#tw sewing needle prick

[ophelian-darling]

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Yandere Suguru Geto x Female reader.

Summary : Blessings form in different shapes and bright in different colors; Love being the fairest and liveliest one.

TW : Obsession, minor character death, discrimination, pregnancy, manipulation.

enjoy ♡

It is divine to think how hell would be regarded into grotesquely crimson images within the human imagination: Sufferance is too common, wounds as a thorn prick and lasts as a heart's ache, Yet consider this when we think of heaven: purity- innocence of Eden in its prime, everything that sources its beauty and continence from a glass sphere no soul ever stepped on, farthest from the nearest paradise which we -so far- know of. Every now and then, the glass sphere's page of the sky would rain glossy drops, bright in the charm of a moon's haze, kissing earth's soil ever so gently after a long fall through the dark space. The drop; a seed of everything that derives all good in this life, either blooms into flowers, little joys that are worth living for, or even people- lost angels on devil's land. 

Suguru believes he has an eye for perfection: the images of others reflect on his irises and pass, be a fragment of a forgotten dream and ghost in a corner within his anamnesis. life ought to be lived as a sort of a sweven, destined to be erased once the reaper sinks in its teeth; Not like you have much of an option as a sorcerer, you just keep fantasizing and drawing rose-colored glasses about a life you know you can't have, sighing when conjuring a dear friend's lineaments, feeling a warmth under an eyelid when a beloved's smile flickers through a faint image of cogitation. a needle of duty had sewed up every passage to his heart; there was no horizon to look up to, except that one of exorcising curses to no end, saving that little part of happiness that was rightfully his to others who already had a fair share of it.

Suguru would burn the candles of thought and wander around a series of scenarios: what would it be like to love? What color is romance and what taste are kisses? There must be a reason why the moon was put on a pedestal of artistry, or a color of blood to abridge all tongues and words of ardor. There had to be a reason why someone was so eager and willing to hand their hearts on a platter to someone else, someone who was looked upon as the apple of eye. It seemed absurd: humans are merely products of vice, planted to sin and harvested to destroy, every letter and word they utter weighs nothing heavier than a lie, So why would such a morbid creature empty the jar of heart on another morbid creature? It is a wounding, shameless lie.

Cease to feel and halt to sense, there was no meaning in draining the amphora of emotion on someone, a one who can't taste curses to know how much of a grace it's devouring. it's pointless to break the glass of heart over a bod that ignores your agony to indulge in its little world of pink lies. He just wishes- Only if, if he slices that part of him that screamed of humanity everyday, the part that made him extend a wing to shield the helpless from their demise… He hated having a heart. 

Once during a green summer, one that had a breeze of May and the pink warmth of Valentine's day, The sphere wrapped a blessing in a curse's fabric; a gift so pristine it competed with the glimpses of eternity with a smile and tore the horizon's edge with a kiss, a form of life that its existence on this cursed land was the vilest injustice ever committed towards its chastity. The Angel; now blossoming from the sphere's seed into a human with flesh and blood, nerves and bones, eyes and a beating heart, is left to be stained and tarnished, munched and swallowed by the imperfect- the bad seeds, the swirl of everything evil. a tear of a curse could lace a sea of blessings, and you had to be protected: from the serpents, the devils, the flawed, or anyone else that wasn't him.

"Y'know, Suguru, sometimes when I look through your eyes, I can see you fighting yourself, as if you were your own worst enemy" You started the conversation like this, so casually, with no hint or intention of digging too deep into his psyche.

July, casting blazing rays and nearly melting the shadows outside, while the pair of you decided to remain in class for no obvious purpose. Suguru didn't mind having you around, aware that you weren't going to engage in tittle-tattling, leaving him with the room to think. It's been a long year. 

With a strike of sudden concern, and maybe a little suspicion, He directs his whole posture towards you, noticing your relaxed position on the seat beside his. a silence of something that was about to begin stretched before he asked "What do you mean?" 

a Winter night smile drew itself on your lips. In a movement of Bonnie Parker leaning on her motorcycle, you faced his confused comportment, rolling your eyes playfully before replying "You thought that no one would notice? That's cute. but I must admit, you're so good at hiding it, even Satoru wasn't able to see it, I'm surprised!" something brightened in your expression, contradicting the words you just said. As if you were Suguru's Anima; you spoke so confidently, insisting on extracting a part you didn't like of him.

And that confidence stirred a certain sentiment within him. something he would see as… vulnerability?

He stared. 

Another silence, silence of an absurd play, one that the audience certainly didn't need to absorb the scene. 

You continued "Amanai was a human like any other, someone with dreams and hopes, fears and triggers, and a family- and a lot of friends. she lived her life to the fullest… Well, maybe not completely, but at least she had some taste of blessing before her death. people aspire to horizons, living enough to reach it and sometimes not, savoring both sweet and bitter times before kicking the bucket. But that's not what we're talking about here" 

His eyes couldn't get any wider, the images played slowly and vividly while the cassette of that memory didn't seem to stop.

"She's a vessel that can be replaced. Lord Tengen wasn't in that need for her anyway. But are we sorcerers any better? no. we're replaceable as well, unless you are Satoru, which we aren't. Yes, we are strong, but still replaceable. The Jujutsu world needs to continue existing or else cursed spirits will blow everything to bits, and of course, we're the only ones who can keep it going and exorcise these creatures." 

Your fingers twiddled with your necklace, rolling it slowly as your tongue flowed. "I wanted to go everywhere too, I wanted to have a lot of friends to love without worrying that they'll die at any second. I wanted to wander around and behold flowers and snow without seeing an ugly cursed spirit…" 

His tongue wouldn't unwrap, au contraire to his thoughts. his mind moved as fast as forgetfulness would spell, drinking in all of your heart's tears. Perhaps, after all, he wasn't the only one who awakened to a harsh knowledge. 

You, are special.

"It's not fair… why should I be the one who gives up on their happiness to save people who know nothing of my sacrifices…" 

"I-.." your rant comes to a halt, a veil of guilt slides down your expression. 

"Sorry… I didn't mean to remind you of… back then, I talked too mu-" 

"No." He interrupts, his usual resting face painted over. 

"You can continue, I understand you…" Suguru smiles.

Ever since the curtain on your heart was pulled, you seemed to confide in him more; drifting away from Satoru and Shoko slowly and subtly. He didn't want to think of it, yet these pages of poems and lines of serenades whispered something to him everytime he looked through you. She must be unhappy too, Unhappy people are sensitive to the unhappiness of others¹. and to confess, it balmed a little comfort on his soul to see that misery brought you together. Day by day, both of you would speak for hours, crafting an imaginary horizon where everything was a haven for a winsome world, goodwills falling like spring rain. Night by night, He who becomes the one to count the nights, scripting his nightdreams and rehearsing his hopes to a shadow of you that lingered in the corners, only for every word to blend into space once the daybreak spills through the clouds. 

Your voice; it is the voice of his mind now. The shadow of you is melodizing his thoughts and troubles of the heart, lulling his reveries and caroling his visions. The pages of romance flip like petals in the wind: as the silk of your vocal cords tailors the letters with red and pink, he is finally allowed to relish the true colors of so-called love. Yozo² is no longer fool in Suguru's thinking, for wanting to die alongside the one he loved, which Suguru Geto himself now, secretly, hopes to achieve with you.

"Have you ever thought about death?" Green-colored smile, surely wasn't grayed by anything. Suguru just thought, what did you think? Did you want to be with him no matter the place? 

The roles have been reversed. now you're the silent one; you were sure that you did talk too much that day, pouring your wounds into him that now they're his wounds. Guilt stinged your heart, only if you remained silent back then. 

"Um- yes, I'm already accepting it, we're sorcerers after all…" you struggled to compose a thought he'd like, it came out as what a child attempting wisdom would say. speaking to your friend has become a difficult task lately, you didn't want to lose the thread of thinking you shared together, and he seemed quite pleased to talk to you. 

He chuckled. 

"Never thought of making it better for yourself at least?" 

What…

"I used to think so too. But slowly, I'm finally able to see what I was too blinded to see. Remember when you said that you wanted to have a lot of friends and go everywhere? that's rightful of you to ask- but you can't get it whether you plead for it or not. I'm telling you; I know it very well when I say you can have everything you want if you step up and take control." stated he.

As if looking for any other person who seems to notice that there's something odd, you glanced around. nothing was in sight except the trees and grass of the long forest line. 

His face didn't move when he continued "You see, we forgot that we were stronger, smarter and more skilled than the ordinary, say evolution theory: creatures go through a long process of development to become advanced in brain and muscle. some reach the highest stage of development and become a human, while others simply stop in the middle or never start, thus remaining monkeys" 

For some reason, you imagined yourself operating on his brain: cleaving the front of his skull with a sharp scalpel, lifting up his scalp in a way a box of chocolates would be opened, unwrapping and milling his brain convolutions, looking through his memory and mind's eye to see when and where these ideas have crossed his mind so you can uproot them- it is your fault, you filled him with so much tangles for a sweetly simple soul as him.

"...And since monkeys can't survive on their own, we were the ones who would acquire and use their talents to establish Jujutsu and save them, doing it out of kindness and altruism, they give us curses and we cure them in response, continually and with no recognition of our merit…"  

Something in his eyes twitched; he sounded as if he was letting go of an ancient burden, the Messiah's cross thrown off by his back.

"... You, me, Satoru or anyone who uses Jujutsu is the purest form of life on this earth, we're destined to rule as much as we were to protect, to punish as we were to love. we sorcerers are chosen by the heavens…" 

"...Monkeys must die." the corners of his mouth were altered to a frantic excitement, seeming like he'd seen after years of being dim sighted.

It is a blessing to be ignorant. 

It started out subtly. Suguru would continue smiling- the line and twist on his face metamorphosed into one you have no knowledge of: it was strange, uncannily simple and eerily sweet, more of looking at a portrait of a goner and less of seeing a friend. His compassion faded, a mock-lively kindness replaced it, by the nature a moonlight would mimic a sunray's warmth. it is not change, nor epiphany; your friend was dying with no hearse set or heart settled- Suguru slept to no awakening so the priest in Gojo-gesa can breathe to every aspect of life. 

Eyes that used to behold the blessings in everything are now glaring with violence, gnashing its teeth to whoever and whatever didn't wield any cursed energy. it is visible for you to only see, all of the ink and blood jarred behind his eyes, masked perfectly and contained in a patient smile he wore to his subjects— our subjects darling! he would say, giving you a saddened look, as if his gift of a thousand obedient monkey wasn't enough to thrill you as much as it did to him.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he murmured, holding your hand. your eyes pierced the reflection on the vanity glass: a husband and a wife sharing an intimate moment, scenery of a devoted Genji holding a torn Fujitsubo³ and kissing away all of her distress. you switched your sight towards his hand, the one that stroked yours, the one that had on its ring finger a silver band twirled.

“And I'm willing to offer you everything I have, anything you want” He placed a kiss on the crown of your head, billing and cooing in his words “I just ask for a little smile in return, or a little ‘thank you’ for everything I do to us”

“You're taking advantage of innocent people, Suguru”

He scoffs “Are they really that innocent?! All they do is cause destruction and corruption. you're too kind to even call them people” the last word dropped like a glob of mercury, heavy and tarnishing. he's annoyed for sure that you ruined the romantic mood by mentioning monkeys yet again. 

“You're murdering people who came to you for help, Suguru…”

You saw it without looking at it, the flash of rage and loathing, with all its redness and heat a fire had less or more of. you hoped in despair ,maybe there's still the lingering blush of compassion in his heart; the comity of your dear friend Suguru, not the hatred of your husband the monk. His fist flew in front of your face, grabbing your chin and rotating your skull to his penetrating eyes. for a second, a thread was pulled in your chest, cutting your heart with a feeling of fear, was he about to strike you?

“I told you thousands of times… those you cry for so much are. not. people. Do you understand me?!” He pressed on each word, heavy breath fanning your face. you could only look back and try not to recoil under his gaze.

“They ruin our lives, they kill us, they cause suffering and they taint this earth with their filthy emotions… if it wasn't me who gets rid of them and cleans their trash, only heaven knew how much time left for us to live…” he digs his nails into your flesh, gritting his teeth at you “They made you unhappy, they tried to kill me while I was risking my life to save them everyday!” he raised his hands in the air, snarling with full volume. you're sure that Nanako and Mimiko are in another room hearing, and utterly aware of their agreement and devotion to Suguru. 

Frantically, he unwrapped his Gojo-gesa and threw it on the floor, shooting you a glare while he freed himself from the sleeves of his haori. his stare kept lining yours, and when he stripped from the white hada-juban, you've seen it, as if at first sight.

“Shouldn't a wife support her husband?! Why do I feel like everything else except for me matters to you?!” He yelled. it is not the first time you see the scar on his chest, in fact, you've seen it too many times that its lines were as familiar as the dimness of your eyelids. 

“Whom am I doing this all for?! for us! for our family! they're just like us, they've been belittled and cursed by monkeys and they had their happiness snatched brutally from their hands… all just because they were sorcerers” he calmed, yet not eased judging by how sharp his expression was. He dropped his arms to his side, reaching to cup your face and force you to see his eyes “You were hurt too… you begged me to save you years ago… you do remember the day we sat together in class and talked”

You do remember. 

The echo of that hour reverberated through his eyes. in their dark shade, you watched a reflection of yourself, helpless and gray, sew the first threads of his insanity. you wished if life had been a little more cruel and tore off your tongue before you ever got the chance to speak with him.

It's you who chiseled the priest.

He feathered a finger across your cheek, crooning honey “And you remember our dates too, all the kisses and embraces, our wedding and our nights together…” serene as a sea in spring, animating the past into a sweet lull. his eyes smiled to you, cording your heart when continuing “You love me, you love our family, our paradise— and him” His palm spidered to your stomach, stroking the node of flesh “You would never abandon him, would you?”

Can you even? He sojourned far in, tethered to you through a wall of flesh with a string stretching inside of him. the memory of his existence would carve lines in both of your bodies even after his birth.

“You're so selfless, that's why I fell for you darling” whispered he, drinking your silence in taste of obedience. Was there any release from the cuffs you wrapped around your own wrists? Suguru wasn't an imprisoner, he just smelted a bracelet you wished to wear, eager to please and in hunger for your praise, while you, in words and smiles, altered his brain to see in dark color.

“Why don't you say you love me?”  he coated demand with love, pouring foam on your ears in a whisper.

Your skin felt light underneath, like you could walk out of it as a coat. In times like these, when he gave affection and demanded it back, you could only say one thing, unlike a full colored prism of flirtation he can murmur to you.

“I love you so much, Suguru…” at first, saying it was like uprooting a rotting tooth, but as time passed and your tongue knew the taste of lying, it became like picking a fruit.

He smiled “Good girl…” 

His eyes glinted in red “...I love you too…”

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere suguru geto #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #yandere geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #look i love him #either as a hero or antagonist he's amazing #i realized that this is the fastest hc list I've written #he's reading really disturbing and depressing things ever written as romance #i feel like he loves gothic and dark romance #geto x female reader #jjk x fem!reader #suguru geto x fem!reader #geto suguru x female reader #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #your taste of jjk men conveys who you are and if you love geto you're a mature and motherly woman #sfw #yandere jjk x reader #jjk yandere

[angel-of-the-moons]

How would Poe react if you sewed something for him? 👉👈 idk what, something nice or something silly. I think he'd appreciate it and I feel like he might be someone who's always giving gifts to ppl and no one thinks to get him anything.

Made With Love

Poe Dameron x Reader

TW/CW: None! Fluff!

A/N: As someone who sews a lot (sometimes by hand when I need to calm down) this is something I'd totally do askbdlsh

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

You cursed as the needle slipped and pricked your finger, bright blood welling up in a tiny pinprick before you squeezed what your boyfriend designated your "blood-sponge".

It was just a spare chunk of fabric you sterilized every time you began sewing, because stabbing yourself with the thin little metal slivers was always inevitable. You had more callouses from hand-stitching and embroidering than you did working on fixing consoles and electronics.

You were an analyst, not just the person who repaired the much-needed tech for the Resistance.

