#// *sets my emetophobia to an all time high and i HATE IT

[monmuses]

home from classes due to really bad gas & gut pains (so glad its not norovirus) but im here to write UGHHHH

[psiroller]

very fun happy chapter preview for you're gonna hate me pt. 4 (finale) (i need you)

cw: alcoholism, child abuse, emetophobia, fantasy racism, minor character death

it's actually gonna be a pretty low stakes chapter but i had to bop chilchuck on the head with a mallet just once

The family shop was always busy in midsummer. Autumn was the preferred time of year for half-foot weddings, traditionally due to the break in the oppressive Eastern heat without the rainy misery of winter; orders were piling up for nuptial keys meant to usher a couple happily through the threshold of their new home. The keys were a trial to make even in slower seasons; they were a high-ticket, high-profit item, but care needed to be taken in cutting the key out of precious metals or else it wasn’t functional, a sign of a cheap knockoff.

Part of the process—Chilchuck’s part of the process—was managing orders with the jeweler they were partnered with, selecting high-quality, clean-cut stones for setting. It wasn’t the most glamorous part, but necessary, and building a relationship with the local businesses was part of the job.

“A lot of ruby orders lately, eh?” said the jeweler, geriatric for a half-foot at 42. He’d grown a few distinguished tufts of hair around his chin and Chilchuck was bitterly jealous.

“Yeah, ruby settings are all the rage now that word’s got out about the duchy’s wedding,” Chilchuck griped. “I’ve heard talk that the whole key was actually a huge cut ruby, but that doesn’t track. No idea how you could operate a real lock with a thing like that.”

“Ah, I would have loved to have been commissioned for that… my cut would have been enough to make me a duke. Though, if given a ruby that size, I doubt an elf would trust me to be alone with it,” he snickered, breaking into a wheezing cough.

Chilchuck laughed. “Ain’t that the truth? Anyway, since we’re buying in bulk, I was hoping we could get a—”

The jeweler grinned. “Fat chance, sonny. You’re buying out my whole stock! Take it or leave it.”

Chilchuck tried not to grimace, though there was a distinct wrinkle on the bridge of his freckled nose. “Alright, alright, old-timer, since we’re neighbors—”

“Chil?”

Chilchuck’s little sister was peeking through a crack in the back door, the wall attached to the house. Chilchuck’s face pinched. “Yeah, Vic?”

“Daddy’s sick again.”

Chilchuck pushed a palm into his eye until he saw stars in it. “How sick?”

“Um, he’s shaking really bad again, and I think he—he threw up.”

Chilchuck backed away from the counter abruptly, giving the jeweler a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, gotta—I attend to-to the old man, y’know how he is…”

The jeweler smiled back, his lips strained. “Yes, yes… I hope he’ll be alright.”

Chilchuck stepped through the door to the house and shut it firmly behind him as he speedwalked down the hall to his father’s office, little Vicdelia close on his heels.

“When’s the last time he had a drink?”

“Um, I thought—I think Mama took it all and hid it again.”

Chilchuck groaned, hesitating at the end of the hall. “She can’t—where is she now?”

“She’s, um, in their bedroom.”

Chilchuck turned to the door opposite the office and pounded his fist against it. “Ma! Where’s the booze?” No answer. He pounded some more, hearing the loose hinges rattle. “Ma!” Still nothing.

“I thought Daddy isn’t supposed to drink anymore,” Vic protested.

“Yeah, well, this is what happens when he doesn’t,” Chilchuck said. He rolled up his sleeves and took a breath. “Get our brothers and check the cupboards. If we get a little bit in him, it’ll help.”

Vic seemed conflicted, but nodded and skittered off to find their siblings, who had probably already ditched the house anyway as soon as their father started hollering. He wasn’t hollering much anymore; Chilchuck could hear a low gurgle in the office. Chilchuck tried the handle, finding it stuck. He muttered half-foot curses to himself as he searched his pockets for a rake or a pick, finding both. He almost regretted the serendipity. Chilchuck worked the lock, hands sweaty and slipping on the worn metal; it wasn’t the right rake for the job, but somehow he forced it open anyway.

“Dad, what the hell’s—"

Timjack Quins was rummaging through his desk drawers, half-sprawled across the top of it, cheek submerged in a puddle of bile. He noticed Chilchuck walking in, giving him a curt nod that made him gag from the movement of his head.

“That mother of yours ‘s tryin’a dry me out,” he wheezed. “Can you believe that? After all I did to—”

“Sit up, Dad,” Chilchuck said. “You’re laying in your puke.”

“What’s the problem? It came outta me,” he wheezed, and gagged again. “I made it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get up.”

Timjack’s eyes rolled in his head until they locked onto his son. “Are you sassing me, boy?”

Chilchuck pinched the bridge of his eyebrows and breathed. “No, no, I just—don’t want you to lay in puke, Dad.”

“Don’t you worry about me, kid,” he snorted. He hadn’t gotten up, so Chilchuck rounded his desk and grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him. Timjack swatted him off. “If you really wanna help, get me some—”

“Already on it,” Chilchuck sighed.

“Atta boy,” Timjack wheezed. “Good head on your shoulders… raised you right.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chilchuck eased him back against his seat and pulled a handkerchief out of his vest to mop his face. Timjack squirmed and scoffed at it; his skin was yellower than Chilchuck remembered it being.

“That’s your mother’s job,” Timjack wheezed. “Don’t fuss over me.”

“Hard not to when you’re acting like a—”

Timjack stuck a wobbling finger in his face. “Watch it, boy.”

Chilchuck bit his tongue. “So the stash in here is gone, then?”

“Yeah! The ol’ battleaxe cleared me out! What a fuckin’ joke.”

“Do you know where she hides it?”

“Hell’f I know! Probably in the bedroom somewhere. Don’t be busting that lock open trying to break in! That’s an heirloom, you know.”

“I don’t break locks, Dad,” Chilchuck said firmly.

“Yes you do! I remember when you—”

“Completely jammed that easy spring lock and pissed off a customer, yes. I was also eight at the time.”

Timjack cackled. “You act like that was so long ago! You’re ten now, ain’t you?”

“Twelve.”

“Ah, yeah, … I must be thinking of your brother.” Chilchuck wasn’t sure which one he was talking about; the youngest was eleven.

Chilchuck’s ear twitched at the sound of Vicdelia’s feet pattering through the hall. Chilchuck speedwalked to the door to meet her, blocking her from entering the room.

“How’s Daddy?” she asked, sliding to a stop in front of Chilchuck. There was a bottle of wine held in both arms, almost as large as she was.

“He’ll be fine,” Chilchuck lied. He accepted the bottle from her. “Thanks, Vic. Go play in your room, okay?”

“’Kay.”  

Chilchuck shut the door and returned to the desk. He handed over the bottle of wine and Timjack was so happy to see it he smooched the bottle.

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she?” Timjack swooned, bloodshot eyes teary.

“Yep,” Chilchuck sighed. “Try to make it last, okay? Taper it off. You can’t keep slinging this stuff back like it’s water.”

Timjack held up a finger as he drank straight from the neck of the bottle. He drained nearly half of it in the first shot. “Watch me,” he snickered.

“Dad, I’m serious,” Chilchuck said. “You’re getting sick. Mom’s terrified. Everyone’s worried. Hell, even ol’ Bentony from the jeweler’s—”

Timjack swallowed and looked at Chilchuck from under his thinning brows. His chestnut hair was receding and his eyes were sunken in their sockets; his belly was distended when he’d been thin all his life.

“This is my house, Chil,” he said. “I’m the reason you have a bed to sleep in and food to eat. What I do in my free time is my business.”

“It’s killing you, Dad!” Chilchuck’s voice cracked; he felt his face getting flushed, and tears were blurring his vision. “If you don’t stop, you’ll—”

“Son, I don’t see any better way to go out than doing something you love,” Timjack snorted, waving him off. “Back to work, eh? I’ll be out in a minute to help you close up.”

Chilchuck clenched his hands into a fist and nodded. “Sure, Dad.”

Chilchuck returned to the shop to find Bentony patiently waiting. Chilchuck didn’t bother trying to haggle again, even if his father’s health concerns would have been a good way to wheedle him down.

“Thanks again for your patience,” Chilchuck said with a weary smile.

“Oh, no problem at all. It’s a pleasure doing business.” Crow’s feet crinkled at the corner of Bentony’s eyes. “Let your father know to stop by during the solstice, eh? I’ve been meaning to catch up on things.”

“He’s been pretty busy, but I’ll let him know. I’ll certainly see you there, at any rate. Take care, Ben.”

Timjack fell asleep at his desk, so Chilchuck was left to handle the last few straggling customers and count out their profits; he was used to doing it, so it wasn’t much more of a hassle than it normally was. Bentony, however, would not receive his favorite guest for the holidays. Timjack would be found dead at his desk before they’d reached the autumn equinox, face down in his own vomit.

[cbunny9]

Wednesday, 12.06.23

(Day 6/Intro)

Okay, so where do I start?

Im a 32 year old lady who is currently one week into a partial hospitalization program to address my eating disorder (not otherwise specified). As someone in the program commented today, they can’t remember a time where they were not obsessed with food and their weight. I also can’t really remember that time in my life. I’ve had emetophobia and an eating disorder for what feels like my entire life.

One of my earliest memories is one where I’m probably 6 or 7 and trying to fall asleep, however any time I closed my eyes I would get a vivid picture in my head of the babysitter on duty coming into my room with a mouth full of vomit wanting to know where the bathroom was. I’m positive I could relay to you each and every time I’ve been physically ill in that way in my life, as well as any time I’ve encountered it outside of myself.

And still I ask: Where do I start? There’s so much. It feels like so much.

I’ve spent most of my life living with an eating disorder for over two decades, and it hasn’t looked the same the entire time. I’ve gone through periods of restricting and over exercising; I’ve gone through periods of eating very well and over exercising; I’ve gone through periods of not caring at all what I was putting in my body as long as I didn’t throw up; I’ve currently got a nasty mix of all of the varying patterns, thoughts, and rules I’ve learned and given to myself over the course of my life, which is why the doctor in treatment has officially diagnosed me with “Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified”, or EDNOS. It just means my disorder doesn’t fall neatly into one box; I’ve sort of got a potluck of symptoms and behaviors.

Let me preface the next bit by telling you that, after going into my interview assessment at the treatment center and expecting them to turn me away, they recommended I spend time in residential treatment. My insurance does not cover residential, and for the first time in the history of ever when I said “Financially I can’t do that”, the person agreed with an “Absolutely, that’s an understandable and valid barrier,” and said that I could do a 10 day trial of partial hospitalization to see if it’s an adequate level of care for me or if I need something else. Today my anxiety has been very high about whether or not I’ll be “allowed” to stay in PHP or if they will ask me to go to residential and I will have to turn it down for financial reasons, then I’m left to my own devices? It’s really freaking me out.

Anyway…..

My first three days last week were a whirlwind of new faces, and lots of names I’m just today starting to remember. I hate meeting new people. I mean, I like meeting new people in general, but it makes me anxious, and in such a vulnerable setting I’ve mostly felt exposed, judged, and analyzed. It hasn’t been pleasant. Not to say the people haven’t been pleasant; everyone has been really warm and welcoming and kind so far. It’s just the nature of the thing I guess that makes me feel like I’m naked all day.

