#Mild mention of trigger of trauma and anxiety attack

[kakusu-shipping]

Talk it out

so... It's been a year. How about some more Overwatch Self Insert Fanfiction because. You know. I'm normal.

Mountain's Peak (Part 1)

Nepal Sanctum (Part 2)

In which Zenyatta and I do not talk it out

"You must learn to BLOCK, brother!" Ramattra's voice boomed in a hearty laugh as he locked arms with Zenyatta, easily hoisting the smaller monk from the ground.

"I apologize I was not built with bullet proof eye beams for arms." Zenyatta snarked, brushing himself off, taking account of any new scratches he may have gained from hitting the hard stone floor.

The two Omnics stood in a training ground of sorts. The Shambali wasn't one for violence, but still had a space for learning martial arts, a small platform alone in a corner at the top of some shakily built stone steps.

Those who'd used this temple before the Monks have moved in may have found more value in fighting than Mondatta, using training as a sort of meditation. Humans were more effective at using their minds when their entire bodies were involved as well.

"Heads up," Another of the Omnics who'd joined Ramattra and Zenyatta for training called, "Human, 3 o'clock."

Speak of the devil...

The human in question was Emile, a child claiming to be an Omnic healer. Another mechanic who thinks he knows Omnic's bodies better than they do. He was short, young, with white hair and red eyes, and was annoyingly fascinated with Zenyatta. Perhaps become the monk had, regrettably, saved his life.

He stood at the bottom of the short stairs that led to training, wrapped tightly in four layers of Master Mondatta's own robes. He looked like a marshmallow. It made Zenyatta want to set him alight and see if he'd turn golden brown, or bun charcoal black.

"Allow me.." Ramattra spoke softly into Zenyatta's sensor, handing the smaller Omnic his staff as he stepped between Zen and the marshmallow, taking a step down one stair.

"Human, good to see you!" The Ravager's voice came out chipper enough, he'd been practicing feigning agreement with humans, "It is rather cold out here, is it not? You'd best head inside lest you catch something worse than a cold this time."

The human had been living in the Monastary for 3 months now and in that time seemed to have been hit with every possible issue a human could catch due to the cold and altitude of the Shambali mountain. If Master Mondatta physically had a heart it surly would have exploded with stress by now.

"Right..." The human spoke softly, voice muffled into the 3 scarves wrapped around his head like a mummy's gauze. They rung their small hands together and stared that disgustingly big eyed stare at Ramattra, "I just.. wanted to see what you all were doing...?"

"Oh, it's rather boring, I am just teaching my siblings some basic self defense. Nothing you would find interesting I'm sure." Ramattra continued his false chipper tone, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward slightly to be more at height with the human without having to get any closer to him.

Emile's eyes lit up as he reached to pull the scarf away from his mouth, "Self defense?? Like Hand to Hand combat??" Ramattra stood back up, and even leaned back some from the human's sudden excitement. Perhaps the ravager should have lied, as now the human was doing that freaky muttering to himself, this time about the types of combat a Ravager would be programed with, seeing at they were designed to carry heavy pulse rifles but capable of handling most weapon types and even improvisation on the battle field going so far as to use their fellow Null Sector robots-

"That's Enough." Zenyatta's voice barked.

Emile snapped from his train of thought to find Zenyatta standing between the human and Ramattra, the larger Omnic gripping tightly to himself, collapsed into a crouch on the stairs as others from their group comforted them.

"Wh-.. O-Oh! Oh I'm sorry I f-" Emile rushed to apologize, but stopped as Zenyatta stomped down the short stairs.

"You Forgot?" Zenyatta finished Emile's attempt at explanation, "You FORGOT?" He spoke louder, now toe to toe with the small human. The two were the same age, but Zenyatta had the privilege of being built at adult height, where as the human before him still had quiet a bit of growing to do.

Emile gripped onto his robes, his hands shook and tears pricked his eyes. He was pathetic. The sight of him was enough to remind Zenyatta why he'd never get along with humans. They made him sick.

"I-I didn't.. R-Ramattra, I'm sorry-"

Zenyatta grabbed the front of Master Mondatta's robes, using them to hoist the little human off the ground. The robes were white and gold, they shimmered in the sun, and were woven thick to protect the Master Mondatta's exposed wiring from the harsh weather. This human had no right to wear them. He had no right to be here.

"Z-Zenyatta.." Ramattra's voice came out shaky from back on the stairs, "I-I am okay," he lied, "it's alright..."

Zenyatta kept his sensors locked on the human for another moment, then with a noise akin to a huff, released his grasp on him. The small human with the ground with a thud as Zenyatta turned and made his way back up the stairs. He helped his shaking brother to his feet, and marched off silently.

The following day, and the day thereafter the human avoided Zenyatta, and for a moment he'd believed he'd finally scared the little man off for good.

"Zen. Human's here."

But only for a moment.

Zenyatta glanced over his shoulder to see the human, wrapped today in nearly 6 layers of robes and 5 scarves. Zenyatta was unaware Master Mondatta had that many clothes.

Ramattra, whomst Zenyatta had been sparing against, made a move to get between Zenyatta and the human once again. Zenyatta stopped him and turned to face the human.

"What do you want, human?" He spoke low, already annoyed from being once again tossed around easily by his siblings while training.

The human's usual habit of grabbing onto the hem of his robes nearest his chest while speaking seemed to be foiled today, as the many layers of cloth kept him from bending his arms. "I was... hoping I could watch you all spar..."

"Oh?" Zenyatta tilted his head, crossing his arms, "So you are the kind of human who gets a kick out of watching Omnics fight one another?"

"H-huh? N-No I-"

"I believe the town at the base of the mountain has an underground Robot fighting ring. Perhaps you could get some scraps of our fallen siblings from the butcher on your way and build your own, sense you're such an amazing mechanic."

"Brother..." Ramattra's voice made it clear he thought Zenyatta was being just a touch harsher than necessary. Zenyatta shrugged his brother's hand off his shoulder and took at step to the human, tears once again welling in his big pathetic red eyes.

Zenyatta leaned slightly to be level with the human, and spoke as low as he could get his voice modulator to go, "For the last time, you are not welcome here. If you truly wanted to help my siblings, you would do us all a favor, and Die."

The Omnic stood up straight once more, and gave a just hard enough kick to the human's chest to knock him off balance, toppling him over without damaging any of his pathetic human parts. He then spun around and once again left the training ground earlier than he would have liked with Ramattra in toe.

"Brother Zenyatta. Do you know why I asked you to come meditate with me this afternoon?" Master Mondatta's voice flowed as he stepped into his room, Zenyatta already seated in the center, rolling a meditation orb around himself for entertainment.

"No, Master Mondatta, I am afraid I lost my ability to read minds when I gained sentience, you see." Zenyatta hummed as he turned to face Mondatta, and instantly lost all the joy he'd gotten from sassing Mondatta.

Beside the elder monk was, once again, the human. Wrapped now in nearly 10 layers of robes and too many scarves to count. This was getting ridiculous, they were INSIDE master Mondatta's home, it was nearly 3pm on the sunniest summer day in the Shambali. There may be snow on the ground but it was WARM out there. The human can't even put his arms down!

Mondatta's hand placed gently on the human's shoulder, "I believe you and Brother Emile have gotten off on the wrong foot, and you, Brother Zenyatta, are allowing that first meeting to cloud your judgment of Emile."

Zenyatta continued to roll his mediation orb around himself, "I do not know what you are talking about, Master Mondatta. The human and I have been getting along just fine. We simply do not have many chances to speak."

"Then consider this your chance." Mondatta lead the human to sit on a meditation mat in from of Zenyatta, patting the little man's shoulder's, "Talk it out. I will be in the hallway."

With that, Mondatta turned heel and left the room, closing the door beind him.

Zenyatta couldn't seen the human's face through the many many scarves but he was sure he was just as uncomfortable with this prospect as he was.

The two sat in silence for a while, the only sound being Zenyatta's orb rolling on the stone floor. Minutes passed in what felt like hours, and before long Zenyatta was pulling himself up from the floor and walking to tword the door.

The monk stopped when something snagged the bottom of his pant leg. He glanced down to see the human, covered so heavily in cloth they could truly be anything under there, but he was still human all the same.

"Z-Zenyatta, I..." He trailed off. Zenyatta considered giving him a moment, hearing him out like Master Mondatta asked, perhaps finally making peace with the young human... He then released how pointless that would be.

The monk yanked his leg free and spat out his words, "Don't touch me." before turning to continue to the door, only to be blinded suddenly by a thick robe.

Zenyatta pulled Mondatta's robe from his head, then turned to see the human standing, one robe and many scarves less, his face finally visible and scrunched up in anger, red from both the emotion and the head of his many many layers.

Zenyatta's head tilted, "Now you are disrespecting Master Mondatta's robes?"

"I'm trying... to talk to you.." The human's voice shook, "Like Master Mondatta asked me to..."

"Do you do everything Brother Mondatta asks of you?" Zenyatta folded the robe neatly over his arm, "If he told you to die, would you?"

"He would never do that..."

"Right. Because he's soft."

"Because he's NICE. Unlike you."

"We were all "nice" once. Perhaps he just hasn't met the right human yet."

The human paused, Zenyatta hoped perhaps this pointless back and forth was over. He watched the human grab at the hem of his robe once more.

"This isn't fair.. I wasn't the one who-"

Zenyatta once again grabbed the human by the front of Mondatta's robe, yanking him closer, "You know NOTHING of what they did to me- Us, human." Zenyatta managed to just barley correct himself, "So do not talk like you do."

The human's eye pricked with tears. Zenyatta wanted to hit him. To punch and punch and punch, to let out everything on this tiny, pathetic little human who dared enter their home away from their kind, to disturb his peace, his safety. That would solve nothing. He knew that...

But still...

Emile collapsed to the floor, his cheek bright red. Something had cracked on impact. Blood pooled from his mouth onto Mondatta's beautiful white robes.

Zenyatta gripped his wrist to stop the shaking. He could still feel it. The human's small fingers on his exposed wire.

The human coughed loudly, suddenly the door to Mondatta's room swung open, the monk quickly coming in with questions of what happened. Zenyatta turned heel and ran, brushing past his brother, ignoring his calls to return at once.

He wasn't sure where he was going

He wasn't sure he'd return either..

[kaybreezy3000]

This one is a little season 4 short story I dreamed up before the real season came out. It gives us an alternate ending and a look inside Five's world both before he jumped to the apocalypse and post season 3.

~~~~~~~~It all begins and ends with Five....

(Rated Teen and Up or General. 10,409 words)(alt season 4 story with ending, reader insert style that allows anyone to be the 'you' character,-as a potential friend to Five or whatever you want to imagine, meant to be sad and sweet.)

warnings: mild description/mention of child abuse, and signs of panic attack, potential trigger by mention of bombing a building

tags: anarchist Number Five, Hero Number Five, ideas from the Gene and Jean script release but not based on what really happened, whump, fluff, trauma, heartbreak, love, revenge, forgiveness, Mr. Pennycrumb, all the Hargreeves and some of our new character mentions from season 4 but not as the show had them because this was written before it came out, Five deserves better, Klaus is awesome, You x Five, Five is amazing and with this one you get to imagine yourself a part of his story/future 👍

He Who Holds The Power

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

From across the table, the couple staring back at Five took a drink from their coffees at the same time.

Five’s lips turned up ever so slightly as he swallowed down the warmth from his own caffeinated beverage. “Jean was it?” he questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, I’m Jean and this is my husband Gene,” the woman replied while the man next to her intently watched him with bright blue eyes that filled his otherwise aged face with youthful looking excitement.

They were nervous, and rightly so. They were finally meeting the mysterious person who had hired them five years ago to hunt down things that shouldn’t exist but did. 

Shifting forward, Five set his empty cup down between them, then casually pulled up the cuff of his dress shirt and glanced at his wrist, noting the time before he raised a brow. “Do you have it?”

“We do,” the man said, passing him a folder.

Five opened the manila file. 

His breath caught in his throat.

Staring back at him were six masked children, all decked out in matching academy uniforms as they proudly stood there with the Eiffel Tower behind them.

Five had seen plenty of evidence already, but this was the nail in the coffin. This was all the proof he needed to verify he was right and he was justified in what he was about to do.

The date on the newspaper clipping was from early April of 2001. 

It was only five months after The Umbrella Academy’s infamous bank job.

They were only twelve years old.

He had lived a lifetime since then, but the memories of that day, and what happened to him after it, hit Five in waves of near crippling anxiety. As if the world was out to get him, it was all made worse by the hateful looking woman who had just walked by with the little yelping dog that she just zapped into submission through the shock collar that looked like it was choking the life out of him.

She looked too much like The Handler, with her fancy dress and spiked heels, and those blood red lips forming a wicked grin. Her sick satisfaction over the animal’s paralyzing fear was exactly how Five’s ex-boss looked at him as she heartlessly manipulated him into doing her bidding.

His fingers curled as his body tensed.

He forced his eyes back to the article with the faded image of his family.

He had looked about as smug as a kid could at the press conference that cold day, and he was, but not long after that, Five would find out how foolish he was to think that by merely doing his best and putting on a show for the press that he could trick his father and himself that he was good enough.

“How is this stuff possible,” Jean questioned with her eyes darting from the stained article Five had just laid down, to his hand retreating under the table where they couldn’t see it trembling.

Pushing aside all that, Five flatly said, “It doesn’t matter.”

Gene didn’t like that. 

“What?” he angrily barked. “We have been searching high and low for this stuff and we have given you tons of proof that this shit is real. That kid in front looks a lot like you,” he pointed at Five in the picture, “and that girl looks like the actress from the VHS tapes we gave you! Something is not right here!”

“It never was,” Five stoically replied while promptly pushing out his chair.

Not waiting for them to argue with him further, he left them and the paper on the table that showed evidence of his past that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. The envelope full of money he’d dropped next to the file should be enough to quiet them. Not that it would matter.

Time was up.

Five was done sitting around playing Reginald’s victim. 

Five’s fingers gently cradled the detonator in his pants pocket as he walked down the busy sidewalk with his eyes aimed at the tallest building on the horizon-the one that was adorned with huge letters spelling out the last name he had once called his own.

Reginald had erased Number Five Hargreeves and left him with almost nothing. Five had tried to move on and take his second chance for what it was, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t escape his thoughts of retribution.

In trying to reclaim something he’d lost and couldn’t figure out how to repair, Five was finally going to erase the father that had never loved him.

~~~

Not long before this, across town, with a heaviness tugging at what was left of his cold heart, the heavy door thumped closed behind Reginald at what was once The Umbrella Academy. Though parts of the exterior were in horrible states of disrepair, burnt and bashed by the spray of angry graffiti, the main stones holding together the building stood as they always had, but the home of the once famous children that were born with superhuman powers was now nothing more than another one of his many derelict properties.

Reginald had left it to rot and had taken the world for himself, and he’d done so by using them in the worst way, stripping them of the gifts inside them to fuel his machine that rebooted life on his terms.

He should have been happy with the result. He had gotten everything back that he’d always wanted, but inside, behind those walls that no one was allowed, a life from another time sat silently covered in dust and it told another story nobody else knew.

Ironically, all Reginald cared about always turned out empty.

The Umbrella Academy may not have existed in this timeline but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there, just like his regret.

Those around him didn’t realize it, but many things were hiding just beneath the surface.

His expensive dress shoes left ghosts of his presence across the once sparkling black and white marble checkering of the foyer at the old manor. His cane tapped along, its echo hollow.

Reginald tiredly climbed the grand staircase, then slowly walked the quiet upper hall, past his children’s closed bedroom doors, heading towards the viewing room.

At a darkly paneled wooden wall, he stopped.

He glanced behind him at the settee where Grace had once sat to recharge. He could almost see her sitting a few feet away, staring off into space, blissfully incapable of truly understanding the dire situation at hand.

Flickers of another face, the same as hers, only animated with life and love, begged him for the truth he wouldn’t give. She was just another mistake haunting him.

He could have found some semblance of peace and maybe even true happiness in those he’d hurt, but like so many times Reginald couldn’t see what was in front of him, he hadn’t realized that until it was too late.

Despairingly, Reginald looked away, opening the hidden paneled door he’d felt drawn to that morning, then he shut himself inside its secret darkness.

The dimly yellowed light from the small desk lamp turned on, the chain slipping from Reginald’s fingers as his weight fell into the familiarity of his old chair. Stuck somewhere in the memories of his past, he clicked on the monitor in front of him.

His eyes fell from the surveillance screen that was playing the live news, moving across the small workspace. The pages of his detailed notes, files filled with medical records, and all the numerous journals about his children from the years he had spent with them all lay there before him.

More than ever, he wondered if he could have done things another way.

Reginald Hargreeves knew all too well the power of love and relationships of the heart, but he also knew that they could be wiped out of existence in the blink of an eye by an ugly twist of fate.

By what he could see, in this case, that ugly twist was the world’s end, again.

He’d seen the signs. Clues of his charade were all around them, buried in boxes of seemingly useless junk put in the trash as someone emptied a musty basement or sold as seemingly worthless treasures on the streets for a small fortune to those who knew.

Yes, there were those that had formed conspiracy theories about him and who claimed they were living in a false existence. They were anarchist radicals, but they weren’t wrong.

Reginald also knew his machine that had been holding this all together was failing.

The end had always loomed, and he’d thought he’d finally beaten it even though he’d done so by failing the ones he himself created and had once dared to call his own. He stole away their chance at a normal life with parents that loved them, then he made them nothing more than his adopted wards. They were his dream of a future, but he was no father to them.

“It has been said that a man who has been through bitter experiences and traveled far enjoys even his sufferings after a time.” Reginald laughed bitterly. “Sadly, not true,” he said, mocking the line he’d just quoted from The Odyssey.

The faraway sound of a determined voice calling out to him, then perfectly reciting Homer in ancient Greek suddenly caused his chest to ache.

Thinking of his wayward son that had rightly lost faith in him and then tragically became lost in time, only to suffer so much more horribly because of it, Reginald looked up at the screen again, looking at the backdrop of Paris with the glitching pulsation of reality starting to reveal the truth. A thick cloud of digitized blackness began to descend over the Eiffel tower and all around it.

He’d prevented nothing and he had caused all of this in his inability to let go of a past that was no more.

Abigail…

He’d done it all for her when really, what they’d had was gone a long time ago, he just couldn’t accept it.

A broken heart was a powerful thing. It could alter everything, and he did. He’d destroyed his children's trust in him and in each other. In his blindness, he was the one that set off this chain of catastrophic events.

It was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He wished he could turn back time. That was why he’d come to the place where he’d messed things up so badly. This was where it happened.

Reginald clicked off the channel filled with blaring sirens and blurred pixelations from the distortion of time as it crashed.

No one was safe.

It would be happening outside his doors soon enough.

Once again, he stared blankly at the black screen.

He pushed himself up from his chair, ready to return to his tower and wait for the end, but then his weary eyes came back to the tall shelf next to him. It held dozens and dozens of videos from experiments performed on his children. His index finger slowly ran over the titles and the dates, stopping on one.

In bold black ink it read:

April 3rd, 2001 Corrective Training-Post Paris Incident (Subject: Number Five) Speed and Precision Exercise

He pulled the tape away from the many others and stuck it in, making the monitor light up with an old video that showed a day he'd rather not remember.

