together in concentration, and the tip of your tongue was poking out between your lips. The boy felt a nudge against his shoulder, and he glanced at Kinoshita who was sitting beside him. His fellow second-year winked at him with a knowing smile. Ennoshita rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop the blush from blossoming on his cheeks. Kinoshita let it go, turning back to his pumpkin with a smug smile. The next few moments were relatively calm. The low chatter coming from the others and your quiet hum that only the second years surrounding you could hear. The boys finished far before you, and the only time you looked up from your pumpkin was so you could look at their finished products. You complimented each and every one, and they all accepted your praise with a proud smile. They, in return, waited rather impatiently for you to finish your own carving.

"Done!" You called out finally, a bright smile on your face as you turned around your pumpkin to show the waiting second years.

"Wow!" Narita spoke first, eyes twinkling as he looked at your pumpkin, "It's really good!"

"Thanks!" You beamed as the others nodded along to their friend's words.

"Yeah, it looks gr—" Noya was cut short as Hinata and Kageyama's bickering grew louder and louder. Your eyes were instantly drawn to where all the first years sat, raising an eyebrow as you wondered just what they were fighting about now. The two continued to argue back and forth, and Tsukki regarded them with a bored stare as Yamaguchi stifled his laughs behind his hand. Yachi could only stare at the two hopelessly. You couldn't quite make out their words, but you figured Kageyama said something that really ticked off Hinata, if the orange-haired boy's next action was any indication.

It was as if time slowed down as Hinata reached down, scooping up some of the pumpkin guts that he had tossed into a bowl earlier. He pulled his hand back, and before you could even try and tell him not to, he flung his hand forward, the mess of orange pulp and pumpkin seeds flying through the air, heading straight for Kageyama. The setter had the foresight to duck down, however. You let out a breath of relief, tense shoulders dropping forward. However, that relief was short-lived when you realized just where the glop of pumpkin guts was heading now.

Daichi's laugh was cut short as the glob of pumpkin insides landed right on his head. He blinked once, twice, three times. Everyone seemingly held their breath, eyes wide as they stared at their captain. Daichi opened his mouth to say something, but promptly shut it when he felt the glop slowly began to droop down his head, inching lower and lower until it finally slipped off his head and landed in his lap with a quiet splat.

You could practically see the anger grow in Daichi's eyes and you made a mental promise to Hinata that you'd stop Noya from photoshopping him into some of those fake clouds because you were sure if Daichi didn't kill the boy himself, Hinata would die of utter fear and embarrassment. May he rest in peace.

When Daichi opened his mouth once more, you had half the mind to shut your eyes and cower away, not really wanting to see the captain's angry outburst, but before he could even utter a word, a boisterous and hysterical laugh broke through the tense atmosphere. Everyone's eyes were drawn to the source of the sound, and when you peered over Ennoshita's shoulder, your eyes landed on Suga. He was clutching his stomach, head thrown back as he laughed and laughed and laughed. You couldn't help but feel your lips twitch up at the sight, and Daichi turned to his best friend with narrowed eyes. He reached out, scooping up the pumpkin pulp that sat in his lap before launching it at the grey-haired boy. Suga's laugh was effectively cut short as the pumpkin guts hit him right in the nose. His mouth dropped open in shock before, he too, flung it right back at Daichi. Some of it hit the captain's shoulder, but the majority of it splattered against Asahi's chest. That was when all hell broke loose.

"Pumpkin guts war!" Noya rose to his feet, pumping his fist into the air before throwing the goop that he held in his other hand straight at Tanaka. The short-haired male gasped, narrowing his eyes at his chaotic counterpart before throwing an even bigger glob at Noya. Noya's eyes hardened before he grabbed his bowl full of pumpkin insides, throwing its contents in Tanaka's direction. The boy ducked, however, and instead, both you and Ennoshita were hit. Tanaka and Kinoshita promptly burst into a fit of laughs, clutching their stomachs as you and Ennoshita shared a look, a mental conversation being spoken between the two of you. You both then averted your attention back to Noya, who's own laughter stopped instantly.

Noya's eyes widened under the heat of both your's and Ennoshita's angry glares. He held his hands up in surrender as he scrambled back, "Uh, wait guys! I'm sorry, I didn't m—"

The boy was cut short as you dove at him, tackling him to the ground, "Now, Chika!"

Ennoshita picked up his own bowl of pumpkin guts before jogging over to where Noya was struggling from under you, smiling devilishly before spilling its contents all over Noya. You giggled, taking Ennoshita's hand as he held it out to you. He hoisted you back up to your feet, and the two of you dashed away from the angry libero who chased after the two of you. The war between the three of you raged on for a few minutes, with Tanka and Kinoshita joining in as well until the boys were eventually drawn into a fight against the first years. You took the moment to catch your breath, laughing to yourself as Hinata was struck right in the face by Tanaka. From the corner of your eye, you noticed someone standing a few feet away from you, and they were far too clean for your liking.

"Oi, Narita!" You called out sweetly, and the boy visibly blanched, tensing up at the sound of your voice. You giggled, before lurching forward, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"You're the worst" He groaned, accepting defeat as he stood still in your hold. He didn't have to see his back to know that he now had pumpkin all over him.

You laughed, hugging him tighter, "You love me!"

"Mhm," The boy hummed playfully, breaking out of your hold before turning around to face you. He smiled cheekily before reaching out, patting your head sweetly. However, you should have known that the gesture was anything but sweet. Your eyes widened and mouth fell agape as he broke out into laughter. The pumpkin guts that he had plopped onto the top of your head slowly began to slide down, before it eventually fell into a heap at your guys' feet. The two of you both glanced down at it before meeting one another's eyes, promptly bursting out into laughter.

"Ay!" Tanaka shouted, pointing at the two of you with a hard stare, "Get your asses over here and help us beat these losers!"

You and Narita shared a look before jogging over to the boy. The 'war' continued on for a few more minutes, the third years eventually ambushing all of you as Kiyoko stood a few feet away, not a single seed on her, as she watched with an amused smile as pumpkin flew back and forth, accompanied by joyous laughter.

"Well" A voice drawled cynically, and all movement stopped as everyone's eyes were drawn to the sound. There stood Tsukki, a sour look on his face as he scowled at all of you, arms crossed over his chest, "While I'm sure you guys had fun making complete fools of yourselves, I doubt you're going to have much fun cleaning up the mess."

His smug face soon had the entire group of you scowling at the boy, and without a second thought, you all turned your bodies to fully face the boy. The smirk was soon wiped from his face as he took notice of the mischievous looks in your guys' eyes, and he took a defensive step back, "What are you guys doing? I swear—"

"Now!" Noya shouted, cutting off the blonde. Everyone pulled their arms back before launching them forward, handfuls of pumpkin insides flying straight for the bespectacled blonde. Tsukki had no choice but to accept his fate, eyes wide as he stood frozen in place.

A beat passed before Tsukki blinked, glancing down at his clothes now covered in pumpkin guts. He blinked once more, a heavy sigh slipping past his lips before he lifted his head to meet everyone's eyes once more, "I hate you all."

"Oh, don't be such a Scrooge, Tsukki!"

"That's Christmas, you idiot!"

other halloween fics:

what’s new, scooby doo? - aoba johsai

scaredy cat - shiratorizawa

#haikyuu x reader #karasuno x reader #daichi x reader #ennoshita x reader #suga x reader #tsukki x reader #asahi x reader #tanaka x reader #noya x reader #kageyama x reader #hinata x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 20)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary:  This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: So, here’s hoping you guys don’t hate this lol. Really, thank you for reading, hope you like it, and I look forward to hearing from you guys!

Sorry for posting this kinda early (just as it becomes saturday lol) but I suck at scheduling on tumblr and I can’t upload it tomorrow today morning. Thank you for understanding!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​​ @toe-vind-ek-jou​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr​ @samsationalwilson​

“I haven’t gotten a chance to congratulate you in person.” Freydis tells you as you approach a smiling Valdís and a few other women from the apothecary.

You offer a side smile, “You could have earlier,” You point out, meaning her previous approach to the throne. “But you were too busy reminding Ivar of what rewards pain brings, so I understand.

She stops on her tracks, and you turn around with a raised eyebrow. She doesn’t deny it, you will grant her that.

For once, being the one with the knowledge, being the one certain and with solid ground under their feet; it feels like a small victory, you won’t lie.

“Don’t keep secrets from me, Freydis.” You warn her.

“Witch!” Valdís calls you over the ruckus of the ongoing feast, before ducking out of the way of an elder woman’s hit. The shieldmaiden smirks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I meant my Queen.”

You shake your head with a laugh, and when you approach the shieldmaiden stands. She embraces you before you can react, and how you almost don’t reach her chin makes you feel once again like you are in a land of giants.

“Congratulations, may the Gods bless you both,” She whispers, honest and caring and utterly motherly in that brash way of hers. “For the woman you are, witch, I don’t think there could be a better man. Nor a better woman for the man he is.”

“You seem sure.”

Valdís shrugs, as if the answer is simple, obvious to all.

“He’d step over a less prideful woman, but a dumber one would get killed before long,” She whispers, face close to yours and eyes knowing as she smirks, “You’d shake off the fool that tried silencing you, but would scorn the one that didn’t challenge you.”

You remember when Sieghild heard of your betrothal to Narses, how she told you to fight, to fight the men in Greece, to fight the notions they had of you, to fight Narses; and you how retorted he was a good man that loved you, and that you wouldn’t fight him. Your mother’s words from that day echo in your head, certain and prophetic, you wouldn’t give your love without a fight.

You only look at Valdís with a slowly growing smile on your face, before questioning, “You speak so surely, yet I’m the arrogant little witch?”

“Well, you are small.”

She laughs at your affronted expression, and with an arm over your shoulders guides you to the table where the other women you’ve come to know and care for sit, who congratulate you and bow their heads in greeting. Before long the conversation between the women continues on other topics, and you allow yourself to drink and laugh and forget you are supposed to feel chained.

When you return to Ivar’s side, you find his eyes trained somewhere behind you, and even a blind woman would know his gaze -and his thoughts- linger on the stranger that embraced you.

“Who was that?”

You sit at his side and thank a thrall that hands you a goblet of mead with a smile, before answering, “Valdís, a shieldmaiden. A…a friend.”

“I don’t recognize her.”

“But you do recognize Freydis.” You blurt out before you can trap the words behind your lips, and Ivar turns his eyes to you.

“The slave.” He states, but it is a question. You nod, and adjust in your seat, trying to rid yourself of the nervous energy.

“She’s beautiful, surely not easy to forget. You’ve seen her with me before, yet you never told me you knew her,” You insist, careful eyes watching over the ongoing feast. When Ivar stays silent, you turn your gaze to him and find him smiling at you, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

From his throne, Ivar leans towards you, his hand moving your hair out of the way and his mouth almost by your ear as he whispers,

“If I didn’t know better, wife, I’d think you are jealous.”

“But you do know better.” You bite out and Gods, even a deaf man would hear the truth behind your words.

____

You are escorted in a truly bizarre fashion to your now shared room with Ivar, but you write it off to being some Norse tradition you couldn’t for the life of you understand, and try only not to flinch when the door to the rooms closes behind the last of the warriors, leaving you alone with your husband.

For the first time since you arrived in this kingdom of cold and death, you allow yourself to look at the bed in the King’s rooms.

It looks warmer than yours, spacious and surrounded in dark wood posters, with a leather panel on top. Are those chains hanging over it?

