#and i have emetophobia so i am straight up not having a good time

[flareish]

Anxiety

kuroo x reader

summary: you hide your anxiety from basically everyone including your boyfriend, until he finds out for himself

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: Emetophobia Warning! description of nausea/vomit, anxiety, bit of angst but ends in fluff

word count: 2.0k

a/n: I tried to make this as close to my anxiety since I hadn’t known anyone with my kind of anxiety(symptom wise) until I was seventeen, which was a good ways into when I realized I had anxiety. So here is some nausea anxiety representation!

masterlist

You tap your fingers in a mindless rhythm. Alternating the fingers and repeating them back and forth, trying to make it a game, a challenge. You did this over and over again to distract yourself from that all too familiar sinking feeling. That feeling like your stomach has managed to twist and knot itself a million times. Each bump of the bus made acid crawl up your throat. You crunched a mint in your mouth hoping the peppermint would soothe some of the nausea. It didn’t, but the thought was there. You just will yourself not to throw up on the bus, anything but that. The thought in itself makes you even more nervous, and in turn even sicker.

You don’t even know why you are anxious. Today is Kuroo’s big game, but it isn’t yours. You’ve been to a hundred of his games before but never before did you feel like this. Normally you get cute little butterflies, not an angry swarm of bees. The worst part is, there is Kuroo sat next to you happy as can be, completely oblivious. He keeps trying to drag you into conversations but you fear if you open your mouth for too long, all that will come up is vomit. So you keep your mouth firmly closed only smiling tightly or shaking your head at his prompts.

It's not exactly his fault though. He doesn’t actually know you have anxiety. It’s not something you really like to talk about. You are all for promoting the acceptance of mental health but you just find every time you tell someone the dynamic changes. Either they flat out don’t believe you since you “don’t seem like the type with anxiety”. Well duh, I don’t have social anxiety, I have situational anxiety. Like here in this situation. That or they suddenly treat me like I am incapable of handling myself. That whenever a slightly stressful event comes up, I am going to melt into a puddle of pure anxiety. Sorry but I’ve made it this far, I may have to throw up a few times on the way but I am still making it. 

So you just haven’t told Kuroo. You're just nervous that it will change the dynamic. You also don’t want to steal his spotlight. Today is supposed to be all about him. It's his big game. To suddenly speak up and tell him that his game is giving you anxiety would be selfish. So like you always have, you put a brave face on and face it head-on.

“Hey, are you okay?��� Kuroo asks you, now facing you, “You look a little pale.”

“Hmm?,” You also turn to look at him, “Oh I am just a bit tired that’s all. I will be fine in an hour or so.” You hope at least. He nods relieved it's not something worse. 

You finally pull into the stadium and everyone is pushing their way off the bus. Luckily Kuroo is right by you to make sure you don't get accidentally pushed down the bus stairs and trampled. The team makes it’s to the bulletin board where they are given their matchups. Nekoma is paired with a pretty hard team. Suddenly, out of nowhere, you dry heave. You knew at the point you were going to throw up and within the next few minutes. 

“Hey I think I left something in the bus I’ll be right back.” You say to Kuroo before dashing off. He goes to reply but you are already gone. 

You make it around the back of the building before you throw up. At this point you’re kinda out of it, your mind is occupied on emptying your already empty stomach. Then you feel someone pull your hair back and gently rub your back. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s Kuroo. When you finish he hands you his water bottle.  You waterfall it and rinse your mouth out of that acidic taste. 

“What’s going on are you okay?” Kuroo asks full of concern. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of telling the truth. Then you remember this is supposed to be his day. 

“Sorry I must have caught a stomach bug.” He doesn’t completely buy it so you quickly add to it.

“I didn't feel great on the bus but I just thought it was because I was tired.” You feel bad lying, “I also don’t want to distract you before your game.” At that Kuroo quickly pulls you into a hug, “Your not a distraction, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Your cheek is pressed against his chest and your hands grip the front of his shirt. 

“We should probably head back.” You mumble.

“Yeah.” He leans down to kiss you but you duck away. He looks incredibly offended and hurt at this.

“Dude I just threw up I don’t know if you want to do that.” 

“…Point.”

The two of you head back inside to the team, you feeling much better after throwing up. Before you know it, the competition has begun and Nekoma has won. You run down and celebrate with the team and it’s a happy day.

On the bus ride home Kuroo has a strange energy about him. Not like he’s mad more just like he’s just realized something. You nudge him and smile hoping to break him out of his little funk. He immediately smiles back and goes back to celebrating with the team. His reaction was almost like putting a mask on. You watch him for a moment before slipping into a conversation of your own.

When you make it back to school you go your separate ways. Him going to shower, and you to get home before it gets too late. A big hug before pushing away. You still refusing to kiss him after throwing up earlier in the day. 

You are laying on your bed, exhausted. Anxiety really takes a toll on your energy. Your thoughts are broken when your phone chimes with a text.  Leaning over to grab your phone off your bedside table you see it is from Kuroo. 

“Can you come over? I want to talk.”

No cute pet names. No slowly easing into it. Actually using proper grammar. Nothing in that message was a good sign. Just “I want to talk” was enough to make the acid begin to crawl again. You knew it had to be about today. Especially after you saw him zoning out on the bus. It had to be your anxiety episode. You knew he wouldn’t be happy you lied but going to this extent. Like he just found out you have anxiety and this is what he hits you with? The world’s most nerve-wracking text message. The only worse place than this would be “we need to talk”. That’s when you have really screwed up. So maybe you’ve only minorly screwed up since he said want not need. Does that mean you have the choice to say no? That was kind of tempting but you knew you would be tossing and turning all night thinking about what might be wrong. 

“Okay.” You reply to the text. Short and sweet. Putting on some shoes and grabbing a hoodie, you quietly slip out of your house. Kuroo’s house wasn’t too far but it was far enough. Enough to continue to stir in your intrusive and unstoppable thoughts. You eventually make it to his house and head in going straight for his room. Before you reach the door you hesitate and gather yourself. Preparing for whatever was about to come. 

When you go in you find Kuroo sat on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the bed. He jerkily looks up and you and gives you a tight smile. None of this is giving good signs. Something is very heavy on his mind. You sit down across from him, your back against the wall your feet almost touching. 

“So what was it you wanting to talk about.” You break the silence. He doesn’t respond for a moment. Just as you are about to try again he speaks up.

“Do you still love me?” Your face drops into confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I love you anymore?” You ask, suddenly realizing this wasn’t the conversation you were prepping yourself for. 

“You’ve been distant lately. You don’t tell me things like when you don’t feel good. I thought about it when I got home and I was wondering if you weren’t actually sick but just making the excuse because you got caught.” He’s very serious at the moment and his words hold a cold edge. 

“What do you mean get caught?” You match his tone. You weren’t planning on fighting but something about how he said it just set something off in you.

“You didn’t want to be there. Ever since this morning you were quiet and reserved. Even after the game, you wouldn’t even kiss me-”

“Yeah, cause I threw up! And how could I be faking it when I literally threw up.” You snap.

“You’ve been like this before though! Like last year’s big tournament you would barely talk to me.”

“That’s not true!” Although it kind of was just not the reason he thought.

“Oh yeah? What about at training camp you wouldn’t talk to me then either, you didn’t even eat with us you just sat on your own.” He threw back.

“Yeah, cause I have anxiety!” The words left your mouth before you knew it. Kuroo looked taken back.

“What?” His brow furrows, “Since when?” He’s not sure what to believe. You’re not surprised since you have worked very hard to hide it from everyone, accidentally sabotaging your own relationship without even knowing it. 

“Since forever. I just never told anyone.” You quietly say, ducking your head down.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You didn’t even need to look up to see the hurt on his face, it was apparent in his voice. You start playing with your finger, tapping them in rhythms.

“I wanted to,” You mumble, “But whenever I do stuff changes and I didn’t want anything to change.” He shifts forward and you think he’s going to leave. Instead, he grabs your hands, stopping the pattern you had going. You look up.

“Did you think I would judge you?” He was staring straight into you, willing the truth to come out.

“Whenever I tell people they either don’t believe me and brush it off or treat me like I’m incapable of handling any amount of stress. I’ve never seen anyone react any differently so I was scared you would fall into one of those reactions and I didn’t know how I could handle that. I didn’t want my anxiety to be the thing to tear us apart. But I guess it still was.” By the end of your speech, your gaze has returned back to the floor, unable to hold eye contact for that long with him staring at you so strongly. You hear him sigh then you are pulled forward and into his arms. 

“I want to be your pillar of support. I want to be that third reaction that is one of acceptance, one that doesn’t drive you crazy.” He strokes your hair soothingly, his words making you tear up, “When you are ready I want you to tell me everything. From when you first noticed it, to where it is now, to how you deal with it, everything.” By now you are fully crying, absolutely collapsed into his chest. “I love you so much.” It gets muffled in his shirt but he hears it.

“I know, and I love you.”

It would take some time for Kuroo to get used to this change but slowly but surely he will be different from the rest and he will support you no matter what. Although he also respects your strength and knows you can handle your anxiety on your own, he is always there when you need it. He becomes the third unexpected and unheard-of reaction; acceptance.

[blackspoon99]

The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift. 

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

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”  

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

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

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?” 

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

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

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off. 

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

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

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy. 

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

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

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”  

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall. 

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.” 

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I’m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though. 

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard 

[pazumane-archive]

Closing Time - Asahi x Reader

Characters: Asahi Azumane, female reader, original female character, small Taichi cameo

Relationships: Asahi Azumane x Reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort if you squint, SFW but 16+ please

Warnings: Alcohol, general drunken shenanigans, emetophobia (mentions of vomit), bad language

WC: 6.4k

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is a totally self-indulgent bedtime-scenario-type story because there is simply not enough Asahi/Reader content out there and I adore him. It’s also my first time writing in 2nd person, so PLEASE feel free to send me any feedback, please just be kind :) I really don’t like to use y/n, so I only used it a couple times towards the end when I wasn’t sure what else to do lol

The preview begins with the bolded text below and fic continues after the cut :)

Reblogs appreciated! <3

You weren’t planning on getting this drunk. But by the time it got to be about 11:30, you didn’t know what else to do. You had put so much effort and energy into making yourself look nice just for your date not to show up. Your roommate was out of town, so instead of going home and pouting, you figured you might as well have some fun while you were out. But you’ve never been good at exercising restraint, and the fact that you were alone wasn’t doing you any favors. But by closing time had rolled around, you could hardly see straight. You needed help, so you call upon an old friend.

“Do you have anybody you can call for a ride?” Kawanishi asks.

Kawanishi’s the bartender at this izakaya, and over the course of the night, you spent most of the time talking his ear off. He’s nice enough, and held pleasant conversation for the last few hours. He says he used to be a volleyball player, and had even played on the same team as a one of the guys on the Japan National Team. You forget to ask him which school he attended, but he probably was tired of talking to your drunk ass anyway, so you don’t bother asking. “Yeah,” you say, digging in your purse for your phone. “Are you sure? I can call a cab for you if you need it,” he offers. “Nah,” you say, hiccupping between words. “I’ll call somebody. Thank you though.” “No problem,” he says. “Just try to make it quick.” You scroll through your phone, trying to figure out who to call. Your roommate’s out of town visiting her parents, so she’s a no-go. You could call Kokomi. Honestly, she would deserve the 2AM phone call for setting you up on this failed blind date in the first place. Ever since you moved to Tokyo last month, she was constantly trying to set you up with somebody, whether it was a friend, a coworker, or some rando that she had met on the train. Unfortunately, all of them were jerks. And this one was the biggest jerk of all. You silently curse yourself for going along with her antics again.

“He’s great, you’ll love him!” “You said that about the last three guys you tried to set me up with, Kokomi.” “Please!! You’ll never know if you don’t even give him a chance.”

Well, you gave him a chance. And it ended up with you all alone, drunk as hell in an unfamiliar part of the city. You dial Kokomi’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail. “Bitch,” you mutter. You unlock your phone again and look through to find somebody that might be able to take you home. You scroll back to the top of your contact list, and your eyes settle on another name. He lives just a few blocks away, and knowing him, he’s probably awake working on something anyway. You click on his contact and wait for him to answer.

*

The exhaustion’s starting to get to him. It’s the weekend and he can afford to stay up an extra couple of hours to finish this design, but the combination of fatigue and frustration are taking over. He sets down his pencil and moves towards his bed, until his cell starts to buzz. He glances over at the clock on the wall. 1:49 AM.

Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

Asahi picks up his phone, surprised to see your name on the screen. His heart skips a beat in his chest, both from excitement and nervousness. Aside from his teammates, you’re one of the only people he bothered to keep in contact with after high school. The two of you had even met up a few times since you moved to the city, but he never would have expected you to call at this hour unless… unless something is wrong. “Hey you, what’s up?” He says, choking back a yawn. “Hiiiii Asahiiii!  I tried to call Kokomi but she didn’t answer her phone… could you come pick me up?” Your voice is thick and your words are almost unintelligible as you speak. It’s obvious that you’re far from sober. “Where are you?” Asahi asks, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice. “Are you okay? Are you safe?” “M’fine,” you slur. “But I…” Suddenly the call drops. Asahi calls you back in a panic, his heart racing as he waited for you to answer. You could be in danger and he’d be powerless to help you. He doesn’t even know where you are. “Hello?” A man’s voice comes through the speaker. “Who are you? Where is she?” Asahi asks frantically. “Relax, man. I’m just the bartender,” he says. “Look, your friend’s next to me, but she’s on the verge of passing out. Can you come get her before she pukes all over my bar? She’s at Zoetrope. You know where that is?” “Of course, I’m on my way now! I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Asahi says, grabbing his apartment keys and putting on a pair of shoes. He’s out the door almost immediately.

*

Kawanishi presses your phone back into your hands. Your head is spinning so fast that you struggle to keep your eyes open. “Is he coming?” you ask. “Yeah, he’s on the way,” Kawanishi says. “He’ll be here soon. Now do me a favor, don’t get this drunk the next time you come into my izakaya or I’ll have to kick you out.” “You’re kicking me out???” “Only if you start throwing up,” he says under his breath. “I’m not going to throw up!” you exclaim, suddenly becoming very aware of the churning in your stomach. You grumble, slumping over the bar. You squeeze your eyes shut, the spinning in your head only getting worse with every breath you take. You feel like you’re going to die, and honestly, between the embarrassment of being stood up and the wave of nausea coming over you, you’re ready to welcome that death with open arms. “Hey!” Kawanishi says, smacking the bar next to your head. “Your friend’s going to be here soon, don’t fall asleep or I’ll throw you out on the street myself.” “I’m sorry, Kawanishi-san.” You sit up slowly and cradle your head in your hands once more, trying to make the world stop spinning.

Please get here soon, Asahi.

*

Asahi sprints down the street as fast as he can towards the izakaya. He’s sure that he looks suspicious running down the street alone at night, but he doesn’t care. You’re in trouble, and he’s the only person that can help you. He finally makes it to the bar and hastily pulls the door open. You’re dressed beautifully, and your makeup and hair are exquisitely done. Unfortunately, the way you’re slumped over the bar makes it obvious that something’s wrong. He’s not sure what happened, but whatever it was, it must have been rough. The bartender gently helps you out of your seat, and Asahi can’t help but think that he looks very familiar. You straighten up and as soon as you make eye contact with Asahi, you perk up. “Asahi-san!” you exclaim, rushing towards him and almost falling over. You crush him in an unexpectedly tight hug. “Long time no see, big guy!” “I saw you three days ago,” he says under his breath. You continue babbling unintelligibly, and Asahi looks up at the bartender. “Did she close out her tab?” Asahi asks. “I took care of it already,” the bartender replies. “Please just make sure she gets home okay. She’s had a rough night.” “Yeah, of course,” Asahi says. “Thanks for helping her out.” “No problem.” Asahi peels your arms off him and starts to nudge you towards the door. Just before the two of you leave, Asahi stops and turns back to the bartender. “Have we met before?” he asks. “I played for Shiratorizawa. Didn’t think I’d see you again, Karasuno Samurai.” Asahi frowns slightly. He hasn’t heard that nickname high school, and it’s weird hearing it again now. “Right,” he says. “Well, thanks again. Have a good night.” Asahi leads you out of the bar and down the sidewalk. You hold tightly to his arm, stumbling over yourself. He braces you against his side, and you take this opportunity to tease him a little bit. “Do you like my outfit, Asahi-san?” you ask, pressing into his side. “Yeah, it’s really nice!” he answers nervously, turning his head to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. He’s not lying – you look beautiful, both your top and your skirt accentuating your curves in all the right places. But it would be wrong to say anything more than that while you’re in this state. That wouldn’t be fair to either of you. He brusquely clears his throat and keeps walking as soon as the light signals that you can cross. “I dressed up extra nice tonight, but it didn’t even fucking matter,” you grumble, your voice breaking slightly. Asahi either doesn’t hear you, or does hear you and decides not to say anything. “I’m soooo glad you’re here,” you say, drawing out your words even longer than you were a minute ago. “I’m sorry, this is super embarrassing! I should’ve figured this out on my own.” “It’s okay,” Asahi says. “How long have you been in Tokyo again?” “A month? I think?” “Exactly,” he says. “You probably don’t know your way around that much. I’d feel terrible if I wasn’t able to help you find your way home.” “Meh,” you say. “I’ve had the worst night of my fucking life, so maybe it would be better if I passed out in a ditch somewhere.” “Do you want to talk about it?” Asahi asks. “No,” you answer quickly. “Okay.” You start blathering again and Asahi has to practically drag you down the street behind him. The station just past his apartment has a train that can drop you right by your building. He can just take a cab back after he gets you home. He considers inviting you stay the night at his place since it’s right there, but he’s afraid of being weird, so he doesn’t say anything. The two of you come to a stop at the train station… which is closed. “I’m sorry,” Asahi says remorsefully. “I guess the train stopped running at midnight. I’ll call you a cab.” He goes to pull his phone out of his pocket, but you grab his hand before he can. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” you ask sheepishly. “I… my roommate is out of town. And I’m really not doing good right now. I just really don’t want to be alone.” Despite how out of it you’ve been since he picked you up, Asahi sees nothing but complete sincerity in your eyes. Tonight must have been really rough. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I’ll just sleep on the couch- or a futon if you have one!” you say, nodding. “Okay.” Asahi turns back towards his apartment and you follow closely behind him, not letting go of his hand the entire time.

*

Asahi helps you across the threshold of his apartment and sits you down on a chair by the door. “Asahi-san, you’re so handsome with your hair down like that,” you say, reaching up to twirl a finger in his long chestnut tresses. “And you’re loopy,” Asahi mutters, disentangling your fingers from his hair. Once again, he finds himself hiding a blush. He’s not used to being showered with compliments, and he knows you wouldn’t be saying this stuff if you were sober. He kicks off his shoes and kneels down in front of you, helping you take yours off. “How are you feeling?” he asks you. “Can I get you some water or a some–” “Why didn’t you ask me out when we were in high school?” you ask suddenly. “I think I made it pretty obvious that I had a crush on you. It’s all I could think about when you were holding my hand back there.” “I – I, uh,” Asahi stammers. You burst out laughing, startling Asahi. It’s that same boisterous laugh you’ve had for as long as he could remember knowing you. You were always self-conscious about it in high school, but your laugh has always been one of Asahi’s favorite things about you. Despite the fact that it’s at his expense, he’s glad to see your mood improve. Asahi considers your question for a moment. He really liked you too back then, and everyone knew it. Suga and Daichi constantly teased him for it.

