#I'll draw something more interesting when my eyes heal??

[m-oshun]

nooo don’t kill me your so sexy aha

#fanart #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #I have seen and therefore have rights to join #and post stupid meme sht #I'll draw something more interesting when my eyes heal??

[the-au-thor]

Must've been the Wind | Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

based on Alec Benjamin's original song 《Must've been the Wind》

Synopsis: You. Spencer. A strange noise and Spencer's inquisitive nature will lead both to the obligation to cross the boundaries that fear and shyness have forced you to draw.

Word Count: 1k.

TW: Read this please! We're gonna explore some sensitive topics.

〔Part 1〕〔Part 2〕

The days passed quickly after that, especially since the case had been tough. When he returned after those days of work, it was another stormy, windy, and icy day in Virginia.

He had decided to occupy his time by doing what he had been procrastinating for a while: organizing his library and, well, the entire apartment.

It was in the midst of the bustling cleaning work when he heard shouts from your apartment. At first, he tried to ignore it. It could be anything, right? Plus, you didn't seem to have been very comfortable with him the last time you talked, for some strange reason. It wasn't until he heard a too loud thud coming from the same place that he decided to set aside the bleach bottle and rubber gloves to leave the apartment and go upstairs with a knot of worry in his stomach.

He knew he shouldn't be interested in other people's affairs, but the problem is that there were certain things he couldn't ignore, and those were the signs. The crying, the arguing, and your clear and evasive response were signs that something was wrong.

When he climbed the stairs and went to knock on the door, almost as if by a vision, you opened it. Just enough for there to be space to see you. Your eyes were teary again, and your lips swollen. Your slightly reddened nose accusingly shone; you had been crying.

"Hey, I know I might sound pushy, but I heard loud noises again, and I just wanted to know if you're okay," he said.

You nervously bit your lips, and Spencer saw your eyes filling with tears that you refused to shed.

"Yeah, I know, but listen," you pointed to the ceiling, "it's raining heavily again, maybe...” You paused, nervously swaying and clutching your vest tightly around your body, as if protecting yourself from something. “…maybe there's a leak in the attic of the building and the wind is blowing through there. I'll talk to Larry, and he'll send a technician to check it out."

The sleeve of your vest slid down, revealing your reddened wrist.

Spencer frowned with concern. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked alarmed.

You quickly lowered your eyes to your wrist and covered it up. You disguised your distress with a smile and denied, pretending to be unconcerned. "Yeah, it's just a bruise I got while working out at this gym I'm going to. Someone is clumsy lifting weights," you laughed, "it's nothing," you reassured him, "it'll heal."

Spencer didn't believe a word you said.

"Okay," he finally nodded, "I'm sorry to be a broken record, but when I said you could call me for anything you need, I meant it."

You smiled without showing your teeth and then looked over your shoulder. "I know, thank you," you looked back at him, "Now I have to go back inside, but thanks again for caring. I guess it's part of the job."

It wasn't just that, but it was part of who he was. But he chose to nod and bid you farewell. He returned to his apartment equally or more worried and uneasy.

He decided to find a way to show you that you could trust him. A creative way that only you would understand.

"I think my neighbor is suffering PTSD and is being abused," he announced one day at work while sharing coffee with his friends from the BAU.

J.J stopped just before taking a sip from her cup and looked at him for a few seconds, trying to understand Spencer's concern.

"Have you tried offering her help?" Spencer nodded. "And what did she say?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line and then clicked his tongue. "She doesn't trust me. I've heard her cry, and I've seen bruises on her arms when I go to make sure she's okay..."

"Wait, son, have you gone to her apartment to see if she's okay?" Spencer nodded slowly before seeing Derek curl his lips into a wolfish smile. "Charmy."

Spencer frowned and turned to Emily and J.J.

"What do you think?"

Emily, taking Spencer's dilemma seriously, took a sip of her coffee and adopted a seriousness befitting an agent with her reputation.

"It's okay; you've tried the direct method, and clearly it's not working. She's scared and probably very ashamed if someone is really abusing her. Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Ex-boyfriend," Spencer clarified. "My neighbor, Mrs. Phillips, says he sometimes comes to visit."

J.J pursed her lips as if she genuinely regretted what she heard.

"The cycle of violence."

"If he's her ex, it's a step; a woman leaving her abuser is a very vulnerable person, and if you say he comes back occasionally, we're talking about a charismatic and very manipulative person," Derek raised his eyebrow and chuckled half-heartedly.

"Maybe you could try something more subtle; smile at her and ask her how she's doing," Emily added. "Actions speak louder than words; if you've already gone to check on her, you're already proving that she can trust you."

"I'd tell you to send her a letter; but you might confuse her if she's vulnerable," Rossi intervened for the first time. "And I guess you don't want to hit on her yet..."

"I-I n-never. Uh-I don't want that, I-I'm just worried,"

"Sure," Emily murmured just as she drank coffee.

"Of course," J.J spoke. "Use what you know to gain her trust; remember that sometimes even the details help us feel safe with someone."

Sensory Stimulation, he had thought; something she would hear and relate to calmness and safety.

So he decided to go to the record store and went straight to the counter.

Randall, the guy behind the counter, looked at him through his thick red-framed glasses with a tired expression and sighed.

"For the tenth time this month; no, your order hasn't arrived yet," he said impatiently. "Stop being a cliché for your own nerd class and put your compulsive obsession and your weird fetish for Beethoven somewhere deep in your mind where I can't see it anymore," he requested.

"That song that goes 'When you're in trouble or somethinglikethat, I'll be your friend.... etcetera, etcetera, I'll help you carry on.'"

He frowned. "You mean Bill Withers?"

Spencer frowned.

"I don't know who that is, does he sing that song?"

The man in front of him looked almost offended.

"You say it as if we were talking about the composers of Sesame Street."

Spencer pursed his thoughtful lips.

"Is that an indie band?"

The man grunted, staring at him as if he couldn't believe what was in front of him.

"Look Spencer, I've learned to put up with you because you're a customer, and because no matter how much I could kick you out of here, you being an agent is still intimidating, but I have much better things to do than stand here listening to you terribly offend all of pop culture history..."

"Randall."

"...And good musicians and bad musicians, and damn it, even me. We're not friends, but I've been serving you for years, I thought there was a buyer-provider relationship here"

Spencer pointed at him.

"You call me a nerd at every opportunity. That's not respect, Randall, it's condescension. Now, what about the song?"

"Well, but you have to tell me why you suddenly have an interest in musicians who have been dead for less than a century."

"With all due respect, but it's not your business," Spencer replied softly to avoid sounding rude.

"You came to my store for advice; it's completely my business."

Spencer grunted.

"I came to your store for a record, not for advice."

"Do you know what record you're looking for?"

"No," he gritted his teeth.

The man smiled, clasping his hands on his counter.

"Then you're looking for advice. Now tell me why you're looking for the record of a musician you don't really know."

Spencer looked at him for a few seconds. He could easily leave and go to another store. But first, he already knew Randall well enough, and he didn't have the personality to go to another store and hum a song he barely knew without feeling embarrassed. Plus, one of the reasons he chose that store was that Randall could be sometimes rude and unpleasant, but he didn't play those horrible top 40 songs or allow dirt in the store, nor was he a scammer like in other places.

"There's a girl..." he began to explain and heard Randall's amused laughter.

"You're not going to impress her with that Bill song."

"See, this is more important than impressing her..."

He shrugged.

"You definitely want to impress her, you're not gay," he wrinkled his nose, "trust me," he laughed, "I would know."

Spencer rolled his eyes, losing his temper.

"Can you give me the damn name of the record?" he muttered under his breath, "Normally our conversations don't go beyond two or three sentences, and I'm already getting angry."

Randall gave him a huge smile.

"It's just that you've just started to seem interesting to me."

Spencer grunted again, and he sighed. "Bill Withers, the album Still Bill," he finally said before Spencer went in search of the record.

When he returned home, he turned on the record player and made sure the music was loud enough for her to hear it.

He played the same record daily whenever he was in the apartment.

He didn't hear from you until two weeks later. When he crossed paths with you at the entrance of the building. You were digging around the rose bushes so that the water could reach the roots more easily, and he was coming from another tiring case involving teenagers and a rather elusive serial killer. You surely noticed the exhaustion on his face when you greeted him, and he could barely return the greeting.

When he entered the apartment, he sank into his sofa and contemplated the idea of sleeping pills, but instead, he opened the first book that was at hand and started reading it. He was in the middle of his reading when timid knocks sounded on his door. Somewhat surprised, he walked to the door and opened it to find your face on the other side. You were wearing a long earth-colored wool dress and military boots with a thick heel. In both hands, you held a tray with steaming cookies, the same ones you had given him on your first day in the building.

He looked up from the cookies to you with a curious look. You looked at him, and then into the apartment, seeming to be attentive to the music coming from the record player.

"You..." you cleared your throat nervously, "...I saw you were feeling a bit down, and I..." you handed him the tray with cookies, and when Spencer held it in his hands, you nervously scratched your neck, "I made cookies and thought maybe they could cheer you up," you shrugged.

"This is very nice, thank you. I like your cookies," he admitted, and you smiled at him shyly.

"I'm glad, I really don't know if you're really a person who likes sweet things, I hope you enjoy them," you paused for a few seconds and nodded, "I hope you feel better, I won't interrupt you anymore."

"Hey, can I make some coffee? Do you want to come in?" he offered.

You nervously toyed with your hands and shook your head. "I shouldn't."

Spencer then smiled kindly. "No problem, really, I wasn't doing anything productive. I was too distracted to pay attention to anything."

You finally relented somewhat insecurely. "Okay, but just for a moment, actually," you paused after putting one foot inside the apartment, "I also came to thank you for your concern, I know... you're good and honest, and those are things we take for granted but are unusual."

Spencer decided to take the compliment with humility and nodded with a small smile. "It's just the least I can do, come on in," he invited you to the kitchen, where he left the tray on one of the countertops and began to set up the Italian coffee maker on the stove.

You looked around somewhat uncomfortably; it must have been strange for you to enter his apartment, after all, you had spoken little to nothing; you really didn't know each other. And for that same reason, it had also been very strange for him to invite you.

"That's... very good music," you nodded approvingly as you listened to the song, "You play it quite often, I always hear it from my apartment."

He half-smiled, satisfied that his plan had worked. At least, you had noticed.

"I'm more of a classical music fan, but I think Bill Withers is a good singer-songwriter, plus the song Lean On Me..." he shrugged, acting naturally as he listened to the water boiling inside the pot.