"It's always Number Five. He was always the key to everything, and I broke him," he whispered with his eyes glued to the small boy who was angrily staring back at him from the screen.

~~~

Using the skills he’d learned in his years as an indentured assassin, Five had done it. The explosives were all set and placed precisely where they needed to be to take Reginald’s Tower of infinite power to the ground. It was just a matter of time, and he would get his confirmation that the building had been cleared due to the fire alarms he’d hacked into and programmed to go off.

Potential casualties were a thing Five would need to add to the blood already drenching his hands. His conscience was unbearably heavy, that was nothing new, but he justified delivering even more death with the knowledge that most of the occupants of the building would be cleared of the tower, as well as the area around it due to simultaneous warnings going off in all the nearby buildings.

Quick enough, what Five had done was easily going to be seen as a false alarm, and that was intentional. Due to safety compliance rules and insurance reasons, people would still be forced to evacuate, but it was well known that Reginald and his wife rarely left the protection of his imposing skyscraper.

They would be right where Five wanted them to be.

As Five sat on a park bench in the spot he had chosen to view the glory of his efforts, he thought again of that article and his family.

He hadn’t seen any of his family members in years, but just as it was in the apocalypse, he could almost hear Diego’s voice as if he was right there, saying something dumb or bitching about the reporters that headlined Five and Luther and not him. His knife throwing brother’s heroics that day were worthy of note, but like so often in their life, the things they did right did not get them the recognition they had so badly craved.

As annoyed as Five was by Diego at times, he never felt that he deserved the punishments he received. None of them did.

Five wanted to protect them. But the truth was, he couldn’t protect them. He couldn’t even protect himself and that was never more apparent than after Paris.

On that a chilly Monday morning in April of 2001, Five and his siblings were all up before sunrise, scrambling to make it downstairs for inspection before their dad got there.

Only the night before, they had just got back from France, having completed their most recent mission. They were all a bit jet lagged and worked up still, bickering and carrying on the way only a pack of twelve years could at 5:30 am. As they thundered down the stairs, Luther and Diego were going on about who stopped the terrorists, both sure that they were the hero in the story.

The truth was nobody had individually done it, but that never stopped them from each trying to take all the credit. As a team, albeit a not very coordinated one, they took down a group that had threatened to bomb several famous landmarks, one being the Eiffel Tower.

Prior to the Umbrella Academy’s arrival in the city of light, these terrorists had been carrying out these types of attacks all over Europe for months, and it was all over the news. The agencies in place trying to stop them were no closer to doing so, and it was gaining more and more worldwide attention by the day.

When Reginald heard about the imminent threat going on overseas, he immediately loaded his academy on his private jet and set off to save the day. At first, the authorities were against sharing information with him or letting a group of superpowered kids near that kind of trouble. But when the first bombs went off outside at the Place Dauphine, injuring dozens, and killing eight, they were more interested in what he and his infamous Umbrella Academy had to offer.

As Reginald worked with the local law enforcement to pinpoint where the terrorist group was based, another bombing happened. That time it was on a sightseeing boat floating down the Seine. The Hargreeves were nearby, so Reginald was able to quickly get his team there. They did what they could to help get survivors to safety and even managed to gather some evidence that ultimately helped track down who built the bomb. Things were coming together, and it was just a matter of time before they were caught. A day later, before they could set off the next round of bombs, Reginald received intel that allowed him to intercept them before they got to their target.

As a vehicle full of explosives tore towards the Arc De Triomphe, the six extraordinary children were positioned and ready with their dad on the mics watching from above. They spotted the van trying to pull out from a side street. Luther immediately moved in and blocked its path, using his enormous strength to shift parked cars across their exit. Unfortunately, this caused them to deviate onto the narrow sidewalk to get around it.

Allison and Klaus were already trying to clear the area of civilians when the van came speeding in their direction. Five had seen it coming and managed to teleport from his position in time to move them, just missing getting plowed over.

Reginald’s screaming rattled their ears. It was nearly deafening and completely garbled. Diego improvised by hitting the driver in the neck with one of his knives as the van tore past him. All at once the vehicle started to lose control, swerving at a breakneck speed across the lanes as the driver bled out.

Reginald barked at Five to get in there and stop the van, so he jumped again, with his goal to land inside the moving target and take the wheel.

He missed.

Five had never been able to blink on or into a moving target and he shouldn’t have been surprised that he failed, and neither should the alien who had ordered him to do it.

The young boy landed on the road right in front of the van. He saw his life pass before his eyes just as Luther slammed into him, knocking him down to the cement before blocking the van from splattering his small body across the pavement. The vehicle smashed into his brother’s shoulder, coming to a metal bending screeched halt.

Five rolled back away from the wreckage, staggering to his bloodied knees as he watched in shock as Luther tried to untangle himself from the bent hood. That was when they heard Reginald ordering Ben to move in.

From Five’s vantage point, he could still see movement inside the van. There was someone else inside other than the dead driver. He blinked, landing next to the man inside who appeared to be desperately trying to set a bomb off even while he was still inside with it.

He looked over at the dark-haired boy in disbelief, his hand reaching for the gun strapped to his vest. With little to work with, Five charged at him before he could shoot, knocking him back against the side of the van. Thankfully, the gun sprang loose from his hand, clattering across the floor. The guy had at least a hundred and fifty or more pounds on Five, and was clearly trained in combat, so his effort, though carried out skillfully, didn’t take him out, it only pissed him off. He quickly turned the tables on the dazed teleporter, throwing him back like he was nothing.

Five went airborne, then landed and tripped backwards right over the bomb. The next thing he knew, the man had the gun pointed at his head. Before he could pull the trigger, using the same trick he’d done with the stapler during the bank job, Five teleported the deadly weapon away.

Just then the back doors of the van flew off. Luther had torn them off, and the moment Five saw Ben set up beside him, he got the hell out of there, blinking himself back out onto the road behind them.

Their dad yelled orders for Ben to unleash The Horror.

Seconds passed…

The terrorist, though taken completely off guard by all this, pounced for the bomb again.

Ben hadn’t moved; it was like he was paralyzed.

Completely out of breath, Diego suddenly rounded the corner, skidding to a stop alongside Five. He had a knife at the ready and instantly sent it sailing towards the persistent and apparently suicidal criminal, landing it deep in the center of his chest. The guy fell to his knees, gasping as he clutched at the blade as his blood quickly drenched his shirt.

That pretty much ended that.

Fortunately, before he died, Allison was able to rumor him into giving up where his accomplices were hiding. After that, the authorities were able to take them down before they could carry out another attack.

It was a success. No one else was killed or hurt.

After, Reginald had his children carry out interviews and partake in the usual media events that followed any mission they were ordered to take. They did as was expected of them, smiled for the cameras, and answered the questions carefully, just the way he would have wanted them to.

On the flight home, Reginald didn’t say a word.

Now, as they stood behind their chairs and his coldly calculating eyes fell over them, Five couldn’t escape the sinking feeling growing in his gut.

After a silent breakfast, before he could leave with the others to attend classes, Reginald abruptly pulled him aside. Five was quickly informed that he was of the opinion their mission was hardly a success, and each of them required aggressive corrective training to make sure it never happened again. As such, he would not be joining the others.

In his naively young mind, Five mused that his father must have liked him the most because he was the lucky one who got to be ‘corrected’ first.

Wide eyed, his siblings all watched him go. Five squared his shoulders as he dutifully walked behind his father, not willing to show his growing unease.

The Monocle had a specific exercise area for Five back in one of the old factory buildings that made up his city block. It was made up of three mostly empty floors that were exposed by a large open galley in the middle. To Five, it was clear what he intended to do with him. That place, and the things that happened there, were nothing new. He used to do bad things to him there all the time. It had just been a while since they’d played that game, so the timing of it seemed suspect.

The boy couldn’t escape the thought that maybe this time he should simply say no, no more, but he didn’t. Refusing to do what his dad wanted or even arguing would send Reginald into a fit of rage, so that was out of the question unless he wanted to start a war with him, which he didn’t. That was far from what Five really wanted from him.

Once Reginald had led his son to the secluded end of his property, well away from the others, the boy resentfully stood there with his wrists willingly exposed because he knew the drill. Reginald unkindly looked down at Five before wordlessly slapping on the two cuffs specifically made for him that acted as a sort of shock collar like a dog would wear. If Five missed a mark by even an inch, he would be punished for it. The targets were wired, and only landing on top of them perfectly stopped the cuffs from zapping him less than a second later.

To Five, this whole song and dance had always felt like a sick game of Operation, or maybe Battleship, only instead of a silly little rubber band or a marked ill-fated ship, he was the one destined to snap or sink to the depths of his own personal hell. That type of training could have been done without the cuffs, but the Hargreeves children’s award-winning dad of the Year always felt that without them, there was nothing at stake, nothing driving this most defiant son to do better.

The truth was it only drove Five to hate him. Over time, he had gotten better. Reginald’s Number Five grew more apt at wielding his power and then he wasn’t subject to that particular form of punishment; not so often anyway.

Reginald set his tea down and made himself comfortable at a small desk in the center of the lower level. He took a moment to look over his notes as his son obediently stood there waiting for him to start.

Five’s thoughts moved at the speed of light, but it felt like he was always waiting. Waiting for something to change, waiting for him to be good enough. Waiting for his father to see him.

It never came.

Once again, he was stuck, waiting for his mercy, for Reginald to see him as something other than a tool to achieve his ends. Five may have been a genius but that didn’t matter. He was so alone and powerless, which in his brilliant mind seemed counterintuitive to what his father was trying to achieve which only made him even more confused.

“It’s time to begin,” Reginald announced without so much as looking at his son as he stared at him down, wondering the reason for his cold indifference and why he didn’t care about them.

Five wanted to stop feeling this; he wanted it not to matter, but it did, it always had, and that was the problem. He needed to stop caring, but he just couldn’t, so he waited, and as always, he tried harder to prove him wrong.

‘I am worth something,’ the boy kept mentally repeating. All he had to do to make things better was to make Reginald see it! Then everything would be okay-he’d finally be able to know what it meant to be happy.

Reginald hit the timer, activating the system while at the same time barking out a slew of coordinates to specific locations. Five blinked as fast as possible to each, and of course, none of them were easy and most he couldn’t see ahead of time, which made landing them harder.

Sometimes it would be three floors up above, or on top of a narrow ledge or precariously placed on some other obstacle Reginald had created for him, with nothing more than a few measly inches to land. Five quickly noticed there were marks everywhere. He couldn’t begin to count them because there were so many. That was out of the ordinary, even for The Monocle, so he knew this was going to be bad.

Five’s mind played games with him, singing imaginary taunts in his father’s cruel voice. ‘Welcome back home, son. I am going to sip tea while I enjoy watching your mind shatter.’

At least Five was on it that day. He completed each order without a single shock until nearing over an hour of jumps, which was a new record. Unfortunately for him, at that point he was drained, sweat drenched, and dizzy, having lost count of how many times he had blinked. He knew he couldn’t get the precision required for what he was doing anymore. That was evident by his shaking hands and the stars at the edges of his vision.

Even though he started to protest, Reginald kept him at it, saying he needed to get better, figure out how to land on moving targets, and learn to go past his limits, because someday he would have no other choice and it would be a matter of life and death for everyone.

Five fought back.

He started to make more and more errors, and the shocks became more and more frequent and stronger each time. Normally, that type of exercise was an hour max, but that time was different for a reason. Reginald wanted to see him fail. It was becoming more and more apparent that his collapse was the point all along. His father wanted to prove to him that he wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be.

Five’s anger and desire to prove Reginald wrong were the only things fueling him in their sick game. That was until he finally crumpled to the ground nearing the end of the second hour.

The boy crashed to the floor after an especially bad jump, missing the precariously placed mark completely. He helplessly fell from an open ledge down to the unforgiving tiles over twenty feet below. He landed hard, the whole left side of his body taking the brunt of it. His head bounced once with an excruciating thwack. Then his dad proceeded to let the cuffs shock him back into consciousness until he was folding in on himself, unable to do anything other than tremor violently as his entire body spasmed.

When Reginald finally turned it off manually, Five could hardly make a sound or move. The mad man that owned him didn’t so much as bother to tap him with his shoe as he laid helplessly in his own drool at his feet, with blood-stained tears streaming down his face. Reginald simply announced, ‘We are done.”

Then he left his son there, broken and alone.

When Five finally made it to his knees, he lost what little contents his stomach still had in it, and then he ended up back on the tiled floor with another thwack of his head against the hard surface.

He lay there too exhausted and dizzy to move or save himself, that was until Grace came to his rescue. Then, when she tried to move him, the sudden disorienting movement and sheer searing pain of it caused Five to pass out. When he woke up an undetermined amount of time later, he was in the infirmary, and it was with his dad standing over him as he lay on one of Grace’s operating tables.

Five was unable to move, but he didn’t know why.

His eyes wildly darted around him as he fell into an all-out panic. He was attached to an IV and it was administering fluids into his right arm. Some type of bandage was on his head, concealing what felt like had to be a hole the size of the Grand Canyon based on how horrible it felt. His current mental state was not good, and he was having a hard time remembering what had happened. He vaguely remembered hitting his head.

‘Was I training?’ he innocently wondered. ‘Did I pass out and fall down the stairs again because I wasn’t eating enough to power my jumps, or was it...’

Five was visibly confused and terrified, but his father only looked down at him hatefully.

Five had to look away from him because it was only adding to how much he hurt everywhere. He looked to his right instead. The sun was low, indicated by how little light was entering through the small stained-glass window above the tall storage cabinets where his mom kept her supplies. Grace was standing there in her operating gown, a heartbreaking look on her normally comforting face.

When Five heard the main doors open and close, he reluctantly turned back. To add to his confusion, his sister was there, standing next to their dad. Before he could so much as ask what was going on, Reginald played his next card, one he wouldn’t have guessed the old monster had in him, and that was saying a lot since the boy already knew that Reginald was the devil incarnate.

“Do it,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off his questioning eyes.

Allison looked like she had been crying. Five’s heart began racing faster as she looked back at their dad, looking completely horrified by whatever Reginald was asking her to do. Then she looked right at him.

“I heard a rumor you couldn’t speak,” she said, her voice trembling as new tears ran down her face. Automatically, Five’s eyes locked on hers in that familiar memorizing trance only her powers could induce on her victims.

It was done; he couldn’t speak a word, not until she said he could.

After that, Five spent the next three days in the infirmary, unable to speak about what had happened or make one word of complaint, not that anyone came to visit him anyway. He had suffered a severe concussion and he had broken his left clavicle. He had also fractured the tibia in his left leg.

On the fourth day, just before dinner, Grace helped him get vertical and assisted him as he dressed. Then, he was told to go straight to dinner. He managed to stumble in on crutches, though it hurt like hell because of shoulder, and he was late, a fact immediately pointed out by Reginald.

Five all but fell into his chair next to Klaus and Luther, looking as bad as he felt, and unable to respond to their questioning stares other than to glare at their father with his hate filled eyes. Reginald merely looked back impassively for a moment before going back to his papers in front of him.

The second Five entered the room, he could tell they all wanted to say something, but one very clear look at the imposing man that owned them, and they didn’t make a peep. Instead, they looked down at their food. Allison kept her head down the entire time, unable to meet his eyes at all.

Everyone else, for the most part, looked stunned and very scared. Even though their dad had done that type of training with Five more times than he could count, none of them knew exactly what they did in their private time. Five never told them what Reginald did to him, and it had never gone that far before. Even without an explanation, they knew something bad had happened because it was written all over his broken body, not just all over his pitifully pale face.

That night, Klaus and Ben came to Five’s room, long after they should have been asleep. He was able to write down what happened to him even though he was hardly strong enough to do so without visibly shaking. They already knew what Allison had done because she had told Luther before she hysterically locked herself in her room. He then told Ben. Allison also warned them they were not to intervene, or Reginald would make her do worse.

Sitting on his park bench, looking back on all of it, Five figured that, all and all that particular training session wasn’t one of his best. Worse, the others didn’t get away unscathed.

When Reginald was done with him, Five learned later that he had moved on to each of them. His taste for suffering must not have been quenched, because he spent the rest of his days that week tormenting the rest of his children, and each was treated to Allison’s special kind of gag order, either before or after, depending on which made the most sense.

Reginald was trying to make the point that real soldiers were not to be heard but to listen, to take orders and comply. He was tired of their complaining and their arguing and their many mistakes. He made it clear he felt that they had it too easy, and it was getting in the way of their development. These sessions were meant to throw their individual deficiencies in their faces but as young and emotionally stunted as Five still was, he saw that all it had done was make them more isolated from each other, feeding the numbness growing inside.

In comparison to his experience with Reginald, Klause’s time in his company was pretty tame compared to his usual in that he was merely forced to take a field trip for a day to the city’s busiest morgue. There, Klaus was put front and center with untold amounts of corpses, both fresh in and refrigerated. Five never heard how many ghosts were there, because by the time Klaus was allowed to leave and come home, he looked horrified and exhausted. His nerves were a complete mess, and being rumored into quiet submission after entering the house did nothing to hide how he really felt.

The idea of that venture was that Klaus may be able to relay information about the deaths of homicide victims or even important messages to loved ones from people who’d passed unexpectedly. Five had mused at the time that Reginald maybe did have a soul because that was actually not a horrible way for Klaus to use his power. But Klaus wanted nothing to do with it, even if it was for a good cause.

Later, Five learned that Klaus did have several success stories from the day, but the price he’d paid for it was evident the moment he walked in the door. He looked more disturbed than they had ever seen him. After that day, Klaus turned to things heavier than alcohol to dull the voices that followed him home and ceaselessly tormented him.

Later that week, the Hargreeves children were all called out to the courtyard after lunch to witness Diego and Luther fight. They were forced to battle it out until both were beyond bloody and bruised. Diego took it like his father knew he would, but Reginald was using his son’s desire for approval and acknowledgement against him in the lowest way.

The sheer force of Luther’s hits, even when he was holding back, were something no one could take for hours and hours on end without excessive damage. Luther wasn’t allowed to use all his strength on Diego, or it would have killed him, but it was during this fight that Diego received the long scar along his temple that he would always bear.

Luther, though built like shit-house ton of bricks, was not impenetrable either. Diego, being allowed to use any projectile he could see, inflicted his fair share of damage. Neither did anything life-threatening to the other, as that was explicitly prohibited, but Luther had to have stitches in numerous places, and he would have several hidden scars to show for it on his otherwise perfect poster boy skin.

Diego’s nose was broken as well as several of his fingers on both hands. He had numerous broken ribs, a minor hip fracture that gave him a limp for a long time after, and his throwing arm was in a sling, fractured in three places.

Afterwards, though they were both rumored not to speak, just like he and Klaus had been, Five didn’t think they would have, not to each other anyway.

The sad thing was, before that, they actually had gotten along ok-not great, but ok.

When it was Ben’s turn on Saturday, he spent a beautiful spring morning riding upstate to a farm, listening to their dad berate him for his inability to handle The Horror’s rath. He was continually reminded how weak he was and that the only way he would become stronger was to take control of the darkness within him and own it.

“You are the killer. You are the one in control,” Reginald had told him.

“Our Ben was not a killer,” Five sadly whispered as he looked down at the pigeons gathering in the grass in front of him.

Ben may have killed more people than any of them at that point, but it wasn’t really him, it was the thing they called ‘The Horror,’ hence why he was so messed up. He never wanted any part of that life and the last thing he wanted was to take ownership of it.

Unfortunately, his field trip to the farm wasn’t to learn about the dairy industry. It was to learn how to be a one man, or better put, one eldritch tentacle baring slaughter machine. He was forced to unleash the monster inside him, over and over, letting it decimate anything alive in its path, which In that case was several head of cattle destined for the meat market anyway, but still awful to say the least.

Ben was still a mess when he got home that night. He had been carelessly hosed off and left with traces of blood on his otherwise caulk white skin. He was put on a piece of plastic in the backseat of the car on the way home, like he was some kind of filth not good enough to touch the smooth leather of Reginald’s Rolls. When his siblings saw him, his jet-black hair was clumped in a gore of sticky redness and his clothing still bore the evidence of how gruesome his day had been. Once he was stripped, Grace threw his academy uniform away.

Too bad the memories weren’t as easy to dispose of.

Ben was speechless after that, even before Allison needlessly rumored him. The only reason they all knew the details of what happened to Ben was because Vanya overheard Reginald talking to Pogo and Grace about it. The whole thing left him in an almost catatonic state. Seeing that he was unable to function normally, Ben was put under watch by Grace and excused temporarily from daily activities, spending the next two days alone in his room.

Though Allison usually got away with almost anything and she was rarely on their father’s radar when it came to anything, that time proved she was not immune to his madness. Though she may have felt she had Reginald wrapped around her pretty painted fingernails, she quickly realized she was not the one calling the shots.

It was obvious she was devastated about having to rumor them into silent submission. None of the traumatized children blamed her, but it hurt anyway. Five was bitter but he had understood. It was no wonder she normally refused to use her power unless Reginald forced her to. Taking someone’s will away from them was not a good feeling from either side of the situation and it was hard not to feel some anger at her about it.

For a long time after, Five couldn’t be in the same room with Allison without hearing her voice stripping him of the right to use his own mind the way he wanted, and that resulted in fear and mistrust that couldn’t be fixed while they were under that roof.

To him, it felt like the man that called himself their father wanted them to loathe each other as much as they hated him, because that was basically what he’d caused. They could scarcely look at one another when it was all done.

Even without words, it was clear everyone was in shock over what had happened. They were looking for someone to blame and not just their dad. To add insult to injury, quite literally, they couldn’t talk to each other about it when they were each in their worst time of need.

They went through the next week without one word of complaint because they couldn’t. Until then, Five wasn’t sure if Reginald could get Allison to rumor them like that permanently, but if he could have, he knew that he would, so at least he had that to cling to but it did little to ease how heartbroken and hateful he felt.

How they felt and what they needed did not matter to their father.

They had seen the truth. They were nothing to him and never were.