A battle analyst, statistical analyst, a "tech jockey" some called you--but many simply knew you as Poe's "partner in crime" as you oversaw many of his flight missions and dogfights.

You tied off the last stitch and held the fabric up to the light.

Poe's last scarf had gotten torn to tatters in a cantina brawl; so, the next time you were planetside, you hit a local market and scored some nice fabric to knit him a new one. It was a wonderful pass-time for you, especially if you were stressed out. The repetitive motion of seeing and embroidering soothed your mind enough to relax. Once, Poe had even caught you passed out with a half-patched shirt clutched in your hands, your head lolled back on your chair, the angle making you snore loudly.

Poe actually had BB-8 snap a holo of it. He still says it's his favorite holo he has of you--completely relaxed and at peace. (Although the pain in your neck was awful when he picked you up and laid you in his bunk.)

The scarf you had made Poe this time had the Resistance emblem embroidered in bright colors to match his flight suit, as well as a tiny BB-8 next to it.

Just then, the voice of one of the air traffic monitors buzzes through your comm; "Hey, tech jockey. Your boyfriend's squad is back. If you high-tail it now, you'll be able to make it to the hangar before they land."

You grin and jump to your feet, folding the scarf and stuffing it in one of your deep back pockets as you made a mad scamper, scrambling to lace your boots back up to make your way to the hangar.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

"Poe!" You giggle excitedly, shouting across the hangar as the mechanics carefully extract BB-8 from Poe's X-Wing.

Poe turns to you with a grin, spreading his arms wide as you throw yourself into them; his thick limbs wrapping around you in a tight hug, picking you up and spinning you around with a very nice welcome-home kiss. May have had a bit too much tongue on his part, but you were just happy to have him back and be in his arms once more.

BB-8 trills at you as he sets you down nudging your leg affectionately, and you reach down to pat the little mech's cranium. "Awww, hey lil buddy! I missed you too!"

Poe grins again and slips an arm around your waist, his dark eyes glimmering mischievously. "So... How's the best analyst in the Resistance been doing since your handsome boyfriend has been doing suuuuper important scout work, eh?"

You roll your eyes and snort. "The usual, you goof. I've actually had a bit more downtime, lately. General Organa actually smacked me on the head and told me to go and get some rest when I overworked myself."

"Oooh, not surprised there. She's scary when you don't do what she says." He snickers, kissing your cheek again. "Anything else?"

You gasp, remembering your present, and fish it out of your fatigues. Poe tilts his head curiously at you, then, as you pull out the scarf.

"Here! I finished it today!" You chirp proudly.

Poe takes the scarf with his eyebrows raised high, holding it up to examine it. He grins when he spots the little bits of embroidery you did for him; BB-8 beeping happily and bumping into your shins affectionately when he spots his likeness in the fabric.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it?" He says, his brow furrowing and his lips pursing tightly. At his expression, you feel a lump of anxiety well up in your throat.

It is quickly quashed when he grins once more, his eyes lighting up as he slips the scarf over his head and hangs it from his neck, flicking the edge over his shoulder and striking a dramatic pose.

"How's it look? C'mon, tell me. Does it bring out my eyes?" He said, waggling his eyebrows. "I bet I can use it as a disguise!"

You clap your hands and laugh, "Poe... How would that even work?! People can still see your face!"

He pulls up the edge of the scarf and covers up the lower half of his face and nose, but you can still see his lips peek out from the fringe.

"Not if I hold it like this!" He says.

You roll your eyes and shove his shoulder playfully, "You're not funny, Flyboy."

"Heyyy! I'm adorable." He argues humorously, wagging his eyebrows once again. "And handsome, and talented, and--"

BB-8 cuts him off with a dismissive trill, tweeting as his antennae bob.

"You're right." You nod at the little astromech. "He is full of himself, too."

Poe clutched his proverbial pearls, gasping in offense at the two of you.

"Ow! Whose side are you on?!"

#🌙 answered #poe dameron #poe dameron star wars #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader

[whitespiderlilies]

A Pricked Finger

Wally Darling x Tailor!Reader.

-They/them reader

-reader is also a puppet

-Can be romantic but more of—platonic?

-slight tw for sewing pins and trypanophobia!

You were the neighborhood's tailor, with your nimble yet well concentrated hands, you could sew up an entire outfit without missing any intricate or any of the smallest details at that. And that would basically just be done in about 5 days or so.

You memorized your friends' specific body sizes, making them outfits or—rather repairing their clothes whenever needed. For instance, during winter when they don't exactly have a sweater, blanket or two— to keep them warm, or when they accidentally ruin or puncture a hole in their clothes. It was fun tailoring them outfits.

Also like Howdy, the tailoring was free. 100% off. You enjoyed tailoring and sewing afterall, seeing their happy faces when they see the final results of your hard work. Especially Wally; he's one of your regulars, always coming in and out of your little tailor shop.

You grew slight feelings for that boy.

The bell of your shop door jingled, welcoming a certain blue haired puppet with half-lidded eyes. ”Good morning, neighbor. Say, have you finished that sweater I requested you to sew?” He spoke softly, leaning against your desk that was unethically covered in a diverse variety of fabrics. (Aren't fabrics just puppet skin?)

You swiveled your chair around to face the puppet, sewing pins still hanging from your mouth. Wally relaxed his head on his felt palm, watching as you plucked the pins out of your mouth. ”Just a little bit longer, I just need to sew this last part in.” you replied.

Threading a button and thread into the cloth, a sharp pain swiftly pricked your index, startling you. ”Ow!” You yelped, cursing to yourself. Wally looked concerned, taking the fabric from your hand and seeing the small wound on your finger.

(The sewing needles in kidshows are comically very huge than normal ones, so let's just imagine that you got pricked by a 1 inch needle with a 0.5 tip, so your finger's now bleeding out some puppet stuffing.)

”Are you alright, neighbor?” He said, his mellow, charismatic voice tingling your ears as he held your hands in his. You lightly nodded, evading his oddly mesmerizing gaze. He sat on one of the small stools infront of your desk, checking the small prick on your index before pulling out a small bandaid.

”You should be careful next time, [Name]. I'd rather not want someone as pretty as you, to get hurt.” He said boldly, caressing your hands in his; moving his fingers from your palm, to feeling your felt knuckles, and now down to your finger tips. His hands were warm, warm and oddly comforting. Now this really set you off.

You looked down upon your feet, avoiding his stare. You could feel his piercing gaze puncture holes into your soul, the tension thickening like black smoke escaping a house.

You felt his fingers intricately bandage your finger, hearing the band-aid wrapper crumple and rip before covering your pricked hand, stained with small drops of puppet stuffing.

You closed your eyes as to not look at Wally's face in embarrassment.

Do I actually have a crush on this boy?

You thought, opening your eyes but still entitled on avoiding his gaze at all costs.

To your surprise, he also thought likewise, still in denial if he likes you as a crush or not. Looking at your flush stricken face, and thought it was cute. Those same soft hands reached to your face, cupping your cheek to look at his deeply reassuring glare, his eyes fixed onto yours.

He spoke up once again.

”Frank told me..”

”That the best medicine you could give to someone..”

”is a kiss.”

He uttered out before landing a soft kiss upon your knuckles, and on your bandaged index finger—not breaking eye contact.

Here's this slightly shitty scenario, hope you enjoy ig

Can anyone please request stuff for me cuz I also wanna write Wally x reader fanfics:(

#welcome home #wally darling x reader #welcome home wally #wally darling #gn reader #welcome home puppet show

[milomilesmib]

TW for mentions of trauma, nightmares, disordered eating, grief, and on brief mention of needles (just sewing needles)

No, but please imagine Percy, Nico, and Annabeth being best friends (long post).

Please imagine, after BOO, Percy getting Nico a new aviator jacket just like his old one.

Please imagine Nico taking said jacket, getting an Italian flag patch and a gay flag patch, then very nervously going to Annabeth and asking her if she knows how to sew because Athena invented the loom which is close enough to sewing and Annabeth is one of the only people Nico trusts enough to ask.

Please imagine Annabeth just holding back tears at his trust and telling him she knows how to sew (she does NOT but she figures it out quickly) and helping him sew on the patches and Nico being so happy that he cannot stop smiling even though he is very bad at sewing and keeps pricking himself with the needle on accident.

Please imagine, if you HC Percy as bi, Percy desperately going to Nico at like 3 am, screaming having a sexuality crisis, and Nico being really exhausted and pretending to be annoyed but is actually super warmed that Percy went to him, then Nico helping him figure out and accept his bisexuality.

Please imagine, rather than Annabeth being all jealous of Nico, she always loves talking to him about Percy, at first by accident, followed by the realization it might just hurt Nico more, but Nico promptly jumping in and agreeing and listening openly.

Please imagine Percy and Annabeth, when alone, researching and coming up with ways to help Nico have a healthier relationship with food and how to help him with his mental and physical health.

Please imagine Nico stealing both Percy's and Annabeth's clothes, which are unbelievably big on him, and Percy pretending to be annoyed but actually being perfectly happy with Nico stealing his clothes.

Please imagine Nico always falling asleep on Percy, at first being embarassed, but Percy assuring him that it's okay and that he won't hurt or judge him.

Please imagine Percy one day falling asleep on Nico's shoulder and Nico feeling so honoured that Percy trusts him enough to do so to the point that Nico doesn't move until Percy wakes up, which takes like 3 hours.

Please imagine Percy and Annabeth giving Nico 'the talk' after he gets with Will, Nico blushing and complaining about how it isn't necessary because I HC him as asexual but he doesn't know what asexuality is, so he's just there complaining and mega awkward with the subject.

Please imagine Nico and Percy ranting about how annoying it is to be a big 3 kid, followed by them sparring to see who's more powerful (it's Nico, only partially because Percy goes easy on him).

Please imagine Nico starting to use cheek kisses as a greeting/goodbye for them because that's a normal thing in Italian culture (I'm not Italian so correct me if I'm wrong) and Percy and Annabeth feeling so honoured and trying not to cry.

Please imagine Nico visiting them in New Rome and Percy and Annabeth being really confused by how many people Nico greets by name.

Please imagine the amount of double dates Solangelo and Percabeth would go on, Will being really nervous because of how protective Percy and Annabeth are of Nico, but Percy and Annabeth being really nice and supportive because they have never seen Nico so happy.

PLEASE imagine Solangelo and Percabeth having sleepovers together, or just Nico, Percy, and Annabeth having sleepovers!!

Imagine Percy and Annabeth NEVER treating Nico like a third wheel, but rather as someone of equal importance (BECAUSE HE IS)

Imagine Nico, when alone with one of them, teasing them about how in love they are.

Imagine Percy and Annabeth returning the favour by teasing him about his crush on Will.

Imagine Nico, Percy, and Annabeth grieving Jason together when they see each other again, comforting each other, talking about their memories of him and doing anything they can to honour his memory.

Imagine, as a follow-up to the 'Percy and Nico falling asleep on each other' thing, either of them waking up screaming from a nightmare and the other comforting them and calming them down.

Imagine Nico, Percy, and Annabeth talking about their experience in Tartarus and working through and figuring out the trauma together, eventually joined by Will.

Imagine Percy and Annabeth introducing Nico to queer artists and influencers (backstory of my 'Nico listens to Cavetown' HC).

(If this sounds overly romantic I apologize I don't really have a proper grasp on the difference between romance and friendship but I am trying but just to be clear I do not ship these three romantically, I just think they should be friends because Nico deserves safe people, as do Percy and Annabeth)

(Also I cannot stress the 'Annabeth and Percy not treating Nico like a third wheel' thing enough because that is so important to me)

#tell me im wrong #percy jackson #nico di angelo #annabeth chase #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo #percabeth #percy annabeth nico friendship #nico deserves to have good friends #feel free to add on #percico? kinda? #but im anti-percico cause just no <3 #solangelo #im rambling but bear with me here #pjo #how did i forget the pjo tag wtf

[lirational]

TW: needle mention

Did you see that one Garofano lovepost from the official PTN Twitter :0

It’s been stuck in my head ever since I saw it. They straight up call her mommy and now I can’t stop thinking about Garofano caressing your skin with her sewing needles…

Oh god YES I have seen it. That is why with this additional context from her profile…

That post becomes a mix of scary and thirsty. Imagine, just with a prick, your life would be in her hands, very literally. Don’t you trust her? She will never hurt you, she just wanted you to feel the thrill of how close you are to being hers forever, of the cold metal against skin. She is absolutely obsessed and I love it.

#needle tw #lirational rambles

[crookedherringcolorclod]

Amaya’s Past Chapter 1: Innocent ‘Witch’, Ditched Into The Darkness

TW: methods of torture from the witch trials, manipulation, drowning, body horror, death, hanging, burning, and etc.

•Amaya ran the farthest from her home. She didn’t know where she was going until she happened to bump into a village.

•The villagers were quiet and eyed Amaya as if she was from another land. Despite all that, she was allowed to stay in the village and adopted by a couple that didn’t have any children and was deemed their new child.

•The villagers were quite strict and paranoid about whom Amaya talked to, befriended, and what her hobbies were. Nevertheless, she was still allowed to play with the other kids, who were eager to have a new playmate.

•The village was in a frenzy as the witch trials were taking place, dozens of people in the village were already accused of witchcraft and shifted the blame to anyone they could point fingers at. Their shouts and screams of mercy and curses echoed throughout the village anyone can still hear other people talking through their walls, listening to everything. No secret was safe, and everyone was ratting everyone out to save their souls, or skins, maybe both.

•Amaya thought the whole witch trials thing was silly and simply played with the other children. They loved her like a big sister, and she gets to be the older sibling for once, which she happily played into. She would give the children piggyback rides, make flower crowns, and read the Bible, which was the only thing they were allowed to read at the time. Fairytales were not allowed, and no one knew anything about anything outside the Bible, except Amaya.

•Being bored of the redundancy of things she decided to tell all the stories she could remember from her home; she even makes up stories about magical creatures for the children to pass the time while they decided to join in on the fun. The children giggles quietly as they added new elements to a story that was already told, a knight, a hero, and a little girl even wanted to add beautiful fairies to Amaya’s new story.

•Amaya would also make little dolls out of straw or cloth; it was all that she could get without raising the adults’ suspicions. Her fingers would get pricked by the makeshift needle as she clumsily sewed up the dolls with the tread from her dress. The dolls were clumsy efforts, the eyes were uneven, and pieces of straw would poke out from the cloth in the seams and through the worn fabric.

•The dolls were ugly, but the children kept the dolls close and treasured them, Amaya would stuff them in their hats and pockets and tell the children that the dolls would watch over them and protect them from harm.

•Unfortunately, even if Amaya did beg the children to keep it a secret, they were still forced to tell their very restrictive and conservative parents.

•The parents would always tell them that they should speak up or God won’t forgive them for lying to their parents. The parents were furious at the stories that the children recounted to them, they would get angrier when they snatched the dolls from their pockets and hats and become horrified at the small blood stains left behind.

•The village became even warier of Amaya; she had only arrived less than a year ago and they hear that their children talk about something other than the Bible? Preposterous.

•They are convinced that Amaya’s adoptive parents should make Amaya repent for her sins and that she might be a witch and only God could save them from evil.

•So, they locked Amaya up in a church overnight and didn’t give her anything to eat. Amaya kept quiet and huddled on the wooden floor, cold and afraid. Her teeth chattered as the cold wind brushed against her, the clothes she had on her back provided little warmth and the rattle of the church’s windows would make Amaya finch in fear.

•Whenever Amaya managed to fall asleep, she would have vivid dreams of her flying into the windows of every house in the village. Her mind spiraled from the number of things she had seen every night and her dreams makes her wake up with a headache pounding at her head.

•The situation for Amaya had gotten worse when the villagers finally decided that she needed to go to trial for ‘witchcraft’.

•They threw accusations after accusations toward her, claiming that she was the reason why their cat died, or telling a child in secret to fake a seizure in the middle of the trial and say that it was Amaya’s doing, that she was the reason why their child had finally lost their way.

•The villagers hollered out lies after lies that they found her with a dark figure and said that it was the devil himself. A man even said that at dawn when he was opening the church, something slithered back into Amaya’s mouth before she woke up.