So why hadn’t he asked you out back then?

Well, for a number of reasons. He spent so much of his third year focused on volleyball that he didn’t have the mental or emotional capacity for much else. He hadn’t even planned on going back to school after graduation until Nishinoya helped convince him to pursue his passions. He felt directionless, and he didn’t want to burden anybody else with his indecision. But most importantly, he was scared you’d reject him. Suga was right. He really was a coward. He’d dated a few people since high school graduation, but none of them made him feel the way you did, and they didn’t treat him as well as you would have. Which begs the question – why hasn’t he asked you out since you moved to Tokyo? He pushes the thought to the back of his mind. This isn’t the kind of conversation to be having when you aren’t even able to form a coherent sentence. Asahi’s thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his shoulder and a loud hiccup. “I should wash my face. Can I wash my face?” “Sure,” Asahi says, helping you stand up. You stumble forward, but he catches you easily and pulls you back to your feet. He quietly leads you to the bathroom and sits you down on the edge of the bathtub. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m a mess.” “No, you’re not. Hold on a second,” he says, opening the drawer under the sink. He pulls out a small package of makeup wipes and takes one out. He kneels in front of you and begins wiping the makeup off your face. “I know they’re not great for your skin,” he says. “But it’s better than nothing, right?” “Why do you even have those?” you ask between hiccups. “Do you wear makeup? I mean, it’s obviously fine if you do, but it doesn’t really seem like your thing.” “I don’t, but you never know when they’ll come in handy! I do work with a lot of makeup artists,” he says, somewhat defensively. You get the sense that he’s lying about something, but Asahi changes the subject before you can probe him any further. “So what were you doing there by yourself?” he asks. “It’s not safe to be alone so late at night.” Clearly this was the wrong thing to ask. All the negative emotions and thoughts you were having all even spring to the forefront of your mind, and you start to cry. Asahi starts apologizing profusely, but you wave him off. “It’s fine,” you sniffle, wiping a tear away from your cheek. “Kokomi was trying to set me up with one of her friends, but he never showed up.” Asahi sits back on his heels. Kokomi is another girl from Karasuno that ended up in Tokyo. She wasn’t in the same class as him, but he remembers how loud she always was in the hallways. Honestly, both of you were always loud, but you’ve always been much more considerate of others than Kokomi ever was. “Shit,” he mumbles. “That really sucks. I’m sorry.” “Yeah. It does suck.” Asahi grabs another wipe and asks you to close your eyes. You do as he says, and he lightly wipes off your eye makeup. He’s worked with enough models to recognize that you’re wearing false eyelashes, so he gently pulls those off too. You feel yourself start to wobble on the edge of the tub, so you grip his arm to steady yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.” “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” you ask suddenly. “Wait, what?” “I just… this keeps happening to me. Everyone always says that it’s because they’re not the right person for me, but it’s starting to feel like there’s just something wrong with me instead,” you say, choking back a sob. “I know I just moved here, but I’m just so lonely. I hate feeling like I’m not good enough.” Asahi tenderly wipes a tear from your cheek and cups your face in both hands. “Hey, look at me. There is nothing wrong with you,” he says sincerely. “That guy is an idiot and a jerk. If he had any idea how extraordinary you are, he never would’ve done that to you.” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You don’t feel like you deserve to be spoken to like this – with such genuine kindness and sincerity. Asahi makes you feel so good. So special. He always has. And he’s just so… tender, especially for somebody who looks as intimidating as he does. You wonder if those feelings from high school ever truly went away. You sit up straighter and try to smile at him, but your stomach flips unexpectedly and violently. “Asahi-san?” you ask, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Yeah?” he replies. “Toilet.” Asahi moves out of the way as fast as possible. You hunch over the rim and retch into the toilet bowl. Asahi quickly scoops up your hair and holds it behind your head as you throw up. “Please, just leave me,” you mutter. “I’m gonna fucking die here.” “I’m not going to leave you here and you’re not going to die,” Asahi says, gingerly picking up the last loose strands laying on your neck and holding them back with the rest of your hair. Your back tenses up again before you begin heaving once more. Asahi tucks his nose into the collar of his shirt, careful to make sure that he’s out of your field of vision. He wants to be there for you but he had a weak stomach himself and the sight and smell of somebody else’s vomit is something he knows he won’t be able to handle. You mumble weak apologies between hacks, but Asahi just ignores them and rubs your back gently. After what feels like an eternity, the churning in your stomach finally stops and you reach up towards the flush handle. The exhaustion in your body and heart finally begin to catch up with you, and your hand falls back to your side. “I got it. Do you think you’re done?” Asahi asks, coaxing you back up into a seated position. You nod, too tired to try to speak. Asahi quickly tugs his shirt back down from his face before you can see and closes the toilet lid. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “Don’t be,” Asahi says, flushing the toilet. “I’m your friend. I want to help you. And I’ve already told you that you don’t need to apologize to me.” Asahi helps you sit on the top of the toilet and rises to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere,” he says, scurrying out of the room. Although your eyes are closed, you still feel your body swaying. More than anything, you just want to go to sleep. Asahi pads back into the room and presses a wooden cup into your hands. “Drink this,” he says, turning on the faucet. Even though drinking something is the last thing you want to be doing right now, you go ahead and lift the cup to your open mouth. Cold water passes your lips and washes away some of the disgusting taste in your mouth. It feels gross, but you force yourself to drink all of it. Asahi takes the cup from your hand and turns the faucet back off. You flinch at the feeling of a damp washcloth on your face. “It’s okay,” Asahi says gently, cradling your chin with his free hand and angling your face up. “Just cleaning you up a little.” You murmur in acknowledgement and Asahi continues to wipe your face down. You almost fall asleep sitting on his toilet, but he gently shakes you to keep you awake. “Stay with me for another minute,” he says softly. “You can go to sleep soon. You’re gonna be just fine. I promise.” His words and his voice are so sweet that you want to cry. A couple rogue tears drip from your eyes and onto his hands. “I’m sorry,” you say once more. Asahi sets the washcloth on the counter and starts to pull you to your feet. You struggle to stay on your feet, so instead, he carefully scoops you into his arms and carries you out the bathroom. You don’t care where you go, you just need to sleep. Asahi’s pretty certain you’re asleep by the time he deposits you on his mattress. Your chest rises and falls slowly as he pulls his duvet over you. He begins to make his way to the couch, but stops when he feels you grab his hand. “Please don’t go, Asahi-san,” you whisper. “Please.” You tug harder at his fingers and he knows he can’t refuse you. He ends up sitting on the edge of the bed holding your hand until you fall asleep.

*

As soon as your quiet snores permeate the silence, Asahi untangles his fingers from yours. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on your sleeping face for just a moment. The moonlight trickling through the window illuminates your hair and casts a silvery glow on your skin. Despite the awful night you’ve had, you look absolutely radiant. He feels himself blushing again, but he takes some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t have to try and hide it this time. Not while you’re fast asleep in his bed. He’s far too scared to admit it, even to himself, but he’s fantasized about falling asleep next to you many times before. But in those fantasies you weren’t drunk and crying over another man. Asahi sighs, stands up, and moves over to the dresser as quietly as he can. After setting a few things out for you, he goes into the bathroom, gets ready for bed and heads to the couch for the night.

*

By the time you wake up in the morning, you feel like you’re going to die. You can’t remember what exactly happened the previous night. The last thing you remember clearly was talking to the bartender about high school volleyball, of all things. Your head’s pounding, and your stomach aches painfully, screaming at you to please eat something. You don’t open your eyes, fearing that it would somehow trigger another round of vomiting. Eventually, you force yourself into a seated position and open your eyes. The bedroom you’re in is small, but pretty well-decorated. It’s decently tidy. The only mess is a few crumpled up clothing designs discarded on the floor next to the trash bin.

Designs? Did that mean?

You’re at Asahi’s apartment. In his bed. Your eyes widen in panic.

  What happened last night?

You’re still wearing the clothes that you wore to the bar last night. And there’s no evidence of him ever being in bed with you. You reach over towards your phone, which has been graciously plugged in for you and set on the bedside table. That’s when you notice the note along with a sleeve of crackers and a glass of ginger ale.

Good morning!

There’s a set of clothes you can wear at the foot of the bed and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Feel free to take a shower if you want. Extra towels are underneath the sink. Please have something to eat and drink too. You’ll feel better if you do.

-Asahi

P.S. Please don’t feel bad. It’s okay.

You grab a few of the crackers from the bedside table and eat them, washing them down with the ginger ale.

Why does Asahi have to be so damn considerate? The whole situation is so embarrassing.

You contemplate just grabbing your phone and getting the hell out of his apartment, but you’re not going to pass up the opportunity to shower. You finish the last of the crackers, chug down the ginger ale, and grab the spare clothes at the end of the bed. You turn the doorknob as silently as you can and awkwardly creep down the hall towards the bathroom, stopping briefly to peek in the living room. Asahi’s fast asleep on the couch, clad only in pajama pants and a pair of fuzzy socks. His hair is down and messily splayed across the throw pillow he’s resting his head on. Quiet snores pass his lips. He looks cute. Your eyes trail from his face and down to his stomach. Despite quitting volleyball after high school, he seems to have mostly maintained his athletic form, except for a tiny little layer of pudge on his lower stomach. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile, until that little voice in the back of your mind reminds you of your place.

Quit staring, you perv! You need to get out of here!

You hurriedly continue down the hallway and jump into the shower as soon as you get into the bathroom. You think that maybe if you clean up fast enough, you can get out of Asahi’s apartment before he wakes up. However, as soon as you step into the shower, all worries about rushing out disappear into the back of your mind. You bask in the hot water, the steam clearing your sinuses and relieving some of the pain in your head. You silently thank the gods that Asahi actually uses conditioner, and not just 3-in-1 like most of the other men you were previously…. acquainted with. Although, it makes sense to you that somebody with hair like Asahi’s would have a strict haircare routine. As you shower, fragmented memories of last night start to come back to you.

Being stood up at the bar. Calling Asahi for help. Puking your guts out in his bathroom. Him carrying you into his room and laying you down on his bed. Him staying by your side until you fell asleep. You wishing he would’ve crawled into bed with you and held you through the night… Wait, what was that last part?

As soon as you’re done rinsing the conditioner from your hair, you step out of the shower and swiftly towel off. You find the spare toothbrush Asahi mentioned, take it out of the packaging, and brush your teeth with his toothpaste. The dry, gross feeling in your mouth is quickly replaced with a minty fresh taste. You slip on the sweatpants and t-shirt that Asahi left for you and dry your hair. Thankfully, Asahi isn’t as huge as most people make him out to be, so while the clothes he left out are a bit big on you, you’re not drowning in them. You’ll just bring them back some other day. You start combing through your hair, and that’s when you hear it – the sound of somebody padding around in the apartment. Shit. Once the footsteps quiet down, you rush out of the bathroom and towards the front door. Asahi eyes you as you scoop up your shoes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Good morning!” he says kindly. “How are you feeling?” “I’m so sorry Azumane-san, it won’t happen again!” you say as you throw open the door and rush into the hallway. “Hold on, wait up!” he says as you pull the door closed behind you. You run all the way to the stairs at the end of the hallway and go to call Kokomi for a ride home. That’s when you realize that your phone is still plugged into the wall in Asahi’s room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You turn around and trudge back towards his apartment. Before you can even knock, the door opens slowly. Asahi stands there in just his pajama pants, holding your phone out to you. “You shouldn’t leave without your phone,” he says. You thank him and take your phone, a blush creeping up your cheeks. You try not to stare at his bare chest, already feeling like a creep for ogling him while he was sleeping. “Your clothes are still in the bathroom, too,” he says. “I can go get them for you. Or I can just wash them and give them back to you another time if you want to leave.” “No, that’s okay,” you say, covering your flushing cheeks with the collar of his shirt. “I’ll get them. Can I come in?” “Of course.” Asahi steps out of your way and you head straight for the bathroom, avoiding looking in his eyes. Asahi never gets angry, and you know he wouldn’t be mad at you over something like this, but a lingering sense of shame still washes over you. You scoop up your clothes and leave the bathroom. As soon as you cross the threshold into the living room, the smell of coffee and frying fish washes over you. Asahi stands in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. In the time that you were in the bathroom, he put on a Black Jackals sweatshirt and threw his hair into a loose bun. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asks, smiling at you and pouring his own cup. “It’ll help with the hangover.” You stand there and ponder his offer for a moment. Sensing your hesitancy, Asahi suddenly turns back to the stove and mumbles something that you can’t quite make out. “What did you say?” you ask. Asahi rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit he’s had since you were kids. “I don’t mean to pressure you to stay or anything! I just thought it might help for you to have something more than crackers and ginger ale.” “You’ve done plenty to help me since last night,” you say. “But I’ll take that coffee if the offer is still on the table.” “It is!” Asahi says a little too enthusiastically for his own good. You can’t help but smirk as you take your seat at the kitchen table. Asahi pours you a cup of coffee and slides you a bowl of the rice and fish he made. You thank him quietly and start to eat. He slides into the chair across from you and eats his own breakfast, eyeing you carefully. “What?” you ask after catching him staring. “Since when have you ever called me Azumane-san?” he asks. “I don’t know,” you mumble into your coffee mug. “I didn’t think we reverted back from first name basis,” he says. “I thought we knew each other better than that.” “I don’t know,” you say, a devilish smile crossing your face. “Care to explain why you actually had those makeup wipes in your bathroom drawer? I doubt your makeup artists are coming over to your apartment.” Now it’s Asahi’s turn to blush again. “My ex-girlfriend left them here,” he says. “Felt like a waste to just throw them out.” “Ex-girlfriend?!” you exclaim suddenly, startling Asahi and causing him to drop the wipe on the floor. “I didn’t know you were seeing somebody!” “Yeah,” he says, throwing the wipe in the trash and grabbing a fresh one. “We broke up a while before you moved to the city. She left a bunch of her stuff here and refused to come pick it up. I think she was just too embarrassed to see me again. I got rid of most of it a while ago, but I kept some of the more… uh, utilitarian things.” “I’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “Why did you break up?” Asahi feels a slight pang in his chest. He met his last girlfriend through his job. She was nice enough, and things seemed like they were going okay until he showed up at her apartment to surprise her for their 6 month anniversary, only to find another man in her bed. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say. “It’s fine. She cheated on me with some other guy,” he says, his expression darkening. “I think they’re engaged now.” “Shit,” you say. “What a bitch.” “Woah, settle down, it’s okay –” “No, it’s not,” you say firmly. “You deserve someone way better than that. Somebody that treats you with the love and respect that you deserve.” Asahi knows you’re right, but he doesn’t really want to press it. That whole mess had done a number on his mental health, and he really doesn’t want to burden you with his emotional baggage. He adjusts his glasses again and forces a smile. “You know, you should really take your own advice,” he says. You try to think back on what you had said to him last night. The details are fuzzy, but you remember crying. A lot. Instead of answering him, you shovel down the last of the rice and fish. “Thank you for the meal,” you say. Asahi smiles and nods at you before beginning to clear the dishes away. You stand up and stop him, insisting that you clean up yourself. As you finish drying the bowls, your phone buzzes. You check it, only to see a handful of missed texts from Kokomi.

Ono Kokomi [8:32} Hey!! Sorry I missed your call. How was he?  (°◡°♡) [9:14] That good?  (^.~)☆ [9:18] Or that bad?! (;;;*_*) [9:57] HELLO?? (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ [10:32] ARE YOU ALIVE?!?!?!  〣( ºΔº )〣

You roll your eyes and quickly type out your response.

Y/N [10:33] Yeah, no thanks to you. (￢_￢;)

Ono Kokomi [10:34] Was it really that bad?

Y/N [10:34] He didn’t even show up. (╥_╥) [10:34] Azumane picked me up at 2 AM because I was too drunk to go home alone. I stayed the night at his place. [10:34] Speaking of which, can you come pick me up? Not really in a state to take the train and I think you owe me one.

Ono Kokomi [10:35] (⊙_⊙) [10:35] Spill. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Y/N [10:36] There’s nothing to spill. I threw up in his bathroom and he slept on the couch. Can you just answer my question please? (҂` ﾛ ´)凸

Ono Kokomi [10:36] Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m on my way, lovebird. (￣ε￣＠)

“Everything okay?” Asahi asks. “Yeah,” you say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Kokomi’s going to come pick me up.” “Are you sure? I can take you if you want,” he offers. “Yeah, she’s already on her way,” you say, setting the bowl down and turning to face him. “Besides, you’ve done more than enough for me already over the last twelve hours.” You silently pick up your things and walk towards the door. Asahi rises from his chair and awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you have all your stuff?” You nod and smile. Before you open the door, you approach him and wrap your arms around his waist. He shyly hugs you back, hoping you can’t hear the rapid pounding in his chest. “Thank you, Asahi,” you whisper. “You’re amazing.” You let go first and leave his apartment quietly. As soon as the door closes, Asahi walks back into the living room and flops down on the couch. He covers his face with his hands and groans. This morning was almost too much for him – seeing you in his clothes, eating breakfast together, you hugging him before you left. It was all so painfully domestic, and he wishes it didn’t have to end. If only he wasn’t such a coward, he would’ve asked you to stay longer. He doesn’t know how long he lays there until he finally decides to get moving for the day and finish that piece he was working on when you called last night. He checks his phone and sees your name pop up on the screen.

Y/N [11:00] I’m home. Thanks again for babysitting me last night. Whatever did I do to deserve you as my guardian angel? ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ [11:00] Or was that Noya-san? I forget. (^ω~)

Azumane Asahi [11:01] Lol. You’re welcome. And that was what we called Noya in our club days, but I don’t mind you calling me that too (* ^ ω ^)

Y/N [11:03] Let me make it up to you. [11:04] Come over for dinner tomorrow night?

Asahi almost drops his phone on his face. His fingers fumble as he types his response. He waits a moment before sending it, rereading it ten times to make sure he doesn’t come across as desperate.

Azumane Asahi [11:07] I’d love to. Do you want me to bring anything?

Y/N [11:08] That’s not necessary. I owe you a nice dinner. [11:09] You still like tonkotsu ramen?

Azumane Asahi [11:10] I do!

Y/N [11:11] It’s a date! See you tomorrow! (☞°ヮ°)☞ ☜(°ヮ°☜)

*

“You said nothing happened last night,” Kokomi says, staring over your shoulder at your phone. “Nothing happened, Kokomi. Now leave me alone,” you snap, tossing one of your throw pillows at her. She deftly catches it and plops down on the couch next to you. “Please,” she says, swatting you with the pillow. “The only reason you two haven’t gotten together is because you’re the densest people on the planet. I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” “Shut up,” you grumble. Kokomi’s phone rings and she quickly checks it. “Anyway, I have to go meet Kaito,” she says. “Got to go. Let me know how your date goes!” She waves and practically skips out the front door. You lay down and start making a shopping list for ingredients for tonkatsu ramen. As soon as you’re done, you set your phone down and cross your arms over your face.

