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regretisstoredintheme · 1 year

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Could I perhaps ask for Rottmnt donnie x reader where reader has like a huge crush on Donnie and they've recently got new glasses. Since they got new glasses, they're like super scared to go visit the bois in the lair because they think they look stupid and they don't wanna Donnie seeing

It started with a whisperrrr and that was when I— HMMMM??????

WHATS THIS?? A REQUEST!??

*snatches paper*

“Anonymous asked: Could I perhaps ask for Rottmnt donnie x reader where reader has like a huge crush on Donnie and they've recently got new glasses. Since they got new glasses, they're like super scared to go visit the bois in the lair because they think they look stupid and they don't wanna Donnie seeing”

A/N: This. Is. So. adorable. PREPARE, LITTLE ANON. *cracks knuckles*

—

No Difference. (A Oneshot) - Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Self deprecating, gender neutral reader but April does say “gurl” like once. Disclaimer that I have never had this feeling, I just went off of my gut.

Blurry.

The world seemed a lot better when it was blurry. It seemed a lot nicer, a lot safer, and a lot less humiliating. Those were the thoughts that went through your head as you sat in your room, holding the new pair of spectacles in your hand. You wished they didn’t update your prescription— you wished they gave you contacts instead, because when you looked in the mirror, all you saw was the idiot you knew yourself to be.

They made your eyes look huge, and you felt defective for needing such thick lenses. Defective, yeah thats exactly what you were— the exact opposite of the one person you felt drawn to.

Oh yes, the purple clad terrapin, who doesn’t cease to consistently amaze you. What would he think of you now?

You lifted your hood, biting your lip as you hauled your backpack over your shoulders. It was time to leave, to join the monsters in hell, or— as they called it, Highschool.

You tried not to talk to anyone, you tried to avoid people you knew, but no matter where you went, it seemed people had to point out your new prescription. Whether it was the teacher, or peers who never even made the conscious decision to know your name. Either way, it was like a plague, a sticker on your forehead, a walking cactus up your leg… you hated it. You hated it with a burning passion, you hated it so much that you weren’t even hungry when you went to lunch, so much that you didn’t even notice April when you knocked into her.

“Oof—!” She huffed, fixing her glasses, “Y/n?” Squinting, a smile spread wide on her lips, “There you are!” She cheered, nudging your side, “I was starting to think you got sick today!” A laugh left her throat, “nice glasses, by the way, are those new?” Her hands sat at her hips, unfazed and waiting for your reply.

Your smile faded as she mentioned your apparel, feeling once again like it was a smudge on your face. “Well.. yeah..” you muttered, reaching up to take them off.

“‘Well, yeah..’?“ April mimicked your words, a brow lifting as she saw right through your bullshit.

“I mean—“ you paused, “Its just…”

April waited patiently, walking with you to a place you could both sit without being disturbed. “Don’t they look.. I dunno.. stupid..?” You tried to stop from tearing up, but the water pricked your eyes, forcing you to wipe them away before you embarrassed yourself further.

The girl next to you gave an incredulous look, but shook her head, trying to be understanding. “Thats bullshit, Y/n.” She said upfront, her brows furrowing slightly, “you look incredible all the time.” She was quiet for a moment, before looking up, an idea sparking in her head. “How about we go see the guys?” She suggested, tilting her head to you, “I bet a certain scientist could wash away all that nonsense thinking.”

She deflated when you shook your head vigorously, eyes squeezed shut as you felt heat in your face at the thought. “I don’t want him to think I’m stupid..” you mumbled, fumbling with the hem of your hoodie. “Girl…” April’s eyes lidded, “you know Donnie had dorky glasses he was embarrassed of too, right?” She chuckled, “he was so upset that he started working on making his own contacts immediately, getting frustrated when they didn’t work.”

Your head raised a little as she told the story, blinking with surprise. “Ohhh Leo teased him endlessly, calling him ‘Nerdatello’, but if I’m honest, I don’t think it made Donnie look any less cool.” Now you were chuckling with her, a hesitant smile on your face. “..but…” you felt the fear crawling up your throat again, biting your lip as you looked anywhere but April’s face. “Donnie looks cool no matter what I— … What if he ..laughs at me..”

“ I’ll kick his sorry ass!!” April barked, a hand clapped protectively over your shoulder, “but trust me, he wont.”

“D may be a genius, but he’s stupid when it comes to you.”

——

The sewers only served to raise your anxiety, the random ripples in the water, the echo of your footsteps, the detail magnifying in everything you could see in your glasses. It was so overwhelming, you thought you were gonna be sick. You wanted to believe what April said, you really did, but this sinking feeling just couldn’t be swayed, and you kept thinking about the possibilities.

“You alright back there?” April called over her shoulder, slowing down so you could catch up to her. “I dunno, April.. you seeing me is one thing, but the guys…” Fiddling with your fingers, you walked up next to her, head drooped. “You gotta get some confidence, man.” April hit your side lightly, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Except maybe Leo… but it’s his turn on patrol.” She waved the metaphorical situation away, still smiling at you like she always did.

Walking into the lair, you tried to calm your rapidly beating heart, the lair looked so much different with this much detail— you could actually read the graffiti on the skate ramp and see who’s room was who’s. Your breath hitched when you saw the familiar purple sheen of your favorite turtle, his lab always illuminating some kind of glow. April climbed up the ladder to the second floor, you always one step behind her — as if hiding your face.

Don’t think for a second April didn’t notice, her eyes were on you the entire time. “Donnnnieeeee~!” She drawled, inviting herself in. You hesitated at the entrance, but April’s hand around your wrist pulled you inside, despite your nonverbal protests. “I brought a surprise!!”

Your eyes rested momentarily on the back of the turtle’s gaming chair, feeling a gentle warmth in your chest upon being in his presence.

“Is it coffee? Please let it be coffee.” The soft shell groaned, scooting out of his chair before spinning around to look at the both of you. “Nope, better.” April said confidently, and with that, suddenly you weren’t hiding behind her anymore— her hands firm on your shoulders as she presented you like a prize.

Donnie’s eyes widened slightly, giving April a look you couldn’t quite read. The softshell seemed to straighten up, dusting himself off before standing. He put on a coy smile, trying to draw attention away from his messy desktop. “What brings you to my humble abode?” He said smoothly, gaining his composure. If you were honest, Donnie looked like he had just done an all-nighter, the bags under his eyes evident as he stared at your forehead rather than your pupils. You knew he had some trouble with eye contact — but you expected him to notice the ‘stain’ on your face.

“Humble?” April smirked, pointing out his change in demeanor.

The purple turtle shot her another glance, this time a faint blush over his nose. He coughed into his hand, “anyway..” muttering something, he then finally looked you in the eye. He halted, analyzing before he pulled down his goggles, making sure he was seeing right. “… you have a freckle right there...” he muttered, going to poke it before backing up, flabbergasted as his finger touched glass. He squinted in on your blurry face, your features coming back into focus. “Oh.. you got new glasses… that’s….. cu—cool. Cool cool cool..” he looked away quickly as he realized his mistake, coughing to cover up the Freudian slip.

“Dee..” April rubbed the crease between her brows, trying not to get frustrated. “When did you sleep?”

Donnie looked at her, smiling with all the confidence in the world. “Nope.” He paused, realizing his answer didn’t make sense. “Yes….terweek.” He said again, this time satisfied with his answer. Before April could protest, he was slinking an arm around your shoulder, smiling at you instead. “Hey, since April didn’t bring me a coffee, what say we go grab one?”

He smirked, leading you out of the lab before you could even say yes. You weren’t exactly keen on him neglecting his needs— but he was taking a break.. personally, you were still flabbergasted he didn’t mention your glasses more— maybe it didn’t make as much of a difference as you thought…

Donnie turned to April, giving her a small salute over his shoulder before disappearing from her sight. April’s annoyed attitude all but evaporated, smirking as she let her brother off with a wink.

Their plan worked.

—

A/N: HIIIII this was so fun to write… I HOPE ITS OK!!!! You can’t tell me April wouldn’t phone Donnie about the situation, especially when he’s the smartest person she knows! They both knew of your little crush, Donnie isn’t as dense as people think and April keeps secrets between her and her best friend. Making sure you don’t feel uncomfortable is their number one goal, even if it means a little lying.

#ROTTMNT #tmnt #ROTTMNT x reader #tmnt x reader #donnie x reader #ROTTMNT Donnie x reader #regrettable writing #Donatello x reader #tmnt donnie #Donnie tmnt

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holyluminarychaos · 4 months

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Just getting it off my chest

(sorry about my english, that's not my main language)

This is not an attack on anyone, just a bad experience I had - By the way, trigger warning

Well, I just want to get this off my chest completely, since I've never told this story in full to anyone, because besides being embarrassing, it's hard to explain the concept of liking g/t.

For starters, I experienced grooming from an older guy when I was 14. Since I was very little, I've always really liked dynamics involving differences in size, I never felt anything sexual about those dynamics, I just liked it.

But this guy took advantage of that in me, and when he found out I liked it, he started introducing me to his fetish fantasies. Little by little, he showed me this more sexual side of the community, and at that point I was already 16, and we developed an unhealthy relationship. Time passed, and I found myself having to force me to fit into his fetishes, or he would become completely cold towards me and leave me aside(He said it was for me to reflect on what I did wrong, since he didn't accept excuses).

You people who like the giant/tiny dynamic should know how it feels to feel like a weirdo who is the only one in the world who likes this kind of thing. So when I met this person, I was really happy that I wasn't a sick person with weird taste.

Well, I never liked anything sexual. Never ever. But even so, I forced myself to stay in that relationship because I didn't want to feel alone.

He abused me. I mean, physically. We met on the internet, but we met face to face for the first time at an event in his city, I ended up having to sleep at his house for a few days because this event was hours away from my house and my ticket was valid for up to 4 days. I wasn't that stupid, some of our friends also went together, we all slept in the same room, but do you think that was enough to make him not try anything with me?

I really don't want to and I won't describe what it was like, because it's extremely traumatic for me. But at that time I was taking some prescription drugs, I remember feeling very dizzy and often having to stop to sit down during the event because of the vertigo it gave me.

A lot more things happened, but I don't want to write a bible. I just wanted to say that the person who did this to me has a YouTube channel and is making tons of money, without any consequences. I hate this world.

To think that this all happened because I like g/t... I wish this was less taboo, because if that were the case, I would understand that this guy was completely crazy and would have saved A LOT of sanity.

So, for any minors reading this, please don't be as innocent as me. Wait for the right moment to start a relationship, and NEVER have a relationship with older people. I know that what I went through is not restricted to the g/t community, there are bad people everywhere, so listen to what I say, I promise you that you don't want trauma like that.

On the bright side, because of this experience I discovered myself as asexual, yaaaay(help me)

#giant tiny #g/t #giant/tiny #size difference #gianttiny #gt

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labgrownmeat · 5 months

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trans day of remembrance. i don't want to make something overblown but i do want to make a brief post to remember my friend eden. she was a friend of mine from college. we would sing silly labor folk songs and listen to anarchist punk bullshit together. she committed suicide january 2021. prior to that, when i first tried to come out and started doing diy hrt, and then was trying to get an actual prescription, she would contact me regularly to ask me how things were going and encourage me to make appointments. after college we had become kind of distant in our friendship for stupid reasons but she still made time to check in on me. i miss her so much every day. so this is a post for her. i love you very much eden, i am sorry i couldn't be there for you, and i am sorry this shitty world was too much for you. i wish we could struggle together against it again.

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inkyquince · 2 years

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DAY 04: Through The Eyes of Madness (Harper/ Alice Madness Returns)

A new perspective of the truth though the unorthodox.

content warning. wowza. gaslighting, hypnotism, implied past noncon and prostitution, once again its... Pc has been with a number of people but Harper is the focus here. Reader is called some unsavory names regarding their sanity. dubcon, somewhat?

“Now, now.” The doctor sighed as you tried to ignore him. Always probing, always questioning, never letting you sleep or rest.”How can I help you if you won’t let yourself be helped? Maybe you want to stay sick, is that it?”

“Ignore him.” A flat, bored voice murmured. “This isn’t so fantastical, is it, little loon?”

“Stupid caterpillar.”

“What was that?” Harper looked up from his clipboard.

You didn’t say anything, just shut your eyes and hugged your torso tighter.

“If only you listened to me, y’know.” The voice grew snide. “You’d be saving the world, ten minutes at a time.”

“Shut up.” You whispered. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

Harper shook his head, and set his clipboard aside.

“Your mental state keeps getting worse, doesn’t it? I only wish to help you, yknow. I’ll be giving you new prescription pills, which you will take before dinner. Incidentally,” Harper’s voice grew chilly. “You will be having your meal in your room.”

You ground your teeth together as the doctor stood, checking the buckles of the jacket you were kept in before giving his door two knocks, the sign to have you led away to your room. Harper watched you shake as the guard precariously double checked your restraints, keeping out of biting range from you, obviously used to dealing with you.

“Easy as a kitten with me, and rabid as a dog with others.” He mused quietly to himself as you were led away finally, before noting the time on his notes.

You were the only one who had daily sessions with the doctor. The nurses would chastise you, for spurning his generous help when the other patients barely got one session a week. Grimacing as they plugged your nose to make you swallow down the pills, chalky on your tongue, before allowing you the gasp of air your lungs burned for.

“Not the first time either. Swallower or spitter? Pleaser or Quitter?” A warm voice laughed and as the nurses wiped their hands clean of spit, you felt your world quiver.

You didn’t know if… You were in a little cottage, on the edge of the estate, or sitting with a man, with ears and a tail and nefarious eyes and a warm smile. Sitting on a tree stump as you spat out the drink he pressed into your hand.

“Spitter? Quite the viper you are.” The cat smiled, blond hair curling against his face.

“What was that?”

“Makes you shrink, I think. Or grow.” The cat leaned back on the log, so far that he should have fallen over, but he didn’t. “Maybe it’s something of myself and I think it would look best smeared across your face.”

You crinkled your nose. The Cheshire Cat laughs, with his easy grin and offers you another round of cards.

“One more round of cards. I wanna see if you win my matches or I win your underwear.”

“I don’t think the pills are doing me any good.” You whispered hoarsely to the white rabbit and he checked his watch and twitched his tail.

“They help you remember, y’know. In their own way. And what you remember, then you can make a decision.” Hare wrinkled his nose and tucked his watch back into his jacket. “Can’t stay mad forever, little one.”

“I’m not mad!” You stomped your foot in anger. Childish, you could admit, but if everyone else was going to be, so could you.

The white hare just gave you an inscrutable smile and beckoned you closer, red staining the white fur of his tail and ears.

“Then hurry and prove it. Mad for a minute, mad for a millenia, mad for too long, and madness makes you march into the madhouse with me.” He whispered, quoting the Hatter you ran away from, who threw his tea cups at you as his compatriots laughed and clapped.

“Shut up!” You shouted again and turned sharply on your heel, not willing to believe any whispers from the White Hare’s mouth.

“Remember or not, you’re marked as mad! Stay and lay in our loony love for another other, not leave and lie and cry!”

Harper smiled at you, chin resting on the palm of his hand, content in just watching you at times. He made another mark in his notes and leaned back.

“You know, you are quite fascinating. Bouncing between believing you are sane and then going off into your own world. Honestly, wouldn’t you be happier right here, where you can be kept an eye on, safe and secure. I can’t actually let someone like you be let out on those streets, can I?”

“Your only use is on those streets.” The caterpillar sighed, running the pipe over his bottom lip, lounging carelessly on his pile of slowly quivering bodies, faceless and strangely bare, missing genitals and nipples and holes. “You are not much use otherwise.”

