#at least some of my burns are from an abusive ex so i can just i guess say they all are❤️ lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

androgynousblackbox · 1 month

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Welcome to Hazbin Vale. 9 [Radioapple, Appleradio]

"Mmm? Oh right, I still have to do this.

I mean, good morning, dear friends! How are you all waking up today? Refreshed up? With a load of new energy to carry and face a new day? I truly hope so, because a day like no other is exactly what we are going to get.

But don't let me too ahead of myself. As any cooker know, you must let the food simmer for a bit, to cook on it's own juices, before hastly just gorging it out like a pag. And here, in Hazbin Vale, if there is anything that we have is class. Manners. Patience.

We have waited for so long, dear listener. We can take it as calmly as it comes.

Last night I am sure some of you noticed a distinctive lack of moon and stars on the cloudless sky. And if you didn't, well, now you know!

If any of you had ever bothered to pay more attention to it, then you would have also realized that stars systematically have been falling from the sky for a while now, one by one. It was actually quite an impressive view, but my, my, everyone is so busy right now that nobody was outside admiring the espectacle.

Truly a pity. When the end comes, the least you could do is watch.

I saw it all from here the entire night. I didn't want to risk it. As it turns out, desk of studios make for a horrible bed! Who knew!

But I am told to tell you all to not worry at all. Carry on as usual. The sun just looks bigger than normal and less warm because of some astronomic mambo jambo nonsense I do not care at all, so you shouldn't either. What we have above our heads, dear listeners, and also right under our feets, is so beyond our understanding that sometimes we should avoid questioning it at all.

The cemetery and community center are from today both open. Everything is out in the open now. There is absolutely no place to hide. You might satiate your insatiable curiosities to your heart's content all that you like without any concern. If you are ever so lucky, you might find that a nice surprise that will make it quick for you.

Interpretate that as nasty as you want if that will make you stop being a stain on the surfice of the earth, listener.

The cave on the outskirt of town has finally cave in. Oh, we do have to admire how much it managed to stay as it was for, well, for even longer than I have been alive. That is quite impressive. Let's give an applause for the rocks that gave a valiant fight, the broken beer bottles and the blood shed as a result.

I told you all that could happen, didn't I? I just happened to pass by while seeing some hungry raccoon trying to get themselves a bite before the police arrive. Somehow a hand was sticking out from under the rocks and it was still moving! The human body is truly a wonderous mystery. Just the amount of abuse and torment that it can withstand is enough to make a man smile.

It didn't last long, of course. Raccoon will make sure of that and you know what they say: the fresher, the better! But a good effort nonetheless.

I have also been informed that our transmission of today will last for as long as it needs to be. That's right, as far any of my dear beloved listener is out there left to listen, we will keep transmitting to your satisfaction and joy.

Don't try to turn off your radios. It won't work.

The only time we went out of schedule like this was when the kindergarten burned down after that teacher was killed by an ex boyfriend. Do you all remember that? So many people screaming all around made it difficult to speak, but it was a fun moment all the same. The one and only time that we used the portable equipment to be right on the scene and report you the last updates. Don't you miss it sometimes, dear listener, when things were a lot more simpler?

Oh, but no disaster of that nature is what is happening today. Of course not. Today is a normal and common day like any other. Don't pay attention to the sun, that must have gotten bigger since the last time I talked about it. Suns do funny things like that sometimes, everyone knows that!

Ah, but I am afraid that we won't be getting any guest or calls for today. I had Niffty ripping the phone line off after… certain someone tried to call in. I am sure they would say that they were just trying to solicit some song or something like that, but no matter, nobody can do that now! It's just Niffty and me here on the good old studio for the entire day, and Niffty has gone up to her attick again so it's only just me!

A one man show. As it was always supposed to be. And aren't we all lucky that man is me?

I just have some curiosity left, listener. Do you feel that anything is different at all? Did those teenagers that were looking to hang out in the cave? Did they felt like a peak on the electricity in the air, some kind of static that puts all the nerves on high alert for the potential danger that it can't even behind to fanthom? Or was it just the sound of one rock falling to the ground, after another, before everything else was on top of them?

The only thing I lament is not being able to ask them. Not even the owner of that solitary hand would have been able to say anything, not with a broken jaw like that. Not that I saw their mangled body or anything. I was, and I always am, nothing but a respectable model citizen so I just took a look and made my way straight here, to do what was asked of me.

You are welcome, by the way.

There is a window here, did I ever mentioned that? I can't imagine in what context that would have come out, but regardless, there is. It offers a lovely view of the main street that goes to the end of town, right before the hallway opens up to empty wastelands in direction to the next civilization. I can see everyone who comes out or comes in if I wanted to.

I usually keep the curtains extended over it because, let's face it, outside of the rare crash or manslaughter of those who didn't looked both ways before crossing the street, not a lot of interest to be had there. Been good at road safety has always been one of the few flaws of this town, sadly.

Up until now it has been rather peaceful. Not a lot of people who were planning to go out to the nearby town to maybe visit grandma on her birthday or were planing to go pick their stranged daughter at the airport. But I hope it will pick up at some point in the morning. The day is young and we have so much time to enjoy it to it's last second.

The sky getting slighty darker might give you a wrong impression of the time, though. But rest assured, your watches still works perfectly fine. The only issue is that I can't see the sun from here. This building cast a long shadow from this window.

Has it started to smile yet? If not, don't worry about it. There is nothing to concern yourself with. It's when the eyes open that it's truly interesting part begins.

Oops, I wasn't supposed to say that, ha ha! Spoiler! My bad. Please ignore it as you go about your normal and completely irrelevant day.

Let's instead just remember how wonderful and great our town is. We used to be a great tourist center, a convenient space between other cities for people to stop by on their way. One where people find joy watching our huge ball of yarn, that it was mostly filled with styrofoam and twig before yarn ever came into the equation.

We had that adorable bowling alley with the greasiest pizza anyone could eat with it's own karaoke on the side. The businesses were thriving. There was so much things to look at and play with back then. Our young weren't constantly leaving to look for bigger opportunities elsewhere, only to waste years of education in careers they are never going to take.

But things change, don't they? They get stagnant with enough time. They become boring. Predictable. And that might be the biggest tragedy of it all. What is life, I ask of you, dear listener, if not a constant symphony of screams all in perpetual crescendo until it's dying end? How else a man is supposed to know that they aren't truly dead yet without it?

There is just no end to this. This is all your life has been and all everything will ever meet you as. For some weaker minds this can be frightening, paralyzing even. They let themselves become part of the scenary, another potted plant on the corner that does what it supposed to do, because I guess that is easier than take control of their own lives.

For others, this might be just the push they need to finally learn a few new tricks. So you study and you work and exchange words with the right people, others who also refuse to just let the monotony kill them silently.

And what if you have to step on a few toes? It's not your fault that they didn't wise out before. And what if some of those toes fall out or get crushed like mashed potatoes under your feet? That at least is something new.

And the new starts are always so exciting, dear listener.

Your journey begins where it was supposed to end. That is an exhilitaring thought not many get to have.

If life won't give you lemons or oranges or apples or anything at all, then you carve into the ground with your own bare hands until you find something, covered in mud and your own blood from the nails that are ripping apart from your skin. You grip it as tight as you can despite the pain, despite the burning sensation that is chipping at the soul you didn't know you had, and won't let go until you make it your own.

You let it grab onto you and take what it needs to survive. You feed it, you protect it, you do whatever is necesary so none of you ever gets forgotten again. You form bonds you never expected to make before becuase it's either that or come back to how things were before, to the sad, dull, predictable nature that you had to escape from.

They promise you that you will always have an ally on your side even if this chapter ends. No matter in what new book are you thrown into or how much you change, that constant hand on your shoulder will never abandon you to remind you of where you come from and where you still have yet to go. It will follow you more loyally and closer than your own shadow ever could, even in total darkness.

The only thing that it ask in return is that you keep it well fed for as long as you exist. The bottom of it's stomach is neverending like outerspace itself and, let's be honest, you are never going to fill it. Which basically garantees that you will always have a new beginning to find more food. You will always a new playground to have fun with even if you already burned down the previous one. Completely consequences free. The only thing remaining being your own memories of it and you can fill it with as many screams as you want.

Doesn't that sound just ideal, dear listener? Who wouldn't shake hands with a promise such as that one?

Ah, but for now, I will leave you for a moment with the weather. I have to take a look outside, I can't resist the curiosity anymore.

See you soon."

#radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #lucifer x alastor #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #welcome to night vale au

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domesticandlovingmonsters · 1 year

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Commission: Brahms Heelshire x Reader

Theme: Comfort/Slow Burn Slasher Story, some Stockholm syndrome aspects, mentions of blood, mentions of ex abusive partner

Notes: This character is from the movie "The Boy". If you haven't seen the movie, I highly recommend watching it. Both for context of this character and also because I do actually enjoy the film.

This commission was alot of fun to write. Kinda rekindled my love for slashers!

Hope you enjoy!

The rain came down in a misty curtain as you pulled up in the driveway. The mansion sat as silent as ever. With ivy crawling up the side of the house and the dark windows gave it an ominous glare as you cut off the engine. You sat in the car for a long moment. Listening to the soft pitter of water that splashed against the vehicle.

How were you going to explain this to Brahms? You knew you were already in trouble for leaving the house. And even worse the estate. But with the fresh collection of bruises and the cut on your lip, things were going to be even more complicated to explain. You rolled up the sleeve of your warm clothes and tilted your arm. Bruises were already coloring your skin in large deep purple blotches. And you could easily make out the clear markings of fingers wrapping around your wrist. You glanced at yourself in the rearview mirror. The blackeye throbbed and the patch was darkening more by the minute. The split on your lip had finally stopped bleeding at least. You sighed and slumped back into the seat. Everything hurt. You just wanted to curl up into a ball under the blankets and forget about the world. But first you needed to get past Brahms.

You pushed open the car door and headed inside. Ducking your head against the rain as it started coming down more prominently from the sky. The front doors creaked and the sound echoed through the empty house like a siren in the dead of night. It made you wince a little. But you called out to the house as the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind you. “Brahms?” Your voice carried deep into the many endless hallways. But no reply came back. “I’m sorry I left so suddenly. There was an emergency in town. I told you I’d be back….” The silence stretched and you halted by the staircase, peering up towards the second floor. “Brahms?” Had he left to go after you?

It was a ridiculous idea. You never knew Brahms to leave the house very often, very much less the estate itself. You hesitantly climbed the stairs. Reaching the second floor as a clap of thunder rolled over the roof of the mansion. You were about to call out again, when firm hands grabbed your arms and your back was slammed against the wall. You stared up at Brahms as he glared down at you. His chest heaving like he had scaled the entire structure of the mansion to get to you.

The flames of fury in his eyes softened as you gasped in pain. Your arms curling into your chest as you tried to pry Brahms’ hands off your bruised skin. “Let me go, Brahms. Please, you’re hurting me.” You said, keeping your voice soft. Like you were talking to a bull ready to charge. Brahms’ hands lingered on you, but his iron grip released and you winced as blood rushed back into your blemished hand. “You left.” His voice was muffled from the porcelain mask that covered his face. “You left me.” “There was an emergency,” You repeated. Trying to ignore the vicious ache in your arms. “I’m sorry I missed breakfast. Are you hungry? I can make you-”

That iron grip returned and you winced as Brahms halted your attempt to step around him. His head tilted curiously down to your arm, where his hand clasped around your wrist. Without removing his hand from you, Brahms slid the sleeve of your jacket up. Revealing the marks that coloured your skin. His fingers were almost identically placed around your wrist as the bruises. His breath echoed in the mask and you could almost see the tremble that rippled through his body. “What happened?” His voice was soft. A dangerous tone darkening his words. “Who did this to you?” Tears burned the rims of your eyes. You never told him why you escaped into the countryside. Why loud noises made you jump or when he raised his voice you cowered away from him. You took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears before they broke free. “T-The emergency in town…I got a letter from an ex lover of mine. Said they were in town and wanted to meet.” Brahms' grip tightened, but you ignored it. “It was stupid of me. But…they tried to push me into a car. Take me away. And then…punched me when I didn’t do it willingly.” A tear slipped through your defenses and you hurriedly wiped it away. “Some nice guys in the parking lot saw it and stopped them. They’re in the police station.” You didn’t want to say anymore. It was bringing forth a wave of discomfort that made your stomach churn and your chest tighten. You finally looked up at Brahms. His stare gave away no emotion. But his hands were tight around your wrists and his eyes never left the bruising on your skin. “I’m ok..” You said after a long moment. Reaching up with your free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Hoping it would soothe him. “Did you want something to eat?” He didn’t reply right away. But then, the tiniest nod dipped his chin. And you forced a smile to stretch your lips, removing your wrists gently from his grip. “Alright, I’ll get some eggs and bacon started for us.” You expected him to follow. Like he always did when you were going about your chores through the house. But when you turned to address him after entering the kitchen, he had disappeared. You ignored the growing tendrils of dread as you prepared the food alone. Your hands shook and you felt your throat choke like you were about to cry. You weren’t sure if it was caused by Brahms' reaction to your injuries that was causing these emotions. Or the fact you didn’t want to be alone right now. The bacon sizzled and popped on the pan while you flipped the eggs to cook on their other side. You toasted bread and buttered it. Serving two plates and setting them on the dining table before calling out to Brahmns. When he wasn’t with you, Brahms was in the walls. And he would reply to your voice by knocking on the inner foundations of the mansion. You never knew what he was doing back there. But this time, silence answered your summons to breakfast. And you let a minute pass before calling out again. He possibly didn’t hear you. The house was big after all. And Brahms sometimes delved deep into the mansion when he wanted to sulk or give you the silent treatment. Though, it was never for long, it would irritate you when he’d leave you to the empty house. Alone with the creaking walls and whistling winds through cracked windows. It was unsettling. And it wasn’t like you knew how to navigate the inner walls like he did. And he knew that. It was very frustrating that he knew that. “Brahms?” You called yet again. Climbing to the second story after searching through the first. You sighed heavily. Stomping up the stairs. “I said I was sorry.” You didn’t have the energy to deal with a bratty Brahms right now. It was wishful thinking, but you had hoped Brahms would be ecstatic when you came back. Forgetting about you sprinting to the car before he could catch you and him screaming at you to come back. But again, that was very wishful thinking. The rain beat against the windows and thunder shook the walls around you. You hugged yourself. Smelling the iron scent on your clothes. You didn’t get to change before cooking breakfast. The spots of blood littered the woolen material of your clothes and you were sure there was grime all over your face. Perhaps you should change before sitting down to eat. Not that you felt like eating anyway. But Brahms probably wouldn’t like it. If he even came out of the walls to eat. A creak behind you announced Brahms’ arrival. He slipped into existence as silently as a mouse from a hole in the wall you never knew existed.

“Bath.” He said and started walking towards one of the many bathrooms. His bare feet made barely any noise as he walked over the polished wooden floor. Only stopping by a door to watch you hurry after him. Tilting his masked face to the room. You peered inside. Finding a wall of thick, warm steam had filled the room. You sighed and shook your head, “Brahms, it's too early for your bath. We need to eat first.” You saw his eyes narrow impatiently. And he then shoved you inside the steaming room before closing the door behind you. You were about to scold him for his rude behavior but stopped when you saw a pile of your clothes neatly folded on the sink. A white plush towel, fresh from the linen closet, sat on the towel rack by the tub that was filled with hot water. Bubbles blanketed the surface of the water and you could smell your soap had been mixed heavily into the bath. Brahms moved around you to sit by the tub’s side. His doll mask turned to you expectantly. After a moment, he impatiently tapped the tub with his hand. The narrowed stare turning stone-like when you didn’t immediately jump into the hot water. You hesitated for a second longer, before beginning to remove your clothes. It was no secret to you that Brahms had spied on you when you were alone. There were cracks and holes everywhere in this house, so you knew that he had seen you many times without any clothes. But undressing right in front of him was new. And when you tried to cover yourself up, Brahms slapped away your hand and tapped the bath again. “Bath.” He said again, with more ferocity this time. You nodded and stepped over the rim of the tub. Wincing as the heat of the water enveloped your cool skin. The ache in your body dulled to a much more comfortable throb. And you sighed heavily as you allowed yourself to relax against the porcelain bowl. Shamelessly, Brahms’ eyes drank in the sight of your body. You tried to ignore the heavy staring but it became increasingly hard too when he inched closer and grabbed the sponge. You said nothing as he lathered it up with sweet smelling soap and grunted at you. “Lean forward,” He mumbled beneath the mask. And you did so slowly. There was a pain in your ribs, one you haven’t yet noticed until you sat down. Did a blow hit your ribs? You couldn’t remember. You just remembered flailing and kicking. Striking their face until they released you and others came to your aid.

You let your eyes close as the soft material of the sponge touched your back. And Brahms began scrubbing your shoulders and spine in slow, but soothing, circles. “Are you in pain?” He asked. But you didn’t need to answer him. Your stiff movements and shallow breaths, mixing with the way you held your arm against your side, all told him you were definitely in pain. And he could see something you couldn’t. Scratches tore along your neck and shoulders. Nothing deep enough to need stitches, but whoever had touched you; their fingernails scraped skin from your body when they attempted to restrain you.

Brahms' mind roared with an anger he hadn’t felt in a long time. Even the fury he felt seeing you drive away, the sadness and sudden loneliness, didn’t compare to this bonfire of seething rage in him. He forced his hands to stop shaking. Kept the venom and sparks from his tone. You were hurt. He needed to make sure you were ok.