“Wife.” Ivar calls, taking your eyes off the bed and stalling the panic that started to set in your heart. You are still wondering what the chains are for, though.

You turn to him, joining your hands in front of you so you can make them stop shaking. He only signals for you to approach him where he stands, and you hesitate for a moment before you do so, taking him in.

He is a handsome man, and ever since Aneridge, much to your chagrin, you have known you want him. Even after he has imprisoned you, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t wonder what it would take to have the Viking underneath you, or the different ways you could make his proud façade crumble. If only, at times, in fantasies when you can be the one in power, or in rarer ones when you imagined what he could do to try and make you surrender to him.

Gods, infuriating and terrifying a man as he proves to be, you want him, like you have wanted no other.

Still, your father taught you the first sign of a people enslaved and defeated is when they go willingly to their enemies’ temples, to their enemies’ beds. You refuse to admit that you willingly lay with the man that took you captive, that forced you to be his wife.

When you walk in shaky legs until you stand before him, he says nothing, but a hand on your shoulder makes you turn your back to him.

It is with awkward gentleness that he moves your hair to the side. Not the tenderness of a cruel man failing at pretending, no; but rather the uncertain one of a man that knows nothing but war.

His fingers start making quick work of the laces at the back of your dress, and hoping you can make him ignore the tremble of your breath at his touch, the goosebumps on your skin at the ghost of a caress that goes down your spine; you ask,

“W-What do you Vikings do?” He hums in question, and you explain yourself, “For…for a bedding ceremony, or whatever it is.”

“We just went through it.”

“Your people have a reputation. Forgive me for thinking the loosening of a dress seems…tame.”

Ivar chuckles at your words, lowering his head and closing his eyes for a moment. Few times you’ve been able to make him laugh, and you’ve counted and cherished each one, but you do realize there’s something different about this time.

He’s tense, uncomfortable. Uncertain.

“Will you make me lay with you?” You ask, startling yourself at the brashness. Ivar shakes his head, a guarded coldness taking over his expression as he steps away from you. Still, against your every instinct, you push on, “You surely don’t have any qualms about forcing yourself upon me.

The way he says your name, a warning and a threat all in one, it makes your breath falter. You’ve never heard your name on his lips like that, like the warning sound a cornered beast makes before striking.

But you will sooner die than let a man make you fear him. So, you press,

“You abducted me and forced me to become your wife, you’ve shown you care not for my freedom to make a choice. Your honor or your desire to have me want you to aren’t stopping you.

An honest and shame-filled part of you knows you are only being like this because you hate being reminded of how close to surrender you’ve allowed to come. Wanting the man that took you captive, softening your heart for the King that forced you to be his wife, letting yourself feel something for the monster that took you from your people and home...you have no choice left but to remind him -and yourself- that you are no willing wife, no enamoured maiden.

“I can’t.”

You lift your eyebrows, the simple words stealing all words from your head.

“What do y-…?”

“Useless legs and useless cock,” He interrupts, tone disdainful as he gestures to his own body, “Boneless. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors.”

You shake your head mutely, for it is true no one has spoken of them to you.

He shrugs, the movement forced and unnatural.

“Well, it does not matter, now you know,” Oh, but it matters quite a lot, you gather. Still, you will say nothing of it, partly because you truly don’t know what you are supposed to say. Ivar doesn’t seem to want any words either, for he gestures towards you, “It is late and you are tired, go change.”

Who would have thought your wedding night would be the one night you actually obey him. You slip past him quietly until you are behind one of the partitions, and hear the telltale sounds of him settling in a seat by the hearth at the side of the bed as you start untangling your hair from the crown of flowers.

Shaking fingers trace over the dying and bloodied petals, and the reminder that, through a cruel twist of Fate, your Gods were here with you today; it calms you, it comforts you. It makes a small and easily quietened part of you regret the outburst.

You shrug off the red dress and leave it carefully folded for the thralls to pick up tomorrow, and put on the thin nightgown that will do nothing to protect you from Kattegat’s cold.

Your return to the King and find him sitting, with his hand by his mouth clearly thinking about something. When he sees you, he gestures with his hand to the bed.

“You can go ahead and sleep,” He instructs, and you nod your head and, with heavy limbs, move to the bed. But he stops you before you can move far with a call of your name, “If you dare try to divorce me on grounds of me not sleeping with you, I-…don’t.”

“Could I?”

“I’ll kill you if you ever try.” He promises, and it is a threat not for a second you believe to be a lie.

You accept his words with a curt nod, and realize you hadn’t actually thought of that. Being able to divorce him, not him killing you, of course.

That should have been your first thought, the rope thrown over the side of the boat that could help you climb to freedom. But you didn’t think of that, you didn’t think that at all, and it frightens you, the possibility of not seeing opportunities to escape for something as fickle as…

Never mind that. You close your eyes and, after considering your next words carefully, you insist,

“You know you don’t need a cock to sleep with a woman.”

“I will not lay with another woman that cannot stand to even touch me,” He states without hesitation, and though a part of you is dying to ask the story behind the words he speaks, you bite your tongue. “That is not what I want.”

“What is it you want, then?” You ask, turning around. And for the first time you do not demand to know the answer, you don’t intertwine accusations with the question. Your eyes search his and your voice hushes, “What did you marry me for? What do you want from me, Ivar?”

“I wanted to keep you at my side, make you my wife.”

But you shake your head stepping closer before you realize what you are doing. Your voice is quiet, soft, true, as you ask,

“Tell me, please. What do you want from me?”

His jaw clenches, and you notice his hands stay stiffly grasping at the armrest of his chair. His eyes search yours and the vulnerability in them shatters at something within you.

“Kiss me.” He whispers. A dare, a command, a plea.

It is not an answer to your question. And yet, Gods, is as honest an answer as you could ever get.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a shaky exhale, but you still step forward, closer, with certain steps.

Ivar stays still, as still as a marble statue and you reminisce of those first days in Aneridge, and how you thought you could shatter him with but a flick of your wrist.

But the realization that he could do the same to you settles within you like a rock on your stomach. No wrath, no fury, no cruelty, no King may have been able to make you cave, but…the vulnerability in his expression, the longing in his voice, the feeling of being lost written in his eyes, Ivar; makes your walls crumble and your heart stutter its beat.

You search his eyes and with one last shaky breath you lean down and press your lips to his.

He stiffens under your touch even if it wasn’t unexpected, he lets you lead his mouth moving against yours even if today he kissed you in front of a whole kingdom.

And you think of how many times you wanted to be the one to kiss him. There’s no use for lying, not anymore, not to yourself.

You think of Aneridge, and the foreign man you met when you lived in that fantasy where neither of you had names or lives outside of the two of you; and you know that if you had caved, if you had felt his kiss, you would have followed that man to the end of the world.

You think of those weeks of living in a limbo, where you could pretend there was no escape and yet lived without the invisible binds that today he set upon you; and you know it was only pride and shame what kept you from admitting you felt unburdened.

You think of the time since the certainty of this being Fate has set upon you, of what laid beyond the endless fight against the titles he wanted you to accept; and you know even if it lacerates at your heart and defies your very nature, you have felt safe, free.

Ivar chases after your lips when you pull away, tilting his head as if unwilling to part from your kiss. His eyes open and meet yours, and you lean closer once again, and kiss him again.

Not because he made you, not because anyone made you, because you choose to.

And with your choice comes a truth. What was it the witch said? It is easy to choose, it is not easy to live with what the choice we made says about us.

When you part a second time, your forehead rests against his and your breaths are one for a few moments.

And with your voice a hoarse whisper, you confess,

“If you had asked, I would have said yes.”

____

So...thoughts? Hope you liked this, really hope I don’t dissapoint with my writing that drags on and on.

Btw, ‘bedding’ traditions in Viking Age Scandinavia, as far as I could find, centered around the couple being escorted to their rooms/bed. Hence, the ‘we just went through it’ dialogue line. There’s so many Viking wedding things (and almost as many Ancient/Byzantine Greek wedding things) that I wish I could have included, but alas, I already ramble a lot with my writing, I don’t wanna bore you.

Thank you for reading, hope you have a nice day/night! Ik this chapter is kinda short and kinda open-ended, but this tuesday as scheduled chapter 21 us up :)

Love you all! <3

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist

[aliendes]

Natural Borns - Chapter Nine

Banner by @thebannershop​

Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, smut (NSFW) 

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: cursing, vivid depiction of a panic attack do not read if this makes you uncomfortable, crying, blood, shitty medical descriptions (probably), depression, cursing, anxiety, forced medical practices? Restraints, mentions of unwanted sexual acts? I suppose just sadness, man. The next chapter is going to get pretty dark, and this one leads up to that, so beware.

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 7.1k~

A/N: Surprise!! Hi, I know this is early, but I had a productive week and felt inspired. I am so excited for like two chapters down the line, because there is a really sweet scene, that I can’t wait for you guys to read. Thank you for all the love, it means so much. Please like, reblog, comment so more people can see this series! I absolutely LOVE hearing from the readers of this series, and it is my favorite time of the week interacting with you, so please send me all the asks you want, I’m happy to answer questions about characters! You might learn a thing or two if you read those asks I answer ;)   ALSO: I’m less than 50 followers away from 1,000... which is... insane. I’m going to do a drabble/ask maybe request thing once I reach 1,000 so stay tuned!

xx

Jungkook’s eyes were panicked and Jin’s heart cracked at the sight, not remembering a time when Jungkook had been so passionate about something, the weight of his words settling in his own chest, “They took her.”

It’s dark and cold. Your eyelids are so heavy you don’t think you could open them if you tried. Your throat feels like the Sahara desert with how dry and scratchy it is, and your muscles feel like you attempted to run a marathon without stretching whatsoever. To put it simply, you feel like shit. But why?

The last thing you remember was sitting with Jungkook next to the small stream you found in the middle of the forest. Sharing your first kiss with him. The thought makes you smile mentally, taking your thoughts away from the searing pain you feel throughout your body. You’re not sure if you’re even awake right now, you can’t move any part of your body, nor can you open your eyelids. Were you in some sort of coma? No, there’s no way. 

Did you fall asleep? That must be the case, right? Maybe you were so dehydrated and exhausted you passed out. Jungkook would take care of you, though, so you shouldn’t worry. But then again, why do you feel like you’ve been hit by eight trucks and thrown off an overpass?

Your body feels like lead, it’s so heavy, and you almost feel like you’re sinking. Your body is floating, you feel no hard surface beneath you, like you might if you were laying on the ground, but at the same time it’s like you're slowly falling through quicksand. It’s like you’re weightless, but entirely too heavy all at once. Nothing is really making sense to you right now, all you know is that you’re in pain, and you really, really want to wake up and ask Jungkook what’s going on. Is he okay? Are you okay? Your brain calls out to him, but nothing happens. 

Your thoughts are cut short by a sudden sharp, shooting pain in your right arm. At least, you think it’s your right arm. You can’t be entirely sure, because it feels like your limbs aren’t quite attached to your body. You’re panicking, the pain is seeping through your veins, traveling to the rest of your floating limbs, connecting all your body parts together through a burning sensation that is one of the most unpleasant feelings you’ve ever experienced. You want to scream bloody murder, you want to open your eyes, you want to figure out what’s happening to you, but you can’t. You’re stuck in this dark abyss, unable to locate your mind or your body, unable to piece them together to become one being again. 