“I bet he’s flopped down on his couch right now thinking about how he doesn’t even want to wait that long to see you.” No, Kokomi. That’s me.

[jaybirbwrites]

Hello, i was looking through tumblr in the sense to find something interesting and found your account, i then wondered if i could get a dc match up from you if posible?

I’m Ghost, I am Aquarius born, ISTP personality, and I’m panromantic with a male lean, with any pronouns.

im 5’5, shoulder length blonde, pale ivory skin tone, Grunge aesthetic and Green/hazel eyes, I have been told by a few of my friends that I look like a middle age man who either only drinks coffee or whiskey.

I have trust issues, I tend to be stand off-ish to people and prefer to be alone in dark and quite places, though I am open and happy around people I feel like I can trust, I’m a bit chaotic and tend to get out of hand when it comes to things I am passionate about, and I like to have deep meaningful conversations with people.

I like most parts of nature, like flowers, bugs, animals, and the sounds, my favourite foods are anything veggie or fruit and sweets, I listen too Grunge, emo, rock, metal, and punk bands, I do a lot of art, i enjoy drawing plants and my ocs, In my free time I do art, I read, write, and watch anime, some of my favourites are Death parade, demon slayer, and skate the infinity, I play a lot of video games, like Resident evil(I love anything horror and gory), danganronpa, and legend of Zelda:Breath of the wild.

I hate jerks, bullies, people that are clingy and/or loud, I dislike red meats, I have Emetophobia and Trypanophobia, and I hate going out to public places like stores and restaurants for long perriods of type.

bye, have a good day/night

This took me way longer than I would have liked, but here I am with a match-up!!

I wasn't exactly sure the specifics of the DC Universe you wanted, so I kind of just? Grabbed from my own Fanon?? I hope that's okay!! I tend to write characters from DC by taking my favorite aspects from all of their respective canons, so I hope you still enjoy and that it's what you were looking for!

That all being said, I present to you....

Jason Todd

Okay in my mind this seems like it's probably expected, but I promise I was thinking of a lot of other characters and it just didn't seem right

You two just,,, work?

So well?

I think it's the grunge aesthetic and looking like all you drink is coffee and whiskey for the most part

Mostly because he's basically the same way

He's also pretty obviously a standoffish person, and I definitely think that's what would make him want to get to know you more, and once he did... wow

Like you, he's an extroverted introvert

He can be quite as well, but once you get him going he's the life of the party and I definitely think you'd both bring some.. we'll say fun, to the Wayne Charity Galas that Bruce hosts

Not only that, but you both like basically the same kinds of music as well, and I can see you both jamming in his apartment together

You also mentioned that you do art, and while I definitely don't think Jason can draw, he absolutely would adore watching you do it

I mean, this man had straight A's before he died and he's definitely a huge nerd for literature and the arts

He definitely plays piano sometimes too when you'd draw

He's also an avid reader, and would always want to suggest books to you and take your suggestions on books to read

Likewise, he'd also offer to read whatever you were writing too

Not just to be nice, but because he's very curious to see what you're even putting on the page

He definitely plays games with you all the time, and on any co-op games he always makes it a challenge

He has to win, even if there's no winner in that game

In instances where you both just want to chill out, he'd offer a picnic in the park

Probably not Gotham's though

If anything he'd take you through the Zeta Tube to Central City, or Metropolis, where it's much nicer and sunnier than Gotham City

There you both can people watch from under a tree, and enjoy the nature and calm

I imagine Jason is an amazing cook and baker

It's one of my favorite headcanons to be honest

So he definitely made some Alfred-level sandwiches for you both, and he made your favorite dessert

Lots of veggies and fruits on the side as well, and your favorite drinks

Probably also gives you your favorite flowers as well, just to be the cheesy romantic that he is

Lastly, you mention that you hate clingy people

Jason can definitely be clingy, but he also 100% knows your boundaries and respects them

If you want to cuddle and be close, he's all up for that

When you want your space, he respects it and doesn't push it either

Same with him being loud

He won't be around you, but with his family it's kind of a given - lots of yelling, goofing off, throwing things at one another most likely

But he doesn't get you involved in it all since he knows you don't like loud people

All in all, Jason would absolutely adore you and you both would get along really well imo

That's all for this!! I hope you enjoy it :)

If not please feel free to send another ask and I'll do something else!

My ask box is also open, so anyone who sees this - feel free to ask away! My pinned post has some of the things I do, so just check that out!

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 27: Intrulogical (TW)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 27 - Your eyes match your soulmate’s hair color. If they dye their hair, your eyes change colors.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!! Attempted rape (by unnamed OC), drugging, implied underage drinking (though none is actually seen), emetophobia/vomiting, Halloween, alcohol, characters being tipsy/drunk, parties. Happy/satisfying ending.

Word count: 4.7k

Logan lived his life based on routine. In a world of constant change, it felt comforting to always know what his next step was. His mornings always started the same; wake up at seven o’clock sharp, sneak to the dorm bathroom in an attempt to not wake his essentially nocturnal roommate, and brush his teeth. Wet the toothbrush, pea sized amount of toothpaste, wet the brush again, and start on the left side of his mouth. Brush for exactly two minutes, wash face, and then attempt to calm down the bedhead. He’d sneak back into the room, change silently, and then make his way to the shared kitchen to make cereal for breakfast. The only variable in his routine was which fruit he’d eat along with his Cheerios. Then he’d triple check that all of his homework was packed properly, and head off to his morning class.

Except today.

For someone who rarely got distracted from his normal routine, he was surprisingly still as he glared, shocked, into his reflection. Water still dripped off his face and all over the counter, but he couldn’t tear his attention from it. Because his normally dark brown eyes were now neon green.

“Are you kidding me?!” He yelled before he could stop himself, storming back into their room and dropping back onto his bed.

“What’s’it?” Virgil mumbled, lifting his exhausted face from where they’d been smooshed into the pillows. Logan spun his face up towards the top bunk, jaw clenched, and gestured towards his eyes.

“I have a presentation today!” Logan continued, looking away from Virgil’s failed attempt to cover a smile, “And I look ridiculous! No one will take me seriously!”

“Just in time for Halloween, I guess. They just look like contacts.”

“Hallow-” Logan sprung to his desk to look at his calendar accusingly, groaning when he realized it was in fact the thirty first. “Ugh, I have a paper due tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of the party now, Lo. I already promised people I’d go, and I’m not going alone.”

“I won’t back out of the party,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. Virgil gave a satisfied hum, flopping back into his comforter. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

“Out of all people, I’m surprised you forgot.”

“So sue me, if a frivolous game of promiscuous dress up comes after passing my classes in the list of importance.” 

The emo snorted. “What’s your costume gonna be?”

“I am not wearing a costume!” Logan’s voice was almost offended.

“You already look like a traffic light. Might as well complete the look.” 

Logan grumbled angrily, marching back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready. “I’m not wearing a costume. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lo. For me?”

That stopped Logan in his tracks. He spun around and took a careful breath, glaring down his overly pleased roommate. “Fine. Just for you.” 

Virgil gave another satisfied hum, before squinting his eyes at Logan scrutinizingly. “I wonder if your eyes glow in the dark. Can you imagine if the prof turns the lights off for a presentation and-”

“UUUGGHHH!” Logan yowled as he slammed the bathroom door shut, shaking his head at Virgil’s snickers. 

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

They were meeting up at the party at the end of classes (right about when Virgil tended to wake up), so Logan headed there directly after his final class, just as the evening sun was fading behind the horizon. It was already packed with people already picking the snack and drinks table bare, a lopsided sign that said ‘21+ only’ forgotten near an empty beer box. If Logan were to assume correctly, the sign was only there to assuage the conscience of whoever was hosting tonight, and not actually to stop the underage drinking. Even if he was above legal drinking age, he still didn’t experience many of the positives of drinking, so he grabbed a can of iced tea and stood next to a wall to wait for Virgil.

It hadn’t been a full five minutes before a man sidled up to him, sipping from a half empty beer bottle and watching Logan with a careful eye. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in return, barely acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.

“What’s a wallflower like you doing at a rager like this?” He drawled with an almost audible impish smile.

“If this is considered a rager, I’d hate to see what a calm party looks like.”

“Aw, we just haven’t gotten started yet! We’re fueling up for when the moon comes out. And you haven’t answered my question, flower.”

“I’m simply waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, and does this friend have a name?” He purred. 

Frustrated, Logan turned to the man, and promptly froze. Looking down at him with pitch black eyes was a person in a costume he couldn’t recognize; a black and white striped suit that looked like he’d raked it through dust, and a mold green tie. The stubble on his face could have been his own five o’clock shadow or makeup, but it only functioned to make him look far hotter than what was fair. What was most shocking though, and Logan was baffled that he’d missed it in the initial approach, was the mop of electric-shock-straight neon green hair on his head. 

“He- I don’t-”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get flustered,” The man snorted, taking another sip. “What do you have? Aw, iced tea? And not even spiked? A crime.”

How did he not see Logan’s eyes? The hair was the exact same color; Logan would know. He’d spend the whole day watching his reflection, hoping that his soulmate would have some mercy and dye their hair back to its original color. Neon green was not exactly the most subtle color, and he had not missed the snickers or silent glances from his classmates and professors all day. So the question remained, why wasn’t this guy saying anything?

“I don’t drink. I tend to just become lethargic when I do.” He answered instead, gripping his can a little tighter. It took far too much effort to keep his voice from straining. 

“Fair enough. I’m not pressuring you to drink, no worries. At least we’ll have one sober mind at this party tonight.” The taller man winked at him, flashing him that stupidly stunning smile again. 

But then it occurred to Logan as he kept searching the man’s dark eyes desperately. His eyes were too dark, almost pitch black, while Logan’s hair was several shades lighter. So... there was no way they were soulmates. Just as quickly as the hope had exploded in his stomach, it dissipated, leaving him feeling more exhausted than usual. Stupid feelings.

“Logan, there you are!” An unusually loud voice called through his stupor and he spun around to see Virgil’s fanged smile. In the back of his mind, he remembered watching Virgil putting together his elaborate vampire costume over the last few weeks, but he’d never seen the full thing put together until now. “Ah, and Remus found you. Scram, Beetlejuice.”

Remus, apparently, didn’t seem at all offended by the jab. Instead, he seemed to smile wider. “Nice to see you too, emo. Is that any way to treat the host of the party?”

To Logan’s surprise, Virgil smiled too. “Oh, shut up. You’re going to give Logan a heart attack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dracula. Why don’t you go get a drink, and I’ll keep him company?”

“Nuh uh. No way. Not leaving him with you any longer than I have already.” With that, Virgil hooked his arm through Logan’s and led him back to the drink table. 

“Remember, Virgil, drinks are only for the big kids!”

“I’m older than you are!” He flipped the bird over Logan’s shoulder to the host, earning a barked laugh in response. “He never lets me forget I’m a whole three inches shorter than him.”

“You know the host of the party?”

Virgil hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of punch that reeked of alcohol. “How else would I get invited? We were in English together in third year, and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s like a leech.”

“You seem friendly with him.”

The elder froze, solo cup barely touching his lips as he looked over Logan slowly. “Everything okay? You’re not usually this… quiet.” They could both tell it wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use.

For a brief moment, Logan considered telling Virgil about his brief flair of hope, about how for a single second he’d felt nothing but relief and desire and elation, and how it had been ripped away from him just as quickly. But then he realized that, no, Virgil didn’t need that to bring down the mood of the first party he’d attended in a year, since his anxiety had flared. If it still bothered him after the party, he’d bring it up. That was unlikely, though. Logan was especially gifted in the art of repression.

“I’m just a tad out of my element. Nothing to worry about,” he responded with a smile. Virgil didn’t fall for it, if the way he watched Logan as he sipped his drink was anything to go off of, but he did them both the favor of not pushing it. For now. 

“I thought I told you to wear a costume,” Virgil gasped as he drained the cup, immediately refilling it from the same bowl.  

“I did.” Logan gestured towards the single piece of paper taped to his white shirt. It took Virgil a moment to squint through the darkening light to make-out the black sharpie, reading allowed.

“‘Error 404, Costume Not Found.’ That does not count, Logan!” He laughed nonetheless, just as a deep bass filled the house. Apparently, the party had begun. He didn’t have a good argument for Virgil’s accusation, since he technically thought it very much did count, but arguing with the other was a waste of time. The two men were equally matched in the stubbornness department.  

The lights disappeared for a good few seconds before the house was illuminated in strobe lights, and the music’s volume exploded. Virgil laughed giddily; apparently his plan to get buzzed before the party could give him anxiety was intentional.

“They do, ya know.” 

Logan looked at him in confusion, and shouted over the roaring music. “What?”

“Your eyes! They do glow in the dark!”

“Shut up!” 

“You look like a glowstick!” He began to giggle wildly, leaning on Logan for support. 

“No more drinks for a good half hour, Virge,” Logan chided gently, replacing his solo cup with a water bottle from the table. Virgil whined but plucked out his vampire fangs so he could drink from the small spout easier. 

“Let’s dance,” Virgil said, grabbing Logan’s arm and leading him into the crowd.

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

Logan guessed it was well past midnight when Virgil tugged on his arm for the third time, leaning close to his ear and shouting that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Again?!” Logan called back at the vampire’s back. There was no malice in his words, not when he knew Virgil had been anxious to go to this party and he tended to drink more water when he was anxious. It was just all coming back for revenge now. 

To Logan’s delight, the excitement of the party had started to push out the event from earlier. His mood was no longer dampened by the let down of what he thought was meeting his soulmate, and he could finally enjoy the one event he allowed himself to go to this semester. School was important, but he allowed this for Virgil. He hadn’t expected himself to have a good time as well. 

It wasn’t even a minute after Virgil had left that there was a loud shout and Logan was jostled harshly to the side, the front of his shirt immediately soaking red from the cup of punch spilled on him. His own drink clattered to the floor.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!” A man Logan didn’t recognize started to pat at his chest with a handful of tissues, an action that for some reason caused the smaller man to cringe.

“No worries. It was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps a white shirt wasn’t my smartest idea,” He responded sharply, taking the tissues from the other and dabbing himself off to the best of his abilities. Slightly relieved that he now had a valid reason, he ripped off his poor attempt at a costume and crumpled up the soaking wet paper in the hand not trying in vain to dry himself. Despite Logan obviously being uninterested, the taller man stayed where he was, watching Logan’s actions with fierce intensity. His lip curled as his eyes trailed down the now nearly see-through shirt.

“If you wanted, I could get that shirt off of you. Fool around, give it some time to dry?”

“I’m so flattered,” Logan deadpanned, “But no thanks.”

“Aw, too bad,” The man cooed, shrugging. His demeanor did a full one-eighty, his predatory gaze replaced with innocence, “Was worth a try. Let me at least get you a new drink, since I ruined your other one.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, causing a tingling cold to spread through his whole body. The smaller man barely contained a shudder as the man gave him another wolf like grin before disappearing into the crowd towards the drinks table.

Logan was hoping he’d forgotten, and just wouldn’t come back, but the man reappeared in moments, popping open a pink lemonade and handing it to him.

“Saw your other drink was non-alcoholic, so I got the only other one left.”

“Uhm…” Logan looked critically at the can, his alarm bells flaring. But… he’d seen the man open it, right? So it’s not as if he could have done something to it. Perhaps this guy really did have the right intentions, just an iffy way of showing them. “Thank you.” 

He took a sip as the man smiled with too much teeth. “So, are you here alone?”

“No,” Logan responded a little less coolly, “I’m here with a friend. He just went to the bathroom.” Another sip.

“Oh, that’s fun! Are you guys in the same year?”

“Yes. We are both fourth years.” The man was acting kinder, and Logan was starting to consider that perhaps their initial meeting had been a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe he had just wanted to help out, but Logan, being cynical as always, had assumed the worst. Wasn’t that just like him, though? Always so quick to conclusions, ruining good things before they have a chance to happen. Trying to chase away his annoyance with himself and the bitter taste it had left on his tongue, he took a longer swig of the can.

“Hey, me too! I’m an English major, what about you?”

“Business with an astronomy minor.”

“That sounds difficult. How many semester hours are you clocking at right now?”

“I… uhm…” And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It was a high number, he knew for sure. He shook his head. “Fifteen, sixteen? Maybe seventeen?”

The man whistled. “Damn, impressive. Remind me of your name, again?”

Had he told him in the first place? “Logan.”

“And what brings a studious man such as yourself to a party like this?”

“My- My friend.” Logan couldn’t help shake his head again, hoping the fog in his mind would scatter. That’s what he got, staying out this late when his sleep schedule was usually so precise. “He doesn’t like… parties. So he asked…” He blinked hard a couple times, finding himself swaying on his feet. “He asked me…”

“Hey, are you okay?” The man placed his hand on his arm in an ironclad grip, holding him steady, “Logan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I… Dizzy,” He murmured, reaching up blearily and grabbing onto him. 

“Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should drink some more.”

What were the symptoms of dehydration again? Dizziness, check. Fatigue, check. Confusion, check. Thirst? Yeah, he could drink something, but he’d been drinking all night, so why…

The can dropped from his hand, the second one tonight, and he tried weakly to pull away. Instead of letting him go, the man pulled him closer, wrapping an arm bruisingly tight around his waist. 

“You… you drugged-”

“You don’t look so good, Logan. Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down, yeah?”

“No, I don’t…” He was unable to escape, barely able to keep his feet under him, as the man started dragging him to the stairs. Where the hell is Virgil? Logan could feel tears pricking his eyes as his breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, he felt real panic. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t-

“Let him the fuck go!”

A voice distinctly not Virgil’s shouted over the music, and Logan didn’t even dare hope it’s directed at the man still clutching him. His luck would never be that good. But through his blurry vision, a pin striped blob with a mess of green hair breaks through the crowd, marching distinctly up to them. 

“He came here with me.” Logan could just make out the stronger man’s words through his dizzied state. “He just had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to let him lay down.”

“Like hell you are. Give him to me.” 

“How dare you-”

“Logan. Doesn’t. Drink. And I know who he came here with.” Remus snarled, edging towards the duo threateningly, “Now let go of him before I break your fucking jaw.”

With almost as much physical relief as emotional, the man finally released his painful hold on Logan and shoved his way through the crowd, the distant shouts of inconvenienced partygoers near the door the only signal that he’d completely left. 

For all his effort, Logan couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed. At first the feeling of strong arms picking him up bridal style caused him to panic and he lashed out, feebly hitting the chest of whoever was holding him. Realizing they were now walking up the stairs, the same place the other man had been pulling him, caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Woah there, Lo. You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Remus, okay? Take a deep breath, just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For some reason that Logan couldn’t fathom, the words calmed him down. Somewhere, Logan acknowledged that even though Virgil had known Remus for a while, Logan had only talked to him for a total of five minutes, and he probably shouldn’t trust an essential stranger when he’s like this. He’s just too tired to fight though, no matter how his adrenaline is pumping. 