~~~

Feeling slightly off from thinking about the tragedy of that week, Five looked up, finally noticing that there was a little boy coming along the shady path he was sitting along. As if energized even more by Five’s eyes landing on him, the excited puppy the child was trying to hold back suddenly broke free of his hold, sprinting for the park bench.

“Woah there, buddy,” Five laughed as the golden ball of fur aggressively leapt up with its fuzzy paws landing on his knees so it could lick his face. Within seconds, Five’s once pristine wool pants were covered in slobber and dirt.

“Mr. Pennycrumb likes you,” the boy laughed, while scrambling around on the ground, trying to get his hands on the leash.

Just as Five was going to stand up to escape his new friend’s overly affectionate greeting, you came running up to them. “I am so sorry!” you cried as you jumped in to help get a handle on the wild pup.

Once you got the small dog pulled in tight at your heel, Five got to his feet. “It’s okay,” he assured while brushing himself off.

When he looked at the boy, the child staring up at him said, “This is my babysitter. We get to hangout while my mommy is at work. She has to work three jobs ever since the mean monster she called cancer took my daddy away.”

“I am sorry,” Five quietly replied, not sure how to respond to someone so young or to something so awful.

You looked even more embarrassed as you quickly tried to change the subject, “Really. I’m so sorry about your suit. It looks like I owe you a new pair of pants.” Your eyes flickered downwards, taking in the damage. When you looked back up, you added, “Obviously my little guy is very social. Having a four-legged beast is great, but a bit much sometimes. He's up for adoption if you're interested?” you laughed.

You reached down, petting your foster dog, then did the same to the giggling kid, ruffling his fluff of hair. Your smile faded just a little as your eyes returned to the serious looking young man who was curiously studying you.

“Not my nephew here. He is social too, but I didn’t mean to say that he’s a four-legged beast,” you corrected, followed by another laugh that touched something inside Five, making his face animate with a spark of life.

His dimple deepened.

“This kiddo is bit much too, but I love him so, so much and we’d be out here doing this together even if I wasn’t his mom’s go to babysitter,” you rambled, flustered by the way Five was looking at you through the curtain of hair that had fallen over his kind but calculating eyes.

“Don’t worry. I get it, and you don’t owe me new pants. I don’t mind getting a little dirty every now and then. Sometimes I quite enjoy it, and this is turning into one of those times since it meant that I got to meet this little guy, and his very nice companions," Five smoothly replied, and your cheeks glowed even brighter.

Just as you were about to say something, your nephew interrupted.

“You looked lonely. That’s why Mr. Pennycrumb came over to say hi,” he cutely pointed out, then surprised Five even more when he added, “Want to go for a walk with us?”

Five’s mouth opened but nothing came out at first.

Suddenly feeling like he needed to do something with his hands, he tucked them in his pockets and rocked back in his shiny shoes. Of course, that did not help him feel like he was successfully playing off his normal guy act, especially considering his left hand was sitting right next to a button that was about to destroy the city’s largest building.

“I…uhmmm. I would love to, but I have a prior engagement I need to attend to,” he finally replied with his cool green eyes moving between the expectant little boy and you.

Five almost never engaged in conversations that weren’t required of him. When he did, they were never like this. This felt different. All this from a chance encounter and a conversation with real people that were nothing but kind to him.

It felt…good.

Five hadn’t felt the glimmer of hope, or met anyone that didn't have an ulterior motive, or experienced the surprise of something that wasn’t catastrophic in…

He couldn’t remember.

Clearing your throat, you looked back at him while putting a hand on your nephew’s shoulder. Five knew that meant you were leaving, but he found that he desperately didn’t want you to.

He wanted to go on that walk, if only to have a taste of something positive and not so isolating for once.

Five’s brows furrowed as he glanced at the skyline where Reginald’s building stood as if taunting him. When he looked back at you standing between him and what he felt was preventing him from moving on, something in him fractured, but it was the exact opposite of feeling like something inside of him was broken.   

“Well…” you started. “If you change your mind about those pants or the walk in the park, we’ll be strolling by here about the same time tomorrow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Five said, dropping his head to the side while giving you another small smile.

As you turned and left him standing there, Five was unable to stop smiling.

He took his hand from his pocket, looking down at his palm where the electronic device lay waiting.

Killing Reginald would only prove that he was right.

Five was not weak and never was and he wasn't broken.

He pried the casing open and pulled at the wires under the button that could have activated the bombs.  

The switch was dead, but Five wasn’t. Somehow, while lost in his crushing hatred and near debilitating loneliness he’d forgotten that. In his fight to end his father, he’d accidentally given up on himself.

But Five Hargreeves was not a quitter.

Chucking the broken trigger in the bushes, he started to head back the way he’d entered the park.

That was the moment when the sapphire canvas above him started to falter.

The many colors of blue and white and gray in the clouds suddenly scattered into millions of floating dots, rapidly separating in a way that was not at all natural. The phenomenon of pixelating pulsations quickly swallowed the long needle piercing the sky above the massive glass covered pillar bearing Reginald’s name.

As the top of the building where he and his reclusive wife resided was obliterated, a glittering dust of marigold colored rain began to fall over the park, blowing in the rush of wind before dusting Five’s hair in its otherworldly magic.

The site was almost just like when Reginald had drained them, only happening in reverse. The sensation of first bone chilling ice, then scorching heat began crawling under Five’s skin.

Reacting to the intense pain that felt like it was tearing him apart, Five dropped to his knees, his hands clawing at his body as he screamed.

A fire of blue light engulfed him as his powers violently reclaimed him. Within seconds, Five was filled with an ethereal glow that radiated from his eyes and his fingertips, making him look like a wingless archangel in a tailored business suit.

Then, the world as Five had come to know it evaporated, the ground bearing his weight, slipped away into the bottomless depths of time and space as he fell.

~~~

In the beginning, there was nothing. That was the way it always was. Just emptiness and possibilities, and the one who could not only manipulate time and space but could also create it.

It all started with a boy, only that boy didn’t know it until just now, when life and all material things were gone and his consciousness was all that was left.

Like Reginald had said, it was always Five.

Suspended in a vast swirl of everything that ever was and ever would be, grasping at the fibers of light flashing past him, Five began pulling with invisible hands, starting the unimaginable task of piecing together something better for all of them.

~~~

Much, much later, or six years later, but actually the exact same day it was, but back in their original timeline, but also not, depending on how you wanted to look at things and wrap your head around the fact that time only seems to be linear, Number Five Hargreeves set his coffee cup down on the table between him and his ghost whispering brother.

He was at the same coffee shop he’d been at that fateful morning in another timeline and in another time that he’d filed away among many others that were left behind closed doors inside the vast hallways of his mind.

“Oh, come on Five,” Klaus moaned. “I just got here. I thought we were hanging out today. I even told the rest of the family that we’d meet up with them later. Diego and Lila’s little brat rat is dying to see her favorite uncle Fivey.”

After looking down at his wrist bearing his Umbrella Academy tattoo, taking stock of the time, Five rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed. “Klaus, we were supposed to hangout and have breakfast, but you showed up an hour later. I have already eaten. I bought you your favorite smoothie and a bagel, so that’s going to have to be good enough because I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Where?”

“None of your business.”

“I know you. You’re up to something,” he accused.

Musing over what Klaus would say if he told him where he was going, Five got up, his hand coming to his throat to straighten his tie.

Five knew that he painted an odd picture. One of a just turned nineteen-year-old, dressed like he wanted to take on the wolves of Wall Street, but as silly as his choice of attire may have been being he had no intention of doing that, this was him and always would be. A nice suit meant you weren’t messing around, and he wasn’t anymore. Besides, it wasn’t like the world didn’t know about his crazy life story, or the fact that he wasn’t exactly the young man he appeared to be.

Thanks to having the rug pulled out from under him, or better put, reality as he had known it, Five was seeing things from a much different perspective.

Looking back on it, he still couldn’t stop kicking himself for not putting it together when he saw the other ancient version of himself laying in a diaper in that hyperbaric chamber in The Commission’s paradox proof bunker.

Now it all made sense how he had become the founder.

“Whatever,” Klaus muttered, pretending to grumble when Five didn’t take the bait and tell him what he was up to. “At least you’re finally an official grown up again and you sometimes get out of your apartment and mingle with the rest of the world every now and then. But still, buddy. Reading is fun and Dolores is great and all, but you need to spread those cute little wings of yours and fly. There are tons of other real flesh and blood birdies out there looking to strike up titillating conversations with the right dove, and you sir are all sorts of ripe with things you can use to bore people. Things like how you mastered traversing the bend in the time helix or other confusing stuff like that you like to go on and on about.”

“Shut up, Klaus,” Five dryly retorted as his fingers threaded back through his strands of hair that were hanging every which way, making him look every bit his outwardly young age.

“Go. Off with you then, young man,” Klaus teased. “Next time, it’s my plan for our date day and you are meeting me to get our nails done and then we are going out salsa dancing with Diego and Lila and Sloane and Luther. We need to show them how the better Hargreeves do their damn thing.”

“I don’t dance,” Five huffed as his fingers curled around the bready treat hidden in his pocket.

“Yes, you do,” Klaus laughed, to which Five gave him a quick scowl that just as quickly turned into a smirk because they had gotten exceptionally plastered at Klaus’s apartment only a week ago, and he’d made a total ass of himself dancing in a hula skirt and sombrero on the coffee table. When Klaus and Viktor and then Luther joined him, it was too much and the flimsy piece of Ikea furniture exploded, leaving them in a heap on the shag carpet.

Yes, things were different this time around, just as Five had hoped they’d be after he’d brought them all back to the day of Reginald’s funeral, and then proceeded to avoid all the mistakes he and they had made after it.

It didn’t mean that all the bad things didn’t happen in the years before this. It meant they got a second chance while all knowing everything that they had known about the original run through when they’d been brought back together and then messed it all up.

Miraculously, Five wasn’t just a time traveler with trigger finger you didn’t want pointed at you. He could create time, and that is how he saved the world and brought everyone back, but he did not rewrite like Reginald had tried to do.

He was smarter than that. 

No one can erase the past. It will always be there one way or another. The only thing you can do is learn from it and he did.

“I’ll see you all later?” Five softly offered, before turning to head out the door.

“You better,” Klaus said, calling after him with an outpouring of brotherly love.

The bell on the door chimed as Five walked out into the bright morning sun.

The sidewalk was packed like it always was that time of day and that was why Five almost didn’t see him. 

Reginald wasn’t dressed in his usual fine wool suit of tightly woven tweeds and righteousness. The familiar posture and weakened step aided by his cane appeared in Five’s periphery and the next thing he knew, he was looking into the eyes of someone that wasn’t supposed to be there but was.

To all the others, the eccentric inventor Sir Reginald Hargreeves had died, just as he originally did. But that ruse was a necessary end, just like it was originally intended to be the first time and Five didn’t alter that on purpose.

He knew their adoptive father was more than just the monster he appeared to be. Reginald had been wrong for what he’d done to them, but like him, he’d been desperate and he’d paid for his mistakes, over and over. 

Now, as time had intended it, Five was in a place to do something about that.

Having real power had nothing to do with ruling others or having superpowers. It was in not succumbing to the demons inside you.

Real power happens in making the right choices.

Knowing that he had made the right choice, Five nodded ever so slightly, and in doing so, he received a silent bow in return from the lonely creature passing him by.

It wasn’t over for Reginald yet, and it was far from over for Five. With his excitement building and aware that he needed to move faster, Five pulled at the power simmering just beneath his skin, throwing open a portal.

Less than a second later, he reappeared, stepping out onto a shady pathway in the park.

Eyeing his favorite bench, with sweaty hands hidden in his pockets, he sat down.

As he was looking out, his eyes seeing a ghostly mixture of realities twisting through his memories, he heard the small voice of a boy, calling out to the dog that had just broken off its leash.

It was happening almost the same as the first time.

Mr. Pennycrumb raced across the grass, kicking up the pigeons that were nibbling on the bread Five had thrown down for them.

Reaching the young man on the bench that he’d chosen as his newest friend, the puppy jumped up, paws digging into Five’s thighs as he assaulted his face with his wet tongue.

“Hey, buddy,” Five whispered as the little boy came running over with you behind him.

After slipping the yellow lab a doggie biscuit that he’d purchased that morning at the doggie bakery, Five looked up.

“I am so sorry!” you breathed as you frantically kneeled down to get your hands on the dog’s collar. “Oh my gosh, your pants!” you gasped while also trying to brush off the mud covering Five’s knees.

Realizing what you were doing after it was too late, you pulled your hand back. Your face got even redder when Five merely raised a brow at you and smiled.

“Oh my God, I shouldn’t have done tha- I just- Well, shit,” you moaned, giving into your embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” Five calmly assured. “I don’t mind getting pawed at by the wild animals roaming the park.”

You burst out laughing, your hands flying up to cover your mouth.

“Mr. Pennycrumb and my babysitter seem to really like you, Mister,” the little boy said while giggling. “Do you want to come for a walk with us since you are just sitting here all alone now that your bird friends are gone?”

“My schedule is open so I suppose I could do that,” Five returned. “But only if your babysitter wants me to…”

“Absolutely, you should totally come with us,” you quickly replied. “Please, let me pay for some new pants. I know a decent men’s store off 48th street and we are heading that way. This little fluff head just ruined your pants, so it’s the least I can do,” you added while looking only slightly less mortified.

“How about I let you buy me a coffee and I buy you and the kid a treat and we skip the new pants,” Five countered. “If after our walk, you aren't sick of me and still want to get me out of these dirty things, I can probably find a way to accommodate that while also coming up with something else fun for us to do together."

You had no clue what to say to that, your baffled expression only made Five look all the more thrilled.

"I mean, maybe we can take this kid and the pup swimming. I have two nieces that I know would love to join us and I don't need a suit for that," he clarified followed by a chuckle.

The look in your wide eyes said it all. You were as amused by Five’s odd but funny comments as he was by your kindhearted smile and fidgety ways.

Just then, the little boy’s mom and dad came strolling along, their faces showing humorously shocked levels of concern when they saw all the mud staining the lap of Five’s three-piece suit.

The boy’s father glanced at his wife just before they reached them, mouthing, “Is that who I think it is?”

It was the time of truth.

Hoping for the best, Five extended his hand to you as you stood there stunned, all of a sudden realizing who he was.

 “Five Hargreeves, and you are?”

Visibly shaking your head as you looked him up and down, you reached out, lacing your fingers between his. Giving Five your name, you then introduced your family.

From there, the walk Five had been waiting for finally happened. He finally had people in his life who wanted nothing from him other his friendship.

With a world that wasn’t on the verge of falling apart, Five was about to get what he deserved all along.

Happiness.

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

Thank you for reading this. ❤️ I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have read my original Five Centric 3-part series, and the parts of this one that were describing what happened to Five and his family after the Paris mission seemed familiar, you are not wrong. 😂👍 I have been wasting my time going back to re-edit my older works and I came across a chapter in 'Number Five and the Girl' that covered that sad memory for him. I love anything whumpy and I felt that part had it in a way that touched on something for all of them. I enjoyed revisiting it, and I hoped you would find something of value in it too.  That story goes down much different than this one, but I couldn't help borrowing some of that to turn into something new that tickled our brains with some of the stuff the show has been putting out there lately to get us excited.

Long live TUA and the people who keep the fandom fun. 🤗

Link to my A03 home page

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[wannab-urs]

Outtakes - Non-smut Vol 1

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist | Vol 2

Hi friends! Sometimes we want fics that are SFW or we just want to make ourselves sad or we need a little pick me up. I'm here with a list of fics that have no (explicit) smut as of posting! They may have smutty thoughts or mild allusions to smut, but those are marked in the warnings!

I know, me, posting non-smut fics.... but they deserve love too! Note that while many of these are rated T, they are posted on blogs that are 18+ so MDNI <3

Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.

Updated 5/24/2024

Whiskey, Dark and Deep - Jack - @prolix-yuy

Summary: In the short time you’ve known Jack Daniels, he’s disappointed you three times. Warnings: M, violence, blood, injuries, gunfights, so so so much yearning, full on cowboy tropes.

A bearable weight - Javi G - prolix-yuy

Summary: New Years Eve is the holiday of new beginnings, and you take a leap to see if Javi might be one of them. Story Warnings: T, plenty of sweetness, more ridiculousness because I can’t help myself, some lightly spicy kisses.

One Hundred and Fifty Seven - Din - @theidiotwhowritesthings

Summary: Din fakes his death for some reason. They leave reader behind thinking he’s dead. Months go by and he returns but reader is like super not okay. Say she’s been super into spice because then she can see Din when she’s high. Anyway, happy ending but loooots of angst please! Also, can it be a bit between him returning and reader being okay with him being back?” Warnings: angst with happy end, drug use, drug addiction, mentions of death, brief canon violence, self loathing, anxiety, self doubt, boba adopts reader b/c i couldn’t resist

In an instant - Joel - @mishasminion360

Summary: Happy Birthday, Joel Miller... Warnings: Um…..😳🙄 (ed. note: I hate to spoil the story, but since this list is intented to help people avoid triggers, I must; Major Character Death (reader), angst, loss of pregnancy)

It would be - Din - @fuckyeahdindjarin

Summary (aka prompt I gave myself): ‘It would be easier if you just married him.’ Warnings: angst, jealousy, fighting, pining, yearning, no use of Y/N

Just Keep Breathing - Javi P - @swiftispunk

Summary: javi finds it harder and harder to keep up with the more physical aspects of his job. reader offers him some love and words of comfort. warnings etc: BODY REPRESENTATION <3 (reader is described as having thicker thighs, a belly, and crow’s feet), smoking + smoking related health issues, hurt/comfort, back massages, fluff, angst, bein in ur 30s/40s, established relationship. probably bad spanish (please correct me). NO USE OF Y/N.

Every Pilot Needs a Wingman - Frankie - @kikis-writing-world

Summary: You have been pining quietly over your neighbor for months. He hasn’t noticed, but apparently his friend has… Warnings: Smutty thoughts - grey sweatpants should be their own warning. Fleeting mentions of masturbation and sex toys. Swearing. Santi gives the reader tips on how to impress/pick up Frankie, I don’t know if that might come off as shady or triggering to people so I want to mention that.

A girl walks into a bookshop - Ezra - @oonajaeadira

Summary: Set a couple of years after the events of the film. Ezra owns a bookshop. You walk in. Warnings: The coziest, softest romance. They do work up to intimacy, but it is sequestered in it’s own chapter–the “Interlude”–which can be skipped without losing any of the story. 

Breathe Through It - Joel - @tommysversion

Summary: you have a panic attack. Joel helps. Warnings: Descriptions of mental health conditions (namely PTSD, but can be read as any anxiety based disorder with panic attacks) / graphic description of a panic attack / some adult language/ references to past trauma (nothing explicitly described but inferred).

A kiss before dying and in death we combine - Joel - oonajaeadira

Summary: When Joel becomes infected, you make the decision not to leave him alone. Warnings: Blood and wounds. Bodily character death. Loss. Love that hurts. Sex of course, but blurred to the edges. Playing fast and loose with the cordyceps and how fast it grows.

102 - Frankie - @tieronecrush

summary: every week, you and frankie meet up at the same spot at the same time to catch-up and share a coffee. you’ve been his best friend for years. through thick and thin, always there. thing is, frankie’s been in love with you for nearly as long as he’s known you and hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you. warnings: no use of Y/N, post-film timeline, au where frankie doesn’t have a kid, use of pet names (solecita, mi mejor), high school level spanish (mostly swear words), unrequited love, self deprecation, alcohol use/drunkenness, smoking

Safe in my arms - Ezra - mishasminion360

Summary: Ezra harbors a secret hatred for his absent arm, but his feelings come to a head when his newly acquired handicap fails to do the one task he vowed never to fail in: keep you safe from harm. Warnings: Language; light angst; feelings of insecurity; body dysmorphia; brief allusions to smut; hurt/comfort; fluff.

Leave Off Your Wandering - Joel - oonajaeadira

Summary: An area native, long-term resident and shepherd in Jackson, you prefer quiet and isolation and the company of sheep. It seems this new resident Joel Miller and his young ward might share your interests. Warnings: M (possible canon violence and language. most likely non-explicit sex further down the line.) (ed. note; no smut as of chapter 2)

Peace - Joel - swiftispunk

summary: jackson era, post-tlou. you and joel discuss what it means to die. warnings: angst and fluff, discussions of death and dying, discussions of sex but nothing too explicit, age difference implied but not specified (joel is older than you but the number of years is not relevant), established relationship. NO USE OF Y/N.