He exhaled into your face, making you cough and splutter, waving the smoke cloud away.

“But I was told you could help!” You glared at him, resting upon his mound, with chestnut hair delicately framing his handsome face.

“I can help.” The caterpillar pulled on his pipe, lazy eyes trained on your flushed face. “But are you desperate enough to take my help?”

You looked around, your Wonderland falling to pieces as you stood, arguing with him. Blood dripped from the clouds, the blue of the sky had long since gone grey and no one was as you remembered. The Queen had already ruined you, so why not…

“Fine.”

The Caterpillar smiled and motioned for you to step forward. You glanced at the slowly moving pile of bodies, shivering and supporting his weight before taking a deep breath. One step and you were already sinking, sinking into the squirming bodies, entrapped in their heat as your clothes dissolved.

It hurt.

“Why do you focus on your first meeting with Briar?” Harper asked and you were ripped from the daydream.

“What?”

“Briar.” Harper leaned back in his chair, somehow closer than he was before you zoned out. “He gave you fair employment, did he not?”

“He let us be abused.” You whispered.

“You were the one asking for it.” Harper smiled, patronisingly. “Your poor body, craving such touches but you need to have someone to blame for the way you turned out, hm? So, who do you blame, when you’re not blaming your employer, or the brothel you walked into willingly for money?”

“I didn’t!”

“You don’t?”

“I didn’t!”

“Liar!” The Queen stood up, cold eyes glaring into yours. “You took it!”

“I didn’t take anything!”

The Queen glared as he held a ruined pile of notes, the insides dripping out all gooey and disgusting.

“Liar!” He snarled again, before walking down the stairs from his throne, orphans scattering as he made his way down.

“They were mine to begin with!” You curled your hands into fists, stomping your foot. “I don’t owe you any fruit tarts.”

The skittering frog servants shuddered in terror as the Queen of Hearts finally was face to face with you, towering and hands dripping red from the fruit tarts and the beatings he would administer to his attendees.

“So, upon this morning, you cannot hand me what I am owed?”

You only stared up in defiance, chin jutting out as Robin held the money you gave him, horror etched on his face as he realised the situation he had put you in, by asking for help.

“Fine.” Bailey sneered, tucking your money into his pocket. “I shall hand you over to the knave.”

“Your caretaker looks after all of you.” Harper shook his head, as if disappointed. “Bailey is the most generous provider in the entire town. He looked after you when no one else did.”

“He didn’t.” You couldn’t help it, feeling your chin wobbly and tears beginning to drip down your face. “He makes us pay back our debts, or he won’t let us finally leave. He makes us resort to sex work-”

“Nonsense.” Harper murmured, running a hand over your knee before pulling you into his lap, wiping away the tears. “If any of the other orphans were led into that work, it was because of you. This is your guilt speaking. You cannot blame Bailey.”

Harper continued to wipe at your face, big clumsy hands gentle against your bruises. The Knave towered above you, exhaling slowly.

“Please, I need to get back home-”

The Knave shushed you, his gentle look dropping into an annoyed one.

“Eden, please, let me return to town for a bit-”

“I said no.” The Knave scowled, tightening his grip around your throat. “The Queen gave you to me. You’re mine now.”

You just shivered, feeling something thick drip out of you and onto the floorboards as Eden continued to look you over, pulling his zipper back down.

“We are safe here. No Queen coming to hurt you.” The Knave rumbled, annoyed you weren’t pleased with the safe haven he provided. For the first time since falling back into Wonderland, you wondered if you found someone who was willingly more in denial than you had been. No one was safe down here, everyone was mad.

“There is no man in the woods.” Harper whispered, shaking his head as his fingers skimmed over your thighs.

“He’ll come to get me.” You sniffed, his touch making the hair at the back of your neck stand up. “He doesn’t like when I’m away.”

Harper gave a soft chuckle, adjusting so his clothed cock jutted against the back of your thigh.

“If you’re entertaining such thoughts about leaving, I’m going to have to keep you locked up in your room again.”

“You can’t keep me in here!” You hit the door repeatedly of the strange room the Hatter had thrown you in, giggling. “Let me out!”

The key jiggled in the lock and the door was flung open, the Mad Hatter grinning down at you, a rat scrabbling to keep its tiny claws in his weathered jacket.

“We just wanted to make the tea party perfect for you!”

Without warning, the Hatter grabbed your waist and flung you over his shoulder, carrying you down, out of the strange shoe house, to the messily arranged tea party table on the withered grass.

Some tea cups lay shattered on the table, others simply chipped, strangely goopy little cakes clumsily arranged in piles and on shattered plates clumsily pushed back together. The mad hatter deposited you into a chair missing a leg, giggling as you tilted alarmingly. His greasy ginger hair clung to his face, his manic wide eyes boring into yours as he ruthlessly fucked into you, your finger nails scrabbling at the sewer bricks before he pulled away and flung himself into his chair, tossing aside ruined tea cups to find one to pour your steaming tea into.

You could only now notice your two other tea party companions, a shivering twitchy hare, more mousey than the White one, with longer ears, bitten and with tufts of fur missing. Next to you, a snoozing dormouse rested on an ancient camera, drooling while a tuft of grass was stuck in the corner of his mouth. His ears twitched, pieces of metal embedded in the soft fur.

“Hare!” The hatter smacked the table, causing the entire thing to shake and nearly collapse, startling the mouse awake and the March Hare fell out of his chair, his rabbit-y feet sticking up in the air as he squealed.

His deep green eyes desperately stared into yours, black hair sticking to his damp forehead as he jerked his cock next to you in class, deaf to Mister Doren’s lecture as cum dribbled from his cockhead, and the March Hare stumbled to his feet before planting his tailed rump back into his seat.

“No staring at the guests, its unfathomably fucking rude!” The Hatter shouted and the Hare kicked the table, collapsing it completely on one hand, while grabbing at his ears, pretending to not be able to hear him.

The mouse blinked, sleepy, and looked at you, lost in all the indignant shouting and bickering, cool eyes surveying you over his camera, the hay sticking to your form, as Niki ordered you to spread your legs more for the camera, Remy watching close, eyes brimming with lust, and just picked up a piece of crumbly cake off the grass, cramming it into his mouth.

“Sleepy bastard. Bitty and bitey and boring.” Hatter finally stopped beating manners into the Hare, dangling him from his torn ears before dropping him onto the collapsed table, making the smaller boy yelp in pain and clutch his ass, where shards of shattered china had stabbed him.

The hatter fussed over the blearily blinking dormouse, who just tucked his chin on his folded up knees before giving up trying to get comfortable and grabbing your thighs, tugging them apart hastily, a flush covering the doctor’s neck.

“It seems you truly are too sick to be allowed back out.” Harper murmured, pawing over the plain underwear the asylum gifted its patients, fingertips already trying to press into your hole. “You need the proper therapy to make you comfortable, then we can work on reversing these strange lies you cling to, to negate your own agency in your poor choices.”

You finally stopped falling into the strange daze you slipped into every few seconds from the pills, dread rushing to your stomach.

“N-No, stop!”

Harper froze up momentarily before sighing and pinning you down to the cold floor, wrestling pills out of his pocket to force down your throat, thin fingers pinching your nose as his other hand curled into your mouth.

“Normally,” The doctor panted, fingers shoving the pills to the back of your throat before pulling them out and clamping your mouth shut. “I’d be quite lovely to you. Let you take your time. But you, you tease, have made my patience run thin.”

You could feel the pills slowly going down, slow and heavy in your gullet, and tears began to spring to your eyes, only to be wiped away by a bloodied handkerchief, the White Rabbit cooing at you.

“Nasty fall there, little loony loon. What would your parents say about going down a rabbit hole, hm? Quite impossible.”

You let him dab the tears of pain away, his own floppy ears accidentally tickling your chin as he turned, tucking the handkerchief away.

“I think you ripped your clothes falling too.” The Rabbit blinked at your white garments before fiddling with the buttons.

“What are you-”

“Well, you can’t very well walk around in ruined clothes.”

“But I can’t very well walk around naked!”

The Rabbit smiled, smiled wide as you blinked slowly up at him. Harper continued to pull your asylum clothes off, bearing your flesh to the world as his breathing grew heavier.

“Stay in your little Wonderland a bit more, just for me. Stay in your head and you can stay here, pretty thing, and I can keep you close.”

“But my parents will be wondering where I am.” You let the Rabbit push you down, the withered, white grass gone, your knees hitting blood spattered brick.

“You don’t have any parents, little loon.” The White Rabbit smiled lovingly at you, now pulling the socks off your feet, thumbs running over your ankles. “But you would like someone to worry about you, no? Someone to worry and wonder about you, hm? Stay and see how many rabbit holes you’d climb down with me.”

The Rabbit turned your bare form over on your stomach, pawing at you as you shivered, as if trying to keep you warm with his touch. His nose pressed against the back of your neck, whiskers tickling you as his hair danced across your skin, Harper rubbing his cheek against yours with his eyes closed. Your knees already felt sore from being on the cool tile for this long, his fingers running across your bare skin greedily.

“I’ll treat you so nicely, wouldn’t you like that? Stay with Doctor Harper, the only one to ever care for you, hm?”

You were too dazed to answer, just melt into his probing touches, your hips lifted to meet his thrusts, bare skin slapping wetly against yours. You could only whine and whimper as The White Rabbit used his strong legs to hump into your weak form, whispering little ideas to you.

“Easy as a kitten with me,” He panted lowly, only to chuckle darkly in your ear as you arched your hair, his throbbing cock hitting a sensitive spot deep inside of you. “Rabid as a dog with others… And as horny as a rabbit when madder than a hare!”

You slowly dragged your watery eyes up, only to come face to face with a looking glass, propped up so you could watch your first link to Wonderland ruin you in the reflection, his bunny cock leaking as he pulled out to drop to his knees, nuzzling his face closer to your intimate area, licking along your hole.

His rough tongue pressed into you slowly, Harper tasting his own cum deep inside of you, fisting his cock back to full hardness, quite dizzy himself.

“This is all you need,” He murmured hoarsely, in between hot licks. “You can make it through the day, when your favourite doctor gives you some love, hm?”

“Y-Yes.” You murmured, head swimming and the room spinning, the little pills doing their job.

“What was that, my dear?”

“Y-Yes!” You whimpered, watching The White Rabbit stand to his full height, white liquid running down his lips, hard cock jutting against his stomach. His fuzzy ears flick happily as he lies back over your back, warm chest against your bare skin.

“Stay down here with me.” The White Rabbit whispered, cockhead clumsily dragging over your bare thighs, trailing precum. “Not all who are mad, have to be lonely, and I’ve been waiting too long for you.”

You met his eyes in the reflection of the looking glass and realised that you had been wrong.

Little Loony you weren’t the first one down here, and you won’t be the last. A strange blond haired boy also fell down here, but he burned his patient clothes and donned a doctor’s jacket, and began playing with brains and emotions and tugging at strings and unravelling people and now he lay on top of you, naked, and waiting for his companion to stay with him in Wonderland.

Madness could be shared, maybe.

That’s the thought that had Harper smiling at your still form, snoozing at his patient couch with cum dripping out of your holes and streaked across your face. He sat, still naked from your shared love making, and finished up his notes on you, to send off in the morning.

You sighed in your sleep, eyelids flickering with your fantastical dreams and Harper smiled warmly, even as his cock began to gain interest again.

So, to start the rest of his life, with his weird, fantastical, mad companion, he added his signature to his late sentence on your file.

Doctor Harper recommends not to release this patient back into the public for their own safety. Indefinitely.

MAIN EVENT POST

#UP TO DATE #I WRITE EDEN LATER TODAY AND IM UP TO DATE #WOO #inky halloween event #harper the doctor #dol #nsft #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity #SO #IM GONNA SLEEP #AWAKE #WRITE EDEN #AND THEN INKY IS UP TO DATE!!#also tea and quiet got to watch me go stupid with my favourite trippy writing techniques #shout out to them

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i-am-still-bb · 6 months

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No. 19

“I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.” | Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Alt. No. 3

Brass Knuckles

Characters: Kili, Bolg, OCs Rating: T AU: Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) Words: 1619

Direct continuation of No. 18 - “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened” / Blindfold (Tumblr)

I feel like the prompt gives you all the warning you need?

Kili watched his back after that. He took the long way home. Walked past his apartment building to circle back. He did not know how much information Cameron had shared with them. Kili had moved since he had called the agency that Cam worked for. But Kili knew that it was not hard to find someone if you put your mind to it. There were property deeds, accident reports, alumni newsletters; all of which were easily accessible.

He had thrown that post-it note away in the nearest trash can after he left the El.

But he remembered all of the listed medications. Some he could have just purchased. He could have taken the medicine to the counter, presented his driver’s license, paid, and left the pharmacy with a little plastic bag containing medicine that could either be used to treat cold symptoms or to make meth, buyer's choice.

But he didn’t.

And then there were the medications that were harder to acquire.

And he did not even think about ways to get his hands on those in a way that would not get him fired and arrested.

And he did not see anybody who seemed to be watching him. He did not see the man with scars again.

By Thursday he had relaxed a little bit, only to wake up Friday morning full of tension and nerves. He went to the gym early and spent more time zoning out to an audiobook and following the workout that an app had generated for him. He felt better afterwards, but still jumpy and nervous.

And it was getting noticed.

Tauriel and Ari had noticed when he was out their place for their biweekly Wine Wednesday where they ate disgusting amounts of takeout, drank wine, talked, and maybe watched a couple episodes of whatever show they were currently binging as a group.

Kili brushed it off. Said that there were talks about a union walk out and he wondered what would happen to the people that needed their medication if that happened. That quickly led them down a well trodden path of arguing at each other about insurances, unions, nonsensical laws, and poor working conditions in a variety of contexts.

And Kili’s ill mood was forgotten.

For the first time he wished he worked for a large pharmacy. The chances of some remote CEO caring about Kili’s sex life were lower. And even if the CEO cared Kili would likely never have to see the person who had been on the receiving end of those images and that video.

Kili worked for a family owned pharmacy that was nestled into the corner of a suburban neighborhood. He knew many of the customers. He asked how people’s babies were doing. And he knew the owner, he attended the Christmas parties, and enjoyed any of the “team building” weekends. So even if he kept his job he would probably quit and seek employment elsewhere, probably in a different city, very likely in a different state.

On Friday his miscounted pills, almost gave Mr. Peterhof Mrs. Peterson’s prescription for blood pressure instead of his anti-rejection medication. He was distracted at best. He thought about leaving early, but decided against it. He did not know these men well enough to know if they would stop the store manager, Rebecca, who would be closing up if Kili was not there.

“See you on Monday!” Rebecca said cheerfully, waving to Kili as he was finishing up the last of the prescriptions that were slated for pick up over the weekend.

He worked slowly.

In November it got dark early. The large windows that faced the street now just reflected the dimmed interior of the store. Instead of letting him see the rest of the world they let him see double of the rows of pop, candy, snack foods, and baby diapers.

The hair on his neck stood on end. He felt like he was being watched. He watched his reflection as he got closer to the front doors. Locked. Just like they should be. Walking back to the pharmacy counter he stiffened; that sense of being watched had only increased.

He paused when he was filling a prescription for Oxycontin, the Albrecht kid had just had surgery on his ACL, what if he just…

No.

Kili recounted the 15 pills. Sealed the bottle. Put it in the little plastic bag and sealed that bag with its tamper-evident seal. And hung it on the rack with the rest of the As.

The stack of orders was completed.

Kili sighed. He hung his white jacket up, pulled on a bulky denim jacket and a beanie (a half-assed attempt at altering his physical appearance along with the scruff he had let grow over the last couple of days). He pulled down the metal gates, locked them, checked the front door again, before exiting into the back alley. That feeling of unease did not fade. He kept thinking that he saw things over his shoulder, or reflections in the mirrored glass windows while he did these final few tasks.