“V’rg’l,” Logan whimpered, clutching Remus' shirt with all the strength of a wet leaf, “W’nt h’m.”

“I’ll get Virgil as soon as you’re safe, okay? Don’t worry,” Remus’ soothing voice rumbled through Logan from where he was pressed to the taller’s chest, making his eyelids flutter. His arms felt like over boiled pasta and his stomach was doing flips, but Remus’ voice broke through the fog he was in and settled him in a way he hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the drugs.

“We’re at the top of the stairs now, okay? I’ll take you to my room, since it’s the only one with a lock. So we know there won’t be any horny college kids in there, making a mess of my sheets. Gotta unlock it without dropping you, hold on, and… A HAH! Got it. You want the light on or off?”

Logan couldn’t compute the question, much less make a choice. He made a sound that was slightly reminiscent of a stalled car engine, letting his head loll towards the lump that he assumed was a bed.

“Let’s compromise.” With all the care in the world, Logan was placed onto the sheets and gently rolled onto his side, a heavy comforter pulled up to his shoulders. Remus shifted away and a dim light flashed through his eyelids, enough to notice but definitely not enough to hurt his throbbing head. A table lamp, probably.

“No falling asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. I don’t know what that fucker gave you. I’m texting Virgil now, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eyes open.”

Logan opened his eyes despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, and was immediately assaulted by a swirl of colors as the world tilted. An explosion of nausea tilted him forward and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“‘m g’nna-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before there was a plastic garbage can under his cheek and he heaved, throwing up the remnants of dinner and all he drank that evening. He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he flopped back down onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, Logan,” Remus whispered. 

There was a pounding on the door and Logan didn’t even have the energy to flinch from the violent sound. Remus stood quickly and unlocked it, barely opening it before someone barreled into the room, the newcomer gasping for breath.

“What the fuck happened?!” Virgil screamed, dropping on his knees next to the bed, hand reaching up to lay on Logan’s cheek.

“He got roofied by some motherfucker I haven’t seen before. I caught him in the stairwell before anything happened.” Remus was still standing by the open door. The music was flowing in louder now, and Virgil’s raged shouting wasn’t helping his headache at all.

“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Virgil, you’re real hot when you’re pissed, but calm the hell down. Yelling won’t help Logan.”

“You’re… shit, you’re right. Okay. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Watch him. Keep him on his side, bin’s to your left if he has to hurl again. I’m cutting this shit show.”

Logan finally cracked his eyes open as the door shut, Virgil leaning backwards to lock it. When he turned back and saw his friend’s eyes open, he almost wept.

“I’m so sorry Lo, I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“‘s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I got distracted talking to someone, but I should have come back sooner. You could’ve… You could’ve been…”

“Not y’r fa’lt,” Logan mumbled, reaching over blindly to try and find Virgil’s hand. The other must have sensed his intentions and gripped onto the flailing limb, interlocking their fingers. 

“You better not be blaming yourself.”

Technically, he was. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, should have noticed something was off the moment his mind started to fade. Never in his life would he say that this kind of situation was the victim’s fault but… he couldn’t help it when it came to himself. He’d always been self critical that way. Bringing this up to Virgil would be a death wish, though, and an argument he certainly did not have the energy for right now. 

The music cut off downstairs and Logan sighed in relief, nearly smiling at Remus’ shout for everyone to get out of his house. For someone he’d met once, he was protective, that was for sure. 

Virgil didn’t force him to talk. They both just enjoyed the silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional shout from downstairs and Virgil’s sniffles. Logan couldn’t exactly blame him; he’d cry too if he had the brainpower. He didn’t though, which was the problem, so he allowed his hand to be held and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of a thumb brushing over his knuckles.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Virgil reached over to unlock it, allowing Remus to walk back in. “Sorry that took so long. Wanted to double check that anyone using someone else as a crutch was black out drunk, not drugged. Here, sit him up.”

Virgil shifted so he was behind Logan and pulled him up against him, holding him steady as Remus lifted a glass of water to his lips. “You have to be thirsty. Do your best to keep this down, Lo.” Suddenly realizing how thirsty he actually was, Logan downed half the glass before Remus pulled it away. “Not so much, you’ll get sick.” There was a clink as the glass was placed on the bed side table. “We need to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how much whatever the fucker gave him.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Virgil said, gently lowering Logan back onto his side.

“I didn’t drink that much, but I’m not safe either. You got a friend who can take us?”

“Yeah,” The shorter mumbled as he shakily typed in his phone password, “I’m going to call Patton, just a second.” He moved to the furthest corner of the small room and the conversation faded into the background. At least Virgil was talking… that meant Patton picked up, right? 

“Shitty way to end a pretty spectacular holiday,” Remus stated as he sat back on his spot, letting a hand rest on Logan’s leg.

“‘m s’rry.” 

“Ah, shit, that’s not what I meant. I’m mad for you, not at you. Ya know,” As he spoke, he reached up and did something to his eyes, almost picking at them, “Halloween’s the only valid holiday in my book. Christmas is too overrated, Easter is senseless, Thanksgiving? No thanks, I don’t glorify genocide. But Halloween? I get to dress slutty or spooky or fucking ridiculous, and no one can give me two shits about it. I get to throw ragers and stab gourds into faces and buy discount candy until I’m fifty percent chocolate. I mean, I dyed my hair green for it, paid extra for the glow in the dark shit, and all I got were compliments.”

His hands had returned to his lap and he was fiddling with something. Logan tried to make out what it was, but it just looked like black plastic. Tiny, flexible pieces of black plastic. That Remus had pulled from his eyes.

They were colored contacts.

“I guess I do kind of blame Roman for getting me into Beetlejuice, but it is one of his least favorite musicals, so it’s also a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to him-”

“R’mus,” He breathed, and even that faint call was enough to snap Remus back to him. The taller man turned to him immediately, and Logan forgot how to breathe. 

Because his eyes were brown, and in the dim light of the single lamp, they absolutely shone. 

His eyes were the same brown as Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes became that offensive green around the same time as Remus dyed his for the costume, and that’s all the confirmation Logan needed to push himself up onto the hands and lunge forward to kiss him. The effort is strenuous and the lurch almost makes him heave again, but oh Lord, he just found his soulmate and it’s actually him and-

“Woah, woah woah woah. Hold on there, cowboy.” Remus gently pushes him back down before their lips can meet, “You are very drugged right now. I am not kissing you drugged. Sober, hell yes. But not like this.”

“Y’re my-”

“Soulmate. I know. I kind of figured when I saw your eyes. But I figured… I might as well get you to like me before I dropped that kind of bombshell. Although… I was hoping that would be accomplished by basic flirting, but then the party started getting out of hand, so I was always busy with-”

“Patton’s on his way,” Virgil spoke up, joining the two on the bed. “You okay, Lo?”

“He figured it out,” Remus said softly, letting a hand card through Logan’s hair. 

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

Logan gave a weak smile, his own fear and adrenaline starting wear off slightly. He was safe here, and he felt like he wasn’t going to be let out of sight for a while. 

“Drink some more water, wallflower,” Remus whispered, helping him sit up, “We’ll take care of you.” 

[crazyasacupcake]

A Clown Called Saviour

Here's a fic inspired by the Harvest Festival scene from The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You by Lily Anderson :D

This work includes mentions of clowns, vomit, and panic attacks, so if you have coulrophobia, emetophobia, or are triggered by panic attacks in any way, then I would suggest not reading this piece.

Genre: Light Angst, Comfort, no romance

Summary: When someone has a breakdown in the middle of a meant-to-be fun Haunted House attraction, one scare actor steps up to help lead the visitor out safely, but maybe they should have just left it alone.

Characters: G/N Reader, Tooru Oikawa, Shoyo Hinata, Kei Tsukishima, Tobio Kageyama

Word Count: 2989

You can also read the work on Archive of Our Own!

You wring your hands as you wait outside the haunted house, the fake (were they fake?) screams emitting from inside making your stomach churn. Your friends didn’t seem too bothered, but then when did teenage boys ever show their fear?

“This is stupid,” Tsukishima says as he counts the correct amount of tokens out to pay for your tickets. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Hinata’s never been in one before,” the other surly one, Kageyama, points towards where Hinata is trying to contain his excitement, jumping from foot to foot in front of the sign.

“Hey! They haven’t been in one either!” The ginger one snaps his head around angrily, pointing towards you.

“I don’t particularly want to go in one.” You wish there was anything you could say that would make them let you stay outside, but you had promised; you had told Hinata that if they got past the first round of the Spring High Prelims, then you would personally take him to a haunted house. You hadn’t meant anything by it – not that you didn’t believe they would get through the first round, more that you didn’t believe Hinata would remember the promise you had made before nodding off on the bus. You wanted to die when he had entered the gym that Friday with the flyer for the Halloween Fair in the park, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to his beaming smile.

“Oh, come on! It’s not going to be that bad!” He gives you a wide grin, and you want to smile back but you know that it will just come out as a grimace if you try. Instead, you just stare at him, your lips set in a tight line.

“How come Tadashi doesn’t have to go in?”

“The last time Tadashi went in a haunted house, he threw up on one of the scare actors. I think it’s best for both him and everyone else that he stays outside.” Tsukki drops the unneeded tokens into his jacket pocket.

“What if I throw up on a scare actor?”

“Then we’ll know to leave you outside with Tadashi next time.”

He marches over to the attendant’s booth, where a bored teenager rests his head on the palm of his hand, where he exchanges Tsukki’s twelve tokens for four shiny black tickets (“Three tokens per ticket, at 700¥ per token! That’s practically robbery!”).

With a deep, shaking breath, you follow your boys into the house, giving Tadashi one final timid wave before stepping into the black of the first room.

If you weren’t standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hinata, you’re pretty sure you would have lost him immediately. Most of the time when people enter darkness, they say they ‘can’t see two feet in front of them’, but you can barely see an inch. You can hear breathing: loud, rattling breaths merging with the sound of the blood pounding in your head. You feel like you were going to pass out.

“Move,” Tsukki pushes you from behind, not too hard but you stumble anyway. Your throat feels dry – was it always this hot in here? You clench and unclench your hands, the clamminess of your palms just making you more uncomfortable.

The first scare actor pops up, in a Michael Myers mask, wielding a chainsaw. If you were in a sound state of mind right now, you would tell yourself that this person is completely inaccurate to the character, and shouldn’t be a scare actor at all due to their lack of dedication. However, all rational (if that thought would have even been rational in the first place) thought has already left the building, and instead you ball your eyes shut and barrel past him with a scream at a pitch you didn’t even know you could hit.

You run blindly, feeling your shoulder collide with a doorway, only opening your eyes when the slight momentary pain jars you from your panic.

There are lights here, in this small corridor, bathing everything in a gross green tinge, and when you turn around you can’t see any of the boys behind you. You stick your head through the doorway, leaning out into another thin corridor. There are three other doorways lining the wall, and you realise they must have gone through a different one once you’d bolted. You realise that the only way to meet up with them is at the end, as you have no way of knowing which doorway they picked.

You look back to the corridor, your footsteps suddenly ten times heavier now that you didn’t have the two six-foot tall bullies behind you. Even your lungs feel heavy, every breath like you’re taking in water instead of air, like you’re about to drown.

Your head hurts.

Why did you agree to this?

Finally, you reach the end of the green corridor, swallowing thickly as you poke your head slowly into the room.

It’s as if your heart stops.

There are five of them (Scare actors, you tell yourself. They’re just actors.) stood in different areas of the room. It’s difficult to remember they’re just scare actors when they’re all stood facing you, wearing matching killer clown masks and outfits. The one closest to you is stood behind a pile of cardboard boxes, and you’re thankful that there’s at least something separating them from you. It’s as if they’re leering at you, even though the mask is fixed into the twisted smile of the clown; they’re looking at you as though they’re hungry, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

You edge along the wall, keeping your eyes on the one behind the boxes the whole time, until you realise you need to watch the others, too. Your hand shakes as you use it to feel your way along the wall, your stomach dropping when you have to take that first step away from the security the wall provided.

You can see the doorway, it’s straight ahead, just keep your eyes on the doorway and it’ll all be fine.

The one behind the boxes shifts their body so that they’re facing you, but you don’t look at them, closing your eyes for a second to tell yourself to just calm down.

They can’t hurt you, they can’t touch you, they’re just teenagers, just actors being paid to have a good time scaring other teenagers.

You’re halfway through the room, the door is right there, just don’t look at them.

The one to your right takes a lurching step forwards and you jump, tripping over your feet and falling backwards, landing hard on the floor. Your hands burn where they hit the concrete, and your arse is now throbbing, but your eyes are squeezed shut, your face twisted into a grimace as you try not to cry.

Your eyes are shut so tightly that stars begin to swim in the blackness, and you try to focus on the patterns and not the sound of the clown’s footsteps.

You press your hands over your ears, trying to tune it all out, trying to convince yourself that you’re still with the boys and you didn’t get separated – or better yet, that you’re waiting outside with Tadashi with a cup of tea warming your hands.

Your breathing is coming too hard, too fast, and you feel like your chest is about to explode, the pounding of your heart shattering your ribcage as it bursts from your body. You can’t get a full breath, the air stopping dead in your throat just before you can get a full lungful. You think you might pass out, your whole body feels as though it’s on fire, and you just wish that it was over, that you’re already outside, that you’ve completed the house without having a breakdown, that you don’t feel like you’re about to be murdered by a teenager in a clown mask.

The footsteps stop, and there’s a moment where you think about opening your eyes but you know that if you do you’re going to see the clown leaning right in front of you.

They’re just actors, they’re just teenagers, they can’t touch you, they can’t hurt you, they just want to scare you.

You swallow, almost gagging from the dryness of your mouth.

There’s wet on your cheek, you notice. You’re crying, the tears dripping hot and heavy down your face in your blind panic, and only when you notice the wetness of your face do you tune in to the sound of your loud sobs.

The footsteps to your right retreat, the clown slinking back to their original position.

Something touches your shoulder, and your brain goes haywire.

They’re not allowed to touch you so what just touched you was that a real clown ohmygod am I about to die what if he stabs me why is he touching me why is he touching me WHY IS HE TOUCHING ME

The thing shakes you slightly, enough to get you to open your eyes the tiniest bit before shutting them again once you see the mask to your left. They’re crouched down, balancing their weight on the balls of their feet beside you. They touch your wrist and you flinch, before they gently pry your hand away from your ear. You open your eyes again, focusing instead on the balloon that’s tied to their wrist, bobbing in the air with each movement of their arm.

They stand up, offering you their other hand to help you up, but you ignore it and stand up on your own. They nod at the clown across from them, and then they nod you towards the doorway.

You don’t move, swallowing once again, making sure you don’t look at the mask. You wipe your cheek with the heel of your hand.

The clown offers their arm to you, and when you don’t take it they make a flourishing bow gesture before offering it again. You giggle weakly, your head throbbing, and the clown points at you before giving you a thumbs up.

You take their arm, and they walk you out of the room, into another dim corridor.

“Thank you,” you whisper, surprised at the hoarseness of your voice. The clown just shrugs.

“Are you not allowed to talk?” The clown shakes their head, and you hear a bell ringing that must be attached to their collar. “I like the bell. It’s a nice touch.”

You stay silent for a moment, until you step into the next room and a man in a leather apron jumps out with a cleaver. With a squeal, you turn, curling into the clown’s side as you try to make yourself as small a target as possible, squeezing their arm a little bit too much. You’re surprised at the muscle you can feel through the costume; it reminds you of the times you’ve hugged any of the boys on your team when they win a game. It’s weird to think that an athlete would be doing something like this in his free time (as though your athlete friends aren’t currently in the same haunted house, albeit for a different purpose).

The clown clears their throat, and when you look at them, they make a gesture with their hand, one that seems to say if you talk it might help you calm down.

You think for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m only here because I promised my friends that if they got through the first round of the volleyball tournament then I’d go with them. And then we got split up. And Tadashi is only allowed to stay outside because he threw up on a scare actor once, so because I haven’t thrown up on a scare actor that means I had to go in.”

The clown makes a show of laughing silently, their shoulders shaking as they clutch their chest with their other hand.

“But I just hope it doesn’t worry Hinata too much because I know he can talk a big game but he’s really a huge wuss – I mean, before our practice game against Aoba Johsai he was jumping off the walls until it actually came about, then he threw up on the bus and was mainly the reason we lost the first set – don’t tell him I said any of this will you?” You don’t know why you ask – there’s no way they know who Hinata is.

The clown shakes their head, making an exaggerated cross over where their heart would be.

Another scare actor jumps out with a shrill scream, and you close your eyes with a shaking breath before continuing.

“I think Aoba Johsai is our biggest problem – we only won the practice match because their normal setter wasn’t there for the first two sets, and even then, it was a close call. And then we played them during the Inter-High in full sets, but we still lost in the end. I just hope that all the work they’ve put in over summer pays off, and I hope they don’t let him land any service aces, the cocky bastard.”

You enter the next room – how many rooms are there? The clown tilts their head slightly, like a puppy dog.

“The Aoba Johsai setter, Tooru Oikawa. He’s a complete jerk. At least the other teams we play are likeable, he’s like a movie villain – especially in the way he seems to exist just to annoy Kageyama.”

Their arm tenses, but you either don’t notice or you don’t care.

“He’s so full of himself – did you know he was almost late to their first game in the Inter-High because he was too busy flirting with his little fangirls. And that’s another thing! Who has fangirls as a high school athlete? No wonder he’s so self-centred, they’re just inflating his ego all the time. God! He thinks he’s the best person in the world, but he’s not; just because you can serve really well and set really well and spike really well doesn’t mean that you’re God’s gift to volleyball.”

They nod slowly. You’re almost through the last room – you can see the torn sign on the door that reads You Made It… Or Did You?

“He’s infuriating! He’s just so smug and you can just tell that he thinks he’s the smartest person ever – well, Tooru Oikawa, you aren’t a genius.” You’re surprised at how angry Oikawa makes you, but you’re thankful for the anger that thinking about him creates as your fear is basically non-existent at this point.

The clown shoves the door open with their left shoulder, holding it open for you to be able to slip out into the cold night air, which feels lovely against your warm skin.

They do another exaggerated bow, the balloon bobbing and blowing about in the breeze. They turn to go back into the house, back to their original room.

“Wait!” You’re surprised by the sudden force in your voice. The clown stops, and turns back towards you, tilting their head to the side in question. “Will you be at the preliminaries on Thursday?” A nod. “Come and find me and I’ll buy you a water for your trouble.”

You pause, watching them, waiting to see if they’ll reply. They don’t.

“Thank you. Truly, thank you, so much.” You let out a short laugh. “Who would’ve thought my saviour would be a murderous clown? Thank you once again, Hero Clown.”

The clown makes one final bow, the bell tinkling, and gives you a wave with a wiggle of their white-gloved fingers. Then, they turn for the last time and disappear back into the house.