This week has been difficult. Last week I hadn’t quite “landed” in the building yet; it wasn’t really real to me, it hadn’t yet sunk in to my brain. This week has been more “Oh, okay, we’re here and we’re doing this,” with a generous helping of “You all don’t know me, please stop acting like you know and care about me.” These are things I know that I need to work on in myself. Not everyone is a bad guy, and it’s okay to ask for help when you need it. Note to self.

So I don’t know … generally I’ve been feeling entirely like a stranger in a strange land, who is also just becoming acquainted with their body for the first time. And I miss my job and my coworkers and the kids I teach :( But hopefully I can come out on the other side feeling more like myself, and be more present and capable for them.

If anyone sees this and reads it, thank you.

Sending you peace & love.

[hauntedlibrarian2222]

Part 1.D

October 10th, ####

CW// IV Drip mention, very slight description; Stomach Issues Mention / Emetophobia

It’s been about two days since I was admitted to the hospital. Turns out the ‘gash’ on my leg was a bit more severe than they all thought, and I had to stick around a bit longer so they could ‘supervise it’.

Sitting around in the hospital sucked, and I hated the constant itch of the IV drip. The nurse that checked up on me wasn’t too bad, at least, but even they were a bit frustrating at times. They’d constantly treat me like I was as high as a kite and couldn’t think for myself, which was.. extremely irritating. Seeing as I was fully conscious. It’s their job, yeah, but I.. I dunno, I’ve never liked being baby talked. It just makes me feel.. stupid. With that, they’d also super often bring me the wrong food— which I didn’t care about, they have probably a whole handful of other people to take care of, but it is annoying whenever they’d accidentally give me food I was allergic to and would forget to bring me something different. I didn’t even know seafood was an option at hospitals, but apparently at this one it is. But, honestly, I don’t know what I expected. We don’t exactly have the best healthcare out here.

But, hey, maybe I just hate hospitals, too; I don’t know— I’ve never liked going to them. I’ve been in and out since I was a kid for a multitude of reasons. Primarily, my stomach; my stomach’s always been off since I was about.. Eight? Somewhere around there. I would get horrible stomach aches at night, which soon turned into full-blown vomit sessions as I got older. I still deal with that, uh, mess, but it’s far less severe now— and it happens maybe once or twice a month. Back then, it was once or twice, sometimes thrice, a week. It’s still crappy, but I manage.

But, I digress. Sitting in this hospital has made me realize something;

I don’t think Colin is human, either.

I had a lot of time to think on it, and what— last happened at the library. I have multiple reasons for this, too, but I reaaally don’t think I should share like.. half of them. But my main one, right now, is how he got in the library whenever I got attacked.

1. I don’t leave spare keys around.

2. He supposedly can’t lock pick, and even at that— you can’t really lock pick that door, the cogs are too jammed— I can barely even use my key on it. It would break most tools, I’ve tried. Just a, uh,.. security measure. Also got worried I’d get locked out one day.

3. The library was closed, anyways, and I’m sure he knew that— so why was he there at all?

And 4., I definitely locked the door. See, I go through this sort of, uhm, routine every night. It consists of me checking every single last window, door, and known crevice before heading to bed— and I have a checklist for it, too. Along with a handful alarms I set up to make sure I don’t doze off without doing this. I have a clear memory of locking the doors securely that night. Even testing them. There wasn’t any damage to the door the morning, either, so it’s not like he broke his way in?

So I have no idea how he got in. The only way I could imagine would be the doors automatically opening— they automatically open up at about.. 12 PM, if I don’t open them myself by then. But it was maybe around 7:30 AM whenever everything went down. It makes no damn sense how he got in, and I was too loopy to bother to ask him how— because I hadn’t even properly realized all this until I sat down in the hospital and began writing.

Either way it freaks me out, but if I trust anyone to mysteriously get into the library at any time— it’s Collin. He’s saved me like.. three, now four, damn times now— like some wacko guardian angel. And then he gets confused about what he saved me from? I dunno, it’s weird, but I trust Colin with this, thankfully. It’s not like he’s ever given me a reason to distrust him, or something. He just.. comes in, reads, and occasionally saves me from near death— but I’d assume that’s a side activity for him. If saving me was his main hobby, then I’d be concerned.

But, anyway, other than just.. all of this, I haven’t been doing much. Not like I can do much, anyway, I’ve just kinda been hanging out. I’m currently waiting on lunch, and I have no idea when it’ll come. Really mundane stuff in comparison to my, uh,.. usual hustle n’ bustle.

With the gash, though, one of the nurses asked me about it— which was.. interesting. He asked me where I had gotten it, and since I decided I didn’t want to be called crazy today— I just said that I had fallen down some concrete stairs. A half-truth. He looked at me, though, really intensely. Like he was trying to pick my brain with his eyesight. It was, uhm, uncomfortable. Like, insanely uncomfortable. His eyes looked bulged and his face began to flush from sheer concentration. He did that for a whole few minutes, too, and right before I was about to ask him to stop— he spoke.

“Are you sure it was stairs?”

He was speaking in a low, quiet voice— like he couldn’t be heard. I just pretended to be confused. I had no idea who this guy was, and I didn’t trust this. Not one bit. Not after that look.

“I’m.. pretty sure, yeah? What else could it have been?”

“.. Oh, nothing.”

And he walked off. He just turned and left, just like that. It was weird. It felt weird. That happened yesterday, around.. 2:30 PM, I think? Something like that, around that time. I’d get someone questioning the wound, especially with the reason I gave; but how he moved. It was.. unnatural.

Colin also visited at me, some point. He seemed worried whenever he opened the door, but that kind of worry where I knew it wasn’t really over me.

“.. ‘Eyyy..”

He sounded awkward, and I couldn’t really guess why, so I just greeted him back. And then he began to worry-delve into how he supposedly had messed something up at the library. I had left him in charge of it, which he offered, while I was out. Mainly just to clean it and make sure the place didn’t fall apart, but other then that— it was closed for the time being.

“.. What— did you do? Is this like that time you started freaking out over accidentally fraying the edges of a boo—“

“No! No, this ain’t as- silly, I promise. I, uh—” He paused to swallow, “—..Remember how y’told me not t’ever go upstairs?”

“Did.. you go upstairs, Colin?”

“.. yeah-“

“What happened?” I murmured in a sigh, crossing my arms as I leaned back on the crummy little bed I had.

“There— was a person up there? If you can call it that.. And they were staring at me— and I told ‘em I was just up there to clean, and then they, uh, began.. screeching? Like just— high-pitched screeches. Kinda like— kinda like a bat?”

I had given Colin permission to clean the library, and I guess I forgot to mention to not go upstairs, but.

Good lord, he finally found them. Surprised he hadn’t seen them peering down from the railings before, but, hey. Maybe they’re just good at hiding.

“.. Yeah, that’s just Todd. He sits up there and chucks me down books sometimes.”

“.. I.. what?”

“Did I stutter? That’s Todd. Todd doesn’t like strangers, though, hence the, uhm, screeching. Probably got— worried why you were there instead of me, y’know?” I gave a light shrug.

Half-truth. Todd never really saw me, because I never went upstairs— but we had seen each other over the railings, a lot. He had a few staring contests, and then he’d smile at me. They had one wicked smile, though, and it was.. kinda unnerving. I got used to it, though.

“.. and.. you— y’never decided t’tell me ‘bout Todd?”

I paused, before nodding with another light shrug. “Well, yes..? It’s— not like you were, uh, we’re supposed to ever see them, anyway, soo—“

Colin seemed to give an avid sigh of relief before sitting back down on his chair, resting a hand on the bridge of his nose and pinching it.

“I thought I had accidentally upset an unruly horror, but no.. just Todd.”

“Yeaaah..” I leaned back in the bed a bit further, giving a nervous chuckle while shutting my eyes as the tense air left the room. “That’s— that’s a very common feeling in there, isn’t it?”

Colin gave a whispered chuckle. “Jeez, no wonder you’re so egged out all the time.”

“Wh— egged out?”

“Yeah, egged out. Like, y’know, stressy? Anxious?”

“Egged??”

“Yeah, Egged.”

A moment passed between us with silence, before we both began to chuckle aloud— I pressed a hand over my mouth. It took us a second to calm down again, and I was the first to speak.

“Is.. that all you came here for, though?” My voice was a bit weary from the snickering. I didn’t really laugh a lot, but it felt nice to. Especially felt nice to with Collin.

“Oh— well, not entirely— I just wanted to see how you were holding up, too. Which, uhm, speaking of which—“ He’d force an awkward smile, “— how are you?”

I gave a small huff from my nose, slumping over— before full-blown laying down with a light groan.

“Hungry. And my everything has been achy the entire time I’ve been here.”

“Oh, so t’usual?”

Sitting up, I shot Colin a look— not inherently hostile, moreso.. playful? We looked at each other like that a lot. It felt like we were friends. Did he see me as a friend?

“It’ll be the usual for you, once I get out of this bed, I swear.”

“Hey— hey, no need for hostilitiessss..” Drawing out the words, he’d chuckle again. “Never thought I’d get threatened in a hospital—“

“Well, think again!” I gave a light grin, one of the rare instances I did. At least I think? Maybe I smile more than I realize, I have no idea— but people ask if I’m sad a lot, so I’ll guess not.

We chatted for a bit after that, and then he left. I wanted to ask about the door thing, but I felt like I’d be putting him on the spot— or maybe he’d feel like I was accusing him of breaking in, I don’t know. Either way, I decided against asking, for now at least.

I also had another visitor, but seeing as you can probably see the interaction on the blog; I’m not delving into that mess. The sucker even stole something while they were here.

But, I’m gonna be released from the hospital tomorrow, and then it’s back to the usual routine.

Hopefully, they haven’t missed me too much.

Previous | Next

[jetsam-kisa]

Michiko vs Jetsam

Whew! This is done! I got carried away so I am very sorry for the length :’D

Michiko’s mod and I had some fun talking about our characters and especially the gear Michi is developing!

Unfortunately they were very busy this week, but I was more than happy to write the fight results :D 

CW: emetophobia // there is a brief scene describing vomit semi-graphically

The roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium as Jetsam Kisa and Michiko Watanabe entered the battle arena. Both of the students walked to their side of the arena with a sense of purpose, even if they were nervous wrecks on the inside. Once they took their proper starting positions, the two contestants smiled weakly at each other as the announcer called out their names and the people in the crowd cheered for the next fight. 

‘I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out,’ Jetsam thought as he gnawed on his lips in anticipation, ‘That or throw up. Oh god I hope I don’t throw up in the middle of the match. Everyone here is watching. God, my parents are watching,’ Thick, heavy plums of smoke rolled out of his mouth the more frantic his thoughts became, until they nearly completely cloaked his figure, ‘I think I saw Best Jeanist in the stands too! He’s not going to want to associate with the kid who threw up during his first match. What am I doing here? What am I even going to do-?” 

Jetsam was snapped out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts by movement in his periphery; Michiko gently waved her hands at him and gave him a broader smile, despite clearly being nervous herself (if the crease in her brow was any clue to her emotional state).

“Let’s both do our best during this fight, Kisa-kun!” Michiko called out from her side of the arena, before her gaze hardened with a resolve she often reserved for studying the most complex of quirks, “Although, I hope you know that I will not be taking it easy on you. I need to see how far I can go, and to learn about the extent of my current abilities.”