The lock clicked in place when he shut the door.

The alley was dark, red brick and dumpsters barely visible. He fixed his gaze on the light of the street where cars and people would be.

The voice was low, but clear, “Working late?”

Kili startled, hands going to the strap of his cross body bag. He felt the brief flash of a desire for something to defend himself with.

“No,” he said curtly.

“You’re normally off by 6:30,” the shadow separated from the wall between Kili and the warm glow of the streetlights. “And it's nearly 8.”

“Busy weekend,” Kili said brusquely. “Lots of work to do.” He did not stop moving. Hoping that he would just be allowed to keep going.

Then another shadow was there. This one was even larger and standing directly in front of Kili.

“Do you have my order?” the first man said, now behind Kili.

Kili turned to keep both of them in his sights. “I… I do not.”

A speculative noise, “Why?”

Kili swallowed and tightened his grip on his bag. “It’s not possible.”

“There’s always a way.” He walked behind Kili, forcing Kili to keep turning, now only seeing one, now both, now one.

“There’s not. I’ll get caught.”

“But I’d still have my order.”

Kili wanted to ask, “And what about me?” But was sure that he already knew the answer.

A distinctive click. Kili’s blood ran cold. He had not heard it in years, but he knew the sound of a pocket knife blade flicking open and locking out. A sound he knew well from years spent in the club house. Nori had a habit of flicking open a knife, closing it, flicking it open, again and again. A nervous tick, a habit that always made him seem a little menacing. He would be talking with you about different motor oils, the movie he saw that weekend, the video game he was currently playing through, but that blade would be be going snick, click, snick, click, like a metronome.

“I hate having to ask for things twice.”

Kili’s whole body tensed. Waiting for contact.

“But I will.”

Click.

The blade closed.

Kili exhaled. Relieved that he would have maybe another week to figure out what to do.

And then he was dropped to his knees. A blow slammed into his lower back, angling up under his ribs. And he forgot how to stand.

“But Jean here is going to make sure you remember to fill our prescription next time.”

Another one made his vision flash and spin.

Kili fought to throw off his back. And when he was pulled over onto his back to another fist raised, light flashing on the brass knuckles he was able to throw up an arm, blocking the blow. Kili kicked Jean’s inner thigh, just above the knee.

Jean grunted and dropped to one knee.

Kili grabbed for Jean’s arm, pulling it close, pulling Jean off balance so that Kili could flip them, giving him the upperhand. He straddled Jean’s waist grappling to get an arm around the other man’s neck. The martial arts classes he had taken for years at the suggestion of his college therapist were finally coming in handy, but his hands did not quite remember the move. His hands slipped, and Jean’s hands were free. Kili fought for control again. He was sweating and cursing the heavy jacket. His hat had fallen off. He grunted in effort as he forced Jean’s arm flat. Before he could take the hold further though, an arm wrapped around Kili’s throat, applying expert pressure, enough that Kili was lightheaded in moments, weak in a few more, but not enough that he lost consciousness.

“That was not a smart move, Kili,” the voice growled in Kili’s ear. His hot, rancid breath was the last thing that Kili remembered before there was the glint of the brass knuckles again and his vision went dark, then his hearing stopped and he knew no more.

—

Kili was stiff and cold when he woke up. He was still in the alley. He fumbled around for his bag and found his phone. It was just past midnight. He shivered and collected himself. Everything hurt. His face felt swollen. He gingerly felt for the margins of the swelling, wincing as he pressed more firmly, trying to ascertain the level of damage.

He winced, pulling his bag over his head. That was when he saw the note pinned to his chest. It was another post-it note, with a handwritten list and another date—next Friday.

Kili straightened. He had earned a reprieve of one week.

Taglist Everything@silvermoon-scrolls @metztlilua @i-am-pinkie

Fili/Kili @dubhlachen

#whumptober2023 #no. 19 #alt. no. 3 #brass knuckles #the hobbit #fic #bb writes #fili/kili #fiki #fast car au #dead batteries au

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leefi · 7 months

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The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere Read-through | Part 6: 81-90

Using the Power, it was possible to create structures at obscene scales that never would have been feasible with manual or even mechanized labor, and examples of this could be found in most modern cities. There was the Aetherbridge and the colossal towers of the inner city in Old Yru, but I'd also seen the great library of Tem-Aphat, intended to store all the knowledge of the world on parchment, which was 300 stories tall and had the proportions of a pyramid-- They had to pump air into the higher floors so it didn't become hard to breathe. And even in Oreskios, there were the Thyrian Shipyards, which extended almost a mile out into the ocean and even

oh my GAWDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!! (takes off shirt that says I <3 BLACK HOLES to reveal a second one underneath that says I <3 MEGASTRUCTURES)

I glanced at her for a moment. Zeno really did seem utterly infatuated with my grandfather's work. It was making me increasingly curious about what exactly their relationship had been.

oooh she fucked that old man

didnt utsu also think that nef fucked that old man. everyone is fucking that old man

Seth made a skeptical look. "I didn't wanna say this back when we came down here the last time, but I don't think I quite get what makes it that big a deal. I mean, if you need all of this - this much space, this much energy, just to make one person physically young - isn't it just a safer version of cloning someone a new body, and transplanting the brain?" He looked to Kam. "That technology has been coming along pretty well recently, hasn't it?"

SETH SWEEP. SO TRUE.

"Ptolema said the same thing earlier," I told him.

"She did?" He hummed worriedly. "Maybe I should think it over again."

you are all so mean to her and you dont respect her and you

to be honest? to be honest. i think ptolema has good intuition and has probably been correct about a few things so far (ESPECIALLY observational things) and you bitchless losers are too far up your own asses to see it. and you all HATE WOMEN

This dialing back the clock on the world stuff Zeno is talking about is juicy. I want to see the Flower cast play Outer Wilds

Is Zeno even sure that time before the collapse as they currently understand it even exists? Is she even awares of how hard the (redacted) worked to (redacted) the (redacted) only to (redacted) a measly (redacted) (redacted)? play outer wilds

I’ve been waiting for a good opportunity to talk about this but I share sooo many of Kam’s thoughts on death and agree that every human life lost is an unfathomable tragedy. But I just hate how irresponsibly she seems to approach it especially with her complete lack of respect towards others' own autonomy to do what they wish with their lives and bodies. I hate prescriptiveness!!! Your ideal is not everyone else's!!!! i suppose that makes her a visionary but i don't care. kam the utter faith you hold in human technological advancement and evolution absent the fear of death is the same strength of faith that people draw from other sources. how dare you ridicule that, even if it seems stupid to you!!!!!

I personally believe that everything ultimately repeats -- or rather, every iteration of something will eventually play out, and things will keep happening over and over and over again. To be honest, it’s not a healthy belief system to hold. But I don’t really hold out hope for an infinite afterlife either. I guess I hope for it? But also how could we as finite beings ever unite with the concept of infinity? We would have to transform into something completely unrecognizable from what we are now to be able to do that. In any circumstance we eventually have to shed what we believe is integral to our senses of self. This is unavoidable no matter what we do, whether that's live forever or die somewhere else or crunch with the universe and reform exactly as ourselves, maybe slightly differently, maybe slightly worse, maybe sometimes we won't even exist at all. But it goes on forever, so does it really matter? In any case, the ephemerality of selfhood is a tragedy inherent to existing, and I don’t know how to reconcile it in my mind. All I know is that I really hate lasts, but I hate the idea of no new beginnings even more.

ohhhhhh the ransu and the cyclical nature of the narrative ohhhh the aftermath of the suicide attempt ohhhh. I think that suicide attempt really hit Ran with the gravity of what she’s been doing to Su's mental state. She also never answered what she and shiko were to each other…

HAMILCAR BLASTING OFF NUKES IN THE BASEMENT IS MAKING ME LOSE ITJSIDUDHHDDHHDHS

it seems a little redundant to have brought some of the students down in retrospect…could that have been intentionally set up?

"Hammy decided he wanted us well done," Fang explained. "Melted this whole weird place, but it looks like you hit the thingy in time." They furrowed their brow. "Is it weird that I always wanna give people cute nicknames right when they're trying to murder me?"

SO TRUEEEEEE JIA FANGGGGG!!!!! LET'S HOLD HANDS AND SKIP

kam is SOOOO funny in life or death situations. she should be put in them more often

The Fang/Kam beef being mutual is hysterical to me. I thought the contempt would be one-sided from Kam but some of these quips from Fang seem VERY pointed. That administrator comment hurt MY feelings

Lowkey this kids book about the fused people sounds like something in Plato’s Symposium — lovers used to be one person and then were separated by the gods for their hubris or some stupid shit, doomed to spend their lives trying to find their other half again. anyway look at this

Ohhh im at an index/glossary. Ok a few things here

Collapse: Shorthand for 'false vacuum collapse', a phenomenon of astrophysics where a lower minimum of energy in the vacuum is suddenly achieved, causing destabilization at a subatomic level which spreads at the speed of light until equilibrium is once again reached. Sometimes called 'decay' instead. Such an event was largely responsible for ending the Imperial Era and almost destroying human civilization, though there were also socioeconomic factors which radically impeded the response.

WHEEEEEEEE I KNEW IT. THE INHERENT HORROR OF COSMOLOGICAL PHYSICS SWEEP. It’s connected to entropy btw! I typed out a whole explanation then spared you of it :)

Also that last line? Those refuged in the tower of asphodel were only ones with the means? the rest of humanity (assuming an interstellar civilization/species, a population potentially numbering into the trillions) just dissolved with the old universe? Oh my god…

Uana immediately caught my attention as the only place that hasn’t banned egomancy. The description of their world is sooooo cool too. can we vacation there

so it’s the pneuma that makes the act of cloning so tricky?? that makes sense. Research surrounding it seems limited too considering pneumancy is banned. Never mind that the brain is such a sophisticated organ to begin with. as they say so much of engineering is merely a cheap imitation of mother natures beautiful gifts (read: refinement on scales of time that will be inaccessible to humans, assuming consistently positive progression of technological advancement, for a long time)

refractor rifles are soooo coollll kudos to Lurinas genius mind for those

Tower of Asphodel: The structure created by the Ironworkers at the end of the Imperial Era to provide refuge to those who could obtain it, and later to act as a foundation for the planes they would create. It is visible in the sky at all times, though it exists only partially as a physical object.

aawwwwwwwuuuu?? why did i think she was ten googolion miles away

Ok character info time!!

Oh my gawddddd i share a blood type with Su! ^_^ come here and touch your open wound to mine

Oh my gawddddd Theo too! ^_^ (doesn’t extend the invite again) whats with the ??? in his description btw. theo chan

HIS LOW CARB DIENTJDJUDDUDUDHDH

ugh resistances were explained earlier but I forget what they mean

teehee. kam is 5’3”

“extra meat, please” ema im gonna go to so so many steakhouses with you and keep you alive forever

Seth is gonna die to his tree nut allergy 😭😭😭😭😭 no 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

OPHELIA BLOOD TYPE N/A? N/A???????? WHAT DO YOU MEAN N/A. maybe it’s a religious thing. or bc she’s from a lower plane? is their biology different there?

Ummm but her second pea in the pod’s IS specified at B+? Do they share it across seeds? Why are they collecting blood type info anyway. for the beast?

god it is still so weird that they share a seed. what are the odds. where are the odds. why are the odds

interesting that both the rhunbards have vegetarian-based diets? Wonder if it’s a regional thing

mashallah playboy bardi didnt drink. also forget what I said about the vegetarian diet he just broke the trend

Fang and Ran went to the same university at some point? Saoyu university?

FANG NO CULINARY NOTES!!! I WILL GO TO SO MANY RESTAURANTS WITH YOU AND KEEP YOU ALIVE FOREVER

why is Zeno as a man 6’1. That doesn’t really make sense to me. 5’4 as a GIRL checks out though

Bals culinary note saying no breakfast required confirms to me that he’s a little freak. Even more than the wearing sunglasses indoors. What was that about by the way

Bal has NO QUALIFICATIONS. asked to READ MAGAZINES

these culinary notes are making me crave ‏شوربة عدس. because half of these ppl are old and can’t chew their food

is nobody here a universal donor. that’s so sad (double checks) she’s dead

Oh Ran just confirmed the Plato children’s book thing from earlier!! All of the epic of gilgamesh shit is soaring over my head which is embarrassing because I’m literally Iraqi but I’m glad I caught this one.

I blinked. "It's from mythology?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Or at least, it's the only place I've seen something like this depicted before - a person with double limbs and two heads, I mean." She continued flipping through it as she spoke to me. "It's an Inotian story from late in the Old Kingdoms Era. It goes that originally, there weren't men and women, but just one unified type of human being that were immortal and didn't need to to reproduce. The specifics of it are kinda a mix. Sometimes they were shapeshifters, sometimes-- Well, more like it's depicted here." She gestured to the illustration. "In this version, the king of the gods was afraid of this version of humanity, so he used lightning to split them down the middle. And so everyone spends their life in search of their other half, so they can be complete again."

"Huh," I said. "That's... Conceptually romantic, I guess."

I didn't actually think it was romantic. It just seemed weird.

Yeah it’s a bit weird innit. Anyway can you come and touch your open wound to mine

I wonder if the kid’s book was trying to sell the merger of pneumas as a good thing — two “half people” becoming whole

also realizing the adventure time clip didn’t really make sense without more context. here’s the first page of the passage from my copy of symposium feat. annotations from 18 yo hana

Linos nodded. "We've taken all due precautions. Anna has the lower floor warded, and I've set the defenses in here," he pointed to the refractor rifles mounted on the ceiling which I noted the previous day, "to fire disabling shots should anyone draw a weapon."

is he stupid

Right now su is going on a philosophical walk of what defines a person and I just wanna say I really love what Lurina did with the idea of the pneuma. I always thought of the idea of transferring a consciousness as a kind of nebulous thing that is never truly successful (due to a full lack of understanding of the human brain, the true result is more like a glorified cloning) but having a physical portion of the brain connect to a metaphysical aspect of the self that exists outside the body is soooo clever and sells it for me in a way that nothing else ever has. I almost want it to be real lmao

I would actually read 1k pages of just kam and zeno beefing they’re SO funny. The beginning of chapter 86 has me cryingggg

“Linos bit his tongue. "That's obviously the impression the culprit... Well, Hamilcar, knowing what we do now... Intended to create, but it seemed fruitless to alarm anyone further at the time." He looked between our various faces. "Obviously, there wouldn't be any beasts, 'divine' or not, down there. Just a lot of cement, and a much thicker metal hatch at the terminus.”

BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS BEASTS

“Ran continued to navigate the golem along its route. The elevator in the research tower wouldn't descend without a human present, so she was forced to have it climb the glass on the exterior wall, which felt like it took a excruciatingly long amount of time, though it was probably only five or so minutes. Eventually, it made it to the floor on which Balthazar had been left behind.

I noticed Fang's attention had perked up significantly.”

I KNEWWWWW IT WAS WEIRD HOW THEY KNEW SO MUCH ABOUT HIM!!! also me whenever bal is mentioned

but how do they know about bal???? how??? they never should have been able to meet him! unless they have loop memories, or they arrived at the sanctuary before we think...but why!!!! why would they conceal something like that!!!

“Ran held my hand tightly, which was good, because it otherwise might've slipped. I stared at the floor, my eyes out of focus.”

RAN IS SOOOO SWEET HOLDING HER HAND (they're all holding hands because of the spell) and Awwwwuuuuuu....Samium deceasaed...why did he refuse treatment. So that the beast could get him?