•They practically blamed her for everything, especially for the nightmares that people have been having for the past few days ever since they forced her into the church.

•When the trial finally finished, Amaya was sentenced to be dunked in the river to prove her innocence. Amaya had no choice but to confess to being a witch, so they won’t torture her.

•When noon arrived, they dragged Amaya to the edge of the lake and placed Amaya on a ducking stool, and had her get dunked into the lake again, and again, and again. Amaya would writhe against the chains to no avail, when she was lifted from the lake, she was immediately submerged into the murky waters the moment she gasped for air, the water filling her lungs.

•It felt like the punishment took hours, Amaya thought it would all be over until the ducking stool snapped and sent her down into the river, with her hands chained to her back, and taking her last breath.

•The villagers thought that was the last they were ever going to see her, they even dared to say the evil has been banished and that they are free. Little did they know it would get worse from there as Amaya’s body slowly sank into the dark waters finally hitting the lakebed.

•A week passed after Amaya was sent to the ducking stool, the ducking stool was never repaired as people were afraid to touch it, so the villagers resorted to hanging, burning, and more for the new ‘witches’.

•The judge that sentenced Amaya was done with another trial where he sent a middle-aged woman to the gallows. He was up at night sorting through his papers to document the recent trial of the town and finally went to bed.

•His dream had taken him to the lake, it was the foggy season, and the mist would hug the riverbanks. He then saw a long silhouette at the other end of the lake, walking towards him by trudging their legs through the dark water.

•The figure had long black hair covering their face, and their skin had gone white as if they haven’t seen the sun in forever. The figure lifted their hair and the judge saw Amaya’s face in his dreams, wearing a furious expression on her face and glared daggers at him. Amaya was cursing him for the pain that she had to face, and the seemingly never-ending darkness that is at the bottom of the lake.

•The screams shook the judge awake with a cold sweat, after processing what he saw in his dream, he tried to calm himself down and tried to reduce that dream to his guilty conscience.

•He couldn’t assure himself any longer until he realized his bed was soaked in musty and earthy water. It was water from the lake.

•More strange things continued to occur after the judge’s nightmare about Amaya. Black figures had started to appear in front of other people’s windows, tapping on the windows, scratching, and banging their claws and their round heads against the windowpane. The water from the well had become black like tar and the villagers had no choice but to fill the well up with dirt and try to find a different water source other than the well and the lake. They have deemed the lake cursed and made sure no one dares to go near the lake.

•What was worse was that children would cry as they woke from their slumber, they always said in between sobs that Amaya was crying in their dream and how she asked to be free from the lake. Some of the kids even tried to jump in the river only to be tied down to their beds in hopes to stop them from throwing themselves into the lake. It didn’t stop them there were bodies of the villagers that would wash ashore and people mourned their loved ones.

•The people who faced the worst of the paranormal activities were no other than the judge and Amaya’s adoptive parents. What the adoptive parents thought to be her ghost would blame them for not protecting her and that they should join her in the lake as their way to atone for their mistakes.

•The judge had gone mad and was not fit to hold any more witch trials against other people. He died of a stroke and choked on the foam bubbling in his mouth.

•In the house of Amaya’s adoptive parents there would be three dolls made of straw and cloth moving around in different positions in the house every night, two dolls resembled Amaya’s parents and the other doll resembled Amaya.

•The parents would try to throw it out, chuck it back into the lake, or dump it in the well. No matter what they did, it always came back.

•The dolls would act out a scene, where the parents would fish out Amaya’s body from the water, which was in the far center of the lake, it was too deep, and no one knew how to swim.

•It was like the dolls were demanding to get Amaya out, no matter what.

•Although they never needed to fish her out of that lake. Another month of vivid nightmares for the villagers passed until the children found a floating body of a young lady at the edge of the lake.

•Then that body started to twitch, dragged itself from the river’s edge with her nails digging down into the earth, and puked out the earthy waters from their body in front of the children.

•The children screamed and ran back to their parents, crying about how it must have been Amaya and she’s out for revenge.

•Yet when the children tried to find that body again. It was nowhere to be seen; it was as if Amaya’s body had just disappeared into thin air.

•It was more than enough for everyone in the village to go insane, people left, people died, it didn’t matter if they were murdered, died from shock, or died naturally, everyone was terrified.

•As for her adoptive parents, they have been sent to the gallows to be hanged for bringing Amaya to their village and screamed that it was their fault for bringing something so evil amongst them.

•Eventually the village was no more, and rumors would spread of how that village drove itself into madness and destruction. That whatever living nightmare that the villagers must have been in their heads, or fungi in their bread. Perhaps the children were bored and decided to make up stories to pass the time and adults believed the words of children and costed the lives of many

•Years have passed since then and people from other places would tell of their sightings of a black-haired girl who walked aimlessly.

•That girl was Amaya; she was still alive. Yet she felt like something was stolen from her, and something else has taken its place in her guts. It was like her guts were replaced by rabid bitter butterflies that Amaya was eager to get rid of.

Next Chapter.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik oc #diabolik lovers oc #dl oc #asa sakamaki #sakamaki asa #akemi sakamaki #sakamaki akemi #amaya sakamaki #sakamaki amaya

[frmulcahy]

(needle tw warning) idk how badly you want to get tattoos, but if it helps, i am also terrified of needles and getting tattoos doesn't upset me. a tattoo feels like when you prick yourself with a sewing needle rather than getting a shot. plus the tattoo machines are big and chunky enough that it doesnt really register as A Needle yknow? getting my ears pierced was way more distressing tbh.

Hey thanks! That’s good to know. Yeah I finally re-pierced my ears a couple years ago at like 3 am because there was no way I was gonna go pass out in public in front of strangers. (I didn’t pass out but I did have to keep lying down for a few moments to prevent myself from doing so lol.) I also used Dr Numb cream which helped a lot. I have multiple friends and family members who are artists and cosmetologists so if any go into tattoo arts I’ll be set lmao

#thank you so much!! #asks #needle mention

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 27: Pushed to the limit

Magical Emotional Exhaustion

2050 Words: Dion Sees Ghosts AU

TW for discussions of death, blood

AO3 ver

“Dad! Didi’s talking to the fire again!”

Dion’s gaze snapped to his sister, his eyes wide. “No I’m not!” He protested, pointing his stick just over the flames. “I’m talking to Miss Emma.”

On the other side of the fire, Miss Emma smiled vaguely, the firelight barely reflected in her eyes. She was standing maybe a little too close to the firepit to be safe, but the fire didn’t touch her.

Frazie eyed where Dion was pointing suspiciously. “There’s nobody there.”

“There is too.” Dion huffed, and turned back to Miss Emma. She was right there, hair in a loose braid, dark stains on the front of her faded dress—Dion didn't understand how Frazie couldn’t see her.

Dion didn’t understand a lot of things, to be fair—but Miss Emma was right there, swaying slightly where she stood. There was no way to miss her.

But Frazie just stood and picked up a stick, poking it at where Miss Emma was standing. “See? Nobody there.” She stuck her tongue out at her brother, face pinched in annoyance. “You’re just talking to the fire.”

Dion stood. “I am not!”

Frazie jolted, then stood. The fire flared.

Miss Emma shuffled back a few steps. “Careful, now.” Her voice had a soft echo to it.

“What’s going on over here?” Augustus’ voice was light as he came to stand between his son and daughter, his hands automatically landing on both of their shoulders.

Frazie pointed accusingly. “Dion was talking to the fire!”

Dion gasped. “I was not!” He opened his mouth to say something else, but his father cut him off.

“There’s no need to yell, little ones.” He rumbled, “Your mother is very tired, she would appreciate it very much if you could explain this to me at a lower volume.” His voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper by the end of his statement, both Dion and Frazie giggling at the mischief in his eyes.

“Now,” Augustus kneeled down, and turned towards Dion. “Frazie told me you were talking to the fire. Would you like to tell me your side of the story?”

“I was talking to Miss Emma.” Dion explained. His voice dropped to a mumble, his gaze locked on the dirt. “She’s really nice.”

Augustus jolted, looking over the fire, his eyes searching for the supposed woman his five-year-old son claimed to have been talking to. Upon seeing seemingly nothing, he turned back to his son.

“Can you tell me about her?” He asked. It wasn’t unusual for children to have imaginary friends, and far be it from Augustus to stifle his son’s creativity.

Dion lit up. “Yeah! She’s got this really pretty dress,” He started, “And her hair’s this really pretty silver! And she keeps saying that she’s gonna have a baby soon—like Mom!” Miss Emma looked way different from Donatella, though Dion paid that detail little mind. People were different.

“She does sound very nice.” Augustus smiled indulgently. Glanced at the horizon, the sun barely a sliver. He lifted both of his children in his arms. “It’s getting late.” He explained. “Let’s get you two to bed.” The fire was close to dying out. He kicked dirt onto it to put it out completely, the wood faintly glowing with the remaining embers.

Dion rested against his father’s shoulder, safe and content. As Augustus turned away from the now dark fire pit, Dion looked over his shoulder at Miss Emma.

Miss Emma leaned her head back, smiled, and faded. She did that a lot.

Dion didn’t really think too hard about what that meant.

+=+=+=+=+

Mom and Dad were busy with the baby. Frazie was playing with dolls in the caravan, enacting glorious stunts. Normally, Dion would have joined her, but he was helping Nona with the sewing.

He listened intently as his Nona explained how to thread the needle, how to get an even stitch, and how to patch. It was boring, and Dion really did want to go join Frazie in constructing elaborate acrobatic stunts with ragdolls, but his Nona had asked him to help and he couldn’t say no—she was his Nona.

So Dion struggled through not pricking himself on the needle, trying to follow his Nona’s instructions. It was hard, because all of the people who liked to follow his Nona around could be really loud, sometimes, but Dion was undeterred. He was going to sew this patch right.

He chattered as he worked, regaling his Nona with a story that Miss Emma had told him.

“...So the tortoise and the hare live together in the den.” He concluded, “An’ everyone’s happy!”

“What a lovely story.” His Nona commented, her voice light with joy.

Dion lit up. “Miss Emma told it to me!” He explained, accidentally pricking his finger again.

His Nona nodded indulgently while he glared at the needle. “Miss Emma sounds very nice.” She commented. “It sounds like you talk to her a lot."

“Miss Emma is really nice.” Dion nodded.

“And and and! She’s not the only one.” He said, “There’s actually lots and lots!” He let the fabric in his hands fall to his lap as he leaned forwards. “One of them looks a lot like you, Nona!”

His Nona’s eyebrows quirked. “Oh?”

“She’s got really pretty earrings,” Dion chattered, “And she’s really nice and always knows what to do, like you.” And she hung out with Grandpa Lazarus, but the last time Dion had mentioned Grandpa Lazarus his father had gotten all tense and upset and his mother had pulled him aside and asked him not to speak of such things so… insensitively.

Dion still wasn’t entirely sure what “insensitively” was. But his mother had asked him not to do it, so it probably wasn’t good.

Grandpa Lazarus would call her Marona—or Roro, sometimes, when the two of them pressed translucent shoulders together and talked in low voices Dion could never make out. Dion wasn’t supposed to mention Grandpa Lazarus, though, so he said instead, “And everyone calls her Marona, too.” He grinned. “Isn’t that neat? You share a name with her!”

“But,” Dion continued, unaware of the way his Nona’s hands had come to a stop, her shoulders tense, “She keeps calling you Lucy.”

His Nona stiffened, muscles tensing for a moment. She exhaled a shuddered breath, staring down at her needlework as though it wasn’t there at all, an edge in her eyes that Dion couldn’t see from where he was sitting.

And then the tension left her body as her eyes blanked

“Isn’t that weird?” Dion prompted, kicking his legs.

His Nona smiled, returning to her needlework. “Isn’t what weird?” She asked.

Dion’s face fell. He started again. “That Miss Marona ca—”

At the mention of her name, his Nona looked at him. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” Dion frowned, and went back to trying not to prick his fingers.

He supposed this was like Miss Emma—she got spacey, sometimes, had trouble remembering things. Everytime Dion pointed out the stains in her dress she’d get all short of breath for a moment before forgetting about them entirely. And in the few times he tried to talk to the cold mass of people who followed his Nona, most of the ones who would actually talk to him tended to be similarly stuck.

Dion frowned. His Nona was solid, and strong, and had raised his father practically all on her own. It didn’t make sense for her to be spacey, when she was always so clever.

Dion pricked his thumb again, and hissed in pain.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion stared at the pinecone, willing it to move.

He didn’t think he was a fortune teller—he certainly hoped he wasn’t. But he could see things that nobody else could see, could hear people that nobody else knew were there. He could lean against Emma like she was a solid person while Frazie walked right through her—

He needed to know.

So here he was, alone under a tree and willing a pinecone to move, to do anything that would confirm his fears. He’d seen Raz do something similar with a rock he had really wanted to chew on, dragging it up to his high chair just by reaching his chubby toddler hand at it. If Raz could bring rocks to himself, and Dion could see people that nobody else could—

He needed to know.

The pinecone never budged, despite his efforts.

(Dion wasn’t sure if he was thrilled or disappointed.)

+=+=+=+=+

Emma was crying.

Emma was crying, her eyes clearer than Dion had ever seen them while simultaneously clouded with tears. Emma was crying, the stains on her dress dark and wet. Emma was crying, her braid frayed and limp on her shoulder. Emma was crying, and Dion, for all that he had recently turned ten, wasn’t sure how to help her.

Dion put his hands on her cold shoulders. “Hey, hey,” He tried, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Emma gasped, her voice choked with what might have been tears and what might have been blood. “It’s not, I lost it, I lost it, I lost—” She wailed, the air around her rapidly dropping in temperature. “I lost it.”

Dion didn’t know how to help her. Didn’t know how to do anything but wrap his arms around her while she cried, memories of her death rocking her very core.

“I’m sorry.” Dion mumbled. He didn’t know how she had died, didn’t know what she had lost. He could guess, though none of his guesses were nice ones. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled again, as cold-scared-hurt leached out of Emma’s form. It had to have hurt, to remember it all—Dion ignored the cold piercing his skin and held Emma tightly.

Eventually, her wails evened out. “I lost it.” She murmured. “I promised I’d look after it, and I lost it.”

“I’m sorry.” Dion said again, for lack of anything better to say.

Emma sniffled. “It’s not your fault.” She mumbled, cold hands cupping his face.

She pulled back. “Thank you though.” She smiled. “You’ve got a good heart. Don’t lose it.” She advised.

Dion nodded.

Emma tilted her head back and faded. The cold spot disappeared.

Dion had the feeling she wouldn’t be coming back.

+=+=+=+=+

“Aren’t you a little old for imaginary friends?”

Dion looked up at the sound of his mother’s voice. Donatella was carrying some of the lighter weights over to the caravan to be put away, Mirtala toddling after her with juggling pins in her arms and an adorably determined look on her face.

Donatella paused for only a moment, considering Dion carefully. “You’re almost thirteen.” She pointed out. She walked on.

Mirtala paused when her mother paused, then followed after her, little toddler legs racing to keep up with Donatella’s strides.

Dion watched them go for only a moment before he returned to the knots he was untying. There was work to be done; he didn’t have time to waste gawking at his mother’s back.

He huffed, his shoulders tensing. His mother had made it as an absent remark, not intended as anything more than a comment—

It stung. It stung, because they were real.

(Dion had the scars to prove it. Had seen the kitten his Nona had helped him clean and care for interacting with them directly, like she could see them too.)

They were ghosts, sure, but—

Ghosts were people. They were real.

Donatella was right. Dion was too old for imaginary friends.

He sometimes wished he was too old for dead ones, too.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you talking to?”

Frazie’s voice was half curiosity, half derision. It jolted Dion out of his conversation with the man gently running his knuckles along Persephone’s back. It brought him back to reality, the reminder that nobody else could see the man a bitter taste in his throat.

“No one.” Dion responded, hunching his shoulders.

Frazie huffed. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Talk to your stupid cat all you want, Dee. I already know you’re nuts.” Dion almost got the sense that she was disappointed with his lackluster answer, that she had been hoping for something more.

