#the impending sense of doom was of me vomiting

[notjuststardust]

Bucket Time Trafalgar LawxReader

So, I made brownies today and drafted this. Keep in mind this is not proof read and its literally the first forethoughts that belched from my brain rot of this concept so take it easy if there are grammatical errors, please. Might upload an editted 3rd draft once I get there but for now enjoy this fluffy slice of doctor Law taking care of his sweet tooth crewmate. Fluff and some angst if you squint.

TW: Mentions of vomit, hypersensitivity.

“What did I say about consuming raw brownie batter?” Your captain growled, your locks in hand as you wretched into your bucket for the fifth time tonight.

 “Not to eat it in copious amounts..” you whine, giving him your best puppy eyes in hopes of some sort of appeasement.

 “No I said don’t eat it at all.”

 “But-“ you’re caught off guard by another wave of nausea, dipping your head back over your bucket and spilling your guts. As irritated as your captain is, he can't help but feel a swell of pity about your predicament. You always licked some of the brownie batter from the bowl on baking day despite his strict orders not to but Shachi and Penguin had dared you to down the entire thing. You’d done it in 60 seconds.

 That had been the beginning of the end of your wellness.

 “S-sorry,” you sniff, tears slipping from the mere action of relieving your stomach, grabbing for the clean cloth on the sink to wipe your mouth. “Wont do it again.” You mutter weakly, head nearly drooping from tired yet Law knows one thing and that is that your sweet tooth always makes you a liar.

 Once your fever goes down and he discharged you to your quarters when next month rolls around you’ll forget all about this and indulge once again in the chocolate goodness.

 It’s too late for another scolding so he chokes back a comment, replacing your bucket with a new one. As the sink rolls on he watches you in his peripheral, barely upright from dehydration and exhaustion. He’s shocked you haven’t dropped by now. You’ve had a fever since 5 o clock when Shachi and Penguin had finally decided to relay your secret sickness to the captain. 

 You’d made them promise not to because you looked ‘gross’ and smelled bad but it was no worse then what he already was used to. Now it was 1am and you were barely upright, staring off in a daze of impending doom toward your bucket.

 “Go to sleep.” It sounds more like a threat than a suggestion. You huff and squirm. 

 “If I fall asleep I might miss the bucket. I’ve never missed the bucket before.” He freezes mid scrub, cranking his head to look at you. Sensing his stare you stare harder at the bucket, trying to ignore the intensity bubbling his steel gaze molten.

 “Your health is not something to make a gamble of,” more than anger is evident in his command, making you shrink. “If you miss I’ll just clean it up,” he gestures to the cot pulled out in his office for you. “Now sleep.” He gruffs watching you stand and sway out of the bathroom, careful to avoid even a glance his way.

 He relaxes once he thinks he’s won.

 That’s until he’s droning through paperwork only to find you wide awake at the crack of dawn, refusing sleep even still. “(Y/N)-ya.” Your eyes snap shut. He stands from his desk.

 “I haven’t missed the bucket before, I won’t miss it now!” You levy and that’s the hump that breaks the camels back. All the worry, stress and disrespect peaks spilling out of Law’s throat as projectile, emotion and tired clouding the real contents that spew fourth.

 “Are you that naive? I’m a doctor. Without proper sleep your body won’t properly restore your ATP. You’ll just keep getting worse,” he snaps, hackles raised as you turn up your nose in refusal. “If you’re really going to act like such a child I may as well drop you off with strawhat-ya! Tell me, is that what you want? You might fit in with the band of idiots..” The tension clenching his chest into what had felt like chronic hypertension eases with his outburst for only a moment. 

 There’s only the brr of the submarine and the shuffle of a body, yours, flipping over to face the wall. Law opens his mouth to take it back but you speak first. “If that would be easier for you, I accept your decision, captain.” Your body trembles and it’s not from the uptick of waves. Caging a hand over his mouth Law tries to concoct something to salvage his harshness with you. A snore graces your lips and whether artificial or not the doctor decides is best to simply say nothing for now.

—- 

 Law returns from breakfast to find your cot freshly made and… empty. Oh no. 

 He starts with your bedroom. You hadn’t been down for breakfast and he hadn’t taken your temperature just yet. Had you seriously left before he could make sure you were okay? No, you were sensitive, a bit silly but you were not an idiot. Not like he had said at all. After checking just about every room the doctor freezes something blatant clicking in his brain. He murmurs a quiet ‘shambles’ switching himself with one of Ikkaku’s trinkets only to enter as a closet door slams shut.

 “Ikkaku.” The ginger slowly turns her head, face pale as she giggles too much. He doesn’t need to say anything because he scanned the room the minute he’d switched. You’d been found a while ago.

 “H-hey captain, what are you doing in here?” He almost states his business fully but the only worry on his crewmates face is for fear of you being found. If you were sick Ikkaku would most definitely rat you out.

 “Tell (Y/N)-ya I need to see her in my office when you see her.” He flicks a telling glance toward the closet before hesitantly excusing himself and like clockwork he hears the closet reopen.

 “He wants to get rid of me. Doesn’t he?” He goes frigid at your words. You were notably the most sensitive of your crew members. Emotion and human behavior were your strengths so how could you think such a thing? Nevermind, of course you thought that, you’d thought he implied it last night.

 Law stands outside the door, frog in his throat when you open it. You don’t seem shocked that he’s out there but you don’t seem happy either, eyes scanning him over for any sense that he had in fact heard your words. “Sorry.” You apologize almost instantly, eyes set to the ground in silent shame. There was more color to your face and you smelled like waffles.

 You’d kept something down, good.

 “Room.” He murmurs, and you both reappear in his study. You blink off the still heavy nausea and plonk into a chair. He takes your temperature and administers a subcutaneous antibiotic. The silence is loud.

 “I left a note with my vitals for this morning.” He eyes his desk and sure enough there’s a note written in big letters, ‘Need some space. BPM 68….’ He swallows as he reads through your detailed note. You didn’t leave a single thing to the imagination because you knew he’d worry. Law nods, then he slides back into his chair.

 “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I know I might now show it but… you had me worried.” You nod but do not move, do not even offer a single joke. He feels his heart clench. “Do you remember much?” He offers as a transition, folding his hands together on the table.

 “Everything.” It’s not an admission but it sure feels like it. His tongue fumbles into knots and you notice. “You were tired.” You say so quietly, eyes set on the medicine cabinet for comfort instead of him.

 “That’s no excuse,” he counters just as quickly wanting so badly for you to just look at him, see his side. “You are not an idiot and you have no place on any other crew.” Your brows pop and you let out a low whistle.

 “That’s rich.” It almost sounds bitter but there’s the twitch of a laugh.

 “Care to let me in on the joke?” He inquired cooly, forcing himself not to take it personally, yet. You consider yourself.

 “Well,” you shoot a glance Law’s way. “I mean it would be great petty revenge to join Luffy’s crew.” Your captain facepalms.

 “(Y/N)-ya-“

 “If you wanted to visit me I’d make sure to get real cozy with Luffy so I didn’t have to talk to you.” You tease as he snorts. The thought of you and Luffy together gave him a headache, not to mention his stomach soured at the mere idea of you brushing hands and stolen glances at one another.

 “You hate me that much, huh?” He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. There’s quiet.

 “I could say the same thing to you.” You say it so casually he nearly chokes. He looks up to find your teasing feign gone. What was it you had said earlier?

 “He wants to get rid of me. Doesn’t he?”

 “I do not want to get rid of you.” There is conviction and then there is objective fact, this was that. Nothing you could say nor do could change the fact that even though you were sometimes a moron who ate too much brownie batter or an idiot that took bathes with electronics in the tub you were his problem and to be quite frank, his favorite problem.

 Though you were an inconvenience at times you were a comfort to just about everyone on board. You brought a content that hadn’t been here in your absence and a space for Law to be palpable despite his hesitancies. Not to mention you always followed through.

 A consistent chaos in a sea of abnormalities.

 “Are you sure?” You murmur, words unsteady as the sea of ‘want to says’ in his head. He nods and reaches onto the desk, open palmed and flicking his pointer. His cheeks heat as you stare at his hand. Then you put a pen where he’s requesting your hand.

 He about deflates.

 “Y-yes, I’m sure.” He puts the pen away when realization his you like a brick.

 “Wait-“ not wasting another second you take hold of his hand. He clears his throat as you stare at him for confirmation, gifting you a curt nod. Maybe he couldn’t say the words but you could read the in betweens.

 “You’re my problem. Do you understand?” Bravely, he lifts your hand bringing it to his mouth. He hesitates as you gulp, careful only to brush his mouth over a knuckle once he's certain you don’t want to protest.

 “Y-yes Captain!” You give him some sort of mock salute in the middle of your fluster, bashful as you realize what class of problem you were. He chuckles softly, releasing your hand.

 “That means no more brownie batter,” he stands at full height, leaning over the desk to take in all your bashful glory. “That way I can finally taste those beautiful lips of-“ That’s when Shachi and Penguin burst down the door, parting the anticipatory union and turning you both red with embarrassment. 

 “Too much cookie dough!” They grovel, sloshing to piles of green much on the floor.

 It’s bucket time again.

#trafalgar law #law trafalgar x reader #trafalgar law headcanons #one piece imagine #law x reader #law trafalgar #one piece x reader

[dreadheadmadi]

- I’M GONNA CLAW THOSE PRETTY LITTLE EYES OUT

Chapter 1: Green Eyed Monster

A/N: To say this wasn’t rushed would be a bold face lie. I’m even rushing as I write this because I have an exam in three minutes. It is hella unedited and needs better formatting, but I’ll go back and fix some stuff up later. If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know through the reblog option or just dm me! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I hope you have a wonderful day or night, bye angel!

Blackwood Manor loomed on the outskirts of New York like a gothic monolith, its sprawling grounds shrouded in mist and mystery. Perched atop a hill overlooking the bustling city below, its imposing design was a testament to the wealth and power of its enigmatic owner, the elusive billionaire Alexander Blackwood. The grandeur of the mansion enveloped the night like a cloak of decadence, its opulence a stark contrast to the darkness that seeped through its polished corridors. Usually, the manor would lay dormant and dark, with no sounds or persons going in or out. However, tonight was a special night, a masquerade-themed birthday, of whom it belonged to but none other than Alexander Blackwood's own spouse. She was different from her loner husband - a city girl and an active member of New York's rich folk. Such a figure would earn as many friends and connections as possible - and she invited them all. Within the manor's walls, the wealthy elite danced and revealed, their laughter echoing against the marble floors as they indulged in the spoils of their privilege. Among them, Alexander's favorite niece, Sofia Blackwood, navigated the sea of masked faces, her steps hesitant as she struggled to mask her discomfort beneath a façade of poise and grace. That night, she mustered the courage to ask her uncle to fund her college education, considering that her parents disapproved of her choice of study and promised to cut ties if she pursued it.

The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sickly sweetness of excess, but beneath it, a palpable tension lurked—a sense of impending doom that clung to the shadows like a vengeful specter. As the night wore on and inhibitions faded, Sofia was drawn to a secluded balcony overlooking the sprawling gardens below. She needed a moment to think, to gather herself before locating her uncle. There, amidst the ivy-covered trellises and moonlit fountains, she stumbled upon a sight that would forever haunt her nightmares. A figure lay sprawled across the cold stone tiles—a man, his once-immaculate tuxedo now stained with the crimson evidence of his demise. His eyes, wide with terror, stared unseeing into the night while multiple grotesque gashes marred his throat, the blood still warm and viscous against his pallid skin.

Sofia recoiled in horror, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to comprehend the brutality of the scene before her. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, and she fought to suppress the urge to retch as the reality of the situation washed over her in sickening waves. Instead of vomit coming out of her mouth, a guttural, heart-wrenching shriek replaced it. Multiple footsteps rush towards her before halting abruptly, filling the evening atmosphere with their own wails. Around her, the party descended into chaos, the revelry shattered by the specter of death that now loomed over them all. Sofia was grabbed by her mother and father and ushered into an enclosed room where she finally regurgitated her evening meal onto the pristine marble floors. Guests screamed and fled in panic, their masks slipping in their haste to escape the scene of the carnage unfolding before their eyes. All but one remained rooted to the spot, their gaze fixed on the lifeless form before them. Taking off their mask reveals a Black man with a scowl so deep in hatred that one would have thought he was the one who committed the murder. His dark brown eyes glower down at the body before being covered by the full face mask again. Quickly, he returned to the building, stomping down the velvet-covered stairs and pushing his way to the front of the small crowd around the crime scene. As the crowd prayed, cried, and cursed the murderer to hell, the man's eyes focused on the wound on his neck. The gashes weren't a nice clean slice as if it were with a standard knife; they were thinner, deeper, and jagged with bits of flesh dangling and sticking out on the sides. No, a knife hadn't done this, but perhaps, a set of claws-

"It was the Prowler!" a voice declared, "Look at the claw marks! That fucking bastard killed Alex!"

"I heard he's working with Fisk now. That fucking mammoth hated Alexander," another voice added, "He probably put a hit out."

"But on his wife's birthday?" A third questioned. The second shook his head while pointing to Alexander's dead body.

“You don't know those men like I do, Alex was his number one enemy. When Fisk's family died, he asked Alex to help with some investments on some secret project, the hell if I know what it is. Alex said the fucker went bat shit crazy when he lost his wife' n, pubicly announced it to. It was a wake up call but Fisk took that as disrespect and has been a little shit to the Blackwood family ever since. Dropping sponsorships, buying out companies, blocking his political power, I know that son of a bitch got something to do with this!"

The first voice suddenly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. "Fuck," he spat, "Fuck, fuck! To fucking hell with Fisk! I was this close to buying off those fucking votes! All that money gone to shit - where the FUCK is that purple bastard?! I'm putting a bullet through his head and then into Fisk's next!" With the sudden uproar, the first voice stormed back into the manor, which prompted others to do the same, all looking for The Prowler. He was already gone, however - he snuck out of the manor and into the thicket surrounding the manor, climbing onto his motorcycle and speeding off towards Brooklin. As he blares down the road, he tears off his mask again - brown eyes laced with a green envy hue as a single thought runs through his head.

That bitch stole my fucking kill.

Aaron swore to his momma that he’d never hit a girl, but this bitch was asking for it. It wasn’t the first time Black Cat had killed someone on his list, no, it’s been months since their first encounter. But for how long will this happen? The year is almost over, and he’s only been responsible for the deaths of four unlucky souls. Four, while she had nine. Five of which were stolen right from his grasp. To say he was upset is an understatement. Annoyed? Oh, that’s long gone. Pissed? Maybe three months ago. Enraged? Closer, but not quite. It’s gotten to the point where his work has become sloppy - disregarding his usual planned and strategic approach for a more quick and easy route just in case she was on her way. One time he even took a gunshot to his shoulder because of his blatant tunnel vision - Fisk gave him shit for it and benched him for a few weeks to heal before shoving him back into work. Aaron figures he’s gonna be hooked on pain killers for a long while.

Speaking of the Kingpin, Aaron wasn’t sure how to explain what happened tonight, hell he doesn’t even know what happened tonight. All he knew was that he had only been at the party for around fifteen to twenty minutes before Sophia’s screams were heard. The party had only been going on for about ten minutes before he arrived, so within that thirty minute window, Black Cat had arrived at the party, isolated Alexander, and killed him. Based on his wounds, Aaron deduced that they weren’t deep enough to make a swift and easy kill. As he studied the evidence photos of Alexander he had hacked into the police records for, he zoomed in closely on the gashes. While it did look like claw marks, they were uneven and choppy. It wasn’t a clean streak either - it was slanted and angled more vertically than anything. A clear indication of a height difference, Aaron noted. Alexander was six feet tall exactly, if Black Cat had struggled to get to his neck, she’d be closer to five feet in height, five feet and five inches at max. Aaron paused and wondered if she was wearing heels or platforms that night - it would make sense, considering she’d have to blend into a masquerade styled party. That would mean her true height would be even shorter, an important detail he wasn’t gonna look over. He wrote that down on a notepad and kept examining the photos. The pieces of flesh that stuck out kept drawing his attention. It looked like the results of his prototype claw gauntlets. They were made out of pieces of random and uncut metals that weren't accurately measured or maintained. The metal would often be too sharp or too dull, and would get stuck underneath the victim’s skin due to the curvature of the claws. Once he draws back his hand, he would quite literally rip out the area of flesh he had made contact with. While it got the job done, it was a messy and loud kill which prompted him to update his weapon. It was obvious to Aaron that Black Cat’s weapon was similar to his prototype, however there was still one thing that bothered him - it was a silent kill. The initial contact had been on the side of his neck, still leaving enough airway to scream out for help or in pain. Another thing that bothered him was the fact that Alexander wasn’t some snobby old rich guy. Blackwood was a black belt in his youth; he competed in and eventually managed various boxing matches and fight clubs across the United States. He was highly trained in artillery, and probably would have been a military commander by now if he wasn’t in control of New York’s corrupt legal system. To put it simply, Alexander Blackwood was a force to be reckoned with, just to be cut down by some female in a black leather jumpsuit with white fur.

Aaron rubbed his hand across his face and turned towards another monitor, clicking on Google and searching up “Black Cat Brooklin”. He found a few articles and stories, stuff he’s already researched before. There was a video that had gone viral a month ago, it was the CCTV footage of a jewelry store that the villainess had broken into. She was wearing her classic attire and mask, along with a new white straightened angled bob. Strolling around the store, she opened the displays and bagged all the merchandise, even trying on some and posing into a mirror that was hanging on the wall. Afterwards, she shouldered the duffel bag, blew a kiss at the camera, and left out of the vent system she had used to get into the building. The uproar on memes and parodies of the event were all over Aaron’s feed for days. Women were gushing over her bad bitch aura, creating fan pages, and even going out and buying white wigs, dye, and bundles just to look like her. And of course the men were practically fapping their dicks, saying how she was too fine to go to prison, how they too would steal some shit in this economy, lowkey gassing her up more than the women do. Aaron didn’t care to have an opinion, at that time she was just some female thief. But it’s different now, he thought, she’s more than a thief, she’s a killer. This was the first year of her dipping her toes into homicide and from Aaron’s knowledge she hasn’t even been caught yet. Aaron wondered if those men and women would still support her after it’s exposed that she killed nine people over the span of a year, but he figured they probably still would - the world is fucking crazy nowadays. Now he was just mindlessly scrolling, clicking on the fan pages and profiles for any sort of information he could gain on her. And then, after refreshing for the tenth time, a new video popped up titled “BLACK CAT HAS A NEW WEAPON (and it reminds me of someone 🤔) | New Look, New Villain”. Aaron immediately clicked on the video and recognized the person in the commentary as an influencer who was one of the ones who made the robbing video popular by creating a whole trend based on it. The video started with an ad and random filler topics which Aaron graciously skips through before getting down to the main part of the video.

