#(no instead there was a weird bit of me wearing too many layers over my dress = probably being a little too warm under the blankets irl)

[viperwhispered]

Had a dream that I was dancing around / having some sort of a party with a few people, including some twst guys.

Except that for some reason my brain decided it should be Leona who's coming in for a makeout sesh.

I mean I think Jamil was kinda there in the background for a bit (like for one maybe jealous look when said makeout session was happening), but alas, as much as I was trying to get myself more involved with him, the dream was having none of that.

[wlntrsldler]

shades of cool | luke castellan

part two to how to disappear

a/n: happy endings don't exist on this page.

i. and when he calls, he calls for me and not for you; he lives for love, he loves his drugs, he loves his baby too.

“hermes is angry.” 

you knew it was your mother before you even saw her. the two, white doves cooing in the middle of downtown berkeley gave her away. although you hadn’t spoken to her in months, too afraid and too upset to put your faith in the hands of the gods since the night at the pier, your mother tried to get your attention every day. the flowers bloomed like clockwork. on your way to class, red and orange bunches sprouted from the corner of your eye. the once welcome reminder of luke turned bitter and painful. it was as if your mother was mocking you for losing him, for losing love. you felt as if you disappointed her, the daughter of the goddess of love, unable to experience it for herself. it was pathetic, really. 

you tucked your hair behind your ears, suddenly feeling self-conscious with aphrodite’s eyes on you. she was your mother, sure, and she’d been a better parent to you than most, but she was still a goddess– the goddess of beauty at that. your arms were crossed over your chest, eyebrows furrowed, “why?” 

she didn’t answer your question just yet, but she studied your face, eyes scrutinizing the marks of imperfections. she reached over to run her thumb across the bags under your eyes. “you’ve aged, my child.” 

you fought the urge to roll your eyes. this was normal with your mother. she made these snide comments about your appearance, but her comments to you were not nearly as bad as what she said to your siblings, and especially not as bad as what other godly parents put their kids through. you could handle a few jabs here and there. you shrugged, “not all of us have the power of eternal youth.” 

she nodded, pulling her thumb away, “we have not talked in a while.” 

“been busy,” you lied, chewing on your bottom lip. you tugged on the scarf around your neck, wanting to keep your hand occupied as you avoided her gaze. you wondered if your mother missed you, if she actually cared about you. in the weird way that gods do, you suppose that she did care, but you wondered if she cared about you the way a mother would; worry about your safety when you went out at night, worry if you were wearing enough layers in the winter, mundane things like that. “college and stuff, you know.” 

“hmm,” she hummed, unconvinced. she motioned for the two doves perched on the tree branch to fly away. they obeyed her, circling around each other in a dance, before flying away in separate directions, away from the both of you. “how many more years do you have left?” 

“another two after this and then i’m done.” it was odd talking to her like this, in her human form, like she was a normal mother who was just curious about college and her daughter’s future. maybe she even sounded a little bit proud of you; a child of aphrodite, making a name for herself outside of the life she was dealt. “hopefully, i’ll make it to graduate school.” 

a heavy tension hung in the air as your words echoed. aphrodite’s eyes narrowed, thinking. she looked up at the sky, before repeating herself. “hermes is angry.”

you stared at her, waiting for her to continue. there was an unreadable expression on her face, somewhere between anger, pain, and desperation, but it wasn’t her own emotions that she carried. she was mirroring someone, as if their pain was so unbearable, aphrodite herself had to shoulder some of it to save them. the gods were selfish. most of the time, they thought of nobody but themselves, but there were some moments when they showed compassion, when they showed mercy to mortals and demigods alike.

“his son resents him,” she continued, eyes closing like she was picturing it in her mind. “he is angry at me because his son prays to me instead of him.” 

“mom, i don’t want to hear this,” you sighed, anger rising in your system. you knew she knew how you felt about the situation. you’d ignored her attempts to talk frequently. “he made his decision. he’s betrayed us all.” 

“i cannot ignore him, don’t you understand?” she looked at you, eyes glossed over in a pleading manner. she looked too human. it was unsettling. “his love is loud. he is desperate. i am the goddess of love and i cannot ignore him while he suffers, even if he makes me his enemy.”

“the other gods listen to his prayers to me because i can no longer carry the burden on my own. it is too much, my child,” she shuddered, “all he talks of is you.” 

you stared at her, internalizing her words. a shiver went down your spine as you looked at her, “i don’t understand why you’re telling me this.” 

“i have tried to tell you, but you’ve been stubborn,” aphrodite frowned, “you do not pray, you do not make your offerings. you have not spoken to your siblings since that night. you have disappeared from this life as if you were not part of it at all.” 

“because i didn’t ask for this!” you screamed. “i don’t want anything to do with this, mom. losing luke… it killed me. you know this. i can’t go back there and i can’t make offerings to you or the gods when you all are the reason why he did what he did!” 

since that night, you began to question your blind faith in the gods. you’d been taught to worship them and you did because you had to. you were luckier than most, being the favorite of your mother, so you never went against the gods. you thought you had no reason to, until luke began talking to you. he planted seeds of distrust for the gods in you, learning about thalia, meeting annabeth and learning her story from luke, what luke had to go through during his quest. how did the gods sit back and leave their children for dead? but you always believed there was a purpose for all of this, and it provided you with some misguided comfort. then, luke left everyone who’d ever loved him because the anger in his soul won against all odds, and you knew there was no reason to trust them anymore. 

if the gods were all-mighty and all-powerful, how could they let him grow so angry and accept this fate? how dare they ignore him and ruin him? he was kind. he was patient. he was luke. he deserved more than what they gave him. all of you do. aphrodite blinked, trying to understand you. a look of panic flashed across her features, her human form slowly peeling away, but you could see her pulling back. 

“i’m not saying i’m joining him,” you sighed, rubbing your face with your hands, “i’m just saying what he said to percy made sense. luke had a point. the gods were horrible to him and to all demigods. hermes has no right to be angry with you, or with luke. he should be angry at himself. all of you should be.” 

“i can’t forgive luke for what he did,” you whispered, voice calming after a rumble of thunder shook the ground. the gods were listening. “beth still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. she writes to me every month. i haven’t written back because it hurts, mom. i keep thinking of luke. she reminds me so much of him and it kills me that i can’t do anything to help her. where do i even start? i can’t fulfill the hole he left in her life. nobody can.” 

your mother nodded, clearing her throat. “do consider returning to camp this summer. your siblings miss you and your sister is not doing well.” 

“piper?” 

“silena,” she replied. the doves returned to her. “it was lovely to see you, my child.” 

in a blink, she was gone. you wondered if she’d show her face again, but the rain fell from the sky soon after she left, and you realized you probably wouldn’t. 

ii. but you are unfixable, i can't break through your world.

“i’ll catch up with you guys in a second,” you motioned for your roommates to keep walking home without you. the two girls nodded, sending you a small wave of goodbye, before they turned the street corner. you began walking towards the entrance of the science building, towards the silhouette of a boy you could recognize in every life. 

luke’s jaw was clenched as you approached him. he was caught. luke knew that he shouldn't be here. he knew it was too dangerous, but he couldn't help himself; he had to see you. 

berkeley suited you. in college, you were a normal girl, stressed about finals and getting a summer internship. though luke had never seen you outside of camp before, he always imagined that you’d look even more beautiful when you didn’t have the stress of this life on your shoulders. it was weird seeing you out in the world like this. if he hadn’t known you, if he wasn’t already under your spell, he would undoubtedly fall to worship aphrodite’s favorite daughter.

your friends didn’t know who your mother was, but if they saw through the mist, if they knew the truth, it wouldn’t come as a surprise to them. you had an aura about you that was undeniable and for a minute, luke was jealous that these people around you could freely succumb to your pull, to allow themselves into your orbit, while all he could do was watch from afar. they didn’t realize how lucky they were to be around you, they would never fully understand. 

you looked happy in the bay area, free, like you weren’t a demigod, like you weren’t preparing for a war. a war that he knew he caused. 

he looked down at his feet before rising from the steps. he hadn't planned to speak to you. he’d been following you for weeks, from a distance, of course, he wasn’t going to test his luck any more than he already was, but then you approached him and luke knew there was no hiding anymore. 

truth be told, there was never any hiding from you in the first place. you knew him better than he knew himself. sometimes, it scared him, just how vulnerable he was with you. when he first realized how he felt about you, he wanted to squash the feeling between his fingers and make it disappear into thin air. he knew there was nothing good that could come out of it, but he couldn't help but hope. 

how could he not? how could he not hope that maybe, in some twisted way, he would be able to be with you? that one day, he could stop running, stop fighting, and just love you the way he wanted to. hope was a cruel thing, luke realized after the night on the pier. it makes him believe that there is good out there, somewhere in the future, daring him to hold on just a bit longer, only to leave him high and dry, an empty shell of who he once was. 

“what are you doing here?”

luke let the question linger between the both of you for a second. partly because he didn't know what he was doing here. i needed to see you didn't feel like enough. it barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling. luke was never a wizard with words, but he used to be able to at least say something. now, though, as you stood in front of him, his mind went blank. 

“what are you doing here?” you repeated. you had your arms wrapped around yourself to soothe your skin from the wind chills. luke didn't know it got this cold in california. “i’ve seen you a few times, and i thought you’d give it up, but it’s been weeks, luke. so tell me, what are you doing here?”

luke’s mouth was dry. he thought he was being careful, but he should’ve known better. you could always sense when he was around, just like how he knew whenever you were around. there’s something that shifts in the air, as if it gets lighter and it’s easier to breathe. luke wondered if it was still the same for you. 

“he's using me,” luke whispered, “like a stepping stone to gain power.” 

for a second, your face softened into a look that he knew too well. it was the same way you used to look at him when he talked about his nightmares or when he talked about his mom. a flicker of hope passed through luke’s mind, but he knew better now. he extinguished it before it got too comfortable. 

there was a hint of disbelief in your voice when you spoke again, “what did you think was going to happen?”

“i thought i was doing the right thing,” he felt small. “i thought he wanted to make things better for us. the gods, they’re terrible parents. you know this. what they did to thalia, to all of us, i-i just thought that he would make things better.”

you shook your head, “luke, you betrayed all of us. percy, annabeth– did you know that she cries at night over losing you? over losing her brother? she’s lost everyone luke! and you were supposed to stay. you were supposed to be there for her! i saw her last summer when i came back to camp. beth is so much like you.” 

“i know,” luke was crying. he was exhausted, both physically and mentally. kronos was taking over every part of him. he was there in every crevice of him, just waiting for the moment to drain him of everything he used to be. “gods, i know, angel. i just thought i was doing the right thing.” 

“and me luke,” you rubbed your temples with the pads of your fingers. you hadn’t told anyone this before. you were too busy trying to make sure that everyone else around you was okay. as the oldest one now that luke was gone, you had to step up. your mother was right. your siblings were not doing well, nobody in the camp was. “i feel so stupid for ever trusting you. i keep thinking of every small interaction, every word you said, and i just keep wondering if any of it was real.”

“you don’t mean that,” he shook his head, stepping down to get closer to you. under the light of the streetlamp, you saw him better. if you didn’t know him as well as you did, you probably wouldn’t have recognized him. “everything, all of it, i meant it. you know that right?” 

his eyes were sunken in, dark bags outshining the once vibrant sparkle of his eyes. now, the rims of his eyes were red. his hair was matted against his scalp like he let his curls tangle into knots and didn’t bother to fix them. there were newer, smaller cuts that joined the scar on his face. they weren’t as deep, but they were fresh, a sign that whatever he faced was recent.

“i love you, please tell me you at least believe that,” luke rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm, “your mom doesn’t answer me anymore. i don’t know what else to do.”

when you didn’t say anything, luke felt the ground crumbling from under him. luke could live with a lot of things; being a failure in the eyes of his father, being a traitor, but you thinking that he didn’t love you was something he didn’t think he could live with. it was real to him, all of it. he didn’t know if this was the right time to tell you that those moments with you were the only things keeping him grounded. 

the image of you throwing your head back in laughter as he tickled your sides, the freckles on your cheeks that showed up during the summer that he would spend hours counting while you slept on his chest, the sound of your voice, talking in hushed whispers, in the dark of the hermes cabin; it was you who he held onto as he fell deeper and deeper under kronos’ control. 

luke walked closer to you, holding out a hand to touch you, when you flinched and backed away from him. your fingers unconsciously reached for the dagger you had on your belt loop. he shuddered, taking in a breath. he looked down at his hands, lips trembling as he wiped them on the fabric of his jeans. there was nothing on them, but he wanted to scrub them clean because it felt as if all the blood he spilled was stuck under his flesh, staining them red. 

you thought he would hurt you. 

“i…” luke trailed off, stuffing his hands in his pockets. he cleared his throat, “i didn’t come here to fight. i could never hurt you.” 

“i don’t know anymore, luke,” you bit your lip, heart breaking as you spoke to him. “i never thought that we’d end up like this.” 

“come with me,” he begged. “run away with me.” 

“is this what you came here for?” you asked, “to try to recruit me like you did with percy?” 

“no,” he shook his head vigorously. he was on the verge of getting on his knees to beg you to believe him. “i want out. i messed up, angel.” 

“you did,” you whispered. he looked genuine like he meant it, like he did want to run away from it. a piece of you wanted to say yes, yes, i’ll run away with you. tell me where to go and i’ll follow you, but it was the part of you that still clung to him. the foolish part of you who still wanted to believe that the boy you met when you were younger, stubborn, selfless, sweet, luke castellan was still there. 

you listened to that part of you on the final night in the hermes cabin, when you told him you loved him and he said nothing back. you tried so hard to lock that part of you away since that night, but it was hard to deny it when he was there in front of you.

“tell me what i can do to fix it,” luke felt like he was going crazy. “anything, angel. i’ll do it. just say the word.” 

you closed your eyes, “there’s nothing you can do anymore, luke.” 

“that can’t be true,” he hiccuped. 

“you need to go.” 

over the last few years, luke experienced brutal types of torture. he often spent days without sleeping, too afraid that kronos would visit him while he dreamt. he fought monsters he didn’t realize existed. he walked away from fights barely hanging onto a thread of life, but this– you telling him that there was nothing else left for him, like he no longer had a place in your life, this was a different type of torture that might just send him plummeting to his end. 

“please don’t come back here,” you added, motioning to the buildings behind you. “this was the one place in my life you haven’t tainted.” 

his apology was left stuck in his throat as you walked away, not once looking back at him. 

iii. but i can't help him, can't make him better and i can't do nothing about his strange weather. 

“y/n,” percy said, approaching you from behind. 

it was the summer. you were sitting on the pier, a joint loosely hanging off your lips. you put out the lit end on the wooden pier, stuffing the joint in your pocket. you knew percy knew you smoked, but you still tried to hide it from him as much as possible. he was too young. 

“hey, perce,” you smiled, kindly, scooting over to give him space to sit next to you. “sorry. you caught me. i’m not really being a good role model right now.” 

“it’s okay,” he assured you, sitting beside you. he looked out into the lake, extending his fingers to cause a ripple effect in the water. “i don’t judge.” 

you nudged his shoulder. percy looked his age in the light of the sunset. you wondered if you ever looked that young. “don’t tell mr. d.” 

“he has plenty of other things to worry about,” percy scoffed, “how are you?” 

you knew why he was asking. beth had told you today that they saw luke in the labyrinth. he was now kronos’ host. when she first told you, you were stone cold, no emotion on your face. you knew something like this was possible. it was only a matter of time until you lost luke all over again, completely this time, but it still hurt even though you knew it was coming. you simply nodded and walked off, finding solace at the pier as you always did. 

“i’m okay,” you replied, though your voice said differently. you played with the sleeves of your sweater, luke’s sweater actually. he left it in the hermes cabin along with the rest of his things. nobody dared to touch it so his bed remained the same as it was years ago, collecting dust. “he came to see me in berkeley… before, y’know.” 

“did he?” 

“yeah,” you sighed, leaning back on your elbows. “he said he wanted out. asked me to run away with him.” 

percy looked at you, “what did you say?” 

“i told him it was too late,” you met his gaze. “i don’t know if it actually was.” 

he didn’t know what to say to that. he’d only witnessed your relationship with luke for a few hours when he returned to camp for the first time. it was only a few years ago, but percy felt like it had been lifetimes. he’d heard about you and luke from annabeth and grover. when there were lulls in their conversations, one of them would bring you up and joke about how you and luke should just confess your feelings for one another. percy didn’t understand it until he saw the way luke was with you. 

luke, who’d taken him under his wing, was love struck. percy didn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, but there were traces of you weaved into luke’s life. a picture of the two of you in his wallet, a small cal berkeley flag taped messily on his wall, a box of his things under his bed that were reserved for you, doodles of hearts in black and pink ink on luke’s counselor clipboard when he did cabin checks, you were in every piece of him. 

luke was glued to your side the entire time you were there and nobody batted an eye. it was normal. luke and y/n, two names that seemed to go together, like they were meant to be uttered right after each other. it felt right. 

“i met your mom,” he said, “she was weird.” 

“sorry,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “what did she say?” 