Ohhhh Susuuuuu….this chapter is so hard to read

““Like, if you break it down," they went on, "it kinda seems like there's been three, right? Putting aside Vijana, who died way earlier, there's been the big spectacle crimes that are obviously meant to come across as supernatural - with Durvasa and Bardiya, I mean - and then two where it comes across more like they were just killed in a totally mundane way... And then what happened with Saci and Yantho, which is somewhere in-between.””

“Not exactly a vast swathe of evidence to assume a pattern from," Kam said flatly. "One could just easily conclude that the killers are simply playing it by ear."

"I mean, yeah, I guess?" Fang fiddled with their bangs, thinking. "But to turn it around, why would you go to so much effort to keep up a narrative for most of the deaths, only to turn around and not bother with two of them at all? It feels like it makes the whole concept pointless."

YES!!!!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!!!

“I had a theory about that, actually," Kamrusepa chimed up. "Yantho's death, I mean to say. Is it possible that he was some manner of imposter-- Or rather, that his body was being controlled remotely in the same manner as the professor does with his?”

I WASN’T EXPECTING TO AGREE WITH KAM TOO BUT YES!!!!!!!!!

“It's not just that." He held his arms together, looking towards the ground. "Back when we were in the guest house, when I was in that room with Bardiya..." He swallowed. "I didn't want to say it back then, since I was sure it would, ah. Make people think I was even more suspicious. But... When it was happening, when he was being lifted into the air... I thought I saw something behind him. Dragging him up against the barrier."

"Why would you only mention this now?" Kam asked, her tone terse.

"Well-- Because it's impossible. There was no space for anything to be dragging him. It was like a ghost. It was there and it wasn't." He kept looking down, his knuckles tight. "I was sure it was just some trick of the light, since it was so dark. But back when I rushed out in the conference room, I thought I saw it again. In the corner. The same shape..."

"What shape?" Seth asked him.

"The same one you saw in the hall. Or in the story Saci told." He swallowed. "Like a cross between a winged creature, and... I don't know. Some sort of insect."

A bird and a spider.

Start of chapter 89 has more su backstory how funnnn! ^_^ *starts reading* oh no

are these shiko's memories...oh my godddd

wow. that was painful! :) that's so weird, experiencing two memories at once? i can't wrap my brain around it. but god...

#tftbn

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interrobangbitch · 1 year

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FORSAKEN IN ALBANY PARK

Like the details of a hand gently holding flowers in a painting so I long to be between your index finger and your thumb. So I long to be a field of violets piercing you, the soil. So I long to be the tongue that licks the tip of your paintbrush. So I long to be a bushel of roses close to your chest as I vibrate against a beating heart; yours. If only I could touch it, my face would contort as if staring right into the sun. The light of you is a life giving force I have all the time in the world to contend with. And the sun is so loud like the moaning we shared but also as decibel crushing as the fights we used to have. I want power and passion and I want to submit and repent. I want to be right and to admit I’m wrong.

My perfect man is Richard Armitage or you and at this deep hour I feel as if I have a better chance with him. You made me feel like a picture of a moon taken on a cellphone but being in your arms was like the Hubble telescope. So I long to be a wet brushstroke on the canvas of your skin via my tongue; a brush that leaves a mark.

You stole my heart and I want it back you British museum of a man; as if that building were plumbed in with blue Gatorade and grouted in resin. You don’t even want it and you never did. How desperate of me to assume what I gave you, you would cherish or at the very least keep. But none of that is your fault because the signs were there and you were not afraid to tell me. I needed a new prescription it seems and once I got it, it all went downhill from there. I wish I was smarter than this but as all evidence comes to light and the things I have done to you have come to the forefront of a stupid brain, I’m very stupid and at worst inconsiderate just as you were with me so who’s really the villain here? I suppose it's our fallen love. And it’s taken everything from me but the worst bit is the realization that you indeed are capable of loving someone; that capacity does not extend to me. But you’re to blame for lunging me forward into the dating pool and I’m ready to conquer and divide. My weapons will be strategic bb cream and lipgloss and it will be men’s kryptonite. I’m ready for adventure and strangers and smiling and laughter. I’m ready for kissing and third dates and cum and texts back. What I’m not ready for is your empty side of the bed.

#chicago #richard armitage #poetry #asmr #flowers #painting #brushstrokes #british museum #gatorade #lipgloss

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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can i be gentle?

Words: 7.1k

Relationships: Jon & Tim, Tim & Martin

Tags: Canon Divergence, Tim Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Post-Unknowing, Injury Recovery

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/ideations, blood, injury, hospitals and hospitalization, survivor's guilt, body horror, minor gore, gun and knife violence, mentions of death, mentions of canon-typical worms, implied child abuse, meat, alcohol, swearing, crying, smoking

Ao3 link in source

Tim aches. It’s full-body, radiating through his arms and back and legs, and he wishes more than anything that he could go to sleep, to chase away the pain for at least a little while. It feels like he’s been hit by a bus.

Or been on the receiving end of several kilos of C4 igniting all at once. But that metaphor’s a bit too on-the-nose, in his opinion.

He should be dead. He should be dead.

(Does he wish he were dead? He hadn’t cared, in those few moments of clarity before he pushed the button on the detonator and the colors solidified into black nothingness, whether or not he would wake up when the smoke cleared. It’s hard to tell. He’d attached so much of himself to revenge, before, when it was easier than feeling everything else bubbling up underneath, and now that it’s been ripped away from him, he doesn’t know what emotion should be filling the gap. Probably relief.

He doesn’t feel relieved.)

The nurse is speaking to him. Her lips are moving, but he can’t hear her. His ears ring and ring and ring, and it sounds like spirling, mocking laughter.

They do some tests. Blast-induced hearing loss, the pamphlet they give him proclaims. Prognosis is good. Most patients recover in 6 weeks. Hearing aids can help with high frequencies.

His ears ring and ring and ring, and he’s alive.

He’s alive.

Jon is not.

“It’s because of him, you know.”

Martin startles badly at Tim’s voice. Tim wonders if it had been too loud; the ringing in his ears is incessant, and every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a very, very far distance. He moves a bit further into the room that they’ve placed Jon in, his hands shaking where they grip the wheels of the wheelchair they’d given him. Hard to walk when your leg is shattered. And some ribs as well.

Martin says something, Tim thinks, as he’s turning. His eyes are wide and rimmed with red, and he’s looking at Tim expectantly. Tim sighs, then winces as the motion sends tendrils of pain through his ribcage. “I can’t hear you, Martin. Either speak up—way, way up—or just… move your lips more or something. I don’t care.”

“What?” Martin enunciates, and it’s so ridiculous, Tim wants to cry.

He answers anyway.

“Me. Being here. I’m alive because… because of him.”

It was stupid, thinking he could protect Tim from an entire building collapsing on top of them. But his hand had gripped Tim’s wrist and he’d pulled him to the floor and he’d covered Tim’s body with his own, so when the shock wave had hit, Jon had gotten the worst of it.

Tim refuses to feel guilty about it. He does anyway. Because they’d argued, and Jon had stalked him, and Tim had cultivated his anger and fear into a simmering ember deep in his chest, but at the end of the day, Tim wasn’t supposed to survive.

Jon was.

Tim swallows, hating the bitter taste in his mouth, and says, “Do you… do you think he’s going to wake up?”

Martin says something, too softly for Tim to hear. His mouth twists into something small and pained, and he looks at the floor.

It’s answer enough.

Tim doesn’t ask again.

They arrest Elias a few hours later, after Martin’s collected himself enough to bring his plan to completion. Tim’s only regret is that he isn’t able to see the look on Elias’s face as he’s dragged away.

Knowing Tim’s luck, he’d probably have just looked smug.

The name Peter Lukas crosses Martin’s lips, spelled out in exaggerated motions when he visits Tim again. Tim thinks, absurdly, of the hydra. Cut off one head, two grow back.

Lukas probably won’t be better. Knowing their luck, he’ll be much worse. But Tim thinks of the way Melanie had shaken after she’d come out of Elias’s office, of the haunted look in Martin’s eyes when Tim had asked how his plan went, and can’t find it within himself to care.

They release him from the hospital with a hefty prescription of pain meds, small plastic hearing aids tucked in each ear, and a thick folder of discharge papers. Martin’s there when they do; the bags under his eyes are dark and smudged, and he nods mechanically as the nurses talk to him, outlining Tim’s care regime for the next few weeks. His eyes keep flicking to the side, to the corridor that leads to the long-term care section of the hospital. Wordlessly, Tim reaches over and takes Martin’s hand in his, giving it a single squeeze before holding it tightly.

Martin lets out a breath through his nose and squeezes back.

“Do you want me to, er. To take you back to yours?” Martin asks once they’re out, his voice on the softer side of muffled and overlaid with that constant ringing but audible enough now that he doesn’t have to shout.

Tim feels something almost like embarrassment curling in his stomach. “I, uh. I don’t have a place anymore.” Tim drums his fingers on his thighs, looks at the ground, and says, “I canceled my lease. About a week before we left for Great Yarmouth.”

There’s silence between them—or at least, as close to silence as Tim can get right now. Tim thinks Martin says something, a word or two brushing up against the edges of what the hearing aids allow him to hear, but he can’t grasp any of it. So, Tim looks up at Martin, at the pinched, pained expression on his face, and says, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Martin says bitterly. “That you never expected to come back? Yeah, I got that part. I even got why, you know? Doesn’t make it better, though. I didn’t want to lose you, Tim.” Martin pauses, then says, so quietly Tim can barely hear it, “I didn’t want to lose anybody.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. But that’s not how this works. We were never going to all survive. Everything is fucked, and it still is, and it always will be.

“I’m sorry,” he says and finds he means it. Then, to clarify: “For hurting you. And… and for Jon.” He doesn’t elaborate on that point. He doesn’t know what he would say even if he tried. “But I’m not sorry for going, and I’m not sorry for pressing that button. If I would have died, I wouldn’t have been sorry for that either.”

“Right,” Martin says slowly. “But you didn’t. And the Circus is gone now, so do you…?”

“Do I still want to kill myself?”

Martin winces.

“Hey, your question, not mine,” Tim says, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. After a moment, his hands drop back to his lap, and he gives a small shrug. “Don’t know. I knew I would do what I needed to in order to destroy the Circus, and I did. Thought I would die in the process, but I didn’t. I’m still trapped in the world’s shittiest job, and I don’t really…”

Tim shrugs again. “I don’t know,” he repeats. Then, because it feels true: “It was never… it was never the dying bit I was chasing, you know. I didn’t do this because I thought it would be a good way to get killed. I did it for Danny, and that’s it. Plain and simple. So if you’re asking if I want to die, the answer is no. But I can’t guarantee that I won’t make the same decision again if I have to.”

Martin’s quiet for a long moment. Then, calmer than Tim expects, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tim echoes. Then, with a levity that only feels slightly forced: “I suppose it’s back to your place, then. Just be sure to buy me dinner first.”

Martin doesn’t smile at that like he used to, but his face does soften a bit. His voice is lighter when he says, “Oh, I will. Within your dietary restrictions, that is. Which means no alcohol.”

Tim groans. “You’re no fun.”

“Uh huh.”

They begin the commute back to Martin’s flat, and the atmosphere between them grows more lighthearted than it’s been in months. Tim feels something warm and familiar curl in his chest, and he realizes just how much he’s missed this. It’s not quite easy conversation, not like it used to be, but it’s nice all the same.

Tim’s ears ring, and his entire body aches, and he still feels a numbness in his core in the shape of suspicious glances and calliope music and a face he can’t remember, but for the first time in a long, long time, he allows himself to smile.

Tim doesn’t visit Jon often. At first, it’s the guilt, acute and cloying and weighing him down. Then, it’s old hurt and stale anger, resurfacing and driving away any passing thought of Jon that isn’t tinged with bad memories and broken trust. After that, it’s just habit.

It also hurts, if he lets himself admit it. To see Jon lying there, motionless and clad entirely in white, the heart monitor attached to him reading out a constant horizontal line even as his eyes move in small, jerky motions behind his eyelids.

See? a part of him whispers. He’s not human. Maybe he never was. Maybe he was always a monster, and you just never noticed. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A newer part of him, one that gets more prominent by the day, recognizes that even if Jon isn’t human anymore, he never would have chosen this. This stasis, this half-death. Not what came before, either. That part of him remembers the way Jon’s hand had gripped his tightly as they’d opened that trapdoor, and how it had continued to do so even as the worms had begun to bite into their skin. He’d tried to protect Tim then, too, putting himself between Tim and Jane Prentiss. For all the good it did, when the worms began to come from all directions. But Tim remembers the way the terror and pain in Jon’s eyes had been tinged with sadness, with a silent apology as he gripped Tim’s hand hard enough to bruise and they both accepted that this was it.

It hadn’t been, in the end. And now it is, with Jon all-but-dead and Tim still here, wheeling his way into Jon’s hospital room for the first time in weeks.

He’s halfway in before he realizes he’s not alone.

“Oh,” he says. “I… I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Martin lets out a sharp, jagged laugh. “Where else would I be?” he says, and it’s tinged with something bitter and broken that takes Tim a bit off-guard. It’s become almost routine now, for Martin to visit Jon, and usually, he comes back looking drained but otherwise fine. Sometimes, when Tim asks him for status updates on our resident medical mystery, Martin even manages a small smile and responds, still dreaming.

Martin scrubs a hand across his face, and Tim realizes belatedly that he’s crying.

“Martin?” Tim says carefully, moving a bit closer to where Martin’s sitting. “Are you… did something happen?”

“No,” Martin says, his voice catching in a way that indicates that something very much did happen. “It’s fine.”

“Is it…?” Tim pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is it about Jon?”

Martin’s laugh this time is more like a whimper. “Nope, he’s- he’s the same as always. Still asleep.”

Tim moves closer but doesn’t say anything. The clock ticks rhythmically in the background, and he waits. Patience has never been his strong suit, but it’s been something that’s been required of him as of late, and he’s getting better at it.

He likes to think he’s getting better at a lot of things.

Martin doesn’t speak again for a few minutes. He stares at his hands where they rest just shy of one of Jon’s, his fingers restless against the sheets, coming up occasionally to fiddle with the thin black ring that rests on the middle finger of his right hand. Then, so quiet Tim almost can’t hear it, he says, “My mother died today.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. They’re empty words, but they’re better than the good riddance and about time and you’re better off without her sitting on the back of his tongue, begging to be released. He doesn’t think they would be appreciated right now, no matter how true they might be.

“Yeah,” Martin says. He’s still staring at his hands. “They called me a few hours ago. She… she passed away in her sleep. Natural causes. From- from her illness.” He falls silent for a few moments, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Then: “I… I think I should be sad?”

Tim studies Martin’s face—the tear tracks down his cheeks, the unhappy set to his mouth, the way he’s shaking ever so slightly where he sits. His face is one of grief, but Tim doesn’t ask. He waits for Martin to continue, and after a moment, Martin says, “She was the only family I had left. She- she was my mother. I took care of her, I- I did my best to be a- a good son.” He takes in a shaky breath, curls his hands into fists, and says, “I haven’t seen her in months, you know. I- I visited at first, but she… she never wanted to see me. So I just stopped going. I’d call, every Saturday, but it was the same every time. She’s resting. She doesn’t feel up to talking right now. Call later, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Finally, Martin looks at Tim, and the guilt in his eyes is so acute Tim can feel it cut through him to his core. “I should be sad that she’s dead, but… but all I can feel is relief. And that hurts. I- I don’t know… why am I relieved? God, she was right, I- I’m horrible, no wonder she- she never wanted to see me, I- why can’t I- I can’t—”

Martin cuts off with a wet sob, and all at once, Tim understands.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he collects Martin’s hands from the sheets, holds them tightly in his own. “You can feel however you like, it’s- it’s okay.”

