#I feel nauseous and have a bad headache all the fucking time

[beabnormal24]

.

[genderdog]

chat is it normal to feel completely desensitized to feeling constantly sick that when you’re actually sick you feel like it’s not enough to warrant it

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 5 - Meet The Adams Family

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The first thing you’d done when you woke up, still somehow in the Wayne manor, was pull out not-your phone and check the date. When it tells you that you are not, in fact, in some weird version of a time loop, you feel some measure of relief. The second thing you do is look your own damn name up on Google. There were over 3 million results. You have a Wikipedia page. If that hadn’t made you want to gag, the press from last night had you bumbling your way into the ensuite bathroom and puking into the toilet.

It’s still sitting on the bathroom floor, nauseous and achy and sweaty, your mouth washed out but still tasting foul, that you continue your research.

It’s just as you had suspected, your family was dead. Still dead. Well, shit. In the light of day, you supposed that made more sense. That there was no real reason to assume otherwise. You hadn’t for most of yesterday, but as soon as you’d thought that maybe there was a chance, your hopes had been dashed. Which was good, rip the bandaid off and all.

It was good. Things were good. They were fine, you were fine. You really wish you were a better liar.

Again you wash your mouth out. Root around the cabinets for some medical-grade mouthwash, do it again, and then you throw yourself into the shower. Again. You notice the soap smells like whoever’s clothes you stole. Refreshing and awakening, that mint and earth again. You think you can detect something floral in it too. It’s still masculine, but…

Wow, you are such a freak! You put down the fucking soap and manage to resist the urge to slam your head into the tiles. Your headache was bad enough already.

When you leave the bathroom, you glance at the door, and then down at your towel. Guess you’re stealing some more apparel. You find a Superman shirt, give it a judging glance, and then pick out a black T-shirt with ‘The Beatles’ across the front, and some sweatpants. You have to roll up the pant legs so you don’t trip and fall flat on your face.

One hand scrolling through Twitter and TikTok and Reddit and every single piece of social media you could find, getting the people’s source of news and you get the high overlords’ one when you turn on the huge TV attached to the wall. The remote kind of confuses you at first, but you manage to find the good ol’ Gotham news channel.

Immediately, you’re greeted by your miserable mascara-streaked face. You turn the TV off. You take a deep breath. Turn it back on. Luckily it’s not just you getting your private moment of trauma blasted open in the media. Your party had been filled with Gotham’s elite, after all. You weren’t the only rich idiot left crying by the side of the road.

You weren’t the only one who had to suffer. There had been twenty-eight casualties, in total. A small amount, considering the man behind the deaths. The Joker wasn’t known for his cleanliness. You tell yourself that, and yet still, you can’t make them just numbers. They’d been standing right next to you, after all. All in the same boat, all waiting for the axe to swing, secretly hoping you’re the one who lives to the next day. Only one of the party guests had been shot, and that’s because you think they’d personally pissed off the Joker. That’s what Twitter says, anyway. There were multiple video recordings of the altercation, and it didn’t look like he’d been the smartest banana in the bunch. The TV is a lot sweeter on the dead soul.

You feel sorry for all the dead. You still don’t think this rich heir should be the face you see, though. When you check his name, you find several forgotten assault cases. Assault, rape, just like that disappearing bastard had tried to do to you. That female janitor you’d seen shot had done more for this city than that guy ever had.

Did her family know? Did she have a family? Someone to mourn her? You’d never thought about that before. How many people out there wouldn’t have anyone to even remember them?

It’s none of your business, in the end.

After a whiles more research, you switch the TV off and tuck your cracked phone into the sweatpants. You know where your mother’s grave is, on the west side of the estate. Wikipedia knew all, which was now kind of creepy to you as it knew all about you as well. Really, you couldn’t believe it. Your mother, buried with the Waynes? You’d always thought she should find someone new, someone who’d appreciate her, unlike your father who had dipped as soon as Sam was born.

You couldn’t even remember the guy. Still, you remembered that he’d smelled bad and made your Mum do everything, and was just generally all around the worst choice for a husband.

But, Jesus Christ, Bruce Wayne? Absolute insanity. You had no idea how the two of them would’ve even met. Let alone fall in love and get married. Your mother was one of the loveliest women on earth but… they had absolutely nothing in common, other than having troublesome kids. And you hadn’t seen her getting lovey-dovey with the other PTA mums.

You walk out of the room you’ve borrowed and into the hallway. In the light of day, the Wayne manor is much less creepy, and you can find it in yourself to appreciate the antique space. Warm sunlight falls over dark oak furniture, illuminating your bare feet as you walk along the Persian rug. Your fingers trail along all the tiny little decorations, some annoying part of you demanding you leave traces of yourself behind. Your fingerprints dirty an old clock, a golden candelabra, a lamp and a tiny spinning globe.

You might’ve gotten lost in a place this huge if you couldn’t hear people’s voices floating down the halls. They were too far away for you to be able to tell what they were saying, but you could still hear them. They’re to the west, so you’re definitely going to have to go past them.

You follow the voices and eventually come to a stop in a hallway. You can smell food. Good, real food. The type that makes your instant-ramen-powered body salivate. The people are in the kitchen, right around the corner. You duck your head and quickly sneak past the mostly closed doorway. On the other side, you pause, your curious self unable to leave just yet.

“She needs help,” Bruce says, and you mentally curse. Balls. You didn’t want to hear this. You guess this was instant karma for snooping. Maybe they weren’t talking about you?

Why did that sound very unlikely…

“She went through a lot last night,” he continues, which, well, yes, you did go through a lot, “And he said that she saw a woman get shot right in front of her. It makes sense if she doesn’t want to talk yet.”

He? Who’s he? Who ratted you out? Wait, dumb question, the four other witnesses who saw the janitor get shot. You were still pretty sure the Waynes weren’t supposed to know that, but everybody knew those GCPD pigs were always just a dollar away from whatever you wanted them to do. It’s not surprising that the Waynes know details only the police should know at the moment.

…It is a bit disappointing, though. You chose to have hope in them, that they’d gotten that information legally. Your fatal obsession with the Waynes wasn’t going to disappear after one miserable party. You wished it would.

“She was acting strange before that,” Timothy Jackson Drake’s smooth voice drifts from the kitchen. You were still a little starry-eyed over him, which was… bad, you think. It’d definitely make whatever relationship the two of you had been forced into a whole lot more difficult. It did not need to be any more difficult.

“Are you accusing her of something?” Bruce Thomas Wayne’s voice is gravelly in comparison, angry, maybe. Also, ‘accusing’? What could he even be accusing you of? It was pretty obvious you weren’t capable of anything nefarious, you were far too stupid for that. You were a plastic bag drifting along the Gotham river, barely able to affect which direction you flowed in.

“God no. And I definitely wouldn’t do it with her listening, that’d be rude.”

Your breath hitches, and you push off from the wall. Busted, damn. Your face feels unbelievably hot. As you leave, you can hear Mr Wayne scolding his adopted son. You walk until you can’t hear their voices anymore, and then a little further, finding an exit door.

You stumble out onto a stone staircase, probably a servants’ one in the olden days. You move down it, hand gripping the railing. You’re barely conscious of where you’re going. There’s a path that leads away from the stone manor and further into the estate, and you follow it. When you spot a small gated area, with stone obelisks and angel statues, you veer off the path and onto the grass.

Hissing out a breath, it’s only now you realise you went outside without any shoes on. Your toes curl in the cold, wet grass. It’s a miserable feeling, and you want to walk right back inside. And then you think about the awkward conversation waiting for you, take a breath and keep going. The gates swing open easily under your hand, the golden embossed ‘W’ glinting in the light.

A guardian angel stands before you. Its stone face is disapproving, glaring down at you from above. ‘Interloper,’ it calls you, but you move past it without pausing. It’s pretty obvious which graves are the new ones and which are the old ones. They’re all clean and well-kept, but the ones to the left have dates going back hundreds of years, and the ones to the right only decades. Your eyes follow the rows of graves. Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne…

Your breath whistles out of you, nearly muffled by the grey morning wind.

And your mother. She has a different last name, now another Wayne. Your siblings don’t, which makes sense. You’re surprised to find many of your extended family also in this graveyard. Your grandmother. Your uncle and aunt. A few of your cousins.

It’s cold this morning, and you’re out here with only a thin T-shirt on. Shivering, you rub your palms against your bare arms. It doesn’t do much. Still, you don’t want to go inside yet. Instead, you crouch in front of Sam’s grave, eyes reading the tiny epitaph. It’s not the one you wrote.

‘Beloved Son and Brother.’

Simple, clean-cut, formal… unfamiliar, you suppose. Yours had been much more flowery, ‘All the colour in the world is gone without you’. It was a bit silly, but you’d never said you were a poet. You’d just known you’d wanted something that represented them, if poorly.

Sam was a beloved son and brother. But that wasn’t who he chose to be. He liked colours. He’d change his favourite every other day, so he liked everything rainbow. It made it easier to choose which one he’d like next, he said. You were always buying him more and more coloured pencils because he’d wear them all down to the tips, he dyed the cat a bright red headache, much to your mother’s horror, and considered it his personal job to make every single birthday, christmas, and easter card. He’d paint on the walls in washable markers, and you’d often been the one to volunteer to help him get it all down. In school, he always had the best art project out of the entire class, even if you were slightly biased.

He was a colourful kid. He wasn’t… a plain grey tombstone. Nothing to help remember him, because you were always losing more and more of their precious memories.

The others had similarly impersonal graves. Just what they were, not who. Mother, sister. Nothing that spoke of how they’d lived their lives, what the world had lost when they’d died. It was… you didn’t think it was right. It was a disaster, really. Even when you’d had to rely on the Wanye Foundation donations, you’d managed a better resting place than this.

You suppose you’d never gotten them into the Wayne family’s personal graveyard, though. That was a bit of an upgrade, you guess.

“You need to come back inside. You’re worrying my father.”

“Jesus Christ!” you shriek, leaping backward. Your foot catches on one of the cobblestones, and you end up tipping back farther than you mean to, your ass bruising against the ground. You bump another gravestone, and there’s a horrible moment where it gives a little and you think it’s going to knock over.

It doesn’t. A shining miracle on your day.

From your slightly wet seat on the ground, you look up, finding one such Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. His towering height is the first thing you notice, second his stunning emerald green eyes. Both were incredibly shocking in their own ways, but his height really was almost dizzying. Perfect brown skin and a stylish 'long on the top, short on the sides’ black haircut, paired with the sort of face some European model might have, all come together to make sure you feel as pathetic as possible. His posh-looking outfit doesn’t help.

Neither does the fact he just watches you. He doesn’t even pretend to bend over to help you up. Which you’re sort of grateful for, honestly. It’d just make you more embarrassed. You didn’t know if you could hold the hand of your celebrity crush and… well, be normal. Pretend to be normal. You weren’t doing a very good job of it anyway.

You have to wonder, which was the worst introduction? The drunk, the bloody, or the one where you fell on your ass? God, you really are screwing this all the way up. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to make it even worse. There’s a part of you that desperately doesn’t want to meet any of the other Waynes, even as another part of you is screaming that it needs to.

If they knew they had a fangirl in their graveyard, you’re sure they’d kick you out. That was why you were lying about everything, not because you had intimacy issues.

Stop thinking, you idiot! You’re only making things more difficult for yourself with all your worrying and fretting. And maybe you should get off the ground, you looked stupid. You push to your feet, wiping your dirtied hands on the sweats.

He still doesn’t say anything when you stand, still just staring at you. His open staring is far too intimidating, so you scrounge for something to say.

“Your father? You- Is he alright?” you stammer over your words, giving Damian Wayne an awkward smile. He doesn’t return it, instead canting his head towards one of the windows.

You look toward where Damian Wayne gestured to, find nothing but an empty window frame, and then back to the ridiculously tall man. You swear, the guy had grown like a bean pole. He had to be something ridiculous, like 6’5, or maybe more. You were fairly certain you’d been taller than him at twelve, or thirteen, whenever it was he was first introduced to the world as Damian Wayne. Now, now… not so much.

“There’s nobody in there?” you ask, like you’re questioning your sanity. You are.

“My father’s shy,” He says, coolly shrugging one shoulder.

What. Bruce Wayne? Shy? Was he joking or something?

Damian Wayne stares down at you with narrowed green eyes, and dark brows in a harsh frown. His arms are crossed over his rich kid sweater, shiny black shoes tapping against the cobbles. That’s not the face of someone who makes jokes, you think.

You swallow, mind whirring as you try desperately to fix this conversation, “Right. Okay. I’ll… I’ll come back inside, then. Sorry for bothering you guys.”

He keeps staring at you. He doesn’t seem bothered.

“Sorry for bothering him?” you correct.

Damian gives one slow, cat-like blink of his eyes, and then turns with a tsk and walks away. It takes you a moment to realise you’re meant to follow him. It takes you even longer to actually catch up with him because he’s so fucking tall.

On TV he didn’t look this tall. You feel kind of betrayed, which is weird.

As you’re walking along, getting closer back to the manor, a stick or something pokes you in the foot. You curse, grabbing your foot. Thankfully you don’t start bleeding or something. You’d already be tracking dirt all over the inside of the impeccable space, you didn’t want to bring blood in as well. It takes a moment for you to realise the sound of Damian’s footsteps crunching in the grass has stopped, and you glance up.

He’s staring right at you again. He looks even less impressed with you, raising an eyebrow and mouth ticking downward. You put your foot down and tuck your hands behind your back in a very obvious anxious display.

“You went outside not wearing any shoes?” Damian Wayne asks, incredulous.

“I was… yeah, I forgot to,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Not your best moment, but you weren’t really having any of those today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Maybe you should stop thinking about that, actually.

“That’s disgusting,” The young Wayne sneers, and then turns and gives you his shoulder.

You think your heart maybe cracks a little. Well, they do say to never meet your idols. Maybe whoever wrote that quote had you in mind specifically, because now you were in… this situation. Ex-step-sister. If that was a thing. Your Wikipedia page said that you said that a lot, very insistent that you had absolutely nothing to do with the Waynes.

…It didn’t really look like you had nothing to do with the Waynes, from an outsider's perspective. Which obviously didn’t make any sense, since you were… you. You were not an outsider, not anymore.

This was too complicated. You needed a coffee. With like, so much sugar it’ll make you bounce from the walls.

Damian strides up the side entrance’s staircase and through the door, leaving it open for you to follow through. You hesitate at the doorway, looking over your shoulder to the graveyard. The statue calls you names in the distance, and although you feel like a stranger who doesn’t belong here, you manage to step back into the house.