“she was obsessed with me and annabeth,” there was a blush creeping up on percy’s cheeks. he looked down at his lap to shy away, but you caught it. it was such a teenage boy response of percy to call your mom, the goddess of love, weird because she caught onto the two kids’ feelings for each other. 

“yeah, she does that,” you decided to spare him the details of why. you were sure the boy would explode in embarrassment if you told him that you also knew about his feelings for beth. you sensed it when you returned to camp last summer. there were inklings of it when you first met them, but now their bond was stronger and it was harder to ignore. “she used to obsess over me and luke.” 

percy blinked, “she said your love was her favorite to watch.” 

now it was your turn to go red, “did she?” 

“yeah,” he nodded, “annabeth thinks that you’re aphrodite’s favorite because you and luke had a great love and she was drawn to it, which is a little mean if you ask me.” 

“agreed,” you replied, “i… i miss him, percy.” 

“i know.” 

“i love him,” you cried, smudging the mascara on your eyes. 

“i know.” 

“he wasn’t always like this,” percy watched your eyes unfocus, like you were playing back the memories you had with luke in your head. “when we were younger, before luke was the golden boy, he used to help me sneak out of camp when i’d get home sick. he’d take me to this abandoned cabin a few miles away. an old couple used to live there and they set up a little free library. luke knew i loved to read so he would take me there so i could pick out new books for the summer.” 

“i didn’t know it then, but before i got to camp, he would steal books from stores during trips into the city and put them in there so i would have new selections to choose from when i got back,” you had a fond smile on your face as you continued, “the cabin was sold to new owners and they took the library down a while back. i think they thought nobody really used it anymore.” 

“he was always good at sneaking around,” you hummed, “he’d walk out of a place with something that wasn’t his inside his pocket; a lollipop for a new camper who was missing home a little extra one summer, a can of soda for beth from mr. d’s stash when it got too hot under the sun, a flower from the demeter kids’ secret garden for me. he never got caught, but everyone knew it was him. i don’t think anyone cared, though, because it was luke. he always had good intentions at the end of the day.” 

“do you think he’s still there?” percy asked, voice hushed into a whisper. “do you think he could ever come back to being that way?” 

“probably not,” you turned to face him. you were mourning him, percy realized then. luke wasn’t dead, not physically anyway, but the way you spoke about him felt like he was already gone. “luke, he internalizes everything he does. he beats himself up over the things he does wrong. if he were to survive this, i don’t think he’d ever forgive himself for it.” 

“this life, this prophecy, it feels like too much sometimes,” he mumbled. the sun was gone now, the two of you sat in the dark, listening to the calm sounds of the water. “i still feel like i don’t know what i’m doing most days.” 

“yeah,” you played with the pink lighter in your hand. the heart you drew on the plastic was long gone and there was no more fluid in it, but you kept it anyway. “my prophecy said that i would lose a love to worse than death and i ignored then because it didn’t make any sense to me, but now it does.” 

“i’m sorry.” percy didn’t know if it was the right thing to say. 

you smiled at him differently, like you were tired, a look of resignation across your face. you stood up, motioning for him to follow you back to camp to join the others. as you walked together in silence, you noticed a single dove fly across the horizon. 

iv. high, neglectful lover. you’re crumbling, sadly. you’re sadly, crumbling. 

you’d fought through your wounds, even as your bones ached and your blood stained the clothes over your body. luke appeared then. you didn’t know if the gods took on mercy on you at that moment, or if was the lack of energy to distinguish real life from your dreams, or a mist that covered the truth from you then, but the world seemed to stop and everyone seemed to fade away. 

all you saw was luke, in his camp half-blood shirt, five beads around his neck, the same boyish smile on his face. his eyes were sparkling as he approached you. his lips felt soft to the touch and his voice was kind. 

“my angel,” he said, wrapping his arms around you the same way he always did when you returned to him each summer. 

if you were to choose the way death came for you, you would choose it just like this, you decided– in the arms of the one love you’d ever known.

[madame-mortician]

Analysis of Maria's outfit (In Silent Hill 2 Remake)

So, ages ago, I did an analysis of Maria's OG design, which you can read here. I said I'd do one to remake Maria, and I did, but I didn't expect her outfit to change so drastically. I also made the post straight after Maria was first revealed, so the game wasn't even out yet. That, mixed with the fact that, at first, I did NOT like Maria's new design, led me to be a bit biased with my analysis, so I thought I'd redo it now that the game is actually out, and my initial dislike of her outfit has gone down. It's not a bad outfit; it's just that the original Maria design is one of my favourite designs ever, so seeing it change made me a bit upset. Anyways, here's the actual analysis.

New Maria's outfit features a black satin dress with a leopard-print pattern. Over this dress, she wears a raspberry pink leather jacket that is open at the front, secured with a strap with a golden-hoop buckle. Instead of a golden coin, her choker is now entirely black, with a golden hoop holding it together. She has chosen brown-heeled boots that are very similar to her original design. Consistent with her original style, she also accessorises with jewellery, including a silver ring and a black bracelet adorned with a moon design. It's important to note that her ring is not on her ring finger. For makeup, Maria continues to wear pink eyeshadow and faint lipstick, giving her a more natural and realistic appearance. While her hair still features pink tips, they are now less noticeable than in her original design.

Just like her original counterpart, Maria looks visually similar to James' late wife, Mary. The only noticeable difference is that Maria has blue eyes instead of Mary's brown. Mary's outfit in the remake has hardly been changed. Her hairstyle is slightly different, but she still wears her pink cardigan and floral dress. Interestingly, in my other analysis, I brought up the fact that Maria's outfit reflected Mary's in a darker, more seductive way. Maria wore a cardigan just like Mary, but her's was dark pink. She also wore a patterned dress, but Maria's was an animal-patterned skirt whilst Mary's was a floral-patterned dress. Both wore rings, but Mary's was her wedding ring whilst Maria's was just jewellery.

Here, Maria's new outfit is MORE similar to Mary's attire. Maria now wears a dress instead of a two-piece, and it's layered with pink outerwear just like Mary. Her dress is still patterned with animal print instead of flowers, but it's more subtle than the original design. Most of her rings have been removed, except for ONE, which looks visually similar to a wedding ring, even if it's on the wrong finger. Her jacket is also more noticeably pink. The original Maria wore an outfit with pink and maroon hues, which borderlined on purple in some areas, whilst the new Maria is explicitly pink. It's dark pink, but it's still pink. Mary always wears light pink and white colours, and the new Maria wears dark pink and black colours, which is much more of a parallel to the original Maria, who was similar to Mary in many ways, but at the same time, her outfit was too dissimilar to Mary's.

This has a similar effect to what the original Maria design was doing. It was clearly shown to connect her to Mary, but it wasn't so similar that it was apparent she was Mary. What's funny here is that Maria ironically seems to be trying to be more similar to Mary with her new design. It's ironic because Maria was initially meant to serve as a more seductive and sensual version of Mary, to feed into James' intrusive desires, but now, as time has gone on and James has gone through more and more loops, it seems slowly her outfit is shifting to be more like Mary. This could be why her outfit is kinda weird. I've said this before, but it's not the kind of outfit you could see a regular woman wearing. The original Maria had this vibe to her, too, where her outfit seemed aesthetic and fashionable, but actually seeing somebody out in the street wearing it would be weird. Similarly, we know Maria is a pole dancer, so even then, her outfit does NOT fit her career either. Somebody pointed out in my original analysis that Maria's outfit isn't wholly original; it's based on an outfit Christina Aguillera wore, and thus, it is an outfit real people would wear, but you gotta remember Christina Aguilera is a famous singer, and EVEN then the outfit isn't something she wore out and about it was an outfit she wore to the teen choice awards. My point is that even the real-life equivalent of Maria's outfit is not something a normal person would wear, either casually or professionally. New Maria is the same; it doesn't look like a real outfit, as I said before. This new outfit seems to merge old Maria and Mary's clothes until we're left with a strange blend between a pop star's sexy leopard-print-themed maroon outfit and a regular woman's pastel floral outfit. Like I said in my original analysis, it's a very uncanny valley, which makes sense since the entire town of Silent Hill is rather uncanny.

Now, that's the end of my actual "outfit" analysis, but I have more to say about her new character below.

Now, a thing I want to mention that I didn't bring up in my original analysis is her personality. The new Maria seems less manipulative and more natural than her original counterpart, which adds to the popular theory that this game is actually one of the many loops James goes through in Silent Hill. It makes sense that she'd adapt to better suit James' needs after being rejected many times. Of course, she'd never fully satisfy him; even the "Maria" Ending leaves her sick and likely dying. Her new outfit seems like a reflection of this, along with her new personality. She starts off like regular Maria, and then as time goes on and James resets hundreds of times, dying or ending up back in Silent Hill, Maria slowly evolves and changes to be more like what James really desires: Mary. Her outfit would reflect this, and although she'd be more like Mary, she'd still keep her seductive allure as a means to tempt James. Adding to this theory, in the endings, whenever James rejects Maria, she is more sympathetic than initially. In the original, she is pissed and instantly turns into a monster to attack James. In the new one, she cries and is so desperate to get James to like her, even though she subconsciously knows she's already been rejected many times. A thing I noticed is that in the original game, when she transforms, it's because she's pissed James rejected her. Here, after James rejects her and tries to be nice about it, Maria initially doesn't transform, and after she stops crying, she says she can't let him go. The way she says it reads to me like she's had this conversation many times and is so desperate that she says shit like this.

[nerdieforpedro]

You're not Broken

Frankie Morales x plus size female reader

Fanfiction: Teens and up

Masterlist / Francisco “Catfish” Morales Masterlist

Approx word count: ~2200 (I edited a bit after starting my draft post.)

Warnings: references to smut, descriptions of past violent traumatic events, depression, PTSD, minor physical altercation (wasn't intentional), anxiety, self-deprecation, Fluff at the end

Notes: I'm happy to finally have a fic for Frankie Friday! In many of my fics as of late, the angst has been HEAVY, this one is no exception. I tried to include all the warnings I thought would apply, please let me know if I need to add anything. I think at some point depending on what weird, painful, happy or fun path life has taken you down, we all may feel broken at some point.

We're not, we're just humans in an imperfect world just trying to figure it out.

The same question had been nagging your thoughts for the past month, “Why doesn’t he let me sleep over at his house?” You’d been with your boyfriend Frankie for three months, getting to know each other, having mind-blowing sex and having a great time so you thought. You’d even met his daughter, Camilla, who was an adorable two year old toddler a few times. Frankie would sleep at your place, playing big spoon to your little spoon, his strong arms wrapped around you, his chin and scruffy beard against your shoulder and neck. You’ve been to the man’s house, just haven’t stayed overnight in it. You realize it’s dumb, thinking too hard about this, you’ve only been together three months, it’s not that long, but it’s also not that short either, at least to you. He makes sure you get home safe from your dates and calls to let you know he’s in his house safe. 

One night, you decide that tonight you’re going to ask him why, why he doesn’t want you in his house overnight. Frankie doesn’t offer an explanation, only that he didn’t realize that it was that important to you. Instantly, you feel like an idiot for bringing it up. He assures you you’re not and you both go off to bed, sleep soundly and he cooks you breakfast. Slowly, you spend more nights at his house, but it was one particular night within the week you had been staying overnight at Frankie’s house why he was hesitant to have you over.

It turns out, Franscico Morales is a man with layers, like an onion. He hates that analogy because his friend Santiago says it too often and Benny mentions that his feet smell like onions, anyone’s feet would after wearing heavy boots all day with no breathable material. He’s a kind man, a loving partner and a doting father. He was also a soldier in the Special Forces of the US Army. This left him with blemishes on his mind and frayed his soul, he tries to remember he’s not that man anymore and has moved on, left that behind. As a concept, he understands, but his body and soul never forget what he did in the name of his country. Most times, he can keep busy to stave off the intrusive thoughts, the fears, the self-loathing, the guilt of surviving, the blood he can still see on his hands and head shots he made. Even flying, something Frankie loves doing which lead him to the army, reminds him of his past, moving his comrades bodies to and fro, sometimes they were alive, sometimes not. Frankie has talked to some people about it, some at the VA, and those he served with, but it’s a struggle each day. He is happy though, his daughter lights up his world and so do you, his new girlfriend who he does want to see when he wakes up.

Instead, Frankie sometimes sees the faces of those left behind, those who he couldn’t save, other times, it might just be blood or his old comrade Tom on that damn mountain a hole in his fucking head. He doesn’t want to burden you with this quite yet, things are new, they’re good. He can’t bear for you to walk away as others have, scared of him, feeling he’s defective in some way. Even Camila’s mother felt that way about him, she told him he’s a wonderful father but a haunted man that can’t let anyone in. That stuck with Frankie in the subsequent years.

Now he’s here, happy that you’re lying next to him, but wondering when it will happen. When his mind will fail him again and he’ll see the past horrors taunt him once more. Thankfully you’re a heavy sleeper, he was sure that he had woken you at your place when he got up in the middle of the night and went for a walk, sat on the couch, read one of your books, scrolled through his phone and then when he was near exhausted, he climbed back into bed. You were never the wiser though, you’d wake up with that gorgeous smile and ask him how he slept, give him a kiss and ask him what he wanted to eat. It was as it should be, no nightmares, no horrid dreams, no violent visions, maybe he got three or four hours of sleep tops, but it was next to someone who treated him like he was normal. He had found that he slept slightly better at your place so he was hoping to keep that going as long as possible. The veteran would get up to four and a half hours of sleep consecutively at your home

Tonight in Frankie’s house was fine, better then fine actually because once again, he made you say nothing but his name for at least an hour. After you both came down from your highs, your boyfriend wiped you down per his routine. If there was one thing you had learned about Frankie, unless he approves, don’t disrupt his routine. He takes special care to wipe you down first then himself, encourages you to use the bathroom followed by himself. Then the pair of you got into bed, his big spoon to your little spoon. A lovely end to a lovely evening. 

Except at one in the morning, you heard whispering. Frankie’s large hands weren’t on your round belly or wide thighs, instead, he had them wrapped around himself as sweat dotted his brow. An unfamiliar grimace was on his face as he mumbled something you couldn’t make out, it didn’t sound like words. You reached to touch his shoulder and he snapped back, he looked at you but his eyes were wide and unfocused. One of his hands grabbed your wrist as he draped you out of bed, he crouched behind the bedroom door. You didn’t say anything at first, shocked by what was happening but you started calling his name, first Frankie which he didn’t answer to, then you tried Francisco, he still gave you nothing. He was rattling off numbers now which were nonsensical. Finally you tried Sergeant Morales which got him to focus on you finally.

It took him a minute, but he recognized you and gasped in horror. Frankie didn’t remember getting out of the bed or grabbing you, ‘a new horror has happened’ he thought as he released your wrist. You actually hadn’t felt your hand for the last few minutes and now that he wasn’t putting any pressure on it, your wrist throbbed in pain, you winced but didn’t want to scare Frankie more than you already assumed that he was. He turned to head toward the kitchen but you stopped him.

“Wait, don’t go. I’m alright Frankie.”

“No you’re not cariño. Look at your wrist…I…”

“You didn’t mean to. I know you would never mean to. Is this…” You paused, taking a deep breath before asking. “Is this why you didn’t want me to sleepover?”

Frankie looks away for a moment, closing his eyes. Is this the moment he loses you? You say it’s fine but like hell it is. He knows your wrist hurts and you’ll be lucky if it doesn’t bruise by morning. You’re one of two people he wanted to be his best self for, you and his daughter, but he’s failed. Shown you what the outcome can be if his mind plays serious enough games with him. He looks into your patient eyes and nods. “Yes. Though not as severe as tonight was, most nights I…I don’t sleep well.”

You surprise him by embracing him, wrapping your soft body against him with your arms around him, massaging his back. “I’m glad I now know Frankie. We’re supposed to be up front with each other right?”

Frankie laid his head on your shoulder, placing a soft kiss on your round shoulder, he was in your arms and felt better, still guilty but better. Maybe you wouldn’t leave right away, he’d have time to convince you to stay at least.

“Frankie, let’s go back to bed, but I’ll be the big spoon this time.” His body stiffened, that was not part of the routine, his regimen with you. Before he could mention this, you’d pulled him back to bed and laid down, patting the pillow beside yourself. The man sighed and laid next to you in bed, giving in to your whim. He rolled on his side and felt your body against his, though your arms, especially your sore wrist didn’t quite make it around him due to the broadness of his back. 

“Cariño, I think we should switch positions. Doesn’t your wrist hurt like that?” You knew Frankie wasn’t wrong, it still pulsed with pain, though slightly less since it had been a few minutes. You decided to turn on your back and patted your chest.

“Lay here then. No funny business though, we have work in the morning.” A playful grin spread across your lips. Frankie let out a happy huff and laid his head on your tender breasts as his chest lay across half your plush belly. One hand patted your head, his fingers rubbing your scalp as his other hand squeezed your hip. 

“This is a lot better. You sure you can sleep like this though? Are you comfortable?” Your boyfriend asked, that was the man you knew, always concerned for your well being, even when you’re trying to get him settled.