The pain is duplicated on your left side now, the same acid like burning sensation traveling up the left side of your body. You’re starting to feel whole again, but at what cost? Your arms feel like jelly, yet you still can’t move them. They’re burning, like fire, it hurts so bad. If you could, you’d be crying out for help. For Jungkook. For Jin, for anyone to help you. You need help! Your brain is screaming out to anyone, but no one can hear you. You can’t even hear you, you can’t hear anything. You don’t even know if there is anyone around. Did Jungkook leave you? What did you do to deserve this kind of torture? For the first time in a couple of days, you think about Mina and Woo, how they would help you if they were here. You want your friends, Seokjin, Namjoon, anyone. Please…

Jungkook walked close by Jin, never straying from his side, clutching onto his hand tightly, as the seven of them traversed the forest. He hadn’t fully stopped crying since he woke up, tears blurring his vision as they travelled, thoughts of you swirling through his mind. All he could think about was you, the kiss you shared, the way you made him feel. He felt responsible for you, he was the reason you got separated from Jin in the first place, right? He took off without making sure the elder was with you. If he had just stayed, or maybe charged his stupid phone so Yoongi was able to track you, maybe you’d still be with him. There were so many things he could’ve done differently. I feel safe with you. Those words engulfed his mind. He didn’t deserve your trust, he let you down, and he would never forgive himself for it. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this low before, ever felt such a horrible pain of losing someone. He never knew his parents, never really had anyone besides Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, and Tae, so to finally have that with you, and to have it all ripped away in a few short days, was excruciating to him. 

Once they realized they lost you, Namjoon urged them to push on, to make it to the outskirts of Seoul where they could come up with a plan. They hoped they still had Yeonjun on the inside, but they couldn’t be sure until Yoongi could get to a secure location to try and contact him. For all they knew, he could’ve given them away on purpose, though Namjoon liked to find the best in people, so he wasn’t completely sold on that idea. He was trying to keep a strong frame of mind for his group, he needed to be their pillar of support right now, make sure they were safe. But he was conflicted. Shouldn’t he have kept you safe, too? They accepted you as one of their own, told you that you could trust them, and now they’ve lost you. Namjoon felt horrible, like he should’ve been able to stop this, even though the logical side of his brain told him it was no one’s fault, really, except Big Hit’s. They were the only ones to blame in all of the unfortunate situations all of them have gone through. 

While Jimin and Taehyung had yet to meet you, they could sense the pain the others were feeling. Even Hoseok’s demeanor had changed, and he barely knew you. He knew the people he loved most, loved you, he could feel it, and the fact that they were feeling pain, was bringing him down as well. Jungkook and Jin were enraptured by you, so there must be something special about you. What little time he spent with you told him that much. Would he ever get a chance to get to know you better? He hoped so. Even for the boys who weren’t close to you, they all understood the pain that you were probably in right now, and understood what you were about to be put through. Especially Taehyung. He just got back from the torturous experiments and shitty conditions they kept him in, and he hoped he would never have to return to them. The fact that you were experiencing the same, or similar things to what he had just gone through, was heartbreaking to him. 

Once they were reunited, Taehyung clung to Hoseok and Jimin, looking to them for guidance and support, unsure of his feelings. He was so happy to be free of that place, but at what cost? Now they have you, an even rarer DNA makeup, he couldn’t imagine the things they would do to you. Sure, he didn’t know you, but he was an empath by nature, and was already feeling guilty over essentially switching places with you. His freedom for yours. It didn’t sit right with him, and so he was starting to slip, following Hoseok around like a lost puppy, a glazed look in his eyes. 

Yoongi was trying to stay focused on getting to another safe house, or somewhere he would be able to potentially help you. He can’t believe the way he’s treated you since you’ve come to stay with them, and he’s been beating himself up about it since you all left the warehouse last night. He made you cry, he hurt you. You probably hated him, or at least thought he was cold, cruel even. He didn’t want you to remember him like that. Despite his often icy exterior, he didn’t like when people viewed him as cold-hearted, and he was pretty sure that’s how you saw him. He wanted to make sure he had the chance to redeem himself, to get to know you, actually know you. He was determined to get you back.

But no one was more determined, more distraught with your disappearance, than Seokjin. Not only had he spent the most time with you, and gotten to know you the best, but it was so much more than that. He could feel himself falling for you, for your shy exterior, but your deep faceted personality, your stunning features, and that adorable pout you wore when he was tending to your injuries. He was falling for you, much like he fell for the others. Maybe even harder, and he was not prepared to lose you without a fight. Aside from his strong feelings for you, he could see that Jungkook, his other half, was in just as deep, and that cut him to the core. They could have had something so special with you, with the others, that they haven’t experienced before, and you were ripped away from them. Just when he could tell Jungkook was starting to open up and blossom into the person he always hoped he’d become, you vanish into thin air. That hurt more than anything, the what if. What would happen if you were still here? Would your relationship bloom into something beautiful? Even if they get you back, which they will, Jin tells himself, you won't be the same. They all know what happens in that lab, and they couldn’t even begin to imagine how much worse it will be for you, their first female. Jin shudders at the thought, catching the attention of his companion who is clinging to the back of his t-shirt. 

Jungkook looks up at his elder with wide doe eyes, still glassy from earlier events. When Jin looked down at him, the dam that he had been holding together with a string, burst. He stopped in his tracks, making Jungkook stop as well, looking panicked as he reached out to wrap his arms around Jin. They stood in the middle of the forest, clinging to each other tightly, silently mourning the loss of what could have been.

The others slowly started to realize what was happening, one by one, and all started to gather around Jungkook and Jin, no words spoken, emotions telling their story. First was Hoseok, placing a comforting hand on Jungkook’s back, and leaning his forehead against his shoulder. Next, was Jimin and Taehyung, each wrapping an arm around their maknae to support him as he sobbed. Then, Namjoon approached the eldest, wrapping him up in a tight back hug, placing gentle kisses against the back of his exposed neck. Last was Yoongi, he was hesitant to offer his comfort, because he didn’t feel like he deserved to comfort them, didn’t feel like he deserved any place in this with how awful he had been to you. But grief at watching his love's hearts break, eventually pushed him to move, reaching up to wipe Jin’s tears away gently, as his own started to fall. 

You blinked your eyes slowly, once. Twice. Three times. You felt the haze of the Sandman try to pull you under once more, but resisted with all your might. Even though you had no grasp on how long you’ve actually been asleep, your aching body told you it’s been too long. 

You let your eyes slip shut again, the appeal of unconsciousness dangling just within grasp. You almost let it take over you, but you persist, opening your eyes one more time, blinking tightly to try and remove any leftover sleep from them. When you finally manage to peel back your eyelids, all you see is white. 

Furrowing your brow, you try and turn your head to your right, but your neck feels like you haven’t moved in it decades, cracking under the pressure of movement. You let out a soft whimper from the back of your throat at the pain, but it sounds more like a growl with how low and gravely your voice is. You don’t even recognize it to be you for a moment, still uncharacteristically sleepy. 

When you finally manage to twist your head to the side, you’re just met with more white, and more confusion. You’re in what looks like a small doctor’s exam room, like the ones you would go to at your pediatrician’s office when you were a kid. Only this one was completely void of any color or those posters that tell you about puberty. 

White walls, white tile floors, white ceiling, a white table and chair in the far corner, and a white door. No windows, no sink like you’d usually find in a doctor’s office. The room closer resembled a holding cell at a prison than anything else. You try to sit up, but your muscles resist, instead shooting a searing pain from your shoulder down to your lower back, making you yelp in surprise. 

The pain made you feel more awake than you have since you opened your eyes, and for the first time, you really take in your surroundings, realization hits you. Where is Jungkook? Jin? Anyone? You sit up, ignoring the cracking of your bones, biting back the scream that wants to escape your throat at the feeling. You wince, trying to bring your hand up to rub at your face in any attempt to wake yourself up, you must be dreaming right? Only your wrist is snapped back to the bed, a loud metal clanking sound echoing off the walls. Your head snaps down, eyes widening at the sight of a leather cuff strapped to your wrist, connected by a chain to what you can assume is the slats of the metal bed frame you’re currently laying on.  

Looking over at your other wrist, you notice it is restrained in a similar way. Panic is starting to set in, your mouth slightly agape in fear, eyes comically wide as you frantically search for a way out of here. Your breathing is labored, you can feel that black shadow of anxiety creeping up your spine, bleeding into your throat and traveling into your nose, making it hard to take a deep breath. You’re suffocating, pulling at your restraints, you can’t inhale at all, it’s like someone is holding a pillow over your face. 

“H-help!” You try and scream, but it only comes out as a garbled cry with how little air you have in your lungs. Tears are streaming down your face as you start to thrash in the bed. This can’t be happening. They got you, they took you. Did they get Jungkook, too? What about the others? The thought is enough to send you into another spiral of panic, neck straining with the need to escape. They can’t be here, you led them away, right? But, that means they probably took Jungkook, too. Or worse. 

Your chest is heaving, soft whimpers escaping your throat as you attempt to take in any air your body will allow, when the white door to your room is thrown open, bouncing off the wall adjacent to it. The panic doesn’t stop, however, when you see who walks through the door. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, willing away whatever demons were bringing you this wretched dream. This can’t be real, you reason with yourself, it’s just a horrible nightmare.

“Pearl?!” Your father shouts, coming into the small room, another, shorter man, in a white lab coat following in behind him. You barely have any time to take a look at the other person in the room, as he preps a syringe, filled with an unknown substance that only makes your fear suffocate you further. “Pearl! Can you hear me, Pearl? It’s me, it’s dad!” Your father is kneeling next to your bed now, as the strange man approaches you, needle in hand.

“N-no!” Your high pitch scream startles both men, piercing their ears as you let out a wail when the man approaches you, stabbing the needle into your bare thigh. “N-no -n-no!” your voice wavers, stuttering to a complete silence, as your body falls back against the cardboard-esque mattress. Your breathing is evening out, eyes half-lidded as your brain feels like it’s floating. You aren’t asleep, no, just floating, peaceful even.  

“Is she out?” you faintly hear your father ask.

“No, sir,” another voice sounds off, “it’s just a sedative. It’ll wear off in about an hour, but I don’t expect her to be in much better condition by then.”

You can hear them, though it kind of sounds like they’re underwater. Focus, YN, you tell yourself. Listen to what they’re saying. In your dazed state, you can’t really remember why exactly you should be listening, just that you should be listening. 

“Are you going to keep her here?” You could hear your father ask, his voice sounded… strained? Your hazy mind was confused by the pained tone of his voice. 

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry,” the second voice sounded professional, yet there was a hint of regret to his tone, “that was part of the deal.”

Deal. What deal? Your foggy mind tried to hold on to that piece of information, but you were in and out of consciousness, your body felt like it was floating. The next time you regained consciousness and were able to decipher the voices again, you only heard one. 

“Yeah, she’s here,” it was the second voice, the one you hadn’t recognized before, “no, I don’t.”

It sounded like he was speaking to someone, but you didn’t hear a second person anymore. You definitely didn’t hear your father.

“Look, I don’t have much time. They suspect me, but they haven’t done anything yet, though I’m expecting it soon. Yeah. I’ll try.” 

You loll your head to the side, unable to do much to hold it up. You felt heavier than you did when you woke up the last time, but you were able to open your eyes slightly to catch a yellow haired man talking into a phone. “You really need to get here soon,” his back was to you, but you could hear the urgency in his voice. He lowered his voice when he spoke his next words, “They’re getting ready to run tests, you know how-” he cuts off abruptly, pausing for a second, “I can’t Namjoon.”