You force yourself to walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, fists clenched tight at your side and your shoulders bunched up to your ears. Bruce Thomas Wayne, Timothy Jackson Drake, and the butler from earlier. Damian Al Ghul Wayne steps around the trio, picking some drink from the counter and moving to sit at the dining table at the edge of the room. There’s an open book on the table that he starts flicking through, and well, apparently that’s the end of your first conversation with the youngest Wayne.

You did… well, alright might be pushing it. You're still going to say you did alright.

Tim Drake gives you a sweet smile, catching your attention. The silky raven hair of his heart-shaped fringe falls over his beautiful, pale face, and for a moment there you totally forget that he’d called you out earlier like that. Which was just, such an odd thing to do. His hand lifts to scratch at the buzz cut under the floppy strands of hair. The movement mesmerises you. You look away from his sky blue eyes, very quickly realising they’re robbing you of the few remaining brain cells you have. And you need those, damn it. Especially because you’d already made the decision to hide from all your problems like a baby. Negative, negative…

“How’re you doing today?” Tim asks you, giving you a friendly greeting. It’s a welcome olive branch.

“I’m good,” you lie like you breathe, eyes glancing around the space. Bruce Wayne has his phone out and a mug of coffee in his hands. He sips from the cup, his focus swallowed by the tiny screen. You glance back over to Damian Wayne. Huh, it really does run in the family.

Your neck prickles, and you glance back at Tim again. You get a brief vision of his tired, unsmiling expression, and then it’s back to the angelic and gentle smile. You smile back at him, a wretched, awful twisting of the lips that you hope doesn’t look like a grimace.

Tim’s smile turns into a grin. It’s really too pretty and makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. Damn it all, look away!

“Would you like some breakfast, young miss? I’m afraid we’ve run out of pancakes, but I’d be happy to make some more for you,” the butler says in an awfully familiar British accent. You think you know this person, but you can not remember from where. Shit. Your memory was bad on the best of days, much less after… after an event like last night.

Anyway, the food from earlier had been pancakes. Despite the delicious scent, you really didn’t want to make him make any more food for you. You felt like you were intruding as it was.

“Do you have any toast, or… cereal?” you suggest instead, wondering if rich people even bother with cereal. The butler chuckles, and you think, ‘Oh, yeah, probably not’.

“We have both, miss. Master Grayson has a particular fondness for cereal, in fact,” he informs you, which, oh, cool. You did in fact know that, you stalker you. You’d totally forgotten about that weird fact or the weird fact that you knew that weird fact. Dick Grayson has an Instagram where he posts reviews of different cereals, which of course you have notifications on for.

“It’s more of an obsession,” Tim says, resting his palm in his hand as he… continues to stare at you. Nobody else thinks his ogling is strange, so you try to ignore it as well. Try is the choice word.

“I like cereal too. It’s normal,” you say in defence of Dick, a natural and instinctual urge.

And apparently, the fact that you like cereal is fucking shocking, judging from the open-mouth looks the group gives you. Oh no, you’re supposed to hate him, right? You’re supposed to hate them all, actually. What had you called him on your phone? Something about being annoying and a dickhead?

Swallowing your inner scream, you move around the counter and towards the cupboards. Whatever, they’ll have to deal with this new and improved version of you, which didn’t despise everyone in the room. Along with being a terrible liar, you were also pretty bad at keeping secrets.

You don’t want to think about that, so instead you turn to Alfred.

“So,” you start, “Can I see your cereal collection?” you ask, like a totally normal person. Man, this cupboard’s looking pretty head-smashable right now.

This family has more tact than yours did, because they all manage to put their eyes back to what they were doing and pretend you weren’t acting really, really out of character. Rich people. They’re good at overlooking the crazy.

“Of course,” the butler clears his throat, “In here, you’ll find Master Dick’s collection-” score! Not another fan can claim this right, “-and in the fridge a carton of milk. Are you sure I couldn’t serve it for you, miss? I understand you might still be a little…”

His voice trails off. Little what?

He glances at the others and then leans in close like he’s going to tell you a secret. Behind a hand, he whispers, “Hungover.”

Ah. Well, yes, but you were a big girl who could make her cereal, even on hangover days. Kind of embarrassing it was that obvious, though. You were usually better at hiding how much of a mess you were.

“I’ll be fine, thank you,” you say, and the butler nods and backs off. You’re pretty sure at this point that he was the one who called you yesterday morning, but you still couldn’t quite recall his name. When you were out of sight, you’d check your phone for his contact information.

See? You could do this. Stealthy.

As you start perusing through the cereal options, Tim gets up from his spot by the counter and comes to stand next to you at the breakfast bar. He heads straight to the coffee machine, and you glance at it longingly.

It’s one of those cafe-quality fancy espresso makers, with an Italian name embossed in silver on the top. Tim manipulates the machine like a master, which you’re very jealous of because it might as well be alien technology to you. You miss your shitty drip coffee, at least that dingy little machine was loyal to you. Better than George.

“Coffee?” Tim Drake offers, glancing at you. Ah, the starry eyes are back. While Damian Wayne had been a mildly disappointing introduction, Mr. Drake was just reinforcing your celebrity worship. And of course, because your brain works against you, his offer reminds you of the daydreams you’d had on your first twenty-first birthday. Coffee shop au real person fiction- a new low, even for you.

Flustered, you look up at the ceiling. The old mansion is decorated in every single available corner, the plaster above spreading across the entire surface with delicate filigree and pretty curling patterns. It’s gorgeous, absolutely entrancing. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

“Please,” you say, your voice just the slightest bit too quiet. He hears you anyway.

It’s surprisingly domestic. Of course, you don’t know any of these people past face value and Wired YouTube interviews, but… it’s quite indulgent. This is sort of your dream, isn’t it? A full house of people enjoying their morning together. Peaceful bird song drifting in through open windows. The comfort of being around people you trust, not having to perform or put on a show. Well, you are very much putting on a show right now. It’s the thought that counts, or whatever.

“What would you like in it? We have sugar, milk, oat milk, and I like having a few syrups on hand,” Tim chatters excitedly, listing off the different ingredients he has on offer. Your poor ass stares at his rich one, and you are very rudely reminded these people live in different tax brackets than you.

Who the fuck had coffee syrups in their house? You could barely afford the little treats of caramel syrup you get every couple of months. The disappearance of the middle class was one you had witnessed personally.

You rattle off a very basic, bland order. Tim looks sort of disappointed in you which… well, you could be a coffee snob. You just didn’t have the time, usually. A flat white kept you going through the day, you didn’t need anything else. And so, Tim hands you a very bland coffee, and it is god sent. You can’t imagine how good it would be if you had mustered up your courage and asked for some caramel syrup.

Huh, you could be a coffee snob. You could be anything you wanted, really. And your first thought is being a coffee snob. Good God.

“Are you going to be staying?“ Bruce Wayne asks, immediately putting you on the spot. You weren’t ready for this, you were thinking about the coffees you could buy. Oh no, you really aren’t ready for this.

“At least for now, right?” Tim Drake says, just making it all the more stressful. You let out an awkward chuckle, fingers tight around your drink.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an inconvenience-”

Damian Wayne slams his mug down on the table, so hard a crack splinters up its side. He picks the cup up, strides across the kitchen, narrowed green eyes meeting yours for a second, and then he dumps the cup in a secret rubbish can. He murmurs an apology to the butler and then is out of the room.

Okay, well, you certainly feel like an inconvenience.

The butler clears his throat, and says, “Please forgive young master Damian. He’s been having a difficult time recently, I hope you can understand.”

And you think, ‘bitch, a difficult time?! He’s not the one who almost died last night!’ but what you say is, “Of course, I completely understand. I don’t want to bother him anymore so I’d really like to leave today.”

Mr. Wayne laces his fingers together, blue eyes giving you an assessing look.

“Stay for the day, and you can leave tonight. I want to make sure you’re truly alright,” he eventually says, and the mere presence of the man has you yielding to his commands. Didn’t really matter you were an adult who’d managed to survive this long on your own, you were listening to the big scary guy when he told you what to do.

Well, that’s that! You make your cereal and have a very quiet breakfast. You can’t tell if they’re being quiet because you’re here, or if mornings are usually like this. You hope they’re usually like this. Once you’ve finished your very nice cereal (one of the highest rated on Dick’s Instagram) you place the bowl by the sink. You want to wash it, but when you ask Alfred he gives you a look like you kicked his dog. Okay, you’ll just go then.

You’re about to sneak away, when you realise Tim’s staring at you… again…? But this time he seems quite focused on your clothing. His eyes follow the double lines on the side of your sweatpants, before settling on the Beatles logo on your shirt. He hums at it. Raises his brows.

“I’m sorry, I borrowed this because I didn’t have any other clothes. Is there something wrong with me wearing this?” you ask, and then experience a moment of horror, “This doesn’t belong to you, does it?”

“Hmm?” Tim chirps, “Oh, no, don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

And then he turns away from you in a very clear dismissal. Nice, you really wanted to go hide for an hour or two. With one last awkward wave to Bruce Thomas Wayne, you scurry out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom you’d started thinking of as yours. You need to figure out how you're going to handle all this, and you're going to do it alone. Maybe with some dessert, if you can find it. You wouldn't say you think better with sugar running in your veins, but it definitely makes you more willing to deal with the bullshit that is your life. Hopefully it'd work in your new one, too.

-

Tim listens to your retreating footsteps, waiting till you’re far enough away to begin talking to Bruce. Humans were creatures of habit, so you’d probably be going back to the same room you slept in last night. He thinks Damian and him were the only ones who noticed whose shirt you were wearing, B’s off his game today. You’ve really managed to mess him up, to Tim’s delight.

“See? Dames was totally fine with her being here,” Tim says, cheerily enjoying his youngest sibling’s suffering. Bruce sighs, witheringly, lifting his hand to rub against the headache he always has. He’s probably noticed the excited, slightly fanatic gleam that’s entered into Tim’s eyes.

It was sort of obvious. This was all so exciting! You’d come back, sporting absolutely none of the defensive vitriol you usually have, and ate breakfast together. You took a coffee out of Tim’s hands. You’d willingly spoken to the devil, who everybody in the family knew hated you as much as you hated him, and even more than that-

You’d spoken to Bruce. Tim was sporting the idea that you’d gotten head trauma, at this point in time.

“Okay, fine. You get the mission, but-” Tim has to resist the urge to clap his hands together like a gleeful child “-but no extra cameras. I’m serious, Tim, if I find out you’ve invaded her privacy just after she’s starting to warm up to us again-”

“She wouldn’t know,” Tim complains, cutting the Bat off with a roll of his eyes.

“She’s smarter than you’d think,” Bruce shakes his head. Tim has to disagree, after the catastrophe that was last night. Unless of course, you were just playing with them all. So many options, it’s dizzying.

“We’ll shelve that argument for later. So, I want full control of the case, and in turn, I’ll do another two weeks as CEO,” Tim waves off Bruce’s complaints, going straight into haggling. The CEO position was tossed between the two of them like a hot potato, and it was one of Tim’s favourite bargaining tools.

“I am absolutely not agreeing to that, a month and nothing less.”

“This is why half your children don’t talk to you, but sure, whatever. Chase away your last, loyal loving son-”

“My God, Tim. Three fucking weeks, and if I hear another word I will hand this matter over to Grayson,” Bruce sighs, sounding a bit defeated.

Tim gives an offended gasp, placing his hand against his chest. And then he realises Bruce might actually be serious, and freaks out a bit.

“He’d be bad for it. Far too personally involved. You definitely don’t want to do that,” he says, leg bouncing under the table. Of course, the Bat notices, but he doesn’t mention it. He wouldn’t take this from Tim, they both knew he was getting too frazzled around the edges. He needed something to focus on, to ground him.

You were the perfect project. He loved his projects.

“I am aware. But the girls are out of town, and uncontactable. And I think if I gave Damian this assignment the two of them would kill each other.”

“No Jason option, sir?” Tim says because he’s a shit-stirrer and wants to get to work.

Tim succeeds in chasing Bruce away. He’s left to have his coffee in peace as the old man quickly flees the room at the mention of the son he's on the worst terms with. For the next few hours, Tim taps away on his computer, enjoying his time.

And when the front doors open, his ears prick, and a decidedly evil grin spreads on his face.

“I’m home!” Dick calls out, words travelling through the grand manor.

Tim gets up from his seat and wanders leisurely to the main hall, where Dick stands. He’s got a suitcase by his side, filled with all the things he’s brought up from the Blud. When he spots Tim, Dick’s face spreads in a familiar sunny smile. He quickly rushes to Tim’s side, swallowing the younger brother in a hug. Tim groans at the tight squeezing.

Despite his clinginess, it was good to see him. His tanned skin glowed healthily, and his curly black hair was messy over his brow. Sapphire blue eyes sparkled. He was happy to be home, despite everything that was going on. Dick always looked like he’d just gotten back from a run because he usually had. It was hard to get the guy to sit still for even a minute, much less stop parkouring over every imaginable surface.

“Tim! How’s it been? Ah, it’s so good to be home,” Dick starts, and again, Tim groans. When Dick starts yammering he never stops.

“I’m good, man. We can talk later, you should go put your things away before Alfred does,” Tim reminds Dick, and Dick pouts. It was a general rule that unless it was cooking, the family wasn’t supposed to rely on Alfred for everything.

“Alright, alright. I’ll be down in a minute! I have so much to tell you,” Dick relents, hand lifting to mess with his hair. Tim pushes him off, glaring at the man, and Dick laughs.

Tim gives Dick a tired wave as the gymnast bounds up the stairs to his bedroom. Tim watches him disappear down the hallways, and thinks, ‘I wish I could see this happen.’ He sighs, guess he’ll just have to hear Dick retell the story later. The distant sound of your shrieking voice has him chuckling. Yeah, he’ll hear about it later, he’s sure.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

I just got diagnosed with chronic migraines recently, and today I woke up with one, so that was the inspiration lol

Logan was starting to get concerned. He hadn't heard from you all day, and now that he was thinking of it, he hadn't heard from you nearly all week. He asked around and got no answer on your whereabouts. He did find out that you canceled your classes for the week. In the three years of knowing you, he has never seen you cancel class for anything. Not even for when you had the flu. Growing more concerned, he decided to stop by your apartment to see if you were there.

When he got to your complex, he could see that your curtains were tightly drawn, and when he got to your door, he saw that your mailbox was overflowing with the past weeks' worth of mail. He grabbed everything in the box before unlocking the door with the spare key you gave him and let himself inside. When he stepped in a shiver ran down his spin "fuck it's cold" he muttered to himself as he ventured into your small space.