“Where did you go?” Tsukki’s voice makes you turn around, and you see the three of them stood there watching you. Tsukki looks bored. Hinata isn’t wearing his jumper anymore.

“Where’s your jumper, ginger?” You ask, ignoring Tsukki’s question and walking over to meet them so you can begin your exit out of the park. He holds up a plastic bag that he didn’t have before.

“Hinata threw up on a scare actor.” Tsukki answers. “That means that next time Hinata can wait outside with Tadashi.”

On the twenty fifth of October, you stand inside the Sendai City Gym with the boys, cradling three of their water bottles against your chest. All of you are staring at the schedule as you wait for your first game – the game against Johzenji – to begin. Nishinoya sits on the floor in front of you as he stretches, before he yawns and holds his hand out for one of the bottles. You roll your eyes, unsurprised from his lack of a please.

Before you can pass him one, though, someone behind you grabs one of them from your hands, and you wheel around in shock to see Tooru Oikawa of Aoba Johsai drink half of the bottle in one go.

“What…is wrong with you?” You snap, snatching the bottle back from his hands. “Who do you think I am, your servant? I’m not one of your stupid little fangirls! Drink your own team’s water!”

He tilts his head with a smirk, but you can tell there’s something weird about it. Maybe it’s the way his eyes aren’t as bright as they normally are whenever he teases the opposition, maybe it’s how it’s more like a sneer than a smirk.

Nishinoya stands up, and you put your arm out to keep him at bay. You don’t need the feral chihuahua to back you up against Tooru Oikawa of all people.

“Don’t worry about it, Little Karasuno-chan. Your debt is paid.” Oikawa’s words are laced with… something.

“My debt? I don’t know what you’re on about, mister, so you’d better-”

The realisation slams into you like a truck going a hundred miles an hour.

“Come find me and I’ll buy you a bottle of water for your trouble.”

You feel your stomach drop.

Oh no.

[generallynerdy]

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

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

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

Prompt: Angstpril Day 3 - “I can’t.”

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

Read on AO3

*

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

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

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

Caleb. 

Commander Caleb Dume. Jedi Padawan. Traitor.

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

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

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

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

But someone else can.

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

“Caleb, the blasters!”

Depa.

General Depa Billaba. Jedi High General. Traitor.

Depa. She hates it when I call her General.

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

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

*

“Master?”

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

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

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

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

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

Execute Order 66, the Chancellor had said.

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

“What’s happening?”

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

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

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

“Are we...going back to the Temple?”

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

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

He does and she smiles a little.

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

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

Despite the fear in his eyes, he nods.

“Good.”

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

“Now, we need a way out of here.”

*

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

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

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

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

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

He's afraid of them.

They feel nauseous at the realisation.

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

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

“Are you with us, Grey?”

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

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

They must visibly flinch, because so does Caleb.

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

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

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

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

“Stay still,” she warns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

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

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

Dark Grey does not appreciate their plan.

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

“You need to leave me.”

“No!” cries Caleb fiercely.

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

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

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

“We won’t leave you behind.”

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

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

“And neither can you,” they add firmly. 

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

“He needs you.”

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

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

Hold her neck and break it.

Grey flinches back. “No—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traitors.”

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

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

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

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

“Master!”

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

The Jedi yelps and ducks his flurry of blows.

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

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

“Buir! Buir, it’s me, Caleb!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CC-10/994 lifts his head and smiles.

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

*

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

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

[willadisastercry]

Appendicitis in space...

tw: emetophobia, appendicitis symptoms described, surgery, anesthesia, anxiety.

Coran is secretly shitting himself when the scanner lets him know that this particular human condition requires actual surgery. Most serious injuries they sustained did, but most also could be mended in a pod. This one was an exception, though. Because nothing needed to be fixed, something needed to be removed.

Lance tumbled forward awkwardly as the simulator sputtered and powered down.

“What gives, Shiro? I had that round!”

“Oh yeah? Then that wasn’t me just watching you getting your ass handed to you? Right,” Shiro laughed and he began packing up the equipment that had been pulled out.

“That’s enough for today anyway. Good work, everyone.”

Lance couldn’t even find it in him to continue his protests as he leaned over on his knees to catch his breath while he waited for the cramping in his side to dissolve.

Training that morning had been rough for everyone. Shiro wanted to ensure that the lull in active missions did not leave his team thinking they could kick back. So they worked on hand to hand combat and trained on as hard of a level they could tolerate until they became proficient in whichever skill they were focusing on.

Everyone did pretty well. They all made varying degrees of progress, but progress nonetheless.

Well, everyone except for Lance.

And he was pissed.

So he determined not to quit until he improved from his navice standing with a short sword, running the simulation countless times but barely making a dent.

He fought sloppily, all desperation and no strategy. Actually he did have sort of a strategy if you counted fighting simply to survive and that was not how you were supposed to train, but Shiro gave up on driving that point home early on.

Because Lance was visibly off.

Shiro had chided him earlier for picking at his breakfast, that he would regret it once they began training, but he just shrugged.

Lance barely spoke the entire morning of which Shiro was very wary of given that he was usually the most energetic of the bunch in the mornings.

But he assured the older boy he was fine.

Shiro knew that he had been feeling crappy the last few days so at first he attributed the weird behavior to him probably still feeling gross.

So when he fought sloppily he knew it was because he was fatiguing much quicker than his teammates. That when he got hit by an obvious blow it was because his brain quite literally couldn’t keep up with the battle.

He’d start off okay only to spend the rest of the simulation narrowly feigning off every strike after the first few parries and getting properly clobbered by way too many.

Shiro was glad he was able to recognize his shoddy performance for what it was before he exacerbated the issue, making a mental note to check in on him later that day as he finished cleaning up.

The paladins stalked off to the showers, Hunk and Pidge engaging in a riveting conversation explaining to Keith how the castle’s ‘waste’ was plumbed and disposed of.

He was horrified to say the least.

Lance lagged behind, the exhaustion from the session making his limbs feel so very heavy. Not to mention the knot in his side had never gone away and the trek was only increasing his discomfort as the adrenaline high wore off.

But he resigned that he was just overly tired and that a hot shower would likely help.

And it did, for his aching muscles. But his abdomen was still taut, the steady pulse of discomfort making him a little queasy.

He detached the removeable shower head and held it on his side for a moment. The water was boiling and so the heat seemed to numb the spot, but the pain was still there.

He gingerly began probing the area as he tried to work out what exactly was hurting, thinking maybe he’d pulled a muscle.

His stomach had been feeling weird for the last couple of days, but it had never been a concentrated pain like this.

And as he pressed around he was able to pinpoint the exact spot that was smarting the most so he could rub out whatever the issue was.

But as soon as he put pressure on it he knew he’d messed up.

It wasn’t even the pressure so much as the lack of it because when he removed his fingers to work out the soreness he grunted loudly as pain erupted at the site.

He was so caught off guard by the sudden sharpness that took over the dull ache that he dropped the shower head and it clanged on the tile, just narrowly missing his foot when he hadn’t even made an effort to avoid it.

His vision went white for a second and he stumbled into the wall, mostly due to the intense fear that was now upon him, and it took a second for the blood rush to settle before he could hear his friends knocking on the door of the shower stall.

“—ance? Lance!”

“The fuck is going on in there...”

He took a shuddering breath and called out that he was fine, he was just tired.

“Are you like weak in the knees tired or what? Because if you pass out in there and we have to help you while you’re butt ass naked, I swear—“

“I’m not going to pass out,” he groaned as he leaned his head back against the wall with a hand hovering carefully on his side.

“Okay, you’ve just been in there forever.”

“And Shiro said to keep an eye on you for suspicious behavior.”

“He’s not a suspect, Pidge, he’s just stubborn.”

“Well I am very much okay, so you can tell Shiro that and leave me alone.”

“Jeez—“

“Damn, well if you take a header you’ve gotten your wish, you’re on your own.”

Hunk and Pidge started off and Lance sighed, about to apologize when his side twinged, stealing a more pained sound from his throat.

He leaned his head back and tried to breathe through it, the worst muscle cramp of his life, once again not really being able to pay attention to what else was happening.

The pain wasn’t spreading, it was intensifying. Twisting and burning under each harsh pant, like someone was holding a fire poker to him and moving it around.

It was making his head swim and his stomach churn. He had been nauseous all morning and hadn’t eaten, so he was very confused as to how he could possibly need to throw up now, but there was no questioning it when he almost choked on the saliva rushing to fill his mouth.

He didn’t know when he’d grabbed the towel thrown over the door and tied it around his waist or when he’d made a break for the toilets across the room, he just knew he was moving and that he wouldn’t make it there.

And then he was hunching over one of the many sinks heaving, his side in a fiery protest with each contraction in his stomach.

The blood rush was back in his ears, so he didn’t know that Keith was talking to him or that he was even there until he was hitting his back when he couldn’t breathe in between gags and almost choked on his own sick. The shock of the hit allowed his stomach to break its cycle of relentless clenching.

He spit up the last of the bile that made its way up his throat and ducked his head further between his shoulders as he leaned on the sink while he caught his breath.

His lungs ached and he was dizzy. Everything seemed to hurt from that, all temporarily dulling the bite of the worsening throb in his side.

“Ok, what the fuck was that?” he could hear Keith asking after a minute.

He started to speak, to give an explanation, but he didn’t even know what to say, he wasn’t sure what was wrong. But when he went to talk his side pulsed rather aggressively and he was instantly gagging again.

Not much came up this time though as his stomach had already divulged itself of all its contents.

After he calmed back down, he looked up at himself through the mirror.

He was really pale except for a splash of red across his cheeks, his muscles tight and straining as he suffered through his discomfort and the pain, skin glistening in a mix of sweat and water.

And then he found Keith’s pointed gaze in it.

“Should I get Coran? You look like shit.”

“Ah—uhyh huh...” he struggled to formulate his words through his ragged breaths but got there eventually.

“Ye-yeah, please...”

“Okay, you good here or do you need to sit?”

“I-I’m gonna put... something on,” he stated before pushing himself up from the sink uneasily. Once he was up straight he wobbled a little and Keith grabbed his arm, but he shook him off saying he just needed a second and waited for the swirling black dotting his vision to disappear before heading for his pile of clothes on the bench.

Keith stayed next to him the entire way, making sure he got there without splitting his head open, more worried now then he was when Lance was choking on his own puke.

But he hid it well for the most part, except when he was actually being really nice. That was his tell.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t try and get to the toilet if you need to yak again, wouldn’t want anything to happen to that amazing brain of yours—“

“Hey...”

“Kidding, i’ll be really quick though. And seriously just stay there.”

“Yup, not going anywhere...” he assured, returning his hand to hover over the fire that felt like it was burning a hole in his side, the other waving Keith off.

Lance pulled his hoodie from the pile first. His skin was covered in goose bumps from how cold he was and he didn’t have the energy to put his entire post workout sweat suit on so it would have to do for now.

He shrugged it on carefully, it took a while because lifting his right arm up aggravated his side, but once it was on he felt better. He was still really cold and his hair was still wet so that wasn’t helping.

Pants next. Well underwear first. He found his boxer briefs in the pile and got to his feet wearily. He was still really dizzy and so he decided to proceed with caution and moved over to lean against the wall for this.

He took a deep breath and leaned over to put his feet through. It hurt. The orientation made his head pound dangerously and he straightened up only to feel a twinge from his side.

Fuck, he remembered thinking as he leaned heavily on the wall. But he very much needed to have underwear on when Coran came back, so he tried again.

This time he just dropped his arms down in front of him, keeping his torso straight as he raised one leg at a time through each leg hole.

Success. He breathed a sigh of relief and released his towel then started for the sweat shorts but his body did not like that.

He was none too kindly reminded of how lightheaded and dizzy he still was in that moment and he staggered forward, his foot catching a wet spot on the floor and the momentum of the error took him to the ground hard.

He landed very much on his ass but the fall jolted through his side like he’d gotten shot. If he thought it was on fire before, he was very wrong. This heat was excruciating and nauseating and blinding and gosh it was hard to breathe.

He hadn’t known when he’d laid down but he was suddenly very aware he was writhing on his side, feet kicking and searching for purchase on the tile as he arched through the pain piercing his abdomen.

And then there was a shadow over him. It sounded like robots were talking over him, their cold hands gripping his shoulders and face and turning him to lie on his back.

He had just been so cold but their hands felt so much colder because he was not aware he had started sweating. That wasn’t the only thing coming back to him, so was the nausea rippling through his stomach just as intensely as the fire raged.

He tried to focus his eyes, tried to see the faces over him. It was hard with how everything seemed to be spinning but eventually he could make them out.

“C-Coran, please... p-please”

“I will my boy, but you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What’s hurting?”

His hand moved from scratching at the tile to tug on his sweatshirt pocket.

“Where on your stomach? Show me,” Coran ordered as he lifted Lance’s sweatshirt up to his chest.

From the outside everything looked perfectly fine, aside from his abnormal parlor.

So Coran was dubious when he watched the sick boy move his hand cautiously over his side right beside and a little lower down than his belly button, his fingertips barely brushing the warm skin but producing a stiff breath anyway.

“Hm,” Coran mused, muttering a quick ‘forgive me boy’ before he pressed down on and around the spot.

Lance’s scream was drowned by his gag and then Keith was beside Coran, his hands tilting Lance’s face to the side and then pulling his torso that way as well. He thrashed and tried to wriggle out of their grips as he struggled, the pressure of being on the side that was on fire too much as his gut wrenched up nothing but yellow.

“Calm down Lance, you’re okay!”

“Breathe boy, you’re working yourself up and it’ll only make it worse. I think your appendix has ruptured, we’ll need to get you to the infirmary immediately...”

He wasn’t sure what was said after he that, his memory of getting to the infirmary was hazy because of how much it fucking hurt.

He was vaguely aware of curling up in a wheelchair, one hand clutching his stomach and another barely holding open a vomit bag up to his mouth. Nothing was coming up then except for saliva.

He didn’t even remember being lifted into a bed in the infirmary because the movement had unsettled his stomach once more, stealing his breath while he struggled against the vice wrapping around his empty stomach.

They had to put a cannula around his nose to get him extra air while he dry heaved, but he only calmed down after he quite literally almost stopped breathing and Keith ignored Coran’s protest to hit him on the back like before.

He was also sort of aware he had started crying at some point and was reminded of that when Coran was pressing onto his side once more.

At this point he didn’t even have the energy to struggle, he just continued to tremble violently under the touch as fresh tears spilled down his face.

“Hey, shh you’ll feel much better soon,” a new voice assured as they ran their hands through his damp hair. He leaned into the touch and saw that both belonged to Shiro.

“Shit, if I had known you had freaking appendicitis I would never have made you train today,” he laughed sadly.

He shut his eyes closed at that and tried to breathe through the waves of nausea against his pounding headache all topped off by the fire poker in his side.

“Coran what’s the estimated time in the pod for this, you think?” Keith asked as the others were just arriving.

“I’m afraid he cannot go into a pod just yet,” Coran said gravely, not once lifting his face from his tablet.

“Lance!”

“Woah, what the quiznak happened?!”

“He’s so freaking pale, oh my god.”

“It’s his appendix,” Keith offered.

“The scans show that the organ has completely ruptured and is leaking into his abdomen. It is something that can only be remedied with—with surgery.”

“Oh, Coran... is that—something we can even do here?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

The time between when Shiro explained what was going to be happening to Lance and when they were about to put him under went impossibly slow and too fast all at once.

He would gag occasionally but nothing came up with it. They had since attached a bunch of wires all over him and put an IV in his arm that was giving him pain medicine and antibiotics.

It seemed to help a lot with his discomfort and he eased into the bed after they finally kicked in, his body relaxing for the first time in a while.

“I’m n’gonna feel an’thing right?” He asked Coran, his words sloshing together from the mix of utter exhaustion and drugs.

“Of course not my boy, this will take care of that as will the pain medicine,” he assured as he held a weird altean breathing mask in his hands.

“I’m going to put it over your nose and mouth now, just breathe normally and we’ll do a little count down while you fall asleep.”

Coran motioned to place the mask on him, but he turned away from it.

Lance looked around wildly as if he couldn’t see the multiple friendly faces looking at him and the machines recording his heart rate began to pick up, and then was reaching for someone, anyone.

“We’re here! We’re all right here,” Keith said taking up his hand with a wire attached to his finger, Shiro was grabbing the other.

“I-I don-I don’t”

“You’ve got to buddy, you’re really sick,” Shiro soothed as he ran his hands through his hair once more. The touch calmed him only somewhat, his breath hitching once more as he continued to worry.

“I k-know, but I-I’m scared I w-won’t...”

He was crying again.

“Won’t what buddy?” Hunk asked tenderly as his hand fell to Lance’s leg.

“What if I d-don’t wake up,” he managed before his breathing took a turn and Coran rushed to go find a remedy for it, not quite understanding it was mostly him just being anxious.

Pidge was pushing past all the bodies looming over the bed and sufficiently blocking her from being able to help Lance, but once she shoved Shiro forward she was scrambling onto the bed and nuzzling herself against Lance’s good side.

He gasped at her presence but seemed to melt into it soon after he realized what she was doing. She pulled at the hand clutching Shiro’s and placed it on her back so he could feel her calm breaths and ground himself.

“Slow and deep, you’re okay,” she urged and leaned her head against his chest, his sweatshirt was still on but folded up under itself to expose his stomach, a circle had been drawn around the location of his appendix.

He leaned his head against hers and breathed slow shaking breaths.

“Coran it’s alright, he’s calming down on his own,” Keith urged just as Coran turned up with some strange altean herb that was purple and emitting some sort of low cooing sound.

“You’re going to be just fine, Lance. Coran would never let anything bad happen to you.”

“Yeah, and if you feel like taking an extra long snooze we’ll be here to rudely wake you up like we always do,” Pidge added and she could feel Lance relax under her weight.

“I’m s-sorry for being so mean earlier, guys—“

“Shh, no more saying ‘i’m sorry’. Just accept the cuddle and zip it.”

Lance could almost summon a laugh but the pain in his side prevented it.

“Let’s try again with the sleepy time mask, yeah?”

“Yeah...”

He reached for Shiro’s hand again and all of the other hands on him tried to soothe him as best they could as he tensed when the mask descended on his face.

“We’ve gotcha bud.”

“You’ll be just fine Lance.”

“Nothing bad can happen to when you’re being cuddled so viscuously.”

“Okay, let’s start counting back from 10.”

“10, 9—“

“Easy, count slower. You’re alright.”

A second hand was on his head, pushing his hair back and trailing behind his ear. He closed his eyes at the sensation, it was something his mamá would do.

“9... 8... 7...”

“That’s it number three, easy...”

Around 5 he stopped counting. He felt his body becoming heavier and heavier as he breathed through the strange mask, he could feel the gentle but firm touches of his teammates, the only constant as he breathed deeper and deeper, a pleasant haze falling over him.

He could feel the level in Pidge’s breath, and tried to match it, his eyelids feeling so heavy they were hard to keep open.