“No.” You replied. Liar! His inner voice screamed at you. Bubbles and water poured from his fist as his fingers clenched tight around the sponge. It was the only thing he could do to stop this anger from surging out.

Your eyes were closed. You saw nothing when his composure cracked and he tilted his mask to the side. Or the deep breath that made his chest swell before he let himself speak again.

“Are. You. Hurt?” He asked once more. A silent threat lining his words if you were to lie to him again. Though your eyes opened, you didn’t look at him. But nodded. Raising your wrist from the water to show him the deepening colors. The formation of bruises now prominently displayed the thick fingers that had squeezed around your wrist. Brahms could even make out the small scratches of nails digging into your skin.

“This hurts more than anything else.” You told him. And Brahms, with a gentleness that surprised you for such a strong man, took your wrist in his hand and started to massage it with the soap. Removing the grime and touch of another from your skin. Silence stretched between you as Brahms washed you. He rolled the sleeves of his cardigan up so he could run the sponge along your legs without you leaving the water. He grunted when he wanted you to move and guided your body with careful hands when you didn’t understand what he wanted. You soon came to the realization that he was mimicking you. When you had first given him a bath some time ago. You had moved slowly and carefully. Not wanting to stress him out by having him sit vulnerable for too long or touching him to the point of oversensitivity. Though he had enjoyed the bath, it was new to him. Like this reversed situation. And he was treating you how you treated him. Gently. Cautiously. Perhaps a bit more touchy than you had been. But it soothed your body into a relaxed state.

You rested your chin on your knee as Brahms examined the bruises along your arms and side. The curled up position brought some comfort to you, and also stopped the pain from your ribs. You winced as Brahms fingers grazed the painful area and his hands twitched away from you. You heard his breath hitch behind the mask and you gave him a small smile.

“It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt too much.”

His eyes flicked up to your face and you almost physically recoiled from the glare that scowled from under his mask. “Do not lie to me.” He growled, his voice echoing behind the mask.

And you nodded. Falling silent as he dunked the sponge into the water and then tilted your chin up with his free hand. You closed your eyes as he cautiously washed your face. Taking care not to scrape along the scab that had formed over your lip or drown you in water over your nose. You felt his thumb graze over your cheek and you could sense him leaning towards you. Watching you as his hand brought the sponge down to your neck to clean around your chest. You didn’t dare move. His hands were calming, but never had you allowed him to touch you this way. And you jerked back when the sponge went a little too low over your chest.

“Not there,” You said softly, but firmly. And Brahms nodded. Finishing up his cleaning by cupping water over your face to rid the soap from your cheeks and chin.

Brahms then stood and moved to sit beside the tub, facing the door. This was another common occurrence. When Brahms felt particularly bratty or lonely, he would sit between you and the door. Able to keep you from leaving the room until he said so. At least this time, you were able to relax in a hot bath and not be stuck reading the same poetry book for the next two hours. You settled back into the water. Allowing the silence to stretch between the two of you as the storm grew more wild outside. You weren’t sure how long you were in the bath for, but the storm blackened the sky and soon the outside world was hidden in shadows. When your fingers turned wrinkly and the water started to lose its heat, you started to rise from the water. You were about to make a move to gingerly climb out of the tub when a thunderous crash shook the house. The lights flickered off and you froze as the room disappeared around you.

You could hear Brahms shift somewhere beside you. “Can you help me out, Brahms?” You asked the very dark room. “I can’t see anything.”

“Give me your hand.” You heard him say. And you offered your hand to the darkness. It almost gave you a fright when his warm fingers wrapped around your palm. And very cautiously, you stood out of the water and stepped over the edge of the tub. Wincing as your ribs protested the sudden movement. But you forced yourself to stand, blindly searching for the towel. Finding it a second later being wrapped around your shoulders.

You thanked the shadow that was Brahms and started to dry yourself.| But then heard him whine softly and you stalled mid wipe along your arms. Warm hands began to move the towel along your skin. And you let your own hands drop to your sides so Brahms had free rein of your body. The soft material stroked along your shoulders and back, but Brahms carefully patted down your ribs and bruised arms. So not to put too much pressure on the injured area. And then you felt a comb begin to smooth through your hair. Gently unknotting any tangles from your hair and patting out any moisture left from the water.

You stood there in silence with your eyes closed. It was unnerving to stare into the void. You had only Brahms’ touch to center you. And soon you felt the prickle of the cold night air begin to tickle your skin. And you asked Brahmns to hand you your clothes. Which he did after a small hesitation.

“I’m going to freeze, Brahms.” You said into the void. “Please, hand me my clothes.”

Once dressed, you didn’t dare make a move towards the door. You had slightly been turned while Brahms had been drying you and you had no idea if you were facing the door or the bath. You felt Brahms come up behind you. His large frame seemed to press up against you as you reached for his hand.

“Bedtime, I think.” You said softly. “I’m really tired, Brahms.”

It was partly true. If you were being honest with yourself, you just wanted the day to end. Move on from what happened today and start fresh tomorrow. Let your body heal and continue on with your life with Brahms and the mansion as usual. And the sooner it happened, the better. You expected some sort of reluctance from Brahms. You would miss dinner and you still haven’t eaten the food you prepared earlier. It probably wasn’t even that late in the evening. But your body was indeed tired from the emotional stress. And even though Brahms doesn’t act like it, he is a grown man. He can take care of himself. There was food in the fridge he could eat and it's not like you needed to babysit him all the time. He has lived in the walls for years before you came along. So, he can suffer one night of fending for himself.

Whether or not Brahms nodded, you couldn’t see his reaction to such an early bedtime. But you felt his hand take yours and pull you forward. You heard the door creak open and the soft taps of Brahms bare feet against the wooden floor. It seemed like a lifetime in the dark, being dragged in a direction you had some small sense of familiarity with. But another creak of a door and then the smell of freshly washed sheets filled your nose; told you that you were inside your room.

“Can you actually see? Or do you know the house that well?” You asked Brahms as you were gently pulled towards the center of the room.

“I know the walls better.” His reply came from the darkness. And then you felt your knees hit the side of the mattress. You ignored the small knock of wood against your legs and gingerly got into bed. You felt Brahms pat down the sheets and even fluff up your pillow before his touch disappeared from your hand. But you could still feel his presence beside the bed.

He was unsure what to do. The roles were reversed and the usual routine had been thrown out the window. He wouldn’t get his good night kiss or be tucked into bed tonight. Brahms had half the thought to protest you going to bed so early. Or at least tuck him in for the night before you went to sleep. They’re hurt. The childish voice in his head protested. They look after us when we’re hurt. Shouldn’t we do the same?

But what about him? He wanted to be tucked in. Brahms couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to sleep without your voice saying goodnight to him. What was he going to do? He could stay by your bed until you were healed enough to then walk him to his room-

You reached out and took Brahms’ hand in yours. You felt his entire body stiffen from the touch, but then relax when you grazed your finger against the back of his palm. “Why don’t you sleep in here tonight? I’ll tuck you in.” You moved to the other side of the bed and threw back the sheets so Brahms could join you. His hand still clutched yours as he pondered over the idea. It wasn’t in his bed, though. It's different. But he would be close to you all night. How many times had he thought about sleeping in the same bed as you? After a nightmare. Asking you for comfort when his chest hurt and his head wouldn’t stop pounding?

The bed creaked softly as Brahms sat on the bed. And then slowly laid beside you. Resting his head on the pillow you had just used. Feeling the warmth from your body beneath the sheets as you threw the covers over him. You mimicked his movements from before, making sure the blankets were tightly tucked around his tall frame. And then, you trailed your fingers over the top of the mask. Managing to catch a stray strand of hair and tuck it out of his face.

“Goodnight, Brahms. Sleep tight.” You said softly. And pressed a small kiss to the porcelain lips. You did this all without any insight on where your kiss would land. But you luckily got the angle right and slipped further under the covers. You were unable to roll on your side due to your ribs. So, you tried to get as comfortable as possible on your back. Your hand still firmly clasped within Brahms’ as you heard his breath begin to slow. You fell asleep not long after your eyes closed. The storm continued to beat against the mansion roof and rain splattered against the windows in waves of cold water.

Brahms however, did not go to sleep for sometime. His mind raced with restless thoughts. All of them about you. About what happened to you today and how he had done nothing to stop it. He should have tied you up. Locked you in the attic. He never wanted to hurt you. You wouldn’t love him if he harmed you. Maybe you wouldn’t come back if he did something bad to you. But you left the mansion, anyway. Ran from him when he screamed for you to come back. Drove away to meet with someone else. Someone that hurt you. That tried to take you from him. His fist clenched hard and your whimper brought him from his furious spiral. You turned towards him, eyes still closed and deep in sleep. But you cuddled up to him with a soft breath. And he quickly released the strength from his fist around your hand. And he rolled over so he was facing your sleeping form. The mask hid the small smile that stretched his lips as he tugged a strand of hair behind your ear. Perhaps this time, your adventure away taught you a lesson. You came back to him. Let him take care of you. So, you definitely did love him. At least enough to come back. But he couldn’t let it happen again. You were his. No one, not even you, would take that away from him.

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casuallyimagining · 1 year

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Fallen (1) | myg

Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Summary: If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, then where does that leave you? Spurned by your ex-fiance, you seek the one person who can help. But as it turns out, the price of revenge may be a little more than you bargained for.

Genre: Fallen Angel AU, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, angst

Word Count: 9,208

Warnings: homelessness, abusive ex, manipulation, emotional abuse, forced isolation, major character injury, blood, mentions of critiques of organized western religion, threats of harm, brief mentions of an almost-panic attack, arguing, more to be added later

Notes: Thank you to @daechwitatamic and @madbutgloriouspond for reading through this fic and for listening to me talk about it literally every day. And thanks to @btsmosphere and @toikiii for helping me with the angst.

Fallen Masterlist | Next Part

Everything is grey. Or, at least, that’s how it feels. You rarely come this far uptown, where the trains run on elevated tracks instead of under your feet. You follow the tracks along the river. They said he’d be somewhere around here, under the el between the old Radio Shack and the bodega. Above, a train rumbles past, its speed whipping up a wind that blows your hair into your face.

You pull your jacket closer and step over a puddle.

Honestly, uptown would be nice if it didn’t seem like it died in the 70s. But, at least near the el, everything gives off that decayed vibe. Faded posters still cling to the bricks in alleyways advertising bands that hadn’t toured in decades. Window displays for nameless stores show off mannequins dressed in clothes that would have been long out of fashion by the time you were born.

Something glowing near one of the track supports draws your attention. It’s a metal trash can, its contents ablaze. Just behind the can, leaning against the steel support, is a man. His clothes are tattered, and as you get closer, you can see he’s sucking on a lollipop.

“Goat?” You’re almost in front of the burning can. The man doesn’t answer you, doesn't acknowledge you, he just continues to stare into the flames. “Are-are you Goat?” you try again, taking a step closer. “I’m looking for someone. I was told he’d be here–uptown under the tracks where no one comes. Some of them called him Goat.”

The man snorts derisively, a small, bitterly amused smirk appears on his lips. “Not to my face they don’t.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want,” you concede. He doesn’t seem to be upset, but you don’t want to push his buttons. “I need to talk to you.”

“No thanks, kid.”

“It’s important.”

The man–Goat, or whatever he’s called–rolls his eyes. “You humans are always so convinced you need my help.” He turns then, tossing the stick of his lollipop into the fire, and starts to walk away. “I’ll give you a piece of advice: you can’t handle it.” He throws the last thought over his shoulder, barely even turning his head.

You walk quickly to catch up. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m stronger than I look.”

As you emerge from the shadows of the el tracks, you’re able to get a better look at him. He’s slight, thin, with barely any visible muscle. His dark hair hangs long into his eyes, which are an intense shade of deep, dark brown. He doesn’t look like much, and for a moment, you think that maybe you have the wrong man. But there’s a quiet power to how he carries himself, as if he could turn into something all-powerful and terrifying in the blink of an eye. You can see it in how he walks, how he carries himself. He’s dressed like just another unhoused person, but there’s a confidence around him that would make it nearly impossible to think he’s anything else than the immovable force that he was.

“You would know a thing about being stronger than you look, I think,” you say quietly.

He sighs and pauses beside a light pole, leaning against it and allowing you to fully catch up to him. “What do you want.” It’s not a question.

“I need something.”

He laughs, eyebrows raising in surprise. “You want a favor?”

“Not a favor. I’ll pay you.”

“You’ll pay me?”

“Anything you want.”

He shakes his head, pushing off the post and continuing to walk. This time, though, it’s much slower, as if he’s inviting you to keep up. You’re intrigued–he’s intriguing–and you aren’t about to give up yet. So you walk with him, up the street, past the dusty old bodega and into an alley.

“I don’t want anything,” he says, eyes focused ahead.

You shrug. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

He stops and turns to you, stepping close, so close that you can smell the smoke from the garbage fire on his clothes, in his hair. He inspects you, dark eyes gazing deeply into yours. “Who have you been talking to about me?”

“Your friends.”

“I don’t have friends.”

“The ones who live down here.”

Again, he laughs, stepping away from you. You can still smell the smoke of his clothes. “They’d kill me if they got the chance.” He continues walking, leading you down another side street. This one looks just as Disco Dead as the previous one. “You should watch your step. There are snakes everywhere.”

You sigh. At this rate, you’ll be dead before you convince him to help you. But you press on. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

“How?”

“You tell me.”

He hums, scrubbing a hand along his chin in thought. He shoves his other hand into the pocket of his oversized, tattered coat. “What do you want, kid?”

“Revenge. On my ex-fiance. He’s…” You shake your head. Your ex-fiance is a lot of things. And you hate all of them.

“Real winner, eh?” He hums, turning from the alley and onto the avenue.

The shops here are just as old, the signs just as peeling and time-worn, but some of these are open. Their doors are propped open and music–a strange cacophony of reggae, latin fusion, and jazz–floats out onto the street from old boomboxes. Judging by the advertisements in the windows, these storefronts were stuck somewhere in the 90s. An improvement, but not quite enough.

Finally, he stops just outside of a run down electronics store. The front window still has a CRT tv that’s hooked up to a security camera filming the street. You and the man are reflected back in the screen. He’s standing so close to you that the sleeves of his tattered coat brush against your arm.

“Sure, okay,” he says finally, the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk.

For a moment, you’re taken aback. That was… much easier than you had expected it to be. Your shock must be evident on your face, because then he says, “What do you need?”

Carefully, you collect yourself, school your face into something you hope is a neutral expression. “I just want him to suffer.”

He whistles lowly, fluffing his hair. “Doesn’t exactly give me a lot to go off.”

“Can you do it or not?”

Briefly, he looks amused. His smirk turns into a smile. It’s soft, and it’s a little cocky, but it sets your mind at ease a little bit. “Might take a bit to get it right, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“I want him ruined,” you say softly, taking a step closer. “Personally and professionally. Just like he did to me.”

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, Goat.” You smile, and he smiles back. A wide, gummy thing that seems to show off all the teeth in his mouth. “Or, I guess…?”

“Yoongi. Call me Yoongi.”

It’s amazing how cold it’s gotten in the span of a couple weeks. It hasn’t snowed yet, but you can definitely tell that it’s going to soon. There’s something about the smell of the air, how the wind feels as it whips its way under the el tracks. The puddles under the track from the water and moisture dripping from the trains look frigid. You step around one and approach the man standing at the burning trash can.

He looks cold, too. He’s wearing the same tattered coat as last time, and now you notice the places where you can see his shirt through the holes. You wonder if he has anything else he could wear, any other layers he could put on now that it’s getting cold. You wonder if he has anywhere to go when the temperatures start to dip at night, somewhere other than huddled around a Hooverville fire.

He smiles as you get closer, much different from the indifferent glare he’d fixed you with the first time, and you warm a little bit. It’s sweet, the half-grin he shoots your way, almost as if he’s excited to see you. You’d tried to keep your distance over the past few weeks, despite the fact that you’d been practically bursting at the seams to know how things were progressing. But that doesn’t mean you hadn’t seen him at all.

He’d wandered past your work a few days ago. You couldn’t be quite sure, but you were pretty sure he’d actually floated past the front windows of the bar. But he’d paused and waved, and you’d waved back only for your coworkers to look at you like you were crazy.

So there was a 50/50 chance that Yoongi was actually just a figment of your revenge-addled imagination. But you know. That’s what happens when you cavort with a fallen angel. C’est la vie.

“Kid. You came.” He greets you cheerfully, his eyes focusing down on the fire in front of him. He reaches down beside him and grabs a small stack of papers–old posters and some trash, from the looks of it–and drops them into the flames. Sparks fly up, and you watch them glitter in his eyes. “I’m a little surprised, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s hard to ignore a creepy text from an unknown number asking you to meet under the el at nearly sundown.” You shrug. “You really should sign your texts. Or, I don’t know. Give me your number.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and scoffs, but you could swear his cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink than they already were.

The wind picks up, touseling his hair and chilling you to your core. You push your bag further up onto your shoulder and shove your hands deep into the pockets of your coat. Yoongi steps closer to the fire, visibly shivering, and again, you find yourself concerned for him. But before you can say anything, he clears his throat.

“I think I’m going to need some more details about what he did to you,” he says softly. You bristle at his words. Brown eyes find yours, and you can sense that he hates having to ask.