You nodded in understanding. "It's really good. Music is a good stimulus; I work in the oncology wing of the hospital, usually with children," you commented, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, "When they're undergoing treatment, I usually play music for them, and they respond better to treatments in a positive environment."

"Music creates peaks of emotions that increase dopamine," he explained, "So if you play happy music, the brain processes that emotion even when they're only at a subconscious level," he added.

You nodded with a half-smile, letting Spencer give that explanation even when you already knew it.

"And dopamine helps control pleasure in the brain," you commented, then furrowed your brow, "What do you really do in the FBI?"

He watched you for a moment before starting to fill two cups with the steaming and fragrant coffee.

"If I talk about my job, will I make you uncomfortable? I noticed something happened when Mrs. Phillips mentioned it."

You seemed troubled, and you put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"No, it's just that people with guns unsettle me more than give me a sense of security," you tried to explain, "No matter if you're one of the good guys or the bad guys, a man with a gun is a man with a gun."

He furrowed his brow. "Well, it's true, that's why to do my job, there are strict psychological tests," he explained, "Besides, I've only used my gun when strictly necessary."

You looked somewhat distressed at the idea.

"I've seen men in uniform carrying guns who don't deserve them, that's all," you replied simply.

"I have a friend; she works at the FBI as our tech. She would understand what you're feeling," Spencer nodded. "I've never been fond of guns, but there were a couple of times I had to use them, and that meant a lot of pain for her."

You furrowed your brow, accepting the coffee cup Spencer offered.

"Why did she have to use them? She was a tech."

Spencer smiled, pleased that you were paying attention.

"Well, you see, we work for a department of the FBI called the BAU, Behavioral Analysis Unit, we profile difficult-to-find or dangerous criminals and their victims to find them."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, wait, you're basically detectives, that's... super dangerous but intriguing."

Spencer invited you to sit on the couch, and to his surprise, you settled in to listen. You placed the cookie tray on the coffee table and took one out.

"Something like that, and Penelope, that friend I mentioned, is really sensitive, if you saw her, you wouldn't understand how she worked in the midst of so many crimes. One day I was shot when we were out of town, and the local police were very corrupt, and we had found out. That's when a nurse tried to administer me carbenicillin, and I'm allergic," he explained.

You put your hand on your chest with empathy.

"Oh no. Poor thing, I really wouldn't know what to do with a gun in my hand."

"With the mitigating circumstances, I'm sure you would know what to do," he said.

You nodded, seeming to reflect on it. You drank the rest of your coffee in silence and looked at him attentively. You were so pretty, Spencer thought. And it gave him immense sadness and anger to know that someone was making you suffer.

He saw a lock of your hair fall onto your forehead, and he reached out to tuck it behind your ear without really thinking about it. Before his fingers touched your hair, you jumped in surprise, looking at him in fear, covering yourself with your forearms.

Spencer stood still, and you immediately looked remorseful for overreacting in that way. You left the coffee cup on the table and stood up, rubbing your hands on your skirt nervously. Spencer got up in the same way, calling your name softly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done anything."

"It's not your fault, it's mine, I... I think I should go home now, thanks for the coffee, and you can return the tray whenever you want, no rush," you babbled, avoiding eye contact and starting to walk towards the door.

Spencer approached you with his hands raised so you wouldn't feel threatened. With sadness in your eyes, you stopped with your hand on the doorknob without making eye contact.

"Wait, wait," he asked softly, "I'm sorry if I crossed a line, I usually don't," he explained, "I'll put my hands on your shoulders," he warned, and then slowly placed his hands in that spot, feeling you tremble under his palms, "I know something is wrong," he said, eliciting a whimper of sadness from you, "but I know you won't talk about it with me, you don't know me," he shrugged, "So for now, it will be the wind that makes the noise," he nodded, "until you decide to trust me enough for it to stop being like that, okay?"

With teary eyes, you silently nodded. For a moment, it seemed like you wanted to hug him, but instead, you hugged yourself with a sad smile.

"Thank you, Spencer."

"I know we're not friends, but you can lean on me if you need to, okay? If you want to talk or just exist, you can do it here with me."

You nodded silently and slowly walked away from him, but you didn't seem scared anymore, and that was enough for Spencer to see you leave calmly.

That afternoon he played Bill's record again.

After that brief but hopeful encounter, Spencer didn't hear any noises again, no crying or slamming doors. Not until two weeks later. It was on a gray afternoon, while Spencer was enjoying a hot chocolate and a good read, that he felt that procession of infernal noise again. He heard a murmured argument, like being underwater, a slam of doors, and the crying. Spencer wanted to run there, he wanted to go where you were and cradle you, save you. Whatever you needed. He was truly willing to give it. But he couldn't push you: if something was happening, you had to be the one to open up and seek help. Spencer had seen too many similar cases to know that you were the one who needed to want to get out of this situation; otherwise, if he forced you, it would only be a matter of time before you fell back into that cyclical pattern again.

After a couple of minutes trying to calm his concern, Spencer felt soft knuckles tapping on his door. He got up somewhat puzzled; he rarely expected visitors, and when he opened the door, there you were.

You had a red nose, a giant sweater wrapped around you, and those leggings you seemed to always wear when you were at home. As soon as your slightly swollen eyes met his, you nervously rubbed your nose.

"Hey,"

Spencer frowned. This time you weren't trying to hide that you'd been crying, yet he didn't know what to say.

"Hey...a-are you...? Are you okay?"

You put your hands on your hips, trying to compose yourself, and then nodded. You let out a nervous laugh.

"It's the wind again; I don't think I can stand another second in the apartment. Y-you...was your invitation serious?" you asked shyly.

That broke Spencer's heart: you still didn't want to talk about it, but at least this was progress. Spencer opened the door fully and invited you in.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" he asked when he saw you standing in the middle of the living room looking like a lost puppy.

That seemed to cheer you up, and you nodded with a smile.

"Yeah, please."

"Do you want to watch a movie?" he asked from the kitchen while you timidly approached Spencer's bookshelf to browse.

"That's fine; I brought my iPad because I'm studying a new case of Gestational Trophoblastic Neoplasia that has come to the hospital and we'll start treating it this Monday."

"Ouch; that sounds complex," Spencer walked over to you with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. You thanked him with a smile.

"It is, but it's in the early stages, which gives a lot of hope," you murmured, looking around until you noticed the small sofa by the window. "Do you mind if I sit there? I promise not to be a bother."

Spencer wrinkled his nose.

"You're not a bother; sit wherever you want."

In silence and somewhat nervously, you approached the couch and nestled among the cushions, unlocking your iPad while sipping your chocolate and putting on some reading glasses that somehow made you look innocent and fragile.

Spencer watched your nose hold the curve of your glasses as you paid absolute attention to your reading. He observed your body language: your shoulders were slightly slumped, your legs folded relaxedly; you trusted him. You knew you weren't in danger. And you were so pretty; you were always pretty; in your dresses, in your sportswear, in your uniform, and in your leggings. You were pretty even with the red nose and dry tears on your skin, although he hated seeing you like this.

His name on your lips snapped him out of his fascination.

"Uh, yeah?" he asked.

"Can you play the song?"

He didn't have to ask which one; Spencer already knew.

As suddenly as he knew, like a slap in the face, he liked you, a lot.

***

"Hey."

"Hey," you smiled at Spencer as both of you retrieved mail from your mailboxes in a comfortable silence. Both of you smiled, and there was a slight tension as if you had something to say but neither of you dared to speak yet.

"Hey," you finally turned to him, leaning against the wall to look at him. "I don't have to work today, but it's Ollie's last day at the hospital; the rest of the nurses and I wanted to throw him a farewell party with the other kids. Do you want to come help me with the decorations?"

Spencer smiled back at you; you had rosy cheeks, and it seemed like it had cost you a lot to ask for his help even though after months of starting to spend a little more time together. That day when you came crying to his apartment wasn't the only time; after that, it happened a couple more times, but you had never really talked about it. It was happening less and less, and Spencer had mixed feelings about it. He knew you were getting better, and apparently, your ex-boyfriend no longer visited you, and you didn't give him the opportunity to hurt you. But he also missed your presence in the apartment; your crocs hanging off the tip of your foot unconsciously while keeping your eyes on your iPad screen. Spencer had noticed that when you entered his apartment, it was filled with a soft scent of green apples that lingered for a long time even after you left. You brought cookies, and sometimes you talked about your jobs. Spencer had seen a more relaxed disposition in you when you talked about violence at the FBI and the cases that sometimes affected Spencer. He had built a friendship with the tormented girl from the upstairs apartment.

"Ollie is leaving the hospital already? Wow," Spencer smiled enthusiastically; he didn't know the little boy, but you had told him about him.

You had talked a lot about him.

He decided to accompany you that afternoon and get to know you a little more; you weren't just the neighbor in dresses who seemed to work with kids, love plants, and puppies. Spencer noticed other peculiarities; you were shy around adults and totally extroverted with kids. You really liked cake; you had eaten three servings and seemed to share the same love for sweets as Spencer. Suddenly, intrusive thoughts started attacking Spencer. What would happen when you found out the truth about him? That he was a former addict and had been briefly in jail for a crime he didn't commit but where he was forced to do things he never would have imagined to survive? He couldn't imagine you running away from the scene after telling you; it was too painful.

You had also discovered things about Spencer. And much of what you were discovering terrified you. Because that meant he wasn't like anyone you had ever met before; you couldn't anticipate any of his moves. You are always surprised by his warm conversation and social awkwardness. With his sense of morality and justice. You trusted him, which would be great, but the problem is that you didn't even trust yourself.

The last time you had trusted your judgment to judge someone, you had suffered too much.

But you couldn't walk away, especially when Spencer showed strength for you and on evenings like this: vulnerability.

Something had happened to him on the way from the hospital to the apartments. He was quiet, and although he tried to make conversation, he couldn't help but have moments of silence where he looked too introspective with a slightly worried frown. When you said goodbye to him before going up to the next floor where you lived, you asked him once more if something had happened. He only replied that he was tired. You weren't going to pressure him; he didn't do it to you.

So when you entered your lonely apartment, you turned on the kettle and opened the window of your living room wide, which was right above Spencer's, and felt the warm breeze of an impending rain. You leaned just a little to see him opening his window. You leaned out just a bit to see him looking out onto the street just like you, and you began tapping rhythmically on the wood of the window.