“Okay guys so let’s get to the tea, so last night, Black Cat was seen scaling buildings and rooftops downtown with a whole new look baby! Let’s look at what Miss Cat got going on for us,” the influencer starts, clicking on a Twitter thread showing the few off guard pictures and videos.

“Oh, my God, you guys! Look at that fur, okay hold on I’m getting ahead of myself,” she laughed before viewing the first picture and zooming in. “Okay so, first thing’s first, that hair baby! Miss Cat really said new hair, new me and is stunting on y’all with this new do! Gone is her angled bob and is now replaced with this cute little goddess passion twists, I am loving this! Of course it’s in her signature platinum, is it platinum? Platinum feels more yellow to me, maybe just plain white? Or maybe more like a frosty white you know? Yeah let’s go with that, haha! Edges are laid to perfection, makeup always looking fresh, ugh I’m telling y’all Miss Cat needs to open up shop cause I would pay-“

Aaron skipped ahead a little more, Black Cat always changes up her hair style and makeup looks. A smart move, considering how easy it is to track someone nowadays. Her constantly changing is the sole reason why no one has found out who she is yet, by the time they get comfortable with one look it’s on to the next.

“Alright, so let’s talk about this new suit. So, I do get why most people are saying that this isn’t really a new suit, I mean it is just the same suit with more fur, probably to keep warm since we are in winter, but I like to call it a new suit solely for the purpose of these!” The influencer moves onto the next picture which is a close up on Black Cat’s arms - which had two slender gauntlets with claw-like protrusions on them. Aaron sat up and leaned towards the screen. Those looked familiar - really fucking familiar.

“That’s right guys, Black Cat has a new weapon! This kitty got claws and she is not afraid to use them! Now, a lot of people are saying that they love it, it’s on brand with the whole cat thing, and a way better choice than the staff she was using before. I personally love the claws, they bring a whole new dangerous vibe to her. Like, before she was just this common thief we all made jokes about but now it’s like, damn, she kinda serious about this. Miss Cat said to put some respect on her name, she ain’t no weak runt of the litter, she is THE Black Cat. Quit playing with her, this is serious business! Now next we have a quick little video of this new weapon in action but before that a quick word from our sponsor-“

Yeah no, fuck that. Aaron skips again as his leg starts to bounce. There’s no way, there’s no fucking way, right? The video in the thread plays and it shows Black Cat using the claws to climb up a brick wall, leaving behind large scratch marks etched into the concrete. Then once on top of the roof, she raises her hand and flexes her hand, which seems to trigger some sort of mechanism as the claw part of the gauntlet shoots out and attaches itself into the edge of another roof two buildings across. Black Cat then runs and jumps off the roof she was currently on and uses the rope-like connection lodged between the claw part and rest of the gauntlet. She swings towards the building and on the video, the connection shortens, creating a grappling hook. The video continues on to show her safety landing and moving and repeating the action for another building before it ends. “So as we can see, it’s like a grappling hook, kind of? That’s cool, I mean, I wish I had a grappling hook then I could properly get to work on time when there’s traffic-“

Aaron cuts off the video and sits there in his chair for a few moments before finding the twitter thread and checking the comments. There’s a few screenshots of the gauntlet from different angles, as well as a few claims that it had glowed purple at times. That’s my gauntlet, he thinks, that’s my prototype.

Immediately, he calls Fisk - the one person Aaron safely left the prototype with due to his high security level warehouses as well as a sign of mutual trust between the two business partners. After quickly catching Fisk up to date, Fisk left to check the warehouse himself before confirming that the prototype was indeed missing - stating that they had numerous tech slowly disappear since the end of the previous year, but couldn’t pin who it was or how they broke in. In fact the whole reason why he wanted Alexander dead was because he was the only other person who knew where Fisk’s warehouses were, so the Kingpin thought he was the one who did it. Regardless, Fisk was clearly enthralled that Aaron had made the connection to Black Cat, but Aaron, pissed that Fisk just allowed this to happen, hung up on the Kingpin.

Aaron could feel the uncomfortable heat of anger creeping up his spine and seeping into his brain, causing graphic imagery of the gauntlet Black Cat is using malfunctioning and causing her to fall to her death - brains splattered on the ground. Or perhaps she would die from her own hand - Aaron imagines him in his Prowler getup, taking Black Cats arm and twisting it so that the claws get lodged and stuck in her own flesh, hearing her screams of anguish and pain. After rewatching the video five more times, Aaron closes his eyes and leans back, his leg bouncing at a rapid speed before suddenly stopping. “It’s my prototype, he mumbles, “And she’s far more skilled with it than I was.” He slowly opens his eyes, green envy once again returns upon his dark brown eyes. “First she steals my kills, and now she steals my tech,” he chuckles before breaking out into a laugh and slamming his palm down onto his desk. “I am,” he laughs, “I am going to fucking end this bitch.”

Tag list: @mordeiswrld @arielpanda1 @young-dc @fossilizedbeetle @super-nova-2006 @chelsea-xxx2003 @fandom-multiamory

#black tumblr #x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales #x female reader #aaron davis #aaron davis x reader #the prowler x black cat #the prowler x reader #the prowler #black cat #x black reader #x black oc #into the spider verse #spiderverse x reader #madiwrites

[jjongscardigan]

1 STEP FORWARD, 3 STEPS BACK₊ ⊹⟡ — s.jaeyun

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader

GENRE: angst

CW: mentions of alcohol, vomiting, toxicity

NOTE: I don't know why but I love angst. Like when there's heartbreak and loss?! Give it to meeee! Don't know when I'll be able to actually finish the rest of the series. 😔 The creative juices encountered a drought.

SYNOPSIS:

I'm the love of your life until I make you mad. It's always one step forward and three steps back. Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand...

___________________________________________

As you sit amidst the vibrant atmosphere of the party, the uneasy churning in your stomach grows increasingly insistent, like a foreboding whisper warning of impending doom. Despite the lively chatter and pulsating music surrounding you, a sense of isolation creeps in, exacerbated by Jake's blatant disregard for your presence.

You watch as Jake leans in closer to the girl beside him, their laughter mingling effortlessly with the cacophony of voices around you. A pang of jealousy twists in your chest, but you push it aside, hoping for a moment of connection with your boyfriend amidst the sea of faces.

Summoning your courage, you tentatively reach out to Jake, your voice a fragile thread barely audible above the din. But instead of the reassurance you seek, you're met with a sharp glare and a disdainful response. Jake's irritation is like a slap in the face, a painful reminder of your dwindling importance in his life.

As you reel from his callous reaction, the nausea you've been battling intensifies, threatening to overwhelm you entirely. With a desperate gasp, you excuse yourself, barely managing to navigate through the throngs of partygoers before your stomach rebels violently.

The bathroom becomes your sanctuary, the harsh fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows as you hunch over the toilet, retching and heaving until your body is wracked with exhaustion. Each wave of nausea feels like a punishment, a cruel reminder of your vulnerability in the face of Jake's indifference.

But just as you begin to despair, a glimmer of hope emerges in the form of Gaeul and Yizhuo, two guardian angels amidst the chaos. Their cool fingertips brush against your clammy skin, offering comfort and solace in your darkest hour. With gentle hands and soothing words, they guide you through the storm, their unwavering support a beacon of light in the darkness.

As you sip the water offered to you, you can't help but marvel at the stark contrast between their kindness and Jake's cruelty. His absence in your time of need speaks volumes, a painful reminder of the fissures in your relationship that can no longer be ignored.

As the waves of nausea gradually subside and you find yourself cradled in the comforting embrace of Gaeul and Yizhuo, a sense of resignation settles over you like a heavy blanket. Despite Jake's callous behavior and the undeniable toxicity of your relationship, a part of you remains tethered to him, bound by a twisted web of familiarity and misplaced loyalty.

As you lean into the warmth of their support, a familiar voice echoes in the recesses of your mind, whispering words of doubt and insecurity. You remember the countless times Jake has brushed off your concerns, his dismissive attitude leaving you questioning your own worth. But beneath the layers of pain and self-doubt lies a deep-seated fear of being alone, a fear that keeps you tethered to him despite the toxicity of your connection.

With a heavy heart, you push aside the nagging voice of reason and cling to the illusion of stability that Jake provides. You convince yourself that his outbursts are just momentary lapses in judgment, that beneath his rough exterior lies a heart capable of love and redemption. It's a dangerous delusion, one that threatens to consume you whole if left unchecked.

As the party rages on around you, you find yourself drifting back to Jake's side, drawn like a moth to a flame despite the searing pain it promises. You ignore the lingering glances of concern from Gaeul and Yizhuo, choosing instead to bury your doubts beneath a facade of false contentment.

___________________________________________

perma taglist: @haechansbbg @luvnicho @kim2005bomi @n1k1mura @eclipse-777 @kgyam4

MY WORK!!

© jjongscardigan 2024 - do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work on other platforms!

#sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun x reader #jake x reader #enhypen jake #enha jake #enha x reader #enhypen #kpop #kpop moots #sour - enhypen

[asteria-argo]

The thought of Jamie backsliding into pricky behaviour and Roy being concerned because he knows now that’s not Jamie’s default that’s a self preservation thing, gives me all the heart eyes 😍

Do you have any other details you’re willing to share?

This has been sitting in my inbox for a few days, because I've been trying to figure out a succinct way to answer it but I've decided that word vomit it gonna be the way to go because I have so much to say about this fic and how it's gonna go. so, spoilers for the next installment of please be gentle under the cut

the main thing about this fic is that I am focusing a lot more on Jamie's trauma responses than the trauma itself, because when you've got trauma from repressed memories, that's all you've got to work with.

The premise is pretty simple, the next for the children gala is coming up, and Jamie is feeling a lot of ways about that without actually realizing A) what is making him feel a lot of ways or B) Why he's feeling a lot of ways.

It doesn't really occur to him, that he's feeling so unsettled because the memories of Amsterdam and the concept of the auction are mingling in his subconscious and making him freak out. To him, the two events have nothing to do with each other, and he's not at a place in his life where he can actually look at these things and point to what exactly is triggering him. So instead what we get is Jamie lashing out and not even really knowing why except that he wants to be left alone and this is how he achieves that.

and thanks to all around character development from everyone, Jamie lashing out isn't written off as him just being like that. He's got a support system in the team, and Roy, who want to be there for him and aren't going to leave him just because he's having a rough time. And Jamie kinda needs that desperately, especially as the whole repressed aspect of his repressed trauma starts unraveling the closer to the gala they get.

Jamie's going to have two major reactions to his trauma in this fic, the first one is lashing out, which is what most of the snippets so far are building too. He doesn't feel safe, he doesn't know why, and the only thing he can think of that will make him feel safe again is isolating himself, so that's what he tries to do. Unfortunately for him, he's got friends who love and care about him, so that doesn't really go to plan.

Which is good, because the next reaction is that he's going to get clingy. He still doesn't know why he's feeling so unsafe, but he does know that being around the team or Roy makes him feel a bit less so, and he clings to that for all it's worth. It's a less destructive reaction, but it's a trauma response nonetheless and honestly just as unsustainable in the long run.

So yeah jamie's kinda going through it, and also trying to Sherlock Holmes his way through untangling his trauma to figure out why he's kinda going through it with the backdrop of the gala acting as a sense of impending doom. should be fun. and by fun I mean painful.

#wip stuff #asteria answers asks #jamie tartt #ted lasso #anonymous

[masterwords]

heavy metal thunder

Summary: Derek doesn't usually doubt his ability to get a situation under control, but tonight he's feeling just about useless as he tries to save everyone. This is right smack in the middle of 4x01 - Mayhem.

Words: 3k

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: explosion, canon character death (kate), vomiting (brief)

Read on AO3: heavy metal thunder

Notes: I wrote this in anticipation of taking a pinch hit in a fic exchange, however someone else was assigned the PH before me so...we got a quick fic out of it with no anonymous period. Throw it on the Mayhem pile baby! I wrote this entirely in 35 minutes of sprinting and did a quick and dirty edit.

**

Derek is no stranger to bombs. He’s worn the suit, gasped and felt sweat pooling at the base of his spine as he walks toward impending doom. Those suits weight a damn ton, and they won’t save you if you’re too close anyway. He’s walked down a street toward a device, trusting that his team has his back, that their guns are trained on everyone watching with fear or curiosity. Their eyes trained and keened in suspiciously for phones and cameras, remote detonators. He calls out how far he is from the target, he’s good at that. His voice carries. Once or twice he’s come upon someone who stares him down and threatens, who watches perplexed from a window as he disarms their hard work. He follows lead wires from where they’re immediately visible with some strange intuition most people lack, follows them with gloved hands until he finds where they end, finds the place that makes them worthwhile. He’s got a sixth sense for it, was told more than once that he was born for it. Like a bloodhound, he could sniff them out, and he was a little reckless. Just enough that he was willing to die to save others, even if he hoped he’d walk away in one piece.

So when he rushes past the barrier and yells “HOTCH!”, he’s acutely aware of the sound of his feet pounding on the pavement, he knows this silence. The silence of the scene around him as people line up outside the barriers set up to watch, catch a glimpse of the destruction, the bodies. No one is talking or shouting, everyone is watching now, watching the crazy man as he runs head first into a situation that is in all likelihood a trap. All of his skilled training goes out the window at the sight of Hotch crouched there on the street covered in blood, at the sight of his SUV reduced to a flaming metal skeleton. His feet crunch through glass and metal fragments, bits of concrete crunch and skip out of his way. The road feels hot, even this far away. That’s a feeling you never get over, the heat of it. You can’t imagine until you’re in it. As he gets closer he can hear the sizzle and pop of the leather seats and the last liquids still pouring out of the engine. He wants to get in there, to try and find the source of it, figure out what made it tick. He itches to do it, but there’s Hotch hunched over and wrecked and he’s drawn there instead. He might have been born to diffuse bombs (and maybe he’ll talk to his therapist about what that means later) but he’s here to diffuse a different sort of situation.

The smell of gasoline turns the smoke into an acrid stench that overwhelms his senses. He gags on the thickness of it and coughs, hunching over as he runs, refusing to stop and give in to his body’s desperate attempt at expelling his lunch. “HOTCH!”

Time moves so slowly, and the heat from the explosion plays tricks on his eyes. It doesn’t feel like he’s gaining any ground, he’s just running on a treadmill, getting nowhere until he skids abruptly to a stop before he steps on Kate’s hair. Her blood soaked blonde hair, sprawled and matted against the crumbled blacktop. There’s so much blood. Too much. He crouches, reaches out with desperate hands toward the ground, toward Hotch, toward anything that will have him. His fingers ache for the simplicity of a few colored wires, a switch, a little black box, some C4. There isn’t anything simple here.

“Hotch?”

It’s clear that the other man can barely hear him, is barely aware of his presence at all for a full beat. Maybe two. Like he’s operating on a delay. It’s scary, Hotch never skips a beat. He’s always right there, fully present, even when the shit is hitting the fan but he doesn’t have time to be scared, so he says Hotch’s name again a little more forcefully and that snaps him back to the plane of existence Derek is currently inhabiting. It’s something, the way his eyes flicker and catch the reflection of the flames that just won’t quit.

He listens to Hotch while he talks about moving Kate, but when he looks down at the woman beneath him he can see it – she’s not going to make it. When he locks eyes with her, it’s clear she knows it too and Hotch’s intense need to save her is breaking her heart. Derek leans down and whispers in her ear something that Hotch probably wouldn’t be able to hear, even if his hearing wasn’t shot to shit. “It’s okay,” he whispers, touching her temple, smoothing the hair back gently. He remembers rubbing Desiree’s hair like this when she was a baby, when she would cry cry cry and he was alone babysitting her so their mom could work her second job. He would stroke her hair and whisper that it was okay, that he was right there, that everything was good. “I got you.” Kate’s eyes flutter closed at that and he has to look away or he’ll cry, but his hand is still against her skin when Garcia calls him and tells him about Sam and now he’s the one who needs to be dragged back to the hell that they’re living in. This isn’t okay, Kate won’t be okay, but maybe he can still fix something. Sam is standing there mocking him, and he looks enough like a bomb to diffuse that Derek thinks he can be useful. He knows exactly which cord to cut.

“Hotch, it’s him. It’s the kid.”

He waits for Hotch’s consent to run after Sam, but he was going to do it anyway. Kate is beyond help, at least his help, and he can hear an ambulance coming closer – it should alarm him, he’ll regret it later with every damn ounce of his being, but for now he runs. He runs because he knows how to do it and he keeps repeating helping, helping, helping. This is how I help. I run, I break down doors and I catch the fucking unsub before he hurt anyone else.

He doesn’t see Hotch again until he’s destroying a small hospital room. Until he’s terrorizing the staff who are only trying to help and find themselves unlucky enough to be trying to care for his rabid honeybadger of a boyfriend. Or boss. Or...whatever the fuck they are right now. He’s not even sure right now, everything has been so weird. It didn’t really matter, not at the moment, because he’s the one in the hospital. The team are waiting for instructions, they’re all scattered. The only thing he’s done is tell Penelope to delegate out the grabbing of Hotch’s go bag, Derek already knew he’d need clothes. His were toast. Ashes and dust. A gasoline and blood soaked nightmare.

“Hotch! Hotch!” He’s starting to feel like a broken record, but this time Hotch seems to hear him. He looks at Derek like he hung the sun and the moon and the stars, with this goddamned painful look in his eye that says he knows Kate isn’t going to make it but don’t you dare ask him how he’s doing or how she’s doing because he will absolutely fucking snap and now is not the time. Derek reads all of that in an instant and he places his hand on Hotch’s chest like he’s a lion tamer sticking his hand right into the lion’s mouth. “Your go bag is on its way. I got you.”

He’s acutely aware that he says that too much. It’s overly optimistic in this situation – as near as he can tell, he doesn’t actually got anyone. He ran after Sam and Sam died, he got to Kate but he knows how that ends, and he’s looking at Hotch and thinking about acute acoustic trauma and shrapnel but he’s thinking there’s no way that’s it, that’s just all he let you look at. The look in his eye, that wild animal feral look frightens Derek – he’s had plenty of concussions in his life, and every time someone has told him he looked wild. Like he was about to snap. The lights aren’t just on, they’re a blazing fire, but no one is home. Total evacuation. That’s the adrenaline, and once that wears off he’ll be left barely conscious. Dead on his feet. They’re on short time.

“Aaron?” he chances the name while they’re alone and Hotch looks at him, the ferocity in his gaze melting into pleading. He’d powerless when Derek calls him that, it’s like closing the door on the world and it’s suddenly just them. His shoulders sag a little and he almost looks helpless. Derek wants to take the word back now.

“The profile is wrong,” he says, because work always makes sense to him. He can always find those cards even when his deck has been shuffled good. Even when he’s standing there without any real memory of how he got there or what happened. “We got something wrong.”