You sigh. You’d hoped to be able to get through this without having to tell him about any of it. You’d done a lot of healing in the time since leaving your fiance, but so much of it still stung–and some of it, you were still dealing with the fallout. You’d thought that because of who he was, you wouldn’t have to tell Yoongi anything.

“I thought you could just sense that stuff.”

He frowns. “I can tell when it’s enough to balance out the universe. But I need to know what I’m balancing for.”

“What have you tried so far?”

“Admittedly not much just yet.” Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck. “I started small to test the waters. But between his keys disappearing and his clocks never being the correct time, he’ll never be on-time ever again. I’ve also crashed his computer several times and wiped a few important files. He’ll need them in a few days. He’s currently up for a promotion, but uh… not after his boss finds out that the reports for three of their biggest clients are gone.”

You hum. It’s a start. Your ex-fiance was incredibly dedicated to his job. You’d loved that about him, back when you loved him. So it did give you a sick sense of satisfaction to know that slowly, his job was slipping through his fingertips. But…

“It’s not enough,” you say sharply. “You need to go further.”

“Right. That’s why I was hoping you could give me more information.”

“Well, I…” You sigh. Where the hell do you even start? How the hell do you even start? You look around. The surrounding buildings are still grey, still decaying, still… damp. You can’t see them, but somewhere nearby, someone is rooting around in a dumpster. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware of how cold it is, and how stinging the wind is, and how exposed you are. You rub your arm. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

Yoongi watches you, and some emotion crosses his eyes. But you can’t tell what it is, and it’s gone before you can really even analyze it. Silently, he nods and holds out his hand. You think that maybe he’s going to lead you away again, on a goose chase through the weird eras of this part of uptown. But he doesn’t.

Brown eyes meet yours for the briefest of seconds, and then a warm wind picks up, blowing Yoongi’s long hair into his eyes. Your stomach lurches and then something soft rises up to meet you. You open your eyes–when did you close them?--and suddenly, you’re no longer under the el.

There’s a clatter off to your left, and the ding of a bell. Distantly, you hear someone ask “You want some more coffee, hun?” The surface under you is soft, but not so soft to be mistaken for comfortable. Yoongi sits across from you, a smug smirk on his lips.

A diner. You’re in a diner. It’s fairly busy, too, and for a moment, you’re worried that someone noticed the two of you just appearing out of nowhere in a booth. But shockingly, no one is even looking in your direction.

“How…?”

Yoongi shrugs. “People see what they want.”

“Oh… okay.”

You settle into the vinyl seating, resting your hands against the table. The formica surface is sticky and you recoil in disgust. Yoongi watches you, his cat-like eyes following your movements with curiosity. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of dishes and the noises from the kitchen.

A waitress flutters back and forth between the tables and the stools at the counter, taking orders and pouring coffee. She either hasn’t noticed you’re there or she doesn’t see you at all. Quite frankly, neither would shock you. Another order appears in the window with a ding and the waitress spins to place the plate in front of a man at the counter.

After a second, she approaches your table to take your order. You aren’t particularly hungry, but Yoongi orders a plate of fries and a slice of cake to share. She pours Yoongi a cup of coffee and promises to return with a glass of water for you and then she’s gone.

“So.” Yoongi clears his throat and leans on his hand. He studies you curiously. His voice is soft when he next speaks. “I really do need to know what he did to you, kid.”

You sigh. It wasn’t surprising, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to talk about. Your fiance had been terrific at first. Loving. Loyal. Kind. You’d known him since college, had seen him go from gangly, awkward first-year to second in his class in one of the country’s most prestigious law schools. You’d watched him graduate, had been there when he was named partner, celebrated every raise and promotion as he climbed the ladder. But slowly, over time, he’d changed.

“He used to be lovely,” you admit softly, dragging a finger through the condensation on the glass of water the waitress sat in front of you. “But somewhere along the way, he changed. Or maybe he was always like this and I didn’t notice. I don’t know.”

“Sometimes people hide who they are.”

“After a while, I realized that I wasn’t myself anymore. There was nothing about me at that point that didn’t revolve around him. I hadn’t seen my friends in over a year. I was completely dependent on him financially. He’d gotten me a job at his firm, we lived in a nice apartment near the river. But I didn’t want to only be Song Dawoon’s wife for the rest of my life. And when I left, I…” You shrug, hands falling into your lap. “Well, he showed me, I guess.”

“He took it all away?”

You nod. “My whole life, gone in less than 24 hours.”

“Your friends?”

“Turns out he’d been feeding them lies.”

Yoongi hums deeply and frowns. And when the waitress returns at that precise moment with a plate of fries, he jumps slightly at the clatter. When she’s gone, he leans closer, no longer resting on his hand. He picks up a fry and inspects it briefly before popping it into his mouth. He makes a face, though you can’t necessarily tell why. You consider for the first time that maybe he’d never eaten before.

Gently, he pushes the plate toward you. “Eat,” he coaxes softly. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But now that I know, I can change tactics.” He sighs, his eyes falling to the plate as he traces the edge. “I’ll make sure he gets what’s deserved.”

Things go silent. Yoongi coaxes you to eat again, but other than that, the sounds of the diner take over. Slowly, the fries disappear. You try not to watch him–or, at least, you try not to be too obvious about watching him. He’s warmed up in the diner, his full cheeks no longer bright pink and windbitten, but you worry about when you leave.

What happens then?

Does he have somewhere to go to get out of the cold? Does he stay in a tent in the encampment under the el? Does he go to a shelter? Or does he huddle by the trash can fire through the night? His clothes are so thin, there’s no way they protect him from the cold. Does he even get cold?

You barely notice when the waitress comes to take away the plate and replace it with another, this one topped with a slice of cake large enough for two. Again, Yoongi nudges the plate in your direction, but you let him have the first bite. He practically melts when his lips close around his fork, and suddenly you’re struck with a thought.

You would like to know more about him.

It’s weird, and a little random. But you want to know more about what he likes and what he doesn’t. You’re curious about his past, though you aren’t sure you’d ever be brave enough to ask. But he’s fascinating, you’re fascinated by him, and so you smile gently at him when you stab into your side of the cake. He returns it warmly, and it reflects in his eyes.

The days pass quickly, and soon enough, it’s almost a week later. For reasons you can’t quite figure out, you’ve seen Yoongi for the majority of the days after your impromptu trip to the diner. Or, perhaps seen isn’t the right word. Anyone else, you would say you’d been hanging out with them. But with Yoongi, that didn’t seem quite right.

He’d shown up at the bar. You’d assumed that he wanted to tell you about his most recent attempts at bringing enough justice to Dawoon to rattle his teeth. But he sat down at the corner of the bar and watched you curiously while you served the customers that were there before him. When you finally made your way toward him, he shot you a warm smile.

You’d only spoken a few words to him when it became abundantly clear that you were the only one that could see him. Your coworkers eyed you warily, and the other patrons sitting at the bar were looking at you like you were the drunk one. You whispered a soft “Stick around. I’m closing,” to him and promptly ignored him for the rest of the night.

Which is how you ended up here. With the bar’s sound system blasting late 90s pop while you pile dishes into the dishwasher. Yoongi perches on the countertop beside you, dark eyes watching you curiously as you place cups into the tray for washing.

“Is there a reason why I’m the only one who can see you?” you finally ask. It’d been bothering you all night, and now seems as good a time as any to ask.

He shrugs, and for a moment, you think he’s going to answer, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches you hit start on the dishwasher and follows you back out to the bar. “You humans are… complicated,” he says cryptically, as if that’s supposed to answer your question.

You hum. Ain’t that the truth.

He stands behind you as you take stock, checking the bottles behind the bar to see what’s low. Gingerly, he picks up a bottle of bar brand rum and inspects the label. “Why do humans drink this?” he asks, voice quiet.

It’s your turn to shrug. “Celebration. Relaxation. Happiness. Sadness. For fun. To forget.”

“That’s a lot of contradictions.”

“Humans are complicated.”

He grunts and falls silent, putting the rum back behind the bar.

It’s a day later, and Yoongi is following you around once again. It’s weird how comfortable it is. He’s in your apartment, beside you in the kitchen. You’d been right in the diner–he hadn’t tried many human foods. He didn’t really need to eat. But he had a sweet tooth, and that was the extent of his experimentation.

Mercifully, it’s your day off, and you’ve taken the time to expose Yoongi to breakfast foods–waffles, you argue, are among humankind’s greatest creations. You had set him to task cutting up melon, and truthfully, you’re a little worried he’s going to cut his finger off. But it turns out that he’s a natural with a knife, and you aren’t sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But he chats with you while he cuts into the juicy green flesh, the thwack, thwack, thwack of the knife a nice rhythmic background to the conversation.

“It’s why the trains are always late,” he explains, his voice quiet, but sage. Somehow–you weren’t entirely sure how–he’d gotten on the topic of rail infrastructure. You hadn’t exactly been able to follow his logic, but his voice is nice, the slight gravel to it is soothing, and you think that maybe, you could listen to him talk for hours about nothing. Which is a strange thought because a month ago, you hadn’t even known his name.

The waffle maker beeps, and when you open it, the steam swirls out from a perfectly golden brown waffle. You pour more batter in and shut and lock the plates.

“Why do they call you Goat?” you ask quietly. It’s sudden, and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of Yoongi’s knife and the every-so-often ding! of the waffle maker. Suddenly, you’re struck with the idea that maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me.” You can feel yourself clamming up. “I was just curious. That’s all.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay, kid.” He waves you off with a sigh. “Those snakes will do anything to humiliate me. I’m a joke to them.” Yoongi shrugs, his lips flattening into a line. “Goat. Not good enough for the guys up top. Not bad enough for the ones down below.”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You hadn’t considered that maybe the nickname was mean. “I didn’t know they were making fun of you.”

“How could you?” He shrugs, pushing the sliced melon onto a plate. “They’re assholes, not worthy of my time.”

“Still–I’m sorry you have to go through it. It’s not fair to you.”

The waffle maker beeps again and you pull the last fluffy piece from the plates before unplugging it. You hand Yoongi the syrup and push the slightly cooled waffle in his direction. Warily, he pours some syrup and tears a piece off the waffle. He eats, humming lowly after a second and nodding his head.

“It’s good,” he confirms, flashing you a smile and licking some syrup off his thumb.

You feel yourself stand a little straighter, a small smile spreading across your face. He dives back in, tearing off another piece of waffle.

“Oh!” He finishes chewing before continuing. “I have some updates if you want them?”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

“I took what you said, and I gave it some thought. So first of all, he’s now only telling his friends and coworkers the truth. Which is fun. His secretary already wants to kill him.” You nod, no longer interested in your own meal. “And I’m working on slowly rearranging his files. Not the public ones. I’m not trying to get a paralegal fired. But his files and notes. Choi, Park, and Park are very annoyed with him.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.”

“You don’t seem too happy, kid.”

“It’s just…” You sigh. It’s weird. You’re happy that Dawoon is getting what he deserves. So why do you have a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach? You shrug. It doesn’t matter. “Humans are complicated.”

You sigh and flop down onto your couch, throwing your phone down beside you. It’s been nearly a week, and you haven’t heard a single peep from Yoongi. You feel a little dumb for how it’s affecting you, but how else are you supposed to feel? He’d spent three weeks practically glued to your side, visiting you at the bar, following you around the city while you ran errands. You’d introduced him to some of your favorite foods. It’s stupid–after everything, you still only barely knew him–but you considered him a friend.

But now, for the second time in as many years, you find yourself alone and frustrated and feeling like the world’s biggest fool. Yoongi doesn’t have the capacity to hurt you as deeply as Dawoon’s betrayal had, but that doesn't mean that it doesn’t sting.

You’d met Dawoon during your first-year orientation in college. He was assigned to your group for the weekend. He’d been squirrely and awkward, and had followed you like a puppy around campus during the tour and all the first-year activities. But by the time classes started that Monday, you were fond of him. By the end of your first year, you were dating. By the end of his first year of law school, you’d moved in together.

He had been your best friend. He’d brought you coffee for every late night study session. He’d held you while you cried when the stress of your senior thesis got to be too much. He’d helped you relax during spring break the year you managed to burn yourself out so much that you considered dropping out. Dawoon had been there for every up and every down, and you’d loved him for it.

You aren’t sure when things started to change. Only that, at some point into your nine-year relationship, they had. You woke up one morning, completely alone, and realized that you weren’t happy. It had been a long time since Dawoon had told you he loved you, and an even longer time since you’d felt like more than just arm candy. When you’d brought it up to him–that you felt like you weren’t an equal participant in the relationship, that you felt like he mattered more than you did–he’d gotten angry. So angry, that he’d almost hit you. So you’d left. Broke off the engagement, packed your bags, and left.

24 hours later, your life was gone, burnt down around you. Your boss, your friends, all tricked by Dawoon’s lies. That was almost a year and a half ago.

You were finally starting to feel like a person again, and Yoongi was a big part of it. And now, he’s gone, too.

At the beginning of the week, you’d been surprised–sad, even–that Yoongi hadn’t popped up sometime throughout the day. But you’d gone to bed that night content in the assumption that perhaps he was busy with your favor or someone else’s, and that the next day, you would see his lopsided smile as he floated into the bar during your shift.

But no such luck. A day passes, and you go from surprised to worried. Where could he possibly be? You hope that he isn’t frozen somewhere, never to be seen again.

Three more days pass, and you find yourself getting angrier–both at Yoongi and yourself. Why hasn’t he even tried to contact you? What could he possibly be doing that he couldn’t answer a single one of your texts? Or one of your calls? Or even just float by the bar when you’re working to let you know he’s alive?

Why hadn’t you offered to buy him a new coat? You knew his was in tatters. You knew the nights were getting colder. You could have offered your couch.

That anger festered, and now you’re pissed. At Yoongi. At yourself. At the world. Thankfully, you don’t have to completely start over again, but there’s something just as crushing about finding yourself alone again. It’s not productive, your anger, so you channel it into something more positive.

You clean. The whole apartment. Top to bottom. Starting with your bedroom and working through the bathroom and the kitchen. You blast the punk music from your early teen years on your phone and set about the living room, dusting your bookshelves and reorganizing the contents.

You’re almost ready to get out the mop and bucket when you hear a ‘thud’ against your door. Just one, and not very loud. You’ve almost decided to ignore it–it’s late, and your apartment is between enough bars that drunks falling into your door is not uncommon–when the soft knock comes, slow but deliberate. It persists, despite your efforts to get back to your cleaning, and finally, you can’t take it any more.

You march to the door, throwing it open violently. “What?” you snap before even getting a look at the knocker.

The person falls forward, and you catch them easily, grunting under the dead weight of their body. Through slashes in the man’s jacket, you can see what you think is blood–golden and viscous against lightly tanned skin–sticking what’s left of a sweater to a bruised and battered body. You hold him carefully, pushing black hair away from his face. Something inside of you knows already, but you need to be sure.

“Yoongi?” Your heart sinks. “What happened? Where have you been?”

He splutters a bit and sags in your arms. You struggle to maneuver him further into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. “Snakes,” he manages, wincing as you nudge his arm around your shoulders.

You frown, helping him slowly hobble out of your doorway and into the living room. Your goal is the bedroom, if you can make it. He would probably be better off on the bed if you can get him there. Snakes. They told you they were his friends. He’d warned you about them. Said they’d kill him if they ever got the chance. You suppose he was right.

Together, you limp halfway through the living room before Yoongi groans. “Gotta lay down, kid.”

“The bed’ll be more comfortable.” He grunts, and you can tell he won’t be able to make it that far. “Couch, then?”

He stumbles, and you almost lose your grip on him, but you manage to keep him upright. “Floor. Please.”

Gently, you ease him to the floor, pushing your ottoman out of the way so he doesn’t have to curl up. You pull the pillows off the couch, kneeling down to lift his head and slip one under so he’s comfortable.

“Do you need a blanket?” you ask softly, rushing out of the room.

He grunts out a ‘no,’ but you grab him one anyway, and a glass of water–though if you’re honest, you have no idea how he’s going to drink it laying face-down on the floor, but it seems right–and then a straw because that makes more sense and rush back. You sit beside him on the floor and place your collection around you so you can reach any of it should he need.

You reach out, hesitating just slightly before your hand touches his hair. You don’t want to hurt him. But then he groans and curls slightly in on himself from the pain, and you think that maybe you can’t hurt him any more than he already is. So gently, ever so gently, you lower your hand into the inky blackness of his hair. It’s wet from sweat and sticky from blood–there’s a gash on his temple that his long hair can’t help but get stuck in–but you smooth it down anyway, away from his face.

You stand and return moments later with a bowl full of lukewarm water and a rag. “They really kicked the shit out of you, huh?” you ask softly, wringing out the rag and dabbing it against the cut on his temple. Yoongi hisses in pain and recoils. “I know, I’m sorry,” you murmur, using your other hand to smooth his hair down. “Who are they?”

“Demons,” he groans, dark eyes barely opening to look at you. “I was doing a job over by the harbor on Wednesday and they jumped me.”

“Wednesday?” you exclaim, washing out the rag and wringing it again. You move to his left shoulder, where three terribly bruised scratches run from his clavicle across his shoulder blade and down his black. “Yoongi, that was three days ago.”

He flinches when the rag hits his skin and you apologize softly. His sweater and coat fall apart in your fingers as you try to clean his wounds. You finish cleaning his back, wiping the dirt and blood and grime out of the scratches. You can see where they’re already starting to heal, where they’re already scabbing over and the flesh is growing back. You imagine that, among the other special abilities he has, he heals faster than a human. Which is good for him, because you weren’t kidding. He looks like shit.