But it was just that: a feeling. And it wasn’t like Frazie would believe him, anyway, and he was too old for imaginary friends, so it was better to keep his mouth shut—

Dion didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

#whumptober2022 #no.27 #magical exhaustion #psychonauts #zaz writes #death #death mention #blood #dion sees dead people #dion aquato #frazie aquato #augustus aquato #nona aquato #donatella aquato #this one kicked my ass guys 😭😭 #i cannot believe i struggled so much with this one #but i got it done!! #maybe not done well but still done!! #anyway. i was going to go in a different direction with this but i could not make words go #so instead we've got dion getting cassandra truthed until he just. stops talking about the ghosts

[sk3l3t0n1n-mp3]

A Slow Death - Written 3/24/23

TW// Themes of self harm, suicide, eating disorders, death

Mascara tears down blush-stained cheeks, 

Beads of blood form patterns on gashed thighs,

Scarlet paint on ghostly canvas,

Depiction of the man I could have been,

Their abandon fresh at my fingertips,

Crying out 'til vomit stains these teeth,

Dejection at the thought of being left,

Sworrow swallows me in a cold embrace,

Have I ever a chance to be cherished?

Carving the skeleton out of my skin,

Seeing the real body beneath the flesh,

My bones as delicate as their torture, 

There feels a divinity in our pain,

A nymph lain down sprawled across the floor,

Exhaustion escaping red painted lips,

A heartbeat rhythm and an empty chest,

Lacking capacity to be loved,

Mouth stitched shut but I'm still wailing,

Sobs choked down by a body failing,

Fingers wrapped fully around vacant bones,

I will not stop until I decompose, 

By slow suicide my beauty in pain,

Pretty bodies in cherry-wood coffins,

A beautiful boy all dressed up,

Hollow face painted with lifetimes of lies,

Fingers pricked on my silver needle,

Sewing my jacket for ballrooms of dead.

#poetry #poetic #short poem #sad poem #writing #sad writing #writeblr #vent #disordered eating cw

[beelzegrub]

can I request what would happen if we summon them while we're on human realm bc we missed them so much but lose so much blood in the process I don't really know I'm a sucker for these kind of things. thank youu!!

EDIT FROM FUTURE OP: This ask has been sitting in my drafts for months half finished and I finally found the motivation to finish. Anon, I’m so sorry for the wait. You’re a sweetheart ❤️ I was only able to do the three eldest though and I’m so sorry!!

Um hello??? I love this so much thank you!!! I thought it was kind of silly to go through all of that at the end of season 2 to just.... not use it so I’m excited about this!!!! (Sorry if this is too angsty my brain got super pumped about this and took off.

PS the request said “we” so I used a reader insert type of style. Hope that’s what you were looking for :)

MC Summons Their Demon, but at What cost?

Trigger warning!!!! Self harm/blood

How long had it been since you’d seen the him? Weeks? Months? Who knows. They all blended together after while. All you knew is that it had been too long. Why was this all so tedious? Solomon had promised to teach you the summoning ritual as soon as you could handle it. Why hadn’t he done so? Did he not trust you? Was he purposely keeping you away from the them? Surely you were strong enough at this point. Enough with the waiting. You wouldn’t sit around and any longer! You needed to see them. You needed to see him.

You flipped messily through book after book. Solomon had given you many to study for your apprenticeship. There had to be something about summoning in one of these!

“Hmm..”

You carefully read through the worn pages of one of the larger and dustier tomes. Something about this one called to you. You zoned out as you took in the information on the pages, following context clues until you found what you were looking for. The images drawn on the page seemed foreign and surprised you. A summoning circle? You had expected as much, but the repeated mentions of ‘sacrifice’ and ‘blood oath’ seemed ancient and outdated. You couldn’t help but notice there was no mention of sentimental possessions of the demon you were trying to summon as well. You were sure none of the brothers would suggest a summoning if it were dangerous though...

Out of options and out of patience, you gathered your courage and set up the ritual to the best of your ability. Things seemed to match the books instructions, at least. All that was left was the blood. You stepped into the middle of the circle and closed brought a sewing needle to the top of your finger. The book hadn’t specified the amount of blood needed, but it was better to start small, you reasoned. You closed your eyes and pricked it, quickly squeezing a single drop of blood into the center of the circle, and said the name of the person you had been desperate to see.

Lucifer

The day of the summoning, Lucifer had felt this nagging sense of danger from the moment he opened his eyes. He was so sure it was one of his brothers about to cause trouble for him once again.

Lucifer spent the day preparing for the worst. Had Mammon stolen something of vast importance? Did Levi buy another piece of cursed media? Surely Beel hadn’t eaten a poisonous dish??

That evening, tired from being on edge all day, he had retired to his study, hoping some music would help calm his nerves. He settled into his chair and closed his eyes.

Then came the pull.

It had been ages since he had felt a sensation like this. When was the last time someone had tried to summon him? Hundreds of years ago, it had to be. And it never felt as strong as this force pulling him now.

There had once been a cult of devil worshipers who sacrificed many of their members for a chance to pull him to the human world, quite surprised to find out their sacrifices had been in vain, considering Lucifer wasn’t interested in a bunch of worthless humans. But even then the tug hadn’t been this strong. Sure, he could still resist it, but the strength of it still left him awestruck. Who had the power to call to him like this?

“Lucifer!”

His blood ran cold. Immediately, he stopped resisting the call and gave in, allowing the summoning to take place.

You had done it. Lucifer was here! The strongest and most fearsome of the seven, and you had Summoned him to you. Your heart swelled when you though of how impressed he’d be when he found out you had done it all on your own. Would he praise you? Would he tease you? Would he tilt his head and smirk, then ask you if you had really missed him that much?

You smiled softly, looking up at him. The look on his face wasn’t one of pride. His eyebrows had furrowed and a frown creased deep into his face. Was he angry at you? No... you had seen his anger many times. This wasn’t it.

“MC....what have you done?”

He cradled you softly in his arms. Wait. When had he picked you up? You looked at your surroundings, the fear in the pit of your stomach ever growing. Where had all this blood come from? You had only pricked your finger! Lucifer’s hand touched your cheek, pulling your face back to him.

“Don’t look.”

You had no choice but to obey. You simply didn’t have the strength to move anymore.

“I’ve called for help, it’ll be just a moment, MC. Just keep your eyes on me.”

Lucifer’s voice was soft and soothing, and you felt your tired body relax into his hold.

“I did it... I brought you here... I did it...” you closed your eyes, a smile on your lips.

“MC, keep your eyes open. Look at me. MC! MC!”

Mammon

That day had started out much the same as always. Mammon, still sore from last nights punishment, groaned as he slumped into his desk at RAD. He rested his head in his arms against the desk, and glanced at the seat that used to belong to you. Obviously, you weren’t there, but it didn’t hurt to check....

“MC is still in the human world, Mammon.” 

Mammon jumped and sat up straight in his seat, his cheeks red from being caught.

“I know that Belphie! I was just-just uh zonin’ out! MC’s old seat just happened to be in the same direction!” He stuttered out an excuse. 

“Just call them, Mammon. I’m sure MC would be happy to hear your voice.”  Oh great, now Beel’s getting involved too. He knew his brothers meant no harm, but all this talk about MC was getting him riled up!

“Fine! I will! I’ll call MC tonight! and you two AREN’T invited!” Mammon laid his head down once again, this time hiding his face, not wanting his blush to show a second time. Tonight he’d finally hear MC’s voice again. And he could blame Beel and Belphie for the call!

 Come dinner time, Mammon had just about run out of patience. His head kept telling him to wait just a bit longer, but something in his heart was yelling for him to quit dragging his feet. 

“I’m going to my room and NOBODY better interrupt me, ya hear?!” Mammon stumbled to his feet and started marching to his room, six pairs of eyes staring at him questioningly. He only made it a few steps when he felt it. A tug. He closed his eyes and swayed on his feet, dizzy from the force of it. This was a summoning, wasn’t it? He had felt it plenty of times from those damn witches, but something about this was different. He turned around to look his brothers again, a look of confusion on his face.

“I...think I’m bein’ summoned.”

Levi snorted and crossed his arms. “I’m sure you’re guilty of something. Better just get it over with.”

The rest of the brothers mumbled in agreement.

Except Lucifer.

Lucifer quickly pushed out his chair and hurried to Mammon. Something was wrong. A simple summoning wouldn’t have this effect on a demon of Mammon’s stature. 

The pull came once again, stronger this time. Mammon winced and held his hand to his aching head. Lucifer’s hand came down to rest on his shoulder

 “I don’t know how long I can resist this. Somethin’ isn’t right. Lucifer, what’s happening to me?” He looked to his brother for help, and found the rest of them had gathered around as well, a look of concern on all of their faces. 

“Someone call for Diavolo and Barbatos. Mammon, hold on just a few more moments.” Lucifer commanded. 

Mammon would have agreed, if not for the voice that rang out clearly in his head, calling his name. 

“Mammon!”

Mammon’s eyes snapped open and stopped resisting the pull, hearing the shouts from his brothers disappear as he followed the call.

“Mammon! Mammon! Mammon Mammon Mammon! Please!” You couldn’t keep this up for much longer, you knew it. You had fallen to your knees moments after the initial call. You could feel every drop of blood flowing out of the pin prick on your finger, but you didn’t dare give up. You had come this far, and you wouldn’t give up now. Not until you had to.

But you didn’t have to. A flash of light blinded you momentarily, and when you could see again, there he was. Standing there was the Mammon. Relief flushed through your entire body, and you stopped pouring your magic into the spell. Utterly exhausted, your body came crashing forward, landing in front of his feet.

Mammon quickly slid to his knees on the ground, picking you up off the floor and resting your head in his lap.

“You....Are you okay, MC?” Mammon tried to keep his voice even and steady, not wanting to scare you, but his hands that held too tightly and his body that quivered gave him away. 

“I am now.” You answered quietly, unsure if it was true. At least Mammon was here and holding you in his arms. Things would be okay as long as he was with you. 

“You...You idiot! Stupid! What the heck were ya thinkin’!? Can’t you see how much blood you’ve lost? This isn’t how you’re supposed to be summoning us! I’m gonna kill that damn sorcerer!” Mammon felt his blood boil with each second that passed. How Could Solomon have allowed this?

You softly squeezed his hand, not having the energy to yell for his attention. Immediately, he stopped, looking at you questioningly. 

“Solomon didn’t teach me this. He wouldn’t. But.... I just couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to see you.” You answered.

He frowned deeply, more troubled with this answer. You had done all this just to see him? He felt a lump in his throat form. “I would have come to you. You didn’t have to do this.” He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes to stop any tears from escaping. 

You cupped his cheek, returning the affection he so rarely showed. “S’okay. All that matters is you’re here now. I just...need....to rest....a little...” Your eyes fluttered closed, feeling at peace and calm in your love’s arms. 

Panic. Once again, Mammon’s eyes snapped open. He placed his hand over yours, trying to gently coax you into opening your eyes once more. 

“Not yet, you can’t yet, MC. We have to wait for help to come. Come on, wake up.” He knew his brothers would come. Someone would come. They wouldn’t let this happen to you. He wouldn’t let this happen to you. “MC!” When gentle touches didn’t work, he got rougher, shaking you and yelling, desperate to see your eyes open.

“Enough playin’ around MC! Wake up! WAKE UP, DAMMIT! Wake... Wake up...You have to..... Wake up....”

Leviathan

To say that Levi was missing his MC was like saying humans like air. Is it true? Yeah, but kind of an understatement. Humans needed air to live and breathe, and in his eyes, you were air. It’s no secret that Levi wasn’t exactly popular. One might even say it was well known that he was a dorky loner demon, if they were feeling particularly sassy. Being a loner has it’s advantages, like having more time for gaming and anime binging, but it sure is, well, a lonely once you’ve had someone to share your passions with. And once that someone is gone, their absence weighs heavy.

So yes, Levi was missing MC. So what? Everyone was missing MC. Why wouldn’t they? His MC was a ray of sunshine in a world of darkness. Ugh. That line sounder way cooler when the hero in his latest otome had said it. Of course his thoughts couldn’t sound that cool. But that’s not the point! Levi figured he had no right to complain about MC being gone, because he was just a gross, annoying, worthless otaku. He didn’t deserve to miss them. He was lucky he got to spend as much time with them as he did, really. 

But nobody could blame him for thinking these thoughts, right? Thinking about how much he missed the way MC would cram themselves as close to him as possible to get a look at whatever mobile game he was playing was harmless. So was remembering all the nights they’d spent binging anime and then realizing the sun was up, smiling sheepishly at each other and promising not to stay up so late next time, even though they always did. Okay, so maybe  thinking about the way they looked when they were fresh out of his shower, smelling of his soap and shampoo was less than innocent, but what was he supposed to do!? Leaning your damp head on his shoulder and curling up close to him like that! Doing things like that is bad for an otaku’s heart! You might give them hope or something...

Enough was enough! He didn’t have time to be obsessing over how much he missed MC. It was taking time away from his one and only true love. “Ruri-Chan, you’d never abandon me right? No, I know you wouldn’t. You’re not like that.” Levi began speaking to his latest figure. “Not to say MC IS like that! No, of course their not! They didn’t have a choice!” He stuttered out a quick fix to his hurtful words. He was glad they weren’t around to hear, but it still felt wrong to say. He was quiet for a minute, staring at his floor in shame. Slowly, he lifted his eyes back to the figure. “Do you think they miss me like I miss them?”

And then he felt it. It had been so long, but he knew this feeling.This was a summoning, wasn’t it?! Based on the intense tug he felt, it had to be a super powerful sorcerer or maybe a group of basic magic users? Honestly, he was flattered. Someone wanted to summon HIM? No, They must have made a mistake. Surely this summon was meant for one of his brothers.

Leviathan was so lost in his own self pity he missed the first two calls of his name. The third one, sounding so desperate and pleading, snapped him out of his funk in an instant. He knew that voice. Without hesitation he let the summon take him, and there he was. He was finally reunited with MC.

But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. When he finally saw them again, he was supposed to feel elated and whole again, not like a piece of his heart was ripped right out of his chest. But when he locked eyes with them, surrounded by blood and their eyes looking glassy, that’s exactly what he felt.

“MC! Oh no. Oh no.”

Levi. He was here. He had to be. You heard his voice and felt his presence, felt his arms circle around you and cradle you tightly against his chest. But why couldn’t you see him? And why did you feel so… empty?

“Levi? That’s you isn’t it? Why is it so dark?” Had the candles all gone out? No, even before you lit them, you remember it hadn’t been this dark. Something was wrong.

Levi inhaled shakily, holding back the sobs he desperately wanted to release. “MC, what are you talking about? I’m right here! Can’t you see me?”

Like a bolt of lighting, the realization hit you. It wasn’t dark. The candles hadn’t gone out. It was your eyes.

“No, Levi. I can’t. I can’t see you. I can’t see anything.” You shakily reach your hand up, frantically feeling around for your love’s face. Leviathan’s usual timid nature word have normally had him reeling away, but in this moment, he had no reservations as he helped guide your hand to his cheek. His lips trembled as he fought the urge to scream.

“MC…. Why would you do this? You’ve lost so much blood… and.. and your sight? I’m not worth this. I’m just a useless otaku! It isn’t fair!” His tears began to flow, the guilt of it all was ripping him apart.

You closed your eyes and smiled as you remembered the many faces of this man you had called to you. “It was worth it. I did it because I love you, Levi. I need you. After all, what good is a Henry without his lord?”

#obey me #shall we date? obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #reader insert #tw self harm #tw sewing needle prick #tw blood #this was way to long winded I overdid it

[estcsy]

NEEDLES AND PLUSHIES!

camilo madrigal x reader!

TW! Mentions of needles and blood!

do NOT read this if you are 18+. camilo is a 15 year old boy.

dr shifting experience!

————————————————————————

translation key!

“Hola Camilo.” “Hello Camilo.”

“Hola Mars.” “Hello Mars.”

““Lo prometes?” “You promise?”

““Sí lo prometo.” “Yes I promise.”

————————————————————————

I was certainly very focused on sewing the button eyes of a bird plushy that I am gonna give to antoñio as a surprise since I love him to the moon and back.

Tho all my attention was on the plushy, I could feel someone’s eyes burning through me.