Namjoon? Your brain was feeling more alert at the mention of his name. Faintly, you could hear the yelling of another voice coming through the phone speaker.  Was that really Namjoon? You were about to use all your strength to sit up and ask the young man, when the door slammed open again, another man in a white coat entering the room. The yellow haired guy immediately shoved his phone into his pocket, turning around, wide eyed. 

“Yeonjun,” the second man addressed the yellow haired one, he sounded a bit surprised, “Soomin has been looking for you.” Yeonjun, you supposed, bowed slightly, walking out of the room quickly, but not before he sent you a worried look from behind the second man’s back.

You still couldn’t move much, bones and muscles feeling like gelatin, but when the man in the white lab coat approached you, you tried to sit up and scoot away from him. It didn’t take a genius to realize exactly where you were, now that your state of mind was a little clearer. The fact that your father was here, and seemed to know exactly why you were here, only confirmed what Namjoon told you a couple nights ago. It must be the drugs doing their job, because you weren’t feeling the panic and anxiety that was suffocating you earlier. You felt a little more clarity about where you were and what was happening to you, even though you were no less scared. 

As you tried to back up against the wall, your right wrist tugged on the chain, preventing you from moving any further. The man didn’t care, though, as he continued to close in on you, eventually settling for sitting on the end of your bed. He was way too close to you for you to feel comfortable at all. You pulled your knees to your chest with all the strength you had left in you, even though you couldn’t hug them like you wanted too, you tried to make yourself as small as possible. 

“Miss Y/L/N, do you know where you are?” The man asked, his voice low and placating. You didn’t trust him, something felt off about him. You squint your eyes at him slightly, shaking your head. He takes a deep breath, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re at a testing facility for natural borns,” he begins with a smile, one that you can see right through, “we brought you here because your family sold your rights to your DNA. I’m sorry to break the news to you like this, but it will help you cope in the long run. I know it’s a lot to handle, and so we have therapists on staff to work with you-”

“I don’t believe you.” Your voice is so rough you hardly recognize it. You give one of your chains a quick tug to prove your point. You don’t miss the way his eyes flash with anger, only momentarily, before he steels his features, and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, rubbing his chin with his hand, “the restraints were for our safety. We didn’t know how you would react once you were awake, but I promise we aren’t always like this, in fact, it’s actually pretty nice here once we get you set up in your own room.” The smile he wore was disgustingly fake, it was unnerving. Everything about him was unnerving. He must be a designer baby, one that borderlines the uncanny valley. He starts to reach his hand out to touch you, a creepy smile on his face that makes you want to scream, instead you shake your head quickly, making it known you don’t want him to touch you. He doesn’t care, though, instead his hand continues it’s path until it’s resting awkwardly on your ankle. It’s almost like he wasn’t human, but was trying to mimic the action of comfort that humans normally do. 

“Why am I here?” You ask quickly, your voice squeaky as you pull your foot from his grasp, eyes wide as you stare at him. 

“I told you, Miss Y/L/N,” he sighs again, like he was annoyed by your questioning, and pulls his hand back to his lap, “your family sold-”

“Why. Am I here.” You gritted your teeth, willing the tears threatening to break the dam, away.

“Miss Y/L/N,” his voice was suddenly more stern than before, turning in his seat to face you head on, “it’s better if you don’t ask questions. Things will be easier here for you if you accept it.” His words scared you more than he himself did, accept it? That’s what it came down to, right? You’re stuck here. You had no idea if you’d ever escape like the twins did, had no idea if the others even cared to get you back. 

You shook your head back and forth, dislodging some of you unshed tears, biting at your lips hard enough to draw blood. If you were stuck here, you at least needed one question answered. “Where is Jungkook?”

The man scoffed at your question, making your tears fall harder, “That boy? They left him in the forest. He’s no use for us here. Now, I have some things to go over with you.”

You sniffled hard, trying to stop the tears from flowing, as your focus wavered, not really listening to anything else he had to say. At least Jungkook wasn’t here, at least he had a chance of escaping. You could only hope that the others found him and he was able to get back to them. You didn’t know them very long, they would forget you soon enough. That was what you were going to hold on to if you had to be here. At least it wasn’t him. 

“Are you listening?” The man asked, more aggressive than before. Your head snapped up, tears still falling, as you looked him in the eye again. He lets out another sigh, standing up from the bed, “You’re going to be administered medication three times a day. You already had your first dose this morning when you were brought in, and someone will be by shortly to give you your second. It’s very important that you eat the food they give you with it, otherwise your body won't be healthy enough for testing. You’re very valuable to us here, so if you don’t take care of your body, someone else will, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” He gives you one last fake smile before turning and heading for the door. You watch him with a furrowed brow, tears flowing like a river down your face. He turns around, hand on the doorknob, “And YN, dear? Welcome to Big Hit.”

You’re not sure how long you were left alone in that insanity inducing white room before someone came back, you were too lost in your own thoughts, unable to self-soothe, due to your hands being chained to the bed. You sat as close to the wall as you could get, knees pulled to your chest as you sobbed into your knees. By the time you heard the door creak open, you were nearly out of tears, devoid of any emotion, other than hopelessness, maybe.

“YN?” A woman’s voice called out. It sounded sweet, but you knew better. You didn’t lift your head, didn’t acknowledge her at all. She huffed a little when you didn’t respond, walking into the room and closing and locking the door after her.

“YN, dear,” she said again, wheeling over a metal cart to your bedside, “you need to eat something.” She set a tray of something down on the small desk in the room, but you didn’t bother to look at it. You could smell it from here, and it didn’t smell appetizing.

When the woman realized you weren’t going to speak, she came over and sat on the edge of your bed, as far away from you as possible, as if she was afraid of you. Like I could do anything, you scoffed, mentally. 

“YN, I know you’re upset,” she sighed, “but if you don’t eat, dear, they’re going to force feed you, or worse, run a tube through your nose.” You perked up at this knowledge, head tilting to the side slightly, but still not looking at her. “I’ve seen them do it plenty of times to patients. You need to be healthy, darling.” She sounded kind, older, wiser than you. But you didn’t care. Why would you care if you were healthy? For all you knew, you could die in here. Then what was the point of eating at all? Maybe it would be better if you starved yourself to death instead of whatever horrors they were going to put you through.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” You surprised both the nurse and yourself when you spoke, your mouth betraying your brain. Your voice was even scratchier than before, and you sighed at the sound. 

“Didn’t Dongin tell you, darling?” Dongin, that must have been the white lab coated man from earlier. Did he tell you? You honestly couldn’t remember. You spaced out halfway through what he was saying, thoughts only on Jungkook. You decide that no, he didn’t, and you tell the nurse as much. “YN, you’re here for donations. I would’ve thought your father told you that long ago?” She sounded puzzled, like she didn’t really even know what was going on here. 

You looked up at her for the first time since she walked in, shocking her with the dead look in your eyes. You decided to play her to your advantage, maybe she really didn’t know what was going on.

“Tell me what?” You asked,as innocently as you could muster. 

The woman furrowed her brows at your, reaching out a hand to place on your leg. You flinch away from her, making her pull back instantly. Maybe she was kinder than the rest. No, you can’t let yourself believe that. “Darling, you were born here. The company was taking back what was theirs in the first place. Not that I agree with that, or anything, but you know how these big pharmaceutical companies work. All about their money.” She rambled on, her tone almost disbelieving that you didn’t already know the things she was telling you, but you didn’t feel like you had any answers to your questions. You only had more questions. Taking back what’s theirs? 

“What do you mean, ‘what was theirs’?” You straighten your legs out a bit, knees popping and cracking as you do. You bring your hands as far into your lap as you can without straining them against the cuffs. 

The nurse was looking even more confused than you felt, pinching her brows together tightly and pursing her lips. “I - I don’t think I should be telling-”

“Soomin!” A man, the yellow haired one from earlier, bursts through the door, cutting the woman off and making her jump at least a foot in the air in shock. Turning around quickly, Soomin stands and bows to the man before scurrying out of the room, bowing one last time for good measure, before she’s gone. The young man runs his hand through his hair, huffing a breath of air as he closes the door behind him. 

“YN-” he rushes over, dropping to his knees in front of you, frightening you into backing up as much as you could again, on the defense, “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise. At least not on purpose.” He was talking so quickly you could barely keep up, “My name is Yeonjun, and I work with Namjoon and Yoongi for an organization that helps natural borns. I’m the one who helped Jimin and Tae escape yesterday, and I think the company is starting to catch onto me.” He takes a deep breath, looking over his shoulder quickly and then back at you, “I need you to listen to me, okay?” 

You nod, slowly, still not exactly following the frantic man.

“That nurse is going to come in here in about fifteen minutes to administer hormones to you,” you furrow your brow at this new information. Yeonjun must sense your confusion, because he quickly explains, “They’re trying to harvest your eggs, YN. They’re trying to use your DNA for new experimental designer babies,” he shakes his head, a look of disgust written on his face, “it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you take the hormones, and you eat. I know, I know you don’t want to, and I’m not going to lie to you, it’s going to hurt.” You wince at his words, and he softens his gaze, pursing his lips, “I’m sorry YN, but the only way I’m going to be able to get you out of here, is if you play along. They have to believe that you’re complacent before they’ll move you to a less secure area of the building. I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to move you, so I need you to play along to speed up the process, but I will do my best to deter them from… experimenting on you, for now.”

Yeonjun looks uncomfortable as both his hands grip the side of the mattress. “E-experiment?” You aren’t sure you want to know what he meant by it, but you’re sure you’ll regret it if you don’t. 

He sighs, looking sideways for a second, not wanting to look you in the eye. “It takes a long time to successfully create an embryo in a lab…” he trails off, still looking anywhere but your face, “it’s relatively… quick, in a human body.” He coughs, clearing his throat as he looks back up at your mortified face. 

The weight of where you are and what is going to happen to you here, suddenly hits you. It’s like a giant wave, crashing on top of you, pulling you under water, trapping you on the ocean floor. Your throat felt like it was closing again.

“YN, look at me,” Yeonjun begged, and you obeyed, trusting this man before you, “I’m going to do everything I possibly can to keep that from happening, but you have to comply with them, or it’s going to make it harder for me to do that. Okay? Do you understand?” You were breathing heavily, eyes blinking rapidly, but you nodded your head at him, gulping as you did.

“B-but, why? I- I don’t understand what t-the nurse said,” you stuttered, still desperately trying to suck in a decent breath of air, “what did s-she mean?”

Yeonjun looks conflicted, but answers your questions anyways, “I don’t have the entire story, but what I do know is that your dad used to work here. I guess he still kind of does, in a way? But from what I have heard, him and your mom struggled to have a baby…” he trailed off, like he really doesn’t want to answer your question. He’s staring at you with furrowed brows, like he’s trying to get a read on you, trying to determine if you’re mentally aware enough to hear this information. 

“The company agreed to… help, on one condition. You were still their property, and when you turned eighteen, you were to come back to the company. You were one of their experiments, YN.”

Your mouth drops open slightly at his words. You weren’t sure what you felt, sadness… anger? Were you not a natural born? Did you go through all that torment in school, in life, all for nothing? You were actually one of these God forsaken designer babies, forced to live a life of secrecy, and for what? To be bullied into a crippling depression? Your mind was reeling with this new information, you had no idea what you were supposed to do with this. 