“I know. I know baby. The team will be here soon, we’ll figure it out. We’ll get there.” He takes a chance, calling him baby, and Hotch doesn’t flinch away or admonish him for it. That feels like a victory and he’ll let it carry him the rest of the night. He’s sure it’ll come up again later, that Hotch will regain some of his faculties and tell him to never do that again, but for now...for now he’s good with it.

He’s about to ask Hotch to sit down, just until his bag arrives, when Hotch’s knees buckle and his legs go out from under him. He just crumples in slow motion, doesn’t even try to catch himself. Derek reaches out just in time to catch him beneath the arms but instead of hauling him up he just helps him relax to the floor. “Easy,” he says, trying to gently arrange Hotch in a way that looks somewhat comfortable. All of the color has drained from his face and Derek has about 0.2 seconds to think fast and grab for the little plastic trash can before Hotch is throwing up. It’s barely more than dry heaving, it’s more tears than anything else but Derek holds one hand firm on Hotch’s shoulder and the other holds the trash can until it passes. It’s over quickly. Hotch doesn’t look any better when he finishes, but that isn’t really the point. It’s not food poisoning, it’s adrenaline and concussion and smoke inhalation and a shit storm of other things he’s only guessing at. Probably a hefty dose of vertigo and oopsie daisy he’s on the ground, sea sick on dry land. He tries not to make a big deal of it as he glances into the trash can, glad not to see a mess of blood left behind. There is a little, some bright red tendrils in the bile, but it’s not what he had imagined. It’s a tick in the positive column that had previously been empty.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” Derek says, sliding the can out of the way and helping Hotch slowly to his feet. He’s not putting much weight on his leg while they stand and Derek is careful to watch it while they walk slowly toward the sink. Garcia calls him while he wets paper towels and wipes blood away from tHotch’s chin. He’s just staring at the bloody mess that is Hotch’s ear when he answers, speaking before she even has a chance to start her barrage of questions.

“I’m with Hotch,” he says quietly, leaving Hotch to do the rest at the sink. He’d edged his way in there like he wanted to do it himself, leaning against the weight of it, and the last thing Derek wanted was an argument, not now. “He’s okay.”

“Define okay,” Garcia replies. He can hear the frustration in her voice at him not divulging specifics. They aren’t his specifics to divulge, and even if they were, now wasn’t the time.

“He’s standing on his own, cleaning himself up. I don’t know what else to tell you, mama.”

“Is he really okay?”

“No, I don’t think I’d say that but...he will be.”

“How is Kate?”

He hesitates there, lowers his head and closes his eyes and she reads that silence like an open book. The worst book she’s ever read. “Oh God...Derek…”

“I don’t know anything for sure right now. There’s not a lot of staff here to ask.”

“But you don’t think…”

“It’s not good.” He thinks about the look in her eye. He’s held people as they died before and she had that exact look, the way the light starts fading and they seem to realize it and all of the fear just sort of melts away. She was half gone when he told her that it was okay, that he had her. She was half gone when he touched her hair. “We gotta focus here. Hotch thinks the profile is wrong. Get the team down here, okay? Can you just do that for me?”

“Sure. Yes. Yeah. I’ll...uh...I’ll call them. Take care of him, okay?”

“Already on it.”

A nurse hands Derek Hotch’s go bag, passed off by an Agent who wasn’t allowed inside the hospital because of the bypass order. He frowns at the bag, like that should tell him something, like that’s a clue. His mind is a little foggy too. He’s distracted like it’s him that’s been blown up and smashed around. But there is something there, he’s absolutely certain.

“Here Hotch, let’s get you into some clean clothes.”

There aren’t any shoes in the bag, those are back at the hotel probably sitting on the floor beside the door, freshly shined and waiting. He brings two pairs and alternates. If he’d just oiled and shined them, he wouldn’t put them into his bag, not until they were sealed or they’d rub off on his nice clean clothes. He’s particular about how he presents himself, and it doesn’t often backfire but in this case...it’s not ideal. Derek hunts around for Hotch’s melted and filthy shoes, finding them at the nurse’s station in a trash can with his bloody clothes. He reaches in and grabs them, decides he’ll have to do his best while Hotch fumbles through dressing himself. What other choice does he have? He can’t run around in socks. (He shouldn’t be running around at all, and if this was any other member of the team no one would allow it but...it’s Hotch. No one will stop him, in fact, they’ll encourage him.)

He tries not to look, but the sounds Hotch is making...the little grunts and whimpers and sighing groans...they make Derek feel sick. He focuses on the shoes, though. Paper towel, water, soap. Scrubbing the toes, picking at chunks of metal that melted into the leather, at concrete embedded in the soles. He’s just got to make them work for the night. He just has to be able to wear them to see this through.

Hotch is dressed when Derek turns around finally, and he looks...better. Or worse. He’s not sure. From the neck down, no longer draped in a too large gown, he looks like nothing happened. His thumb works over his nails furiously, the only real outward sign of the storm going on in his head. But his face...his eyes have a tired look now, the fire is gone. He looks ready to collapse. His skin is pale, still covered in flecks of crusty blood, hair still matted with it in places. He’s got a vest lying on the bed, the last piece of his armor and Derek knows that’s going to hurt. He didn’t look when Hotch changed out of the gown and into the shirt but he’s seen enough victims of bombings to know how tender the flesh is after that kind of impact. How easily it rips and tears and burns. There will be blood that stains this shirt, too, given enough time.

“Derek,” Hotch whispers, and Derek comes to him automatically. He helps Hotch slip into his shoes, no way he was going to manage that one on his own. His body is locking up, the drug-like effects of the adrenaline wearing off gradually. He’s in pain and he can’t hide it. Down on his knees, Derek ties the shoes and thinks about the flaming SUV and the device situated beneath it meant to take his world from him. He gets angry as he makes loops of the laces, bunny ears and tunnels and fuck the world. He’s not allowed to be just angry, everyone tells him to take it easy, calm down, but if he can’t be mad now then when can he? Someone put a bomb under the seat of a vehicle being driven by someone important to him – isn’t that the time to get mad?

Derek stands once his shoes are tied and then they’re close, so close, as Derek helps him into the vest. They don’t kiss during active cases, there are rules that make this whole thing work, things they agreed to from the get go, and usually he’s more than okay with that rule but right now all he wants to do is kiss Hotch hard on the lips. “Thank you.” Hotch says it like a magic spell, like it’ll fix everything. Like it’ll fix him, it’ll fix them.

“I got you,” Derek says with a little smirk, and what he means is I’ll take care of you, what he means is I’ll never stop running to you, what he means is I love you. Derek may be an expert when it comes to bombs, but he thinks he’s not too bad at figuring Hotch out too. He’s kind of like a bomb, anyway.

That’ll have to do for now. They have an unsub to catch.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #criminal minds

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

L’histoire secrète de la mer /// Chapter 3

Here we are again! I'll post more tomorrow, but have this for now. Enjoy! x

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Fili x oc/reader - Kili x oc (for this POV fic visit my navigation) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 805

Warnings: Descriptions of Panic Attacks, Drowning, and falling from a height, Graphic Descriptions of Injuries

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE START FROM THE BEGINNING IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY OK LOVE U

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Soon available on Wattpad and AO3

< Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 >

PART 1: Chapter 3 -

Though there be fury on the waves,

Throughout time, it was believed that bridges were gateways to other realms and dimensions, and this is what some people believed supernatural creatures such as ghosts used to cross into the world of the living.

I couldn’t breathe.

And I was panicking.

My mouth gaped open and shut, trying to take a breath in, but air was replaced with liquid.

Liquid.

I can’t swim.

It flowed into my lungs, and I felt myself choke as I forced my eyes open.

Nothing but pitch black was before me. My eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness, looking for a shape, outline, anything that would give me some sort of indicator as to where I was, but to no avail. I flailed my arms about, but they were slowed to a sluggish pace, as if I was underwater.

But I didn’t fall over the edge of the bridge? I definitely would’ve remembered the fall, and the painful impact of hitting the water surface from the height I was at. I continued looking around, wondering if I had been dragged into an underwater cavern, but the chances of one appearing near a waterfall was highly unlikely, especially one that was so far down that light couldn’t reach at all.

I kicked my legs this time, only to be met with the same results. Nothing.

But what was really freaking me out, was the fact that I wasn’t drowning. No searing pain in my chest, no impending sense of doom. Well, maybe the last one a little bit.

I floated there for what felt like hours, reaching out every now and then to see if I could feel something, but, like before, there was nothing. I swayed about at one point, racking my brain to try and recall the techniques Kate had hastily tried to teach me so I didn’t die in the sea in France.

Kicking about, I eventually felt relief wash over me as I managed to find a rhythm, and pushed forwards into the void. A lifetime passed, but then something touched my hand.

Jerking back, I choked on water again as my panic came rushing back. I waited to see if it followed, but when nothing happened, I reached out again. I flinched as my hand brushed against something, but as I reached further, my hand went straight through it. A force pressed on my hand, forcing my fingers apart and I had to stiffen my wrist so it wouldn’t bend backwards.

A current.

At least I thought it was one. Pushing until my arm was almost fully submerged, I tried to feel for the other side, but to no avail. I went to pull my limb out, only to be jerked forwards into the fast flowing water.

I spiralled around aimlessly, the force of the current having its way chucking me about as I tried to push my arms out to steady myself as I was dragged away, trying to fight the dizziness that swept over me.

In a final attempt, I threw my arm out, only to be met with air. Feeling the wind brush over my soaked skin, I desperately kicked until my head emerged. I gasped, gulping in the fresh air before coughing and vomiting up the water in my lungs.

I went to pry myself from the pitch black water-prison, when the world spun. Like it was literally spinning, until I felt my hair fall away from my face, and I figured I was upside down.

A beat passed, then gravity gave way. I let out a scream as I left the body of water, and was able to hear myself this time, the shrill sound echoing all around me as I descended further through the empty void.

The strangest feeling passed over me. The I heard another echo. A scream, but it wasn’t mine. Tears escaped my eyes as the wind ripped past me as I fell further and further into nothing, but I was still accompanied by the other scream.

My speed only increased the more I fell, the roaring air rushing around me as I cried out in fear, praying that this wasn’t purgatory. But to my luck and surprise, everything began to change.

The air became considerably lighter, and colder, until a light began to fill my vision. My eyes soon adjusted, and I was able to make out dark, rolling, grey clouds below me, flashing with lightning. The sound of thunder wasn’t very promising, though, and my relief didn’t stick around for long, packing up its bags and sprinting out the door the second I realised where I was.

Ignoring the fact that I had recently vomited and had stomach acid burning my throat, I began a screaming match between me and the rapidly approaching ground, having now passed the thunderstorm blanket.

Through the remaining daylight, I looked to see where I was to land, and made out a small body of water below.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake’ I thought. ‘Just what I needed.’ Before I hit the surface. Hard.

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

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[mara-xx217]

Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch. 5- The Last Resort

What the hell were you even thinking sticking your arm in there?! Really, what were you expecting? Sometimes there's only one thing you can do whether you like it or not...

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Blood and Other Bodily Fluids, Rape/Noncon, Disembodied Heads, Psychopathic Narcissist, Unsexy Stripping, Forced Masturbation, Amputation, Mind Break, Monster Fucking, Monster Biology, Anal, Drowning Kink, Suicide

You made a fucking mistake. Your gut told you to stop yet you still persisted. As shallow as your descent into the dungeon has been, you should have known better than to go poking around where you don’t belong. Certainly not in a stinking, blood and body filled pit. 

Honestly, what were you thinking? You shoved your arm all the way up to your elbow in a pile of blood and meat and bodies that was twice as tall as you were and that spanned the entire length of the sewer. You might not have known why, but you immediately felt an impending sense of doom wash over you as your arm sunk into the flesh mound, and no sooner than when you pulled your arm free, coated in gore and other foul smelling things, did a head pop out of the hole that you had created. 

“Who the FUCK woke me from my slumber?!” You tripped over your own feet in shock, a terrified scream shrilly bouncing off the blood-slick stone walls around you. 

The head curled his lip as his eyes met yours and proceeded to leave the gore pile. It shouldn’t have surprised you but seeing a talking, bodiless head only made you panic more and you fell ass first into a soupy mess of decomposed flesh. It soaked through your armour and assaulted your senses, making you gag as you tried to comprehend the horror before you. Your display only seemed to piss the floating head even more. 

“SHUT UP! You look like some kind of fucking IDIOT with your mouth hanging open and that SOUND leaving your mouth!” You couldn’t fight it back any longer. You vomited all over yourself. The head seems taken aback, shocked and totally speechless. 

“What an absolutely PATHETIC sniveling little WORM!” He spat at you in genuine disgust. You don’t know what to do. What should you do?! What even was this-?!

“There is still SO MUCH goddamn work to do and YOU- fucking YOU!- come in and shove your grubby little hands in it?!” You gasp and gag every time you suck in a lungful of rancid air. You were going to die. You were going to fucking die in this shithole all because you did something so utterly fucking stupid-! Your heart sank to the depths of the Sulfur Pits as this… thing confirmed your worst fears. 

“I still need more blood for the ritual… I suppose you so RUDELY interrupting my slumber won’t be for naught after all… Kjeh kjeh kjeh…!” No. No- No, wait-! 

“N-NO-! DON’T- PLEASE-!” Your heart sinks lower and lower as the disembodied head begins to mock your pleas for mercy. 

“‘PLEASE- PLEASE-!’ SHUT THE FUCK UP! It’s fucking EMBARRASSING!” Tears welled in your eyes as you felt your impending end approaching. You don’t want to die here. You can’t die here! Not like this! Not here!! You don’t give a shit about honour or whatever the hell it is! You’ll do anything- Fucking anything-!  

“WAIT- WAIT- WAIT- WAIT-!! I-I’ll d-do anything-!” You blubbered as you shifted to your knees. You clasped your hands together as you prayed to whatever god would listen to you for mercy. M-Mercy-! Please…!  

“Oh? You’ll do ANYTHING, huh?! Of course you would, you sniveling little MAGGOT-!” The beheaded wizard absolutely HATED pathetic pieces of shit like you, but it would be a lie to say that you didn’t stroke his ego nicely when you sunk up to your forearm in blood, piss and shit and bowed your head before him as you pleaded for your life. 

“P-Please-! Please, I swear I’ll do anything-!” Your voice quivered as you screwed your eyes shut. You couldn’t stand to look at the river of blood you were soaked in and you couldn’t stand to see if you were about to die or not. It gave the head a moment of pause. You were a worthless piece of shit but… Hmm… Eh- 

Fuck it. Might as well make the most out of your desperation and have a good show while he’s at it. 

“Ugh- If it will get you to shut the fuck up-“ Your heart stammered in your chest. W-What?! Really?!

“Alright you pathetic worm! Swear your allegiance to ME, Nas’hrah, the Doom and Terror of the Modern Man!” You scarcely wait long enough for him to finish his redundantly long title before you proclaimed your loyalty to him. 

“I-I swear-! I s-swear my life to you, N-Nas’hrah, t-the Doom a-and Terror to the M-Modern Man!” It brought him an unending amount of glee when stupid fucks like yourself get into situations beyond your comprehension. It saddened him greatly that he didn’t have his physical form back. There were so many things he would force you to do… But just because he can’t do them doesn’t mean that others couldn’t do it for him…

“Uh huh. And AS your new found master, I already have a task for you.” You kept your eyes screwed shut, fearing his wrath should you do something to annoy him further. You waited… and waited for him to tell you this task he had for you. What if he asks you to kill yourself? The thought alone has your eyes snapping open and your heart racing but you set your jaw and strain your ears over your own heartbeat as you wait for his instructions. 

If only he did command you to kill yourself…  

“Strip naked.” He turned to face down the sewer, a gesture that was lost on you as you stared blankly at the pool underneath you. 

“W… W-Wha-?” You couldn’t have heard him right. S-Strip naked…? Here? You cringed so hard that you nearly dunked your face into the pool of blood beneath you as your new ‘master’ snapped at you.

“What are you?! DEAF?! I said ‘take your fucking clothes off before I set you on fucking FIRE you PATHETIC piece of shit!’” Your head snaps up as you stare at him. You bring your arms to your chest, already feeling vulnerable even though you were not only fully clothed but encased in armour as well. You didn’t want to test the boundary of his patience so you awkwardly stood up as you looked down your blood and other bodily fluid soaked body. 

“Well?! I don’t have all fucking day! GET TO IT!” You screwed your eyes shut as his voice echoed throughout the sewer. 

With trembling fingers, you set to removing your gauntlets before his voice had stopped bouncing off the tunnel’s walls. There was nowhere to put them so you tried to put them on top of a pile of bodies, cringing as their dead eyes stared at you vacantly. Nas’hrah scolded you for even daring to place something of yours on top of what was his.  

“Nuh uh. Drop it. Don’t fucking look at me like that! I said ‘put it on the ground’ or I’ll be putting you in the fucking ground! Idiot…” He was definitely getting off to exerting his authority over you… You grimaced and held back tears of humiliation as you allowed your gauntlets to fall into the disgusting pit of blood. The splash they created reached your upper thighs and soaked through your already ruined clothing. 

Your hands began to shake as you unbuckled your chestplate. It fell into the bloody soup below you and was kicked as you struggled with your greaves. Just take it off and get it over with… When he’s had his way with you… You didn’t even want to think about what he was going to do to you after you took all your armour off. Your greaves came off and you stood there, feeling completely exposed as you hesitated. It all needs to come off… you know it and you hate it… but you hate the thought of dying here more so you try to think of something else as you remove your trousers and your undergarments in one motion. Taking your tunic off made you nauseous enough to gag but you managed to hold it back. You throw it into the liquid below you as you cross your arms, feeling utterly humiliated and terrified as you shift on your feet nervously. It disgusted you how that floating head seemed to check you out, enjoying your misery with a gleeful smirk on his face. Sure, it was nice to see you bare yourself towards him… but it wasn’t enough. 

 Nas’hrah, the Doom and Terror of the Modern Man, wasn’t satisfied yet. Not even close.  

“Hmm… Alright, I want to see how you get yourself off.” Your arms dropped in shock. 

“...what?” 

There was something wrong with these dungeons… It perverts and twists anyone and everyone that enters them and it turns them into degenerate freaks! But it hasn’t gotten to you yet and this was quite literally the last thing that was on your mind at the moment. He can’t be serious, right? You can’t do it. You can’t do it- it’s just not possible! The racing of your mind is halted as an overwhelming feeling of dread, a hostile, primal violence was suddenly directed at you and an excruciating pain suddenly surged through your left arm. 