I bet my life it’s that menace.

Camilo Madrigal.

You see, Camilo is a competitive one. He always has been.

well.. at least with me.

Im trying as hard as I can to not look at him because I know if I do then I’ll regret it with every fiber in my body.

‘Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him”

the little voice in my head repeated. In FULL panic mode.

the sudden feeling of uneasiness making me prick my middle finger. Making the red liquid that bodies are filled with start to flow out.

‘now I have to look at him to get a bandage..’

Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for the worst.

Yes I know that may sound a little bit dramatic. But that boy knows how to mess with your feelings.

I get up, slightly hiding my head behind my dress so that it look like I’m just playing with it and not hiding my pricked finger with blood on it.

“Hola Camilo.” I told him will a small smile.

‘DAMN’

That’s when the smile I had on fell.

‘Why does he look so good all the time?’

His hair was up, he had a white white shirt on, and black sweatpants..

‘holy fucking shit I’m about to go feral’

I shook my head. Trying to get all those annoying thoughts out.

“Hola Mars.”

I walk up to the doorway as fast as I could, not wanting to look at him anymore.

thinking I was about to make it out. I feel a body standing in my way.

I swear to god there is so way to escape him.

“What do you need from me?” I said to him as I looked down. The tone in my voice implying that I have somewhere I need to be.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked into my eyes.

His pretty eyes hazel eyes looking into my dark ones.

But then, the feeling of his warm hand grabbing my right wrist took me out of the trance that he had on me.

He then looked at it, obviously noticing the blood on my middle finger.

I quickly took my hand back from him and hid it behind my back.

“Why do you do you get hurt so often?” The boy with the curly brown hair told me as he took a bandage out of his pocket.

“You say it as if I feel off a cliff.” I said back in a quieter voice then his.

He took my hand from behind my back and held my wrist out in front of him so that he can put the bandage on my finger.

“You know how your body reacts to small injuries Mars.” He said to me in a worried tone. Taking the bandage out of the wrapping.

‘That’s why my girl Julieta is here with us today’ my mind said, as if replaying to what he said.

“Yes Julieta can heal but please try to be more careful..” He continues, finishing putting the bandage on me.

ITS LIKE HE CAN HEAR MY THOUGHTS.

“Camilo I’m glad you care but I really am fine, it was just a little accident with the needle.. I didn’t really feel it either way..” My tongue poking at the inside of my right cheek out of habit.

“You’re lying.”

“What?” Confusion all over my face and voice.

“You do that thing with your tongue when you lie.”

WOWWWW-

I looked at him with a shocked face and pulled my hand away from him.

Only for him to pull my hand back and give my middle finger a kiss.

I forgot what my name is.

How old I am.

What I’m doing here.

He looked back up at me and laughed at the expression I had on my face.

“You look like you seen a ghost”

Snapping back into reality, i used my hand to hide the smile that was started to appear on my face.

“Nooo do do that” Camilo said removing my hand from my face “I like it when you smile”

how the hell am I supposed to react to Camilo Madrigal saying that to me?

“I like yours too?”

Oh god that sounded like a question.

“Yeah thanks..” Camilo told me with a hurt look on his face, starting to walk away.

Oh my god he’s such a drama queen.

“No I really do!” I chuckled and pulled him backwards for a hug.

We stayed like that for a little bit. just enjoy one another’s company.

I felt his head turn to the right, looking at the table.

“Who is that for?”

His voice is so soothing…

“Antoñio.” I said back to him, walking over to pick up the plushy I had just finished making.

“Again?? that’s his second onee~” he whined, following behind me.

“Camilo I gave you one.” I chuckled at his childish act.

“THAT WAS 5 YEARS AGO THO” he continued to whine and fall back on a chair.

“Okay, the next one I make is gonna be for you.” I told him as I played with the curls at the top of his bun.

“Lo prometes?”

“Sí lo prometo.” I said back as I stuck out my pinky, and him doing the same with his. Interlocking out pinkies together.

———————————————��——————————

I didn’t give this situation justice at all.. I hate my writing (|||❛︵❛.)

#shifting #encanto #encanto x reader #camilo madrigal #camilo x reader

[slashmagpie]

This Garden Once Was Perfect, Chapter Nine

First | Prev | AO3

A DSMP longfic inspired by @rozugold’s @painted-illusions-au.

Bad smirks. “Well, Wilbur, you can rest assured that Tommy will be safe and sound. We are here on Egg business, though. We do need you to come with us, I’m afraid.”

5.7k words. TWs: minor disordered eating, violence, abduction/coercion, non-canonical character death, abuse, minor unreality, brainwashing/possession.

The day after bath day, Wilbur insists on doing more chores. They gather wax from the beehives and combine it with flowers and oil to make soap, and then sit around in the garden with buckets of water as they do laundry, leaving their shirts and trousers out to die in the warm spring sun while they set about constructing clothing that hasn’t been far too lived in. Tommy takes charge, having been the one to mend their uniforms the most back in the day, and Wilbur contents himself to sit in the grass and prick his fingers on sewing needles as he cobbles together something that might be a shirt, if you squinted and really wanted it to be one.

It’s a process that would be altogether easier if he and Tubbo weren’t literally tied together, but Wilbur declines to comment on it. At least the discs Tommy is playing from the Jukebox mostly drown out the jingling.

At a certain point Tommy descends the ladder into their base and returns with a plate of sandwiches. They eat lunch without affair, and if Tommy spends most of the time crumbling his sandwiches into crumbs and throwing them to the birds, well, nobody mentions it.

By mid-afternoon they’re all dressed once again and just enjoying their time in the garden. Tubbo and Tommy are making flower crowns, bickering lightly and talking to the birds that were attracted by Tommy’s sandwiches. Wilbur lies back in the grass with his eyes closed and enjoys the warmth of the sunshine.

It’s as he’s lying, surrounded by wildflowers, that he hears it: the distant sound of voices, footsteps tramping through the grass. He sits up immediately, startling Tommy and Tubbo out of their conversation, staring off in the direction of the voices.

“Wil, what—” Tommy starts, but Wilbur hushes him with a finger pressed to his lips and a wide-eyed, urgent look. He taps his ear with his free hand and points in the direction he’s facing. Tommy and Tubbo both go quiet, recognising the signal: be quiet, listen.

The voices grow louder, clearer. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“I’m pretty sure. Look, you can check yourself, if you want.” Wilbur recognises this voice: BadBoyHalo. The other one is familiar, but he can’t quite…

“Get that out of my face—! Look, I don’t really care either way, I’ll just be mad if we’ve trekked all the way out here for nothing. Why’d the kid go and build a base all the way out here, anyway?” Antfrost. That’s Antfrost.

“So nobody would bother him.” Punz. Shit.

“It’s the Egg people,” Tommy hisses. He’s gone startlingly pale. “Quick, we need to get—get inside.”

Wilbur nods seriously, goes to stand—and is interrupted by the sound of a jangling bell. “Shit,” he hisses, eyes wide as he looks down at Tommy and Tubbo. The voices have also gone quiet.

“That came from this direction,” says BadBoyHalo, and then the footsteps are faster, louder, closer, and three people are standing at the fence boundary, staring right at them. “Hi Tommy!” Bad greets, chipper. “It’s been a couple days, how’ve you been? Lovely place you’ve got here, it looks really… hm… peaceful!”

Tommy is on his feet, tensed, though in a way that Wilbur can’t tell if he’s preparing to run or for a fight. “What are you doing here,” he says flatly.

“Thought we’d come pay you a visit!” Bad says, hopping the fence.

“Stay back,” Tommy snaps, summoning a netherite sword from his inventory and hey, hang on a minute, when did he get that?

“Okay, okay.” Bad raises his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to fight you, Tommy, honest.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well, I heard you had roommates! Tubbo, Wilbur—it’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? How’s not-death treating you?”

“Fine?” Tubbo says, uncertain, standing between Wilbur and Tommy, gaze darting around everyone gathered in the garden.

“Fine,” Wilbur echoes. Forcing confidence into his voice, he adds, “Tommy tells me you’ve started a cult, BadBoyHalo.”

“A cult?” Bad laughs. “No, no, not a cult! That’s ridiculous! Tommy,” he chides, “come on, spreading lies again are we?”

“N-No,” Tommy stammers. “I—you have a big creepy egg thing! And you wanted me to join you! And when I said no, you—you tried to kill me!”

“Well, that’s true,” Bad admits. “But it’s not—it’s not a cult, Tommy. And, and, you’ll be pleased to know, we’ve changed our minds! We’re not going to kill you, Tommy.”

Wilbur doesn’t like this version of BadBoyHalo, he’s decided. “Well, that’s good,” Wilbur says, “because you and I, we’d have problems if you tried, BadBoyHalo, we would. I wouldn’t like you very much if you killed Tommy. I might even have to do something about it.”

Bad smirks. “Well, Wilbur, you can rest assured that Tommy will be safe and sound. We are here on Egg business, though. We do need you to come with us, I’m afraid.”

“Um,” says Tubbo.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Tommy says. “The only one going anywhere is you and your little, little posse, and far away from here.”

“Mm, no,” Bad says. “You see, we did come all this way. I wouldn’t want to go back empty-handed.”

Tommy’s expression steels, his grip tightening on his sword. “Tubbo, Wilbur,” he says, “go inside.”

“Tommy—” Wilbur starts, but Tommy just glares at him. Wilbur quickly calculates their odds—the Eggpire, in full armour, presumably with weapons; he and Tubbo and Tommy, armourless, Tommy the only one with a sword.

Wilbur grabs the rope tying him and Tubbo together and pulls Tubbo back towards the trapdoor as Tommy steps forward, weapon at the ready.

“Wilbur!” Tubbo hisses as they descend the ladder. “What’re you doing, we can’t just leave him—”

“We’re not,” Wilbur snaps. “We’re getting armour and weapons, and then we’re going back out there. We’ll be no good like this.”

Tubbo goes quiet and nods, and Wilbur jumps down to the floor. Tubbo follows and they dash for the chests—Wilbur fishes out a diamond sword and cuts the rope from his wrist, letting the bell jangle as it hits the floor. Tubbo moves away, grabbing supplies from another chest across the room. Wilbur’s just grabbed some armour and is about to don it when Tommy drops down into the room, hissing in pain at the fall damage as he stumbles back from the ladder. His shirt is torn, a long bloody cut stretching down his shoulder and across his chest. It looks shallow, but Wilbur can’t help but wince in sympathy.

Tommy turns to the two of them, opens his mouth to say something, and is cut off as Punz drops down behind him and, so fast Wilbur can barely see, drives the hilt of his sword into Tommy’s skull, knocking him out cold.

“Tommy!” Tubbo cries, darting forward, but Punz steps forward, holding out a sword between the two of them. His face is unreadable. Tubbo glances desperately over at Wilbur, and Wilbur just stares hopelessly back; he’s wearing half a set of iron armour and gripping a low-durability diamond sword. Punz’s armour is enchanted netherite. Even if Wilbur could have beaten Punz in a fair fight—which he couldn’t—this fight is nothing but fair.

“Thank you, Punz,” BadBoyHalo says, climbing down the ladder. “That worked out nicely! So, Wilbur, Tubbo—I don’t suppose you two have any qualms about coming with us?”

“What about Tommy?” Wilbur asks.

“Eh, we don’t need him for this,” Bad says. “We’ll leave him here. He’ll wake up eventually. And if he doesn’t… Well, it wouldn't be canon, right, Punz?”

“Right,” Punz agrees. “I’ll stay with him, even. Make sure he doesn’t get any smart ideas about following us back.”

Bad grins, fangs on display. “Great! Now, both of you, empty your inventories of… oh, let’s say everything, except for food. And did my eyes deceive me, or did Tommy have you two tied up? That’s hilarious. Punz, tie them up again.”

Wilbur grits his teeth as he follows the instructions, dumping everything he has on him into the nearest chest and letting Punz reattach the severed rope to his wrist. It chafes as Bad grabs the rope and yanks him and Tubbo forward.

“Come on, you two, chop chop! It’s a long walk back to the SMP, I’m afraid… oh, but the trip will be worth it. You’ll see, you’ll see.”

They follow him back outside, where Antfrost is waiting, standing by a patch of flattened, bloodsoaked grass. He waves as Bad drags Tubbo and Wilbur over to him, and then the four of them are crossing the boundaries of the garden and heading out into the unknown.

“Wilbur,” Tubbo whispers to him as they walk, “Wilbur, are you sure about this?”

Wilbur shrugs, shaking his head. “We can’t fight them, Tubbo, they’d curb-stomp us. We may as well go and see this Egg and hey, maybe Puffy and Sam will rescue us, too.”

“You’re pinning a lot on Puffy and Sam, big man.”

“Look, if you can figure out a way to get out of this without dying, I’m with you, man, one hundred percent. In the meantime, let’s just try and get through this and back to Tommy as soon as we can.”

Tubbo sighs, then nods. “Fine,” he says. He pulls away a little, signalling the end of their conversation, eyes darting around, thoughtful expression on his face. Wilbur has no doubt that he is trying to figure out a way out of this. Wilbur is sure that if anyone can, it’s Tubbo.

He just walks, and tries very hard not to think of Tommy covered in blood, or Bad’s sharp teeth, or the promise of the eldritch thing that waits ahead of them.

----

The kid’s base is incredibly ugly.

It looks kind of comfortable, at least. Lived-in. There’s an unmade bed in one corner where he assumes the kid sleeps, dishes piled in the sink from lunch. Tommy lies passed out at Punz’s feet, skin pallid, a rapidly-growing pool of blood beneath him. Punz wonders idly if he’ll wake up before he loses a non-canon life or not. It’s not like it particularly matters to him either way; the damage is done, and Punz did it.

“It’s been a while,” says a familiar voice, and it takes all of Punz’s willpower not to flinch.

“Dream,” they greet. “How’s being dead?”

Dream laughs, floating forward into Punz’s field of vision. “Oh, you know, it has its perks, its downsides. So, you’ve teamed up with these Egg freaks, huh?”

Punz doesn’t give him the reaction he’s prodding for. “You’re dead, Dream,” is all they say. “You have no say over my loyalty anymore.”

“True, true,” Dream acquiesces.

Punz follows up with, “Are you planning on staying dead?”

Dream hums. “For now. Why, is that an offer?”

Punz shrugs. “It might be. If you wanted it. I do know how, after all.”

“Mmm. I see. Well, I appreciate it, and if I change my mind, I will definitely hit you up. However,” Dream turns to the boy passed out on the floor, “I’m waiting for Tommy to bring me back.”

Punz nods. He’d thought that might be the case. “You know, at first, I thought it was a ruse,” he says. “You and Tommy had a plan to fake your death so you could work under everyone’s noses.”

“Oh, that’s smart! See, this is why I keep you around, Punz, you’re always coming up with these clever ideas.” Dream's smile falls. “But no. Tommy’s just an ungrateful little gnat who didn’t appreciate everything I did for him.” He pokes Tommy’s cheek; the kid lets out a small whine. “He’ll realise soon enough that he needs me, though. I’m just waiting to see how long it takes for him to cave. I’ve gotta hand it to him, he’s lasted longer than I thought.”

“What do you see in him, anyway?” Punz asks. He’d never gotten a straight answer out of Dream when he’d been alive, but his ghost seems more chatty.

“He’s fun,” Dream says with a shrug. “Most people are boring, but Tommy never fails to surprise me. He’s a stubborn little shit, and it’s amusing to see how he reacts when I fuck with him.”

“I see,” Punz says.

“What about you? What do you think about Tommy?” Dream asks.

Punz blinks, caught off-guard by the question. “I like him,” he admits. “He’s a good kid.”

Dream snorts. “No he’s not.”

Punz corrects, “He’s endearing, then.”

“Sure.” Dream’s new eyes have no pupils, but Punz somehow knows that his gaze is fixed on him. “So. You like him, but you don’t get it.”

“Why you’re so obsessed with him? No, I don’t.”

Dream opens his mouth as if to explain himself, but cuts off when the body beneath him dissolves and disappears. The two of them turn to the bed across the room as Tommy respawns and sits straight up, gasping for breath. “Hey—who—what—” He turns to see Dream and Punz watching him and goes still, swallowing. Punz half expects him to say something, but he stays silent, and this fearful, timid Tommy is the one they're more familiar with from their time spent with Dream.