“So I belong to them?” You blink your eyes tightly a few times, trying to hold back tears, unable to rub at your eyes like you want. You pull slightly at your chains, letting out a broken sob. “I-I’m one of them?” 

Yeonjun sighs, shaking his head and looking up at your watery eyes. “I’m sorry, YN, I wish I had more information about what exactly you are, and I wish I could have told you this under better circumstances. The goal was for Namjoon and Yoongi to bring you to the safe house so they wouldn’t be able to take you, but obviously that didn’t work out.” There was remorse in his words, but no anger. He understood it wasn’t their fault, or yours. It was this horrible company's fault. They were the only ones to blame. 

��I have to go, YN, I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he stood up. He placed a hand gently over your head, stroking your hair back once before turning to leave. “Please, listen to them. For now. I’m going to help you, I promise.” 

You look into his eyes one last time before he nods once, leaving the room, locking it behind him. No longer do you have the distraction of conversation to sate your mind. Now you’re free to spiral into the dark depths your brain created for you. 

Your parents have been lying to you for your entire life. Were they really even your parents? Could you trust them? Your father did seem conflicted when he was here earlier, almost like he didn’t want to leave you here. What Yeonjun said circled back in your mind. They were only supposed to have you until you turned eighteen. But you were twenty three now. Had they been the ones keeping you from Big Hit? 

You thought back to that fateful morning only a few days ago, when your father met with Hyunwoo. Was he telling him to leave you alone, would he have protected you, did you screw yourself over by leaving with Namjoon and the others? 

The others. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to them. Were they okay? You hoped so. You could only hope that they were able to get out of that forest, and finally able to reunite with one another. You hoped that Seokjin and Jungkook wouldn’t blame themselves for you being taken, though knowing what little you do know of them, they probably would. Your heart ached for them. You’ve come to care about them so much in the past few days, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said a part of you didn’t hope they would come for you. 

You heard Yeonjun on the phone earlier, though the memory was a bit fuzzy. He did tell them to come here, and even though you wished they would help get you out of here, a larger part of you hoped that they would stay away. They had a chance to be away from this place, once and for all. All of them, together. You didn’t want to stand in the way of that. 

Lost in your thoughts, you startled violently when the door to the small room opened again. It was the nice nurse from earlier, Soomin? When she shut the door behind her, she tsked at your pitiful sight. Still curled into the smallest form your restraints would allow, dried tear tracks staining your face. 

Taking a wash cloth from her little cart, she walks over to you, holding it up as a way of asking for permission. You remember Yeonjun’s words from earlier, and nod your head in acceptance. 

Soomin sighs, wiping the tears from your face, “You’ll be able to take a shower and get cleaned up once we get some food in your and you take your meds, okay?” You nod as she continues to clean your face. 

When she’s done, she brings the small plate of food over to you, setting it on the bed in front of you. Carefully, she feeds you the oatmeal and fruit, and while you would normally protest, not wanting to eat, fearful that you’ll just throw it right back up, you’re mindful of what Yeojun said. You need to be complacent. What could happen if you weren’t, was so much worse than having a nice older woman spoon feed you breakfast foods. 

After you finished off the fruit, Soomin went back to her cart, putting on gloves and setting up what looked like syringes and tiny glass bottles, holding some kind of liquid. You wince as she picks up one of the needles, bringing it to the tiny bottle, and pulling the liquid out.

“Lie back for me, YN,” she says sweetly, walking back over to the bed. You look at her hesitantly, fear in your eyes. You’ve never liked needles, always been afraid of them. “It will only hurt a little, okay, dear?”

You shut your eyes tightly and nod, just wanting to get this over with. Laying back on the brick like pillow they provided you with, you try to relax into the similarly firm mattress. When Soomin lifts your shirt gently, you jump, definitely not expecting her to touch you there. “W-wait!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “W-wait, p-please! Where are you putting that?!” You whimper, not wanting her to touch you further.

Soomin backed away for a moment, looking at you like you were a disobedient child. “Darling, it’s just a shot. It’s going to go in your lower stomach, I have a few of them.”

You shake your head, eyes filling with tears as you try and sit up, “No, please, don’t” you beg, wrists pulling at your restraints harder now.

“YN, dear, please calm down,” she shushes you, walking closer and placing a hand on your stomach, holding you down slightly, “it will be quick, okay?”

You let out a sob as she brings up the cotton pad to clean your skin for the injection. She does it on both sides of your belly, before cleaning on a small patch on your outer thigh, as well. You let her, though your body is trembling in fear as she does it. Your brain is instantly transported back to the searing pain you felt earlier when you were in your coma state. Is that what you were about to feel again? Before you could think too deeply about it, you feel her gloved hand on you again, causing you to jolt.

“Deep breath,” she says, before you feel a sharp pain in your stomach, making you jerk up and cry harder. Soomin pushes on your stomach with her free hand, holding you still. The searing pain from before flushes through your veins, not as intense as before, but hot, like the blood in your veins is boiling.

Your entire body is shaking with sobs by the time she finishes, not bothering to clean up the small drops of blood pooling at the entrance wounds. Maybe she isn’t as kind as you originally thought. 

You feel violated. You weren’t able to stop it, to defend yourself. Even though it was only a shot, only some hormones, you felt completely stripped of your rights. That experience really solidified to you that you are nothing more than property to them, a doll, to do with what they please, and that thought breaks you when you remember Yeonjun’s words again today. You have to comply. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours for your next round, dear,” Soomin says as she finishes up with your leg and leaves you. You lay flat on your back, staring at the ceiling with no emotion in your eyes, but oceans of tears falling from them. You let your eyelids slip shut after a few minutes, but you’re never able to fully fall asleep. 

To be continued...

A/N: thanks for making it all the way to the end, I’m so excited to write the next couple of chapters, ahhhh!! xx

taglist:  @mrsstilinski96 @sammiilynn10192  @minifruity  @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz @chim-possible @kooksremedy @irishhbamb​ @sugashaye​ @lovelyseomin​ @strawberrygatorade @kookiebbyxx​ @itneverends15713 

ok i updated tags, but some still wouldn’t let me tag!! tumblr has been doing me dirty these last couple of weeks, so please REBLOG to people can see this

#bts x reader #bts angst #ot7 angst #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #bts smut #cypherwritersnet

[mypassionfortrash]

KICKS (part one)

Roger visits the seediest shop in London in search of a kinky Valentine’s day gift for his girlfriend. He thinks he’s a great lay and he thinks he’s seen it all. He’s also dating one of the sexiest women in the country. It should be a recipe for sexual heaven for Roger, but he soon realises he has a lot to learn, and he keeps coming back to Kicks for more than just the odd ball gag or leather collar!

Warnings: Strong D/s themes later on. STRICTLY 18+. Notes: I said I’d post this in one go, but I lied. I’m gonna post it in parts because I love it. As always, feedback is much appreciated. If you like this, then please, for the love of all that is holy, reblog it (I am begging)! And if you’d like to be tagged, please just send me a message. Thanks for reading!

Tag list: @jennyggggrrr @sarahgurl09 @scorpiogemini @johnricharddeacy​ @brianssixpence​ @hellohellothere12

Valentine’s day was always hectic at Kicks, despite the locals being loathed to admit that they satisfied their fiendish fancies there – even for a few days of the year. 

And for you, it meant working overtime to guarantee that the merchandise looked as tantalising as ever. It gave you the chance to let your creativity run wild, but you couldn’t go overboard with latex-clad, strap-on wearing mannequins in the front window. After all, the locals were still prudes.

While you were busy in the stockroom, filling a box of dildos for distribution, the bell above the front door chimed. It was a Wednesday evening. Things were winding down for the day. And you had assumed you’d be undisturbed until closing time. 

Evidently not. 

Your eyes rolled. “I’ll be through in a minute!”

“No need, take your time!”

When the cardboard box at your feet was brimming with rubber dongs and silicone schlongs, you hauled it up into your arms. But, you instantly bemoaned the decision to pile it so high that your arms buckled and you could barely peer over the top of your haul as you made your way back on to the shop floor. All you could see was a tuft of blonde hair lingering around the section of the store that housed every restraint under the sun.

“Are you alright?” the customer asked, scurrying into view.

You dumped the box on the cash desk and huffed, planting your hands on your hips. “Yep, yep, just fine. Just overextended myself.”

You turned to the customer to see a childish smirk peeking from the corners of his mouth. He was dying to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. After all, he had partied with strippers, witnessed wild drug-fuelled orgies and all kinds of debauchery. But here he was, like a naughty teenager in a sweetshop. Roger had never, ever, been in one of these kinds of shops before.

“Can I help you, handsome?” you pressed.

Roger snapped back to reality with a look of faux seriousness. His hand crept beneath the collar of his half-buttoned shirt to press against the curve between his neck and his shoulder. “Oh, yes. Yes. I’m… I’m looking for something to maybe tie my girlfriend up or something. For Valentine’s day, you know? Show her a good time.”

You found his meek facade quite endearing. Most customers had that look about them, but somehow, you expected more from the gregarious drummer of a rock and roll band. “Well,” you began, flinging out your arms. “You’ve come to the right place.”

Roger responded by diverting his gaze to his feet with an eye-crinkling smile.

You emerged from behind the cash desk and gave Roger’s arm a light slap. “Come on over and I’ll show you some of my wares.”

He trailed behind you like a shy little puppy, fumbling his hands in front of his body. “We haven’t really tried this before so I don’t know…”

“That’s ok,” you said, eyeing the wall of restraints for something to show him. You knew full well that Betsy Bright, darling of the Pirelli Calendar, coupled with Queen’s most desirable member, were destined for dirty escapades in the bedroom – even if they hadn’t got around to it yet. And they had to start somewhere.

“W-what about these? These look nice,” Roger mumbled. He held up a set of heavy-duty leather ankle and wrist cuffs for you to inspect.

“How does your girlfriend feel about all of this?” you asked.

“I don’t really know. Honestly, this was just a whim. I’ve already got her some nice knickers. Fred’s been in a couple of times. Joked that I might find something in here.”

That was a typical man response that you’d probably hear a thousand times throughout the Valentine’s frenzy and the annoyance you felt was palpable. Roger edged the cuffs back on to the display.

“Yeah, those might freak her out,” you remarked. “That’s like gifting a virgin a 14-inch dildo and no lube, and telling them to take it in ten minutes.”

“Noted.”

“Why don’t you start…” you said, trailing your hand over the display until you found what you were looking for. “With these?” You held up a set of satin straps for Roger to gaze at. “Much less intimidating. Really versatile. And they come in all kinds of colours.”

Roger took them and allowed the material to fall through his fingertips. “These are nice,” he said, dipping into the bag of department store goodies that hung from his wrist. When he lifted his hand, a whisper-thin, bottle green g-string dangled from his index finger. “Got any to match this?”

“Betsy Bright’s gonna look fantastic in those,” you said, handing him another set of straps.

He couldn’t meet your gaze and the flush of pink that spread from his chest to his jaw gave away even more of his embarrassment. “I hope so,” he said quietly.

“I can throw in a blindfold and a nice little scarf gag for an extra tenner if you want?”

Roger’s eyes were elsewhere; they darted around his surroundings with a coy curiosity. “That sounds great.”

“Do you want me to ring these up for you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, trailing behind you.

You could feel Roger’s eyes on you as you rang his kinky starter pack through the till and bagged them up for him. Every time you moved, his eyes moved with you. But when you looked up, he quickly looked away, towards the box of dildos beside you. “That’s twenty quid please,” you said, handing him his bag.