“Yes, I can sleep through you having horrible dreams most nights.” You closed your eyes, realizing that may have been a cutting statement to make, but it was mainly directed at yourself. He’s been suffering like this and you didn’t know, slept happily without a care because you don’t remember your dreams but he does and it’s detrimental for him. “Sorry, I just…I would have tried to help you sooner you know. I get why you didn’t tell me. It’s a hellova thing to deal with Frankie.” You feel his body start to relax and to put more of his weight on you, he’s accepting of the position at least, you’re hopeful that it can get him back to sleep with minimal issue.

“Thank you cariño. I don’t deserve your understanding or your kindness.” A small acknowledgement comes from Frankie, though it makes you frown. He shouldn’t speak of himself that way, it’s not his fault his mind is in this state, it took years to become this. You had an arm that was laying across the pillows, above his shoulder, you bent it to place his scalp in your palm grasping and releasing his soft curls.

With a kiss placed on his forehead you told him, “You’re not broken Frankie. You’re entitled to so much from life. I love you and I won’t hear you talk about yourself like that. You’re too important to me.” A heat rose from your cheeks and spread throughout your body, you might burst into flames. You just told this man you loved him and you’ve only been dating him three months, that seems a bit soon. Even if a real tender moment is happening right now, that could sour it a bit or weird it out. You stayed perfectly still, closing your eyes to avoid the look on his face whatever it was. You worry too much.

Frankie is ecstatic with this turn of events. In fact, he too was wondering if it was too soon. Your plush body he loses himself in, your melodic voice where it always sounds like you’re singing his name, Camilla appeared to like you - she didn’t do the stranger danger and waddle away, you make him laugh, his friends liked you, you were aware of his past transporting discretion and although you didn’t excuse it completely, understood that he was trying to make ends meet at the time, enjoyed how comfortable he could be with you even in silence. Why shouldn’t he tell you that he loves you, especially now that you’ve said it first, though he did want to beat you to that originally. Francisco popped his chin up to look at you, your eyes were closed and he snickered, he had horrible dreams and you spun too many things inside that pretty head of yours.

“Look at me, Cariño,” he waited until you made eye contact with him. This was important after all, “I love you too and I also thought it was too soon. We’re on the same page most of the time. Stop spinning and sleep.” A small peck landed on the top of your breast before he laid his head back down.

Soon both of your respirations slowed and you slept until the morning. Frankie did not wake during the night or need an early morning walk. He had the best sleep he’d had in years. You were ecstatic to see him the next morning actually looking well rested for once, sitting on the side of the bed as he said good morning to you. Your hands pressed against his back as did your cheek - a wonderful start to the day for you both.

[podcasts-in-space]

Hello ! i have malevolent brainrot, here’s requested headcanons

John snaps as a stim after hearing Arthur do it one time. after he learned he did not stop

John chooses weird ties for Arthur sometimes. nothing TOO bright or silly that could make them really visible but something that when you squint you’d see that the yellow polka dots are actually tiny ducks, or the tan “diamond” patterning is actually miniature chickens. stupid shit that’s not too bright but funny when you look closely

Arthur has a major soft spot for kids and will do anything to make them feel safe and comfortable and out of dangers way. He will stop the ENTIRE mission to save some kid he heard in danger rq

John is an enjoyer of Soft Textures, mostly because they don’t come across them a lot. Soft animals are a wonder to him, and that’s partially why he was so sad abt the handkerchief. was a soft handkerchief. he’d just hold it in between his fingers sometimes.

in some sort of more modern day world i think John would like wearing bracelets that would clink together a lot. metal or glass bracelets, beads that clinked, layered a bit on his arms. not a LOT but like. maybe 3 or 4. this is NOT me projecting. He likes the clink clink.

in the prison pits, Arthur would draft poetry aloud. he and john would recite them and make their poems together. this is what they did to pass the time.

John used to put his hand over Arthur’s heart when he slept. Nowadays, sometimes he’ll put it more around his neck to feel the artery there instead, feeling the thrum beneath the scar.

ignore how most of these are abt John.

thank you!!!! i love all these john headcanons he's my darling golden boy !!!

honestly john snapping as a stim is something i fullheartedly endorse, he would so do it and i'd relate so hard

the tie one is so real and john knows arthur would freak out if he knew his tie was in any way quirky abshhdhe

why would you make me cry with the kids headcanon. its actually canon arthur lester told me himself

and just generally, john enjoying textures and sounds and physical feelings is something that can actually be so personal ��

also is you don't mind, as a lover of angst, the last headcanon can be interpreted as john making sure arthur is alive because they've had too many close calls 🙊🙊🙊

thank you for your service, i love having a brain full of malevolent Thoughts

[lovelywingsart]

Eye trauma tw

So I was recently looking up orbital exenteration surgeries and it made me curious…In what way did Emilia’s eye heal?

Is it just a hole with skin grown around the inside of the cavity or is the hole filled with pinkish flesh? Like what would it look like when speaking to her?

I was seeing very drastically different types of results from the healing process on real people. Some fully grew skin around the inside of the new cavity where others it seemed to stay more the more delicate tissues of the inner face.

Sorry if this is weird to ask

Not weird at all! (Actually, thank you- I do need something to help keep my mind busy. 💙)

Her eye healed with the hole and tissue inside the socket, I believe is the proper explanation... It's probably not, so I'll just talk for a moment!

---

So, if you were to be looking at her while speaking, you would see the cavity hole with dark pinkish red flesh on the inside. It's literally just a hole in the side of her face- the roundness is, to put it simply, the edge of the socket from her skull, which is also why the hole is bigger than her remaining eye. However. It isn't as deep as it looks, but the darker flesh gives it a very deep look. The hole itself is a tad smaller than the space needed to fit the eyeball. 👍 Also, the inside isn't as 'smoothly' healed as an actual orbital surgery, considering she ripped the eye out instead of it being neatly surgically removed.

Its INCREDIBLY sensitive, as mass scar tissue is, and considering it's essentially an open hole in her face, it can get incredibly uncomfortable very quickly if she isn't careful. If she isn't down in the factory, she has to wear an eyepatch or suffer the threat of pain and/or a severe migraine from the temperature difference if its too cold (one of many reasons she prefers the heat), or a small headache at minimum in general. She also has a special patch that is designed to 'adhere' to the skin around the hole for , say, showering or going in the rain, or anything that could get in there and cause discomfort (the edges are made of a rubbery material that is specifically designed to be near seamless against her face- Karl took GREAT care in making it). Granted, she CAN go in water without it- its completely healed over, it won't hurt anything. It'll just be hella uncomfortable and she REALLY doesn't feel like sticking a towel or something in there to pat-dry. 🙃

She WOULD have the healing with the eyelid tissue thickening to cover it a bit as you see with some individuals, but almost the entirety of that flesh was burned off in the accident save for a few measly layers of skin that scarred over.

All that being said, it would probably be a bit unsettling to look her directly in the face while talking to her, which is yet another reason why she wears the patch in public. She only doesn't around Karl because he's seen worse.

Jokingly speaking, you could actually stick your finger in there to touch the tissue and it wouldn't hurt her, it would just be mildly uncomfortable. However, I wouldn't recommend it, as she will promptly break your hand and probably rip it off by the wrist. 😊

[mypoisonedvine]

While You Were Sleeping... | dark!Stucky x reader

warnings: noncon, somnophilia, dp, slight breeding kink, kidnapping, bondage, drugging, pain kink, choking, spanking, slapping, degradation, mention of blood

word count: 3.3k

Thunk.            Thunk.            Thunk.

The sound was the first thing you became aware of.  Your eyes were heavy, so heavy you couldn’t open them, as hard as you fought.  All your effort led to one brief sliver of light, but it was gone so fast you couldn’t process what it was.

Thunk.            Thunk.            Thunk.

You heard yourself moan softly as you tried to stir, but your whole body was half-numb and as dense as lead.

Thunk.  Thunk.  Thunk.  Thunk.  Thunk.  Thunk.

It was faster, and louder, until it suddenly stopped.  Something shifted after that… something outside you, and something inside you.

“Your turn.”

Hearing words tore one more layer of your sleep away, and you managed to open your eyes for just a moment longer, long enough finally to see your surroundings for a second.

You were face-down on a bed; no sheets, just a mattress.  It shifted again, and you realized another weight was settling onto it.  

Something warm ran down your spine.  Fingers?  Was someone touching you?  And not through clothes, but straight onto your skin.

...am I naked?

You fought through the static tingling your tired limbs, and wiggled your arm a bit.  A jingling noise, a tightness on your wrist; a shackle and chain.

“Are you wakin’ up now, doll?”

Bucky? you tried to speak, but your lips wouldn’t move.  You were nearly paralyzed, but conscious enough to move your arm again, shaking the chain louder this time.

“Good,” you heard him reply.  “I’ll be honest, the drugs were a compromise for me.  I want you to be awake for this.”

Your legs were pushed wider apart.  Something hot was pushing against your— no, that can’t be right.  This can’t be happening.  This isn’t happening.

A shift inside you.  He was inside you.  You tried to kick him away but all that came of it was a twitch in your calf.

“That all the fight you got, sweetheart?” Bucky chuckled.  You could feel his hands on your hips, pulling you into him each time he thrusted forward.  You were thankful for the numbness, because you knew this would be painful without it; you could feel how far his intrusion was stretching you, how deep he was inside you.  So deep that you could feel it in your stomach.

Thunk.            Thunk.            Thunk.

The headboard slammed into the concrete wall with every thrust, the sound marking each time he buried himself as deep as he could go.  He was so impressed that you could take all of him, even though it would probably be challenging for a version of you that was fully lucid.  There had been a little blood after Steve was finished with you, so he knew you were being pushed beyond your limits.  But he also knew you could take it.

Well, he knew you had no choice but to take it.  So maybe not so much that you could, but that you would.

“So tight, doll, especially when you try to fight it,” he praised, groaning when your walls pulsed around him again.  “You came when you were knocked out— twice.  Wanna see how many times I can make you come when you’re awake?”

You fought the instinct to writhe in protest, knowing now that it only egged him on.  

“There’s a good girl,” he groaned, “just lay there and take it, honey.  I’m just sorry you can’t feel all of me like you know you want to.  The last of the tranquilizer should wear off soon…”

No, no, that’s the only thing making this tolerable, you realized.  “No…” you managed to mumble aloud, though it was broken and nearly inaudible.

A harsh slap landed on your ass and your body jerked with the pain.

“What’s that, doll?  Can’t hear you,” he mocked.  

“Bucky…” you murmured, still barely able to believe that he was doing this.  He’d acted weird around you a few times, Steve had told you it wasn’t a big deal—

Steve… Steve would help you.

“Steve?” you slurred.

“What is it, pet?” his voice echoed from behind you.

He’s already here?

The realization made your gut sink.  He was already here.  Your turn, you remembered someone saying; it was him.  He’d been here a long time, hadn’t he?

“Want me instead, huh?  Buck’s not doin’ it for ya?” Steve laughed.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky groaned.  “She’s gonna cream on my cock any second, I can tell.”

“Go ahead then,” Steve encouraged you, “come for him if you like it so much.”

“No…” you managed to sigh again, but it wasn’t to them this time; it was to yourself.  You needed to stop this, because Bucky was right and you weren’t ready to cope with that in this moment.  You needed to hate this, it needed to hurt.  And both of those things were true… but you were going to come in spite of it.  Or, perhaps, because of it.  

You started to sob as your mind warred with your body, as pleasure and fear and dread and disgust were all overshadowed by a deep primal need.

Bucky leaned down, his body crushing yours as his teeth nipped at your neck.  “You’re drooling all over the mattress, sweetheart; our brainless little fuckdoll, so stuffed with cock you can’t think.”

A tingle ran up your spine so strongly that your back arched involuntarily, pushing his cock even deeper into you.  Bucky grinned and you would’ve grimaced if you could move your face that much.  “Oh, you like that, don’t you?  We knew you needed to let go, but you would never do it on your own.  That’s what the drugs were for, to loosen you up a bit.  But you’re awake now, and you’re finally realizing how good it is to be owned, aren’t you?  Nobody’s here but us, baby, we won’t tell anyone how much you love it.  It’ll be our little secret.”

Out of nowhere, you came.  It was dulled and distant as it fought against the effects of the drugs, but undeniable.  You felt hot all of a sudden, like you would burn up, as you shivered and tightened involuntarily.  You could really feel him now, every ridge and vein, every detail sliding along your insides and stretching you impossibly wide.  It felt like it wouldn’t stop so long as he didn’t stop fucking you; your skin erupted into goosebumps, even though you felt anything but cold.

“Just like that, doll… so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through your bones.  “Squeezin’ me so goddamn tight, I could come right now—”

“No!” you yelped.

“Is that the only word you know?” he hissed.

“Not… not inside…” you murmured.  

“Not inside?  Doll, Stevie already filled this filthy little cunt,” Bucky informed you with a purr.  “You couldn’t even tell, huh?  Don’t worry, you’re gonna feel it this time.”

You whimpered but couldn’t put a sentence together, focusing most on not moaning every time he thrusted into you; his balls slapping into your clit was just enough sensation to keep you on the edge, but his thick head massaging your g-spot was too intense to ignore.

When you opened your eyes, you could see Bucky’s long hair falling in front of your face, and his hand reaching out to interlace his fingers with yours.  How could he do something so intimate, like he couldn’t feel the restraint around your wrist as he did it?

“I’m close, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me come,” he grinned, and it was weirdly prideful.  Like he knew that some part of you craved for his approval.  Of course you did; he was your superior, your Sergeant, your boss.  You just didn’t intend for this to be the way you got it.  

Thunk.  Thunk.  Thunk.  Thunk.

You bit down on your lip to keep quiet, hoping you could give no reaction at all.  It didn’t work, because just as he’d promised, you could feel his cock flexing and pulsing, you could feel his seed pumping into you.  A groan of protest slipped from your lips, louder than you’d expected.  It seemed to go on forever, or maybe it was just because you knew the potential this had… he’d said Steve had come inside you, too.  You just hoped they’d let you go in time to get a Plan B.  Surely they were going to let you go soon, now that he was done and they’d both had their turn.

The idea of them taking turns with your body made you feel sick.  So did the rush of hot liquid that oozed out of you as Bucky pulled his cock out.

“Can you go again, Buck?” Steve asked gruffly.

“Sure,” Bucky answered, seemingly just as curious as you were as to why he would ask that.

“Get under her,” he demanded.

“Wh… what…?” you moaned sleepily, trying to understand what was happening.  You were being lifted and manhandled, limp in his arms, as Bucky slipped under your body and wrapped his arms around you.  Your head laid against his chest as you pulled at your restraints again, more determined than before but just as fruitless.

Another weight moved in behind you; Steve, of course.  You could tell by the little laugh he made as his rough hands moved up the backs of your legs.

“Your pussy looks completely ruined,” Steve informed you, “like it was meant to be.”

He reached down and gathered some of the come that had leaked out of you— yours, Bucky’s and his own all mixed together— on two of his fingers and pushed it back into you.  You winced and struggled, even just his fingers big enough to stretch you.  Then again, anything was big enough to reignite the pain in your sore channel by this point.

“But this hole is still untouched,” he added, his fingers slipping out of you and trailing up to— oh.

“N-no,” you moaned quietly, “not there…”

“Not where, honey?” Steve taunted, his wet fingers drawing circles over your puckered opening.

“Not… not in my ass,” you pleaded weakly.  You could hear Bucky’s heartbeat get faster next to your ear.  “You can use my pussy again just… not there, please.”

“Oh, so generous,” Steve grinned, but his amusement turned to anger as he slapped the inside of your thigh.  You squealed with the pain, jerking inside Bucky’s embrace, and Steve hit you a few more times.  “Bargaining with your body as if it’s yours in the first place.  Stupid whore.  Both these holes are mine, you understand?”

You cried out when he hit you again, the telltale burning of oncoming tears starting to sting the backs of your eyes.  But you refused to cry.

“Do you understand?” he repeated, firmer.

“Yes, Captain!” you blurted out, an old habit from when you were at work.  You felt your face burn with shame as both of them laughed at your obedience.

“Such a good soldier,” Steve praised.  “I know you can take it, baby, if you just relax and let it feel good.  I’ll make it good for you.  Buck’s gonna keep that greedy little cunt full, too; won’t you, Sarge?”

“Yes, Cap,” Bucky grinned, rubbing his cock through your swollen folds again.  You hadn’t anticipated that their stamina would apply to this. They’re going to keep me here for a while, aren’t they?

As Bucky teased your clit with his fat and leaking head, Steve pushed his fingers into your hole.  You tried to relax through the burn, gasping and groaning in spite of yourself.

“Ever been touched here before?” Steve asked, curling his fingers inside you until you let out a little moan.  “Doesn’t seem like it.  You were always hard at work, never had time for a boyfriend did you?  Not one that knew how to treat you right, at least.”

“Is this your idea… of treating me right?” you hissed through heavy breaths.  “Knocking me out?  Chaining me up?”

“That was just the only way to get you to let us take care of you,” Bucky explained.  “This is treating you right.”

Before you could ask what he was referring to, both of them pressed their cocks into your holes.  Bucky’s cock slid in with a hint of pain, but Steve’s hit more resistance— not that that stopped him.