He squeezes Martin’s hands, just once, and repeats, “It’s okay.”

He knows Martin won’t believe him. But still, he sits, and Martin cries, and he says, It’s okay.

It’s okay.

The hearing aids are a permanent fixture in his ears now, as most people have full hearing restoration after six weeks apparently doesn’t include him. The tinnitus is still particularly bad some days, but they help with everything else. It’s not perfect, but it’s a small price to pay for living, he supposes.

He’s not sure when, exactly, he decides that he’s glad he’s alive. But he does.

He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear at all, when the Flesh attacks. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the wet, sticky sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to move without bones slipping through the vents, shattering the relative peace they’d begun to cultivate. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear the pops of Basira’s gun, bullets burying themselves in things that barely flinched at the contact. He wishes he hadn’t been able to hear Melanie’s screams of anger, the responding screams of pain from things with too many eyes and teeth and limbs as her knife carved a violent path through them.

There are yellow doors and hands slick with blood and a sudden quiet as the last of the twisted, mangled creatures falls, sliced neatly in two in a way that’s just a bit too clean.

Melanie is breathing heavily, but her hands are steady and her eyes are hard with something raging and violent. When Basira reaches tentatively for her knife, saying, “It’s over now, Melanie. We’re- we’re safe,” Melanie stiffens but doesn’t resist.

“This isn’t right,” Tim says after Melanie comes back to herself in bits and pieces, enough to shudder at the blood coating her arms up to the elbows and mutter something he can’t quite catch before disappearing into the toilet. “None of this is. God, can we ever catch a fucking break?”

“We can deal with it later,” Basira says. She’s calm, but she can’t quite hide the tremor in her voice. Her Al-Amira is splattered with viscera. “Right now, we need to make a call. Get this cleaned up.”

“What,” Tim says bitterly, “so we can continue hiding away in the Archives? You’re the one who said we should start sleeping here. Should have known it wouldn’t be safe. It’s not like it was before.”

He rubs at one of the small circular scars on the back of his left hand, his skin crawling with a phantom itch that makes him vaguely nauseous.

“We stay here,” Basira says, leaving no room for debate. “We make the call, and we stay here.”

Tim makes a low, frustrated noise, and bites out, “Fine. Because Basira always knows best. Whatever.” He unlocks his wheelchair and says shortly, “I’m going outside for some fresh air. The smell of rotting meat is making me sick.”

Basira doesn’t follow him.

Martin does.

They situate themselves just outside the glass doors, and they don’t say anything for a long time. Martin still looks vaguely ill. His face is pale, and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. His fingers are resting on his ring, twisting it back and forth, agitated. His shoes are stained a glistening red.

Finally, Martin tilts his head back so it hits the wall behind him and says to the air above him, “Is it horrible that I wish Jon were here?”

Tim snorts, anger still bubbling under the surface of his skin. “Because we’d have done so much better with our own flavor of spooky bullshit?” He bites out a bitter laugh. “Maybe he could have compelled them to explain exactly why every single monster out there has a personal vendetta against us. Working for an eldritch horror of voyeurism doesn’t give you much in terms of an offense.”

“Stop,” Martin says sharply. “You know what I mean.”

Tim does. He’s just not particularly inclined to wax nostalgic about the power of friendship and comradery when he’s got bits of meat stuck in his hair.

Still, he finds that he means it when he says, “I wish he was too. For what it’s worth. Which isn’t a fucking lot, but it’s what we’ve got.”

“Yeah,” Martin says. His hand brushes against Tim’s, and they fall back into silence.

The police arrive, followed closely by the ECDC. It’s a messy affair, even messier than the last time Tim had been in this situation, and Tim wants nothing more than to get away. Forever.

He doesn’t make any jokes this time. He just nods in the right places, and when they’re finally released and he and Martin return to a flat they haven’t seen in weeks, he can feel weariness cutting through him to the bone.

When he wakes the next day, Martin’s gone. His note, stuck to the door of the fridge, says, At the hospital. Be back around noon.

It’s ten in the morning, and the sunlight is bright as it streams in through the kitchen window.

Tim digs out the bottle of rum that Martin keeps tucked in the back of his cabinet and pours himself a drink.

“Peter Lukas wants me to be his assistant.”

Tim looks up from what’s turning out to be quite an impressive doodle of the little figurine of a frog in a top hat he’d purchased back in research from a charity shop and says, “Absolutely not.”

Martin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, holds it there for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know if I have a choice in the matter, really. It’s… it’s not safe here anymore.” Quieter: “He said he can help. Off- offer protection.”

Tim audibly scoffs at that. He sets down his pencil and notepad and crosses his arms across his chest. He can already feel a headache coming on. (More than the usual, that is. He’s almost able to tune out the constant ringing in his ears now.

Almost.)

“What’s he going to do, isolate them to death? It’s not like the Lonely’s any better of an offensive force than the Eye. We’re doing just fine without involving him.”

“Are we?” Martin’s voice is hard and a bit choked when he continues, “We’re living down here because it’s not safe to stay outside for too long. We’re still finding bits of- of flesh in- eugh.” Martin shudders and folds inward on himself. Quieter, enough so that Tim has to watch the motion of his lips to make out the words, he says, “Jon’s not waking up.”

Tim feels something inside of him twist. “We don’t know that. We don’t know what’s happening with him.” A touch bitterly—old habits die hard, he supposes—he says, “Maybe he’s just not done going through his monster metamorphosis yet.”

“Tim.”

Tim sighs. It’s a profoundly weary sound. “Yeah, yeah. I… I miss him too, you know.”

He’s surprised to find that it’s not a lie.

“Right.” A small, shaky smile crosses Martin’s face, and he says, “I- I suppose they’re right, then. Distance does make the heart grow fonder.”

“Somehow,” Tim says, “I don’t think whoever coined that phrase had this situation in mind.”

Martin’s smile fades as quickly as it had come, and Tim feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” he says, pushing away from the desk and wheeling across the room to where Martin sits. He hesitates, just a moment, before placing his hand on Martin’s where it rests on his knee. “I… I suppose I’ve forgotten how to be lighthearted about all of this.”

Martin nods. It’s a small motion. He’s silent for a long moment; Tim squeezes his hand and says nothing. Finally, Martin looks down at his hands and says, “It’s been four months, Tim. Nothing’s changed.” He pauses again, his mouth pinching around the edges. “I… I visited him today. I begged him to wake up, to- to do anything to indicate that he’s even still there. I don’t know why I expected him to answer. It’s not like anything’s different now. He- he’s never going to wake up, Tim.”

Martin’s voice cracks, and he repeats, wetly, “He’s never going to wake up.”

Then, Martin’s crying, heaving sobs that overtake him completely and have him hunched over, dripping salty tears onto the back of Tim’s hand. “Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says, leaning forward as far as he’s comfortably able to and wrapping Martin in as hard of a hug as he can manage. He rubs his hands in circles across Martin’s shoulderblades, feeling Martin’s shaky breaths against the side of his neck, and says, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He repeats it, again and again, as Martin cries into his shoulder and says, over and over, words thick with grief, “He’s dead, Tim. He’s dead.”

“It’s okay,” Tim says. Maybe if he says it enough times, he’ll start to believe it.

Eventually, Martin’s body stops shaking and he pulls back, the tear tracks on his cheeks already beginning to dry. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, and he looks tired, grief apparent in every line of him.

“I said I’d think about it,” Martin says, in a voice rubbed raw and hoarse. “When Peter called me. I- I said I’d think about it. I- I don’t know why…” He cuts off, makes a small, distressed noise, and says, “What do I even have left? If- if this can help, what- what do I have to lose?”

Tim feels a pang of hurt flash through him, but he suppresses it. He squeezes Martin’s hands, gives him as wide a smile as he can without breaking, and says, “You have me. And I’m not leaving—you’re stuck with me. So don’t think for a second that if you take Peter’s deal, I won’t be there still. I’m like a bad penny, or, I don’t know, a- a fungus or whatever. The point is, you’re not going to get rid of me. Whether or not you decide to work for Lukas—which you shouldn’t, by the way, in case I haven’t made that abundantly clear—you’re not going to be lonely, okay? Not on my watch. I can be very persistent when I put my mind to it.”

Martin looks at Tim, eyes wide, and another small, hiccuping sob escapes him. “You really mean that?”

“Yes, Martin,” Tim says, exasperation and fondness filling him in equal measure. “Christ, just because things got… rough for a bit, it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Honestly, don’t know if I could. You’re a very lovable person, you know. It’s not like being your friend is a hardship.”

Martin laughs a little at that, his voice still thick with tears. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Tim gives him another smile, and this one feels easier. Like it would be harder not to smile. Still, he’s careful with his words when he says, “So, then. What are you going to do? I’ve made my opinion more than known, but…” Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and continues, “It’s your decision.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah.”

Peter calls again. And when Martin hesitates for a long moment before giving a quiet yet firm no, the relief that sweeps over Tim is enough to make him feel weightless.

Two months later, as a man who smells of death shuts the door behind him, Jon takes a rattling breath and finally opens his eyes.

“Tim?”

Tim raises the hand that’s not holding a rather large bouquet of white daisies and baby’s breath in a half-wave. “Hi, boss. Been a while.”

The look Jon gives him is half-shocked, half-nervous. “I… I suppose it has. Six months, apparently.”

Tim makes a sound of affirmation before wheeling himself fully into Jon’s hospital room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “You know,” he says, allowing a blanket of levity to fall over him, “when we said you should get more sleep, this isn’t exactly what we meant.”

Jon just stares at him for a moment, face blank and eyes wide. Then, a laugh escapes him, a small hiccup of amusement. “Yes, well. I can’t say that I feel particularly well-rested.”

Tim imagines what it must have been like, to be locked in a dreamscape stasis for six months. He can’t say that the idea sounds particularly relaxing. “Yep, sounds about right. Guess we can cross ‘spooky coma’ off our list of possible cures for sleep deprivation.”

Jon folds inward on himself a bit, hugging one arm to his chest and gripping the other tightly. “Right,” he says, his voice small. He looks away from Tim, focusing on the small window in the corner of the room, and says, “I… I’m sorry, Tim.”

Right. Jon still thinks Tim hates him.

Tim lets out a long, weary sigh and makes his way to Jon’s bed. He practically shoves the flowers into Jon’s hands; Jon takes them, more out of surprise than anything, white petals tickling the bottom of his chin. “It’s been six months, Jon. You’ve been… honestly, a bit dead? No offense. And I’ve been alive. And we both know it was meant to be the other way around.”

Jon opens his mouth, and Tim holds up a hand. “Don’t. I know. I already hear enough about it from my therapist, I don’t need to hear about it from you too. The point is that I’ve… I’ve had time to think. And some of the things you did, I can’t forgive you for. But some of it…”

Tim shrugs. “Martin would always go on about how it wasn’t your fault. About how you were suffering just as much as us. And maybe I didn’t believe it because I was already angry, or maybe I didn’t believe it because all I could think about was finally getting a chance at the revenge I’d chased after for years. But then you were gone, and the Circus was gone, and I just… didn’t have anything left for the anger to hold on to.”

Jon clutches the flowers tightly in his hands, looks down at the petals. “But you were right,” he says quietly. “A- about me.”

Tim casts himself back six months and sifts through a metric ton of bitter remarks and angry assumptions. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Jon lets out a slow, shaky breath. “About me not being human.”

Oh.

“Jon—”

“Do you know what I was dreaming about?” Jon cuts in before Tim can say anything else. “I- I don’t remember, not really, but… but I can guess. I… I Know, somehow, that- that they were the same dreams, over and over and over again.” Jon takes one of the flower petals between his fingers and rubs it back and forth, a nervous gesture. “I started having them soon after I took this job, you know. Naomi Herne was the first one, and I- I didn’t understand why. Every night, she was trapped in the fog, forced into her own grave, and I would try to move, because it- it felt like I should have been able to, but it- it never worked. So I… I stopped trying after a while. I would stand and watch as she relived one of the worst experiences of her life, every night, and I- I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Jon crushes the petal between his fingers. “She was the first one, but- but there are so many more now. Lionel Elliott and Jordan Kennedy and- and, Christ, Georgie—”

Jon makes a small, unhappy noise. “I don’t know when I realized that they could see me in their dreams too. That in trying to help, I- I’d just made myself another source of terror.”

Jon falls silent for a few moments; the quiet is filled by the familiar tick tick tick of the clock in the corner. Then, so quietly Tim has to focus on his lips to catch the words, he says, “I… I think I made a choice. Before I woke up. I don’t… I don’t know what it means for me, not really, but I know it means that I’m worse than I was before.” He lets out a bitter laugh, devoid of any humor. “So, you were right. I’m just- just even less human now.”

Jon falls silent again, and for a few moments, there’s just tick, tick, tick. Tim rolls the words over in his mind, looks at Jon’s pinched, unhappy expression, and says, “Okay.”

Jon looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay?”

Tim shrugs and repeats, “Okay. You’re not human. I’m not going to pretend like that thrills me or whatever, but it’s… honestly, it’s a lot less of an issue for me now than it was back then.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon trails off with a frustrated noise. “What?”

Tim sighs. “A lot’s changed, Jon. Things have… well, things have kind of gone to hell. Honestly, we could use a few monsters who are on our side for a change.”

Jon blinks at him in stunned silence for a few moments more before saying, bewildered, “... Right. Uh, I- I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you’ve been, then.”

A wry smile cracks across Tim’s face. “I’ve been just peachy, thanks for asking. Blow up one Circus and suddenly every spooky monster out there wants to kill you. It’s been one big, long, horrible sleepover in the Archives. But hey, at least Elias isn’t there! Now we’ve just got Lukas, and if one or two staff members disappear every once and a while, well—that’s just how it is at the Magnus Institute. Nothing to be concerned about. Sometimes, we still go out for drinks.”

“Tim,” Jon says flatly. The exasperated expression on his face is so familiar—so Jon—that Tim feels a tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding slip away.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim says, waving a hand absently in Jon’s direction. “Point is, I’m not disappointed or angry or whatever that you’re back in the land of the living.” He pauses, and then, more sincerely: “Martin’s not the only one who’s missed you, okay?”

Jon’s lips part into an O. Then, his mouth twitches up into a smirk, and he says, “Mm, you’re right. Basira did stop by earlier, and then of course Georgie, and I bet even Melanie—”

“Unbelievable. And here I was nice enough to come all the way over here, to bring you flowers.”

“Mm, they are very nice flowers.”

“Damn right they are.”

Jon smiles then, a fragile thing, and says, “Thank you, Tim. I… I’ve missed you too.”

Tim could point out that Jon had been asleep for the majority of the time in question. But he knows that’s not what Jon means. So instead, he offers Jon a smile in return and says, “Be honest: more or less than the Admiral?”

Jon shoots Tim a flat, unimpressed look. “Tim, don’t be ridiculous. Of course less than the Admiral.”

Tim’s been out of the wheelchair for a week when he finally manages to make his way to the roof of the Institute, still learning how to maneuver the crutches he’s moved on to. He swears he can feel every motion of the pins and the rods in his leg—skin covered with even more scars for the collection—as he finally heaves himself through the door and into the cool night air.

The view is just as good as he remembers.

There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, and Tim’s entirely unsurprised to see Jon silhouetted against the glow of London, leaning against the wall that rings the roof with his back facing Tim. The cigarette glows a dull red as he raises it to his lips and breathes in.