“You good?” You stroke his hair again, pushing it back away from his eyes.

He nods ever so slightly, deep brown eyes meeting yours briefly before he winces in pain. “I’ll be okay.”

“Not gonna die?”

Yoongi scoffs, then lets out a low groan. “Looking to get rid of me, kid?”

“Never.” You fluff his hair and stand. “I’ll be right back. Yell if you need me.”

He calls your name before you’re even out of the room and you turn to him. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

He gestures vaguely, barely lifting his arm from the floor, but you get the idea. For taking him in. For taking care of him. For making him feel like a person.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly, and pat the door frame. You disappear into your bedroom before he can say anything else.

You throw open your closet, flicking through the hangers, searching for one in particular. Somewhere in here’s an old sweater, one of the only things you managed to take with you after Dawoon, stuffed into your suitcase. It’s cream colored, you remember, chunky knit. You haven’t seen the sweater in over a year, but it’s got to be in here somewhere.

You tug it off the hanger in triumph just as a thud sounds in the living room. There’s a flapping noise, like a sheet shaken to remove the wrinkles. Confused, you slowly creep back out. There, lying precisely where you’d left him, is Yoongi. Except now, sprawled to either side of him is a pair of feathery black wings.

“Yoongi?” you question softly, stepping into the living room clutching the sweater to your chest.

His head turns away from you. “I couldn’t keep them in any longer. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I brought you a sweater. Your clothes are ruined.” He grunts. “If you’re feeling up to it, I can help you into it.” Your eyes widen. There was probably a less weird way to phrase that. “Because of your shoulder. It’s kind of really fucked up.”

He snorts, a light laugh leaving his lips, and then winces. “Thanks.”

You sink to the floor beside him, hand finding his hair once again. “Are you�� you’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi nods, and with a groan, rolls onto his side. He’s facing you now, one wing draped over his body and partially in your lap. “Don’t worry too much about me, kid. I’ve been through worse.”

Something about that breaks your heart. Maybe because you can tell. It’s the tone of his voice, but also it’s how mangled and damaged his wings are, and how you could see scars on his back under the scratches from the demons. He’s seen much worse than this.

Your fingertips brush against his wing gently and the feathers twitch away. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He sounds tired, his voice husky and ragged. “No one’s ever touched them before.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh.” His brows furrow. “It’s okay. It didn’t hurt.”

Something about his tone gives you pause. Ever so gently, you run your fingers through the feathers of his wings. It’s purposeful this time, and he doesn’t flinch away. In fact, he practically purrs, a deep exhale leaving him.

You can tell that his wings used to be beautiful. Closer up, the feathers are a dark grey, and most of them are still glossy. It’s just that… there are patches where there are no feathers, and places where you can see the bony protrusions that make up the physical structure of the wing. Some of the feathers are bent and broken, some are crushed, the soft, downy tendrils clumped together.

But despite everything, the feathers are soft and delicate, and they run through your fingers like water. You trace a scar along the ridge of his wing, the tip of your finger dragging through the feathers slowly, and at first, he jumps a little bit, but he quickly relaxes.

“Hey Yoongi?” you ask softly, your focus on the feathers resting against your leg. He hums an acknowledgement. You can feel his eyes on the side of your head. His curiosity is back. He must be starting to feel better. “How’d you…” You sigh and gather some courage. “How’d you fall?”

“Ah.”

“It’s just… you said that you weren’t good enough for them, right? But the demons clearly aren’t…”

“Not my biggest fans, no.”

“So, I just…”

When you finally look at him, you’re struck by how beautiful he is. Not just in a ‘you’re pretty’ way–which, admittedly, he’s that, too. But in a ‘you’re fascinating’ sort of way. Everything about him seems contradictory. His eyes–sharp, catlike, ever observant–sit above a soft button nose, round cheeks, pouty lips. His wings are so beautiful, yet so broken. Even his words, which were sharp when you first met him, are now much softer and friendlier. Sharp and soft. It suits him, somehow.

His dark eyes watch you watch him. And though his face says he’s irritated, his eyes glisten with mirth. He enjoys watching you fumble, apparently, and you recognize that you should be more annoyed by that, but truthfully, you’re happy that he’s feeling well enough to even entertain the thought of mischief. A small smile spreads across his lips, and you find yourself smiling back at him.

“Okay,” he grunts, shifting himself closer awkwardly.

“What are you–? Be careful!” you chide gently, confused by his actions.

He finally seems to settle when he’s laying perpendicular to you. His head lands in your lap and you freeze, arms raised in surprise. Yoongi readjusts slightly to get more comfortable against your thigh. He stretches his wing out–the tips of his feathers brushing against the ceiling–and winces slightly with the movement.

When he’s settled in, he sighs. “I didn’t fall. I was pushed. They don’t really tolerate dissent. Even if you’re right.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s really not that deep of a story, kid. Top brass and I had some disagreements, that’s all.”

“Such as?”

He hums. “Oh you know. Just some minor things.” He rolls slightly so he can look you in the face. “I have these radical ideas where I think people should be kind to everyone and that everyone is worthy of respect.”

You finally drop your hands, and they find the feathers on the ridge of his wing. “I didn’t know I was in the presence of such an extremist.”

“Yeah well.” He grunts, using his arm to push himself upright. He wobbles a little bit when he’s fully vertical, and you reach out a hand to hold him steady. “When the big guy said ‘Love thy neighbor’, he didn’t really leave room for exceptions.”

You hum, your hand falling from Yoongi’s arm when you’re satisfied that he won’t fall over. He stretches, wings folding behind his back with a surprising amount of grace. It strikes you in that moment that he didn’t need to come here, didn’t need you to stitch him up. He could do it all on his own, quicker than you could have ever taken care of him. The scratches on his shoulder are already healed over–they’re still pink and inflamed, sure, but they aren’t bleeding anymore. You wonder how long it took for his pain to go away. So then why…?

“Why’d you come here?” The question is out of your mouth before you can even register it’s a bad idea.

“What?”

“I mean, I’m just a human. I haven’t done shit for you.”

“That’s not true.” His brow furrows. “You brought me a sweater.” He reaches forward to grab the forgotten top.

“That’s not a lot. You did most of the work.”

He shrugs the sweater on, the cream material falling loosely over his torso. Somehow, his wings poke out of the back just fine, even though there are no holes for them. You’re curious, but you also aren’t about to ask him about it. The sweater is big on him, oversized in that two-sizes-too-big sort of way.

“It’s a lot to me,” he says quietly.

Was he always sitting this close? Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of his knee touching yours and how his fingers are barely brushing your own. Deep brown eyes meet yours, his attention flickering quickly downwards before dragging back up to your eyes, like it took a great effort. And then he’s leaning in. Or maybe you’re leaning in. Both of you? It doesn’t matter. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Can he hear it? He can probably hear it.

He’s millimeters from you, you can feel his breath fanning across your face. “Can I kiss you?” He asks it so softly, it’s barely audible, even from this distance.

You don’t even think. You just nod.

His lips meet yours, and it’s like all of the air is sucked from your lungs. It’s quick–he breaks it far too soon–and you’re admittedly a little lightheaded. He doesn’t get far, though, before you’re pulling him closer again, hand cradling his jaw. His lips are slightly chapped, and he moves gently against you. Not too fast, not too forceful. It’s almost as if he’s hesitant. But then he adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls you ever so slightly closer.

When you finally pull apart, your face feels warm. Yoongi’s looking at you, dark eyes swimming with some emotion that you can’t really place. But it’s gooey and soft, and the warmth spreads from your face to your whole body. No one had looked at you like that since… well, since Dawoon, and really, it had been a long time for even that. Yoongi offers you a small smile, and you return it, suddenly very nervous. He stretches his legs out in front of him, hand brushing yours once again.

What in the world are you supposed to do now? You didn’t think you were so far over Dawoon’s betrayal that you were ready to kiss… anyone, let alone Yoongi.

“You uh…” You cough, feeling very awkward, and fumble for the right thing to say. “You want to watch a movie?”

When you wake up, you aren’t sure what time it is. It’s weird. You remember the movie–an old Scooby Doo made-for-tv special from your childhood–and sitting beside Yoongi on the floor. You remember the shuffle of his wings as he got comfortable–the couch apparently too rigid for the sensitive appendages. You remember how he tried to hide his laughter behind his hand, but the shaking of his shoulders gave it away.

What you don’t remember is falling asleep.

But it’s now morning, early light streaming through the windows. The tv is off, and there’s a blanket thrown over your shoulders. Your apartment is so quiet you can hear the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside. Where’s Yoongi? You push yourself up off the floor, squinting as you look around. You check your bedroom, and the kitchen, and the bathroom, and he’s nowhere. He’s just… gone.

You sigh and collapse onto the couch, heart and stomach somewhere in your ankles. You feel sick. This is different from when you were angry and worried about him. Now, you’re just angry.

How dare he? How dare he make you worry about him? How dare he show up on your doorstep without warning like that? How dare he make you care?

How dare he kiss you like that and leave without a word?

Something stings behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut, letting your head fall to hit the back of the couch. How could you be so stupid? After Dawoon, you’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t let yourself get invested like that again. It only led to this. Sitting alone, a mysterious stinging in your eyes, wondering what you did wrong.

You grit your teeth and give yourself another ten seconds to wallow in self-pity. And then you stand. You promised a coworker you’d cover her lunch shift at the bar today. You can’t afford to miss it. Plus, you do better when you don’t have time to dwell on things.

Unfortunately, the bar is dead. You count the glassware at least a dozen times. You wipe down the bar more times than you can count. You wipe down every bottle in the well and on display, double-check the kegs, restock the bottled beer in the fridge. A few hours into the shift and you’re faced with the fact that it’s not as good a distraction as you had hoped. Thankfully, there are at least a couple patrons, and since there are no servers staffed for the lunch shift, you’re forced to take care of them.

You’re grateful for the customers, grateful for something to do, for the outlet. But then the door opens, and you throw a quick “Sit anywhere! I’ll be with you in a sec!” over your shoulder as you pop into the kitchen to grab one of the table’s appetizers. When you emerge, you nearly drop the nachos you’re carrying.

At a table in the corner sits a face you’d rather forget. He’s tall, and handsome–a far cry from the spindly first-year you’d met a decade ago. His black hair is a little shaggy, perfectly styled to be out of his face. He wears a suit, no doubt it cost him more than your entire month’s pay, tips included.

Song Dawoon.

You steel yourself, take a second to plaster the customer service smile back on your face, and step out onto the floor. You drop the nachos off at the correct table without spilling a single chip, despite the fact that your hands are shaking like you’re experiencing your own personal earthquake. You promise to refill the man’s Jack and Coke, and then you take a breath and step toward Dawoon’s table.

“What can I get you?” you ask through your best plastered-on smile.

Dawoon looks up at you, a sickly sweet grin on his face. “How have you been? I didn’t know you worked here!”

Sure he didn’t.

“Sit down,” he suggests, kicking out the chair across from him.

“No thanks.”

“Sit. Let’s talk.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for questions.

Cautiously, you sit. Your leg starts to bounce. Between the anger from this morning and your nerves now, you’re dizzy and nauseated. It’s a big city. You’d hoped that you’d never have the displeasure of seeing Dawoon again.

“The funniest thing has happened to me,” he says, leaning forward, his fingers steepled. “I’ve been having the worst luck lately. My keys disappear. My clocks are all broken. My files are disappearing. And you’ll never believe this, but all of my clients keep forgetting my name.” He hums and shakes his head. “It’s strange. Almost supernatural. Like if someone hired a vengeful spirit. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

You shrug. “Not at all.”

“See, that’s the thing. I think maybe you do.” He beckons you closer, but you don’t move. His voice is dark. You’d only ever heard him like this once before.

The day he swung at you.

“I think,” he continues, voice low, “you know a lot about it. I’m not quite sure how, but if I figure out how you’re ruining my career, you’ll have to pick up the pieces three states over.”

“You know, that’s really rich coming from you.” You stand, the chair scraping from behind you. You take a deep breath. “I think you should leave now.”

It takes everything in you to walk away with your head held high. Your legs are shaking by the time you get back behind the bar, and as soon as you’re safe in the kitchen, you sink to the floor. The cook eyes you warily but says nothing, simply hands you a glass of water and goes back behind the prep station.

The room is spinning. Your chest is tight. Your heart is beating so fast, you’re afraid it’ll pop out of your chest and flop around on the floor like a fish. The door to the kitchen swings open and shut, open and shut, a dull throb that barely registers somewhere in the back of your mind. Your hands shake as you take a sip of the water. Someone pats your shoulder as they pass by.

It takes ten minutes for you to breathe normally again, and another five for your blood pressure to return to that of an alive human being. You stand, give the kitchen staff a nervous nod in thanks, and sneak back out into the bar. By now, Amy–the other bartender–has clocked in. A quick glance around the room eases your nerves. Dawoon is gone. The other patrons are still there, but Dawoon is no longer sitting in the corner.

You lean against the bar and sigh. And then you pull yourself together and finish your shift.

By the time you get home, you’re exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. You’re drained. You want nothing more than to sleep for a week, take a hot bath, and drink an entire bottle of red wine. And not necessarily in that order. You collapse onto the couch, television remote in hand. Despite your exhaustion, you’re still wired.

In the glow of your tv’s home screen, you see something glossy on the floor at your feet and reach down to pick it up. Something soft brushes your fingertips, and when you finally grab it and inspect it, you’re face-to-face to a single dark grey feather.

Your head falls, hitting the plush back of the couch. You feel your eyes start to sting again. It’s all too much.

A noise to your left startles you–the sound of a blanket being shaken to get the wrinkles out. You squeeze your eyes shut briefly. Of course the universe is forcing you to do this now.

When he says your name, it’s barely a whisper–deep, gravelly, it matches the early hour. Stubbornly, you ignore him, your eyes squeezed shut. Maybe, if you don’t acknowledge him, he’ll go away. But then you hear him step closer, and you’re jumping to your feet.

“What are you doing here?” you question him sharply.

“I wanted to check on you, I-”

“Why?”

“Song Dawoon, he’s-” Yoongi frowns. “You’re upset.” He takes a step forward. “Why are you upset?”

You scoff. “Don’t talk to me about him.”

He looks confused, dark eyes clouding over with questions. And for a moment, your heart flutters. But then a part of you–the angry part–reminds you that you’d woken up this morning alone. And an even larger part of you reminds you that Dawoon knows somehow, and you grit your teeth.

“You left me alone.” Your eyes sting again, and you try to blink it away. Now is not the time. “You left me alone and I had to deal with him by myself.”

Something akin to worry crosses Yoongi’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter!” You’re exasperated, and you can feel your heart rate increasing–you try to take deep breaths despite the fact that your lungs feel like they’re being squeezed. “Don’t you get it? He ruined my life because we weren’t in love any more. He took it personally that I wouldn’t stick around and enjoy our perfect, abusive relationship. He told my boss I was selling information to a rival firm and got me fired. He told my friends that I talked shit behind their backs and made them hate me. He took away my entire support system and kicked me out on my ass and he’s still coming after me.” You take a shaky breath and force yourself to stare Yoongi down.

“I didn’t know. You didn’t say-”

“Of course I didn’t! Why would I want to relive the worst months of my life? God, I…” You throw up your hands and turn away. “How useless are you? I thought you were supposed to be able to sense this stuff? Maybe not the specifics, but at least the severity, or… or something!”

“I-”

It’s all too much. Yoongi standing there, looking like a kicked puppy. Him leaving, Dawoon’s threats. You can’t take it anymore.

“You need to…” You take a deep breath, force your voice to steady, blink away the stinging. “Thank you for your help, but unfortunately, I don’t think this will work.”

“What-”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I won’t be needing your help anymore. You can go.”

“But I…” Yoongi’s brow furrows, and you watch as he deflates. His shoulders sag, and something changes in how he stands there. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there not to understand? I don’t need your help anymore. We never have to see each other again.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Go.”

He nods, black hair falling in front of his face. His eyes are downcast, but you think you see a shine in them that wasn’t there before. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before speaking again. “Okay.” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Okay. Well… I guess this is it then.”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

He’s gone in a flap of invisible wings, and suddenly, it’s dead quiet in your apartment. You stand there for a moment, silent, unsure what to do next. And then something in you breaks, and you sink to the floor in front of your ottoman. Tears well in your eyes, and it’s barely a second before you’re sobbing into your hands.

He was still wearing your sweater.

Fallen Masterlist | Next Part

thank you for reading. I have no idea when part two will be out--I don't normally do this, but I couldn't wait to get part one out, so I'm still working on the rest. I'd love to hear what you thought about this part! it might even inspire me to finish the fic!

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justanotherthrowaway1950 · 4 months

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Why I Headcanon Azula Suffering from Mental Illness, Pre-Sozin's Comet

Note: To make it super clear, I have no relevant training when it comes to mental health, or in psychology in general. I am just a fan sharing my headcanon based on what I think would lead into interesting storytelling. So if you have any problems (ex. you think I engaged in ableism) with my characterization and/or diagnosis of Azula, please let me know in the comments.

One of the more contentious arguments in the ATLA fandom is whether or not Azula has any mental disorder(s), and if so, what they are.

Some fans think Azula suffered from some combination of antisocial personality disorder, narcissistic personality disorder, and/or bi-polar personality disorder, and so all the events of the back half of Season 3 did was make her actively psychotic.