You screamed, knocked out of the last of your drug-induced haze and thrown head-first into reality.  Sick, stinging, sharp reality.  Your arms pulled at the chains as your legs kicked wildly.  Steve grabbed your ankles as they swung by, pushing your legs up and holding them down until you were forced to straddle Bucky.  The new angle made you feel somehow more exposed to both of them.

“Shut up and take it,” Steve groaned darkly.  They both pushed in deeper, their cocks getting thicker the further down you got, and your eyes rolled back into your head.  

“That’s it, just let go, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered.  “You can take it, you were made for us, you can take it…”

You were too overwhelmed to process his words, though, as they kept filling you and you wondered if it would ever stop.  You wondered if you wanted it to stop, even though it was painful and degrading and beyond twisted.

“Almost done, honey, you’re takin’ us so well,” Steve cooed.

“She might pass out, Steve,” Bucky realized as he examined your face, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Maybe then she’ll stop fighting,” he shrugged in reply.

Bucky was buried all the way into you, but there was still some of Steve left to take and you were sure it wouldn’t fit.  You already felt so full that you could barely breathe.  Just to rub it in, Steve slammed that last inch into you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

“Fuck,” Steve sighed, “you feel so good, babygirl.  The others call you a tightass behind your back, did you know that?  They don’t know how right they are…”

“Talk to me, soldier; are you still with us?” Bucky asked, slapping your cheek lightly to get your attention.  You nodded quickly.  “Feel how full you are, doll?”  You nodded again.  “You like it, don’t you?”

You stayed silent this time.  

“No need to pretend, honey, we can tell,” Steve groaned.  “You’re dripping all over the both of us, and your cute little ass is clenching around me.”

“Just say it,” Bucky moaned.  “Say you love it.”

“I… I love it,” you stammered, hoping that it was just to appease them.

“Then ride our cocks, like the little slut you are,” Steve demanded, smacking your ass one more time.  You tried to lift your hips, shuddering with the way it moved both of them inside you, but it was so difficult with your weak and aching muscles.  When you did it again, you fell suddenly with a wavering groan.

“Too weak, baby?  You’re so pathetic; let me show you how,” Steve offered, grabbing your hips tightly and lifting them with almost no effort.  You moaned, properly, as he used your body and dropped you up and down on his and Bucky’s cocks roughly.  “The least you could do is sit up; go on, put your hands on Buck’s shoulders and arch that back, show me how bad you want it.”

The chains were long enough that you could do it, though looking down at Bucky and the metal cuffs on your wrist was a lot to take in.  With a groan of pain, your wobbling arms lifted you up.

“I knew you could be a good girl,” Steve sighed, moving your body faster against his as his grip left bruises in the shape of his fingertips on your skin.

Bucky reached up and wrapped his cold metal hand around your neck, choking you suddenly.  Both men groaned as the loss of air made you flutter around them.  “Fuck, you like that, huh?  You like getting choked, doll?  Dirty slut.”

When he finally let go, it was like all the sounds that had been caught in your throat came out at once.  A groan, a sigh, a moan, and a sob churned together to make something inhuman and debasing.  They were fucking you like animals, you were shackled and bound like an animal, and now you sounded like an animal.

“Do you wanna breathe, doll?  Or do you wanna come?” Bucky growled.  

“I wanna… I wanna come,” you moaned.  The hand on your neck tightened again, and the tingles of lost sensation spread over your body quickly.  You were so close to coming again that you could barely imagine how it happened so fast.  They were reaching every sensitive spot inside you— rather, they were turning every spot inside you into a sensitive one.  The loss of air only pushed you closer, and you wanted to scream but all you could do was dig your fingernails into Bucky’s shoulders as it hit you hard.  You went completely limp in their arms, only Bucky’s hand holding you upright.  He relaxed his grip, still tight enough to keep you completely aware of his power over you, but loose enough that you could breathe.

“Don’t stop coming, sweetheart, I love seeing you do it,” Steve beamed.  “You can give us a few more before we’re done— right, Buck?”

“I don’t know man, she feels really good,” Bucky moaned, choking you again so you wouldn’t interrupt their conversation.

“Get it together, man,” Steve teased, “you can’t get all sentimental on me again.”

“I can’t help it, okay?  Been waiting for this for so long…”  Bucky trailed off, or maybe it was just that your hearing was fading out as the loss of air pushed you towards the beckoning darkness.

You gasped when he let go again, your moans turning into sobs and tears finally rolling down your cheeks.  You’d sworn you wouldn’t let them see you cry, but you couldn’t even remember that now.

“Such a cute little crybaby,” Steve purred, slamming into you faster.  “Can’t take it anymore, huh?  It’s too much for you?”

“Please…” you whispered, so hoarse that you couldn’t recognize it as yourself.

“‘Please’ what, doll?” Bucky pressed, massaging your neck in his palm.

You didn’t know what you were begging for, truly.  Bucky choked you again, grinning up at you and fucking you rougher than before.

“I know what you want: you wanna come again, yeah?  So needy… this’ll be, what, the fifth today?  Go ahead, princess, show us how bad you need us.”

They all started to blend together after that.  Just one big haze, interlaced with so much sensation that you couldn’t parse any of it into separate incidents.  Steve leaned forward to suck a mark on the back of your neck; Bucky used his free hand to twist your nipples and slap your tits, before moving down to roughly rub your aching clit with his thumb.  Bucky came first but stayed inside while Steve roughly pumped into your ass.  Without the distraction of Bucky’s movement inside you, you became more aware of how far Steve’s cock was stretching you.  He came with a cry and Bucky’s fingers pulled another orgasm from you, too.  He never stopped rubbing you there, not even when they’d both stopped moving and you were too exhausted to do anything but take it.  It made your body jolt even though your muscles ached and begged for rest.  You vaguely remembered begging for rest, too, but you didn’t get it until Bucky was satisfied.

When they both pulled out, you could feel the hot sticky mess gush from your holes; it was disgusting, and yet you felt a weak pang of arousal run up your spine.  Bucky slipped out from under you with an exhausted groan of his own, leaving you to flop down onto the bed lifelessly.  

“Get some rest, honey,” Steve encouraged.  “We’ll help you shower when you wake up.”

Any other day and you would’ve needed to shower first before you could fall asleep again, not to mention having your wrists freed from the chains.  But you were already nearly gone by this point, your eyes heavy again as your mind went blank.

The last thing you heard was a heavy steel door slamming shut: thunk.

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Stolen Stamps

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Stolen Passport Oneshot

“You took me on a trip just to break up with me so I stole your passport” - Prompt from @dailyau

I don't know where this came from, it just kinda happened, enjoy! Minor Chaolaena, Rowaelin endgame

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2494 words

*******

The faint hum of the air condition filled the meticulously organized room in the back of the post office.

“Ms. Galathynius,” A deep, accented voice addressed her.

Her gaze on the tall bookshelf in the corner jerked back to the man sitting across from her behind his desk. His hands were crossed, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing part of a tattoo that wrapped around his muscular arm. She tried not to watch as the muscles shifted as he leaned forward when he spoke to her.

“Can you please explain to me why you were trying to mail a very,” He paused, glancing at the messily-wrapped bundle on the center of his desk, “suspicious-looking package to the Adarlan embassy in Antica?”

Aelin opened her mouth to try to explain, but no words came out.

He raised a silver eyebrow and waited.

She sighed, “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

***

The cab ride to the airport was a blur. So was the flight, and the ride to her hotel. It wasn’t until Aelin locked the door of her hotel room and set down her bags, that the events of the day finally hit her.

Whether it was adrenaline or shock or relief, she couldn’t be sure. Aelin fell back onto the bed and rubbed her face, groaning. She thought back to that morning when everything had been fine.

Fine, not great, just fine. That’s how things always felt with Chaol, just fine.

Her brain was still working through what happened when she jolted up from the bed, eyes wide.

“Shit. What did I do?”

Aelin scrambled towards her purse and rummaged through it. She couldn’t find it; maybe she didn't take it. She turned the bag upside down over the bed and watched as her things fell out. She pushed aside her little paperback mystery novel, her lipstick, her boarding pass, she moved aside a wrinkled coupon and froze.

“Fuck.”

***

After wearing a track into the carpet with her pacing, Aelin decided to call Lysandra. It was going about as well as she expected.

“Lysandra, I did a bad thing.”

Aelin chewed her fingernail between her teeth, a bad habit she couldn’t kick when she was stressed, as she tried to tell her best friend what just happened. She was standing on the small balcony of her hotel hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind. So far, it wasn't doing a great job.

“Aelin,” Lysandra’s voice sounded amused through her phone, “This is you were talking about, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin ran a hand through her hair. “I did a petty, horrible, impulsive, really bad thing.”

There was a long pause as Lysandra seemed to realize how serious Aelin sounded.

“Okay. Now I’m getting worried.” Then a sharp gasp, “Was it illegal? Have you been arrested? Are you calling me from a foreign prison?”

“Lys—” Aelin tried cutting in, she wanted to stop the hysterics before her friend’s imagination got out of hand.

“When you told me you were going on a trip with Chaol I thought you’d be spending time on the beach, not using me as your one phone call from a dirty jail cell hundreds of miles away!”

“Lysandra!”

“And where’s Chaol? Is he there with you?”

“Lysandra, stop! I haven’t been arrested, I’m not in prison, I’m fine. Actually, I’m great.” Aelin closed her eyes and sighed, trying to scrounge up some guilt but failing. “Actually, it's because I’m feeling great that makes what I did so much worse, because I don’t really feel bad about it.”

“Don’t scare me like that.” Her friend's voice echoed in her ear. “If you’re fine, then tell me what happened and tell me why you’re calling me at,” she paused and groaned, “six in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Aelin winced, “I’m still on a different time frame.”

“Still? Where are you now? Are you not in Antica anymore?”

“Slow down, Lys.” Aelin loosed a breath and ran a hand through her hair, “I’m back in Terrasen.”

“What? When did you get back?” Lysandra sounded confused, and Aelin couldn't blame her, after all, she was supposed to be in Antica for four more days.

“Today. Less than an hour ago. I’m at a hotel, I just needed to clear my head.”

After a moment of silence, Lysandra asked again, “Where’s Chaol? Have you talked to him about whatever this is? Not that he’d help much “Lysandra muttered the last part, but Aelin still heard.

Here we go, Aelin thought, “No. We broke up.”

“What?” Lysandra was definitely awake now. “Really? Oh, honey, I’m sorry if you’re hurting, but good for you, I never really liked him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aelin barked a wry laugh, “He dumped me, actually.”

“He dumped you?”

Aelin barked another laugh, getting angry as she told Lysandra the rest, “Get this, that bastard invited me on this trip specifically to break up with me”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Yeah, and honestly?” Aelin took a deep breath, feeling a mess of emotions as she explained. “I can’t blame him.” She amended herself quickly at Lysandra's sound of protest, “I don’t mean about taking me on a trip to do it, because that’s fucked up, but I mean the actual breaking up part. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, it was more about who would pull the trigger first. Come on, Lys, you knew I was more excited to spend a week on the beach than to spend a week with him.”

Lysandra snorted, “Yeah, Ace, I knew that. I was hoping you realized that, too.”

“Well, I did. So, I left. I’m back in Terrasen, there was no way I was staying there with him any longer, that would’ve been too weird.”

Aelin could hear Lysandra’s coffee machine buzz to life through the phone and suddenly wished she had a cup of coffee. Once she figured this mess out, she’d go find a cafe.

“Right. Okay,” The brunette’s voice rang out, “let me get this straight, Chaol took you on a trip solely to break up with you, and now you’re back in Terrasen while he’s still on the Southern Continent. I’m still not seeing what exactly you did that’s making you freak out.”

At that, Aelin flopped back onto the bed and flung an arm over her face, groaning.

“I know breaking up with Chaol is for the best, Hellas, I feel relieved. But at that moment, I was so angry. I was furious that he’d take me on this trip instead of just doing it at home like a normal-fucking-person—I mean, who takes a break-up vacation? Anyways, when I was packing my things to leave, I, kinda, sorta, took something of his.”

“Aelin…what did you do?”

Aelin looked at the foot of the bed where the remains of her purse were strewn over the blanket. Her eyes caught on two matching little booklets with gold seals on them.

“I stole his passport.”

***

“Ms. Galathynius—”

“Aelin, please.” She cut off the silver-haired man behind the desk.

The only change in his stoic demeanor was a small twitch of his lips. “Aelin. Can you explain what exactly you’re trying to mail, that looks like that—”

‘That’ being the layers of spare newspaper she found tucked away in her hotel room haphazardly wrapped and tied with the thread from the complimentary sewing kit, also from her hotel room. She hadn’t been able to find any tape. Aelin thought if she brought it to the post office then she could re-package it with actual materials, but she’d chosen not to unwrap it before getting there. An obvious mistake.

“—to an official, protected, government Embassy?” His voice was stern and his green eyes steady.

This looked bad. Aelin could easily admit that this looked really bad.

She placed her hands on his desk and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. “I can explain. It's definitely not as bad as I’m sure you think it is.”

He remained silent, watching her expectantly.

She caught sight of the nameplate on the side of his desk. “Mr. Whitethorn—”

“Rowan, please.”

Did he sound amused?

Taking confidence from that, she sat up a little straighter and said, “Rowan,”

His mouth quirked a little higher as she said his name.

Clearing her throat, she started again, “Rowan, you can open the package, I assure you it's nothing bad. It’s just a passport.”

One of his eyebrows rose skeptically, “A passport?” He asked doubtfully.

“Yes, a passport. That’s why I was trying to send it to the embassy. It belongs to my b—ex.” She stumbled over the last word, still unused to Chaol’s new title.

He—Rowan—looked even more intrigued.

“You’re mailing your ex their passport, but decided to wrap it in the most suspicious, threatening way possible?”

Aelin winced. “I didn’t have many options.” She chuckled, remembering trying to tie the string together in the hotel bathroom’s fluorescent lights. “I thought I could fix it once I got here, but I didn’t even have a chance to ask for materials before being escorted in here.” She waved a hand vaguely and looked around his office.

Rowan was fully smirking now. He leaned back in his chair and watched her for a long moment. “It is my job to confiscate suspect packages. Especially when those packages are being sent to, say, a government building.”

Leaning forward slightly she smiled and told him, “Well, you seem to be very good at your job.”

Gods, was she flirting? She and Chaol literally just broke up. But she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Rowan. Not with the way his pine-green eyes lit up with amusement or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he shifted in his chair. Not to mention that tattoo; she was a sucker for tattoos—and she’d never told him this, but it always disappointed Aelin that Chaol never even considered getting any ink.

Good gods, she was flirting. And not very well.

Still smirking, Rowan leaned forward and asked, “Care to tell me why you’re sending your ex their passport?”

Was it her imagination or did he say ‘ex’ like it was the most interesting word in his question.

She couldn't stop the small smile twisting her lips. “I don't see how the ‘why’ of it is any of your business.”

Rowan surveyed her and Aelin tried not to blush under his gaze. She couldn't stop herself from comparing him to Chaol, he never made her feel this flustered with just a stare. Rowan's eyes tracked her face, tracked the way her cheeks heated, and she tried with all her might to fight the blush.

She wasn’t a teenager with a crush, she was a woman who knew how good she looked and was very attracted to the man whose eyes had not stopped roaming over her. She fought down the blush and flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiling charmingly at him.

He seemed to like it and his grin widened before putting on a faux stern face.

“I try to be as thorough as possible, Aelin,” Gods, the way he said her name made her toes curl. “It would make things easier if you explained why. I could finish my paperwork quicker, get this thing sent off, and we’d both be free of this passport and your ex.”

Wow, he wasn't beating around the bush. She liked it.

He sent her a slow grin, “I’d be able to take my break at nine, and go for a cup of coffee.”

The way he said the last part left no room for guessing what he meant. He wanted to take her out for coffee.

A small part of her hesitated, she had just broken up with Chaol. But on the other hand, he took her on a fucking breakup vacation, so screw him and she could do whatever the hell she wanted. And she wanted Rowan. She wanted to go get coffee with Rowan.

So she smiled, winked at him, and said, “I’m mailing it back to him because I stole it from him.”

Rowan’s smile faltered and he blinked.

“You what?”

“I stole it from him.”

He stared at her another moment before a chuckle escaped his lips and he was shaking his head but smirking.

“You stole his passport.” He sounded very amused as he wrote a note down, most likely for the report he’d have to file.

“Yup,” Aelin’s grin turned feline, “He took me on vacation to break up with me, so I stole his passport and left him there.”

Rowan stopped writing and looked at her with raised eyebrows, “He’s still there? You have his passport, and now he’s stuck,” Rowan glanced at his notes, “in Antica?”

Aelin laughed; a loud, cheerful, sound that filled the office and pulled a small grin onto Rowan’s lips.

“Okay, I’m sure you think I’m a bit crazy,” Her grin didn't falter, “but it was impulsive and as soon as I realized what I actually did, you know, kinda leaving him stranded there, I tried to send it back to him. I couldn't remember what the hotel was, so I figured the embassy would be a good choice given it's a passport, and he is from Adarlan.”