Seeing Michiko’s determination and hearing her will to succeed was like a salve to Jetsam’s shot nerves. He took a deep breath, then released the pent up smog. The smoke surrounding his body partially dissipated too. It was almost a shame how well Michiko’s words calmed him down; he would be better off easily producing the pollutants that came with high stress. Jetsam briefly wondered if her kindness was double-edged in a way; was it a strategic way to prevent him from building up his quirk before the match? He shook the thought out of his head before yelling back to her:

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Miss Michi!”

He could only hope that his grin masked the nerves that were still rolling in his stomach. He knew Michiko; knew her quirk. It could only be activated by physical contact, so as long as he kept his distance he should be okay. 

‘Although,’ Jetsam thought as he gazed at the chain-like device at Michiko’s hip, ‘that capture chain she’s been developing could be difficult to beat. I’ve never seen what it actually does before.’

All too quickly, the announcer began their countdown: “3...2...1...BEGIN!”

---------

As soon as the bell rang, Michiko shot forward, arm extended, with a single-minded determination to do one thing and one thing only: get to Jetsam before he could gain control of the battlefield with his quirk. If she could grab a hold onto him before his smogs and tars and other (frankly, gross) expellents became too overwhelming, then she could nullify his quirk with her own, and use her capture device to prevent him from continuing the fight.

Jetsam must have realized her plans, and had just enough time to dodge out of her range, smog spewing out of his mouth now that his adrenaline was no doubt pumping again. Not to be deterred, Michiko quickly shifted her balance and dove after him again, careful not to let him hide behind the pillars of smoke he was creating. 

‘He’s not going to make this easy for me, but I have been preparing for this occasion for too long to let this game of tag keep me from winning!’ She thought to herself, resolve growing with every inch closer she got to Jetsam, ‘He can’t avoid me forever, and I have a secret weapon I’ve been dying to beta test!’

After a few more moments of chasing after Jetsam, Michiko took a gamble and let him escape to the sanctuary of smog he created across the arena. She knew she had to be quick, but some risks had to be taken to assure victory! She knew that she had the power within her to win.

He wouldn’t be able to outrun her prototype, after all!

--------

‘Phew, I think I finally managed to shake her,’ Jetsam sighed with relief, dark smog still escaping his mouth and obscuring his figure to the crowd (and hopefully Michiko as well). ‘Now I have a moment to breathe. Hah, figuratively, at least.’

He made sure to keep his eye on the clear silhouette of Michiko he could make out through his smog, never before more grateful for his mom’s sight-related quirk partially making its way to him. She seemed to be standing still, perhaps strategizing her own plan to catch him and throw him out of the arena? He hoped the smoke wasn’t making her feel too sick. He had to be quick.  

‘I can probably end the battle if I cover her in tar and stop her movement. It might be unpleasant but it’d be safer than trying to beat her in hand-to-hand or some other physical contest. I haven’t been training with Tsumi for too long, after all. Yeah okay, that’s the plan!’

Just as he was about to produce the sticky tars necessary to carry out his plan, a thin silhouette darted out from Michi’s figure, slithering across the arena at a speed too quick for Jetsam to react to.

As a cold, thin figure coiled itself tightly around him, the only thought sparking across Jetsam’s brain was:

“Michiko brought a snake?”

-----

‘Bingo!’ Michiko exclaimed to herself as Jetsam’s no-doubt unconscious shout revealed not only his location, but the fact that her capture device had worked perfectly as intended.

While it still had quite a few bugs to sort out, one of the most recently added features was a heat-seeking tracker that would allow the machine to chase after targets even under adverse visible conditions. 

She cocked her head towards the direction of Jetsam’s quick yell of distress; she couldn’t get complacent. The capture device was only half the battle! She had to guarantee that Jetsam couldn’t continue the fight in order to assure her victory! 

She couldn’t just blindly run through the smokescreen either; who knows what kinds of traps he could have placed while she set up her capture device. No. She had to be methodical, and safely make her way to Jetsam’s location while he was encumbered. 

The smog was thick, but now she had her goal within sight: grapple Jetsam and nullify his quirk, thus ending the match.

-----

Okay, so it wasn’t a snake, but it was still bad news! Jetsam’s arms were completely pinned by the robotic device wrapped around his torso. So this was the work of the capture device that Michiko had worked so hard on? Jetsam had to admit that it was effective. He couldn’t fight with his limbs restrained like this, and that shout he gave out completely alerted Michiko to his location.

‘So this is it. The fight’s over, and I spent the whole time running away and cowering in the corner. Everyone is watching. Everyone saw. Everyone will know I’m just a big failure who doesn’t deserve to be here. Oh god what if Sato-sensei kicks me out of the hero course? What if they kick me out of the school?? What if everyone laughs and ignores me and hates me OH GOD-’ 

As the panicked thoughts swirled in Jetsam’s mind a pit formed in his stomach. A pit that rapidly expanded into a big, black ball of anxiety and nerves. He could almost picture it in his mind’s eye: an ugly, bloated orb dripping with heat and stress and bile. The more he envisioned it the more it grew until he could almost feel it spilling out of his mouth like a slick oil spill across his lips and---oh wait.

It wasn’t in his mind’s eye.

Jetsam groaned to himself as gushing rivets of slippery, rubbery oil spewed from his mouth all down the front of his body. 

“Well this is perfect!” Jetsam exclaimed to himself, although it was muffled by the sheer volume of oil that expelled out of him as he spoke. He really did throw up. God, could this fight be any more of a disaster?

First he gets captured by Michi’s device, then he literally vomits gross oil from the stress. Fantastic. He shifted uncomfortably, as the oils soaked into his jersey under the capture device and--wait a moment. Oil. Disgusting, smelly, beautifully SLIPPERY oil! That was slicking up his torso and arms even now!

Jetsam pulled his arms upwards experimentally and YES! They were sliding out, he wasn’t restrained anymore! Maybe he could hide again and strategize-

The victorious thought was cut off by a hand shooting out from the pillars of smog, reaching for his newly freed arms.

-----

“I finally found you, Kisa-kun!” Michiko called out, jumping from out of the smokescreen with a triumphant smile. 

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Jetsam freed from his restraints, but she simply chalked it up to a prototyping failure; she could ask him about the specifics of how he escaped once the match was over, anyways.

This time Jetsam couldn’t dodge her oncoming attack, and Michiko grappled him to the ground, pinning his arms above his head. Now was her chance to nullify his quirk! She had been practicing in hand-to-hand combat, she could still push herself to her limits and come out on top!

Michiko began to focus her energy on her quirk, as Jetsam struggled underneath her. As soon as her quirk began its nullification, she saw the startled look in his dark eyes, and winced slightly in sympathy. She had been told that her quirk was a bit unpleasant to the target; with the process feeling not unlike having your blood drawn through your whole body.

As her quirk took effect, the copious amount of smoke around them began to disappear, once again fully revealing them to the crowd of spectators around the stadium. As her own vision began to clear she was startled to find them lying at the edge of the arena; if they had tussled a bit further out they would have been out of bounds.

Jetsam followed her gaze to the boundary line, and his jaw tightened as his face flushed a dull purple. Was it anger at his predicament? 

“I’m very sorry about this, Miss Michi,” he gurgled apologetically, as the last of his quirk bubbled from his mouth into a viscous oil that was spat out onto Michiko’s face.

With a shout of surprise, Michiko’s grip loosened enough for the slick oils still coating Jetsam’s arms to allow him to escape her grasp. Vision impared by the pollution covering her forehead and dripping into her eyes and nose, Michiko was unable to dodge the hefty push against her chest as Jetsam scrambled away from her touch, getting onto his feet. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for his quirk to return in full force.

“Again, words cannot express how sorry I am for doing that.” Jetsam called out to her, although his speech was hard to make out with the thick pollutants leaking from his mouth.

Michiko shot up from the floor, furiously wiping at her face to clear it of the oil. Once her vision returned, she turned to face Jetsam. The two ran at each other, trading blows and each trying to grapple the other into submission. The build-up of tar and oils worked as a double edged sword; Jetsam easily slipped from Michi’s grasp, but she also used that to her advantage to slide out of the way of his attacks. 

Then, there it was: that single, gleaming moment where Michiko could see the exhaustion, see Jetsam’s attention waning as the fight dragged on for just a bit too long. Right there! He was right by the boundary line, and had miscalculated a move that left him off-balance and vulnerable.

‘Sorry Jetsam,’ Michiko thought as she built momentum for her final blow, ‘but I am grateful for this amazing fight!’

Just as her victorious punch was about to make contact with Jetsam’s awaiting back, she felt herself freeze, involuntarily. Her arm was stuck in position, unable to move. She tried shifting her feet, but to no avail. Her whole body was frozen in place, like some sort of statue!

After a brief moment of panic, Michiko quickly realized what was happening. The tar. The tar Jetsam had been producing. He had mixed it with all the other pollutants as they fought, and as she was coated throughout the battle, the tar was turning thicker and thicker, until it encased her whole body into a stiff, immovable statue. 

She struggled, trying to thrash her way out of the viscous black coffin, but to no avail. She could no longer continue fighting. She had lost. 

The crowd burst into cheers and jeers as they realized that the match had been settled, the announcer calling out “AND THE WINNER IS, JETSAM KISA!”

As soon as the decision was announced, Michiko felt the tar slide off her body, like showering off a thick coating of muck, until only black stains remained on her body and clothing.

Jetsam sheepishly looked over at her, hand anxiously scratching at the back of his neck.

“So… that was really, really gross. I’m so sorry. But you were incredible! You almost had me so many times!!” Jetsam babbled out, getting more and more flustered as he continued. “I understand if you’re upset, but we promised we wouldn’t hold back and-”

“That was a great match! I had such a good time, and you really tested out my limits!” Michiko interrupted, smiled brightly at him as she held out her hand for him to shake. “But I’m warning you, next time I’ll be the one to come out on top!”

Jetsam smiled softly as he took her hand and reciprocated the shake.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[generallynerdy]

Allowing the thought to stay the trigger, the heart to register its trembling (Grey/Depa Billaba ft. Caleb Dume)

Summary: “I’m not worth it,” Grey hisses through their teeth. “Please. Depa, please—” Their general, their Jedi, only shakes her head, her grip on their shoulders a death sentence. “I will not leave you,” she says. “Fight the voice, Grey. Fight it.” They sob and some part of their brain burns with the knowledge that little brown eyes are watching from the corner of the room. They scream, pulling against their bonds and the twisting darkness in their head. “I can’t. I can’t—” Something that isn’t Grey crawls under their skin and it speaks, twisted, Dark. “Traitors.”

Warnings: Mind Control, Violent Thoughts, Serious Injuries, Blood and Violence, Eye Trauma (not graphic but described briefly), Vomiting (in like one sentence, emetophobia gang rise up), Angst Word Count: 2,275

Prompt: Angstpril Day 3 - “I can’t.”