Meanwhile, there are other fans who believe that Azula’s problem was being a poorly socialized kid who was raised to be the perfect conqueror and tyrant, and so her mental breakdown during Sozin’s Comet was a temporary stress-based breakdown caused by her life falling apart.

And while the comics could have provided a clear answer, they unfortunately haven’t as of the time of this post.

This is because while Azula suffered from constant delusions and hallucinations for at least a year, they can be easily explained by her less than ideal treatment in her asylum.

(Yes, apparently it is canon that there is systemic abuse present in the Fire Nation’s asylum system, and that it played a major role in not only Azula’s worsened mental state in the comics, but also why the Fire Warriors willingly joined Azula’s side as well.)

Moreover, despite her and Zuko claiming that she appears to mentally better off in Smoke and Shadow, with Azula claiming that she no longer sees or hears “Ursa”, she occasionally is drawn in the same fashion as an actively psychotic Azula is in The Search.

Which suggests that her escaping the asylum and finding a new purpose in life, turning Zuko into a tyrant or retaking the throne for herself, is just a temporary fix.

In addition, at least in the post-Sozin’s Comet comics written by Gene Luen Yang, Azula is supposed to be suffering from a split personality disorder.

Yet I am pretty sure that a significant portion of fandom would agree with me when I say that did not appear to be the case in those comics considering Azula never appears to switch between her normal personality and any alters.

Therefore, considering the franchise refuses to give a clear answer on what, if any, mental illness(es) Azula has, what, if any, mental illness(es) Azula has is the realm of headcanons for now.

So, what mental illness(es), if any, do I headcanon Azula suffering from?

Well, I headcanon that Azula has (childhood) schizoaffective disorder plus complex post-trauma stress disorder (C-PTSD) caused by the fact that Ursa did manage to teach her morals, but she had to consciously disregard them to be her father's perfect heir.

And that the first time she hallucinated Ursa was after her father made her do something heinous, like torturing an agitator in a prison at his command, or after she smiled after Zuko's burning, thinking that deserved it, even though deep down she knew it was wrong.

I also headcanon that she went to great lengths to hide her hallucinations and avoid triggering herself by doing things like avoiding mirrors to the point that no one other than Lo and Li suspected there was anything wrong with her.

But as Zuko, Ty Lee, and Mai “abandon” her before the events of the show occur, she starts to fall apart.

Hence why she seeks out Ty Lee and Mai, even though there are better fighters available like Combustion Man, and why she allows Zuko to "redeem" himself.

That and "Ursa" telling her that she has been a bad sister for trying to imprison or kill her own brother, and that he deserves to come back home, not in chains or in a coffin, but by her side as their father’s rightful heir once again.

So, with her brother and friends back in her life, combined with the fact that she has succeeded in securing her father’s love by essentially winning the war as far as she is concerned, Azula is able to keep “Ursa” for the most part suppressed.

Hence why Azula appears to be happy and even somewhat normal during the first part of Season 3.

This, even though “Ursa” keeps telling her from time to time that it is wrong to blackmail her brother about the Avatar’s potential survival, and that it is a matter of time before Mai and Ty Lee stop tolerating her after everything she has done to them, especially Ty Lee.

So it’s no surprise that after Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, and Ozai's "betrayals", especially considering the nature of their “betrayals” and how they all occurred within a short timeframe, that she becomes actively psychotic, with her condition then worsening due to the abusive asylum she was placed in, as well as the fact no one came to visit her until Zuko needed her to find Ursa.

But after Noriko apologizes for not loving her enough, plus Zuko affirming that he will always love her, she stops being actively psychotic due to a combination of no longer being in the asylum and her realizing her purpose in life is to "help" Zuko.

However, Azula hasn’t really healed, since her actions in Smoke and Shadow were essentially having a manic episode due to having a new purpose in life, no longer being in the asylum, and having new friends in the form of the Fire Warriors.

Moreover, her trying to turn Zuko into a tyrant, or if that fails, retaking the throne for herself, is a giant coping mechanism since actively coming to terms with the fact her trying to be her father’s perfect heir alienated her from everyone who she cared about would be too much for her psyche.

Especially since there doesn’t seem any way to redeem herself, let alone get her brother, Mai, and/or Ty Lee’s forgiveness and companionship again.

And why do I headcanon Azula suffering from (childhood) schizoaffective disorder alongside C-PTSD?

Well, initially, before rewatching ATLA, I used to think that Azula’s breakdown was a temporary, stress-induced breakdown caused by her life falling apart.

But after rewatching ATLA, or more specifically, the mirror scene, I picked on something very peculiar: Azula doesn’t appear to be shocked by the presence of “Ursa”, even though as far as she is concerned, Ursa has been gone for over five years at this point.

___________________________________________________________

Azula: “All right hair, it's time to face your doom.”

Azula grabs the bangs hanging in front of her face. She lifts them in the air and cuts them, with them falling near her feet. Her reflection in the mirror shows her grinning, with her hair a mess, but she stops grinning as she notices Ursa appears in the reflection, behind Azula.

Ursa: “What a shame, you always had such beautiful hair.”

Azula: “What are you doing here‌?”

Ursa: “I didn't want to miss my own daughter's coronation.”

Azula: “Don't pretend to act proud. I know what you really think of me. You think I'm a monster.

Ursa: [Cuts to shot of Azula looking at her reflection in the mirror, clearly angered; off-camera.] “I think you're confused. All your life you used fear to control people, like your friends Mai and Ty Lee.”

Azula: [Closes her eyes before turning around sharply to face her mother.] “Well what choice do I have?! [Cuts to shot of her standing in the room, her back to the mirror which still shows the reflection of her mother.] Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way. Even you fear me.”

Ursa: [Sincerely.] “No. I love you, Azula. I do.”

Cuts to close-up of Azula as she bends over slightly, tears in her eyes, and her hair hanging down in messy locks. Cuts to shot of her hand gripped around a hairbrush on the table. The camera shifts as the enraged princess lets out a shout and hurls the brush at the mirror. The resulting impact shatters a large portion of the mirror, including where Ursa's reflection was seen. Cuts to overhead shot of the room as Azula kneels over and begins bitterly crying. The room is devoid of any other people, showing that Ursa's reflection was a mere hallucination.

___________________________________________________________

So, after reading the comics and learning that not only did Azula continue to suffer from hallucinations and delusions, but also that her “recovery” wasn’t really a recovery at all, I came to the conclusion that you can tell a compelling story of Azula suffering from (childhood) schizoaffective disorder plus C-PTSD.

Or more specifically, you can tell a compelling story of Azula constantly struggling to suppress her conscience after Ursa left and she got molded into Ozai's perfect weapon, with her symptoms worsening as her friends and brother slowly but surely leave her life, only getting better after she forcibly brings them back into her life.

But after Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, and Ozai “betray” her one by one, making her (subconsciously) realize that all the people she had hurt and pushed away in pursuit of Ozai’s "love" was all for nothing, and that she was wrong to ignore to “Ursa”, she can no longer keep her symptoms under check.

And that her behavior from Sozin’s Comet onward can be explained due a combination of the asylum worsening her condition, her going through periods of mania and depression, and her trying to avoid consciously admitting that Ozai’s abuse and her own choices led her to lose everything that mattered to her since doing so might break her for good.

So to conclude, I headcanon Azula suffering from (childhood) schizoaffective disorder plus C-PTSD, even pre-Sozin’s Comet, partially because Azula was not surprised at the presence of “Ursa” during the mirror scene, and partially because she continued to be suffering from delusions and hallucinations long after Sozin’s Comet.

And while I wish the writers for the franchise would do more research before trying to depict Azula suffering from such disorders, I do think with has already be depicted and said that there is enough present already to tell a compelling story involving Azula trying to deal with and overcome such disorders, regardless if she actually does succeed in overcoming them, or at least learn how to manage them.

#azula #atla #atla comics #avatar legends #azula meta #atla meta #atla comics meta #atla comics critical #justanotherthrowaway1950meta

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 months

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i’m so sorry this is hyper specific…. any fics where john calls sherlock ‘WILLIAM!!’ when he’s in trouble or something?? i think it would be hilarious

Hey Nonny!

AHHHHHH eeeee I don't know if I have anything specifically for that, but over the years I have been asked for William Fics, so I'm just gonna use your ask to finally collect what I have <3 If anyone has anything more specific to Nonny's request, please let us know, 'cause Nonny's right, it'd be funny LOL.

That said, here is what I have for "William" fics, which I just did a search for his name and probably don't have any of them correct :( I pulled what I had on my MFL list as well to make this list a bit longer for you. Apologies ahead of time if they're not "William" focussed.

Please let me know if y'all have more!

SHERLOCK’S CALLED “WILLIAM”

See also: Sherlock Called William (Alexx's List)

Vale Mea by JohntheBlonde (G, 622 w., 1 Ch. || Implied/Referenced Death, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Pining Sherlock, Epistolary) – 'I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes...hereby...declare this my last Will and Testament.'

what’s in a name by flight815kitsune (NR, 1,285 w., 1 Ch. || Soulmates AU) – There were some things you just knew. The name, if you were lucky enough to get one, was one of those things.

Dear John by wendymarlowe (E, 23,031 w., 64 Ch. || Post-TRF, Online Dating, Pining, Epistolary, Cybersex, Long Distance Romance) – With Sherlock dead, John eventually (under duress) makes a profile on an online dating site. And falls into a long-distance relationship with an enigmatic partner who reminds him of Sherlock in all the right ways. (Hint: it turns out to be Sherlock.) Part 1 of Dear John

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

MARKED FOR LATER

A Prequel of Sorts by foxy61 (G, 6,561 w. || Kidlock / Teenlock, Time Manipulation, Big Brother Mycroft) – William Sherlock Scott Holmes was born in a little cottage in the middle of a blizzard January 6th 1977. He was delivered by an ex-army doctor, one Dr. John Hamish Watson who apparently didn’t exist or at least not yet. Part 2 of A Blizzard Started it All

I Don't Need You to Like Me by Ranowa (T, 7,146 w., 1 Ch || Different First Meeting, Autistic Sherlock, Ableism, Papa Lestrade, Big Brother Mycroft, Child Abuse, Kidlock) – Greg's introduction to child abuse cases is a small, surly child with a broken arm named John Watson... and the even smaller, nonverbal boy that won't leave his side. The smaller, nonverbal boy named William Holmes.

To Belong Series by DrFish (T, 19,400+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || Victorian / Mythical AU || OctoJohn, Scientist Sherlock, Attempted Kidnapping, BAMF John, Protective / Possessive John, Developing Relationship, Being Lost, Size Difference, Capital Punishment, Happy Ending) – William Sherlock Scott Holmes failed to graduate the University of Cambridge class of 1877. Adrift in London, he accepts a post as assistant naturalist on a scientific expedition to the Western Pacific Ocean aboard Her Majesty's Sailing Ship Frontier. Events do not proceed quite as planned and Sherlock finds himself cruelly cast away by his shipmates. Perhaps he will find salvation in the company of a most unlikely sea creature.

The Corvus That Calls at Night by S_IRIS (E, 19,834+ w., 4/? Ch. || Medieval Fantasy AU || Military John, Swordsman Sherlock, True Love, Historical, Politics, Falling in Love, Sexual Tension, Fictional Religion, Angst, Pining, Infidelity) – A final chance at forging peace between the kingdom of Brevaria in the south and the newly-seceded Brevarian Republic in the north hinges on a strategic but unpopular betrothal between the youngest brother of the Duke of Langley, the heir apparent, and Harriet Lily, the daughter of the Brevarian High Consul. Expectations are that a marriage alliance between Harriet and Prince William might soothe tensions on both sides of the border regarding the alliance and end the protracted civil war. However, Sherlock is only going up to the Brevarian moors in expectation of meeting Harriet’s older brother, the most talented military commander in over six generations. But behind John Watson’s legendary prowess in battle is a dark secret.

An Aftertaste Of Memory by Raithwithwings57 (M, 39,009+ w., 20/? Ch. || Post TRF, Rosie is in this Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, Amnesia (Sherlock), Torture, Scars, PTSD, Divorced John, Divorced Lestrade, Misunderstandings) – Sherlock Holmes was believed by most to have died by jumping to his death. A few people, Mycroft Holmes included believed he died in somewhere in Serbia, tortured to death, though his body was never found. Sherlock Holmes himself doesn't believe either of the above, obviously. After being extensively tortured in Serbia, he suffered a traumatic brain injury that left him with amnesia, and deafness. But the doctors say that the deafness is psychological in nature. It doesn't matter much to him. All he knows is that his name is William, and that he was once (and it seems he always will be) in love with a man by the name of John Watson. John has suffered much in the last eight years. Losing his best friend to suicide, marrying and then later being divorced by his wife, battling for joint custody of his child, and generally trying to forge ahead and figure out what the seemingly bleak future holds in store for him. But what he could never expect is Sherlock's sudden return. Nor the man's conviction that once upon a time they were madly in love.

Proper Manners by Jade5687 (E, 40,449 w., 2 Ch. || Medieval Royalty AU || Class Differences, Religion, Post-War, Master/Servant, Identity Issues, Period-Typical Attitudes, First Time, Light Bondage) – Sherlock Holmes is a charming—if somewhat eccentric—nobleman who often spends time with John, an apothecary’s son. When John is offered employment at King William’s castle, however, he fears he will have to say goodbye to Sherlock. But in the end, they might actually become closer than before. Part 1 of the King William's Castle series

Sehnenfäden by holmesian_love and Strange_johnlock (M, 67,879 w., 22 Ch. || Violinist Sherlock AU || Idiots in Love, Alternate First Meeting, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humour, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, First Time, Nature, Music, Seclusion, Angst with Happy Ending, Non-Explicit Sex) – William Sherlock Holmes is a world-renowned violinist, uncompromising with his principles and his punishing schedule, pushed to breaking point by his manager. John Watson is a lost, retired army-doctor, returned to London with nowhere to live. Both men end up in situations which lead them to a secluded German village in the mountains, escaping from the unforgiving world around them. A chance encounter brings them together, sharing a friendship and understanding neither of them have found before. Will they be able to find a way to express their true feelings for one another, to find the path to be together, despite Sherlock’s chaotic lifestyle?

The Killing Principle by Vulpesmellifera (E, 104,593 w., 46 Ch. || American AU || Gay John, Serial Killer Mary, Bum Appreciation, Sherlock is William, Dating Difficulties, BAMF Sherlock, Slow Burn, Thriller, Confessions, Whump, Angst with Happy Ending, Minor Character Death) – John Watson served twice in AmeriCorps, married his high school sweetheart, and then entered med school. A sudden arrest and accusation of multiple murders ends his promising career, irrevocably altering his life's trajectory. Acquitted of his wife’s crimes, John spends the next ten years as the maligned ex-husband of convicted serial killer Mercy Mary. A job offer draws him out of hiding and back to Connecticut - the very state where the crimes were committed. He needs the money, and the job is a dream. Then he meets the brilliant William Vernet, and it seems like he has a second chance at life and love. But the past has a way of catching up.

Beyond Recall by elwinglyre & MrBotanyB (E, 110,201 w. || Apocalypse/Dystopia AU, Alternate First Meeting, Case Fic, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, First Time, Alternating POV) – Dropped into Cardiff on a mission he doesn’t remember, everyday he wakes to a past he doesn’t recall in a world torn apart by pandemic. William (Sherlock Holmes) finds purpose when John Watson finds him. For Watson, this man is a mysterious thief with the uncanny ability to see into people. But there’s something more to this man, and Doctor Watson helps William find the answers to his “magical” deductions. Is he a mad man? A serial killer? Or just damn clever? And what’s his connection to the epidemic that wiped out most of the world?

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #sherlock is william fics #help steph find fics

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evilwickedme · 1 year

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You seemed sad that nobody's asked for jayroy fic recs. I want jayroy fics! I am a simple creecher with simple needs.

God what a mood tho. ngl I'm obsessed with these two

I've already recommended some of my favs in previous posts! here and here for your enjoyment

anyway here we go

ace-spectrum!Jason

one of my favorite hc and with a lot of support from the text imho; I have more of these these are just my favs

Kiss Me, Kill Me, Take Me Home - 5+1 times somebody kissed Jason, ace!Jason

Jane Austen Never Said Anything About Speed Dating - this one's pretty long. an au where Jason never died and is dealing with trauma from an abusive ex. again, outright ace!Jason and his ex absolutely raped him, so dark subject matter but it's still so good. Jason's brothers try to get him back in the game after the breakup and he ends up running into Roy at speed dating; they decide to fake date to get both their families off their backs. some nice Lian stuff here too.

Between These Pages (Is a Wonderful Place To Be) - ace!Jason gets extremely injured and Roy reads to him, cute little oneshot

(can you feel) the fire burning through your veins - nothing wrong with a little bit of self promo, right? this is demi!gay!Jason figuring his identity out and navigating his changing relationship with Roy. it takes place in a slightly alternate timeline where he's been to therapy for a couple of years and he never slept with Talia so it's his first time with pretty much everything. there actually is smut but it's Jason's first time :D

there is sex in this

I’ve Got the Feeling You’re the Right Thing After All - more poisonivory??? yes please!!! Roy's has had feelings for Dick since their teen titans days, but still ends up in a fwb with Jason when he's asked to help Jason run the iceberg lounge... somewhat plotty, smut in basically every chapter, so fucking good

Let me shipwreck in your thighs - we all have a thing for Jason's thighs, lbr

Arrows and Bullets - a two fic series. injured Jason falls into Roy's apartment and stays there until he heals. once again, some quality Lian stuff here. the sequel fic has some minor Jason-comes-back-home and surrounds christmas.