This is me trying - Joel/Ellie platonic!! - swiftispunk

summary: jackson. a flashback on a film reel sparks a memory. joel tells ellie how it feels. warnings: angst, discussions of child loss, discussions of grief and death, ig fluff

Epiphany - Joel - @jksprincess10

Summary: Your new neighbor is a war veteran with a lot of scars. (1k words) Warnings: AU where Joel is in the military, age gap, PTSD, anxiety, insomnia, allusions to smut, suicidal thoughts, sad ending. Beware!! 

Significant - Din - softlyspector

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for. Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end

A pile of cards - Javi P - @undercoverpena

summary: it’s become a tradition. he presents you with a birthday card so you can collect his words, while he collects the expressions you share as you read them. warnings: javi through the seasons, narcos season two/three spoilers. cute, fluff. happy ending.

Fire - Din - jksprincess10

Summary: None Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, this is pretty short, mando still has the crest, canon divergent.

Honeyed - Joel - softlyspector

Summary: You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel. Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse, tattoos and getting tattooed (the reader only has one tattoo that is described in any detail), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, implied undefined past trauma with men, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this, you can decide if this is game joel or show joel

The Art of Healing - Marcus Pike - @northernbluess

Summary: Marcus Pike was feeling lost—unfulfilled and unmoored. After a failed marriage, heartbreak courtesy of his ex-fiancée and relocating to D.C., Marcus knew that he needed more than the FBI. Seven years later, Marcus has traded in Special Agent for Doctor and is now a clinical psychologist specialising in art therapy. He combines his two loves of art and psychology, spurred on by his experience in art crimes, FBI psych courses and his own time in therapy. Josephine is referred to Dr Pike, having just been discharged from treatment for an eating disorder. While Dr Pike is fresh to his new career, he is knowledgeable, warm, kind and attentive. Over time, as she bares her soul to him, he falls for her and the bond between them ties both their heads in knots. As her therapist he knows it’s wrong but he begins to feel incapable of separating his feelings from his work. Before long neither can truly live without the other — if only she knew that. Warnings: (warnings will be specified in each individual chapter, however, please read these carefully) Art Therapist!Marcus Pike, eating disorder, therapy, mentions of disordered eating patterns, hurt/comfort, slow burn, lots of pining and tension, angst, age gap, strained familial relationships, so much softness and feelings, eventual smut (ed. note: no smut as of chapter 5 and worth the read up to that point)

The Man That I Love - Joel - @lumoverheaven

Summary: None (ed. note: Joel is an idiot who doesn't know what he has until he almost loses it). Warnings: None (ed. note: angst)

Not Strong Enough - Joel - @beskarandblasters

Summary: Fem!Reader and Joel are in an established relationship, having met shortly after the events in Kansas City. They’re living in Jackson, Wyoming together, post Salt Lake City with Ellie. Things are going well until an incident happens during patrol and Joel questions whether or not he’s good enough. Written in third person. Warnings: angst, feeling inadequate, canon types of violence, swearing, bar fight, Joel is an asshole :/

Do You Love Me - Dieter - me

Summary: here is a fluffy (by my standards) little drabble in the A Ghost of You universe. Can be read standalone Warnings: There's just some kissing and no mentions of anything bad because I'd never do anything bad to D, would I?

Thunder Buddies - Joel - me

Summary: Joel comforting reader who is scared of thunderstorms Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, Joel being adorable, cuddling, cuteness, a distinct lack of angst or smut - which is really weird coming from me.

Wash Day - Marcus P - @secretelephanttattoo

Summary: Some completely self-indulgent romantic fluff about Marcus Pike washing your hair. Warnings: none

Personal Best - Marcus P - secretelephanttattoo

Summary: This picture of Pedro holding a dog inspired me to write a fluffy meet-cute for Marcus Pike & Reader. I'm feeling 90s romantic comedy vibes, I don't know if I'll write anything more on this but we'll see if people like it. Warnings: none

Context and Perspective - Marcus M - @elvenmother

Summary: The newest member of the Heroics has gone missing and as one of the better-known Villains on the scene, you are blamed. Then your sidekick goes missing. You must go after the Heroic’s leader to try to get them back and clear your name. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries, mentions of blood

A Very Furby Christmas - Joel - @proxima-writes

Summary: it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect. well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months. turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town. Warnings: pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

The Haunting of Dieter Bravo - Dieter - @idolatrybarbie Summary: "ghosts aren't real, except when they are." Warnings: referenced substance abuse, mentions of alcohol, dieter is sober, one song-based joke (please get it plsplspls), reader is gender neutral, a good ol' haunting tale.

The Locksmith - The Thief - oonajaeadira

Summary: A Thief you’ve known for years and have conflicting feelings for brings you a gift. The gift is a not only a puzzle in itself, but part of a larger mystery, one only you can crack. Warnings: reader is an adult, reader is AFAB, no physical descriptions of reader

A Piece of Cake - Frankie - idolatrybarbie

Summary: It's been a long time since you've seen Frankie Morales. Warnings: Angst, discussion of addiction, mentions of cocaine, alcohol consumption, bowling

The Parents That Are Left - Joel - @frenchiereading

Summary: There weren't many patrol partners Joel Miller tolerated: his brother and Iris. On a cold January day, Joel pays her mother a visit and finds out you can bond over anything. Unfortunately. Warnings: canon-typical violence and language, heavy angst, talks/mentions/descriptions of death and dead bodies, heavy discussions/thoughts of feelings/grief/guilt, suicidal thoughts, alcohol consumption, Jackson-era Joel, no reader, no y/n, OFC, not a single ounce of romance

For the Love of Horror - Dieter - @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist

Summary: Dieter and you watch a scary movie. Warnings: No use of y/n, horror movies, euphemisms, fluff, suggestive language

Stages of Grief - Joel - @bonezone44

Summary: After a tense interaction with a family member who raised you when you were little, you spiral. Joel talks you through it. Warnings: Gender neutral reader, familial trauma, angst, grief, neglect, trauma, childhood emotional/physical abuse

The Riding Lesson - Jack - @bluestar22x

Summary: When you are hired at a ranch as a trail guide, the owner asks the foreman to teach you how to ride Western style. Warnings: Suggestive thoughts, sexual tension, equestrian terms

Frankie and Din - Frankie/Din - @avastrasposts

Summary: a one-shot with our favourite pilot, sweet Frankie and our favourite space boy, broody Din based on the line; "Go on then, space boy, fly this.” Warnings: none

Light Only Shows You Where the Shadow Are - Max Phillips - oonajaeadira

Summary: The only thing that can get rid of a minor jerk is a major jerk. Warnings: Non-consensual attention (not Max), stalker behavior (when there’s trouble, Max always seems to be watching from nearby), vampire violence.

It's always been you - Dieter - @alwaysmicado

Summary: After a year of dating Dieter Bravo, you are forced to face reality. All good things must come to an end, right? Warnings: angst, age gap (unspecified), swearing, brief mention of p in v sex, brief mention of disordered eating and suicide, mention of black eye, toxic relationship, drug use, reader's coping mechanisms are unhealthy

John Wayne - Joel - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Summary: twenty years after the world ended, you find yourself face to face with Tommy Miller. The brother of the man who was your boyfriend at the time of the outbreak. Warnings: talk of attempted suicide, child loss, grief, angst

illicit affairs - Joel @chaotic-mystery

Summary: it’s my take on what illicit affairs means. Every time I listened to it I imagined Joel, specifically dbf Joel. I hope the swifties go *easy* on me and pls don’t say anything if you didn’t like it. Warnings: angst. And more angst. Swearing, forbidden relationship, arguing, fwb, alluded age gap but not specified. Use of nicknames (kid, baby……don’t look at me ok I didn’t do IT), reader is not physically described, no use of y/n.

Stay Close to Me - Jack - @alwaysbethewest

Summary: You're a rookie agent sent to work undercover with Jack as a married couple!Fake/undercover marriage! Statesman casefic! Warnings: A little romance, kissing, coarse language, very mild peril and hurt/comfort, and a splash of alcohol. Reader is a junior agent and has some muscle but otherwise no physical/age descriptions. As with any good Kingsman fic, my first step was to disregard half of canon, so this is either pre-movie or an AU.

To Know the Light - Din - @burntheedges

Summary: to go in the dark with a light is to know the light. Warnings: fluff, a teensy bit of angst, introspection, winter, food mention, reader has no description, gn!reader

O, Christmas Tree - Dieter - @covetyou

Summary: As PA to Dieter Bravo, you were used to the strange, unusual and downright weird. What you weren't used to was taking in a shipment of - what? And how many? Warnings: sex toys (so many butt plugs), Dieter being a menace to his PA, no smut, pure silliness.

In Fiction - Dieter - @sin-djarin

Summary: Dieter comes to bed. Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of self doubt, no physical description of reader, no dialogue, no use of y/n.

The Serpent Under It - Dave York - @brandyllyn

Summary: Dave is very good at his job Warnings: Canon typical violence. kinda dark yo, soulmate AU

I'll Leave a Light On For You - Max Phillips - oonajaeadira

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons. Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Cocoon - Joel - secretelephanttattoo

Summary: A short ode to Joel's coat. / a bath with Joel Warnings: Angst and intimacy. 1 reference to blood and allusion to canon typical violence (nothing is described)

Home - Frankie - @dancingtotuyo

Summary: Frankie always comes home to you. Warnings: fluff, angst, girl dad!frankie, recovering!Frankie, references to drug use, references to violence, trauma, healing.

Negotiations - Max Phillips - prolix-yuy

Summary: Max Phillips never found marketing to be all that helpful. Hell, running an ad on Facebook was easy enough. But then you walked in the door and he knew he had to have you, in all the ways he could. Warnings: T, descriptions of male and female bodies, some fantasizing and suggestive themes.

sweets for my sweet; sweets from my sweet - Ezra - @tinytinymenace

Summary: you are a cook at an exploration camp and one of the miners asks you about Earth and brings you a treat Warnings: Brief mentions of planet death (RIP Earth) and strained family dynamics but on balance this is soft.

Caught Kissing Santa - Dave York - @wildemaven

Summary: Alice saw you kissing Santa Claus Warnings: reader is married to Dave and stepmom to his kids, mentions of food and drinks, non-religious Christmas celebrations and Santa beliefs, alluding to sexy time but no smut, kissing, mentions reader is wearing pajama pants, fluff, soft Dave, one use of ‘good girl’.

Unwind - Dieter - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Summary: Dieter helps you unwind when you get your period after an already long day. Warnings: established relationship, reader menstruates, drug use (marijuana), reference to past drug use, reference to bad horror movies, Dieter being our favorite trash panda, sweet, fluff, domesticity

One Night - Marcus P - secretelephantattoo

Summary: You get one night with Marcus Pike. Warnings: Implied/referenced smut but nothing is explicitly described. Smoking and alcohol. Angst because they only have one night together. Marcus is a flirty menace. House party nostalgia. Heavy petting in a stairwell

Lovesick - Joel - prolix-yuy

Summary: You've been greedy for Joel for too long. Warnings: descriptions of wound care and blood, allusions to dubcon due to drinking and drug use, no actual smut

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

Happy Reading!

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Content & Format Stuff

Fandoms/Characters | Prompt Masterlist | Writing Masterlist

So! First and foremost: the formats! There are three main ones I'll be working with: headcannons, drabbles, and fics.

Headcannnons are the bulleted ramblings on a particular topic. These are the easiest for me to do because I don't have to get into the more official Fic Writing headspace, and it just feels like I have a lot more freedom to explore concepts without forcing them to connect fluently.

Fics are, obviously, the longer, more in-depth writing. They take a lot more effort and, more importantly, require me to find the motivation to write... so while I love them and will absolutely try to do them on request, they'll take longer. Also, I have no specific word limit. I write until it's done, even if that's a few thousand words.

Drabbles or Ficlets are the mini-fics! They'll be written in the style of fics but limited to one scene, typically much shorter. You can request these if you want something more properly written, but not as elaborate as fics. It can be anything from a few paragraphs of dialogue to a page or two of writing!

And now, onto the fun stuff...

What I will write:

Romance/Fluff!

Angst, often Hurt/Comfort

NSFW content (see the sections below for details)

In-Universe and Alternate Universe/AU, especially fantasy/real world genre-switching

Maybe crossovers! I've never written any, but they're not off the table.

Character x Reader

Character x Character

Character x My OCs, if anyone's interested

LGBTQ+ Characters and pairings! All of em. Including polyships!

Good spelling and grammar! Woo! No need to cringe. I hope...

Paranormal/supernatural characters and settings

Family dynamics and relationships (non-nsfw only)

Pregnancy/birth/baby related stuff

Many more things! Send me requests for whatever you like!

What I will not write:

Unhappy endings. Angst is great, but when it's unresolved, it just... hurts. I'll torture the heck out of the characters, but they get their happy endings.

Character deaths are negotiable-- I'm alright "killing" a main character if they get resurrected-- but the kids and animals ain't dying. Not happening.

Content warning tags & NSFW discussions below:

Content warnings will be given for:

Sex scenes, especially non fade-to-black ones.

Any major thing that could be triggering for people, including mentions of it -- severe depression or anxiety, self-harm, suicide, eating disorders, anxiety and panic attacks, excessive violence, death, terminal diseases, etc. I don't believe these will pop up often, but if they ever do, rest assured I will tag them and include them in the warnings at the top.

Pregnancy/birth related things

If there's anything you would like me to add, please let me know!

And now, what most of you are here for.... my sex scene conditions

NSFW Things I will write:

Sex scenes! Shocker. If you're making a request, you can specify the degree of detail you want me to go into - fade to black, milder/less descriptive, or full throttle.

Mild(-ish) BDSM. I haven't written much of it, so I'm not super comfortable going too deep into it, buuuut... I'm more than willing to give it a shot!

Some examples being: edging, teasing, dom/sub dynamics, brats, mild pain play, restraints... feel free to ask for whatever though~

Up to three or four characters in one scene, or as few as one... nothing wrong with a little solo time~

Toys are great too. So are strap-ons.

Sex anywhere from nervous first-time-together-between-lovers to random-intense-backroom-hookups, and anywhere in between... so long as it fits the character(s) in question.

Please note: I'll often try to write in a gender-neutral way for headcannons, or edit my writing to have two separate versions depending on the genitalia of the reader/oc involved, that way everyone can enjoy the scene :)

NSFW Things I will not write:

Non-Consensual sex. Yes, this includes con non-con. I would be willing to mention it in passing if it's part of a backstory or trauma from a past experience, but I'm uncomfortable writing the scene itself. Sorry.

Severe pain play and humiliation. A little humiliation is fine, but no serious or non-sarcastic/teasing degradation, in bed or out of it. Pain play is great, and can be requested, but not to the extent that characters are in genuine distress.

NSFW content for minors or childlike characters

[creatur3creati0ns]

My History with Self Harm and Self Tattooing

I think it goes without saying that this will be discussing both tattooing and self harm, so if that’s something you don’t want to read about, here’s your trigger warning. I won’t be getting into explicit descriptions about self harm but for the sake of the story I will be mentioning the main form of self harm I used to engage in, which is cutting. I myself can not read, hear, or watch any media that shows or describes cutting, and even writing or saying the world evokes a very bad physical reaction in me so trust me when I say I will try to tell this as best I can while attempting not to trigger anyone, especially myself. But I will be talking about it, maybe more than you’re comfortable with, so do be careful if needed. There will also be mentions of suicidal ideation, mental illness, and the struggles that come along with those, as well as brief mentions of childhood abuse and trauma. No specifics, but the acknowledgment of them. I also show a picture where I have mild hives on my skin, in the “My History with Tattooing” section, and I do warn before I show you. I briefly mention sexual themes, as well as BDSM.

My History with Self Harm

I started self harming around 13 years old, after I was in a car accident that gave me a traumatic brain injury and triggered a myriad of mental illnesses including social anxiety, major depressive disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and depersonalization/derealization. Along with this I was dealing with abuse from my parents and pressures around school. Everything accumulated in panic attacks and general feelings of hopelessness and helplessness. That brought on heavy thoughts of suicidal ideation. I did not have any control in my life, especially over what happened to my own body. The way that I regained a bit of control was by self harming. My usual go-to was cutting. This also helped with my dissociation disorder, because it was a very grounding experience that brought me back into reality and my body. I had a whole ritual surrounding it, and it was something that I did very often and was the main coping mechanism I used at the first sign of trouble. It got to the point where I would even do it at school, under my desk or hidden in the office.

When I started getting help for my struggles, one suggestion I found online to help with self harm urges was to draw on myself. This was something that I connected with instantly. Very quickly I found myself spending at least an hour each night drawing on the places I wanted to self harm. I would spend time each morning refreshing the drawings that might have smudged at night, and redrawing them after a shower. My marker of choice was any Sharpie, and I still have a very large collection of them. Black was my usual go to, and I had a black Sharpie on me at all times. Usually two, one with a pointed tip for details and one with a rounded tip for thicker lines or coloring things in. I tried different brands of skin safe markers and I did like them, but they didn’t last as long and they were expensive. At some point I was obsessed with “Mr. Sketch Scented Markers” and I still have two packages of those. I loved experimenting with different markers and I still do, but now it’s mainly for drawing or coloring on paper. I also experimented with different ways to make the drawings last longer, like covering them with baby powder and hairspray. I would draw on myself any chance I would get, and would always spend the car ride to school doing it.

Pictured above was the first photo I have of a drawing I did on myself. I’m using Snapchat screenshot for most of the pictures in this post because it has the date there. These were done with the good ol’ Mr. Sketch, and I specifically remember I would only listen to Emma Chamberlain’s “spring 2018” playlist while doing this in my mother’s bedroom. She has since changed the playlist name and added songs I never listened to, but the first 16 or so songs were the ones I would listen to every night for a few weeks. Why I was in my mother’s bedroom is also a long story, but when I was dealing with my suicidal ideation I was not allowed to sleep in a room by myself for around two years. During this time I had to sleep in her room, in her bed. About an hour before bed I would be able to have the room to myself to draw.

I was never much of an artist before I started doing this, so most of the things I did at the beginning of my skin drawing journey were doodles I thought of or simple designs I saw on Pinterest.

At some point I graduated from drawing only on my inner forearms and outer thighs to my hands and fingers and all over my legs and pretty much anywhere I could reach. I got pretty good at drawing with my non-dominant hand so that my right hand and arm was covered in marker as well. Here I was still doing some Pinterest drawings.

Those triangles on my left knee in the picture above was something I would do a lot. It was the first “design” I ever created myself, and was definitely the easiest to do. You can see X’s on my hand here, which is something I started to do a bit before this picture, like this. Easier to do with my non-dominant hand.

One of my favorite things to doodle were triangles, like the ones seen here.

I started getting a little funky with my triangles.

One of my favorite things to do after a few years was to black out my knuckles with boxes.

In my spare time I would look at other people’s tattoos online and try to imitate them on my own skin.

I started to like blacked out shapes. Try to get as much color on my body as possible.

That turned into blacking out a portion of my arm.

Or even blacking out my whole arm.

I even drew on my neck and face.

Funnily enough, I ended up getting my first piercing there, an eyebrow piercing.

Some extras I like:

Little hint of a blacked out arm there.

My mother wasn’t a fan of any of this at first until I told her it helped with my self harm urges. Of course it didn’t completely stop my self harming, but it definitely lessened how much I did it. She would often gift me markers for holidays, or even just on random days when she was at the store and found something that I might like. That’s what happened with the “Mr. Sketch Scented Markers.” If you read my “The First 20 Years” post, you know I have a lot of complicated feelings about my mother. She was heavily abusive and our relationship suffered because of it . But as every other human being on the planet, she had her good moments and there were things she was good at as a parent. She would stand up for me when others made negative comments about my drawings. My grandmother didn’t like the fact that I had Sharpie all over my hands, but the only time I heard her bring it up to my mother, my mother said that it really helped me and that it was important. The next day my grandmother complimented some of my drawings, and a few months later when a friend of hers was visiting, she pointed it out to her friend and mentioned that she thought I was getting good at it. My grandmother was also very abusive and a decently bad person, but again. People are not only one thing blah blah.

Once I was at a doctor’s appointment and had heavy black drawings all over my hands and a nurse asked if they were tattoos. I was maybe 16 at the time, and I told her no, it was just marker. She went on to say that that was good, because tattoos are bad and unprofessional and will kill your chance at being successful and I should especially not have them so young. I nodded along silently and then left to have a panic attack in the bathroom, and texted my mother telling her what happened because I didn’t know what else to do. It might seem like an extreme reaction, but in general I hated confrontation and any time any adult showed even an ounce of disappointment or anger over something I did or even just who I was, it destroyed me. My mother ended up calling the office to explain the importance of my drawings (this office already knew in depth about my self harm and mental health issues, as it was a small medical practice and my mother loved to talk) and say that what the nurse said was upsetting and inappropriate. A few minutes later the nurse came back into the exam room to apologize very sincerely and give me a hug, which was appreciated but also very awkward considering I thought it looked like I called my mommy to complain about the mean nurse to get her in trouble.