Author’s Note: more suffering! Yay! I like to think this ended happily but this is Angstpril so I’m not writing it lol. Also, I discovered that Kanan’s eyes aren’t actually brown, at least according to Wookieepedia but frankly that’s stupid as fuck so. Brown-eyed Kanan. And nonbinary Grey because I am apparently not the only one who loves that concept! (Also, sorry for late posting! I was unable to finish this last night :/ hopefully I can finish day 4 today as well and catch up)

Read on AO3

*

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

It's an endless loop in the back of their mind, an itch they can't quite scratch. At the Order, it breaks free and turns to a screech, a ringing thought that echoes in their head so loudly it hurts. They don't even feel themselves pulling the trigger, shouting for their squad to follow.

But when they finally come to, underneath the monster that's stolen their face, it's because they're standing over him.

Caleb. 

Commander Caleb Dume. Jedi Padawan. Traitor.

Ad'ika, their heart cries as they lift their blaster. Their shaking hands have it levelled at the boy's face, right between his big brown, tear-filled eyes.

"Grey—Grey, what are you doing? What—?" His pleading words are nearly unintelligible between his panting breaths. When the cold metal touches his face, he sobs. “Don’t! Buir, don’t—don’t—please—”

Their cheeks are wet. Caleb sees it and only sobs harder, afraid to move for fear that they’ll pull the trigger. With their trembling hands, the likelihood of a misfire is high.

Inside their mind, Grey screams. They claw at the walls of their mental prison, leaving their fingertips bloodied and their throat hoarse from their agonizing howls. The cell won’t budge. The chip won’t give. They can’t get out. They can’t save their son.

But someone else can.

A robed figure flies out of nowhere, tackling Grey to the ground and sending their blasters into the air with a flick of their hand.

“Caleb, the blasters!”

Depa.

General Depa Billaba. Jedi High General. Traitor.

Depa. She hates it when I call her General.

She pins them to the ground and presses the calloused pads of her fingers against their temple. Something like grief crosses her face. “Sleep, Grey. Sleep.”

The chip fights, but they don’t. They like to think it helps bring the darkness faster.

*

“Master?”

Caleb’s voice trembles when he asks, taking a hesitant step forward. Depa is still on top of Grey, catching her breath and making sure they’re passed out. She shuts her eyes tightly, centering her conflicted presence. Her Padawan needs her and so does Grey. This is no time to grieve for the rest of their battalion.

(She tried to incapacitate rather than kill, but they’re still gone. The light that she used to associate with them has been snuffed out by a strangling darkness that burns.)

“It’s alright, Caleb, they’re unconscious,” she says, mustering what little strength she has left.

At her word, he rushes over, clinging to the sleeve of her robe.

Any other day, he’d be indignantly distant, trying to prove himself on the battlefield and make Depa proud. But right now he reeks of terror and uncertainty. And she feels the same.

Execute Order 66, the Chancellor had said.

And then everything had gone to hell. The clones had disappeared, replaced by darkness, and the Master-Padawan pair had barely made it out with their lives. Depa hasn’t even been able to process the wave of lights being snuffed out in the Force and she knows her Padawan hasn’t either; his connection with the Force feels brittle and broken. The Jedi are dying at the hands of their closest companions, at the order of the Chancellor of the Republic, and the two of them stand in the center of it all.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. She climbs off Grey and binds them with their own set of binders, something tight in her chest as she does. Then, she turns back to Caleb. “Are you alright? No injuries?”

He shakes his head and wipes at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Just scrapes.” He glances at Grey. “That—That wasn’t Buir, was it? It felt...wrong.”

“Very wrong,” she agrees. “I don’t know what it was, but the Chancellor triggered it. We need to get off the planet.”

“Are we...going back to the Temple?”

Depa visibly hesitates. His face falls and he knows in his heart that they aren’t. Even if they did, there would probably be nothing and no one left.

“It isn’t safe. We need to lay low for a while and figure out how to save Grey,” she tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Caleb, look at me.”

He does and she smiles a little.

Even now, in what must be the worst moment of his short life, he’s ready to listen. He’s ready to do what he needs to.

She kneels down to meet his height, holding his head in her capable hands. “You will survive this,” she says like it’s a promise. She can’t say the same of her or Grey or anyone else they know, but she can promise that Caleb will live. Because she will die to see it through. “You will. Do you understand?”

Despite the fear in his eyes, he nods.

“Good.”

Depa allows herself a moment to breathe, but no longer.

“Now, we need a way out of here.”

*

Grey wakes to the buzzing of a ship and panics. The last they remember, they were on the surface of the planet, with Depa and Caleb and- oh, Force. Oh, fuck.

Did they attack them? Did they hold a gun to Caleb's head?

Their own is throbbing, something clearly wrong. Chills go down their spine as they sit up, finding their wrists held together by their own binders. They're on the floor of a cargo bay, in an unfamiliar ship, but familiar voices echo from down the hall.

"Master, they're awake!" calls Caleb after poking his head in.

He may not be showing it, or trying not to, but Grey can see the fear in his furrowed eyebrows.

He's afraid of them.

They feel nauseous at the realisation.

"Caleb—" they try to say. Their voice is hoarse.

Depa appears from the hall, a glass of water in her hand. She crosses to Grey, motioning for her Padawan to stay by the door, which he does without question. Kneeling before her commander, her lover, she examines their face. They can feel her prodding at them gently in the Force. She's trying to decide whether they're friend or foe right now.

“Are you with us, Grey?”

They hesitate, but eventually nod. “I think so.”

With a small smile, Depa helps them drink the water, but pulls it away quickly when it’s finished. She’s cautious and rightfully so, Grey thinks when they feel something in their head tug.

They must visibly flinch, because so does Caleb.

“Tell me what’s happening,” their general murmurs, putting a hand on their knee.

Shutting their eyes fiercely, they take a long moment to answer. “It’s—It’s hard to fight. It wants me to...to kill the trai-traitors,” they gasp out, finding the unknown force stronger when they speak that word. They open their eyes, horrified. “Shit.”

“You’re alright.” She takes their hand and starts tracing patterns. “Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

“No, but...kark, my head hurts. My head. I think.”

“Stay still,” she warns.

She runs a hand up their temple, her eyes shut in concentration. The Force prods gently at their mind and, when it finds the offending area, something burns. Grey cries out and Depa stops in an instant, pulling back with a fearful look.

“There’s—” Glancing back at her Padawan, she takes a steadying breath. “I believe there’s something in your head that doesn’t belong, Grey. Something physical, but it’s very dark in the Force.”

“Can we get it out?” Caleb asks, his voice smaller than he is, which is saying something.

She stands, frowning. “I don’t know. I’ll set a course for—”

Grey’s face twists as the thing inside their head roars to life. “Don’t—” they manage to growl out.

There’s a lot they can’t explain to Depa in that moment. For one thing, they’d like to tell her that if the Chancellor activated the thing in their brain, he might very well be able to track them or hear their conversations through it. For another, it’s quite possible that if Dark Grey—yes, they’re calling the evil thing in their head by that now—overtakes Light Grey—Cody would be rolling on the floor now. Is Cody alive? Is his general alive?—they might just straight up contact the enemy.

Even though they can’t explain all that, their beloved Depa Billaba stops instantly, her eyes shining with understanding.

“—somewhere we can lay low and find a doctor,” she finishes instead.

Dark Grey shoves, pushes for more information. It stabs at Grey, a physical pain that makes them hiss. Out of their control, they speak.

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

It makes Depa frown. She examines their face, watching as it shifts into something so unlike them it’s sickening.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” they snap again, like a mantra.

Dark Grey does not appreciate their plan.

Grey finally gets a hold of themself, dragging themself into consciousness with a heavy breath. When they look up at Depa, their gaze is determined.

“You need to leave me.”

“No!” cries Caleb fiercely.

Depa holds up a hand. “Caleb,” she warns, a reminder to mind his emotions.

He falls silent, watching his Master and his buir with something akin to horrified bafflement. Force, Grey has never seen him so openly terrified. Ever since he joined their little family, he’s been nothing but brave.

“I’m a liability and a threat,” they say, turning their attention back to Depa. “It’ll be easier to go without me.”

“We won’t leave you behind.”

They frown at her, lowering their voice. “He can’t die because of me.”

She doesn’t dare glance at Caleb, doesn’t dare give their worries away to the boy, who already has the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. “It won’t come down to that.”

“And neither can you,” they add firmly. 

Depa’s expression tells them all they need to know. That’s one thing she can’t promise.

“He needs you.”

She huffs a rueful laugh. “So do you.”

If they could, they’d reach out to hold the back of her neck and keep her close.

Hold her neck and break it.

Grey flinches back. “No—”

“Tell me what it’s saying,” she encourages, reaching for them.

An agonizing pain rips through their skull, eliciting a scream. Despite the binders on their wrists, they claw at their scalp. The thought crosses Depa’s mind that she should stop them, but she doesn’t get the chance.

They drop their hands and gaze up at her with tearful eyes.

“I’m not worth it,” Grey hisses through their teeth. “Please. Depa, please—” 

Their general, their Jedi, only shakes her head, her grip on their shoulders a death sentence. “I will not leave you,” she says. “Fight the voice, Grey. Fight it.” 

They sob and some part of their brain burns with the knowledge that little brown eyes are watching from the corner of the room. They scream, pulling against their bonds and the twisting darkness in their head. “I can’t. I can’t—” 

Something that isn’t Grey crawls under their skin and it speaks, twisted, Dark. 

“Traitors.”

They lurch forward. Depa thinks they’re collapsing, but Dark Grey has other plans. They involve the vibroblade tucked into her boot, which is now in reach.

She never liked weapons that weren’t kyber-powered, lightsabers and lightsaber rifles in particular, but after a Separatist assassin nearly suffocated Grey right next to her, she became paranoid. Working through her fear was difficult, so her partner thought having a weapon under her pillow might put her at ease. For the most part, it worked. No one knew of its existence except Grey and she preferred it that way.

And now, CC-10/994 turns that trust against her.

With a fierce yell, he barrels into the Jedi traitor, ripping the vibroblade from its hiding place as she goes flying.

“Master!”

Before the other traitor can react, CC-10/994 flips the first over his shoulder, slamming her into the wall. Then, he flies at the smaller target, vibroblade tightly grasped.

The Jedi yelps and ducks his flurry of blows.

“Grey, snap out of it!” he says desperately.

CC-10/994 doesn’t flinch and leaps forward again.

“Buir! Buir, it’s me, Caleb!”

A single slash of the vibroblade has the traitor shrieking, falling back with an arm over his face. Before CC-10/994 can attack again, the Jedi Padawan throws out a hand, sending him soaring across the room. He slams into the wall with a vicious crack, all the air pushed from his lungs in an instant. For a split second, Grey rises again, ready to fight themself off, but it’s unnecessary.

Depa is there, shoving them into the cargo bay’s cell, ripping the vibroblade away, and locking the door behind them.

Grey collapses inside, gasping for breath and trembling as they stare at their own hands in horror. Blood stains their gloves. The sight makes them nauseous, so they tug the gloves off and throw them to the other side of the cell, desperate to get away.

It’s Caleb’s howl that makes them look up.

Depa is at his side in an instant but not fast enough. He pulls his sleeve away from his face and—

Grey throws up that time, into the corner of the cell.

Their blow struck true, slashing Caleb’s face from his right temple to the bridge of his nose. It’s a deep cut, one that goes into his right eye and bleeds profusely. The other eye, untouched, is blinded by tears.

“I can’t see,” he sobs, reaching for his Master, who reaches back. “I can’t—Master, I can’t—”

CC-10/994 lifts his head and smiles.