He gave you the money from his shaking hand and returned his eyes to the box. Intrigue got the better of him and made him pick up the biggest toy in there. He marvelled at it, turning it in his hand.

“Think you could manage it?” you smirked.

His face reddened again. “Oh, I’m… I’m just… could anyone?”

You nodded slowly with your eyes bulging from your head and a scowl on your lips. 

“I’d hate to be the poor woman whose undercarriage gets wrecked by that,” he mused. “How could anyone… Look! I can’t even get my hand around it.”

“Patience and a lot of lube.”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he looked at you again. “Have you? How did you… what?”

You giggled. “No! God no. But it’s possible. I think you’re curious, now though, aren’t you? I reckon you could take that if you really stretched yourself.”

The dildo was dumped back in the box in protest. “No,” he whispered, furiously shaking his head.

“I think you’re more interested than you’re letting on, but that’s alright. I won’t tell.”

“I’ll stick to sticking my dick in things. Rather than having things stuck in me. If that’s alright.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Whatever tickles your pickle!”

“I’m a great lay by the way. I’m just throwing that out there.”

A sarcastic chuckle escaped your lips. “Bet you’ve never found the g-spot.”

Roger leaned on the cash desk, screwing up his beautiful features, eager for you to impart your wisdom. “Sorry, what?”

One week later…

Rounding the corner, the morning sun sparked a blazing path before you. Beautiful, boring shopfronts blurred past you as your speedometer approached 60. Double the speed limit, but opening time was drawing closer by the second. 

Never in your time at Kicks had you been late. And you weren’t going to let that happen today.

Turning the throttle, the needle spiked at 70, and then steadily eased as the shop came into view. 

When your bike came to a stop opposite the shop, you hesitated for a moment, thanking your lucky stars you decided to don a visor that day. A customer paced back and forth, but you couldn’t see their face from that far away. It was rare to find customers pounding the pavement, waiting for the doors to open. Rarer still when that customer turned out to be Roger Taylor – again.

Whipping off your helmet and crossing the street, you caught Roger’s eye. Stopped in his tracks, he struggled to fight back a broad grin. And the way his eyes strayed.

You didn’t look at him when you slipped your key into the lock. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite customer! How’d Miss Pirelli get on? She like getting tied up?” You pushed the door open and switched on the lights. Roger followed.

“I’m not sure,” he said, scratching at the undersides of his arms as he wandered into the middle of the shop – and tried not to touch anything.

Weaving in and out of the group of catsuit-clad mannequins in the front window, you stopped and narrowed your eyes at Roger. “What do you mean: you’re not sure?” you asked, pulling up the blinds. “Don’t you talk?”

“Sure, as soon as I’ve spaffed my load down her tits and we’re lying there all sweaty and exhausted, I just... just turn to her and ask,” he paused, lowering his voice and pressing his hand to the side of his mouth, “darling did you like those silk ties and how was the little feather duster I tickled your fanny with? Sure!”

You shook your head and wandered over to Roger. “So you don’t do a thorough post-match analysis? How on earth do you communicate? Jesus Christ, Roger!”

“I think she liked it! Ok?”

“So you’re back for that monster cock you saw last week?” you asked with fake glee.

Roger crossed his arms and jutted out his hip. “No, actually.” As quickly as his face clouded over with indignation, it dropped even more into a serious gaze. “I was hoping you could give me some advice.”

You seemed to understand that this was unusual for Roger and that he wasn’t exactly used to opening up like this. “Coffee?”

He perked up ever so slightly, his arms dropping down by his sides. “Coffee.”

Roger followed you on your way into the back room, but he lingered just at the door and watched you make the coffee. 

“I’ve got some chocolate digestives if you want some. You know, in case you need to eat your feelings,” you joked.

“Wouldn’t say no,” he laughed. “I don’t think I’m quite at that point just yet.”

“Right,” you began, thrusting Roger’s coffee into his hand on your road back to the shop floor. “Tell me all of your woes, drummer boy.”

You and Roger hauled yourselves on to stools on opposite sides of the cash desk. He looked down, staring into the cup in his hands. And then he looked up. “Actually I think I will have a biccy, please.”

Without a word, you plucked a single chocolate digestive from the packet and slid it towards him like a seedy bartender. But you kept your finger on it when he tried to take it. 

He shot you a frustrated glare.

“A moment on the lips and all that,” you quipped, “I’ll give you this if you tell me what’s bugging you.”

Roger puffed out his cheeks and maintained eye contact with you – he looked like he was begging, but you wouldn’t budge even with his fingers planted on the outer edges of the now melting chocolate biscuit.

“Come on. That layer of chocolate’ll be long gone before you’ve ‘fessed up!”

“This is weird, talking to someone I don’t even know about it.”

You shrugged. “I sell naughty tapes to sweaty old men and rubber dolls to greaseballs with bad breath – and I have to smile about it. Trust me, this isn’t the weirdest thing that’s going to happen to me today. Spill the beans.”

Roger tilted his head to the side with a coy smile. He wasn’t sure where to begin or how to verbalise his feelings on the matter. “Ok. So last week went well. I think she liked it. And I think she wants more of that but…” Roger trailed off. His eyes darted in the air as if he was reading from a script he had tried to commit to memory. But he was lost.

“Right, eat that,” you instructed, letting go of the biscuit.

Roger took it, dunked it in his coffee and took a bite. “It’s just,” he began through his mouthful, “it didn’t feel right for me.”

Even if you hadn’t the foggiest idea what Roger meant by that, you still made a good show of pretending that you did, nodding and dishing out an understanding, “Ah, I get you. Takes a bit of getting used to.”

Roger was dunking the other half of his biscuit when he continued. “I just didn’t feel comfortable with it, you know? I like sex. Love sex. But I felt like I’d rather have all of that done to me. And it just gets really tiring when she expects me to… perform... all the time. She wants me to pull her hair and put my hands around her neck… spank her. And I don’t know how to feel about that.” Roger finished pouring his heart out by lifting his biscuit out of his mug. It was sodden and fell apart upon removal, much to Roger’s disdain. “Well, that’s my coffee ruined.” He looked back up at you. “So yeah.”

“Have you tried – I don’t know – telling her this?”

“I did, but she was kind of dismissive about it. She told me it’s no big deal. But I’m intrigued. I want that… but for me.”

“Well, you need to figure out if it’s a crucial part of your relationship. Are you serious with Betsy?”

Roger shrugged. “She’s fun to look at, and she’s always, you know, up for it. But it’d be nice to let go for a bit. I’m not even sure how I’d feel about doling out any of the rougher stuff that she wants to try. Plus she’s a bit of a bimbo, you know?” he added, cupping his hands around a pair of imaginary breasts on his chest. “Not much going on in the brain.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last bit and just tell you how it is,” you stated. “So. The way I see it is you’ve got two – maybe three – problems here,” you announced, sitting up straight. “Number one: the Venn diagram between your kinks and your girlfriend’s kinks don’t really align. She expects you to be just as savvy and into it as she is, and I’m gonna hazard a guess here, you haven’t been as adventurous as she has. Sound right?”

“Right,” Roger nodded enthusiastically.

“Number two: you’re apprehensive because you’re not as savvy as you thought you were. You’re not comfortable diving into all the debauchery she wants, because you’ve still got much to learn.”

“Yep.”

“And third: I think you’d rather be submissive in bed.”

Roger thought about that final point for a moment. His brow furrowed as he took a sip of his coffee.

“I think I’ve nailed it,” you said.

“I think you have. Maybe.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Roger’s eyes lightened. “I’m going to need to have a long, hard think about that one, aren’t I?”

“You’re damn right you do.”

NEXT PART >>

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen imagine #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x you #queen x you #roger taylor fanfic #please validate me

[0wllight]

i have no title for this but it’s just hurt/comfort with zinnia and fugo lmfao (no title is a lie actually the google doc name is “fugos leg does not work lmfao” ACJGNDSJGDS)

tw: blood, injuries

word count: 2,408 (yea i wrote a LOT gdjsnjgd)

notes: this is my first time writing for fun in a few months so i’m sorry if i’m rusty at all!!!! pain.

under the cut for length!! also this is ok to reblog. please reblog this actually LMAO

It wasn’t very often that there were days like these, where no one else was around. Usually there would at least be one other person who didn’t have a mission or anything to do. Most often it would be Abbacchio at home- since he was Bruno’s second in command, whenever Bruno went out he would leave him back at the base to watch over things, to make sure nothing went wrong. Zinnia didn’t mind his company much. 

All he really ever did was drink wine and hang out, or watch some Italian drama. Now, those, she did mind. She had tried to sit through one once, maybe after the first few months after she had joined the group. But she learned her lesson real quick after that. 

She thought they were okay at best, but it was honestly even worse when Narancia or Fugo were around. At the same time, specifically. She had to learn the hard way that during literally any movie, Narancia would NEVER stop talking. It was only worse when Fugo was there, actually trying to watch the movie. 

The two would end up arguing or getting into a fight during the movie, and at that point, it was unwatchable. Luckily, her first time watching one of Abbacchio’s dramas was cut short by a fight the two had gotten into. She had honestly never seen Abbacchio so mad at the two of them, and an even rarer sight was seeing them shut up during an argument so quickly.  

Still, it was really nice to have the place to herself. It was something she thought she could get used to. At least, until she got up to get a drink, only to find that the fridge was broken. 

‘Could it really have broken at a worse time?,’ she thought to herself. It was a warm day outside, and she was parched. Even with the air conditioner on, she was still sweating from the heat. A cold drink would have been great, but it turned out to be just out of her reach. 

Checking the fridge to see if anything was cold at all, she frowned, finding all of the drinks were lukewarm at best. Just how long had the fridge been broken for?

She closed the fridge, groaning, and looked around the room for her wallet. If she couldn’t get a cold drink from the fridge, she thought she could at least go out and get herself something. Spotting the wallet on the counter, she quickly grabbed it and put her shoes on, heading for the door. 

What she was not expecting, however, was to see the doorknob turning just as she reached out to grab it. In that moment, she felt her pulse quicken- who could be on the other side of the door? No one else had the keys to the base except for the other gang members, and even then… None of them were supposed to return soon, at least not until late afternoon. Last she checked, it was only early in the afternoon. 

Shit. If it was an enemy, she would barely be able to defend herself. A surprise attack was not something she was expecting. 

Quickly running to the other room, she hid behind the wall, peeking out behind it to look at the door. There weren't any conventional weapons nearby, and the only thing she could find to defend herself was a tire iron that Bruno had been using earlier. Gripping it tightly, she gulped as she watched the door- surprisingly, it hadn’t opened at all since she ran away from it? What was taking the other person so long? Doubt filled her mind as she wondered who could possibly be there. If it was an enemy… Wouldn’t they have barged in already?

She saw that the doorknob was still turning from the other side, slowly, but it never opened. Had the person on the other side never opened a door in their life before? Tire iron still in hand, she crept toward the door again, slowly, careful not to make any loud noises. The floor was a bit creaky, but she was sure that whoever was on the other side of the door wasn’t able to hear it. She stopped once she was a few feet from the door. The doorknob turning had stopped, in favor of a very, very soft knock on the door. It sounded as if whoever was there was barely able to reach the door, almost. And then there was another knock. And another knock. Suddenly, she realized that she recognized the pattern of knocks on the door. She knew who it was, and even the clatter of the tire iron on the floor she dropped so quickly didn’t break her from her thoughts as she practically flew to the door, everything else forgotten.