In October of 2020 I started taking drawing a little more seriously, and finally found my style. I was always doodling, literally any chance I could get. Every page in my school notebooks were filled with triangles and lines and dots. There was a drawing on some part of my body at all times. I found this artist, ihategreeneggs on Instagram and wanted to try my own version of something he did. This was his drawing that inspired me.

And this is what I ended up doing. My very first drawings of what would eventually become my style.

Here I drew my mushroom guy (who is my favorite, now) on my arm. A little hard to see but you get the picture. I plan on getting him tattooed on me for real. Probably by someone else, just so it’s as good as it can be.

I realized after a few years that I enjoy having marks on my skin. Whether it was self harm, Sharpies, scars, random scratches, or even hickeys and impact play marks later on in my life, any time I could see something on my skin out of the corner of my eye or in the mirror it would make me happy and present in myself. I’m still not totally sure why, but I think it has something to do with “my skin has changed or looks different than when I was born and that is proof that I am real.” This is still something I feel now, but I have developed healthier ways of getting those marks on my skin.

My History with Tattoos

I was around tattoos at a very young age. My dad has several pretty old tattoos, and two of them were decent sized pieces on both forearms. I can’t remember exactly what they were, but I’m near positive that one was a traditional full body tiger, and the other was a traditional scorpion. He had some other ones on his shoulder and his chest. He has my mother’s name in a red heart. My mother’s only tattoo is a giant rose on her ass that spells my father’s name in the leaves. Yes, they are divorced.

My mother said early on in my life that she did not want me or my sister to get any tattoos or facial piercings. If we did get tattoos, they needed to be very easily hidden. When I was younger, I didn’t really have a desire for tattoos or piercings. I thought they were cool, but not for me. I did want to dye my hair, though, and my mother refused to let us do that either. As I entered middle school, I was exposed to emo culture, as are most young queer kids, and then I did want tattoos and piercings. I knew that as soon as I turned 18, I was gonna spend that day getting piercings and tattoos and dyeing my hair. That’s not what I did during my birthday, but a couple months after turning 18 I got my first facial piercing, and a couple months after that I ordered my first hand poke kit. At least I dyed my hair immediately.

If you’re familiar with tattoos, you know that hand poked tattoos are usually called stick and pokes. I personally say hand poke because of the stigma around “stick n pokes” and the fact that I did mine with an actual tattoo needle and tattoo ink, as opposed to the sewing needle and pen ink that most people think of when you say stick and poke. Nothing wrong with that, I personally am of the opinion that you can do whatever the hell you want with your body as long as you’re still advocating for others to do it as safely as they can. A lot of the tattoo artists I was learning from called it hand poked, or even hand pushed, and it stuck for me. I don’t care what others call it, but I think hand poked sounds cute and is more fitting for my personal process.

I had been learning about the tattooing process for years, but in the months following my 18th birthday I started learning more about the hand poke process as opposed to machine done tattoos. I saw hand poke as more approachable and accessible. I had known for years that some day I wanted to be a tattoo artist. After drawing on myself for years, developing my style, and drawing on anyone who would let me, I wanted to be able to do it permanently. I love the idea of providing people with little friends on their body that go with them everywhere. That’s exactly what I want in life! And I like creating, it’s the best thing for me to do.

I really wanted tattoos and the easiest way was for me to do it myself. I was a few hours away from my parents, in my own room I was paying rent for, with my partner and close friend in the rooms across the hall. I finally felt safe and grounded. I had my own space and I had the freedom to do what I wanted. Now was as good a time as any to try hand poke out.

I had decided that I wanted my first tattoo to be meaningful to me, and I didn’t care if the rest I got were. “Firsts” have always been important for me in my life. In September of 2021, I decided to tattoo “LET GO” on the top right of my right thigh, the words facing me. This, of course, has absolutely no meaning to me now, but at the time I thought this was a good reminder. I think it came out pretty damn good considering it was my first ever tattoo on skin.

My second tattoo was a creature I drew a long while ago, and I did it on the top right of my left shin, right below the knee. This was a horrible and painful decision, especially for my second tattoo ever. I did this tattoo the same day I did my first one, because the first one was so quick to do.

A little over a week later, I did my next tattoos. My third and fourth tattoos were also done the same day. An “X” on my left middle finger knuckle, something I’ve wanted for a while, and a little smiley face on the second knuckle of my left pointer finger.

I don’t know for sure why I did that fourth one, as I was never a huge fan of smiley faces. I just think I wanted another finger tattoo while I had the supplies out. I regretted it pretty quickly, but the very next day my sister came to visit me in the new city I moved to and she was wearing a smiley face ring on the same finger I had my tattoo on. So it was very much worth it for the sweet memory.

A little less than a week after those, I did a pretty ambitious tattoo, my fifth. About a four inch by four inch snail I drew with some of my signature, uh, squiggles? I don’t know what these are but I’ve been doing them forever. The ones I currently do in my drawings are a bit different, but this was an old drawing when I first started out with this style. Either way, it was a lot more than I could handle. I wanted the squiggles colored in and I had only done one pass through the whole thing, but I had already spent hours on it and I didn’t want to overwork my skin, so I decided to stop for the day and do it again after it healed. Long story story I developed chronic hives after this tattoo (not related) so it was left unfinished for a while. “A while” being two years. More about those hives in my “The First 20 Years” post if you’re interested. This is the only pic I have of that tattoo, so if looking at hives freaks you out, keep in mind I have mild hives in this picture.

I did a lot of research before tattooing myself. I bought a kit from a website that wasn’t Amazon, and I practiced on a lot of fake skin. I watched a lot of YouTube and Instagram videos by hand poke tattoo artists and read many articles. Yet when I did the tattoos, I still fucked up. It’s in the nature of the practice, when you’re first starting out. I was happy with what I did, though, and I was safe doing it, so that’s all that mattered. About a year passed by, and they faded pretty badly. The ink the kit came with wasn’t the greatest, and I definitely poked too shallow out of fear. I had a friend who expressed interest in stick and poke, and since I had a lot of supplies, I invited them over to use some and pretty much showed them how to hand poke. I wasn’t the best teacher considering the last time I had done it I barely knew what I was doing, but they knew it wasn’t going to turn out perfect and didn’t mind. I touched up my X on my middle finger while they did a smiley face on their middle finger. I just checked in with them a couple days ago, and about a year later, it still looks pretty good. Still quite dark, so clearly they poked deep enough. This time after my tattoo I actually did aftercare and treated it well. It was a good experience. We watched Adventure Time while doing it, and it’s a great memory for me. I think that’s what tattooing should be all about.

Why I’m Even Writing This

Last week, I was having a hard day. I was deep in relationship problems that I thought was going to end it, and leave me having to move two hours away from the city I call home, to move into my sister’s apartment with her and her boyfriend. That is, of course, better than being unhoused, but there were a number of reasons why this would be my last option. There were also a number of reasons why me being unhoused was a very real worry at the time if my relationship ended. This isn’t about that, though, so I digress.

The night prior, right as the relationship problem started, I had reached out to a friend to come pick me up and take me to their place. I can’t drive and I needed to get out of the apartment for a bit. We weren’t that close, never hung out outside of a group, but they were my only friend who lived near me and had their own place. We ended up talking about what was happening in my relationship, and as five hours passed, we talked about other things as well. Tattoos got brought up, as they inevitably do when I’m talking to, well, pretty much anyone.

This friend had a few tattoos on their arms. They had a stick and poke done with a sewing needle and pen ink that a friend did years and years ago, and a professionally done stick and poke with incredible detail. I say stick and poke because that’s the word they used. This is the first friend I have that has both hand poked tattoos and machine done tattoos, so I was pretty excited to ask about the difference, specifically with the pain. I don’t remember much of what they said because it was a week ago at this point and I had a lot on my mind, but some key things they said was that the hand poked ones hurt a lot less, and the machine done ones ended up feeling numb after a while because of all the buzzing.

I mentioned that eventually I want to be a tattoo artist, and it felt like they lit up. They said that they thought I would be a good one. I honestly think I give off tattoo artist wannabe vibes so it was very nice to hear someone else say it would fit me well. I said that I haven’t tattooed myself in a long time, at least a year at that point. I told them that what they said made me want to start up again, and now was as good a time as any considering I’m unemployed and quite literally have nothing better to do. Not to mention I really needed the distraction at the time. I said that I would spend the next day practicing or maybe even touching up one of my old tattoos that you can barely see now that it’s been two years since I’ve done them.

Without going into too much detail, the next day after talking with my friend, things got unimaginably worse. This was last Friday. I was experiencing thoughts of wanting to self harm, which was something that I hadn’t experienced in at least a month. The emotions I was feeling at the time were overwhelming. They were the kind of feelings that I knew self harm would immediately fix. Put me in control when I thought my whole existence was coming to an end. I thought that I had made my mind up while I was sitting in the bathroom having my second panic attack of the day. I don’t know what stopped me from doing it. Maybe it was because I was thinking about the therapy session I had that morning before everything went to shit. I had told my therapist that I was going to spend the day practicing tattooing while waiting for the inevitable conversation my partner and I would have to have. I didn’t expect the conversation to come so quickly after my session ended, which is one of the reasons I had such an extreme reaction. I guess I decided to go through with what I told her I was going to do, but now the urge had moved to tattooing myself instead of fake skin. Practice is practice, I suppose.

I got out my supplies and set everything up and decided to basically re-poke my second tattoo that was on my shin. I spent a few hours doing it while watching House M.D. and it made everything a lot better. Afterwards, I was writing everything that had happened the previous few days down for my next therapy appointment. I realized I had “urge to self harm” and “tattooed myself” in the same sentence. I was worried that it would come across like I had exchanged the razor for a tattoo needle in a way to cause myself harm. I decided to spend some time thinking about the difference in self tattooing and self harming for me and if they were related.

I looked online to see if people had written about a connection between self harm and tattoos. I wanted to hear others' thoughts, especially people in the mental health field. I, of course, found some people saying that body modifications were an extreme form of self harm or that body modifications were only done by people who were mentally ill. That’s definitely not what I was looking for. I found this article, though, which interested me. I decided to sit down and write through the process and intent of my self harm vs. my tattooing, and what the similarities were, if any.

The Difference Between My Self Harm and My Self Tattooing

I went through the feelings I have before, during, right after, and the following days after I self harm or tattoo.

Before I self harm, I look forward to it. I’m clear headed, sure, and confident. During it, my thoughts start to devolve. I get a little panicky and shaky, and no longer feel clear headed or confident. I try to make it quick. I do it without looking, and as fast and as much as possible. If it’s an especially painful one I pause for a second or so, usually let out a curse and try to calm myself with some quick rocking back and forth, then go back in before I lose my nerve and can’t continue any longer. Right after, I feel a lot of relief, and am nervous but smiley. Not happy, but I smile pretty much immediately. It’s not because I find it funny, either, but it has to do with the immense relief. I feel grounded again. I get rid of everything quickly, never clean myself up, and immediately go do something else. Then comes the shame. I used to be the kind of person to track my “clean” days, so every time I relapsed, there was deep sadness and frustration when it finally sinks in what I had done. The following days after I self harm, I will hit or slap the harmed area quickly when I experience something triggering or upsetting in any way. A hit of pain helps ground me and make me feel more in control, and reminds me of what I did to gain control. After a few days I can finally look at the area I harmed, and I look at it closely, running my fingers over it, and bringing it up to my face so it’s the only thing I can see and focus on. Self harm helps me in the moment, but immediately afterwards I feel so much worse. The days following, it helps me through other triggers, but instead of using my healthly coping mechanisms, I automatically re-injure myself.

Before I tattoo, I’m anxious but excited and prepared. During it, I am slow and careful and will look at the area I’m tattooing closely, taking my time with the piece until I feel like I’m done. I pause for a bit if there’s a lot of pain, and let myself take a rest and come back to it in a while if I need to. Right after, I’m happy and proud. I’m still learning tattooing, so it can be quite a hard and long process, but that just makes me more proud of myself for being able to do it. My focus is then on carefully wrapping up the tattoo and taking care of it, and then slowly putting everything away, being mindful of not hitting my tattoo accidentally. I spend time afterwards looking at it and appreciating my work. The following days after I tattoo myself, I am careful to not touch it, hit it, or scrape it. I leave the second skin on for a while, looking at it every so often, which makes me happy. After the second skin is off, I spend time taking care of it using tattoo ointment, then moisturizing when it’s ready, and am careful to not have any rough contact with it.

I realized that I don’t tattoo for the pain, but for the closeness it brings to my body. Tattooing myself is very grounding. I have to listen to my body and be aware of where my hand is and where I’m tattooing, how I’m stretching the skin, where the needle is going. It’s a ritual of caring for my body, in addition to putting something that makes me happy on my body using my own hand. The pain is just a byproduct of the tattoo, while the pain of self harm is one of the only things that matters.

Using Self Tattooing as a Substitute for Self Harm

The next morning when I had my therapy session, I brought this all up to my therapist. She made some great points that made me feel more secure in how I was feeling. She said that tattooing myself was a substitute for self harm. Pain is just a sensation, and it’s something that’s okay to endure or even seek out. Tattooing myself is a creative and regulated pain that doesn’t put me in harm's way or make me unsafe. Just because there is pain in an activity, doesn’t mean it’s a form of self harm. I have five facial piercings, which all hurt to get, but the purpose of getting them was to have cool metal in my face, which then connects me more to my body. Even people who do things like body suspension do it for reasons other than the pain. And if pain is the main reason why you’re doing something, I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. Speaking as a masochist and a sadist, pain can be enjoyable in many different ways. There’s a difference between self harm and being hurt. Safety has a big part to play in it, as does listening to your body when it tells you to stop.

Because I wanted marks on my skin at all times, I would self harm constantly. With a tattoo, it’s a one and done deal. I do it and then it’s there forever. There’s no need to constantly keep it up, causing more pain and injury each time. The fact that I designed my tattoos myself aids in the grounding and “I am real” feeling that skin drawings have given me in my life. When I tattoo I am clear headed and not overly emotional. When self harming, I am very vulnerable and on edge. Each time I leave a mark it's different than the last, and I couldn’t care less about how deep I’m going. It’s a very dangerous process that I would do very often. I stopped tracking my clean days, but I know it’s been a while since I self harmed. Having tattoos to look at instead makes me a lot happier.

Closing Thoughts

As of writing this, I re-poked my shin tattoo nine days ago.

I redid my thigh tattoo two days ago, using my tattoo machine for the first time. My partner bought me my machine for our one year anniversary in October of 2021, and I’ve practiced with it a few times. I definitely should have done more research considering most of my tattoo knowledge came through hand poke and my previous knowledge of machine tattooing is quite a few years old and I don’t remember some of it. I had to look up a few things. I spent around three hours on it, but mostly because I took 10 minute breaks very frequently. I’m going to be honest, machine tattooing sucked. I felt I had less control and it was so so so much more painful than handpoke. I definitely want to make a different post talking about my experience with hand poke vs machine. I think I’m going to stick with hand poke for the most part. But long story short, I stopped halfway-ish through because I couldn’t handle the pain anymore and I was having trouble with the needle I was using. Fucking magnums. I’m going to let it heal and then handpoke the snail and finish the squiggles with, unfortunately, my tattoo machine.

Art has been incredibly beneficial to me for a large portion of my life. It has helped me through very rough times. Even now, when something has happened and my nervous system is dysregulated, I end up grabbing my iPad and making some vent art. It instantly makes me feel better and provides an outlet for anger, sadness, and any other emotion I might have. It also helps me to process my feelings. Art and body modifications are one of the most important things in my life, and they both have helped me to connect with myself, in general and also in my trans identity. I’m going to be saying this phrase a lot, as you have seen so far, so get ready; this is something that I want to write about more in depth at some point.

I’d say that’s all. This only took, I don’t know, a little less than a week to write. Finding the pictures and placing them here correctly was the hardest part. So far the two things I have written have been very long, a little over 5,000 words. Hopefully soon I can write something a bit more simple. And hopefully soon I can figure out how to end something without outright saying “the end.” Anyway. Thanks for reading!

The End :D

[16woodsequ]

Headcannon:

When was Steve's first experience with a panic attack? Are they something he's experienced with and had pre-serum? Or are they something that happened after, or post ice melting? Or in short, when was his first one, did he know he was having it? Does he successfully cover them up or do people just politely ignore the signs? How would the others respond the first time? (I guess this would all depend on which story you write, but in a general sense which ones are your favorite?)

Oh this is a really interesting question. I've been thinking about it for a few days.

I think I unconsciously headcanon that Steve's first true panic attack would be after the serum. That being said, we know he canonically had 'nervous trouble of any sort' so I think he grew up with anxiety, and his anxiety triggered asthma attacks could be considered panic attacks.

As for panic attacks after the serum I have some angsty headcanons about that.

I think he probably had some mild panic or anxiety attacks getting used to his body after the serum. As healthy as it made him, it would still be such a huge, alienating change, that I think it would take some time for his brain to become fully comfortable with it.

Of course, Steve would repress as much as he could out of that, because he would think he has no business being upset about getting a perfect body (no matter how painful it was or how traumatic the immediate moments afterwards were.)

I also think he had some kind of attack right after Bucky died. I see him climbing back onto the train and just shutting down, barely able to breathe, barely able to think as he tries to process what had just happened in front of him.

Again this would be pushed back once he heard Gabe on his radio and he forced himself up to complete the mission.

After waking up from the ice I think he was low key panicking but also trying to hide it as much as possible while Fury was talking to him. I headcanon that Steve was very wary then, and kind of instinctively knew not to show weakness in that moment.

Which leads to my headcanon about his first major meltdown panic attack in the 21st century. I imagine that before the Avengers movie Steve had been in survival mode the whole time. Just barely hanging on as he tried to figure out the world and find his place in it.

Of course that all gets thrown up in the air when Loki comes and he finds out about the Tesseract again. Not to mention his trauma response anger matches with Tony and the blatant fact that everyone sees him as Captain.

I haven't been able to put this in a fic yet, but I headcanon that at some point during Avengers, it all gets too much and Steve disappears into a bathroom somewhere and just crumples. Unable to breathe, shaking and gasping, with tears on his face, because everything is so wrong.

I imagine it happens right after Coulson dies. Steve had just found out about the Hydra weapons and the Tesseract bombs SHIELD is making. He'd tried to blow off steam snapping at Tony, but that had been interrupted by a battle in which he'd almost fallen outside of a the Helicarrier, and Coulson had died.

All this at most a month after Bucky died.

No one could fault Steve for having a breakdown, but of course he holds himself to a higher standard than that.

I don't know if Steve would exactly know what happened to him was a panic attack, but he would have seen soldiers during the war get struck with similar episodes. Those soldiers had been put into treatment for battle fatigue, or discharged entirely though, and I don't think he would want that to happen to him, so he would hide and repress it.

Which, to be honest, I think he does until CA:TWS, and then he sees Bucky again in the street and all but shuts down.

Which is why so many of my fics revolve around people catching a glimpse of what he represses and suddenly going oh no

Hope you enjoyed my response!

[bonny-kookoo]

Fictional Happiness: 10 (ft. Jin/Jimin)

In which Jungkook, youngest of Kpop Group and werewolf Pack BTS, finds his mate at his own concert; just to learn that reality is nothing like the movies - and that not everyone is blindly after him and his name.

Tags/warnings: werewolf! AU if it wasn't obvious already lol, angst, there's so much angst Jesus, romantic kook, kinda selfish kook though, shy!reader, anxiety, medication mention, therapy mention, panic attacks, idol!Jungkook, slow burn, strangers to eventual friends to lovers/mates, insecurities, bad habits, kind of tsundere! Jk, Impatient kook, alpha!kook, omega!Reader, swearing, reader doesn't like him a lot at first just as a heads up, realistic approach- meaning she won't just fall head first right away like nuh-uh we're wearing seatbelts on this ride yall, smut in future chapters

Additional Chapter Warnings/Tags: Jin x Reader content, Jimin x Reader content, oh hi thanks for checking in jungkook is still a piece of garbage, sorry but it do be like that, mild victim blaming?, mentioned past child neglect, emotional trauma, jungkoom finally gets a grip tho Jesus Christ

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Jungkook is coming home the day after, meeting Jin in his kitchen as he is drinking his coffee. "Hey." He simply greets, as Jungkook walks in. He doesn't greet his older bandmate back, simply sighs as he sits down at the table. "Jimin is with her right now. He says she might come around today, but that we shouldn't stress her too much." He says. Jungkook nods. "You're awfully quiet." He says.