“Death to the traitors,” he spits. “Glory to the Empire.”

*

(Dark Grey uses he/him because Dark Grey follows orders, including gender assignments.)

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

[fucking-hydra]

On the serum thing, what if you had Steve and Bucky (or if you’re extra sadistic, add the other two as well) and forced them to pick between things. Like one of them would be forced to suffer for the other and because they’re both self-sacrificing assholes it would just end up in one agreeing to suffer and the other hating it.

*sighs dreamily* Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly the kind of good shit I’m here for. This definitely got away from me so it’s really really long, I’m sorry.

Warnings for this one because it’s particularly brutal (as if my other ones aren’t, but still): human experimentation, hallucinations, paranoia, body mutilation, unintentional self harm/self mutilation, needles, drugs, gore, emetophobia, graphic description, body horror/gore, hand and mouth gore, so much blood, using one character’s torture to whump another character, and, because this one goes pretty far, dead dove: do not eat.

Most of HYDRA’s operations have been shut down, but there’s still the stray operation that had slipped through the cracks, so far off the books that their information wasn’t even encoded in SHIELD’s data during the leak. While these operations are rare, they’re vicious and strong, with knowledge and resources that are beyond anything that previous HYDRA intel could tell the Avengers.

Which is why Steve and Bucky are in a room with vibranium walls and flooring, a vibranium reinforced door, and vibranium chains keeping them on opposite sides of the room from one another, both of them groggily waking from the drugs they were dosed with in battle. There’s two other sets of bonds on the other two walls, but no one in them.

Steve comes to first, testing his bonds and looking up at Bucky. “You okay?”

Bucky blinks, nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, things are a little fuzzy, but I’m good.”

Steve doesn’t have a chance to ask anything else when a HYDRA agent walks into the room with a briefcase in hand, grinning brightly.

“Ah, gentlemen, you’re awake! Good, because I have a proposition, and I think you’re going to love this.” The man sets the case on the floor, opening it to reveal a single large syringe. “This is a very high dose of injectable LSD, mixed with a few other fun ingredients, modified to last in the bloodstream longer than normal, but with no less potency.”

“How much did you take, because you clearly can’t count that there’s two of us and one syringe,” Steve says dryly, and the agent laughs.

“You’re right, there’s only one. Which means one of you gets to choose who takes it. And since you’re being so rude, I’ll let Barnes pick.”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

“Buck, no, I can take it,” Steve says, and the agent laughs.

“Mr. Barnes has already made his choice, Rogers. So let’s see what this does, hmm?” The agent approaches Bucky with the syringe. “Attack me, and all you will accomplish is more pain for yourself and Rogers. I do not have the keys to release you, so it isn’t worth fighting.”

The agent injects the drugs into Bucky’s arm, Bucky stiffening slightly at the insertion of the needle, and then the agent steps back, smiling. “It should only take a moment for the drugs to start working.”

In seconds, Bucky’s head lolls back, thumping against the wall behind him, eyes rolling into the back of his head. It only takes a few more seconds for Bucky’s entire body to seize, Bucky’s eyes snapping forward, pupils blown wide, as he screams, throws himself at the end of his chains and thrashing wildly.

“I’ll fucking kill you! Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me!” He screams, growling low in his throat and biting at the empty air in front of him.

“Bucky, Bucky it’s okay, no one’s going to hurt you!” Steve shouts across the room, but Bucky doesn’t seem to hear him, his growls turning into genuine snarling noises as he starts to foam at the mouth like rabid dog, lunging at the ends of his chains strong enough that Steve can already see the blood starting to drip from Bucky’s wrist and ankles where the cuffs sit.

“Buck! Buck you’re okay, you’re going to be okay, just breathe,” Steve says, pulling at his own chains in a desperate attempt to reach his best friend.

Almost as suddenly as Bucky had become aggressive, he goes limp, dropping into a heap of limbs on the floor as he sobs, tucking his knees to his chest and curling up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth as the force of his sobs wrack his entire body.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please I’ll do better, I’ll do better, not the cane, not the cane, Commander, please,” Bucky pleads, words slurred and muffled behind his knees, and Steve freezes, stares at Bucky and tries to figure out if Bucky’s hallucinating or having a flashback.

“Buck, you’re safe, it’s okay, he’s not here, you’re here with me, and you’re going to be okay,” Steve says, and he can’t help the tears that start to stream down his own face just watching his friend suffer.

“Oh, don’t worry, Rogers, this will only last another thirty minutes or so. Then I’ll leave, and your next presenter will arrive with the choice you get to make,” the agent says, and Steve glares at the man, so angry that he’s speechless.

As promised, the drugs wear off 30 minutes later, and Bucky collapses, panting and whimpering as he sees the damage he’d done to his own body from pulling at the chains.

The door opens and another agent steps in with a new briefcase, trading places with the current agent, who packs up his own briefcase and leaves.

“So, Captain Rogers, you’re the one who gets to choose this time, and this time the injection is–”

“I’ll do it,” Steve says, and the agent raises her eyebrows.

“So eager,” she says, “But okay.”

She opens the case, bringing the syringe over and injecting it into Steve’s arm.

Bucky watches as Steve squeezes his eyes shut, groaning and shifting uncomfortably on the floor, face turning red like he’s overheating, and Bucky could recognize a fever anywhere after the years he spent trying to take care of a young Steve.

Then Steve leans to the side and throws up, coughing and hacking up vomit filled with swirls of blood. The puddle spreads across the floor until Steve is left sitting in his own vomit, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself, bruises slowly spreading out from under Steve’s clothes and covering his body.

Bucky watches in horror as Steve’s hands and feet start to turn black, as Steve starts to wheeze like he can’t breathe properly, sounding even worse than he used to when he was asthmatic.

“Steve?” Bucky asks, and Steve moans, curls in on himself clutching his stomach.

“Hurts, can’t… can’t feel my hands,” Steve says, whimpering, and then he collapses on his side, his body seemingly giving up on him as he lays curled up on the floor in a puddle of vomit that grows larger as Steve heaves, throwing up stomach acid.

Bucky pulls forward on the chains before he realizes what he’s doing, then turns to the HYDRA agent, eyes shooting daggers.

“What the fuck did you give him?” he demands, and the agent smiles.

“It’s a lovely mix of ebola and various types of the plague. Fascinating, isn’t it? This is truly beautiful to watch, we’ve never had anyone last this long.”

Bucky growls, lunges at the agent. “Help him! He’s going to die like this, you can’t just let him die!” He shouts, and the agent just shrugs, too far away for Bucky to reach.

“I doubt it, but if he does, we can deal with that. In the meantime, enjoy the show.”

Bucky turns his attention back to Steve, who’s still curled up on the floor, gasping for breath and whimpering in pain, body shaking and shivering, and Bucky can’t tell if Steve’s cold, crying, or just in pain.

“It’s okay Steve, you can make it, you can, you’ll be okay,” Bucky says, more for his benefit than for Steve’s, because he doesn’t know that Steve will make it but he can’t lose him, he can’t.

It takes another 20 minutes for the injection to wear off, Steve’s skin slowly repairing itself and returning to normal, but Steve just lays there, limp and unmoving, hair covered in vomit.

“Steve?”

Bucky waits anxiously for Steve to say something, needs to know that Steve is still alive, and he finally gets his answer in the form of a groan. Bucky lets out the breath he was holding. “Thank god.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. We have some more friends coming in to join you, just wait a moment and I’ll go get them. It was lovely studying you,” the agent says, and then she leaves, the door closing behind her with a resounding click.

“Friends?” Steve asks weakly, and Bucky shakes his head.

“I don’t know. But we’re going to get out of here, Steve, we’re going to make it, I swear to god,” Bucky says, and Steve just nods, not lifting his head from the floor.

Bucky counts four minutes and twenty-seven seconds in his head before the door opens again, and agents drag in two limp bodies, chaining them up in the two empty sets of bonds.

“Nat?” Steve says.

“Peter?” Bucky says at the same time, and they stare at each other and at their teammates, confused.

It only takes a few minutes for Natasha and Peter to wake up, and when they do, both of them immediately evaluate the situation, looking around.

“Are you guys okay? You both look kinda bad, like you actually look your ages,” Peter says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“First of all, respect your elders you little shit. Second, no we’re not doing so great, and third, why the fuck are you two here?”

“Oh, because you got captured intentionally,” Natasha says, and Steve coughs, finally sitting up again with his back pressed against the wall to keep him upright.

“Can we not do this? Until we figure out how to get out of here, it might be a good idea to just focus on surviving.”

The others trade glances, shrugging. “Yeah, okay,” Peter says, seconds before the door opens and a woman comes in carrying what looks like a tool box, smiling.

“Ooh, are we building something? I was in robotics club, I can help!” Peter says cheerily, and the woman laughs while Bucky and Nat glare daggers at Peter, silently willing him to shut up.

“Cute, he’s so excited to get to work. But I’m a bit of a traditionalist, and I like to think ladies go first,” the woman says, turning to Natasha. “So, the option goes to you. I’ve got a plan for these tools, and I can either work with you or the kid. What’s your choice?”

“Me,” Natasha says without hesitating, and Peter whines.

“Aww, come on, Nat, don’t steal all my fun.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You’re like 13, so shut the fuck up.”

“Actually, the quote is ‘I’m 11, so shut the fuck up,’ but that was close. Besides, I’m 16, so you’re wrong.”

The HYDRA agent laughs. “Family bickering, how adorable. We have work to do though, so let’s get to it.” She opens the toolbox, pulling out a wrench.

“The goal today is to learn how quickly your bodies heal, because all four of you have some very strange metabolisms. For this particular part of the experiment, I get to be creative. I’ll admit, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t let the kid do it, I wanted to hear him scream. Please resist, I really want to hit him.”

The agent grabs Natasha’s left leg, squaring up the wrench and swinging it into Natasha’s knee, shattering the bone. Natasha bites down on her scream, only letting out a small whimpering noise, and the agent sighs.

“See, you’re ruining my fun. This is why I like the kid better.”

The agent grabs Natasha’s right arm, smashing at her elbow twice until there’s a sickening crunch and Nat’s arm is bent the wrong way, Natasha actually screaming in the process. “You’re going to fucking die,” she gasps, and the agent laughs.

“Some day, sure, but not today.” She digs in the toolbox, pulling out a set of pliers.

“So, how long do you think it’ll take for your hands to be manicurable again?” she asks, and Natasha stares at the pliers, eyes wide.

“I don’t…”

“Hey! Why not mess up mine? My nails could use a good trim,” Bucky tries, but the agent just laughs.

“You already got to play the game once today, you don’t get to take her fun away.” The agent uses the pliers to get a hold of Natasha’s thumb nail, yanking the nail out quickly and efficiently, and Natasha lets out a sob, staring at the blood dripping from the wound.

The agent pauses. “Ooh, I just had an idea.” She grabs Natasha’s jaw, prying her mouth open and using the pliers to reach in and rip out one of Natasha’s molars, quickly pulling her hand out as Natasha screams. “Yeah, that’s pretty, let’s keep doing that. Do you think you can regrow teeth?”

Natasha shakes her head, clenching her mouth shut even as she winces at the pain in the back of her mouth. “No, please,” she says softly, and the woman sighs.