Your screams of horror and pain were loud enough to be heard outside of the Blood Pit. From just above your elbow and below, your arm was missing. You couldn’t comprehend what just happened! It was there one moment then in a blink of an eye-! You fall to your knees in shock, trying to stop the bleeding with your remaining hand as the beheaded wizard cackles in front of you. 

“Awww what’s wrong? Lost an arm? What a shame! I bet that would have helped you fuck yourself but it seems like wasting my fucking TIME backfired on you! DIDN’T IT?!” Your eyes were bloodshot from trauma and stress and your cheeks were soaked with blood and tears. You nearly lost control of your bowels when a pile of corpses to your right burst into flames.

“OOPS! Looks like I MISSED! I was aiming for your head but I got distracted imagining you doing what I already fucking ASKED YOU TO DO! Let’s see if I hit my mark THIS TIME-!” Something primal inside of you began to crack. You lept to your feet as an animalistic sense of self preservation overtook every single one of your faculties. You didn’t give a shit about how fucked up all this was anymore. You WEREN’T fucking dying here! Not here not now not by this fucking asshole’s flimsy little whims-!

“S-STOOOOP-!!” Your voice was shrill as you removed your hand from the stump of your left arm. You struggle to stand upright as your hand flies to your genitals, the motions you made were the correct ones to elicit a pleasure response but you didn’t feel a thing. 

You didn’t know if you were getting off and you didn’t really care. You would do fucking anything to get this psychopath to leave you be. The feeling of blood against your skin made you feel repulsive and itchy but it was the least of your worries. You gave the disembodied head quite the impressive performance… Oh how Nas’hrah missed his body… He would have bent you over those charred remains and sodomized you until there was nothing left but a leaking, gaping hole that would never heal, leaving you with a reminder of his influence over you for however long you lived after the fact… But he didn’t have a body and it left him feeling anything but content with how this was all playing out. 

Well… if he can’t do it to you… there’s an infinite amount of alternatives that would suffice well enough… And he has just the thing to fill that role for himself…

“Kjeh Kjeh Kjeh…! Oh this is just too fucking EASY!” You barely caught what he said but it wasn’t enough to give you pause. You weren’t going to stop until he told you to. You won’t die here! You fucking WON’T!  

“One’s such a lonely number and two’s a couple… some say that three’s a crowd but I think that makes things so much more FUN!” Down the tunnel, there was a shape that had been watching your interaction with Nas’hrah from afar. Your movements slowed as your eyes found it, and they soon went wide and your remaining arm fell to your side as the sloshing of steps being taken in your direction filled your ears. 

W-What is…- GODS-!! WHAT IS THAT?!

Your face was already pale from blood loss but now it was nearly ashen grey as the rest of the colour drained from your face as a pair of shiny eyes leered at you from the shadows. It was a monster that shouldn’t have existed at all- not in this day and age! A lizard-like creature twice the height of a man that stood on two legs and that carried weapons and wore armour answered the call of its benefactor. Your legs trembled and struggled to carry your weight as its imposing height became more and more apparent to you. It looked down at you with a sadistic grin as its eyes raked up and down your naked and bloodied body. Your eyes were drawn lower as a noticeable stiffness raised the kilt that covered the monster’s lower half. 

Every muscle in your body clenched as your heart stuttered in your chest as the creature’s cock rose to full mast. The reddish purple skin of its member glistened in the dim light and the fabric about the lizardman’s waist bobbed in rhythm with his steps, becoming more and more noticeable the closer he drew. You stumbled back, terror running down your spine as the beheaded wizard laughed.

“Don’t worry… It’s going to be so much WORSE for you than it will be for me or your new friend over there! HA HAHAHA HAHAHA!!” 

It didn’t give you the opportunity to flee. You cried out as a fistful of your hair was grabbed, its claws slicing into your scalp as it threw you into the fetid pool at your feet. You don’t stand a chance, not while missing an arm and not even when you were whole and with your kit still on hand. The taste of rot and decay and filth fills your mouth and your gullet as you thrash and struggle. You don’t want to think about the infection that is surely about to set into your missing limb- you can’t think of it. Not now, not when you were flipped onto your knees and dragged backwards by your hips. 

“NOOOO S-STAY AWAY-!!” Your voice hits a pitch previously unknown to you as the lizardman’s nails bite into your skin. 

The monstrosity didn’t bother with any preparation or foreplay, preferring to inflict as much pain and suffering as it and its barbed dick possibly could. And it already did, even as it crushed your hips in its unnaturally powerful grasp and the head of its flared and spiny cock already stretched and split the puckered surface of your asshole. 

You felt sick as something tore inside of you. A gargled scream that you don’t recognize as your own is deafening in the echo chamber of the Blood Pit. The lizardman shoved your head underneath the bloody pool as it anally rapes you, barking a laugh as you struggle to breathe between the pain of your missing arm and his cock ripping apart your ass and the barbs digging into your sensitive walls every time it moves inside you and the panic and disgust of having your face and mouth and nose submerged in such a disgusting liquid. 

The agony and humiliation you felt only fed into the lizardman and Nas’hrah’s sadistic and twisted sexual desires. It could have been only a few minutes or several hours that you were raped. Between the blinding pain and the constant fight to not drown in a sea of piss and shit and blood and semen, you lost the ability to count the moments of torture that passed. The monster cummed inside of your ruined ass, slamming its hips flush with the fat of your cheeks. Its heavy balls hit the back of your thighs, though between the agony in your rectum and the burning in your lungs and the cramping of your stomach, you could hardly tell. But then it happened again. And again. And again. Again and again and again- 

Over and over again the lizardman used your guts as a dumping ground for its foul seed. It bloated your bowels and would have made you vomit more if you had the opportunity to breathe between the constant dunking of your head and the moments where your forehead would touch the stone floor of the sewer tunnel that remained hidden underneath the bloody river that flowed over top of it. 

Your head was mercifully pulled up by your hair and you vomited up a mouthful of blood and bile. A wretched scream was pulled from your guts every time the lizardman thrusted wildly into your now split wide and gaping asshole. It continued to laugh at your misery between heated grunts. The monster grabbed your remaining arm and speared you onto its cock, hissing and snarling as something deep within you began to separate at the seams. No sound escaped your throat as your mouth hung open. Your eyes were wide but your gaze was unfocused and clouded as you finally began to disassociate away from this torture. 

The lizardman grabbed the bloodied stump of your left arm, digging its claws into the red and raw flesh that still oozed blood, old and fresh. A pleasant CRUNCH of your remaining arm bone shattering had its balls throbbing and with one final slam of its hips, it emptied the remainder of its seed into your ruined insides. There was no tightness or elasticity left in your anus, only a mushy mess of flesh and blood and shit and semen that gave way to any slight movement.

You were pushed off the lizardman’s prickly cock, landing limply and face first into the Blood Pit. You couldn’t raise your head and even if you could… you wouldn’t. Your gaping asshole was left on display, just barely visible at the surface of the bloody river that continuously ran through the dungeon’s sewers. Its foul contents filled both your mouth and your nose and your ripped open anus but you could barely feel it over the despair that prevented you from even trying to raise your head and take the much needed breath that your lungs desperately screamed for. 

That bastard of a head was speaking, gleeful that the monster ruined you in model of how he had ruined hundreds- no- hundreds of thousands of fools that stood in his way in similar fashions that you had done mere minutes- or hours- ago. You didn’t react to any of his jeers or the glob of spit that landed on your back or the promise to finally set you free from your torment via a sacrifice to the god of Fire.

You didn’t have the capacity to care about the humiliation that your broken body has faced. It doesn’t matter anymore. There was only one thing left for you to do now that you were broken beyond repair and faced a trauma and torture that no human would be capable of surviving… 

You stopped breathing. 

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

Ending H- The Last Resort

#fear and hunger #fear & hunger #fear & hunger x reader #fear & hunger ending h #fear & hunger nas'hrah #fear & hunger lizardman #tw non con #tw amputation #tw drowning #tw suicide

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

4x15 House's Head

Starting this duo off strong by giving me an impending sense of doom.

House calling thirteen a lesbian made me chortle. "I was rounding up from 50%" okay L word watcher

CHASE TRAINED IN HYPNOTISM IS SO FUNNY. Also completely on brand

Peacock these commercial breaks are making my nerves worse not better 🫶

The penis sized cortex is small. Okay thanks Wilson 👍 of course he has feelings for amber. Water is wet.

House's hallucinations are a lot of fun. Also very early 00s TV of them to do a strip tease.

House bleeding out of his ear and projectile vomiting. Awesome. House stuck at home with a nurse is funnier. Also he needs to rest or he's gonna kill himself diagnosing this patient.

Okay so he's tying a tourniquet. What do you mean you saved the wrong person.... Oh God. Oh... Oh no

WHATS MY NECKLACE MADE OF IM GONNA PASS AWAY

Wilson and Cuddy giving him CPR....

#house md

[shigarakisbabyy]

The BNHA boys x reader with an anxiety disorder

Reader’s gender is not specified, can be read as male, female, non-binary, etc. This isn’t a list of every BNHA boy, but I will do a part two with more pro heroes and villains if this does well enough.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and self harm, mentions of medication, mentions of violence, vomiting

Content: cuddling, kissing

Eijiro Kirishima

He probably has anxiety too, to be honest

He works with you on finding coping skills and non-destructive ways of dealing with your anxiety

If you’re like me and shake pretty bad during your panic attacks, he’ll hold you and try to get you to take deep breaths with him

He’s always asking if you’re okay whenever you’re out in public or at school; he just wants to make sure you don’t start panicking

He’d memorize your triggers

If you take pills, he’d ask if you took them and make sure you did

Izuku Midoriya

I don’t think he has anxiety, but he probably has other mental illnesses

This bitch basically becomes as skilled and educated about anxiety (especially yours) as your doctor is OVERNIGHT

He’d write down everything about your anxiety (and other illnesses you might have) in a notebook so he can remember it all

He’d talk you through your panic attacks and help you with intrusive thoughts, over obsession on things to worry about, constant sense of impending doom, etc. (if you have any of those)

He’d actually be really easy to talk to and give good advice. And if you just want someone to listen that’s okay too

He’d honestly be really well educated on how anxiety works, the processes of a person with anxiety’s brain, how medication works, etc.. It’s adorable.

Bakugo Katsuki

you cannot tell me this man does not have the worst fucking anxiety known to man

He’d give you coping skills that worked for him and see if they worked for you. If they don’t he’ll research more for you

He’d pretend not to care but he very secretly does. He’d call you a name for getting anxious in public but next thing you know you’re getting dragged back to the safety of home

If anyone gives you shit for it (besides him ofc) he’s blowing them up. To PIECES

If you’re having a really really bad panic attack he’ll definitely hold you until you calm down or try and talk you through it. It’d be one if the only times he’s truly vulnerable and showing how he really feels

It takes a while before he feels comfortable having panic attacks in front of you instead of holing himself up in the dorm or the bathroom, but just like he’s there for you, you’re there for him

Shoto Todoroki

He definitely has anxiety (due to trauma)

If you also have anxiety due to trauma you’ve experienced, he’ll be an expert on helping your through it

Definitely memorized what triggers you

Will try and use his quirk on you so you focus on his ice/ flames instead of the thoughts in your head

It doesn’t matter if you wake up at 3 am panicking, he wants you to wake him up too so he can help you or just be there with you

If you used to self-harm from your anxiety, he’ll kiss any scars you might have and do his best at helping you so you never feel the need to do that ever again. Best therapists, medication if you want it, etc. All paid for using endeavors credit card :)

This man doesn’t really have mental illnesses so he can’t understand it fully, but he is 100% there to support you

Will understand if you need to leave class or can’t focus on getting schoolwork done, he won’t swing his arms at you and tell you you need to “be more responsible” lmfao

Definitely is like Izuku and becomes your own personal expert on anxiety and ways to help

As much as he hates it, he’ll sit out of class with you to help you through a panic attack

He’d definitely be big into cuddling you during them (especially if you have the tendency to SH). He wants to help ground you back into reality

Overall, he’d be very understanding and recognize that there are somethings you can’t do because of your anxiety, and he’d never judge you for it

Hawks

He’d feel terrible that he has to be working all the time and can’t help you through most of your panic attacks

But he does make sure you have state of the art access to therapists, medication, and anything else you might need

I feel like he definitely has anxiety, maybe just not as difficult to deal with or terrible as other people’s

You cannot tell me this man wouldn’t hold you and sit you on his lap and wrap his wings around you

If you wanted, he’d take you for a fly through the neighborhood to help get your mind off things.

If you text him that you’re panicking he’d 100% try and get off work immediately to come see you. If he can’t, the minute he gets home you’re in his arms with no sight of being released any time soon

He’d 100% kiss you all over until you get distracted from it or calm down enough. He’d want you to focus on him until your heart rate slows again and you can talk about it without panicking again 

Shota Aizawa

This man has terrible anxiety. Literally god awful.

You’re both there for each other and support each other through panic attacks

If you’re like me and vomit from anxiety, he’ll hold your hair back (if it’s long enough) or rub your back as you puke. He’d hope you’d do the same for him

He’d let you ramble to him while he holds you and tries to calm you back down

You both see a therapist since you both know that your lover can’t help you through everything

He 100% understands if you wanna call off work together and chill around the house all day and just be with each other. Anxiety can be tiring

#bnha #mha #bnha boys x reader #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #Izuku Midoriya x reader #keigo takami x reader #shota Aizawa x reader #Aizawa x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo Katsuki x reader #kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader

[yummyinmytwistedtummy]

Presentation jitters: An Idia Shroud stuffing story

This was a commission from a friend of mine, @trashytummiez, I'm sorry it took so long doll. I hope it's good! If anyone else wishes to commission me, they are always open!

Mr. Crewel snaps his whip once again and stops in the front of the classroom before turning gracefully on his heel to gaze upon his students.

“I hope all of you were paying attention to that description because I will not be repeating myself for lazy puppies.” His stern voice made several students sit up straighter in their chairs out of embarrassment.

“You will present these on Friday. This means you have 3 days to complete your projects and practice presenting them. Any puppy that isn’t ready on time will get an F.” A few students groaned and sank into their seats at the thought of such a close due date.

“Oh and one more thing, for those who have taken a liking to worming their way out of in class presentations,” he looked over at the floating magipad that seemed to sink a little upon being addressed. “You will be required to stand, in person, in front of this board, and speak directly to this class.”

A few students snickered at the audible gulp that came from the magipad due to the student behind the screen forgetting how high tech his headphones were.

Crewel turned back to his class and snapped the whip fiercely. “That is all. Class dismissed!” he called and all of the boys in the room slid their chairs back nearly in a perfect unison. Each eager to get back to their dorms and either start on their presentation or goof off foolishly with their friends.

The magipad rose above the turmoil of teenage boys crammed together in a small hallway. Swooping over the courtyard, the device swiftly made its way back to its owner in the dorm known as Ignihyde.

Deep in the dorm’s technologically advanced, yet still mysterious and creepy greek architecture, a room devoted to the dorm leader was occupied by quite possibly the most nervous person at school.

Idia Shroud.

The young mage was stuck, frozen in his seat, trembling slightly as his head filled with images of himself standing in front of an entire classroom, speaking aloud, suppressing the need to vomit from so many eyes trained on him.

Idia groaned and sank backwards into his gaming chair while his magipad slipped through the crack underneath the door and found its home on his desk.

“Why me…” he moaned and turned so he could pull his hood over his head. The most introverted student at school had only one wish and it was to be left alone by nearly everyone. Unfortunately the extroverts and sadists of the world seemed keen on making that impossible.

So much for “dreams do come true”.

Shroud sighed and sat up in his chair, glancing at the clock nervously, (like everything else he did), and saw that he still had a couple hours until you arrived. Quickly he shot you a text about the presentation so you were prepared that he might have to ignore you for a little while in order to finish and set to work on the project that filled him with so much dread.

You glance at your phone screen and smile. You have just a few more minutes to spare before you had to be at Idia’s.

Your boyfriend, Idia Shroud, was not what most people would look for in a partner. He was shy, anxious, overwhelmingly competitive, shut in otaku, who could barely look a girl in the eye without bursting into tears or flames.

But with hard work, a boatload of patience, and intensive exposure therapy, you had managed to get him relatively comfortable around you. The only thing left to work on was his confidence when it came to indulging your… interests.

You bit your lip and tried not to be so excited as you looked down at the several bags of food that you had compiled once you knew Idia was feeling a little anxious. You felt a little bit like this was taking advantage of him in the sense that you wanted this a bit more than you probably should. All your insecurities vanished as you reached his door and knocked gently before pushing your way inside.

The flame haired boy was seated at his desk, staring intently at his computer screen. A small pout had wormed its way onto his face and you giggled at the childish huff he made when something on the screen made him frustrated.

Instantly he looked up at you in surprise, likely not having noticed your entrance. He smiled shyly and tugged at one of his sleeves as you shut the door behind you and made your way over to his desk.

Setting the bags down on the bed, you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Idia turned bright red and laughed nervously as you watched him with a fond look.

“So I heard you’re having a hard time.” you spoke gently. He turned to you and frowned at the reminder of his impending doom.

Idia sighed and raised his hand to his mouth so he could reflexively chew on his hoodie sleeve. The mage had always found himself searching for relief from his anxiety in anything that had to do with his mouth.

Sometimes he bit his lips until they were raw, sometimes he chewed on the sleeves of his hoodie, sometimes he pursed and unpursed his lips repeatedly. But your personal favorite habit of his was when he stress ate.

Of all of the students in the school, Idia was one of the few that could be considered truly talented for how much they could pack away. His unnaturally heated stomach digested things far more efficiently than the average person. That and being inhuman made inhuman things far easier to achieve.

Every time you witnessed Idia’s belly swell to incredible sizes you couldn’t help but feel hot. Even more so when he forgot you were in the room, and let out crude belches to make room and then continue eating as if he wasn’t already ballooned beyond normal proportions.

You hoped today would be no different.

“Idia,” you said gently, causing him to look up at you. “Wanna let go of your sleeve for something that’s supposed to go in your mouth?” It was then that he noticed the bags beside you. Almost like a predator picking up on its prey, his eyes zeroed in and he licked his lips instinctively.

*GUuUUOooooRRRggLLEeeee*

Almost on cue, Idia’s stomach growled loudly. The blue haired mage hissed through his teeth and rubbed a hand over his stomach. You giggled and waved your boyfriend over, pleased when he complied.

As Idia arranged himself on the bed, you began to unpack all the food you had acquired for him.

You quickly pulled 2 large pizzas out of the first bag, 4 large pasta dinners came from the second along with a side of half a dozen rolls. The third bag had a footlong and 3 sides of fries. A fourth bag held a dozen brownies and a large blueberry pie. Lastly 2 triple litres of mountain doom emerged from a fifth bag.

In all honesty you may have overdone it with the food, almost always over eager to see how much Idia could really eat before he reached his limit. You assumed he would have no trouble with most of it but everybody had to stop at some point.