He wasn’t supposed to be back so soon- why was he here?

In her franticness, she struggled to open the door a bit before finally getting it open, and her jaw almost dropped to the floor when she saw Fugo standing- no, not even standing, Fugo on his knees in front of her. And blood was all over his leg, on his suit, on his hands.

“Oh my god, what happened to you?! Your leg- what happened?!”

Before he could respond, she kneeled down to his level, hands on his shoulders, face clearly distressed. “You could have said something at the door! I can’t believe I left you out here like this for almost two minutes! Pannacotta, do you know how worried the others would have been if you pulled something like this on them? Jesus christ! I-” “No, Zin, please, I just need you to take me inside. I don’t even know how I managed to make it here. Please, just bring me inside-”

He was cut off by her almost immediately hoisting him up, groaning in pain as she tried her best to support him against her shoulder. “Zin, my leg- it’s broken. Please, just be careful.” “Okay,” she said, voice shaky as she stood up all the way. “Just try to stand on the other one, don’t worry. I’ll try to support the rest of you the best I can.”

She didn’t even notice the bloodstains being transferred to her clothes as she walked inside with him, trying her best to go at a pace that wouldn’t hurt him. He was pretty heavy against her, especially with almost his full weight against her, but she stumbled her way towards the couch, eventually lowering the two of them until he was sitting down. 

Almost immediately, she ran to the bathroom, grabbing almost every towel she could see. She only felt panic as she opened the cabinet, frantically searching for the medkit that they had. Grabbing it quickly, she ran back to the main room with items in tow, setting them down on the table and sitting there until she was face to face with Fugo.

“How? How did this happen?” She asked. The situation had fully set in with her, and she felt tears welling up at her eyes as she grabbed a towel, pressing it against his wounded leg.

“They caught up to us,” He hissed, pain from the pressure being applied setting in. “I was with Narancia. We were supposed to catch these people, enemy stand users, who the group thought was dangerous. Apparently they were planning to revolt against the boss. But… They found us first. We weren’t expecting it, we were caught completely off guard.” “What happened to Narancia?!” She exclaimed, opening the medkit, hands shaky. She wasn’t sure she could concentrate under these conditions, honestly, not breaking into tears was what she was trying to focus on at the moment.

“He- He got away,” he said, grimacing as she put more pressure against him. “But it’s because of me he got away. I ended up distracting them, and he was able to run away. But… I think you can see what happened to me after that.” 

“Oh my god…” She had stopped reaching into the medkit just to look at him as he spoke, a wave of relief had come across her since she knew he was safe, but she honestly had no idea what she was doing, and was currently panicking. It was always Bruno or Abbacchio that handled these things. They knew what to do more than she did. “How did you get away? I’m so glad you’re okay, Panni. I know that- that your leg isn’t okay, but you’re alive...” 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I… the moment they turned to me after Narancia got away, I ran for it as well. I ran in the other direction from where Narancia went, but… I wasn’t looking, and I fell from the top of a staircase. I don’t think they saw where I went, or saw me fall, thank god, but my leg… I broke my leg.”

“How did you get here then? I thought you were really far from the base…”

“I was running for a bit. It was only when I had been running for a few minutes that I fell, and even after the initial impact I was able to figure out I wasn’t far from the base. I don’t think anyone saw me limping around towards here but… I still don’t know how I made it here. It was horrible, I felt like I was going to pass out. But I couldn’t, they would have found me, and I… I would have felt awful. I don’t know what I would have done, if they found you, or-”

“No, no, it’s okay, Panni,” she said, tears falling freely at this point. “I’m just so glad that you’re okay, that they didn’t find you. If I ever lost you… I don’t know what I would do. I don’t know.” She found herself sobbing at this point, a mix of relief and concern going through her mind. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him, she was just so glad that he was still here with her. She didn’t expect to feel his hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on her skin.

“Zin, please don’t cry over me,” he murmured, hand still on her shoulder. He groaned as he leaned forward a bit, pain coursing through his body at the action. Despite this, he kept his gaze on her. “I don’t like seeing you sad... I’m okay, we’re okay, I’m here. I’m going to be okay.”

“Are you sure?” she wept, teary eyes looking into his eyes. “You’re not just saying things again… right?” “Zinnia, I’m sure. Please don’t cry, I’ll be okay.”

“Panni, I need to call Bruno,” she said, voice shaking, “I need to tell him what happened. I know he can come here and help. Because I don’t know what I’m doing, I really don’t know what I’m doing,” she cried, “I just want to help you… I don’t want you to die on me…”

“You’re doing just fine,” he reassured, hand still on her shoulder. “I won’t die on you, Zinnia. I’m still here.”

“Thank you… I’m just so worried,” she sniffed, wiping away a tear. “I left you there and I didn’t even know you were bleeding out. It’s my fault.”

“No, don’t think that, Zinnia, It’s not your fault.” he said, sighing. “It’s my fault, you’re right. I should have said something. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just thought you would know it was me? I don’t know.”

The tears continued falling from her face as she looked at him, pouting. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s okay. You were panicking, your leg was broken… It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Weakly, he raised a hand to her cheek, wiping away the new tears that started to fall. “I know you’re worried, and it’s fine to be worried. I’ll still be here, but you should call Bruno now.”

“No, you’re right,” she nodded, reaching into her pocket for her phone. “I’ll call him. I’ll call him right now.” 

Dialing his number with shaky hands, she held the phone up to her ear as the dial sound played. Within seconds, she heard Bruno’s familiar voice, the sounds of the festival he was attending in the background of the audio.

“Hello? Zinnia? Is everything okay?” Her voice still trembling, she answered quickly, “No, no, it’s not, Fugo broke his leg, I don’t know where Narancia is. But I need you to come back. I don’t know how to treat it.” “I’ll be right there. Hang in there, Zinnia, he’ll be okay. I’m going to go now, I need to make my way back. Please watch over him.” With that, he hung up, and the two of them were left alone again. Looking at him only made her eyes fill with tears again as she took in his beaten up sight, the towel she had wrapped around his leg to stop the blood now covered in it. 

“Pannacotta… I’m so happy you’re okay. I’m really so happy. Bruno said he’s going to be here soon.”

“I’m glad, amore,” he sighed, taking her hand resting against the couch in his. “If I could, I would hug you right now. It really hurts me to see you like this. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Squeezing his hand, she smiled weakly. “No, don’t apologize. And… I wish I could hug you too. But I don’t want to hurt you. The last thing I want is to see you hurt, Pannacotta, and I know I’ve said this so many times in the past few minutes but… I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I know, tesoro, I know. It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here with me, too. And Bruno will be here soon. So please don’t try to worry.”

His hand still in hers, Zinnia sat down on the couch next to him, sighing. The tears had stopped, but she was still shaking a bit, even with her hand in his. “Panni, I love you. I love you so much.”

He pulled her towards him with his free arm until her head rested against his side. “I love you too, Zinnia.”

Despite the pain still coursing through his leg, he felt at peace in that moment- or he at least knew that he was safe, that help was on the way, and he was with the one he loved. 

#my post #my writing #shutupmary #ok to rb #ship: pink and purple haze #im so rusty on writing. please help me #story structure??? what is that???/j #insert pensive emoji here

[inactiive-shit]

Burning

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: allusions to rough past

Pairing: platonic dukexiety

Words: 1,988

Summary: Virgil needs a goddamn hug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil came from a rough and tumble kind of place. There wasn’t much physical contact with each other and what there was usually wasn’t affectionate. Virgil was used to not being touched or being hurt with almost no in-between. Hugs were rarer than a blue moon and cuddling? It’s safe to say that was an entirely alien concept.

But Virgil’s twenty-six now. He’s had plenty of time to outgrow his aversion to touch, plenty of time to get over it, plenty of time to make friends that wouldn’t punch him before they patted his shoulder. And, well, he had. Sort of.

Enter Patton and Roman, who were soft and kind and the touchiest of touchy-feely people that Virgil had ever met. They were always trying to dispense hugs and pleased smiles and pats and gifts and, if Virgil were being honest, he could not even imagine either of them throwing a punch. Then, enter Logan. He wasn’t the same kind of overbearingly physical person. He rarely initiated hugs, although he equally rarely turned them down when they were offered. He was much more reserved than Virgil’s other friends, much more like Virgil, and Virgil could imagine Logan getting into a scrape or two.

But nobody touched Virgil. That was by Virgil’s own design, had nothing to do with any particular feelings he held about his three friends. Hugs were just...a lot. And especially for someone with as little experience with them as Virgil had. He’d tried to explain it once, tried to put into words the expectations he had whenever someone moved toward him. He tried to make them understand that it wasn’t them, it was just that Virgil was used to a different kind of living where hugs had never been the norm. But Patton had looked ready to cry and Roman was affronted and even Logan, Logan who wanted almost just as much alone time as Virgil, had looked horrified. How was it possible, they wanted to know, that Virgil had gone so long without being treated with care?

He hated to see those looks on the others’ faces, hated a fraction more the looks they sent at him after that were barely to the left of pitying, so he took it back as best he could. It really hadn’t been that bad, don’t worry about it, all the usual phrases and eventually he persuaded them to drop it. So they stopped trying to touch Virgil all that much, and Virgil convinced himself that he wasn’t jealous of the casual affection they threw around like confetti. Virgil did his best to pretend his feigned indifference was real, and that he didn’t want touch just as much as he loathed the thought of it.

And then, one day, he met someone new. This person was a lot like him, rough around the edges like a ripped newspaper, but soft enough that he wouldn’t cut your fingers. He showed affection by punching others’ shoulders or throwing himself full-body on top of them. He wore the most ridiculous outfits that Virgil had ever seen, and he never seemed to care that he was the weirdest person in the room.

His name was Remus. He was Roman’s twin brother, although the similarities between them were almost impossible to find. He had a white streak in his hair that he denied ever putting there himself and, truthfully, nobody had ever seen it happen. He had no qualms about treating Virgil just the same as he treated every other person he came into contact with, and that’s about the time Virgil really started to realize he had a problem.

His skin burned whenever anyone touched it and he could feel an imprint of them on him long after they had left. There was an ache in his chest when he thought about getting a hug and despite having as many good, caring friends as he had now, Virgil felt more lonely than ever.

Remus, despite Roman’s misgivings about his brother, ended becoming an integral part of their group, and he continued to unknowingly supply Virgil with physical contact at their every interaction. It was equally wanted and unwanted, equally loved and hated, and Virgil kept coming back for more. And as much as the ache in Virgil’s chest intensified, as much as the burning on his skin kept him awake at night, Virgil never said a word about it to anyone.

Touch starved. It didn’t sound real, like something that could actually affect people. More than that, though, it was embarrassing. How could he even broach the subject? Hey, guys. So there’s this thing I found out about called touch starvation and it turns out I have it. And I could really use some pats on the back right about now, I swear I’m not making this up for attention. Yeah, that would go over great. Instead, Virgil took whatever he got when he bumped against a stranger on accident and mind his own business.

It was working out for him as well as you’d expect when something he had never planned on happened. He’d been having a panic attack, an occurrence that had been more common than Virgil liked, and he’d been entirely content to suffer through on his own and pretend everything was fine after, but then Remus walked into the room like a wrecking ball, all loud noises and erratic movement, and Virgil flinched. He flinched and tried not to cry because crying was the best way to make someone mad at you and also maybe the best way to expose yourself.