Boys Don't Cry - trans!Jason. I think this does have a minor plot?? I can't remember it's basically just fifty thousand words of marathon sex over the course of like at least a week

there's a middle ground between ace and outright smut actually

Some Kind of Disaster - this is actually one of my favorites and I've reread the whole thing more than once even though it's a mildly long series (although tbf I've reread longer). instead of outright dying at sanctuary Roy is just grievously injured and Jason runs to his side the moment he hears and refuses to leave. there's a lot of angst. one of the fics is smutty; halfway through the series Roy discovers Lian exists and that's where the plot really kicks in. so good

The Midnight Snow - Robin!Jason is in a time loop and Roy gets trapped in there with him

Flowers Are My Love Language - Jason keeps trying to get Roy to date him using flowers, and Roy simply refuses to get the message

Around Red Hood's Barn - Neighbors au where Roy and Jason are still partners as vigilantes, Roy just doesn't know Red Hood's identity, and Roy CANNOT STAND his new neighbor Jason. I love me some good identity shenanigans in a superhero fic

Magnet Tar Pit Trap - I already linked one cowboy au in the first fic rec (linked above), why not one more

other

remember how canonically Roy died in Heroes in Crisis? ow. I actually already rec'd my favorite one of these in the first Jason fic rec (linked! above!) so check that one out too

It is only, and all about Roy - I actually really regretted not putting this in the original fic rec (again, linked above). Jason shows up in Star City and ends up collaborating with Oliver. JayRoy is only implied but either way Jason is clearly deeply grieving Roy's death and so is Ollie

Please, come back - JayRoy were together before sanctuary and Jason grieves his death deeply. happy ending tho!

anyway yeah that's some good fics believe me when I say I could've rec'd twice as many honestly. unfortunately I had to stop somewhere so that's it for now

#there's so much good jayroy+lian fluff I wish I'd put more here but again. this is already so much #like fifteen is just so much #I also tried to include mostly fics that are actually respectful towards Roy cause a lot of jayroy fics are really only interested in Jason #jayroy #roy harper #jason todd #lian harper #oliver queen #arrowfam #batfam #dc #dc fic #fic recs #gail speaks #ask #vote-4-crow #jason todd my beloved #jt

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whatsyaname · 3 months

Text

Hi.

I can't reveal who i am but i used to be a ex moot of tee (@/saetoru) and i don’t care if this seems cowardly to make a page just to call her out. after seeing lots of people share their experiences with tee i’d like to also add and show some of the stuff she’s done to remind people she’s not as angelic as she makes herself out to be.

me and tee weren’t close as she was with her little clique (they know who they are) and other people but the main reason we aren’t moots anymore is because i broke the mutual. after seeing a callout post about her way back in oct. 2023 with other people’s stories in the thread of reblogs / link (i’m sure you guys saw)

i simply didn’t wanna be associated with someone like that. i was just confused why tee was acting like it wasn’t her fault. she said she doesn’t have to provide proof because she doesn’t owe anyone anything when that doesn’t make sense. because if you’re gonna accuse someone, always provide proof otherwise it’s safe to assume you’re lying.

this was Tee’s response back in october to her being called out by one of her old moots also, she deleted this a few days before she returned to make it seem like nothing happened but oh it did. i’m putting this here for people to see again (if you already haven’t) because just look at this.

this is what a narcissistic manipulator sounds like!

the biggest thing that made me scratch my head was for her to immediately bring up past drama to redirect the situation and make herself seem like the good person, and address the other party as a “white girl who blackfishes,” and she tried taking the attention off her to bring up palestine.

are you serious? if she so called “blackfished” why were you supporting/defending her in the first place? shouldn’t you be in the wrong too? the party she was talking about didn’t even blackfish, from what i can recall it was a simple tan so again, this was Tee reaching and blowing things way out of proportion.

she keeps mentioning some random bnha blog but never gives the @ so she’s probably lying. how are you gonna accuse someone of plagiarism then your only evidence is “oh me and my moots saw the whole thing, so you know i’m not lying.” girl bffr. and for her to even say something as childish and stupid as “she’s stolen ppl’s skin tones and she’s stolen their ideas. not much to left to take besides your identity at that!”

you and i both read that right? this is a supposed 20+ year old, saying something as kiddish as that. she even exposed the persons @ in the tags and why did she do that? so she can make her thousands of followers / anons spam their inbox with threats, derogatory names, and literally anything else. and she has the nerve to say she’s not enabling that kind of behavior with her audience. she’s abusing her following and it’s showing.

and for her to sit there and say it’s not her fault for being in her own space and name dropping people without actually name dropping them is just absurd. subposting is the lowest of the low. If you’re gonna talk shit at least put the url while you’re at it. people can tell who you’re talking about even if you’re being discrete.

She has a private blog called @/clorindes where she uses it to "vent" and bash writers and laugh it off with her moots and even followers.

i know of this particular blog because like many others, if you followed tee that blog (her private) would appear in ‘blogs like…’ or ‘recommended to follow.’ after tee got called out, she privated it but it’s still up.

(i recommend blocking that blog) because i’m sure she’ll activate it again once things settle. i hope that’s not the case because how many drama, discourse posts, call outs does it take for her to fully leave this platform? this is chronically online mentality at its finest.

it’s been an ongoing rumor that tee has this tumblr 'burn book' to blacklist writers on this platform and it’s proven to be true. some of tees even own mutuals are in there, and its just embarrassing. you have to constantly remind yourself this is a 20+ y/o person acting like this, out of all platforms, tumblr…

i remember a while back tee drove off a few blogs just for having the same theme concepts as her. (is that even a thing?) like tee used to have instagram themes i think, yet when she found other blogs having the same, she’d send her thousands of anons to harass that person, and be so butthurt over a theme.

not gonna lie, her themes are generically basic and doesn’t even look like it takes much effort. so what is there to copy. i’m not saying copying themes are good and okay, but she takes things too far. i can see if it’s writing, but a theme or a layout? i just find it so mind boggling people stick by her side and support her still.

from her old blog she’d always say sneaky comments like these and laugh it up with her mutuals in the comments. it’s really…something, because why do you care what those writers do? she reeks of jealousy and envy, literally look at her tone.

“we all know yall just want the notes and numbers.” um, yeah? everyone wants recognition on their work, it feels good to know your works being appreciated. and her jab at shading writers who write half paragraphs was so unnecessary. because again, why do you care? how are those writers hyping each other up seen as ‘shady’ or ‘fishy’ behavior? just say you’re jealous and go.

she acts like she doesn’t do the exact same thing with her cult of friends on tumblr, spamming the tags with wtv.

miss tee, flat out you’re a nobody.

you have no right to judge how someone write. who cares if you have 30k+ followers on this old ass site. congrats ….i guess? in the real world, you’re just a miserable person who likes torturing people online.

she has this thing of coming after upcoming big blogs, if i’m not mistaken, the most recent one was a known jjk writer, kazu _____ another was a popular multi account munson____, and there were multiple others i’m sure. her following count boosts her ego a lot, that i can see. and she thinks it’s okay to say whatever and not get held accountable. well now she is.

notice how she came back to tumblr after a two month hiatus, turned anons on then back off. and shes been inactive for a few days. she’s running away from the drama because she knows exactly it’s no one’s fault but hers.

if you look through the long thread i linked earlier, actually read through the reblogs. if multiple various ppl are coming out to share their experiences (with receipts) chances are you should be able to tell who’s lying! she needs to be stopped and ran off the app, not those blogs who didn’t do anything. tee’s been involved with drama for a long time like i said before, way back in her tokyo rev/hq era in her @/hanmas era. so about three to four years ago.

it’s been said tee and her mutuals send anons to harass other writers and i wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true.

again, it’s a shame you have to remind yourself this is a grown woman in her twenties acting like this on tumblr. it’s sickening and she needs to grow up, and get the hell off this platform before she drives anyone else off.

thats all! thank you for reading

#saetoru #Hope she sees this too.#stop supporting her #her moots and followers who ignore her are JUST as bad as her #she’s been in drama since 2021 (her tokrev era)#get a grip this is tumblr dot com #She needs a reality check and it should have been her ran off the app instead of those innocent blogs #to people who lost their blogs to her I’m so sorry #I hope you all are at peace.

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deaddie-munson · 1 year

Text

Video Killed The Radio Star

Joseph Quinn x Reader

18+ (Minors DNI or I’ll hex you and that’s a promise)

Angst, slow burn, strangers to lovers, femme AFAB reader, eventual smut, mentions of drug use (Weed, Nicotine, alcohol.), Mentions of past abuse, reader is a radio host, reader is from Canada, use of Y/N, more to be added as things progress.

AN- Hi! This is the first fan fiction I’ve written since middle school. you can let me know if you want to be on a tag list. I work full-time and have adult responsibilities so I will try to write chapters when I can, but there will likely be some inconsistent posting. Just trying fic writing again to get my creative juices flowing.

Chapter 1 “You’re Hired”

---

“Come on Y/N, you need to get back out there eventually.” Alex said, snatching your phone out of your hand and holding it away from you.

“No, Alex, I do not need to get back out there,” you said making air quotes. You tried to grab the phone back, but you couldn’t reach it as she held it over the aisle of the bus.

“I’m downloading tinder and making you an account.” Alex said turning the phone towards you to use your face ID. “You need to find at least a fling while you’re on this trip. All the guys would melt at your voice in an instant, I know it.”

You sighed and held your head in your hands. You weren’t ready to move on yet, thoughts of your ex still swirling around in your brain. He dumped you 7 months ago, but that was the kicker. He. Dumped. You. You were still very much in love when it happened. No, he wasn’t anywhere near perfect. He was a little controlling at times, but you loved him. He had you hook, line, and sinker. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, he kicked you out of your shared apartment, and you were forced to sleep on Alex’s couch. It was older than you with springs poking your back the moment you shifted your weight even the slightest.

“I think I should, I don’t know, get settled, and maybe get my own apartment before I jump into that, Alex. Seriously, I don’t want a relationship right now, and I don’t do hookups.” You gave her a cold stare as she was going through your camera roll, trying to find the best photos to put on your profile.

“Y/N, holy shit you look smoking hot in this.” Alex stared at the photo in question. It was a photo from Halloween, Your Playboy bunny costume leaving little to the imagination. It was 3 weeks after your breakup, and after not being allowed to show your body off for 3 years you decided to say fuck it. You thought taking a guy home would help soothe the pain you felt in the pit of your stomach, but after 3 minutes of grunting while you lay underneath, stiff as a board, it was safe to say hookups were not your cup of tea after that.

“I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about me. I’m not looking to hook up with people, Alex. That night made me realize that.” You sighed as you stared out the window, the streets of London bustling as you rode from the hotel to your job interview.

“Well this could be a fresh start for you, Y/N. No one here has a clue who you are. Maybe all these British men are sex gods or something. Everyone knows everyone in our town, this place is worlds different. A lot easier to avoid the ones that finish in 2 minutes.” Alex laughed at herself, thinking she was a comedian as you keep a close eye on the bus stops.

“We’re here, Alex. Now give me my damn phone.” You said, snatching it out of her hands. She turned to you with puppy dog eyes. You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at her as you pushed her to get up and off the bus.

“I still can’t believe you got a job interview in London, and they were so insistent on meeting you in person that they let you take me.” Alex raved as you walked the last few blocks to your destination.

“I know, it was a little strange. I thought they would just do everything online since I certainly didn’t have the money to fly here myself,” you slow your pace, taking in the city surrounding you. You sigh and look at your best friend. “I just needed any excuse to get out of that town. It was too much pain for me to stay. I’m just glad the station let me take the remote gear so I can still do my show. ‘Y/N live from The Big Smoke.’”

“If you get this gig that means you are moving to another continent, and I’m never going to see you again.” Alex pouts.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’ll be taking plenty of vacations here to see me. Not like you need to pay for a hotel, you can sleep on whatever shitty couch I grab off the side of the road,” you laugh.

“Okay, rude,” Alex retorts. “I just mean I'll miss you, Y/N. I won’t know who to do tequila shots at the bar with anymore.”

“I’m sure lots of guys will want to do shots with you. Maybe other stuff too...” You chuckle to yourself as you see the building come into view. “I think this is it. Looks pretty swanky.”

You press the buzzer and an older lady answers. “104.5 The Surge, how can I help you?”

“Um, Yeah, Hi. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here for my interview with George Thomas for the Program Director Position.” You feel your heart pick up speed and your hands are suddenly clammy.

“Don’t be nervous, Y/N. They will love you, I promise.” Alex whispers. She could see your body tense, clenching your jaw and grinding your teeth together as the lady on the intercom responds.

“Oh yes dear, we were expecting you. I’ll buzz you in.” The door unlocks and you hold the door open for Alex to step through. Giving her a wide-eyed expression so she knew how much you were panicking.

“Just breathe. You’ll be fine,” Alex said as you step into the lobby. The walls were a rusty orange, autographed records and photos covering the walls. A locked trophy case filled with awards catching your attention as you stepped towards it.

“Is that a grammy? Wow, I wonder how they got their hands on that?” You looked in awe at all the awards and slowly walked to the desk where the lady from the intercom sat, Typing away while humming the song faintly playing in the background.

“Y/N, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name! George has not stopped talking about you since your first interview.” She beamed up at you.

“Really? Oh, well, I guess I’m glad I left a good impression.” You played with a hangnail on the side of your thumb, focusing on anything but the fact you were about have a job interview for the opportunity of a lifetime.

“George will just be a few minutes, because one of his meetings is running a little late. If you want to take a seat over there by the fireplace He will be out soon and come to get you. If you need anything in the meantime, my name is Cynthia.” She gestured to the opposite side of the lobby where there were a group of green leather couches, looking pristine and comfortable.

“This sure beats your couch, huh Alex.” You plop down on the couch with a thud, feeling the plush memory foam of the cushion allowing you to sink into it.

“Well you won’t have to sleep on any couches if you get this job.” Alex quips back.

A familiar voice comes into ear shot. Very low and gravely with a very posh accent. “Well, I’m glad you could stop by to interview for the podcast before you fly out. We really appreciate your time,”

Another voice, that sounds much younger responds, a pretty accent on him that made his words sound like silk. “It’s really not a problem, I always remember where I started, George.” He sounds... Familiar. No one else was ever in your online interviews, so you can’t pinpoint who the voice belongs too.

The older man you recognize swoops around the corner and sees you and he stops in his tracks. “Y/N! I’m glad you made it! I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

“Absolutely Sir, take your time.” You said, a little more chipper than you wanted it to come out.

“Oh, call me George,” he says as he continues towards the door. The man behind him follows around the corner and you recognize him immediately. You look over at Alex and her jaw could have been on the floor.

---

On the plane ride from YHZ to LCY the two of you decided to watch the new season of Stranger Things since it just came out and you needed something that would last you at least a good chunk of the ride. You downloaded them on Netflix the night before you left and started watching together on your iPad while it was propped up on the tiny tray table. You were watching together in silence until you saw a new character being introduced.

“Ooo... A new person? I’m interested.” Alex says as she leans in a little closer to the screen. When the face from behind the magazine appears, she backs away from the screen and slumps back in her seat turning to face you. “Damn I was hoping for another Steve Harrington to thirst over, what do you think Y/N-”

You were staring at the screen. Mouth agape, eyes fixed on the man on the screen in front of you.

“Y/N. Really? Joe Keery exists and THIS is who you see and immediately have the hots for?” Alex teased.

“I do not!” You hit her with your elbow and paused the show.

“I never knew you were into freaks, Y/N.” Alex laughs pretending to wipe drool from your mouth with her sleeve.

“Wait was I seriously drooling?” You grab your phone to look at yourself in your camera.

“HA! Gotcha! You do have the hots for him.” Alex laughed, trying to contain herself so she doesn’t annoy everyone on the plane.

“I need to find out who his actor is as soon as we land,” you said.

---

You sat there in shock, and looked at Alex who was still sitting beside you. Eyes wide and mouth wide open. You elbow her and she comes back to reality, smoothing her hair and adjusting her posture so she looked as pretty and feminine as possible.

“Y/N, this is Joseph Quinn. I don’t know if you’re a Stranger Things fan but he has just had his big break as their new addition to the main cast,” George said. Gesturing to Joseph. He was blushing at his introduction, not being used to celebrity status yet.

You get up from your seat on the couch and start panicking immediately. You weren't mentally prepared for this interview, let alone meeting the man who somehow awakened something in you hadn’t felt in 3 years. “Yeah um hi, it’s nice to meet you Joseph. I’m Y/N Y/L/N since I guess we’re on full name basis here.”

He chuckles at your introduction. Oh my god he thinks I’m funny. “Oh, just call me Joe. It’s lovely to meet you Y/N, and this is?” He said gesturing to the girl beside you. Once again, she is stiff as a board with her mouth wide open in shock.

“Well, this is Alex. She is a big Stranger Things fan so I think she might be a little star struck right now,” you giggle as she comes to from hearing her name. She gets up and rushes over eagerly, taking Joe’s hand in a firm (and probably a little too enthusiastic) handshake.

“I can already tell you're not from here, so what brings you to The Surge? New project you’re chatting with George about?” He said taking in your features as he talks. Your head looks at the ground while you laugh, but you can still feel his big brown eyes on you. You felt a little weak in the knees.