Idia got comfortable and finally looked over to the impressive spread of food that you had brought for him. Instantly his eyes widened and his jaw dropped in surprise and hunger, a single stream of drool ran down his chin which he wiped away quickly with a blush.

“Y-you got all of th-this for m-m-me?” You nodded and sat yourself next to him with a smile.

“I thought you would appreciate a selection to choose from.” you said smoothly, as if you hadn’t bought all of this with hopes that he would eat it all.

Shroud swallowed nervously and stared at the food as if daunted. “It’s ok if you don’t eat all of it Idia,” you frowned, “I just thought you might want some food. There’s no need to make yourself sick though.”

He smiled shyly at you. He always appreciated how sensitive you were to his signals. Understanding what he was too afraid to say was one of the things that had drawn him to you in the first place. It reminded him that you loved him whether or not he could fulfill your fantasies.

Not that he couldn’t of course.

With a hungry protest from his stomach, Idia leaned forward and grabbed a slice of pizza. You watched with rapt attention as he tore away nearly half the slice in one bite before chewing and swallowing quickly.

The young mage moaned at the taste and promptly shoved the rest of the slice in his mouth. Only with the first slice did Idia bother taking bites. For the rest of the pizza that he consumed he simply crammed the entire slice in his mouth and let his razor sharp teeth take care of the rest.

Each slice went down swiftly and easily leaving his stomach to burble excitedly at the prospect of more. You bit your lip and squirmed each time a large mass of masticated cheese, sauce, and dough was gulped down, creating a large round protrusion in Idia’s neck before sinking past his chest.

Soon all eight slices of the first pizza were gone. Usually Idia paused and checked on you to make sure he wasn’t grossing you out or anything (despite knowing full well that you enjoy this deeply), but instead he pulled the second box over and began to gorge himself on that pizza as well.

He must be either more hungry or more anxious then you had previously thought, you told yourself.

The pizza he was currently eating was your favorite so you snatched a slice for yourself to eat while he continued to plow through the rest of the box.

As he ate, you noticed that his hand had come to rest atop his stomach contentedly. His belly was becoming a bit distended and bubbled happily as it graciously received more food.

“Urrf… ooh that feels gooood…” Idia groaned and put both hands on his gut when he finished the second pizza. Your face warmed as he sighed after suppressing a low burp in his cheeks. “Excuse me.” You smiled and patted his stomach which sloshed a bit at the contact.

“Don’t worry about it, love. Just enjoy yourself.” He blushed lightly and looked away, making you giggle. In order to distract you from his embarrassment, Idia leaned forward and grabbed the pasta containers, pulling them towards him.

In only moments after opening the first container, all of the pasta had been slurped down leaving Idia to belch softly and sigh. He flushed and placed a hand over his face. You smiled and kissed his cheek which didn’t help his blush.

“It’s alright, let it out when you feel like it.” Idia looked away and slowly went back to eating. Soon he picked up his former pace and you stared eagerly as he swallowed the next three containers of pasta.

Placing the final empty container back on the bed, Idia groaned and held his stomach. You frowned and leaned forward to place a hand on the swollen belly.

It was now the size of a massive watermelon, hanging heavy in his lap. You could feel that he needed to release some pressure, but was suppressing it out of embarrassment. Sneakily you leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips which made his jaw drop, before pressing hard on his bloated tummy.

“HHHUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRP!!!!”

A loud groan emitted from the globe like mass and travelled up until Idia’s open jaws spread further to unleash a large belch. It was loud and clear, filling the air with the stench of italian dough and sauce.

Another shorter after burp came and left Idia huffing and sighing. “Gruuh… hah hah… UUURP! Haaah….” After being with him for some time now, you knew that Idia had a particularly sensitive stomach. Although it could handle massive amounts of food, even the tiniest bit of gas made him cramp up and groan in pain.

You patted his stomach gleefully and slid the bag with the footlong and fries over in hopes that he would eat them next.

Idia’s eyes widened again in excitement and he quickly grabbed the bag and pulled out the foot long. Before eating it he looked over at you curiously. Shifting, you blushed under his gaze and asked him what was wrong.

The blue haired mage then asked, “You like seeing me stuff myself?” You nodded eagerly. This wasn’t the first time he confirmed your kinks and it likely wouldn’t be the last. “Th-then do you wanna see me eat this sandwich in o-one b-b-bite…” His voice got smaller as he spoke and your cheeks got redder. A quick nod and he turned back to the sandwich.

Idia sighed in preparation and held the footlong up to his lips like he was going to kiss it. Then he opened his mouth very, VERY wide, and began to cram the sandwich into it.

Your own jaw dropped as Idia’s throat bulged and buckled to accommodate the sandwich. He continued to feed it into his mouth and you could hardly contain a moan when he finally closed his lips around the end of it and swallowed thickly.

His throat muscles squelched and constricted, eager to move the sandwich down into Idia’s equally eager gut. Soon the belly, still hidden by a hoodie, began to swell. It grew a few inches and you placed a hand on it in wonder.

Finally Idia gasped for air and moaned as he let his hands slide off his stomach, soon to be replaced by yours.

Earnestly, you slid your hands underneath his hoodie and began to rub your boyfriend's tummy, which gurgled contently. A smile slipped onto your lips and you watched as he flushed a dark red at the contact.

“Keep going.” you urged softly and Idia was quick to comply.

With your hands on his stomach Idia had no problems making his way through all of the fries, letting out a greasy burp here and there to make some room.

“Gruh! Salty. Can I get some-” before he could even finish you held up the soda. His gaze flicked back and forth between you and the bottle before you finally smiled sheepishly as he took the bottle.

You shifted in excitement as he unscrewed the cap and the familiar hiss of compressed air leaving a bottle hit your ears. Idia took a deep breath and tipped the bottle up, slugging mouthfuls of soda down by the second.

Sometimes you thought Idia’s throat was like a funnel with the way the soda never stopped lowering in level. Only moments after he started, the soda was below the label, a minute later, it was nearly empty.

Idia’s eyes were shut in concentration and his cheeks flushed with effort. You could hear his throat squelch everytime he gulped. You lay a hand on his stomach and practically swooned. With every swallow you felt it swell slightly beneath your fingers.

Finally, Idia pulled the bottle away from his lips and let it fall to the floor with a huff. He gasped and panted for air for several moments before he winced and his gut gurgled loudly.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLLLPH!!!!!”

An incredible belch erupted past his lips. The dishes left on the bed rattled from the force of it and when the long eructation ended, Idia slumped backwards with a loud moan. You were positive your face was redder than a tomato.

Your boyfriend sighed and slumped, allowing his tongue to hang out of his maw. His cheeks were also flushed.

Ignoring your hands continuing to caress his stomach, Idia leaned forward and avoided your eyes. His shyness whenever he burped in front of you was adorable, as long as he remembered to let loose.

You let your eyes wander over the taut flesh that peeked out from under Idia’s hoodie. As the young mage licked his lips at the sight of a dozen brownies, all soft, chewy, and chocolaty, you slid yourself so that you were sitting directly on top of his knees.

Staring intently at the way your boyfriend’s lips wrapped around brownie after brownie, teeth scissoring through them like nothing, your fingers wiggled their way underneath the fabric that now barely concealed the globelike gut that sat heavily in front of you.

Through a mouthful of brownie, Idia moaned as your fingertips skimmed along his sides. Tracing along the curve of his rounded belly, you smirked when Idia let his head fall back and mouth drop open in a long sigh.

Removing a single hand, you continued to massage his stomach, and sneakily you picked up a brownie and held it over Idia’s open maw. His eyes flashed eagerly, and without further prompting took the brownie from your hand with his teeth.

He chewed slower than he had when he started the meal, but you could tell he was only just starting to feel it. The ever present warmth and weight that came with a full stomach was leading him to lose pace, simply out of content.

You held another brownie out for him and pressed it gently against his lips when he didn’t open right away. Reluctantly, he sighed and spread his lips so you could press another bite inside. Finally after what seemed like forever, the brownies were gone and Idia hiccuped painfully.

“Ooohh… sooooo full…” Idia groaned and stifled a burp while cradling his gut. “UUUUUUrrrrp… gruh…. Fuck, it’s so tight. Urrgh… heavy…” He burped again, quieter this time and wetter.

The bed creaked as you shifted closer, nearly pressing your own stomach against his bloated one. Sympathetic, you delicately removed Idia’s hands and replaced them with your own. Soon his pain filled noises morphed into pleased moans and sighs.

A smile spread across your face at your boyfriend's happiness. Never looking away, you let your hands drop to his pants and unbuttoned them quickly before he could protest.

As the *zzzrriiip* of the zipper flying down on it’s own finished, a strange look came across Idia’s face before he let his jaw drop to release a massive belch.

“UUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLLP!!!!!”

A hellacious stench blasted through the air and made your eyes water when the fetid gas hit them. Loudly, Idia moaned and let his mouth hang open while he panted. A few more burps burst up his throat before he snapped his jaws shut and let them rumble deeply behind his lips.

Pink hues splashed Idia’s cheeks and he whimpered in embarrassment despite your obvious enjoyment of the crass display.

“Shhh. It’s alright Idia. You know I like it,” your hands pushed his sweater up and shirt to expose his large belly. “Let it out babe. I wanna hear you.” While you weren’t always so thirsty this week had been particularly taxing since you hadn’t been able to spend much time with your boyfriend. Now all you wanted to do was enjoy yourself with him.

But first he had to relax.

Gazing down at the expanse of inhumanly pale flesh, you gasped and allowed your hands to fly up and lay themselves against the yoga ball sized bloat Idia was sporting. Huge was the only word that came to mind as you trailed your sight over the belly.

While hidden underneath Idia’s trademark sweatshirt, it was hard to see just how massive he could get. However once removed it was very apparent that he had packed away an entirely large amount of food.

Your fingers kneaded into the soft flesh and above you Idia crooned with delight. A small smile slipped onto your lips and you massaged harder into the mound of gut. Starting on the sides you made sure to work in circles, alternating between large and small ones, as you caressed his stomach.

Your hands slipped underneath and you grasped the skin there and pressed further against him, biting your lip. Sliding a finger up, you traced his navel delicately, deliberately leaving space so you could tease him.

Idia’s eyes had shut in bliss minutes before, but fluttered open when he whined at your lack of attention to the sensitive spot resting atop his spherical gut. Finally you conceded and allowed your finger to slip inside the innie belly button drawing a long moan from your boyfriend. His hips bucked involuntarily and you watched in awe as the skin jiggled in response to the movement.

His cheeks puffed up and he held up a fist to muffle a thick belch. When it finished he hiccuped and sighed before glancing at you nervously.

“HHHHRRRRMMMMLLLPPPHH!”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously, making him gulp anxiously. Quickly you began to knead harder into the belly making Idia whimper and jerk.

“RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLL-BOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRLLLLPH!!!!”

Suddenly a shockingly large burp exploded out of the mage making your eyes snap upwards. The eructation started fairly good, with a long clear blast before it paused momentarily and raised in volume and power. It must have been satisfying because the moment it ended Idia moaned and bit his lip.

You pressed again and Idia hiccuped jerkily a few times before a couple sickly belches dribbled past his lips.

The mage groaned and whimpered, “I think it’s stuck… HIC-uurgh…” he said and you frowned. That was until a glorious idea entered your head as you realized he still had a bottle of soda to drink.

“Idia!” he glanced at you, “Here, this will help.” You held up the bottle for him and his eyes widened before he shook his head vigorously. “N-n-no that’ll only m-make it worse.”

“Please Idia, for me?” you gave your best puppy eyes and he sighed in defeat before holding up his hand for the bottle.

You squirmed excitedly as he took the soda and unscrewed the cap. He flung the piece of plastic somewhere else in the room and gave you a shy smile before upending the bottle.

One of your favorite things to do was watch Idia drink soda. Large golf ball sized bulges continuously rolled down his throat as he gulped down carbonated sugary sweetness even after being stuffed to his limit. A look of strain accompanied his flushed cheeks which had turned red from exertion.

Your hands felt the skin beneath them stretch even further to accommodate the added liquid. You moaned as you watched his gut visibly expand with each swallow and listened so you could hear the thick squelch of his throat and the splash of a waterfall of soda entering his bloated gut.

Quicker than you would have liked, Idia finished the bottle and let it drop and roll off the bed onto the floor. He groaned and placed his hands over his taut skin which was still stretching even after the mass of liquid had finished being consumed.

Idia wasn’t human, that much was obvious. But something that most people didn’t know was that his entire body ran ridiculously hot. He had once described it as having a fever 24/7. He was always hotter than the air around him. Particularly his organs.

It was secretly another one of your favorite things about him. Having a hot stomach meant that when he drank anything carbonated, the soda would fizz faster and fill his stomach with air making it bloat even after he finished drinking.

The blue haired teen panted and shifted uncomfortably and you took note of his displeasure. With a frown you resumed your rubbing and focused on finding tenser spots to press on. It wasn’t long before you discovered one.

More eagerly than you perhaps meant to, you pressed down firmly and a tonsil rattling belch rang through the room.

“BWWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRPK!!!!!”

He sighed when it finished and you smirked when his cheeks flushed, however you knew that the main event had yet to come and continued searching his engorged gut for tight spots.

“BRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRP!!!!”

“HHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMLLLLLLLLLLPH!!!”

“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOORRRRP!!!!!!!”

For several minutes Idia belched and burped uncontrollably as you pressed and kneaded into his upset tummy. Each eruption was long, loud, and ridiculously hot. You squirmed feeling warmer by the second.

The shallow belches were nice, but still lacked the heft that would relieve Idia of his tummy ache.

“HRRPK! Oooooooh… nooo it hurts. Why won’t it come out FuuUUUUUUURRRRK! Gruh…”

You scowled determinedly and leaned forwards making Idia blush. “What-what are you d-doing?” Quickly you wrapped both your arms around his midsection and squeezed as tightly as you could.

Idia’s eyes went wide and a nauseous green look came over his face as he raised a hand. For a moment you feared he would be sick, but then beneath you his entire stomach reverberated with an intense groan.

You could hear it rise in his throat and looked up in anticipation. Despite his best efforts, Idia’s hand was blown away by the single most intense, loudest, longest, most powerful belch you had ever had the pleasure of experiencing...

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU - HHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLP!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

...and it blasted you right in the face. If you could, you would have noticed how the bed shook in its wake, but all of your senses were completely dominated by the burp. Hot and sickly air blew your hair back and your eyes watered even after you shut them. Flecks of spittle landed on your face and beneath you, you could feel Idia’s stomach emptying of gas.

It was perfect. When it finally came to a close after a whopping 14 seconds Idia gasped and panted. You were still stunned when he fell backwards on the bed, taking you with him, the movement making his gut slosh with a loud ‘blooorsh’.

Drool slipped down his chin while his tongue hung out of his open maw. His face was flushed from exertion, making him look even more appealing.

When time caught up to you, the hearts in your eyes danced as you dove forwards to plant a sloppy kiss on your boyfriend's lips. He immediately embraced you back and tiredly smiled at you when you pulled back.

“I take it you enjoyed that one?” You nodded vigorously, making him chuckle.

“And I take it you are finally relaxed?” you asked hesitantly, hoping the answer would be yes.

“Well, I’m full of delicious food, holding my kinky girlfriend,” you glared teasingly, “and too tuckered out to feel embarrassed so, yeah I’d say I’m doing pretty good.”

“Good” you said before kissing him on the nose. Regardless of his earlier boldness he blushed with an eep and hid his head in your neck. A quiet “I love you” was mumbled into your skin and you smiled, “I love you too Idia.”

#stuffing kink #stuffing story #stuffed tummy #stuffed belly #stuffed gut #stomachache #burp scene #burping kink #burp kink #belly burp #burping #burp #commisionwork #bloated belly

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hello!!! i am a big fan of your writing & how you depict very raw emotions, i always feel like i'm right there in the moment :}}} i'm writing a whump series & i wanna glean as much advice from as many good writers as possible!! advice as to how to write better (effective) panic attacks, especially if its from a stoic used-to-punishment whumpee who doesn't express a lot Emotion?? i appreciate it!! (p.s. are you open to getting asked writing advice in general?) thx!! - newbornwhumperfly

CW: Frank discussion of panic attacks/anxiety/PTSD

I actually get a lot of writing advice asks! You can see my answers to other questions here on my #writing advice tag!

I think people tend to rely heavily on a certain kind of panic attack, including me - obvious panting or breathing hard, curling up into a ball, covering vulnerable areas. Racing heart, shaking/trembling, racing thoughts, disjointed or disconnected thought processes that jump quickly

That may not be the kind of panic attack that suits your whumpee, though! Consider writing them growing outwardly calmer and more capable, even as a sense of pure impending doom settles within their chest. Especially with a stoic whumpee who is used to suppressing any outward emotions, it may not come naturally to them to show panic, and what may happen instead of an internal monologue that is just [WORDLESS SCREAMING] while outwardly they continue to function at close to normal or even become hyper-effective and efficient to cover up their mindset.

Symptoms of panic attacks include but are not limited to:

A sense of impending doom (this is such a specific emotion/physical sensation and it is such a huge anxiety thing. You literally physically feel as though everything is about to fall in on your head RIGHT THIS SECOND YOU ARE GOING TO DIE GO GO GO only nothing is actually wrong and there’s nowhere TO go)

Fearing that you’ve lost control of your own body or you are going to die right now now now now

Rapid heartrate, pounding heart

Cold or hot sweats, feeling sweat break out even in a chilly place or cold room

Trembling, shaking throughout the extremities or body

Chills and/or hot flashes, a sense of sudden temperature change regardless of the actual temperature of your location

Nausea/vomiting

Abdominal cramping or chest pains, often sharp (many people believe they are having a coronary event/heart attack when they have panic-attack chest pains)

Headache, either dull and throbbing or sharp or stabbing both can happen

Dizziness, lightheadedness (NOT the same as dizziness!), or feeling faint

Feeling numb, or like your limbs are tingling/fingers or toes feel tingly

Dissociation - a feeling of unreality, detachment from the world or environment around you

Intrusive thoughts - these don’t show up often in lists of panic attack symptoms but I know that during my worst panic attacks, I start to get really bad intrusive thoughts that cycle over and over again until I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. While they don’t go away entirely during my daily life (I still struggle with intrusive thoughts as part of my anxiety disorder), I am more able to deal with them when I’m not actively in a panic attack. During a panic attack, though, I am totally at the mercy of whatever doomsday scenario my brain has started to feed me.

Repetitive behaviors - this is another that doesn’t show up on a lot of panic attack lists, but it’s something I have seen in myself and others. Especially with PTSD-related panic attacks, you may see someone falling into behaviors they learned in, say, the military or another situation in which a coping mechanism becomes muscle memory. An army vet I know, for instance, would often find himself essentially patrolling his yard during panic attack because he couldn’t calm himself down unless he did. 