"Lean on me," you started singing. "When you're not strong. And I'll be your friend I'll help you carry on. For it won't be long, till I’m gonna need …"

"Somebody to lean on," Spencer's whisper was barely audible, making you smile sadly.

"I know it's not the fancy vinyl you always play but...I don't have one, and my phone died," you heard his chuckle, and then a realization hit you like a punch in the face.

You realized that you couldn't expect Spencer to trust you without taking a leap of faith yourself.

Spencer heard a small murmur and saw the tip of your shoes hanging just above his window. Worried, he leaned out to see you sitting on the frame of your window, just getting comfortable with a cup of tea in your hands, looking at the sky. He remained expectant, not knowing what to do: it was a somewhat strange situation, but you didn't seem to want to jump anytime soon.

They stayed like that for a while.

And then you decided to break the silence.

"I had-have," you clarified. "An ex-boyfriend. He was my first boyfriend; the guy I moved out of my parents' house with, you know? He was a big deal," you added, pausing for a moment. "He's a cop. And you know? It's funny, cops swear they'll protect the nation, and my ex did. And I was so proud of him," you remembered, feeling the first tear fall down your cheek. "He isolated me; he told me how suffocating my family was, how narcissistic my best friend was. He even went as far as to make me change my gynecologist to one of his choosing."

Spencer was speechless; he knew how that story went. He had heard it so many times with different protagonists, yet he felt an immense urge to know how yours continued.

"I stopped talking to my parents and pushed away my friends. Then that wasn't enough anymore; he accused me of cheating, said I spent too much time at work and was neglecting him. His ex-girlfriend wasn't like that; neither was his mother. He said, 'if you were better, maybe I'd stop looking at asses on the internet,'" you laughed without humor, wiping your tears. "Can you believe it? Now I can't, but at that time...damn...at that time, I thought I could change him. That deep down he was a good person, and who the hell would I have if I left him? No one; he had made sure of that," you murmured, trying to hold back your tears for a few more seconds. "One day, that wasn't enough anymore; that's when the shoves started. If we went out, he used to squeeze my wrist with his fingers until it left marks. And over time he got bolder; he would hit me with doors or try to choke me every time we argued. My breaking point was one night when I came home later from a shift, and he was...oh God, he was so angry. He put his gun right to my temple and asked me to give him three reasons not to do it because he had thousands to do it. When I begged and cried on my knees, he pulled the trigger just to show me the gun was never loaded. He called me a useless bitch and said if I told anyone about it, no one would believe me; he got promoted to detective after that," you finished the story out loud for the first time: told to someone else. And you had never felt so free and yet so empty.

"Sometimes he comes; he used to come all the time until a few months ago. It usually started sweet and then turned violent. I let him in because I didn't want him to escalate further or endanger any neighbor. I-I just wanted peace," you closed your eyes trying to explain yourself, but even then, everything you had allowed was unjustifiable to you. "It's been over a year since we broke up, and I'm still trying to repair my relationship with my parents. I don't have the face to apologize to my friends because I'd have to explain and Th-that. Oh, Spencer," you touched your chest needing air. "That's impossible."

You felt Spencer move in his apartment and a couple of doors closing. Panic shot through your back; he had left. He had left you alone. Or so it was until you felt the doorbell ring and hurried to get to it, looking through the peephole. When you opened it, there was Spencer, ready for you to throw yourself at him, giving him a hug and letting go of the tears you had accumulated with shame for over a year.

"I'm sorry, Spencer."

"Tss," his nose was pressed against your neck, and his hands massaged your back affectionately. "It's okay, cry."

"I-it wasn't the wind," you sobbed. "I-it never was."

He felt you nod.

"I know. Don't worry; you're safe," he promised.

And you believed him, truly did.

***

@the-tpd-bau 

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

[the-possum-writes]

Hiiii!! I just finished watching AT again, and i been loking for some FinnxReaderxFern fics, and i read ur at content and i just love it.So i was hopping if i could request a fic where Finn and Fern has this, confrontation? Jelousy talk? about each other's feelings about reader!!

You can Say no if you don't wanna do it, but i would really apreciated<3.

[Confronting their feelings about you]

❥Character(s): Finn, Fern

❥Tags: SFW, canon typical violence, expressing emotions, gender neutral pronouns for the reader

 ❥Synopsis: What started as a simple afternoon dedicated to cleaning turned into a short lived but intense knife fight when you came up as a conversation topic.

 ❥Wordcount: 1000

❥A/N: I want this gress boy to heal so i'll take whatever chance i get to write him learning to overcome his Finn jelousy.

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

Today is a typical day for the guys; a knife storm has just passed, so they are calmly brushing away the residual weaponry from clogging the top of the treefort, like they do when there is hail or dry tree leaves. "There's less daggers compared to last time, makes ya wonder why huh Fern?" During the cleanup, Finn speaks aloud, the idea circling through his mind a few times

"Hmm, probably because of climate change." Fern disputes bluntly.

Finn pauses in his sweeping to glance up at the sky, contemplating to himself before offering his own two cents. "Or is it because the knife god is dissatisfied with the number of swords and knives forged this year? That the sword-smiths probably have a secret society where they sacrifice things in exchange for good materials." The longer the human boy rambles, the more Fern is interested by the explanation and begins unironically contributing his own perspective.

"What if the knife god sends us knives to test if they're nice and sharp?" The offer compels Fern to stop sweeping as well, although his reason for doing so is more of a curiosity to see if his human brother can figure out what he is thinking about. With them still being the same guy, Finn shares that challenging expression in his eye.

Fern swoops down and throws a knife at Finn, but the boy rolls to the side and retrieves a knife from the ground just in time to deflect the second knife thrown at him. Fern attempts to continue throwing blades at his playmate, but he only draws closer in range, forcing Fern to sidestep the pointy jabs directed at him as he grabs his own knife, and they begin sparring right there with the brooms long forgotten. They go at it for a while till Finn notices the sun leaning over the horizon and remembers something.

"Okay okay that's enough, let's wrap this up before the sun goes down."

"Got somewhere to go?" Fern asks as he hops from side to side, still energized from the spar.

"Yeup, a friend wants to collect kelp samples for a college project and I promised I'd help."

"Kelp samples?" Hah! That's boring..." His smile faded. "Wait.. you talking about the biology student that's always cooped up at Turtle P's library?"

Finn confirms, "That's the one." While the human boy skipped happily at the thought of you, Fern's jaw tightened as he felt an unpleasant stir in his chest. Finn had his back to Fern and was in the process of picking up his fallen broom when a knife imbedded itself just next him, missing his palm by only an inch.

"Who knowsss what kind of trouble you'll sstumble into when you're out there collecting kelp sssamples, you could get ambushed by kelpies or banditsss," the grass boy explains with a low tone and a snake whisp in his tongue before his voice shifted back to normal. "They are my friend too! and the last thing I want is to find out they got hurt because you weren't able to help. Now, pick up that knife and show me you can protect them from anyone and anything."

Finn considers the challenge, normally he'd never say no to one but he's grown familiar enough with Fern's mood swings to know it's that darn octopus messing up his head again, but if there's any best way to get it out of his system it's by sparring. With that goal in mind, Finn acepts the challenge even though it means fighting Fern when he's at his "most intense". The duel starts just like the previous one but the longer it went on the more Finn came to realize it no longer had the same playful approach as before, it became all the more apparent whenever Fern purposely scratches at him every time he left opening rather than playfully bump him with the butt of the dagger.

"They're my friend I'd never let anything happen to them!" Finn grinds his teeth as their blades collide.

"I knew them way before you did, i was gonna ask them out... before..." Fern stutters for a second, giving Finn the opportunity to kick him in the back of the knee and knock him down.

"Before you turned into a sword right?" Despite the takedown, Finn's tone softens as he assists his brother in standing up. "So that's what has you all jumbled up. Fern, remember what I said about bottling up your feelings?"

"That I should use my words." He nods like a scolded child.

"How about you share'em with me?" Finn held Fern in hug before giving him a much needed squooze.

Fern sighs. "You know more than anyone why I like them. And when I heard you were going out with them I guess I got a little jealous."

'Right just a bit,' Finn thought, but didn't dare to speak it out and upset his grass bro. "Have you considered asking them out yet?" The human youngster suggests, "You know, like on an actual date and not just collect samples." It sounds simple enough to him, but Fern's inner struggle makes it not so simple.

"I did. But after the whole "I turned into a sword and then the grass disaster," I had a feeling that they wouldn't even want to look at me." Fern deflates and drops down Finn's grip while he explains, but Finn holds him up again.

"Well, you'll never know unless you try it out!"

Fern turned his head in the direction of his human counterpart. "What? But what about YOU? I am sure you have a crush on them."

Finn scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I do. They're really amazing with the knowledge they have about a bunch of stuff, however... I've already dunked on my other relationships, if anything I'll probably ruin this one too."

For once, Fern sees a part of himself in Finn that isn't just superficial similarities; the hesitance and self-doubt are all too familiar, and despite the little devil inside him telling him to exploit Finn's weakness, he instead tries to encourage him. "Finn, you're a great shot ."

A knock on the door and a doorbell ring from below the tree fort, followed by your familiar voice asking for someone to open it. The two brothers exchange glances before Fern breaks the silence. "How about we each take our shot and let them decide?" he asks, offering a peace deal with a handshake.

"Sounds good."

#finn the human x reader #adventure time x reader #fern mertens x reader #fern mertens #finn mertens #reader insert

[ashesbreadandbutter]

I've got one: an Adam that can SEE soulmates. He grins nastily as he takes a GOOD LONG look at Alastor and SMIRKS "Vox, huh? You love him, hmm? I can see it written right on your disgusting soul Al-ass-tor. Annnnd even better he's your soulmate. I kill him, I cause you unimaginable pain and suffering for eternity without touching you." And then he takes off, leaving Lute and his army to take care of the hotel--who HEARD HIM to search for Vox.

The Vees are in full out panic mode, of course. They have no idea what to do. Vox say he can carry both Val and Vel through the electricity but they need a location to go too--abd the vacation home is too far, he doesn't have the juice.

Valentino is pissed at Vox for being Alastor's soulmate, and panicking about the certain death heading their way.

Velvette doesn't care: "Take us as far as you can to the vacation home and we can steal a car!"

Alastor is RAGING. How DARE that pompous f-wit threaten what is HIS?!? (Although he is pleased Adam did announce Vox was his too all of Hell. Now no one would dare try to date Vox after he killed the moth.)

(Feel free to use :3)

Thank you anon because I definitely WILL be taking this.