Jon doesn’t say anything, even as Tim painstakingly makes his way over to where he’s stood. Tim props his crutches against the wall before leaning his weight heavily against it, arms crossed atop the wall in a mirror image of Jon as they both look out onto the city below, humming with life and light.

Finally, after a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Jon says, “I’m going to get Daisy.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice. But that’s never stopped Tim from trying anyways.

“I thought you were done doing stupid shit that’ll get you killed,” Tim says, turning his head to look at Jon. Jon’s staring forward, but Tim gets the distinct impression that Jon isn’t looking out at the city at all.

“It won’t kill me,” Jon says quietly. He moves his hands as he talks, surprisingly competent sign language that he’s begun using tentatively in his conversations with Tim. When Tim had asked him where he’d learned it, Jon had been quiet for a long moment before telling him that he hadn’t.

Well. At least the Eye was being useful for once.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tim says. “Dead or not, you’ll still be gone. You know people who crawl into that coffin don’t come back.”

“I don’t—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated noise. After a moment, he continues, “I have a plan. I- I read a statement, and it said that I would need an anchor. A- a piece of myself to keep here. I can find it when I’m down there, and- and use it to guide me back.”

“Right,” Tim says dryly. “Because our plans have always gone so well.”

“What would you have me do, Tim? I- I can’t just do nothing.”

“Why not?”

Jon affixes him with an expression that’s half-affronted, half-stunned. “Tim.”

“What? Jon, we barely know Daisy. She tried to kill you. No, don’t give me that look.” Tim jabs a finger in Jon’s direction. “You know I’m right.”

“I…” Jon trails off. After a moment, he hugs his arms to himself, his snubbed-out cigarette still smoldering slightly on top of the wall. “I know. But I… I still have to go. I… I’m still going to go.”

Tim exhales slowly and says, “Right. Suppose I should have expected that.”

There’s silence between them for a moment. Then, Jon removes his hands from his arms and signs as he says, quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Tim stares at Jon for a long moment before saying, “What?”

Jon sighs and repeats, the motions of his hands larger and more emphatic, “Why don’t you hate me? Basira and Melanie, they- they keep looking at me like I’m some… thing, and- and maybe I am. No, not… not maybe. I’m not… I’m not human anymore, and I- I know what you said, but what happens when I—?”

Jon cuts off with a small, choked noise, like the air’s been sucked out of him all at once. Weakly, he signs, “I’m so hungry, all the time. What happens when I… when I can’t take it anymore? When I- I become dangerous, a- a monster, will you—?”

Jon’s fingers curl into fists, and he drops his hands to his sides, angling himself away from Tim and staring at an arbitrary point in the distance. “It’s better this way,” he says, loudly enough that Tim can make out the words above the hum of London at night and the ever-present ringing in his ears. “I… I don’t want to go. I don’t want to lose this, to- to lose you and- and Martin. But maybe it’s better than becoming something that will hurt you.”

Jon won’t meet Tim’s eyes. Carefully, Tim reaches across the space between them and takes Jon’s hand in his, uncurling Jon’s fingers gently in an attempt to release some of the tension. Slowly, he says, “You know, I… I shouldn’t be alive right now. Back after the Unknowing, when I woke up in the hospital, I… I didn’t want to be. It was supposed to be whatever it takes, and to me, that was always going to mean my death. Revenge and poetic justice and all of that. I should have died, but I didn’t. And… and you did. And it’s not something I feel guilty about, because we both made the same choice in the end, but that… that doesn’t stop me from feeling, sometimes, like it was my fault somehow.” He lets out a sharp laugh and says, “Well, I was the one to actually blow the place up in the end, but, you know.”

Tim holds Jon’s hand carefully in his like it might break otherwise, the mottled texture of the scar tissue firm against his fingertips. His eyes find the thin white line slashed across Jon’s throat, the stark white bandage poking out from the collar of Jon’s shirt where it covers a fresh scalpel wound in his shoulder, the pale pink spots that pepper Jon’s skin in a mirror image of his own. He can’t see the splash of jagged scars across Jon’s back, a memory of shrapnel and white-hot explosions, but he knows they’re there. “You asked why I don’t hate you?”

When Jon nods mutely, Tim says, “I just… ran out of reasons why I should. I still wanted to, but…” He shrugs and gives Jon a wry, humorless smile. “We’re all just stuck in the same shitty situation. And I guess at some point, I just decided that you hadn’t chosen to be here any more than I did.”

“Oh,” Jon says, barely audible.

Tim takes Jon’s other hand in his, squeezes them firmly, and says, “And I’m sorry. Not for- for how we used to be, because I think the blame for that falls pretty evenly onto both of our shoulders, but… but for everything else. For what’s happened to you. Figured I’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for myself, I might as well extend you the same courtesy.”

Jon’s fingers tighten around Tim’s, and he mumbles something Tim can’t quite catch. Then, he extracts his hands from Tim’s and signs, shakily, “I’m sorry too. For everything. But for what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you’re here. That you’re not dead. I- I know it’s been bad and- and I wish I could fix that, but I… I don’t know if I can.” Jon’s eyes when they meet Tim’s are sad but determined. “But I can fix this. I- I can get Daisy back. I can find my way out.”

Tim looks at the firm set to Jon’s mouth, the furrow of his brow, and says, “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to that. Otherwise, I might have to go in after you.”

Jon looks horrified. “Tim.”

Tim holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “Hey, come back in one piece and we won’t have to worry about it.”

Jon opens his mouth, then closes it again. There’s a long pause before he finally says, decidedly, “I will. I- I promise.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Tim wants to say. Instead, he shuffles closer to Jon and leans against the wall again, crossing his arms on top of it and looking out over the city. “Good,” he says softly.

After a moment, Jon shifts to face the city as well. His arm brushes against Tim’s, and Tim lets that point of contact ground him as he looks up and up and up at the stars above, pinpricks of light on a satin black sky.

“Thank you,” Jon says, just loud enough for Tim to hear.

Tim moves his hand to cover Jon’s where it sits on the wall and squeezes once. “Yeah.”

They stand there until sunlight begins to tickle the edges of the horizon. And when Jon gives Tim’s hand one last squeeze, the other holding the lid of the coffin open, and says, “Be back soon,” Tim believes him.

Three days later, Jon climbs out of the coffin with dirt caked underneath his fingernails and a thin, sharp hand clutched in his. “Tim,” he says, and Tim ignores the pain in his leg as he lets his crutches drop to the floor and hugs Jon tightly.

“Looks like I’m staying above ground after all,” Tim jokes, his voice light even as his words come out wet and choked.

Jon’s laugh vibrates against Tim’s chest. “Yeah,” he says, burying his face in the fabric of Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile. “Yeah.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #creators are revealed now so i can post this!#very exciting #blood cw #body horror cw #injury cw #hospitals cw #suicidal ideations cw #more cw in the body of the post as well #my writing #my fic

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simeonisalesbian · 3 years

Note

how would the demon bros deal with having a s/o with a painful illness which can result in s/o becoming crippled and the demon bros don’t find out until months later when s/o is just like, s/o has seemed healthy all this time, but that’s only cuz of this unique specific medicine that they use, keeping their illness at bay: “Hey… do you know where I can get medicine from… I’m running out?”

Sorry I took so long to actually answer this. Apparently working at McDonald's is harder than expected and I've been too busy crying or sleeping lmao. I have the weekend off though so I can do this stuff instead ^.^

Lucifer:

of course he's going to get your medicine he's like the dad of the group here lmao

He does wish you told him sooner though

Prescriptions can take a bit to aquire from the human world especially unique ones as you said.

he will baby you until he gets the medicine.

No Mc it doesn't matter that you feel fine right this second he has already decided you have to be on bed rest 24/7

Mammon:

What do ya mean you got a bad illness!! The Great Mammon can't have you being sick on his watch!!

He was only half paying attention when you were describing the medicine since he was more focused on the idea of you being in pain

He came back with half the pharmacy so your stupid medicine better be somewhere in there.

if not help just have Lucifer buy it for ya

Will skip classes specifically to be by your side to make sure you're not lonely or you don't need anything

Leviathan:

-If he can't order it online your shit outta luck here

he doesn't like going to stores that could have a lot of normies and stuff

that shit is too scary go ask Lucifer

he will hang out with you to try to make you feel a bit better while you wait for the medicine

He'll bring a variety of animes and games that you can watch/play.

He might even let you win a few rounds of DevilKart

Not too many though he can't have you thinking he's bad at the game

Satan:

He has connections of all sorts. If your medicine is anywhere in the Devildom He'll find it.

If not well he supposes you'll have to ask Lucifer (he's not gonna be happy about it though 😠)

He will try to give you teas that help ease your pain at least a little bit while you wait

He'll also stay by your side to either read silently or aloud to you.

Asmodeus:

he immediately concerned. He's going to get you that medicine ASAP don't you worry about a thing darling

he also has several connections so if it's around someone will help him find it

until then you are going to be treated like royalty.

You will be pampered to your hearts content and

Asmodeus has all sorts of soothing bath salts that might help ease the pain. He'll also give you a massage if that can help

Beelzebub:

worried baby. He doesn’t want to see you in any pain 🥺

He immediately asks all his brothers to help him get you some medicine

until then he will be carrying you anywhere you need to go.

you will also be treated to all your favorite comfort foods.

comfort foos will help he just knows it.

Belphegor:

him? put in a lot of effort to find medicine? Ha ha bet.

the most he will do is ask Beelzebub or Lucifer to get it for you

then it's cuddle time.

you need rest Mc. Sleep is the best medicine after all

he will occasionally get you stuff only to make sure you stay in bed.

Don't get too used to it though. He's only doing it since you're in pain and stuff.

#ah also i did get the messages u sent about sending this twoce and the not #i mennt to reply and say dont worry about it #and then i proceeded to not do that for some reason #sorry 🥺#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons

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wincore · 4 years

Text

summertime | wong kunhang

pairing: hendery x reader, side xiaocas

words: 4.5k

genre: childhood friends to lovers!au, first love, hs reunion, practically idiots to lovers, fluff, angst

warnings: none

a/n: warmup-ish fic. i don’t know why it’s so long either. loosely inspired by this. also hendery sweetest boy so i had to write something cute for him !!

When Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball coated in sand, you knew it was one way or the other with him. You were either going to fall in love with him or hate him for the rest of your life, and nothing in between.

It’s a little more complicated than that, you realize at twenty-one.

The neat asphalt is now a cool grey, not as pretty and dark as it used to be when you were in eighth grade but still clean and maintained. The stone walls on either side are certainly better off, marking the houses of the beachside town your school trip led to every goddamn year. Not that you were complaining, shining blue seawater has always been a favourite sight of yours. Kunhang was just the smiling bonus you held on to.

The road slants uphill till you can see the sunlight shimmering against the vast blue of the ocean across the horizon, dotted with the tops of palm trees and pastel buildings. It’s mostly at this point you realize that Kunhang’s been talking the entire way, and that you should nod along to add to the pretence, that you’re listening to him and not the loud drumming of your heart against your chest.

But Kunhang’s not here today. You don’t even know if he’s coming.

“Hey, (name), are you listening?” Yukhei asks, steadying the surfboard in his arms when you stop. “Are you thinking about Kunhang?”

The tone of his voice is teasing, but it’s as if you’re still thirteen, trying to come to terms with the first crush you’d ever had. Your cheeks grow hot and you scoff at him, snatching your tote bag from his arms and striding faster down the road. Kunhang can come, not come—you don’t care. For all you know, he’s enjoying his new life out there, as curious and fun-seeking as he is—was. He might even have found himself a lover, you realize as the bitter taste grows on your tongue.

Kunhang has always been special. Summer after summer, he’s only grown better at that.

Your parallel lines started growing distant somewhere in the first year of college. The daily facetime calls to describe the baffling wonders of adulthood slowly turned into weekly phone calls about the strain of assignments and projects and eventually, into faded texts you still look over on your phone. He’s just a friend, so you shouldn’t be expecting any more, right? It’s only ordinary that friends will grow apart. The city downpour that was slowly erasing his voice made you long for summer even more.

When you were twelve, Wong Kunhang had hit you in the face with a volleyball at the beach you always visited as part of the school trip. Somehow, with his weird sense and cutting enthusiasm, he’d offered the corner of his shirt to rub the sand off your face instead of a towel he’d find lying just about anywhere at the beach. (“The towels were definitely covered in sand! There’s no way beach towels aren’t sandy.”) And somehow, with your poor foresight, you’d felt an audible thump in your ribcage, the kind that only comes once. It was fitting, almost.

When you were thirteen, the thump grew into an entire orchestra. They settled in before you knew, and you realized you could neither accept them nor reject them. You suddenly couldn’t comprehend sitting beside him in class without nervously bouncing your legs, or laughing a little less enthusiastically at his jokes. You felt the turbulence of your pulse every time your hands touched as he passed you an eraser or a pen, or when his face split into a grin at you struggling to unscrew the bottle cap—it’s almost as if it were the end of the world whenever he breathed near you. You were painfully honest, so easy to see through and even Yukhei caught on to the fact that you had a thing for the weird yet lovable kid and his ridiculous smile. Kunhang, however, was probably in need of prescription glasses.

When you were sixteen, Kunhang learned how to play the drums and if anything, it made the heat bloom in your cheeks even faster. When you saw him play at the summer festival before the school trip, you wanted to stay there forever, just watch him do what he loves. Focused in the way he breathed and looking incredibly handsome for a stupid crush, you’d wanted to tell him then and there.

You’d made up your mind, or at least part of it, that this summer trip wouldn’t go to waste. Even the short-lived love of a young boy, you wanted to see it reflected in his eyes. That summer, just like every school trip, Kunhang had passed a volleyball to you in the outline of an inside joke that doesn’t get old; and you’d swallowed harshly, choking suddenly only for him to rub his hand over your back in the same gentle manner he did most everything.

When you think about it, you can’t seem to get over how much of an idiot you were back then. Kunhang was almost an even bigger one.

“I wish I’d get better at the drums quickly,” he’d said beside the campfire, tapping his foot impatiently.

It was only the two of you immersed in the night and if that weren’t reason enough for your incoherent thoughts, his knee was touching yours in a way oblivious to him—and the look of complete serenity over his face made you rethink your confession.

“You’re already good enough,” you huffed in disbelief.

“I can play two, er, three songs!” His voice was enthusiastic in the beginning but it hummed out to a mellow ending. He’d added in a determined whisper, “I need to practise so I don’t embarrass myself.”

Before you knew it, you’d let out a short laugh. Wong Kunhang, afraid of embarrassment? It was almost unheard of. You’d never met anyone so open before, so happy to share even the rougher, less tangible parts of himself.

Kunhang only gazed at you wordlessly, and when you met his eyes, the butterflies were let out of the cage in your stomach again. You wanted to lean in a little, kiss him right then and there, the image itself slowly curling around your head in haunting wisps as if something taboo. It didn’t make sense to you, to feel so immensely submerged in adolescent feelings—yet be comforted by his presence oh so easily. You know you weren’t the only one harbouring clandestine feelings. You’d seen them confess, you’d seen the few perfumed letters in his locker asking to meet after class.

Kunhang had turned down all of them. It didn't take solving quantum physics to realize he’d probably do the same to you. And you’d both end up losing a friend.

You’d swallowed whatever garbled confession that might have come out of your mouth that night. It’s better off this way, you told yourself, and you believed it for quite a while.

You wanted to hate him when you turned eighteen. You were going away to start a new life all on your own, and yet there he was, pretending that everything was going to be the same. Did he have to treat you so special? It wasn’t real, after all, the full wave of attention he gifted you, the adoring laughter and the occasional awkward head pats.

(And yet, every time you close your eyes, you wish it was.)