Panic-stims - listen, stimming to soothe during a panic attack is honestly a fairly widespread thing that we often call a “nervous habit” or something like that when explaining it to ourselves or others later. But consider - rocking back and forth, chewing on their fingernails, insistently pulling on hair or twisting a button back and forth or rubbing fingers over its surface. Self-soothing behavior during a panic attack is incredibly common. Danny, for example, rubs insistently at his scars when he is panicking to soothe himself. Chris (who is autistic) falls into self-harming negative stims if his panic is pushed too far, like scratching at himself or hitting his head repetitively into a wall. 

On the other hand, going very very still! Often, people who are panicking aren’t immediately recognized as doing so because they DON’T have an obvious response. Nate’s panic attacks sometimes simply equal him going very very silent and still, which is easy to miss. 

One thing I do, since I tend to write in third-person character POV (I write, for example, “Chris thought” or “Danny thought” but only write one person’s perspective per drabble most often, so it’s not omniscient or all-knowing) is start having my POV character’s thought fragment, become broken or run on endlessly, cycling past the same thoughts (intrusive, usually) over and over again as they begin to break down. 

Speed up their thoughts, scatter sentence fragments. Write with the same urgency and speed as the individual who is panicking. If you write someone panicking in a stately, slow pace, it won’t read as panic. It won’t read as something genuinely happening to your character. Pace is everything when it comes to writing a breakdown. People fall apart, as they say, slowly and then all at once. But in our own minds, it can feel like an avalanche, and it works best I think, personally, when written as an avalanche and not a slowly running river. 

Hope this helps!

#panic attacks tw #panic attack tw #panic attack #writing advice #writing

[championsaremade]

Hi Chris! Is it possible for anxiety to manifest as a choking/tight feeling in the throat? Nothing is physically wrong with my throat, but the more I fixate know the feeling the worse it gets. I am now afraid to leave the house as I have a fear of vomiting and this sensation makes me feel like gagging. I am overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom because of this. I just want to feel like my old self again, able to eat and be in public without crippling panic...

Hi anon! this is personal opinion and not medical judgment but i personally do believe that emotions manifest as physical symptoms. i am a huge believer in the mind-body connection and when we aren’t properly releasing or handling stressors, they can come up as physical sensations...that’s why anxiety is often associated with not being able to breathe/tightness, anger with tension, sadness with feeling lethargic/etc. have you ever spoken to someone ABOUT the anxiety? what is causing it? how long have you been experiencing this? and of course, it’s always helpful to rule out any medical conditions. please seek professional help baby! be careful & safe!

#anxiety #health #answered

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

This story takes place during the Sanders Asides Are There Healthy Distractions Episodes, suggested by @heavy-metal-papillon . The idea comes from Logan voicing Deciets line when he pops up to grab his hat from Logan, so in this story Deciet and Logan switched places in the episode.

Switching Sides

Summary: Logan wants some time to himself and Janus wants to enjoy a movie with the other sides in peace. They support and respect eachothers wants and needs, agreeing to switch places for movie night. In doing so, they both gained a bit more than they bargained for.

Warnings: none, but if you see any just say something!

Ships: platonic Lociet, past platonic Anciet

WC: 2, 305

Janus adjusted the his tie one final time, giving himself a once over in the mirror. His hair was combed back smartly, hat tucked away safely in his room for the time being. He had gotten the type right this time, and the white embroidered brain logo stood out against the plain black polo. The stiff dark Jean's were a little uncomfortable but the dress shoes fit nicely so he couldn't complain too much. This had to be perfect, even if it was a somewhat casual setting, he couldn't afford to-

"You know you could've just asked."

Yelping, he whirled around to face the real logical side currently sizing him up with a less than impressed expression. "We aren't discussing anything important today, why are you replacing me again?"

Janus sputtered. "I wasn't!"

Logan's eyebrow raised even more. "So my choice of clothing is just that comfortable, right down to the glasses?"

"...yes."

"Janus."

The deceitful side snapped his head up to glare at the other. "Not so loud! You dont know if one of the others would hear!"

Logan cleared his throat. "No one is left in the mind scape currently except us. Even Remus is currently hiding behind the couch. I assure you no one will overhear us, though of course I will call you Deciet if that would make you more comfortable."

Narrowing his eyes, Janus took a careful step back. "Why aren't you angry at me?"

Logan shrugged. "Why are you disguising yourself to simply watch a movie?"

"Because I-well in case...just in case something comes up that....hes using this to distract himself and that's sort of like lying to yourself so it stands to reason i would want to be there." Satisfied with jus excuse he glared at the other, daring him to argue.

But Logan simply nodded. "I've been meaning to get more work done anyway and would rather do that than watch Roman rig the vote multiple times only to complain about the plot of the movie he picked out. Straighten the tie and be careful."

"Just...just like that? You don't even care?"

"I require time to....gather my thoughts, after the more recent dilemmas Thomas seems insistant on making harder than they should be. Peace and quiet would be nice right now and if you're willing to take my place then I wont argue." Nodding more to himself, Logan reached out to hand him a thermos. "Caffiene helps stave off the inevitable headache. I highly recommend it."

Dumbfounded, Janjs could only clutch the thermos go his chest as he watched the logical trait walk back to his room and quietly shut the door behind him. Something he couldn't quite identify tugged in his chest but he brushed it off quickly and sunk down to the apartment below.

Patton was the first to notice him as he settled down stiffly on the couch, waving excitedly and almost spilling what looked like cocoa all over the floor in the process. Nodding he looked up as Roman began to speak.

"Finally! Now that we have our resident nerd here we can vote." Janus watched curiously as little slips of paper were passed around, narrowing his eyes at the clump that Roman hid in his sleeve but decided not to say anything. He looked over as Thomas cleared his throat, taking the paper offered to him with an excited smile which he quickly dropped in favor of Logans usual impassive expression. He didnt expect to win the vote, but maybe since it was movie night they'd watch all the suggested films to make it fair. He didnt really know how this was supposed to work, Remus and....well, nobody ever watched movies together in the part of the mind he resided in.

Quickly jotting down his selection he waited rather impatiently for the rest to finish, gripping the paper tightly as a hat was passed around.

Wait.

He could only stare as the collection hat got to him. How had they gotten his hat? When did they even get it?....How often did they sneak into his room without him knowing? He wanted so badly to yell, take his hat and sink out, but that wasnt who he was right now.

"Hey L, you good?"

His head snapped up so fast he felt his neck creak. Virgil had never....not for a long time....that tone of voice wasn't for him. Virgil stayed with the "light sides" now, he only showed concern for them. Swallowing around the lump in his throat he reluctantly handed the hat back to Thomas to give back to Roman.

"I'm adequate thank you."

His hand shook slightly as he raised the thermos of coffee to his lips, but if Virgil noticed he didn't say anything.

Swinging his attention back to the current conversation he caught Pattons response to whatever had been said. "...voted for Frozen Roman but I'm still rooting for-"

"Oh my gosh! One hundred percent of the votes went to Frozen!"

He scowled as Patton cheered. "No, fu - falsehood, I did not vote for Frozen!"

"You didn't get a vote because you didnt wear a onesie!"

Taking a preemptive swig of coffee, he mumbled out, "I don't wear those anymore, they're too childish."

"No onesie, no vote, like our founding fathers believed!"

Janus snorted quietly, covering it up with an exasperated sigh as he settled more into couch. While the movie was being set up he glared again at the stolen hat on the floor, bringing out his phone discreetly.

Dee: I know I don't have much right to ask you this, but might I request a favor?

Logan: I assure you it's fine. What do you need?

Surprised at the quick response he continued to type, glancing up every now and again to be sure no one noticed his silence.

Dee: Roman stole my hat somehow, I was wondering if it would be possible cor you to get it back? I know you don't like shifting but I'm not sure how discreet it would be for me to try and get it as you.

Logan: It isn't that I don't like it, I'm just not equipped to be good at it. It does not make logical sense to disguise oneself, therefore I am at a disadvantage when it comes to such things. However, I can replicate your scales if I may have permission to 'raid your wardrobe' so to speak. Only with your permission of course.

Dee: Thank you and it's fine. Just dont go snooping around. You may not like what you find.

Logan: I will not. I have no reason to do anything other than procur clothing and so that is all I will do.

Sighing in relief, Janus settled back somewhat comfortably to watch the movie, letting the other sides' idle chatter wash over him.

----

"Fear will be your enemy."

Janus snuck a glance at Virgil at this line, glancing back away quickly at the look of panic that flashed across the anxious sides face. He wondered if Virgil would ever open up about his true nature....though perhaps until things truly calmed down it was for the best he remained determined to be closed off.

----

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Remus popped up suddenly behind him, clapping his hands at the prospect of Anna and Elsa's parents dying at sea, seemingly completely naked and comfortable enough to showcase go the entire living room. Janus shot him a warning look as Remus peered at him curiously, thanking God that for once Remus seemed content to keep his mouth shut.

----

"Wait, Hans is tricking Anna making her believe hes in love with her, but shes not around...why make that face?" He had watched the movie before of course but now that he had people to discuss it with that weren't making sexual innuendos every other sentence he felt much more comfortable speaking out.

"Yeah your right...."

Janus promptly turned out the rest of Roman's sentence, discreetly entering the date into his phone that Roman had admitted he was right in something, even if he didnt know who he was speaking to.

----

"Do you think this place has a lavatory?"

"Ice toilet!" Patton giggled.

"Or a bed?" Roman countered.

"Ice bed!"

"This place sounds awful." His nature made his blood run colder than normal anyway and the thought of sleeping on a freezing cold bed on top of a mountain surrounded by walls of ice made him very much wish he had in fact worn his onesie.

----

Janus chugged another mouthful of coffee in irritation. "You meddled with the vote to ensure we would watch this and yet you're the one constantly making fun of it."

"Look, this is how I show my love!"

Janus rolled his eyes and settled back into the couch wondering if Roman showed his love this way with the others just as much as he did with his beloved disney films.

----

Janus watched as Virgil voiced his thoughts on the matter that had made them all plan this movie night in the first place. A familiar kind of second hand hurt tugged in his chest while the others' thoughts spiraled further and further, unconsciously blanketing the room with an ever more suffocating blanket of anxiety. He watched as Roman grimaced from across the room, Patton fidgeting in place and gripping his mug ever harder and Thomas dragging fingers through messy hair as Virgil only continued talking faster and faster, becoming more and more worked up as the literal word vomit consumed any rational thoughts left in the room.

"Thomas, Virgil?" He waited calmly as Thomas peeked out from his hands and Virgils panicked face snapped towards him. Pushing down the old familiarity he continued on. "Please do me a favor and name me five things that you can see."

"Staircase." Thomas sighed.

"Impending doom." Virgil quickly countered.

"Olaf."

"A future without friends."

"Lamp!"

"Blinds."

"Pants."

"Now four things you can feel."

"Pants."

"A bad feeling."

"The couch."

"Wall."

"Hair."

"Three you can hear." He smiled in relief as Virgil began to participate more, visibly calming as his mind was brought back to the present.

"Olaf."

"The fan."

"The ice machine for some reason."

Thomas really needed to fix his appliances. "Two things can smell."

"Clean shirt."

"The deodorant Thomas put on because....he was gonna go out tonight."

"And one thing you can taste."

"A sour taste in my mouth probably leftover from those reheated tai noodle leftovers."

Both variably more calm, Janus tried gently explaining the technique he had used, though he knew they both already knew it seemed like a good idea to remind them that they were allowed to use the technique whenever they needed it.

"Thank you, Logan." Thomas breathed out as he leaned forward tiredly.

Janus smiled, going to take another swig of his dwindling coffee when he caught site of a figure dressed in black and yellow on the stairs, nobody having noticed his presence yet.

Allowing himself a smirk behind the thermos, he responded. "No problem. Just your cool teacher being his cool self."

He smiled slightly wider as he heard a quiet scoff from the figure, just loud enough that he could hear it. He hoped Logan didn't think he was making fun of him, this was a rare day where he hadn't lied once around the others.

----

Logan settled quietly on the stairs til the end of the movie, seeming content to join them quietly until Roman brought Janus' hat back out.

After they had discussed the movie's ending, with Virgils anxious thoughts still persisting, he realized they needed to do something else that more actively distracted them all from the situation. As Roman brought out his hat to vote on another activity Logan stepped in quickly, Virgil hissing at him much to Janus' amusement while Logan snatched his hat back without a glance in his direction.

"I was looking for this! Don't touch my shit!" Janus bit his lip hard to keep from busting out laughing at the reality of Logan swearing at Roman for him, a warm feeling enveloping him as the others continued with whatever conversgion they had moved on to. His focus came back as the ending of some kind of Frozen fix it fanfiction was being discussed, making it very hard not to feel smug as his suggested was acted upon and Thomas definitely seemed happier than he had previously. Not being needed for whatever ridiculous story was sure go come out he sunk back down into the mind scape, startling slightly when he appeared right next to Logan who was currently fixing a spare tie as he left Janus' room.

"Ah, you're back. I left your hat on the bedside where I assume it was taken in the first place. I'm the future know that with a little concentration we are able to keep certain sides out of our rooms. I would suggest you utilize this to prevent future thievery."

Janus shook off his disguise and held out the stolen tie. "Thank you...for letting me, well you didn't have to allow me to ho in your stead. I....appreciate the trust."

"Keep it." Logan gestured to the tie before turning away. "Just in case."

Janjs watched in confusion as Logan returned to his room to lock himself away again, finally sighing and turning to his own. Smiling a little he laid the tie carefully in a drawer before plunking his hat back on his head, shoulders sagging in relief at the familiarity.

It was nice to pretend to be someone else and talk with fake friends. But maybe, in allowing himself vulnerability, he had found himself another real one.

This work is also available on AO3!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #lociet #logan sanders #deciet sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #ao3

[fortheloveoflizards]

What Hides in the Storm

Lol, catchy title, I know. But we ain’t here for titles, or at least I’m not. I’m here to give you my version of the official “end” to Hailstorm’s story. Y’know, Winter’s brother? The one he spent all his book looking for that the entire fandom promptly forgot along with his sister aside from the occasional art featuring Pyrite? Him. Where he at?? Where’s Icicle? Does anyone care except me??? Apparently. So here’s some word vomit probably featuring a lot of triggering things and also me attempting to match the majesty of Tui’s writing. Have at thee!

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Hailstorm felt sick in the rainforest. Not for the same reasons as the other Icewing representatives, no, although he did know why. Knowing what it was, remembering Her, was what twisted his stomach into thousands of knots until it hurt just to breathe. He kept coming back, though. He could never let anyone see it. Not his mother, not his Queen, nor any Queen of any tribe or any dragon at all, for that matter. No one except Winter could know Hailstorm’s shame. So he kept moving. Through the tangles of vines, under the trio of fallen trees forming a rough land bridge, in the direction of the moon globe tree saplings that his Queen had sent him to oversee. Hailstorm had been one of the dragons sent to the rainforest with the cuttings that Queen Glory had requested, as Queen Snowfall had agreed to continue with the plan her mother and Queen Glory had come up with rather than revisit it. Hailstorm got the distinct feeling that Queen Snowfall just wanted to forget about Icicle, let rot in her cell ‘til the end of her days. Hailstorm wished he knew how to feel about that. He wished he knew Icicle well enough to feel sad or angry or relieved about her fate. Once more, as Hailstorm swooped level with the pale white saplings, he felt only a deep mourning feeling, for the years he missed and the years he didn’t, all of them fuzzy and chipped around the edges. But he felt next to nothing for Icicle, herself. Just that he should be feeling something. Hailstorm shivered as his talons sunk about two centimetres into the muddy rainforest floor, the cloudy sky above the canopy echoing his displeasure. He’d heard many of the other Icewings complaining that the mud was unbearable, and he felt like he agreed with them. But he also felt like it wasn’t much different from the snow in the Ice Kingdom. That, too, was cold and wet and stuck to your claws and made walking uncomfortable. Were those treasonous thoughts? Maybe. He knew it was certainly not good that the next place his mind went was the dry, cool stone of the Sky Kingdom. How it held steady under and around you even as the wind clawed at your wings and threatened to drag you away. How there were always clawholds for you to catch yourself after misjudging a landing. How Hailstorm could still feel his claws scraping against the stone. Hailstorm shivered and mentally shredded those thoughts for the thousandth time. Hailstorm had a job to do. He slowly circled each plant, checking that they were clear of any disease or danger, and that they each still had direct sunlight and room to grow. Honestly’ Hailstorm wasn’t quite sure what any of these issues might look like, or how he would deal with them. It seemed that Queen Snowfall was just trying to make it seem like the Rainwings would need the Icewings’ help in order to care for the plants. Although Hailstorm felt like, if anything, it would probably end up being an Icewing who messed up the saplings. Hailstorm actually got a distinct sense of deja vu, snooping around the saplings, like he might be looking for some creature that might suddenly pop out. Regardless, he completed his rounds as quickly and carefully as he could. Flick away that creepy looking bug there, pack more dirt around here, nod a greeting to those Skywings over there. Wait. Hailstorm whirled around to face three Skywings about his age. He pointedly situated himself between them and the moon globe saplings although none of them seemed interested in the plants. They were all looking at him, with eyes he’d grown used to seeing, that now felt like they were peeling off Hailstorm’s scales. Hailstorm swallowed heavily as the largest one stepped forward. She cleared her throat, stretched her neck and raised her chin, although Hailstorm was still roughly half a head taller than her. “Commander Hailstorm. I am Commander Maroon. These are Commodore and Cyclone.” She gestured to the Skywings behind her, the former of whom nodded stiffly, while the latter cracked a small smile that that sent little shivers all along Hailstorm’s body. Thunder rumbled above their heads, like the sky realised when he did. He knew this dragon. She knew this dragon. She had loved this dragon. And Hailstorm was in danger. Just glancing into those warm amber eyes and at those pristine, tiger orange scales made Hailstorm’s heart flutter with feelings he was sure he didn’t really feel. Commander Maroon cleared her throat again and Hailstorm instinctively snapped to attention. Looking slightly surprised, Commander Maroon began what sounded like a rehearsed speech, though by the time Hailstorm’s brain got to processing it, she might as well have been speaking through a hurricane. Or a cyclone, his treacherous brain whispered to him. Hailstorm felt like he was sinking lower and lower into the mud, as if the rainforest sensed his doom and was trying to swallow him up to stop him from escaping it. Everything he had been working so hard to restore was now teetering on the edge of a great cliff. One push, one word from this dragon would send it down, down to smash against the sharp rocks below. Commander Maroon was finished, waiting expectantly for his answer. Hailstorm blinked a few times, trying to clear the wind howling in his head. Moon globes. They’d come here for moon globe cuttings. Queen Ruby wanted cuttings for her Kingdom as well. This dragon was not here to expose Hailstorm. He was here to help his tribe. Hailstorm took a breath and squared his shoulders, snapping his wings tight against his sides, hoping it would hide how they were shaking. “Queen Snowfall’s decision will take at least three days. Tell Queen Ruby that she will have her answer as fast as wings can fly.” Commander Maroon nodded, although she seemed a bit concerned. Had he answered too abruptly? Had he offended her in some way? Moons above, why was that dragon still STARING AT HIM? Hailstorm focused on breathing as Commander Maroon and Commodore walked off. Cyclone turned to follow them, but turned back to stare at Hailstorm again. Their eyes met and Hailstorm bit his tongue to keep from crying. And then Cyclone was gone. Leaving Hailstorm to sit and shiver as the sky opened above him.