Remus, though? He stopped being loud and bouncing and sat down slowly in front of Virgil. Virgil couldn’t seem him too clearly through the tears in his eyes, but Remus might have been concerned. There was some movement, like he might have been talking, but Virgil could hear the static in his head and nothing else, could hear impending doom and forever alone like a war drum coming at him, could feel the vibrations running through his hands and shaking his very bones.

Suddenly, clear as day, he could hear Remus’s voice like a bell ringing, “Can I hug you?” Virgil gasped and hesitated. A hug? Would a hug just make things worse? It always seemed to but maybe not, can things even get worse from here? He nodded and Remus’s arms wrapped around him and held him so securely it almost felt like there were eight limbs keeping him safe.

The static changed frequency, changed color, changed channels and instead of the cold, impersonal, overwhelming static in his head like before it turned warm and encompassing but not altogether bad. Virgil choked on a sob and buried his face in Remus’s shoulder, shuddering, trying to figure out why he wanted to keep burning like this.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Remus said. “I’ll skin whatever hurt you.” He kept a tight hold on Virgil, kept holding him until he stopped crying and pulled away. Virgil wiped his face off with a sleeve, thoroughly embarrassed. That was unnecessary and stupid and he really should be in better control of himself so that things like that didn’t happen.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sniffling.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Stormcloud. Are you hurt?” Virgil shook his head, unable to force himself to make eye contact with Remus after such an episode. Remus’s hand ghosted over Virgil’s cheek and he flinched away, feeling the streak of a burn where their skin had barely come into contact. Remus withdrew his hand quickly. Virgil was almost sad to see it go.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just have panic attacks sometimes,” Virgil said, and that was true enough. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what the catalyst for this attack had been or if there was something he needed to go do now that he was back to functional. Virgil was totally spent and more than ready for a nap.

“Yikes,” said Remus. There was a few minutes of silence while Virgil swiped the last of the tears from his face and destroyed his eyeliner and steadied his breathing so that he wouldn’t be a total mess when he finally left whatever room his panic had holed him up in. What he wanted to do more than anything right then was gather himself, make his excuses, and go back to his own room where he could hold onto his body pillow and bury himself in enough blankets that it felt like another person was laying on top of him.

“Are you touch starved?” Remus asked, voice sudden and surprising and observational skills much better than Virgil had anticipated they would be. He jolted, glancing quickly to Remus’s face before looking away and fighting the urge to cower behind his hands. “You flinch whenever anybody reaches toward you and I’ve never seen anyone touch you and you’re freezing. Do you need another hug?”

“No,” Virgil said, shrinking away from the prospect. He was still burning like a star ready to implode but more than that no one was supposed to know because it was Virgil’s problem to figure out, Virgil’s issue to work out without having to involve other people like this.

“No to which?” Remus asked, but then he gently laid his hand on the ground between them, palm up, and hummed. “We can just hold hands if you want.” Hesitantly, Virgil reached out and took Remus’s hand. It was rough and warm and alive and human. Virgil felt a shiver run through his body at the contact but he forced himself to keep it. If Remus was offering, if Remus understood the situation, then as awkward as Virgil felt, this was okay. There was nothing wrong with this and Virgil...Virgil really didn’t think Remus was going to hurt him.

“How did you know?” Virgil whispered, voice cracking over the syllables. He might cry again if they weren’t careful.

“Been there, done that,” Remus said, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “Everything kinda sucks though, so I made myself start touching other people and then they started touching me back. Not great at it all the time, but,” he shrugged, “I’m not so cold anymore.” Virgil couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face whatever was happening right now, so he sat quietly and did his best to take it in. God knew when the next time he’d get something like this would be.

“If you want,” Remus said slowly, “I could help you. We could hold hands and slowly work up to bigger things like hugs until you’re not so skin-hungry anymore.” Virgil internally winced at the term, but externally he was finally looking at Remus, staring in total shock that he would offer something like that.

“Why?” Virgil blurted, confusion swirling and making him feel almost nauseous.

“Because you’re my friend,” Remus said, and he sounded just as confused as Virgil felt. “And I love you. And I may or may not have developed a squish on you. I want to help because I care.” He smiled slightly, and to Virgil it looked kind of sad but not in a way that made him feel bad.

“I...I…” Virgil didn’t know what to say, how to say yes to what Remus was offering or how to make sense of it all in his head.

“It’s okay,” Remus said, running his thumb over the back of Virgil’s hand and causing an involuntary shiver. “We can talk about it later. For now let’s just hang out. Do you want me to talk?” Virgil nodded, figuring that at least with some kind of non-touch stimulation he might be able to refocus. Remus started talking about something, Virgil couldn’t recall what later, and Virgil realized that maybe tackling this with Remus wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe he didn’t have to suffer through on his own like he thought.

Maybe, just maybe, Virgil could finally stop burning.

#sanders sides #ts virgil sanders #ts remus sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #ts virgil #ts remus #ts anxiety #ts the duke #fanfic #ts fanfiction #my writing #dukexiety #platonic dukexiety #burning

[chaosworthyarchive]

Headcanon | Pt. XXI (Post-Capture & Alcoholism)

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**Please note: in case the title wasn’t a dead giveaway, this post will contain certain sensitive/triggering subjects including alcoholism, death, mentions of suicide and self harm. There is no obligation to read this. 

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While they all reached a new height after his capture and the results of such, Arrow has had symptoms of PTSD and GAD since the first few major battles with Robotnik. It’s important to remember that he was ten when it all began and he watched someone he considered a very close friend, pretty much a father figure, slaughter a good portion of the friends and family he had grown up with in cold blood. It was the starting point to everything. 

As the years went on, things only got worse given he had isolated himself from anyone he had known in Green Hill and then had Miles to take care of on top of everything else. Yes, having the two-tail did help the hedgehog in a few ways but it also added to his overall stress and feeling of guilt. He had no one other than the fox, and even then Miles was still far too young to understand what it was his older brother was going through. Arrow, naturally, never told the fox what was really going on.

In fact neither Miles nor Knuckles, when he joined them, would find out about anything of the sort until the trio were nearly ‘done’ with their first adventure together. The timing was, however, terrible given that Arrow would fall from the rails in Rail Canyon just a few days later and be presumed dead.

He wasn’t, of course. He had instead been caught by Robotnik and spent the next three months in a very literal Hell. Tortured by various means, forced to run until his feet torn themselves apart and once again isolated, the hero was thoroughly broken by the time he was rescued.

Even after he had gotten out everyone could tell that he wasn’t the same person. It was to be expected, and while it should have played out that Miles, Knuckles and The Chaotix stayed by Arrow to help him process and heal, they didn’t. Miles and Knuckles went back to Angel Island, and The Chaotix, while far more helpful, still had jobs to do. He was, once again, utterly alone.

Upon going back to Grand Metropolis a few months later, things took a very quick, very dark turn for the hero. He had no one to talk to, didn’t have the first clue how to start recovering from what had happened to him mentally and was emotionally shattered and repressed.

While he did go to therapy for a while in order to try and manage these things, it went about as poorly as one could imagine. The person he was assigned to see had far more interest in exploiting him and his wealth than helping him, so he quit going soon after. 

There were days, literally weeks, where he would do nothing but sit and stare at the wall, and the only reason he never starved to death (gruesome as it might have been) was thanks to the hotel’s bi-weekly room service at the time. They never suspected anything was wrong because he had perfected acting like nothing was. Even when he starting drinking.

Turning down that road was never an intentional choice of his but it happened. What was one drink one night turned into two the next, three the following and only got worse from there. It was a momentary reprieve, gave him a false sense of confidence in the moment; it let him feel something again. After a while he stopped caring about the effects because they, too, were letting him feeling something, anything, even if it was bad and it didn’t take long until he was, in every sense of the word, dependant on it. It was his ‘cure’ to his deepening depression.

For anyone on the outside of this, who didn’t know what the hero was going through because of the far-too-perfect mask he could put on, it would seem that things were getting better. People, mainly those working in and around the hotel and certain parts of the city, could see that something was up but thought nothing of it once the hero’s mood started to improve again. They thought it was just a spell he had gotten over.

From the inside, things were terrible. Very rarely was the hero ever sober, some days drinking himself into a stupor and others far too sick to do much but lay on the floor. On rarer days he was out and about and things seemed normal. Then, one day, it all became too much and he did something that he still greatly regrets to this day.

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It happened on a rather steep part of this downward spiral, and all because he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It was that moment that he realized he hated what he had become. He hated the person looking back at him, hated that he had been reduced to a frail cripple at the hands of a man he loathed, hated that he had no control, and he made a decision that night.

There was no big show beforehand, no grand farewell. Just him, a bottle, and a handful of pills. His body was already malnourished and a wreck from everything he and Robotnik had put it through, so there was no time to turn back even if the thought had crossed his mind.

The only reason he survived was because his landlord at the time hadn’t seen him that day and got a bad feeling at the right moment. She was the one who found him, unconscious on the bathroom floor, and it was she who called the ambulance. She made a point in hiding as much of the event as she possibly could for his sake.

Much like other sizeable chucks of the last two to three years, Arrow remembered nothing of the hospital visit, only waking up connected to half a dozen strange devices and Rosie crying at his side. Mind you, he hadn’t seen his mother in close to six or seven years at that point so this threw him for a loop. He had never taken her off his emergency contact list.

It was the moment that cemented their bond. It took very little prodding from Rosie for Arrow to spill everything that had happened, everything he had gone through and what he was feeling. And it took even less time for the mother and son to reconcile and make a big promise to one another. After a few more days they started discussing options for treatments. 

Rosie was actually there for most of it, helping her son to get back on his feet and making sure he had support. Without her, Arrow really does think he would have relapsed right away. Eventually the woodchuck did go back to Green Hill, while Arrow stayed in the city though Rosie made a point in calling just about every night. She was always ready to run over at a moment’s notice.

An important thing to note is that Arrow did not stop cold turkey, namely because he couldn’t. He wanted to but it would have killed him if he tried. Seizures, heart problems and a variety of brain and mental complications come from trying to detox from an alcohol addition all at once (it’s actually not uncommon for people with this problem to die trying to do so) so he had to slowly wean himself off of it. 

During one of those nights, trying to acclimate himself back into society and be, for lack of a better word, ‘normal’ for a change was when he met Mina. This was one of the most important steps in getting him back into the swing of things, and a major stepping stone for him in general. He had not reconciled with Miles or Knuckles at this point, and was still avoiding Green Hill and other places. 

From there on things did get better. He focused on other things, one of the most major ones was taking care of Robotnik once and for all. Arrow wasn’t taking the chance of anyone else winding up like he did, and with Johnny’s suggestion just a few years later The Freedom Fighters had all of Arrow’s attention and efforts. He made up with Knuckles despite still being estranged from Miles, and started revisiting Green Hill and other places he was fond of. While he still had urges, he was able to fight them and find a different outlet, archery and music being a few of them.

He would, however, have a minor relapse at the age of twenty-seven, breaking an eight year sobriety. However, since then, he hasn’t touched a drop and has been a hundred percent sober since the age of twenty-eight. 

One last note: no one but Rosie, Knuckles, Erika (the landlord) and the doctors involved know what happened or what Arrow went through during this rocky time in his life, and he fully plans to keep it that way. 

#give a little time to me | queue #accept the fact | headcanon #alcoholism tw #suicide mention tw #overdose mention tw