“Y/N is here from a small town in eastern Canada, and she is actually interviewing to take over my position. I’m moving into a less hands on roll I can do from home as I ease myself into retirement,” he said. “I can’t wait to be able to travel with Rhonda and do the things we’ve talked about before we get too old.”

“Well that’s lovely, George. You deserve it. Good luck with the interview, Y/N. I may be seeing a lot more of you.” Joe said giving you a smile and reaching out his hand to shake yours. You were now acutely aware your hands are very clammy. You quickly rubbed your hand on your pant leg and he cupped your hand in between both of his, feeling something light in your hand as you closed it into a fist, and stuffed it in your pocket to look at later.

“C-can I get a photo if you don’t mind?” Alex said, holding her phone out to you.

“Uh, sure absolutely,” Joe said, wrapping an arm around Alex as you back up and snap a photo of them.

“One of those should work,” You said to Alex as she steals her phone out of your hand and Looks through the photos.

“Y/N. You better get this job. I want to walk in here to see Joe Keery walking out next.” She whispered in your ear as she walked back to the couches in the lobby.

Joe looked at you and gave you a quick wink and cheeky smile as he headed out the door. George a few steps ahead to open it for him “Don’t be a stranger, Joe.” He said as Joe steps out the door.

“I’ll let you know when I’m back in London!” He calls back, walking to the car waiting for him.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s get this party started shall we? Follow me.” George leads the way to a conference room with a large circular table with 15 chairs around it.

“This is a lot bigger then the board room at my home station,” you said scanning your eyes at all the art and memorabilia that covered the walls, the newest one sitting on top of the table. A framed Hellfire club shirt with Joe’s signature.

“That’s an original from the show,” he brags. “Joe interned here as a kid before he started acting. I always knew he was going to go somewhere. So this is a big deal for us here, but enough about Joe. This is about you. How was your flight?”

“No delays, surprisingly,” you said. Feeling some of the nerves start to dissipate as you sit on opposite sides of the large table.

“Well, I must say, it’s a first for us to be flying someone out for an interview, but with the rave references you got and how much you’ve accomplished in your short career, I can’t help but think you’d be a perfect fit to bring a breath of fresh air back into this station.” George said.

“Wow, well it’s a passion so I try to give my all in everything I do. When you love what you do, you never work a day in your life, right?” You ask.

“Absolutely, and I know I said this was an interview, but I actually just wanted to offer you the job in person,” he explained. “I think you can do a lot of good for this station, and nobody else seems to love the job as much as you do. What do you think about that?”

“A-absolutely I accept. Thank you so much, I will not let you down,” you stutter. Your hands shaking as you reach over the table to shake his hand.

“Now, we will pay for your trip home and back to grab your things, but we have a fully furnished flat ready for you to move into,” he explained. “Joe’s new building had an opening and he just bought all new furniture so he gave his old stuff to us to put in there for you.”

“Joe, as in the Joe I just met?” you asked.

“Yeah, he just messaged me saying you can pop by before 5 o’clock tonight and he will give you the grand tour. Apparently, it’s pretty nice. Don’t worry about the first month's rent either, we will cover that for you, and it’s well within your budget,” he said, handing you a keycard. “This is for the station door. Welcome to the team, Y/N.”

“This is a dream come true, truly. Thank you for this opportunity, I am so excited to start,” you said.

“Well, I think you have a friend in the lobby waiting to hear the good news!” George holds the door open for you and you step out, walking down the hall to see Alex in the lobby. She looked at you with a hopeful gaze and you slowly revealed the key card from behind your back. She immediately jumped out of her seat and hugged you, picking you up and spinning you around.

“My best friend is a radio star!” She squealed.

“Yeah right,” you rolled your eyes when she put you down. “We will see about that.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. You as well, Alex. I’ll walk you out,” George said. Gesturing for the door.

You dug in your pocket and felt what Joe put in your hand earlier. You pulled it out and noticed it was a gum wrapper. Confused, you unravel it to see a note written in red pen.

My number is on the back. Call me and I’ll show you the best place for a celebratory drink. Congratulations.

#joseph quinn #eddie munson #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #stranger things #eddie munson fic #joseph quinn fic #eddie munson x reader

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narcissisticpdcultureis · 5 months

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(I’m sorry, as a disclaimer I am crashing I think and desperately need attention and admiration /gen ; apparently you can’t just ignore your yearning for attention and hope for it to go away /s)

NPD culture is resisting the urge (and failing) to try and make your EX-best-friend jealous! I want to antagonize them! How dare they abandon me, just who do they think they are?? After all I’ve done for them, and yet they choose these idiots over ME! I’ve done so much to prove my worth only to be treated like a side-piece! What the fuck!! Ungrateful bastard! Why should I even do things for people anymore? What? Just so they can be ungrateful like always? They don’t deserve the things that I do for them. And they should feel sorry, and guilty for it. How can they treat me as if I’m so unimportant yet come crawling back later when they need something from me? They should be on their knees weeping and begging for me to come back into their life, but I will simply hold that possibility over their head. Only if they prove that I am the most important to them as I should be then maybe I will reconsider. They should prioritize me, I should be number one above all the other people in their life. I’ve done plenty to prove it, yet they are ever so blind to my efforts. How can they be so careless with me? How can they be so.. forgetful? How can they forget that I exist? After all I’ve done, after all we’ve been through? I’m just another character in their story, right? Just another page in the book? Just another broken machine to cast away? Because why? Are they that much better than me? Do they really think they’re worth that much? Why can’t I do something vengeful? If they can hurt me, then why can’t I? What makes that any fair? So they just get to keep living their life while I writhe in misery and contempt? They get to break me and then throw me away once I no longer serve them? Once I’m no longer useful to them? Like I’m some fucking machine? Maybe I do want to antagonize them, and get back at them. Maybe I do want them to forever be thinking about me. Maybe I do want them to be obsessed with me and trying to get me back. After all, it’s the least I deserve, right?

But it appears I have been ever so blind to the cruel and harsh realities of this world. Because they aren’t begging, they aren’t obsessed, they aren’t pleading. They’ve.. replaced me.. with somebody else.. someone more worthy and important than I.. someone more.. valuable. I want to be valuable, too, you know? Alas, I am nothing more than another mere pebble in their world. There’s always more rocks, more pebbles, why waste your time on just the one? Why keep the other when you’ve found a better one? There will always be better and more perfect stones, but that’s not fair. I want to be the perfect stone, and then just maybe people will actually decide to stop and admire me for once in their puny lives. For once I will actually be important, something worth looking at. But, no, I just had to be a shadow in their life. I am overqualified to be their companion, I just don’t get it. I’m so much better than the other people they hang out with, yet I am not placed atop that pristine palace that I am ever so destined to be in.

Instead, I am washed ashore in my mangy rags and my cold demeanor. Maybe I have a reason to be as cold and unforgiving as I am. Yet I’m the one that’s judged? Not my aggressors, not my abusers, but me? I’m the one somehow at fault? I want to make them regret what they did to me, I want them to crave my attention and try to get me back. I want them to miss what we had, to miss all the things I did for them. I want to haunt their dreams, and stalk their thoughts during their waking hours. I want to make their heart wrench and their memories burn. I want to contort their face into the misery that they have shaped my life into, I want them to experience the pain they deserve. I want their friends to desert them like they did me, I want them to taste bitter betrayal. I want them to drown in the loneliness that they have caged me in, I want them to hate themself as much as they made me hate them. I want the resentment to burn through their body like a flame, I want them to be engulfed within the hatred they have caused me. I want it to taint their mind a charcoal black as all that is left of their sanity withers away into a dusty, grey ash. Yet, they will never be able to feel even a spec of the pain that they have put me through. Being their friend was torture, and trying to crawl my way up their unreasonable expectations was purgatory. So what if my view of the world is misconstrued and narrow? Do I not have a reason to think this way? To be the villain society expects me to be? There’s a reason villains are always a tragedy. Because that’s what I am, a tragedy; A sad, pathetic, and pitiful tragedy. And them? They are the real villains. I am the anti-villain, you see. I am the victim, and they will know that. They will regret starving me of attention, suffocating me slowly. They created this monster, this villain, and yet they do not want to deal with it. How incompetent. To not face the consequences of their own actions. How many times do you have to break me before there is nothing left to break?

(I kinda wanted a sign off but I was conflicted on what to chose. I was gonna do just a crown, but I think that one’s already taken. /gen)

- Luciano🐍👑

#npd culture is #npd #actually narcissistic #actually npd #narcissistic personality disorder #cluster b #-👑🐍

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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YOU!! Can u do a whumper-to-whumpee prompt where they’re rlly vulnerable? Pls and tank ya.

ME!! I can!!

Just a heads up, this is a lot darker than what I usually write. Playing with my comfort zone a bit, testing the waters of my squicks and stuff.

For the sake of keeping things from being confusing, I’ll state this beforehand. “Whumper” is ex Whumper turned Whumpee. “Whumpee” is ex Whumpee turned Whumper. The names are the same for the roles BEFORE the dynamic shift

Cw: gore, hand whump, mentioned murder, dark themes, refusal to eat, starvation, thoughts about death/wanting to die (not really in a suicidal way, more so a “put out of misery” way, amputation, gore, blood, torture, restraints, sadistic whumper, mentioned eye/mouth whump, a little bit of pet whump towards the end, rough wound care, abuse

Everything in Whumper’s body hurt.

Their ribs seemed to crack with each breath, bruised sides screaming with every shallow inhale, lungs burning as they carefully exhaled. Their sternum was on fire, a cold flame crackling in the pit of their chest, searing anything and everything within proximity. Their stomach cramped with the pain of hunger, which at first they had found to be the most unbearable of it all, but as the days in captivity stretched to weeks, with only a few scattered, intermittent meals to sustain them, they had grown used to that ache. Any food Whumpee seemed to spare them was never enough, not to even begin to tame the hunger. Each bite only ever left them feeling more empty than before, to the point where it had once driven them to stop eating entirely. It wasn’t like they could manage to keep much down anyways. Whumpee had put a quick end to that, however, if Whumper wasn’t going to eat by themself, they’d have to settle for having the food shoved down their throat.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily,” was what they had said, their voice more a snarl than words. “You try anything like that again, I swear to hell and back I won’t be as kind as now.”

At one point, Whumper would have scoffed. They would have come up with some snarky response about how their little bitch had grown to be so rude and demanding, which certainly would have earned them another slap but they would just laugh. Make some comment on how weak Whumpee was, even after all that time. Still pathetic, just as always. They would have delighted at how red Whumpee’s face got, how mad those few little words made them. That even though Whumper was now the one in chains, it was clear who still had control.

That Whumper had died a thousand times. They had been tortured, torn apart piece by piece until nothing remained but a broken, shivering shell of what they once were.

Whumper had long since given up on the hope of death. That was one mercy Whumper had always extended, whether it be intentional or not. The concept of life had always been so easy to slip from their grasp, out of their control. It was inevitable, in most cases. Sometimes they would try to delay it, drag it out until they found themself content and finally allowed their subject to release into the glassy-eyes void. A look Whumper had grown to adore, the way their lips would slowly turn blue, the way the colors faded from their features until they were nothing but cold, dead husks. They would also grant life, if their toy would so wish. If by the time they were finished, they were still managing to drag in ragged breath after breath. Once Whumper released them, they were free. If they could make it to civilization, to the nearest town from the cabin Whumper spent their life within, they would no longer be pursued. It was pathetic, and yet, every time. The way their eyes would flicker with the first sparks of hope they had seen in months—at least for those still left with eyes. The way they would stumble, or in most cases crawl across the porch Whumper dumped them on, dragging themselves with a sudden energy.

It never lasted long. As far as Whumper knew, none of them had ever made it further than a mile.

Whumpee wasn’t like that, though. Oh god, if Whumper had known, they would have killed them that first night in the alley. They did not give that kind of pity. No. From the very first day, Whumpee had made it clear. Death would not be an escape, and Whumpee would guarantee that.

The torture was agonizing and slow, drawn out across days, weeks. Whumpee would always be sure to clean the wounds afterwards, whether that mean hosing Whumper down with the frigid water in the back yard, or dripping some alcohol directly into the gashes. Even the smallest wounds for bandaged, but Whumpee never seemed to spare the expense for traditional gauze or wraps. Duct tape wrapped over the lacerations, which would only rip open the scabs when Whumpee deemed it was time for the dressings to be changed. Whenever Whumper began to think that maybe, just maybe, they were lightening up, Whumpee would walk in the next day with some horrible new tool, worse than anything Whumper had ever used.

Whumper shuddered from where they lay, every part of their body aching worst than the last. Their entire body went rigid as they heard the terrible click, the one they had grown to absolutely dread.

They couldn’t bring themself to do anything more than crack open their eyes, well, at least one of them. The other was nearly swollen shut, nearly the entire half of their face swallowed with an ugly bruise. They could only watch as the heavy pair of boots descended down the steps to the basement.

“Rise and shine, buttercup!” Whumpee’s voice was light and bubbly, in the poor filtered light that streamed through the grimy windows, Whumper could just see the smile on their face. They held something in their hands, but from the height which they stood. Whumper couldn’t make out quite what it was. “I’ve got a surprise for you, come on, sit up.”

Whumper let out a shaky breath, their gaze falling to the concrete ground just inches away, eyes beginning to burn as tears quickly welled. Usually they were good with not crying—they knew it only made Whumpee mad. They didn’t deserve to cry, not after everything they’ve done.

But god, they were just so tired. Yesterday had been brutal in a thousand different ways, they were sure they wouldn’t have been able to sit up if they tried. The shackles wound tightly around their wrists, only a few inches of chain between the loop drilled into the floor didn’t allow for much room to move, either.

“Did you not hear me?” Whumpee’s boots stopped less than a foot from their face. So close Whumper could see the old splatters of blood that covered the dark leather. They could practically feel it slamming against their face, like it had countless times before. Crushing their nose and loosening a few teeth as the sole caught them square in the jaw, knocking them so hard they would see stars. “I said sit up.”

Whumper let their eyes slip closed as a rough cough seized their chest, pain like a thousand searing knives tearing through all the abused muscles in their sides. Something hot and sticky dripped from the corner of their mouth, painting their lips with a coppery taste.

From above them, Whumpee sighed, just barely audible as Whumper finally slumped back, cheek pressing to the cold ground.

Whumpee crouched down, setting what they held down next to them. A strong scent invaded Whumper’s senses, for a moment all they could comprehend was the overwhelming presence of food. Not the oatmeal rice mush they were used to having shoved down their throat, but actual food. Chicken and cut potatoes and some vegetable that Whumper couldn’t quite make out through their distorted sight. For a moment, they felt like they were going to be sick at just the sight, the tug of hunger in their gut nearly making them gag. They slowly raised their gaze to Whumpee’s face, searching for the signs of a trick. They were taunting them, of course. This was a cruel game, a joke. Putting food just in front of them, but never allowing them to eat it. It wasn’t the first time Whumpee had done something like that.

“Caretaker says I ought’a go easier on you,” Whumpee muttered, rocking back on their heels as they pulled something small from their back pocket. “They’re worried you’re gonna keel over if I don’t start takin’ better care of you, said if I didn’t start doin’ nothing, they would. And we can’t have that now, nope. Believe me, I don’t like it either.”

Caretaker. The name rung faintly in Whumper’s mind, but there was nothing that came up besides a distant feel of familiarity. A terrible cold jolted up their arms as Whumpee twisted the metal between their fingers, picking up Whumper’s wrists and fitting the small rusted key into the lock. A moment later, the shackles fell with a small clatter to the ground, and Whumpee let go of Whumper’s wrist, letting it drop to the ground. They didn’t make any effort to move, but their breath hitched slightly, letting Whumpee know they were at least a little aware of what was happening.

“Shit, you stink,” Whumpee moved back slightly, their face scrunching as they wrinkled their nose. “Guess you’re due for a bath. Whatever, now just eat.”

A moment later Whumpee straightened up, looking down at their past abuser with an expression somewhere between a scowl and disgusted pity. They bit the inside of their cheek, watching as Whumper’s fingers twitched, the remaining ones. Their left hand with only three, the right with four. The marred areas still fresh and pink.

A pinprick of emotion splintered through Whumpee’s mind as they looked down at their own hands. A few scars, a few burns, all long healed, but nothing like Whumper’s.

“I’m not done with you,” They muttered, shoving their hands into their jacket’s pocket. They weren’t sure if Whumper could comprehend what they were saying. “So don’t go thinking that, alright? This’s just for a little bit.”

Whumpee stepped back, twisting the key between their fingers as they made their way over to the stairs.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have a pet, ‘specially after everything you’ve taught me. We’ll see how much I can really break you then.”

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chaotictarlos · 1 year

Text

From my Secret Dating AU I'm working on.

When Carlos walks into the bar to join his friends for a quick drink after a truly awful day at work, he’s not expecting to come face-to-face with someone from his past. He’s also not prepared to pretend like he doesn’t actually know him but it just sort of happened that way.

He keeps sneaking glances at TK as he listens to Paul recount a story about something the Dean had done - he’s not really sure what’s happening in the conversation, he wasn’t listening and hadn’t been the entire time he had been sitting there. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with TK and the fact that he was sitting across the table from him for the first time in six years.

“Carlos!”

Carlos jerks and turns his attention in Paul’s direction, looking a little sheepish. “I know our new colleague is pretty but that doesn’t mean you need to get lost in his eyes.”

Carlos rolls his eyes.