“Fine, fine. We’ll find something else.” She digs through the toolbox and pulls out a box cutter, grinning. “Hmm. I’ll make you a deal. This can be the last part, but only if you let me pull two more teeth. Deal?”

Peter watches in horror, pulls at his bonds. “Hey, no, I might be able to regrow them! Why not test on me? It’ll be fun, come on, I promise!”

The agent shakes her head. “Nope, not your turn kid. As much as I wish it was. Well, Romanova?”

Natasha hesitates, considers her options, then opens her mouth. The agent grins, picks up the pliers. “See, you’re smart, I admire that.” She pulls out one of Natasha’s top canine teeth and one of her bottom incisor teeth, gathering the teeth in a small pile on the floor. “Oh, I’m definitely making a necklace out of those later.”

She picks up the box cutter. “Now let’s see, I’m not a very good artist, but I’m sure we can make this work.” She cuts the lower half of Natasha’s shirt apart carelessly, paying no attention to the stray cuts that dig into Natasha’s stomach as she moves the fabric aside, leaving Natasha in a modified crop top.

She carves the box cutter into Natasha’s stomach, tsking when Natasha flinches away. “You’re ruining my drawing, hold still.” When she’s done, she leans back, revealing the HYDRA logo sloppily carved into Natasha’s stomach. “Beautiful. We can see how those cuts heal, and then I want one last thing for us to look at.”

She extends the blade of the box cutter as far as it will go, then plunges it into Natasha’s collar bone, laughing when Natasha cries out, tears streaming down her face.

“Cute.” The agent yanks the blade out, wiping it clean on her pants and placing everything back in the tool box. She stands, walking back to the door. “That’s it for today, but tomorrow, the kid gets to choose! Until then, sleep well, you’ll need it.”

The door shuts, and everyone looks around at each other, terrified.

“So, what else do you think they have planned for us?” Peter asks, and Steve shrugs.

“Don’t know, but it can’t be good. I hate to say it, but she’s right. We’re going to need to rest of we have any chance of making it through this. We can figure out more later.”

Bucky, Steve, and Nat, exhausted from their injuries, fall asleep quickly, but Peter stays awake, staring at the floor, aware of the puddles of blood and vomit in his peripheral vision. Enhanced metabolisms or not, their bodies can’t take this, and eventually they’re going to die. Peter needs to find them a way to escape, and fast.

[god--baby]

nice to meet you ch 7 (sfw ish)

belch huggins x ambiguously gendered reader

henry bowers x patrick hockstetter

masterpost

previously on: you and the guys get high. patrick and henry get together. you try to fuck, but fall asleep instead. 

summary: a week passes. you and the guys go to a party. things don’t go as planned. also: trashcan punch, multiple boyfriends, and the perfect couple. 

word count: 3514

tag list: @cordysblog @heckstetter @agespenst @sabertooth-potato @purplezebra68 @daddywise-issues @tonguepopperr @nurserykryme @demious-sword @surahbow @lilypad1234 @sarah-bow-beara @bisexualbitchbabe

content warning: emetophobia

The next day, you watched as Henry slowly acclimated to having Patrick all over him. A hand in his back pocket, an arm around his shoulders. Sharing cigarettes. It was cute, the way Henry would blush. It was weird, too, to finally know why they had been so weird around each other.

Before school, Patrick leaned in and whispered something in Henry’s ear, ending with a bite to his earlobe. Henry pushed him away, laughing.

It was cute.

Henry refused to be kissed in public, though. Patrick didn’t respect that. He kept trying to sneak one in here and there, Henry pushing him away, getting more and more mad each time.

You pulled Patrick aside at the end of lunch.

“Patrick,” you said sharply, pulling his attention away from Henry. “Look at me.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Save the sweethearts for Henry. Just listen to me.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“You’re just pissing him off, trying to kiss him all the time.”

“Who cares?”

“Henry cares.”

He huffed.

“Dunno why he’s such a prude,” he said.

“He’s probably afraid of what people will think.”

“He doesn’t mind my hand on his ass but kissing him is too much?”

You put your hands up.

“Listen, I didn’t say it made perfect sense. I guess it’s just more intimate than he wants in public. What I’m saying is lay off unless you’re in private. I can tell he wants to kiss you, just not right now.”

He crossed his arms.

“Why do you even care?” he asked.

“’Cause. I know what it’s like to be pressured into shit like that. Give him time.”

He set his jaw into a hard line and sighed.

“Fine.”

“Okay?”

“I said okay.”

“Good.”

He stopped trying to kiss Henry every chance he got, settling for when they were in private. A weight seemed to lift from Henry’s shoulders.

And they did kiss. A lot. Constantly. Sometimes it was impossible to hold a conversation with them without one of them deciding he wanted a kiss.

It was unbearable.

But you put up with it. They’d get over it, soon.

That night, after your parents got home, you got high with them.

You would have invited Belch, since they liked him so much, but he was at work. In fact, he was working all week after school. You hated it, but you also kind of loved it — you hated having to settle for texts, but you loved that he loved his job. He loved working with his hands, solving problems, getting shit done. He talked about it like it was his favorite thing. You assumed it was.

“So, how are things going with you and Reggie?” your mom asked.

She took a puff on the joint — she’d rolled it, and it was beautiful — and passed it to you.

“Good. I think we’re going to have sex sometime soon,” you said.

You were always this open with them. You trusted them to trust you. It was just how things worked between all of you.

“Ooh, okay,” said your dad. “I hope it goes well.”

“I think it will. We got close yesterday, and he asked me things like if I felt good, and if I really wanted it, and stuff.”

“He’s such a gentleman,” your mother laughed. “What a guy.”

You smiled. “I’m lucky to have him.”

“You sure are, sweet bean,” said your dad.

“You’ll be safe, right?” asked your mom.

“Mom. Of course we will.”

“I just wanted to make sure. I know, in the heat of the moment, a condom isn’t that sexy, but…”

“Better safe than sorry, I know,” you said.

“Just be smart, starchild,” she said.

You smiled again. “He calls me that, now, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. My starchild. That’s what he says.”

“What a sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a good guy, bean,” said your dad.

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

“You know who you remind me of?” your mom asked.

“Who?” you asked. You knew the answer.

“Us, when we’d just met.”

You sat back and waited for the rest of the story. You’d heard it plenty of times, but you still loved it each time it was told.

“How she looked at me the first time,” said your dad, sighing.

“Like I was looking for something, and I’d just found it,” your mom agreed.

“And then you asked him if he had any pot,” you added.

“Mm. We were at a party. This psychedelic band was playing, and well,” he said.

“It was the perfect time to fall in love,” your mom sighed. “Just perfect.”

You sighed, too. They were still so in love, even after all this time. They were really the perfect couple.

Before you went to bed, you texted Belch.

11:30pm. To: Reggie

how was work?

11:31pm. From: Reggie

fixed a sticky transmission. fucking hard

11:31pm. To: Reggie

no idea what that means. is it okay now I guess?

11:32pm. From: Reggie

yeah it’s okay. you going to bed?

11:32pm. To: Reggie

yeah. you?

11:33pm. From: Reggie

yeah. goodnight starchild

You grinned.

11:33pm. To: Reggie

Goodnight babe

The rest of the week passed without incident. You didn’t get any alone time with Belch, and it was starting to make you antsy.

You got ready for the party on Friday night, pinning your hair up into a fake mohawk again, your mom helping you get it right. She hovered behind you with pins in her mouth, humming something by the Beach Boys.

The guys picked you up, and you found that Henry didn’t have to surrender his seat to you — because he was already in the back with Patrick, a tangled mass of limbs and nasty smiles.

You rolled your eyes and got in, quietly saying hello to Belch as he drove to the party.

It was already in good shape when you arrived, and the group split to do various things. Patrick and Henry scoped out the bedrooms of the place to see where they could fuck if they wanted to. Vic went out to the back porch, where the smokers and stoners were already sitting around in little groups.

You and Belch got yourself drinks, then sat on a couch, you on his lap, straddling him. You were sharing a plastic cup of trashcan punch — various types of Hawaiian Punch mixed together with the cheapest vodka money can buy — passing it between you.

You got tipsy, and then lightly sloshed, and then flat out drunk, pretty fast. The punch didn’t taste like much of anything, but it got you there, and it got you there, quick.

Belch was fine. It took a lot to get him drunk, he swore, so you felt safe being with him.

He had both hands on your hips, holding you down in his lap. You swayed above him to the music, some Top 40 stuff you didn’t really care for but had a catchy beat. Maybe, when you were home and sober, you’d check it out. Maybe.

He pulled you down into a short kiss, just barely licking at your lips before deepening it. You put your arms over his shoulders, hands dangling limply as he continued kissing you. He broke the kiss and started kissing lines up and down your neck, pulling down the collar of your shirt to go lower from time to time.

“You want something, babe?” you teased him.

“You know what I want,” he said.

Just then, Patrick and Henry wandered by, hair mussed and clothes off kilter.

“Picked the second door on the right open, you might wanna take it before someone else does,” Patrick said, clapping Belch on the shoulder before wandering away again.

“God, those two,” you said, laughing.

“What do you say, baby?” Belch asked. “You wanna take his upstairs?”

“Let’s do it.”

He picked you up and carried you up the stairs, you giggling the entire time, curled into his chest. He set you down on a soft bed and closed the door behind him. You laid there, waiting for him. He smiled down at you.

“Look at you,” he said.

“Hm?”

“So pretty, just waiting to get fucked.”

You blushed.

“Reggie,” you said. “Come here.”

He came over, kneeling on the bed in front of you. He held your face in his hands, just looking at you with nothing less than adoration. Then, he kissed your cheeks, one after the other. He kissed you on your forehead, then square on the lips. You sighed into the kiss, winding your arms around his neck, pulling you closer to him.

His hands went to your ass, pulling you in until there was no space between your bodies, only your clothes.

Your fucking clothes. You needed to get rid of them, right now.

You broke the kiss to pull your shirt off over your head, and he smiled.

You swayed a little bit in his embrace, and he looked at you, concerned.

“You sure you want to do this now, baby?”

“I want to do this all the time,” you said. “I’m fine. Trust me.”

“Okay,” he said.

You reached down in between his legs, slowly dragging your fingernails over his jeans. You could feel him, hard, behind the denim, and you grinned at him.

“What, baby?” he asked.

“You’re so excited,” you said. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

You undid his pants, slipping one hand inside and slowly stroking his cock. He sighed.

You backed up so you could get on your hands and knees to blow him. You licked a thick stripe all the way up the shaft and put your lips around the head and — there came a loud bang from the other side of the door. Startled, you pulled off Belch’s dick and looked at the door.

It swung open to reveal a very drunk Vic with a very apologetic Josh behind him.

“Hey, guys — oh, sorry, nothing I haven’t seen before, but — hey, guys, guess what?”

You groaned and flopped down on your stomach as Belch put himself back in his pants.

“What?” you asked, voice muffled by the blanket underneath you that smelled like sweat and sex — assumedly because Patrick and Henry had been there first.

“This is Josh. You guys know Josh, right?”

“Sure,” said Belch. He sounded pissed, but he was controlling it. He remained kneeling on the bed beside you.

“I kissed him. Josh is my boyfriend now,” Vic said. He pulled Josh into the room, grinning.

“Does Josh know he’s your boyfriend?” you asked, face smushed into the bedding. It matched how you felt.