No really this is good, honestly you anons are helping write the best voxal fanfic with me as well speak. I think after I finish my current writing coms today then I'll start on this story. It honestly sounds really fun and I'm a bit of a slow burn kinda gal with a passion for angst so this is definitely up my alley.

The idea of Adam coming in? Mwah!

Like imagine the way Alastor freezes the moment Adam says that stuff about going after Vox and especially before Vox finds himself having to defend the vees. Bro doesn't even know what's going on at first and that he's basically one of the reasons it's happening. Imagine his shock if Alastor does hunt him down before the angels get there, both confusion AND relief showing on his face just to see Alastor. Though there's also annoyance.

"ugh! I could have handle a few angels Alastor!" He growls after Alastor grabs them after fighting and imagine something like after Alastor saves them he and Vox are having this argument just for Vox to stop when it seems Alastor did in fact take some damage.

"a few isn't tons Vox." Alastor would most like his back while cradling a wound and Vox might as well be the one to help him clean it up, matter of fact he has too because everyone is rather fearful of the pair. Alastor doesn't want anyone to deal with the wound like a stubborn dog unless it's Vox and this could leave them a lot of time just to sit with each other. It's silent as Vox carefully cleans his wounds, gentle and careful not to do anything that would hurt even more and then as he's looking over Alastor's body he'll glare at nothing halfheartedly, brows burrowed in confusion and annoyance.

"why'd you do something so stupid?" He'll ask and I can see Alastor's ear twitching. Vox basically asks him what's his problem. Why'd he go out there to fight so many angels and over HIM of all people? He's both flattered and a bit unnerved.

If Alastor really did all that to help him then maybe he SHOULD go back to the hotel just to keep an eye on Alastor's healing though maybe it's just a way to get closer because though Vox being Alastor's soul mate is life changing on his own, knowing and seeing Alastor after such a fight and touching his wounds really manages to draw Vox in. Like he wants to be with Alastor in the same bed and everything as he heals.

I wanna say Alastor will heal with no issue but imagine a case where he doesn't. Where the angel blades hold off his healing for just long enough to where Vox is actually worried over the other man.

This could be an interesting part to rebuild their connection. Seeing Alastor almost die while showing Hell that Vox BELONGS TO HIM really makes the TV demon flustered and more than he's ever been before. (Vox likes knowing Alastor is possessive enough to literally have a battle of his own with heaven. It makes him feel special and more than he ever has before)

I'd like to say this situation really convinces Vox but with their history he's worried about getting too close even though he wants to.

He's scared of falling in love with Alastor because what it its 'not the right time' again?

Vox is definitely an over thinker in this case, will sit through the healing process for Alastor but maybe he finds Alastor's words to be a fluke? Did he really mean it? Yeah he almost DIED but he couldn't possibly- he definitely means it.

They've had their history but Vox is a runner now and Alastor wants to chase him. After all, who could know him better than his old friend and whether Vox likes it or not no one would DARE (especially after the shocking announcement that they are soulmates) take Alastor's destined spot in his life.

I honestly love these ideas and I have many myself, keep em coming y'all!

- A

#vox x alastor #alastor x vox #voxal #writing commissions #please commission me #i will write almost anythin #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #fandom #fanfic #hazbin hotel #writers of tumblr #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #anon answered #send anons #anon ask #thanks anon! #anonymous #headcanon #story building

[luckywolfsbane]

Okay, so we know Twilight survived because the Shadow was arrogant enough to underestimate the Chain's connection(my theroy at least). So I'm now going to take a look at the two little beasts that have been plaguing everyone's minds since their spat: Four and Wild.

Both of them look better in this chapter, but claiming they're "okay now" would be a huge stretch. Let's look at Wild first.

Despite sparing some smiles, he looks pretty deflated emotionally. Boy is definitely tired. I personally think he looks somewhat alright because he's putting up a front for the others. I think it's either going to coast like this until he feels better for real or his little wall will come crashing down the moment there's more trouble from the Shadow(considering he thinks he killed the Shadow, guess which I think is more likely. Hell, we might get a combination thereof). Just a guess, really. But an educated one.

Now... Four. Sweet boy, good boy. Warriors, please give him a hug. Wild got one, and Four is LITERALLY RIGHT THERE. It would be so easy.

Okay, seriously though. Four is eating himself up inside. Not only did he draw a weapon on Wild, he divided himself as well. This implies he was approaching Wild as a real threat, which I'm certain isn't lost on either of them. Look at this boy:

He's hurting considerably. It's pretty obvious he intends to fix the sword for Wild, especially given the circumstances of why it was broken in the first place. Considering his expression, I don't expect that to be the end of it for Four or Wild.

They're going to need to rebuild their trust. Wild and Four will both have to put in effort. Not just because they were both involved, but because they were both at fault for their spat. This has to go beyond words.

Neither were truly wrong, don't misunderstand. Emotions were running so high, both were just trying to help in the only way they could think of. And their methods just happened to clash. However, they'll need to acknowledge that, or something akin to that.

But with their weakened relationship(I think they'd still die for each other, but they are hurt), seeing turmoil come from them trying to rebuild their bond wouldn't come as a surprise. I don’t expect more than one of two chapters of turmoil before they fully make up. But if we get more, I won't complain.

Also.... uh... is Wild the only one that knows about the colors?

We all remember this. I think these expressions from them both in these panels will help to lay out how they move foward.

Wild is freaked out by Four's ability here. Four(especially Vio) expected that and used that to their advantage. Which kind of lends itself to the question: does Four view himself as a sort of freak? I think so. I hope this internalized shame gets addressed, and I hope Wild is able to help him feel accepted. It's part of what makes Four himself, he should be allowed to feel safe when split.

Personally I believe that until they talk about that; until Wild and Four acknowledge what happened, they won't be able to heal. Once Wild knows what happened there, I'm certain he'll accept Four and the colors without batting an eye. I would hope they'd talk about telling the others to clear the air, but that's Jojo's choice. It would be interesting either way, really.

Also, with Tears of the Kingdom less than 100 days away.... uh, yeah. I'll tackle that in another post.

#linked universe update #linked universe spoilers #linked universe #linked universe analysis

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 29

Third POV

It's Sunday. Eboni has spent her weekend trapped in EJ's Infirmary with Jeff by her side almost 24/7. The teen wants to address this, but she knows he'll just brush it off. She questions why he struggles to vocalize how he cares for her. In her mind, it isn't as difficult since his actions speak for him.

In honesty, she finds the killer being reluctant to voice his emotions kinda cute. Though she'll never admit that out loud. Her eye is healed enough for her to open it. Her cut lip is healed while the bruise on her cheek is fading. Her ribs still ache as well as her ankle, but nothing is broken- so she can manage. Her hand, though, is going to take the longest to heal. The serum is enough to lessen how large the cut is, but it's still going to require more stitching.

On the plus size, Eboni has gotten a chance to get to know EJ and BEN. They don't seem too bad, but BEN is a bit of a perv that's on drugs. If he offers Eboni another mystery pill, she swears to throw him into a tub full of ice-cold water - other than that, he's a good buddy to smoke weed with.

She finds EJ interesting. His knowledge within the medical field is a bit surprising until he opens up on how he became what he is. It's a bit disheartening that slenderman played a part in it, though, but he holds no grudges.

Right now, both Eboni and BEN are playing mario Cart on one of EJ's medical monitors. BEN, of course, hacked it so it can display the screen on his switch. The two have had three races, BEN winning all of them - Eboni in last place every time.

Eboni grabs her pillow, hitting the glitching demon multiple times upside his head. "The third fucking time!? And these maps are complete ass!"

"Ack! Aye! It's not my fault you suck at this shit! I thought you were a streamer!"

"In my free time, when I'm bored. I don't play Nintendo games, you elf!"

"What games do you play?"

"Shooting games - like Call of duty. It's fun pissing those gamer freaks off." She grins.

"Ugh- fine. I'll put one of those games in. What else do you play?"

"Cookin' momma and any just dance game."

BEN laughs, "Really? Just dance? Cookin momma? Those games are ridiculous!"

Eboni raised a brow, "so your saying that they're so bad you can beat me at them?"

"Hell yeah, I can - wanna bet?"

Eboni holds out her hand, the creature shaking it as she proudly says, "DEAL!"

Jeff and EJ sit back in one of the few chairs in the room, watching the two play. Jeff's attention is mostly on Eboni, not knowing that he's smiling rather softly towards her. These pass days, Jeff allows himself to accpet a number of things. The first is his overwhelming feelings for Eboni. Something about her - something within her - keeps drawing him in - making him want much more.

Nothing, and no one has been able to hold his attention almost constantly. His attention span is pretty short. It doesn't take the killer much to become bored rather quickly, but with Eboni, he doesn't face that issue. He seems to find out something new about her every day. Her attitude and feisty nature always make things more entertaining.

After spending two days with her, it still isn't enough. He doesn't want her to leave his side - not even for a second. He never thought he'll be this clingy. But after seeing her so bruised and hurt, a strong, overpowering sense of needing to protect what's his took over him completely. Jeff doesn't care what anyone says, nor how others look at her within the mansion. All he cares about, all he wants is for Eboni to be safe & feel safe.

EJ glances at Jeff, grinning a bit. "She really has you whipped, huh?" He teases, elbowing his shoulder playfully.

Jeff eyes harden, scoffing while shaking his head. "As if."

"Come on Jeff. It's written all over your face." EJ grins, glancing at Eboni. "She's really something. I see why you fell hard."

"I didn't fall for that fuckin' bi-"

"Sprout bullshit all you want. Everyone knows how you feel." The cannibal shrugs, giving the smiling killer a knowing look.

Jeff sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair as he watches Eboni begin to play just dance with BEN. "Whatever....how did yours make you feel?" He asks hesitantly, knowing how sensitive this topic is for EJ.

He smiles, showing his sharp teeth. "She was my world. She gave me this high that I've never felt before, my addictive drug."

"Have you ever...felt this overwhelming feeling to protect her? The thought of any other guy looking at her pisses you off?"

EJ can't help but chuckle. "Sometimes yeah, but you're far more possessive than I ever was. You never seem to leave Eboni alone - not that she minds."

"I..." Jeff doesn't know what else to say. EJ is right as he is most of the time.

"She gives you this sense of control that you've never had, even before being dragged into this mansion. It levels you- but no worries, you're still a crazy mother fucker." He said, patting his shoulder.