And then he felt light.

The last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered shut was Allura and Hunk smiling while they said something that was lost on him.

He didn’t care though, he didn’t need to hear it to know what they meant.

He remembered feeling really safe in that moment.

He wasn’t scared anymore.

[buckleysjareau]

when i’m walking in my sleep

anonymous asked:

Hii, i love your writing, just finished your new buddie fic. Loved it! If you have inspiration for a storyline like the following i would be so happy to read: Eddie taking care of Buck after the screw removing surgery.

I deleted the original post due to it not showing up in the tags, so sorry if you didn’t see it, anon! But here it is again :) 

trigger warnings for this: use of painkillers even though taken as prescribed, mention of an unspecified nightmare, and to be safe emetophobia as it’s mentioned

Eddie has always had the innate need to care for the ones he loves and the ones who need it. When he was five, he tried his hardest alongside his sisters to save an injured squirrel that ended up at their doorstep. He’d take care of his parents when either one of them was sick as he grew up. The need to help everyone never simmered, only grew when he joined the Army, boiled over when Christopher was born. Firefighting was the perfect job for Eddie, he got to feed his desire to help those in need and find the camaraderie within his team that he’d been missing since his Army days. 

Helping people helps him, so he really can’t stop himself from jumping at the opportunity to take Buck home after he gets his screws out when everyone else’s schedules are too busy. He cares about Buck a lot -- maybe too much and not in the way someone cares about their best friend -- so making sure he’s okay and comfortable after a surgery he knows Buck was scared shitless for, it’s not a big deal for Eddie. 

He finds that maybe he’s a little in over his head when Buck greets him with a loopy smile. He’s just a tiny bit in love with Evan Buckley, and having dealt with post-surgery Buck before, Eddie is sure his heart might burst with every zany grin and stage-whispered expression of appreciation.

Buck’s surgeon, who Eddie has met more times than one should have, strolls into the dimly lit recovery room with an amused smile. “Good to see you awake.”

Buck snickers. “You say that every time, Doc. Soon you’re going to have to stop acting surprised that I’m invincible.”

Eddie can’t tell if what Buck just said makes sense, a twenty-four hour shift with very little sleep does things to your common sense, but his doctor seems like he’s heard it before.

His doctor shakes his head, albeit fondly, as if it’s something he expects but can’t believe he’s hearing. “How many times am I going to have to warn you that you’re not invincible before you stop ending up in my OR?” Eddie suspects every time. “Hopefully, there won’t be a next surgery for you Mr. Buckley. The screws are out, everything should be smooth sailing after that, unless you decide to test that invincibility theory.” 

Eddie can’t hold back the laugh as Buck’s face displays his disbelief. “I may be stupid, doc, but I’m no idiot.”

His doctor turns to face Eddie as he facepalms. “I wish you all the luck and patience in the world taking care of this one.” He jests.

“You know I’m always gonna need it, Doc.” Eddie grins. “There anything I should watch out for or steer clear of with him?”

“You know, the usual; don’t let him walk without his crutches, make sure he eats before he takes his next dose of pain medicine we’re sending home with him, and keep him off the leg as much as possible. Elevate it, ice it if the pain gets too much, spare some time for your own sanity.”

Buck grumbles. “I’m not that bad, right? Tell him, Eds.”

“My mom taught me to always tell the truth.” Eddie teases but relents when the pout Buck gives goes straight to his heart. “Fine. You’re a joy to be around, Evan Buckley.”

“You heard him, Doc! I’m a joy to be around!” 

“Never said you weren’t, Buck, just saying your joy is here more than either of us would like.” He smirks. “Alright, alright, I’m sure Eddie wants to get out of here as much as you do so you’re free to go. Everything looks fine post-surgery and as long as you take correct care, it’ll stay fine. You know to call me if there’s an infection or it takes longer to heal than it should, you know the drill. I will see you in six weeks, Buck. Please not a second sooner?”

Buck sends him a sloppy thumbs up and thanks him, says he can’t promise anything but he’ll try his best and Eddie doesn’t want to think about waiting through another one of his surgeries. He’s fine with the aftercare, but waiting to see if Buck came out of each surgery alive is something similar to hell, he’s sure.

When the doctor leaves, Buck looks Eddie’s way. “Eddddieeeeee, my man, a little help?”

Eddie shakes his head and grabs the bag of Buck’s clothes before going to help Buck sit up on the side of the stretcher he was on.

Buck giggles. “My hospital gown is open in the back so don’t look. My ass isn’t really my best feature.”

Well that’s a straight up lie.

“Aw, Eds, thank you. Your butt’s pretty great too.” Buck grins like the compliment means the world to him. The implied compliment that Eddie definitely did not mean to say aloud.

The only thing that keeps him from hiding himself in embarrassment is that Buck is as high as a kite on his painkillers and most likely won’t remember even leaving the hospital. 

He prays the blush doesn’t show on his face as he helps Buck into his basketball shorts. He couldn’t tell you why he gets flustered every time he had to help Buck this way. They were adults, it wasn’t anything domestic, really, just… intimate. He’d help whenever and whatever way Buck needed, because if Eddie Diaz was anything, he wasn’t shy. He was never uncomfortable. Just flustered beyond belief. 

Buck falls back onto the stretcher dramatically after he’s got his shorts on, taking Eddie down with him. He’s laughing hysterically as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s body in a side hug.

“Hey, Eddie?” He looks up at him. “You’re strong. Can you carry me to your truck?”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh. “I don’t think so, buddy. I can ask for a wheelchair?”

Buck snorts. “Being wheeled out is just embarrassing, man,”

“And being carried out isn’t?”

He responds with a whine. “You don’t have to be smart all the time, you know? My bones feel like they’ve been replaced by jelly, you won’t even try?”

Eddie fondly rolls his eyes. “You can lean on me, okay? I don’t have to carry you to not let you fall, Buck, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me?”

“Yeah, I’ve got you. Now, up you go.” 

By the time Buck is settled in Eddie’s living room, foot elevated under a pillow on the coffee table and more blankets than Buck could ever need by his side, they’re both exhausted. Eddie plops down next to Buck on the couch and doesn’t question it when he leans his head on Eddie’s chest. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow when Buck moans. “You alright?”

“I don’t wanna throw up.” He whines. “Make it go away.”

“You’re nauseous?” Eddie asks, already standing to get the trashcan from his bathroom for him but is stopped by Buck. “I’ll be right back, just gonna get you the trashcan just in case.”

Eddie has always hated pain medicine. He hates not having any sense of control of what he’s saying if he’s going to remember it the next day, he hates the nausea that comes with, and he hates that every time, without fail, it makes Buck cry.

His lip is quivering as he looks up at Eddie, and it’s just then that Eddie realizes how actually gone he was for Evan Buckley. 

“Don’t leave me.” Eddie probably would have teased him if Buck had been whining but he wasn’t. There was real fear in his voice, like Eddie would leave out the bathroom window or something. 

“So you’re not nauseous anymore?” He goes with instead, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. He remembers Buck calling it the dad stance, but if it gets Buck to let go of his shirt so he can grab something to stop him from vomiting on his floor, he’ll use it.

Buck shakes his head, stopping abruptly as he pales.

Eddie snorts. “Don’t lie to me ever again.” He reaches for Buck’s face, cupping his jaw in his hand and rubbing his thumb across his cheek. “Let me at least get you a bowl. You’ll be able to see me better in the kitchen.”

Buck finally lets go of the grip on Eddie’s shirt and turns to watch Eddie walk away. Eddie hates himself for the way he subconsciously walks to maybe impress Buck. Thanks to the painkillers, he knows that Buck thinks his ass is nice, he can feel Buck’s eyes watching the back of him, and Eddie prays that Buck is at least the slightest bit interested in him. 

What is he thinking? There’s no way Buck could be interested. They’re best friends, that’s all they are, it doesn’t matter how stupidly and pathetically in love Eddie is. 

Buck is half asleep by the time Eddie is back with a bowl that shouldn’t be missed. 

The second Eddie sits down next to him and hands Buck the bowl, he holds it to his chest and goddamnit why is this so adorable? 

“I doubt you’ll make it through the first minutes of it, let alone an episode, but you down to watch Avatar?”

Buck smiles tiredly, eyes refusing to open. “As long as you’re talking about The Last Airbender and not the creepy movie.”

Eddie chuckles. “You think Avatar is creepy?”

“You don’t?” Buck raises an eyebrow, still not opening his eyes, and gives Eddie a look that says he’s shocked no one else feels the same. “I read somewhere there’s a new one coming out in 2021, like, why?”

Eddie snickers. “I can kind of understand your fear of Child’s Play because it’s supposed to be horror, but c’mon, Avatar? I cried, if I remember correctly.”

Buck gasps. “Child’s Play is horror, thank you very much, and terrifying. End of discussion. Put on The Last Airbender so I can stop thinking about that thing.” 

“That thing has a name, Buck. Chucky. He’s your friend ‘til the end.” Eddie teases but opens Netflix on his TV, quickly selecting from his Keep Watching list. 

Buck doesn’t say anything after that and Eddie assumes he’s asleep, until Buck mumbles something. 

“What was that?”

“Would you stop being my friend if you knew I was in love with you?” Eddie hears him loud and clear this time but he’s stunned at what comes from his best friend, disbelief that he even heard him correctly. 

“Come again?” 

When Eddie doesn’t get a response, he turns and finds that Buck fell asleep right after he gives him a heart attack. 

Fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic. Though he thinks he heard Buck loud and clear, it can’t be right. He dreamed of Buck reciprocating his feelings many times before, but that’s all Eddie could ever believe it was. Dreams. He hadn’t even known Buck was interested in men, let alone interested in him. 

Eddie doesn’t know how long he’s in his head for, but when he notices the sweat glistening on Buck’s forehead, none of it matters. He places the back of his hand on Buck’s forehead, fearing a fever due to an infection or flu, but he doesn’t have a fever.

Then Buck jolts and suddenly Eddie knows what’s going on. It’s not the first time he’s seen Buck in the middle of a nightmare, it’s not his first time dealing with nightmares, either, so he knows what to do.

He distances himself from Buck as far as he can and still is able to shake him. He knows from personal experience to never stay close when waking someone from a nightmare, the black eye he’d accidentally given Buck one night being proof. 

“Hey, Buck, you gotta wake up, buddy.” He shakes his shoulder lightly. “It’s just a nightmare, you’re not there.”

When Buck doesn’t wake up after a third try, Eddie tries a different tactic and scoots a little closer, grabbing Buck’s shoulder and shaking heavier than before. “Evan, Evan, wake up!”

Buck jolts awake, Bobby’s name on the tip of his tongue, swallowed by a scream. He can’t catch his breath, Eddie can tell he hasn’t fully grasped that wherever he just was in his nightmare was long gone and that he’s safe so he does everything he can to clear that fog. 

He takes Buck’s shaking hand in his own and squeezes. “Hey, Evan, you’re at my place, on my couch, nowhere near any danger. You’re safe, okay?”

He can practically see the fog clear from his mind, taking in his surroundings and squeezes Eddie’s hand in his. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, man, I’m here. Feeling calmer?”

Before Buck can respond, he winces and muffles a scream of pain by biting on his lip. Eddie jumps into action as Buck grabs onto the bottom of his cast tightly, as to squeeze out the agony he was feeling. 

Eddie checks the time. “You’re due for your next dose of your painkiller at least.”

But Buck isn’t listening to him. He’s too focused on the pain that Eddie can only now vaguely remember after getting the bullet removed from his shoulder. Before long, Eddie realizes Buck is mumbling something in between choked sobs and muffled screams of agony.

“Evan,” He tries to use his name again in hopes it’ll get him to focus on Eddie and not the pain. 

Buck’s face is twisted in pain when he finally looks at Eddie and not for the time, he wishes he could take Buck’s pain away. 

“I hate Freddie Costas. I hate him so much.” He sobs freely, still holding his bad leg like it’s a matter of life or death. “Fuck, it hurts.”

Eddie stands. “I’m gonna get your pain pills and an ice pack.”

Buck gulps the pill down with no water and Eddie has to stop himself from finding that oddly one of the most attractive things he’s seen Buck do. He also holds back a cringe, never one for taking pills in any way. 

As Eddie unwraps the beginnings of Buck’s cast, Buck starts to calm, his tears slow, his body relaxes against Eddie’s side. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers. 

“Don’t be. Trust me when I say I get it.” He looks Buck directly in the eyes. “Never feel sorry about feeling things.” 

He doesn’t ask if he wants to talk about it. He knows Buck will talk about it if or when he wanted so it ends up being a useless question. 

It’s quiet again after that. The only sounds that could be heard around Eddie’s was their breathing and the air conditioner running. Avatar is paused on the TV and Eddie doesn’t make any move to unpause it. 

Then Eddie is in his head again.

If he heard right, why would Buck be into him? He wants more than anything for it to be true, but he couldn’t see how it would be true. But he knows he heard what Buck asked, knows he should be thrilled Buck loves him back, but the doubts eat him up. What if he was just asking in general, not personally? What if he thought he was talking to someone else? Maybe he’s exaggerating his gratefulness for taking care of him and he means it platonically?

It’s killing him not knowing.

Eddie clears his throat. “Hey, uh- earlier you asked- before you fell asleep, do you-”

He’s a stuttering mess, hasn’t stumbled over his words this much since he asked Shannon out in their senior year. 

Buck cuts in, putting him out of his misery. “If you’re asking if I remember asking you if you’d still stay my friend if you found out I was in love with you, then yes, I do remember and I’m so sorry.”

Sorry for what? I’m sorry I was just loopy, it was just a question, I’m not actually in love with you? 

Buck swallows hard. “Do you hate me?”

Eddie’s eyes widened completely at the question. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I’m in love with you and continued to be your friend without telling you as such?” 

His heart is racing a mile a minute because Evan Buckley loved him back and he’d had no idea the entire time. He shakes his head with a smile and unshed tears burning his eyes. “I would be the biggest hypocrite if I hated you for that.”

It looks as though Buck hadn’t heard right as he shook his head, but he hopes he understands. 

“Come again?” Eddie can’t help but snort at how similar Buck and him are sometimes. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry!”

“I’m crying because I love you and I just found out it’s reciprocated, okay? Give me a second here.” He lets out a mix between a laugh and a cry. “Holy shit, you love me!”

Eddie’s mind is reeling. The more the shock wears off, the more joy and excitement he starts to feel. 

“You love me!” Buck grins and leans forward, stopping to look Eddie in the eye and ask for permission -- which he eagerly grants -- and soon, what Eddie dreamed of since the Grenade Incident is happening. Their lips touch and Eddie Diaz tries not to be a cliche, but it’s a whole show of fireworks, kissing Buck. More than he could have ever imagined. 

It’s an hour later, and they’re laying in Eddie’s bed, bodies pressed up against the other. Eddie hasn’t felt so secure in years, can’t even remember a time when things felt right until then. Lying next to Buck, things feel light for the first time since he doesn’t know how long, and the feeling of security is what lulls Eddie to sleep. 

Until Buck starts to sniffle and then Eddie is wide awake again.   

“You okay, Buck?”

Buck shakes his head rapidly with a pout. “No, I have to pee.” 

He tries to keep in his laughter, he really does, but the shock and amusement outweighs his ability not to laugh at things that aren’t funny to other people. 

Buck sniffles once more. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re adorable and I love you.” Eddie’s lips quirk into a soft smile. “Now, c’mon, up you go.” 

Buck grumbles. “Love you too.”

When he’s done, Eddie turns back to get his crutches and gets the surprise of a lifetime when Buck reaches out to slap his ass.

“Hey!” 

“What? I did tell you you had a nice ass.”

“Oh my God.”

[strxnged]

My timezone is est and it's 10:21 pm rn it's rlly hard to sleep when I'm sick because... I have emetophobia and I rarely express unless I trust the person or it's online. I have anxiety due to it.. I searched of flu symptoms and vomit was one of them. I cried for like 15 minutes straight and praying that I would not throw up. Hard for me to even think abt it. It's so bad to the point I know exact times and dates when I throw up, the first time o ever threw up was when I got the stomach bug at 6 yrs old. Started at 7:32 am and ended at 10:46 pm. Even worse it was Thanksgiving and the smell of food and being in a crowded area made it worse

oh, yeah. i understand. but keep in mind that although it is a symptom, it's not a guaranteed event unless your body really needs to get something out. remember that it might be important and if your body is telling you that's what it needs, you might have to let it happen, but i know how hard it must be to have a phobia of something there is sometimes no escape from. it's good to be prepared, but no matter what, just make sure you're doing what's best for your body right now. stay hydrated love 💕💕

[thatsadorbsyo]

Lucas - Part (14)

(cw: mentions of character death (PC and NPC) and graphic depictions of violence. emetophobia warning for depictions of nausea. depictions of dissociation. this post also references the events of Borne Upon Our Hands, one of the five finale quests for the #FFXIVHeartless campaign, and it contains spoilers for the quest log.)

*

The road to recovery has to start with small things, or else I’d never be able to swallow them. I take the Thanalan sun like a pill, and I only look behind me at the Voyage once, just the once, to make sure the docked airship that I’ve just departed is really there and hasn’t evaporated to nothingness in the heartbeats in between then and now. I’ve already said my goodbyes, and continuing to look behind me is only gonna make me start shuffling backward, blind and stupid. I take the Thanalan sun like a pill. The sun is large, but I am small.

I, too, am swallowed; by the throng of people near Hustings strip. Castor leads me by the hand through the crowd, and we pass by the little food stand where we had our first proper date -- Place-by-the-strip-where-I-can-see-the-ships, he’d called it, when I asked what the place was named -- and for the first time in suns, I feel the pang of hunger.

*

You smell the sour tang wafting up from the vats of sparking blue aether in the middle of what once used to be a crystal-powered furnace room in the belly of the White Celsius. You smell burning meat being rendered to component aether for airship fuel like fat is rendered in a pot to make soap. The cages all around the room are empty, but they bear the marks of the Spoken who have lived in them. A crumpled blanket. A jacket with one sleeve turned inside out. A deck of cards, halfway through a hand before being kicked and scattered.

‘The Celsius eats her enemies,’ Percy had warned you on his taped missive, confirming every fear that had lived in a lump in your throat for weeks, but you never thought you’d live to see it in action. Momori fell into her maw right in front of your fucking eyes while you were across the room, and all you can hope for is that she died before she realized what was happening to her. The Celsius turned Momori into meat, and then to fuel. The Celsius’s distended stomach is Momori’s only tomb.

*

Hunger curdles into nausea in the space of a heartbeat, but I don’t remember why. It’s been like that ever since the shuttle brought us back to Ishgard; I struggle to choke down food. It’s easier if it has no smell, no taste, nothing to make me think about the process of what I’m doing. It just feels disgusting. To rip and tear with my teeth, it feels inhuman. There must be a more civilized way to feed yourself than this. A mun-tuy shake, maybe, but even that makes my stomach churn, and I--

But before I can spiral about it, Castor’s hand is on my shoulder. Heavy, warm. I take it like a pill.