“He’s from Adarlan, you’re not?” Rowan asked.

Aelin smirked, “That’s what you got from what I said?”

He matched her smirk, “That's what I want to know.”

“No,” Aelin shook her head and glanced out the window in his office, “I’m from here, Terrasen is in my blood.”

It seemed like that was the answer Rowan was looking for. He smiled, wrote down a final note, and looked back at her.

“I think that’s all I need right now, Aelin,” Again, the way he said her name sent butterflies flitting around her stomach.

He stood up and she did the same, pulling her purse back over her shoulder. He walked around his desk and opened the door for her.

“Aelin,” Rowan’s voice made her pause as she stood in the open doorway.

“Yes, Rowan?” she looked up at him expectantly with a small smile.

“I take my break in half an hour, there's a coffee shop just down the block, if you want to hang around or come back then, I'd like to take you out for coffee.”

Aelin smiled brightly at him and nodded, “I’d like that. I’ll come back in half an hour.”

He grinned and held her gaze another moment before she turned to leave.

“Oh, and Rowan?” She turned back to look at him but saw he already—or still—had his eyes on her.

“Yeah?”

“You don't have to use express shipping on that, it's fine if it takes a couple days.”

The sound of Rowan’s deep laughter followed her through the doors.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog

[pepperonijem]

When He Sees Me || Peter Parker

MASTERLIST

Pairing:  Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: um peter might be a little ooc and that’s because i’m writing about my unfortunate crush but i basically just changed his name to peter parker any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental <3 

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door and I can’t close it? Catching feelings for your best friend is never easy.

A/N: This fic is sponsored in part by @bitchassbucky, @spiderrpcrker, @shurisneakers, @midnightsunfae, and @blackberrybucky who instead of shutting down my feelings, hyped me up to turn my crush and some of the things that we’ve done into a fic <3 this goes out to anyone who has ever started crushing on their best friend.

Oh God, please don’t walk this way, please don’t wa-

“Oh, hey Peter!” The crack in your voice betrayed your attempt at a casual greeting, despite your efforts to disguise it with a cough. “How’s it-- how’s it hanging?”

“You good?” Peter smiled at you but his eyebrow quirked upwards in concern. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight?” His concern faded into a wide grin as you nodded in response. Peter gave you a quick goodbye before walking away towards his next class.

As soon as you saw him turn into the classroom, you turned to face your closed locker, letting out a groan before setting your forehead against it. Peter had asked if you were good, and although you nodded, the butterflies in your stomach threatened to give you away. You were very much not good.

A tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts and you turned to see your friend MJ. “What did Peter do this time?” MJ asked. For the last month, every interaction with Peter -- there have been a lot -- ended this way: a groan of defeat and a few welted lines on your forehead from holding your head against your locker. You turned to give MJ a dirty look, annoyed by the amused smirk on her face.

“Absolutely nothing,” you sighed, finally lifting your head up to talk to her. You opened your locker as you talked, not wanting to make eye contact with MJ as you confessed your feelings. “He just… smiled… and everything went downhill from there.” You rolled your eyes as MJ laughed. “It’s getting worse, I have no idea how I’m going to get through tonight.”

MJ laid a hand on your shoulder. “Well we’ll all be there,” she offered. “And if it makes you feel better, no one’s even noticed. Just act normal and you’ll be fine.” She shrugged her shoulders as if that was the easiest thing to do. But you couldn’t act normal anymore, not with Peter. Not when normal means resting your head against his shoulder every time he makes you laugh. Not when normal means borrowing his clothes when his aunt May tells you to stay the night every time a study session runs too long. Not when normal means wearing the extra sweater he keeps for you because you always forget yours.

Normal was when you didn’t feel butterflies everytime he looked at you, before your curious heart got the better of you and you began to wonder what it might be like to hold his hand. Now, things were just weird. At least for you. Nothing on the surface had changed, no one noticed how your heart rate picked up every time Peter touched you, or how you suddenly felt hot whenever he winked at you. But inside your heart was navigating uncharted territory in your friendship, trying to traipse along the thin line that separated how things have always been and how you suddenly wish things could be.

Pulling your textbook out of your locker, you shut the locker door a just a little bit more aggressively than necessary. MJ gave you a small hug before linking her arm through yours as you walked to your next class.

For the rest of the day, you found it impossible to focus on anything. Instead of taking down notes on George Orwell in English, you found yourself absentmindedly doodling hearts. Everything just reminded you of Peter and your own confusing feelings. Thankfully, you didn’t share any classes with him today, leaving you enough solitude to think about just why you were so frustrated with yourself.

Logically, you knew there was nothing wrong with having a crush on someone. You’ve had plenty of crushes before, a few of which reflected a temporary lapse in judgement on your part. You remember telling Peter about each of them, gushing about the most basic acts of human decency as he rolled his eyes and told you that you deserve someone better, but nevertheless helping you pick up the pieces every time someone broke your heart. That, you realized, was what scared you the most.

If you were to date, and then break up… well who would be there with kind words and your favorite boba when everything fell apart? The thought of losing your best friend over emotions, feelings, left far too much to chance. Was the idea of holding his hand, of hearing him call you his enough to make you risk the friendship that has always been enough for you? It should be enough for you, you reminded yourself. There was too much on the line and not enough guarantee for you to risk it.

With that determination in mind, you steeled yourself for the rest of the day, determined to put your feelings to rest and go back to normal.

Unfortunately, that plan quickly fell through.

You got to the restaurant a half hour late with only a really good nap to blame. You felt bad that your friends were waiting for you, but when you got there, you found an empty spot next to Peter, where your usual order of ramen was waiting and against your will, the butterflies flew rampant. The noodle that hit Peter’s nose as he ate while waving you over made you laugh as you sat down beside him.

“I got you your usual,” Peter explained in between bites. You smiled and thanked him before digging in. Peter had done this for you many times, and you willed your body to fight against the flutter of your heart.

Thankfully, the rest of your dinner was going well, and everyone had plenty of stories to tell. MJ had begun doing more portraits of people in distress and revealed her latest piece -- a portrait of Peter slurping up a noodle only to get a rogue drop of soup in his eye. Ned and Betty were off again, but of course they tried to keep it civil (they were on again by the end of the night) so no one would have to pick sides. Flash teased Peter about the B that he made on his literature exam yesterday over poetry and Peter’s face turned beet red.

“Hey,” Peter began, attempting to defend himself. “I totally could’ve made a perfect score. I was just distracted.” He shrunk down in his seat a little bit, and the rest of you laughed teasingly.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Flash continued. “You’ve been drawing little hearts all over your notes, dude, it’s unsettling.” He rolled his eyes and took another bite of his food, swirling his fork around the bowl trying to grab as much noodle as possible.

Across the table, you and MJ made eye contact, a look of surprise between the both of you. You tried to signal her to say something before a weird silence fell on the table, but she was not reading your cues. Thankfully, Peter spoke again.

“H-hearts?” He repeated. “Why would I be drawing hearts on my notes?” Although he tried to play it off, the rise in pitch gave him away. He scrunched his face in exaggeration.

“Actually,” Betty began. “Now that I think about it, you were doing that in Spanish class too.” You glanced over at Peter who looked at you with panic in his eyes. You took a long sip of water, suddenly feeling a layer of sweat form at the back of your neck. “Wonder what that’s about.” She shrugged and turned to Ned asking if he wanted to split a slice of cheesecake with her.

Before Peter had a chance to try to defend himself once again, the waitress appeared. “Are you all ready for the check?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we’re splitting the check,” Flash replied. Betty rolled her eyes in response. “What? Just because I’m rich does not mean I have to share the wealth.”

The waitress nodded in response. As she was leaving Peter called her back. “Oh wait,” he called. “I’ll also be paying for this order,” he gestured to your bowl. She smiled at him and headed for the counter.

“Peter,” you smiled. “I have money, I can pay for myself.” Although Peter usually had to order for you, he didn’t usually pay for you, unless it was a special occasion.

“I know, I just wanted to be nice,” he responded, giving your shoulder a playful nudge. “Plus, you seem like you’ve had a rough week. Every time I see you, you seem to be lost in thought. What’s been on your mind?” The sentence came out casually, but the furrow in his brows revealed how concerned he actually has been. Peter was nothing if not observant, like he could sense things better than most people.

You let out a sigh, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to lie to Peter, but you also didn’t want to tell him the truth, that you were thinking about him-- well, your feelings for him. Just when it seemed like he had backed you into a corner, however, the waitress had returned with the checks, and the question left unanswered.

After dinner, the six of you went to Flash’s house to watch a movie. He had a home theater and early access to new movies and he loved to remind everyone of that. Not that any of you minded, especially if it got you free popcorn and a movie out of it. Every week, a different person got to select the movie and today, unfortunately, was MJ’s turn.

You loved her, of course, but you absolutely detested her taste in movies. Mostly because she was a horror junkie, and you were absolutely not. Her last few turns however had been spent making sure you all had seen all of the Shrek movies. But today, she picked a horror film. Something about demons and the like. Peter and Betty cheered at her selection as Flash groaned. You settled into the couch in the back of the room and grabbed a blanket. Ned and Betty sat together on a smaller loveseat, and MJ sat on the floor in front of Flash’s seat, the perfect spot to be able to scare him with a single touch on his leg.

Peter sat down beside you, handing you a tub of popcorn and a soda. He pulled the blanket over his own lap as he sat criss-cross on the couch. You tried not to pay attention to how his leg was brushing against yours under the blanket, instead focusing on the screen as the room went dark.

The movie had just started, but you could already feel yourself tense up in expectation.The music was coming to a crescendo and you knew something was already going to happen. You didn’t realize just how tightly your fists had balled together in your lap till you jumped at the sound of Peter’s soft voice at the shell of your ear. “Are you okay?” He asked.

He tried to hold in a chuckle as you almost bounced the tub of popcorn off your lap. He grabbed it from you and set it to the side. “Look,” he pointed to the screen where the creature’s head had just rotated a full circle as it crawled up the wall in pursuit of the main character. “That thing kinda looks like the spider from that kid’s tv show, but not as creepy.” You let out a laugh, a little louder than you meant, and Ned turned to tell you to shut up.

The small joke was enough to dissipate the anxiety you felt towards the movie, but unfortunately only heightened your feelings about Peter. But he noticed how your fists unclenched and how your shoulders relaxed once you laughed, so he continued to tell you whispered jokes for the rest of the movie. Each time he noticed your body tensing, he tried his best to make you laugh, and god, how could you stop yourself from those butterflies anymore?

At the height of the movie, you found yourself with your hands over your ears, and eyes squeezed shut, unable to even look at the screen or hear a joke. When Peter realized a joke wouldn’t be enough, he slid closer to you and pulled you into his side and you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Before you had a chance to think about the spicy notes of his cologne or the softness of his skin, the sound of a high pitched scream in the movie caused you to jump with a gasp. In response, Peter wrapped his arms around you tight, with a gentle shush.

It was only after the music began to die down that you opened your eyes again, only to find Peter’s eyes fixed on the screen. Now that the worst was over, you no longer had an excuse to be in his embrace the way you were. You began to wiggle your way out of his arms, attracting his attention.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Peter I’m a big kid,” you smiled, teasing. “You don’t have to hold me like a baby.” Peter let out a soft laugh before relaxing his hold on you just a bit.

“Okay,” he relented. “I’ll just hold you like this then.” He began to shift so that your head was on his shoulder, and one of his arms looped under yours, intertwining your fingers. The smile on his face was calm as if this was something the two of you did all the time, but his racing heartbeat reminded you this was something new.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie. By the time the soft music began to play in the credits, you could hear light snoring from everyone else in the room. However, you and Peter made absolutely no efforts to untangle yourselves from each other. It was as if you were worried that once the lights came back on, you would never find yourself like this again, and what a sad idea that was. Normal, would never be enough for you again, not when you know now how much better life could be like this.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the jump scares, or the sureness of his hand in yours, like it’s always belonged there, that gave you the courage to finally break the silence.

“Peter,” you breathed out, lifting your head from his shoulder, but not letting go of his hand.

He turned to you, with a look of concern, afraid of what you might say.

“Kiss me.” The words came out so softly and so quickly that you weren’t sure if you said it at all.

“Finally,” he whispered as his lips fell against yours, softly and slowly. He pulled away after what felt like hours and yet not nearly enough time. His hands reached up to cup your face. “I like you,” he admitted. “So much.”

Suddenly, you felt it. You felt exactly what it must feel like to fly, to let yourself go without worrying about gravity or anything else. The risks were still there, the numbers hadn’t changed, but you knew that no matter what happened next, just having the chance to fly would always be enough.

[arcadejohn127-9]

Heyyy, I hope you’re doing ok! I love ur blog and I know we’re strangers who will possibly never meet but Recently, the little things have pushed me over the edge and close to an anxiety attack I presume but I’ve been using knitting and crochet to cope. It sounds weird Ik, but may u do the brothers and Undateables with an MC who does that and MC just ends up making so much stuff in one day that she gives it away to them. I’m so sorry if it’s weird, pls feel free to choose whether to do it or not but this blog has made me a little happier than before, thank you for reading and being here!

I actually use to do knitting, never finished anything and lost interest but it was really calming and fun. Couldn't keep my attention for long as it was very repetitive and got boring quickly but I always just genuinely enjoyed it despite that?

Stress knitting seems like the most wholesome way to handle anxiety and stress, it helps you focus on something else, you're being productive and having fun aswell as being safe! Though do be careful with the needles

And thank you for being here and supporting me, I'm glad I could make you feel even a little bit happier, a small amount of happiness is better than none! So thank you for making my night with how kind you are! Your habit and anxiety relief isn't weird at all, I don't see how it could be weird tbh

Sorry this took so long, I feel stupid now but I got really stumped on some of them on what to make but now I'm laughing at myself due to how obvious they were

Lucifer:

You made him mug holders and now it's all he uses

"It's very useful, I'll take extra care of it - no need to worry."

He can handle the heat but he must use what you've made

You even made a massive sweater and socks for Cerberus

How you got his dogs measurements is beyond him but it was the most prominent things he uses from your biggest pile

But he was no fool, he knew you

He knew your habits and how you've grown more anxious

He isn't always the most available person with his emotions and with his schedule

But he was always willing to listen to your issues

Mammon:

You made him a money pouch - how could he not be happy??!!

He loves jingling it to hear all his latest 'finds'

What was even better you made him a sweater he got to wear for his modeling job and show off to Everyone

That article was an interesting find

"CHECK IT! everyone loved your sweater! I say we can make a bussiness with this."

But when you come handing him a large bag full of your latest projects he can't help but raise a brow

He's greedy, he loves being showered in gifts

But he knew you, he took note on your emotional

He got pouty but he hugged your shoulders

Reminding you that you can always come to him and he'll make you feel better

Levithan:

You made him knitted wrist support, for his long gaming sessions

He wears them pretty much everyday at this point

Not only are they comfortable and helpful

But you made them! Specifically for him! For him to use! YOU MADE IT!

Has bragged to his gaming friends about it one too many times

"My player 2 is obviously better than yours, does yours knit cute things for you? I thought so."

Also you made him a crotchet plush of his favourite animal crossing chatacter, he prefers the Devildom version of the game but he's a sucker for bright cute things

Anything he could he'd either put in on his desk or on his figure cupboards

But when you come in with a massive pile, strained smile he felt himself panic

You both have anxiety, you were comrades in it! So of course he knew how knitting was part of your coping mechanism

He felt annoyed and worried on why you weren't coming to him but quickly calmed himself down, when he saw he patted your head

Explaining you can always come to him because you're in this together

He definitely stole a line or two from his latest favourite media

Satan:

Crotchet chair cat paw socks was his favourite out of the pile

"They're little paws..... I need these for all my furniture!"

His second favourite is the baggy sweater you knitted for him

He's going to cherish these gifts until he dies

Which could be never

Though even in death he'd be keeping what you've made him

Worried about the massive increase as he knows it's coping for your anxiety

He's read books about anxiety so he has a fair amount of knowledge on it

Insists you can always come to him when you're worried

Asmodeus:

He adored everything you made!

The sweater had little holes in them? He doesn't care and even smirks at the holes

"wanting to expose my beautiful skin~? I don't blame you."

Made a scarf? He'll wear that instead of his usual black one

Just knitted squares or unwearable things? Proudly shows off your work

Is concerned you've been so ridden with anxiety

He wants to help as much as he can, he has teas and bath scents for these kind of things

Just say the word and he'll bring all of it out

Beezlebub:

A crotchet layered burger he can take apart because it's velcro-ed together??!

It's like a real burger!

He tries not to bite or chew on it but it has happened before

Would feel awful if he accidentally ripped it

"I love it, are you going to make more?"

Didn't expect for you to actually make more

As time went on he learned that it helps you calm down from anxiety

So he especially didn't expect you to come in with a massive bag full of your latest creation's

He immediately got worried

You wanted to show them off to distract your mind but he just grabbed your head

Gently moving it so you looked at him

He told you he wants to help and he'll be there for you, no matter what and no matter when

Belphegor:

You made him w blanket - you know how young children are normally seen with baby blankets? Just always carrying them around

Yeah that's him

"You can't make me take it off Lucifer-! This is MY gift from (Y/N) and I'm going to make sure everyone sees it!"