Good morning!” Dream greets. “Now, this is familiar, isn’t it? We’re all back together again!”

“Where’s—where’s Tubbo? Where’s Wilbur?” Tommy asks, something desperate and keening in his tone.

“Oh, they’re long gone, on their way to the Egg,” Dream says dismissively. “It’s just the three of us, just like old times!” Tommy stares. Dream sighs. “Come on, Tommy, aren’t you excited?”

“No,” Tommy whispers. “No, I—I don’t want you here. Go away.”

“So get rid of us,” Punz challenges. “If you want us gone, make us leave.”

Tommy just stares at him hopelessly. He knows he can’t. They all know he can’t. He’s gripping the blankets on his bed tightly, knuckles white.

“Why are you here?” he asks. “What do you want?”

“Maybe we just missed you,” Dream says. “Didn’t you miss us, Tommy?”

Tommy’s breathing grows faster, more laboured. “N-No, no, I didn’t—didn’t fucking miss you, you bastard, you—”

“Careful, Tommy,” Dream warns. “I may be dead, but Punz is right here, and he has a sword.”

Tommy goes silent. Punz raises an eyebrow. “You’d let me lay a hand on the kid?” they ask Dream. “That’s new.”

“Well, it’s not like I can do it,” Dream points out. “I’ll just live vicariously through you.” Tommy whines, reaching up and pulling at his hair. “Not that it’ll be an issue, as long as Tommy behaves himself. You’re gonna behave, aren’t you, Tommy?” No response. The kid has curled into himself, knees drawn up to his chest and head lowered. He’s hyperventilating. “Tommy?” Dream presses, something dangerous in his tone.

“Yes,” Tommy wheezes. “I—I’ll behave, I will, I just—don’t touch me please don’t touch me please…”

Dream scoffs. “Don’t be so melodramatic,” he scolds. “Now come on, calm down, I want to talk.” Tommy does not calm down. If anything, he only gets more distressed, choking on half-repressed gasps. Dream groans. “Of course you’d waste my time. After everythi—well, no, it’s fine. We’ll just do a factory reset. Punz?”

Punz pulls his sword and steps forward. It’s painfully easy to sever Tommy’s head from his body; there’s a splatter of blood, and then he’s respawning in his bed, staring frozen and wide-eyed at the ceiling, one hand clutched to his throat.

Dream steps forward. “Are you going to calm down and talk with us now?” he asks.

Tommy whispers, “Yes.”

Dream claps his hands. “Excellent! Great. Well, why don’t we start with your plans, Tommy?”

“My—my plans?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re a free man, now, right? I’ve heard all your incessant ramblings, of course, but we should get Punz up to speed.”

“Oh.” Tommy sits up, back against the wall and staring at the two of them. There’s blood on his shirt and Punz’s sword and the wall. “I, um, I was going to—to start a country. Out here. Somewhere… somewhere peaceful.”

“Was going to?” Dream echoes, curious. “What, did you change your mind?”

Tommy half-shrugs. “I… Well, I mean… I think it might not be a very good idea. I… I can’t control anyone.” He swallows. “I can’t stop people from doing what they want. I think it’s best to just… stay out here. Alone.”

Dream throws his head back and laughs so hard he chokes. Punz and Tommy both blink at him in surprise. Dream snorts, wiping at the dripping smoky ink-like trails streaming down from his arm-eyes. “Well,” he says, as soon as he’s regained his sensibilities, “I think it’s good that you’re acknowledging your limitations! Because you’re right, Tommy, you can’tcontrol anyone. It’s not in your nature. It’s why—you were my protege, right, but you weren’t, like, my successor, or anything. You were meant to follow me, not kill me and continue my work.” The words are harsh and demeaning, and the kid flinches with the force of them. “So I’m glad you’re admitting that! Really. However. I am a little mad that you’ve just, what, given up? I taught you better than that.”

Tommy looks confused. “So… You don’t think I can do it but you want me to try?” he asks.

“No, no.” Dream shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tommy. I’m glad you’ve seen the error of your ways, but it’s about time now that this little charade came to an end. It’s time for you to bring me back.”

Tommy flinches away from them. “No,” he says, and his voice sounds firmer than Punz has heard it in a long time. “I don’t—I don’t care what you do, what you say, however many times Punz kills me—I am not bringing you back.”

Dream sighs. “Come on, Tommy, we both know you’re going to eventually. You may as well get it over with.”

Tommy just shakes his head, resolute. “I won’t.”

Dream rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you can deny you miss me.”

“I don’t miss you,” Tommy says, jaw set firm.

“I made you,” Dream says. “I own you, Tommy! I know you miss me, you can’t deny it. You hate having freedom, having responsibility, you don’t know what to do with it. You miss having someone to follow! And I know you hate being alone. Now that Wilbur and Tubbo have gone to join the Egg—how long will it be before you come crawling back to me, begging my forgiveness?” Dream smiles, leaning forward into Tommy’s personal space, not close enough to touch but close enough that Tommy has nowhere else to look but into the space where his eyes would be if he were human. “And I will forgive you, Tommy, I promise. You’ll be welcome right back at my side. Things can be easy again, just like they were before—don’t you want that?”

“I want absolutely fucking nothing to do with you.” Tommy’s voice shakes.

“You’re lying,” Dream says, but he pulls back from Tommy’s personal space anyway. “But that’s okay. I can wait. I am a very patient man.”

The Dream Punz knew was anything but patient. Maybe this new Dream is different. Maybe he’s lying. It doesn’t matter either way, because Dream has dropped the conversation, instead turning to Punz.

“So,” he says, “tell me about your loyalty to this Eggpire.” Punz doesn’t like the grin on his face, but he refuses to be intimidated. After all, Punz and Dream are allies, but Dream does not own Punz in the way he owns Tommy. Punz is free to take his business where he pleases, and while he will always consider Dream in his plans, he has no real obligation to do anything Dream says.

Punz shrugs. “The Egg brings power to the server. And I mean real power, not political power. It’s more than you could ever understand. I want to be on its side. I want that power for myself. It’s simple, really.”

“Right,” Dream drawls. “You’re sure you’re not, just, like, a little brainwashed?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Punz says, ignoring the faint stir of doubt in the back of their mind. “You know me, Dream.” And Dream does know Punz: knows that Punz will follow money and power and always act in their own self-interest. Some might say that makes them a bad person, but Punz figures it’s only bad if you lie about it, and they have always been very upfront about their priorities.

“I do,” Dream agrees, “which is how I know you’re not in your right mind. Come on Punz, you really think BadBoyHalois going to give you what you want? He won’t even say fuck.”

Punz rolls their eyes. “Why does everybody think Bad is the one in charge? Don’t answer that.” Dream closes his mouth. “You’ll see, Dream. Unless you’re going to try and buy my loyalty away—but let’s be honest, there’s nothing you can offer me now that the Egg doesn’t blow entirely out of the water. It is more than you could ever comprehend.”

“So, what? Tommy’s decided to spit in the face of all my training and turn against me, and you, who I’ve always counted on to be by my side, I mean, you’re kind of my right hand man, Punz—you’ve abandoned me for some Egg?”

“Sorry, Dream,” Punz says, “you don’t get to have power when you’re dead.”

The offer there is implicit. The message beneath his words: the offer is still on the table. Dream turns away. Well, then. Punz won’t push. If Dream has opted for the hard route, Punz will let him struggle.

“You’re making a mistake,” Dream says. “Both of you. But that’s fine. After all, what is life without mistakes?” He laughs. There’s no amusement in his tone. “Well, have fun here, I guess. I’ll be back, probably. Try not to get eaten by the Egg, Punz, and Tommy…” He trails off, waves a dismissive hand. “Actually, no, there’s no point saying anything to you because you’ve proven that you’re too stubborn to listen.”

And then he’s gone, and it’s just Punz and Tommy in the empty base. Punz meets the kid’s gaze. “You doing alright?” he asks.

Tommy scowls. “Get out of my base.”

Yeah, that’s fair. “Alright,” Punz says, shrugging. “I’ll see you around, Tommy.” He hesitates at the foot of the ladder. “Oh, one more thing. Be careful what you say to the ghost, alright? Dream’ll make you pay for it when he gets back.”

Tommy grits his teeth. “He’s not coming back.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” Punz says. “The only question is, which of us will cave first?”

And then he’s gone, ascending the ladder before Tommy can get in another word. It’s not until he reaches the boundary of the garden that he realises just how far he has to walk to get back.

“Ugh,” he groans. “Of course. There’s not even a nether—fine. Whatever. I’ll just walk, then.” He begins the long trek, unhappy about it. “I’m going to kill Bad.”

----

After hours of walking, Wilbur is at the end of his rope.

His feet ache, his wrist chafes, and he is thoroughly bored out of his mind. He’d tried singing to pass the time, about two hours in, but the Eggpire hadn’t appreciated his rendition of 99 Bottles on the Wall, and he’d been threatened into silence. Tubbo also seems equally weary, having been caught early into his escape attempt about an hour ago, and now limps on a twisted ankle from where Antfrost had tackled him to the ground.

They’re somewhere familiar now, though, and Wilbur finds himself somehow surprised at how much the Dream SMP has changed.

He shouldn’t be, really, he knows he’s been gone for a while, but it’s still a shock: the unfamiliar presence of new structures, the absence of familiar ones. It’s also eerily quiet here, devoid of all life except for the blood-red vines creeping across the server. Wilbur feels like he’s walking through a dream, stumbling on dead feet through something that resembles his home but isn’t. It hasn’t quite gotten to the point where he can tell if this dream is a nightmare or just mildly discomforting, but he can feel the dread pooling in his stomach either way.

“This way, just down here,” Bad instructs, pushing them towards a mineshaft. “Go ahead, we’ll be right behind.”

“Down here?” Tubbo asks, squinting into the hole.

“Down there,” Antfrost confirms.

Tubbo glances at Wilbur; Wilbur gives a small nod in response. Tubbo takes a breath and jumps and, too late, Wilbur remembers that they’re tied together.

He falls without dignity and lands with even less, collapsing on top of Tubbo in the pool of water at the bottom of the hole. “What the hell, man?” he groans, rolling out of the way as Bad and Ant drop down behind them. “You could have warned me!”

“You said you were ready!”

“No I did not.”

“I looked at you! You nodded!”

“How was I meant to know what that meant!”

“You—”

“Are you two done?” BadBoyHalo asks. Wilbur falls silent.

“Where are we going, boss man?” Tubbo asks, getting to his feet. Wilbur follows.

“Just down here, follow me, gentlemen.”

The corridor Bad leads them down is narrow and claustrophobic and pulsing with an energy that makes Wilbur’s teeth ache. As they reach the end of the tunnel and it opens into a large cavern filled with red and vines, the ache intensifies, creeping up his jaw and into his temples. Wilbur’s eyes fill with crimson static, and he has to blink through it to catch a glimpse of what they’ve been brought here to see: The Egg.

It’s bigger than he’d expected, but exactly as creepy as described. The sight of it makes his skin crawl. It pulses with stuttering light in time with the pounding in his head, the beating of an unnatural heart.

“Come on, come closer,” Bad says, picking up the rope and pulling it again.

“No, I—I don’t think I want to,” Wilbur stutters weakly. The dread is intensifying, flooding out of his stomach and into his chest. Nightmare, this is a nightmare, he wants out, but here in this large space Bad has grown to his full height and Wilbur doesn’t have the strength to pull away. He’s shaking—why is he shaking? What’s wrong with him? What is this thing?

“Wilbur?” Tubbo whispers, looking at him with clear concern. “Are you okay?”

Wilbur shakes his head, gritting his teeth. Bad pulls them to a halt beside the Egg. “Here,” he instructs, “put your hand on the Egg.”

Wilbur doesn’t want to. He opens his mouth to refuse, but his lips are stuck tight; he can’t pry them apart. His hand moves without his permission.

His palm makes contact with the spongy surface of the egg, and his mind explodes into static and whispers and red, red,r̵̡̛e̶̡̚d̵̪̆.

W̷̘̃i̵̟̓ḽ̴̇b̶̟̀ú̴͕r̴̙̐ ̶͉̓S̸̞͗o̴̓ͅo̶͖̒t̸̠̒.̶̠́ ̸̞̉Ÿ̸͍́o̶̝̾u̸͕͠ ̷̢̔ṡ̵͇ḧ̵̰́ỏ̷̦ų̷͊l̴̼͒d̵̩̅ ̵̱̈́n̶͍͝ò̸̙t̸̗̅ ̸͙͝b̴̊͜e̸̡͛ ̷̦͂ä̶͎́ĺ̵͉i̵̲̽v̶̱̀e̴͍͛.̴̘͐

Wilbur chokes. There is copper in his mouth and static on his tongue and something in his head and get it out get it out—

C̵̳̅a̶̺̓l̷̢̄m̷͍̽ ̷̥̂y̵͍̆ò̶͖u̶̫̾ŕ̵̜s̷͚̃e̴͚͑l̵̤̑f̶̪̔.̸̲̒ ̷̪̓S̵̹̉t̸̡́o̸̰̒p̵̳̉ ̶͓̈t̸̂͜ŕ̵̬y̴̱̾i̸̫͂ń̵̨g̴̣̉ ̸͈̔t̵͜͝o̷̟͠ ̸̥̚r̵̥̄é̵̲s̸̲̏i̶̩͑s̵̡͊t̴̆͜.̷̙̃ ̸̢͋I̴̩̓ ̴̩͂ẇ̵̨î̵̻l̸̨̽ĺ̷ͅ ̴͕͌g̵̱͘i̷͖͂v̵̼̇e̴͎͗ ̷̓ͅy̸̥̌ơ̸̮ṷ̷̈ ̸̲̑w̸̱̆h̷͎͒a̸̧̛t̷̲͑ ̸̡̑y̴͈̑ó̴͕ú̵͍r̸̙͋ ̸̦͗h̸̛̬e̸͕̅a̸̯͆ř̸͔t̷̗̅ ̶̣͑d̸̘̈ȩ̶̽s̶̙̀i̶̳̾r̴̰̒ḛ̶̍s̶̹͑.̷̭̾ ̴̙͛I̷̘̿ ̸̪͛w̵͝ͅì̷̮l̶͙͆l̷̨̋ ̶̱̏g̴̳̈i̶͉̽v̶̯͊e̴͉̚ ̸̘͝y̸̯͌o̷̡̚u̷̙͠ ̴̗̿ẃ̴̺h̸̻͋a̴̜̓t̵̡̚ ̶͉͗ÿ̶̨́ȯ̸͇ȗ̴̳ ̵̧͠w̸̮͊ă̷̢n̵̢͑t̶̲͊.̴͇̅

Want want you don’t know what I want—

O̷͔̊f̸̼̑ ̶̩̓ĉ̸͈ö̷̦́u̶͔̾ȓ̶͔s̷̟͐e̸͘ͅ ̵̇͜I̴̬̅ ̴̺̍d̶̪̈́o̸̜̅.̴͓̄ ̶̦̕I̶͓̐ ̷̒͜k̵̰̄n̵̻̓o̷͓̍w̵̲̃ ̵̠͌a̶̮͌l̴̜̔l̴̩̆.̴̧͑ ̸̫͠I̸̩̐ ̶̝̈s̶̗̄e̵̖̔e̷̗͂ ̷͚͑a̸̗͒l̸͙͂l̵͇̓.̶͙̽ ̸͖̄İ̸͉ ̴͍̀ȃ̷̹m̴̢̀ ̸̖̎a̸̧̾l̸͜͠l̶̫̓.̵͚̾ ̸̬͐Ä̶̲n̵͕͋d̸͍̑ ̶̧̔s̴̡̚o̴͎͝ ̸͔͌c̸͕͐a̶̤͌n̷̟͑ ̷̜͠ȳ̵̯ő̵̻u̶̫͘,̵̥͊ ̶̫̚i̷̟̒f̸͕̂ ̵̙̈́ẏ̵̻o̵̫͑u̴͖̓ ̴̹̆g̴͍͝ĭ̴̖v̴̙͗ẹ̴̊ ̴̓͜y̷̟̿o̶̻̍u̶̲͋r̵̪͝ș̵̚e̵̮͝l̴̺͆f̴͈̂ ̵̻̄t̶͖͘ǒ̷͓ ̶̩̉m̶͖͗ȩ̵̏.̴͔̅