“I’m, uh, that’s not… No, I’m not,” Carlos says, trying to pretend like that wasn’t exactly what he had been doing. “It was a long day… not the best, so my mind is somewhat occupied.”

Paul hums with some sympathy while everyone else rolled their eyes.

“Did that case you’re working on get resolved?”

Carlos sighs, looking down. “Yes and no. The kid was sent back to his family because the judge decided that was the best place for them right now, but everyone at the office knows that isn’t the right call. Our hands are tied though and I have a stack of twenty other cases that I have to take care of and can’t dedicate the time I want to, to this case.”

Paul pats his back gently, “I’m sorry, that’s really tough. I hope that going back to the family goes well for the kid and if it doesn’t… I hope they get the help they need.”

Carlos nods, sighing heavily and taking a swig of his drink. He catches TK’s eye again, seeing the burning questions that were there but ones that he knew TK won’t ask since they supposedly don’t know each other.

“I work for the Travis County Family Support Services,” Carlos says, hoping that it answers at least one of TK’s questions. “It’s not the easiest work and there are days I go home wanting to quit and change my job, but I do a lot of good.”

TK nods, “I bet. You always - you seem kind, I bet the kids you work with really enjoy getting the chance to know you. I’m sure you’ve done everything you can do to help - the courts don’t always make the right decisions but you more than likely always make an impact in the lives that you get to help. Don’t forget that, even when it gets hard."

Carlos smiles softly at him, “Thanks.”

Carlos wants to get TK alone and talk to him, but he currently doesn’t have a reason to. If he did he knows that his friends would say something about it and assume that he’s interested in TK. Which, wasn’t technically a lie but he wasn’t interested in TK the way they would assume that he was.

He wants a chance to catch up with his ex, to find out what he had been doing these past years, and just talk, not hook up, and they couldn’t do that in the bar with prying eyes. He also wants to explain to TK that he didn’t mean to pretend like he doesn’t know him and that he was just caught off guard to see TK after six years.

It was a lot, even for Carlos, so he stays mostly quiet and tries not to pay too much attention to TK.

At the end of the night, he lingers, hoping that TK will get the hint and linger too but he’s gone as fast as he can be once everyone says their goodbyes.

The next day Carlos has to work so he doesn’t have much time to think about TK or the fact that he was apparently back in his life. He spends most of the morning elbow-deep in case of files, reading different stories about children who are being abused and neglected and trying to figure out which one he should go check on next - all the while his boss is breathing down his neck to clear some aware so that he can give him more.

After he gets his cases organized he spends the rest of his morning driving around Travis County and checking in with families. He makes notes that he needs to, and calls his boss a few times to get a child immediately removed from the house because it’s not a safe environment for them.

By the time lunch rolls around, Carlos wants to fake a stomach ache and head home because the day has already been too stressful. He drives to one of his favorite food trucks to get lunch, hoping that a few tacos would make him feel better.

As he eats, he pulls out his phone and stares at TK’s number, wondering if he still has the same one. He eats another taco before he clicks on TK’s number, opening a text thread that hadn’t been messaged in for years.

[Carlos] On the off chance that you still have the same number, hello TK. It was nice to see you last night.

Carlos presses send before he can talk himself out of sending the text message. Thankfully - he hopes - he doesn’t have to wait long before his phone is vibrating with an incoming text message.

[TK Stand] So you do still remember me, could have sworn you acted like you didn’t know me last night.

Carlos makes a face, but a smile still finds its way on his face.

[Carlos] Same old TK. I’m sorry about last night, easier to just go with it than correct them and let them know I know you. Honestly, it’s a long story.

Carlos sends the message and hesitates for just a moment before he sends another one.

[Carlos] Maybe we can talk about it and catch up over some coffee? As friends, that is.

He bites his lip, waiting nervously to see how TK would respond. He only wants to meet up as friends. He had long gotten over any romantic feelings that he had for TK but he still wants to be friends with him. There was nothing wrong with being friends with an ex and had they lived closer, Carlos is sure they would have remained friends after they broke up during college.

His phone vibrates again and he holds his breath as he picks it up and reads TK’s response.

[TK Strand] Sure, we can do that. Are you free after work? I’m busy for the next few days.

#t's wip wednesday #tarlos wip #wip wednesday #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #tk strand x carlos reyes #tarlos fic #911 lone star

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feastfic · 2 years

Note

Hello! I would like to say that I really, really liked your post where you imagined the relationships of all the .exes. These relationships were so... true! You really got into the character of each of the hedgehogs, and that's really great!

I'm assuming Majin is one of your favourites, and the way you've imagined him just blows my mind. If it is possible, could you please write some headcanons or drabble (as you wish) of Majin and Xenophanes' relationship to the reader? Very often these two are shown in fandom as enemies, and you are no exception, and I really enjoyed this trope! Well, I imagine the reader somehow miraculously managed to escape from Xenophanes and accidentally find Majin. The reader is tired of Xenophanes' constant torture and abuse and they pour out their problems to Majin, asking him to save them from their tormentor. Majin may not be an angel in the flesh, but he tries to console the reader, for he himself detests Xenophanes.

Soon Xenophanes manages to find both the reader and Majin after all. He is very, very angry: he furiously demands the return of his toy, he is ready to engage in a fierce fight. Majin, on the other hand, is ready to accept the challenge: it's a good chance for him to have some more fun and show his strength, all the more so if he can do anything to help the reader in this way.

To be honest, unfortunately, I haven't decided on an ending, but you can stop at the beginning of the skirmish and leave an open ending (the reader themselves will decide who wins), or you can take it further in your own way. As you wish!

Thank you in advance if you decide to take up this request. Have a good day/evening/night! ;)

Oh absolutely yes I can do this >:) I've had a good few days to think about this and I think I've finally got something good all cooked up! This one's gonna be open-ended, just because of how long this is 😅 but!!! That also leaves opportunity for some other neat prompts if someone wants to see this continued :)

This is VERY long by the way, so it'll all be under here ↓!

Now, to start us all off, let's see how both Xenophanes and Majin feel about you in this scenario;

• Xenophanes sees you as a personal toy, a most prized plaything. You're a soul he had yet to tire of, even after countless rituals of the most grueling and bloodchilling torture that no person should go through. So for you to come out of these carefully crafted games of cat-and-mouse the same, with your psyche intact...he just wanted to break it. He wanted to break you, and leave you at his feet grovelling and begging for mercy, any kind that he would be willing to spare you. The idea of someone so strong-willed finally bending and cracking beneath his rule made him burn hot; it sent him into some kind of hungry, mad frenzy. Like a dog who cannot reach its prey because there was a fence inhibiting its path, he was for the moment trapped in his own game, raking his claws along this metaphorical barrier in his attempts to reap your soul and make it his. He wants nothing more than that, and won't stop until he gets what he wants.

• Now Majin on the other hand, he's something of a savior. To you, at least. It seemed he just whisked you away from this cage of torment you'd been forced to suffer through for countless ages, into a quiet place that was so...different from what you'd grown accustomed to. He saw you as an acquaintance, and perhaps a friend once you have recovered from injuries you'd received while still under Xenophanes' claws. Majin would service you in any way that he could, simply because he could carry out just about any desire you so pleased if you simply asked him to. His strength — terrifyingly strong, and even still intimidating to you — was nothing more than a shield for you to fall back on, in the case that Xenophanes were to come and take back his precious toy. You may hate the crystalline demon, but nothing makes Majin's blood boil more than the face of, well, another demon (especially in his realm.) To him, Xenophanes was the antithesis of himself; black hatred, that rotted and killed and tortured the innocent, took almost erotic delight in the capture of those he'd locked his soulless eyes upon. And that was simply part of the reason why he protected you so fiercely.

So now, with enough time past, you'd settled in almost comfortably. Of course the threat of Xenophanes was never truly gone; he could arise with blackened claws at any moment and tear your heart out with his bare teeth. But he hadn't. And the almost tranquil environment that Majin called his own had remained undisturbed since he brought you in. His company was enjoyable, and never tiresome; something critical to you whilst you amply recovered from the array of lacerations and other physical traumas you'd gotten. Majin was — for lack of better words — like an angel come to save you. You simply couldn't be more grateful for his rash appearance, and daring maneuver to steal you away.

Steal he did.

Because Xenophanes was still seething over the loss of you. He had not — and would not — cease his incessant search for the doll he'd yet to break until he found them and stamped them into porcelain shards beneath his heel. And be damned, for he swore that he would find you. That the longer you evaded him, the worse your punishment would be. The very thought got a rise out of his quills, their crystallized tips creating an awful rattling sound when struck together.

He just had to find the right spot to find you. And then he would track you, leave trademark and telltale signs that he was in your vicinity. He wanted you scared for when he would leap and gnash his fangs against your flesh. The fear that he'd have accumulated would be simply marvelous when he bled you dry.

It seemed, by some dark miracle, that his hunt had gone one step closer in finding you. There was a peculiar tinge to the air; not quite an odor, nor a breeze, but a feeling. A disturbance in the order of the surroundings. This demon's head lifted, scoping everything out as far as the eye could see, his ears training on every sound that drifted through the quiet grove he'd found himself in. It was his assumption that some kind of thick cover you would hide within, since it would mask your presence from him (that is, until he'd catch on to the residues of your scent. And how that would give him a perfect little trail to follow and torment you with while he drew closer.)

He just had to wait; there was a feeling in his black gut that there was going to be an opening for his pursuit of you somewhere around there shortly.

Quite literally, an opening for him. Like there was a little circular tear in the air, the surrounding brush got instantly, eerily quiet. Like a predator hiding itself from its prey, Xenophanes crouched down with only his eyes gleaming through gaps of ferny leaves, watching coldly. There were voices — two, that he could distinctly make out. One sickeningly airy, untroubled. Making promises to someone else. And the other...it took him a moment; after all, it was rare for him to hear your voice when it wasn't crying from pain or shrieking with fear. Yet hearing you so close, it made his fur stand on end, and his muzzle pull back in anticipation. He could not wait to get his claws back on you. Despite his craving desire to leap in now, he knew that like any skilled predator, the most successes came to the ones with the most patience and stealth.

Out of that hole in the world stepped a hedgehog diminutive in scale compared to himself. Bearing a mask of joy, Xenophanes' stomach churned at the sight of it. He despised the carelessness that this figure exuded, yet what he despised more was that they seemed to be someone under wraps with you. Hiding you from him.

For one whose stature was as large as Xenophanes, it should be hard to make fast maneuvers with minimal sound. Yet he was essentially silent as he broke his cover behind that other hedgehog's back, and clawed his way into the other side of this ring wormhole just as it began to rapidly close.

Before you was the tyrannical form that would always be ingrained into your head. Teeth bared, claws flexed, and his eyes trained directly onto you. They coldly watched you, his muzzle turning up into a fang-filled and grim, snarling smile. The smile of death, that brought no sweet kiss along with it.

"Found you." He rumbled deeply, his terrible voice making your body tremor. You jumped back with a start, tripping over your feet and falling flat on your back, hot sparks of pain flaring up your elbows that caught the weight of your fall. Finally, he had you once more. You would become his again.

His towering figure lurched forward towards you, bringing you ever so closer to those dagger-fangs that he planned on shredding you apart with. The dead glint in his eyes sparkled menacingly as he took a step forward, grim and gruesome ecstasy raising his quills as he already began to look forward to this final chase. Oh, you thought you'd gotten your freedom? So sorry, dear. It all lead back to him eventually. His claws would wrap around you and claw your belly again soon.

Scrambling upright onto your feet again, you silently made a break for the twisting treeline nearby. You just needed to hide until Majin came back — it had to be soon, right? If he could notice ants that had wandered in mere moments after their arrival, surely Xenophanes would be like a red alert. Or was it only when he was within his own realm that he knew what was inside? You were not one to pray, nor believe in divine intervention. But you really, really needed that angel of yours to come back soon. Because the devil was on your trail, and it was only a short matter of time before he dragged you back into hell.

You dared not even to breathe even as you ran, endless racing thoughts cycling your head. Would your presence be masked? Would Xenophanes find you in these woods? You knew them, and he didn't. That had to count for something, right? Please let that stall him. It was virtually all you had.

All your running did though was spur the demon to give chase, his blood pumping strongly as he used every one of his senses to zero in on you. He was gaining on you fast — you could hear his breath growing closer and the sounds of cracking wood as he powered his way through the trees in his path. Something was roared at you but was whisked away; you couldn't make out the words even while he thundered closer to you.

His claws were nearly at your back. Just a little closer, and a swipe, and he'd have you. You'd be all his. The doll of his that he would do all that he pleased before breaking. Just get in his grasp—

With the turn around a trunk you seemed to disappear. Xenophanes swung his head this way and that, his eyes burning with the fury and hatred of something that wasn't anymore like a cruel child upon its toys. This was the rage of a god that had lost its chance for power. Slashing deep gouges into the bark of any sickening blue tree that was in sight, he knocked them over with ease, snarling and hissing in contempt. He could NOT have lost you again. He was so close to getting what he wanted and he lost it. Again!

Your angel had come back. A hand clasped over your mouth, the soft brush of another wiping away your scared tears. Oh, how your heart beat like a terrified bird in a cage... If only Majin had come back sooner before you'd gotten so scared. The both of you watched silently as Xenophanes continued to destroy all wood that he saw. He could see neither of you, but you witnessed every bit of carnage and destruction he caused. Such was the way of the god's woods. They could become as confusing or as linear as he wanted them to be.

"He can't hear us." Majin softly whispered to you, nearly drowned out by the incessant howling roar of the crystal trespasser. It was revoltingly loud to the masked hedgehog. His grasp on you loosened as he made a motion for you to stay quiet, while he stepped forward. "Just stay here."

He seemed to read your mind, because he added on; "I won't let him get you."

You watched with fearful dismay as Majin stepped towards Xenophanes, cowering behind the tree trunks to keep yourself hidden. Powerful as your savior may be, you didn't want to risk your chances being caught a second time. A third in total.

You, you, you. That was all that burned in Xenophanes' mind while he hunted for your trail again, his teeth madly bared and clacking together in rage. He would find you again. He would tear apart that snickering fool that dared to approach him. His snarls turned to Majin, all of his fur and quills raised and puffed out menacingly.

"You," he drawled out in one long, loathesome hiss; "you stole them from me."

"Stole? From you?" The look on Majin's face was insufferable. And that he dared to laugh afterwards? It made Xenophanes seethe. "My dear friend! I believe this is all a big misunderstanding. I didn't steal anything from you!" He gave the much taller demon a mocking courteous bow, as if to prove his submission or innocence. "Rather, I simply came to help someone who was in need."

How long that this act could be kept up, he wasn't sure. Every moment that this trespasser was in his wood, the more silently angry he got. The more he hated this pitiful demon that paraded around as a god. He didn't know the first thing about being even close to one.

"They were in no need. They were mine, and mine only." Xenophanes' muzzle upturned as he bared now not only his fangs, but his gums as well. His patience was running thin, and now would be only a matter of time until he sank his teeth into the chest of this antagonizing jester and ripped the heart of him out. Perhaps he would eat it right above his corpse as well. "Give me back their soul, and I will take my leave."

"But leave you walking the earth after you tore apart one of the only things of my world?" The miniscule blue figure sneered, two thin pinpricks of light staring up at his enemy. "I don't take kindly to those who ravage my domain, dear Xenophanes." The name was like acid on his tongue, burning and sour and dripping with poison. The trees closed in around the two of them, their branches reaching down and forming makeshift shackles around the purple hedgehog. Around his wrists, his throat, his muzzle. He was effectively silenced with nothing more than wood, and forced to either hiss or listen.

"Don't give me that!" In response to the incessant hissing, Majin struck the middle of Xenophanes' nose with his palm. His eyes burned almost as bright with hatred as the demon he'd chained, the two of them both tense and bristled. "You have two options. The first, is you leave. A thousand paces away I have your ticket out opened for you." Suddenly his voice darkened, and he gripped Xenophanes by the chin none too kindly. "But if you remain longer than ten minutes, or go to find that human—"

One of his hands grabbed onto one of the more sizable quills that adorned Xenophanes' head. In one swift motion, Majin ripped it from its root, the spine he'd so unceremoniously harvested glowing bright pink in his palm. "Then you will die here, alone, and you will not be spared a death that would be considered a mercy until I am through with you." He kicked the tyrant onto his back, and ground his heel right into his chest. Staring hatefully down at him, Majin quietly hissed. "Do you understand?"

There was no response other than a vile glare back. Without any premonition, Majin dug his heel further into Xenophanes' chest, his voice rising in tone. "I said, Xenophanes; do you understand?"

To be brought down was something considered a disgrace, something that only his victims should do. And to submit to the will of something stronger was simply the fate of the world. Xenophanes had believed himself to be the apex predator, so for him to bow his head in acknowledgement and nod...if he could feel shame, his ears would be burning hot with it right now.

"Good, then!" The pressure lifted from his breast, and he was hoisted back onto his feet by the same branches that had restrained him. "If you leave before your time is up, the moment you step outside those shackles will wither away and die. My promise."

The air got suddenly several degrees colder, and the pitch darkness seemed to get even darker. Even the trees grew less visible, while Majin laughed to himself beside the newly shamed demon. His smile grew wider, while he gazed off in the direction of Xenophanes' timed chance for escape. No longer did his eyes burn with hate.

It was the euphoric anticipation of a much larger beast closing in on its prey, for nothing other than a life-or-death game that it took so much joy in.

"Start running."

#majin sonic #long post #xenophanes #I really REALLY hope you like this!!!#ask to tag

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