The smiling killer doesn't shrug his hand off this time. The eyeless cannibal is right - the desire to have complete control over something, anything, and Eboni gives him that. Giving him complete control over her life. The idea of having someone to control has always been appealing, thrilling even.

Sure, Nina could've filled that role, but she wouldn't have lasted, and her existence irks him. Throwing away such a good life - a life he sometimes wishes he had. Sure, he had a mother and a father, even a little brother, but it wasn't stable - he was never stable.

A cheer breaks him from his thoughts, Eboni performing a rather sensual victory dance while BEN lays on the floor - exhausted. Eboni completely floored BEN in cookin momma, just dance, and even a few shooting games. Even with all the cheat codes BEN gathered, he couldn't beat raw talent.

Eboni bends down, holding her hand out and giving BEN a mocking pitied look. "Switch, please."

Accepting defeat, he snaps his fingers as his Nintendo Switch system appears in her hands. With a giddy smile, she skips over to Jeff, showing off what she won. "I beat the game, demon!" She cheers gleefully.

Jeff stands, patting the top of her head. "Good job, princess."

"What the fuck man! You know how much I love that thing and your praising her!?"

Jeff grins, flipping BEN off as he moves onto Eboni's medical bed. "Go cry about it."

"Asshat!" He shouts before zapping away.

EJ laughs, standing from his chair. "Slenderman is requesting me. I'll be back to do one more check-up on her."

Jeff nods, watching the cannibal leave. He smiles at Eboni, patting his thigh. The teen eagerly jumps onto the bed, moving to sit in between his legs. The killer wraps his arms around her waist, sighing in contentment while Eboni messes around with her new Switch to fit her taste.

"Gonna open up about that little episode you had?" He questions, watching her fingers still against the joysticks.

There has been this unspoken air between the two. Most of it is regarding what took place Friday, the other being their feelings for one another that neither of them are ready to discuss any time soon. Eboni tenses a bit, leaning her head up to look at Jeff.

"I don't..." The topic of her parents has always been a sensitive one. But maybe it's time she forces herself to talk about it.

"If you do, I'll give you a reward." He whispers to her, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs against her hips.

Eboni gulps nervously, lowering her head as she takes a deep breath. "O-Okay..." she whispers, beginning her story.

It's Christmas Eve. Jacob, Eboni's father's family, has invited him to spend Christmas with them. It was surprising considering they've grown apart the moment Jacob proposed to his wife, Yasmine.

His family fought and never accepted Yasmina, which made no sense considering how sweet and loving the woman was. Unfortunately, she has no family of her own except for her husband and daughter - which played a role in Jacob's family disliking her.

However, both are individually successful. Jacob is a world-renowned martial artist, owning several self-defense studios across the United States. Yasmina is a world-renowned chef and retired gymnastics coach. They've paved the way for their eight year old daughter to have an amazing future.

The family is currently driving to Jacob's family home, which happens to be a huge mansion. Yasmine isn't looking forward to this trip, but Eboni is. The young child couldn't wait to see her aunt that she misses and loves so much. Yasmine was looking forward to seeing Jacob's older sister, though. The woman is the only one she gets along with - the only one she trusts.

"Honey, I told you we should've left before the snow storm gotten closer." Yasmine sighs.

"Yeah, yeah - I get it, woman. You were right." Jacob said, rolling his eyes playfully, which earns him a light smack on his arm.

"Oh, don't start! It's just the snow os picking up. The weather report also said to be mindful of black ice. Maybe we should find a motel and -"

"I've been driving since I was sixteen years old. I'm 30 babe, this storm is child's play."

Eboni giggles, playing with her stuffed rabbit, glances out of her window - gasping at the snow. "Ish so pretty and white! Lookie look!"

"I see, sweetie. It's very beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as my little princess."

Eboni giggles, squeezing her rabbit close to her chest. Swinging her feet at her father's words. "Momma is prettier!"

"Oh, Eboni, stop -"

"Mhm. Both of you are my gorgeous girls. Aaaaall mine." Jacob smiles, moving to place his hand on Yasmine thigh.

After an hour or so, Jacob notices this black van with tinted windows following them. At every turn, every stop light - the van is right behind them, tailgating them. Yasmine has noticed too but hasn't voiced her concerns, not wanting to scare her daughter.

Jacob and Yasmine share a knowing look as they hold each others hands. Jacob begins speeding through the snowstorm, running red lights and making a few sharp turns. Unfortunately, the black is still hot on their tail.

"Momma? Papa? Why is the car going so fast? Ish little scary..." she pouts, gripping her rabbit plush even tighter.

"No reason, sweetie! Daddy is just trying to get there as fast as he can since the storm is getting worse. We might get stranded in the middle of the road if he doesn't hurry." Yasmine explains as calmly as she could.

Eboni notices the two holding their hands and the worried expressions on their faces. Eboni reaches forward, placing her hand over her parents - feeling a sense of comfort now.

The comfort fades the moment Jacob loses control over the car after sliding on a large patch of black ice. The man keeps his composer, turning the wheel in the opposite direction - gaining control rather quickly. He smiles, looking at his wife then at his daughter.

"You guys oka-"

SKREEEEEEEET- BANG!

A sixteen wheeler comes crashing head-on into the family. The front of the car is completely destory, and Eboni's parents crushed. Eboni's eyes widen at the sight, screaming at the top of her lungs- crying out for her parents to speak, pleading with them to let her know that they're alright. Eboni was struggling to keep consciousness, suffering extreme internal bleeding. The last sight of her loving parents being their mangled corpses.

"The poor girl. Her father's family wants nothing to do with her..."

"Losing your parents. What kind of Christmas gift is that?"

Eboni slowly opens her eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the brightness of the hospital room. She tries to sit up, whimpering at the pain she feels all over her body.

"Oh no, no! You mustn't move, sweetheart. You have to rest." The nurse said, gently lowering the child back down.

"Momma...papa? Where are...momma and Papa?" Eboni questions, her voice horse. The child was stuck in a coma for a week.

The two nurses share a heartbreaking look. The first nurse slowly shakes her head. "Um... sweetheart, they aren't here right now."

"Wh...what? But momma and papa are hurt! Hospitals heal people! So they should be ok...momma and Papa are ok..right?" She questions, lips quivering. The poor child didn't want to believe the horrifying images of her parents being real. The doctors can just piece them back together. They're miracle workers just like her father taught her.

The nurses stay quiet, not sure how to comfort the child while trying to keep the heartbreaking truth from her.

"Then Tete? Where's Eboni's Tete?" The eight year old questions, referring to her auntie.

The nurses remain silent again, confirming the child's suspicions. Her parents are gone. They weren't coming back. The doctors couldn't fix them. No one could bring them back. Her other family, her aunt, has completely left her to endure this new painful reality alone.

"No... NO MOMMA! PAPA! EBONI IS AWAKE! SHE'S OK, SO YOU SHOULD BE OK!" she screams, forcing herself to sit up - the child slipping into hysterics.

The nurses begin to panic, phoning for the doctor to come. Once there, he orders the nurses to hold the child down.

"But she's just a kid!" The second tries to reason.

"And she'll injure herself further in this state! We have to sedate her!" He explains, pulling out a rather large needle filled with cheer liquid.

Eboni sees this and screams at the top of her lungs, the same gut-wrenching scream as before. She trashes around, the nurses having no choice but to force the child down and strap her in place. The doctor sighs, walking over and forces the needle into a vein within the child's arm - slowly pushing the liquid into her.

Quickly, Eboni begins to calm down heavy tears streaming down her face. From that day forward, the young child's world - that was full of happiness and love - will become a life full of hellish experiences, solitude, and a chain of endless abuse.

#spotify #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #ben drowned #eyeless jack #laughing jack #sally williams #bloody painter #yandere #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #bdsmplay #bdsmkink #bdsmlife #bwwm love #bwwmromance #dark romance #horror #cw: gore #triggers #slenderman #ticci toby #tim masky #hoodie #zalgo #zalgo creepypasta #creepypasta smut #smut

[asterifish]

I owe you... / MINCHAN fanfic

Synopsis: Minho is a travelling mage, and Chan is a shapeshifter. One day as Minho is heading home, he runs into an injured wolf. The wolf seemed very desperate, so Minho reluctantly led the wolf(Chan) to his house so he could heal him.

Type: One-shot(?) (Words: 693)

Genre: slight angst, strangers to lovers, mage x shapeshifter

It was a pretty gloomy day when Minho finally left his shop and started to head home. Walking down the long path to his house, Minho had to carry his bags of spell bottles, checking every so often to make sure none of the bottles hadn’t broken. Halfway down the road, Minho could hear faint whimpering.

Looking around, Minho shook his head when he saw nothing. Continuing down the road, Minho could still hear the whimpers of pain, and they got louder as he heard the stop sign. As the whimpers had gotten louder, Minho grew more worried. Placing down his bags at the side of the road, he started to look around for the source of the noise. “Hello..? Whoever’s there, it's okay! I want to check on you.” checking the bushes, Minho tried to find the animal, or whatever it was that had been injured.

Walking around one of the trees, Minho found himself face to face with a wolf. Yelping in surprise, the wolf wobbled to its feet in an attempt to run away. Minho found himself smiling as he crouched down. Looking around, Minho picked up three small rocks. Putting them on the ground, he uttered some words before they turned into little pieces of meat. The wolf seemed interested, and hobbled closer, sniffing the ground. As the wolf moved closer, Minho picked up a piece of meat in his hand and held it out, not moving. Growing more curious, the wolf gently licked the piece of meat out of Minho’s hand.

Watching the wolf carefully, Minho put another piece of the meat in his hand, smiling when the wolf ate that one too. Leaning into Minho, the wolf seemed to be smiling. “You’re an odd one, aren’t you?” Minho patted the wolf’s head and then stood up, heading back to the road. Grabbing his bags, he jumped when he felt something cold against his hand. Looking down, Minho’s eyes met the wolf’s.

Time skip to Minho’s house

After Minho had treated the wolf’s wounds in his bathroom, he’d left to go get it something to eat. In that time, Minho’s cats had snuck into the room and started sniffing and pouncing on the wolf. Grunting as the cats pawed and meowed at him, the wolf put his head down, waiting eagerly for Minho’s return. A few minutes later when Minho came back, the wolf was curled up with the cats, eyes halfway closed.

When Minho stepped into the room, the wolf lifted its head, seeming to smile again. “Feeling better? I see you’ve met my cats!” Minho knelt down and patted the wolf’s head. The two sat in silence for a bit, Minho studying the wolf while it slept. After a few hours, Minho found himself dozing off. Shaking himself awake, he silently stood up and headed to his bedroom.