As he walked further in he saw the main living rooms ac unit on and he heard the bedroom ac unit on no wonder it's fucking freezing "Sweetheart?" He called out as he looks around, the space looked lived in. It didn't look like you left in a hurry so you had to be home and your car was parked out front still. He hears a muted groan coming from your bedroom that causes concern to rise in his chest. "Baby?" He calls out more frantic than before as he makes his way to the room but his movements come to a halt when he opens the door and finds you under a nest of pillows, blankets and stuffed animals. The room is like ice and your cat is by your feet ready to hiss at the intruder before it recognizes Logan. His heart drops as he sees pain gloss over your features.

"Oh baby." He whispers and closes the door behind him softly, he doesn't have to ask what's wrong he knows. These flare ups have been happening more and more and it kills him each time he witnesses one because he knows there isn't much he can do to help.

As he kicks off his boots you reach out and pull him into your bed of pillows and blankets. "Before you ask yes. I've taken my medicine, I've drank water, I've had caffine, I've eaten, hell I've even sat outside for a while to get vitamin D. I think I'm just supposed to be in a den." You mumble and bitch into his chest as you move around to get comfortable once again. He knows how frustrating this has been for you, first no one believed you when you said you had migraines no one but him. 'Oh they're just bad headaches' that's what everyone said to you but headaches don't last days, they don't make you nauseous or dizzy, they don't make it feel like any sort of light will make your head explode.

He knows that once you have done that checklist and still nothing has worked all he can do is lay there with you in your little den as you like to call it and hold you in his arms. All he can do is try and remind you that everything will be okay and hopefully after your nap you will feel better and everything will be back to being okay again. And if the nap doesn't help he'll help you go through the checklist one more time until something does help, he can't survive long since his love in pain.

[gfdazai]

Combing his hair. ♡

Dazai is implied to have a negative mental health episode, established relationship, blah blah blah. GN reader. 750~ish words. I still don't know how to end fics.

Dazai feels broken. Useless. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, and it's 11am. He should've been at work three hours ago, yet he can't find the will to.

He's lying there, wanting to move, but he can't. He can't bother even rolling over to get a drink. The bottles from the previous night lie by his bed, some knocked over, some still standing up.

He forces himself onto his side, trying to ignore the stinging pain of his back, and the pounding, repeating pain of his headache. His groan goes quiet when he hears the front door unlock, open, and shut.

You're here... Again. He did say you could stop by whenever, but he doesn't want to see you right now. Not when he's like this — not when his apartment is like this. He wishes he could shove you out, deep clean and then let you back in.

"Doors open." He barks lazily once he hears you approaching the door. He wants to turn and get up, give you a kiss; but he can't find it in him to even roll over and face the door.

He can barely spare a blink when he hears the door creak open — he's been meaning to get you to fix that. "Osamu?" He slowly blinks, forcing his gaze away from the wall and to your form.

"Bad day?"

"Mm." He hums blankly as an answer, his eyes slowly following you as you get on the bed beside him.

"Wanna talk about it?"

He doesn't answer, feeling you move him a little. His head isn't on the pillows anymore, now on your lap. It's a bit of a distraction from him feeling his clothes on his skin.

"...You wanna take a shower?" You question softly, feeling his forehead to check for a fever. He seems colder, rather than burning hot. He shakes his head a smidge.

"Well, uh... I'll admit, I don't know what else to offer." You chuckle, and he melts a little at the sound. You're always so sweet and gentle to him, it makes him nauseous. He doesn't... Deserve this.

"...Can I brush your hair?" You ask softly, placing your hand gently on the back of his head, rubbing your thumb against his messy, greasy hair.

He blinks slowly, forcing himself to nod a little. "Mhm.." He swallows, trying to wet his dry mouth. "Please." His voice is weak... Broken, and shaky. Like he hasn't had a drink in the past week... Or maybe that's because he hasn't water in the past 24 hours.

You smile a little, "okay." You say softly, looking over at his nightstand. You grab a dark blue comb, gently sectioning off his hair, before starting to comb through it.

A few minutes pass, and you're onto the next section. "I bought you more crab. Some of it is canned, but I got some of that fancy stuff that you said you wanted last time we went out together." You say. He blinks a few times, clearing his throat halfheartedly.

"...Really?" He mumbles softly. "That's... Too much. I can pay you back." His finger twitches as he starts to force his hands to move, but he stops when you press him back down.

"No, it's really nothing. Think of it as a late, uh... Present for national crab meat day?" You smile a little, and he smiles a little back.

"Oh?... Thank you." He sighs softly, feeling you move onto the next section of his hair.

A few moments pass... "...Are you mad I didn't stop by last night?" He mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed, not wanting to see if he hurt you. He hears you sigh, and his heart drops. This is it — he fucked it all up, he's gonna be alone again, and you'll move on, and he'll end up —

"Of course not. You did say that you might be too busy to stop by." He blinks, opening his eyes and looking up at you.

"...Oh." He mumbles. "I didn't think you'd be so... Okay. About it." He swallows, eyes falling back down to his mattress.

You finish combing his hair, grabbing a hairtie from your pocket and gathering as much of his hair as you can, tying it up. "Ta-da." His heart melts at your giggle.

"Mhm..." He yawns softly, closing his eyes. "Love you." He mumbles, exhaling gently...

"Love you too, 'samu." You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, before leaning back against the headboard, letting the silence play for the both of you.

Please don't steal my work, nor feed it to any sort of AI. Thank you! ♡

[storm-angel989]

Yo I love your work.. anyway can I request Val x Fem Reader when Reader is on their period and the rest is up to you (I’ll cry if you actually notice)

Hi Friend,

Thank you for sending in your request! I always notice and read a request- sometimes it just takes time for my brain to buzz.

Now I have written this before. The link is here:

Valentino x Reader (Period Pains)

That being said….

Here is another version! Think OTO reader and Val after they’re married. 

<3 Mandy

The bright red stains on my favorite pajama pants began the start of that cursed day. It was going to be one of those mornings that lasted all day. 

It didn’t help that I woke up alone, my husband off to do whatever it was he did in his studio. Vox and Velvette were working and me? I was by myself. Which, as I poured myself a cup of coffee and stirred in my creamer, I figured was better that way. 

I lifted the mug to my lips and took the first sip of what should have been a heavenly experience. Instead, I was met with the bitter taste of peppermint.  I spat it into the sink and went to set my mug down. Somehow I missed the counter and shards of ceramic splatted the floor. 

“Fuck!” I yelled across the empty flat. I grabbed a roll of paper towels and cleaned up the mess as quickly as I could, tossing the shards into the garbage. Housekeeping would be up later, but with how the day was already turning out, I didn’t want to risk stepping on a rouge shard. 

“Who the fuck puts peppermint into their coffee without mocha?” I growled aloud as I shoved the creamer back in the fridge. 

Of course, I knew the answer was Vox. As much as he pretended he only drank black coffee, those of us who lived with him knew his guilty pleasure. Random flavored coffee creamers that appeared in the fridge each time it was restocked. It was just my bad luck that I had grabbed the wrong one this morning. 

Shoving the thought of making another cup of coffee to the side, I jumped into the shower, willing the hot water to take away the cramps that slowly awakened with each movement of the day. Fuck, there were some days I hated being a girl. 

But, like all women, being on our period wasn’t an excuse to miss work. Going to see Velvette in her studio was always an option, but just the thought of being touched by another being made me annoyed. I gingerly dressed myself and pulled my hair up into a bun. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I grumbled as I tried to hide the tiny whiteheads that appeared overnight with a strong dose of foundation. 

“Okay, I can do this,” I said to my reflection as I swallowed down several advil. “I got this.” 

Ten hours, eighteen phone calls and one ruined pair of underpants later, I stormed back upstairs to our apartment. 

“Babygirl, you’re home late,” Valentino’s voice rang out.

“I know, fuck,” I snapped without thought. The cramps, masked by the Advil I had taken this morning, left me both nauseous and crabby.  Every part of my body ached, and I could feel a headache starting to brew. I slammed the door behind me as I stripped off my outfit for the day. 

The bright red bloodstain on the back of my dress. I stared at it and without really knowing why, I burst into tears in the middle of my room. 

“Bebita?” Valentino’s voice came quietly from behind me. 

I felt him tug the dress from my hand and he wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t have to say a thing and instead laid my head on his chest as I sobbed. 

“Nothing a little stain remover can’t take out,” he said soothingly. “It’s alright. Why don’t you get in the shower? I’ll get your pjs and…”

“My two favorite ones are wrecked,” I choked out softly. “I bled all over the ones this morning, and my backups have a hole in them and…”

He pressed a finger to my lip and kissed my forehead. “Just let me figure it out while you go shower, okay?” 

There was something about he way he said it that left me with a feeling of comfort. I disappeared into the shower and by the time I came out, he was leaning against the bathroom sink, waiting. He handed me a towel and watched as I wrapped it around myself. 

“I have a heating pad and a cup of tea ready for you in bed. Toast, if you’re hungry. Advil if you want it. And if you’re in the mood to cuddle, I’m here. If not, I can stay with you or give you space. Remote is yours either way.” He pointed to a pile of clothes. “Period underpants. Vel sent them up. And…wear my pjs tonight. They’ll be looser than anything you own.” 

“Thanks, Val,” I said softly. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch when I came in.”

He cracked a smile. “Mi amore, I don’t think you know the true meaning of that word. Come on out when you’re ready.” 

I watched the door close behind me and got dressed in the outfit he left for me. I settled into bed next to him and sipped the warm tea. 

“I love you Val,” I said after a few moments. 

“I love you too, bebita. Even when you’re cranky,” he replied lightly. “And I always will.”

[ranposbabe]

Delightful | William James Moriarty x Reader

Chapter 20

Your neck aches. Badly. Not in tightness. No. Your neck felt a burning sensation only where the pitiful necklace was wrapped around practically choking you. Your hand reaches hesitantly for it and yet no matter the tug, it’s clearly not going anywhere.

You lay awake in the intolerable excuse of a bed. The covers thrown off as it felt like scratches against your sensitive skin. Your legs slightly shake due to the coldness and the unsettling anxiousness as your heart beats too quickly for your liking. You sit up in an attempt to stop the suffocation but it’s too much.

Just thinking about the constant feeling that your insides despised you and were shrinking in vain made it many times worse.

You want it to stop. If it can’t stop then let it be a break. Your nails dig into your arms in response, leaving behind temporarily dents in your flesh.

It’s late. So late that you don’t even hear the sounds of crows or anything. The manor is so quiet. Your ears crave for the sound of something comforting. You wonder had everyone gone to bed ? If they had good for them. You were curious, had they ever woken up in the middle of the night and felt the god awful nauseous feeling that buries itself into the depth of your belly. You think that if they ever did, at least they probably had a reason to.

You just woke up never feeling at ease.

For a moment you think of William. You can’t imagine him not being at ease. He’s so collected together at all times and aswell he’s so mature. How does he do it ?

The curtains not closed so you can see right out to the never ending darkness.

It’s so dark outside that you can barely even make out the grass. But only then when you stared out a shadow amongst shadows appeared. Like a tall figure making itself known. “What the fuck ?” You mumble, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to clear your mind and sight. It’s still there. Your heart is beating fast again and your brain is convincing you that you’re going to vomit. The sudden adrenaline makes you run. You run, barefoot, right down the stairs and before you can tell yourself to stop you’re standing outside in the freezing cold garden.

“At last we meet again.” A voice spoke out, the figure had its back turned.

“Are you talking to me ?” You awkwardly turn, as if there was someone obviously there.

Although you’re still not sure if you’re dreaming or not. Your eyes wander yet your figure remains still. No matter how much you squint you still can’t make out anything.

“It’s like !” You start, looking down at your wrist only to realise. “Shit I haven’t got a watch.”

“It’s like two in the morning, what do you want ?” Tiredness gave you the ability to lack to care for stranger danger.

“If you’re looking for one of the men they’re inside.” You instantly take it back because wait who is this person ? Could be a thief for all you know ! “I’ve no interest in speaking to others. Frankly not even to you but I must make it known.”

“Okayyy.” You have a blank stare.

All this confusion was starting to give you a headache. Are you dreaming or something ?

You don’t recall your dreams ever being this vivid. “I should’ve put atleast socks on.” You shake your head. Your toes were worryingly starting to look blue. You have a headache at this point.

The figure, a man, turn and you can just about make out a top hat and a indigo coat. Somewhat familiar ? “You risk yourself searching for answers that serve no purpose to your cause.” He states, his tone clear as day. You can’t make out his face. Does he even have one ? Before you can question anything, in a swift moment a sharpness enters you and suddenly you’re really cold.

You barely look down, too afraid to look but when you have the courage to look up again, he’s vanished.

You thought your heart racing was bad ? You thought period cramps were bad ? Fuck that ! this was ten times unimaginablely worse.

You place your hand onto your stomach only to feel something wet. Somethings definitely not right. You looked down and suddenly all was clear. Your hand stained in scarlet.

You’ve. Been. Stabbed.

Just when you thought your headache was starting to go away.

If you wish to be added to the taglist please comment below to let me know!!!

TAGLIST: @elvyshiarieko @queenofspades403 @simpy-geli-lol @phoenix666stuff @lindoasd @silveredwood @nimuelis @cherryher @whyintheworldamiherelolzhalpme @slxt4h1m

[mykoreanlove]

oopsie daisy 🌼

The annoying sound of Felix’ alarm was disturbing the silence of the late afternoon. With eyes closed he searched for his phone and shut it off. A deep groan escaped his lips, followed by a sharp pain in his head.

“Why did I drink that much”, he scolded himself.

Yesterday’s party got out of hand quickly – what should have been an intimate gathering with some close friends at Changbin’s turned into a massive bash. Felix tried to remember last night’s events, but his mind went blank for the most part. Anxiety formed in his stomach as he did not like to feel helpless, out of control.

He heard a knock on his door and flinched in pain.

“Can I come in?”

It was Chan.

“Yeah, sure”, Felix answered in a deep, raspy voice.  

His friend opened the door with a big glass of water and headache pills in hand, already knowing that Felix would need them.

“Here”, he gave them to his younger friend.

Felix had trouble sitting up as his head felt dizzy and his stomach seemed nauseous. He gathered his remaining strength and gulped down the water, hoping to feel better quickly.

“Do you have any memories of last night?”, Chan asked cautiously.

Instantly, the anxiety in his stomach grew bigger. Felix shook his head, too nervous to ask what he had done.

“Do you wanna know?”, Chan offered politely.

Felix took a deep sigh, trying to calm his nerves. “I don’t know if I want to?”