Always showing off the blanket you made him by carrying it around or having it wrapped around him

He loves it! He also loves the pillow covers you made! It helps spice up his pillow collection

But you can't hide your anxiety from him, he goes out of his way to give people it

And soon he found out how kitting was a coping mechanism

He felt a little special you were making him things because it calmed you down but also worried about your mental health

The concern RISED when you were in the attic, placing and organising the big pile you had

He hugged you and flopped onto the bed

Telling you that he'll look after you and you can tell him what's wrong, stress naps are always welcomed with him

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

Didn't expect to find such a huge pile of new stuff in his room

He saw mug holders and mits

Horn warmers

And his favourite- a shawl with tassels, he immediately wrapped it around him and refused to take it off

He's going to wear this everywhere no matter his outfit

"Barbatos can be strict but I'll wear this no matter what, if I even see a spec of dirty on it I'll make sure to get it cleaned with delicate care."

But then it hit him, you become more active with your hobby when you become anxious

He immediately got to you, asking you if you're okay

He's ready to charge your whole class schedule if he has to

Barbatos:

You crocheted desserts and he never felt so much warmth and love in his heart

Almost collapsed from sweetness when he found a knitted pair of gloves in the big pile of your creation's

Appreciates the gifts alot

"these are marvelous, I look forward to see what else you make."

Brings you calming teas as a thank you, understanding your anxiety must be high

Offers a shoulder to cry on and happy to take time out of his schedule to listen to your worries

He asks you to teach him so he can make things like you

He wants to repay you for all the things you've given him

Solomon:

Has a whole room dedicated to everything you've ever made and given him

Whenever he has guests he likes to take them to check out your creations

"Come and admire my collection, My apprentice made these, aren't they neat?"

The potion sacks you've made are extremely useful

Aswell as the coldrain mat

Can sense your anxious energy in the newest creation's and gets concerned

He'll invite you over to talk about what's wrong

Let's you to take your time incase you're comfortable to talk

Simeon:

His favourite amongst the massive pile was a cute crotchet octopus

It was nicely stuffed and felt so nice to rest his head on

Others that peaked his fancy were the long wrist warmers you made, the way you made it made it look like lace

Aswell as a shawl and the very well made bag to store his books in

"You're so thoughtful, I'll treasure them all."

But he noticed just how worked up you've been and knew your anxious habits

Sat you down for tea to ask what how you're feeling and if could help

Also offers to be a guardian angel and make sure you don't get so anxious

If he can he'll wear an entire outfit made out of your knitting

Luke:

Is in awe how much you gave him

Almost died with Happiest when you knitted him a new hat

The crotchet wings you made just made him bounce with joy

He loves everything!!!

"I'm going to wear everything you've made and carry the little crochet puppy with me everywhere! I promise I'll take good care of him!"

Though will always check in on you

Once he's learned you do it more or only when you're really anxious he'll want to do everything he can to help

Has looked up guides on how to help people with their anxiety and panic attacks

He's going to be your guardian angel!

[tu-sugar-mami]

Tales of the side of the road: Day #1)

You're an overworked, sleep deprived, tired barista at a pretty strange coffee shop. You don't really complain, since the payment is good and you have a lot of free time, with the shop being pretty much empty and customers walking in only once in a while. The place is big, well equipped, somehow there's wifi, and you love doing what you do even if sometimes you wish you could go home. You could say the building is placed in the middle of nowhere, in a road connecting two barely populated and pretty hidden towns. The only other building anywhere in a few miles is the convenience store, an old and beaten up OxxO across the street, the cashier doesn't speak much though.

The owner is a bit... how to say it? Cryptic, to put it slightly, but that doesn't bother you at all, you barely see them, and now that you think of it perhaps the only time you spoke to them is when you were hired.

You've seen your fair share of weird stuff in three years of working here, and you even made friends with the local cult, although with a rocky start when they tried to sacrifice you to their deity. It turned out for the best, since you gained regulars that always came in with the freshest gossip. And yes, you may have gotten a small curse because of the first encounter, but hey, being occasionally possessed by a dark goddess do come handy when one of the diverse side effects is super strength and you have to lift heavy boxes of ingredients for the drinks. Because, let me tell you, the drinks you make are not regular stuff.

You specialize in a very complex form of beverages, with basic color code names, but with a flawless, delicious, magnificent taste. At least to those who are meant for.

You see, customers here are very unique, and many have tried to eat you several times before you made it clear that you were not on the menu. They learned to not underestimate your skills manouvering a broom.

Anyway, today is a specially slow day. Not even Gary —a cultist of the highest ranks, who loves his double shot 'blue' coffee— has passed by yet and you can't help but wonder what or who held him back. Though your inquiry doesn't last long, when you hear voices outside and the approach of hurried steps.

It's almost nightfall and it starts to get chilly when you get ready for yet another endless night shift. You find it odd that other people aside from Gary would swing by the shop at this hour, but well, it is your job to serve them after all, and so you tighten your apron and ready your notepad.

Like i've said before you've seen a lot of not so ordinary stuff, and when an uncommonly tall —and absolutely gorgeous— lady along with three younger, shorter women wearing at least 10 layers of cozy clothes walk in you're absolutely unfazed and instead welcome them with the brightest smile you can muster.

"Hi! Welcome to Itsy Bitchy Spider, home of the best coffee in all 24 miles around. What can i get for you today?" You say, bringing the women's attention to you.

The tall lady seems a little thrown off by your warm welcoming. Or by the weird name of the franchise, or perhaps because she wasn't expecting a fragile-looking human to be behind the counter, who knows, but she usher one of the younger girls —a brunette one, who wears a creepy but charming smile peeking from under a thick scarf— towards the counter and clears her throat. "Hello, yes, my daughter got into a little bit of a situation earlier and she has to clean herself up. We're on our way to a very important meeting and she has to be presentable."

It's only now when you notice that said daughter has bloodied clothes, and when she lifts her head you can see that there's blood dripping from her chin too. But again, not the weirdest.

"Sure ma'am," You say with a smile, wich has her giving you a curious look. "the bathroom is on that black door over there." You point and the girl goes on her way, almost skipping. Kind of adorable, you think, like a small child would be, except much older and dangerous. "So, is the cult holding a meeting? That'd explain why Gary hasn't come by." You say casually. The woman is about to answer when another uh, you suppose is a daughter too, suddenly points at the pastries countertop.

"What's that?" A redhead girl asks. She looks excited and genuinely curious about a colorful piece of a cake. You don't make them, and honestly you don't want to know what's in them, but you know they're suitable for any kind of customer that walks in, so you pull out a piece and arrange it on a plate, decorating it with red syrup, the red syrup.

"Try it, it's on the house." You wink at her while sliding the plate towards her and she looks at you like you just handed her a priceless jewel.

"Really?" She says, but is more a formality since she's already pulling the plate closer. "Look Bela! Look what i got!"

"No, Daniela you shouldn't eat that. Your tummy will hurt, you know this." The tall lady says as she grabs the plate and pull it out of Daniela's grasp, which is easy given her height. "We're sorry, but we can't take this. We have a very strict diet." She hands the plate back to you.

You smile and gently take the plate away, aware of the sad puppy eyes the redhead is giving you. You discreetly, almost as if it wasn't your intention, you put the plate within her reach and keep talking. You pretend not to notice when the girl sneakily grabs the plate and runs back to her sister to share her prize.

"Ma'am, i assure you it is perfectly safe. You're not from around here, are you? Well, let me get you acquainted with the place." Not wasting any time you quickly prepare a concoction of 'red' coffee and top it with regular whipped cream while the lady's gaze is fixed on every move. "Here, try this."

"Try what?" The dark haired girl has returned from the bathroom all freshened up and looks curiously to the tall glass you slide on the counter. "Oooh, that looks nice!"

"It is nice. It's one of the house's specials. We call it 'red coffee' though it's up to you discover if you like it."

"Cassandra, i don't think we should..." The lady seems hesitant, but when you rise the glass as close as you can to her face and she takes a whiff you can clearly see her pupils dilate. "What... is that?" She asks, breathless, as if she's just found something she craved for so long and didn't even know it.

You smirk, knowing that you guessed correctly about what would work on her. "Why don't you take a sip and find out?"

"Mother, i think you should give it a try." The blonde girl, the one who hadn't said a word since she first entered says. You notice that there's some cake frosting right on the corner of her smiling lips.

"Perhaps i should listen to you, Bela. Let's see, shall we?" The mother takes the glass from your hand, tiny in comparasion to hers, and she guides the brim of the cup to her red lips. She cautiously takes a sip and as soon as the liquid touches her tongue and she tastes, the drink is downed in seconds.

"So, what's the veredict? You like it?" You say as you put the lid on the last of another three cups of the same drink that you finished making while the cup on the lady's hand was being emptied, ready to hand over to the girls.

"It's exquisite..." She says, and you can see the awe on her face. "How?"

"Well, that's a secret, isn't it? You can come by whenever you like, we're open all day, every day." You look behind the four women and spot a grumpy looking man wearing sunglasses and a hat just outside in the parking lot. Odd when there's no sunlight to protect his eyes from, but you don't judge. "Looks like someone is looking for you." You point past them to the guy.

And sure enough:

"Alcina! Where the fuck are you? Miranda is waiting for us, we're late!"

The annoyed expression on the lady's —Alcina, now you know— face almost make you laugh, but you don't want to be disrespectful and instead you just cough a little. "Looks like we have to part ways." She says, putting the glass on the counter delicately. Her eyes are glued to your own and you can see fire in them. "For now."

The lady turns around and walks away with determination and elegance in her stride and behind her the daughters follow with the grace of young gazelles. One of them, the blonde girl turns her head enough to see you over her shoulder and waves goodbye. You wave back.

"Have a safe trip!" You say. Much, much later you'll call this 'day one', when Alcina first entered your life, but for now:

Alcina... The name feels sweet like honey in your mouth and you smile. You can't wait to see her again.

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

@thejennystuttle here it is the first one i finished. I got carried away, srry. Hope u like it?

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If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

[bokettochild]

Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers

Sooo.....

I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)

Mr. Hero had nice hands.

Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.

Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.

Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.

And at times like this, he got to actually see it.

“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.

He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.

Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.

Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”

“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”

“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.

“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”

“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”

“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”

“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”

“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.

“That doesn’t count!”

“It does for me.”

“When did you last bathe? With soap?”

Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.

A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”

“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”

It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.

Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.

He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.

“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”

The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.

He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.

To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!

“Mr. Hero, I still-”

“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”

Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.

Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...

It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.

It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.

Perhaps though, it wasn’t all that common for the others.

“Vet?”

Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.

“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”

The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”

“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”

“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”

“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”

“Don’t sit on my legs.”

Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.

Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.

The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.

Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.

“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.

Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”

Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”

It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.

Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.

The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.

There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.

For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.

Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.

Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.

Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.

He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.

Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.

“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.

(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)

He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.

And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.

Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.

When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”

Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.

When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”

Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.

[chainhead]

ink

leon has tattoos. ethan was never informed.

leon/ethan. mild swearing. smug leon, done-with-life ethan. fluffy!

It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.

Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.

Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.

No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.

How far up do they go?

Does he have more?

When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?

"Ethan?"

The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.

Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."

"I'll say."

Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.

Ethan frowns. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?

No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…

"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."

Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."

Ethan wants to die.

"It's just…"

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of red wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.

Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.

"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.

More silence.

Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."

Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.

"Yeah."

"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork. 

"Yeah."

"Ah." 

Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…

Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. 

"And...?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."

Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs.

There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.

Because, sadly, he cannot do that.

"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's uncovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"

Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"

Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."

The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?

Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.

Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.

Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?

"Uh…"

"You just wanted to hold hands?"

"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."

"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Near-sighted?"

"Far-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.

However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.

"I see." Ethan nods, smiling faintly as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."

Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"

Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"

There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so intense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.

"Ethan," Leon coos.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. 

"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."

There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.

Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.

"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."

"Leon—"

"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.

Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"

"It's... unprofessional," Ethan breathes.

"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"

Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.

"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."

"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.

The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."

Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.

"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Still distracted?" He whispers.

Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.

"You…"

"Mm?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."

Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Dragons Can Be Nice

Prompts: Hello, first off I adore your writing, your stories are among my favorites for this fandom. I have a prompt (but you can feel free to ignore). Can you write some hurt/comfort for character!Thomas? Maybe with him getting stuck/hurt in the Imagination? - anon

Okay I’m not sure about the context but I saw an ask you answered about “what are the dragons names” or something, and I got a flashbulb image of the sides finding a bunch of baby dragons. Just a lot of fluff and baby dragons. Big happy dlampr (platonic/romantic/weird grey area) with a bunch of baby dragons. Janus bleping at the baby dragons. If in canonverse, the imagination is overrun with baby dragons and c!t has some dreams featuring baby dragons. Just. Baby dragons. - anon

*pokes head out* did someone say dragon fluff?

Read on Ao3

Warnings: mild supernatural horror, like really really mild

Pairings: this is platonic all the way down, babes

Word Count: 4481

In a lot of stories, dragons are mean. They kidnap princesses, they hoard gold, they kill knights, they destroy towns. They are evil and scary and not at all what you'd like to run into on a dark night, on your own, far away from help. Witches are very much the same. Dragon witches, then, must be the worst.

But maybe there can be nice dragons, too.

When Thomas was little, he used to spend much more time in the Imagination. Which was good! He likes seeing the things that Roman makes, Roman is really good at his job. His favorite is the big forest because the trees are so tall they look like they go on forever. Logan says they don’t and Logan is really smart but sometimes it looks that way. Roman likes leading Thomas around the forest on their adventures because then they’ll always run into the others too!

Virgil likes sitting near the caves because it’s quieter there and he can play with the rocks. Sometimes he’ll find Virgil near the river. The river wears the rocks nice and smooth and they look so shiny when they come out of the water. Sometimes if it’s really hot he can get Virgil to throw him in the water. Apparently, kids are supposed to like being thrown at things? Logan had some explanation for it but Thomas doesn’t remember.

Janus also likes being in the caves. Janus is…scary sometimes. Thomas has to think really hard when he’s around Janus. And not like how Logan is really smart and makes Thomas smarter by talking and teaching him, but Janus is…tricky. He likes Janus, but sometimes Janus makes his head hurt. He has this smile that he does that makes Thomas feel really small. Patton says Janus cares about him and he wants to believe Patton but sometimes it feels weird. He did tell Janus that one time when he accidentally got lost and started crying when he didn’t know where to go. Janus found him and smiled that smile and it made him cry more so he stopped. He was really nice when Thomas explained that he was lost and scared and cuddled him until Roman came to find him. Janus is a lot nicer after that.

Logan doesn’t always come on their adventures. Roman says that’s ‘cause Logan is boring but that’s not true! (Thomas is pretty sure Roman doesn’t actually think that Logan is boring, he just likes to say it because it makes Logan tease him back.) Logan is really cool, he knows so many things and he’s really good at what he does. When he comes on their adventures, he likes to be the royal advisor. He says that’s the person that tells the prince what to do. Or sometimes he likes to come along to observe the plants. He does experiments in his room that he doesn’t let Thomas see all the time because it’s dangerous. But he does let Thomas help! That’s always nice.

Patton stays home when they adventure most of the time unless they’re going on a picnic. Picnics days are the best days because Roman always makes sure the weather is really nice. Well, except that one time where there was a really far away thunderstorm. Logan said it was because the forest needed a drink which is fair, but the sky had turned purple and it was a bit colder. But then the sunflowers had come out and it was really pretty. But when they’re not on picnics, Patton makes dinner for them so it’s ready when they come back.

Roman has a brother! He does other things in the Imagination, Thomas doesn’t really know what. His name is Remus, and sometimes he comes to play the bad guy when Roman has an adventure. Watching them fight is really cool and it’s Thomas’s job to sneak around while Roman distracts Remus so they can trap him! Remus isn’t really a bad guy, he just likes to mess with his brother sometimes. Thomas gets it. Remus is really good at making sure Thomas is okay, even when he’s being the bad guy. Even when Thomas gets captured he’s really nice. One time he scooped Thomas up when Roman was playing prince with the villagers and carried him away to be ‘kidnapped’ except they just ate ice cream until they got stomach aches. Patton wasn’t very happy that they ruined their dinner appetites but Remus said they just filled up their dessert bellies first so it was fine.

Thomas likes going into the Imagination but he’s always supposed to be with someone. It’s normally Roman, sometimes it’s Logan, sometimes it’s Remus. They’re normally free the most and know the Imagination the best. But sometimes none of them are free and he can’t find anyone else. So he…sneaks in.

It’s fine! He doesn’t go far! He just…sometimes he wants to say hi to the villagers. They’re really nice too and they don’t tell on him when he sneaks in and he’s not supposed to be there. One time he got an entire loaf of bread all to himself and ate it in four big bites.

So he goes in the big red door and just starts walking. He knows where he’s going to get to the pond and he’s not going far. It’s just over the hill. So he walks over the hill. The grass is so green and tall here. He gets to the top of the hill and looks down.

That’s weird. The pond isn’t here.