Timeskip to the morning

Stretching awake, Minho yawned as the sun peeked through his blinds. Looking around his room, he tried not to yell when he noticed a human lying next to him. Lifting himself out of bed, he studied the male. Looking closely, he noticed that something about him reminded him of… the wolf? Standing up, Minho headed to the bathroom.

On the way, he found his cats meowing loudly, wanting their food. Patting them all, he opened the bathroom door. As he fed the cats, Minho noticed that the wolf was gone. Heading back to his room, Minho knelt next to the sleeping male once more. When he didn’t wake up when Minho poked him, he took a picture before sitting down to draw him.

Minho had gotten halfway through the drawing before he heard a yawn. Looking up, he smiled when he noticed the male had opened his eyes. “I didn’t know you were a werewolf, I would have gotten you some human food.” Minho said, leaning forward and patting the male’s head. “You’re.. not scared of me?” The male seemed genuinely surprised, which hurt Minho. “Of course not. Why would I be?” Sitting up, the male looked directly into Minho’s eyes. He seemed to be.. studying Minho, deciding what to say next.

“I’m Chan.”

Hello! Author here! I'm thinking of making this specific one into it's own series, sorry for the cliff hanger 🤭

Again, thank you to @solastalgiart for letting me use your works to write fics! Make sure to check them out, and see you soon!

Original works by Asterifish, reposts and translations are not allowed without permission. Help me by reblogging and liking my posts!

#minchan #bang chan #leeknow x bangchan #Asteri's🪐fics #angst with a happy ending #strangers to lovers #Spotify

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Desire, Despair and Updates

OK, drawing is still off the table. My lack of light tolerance won't let me stare at a brightly-lit white surface long enough to be productive. The doctor puts it down to severe dry eyes, but she was running over an hour behind and I did not get much of her time. I got another follow-up next month.

Reading glasses and eye drops are recommended, but distortion from reading glasses is making me a bit sick (it didn't before, I dunno what changed). That thing where my weak eye stopped going off-kilter may be temporary, I hafta heal for at least three months to see if it's going to stay like that. Fingers crossed but I don't feel hopeful.

Patreon is still being stupid. If I would like to confirm I'm over 18 with a nongovernmental ID, they'd like FOUR of them that meet specific requirements and that seems unreasonable. I was abstaining due to not wanting to give a 3rd party my personal data in the first place. If I'd like to stop being 18+, I need to submit my page for approval. It's not worth it to me for three Patrons, two of whom will probably join again if I make a new account. I'm not sure if I'm going to stick with Patreon, but after payments come in (and go out) on December 1st, I'm cashing out and shutting it down. I'll make something new when I'm ready to come back with more content.

I have six more instalments ready to go, and I intend to start posting them without art. I'll put the roughs up for DL on the Patreon tonight, if anyone's interested, and text will go live at some point tomorrow.

So, my few Patrons, you'll be charged on the 1st like usual, and then it should stop. Make sure, because we're going to close down our American bank account and if you pay more money it's not going to me.

I gotta give my eyes a full year to see if light tolerance and dryness will improve. I should get to the point where I can draw... soonish? I have glasses and new eye drops to try. But, again, the doc rushed me out of the office in like, five minutes, so this isn't a high standard of care at the moment.

I got more doctor stuff on Wednesday, and more later in the month. It's gonna be kinda exhausting. I wanted to make cookies and put up some decorations, ya know? But I don't have it in me yet. New instalment will go up tomorrow, though, because I am determined and annoyed, and I'll leave some update info at the Patreon too.

#tin soldier and soldier on #updates #doctor stuff #meh

[mmuffncakes]

Tell me about your 3 original fiction stories!!! Are they all horror? The names sound like it but I wanna know more!

so because i answered a little bit prior about Owl Falls i'll give a snippet for this one! (This is unedited)

Dakota’s mind stopped when he saw it.

                In the cockpit, nearly hidden by shadows but lit enough by the dim flicker of the flame, was a mask. But not just any old mask… the mask of the most wanted criminal in North America. It was off-white from age and old blood, a streak across the nose and forehead from what looked like a gruesome kill. It was flat, the nose pointed down, made to look like a beak, the eyes wide. The Owl. His heart skipped a beat, maybe two, as he pushed himself away from the body.

                Standing back, he could see the oh so very slow rise and fall of the man’s chest. Not just any man. The Owl. How many kills were under his belt? How many times had Dakota heard the code name crackle through the radio? And here he was, laying in a pile of slush; pale, bloody, injured, broken, on the brink of death… breathing.

                Dakota wasn’t sure how long he stared at The Owl, watching him breathe. He couldn’t figure out his thoughts. Leave him to die? Dakota could already feel the trauma of letting someone die and rot in the woods, no matter how rotten of a person they were. Bring him back? Heal him up? Let the authorities take him? Would he even confirm his identity? Wouldn’t he try to escape? Well… not with that ankle he wouldn’t.

                The turmoil in his head was getting overwhelming.

                And despite it all: Dakota refused to leave a man to die. No matter the atrocities he committed.

The Untitled Slasher one, I beeeliiiieeevvveeee !!! you actually saw me draw the main character for it way back when in the server: Shane. But this one is still just a concept. But it's heavily inspired by Freddy 2, actually. In the concept of how much are the murders the main character and how much of them are the Slasher behind the mask. It would follow Shane, who is a cryptid hunter/camp counselor in the 90's as he's helping to clean up camp and reset it up between camp sessions. It's here he comes across a masked man in the woods that he grows a soft relationship with. And during this time, he starts to lose his mind over things people are saying, what theyre doing, and its a slow descent into him thinking he's waking up with blood on his hands when one of his fellow counselors is found dead or goes missing, and the constant control thats leaking into him from the masked man. its a *concept* rn. it defo needs some passes, and defo needs some work.

The Black Box is actually a cyber-punk sci-fi short I wrote that I wanted to develop more into something a bit more. It's defo out of my comfort zone for what I normally write in genre's, but I still enjoyed the characters I created for it (Rook, Stranger, and Tiger Othello). That one focuses on Rook, a hired thief by Tiger Othello to obtain a black box. Once she has it, she starts getting hunted down by Tiger Othello's men, realizing this was a set-up. In her escape, she meets Stranger, an interesting mind inside of a robotic body that she's yet to figure out. But they have secrets and information about Tiger Othello and the two team up to get unframed while uncovering some deeper secrets. I beliieeeve you've also seen the art of that one!

#asks #my writing #my work #original content

[futurefarmersamerica]

important question. thoughts on evrart claire?? and/or feedist disco elysium thoughts in general 👀

i have SO MANY thoughts >:3

firstable EVRART!! i love him i do genuinely believe he has martainaise's best interests at heart he's just ruthless & slimy & willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. and if it ends up also benefiting him personally in the process then hey that's a bonus! that post that's like "if evrart was thin/conventionally attractive he'd be everyone's problematic fav" is sooooo true. he's MY problematic fav at least! everyone who's seen me go insane over arvid knows one thing i can't resist is some terrible sleazy fat guy with dark hair and glasses LOL. trying to draw the evrartgirls out of hiding by posting derangement on main like the one the other day that was like "i'd rock his shit so crazy his lazy eye starts seeing straight" but have yet to see results. also the person who said "there would be fanart of harry sitting in his lap" SO CORRECT. like hello the sexual tension between him and harry is soooo palpable. two minutes into meeting this man evrart's like "ah yes, praise kink. i can exploit this" & starts calling harry his special boy and shit?? oughhhhh. i have yet to search ao3 for harry/evrart because i'm afraid to be let down & find nothing.

as far as other thoughts i have PLENTY about harry. prime candidate for characters who deserve some fucking peace & rest & healing & getting fat in the process. like how can anyone not see this sad wet beast of a man & think "ohhh i need to wrap him in a blanket and take care of him & cook him a nice meal"??? of course i was always gonna be insane for him after the gym teacher reveal like?? jean being like "yeah you really let yourself go since then" OK??? lmao. the franconigerian hardbody conversation with billie was when i had to finally admit i was horny for him like okkkkkk the denial of it all yesss~

i'm a strong believer in the "harry's chronic pain came before the addiction as the result of post viral issues and is part of why he started self medicating in the first place" & considering physical activity can exacerbate the problem my ideal little "let harry get better scenario" is: QUIT the rcm and fucking take it easy for once!! sprinting around for 6 hours a day probably isn't helping! clearly he's good with kids considering cuno & the speedfreaks & the teaching history so he should go back to teaching but not gym. i wanna see art cop harry turn art teacher harry. and of course he ends up with kim who can't help but spoil him a lil bit. imo harry should totally be with someone who's into body worship & both totally adores his body as is and adores it even more with all the changes that come along with healing. all his self loathing makes me SO fucking sad like "this body's worthless anyway no one ever does anything nice to it" fucking DEVASTATING line. so yeah I think it would fix him at least a little bit esp bcus it would totally play into his praise kink. like i don't even really ever imagine him & kim in an explicitly feedist relationship or anything but more a incidental wg as a result of healing thing & kim just loves it and harry gradually learns to hate himself less in the process. ALSO i have definitely thought plenty about the implications of electrochemistry expressing disappointment about the ice cream freezer being empty. like ok so the sex & drugs & pleasure skill is the one that concerns itself with food also. say less.

& then of course there's garte my little meow meow babygirl. really goes to show all i need is for a man to make me laugh & have cute chubby cheeks & i'll be like "i need to turn him into my submissive little puppy who i put on a leash & give so many treats". something about the way he's sooo sad and pathetic but also plays the big shot (like with the whole "bad ass" thing and "yeah i manage many many cafeterias" when it's just 3 and one is a kebab stand lol) just makes you wanna put him in his place. & the fact that harry is so easily able to get him to consider the stupid cock carousel bullshit makes me think ok you could probably also convince him to be your spoiled feedee even though he'd definitely be a brat about it. there's no real strong evidence towards this like with harry but garte totally has a praise kink too i can just tell & wanna use it against him soooo badly.

#tired-chubby-and-gay #ask #definitely feel free to add any of your thoughts i live for this shit

[dzpenumbra]

5/26/23

Oh geez, spaced out and lost track of time. It's 4:30 again.

Today I had therapy. I brought up all the shit I've been mulling over, and the panic moment I dealt with in last night's journal. He was happy to hear of my improvement in my ability to deal with those panic moments. They're definitely a lot harder to deal with when you're stoned... much more immersive and convincing... so at least I have that going for me in dealing with stupid trauma shit being set off by ghosts of my past popping back into my life.