Stop—

S̵̞̓h̸̦̒o̴̯͊ũ̴̠l̶̨̑d̴̝͆e̵̢̿r̴̙̈́s̵̨͌ ̷̺̑û̷̲n̵̥͊b̵͍̅ủ̷̼r̶̠͒d̴̲̔e̴͕͑n̵̛͚ę̶͋d̶͚̉.̸̰̋ ̴͎̅Ȧ̶͉ ̶̭̀l̷̘̐ḛ̵͂g̶̪̿a̸̗̽c̵̰̓y̶̜͌ ̷̥̈s̴̨͑e̵̻͠ṱ̶̍ ̸̦̓i̷̩͐n̴̦̐ ̴͎̔s̵̛̮t̸̪͐ơ̴̲n̸̝̏e̵̟͊.̴̗͝ ̶͕̆Ä̴̭́ ̸̤̐m̷̺̀ị̴͛n̵̪̕d̸̘͂ ̴͔̈́ǹ̸͍o̵̧̔ ̷̺͠ḽ̷̒o̷̝͂ń̶̼g̴̝̏e̸̬͊r̴̙̊ ̷̜̉h̷̢̃á̶̹ü̶̡n̶̰̾t̵̥̓e̴̢͆d̵̻͗ ̴̗̾b̵͚͆y̴̟͝ ̶̟̚r̵̘͘e̷̢͊ĝ̷̢r̶͙̋e̴̹̅t̸͔͛.̷̟͂ ̵̤̈A̴̰͐ ̴̜̆h̴̹̏e̶̱̅ǎ̷̫ŕ̷̮t̶͙̆ ̸̗̍n̴͙͊ŏ̸͔ ̶̲͝l̵͉̔o̵̳̓n̸͖̓g̷͎̊ḛ̴̔r̸̦͗ ̶̢̓b̵̝͐r̷̪̓ö̴͎k̸̘̈́e̸̟͗n̸͜͠.̴̙̔ ̸͍̿A̸̕ͅl̶̲̄l̵̥̍ ̵̗͊ö̷̺́f̴̰̿ ̷̭̕t̴̛̙h̷̖͐i̶͎͠s̴̛͇ ̴̨͝c̷͉̏a̷͈͘ṇ̸̏ ̴͙̊b̴͇͊ḛ̶̂ ̸̥̒y̶͇̍o̷̘͂u̴̜̾r̴̳̋s̴̯̕,̴̫̿ ̸̩̎W̵̨͘i̸͚̾l̶̖̑b̶̤̏ũ̴͍ṛ̷̔ ̵̮̏S̶̳͊o̸̲͒o̴̪̕t̴̫̊.̸͙̀

And then Wilbur can see it: himself, standing below a statue bearing his face, surrounded by smiling friends. He can't quite make out their faces, but he can hear the way they cheer his name, feel the pride and admiration they have in him. The world lies at their feet, ready for the taking, and the people he loves are waiting for him to lead them, not a hint of doubt or worry in their minds. He’s smiling with them, laughing in a way Wilbur has not laughed in years, walking with a confidence Wilbur has often feigned and rarely felt, and Wilbur aches. He wants it. He wants this, perhaps more than he’s wanted anything before.

T̷͈̿h̶̡̿a̷͈͊t̷̼͗'̸̟̓s̶̯͛ ̷̪͌i̷͓̓t̶͙͒.̶͖̓ ̷͇͐G̵̘̿i̴̋͜v̵̞̉ḛ̵̅ ̸̫̀ẏ̶̰o̷͠ͅú̸͜r̸̜̾s̷̯̾e̸͔̐l̸̲͌f̷̱͘ ̸͉́t̴̪̾ȯ̴̳ ̸̺̇m̴͎̽ȇ̸̡.̶̠͋

The static and the red recedes. Wilbur is on his knees at the foot of the egg, his heart beating in time with its. His mouth is full of blood. He spits it up onto the floor.

It takes a couple of moments for his ears to start working again, and when they do, the first thing he hears is crying.

Not just any old crying—weeping. The kind of crying that makes your heart race, that makes your throat tight from the sheer pain and misery it expresses. He turns his head, dizzy and disoriented, and sees Tubbo kneeling next to him, crying in a way Wilbur has never seen Tubbo cry before.

“Tubbo,” he croaks, reaching out towards him, but his touch just makes Tubbo flinch back, wailing. Wilbur can’t help but flinch too at the sound. “Tubbo, hey, can you hear me?”

“The Egg is so me-ean,” Tubbo sobs, curling in on himself and pressing his hands against his face.

Wilbur doesn’t know what to do with this. The Egg is curled up at the back of his mind like a sleeping cat, watching through languid, heavy-lidded eyes. It offers no help even as Wilbur silently begs it to do something, at least stop doing whatever it’s doing to make Tubbo cry like that. “Tubbo, hey, you’re okay, man, just stop—don’t listen to it.”

Tubbo seems to shrink into himself even further at that. His face is a red splotchy mess of tears. Wilbur looks up to where Ant and Bad stand watching them; they’re smiling, and Bad winks when he meets Wilbur’s gaze. He knows instinctively that the Egg is watching him through Bad’s eyes; that the Egg is watching Bad through Wilbur’s.

The Egg prods at him, whispers something, and suddenly Wilbur knows what’s about to happen.

The floor beside him crumbles into nothing, and someone Wilbur doesn’t recognise calls up, “This way!”

Wilbur grabs Tubbo, whispers an apology for the way it makes him scream, and pulls him down into the hole. Whoever is down here replaces the block, trapping them in near-darkness, but for the torch the person is holding.

Said person is a young woman, white roses braided in her long brown hair and limp gossamer wings hanging from her back, dripping with a red sap-like substance. She meets Wilbur’s gaze, and the two of them See each other for just a second, just enough to know they’re in this together, and then she’s looking away, pulling a bottle from her inventory.

“Holy water,” she says. “Here, kid, it’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

Tubbo trembles as he takes it from her, but his tears slow as he drinks. Wilbur looks up at the woman. “Thank you,” he says. “You really saved our asses, there.”

“Of course,” she says. “Wouldn’t be a very good member of the resistance if I didn’t help you guys out, now, would I?” She laughs. “I’m Hannah, by the way.”

“Wilbur,” Wilbur returns. “This is Tubbo.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Hannah says. “Puffy and Sam said you came back from the dead. That’s kinda crazy.”

“It is,” Wilbur agrees, quickly changing the subject. “What was that?”

“The Egg? We’re, uh, not entirely sure. I think it might be some kind of… evil plant?”

“It made Tubbo cry,” Wilbur says, letting a pleading tone seep into his voice.

“Yeah, people have some real mixed reactions. Some people really like it, like Bad and Ant and that lot, and some people hate it, like you guys and Sam and me.”

“Well, I can see why. Jesus.” Wilbur sighs. “Tubbo? Are you feeling any better?”

“Um, yeah,” Tubbo mumbles, wiping the tears from his face. “A little—a little bit. I don’t… Can we leave? Please?”

“Yeah, of course,” Hannah says. “They’re probably gonna be coming after us, but there’s somewhere near the end of this tunnel where we can lie low. Catch our breaths, you know.”

“Great,” Wilbur says, “then let’s go before they follow us through the floor.”

As they're getting to their feet, Hannah notices the rope tying them together. "Dude, did they tie you up? That's fucked up. Here, let me cut you loose." She pulls a knife from somewhere beneath her skirt and cuts through the cuffs around each of their hands, letting the rope fall to the ground. Wilbur, after a moment of hesitation, ducks down and grabs the bell, scooping it up and slipping it into his pocket.

Hannah leads them down the narrow tunnel, explaining how the pro-omelette resistance has several of them around the Egg chamber for occasions like this. “Because they trapped Sam down here,” she says, “and he was stuck in a box for like, three whole days, and it was, uh, not a fun time for him, I don’t think. And he was down here for so long because Puffy couldn’t get in without getting caught by the Eggpire. So the two of them built tunnels, and then they used those to rescue me, later, and then Tommy, and now I’m rescuing you guys!”

She mines away a couple of blocks, revealing fresh air and the fading light of the setting sun. She clambers out, and Wilbur follows, Tubbo trailing behind as Hannah replaces the dirt and plants a flower on top. “Come on,” she says, “this way.”

Wilbur recognises where they are; they’re not too far from the community house. It means that it only takes a couple of steps for him to realise where Hannah’s leading them.

“Hannah,” he says, and he can’t help the alarm that slides into his tone, “Hannah, are you sure about this?”

“Of course I am,” Hannah says. “He’s not part of the rebellion, but he’s anti-Eggpire, and that means he’s an ally.”

Wilbur glances worriedly at Tubbo; Tubbo just stares back, exhaustion in his eyes.

They pass through the gates and across the bridge, and soon Wilbur is standing in a room he’d tried his best to avoid in his past life: Eret’s throne room. And there’s the King herself, standing facing her ornate throne, back to the door.

“Eret!” Hannah calls. “We’re seeking sanctuary for the night. From the Eggpire.”

“Oh, Hannah, you startled me,” Eret says, turning. Wilbur’s heart pounds in his throat. God, they still sound the same, even after all this time. “Of course you can stay, you know that my—” They cut off, staring, mouth agape. “Tubbo? Wilbur?”

It’s at this moment that Wilbur remembers he’s supposed to be dead.

“Hi, Eret,” he greets. “Long time no see.”

------------

Zalgo text translations:

"Wilbur Soot. You should not be alive."

"Calm yourself. Stop trying to resist. I will give you what your heart desires. I will give you what you want."

"Of course I do. I know all. I see all. I am all. And so can you, if you give yourself to me."

"Shoulders unburdened. A legacy set in stone. A mind no longer haunted by regret. A heart no longer broken. All of this can be yours, Wilbur Soot."

"That's it. Give yourself to me."

#magpie feather quill #dsmp #fanfiction #tgowp #this chapter is kinda heavy please keep the warnings in mind! #zalgo text translations are included at the end of the post

[fiduciia]

 blood  /  needles  tw.    SOLO.

YOU  REMEMBER  HOW  MOTHER  USED  TO  SEW  CLOTHES  ,  the  gentleness  that  would  capture  doe - like  eyes  when  they  landed  onto  finished  work  ;  yours  are  in  all  points  as  equally  as  beautiful  ,  ——  but  it  is  sheer  horror  &&  distress  that  animates  your  gaze  in  this  moment.  far  from  the  chestnut  scented  wooden  stool  she  sat  on,  you  uncomfortably  shift  onto  oak  branch,  the  bark  turning  to  dust  beneath  your  weigh  to  momentarily  inconvenience  titanesque  bulging  eyes.  and  the  kit  in  your  hand,  retrieved  from  vest  pocket  holds  your  chance  of  survival  from  spilling  your  guts  !

each  breath  draws  a  violent  pain  under  fractured  rib  ,  lower  abdomen  gruesomely  torn  in  a  gash      /     three  phalanges  WIDE    —————   two  phalanges  DEEP  .  you  blame  it  on  yourself  for  the  impromptu  appearance  of  a  deviant,  belated  manoeuvering  sending  exposed  vitals  crashing  against  a  rock’s  sharpness  ,  a  sharpness  that  rivals  the  blades  sheathed  at  your  hips  .  thankfully  ,  you  had  enough  gaz  left  to  secure  yourself  a  premium  seat  atop  a  giant  tree  to  attend  the  scene  ,  beasts  huddled  disorderly  beneath  your  feet.  but  not  for  long  :  you  came  in  skilled  company.

FOR  NOW  ,  YOU  FOCUS  ON  YOURSELF  .  (  for  once,  you  do.  for  once  in  countless  battles,  you  do  )  ,  and  how  couldn’t  you  when  your  own  bowels  are  moving  /  alive  under  flesh  ,  causing  excruciating  pain,  split  skin  begging  to  be  reunited  at  once  .  SO  YOU  GIVE  IN  ,  guiding  the  poor  spongy  blood  soaked  hem  of  your  shirt  between  your  teeth,  and  you  bite  down  ,  harder  than  you  had  on  your  hand  as  an  act  of  apology  /  of  regret  /  of  kinship  when  you  lost  composure  towards  eren  .

it  went  in.  just  like  a  knife  down  butter  ,  the  needle  punctures  supple  skin  shut  up  to  the  first  millimeters  as  you  break  into  a  first  tearless  cry  that,  if  not  muffled  by  your  own  saliva  &&  cloth  ,  would  have  brought  attention  to   you  .  IT  HURTS  .  not  so  much  the  pricking  of  metal  ,  but  the  coming  together  of  tender  tissues  ,  threaded  into  a  zigzag  similar  to  the  tying  of  boot  laces.

remember  what  mother  told  you:  when  you  are  hurt,  sing  the  pain  away...  ❛  ... ᶠ ⁻ ᶠˡᵒʷᵉʳ  .  red  flower  in, hgk!  y - your  hair...  blooms  and  sways  in  the  wind  ...  ❜    with  vocal  chords  trembling,  with  words  chopped  by  the  fabric  in  your  mouth  ,  you  finish  sturing  the  wound  on  nostalgic  notes  .

#ੈ 𝟎𝟎𝟴 . 🕊 ˎˊ˗ / / solo. #( read it to gain +100 in sexiness stats ) #( glad i kept her knowing her mother until a certain age so i could write parallels between her mother sewing and wound stitching hah )

[the-fate-of-aspen-fall]

Got Nobody Cuz’ I’m Braindead

alksjdjkasdkasd please dude i spedran this Title - Pork Soda by Glass Animals @jackstanifold this is for you <3 /p