“There’s something I need to do -- not illegal -- I only need a moment.” The question isn’t in his words; it sits in his eyes, the way his brows hike up in the middle. It’s a silent question: Will you be okay? I want to be offended, but I can’t be much of anything.

“Sure,” I reply, and even this much is nearly a sisyphean task. “I’ll get some food.”

There’s a bench in the middle of the street down by Sapphire Avenue, backed up against a planter filled with creeping ivy, and when I sit down with some paper-wrapped kebab, I can smell the fresh earth in the pot, rich and mineral. I take it like a pill while I watch the people passing by. The distraction helps me eat, gives me something to focus on instead of the sensation of fatty, charred lamb shredding in my mouth.

I find a pocket of serenity here, where the sun is warm but not oppressive, and the smells of food and floral carts are mostly pleasant but not cloying. How much time passes before Castor comes back to me, with blood on his hands? I’ve eaten maybe half of my kebab. A quarter bell? Half a bell?

Castor comes back to me with blood on his hands and a gash slicing through the front of his tunic, and this is too big for me to swallow. This is too fucking big.

*

You send the shells of dead keys and buttons scattering across the floor with every step you take across the Celsius’s command room, searching in a restless gait for a new console to shatter. They sound to you like so many teeth, broken right out of the ship’s bloody maw by the swing of your wrench. There is a chilling mirror into which you are afraid to look; the only ripple in your deep, placid lake is a memory that mimics you perfectly, blow for blow.

As you lift the wrench over your head, feeling your aching muscles protest at the sudden, relentless exertion, you become the spitting image of Castor Arendt, gun reversed in your hand, clubbing the still-struggling form of Leviticus lux Tyrus over the head until his face is rendered to meat. Your target is not a Spoken man, but the violence that grips you is no less possessive. You are no less disgusted by yourself, but the nausea sits like a lump in your throat, obstructing any scream. You can’t swallow. You can’t swallow a thing, lest everything you try to take in comes clawing its way back up and out of you.

*

The rest of my food splatters on the cobblestones, falling from my hands and my lap as I stand up with numb fingers and numb lips. I want to run toward him, but my feet are numb, too. Useless as the bricks they stand on.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Castor hedges with a gasp, holding a hand over his chest. The wound underneath is freshly healed.

A scream curdles in my throat, blocked by some obstruction. Maybe it’s fear. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t swallow. I can’t move. Helplessness washes through me, a wave of impotence that doesn’t even have the courtesy to bring its good friend rage along for the ride. The sun is large and I am small, so very goddamn small. I want to touch him, to confirm that the gash on his chest is really, truly closed, but I can’t lift a hand. I can’t do a thing.

When does it fucking stop?

I breathe through my nose instead. One breath. Two. I take them like pills. Castor’s eyes are looking straight at mine, bright and alive, not cloudy with cataracts and lifeless. Castor’s eyes are a stormy green, with pupils made into pinpricks by the Thanalan sun. I take my lover’s blinking eyes like pills.

I left the Salemtaza’s Voyage with nothing but my feet to carry me and Castor’s hand in mine to show me the way. So how many fucking pills do I have to take before I'm finally allowed to depart the White Celsius?

[sick-atsumu-side]

4. It’s me | Sakusa Kiyoomi

Disclaimer: All of the characters belongs to Haruichi Furudate, they’re not mine.

Warnings: description of vomiting, emetophobia, panic attack.

Name: It’s me.

First of all I want to say that this came to my mind when I read @sickfic-with-kiko headcanons for Sakusa, She’s amazing and I have to give her credit for it. With nothing more to say, hope you enjoy!

No, no way in hell this was happening.

“Mom, can you please understand a little? I wanna go home, now.”

Sakusa was almost freaked out. He was outside the dorms in the middle of the night, talking on the phone with his mother because he got a stomach bug, and he didn’t wan’t to be sick even if the nausea was the thing that had woken him up at first place. He didn’t know this would be happening, much less in the all japan youth camp. It was a nightmare to him at this point.

Sakusa always have pills and stuff. He was always prepared, but this time they didn’t work.

“Kiyoomi, babe, look. This is a chance in a million for you and you can’t just come home now. You’ll be fine, so don’t panic. It’s just a tummy ache, ok? Don’t drop an opportunity like this... can you?”

“It’s just...”

“You’ll be fine, babe. Go and get some water and sleep well, then you’ll be feeling better. Trust me.”

Sakusa sighed shakily and then rubbed his stomach a little, walking almost in circles on the grass.

“Baby, have to go now. You know i have to work early tomorrow... can you sleep well for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s my boy.” Sakusa kicked a small stone that was near his foot. “Give your everything tomorrow on the court! Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Kiyoomi sighed again with frustration when he saw that his mother hung up the call. What was he supposed to do now? going to sleep?

Geez. He promised it to her, but he just couldn’t. His stomach was doing weird gurgles and sounds and he felt so bad, like if something wasn’t agreeing with him. He felt a little dizzy too and if he lay down on his bed maybe he would feel his stomach contents rising up his throat like when he woke up and Sakusa didn’t want that to happen. He couldn’t throw up.

It was gross, and scary. At least to him.

He started to feel that way after dinner, when Komori said something about the meat and... oh, the meat. That would make sense, but then why was he the only one feeling like this? It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t be the only one having chills and cramps, fuck.

Then he took pills for it and went to sleep, thinking that the uneasy feeling would go away. But that wasn’t the case.

When he woke up feeling dizzy in the middle of the night, nauseous and almost throwing up on the bed, he started to panic and wanted nothing more than to go home so he called his mother. But there he was, stuck with the ache and the feeling of his stomach contents being angry, trying to come out of his throat every damn second.

His mother always thought he was an exaggerated with sickness or hygiene, and so he was. But at the same time he knew she supported him anyway when something went wrong like the panic attacks or just the crying on fear of throwing up.

And yes, he was an emetophobic like hell. That explains a lot the situation.

“Geez.” He said under his breath, trying to soothe the nauseating feeling when a tiny and acidic burp escaped his lips. “U-ugh.”

He swallowed hard at the taste and stifled the next coming burps with his fist. Then he breathed hard too. Sakusa really felt too bad to the point of shaking.

He was about to lose the fight with his own body and that made him panic more and more.

And just when he thought of calling his mother again, he heard steps behind him.

“Kiyoomi-kun, the fuck you’re doing here? It’s like 3 am ya’know.”

Great. The stupid blonde.

“Go away.” He muttered, trying his best to concentrate on his breaths and the roiling feeling on his stomach. It was no way in hell that he would have a panic attack in the middle of the night. Much less he would let himself throw up.

“Ah?”

“Go away, Miya.”

“Don’t be mean with me, you stupid. That’s my thing.” Atsumu scoffed, but then he changed his countenance as he got closer to the dark haired boy. “Hey, you okay there? You look pale, like... Michael Jackson maybe?”

“I told you to go away.” His words sounded like he was drowning in his own air.

Atsumu raised his hands like an inocent puppy.

“Seriously, you look like shit. Kiyoomi-kun.”

“Can you just shut your fucking and gross mouth?! Leave!”

“Whoa... go easy with me or i’m going to kick your fucking ass. Don’t care if you are ok or not.” Atsumu sounded mean, but he was worried.

And Sakusa... he was less far from freaking out and losing control. His stomach was hurting too much and now he could taste vomit on his throat, while his breaths seemed uneasy too. Kiyoomi didn’t want to throw up. He really didn’t.

And hell, why was Atsumu even awake to see him like that?

“Fuck. I was just going to pee so I’ll leave yo...”

Sakusa let out a surpresed gag on his hand before starting to cry and hyperventilate. Now he was bending and facing the grass with wide eyes.

Atsumu almost freaked out, he didn’t expect that.

“The hell, are you sick?” He said. “I can’t deal with sick people so I’m gonna go, but do this thing in a bathroom because tomorrow we...”

Kiyoomi started to feel how his stomach was rising up to his chest and a uneasy feeling was appearing on his throat. He couldn’t breath and now was totally in panic. He wasn’t paying attention to Atsumu anymore and he panicked even more when the undigested food he ate from dinner started to flow up his throat without permission.

Sakusa cried out loud this time, while holding his full body by putting one hand on his knee. The other one was holding his mouth as if it were a thing of life or death.

Atsumu didn’t know what to do.

“Fuck, calm down. Don’t fucking cry in front of me.”

“I-i...”

Sakusa couldn’t breathe and either talk, his eyes were buzzy and his ears were on fire. Atsumu got a bit close and tried to talk or touch him but Sakusa didn’t let him. He was out of control. He just cried even harder and couldn’t hear what the blonde was saying to him.

A unproductive retch escaped his lips and he felt how his mouth was fully watery, just like his hand covered in tears and saliva. Now he was shaking like crazy, like if it was freezing outside but really it wasn’t. He was drowning himself and the only thing he wanted to do was to go home. He didn’t want to be there all alone.

His stomach was being all upset and now he was all sweaty. He was literally dying. Maybe he had a fever too, Sakusa didn’t know.

But he was miserable.

“Hey, hey. Easy, bud.” Suddendly, Sakusa felt a hand on his face and he pulled away immediately, with sobbs that sounded so sad to the boy trying to help. “Can you hear me? Can you see me? It’s me, only me. Atsumu’s gone for now and no one is here besides us. I’m here for you, Sakusa. Just... breathe for me, please.”

That voice...

Sakusa did know that voice very well, it wasn’t calm as her mother's but it felt relaxing anyway. Still, he couldn’t stop the crying or the unproductive retching between sobbs.

“Hey, you wanna puke right?” Sakusa shook his head with a face of full panic. “Ok, ok... everything’s alright. I am not touching you, but I am here. I’m Komori, you know me right?”

Sakusa nodded, and pressed his hand even harder on his mouth when a wet burp escaped his lips. He was too tensed to think straight or to stay calm.

“We’re friends, you know?” Sakusa tried to nod with his head. “Ok, now i want you to listen to me. Focus on my voice. You have to breath, in and out. Sounds fine to you?”

The dark haired boy nodded again, trying to be calm like his friend.

“Breathe for me, in and out.” Sakusa tried to do it at the same time Komori did it and worked well, because he seemed to start to relax a little. “You’re alright, you’ll be fine... that’s it, in and out. You’re doing a great job. Don’t fight it.”

“D-don’t... touch me.”

“I am not touching you.” Komori repeated, still breathing with him. “But i am here.”

Komori knew from the view he had, that his friend wouldn’t last long. He was in too much pain and too tensed to let himself throw up. Holding the vomit wasn’t the best option but it worked well for Sakusa. But not for Komori.

He knew he was about to throw up soon. His body wanted nothing more than to eliminate whatever it made him feel so disgusting and miserable.

“See? You’r...”

A sickening and wet burp escaped his lips, with a bunch of pale brown liquid escaping between his fingers and then to the grass in front of his face. Sakusa with wide eyes tried to stop the next round immediately by swallowing It back, but for some reason his body didn’t listen to him, so another round was released between his fingers with a thick and sickening gag.

Komori sighed with relief, but then wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell.

“That’s it, bud. Just let it all out. Don’t fight it... you’ll be fine.”

Sakusa removed his now drenched and disgusting hand from his mouth, finally giving up. So, Komori tried to say something to make him feel better since vomit have a lot of germs and he couldn’t touch him either. He was afraid of him panicking again, however, a productively retch released more vomit easily through his mouth, splashing it on the grass with a disgusting sound. The dark haired boy really wanted to die.

“You’re really sick, bud.” Said Komori, feeling kind of bad for him. “You’ve been feeling like this all day?”

Sakusa threw up more stinky liquid on the grass, feeling like a living firehose.

“Ok, maybe we’ll talk when you’re done.”

Sakusa groaned a little, because his middle was hurting way more than before and was literally throwing up everything he had eaten even before dinner. He could taste that lunch very well and that didn’t felt good. It was gross.

He gagged hard at the tought.

“K-komori, I-I don’t-”

Another belch escaped his lips with more vomit, this time pouring from his nose and ending on the now pool close to his feet, he coughed at the feeling. He was a truly mess.

Sakusa began to sob again.

“Easy, Sakusa.” Said Komori, trying to look him in the eyes. Even if Kiyoomi had them both closed in pain. “I told Atsumu to go get the nurse just in case. So she is going to check on you and you’ll be fine. And hey... look at me. It’s fine.”

Sakusa gagged loudly, this time bringing up just bile on the pool in the grass. But bile that fired up his throat.

“When was the last time you did actually throw up? I wan’t to celebrate. Your mom would not believe this.”

Sakusa coughed and gagged a few more times before he was left dry heaving. His eyes were full on tears and he was sobbing silently. Komori was trying his best to make him feel comfortable and Kiyoomi was greatful of that. He... did throw up.

“See? That was all, you already went through the worst of it.”

He actually threw up. He couldn’t believe how sick he was.

“Can I touch you now?”

“No.”

“But-“

“T-this is gross. You know it.” Sakusa rubbed his stomach with his cleaned hand and let out a breathy burp. “I hate throwing up.”

“I know you do, bud. But you did It well, although I would have preferred you to do it in the bathroom and not here.”

Sakusa smiled a little.

“Thank you, Komori.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi, for at least one second thought that vomit wasn’t that bad. Not when he have Komori with him to make him feel calm, even when the rounds of puke were over. It was... incomparable.

[gaystardust]

through darkness of mind [Kanera Week: trust/vulnerability]

Synopsis: Kanan has nightmares. Hera helps. @kaneraweek Rating: T Warnings: discussion of Kanan’s past, discussion of parental death. Graphic description of panic attacks and anxiety. Trauma-related nightmares, trauma-related alcoholism, possible emetophobia AO3 Link: [link] A/N: Title from Godspeed by Frank Ocean. I’m on a new medication that gives me constant anxiety and regular panic attacks - so this happened. Also, I’m serious. Editing was hard because the panic felt too real - I tried to make it a little less so, but it’s still pretty detailed. Be careful, look after yourself. I am not responsible for your decision to read these.

  The world blurred as he sat up too quickly, barely aware he’d fallen asleep. His heartbeat was loud in his eyes, and his stomach twisted. The air still smelt like burning flesh, both from fire and his lightsaber blade.

The rolling acid of his stomach made him swallow hard. There was nothing in his stomach to bring up, but his body was still trying.

Nightmare. It was a nightmare.

Again.

Kanan made himself breathe hard through his nose, counting in and out. Really, he should have been exhaling through his mouth, creating a perfect circle of breath but the nausea wasn’t going to let him.

He was awake. Sweaty, shaking, and on the edge of hyperventilating, but awake. He was awake, and safe, and alive.

Even if it didn’t feel like it.

Mygeeto was almost a decade behind him. The constant feeling of darkness and despair still sat heavy on his soul, but it was over. Only its shadow remained, an outline only seen behind closed eyes.

He was safe.

Kanan forced his fingers to relax where they were digging into the hard duraplast of the table.

The table. The kitchen table.

He’d fallen asleep in the shared space again. That thing Hera had specifically told him not to do, especially when he could just go to bed - except he had no idea what time it was. They’d been aimlessly floating around space for the last week, and the standard planetary day-night cycle was already gone from his brain.

The world around him moved sluggishly as he looked around, still blurred around the edges. Was it a side effect of waking up mid-sleep cycle, or was he on the edge of a panic attack?

The vibrating under his skin suggested the latter, but maybe it was both. His toes were numb, and his fingers were sluggish and stiff as they tapped on the duraplast of the table. Something close to pins and needles ran up and down his legs.

He ran through a quick battlefield assessment to make sure it was nothing worse - and then immediately slammed down on the reminder than he knew how to do that.

Whatever it had been before, it was easing closer and closer to a panic attack.

Kanan closed his eyes, watching the patterns swirl behind his eyes. He counted his breaths, just like he’d been taught dozens of times in his life. Inhale the recycled air, still cleaner than some planets, and exhale all of the bad feelings.

The door at the other side of the room slid open. Kanan jumped. His muscles seized as he tried to size up the threat, forcing down the panic that rose in his throat.

Even seeing Hera there didn’t stop the rising pain in his chest. His breathing was mostly under control now, but his heart was beating too fast.

“Kanan?” Hera said quietly, hovering in the doorway. She overly still, her lekku held close to her back in a way that must have been uncomfortable. “Are you okay?”

He could feel the thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump behind his eyes, pushing everything out of focus.

He nodded and was caught in a loop of motion. It made him rock back and forth, until he forced himself to slump forward against the table. His fingers started tapping, but that was a good enough reroute. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s alright.” She moved a little closer, hands held up as if placating a wild animal.

He felt like one. A herd animal trapped between a cliff and a predator, about to make a terrible choice.

“Talk to me, love. What’s the matter?”

The pet name burned in a way he didn’t want to think about. He could hear it mirrored, in another accent, on another set of lips, in another time. The word was different, but the feeling was the same.

He couldn’t shake his head, not without risking another loop. He had to speak. “Just… just a nightmare.”

Hera nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” his voice cracked, “thanks.”

Her approach took too long, but when she sat down on the corner of the bench Kanan realised it was actually too quick. She was nowhere near him, but it was still too close. He could hear her boots tapping on the floor, rhythmic and irritating.

Or maybe those were his boots.

���Is there anything else I can do?”

Kanan took the risk of shaking his head, just catching himself before the repetition kicked in. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

The look Hera gave him was full of pity - or maybe his brain was lying. “Do you get nightmares a lot?”

“I used to. They stopped when I started going to sleep too exhausted to dream.” He watched Hera settle herself back into the seat. “Or too drunk to.”

She hummed. “So that’s why you drank so much?”

It felt too obvious, and some awful part of him felt like she should have realised already. Why else would he have been drinking so much, if not to stop his nightmares? Did she think he’d just been doing that for fun?

Or maybe it had been a fact of Kanan’s life for so long, it felt that obvious. That didn’t mean someone who’d known him only a few months would understand, not even someone who knew his darker secrets.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he repeated, which seemed to answer enough for Hera. She nodded, not pushing him any further but not letting the room around them fall quiet. She didn’t seem comfortable with the quiet.

Or maybe he was just projecting.

He couldn’t tell anymore.

“After my mother died, I had nightmares all the time,” she admitted quietly, looking down at the table instead of towards him. It made his skin fizzle less. “I kept thinking that what happened to her would happen to me, or my father. The one day he’d go out, and never come back.” She traced an invisible pattern on the table, all straight lines and slight curves. “I only grew out of it when I realised it didn’t matter whether it happened to us - it had already happened to her. Worrying it would happen to my father wouldn’t do anything.” When Hera looked up again, she looked as anxious as Kanan felt. “It wouldn’t have stopped him, either.”

Maybe (when he was able to sort through his thoughts without uncovering more panic) he would work his way through everything he’d just been told. So much of it was new, but it wouldn’t settle in his thoughts. It would have to wait.

It would have made sense, if Hera thought he was afraid of dying. He hid himself almost completely, unwilling to do anything that would risk identifying him as a Jedi. But she’d seen through him instantly.