“I’m so sorry, you guys,” said Josh. “And yeah, I know. We’re officially dating. Well, me and my boyfriend Tim are dating Vic, now. It’s complicated. Anyway. I’m really sorry, and we’ll leave you alone.”

He dragged a waving Vic out of the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

Belch took a deep breath and let it go, a massive sigh. You looked up at him, the world beginning to spin.

“You wanna get back to it?” he asked.

“Uh,” you said, stomach churning. “I’m actually — I’m gonna puke.”

“What?”

You rolled off the bed and got shakily to your feet, leaving the room and hunting for the nearest bathroom.

You found it just in time to puke in the toilet.

“Oh, baby,” Belch said, rushing after you and putting a hand on your back. “I didn’t know you’d drank that much.”

“Me neither,” you moaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and flushing the toilet just before you threw up, again.

Belch stayed by you, patting your back. Then, he stood. You grabbed his leg for a moment, frantic, before he pried your hand off of him.

“I’m gonna go find the guys,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

“Fuck,” you groaned.

You didn’t want to go home, but he was probably right. It was probably what you needed to do.

He left you there, your forehead on the toilet seat, thinking about how many asses had been there before you.

God, what a shitty ending to a pretty good night.

“You had the punch, didn’t you?” came a snarky voice from the door.

You looked up.

“Patrick,” you said. “Help me up, I’m done throwing up.”

He gave a heaving sigh, then came over and hauled you up by one armpit. You leaned heavily on him.

“Where’s Reggie?” you asked.

“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said.

“Fuck you. You know who I’m talking about. My fucking boyfriend. The one you assholes call Belch.”

“He’s downstairs trying to pull Vic away from his new boyfriends. Do you know that weirdo has two boyfriends, now?”

“Yeah, I heard. Good for him. Whoopee.”

He helped you down the stairs, Henry stomping after you. When you got there, they helped you out the front door, down the steps, and out to the car. You leaned, sore and tired, against the passenger side door, waiting for Belch.

He arrived, shaking his head.

“Vic’s staying with Josh and Tom.”

“Tim,” you said, a hand over your eyes.

“Fine, Tim.” He sighed. “Let’s go.”

Grumbling, the boys got in the back seat while you waited. Then, Belch helped you into the passenger seat, a hand on the back of your head like a cop so you wouldn’t bang it.

He drove Patrick and Henry to Patrick’s house, waving goodbye without a word.

Then, he drove you home.

You got out of the car on your own, assuming he was just dropping you off. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and got out.

You assumed again that he was just being polite, helping you in the door.

“Okay,” you said. “You can go. I’m fine.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“You really think I’m gonna leave you right now?”

You looked at him, confused.

That’s what Julian would have done.

He must have seen it in your expression, and his eyes turned hard for a second.

“I’m not him. I’d never do that to you.”

You leaned until your chest was on his forehead, the closest thing to a hug you had the energy for. He sighed, and hugged you, gently, gently.

Then he picked you up and carried you upstairs. This time, you weren’t giggling. You were exhausted and your mouth tasted like bile.

He set you down on the counter in the bathroom, handing you the toothbrush in the cup.

“Brush your teeth,” he said, crossing his arms.

He watched as you slowly scrubbed your mouth clean, spitting when you were done and putting your toothbrush away.

Then, he helped you off the counter and into your bedroom. You shakily plugged your fairy lights in instead of turning on the overhead light and pulled your shirt off.

You flopped onto the bed, your still-shoed feet hanging off the end.

“’Kay. G’night,” you said with a yawn.

“Baby,” he laughed. “You’re not gonna sleep good like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like — Jesus. Lemme just —”

He bent down and pulled your boots off, then pulled on your hands until you stood up. He undid your pants and carefully pulled them down, helping you step out of them until you stood in front of him in nothing more than your underwear.

“Babe,” you said. “I don’t think this is the best time.”

He laughed again.

“Baby, you really thought…? No. Not right now. You’re not feeling good, I wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” you said.

Then you flopped down on the bed again, rolling over and pulling the covers around you.

He sighed and laid down beside you on the bed, pulling you in with an arm around your middle.

“We’ll fuck,” you said. “Eventually. I promise, babe.”

“I know, baby. I know. We’ll get there.”

“I promise it wasn’t your dick that made me throw up.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“I’m happy for Vic. And I’m kinda glad he interrupted us.”

“Me too. He deserves those guys.”

“Yeah.”

You thought for a moment, eyes drifting shut.

“I’m glad you’re here. I like you a lot.”

“I like you, too, baby.”

“Cool.”

You drifted off.

You woke to sun streaming in your window. You were on top of Belch, blankets in a mess around you. You yawned and stretched — and then the headache hit you. And your neck hurt — it hurt just to make the little movement to yawn, to stretch.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You got up, hunting around for your sunglasses. You found them, put them on, and found a clean t-shirt in the pile of clean things you kept in the corner. When you got it on, you sighed and went to the bathroom, sparing Belch a glace as you did.

You methodically wiped away the makeup you’d been wearing last night. Your lipstick didn’t want to budge — god bless it, it wasn’t supposed to last night, but today, today you needed it gone. And your eye makeup was streaked — you remembered tears building up when you were puking.

Once last night’s face was gone, you went back to your bedroom and closed the blinds. You put the sunglasses on your bedside table and got on top of Belch, straddling his hips with one hand on his chest.

“Babe,” you said, one hand at the side of his face. “Babe, wake up.”

He cracked his eyes and smiled at you.

“Well, hey there, baby.”

“Hey yourself,” you said.

“You must be feeling better,” he said.

“Not really. Hungover as fuck and my neck hurts from puking. But I’m still happy to have you in my bed.”

You grinned and shifted against him, feeling him hard under you.

“Looks like you’re happy, too,” you said.

He laughed.

“Sure am, baby. C’mere and kiss me.”

You leaned down and kissed him, a light little thing. You pulled back, grinning. He playfully scowled at you and pulled you down for a real kiss, licking at your lips, your tongue, the roof of your mouth. You sighed into it.

You reached down between your legs for him. Again, you dragged your fingernails over the denim over him, and he took in a short breath.

“Baby, are you sure we should do this right now?” he asked.

“Why not?”

“I hear —”

“Starchild!” called your mom from the hallway. “Rise and shine! The day’s waiting on you!”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. You slowly pulled your hand away from Belch’s bulge and set it on his chest.

Then she opened your door. Belch blushed until his face was nothing but red.

“Oh, Reggie. We thought you’d be here,” she said. “We saw your car. I love it, by the way.”

“I do, too. Amy’s my favorite thing. I hope you don’t mind I stayed over, ma’am. We had kinda a rough night.”

“Oh?”

“I drank too much and ended up throwing up,” you said.

“I take it you learned your lesson?”

“Moderation is key, but I already knew that. Mostly, don’t drink anything that you can’t taste the alcohol in.”

“That’s my kid. I trust you to be smart in the future.”

You smiled.

“I will be.”

“Well, your dad and I are leaving for work soon. You two come down and say hi.”

“We will, ma’am,” said Belch.

When she was gone, he looked at his watch. And then, he groaned.

“Fuck,” he said. “I gotta get changed and go to work.”

“Don’t you wanna stay here with me for a little bit?” you pouted, your hand going again to the front of his pants.

“Course I do, baby. But I need this job.”

He didn’t move your hand, though, so you undid his pants. When you reached in to pull out his dick, he finally caught you by the wrist.

“Baby,” he warned.

“C’mon,” you whined. You were definitely pushing it, and you knew it. “Please?”

“You know I want to. But I can’t.”

He tried to sit up, and you pushed him down playfully.

“Baby,” he said, trying not to laugh. “You keep being a brat, and I’m gonna give you a fucking spanking.”

You gasped, a little frightened but also delighted.

“Well, that’s not what I expected,” he said. “You want that?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling.

“Uh huh. That looks like a big yes to me.”

“Maybe,” you said again.

“C’mon, baby. We gotta say hi to your dad, and if you keep trying to get in my pants, I’m not gonna be able to look him in the eye.”

You laughed and finally rolled off of him, hunting around for a pair of pajama pants.

You put them on as he got up and stretched.

Then, you went downstairs to say goodbye to your parents as they left for work.

They left, and Belch got his keys, ready to go.

“I mean it,” he said. “I’ll spank you if I have to.”

You smiled.

“Well, here’s hoping you don’t have to.”

He kissed you, pulling you in with a hand on your ass. You smiled into the kiss, and then he pulled away.

“Bye, baby. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

And then, he left.

[inhodear]

* long flight ( solo )

WRITING TASK #001: music prompt! ↳ taeyong -- long flight 

dance in a swimming pool called sky, in that space, my lips are tingling in the cold air

TW: anxiety, animal death, emetophobia, (implied) violence, (implied) gore. last but not least: Furry Shit 

[  SPRING 2018, TUESDAY NIGHT, THE FOREST BEHIND GRANDMA’S HOUSE. ]

inho’s recent growth spurt hit him like a truck. 

while the extra height is worth celebrating, his arms and legs feel too long, making him even more awkward than he was before. he’s too clumsy now -- wider shoulders making him bump into his classmates in the hallway, bringing more attention to himself than he ever wanted. it was his grandma who pointed out the difference to him, complaining lightheartedly about how quickly he grew out of two shoe sizes.

the changes do bring him some relief; being mistaken for a high school freshman all the time is getting tiring. it’s about time he caught up with everyone -- most of his classmates have sharpened up, filled out, started growing facial hair, etc., so inho is grateful that he’s at least the same height as the other boys now. 

he’s not completely happy, though, in fact his clumsiness has made him very frustrated -- more so because of the contrast between how his teenage body feels compared to... this one. 

how cruel is it that he can only feel comfortable when stuck in the body of the thing he hates so much? how he feels the most himself when he’s not even Himself? 

this Big Ugly Grey Thing moves with more grace and purpose than inho ever could. this body is filled with a level of energy and awareness that the sleepy, lazy inho has never been able to achieve. it feels upsettingly, terrifyingly good to be like this, as much as he tries to forget that feeling for three weeks every month. 

as he makes his way over prickly shrubbery and stones, the Big Ugly Grey Feet don’t miss a single step. the water of the local creek glitters beside him, reflecting the cold light of the moon, but he doesn’t stop to admire it yet. he races up the path he’s familiar with until he finds the tree that marks his section of the forest and slows, sharp eyes taking in the area to make sure it hasn’t changed since he left it last month. 

his log is where he positioned it, covered in soft moss and laying on its side a few yards away from the creek. the cover he made using dead branches painstakingly layered over each other is also intact, blocking the little clearing from view on all sides except for the one facing the river.

and, most importantly, his books are still there. 

inho sighs with relief, in a puff of air that comes from his nostrils. he walks over to perch himself on the log in what must look like the most awkward seated position ever. 

it’s bare, dirty and ugly, but this has been his home away from home for so long now; it’s been especially comfortable since he managed to teach his Big Ugly Grey Fingers to turn pages without ripping them, and he learned that he can kind of read most of the words if he squints hard enough. these past few moons have been more peaceful than any of the other ones -- it’s much easier to convince himself to stay still if he can focus on someone else’s story, instead of wasting the whole night wandering around and being melancholy. 