He shrugs and starts down toward the tall grove of trees. It’s probably just inside the forest and he forgot. The trees are still really tall. So tall he can barely tell which one is the top of which trunk. He pats the trunks as he walks past, saying hello to each tree. When the trees start to grow closer together, he stops patting them, using his hands to push his way around them.

It’s getting darker. Logan says that’s because when the trees grow close together, their leaves form a layer called the canopy, which blocks out a lot of light. Thomas keeps going, frowning as it starts to get colder. Maybe he should’ve brought a jacket.

It’s really dark. Thomas is starting to wish he’d maybe not gone into the forest. Maybe he should’ve just sat on the hill where he could still see the door. But the pond can’t be that much further, he can get there. And then he won’t be scared.

Not that he’s scared!

It’s really cold too. Maybe he should’ve brought a coat. He shivers as he pushes his way around another tree. It’s getting so dark he can’t see very far in front of his face. He almost walks into a tree.

…okay, maybe he should turn around and go back.

He turns around.

And around.

And around.

The trees all look the same.

Which way did he come from?

He…he doesn’t know.

Wait, which way was he going?

Thomas spins in the darkness of the trees, searching for something to tell him where he’s supposed to go.

Something snaps.

He freezes, eyes darting around. He can’t see anything.

The forest is silent. Not even the wind makes a noise. His breathing starts to pick up.

Leaves rustle to his left. His head jerks around, straining to see. There’s nothing but the still trunks, nothing but the quiet shifting sound of twigs.

M-maybe if he just picks somewhere to go, eventually he’ll make it out of the forest. And then he can get someone to help him figure out where to go. It’s gonna be fine. He has a plan, he knows what he’s going to do.

The second he takes a step forward, something cracks loudly in the trees.

Roman said that there were big animals in the forest. Remus said there were monsters in the forest. Logan said there was no such thing as monsters.

But Logan isn’t here.

Thomas turns around and starts walking the other way. He’s not going to go toward the big sound. He’s going to go this way instead because that’s his decision, not anyone else’s. And that’s what he wants to do.

The cracking behind him gets louder.

Roman said there was something that he fights that Thomas isn’t allowed to help him fight. It’s too dangerous. It’s big.

The thing behind him sounds big.

Thomas starts walking faster.

Roman said that it wasn’t something Thomas had to worry about.

Another twig snaps and it sounds closer.

Thomas starts running.

Remus said that it was really big. Bigger than the castle Roman built. Remus said it was really scary. That it had sharp claws and big teeth and—and—

Thomas runs around the trees as the snapping and crackling get closer and closer. His chest hurts from breathing so heavily. But he can’t stop. It’s getting closer.

He wants Roman. He wants Remus. He wants someone.

Please, someone, come help.

Behind him, he hears a snarl.

“The Dragon Witch,” Remus says softly, as they wait for Roman to come rescue Thomas, “she’s nasty. Like…nastier than me nasty.”

“But you’re not nasty, Remus, not really.”

“You’re sweet, you little sewer rat, but I mean it. She’s really not nice.” Remus looks at him and Thomas scoots backward. Remus doesn’t have his pretend bad guy face on, he looks really serious. “If you ever think she might be close to you, run. Okay?”

“O-okay.”

Thomas runs.

He runs faster and harder than he ever has in his life and behind him, he thinks he can hear the slither of scales and the scrape of claws as it chases after him. He thinks he can smell the smoke curling out of its nostrils as it finds him in the forest. He thinks he can feel the hot breath of a drooling mouth on his back.

He runs.

He trips.

He falls.

No, no! No, no, no, he has to run, he has to go—he has to get out of here, the—the Dragon Witch is going to get him, he doesn’t want the Dragon Witch to get him, he—oh, why didn’t he just stay out of the Imagination?

And why did they have to watch Sleeping Beauty for movie night?

The memory of Maleficent as the giant dragon on the cliff, breathing fire at Prince Phillip as he tried to fight it off fills his head and Thomas whimpers, curling into a tight ball and pressing himself against a boulder. If he’s really quiet, maybe—maybe it won’t find him.

Fear grips his chest and he curls tighter, maybe that will keep it inside. The rock starts to hurt where it presses against his skin. It’s cold.

He thinks he can hear the Dragon Witch getting closer.

Don’t find me, don’t find me, please don’t find me.

“Thomas? Thomas, where are you?”

Thomas’s breath catches in his throat. Is that—is that Roman?

“Thomas?” It is Roman! “Thomas, it’s dark out, I need you to help me find you, where are you?”

“R-Roman?”

“Thomas!”

In a blur of red and white, Thomas sees Roman rushing out of the trees, looking frantically around for him. He stands shakily, crying out as he leans against the boulder.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Roman pants, smiling as he hurries over to him, “you’re alright, good, come here—“

“I’m—I’m sorry, Roman, I—“

“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart, you’re okay, that’s what’s important,” Roman coos as he scoops Thomas into his arms, “come on, let’s get you back home.”

And now that Roman is here and he’s carrying Thomas there’s no way the Dragon Witch could be here. Because Roman is here and Roman will keep him safe. The fear in his chest suddenly makes him really cold. He buries his face in the crook of Roman’s neck and holds on tight, stammering out another apology as he starts to cry.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he hushes, “you’re safe now, I’ve got you. Come on, we’re almost there, the others are worried.”

He feels bad, he didn’t want to make everyone worried.

“None of that,” comes the gentle chide, “we’re always going to worry about you, you’re our Thomas. Let’s get you back safe and we’ll get you something to eat, hmm?”

“O-okay.”

He hooks his chin over Roman’s shoulder and holds on, letting the soft swaying of Roman’s walk soothe some of his fear away. Sooner than he expected, he feels the air change from the chill of the Imagination to the warmth of the apartment.

“Thank goodness, you found him.”

“Is he alright? Is he hurt?”

“Guys, be quiet, he’s tired.”

Thomas cracks an eye open and accidentally makes eye contact with Janus. He flinches away and cuddles closer to Roman.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Roman soothes, “you’re safe now.”

“He’s hurt,” Logan says softly, somewhere out of sight, “Remus, can you go get the first aid kit?”

“On it.”

“Patton, I don’t believe Thomas has eaten recently, you and Virgil—“

“We’re going.”

“We’ve got some pasta left.”

“Thomas?” Logan lays a warm hand on his back. “Can you hear me?”

Thomas nods, his cheek rubbing against the trim on Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman has to go close the door to the Imagination and I’m going to take a look at your ankle. He’s going to have to put you down, alright?”

“Janus,” Roman murmurs, “here—“

“I’ll take him.”

Thomas isn’t proud of the way he clings onto Roman tightly when he tries to set him down.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s just Janus.”

He bites his lip as Roman eases him into Janus’s arms, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don’t,” comes the quiet voice, as a gloved hand pats his cheek, “you’ll hurt yourself, sweetie.”

Thomas opens his eyes and Janus lifts his chin, smiling softly when he sees Thomas’s eyes are wet with tears.

“Hello, sweetie,” he murmurs, cupping his cheek and pulling him closer on his lap, “just sit with me for a moment, hmm? Logan’s going to have a look at you and then we’ll get you something to eat.”

“A-are you mad?”

Janus tilts his head. “Should we be mad?”

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

“I didn’t ask that,” he corrects softly, his hand still gentle on Thomas’s face, “I asked if we should be mad.”

Thomas gulps. “I…I went into the Imagination when I wasn’t supposed to. I did something you told me not to do.”

“You did.”

“I…I messed up.”

“You did,” he repeats, softer this time, “and then what happened?”

“I—I got lost and it was dark and it got really cold and I thought something was chasing me so I—I ran away and then I fell and it—it hurt and I—I—I’m sorry—“

“You’re scaring him, Janus,” Logan interrupts, sitting down on the other end of the couch.

“Hush, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, pressing a kiss to Thomas’s forehead and pulling him close for a cuddle, “let Logan look at your ankle.”

Logan’s warm hands are practiced as they check his leg. It hurts a little but he can still move it fine. He can’t stop looking warily at Janus, though.

“He’s not going to calm down until you tell him we aren’t mad,” Logan says patiently, wrapping an ice pack around his ankle.

“W-what?”

Janus kisses his forehead again. “No, sweetie, we’re not mad,” he says softly, “it’s true, you shouldn’t have gone in there alone, but you know that and nothing extremely bad happened.”

Thomas gulps.

Janus frowns, pulling back a little. “Thomas? Did something happen?”

“Janus, don’t scare him.”

Janus closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m not mad, Thomas. But you should tell us what happened.”

“There,” Logan says, patting Thomas’s knee, “all better. I’m going to go put the first aid kit away, I’ll be back.”

He passes Roman on the way out. Roman smiles and comes over to crouch down next to the couch, ruffling Thomas’s hair.

“Better?”

“Mhm.”

“Then why do you still look like someone told you Disney is never making another movie?”

Thomas shifts in Janus’s arms. “I…I thought the Dragon Witch was chasing me.”

Roman inhales sharply. “The Dragon Witch?”

Thomas nods, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes again, only for Janus to pull him into a proper hug, tucking his face into the softest part of his shoulder and rubbing his back firmly.

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” he whispers, “you’re safe, it’s alright, I’m sorry, that must’ve been so scary.”

Thomas clings onto Janus and cries. Roman’s hand lands in his hair after a moment, stroking gently through the strands and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he hears, “you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re alright, we’ve got you now.”

“Was--was the Dragon With re—really after me?”

“No, sweetheart, you know I’d never let that happen to you. She’s far away, far, far away, near where Remus’s side of the Imagination is. There’s no way she would be able to get to you, sweetheart, never in a million years. We’ll keep you safe, you know we will.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise.”

Thomas holds tightly to Janus’s cloak as he turns back around to look at Roman. Roman smiles and ruffles his hair again.

“You still look afraid, sweetie,” Janus says quietly, “is there something else?”

“I jus’—the—dragons are scary,” Thomas mumbles, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. “I don’t…don’t wanna have nightmares.”

Roman makes a soft noise of understanding. “Dragons don’t all have to be scary,” he says softly, “there can be plenty of nice dragons too.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” He turns to see Logan coming back in. “Logan, there can be nice dragons too, right?”

Logan blinks. “Yes, theoretically, there can be both nice dragons and dragons that aren’t nice. Why do you ask?”

His gaze lands on Thomas and his face softens. Logan’s really smart.

“Ah, I see.” He comes back to sit on the couch. “Most dragon young are quite nice.”

“They are?”

“In most versions of dragon mythology,” Logan says softly, “dragons are born from eggs like most reptiles are. The mother lays her eggs in her nest, often in a cave or somewhere else dark and safe, and guards them until they hatch.”

He cups his hands together in front of him.

“Most of the pups are about this big when they’re first born and their scales still haven’t hardened yet. The scales harden after about a week, once the dragons’ body has finished solidifying.”

“Solid—what?”

“Solidifying. An egg is only so big, little one, fitting an entire dragon pup inside one is no small feat. Do you remember trying to stuff all the LEGOs back into the bag they came out of?”

“And missing like…four,” Roman huffs, “yes, Logan, we remember.”

“If the LEGOs could bend—which they can’t, so don’t ask,” Logan says, narrowing his eyes at Roman, “it would be easier. Dragon scales don’t harden fully until they’re out of the egg and they never need to go back in.”

“So…they’re…soft?”

“Smooth, perhaps, I don’t know about soft.” Logan shifts to ease a cramp in his leg. “Dragon pups are also very curious, according to most of the literature surrounding them, they love exploring. From most of the stories, they are very friendly as well.”

“See?” Roman pats his shoulder. “Nice dragons.”

“Nice dragons,” Thomas repeats, his eyes starting to droop.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet, sweetie, let’s get you something to eat.”

Thomas sits at the table with everyone else, eats his food, and lets Remus scoop him up and carry him to bed once it’s clear he won’t stay awake through dessert.

“There we go,” Remus says softly, getting him tucked into bed, “all better now. Your ankle okay?”

“Mhm.” Thomas blinks sleepily up at him. “Tired.”

“Well, yeah, I bet.” Remus pats his head. “You go to sleep now, okay?”

“R-Remus?”

“What’s up, little sewer rat?”

“C-Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

Remus softens, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Still scared, huh? Hey,” he murmurs when Thomas nods, his cheeks burning, “you’re okay, it’s okay. I’ll stay. Nothing’ll get you while I’m here.”

“Promise?”

“I’m the only bad guy allowed to play with you,” Remus says firmly, “you go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

Thomas closes his eyes as he feels Remus shift on the end of the bed. The weight is a comfort. And Remus is right, nothing can get him while Remus is here.

Logan’s words drift back to him as he starts to fall asleep. Little baby dragons. Curious baby dragons. Nice baby dragons.

Maybe he can dream of those.

————————————

There is a pond in the Imagination that is halfway between the border to Remus’s side and the castle on Roman’s side. The water is crystal clear and several lily pads float in the center of the water. Trees let their flower petals drift down to land in the water, sending little ripples bouncing back and forth.

In the middle of the pond one morning is a giant nest.

Roman finds it, walking through the Imagination on his way to meet with Remus. He pauses, tilts his head, and begins to call it toward him. Perhaps one of the birds accidentally forgot to secure their nest properly and it blew into the pond. As it drifts closer to him, he frowns.

This is much bigger than most bird nests, even John Feathers’s nest over on the mountains. He keeps pulling it closer until it bumps up against the shore. He crouches down and peers inside.

His eyes widen.

The inside of the nest is lined with moss, the soft green color coming through the shiny insides of egg shards strewn about the branches. They catch the light and shine brightly, almost blinding him, at least until they’re trodden upon and break up even more.

And crawling about, sniffing eagerly at the branches, the moss, the air, and his fingers, are tiny dragon pups.

One of them, a brave little one with red ridges across its brow and a golden sheen to its scales, scurries up the side of the nest and noses at his hand. He turns it over, mystified, as it begins to sniff his palm. It sets one clawed foot inside, then another, then another, until it stands perfectly in his hand. It raises its little head and chirps at him. Roman blinks and slowly lifts his hand, watching as the dragon pup chirps again, happily this time, as it spreads its wings and stretches.

“Ro-Bro! You’re late, what’re you—“ Remus’s delighted gasp comes from his left— “you found babies!”

Indeed, another one of the pups with a black streak down its wings scrambles out of the nest and scurries over the rocks to Remus, clawing its way up his pants to nibble excitedly at the white streak in his hair. Remus laughs, catching the pesky little pup around the middle and setting it on top of his head.

“I love them!”

“I can see that,” Roman chuckles, the dragon pup in his hand making the jump to his shoulder, “I think it likes you too.”

“Where did they come from?”

“I think Thomas is dreaming.” As if in confirmation, the dragon pup lets out a rumble and nuzzles his shoulder. “Yeah? Are you dreams, little ones?”

Another purr and a series of excited chirps from the nest.

“Well, we’ve gotta get the others!” And before Roman can say anything, Remus has summoned the other Sides into the Imagination. “Look!”

Patton squeals and rushes for the nest, despite Logan’s quick protest of not scaring the babies.

“They’re dreams, Logan,” Roman says quickly, “they’re harmless.”

“I see.”

Patton, of course, already has two in his lap and is cooing over them as they chirp and sing and twine together in his lap. Logan rolls his eyes fondly and squats down next to the nest. One of the dragon pups immediately scurries up and stands on its hind legs, leaning up to sniff at his nose.

“Hello,” Logan murmurs, “you’re very interesting.”

The dragon clicks back, seemingly as interested in Logan as Logan is in it. It flaps its wings a few times, hovering in the air, before landing carefully on Logan’s knee. It scratches lightly at the fabric of his jeans.

“Here…” Logan sits down as Roman bites back a smile. “There, is that better?”

The dragon chirps, waddling forward to take his tie in its mouth and tug lightly.

“That’s my tie, little one.”

Virgil hides a snort at watching Logan and the dragon pup examine each other, before his attention is caught by a tiny squeak from under the nest. He frowns, leaning down, expression softening when he sees a dragon pup hiding out of sight.

“Hey, there, bud,” he says softly, “you okay down there?”

The dragon pup flinches a little, cowering against the nest.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” He slowly offers a hand. “Why don’t you come out of there? That’s can’t be comfortable.”

The little pup sniffs at his hand.

“See? I’m not gonna hurt you. You can come out, it’s okay.” Virgil takes a seat on the ground and plucks a berry from a nearby bush. “You hungry?”

“Dragons are carnivores, Virgil.”

“Well, maybe these ones can also eat berries.”

“Maybe.”

Indeed, as the little dragon pup starts to crawl warily forward, taking the berry in its mouth, it seems to like it. Virgil smiles as the dragon crawls into his lap and curls protectively around the berry.

“See?”

“Alright, perhaps they do like berries.”

“You should write that down in your—“ Virgil cuts himself off before swatting Roman’s shoulder— “look at J.”

“What?”

“Shh, look at J!”

Roman turns, as does Logan.

Janus is sprawled out on one of the big flat rocks near the pond with at least three of the pups on his stomach. One of them has the cloak flopped over it like a blanket, kneading it with its talons. One of them is completely splayed out, wings wide, rolling back and forth on the soft ruffles.

And one of them is staring at Janus with its tongue hanging out.

Janus’s tongue is poking out too.