Kanan dropped his head into his hands, half in disbelief that he was going to admit. “I keep seeing people I care about die. And not just the battles I was in. Some of them, I only heard about in stories, but I still see everyone die right in front of me,” he gestured to the centre of the room, but didn’t look up.

There was a pause after he stopped talking, as if Hera wanted him to continue. He just shook his head - or shuffled it as much as he could without lifting his head - trying to make it obvious he wasn’t going to.

She seemed to take the hint, at least a little. “Kanan, you were a child. There was nothing you could have done.”

“I know,” he managed quietly, voice crackling. “But I still dream it.”

Even leaning into his arms, his head felt heavy. Shuffling his legs felt like moving dead weight. The adrenaline had left his system as quickly as it entered, leaving nothing but exhausting in its wake. Kanan sighed.

“I felt them, Hera. I felt the Force shrivel up and die, just like the rest of the Jedi Order.”

She reached out a hand, leaving it at the edge of his line of sight but not any further.

It took a moment for Kanan to realise she was asking for permission.

Lifting his head, he dropped his arms to the table. The back of one hand landed in her open palm.

Even with her lekku twitching in discomfort, Hera smiled softly, but not out of pity. More like mutual understanding.

“The Force didn’t die, love. It’s everywhere, all around us.” She laughed softly, barely louder than breathing. “That’s how you explained it, right?”

That had been months ago, just after they’d left Gorse. The fact she still remembered made Kanan’s chest flutter, but not with anxiety.

“Well, it’s all around us, but it’s also in every living thing,” he corrected, practically hearing the repeated lesson in the back of his mind. “That’s the difference between the Unifying Force and the Living Force… I think.” He never really understood the difference, even after so many lessons. It was blurry and difficult to identify, and there was no one to correct him now.

He could feel the spiral before he fell into it. Kanan huffed through his nose, forcing himself to focus on the feeling of air moving through his body.

Hera didn’t notice. “If the Force is in all things, then it definitely can’t be dead. I’m not saying you didn’t feel something awful, but the Force didn’t die.”

“The Order did.”

“Not all of it.” Her eyes were sharp, focused on him. She looked like she had a plan. “You’re still here. And if you are, there has to be others. Even you can’t be self-centred enough to think you’re the only Jedi with the skills to survive the Purge.”

But it wasn’t just the Purge. It was Knightfall. It was the person vendettas some of the Clones still held against their Generals. It was Kardoa, Mygeeto, Kaller.

He had no energy to argue about it, nor to think about the different types of trauma he had, and how that affected his nightmares. He doubted he would ever have the energy for it.

“It’s far more than that,” he just about managed, using all of his strength not to lie on the table again. “But I really don’t want to talk about it, Hera. Can I just go and sleep, please? I’m exhausted.”

Hera squeezed his hand. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” He had no idea what she’d assumed, but he wasn’t going to ask. Then she stood up, gently pulling him from the bench. “Come on. I want to make sure you’re in bed before you fall asleep sat up again.”

He didn’t argue as Hera lead him to the cabin he was staying in. It was starting to gather the clutter of somewhere well lived in, but the blankets stacked on the bed were the thing he looked forward to most.

As soon as she deposited him on the bed, Kanan slumped sideways, pressing his back close to the wall. He didn’t bother stripping down, too aware of Hera in the room and too exhausted to work out clothes fastenings.

Hera didn’t move, just watching him from the doorway again. “Shout of me if you need anything, okay? I know the intercom is by the door, but you don’t have to say anything. Just press it and I’ll come and check on you.”

It Kanan far longer than it should have to understand, his adrenaline sapped brain not even sure what was words and what was just sounds. “You’re not staying?”

She hesitated, before shaking her head. “No, of course not. Why, did you think I would?”

He tossed the idea of her leaving around in his head before coming to his conclusion.

“Please stay.”

It sounded like a beg, and perhaps it was. He knew all too well the risks of sleeping alone. At least with someone else there, a heartbeat near him, he’d know everything was okay. That they were somewhere safe.

Hera hesitated before moving into the room. She hesitated again after a few steps, moving to push the flight suit trousers from the body. Underneath were the dark leggings she wore while they were to make up for the lack of heat while they were in space.

As soon as she sat on the edge of the bed, she pulled upright Kanan to remove his jumper, chucking it onto the floor. She moved to pull off his boots and put his own hands on his belt to make him remove it himself. He just about managed it in the time it took Hera to undo two sets of laces.

Then she curled up beside him, back pressed to his chest. One of his arms looped across her waist automatically, holding her close.

She was cool, surprisingly so. Did Twi’leks run cooler than Humans?

“Try and get some sleep,” she said quietly.

He hummed his understanding, the world around him warm and soft. “I’ll try. Don’t leave while I’m asleep, okay?”

If he’d been more awake, perhaps he would have noticed Hera stiffen, and then relax back into his body. “Of course not.”

His “goodnight” was muffled in her shoulder, making Hera laugh quietly.

“Sweet dreams, Kanan.”

[goosegoblin]

Lately I’ve been wondering a lot about my sexuality. I am a girl, and I’ve always considered myself to be straight, but lately I’ve been wondering if I’m bi. I’ve never had a crush on a girl, and I can’t really imagine myself in a relationship with a girl; plus, I don’t really want a relationship with a girl. I don’t know why I keep questioning myself? Is this normal?

This is the questioning anon again. Every time I actually sit down and think about it, I come to the conclusion that I don’t want to date girls. Why does my brain keep trying to revisit it? I’m super anxious, especially with everything going on at the moment. Is it possible my anxiety is manifesting itself in the form of questioning my anxiety, even though I already know the answer, just so I can feel anxious about something? I’m really confused and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Hey! Yeah, absolutely. I definitely recommend looking up homosexual OCD, because I think it might be helpful to read.

Anxiety is extremely self-feeding. For example, I have emetophobia. I can know that something is almost certainly a safe food to eat, but I can still spend hours on google looking up various questions about how it might make me sick and how likely it is to make me sick, because my anxiety won’t accept the rational conclusion. My anxiety itself often mimics the symptoms of food poisoning or a stomach virus, and whilst I know it’s my anxiety doing that, a part of my brain doubts that it’s my anxiety and still wants to believe the worst case scenario. I’ve found ACT techniques hugely helpful for that (in addition to the DARE program- really cannot recommend that enough for panic).  

Of course, I can’t tell you either way whether you do want to date girls or not. I’d say to look up HOCD, see if any of it clicks or feels familiar, and take it from there. 

I’m wary to feed what could potentially be OCD, but I’m equally wary to accidentally dismiss closeted people, so there’s a very good checklist on comphet (compulsory heterosexuality) available here. The document is about lesbians, and as such isn’t fully applicable to bisexuality, but I still found some parts enlightening with regards to my own sexuality. Again, if you do think what your are experiencing aligns with HOCD, I would recommend avoiding this document or any similar one, as constant research/ reassurance-seeking is a behaviour that allows anxiety spirals to continue.

I love you lots and am always around if you’d like to talk about this more xx

[soft-trait]

I just realised I’ve never actually introduced myself so I found this get to know me tag and thought I’d do it hehe

Rules: post a pic of your simself with your traits and answer the questions!

My traits: gloomy, creative, lazy

Questions under the cut (there’s lots)

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME? Tessa (idk if I want to put my full full name lmao)

2. WHAT IS YOUR NICKNAME? Tess

3. BIRTHDAY? July 25th 2000

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BOOK SERIES? I don’t really uhhhh, read

5. DO YOU BELIEVE IN ALIENS OR GHOSTS? Aliens have to exist, like have to, ghosts I dunno about though

6. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE AUTHOR? Stephen King

7. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE RADIO STATION? Do people still listen to the radio?

8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ANYTHING? Cherry

9. WHAT WORD OR PHRASE WOULD YOU USE OFTEN TO DESCRIBE SOMETHING GREAT OR WONDERFUL? Swaggy

10. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT FAVORITE SONG? S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by My Chemical Romance

11. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WORD? shit

12. WHAT WAS THE LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO? If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know) by The 1975

13. WHAT TV SHOW WOULD YOU RECOMMEND FOR EVERYBODY TO WATCH?  Shameless

14. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE TO WATCH WHEN YOU’RE FEELING DOWN? Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind

15. DO YOU PLAY VIDEO GAMES? Besides The Sims not really

16. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR? I’m scared of way too many things but I think my biggest fear is being abandoned, not being financially stable, not being able to live comfortably etc

17. WHAT IS YOUR BEST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? I think I’m pretty funny sometimes

18. WHAT IS YOUR WORST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? Too many, I’m selfish, clingy, needy, lazy, incapable of acting like an adult, I overthink everything, the list goes on

19. DO YOU LIKE CATS OR DOGS BETTER? Dogs, no offence but fuck cats

20. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? Winter hands down

21. ARE YOU IN A RELATIONSHIP? Sure am, for just over a year and a half

22. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU MISS FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD? Not being scared of everything, never being anxious, being mentally and physically healthy

23. WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND? My boyfriend, I have no other friends, none

24. WHAT IS YOUR EYE COLOR? Blue

25. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR? Ginger

26. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU LOVE? My bf

27. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU TRUST? My bf

28. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN? My bf (sorry he’s the only person I care about)

29. ARE YOU CURRENTLY EXCITED ABOUT/FOR SOMETHING? I’m excited to get McDonald’s again after lockdown is over

30. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST OBSESSION? Sleeping

31. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW AS A CHILD? iCarly, Victorious, that shit

32. WHO OF THE OPPOSITE GENDER CAN YOU TELL ANYTHING TO, IF ANYONE? bf

33. ARE YOU SUPERSTITIOUS? I don’t think so

34. DO YOU HAVE ANY UNUSUAL PHOBIAS? I have emetophobia (fear of vomit)

35. DO YOU PREFER TO BE IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA OR BEHIND IT? Behind, I wanted to make movies, be a director etc for awhile but I change my mind lots

36. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE HOBBY? Sleeping

37. WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ?  Reasons To Stay Alive by Matt Haig

38. WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? The Miseducation of Cameron Post

39. WHAT MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? Nope

40. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ANIMAL? Monkies but only the cute ones

41. WHAT ARE YOUR TOP 5 FAVORITE TUMBLR BLOGS THAT YOU FOLLOW? @bellessims @lunchsims @evoxyr @ridgeport @meatballteeth and so many more I love everyone on here

42. WHAT SUPERPOWER DO YOU WISH YOU HAD? Teleportation

43. WHEN AND WHERE DO YOU FEEL MOST AT PEACE? In bed

44. WHAT MAKES YOU SMILE? Not much

45. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? Nope

46. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DRINK? Coke

47. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A HAND-WRITTEN LETTER OR NOTE TO SOMEBODY? Probably in primary school when we were forced to

48. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS? I’m afraid of falling from said heights

49. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE? Ignorance and rudeness for no reason

50. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO A CONCERT? Yes sir

51. ARE YOU VEGAN/VEGETARIAN? Nope I luv chimkin

52. WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE, WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GREW UP? A model (hahaha), a SFX artist, a makeup artist, a director, a coroner/forensic pathologist, funeral director, now I want to be a tattoo artist

53. WHAT FICTIONAL WORLD WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE IN? Sex Education, I just wanna be Otis’ friend

54. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU WORRY ABOUT? everything, I’m pretty much constantly worried about something or everything

55. ARE YOU SCARED OF THE DARK? Not if I know where I am, I’m scared of the unknown, not knowing where I am or what I’m touching in the dark

56. DO YOU LIKE TO SING? I like it but I’m horrible

57. HAVE YOU EVER SKIPPED SCHOOL? I pretty much missed the last few weeks of my last year of school and didn’t go to my bio class for the last few months of it, whoops

58. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE ON THE PLANET? My bed

59. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE? Canada

60. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? 2 cats, they’re annoying as fuck

61. ARE YOU MORE OF AN EARLY BIRD OR A NIGHT OWL? Night owl, I never wake up before 11am

62. DO YOU LIKE SUNRISES OR SUNSETS BETTER? Sunsets

63. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE? Nope and I don’t want to

64. DO YOU PREFER EARBUDS OR HEADPHONES? Earbuds

65. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES? Nope

66. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE GENRE OF MUSIC? Alternative, Metal, Hardcore

67. WHO IS YOUR HERO? ur mum

68. DO YOU READ COMIC BOOKS? Nope

69. WHAT MAKES YOU THE MOST ANGRY? When people eat my food or when people get my order wrong

70. DO YOU PREFER TO READ ON AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE OR WITH A REAL BOOK? Real but also neither

71. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? It was art

72. DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? Brother and sister, both older

73. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT? Makeup

74. HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5′6, 169cm (nice)

75. CAN YOU COOK? I physically could if I had to but nope

76. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU LOVE? My boyfriend, movies, tattoos

77. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU HATE? People, most food, when shit doesn’t work

78. DO YOU HAVE MORE FEMALE FRIENDS OR MORE MALE FRIENDS? I have no friends

79. WHAT IS YOUR SEXUAL ORIENTATION? Straight

80. WHERE DO YOU CURRENTLY LIVE? At home

81. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TEXTED? My boyfriend

82. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Yesterday

83. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE YOUTUBER? I have lots, Pewdiepie, Sidney Lavin, Clare Siobhan, Poofesure, heaps more

84. DO YOU LIKE TO TAKE SELFIES? Sometimes but I always look ugly in them

85. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE APP? Instagram

86. WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR PARENT(S) LIKE? Not bad

87. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOREIGN ACCENT? German

88. WHAT IS A PLACE THAT YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO, BUT YOU WANT TO VISIT? Canada, Italy, Greece, Europe in general, Japan

89. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? 7

90. CAN YOU JUGGLE? Nope

91. ARE YOU RELIGIOUS? Nope

92. DO YOU FIND OUTER SPACE OR THE DEEP OCEAN TO BE MORE INTERESTING? Neither, both scare the absolute shit out of me

93. DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A DAREDEVIL? Hell no

94. ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING? Not that I’m aware of

95. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE? Yep

96. CAN YOU WIGGLE YOUR EARS?  Nope

97. HOW OFTEN DO YOU ADMIT THAT YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT SOMETHING? When I’m wrong

98. DO YOU PREFER THE FOREST OR THE BEACH? Forest, fuck beaches

99. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF ADVICE THAT ANYONE HAS EVER GIVEN YOU? yolo

100. ARE YOU A GOOD LIAR? Sometimes

101. WHAT IS YOUR HOGWARTS HOUSE?  Slytherin

102. DO YOU TALK TO YOURSELF? Sometimes

103. ARE YOU AN INTROVERT OR AN EXTROVERT? Introvert

104. DO YOU KEEP A JOURNAL/DIARY? Nope

105. DO YOU BELIEVE IN SECOND CHANCES? Depends on what they did

106. IF YOU FOUND A WALLET FULL OF MONEY ON THE GROUND, WHAT WOULD YOU DO? I mean I could always use more money...

107. DO YOU BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CAPABLE OF CHANGE? Yes

108. ARE YOU TICKLISH? Hell yes

109. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON A PLANE? Yup

110. DO YOU HAVE ANY PIERCINGS? Yup, both ears, septum and nostril

111. WHAT FICTIONAL CHARACTER DO YOU WISH WAS REAL? Tate Langdon

112. DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOOS? Yup, 5 so far

113. WHAT IS THE BEST DECISION THAT YOU’VE MADE IN YOUR LIFE SO FAR? Downloading Tinder lmaooo

114. DO YOU BELIEVE IN KARMA? I’m not sure

115. DO YOU WEAR GLASSES OR CONTACTS? Nope

116. DO YOU WANT CHILDREN? Absolutely not

117. WHO IS THE SMARTEST PERSON YOU KNOW? Me

118. WHAT IS YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MEMORY? My whole life is an embarrassment

119. HAVE YOU EVER PULLED AN ALL-NIGHTER? More often than not

120. WHAT COLOR ARE MOST OF YOUR CLOTHES? Black and red

121. DO YOU LIKE ADVENTURES? Depends on what it is, I don’t really like going outside

122. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON TV? Yup I was in an ad for Caprisun, I got paid to scream

123. HOW OLD ARE YOU? 19

124. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE? I honestly can’t think of a single one right now

125. DO YOU PREFER SWEET OR SAVORY FOODS? savoury

[maevesdarling]

Ok, you’ve peaked my interest in The Terror. Explain why I should watch it, please.

Uhhh where do I even start…

Okay first of all the story. It is based on the real Franklin Expedition from 1845, yes, that shit really happened.

The two ships, Terror and Erebus, two super modern ships with steam engines, internal heating system and whatnot set sail from England to find the passage. They never returned.

As a matter of fact, the real Terror and Erebus have only recently been discovered. Terror is in such a good condition that dining plates and other interrior where still in their places, hairbrushes, clothes, hundreds of artifacts are still lying at the bottom of the sea. We don't know what really happened to the ships or the crew, since this is a historical fact I suppose saying the show will have a happy end would be straight up lying, although it does end somewhat positive.

The story is absolutely beautifully written. Merging historical facts based on years of research and supernatural elements together. You'll really start rooting for these characters, everyone in this show is incredibly complex, from the captain, who's slowly eaten by his alcohol problem and years of closing himself off from everyone else, to the naturalists who falls in love with the arctic, to the caulkers mate, hiding a dangerous secret from the rest of the crew. It can be hard to follow at times, especially since half of the characters look the same with their dark hair and beards 😂, let's just say, at some point someone is going to die and you WILL be convinced it was a different person, believe me first time watching I was really wondering how a certain character was able to travel this fast between scenes until I realized it was a completely different man. But once you can tell who is who, you will fall in love with each and every single one of them.

If I had to tell you what the overall message is, I wouldn't say it's that arctic expeditions are a bad idea, or that humans are evil, I'd say that the overall message is hope. That you will find moments of gentleness, and love from other people, even in the most surreal places.

Another plus point is the LGBTQ representation. I mean it's a ship full of men during the age of sail, there just HAD to be a queer character (actually there are a few).

The actors on the show, I have no words. Jared Harris as Captain Francis Crozier deserves all the awards. I saw someone describe the cast as relatively unknown but actually I think they're wrong. Maybe it's because I'm European but I already knew quite a few actors that appear in the show beforehand. Some of the main actors (and people you might know from other shows etc) are; Jared Harris, Tobias Menzies, Ciarán Hinds, Ian Hart, Charles Edwards and Alistair Petrie

Also the music totally slaps, it's very subtle at times but it creates such a beautiful atmosphere for the show.

In summary, watching this show can and absolutely will break you, you HAVE to rewatch it at least once. To me it is unbelievable how so little people know about it. It's incredibly soft and hard to watch at the same time.

Possible triggers for this show are: Emetophobia, Gore, Homophobia, Blood, Suicide, Cannibalism, Body Horror, Alcoholism

Also also, I am talking about season 1 here, I personally have nothing against season 2 but I have never seen it. Season two is an entirely different show that just kinda happens to share the same name. They changed everything from characters to story to producers. Like I said I have nothing against it, it's just not my cup of tea and sadly lots of people shared my opinion. So if you do decide to watch season two be prepared to be disappointed in the lack of content there are literally like two GIFs floating around on this website. ☹️