“Oh, trust me. You do want to know.”, Chan chuckled amused.

“Okay”, Felix sighed in defeat and curled into a ball while hugging his plushie. “Tell me what happened last night.”

“…yeah, and then you vanished into the kitchen and played UNO for hours. Changbin told me that you downed a shot each time you lost, so apparently you drank a lot. And after that you walked around whispering “Wakey wakey” into the girls’ ears, going as low as you can. I saw you run around laughing manically and trying to escape many girls that night. Oh, and after your little striptease dance break you spilled your drink all over your chest and ran into the bathroom.”, Chan re-collected.

Felix was embarrassed but so far, he didn’t do anything horrendous.

“And after that you came running to me, all nervous and agitated and you muttered something about kissing y/n.”

Felix shot up alarmed, instantly regretting it though as his head was still pounding heavily.

“I did what??”

“Yeah”, Chan confirmed in a reserved manner.

“I kissed y/n? Lee Know’s girl y/n???”

Panic arose in his body as he could not believe it.

Did I really do that? Why? What was I thinking?

“Don’t you remember anything at all?”

Felix shook his head ashamed.

“No, not a single thing.”

Chan sighed. “Well, do you like her?”

Felix’ eyes widened in surprise.

Like her? Do I like y/n? Is this what this is?

“I mean I like her as a friend. As a person. But she is Lee Know’s girlfriend, and I never saw her another way. Shit, Chan, I fucked up. How do I tell him?”

Felix already envisioned the worst. It was bad enough that he had kissed his friend’s girlfriend, but it was even worse since it was Lee Know. The unforgiving, dangerous menace Lee Know.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Lix.”

Felix got up, entirely ignoring the condition of his body.

“What? Does he already know? Did he see us?”

Felix was on the verge of breaking down – he’d either cry or vomit or do both, his nerves were getting the best of him.

“Nah, but you kind of kissed him, too.”

“What????” Felix' deep voice turned into a high-pitched one, each shock making it even more shrill.

Chan laughed amused.

“Yeah, that was kind of the highlight of last night. You came up to me and explained that you kissed y/n and you felt so bad about it and didn’t want Lee Know to be mad at you, so you walked up to him and kissed him as well. In a room full of people might I add.”

Felix clasped his hands over his head, bewildered and confused.

“You’re fucking with me, right? Is that some cruel joke? Please tell me Seungmin is standing behind the curtains and filming this. Please, Chan.”

Chan ruffled through Felix’ blonde hair and flashed him a warm smile.

“It’s real, Lix. Why don’t you check your phone if you don’t believe me?”

Chan got up and left, leaving Felix alone with his thoughts.

My phone..

Felix searched his bed, shuffling aside pillows and plushies until he finally found his phone and turned it on again. He received a lot of messages after leaving the party but there were only two that caught his attention.

What the fuck did I do?

[vorpalfae]

Trigger Warning: Rare Illness/Health Issues [wasn't sure if this need a tw but these topics make some ppl uncomfy so i wanted to be considerate anyway💜]

so a lot of ppl have been asking me why i don't post pics anymore or why i have barely been on social media compared to how i used to be. and the reason is i've been having severe health issues for a very long time. i can't even remember the last time i went more than a month without feeling nauseous, or actually throwing up, or just having headaches and stomach pain that are so bad i can barely tolerate them.

i've known for a while that i have gastritis, but my mom & my bf convinced me to go to a new doctor for a second opinion. after months & months of pure agony and feeling exhausted and sick to the point where i have no energy, i finally know why. i went to a specialist and discovered i have a rare illness called CVS (Cyclic vomiting syndrome). and i also am lactose intolerant which was amplifying my symptoms because i eat dairy products constantly.

i am going to be starting treatment for it and i really hope it improves my life and my ability to function because i am so tired of "living" like this. just existing has been exhausting and painful. i literally haven't been able to accomplish any of the goals i have because i can't go more than a few days without feeling horrible.

i already feel useless because i'm autistic and i have bipolar 1 and i'm waiting on disability payments to come through because i am unable to work with my disabilities. so my bf has been working and doing his best to take care of me and our kids. i just feel so horrible and guilty all the time. and i genuinely didn't know why i feel sick 24/7. all i want is to feel like myself again. and to do all the things i miss doing. i feel like i'm trapped by this illness.

i'm grateful to have answers and know what i'm dealing with finally. but after suffering like this almost every single day for so long its so hard to feel hopeful for the future at this point. i'm literally in tears as i type this. its just been really bad. i never do my makeup anymore or feel good about myself. i can barely move sometimes because the pain in my stomach is so bad or i get pain in my throat from vomiting for hours at a time, and then i get MORE pain from dry heaving due to not being able to hold down any food. and then i get random migraines and headaches that last all day as a result of all of that. its taking a huge toll on my body and my mental health. my depression gets worse during the winter season so when this started getting really bad it just made my mental health a million times worse. its literal hell.

but yeah thats why i haven't been online. real life is hard enough and i haven't been motivated to post because of the hell i'm going through or a lot of the time i physically CAN'T make content. but i'm going to keep trying. i'm going to do every fucking thing my doctors tell me to do because im so fed up with suffering. i promise that i will make content again and post the things i create and other stuff i used to post about before i stopped being able to function. as soon as i start to feel semi normal or at least well enough to do daily activities and complete even small goals, i will post about it. i'll keep u guys updated.

i appreciate every single person who follows me and my content, and all the ppl who keep checking up on me and wondering where the fuck i went. i love you guys so much💜 and i'm so sorry to all the ppl who haven't heard from me. if i can gain at least a little bit of my physical strength and health back, i will be so happy. i also am trying to get vitamins prescribed to me because im severely lacking nutrients but they are so expensive and i can't afford them out of pocket until i get my disability money. i'm also anemic and have to start taking iron supplements again. i'm just a giant ball of health issues😭 its actually ridiculous how bad my health has been. but i'm a mom and for that reason i will never stop trying. i will do whatever it takes to get better. i don't think my health could get much worse than it is currently. hopefully i didn't just jinx myself by saying that😭

sorry for the super long explanation, i just have sooo many messages in my inbox and questions that you guys send me that i haven't answered. i don't want to leave u in the dark. the connections i've made on this silly little blog mean the world to me. and everything i've been going through has been so hard to explain. but since i recently got a REAL answer as to why i'm suffering so much, i felt it was a good time to let you guys know what is going on with me. like i said, when i am able to feel somewhat normal again i will post consistently and re-open my shop too! it sucks so bad having a passion for creating but being too sick to even get out of bed other than to get sick in the bathroom. i've been to the emergency room more times this month than i have in the last 4 years. if i can overcome this awfulness i will not take it for granted. i will work harder than i ever have to create and share it with the world. but for now i just have to sit back and do whatever my doctors tell me to do and hope to god that it helps me 😞

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 27: Migraine

cw: migraine, self depreciation, emeto, gory descriptions

previous

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 787

=~=~=

Shades of violet and blinding green swirled around him like storm clouds, spewing lightning and egging on the pain in his head. Hunter hugged his pillow tighter, willing the color to go away. Didn't do shit. The more he thought about wanting it gone, the stronger it got, like it was trying to spite him.

A new wave hit—white fire behind his eyes, his own brain screaming—and he bit down on the cushion until his jaw started to burn.

It hadn't been this bad since… since… the beginning. Since the test that activated his implant in the first place, since he'd crawled out of the burning lab, blinded by agony, the smell of smoke the only thing that kept him moving forward.

Had he overused it finding Manak? Every time he leaned into the patterns, used them, the headaches seemed to get worse.

If he did break his brain finding that arrogant asshole, he wouldn't fucking regret it. He'd made his choice, and Manak wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't.

He needed me. All the brains in the world, and in the end, he needed me, Hunter told himself through the next bout of searing pain, screaming into the pillow as it reached a new sharpness.

He wished he would just pass out. He wished—

“Harbor.”

Speak of the fuckin devil.

It was hard to keep from whimpering at the sudden sound, words somehow both blurred by the colors and sharpened by them, driving into his temple like a spike.

“What?” he managed to spit out, trying to blink past the cloying rainbow to get a look at Manak’s color. He was expecting the usual. Irritation, red and swirling. Can you shut up? Some of us want to sleep.

Instead, he was a neutral forest green, darkness clouding his throat and shoulders, misty red pain hovering around his knee.

The mist had been a lot thicker when he'd found him; flecks of red mingling with real blood, his green darkened to almost black. Brightening at the center when Hunter made himself known, when he carried him away. Manak never brightened around him before, never.

You did save his life. Even Manak would appreciate that, dumbass.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard…” He frowned, steps clicking as he moved closer to Hunter's bed. Crutches. He hadn't even noticed them until now. Manak shouldn’t be up. He should be sleeping, getting better, but somehow Hunter'd managed to fuck up what should've been the easy part.

“Fine,” Hunter choked out. “Just. Implant bullshit.” Power came at a cost. Anyone who picked up a comicbook knew that. So whatever, it was fine. He'd ride it out. He just wished it didn't feel like his head was going to explode.

“Do you want some pain medication?”

“Doesn't work.” The orange ones just made him nauseous, and everything else didn't reach his head. The only way he'd ever shut it up was through booze, and he doubted there was any of that on this tiny compound.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Help. Why would Manak want to help? Did he feel like he owed him? That had to be it. There was no other reason he'd still be in the room, no other reason he'd bother to check on Hunter in the first place.

“You can go away,” he said, and the words came out choked. A fresh pain was building, brighter than the sun, aching, stinging, burning, growing. Like a new star was trying to form in his fucking skull. Agony too loud to hear his own voice, Hunter only realized he was screaming when his lungs started to burn from the lack of air, throat aching from overuse.

He couldn't get away, no escape, the pain was him, he'd have to cut open his skull and let his brains spill out, had to relieve pressure, had to—

Everything went away.

Not for long enough. The pain came back as a dull ache, pounding like a drum in his head. It was hard to breathe at first, hard to see. His mouth tasted like battery acid, bile on his tongue, and for a moment he couldn't feel anything but the implant. Cold metal and brain tissue.

“Are you with me?”

He was sitting up. Hunched forwards a little, arms wrapped around him.

“Breathe.”

Hunter more choked than inhaled. His body felt shaky and bloodless, head floating in a sea of hurt.

Manak was holding him, a cool hand rubbing his back, Hunter’s puke down the front of his perfect sweater.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, the word barely more than a gurgle.

“Just breathe.”

He tried.

[calmlb]

Hi Essie!!! Hope you're doing well! (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)❤️

So I had this idea for a sick!Dazai fic (that I'm honestly too tired to write dhehee), and who else is better to brainstorm it with than my fellow Dazai whump enthusiast? :D

Based on my own experience of being sick for the past week, I forgot how awful it can get. It sucks. You're feverish, your nose is either runny or super blocked, your throat hurts, you get headaches, you're lethargic 80% of the time, all that stuff. But what sucked the most for me was how hot my skin felt. Like, clothes were so uncomfortable to wear from the sweat, especially since it's still summer around here.

So imagine putting bandages into account as well?

Yep, awful.

So I present you with a scenario: Teen!Dazai in his office, has taken over paper duty (that Mori knows he isn't gonna complete anyway) because of his fever. He feels gross, to say the least. Flushed and hazy, a little nauseous and sleepy. But his skin- his skin is scorching, and there is no way for it to disperse that heat because it can't breathe. He endures it for as long as he can until he just can't.

In his haze, he scrambles to tear his bandages off, loosen his tie, and decides that he will lie on the cold floor shirtless. The air conditioner isn't enough. No one is there to stop him.

Until Chuuya barges in without knocking as usual (to discus the paperwork he also knows Dazai isn't going to finish) and stumbles onto the scene.

Dazai doesn't even acknowledge him, has already taken off the bandages around his eye and is halfway through tearing off the ones around his neck. His clothes are disheveled as he loosens them and looks like he's about to take them off.

Chuuya gapes for a solid second, before exclaiming with a blush-

"What the fuck?!"

He rushes over, trying not to look at Dazai's skin that's on display and stops him. He wraps him with Mori's oversized coat aggressively.

Dazai fights against him, exclaiming that he needs to lie on the floor. Chuuya doesn't get it, all that he knows is that Dazai is delirious, and even if he thinks it's a good idea to tear through his protective layer now, he'll definitely regret it later.

So Chuuya ties him with the coat and decides to take the paperwork to his place, along with a flailing Dazai on his shoulder.

I just wanna see Dazai giving Chuuya hell during treating him 😭 cuz even if cooling off is a good idea for a fever, not staying huddled in the warmth equates to chills and endless sneezes. Makes you feel even more awful. So it's gonna be a push and pull of Chuuya trying to warm Dazai up (in order to fight off the fever faster), and Dazai wanting to cool off (because he isn't used to being this warm and hates it), until they come up with a compromise somehow dgdhejndjd

Yeah, just a fun idea! :3 Feel free to expand on it hehe

PEA 😭 i saw this when i was having a Very Bad Day™️ & it immediately made it sm better tysm 🥺🩷🩷

UGH THE TENDER, FEVERISH SKIN UNDER THE BANDAGES ❤️‍🩹 where everything just feels like too much, i completely understand why Dazai (in his feverish delusion) would think removing the offending material would be the solution

Chuuya barging in and quickly going from 👁️👄👁️ to 😳🤬. i love that he goes into protective mode, thinking of how future Dazai will surely regret this course of action & putting measures in place to prevent that 🥺

Chuuya would wrap Dazai up like a sushi roll & carry him on his shoulder like a log back to his apartment, where he proceeds to lose the idgaf war & embrace his mother hen side (which he still denies exists)

meanwhile Dazai is kicking & fighting him every step of the way, acting more like a 5 year old than a mafia sub executive (he’s still only a kid sobs), even as he shivers with chills

until Chuuya manages to get a hand in his sweat soaked curls, gently carding through them. the coolness of his leather glove against Dazai’s overheated scalp makes Dazai go still… and then slump against the couch in a mixture of relief & exhaustion. Chuuya takes advantage of his compliance to make him agree to stop fighting him, & they spend the rest of the day resting on the couch, watching movies & playing video games (well. Chuuya plays. Dazai watches & points out all of Chuuya’s mistakes) 🩷🩷🩷

[omgwhatchloe]

@ercticisms i made a ramble about lenny

thinking abt lenny getting heat exhaustion/stroke in clemens point…

so how does HE get it but no one else?? well it starts when he gets too many compliments on how well hes doing, which fuels him to do all the chores around camp, to maximise compliments (???) and when it starts to work he just keeps going. and he doesnt actually touch the shade long enough for it to be considered time in the shade, despite sweating all day from the constant southern swampy heat. this repeats for about 2 days before he starts sweating harder.