“Aww! Janus is blepping!”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Am not!”

See? There are nice dragons after all.

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[allthewhumpygoodness]

They wake up tired. But it hardly matters; they went to bed late, got up early for school, and with all the work they’ve got to do they’ve been stressed enough to wear them down more often than usual. It’s a cold day, they can feel it even from inside. They bundle up in more layers than they probably need, and only have a small bit to eat before hurrying out the door, ready for their usual bus rid to the collage. 

Their morning classes go by in a blur, between the dim florescent lights making their head ache and their already foggy brain they find it hard not to fall asleep as the professor talks. On top of that they’re still cold, despite wearing most of their layers in class. It would be so easy to curl up in a ball of warm clothing with their head on their desk and shut their eyes, but they have to keep up with their work.

By lunch hour they’ve started shivering. It’s not just the sweatshirt and winter coat now, but their scarf and even their hat. One of their classmates - all right, almost close enough to them to be called a friend - sits next to them in the break room and laughs at them. “Aren’t you hot?” they say.

“Dunno. Maybe.” They should be, and maybe they are, but if they remove even one article of clothing they feel a persistent chill across their skin. They shiver harder, hunching down and looking over their notes yet again.

“Can I have a chip?” Their friend has been inching steadily closer to their bag of potato chips they planned to eat ten minutes ago. 

“Go ahead,” they say. Despite barely eating breakfast, they aren’t hungry. They have a sip of water though, and that feels good. But it makes them realize for the first time how scratchy their throat feels. Wonderful. Another thing to worry about. They cough a little, and go back to their notes. 

In the afternoon they sit at the back of the class, huddled in their layers and barely concentrating on what the professor is droning on about. Everything hurts, maybe it’s from shivering so hard, and they feel like their muscles are being shredded to pieces with a fork. The cough shows up more frequently now, they try to keep it quiet for the sake of their classmates but sometimes it’s impossible not to let it out. There’s an ache behind their eyes that only just goes away if they close them, and they’re too tired to care anymore so they do, resting their head in their hand.

It shouldn’t be like this. They’re a good student, they can’t turn into one of those kids who falls asleep in class, even if they’re tired or bored, they can’t just give up so easily. After another round of half-stifled coughs they feel a hand tap their elbow and turn to see their friend beside them, looking concerned. “Are you okay?” they ask.

“Fine. I’m just tired.” Their vision swims a little and they shut their eyes again, willing the black spots in front of their eyes to go away.

“You don’t look good,” their friend says. They don’t feel good, either, it’s taken this long and this much misery for them to put it into words, but they really, really don’t.

Another voice cuts through the fog in their brain. The professor. “Are you doing all right back there?”

Everyone is staring at them. They can feel themself flushing red, it’s bad enough that they feel like they’re about to pass out, now they’re the center of attention at the worst time in the world and they can’t handle it.

“I’m fine,” they say hoarsely, praying they’ll all just leave them alone.

“They’re not,” that’s their friend, saving them and humiliating them all at once. 

“Do you need to step outside?” says the professor. They’re in the middle of shaking their swimming head when their friend interrupts with, “yeah, I think they do. I’ll take them, be back in a minute.”

They don’t know how they stand up, but the next second they’re leaning heavily on their friend’s arm and escaping the crowded classroom, face still burning with embarrassment.

Soon they’re outside, and their friend helps them sit against the wall, gently pushing their head between their knees. “You went so white in there, I thought you were going to faint.”

“I’m not,” they mutter into their knees, though they might not be far away. 

Their classmate’s hand touches their cheek, it’s only then they realize how cool it is, and how hot their head feels compared to the rest of their icy body. “You feel really hot...oh honey, why didn’t you say you were sick?”

They don’t know how to answer, they didn’t know they were sick until now, but it makes sense. 

“Which pocket is your water bottle in?” 

They frown, it’s hard to remember at the moment. “Second one,” they answer. But their bag isn’t out with them so why - ?

They feel a gentle pat on their back. “I’ll be back in a second, you stay there.”

They want to protest, but it’s all they can do to stop from collapsing even sitting down, so they focus on that instead.

Soon their friend is back, and they slowly raise their head to look at them. The floor under them rocks uncomfortably and there’s a weird shimmer around the walls. They blink hard, but it doesn’t go away. Next to them, their friend has brought their bag and fished out their water bottle, which they gratefully accept with a shaking hand. They take a sip, but all it does is confirm how much their throat hurts.

“You’ve got to go home,” their friend says. “You’re really sick, there’s no way you can keep yourself here.”

“I can’t go,” they reply, panic starting to rise in their chest. “I’ve got so much to do, I’ll never be able to finish all my assignments if I leave, I’m going to fail everything - “ And unable to stop themself, they start to cry. They feel their friend’s hand rubbing their back, hear their soft reassurances, but it’s not enough. Everything hurts and the tears aren’t helping, but they can’t stop no matter how much they try. 

Eventually they’ve cried themself into a hiccupping silence. They don’t want to move, wish they could just stay slumped against the wall and their friend’s arm for the rest of their life, but far too soon they feel a tap on their shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got to get you home. I’ll walk you downstairs.”

They have to shake their head to clear it. “No...you go back to class, I’m okay...”

“Hush. Can you stand up?”

They can, but their vision swims and soon they’re clinging to their friend’s arm with their eyes shut tight. “That’s it,” they hear, “hold on to me, we’ll get there.”

They keep their eyes closed and try to distance themself from the present as they’re supported down the stairs and to the front doors, trying not to feel the aches all over their body and how much their exhaustion seems to drag their bones into the floor. How is it that they feel so terrible when they woke up just fine that very morning? 

A rush of cold air hits their face when they step outside, both soothing on their too-warm cheeks and horribly uncomfortable on the rest of their body. They manage to stay standing for long enough to sit down on a bumper at the edge of the parking lot, still shivering in the depths of their many layers. Their bag is plopped down next to them - they hadn’t realized their friend brought it out for them.

Their friend sits down beside them, a hand on their shoulder. “I don’t want you trying to get home on your own...if you want I can drive you back.”

They shake their head firmly - this person they don’t even know that well outside of school has already done far too much for them today, they can’t let them miss their own class on top of that.

“Fine, if you’re sure. Is there someone I can call for you?”

Their first answer would be no, but then they remember that one person. A mutual friend, they suppose they could be called, and they never want to bother them but now...if anyone is going to help them...as little though they want to admit it, they don’t know if they can make it home by themself. 

Their friend gives them a knowing look when they let them know, and starts pulling out their phone and punching in numbers. It’s embarrassing, and they hate the attention, hate that they’re going to bother yet another person with their stupid problems. But at the same time a tiny bit of tension that’s settled along their shoulders lessens. They’re going home, to their own warm bed. It’s all they want.

“I’ve called them,” their friend says. “Want me to wait with you?”

They nod, unable to keep pretending they don’t need them. Their friend goes around them, pulling them in close. “Okay. You’ll be home soon, make sure you get lots of rest and drink plenty of fluids, all right? Take care of yourself.”

They nod again, wearily. Already they can feel their consciousness slipping away on their friend’s shoulder, they know if they fall asleep they’ll have to be woken up once their ride gets there and hate it, but for now they can’t help themself. It’s been an exhausting day, and it’s not even over, full of trying so hard to pretend they’re fine, but now they’re about to go home and let someone else help them for a change.

So they stop trying.

[after-witch]

Title: Oh Honey Honey ('Oh Sugar Sugar' Part 2) (Yandere L Lawliet x Reader)

Title: Oh Honey Honey ('Oh Sugar Sugar' Part 2) (Yandere L Lawliet x Reader)

Synopsis: The newest regular to frequent your little pastry shop is a little unusual, but his appreciation of your craft is a welcome distraction from the terrifying suspicion that you may have a stalker.

notes: yandere, stalker behavior

You waved cheerfully at a little boy through the glass window of your store, as his grandfather gently urged him along the street; he was maybe 2 or 3, and had practically shrieked in joy when his grandfather bought him the biggest, cutest looking cupcake you'd had in the display that morning.

With the store empty for the moment, you turned back to your daily specialty case and decided to give it a quick cleaning. A regular, the older gentlemen who'd recently revealed that all the treats were actually for an associate, was due to arrive soon, and he typically bought up most of your special case. You leaned over the front counter, grabbed a rag and a bottle of cleaning solution, and gave the glass a quick spritz. You were humming to yourself when you heard the door bells jingling.

You turned, smile ready, expecting the older gentlemen--and almost flinched in surprise. It was not your regular, but someone new. He had lanky dark hair and wore an unassuming, casual outfit consisting of a white shirt and jeans. 

You swiftly stepped behind the register. “Can I help you today, sir?” 

"Yes, in fact," the man said. "I'm here to give my compliments in person." 

Confusion must have registered on your face, for he continued. "I normally have an associate buy my pastries for me. But I wanted to see your shop for myself, so..."

"Oh!" 

You hadn't meant to say it out loud, but you couldn't help it; nor could you help the more genuine smile that you gave the man who'd bought hundreds of dollars worth of pastries in such a short time period. Baking was your passion--but it was your business, too, and you couldn't help but truly appreciate people who supported that business. "I'm so glad to finally meet you! Thank you for all your business."

You held out your hand jovially, and the man came forward to accept it with a low, firm and slightly awkward handshake. When he pulled away, he glanced at his hand for a moment, before returning his gaze back to you. You couldn't help but hope he was getting enough sleep.

"I should be thanking you," he said. "For all the pastries, I mean."

At that, you beamed. "Well! Let me show you what's in our special case today..."

**

You had a stalker. Well, maybe you had a stalker. You weren't quite sure. All you knew for sure was that something was... off, lately. At first, you attributed it to getting less sleep than normal. With your bakery busier than ever, thanks to your new regular and even a nice business contract supply 2 dozen breakfast muffins every morning, you weren't getting as much sleep. 

So it would only be normal, you thought, to be a little on edge. A little testy. But less sleep didn't account for the odd, creeping feeling that you were being watched, especially at night. You could have swore you heard strange sounds, too... whirring or clicks. Cameras? You didn't know.

Nor did a lack of sleep account for some things that had gone missing from your apartment. A favorite nightgown you liked to sleep in; a favorite mug. the berry-red one you’d gotten two Christmases ago; even, as you discovered one morning, a lingerie set that you'd tried on once and then been too embarrassed to wear again. Still, it was expensive and the thought that someone had taken it--and why someone would take it--made you feel sick.

To say that you were not your usual chipper self for the rest of the morning was an understatement. You did your best to smile for the customers that came in, but even they must have sensed something was wrong; you even got extra tips from a regular, an elderly woman who tut-tutted you and told you that you should consider taking a weekend off.

The thought was tempting, but you knew that with running a small business came sacrifices--including the inability to just "take off." Still, you thought, you could take a little nap. A short one, 25 minutes, tops. You didn't often temporarily close up shop for breaks, but it was quiet and you weren't likely to get too many sales before the lunch rush, anyway.

As you were about to flip the sign, however, a figure suddenly walked up to the door. You jumped, then internally scolded yourself for being ridiculous--it was just your regular, or "Ahh, Mr. Regular?," as he'd awkwardly suggested you call him when you’d asked for his name. It was odd, but, the man was also downing an exceptional amount of sugar while buying up entire cases worth of your goods on the regular, so it wasn't your place to judge.

You bit your cheek to suppress a sigh of frustration and opened the door, stepping back so he could come in.

"Oh," he said, "are you closing?"

You smiled, or tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything resembling your typical sweet countenance. "No, no, I was just going to close up for a nap... I mean a break." You shook your head. You shouldn't bother customers with talks about naps, it probably made you sound lazy.

He quirked his head slightly, staring at you almost intensely. "Yes..." he said softly, almost murmuring. "I see those circles under your eyes... you haven't been sleeping well."

The personal turn of the conversation made you feel awkward. You looked away, embarrassed. You hated the idea of customers seeing you as anything other than the cheery pastry shop lady, a source of sugar and sweetness and delicious goodies. "Um," you said, "I guess not, I've just been a little, you know--out of it. You know how things go."

You laughed, mirthless and empty, and gestured towards the case. "So, anyway. I actually don't have many special pastries today, I've been a little busy." You mentally slapped yourself for giving excuses, even bland ones, though it wasn't like you were lying. 

You'd woken up early so you could head into work and finish off some really nice specialty items you'd baked last night, but rummaging around your drawers for something to wear led you to realize the lingerie was missing, and you'd spent 2 hours drifting between panic and disgust.

But rather than walk towards the case and pick out today's purchases, your regular simply stood in front of you. Head slightly quirked still, eyes expressive--concerned, you thought, he looks concerned about me. 

You couldn't deny that a customer worrying about you brought up conflicting emotions; frustration, because you didn't want to mess with your public persona; and a warm mixture of comfort and flattery. Someone liked your pastries enough to care about you.

"Is everything all right?" He said, finally. "Are you feeling sick? Or is something else keeping you up?"

You stared, feeling lost for words. You didn't really know him, and you hadn’t even told your friends about your potential stalker. But the weight of the past few weeks, the build-up of fear and disgust and stress, seemed to push you down until you found yourself sliding into one of your cafe chairs. He followed suit, pulling his knees up until he practically crouched on the seat.

You hesitated. Should you really be telling him any of this? “I… don’t want to bother you with any of my personal problems.”

“It’s not bothering me. I’m curious,” he said, lightly.

You sighed. Here goes, you thought. “I… I have a stalker?” Your hesitancy quickly morphed into an awkward blurting. “I mean, I think I do. I’m not sure. It’s just the past few weeks. I keep hearing these weird noises. And I feel like I’m being watched.” You bit your lip. “And someone took my underpants?”

Actually vocalizing the thought made you realize that it could just all be in your head. I mean, whirring noises? Missing lingerie? Maybe there were ants in the walls and you’d donated the set and forgot about it.

You half expected him to look embarrassed and give an excuse to leave. But instead, he looked thoughtfully at you. “Hmm. Have you called the police?”

It was you who felt embarrassed now. “No…” You shrugged. “I mean, what can they do, anyway? I don’t have any proof.”

He regarded you with a grim nod. “That’s true. They won’t act without evidence.” He gave a little huffy sigh of his own. “Well… if it were up to me, I’d do a stake out. See if anyone comes into your place at night. I could get some equipment, if you want.”

You smiled--subtle and soft, but a genuine smile. At least he didn’t think you were crazy. At least he validated your feelings. And he’d offered to help, even if you would never feel comfortable taking him up on that offer.

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But maybe I’m just being paranoid. I don’t want to drag you into all this…” You sat up straighter and decided to change the subject--you’d had enough worrying about a stalker for one day. “Say, do you want to see the kitchen? I need to finish up a cake I started last night, for the special case. Maybe you can pick out the fruit toppings?”

For a moment, your regular looked shocked.  He nodded, slowly. His expression never quite fully recovered its normal neutrality, and he stood up almost cautiously before following your lead into the open kitchen door accessed from behind the counter.

“Sorry for the mess,” you say lightly. “I didn’t have time to start dishes yet.” You gestured towards a countertop where a small cake stuffed with mascarpone and nestled within a layer of marzipan sat. There were little dollops of cream forming a circle on the top of the cake. “I’m going to top it with some fruits, why don’t you pick out which ones you like?” You covered your mouth, suddenly. “I mean--if you want to buy it, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

He cleared his throat and a small smile flickered across his lips. “Of course I’ll buy it. Your cakes are delicious.”

You laughed a little, showing your teeth, and took out some little jars of fresh fruits from a small fridge underneath the counter. As he looked over them, you turned and began tossing a few empty pots, pans and stirrers into the sink so that they could soak. You couldn’t help but hum a little, used to singing while you clean.

“Yes, I’ve decided,” he said suddenly. You turned around and saw him staring right at you.

“Decided?” You asked. Something about the way he was looking at you felt familiar. You thought about whirring.

“On strawberries,” he replied. He slowly held up the bowl of freshly cut, ripe red berries. “For my cake.”

**

L sat, crouched on the couch, staring at the video he’d taken of today’s events. You confided in him, which was delightful. You’d smiled at him, which was even better. Watching you put the glorious finishing touches on a scrumptious pastry in the kitchen was just... well. Icing on the cake.

He pressed a button on the controller and rewound the video to the moment where you'd laughed, light and airy and perfectly melodious to his ears. Your smile was genuine, then--not the constrained smile you'd given when he'd interrupted your nap plans; nor was it the sometimes plastic smile you wore when you were clearly exhausted with giving endlessly bright customer service.

Your real smile was something to be treasured. Especially, he thought to himself, because it will be a long while before he sees it again. You won’t be smiling much after he kidnaps you--after he acquires you, he corrected himself. 

According to his calculations, you won't start feeling more accepting of your situation for at least a few months, but it may be sooner (or later) depending on certain variables. You will be scared first, he knew--scared and maybe angry with him for deceiving you and trapping you. And that wouldn’t be very conducive to the smile and laughter he’d quickly become addicted to taking in.

He lifted up your favorite mug and took a sip of the warm coffee inside, relishing the last bits of your lipstick left on the rim, before rewinding the video to watch you again. Time will heal your wounds--but in the mean time, he will be so very generous and patient with you.