I worked on the skull a bit today. A bit of a shift. I started to ink it, using tattoo ink. I'm hoping that was a good idea, that shit stains like a bastard. I was a little worried about it... not soaking into the bone. I have no idea if it will properly dye the bone or not. But I did it and I'm going to leave it overnight and see how it comes out. I just did some thick outlines around the eye sockets and lines connecting the eye sockets to the nasal cavity. Then I started doing pencil. I did a circle spot in the center top of the skull to leave blank, with about an 1/4" outline to it. Then... I was planning to do this organic bubble style abstract work, like what I've been doing in my sketchbook. So I decided to go with the design that drew attention to a specific spot the best - the one with small bubbles in the center that grow in size as they radiate out. That should create a pattern on the top of the skull that draws focus to the center, which I'll figure out when I get to it.

I was worried about the ink because I found some on the edge of my finger. And... if I smudge it? That's permanent. There's no "undoing" ink smudges. So yeah... I'm hoping I picked the right medium for this. Again... I guess we'll see tomorrow. But I'm definitely pretty committed here, because mixing different kinds of black ink rarely gives a good look, especially over time. There are lots of ways to make black ink, usually they're super dark blue, green or purple. You'll notice this when they fade, if you've ever gotten a tattoo, you know exactly what I'm talking about. So... mixing inks can give an unintended look over time.

However... it just occurred to me that... if this ink doesn't thoroughly stain... I might have a trick up my sleeve for removal. In the tattoo shop, we used to use isopropyl alcohol to remove tattoo ink from surfaces and to deal with spills and shit, and it actually worked pretty well. And I do have some sitting around. Good to have backup plans.

Since it's already late, I'm gonna take a pee break and then do tarot.

Same as last time, blind reading, 3-card spread, Past/Present/Future.

First Position - Past - Seven of Swords (Hidden dishonor, guilt, deception, manipulation.) Second Position - Present - Nine of Wands (Defense, guarding yourself. Suspicion, self-protection.  Need rest and recovery.) Third Position - Future - Ace of Cups (A new relationship and the accompanying surge of emotions.  Getting in touch with your feelings.  Matters of the heart.  A deepening bond.)

Alright, this one is interesting. Two cards I've never gotten before. Seven of Swords is a spooky one. But I think I get it. It's actually something that, despite how much I share on here, I'm not going to share. We all have our limits, I guess. And maybe I'll get to sharing it someday... So... the Past thread is... something from my past that I regret, that I'm ashamed of. And that thread has led to my Present state... being the Wounded Soldier... tired and beaten, guarded, defensive, suspicious, needing to heal. Super accurate. And where that thread is likely to lead? A likely future? A new connection, a new relationship, social and emotional growth. Which, I have to say... has already happened in a lot of ways.

I see the linear connection between all three, but what I am struggling with is... how? How do I go from the Nine of Wands to the Ace of Cups? What catalyzes it? What is my role in that? Maybe it's as simple as... resolving the Nine of Wands? Healing? Recovering? Growing past that state?

That's an interesting thought. Like... can I heal and stop being the wounded lonely suspicious hermit... without others?

That's what's catching me here... the Ace of Cups is a social card, right? I mean... not entirely, but like... it seems mostly symbolic of the massive burst of emotions you get from a new relationship, most of the cups are about emotions and relationship stuff. And relationships require other people... (duh) So it feels like I'm waiting on another person to break me free of this. But... is it possible that the Ace of Cups is sorta... my burst of emotions when I free myself from the prison I'm in? When I heal enough to be vulnerable with the world, and submit myself to its judgement?

And... Ace of Cups does not guarantee a happy ending, rather... it's crucially a beginning card. Ten of Cups is more of the happy ending card. So... it doesn't really indicate that the big emotion surge is going to go well, in a lot of ways it indicates that it's happening in the context of inexperience. But hey, that's not all doom and gloom. What's more memorable than a first date? The first time you have your significant other for dinner at your house for your first official date, and you kiss on the futon for the first time. 2009 and I remember it like it was yesterday. Inexperience means new and exciting. I really need to allow myself to be open to that.

So... the part I'm skipping over here, that's related through the common thread... is the Seven of Swords. The regret and guilt and shame. And that's really the key. The Seven of Swords is the reason I'm stuck in Nine of Wands... and being able to move forward from that can likely bring me to Ace of Cups. That's what I'm getting from this. And that would imply that the way to evolve forward is by finding peace with the Seven of Swords stuff. Being able to live with it, without it being a Dr. House limp, attitude and pill bottle.

Alright, that all makes sense. And... the sun's up. So... I'm off to bed.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

[princessleone]

i feel like dropping out of school again would heal me.. tired of working 27 hours and studying at the same time and being perpetually exhausted, seeing the gaunt face in the mirror with dark circles under the eyes, always stressing out about the never-ending to do list, doubting the job my degree prepares me for, missing bagpipes lessons, telling everyone how tired i am everytime i see them..

i was actually happier when i just worked my job, with no further career prospects but a good-enough standard of living that allowed me some truly relaxing time because when i went home from work the day was really over.

dropping out again seems unreasonable because these studies offer me a good, stable job in education in three years, but i don't believe in the educational system (especially in France wtf), i don't believe in the fulfillment i could get from the job, and i don't believe in blindly pursuing a better salary when the pursuit makes one miserable.

i don't know what to do. something feels wrong and i know i can't keep this up for three more years, or even one. but i've suffered so much from being "gifted" yet failing at school, i feel like i need to prove my abilities to everyone and especially myself by finally getting a degree.. still, i feel more and more like a buffoon trying to keep all these balls in the air to entertain imaginary royals that don't and never will care. i might as well let the balls drop on the floor, walk out of the throne room and wander the hills.

what will happen, anyway, if i prove my intelligence to society like i dearly wish to? yes i'll get the money. but what for? minimum wage in France allows me to live alone in a small place, eat, and play the bagpipe, which is enough for me. i'm so afraid to regret anything. but right now, these studies are gnawing at my soul. they're interesting, but i might just as well read books on the topic, and spare that time to write my own books, draw again, and practice the bagpipe into mastery (which may or may not bring money eventually). this kind of handmade life seems so much more like myself.. than trying to ascend in society, desperately fleeing my underprivileged social background for everyone to know that, yes, i'm special! i'm talented! you were wrong to despise me when i was a smart, bored, petulant and misunderstood child frantically biting her nails in the classroom!

i'm so tired

#dropout #college #personal #diary #dropping out #? #studies

[chaoswillraen]

FIC: Untitled (1/4)

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Mature? but on the light side of it; full male nudity is described in some detail but sex is only implied, not shown. Characters: Nabriales, Warrior of Light (Rakuyo Yatsurugi) Word Count: 906 Summary: A different end to events in the Chrysalis. Eventual WoL/Nabriales ship.

There is a tail wrapped around Nabriales' left wrist; he can feel the spines of it, ready to pierce him should he make even the slightest of motions.

And that isn't even the worst of his predicament: the au ra knelt over his chest has over a fulm of height on him, possibly a hundred ponze, thick scales protecting his skin in case the Ascian wants to try anything.  Blue, blue eyes, blue like the aetherial sea, stare down at him, cold and hard and calculating.

After all the stories he'd heard, he didn't think the Warrior of Light had it in him--one more miscalculation amongst many, this day.  Any of them alone he might have survived, but the weight of so many, the weight of his own carelessness amidst impatience stacks up, and he doubts he'll be making it out of this one with his soul intact, not after the way these gathered companions had dealt with Lahabrea.  And he's no Unsundered, resilient and timeless--no, he's sundered, with sundered weaknesses, and he curses the ancient 'goddess' whose fault that is.

It draws a snarl from the au ra.  "If you will cease your spitting, I offer you a bargain."

Oh now that's unexpected, in the wake of all that just went down.  For certain nobody seems to have come to any permanent harm just yet, but the insults have stacked up, the prides of many are damages, and the Roegadyn woman will need healing, and soon, if she is to recover in full.  In spite of his interest, Nabriales manages a scoff.  "What sort of bargain?  I see an impasse'--I am unwilling to join your side, you're unlikely to join mine, and I can hardly see your friends accepting peaceful neutrality as an option at this late stage.  So: what bargain?"

The tail around his wrist clenches a little tighter.  "In the Chrysalis, in the Rift, you changed time.  I want to know how.  For it, you keep your life and swear no harm to the people of the Toll while you and they remain within its bounds.  Or I kill you," he nods towards the auracite, "and neither of us gets what we want.  But I think you will accept--I think you are like the Garleans we have captured.  They have a saying amongst them--dum spiro, spero.  While I breathe, I hope.  And you, like them, you believe.  You think yourself part of something greater than yourself, with a bigger part to play than you have now.  You will not throw away your life for so little benefit."

The au ra grins, white teeth to match white scales.  "And you are curious.  What manner of man am I, who thinks he can learn what you have mastered?"

Nabriales resists the urge to snarl again: he has been read well, and both of them know it.  "Fine, I'll take your bargain, and add a condition of my own.  Before every lesson, we spar.  You and me alone, no others to join the fight.  Outside the town."

The Warrior of Light blinks slowly, then smiles like some great croc as his tail loosens its grip.  "You think to get lucky, or wear me out.  We shall see who of us has greater stamina!  But today I grant you a boon--though we have fought, take your rest, and I will take mine.  Recover.  Tomorrow we meet by the shores of the lake, in the hour after lunch."

It's impressive to watch the au ra unfurl himself from the way he'd been crouched as he stands up from Nabriales' chest to his full height, and now that he's stood still, he's revising the estimate of his height upwards still further.  He'll have to take that into account tomorrow and all the days to come as well: any fight that comes down to grappling between them will be a fight already lost, if he cannot cast.

He stands himself, and a portal is already forming under his fingers when he turns back to face the Warrior.  "How did you know I was left-handed?"

"You favored the side as we fought," he says, glancing at his companions.  Two of them have already moved to the fallen woman's side, swift about their healing, and Nabriales feels a brief pang.  He had been at the Emissary's side when Lahabrea lurched into the Chrysalis following his sudden ejection, and Elidibus had tended him with the same gentle surety.  Would he treat one of the sundered the same way?  Nabriales does not know, but the Warrior of Light is speaking again, and one curiosity wins out over the other.  "Either it was stronger, or you were already injured.  I took a gamble."  He favors the Ascian with an odd look.  "I do so often.  In Hingashi, the betting-houses file the edges of their tokens so they are more likely to fall to one side.  The secret to winning is knowing which one.  There is no such thing as a surprise.  There is only information discarded or misinterpreted."