"Yeah, cause there's.. not much to say." He says. "I still don't know what the fuck I did, and I highly doubt she'll tell me." He chuckles darkly, leaning on his palm as Jin grows a little agitated again.

"You're talking as if this is her fault." He says cautiously, not sitting down as he leans against the kitchen counter.

"Well fuck, it kind of is isn't it?" He says, leaning back in his chair. "She could've told me that there's, I don't know, stuff that triggers her." He says, and Jin has flashbacks of the young alpha at 14, arguing about practice being too long years back.

"You're still stuck in your head." Jin says, shaking his head as he laces down the cup at the side. "She probably didn't know, did you ever think about that? You're being selfish right now Jungkook-"

"I always am, I know, I'm a fucking asshole, yeah you all told me already!" He begins to yell now uncaring he might wake you up. "I can't stand you all at the moment, you're all fucking with me ever since I've found her!" He says, and comically enough, Jin almost expects the maknae to stomp his foot like a child. "You don't want me to have her, is that it?" He starts, as Jin finally speaks.

"Thats not it jungkook and you know it-" He says. "But you're being horribly ignorant towards her, and you can't expect any of us to just sit back and watch while she falls apart just because your pride won't accept help!" He scolds, and Jungkook is dangerously quiet as Jimin suddenly walks in between them.

"Lets get some distance in here, first of all." The omega days sternly, pushing against both of their chests to pull them apart. "You're barking at each other like dogs, jeez." He scolds them both, as they slowly calm down.

"How is she?" Both of them ask simultaneously before glarin at one another straight after.

"Oh you know, just mildly fucking upset over the fact that you're both at each other's throats first thing in the morning." He says, rolling his eyes before he crosses his arms. "We talked. About what happened." He says. "And to your surprise, she actually defended jungkook-"

"Hah!" He calls out, making Jimin growl at him for the first time, the maknae only now realizing how out of line that was. This wasn't a competition on who's right and who wasn't.

He really was an asshole, wasn't he?

"Anyways, she uhm.." jimin takes a deep breath. "Basically, puppydog over there had made her her first nest." He says, and its then that Jungkook realizes the severity of it all. "Last time someone did that for her was when she was a kid. But when her mom and dad separated, she only had an alpha parent growing up. And we know how boring they are with nesting." He says, looking at Jin in particular; the oldest alpha of the group having never really participated in nesting with Jimin. "So, it sent her into a bit of a messy place mentally, which made her drop." He explains.

Jungkook is putting his face in his hands. "I'm so stupid.." he mumbles into them, while Jin is slightly agitated. Who the hell deprives a child, a mere pup, of something so important such as creating their own comfort zone? He can't imagine the loneliness you'd felt, being left alone like that. It explains why you were so helpless the entire time- maybe you've never been properly scented either- Jin can't imagine the neglect you must've faced until now. You're so sweet, an omega like you should be protected and-

He stops his thoughts from going any further. He can't allow this.

"She's not fully there yet, but she's at least.. talking, a little bit." Jimin explains. "She's worried jungkook might find it weird, so she's staying in her room. I think his reaction yesterday freaked her out a little." He says, and Jungkook looks up. "Dont look at me like that, you straight up left, what was she supposed to think?" Jimin sees a bit of himself in you, blames his protectiveness on this.

It's easier than to fully think about what might really be going on.

"So she thinks I don't want her?" He asks concerned, and at Jimins nod, he jumps up, trying to instantly go to you. But jimins arms hold him back. "Let me go, I need to be with her, I have to fix this-"

"Jungkook I know you mean well but you're not thinking straight right now." Jimin worries. "Let me help you two, let us help. Please." He pleads, and Jungkook chews his lips before he nods.

"I.. think that would be the best." He says, accepting the offer as Jimin smiles, hugging the maknae tightly for a moment.

Jimin walks to heat up some of the plastic containers. "I'll get her to eat something, while you two calm down. And once you-" jimin points playfully at the still upset alpha. "Have calmed down enough, you're free to join us for some cuddles. She needs to know you still want her." He mumbles as he pops the rice in the microwave.

Jungkook internally scoffs. As if he wouldn't want you because your instincts, which you had no control over, had acted up for very valid reasons. He feels bad to having thought about you like you were something that would solve itself somehow. This wasn't something that would simply sort itself if he waited long enough. No, if anything, this would fall apart even further if he just let things continued like this.

So hesitantly, after a moment or two, he joins you and jimin and Jin in the room, cautiously walking closer as you don't look at him. He wordlessly takes the chopsticks from Jimin, taking over by offering you food. You seem to think about it a few seconds, before hesitantly accepting the bite, making Jungkook smile.

It reminds jimin of himself years back when he'd been in your position, the pack desperately trying to help him get better and out of his dark hole. He remembers finally accepting himself that time, slowly beginning to love and connect with himself, knowing that he had a caring pack like that around to keep him safe.

"Sorry-" you mumble when a tiny piece of rice fell onto your naked thigh, but Jungkook simply chuckled.

"Messy pup." He teases playfully, picking it up to discard it, making Jin smack his head jokingly, scolding him that he shouldn't throw it away like that, and that he should have manners.

You smile slightly at that, feeling oddly better. "I-" you start, words still not coming out the way you want them to. But it has to somehow be enough for now. "I can.. go home, today. I don't- you're.. probably busy-" you start, but Jungkook shakes his head.

"We've been granted some time off due to the situation currently. And I want you close, especially now." He says. "I still want you." He says, and your eyes gloss over again, making him worry. "Oh no no no don't cry, hyung what do I do-" he starts, but you just shake your head, smiling.

"I'm glad." You simply say.

Yeah. He is too.

[demonsandmischief]

Keep Me Safe

A Bucky Barnes Story

Bucky Barnes x OC Character

2K Words

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, Mention of Body Weight, Past Abuse/Trauma

General disclaimers before you read: This is not an imagine. Also, I'm not a doctor, but I do my best to make things as accurate as possible. Please take into account the trigger warnings. I imagine this after TFATWS events just because I feel like that Bucky has finally found himself enough to actually have a relationship. It doesn't contain any spoilers, but it may later on.

----

Bucky already has enough to deal with, but adding Mia to the mix might not be so bad.

----

"You're the only one who hasn't tried," Sam Wilson whispered adamantly.

"No," Bucky Barnes shook his head. "That's a bad idea, Sam, and you know it."

"Listen, you're the only one who could possibly understand what she's been through. At least try."

Bucky sighed. Damn Wilson for being so convincing and good with words. He glanced into the hospital room, seeing the pale girl hooked helplessly to the chirpy machinery. He cringed. He hated it all.

There was no telling what the girl had been through. She had been found while Sam was on a mission, and she continued to panic every single time someone entered the room. Nurses had to give her a mild sedative just to tend to her injuries.

Bucky had avoided the place like the plague. He wanted no part, but Sam was his friend, his only one at that, and he asked for his help, hoping he could relate to the girl in some way.

He entered the room, glancing back at Sam skeptically as nothing happened, but just like with the others, the frail girl woke up with a terrified gasp. Her chest heaved as she pulled at the wires, desperate to free herself, until she saw him.

She stilled at the sight of him, and Bucky couldn't help but approach curiously. She had the most stunning eyes, wide and painful. He couldn't imagine what they had seen.

"Easy," he murmured, holding his gloves hands out in front of him in a calming gesture. He was sure he could hear her heartheat with how frightened she was. "My name is Bucky. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

He glanced back towards the door at Sam who was just out of view.

He eased himself in the chair by the girl's bed. She calmed significantly when his height wasn't as threatening.

She glanced at the glass of water, and at Bucky cautiously. He could tell she was in pain. He didn't know the extent of her injuries, but she had definitely exerted herself when she panicked.

He shifted to pick up the glass and she tensed. "I'm just helping," he whispered. "Here."

She attempted to take it from his grasp, but her shaking hands didn't have the grip, so he held the straw to her lips.

There was something about this girl. Something he couldn't put his finger on.

"I'm Mia," she said after a moment.

Bucky couldn't control the soft smile that pulled at his lips at the sound of her voice. The reaction was odd, something he had never felt.

At that moment, two nurses and a doctor knocked on the door, and entered without saying anything. Mia immediately began to freak out and he was not having it. For some reason, it pissed him off that they barged in on their moment.

"Bucky," she whimpered helplessly, reaching for him.

She wanted him? There was no way. He had just met her.

Either way, he stood to his feet, addressing the group. "There's too many of you. You need to leave. Can't you see you're causing her distress?"

"We saw she was awake. We just need to run some tests," the doctor said.

He felt the feather-like touch on his leather jacket, and a quiet, fearful whimper that sent lightning bolts of red, hot anger throughout his body. Why would they cause her more fear?

"You need to leave. I'll call you when it's time for you to come in," he said sternly, his gaze dark and protective. It was a strange feeling that surged through his chest. He felt something similar when he was fighting alongside Sam, but this felt more intimate.

"You don't have any authority to tell me what to do. What is your relationship to this girl?" the doctor inquired.

Bucky clenched his fists. He wanted to break the shit out of this man's nose.

Lucky for the arrogant doctor, Sam was able to diffuse the situation. He stayed in the entry of the door.

"Woah, what's going on in here? Dr. Smith, Bucky has been the only one to calm her. He's with me, and I have the authority. You need to do what he tells you, or we will just find a different person for the job."

Dr. Smith gave a huff, giving a glare to the angry man.

Sam gave a Buck a tense nod when the room was finally empty.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked Mia, who looked scared out of her mind, huddled in the corner of the bed closest to him.

A tear fell onto her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly.

"I'm okay," she finally said.

"No, you're not, and that's alright." Bucky sank back into his seat, watching her closely.

"You act like you understand," she relaxed slightly, and he noticed her palms were cut from where her fingernails had been digging into the skin.

He reached for her hand, and she accepted his touch, which was very surprising. He reached for a tissue to wipe away the blood.

"I do understand," he said it simply, wondering if there would be more questions, but it was quiet.

Mia's whole body ached. She could feel it now that she didn't feel defensive. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think. Everything pulsed with pressure, and burned like fire.

"Thank you for getting them to leave," she whispered, laying back in the bed with a wince.

"You should see a doctor soon, but I'll make sure it isn't that one."

She hated doctors, especially that one that was just in there. They reminded her too much of the one's at - .

Mia shut down the thought, squeezing her eyes closed to stop the flow of painful, horrid memories.

"You should sleep," Bucky said, distracting her from her internal struggle.

She nodded, "Will you come back tomorrow?"

He came back everyday for the next few days. The pair didn't talk much, but they were comfortable with each other's company.

Mia even decided the doctor could finally come in. This one was a woman, and she had a warm personality, almost like a mother.

"You have some breaks that have healed improperly. We might have to reset those if possible. You're also covered in cuts and stab wounds of all kinds. You're dangerously underweight. We need to do a CT scan to know exactly what's going on." The doctor smiled gently, looking up from her clipboard. "Maybe you could tell Mr. Barnes what happened so we can get you proper help."

Mia gripped Bucky's gloved hand tightly, watching the doctor's every move.

The smile never faded from her kind face, "I'll have a nurse come in and prep you for that scan."

As soon as she was gone, Mia panicked once more. "No, no, Bucky. I don't want to go. I don't want to be scanned," she whimpered.

"Shh," he soothed, wiping away the tears with the pads of his covered thumb. "It doesn't hurt. I wouldn't let them hurt you."

A nurse knocked on the door. She set a cup on the table near the bed. "This is contrast so the doctor can see on the scan. Once you drink that, we should be good to go in about an hour. Do you have questions I can answer for you?"

Mia managed just the slightest shake of your head.

"Okay, call me when you finish that, or if you need me."

Whatever was in the cup was chalky and bitter, and hard to get down.

Bucky couldn't contain a chuckle at the adorable, disgusted faces Mia made.

"Don't laugh," Mia pouted, a twitch of a smile threatening to form. It was the first smile she had in a very long time. "You'll go with me, won't you?"

"Of course I will," he said. "I won't be able to go in the room with the scan, but I will be watching. I won't let anything happen to you."

Except, Mia didn't know that, and as soon as she was seperated from Bucky, she could feel the pressure in her chest. Her heart pounded viciously as she tried to force herself upright. Her ears were ringing so much that she couldn't hear or see what was going on around her. All she could see was the fleeting image of the metal table she had been forced to lay on, day in and day out. All the pain and screaming.

The memories that were trapping her began to disappear when she heard her name, the ringing becoming pesky background noise as Bucky's blurry image focused.

"Hey now," he said, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. He was no stranger to panic attacks. "You're okay, Mia."

She wasn't okay. The only time she was ever okay was when he was around, and that scared her too.

"If you do this, they'll know what's wrong and you can get out of here quicker."

"I hate this table," she cried, gripping his hands. "It's just like the one-"

"I know," Bucky whispered. He didn't know, but he would eventually. He needed to make sure the problem was taken care of. "I know it is, but you can do it. Nobody's going to hurt you."

Sam had been watching the exchange. He had been bringing Bucky some food when he had caught the scene.

"What's all this about?" Sam asked curiously. He had never seen the serious man so soft before. Normally, this would be a cause for some teasing, but this was a bit too sensitive for that.

"Don't ask," Bucky huffed, taking the bag of food from him. "Thank you. They only serve garbage here. She's not going to be able to put on any weight with that shit."

Sam eyed him curiously. "You've been with her for almost a week, so it is something, and I'll get it out of you eventually. You have me to thank for this."

"Yeah, whatever," he rolled his eyes. "I do need something from you. I need to know where she came from. I plan on taking a trip."

----

"Do you have to go?" Mia whispered sleepily. The hospital room was dark aside from a lamp. Usually, she was asleep when he left, but she had been extra clingy after the severe anxiety from the day. "I hate it when you leave."

That pulled at Bucky's heartstrings. He had developed strong feelings for the sweet brown haired girl.

"I'll even give you my bed," she said, her doe-like eyes catching the light.

He smiled, bending down closer, "You need to get some sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

"Please." She squished herself to oneside and patted the empty space.

Bucky sighed, "I can't. I have nightmares. I don't want to wake you. Plus, the bed is small. You're going to get hurt."

"I have nightmares, too. We can wake each other." She bit her lip and his resolve was slipping.

The fact was, he didn't want to leave. Not one bit. He wanted to be by her side all of the time.

"Alright, but if you need me to move or if I hurt you, you let me know." He laid beside of her, his ribs pressing harshly against the arms of the bed. It was not comfortable, not until Mia moved close.

He helped her adjust so she was half on top of him, giving him enough room to move over. She pressed her cheek to his chest with a content sigh.He felt content, too, like he finally belonged somewhere.

"Take the gloves off, Bucky. You can't sleep in those," she mumbled.

He hesitated. He didn't want her to be afraid of him. He didn't know what she knew of him, or what she had seen.

"You're the only person I'm not scared of," she continued gently.

He pulled off the flesh one first, and then slowly the vibranium one.

She smiled up at him, reaching for his metal fingers, "I knew this one felt different."

Bucky chuckled, the sound vibrating and tickling Mia. He pulled the scratchy blanket over her tiny frame.

"Get some rest."

----

🥺🥺🥺 This was a long one but it's been circling in my head for a while. Part 2? Thoughts?

[herofics]

Rules and general info

This is a pinned post, so scroll down to find new/other posts.

Admin Ony

Masterlist for MHA is here and Jujutsu Kaisen is here, on google drive, so it’s a google docs document.

My Transformers Prime blog @bots-and-cons

Wattpad is Sixyno I only post scenarios there for select characters from MHA, but all my JJK scenarios can be found there.

DO NOT USE MY WRITING FOR AI!

Rules: 

Stuff I would like you mention in your request: The gender of reader/s/o (I usually try to write gender neutral, but if it matters, mention it). If you want HCs or a scenario, and if you want multiple characters do you want them as poly or separate. Character limit per request is two (2) characters. Also if you want them as students or as adults is also helpful to me, because nowadays I tend to write them as adults a lot, since I’m in my early twenties myself. I will gladly write more parts to already existing stuff I’ve written, so you an ask for that too, just make sure I know what post you’re referring to.

Stuff I will not write:

Teacher student/adult kid relationships, pedophilia, incest

Rape or abuse of any kind done by the character (comfort with character is okay though)

I will not do dying from childbirth or young kids dying for any reason (like under 13 years old)

I don’t do NSFW unless I’m really in the mood, so you can ask for some mild stuff as a plus in your request, but I probably won’t include it

I’d prefer not to write for Mineta but you can always ask and try if I like your idea anyway

Cheating stuff or yandere are also something I do not like

No eating disorder related stuff, it’s just hard for me to deal with because of my own issues

No Harry Potter related stuff, because JKR is an asshole

Stuff I will write: 

All kinds of angst pretty much, (suicide, self harm, abuse, dealing with trauma, flashbacks, bad anxiety or panic attacks, etc, etc)

LGBTQ+ is all okay and if you want the reader to be for example asexual, remember to mention that in your ask

People from different religions and backgrounds

All characters are allowed, (heroes, villains, teachers, students, etc.)

I also do AUs, like soulmate AU, villain AU, quirkless AU, and so on

Even though I don’t write full NSFW, suggestive stuff is okay

Obviously, pretty much everything that doesn’t fall into the “stuff I will not write” category is allowed

Some tag instructions: All the bold words in this section are tags in my blog you can check out. All the mha art I reblog is under reblog and JJK art is under jjk reblog. All the HCs are under mha headcanons, or jjk headcanons all the scenarios are under mha scenarios or jjk scenarios.  Angst is under mha angst or jjk angst and fluff is under mha fluff or jjk fluff, there is also the comfort and jjk comfort tag. There are also trigger warning  tags like selfharm tw, abuse tw, suicidal tw and suicide tw, so if you don’t want to see those kind of posts, blacklist those tags. All the characters are under their own names and pro-heroes are under they hero names too, at least usually. There are a few AUs that you can also find, like domestic au, villain au, high school au or soulmate au. For JJK there is currently only the good geto au and the non curse au. There are also the mha x reader and bnha x reader tags, but I only started using those recently so not all the x reader stuff is under there. For JJK there is also the jjk x reader tag, plus an x reader tag for each chracter, for example gojo x reader. All the tags with mha in them, the mha can be changed to bnha and you’ll still get the same posts. There is also some nsfw and nsfw-ish stuff and I recently added the smut and smut-ish tags, the -ish tags are for mild stuff that doesn’t really warrant a full smut tag and there is also the suggestive tag which is pretty new.

[sanriosratz]

Ciero is fucked up. That’s it. That’s the whole post. (/hj)

@eldritch-hall-asylum i’m not back on my Ciero-spam bullshit, just clearing things up when it comes to Ciero’s dxs

—

TW for trauma, and mention of abuse, drug [use mention] (marry an iguana), ASK TO TW

under the cut for length!

Ciero is fucked up. That's it.

Autism Spectrum Disorder (Autism/ASD)

Diagnosed in their early twenties? They'd shown symptoms their entire life (obviously lmfao.) that went ignored (because of Richard's ableism or just not seeing a problem? It's unknown). Special interests include Back to The Future, Lord of The Flies, Beagles, and Chickens/birds. (I also personally headcanon that they have a SpIn in flowers and bees).

Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD)

Don't know when he was diagnosed with this; maybe in his breakdown arc? I think it went 'ignored' for years (ignored, as in Ciero didn't want to deal with it). Formed from extreme trauma from childhood to adulthood.

Complex/Chronic Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS)

Developed due to being shot and bitten by an attack dog on the leg. Diagnosed a while after the hospitalisation from the wounds suffered (generalised age 29–30). I doubt that she'd take countless meds to control her pain. Instead, she may have Lumbar Sympathetic Blocks or a Spinal Cord Stimulator (SCS), which can reduce symptoms in her leg. She may have PRN medication (MMJ?*) that she'll use during bad flares. I'm also assuming that her whole leg is affected; it may have first developed in her lower leg and then spread up, stopping at her hip.

*I’m just putting this down to note; that Ciero might vape marry-an-iguana when flares occur (smoking/vaping causes the 'high' to come quicker than edibles). She might use edibles for PTSD to calm down and relax?

Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (hEDS) *PENDING*

Diagnosed a little while after their trip to NYC (after everything with Alice). Dealt with symptoms their entire life, most commonly dislocations and joint pain. This could just be me being me, but I think that Ciero's hEDS to some degree would be moderate–severe. They'd get 9/9 on the Beighton score (hypermobility test) and have quite weak joints; especially their hips. They'd have general issues with their knees, shoulders, and wrists.