Hailstorm felt sick in the Ice Kingdom. There was a malevolence about the way the tribe treated each other. A sort of “You are not worth anything if you cannot prove your worth” mindset that seemed to put every dragon in a permanently foul mood. It had stunned him when Winter first brought him back. The Ice Kingdom looked so perfect from above. Clear and bright, reflecting the magnificence of the Aurora, with immaculate homes surrounding a crystalline palace that seemed to pull the light from the sky and project it into Hailstorm’s bones and his heart, calling him home. Or so he had thought. It now appeared to have been a trick. A pretty wrapping around an ugly truth. At least in the Sky Kingdom dragons treated each other like dragons. The Skywings’ cliffside homes and hanging basket gardens were messy and rough and constantly windswept. But it was a community. When the carrot basket from your garden got carried away by the wind there was always a dragon chasing it with you. When your throat was sore from breathing too much fire, there would be several others singing twice as loud in your honour at festivals, and at least one who offered you honey tea. Here, if you lost something, you were forgetful and careless. If you tripped over your talons you were clumsy. If you ate a seal when any of the moons were full you might as well just throw yourself into the ocean. Or at least, that’s what it felt like to Hailstorm. He should have been glad when the Queen chose him to lead the team to deliver the moon globe cuttings to the Sky Kingdom. He should have been relieved to escape his mother’s gaze, her expectations. Her necklace of Skywing teeth that haunted him day and night. But all he felt was cold fear. The Sky Kingdom. The one place in all of Pyrrhia where Hailstorm knew he shouldn’t be. He couldn’t be. Hailstorm had very nearly broken down and started begging Queen Snowfall to reconsider. But he knew that would be just as dangerous. To show that kind of weakness in front of his Queen? Hailstorm would plummet down those insipid rankings faster than the fish that evaded his talons. So he’d stayed silent. He’d accepted his orders, praised the Queen’s intelligent leadership, and returned to his room to prepare. Certainly not to cry. No. Okay, maybe a few tears slipped out but they froze instantly, so they don’t count. Hailstorm managed to get his breathing under control moments before the messenger came to inform him of his team’s impending departure. Hailstorm’s wings had felt heavy as he took to the air, a little lopsided thanks to the bag of cuttings in his talons, but he powered forward, each wingbeat bringing him closer to what he was sure would be his undoing.

Hailstorm felt very sick in the Sky Kingdom. The strong winds fought him more than he had anticipated, as if they, themselves remembered who he had been, and in their rage, sought to destroy him. It was dizzying to have such clear memories of swooping along these air currents, of having wings capable of catching him if the wind won. Hailstorm managed to land without damaging the cuttings, thankfully. He was greeted by Commander Maroon and Commodore, with no sign of Cyclone. Hailstorm wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or nervous over the dragon’s absence. “Commander Hailstorm. Queen Ruby is most pleased that you’ve been able to make this trip in such short a time. The Queen is confident that this is the start of a strong friendship between our Kingdoms.” Commander Maroon paused, studying Hailstorm and his team. Her eyes softened. “On behalf of Queen Ruby of the Skywings, I invite you and your company to rest in the palace for as long as you need. You will be provided with whatever you require for your trip home.” And, before Hailstorm could protest, Commander Maroon scooped up the cuttings and disappeared into the mountain. Commodore stepped forward and gestured for Hailstorm and his group to follow him. Hailstorm had to admit, the flight had been exhausting and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to returning to the Ice Kingdom. But the idea of staying here, in the palace, sleeping no doubt dangerously close to Cyclone, Hailstorm could barely stay upright as he followed Commodore through the familiar-unfamiliar tunnels. Hailstorm could only fear what kind of nightmares he might have tonight. He couldn’t stay here. But to leave now, after such a trip and an invitation from the Skywing Queen. He knew what that would do to his ranking. He would have to stay. No longer than a day is what Hailstorm promised himself. A day. Then he would be gone, winging away from the memories and the wind and the cliffs and Cyclone. It was strange, Hailstorm found himself unable to stop thinking of that Skywing. He knew how She had felt. He could see Her memories flashing behind his eyes. Queen Scarlet ordering Her away during a festival. Wandering between stalls and dragons, squeaking apologies that weren’t necessary. Coming across a gambling stall. Agreeing to have a go at the owner’s aggressive invitation, if only to make him happy. Accidentally winning. Feeling guilty for “tricking” him and returning Her winnings. Turning away only to run into him. Instantly apologising for running into him and for being in his way and for staring at his pretty scales. His laugh hitting Her like golden sunlight on a cloudless day. Him inviting Her to join him for spiced mountain goat. Her being about to decline and inform him of Her awfulness. But a bright shard of ice in Her mind makes Her gingerly accept. He acted as though he didn’t realise how annoying She was. How clumsy and useless and generally not good She- Hailstorm coughed to hide the choking noise his throat made. Hailstorm struggled to remember the breathing exercises Winter had taught him during one of his visits. Hailstorm vaguely registered Commodore welcoming him to his guest cave. He was just starting to breathe regularly when he saw Cyclone approaching at his right. Moons, what his he going to do?  The panic on Hailstorm’s face must have been obvious, as both Commodore and Cyclone gave him significant looks, disgruntled and curious respectively. Hailstorm choked out a thanks to Commodore before ducking into his cave. He hid in there until he was sure everyone was gone, and only then did he bother to explore his temporary quarters. The cave was decently sized, not very fancy but clearly designed with it’s position in the palace in mind. Hailstorm could tell this cave had not been here during Scarlet’s reign from the distinct absence of blinding gold. Hopefully, then, he would be able to get some sleep. The quicker he rested, the quicker Hailstorm could escape this mountain of dangers. Hailstorm faintly worried about nightmares before sleep took him.

He felt sick. He couldn’t figure out why. It was so peaceful here, with Cyclone. The Skywing was nestled warmly against his scales, one large, perfect wing over his back. He forced himself to ignore it, he was just paranoid, moons he was pathetic. It was probably his fear of Queen Scarlet finding them out. She was so smart and powerful it would be easy for a dragon like her. She could have everything he had. Treasure, strength, mind, soul. Everything except Cyclone. Cyclone was his. His one perfect, unchanging thing in all of Pyrrhia. And, he supposed, Queen Scarlet couldn’t have his heart. That belonged to Cyclone. It always would. The Skywing beside him turned to smile at him, making his scales tingle. Cyclone leaned in and nuzzled against his golden-orange scales-

Hailstorm jumped awake, gasping for air he couldn’t find. He wasn’t home. He was surrounded by stone. Queen Scarlet had him. I need to get out. Hailstorm scrambled to his feet. The cave entrance was unguarded. She didn’t think he would try. Why bother. I’ll never get away. Hailstorm’s talons felt like the were mae of stone, part of the mountain, rooting him there. It was only Winter’s face in his mind that moved him. I can’t leave him alone. Mother and father would be so cruel to him for leaving Hailstorm. Queen Glacier would- Memories hit Hailstorm like an avalanche. Father. He’s dead. Queen Glacier. Dead. Scarlet. She’s dead. It had been a nightmare. Hailstorm sucked in a breath. A nightmare about Her. It’s because I’m here. I was right, I need to get away. Forget my team they can leave on their own. Forget the rankings if I stay here much longer I won’t even be Hailstorm! He could feel Her unsureness seeping into his scales, leaking from the cramped walls of the cave. Hailstorm barrelled out of the cave and down the tunnel, almost knocking over a Skywing in the process. He heard shouting behind him. They want to keep me here. They want Her back. This was their plan!  Hailstorm snapped his wings open and leapt into the air with a roar that was instantly lost in the wind. That’s right. The wind always gets worse at night. How could I forget the simplest thing, moons I’m so hopeless. This time, Hailstorm’s roar was at himself. At Her. “STOP THAT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Hailstorm wanted to rip the thoughts out and strangle them. Hailstorm felt his wings tiring as he tried to fight back. He couldn’t keep this up. Down then. Hailstorm angled as best he could for the dense forest surrounding the base of the mountain. The wind let up down here, enough that Hailstorm suddenly rocketed forward, crashing into the trees. He met the ground rather painfully, and continued to slide down the slop of the valley. Hailstorm landed with a loud thud at the base and lay gasping. Of course, knowing me, I’d manage to crash down right where the valley started. This is just my level of pathetic. Hailstorm couldn’t find the strength to resist Her thoughts anymore, so he just focused on where he was. Hailstorm had definitely ended up at the bottom of the valley, in a small glade bordered by broken trees and orangey-red leaves. The wind was a far off howl at this point, though his ears were still ringing, as he thought he might hear wingbeats somewhere. Hailstorm had landed on one of his wings at some point during the slide, and now it twinged painfully, along with several other areas of his body. After a few shaky breaths, Hailstorm did his best to push himself up. The pain from everything, including his mind, was so much, Hailstorm couldn’t even swallow his whimper. Rocks and ravines, if only I weren’t so awful. “Please... Please just stop...” Hailstorm could taste blood as he begged, feeling more than he ever had like the failure he was. He sank back to the ground clutching his head, ignoring the sound of someone touching down behind him. Why bother trying to hide my screw ups? It’s my own fault might as well let everyone know so they can avoid trouble. “Shh, just... Just be quiet! Please be quiet...” Hailstorm was suddenly aware of a presence in front of him. He cracked open an eye and saw tiger orange scales and amber eyes filled with concern Cyclone. He’d found him. The fear and shame were enough to draw another whine. The Skywing in front of him sighed. “I thought you might have been a soldier. Moons, whatever happened to you must have been unthinkable. I’ve never seen and Icewing act the way you do...” Because I’m not a real Icewing. Cyclone hummed as if he’d heard Hailstorm’s thoughts. “I also take it we’ve met,” He knows. “Although I can’t say I remember you. Clearly you remember me, and for that I’m sorry. I wasn’t the kind of dragon I wish I could have been, during the war.” Me neither. Hailstorm felt him pull away, and instinctively looked up. Cyclone was sitting a few talons in front of him, wings folded back in an attempt to look non-threatening. But it was the look on his face that got to Hailstorm. The sheer amount of genuine concern and empathy in the Skywing’s eyes. It nearly brought Hailstorm to tears as he remembered that Cyclone had always been this way. Even with Her; especially with Her. Cyclone was so different from any other Skywing, it was impossible not to notice. Hailstorm’s breath caught as Cyclone spoke again. “Have I... Did I do this? To you, I mean. Was it me, during the war?” Cyclone swallowed. “Did I hurt you?”  No, my love, this is my fault! You could never hurt me! I’d... I’d die for you... As soon as that thought hit him, Hailstorm was shocked to find it was true. She had loved him, sure as the four winds blew, but the emotion Hailstorm felt fluttering his heart, steeling his bones, making him brave enough to face all of Pyrrhia, it wasn’t Hers. It was his. “Yes.” Cyclone looked somewhere between distraught and unsurprised, as if he had no trouble imagining himself hurting an Icewing. Hailstorm puffed out a breath of frustration. He hadn’t meant it like that. But Cyclone was already turning to leave, either worried Hailstorm would lash out or satisfied with solving the mystery. Hailstorm had to stop him. He needed him to stay. He needed him! “Wait!” Cyclone, to Hailstorm’s immense surprise and delight, stopped, turning his head slightly so that he could look back at the strange Icewing seeking to take up more of his time. The gold band on his right horn caught the light. Hailstorm struggled to sit up, taking a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, ignoring the aches of his body. This would be difficult to explain, but he had to. He owed this wondrous, radiant dragon that much at least. Hailstorm raised his chin at Cyclone. “Do you remember a dragon... A dragon called P-Pyrite?” Just saying Her name left a taste like acid in Hailstorm’s mouth, like all Her toxic, dangerous thoughts had been contained within that one word, now released down his throat as he swallowed. Cyclone’s expression was unreadable from this angle as he pondered Hailstorm’s question. “I do. You knew her?” Was that sadness Hailstorm heard? Was Cyclone sad to think of Her? Did he miss Her or was he just disappointed to have to talk about Her? Hailstorm pressed on. “I, uh... Yeah. I guess I kind of did.” Cyclone turned fully to him, frowning although Hailstorm could swear there was a hopeful glint in his eye. “Kind of? Did you two fight?” Cyclone inhaled. “She isn’t... Is she dead?” Hailstorm wanted to say yes. Hailstorm wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs, She’s gone and She’s never coming back! But the swirling vortex of worries and fear and unbearable self-hatred in his mind said otherwise. “No. I don’t think she could ever die. Not now.” Hailstorm couldn’t hide the shake in his voice anymore. Couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down his face as he admitted the one thing he feared most. The blurry form of Cyclone stepped toward him. “I hear her, all the time. No matter how much of an Icewing I am, she’s always... I’ll never...” Hailstorm trailed off as a storm of hiccups clogged his throat. He could feel the Skywing’s hot breath on his face, now. “I don’t understand... Did you kill her or not?” Hailstorm shook his head, mostly just trying to clear it enough that he could look at Cyclone. Warm amber and gold met arctic blue and black. Hailstorm coughed. “I am her. I’m Pyrite.”

The silence was deafening, as if even the wind above the valley had ceased in order to hear better. Cyclone stared at Hailstorm incredulously. “You... What?” Hailstorm didn’t need to say it again, Cyclone was already pacing around his side of the clearing, trying to make sense of this new information. “I don’t... You... You can’t be! She was a Skywing! And so small... Delicate... You-! You’re bigger than I am! How?!” Hailstorm breathed in deeply. Even from over here, he could smell the damp inside of caves and apples and cinnamon coming from Cyclone. Hailstorm remembered that he was a pretty big fan of almost any spice, but cinnamon was Cyclone’s favourite, often paired with the autumn fruit. “It... It was a spell. Put on me by Quee-uh... Scarlet.” Cyclone had stopped dead, now, gawking at him. But there was less disbelief and more curiosity in his eyes. He glanced around before sitting down where he was, as if expecting the bloodthirsty ex-Queen to come swooping out of the surrounding branches as soon as her name was uttered. Hailstorm knew that feeling. He’d had it dozens of times since learning of her death, like Her part of his brain refused to believe it. Cyclone reached up to scratch his neck, and Hailstorm noticed a small, talon-length scar on the left side of it that wasn’t in Her memories. “But.., She never had any magic while she was ruling. If she had an animus, or magic at all... Did she really enjoy the war that much? Enough to let her subjects die just to fill her arena?” In that moment, Hailstorm felt such immense pain for the Skywings, the heartbreak in Cyclone’s voice was so clear. The war had certainly taken much from everyone, Hailstorm included, but Queen Glacier had been working to end the war, not prolong the suffering. It wasn’t fair. The Skywings worked just as hard to please their Queen as everyone else did. What did they do to deserve a tyrant like Scarlet? Even Her thoughts quietened as if to reflect on this. “I... I can’t say. I was P... Her for so long, but all I remember is undying loyalty. Part of the spell, I guess...” He hated lying, especially to Cyclone, but Hailstorm hated thinking about Her even more. Cyclone deserved to know, but this was so hard. Hailstorm had spent so long trying to bury Her, hoping that if he just pretended for long enough, he’d start to feel like an Icewing again, fully and truly. Winter seemed to think it would work, but now that Hailstorm was here, talking with a dragon so warm and gentle, such a big part of Her, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to work. He didn’t want to pretend. He didn’t want to hide. He wanted to get better. Hailstorm lowered himself back down and silently watched his Skywing confidant. Cyclone still seemed to be debating whether to believe him, but Hailstorm decided he didn’t mind either way. He’d try to get better regardless. It was a good sign that Cyclone wasn’t yelling anymore. Hailstorm noticed more scars on his hindquarters - three in a row, most likely from an enemy’s claws. Hailstorm lifted his gaze when Cyclone cleared his throat. He shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Do you, uhh… You know she and I were...” Hailstorm couldn’t help laughing. It was short and quiet, but seemed to make Cyclone more comfortable. And it felt good, too. “Yeah. I remember. Even if I didn’t, I could’ve guessed.” Cyclone scoffed. Hailstorm continued. “And it... I need you to know-” “That you don’t feel that wa-?” “I do.” Hailstorm leaned toward the Skywing with such urgency that he knew he looked pathetic. He wasn’t surprised when Cyclone’s eyes widened and he scanned the glade to make sure no one had heard this crazy Icewing’s confession. He was, however, incredibly surprised when Cyclone looked back at him, a small smile that lit up the night better than any moon or Aurora pulling at his mouth. “I’m glad.”