TW: Nailbiting, Mentions of blood/little bit of bleeding, KarlNapIty

It was all different. Everything had changed. They’d promised to stay together, they promised they would! Karl had believed them, he’d believed them and waited for years upon years for everything to go back to normal. It never did. Now Dream was in prison, George was never around, Quackity was always ‘busy,’ and Sapnap- god- Sapnap. Karl watched Sapnap as his fiance cooked dinner, humming a tune that should’ve been cheerful but it sounded sad, defeated, broken. Karl exhaled quietly, he felt like a ghost, a pale figure that nobody noticed or saw. He was a watcher, an observer, spectating time with a gentle curiosity but he’d be lying if he said he enjoyed it. Sometimes he didn’t feel real. Sometimes he’d spend so long watching in silence that he couldn’t remember the words that used to oh-so-easily grace his lips. That’s how he felt now. In the timeline that was supposed to be his, where his lovers were finally with him. They hadn’t died. They weren’t supposed to, at least not yet. Karl hadn’t seen this coming, he hadn’t expected to feel this way. Usually he took things with a calm demeanor, almost disinterested. Except this time it hurt. He didn’t know what he’d cherished, what he’d held onto, would fall apart in his hands. Now it was just him, collapsed on the dining room floor, he hadn’t registered falling. His nervous system didn’t even register the pain. He’d snatched off his patchwork hoodie at some point. In the dimly lit dining room, he rummaged in his pockets for the needle and thread he kept on himself. Blinded by a sudden rage he located every single patch he’d sewn in for Dream or that Dream had sewn in herself. That smiley bastard. This was his fault. She’d torn them apart, she’d made George leave, they’d beaten down Sapnap, he’d changed Quackity, he’d shattered Karl. After each patch was torn out, Karl stared at the worn edges of the green fabric, sorrow swiftly drowned out the rage leaving his eyes watery and burning. Karl didn’t bother wiping his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks and onto the squares of plain gray fabric he was sewing in. Karl was careless with the needle, it felt clumsy and unnatural in his grip, pricking his fingers every few loops. Beads of blood welled at his fingertips, leaving small circular stains on the carefully cultivated hoodie. If Karl had heard a creak behind him in the doorway, he paid it no mind. ... Karl was fading. At least that’s what it felt like. Sitting on the couch in the living room, so light the cushions barely shifted, he couldn’t help but wonder, was he real? His life could’ve all been an intricate fantasy that he’d invented to keep himself sane. He lifted his fingers to his lips, teeth reaching for a nail that it never found. He glanced down at his fingers, the nails chewed down to the point where the beds of his nails were on display. He let out a humorless chuckle, biting down anyway, just to feel something, to make sure he was still there. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, he recognized it instantly having seen and tasted it one to many times, blood. Karl sighed, pulling his fingers away from his mouth in favor is setting them in his lap. He moved his gaze to the wall in front of him, staring blankly as his fingertips slowly welled blood. The door opened behind him, but again, it's not like anyone could see him. He might as well sit and rot. … Karl stumbled towards the door of their small mushroom home. He meant Quackity and Sapnap’s home. It was hardly his. He was sure that he was invisible, another spectator to a play that he had to role in. God if he didn’t want to have a part though. He swung open the door, his body flinching at the slam but his mind barely registering it. That’s when he heard it. “Babe?” Sapnap called distantly from the kitchen. Karl slunk into the kitchen, standing behind Sapnap for a moment before carefully wrapping his arms around the taller’s middle. He was almost surprised his arms didn’t go through, but his mind was more preoccupied with Sapnap’s reaction. Sapnap’s reaction? “Karl?” Sapnap carefully set his spoon down. “Hey, are you alright?” Karl didn’t believe it, he couldn’t, he wasn’t real. He was sure of it. Sapnap didn’t know he was here. “Love,” Sapnap turned, carefully running his hands through Karl’s wavy hair, “can you talk to me?” Karl couldn’t breathe, he buried his face into Sapnap’s chest. The moment he opened his mouth, a sob escaped him, the force wracking his already shaking body. Sapnap was silent for a few moments before he gently kissed Karl’s forehead. “It’s okay, I understand. I see you.” That’s what got Karl, what broke the dam, he crumpled, he wanted to scream. Sapnap caught him, supporting his weight with ease. Karl looked up at Sapnap, opening his mouth to speak, to say something, anything. But he couldn’t, his throat closed and his tongue was limp in his mouth. It was familiar and unfamiliar all at once, he still panicked, bringing one hand to his throat and trying again. Sapnap’s eyes widened for a split second, but it was gone as fast as it came. He carefully sunk them down to the floor, removing Karl’s hand from his throat. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I understand.” He hushed, idly massaging Karl’s tensed shoulders. Karl whimpered, reluctantly relaxing against Sapnap. Maybe he could rest here, for just a moment. … Karl heard him before he saw him. Quackity had always been loud, it was just in his nature. Even when he was trying so desperately to be quiet. Karl cracked his eyes open, catching his fiance’s figure slowly picking his way away. Karl shot up, grabbing Quackity’s hand in a shaky grip. “Karl?” Quackity whispered, turning to face the brunette. “What’s up?” Karl tried to convey what he could with his eyes, and for good measure, scooted over on the bed. “You want me to stay?” Quackity questioned, like it wasn’t obvious. Karl nodded, tugging Quackity over with as much force as he could in his state. Quackity carefully settled on the bed, scooting closer and wrapping one arm around Karl, the other reaching for Sapnap, who intertwined their fingers happily. Maybe they’d be okay.

#i should make a writing tag #karlnapity

[absentsdream]

* you know juniper rothschild, right? they’re twenty-five, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, one and a bit years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to siren 042 by lala lala like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole unending expanse of forest coming alive with dread, a loneliness corroding the soul as acid ; splinters in the plush muscle of the palm circled by a blush of irritation ; at the true centre of a tarnished crucifix pendant, a worn pit thumbed from habitual nervousness thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is february 2nd, so they’re an aquarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

AESTHETICS.

bloody nose and a split lip to match, ladybugs crawling over the hand, heavy morning fog, creased linen, reading a novel until two a.m., nearly-empty diners, tarnished silver, words kept silent on a bitten tongue, dull sunlight, half-melted novelty candles, pitched ringing in the ear, tattered comics, ivory, nineties sci-fi television, chlorine drying stiff on the forearms.

CHARA INSPO.

carrie white ( carrie ), tender branson ( survivor ), sara sidle ( csi ), annie landsberg ( maniac ), iris ( the student ), toru watanabe ( norwegian wood ), abby ( blood simple )

BACKGROUND.

bethany ellis grows up an only child in manchester, new hampshire. free time is spent cycling around town to pick strawberries from the front garden of a house down the street, becoming lost in state parks over the weekends where pine needles roll underneath her sneaker soles; everything a young girl does. with two loving parents, it is an idyllic childhood.

her parents were happy for a little while. sucked neck-deep in debt from identity fraud, it had slipped their grasp as quickly as it had come about. they did an about-face nearly overnight. classmates signed her a goodbye note before relocating to an odd little commune some ways out of a town up north when she is nine.

she’s now home-schooled, taught more domestic skills than science. she struggled to accept the change; while she wanted to learn about physics and literature graced by the hands of long-dead poets, she was taught to sew until her fingertips were pricked with blood, to take out stains from clothing to the point her hands were raw and angry, and memorise bible verses until they were the only thought left in her head. she would often act out, much to the embarrassment of her parents. too young at the time for any real punishment, they bore the brunt of it at times where she couldn’t see it.

RELIGIOUS FANATICISM TW initiation is on her sixteenth birthday. there’s many details of it she refuses to let known. for some time, the commune stays in the realm of town speculation and wild rumours, a potential church fundraiser for the baptists who think everyone needs salvation, before another girl her age, battered and bruised, manages to flee through miles of forest into town and the sheriff’s department catches wind. 

POLICE TW she’s almost seventeen when torchlight winks through the gaps of the barn’s ant-ridden wooden beams. it’s not a full moon that night. disoriented and huddling with other children on the far side of the barn as the adults chant and float across the dirt floor in a trance, there’s a deafening noise as the rusted iron grooves of the door is forced open and police pour in. many are taken away, her parents included. she’s gifted a crisp new manila folder. in it, a new identity. juniper rothschild. TW END

a family in the middle of nowhere, nevada, take her in. the caseworker overlooks the fact a crucifix graces the wall above her bed’s headboard. they’re nice enough, but to the point it makes her stomach turn. as soon as she’s old enough to, she leaves. 

desperation pushes her far enough to apply for college in new york. there’s one place generous enough to take her, hardship bursary and all; the other is the community college some ways west in carson city. the decision isn’t difficult. but the cold of the city settles into her bones in a way she never comes to accept. eventually, after a grueling engineering degree that tests her organisation limits she moves south. north carolina is warmer. the sun on her face at the pier in irving makes her forget life isn’t as hollow as it often appears.

TRAITS & QUIRKS.

wears long sleeves on the hottest day of the year, and lives in a hoodie, jeans and tattered converse to the point others question whether she’s a glitch in the matrix

makes a conscious effort to cover up, avoid being seen altogether. she’s grown familiar with the idea to draw as little attention to her as possible

following her swim and water polo team years in college, she’s now a junior swim coach for the high school. swimming lets her centre herself

guarded and distrustful. won’t divulge in her family history easily, and keeps the odd urge to journal hidden under lock and key beneath her mattress

lives in a fairly run-down beach shack along dorado road, she thinks the several rats in the roof that call it home are her pets. she talks to them through the ceiling

reading and writing are not easy things for her. numbers come a lot more naturally, with a natural aptitude for it. because she knows she’ll never hold a full time job in her current state, she’s a part time cadd technician at a boutique architecture firm in charlotte

naturally a blond, she rigorously dyes her hair with the cheapest box dye available. it’s fried to death and resembles straw more than actual hair

in more extreme measures to be someone else, her voice has been trained to speak lower than what it is

was dead certain about being a lesbian in her teens, got pissed off when she ended up dating a boy at twenty-two.

paranoid. like, the government is listening into conversations via robotic birds in nearby trees, paranoid. she thinks she’s probably right.

has a gun she bought from a dodgy shop in texas whilst on family vacation in her underwear drawer

almost always reeks of chlorine

horny for class warfare

has a thing for drew barrymore

thinks online mbti quizzes are a military-designed hoax designed to control the masses 

WANTED PLOTS.

cryptid hunting buddies. she’ll pack the coffee thermos, u bring the sandwiches

a previous, fleeting relationship. someone juniper used as an effort to feel more anchored in irving but soon realised it was ugly for her to do people dirty like that :/

she’s fairly lazy, so a person who often sees her like clockwork at cutie’s for midweek dinner

literally anything. let’s plot baybee !

#irvingintro #religious fanaticism tw - #police tw - #abuse implied tw -

[jougogo]

tsukki, iwa, daichi, kuroo, sakusa, akaashi, and shibayam with an s/o who’s afraid of needles getting a flu shot

a/n: wrote this in honor of me getting of me getting my flu shot yesterday and NOT CRYING FOR THE FIRST TIME WOW WE LOVE GROWTH

characters: tsukishima kei, hajime iwaizumi, sawamura daichi, kuroo tetsuro, sakusa kiyoomi, akaashi keiji, shibayama yuuki

tw: mentions of needles

tsukishima

"kei, i don't like needles," you whined

"well, you still have to get them. are you really this weak? i thought you were stronger," he responded nonchalantly

ok that pissed you off

"HMPHH I'LL PROVE IT TO YOU" 

but once you were on the seat with the shiny syringe right in front of you?

all that confidence was g o n e 

"remember, you said you'd prove it to me." he smirked

you gulped and shut your eyes tightly

you could've sworn you felt his hand rest on your thigh as the shot was administered

you don't know what you were expecting, but the sting was only momentary and within a couple seconds, you were finished.

"ouch." you quietly yelped.

"see, you were just being a dramatic. tsk, weakling," he flicked your forehead

nurse looked kinda concerned ngl

but afterwards he'll carry your bags for you and open the doors bc he's proud

"good job, my weakling,"

"tsukki istg"

iwaizumi

iwa knew about your fear of needles

he found out when he noticed you grip the pushpin tightly between your fingers everytime you have to pin sticky notes to the corkboard you had above your desk

so when it was flu shot season, he'll def volunteer to get it done together w you

iwa bby being such a gentlemen gahh i cant

i can see oikawa as someone who was prob also afraid of needles, so iwa knew how to handle situations like this

"iwa-chan but they're pricking my arm and i'm gonna be numb how am i going to practice volley-"

 b o n k 

"get over it brattykawa"

jkjk he'll be so gentle and patient with you

"hey hey it's okay, dont look at the needle. look at me" he turned your face towards his, cupping your cheek to prevent you from seeing the syringe from your peripheral vision

you gazed into his pretty green eyes. 

oh, how they resembled a lush rainforest, full of tropical plants and-

before you could even realize it, the needle jabbed into your tender arm

"ouch," you groaned, leaning your head against his muscled chest.

"see, you did it!" he congratulated you, his lips curving into a small smile as he patted your head

he rolled up the sleevs of his t-shirt to reveal gloriously toned beefy biceps as the nurse administered his flu shot

ok this view is def worth the pain

as expected, he took it like a champ. manz didn't even tense up

afterwards he'll take you out for ice cream hehe

daichi 

when you confessed to daichi about your fear, he was so confused

"but i see you sewing stuff all the time?"

"dai that's different im not sticking the needle in my body bro"

ohhh ok ok now he gets it

he'll be so supportive the entire time!

"hey, i know you'll do great, okay? you're the bravest person i've ever met. you dont think a little thin piece of metal will get to you, do you baby?" he whispered reassuring words into your ear and brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face

when it was time for the nurse to give you the shot, you curled your body towards him ever-so-slightly

but he noticed and he thought it was the cutest thing

"hey, i'll protect you, don't worr-" he was cut off

you were gripped his shirt tightly in your fist and wincing at the pain

"ow ow ow" you mumbled into his shoulders as you felt the sting

"you're doing so good, sweetheart," he ran his hand up and down your back, attempting to sooth you

when it's all finally over he'll drive you over to his place so he can cuddle and "protect" you from the scary movie he very conveniently insisted on playing.

kuroo

"babe, you know you have to get your flu shot. what if you accidentally pass a deadly flu to my grandpa? you'd have to stop coming over to my house,"

your loving boyfriend kuroo was currently trying to get you to release your tight grip from the front door of your house

"i don't want to get your grandpa sick, but i don't want to have a needle poke me," you wailed, tears flowing down your cheek

he got tired and just carried you in his strong arms to the car and drove to the hospital, despite your protests

"THIS IS KIDNAPPING TETSU, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME," you screamed

he just whistled and rolled down the windows so everyone can hear

ofc, you shut up right then and there

"i'll get you back for this," you hissed

once you got to the hospital, you had no other choice but to oblige to kuroo as he dragged you through the halls to the vaccination rooms

the nurse was kind, but your heart was pounding

"te-tetsu, will you hold my hand" you whimpered when the nurse went to retrieve the tray

"of course, babygirl", he replied, putting his hands on top of your trembling ones

his large hands completely enveloped yours

when the nurse pricked the syringe into your arm, he squeezed your hands

"see, that wasn't too bad, right?"

"yeah, whatever" *sniffle sniffle*

also the type to take you for ice cream afterwards.

sakusa

"you may not come near me until you have received your flu shot," your beloved boyfriend declared

"omi omi but i need you. and also we were just cuddling this morning bruh" you pouted. "please please please will you come with me" *cue the puppy eyes*

"fine" he grunted. 

at the hospital he refuses to sit next to you, insisting that he stands def not bc he's concerned abt the germs on the seat

when you froze upon seeing the needle, he put one of his big hands on your shoulder

"you can hold my hand," 

"really?"

"don't make me take it back"

"okie"

you put your other hand on top of his, your arm draping across your body

his fingers intertwined around yours and clasped it when you winced at the pain

he'll draw you a bath when you get home and wash your body for you!!

so sweet and loving 10/10 experience

akaashi

you were currently hiding under a desk

specifically, the doctor's desk

"my love. it's no use if you hide, we're already here," akaashi sighed

he spent the last 2 hours dragging you to the nearest clinic for a flu shot

"you need to protect yourself so you don't get hurt," he had explained calmly

only for you, his sassy s/o to retort

"so why are you dragging me to a clinic just so i can get punctured by a needle? isn't that like, pain? which im supposed to protect myself from?"

someone help this poor bby boy

but somehow he had managed to lure you into the clinic

"alright. this is the last level i have to conquer. and then everything should be fine again" he thought to himself.

just the shot. just a lil pinch. right?

w r o n g

you were hysterical and sobbing

frankly, he felt really bad. but this had to happen at some point, right? after all, your fear of needles had started since you were a child. he was bound to have experienced something like this, as your dutiful boyfriend

he actually felt really bad

so he turned to the method that has worked for him time and time again to sooth his anxiety

"here, play with my fingers, it'll distract you" he reached out his hand to you and helped you out from under the desk

it worked!!

when the nurse came back, he rubbed the back of your hand,  a silent "im here for you"

definitely lots of comfort and cuddles afterward!

"see, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

shibayama

the syringe was right in front of you and the nurse was currently disinfecting your arm with the alcohol wipe.

when he saw you tense up at the touch, he'll whisper lots of reassuring words into your ears 

"hey. you got this, i promise! it'll just be a little sting, and the pain is only temporary."

when he saw tears welling up in your eyes, he'll swipe them away with his thumb, caressing your cheeks.

"make me proud," 

how could you say no to his puppy eyes?? 

"i'll try, yuuki," you sniffled

he put his hand on your shoulder, gently drumming his fingers to the tune of your favorite song to help distract you

his other hand rubbing your palm

after everything's done, he'll give the bandaid little kisses!! 

awwww he's trying to kiss ur pain away my sweet baby

he wants you to know that even through pain, he'll be there by your side.

will take you out for ice cream pt.3

tags!!: @aka-a-shii (anna thank you for getting me into writing i hope i did akaashi justice), @toshisgarden (ily big sis mwah) @gigis-galaxy(bc ILY GIGI)

#the fact the 80% of these are based on my past experiences... #i-this is embarrassing #haikyū!! #haikyuu!! #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu tsukishima #iwaizumi x reader #hq iwaizumi #daichi x you #daichi headcanon #kuroo x you #kuroo headcanons #hq sakusa #sakusa #akaashi #akaashi x you #haikyuu shibayama #shibayama