and he wakes up with an awful headache, which he doesnt comment on. but it BOTHERS him, like it actually makes him mad as he attempts to do chores. he is also extremely dizzy when he lifts a sack up, like his vision is almost black and he doesnt know if hes still standing at one point until he manoeuvres himself onto the floor. and he sits there. he is so nauseous he could cry, so frustrated from the heat he could scream, so dizzy and sweaty with a head that feels like its been shot, its overwhelming. to the point he doesn’t even get up, just buries his face in his knees.

when he is found by arthur, who yells for hosea, he is well and truly blacked out. not to mention his poor arms are very sunburnt and will be torturous when he wakes up. thankfully without the camp noticing too much, they walk him to johns tent, as hes extremely hazy but able to put one foot in front of the other, even if he doesnt know his own name or where hes going. within an hour, he has a fever that has overtaken his body.

hes drifting in and out of the most uncomfortable and inconsistent sleep of his life, his body pouring with sweat as it burns up. he truly has no idea where he is, only that he is so hot and in pain. sean has taken his clothes off him, only leaving his drawers, and laid a thin blanket over him, which immediately sticks to his skin. all lenny knows is that he doesnt like where he is because its too hot and it hurts. so as soon as mr macguire goes to get a cloth for his head, lenny is GONE.

thank god he still remembers its not socially acceptable to just wander around in your drawers, and wraps himself in the blanket as he stumbles to his feet, his head POUNDING. hes almost numb, the pain and heat is so bad. slowly shuffling, he leaves the tent and starts to walk barefoot through camp. of course, about 85% of people in camp have no idea whats wrong with him, so they kind of…stare in confusion and dont stop him as he shuffles out of camp in nothing but a blanket.

lenny doesnt know where hes going, he doesnt even know hes supposed to think of a destination as he starts to walk, the sun absolutely going feral on his body, throwing all its heat at the poor boy who is so out of it he doesnt realise thats why hes so uncomfortable. its an extremely unique sight, especially since its lenny summers going through this.

sean goes back into the tent with the cloth, and sees a lenny-shaped spot on the bed…but no lenny.

his heart DROPS. like literally drops. he runs out of the tent and looks around camp to see lenny is NOT THERE. and it goes a bit like this.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS LENNY?”

“…”

“WHERE IS HE?!”

“he-he went out-“

“WHAT?! YOU DIDNT STOP THE BASTARD?!”

“why would-“

“DO YOU KNOW HOW ILL HE IS?! FOR FUCK SAKE HES NOT WEARING CLOTHES! WHERE-WHICH-WHICH WAY-“

*shaky point*

“LENNY!!!!”

thank god lennys shaky legs didnt get him that far and sean found him just about as soon as he left camp on ennis. like literally left the trees then turned his head.

“LENNY! COME HERE BOY!”

of course lenny doesnt even know hes meant to respond when people call for him, so sean rides over. its surprisingly easy to get him onto ennis as lenny entire reaction is “oh we’re doing this now? ok!”

anyways it takes him a few days to recover with sean doting on him and hosea and miss grimshaw being the ones who actually know how to help💔

[davidjordanphoenix]

It is SO FUCKING HARD to figure out what "working hard" looks like when you're disabled.

I want to be a hard worker. I want to learn work ethic. But I HAVE to remember it's going to look different from someone who doesn't live with chronic pain, chronic fatigue, chronic anxiety. There's a difference between laziness and real limitations.

I am in pain all the time. Everything hurts. I have headaches and migraines. My muscles are constantly sore even when I've not exercised. I have constant nerve pain in certain parts of my body that is constant 100% of my waking hours. My feet always hurt. I have a deep tissue skin condition that causes pain. I am always, always, always hurting.

I am tired 100% of the time and honestly? The fatigue is worse than the pain. I would rather have MORE PAIN if it meant I was somehow less tired. The fatigue is so bad I panic when I feel exhausted. When I feel my fatigue getting worse it causes anxiety because I have flashbacks of the days I had to sleep for 2-3 days in a row with no food and only the water I brought with me before crashing. I FEAR exhaustion. Pain is miserable but you can learn to tune it out mostly if you're focused enough on something else. You cannot tune out fatigue. No amount of distraction can pull you away from the despair of being trapped in a body that cannot move the way you need it to because you are simply too exhausted to make it move. Fatigue pulls all focus because you don't have the energy to focus on anything else. When I say I'm exhausted, I don't mean I want to take a nap. I mean that down to my bones, every muscle fiber, down to my fucking eyelids feels soupy and heavy and sapped of whatever life juice keeps them functioning. Exhaustion feels like wakeful death. And sleep doesn't fix it.

I get sick. Constantly. I always either have a fungal infection, or a sore throat, or a nauseous stomach, or a migraine, or SOMETHING. I get sick if I push too hard, even if I had fun. I just went on vacation and spent about 3 days after feeling like I had the flu. My tonsils were red and swollen, I could barely swallow, I had a wet cough, migraine for a week, could barely choke down food. Nobody else got any symptoms. I just get sick because I decided to do something.

On top of the pain, fatigue, and sickness, my brain is a nightmare of anguish. I have a "very severe case" of major depressive disorder that has been treatment resistant since I was a teenager. My head feels like there's constant screaming. I am anxious and fearful of EVERYTHING. There is always noise in my head, screaming in pain and screaming at me that I'm not doing enough, I'm not good enough, I'm an idiot I'm worthless I'm garbage I'm better off dead. I think about suicide obsessively. My brain is a place of torment I am constantly trying to escape.

And then I wonder why it's fucking hard to exist.

Here's the thing: I so, so, so badly want to learn how to work hard. I want to learn how to pour the energy I have into something beautiful. I want to learn how to work hard and take the time and effort to create things that I'm proud of, that can help people feel seen and loved and ease their suffering just a little. It's creation from others that brings me so much joy every day and makes life worth living. I want to create too!

I want to exercise to be physically strong and as able bodied as I can be. I want to be able to cook meals because I love cooking. I want to be able to go for a hike with my dog. I want to spend hours working on something beautiful that makes people feel joy. I want to live a full life. I want to be free.

I have to remember my freedom will still have its shackles. I cannot have a life without chronic pain. I cannot have a life without chronic illness. I cannot have a life without a broken mind.

But if I learn how to work hard, despite all that, maybe I can have something worth it for me.

[silvercap]

HHNGG there's so many good ones for the whump drabble challenge!! Hmm okay, what about 87. Overworked! <3

<33

Also this isn't going to be 100 words gahhshds I'm only partly doing the challenge 😭

Overworked

Leon's head is pounding, the overhead lights blaring painfully into the back of his eyes as he sips at his coffee and tries to force himself to focus on the mission report he's typing up. It's been a long day--the report is due 48 hours after extraction, no exceptions--and an even longer month, a slew of punishing missions leaving him sore and exhausted. The only reason he's not still out in the field are the cracks in his ribs, but it's far from the only injury he's sustained in the past week. Advil can't take away the ache of his recently-dislocated shoulder, tied up in a sling because he can't even move it without getting nauseous, nor can it dull the throbbing lines of stitches holding claw marks closed on his back.

It takes him a long time to finish and hit the print button, frustration and a yawning emptiness making it difficult to care whether or not it even makes sense. His head throbs as Leon rises to his feet, stepping out into the office to pick up from the printer--only for Hunnigan to step into his space the moment he's outside, looking just as tired as he is.

"Can you sign these project forms for R&D? They need them for Monday, but it would be best if you could get them done ASAP. Did you finish your report?" She hands him a new stack of papers, all tiny print and official jargon that will no doubt strain his already blurry eyesight until he can barely see straight. That's how it always goes.

"Yes." Leon tries not to get irritated, and fails. His head throbs sharply. He grits his teeth when she continues.

"Good. I also need you to look over updated SOP before my supervisor gets after me for it, and I've emailed you an old report from last year that was apparently missing a few details." She sighs. "You forgot to date it properly, again. Director wants a rewrite."

"What?" Leon frowns, struggling to control his tone. There's something filling the back of his throat with acid, headache jamming fresh spikes into his skull. "That's--I still have to go over that report from Wisconsin. I won't have time today."

"I know, but they want this done yesterday, and there's only so much that I can put off. There's a new online training module, too, on the updated office software--"

"Hunnigan, I don't fucking care!"

Leon regrets it the moment it's out, eyes widening as he realizes that his hands have curled into fists, chest heaving and heart thundering under his ribs. Hunnigan just looks stunned, the concern that's already bleeding into her expression putting something desperate and sharp in Leon's throat. The inexplicable urge to cry itches behind his eyes, but he forces it down, aware that his entire body is trembling. Around them, other DSO workers stare.

"I--sorry," Leon stammers, running an anxious hand through his hair. "Just...let me--"

He turns on his heel to dart back into his office, not bothering to close the door since he knows Hunnigan is on his tail anyways. He plants his hands on his desk as she follows him inside and closes the window blinds, glancing up as she shifts closer and wordlessly puts a hand on his back. The wound beneath pangs lightly, and Leon can't hide his flinch.

"I'm sorry," he says raggedly, voice cracking.

"It's okay. Why don't you sit down? You're shaking, Leon." Hunnigan doesn't wait for an answer, nudging him towards his chair until Leon sinks into it gratefully, clutching his skull against the ache. He can't stifle a groan. He feels Hunnigan drape something over his shoulders, and it takes him a moment to crack open his eyes and recognize it as her blazer. She's looking at him, worried.

"I'm fine," he croaks, to which Hunnigan shakes her head.

"No. How bad is it? I haven't had time to coerce medical into giving me your file."

"I'm just tired."

"You're not." Hunnigan shoots him a softer look. "Let me get you some water and I'll call you a taxi. If you're done the report, the rest can wait. I'd rather have you recovering than working yourself to the bone."

"Hunnigan--"

"I won't let you do this to yourself, Leon. They're working you hard for a reason--don't let them win."

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Vault Visit

A JSE Fanfic

SepticHeroes AU: Part 33

First Part | Previous Part | Read on AO3 at CrystalNinjaPhoenix

I bet you guys are wondering what's happening with JJ. Or at least I hope you are, he's a main character after all fhdjksalh Anyway, after a while of not checking on him, here's a chapter that mostly takes place from his point of view! JJ, still stuck in the Vault, continues his routine as normal. Mostly spending time with his new friend, Soren. But this routine is interrupted by a visit. I wonder who it's from, and what he wants :3c Anyway yeah prepare for further emphasis on how much the League of Heroes actually sucks >:)c Enjoy!

===============

Another day, and JJ’s headache had gotten worse again. He didn’t want to get out of bed, but he knew it would be bad to miss role call, so he rolled himself out and walked down to the gathering. If everyone in this prison was suffering from similar symptoms, or even worse, it was no wonder they all seemed so zombie-like. He wasn’t even fully aware of his surroundings until breakfast time. At which point the thought of eating made him nauseous. If the food was spiked with neutrinalin, would the side effects go away if he didn’t eat?

Soren was eating with him, though he hadn’t said much when JJ had sat down. Maybe the side effects were hitting him hard today, too. He looked across the table and saw JJ’s hesitation to eat. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

Do you? JJ asked.

“You’re thinking you can avoid feeling like shit if you don’t eat the drugged food.”

JJ smiled slightly. So I’m guessing that’s something people have tried? And it hasn’t gone well, has it?

Soren shook his head. “The neut will leave your system in about a day, so it seems like a good idea in theory. But the side effects will linger for a bit afterwards. Dunno how long, exactly—a couple more days, at least. Maybe longer.”

Has anyone tried to avoid eating and then make an escape attempt? JJ asked.

“I’ve never seen it, and no one I know has, either.” Soren bit his lip, thinking. “But there are stories of people who have. It didn’t go well, I think. None of the attempts. I mean, why would they? At that point you’re hungry, thirsty, and still feeling sick. You’d be easily overpowered even if your abilities were working at full force.”

JJ sighed. Well good to know. Still... He poked at the food with his spoon. Unflavored oatmeal, oh joy. Maybe things will be better if I just skip a meal. At least, less worse.

“Hm. Well.” Soren screwed his face up in doubt. 

What? Are the guards going to get angry if I don’t eat? JJ glances around the room at the guards standing at each entrance.

“Yeah, they are.”

...what? Jameson hadn’t expected that answer. Why? I’m not starting a riot by skipping breakfast.

“But you might be plotting an escape attempt,” Soren said. “Like I just mentioned. Trying to avoid the League’s best friend in the food so your powers will come back and you’ll break out. That’s not acceptable to them.”

Jameson blinked. Are you fucking kidding me. So—they’ll just force you to eat their spiked food?

Soren laughed and leaned forward. “Fucked, isn’t it? It depends who’s on duty. I figure they all have instructions to check plates, but some take it more seriously than others. And are more... forceful about it.” His expression became shadowed. Almost... haunted. “Don’t... tell any of them I... said this.”

Of course not, JJ promised. He looked down at the food on his plate. It didn’t look any more appealing than it did before. But he forced himself to scoop some up and eat. A lull in conversation followed as the two of them tried to eat breakfast.

“Honestly even if you managed to get away with it, you have those cuffs,” Soren muttered. “They really don’t want you to get out.”

JJ paused. He pulled down his sleeve a bit so he could look at the pow-sup bracelet there. Sometimes he was able to forget they were there at all. Sometimes he couldn’t stop thinking about them. They were always a constant presence, the inch-wide, centimeter-thick metal. I noticed you don’t have any, he said. Most people don’t.

“Yeah, they only put them on the ones they think are really dangerous,” Soren said. A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Or whoever they’re most afraid of.”

I know you said that if you’re on good behavior, they might move your cell to another floor, JJ recalled. To somewhere less secure. Is the same true for these? He shook his hands, indicating the bracelets. Jazz hands.

Soren laughed. “Jazz hands! Jazz hands indeed.” He sighed. “I don’t think they will. The security risk is partly about your personality, you know. The cuffs are just about your powers. Or at least, that’s how I see them.”

JJ nodded. He turned his hands around, looking at the bracelets... and that’s when he noticed something that he hadn’t before. Or rather, he noticed a lack of something. How... How were these supposed to come off? There wasn’t a keyhole. Or a number pad for a code. Or a space for a fingerprint or anything. He knew the League had advanced tech, but—there would still be some sort of indication, wouldn’t there?

“Jameson?” Soren blinked, seeing JJ’s eyes get wide and his face drain of color. “What’s wrong?”

JJ’s eyes flicked up to him. He tried to sign something, but his hands were shaking so much that it came out incomprehensible.