getting brave about his improved dexterity, he’d also tried to bring his phone out with him last month. but it didn’t go as well - tapping in a password doesn’t work when your fingertips are claws and Siri does not parse weird wolfy noises. smashing his phone so easily was a nasty wake-up call, reminding him that no matter how much he tries to make things feel normal out here, they never will be. 

oh... did i finish this book already? 

he squints as he carefully reads the last paragraph of his novel. he recognizes the words on the last page of both of the other books, meaning that he’d read them all and then forgotten.he groans audibly, but immediately cuts himself off as the sound comes out too loud, too... scary. 

he’s always hated to re-read books, so he resigns to settle in for another night of Nothing. 

he supposes he can’t complain that much, because being bored and alone for 12+ hours is much better than any alternative. the pros of being in his own mind far outweigh the cons (even if his inner monologue tends to hurt him sometimes.) 

he gets up to wander after a little while, knowing that being under the moonlight is the best way to calm down his mind.

he walks up the side of the creek for a while. his usual daydreams start to take over as the moon slowly angles herself higher over his head, cool light washing him and almost soothing his nerves. 

there’s one daydream that he sees often. 

it changes from time to time, but the gist is the same: a too-perfect scenario in his head where his best friend is out here with him, where he’s not too afraid to tell her the truth, where she’s not too afraid of him, where he can finally show her this forest and everything he loves about it and share with her all that love he feels pouring down from the moon. where he doesn’t have to be alone out here and left with only his thoughts to keep him company. 

of course he knows it’ll never happen. his eunji is brave about many things, but inho is not -- at least once a week he finds himself in a thought loop where he’s just terrified of losing the only person other than grandma who makes him feel safe. 

as often as those pretty daydreams play out in his mind, the Bad thoughts paint pictures in his mind too, uninvited -- though none of them are things he’s ever seen in person, there are horrible visions. visions of eun looking at him in an expression of disgust -- a mirror of that of the teacher who once tried to get him taken away years ago. visions of her looking at him like he’s a stranger. visions of her looking at him with fear in her eyes. her running away from him. and even worse, her-- 

inho knows where the Ugly part of his brain tends to go next, and he knows he’ll end up spiraling if he lets himself go there. so he shuts it down quickly, stopping to vigorously shake his head as his stomach churns with nausea and a sour taste fills his mouth.

don’t think, don’t think about anything, he tells himself as he looks up. there’s nobody else out here to worry about. just me and the moon. yeah... 

he inhales deeply, and then breathes out slow, closing his eyes as his anxiety slowly starts to drain out of him, the energy from the moonlight filling the empty space left behind. like this, he starts to feel okay. to let himself feel okay.

but that doesn’t last very long.

he jolts as a familiar hunger rips through him, and he lowers his head again, a hand coming up to press down on his abdomen. it hits so suddenly that it’s alarming. mostly because inho knows exactly what it means. oh no no nonono.

he crouches in the bush, heart racing. he stares towards the sound of rustling with wide eyes, fearful, but not for himself.

hey - HEY, no! not this way!

he starts shaking the bush in front of him, stomping his feet, growling pathetically, doing everything he can to scare off the whatever-it-is, even as pain stabs his stomach when the earthy scent of an animal enters his nose without his permission. 

panic spikes in his chest as he watches as a little white bunny hop out into the open.

don’t, he thinks, taking an unsteady step back. don’t be stupid! there’s a monster here! go away!

inho is definitely making a racket now, but the bunny is too far away to hear it. it’s upwind and apparently incapable of smelling him, either, stopping to groom its fluffy fur in the moonlight. inho drags his claws down his face, groaning, pulling on tough skin as if he could just take it off.

after a moment of this, he gets an idea. in desperation, he tears a large green leaf from the branch in front of him and stuffs it in his mouth.

he chews aggressively. there. salad! this is fine. i won’t be so hungry now. yeah--

it only takes about five seconds for the Wolf to spit it all back out in a fit of dramatics, inho’s brain taken over with BLEGH VEGETABLES NO VEGETABLES EW EW EW on loop as he frantically scrapes the horrible taste off his tongue. 

when he looks up, he doesn’t see the bunny in that ray of moonlight anymore, and relief floods him as, just for a second, he thinks that it smartened up and ran away. he eases a little, shoulders sinking, until that scent hits him much stronger and every hair on his body stands up. 

it’s only a few yards away now. 

are you serious!? dumb stupid idiot bunny, just run away! please run away --

the anger and frustration he feels towards the little thing only serves to ramp up the other, more feral, feelings. chest heaving, he can feel his own mind slipping from him a little, as the one Big thought shoves itself to the front --  

HUNGRY.  

there’s enough of inho left in there to feel despair, though -- the voice in his head crying out not again not again in time with the loud thumping of his heart. his body tenses, and though he wants to run in the other direction more than anything, his eyes remain fixed on the rabbit, his feet rooted to the ground. 

this has happened too many times for inho to not know what happens next. 

i’m sorry... i’m sorry... you’re so cute... i’m sorry... 

the next thing he feels is the wind whipping past him as he jumps out of the bush.

[ WEDNESDAY, GRANDMA’S HOUSE. ]

“i’m sorry--” 

-- it’s that phrase that he says again and again into the toilet bowl the next day, shaking uncontrollably, hunched over like that until every trace of rabbit is out of his system. 

he’s inconsolable for the remainder of the weekend, sitting there in the bathroom alone except for when grandma sets down a cup of water or his wolfsbane flask on the sink next to him, or gently brushes fingers through his hair. he eventually takes a shower, then passes out and wakes up a day later in his own bed, slowly feeling himself again as he gets ready for grandma to drive him back to school the next day. he’s all smiles for grandma after, but his heart hurts.

i’m too tired, grandma, he wants to say, but he knows she’ll just get sad that she can’t fix it for him, so he stays quiet. 

[  FRIDAY, HIGH SCHOOL MESS HALL. ]

it’s usually only eunji who will notice when something’s off, as good as inho thinks he is at hiding it. but it’s a little more obvious this time, he guesses, as their whole lunch table stares at him pulling Green things out of his lunch bag for the first time since... ever.

“uh, inho? where’s your real lunch?” eun asks. 

“this is my real lunch,” inho replies, not looking at her. 

“oh...” he can feel her gaze, the attention making his own cheeks warm. “even that... is that just a leaf of lettuce...?”

inho meets her gaze now as he nods, breaks off a piece, and places it on his tongue. ugh. he chews for a painfully long moment, swallows, then gives a very forced smile. “oh, i forgot to tell you... i’m vegan now.” 

eun seems to choke a little on her food (a very delicious-looking piece of stir-fried duck that her mom no doubt prepared for her today... inho tries not to salivate.) 

she blinks several times. “that’s new,” she seems like she’s trying to be nice about it, but he can see the utter confusion on her face as she’s no doubt remembering that inho had five(5) hamburgers the last time they went out. 

“yes,” inho says, dumbly, unsure of what else to say.  this is so awkward... of course she knows this isn’t normal.

eun is looking down at her own lunch box, and inho can’t help but to follow her gaze to the duck. his stomach gurgles, but the feeling is nothing like the agony he feels during the full moon so he can handle it. and he will -- no matter what, he’s done with eating animals. he’s sick of how gross it feels. and if he gets used to vegetables, maybe he’ll be able to control himself when he’s out there next month. maybe one day he won’t have to crave bunnies or squirrels or deer or humans ever again. 

“okay, but can i ask why? do you... like vegetables now or something?” 

he doesn’t answer the second question, because his lie would be far too obvious. he takes another bite of his Nothing Sandwich, and eun waits while he chews. he answers after a moment with a shrug: “i think i just need a change.”

eun peers at him. “we’re about to graduate, and then start at college soon... those are big changes already, don’t you think?” 

he thinks about his reply for a second. "maybe i want to start at pocheon as a new man?” he keeps his tone light, but there’s a note of sadness there that he hopes she doesn’t notice. 

eun takes a sip of her drink and then speaks. “being vegan isn’t going to make you a different person, inho...” 

inho looks down at his gross, ugly, stupid rabbit food. “i know. i mean, i’ll change other stuff too.” he wants to, at least he thinks so. as much as he’s felt content having eunji as his Number One all these years, he knows he should start to branch out a little if he wants to actually experience all of the things that he hasn’t yet. things that he can’t experience with eun... 

“well, i support you of course, but...” 

there’s a pause, long enough for inho to glance back up at eun, who he catches looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. she looks away quickly, and swallows. her voice comes out a little hushed, almost too quiet for him to hear. “i don’t think you need to change. you’re fine just like this.” though her face is turned away her expression makes it seem like she’s saying a little more than that. like it’s something closer to i don’t want you to.

inho blinks once, twice, and then his eyelashes flutter a little as he looks away, pretending to stare at something else to the side.  something stirs in his chest -- something weird and sad, but there’s something else too?

“um,” he stammers and rubs the back of his neck, scrambling to find words. “i-- i mean, we’ll still be best friends, no matter what. yeah?” eun still doesn’t look at him. “we’ll still go out to eat, i just  won’t be getting barbecue... unless they barbecue vegetables? that might taste good, actually,” (he does not believe that.) “-- and i can still eat fries too, i think. so it won’t be that different. and they make vegan ice cream now...”

his attempt to babble to her until she’s comforted seems to work somewhat, because she offers him a smile with her nod. 

gradually, they ease back into regular conversation about exams and girl groups and the usual things, as inho very obviously struggles to keep down the lunch he packed for himself. 

yeah, i'll change a little, he thinks, even as a piece of broccoli almost triggers his gag reflex. you’ll see, he affirms in his head, though he doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

[lorisystem]

Under readmore is a rant about how looking back upon my upbringing and being a teenager whose vision of love is toxic makes me feel bad

Cw: family abuse, romantic abuse(bro i forgot what its called but like when your partner is abusive), emetophobia (sorta), self hatred, mirroring abuse

- Volia

So like recently i went to my moms place on the other side of the country which prompted an earlier post about how i hate having to engage with family....

Anyway during that short stay i foraged through my old computer and retrieved the hard drive, then when i got home i set it on my computer and collected all my old files from it. Like for example a bunch of poems i wrote when i was in middle-high school (i wrote a ton)

Fast forward to an hour ago when i start making music on my computer and i made this instrumental for a song and i sort of liked it but i didnt know what lyrics to give it so i was like, why not use a poem, why not one of the old poems

So i went through all my old poems

I thought it would be fine - to be fair it was okayer than it could have been cause some i only half read (like when it was some sappy shit about my abusive ex) but it reminded me of the person i used to be and i hate them

I try a lot of time to think of my old self as a young child who didnt know anything better cause of the shit environment i was in and forgive myself but i was insufferable, my emotions were stupid (i know i couldnt help them but honestly like. calm the fuck down), i felt entitled to everything and was super toxic to my friends who i honestly didnt deserve, and i was really stupid about loving my abusive ex. like i wrote poem upon poem about how awful he was to me (disgusting to read) and how much i suffered from him being abusive 

All this toxicity, abuse, normalization of abuse is repulsive to me now, i find it disgusting and like, i dont know how to explain it just really bothers me. earlier i realized there are things i do that my father does like how i like to rant just to hear myself talk or feel entitled to certain things. it makes me want to puke

Now that i put words on this i think im gonna go back to repressing it or im gonna be sick for real lmao

(also most of these poems are genuinely trash, contrarily to what i thought at 16 yrs old)