Hailstorm felt sick. He knew why. The air at this altitude was far too thin for Icewings. If he stayed up here for too long he might pass out. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like Hailstorm was expected to be anywhere right now. Besides, he couldn’t resist the temptation to prove Cyclone wrong. That predictable fireball would never think to look for him up here. “Hide and Seek Champion” indeed. Hailstorm chuckled, though it made his head spin, and scanned the clouds again. No sign of any orange scales anywhere. Just calm blue with puffy clouds that scattered as he flew through them. After a while, Hailstorm found himself thinking about the past few months. That night in the valley had really set something in motion in him. He’d felt the weight of the barrier he’d built between himself and Pyrite shrink back more and more with every moment since then. It started with a proper rest, accompanied by Cyclone. Hailstorm had thought it would be weird, but, frankly, the jitters were exciting, and he’d gotten through the rest of that night - and well into the morning - nightmare free. Then Cyclone had taken him to talk directly with Queen Ruby, despite Hailstorm’s protests. It had relieved him immensely to discover how unbelievably understanding the Skywing Queen was, even going so far as to share her own story bout a princess named Tourmaline. The Queen had sent a messenger to Queen Snowfall requesting that Hailstorm be permanently stationed in the Sky Kingdom to care for the moon globe saplings. Queen Snowfall had initially been reluctant, and Hailstorm admitted he wasn’t very hopeful. But after some back and forth - and a LOT of golden promises - the Icewing Queen had agreed. Hailstorm had officially moved into the palace immediately. Queen Ruby offered him his own cave, but when Cyclone offered to share his... Well. Hailstorm laughed to himself again, thinking about how easy the choice had been. After that, to be frank, it had been excruciatingly difficult. Everything, everyone, everywhere in the Sky Kingdom dragged up memories from Pyrite. He had very nearly given up more than a few times. If it weren’t for Cyclone, Queen Ruby and Commander Maroon, he shuddered to think what he might have done. But as he’d settled in, drawn to all the places he remembered from Pyrite, he found those same memories faded away. Where at first he’d remembered shaky orange talons reaching for gambling winnings, he now only saw bluish-white ones pushing the treasure he’d lost towards the stall owner, as Cyclone cackled beside about how he thought he’d been better at this. And where Pyrite had feared falling from the edge of Wingtip Cliff, Hailstorm would simply spread his wings and leap off, finally able to trust the wind like she’d never been able to. Hailstorm was replacing Pyrite’s fear with his hope, with Cyclone’s love and Queen Ruby and Maroon’s support. He felt it now, his strength, what Winter had tried to remind him of so long ago. Hailstorm knew himself better now, because he’d let himself know Pyrite, too. He still didn’t think she’d ever truly go away, but he wasn’t as afraid of that, now. After all, she’d led him to this wild Kingdom, with it’s roaring voice and flying gardens, wreathed in the scent of cinnamon and apple and goat and life. Hailstorm sighed happily, hearing Cyclone winging up behind him. He would get better. He would grow. It wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

#Wings of Fire #Prince Hailstorm #Princess Icicle #Prince Winter #Queen Snowfall #Queen Glory #Queen Ruby #Princess Tourmaline #Cyclone the Skywing #Skywings #Icewings #Word Vomit #Hailstorm is non-binary #also suffers a lot of dysphoria #tw: dysphoria #tw: panic attack #Trigger Warning #I have lot's of feelings about the royal Icewings #they're my babies #have at thee

[self-ship-love]

Hi!! Idk if requests are open but if they are- could you do one where the F/O is a ghost, and discover the S/O turned into a ghost as well because of a car accident- and they are super worried but happy at the same time?

Hi there! absolutely, I hope you enjoy 😄

They knew something was wrong when the air grew stiff and chilly. 

Something did not feel right. It was as if somebody had thrown a bucket of icy water down their back. Something was horribly wrong. The last time they felt impending doom like this, was right before they died. Their first instinct was to zap quickly to you and check to make sure you were safe, usually, they’d be with you already but you’d been so busy in the last few days that they chose to give you space. They could not sense you anywhere as they searched high and low for you ... until a course of nature sends them in the direction of a horrific car accident.

They‘re extremely perplexed at the scene. A small car has been located overturned in a deep ditch, a second vehicle is crunched up into a thick tree and closely resembles a crushed coca-cola can. It must have been a highly powerful head-on collision, no lives are likely spared.

The air was stiff again. Why did it feel so dark? Then they see it. The small overturned car in the ditch is too familiar to be a coincidence. It was your car. A flash of memory and there they are again, riding in the front while you drive down the highway. It was one of their best memories with you, music blaring, wind ruffling your hair as you allow quick sideways glances. 

But how could it be? they knew you were always a careful driver. They start to feel dizzy .. then sick but they can no longer vomit, that human function had been taken away when they died. They survey the disturbing sight, paramedics are everywhere like ants, prying apart damaged metal with the jaws of life, some assess the nightmare with looks of horror.

One of them screams from the ditch that a body has been found, but they soon declare that the person is deceased. The ghost builds up the courage and crosses the road, successfully passing through an oncoming car in the process. They need to confirm that it’s you, they need to know by some miracle you’re alive out there somewhere.

Their worst and best fear is confirmed. It is your car, they recognize the number plate, and the paramedics are currently recovering the body from the chewed up metal. They don’t know whether to cry or smile - though they want to do both. Your body comes out a wreck with lacerations and deep wounds, and the way your eyes stare lifelessly is enough to shatter their dead heart. For a minute, they feel as if they’re the live one and you’re completely gone from the world forever. They find it difficult to look at your vacant eyes when they were once full of life and charisma. But they also find it difficult looking away because it's still you, the one they so desperately need for their own will to stay.

“There you are,” says a soft voice. Their eyes widen as they glance over their shoulder to see you, you’re okay and you look alive .. well, admittedly less alive than normal but you didn’t look like you’d just been in a wreck.

“I was scared.” a large tear falls out of your eye and your f/o swoops over and wraps their arms tightly around your body. They have never been so relieved in their entire life or death.

“Are you okay!? what even happened?”

You trace their cheeks and lips, finally able to touch them properly. The next thing you are desperate to do is kiss them, but they won’t stop blabbering.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It was another car... there.” you point to the coke-can vehicle and wince as a crane lifts the roof to reveal the contents inside. “They couldn’t slam on the breaks fast enough, so I ended up in the ditch.”

Your love places both hands on the sides of your face and gives you a worried look. “Did you feel pain?” 

You shake your head. “I didn’t feel a thing. It was quick but it took a while for me to come back. It was dark for a long time and I-” you wipe away another tear. Your love gently presses you into their chest, for the first time you can smell their fragrance on their skin. “I thought I was in hell.”

“Never!” your f/o breathes. “You’re with me now, we’re forever now.”

You gaze into their eyes and smile warmly. Though you were no longer living, your ghostly f/o didn’t make it seem as bad.

“Let’s leave,” they murmur, trying to pull you away from the crash.

“Wait, I need to see my body. For closure.” You say as a paramedic steps away in time for you to see a blue sheet lowering over your broken body. “Look at me.. “ you say quietly. Your f/o holds you closer and tells you how well you’ve taken the shock.

“It’s okay, everything will be fine now.” They say and you look at them with such love-filled eyes. You’re happy they found you again and you’re happy there was no pain.

“Kiss me and then we’ll go, okay?” you reply. They grip your hips and kiss you passionately like it’s the first time. Your head is spinning, you don’t want to let go of them ever again. 

The old ladies at church are right, death is peaceful.

#f/o #f/o imagines #f/o prompts #imagines

[svudrabbles]

Imagine you’re Olivia’s daughter, and you get caught in a school shooting  TRIGGER WARNING: MENTION OF SCHOOL SHOOTING (SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC), AND RAPE

It was a day like any other, or at least it was supposed to be. You woke up with your mother at six in the morning, got showered, got dressed in your uniform, packed your dance bag, ate a rushed lunch, and your mom drove you to school. You kissed your moms cheek quickly before hopping out of the car, and racing into the school.

Olivia went her way to the precinct.

Everything was normal, until around twelve in the afternoon.

You were in fourth period, Math. The teacher was out, and you had a substitute which meant the class was pretty much partying the entire time. You had music on blast. You and your two best friends, Dina and Ezra, were dancing along to the song. Dina had her phone on recording you three on a livestream on Twitter.

Everything was pretty much normal. The only thing out of the ordinary was the gun shots you heard in the distance.

“What the fuck was that?” Dina’s voice wavered.

The teacher began shouting. “Turn off the lights, and hide behind the wall.”

Ezra turned the lights off, another student shut off the music, and the class huddled up against the wall. The screams and the gunshots progressively got closer. Everyone was absolutely horrified. Your classroom was at the end of the hall, and when you heard footsteps approaching, you felt a dark sense of impending doom come over you.

The door opened, the light from the hallway pooling over the floor. The kid with the AK-47 entered the room, and flipped on the light. He looked at the group in the room, and started shooting. First, the teacher, then a couple of classmates.

That was, until you jumped in front of the gun, and you noticed who was behind the trigger.

Peter McCane. A ninth grader in your dance class outside of school stood in front of you, his pale face splattered with the blood of your fellow students. Tears pooled down his cheeks. “Y/N…”

“Peter, what are you doing?” You asked softly.

He lowered his gun a bit, gulping. “I had to. I had to.”

***

The precinct was relatively slow today. Everyone was sitting around doing paperwork from their previous case. That was until Captain Cragen ran into the precinct from his office.

“Liv.” He looked at her, his eyes full of worry.

She looked up, eyebrows knit in confusion. “Captain…what’s wrong?”

“There’s a shooting.” He stated. “A school shooting.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay…what’s that got to do with SVU?”

“It’s Y/N’s school.” He stated, flipping the television on.

Fox News was showing a live video feed. Olivia turned toward the screen, and sure enough, Y/N Benson was in the crooked frame standing next to the shooter.

***

“Peter, come on. Tell me why you had to.”

He started sobbing, kicking the door shut but kept a tight grip on the gun. “Ricky Cummings.” He screamed, looking behind you. “Fucking beloved Ricky Cummings.”

Your thumping heart beat so fast against your chest you thought it was going to explode, but you kept calm outwardly. You looked behind yourself, and a terrified Ricky was backed against the wall, tears pooling down his cheeks. “Is it okay if I stand, Peter?”

He nodded. “Whatever.”

So you did, shoving your hands into your skirt pockets. “What did Ricky do?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

“Well.” You inhaled deeply. “Clearly it does to you. So tell me, Peter. Tell me what happened.”

He sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his forearm. All of a sudden, he looked like the child he was. “Stormy Marks asked me to prom. She’s a senior…I’m just a nerdy freshman. I thought…I thought she liked me. That night, I went to her house to pick her up. We took prom pictures…my mom was so happy for me. It was supposed to be the greatest night of my life.”

You nodded sympathetically. “Okay. Go on, Pete.”

“When we got to the dance…I was so excited. All her friends were treating me really well. Stormy asked if I wanted to go with her to the supplies closet…”

“And everyone knows that’s where hookups go down during prom.” You sighed.

“Yeah.” He muttered. “When we got there, Stormy shoved me in and locked the door. When I turned around, Ricky was there. He laughed, told me I was an idiot if I really thought Stormy wanted to go out with me. That I was just a submissive little cunt that needed some pity…that he’d show me what a submissive cunt I was.”

You knew exactly where this was going. You took a slow breath.

“He ripped off my pants, and raped me.” He screamed. “He fucking raped me, Y/N, and I couldn’t do anything about it! For weeks everyone laughed at me, everyone mocked me, called me a pussy. They didn’t care. They didn’t care, they didn’t care, they didn’t care! But they’re going to care. They’re going to fucking care!”

***

At this point, SWAT was on the premises, a plethora of ambulances, the fire department. The entire SVU squad sat outside of the school, watching the feed on their phones.

“She’s keeping him talking.” Nick said to Olivia. “Y/N is a smart girl, Liv. She’s going to be okay.”

“I should be in there!” She shouted. “I should be in there protecting my baby!”

“Look, Liv.” Amanda nudged her shoulder. “She’s just like you. She’s protecting her friends, and she’s going to get out safely. Okay?”

***

“So…you wanted revenge.” You stood slowly, walking toward him. “You wanted them to feel pain just like you did.”

“I shot everyone…everyone.”

“Who is dead, Pete?”

“Most of the 12th grade classes. There were some stragglers…” He responded. “They evacuated 9th, 10th, and 11th…”

You took a deep breath. “Peter, I get it. I understand your pa-“

“You don’t understand a god damn thing!” He screamed, pointing the gun at your head.

Your hands flew up. “Peter. Listen, okay? Can you listen to me?”

His eyes glowed with anger now, his hands shaking on the trigger.

You exhaled slowly. “When I was in ninth grade I was raped too. By a senior, who I was dating for awhile. When I said I didn’t want to have sex with him, he raped me, and he broke up with me. Then, he told all of his friends, and they mocked me until the day they graduated. I never told anyone either, Peter. I was scared. I was so scared of the humiliation, I was scared he’d hurt me again. I was so, so scared. I wanted nothing more than to make them pay, but…”

Peter’s face softened again. “But what?”

“Peter, this isn’t the way. This wasn’t the way.”

“I want him to pay for what he did to me!” Peter screamed something fierce, his entire face red. He pushed passed you, and walked over to the terrified teen that huddled against the wall.

“P-Please.” Ricky pleaded. “Please d-don’t shoot.”

“I asked you to stop too.” Peter growled. “You just kept going.”

You touched the boys shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Peter. Listen to me. Killing him isn’t going to do anything, you know that?”

“Of course it will! He can never hurt anyone again!” Peter spun on his heels, the gun against your abdomen.

“So, what? You kill him, and that’s it? He doesn’t suffer? He doesn’t think about his choices, day in and day out, in a prison where he will be raped day in and day out?” You asked softly. “And you? You rot in a prison cell too?”

“No, because I’ll be dead.” He spat. “As soon as this fucker dies, just like Stormy, I will kill myself.”

You shook your head. “Peter. Listen to me, okay? Ricky can pay for what he did to you. He can pay, justly, and rightly, but you have to do this the right way. I never got to. I was never brave enough. But you can’t kill him. You can’t kill anyone else. Not even yourself.”

Peter began wretching, and vomited all over the floor. Then, he began sobbing again. “After all of this…I never even got that dance…never got a dance with a beautiful girl.” He sat on a chair to the desk beside him, gun still clutched in his hands.

“Pete. Here are your choices.” You said softly, sitting on the table of the desk. “You kill everyone in this room, and then you die, and no one pays for anything, and you cause everyone else pain and anguish…or you drop your weapon, I can give you one last dance, and we can walk out of here together. Alive.”

“They won’t let me out of here alive.” Peter shook his head. “I’m a school shooter…they wouldn’t…”

“I’ll sit right in front of you, Pete. My mom? She’s a detective. She’s probably out there right now.” You smiled at the thought of your mother, who was probably terrified out of her mind. “She won’t let anyone shoot me. I’ll be your body guard. I’ll be your bullet proof vest. I promise, you’ll get out of here alive. Just let everyone go…let everyone leave.”

Peter sniffled, and looked over to Ricky. “W-What about him?”

“Let me call my mom.” You said softly. “He will be arrested as soon as he hits the grass of the front lawn. Okay? Is it okay if my mom comes up here and takes him away?”

“No…not your mom.” He shook his head. “Someone who works with her, fine, but…not your mom.”

“Okay.” You said, very disappointed but trying to hide it. “Fine. Her partner, Nick. He’ll come in.”

“F-Fine.” Peter mumbled. “But no games!”

You slid your phone out of your pocket and into your shaking hands. You clicked on Nick’s contact. It hardly rang before he answered.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, clearly panicked.

“I’m okay. There are three dead, but everyone else is safe and unharmed. Peter says he’s going to let everyone go now, except for me. You have to come up here and take them out, okay?”

“Okay, sweetie…okay. You’re doing amazing, Y/N, you’re doing incredible.”

“Nick?”

“Yes, baby?”

“There’s a student here. Ricky Cummings. You’re going to arrest him for the rape of Peter McCane.”

“Y/N…”

“Nick.”

“Okay. Okay.”

You hung up, and slid your phone back into your pocket.

Only moments later, and Nick entered the room. You sent him a tearful smile.

“Okay kids. Come on, run, get out.” Nick said, and the students started piling out.

Dina, unnoticed, rested her phone against the wall so the livestream could continue.

Everyone ran out, except for Ricky, who had pissed himself.

“Ricky Cummings.” Nick grabbed his forearm, and hoisted him up. “You are under arrest for the rape of Peter McCane…” He continued to mirandize him as they exited the classroom.

Peter began to sob mercilessly, dropping the gun beside him. You brought the small boy into your arms, holding him against yourself.

“Okay, okay.” You cooed. “He’s gone. He’s gone, Pete.”

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed into your chest. “I’m so sorry..they’re all dead because of me…b-because of me…”

“Shhh.” You shushed. “Come on, Pete. Let me give you that dance.”

You stood, and helped him onto his feet. You took out her phone, and went to Spotify, playing “Baby It’s Cold Outside”

“I really can't stay - Baby it's cold outside

I've got to go away - Baby it's cold outside

This evening has been - Been hoping that you'd drop in

So very nice - I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice”

Peter let out his hand for you, and you took it. He wrapped his shaking arms around your waist, you wrapped your arms around his neck. You could smell the blood on him, and you began silently crying.

***

The dance felt like it had gone on for hours, but the song ended. He sniffled, pulling away from you. “Thank you…Y/N. I’m ready to go now.”

You grabbed his hand, crying as well. “Come on, Pete. Let’s go.”

You lead him down the bloodied halls, almost tripping over the dead students and teachers that cluttered the floor. Down the stairs, the front doors. You pushed open the double doors, and Peter stayed up against your back.

“It’s okay!” You shouted. “He’s unarmed!”

One of the swat men ran over to the two, and grabbed you, running away with you toward the SVU squad.

Another SWAT guy grabbed Peter roughly, and cuffed him.

The man dropped you in front of your mother, who brought you into a bear hug that had the two of you on the ground weeping.

“Oh, my baby. My sweet, sweet baby.” Olivia sobbed into your neck. “Oh my sweet girl.”

“I’m okay, mommy.” You weeped. “I’m okay.”

Olivia sat on the grass, holding you in her lap tightly. You was too big for this, but Olivia couldn’t help but be brought back to when you were just a little girl. So small, always wanting to be curled around your mommy.

“Liv.” Amanda knelt down to the two of you. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

Olivia looked up, sniffling.

“I’m okay. He didn’t hurt me.” You stated.

“We still have to go.” Amanda said sadly.

You nodded, going to get up. Olivia held on tighter.

“Mommy.” You smiled softly. “I’m okay. I’m safe. We’ve gotta go…I’m not leaving.”

The older woman nodded. The two of you sat up, Olivia’s hand never leaving yours.

***

After the long, horrible day you’d had, you went back to your apartment. The squad was there, all too worried for the Bensons to be anywhere else.

You had taken a very, very long shower. You dressed in black leggings, and an oversized hoodie. You walked out of the bathroom, and everyone stared at you with pity.

You burst into sobs, hot tears running down your cheeks.

Nick leapt forward, grabbing you in his arms, hoisting you up into his grasp. You wrapped your legs around his waist, crying loudly into his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” You wept. “I’m so, so, so, sorry.”

“For what, my love?” Olivia asked, rubbing your back gently.

“I didn’t tell you about my assault.” You sniffled. “I didn’t tell you, and you had to find out during a tragedy like that!”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Amanda spoke. “You had to do it. You had to talk him down, get to his level. You got out of there alive.”

“I should’ve said something earlier.” You cried desperately. “I was so scared you’d hate me, mommy.”

Nick let you down to your feet. Olivia grabbed you, leading you to the couch, where she placed you in her lap once more that day. She wrapped you up tightly in her arms. “I could never hate you, lovey. You’re my miracle. The best thing to ever happen to me, understand?”

You nodded.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. No one can ever hurt you again, do you understand me? I love you so much.”

“We all love you.” Captain Cragen spoke.

“We’re your family, baby doll.” Amanda squeezed your leg. “You’re safe, and loved.”

You nodded. “I love you guys too…”

#olivia benson #olivia benson imagine #olivia benson daughter #svu #law and order svu