You wonder if Kunhang knows summer the way you do—sand against bare feet, having ice cream under a beach umbrella and most importantly, the scent of young love coating you in a thick layer of nervousness. Knowing him, he probably didn’t even notice the way you struggled to keep your wide grin secret every time he offered you the coconut flavoured ice cream. You wonder if he’s forgotten summer by now.

Yukhei catches up to you just before the narrow stone steps that end in the beach sand. You stop for a second, careful of the rock you always trip over (and the memory of Kunhang there to steady you with a laugh, unless he was the one who tripped face first into the sand) as you breathe out heavily. This is your high school reunion. You don’t have to think of your awkward teenage love right now. You can enjoy the coconut flavoured ice cream all by yourself.

You step onto the sand, taking a sharp breath at the full strength of heat that hits you. The towels and umbrellas are spread across the area, candy blue stripes everywhere your eyes visit, till your name is called by a frantic Dejun trying to get your attention. Summer feels hotter than any year you’ve visited and even sunscreen can’t protect you from the inevitably dazzling view you face.

After all this time, you thought he’d go away but the waves come crashing after all.

Kunhang has grown into a messy sort of handsome. His hair is longer since the last time you saw him, unkempt in the way it falls over his forehead yet still strangely neat. Even under the shade of the giant umbrella, there’s an unmistakable calm over his features—the look he often had on his face and no one would be able to tell what he was thinking, his own respite in broad daylight. The contrast between him and the blue around is crisp, like a sunlit field of pink tulips floating atop blue ocean water. It’s hardly been three years and he looks older, a bit more mature.

Kunhang beams when he notices you, the effect of it almost crushing as you try not to acknowledge the tidal wave of pent-up emotions.

“(name)!” he grins wide, jogging up to you. “I didn’t know you were coming. You didn’t reply to any of my texts!”

They vanished. Your words vanished again. Fidgeting with your fingers, you abruptly clear your throat before you can respond.

“Yeah. I, uh, I changed my number.” You bite your tongue softly at the lie.

He frowns. “Oh. Well, give me your new one.”

“I- I- I forgot my phone. At the- the hotel.”

You feel yourself cringing at your voice. It’s so...so embarrassing, every rise and fall. Kunhang blinks a few times before shrugging.

“Ah. I’ll get it later then.”

You almost immediately excuse yourself and beeline to Dejun sitting by the cooler, trying hard to hold a coconut larger than his hands as he raises a suspicious eyebrow at you. Of course it’s natural you’d go straight to the guy you see everyday at university instead of visiting the boy of your unrequited affections. It’s completely normal. What’s the point of a reunion anyway?

What you don’t expect is to be sandwiched between Dejun and Kunhang, the latter enthusiastically summing up each and every point of his life at university, the lack of control over facial expressions still prominent and you try not to let your heartstrings pull too hard. Dejun hums in intervals beside you, sipping at the coconut water he so struggled to get as Kunhang skilfully ignores the growing tension.

God, he really is an idiot. You feel like telling him you’ve been in love with him for eight years just so he’d shut up.

But after all this time, Kunhang has managed to remain himself. You smile. The sand in your hourglasses might not be flowing so differently after all. He’s still talking about most everything he finds fascinating through the smallest of details and you’re still willing to listen to the sound of his voice for hours. The scent of the ocean breeze that made you think of him, so you kept it safe—it’s overwhelming now.

Your vision is suddenly blocked by a pink paper cup, the spotless white ice cream in it already starting to melt. You turn your head to Kunhang trying hard not to make a face at you, biting onto the edge of an empty paper cup.

“You didn’t listen to anything I said, did you?” he asks with a click of tongue, after taking his cup in his hand.

You can’t help your sheepish laugh. “I lost you when you started talking about the campus cats.”

Kunhang scratches the back of his head, smiling. “I couldn’t get a volleyball today. They increased the rent rates by ten!”

“What, you were planning to rent a volleyball just to hit me in the face with it?”

Kunhangs face breaks into a grin, positively glowing from his eyes to the line of his nose to his lips. Maybe you don’t hate this feeling so much.

Dejun suddenly clears his throat beside you, springing up. “I’m- I’m going to go help Yukhei,” he declares, discarding his coconut somewhere over the sand.

“Help with what?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

Dejun coughs uncomfortably before shrugging and speeding off to Yukhei trying very hard to plant the wet surfboard in the sand. Somewhere in your mind, you already know the reason why he ran off.

You turn to Kunhang with a worried look, but there’s no sign of realization over his face. You almost sigh but catch yourself in the moment. Is it pitiful? He probably can’t even imagine you that way, maybe that’s why he hasn’t caught on.

Is it bad that you hate it? That you’re not satisfied with the friendly touches, the innocent smiles. You don’t want to keep it so pure after all—you want to run your hands through his hair, you want to twine your fingers through his, you want to feel the touch of a kiss with him.

Your gulp nervously once Kunhang’s features come into focus, still talking about something vague and nodding along to it at an uncertain rhythm. The sound of the waves come gently crashing, just as they do to the shore and the buzz of this place reminds you of all the time you spent here. What has been, what could have been.

“Kunhang,” you interrupt and he whips his head to you, eyes curious. You take a deep breath.

What value is there to words that you’re desperately trying to throw away?

“I- I’m going to go to the water,” you say, trying to cover up your nervousness. If it wasn’t any other summer trip, it’s not going to be today. It’s not going to be, at all.

If you can’t put it into words, will you be alone? You’re only chewing over your memories hoping they fade.

Kunhang springs up just as you stand, his sudden movement surprising you.

“I…” He begins but shakes his head with a subdued smile. His voice comes out softer than you expect. “Yukhei’s that way, if you’re looking for him.”

You blink back your confusion. “Ah, um, thanks!”

The more you try to lie to him, the less you understand yourself. But if you stay any longer, you might just spill the archived secrets, the words you should have burned in the campfire that night. You can fall out of love. It’s easy, it’s easy, you tell yourself—then why couldn’t you have done it earlier? Can you even do it now?

“What are you doing here?!” Yukhei asks, furrowing his brows as he gets up from the sand. “Where’s Kunhang?”

“I- I don’t know! Why would I know everything about him?” you grumble, hugging yourself.

“You are so stupid,” he states in response.

“That’s- That’s not something you should be telling me!”

Yukhei grabs your shoulder, shaking you hurriedly. “You should go back to him! The beach is one of the top ten romantic places, come on.”

“What makes you think I still like him?!” you hiss, trying to get his hands off your shoulders.

Yukhei stops abruptly, tilting his head to greet Dejun, who makes you jump out of your skin. You move apart from Yukhei, facing him with a sigh.

Dejun tries hard not to pull a face, notifying that your other classmates are here, and it’s a lot more likely some of them are still heart-eyed for Yukhei. The two of them seem to share an inside joke as they laugh and you raise an eyebrow, not even bothering to decode the situation.

The brunch idea was probably Dejun’s, considering how smoothly things run. The whole renting out half a bar idea was probably Yukhei’s, considering how much of a wild mess it is. The place is perfectly snug, warm and just enough for a former high school batch, right by the beach where the sand meets asphalt. The laughter and conversations overpower the low jazz undertones of the music playing through the speakers and you find yourself smiling when someone or the other reminds you of all the high school ventures you’d had under the teachers’ disapproving eyes.

“Remember when Yukhei stole the rabbit from our school garden?”

“That wasn’t even worse than when he accidentally fired the water hose at Mr. Liang!”

“Oh my god, you remember putting on makeup in between classes without getting caught?”

“Or trying to steal lunch from me, you big bully?”

Really, seeing old faces after so long and then the same faces hammered only a few hours later might just be another one of the ‘fun’ things you’ve been missing out on.

There’s Shuhui, Lunmei and Linlin—girls you didn’t get to talk much with during school, but you remember Shuhui’s face from middle school. There’s Yukhei’s friends, Shihao and Taishun, who you think you exchanged a whopping total of sixteen words with throughout high school. Yet now, with everyone gathered here, it feels like some sort of a haven of reminiscence, like you’d known each other all your life (which, to an extent, you did). It’s comfortable and warm, the blanket of old connections.

You take another sip of the punch. It’s not enough to get you drunk but it's enough to shift the gears in your ribs to begin the steam engine you can’t find the brakes on. Your face is hot, Kunhang finally not the reason behind it, and you sigh as you glance around the room slowly.

It would’ve been quieter if Yukhei somehow hadn’t started this chain of confessions. Dejun is still struggling to keep him seated, a warm blush over his face when he has to wrap his arm around Yukhei yet again while the others continue chanting “confess! confess!” to the next unlucky victim guilty of harbouring an unspoken teenage crush.

You shake your head at the whole scene, sighing once again as you lazily swirl the remnants of your drink in the glass. The night will be over soon, and you’ll go back to your own paths. For now, you can pretend it’s all just another summer adventure.

Yukhei clears his throat, everyone’s eyes turning to him instantly. “I’m sure there’s one more confession left!”

There’s a bunch of cheers and you feel your heartbeat quicken when Yukhei shoots you a knowing smile. Your eyes widen, your throat suddenly feeling dry and you turn your head to meet Kunhang’s eyes. He looks at you with no hint or clue about the reality and you look away before it fries your nerves out.

“You’re going to thank me after this, Kunhang,” Yukhei calls, a teasing lilt to his voice and the boy in question simply shakes his head, grinning in polite confusion.

You look around in panic, from Yukhei to Kunhang and wonder if you should open your mouth. You take a breath before a roar of cheers interrupts you.

Shuhui stands up, rosy-cheeked and wobbling at the knees. You catch Yukhei blinking with furrowed eyebrows but nodding anyway, as if the decisive president in a heated debate.

“Wong Kunhang!” she calls before coyly confessing. “I like you! I’ve liked you since eighth grade!”

Is it the alcohol? Or the cruel realization that your mother was right when she said summer makes people fall in love? There’s another round of cheers and applause as you get up discreetly, sneaking out the door a few steps behind you. You don’t think you can stomach the sight of someone else’s arms around Kunhang, his loving attention drawn to them.

The night air is cool, the bushes lining the sidewalk buzzing with cicadas as you step over onto the soft, warm sand. The campfire has been reduced to blazing embers, no one there to kindle it as the night progressed. You hug yourself as you walk, the calm over you strange, uncharacteristic.

Even if it’s not you and him after all, you should have said something. You’re only a coward, slow and naive in a world too fast-paced, unable to face a reality that’s your own. You couldn’t even stay in that room a second longer. If only your chest didn’t waver so easily, your heartbeat didn't grow erratic.

You walk closer to the water, waves lapping quietly against the sand, a hush over them as if they do not know what to say to you. What do you say to someone on the verge of heartbreak? Consoling your friends at university taught you next to nothing, your own seeming beyond your help.

“(name)!”

You feel your breath hitch, hesitant in turning around. There’s a moment’s pause and when you don’t turn, Kunhang tugs at your wrist, pulling you to him.

It’s getting so that your heart can’t even flutter anymore.

Gentle and kind, and so willing to give, Kunhang could never really leave you alone, could he? He looks at you with wide eyes, almost like a puppy lost on the streets. His pale pink overshirt is hanging loosely over his shoulders, unbuttoned all the way over his white T-shirt, his hair tousled by the wind and words yet resting on his lips. You forget to breathe for a few seconds and when you inhale sharply, the onslaught of your feelings comes toppling over you.

“I hate this,” you choke on the words. “You should be in there.”

“They’re still celebrating. And drunk.” He shifts nervously.

“I hate you,” you say, not finding meaning in the words. “I hate you so much because of how stupid I was- how weak I was.”

Kunhang’s eyes shimmer with something unfamiliar, lips quivering before he steadies himself, drawing nearer.

“That’s not fair,” he whispers, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

You purse your lips. It isn't fair—who are you to blame him? He doesn’t deserve the vomit of emotions from your popped balloon of a heart. You bite your tongue before you can spit out the poison-infused words.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, voice hoarse and still angry, “I wish I told you earlier. How much I liked you. How much I wanted to be with you.”

Kunhang stays quiet, hand not ready to leave your wrist yet, the part where his thumb rests searing hot.

“I thought I could pretend I never liked you at all,” you say, biting your lip. “I thought that if I faked it then it would go away but Wong Kunhang, I- I’ve liked you for so long that I don’t know what it’s like if I don’t.”

Why are you crying? It’s like the emotions you’ve hoarded all these years have somehow found an opening to burst through, in a stream of colours that paint you in embarrassment. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and nose, as you vigorously rub at your eyes so the tears don’t escape in so obvious a manner.

“I- I tried going on dates, I tried- I tried all those stupid blind dating apps, I tried to focus on my major and making new friends and- and still…”

Doesn’t the rain fall in times like these? Yet there’s only the hot blanket of summer, with its swaying sea wind and calling cicadas resting in the vibrant bushes.

“I didn’t want to force all of this on you. I’m so—”

It’s only fitting that the stupidest sequence of words would leave his lips.

“I thought you liked Yukhei,” he says quietly.

You pause, uncertain of what to do and breathe out in annoyance. “Kunhang, for the love of god, where did you even come up with that?”

His cheeks colour ever so slightly and he clears his throat. “I don’t kno- I just- I kept giving myself excuses too. I’m sorry.”

The wind makes his hair sway lightly by his eyes, the stars glowing cool blue in them. Whatever the ebb and flow of your feelings were, they’re crashing against the sand, violent and sorrowful at first till the moon tames them into something warmer.

And then it happens again. Kunhang smiles, shoulders relaxing. There’s a moment’s pause.

“I- I’m not good with this.”

When Kunhang presses his hand against your jaw and leans in a little, eyes waiting for confirmation, the drumming in your veins is so loud you can barely comprehend the movement of his actions. You shut your eyes almost instantly but Kunhang accidentally bumps your noses a little too hard. The two of your wince, your hand flying to your nose as a muffled cry of pain escapes your lips and he looks at you worriedly, his fingertips pressing against your cheek softly.

You choke back a laugh but it bubbles up anyway, his own following after an embarrassed pause.

“I think- I think I was a little nervous,” he admits, looking down and then back up to you.

“We can...we can try that again,” you hum, biting back a smile.

Kunhang’s hair is in fact softer than you’d expected, and when you run your fingers through them, he smiles into the kiss, his hand at the small of your back pulling you closer. Nothing’s like you daydreamed of and yet everything is in place, the shared warmth growing with each passing second.

It’s blissful for a few moments before you’re interrupted by a drunk Yukhei to “get it” and you jump apart from each other, flushed hot in the cheeks. Dejun apologizes for his boyfriend, waving at you guys to continue whatever the hell you were doing before tugging Yukhei along with him.

You clear your throat awkwardly before plopping down on the sand, face buried in your hands. Kunhang follows slowly, legs outstretched towards the ocean. You peek to see him smiling at the sky, leaning back on his hands and the look you love seeing on him.

“Kunhang?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Even if you didn’t like me back then.”

Kunhang turns his head to you, eyes earnest as they trail across your face.

“You don’t have to be brave.”

He reaches out to fix the hair from your eyes, a gentle touch to them as ever, but this time there’s a stronger meaning to it, almost as if he’d kiss you again right then. The two of you smile, twining your fingers somewhere along the night as he tells you to rest your head on his shoulder. The waves sing softly to accompany Kunhang’s chatter, the feeling almost unreal when you feel his pulse against your thumb.

What has been, what could’ve been—they’re barely a breeze to what really is.