“I-I didn’t quite catch that.”

Jameson tried to steady himself. I... don’t think... these are supposed to... come off.

“Huh?” Soren took a moment to process what Jameson meant. “Wait—they can’t be removed?!”

JJ shook his head. Tears sprang to his eyes, brought by panic and spurred on by his headache. Maybe there was some way to get them off that he couldn’t figure out—maybe it would be fine! And besides he knew he’d probably never get out of here, right?! So why did it matter?! Why did it matter?!

“Jameson? C-calm down.” Soren reached across the table, putting a hand on Jameson’s trembling shoulder.

They could just turn the cuffs on at any moment. Even if he made it out of here, even if someone miraculously took care of that technopath, even if—oh my god, could he turn on the cuffs?! He couldn’t control all technology but—these were probably connected wirelessly to something to control them. Could he use that connection?! No no no—he’s been forced to do enough for that electronic voice, he didn’t want him to have another way to control him!

“Jameson, calm down!” Soren stood up, leaning across the table. “You’re hyperventilating.” He grabbed his shoulders firmly. “Breathe with me, alright?” he said gently, and took a deep breath in.

But Jameson couldn’t focus enough to follow his example. The cuffs wouldn’t just suppress his powers, would they?! That was bad enough! But they were also magnetic, they’d snap together, meaning he couldn’t use his hands. What if he was busy doing something important when they snapped together?! What if he was on a ladder or something and he ended up falling?! Well he’ll never have the chance to be on a ladder while in prison, but still! Oh what if the magnets stuck to nearby metal? The walls were metal! Would he be stuck in place by the arms if he got close enough?! And what about this pow-sup energy anyway? Did it have the same side effects if he was affected by it long enough?! What if it had worse side effects?! What if—

“Jameson! JJ!” Soren shouted.

JJ gasped and looked at him, eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t—he couldn’t get enough air—

“You’re starting to sink,” Soren said, firmly but not unkindly. “Sinking into anxiety. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you need to try to pull yourself out.”

His hands were still shaking, but he tried to speak. I can’t.

“Do you want contact or not?” Soren asked. “Should I back up or get closer?”

Close, JJ said, hiccuping from the way he was hyperventilating.

Soren nodded. He raised a leg like he was going to try and climb over the table, but glanced at the guards and changed his mind. Instead he rushed around the end of the table and sat down on the bench next to JJ. “Are you okay with me putting an arm around you?” He asked. When JJ nodded, Soren did just that, wrapping an arm around Jameson’s shoulders and pulling him closer. “Breathe,” he whispered. “Focus on what’s really here. What you can see and touch.”

JJ nodded. He knew exercises to do during moments like this. He knew them, but it just felt like everything was crashing down on his head and he couldn’t think—

“You can hear my voice, can’t you?” Soren asked. “Listen to that. Listen to the way these words rise and fall. Remember to breathe. Try to control that. Breathe in while I count to seven. One, two, three—“ Jameson tried, but his controlled breathing fell apart quickly. “That’s okay. We’ll try again. One, two, three, fo—We’ll try again. One, two, three, four...”

After a while, JJ managed to get a hold of his breath. Enough that he didn’t feel like he was constantly out of breath, at least. Thank you, he signed shakily, vision still blurred with tears.

“Glad I could help.” Soren smiled warmly despite how tired he looked. “Now... what was the problem there? I know, it was that the cuffs don’t come off, but what specifically about that upset you? Was it that you were trapped?”

Jameson shook his head. I don’t know. I just... just... kept thinking about what if someone used them. Maybe I did feel trapped. I don’t know. Every so often as he signed he caught a glimpse of the metal cuffs flashing in the light.

“Well... yeah, that makes sense,” Soren said. “But... this is going to sound a bit harsh, but... there’s nothing we can do about that right now.” He heard JJ’s breath hitch. “That’s upsetting, I know. But we can’t get them off. There’s no way we can.”

Are you telling me to give up? JJ asked.

Soren shook his head. “No. I’m telling you to think about what you can do instead of worrying about what you can’t. If someone decides to turn on the cuffs, you can’t make them stop. You don’t have your powers.” Soren smiled again. “You can figure out how to deal with it when it happens. Your brain is trying to come up with solutions ahead of time, but all that’s making you do is feel afraid and worried. Take a step back.”

I don’t want to... JJ took a shuddering breath. I don’t want to be unprepared.

“Of course, but if you push yourself into a panic like that you’re not really being prepared,” Soren said. “You’re just... well, panicking. This is a bad situation, I’m not denying this. But if you freak out—if we freak out—then we can’t do anything, you know? We’re frozen, letting the fear control us. We’re already dealing with a lot, constant panic will just make everything worse.”

JJ didn’t say anything. He just thought about what Soren was saying. Then he nodded. I suppose you’re right... anxiety isn’t helpful here. He leaned farther against Soren, limp from all the energy he expended in his little freakout. Thank you.

“G-glad to help,” Soren said. His face... was it a little red? Seeing it made JJ feel his face get a bit hotter too.

I’ve had a question for a while, JJ said. Are we... allowed to visit each other’s cells?

“Well... it depends on who’s on guard,” Soren said slowly. “But in general, it’s easier to visit someone on your own floor, or a higher one. You’re... probably not going to be able to visit someone on a lower floor.”

JJ nodded understandingly. If you ever need anything, maybe you could try coming up to visit me, then? Or... if you just want to... want to try.

Soren inhaled sharply. “Yeah... maybe I’ll... I’ll try that. If it’s some of the nicer guards on duty.”

The two of them finished breakfast without saying much else.

===============

“Prisoner 3117.” Thump!

JJ started awake. He’d been dozing absentmindedly on the cot in his cell, trying to get some rest but not fully succeeding. He just kept passing in and out of consciousness, until there was a sudden loud sound nearby. He rolled over and looked towards the cell door. It was open. A man in the blue-and-black uniform of a prison guard stood there, two more guards visible behind him. Did one of them hit the wall or something?

“Stand up,” the guard in the doorway said.

What was happening? Did he sleep past roll call in his daze? JJ sat up, and his head immediately started pounding. He winced, pressing a hand to the spot where it hurt the most.

“Stand up,” the guard repeated.

He was going to, jeez. You’d think that the guards would be used to their prisoners acting listless. JJ pushed himself to his feet, swaying for a moment, then looked over at the guards.

“Come on.” The guard gestured for him to come over. “You have a visitor.”

A visitor? Who was it? He could only think that it was one of his friends. Schneep, maybe? But would Schneep risk coming to a League prison when he was, himself, a criminal? It was probably Jackie, actually. A possibility it was Chase. He couldn’t see Marvin getting anywhere close to the Vault, since he was so paranoid about his identity being discovered—paranoid for good reason, of course. Yeah, it was probably Jackie. That was the simplest explanation. Interrogating a villain seemed like something he’d have to do as a Hero.

He walked over to the cell door as he wondered this. The guard in the doorway stepped back, gesturing for JJ to walk ahead of him. JJ did so, and the two other guards stepped up on either side of him. They were ready to grab him if he tried anything, he could tell. Not that he was able to ‘try anything.’ He was exhausted. His attempted nap had made him more tired, ironically enough. Even if he got desperate, the guards would be able to easily overpower him. They wouldn’t even need to turn on the pow-sup bracelets on his wrists.

The guards guided him through a door he hadn’t been through since he arrived here. The heavily-guarded doorway into the set of long, winding hallways that would eventually lead to the prison’s entrance. He couldn’t clearly remember the way to the front, but that didn’t matter, did it? He wasn’t going to escape anytime soon, even though all the neutrinalin side effects were making this place a hell to live in. He couldn’t escape. He didn’t want to think what the robotic voice would do to Dahlia if he left against its wishes.

After a while of walking, they entered a room divided in half by glass. Or... it probably wasn’t actually glass. It was probably some sort of bulletproof plastic. A table sat right in the middle of the room, divided in half by the glass as well. JJ had seen this sort of setup in enough crime TV shows. He could figure out how it worked. Jackie would sit in the chair on the other side of the glass, while he sat in the one on this side, and they would talk. The shows usually had a phone system, but clearly it was different here.

“Sit.” One of the guards pushed him forward. JJ stumbled, but regained his balance and walked over to the chair. He didn’t fail to notice how the legs were bolted into the floor. “Lean back,” the guard said, walking over. 

JJ did so. The guard pressed a button, there was a beep, and then a pair of metal cuffs appeared, holding JJ’s ankles to the chair. Another, larger one shot out from the back of the chair, wrapping around his waist, right at the bottom of his ribcage. 

“Since you can’t talk, your hands are free for your... sign language,” the guard said. JJ couldn’t see his face, but he could practically hear the doubt in his voice. “Consider yourself lucky. The first sign of anything suspicious and we’ll rush right in.” He chuckled. “If he doesn’t put you in your place first.”

Jameson blinked, confused. Wait, was his visitor not one of his friends? Obviously, he couldn’t ask any clarifying questions. The guards were leaving, their backs to him, so they wouldn’t see his sign even if they knew BSL in the first place—which he doubted they did. So... all he could do was wait.

Luckily, he only had to wait a minute. A door on the other side of the glass opened up, and in walked—oh, so it was Jackie after all. What did the guard’s comment about the visitor ‘putting him in his place’ mean, then? Did the guard just assume Jackie would beat JJ up if he tried to escape? Well... clearly he didn’t know anything about Jackie. But it was telling that the guard assumed a Hero would do that. JJ just wasn’t sure what it, specifically, was ‘telling’ about.

Jackie paused soon after he walked into the room. Even with the white lenses of his mask, JJ could tell his eyes were locked on him. An expression of total shock on his face. Did he look that different since the last time Jackie saw him? Jackie looked exactly the same to him... didn’t he? Maybe... maybe his face was a bit narrower. Had he been eating enough?

After a moment, Jackie hurried over and sat down at the chair. JJ heard the scrape of its legs against the floor—so that one wasn’t bolted down. Of course it wasn’t. Jackie cleared his throat. “Um... can you hear me?” he asked.

JJ nodded. Jackie’s voice sounded a bit tinny. It was probably coming from an intercom.

“Right. Good.” Jackie cleared his throat. “I... wanted to... check on you. H-how are you doing?”

...how was he supposed to answer that?

After a moment of having his hands in the air, hovering awkwardly as he thought about what to say, JJ signed, As best as I can be, in this situation.

“Hah. Yeah... probably a dumb question.” Jackie nodded. “You, uh... you’re... eating alright? Do, uh... Does a place like this have somewhere you can get sunlight? Exercise?”

JJ nodded. There’s a courtyard. And there’s three meals a day. Not that he made much use of the exercise equipment out there. Not that he always ate everything on his plate.

“A courtyard?” Jackie blinked. “Well that’s good to hear. But what about people who can fly?”

There’s a net that covers the top of it. And besides, you know about the neutrinalin, don’t you?

“I, uh... yeah...” Jackie nodded slowly. “I knew that... prisons fed their superhuman prisoners neutrinalin. Um, but...” He hesitated, looking like he had something to say, but not sure how to say it. “You, um... look... You’re really pale, and...” He trailed off.

Jackie, JJ said. Did you... want to ask me something?

Jackie started in surprise. “Um, y-yeah. I... We know about the one who was blackmailing you. The police and everyone. It’s on the news and stuff.”

JJ started. So they found his emergency video tape after all. That was a last resort. He hadn’t even known if he would use it, not until Jackie had finally confronted him in the police station. God—did he know that JJ had recorded that video? JJ glanced around looking for video cameras in the room. There had to be one!

“How we figured it out is secret,” Jackie said hurriedly. “A League secret. But we know about Anti-Virus.”

JJ laughed. Anti-Virus?

“What?” Jackie sounded suddenly defensive. 

It just... seems so... I don’t know, giving him a cheesy name like that... makes it sound less... serious.

“He called himself that!” Jackie said. “In your—” He suddenly stopped, coughing. “Well, the message did have a little ‘haha’ on the end, so maybe he thought it was funny too.”

Ah... JJ remembered that part in the texts now that Jackie mentioned it. He caught it on the video. So... now what happens? he asks. You know about him, so now what?

Jackie hesitated again. “The plan is to get you out of here,” he said slowly. “After all, you’re not fully at fault for this. At the very least, you don’t need to be so highly guarded. But... it will take... a long time to get through the trial and all that.”

JJ blinked. Jackie didn’t exactly sound optimistic. Huh... if he got moved out of the Vault legally, would that anger him? What would he do to Dahlia? He tried to hide his sudden spike of fear. Well... that’s good, he said slowly.

“So, um...” Jackie cleared his throat. “Is there... anything you want to share about him? This Anti-Virus?”

Well, that would certainly anger Anti-Virus, sharing information about him. Though to be honest, JJ didn’t know all that much in the first place. What do you already know about him? JJ asked.

“He’s a technopath,” Jackie said. “One with the ability to manipulate software. You probably aren’t aware of this, but uh... there was a data leak from the League database. Anti-Virus was behind it. He doesn’t want us to investigate him.”

Yeah, that made sense. I don’t know who he is, JJ said slowly. He only ever contacted me through text, calls, and emails. And he deleted those afterwards.

Jackie sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I was worried about. Did he ever mention anything that might... give away who he really is?”

JJ shook his head. He couldn’t recall Anti-Virus telling him anything related to himself. Even when JJ tried to egg him on a couple times, the voice remained firm and the text remained businesslike. Only relating back to Jameson. What he wanted Jameson to do, what he would do if Jameson didn’t obey. A single-track mind.

“Any little thing could help,” Jackie insisted. “Do you know why he wanted to attack SepTech, for example? On the roof that day, he said something about wanting to control it, but is that the truth? Or... was he just creating a Puppeteer character for you to play?”

Jameson stiffened. He shook his head again. I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.

“...right.” Jackie nodded. “Of course. I don’t expect he’d want to tell you anything. Especially if he thought you’d get arrested.” He sighed and leaned forward. “...how are you doing, JJ? Really? I mean... y-you’re still my friend. Strangely enough, you were still my friend even when I thought you were the Puppeteer on your own free will. That’s why I couldn’t... couldn’t understand why you’d do that. So... I-I want you to be okay. Even... even in a situation like this.”

JJ blinked. Thank you, he said, signing slowly. I’m... fine. Could be better, but fine.

“Good. Good.” Jackie nodded. “Nobody’s giving you any trouble or anything?”

No, not at all. I’d even say I made some... friends.

“Friends?” Jackie blinked. “With villains?”

Well, yes... if that’s who’s in the prison, then that’s who’s available for me to talk to. Other villains.