Ferris Dorothy Windroe

Ferris is multipurpose. Mainly psychiatry to help Ciero manage her triggers and responses to triggers. He can guide her away from environments where she is triggered or help ground her within the environment. He can also perform mobility tasks (such as for her hEDS and CRPS). He can disrupt self-harming behaviours such as skin picking, scratching, etc. as well as interrupt flashbacks, panic/anxiety attacks, and dissociative episodes. He can also get them down to the floor if need be). He can retrieve items (such as items Ciero has dropped, Ciero's meds, his leash, etc.). He can do crowd control (circle handler to create space when needed; mild agoraphobia with Ciero).

[roseguidedarc]

things that my katniss everdeen has, mental && physical conditions, that the movies ignored or barely touched on: 

⸺ her hunting scars, calf burn from the fireballs, && the scar on her forehead from her first games.  the capital medicines didn’t erase it, but instead the scar is covered in make up for appearances. 

⸺  katniss remains deaf in her left ear. same as mentioned above, the capital medicines did not remove/fix her deafness in that ear. 

⸺ in catching fire when johanna hit katniss over the head with a rock/the wire container it left katniss was sometimes mild to severe migraines in this aftermath.  they effect her in mockingjay && all throughout her life. 

⸺ after the fire bombs went off on the capital children/prim, && katniss was burned by it, those burns remained.  notably she has a burn scar/mark on her shoulder, over one of her hands, on her thigh,  && over her heart reaching upward to her neck. 

⸺ katniss has c-ptsd.  because of this repeated trauma that she’s witnessed && been subjected to during both her games as well as the rebellion, in addition to her fathers death, katniss has intense, vivid nightmares of the deaths of people close to her && people killed during the war.  (  in a lot of ways she feels responsible for them  )  she often wakes up screaming, panicked in the moment, before peeta comforts her or she calms herself down.  certain things can trigger panic attacks as well.  the smell of roses, or the sight of white roses,  as wells as, sometimes, the sound of wild dogs barking or tearing something apart triggers intense anxiety && often panic attacks.  being in the woods for too long/hunting can sometimes bring katniss back to the games even years since they ended completely.  sometimes she loses attention when in a moment of remembering the games, something from the war, && can disassociate. 

⸺ again, because of what she’s been through && witnessed katniss develops anxiety.  seasonal depression specifically around the time of prim’s death 

[strawberriesinmoominvalley]

how to write a panic attack

something like this has probably been made before, but i thought i’d throw my two pence in. so, here’s how to write a panic attack by an anxious mess

what is a panic attack?

a panic attack is where someone feels terrified and scared, without being in any real danger. they mainly occur with people who have anxiety disorders and/or ptsd, although they can happen to anyone.

however, a panic attack isn’t just fear. it causes a physical response. you brain perceives a threat, and goes into fight/flight/freeze. adrenaline is released, your body prepares to react. you become focused on the danger, because your brain has seen a threat and is trying to protect you from the non-existent danger.

what causes them?

panic attacks can happen for no reason, however there is usually a cause. these can be anything, from “this room is loud” to “someone just triggered me by mentioning something to do with my trauma” to “i read something about a phobia i have”. 

if someone is already stressed, or tired, or just not having a good day, that will increase the likeliness of a panic attack. something that might not cause a panic attack on a normal day might cause one on a bad day. sometimes lots of things build up until your brain can’t take it anymore. 

triggers can seem very small. for example, if you’re talking about trauma, it could be the abuser’s name, or a smell that reminds you of something. they can be things that scare a character, or a song -  anything, really. they can seem insignificant, but can cause catastrophic consequences. 

symptoms

everyone experiences panic attacks differently. symptoms are a grab bag and no two people will experience them the same. most people will experience shortness of breath and a racing heart, but apart from that it’s really up to you. the combinations can be weird and strange but hey, that’s anxiety. i’m not going to be able to list every singly symptom here, but i’ll try to list as many as i can:

crippling fear - it comes on the tin, but it can vary. sometimes you’re just terrified, sometimes it feels like nothing good is ever going to happen again, and the world is always going to feel this way. you feel impending doom and fear and it is Bad

being convinced you are going to die. there isn’t really a better way to describe this, you just know this is the end and it is awful

feeling like you are out of control. this usually comes with the more severe ones, as it can feel like you are going crazy

a racing heart - your body feels like it needs to fight or flee from something, so it is preparing to do so

shortness of breath - this is terrifying. it can feel like something is pressing into your chest, and your throat is closing up. you can choke and gasp and never feel like you have enough air. this usually causes you to hyperventilate

dizziness and feeling lightheaded - this usually comes from hyperventilating. your character may hand to sit down suddenly, or, if they’re stubborn like me and refuse to for whatever reason, just dramatically faint

feeling nauseous - most people will feel sick/have terrible stomach cramps, but not throw up. i have, but it’s happened only once

hot/cold flashes

sweating

goosebumps

chest pains - from my experience, your chest just aches and feels heavy, although sometimes it can cause you to double over in pain

crying - anyone can cry during a panic attack. it can cause them to hyperventilate worse, because it’s hard to breathe when you’re sobbing

screaming - sometimes anxiety can come out of anger. they might scream incoherently at people, and can completely wreck their voice in doing so

loss of speech - this can be awful, especially if you’re trying to communicate to someone what’s happening

shaking/trembling - everyone shakes when they’re anxious, but imagine your whole body doing it. you can’t control it, and can barely control your actions

ringing/buzzing ears - this can be mild, or to the point where you can barely hear

talking to yourself/babbling/repeating phrases - your speech isn’t going to be functional. at most, answering yes/no questions and maybe being able to partially describe what’s going on. but mostly, think “ohmygodohmygodohmygod” or “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”

freezing - the character might lose the ability to move anywhere. and i mean, they could be in the middle of a road and just freeze. it’s not good

pacing/fidgeting/not being able to stay still - they might throw things, jump around, might even partake in self-injurious behaviour

spiralling thoughts - even if there isn’t a trigger, the character’s inner monologue is going to loop and be incoherent. they’re going to repeat the same thoughts over and over and over. sometimes, when they’ve had it enough, they may also have the “not this again” complaint before the spiralling starts

feeling weak, like you might collapse

derealisation - feeling like everything around you isn’t real, and feeling detached from your surroundings. it feels like your in a dream-like state, or experiencing everything behind glass. it is terrifying. this can cause you to panic more, and may even hurt yourself trying to sense the world

depersonalisation - feeling detached from your body and like you aren’t real. imagine staring in the mirror and not recognise who’s staring back at you. again, terrifying and can lead to harming yourself

these aren’t even all the symptoms you can experience. there’s a lot, and can vary depending on the cause of the panic attack and the severity. for example, i tend to only derealise/depersonalise during a trauma-induced panic attack. symptoms change over time, and some symptoms may only happen during one panic attack and then never again.

writing the panic attack

now, i’m going to break this down into three sections - before the panic attack, during, and after

before the panic attack

first you need to start with the cause, which i’ve already spoken about. once you have that, you need to slowly increase the symptoms. it takes about 30 seconds for the anxiety to set in, so during that time you have to slowly introduce symptoms. if the character realises what’s going on, they may try to use coping mechanisms to stop it, or at the very least make it nicer (i’m going to talk about coping mechanisms a bit later). maybe they can feel their heart pounding, or all their senses sharpen, or their thoughts start to sharpen. it isn’t instant, there’s a build up to it.

during this time, they might run. this is extremely dangerous. they will not have the mental capacity then to think about danger. they could run into roads, hurt themselves in some way or just get lost. this is the one of the only times where a person can override the person’s wishes not to be touched (the other being if they are hurting themselves). them being safe is the highest priority.

during the panic attack

the thing about panic attacks is that they snowball. they get worse and worse until you manage to calm down or just get too exhausted to carry on. panic attacks are terrifying, but the symptoms make it twice as scary. it’s not fun.

you cannot reason your way out of them. your character is going to latch onto worst-case scenarios and nothing will ever be good again. they’re going to spiral, think of the same things over and over and over. they’re not going to think “oh no, i’m panicking”. they might have some control over their thoughts if this is their fiftieth as opposed to their third, but they’re still going to be pretty incoherent.

if this is their first one, they’re going to call an ambulance. i’m not joking. a lot of people have no idea what’s going on, and think they’re dying. it takes a few times for them to piece together what’s going on, and realise they’re having a panic attack. even if they know exactly what’s happening and it’s a regular occurrence, it is still terrifying. at one point, i was having panic attacks ever single day. i knew what was happening, but it was still awful.

the way your character can react can change how it presents. for example, if your character is stubborn, or feels like they’re “weak” because of it (which is totally untrue), maybe they’ll try to hide it. i get dizzy when i have a panic attack, and i used to hide it until suddenly i fainted. so from an external perspective, i was fine and then suddenly i was on the floor - although if someone knows you well, they can work it out regardless, so that can be a nice way to incorporate another character.

maybe your character doesn’t want to address the fact they’re having a panic attack. they could be visibly having one, but point-blank refuse to admit it. this can help show personality, while showing that they’re struggling.

panic attacks can last a few minutes. they can last hours. they are described as brief, but my shortest one has been around 20 minutes - which really isn’t short. my longest was 2 hours, and unsurprisingly, it was my worst. when you’re reaching the 45 minute mark, the format changes. then, it’s more like waves - you get really really scared and it feels awful, then you slowly start to calm down before it starts again.

after the panic attack

once the character has started calming down, whether because they’ve realised it’s been hours and they’re not dying, pure tiredness or getting symptoms under control, they are going to be exhausted.  i’ve passed out from exhaustion before. i’ve fallen asleep in awkward paces (like the middle of the street) because it is so tiring. if they’re outside/at work/school/etc. send them home (this doesn’t happen in real life much, but you can make your world a nice, supportive place). they won’t be able to do anything more taxing than making a cup of tea and cuddling up somewhere. they might not even be able to do that. they might even need someone to grab a blanket for them because the effort is too much.

most people feel more calm afterwards, but you can get awful stomach cramps from the anxiety. but most of the time, all they’re going to feel is tired. don’t put them into a battle. maybe if it’s the morning, they might be able to do something not too taxing in the evening. but most of the time, they’re going to be wiped out.

coping mechanisms

coping mechanisms 90% of the time won’t fix it. a lot of the time, you just have to wait it out. knowing what’s happening helps a lot, and if a character has experienced panic attacks a lot they might understand what’s going on. however, this isn’t always the case. i derealise and depersonalise a lot during panic attacks, but that means that a lot of the time i don’t know what’s happening. it’s terrifying. knowing is a thousand times better than not knowing what’s happening.

obviously there are many breathing techniques - for example, inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 7, exhale for 8. there are grounding techniques - 5 things you can see, 4 things you can gear, 3 things you can touch, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste. however, i often struggle to remember these because my brain gets pretty frazzled. but they DO work, if you want to include those.

a lot of people say you should hug someone, and to that, i have one word - NO. most people do not want to be touched in that situation, and hugging, especially if it’s a trauma-induced panic attack, could induce flashbacks and cause them more harm. some people do want to be hugged. some people want to be left alone. some people want to be guided through breathing, or given water, or talked to, or to hold a a hand. but!!!! please make your character ask. if that’s all you take away from this, just remember that you have to ask before you touch someone!

everyone copes differently, so bear that in mind

i want to include friends/family/significant others. how do i do that?

if the person is with someone who they feel responsible for, or have never reacted like this around them, they may try and hide what’s happening. this can make it worse, and it is less fun. i don’t want to have a panic attack around my younger sibling, so i try and hide it for as long as i can. so that’s something to think about.

if you want a cute moment where a s/o saves the day, this is not going to be it. a hug from someone nice isn’t going to magically cure the panic attack. hell, a hug might not even help at all. panic attacks are messy and awful. they can give them water, maybe talk to them, try to help them. honestly? the person is going to feel inadequate. there isn’t too much you can do, unfortunately, and they’re going to probably end up sitting there repeating the same few things over and over. but you know what? a love interest sticking with someone during the frightening, ugly hours of terror is sexy.

if you want cuddles, think about afterwards. as i have said, the person is going to be exhausted, and a lot of people will need comfort afterwards. they may even cry a lot, because they feel awful. if they’re not up to that, well maybe your other character can tuck them into bed, or run them a bath. you can have sweet moments, but wait until afterwards for the other to look after them.

-

there we go! i hope i’ve covered everything! if you need help writing scenes like this, message me - i’d be honoured to help!

[phantom-curve]

Second birthday is such a cool thing to call that! 8 or 35 if you are feeling so inclined.

Thank you! When I was a kid my mom always tried to call it my rebirth-day and I was like no❤️ I went with some Willex whump (with a fluffy end) for this one! Set in the gimme a chance AU, featuring pro-skateboarder Willie and anxious Alex. This is also a bit of a companion piece to the #8 prompt I wrote earlier!

#35: kissing their bruises and scars (Trigger Warning: mentions of injury, mild description of panic attack, and mentions of a car accident. Rated T for language) 

Alex generally tried not to think about worst case scenarios when Willie was competing. If he let himself, it was way too easy to imagine all types of situations that ended with Willie broken and bleeding at the base of a halfpipe while Alex stood helplessly on the sidelines. It didn’t help anything for him to obsess over what could happen, especially because at this point, Alex knew skateboarding was as much a part of Willie as drumming was a part of him.

It was just that ever since Willie had gotten his first sponsorship and moved to the pro circuit six months ago, he had started taking bigger risks. More complex tricks and a lot less hesitation to go big when he was representing the brands that were paying his bills. And that meant longer hours practicing and a higher chance of injury on a daily basis. Alex wanted to be a supportive boyfriend, the kind that would show up at the skate park to cheer and not have a panic attack every time that Willie wiped out, but he wasn’t. He was just an anxious guy in love with a dude who seemed determined to break every single bone in his body.

Things only got worse when Willie started traveling for competitions. He was gone almost every weekend, and Luke had finally convinced the manager at the bar he worked at to let Sunset Curve preform regular Saturday shows, and so, more often than not, Willie would be somewhere else in California flinging his body down an insanely tall ramp with nothing but a helmet and some pads to protect him while Alex was trapped in LA losing himself in the familiar pattern of sticks against drums in an attempt to control his raging anxiety. It had about a 68% success rate. That success rate increased dramatically when Willie called Alex the second he knew his set was ending. It plummeted on the nights Alex didn’t hear from him until much later, or worse, heard from a different skater entirely.

Tonight was unfortunately one of those nights.

When their set ended, Reggie called out the same line he had coined after their first performance, a couple audience members chiming in with him because they actually had a bit of a fan following now, and Alex wasted no time in grabbing his phone from the fanny pack he kept behind his kit during shows. Instead of it lighting up with a picture of his boyfriend’s face, he was met with a series of missed calls and text messages from the guys Willie was rooming with for the weekend. He tried not to panic, tried to breathe in deeply to a count of five, holding it for just as long before exhaling again. It kept the anxiety at bay for as long as it took for him to unlock the phone and read the last missed message.

Don’t worry, bro. They’re gonna airlift him back to LA so you can just meet him at the hospital whenever.

Panic hit full force. What the actual fuck had happened to his boyfriend?! Alex’s fingers were shaking too much for him to open the other messages, his vision going blurry and a distant ringing sounding out in his ears. It took him longer than it should to realize Luke was crouched down in front of him, Reggie hovering just beyond the drum kit.

“You have to breathe, Lex. C’mon, follow me.”

Luke inhaled deeply before letting his breath out in a loud woosh. Alex tried to copy him, but his chest felt too tight, his throat closing in the more he tried to open it. Luke kept talking, his voice low and calm.

“Try again, we can do it together. We just have to breathe, nothing else.”

Alex inhaled with Luke that time, not quite as deeply and not quite as steady, but more air than he had managed to get before. It took several long moments before he was able to match Luke completely, the fog starting to clear from his brain, surroundings snapping back into focus.

“Great, good, just keep breathing, okay? I’m gonna go grab the office keys and we’ll take a minute in there to talk, okay?”

Alex nodded, not exactly wanting Luke to leave but knowing whatever his best friend was saying logically made sense. Reggie slipped into the space Luke had been occupying, breathing in the exact same pattern, and Alex refocused on him. When Reggie stood, Alex copied him, reaching out to grip the back of Reggie’s red flannel as he led them both off of the stage and down the hallway to the office in the back of the bar. Alex dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Lex? Can you tell us what’s going on?”

Reggie’s voice was soft and quiet, like a gentle melody. Alex let it wash over him, knew his boys would be able to help if he could just figure out how to get his mouth to form the words it desperately didn’t want to say out loud. He fought to speak for a few moments before finally just thrusting his phone forward. A hush fell over the room as Luke and Reggie scrolled through the texts and Alex was suddenly grateful that he wouldn’t have to read through them himself. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, Luke cleared his throat and spoke.

“Okay, so good news or bad news first?”

“How can there possibly be good news?”

Alex’s throat felt raw and scratchy, the words coming out broken and strangled. Luke and Reggie exchanged a quick glance before Reggie sat next to Alex on the couch. Not touching, but close enough for Alex to feel comforted all the same.

“Willie isn’t dead or dying, so yes, there is good news. Which one do you want first?”

A significant amount of the panic left Alex’s system at the reassurance that his boyfriend was alive and going to stay that way for the time being. It hit him all at once, sending him into Reggie’s side as he let out a cry of relief. Reggie’s hand stroked up and down Alex’s arm, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat. Luke spoke again.

“Okay, so good news is that Willie is probably already back in LA, he’s at the best hospital he can be at, and he’s going to be fine.”

Alex clung to the words like a life raft. Willie was going to be fine. He turned it into a mantra, repeating it over and over again until he felt like he was back in control, no longer on the precipice of drowning. He disentangled himself from Reggie’s arms, took a deep breath, and met Luke’s gaze.

“I’m ready. Gimme the bad news.”

Luke let out a long breath before sitting down on Alex’s other side.

“The guys were in a car accident. They didn’t even make it to the competition. Willie was in the passenger seat and he took the worst hit in the collision. The other guys got taken to a local hospital, but they had to send Willie to Cedars-Sinai because of some special orthopedic department there. Max said they mentioned he would be admitted to the post-trauma floor.”

A car accident. He didn’t even make it to the competition. Alex had considered himself prepared for the worst when it came to Willie and his chosen profession. He had told himself that loving Willie meant accepting the risk that came with skateboarding, especially at the level that Willie did it. He had not once considered the fact that Willie could be hurt in some type of freak accident that had nothing to do with skating. The life raft slipped from his mental fingers, hurtling him back into the sea of despair once again.

“We got this, okay?” Luke was still speaking. “Reg is gonna call an Uber and take you to the hospital, and I’m gonna get Dante and Felix to help pack up stuff here and then come meet you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Luke’s words painted a path for Alex to follow, a way to move forward without having to fight so hard to do so. He nodded, allowed himself to be bundled out of the employee entrance and into the car Reggie had called. Clung to Reggie’s flannel again as they traversed the white hallways of the hospital, eventually making their way to a nurse’s station situated on the post-trauma surgical floor. Alex didn’t even let himself think about what that string of words implied. Not until Reggie nudged him forward to speak with the blonde-haired woman with kind brown eyes sitting behind the welcome desk. He forced himself to clear the lump in his throat and scrape some words together.

“Hi, I’m uh, my name is Alex. Alex Mercer? I’m looking for my boyfriend Willie? William, actually, his name is William Stewart. He was...he was in a car crash.”

The words came out in starts and stops, cracking at the edges as Alex forced them through numb lips. The nurse nodded, her fingers tapping across the keyboard in a sharp staccato.

“He’s out of surgery, but might still be a bit groggy. The limit is one visitor at a time, so your friend will have to wait out here.”

Alex turned to Reggie with a blank stare.

“You got this, Lex. Remember, he’s gonna be fine. I’ll be right here, and Luke is on his way too. Whatever you need, okay? We got you.”

Alex nodded even though the movement itself felt like a lie. The nurse smiled softly at him and for one split moment Alex wished he could call his mom, hear her comforting voice the way he used to when he was a scared little kid. But he had Luke and Reggie now. And Willie, who was alive somewhere in this hospital.

“He’s in room 604, just down the hall.”

Alex forced his feet to move. Forced himself to count the numbers on the wall until he found 604. Forced himself to open the door and enter the room.

Willie looked so small on the bed, his dark hair a mess across the stark white pillowcase, his leg encased in plaster and suspended from some contraption that hung down from the ceiling. He turned his head at the noise of the door opening, eyes half open and soft with sleep or maybe painkillers. The smile on his face was a mere shadow of its normal sunshine.