#wayv #hendery #wayv scenarios #hendery scenarios #nct scenarios #hendery fluff #hendery imagines #wayv imagines #nct imagines #wayv fluff #nct fluff #wong kunhang imagines #childhood friends to lovers!au #hendery x reader #yes im back with another cheesy as shit fic what are you going to do #moonwrites

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Note

Hello! If you're still taking requests for the touches ask game, could you do 18. "Bear hugs" with Bepo and any of the Heart Pirates? :)

Hugs (Tales From The Heart)

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Gen Warnings: None Characters: Law, Bepo, Heart Pirates

I am always taking requests for any prompt list/game I’ve reblogged! Just make sure to specify which list it’s from and we’re golden :D Might take me a while, but chances are I’ll get there eventually.

Haven’t written any Hearts for a while, but that prompt absolutely screams Bepo, doesn’t it? One of my fingers is whining at me so this probably won’t be very long (what is wrong, stupid finger? I didn’t hit you on anything!), but a nice soft bear-Mink hug sounds like just the thing :D

Touches Ask Game

People swear by hugs. Law’s heard it all the time, whether it be in Flevance, the Doflamingo Family (or at least, Baby 5, followed by Cora-san, with some others chipping in), North Blue or the Grand Line. Laughter is - reportedly - the best medicine, but hugs seem to be high on the list of prescriptions, and as a doctor who specialises in doing the impossible, Law makes sure to keep up to date on the large variety of so-called ‘cures’ in the islands he comes across.

Physically, a hug does nothing. In fact, most of the time, a hug invited additional pressure onto a wounded body and might even make them worse. Law’s seen it happen multiple times, normally when broken ribs are involved. Ribs break frightfully easily and take far too long to heal again. Hugs are the last thing he permits in those instances.

Mentally, however, a hug does wonders, and if the hugger in question is delicate enough... well, Law’s seen a simple hug brighten the face of a patient many times in his life. Normally in Flevance, back when everything was happy and his parents watched in delight as a relieved loved one was reunited with their family after surgery. Less people showed that sort of weakness in front of him now; his reputation proceeded him, and no-one wanted to look sappy in front of the Surgeon of Death.

Certainly not other pirates, although the Strawhat crew and their ridiculous captain seem less concerned about outside opinions. Then again, no-one was ever going to call that crew weak. Unpredictable, immature, and crazy, perhaps, but not weak.

Inside the Polar Tang, away from any possible unfriendly prying eyes, the love language of touch reigned supreme. Law hadn’t intentionally gathered nakama who loved nothing more than to sprawl all over each other and tangle limbs more often than not - considering the first three he met had been more interested in fighting than hugging, it wasn’t an unreasonable expectation that they wouldn’t be particularly tactile.

But no, his nakama were tactile. Penguin and Shachi might as well be conjoined twins most of the time, and he couldn’t say the rest of his crew were much different. Which meant hugs were plentiful. They respected his wishes well enough, and only brought him in rarely, but to each other, personal space seemed to be a non-existent concept.

Law had never been the biggest fan of hugs - unless they involved Lami, but that was long ago and he barely recalled what it had felt like to hold her any more - but from his nakama, on his terms, it was tolerable. More than tolerable, sometimes. Nice on occasion.

The best one was Bepo. The Mink had a clear advantage in that regard; his mink was soft and oh so easy to sink into if given half a chance. Even when wet and consequently odorous, it was a rare occasion when Law told his navigator that hugs were not welcome. Bepo was also huge, and while Law remembered the time they were once the same height, that time was long since passed. He wasn’t short by any stretch of the word, but Bepo was something else entirely.

And that made him safe. All that mink enveloping him, fluffy chin resting on top of his head and big, strong arms pulling him in until he was all but invisible to the world - Law had a soft spot for that. He knew Bepo’s bulk and fluff hid him from sight, because it was the same for the rest of his nakama. More than once, he’d entered a room to see a huge bundle of white, only for a call of “Captain!” or “Law!” to come from the middle of it. Occasionally a head poked out to accompany the word, confirming that Bepo’s stomach hadn’t learnt to talk all by itself.

Bepo’s hugs made for good medicine, too. The Mink was gentle, all-too aware of the fragility of his human nakama, and despite his size and lack of opposable thumbs was dextrous enough to draw in an injured nakama and cradle them gently against his bulk. Eventually, Law had started prescribing Bepo-hugs upon release from the infirmary.

It worked wonders.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #heart pirates #trafalgar law #bepo #drabbles #Anonymous #Tales from the Heart

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daydreamed-snippets · 3 years

Text

TW: Sorry, I’m in a mood. Talk of Suicide. Abuse of prescription medication. Underage drinking. Hints at abuse

It was quiet here in the bones of the old house. Cold. Drafty. Wildlife feasted on the general decomposition of trim. Faded tile and decaying drywall dangling at odd angles. Bricks lay uprooted by greenery. Furniture slowly losing its form was arranged haphazardly throughout the house. Winn could see her breath hang in the air, curl in a tight spiral before dispersing into the night. A single electric lantern kept watch beside a nest of her own making: a bedding of dried leaves, her favorite crochet blanket, and a little radio faintly playing an upbeat tune.

Oh, and a bottle of whiskey and every fucking antidepressant and mood stabilizer those bastards had ever prescribed for her.

Playing eenie meenie miney mo, she uncapped a half-empty bottle of citalopram and popped all of it into her mouth. She took a swig, throwing her head back to ensure she swallowed. Looking around she supposed it was a fitting epitaph. Her end would be here, in this broken mausoleum, a showcase to humankind’s fundamental need to create something sublime but ultimately fail in its maintenance. To conceive something beautiful but become indifferent and bored with it, letting it fall into ruin. Wreckage that is only redeemable by nature itself. It would be nice, she thought, if something productive, beautiful even, grew out of her decaying life too.

Then maybe everything would have been worth it.

Absently plucking at weeds poking through fractured flooring, she huddled over on herself waiting for the drugs to take effect. Her stomach turned as she tried not to think. Tried not to repeat the same question over and over in her head.

How many times did she have to lose everything to take the hint? How many times did she have to hit rock bottom before her knees buckled and her legs snapped trying to stick the landing as she broke herself to please everyone?

For her, the answer was four. Not that that matters now. Cause now it was too late. Now she finally gets it. Now she gets why her Mami was so unhappy. Why Miami's boyfriend, Leonard, wasn’t happy. Why her doctors weren’t happy. Her teachers, her friends. Everyone. Why the world was unhappy. Maybe her death would make them happy again.

A breeze picked up, whistling through the gaps. It sounded like someone was whistling and walking around the house, wooden planks creaking. That should have terrified her but her mind was starting to feel a pleasant, sleepy haziness. She took another half-empty bottle by her feet and downed the contents, choking on her own saliva and the aftertaste of the alcohol.

Thoughts continued to rush in, unabated, like a broken dam. Each empty bottle held its own story, mostly of the times Leonard lugged her to another shrink, to “fix” her while her mother sat in the car, finding solace in a glass bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. Finishing it before Winn’s hour-long appointments were over.

None of it ever seemed to satisfy Leonard. Not that he ever waited for her to finish her prescription before shoving the next pill down her throat, deeming the previous one ineffective when she would have another episode. Promising that the next drug would be it. That the next one would work. And she believed him. Each and every time, she believed. Whatever was wrong with her, these next pills would fix it.

But they never did.

Soon it turned into, why can’t you be like x? Why can’t you just do x? Your attitude is why x is happening to you. Do you even want to get better from x?

She could put anything in for x. The equation stayed the same, with one common denominator:

Her.

Winn.

She was the shared numerator whose value was always zero. And anything that is multiplied by zero forever equals zero.

Another half-filled bottle, another swig. Her heart started slowing down. So did her breathing, face becoming flush. She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open.

Another floorboard whined under stress, and a voice followed it. “That is an especially painful way to die, dear one,” someone called out to her. “Overdoses can be messy affairs when attempted through the unpredictability of drugs.”

A surge of fright course through her. Who was that? A ghost? Leonard? She didn’t know. They remained out of sight. She looked up through the smog of her mind, unaware that anyone had breached the house grounds. She curled more into her nest.

It couldn’t be Leonard. At least she didn’t think it was him. It was hard to tell right now. It didn’t sound like him. Her chest wouldn’t stop stinging, though, at war with medical sedation and her adrenaline. Trying to play it cool, she schooled her tone, wishing she had a taser on her. Cursing how stupid she was to come here without one. “You lost?” she called, scrubbing her face with the bottom of her palm, her coordination clumsy. “The main road‘s that way.” She pointed, not exactly knowing if that was the right direction anymore. “House gone to be destroyed in the morning. The bots won’t check to see if anyone’s in here before they start smashing.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he asked, coming into view. It sounded more like a statement. “Because you don’t think anyone will find you before they start demolition.”

She squinted at the man in an impeccable blue suit, refusing to answer. Definitely not Leonard. But…

“Mmm, I know you,” she said scrunching her eyes, fighting to place the face, fighting to find a name. Yes, she has seen him somewhere, but her mind could only remember one location in which she encountered him. A place shrouded in metaphoric perception and youthful symbolism. A place that is both romanticized and villainized oftentimes in the same breath. A place she could only visit when she closed her eyes at night and slipped from this reality to another.

“The man of my dreams. How—?” She swallowed, thoughts tripping over themselves. Her speech started to slur. He squatted in front of her, full weight on the balls of his expensive shoes, keeping his immaculate attire away from the dirt of the house. He moved gracefully, and though his smile looked concerned it was still every bit disarming.

“Uhh, I mean man from my dreams,” she stammered. “Uh, how is this?” It dawned on her. The part of her mind that was still intact. “Hallucinations. I’m dreaming. I-I’ve passed out.”

“You have not,” he said, making no move towards her. Simply staring her down with hooded eyes. “At least, not yet. And though I am, how did you put it, ‘the man of your dreams’, I’m not some figment of your imagination, Winnifred. I am quite real, and I’m here.”

Winn barked a laugh, “Oh my gods, for real? ‘I’m here’?” she mocked. “Everything’s good, I’m here.” She grabbed the bottle, his eyes following, and took a sip. “Fo sure, like that would really matter now. You can get your damn hair swirl outta my face with that.”

She made a move for his hair, uncoordinated and choppy, catching herself when she leaned forward too much and fell onto her hands. It took a while. He remained still for her, attentive, but unmoved. She was able to ruffle his dark blond hair out of its slicked-back position, wrapping a finger around the bit of lock that fell over his brow without falling again.

Their eyes met.

Realizing what she was doing she yanked her hand back as if burned. Confusion swept through her. He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Convinced?”

“I can touch people in my dreams, it’s just...” It’s never felt so real.

She reached for another prescription. Clearly, she was delusional. Clearly, this was a trick. She poured out the oval-shaped pill preparing to swallow it whole. It was quite possible that she was out cold, body slumped over like the furniture of this house. Quite possible she was unconscious and this was her mind’s last chance at providing her with a final comfort. A childhood sentential to keep watch as she fades away.

She tilted her head back, arm poised to sling the pills into her mouth.

The man moves.

He shifts to catch her wrist in a light but firm hold. The bottle slips out of her fingers, clatters to the floor, along with the pills, dropping between boards and out of reach. Winn curses.

“Don’t touch me,” she said pulling away easily. “You don’t know me like that.”

“Listen to me, Winnifred,” his voice held a command. “I have not moved heaven and earth—I have not rescheduled my life just to watch your throw away yours. I do know you. I’ve known you since you were four years old. I’ve visited your dreams since your first nightmare. I’ve watched over you the best I could from afar.

“When I said, I’m here now, it wasn’t meant to be crass or derisive. So many people have let you down in your life, I being the chief among them. But I am here now. Things will get better. Let me prove it.”

“That wasn’t real. And dreams isn’t knowing someone.”

He tilted his head. “I know that your father left you when you were six. I know that your mother has been bounding from boyfriend to boyfriend, looking for validation but never really finding it. Each suitor worse than the last. The current beau is a monster called Leonard.”

She gulped, running a hand over her face. Tucking a curl behind her ear. He watched, gaze overly familiar. Possessive without even touching her. Eyes extracting what he wanted. She imagined he didn't take no for an answer. She imagined he changed outcomes to fit his ambitions.

She felt unable to hide.

“I know what he’s been doing to you,” he said, voice changing.

“H-how?”

He let out a breath of air. “I know this because I’ve seen your dreams. I know you’ve been having a recurring one of Leonard assaulting you, and then ending your life. It may happen in different facets and different places, but the theme is resoundingly the same. You also have recurring dreams of your mother’s lifeless body lying on the side of the road while traffic rushes by. Sometimes hitting her, most of the time not.” He adjusted his cufflinks, before completely abandoning his position to sit on the grassy floor. “You’ve been having these particular dreams for a while. It is because you venture into Leonard’s dreams each night, before going to your mother’s. It’s not unusual for someone with your abilities since they are the closest people to you. You’re able to see what Leonard will do to you, whether he’s willing to admit to his own perverse desires or not. And you’re able to view your mother’s darkest fears. Of being abandoned by everyone.”

“You’ve always had a talent for dream wandering and precognitive dreams. You were once able to control your dreams, steer away from the nightmares with my help.”

“I can’t anymore. It’s too—” her voice cracked, and she was reminded of his face. His words. How Leonard taught her to hold her breath, to clamp down on her tongue. He taught her to hide truths, and keep secrets. To bear the scars without screaming, and conceal them. He showed her to shut up while her dignity—her pride—would rage beneath the surface while he was near.

“Those dreams are just dreams. That’s what Leonard said.” She needed to adhere to that. If anything could appease Leonard it was that. And she needed to appease him. Her mother was too weak, too afraid for her own life to safeguard Winn’s, and yet too desperate for a man to head out on her own. Besides if they ran, Leonard would eventually find them. He always found them.

“Trust me, like you once did,” his voice was soft, yet it cut through her racing thoughts like a well-crafted blade. He held his hand out to her, the gesture speaking of promise and nostalgia. Reminding her of how of a strong presence he was in her dreams. The one bit of sanity in an array of insane characters and worlds. He slew monsters, clothed her when she was naked, stopped her before she'd slip into a free fall. Laughed with her. Held her when she cried. He was kind to her. Above all, he showed her tenderness when no one else did.

“Remember me,” he went on, “as I was. I can be that for you again, in this waking land. You can still choose to come with me and leave all of this sorrow behind. Or,” he withdrew his hand when she turned her head, refusing to take it. “You can choose not to, and I will sit with you until you lose consciousness. Then I will carry you to the nearest medical facility where they will pump your stomach, and a physiologist will evaluate you. One not worth the paper their license was printed on. They will, in all likelihood, lock you away in a psychiatric ward, to be forever treated as a pariah. It’s your choice.”

Her eyes jerked back towards him. He said it like a threat. Winn supposed she was running out of time. She wanted to trust him, but… she hadn’t seen him in her dreams for two years. He said that he’s there for her, but he hadn’t been. And she’d learned that being alone felt safer.

She pulled back, making a move to stand. Maybe he’ll let her go. Maybe he wasn’t even here. His fingers didn’t act like a vice when he grabbed her earlier. She easily slipped him then. Maybe she can do it again. Maybe—

Her legs buckled under her, nerve endings on fire. She vomited, hopefully not on him. Gods, not on him. Her vision blurred, darkness edging the rim. She felt hands on her but wasn’t for sure. She was dazed. She needed to resist. Or maybe she needed to give in. She couldn’t open her eyes though was mildly aware of the feeling of being lifted, of a certain weightlessness.

Winn was heaved against a strong chest. Instinctively, her hands went up, fingers curling and uncurling around dream man’s lapel in a display of rebellion or surrender, she wasn’t sure. She wanted defiance but it was so easy to just give in. Darkness claimed her.

Like it mattered because he wasn’t really there. Right?

#My writing #writblr #not a prompt #dreams #Winn #creative writing #Relictus City

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