“JJ, you’re not a—”

JJ shook his head, interrupting him. Yes I am. No matter what my motivations, I still did those things.

“But you—You’re a good person,” Jackie insisted. “You know that, right?”

Jameson tried to smile, but it wavered. Thank you for thinking so. 

“You are,” Jackie continued. “You can’t think that you’re not. You had a good reason for doing what you did—I-I’m sure. We all know it. Schneep does, Chase and Marvin do. We all know.”

So... they all knew about Dahlia, then? Well, of course they did; if Jackie found his message, he found hers too.And of course he’d tell the others. Jameson hadn’t told Jackie, Chase, or Marvin about her for so long... were they angry that he hid his sister from them? Jackie didn’t seem mad, but he wouldn’t know for sure unless he was direct about it. And he didn’t want to be direct. But he couldn’t help himself from thinking about what he would say if Jackie asked about why he never told them he had a sister. Ever since she was kidnapped, even thinking about her hurt, there was no way he could’ve brought her up to them... not to mention them knowing about Dahlia could have been trouble if his secret as the Puppeteer got out.

 Did the rest of the world know about Timekeeper, too? Or did his friends keep that part to themselves?

“JJ?” Jackie prompted.

Jameson shook himself out of the introspective daze he’d slipped into. Sorry, he signed.

“It’s fine,” Jackie said. “So... really, people have been... friendly in here?”

Not friendly exactly, JJ said slowly. I’m sure a lot of them don’t like me. But no one has the energy to do much. And a couple have been nice. I met someone, Soren—

“Who?” Jackie asked.

S-O-R-E-N, JJ said, spelling it out. He’d forgotten for a moment that Jackie wouldn’t know the name sign he gave Soren. You know him.

“I do?” Jackie leaned back. JJ could see the gears turning in his mind. “Wait—you mean—Pathos?”

JJ nodded. He wanted to know what had happened back home, and things... developed from there.

“I—I—” Jackie seemed to be at a loss for words. He let out a breath. “O...kay, then. That’s... a hell of a coincidence.” He shook his head. “Well, uh... is he... okay? Besides all the... the crimes.”

Jameson chuckled. Besides all the crimes, he’s very okay. The same can be said for a lot of people in here.

“Hah. I’ll take your word for it.” Jackie sat there for a moment. He looked... sad. “Are you... sure there’s nothing you can tell me?”

...I’m sorry, JJ said.

“No, don’t be. In fact, thank you for what you’ve told me so far.” Jackie gave him a soft smile. “I... hate for this visit to be short, but I guess... there’s nothing more for us to talk about, for now. M-maybe I’ll be back if there are any... changes. Or if there’s anything else I want to ask.”

It hurt to see Jackie for a minute, only for him to leave again. But it wasn’t like they could spend ages catching up. JJ wouldn’t be surprised to hear that there was a time limit on visits. Goodbye, then, he said.

“Goodbye... for now.” Jackie stood up. “W-we’ll see each other again.” And with that, he turned and left.

JJ watched the door slide closed behind him. He sighed, slumping in his seat. And he wondered... would it have been better to never see Jackie at all? Would that be better than having this short conversation, reminding him of what he couldn’t have ever again? Reminding him of what existed outside the walls of Byrthon Vault?

The guards appeared to take him away again. He did not resist. No use in starting now.

===============

“Windstorm visited you?” Soren asked later that day. He was clearly surprised. “I guess... that might make sense? He doesn’t seem the type to throw someone in prison and forget. But what did he want with you?”

JJ sighed. There were a handful of others nearby. Soren had tried to introduce him to other prisoners JJ might get along with. But Soren was the only one who knew sign, so he was interpreting for the others. Don’t say this out loud, JJ said. But... we were friends.

Soren raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Jameson nodded. We met in our secret identities first... then I found out about his, by accident. Then he found out about mine when he unmasked the Puppeteer. It has... been a lot.

“I see...” Soren nodded slowly. “That... must be... difficult. At least he spoke to you.”

He’s a kind man, really, JJ said.

“Hey, what’s this all about?” One of the others nearby was Angela, the one who got up in JJ’s face early on. She seemed a lot more... chill, now. And she was too tired to act on anything, even if she wasn’t. “It’s not every day a Hero comes to visit someone in the Vault. Is it... should we be worried?”

Soren looked at Jameson. After a moment, he shook his head. It was all stuff related to me, not any of you, he said. Nothing is going to change for the worse in here.

As Soren told the others about that, JJ leaned on his shoulder and closed his eyes. His head still hurt. He was having trouble even sitting upright. But absentmindedly, he did wonder why Jackie came to visit. To let him know that the outside world was aware of Anti-Virus? To give him hope that he’ll be able to get out of here? That was probably it. Even though Jackie asked him questions about Anti-Virus, he seemed less concerned with interrogating information out of him and more worried about JJ’s health and how he was doing.

That was nice. Jackie really was a kind man. But JJ knew that it was unlikely that the public or the justice system would so easily forgive the Puppeteer. He knew he wasn’t leaving prison. Maybe he’d leave the Vault eventually. But he doubted it.

There was nothing he could do to change that though, was there? So he shouldn’t get himself worked up. He should focus on what he could do. He could spend time with Soren, maybe get close to other prisoners. Try to keep in shape to stave off the side effects. That was about it.

Still, it was better than thinking about how he was trapped in here. So he decided to focus on those few things after all. It might make being stuck a bit more bearable.

===============

“This is the path to the visitor’s room, I’m pretty sure.” Jackie handed Schneep a torn-out notebook page with a crude pencil map on it. “I asked a lot of questions about where the other corridors went, not all of them were answered, but I labeled the ones that were. I didn’t want to be too persistent for an answer, just in case it was suspicious.”

Schneep looked over the page, studying it. The four of them were in Neun Park again, having left their phones at home. “I see, I see,” he muttered. “Did Jameson tell you anything?”

“He mentioned a courtyard,” Jackie recalled. “But that it was covered with a net. Honestly I could’ve maybe asked him more... like where his cell is or something. But I thought that’d be weird.”

“Well, what you said earlier about the layout should help, right?” Chase said. “The warden said the most dangerous ones were higher up, I think they’d count JJ as dangerous.”

“Strange that they do that,” Marvin muttered. “Kanchana told me there’d usually be separate wings for different securities, not different floors. There must be only one cell block. Or two, for men’s and women’s.”

“It’s not the biggest prison, I guess?” Jackie said. “I’ve been to one before, the Vault was definitely smaller than that, but it looked a lot more secure. Cameras everywhere.”

Chase frowned. “Do you think Anti-Virus is able to get into the Vault cameras, then?”

Jackie stiffened. “Well... h-he’d need a reason to. I guess he could be keeping an eye on Jameson... I hope he’s not, though.” Oh god, if Anti-Virus did know what was going on in the prison, did he spy on his visit with JJ? Did he hear everything Jackie said to him? ...He was pretty sure he didn’t say anything too obvious about the breakout. But still. It made him nervous, but it was all done now. There was nothing he could do, other than help with the breakout. 

But not too much. He couldn’t know anything important. If the League got a hint of what he was planning, they’d probably detain him at least, and he wouldn’t be able to help anyone.

“Do you know anything else that could be of help?” Schneep asked.

Jackie nodded. “He had these cuffs on. The warden said they were magnetic pow-sup bracelets.”

“What? But they’re already using neutrinalin on him!” Marvin cried. “They put pow-sup cuffs on him, too?!”

“The warden explained all that actually,” Jackie said. “It’s in case the neutrinalin fails somehow. If he shows any sign of using his powers they turn on the pow-sup and the cuffs snap together. I think it’s because his powers are so hand-based. The strings come from there and stuff.”

“Oh, so the pow-sup isn’t active all the time.” Marvin relaxed slightly. “That’s... slightly better. But only slightly. I-I still don’t like that.”

Schneep frowned. “There must be a way to get those off. Do you think we could find the key? Oh, but no, something so secure would probably use something more advanced, wouldn’t it? Perhaps fingerprint recognition. So we must prepare for his wrists to snap together at any moment, and once he is out we need some way to take them off. I wonder what metal they are made out of...”

Marvin shrugged. “No way to know without looking at them, I guess. But it can’t be too difficult to break.” He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. Small spheres of glowing red energy, each the size of ball bearings, appear around his fingers and weave around them in a repeating pattern.

Jackie nodded. “I do think you’d be able to break through them... you’ll just have to be careful. They are on his wrists, after all.”

“Of course,” Marvin said quietly. The spheres disappeared. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“...yeah. I-I know you don’t.” Jackie looked to the side, watching a couple cars go down the street next to the park. “Are... are you guys going to do more planning? If so, I should probably go.”

“Right, yes.” Schneep cleared his throat. “Thank you very much, Jackie. This is a great help.”

“Is it?” Jackie asked. “I don’t think I managed to get much.”

“Anything is better than nothing.”

“Oh! Do you know exactly where the cameras are?” Chase asked. “Before you go, could you like... make a note of them?”

“Great idea, Chase!” Schneep nodded.

“I can try to remember where they are but, uh, don’t fully rely on my memory.” Jackie patted his pockets and took out the pencil he’d used to draw the rough map earlier. He took the paper back from Schneep and put a couple dots on it. “I think that’s where they are... the one right outside the front entrance had a red light and I watched for other ones like that. But there could be ones that don’t have those lights somewhere that I couldn’t see.”

“Hmm...” Marvin frowned. “I have an idea, but... I don’t know if I like it.”

“Don’t!” Jackie covered his ears.

“I wasn’t about to say it, fucking hell.”

Jackie stood up from the bench. “I’ll just go now. Is there anything else?”

“Not that I can think of,” Schneep said. “Chase, are you going as well?”

Chase glanced at Jackie. “Um... do you want me to go back with you?” he asked tentatively. “I-I’d be good with that.”

“Do you want to go home with me?” Jackie asked. “Or would you rather stay here and try to help.”

“I’m good with either, if you want me to come with you I will.”

Marvin rolled his eyes. “Is this how you two talk about most things? You’re flatmates, aren’t you? Do you go back and forth on doing the dishes, too?”

Jackie glared at him, then looked back at Chase. “Look, if you want to stay and help plan, you can. I can take the train back on my own, you know.”

Chase smiled weakly. “Y-yeah. I’ll stay for a bit longer. Let Frosty stretch his legs.” Frosty put his head on Chase’s leg, resting it there.

“Cool, man. I’ll see you when you get back.” Jackie smiled, then turned and walked down the street, heading towards the train station.

Once he was out of earshot, Schneep said, “The more I hear about the Vault, the less I know about how to infiltrate it.”

“You can’t just walk inside with your powers?” Chase asked.

“It is likely they will be prepared for supers with my skill set. I am not the only super who has ever had invisibility and intangibility.” Schneep chuckled. “Though I am by far the one with the strongest powers in a long time. They will have infrared cameras, I’m sure. And they may be prepared with energy weapons. Super intangibility usually cannot pass through energy beams and such. It is the same for me.”

“That’s how Jackie and I tried to corner him once,” Marvin said. “But you just went back into the U-Storit unit and walked through the wall there.” He sighed. “I should’ve completely surrounded you but I—”

“Didn’t think of it,” Schneep finished. “Most people do not. You are all accustomed to thinking of everything around as solid. Once you get rid of that mentality, so many new paths open up to you, ones that others do not consider.”

Marvin grinned. “I see.”

“Hey Marvin, what was that idea you mentioned earlier?” Chase asked. “That you didn’t like?”

Marvin’s smile dropped. He sighed. “I was wondering if the Dismantler could take out the cameras somehow. She’s a technopath—not like Anti-Virus, she doesn’t interact with the software, only the physical hardware of stuff. She... well, she can dismantle it. Physically. She also once told me that she has, like, a sense for high-tech stuff. She knows where nearby stuff is.”

“What, like an arrow in a video game that points to your objective?” Chase asked.

“Probably a bit like that, actually.” Marvin laughed.

“Well, why can’t she help, then?”

“Because... she’s... young,” Marvin said slowly.

Chase felt something in his stomach drop. “Is she a kid?!”

“Like an actual child?! No!” Marvin shook his head.

“O-oh. Good.” Chase let out a breath. Why did he suddenly feel a rush of panic, thinking about a child in danger? Well... everyone probably felt that way, actually. It’s not weird. Maybe it was a bit intense, but he worked with kids a lot... Why did he have this... strange feeling? Like he was... forgetting something...

“If we want her help for this, we’d have to get her into the Vault, a-and I don’t know how I’d feel about that,” Marvin stammered.

“Of course, of course.” Schneep nodded. “But... she was there at our first meeting. Does she want to help?”

Marvin shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “Let’s just look at Jackie’s diagram. See if there’s anything we can start to plan from it.”

Though they doubted Jackie’s little sketch was worth a long discussion, Chase and Schneep both nodded and turned their attention to it. Chase had a hard time concentrating, though. He kept thinking about that feeling... about that sudden panic. It seemed almost... protective in a way. But... it was probably just because he liked kids. Yeah. That was it.

And yet, the instinct nagged at the back of his brain. The feeling of forgetting something lingered all day.

[lulu24784]

washing machine heart | part 8

"I know who you pretend I am."

[AO3 Link] previous chapter | next chapter

synopsis: | You're absolutely infatuated with Stan Marsh and have even started dating him! It should be a dream come true, but the truth is, he's only with you to make Wendy Testaburger jealous. To help you work through your emotions, you turn to Kenny McCormick, your best friend.

pairings: | kenny mccormick x fem! reader ; stan marsh x fem! reader ; wendy testaburger x stan marsh

cws: | angst, drug use/drug mentions, explicit language, sexual content, unrequited love, mental health themes / sh

everyone is aged up to be 18+

Stan knew he had fucked up. Trying to deny it was a waste of time. He had lied right to your face. He wasn’t even drinking with his friends. He had been drinking alone in his room and lamenting every single mistake he had made in life. The next thing he knew, he was drunk and on his way to Wendy’s home.

It was bad. He knew that. He begged her to give him another chance, despite the fact that he was already dating you. When Wendy threw him out, he went to your place. Some type of date was planned for the two of you. He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter to him. Sure, you were cute… But you weren’t her. That’s probably why he left you with no remorse. You were blessed, in all honesty. He was a jackass, and you should have been able to do much better than him. That much was clear to him. He didn’t want to hurt you.

There was no use in trying to salvage your relationship now, so he decided to cut his losses. It was short anyway.. You’d get over it pretty quickly; he figured. It was a mistake to invite you into his fucked-up existence. He was going to hurt you in the same way that he hurt Wendy, and he didn’t want to subject you to that. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Really and sincerely… He felt like he didn’t deserve to be happy anyway.