The Roegadyn woman is moving to stand now, and she seems less than pleased with the bargain.  Tupsimati and the blonde are safe.  Nabriales has no business lingering here, and he doesn't even acknowledge the au ra's words before he vanishes.

The Unsundered will want to know of what has transpired, and of what he has learned.

And of the tangled mire he has gotten himself into.

#my fic #final fantasy xiv #nabriales #warrior of light #au ra raen

[anotherghoul666]

I’m glad that my love and adoration for knives was conveyed in my last message. I assure you I would keep my eyes shut tight, I want to loose myself in the feeling, the pure helplessness of being at your mercy and yet trusting you to not make a fatal error. And trust you I do, despite having just met your words truley put me at ease despite the precarious situation.

So to answer your question, yes. It would be an honor to have a lasting tangible memento of such a night. I trust you will create something beautiful on my body, art I will admire for a long time to come and remember fondly.

-🗡

(obvious disclaimers for knives and blood)

To recieve such an amount of trust from you, dear knife anon, is an honor that I will carefully treasure and craddle. I do so hope that I will rise to the occasion for you and maintain said trust as we go, and I will work in this direction.

I'm glad to hear my own trust I placed in you to not open your eyes has been rewarded. You're obedient, and I mean, who wouldn't be when faced with a knife really, but you have obedience at your core, it's natural to you and I value that highly. You'll stay sat, immobile, careful when you move, eyes closed, by the sheer weight of my word and my command. No need for external force with you. You understand the value of the gift I bestow, you wouldn't want to risk missing out on it in any way.

Then if drawing blood has been agreed upon, let's see what I can come up. When you'll feel the sharpened delicate point of my blade scrape your skin, like a scratch at first, only the surface, no cuts yet, you'll wonder, what am I crafting? What is the image I want to permanently etch in your flesh? I'd say, since this is Ghost blog we met on after all, I'd assume an interest for the occult, if only in aesthetics? Now, to draw is not my main talent, I leave drawings to the visual artists of this works, I paint with words, so the designs I so lovingly want to carve into you won't be intricated or super detailed, but! I can efficiently transfer basic shapes and symbols into flesh. Would a pentagram be too on the nose? A lucifer's cross, somewhere intimate so it won't interfere with your daily life and risk impacting it negatively (aside from the pain and healing process of course ;) ) but you'll be able to look at it and remember me? I could craft a sigil for you, for us, for this, I make those, put intent into them, for your growth maybe, for you to attract the beautiful suffering and rapture you so crave more into your life. I do have a signature scar I make, that only very special people get to wear, and it requires care and maintenance for multiple sessions to set in just right. We've just met, but stand by my side for a long time and do good by me? We may discuss it later.

Yes for now, let's go with a sigil. I'll put it on the top of your thigh, the upper section close to the junction with your hip. Not hidden by underwear, but hidden by most clothes you would wear on the daily. You'll see it, and any future partner or people you so choose to undress for will see it, see the depth of our shared experience. I will start to lightly scrape your skin in the shape of my design. A sketching phase, if you will. So if it's not to my liking, this will heal and fade into nothingness and I can change for your other leg to have a fresh canvas. But I won't miss. You'll feel the scrape of the blade repeatedly, like a cat scratch, but over again on the same spots. Would you hold your breath? Would you, instead, force yourself to breathe deeply to process? What about when I'll line up my blade straight on the lingest of the sketch, and start to press in? Trace my line deliberately slow to ensure my sigil is clean edged when your skin splits lightly on either side of the knife, just a small cut for now, just the hint of small droplets of blood beading, because I don't go deep on a first pass. How will you breathe now? Now that I let adrenaline flood your nervous system finally, flood gates cut open with my knife. Now that I let endorphines start to build slowly, knowing full well the first 15-20 minutes of this will be the roughest part for you until your body's natural pain killer sets in. Will you shake? Will you quiver? Will you sit still? Will you clutch something? How do act under a knife, dear knife anon?

#asks #AnotherGhoul's confessional booth

[harbingercfdeath]

"Fixing you up is going to have to happen sooner or later," Bill replied gently, trying his best to avoid causing the other man any more pain. "And I feel like doing it sooner will make it hurt less in the long run." He didn't know much about this sort of thing, but he did know the basics. Mostly out of necessity. "The story will still be there when we're done."

The writer worked as quickly as he could and as gently as he could to clean Issac up. Once satisfied, he grabbed a few of the painkillers that had been asked for along with a cup of water, holding both out for the blonde to take.

Brows lifted on his forehead when he went to wash his hands after patching his lover up, surprised that an offer like that would even come from Issac. "You'd really bring me with you?" Bill asked, shocked, but not against the suggestion. Especially if it meant that he'd get to meet Issac's family. Although the idea of being around that much death was unsettling and felt a little voyeuristic. Being able to make sure that the other didn't get hurt was definitely a draw, however.

"Yeah, I'll try anything that will help it heal faster, never going to get mixed up with another demon like that again Bill or at least I hope not. Big scaley bastard!" Issac then shakes his head and looks at Bill "Do you think we could have something to eat? Healing makes me hungry, and you know how hopeless I am in the kitchen."

His blue eyes look up at Bill with a serious expression on his face "I would love for you to come with me if you want to and if you don't want to do that I can see if Father will come here and meet you in person because he is very interested in the human who his favorite reaper has fallen for." Issac then gets up carefully and comes over to Bill "He's going to love you just as much as I do."

"Now if you do come with me then you will have to follow my directions unless you want to fight off a demon for me or maybe spook off a spirit." He chuckles and tilts his head to the side as he looks at him "Might be fun playing catch the spirit. I mean I don't do it on purpose, and it can lead to real trouble with the boss, but I got him all buttered up."

@scribedhorror

#scribedhorror

[nokingsonlyfooles]

We'll see...

We took a hiatus from streaming for a while, but we decided to head back to Netflix for a month. Mainly to see Nimona and whatever else fun. We found a new one from Mike Flanagan. The Fall of the House of Usher was waiting for us. That was fun. It clunks in some places, but it's fun.

Towards the end, I felt some of that unreal brain tingle I get sometimes - either because I'm slightly psychic, or I have some kinda undiagnosed transient seizures, or the universe is a hologram and on some level I know it. Eh, could be all three.

I'm a storyteller, so take it with a grain of salt, but I'll relate to you what I said to the spouse, more or less: "You know, when Verna offers Madeline the choice, rich or famous, and she picks rich... I'd say 'Neither.' I'd say, 'I've seen both of those and they suck. I want power. I want to make changes. I want to set wheels in motion that keep turning a hundred years after I'm in the ground, and when I'm gone, I don't want anyone to know I was even here.'"

History has enough great men, and great women, and great whatever, don't you think so, Random Reader?

"'And I don't care about positive or negative, bad or good...'"

His eyebrows went up.

"'No, I want Justice.'" And I said, "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be here, unless I talked you into it. You would've picked something much simpler, if it was just you. Would you have let me make that deal?"

He said, "I think, if we were making deals, I'd want Peace..."

"Peace?" I said. "Peace is boring. Peace is Death. Peace is the nothingness before existence and the Universe itself said 'Fuck that shit.' You don't want Peace."

"I think," he said, "if you made that deal, I'd say, 'I want to be there to make sure it turns out better than you would've done it alone.'"

My eyebrows went up. "You're here to mitigate me?"

"Yeah."

We laughed, a little.

I said, "If I made that deal, we're going to lead interesting lives."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

"I'm sowwy," I said, and he leaned over me and put his hands on my shoulders, warm. "Do you fowgive me?"

"Yes I do!" he said indulgently.

We laughed some more.

"You're Mr. 'I Want the Death Note,'" I said. He'd mentioned it just a few hours ago, regarding the characters in the series and others like them. "That's really all you want?"

"Look, I talk a big game!" he said.

I believe him. Heh. He's here to make sure I play nice, I guess.

Well, it's halftime for me, if I'm lucky. Maybe a little less than that for him, if he's lucky. I've been... Let's be delicate and say I've been Nerfed for a long time. I needed healthcare. I'm finally getting some. My vision's coming back after the surgery, and it's a little balky, but now that I'm out of glasses, my stupid eye has stopped wandering off and doubling my vision. Still healing and I dunno how it's gonna shake out, but for right now, it's just stopped. I'm getting other things addressed too. I have energy for more things, even if I can't quite draw or spend hours in front of a screen yet.

I don't want to build an empire out of corpses. I tell stories. I'm telling one real long one that probably also clunks in places, and needs a tune-up that it's never gonna get because I can't pay someone to help me and I'm not popular enough to be picking up volunteers. But I'm also not gonna have a corporation breathing down my neck and trying to make it look marketable. I've chosen freedom over marketability every time, and so far it's gotten me... Very, very few readers. Very few. Like, two, I'm pretty sure.

But I still care more about telling my story without limits than forcing it into a hamster wheel to power the capitalist machine. (Don't hold me to that, but while the spouse is making sure I get enough to eat and stay alive, it's a luxury I can afford.)

That's a mistake Mike Flanagan or Netflix or someone in the creative pipeline made. That's a place where The House of Usher clunks. They try to end their story by saying "Nobody cares about this story," but we care deeply about stories. And, no, of all the things we could cut back on, movies and TV - methods of storytelling - will not be defunded so we can use the money to change the world. Money won't change the world, not for the better. Stories might. If my big, long story ain't gonna do it, well, maybe it's practice for later. Or creative fodder for someone who comes after me.

The story continues, painfully, with grave doubts and insecurity, and my art manifesto is still pending. (I'll get back on it now that the super strike is ending, if my eyes and brain let me.) I don't know what else my fragile human body and mind will let me do. Or the spouse, come to think of it. Darn him.

New year's coming. New me, new priorities... In part, because someone told me a good story. I'd like to tell one too.

We'll see...

(Heh, I might as well pin this for my intro. This says way more about me than the happy, apologetic face I try to show the internet so you won't get mad and hurt me. I don't wanna hurt anyone, I really am sorry. But I guess, deep down, I'm willing to do it to be heard.)

#the fall of the house of usher #writers on tumblr #storytelling #new year new me #deals with the devil #or whoever that is #oh i still want all the love i didn't get in my childhood but i'd be willing to negotiate #just enough love to last me the rest of my life please #and if i gotta die in obscurity... ok #but ONLY if i gotta