“Hey, Hotdog.”

Alex wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and curl into a ball and absolutely lose it. But instead, he walked to the side of Willie’s bed and sat down in the chair next to it that seemed to have been waiting just for him.

“Have you been crying? Please tell me you weren’t crying.”

Okay, Willie was definitely on drugs. Because of course, Alex had been crying.

“Yes, I’ve been crying! Are you kidding me?”

Willie winced slightly and Alex was instantly swamped with guilt.

“No, okay, let me try that again.”

He took a deep breath and reached up to brush a few stray hairs away from Willie’s face. There were a number of cuts and bruises marring his skin, a few of them hidden under bandages.

“Hey pretty boy, I’m so glad you’re not dead. I’ve never been more scared than when I saw that text from Max. I thought you cracked your head open on a halfpipe or something, what the hell happened?”

Willie tried to shrug and grimaced, like it hurt. Alex’s hands fluttered uselessly above his boyfriend’s body, unsure where would be safe to touch. He settled for grabbing the hand that Willie offered which was thankfully unmarked, nothing but some leftover scars from catching himself at the skatepark.

“I think our car flipped? There was a lot of crashing and my leg really fuckin hurt. It’s still hurts.”

Willie frowned, clearly addled from the leftover anesthesia and whatever they were giving him for the pain. Alex pulled his hand up to press a series of kisses across Willie’s knuckles, making sure to cover each scar at least once.

“You can’t die on me, Wills. I fucking love you, okay? I know you do insane stunts and regularly let yourself get beat to crap at the skate park, but you can’t fucking die on me in some stupid car accident. I’d lose my goddamn mind without you.”

“You love me?”

Willie’s voice was soft and awed and Alex suddenly realized he hadn’t ever actually said those words out loud before even though they’d been living in his brain for months now. When he looked into Willie’s eyes he saw a hint of wetness there, and his heart melted.

“Yes, I love you, you fucking dork. I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Willie grinned, dopey eyed and pink cheeked.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for like, ever. So, I win. Gimme a kiss for my prize.”

Alex laughed and rolled his eyes, but obliged, nonetheless. Willie might not remember this interaction, but Alex would never forget it. A look of absolute peace settled onto his boyfriend’s face.

“I knew you’d come. I knew as soon as that car hit us that when I woke up, you’d be here. You’re the best boyfriend ever, that’s why I love you. And you’re so hot. Like, really hot.”

Alex’s cheeks burned, his heart kicking into overdrive.

“C’mere,” Willie nodded his head to the side and tried to shuffle over, like he was inviting Alex to climb in next to him. He made a disgruntled sound when the contraption his leg was in refused to budge, frowning up at the suspension system.

“That’s so lame, what the fuck? I wanna cuddle.”

And Alex, unable to resist even when he knew it would probably be better for Willie if he did, climbed up to wedge his body into the small space between Willie and the guardrails on his bed. He tucked one arm behind Willie’s head, pulling his face into the space between his neck and shoulder. Willie let out a contented sigh, his breath sending shivers down Alex’s spine.

“You smell like you,” Willie whispered, the sound happy and relaxed. “I love you, Lex.”

“I love you, too.” Alex sighed, kissing his way across every single cut and bruise he could reach without moving.

Willie settled into place, his body going lax and soft snores sounding out against Alex’s chest within moments. Alex let his own head fall to rest against the top of Willie’s, finally allowing himself to believe everything would be okay. When the same nurse came to tell him that his other friend had arrived and maybe it would be best to come back in the morning, he accepted it without complaint. She gave him a final moment to say goodnight, Alex taking the time to make sure Willie was tucked in tight before kissing his temple softly.

Willie was going to be okay, and Alex was going to spend the rest of his life making sure he was always the one there to kiss his scrapes and bruises.

Send me prompts for my second birthday!

[rae-is-typing]

Masterlist- Avengers Cast

Anything For You

Description: You’re struggling. Between school and the movie making process, your blood is made of stress and the only way you can get any sort of rest is by taking sleeping pills. One night, you take too many.

Pairings: Avengers cast x Teen!Reader, Chris Evans x Teen!Reader, Sebastian Stan x Teen!Reader

Warnings: Accidental overdose, descriptions of an anxiety attack, pills, destructive self talk, the reader is really mean to herself, hospitals, blood, concussion, crying, self harm, mentions of shitty parents. This one is heavy.

Word count: ~6k

Read it on AO3

Storms

Description: there is a storm and tom hiddleston comforts you

Warnings: storms, anxiety

Word count: ~600

Read it on ao3

Safety

Description: you have a panic attack and tom hiddleston comforts you

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x teen!reader

Warnings: Panic attacks, past trauma

Word count: ~500

Read it on ao3

Denial

Description: Your brother dies and the cast finds you drinking.

Pairings: Avengers cast x Reader

Warnings: Drinking, death of a relative

Word count: ~900

Read it on AO3

Seventh Street

Description: You and Robert do an interview on your new movie together.

Pairings: Robert Downey Jr. x Pregnant!Reader (they’re not together)

Warnings:  pregnancy (nothing graphic), petty insults

Word count: ~700

Read it on AO3

Scars

Description: You win one of those contests where you and some other people get to meet and fraternize with a celebrity. This time, it’s Paul Rudd. He notices something you wished he hadn’t.

Pairings: Paul Rudd x Teen!Reader

Warnings: swearing, implied self-harm, self-harm scars, being sexually harassed at work, mentioned cat calling

Word count: 3.8k

Read it on AO3

Sick Day

Description: You get sick. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Pairings: Avengers Cast x Teen!Reader

Warnings:  Swearing sickness, vomiting, mention of pepto bismol (that shit’s NASTY), swearing, homework

Word count: ~3k

Read it on AO3

Chemistry

Description: You and Tom do an interview on your new movie together.

Pairings: Tom Holland x Teen!Reader

Warnings: mild swearing

Word count: 1.1k

Read it on AO3

The Bonfire

Description:  You go to a bonfire with a friend, get drugged and almost get sexually assaulted. Your father, RDJ, comes to your rescue.

Pairings: Robert Downey Jr. x Daughter!Teen!Reader

Warnings:  This fic contains attempted sexual assault, date rape drugs, underage drinking, and toxic friends. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not read this if you are triggered by any of these things.

Word count: 4.5k

Read it on AO3

Star Struck

Description: You’re a young and very successful actress that has been in the Marvel family for a few years. You meet the new Spider-Man for the first time, and he a cute, awkward bean.

Pairings: Anthony Mack x Teen!Reader, Tom Holland x Teen!Reader

Warnings: none

Word count: ~600

Read it on AO3

Chemical Equations

Description: fuck chemistry

Pairings: Chris Evans x teen!reader, Sebastian Stan x teen!reader

Warnings: chemistry, school stress

Word count: ~600

read it on ao3

Every Night is Movie Night

Description: You spend quarantine with the Evans

Pairings: The Evans family x teen!reader

Warnings: The reader is forced to socialize

Word Count: ~700

Read it on AO3

Fights

Description: You get into a street fight and Sebastian is not happy

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x teen!reader

Warnings: allusions to street fights, unhappy sebastian

Word count: ~500

Read it on AO3

Too Far

Description: Prank war gone wrong

Pairings: Tom Holland x sister!reader, the holland twins x sister!reader

Warnings: Hair loss

Read it on AO3

Quarantine Blues... or is it the Flu?

Description: the reader spends quarantine with sebastian and gets a cold

Pairings: Sebastian Stan x teen!reader

Warnings: illness, quarantine. (Disclaimer: This was written when I didn’t really understand the severity of a fever in relation to Covid-19, so everything seems like it’s minimizing the crisis.)

Read it on AO3

Lost but Not Forgotten (SERIES, linked to masterlist)

Description: You were adopted on your sixth birthday by your loving parents, Emilia and Jason. You’re finishing up junior year of high school with flying colors, you have a great friend and an even better family. Simple story, right?

Wrong.

You have these dreams, weird dreams with a man that looks eerily like you. You brush it off as nothing, just old memories of your biological family.

Then you’re assigned a research paper on anything that you want. You choose to research a cold case. Physical similarities are there: a malformed ear, birthmarks, and a striking resemblance to an aged-up composite sketch, as well an unclear information about your adoption make you uneasy. Uneasy enough to take action.

After that, your world comes crashing down.

You weren’t adopted. You were kidnapped.

Read it on AO3

[storytellersumayyah]

TABLE OF CONTENTS

This is the individual chapter masterlist for The Heartbreaker's Handbook, complete with word counts and warnings. anything tagged with familial relationships is due to the unhealthy or toxic nature of said relationship. Due to the genre of the book, scenes of romance have not been warned for unless there is sexual content.

Please keep yourselves safe, and feel free to ask for a summary or skip completely if you find any of the topics mentioned triggering. I love you x

PROLOGUE (1808: brief mentions of alcohol)

I (4293: none)

II (6085: allergic reactions/anaphylactic shock that results in hospitalisation)

III (3744: discussions of familial relationships)

IV (3401: implied sexual content)

V (3315: implied panic attack, hair-pulling)

VI (4531: discussions of cheating- did not occur)

VII (2953: reference to past internalised acephobia, biphobia)

VIII (2473: none)

IX (5980: very brief implication of suicidal ideation)

X (2939: off stage intoxication)

XI (3678: inappropriate emotional teacher-student relationship, nothing abusive or sexual about its nature)

XII (4493: poison)

XIII (4512: hospitals)

XIV (4752: birthday celebrations, discussions of familial relationships, food mention/description)

XV (5236:nightmare, panic attack, discussion of medication)

XVI (6594: rejection to avoid taking advantage of a vulnerable character)

XVII (5434: slight implication of suicidal thoughts, discussion of familial relationships)

XVIII (5597: none)

XIX (7705: discussion of divorce and medical issues, dismissive/negative attitudes towards therapy)

XX (6819: slight mentions of trauma responses, discussion of familial relationships)

XXI (7181: discussions of familial relationships, weight mention)

XXII (5269: discussions of familial relationships, food mention, poor eating habits)

XXIII (5879: discussions of familial relationships and racism, depictions of unhealthy familial relationships)

XXIV (6153: familial relationships, brief homophobia, hair-pulling as a “coping” mechanism)

XXV (6727: divorce)

XXVI (5713: familial relationships)

XXVII (10628: familial relationships, alcohol mention, food mention, mild/implied panic attack, hospital mentions, weight loss mention)

XXVIII (4249: familial relationships, intrusive thoughts, emotional breakdown, hair-pulling as a “coping” mechanism)

XXIX (4574: food, brief mentions of menstruation- afab character mentions her period and symptoms, very mild and brief implication of suicidal ideation/intent)

XXX (2318: heavily implied sexual content, negative self image, brief depiction of an intrusive thought and subsequent anxiety)

XXXI (8140: negative self image, discussion of breakups familial relationships, suicidal thoughts/ideation/attempt, fire, murder mention)

XXXII (5125: none)

EPILOGUE (2989: familial relationships, mentions of trauma responses)

[memory-hoarder]

WARNING (LONG POST AHEAD)

I turn off the lights, scrolled my phone and clicked the Spotify app currently listening to (calming acoustic) 10: 05 PM, best time to unleashed all emotions that piled up from nowhere. I covered myself with a huge blanket and placed the laptop on my lap and decided to visit my page. I know, I'm being inactive lately but I'm doing my best to update my journal publicly to remind me of my long absences.

Tonight, I decided to post the questions I received a night before my birthday celebrated. I kept this on my file for a month now. Admittedly, this is the huge decision I made on my birthday. So, I asked a random people on my messenger lists - some are my work colleagues while others are acquaintances. At first, I am hesitant to ask for favor to anyone but I did. Well, I guess it was successful though I received different reactions - some confused and thought I was making fun while others are game on to sent their questions. Obviously, it took days for me to answered cos it turns out that I wasn't prepared myself for few questions that somehow affects me literally.

The twist here is I am not allow to send my answer to their questions. However, I can answer it through this journal. Which I described as bravery.

Here are some of the questions:

How’s Life? How’s Life?

A question that been asked me twice. Well, this year was the great sadness of my life that challenged me mentally, emotionally and drained me physically. Sometimes a mere struggle on financially. I’m doing fine but lots of times I seriously breaking down especially the trauma of what happened 8 months ago. But today, I accepted the fact and slowly healing me and appreciate what really God’s intention and plan for my life.

Are you happy right now?

Not sure how to put it into words but there is no reason not to be happy. Right? If you just appreciate the life you are living right now or even the smallest thing that makes you smile or giggle I guess there is no reason to be sad at all. Although, lots of times I felt happy, sad, angry or lost. But there are still lots of reasons to celebrate or be joyful too. I juts let myself felt all the emotions that life wanted me to experienced to remind me that I indeed exist. There are people who could bring me joy and sadness at the same time but all I know they are all part of my journey.

Have you ever missed me before we lost our communication? Do you consider me as true friend?

Of course, I do. I miss the old you the person who I genuinely treasured during my college days. And, you are one of the reasons why I indeed survived college. I just don’t understand why we both let this friendship died. Was it because we no longer catch up? But, how I hope building friendship again will no longer hard as I imagined. But, please know that you became part of my story. I always count on you whenever I am sad and confused. I feel comfortable sharing my thoughts because I know you will never judge me. Hope to see you again soon. Take care of yourself!

Why there are times you don’t have the mood to talk?

Because, I read my surroundings and I feel comfortable being alone not to isolate but to process my own thoughts with myself which my normal thing growing up and I choose this way - became aloof at times not wanted to talk to anyone or go out. It makes me sad to think only few understand my personality. However, I can't just normalize this because of extrovert people I knew. I don’t have mood to talk and I push away people closed to me because I find a happy place being alone. Its not sad or dark what it gives me is peace of mind that no on can offer.

Would you like to change your past or stay on your present path? Why and why not?

I believed majority will choose the past, we all wanted to change one thing that we regret of doing - apologies, goodbye's, places to travel, opportunities we must have and other important things we slip away that is why I choose the past over my present. One thing I am eager to experience all over again is my mom's precious life, only if I had the power to bring her back. I was just 16 years old when she died, and I think the years of her being a mother to us will never be enough. However, her life is a blessing and all the valuable teachings that she imparted on me and to my siblings will remain on us forever. How I wish for her to at least see as growing up especially my brother that she spoiled a lot, and for us to give back all the things she deserved. I imagined date her on a restaurant, buy her clothes, treat her to the salon or accompany her on the grocery store. I also wanted to visit the past to catch up with my high school friends – Mira and Jeno, I will never forget how they literally brings me deep joy and the reason I am early bird during junior high because of the dare. I just missed the sound of Jeno's sense of humor, I treated her more than a friend rather a sister and it broke me when I received the news that he's gone. I was not there for him nor visit his and mom's grave for years now. I wanted to comfort Mira, but I am too far away and impossible to have my own money for my flight expenses. What I did is to cried and prayed for his soul. All of the good memories flashed back once more yet I realized God might took away two beautiful souls in my life but I am confident they watching over and guiding me through life.

I am or was curious regarding James situation, did it ever cross your mind you regret James being your boyfriend?

In all of the questions I received this one hits me hard to the core. For everyone’s knowledge James and I are in a relationship for over 4 years now. Just like other couples we did fight over little things yet we matured and grow together. One thing I really loved about James Charlie is how kind and pure his heart. He helps people as long as he can even himself are struggling to live. Not to mention his over confidence that I am jealous of. I guess, because of how friendly and inviting his amour. Also, a talented one he knows how to dance, sing and imitate different kinds of sounds, He’s grammar and vocabulary are lit. He can also play guitar very well, draw portrait’s and even writing a poems. He knew, he won my heart through his creative abilities. I was also surprised how he interested over history of aliens, bermuda triangle, mermaids and what I consistently heard of the Pyramid of Giza, life documentaries and other related history of it. I find him sexy whenever he talked about some of it. Our age gap is never an issue on our relationship and I am lucky that he guided me on everything, considered my opinions or thoughts and when I freaked out badly which occasionally happened he handle me perfectly and I appreciated his temperament level during my anxiety attacks or whenever I choose to isolate myself him being shut off. He understood me in my own terms and be myself. Yet relationship will test your loved from one another, there were also things that I don’t like of him doing however James does listened to me. He listens to advises either coming from me or from other people that cared for him. He is a vocal person, that one thing that I fall for him is his sense of humor. I guess talkative and being clingy towards person is his nature especially growing up in a broken family. Consistent communication is a key. I remembered he told me that I was different to all the girls she dated on his past life. That I am out of his league, he doesn’t know that he is of out my league too but when I know him deeply he taught me lessons in life and felt his warm love. Over the course of our relationship he respect the limitless of our love language and he accepted and understood the love without intimacy is a different level of love and respect and from his perspective I wanted everyone to know that James has a huge respect towards me, my beliefs and reasons. How someone could wait for something that he can easily took away something on his past relationship. Our relationship is somehow changed us individually into a better person. Getting older, he became dreamer and goal oriented. I witnessed all his hard work, that he celebrated through silence. He wanted to build home and think of small business that will be our retirement in the future. How many kids we wanted or how many dogs we will going to breed. I guess, some people misunderstood James for so long, how miserable life that no one to talk and curse during your victories or failures? Friends and addiction in alcohol and other stuff are his way of escaped, escape from the reality that lead him to take his own precious life once. I know how difficult life for him way back on his early 20’s that he fought all his battle alone and how he overcome his depression and addiction without someone to lean on. And nowadays, everything makes sense to me that I realize being independent sometimes is not a choice but more on a decision. decision and accepting no one will guide you through your journey so you have to do it alone either it brings you sadness or happiness in a process, not to count living alone and make money all by yourself. I agreed he might do bad decision in life but that doesn’t mean his life has no purpose at all. Instead, God is confident that he will win this battle not for everyone, not for the sake of me or our relationship but for himself. As for our current situation, I know being with him and fight through the end will inspired him a lot. Yes, he currently working on his self and will prove to everyone when the time comes that he will be able to regain his new

life and continue living.

We introverts, tend to think a lot, like really overthink a lot. What do you mostly overthink and how deep? Deep, like does it leads you to think more negatively resulting to depression? (mild depression, maybe).

I overthink some scenarios on my head when it really affects my whole being and when every time I think of it, obviously it trigger my anxiety not depression I guess. I can recall one or two hard situations that happened to me, and I know it wasn’t me trying to act that way. I even punished myself and literally breakdown trying to hurt myself, call me freak or whatever cos now I asked myself too how I even allowed myself to did terrible things, because anxiety creeping on me and telling me to do it. But, mostly I think of is my future and myself – deep that it scared me a lot. I have lot of questions of this world that I keep on searching by myself until now.

Why it took for you to share your problems?

Honestly, when I’m having a serious problem I am not confident to share to anybody except to my family who already knew. It took too long because advises no longer work for me, I listened because it was normal people do – advise and advise. Maybe, it was me who are picky to share my problem with, sometimes people listened but never in heart. Not all people deserve to know your struggle and during your lowest times, I have my own terms of coping so you do.

How do you maintain your petite body? If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?

Wow! I never see this coming. Well, I guess being fit is what I inherited on my father's side. They not so fat unlike on my mother's side. I have no limit on foods I intake in other words not your discipline person to look up to. I do eat carbs, junk foods and sodas is always on my list. I never worried if I am physically fit aside from walking Maxine during days off. I don't know how do I maintain this body I guess I'm never. Being fit actually is my insecurity. However, I do loved my body whatever what happen.

Well, if I had 3 wishes in life - first, to end this pandemic so that everything will back to normal. second, for James to have peace of mind and good health while waiting for the process of his case. And, lastly, for me to be strong, lasting patience and strong faith.

How would you solve your problems?

Problems is always part of lives. But, I believed it is always about the degree of the problem. Whenever, I had problem sometimes I resolved it in time but other times I need more time and space to think what will be the resort of it. And, pray for some guidance.

As independent being, how do you handle depression and anxiety?

Good thing to end all of this questions, I became independent when I graduated from college. I have to commute 131 kilometers back and forth from another city just to apply on my first job and the process is never easy at all. When you sent all of your applications form on each companies but never accepted It brought so much sadness, one point of my life I am eager to seek job because I used it as my coping mechanism to walked away from home which I did now, I walked away to protect my peace of mind especially having anxiety growing up and having this thing is hard as people imagined. You might only see darkness and feel of losing but for me, I guess for a year now I handled myself perfectly I never allow this condition to swallow me whole and affect my way of living. I reminded myself to keep strong and remain optimist and always protect my peace of mind at all cost.

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I am 24 now strong and happy and leaving Haruki Murakami quote: "And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what storms all about"