After Wendy left him, he started dating you out of selfishness. He was such a prick. He even knew of Kenny’s crush on you and he fucking did it anyway… Just to feel better about himself. He even became envious, believing Kenny would whisk you away, despite the fact that he had no right to be so possessive of you. Looking at how attached you are to each other… His chest ached from it.

It’s not like he actually really liked you like that…

Right?

The thought made him feel nauseous.

You were kind and thoughtful. You tolerated his whining and bitching as well as the godawful ‘dates’ he brought you on that were really just his pitiful efforts to get into your pants… Which he couldn’t even do without chickening out. Truthfully, he was glad you two stopped the last time. If anything had really happened, this would be so much messier.

God, he felt like such a mess.

Surely he’d regret all of this in the morning.

Kyle was sitting at his computer busily working on his schoolwork while Stan lay, sprawled out on the floor of his bedroom, watching the spinning ceiling above him.

“I told you, dude. You just need to focus on yourself for a bit and stop drinking so much.”

“Fuck you, dude. You don’t get it. My life is just… It’s shit. I’m shit. Wendy fuckin’ hates me and now so does [Name].”

While Stan rambled on drunkenly, Kyle rolled his eyes and went back to his homework.

“She was sweet, too. I’m such a fuck-up.”

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

The rest of the night was a blur.

You don’t remember how you got to bed, and you certainly don’t remember the moment when your weeping finally wore you out enough to need to go to sleep.

After a long night of crying, you woke up with swollen eyes and a splitting headache. The mattress underneath you seemed as if it would swallow you whole if you moved, and the blankets that wrapped you were so comfortable and soft that you didn’t want to move in the first place. Unfortunately, it was a Monday morning, and you had to get ready for class.

You pulled yourself out of bed and stomped slowly into the bathroom, where you washed the sleep from your face. When you checked your reflection, you looked quite haggard. There was no amount of makeup that could hide the fact that you had spent the whole night bawling. Sighing, you got ready nevertheless, using concealer to try to hide it as best you could.

“For fuck’s sake…” Mumbling, brushing the knots out of your hair.

Today was a sweatpants and hoodie type of day. You weren’t in the mood to make any effort with your look today. What was the point? There was no longer anybody you needed to impress.

Today also felt like a “Skip breakfast” kind of day. You were certain that if you ate anything, it would come back up immediately, so you didn’t want to take a chance.

The morning stroll to school began as you gathered your books and bag and stepped outside. The chilly air felt refreshing on your cheeks, and you could see little puffs of air form on your exhale. Although the frigid Colorado winter was generally unpleasant, today it was welcomed. It was fantastic to be able to tune out your negative thoughts and instead concentrate only on the chill in the air. You’d be happy if you could just sit outdoors and let freezing air bite your skin forever.

It wasn’t until long that you made it to school. Taking a few steps closer to the entrance, you could make out the four usual boys, causing a commotion.

Eric calling Kyle a Jew.

Kyle calling Eric a fatass.

Stan grumbling about how stupid they were.

Stan…

You paused in your forward motion and looked around the group, your gaze inevitably landing on Stan. He seemed worn out and dishevelled, most likely hungover. When he saw you were staring, you swiftly turned away and entered the building. He called out to you, but you ignored him and kept on. You also heard a muffled call from your closest friend, Kenny.

Ah, fuck.

You totally forgot to check your phone to see whether he had ever responded. Of course, it no longer mattered. Although you knew he meant well, a little part of you was nonetheless disappointed that he hadn’t been there when you needed him. Boys really were the worst.

You walked up to your locker, dumped your things inside, and got out your textbook for the next period. A female standing next to you startled you as you were about to shut the locker door.

A purple beret on jet-black hair.

Wendy Testaburger.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me.” You clutched your chest as you wheezed.

Giggling a little, she smiled at you. “Sorry, [Name.]” She looked away for a second, then stepped closer to you, meeting your eyes with a worried expression. “Can we talk for a minute? It’s really important.”

“Uh… Yeah, sure. Um, what’s up?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shifted awkwardly. What could Wendy possibly want to talk with you about? Did she already know Stan dumped you? Was she here to tell you they got back together and then laugh in your face?

You gave Wendy your undivided attention as you looked into her eyes.

She exhaled. It was clear that something was bothering her a lot…

“[Name]… Um… Stan. He… He showed up at my place yesterday.”

You felt the static in your ears pick up again, and a rush of nervous energy ran through your body. As you listened to her, you felt a tingling sensation spreading across every part of you.

“He… He was begging me to get back with him.”

The pit of your stomach started to churn, and you could feel your heart pounding against the inside of your chest. Your grip on the textbooks you were holding started to get shaky. Wendy seemed to have noticed, and she put her hand on your arm, presumably in an effort to help settle you down a little. You let her.

“I know you two are together, so I kicked him out. I wanted to text you but.. I don’t have your phone number and all of your socials are private, so I don’t think you got any of the messages I sent.”

“Y-You’re kidding…”

Almost immediately, your hand went to your pocket, and you pulled your phone out of it. You glanced at the roughly thirty missed messages from Kenny, but you quickly dismissed them and opened up Coonstagram instead, going straight to your message requests. Sure enough, there they were.

“I wanted you to know from me first, before word gets out, y’know? Rumors always spread pretty fast here..” Wendy murmured, staring at you as you perused the text messages she had sent.

A little part of you hoped she was exaggerating, attempting to fuck with you… However, you made the decision to go with your gut this time and take her word for it. You noted the time that the messages were sent after giving them a closer look and analyzing them more closely.

4pm.

Stan came over around 5pm.

The wheels in your head turned. He visited Wendy before coming to your house…

Was he going to cheat on you before your date? Did he just feel so guilty about it he dumped you?

He was drunk though… So his mind was probably all messed up…

But he still did it.

Your breathing became harder, and you felt like you were about to cry again. You felt tingles all over, and your stomach wrenched. In retrospect, skipping breakfast was the right call.

That was the last thing going through your mind as you sprinted by Wendy and emptied the contents of your stomach into a trash can not far away, dropping your textbook in the process. Other students gasped and bolted, exclaiming, “Ew!” while you sobbed and vomited.

As you continued to vomit, a kind hand stroked circles on your back and another pulled your hair back. Upon looking up, you saw Wendy. She smiled sadly as you retched again and continued to attempt to calm you down with her touch.

“Oh hamburgers! Is your little buddy going to be okay, Wendy?”

“I think so. Thanks for the concern, Butters.”

While you buried your head in the garbage, you overheard Wendy talking to some of the other students. You forgot how popular she was. To everyone else, her soothing you in this way must appear extremely out of the ordinary.

“Hey Wendy! Oh, ew! Gross! Oh my god! Did you tell her?!”

That sounded like Wendy’s friend, Bebe. Although you had never spoken with her before, you could immediately identify her voice. As you spat out the nauseating vomit taste from your lips, you heard someone else approach.

“Damn, poor girl. You told her, hey?”

Heidi Turner.

You groaned and sat back as you completed the process of purging your stomach. A napkin immediately hit your lips as Wendy knelt down and wiped your face for you.

“Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah… I think so.” You gave Wendy a hesitant nod, still unsure as to why she was being so compassionate towards you. She lifted you up with a kind hand and dusted the dirt from your clothing.

“Good. I’m really sorry, [Name].”

“I mean, it’s not your fault…” you mumbled as you embraced yourself. You cast an eye across at the other two females who had shifted to stand by Wendy. You could feel everyone’s attention on you, which caused you to feel uneasy for a moment.

“Um… Why… Why are you being so nice to me?” You looked down at the ground. “Shouldn’t you hate me or something? For dating Stan?”

Wendy, Bebe, and Heidi all shared a laugh. In that instant, you felt tiny.

“I don’t hate you! If anything, I felt bad for you. I know how Stan is.. I’ve been through it too.” She smiled. “Honestly, I thought you hated me. Stan talked a lot of shit when we broke up.”

“Haha, right?!” Bebe chimed in.

“I wanted to reach out but just kind of figured it wasn’t my place.”

You gazed at Wendy, astounded at how thoughtful she was. You were ecstatic that she was nothing like you had anticipated. Being able to sense genuine concern was wonderful.

“Well, thank you.” Your voice was gentle. “For uh, telling me. Oh, and for holding my hair back.” You and the three girls all laughed. You forced a hesitant “Um” out before grinning dejectedly. “Stan dumped me last night anway, so…”

“Ugh, fucking prick.” Heidi scowled, her arms crossed.

“Girl, you deserve way better anyway.” Bebe moved so her arm was over your shoulder. You felt your cheeks heat up from the closeness; you only ever got this type of attention from Kenny. “We should find you a new man! Or… Woman?” She winked at you, arching an eyebrow in a way that made you flush even more. You stuttered, unable to say anything coherent. Just like your best friend, she was a total flirt.

“Hey, hey…” Wendy interjected, taking your hand in hers and giving you the most adorable smile you’ve ever seen. “Give her some time, you vixen.” She laughed. “Let her get over Stan first. I know it can be a little difficult.” She winked at you with understanding as she pulled you away from Bebe. “How about you sit with us at lunch? We can talk more about it after class.”

“Yeah, Heidi and Wendy can tell you ALL about how to deal with breakups.” Bebe snickered, while the other two gave her dirty looks.

“Sure…” Your voice squeaked as you attempted to smile for the group.

“Perfect! We’ll see you then!” Wendy smiled, squeezed your hand briefly, and then released it. As the three of them walked together to class, they waved goodbye.

You waved back and picked up your book from the floor, where you’d apparently dropped it. You were ready to settle down and go to class when you saw the familiar group of boys making their way into the school.

Eric didn’t direct his attention to you, thank god.

Kyle met your eyes and smiled sadly at you. He was aware of the situation without a doubt.

Stan never looked up from the floor. Your chest felt tight.

Kenny hurried over to you as soon as he could, an expression of worry visible in his eyes.

As he drew nearer, he took off his hood, showing his face and making his anxiety VERY evident. You smiled nervously and waved at him, and he instantly embraced you tightly, forcing your face against his chest. He looked down at you as he drew away while placing his hands on your shoulders.

“You never responded back! Are you okay?!” His voice was frantic.

You couldn’t help but scowl slightly and turn your gaze elsewhere. “I never responded? What about you? You ignored me all night.” You hissed. “You said you’d be there for me. Where were you?”

He froze, his face scrunched up in sadness.

“[Name], Princess, I’m really REALLY sorry. I just got caught up in… some stuff. I didn’t mean’ta ignore you!” Kenny whined and drew you back into his arms, this time encircling your head. He swayed wildly from side to side. “Please don’t hate meee!!”

It was impossible not to giggle at his antics. “Jesus, Kenny. It’s fine. Just… keep your word next time!”

“Oh, of course! I swear! It won’t happen again.” He flashed you a goofy grin before letting go of you and snatching the textbook from your hands. He usually walked you to class, so you figured today wouldn’t be any different. He cleared his throat and looked down at you as the two of you started to walk.

“You never answered me, y’know? Are you doing okay?” He spoke gently and put his hand on the small of your back as you walked together.

“I’m… As okay as I can be.” You spoke, picking your words with care. “Wendy talked with me and I barfed, and now I’m a bit better.”

Kenny paused briefly, bewildered.

“What? Wendy talked with you?”

“Yeah, and then her, Bebe, and Heidi invited me to sit with them at lunch.”

“What? What the fuck? What did she talk to you about?”

You turned your head away from Kenny while chewing your lower lip.

“She told me Stan went to her house… Um… Before he showed up at mine.” You murmured, genuinely wishing that you could simply put this entire incident out of your mind and go on. After a moment, you realised Kenny had come to a full stop. You turned around to face him and… woah. You’d never seen him with that kind of expression on his face. He looked pissed.

“She said she kicked him out… And then he came over and dumped me. S-So…” You trailed off.

Kenny frowned and clenched his fists for a moment before he exhaled deeply, let out a sigh, and walked back beside you.

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Ken, no. It’s fine. Okay? Just… Leave it alone.”

Stepping up to your classroom, you took your books from Kenny. “I appreciate the offer, Ken. I really do. But, it’s done now. I’ll get over it… Probably… It’s not a big deal.”

As his hand came down on your head and he began to ruffle your hair, you saw the bitter expression that was on his face.

“Alright… I’ll see you after school, then? I want to hang out.”

“Sure.” You gave him a kind grin, and he gave you one back before leaving for his own class.

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

Holy shit. Kenny felt something beyond infuriated; he couldn’t put it into words. The fact that Stan arrived drunk at your house and dumped you like it was nothing was miserable enough, but the fact that he went to Wendy’s just before he did it was simply cruel. The blond frowned while he pulled his hood back up over his face so that no one could see what expression he was making.

In the classroom, he remained mute as he observed Kyle’s unsuccessful attempts to engage in conversation with Stan. Kenny glared daggers into the back of the raven-haired boy’s head. He would be dead right now if he had lazer vision.

Speaking about death… A pang of guilt welled up within Kenny at the notion. Last night, when he should have been at your side, he was powerless to be there. Instead, however, he had chosen to assume the role of a superhero, and it was during his attempt to foil a theft that he met an untimely end.

That’s right, Kenny McCormick was officially declared deceased late yesterday. However, just like every other time he has died, he was alive and well the following day. This time was no different. As usual, nobody was able to remember the incident. It was a tough existence at times…

He knew he couldn’t explain what happened, so he prepared a lame answer in case you pressed him further. Like, maybe he was with a girl and lost track of time?

Ah, maybe not.

Kenny was aware of how vulnerable you were and didn’t want to hurt you by making some other person appear to be more significant than you: his best friend. It was pretty silly, and maybe a little unhealthy… But he loved that aspect of you.

No matter how flawed you were, he still loved you nonetheless. He wished you could see yourself as he saw you. Perhaps you’d have a new perspective on yourself. Who knows? Maybe you wouldn’t fall hopelessly in love with the very first person who paid you any kind of attention who wasn’t your best friend? Or maybe you wouldn’t settle with alcoholics who only used you to boost their own self-esteem?

Kenny sighed and laid his head on his desk, disinterested in the lecture his instructor was delivering. He couldn’t wait until lunchtime so that he could confront Stan about what happened. Sure, you told him not to… But he was going to, anyway.

Stan was his friend and sometimes friends needed their teeth knocked out.

Notes:

Hopefully you like the small glimpse into Stan's mind!

Both Reader and Stan are incredibly insecure with themselves and I wanted to really show that. Stan is much more likely to actively sabotage the good in his life whereas Reader focuses everything inward.

Let me know what you think! This is definitely the longest chapter I've written.